the enchanted island of yew whereon prince marvel encountered the high ki of twi and other surprising people by l. frank baum author of "the wizard of oz," "the life and adventures of santa claus," "the magical monarch of mo," etc. contents . once on a time . the enchanted isle . the fairy bower . prince marvel . the king of thieves . the troubles of nerle . the gray men . the fool-killer . the royal dragon of spor . prince marvel wins his fight . the cunning of king terribus . the gift of beauty . the hidden kingdom of twi . the ki and the ki-ki . the high ki of twi . the rebellion of the high ki . the separation of the high ki . the rescue of the high ki . the reunion of the high ki . kwytoffle, the tyrant . the wonderful book of magic . the queen of plenta . the red rogue of dawna . the enchanted mirrors . the adventurers separate . the end of the year . a hundred years afterward . "once on a time" i am going to tell a story, one of those tales of astonishing adventures that happened years and years and years ago. perhaps you wonder why it is that so many stories are told of "once on a time", and so few of these days in which we live; but that is easily explained. in the old days, when the world was young, there were no automobiles nor flying-machines to make one wonder; nor were there railway trains, nor telephones, nor mechanical inventions of any sort to keep people keyed up to a high pitch of excitement. men and women lived simply and quietly. they were nature's children, and breathed fresh air into their lungs instead of smoke and coal gas; and tramped through green meadows and deep forests instead of riding in street cars; and went to bed when it grew dark and rose with the sun--which is vastly different from the present custom. having no books to read they told their adventures to one another and to their little ones; and the stories were handed down from generation to generation and reverently believed. those who peopled the world in the old days, having nothing but their hands to depend on, were to a certain extent helpless, and so the fairies were sorry for them and ministered to their wants patiently and frankly, often showing themselves to those they befriended. so people knew fairies in those days, my dear, and loved them, together with all the ryls and knooks and pixies and nymphs and other beings that belong to the hordes of immortals. and a fairy tale was a thing to be wondered at and spoken of in awed whispers; for no one thought of doubting its truth. to-day the fairies are shy; for so many curious inventions of men have come into use that the wonders of fairyland are somewhat tame beside them, and even the boys and girls can not be so easily interested or surprised as in the old days. so the sweet and gentle little immortals perform their tasks unseen and unknown, and live mostly in their own beautiful realms, where they are almost unthought of by our busy, bustling world. yet when we come to story-telling the marvels of our own age shrink into insignificance beside the brave deeds and absorbing experiences of the days when fairies were better known; and so we go back to "once on a time" for the tales that we most love--and that children have ever loved since mankind knew that fairies exist. . the enchanted isle once there was an enchanted island in the middle of the sea. it was called the isle of yew. and in it were five important kingdoms ruled by men, and many woodland dells and forest glades and pleasant meadows and grim mountains inhabited by fairies. from the fairies some of the men had learned wonderful secrets, and had become magicians and sorcerers, with powers so great that the entire island was reputed to be one of enchantments. who these men were the common people did not always know; for while some were kings and rulers, others lived quietly hidden away in forests or mountains, and seldom or never showed themselves. indeed, there were not so many of these magicians as people thought, only it was so hard to tell them from common folk that every stranger was regarded with a certain amount of curiosity and fear. the island was round--like a mince pie. and it was divided into four quarters--also like a pie--except that there was a big place in the center where the fifth kingdom, called spor, lay in the midst of the mountains. spor was ruled by king terribus, whom no one but his own subjects had ever seen--and not many of them. for no one was allowed to enter the kingdom of spor, and its king never left his palace. but the people of spor had a bad habit of rushing down from their mountains and stealing the goods of the inhabitants of the other four kingdoms, and carrying them home with them, without offering any apologies whatever for such horrid conduct. sometimes those they robbed tried to fight them; but they were a terrible people, consisting of giants with huge clubs, and dwarfs who threw flaming darts, and the stern gray men of spor, who were most frightful of all. so, as a rule, every one fled before them, and the people were thankful that the fierce warriors of spor seldom came to rob them oftener than once a year. it was on this account that all who could afford the expense built castles to live in, with stone walls so thick that even the giants of spor could not batter them down. and the children were not allowed to stray far from home for fear some roving band of robbers might steal them and make their parents pay large sums for their safe return. yet for all this the people of the enchanted isle of yew were happy and prosperous. no grass was greener, no forests more cool and delightful, no skies more sunny, no sea more blue and rippling than theirs. and the nations of the world envied them, but dared not attempt to conquer an island abounding in enchantments. . the fairy bower that part of the enchanted isle which was kissed by the rising sun was called dawna; the kingdom that was tinted rose and purple by the setting sun was known as auriel, and the southland, where fruits and flowers abounded, was the kingdom of plenta. up at the north lay heg, the home of the great barons who feared not even the men of spor; and in the kingdom of heg our story opens. upon a beautiful plain stood the castle of the great baron merd--renowned alike in war and peace, and second in importance only to the king of heg. it was a castle of vast extent, built with thick walls and protected by strong gates. in front of it sloped a pretty stretch of land with the sea glistening far beyond; and back of it, but a short distance away, was the edge of the forest of lurla. one fair summer day the custodian of the castle gates opened a wicket and let down a draw-bridge, when out trooped three pretty girls with baskets dangling on their arms. one of the maids walked in front of her companions, as became the only daughter of the mighty baron merd. she was named seseley, and had yellow hair and red cheeks and big, blue eyes. behind her, merry and laughing, yet with a distinct deference to the high station of their young lady, walked berna and helda--dark brunettes with mischievous eyes and slender, lithe limbs. berna was the daughter of the chief archer, and helda the niece of the captain of the guard, and they were appointed play-fellows and comrades of the fair seseley. up the hill to the forest's edge ran the three, and then without hesitation plunged into the shade of the ancient trees. there was no sunlight now, but the air was cool and fragrant of nuts and mosses, and the children skipped along the paths joyously and without fear. to be sure, the forest of lurla was well known as the home of fairies, but seseley and her comrades feared nothing from such gentle creatures and only longed for an interview with the powerful immortals whom they had been taught to love as the tender guardians of mankind. nymphs there were in lurla, as well, and crooked knooks, it was said; yet for many years past no person could boast the favor of meeting any one of the fairy creatures face to face. so, gathering a few nuts here and a sweet forest flower there, the three maidens walked farther and farther into the forest until they came upon a clearing--formed like a circle--with mosses and ferns for its carpet and great overhanging branches for its roof. "how pretty!" cried seseley, gaily. "let us eat our luncheon in this lovely banquet-hall!" so berna and helda spread a cloth and brought from their baskets some golden platters and a store of food. yet there was little ceremony over the meal, you may be sure, and within a short space all the children had satisfied their appetites and were laughing and chatting as merrily as if they were at home in the great castle. indeed, it is certain they were happier in their forest glade than when facing grim walls of stone, and the three were in such gay spirits that whatever one chanced to say the others promptly joined in laughing over. soon, however, they were startled to hear a silvery peal of laughter answering their own, and turning to see whence the sound proceeded, they found seated near them a creature so beautiful that at once the three pairs of eyes opened to their widest extent, and three hearts beat much faster than before. "well, i must say you do stare!" exclaimed the newcomer, who was clothed in soft floating robes of rose and pearl color, and whose eyes shone upon them like two stars. "forgive our impertinence," answered the little lady seseley, trying to appear dignified and unmoved; "but you must acknowledge that you came among us uninvited, and--and you are certainly rather odd in appearance." again the silvery laughter rang through the glade. "uninvited!" echoed the creature, clapping her hands together delightedly; "uninvited to my own forest home! why, my dear girls, you are the uninvited ones--indeed you are--to thus come romping into our fairy bower." the children did not open their eyes any wider on hearing this speech, for they could not; but their faces expressed their amazement fully, while helda gasped the words: "a fairy bower! we are in a fairy bower!" "most certainly," was the reply. "and as for being odd in appearance, let me ask how you could reasonably expect a fairy to appear as mortal maidens do?" "a fairy!" exclaimed seseley. "are you, then, a real fairy?" "i regret to say i am," returned the other, more soberly, as she patted a moss-bank with a silver-tipped wand. then for a moment there was silence, while the three girls sat very still and stared at their immortal companion with evident curiosity. finally seseley asked: "why do you regret being a fairy? i have always thought them the happiest creatures in the world." "perhaps we ought to be happy," answered the fairy, gravely, "for we have wonderful powers and do much to assist you helpless mortals. and i suppose some of us really are happy. but, for my part, i am so utterly tired of a fairy life that i would do anything to change it." "that is strange," declared berna. "you seem very young to be already discontented with your lot." now at this the fairy burst into laughter again, and presently asked: "how old do you think me?" "about our own age," said berna, after a glance at her and a moment's reflection. "nonsense!" retorted the fairy, sharply. "these trees are hundreds of years old, yet i remember when they were mere twigs. and i remember when mortals first came to live upon this island, yes--and when this island was first created and rose from the sea after a great earthquake. i remember for many, many centuries, my dears. i have grown tired of remembering--and of being a fairy continually, without any change to brighten my life." "to be sure!" said seseley, with sympathy. "i never thought of fairy life in that way before. it must get to be quite tiresome." "and think of the centuries i must yet live!" exclaimed the fairy in a dismal voice. "isn't it an awful thing to look forward to?" "it is, indeed," agreed seseley. "i'd be glad to exchange lives with you," said helda, looking at the fairy with intense admiration. "but you can't do that," answered the little creature quickly. "mortals can't become fairies, you know--although i believe there was once a mortal who was made immortal." "but fairies can become anything they desire!" cried berna. "oh, no, they can't. you are mistaken if you believe that," was the reply. "i could change you into a fly, or a crocodile, or a bobolink, if i wanted to; but fairies can't change themselves into anything else." "how strange!" murmured seseley, much impressed. "but you can," cried the fairy, jumping up and coming toward them. "you are mortals, and, by the laws that govern us, a mortal can change a fairy into anything she pleases." "oh!" said seseley, filled with amazement at the idea. the fairy fell on her knees before the baron's daughter. "please--please, dear seseley," she pleaded, "change me into a mortal!" . prince marvel it is easy to imagine the astonishment of the three girls at hearing this strange request. they gazed in a bewildered fashion upon the kneeling fairy, and were at first unable to answer one word. then seseley said--sadly, for she grieved to disappoint the pretty creature: "we are but mortal children, and have no powers of enchantment at all." "ah, that is true, so far as concerns yourselves," replied the fairy, eagerly; "yet mortals may easily transform fairies into anything they wish." "if that is so, why have we never heard of this power before?" asked seseley. "because fairies, as a rule, are content with their lot, and do not wish to appear in any form but their own. and, knowing that evil or mischievous mortals can transform them at will, the fairies take great care to remain invisible, so they can not be interfered with. have you ever," she asked, suddenly, "seen a fairy before?" "never," replied seseley. "nor would you have seen me to-day, had i not known you were kind and pure-hearted, or had i not resolved to ask you to exercise your powers upon me." "i must say," remarked helda, boldly, "that you are foolish to wish to become anything different from what you are." "for you are very beautiful now," added berna, admiringly. "beautiful!" retorted the fairy, with a little frown; "what does beauty amount to, if one is to remain invisible?" "not much, that is true," agreed berna, smoothing her own dark locks. "and as for being foolish," continued the fairy, "i ought to be allowed to act foolishly if i want to. for centuries past i have not had a chance to do a single foolish thing." "poor dear!" said helda, softly. seseley had listened silently to this conversation. now she inquired: "what do you wish to become?" "a mortal!" answered the fairy, promptly. "a girl, like ourselves?" questioned the baron's daughter. "perhaps," said the fairy, as if undecided. "then you would be likely to endure many privations," said seseley, gently. "for you would have neither father nor mother to befriend you, nor any house to live in." "and if you hired your services to some baron, you would be obliged to wash dishes all day, or mend clothing, or herd cattle," said berna. "but i should travel all over the island," said the fairy, brightly, "and that is what i long to do. i do not care to work." "i fear a girl would not be allowed to travel alone," seseley remarked, after some further thought. "at least," she added, "i have never heard of such a thing." "no," said the fairy, rather bitterly, "your men are the ones that roam abroad and have adventures of all kinds. your women are poor, weak creatures, i remember." there was no denying this, so the three girls sat silent until seseley asked: "why do you wish to become a mortal?" "to gain exciting experiences," answered the fairy. "i'm tired of being a humdrum fairy year in and year out. of course, i do not wish to become a mortal for all time, for that would get monotonous, too; but to live a short while as the earth people do would amuse me very much." "if you want variety, you should become a boy," said helda, with a laugh, "the life of a boy is one round of excitement." "then make me a boy!" exclaimed the fairy eagerly. "a boy!" they all cried in consternation. and seseley added: "why--you're a girl fairy, aren't you?" "well--yes; i suppose i am," answered the beautiful creature, smiling; "but as you are going to change me anyway, i may as well become a boy as a girl." "better!" declared helda, clapping her hands; "for then you can do as you please." "but would it be right?" asked seseley, with hesitation. "why not?" retorted the fairy. "i can see nothing wrong in being a boy. make me a tall, slender youth, with waving brown hair and dark eyes. then i shall be as unlike my own self as possible, and the adventure will be all the more interesting. yes; i like the idea of being a boy very much indeed." "but i don't know how to transform you; some one will have to show me the way to do it," protested seseley, who was getting worried over the task set her. "oh, that will be easy enough," returned the little immortal. "have you a wand?" "no." "then i'll loan you mine, for i shall not need it. and you must wave it over my head three times and say: 'by my mortal powers i transform you into a boy for the space of one year'." "one year! isn't that too long?" "it's a very short time to one who has lived thousands of years as a fairy." "that is true," answered the baron's daughter. "now, i'll begin by doing a little transforming myself," said the fairy, getting upon her feet again, "and you can watch and see how i do it." she brushed a bit of moss from her gauzy skirts and continued: "if i'm to become a boy i shall need a horse, you know. a handsome, prancing steed, very fleet of foot." a moment she stood motionless, as if listening. then she uttered a low but shrill whistle. the three girls, filled with eager interest, watched her intently. presently a trampling of footsteps was heard through the brushwood, and a beautiful deer burst from the forest and fearlessly ran to the fairy. without hesitation she waved her wand above the deer's head and exclaimed: "by all my fairy powers i command you to become a war-horse for the period of one year." instantly the deer disappeared, and in its place was a handsome charger, milk-white in color, with flowing mane and tail. upon its back was a saddle sparkling with brilliant gems sewn upon fine dressed leather. the girls uttered cries of astonishment and delight, and the fairy said: "you see, these transformations are not at all difficult. i must now have a sword." she plucked a twig from a near-by tree and cast it upon the ground at her feet. again she waved her wand--and the twig turned to a gleaming sword, richly engraved, that seemed to the silent watchers to tremble slightly in its sheath, as if its heart of steel throbbed with hopes of battles to come. "and now i must have shield and armor," said the fairy, gaily. "this will make a shield,"--and she stripped a sheet of loose bark from a tree-trunk,--"but for armor i must have something better. will you give me your cloak?" this appeal was made to seseley, and the baron's daughter drew her white velvet cloak from her shoulders and handed it to the fairy. a moment later it was transformed into a suit of glittering armor that seemed fashioned of pure silver inlaid with gold, while the sheet of bark at the same time became a handsome shield, with the figures of three girls graven upon it. seseley recognized the features as those of herself and her comrades, and noted also that they appeared sitting at the edge of a forest, the great trees showing plainly in the background. "i shall be your champion, you see," laughed the fairy, gleefully, "and maybe i shall be able to repay you for the loss of your cloak." "i do not mind the cloak," returned the child, who had been greatly interested in these strange transformations. "but it seems impossible that a dainty little girl like you can ride this horse and carry these heavy arms." "i'll not be a girl much longer," said the little creature. "here, take my wand, and transform me into a noble youth!" again the pretty fairy kneeled before seseley, her dainty, rounded limbs of white and rose showing plainly through her gauzy attire. and the baron's daughter was suddenly inspired to be brave, not wishing to disappoint the venturous immortal. so she rose and took the magic wand in her hand, waving it three times above the head of the fairy. "by my powers as a mortal," she said, marveling even then at the strange speech, "i command you to become a brave and gallant youth--handsome, strong, fearless! and such shall you remain for the space of one year." as she ceased speaking the fairy was gone, and a slender youth, dark-eyed and laughing, was holding her hand in his and kissing it gratefully. "i thank you, most lovely maiden," he said, in a pleasant voice, "for giving me a place in the world of mortals. i shall ride at once in search of adventure, but my good sword is ever at your service." with this he gracefully arose and began to buckle on his magnificent armor and to fasten the sword to his belt. seseley drew a long, sighing breath of amazement at her own powers, and turning to berna and helda she asked: "do i see aright? is the little fairy really transformed to this youth?" "it certainly seems so," returned helda, who, being unabashed by the marvels she had beheld, turned to gaze boldly upon the young knight. "do you still remember that a moment ago you were a fairy?" she inquired. "yes, indeed," said he, smiling; "and i am really a fairy now, being but changed in outward form. but no one must know this save yourselves, until the year has expired and i resume my true station. will you promise to guard my secret?" "oh, yes!" they exclaimed, in chorus. for they were delighted, as any children might well be, at having so remarkable a secret to keep and talk over among themselves. "i must ask one more favor," continued the youth: "that you give me a name; for in this island i believe all men bear names of some sort, to distinguish them one from another." "true," said seseley, thoughtfully. "what were you called as a fairy?" "that does not matter in the least," he answered, hastily. "i must have an entirely new name." "suppose we call him the silver knight," suggested berna, as she eyed his glistening armor. "oh, no!--that is no name at all!" declared helda. "we might better call him baron strongarm." "i do not like that, either," said the lady seseley, "for we do not know whether his arm is strong or not. but he has been transformed in a most astonishing and bewildering manner before our very eyes, and i think the name of prince marvel would suit him very well." "excellent!" cried the youth, picking up his richly graven shield. "the name seems fitting in every way. and for a year i shall be known to all this island as prince marvel!" . the king of thieves old marshelm, the captain of the guard, was much surprised when he saw the baron's daughter and her playmates approach her father's castle escorted by a knight in glittering armor. to be sure it was a rather small knight, but the horse he led by the bridle was so stately and magnificent in appearance that old marshelm, who was an excellent judge of horses, at once decided the stranger must be a personage of unusual importance. as they came nearer the captain of the guard also observed the beauty of the little knight's armor, and caught the glint of jewels set in the handle of his sword; so he called his men about him and prepared to receive the knight with the honors doubtless due his high rank. but to the captain's disappointment the stranger showed no intention of entering the castle. on the contrary, he kissed the little lady seseley's hand respectfully, waved an adieu to the others, and then mounted his charger and galloped away over the plains. the drawbridge was let down to permit the three children to enter, and the great baron merd came himself to question his daughter. "who was the little knight?" he asked. "his name is prince marvel," answered seseley, demurely. "prince marvel?" exclaimed the baron. "i have never heard of him. does he come from the kingdom of dawna, or that of auriel, or plenta?" "that i do not know," said seseley, with truth. "where did you meet him?" continued the baron. "in the forest, my father, and he kindly escorted us home." "hm!" muttered the baron, thoughtfully. "did he say what adventure brought him to our kingdom of heg?" "no, father. but he mentioned being in search of adventure." "oh, he'll find enough to busy him in this wild island, where every man he meets would rather draw his sword than eat," returned the old warrior, smiling. "how old may this prince marvel be?" "he looks not over fifteen years of age," said seseley, uneasy at so much questioning, for she did not wish to be forced to tell an untruth. "but it is possible he is much older," she added, beginning to get confused. "well, well; i am sorry he did not pay my castle a visit," declared the baron. "he is very small and slight to be traveling this dangerous country alone, and i might have advised him as to his welfare." seseley thought that prince marvel would need no advice from any one as to his conduct; but she wisely refrained from speaking this thought, and the old baron walked away to glance through a slit in the stone wall at the figure of the now distant knight. prince marvel was riding swiftly toward the brow of the hill, and shortly his great war-horse mounted the ascent and disappeared on its farther slope. the youth's heart was merry and light, and he reflected joyously, as he rode along, that a whole year of freedom and fascinating adventure lay before him. the valley in which he now found himself was very beautiful, the soft grass beneath his horse's feet being sprinkled with bright flowers, while clumps of trees stood here and there to break the monotony of the landscape. for an hour the prince rode along, rejoicing in the free motion of his horse and breathing in the perfume-laden air. then he found he had crossed the valley and was approaching a series of hills. these were broken by huge rocks, the ground being cluttered with boulders of rough stone. his horse speedily found a pathway leading through these rocks, but was obliged to proceed at a walk, turning first one way and then another as the path zigzagged up the hill. presently, being engaged in deep thought and little noting the way, prince marvel rode between two high walls of rock standing so close together that horse and rider could scarcely pass between the sides. having traversed this narrow space some distance the wall opened suddenly upon a level plat of ground, where grass and trees grew. it was not a very big place, but was surely the end of the path, as all around it stood bare walls so high and steep that neither horse nor man could climb them. in the side of the rocky wall facing the entrance the traveler noticed a hollow, like the mouth of a cave, across which was placed an iron gate. and above the gateway was painted in red letters on the gray stone the following words: wul-takim king of thieves ------ his treasure house keep out prince marvel laughed on reading this, and after getting down from his saddle he advanced to the iron gate and peered through its heavy bars. "i have no idea who this wul-takim is," he said, "for i know nothing at all of the ways of men outside the forest in which i have always dwelt. but thieves are bad people, i am quite sure, and since wul-takim is the king of thieves he must be by far the worst man on this island." then he saw, through the bars of the gate, that a great cavern lay beyond, in which were stacked treasures of all sorts: rich cloths, golden dishes and ornaments, gemmed coronets and bracelets, cleverly forged armor, shields and battle-axes. also there were casks and bales of merchandise of every sort. the gate appeared to have no lock, so prince marvel opened it and walked in. then he perceived, perched on the very top of a pyramid of casks, the form of a boy, who sat very still and watched him with a look of astonishment upon his face. "what are you doing up there?" asked the prince. "nothing," said the boy. "if i moved the least little bit this pile of casks would topple over, and i should be thrown to the ground." "well," returned the prince, "what of it?" but just then he glanced at the ground and saw why the boy did not care to tumble down. for in the earth were planted many swords, with their sharp blades pointing upward, and to fall upon these meant serious wounds and perhaps death. "oh, ho!" cried marvel; "i begin to understand. you are a prisoner." "yes; as you will also be shortly," answered the boy. "and then you will understand another thing--that you were very reckless ever to enter this cave." "why?" inquired the prince, who really knew little of the world, and was interested in everything he saw and heard. "because it is the stronghold of the robber king, and when you opened that gate you caused a bell to ring far down on the hillside. so the robbers are now warned that an enemy is in their cave, and they will soon arrive to make you a prisoner, even as i am." "ah, i see!" said the prince, with a laugh, "it is a rather clever contrivance; but having been warned in time i should indeed be foolish to be caught in such a trap." with this he half drew his sword, but thinking that robbers were not worthy to be slain with its untarnished steel, he pushed it back into the jeweled scabbard and looked around for another weapon. a stout oaken staff lay upon the ground, and this he caught up and ran with it from the cave, placing himself just beside the narrow opening that led into this rock-encompassed plain. for he quickly saw that this was the only way any one could enter or leave the place, and therefore knew the robbers were coming up the narrow gorge even as he had himself done. soon they were heard stumbling along at a rapid pace, crying to one another to make haste and catch the intruder. the first that came through the opening received so sharp a blow upon the head from prince marvel's oak staff that he fell to the ground and lay still, while the next was treated in a like manner and fell beside his comrade. perhaps the thieves had not expected so sturdy an enemy, for they continued to rush through the opening in the rocks and to fall beneath the steady blows of the prince's staff until every one of them lay senseless before the victor. at first they had piled themselves upon one another very neatly; but the pile got so high at last that the prince was obliged to assist the last thieves to leap to the top of the heap before they completely lost their senses. i have no doubt our prince, feeling himself yet strange in the new form he had acquired, and freshly transported from the forest glades in which he had always lived, was fully as much astonished at his deed of valor as were the robbers themselves; and if he shuddered a little when looking upon the heap of senseless thieves you must forgive him this weakness. for he straightway resolved to steel his heart to such sights and to be every bit as stern and severe as a mortal knight would have been. throwing down his staff he ran to the cave again, and stepping between the sword points he approached the pile of casks and held out his arms to the boy who was perched upon the top. "the thieves are conquered," he cried. "jump down!" "i won't," said the boy. "why not?" inquired the prince. "can't you see i'm very miserable?" asked the boy, in return; "don't you understand that every minute i expect to fall upon those sword points?" "but i will catch you," cried the prince. "i don't want you to catch me," said the boy. "i want to be miserable. it's the first chance i've ever had, and i'm enjoying my misery very much." this speech so astonished prince marvel that for a moment he stood motionless. then he retorted, angrily: "you're a fool!" "if i wasn't so miserable up here, i'd come down and thrash you for that," said the boy, with a sigh. this answer so greatly annoyed prince marvel that he gave the central cask of the pyramid a sudden push, and the next moment the casks were tumbling in every direction, while the boy fell headlong in their midst. but marvel caught him deftly in his arms, and so saved him from the sword points. "there!" he said, standing the boy upon his feet; "now you are released from your misery." "and i should be glad to punish you for your interference," declared the boy, gloomily eying his preserver, "had you not saved my life by catching me. according to the code of honor of knighthood i can not harm one who has saved my life until i have returned the obligation. therefore, for the present i shall pardon your insulting speeches and actions." "but you have also saved my life," answered prince marvel; "for had you not warned me of the robbers' return they would surely have caught me." "true," said the boy, brightening up; "therefore our score is now even. but take care not to affront me again, for hereafter i will show you no mercy!" prince marvel looked at the boy with wonder. he was about his own size, yet strong and well formed, and he would have been handsome except for the expression of discontent upon his face. yet his manner and words were so absurd and unnatural that the prince was more amused than angered by his new acquaintance, and presently laughed in his face. "if all the people in this island are like you," he said, "i shall have lots of fun with them. and you are only a boy, after all." "i'm bigger than you!" declared the other, glaring fiercely at the prince. "how much bigger?" asked marvel, his eyes twinkling. "oh, ever so much!" "then fetch along that coil of rope, and follow me," said prince marvel. "fetch the rope yourself!" retorted the boy, bluntly. "i'm not your servant." then he put his hands in his pockets and coolly walked out of the cave to look at the pile of senseless robbers. prince marvel made no reply, but taking the coil of rope on his shoulder he carried it to where the thieves lay and threw it down beside them. then he cut lengths from the coil with his sword and bound the limbs of each robber securely. within a half-hour he had laid out a row of thieves extending half way across the grassy plain, and on counting their number he found he had captured fifty-nine of them. this task being accomplished and the robbers rendered helpless, prince marvel turned to the boy who stood watching him. "get a suit of armor from the cave, and a strong sword, and then return here," he said, in a stern voice. "why should i do that?" asked the boy, rather impudently. "because i am going to fight you for disobeying my orders; and if you do not protect yourself i shall probably kill you." "that sounds pleasant," said the boy. "but if you should prove my superior in skill i beg you will not kill me at once, but let me die a lingering death." "why?" asked the prince. "because i shall suffer more, and that will be delightful." "i am not anxious to kill you, nor to make you suffer," said marvel, "all that i ask is that you acknowledge me your master." "i won't!" answered the boy. "i acknowledge no master in all the world!" "then you must fight," declared the prince, gravely. "if you win, i will promise to serve you faithfully; and if i conquer you, then you must acknowledge me your master, and obey my commands." "agreed!" cried the boy, with sudden energy, and he rushed into the cave and soon returned clad in armor and bearing a sword and shield. on the shield was pictured a bolt of lightning. "lightning will soon strike those three girls whose champion you seem to be," he said tauntingly. "the three girls defy your lightning!" returned the prince with a smile. "i see you are brave enough." "brave! why should i not be?" answered the boy proudly. "i am the lord nerle, the son of neggar, the chief baron of heg!" the other bowed low. "i am pleased to know your station," he said. "i am called prince marvel, and this is my first adventure." "and likely to be your last," exclaimed the boy, sneeringly. "for i am stronger than you, and i have fought many times with full grown men." "are you ready?" asked prince marvel, for answer. "yes." then the swords clashed and sparks flew from the blades. but it was not for long. suddenly nerle's sword went flying through the air and shattered its blade against a wall of rock. he scowled at prince marvel a moment, who smiled back at him. then the boy rushed into the cave and returned with another sword. scarcely had the weapons crossed again when with a sudden blow prince marvel snapped nerle's blade in two, and followed this up with a sharp slap upon his ear with the flat of his own sword that fairly bewildered the boy, and made him sit down on the grass to think what had happened to him. then prince marvel's merry laugh rang far across the hills, and so delighted was he at the astonished expression upon nerle's face that it was many minutes before he could control his merriment and ask his foeman if he had had enough fight. "i suppose i have," replied the boy, rubbing his ear tenderly. "that blow stings most deliciously. but it is a hard thought that the son of baron neggar should serve prince marvel!" "do not worry about that," said the prince; "for i assure you my rank is so far above your own that it is no degradation for the son of neggar to serve me. but come, we must dispose of these thieves. what is the proper fate for such men?" "they are always hanged," answered nerle, getting upon his feet. "well, there are trees handy," remarked the prince, although his girlish heart insisted on making him shiver in spite of his resolve to be manly and stern. "let us get to work and hang them as soon as possible. and then we can proceed upon our journey." nerle now willingly lent his assistance to his new master, and soon they had placed a rope around the neck of each thief and were ready to dangle them all from the limbs of the trees. but at this juncture the thieves began to regain consciousness, and now wul-takim, the big, red-bearded king of the thieves, sat up and asked: "who is our conqueror?" "prince marvel," answered nerle. "and what army assisted him?" inquired wul-takim, curiously gazing upon the prince. "he conquered you alone and single-handed," said nerle. hearing this, the big king began to weep bitterly, and the tear-drops ran down his face in such a stream that prince marvel ordered nerle to wipe them away with his handkerchief, as the thief's hands were tied behind his back. "to think!" sobbed wul-takim, miserably; "only to think, that after all my terrible deeds and untold wickedness, i have been captured by a mere boy! oh, boo-hoo! boo-hoo! boo-hoo! it is a terrible disgrace!" "you will not have to bear it long," said the prince, soothingly. "i am going to hang you in a few minutes." "thanks! thank you very much!" answered the king, ceasing to weep. "i have always expected to be hanged some day, and i am glad no one but you two boys will witness me when my feet begin kicking about." "i shall not kick," declared another of the thieves, who had also regained his senses. "i shall sing while i am being hanged." "but you can not, my good gunder," protested the king; "for the rope will cut off your breath, and no man can sing without breath." "then i shall whistle," said gunder, composedly. the king cast at him a look of reproach, and turning to prince marvel he said: "it will be a great task to string up so many thieves. you look tired. permit me to assist you to hang the others, and then i will climb into a tree and hang myself from a strong branch, with as little bother as possible." "oh, i won't think of troubling you," exclaimed marvel, with a laugh. "having conquered you alone, i feel it my duty to hang you without assistance--save that of my esquire." "it's no trouble, i assure you; but suit your own convenience," said the thief, carelessly. then he cast his eye toward the cave and asked: "what will you do with all our treasure?" "give it to the poor," said prince marvel, promptly. "what poor?" "oh, the poorest people i can find." "will you permit me to advise you in this matter?" asked the king of thieves, politely. "yes, indeed; for i am a stranger in this land," returned the prince. "well, i know a lot of people who are so poor that they have no possessions whatever, neither food to eat, houses to live in, nor any clothing but that which covers their bodies. they can call no man friend, nor will any lift a hand to help them. indeed, good sir, i verily believe they will soon perish miserably unless you come to their assistance!" "poor creatures!" exclaimed prince marvel, with ready sympathy; "tell me who they are, and i will divide amongst them all your ill-gotten gains." "they are ourselves," replied the king of thieves, with a sigh. marvel looked at him in amazement, and then burst into joyous laughter. "yourselves!" he cried, greatly amused. "indeed, yes!" said wul-takim, sadly. "there are no poorer people in all the world, for we have ropes about our necks and are soon to be hanged. to-morrow we shall not have even our flesh left, for the crows will pick our bones." "that is true," remarked marvel, thoughtfully. "but, if i restore to you the treasure, how will it benefit you, since you are about to die?" "must you really hang us?" asked the thief. "yes; i have decreed it, and you deserve your fate." "why?" "because you have wickedly taken from helpless people their property, and committed many other crimes besides." "but i have reformed! we have all reformed--have we not, brothers?" "we have!" answered the other thieves, who, having regained their senses, were listening to this conversation with much interest. "and, if you will return to us our treasure, we will promise never to steal again, but to remain honest men and enjoy our wealth in peace," promised the king. "honest men could not enjoy treasures they have stolen," said prince marvel. "true; but this treasure is now yours, having been won by you in fair battle. and if you present it to us it will no longer be stolen treasure, but a generous gift from a mighty prince, which we may enjoy with clear consciences." "yet there remains the fact that i have promised to hang you," suggested prince marvel, with a smile, for the king amused him greatly. "not at all! not at all!" cried wul-takim. "you promised to hang fifty-nine thieves, and there is no doubt the fifty-nine thieves deserved to be hung. but, consider! we have all reformed our ways and become honest men; so it would be a sad and unkindly act to hang fifty-nine honest men!" "what think you, nerle?" asked the prince, turning to his esquire. "why, the rogue seems to speak truth," said nerle, scratching his head with a puzzled air, "yet, if he speaks truth, there is little difference between a rogue and an honest man. ask him, my master, what caused them all to reform so suddenly." "because we were about to die, and we thought it a good way to save our lives," replied the robber king. "that's an honest answer, anyway," said nerle. "perhaps, sir, they have really reformed." "and if so, i will not have the death of fifty-nine honest men on my conscience," declared the prince. then he turned to wul-takim and added: "i will release you and give you the treasure, as you request. but you owe me allegiance from this time forth, and if i ever hear of your becoming thieves again, i promise to return and hang every one of you." "never fear!" answered wul-takim, joyfully. "it is hard work to steal, and while we have so much treasure it is wholly unnecessary. moreover, having accepted from you our lives and our fortunes, we shall hereafter be your devoted servants, and whenever you need our services you have but to call upon us, and we will support you loyally and gladly." "i accept your service," answered the prince, graciously. and then he unbound the fifty-nine honest men and took the ropes from their necks. as nightfall was fast approaching the new servants set to work to prepare a great feast in honor of their master. it was laid in the middle of the grassy clearing, that all might sit around and celebrate the joyous occasion. "do you think you can trust these men?" asked nerle, suspiciously. "why not?" replied the prince. "they have been exceedingly wicked, it is true; but they are now intent upon being exceedingly good. let us encourage them in this. if we mistrusted all who have ever done an evil act there would be fewer honest people in the world. and if it were as interesting to do a good act as an evil one there is no doubt every one would choose the good." . the troubles of nerle that night prince marvel slept within the cave, surrounded by the fifty-nine reformed thieves, and suffered no harm at their hands. in the morning, accompanied by his esquire, nerle, who was mounted upon a spirited horse brought him by wul-takim, he charged the honest men to remember their promises, bade them good by, and set out in search of further adventure. as they left the clearing by the narrow passage that led between the overhanging rocks, the prince looked back and saw that the sign above the gate of the cave, which had told of the thieves' treasure house, had been changed. it now read as follows: wul-takim king of honest men ------ his pleasure house walk in "that is much better," laughed the prince. "i accomplished some good by my adventure, anyway!" nerle did not reply. he seemed especially quiet and thoughtful as he rode by his master's side, and after they had traveled some distance in silence prince marvel said: "tell me how you came to be in the cave of thieves, and perched upon the casks where i found you." "it is a sad story," returned nerle, with a sigh; "but since you request me to tell it, the tale may serve to relieve the tedium of your journey. "my father is a mighty baron, very wealthy and with a heart so kind that he has ever taken pleasure in thrusting on me whatever gift he could think of. i had not a single desire unsatisfied, for before i could wish for anything it was given me. "my mother was much like my father. she and her women were always making jams, jellies, candies, cakes and the like for me to eat; so i never knew the pleasure of hunger. my clothes were the gayest satins and velvets, richly made and sewn with gold and silver braid; so it was impossible to wish for more in the way of apparel. they let me study my lessons whenever i felt like it and go fishing or hunting as i pleased; so i could not complain that i was unable to do just as i wanted to. all the servants obeyed my slightest wish: if i wanted to sit up late at night no one objected; if i wished to lie in bed till noon they kept the house quiet so as not to disturb me. "this condition of affairs, as you may imagine, grew more and more tedious and exasperating the older i became. try as i might, i could find nothing to complain of. i once saw the son of one of our servants receive a flogging; and my heart grew light. i immediately begged my father to flog me, by way of variety; and he, who could refuse me nothing, at once consented. for this reason there was less satisfaction in the operation than i had expected, although for the time being it was a distinct novelty. "now, no one could expect a high-spirited boy to put up with such a life as mine. with nothing to desire and no chance of doing anything that would annoy my parents, my days were dreary indeed." he paused to wipe the tears from his eyes, and the prince murmured, sympathetically: "poor boy! poor boy!" "ah, you may well say that!" continued nerle. "but one day a stranger came to my father's castle with tales of many troubles he had met with. he had been lost in a forest and nearly starved to death. he had been robbed and beaten and left wounded and sore by the wayside. he had begged from door to door and been refused food or assistance. in short, his story was so delightful that it made me envy him, and i yearned to suffer as he had done. when i could speak with him alone i said: 'pray tell me how i can manage to acquire the misfortunes you have undergone. here i have everything that i desire, and it makes me very unhappy.' "the stranger laughed at me, at first; and i found some pleasure in the humiliation i then felt. but it did not last long, for presently he grew sober and advised me to run away from home and seek adventure. "'once away from your father's castle,' said he, 'troubles will fall upon you thick enough to satisfy even your longings.' "'that is what i am afraid of!' i answered. 'i don't want to be satisfied, even with troubles. what i seek is unsatisfied longings.' "'nevertheless,' said he, 'i advise you to travel. everything will probably go wrong with you, and then you will be happy.' "i acted upon the stranger's advice and ran away from home the next day. after journeying a long time i commenced to feel the pangs of hunger, and was just beginning to enjoy myself when a knight rode by and gave me a supply of food. at this rebuff i could not restrain my tears, but while i wept my horse stumbled and threw me over his head. i hoped at first i had broken my neck, and was just congratulating myself upon the misfortune, when a witch-woman came along and rubbed some ointment upon my bruises, in spite of my protests. to my great grief the pain left me, and i was soon well again. but, as a slight compensation for my disappointment, my horse had run away; so i began my journey anew and on foot. "that afternoon i stepped into a nest of wasps, but the thoughtless creatures flew away without stinging me. then i met a fierce tiger, and my heart grew light and gay. 'surely this will cause me suffering!' i cried, and advanced swiftly upon the brute. but the cowardly tiger turned tail and ran to hide in the bushes, leaving me unhurt! "of course, my many disappointments were some consolation; but not much. that night i slept on the bare ground, and hoped i should catch a severe cold; but no such joy was to be mine. "yet the next afternoon i experienced my first pleasure. the thieves caught me, stripped off all my fine clothes and jewels and beat me well. then they carried me to their cave, dressed me in rags, and perched me on the top of the casks, where the slightest movement on my part would send me tumbling among the sword points. this was really delightful, and i was quite happy until you came and released me. "i thought then that i might gain some pleasure by provoking you to anger; and our fight was the result. that blow on the ear was exquisite, and by forcing me to become your servant you have made me, for the first time in my life, almost contented. for i hope in your company to experience a great many griefs and disappointments." as nerle concluded his story prince marvel turned to him and grasped his hand. "accept my sympathy!" said he. "i know exactly how you feel, for my own life during the past few centuries has not been much different." "the past few centuries!" gasped nerle. "what do you mean?" at this the prince blushed, seeing he had nearly disclosed his secret. but he said, quickly: "does it not seem centuries when one is unhappy?" "it does, indeed!" responded nerle, earnestly. "but please tell me your story." "not now," said prince marvel, with a smile. "it will please you to desire in vain to hear a tale i will not tell. yet i promise that on the day we part company i shall inform you who i am." . the gray men the adventurers gave no heed to the path they followed after leaving the cave of the reformed thieves, but their horses accidentally took the direction of the foot-hills that led into the wild interior kingdom of spor. therefore the travelers, when they had finished their conversation and begun to look about them, found themselves in a rugged, mountainous country that was wholly unlike the green plains of heg they had left behind. now, as i have before said, the most curious and fearful of the island people dwelt in this kingdom of spor. they held no friendly communication with their neighbors, and only left their own mountains to plunder and rob; and so sullen and fierce were they on these occasions that every one took good care to keep out of their way until they had gone back home again. there was much gossip about the unknown king of spor, who had never yet been seen by any one except his subjects; and some thought he must be one of the huge giants of spor; and others claimed he was a dwarf, like his tiny but ferocious dart-slingers; and still others imagined him one of the barbarian tribe, or a fellow to the terrible gray men. but, of course, no one knew positively, and all these guesses were very wide of the mark. the only certainty about this king was that his giants, dwarfs, barbarians and gray men meekly acknowledged his rule and obeyed his slightest wish; for though they might be terrible to others, their king was still more terrible to them. into this kingdom of spor prince marvel and nerle had now penetrated and, neither knowing nor caring where they were, continued along the faintly defined paths the horses had found. presently, however, they were startled by a peal of shrill, elfish laughter, and raising their eyes they beheld a horrid-looking old man seated upon a high rock near by. "why do you laugh?" asked prince marvel, stopping his horse. "have you been invited? tell me--have you been invited?" demanded the old man, chuckling to himself as if much amused. "invited where?" inquired the prince. "to spor, stupid! to the kingdom of spor! to the land of king terribus!" shrieked the old man, going into violent peals of laughter. "we go and come as we please," answered prince marvel, calmly. "go--yes! go if you will. but you'll never come back--never! never! never!" the little old man seemed to consider this such a good joke that he bent nearly double with laughing, and so lost his balance and toppled off the rock, disappearing from their view; but they could hear him laugh long after they had passed on and left him far behind them. "a strange creature!" exclaimed the prince thoughtfully. "but perhaps he speaks truth," answered nerle, "if, in fact, we have been rash enough to enter the kingdom of spor. even my father, the bravest baron in heg, has never dared venture within the borders of spor. for all men fear its mysterious king." "in that case," replied prince marvel, "it is time some one investigated this strange kingdom. people have left king terribus and his wild subjects too much to themselves; instead of stirring them up and making them behave themselves." nerle smiled at this speech. "they are the fiercest people on the enchanted island," said he, "and there are thousands upon thousands who obey this unknown king. but if you think we dare defy them i am willing to go on. perhaps our boldness will lead them into torturing me, or starving me to death; and at the very least i ought to find much trouble and privation in the kingdom of spor." "time will determine that," said the prince, cheerfully. they had now ridden into a narrow defile of the mountains, the pathway being lined with great fragments of rock. happening to look over his shoulder prince marvel saw that as they passed these rocks a man stepped from behind each fragment and followed after them, their numbers thus constantly increasing until hundreds were silently treading in the wake of the travelers. these men were very peculiar in appearance, their skins being as gray as the rocks themselves, while their only clothing consisted of gray cloth tunics belted around the waists with bands of gray fox-hide. they bore no weapons except that each was armed with a fork, having three sharp tines six inches in length, which the gray men carried stuck through their fox-hide belts. nerle also looked back and saw the silent throng following them, and the sight sent such a cold shiver creeping up his spine that he smiled with pleasure. there was no way to avoid the gray men, for the path was so narrow that the horsemen could not turn aside; but prince marvel was not disturbed, and seemed not to mind being followed, so long as no one hindered his advance. he rode steadily on, nerle following, and after climbing upward for a long way the path began to descend, presently leading them into a valley of wide extent, in the center of which stood an immense castle with tall domes that glittered as if covered with pure gold. a broad roadway paved with white marble reached from the mountain pass to the entrance of this castle, and on each side of this roadway stood lines of monstrous giants, armed with huge axes thrust into their belts and thick oak clubs, studded with silver spikes, which were carried over their left shoulders. the assembled giants were as silent as the gray men, and stood motionless while prince marvel and nerle rode slowly up the marble roadway. but all their brows were scowling terribly and their eyes were red and glaring--as if they were balls of fire. "i begin to feel very pleasant," said nerle, "for surely we shall not get away from these folks without a vast deal of trouble. they do not seem to oppose our advance, but it is plain they will not allow us any chance of retreat." "we do not wish to retreat," declared the prince. nerle cast another glance behind, and saw that the gray men had halted at the edge of the valley, while the giants were closing up as soon as the horses passed them and now marched in close file in their rear. "it strikes me," he muttered, softly, "that this is like to prove our last adventure." but although prince marvel might have heard the words he made no reply, being evidently engaged in deep thought. as they drew nearer the castle it towered above them like a veritable mountain, so big and high was it; and the walls cast deep shadows far around, as if twilight had fallen. they heard the loud blare of a trumpet sounding far up on the battlements; the portals of the castle suddenly opened wide, and they entered a vast courtyard paved with plates of gold. tiny dwarfs, so crooked that they resembled crabs, rushed forward and seized the bridles of the horses, while the strangers slowly dismounted and looked around them. while the steeds were being led to the stables an old man, clothed in a flowing robe as white in color as his beard, bowed before prince marvel and said in a soft voice: "follow me!" the prince stretched his arms, yawned as if tired with his ride, and then glared upon the old man with an expression of haughty surprise. "i follow no one!" said he, proudly. "i am prince marvel, sirrah, and if the owner of this castle wishes to see me i shall receive him here, as befits my rank and station." the man looked surprised, but only bowed lower than before. "it is the king's command," he answered. "the king?" "yes; you are in the castle of king terribus, the lord and ruler of spor." "that is different," remarked the prince, lightly. "still, i will follow no man. point out the way and i will go to meet his majesty." the old man extended a lean and trembling finger toward an archway. prince marvel strode forward, followed by nerle, and passing under the arch he threw open a door at the far end and boldly entered the throne-room of king terribus. . the fool-killer the room was round, with a dome at the top. the bare walls were of gray stone, with square, open windows set full twenty feet from the floor. rough gray stone also composed the floor, and in the center of the room stood one great rock with a seat hollowed in its middle. this was the throne, and round about it stood a swarm of men and women dressed in rich satins, velvets and brocades, brilliantly ornamented with gold and precious stones. the men were of many shapes and sizes--giants and dwarfs being among them. the women all seemed young and beautiful. prince marvel cast but a passing glance at this assemblage, for his eye quickly sought the rude throne on which was seated king terribus. the personal appearance of this monster was doubtless the most hideous known in that age of the world. his head was large and shaped like an egg; it was bright scarlet in color and no hair whatever grew upon it. it had three eyes--one in the center of his face, one on the top of his head and one in the back. thus he was always able to see in every direction at the same time. his nose was shaped like an elephant's trunk, and swayed constantly from side to side. his mouth was very wide and had no lips at all, two rows of sharp and white teeth being always plainly visible beneath the swaying nose. king terribus, although surrounded by so splendid a court, wore a simple robe of gray cloth, with no ornament or other finery, and his strange and fearful appearance was strongly contrasted with the glittering raiment of his courtiers and the beauty of his ladies in waiting. when prince marvel, with nerle marching close behind, entered the great room, terribus looked at him sharply a moment, and then bowed. and when he bowed the eye upon the top of his head also looked sharply at the intruders. then the king spoke, his voice sounding so sweet and agreeable that it almost shocked nerle, who had expected to hear a roar like that from a wild beast. "why are you here?" asked terribus. "partly by chance and partly from curiosity," answered prince marvel. "no one in this island, except your own people, had ever seen the king of spor; so, finding myself in your country, i decided to come here and have a look at you." the faces of the people who stood about the throne wore frightened looks at the unheard of boldness of this speech to their terrible monarch. but the king merely nodded and inquired: "since you have seen me, what do you think of me?" "i am sorry you asked that question," returned the prince; "for i must confess you are a very frightful-looking creature, and not at all agreeable to gaze upon." "ha! you are honest, as well as frank," exclaimed the king. "but that is the reason i do not leave my kingdom, as you will readily understand. and that is the reason i never permit strangers to come here, under penalty of death. so long as no one knows the king of spor is a monster people will not gossip about my looks, and i am very sensitive regarding my personal appearance. you will perhaps understand that if i could have chosen i should have been born beautiful instead of ugly." "i certainly understand that. and permit me to say i wish you were beautiful. i shall probably dream of you for many nights," added the prince. "not for many," said king terribus, quietly. "by coming here you have chosen death, and the dead do not dream." "why should i die?" inquired prince marvel, curiously. "because you have seen me. should i allow you to go away you would tell the world about my ugly face. i do not like to kill you, believe me; but you must pay the penalty of your rashness--you and the man behind you." nerle smiled at this; but whether from pride at being called a man or in pleasurable anticipation of the sufferings to come i leave you to guess. "will you allow me to object to being killed?" asked the prince. "certainly," answered the king, courteously. "i expect you to object. it is natural. but it will do you no good." then terribus turned to an attendant and commanded: "send hither the fool-killer." at this prince marvel laughed outright. "the fool-killer!" he cried; "surely your majesty does me little credit. am i, then, a fool?" "you entered my kingdom uninvited," retorted the king, "and you tell me to my face i am ugly. moreover, you laugh when i condemn you to death. from this i conclude the fool-killer is the proper one to execute you. behold!" marvel turned quickly, to find a tall, stalwart man standing behind him. his features were strong but very grave, and the prince caught a look of compassion in his eye as their gaze met. his skin was fair and without blemish, a robe of silver cloth fell from his shoulders, and in his right hand he bore a gleaming sword. "well met!" cried marvel, heartily, as he bowed to the fool-killer. "i have often heard your name mentioned, but 'tis said in the world that you are a laggard in your duty." "had i my way," answered the fool-killer, "my blade would always drip. it is my master, yonder, who thwarts my duty." and he nodded toward king terribus. "then you should exercise your right on him, and cleave the ugly head from his shoulders," declared the prince. "nay, unless i interfered with the fool-killer," said the king, "i should soon have no subjects left to rule; for at one time or another they all deserve the blade." "why, that may be true enough," replied prince marvel. "but i think, under such circumstances, your fool-killer is a needless servant. so i will rid you of him in a few moments." with that he whipped out his sword and stood calmly confronting the fool-killer, whose grave face never changed in expression as he advanced menacingly upon his intended victim. the blades clashed together, and that of the fool-killer broke short off at the hilt. he took a step backward, stumbled and fell prone upon the rocky floor, while prince marvel sprang forward and pressed the point of his sword against his opponent's breast. "hold!" cried the king, starting to his feet. "would you slay my fool-killer? think of the harm you would do the world!" "but he is laggard and unfaithful to his calling!" answered the prince, sternly. "nevertheless, if he remove but one fool a year he is a benefit to mankind," declared the king. "release him, i pray you!" then the victor withdrew his sword and stood aside, while the fool-killer slowly got upon his feet and bowed humbly before the king. "go!" shouted terribus, his eye flashing angrily. "you have humiliated me before my enemy. as an atonement see that you kill me a fool a day for sixty days." hearing this command, many of the people about the throne began to tremble; but the king paid no attention to their fears, and the fool-killer bowed again before his master and withdrew from the chamber. . the royal dragon of spor "now," said terribus, regarding the prince gloomily, "i must dispose of you in another way." for a moment he dropped his scarlet head in thought. then he turned fiercely upon his attendants. "let the wrestler come forward!" he shouted, as loudly as his mild voice would carry. instantly a tall blackamoor advanced from the throng and cast off his flowing robe, showing a strong figure clad only in a silver loincloth. "crack me this fellow's bones!" commanded terribus. "i beg your majesty will not compel me to touch him," said prince marvel, with a slight shudder; "for his skin is greasy, and will soil my hands. here, nerle!" he continued, turning to his esquire, "dispose of this black man, and save me the trouble." nerle laughed pleasantly. the black was a powerfully built man, and compared with nerle and the prince, who had but the stature of boys, he towered like a very giant in size. nevertheless, nerle did not hesitate to spring upon the wrestler, who with a quick movement sent the boy crashing against the stone pavement. nerle was much bruised by the fall, and as he painfully raised himself to his feet a great lump was swelling behind his left ear, where his head had struck the floor, and he was so dizzy that the room seemed swimming around him in a circle. but he gave a happy little laugh, and said to the prince, gratefully: "thank you very much, my master! the fall is hurting me delightfully. i almost feel as if i could cry, and that would be joy indeed!" "well," answered the prince, with a sigh, "i see i must get my hands greased after all"--for the black's body had really been greased to enable him to elude the grasp of his opponents. but marvel made a quick leap and seized the wrestler firmly around the waist. the next moment, to the astonishment of all, the black man flew swiftly into the air, plunged through one of the open windows high up in the wall, and disappeared from view. when the king and his people again turned their wondering eyes upon the prince he was wiping his hands carefully upon a silk handkerchief. at this sight a pretty young girl, who stood near the throne, laughed aloud, and the sound of her laughter made king terribus very angry. "come here!" he commanded, sternly. the girl stepped forward, her face now pale and frightened, while tear-drops trembled upon the lashes that fringed her downcast eyes. "you have dared to laugh at the humiliation of your king," said terribus, his horrid face more crimson than ever, "and as atonement i command that you drink of the poisoned cup." instantly a dwarf came near, bearing a beautiful golden goblet in his crooked hands. "drink!" he said, an evil leer upon his face. the girl well knew this goblet contained a vile poison, one drop of which on her tongue would cause death; so she hesitated, trembling and shrinking from the ordeal. prince marvel looked into her sweet face with pitying eyes, and stepping quickly to her side, took her hand in his. "now drink!" he said, smiling upon her; "the poison will not hurt you." she drank obediently, while the dwarf chuckled with awful glee and the king looked on eagerly, expecting her to fall dead at his feet. but instead the girl stood upright and pressed marvel's hand, looking gratefully into his face. "you are a fairy!" she whispered, so low that no one else heard her voice. "i knew that you would save me." "keep my secret," whispered the prince in return, and still holding her hand he led her back to her former place. king terribus was almost wild with rage and disappointment, and his elephant nose twisted and squirmed horribly. "so you dare to thwart my commands, do you!" he cried, excitedly. "well, we shall soon see which of us is the more powerful. i have decreed your death--and die you shall!" for a moment his eye roved around the chamber uncertainly. then he shouted, suddenly: "ho, there! keepers of the royal menagerie--appear!" three men entered the room and bowed before the king. they were of the gray men of the mountains, who had followed prince marvel and nerle through the rocky passes. "bring hither the royal dragon," cried the king, "and let him consume these strangers before my very eyes!" the men withdrew, and presently was heard a distant shouting, followed by a low rumbling sound, with groans, snorts, roars and a hissing like steam from the spout of a teakettle. the noise and shouting drew nearer, while the people huddled together like frightened sheep; and then suddenly the doors flew open and the royal dragon advanced to the center of the room. this creature was at once the pride and terror of the kingdom of spor. it was more than thirty feet in length and covered everywhere with large green scales set with diamonds, making the dragon, when it moved, a very glittering spectacle. its eyes were as big as pie-plates, and its mouth--when wide opened--fully as large as a bath-tub. its tail was very long and ended in a golden ball, such as you see on the top of flagstaffs. its legs, which were as thick as those of an elephant, had scales which were set with rubies and emeralds. it had two monstrous, big ears and two horns of carved ivory, and its teeth were also carved into various fantastic shapes--such as castles, horses' heads, chinamen and griffins--so that if any of them broke it would make an excellent umbrella handle. the royal dragon of spor came crawling into the throne-room rather clumsily, groaning and moaning with every step and waving its ears like two blankets flying from a clothesline. the king looked on it and frowned. "why are you not breathing fire and brimstone?" he demanded, angrily. "why, i was caught out in a gale the other night," returned the dragon, rubbing the back of its ear with its left front paw, as it paused and looked at the king, "and the wind put out my fire." "then why didn't you light it again?" asked terribus, turning on the keepers. "we--we were out of matches, your majesty!" stammered the trembling gray men. "so--ho!" yelled the king, and was about to order the keepers beheaded; but just then nerle pulled out his match-box, lit one of the matches, and held it in front of the dragon's mouth. instantly the creature's breath caught fire; and it began to breathe flames a yard in length. "that's better," sighed the dragon, contentedly. "i hope your majesty is now satisfied." "no,--i am not satisfied!" declared king terribus. "why do you not lash your tail?" "ah, i can't do that!" replied the dragon. "it's all stiffened up with rheumatism from the dampness of my cave. it hurts too much to lash it." "well, then, gnash your teeth!" commanded the king. "tut--tut!" answered the dragon, mildly; "i can't do that, either; for since you had them so beautifully carved it makes my teeth ache to gnash them." "well, then, what are you good for?" cried the king, in a fury. "don't i look awful? am i not terrible to gaze on?" inquired the dragon, proudly, as it breathed out red and yellow flames and made them curl in circles around its horns. "i guess there's no need for me to suggest terror to any one that happens to see me," it added, winking one of the pie-plate eyes at king terribus. the king looked at the monster critically, and it really seemed to him that it was a frightful thing to behold. so he curbed his anger and said, in his ordinary sweet voice: "i have called you here to destroy these two strangers." "how?" asked the dragon, looking upon prince marvel and nerle with interest. "i am not particular," answered the king. "you may consume them with your fiery breath, or smash them with your tail, or grind them to atoms between your teeth, or tear them to pieces with your claws. only, do hurry up and get it over with!" "hm-m-m!" said the dragon, thoughtfully, as if it didn't relish the job; "this one isn't saint george, is it?" "no, no!" exclaimed the king, irritably; "it's prince marvel. do get to work as soon as possible." "prince marvel--prince marvel," repeated the dragon. "why, there isn't a prince in the whole world named marvel! i'm pretty well posted on the history of royal families, you know. i'm afraid he's saint george in disguise." "isn't your name prince marvel?" inquired the king, turning to the boyish-looking stranger. "it is," answered marvel. "well, it's mighty strange i've never heard of you," persisted the dragon. "but tell me, please, how would you prefer to be killed?" "oh, i'm not going to be killed at all," replied the prince, laughing. "do you hear that, terribus?" asked the dragon, turning to the king; "he says he isn't going to be killed." "but i say he is!" cried terribus. "i have decreed his death." "but do you suppose i'm going to kill a man against his will?" inquired the dragon, in a reproachful voice; "and such a small man, too! do you take me for a common assassin--or a murderer?" "do you intend to obey my orders?" roared the king. "no, i don't; and that's flat!" returned the dragon, sharply. "it's time for me to take my cough medicine; so if you've nothing more to say i'll go back to my cave." "go, go, go!" shrieked the king, stamping his foot in passion. "you've outlived your usefulness! you're a coward! you're a traitor! you're a--a--a--" "i'm a dragon and a gentleman!" answered the monster, proudly, as the king paused for lack of a word; "and i believe i know what's proper for dragons to do and what isn't. i've learned wisdom from my father, who got into trouble with saint george, and if i fought with this person who calls himself prince marvel, i'd deserve to be a victim of your fool-killer. oh, i know my business, king terribus; and if you knew yours, you'd get rid of this pretended prince as soon as possible!" with this speech he winked at prince marvel, turned soberly around and crawled from the room. one of the keepers got too near and the dragon's breath set fire to his robe, the flames being with difficulty extinguished; and the gold ball on the end of the dragon's tail struck a giant upon his shins and made him dance and howl in pain. but, aside from these slight accidents, the monster managed to leave the throne-room without undue confusion, and every one, including the king, seemed glad to be rid of him. . prince marvel wins his fight when the door had closed on the royal dragon, king terribus turned again to prince marvel, while his crimson face glowed with embarrassment, and his front eye rolled with baffled rage as he thought how vain had been all his efforts to kill this impudent invader of his domains. but his powers were by no means exhausted. he was a mighty king--the mightiest of all in the enchanted island, he believed--and ways to destroy his enemies were numerous. "send for a hundred of my gray men!" he suddenly cried; and a courtier ran at once to summon them. the gray men would obey his orders without question, he well knew. they were silent, stubborn, quick, and faithful to their king. terribus had but to command and his will would be obeyed. they entered the room so quietly that nerle never knew they were there until he turned and found the hundred gray ones standing close together in the center of the hall. then prince marvel came to nerle's side and whispered something in his ear. "will you obey my orders?" they heard the king ask. and the gray men, with their eyes fixed upon their master, nodded all their hundred heads and put their hands upon the dangerous three-tined forks that were stuck in every one of the hundred belts. prince marvel handed one end of a coiled rope to nerle, and then they both sprang forward and ran around the spot where the hundred gray men stood huddled together. then they were pulled closer together than before--closer, and still closer--for the prince and nerle had surrounded them with the rope and were tying the two ends together in a tight knot. the rope cut into the waists of those on the outside, and they pressed inward against their fellows until there was scarcely space to stick a knife-blade between any two of them. when the prince had tied the rope firmly king terribus, who had been looking on amazed, saw that his hundred gray men were fastened together like a bundle of kindling-wood, and were unable to stir hand or foot. and, while he still gazed open-mouthed at the strange sight, prince marvel tilted the bundle of men up on its edge and rolled it out of the door. it went rolling swiftly through the courtyard and bounded down the castle steps, where the rope broke and the men fell sprawling in all directions on the marble walk. king terribus sighed, for such treatment of his gray men, whom he dearly loved, made him very unhappy. but more than ever was he resolved to kill these impudent strangers, who, in the very heart of his kingdom where thousands bowed to his will, dared openly defy his power. so, after a moment's thought, terribus beckoned to a dwarf who, robed in gay and glittering apparel, stood near his throne. "summon the royal dart slingers!" he said, with a scowl. the little man bowed and hastened away, to return presently with twenty curiously crooked dwarfs, each armed with a sling and a quiver full of slender, sharp-pointed darts. "slay me these strangers!" exclaimed the king, in his gruffest voice. now nerle, when he beheld these terrible dart slingers, of whom he had heard many tales in his boyhood, began to shiver and shake with fright, so that his teeth rattled one upon another. and he reflected: "soon shall i be content, for these darts will doubtless pierce every part of my body." the dwarfs formed a line at one side of the gloomy throne-room, and prince marvel, who had been earnestly regarding them, caught nerle by the arm and led him to the opposite wall. "stand close behind me and you will be safe," he whispered to his esquire. then each dwarf fixed a dart in his sling, and at a word from their chief they all drew back their arms and launched a shower of the sharp missiles at the strangers. swift and true they sped, each dart intended to pierce the body of the youthful knight who stood so calm before them. prince marvel had raised his right arm, and in his hand was a small leather sack, with a wide mouth. as the darts flew near him a strange thing happened: they each and all swerved from their true course and fell rattling into the leathern sack, to the wonder of the royal slingers and the dismay of king terribus himself. "again!" screamed the king, his usually mild voice hoarse with anger. so again the dwarfs cast their darts, and again the leathern sack caught them every one. another flight followed, and yet another, till the magic sack was packed full of the darts and not a dwarf had one remaining in his quiver. amid the awed silence of the beholders of this feat the merry laughter of prince marvel rang loud and clear; for the sight of the puzzled and terrified faces about him was very comical. plucking a dart from the sack he raised his arm and cried: "now it is my turn. you shall have back your darts!" "hold!" shouted the king, in great fear. "do not, i beg you, slay my faithful servants." and with a wave of his hand he dismissed the dwarfs, who were glad to rush from the room and escape. nerle wiped the tears from his eyes, for he was sorely disappointed at having again escaped all pain and discomfort; but prince marvel seated himself quietly upon a stool and looked at the scowling face of king terribus with real amusement. the monarch of spor had never before been so foiled and scorned by any living creature. defeated and humbled before his own people, he bowed his crimson head on his hands and sullenly regarded his foe with his top eye. then it was that the idea came to him that no ordinary mortal could have thwarted him so easily, and he began to fear he was dealing--perhaps unawares--with some great magician or sorcerer. that a fairy should have assumed a mortal form he never once considered, for such a thing was until then unheard of in the enchanted island of yew. but with the knowledge that he had met his master, whoever he might prove to be, and that further attempts upon the stranger's life might lead to his own undoing, king terribus decided to adopt a new line of conduct, hoping to accomplish by stratagem what he could not do by force. to be sure, there remained his regiment of giants, the pride of his kingdom; but terribus dreaded to meet with another defeat; and he was not at all sure, after what had happened, that the giants would succeed in conquering or destroying the strangers. "after all," he thought, "my only object in killing them was to prevent their carrying news of my monstrous appearance to the outside world; so if i can but manage to keep them forever in my kingdom it will answer my purpose equally well." as the result of this thought he presently raised his head and spoke to prince marvel in a quiet and even cheerful voice. "enough of these rude and boisterous games," said he, with a smile that showed his white teeth in a repulsive manner. "they may have seemed to my people an ill welcome to my good friend, prince marvel; yet they were only designed to show the powers of the mighty magician who has become my guest. nay, do not deny it, prince; from the first i guessed your secret, and to prove myself right i called my servants to oppose you, being sure they could not do you an injury. but no more of such fooling,--and pray forgive my merry game at your expense. henceforth we shall be friends, and you are heartily welcome to the best my kingdom affords." with this speech terribus stepped down from his throne and approached prince marvel with outstretched hand. the prince was not at all deceived, but he was pleased to see how cunningly the king excused his attempts to kill him. so he laughed and touched the hand terribus extended, for this fairy prince seemed to have no anger against any mortal who ventured to oppose him. the strangers were now conducted, with every mark of respect, to a beautiful suite of apartments in the castle, wherein were soft beds with velvet spreads, marble baths with perfumed waters, and a variety of silken and brocaded costumes from which they might select a change of raiment. no sooner had they bathed and adorned themselves fittingly than they were summoned to the king's banquet hall, being escorted thither by twelve young maidens bearing torches with lavender-colored flames. the night had fallen upon the mountains outside, but the great banquet hall was brilliant with the glow of a thousand candles, and seated at the head of the long table was king terribus. yet here, as in the throne-room, the ruler of spor was dressed in simplest garments, and his seat was a rough block of stone. all about him were lords and ladies in gorgeous array; the walls were hung with rare embroideries; the table was weighted with gold platters and richly carved goblets filled with sweet nectars. but the king himself, with his horrid, ugly head, was like a great blot on a fair parchment, and even prince marvel could not repress a shudder as he gazed upon him. terribus placed his guest upon his right hand and loaded him with honors. nerle stood behind the prince's chair and served him faithfully, as an esquire should. but the other servants treated nerle with much deference, noting in him an air of breeding that marked him the unusual servant of an unusual master. indeed, most curious were the looks cast on these marvelous men who had calmly walked into the castle of mighty terribus and successfully defied his anger; for in spite of his youthful appearance and smiling face every attendant at the banquet feared prince marvel even more than they feared their own fierce king. . the cunning of king terribus the days that followed were pleasant ones for prince marvel and nerle, who were treated as honored guests by both the king and his courtiers. but the prince seemed to be the favorite, for at all games of skill and trials at arms he was invariably the victor, while in the evenings, when the grand ball-room was lighted up and the musicians played sweet music, none was so graceful in the dance as the fairy prince. nerle soon tired of the games and dancing, for he had been accustomed to them at his father's castle; and moreover he was shy in the society of ladies; so before many weeks had passed he began to mope and show a discontented face. one day the prince noticed his esquire's dismal expression of countenance, and asked the cause of it. "why," said nerle, "here i have left my home to seek worries and troubles, and have found but the same humdrum life that existed at my father's castle. here our days are made smooth and pleasant, and there is no excitement or grief, whatever. you have become a carpet-knight, prince marvel, and think more of bright eyes than of daring deeds. so, if you will release me from your service i will seek further adventures." "nay," returned the prince, "we will go together; for i, too, am tired of this life of pleasure." so next morning marvel sought the presence of king terribus and said: "i have come to bid your majesty adieu, for my esquire and i are about to leave your dominions." at first the king laughed, and his long nose began to sway from side to side. then, seeing the prince was in earnest, his majesty frowned and grew disturbed. finally he said: "i must implore you to remain my guests a short time longer. no one has ever before visited me in my mountain home, and i do not wish to lose the pleasure of your society so soon." "nevertheless, we must go," answered the prince, briefly. "are you not contented?" asked terribus. "ask whatever you may desire, and it shall be granted you." "we desire adventures amid new scenes," said marvel, "and these you can not give us except by permission to depart." seeing his guest was obstinate the king ceased further argument and said: "very well; go if you wish. but i shall hope to see you return to us this evening." the prince paid no heed to this peculiar speech, but left the hall and hurried to the courtyard of the castle, where nerle was holding the horses in readiness for their journey. standing around were many rows and files of the gray men, and when they reached the marble roadway they found it lined with motionless forms of the huge giants. but no one interfered with them in any way, although both prince marvel and nerle knew that every eye followed them as they rode forward. curiously enough, they had both forgotten from what direction they had approached the castle; for, whereas they had at that time noticed but one marble roadway leading to the entrance, they now saw that there were several of these, each one connecting with a path through the mountains. "it really doesn't matter which way we go, so long as we get away from the kingdom of spor," said prince marvel; so he selected a path by chance, and soon they were riding through a mountain pass. the pleased, expectant look on nerle's face had gradually turned to one of gloom. "i hoped we should have a fight to get away," he said, sadly; "and in that case i might have suffered considerable injury and pain. but no one has injured us in any way, and perhaps king terribus is really glad to be rid of us." "with good reason, too, if such is the case," laughed marvel; "for, mark you, nerle, the king has discovered we are more powerful than he is, and had he continued to oppose us, we might have destroyed his entire army." on they rode through the rough hill paths, winding this way and that, until they lost all sense of the direction in which they were going. "never mind," said the prince; "so long as we get farther and farther away from the ugly terribus i shall be satisfied." "perhaps we are getting into more serious danger than ever," answered nerle, brightening; "one of the giants told me the other day that near the foot of these mountains is the kingdom of the high ki of twi." "who is the high ki of twi?" asked prince marvel. "no one knows," answered nerle. "and what is the kingdom of twi like?" "no one knows that," answered nerle. "then," returned the prince, with a smile, "if by chance we visit the place we shall know more than any one else." at noon they ate luncheon by the wayside, nerle having filled his pouch by stealth at the breakfast table. there were great fragments of rock lying all about them, and the sun beat down so fiercely that the heat reflected from the rocks was hard to bear. so the travelers did not linger over their meal, but remounted and rode away as soon as possible. when the sun began to get lower in the sky the rocks beside the path threw the riders into shadow, so that their journey became more pleasant. they rode along, paying little attention to the way, but talking and laughing merrily together, until it began to grow dark. "does this path never end?" asked prince marvel, suddenly. "we ought to reach some place where men dwell before long, else we shall be obliged to spend the night among these rocks." "and then perhaps the wolves will attack us," said nerle, cheerfully, "and tear us into pieces with their sharp teeth and claws." but even as he spoke they rode around a turn in the path and saw a sight that made them pause in astonishment. for just before them rose the castle of king terribus, and along both sides of the marble walk leading up to it were ranged the lines of giants, exactly as they had stood in the morning. nerle turned around in his saddle. sure enough, there were the gray men in the rear--stepping from behind every boulder and completely filling the rocky pathway. "well, what shall we do?" asked the esquire; "fight?" "no, indeed!" returned prince marvel, laughing at his friend's eager face. "it appears the path we chose winds around in a circle, and so has brought us back to our starting-point. so we must make the best of a bad blunder and spend another night with our ugly friend king terribus." they rode forward through the rows of giants to the castle, where the ever-courteous servants took their horses and escorted them to their former handsome apartments with every mark of respect. no one seemed in the least surprised at their speedy return, and this fact at first puzzled nerle, and then made him suspicious. after bathing and dusting their clothing they descended to the banquet hall, where king terribus sat upon his gray stone throne and welcomed them with quiet courtesy. the sight of the king's crimson skin and deformed face sent a thrill of repugnance through prince marvel, and under the impulse of a sudden thought he extended his hand toward terribus and whispered a magic word which was unheard by any around him. nerle did not notice the prince's swift gesture nor the whispered word; but he was staring straight at terribus at the time, and he saw with surprise the eye on the top of the king's head move down toward his forehead, and the eye in the center of his forehead slide slightly toward the left, and the elephant-like nose shrink and shorten at the same time. also it seemed to him that the king's skin was not so crimson in color as before, and that a thin growth of hair had covered his head. however, no one else appeared to notice any change--least of all terribus--so nerle seated himself at the table and began to eat. "it was very kind of you to return so soon to my poor castle," said the king to prince marvel, in his sweet voice. "we could not help it," laughed the prince, in reply; "for the road wound right and left until we knew not which way we traveled; and then it finally circled around again to your castle. but to-morrow we shall seek a new path and bid you farewell forever." "still," remarked the king, gravely, "should you again miss your way, i shall be glad to welcome your return." the prince bowed politely by way of reply, and turned to address the little maiden he had once saved from death by poison. and so in feasting, dancing and laughter the evening passed pleasantly enough to the prince, and it was late when he called nerle to attend him to their apartment. . the gift of beauty the following morning marvel and nerle once more set out to leave the kingdom of spor and its ugly king. they selected another pathway leading from the castle and traveled all day, coming at nightfall into view of the place whence they had started, with its solemn rows of giants and gray men standing ready to receive them. this repetition of their former experience somewhat annoyed the prince, while nerle's usually despondent face wore a smile. "i see trouble ahead," murmured the esquire, almost cheerfully. "since the king can not conquer us by force he intends to do it by sorcery." marvel did not reply, but greeted the king quietly, while terribus welcomed their return as calmly as if he well knew they could not escape him. that evening the prince made another pass toward the king with his hand and muttered again the magic word. nerle was watching, and saw the upper eye of terribus glide still farther down his forehead and the other eye move again toward the left. the swaying nose shrank to a few inches in length, and the skin that had once been so brilliantly crimson turned to a dull red color. this time the courtiers and ladies in waiting also noticed the change in the king's features, but were afraid to speak of it, as any reference to their monarch's personal appearance was by law punishable by death. terribus saw the startled looks directed upon him, and raised his hand to feel of his nose and eyes; but thinking that if any change in his appearance had taken place, he must be uglier than before, he only frowned and turned away his head. the next day the king's guests made a third attempt to leave his dominions, but met with no better success than before, for a long and tedious ride only brought them back to their starting-place in the evening. this time prince marvel was really angry, and striding into the king's presence he reproached him bitterly, saying: "why do you prevent us from leaving your kingdom? we have not injured you in any way." "you have seen me," returned terribus, calmly, "and i do not intend you shall go back to the world and tell people how ugly i am." the prince looked at him, and could not repress a smile. the two eyes of the king, having been twice removed from their first position, were now both in his forehead, instead of below it, and one was much higher than the other. and the nose, although small when compared to what it had been, still resembled an elephant's trunk. other changes had been made for the better, but terribus was still exceedingly repulsive to look upon. seeing the prince look at him and smile, the king flew into a fury of anger and declared that the strangers should never, while they lived, be permitted to leave his castle again. prince marvel became thoughtful at this, reflecting that the king's enmity all arose from his sensitiveness about his ugly appearance, and this filled the youthful knight with pity rather than resentment. when they had all assembled at the evening banquet the prince, for a third time, made a mystic pass at the king and whispered a magic word. and behold! this time the charm was complete. for the two front eyes of terribus fell into their proper places, his nose became straight and well formed, and his skin took on a natural, healthy color. moreover, he now had a fine head of soft brown hair, with eyebrows and eyelashes to match, and his head was shapely and in proportion to his body. as for the eye that had formerly been in the back of his head, it had disappeared completely. so amazed were the subjects of the transformed king--who was now quite handsome to look upon--that they began to murmur together excitedly, and something in the new sensations he experienced gave to the king's face likewise an expression of surprise. knowing from their pleased looks that he must have improved in appearance, he found courage to raise his hand to his nose, and found it well formed. then he touched his eyes, and realized they were looking straight out from his face, like those of other people. for some moments after making these discoveries the king remained motionless, a smile of joy gradually spreading over his features. then he said, aloud: "what has happened? why do you all look so startled?" "your majesty is no longer ugly," replied marvel, laughingly; "so that when nerle and i leave your kingdom we can proclaim nothing less than praise of your dignified and handsome appearance." "is my face indeed pleasing?" demanded the king, eagerly. "it is!" cried the assembled courtiers and ladies, as with one voice. "bring me a mirror!" said the king. "i shall look at my reflection for the first time in many years." the mirror being brought king terribus regarded himself for a long time with pleased astonishment; and then, his sensitive nature being overcome by the shock of his good fortune, he burst into a flood of tears and rushed from the room. the courtiers and ladies now bestowed many grateful thanks upon prince marvel for his kind deed; for they realized that thereafter their lives would be safer from the king's anger and much pleasanter in every way. "terribus is not bad by nature," said one; "but he brooded upon his ugliness so much that the least thing served to throw him into a violent passion, and our lives were never safe from one day to another." by and by two giants entered the hall and carried away the throne of gray stone where terribus had been accustomed to sit; and other slaves brought a gorgeous throne of gold, studded with precious jewels, which they put in its place. and after a time the king himself returned to the room, his simple gray gown replaced by flowing robes of purple, with rich embroideries, such as he had not worn for many years. "my people," said he, addressing those present with kindness and dignity, "it seems to me fitting that a handsome king should be handsomely attired, and an ugly one clothed simply. for years i have been so terrible in feature that i dared not even look at my own image in a mirror. but now, thanks to the gracious magic of my guest, i have become like other men, and hereafter you will find my rule as kind as it was formerly cruel. to-night, in honor of this joyous occasion, we shall feast and make merry, and it is my royal command that you all do honor and reverence to the illustrious prince marvel!" a loud shout of approval greeted this speech, and the evening was merry indeed. terribus joined freely in the revelry, laughing as gaily as the lightest-hearted damsel present. it was nearly morning before they all retired, and as they sought their beds nerle asked the prince in a voice that sounded like an ill-natured growl: "why did you give the king beauty, after his treatment of us?" marvel looked at the reproachful face of his esquire and smiled. "when you are older," said he, "you will find that often there are many ways to accomplish a single purpose. the king's ugliness was the bar to our leaving his country, for he feared our gossip. so the easiest way for us to compass our escape was to take away his reason for detaining us. thus i conquered the king in my own way, and at the same time gained his gratitude and friendship." "will he allow us to depart in the morning?" inquired nerle. "i think so," said marvel. it was late when they rose from their slumbers; but, having breakfasted, the prince's first act was to seek the king. "we wish to leave your kingdom," said he. "will you let us go?" terribus grasped the hand of his guest and pressed it with fervor, while tears of gratitude stood in his eyes. "i should prefer that you remain with me always, and be my friend," he answered. "but if you choose to leave me i shall not interfere in any way with your wishes." prince marvel looked at him thoughtfully, and then said: "my time on this island is short. in a few months prince marvel will have passed out of the knowledge of men, and his name will be forgotten. before then i hope to visit the kingdoms of dawna and auriel and plenta; so i must not delay, but beg you will permit me to depart at once." "very well," answered terribus. "come with me, and i shall show you the way." he led the prince and nerle to a high wall of rock, and placing his hand upon its rough surface, touched a hidden spring. instantly an immense block of stone began to swing backward, disclosing a passage large enough for a man on horseback to ride through. "this is the one road that leads out of my kingdom," said terribus. "the others all begin and end at the castle. so that unless you know the secret of this passage you could never escape from spor." "but where does this road lead?" asked marvel. "to the kingdom of auriel, which you desire to visit. it is not a straight road, for it winds around the land of twi, so it will carry you a little out of your way." "what is the land of twi?" inquired the prince. "a small country hidden from the view of all travelers," said terribus. "no one has ever yet found a way to enter the land of twi; yet there is a rumor that it is ruled by a mighty personage called the high ki." "and does the rumor state what the high ki of twi is like?" "no, indeed," returned the king, smiling, "so it will do you no good to be curious. and now farewell, and may good luck attend you. yet bear in mind the fact that king terribus of spor owes you a mighty debt of gratitude; and if you ever need my services, you have but to call on me, and i shall gladly come to your assistance." "i thank you," said marvel, "but there is small chance of my needing help. farewell, and may your future life be pleasant and happy!" with this he sprang to the saddle of his prancing charger and, followed by nerle, rode slowly through the stone arch. the courtiers and ladies had flocked from the palace to witness their departure, and the giants and dwarfs and gray men were drawn up in long lines to speed the king's guests. so it was a brilliant sight that marvel and nerle looked back on; but once they were clear of the arch, the great stone rolled back into its place, shutting them out completely from the kingdom of spor, with its turreted castle and transformed king. . the hidden kingdom of twi knowing that at last they were free to roam according to their desire, the travelers rode gaily along the paths, taking but scant heed of their way. "our faces are set toward new adventures," remarked the prince. "let us hope they will prove more pleasant than the last." "to be sure!" responded nerle. "let us hope, at any rate, that we shall suffer more privations and encounter more trouble than we did in that mountainous kingdom of spor." then he added: "for one reason, i regret you are my master." "what is that reason?" asked the prince, turning to smile upon his esquire. "you have a way of overcoming all difficulties without any trouble whatsoever, and that deprives me of any chance of coming to harm while in your company." "cheer up, my boy!" cried marvel. "did i not say there are new adventures before us? we may not come through them so easily as we came through the others." "that is true," replied nerle; "it is always best to hope." and then he inquired: "why do you stop here, in the middle of the path?" "because the path has ended rather suddenly," answered marvel. "here is a thick hedge of prickly briers barring our way." nerle looked over his master's shoulder and saw that a great hedge, high and exceedingly thick, cut off all prospect of their advancing. "this is pleasant," said he; "but i might try to force our way through the hedge. the briers would probably prick me severely, and that would be delightful." "try it!" the prince returned, with twinkling eyes. nerle sprang from his horse to obey, but at the first contact with the briers he uttered a howl of pain and held up his hands, which were bleeding in a dozen places from the wounds of the thorns. "ah, that will content you for a time, i trust," said marvel. "now follow me, and we will ride along beside the hedge until we find an opening. for either it will come to an end or there will prove to be a way through it to the other side." so they rode alongside the hedge for hour after hour; yet it did not end, nor could they espy any way to get through the thickly matted briers. by and by night fell, and they tethered their horses to some shrubs, where there were a few scanty blades of grass for them to crop, and then laid themselves down upon the ground, with bare rocks for pillows, where they managed to sleep soundly until morning. they had brought a supply of food in their pouches, and on this they breakfasted, afterward continuing their journey beside the hedge. at noon prince marvel uttered an exclamation of surprise and stopped his horse. "what is it?" asked nerle. "i have found the handkerchief with which you wiped the blood from your hands yesterday morning, and then carelessly dropped," replied the prince. "this proves that we have made a complete circle around this hedge without finding a way to pass through it." "in that case," said nerle, "we had better leave the hedge and go in another direction." "not so," declared marvel. "the hedge incloses some unknown country, and i am curious to find out what it is." "but there is no opening," remonstrated nerle. "then we must make one. wouldn't you like to enjoy a little more pain?" "thank you," answered nerle, "my hands are still smarting very comfortably from the pricks of yesterday." "therefore i must make the attempt myself," said the prince, and drawing his sword he whispered a queer word to it, and straightway began slashing at the hedge. the brambles fell fast before his blade, and when he had cut a big heap of branches from the hedge nerle dragged them to one side, and the prince began again. it was marvelous how thick the hedge proved. only a magic sword could have done this work and remained sharp, and only a fairy arm could have proved strong enough to hew through the tough wood. but the magic sword and fairy arm were at work, and naught could resist them. after a time the last branches were severed and dragged from the path, and then the travelers rode their horses through the gap into the unknown country beyond. they saw at first glance that it was a land of great beauty; but after that one look both prince marvel and nerle paused and rubbed their eyes, to assure themselves that their vision was not blurred. before them were two trees, exactly alike. and underneath the trees two cows were grazing--each a perfect likeness of the other. at their left were two cottages, with every door and window and chimney the exact counterpart of another. before these houses two little boys were playing, evidently twins, for they not only looked alike and dressed alike, but every motion one made was also made by the other at the same time and in precisely the same way. when one laughed the other laughed, and when one stubbed his toe and fell down, the other did likewise, and then they both sat up and cried lustily at the same time. at this two women--it was impossible to tell one from the other--rushed out of the two houses, caught up the two boys, shook and dusted them in precisely the same way, and led them by their ears back into the houses. again the astonished travelers rubbed their eyes, and then prince marvel looked at nerle and said: "i thought at first that i saw everything double, but there seems to be only one of you." "and of you," answered the boy. "but see! there are two hills ahead of us, and two paths lead from the houses over the hills! how strange it all is!" just then two birds flew by, close together and perfect mates; and the cows raised their heads and "mooed" at the same time; and two men--also twins--came over the two hills along the two paths with two dinner-pails in their hands and entered the two houses. they were met at the doors by the two women, who kissed them exactly at the same time and helped them off with their coats with the same motions, and closed the two doors with two slams at the same instant. nerle laughed. "what sort of country have we got into?" he asked. "let us find out," replied the prince, and riding up to one of the houses he knocked on the door with the hilt of his sword. instantly the doors of both houses flew open, and both men appeared in the doorways. both started back in amazement at sight of the strangers, and both women shrieked and both little boys began to cry. both mothers boxed the children's ears, and both men gasped out: "who--who are you?" their voices were exactly alike, and their words were spoken in unison. prince marvel replied, courteously: "we are two strangers who have strayed into your country. but i do not understand why our appearance should so terrify you." "why--you are singular! there is only half of each of you!" exclaimed the two men, together. "not so," said the prince, trying hard not to laugh in their faces. "we may be single, while you appear to be double; but each of us is perfect, nevertheless." "perfect! and only half of you!" cried the men. and again the two women, who were looking over their husbands' shoulders, screamed at sight of the strangers; and again the two boys, who were clinging to their mothers' dresses in the same positions, began to cry. "we did not know such strange people existed!" said the two men, both staring at the strangers and then wiping the beads of perspiration from their two brows with two faded yellow handkerchiefs. "nor did we!" retorted the prince. "i assure you we are as much surprised as you are." nerle laughed again at this, and to hear only one of the strangers speak and the other only laugh seemed to terrify the double people anew. so prince marvel quickly asked: "please tell us what country this is?" "the land of twi," answered both men, together. "oh! the land of twi. and why is the light here so dim?" continued the prince. "dim?" repeated the men, as if surprised; "why, this is twilight, of course." "of course," said nerle. "i hadn't thought of that. we are in the long hidden land of twi, which all men have heard of, but no man has found before." "and who may you be?" questioned the prince, looking from one man to the other, curiously. "we are twis," they answered. "twice?" "twis--inhabitants of twi." "it's the same thing," laughed nerle. "you see everything twice in this land." "are none of your people single?" asked prince marvel. "single," returned the men, as if perplexed. "we don't understand." "are you all double?--or are some of you just one?" said the prince, who found it difficult to put his question plainly. "what does 'one' mean?" asked the men. "there is no such word as 'one' in our language." "they have no need of such a word," declared nerle. "we are only poor laborers," explained the men. "but over the hills lie the cities of twi, where the ki and the ki-ki dwell, and also the high ki." "ah!" said marvel, "i've heard of your high ki. who is he?" the men shook their heads, together and with the same motion. "we have never seen the glorious high ki," they answered. "the sight of their faces is forbidden. none but the ki and the ki-ki has seen the supreme rulers and high ki." "i'm getting mixed," said nerle. "all this about the ki and the ki-ki and the high ki makes me dizzy. let's go on to the city and explore it." "that is a good suggestion," replied the prince. "good by, my friends," he added, addressing the men. they both bowed, and although they still seemed somewhat frightened they answered him civilly and in the same words, and closed their doors at the same time. so prince marvel and nerle rode up the double path to the hills, and the two cows became frightened and ran away with the same swinging step, keeping an exact space apart. and when they were a safe distance they both stopped, looked over their right shoulders, and "mooed" at the same instant. . the ki and the ki-ki from the tops of the hills the travelers caught their first glimpse of the wonderful cities of twi. two walls surrounded the cities, and in the walls were two gates just alike. within the inclosures stood many houses, but all were built in pairs, from the poorest huts to the most splendid palaces. every street was double, the pavements running side by side. there were two lamp-posts on every corner, and in the dim twilight that existed these lamp-posts were quite necessary. if there were trees or bushes anywhere, they invariably grew in pairs, and if a branch was broken on one it was sure to be broken on the other, and dead leaves fell from both trees at identically the same moment. much of this marvel and nerle learned after they had entered the cities, but the view from the hills showed plainly enough that the "double" plan existed everywhere and in every way in this strange land. they followed the paths down to the gates of the walls, where two pairs of soldiers rushed out and seized their horses by the bridles. these soldiers all seemed to be twins, or at least mates, and each one of each pair was as like the other as are two peas growing in the same pod. if one had a red nose the other's was red in the same degree, and the soldiers that held the bridles of nerle's horse both had their left eyes bruised and blackened, as from a blow of the same force. these soldiers, as they looked upon nerle and the prince, seemed fully as much astonished and certainly more frightened than their prisoners. they were dressed in bright yellow uniforms with green buttons, and the soldiers who had arrested the prince had both torn their left coat-sleeves and had patches of the same shape upon the seats of their trousers. "how dare you stop us, fellows?" asked the prince, sternly. the soldiers holding his horse both turned and looked inquiringly at the soldiers holding nerle's horse; and these turned to look at a double captain who came out of two doors in the wall and walked up to them. "such things were never before heard of!" said the two captains, their startled eyes fixed upon the prisoners. "we must take them to the ki and the ki-ki." "why so?" asked prince marvel. "because," replied the officers, "they are our rulers, under grace of the high ki, and all unusual happenings must be brought to their notice. it is our law, you know--the law of the kingdom of twi." "very well," said marvel, quietly; "take us where you will; but if any harm is intended us you will be made to regret it." "the ki and the ki-ki will decide," returned the captains gravely, their words sounding at the same instant. and then the two pairs of soldiers led the horses through the double streets, the captains marching ahead with drawn swords, and crowds of twin men and twin women coming from the double doors of the double houses to gaze upon the strange sight of men and horses who were not double. presently they came upon a twin palace with twin turrets rising high into the air; and before the twin doors the prisoners dismounted. marvel was escorted through one door and nerle through another, and then they saw each other going down a double hallway to a room with a double entrance. passing through this they found themselves in a large hall with two domes set side by side in the roof. the domes were formed of stained glass, and the walls of the hall were ornamented by pictures in pairs, each pair showing identically the same scenes. this, was, of course, reasonable enough in such a land, where two people would always look at two pictures at the same time and admire them in the same way with the same thoughts. beneath one of the domes stood a double throne, on which sat the ki of twi--a pair of gray-bearded and bald-headed men who were lean and lank and stoop-shouldered. they had small eyes, black and flashing, long hooked noses, great pointed ears, and they were smoking two pipes from which the smoke curled in exactly the same circles and clouds. beneath the other dome sat the ki-ki of twi, also on double thrones, similar to those of the ki. the ki-ki were two young men, and had golden hair combed over their brows and "banged" straight across; and their eyes were blue and mild in expression, and their cheeks pink and soft. the ki-ki were playing softly upon a pair of musical instruments that resembled mandolins, and they were evidently trying to learn a new piece of music, for when one ki-ki struck a false note the other ki-ki struck the same false note at the same time, and the same expression of annoyance came over the two faces at the same moment. when the prisoners entered, the pairs of captains and soldiers bowed low to the two pairs of rulers, and the ki exclaimed--both in the same voice of surprise: "great kika-koo! what have we here?" "most wonderful prisoners, your highnesses," answered the captains. "we found them at your cities' gates and brought them to you at once. they are, as your highnesses will see, each singular, and but half of what he should be." "'tis so!" cried the double ki, in loud voices, and slapping their right thighs with their right palms at the same time. "most remarkable! most remarkable!" "i don't see anything remarkable about it," returned prince marvel, calmly. "it is you, who are not singular, but double, that seem strange and outlandish." "perhaps--perhaps!" said the two old men, thoughtfully. "it is what we are not accustomed to that seems to us remarkable. eh, ki-ki?" they added, turning to the other rulers. the ki-ki, who had not spoken a word but continued to play softly, simply nodded their blond heads carelessly; so the ki looked again at the prisoners and asked: "how did you get here?" "we cut a hole through the prickly hedge," replied prince marvel. "a hole through the hedge! great kika-koo!" cried the gray-bearded ki; "is there, then, anything or any place on the other side of the hedge?" "why, of course! the world is there," returned the prince, laughing. the old men looked puzzled, and glanced sharply from their little black eyes at their prisoners. "we thought nothing existed outside the hedge of twi," they answered, simply. "but your presence here proves we were wrong. eh! ki-ki?" this last was again directed toward the pair of musicians, who continued to play and only nodded quietly, as before. "now that you are here," said the twin ki, stroking their two gray beards with their two left hands in a nervous way, "it must be evident to you that you do not belong here. therefore you must go back through the hedge again and stay on the other side. eh, ki-ki?" the ki-ki still continued playing, but now spoke the first words the prisoners had heard from them. "they must die," said the ki-ki, in soft and agreeable voices. "die!" echoed the twin ki, "die? great kika-koo! and why so?" "because, if there is a world on the other side of the hedge, they would tell on their return all about the land of twi, and others of their kind would come through the hedge from curiosity and annoy us. we can not be annoyed. we are busy." having delivered this speech both the ki-ki went on playing the new tune, as if the matter was settled. "nonsense!" retorted the old ki, angrily. "you are getting more and more bloodthirsty every day, our sweet and gentle ki-ki! but we are the ki--and we say the prisoners shall not die!" "we say they shall!" answered the youthful ki-ki, nodding their two heads at the same time, with a positive motion. "you may be the ki, but we are the ki-ki, and your superior." "not in this case," declared the old men. "where life and death are concerned we have equal powers with you." "and if we disagree?" asked the players, gently. "great kika-koo! if we disagree the high ki must judge between us!" roared the twin ki, excitedly. "quite so," answered the ki-ki. "the strangers shall die." "they shall not die!" stormed the old men, with fierce gestures toward the others, while both pairs of black eyes flashed angrily. "then we disagree, and they must be taken to the high ki," returned the blond musicians, beginning to play another tune. the two ki rose from their thrones, paced two steps to the right and three steps to the left, and then sat down again. "very well!" they said to the captains, who had listened unmoved to the quarrel of the rulers; "keep these half-men safe prisoners until to-morrow morning, and then the ki-ki and we ourselves will conduct them to the mighty high ki." at this command the twin captains bowed again to both pairs of rulers and led prince marvel and nerle from the room. then they were escorted along the streets to the twin houses of the captains, and here the officers paused and scratched their left ears with uncertain gestures. "there being only half of each of you," they said, "we do not know how to lock each of you in double rooms." "oh, let us both occupy the same room," said prince marvel. "we prefer it." "very well," answered the captains; "we must transgress our usual customs in any event, so you may as well be lodged as you wish." so nerle and the prince were thrust into a large and pleasant room of one of the twin houses, the double doors were locked upon them by twin soldiers, and they were left to their own thoughts. . the high ki of twi "tell me, prince, are we awake or asleep?" asked nerle, as soon as they were alone. "there is no question of our being awake," replied the prince, with a laugh. "but what a curious country it is--and what a funny people!" "we can't call them odd or singular," said the esquire, "for everything is even in numbers and double in appearance. it makes me giddy to look at them, and i keep feeling of myself to make sure there is still only one of me." "you are but half a boy!" laughed the prince--"at least so long as you remain in the land of twi." "i'd like to get out of it in double-quick time," answered nerle; "and we should even now be on the other side of the hedge were it not for that wicked pair of ki-ki, who are determined to kill us." "it is strange," said the prince, thoughtfully, "that the fierce-looking old ki should be our friends and the gentle ki-ki our enemies. how little one can tell from appearances what sort of heart beats in a person's body!" before nerle could answer the two doors opened and two pairs of soldiers entered. they drew two small tables before the prince and two before nerle, and then other pairs of twin soldiers came and spread cloths on the tables and set twin platters of meat and bread and fruit on each of the tables. when the meal had been arranged the prisoners saw that there was enough for four people instead of two; and the soldiers realized this also, for they turned puzzled looks first on the tables and then on the prisoners. then they shook all their twin heads gravely and went away, locking the twin doors behind them. "we have one advantage in being singular," said nerle, cheerfully; "and that is we are not likely to starve to death. for we can eat the portions of our missing twins as well as our own." "i should think you would enjoy starving," remarked the prince. "no; i believe i have more exquisite suffering in store for me, since i have met that gentle pair of ki-ki," said nerle. while they were eating the two captains came in and sat down in two chairs. these captains seemed friendly fellows, and after watching the strangers for a while they remarked: "we are glad to see you able to eat so heartily; for to-morrow you will probably die." "that is by no means certain," replied marvel, cutting a piece from one of the twin birds on a platter before him--to the extreme surprise of the captains, who had always before seen both birds carved alike at the same time. "your gray-bearded old ki say we shall not die." "true," answered the captains. "but the ki-ki have declared you shall." "their powers seem to be equal," said nerle, "and we are to be taken before the high ki for judgment." "therein lies your danger," returned the captains, speaking in the same tones and with the same accents on their words. "for it is well known the ki-ki has more influence with the high ki than the ki has." "hold on!" cried nerle; "you are making me dizzy again. i can't keep track of all these kis." "what is the high ki like?" asked prince marvel, who was much interested in the conversation of the captains. but this question the officers seemed unable to answer. they shook their heads slowly and said: "the high ki are not visible to the people of twi. only in cases of the greatest importance are the high ki ever bothered or even approached by the ki and the ki-ki, who are supposed to rule the land according to their own judgment. but if they chance to disagree, then the matter is carried before the high ki, who live in a palace surrounded by high walls, in which there are no gates. only these rulers have ever seen the other side of the walls, or know what the high ki are like." "that is strange," said the prince. "but we, ourselves, it seems, are to see the high ki to-morrow, and whoever they may chance to be, we hope to remain alive after the interview." "that is a vain hope," answered the captains, "for it is well known that the high ki usually decide in favor of the ki-ki, and against the wishes of the old ki." "that is certainly encouraging," said nerle. when the captains had gone and left them to themselves, the esquire confided to his master his expectations in the following speech: "this high ki sounds something terrible and fierce in my ears, and as they are doubtless a pair, they will be twice terrible and fierce. perhaps his royal doublets will torture me most exquisitely before putting me to death, and then i shall feel that i have not lived in vain." they slept in comfortable beds that night, although an empty twin bed stood beside each one they occupied. and in the morning they were served another excellent meal, after which the captains escorted them again to the twin palaces of the ki and the ki-ki. there the two pairs of rulers met them and headed the long procession of soldiers toward the palace of the high ki. first came a band of music, in which many queer sorts of instruments were played in pairs by twin musicians; and it was amusing to nerle to see the twin drummers roll their twin drums exactly at the same time and the twin trumpets peal out twin notes. after the band marched the double ki-ki and the double ki, their four bodies side by side in a straight line. the ki-ki had left their musical instruments in the palace, and now wore yellow gloves with green stitching down the backs and swung gold-headed canes jauntily as they walked. the ki stooped their aged shoulders and shuffled along with their hands in their pockets, and only once did they speak, and that was to roar "great kika-koo!" when the ki-ki jabbed their canes down on the ki's toes. following the ki-ki and the ki came the prince and nerle, escorted by the twin captains, and then there were files of twin soldiers bringing up the rear. crowds of twin people, with many twin children amongst them, turned out to watch the unusual display, and many pairs of twin dogs barked together in unison and snapped at the heels of the marching twin soldiers. by and by they reached the great wall surrounding the high ki's palace, and, sure enough, there was never a gate in the wall by which any might enter. but when the ki and the ki-ki had blown a shrill signal upon two pairs of whistles, they all beheld two flights of silver steps begin to descend from the top of the wall, and these came nearer and nearer the ground until at last they rested at the feet of the ki. then the old men began ascending the steps carefully and slowly, and the captains motioned to the prisoners to follow. so prince marvel followed one of the ki up the steps and nerle the other ki, while the two ki-ki came behind them so they could not escape. so to the top of the wall they climbed, where a pair of twin servants in yellow and green--which seemed to be the royal colors--welcomed them and drew up the pair of silver steps, afterward letting them down on the other side of the wall, side by side. they descended in the same order as they had mounted to the top of the wall, and now prince marvel and nerle found themselves in a most beautiful garden, filled with twin beds of twin flowers, with many pairs of rare shrubs. also, there were several double statuettes on pedestals, and double fountains sending exactly the same sprays of water the same distance into the air. double walks ran in every direction through the garden, and in the center of the inclosure stood a magnificent twin palace, built of blocks of white marble exquisitely carved. the ki and the ki-ki at once led their prisoners toward the palace and entered at its large arched double doors, where several pairs of servants met them. these servants, they found, were all dumb, so that should they escape from the palace walls they could tell no tales of the high ki. the prisoners now proceeded through several pairs of halls, winding this way and that, and at last came to a pair of golden double doors leading into the throne-room of the mighty high ki. here they all paused, and the ki-ki both turned to the prince and nerle and said: "you are the only persons, excepting ourselves and the palace servants, who have ever been permitted to see the high ki of twi. as you are about to die, that does not matter; but should you by any chance be permitted to live, you must never breathe a word of what you are about to see, under penalty of a sure and horrible death." the prisoners made no reply to this speech, and, after the two ki-ki had given them another mild look from their gentle blue eyes, these officials clapped their twin hands together and the doors of gold flew open. a perfect silence greeted them, during which the double ki and the double ki-ki bent their four bodies low and advanced into the throne-room, followed by prince marvel and nerle. in the center of the room stood two thrones of dainty filigree work in solid gold, and over them were canopies of yellow velvet, the folds of which were caught up and draped with bands of green ribbon. and on the thrones were seated two of the sweetest and fairest little maidens that mortal man had ever beheld. their lovely hair was fine as a spider's web; their eyes were kind and smiling, their cheeks soft and dimpled, their mouths shapely as a cupid's bow and tinted like the petals of a rose. upon their heads were set two crowns of fine spun gold, worked into fantastic shapes and set with glittering gems. their robes were soft silks of pale yellow, with strings of sparkling emeralds for ornament. anything so lovely and fascinating as these little maids, who were precisely alike in every particular, neither prince marvel nor nerle had ever dreamed could exist. they stood for a time spellbound and filled with admiration, while the two pairs of rulers bowed again and again before the dainty and lovable persons of their high ki. but it was hard for nerle to keep quiet for long, and presently he exclaimed, in a voice loud enough to be heard by all present: "by the great kika-koo of our friends the ki, these darling high ki of twi are sweet enough to be kissed!" . the rebellion of the high ki the bold speech of nerle's made the two damsels laugh at the same time, and their sweet laughter sounded like rippling strains of harmonious music. but the two ki-ki frowned angrily, and the two ki looked at the boy in surprise, as if wondering at his temerity. "who are these strangers?" asked the pretty high ki, speaking together as all the twins of twi did; "and why are they not mates, but only half of each other?" "these questions, your supreme highnesses," said the blond-haired pair of ki-ki, "we are unable to answer." "perhaps, then, the strangers can answer themselves," said the little maids, smiling first upon the ki-ki and then upon the prisoners. prince marvel bowed. "i am from the great outside world," said he, "and my name is prince marvel. until now i have never seen people that live in pairs, and speak in unison, and act in the same way and think the same thoughts. my world is much bigger than your world, and in it every person is proud to think and act for himself. you say i am only a 'half,' but that is not so. i am perfect, without a counterpart; my friend nerle is perfect without a counterpart, and it is yourselves who are halved. for in the land of twi no person is complete or perfect without its other half, and it seems to take two of you to make one man--or one maid." the sweet faces of the twin high ki grew thoughtful at this speech, and they said: "indeed, it may be you are right. but it is our custom in twi to do everything double and to live double." then, turning to the ki, they asked: "why have you brought these strangers here?" "to ask your supreme highnesses to permit them to return again to the world from whence they came," answered the ki, both of them regarding their supreme rulers earnestly. but here the ki-ki spoke up quickly in their mild voices, saying: "that is not our idea, your highnesses. we, the ki-ki of twi, think it best the strangers should be put to death. and we pray your supreme highnesses to favor our wish." the two little maids looked from the ki to the ki-ki, and frowned and pouted their rosy lips in evident perplexity. but nerle whispered to prince marvel: "it's all up with us! i know very well why her royal doublets always favors the ki-ki. it's because they are young and handsome, while the ki are old and ugly. both of her will condemn us to death--you see if she don't!" this seemed somewhat mixed, but nerle was in earnest, and prince marvel, who had not forgotten his fairy lore, began to weave a silent spell over the head of the nearest twin high ki. but just as it was completed, and before he had time to work the spell on the other twin, the ki-ki grew impatient, and exclaimed: "we beg your highnesses not to keep us waiting. let us have your decision at once!" and the twin maidens raised their fair heads and replied. but the reply was of such a nature that both the old ki and both the young ki-ki staggered backward in amazement. for one of the twin high ki said: "they shall die!" and the other twin high ki said at the same instant: "they shall not die!" had twin thunderbolts fallen through the twin roofs of the twin palaces and struck the twin ki and the twin ki-ki upon their twin heads it would have created no more stupendous a sensation than did this remark. never before had any two halves of a twin of the land of twi thought differently or spoken differently. indeed, it startled the two maidens themselves as much as it did their hearers, for each one turned her head toward the other and, for the first time in her life, looked into the other's face! this act was fully as strange as their speech, and a sudden horrible thought came into the startled heads of the twin ki and the twin ki-ki: the high ki of twi was no longer one, but two. and these two were thinking and acting each independent of the other! it is no wonder the shock rendered them speechless for a time, and they stood swaying their four bodies, with their eight eyes bulging out like those of fishes and their four mouths wide open, as if the two pairs had become one quartet. the faces of the two maids flushed as they gazed upon each other. "how dare you contradict me?" asked one. "how dare you contradict me?" demanded the other, and not only were these questions asked separately, but the accent on the words was different. and their twin minds seemed to get farther apart every moment. "i'm the high ki of twi!" said one. "you're not! i'm the high ki!" retorted the other. "the strangers shall die!" snapped one. "they shall live!" cried the other. "my will is supreme." "it's not! my will is supreme," returned the other twin. the bald heads of the ancient ki were bobbing in amazement, first to one maid and then toward the other. the blond hairs of the two ki-ki were standing almost on end, and their eyes stared straight before them as if stupefied with astonishment. nerle was bellowing with rude laughter and holding his sides to keep from getting a stitch in them, while prince marvel stood quietly attentive and smiling with genuine amusement. for he alone understood what had happened to separate the twin high ki. the girls did not seem to know how to act under their altered conditions. after a time one of them said: "we will leave our dispute to be settled by the ki and the ki-ki." "very well," agreed the other. "then i say your half is right," declared the ki-ki, both their right forefingers pointing to the maiden who had condemned the strangers to death. "and i decide that your half is right," exclaimed the ki, both their trembling forefingers pointing to the maiden who had said the strangers should live. "well?" said one girl. "well?" said the other. "the powers of the ki and the ki-ki are equal," said the first. "we are no nearer a settlement of our dispute than we were before." "my dear young ladies," said prince marvel, politely, "i beg you will take time to think the matter over, and see if you can not come to an agreement. we are in no hurry." "very well," decided the twins, speaking both together this time. "we command you all to remain in the palace until we have settled our own strange dispute. the servants will care for you, and when we are ready to announce our decision we shall again send for you." every one bowed at this command and retired from the room; but nerle looked over his shoulder as he went through the doorway, and saw that the two high ki had turned in their seats and were facing each other, and that both their faces wore angry and determined expressions. . the separation of the high ki for nearly a week prince marvel and nerle remained confined to the palace and gardens of the high ki. together with the twin ki, who seemed to be friendly to them, they occupied one of the twin palaces, while the ki-ki secluded themselves in the other. the pretty high ki maidens they did not see at all, nor did they know what part of the palaces they occupied, not being permitted to wander away from the rooms allotted to them, except to walk in the garden. there was no way for them to escape, had they felt inclined to, for the silver steps had disappeared. from the garden walks they sometimes caught sight of the solemn heads of the handsome ki-ki looking at them through the twin windows of the other palace, and although the expression of their faces was always mild and gentle, nerle and marvel well knew the ki-ki were only waiting in the hope of having them killed. "are you nervous about the decision of the pretty high ki?" asked nerle one day. "no, indeed," said the prince, laughing; "for i do not expect them to kill me, in any event." "if i felt as sure of my safety," returned the boy, "it would destroy all my pleasure. these are really happy days for me. every moment i expect to see the executioner arrive with his ax." "the executioner is double," said the two old ki, breaking into the conversation. "you should say you expect to see the executioners arrive with their axes." "then how will they cut off my head with two axes? for i suppose they will both chop at the same time, and i have but one neck." "wait and see," answered the two ki, sighing deeply and rubbing their red noses thoughtfully. "oh, i'll wait," answered the boy; "but as for seeing them cut off my head, i refuse; for i intend to shut my eyes." so they sat in their rooms or walked in the gardens, yawning and waiting, until one day, just as the two clocks on the wall were striking twenty-four o'clock, the door opened and to their surprise one of the high ki twins walked in upon them. she was as sweet and fair to look upon as when she occupied one of the beautiful thrones, but at first no one could tell which of the high ki she was--their friend or their enemy. even the ki were puzzled and anxious, until the girl said: "my other half and i have completely separated, for we have agreed to disagree for all time. and she has gone to ask the ki-ki to assist her, for war is declared between us. and hereafter her color is to be the green and mine the yellow, and we intend to fight until one of us conquers and overthrows the other." this announcement was interesting to marvel and nerle, but greatly shocked the aged ki, who asked: "what is to become of our kingdom? half of a high ki can not rule it. it is against the law." "i will make my own laws when i have won the fight," returned the girl, with a lovely smile; "so do not let that bother you. and now tell me, will you help me to fight my battles?" "willingly!" exclaimed nerle and prince marvel, almost as if they had been twins of twi. and the ki rubbed their bald heads a moment, and then sneezed together and wiped their eyes on faded yellow handkerchiefs, and finally declared they would "stick to her supreme highness through thick and thin!" "then go over the wall to the cities, at once, and get together all the soldiers to fight for me and my cause," commanded the girl. the twin ki at once left the room, and the high ki sat down and began to ask questions of prince marvel and nerle about the big outside world from whence they came. nerle was rather shy and bashful before the dainty little maiden, whose yellow robe contrasted delightfully with her pink cheeks and blue eyes and brown flowing locks; but prince marvel did not mind girls at all, so he talked with her freely, and she in return allowed him to examine the pretty gold crown she wore upon her brow. by and by the ki came back with both faces sad and gloomy. "your highness," they announced, "we have bad news for you. the other high ki, who is wearing a green gown, has been more prompt in action than yourself. she and the ki-ki have secured the silver steps and will allow no others to use them; and already they have sent for the soldiers of the royal armies to come and aid them. so we are unable to leave the garden, and presently the army will be here to destroy us." then the girl showed her good courage; for she laughed and said: "then we must remain here and fight to the last; and if i am unable to save you, who are my friends, it will be because i can not save myself." this speech pleased prince marvel greatly. he kissed the little maid's hand respectfully and said: "fear nothing, your highness. my friend and i are not so helpless as you think. we consider it our privilege to protect and save you, instead of your saving us; and we are really able to do this in spite of the other high ki and her entire army." so they remained quietly in the palace the rest of that day, and no one molested them in the least. in the evening the girl played and sang for them, and the ancient pair of ki danced a double-shuffle for their amusement that nearly convulsed them with laughter. for one danced exactly like the other, and the old men's legs were still very nimble, although their wrinkled faces remained anxiously grave throughout their antics. nerle also sang a song about the king of thieves whom prince marvel had conquered, and another about the red rogue of dawna, so that altogether the evening passed pleasantly enough, and they managed to forget all their uneasy doubts of the morrow. when at last they separated for the night, prince marvel alone did not seek his bed; there was still some business he wished to transact. so he shut himself up in his room and summoned before him, by means of his fairy knowledge, the prince of the knooks, the king of the ryls and the governor of the goblins. these were all three his especial friends, and he soon told them the story of the quarrel and separation of the twin high ki, and claimed their assistance. then he told them how they might aid him, and afterward dismissed them. having thus accomplished his task, the fairy prince went to bed and slept peacefully the remainder of the night. the next morning the blond ki-ki and all the army of twi, which had been won to their cause, came climbing up the silver steps and over the wall to the palace of the green high ki; but what was their amazement to find the twin palaces separated by a wall so high that no ladders nor steps they possessed could reach to the top! it had been built in a single night, and only prince marvel and his fairy friends knew how the work had been done so quickly. the yellow high ki, coming downstairs to breakfast with her friends, found herself securely shut in from her enemies, and the bald-headed old ki were so pleased to escape that they danced another jig from pure joy. over the wall could be heard the shouts and threats of the army of twi, who were seeking a way to get at the fugitives; but for the present our friends knew themselves to be perfectly safe, and they could afford to laugh at the fury of the entire population of twi. . the rescue of the high ki after several days of siege prince marvel began to feel less confident of the safety of his little party. the frantic ki-ki had built double battering-rams and were trying to batter down the high wall; and they had built several pairs of long ladders with which to climb over the wall; and their soldiers were digging two tunnels in the ground in order to crawl under the wall. not at once could they succeed, for the wall was strong and it would take long to batter it down; and nerle stood on top of the wall and kicked over the ladders as fast as the soldiers of twi set them up; and the gray-bearded ki stood in the garden holding two big flat boards with which to whack the heads of any who might come through the tunnels. but prince marvel realized that the perseverance of his foes might win in the end, unless he took measures to defeat them effectually. so he summoned swift messengers from among the sound elves, who are accustomed to travel quickly, and they carried messages from him to wul-takim, the king of the reformed thieves, and to king terribus of spor, who had both promised him their assistance in case he needed it. the prince did not tell his friends of this action, but after the messengers had been dispatched he felt easier in his mind. the little high ki remained as sweet and brave and lovable as ever, striving constantly to cheer and encourage her little band of defenders. but none of them was very much worried, and nerle confided to the maiden in yellow the fact that he expected to suffer quite agreeably when the ki-ki at last got him in their clutches. finally a day came when two big holes were battered through the wall, and then the twin soldiers of twi poured through the holes and began to pound on the doors of the palace itself, in which prince marvel and nerle, the ki and the yellow high ki had locked themselves as securely as possible. the prince now decided it was high time for his friends to come to their rescue; but they did not appear, and before long the doors of the palace gave way and the soldiers rushed upon them in a vast throng. nerle wanted to fight, and to slay as many of the twi people as possible; but the prince would not let him. "these poor soldiers are but doing what they consider their duty," he said, "and it would be cruel to cut them down with our swords. have patience, i pray you. our triumph will come in good time." the ki-ki, who came into the palace accompanied by the green high ki, ordered the twin soldiers to bind all the prisoners with cords. so one pair of soldiers bound the ki and another pair nerle and the prince, using exactly the same motions in the operation. but when it came to binding the yellow high ki the scene was very funny. for twin soldiers tried to do the binding, and there was only one to bind; so that one soldier went through the same motions as his twin on empty air, and when his other half had firmly bound the girl, his own rope fell harmless to the ground. but it seemed impossible for one of the twins to do anything different from the other, so that was the only way the act could be accomplished. then the green-robed high ki walked up to the one in yellow and laughed in her face, saying: "you now see which of us is the most powerful, and therefore the most worthy to rule. had you remained faithful to our handsome ki-ki, as i did, you would not now be defeated and disgraced." "there is no disgrace in losing one battle," returned the other girl, proudly. "you are mistaken if you think you have conquered me, and you are wrong to insult one who is, for the time being, your captive." the maiden in green looked for an instant confused and ashamed; then she tossed her pretty head and walked away. they led all the prisoners out into the garden and then through the broken wall, and up and down the silver steps, into the great square of the cities of twi. and here all the population crowded around them, for this was the first time any of them had seen their high ki, or even known that they were girls; and the news of their quarrel and separation had aroused a great deal of excitement. "let the executioners come forward!" cried the ki-ki, gleefully, and in answer to the command the twin executioners stepped up to the prisoners. they were big men, these executioners, each having a squint in one eye and a scar on the left cheek. they polished their axes a moment on their coat-sleeves, and then said to prince marvel and nerle, who were to be the first victims: "don't dodge, please, or our axes may not strike the right place. and do not be afraid, for the blows will only hurt you an instant. in the land of twi it is usually considered a pleasure to be executed by us, we are so exceedingly skillful." "i can well believe that," replied nerle, although his teeth were chattering. but at this instant a loud shout was heard, and the twin people of twi all turned their heads to find themselves surrounded by throngs of fierce enemies. prince marvel smiled, for he saw among the new-comers the giants and dwarfs and the stern gray men of king terribus, with their monarch calmly directing their movements; and on the other side of the circle were the jolly faces and bushy whiskers of the fifty-nine reformed thieves, with burly wul-takim at their head. . the reunion of the high ki the twins of twi were too startled and amazed to offer to fight with the odd people surrounding them. even the executioners allowed their axes to fall harmlessly to the ground, and the double people, soldiers and citizens alike, turned to stare at the strangers in wonder. "we're here, prince!" yelled wul-takim, his bristly beard showing over the heads of those who stood between. "thank you," answered prince marvel. "and the men of spor are here!" added king terribus, who was mounted on a fine milk-white charger, richly caparisoned. "i thank the men of spor," returned prince marvel, graciously. "shall we cut your foes into small pieces, or would you prefer to hang them?" questioned the king of the reformed thieves, loudly enough to set most of his hearers shivering. but now the little maid in yellow stepped up to prince marvel and, regarding the youthful knight with considerable awe, said sweetly: "i beg you will pardon my people and spare them. they are usually good and loyal subjects, and if they fought against me--their lawful high ki--it was only because they were misled by my separation from my other half." "that is true," replied the prince; "and as you are still the lawful high ki of twi, i will leave you to deal with your own people as you see fit. for those who have conquered your people are but your own allies, and are still under your orders, as i am myself." hearing this, the green high ki walked up to her twin high ki and said, boldly: "i am your prisoner. it is now your turn. do with me as you will." "i forgive you," replied her sister, in kindly tones. then the little maid who had met with defeat gave a sob and turned away weeping, for she had expected anything but forgiveness. and now the ki-ki came forward and, bowing their handsome blond heads before the high ki, demanded: "are we forgiven also?" "yes," said the girl, "but you are no longer fit to be rulers of my people. therefore, you are henceforth deprived of your honorable offices of ki-ki, which i shall now bestow upon these good captains here," and she indicated the good-natured officers who had first captured the prince and nerle. the people of twi eagerly applauded this act, for the captains were more popular with them than the former ki-ki; but the blond ones both flushed with humiliation and anger, and said: "the captains fought against you, even as we did." "yet the captains only obeyed your orders," returned the high ki. "so i hold them blameless." "and what is to become of us now?" asked the former ki-ki. "you will belong to the common people, and earn your living playing tunes for them to dance by," answered the high ki. and at this retort every one laughed, so that the handsome youths turned away with twin scowls upon their faces and departed amidst the jeers of the crowd. "better hang 'em to a tree, little one," shouted wul-takim, in his big voice; "they won't enjoy life much, anyhow." but the maid shook her pretty head and turned to the prince. "will you stay here and help me to rule my kingdom?" she asked. "i can not do that," replied prince marvel, "for i am but a wandering adventurer and must soon continue my travels. but i believe you will be able to rule your people without my help." "it is not so easy a task," she answered, sighing. "for i am singular and my people are all double." "well, let us hold a meeting in your palace," said the prince, "and then we can decide what is best to be done." so they dismissed the people, who cheered their high ki enthusiastically, returning quietly to their daily tasks and the gossip that was sure to follow such important events as they had witnessed. the army of king terribus and the fifty-nine reformed thieves went to the twin palaces of the ki and the ki-ki and made merry with feasting and songs to celebrate their conquest. and the high ki, followed by the prince, nerle, king terribus and wul-takim, as well as by the ki and the newly-appointed ki-ki, mounted the silver steps and passed over the wall to the royal palaces. the green high ki followed them, still weeping disconsolately. when they had all reached the throne-room, the high ki seated herself on one of the beautiful thrones and said: "by some strange chance, which i am unable to explain, my twin and i have become separated; so that instead of thinking and acting alike, we are now individuals--as are all the strange men who have passed through the hole in the hedge. and, being individuals, we can no longer agree, nor can one of us lawfully rule over the kingdom of twi, where all the subjects are twins, thinking and acting in unison." said prince marvel: "your highness, i alone can explain why you became separated from your twin. by means of a fairy enchantment, which i learned years ago, i worked upon you a spell, which compelled your brain to work independent of your sister's brain. it seems to me that it is better each person should think her own thoughts and live her own life, rather than be yoked to another person and obliged to think and act as a twin, or one-half of a complete whole. and since you are now the one high ki, and the acknowledged ruler of this country, i will agree to work the same fairy spell on all your people, so that no longer will there be twin minds in all this land of twi." "but all the cows and dogs and horses and other animals are double, as well as the people," suggested the old ki, blinking their little eyes in amazement at the thought of being forever separated from each other. "i can also work the spell upon all the twin animals," said the prince, after a moment's hesitation. "and all our houses are built double, with twin doors and windows and chimneys, to accommodate our twin people," continued the high ki. "and the trees and flowers--and even the blades of grass--are all double. and our roads are double, and--and everything else is double. i alone, the ruler of this land, am singular!" prince marvel became thoughtful now, for he did not know how to separate trees and flowers, and it would be a tedious task to separate the twin houses. "why not leave the country as it is?" asked king terribus of spor. "the high ki is welcome to come to my castle to live, and then she need no longer bother about the land of twi, which seems to me a poor place, after all." "and your sister may come with me to my cave, and be the queen of the reformed thieves, which is a much more important office than being high ki of twi," added big wul-takim, who had placed the maiden in green upon a cushion at his feet, and was striving to comfort her by gently stroking her silken hair with his rough hand. "but i love my country, and do not wish to leave it," answered the yellow high ki. "and i love my twin sister, and regret that our minds have become separated," she continued, sadly. "i have it!" exclaimed nerle. "let the prince reunite you, making you regular twins of twi again, and then you can continue to rule the country as the double high ki, and everything will be as it was before." the yellow high ki clapped her pink hands with delight and looked eagerly at the prince. "will you?" she asked. "will you please reunite us? and then all our troubles will be ended!" this really seemed to marvel the best thing to be done. so he led the maid in green to the other throne, where she had once sat, and after replacing the golden crown upon her brow he whispered a fairy spell of much mystical power. then the prince stepped back and regarded the maidens earnestly, and after a moment both the high ki smiled upon him in unison and said--speaking the same words in the same voices and with the same accents: "thank you very much!" . kwytoffle, the tyrant having restored the high ki to their former condition, to the great joy of the ancient ki, prince marvel led his friends back to the palaces where his men were waiting. they were just in time to prevent serious trouble, for the fifty-eight reformed thieves had been boasting of their prowess to the huge giants and tiny dwarfs of king terribus, and this had resulted in a quarrel as to which were the best fighters. had not their masters arrived at the right moment there would certainly have been a fierce battle and much bloodshed,--and all over something of no importance. terribus and wul-takim soon restored order, and then they accompanied the ki and the ki-ki to the public square, where the people were informed that their supreme highnesses, the high ki, had been reunited and would thereafter rule them with twin minds as well as twin bodies. there was great rejoicing at this news, for every twin in twi was glad to have his troubles ended so easily and satisfactorily. that night the ryls and knooks and other invisible friends of prince marvel came and removed the dividing wall between the twin palaces of the high ki, repairing speedily all the damage that had been done. and when our friends called upon the high ki the next morning they found the two maids again dressed exactly alike in yellow robes, with strings of sparkling emeralds for ornament. and not even prince marvel could now tell one of the high ki from the other. as for the maids themselves, it seemed difficult to imagine they had ever existed apart for a single moment. they were very pleasant and agreeable to their new friends, and when they heard that prince marvel was about to leave them to seek new adventures they said: "please take us with you! it seems to us that we ought to know something of the big outside world from whence you came. if we see other kingdoms and people we shall be better able to rule our own wisely." "that seems reasonable," answered marvel, "and i shall be very glad to have you accompany me. but who will rule the land of twi in your absence?" "the ki-ki shall be the rulers," answered the high ki, "and we will take the ki with us." "then i will delay my departure until to-morrow morning," said the prince, "in order that your highnesses may have time to prepare for the journey." and then he went back to the palaces of the other rulers, where the ki expressed themselves greatly pleased at the idea of traveling, and the new ki-ki were proud to learn they should rule for some time the land of twi. wul-takim also begged to join the party, and so also did king terribus, who had never before been outside of his own kingdom of spor; so prince marvel willingly consented. the fifty-eight reformed thieves, led by gunder, returned to their cave, where they were living comfortably on the treasure prince marvel had given them; and the gray men and giants and dwarfs of spor departed for their own country. in the morning prince marvel led his own gay cavalcade through the hole in the hedge, and they rode merrily away in search of adventure. by his side were the high ki, mounted upon twin chestnut ponies that had remarkably slender limbs and graceful, arched necks. the ponies moved with exactly the same steps, and shook their manes and swished their tails at exactly the same time. behind the prince and the high ki were king terribus, riding his great white charger, and wul-takim on a stout horse of jet-black color. the two ancient ki and nerle, being of lesser rank than the others, brought up the rear. "when we return to our land of twi," said the high ki, "we shall close up for all time the hole you made in the hedge; for, if we are different from the rest of the world, it is better that we remain in seclusion." "i think it is right you should do that," replied prince marvel. "yet i do not regret that i cut a hole in your hedge." "it was the hedge that delayed us in coming more promptly to your assistance," said terribus; "for we had hard work to find the hole you had made, and so lost much valuable time." "all is well that ends well!" laughed the prince. "you certainly came in good time to rescue us from our difficulties." they turned into a path that led to auriel, which nerle had heard spoken of as "the kingdom of the setting sun." soon the landscape grew very pleasant to look upon, the meadows being broad and green, with groups of handsome trees standing about. the twilight of the land of twi was now replaced by bright sunshine, and in the air was the freshness of the near-by sea. at evening they came to a large farmhouse, where the owner welcomed them hospitably and gave them the best his house afforded. in answer to their questions about the kingdom of auriel, he shook his head sadly and replied: "it is a rich and beautiful country, but has fallen under great misfortunes. for when the good king died, about two years ago, the kingdom was seized by a fierce and cruel sorcerer, named kwytoffle, who rules the people with great severity, and makes them bring him all their money and valuable possessions. so every one is now very poor and unhappy, and that is a great pity in a country so fair and fertile." "but why do not the people rebel?" asked nerle. "they dare not rebel," answered the farmer, "because they fear the sorcery of kwytoffle. if they do not obey him he threatens to change them into grasshoppers and june-bugs." "has he ever changed any one into a grasshopper or a june-bug?" asked prince marvel. "no; but the people are too frightened to oppose him, and so he does not get the opportunity. and he has an army of fierce soldiers, who are accustomed to beat the people terribly if they do not carry every bit of their wealth to the sorcerer. so there is no choice but to obey him." "we certainly ought to hang this wicked creature!" exclaimed wul-takim. "i wish i had brought my fool-killer with me," sighed king terribus; "for i could have kept him quite busy in this kingdom." "can not something be done to rescue these poor people from their sad fate?" asked the lovely high ki, anxiously. "we will make a call upon this kwytoffle to-morrow," answered prince marvel, "and see what the fellow is like." "alas! alas!" wailed the good farmer, "you will all become grasshoppers and june-bugs--every one of you!" but none of the party seemed to fear that, and having passed the night comfortably with the farmer they left his house and journeyed on into the kingdom of auriel. before noon they came upon the edge of a forest, where a poor man was chopping logs into firewood. seeing prince marvel's party approach, this man ran toward them waving his hands and shouting excitedly: "take the other path! take the other path!" "and why should we take the other path?" inquired the prince, reining in his steed. "because this one leads to the castle of the great sorcerer, kwytoffle," answered the man. "but there is where we wish to go," said marvel. "what! you wish to go there?" cried the man. "then you will be robbed and enslaved!" "not as long as we are able to fight," laughed the big wul-takim. "if you resist the sorcerer, you will be turned into grasshoppers and june-bugs," declared the man, staring at them in wonder. "how do you know that?" asked marvel. "kwytoffle says so. he promises to enchant every one who dares defy his power." "has any one ever yet dared defy him?" asked nerle. "certainly not!" said the man. "no one wishes to become a june-bug or a grasshopper. no one dares defy him.". "i am anxious to see this sorcerer," exclaimed king terribus. "he ought to prove an interesting person, for he is able to accomplish his purposes by threats alone." "then let us ride on," said marvel. "dear us! dear us!" remonstrated the bald-headed ki; "are we to become grasshoppers, then?" "we shall see," returned the prince, briefly. "with your long legs," added the pretty pair of high ki, laughingly, "you ought to be able to jump farther than any other grasshopper in the kingdom." "great kika-koo!" cried the ki, nervously, "what a fate! what a terrible fate! and your highnesses, i suppose, will become june-bugs, and flutter your wings with noises like buzz-saws!" . the wonderful book of magic whatever their fears might be, none of prince marvel's party hesitated to follow him along the path through the forest in search of the sorcerer, and by and by they came upon a large clearing. in the middle of this open space was a big building in such bad repair that its walls were tumbling down in several places, and all around it the ground was uncared for and littered with rubbish. a man was walking up and down in front of this building, with his head bowed low; but when he heard the sound of approaching horses' hoofs he looked up and stared for a moment in amazement. then, with a shout of rage, he rushed toward them and caught prince marvel's horse by the bridle. "how dare you!" he cried; "how dare you enter my forest?" marvel jerked his bridle from the man's grasp and said in return: "who are you?" "me! who am i? why, i am the great and powerful kwytoffle! so beware! beware my sorcery!" they all looked at the man curiously. he was short and very fat, and had a face like a puff-ball, with little red eyes and scarcely any nose at all. he wore a black gown with scarlet grasshoppers and june-bugs embroidered upon the cloth; and his hat was high and peaked, with an imitation grasshopper of extraordinary size perched upon its point. in his right hand he carried a small black wand, and around his neck hung a silver whistle on a silver cord. seeing that the strangers were gazing on him so earnestly, kwytoffle thought they were frightened; so he said again, in a big voice: "beware my vengeance!" "beware yourself!" retorted the prince. "for if you do not treat us more respectfully, i shall have you flogged." "what! flog me!" shouted kwytoffle, furiously. "for this i will turn every one of you into grasshoppers--unless you at once give me all the wealth you possess!" "poor man!" exclaimed nerle; "i can see you are longing for that flogging. will you have it now?" and he raised his riding-whip above his head. kwytoffle stumbled backward a few paces and blew shrilly upon his silver whistle. instantly a number of soldiers came running from the building, others following quickly after them until fully a hundred rough-looking warriors, armed with swords and axes, had formed in battle array, facing the little party of prince marvel. "arrest these strangers!" commanded kwytoffle, in a voice like a roar. "capture them and bind them securely, and then i will change them all into grasshoppers!" "all right," answered the captain of the soldiers; and then he turned to his men and shouted: "forward--double-quick--march!" they came on with drawn swords; at first running, and then gradually dropping into a walk, as they beheld nerle, wul-takim, king terribus and marvel standing quietly waiting to receive them, weapons in hand and ready for battle. a few paces off the soldiers hesitated and stopped altogether, and kwytoffle yelled at the captain: "why don't you go on? why don't you capture them? why don't you fight them?" "why, they have drawn their swords!" responded the captain, reproachfully. "who cares?" roared the sorcerer. "we care," said the captain, giving a shudder, as he looked upon the strangers. "their swords are sharp, and some of us would get hurt." "you're cowards!" shrieked the enraged kwytoffle. "i'll turn you all into june-bugs!" at this threat the soldiers dropped their swords and axes, and all fell upon their knees, trembling visibly and imploring their cruel master not to change them into june-bugs. "bah!" cried nerle, scornfully; "why don't you fight? if we kill you, then you will escape being june-bugs." "the fact is," said the captain, woefully, "we simply can't fight. for our swords are only tin, and our axes are made of wood, with silver-paper pasted over them." "but why is that?" asked wul-takim, while all the party showed their surprise. "why, until now we have never had any need to fight," said the captain, "for every one has quickly surrendered to us or run away the moment we came near. but you people do not appear to be properly frightened, and now, alas! since you have drawn upon us the great sorcerer's anger, we shall all be transformed into june-bugs." "yes!" roared kwytoffle, hopping up and down with anger, "you shall all be june-bugs, and these strangers i will transform into grasshoppers!" "very well," said prince marvel, quietly; "you can do it now." "i will! i will!" cried the sorcerer. "then why don't you begin?" inquired the prince. "why don't i begin? why, i haven't got the enchantments with me, that's why. do you suppose we great magicians carry around enchantments in our pockets?" returned the other, in a milder tone. "where do you keep your enchantments?" asked the prince. "they're in my dwelling," snapped kwytoffle, taking off his hat and fanning his fat face with the brim. "then go and get them," said marvel. "nonsense! if i went to get the enchantments you would all run away!" retorted the sorcerer. "not so!" protested nerle, who was beginning to be amused. "my greatest longing in life is to become a grasshopper." "oh, yes! please let us be grasshoppers!" exclaimed the high ki maids in the same breath. "we want to hop! we want to hop! please--please let us hop!" implored the bald-headed ki, winking their left eyes at wul-takim. "by all means let us become grasshoppers," said king terribus, smiling; and wul-takim added: "i'm sure your soldiers would enjoy being june-bugs, for then they wouldn't have to work. isn't that so, boys?" the bewildered soldiers looked at one another in perplexity, and the still more bewildered sorcerer gazed on the speakers with staring eyes and wide-open mouth. "i insist," said prince marvel, "upon your turning us into grasshoppers and your soldiers into june-bugs, as you promised. if you do not, then i will flog you--as i promised." "very well," returned the sorcerer, with a desperate look upon his face; "i'll go and find the enchantment." "and we'll go with you," remarked the prince, pleasantly. so the entire party accompanied kwytoffle into the house, where they entered a large room that was in a state of much disorder. "let me see," said the sorcerer, rubbing his ears, as if trying to think; "i wonder if i put them in this cupboard. you see," he explained, "no one has ever before dared me to transform him into a june-bug or grasshopper, so i have almost forgotten where i keep my book of enchantments. no, it's not in the cupboard," he continued, looking there; "but it surely must be in this chest." it was not in the chest, either, and so the sorcerer continued to look in all sorts of queer places for his book of enchantments, without finding it. whenever he paused in his search prince marvel would say, sternly: "go on! find the book! hunt it up. we are all anxious to become grasshoppers." and then kwytoffle would set to work again, although big drops of perspiration were now streaming down his face. finally he pulled an old book from underneath the pillow of his bed, and crying, "here it is!" carried it to the window. he turned a few leaves of the book and then said: "how unfortunate! the compound i require to change you into grasshoppers must be mixed on the first day of september; and as this is now the eighth day of september i must wait nearly a year before i can work the enchantment." "how about the june-bugs?" asked nerle. "oh! ah! the june-bug mixture can only be made at the dark o' the moon," said the sorcerer, pretending to read, "and that is three weeks from now." "let me read it," said prince marvel, suddenly snatching the book from kwytoffle's hands. then he turned to the title-page and read: "'lives of famous thieves and impostors.' why, this is not a book of enchantments." "that is what i suspected," said terribus. "no one but a sorcerer can read the enchantments in this book," declared kwytoffle; but he hung his head with a sheepish look, for he knew his deception had been well understood. "is your own history written in this volume?" inquired marvel. "no," answered the sorcerer. "then it ought to be," said the prince, "for you are no sorcerer at all, but merely a thief and an impostor!" . the queen of plenta the soldiers of kwytoffle wanted to hang their old master at once, for he had won their enmity by abusing them in many ways; but prince marvel would not let them do this. however, they tied the false sorcerer to a post, and the captain gave him a good whipping--one lash for each letter in the words "grasshopper" and "june-bug." kwytoffle howled loudly for mercy, but no one was at all sorry for him. wul-takim tied a rope around the impostor's neck, and when the party left the castle they journeyed all through the kingdom of auriel, and at every town or city they came to the reformed thief would cry out to the populace: "here is the terrible sorcerer kwytoffle, who threatened to change you into grasshoppers and june-bugs. but you may see that he is a very common man, with no powers of sorcery whatever!" and then the people would laugh and pelt mud at their former tyrant, and thank prince marvel for haying exposed the false and wicked creature. and they called the son of their old king back to his lawful throne, where he ruled wisely and well; and the hoarded wealth of kwytoffle was divided among the people again, and soon the country became prosperous once more. this adventure was very amusing to the pretty high ki of twi. it afforded them laughter for many days, and none of the party ever saw a grasshopper or a june-bug afterward without thinking of the terrible sorcerer kwytoffle. they left that disgraced person grooming horses for his board in the stables of the new king, and proceeded upon their journey. without further event they reached the splendid southern kingdom of plenta, which was the most delightfully situated of any dominion in the enchanted island of yew. it was ruled by a good and generous queen, who welcomed the strangers to her palace and gave a series of gay entertainments in their honor. king terribus was especially an object of interest, for every one had heard his name and feared him and his fierce people. but when they beheld his pleasant countenance and listened to his gentle voice they began to regard him with much love and respect; and really terribus was worthy of their friendship since he had changed from a deformed monster into an ordinary man, and had forbidden his people ever again to rob and plunder their weaker neighbors. but the most popular personages visiting at the court of the queen of plenta were the lovely high ki of twi. although beautiful girls abounded in this kingdom, none could compare with the royal twins, and their peculiar condition only served to render them the more interesting. two youths would approach the high ki at the same time and invite them to dance, and in united voices they would accept the invitation and go whirling around the room with exactly the same steps, laughing at the same instant and enjoying the dance equally. but if one youth asked his partner a question, both the twins would make answer, and that was sure to confuse and embarrass the youth. still, the maids managed very well to adapt themselves to the ways of people who were singular, although they sometimes became a little homesick for twi, where they were like all the other people. the bald-headed ki kept watchful eyes on their youthful rulers, and served them very cheerfully. but with all their travels and experiences, the old men could never be convinced it was better to be singular than double. prince marvel was the real hero of the party, and nerle received much attention on account of his master's popularity. he did not seem as unhappy as usual, and when the prince inquired the reason, his esquire answered that he believed the excitement of their adventures was fast curing him of his longing for something he could not have. as for the pleasure of suffering, he had had some experience of that, too, and it was not nearly so delightful as he had expected. wul-takim was not a society man, so he stayed around the royal stables and made friends with the grooms, and traded his big black horse for two bay ones and a gold neck-chain, and was fairly content with his lot. and so the party enjoyed several happy weeks at the court of the good queen of plenta, until one day the terrible news arrived that carried them once more into exciting adventures. . the red rogue of dawna one morning, while they were all standing in the courtyard waiting for their horses, as they were about to go for a ride, a courier came galloping swiftly up to the palace and cried: "does any one know where prince marvel can be found?" "i am prince marvel," replied the young knight, stepping out from among the others. "then have i reached my journey's end!" said the courier, whose horse was nearly exhausted from long and hard riding. "the lady seseley is in great danger, and sends for you to come and rescue her. the great baron merd, her father, has been killed and his castle destroyed, and all his people are either captives or have been slain outright." "and who has done this evil thing?" asked prince marvel, looking very stern and grave. "the red rogue of dawna," answered the messenger. "he quarreled with the baron merd and sent his savage hordes to tear down his castle and slay him. i myself barely escaped with my life, and the lady seseley had but time to say, before she was carried off, that if i could find prince marvel he would surely rescue her." "and so i will!" declared the prince, "if she be still alive." "who is this lady seseley?" asked nerle, who had come to his master's side. "she is my first friend, to whom i owe my very existence. it is her image, together with those of her two friends, which is graven on my shield," answered prince marvel, thoughtfully. "and what will you do?" inquired the esquire. "i must go to her at once." when they heard of his mission all the party insisted on accompanying him. even the dainty high ki could not be deterred by any thoughts of dangers they might encounter; and after some discussion prince marvel allowed them to join him. so wul-takim sharpened his big broadsword, and nerle carefully prepared his master's horse, so that before an hour had passed they were galloping toward the province of the red rogue of dawna. prince marvel knew little concerning this personage, but nerle had much to tell of him. the red rogue had once been page to a wise scholar and magician, who lived in a fine old castle in dawna and ruled over a large territory. the boy was very small and weak--smaller even than the average dwarf--and his master did not think it worth while to watch him. but one evening, while the magician was standing upon the top of the highest tower of his castle, the boy gave him a push from behind, and he met death on the sharp rocks below. then the boy took his master's book of magic and found a recipe to make one grow. he made the mixture and swallowed it, and straightway began to grow big and tall. this greatly delighted him, until he found he was getting much bigger than the average man and rapidly becoming a giant. so he sought for a way to arrest the action of the magical draft; but before he could find it he had grown to enormous proportions, and was bigger than the biggest giant. there was nothing in the book of magic to make one grow smaller, so he was obliged to remain as he was--the largest man in the enchanted island. all this had happened in a single night. the morning after his master's murder the page announced himself lord of the castle; and, seeing his enormous size, none dared deny his right to rule. on account of his bushy hair, which was fiery red in color, and the bushy red beard that covered his face when he became older, people came to call him the red one. and after his evil deeds and quarrelsome temper had made him infamous throughout the island, people began to call him the red rogue of dawna. he had gathered around him a number of savage barbarians, as wicked and quarrelsome as himself, and so none dared to interfere with him, or even to meet him, if it were possible to avoid it. this same red rogue it was who had drawn the good baron merd into a quarrel and afterward slain the old knight and his followers, destroyed his castle, and carried his little daughter seseley and her girl friends, berna and helda, into captivity, shutting them up in his own gloomy castle. the red rogue thought he had done a very clever thing, and had no fear of the consequences until one of his men came running up to the castle to announce that prince marvel and his companions were approaching to rescue the lady seseley. "how many of them are there?" demanded the red rogue. "there are eight, altogether," answered the man, "but two of them are girls." "and they expect to force me to give up my captives?" asked the red one, laughing with a noise like the roar of a waterfall. "why, i shall make prisoners of every one of them!" the man looked at his master fearfully, and replied: "this prince marvel is very famous, and all people speak of his bravery and power. it was he who conquered king terribus of spor, and that mighty ruler is now his friend, and is one of the eight who approach." the red rogue stopped laughing, for the fame of spor's terrible king had long ago reached him. and he reflected that any one who could conquer the army of giants and dwarfs and gray men that served terribus must surely be one to be regarded seriously. moreover--and this was a secret--the red rogue had never been able to gain the strength to correspond with his gigantic size, but had ever remained as weak as when he was a puny boy. so he was accustomed to rely on his cunning and on the terror his very presence usually excited to triumph over his enemies. and he began to be afraid of this prince. "you say two of the party are girls?" he asked. "yes," said the man, "but also among them are king terribus himself, and the renowned wul-takim, formerly king of thieves, who was conquered by the prince, although accounted a hard fighter, and is now his devoted servant. and there are two old men who are just alike and have a very fierce look about them. they are said to come from the hidden kingdom of twi." by this time the red rogue was thoroughly frightened, but he did not yet despair of defeating his enemies. he knew better than to attempt to oppose prince marvel by force, but he still hoped to conquer him by trickery and deceit. among the wonderful things that the red rogue's former master, the wise scholar and magician, had made were two large enchanted mirrors, which were set on each side of the great hallway of the castle. heavy curtains were drawn over the surfaces of these mirrors, because they both possessed a dreadful magical power. for whenever any one looked into one of them his reflection was instantly caught and imprisoned in the mirror, and his body at the same time became invisible to all earthly eyes, only the mirror retaining his form. while considering a way to prevent the prince from freeing the lady seseley, the red rogue happened to think of these mirrors, which had never yet been used. so he went stealthily into the great hall and drew aside the covering from one of the mirrors. he did not dare look into the mirror himself, but hurried away to another room, and then sent a page up a back stairway to summon the lady seseley and her two maids into his presence. the girls at once obeyed, for they greatly feared the red rogue; and of course they descended the front stairway and walked through the great hall. at once the large mirror that had been exposed to view caught the eye of seseley, and she paused to regard her reflection in the glass. her two companions did likewise, and instantly all three girls became invisible, while the mirror held their reflections fast in its magic surface. the red rogue was watching them through a crack in the door, and seeing the girls disappear he gave a joyful laugh and exclaimed: "now let prince marvel find them if he can!" the three girls began to wander aimlessly through the castle; for not only were they invisible to others, but also to themselves and to one another, and they knew not what to do nor which way to turn. . the enchanted mirrors presently prince marvel and his party arrived and paused before the doors of the castle, where the red rogue stood bowing to them with mock politeness and with an evil grin showing on his red face. "i come to demand the release of the lady seseley and her companions!" prince marvel announced, in a bold voice. "and i also intend to call you to account for the murder of baron merd." "you must be at the wrong castle," answered the red one, "for i have murdered no baron, nor have i any lady seseley as prisoner." "are you not the red rogue of dawna?" demanded the prince. "men call me by that name," acknowledged the other. "then you are deceiving me," said the prince. "no, indeed!" answered the red rogue, mockingly. "i wouldn't deceive any one for the world. but, if you don't believe me, you are welcome to search my castle." "that i shall do," returned the prince, sternly, "whether i have your permission or not," and he began to dismount. but nerle restrained him, saying: "master, i beg you will allow me to search the castle. for this red rogue is playing some trick upon us, i am sure, and if anything happened to you there would be no one to protect the little high ki and our other friends." "but suppose something should happen to you?" inquired the prince, anxiously. "in that case," said nerle, "you can avenge me." the advice was so reasonable, under the circumstances, that the prince decided to act upon it. "very well," said he, "go and search the castle, and i will remain with our friends. but if anything happens to you, i shall call the red rogue to account." so nerle entered the castle, passing by the huge form of its owner, who only nodded to the boy and grinned with delight. the esquire found himself in the great hall and began to look around him, but without seeing any one. then he advanced a few steps and, to his surprise, discovered a large mirror, in which were reflected the faces and forms of three girls, as well as his own. "why, here they are!" he attempted to say; but he could not hear his own voice. he glanced down at himself but could see nothing at all--for his body had become invisible. his reflection was still in the glass, and he knew that his body existed the same as before; but although he yet saw plainly the hall and all that it contained, he could see neither himself nor any other person of flesh. after waiting a considerable time for his esquire to reappear prince marvel became impatient. "what have you done with nerle?" he asked of the red rogue. "nothing," was the reply. "i have been here, plainly within your sight, every moment." "let me go and find him!" exclaimed king terribus, and rushed into the castle before the prince could reply. but terribus also encountered the enchanted mirror, and the prince waited in vain for his return. then wul-takim volunteered to go in search of the others, and drew his big, sharp sword before entering the hall. but an hour passed by and he did not return. the red rogue was overjoyed at the success of his stratagem, and could scarce refrain from laughing outright at the prince's anxiety. marvel was really perplexed. he knew some treachery was afoot, but could not imagine what it was. and when the pretty high ki declared their intention of entering the castle, he used every endeavor to dissuade them. but the twin girls would not be denied, so great was their curiosity. so the prince said: "well, we will all go together, so that the ki and i may be able to protect you." the red rogue gladly granted them admittance, and they passed him and entered the great hall. the place appeared to them to be completely empty, so they walked along and came opposite the mirror. here all stopped at once, and the twin high ki uttered exclamations of surprise, and the twin ki shouted, "great kika-koo!" for there in the glass were the reflections of the three girls and nerle and king terribus and wul-takim. and there were also the reflections of the twin high ki and the twin ki. only prince marvel's reflection was missing, and this was because of his fairy origin. for the glass could reflect and hold only the forms of mortals. but the prince saw the reflections of all the others, and then made the discovery that the forms of the ki and the high ki had become invisible. no one except himself appeared to be standing in the great hall of the red rogue's castle! yet grouped within the glass were the likenesses of all his friends, as well as those of lady seseley and her companions; and all were staring back at him earnestly, as if imploring him to save them. the mystery was now explained, and prince marvel rushed from the hall to find the treacherous red rogue. but that clever trickster had hidden himself in an upper room, and for the present was safely concealed. for a time prince marvel could not think what to do. such magic was all unknown to him, and how to free the imprisoned forms of his friends was a real problem. he walked around the castle, but no one was in sight, the rogue having given orders to all his people to keep away. only the tethered horses did he see, and these raised their heads and whinnied as if in sympathy with his perplexity. then he went back into the hall and searched all the rooms of the castle without finding a single person. on his return he stopped in front of the mirror and sorrowfully regarded the faces of his friends, who again seemed to plead for relief. and while he looked a sudden fit of anger came over him at being outwitted by this red rogue of dawna. scarcely knowing what he did, he seized his sword by the blade and struck the mirror a powerful blow with the heavy hilt. it shattered into a thousand fragments, which fell clattering upon the stone floor in every direction. and at once the charm was broken; each of his friends now became visible. they appeared running toward him from all parts of the castle, where they had been wandering in their invisible forms. they called out joyful greetings to one another, and then all of them surrounded the prince and thanked him earnestly for releasing them. the little lady seseley and her friends, berna and helda, were a bit shy in the presence of so many strangers; but they alone knew the prince's secret, and that he was a fairy transformed for a year; so they regarded him as an old and intimate acquaintance, and after being introduced by him to the others of his party they became more at ease. the sweet little high ki maids at once attracted seseley, and she loved them almost at first sight. but it was nerle who became the little lady's staunchest friend; for there was something rather mystical and unnatural to him about the high ki, who seemed almost like fairies, while in seseley he recognized a hearty, substantial girl of his own rank in life. while they stood talking and congratulating one another outside of the castle, the red rogue of dawna appeared among them. he had heard the noise of the smashing of his great mirror, and had come running downstairs from his hiding-place to find his cunning had all been for naught and his captives were free. a furious anger then took possession of the rogue, and forgetting his personal weakness he caught up a huge battle-ax and rushed out to hurl himself upon prince marvel, intending to do him serious injury. but the prince was not taken unawares. he saw the red rogue coming and met him with drawn sword, striking quickly at the arm that wielded the big ax. the stroke was as sure as it was quick, and piercing the arm of the giant caused him to drop the ax with a howl of pain. then prince marvel seized the red rogue by the ear--which he was just tall enough to reach--and dragged him up the steps and into the castle, the big fellow crying for mercy at every step and trembling like a leaf through cowardice. but down the hall marvel marched him, seeking some room where the rogue might be safely locked in. the great curtain that covered the second enchanted mirror now caught prince marvel's eye, and, still holding his prisoner by the ear, he reached out his left hand and pulled aside the drapery. the red rogue looked to see what his captor was doing, and beheld his own reflection in the magic mirror. instantly he gave a wild cry and disappeared, his body becoming absolutely invisible, while his coarse red countenance stared back from the mirror. and then prince marvel gave a sigh of relief and dropped the curtain over the surface of the mirror. for he realized that the red rogue of dawna had at last met with just punishment and was safely imprisoned for all time. . the adventurers separate when prince marvel and his friends had ridden away from the castle the savage followers of the red one came creeping up to listen for their master's voice. but silence reigned in every part of the castle, and after stealing fearfully through the rooms without seeing any one the fellows became filled with terror and fled from the place, never to return. and afterward the neighbors whispered that the castle was haunted by the spirit of the terrible red rogue, and travelers dared not stop in the neighborhood, but passed by quickly and with averted faces. the prince and his party rode gaily along toward the kingdom of heg, for nerle had invited them all to visit his father's castle. they were very happy over their escape, and only the little lady seseley became sad at times, when she thought of her father's sad fate. the baron neggar, who was nerle's father, was not only a wealthy nobleman, but exceedingly kind and courteous; so that every member of prince marvel's party was welcomed to the big castle in a very hospitable manner. nerle was eagerly embraced by both his father and mother, who were overjoyed to see him return safe and sound after his wanderings and adventures. "and have you been cured of your longing for something that you can not have?" asked the baron, anxiously. "not quite," said nerle, laughing; "but i am more reconciled to my lot. for i find wherever i go people are longing for just the things they can not get, and probably would not want if they had them. so, as it seems to be the fate of most mortals to live unsatisfied, i shall try hereafter to be more contented." these words delighted the good baron, and he gave a rich and magnificent feast in honor of his son's return. the high ki of twi, after passing several pleasant days at nerle's home, now decided that they had seen enough of the world and would be glad to return to their own kingdom, where all was peaceful and uneventful, and rule it to the end of their days. so the baron furnished them an escort of twenty men-at-arms, and these conducted the high ki and the aged ki safely back to the hole in the hedge. and after they had entered the land of twi, the first act of the high ki was to order the hedge repaired and the hole blocked up; and i have never heard that any one, from that time forth, ever succeeded in gaining admittance to the hidden kingdom. so its subsequent history is unknown. king terribus also bade the prince an affectionate farewell and rode back to his own kingdom; and burly wul-takim accompanied him as far as the cave, where the fifty-eight reformed thieves awaited him. nerle's mother gladly adopted the lady seseley and her two companions, and thereafter they made their home at the baron's castle. and years afterward, when they had grown to be women, seseley was married to nerle and became the lady of the castle herself. prince marvel enjoyed the feasting and dancing at the castle very much, but after the party began to break up, and the high ki and the ki had left him, as well as king terribus and honest wul-takim, the young knight grew thoughtful and sometimes uneasy, and his happy laugh was less frequently heard. nerle often regarded his young master with a feeling of awe, for there occasionally came a look into marvel's eyes that reminded him more of the immortals than of any human being. but the prince treated him with rare kindness and always pressed nerle's hand affectionately when he bade him good night, for he had grown fond of his esquire. also they had long conversations together, during which nerle gleaned a great deal of knowledge and received some advice that was of much use to him in his later life. one day prince marvel sought out lady seseley and said: "will you ride with me to the forest of lurla?" "willingly," she answered; and calling berna and helda to attend them, they mounted their horses and rode swiftly away, for it was a long distance to lurla. by noon the party entered the forest, and although the path they traversed was unknown to the girls, who had usually entered the forest from its other side, near to where the baron merd's castle had stood, the prince seemed to have no difficulty in finding his way. he guided them carefully along the paths, his handsome war-charger stepping with much grace and dignity, until at length they came to a clearing. here the prince paused abruptly, and seseley looked around her and at once recognized the place. "why," she exclaimed, in surprise, "it is the fairy bower!" and then she turned to prince marvel and asked in a soft voice: "is the year ended, prince?" his smile was a bit sad as he answered, slowly: "the year will be ended in five minutes!" . the end of the year the girls sat upon the green moss and waited. prince marvel stood silent beside his horse. the silver armor was as bright as the day he donned it, nor was there a dent in his untarnished shield. the sword that had done such good service he held lightly in his hand, and the horse now and then neighed softly and turned to look at him with affectionate eyes. seseley began to tremble with excitement, and berna and helda stared at the prince with big round eyes. but, after all, they saw nothing so remarkable as they expected. for presently--and it all happened in a flash--prince marvel was gone from their midst, and a handsome, slender-limbed deer darted from the bower and was quickly lost in the thick forest. on the ground lay a sheet of bark and a twig from a tree, and beside them was lady seseley's white velvet cloak. then the three girls each drew a long breath and looked into one another's eyes, and, while thus engaged, a peal of silvery laughter sounded in their ears and made them spring quickly to their feet. before them stood a tiny and very beautiful fairy, clothed in floating gossamer robes of rose and pearl color, and with eyes sparkling like twin stars. "prince marvel!" exclaimed the three, together. "no, indeed!" cried the fairy, with a pretty little pout. "i am no one but myself; and, really, i believe i shall now be content to exist for a few hundred years in my natural form. i have quite enjoyed my year as a mortal; but after all there are, i find, some advantages in being a fairy. good by, my dears!" and with another ripple of laughter the pretty creature vanished, and the girls were left alone. . a hundred years afterward about a hundred years after prince marvel enjoyed his strange adventures in the enchanted island of yew an odd thing happened. a hidden mirror in a crumbling old castle of dawna broke loose from its fastenings and fell crashing on the stone pavement of the deserted hall. and from amid the ruins rose the gigantic form of a man. his hair and beard were a fiery red, and he gazed at the desolation around him in absolute amazement. it was the red rogue of dawna, set free from his imprisonment. he wandered out and found strange scenes confronting him, for during the hundred years a great change had taken place in the enchanted island. great cities had been built and great kingdoms established. civilization had won the people, and they no longer robbed or fought or indulged in magical arts, but were busily employed and leading respectable lives. when the red rogue tried to tell folks who he was, they but laughed at him, thinking the fellow crazy. he tried to get together a band of thieves, as wul-takim had done in the old days, but none would join him. and so, forced to be honest against his will, the rogue was driven to earn a living by digging in the garden of a wealthy noble, of whom he had never before heard. but often he would pause in his labors and lean on his spade, while thoughts of the old days of wild adventure passed through his mind in rapid succession; and then the big man would shake his red head with a puzzled air and mutter: "i wonder who that prince marvel could have been! and i wonder what ever became of him!" the motor girls through new england or held by the gypsies by margaret penrose the goldsmith publishing co. new york, n.y. copyright, , by cupples & leon company contents chapter i the shadow ii strike of the leading lady iii a mishap iv to the rescue v friend or foe vi a thief in the night vii the search viii the beginning of the end ix the start x an explosion xi the result of a blaze xii queer cobblers xiii a delay and a scare xiv the midnight tow xv the gipsy's warning xvi the disappearance xvii missing xviii kidnapped xix the den of the gypsy queen xx cora and helka xxi mother hull xxii saddened hearts xxiii another story xxiv the collapse xxv the awakening xxvi surprises xxvii the call of the heart xxviii victory xxix a real love feast the motor girls through new england chapter i the shadow "look, girls! there's a man!" "where?" "just creeping under the dining-room window!" "what can he want--looks suspicious!" "oh, i'm afraid to go in!" "hush! we won't go in just now!" "if only the boys were here!" "well, don't cry--they will be here soon." "see! he's getting under the fence! there he goes!" "did you get a look at him?" "yes, a good look. i'll know him next time." bess, belle and cora were holding this whispered conversation. it was belle, the timid, who wanted to cry, and it was cora who had really seen the man--got the good look. bess did say she wished the boys were around, but bess had great confidence in those boys, and this remark, when a man was actually sneaking around clover cottage, was perfectly pardonable. the motor girls had just returned from a delightful afternoon ride along the shore road at lookout beach. bess and belle robinson, otherwise elizabeth and isabel, the twins, were in their little car--the _flyaway_--and cora kimball was driving her fine, four-cylinder touring affair, both machines having just pulled up in front of clover cottage, the summer home of the robinsons. "did the boys say they would come directly from the post-office?" asked belle, as she eyed the back fence suspiciously. "yes, they had to drop some mail in the box. we won't attempt to go in until they come. at any rate, i have a little something to do to the _whirlwind_," and cora pulled off her gloves, and started to get a wrench out of the tool box. "i'll get busy, too," declared bess. "it will look better in case our friend happens to come around the corner." "no danger," and cora glanced up from the tool box. "i fancy that gentleman is not of the type that runs into facts." "do you think he is a burglar?" asked belle. "well, i wouldn't say just that. but he certainly is not straightforward. and that is a bad sign," replied cora. "and not a person in the house to help us," sighed belle. "oh, i don't see why mamma----" "now, belle robinson!" interrupted her sister. "you know perfectly well that mamma had to take nellie and rose over to drifton. they have to get ready for school." "mamma fusses a lot over those two girls," continued belle. "it seems to me a lucky thing they happened to run away--our way." this remark was lost upon bess and cora. bess was intent upon something--nothing definite--about the _flyaway_, while cora was working assiduously trying to adjust a leaky valve. the prospect of dark coming on with no one but themselves about the cottage, and the late appearance of the strange man, kept each one busy thinking. presently belle exclaimed: "oh, here come the boys!" and without waiting for the young men to turn the corner, which marked the end of the clover cottage grounds, she ran along with the news. jack kimball, cora's brother, walter pennington, his chum, and ed foster, the friend of both, sauntered along. "i suppose belle will say we had a bandit," remarked cora, with a laugh, "but to tell the truth, bess, i did not like the fellow's looks." she closed the engine bonnet and hurried to the sidewalk. "neither did i," replied bess, "but it never does to let belle know how we feel. she is so nervous!" "i'm glad the boys are here," finished cora. "oh, i'm always glad when they are here," confessed bess, stepping up beside cora, as the two waited for belle and the young men to come up the gravel walk. "hello, there!" saluted jack. "more haunted house?" "no, only more haunts," replied cora. "guess he didn't like the style of the house." "oh, you girls are too fussy," said ed. "seems to me if i were a young lady, and saw a young chap hanging under my window, i'd be sort of flattered." "we prefer the hanging done in the open," exclaimed bess. "besides, he didn't hang--he sneaked." "he crawled," declared belle. "no, i distinctly saw him creep," corrected cora. "mere baby, evidently," hazarded walter. "well, i suppose he was after----" "grub," interrupted jack. "the creeping, crawling, sneaking kind invariably want grub. it was a shame to let him go off hungry." they all took seats upon the broad piazza, after the boys, by a casual look, were satisfied that no intruder was about the grounds. belle kept close to ed--he was the largest of the young men--but cora and bess showed no signs of fear. "let's tell you about it," began bess. "let's," agreed walter. "then listen," ordered the young lady with the very rosy cheeks. "listen while they let's," teased jack. "i won't say one word," declared bess; "not if the fellow comes down the chimney----" every one laughed. bess had such a ridiculous way of getting angry. "no joking," went on cora, "when we came up the road we did see a fellow sneaking around the cottage. i'm not exactly afraid, ahem! but i may as well admit that i am glad you boys appeared just now, and i hope the interloper caught a glimpse, ahem! of your manly forms." the three boys jumped up as if some one had touched a spring. ed was taller, walter was stouter and jack was--well, he was quicker. bess noticed that, and did not hesitate to say so in making her special report of the trio. "at any rate," ventured ed, "we are much obliged, cora. it's awfully nice of you to notice us." "suppose we take a look through the house," suggested cora. "not that i think anything is wrong. you know, girls are never really afraid----" "oh, no! they are only afraid of being afraid," interrupted walter. "well, come along. and, since ed is the biggest, let him lead!" the incident merely furnished sport for the boys. a burglar hunt was no uncommon thing at clover cottage, and this one was no more promising that had been a dozen others. belle did not venture in with the searching party. she had her fears, as usual. cora by reputation was not timid, and she had that reputation to maintain just now. as a matter of fact, she knew perfectly well that the man who took the trouble to crawl around the house had some sinister motive in doing so. bess had not really seen him do it, so when she went in, along with the boys, she had scarcely any fear of running down either a sneak thief or a tramp, both varieties of undesirable citizens being common enough at the watering place. it did not strike cora kimball just then that she had a particular part to play in the impending drama which was to involve herself and her friends. in the first volume of the series, entitled "the motor girls," cora found it her duty to unravel the mystery of the road, when a wallet, empty, but which should have contained a small fortune in bonds, was actually found in the tool box of her own car. then in the next volume, "the motor girls on a tour," cora again had the lines of the leading lady, for it fell to her lot to "keep the promise" that restored little wren, the cripple, to her own, both in money and in health. in the third book of the series, "the motor girls at lookout beach," it was cora again who had to unearth the mystery, and now---- she smiled as she followed ed into the big pantry. "you girls and boys seem to count me a star," she said pleasantly. "ever since we were organized you have been keeping me in----" "the spotlight," finished ed, with an unmistakable smile. "well, cora, we will try to let you down easy this time. here, bess, you poke your nose in the cubby hole and see if you see anything." "oh!" screamed bess, "i'll do nothing of the sort. let cora." "why?" asked cora. "because--you're never the least bit afraid," stammered bess. "thanks," said cora, without hesitation thrusting her head into the aperture through which dishes were passed. "ouch!" she exclaimed, hastily withdrawing with her hand on her nose. "what's the matter?" asked ed. "did you bump into something?" "yes," replied cora, looking straight into the eyes of bess. "i just bumped into--a fact." then she and her brother walked into another room, leaving their friends to discuss the happening and follow at their leisure. chapter ii strike of the "leading lady" "exactly what did you mean, cora?" "you know perfectly well, jack." "no, really, i did not know what you--bumped into. did you hurt your nose?" "not the least bit, my dear brother. and the real bump--the fact, you know--was that i just discovered how much these two little girls depend upon me. bess said i was never the least bit afraid----" "and are you?" "perhaps. at any rate, i didn't like the looks of that man, jack. i don't intend the girls shall know it, but i was just the least bit afraid to come in the house. who do you suppose he might be?" "why, cora!" and jack looked his surprise. "what's up? are you going to strike?" "don't you believe me, jack, that i was afraid?" "it is not like you. but i suppose there was something----" "well, jack, even a leading lady may get tired. i am going to try to do a little less of the leading." "angry with the girls?" "why, bless you, no. why should i be? aren't they the dearest--babies. but you boys----" "oh, mad at us! cora kimball!" and her brother threatened to injure his beauty on the matting rug. "if i had only the least idea that you didn't like us, i would have packed the whole crowd off to the bungalow." "still you insist upon misunderstanding me. well, i may as well give up, jack. let us talk about something else." "i might make another mistake. but i would like to tell you what some of the boys said about the dance last night. they were just raving about you. did you like porter?" "the boy with a smile? yes, i did. i don't know when i saw a young man so real. you know, jack, with all due respect to boys hovering around twenty, they usually display too much--hover." "chumpy, you mean." "if the word were a little less--aspirated. girls might say--crude." "real nice of the girls. but porter asked me if i'd bring him around." "why not? bess had a splendid time with him." "but he spoke of you, cora. and he's a great fellow at college." "by all means cultivate the great," replied cora. "but here come the others. ask them." "striking again, cora. all right. if porter wants to take bess to the games----" "he's welcome. i have already promised ed." it was an hour after the strange-man scare, and the robinson girls had finally been convinced that there were no miscreants lurking anywhere about the place. the excitement had made bess prettier in the deep, red flush that overspread her face, and belle, the pale, dainty blonde, had actually taken on a tint herself. cora had the color that comes and stays, and only her deep brown eyes seemed brighter after the hunt had been declared "off." "if mother were only home," sighed belle. "thank goodness, she is not," put in bess. "bad enough to hunt burglars without consoling mamma." "are you girls going to stay alone to-night?" asked ed suddenly. "oh, no, indeed! we expect nettie back from the city. never was there a girl like nettie for scaring away scares," replied bess. "but suppose she does not come?" spoke jack. "don't you think it might be well----" "to hire a special officer? no, thank you," answered cora. "we are not the least bit afraid. besides, we have a gun." "the dearest little revolver," went on bess. "father got it specially for mamma, and she won't even look at it, so it's mine." "yes, and you most scared nettie to death with it," interrupted the twin sister. "what do you think, boys? nettie wouldn't touch the thing, and actually took a dustpan and a brush and scooped the weapon up from under bess's pillow. wasn't that dangerous?" "and dumped it in the bureau drawer," added cora, with a laugh. "better let me take charge of that, bess. i won't take chances with nettie scooping it up while i'm here." "very well, cora. you may take charge of it. father suggested it was not a bad thing to have along when we take lonely runs. but, of course, i should never dare to fire it even to scare a tramp." "say, are you girls going to stay here all summer?" asked walter. "i thought you had planned for a tour somewhere." "we have. we are going to tour in our cars through new england," answered cora. "first, we are going to the berkshires, then we may go to the white mountains. of course, we are not going to let our cars get rusty around here." "no, indeed," put in bess. "we are only waiting to arrange about our chaperon. isn't it dreadful to be a girl, and have to be toted around under some maternal wing?" "well, no. i shouldn't exactly think it dreadful to be a girl," and jack made a funny face; "that is, a real nice twin girl, with rosy eyes and blue cheeks----" "jack!" "but i was just going to say," went on that young man, "that the toting around might be inconvenient--at times." "couldn't a fellow or two do the toting?" asked walter the innocent. "that's just exactly the trouble. if we were perfectly sure we would not meet a fellow or two," replied belle, making a very pretty mouth at walter, "there would be no need of the toting." "then don't meet them--take them along. i'll go." "me, too," added ed. "me, three," multiplied jack. "we fully expected you all to come," drawled cora coolly. "oh, you did? isn't that nice! they fully expected us all to come, and never told us a word about it. now, that's what i call real cozy, and real----" "jack," interrupted cora, "have we ever had a long trip entirely without you?" "seems to me you did have one or two--rather disastrous they were, too, if i remember aright. but we caught up. now this time you are really going to allow us to go in the line, eh?" "just to wind up the season," cora reminded him. "oh, sort of a winder. well, it's all right, cora. i hope we can fix it to go. when do we start, if a fellow might make bold to ask? you see, my car is in the shop. walter has loaned his to some one up the state. but a little thing like that doesn't matter when the girls say we shall go----" "if we have to walk," finished ed. "we did plan to leave as soon as mamma could arrange about a friend of hers to accompany us," said bess, with a sigh. "we hoped she would know when she came back to-morrow." "well, i'm going to take my car down to the garage," remarked cora, getting up from the porch swing. "we can talk of the trip after tea. and we have also decided to ask you poor, starved bungalofers to tea. have you had any since you went to housekeeping?" "ed _said_ it was tea," replied jack, "but i think it was stove polish thinned out. we didn't really enjoy it. now, that's awfully nice. to stay to tea! bess, may i take your car in for you?" "if you would, jack. i am lazy after the sunny ride. seems to me the sun never goes down at the beach." ed had not asked permission to run cora's car down the street for her, but he was now cranking up, while walter deliberately took his place at the wheel. "let the 'chiffonier' do the work," said walter, with a laugh. "he loves work." cora stepped lightly into the tonneau of her handsome machine, and ed followed. "to the imperial!" he shouted into walter's ear, "and see that you get there, man!" so the tables were turned, and walter was "doing the work." as there was nothing left to do, walter threw in the gear lever and let in the clutch, while cora, laughing at the trick, settled herself comfortably at the side of ed. the _whirlwind_ skimmed along the avenue, first down to the post office and later fetched up at the garage. bess and jack, with belle, followed, and as the little party glided along through the sea-side town, many admiring glances were cast in their direction. "if nettie does not come," remarked ed, "are you sure, cora, you won't be the least bit afraid alone at the cottage?" "why, no. there is a telephone wire over to the hotel, and, besides, i'm going to cock the little ivory pistol before i go to bed. a sneak thief always runs at the very sound of a pistol." "well, i hope you will have no occasion to fire," replied ed, "but, if you do, fire from the south window, and we will hear you." "and run all the way up the beach?" cora told him, laughing at the possibility. "why, there is always an officer on the pier, and he will be only too glad to have a run--he needs it." "you have it all planned?" "no, how silly! i was only thinking that in a real emergency it is well to be ready." "i guess you won't have any trouble. here, man," to walter, "don't you know better than to drive the lady into the barn?" but walter paid no heed, and before the car stopped it was properly stalled in the very end of the big stone garage. chapter iii a mishap "the tea was just right," declared ed, "and i can't see why you will not consent to let us entertain you for the remainder of the evening. just because the maid has not come down is surely no reason why you should lose such a fine evening's sport." "but we never leave the house entirely alone after dark," protested belle vaguely. "lucky house," put in jack. "but i don't believe the cottage would mind it the least bit, would you?" and he put his ear to the wall. "no, it says to go ahead. yes? what's that? delighted? of course, i knew it would be. nice clover," and he patted the plain, white wall. "of course, you want the girls to go out with us in that dandy little launch. i knew it! now, girls, get ready. it is time to start." "and no chaper--" they all protested. "quit!" shouted walter. "i have it on good authority that when a girl's brother is along, and when there are twins in the same party, and when there are two fellows, near twins, in aforesaid same party, that makes a cross-finger combination on the chaperon. she doesn't have to come along." walter was looking his very best, which was always good, for the brown boy was now browner than ever, with the tan of beach sand and sun. bess wore a most becoming linen gown, with just a rim of embroidered pink around her plump neck, and she, too, looked charming. then belle--belle always wore dainty things, she was so perfectly blonde and so bisquelike. her gown was of the simplest silvery stuff that jack described as cloudy. cora, after her auto trip of the afternoon, had "freshed up" in dazzling white. she loved contrast, and invariably, after driving, would don something directly opposite to that required for motoring. her dark hair looked blacker than usual against the fleecy white, and her face was strictly handsome. cora kimball had grown from pretty to handsome just as naturally as a bud unfolds into a flower, with the attending dignity. "if cora thinks it's all right," weakened bess. "i don't see why we shouldn't go," replied cora, "especially as the boys cannot have the launch for another evening. but i suppose that would mean a second change of dress," with a look at the flimsy costumes about her. "why?" asked jack. "these--in the evening on the water?" "why not? wear shawls or something----" "yes," assented belle. "it is all right to be dressed up in a launch when we don't have to motor the boat." "oh, i'll attend to the motoring," promised ed. "i am the fellow who borrowed the boat." "has nettie a key?" asked cora. "i guess so," replied bess. "we can leave the cellar window----" "we can do nothing of the sort, bess robinson," interrupted belle, "and have that man sneak in? i guess not!" "oh, your man!" protested jack. "haven't you forgotten him yet? that's what i call faithful." "well, at any rate, i am sure nettie has her key," finished bess. "and there is only one more train. if she does not come----" "i'll sleep in the hammock on the porch," volunteered jack. "it would be heaps better than melting in the bungalow to-night." "i thought that bungalow was perfection," remarked belle. "it is--on the catalogue. but after a day's sun like to-day we just put our ham and eggs on the corrugated iron roof, and they are done to a turn in the morning, with nice little ridge patterns on them." "if we are going sailing, we'd better be at it," walter reminded them. whereat the girls ran off to get wraps, and shortly returned ready for the trip. nor were the wraps lacking in beauty or usefulness. cora had a family shawl--the kind that defies description outside of the french-english fashion papers. it was of the paisley order, and did not seem to be cut any place; at the same time it fell in folds about her arms and neck with some invisible fastenings. her hood was made from a piece of the same wonderfully embroidered stuff--a big red star, with the points drawn in. bess and belle both wore pretty cloaks of eiderdown. bess was in pink and belle in blue. "take your guitar, cora," suggested ed. "we will have some singing." "and you can play that piece--what is it? 'love's hankering?'" asked jack. "'love's triumph,'" corrected bess, "and it's the prettiest piece out this summer. cora plays it beautifully." "it is pretty," confirmed belle. "yes, i like it," admitted cora. "as long as you are bent on a romantic evening, we may as well have the little love song," and she slipped the strap of her guitar case over her arm as they started off. jack took his banjo. he, too, liked the new summer "hit;" in fact, every one was whistling it as well as they could, but it took tuned strings to give it the correct interpretation. it was delightful on the water. the smaller bay opened into another and provided safe motor boating. the tide was slowly receding, and as the party glided along, little moonlight-tipped waves seemed to caress the launch. jack and cora were playing, bess and belle were humming, while walter was "breathing sounds" that could scarcely be classified, and ed was content to run the motor. "now, isn't that pretty?" asked belle of ed, as cora and jack finished the popular piece. "very catchy," replied the young man. "but cora has given it a twist of her own," said jack; "the end goes this way," and he correctly played a few bars, "while cora likes it thusly," and he played a strain or two more in different style. was it the moonlight on the baby waves? was it the murmur of that gliding boat? or was it something indefinable that so awakened the sentiments of the party of gay motorists? for some moments no one spoke; then jack broke the spell with a lively fandango, played in solo. "this seems too good to last," prophesied belle, with a sigh, "do you think it was all right to leave the cottage alone?" "now, tinkle," and walter moved as if to take her hand, "haven't we assured you that the cottage expressly desired to be left alone to-night, and that we fellows wanted your company?" it was a pretty speech for walter, and was not lost on the sensitive belle. "how about sand bars, ed?" asked jack. "might we run onto one?" "we might, but i guess i could feel one coming. the tide is getting away. we had better veer toward the shore." "oh! is there danger?" asked belle, immediately alarmed. "not much," replied ed, "but we wouldn't like to walk home from this point." he was twisting the wheel so that the launch almost turned. then a sound like something grating startled them. "bottom!" exclaimed jack, jumping up and going toward the wheel. "that was ground, ed!" "sounded a lot like it, but we can push off. get that oar there, walter; get the other and----" the launch gave a jerk and then stopped! "oh! what is it?" asked bess and belle in one voice. "nothing serious," cora assured them. "you see, the tide has gone out so quickly that it has left us on a sand bar. i guess the boys can push off. they know how to handle oars." but this time even skillful handling of oars would not move the launch. ed ran the motor at full speed ahead and reversed, but the boat remained on the bar, which now, as the tide rapidly lowered, could be plainly seen in the moonlight. "what next?" asked cora coolly. "hard to say," replied ed, in rather a mournful tone. "if we had gone down the bay, we would not have been alone, but i thought this upper end so much more attractive to-night. however, we need not despair. we can wait for the tide." "till morning!" almost shouted belle. "it's due at three-thirty," announced the imperturbable walter. "oh! what shall we do?" wailed bess. "we might walk," suggested cora. "it isn't very far to that shore, and it's shallow." "mercy, no!" exclaimed belle. "there are all sorts of holes in the mud here. i would stay forever before i would try walking." cora laughed. she had no idea of being taken seriously. "now, you see," said walter, "my wisdom in curtailing the chaperon. just imagine her now," and he rolled laughingly over toward jack. "easy there! no need for artificial respiration or barrel-rolling just yet," declared jack. "in fact, if we had a bit of water, we'd be thankful. let me work the engine, ed. maybe i can give luck a turn and get more push out of it." ed left his place, and jack took it, but the sand bar held the little launch like adamant, and it seemed useless to exert the gasoline power further. "suppose we have the little ditty again," suggested ed, taking a seat near cora. "what was it? 'love's latitude?'" "no, 'love's luxury,'" asserted walter, as he made a comical move toward belle. but belle was disconsolate, and she only looked at the moon. it was almost funny, but the humor was entirely lost on the frightened girl. "when in doubt play 'the gypsy's warning,'" suggested cora, picking up her guitar. "there is something bewitching about that tune." "see if we can bewitch a wave or two with it," remarked jack. "that would fetch us in a little nearer to shore." but the situation was becoming more serious each moment. there they were--high though not exactly dry upon a big sand bar! not a craft was in sight, and none within call! "if we only could trust the bottom, we fellows might get out and push her off," suggested walter, "but it wouldn't be nice to get right in the line with davy jones' locker." "oh, please don't do that," begged bess. "it will be better to stay safely here and wait for the tide than to take any chance of losing----" "wallie. sometimes he's walter, but when it comes to the possibility of our losing him, he's wallie," declared jack, clasping his arms around the other boy's neck. "starboard watch ahoy!" "right about face, forward march!" called walter ridiculously. "that's not the same set," corrected jack. "this was another kind of a watch--stem winder." the jollying of the boys kept the girls from actually feeling the seriousness of their plight. but to wait until morning for the tide! chapter iv to the rescue "don't tell the girls, but i am going to swim ashore," whispered walter to jack. "a nice fix we would be in if mrs. robinson came home and found the girls missing." "swim ashore!" repeated jack in surprise. "why, walter, it's a mile!" "can't help it. i can do it, and i see a light directly opposite here. you give ed the tip to keep the girls busy, while you stay back here with me. i'll be overboard in no time." jack tried to persuade his friend not to take the risk, but walter was determined; so, unobservedly divesting himself of his heaviest garments, he dropped over the side of the launch and was soon stroking for the shore. for some time the girls did not miss him, but belle, keen to scent danger, abruptly asked if walter had fallen asleep. "yes," drawled jack, "he is the laziest fellow." cora pinched jack's arm, and he in return gave her two firm impressions. she instantly knew that something was going on, and did her best to divert belle's attention from it. "but where--is--he!" exclaimed belle, for her gaze had traveled to the end of the launch and back again without seeing walter. "he--is gone!" realizing that the young man was actually not aboard the boat, she sank down in abject terror, ready to cry. "don't take on so," said ed. "he is all right. he has gone ashore to get help." "gone ashore!" exclaimed both belle and bess in a breath. "girls, do you imagine we would sit here calmly and try to quiet you if there was anything actually wrong?" asked cora. "why don't you give the boys credit, once in a while, for having a little common sense?" looking across the water, the movement of the swimming youth could be seen, where the moonlight reflected on the waves. "oh, i am so frightened!" exclaimed belle. "i felt that something would happen!" "something always does happen when it is expected," cora told her, "but let us hope it will be nothing worse than what we already are conscious of. it was splendid of walter to go, and i am sure he will return safely." "he's a first-rate swimmer," declared ed, looking anxiously at the little rippling motion that marked walter's progress. "he can easily go a mile." then quiet settled upon the party. it was, indeed, a gloomy prospect. stranded--walter swimming in the bay--and nothing but sky above and water beyond them, just far enough away to be out of the reach of the launch. all the thoughts of the young folks seemed to follow walter. belle hid her face in her hands, bess clung to cora, and the two young men watched the progress of the swimmer. it seemed hours when, suddenly, a movement in the water, not far from them both, was noticed by bess. "oh! what is that?" she called. "can it be----" "oh, it's walter!" shrieked belle, clasping her hands. "it can't be!" answered ed, at the some moment raising a lantern above his head to see, if possible, what was making the splash in the water. "it's as big--as--a----," began belle. "horse!" finished cora. "i saw a head just then." "oh, it's a whale!" cried bess, actually dropping into the bottom of the boat as if to hide from the monster. "and he may have eaten walter!" wailed belle. "girls!" commanded cora. "do try not to be so foolish. there are no whales in this bay." but all the same her voice was unsteady, and she would have given worlds for a reassuring shout from walter. another splash! "there he goes! it's a porpoise!" cried jack. "no danger of one of those hog-fish going near a man. they're as timid as mice. just see him go! there ought to be a lot of others, for they generally go in schools. maybe this one was kept in because he couldn't spell 'book,' and is just getting home." cora breathed a sigh of relief at jack's joking tone. she didn't care to see the big fish swim--she was only too glad that he was going, and that he was of the harmless species described by jack. the others watched the porpoise as he made his way out to the open sea. "my, i'll bet walter was frightened if he met that fellow," said ed. "i wish he hadn't gone," he whispered to jack a moment later. "he said he would fire a pistol when he got to shore. he took a little one with him, and it's waterproof. let's listen." as if the magical words had gone by wireless, at that very moment a shot was heard! "there! he's safe! that was his signal!" cried jack, and cora said afterwards that he hugged belle, although the youth declared it was his own sister whom he had embraced. "now, we will only have to wait and not worry," ed remarked. "over at that light there must be human beings, and they must have boats. boats plus humans equal rescue." the relief from anxiety put the girls in better spirits. bess and belle wondered if nettie had returned, and speculated whether, on finding them gone, she might have notified the police. cora was thinking about what sort of lifeboat walter would return with, while ed and jack were content to look and listen. a good hour passed, when a light could be seen moving about the beach. "they're coming, all right," declared ed. "watch that glimmer." the light moved first to the north, then in the other direction, until finally it became steady and was heading straight for the party in distress. "wave your lantern," suggested cora. "they may not be able to see it as it stands." ed stood on the seat and circled the light about his head. breathlessly they stood there--waiting, wondering and watching. "i'm going to call," said bess, at the same moment shouting, "walter!" at the top of her voice. "c-o-m-ing!" came the reply, and this time it was an open question whether bess hugged ed or jack. "now we will be all right," breathed belle. "oh, i shall never want to see a motor boat again! the _flyaway_ is good enough for me." "yes, i fancy a motor on the earth myself," cora agreed, "but, of course, a little experience like this adds to our general knowledge. i hope walter is all right." "just hear him laugh," said jack, as a chuckle came over the water. "likely he has struck up with some mermaid. it would be just wallie's luck." the merry voices that could now be heard were reassuring indeed. nearer and nearer they came, until the girls actually became interested to the extent of arranging side combs and otherwise attending to little niceties, dear to the heart of all girls. "it's a mermaid, sure," declared jack. "i heard her giggle!" and he grabbed out cora's side comb to arrange his own hair. "oh, it is--a girl," whispered bess to cora. "i heard her voice." "i hope she's nice," answered cora, "but as long as we get some one to pull us off we have no occasion to be particular." by this time the rowboat was almost alongside. "hurrah!" shouted jack. "also hurray!" added ed. "walter, you're a brick!" exclaimed cora fervently. the light of the lantern now fell upon the face of the stranger. the stranded ones looked upon the countenance of a girl, not perhaps a very young girl, nor a very pretty girl, but her face was pleasant, and she pulled a stroke as steady as did walter. walter stood up. he was enveloped in a bath robe! chapter v friend or foe? when their launch pulled up to the dock that night, an anxious party greeted them. nettie had returned from the city, and upon finding the cottage deserted had waited a reasonable length of time before consulting the neighbors. then she found that the young folks had gone sailing. that settled it, for the waters of the bay are never considered too reliable, and when the girls did not return by ten o'clock nettie locked up the cottage and set off for the beach. of course, she learned that such a party had gone out, but in what direction no one along the beach front seemed to know. the upper bay course was the last thing thought of, and, when nettie did succeed in hiring a fisherman to set out and search, he went down the cove opposite to the course taken by ed in his motor boat. in half an hour the fisherman returned, and, as luck would have it, he brought with him walter's cap, which had fallen overboard as the youth started out from the stalled motor boat, and so drifted in the other direction. in the rapid time that bad news always flies, the report became circulated that a sailing party was lost. hazel and paul hastings, two friends of the motor girls, heard the report at their cottage, and hurried down to the little wharf, where they found nettie in the deepest distress. just as paul was about to set out himself, the launch chugged in, with the party laughing and singing, cora playing that same tune, and with our friends was the little lady from the bungalow, she who had rescued walter, and who went with him to the succor of the stranded ones on the sand bar. it was a wonderful evening, and when cora, with bess, belle and miss robbins, the new girl, stepped ashore, they evidently did not regret the length of time spent upon the water. miss robbins, it developed, was a young doctor, stopping up the river in a bungalow with her mother. her boat was towed by the launch when they came in, and, although she wanted to row back, the others would not listen to such a proposition. "it won't take half an hour to get to the garage and bring my car right down here," insisted walter, "unless you prefer walking up to the cottage with the young ladies, and i can run over there for you. i will have you back in your bungalow in ten minutes more." miss robbins was one of those rare young women who always did what was proposed for her, and she now promptly agreed to go to the cottage, and there await walter and his car. as they entered the little parlor bess drew cora aside and demanded: "how ever did walter find out that she'd just love to go to the berkshires? and he wants to know if she is _homely_ enough to be our chaperon," she added, with a laugh. "she is," replied jack's sister promptly, and in a tone of voice remarkably decisive for cora, considering. "but she's nice," objected bess. "very," confirmed cora, "and we should conform to the rules--homely, experienced and wise." "she's a lot of those," went on bess, who seemed taken with the idea of going to the hills with miss robbins as chaperon. "besides, i like her." "that's a lot more," said cora, with a laugh. "i like her, too. it seems to me almost providential. we are going to the berkshires, she wants to go, we can't get a mother to take us, so a young doctor ought to be the----" "very thing," finished bess, and she joined the others indoors. "but here is walter back. how quickly he got around! looks as if walter is very keen on time--this time," and the tooting of the auto horn outside drew them to the door. "walter's privilege," whispered cora, just as miss robbins hurried to the steps. "isn't this splendid," said the stranger, with polite gratitude. "one would not mind getting shipwrecked often for an auto ride. and such an evening! or night, i suppose it is now." "i'll go along," said cora, realizing that she ought to do so. "me, too," said jack, thinking he should go with cora. bess and belle would then be alone with ed. of course, nettie was about, and they might sit on the porch until the others returned. jack jumped in with walter, while cora and miss robbins took the second seat. the car was not walter's runabout, but a larger machine from the garage. "i'll have to come down in the morning for my boat," said miss robbins. "we've been living on soft clams lately, and i have to go out quite a way to dig them." "do you dig them?" asked cora. "of course, why not? it is muddy and dirty, but it's lots cheaper than buying them, and then we are sure they are fresh." "i'll go up in the boat when i fetch the robe back," said walter, who, it was plain to be seen, liked the excuse to visit the bungalow on the rocks. "what time do you clam?" "well, i have to call at the fresh-air camp tomorrow. i'll be back about eleven, and can then get some dug in time for lunch." "we are bungalowing," spoke jack. "why can't we clam, wallie?" walter poked his free elbow into jack's ribs. "you can, of course, what's to prevent you," and he gave him such another hard jab that jack grabbed the elbow. "but i wouldn't start tomorrow--it's unlucky to clam on wednesday," finished walter. the girls were too busy talking to notice the boys' conversation, if the pokes and exclamations might be classified as such. "don't you ever sink?" called back jack to miss robbins. "oh my, no! i can tell all the safe and unsafe places." and she laughed merrily. "it is late for us to bring you home," said cora. "i hope your mother won't be frightened at your absence." "oh, no, mother has absolute confidence in me," replied miss robbins. "you see, mother and i are chums. we built the bungalow." "built it?" echoed cora. "yes, indeed. you must come around in daylight and inspect it. poverty may not be a blessing, but it is a pace-setter." walter felt this was the very kind of a girl he had dreamed of. she might not be pretty, but when she tossed the bath robe out to him as he was virtually washed up at her door, tossed it out while she ran to get her own wraps to join him in the rescue, he felt instantly that this girl was a "find." then, when she spoke of going to the berkshires, he was further convinced, and now, when she told of building a bungalow--what an acquisition such a woman would be! "aren't you afraid in the bungalow--just you and your mother in this lonely place?" asked cora, as they drew up to the territory that outlined a camping ground. "well we never have been afraid," replied miss robbins, "as i am pretty good with a revolver, but there seems to be some tramps around here lately. one visited us this morning before breakfast, and mother remarked he was not at all a pleasant sort of customer." "we had something like a similar call," said cora, "only the man didn't ring the bell--he crawled around the house." "mercy! why didn't the boys chase him?" "they did, but he was beyond chase when they arrived. that's the one thing uncertain about boys--their presence when one wants them," and cora stepped out of the machine to allow miss robbins room to pass. "there's a light in the window," remarked jack, as he, too, alighted from the machine. "and there's mother! mother, come out a minute," called miss robbins. "i want to----" "daughter!" exclaimed the woman at the little door. "i am almost frightened to death. what happened? where's your boat?" "why! you frightened, mother? about me?" "well, i suppose i should not have been," and the lady smiled as she stepped within range of the auto lamps. "but that horrid tramp. he came again!" "he did! how long ago?" "just as you left. i cannot imagine why he should sneak around here at this hour. he could not have wanted food." there was no time for introductions. the excitement of mrs. robbins precluded any such formality. all talked just as if they had been well acquainted. "we could tell the town officers," suggested walter. "it is not safe for women to be alone away up here." "he wanted to hire a boat, regina," said the mother, "just as if he could not get one handy at the pier." "shall we hunt for you?" asked jack. "we are professional burglar hunters--do it 'most every evening." "oh, thank you! but there are no hiding places about our shack. either you are in it or out of it, and in one way or the other one is bound to be in evidence," said miss robbins, smiling frankly. "what did your visitor look like?" inquired cora. "he was tall and dark and very stooped," replied mrs. robbins. "besides this, i noticed he wore boots with his trousers outside, as a farmer or clammer wears them." "oh!" said cora simply. but she did not add that this description tallied somewhat with that of the man she had seen about clover cottage. she particularly saw the boots, but many clammers wear them that way. "i fancy the girls will be timid to-night," cora remarked, as they started back to the cottage. "yes, this has been what you might call a portentous evening," agreed walter, "and i do declare i think miss robbins is--well--nice, to put it mildly." "wallie," said jack. "i will have an awful time with you, i can see that. but you are young, boy, very young, and she is already a doctor, so maybe there is hope--she may be able to cure you." chapter vi a thief in the night "hush!" "i heard it!" "call nettie!" "i would have to go out in the hall--the noise was somewhere near the second stairs." "but i am so frightened--i shall die!" "no, you won't. please be quiet! i have the little revolver!" cora crept out of bed and left belle trembling there. she only advanced a few steps when the sounds in the hall again startled her. the stairs certainly creaked. there was no cat, no dog. some one was walking on those steps. cora realized that discretion was the better part of valor. it would be foolhardy to run out in the hall, even with the cocked revolver in her hand. if she could only touch the button of the electric hall light! she stepped out cautiously. something seemed very near, yet, at that moment, there was no sound, just that feeling of some one near. she reached her arm out of the door, touched the button, and, in an instant, had flooded the hall with light. as she did so she saw a man turn and run down the three steps near the window, part way up the stairs. the window was open! cora was too frightened to move for a moment, then she raised her revolver, and the next instant the sound of a shot rang through the house. the man dropped out of the window. cora ran to it, looked down, saw the figure on the ground beneath, and fired again, but not at the man. with a cry the fellow jumped up, and as he hurried away cora saw that he limped. she must have hit him! in all this time she could not give a word to the three frightened girls who were screaming and shouting for help. nettie had run down from the third floor, belle was threatening to die, and bess was doing her best to make the boys down at the bungalow hear her cries. "did you kill him?" gasped belle, when cora finally returned to the bedroom. "no, indeed, but i guess i hurt him a little. he limped off rather unsteadily. i had no idea of hitting him, but just as i fired toward the window he darted into it. i could not help it. he should have surrendered." cora was as pale as death. her black hair fell in a cloud about her shoulders. she sank into a chair and still held the smoking weapon. "put that down!" commanded nettie. "not yet--he might come back," murmured cora. "there is no reason for you to fear, it is not cocked," and she held up the revolver to prove her words. "oh, do put it down!" begged belle. "seems to me you are more afraid of the revolver than of the burglar," remarked cora. "do you realize that a man has just jumped out of the window?" "of course we do," wailed bess, "but we don't want any more things to happen, and it's always the perfectly safe, unloaded guns that shoot people." "oh, i'll put it away, if you feel so about it," and cora stepped over to the dresser as she spoke. "i really hope i have not hurt the man very much!" "couldn't have, when he was able to get away," declared nettie. "but i just wish you had! the idea of a mean man sneaking around here! likely he's taken the silver. i didn't bring it up last night!" "well, that was not your fault, nettie," bess said. "we had so much excitement last night you are not responsible. besides, you wanted to go down for it, and i said not to bother. but i hope he didn't take grandma's spoons." "let's go down and find out," suggested cora. "oh, mercy, no!" cried belle, who all the time continued to shiver under the bed clothes. "let the old silver go--grandma's spoons and all the rest. we may be thankful we are alive." "but the man is gone," declared cora. "i saw him go." "yes, but there might be another man down stairs. who knows anything about such persons or their doings?" "again i'll agree, if it makes you feel better," replied cora. "but, you see, mother has been away so much, and jack is always at college, so that i am rather educated in this sort of thing," and as she glanced at her watch on the dresser the other girls could not help admiring her prudent courage. "what time is it?" asked nettie. "the mystic hour--when we are supposed to be farthest from earth," replied cora. "just two." "there is no use in trying to sleep any more," said bess. "we might better get up and dress." "and look like valentines in the morning! no, indeed, i am going to bed," and cora deliberately dropped herself down beside belle. "oh, nettie will keep guard," said bess, apparently disappointed that cora should give up her part of the "guarding." "strange, the neighbors did not hear the shots," the maid said. "but it is just as well. we might have had to entertain people more troublesome than burglars. i'm going down stairs. i must look about the spoons. mrs. robinson will be so angry----" "you will do nothing of the sort, nettie!" commanded belle, sitting bolt upright. "i tell you we must all stick together until morning. i won't consent to any one leaving the room!" even bess laughed, the order was so peremptory. nettie fussed around rather displeased. finally she asked if the young ladies wanted anything, and learning that they did not made her way upstairs. "if you are to stay in this room, bess," said cora, "please get some place. i want to put out the light." "oh, we must leave the light burning," insisted belle. "must we? very well," and cora drew a light coverlet over her eyes. "good night, or good morning, girls. let me sleep while i may. who knows but the officers will be after me in the morning!" bess dropped down upon the couch in the corner. both twins had unlimited confidence in cora, and as the time wore on they both felt, as she did, that there was no longer need for alarm. "she's actually asleep," said belle quietly. "good girl," replied bess. "wish i was. i hate to be awake." "but some one has to watch," said the sister. "what for?" "he might come back." "with a ball in his leg, or somewhere? not much danger. cora was plucky, and we were lucky. there! a rhyme at this hour! positively dissipation!" "i am glad mother was not at home," whispered belle. "of course, that was the man who has been sneaking around." "likely." "did cora say so?" "no, not just so, but she said she saw him." "do you suppose they will say anything about her shooting him?" (this in a hissed whisper.) "belle?" "what, dear?" "i must--go to--sleep!" "then i must stay awake. some one has to watch!" chapter vii the search the spoons were gone! nettie discovered this very early the next morning, for the truth was, the maid did not return to sleep after the escape of the burglar from the robinson cottage. the fact that she had been intrusted with the care of the table silver, during the absence of mrs. robinson, gave the girl grave anxiety, and, although bess was willing to say it was partly her fault that the silver had not been brought upstairs that night, nettie felt none the less guilty. the boys, ed and jack, were around at the cottage before the tired girls had a chance to collect themselves after breakfast. "we have got to make a quiet search first," said jack, after hearing the story. "no use putting the officers on until we get a look over the neighborhood. from cora's version of the affair he could not have gone very far." this was considered good advice, and accordingly jack went back to the bungalow for walter, so that all three chums might start out together. "did you really get a look at him?" ed asked cora. "not exactly a look," replied cora, "but i noticed when he jumped up into the window that he wore a beard--he looked almost like a wild man." "naturally he would look to you that way, under the circumstances," said ed, "but what stumps me is how you expected him--how you had the gun loaded and all that." "well, didn't he prowl around the very first day we came in from leaving mother at the train? he seemed to know we would be alone," declared belle. "i hope he is so badly hurt that he had to----" "give up prowling," finished cora. "well, i hope he is not badly hurt. it is not pleasant to feel that one has really injured another, even if he be a bold, bad burglar." "don't let that worry you," encouraged ed. "i rather guess his legs are used to balls and bullets. but here come the fellows. so long, girls," as he started off to meet walter and jack. "if we don't get the spoons we will get something." "where are they going?" asked bess. "oh, i am so nervous and tired out this morning!" and belle's white face corroborated that statement. "i feel i will have to go back to bed." "it's the best thing you can do," advised cora, for, indeed, the dainty, nervous belle was easily overcome. "i might say, though, go out on the porch and rest in the hammock. the air will help." nettie was already searching and beating the ground from under the hall window out into the field, and then into the street. she had found one spoon, and she had also found a spot that showed where some one had lately been lying in the tall grass. cora joined her now, and the two came to the conclusion that the man had rested there possibly to do something for the injured foot or leg. "it is well you found even one spoon," said cora, bending low in the bushes to make sure there were no more dropped there, "for that will help in identifying the others." "but i do feel dreadfully," sighed nettie. "i have been with mrs. robinson so long, and nothing of the kind has ever before happened." "there has to be a first time," said cora, "and i am sure mrs. robinson will not blame you." "only for you what might have happened," exclaimed the girl, looking into cora's flushed face. "i cannot see how you ever had the courage to fire!" "i had to! think of three helpless girls--and a desperate man. why, if i showed fright, i am sure we might have all been chloroformed or something. why, what's this? i declare! a chloroform bottle! there! and it's from the town drug store! well, now, wasn't it lucky i had the revolver?" she picked up a small phial. "don't tell miss bess or miss belle," cautioned nettie. "they are so nervous now, i think they would not stay in the house another night if they knew about the bottle." "all right," agreed cora, "but it will be well for the boys to know about it. it shows that the man went to the spray drug store, and that he must belong about here some place." meanwhile, ed, jack and walter had done considerable searching. they followed what they took to be a trail, down over the railroad tracks, through swamps, and they finally brought up at an abandoned gypsy camp! "they left in a hurry," declared ed. "see, they had a meal here last night, at least." the remains of food and of a campfire showed that his surmise was correct, and jack made bold enough to pull down an old horse blanket that hung to the ground from the low limbs of a tree. "hello! who are you?" exclaimed jack, for back of the improvised curtain lay a man asleep! the other boys ran to the spot. "that's him," whispered ed, ignoring his education. "look at the bandaged foot!" the man turned over and growled. he was not asleep, but pretended to be, or wanted to be. "here!" exclaimed ed, giving him a shove, "wake up! we want those spoons you borrowed last night!" the fellow pulled himself up on his arms and made a move as if to get something in his pocket, but the boys were too many and too quick for him. ed and walter had his arms secure before he had a chance to sit upright. jack whipped out a strap, and while the fellow vigorously protested and exerted a desperate effort to free himself, the young men made him their prisoner. "you stay here, and i will go for the officer," said jack, having tied fast the man's hands and noting that the sore foot would not permit of any running away. "what do you want?" shouted the man. "if you don't let me go, i'll----" "oh, no, you won't," interrupted ed. "a nice chap to break in on a couple of girls! even robbers should have some honor," and ed pushed the man back into the grass just to relieve his feelings. "i didn't do no breaking in," said the fellow, turning in pain. "i got kicked with a horse." "a little iron broncho," remarked walter, with a smile. "well, that sort of kick stays a while. i guess you won't feel like running after that horse. did he run away?" the man looked as if he would like to strangle walter, but he was forced to lie there helpless. jack had gone. the officer, after hearing the story, decided to ask cora to go to the swamp to identify the man. with this intention the two stopped at the cottage, and cora promised to hurry along after them down to the abandoned camp. "i can't go this very minute," she said, "but i know the way. i will follow directly." "no need to go into the woods," said the officer, on second thought. "just step down to the station house. we will have him there inside of half an hour." this was agreed upon, and when jack and the constable had gone toward the camp, cora, without telling bess or belle, who did not happen to see the man with jack, slipped into a linen outing suit and started for the country police station. the road led cross-cut through a lot. there were trees in the very heart of this big meadow, and when cora reached a clump of birches she was suddenly startled to see an old woman shuffling after her. cora stopped instantly. it was broad daylight, so she had no thought of fear. "what do you want?" she demanded of the woman, whom she saw was an old gypsy. "i--want--you, young lady!" almost hissed the woman. "do not get salvo into trouble!" and she raised a black and withered hand in warning, "or trouble shall be upon your head!" "salvo!" "tony salvo! liza has spoken!" and the old gypsy turned away, after giving cora a look such as the young girl was not apt soon to forget. but cora went straight on to the police station. chapter viii the beginning of the end cora was pale and frightened. jack and ed had already reached the office of the country squire, where that official had taken the sulky prisoner. walter went back to the cottage to assure the young girls there that everything would ultimately be all right. from under dark, shaggy eyebrows the man stared at cora. he seemed to know of the gypsy woman's threat, and was adding to it all the savagery that looks and scowls could impart. but cora was not to be thus intimidated--to give in to such lawbreakers. "do you recognize the prisoner?" asked the officer. "as well as i can tell from the opportunity i had of seeing him," replied the girl, in a steadied voice. "what about him do you remember?" "the beard, and the fact that he is lame. i must have hit him when i fired to give the alarm." the man looked up and smiled. "humph!" he grunted, "fired--to give--the alarm!" "pretty good firing, eh?" demanded the squire. "now, miss kimball, please give us the whole story." again the man cast that swift, fierce look at cora, but her eyes were diverted from him. "the first time i saw him--i think it was he--was one evening when we were returning from a motor ride. i saw a man creeping around the cottage. he had that peculiar stoop of the shoulders." "he's got that, all right," agreed the squire. "the next time i saw the person, whom i take to be this man, was last night, about midnight. i was aroused from sleep, and upon making a light in the hall i saw a man under the window. the next moment he jumped out, and again i saw the figure under the window." cora paused. somehow she felt unreasonably nervous, but the strain of the night's excitement might account for that. "what have you got to say for yourself, tony?" asked the squire. "not guilty," growled the man. "i was at the camp last night, and when the old folks were packing up i got kicked with that big bay horse. ouch!" and he rubbed the injured leg. "looks funny, though, doesn't it, tony?" jack and ed were talking to cora. "if you have finished with us, squire redding, we will leave," said ed. "my sister is not used to this sort of thing." "certainly, certainly," agreed the squire politely. "i am much obliged for her testimony. i guess we will hold tony for the grand jury. gypsies in this county have to be careful, or they lose their rights to come in here. i think, myself, we would be better off without them." "then give me a chance to leave," snapped the man. "the rest are gone. we are done with this blamed county, anyhow." "well, you will have to settle up first," declared squire redding. "those spoons were valuable." "i ain't got no spoons! i tell you i was at the camp all night, and i don't know nothin' about this thing." "very well, very well. can you furnish a thousand-dollar bond?" "thousand-dollar bond!" and the gypsy shifted uneasily. "i guess not, judge." "then here comes the man to attend to your case. constable cummings, take this man to the station again and lock him up. here, tony, you can walk all right. don't play off that way." but tony did not move. he sat there defiant. officer cummings was a big man and accustomed to handling prisoners as rough and as ugly as this one. the two steel cells back of the fire house were often occupied by rough fishermen and clammers who forgot the law at the seaside place, and it was always tom cummings who put them in "the pen." "come, tony," he said, with a flourish of his stick. "i never like to hit a gypsy; it's bad luck." the prisoner looked up at big tom. then he shuffled to his feet and shambled out of the room. as he passed down the stone steps he brushed past cora. whether intentionally or otherwise, the man shoved the girl so that she was obliged to jump down at the side of the step. jack saw it and so did ed, but big tom winked at them and merely hurried the prisoner along. cora only smiled. why should the man not be rude when her evidence had accused him of a serious crime--that of breaking and entering? "i didn't tell you about the bottle," she said to the boys as they walked along. "i found this bottle in the fields." "chloroform!" exclaimed jack. "you should have told the judge, cora." "but could i prove that the man had it? besides, it would be awful to have that made public." "you are right, cora," agreed ed. "first thing we'd know, it would be in the new york papers. 'attempt to chloroform three young girls!' that would not be pleasant news for the folks up home way." "oh, well, i suppose you are right," said jack. "but that bottle puts a different light on the case, and it seems to me the fellow ought to suffer for it." "and do you know that old gypsy woman, liza, met me and tried to scare me into--or out of--identifying tony? she made a most dramatic threat." "did, eh? i thought all the gypsies had cleared out!" exclaimed jack. "i'll go and get a warrant for her----" "she took the eleven o'clock train," said cora. "i saw her going to the station as i came up the street. oh, i wouldn't bother with the poor old woman. this man is her brother, and naturally she wants to keep him out of trouble." "at the expense of trouble for others." jack was determined to have justice for his sister. "i'm going to make sure she and the whole tribe have left the county. the lazy loafers!" "now, jacky," and ed smiled indulgently. "didn't liza tell your fortune once, and say that you were going to marry the proverbial butter tub? it is not nice of you to go back on a thing like that." "did it strike you, boys, that this man answers the description of the man mrs. robbins was frightened by?" asked cora. "that's so," agreed ed. "i'll bet he had his eye on something around the bungalow--not miss robbins, of course." "well, it seems better that he is now safe," said cora, with a sigh. "i'm glad i am through with it." "i hope you are," said ed, and something in his manner caused cora to remember that remark. "i hope you are!" but cora was not through with it by a great deal--as we shall soon see. chapter ix the start "dear me! i did think something else would happen to prevent us from getting off," said bess, as she and belle, with cora, actually started out to get the autos ready for the tour to the berkshires. "and to think that miss robbins can go with us!" "i'm sure she will be a lot better than a nervous person like dear mamma," said belle. "not but what we would love to have mamma go, but she does not enjoy our kind of motoring." "it does seem fortunate that miss robbins wanted to go," added cora. "i like her; she is the ideal type of business woman." "is she?" asked belle, in such an innocent way that the other two girls laughed outright. "oh, i suppose i ought to know," and belle pouted; "but we always think cora knows so much better--and more." "which is another fact i have bumped into," said cora. "i just feel that we are going to have the jolliest of good times," remarked bess, as they started down the road. "i never care what route we take. isn't it fine that the boys attended to all that arrest and police business for us?" "very fine," agreed cora, "but i like to have my say now about our plans. we are going to take the main road along the new york side. we will touch bridgeport and waterbury. you might like to know that much." "there are the boys, and there is miss robbins! my, doesn't she look smart!" suddenly exclaimed bess. "that's a smart outfit," cora agreed, as they saw the party approaching, miss robbins "done up" in a tan suit, with the exact shade in a motor cap. "i'm so glad we have all the things in the cars. it is so much better to do that the night before," remarked belle. "but you didn't do it the night before; i did!" her sister reminded her. "did you bring the hot-water bottle?" asked cora. "if belle gets a headache, you will surely need it." this was not a joke, neither was it intended for sarcasm, for on previous tours belle had suffered, and the getting of reliable remedies was one of the real discomforts of the trip. "i put in the water bag and mustard, too," said belle. "bess is just as likely as not to get a cold, and she has to have mustard." "i suppose cora brought cold cream," called bess, with a laugh. "that is usually the important drug in her medicine chest." "i did," admitted cora. "i will surely have to use a barrel of it going through the changes in the hills. i cannot stand a stinging face." mrs. robinson had taken a notion that her twins were outgrowing their twinship, consequently their outfits for the mountain trip had been made exactly alike in material and effect. the result was, the boys purposely mixed the girls up, asking belle what made her so thin, for instance, when they knew perfectly well that she was always thin, and that it was bess who had to own to being stout. the twins' costumes were of hunter-green corduroy, with knitted green caps. cora wore mole-color cloth, with a toque to match, and as they now stood before the garage, waiting the coming of the others, who had stopped at the post office, many admiring eyes turned in their direction. "they have a lot of mail," remarked cora gleefully, as jack waved letters and cards to her. "i hope it is nothing we don't want just now." "as long as the gypsy man is safe, we needn't fear anything unpleasant," said bess, "but i did feel a lot better when i heard that they took him to the real county jail." "oh, yes," and cora laughed. "you seemed to think that man was our particular evil genius. bess, all gypsies are supposed to steal." "hello!" "here we are!" "everybody and everything!" "no, wallie forgot his new handkerchief--the one with the pretty rose in the corner." "and jacky forgot his rope. we won't be able to haul him this time." "i forgot something," began miss robbins, "my absorbent cotton. see to it that if you must get hurt you don't get----" "the nose-bleed," ed finished more practically than eloquently. miss robbins was to travel in cora's car, with cora and hazel hastings. the boys had tried to alter this plan, they declaring one boy, at least, should go in the big car, but cora argued that the _whirlwind_ was distinctly a girl's auto, and only girls should travel in it. this put jack in his own runabout and walter and ed in the _comet_. the robinson girls, of course, were not to be separated, as the _flyaway_ seemed to know all about the twins, and the twins knew all about the _flyaway_. the weather was uncertain, and the fog horn at the point lighthouse had blown all night, so that the girls were naturally apprehensive. only cora's car was canopied, so that should it rain they would be obliged to stop and wait for clear weather. nevertheless it was a very jolly party that now waited at the garage for the machines to be run out. the boys went inside and attended to the very last of the preparations, while cora, too, insisted upon looking over her machine before starting off. "you'll have a fine trip," remarked the man at the garage. "i think the run through the berkshires one of the best there is. fine roads and nice people along the way." "well, we need both," answered miss robbins. "i don't know so much about roads, but people--we always need them." "all aboard," cried ed, as finally they all did get into the cars, and, as usual, the _whirlwind_ led. next came the _flyaway_, then the two runabouts with the young men. "what a fine chauffeur miss cora is?" remarked miss robbins to hazel. "yes, but you must call her cora," corrected hazel gayly. "we make it a rule to go by first names when we like people." "then you must call me regina," added miss robbins. "i hope the young men don't make me reggie." "they're very apt to," commented hazel. cora had thrown in the third speed, and was now bending over her wheel in real man fashion. they were getting out on the country roads, where all expected to make good time. bess also threw on her full speed, following cora's lead, and the boys, of course, gave the speeding signal on their horns. "my!" exclaimed miss robbins admiringly, as the landscape flashed by. "can't we go," added hazel exultingly. "it's like eating and drinking the atmosphere," continued the young lady physician. "i do love autoing," went on hazel. "my brother is a perfect devotee of the machine. but we do not happen to own one of our own." "that is where good friends come in," said miss robbins. "this trip is a perfect delight to me. and, really, it will fix me up wonderfully for what i have to undertake this fall. you see, we have just closed the bungalow, mother has gone home, and that left me free to go to the berkshires and have a little pleasure, together with attending to some business. i have a very old patient there. i have to call on her before she leaves the hills." "and you really have patients?" hazel looked in surprise at the young woman beside her. "of course, i do. but this one i inherited--she is a great aunt of mine." hazel leaned forward to ask cora what her speedometer was registering. "only twenty miles an hour," replied cora. "and we could go thirty easily. but i don't fancy ripping off a shoe, or doing any other of the things that speed might do." "i shall enjoy it all the more when i am so sure of that," spoke regina. "i cannot see why people take risks just for the sake of----" "hey, there!" shouted ed, as his car shot past cora's. "we are going on ahead." "so--we--see!" answered cora dryly. "what do you suppose they are up to?" asked bess, as she turned the _flyaway_ up to the side of the _whirlwind_. "haven't any idea," replied cora, just as jack, too, shot by. "see you later," called jack. "not deserting us, are they?" asked regina. "oh, no, just some lark," answered cora. but scarcely had the boys' machines disappeared than a trail of three gypsy wagons turned into the mountain highway from some narrow crossroad. "oh!" sighed belle, apprehensively clutching the arm of her sister. "don't, belle. you almost turned me into the _whirlwind_," cautioned the sister, as she quickly twisted around the steering wheel. "those are the beach gypsies," cora was able to say to bess. then no one spoke. bess leaned over her wheel, while cora looked carefully for a place to turn out that would bring her clear of the rumbling old wagons. a woman sat in the back of one of the vehicles. she poked her head out and glared at the approaching machines. then she was seen to wave a red handkerchief so that the persons in the next wagon could distinctly see it. the motor girls also saw it. this caused some confusion, as the motorists were trying to get out in the clear road, while the wagons were blocking the way. then, just as the _whirlwind_ was about to pass the second wagon, the driver halted his horse and stepped down directly in her path. he waved for cora to stop. "don't!" called miss robbins, and cora shot by, followed closely by bess, who turned on more gas. the gypsy wagons had all stopped in the middle of the road. the automobiles were now safely out of the wanderers' reach. "that was the time a chaperon counted," said cora, "for i had not the slightest fear of stopping. i thought he might just want to ask some ordinary question." "you are too brave," said miss robbins. "it is not particularly interesting to stop on a road like this to talk to gypsies when our boys are out of reach." "we must speed up and reach them," said cora. "i might meet more gypsies." belle was thoroughly frightened. hazel did not know what to make of the occurrence, but to cora and to bess, who had so lately learned something of queer gypsy ways, the matter looked more serious, now that there was time to think of it. "there they are!" shouted bess, as she espied the two runabouts stopped at the roadside. "they are getting lunch," said hazel. "look at jack putting down the things on the grass." "they certainly are," confirmed cora. "now, isn't that nice of them? and we have been blaming them for deserting us!" neither the motor girls nor the motor boys knew what the meeting of the gypsy wagons was about to lead to--serious trouble for some of the party. chapter x an explosion the rain came. it descended in perfect sheets, and only the fact that our tourists could reach a mountain house saved them from more inconvenience than a wetting. they had just partaken of a very agreeable lunch by the roadside, all arranged and prepared by the boys, with endless burned potatoes down on the menu as "fresh roasted," when the lowering clouds gave dame nature's warning. next the thunder roared about what it might do, and then our friends hurried away from the scene. the run brought them some way on the direct road to the berkshires, and in one of those spots where it would seem the ark must have tipped, and dropped a human being or two, the young people found a small country community. the special feature of this community was not a church, nor yet a meeting house, but a well-equipped hotel, with all the requisites and perquisites of a first-class hostelry. "no more traveling to-day," remarked cora, as, after a wait of two hours, she ventured to observe the future possible weather. "it looks as if it would rain all there was above, and then start in to scoop up some from the ocean. did you ever see such clouds?" ed said he had not. walter said he did not want to, while the girls didn't just know. they wanted to be off, and hoped cora's observations were not well-founded. miss robbins found in the hotel a sick baby to take up her time, and she inveigled bess into helping her, while the wornout and worried mother took some rest. the little one, a darling girl of four years, had taken cold, and had the most troublesome of troubles--an earache--so that she cried constantly, until miss robbins eased the pain. when the boys realized what a really good doctor the girls' chaperon was, they all wanted to get sick in bed, jack claiming the first "whack." but walter had some claim on medical attendance, for when the storm was seen to be coming up he had eaten more stuff from the lunch basket than just one walter could comfortably store away, and the headache that followed was not mere pretense. so the rainy afternoon at restover hotel was not idle in incident. it was almost tea time when cora had a chance to speak with her brother privately. she beckoned him to a corner of the porch where the rain could not find them; neither could any of their friends. "jack," she began, "do you know that the people in the gypsy wagon really did try to stop us? all that prattle of bess and belle was not nonsense. only for miss robbins i should have stopped." "well, what's the answer?" asked her brother. "that's just what i would like to find out," replied the sister. "it seems to me they would hardly have stopped a couple of girls to ask road directions or anything like that, when so many wagons, easier to halt than automobiles, had also passed by them." "maybe they wanted some gas--gasoline. they use that in their torches." "but why ask girls for it?" insisted cora. "because girls are supposed to be soft, and they might give it. catch a fellow giving anything to a gypsy!" "well, that might be so, but i have a queer feeling about that old witch's threat. she looked like three dead generations mummified. her eyes were like sword points." "she must have been a beaut. i should like to have met her witchship. but, cora dear, don't worry. we boys are not going to run away again, and if we see the gypsies we will see them first and last." "but there are bands of them all over the hills, and i have always heard that they have some weird way of notifying each band of any important news in the colony. now, you see, jack, the arrest of that man would be very important to them. they are as loyal to each other as the royalty." "nevertheless it is a good thing the fellow is landed, and it was a blessing that he went for the cottage instead of to miss robbins' bungalow. _they_ had no means of calling help," mused jack. "i suppose it was," answered cora. "but i tell you, i do not want another such experience. it was all right while i had to act, but when it was all over i had to----" "react! that's the trouble. what we do with nerve we must repeat without nerve. now, what do you think of your brother as a public lecturer?" and jack laughed at his own attempt to explain the reaction that cora really felt. "my, wasn't that a bright stroke of lightning?" exclaimed cora. "listen! something is struck!" "that's right!" "an explosion!" a terrific report followed the flash. then cries and shrieks all over the hotel alarmed those who were not directly at the scene of the panic. "oh, it's the kitchen! see the smoke!" jack and cora rushed indoors, their first anxiety being to make sure that all the girls and boys of their party were safe. "where is bess?" "where is belle?" "where are walter and ed?" "oh! where is miss robbins?" every one was looking for some one. in the excitement the guests at the hotel were rushing about shouting for friends and relatives, while smoke, black and heavy, poured up the stairs from the basement. jack, ed and walter were among the first to get out and use the fire extinguishers. there were plenty of these about the hotel, but on account of the injury to the men who were working in the kitchen at the time of the explosion, and owing to the fact that all the guests in the hotel just then were girls and women, the men having gone to the city, there really were not enough persons to cope with the flames that followed the lightning. "quick!" shouted cora, "we can get the buckets. bess take that one," pointing to the pail that hung on the wall, and which was filled with water. "belle, run around and find another! regina is with the injured men, so we cannot have her, but there is a girl! won't you please get a bucket from the hall?" this to a very much frightened young lady. "the fire extinguishers seem to be all emptied, and the men are beating back the flames from the stairway." in a remarkably short time more than a dozen frightened girls and women had formed a bucket brigade under cora's direction, and as fast as they could get the pails they handed them, filled and again refilled, to the boys, who were now doing all in their power to keep the fire from spreading to the dining-room floor. "what happened?" demanded one woman, when jack turned to take a pail of water from cora. "lightning struck the boiler," replied the young man. "oh, mercy!" exclaimed the same unreasonable person, who was delaying the men with her questions. "any one hurt?" "yes, three," and jack, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and looking like the earnest worker he was, dashed again down a step into the dense smoke to splash the pail of water on the smouldering but now well-wetted woodwork. it seemed then as if all the guests but our own friends had run out of the building, and were huddled on the porch or standing in the rain under the trees along the path. ed and walter had carried the cook and the dishwasher out from the kitchen immediately after the explosion of the boiler, and the other injured ones were in the little cottage adjoining the hotel, where miss robbins was binding up their burns and making good use of her skill and the materials that she carried in her emergency case. "but i am afraid this man is very dangerously injured," she told ed. "a piece of the boiler struck him directly on the back of the head." "should he go to the hospital?" asked the young man. "without question, if he could. but this is so far from anything like a hospital." "we could take him to waterbury in cora's car," suggested ed. "that is large enough to make him somewhat easy." "the very thing! but i could not go with him. this other man is suffering so," and she poured more oil on the face that had not yet been bandaged in cotton. "cora could run the machine, and i could hold jim--they say his name is jim." "poor jim!" sighed the young lady doctor. "he has a very slight chance. see, he is unconscious!" ed rushed out, and in a short time had the _whirlwind_ at the door. jack and walter were still busy with the fire, but they stopped when he called them, and together all three carried jim tenderly out, and when ed got in first they put the man in his arms. cora also had been summoned, and without as much as waiting for her cap, but, getting into the cloak that bess threw from the hall rack, she cranked up, and was at the wheel, following the directions for the nearest way to a hospital in waterbury. "it is his only chance," remarked miss robbins, when she heard some one say the jolting of the auto would kill him outright, "and both the car and its chauffeur can be depended upon." chapter xi the result of a blaze "that was plucky, cora." "what, ed?" "you running into waterbury with a man who might have died in your car." "then he would have died in your arms." "but i thought girls were so queer about things of that sort. when one dies in a house, for instance, a girl never likes the room----" "but you would have had to keep your arms. ed, i think the pluck was all on your side. but i do hope jim has a chance. he seems an awfully frail little fellow." "weighs about as much as you do, i should judge. but they say that kind of build is the best for fighting disease--there is not so much blood to take up the poison." they were riding back to restover. ed insisted upon driving the car, although cora declared that she was not the least tired. the trip to the hospital had been made at a very high rate of speed, as the unconscious man seemed in imminent danger, and cora's hands now trembled visibly from their work at the wheel of the _whirlwind_. "i suppose we will have to live on love tonight," remarked ed, "for that kitchen is certainly a thing of the past." "what saved the second floor?" "the heavy beams and metal ceiling. i guess they have had fires before in that hotel, for the ceiling was practically of iron. i just wonder what the boys are doing about now. i fancy walter has turned nurse to assist miss robbins." "and jack has taken up the role of engineer--to be made chief of the fire department. i shouldn't wonder but what they had formally organized by this time." "he certainly deserves to be chief; he did good work. when a gas tank--a small affair--started to hiss in the servants' dining room, jack grabbed up a big palm and dumped the contents of the flower pot into the tank. it was a small thing they heated coffee on, and when, the next moment, the tank broke it was surprised to find itself buried under a bed of sand, with flowers on the grave." cora laughed heartily at ed's telling of the incident. certainly strange things, if not really funny things, always seem to occur during the excitement caused by fire. "if everything in the kitchen is gone, don't you think we had better bring back some refreshments?" asked cora. "the folks will all have appetites when they find there is nothing to eat." "great idea. here is a good-looking store. let's load up." "but is there no manager at the hotel? who was or who is boss?" "jim. the management of that sort of place goes into the shape of bills and accounts, settled every month. some new york company owns the place. it was a failure, and they leased it to a local man. that's why there will be no one to look after things now." "well, we will buy the food and send our bill in to the company. i guess they will be glad enough to pay it when they hear of the emergency." "yes, it would not do for the hotel disaster to get into the new york papers, with a starved-to-death head. well, here's our store. what shall we buy?" cora and ed left the car and went into the store. they bought all sorts of canned goods, although cora declared they would have to be eaten raw. then they bought bacon and eggs. ed insisted on that, no matter, he said, if they had to come to town again and take back to restover a gas stove. he insisted that no well-regulated emergency feed ever went without bacon and eggs. bread and butter they procured for fifty persons. some cake for the ladies, ed suggested. pork and beans, canned, cora thought might do for breakfast, even if they had to be eaten from the cans. then the last thought, and by no means the most trifling, was wooden plates and tin cups. the bill footed up to ten dollars, and ed insisted that the man make out the bill as paid and marked for the restover hotel. a half hour later the _whirlwind_ drew up to the hostelry. the rain had ceased, and the hotel patrons were almost all out of doors, so that the motor girls and boys trooped down to meet ed and cora. as was anticipated, hunger prevailed, and when it was found that stores of eatables were in the tonneau of the _whirlwind_ even the most helpless, nervous ladies at the hotel wanted to help get the refreshments into the house. "but where can they be cooked?" "what can we cook on?" "there is no gas stove!" "not even an oil stove!" "we can't eat bacon raw!" "the bread is all right, anyway!" such was the volley of remarks that came out from the crowd. "we will manage somehow," said cora. "our boys are used to emergency work in the line of eating and fixing meals." "seems ter me," whined a wizen old lady, "thet the girls knows somethin' about it, too!" in the dining room on the second floor were two chandeliers. under these were, of course, tables, and before the anxious ones had time to settle their fears there stood on these tables cora, bess and belle, and on the other ed, jack and walter. each of our friends had in his or her hand something that answered to the pan or pot brand of utensil, and in the pan or pot, which was held over the gas, was something that began to "talk-talk" out loud of good things to eat, sizzling and crisping. it was very funny to see the young folks cooking over the handsome chandeliers, from which, of course, the glass globes had been removed. "well, did you ever!" exclaimed more than one. "those young folks do beat all! i used to think ma and pa brung us up right, but whoever on earth would have cooked bacon and eggs over a lamp," ejaculated an old man. "i guess driving them machines makes them smart," said another guest, as she took the pan cora handed down and gingerly slopped the stuff over on a wooden plate. "i guess it is a good thing to know how to drive an automobile. makes you right smart! whew! but that was hot!" and she put the overheated fingers into her mouth. "put another dish over it to keep it hot," cora ordered. "and can't some one set a table? that is not such a difficult thing to do." "see here!" called out ed, "this is no pancake party. i am not going to stay up here cooking all night. i am going down to eat. we have enough of tomatoes warmed to fill the wash bowl, and i love canned tomatoes if they are out of a washbowl. we washed the bowl, and sterilized it, and it's as good as a soup tureen." there stood the white wash basin almost filled with the steaming tomatoes. as ed said, there could be no objection to the crockery. jack had charge of the water for tea. this took a long time to boil, owing to the fact that the kettle was a very much bent-up affair that had been rescued from the ruined kitchen. bess was cooking canned peas, while belle insisted that all she could do was to turn over, with a fork, the things that cooked nicely on cora's pan. "done to a turn!" announced jack, as he jumped down with his pots. "now, if you folks need any more you will really have to go into active service." his initiative was followed by the others, and presently the less timid of the guests had put food into pans and taken up their places on the tables to do their cooking, while it seemed that all at once every one "fell to" and procured something to eat. "let there be no unbecoming haste!" remarked walter gently, but it was a great meal, that. chapter xii queer cobblers "isn't she disappointing?" remarked hazel. "very," answered cora. "to think that she should leave us for a patient!" "i cannot understand it." "i have heard that girls not home raised are like that--they have no sentiment." "nor honor, either!" "well, she didn't think she was bound to go with us, and, of course, there was money besides reputation in being on the spot when the hotel owners would arrive. but i am disappointed." "i hope the boys will not feel obliged to return for her," and cora's lip curled slightly. "she is such a good business woman she ought to be able to get to the berkshires from here." "walter seems enthralled," and hazel laughed. "i wonder how jack got him to leave her?" they were on the road again, and miss robbins, the physician, the business woman, the chaperon, had stayed behind to take care of those who had been injured in the explosion. there were good doctors within call, but she simply would stay, and saw no reason why the girls should not go on alone. to her the idea of being obligated to them was not to be thought of when a matter like professional business came up. of course, this was a general disappointment, for the girls would never have entrusted themselves to her patronage if they had not felt certain that she would keep her word with them. however, the fact was that they were on the road again, and regina robbins was happy on the sunny porch of the big hotel, incidentally attending to a cut or two on one man's face and a bad-looking burn on the arm of another. bess and belle were driving along, "their faces as long as fiddles," as cora said. the boys had taken the lead, and they were having their own trouble trying to convince walter that miss robbins had "dumped" the girls, and that it was a "low-down trick." the _whirlwind_ glided along apparently happy under the firm hand of its fair owner. the _flyaway_ seemed, too, to be glad of a chance to get away again, and as bess threw in the third speed, according to commands from jack, who was leading, the little silver machine darted away like an arrow freed from the bow. the day was wonderfully clear after the rain, and even the sunshine had been polished up by the scouring of the mighty storm of late summer. "i shouldn't care so much," belle confided to her twin sister, "but when we get to lenox alone, without a chaperon, what will people say?" "well, tinkle, we have not got there yet. maybe we may pick up a chaperon between this and that." "if we only could! where do we stop tonight?" "wherever we get." so they sped on. mile after mile was lapped up in the dust of the motors. out through connecticut, over the line into massachusetts, and along the splendid roads that border the housatonic river. houses were becoming scarcer and fewer; it was now largely a matter of woodlands and roads. "we have to make time now," called cora to the twins. "the boys say we should get to pittsfield by evening." "to pittsfield! why, that's----" "about a hundred," called cora again. "look out for your shoes, and don't be reckless on the turns. stripping your differential just now would be fatal." "all right," responded bess, "but mine is not the only car in the race." "thanks," called back cora, "and now we will clear off. good-by!" the _whirlwind_ shot ahead. jack's car was clear of the other--walter's, and as the run had to be made against time it was best for each machine to have "room to look around it." "oh!" gasped hazel, as cora swerved around a sharp bend, "i don't fancy this sort of riding." "but we have to get to a large town before night. it's all right. the roads are so clear." on they flew. only the shrieking of jack's siren and the groaning of the deep horn on walter's car gave messages to the girls. several miles were covered in silence, and then they came to a signboard. it told that the main road was closed, and that they must take to a side road--a highway that was fairly good, but much more lonely. "i suppose we'll get back to the main road before a great while," said cora. "i hope so," returned bess. "this looks dreadfully lonely, doesn't it?" "don't think about it," came from her sister. on they went, the way becoming wilder each instant. yet the road itself was fairly smooth, so that it was not necessary to slacken the speed of the cars. "something really smells hot," said hazel. "could anything ignite?" "not exactly," replied cora, "but we don't want to get too hot. it makes trouble." she slackened just a bit to make sure that hazel's anxiety had no foundation in fact, for, indeed, the big machine was using its engine and gas to the utmost capacity. just ahead the glare of the _comet_ could be seen as it plunged into a deep turn in a deeper lined wood. jack, in his _get-there_, was after the first, and then the girls had difficulty even in getting a responding sound from the toots and the blasts which all were continually sounding. "they are away ahead," said bess. "i thought they had seen enough of getting too far away from us. how do we know but that we might meet the gypsies on this lonely road?" "i wonder if it is late or early for motorists?" asked cora of hazel. "we haven't met a single party." "just happened so, i suppose," said hazel. "surely people out here must enjoy this sort of weather." "listen!" cora gave three sharp blasts on her horn, but no answer came. "the boys are getting too far ahead. "i will have to accelerate----," she called. she pressed down the pedal and bent over the wheel as if urging the machine to its utmost. then there was jolt--a roar! a bang! cora jammed on brakes. "a shoe is gone!" she cried. "exploded!" without the slightest warning a big tire overheated, had ripped clear off the front wheel, the inner tube exploded, and the car had almost gone into a ditch when cora stopped it. bess had seen the trouble, and was able to halt her car far enough away to avoid a collision. "isn't that dreadful!" cried cora, her face as white as the tie at her throat. "it ripped off just from speed!" "can't it be fixed?" asked hazel, who now was out beside cora. "oh, of course! but how and when? i have another shoe, but to get it on, and the boys, as usual, out of sight!" she had pulled off her gloves and was looking at the split tire. it was marvelous that it should have come off so clean--simply peeled. "and it's five o'clock," said belle, with her usual unfortunate way of saying something to make things worse. "but it isn't midnight," almost snapped cora. "let's try to call the boys," suggested belle. "aren't they dreadful to get so far away?" "very rude," and cora showed some sarcasm. "but the thing to do right now is not to wait for anybody, but to get to work. bess, can you help me slip in a tube and put on a shoe?" "i never have, but, of course, i'll try," and she, too, pulled off her gloves. cora quickly opened up the tool box, got out the jack, and then she unbuckled the shoe that was fast at the side of the _whirlwind_. "i always thought folks carried them to ornament the cars," said hazel, with an attempt at good nature, "but it seems that a cobbler is the thing we ought to carry for an ornament. we really don't need him, but we do need new shoes." "how long will it take?" asked belle. "there's no telling," replied cora. "it isn't exactly like putting a belt on a sewing machine." she handled the inner tube freely enough, and soon had it in the big rubber shoe, partly inflated. "easy as putting tape in a jelly bag," remarked hazel. "but we must get it on now and blow it up," said cora. "bess, get the pump." the pump was gotten, after which, with much exertion, the shoe was on the rim, and then the blowing began. this was not so easily accomplished as had been the other parts of the mechanical operation. first bess pumped, then belle tried it. hazel was sure she could do it, for she often blew up paul's bicycle, but this tire would not blow full. the girls were rapidly losing their complexions. such strenuous efforts! "oh, that's hard enough," declared bess, trying to push her pretty fingers into the rubber. "yes," answered cora, pressing on the tire, which sank with the pressure, "it's about as hard as rice pudding!" "how many pounds?" insisted bess. cora looked at the gauge. "sixty. i have got to have a full ninety for this car." "then i don't see how we are going to get it!" cora did not heed the discouragement. she was pumping now, and the shoe was becoming rigid. "if i get it a little harder i'll call it done!" she panted, "though we may ditch the car next time." chapter xiii a delay and a scare it was an hour later when the boys came back. they had discovered the loss of the girls when they had gone so far ahead that it took some time to return. the race was too much for them. they were obliged to admit that, in its interest, they had forgotten the girls. "if miss robbins had been along, i fancy walter would not have become so engrossed in the race," said belle maliciously. "well, miss robbins was not along," replied walter, with equal meaning. "and what's more, miss robbins will not be along," spoke cora. "i have heard of all sorts of things being permissible in the business world, but this, from a young lady, seems to be----" "the utmost," admitted jack. "but, sis, you must make allowances. we would dump miss robbins in the mountains, and likely crawl home by train, while the hotel reputation will continue to reputate." "suppose we quit buzzing and get at the car," suggested ed. "seems, though, as if cora had about fixed it up." "i'm not so sure," said cora eagerly. "i am afraid that there's something wrong other than the 'busted' tire. i was just about to look when you gentlemen returned. but will you please finish pumping first?" finally it was hard enough, and then cora jumped into the car, while jack cranked up. a noise that might have come from a distant sawmill rewarded the effort. "a nut or a pin loose," suggested walter, who now did what jack called the "collar-button crawl" under the big car. but that was only the beginning, and the end was that night came on and made faces at a very desolate party of young people, stalled miles from nowhere, with nothing but remorse of conscience to keep off the damp, night air. jack went around literally kicking himself, demanding to know whether they hadn't done the same thing before, and dumped those poor girls in a graveyard at midnight. when would boys learn that girls can't be trusted out of sight, and so, while the boys are supposed to be the girls' brothers, these same brothers must forego sport of the racing brand? jack really felt the situation keenly. there was no way out of it, the girls could not get to a town even in the able-bodied cars, for cora would no more leave her _whirlwind_ there in the darkness than she would have left bess or belle. then, when it was proposed that one of the boys stay to guard the machine, and the others of the party go along to some place, the objection of "no miss robbins" robbed the distracted young men of their last argument. "we will stay together," announced cora. "at any rate, that will be better than some of us going to a hotel, and all that sort of thing. we can bunk in the cars." "oh, in the woods!" almost shrieked belle. "well, no, you might go up a tree," said cora rather crossly. "there's many a nest unseen----" "wallie, you quit. the unseen nest is not for yours. you are hereby appointed for guard duty!" and ed snatched up a stout stick to serve as "arms" for the guard. "i have a little something," admitted jack, flashing a brand new revolver. "i have heard of the gypsy camps around these mountains, so i came prepared." "oh, those gypsies!" and belle had another spasm. "i feel that something will happen tonight! those dreadful gypsies!" "we can lock you in the tonneau of cora's car," suggested ed, "and when the gypsies come they can't 'gyp' you. they may take all of us, but no power on earth, not even palm reading, can move that monster." the idea that she really could be locked up in the car gave belle some comfort, although bess and hazel were holding a most secret convention over under a tree, where the last rays of light lingered as day hurried along. "why did you speak about the gypsies?" cora asked jack, by way of reproof rather than question. "you know the girls go off in kinks when they think of the burglar." "well, i suppose i shouldn't. but the fact is, we might as well be prepared, for there are bands of our friends tied up around these hills. fortune telling is a great business among summer idlers." "well, i hope we have seen the last of them. i'm going to stay in the open, in the _flyaway_. i'd rather do it than be cooped up with the girls in the tonneau, and there will be room for bess, belle and hazel inside the _whirlwind_. it won't be so bad--a night in the wide open." "oh, we fellows don't mind it, but, sis, might not some cocoon drop in your hair in the night? we had better rig up some sort of hood." "my own hood will do nicely, and i am almost dead from the exertion of that tire. i grant you, i will not lie awake listening for gypsies." "then we boys will take turns on the picket," said ed. "you can really depend upon us this time, girls. one will be awake and watching every minute." "oh, i'm sure it's all right out here," replied cora. "what would any one want in these woods at night?" "might want fishing tackle," answered walter. "yes, i agree with thee, edward; it is up to us to stay up to-night." with this positive assurance, the young ladies proceeded to make themselves comfortable in their novel quarters. cora curled up in the _flyaway_, and the _comet_, with ed and jack "sitting up in a lying-down posture," as they expressed it, was placed just where the young men could hear the girls whisper should any gypsies appear, or rather be scented. the first man to do picket duty, walter, was in the _get-there_, directly out in the road, so that presently it seemed a night in the wide open might be a novelty rather than a misfortune. some time must have passed. belle declared she was not asleep. bess vowed she was still asleep. hazel begged both girls to keep quiet, but the light of the gas lamps from the _get-there_ was bobbing about, and the flash of a new revolver was reflected in the night. "what can be the matter?" sobbed belle. "oh, i knew we shouldn't stay in these dreadful woods." "as if we could help it," complained her sister. "belle, if you insist upon going on motor tours, why don't you try to get some sense?" "all right, there!" called jack, who now, with another headlight in hand, was looking under and about the _whirlwind_. "yes! what's the matter?" answered and asked bess. "nothing that we know of," replied jack, "but wallie thought he scented game, and we need something for breakfast." "goodness sakes! likely a turtle or something," growled bess, dropping her plump self down plumper than ever on the cushions. "i don't believe it," objected belle. "they wouldn't wake us up for a turtle--or something." "make it a moose then," suggested hazel. "moose are plenty in new england, they say." "with the horns?" asked belle. "with and without," replied hazel. "but if you don't mind, i'm going out to join in the hunt. i have always longed for a real, live hunt." "oh, please don't," begged belle. "it might be a man!" "no such luck. there's cora with her lamp. they are certainly after something," and with this she opened the tonneau door and went out with the others into the wild, dark, lonely night. "i distinctly saw him," she heard jack say. "now, keep your nerve. cora, where is the little gun?" "i've got it," she replied. "i feel better with it. you boys have two." "what is it?" asked hazel, now thoroughly alarmed. "a man!" whispered cora. "walter saw him crawling around, and we are bound to find him. he is alone, that's sure, and there are seven of us." "oh!" gasped hazel. "but isn't it dangerous?" "a little, of course. but it would be worse to let sleeping dogs lie. it may be a harmless tramp--or a poor laborer--a woodsman." at the same time she knew perfectly well that any character of either type she mentioned would not go crawling around under stalled motor cars in the berkshire hills. chapter xiv the midnight tow a more frightened set of girls than were our young friends that night could scarcely be imagined. although cora did tramp around after ed and his lamp, with her pistol in her hand, she was trembling, and had good reason to be alarmed. as for bess and belle, they were, as hazel said, "tied up in a knot" on the bottom of cora's car, too terrified to cry. hazel herself felt no inclination to explore on her own account, but was actually walking on jack's heels, as he poked the motor lamp in and out of possible hiding places, seeking the mysterious shadow that had been seen to move and had been heard to rustle in the grass. but he was not found--a big slouch hat being the only tangible clew unearthed to a real personality. and this walter dug out of a hole near a rear wheel of the _whirlwind_. "don't tell the girls," he whispered to jack, "but here's his top-piece." "put it away--in the _comet_. we might need it," said jack, in the same low voice. "well, girls, of course you are frightened," began ed. "what do you say to all crowding into the _whirlwind_ and talking it out the rest of the night? we could make noise enough to scare away a dozen tramps." this idea was greeted with delight, even bess and belle venturing to poke their heads out of the tonneau door to beg the boys "all to come in." no more thought of miss robbins! it was now a matter of doing the best they could to restore something of the girls' lost nerves. and ed, jack and walter undertook the task with considerable more seriousness than it had occurred to the much-alarmed girls it might be necessary to give the matter. all the girls asked for was protection--all the boys thought of giving was confidence. "my poor, dear _whirlwind_" sighed cora, as ed assisted her into the tonneau. "to think that you have made all this trouble!" "no such thing," interrupted walter gallantly. "it is up to us. we deserted you just to see who would make the hill in best time, and this serves us right." bess, belle and hazel found plenty of room on the broad-cushioned seat, while jack decided that he wouldn't mind in the least sitting down on the floor beside cora, who had the folding chair. ed and walter took their places outside "on the box," and when the three other cars were lined up close the dark, dreary night under the trees, with the prospect of a man crawling around with malice aforethought, brightened up some. even the moon peeked through the trees to make things look more pleasant, and to belle company had never been so delightful before. she actually laughed at everything jack said, and agreed that it would be fun to live in a motor houseboat. cora alone was silent. she pleaded fatigue, but jack knew that his sister did not give in to fatigue so easily; he also knew that she had seen the gypsy's hat! she lay with her head pillowed on her brother's shoulder and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. it was the same little sister jack often told stories to, and the same black head that now was so glad to rest where many other evenings it had rested, when the mother was out and the sister did not like to "go to bed all alone, please, jackie dear!" "it's a great thing to have a brother," blurted out bess, in her ridiculous way, until jack declared that he had another shoulder, and she might appropriate it if she wished to be a "sister" to him. "i guess i am too nervous to motor at night," admitted belle. "i think, after this trip, i will plan mine by daylight." "but this was so planned," said cora. "whoever thought we would be stalled, that we would lose miss robbins, and that we would have to camp out all night in the _whirlwind_?" "of course, whoever thought it?" agreed jack, stroking the head on his shoulder. "do you suppose walter and ed are dead?" asked cora. "not that, but sleeping," returned jack. "if they die they will never forget it as long as they live. there is a sacred duty in standing picket duty." "oh, a light!" suddenly screamed bess. "it's coming this way!" "steady, there," shouted ed, in his clear, deep voice. "pass to the left!" and he tooted the horn of the _whirlwind_. "a machine!" announced jack, as he jumped up and peered through the wind shield. "oh! isn't that lovely?" gasped belle, willing at once to abandon her company for the prospect of getting out of the woods. by this time a big motor car had slowed up at the side of the other cars. the chauffeur alighted and, with all the chivalry of the road, asked what the trouble was. leaving out the scare and the hat part, the boys soon told of their difficulty and the young ladies' plight, whereat an old gentleman, the only occupant of the car, insisted that the young ladies get in with him, and that his man, benson, be allowed to tow the stalled car out of the hills. they decided to do this, agreeing that they had had enough of "camping out." "what name? what name did you say, sir?" he asked jack, at the same time kicking his many robes up into a corner to make all possible room ill his magnificent car. "kimball," replied jack, "of chelton, and the other names are----" "that's enough, plenty," the gentleman declared heartily. "i knew joseph kimball, of chelton, and i guess he was your father." "yes," replied jack, astonished at thus meeting a family friend. "well, when he went to chelton i located in new hampshire; that's where i belong." "do you? that's where we are going--to the white mountains, after a little stay in the berkshires," finished jack, as he handed cora into the handsome car, and then likewise assisted hazel and belle. "well, i guess we can fix you up then," said the old gentleman, in that hearty manner that can never be mistaken for mere politeness. "i have a girl of my own. we are in the berkshires now." "i will be delighted to know----" then cora stopped. she had not yet heard the gentleman's name. "betty rand--that's my girl. she's elizabeth, of course, but betty's good enough for me. get right in here, girlie," to belle. "got room enough?" "oh, yes, plenty, thank you," and belle slipped down into the cushions with an audible sigh. "well, you can depend upon benson. see that! he's got the car hitched already! never saw a fellow like benson," and mr. rand spread the robe over the knees of belle and cora, with whom he sat, while hazel had taken the small chair. "keep warm," he told her. "night air out here is trickish. i always take plenty of robes along." hazel assured him that she had every comfort, and then they heard ed toot the horn of the _flyaway_, as he and bess started off in the lead. walter was in his _comet_, and when jack was sure that everything was in readiness for the _whirlwind_ to be towed after the big six-cylinder machine, he jumped into his _get-there_, and presently the whole party was off again, going toward lenox. it was a wonderful relief--every one felt it--to be moving away from dread and darkness. "i always come up by night from new york," said mr. rand. "the roads are clear, and it saves time. besides, to-morrow is betty's birthday, and i have to be home." "yes," said cora politely. "we had no idea of traveling alone like this, but our chaperon----" "well, you've got one now," interrupted the man nicely, noticing cora's embarrassment. "i often do it for betty--she's only got me." there was a catch in his voice this time, and while the three girls instantly felt that "the bars were down again," and that they really did have a chaperon in the person of this delightful gentleman, still it would have seemed rude to break the effect of his last remark. "we are getting her up, all right," he said, referring to towing the _whirlwind_. "never saw the like of benson." "isn't it splendid?" exclaimed cora, looking back into the darkness and thus discerning the lamps of her car following. "it is a dreadful thing to be stalled." "can't be beat," agreed mr. rand. "we get it once in a while, though benson is a wonder--knows when to stop without getting a blow-out." "that's what we had," said cora, "a blow-out." "girls speeding!" and he slapped his knees in good nature. "now, betty thinks she can't go unless the engine stutters, as she calls it. i declare, girls are worse than men these days! speeding!" cora tried to tell something of the circumstances responsible for her speed, but he would take no excuse--it was ordinary speed, just like betty's, he declared. "and you lost your chaperon?" he said this with a delightful chuckle, evidently relishing the circumstances that threw the interesting young party into his company. "yes," spoke belle, "there was a fire at the hotel, and she was a doctor. of course, we didn't count when there were men to be bandaged up." "a fire!" repeated mr. rand. "at a hotel! the restover, i'm sure. why, that is my hotel. i mean i am one of the owners, and on my way up i met the woman doctor. so she was your chaperon! well, i declare! now, that's what i call a coincidence. that young woman--let me see. she was nursing the head waiter. ha, ha! a good fellow to nurse. always keep in with the head waiter." "oh, he was that good-looking fellow, cora," said hazel. "don't you remember how he soared around?" "a bird, eh?" and mr. rand laughed again. "well, say," and his voice went down into the intimate key, "i wouldn't be surprised if your chaperon gave up her business. i heard some remarks about how very devoted she was to that head waiter." "oh, miss robbins would never marry a waiter!" declared belle. "why, she's a practicing physician!" "but sometimes the practice is hard and uncertain," mr. rand reminded them. "i shouldn't be surprised when i go back there to straighten up accounts to find the doctor and the waiter 'doing nicely.'" "but how is the man we--that is--who went to the hospital?" asked cora eagerly. "he was very badly hurt." "oh, jim, wasn't it? why, he is getting along! by crackie!" and he slapped his knee again, "i have it! it was you who took jim to the hospital! now, i see! a motor girl with black hair and a maroon machine! now, i have, more than ever, reason to be your friend, miss kimball. jim has been with me for years, and had he died as the result of an accident at restover--well, i shouldn't have gotten over it easily." "but some one had to take him," said cora modestly. "oh, i know all about that. that's like your excuse for speeding, and it's like betty again. wait until she hears that you saved jim." "one would never know we were towing a car," intervened hazel. "we sail along so beautifully." "but you babies have been awake all night," said mr. rand suddenly. "now, couldn't you just tuck in somehow and sleep a wink or two? you won't get a chance when you see betty. she's a regular phonograph--friendship's her key." "i am sleepy," confessed cora. "i'm tired," admitted belle. "and i'm dead," declared hazel. "then it's settled. you are each to go to sleep instantly, and if those fellows blow that horn again, i won't let them in to betty's party," and mr. rand, in his wonderful, fatherly way, seemed to tuck each girl into a perfectly comfortable bed. "now sleep! no more----" "gypsies!" groaned cora, but although he said not a word in reply, he knew perfectly well just what she meant. chapter xv the gypsy's warning it was at betty's party. and as mr. rand had told our friends, betty was a wonderful girl--for being happy and making others happy. now, here it was less than a year from the time of her dear mother's death, and on her own birthday, of course, she would not have a party, but when daddy came in with his arms full of company and bundles, as betty put it, of course she turned right in and had an impromptu party--just to make daddy happy. it was an easy matter to gather in a few of the nearby cottagers, of whom there were many very pleasant samples, and so, when the evening following the midnight tow arrived, the party from chelton found themselves rested and ready for the festivities. as usual, walter was devoted to betty. jack liked her, ed admired her, but walter claimed her--that was his way. she was a pretty girl of rather an unusual type, accounted for, her father declared, by the fact that her mother was an irish beauty, and gave to betty that wonderful golden-red hair, the hazel eyes and the indescribable complexion that is said to come from generations of buttermilk. and withal she was such a little flirt! how she did cling to walter, make eyes at ed and defy jack, giving to each the peculiar attention that his special case most needed. belle and bess found it necessary to take up with some very pleasant chaps from a nearby hotel, while cora and hazel made themselves agreeable with two friends of mr. rand's--boys from new york, who had many mutual acquaintances with chelton folks and, therefore, could talk of other things than gears and gasoline. mr. rand was on the side porch, and when the drawing-room conversation waited for the next remark, his voice might be heard in a very animated discussion. cora sat near a french window, and she heard: "but the hat! how did his particular hat get there?" the answer of his friend was not audible. "i tell you," went on the gentleman, "this thing has got to be watched. i don't like it!" "oh, coral" chirped belle. "do sing the 'gypsy's warning.' we haven't heard it since the night----" "walter fished up a chaperon," added jack, with a laugh. "the 'gypsy's warning'!" repeated betty. "it's a very old song," explained cora, "but we had to revive something, so we revived----" "the gyp," finished ed, getting up and fetching cora's guitar from the tete in the corner. "do sing it, cora. this is such a gypsy land out here." "are there?" asked bess, in sudden alarm. "there _are_," said ed mockingly. "there are gypsy land out here!" "oh, you know perfectly well what i meant," and bess pursed her lips prettily. "course i do; if i didn't--land help me--i would need a map and a horoscope in my pocket every single minute." "come on, cora, sing," pleaded hazel. "let them hear about our warning." "i'm afraid it's too late," objected cora with a sly look at betty and walter. "we should have sent the warning on ahead of us." she stood up to take the instrument from ed's hands. she was near the french window again. "i tell you," she heard mr. rand say, "these gypsy fellows will stoop to anything. and as for revenge--they say once a gypsy always a gypsy. which means they will stick by each other----" "come on, cora. we want the song. i remember my mother used to sing the 'gypsy's warning,' and she brought it right down to date--we never went near a camp," said walter. the threat of the old gypsy woman rang in cora's ears. she could see her raise that brown finger and hear her say: "if you harm salvo, harm shall be upon your head." cora had testified against salvo. a hat known to belong to a member of the tribe was later found at midnight under cora's car, miles from the town where the robbery had been committed. were they following her? "oh, really, i can't sing to-night," she protested rather lamely. "i have a cold." the voices on the porch had ceased. betty was claiming her father for some game. the evening had not been a great success. "and to-morrow," faltered walter, "we pass on. i wish we had decided to stay in the berkshires, but of course the girls must make the white mountains," and he fell back in his chair as if overwhelmed. "i fancy bess is ambitious to climb mount washington." "i possibly could--as well as the others," and bess flushed at the mention of anything in the flesh-reducing line. "i have always been a pretty fair climber." "yes, that's right," called jack. "i remember one time bess climbed in the window at school. a lemon pie had been locked up inadvertently." "but you ought to see more of lenox," spoke betty. "i do wish you would stay--for a few days at least." "so do i," said walter with flagrant honesty. "but the season wanes," remarked cora, "and we must keep to our itinerary. now that my machine has been overhauled i anticipate a royal run. betty, can't you come with us? mr. rand says you have been here all summer----" "and too much is enough," declared the ensnared walter. "betty, if you would come we might mount mount washington." "what do you say, papa?" "why, go, of course; it would be the very thing for you. and then, don't you see, i shouldn't have to give up my job as chaperon," and he clapped his hands on his knees and chuckled with a relish that all enjoyed. mr. rand decided that he would go and take his gorgeous car, and the pretty, bright little irish betty! why, it would be like starting all over again! hazel was fingering cora's guitar. the chords of the "gypsy's warning" just floated through the room. walter hummed, jack almost whistled, ed looked the part, but cora! cora, brave, beautiful and capable--cora jumped up and seemed to find some flowers in the vases absolutely absorbing. cora did not take any part in rendering even the subdued "gypsy's warning." chapter xvi the disappearance "but it is lonely, and i think we had best keep close together." "but i want to----" "show betty how beautiful it is to be lonely. wallie pennington, you are breaking your contract. no one was to get----" "personal. oh, all right--take betty," and walter emitted a most unmusical brawl. "of course, you and ed are keeping the contract. you are doing as you please. behold ed now, carrying cora over a pebble----" "that's because ed loves _me_," declared jack, "and he is saving cora's boots." "all the same, i simply won't carry bess. she might melt in my arms." the young men were exploring the woods in the white mountains. the girls were racing about in absolute delight over the ferns, while mr. rand, who had actually taken the "jaunt" from the hotel afoot, sat on a huge stone comparing notes with his muscles, and with the inactive years of discretion and indiscretion. "they're like a lot of young animals," he was saying to any one near enough to hear, "and i--i am like something that really ought to know better." "just suppose," said jack to ed, "that a young deer should spring out just there where belle and hazel are sitting. what do you think would be the act?" "hazel would try to catch the deer, and belle would go up a tree. give me something harder." "well, then, suppose a tramp should come along the path and ask betty for the thing that hangs around her neck. what would happen then?" "walter would get mixed up with his trampship. that, too, is easy." "cora says we have got to get back to earth in time for the chelton fair. now, i never thought that cora cared about that sort of thing," walter remarked. "but it's the home town, and cora knows her name is on some committee," replied ed. "i guess we will get enough of these wilds in a week. at any rate, all cora does care for is the car--she would rather motor than eat." betty had taken some wild berries to her father. "i say, sis," he pleaded, "can't we get back? i am stiffening, and you may all have to get together and carry me." "are you so tired? poor dad! i didn't think the walk was too much. but you do feel it!" and she sat down on a soft clump of grass at his feet. "well, as soon as the girls get their ferns and things they want to take home for specimens, we will start back. if you really are tired, we could get a carriage at the foot of the hill." "and have you youngsters laugh at me! never! i would die walking first," and mr. rand stretched himself to show how near death he really was. "now, i tell you, we will all take the bus back. that would be more like it." this suggestion was rapidly spread among the woodland party, and when the girls did finally consent to desert the growing things and leave a "speck of something for the rabbits to eat," as jack put it, the start for the hotel was made. at the foot of the hill, or the opening of the mountain path, an old woman, a gypsy, stood with the inevitable basket on her arm. "tell your fortune, lady? tell you the truth," she called, and actually put her hand out to stop cora as she was passing. "tell it for a quarter." "take a basketful," suggested ed, sotto voce. "i would like to know what's going to become of wallie when we get back to chelton." as usual, walter was helping betty, who, with her light laugh and equally light step, was making her way over the last stones of the wood way. "tell your fortune----" "oh, no," called back mr. rand, who had stopped to see what was delaying the party. "we don't need to be told. here woman," and he threw back a coin, "take this and buy a--new shawl." all this time the woman was standing directly in cora's way. the path was very narrow, and on either side was close brushwood. cora stepped in the bushes in order to get out to the road, and as she did she stumbled and fell. in an instant ed had caught her up, but not before the old woman had peered deep into cora's face, had actually moved her scarf as if looking for some mark of recognition. "i'll help her up," the woman exclaimed, when she saw that ed was angry enough to thrust her to the edge of the pathway. "i see a fine fortune in her eyes. they are black, her hair is black, and she has the appearance of the girl who runs an automobile. oh, yes, i remember!" and she now turned away satisfied. "these girls ride much. but she--she is their leader!" "oh, come," whispered belle. "i am so frightened. that is one of the gypsies from the beach camp." cora had regained her feet, and with a bruised hand was now passing along with the others. "we might have had a couple of quarts of fortune out of that basket just as well as not," insisted jack. "i never saw anything so handy." "oh, those gypsies are a pest," declared mr. rand. "but i am just superstitious enough not to want to offend any of them. i claim to be a first-class chaperon--first-class!" "are you hurt, cora?" asked bess, seeing that cora was pressing her hand to her lips. "only scratched from the brush," and she winced. "those berry bushes seem to have a grudge against me." "but the old gypsy?" asked bess, as the two girls stood close together. "oh, i didn't mind her rant," replied cora. "they always have something wonderful to tell one." "i wish they would not cross our path so often," went on the other girl. "seems to me they have been the one drawback of our entire trip." "let us hope that they will now be satisfied," said cora with that indefinite manner which so often conveys a stronger meaning than might have been intended. both girls sighed. then they joined the others, while the old gypsy woman looked after them sharply. ed was hailing the driver of the bus--"silent bill," they called him, because he was never known to keep still, not even at his grandmother's funeral. silent bill lost no time in getting his horses headed right, also in starting out to describe the wonders and beauties of the white mountains. it was fun to take the bus ride, and no one was more pleased at the prospect than was mr. rand. "nothing like sitting down square," he declared. "why young folks always want to walk themselves into the grave is more than i pretend to understand." "my, but that old gypsy woman did frighten me," said belle to hazel. "i never saw such a look as she gave cora! i honestly thought she was going to drop. maybe she----" "blew powder into her eyes. the same thought came to me," replied hazel. "well, i hope we won't see any more gypsies until we get within police precincts. we have had enough of them here." then silent bill called out something about how the air in those peaks would make a dead man well. "look at them peaks!" he insisted. "that's what fetches folks up here every summer." "they fetched me down," remarked mr. rand, "but then i never did care for peaks." "now, mr. rand," corrected cora, "didn't you take a peek into my auto the night it broke down? seems to me there are peeks and peaks----" amid laughter they rode along, enjoying the splendid scenery and bracing air, but the gypsy's face was haunting cora. that evening there was to be a hop at the hotel. as many of the patrons were soon leaving for home, it was expected that the affair would be entered into with all the energy that could be summoned from the last of the season. there would not be another big affair until the next summer, so all must "make hay" while the lights held out. our friends had some trouble in finding just the correct wearing things in the small auto trunks, but pretty girls can so safely depend upon youth and good manners that simple frocks were pressed literally and physically for the occasion, whereas many of the all-season guests at the tip-top were not so self-reliant. motor-made complexions, and the eyes that go with that peculiar form of beauty, formed a combination beyond dispute. cora wore her pale yellow poplin, betty was in all white, of course; bess looked like an apple blossom in something pinkish, and belle was the evening star in her dainty blue. hazel "had on" a light green affair. we say "had on," for that's the way hazel had of wearing things--she hated the bother of fixing up. the young men were not expected to have evening "togs" in their runabout traps, but they did have some really good-looking, fresh, summer flannels that made them appear just as well dressed and much better looking than some of the "swells" in their regular dress suits. "what a wonderful time!" exclaimed betty. "i never thought we could have such a jolly good time at a regular hotel affair." "why?" asked hazel, wondering. "because there are so many kinds of people that----" "we are all chorus, and no spot light?" interrupted walter mischievously. "but we might put you up on the window sill." "indeed!" and the little lady flounced off. "now you may fill in that girl's card over there--the red-headed one. she has been looking at you most all evening, and i have promised at least four dances." walter looked as if he would fall at betty's feet if there had been sufficient room. "betty! betty!" he begged. "if you do not give me the 'yale' i shall leave the ballroom instanter." "oh, if you really want it," agreed betty, and off they went. bess was soon "puffed out" with the vigorous dance. she was with jack. "let's sit it out," she suggested. "i seem to be all out of breath." "certainly," agreed jack. "but couldn't i get some for you, or send you some?" "some what?" "breath, wasn't that what you wanted? here is a splendid place for a breathing spell." bess laughed and sat down with her partner. "there are all sorts of ways to dance," she remarked as the "red-headed" girl, who had eyes for walter, stepped on her toes in passing. "those girls from the breakwater seem to have spite against us," remarked jack. "that is the second time they have stepped on our toes." "and she is no featherweight," answered bess, frowning. "strange thing that good clothes cannot cover bad manners," went on jack, who was plainly annoyed. "let us take the other bench. she can't possibly reach us in the alcove." cora was just gliding by. "lazy," she called lightly. "you are missing the best dance." "i'm tired," replied bess. "besides we want to watch you." at this ed, who was cora's partner, gave a wonderful swirl to show just how beautifully he and cora could do the "yale rush." "cora is _such_ a good dancer," bess whispered to jack, "but then cora is good at most everything." there was no sarcasm in her tone. "oh yes, for a little sister she is all right," agreed the young man. "she might be worse." "oh," exclaimed bess suddenly. "i saw such a face at that window!" "plenty of faces around here to-night," observed jack lightly. "but that--oh! let us go away from here. i am nervous!" "certainly," and jack took her arm. "now if that were belle," he proceeded calmly, and then paused. bess was actually trembling when they crossed to the stairway, but she soon recovered her composure. she said nothing more about the face she had seen peering through the window and tried to forget it, as the dance went on. after the "paul jones," a feature of the tip-top affairs, had been danced, every one wanted to cool off or down, according to the temperature desired. cora was with ed. they had drifted out on a side porch. without any preamble one of the waiters touched ed on the arm and told him there was a message for him waiting in the office. "how do you know it's for me?" asked ed, astonished. "you are with the motor girls, aren't you?" replied the man, as if that were an explanation. "i'll take you back to the others," said ed to cora. "i may as well see what it is." "oh, run along. it may be something urgent," suggested cora. "i can slip back into the dance room when i want to, or i can wait here. you won't be long." ed followed the waiter indoors, then went into the office as he directed. he was not absent more than ten minutes, but when he returned to the porch cora was gone! chapter xvii missing "i left her here ten minutes ago!" gasped ed, trembling with excitement, as he related the news. "she must have gone inside," replied jack, equally alarmed. "we must look before we tell the others." "no, give the alarm first, and look afterward," insisted ed. "the thing that counts is to find her; people's nerves may rest afterwards. i think we had best call the hotel manager. that message sent me was a fake. it was an envelope addressed to me, and contained nothing but a blank paper. it was a game to get me away from cora!" "perhaps you are right. but i do hate to alarm every one. i know that cora would feel that way herself. what's this?" and jack stooped to the porch floor. "her fan!" ed almost snatched the trinket from jack's hand. "the chain is broken," he said, "and she had it on when i left her. i remember how she dropped the fan to her side and it hung there." here was a new proof of something very wrong--the chain was broken in two places. "don't let us waste a moment," begged ed, starting for the hotel office. "i will speak with the manager first." jack felt as if something was gripping at his heart. cora gone! could it be possible that anything had really happened to her? could she have been kidnapped? no, she must be somewhere with some of the girls. he followed ed mechanically into the office. the manager was at the desk looking over the register. "a young lady has just disappeared from the west-end porch," began ed, rather awkwardly, "and i fear that something strange has happened to her. i was called in here by this fake message"--he produced a slip of blank paper--"and while i was in here she disappeared." "no one else gone?" asked the manager with a questioning smile. "why, no," replied ed indignantly. "i was with miss kimball almost up to the moment she disappeared." jack stepped forward. "i know that my sister would not give us one moment's anxiety were it in her power to avoid it," he said. "she is the most thoughtful girl in the world." the manager was looking at the envelope ed held. "who did you say told you about this?" he asked of ed. "a waiter." "just come along with me, and we will see the waiters and kitchen men before we disturb the guests," said the manager. they passed through the halls, where knots of the guests were strolling about passing the time between the dances--all apparently happy and contented. but jack and ed! what would be the outcome of their anxiety? "this way," said the hotel proprietor. "let me see, you are----" he paused suggestively. "my name is foster, and this is mr. kimball," said ed. in the kitchen they found everything in confusion. the chef had lined up every man in the department, and he was questioning them. "what's this?" asked mr. blake, the proprietor. "some one has been in here, or some one here has made away with a lot of the silver and with money from the men's pockets," replied the chef indignantly. "we have got to find out who is the culprit. i won't stand for that sort of thing." "certainly not," mr. blake assured him, "but perhaps we can help you. mr. foster, will you kindly pick out the man who told you about that message?" the men stood up. ed scrutinized each carefully. "none of these," he said finally. "are you sure every one is here, max?" asked mr. blake. "every one, sir; even the last man i hired, who has never had an apron on yet." "could it be any one from the outside?" faltered jack. "no one could get in here and manage to make his way through----" "excuse me, sir," said a very blond young waiter, "but i think a stranger has been in here. my locker was broken open and my apron--one of the best--is gone." "is that so?" spoke mr. blake sharply. "then we have no time to spare. the young lady----" "oh, don't say it," cried jack. "cora kidnapped!" "jack, old boy, be brave," whispered ed, patting him on the shoulder. "wherever cora is, the gods are with her!" "we must first institute a thorough search," declared mr. blake. "you men form an outside posse. be quick. search every inch of the grounds. max, no more kitchen duty to-night. here, ben, you ring the hall bell. that will bring the porters together. then, dave"--to a handsome young englishman--"i put you in charge. that young lady must be found tonight." ed and jack exchanged glances. would she really be found? oh, how terrible it all seemed! "i must speak with mr. rand," said jack. "ed, you tell the girls." all that had been gayety and gladness was instantly turned into consternation and confusion. a young lady lured away from the tip-top! and the hotel crowded with guests! belle was obliged to call for a doctor. nor was it any case of imagined nerves. the excitement of the big ball had been enough, the disappearance of cora was more than her weak heart could stand. bess tried to be brave, but to lose cora! then she recalled the face at the window. hazel and betty waited for nothing, but took up a lantern and started out to search. if she had fallen down some place! oh, if they could only make her hear them! "here, porter," called mr. rand, when he had heard all the details that could be given, "get me a donkey--a good, lively donkey. i can manage one of the little beasts better than i can a horse. i used to ride one in egypt. i'll go over the hills if it is midnight." "oh, don't, mr. rand," begged jack. "you are not strong enough to go over the mountains that way." "i am not, eh! well, young man, i'll show you!" and he was already waiting for the donkey to be brought up from the hotel stables. "nothing like a good donkey for a thing that has to be done." but it was such a wild wilderness--the sort chosen just on that account for hotel purposes. and after the brilliancy of the ballroom it did seem so very dark out of doors. "this way, hazel," said betty courageously. "i know the loneliest spot. maybe she has been stolen, and might be hidden away in that hollow." "but if we go there alone----" "i'm not afraid," and betty clutched her light stick. "if i found her, they would hear me scream all the way to--portland!" men were searching all over the grounds. every possible sort of outdoor lantern had been pressed into service, and the glare of searchlights flickered from place to place like big fireflies. it was terrible--everything dreadful was being imagined. only ed, walter and jack tried to see a possibility of some mistake--of some reasonable explanation. it was exciting at first, that strange, dark hunt, but it soon became dreary, dull and desolate. hazel and betty gave up to have a good cry. jack and ed insisted upon following mr. rand on horses, making their way over the mountain roads and continually calling cora. walter followed the advice of the hotel proprietor, and went to notify the drivers of a stage line, which took passengers on at the point. but how suddenly all had been thrown into a panic of fear at the loss of cora! not a girl to play pranks, in spite of some whispers about the hotel, those most concerned knew that cora kimball was at least being held a prisoner against her will somewhere; by whom, or with whom, no one could conjecture. what really had become of daring, dashing cora kimball? chapter xviii kidnapped "oh! where am i?" "hush! you are safe! but keep very quiet." then cora forgot--something smelled so strong, and she felt so sleepy. "we are almost there!" "but see the lights!" "they will never turn into the gully!" "if they do----" "i'll----" "hush!" "she is a strong girl!" "so much the better. give her a drink." "i don't like it." "you don't have to." "do you know what they do now with kidnappers?" "she's no kid." "but it's just the same." "hold your tongue. you have given me more bother than she has." "salvo deserved what he got." "you deserve something, too," and the older woman, speaking to a young girl, gave the latter a blow with a whip. the girl winced, and showed her white teeth. she would some day break away from mother hull. they were riding in a gypsy wagon through the mountains, and it was one hour after cora kimball had been taken away from the porch of the tip-top. the drivers of the wagon were the most desperate members of the north woods gypsy clan, and they had not the slightest fear that the searchers, who were actually almost flashing their lights in to the very wagon that bore cora away, could ever discover her whereabouts. it was close and ill-smelling in that van. cora was not altogether unconscious, and she turned uneasily on the bundle of straw deep in the bottom of the big wagon. "she is waking," said the girl presently. "she can now, if she's a mind to. we are in dusky hollow." "i won't be around when she does awake. i don't like it." "if you say any more, i'll give you a dose. maybe you--want--to go--to sleep." "when i want to i shall," and the black eyes flashed in the darkness. "we did not promise to----" "shut up!" and again that whip rang like the whisper of some frightened tree. "oh, stop!" yelled the girl, "or i shall----" "oh, no, you--won't. you just hold--your tongue." the horses shied, and the wagon skidded. were they held up? "right there, sam," ordered the driver. "easy--steady, ned. pull over here." the wagons moved forward again, and the women felt that the possible danger of discovery had passed. "keep quiet in there," called a rough voice from the seat. "these woods are thick with trailers." for some time no one within the van spoke. then cora turned, and the woman wearing the thick hood clapped something over cora's nose. "oh, don't! she has had enough. let her at least live," begged the younger woman, actually fanning cora's white face with her own soiled handkerchief. the night seemed blacker and darker at each turn. shouts from the searchers occasionally reached the ears of those within the wagon, and once mr. rand on his donkey might have seen them but for the trickery of the driver, who pulled his horses into some shadowy bushes and waited for the searchers to pass. the young gypsy woman peered down into cora's face. "she's pretty," she said, with some sympathy. "well, by the time she's out perhaps she won't be so pretty," sneered the older woman. "i swore revenge for salvo, and i'll have it." "oh, you and salvo! seems to me a man ought to be able----" "you cat! do you want to go back to the cave?" the girl was silent again. "where--am i? jack! jack!" cora moaned. "here! don't you dare give her another drop of that stuff, or i'll--squeal!" the old woman stopped, and in the darkness of the wagon mother hull felt, rather than saw, that the younger one would do as she threatened. she might shout! then those searching the woods would hear. "we will soon be there. then she may call for jack until her throat is sore!" muttered the hag. cora tossed on her bed of straw. the chloroform kept her quiet, but she knew and felt that she was being borne away somewhere into that dark and lonely night. she could remember now how ed had gone inside the hotel, and he had not come back! he would be back presently, and yes, she would try to sleep until he returned! she moaned and tried to call, but her voice was like that strange struggle of sound that comes in nightmare. it means nothing except to the sleeper. "she's choking," said the gypsy girl. "let her," replied mother hull. "we can dump her easily here." "you--hag!" almost screamed the girl. "i will shout if you don't give her air." "here! here!" called a voice from the seat. "if you two can't keep quiet, you know what we can do!" "she's choking!" insisted the girl. "let her!" mocked the man. "i--won't. help! help!" yelled the girl, and as she did the light of a powerful automobile lamp was directed into the gypsy wagon! "there they are!" could be heard plainly. "where?" asked the anxious ones. "in the gulch! head them off! i saw a wagon!" quicker than any one save a mountaineer knew how to swing around, that wagon swerved, turned and was again lost in the darkness. "thought they had us!" called the man from the seat. "lena, you will pay for this!" chapter xix the den of the gypsy queen cora opened her eyes. standing over her was a woman--or was it a dream? a woman with flowing hair, beautiful, dark eyes, a band of gold like a crown about her head, and shimmering, dazzling stuff on her gown. was cora really awake? "well," said the figure, "you are not bad-looking." "oh, i am so--sick," moaned cora. "i'll ring for something. would you take wine?" "no, thank you; water," murmured cora. the moments were becoming more real to cora, but with consciousness came that awful sickness and that dizziness. she looked at the woman in the flowing red robes. who could she be? surely she was beautiful, and her face was kind and her manner sweet. the woman pulled a small cord, and presently a girl appeared to answer. "what, madam?" asked the girl. "some limewater and some milk. and for me, some new cigarettes. those sam brought i could not use. you will find my key in my dressing table." she turned to cora as the girl left. "you may have anything you want," she said, "and you need not worry. no harm will come to you. i rather think we shall be great friends." she sat down on some soft cushions on the floor. then cora noticed that her own resting place was also on the floor--a sort of flat couch--soft, but smelling so strongly of some strange odor. was it smoke or perfume? "do you mind if i smoke?" asked the woman. "i am helka, the gypsy queen. that is, they call me that, although i am really lillian, and i never had any fancy for this queening." she smiled bitterly. the girl entered again with a tray and a small silver case. "the water is for my friend," said the queen, and the girl walked over to cora. "do you think you are strong enough to take milk? perhaps you would like lime in it." "thank you very much," murmured cora, "but i am very sick, and i have never been ill before." "it is the chloroform. it is sickish stuff, and sam said you had to have a big dose." "chloroform!" "yes, don't you know? don't you remember anything?" "yes, i was on the hotel porch with ed." "with ed? i wish they had kidnapped ed, although you are very nice, and when i heard them putting you in the dark room, where we put the bad gypsy girls, i insisted upon them bringing you right here. i had some trouble, sam is a rough one, but i conquered. and let me tell you something." she stooped very low and whispered, "trust me! don't ask any questions when the girls are around. you may have everything but freedom!" "am i a prisoner?" "don't you remember the gypsy's warning? didn't mother hull warn you not to go against salvo?" "the robber?" "hush! they are listening at that door, and i want you to stay with me. are you very tired?" she was lighting a cigarette. "i would play something for you. do you like music?" "sometimes," said cora, "but i am afraid i am going to cry----" "that's the reason i want to make some noise. they won't come in here, and they won't know you are crying. we must make them think you like it here." cora turned and buried her face in the cushions. she realized that she had been abducted, and was being held a prisoner in this strange place. but she must--she felt she must--do as the woman told her. just a few tears from sheer nervousness, then she would be brave. "don't you ever smoke?" asked the queen. "i should die or run the risk of the dogs except for my cigarettes." "the risk----" "hush! yes, they have dreadful dogs. i, too, am," she whispered, "a prisoner. i will tell you about it later." she picked up an instrument and fingered it. it seemed like the harp, but it was not much larger than a guitar. the chords were very sweet, very deep and melodious. she was a skilled musician; even in her distress cora could not fail to notice that. "i haven't any new music," said the queen. "they promised to fetch me some, but this trouble has kept the whole band busy. now, how do you like this?" she swept her white fingers over the strings like some fairy playing with a wind-harp. "that is my favorite composition." "do you compose?" "oh, yes, it gives me something to do, and i never could endure painting or sewing, so i work out pretty tunes and put them on paper. sometimes they send them to the printers for me." "do you never leave here? am i in america?" asked cora. "bless you, yes, you are in america; but no, to the other question. i have never left this house or the grounds since i came to america." "from----" "england. you see, i am not a noble gypsy, for i live in a house and have sat on chairs, although they don't like it. this house is an old mansion in the white mountains." "it is your home?" asked cora timidly. "it ought to be. they bought it with my mother's money." cora sipped the water, then, feeling weak, she took a mouthful of the milk. every moment she was becoming stronger. every moment the strange scene around her was exciting her interest more fully. "what time is it?" she asked wearily. "have you no idea?" "is it morning?" "almost." "and you are not in bed?" "oh, i sleep when i feel like it. you see, i have nothing else to do." cora wondered. nothing to do? "besides, we were waiting up for you, and i could not go to sleep until you came." "you expected me?" "for days. we knew you were in the mountains." "how?" asked cora. "because one of our men followed you. he said you almost caught him." cora vaguely remembered the man under the auto when they had been stalled in the hills. that must have been the fellow. "my friends," stammered cora, "my brother will be ill of fright, and my mother----" "now, my dear," said the queen, "if you will only trust me, i shall do all i can for you. i might even get word to your brother. i love brothers. once i had one." "is he dead?" asked cora kindly. "i do not know. you see, i was once a very silly girl. would you believe it? i am twenty-five years old!" "i thought you young, but that is not old." "ages. but some day--who can tell what you and i may do?" in making this remark she mumbled and hissed so that no one, whose eyes were not upon her at the moment she spoke, could have understood her. cora took courage. perhaps she could help this strange creature. perhaps, after all, the imprisonment might lead to something of benefit. "i could sleep, if you would like to," said cora, for her eyes were strangely heavy and her head ached. "when i finish my cigarette. you see, i am quite dissipated." she was the picture of luxurious ease--not of dissipation--and as cora looked at her she was reminded of those highly colored pictures of cleopatra. it was, indeed, a strange imprisonment, but cora was passing through a strange experience. who could tell what would be the end of it all? cora's heart was beating wildly. she could not sleep, although her eyes were so heavy, and her head ached fiercely. the reaction from that powerful drug was setting in, and with that condition came all the protests of an outraged nature. she tossed on her couch. the gypsy queen heard her. "what is it?" she asked. "can you not sleep?" "i don't know," cora stammered in reply. "i wonder why they took me?" "you were to appear against salvo at his trial, i understood. it was necessary to stop you. perhaps that is one reason," said the gypsy. "but try to sleep." for some moments there was silence, and cora dozed off. suddenly she awoke with a wild start. "oh!" she screamed. "let me go! jack! jack!" "hush!" whispered the gypsy. "it would not be safe for them to hear you." she pressed her hand to the forehead of the delirious girl. "you must have had a nightmare." cora sighed. then it was not a dream, it was real! she was still a captive. "oh, i cannot help it," she sobbed. "if only i could die!" then she stopped and touched the gentle hand that was stroking her brow. "you must not mind what i say to-night. it has all been so terrible," she finished. "but i like you, and will be your friend," assured the voice as the other leaned so closely toward her. "yet, i cannot blame you for suffering. it is only natural. let me give you some mineral water. that may soothe your nerves." the light was turned higher, and the form in the white robe flitted over to a cabinet. cora could see that this gypsy wore a thin, silky robe. it was as white as snow, and in it the young woman looked some living statue. "i am giving you a great deal of trouble," cora murmured. "i hope i will be able to repay you some day." "oh, as for that, i am glad to have something to do. i have always read of the glory of nursing. now i may try it. i am very vain and selfish. all i do i do for my own glory. if you are better, and i have made you so, i will be quite satisfied." she poured the liquid into a glass, and handed it to the sick girl. "thank you," whispered cora. "now i will sleep. i was only dreaming when i called out." "they say i have clairvoyant power. i shall put you to sleep." the gypsy sat down beside cora. without touching her face she was passing her hands before cora's eyes. the latter wondered if this might not be unsafe. suppose the gypsy should hypnotize her into sleep and that she might not be able to awaken? yet the sensation was so soothing! cora thought, then stopped thinking. sleep was coming almost as it had come when the man seized her. drowsy, delightfully drowsy! then sleep! chapter xx cora and helka "what a wonderful morning! it makes me think of the far east," said the gypsy queen. "have you been there?" asked cora politely. "yes, i have been many places," replied helka, "and to-day i will have a chance to tell you some queer stories about myself. i have a lover." "then you are content here? you are not lonely?" "but i dare not own him as a lover; he is not a gypsy." "this is america. you should be free." "yes," and she sighed. "i wonder shall i ever be able to get away!" "shall _i_?" how strange! two such beautiful young women prisoners in the heart of the white mountains! cora repeated her question. "perhaps," answered helka. "you see, they might fear punishment if you escaped; with me it would be--my punishment." "but what shall i do?" sighed cora. "do you really think they intend to keep me here?" "is this not a pleasant place?" "it is indeed--with you. and i am glad that, bad as it is, i have had a chance to know you. i feel some day that i shall have a chance to help you." "you are a cheerful girl. i was afraid you would put in all your time crying. then they would take you away." "no use to cry," replied cora, as brightly as she could. "of course, it is dreadful. but, at least, i am not being abused." "nor shall you be. the gypsies are not cruel; they are merely revengeful. i think i like them because they are my truest friends in all the whole, wide world." a tap at the door stopped the conversation. then a girl entered. she was the one who had been in the van with cora! she looked keenly at the captive and smiled. "do you wish anything?" she asked of the queen. "yes, breakfast to-day must be double. you see, lena, i have a friend." "yes, i see. i am glad she is better." "thank you," said cora, but, of course, she had no way of knowing how this girl had tried to befriend her in the gypsy wagon. "we have some splendid berries. i picked them before the sun touched them," said lena. "and fresh milk; also toast, and what else?" "we will leave it to you, lena. i know sam went to market." "yes, and will the young lady like some of your robes? i thought that dress might not suit for daylight." cora was still wearing her handsome yellow gown that she had worn at the tip-top ball. it did look strange in the bright, early morning sunshine. "would you?" asked helka of cora. "i have a good bathroom, and there is plenty of water." she smiled and showed that wonderful set of teeth. cora thought she had never before seen such human pearls. "it is very kind of you," and cora sighed. "if i must stay i suppose i may as well be practical about it." "oh, yes," lena ventured. "they all like you, and it will be so much better not to give any trouble." "you see, lena knows," said the queen. "yes, lena, get out something pretty, and miss----" "cora," supplied the prisoner. "cora? what an odd name! but it suits you. there is so much coral in your cheeks. yes, miss cora must wear my english robe--the one with the silver crown." to dress in the robes of a gypsy queen! if only this were a play, and not so tragically real! but the thought was not comforting. it meant imprisonment. cora had determined to be brave, but it was hard. yet she must hope that something unexpected would happen to rescue her. "lena is my maid," explained helka. "i tell her more than any of the others. and she fetches my letters secretly. have you not one for me today, lena?" the girl slipped her hand in her blouse and produced a paper. the queen grasped it eagerly. "oh, yes," she said, "i knew he would write. good david!" and she tore open the envelope. cora watched her face and guessed that the missive was from the lover. lena went out to bring the breakfast things. "if only i could go out and meet him!" said the queen, finishing the letter. "i would run away and marry him. he has been so good to wait so long. just think! he has followed me from england!" "and you never meet him?" "not since they suspect. it was then they bought the two fierce dogs. i would never dare pass them. sometimes they ask me to take a ride in the big wagon, but i never could ride in that. you see, i am not all a gypsy. my father was a sort of polish nobleman and my mother was part english. she became interested in the great question of the poor, and so left society for this--the free life. my father was also a reformer, and they were married twice--to make sure. it is my father's money that keeps me like this, and, of course, the tribe does not want to lose me." "and this man david?" "i met him when i rode like a queen in an open chariot in a procession. that is, he saw me, and, like the queens in the old stories, he managed to get a note to me. then i had him come to the park we were quartered in. and since then--but it does seem so long!" "could not lena take a letter for me?" asked cora timidly. "oh, no! they would punish her very severely if she interfered in your case. you see, salvo must be avenged and released from jail. i always hated salvo!" cora was silent. presently the girl returned and placed the linen tablecloth on the floor. following her came the other girl, with a tray of things. it was strange to see them set the table on the floor, but cora remembered that this was a custom of the wanderers. when the breakfast had been arranged, the queen slipped down beside her coffee like a creature devoid of bones. she was very graceful and agile--like some animal of the forest. cora took her place, with limbs crossed, and felt like a turk. but the repast was not uninviting. the berries were fresh, and the milk was in a clean bowl; in fact, everything showed that the queen's money had bought the service. they talked and ate. helka was very gay, the letter must have contained cheering news, and cora was reminded how much she would have loved to have had a single word from one of her dear ones. but she must hope and wait. "do take some water cress," pressed the strange hostess, possibly noting that cora ate little. "i think this cress in america is one of your real luxuries. we have never before camped at a place where it could be gathered fresh from the spring." daintily she laid some on the green salad on a thin slice of the fresh bread, and after offering the salt and pepper, placed the really "civilized" sandwich on the small plate beside cora. "there is just one thing i should love to go into the world for," said the queen. "i would love to have my meals at a hotel. i am savagely fond of eating." "we had such a splendid hotel," answered cora with a sigh. "it seems a mockery that i cannot invite you there with me--that even i cannot go myself. i keep turning the matter over and over in my mind, and the more i think the more impossible it all seems." "nothing is impossible in gypsy land," replied the queen, helping herself to some berries. "and it may even not be impossible to do as you suggest. but we must wait," and she smiled prettily. "you have a very great habit of haste; feverish haste, the books call it. i believe it is worse for one's complexion than are cigarettes. let me begin making a gypsy of you by teaching you to wait. you have a great deal to wait for." cora glanced around her to avoid the eyes of the speaker. surely she did have a great deal to wait for. "do you stay in doors all the time?" she asked, glad to think of some leading question. "i should think that would hurt your complexion." "we often walk in the grounds. you see, we own almost all the woods, but i am afraid they will not trust you yet. you will have to promise me that you will not try to escape if i ask that you be allowed to walk with me soon," said helka. "i could not promise that," cora replied sadly. "oh, i suppose not now. i will not ask you. we will just be good friends. and i will tell you about david. it is delightful to have some one whom i can trust to tell about him." "and i will tell you about my friends! perhaps i will not be so lonely if i talk of them." cora was now strong enough in nerve and will to observe her surroundings. the room was very large, and was undoubtedly used formerly as a billiard parlor, for it was situated in the top of the big house, and on all sides were windows, even a colored glass skylight in the roof. the floors were of hardwood and covered partially with foreign rugs. there were low divans, but no tables nor chairs. the whole scene was akin to that described as oriental. lena returned with the robes for cora, and laid them on a divan. then she adjusted a screen, thus forming a dressing room in one corner. this corner was hung with an oblong mirror, framed in wonderful ebony. helka saw that this attracted cora's attention. "you are wondering about my glass? it was a gift from my father to my mother, and is all i have left of her beautiful things. it has been very difficult to carry that about the world." "it is very handsome and very massive," remarked cora. "yes, i love black things; i like ebony. they called my mother bonnie, for she had ebony eyes and hair." "so have you," said cora. "i am glad you are dark; it will make it easier, and the tribe will think you are safer. i really would like to get you back to your friends, but then i should lose you. and i don't see, either, how it ever could be managed unless they want to let you go." cora sighed heavily. then she prepared to don the garb of the gypsy queen! chapter xxi mother hull "mother hull wants to talk with you, helka." "she must send her message by you," said helka to lena. "i never get along with mother hull." cora gasped, and then sighed the sigh of relief. would that dreadful old woman enter the room and perhaps insult her? "she is very--cross," ventured lena. "no more so than i am. tell her to send her message." "but if she will not?" "then i will not hear it." "there may be trouble." "i have my laws." the girl left the room, evidently not satisfied. presently there was a shuffling of aged feet in the big, bare outside hall. helka turned, and her eyes flashed angrily. "go behind the screen," she said to cora. "if she wants to see you, she must have my permission." at that the door opened, and the old gypsy woman entered. "i told you not to come," said helka. "but i had to. it is----" she stopped and looked over the room carefully. "oh, she is here," said the queen, "but you are not to see her." "why?" "because i have said so. you know my laws." the old woman looked as if she would like to have struck down the daring young queen. but her clinched fist was hidden in her apron. "helka, if they take this house they take you." "who is going to take it now?" "the new tribe. they have sent word. we must give in or they govern." the new tribe! that might mean more freedom for helka. but she must be cautious--this old woman was the backbone of all the tribes, and every word she spoke might mean good or evil to all the american gypsies. she was all-powerful, in spite of helka's pretended power. "they cannot take my house," said helka finally. "i have the oath of ownership." the woman shook her head. all the while her eyes were searching for cora, and she knew very well that the stolen girl was back of that screen. she wanted to see her, to know what she looked like in daylight; also to know how she was behaving. "what did she say about salvo?" hissed the woman. "she says nothing of him. why should she? salvo did wrong. he should be sent to jail." this was a daring remark, and helka almost wished she had not made it. the eyes of the old woman fairly blazed with anger. "you--you dare--to speak that way!" helka nodded her head with apparent unconcern. "why not?" "there is always--revenge. i might take your girl friend farther into the mountains. that would leave you time to behave." "have we so many houses?" almost sneered the younger woman. "there are holes, and caves and rivers," answered the woman, with the plain intention of frightening the disloyal one into submission. "we left off that sort of thing when we came to america," replied helka undaunted. "i will take care of this prisoner. i have agreed to." the old woman shuffled up nearer to the screen. cora felt as if she must cry out or faint, but helka spoke quickly. "don't you dare to step one inch nearer," she said, assuming a voice of power. "i have told you to go!" a dog was barking fiercely under the window. "they will watch," said the old woman, meaning that the dogs would stay on guard if cora should attempt escape. "oh, i know that," answered helka. "but i have told you to go!" cora was trembling. she remembered the voice, although she was too deeply under the effects of the chloroform when in the wagon to recall more of this woman. "i only came to warn you," said the woman. "you are always warning," and helka laughed. "i am afraid, mother hull, that we will begin to doubt your warnings. this young girl makes an admirable gypsy, yet you warned me so much before she came." the woman stooped over and whispered into helka's ear. "and i warn you now," she said, "that if she gets away i will not save you from sam. _you_ will _marry_ him." "go away instantly," commanded the queen, springing up like an infuriated animal. "i have told you that before i will marry sam i will--i will---- he sent you to threaten me! i----" "helka! helka!" soothed the woman, "be careful--what you say." "you leave me! i could throw myself from this window," and she went toward the open casement. "there now, girl! mother hull was always good to you-----" "go!" the hag shuffled to the door. turning, she watched helka and looked toward the screen. helka never moved, but stood like a tragedy queen, her finger pointing to the door. it was exactly like a scene in a play. cora was very frightened, for she could see plainly through the hinge spaces of her hiding place. when there was no longer a step to be heard in the hall, helka sank down on the floor and laughed as merrily as if she had been playing some absurd game. cora was amazed to hear that girl laugh. "were you frightened?" helka asked. "a little," replied cora, "she has such a dreadful face." "like a witch," admitted helka. "that is why she is so powerful--she can frighten every one with her face." "and the new tribe she spoke of?" "has, i believe, a beautiful queen, and they are always trying to make me jealous. but since i have seen you, i care less for my gypsy life." "i am glad! i hope we may both soon go out in the beautiful, free world, and then you could meet david----" "hush! i heard a step! lie down and pretend illness." again cora did as she was commanded. it did seem as if all were commands in this strange world. there was a tap at the door. "enter!" called helka. a very young girl stepped into the room timidly. "sam sent this," she said, then turned and ran away. helka opened the cigar box. "cigarettes, i suppose," she said. then she smiled. "why, it's a present--a bracelet. i suppose sam found this as he finds everything else he sends me--in other people's pockets. well, it is pretty, and i shall keep it. i love bracelets." she clasped the trinket on her white arm. it was pretty, and cora had no doubt that it had been stolen, but as well for helka to keep it as to try to do anything better with it. "i should like to give it to _you_," said the queen suddenly. she took off the bracelet and examined it closely. "oh, i really couldn't take it," objected cora. "i know what you think, but suppose you got out some time? this might lead to----" "oh, i see. you need not speak more plainly. perhaps when i go i may ask you for it!" "it has a name inside. betty----" "betty!" exclaimed cora. "do you know a betty?" "indeed, i do! she was with us when----" "then that was when sam found it. the name is betty rand!" "oh, do you think they have harmed betty?" and cora grew pale. "bless you, no! i heard that the girls had been searching the woods for you. she may have dropped it----" "oh, i hope so. dear betty!" and cora's eyes welled up. "what would i not give to see them all!" "well, now, dear, you must not be impatient. see, i am reforming. i have not smoked today. and that is something that has not occurred in years. if you should make a lady out of a savage, would you think your time ill spent?" cora gathered up the robe she wore. it did seem as if she had been in gypsy land so long! she was almost familiar now with its strange ways and customs. "you are not a savage, and i love your music. if you come out into the world, i am going to take you among my friends. we all have some musical education, but you have musical talent." "do you really think so? david loves music. shall i sing?" "are you not afraid of that old woman?" asked cora. "not in the least. besides, if i sing she will think all is well." she took up her guitar. but after running her fingers across the strings she laid it down again. "tell me," she spoke suddenly, "about your mother. i hope she will not worry too much. if ever i knew my sweet mother i should be willing to live in a cave all my life." cora had always heard girls speak this way of lost mothers. yes, it was sweet to have one--to know one. "my mother is a brave woman," said cora. "she will never give up until all hope is gone." "i know she is brave, for you must be like her. and your brother?" "he will miss me," answered cora brokenly, for she could not even speak of jack without being affected. the great, dark eyes of the gypsy looked out into the forest. cora wondered of what she could be thinking. "jack," she repeated, "jack what?" "jack kimball," replied cora, still wondering. "that sounds like a brave name," remarked the queen. "i am getting spoiled, i'm afraid. i cannot help being interested in the outside world." "why should you not be?" asked cora. "because i do not belong to it. to be content one must not be too curious. that, i believe, is philosophy, and----" "there is some one coming," interrupted cora. "it is lena. i am like the blind. i know every one's step." and she was not mistaken, for a moment later lena entered the room. chapter xxii saddened hearts "i am afraid she is dead." "jack, you must not give up so easily. the detectives have faith in the steamship story." ed was speaking. "no, cora would not be induced, under any circumstance, to take a portland boat, and she could not have been taken away unconscious." "girls before this have been led away with fake tales of a sick mother, and all that," said ed feebly, "but i must agree with you--cora was too level-headed." "and belle is really very ill." "mr. rand has sent for a nurse. belle feels as if she must die if cora is not found soon. she is extremely sensitive." "yes, the girls loved cora." his voice broke and he turned his head away. the two young men were seated on the big piazza of the tip-top. it was just a week since the disappearance of cora, and, of course, mrs. kimball had been notified by cable. she would return to america by the first steamer, but would not reach new york for some days yet. in the meantime mr. rand, who had turned out to be such a good friend in need, had advised mrs. kimball to wait a few days more before starting. he hoped and felt sure that some news of the girl would have been discovered by that time. "walter 'phoned from lenox," went on ed, after a pause. "he had no real information, and the young girl at the sanitarium is not cora." "i was afraid it was a useless journey. well, let us see if we can do anything for the girls," and jack arose languidly from the bench. "misery likes company." they went up to the suite of rooms occupied by the young ladies. hazel met them in the hall. "whom do you think is coming to nurse belle? miss robbins!" "what?" exclaimed both in one breath. "yes, mr. rand insisted that she is the proper person, and it seems there is some reasonable explanation for her conduct. at any rate, it is well we will have some one we know. oh, dear, belle is so hysterical!" and hazel herself was almost in tears. "when is miss robbins coming?" asked jack. "mr. rand 'phoned, and she said she would come up at once. then he sent his car out from his own garage for her." "what would we have done without mr. rand?" "come in and speak to belle," said hazel. "she feels better when she has talked with you, jack. of course, you come also, ed," she hurried to add, seeing him draw back. the young men entered the room, where belle, pale as a drooping white rose, lay on a couch under the window. she smiled and extended her hand. "i am so glad you have come! is there any news?" "walter is running down a sanitarium clew," said jack evasively. "i feel certain cora is ill somewhere." "where has he gone?" "to lenox. we had a description from a sanitarium there. but, belle, you must brace up. we can't afford to lose two girls." she smiled, and did try to look brighter, but the shock to her nerves had been very severe. "did you hear that miss robbins is coming?" she asked. "yes, and i think she is the very one we need," replied ed. "she may even be able to help us in our search." "she is wonderfully clever, and it seems she did not mean to desert us at all. there is some sort of story back of her attention to the wounded ones at restover," said bess, who had been sitting at a little desk, busy with some mail. a hall boy tapped at the door and announced that some one wished to see mr. kimball. "come along, ed," said jack. "you represent us." in the hotel office they met two detectives sent by mr. rand. they explained that they would have to have a picture of cora to use in the press, for the purpose of getting help from the public by any possible identification. at first jack objected, but ed showed him that this move was necessary. so it was, with other matters, very painful for the young man to arrange with the strangers, where his sister's private life was concerned. jack soon disposed of his part of the interview. he declared that cora had no gentleman friends other than his own companions; also that she had never had any romantic notions about the stage or such sensational matters. in seeking all the information they could possibly obtain, that might assist in getting at a clew, the detectives, of course, were obliged to ask these and other questions. "has all the wood been searched?" asked jack. "every part, even the caves," replied the detective. "we visited several bands of gypsies, but could not hold them--they cleared themselves." "but the gypsies had threatened her," insisted jack. "could any have left the country by way of boston?" "impossible. we have had all new york and new england roads carefully watched." "and there are no old huts anywhere? it has always seemed to me that these huts one finds in every woods might make safe hiding places for criminals," said jack. "well, we are still at it, and will report to you every day," said the elder man. "we have put our best men on the case, and have the hearty coöperation of all the newspaper men. they know how to follow up clews." "of course," agreed jack. "there was nothing in the chelton rumor. i knew that was only a bit of sensationalism." "there was something in it," contradicted the detective, "but the trouble was we could not get further than the old gypsy woman's threat. she had told your sister to beware of interfering with that jailed fellow, salvo. i believed there was some connection between her disappearance and that case, but, after talking to every one who knew anything about the gypsy band, we had to drop that clew for a time. there are no more of the tribe anywhere in the county, as far as we can learn." "and they have not been around here since the day they moved away, when we were travelling over the mountains," went on jack. "of course you have, as you say, taken care of all the ends, but the arrest of that fellow seems the most reasonable motive." "had miss kimball any girl enemies? any who might like to--well, would it be possible for them to induce her to go away, on some pretext, so that she might be detained?" asked the other detective. jack and ed exchanged glances. there was a girl, an ida giles, of whom, in the other books of this series, we were obliged to record some very unpleasant things. she was an enemy of cora's. but the detective's idea was absurd. ida giles would have no part in any such conspiracy. "no girl would do anything like that," declared jack emphatically. the sleuths of the law arose to go. "thank you for your close attention," said ed. "we certainly have fallen among friends in our trouble. the fact that i left her alone----" "now, ed, please stop that," interrupted jack. "we have told you that it didn't matter whom she was with, the thing would have happened just the same. any one would have fallen a victim to the false message." again for the detectives' information the strange man who called ed into the hotel office was described. but of what avail was that? he was easier to hide than was cora, and both were safely hidden, it seemed. finally, having exhausted their skill in the way of obtaining clews, the officers left, while the two young men, alone once more, were struggling to pull themselves together, that the girls might still have hope that there was a possibility of some favorable news. "it looks bad," almost sobbed jack, for the interview with the officers had all but confirmed his worst fears, that of throwing more suspicion upon the gypsy tribe. ed was silent. he did not like to think of cora in the clutch of those unscrupulous persons. the thought was like a knife to him. jack saw his chum's new alarm and tried to brighten up. the door suddenly opened. both young men started. a young woman entered the office. "mr. kimball, mr. foster!" she exclaimed, as the boys looked at her in surprise. "i am so sorry!" it was miss robbins. "we are very glad to see you," said jack. "we need all sorts of doctors. belle is very ill, and the others are not far from it." "and cora?" she asked anxiously. "no news," said jack, as cheerfully as he could. "listen. i must tell you while i have a chance--before i see the girls. the man i stayed over to nurse is my brother!" chapter xxiii another story "oh, miss robbins!" exclaimed belle. "my dear! i am so sorry to see you ill!" "yes, but cora----" "hush, my dear. you will not get strong while you worry so. of course, you cannot stop at once, but you must try." hazel, betty and bess had withdrawn. what a relief it was already to have some one who just knew how to control belle. it had been so difficult for the young girls to try to console her, and her nerves had worked so sadly upon their own. "i suppose you thought i was a perfectly dreadful young woman," said dr. robbins cheerily. "but you did not know (she sighed effectively) that every one has her own troubles, while a doctor has her own and a whole lot of others." "had you trouble?" belle asked sympathetically. "indeed i had, and still have. you should know. but wait, i'll just call the girls in and make a clean breast of it. it will save me further trouble." the tactful young doctor had planned to tell her story as much for the purpose of diverting belle's mind as for any other reason. she called to the girls, who were in an adjoining room. how the strain of that one dreadful week had told upon their fresh young faces! bess had almost lost her peach-blow; hazel, never highly colored, but always bright of eye, showed signs even of pallor; betty had put on too much color, that characteristic of the excitable disposition when the skin is the thermometer of the nerves, and her eyes not only sparkled, but actually glittered. all this was instantly apparent to the trained eye of the young doctor. "come in, girls," she said. "i have decided to make a full confession." they looked at her in astonishment. what could she mean? might she have married the sick man? this thought flashed into the mind of more than one of the party. "you thought i deserted you?" began miss robbins. "it looked like it," murmured bess. "well, when i went out on that lawn to work over the injured, i found there a long-lost brother!" "brother?" "yes, really. it is a strange story, but for three years mother and i have tried every means to find leland. he was such a beautiful young fellow, and such a joy to us, but he got interested in social problems, and got to thinking that the poor were always oppressed, and all that sort of thing. well, he had just finished college, and we hoped for such great things, when, after some warning enthusiasm, he disappeared." "ran away?" asked hazel. "well, we thought at first he was drowned, for he used to sit for hours on the beach talking to fishermen. but i never thought he had met with any such misfortune. leland is one of the individuals born to live. he is too healthy, too splendid, a chap to up and die. of course, mother thought he must be dead, or he would not keep her in anxiety, but that is the way these reformer minds usually work--spare your own and lose the cause." "and what did happen?" asked betty, all interested. "i happened to find him. there he lay, with his wonderful blond hair burned in ugly spots, and his baby complexion almost----" "oh! are all his good looks gone?" gasped belle--she who always stood up for the beautiful in everything, even in young men. "i hope not gone forever," said the doctor, "but, indeed, poor boy, he had a narrow escape." "but whatever took him into the kitchen?" asked bess. "he went down there among the foreigners to study actual conditions. did you ever hear of anything so idiotic? but that is his hobby. he has been into all kinds of labor during these three long, sorrowful years." "and you were helping your own brother! and we--blamed you!" it was belle who spoke. "i could not blame you for so doing. i had been enjoined to secrecy the very moment poor leland laid his eyes on me. he begged me not even to send word to mother, as he said it would spoil the research of an entire year if he had to stop his work before the summer was entirely over." "but he could not work--he is ill?" said bess. "still, you see, he could keep among the men he had classed himself with, and that is his idea of duty. i let mother know i had found him in spite of his 'ideas,' but i did not tell her much more." "will he not go home with you?" asked hazel. "he has promised to give up cooking by october first. then i am going to collect him." "what an interesting young man he must be," remarked belle, to whom the story had already brought some brightness. "oh, indeed he is," declared miss robbins. "he is younger than i, and when i went to college he promised to do all sorts of stunts to prove my problems. he even wanted to try living, or dying, on one sort of food; wanted to remain up without sleeping until he fell over; wanted to sleep in dark cellars to see what effect that would have; in fact, i thought we would have to lock him up with a bodyguard to save his life, he was so enthusiastic about my profession. and as to anti-vivisection! why, at one time he had twenty-five cats and four dogs in our small city yard to save them from the possible fate of some of their kind. i tell you, we had our hands full with pretty leland." "i should love him," said belle suddenly and emphatically. every one laughed. it was actually the first real smile that had broken the sadness of their lives in that long, dreary week. belle returned the charge with a contemptuous glance. "i mean, of course, i should love him as a friend of humanity," she answered. "cats and dogs!" exclaimed betty. "a friend of dumb animals is always a friend of humans," insisted belle. dr. robbins smiled. her cure was already working, and, while her story was correct, the recital of it had done more for those girls than had any other attempted cure of their melancholy. "well, i cannot agree with you that one fond of animals--that is excessively fond--is always very fond of mankind," she said. "still, in leland's case, it was a curious mixture of both." "he will become a great man," prophesied hazel. "if he does not kill himself in the trying," said the sister. "he came too near it in the fire. but suppose he should insist on--on digging sewers?" "oh, you could restrain him. that would be insane!" declared bess. "i don't know about that. sewers have to be dug," contended leland's sister. "i wish we might meet him," ventured bess. "i am sure he would be an inspiration." poor bess! always saying things backwards. he would be an inspiration--in digging sewers! "well, you may some day, if he ever consents to become civilized again," said dr. robbins. "you see, he may take to the lecture platform, but very likely the platform will be against his principles. he will want to shout from the housetops!" a step in the hall attracted them. it was ed. "jack and i are going to town," he said, his face flushed with excitement. "the detectives claim to have a clew." "oh, good! i knew dr. robbins would bring luck," declared belle, actually springing up from the couch. "i am going out in the air. i feel as if cora were here already!" "easy, belle," cautioned the doctor. "we must insist upon discipline for your mind and body. you must not waste energy. it is well to be hopeful, but bad to get excited." "but i can't help it." "now, girls, we will let you know at once over the 'phone if we have any news," promised ed, making his adieux. "we really are hopeful." hope, as contagious as fear, had sprung into the heart of each of them. yes, there must soon be news of cora! chapter xxiv the collapse "we are to go out to-day!" helka's face was beaming when she gave this news to cora. the latter had longed so for the sunshine since shut up in the big upper room. "out where?" "in the grounds, of course. they do not let us on the highway." "and does that satisfy you? you could go--if you chose." "well, i could, and i could not. i would be afraid if i ran away that old mother hull's face would kill me in my sleep. she is a dreadful woman." "but that is superstitious. no dream can kill. i wish that was all that held me here," and cora sighed deeply. "but you have promised not to try to escape while you are in my charge," helka reminded her. "and surely you will keep that promise!" there was alarm in her voice. helka had not told cora all of her fears. "yes, i will not run away from you. i doubt if i could do so, at any rate." "indeed, you could not, but you might be foolish enough to try. i keep hoping for you all the time." "you are very good to me, helka, and i hope that whatever becomes of me i will not lose you entirely. but sometimes i have a fearful dread. i feel as if i will choke from actual fear." "i don't blame you. the faces of some of our tribe are enough to strangle one. but i have promised to take care of you, and you need fear no violence, at any rate." they were seated on the floor, as usual. presently lena appeared. "fetch the walking dresses--the brown and the black," said helka. "we are going out in the woods." "sam did not go to town," ventured lena. "why?" asked the queen sharply. "i don't know. he asked if you were going out." "indeed! perhaps he expects to walk with us. well, don't hurry with the things. we have all day." cora was disappointed. the very thought of getting out of doors had brought her hope--hope that some one might see her, hope for something so vague she could not name it. "can't we go out this morning?" she asked. "the day is so delightful." helka gave her a meaning glance. "i wish sam would bring me some fruit," she said to lena. "tell him i have not had any for days, and say that the last--from the farm was delicious." "all right," assented lena, "i think he--will go." "i think he will," agreed helka. "he never fails me when i ask for anything. sam is ambitious." she was bright and cheery again. yes, they would take their walk, and cora would be out in the great, free, wide world once more. "how do you manage to get such up-to-date clothes?" she asked helka, as she inspected the tailor-made walking dress of really good cut and material. "why, i have a girl friend in new york who sends by express a new gown each season. you see, it would not do for me to attract attention when i am out in the grounds." "but, if you did attract attention, would not that possibly help you to get away?" "my dear, the situation is very complex. you see, i have a respectable lover, and i live every day in hopes of some time joining him. should our band get into disrepute, which it surely would do if discovered here, i should feel disgraced. besides"--and she looked very serious--"there are other reasons why i cannot make any desperate move for freedom." cora thought it wise not to press her further. it was a strange situation, but surely the woman was honest and kind, and had befriended cora in her darkest hour. what more could she ask now? helka gave cora a choice of the dresses, and she took the black costume. there was scarcely any perceptible difference in their sizes, and when gowned helka declared cora looked "_chic_." helka herself looked quite the society lady, her tight-fitting brown costume suiting her admirably. cora was trembling with anticipation. she wondered if they would be allowed to roam about at will, or how they would be guarded. finally helka was ready. "we will have lena with us--that is, she will be supposed to be with us. then--but you must wait and see. it is rather odd, but it is better than being indoors." helka rang her bell and lena appeared. "we are ready," she said simply, and again the girl was gone. it seemed ages, but really was but a short time before lena returned. "all right," she said, "the door is opened, and the dogs are gone." it was the first time cora had been out in the hall, and she looked around in wonderment. it was dark and dirty, so different from helka's apartment. lena led the way. there were three flights of stairs. "you girls do not do too much sweeping," complained the queen, as she lifted her skirts. "i should think you would have had christine brush down these steps." "i told her to, but mother hull sent her for berries," explained lena. they passed along, and finally reached the outer door. the fresh air blew upon them. "oh!" exclaimed cora. "isn't it good to be in the open air?" "hush!" whispered helka. "it is best that you make no remarks. i will tell you why later." mother hull was crouched at the steps. she looked up first at helka, then at cora. my, what eyes! no wonder helka said they might kill one in a dream. down the steps and at last on the ground! cora's feet fairly tingled. helka tripped along lightly ahead of her. two ordinary-looking men were working on the grounds. the place seemed just like any other country house that might be old and somewhat neglected, but there was not the slightest evidence of it being an abode of crime or of gypsies. "this way, cora," said helka. "there is a splendid path through the woods this way. i love to gather the tinted leaves there." as they turned the men also turned and made their work fit in exactly to the way the girls were going. "our guard," whispered helka. "they will not speak to us, but they never take their eyes off us. i don't mind them, but i hate the dogs. they never call them unless they fear i might speak with a stranger." "what sort of dogs are they?" asked cora eagerly. "i don't know; not thoroughbreds, i can tell you that. i could make friends with any decent dog, but these--must be regular tramps. i hate them." cora, too, thought she might have made friends with any "decent" dogs, but she had the same fear that helka spoke of regarding mongrels. a roadway was not too distant to be seen. if only some one would come along, thought cora, some one who might hear her voice! but if she should shout! they might both be attacked by those savage dogs. "oh, see those gentian," exclaimed helka. "i always think of david's eyes when i find gentian. they are as blue and as sweet and----" "why, helka! you leave me nothing to say for my fair-eyed friends. they have eyes, every one of them. here are betty's," and she grasped a sprig of a wonderful blue blossom. "and here are dear, darling belle's," picking up a spray of myrtle in bloom, "and here are the brown eyes of bess," at which remark the eyes of cora kimball could hardly look at the late, brown daisy, because of a mist of tears. "all girls!" exclaimed helka wonderingly. "oh, i know some boys," replied cora, running along and noting that the men with the dogs were close by. "jack is dark. i really could not tell the color of his eyes!" "and he is your brother!" "the very reason," said cora with something like a laugh. "now i know that walter has eyes like his hair, and his hair is not like anything else." "but ed's?" and at this helka smiled prettily. "i had an idea that ed's eyes were sort of composite. a bit of love, that would be blue," and she picked up a late violet, "a bit of faith, gray for that," and she found a spray of wild geranium, "and a bit of black for steadfast honor. there! i must find a black-eyed susan," and at this she actually ran away from cora, and left the frightened girl with the men and dogs too close to her heels for comfort. for a moment cora wanted to scream. she was too nervous to remember that she had been promised security by helka: all she knew, and all she felt, was danger, and danger to her was now a thing unbearable. "helka! helka!" she called wildly. the other girl, running nymph-like through the woods, turned at the call, and putting her hands in trumpet shape to her lips, answered as do school girls and boys when out of reach of the more conventional forms of conversation. "here i am," came the reply. "what is it, cora?" "wait for me," screamed the frightened girl, while those dreadful dogs actually sniffed at her heels. cora felt just then that the strain of being so near freedom, and yet so far from it, was even worse than being in the big room. "i know where there are some beautiful fall wild flowers," said helka. "we may walk along for a good distance yet. these grounds are mine, you know." "if they were only mine!" cora could not help expressing. "you see, my dear, i owe something to my dear, dead mother. she loved this life." "but your father. did he?" "i can't say. i wish i might find him. he is not really dead." "not dead!" "no. i say so at times because we call certain conditions death, but i do believe my father lives--abroad." "and he is a nobleman?" "you folks would call him that, but he is not one of us." "how strange that you should be so bound by traditions! and you know your lover--is not one of you." "oh, yes, he is. that is what makes him love me. he is called a socialist. he is not a gypsy, but he will not be bound by conventionalities." "but suppose he knew of this crime?" "we do not admit it is a crime to hold you for the release of salvo. they cannot convict him of the robbery if you do not appear against him. it is a sort of justice." it was very vague justice to cora, and she knew perfectly well the argument would have little weight with her friends, should she ever meet them again. but she must meet them! she must induce this girl--for she really was nothing more than a misinformed girl--she must induce her to escape! if only she could get a letter to david! if only lena would take one for her! my, how her heart beat! helka was picking flowers, but cora was looking out on that roadway. an automobile dashed by. "oh!" exclaimed cora, clutching helka's arm. "i cannot stand it! i must call or go mad!" the dead leaves tried to move! something stirred them to unnatural life. there was a shuffling of feet! a riot of fear! chipmunks scampered off! but the girl lay there! "cora! cora, dear!" wailed helka. "try to live! i cannot lose you! oh, cora, i must make you live!" but the form on the dead grass was lifeless. the automobile had dashed by. a cloud of dust was all that was left to mark its path. "cora! cora!" almost screamed helka. "wake up! they are coming!" the prostrate girl seemed to moan. then they did come. cora was apparently dead! chapter xxv the awakening "what did i do? did i--did they--oh, tell me?" helka was leaning over cora as the girl regained consciousness. it was night, and the room was quite dark. "you did nothing, dear, but faint. that was not your fault. take another sip of this milk. do you feel better?" "yes, but i was so afraid that i screamed, and that they--those dreadful men would punish you." "not afraid for yourself?" "not if i could not help it. but you had nothing to do with it. oh, helka, i will die if i am not soon set free! i can't stand it." she burst into hysterical tears. cora kimball was losing strength, and with it her courage was failing. "how could you escape?" the words came slowly. helka was thinking deeply. "could we get lena to take a note to david? he would surely rescue us." "but then--they might pour out vengeance upon him. i could not take the risk of anything happening to david." "you are too timid, helka. such straits as we are in demand risks." "we might poison those horrible, savage dogs. lena might do that without her own knowledge. i could fix something. do you know anything about poisons?" "not much," replied cora, "but i suppose if we got anything sure to be poison it would do." hope sprang into her heart. "how did you get me indoors?" "they carried you. the air was too strong for you after such close confinement." "no, it was that automobile on the road. the sight of it simply overpowered me. oh, how i wanted to call to those in it!" "poor girl! since you came i, too, have wanted to be free, and i am not as much afraid as i used to be." "we are in america, and have no right to fear." cora thought at the same time that probably her own fearlessness accounted for her present plight. "if we could poison the dogs, and then slide down from one of these windows in the dark, perhaps we could get away," said helka. "but what would happen when we found ourselves out in the dark woods? if they found us----" "there must be no 'if.' they must not find us. i am afraid of nothing but of this imprisonment." "well, we will see. to-morrow i will get lena to go to town for me, and perhaps we may be able to arrange something." "and you will not write to your david?" "don't you think that dangerous?" "the very safest thing, for he is a man, and how could they injure him?" "and so handsome and so strong! he is like some grand old prince--his hair is like corn-silk and his eyes are like the blue sky," and helka, as she reclined, with her chin in her hands, upon her couch, almost forgot that cora was with her. "then you will write to-morrow? tell him to come to the end of the path at the west road by ten to-morrow night, and if we are not there we will leave a note so that he will see it." "how quickly you plan! what about the dogs?" "lena will fetch the stuff to-morrow morning, and they will be dead by night. then we will tie a rope to the window-sill or some strong place, and we will slip down. oh, helka, i will go down first, and go out first, and if they do not miss me, they will not miss you. it will be safe to follow me as quickly as you see i am off!" cora threw her arms about the gypsy queen. as she spoke it seemed as if they were already free! "and when we meet david! oh, my dear cora, now you have made me--mad! now i, too, will risk life to get away! i must go out into your world--david's world!" "then we must both sleep, and be strong. tomorrow we will be very good to every one. i will be well, and if i cannot eat i will pretend to. lately i have almost choked on my food." cora sipped the milk and then fell back exhausted. "i nearly forgot your illness, i became so excited with our plans. do you know when you fainted they were all very much frightened? they would not like to have you die!" "but they might easily bury me. i should think that would be safer." "no, it is very hard to bury one. somehow they find the dead more difficult to hide than they do the living. i guess the good spirits take care of the dead." "and we must take care of ourselves! well, that may be. at any rate, i am glad i did not die. oh, helka, if you only could know my brother jack. he is the noblest boy! and our girls! you know, we are called the motor girls, don't you?" "and you all own automobiles! i have never been in an automobile in my life," sighed helka. "but you are going to ride in mine--in the _whirlwind_! doesn't that name suit you? it sounds so like your gypsy names. why did you say they call you helka?" "well, i wanted something polish. holka means girl, so i changed it a little. my father called me his holka." "how do you know that?" "from my mother's old letters. she told me as much as she wanted me to know. she said i was not all a gypsy, but i might choose my life when i grew up. she left me with a very kind gypsy nurse, but when she died--they took me to that horrible mother hull." "what a pity your mother should have trusted them. well, helka, when we find david, he will find your father. what was his name?" "some day i will show you the letter, then you will know all my strange history. my music i inherited. my father was a fine musician." the winds of the white mountains sang a song of tired summer. the leaves brushed the windows, and the two girls fell to dreaming. cora thought of jack, of ed and of walter; then of the dear, darling girls! oh, what would she not give for one moment with them? helka dreamed of david--of the handsome boy who had risked his life to get a note to her; then of how he followed her to america, and how he had, ever since, sent her those letters! yes, she must risk all for freedom! chapter xxvi surprises "some one wants dr. robbins on the 'phone." the hall boy brought the message. dr. robbins jumped up from her book and hurried to the hall telephone. "yes. hello! that you, leland?" "yes, dear. so glad to get a word with you. how are you?" "well? now, you really can't be----" "what? going away? run away?" there was a long pause after this monologue. dr. robbins was listening to the voice--presumably that of leland. then--"leland! are you crazy?" another pause. the young woman's face might have been interpreted, but the 'phone was silent to outsiders. "you don't mean to say that you are going on some dangerous trip in the mountains--yes, i hear, in the mountains--to help some foolish girl? i know you did not say foolish; i said that. leland, listen to me. do you hear? all right. now, listen. don't you dare to go away again and not tell me exactly where you are going. i have only just--yes, i know all about your ideas. i am sure she is charming and worthy and all that, but----" dr. robbins tapped her foot impatiently. oh, the limits of the telephone! if only she could reach that brother! "if you do not--report--look for you around hemlock bend! yes, we'll do that. oh, leland!" she dropped the receiver and stood like one shocked physically as well as mentally. for a moment she remained there, then turned back to the room at the side of the girls' suite. mr. rand was sitting there. "what has happened?" he demanded. "you look as if there had been a ghost in that message." "oh, there was, mr. rand! what shall i do? that brother of mine is running off again!" "where?" "he didn't even say. his words were like those of some madman. if we did not hear from him within three days, we are to look for him about hemlock bend." "where in the world is hemlock bend?" "as if we knew! that is just like leland. poor, dear leland! never practical enough even to send a straight message. oh, mr. rand, that boy will kill us yet!" "don't you fear, little girl," and there was an unmistakable note of tenderness in mr. rand's voice. "one who means well usually does well, however strange may be his methods. the first thing to do is to see if we can get him again at the restover." without waiting for her answer, the gentleman rushed out in the hall himself, and was presently calling up that hotel. as he happened to be one of the owners of the summer house, it was not difficult for him to get direct communication and answers. but the man asked for was gone. had just gone. had just caught a north-bound train--the express. "can't get him there," reported mr. rand to dr. robbins. "now to find hemlock bend." guide books and time-tables were hastily consulted, but evidently the place was too small for printed mention. dr. robbins was in despair. that dreadful young man! gone to some out-of-the-world place to rescue some absurd girl! and now he had actually gotten away! belle, bess, betty and hazel had just returned from a melancholy ramble. belle was better--really better now than some of her companions, who had been bearing up well under the strain--but all the young faces were very sad. the boys had telephoned that they had some hope for developments in the clew they had gone away to investigate, but that was very meager encouragement. the boys always had hope--over the 'phone. dr. robbins told them part of the story. "oh, the idea!" exclaimed belle. "isn't that like a tale of the olden times--for a young man to run away to rescue a lady! now, what in the world is she being rescued from? exactly. that's the impossible leland. never says who she is, what she is, or what about her. now, as if we could put a story like that together!" she sank back as if mentally exhausted from the effort to "put it together." "but we must find hemlock bend," said betty. "i feel as if i could lay my finger on every bend in the white mountains." "all concentrated on your particular person," said hazel, with a smile. "well, i feel that way myself, only you being smaller, betty, have a more compact concentration." "i think i have it," exclaimed mr. rand, as he returned with his hands full of pamphlets. "it is near--near----" "let me look, daddy," interrupted betty. "i can see better, perhaps." he handed her one little green booklet. she glanced over it and mumbled a lot of stuff through which she had to pass in order to get at what was wanted. then she paused. "oh, yes, there's a place on the woodland branch railroad called hemlock grove. of course, that must be around the corner from hemlock bend." they all agreed that it must be. then to take the trip--they would not wait for three days. mr. rand said that would be absurd, but when the boys should return to the hotel, which would be that afternoon, they would all start out in their cars. they would make a double hunt--for cora and for leland. "it is a long trip," said mr. rand, "but i will take the big car, and benson--couldn't do it without benson--and we will be able to ride or to walk almost the length and breadth of the county." from that moment until the boys did return the young ladies were all excitement getting ready for the trip. "i just feel now that something will happen," declared the optimistic betty. "if four girls and four boys, besides the best man in new england, to wit, my daddy, cannot find them, then, indeed, they are lost." "oh, i, too, feel so anxious," sighed bess. "i think the run will do our nerves good, if nothing else." "and i feel exactly as if i were starting out to meet cora," declared belle. "oh, what would i give----" "we all would," interrupted hazel. "but to think that leland should put us to trouble just now when our hands and hearts are so full," wailed dr. robbins. "well, as misery likes company, perhaps our trouble will get along better in pairs," said hazel, without knowing exactly what she meant. jack entered the corridor. his handsome, dark face was tanned to a deep brown, and he looked different. had he news? "where is mr. rand?" he asked. "just calling to the garage," said belle, a note of question in her answer. "well, girls, we have found something. we have found cora's gloves!" "oh, where?" it was a chorus. "on the road to sharon. i found one--ed the other." he took from his pocket the gloves. they were not very much soiled, and had evidently only lain in the road a short time. "they are the ones she wore the night of the ball, when she disappeared," said belle, looking at them carefully. "then we will take that road and search every inch of it," declared bess, also inspecting the gloves. "the dear old things!" and she actually pressed them to her lips. "i feel as if you had brought us a message from cora." "those gloves have never been out of doors a week," said jack seriously. "they have been carried there--placed there--just to throw us off the track. we will start out in the opposite direction." "to-night?" "as soon as you girls can get equipped. we must find cora now or----" "we will find her," cried bess. "i know we will. oh, just let us get on the road! i think the cars will scent the trail! i feel as if i were simply going out to meet her by appointment." it was a brave effort, for the girls felt anything but certain. so many hopes had arisen and been dashed down! so many clews had been followed, only to be abandoned! so many messages had been sent in vain! but with such hope as they could muster up the party in four automobiles started out from the tip-top. without exception every guest was interested in the case, and as the motorists chugged off many were the wishes of good luck that were wafted after them. to find cora! to find leland! or---- another disappointment would seem too cruel. walter declared he could pick a trail they had never yet followed. betty said she knew a very dark and dangerous pass, where she had lost her bracelet. belle wanted to go by the river road, so that when it was actually left to bess to decide, as she was next in authority to cora in the motor girls' club, she spoke for the way through the woods, straight up into a rough and shaggy pass. "they would never dream of an automobile getting up there," she declared, "and if she is in hiding they have taken her far away from the good roads." wonderful for bess! wonderful, indeed, is the instinct of love! scarcely had they turned into the wooded way than they espied smoke stealing up through the trees. "there must be some one over there," declared bess, the first to make the discovery. "see! yes, there is a flag!" "oh, maybe they are those dreadful gypsies," murmured belle. "let us wait for mr. rand and the others." "i am too anxious to see," objected her sister. "the rest are all within calling distance. see, there are the boys. let us hurry into the side road. whoever they are, they have had wagons up here." it required careful driving to cover the pass, for the roadway was newly made, and by no means well-finished. great stones continually rolled out from under the big, rubber wheels, and bess was on the alert to use the emergency brake, although the road was somewhat up hill. she feared the motor would stop and that they might back down. "see!" she exclaimed, "there are children! they must be gypsy lads and lassies." over in a clump of evergreens could be seen some children, playing at a campfire. yes, they might be gypsies. "wait! wait," called jack and ed, who had now observed that the place was inhabited. "we will go in first." "all right," called back bess, a little sorry that she could not have had the glory of doing the investigating alone. by this time most of the searching party had reached the spot. "we will get out and walk over," suggested jack, his voice trembling with anticipation. it was growing dusk, and the smoke seemed to make the woods more uncanny, and the depths blacker and more dismal. the children in the underbrush had climbed up into the low trees to get a view of the automobiles. jack, ed and walter were making their way through the brush to reach the spot whence the smoke was coming. mr. rand and his men were hurrying over from the cross road. "go slow!" he called, with the disregard of speech that makes a saying stronger. "all right," answered jack. "we'll take it carefully." "it's a camp!" exclaimed walter, "and gypsies, i'll wager." "oh, i am so frightened!" cried belle. "yet i would brave them alone for the sake of dear, darling cora." "of course you would," betty assured her, as she picked herself up from a fall over some hidden root. dr. robbins had secured a stout stick, and she made her way with more care over the uncertain footing. "there's a family of them, at any rate," remarked jack, as he neared the open spot, where now could be seen a hut. a rough-looking man was waiting to see what they wanted. he smoked a pipe, wore heavy shoes and clothing. mr. rand spoke first. "good afternoon, stranger," he said in a pleasant voice. the man touched his hat and replied with an indistinguishable murmur. "camping?" went on mr. rand, scarcely knowing how to get into conversation. "sort of," replied the man shortly. "might we intrude for a little water?" continued the old gentleman. "the girls had a dusty ride." "certainly," replied the woodsman, motioning toward a pail and dipper on a bench in front of the hut. "hard to get at," whispered jack to walter, "but he doesn't look so bad." "no, i rather think he is not the man we want," agreed the other young man. "stay here all year?" asked ed, as he handed the brimming tin dipper to bess, and turned to the stranger. "pretty much," spoke the man with the pipe. "but is there anything wrong? anything i could do for you?" this caused the whole party to surmise that he must have heard that "something" was wrong. that looked suspicious. a woman emerged from the hut. she was not altogether untidy, but of course showed that she lived far from civilization. she bowed to the party, then called to the children in the woods. "well," said mr. rand finally, "we are looking for somebody. you haven't happened to hear or to have seen anything of a young girl in these parts, a girl--who might have gotten lost in the woods; have you?" "i have heard that a girl was lost," replied the man. "but i'm one of the forest rangers and i keep pretty close to my post at this time of the season, watching for fires. there are so many young folks camping and reckless with matches. is there no trace of her? the missing girl from the hotel, is the one you mean, isn't it?" then he was not a gypsy! the forest ranger! "no, i am sorry to say we have not yet discovered her," went on mr. rand. "but you being here in the very depths of the woods would likely know of any gypsy camps about, i believe." "there are no camps in the woods this year," the man assured him. "we have kept them out of this particular clearing by law. there are a lot of them scattered about in the mountains, but as far as i could find there is no camp deep in the woods. you see every summer someone gets lost in these woods, and we don't like the gypsies to have the first chance of finding them. but sit down," and he cleared the bench of the water pail. "you must have had a weary search." everyone sighed. they were still without a possible clew. "we will rest for a minute or two," said mr. rand, "but we must still cover a lot of road tonight. we are out to find her if she is on the white mountains." and so after some conversation and advice from the forest ranger the searching party again pressed on. chapter xxvii the call of the heart "i am not the least bit afraid; in fact, i think i shall just sing to show them i feel secure," and cora snatched up the guitar. she fingered it tenderly, then let it rest for a moment in her arms. "did lena say it was all right?" "the dogs are drugged. i didn't have the heart to kill the brutes, ugly as they are. they will not awaken." "good! then everything else will be all right. oh, helka, can you imagine we are so near freedom?" "i never was frightened before. whether it is the thought of meeting david, or whether it is the thought of leaving them all, i cannot say, but i am shaking from head to foot," said the queen. "that is natural. you have been with them almost all your life. but i shall show you what real life is. this is slavery." helka looked about her uneasily. "what shall we do first?" "when it is very dark, and all are in bed, i will fasten the rope to the big nail that lena fetched. then i shall try it from this side, and if it holds me i will slip down. then i shall run. when you no longer hear the leaves rustle, or if you can hear the whistle i will give you as a signal, then you must come." "and if you go, and i cannot get out! oh, cora, i should die here alone now!" "faint heart! be brave! be strong! say you will win!" cora was jubilant. to her it meant freedom! she had no fear of detection. all she thought of was success. to get away and then to send word to her dear ones! lena tapped on the door. "helka," she said, "could i, too, go?" "you, lena--why?" "i will not be happy without helka and without the good lady. i, too, would go away!" her eyes were sad, and her voice trembled. "why, lena, they would search the earth for you--you are a real gypsy," said helka. "but i have no mother, no father, and what right have they to me? in the world i could learn, i would work for you, i would be your slave!" the poor girl was almost in tears. her manner pleaded her cause more eloquently than could any words. "how would you go?" asked the queen. "when i go out to lock the barn, i would just run, and run through the woods. i would wait for you at the big oak." "where is sam?" asked helka. "he went out with the wagon this afternoon. he will not be back." "and mother hull?" "smoking by the fire. she will sleep. i have put some powder in her tobacco." cora murmured a protest. "oh, she likes it," and the queen smiled. "tonight it will be a treat. but the men--the guards?" "one went to gamble his money that you gave him; the other is out with his fishing pole. i have fixed it all." "good girl. you told him i wanted fish for breakfast, and you told the other he could spend his money at the inn. lena, i wish you _could_ come with us." "i _am_ going. i will not stay here." "but in the morning, when they find three gone--what then?" "in the morning," said cora, "it does not matter what. we shall be safe some place. yes, lena, we will take you. this is no life for any girl." lena fell on her knees and kissed cora's hands wildly. she had befriended cora ever since she saw her lying so still and white in that awful wagon, and now she might get her reward. "you will come up with tea when everything is safe," said helka. "that will be our signal." lena went away with a smile on her thin lips. true, she was a real gypsy girl, but she longed for another life, and felt keenly the injustice of that to which she was enslaved. "then i will sing," said cora. "see, the stars are coming out. the night will help us. i have marked every turn in the path. i pretended to be moving the stones from the grass, and i was placing them where i could feel them--in the dark." "you are a wonderful girl, cora, and your world must also be wonderful. i have no fear of its strange ways--but my money? how shall i ever be able to get that?" "never fear about the money," replied cora cheerily. "what is rightfully yours you will get. my friends are always the friends of justice." "and they will not fear the tribe?" "the tribe will fear them. wait and see. now, what shall i sing--the 'gypsy's warning?'" "yes," and helka lay back on her low divan. again cora fingered the guitar. daintily her fingers awoke the chords. then she sang, first low, then fuller and fuller until her voice rang out in the night. "trust him not, oh, gentle lady, though his voice be low and sweet, for he only seeks to win you, then to crush you at his feet!" at each stanza cora seemed to gain new power in her voice. helka raised herself on her arm. she was enchanted. the last line had not died on cora's lips when helka repeated: "yes, i am the gypsy's only child!" the remark was rather a plaint, and cora came over very close to helka. "you must teach me a new song," she said. "i want one to surprise my friends with." "then you are so sure of reaching them?" "positive. all america will seem small to me when i am free," and she patted the hand of the queen. "free!" repeated the other. "i had never thought this captivity until you came; then i felt the power of a civilized world, and i felt the bondage of this." the girls were speaking in subdued tones. a single word might betray them if overheard. yet they were too nervous to remain silent, and helka seemed so impressed, so agitated, at the thought of leaving, forever, her strange life. "do you think it is safe about lena?" she asked. "i would not like to get that faithful child into trouble." "it would be much safer to take her than to leave her here," cora reasoned, "for when they found us gone they would surely blame her." "yes, that is so. well, i have never prayed, that has always seemed a weak sort of way to struggle," said the queen, "but it seems to me now that i must seek strength from some one more powerful than those of earth. there _must_ be such a power." "indeed there is," replied cora. "but now let us be happy. see the stars, how they glitter," and she turned back the drapery from the window. "and see, we shall have a great, big, bright moon to show us our way." "hush!" whispered helka. "i heard a step. listen!" neither spoke for some moments. then cora said: "it was someone in the hall, but the person has gone down the stairs." "i wonder who it could be? lena would come in." "perhaps that little, frowsy christine. she seems to stay out of nights. i heard her last night when you were sleeping. i really think she came in very late, crept upstairs, and then i am sure she tried this door." "she did! why did you not call me?" "well, i was positive it was she, and i did not want to make trouble. you see she has been listening again." "she belongs to another tribe and has only come here lately," said helka. "i have always suspected she was sent to spy on me. if it were not just to-night--this very night--i would call her to an account." "if the child is under orders," intervened cora, "you can scarcely trust her to do otherwise than spy. but what do they want to know about you that they cannot readily find out?" "you could scarcely understand it dear. we have rival tribes, and they each want me--or my money." "there is another step! there seems to be so many noises to-night." "perhaps that is only because we are listening." "we want to listen, and we want to hear," and cora put her ear to the keyhole. "are they gone?" cora did not answer at once. then she turned to helka. "i am sure i heard two voices. should we call? or ask who is there?" "no, it will be better to take our chances. it would be awful to be disappointed now," said the queen in a whisper. "surely lena would not have betrayed us?" "never. she is as faithful as--my right hand." "of course! but i cannot help being afraid of everything. helka, we should take some refreshment. that will give us courage." "i hope lena will soon fetch the tea," and the queen sighed. "this suspense is dreadful." "but it will pay us in the end. if we made a mistake now----" cora stopped. a tap came at the door, at which both girls fairly jumped. "i will answer," said helka, immediately regaining her composure. she opened the door. "i forgot my lesson book in your room to-day," said a voice that proved to be that of christine, "and may i get it?" "not to-night," answered helka decisively. "you should not forget things, and it is too late for lessons." "but the man--jensen--says i must get it. he is my teacher, and he is below." "tell him helka says you must go to bed: to bed, do you hear? at once! i will have lena see how you obey me." the girl turned away. helka locked the door. "what does that mean?" asked cora anxiously. "they are watching us. we must be very cautious. but she is only a timid child and she will go to bed. i do wonder what is keeping lena?" "if they should keep her down stairs all night, then could we not venture to leave?" asked cora. "i don't know. they might suspect, and they might keep lena. you take up the guitar and i will ring." cora obeyed. how her hands trembled! to be found out would almost mean death to both of them. helka pulled the cord that rang the hall bell. then they waited, but there was no answer. she pulled it again, and after a few minutes she heard the familiar step of lena. she opened the door before the gypsy girl had a chance to knock. a wild gesture of the girl's hands told helka not to speak. then she entered the room. "they are watching," she whispered, and without waiting for a reply she darted out into the hall again and crept down the stairs. "can't we----" "hush!" cautioned the queen as she pressed cora's hands to bid her keep up her courage. it seemed hours. would the trees never stop rustling, and would the steps below never cease their shuffling? "i have said that this was to be my night of music," whispered helka. "the night of the full moon always is. so we must have music!" a long line of automobiles had rumbled along the narrow road. not a horn sounded, not one of the cars gave any warning. it was night in the white mountains, and besides the party from the tip-top, who had been searching from late that afternoon, there were also, on mr. rand's orders, two officers in a runabout. "which way?" called the boys from their car. "sounds like water!" "oh, mercy!" exclaimed bess, who was quite near. "don't let us run over a falls!" "no danger!" came back from the rand car. "that water is half a mile away." "this is rather unsafe for the girls, though," said jack to ed. "i wonder if they don't want to change cars?" "i have just asked bess and betty," replied ed, "and they would not hear of it. strange that such timid girls can be so plucky on occasions." "they're game all right," observed jack. "i almost feel, now that we are out in the woods, that cora is along. it is tough to think anything else." "perhaps she is. i never felt as encouraged as i do to-night," declared ed. "somehow we started out to win and we've got to do it!" now, the one great difficulty of this searching tour was that of not sounding the horns, consequently they had to feel their way, as on almost any part of the mountain roads there might be stray cottagers, or campers, or rustics, in danger of being run down. the lights flashed brightly as if trying to do their part in the search for cora kimball. giant trees threw formidable shadows, and smaller ones whispered the secrets of the wood. but the girls and boys, and the women and men were too seriously bent upon their work to notice any signs so unimportant. suddenly jack turned off his power. he wanted to listen. "did you hear anything?" asked ed. "thought i did, but these evergreens make all sorts of noises." "the others are making for the hill. we had best not lose sight of them," suggested ed. at this jack started up again and was soon under way. but something had sounded "human." he felt that there must be some sort of life near them. in a few minutes he was alongside the other cars. "what kept you?" asked bess, eager for anything new. "nothing," replied ed. "we just wanted to listen." "we will leave the cars here and walk. i thought i saw a light," said jack. "i am sure i did," declared bess. "oh, if only we find a cave, there are enough of us----" "the young ladies should not venture too deep in the woods," suggested officer brown. "we had best leave them with one of the young men here." "oh, no," objected belle. "we must go with you. we are better in a crowd." "just as you say. but look! is not that a light?" they were almost in front of the old house. cora and helka were tying the rope to the open window. "sing! sing!" whispered lena, at the door. "mother hull is listening." quickly cora picked up the instrument again, and, although voice and hands trembled, she sang once more the last verse of the "gypsy's warning," while helka played her little harp. "hark! hark!" shrieked bess. "that is cora's voice! listen!" spellbound they stood. "yes," shouted belle. "that's cora!" "oh, quick," gasped betty, "she may stop, and then----" a rustle in the bushes close by startled them. a man groped his way out. "what do you want?" he demanded. "oh, leland!" it was miss robbins who uttered the words. she made her way up to the stranger, and while the others stood dumfounded she threw herself in the stranger's arms. "you, regina? here?" "yes, is this the hemlock bend? oh, to think that we have found you!" "but i must go! that was her harp. that was lillian--somewhere in that thick woods!" "and the voice was cora's," interrupted jack. "where can she be--to sing, and to sing like that?" the detectives with mr. rand were pressing on. they soon emerged from the thicket and saw the old mansion. "that is the bradly place," said officer brown. "only an old woman and a couple of girls live there. that is no place for one to be kidnapped." "no matter who is there," declared bess, "i heard cora sing, and that is cora's song, 'the gypsy's warning.'" "and i heard lillian play," declared dr. robbins' brother. "i have promised to rescue her to-night." "and that is why you came?" asked his sister. "yes, she is there, in a gypsy den!" chapter xxviii victory "is she asleep?" asked cora, as lena poked her head in the door again. "yes, and she will not wake. you may go!" "one more little song," begged helka. "i may never play my lute again." "why, lena could bring it," suggested cora. "it is not much to carry; and your box, i will take that." helka ran her fingers over the strings. "sing," she said, and cora sang. "his voice is calling sweet and low! 'babbette! pierro!' he rows across, he takes her hand, and then they sail away!" "yes," interrupted helka, "he will come, and he will take my hand. let us go!" "there! there!" screamed bess. "that was cora's voice!" "and that was lillian's lute! did i not give it to her?" insisted the strange young man, leland. "then our lost ones are together," said jack. "i am going!" "wait! wait!" begged the detectives. "the dogs in there would tear you to pieces!" "they must eat my hot lead first," said jack grimly, drawing his revolver. "no, wait," implored mr. rand. "a false move now may spoil it all." every man, young and old, in the party took out his revolver and had it in readiness. then, in a solid line, they deliberately walked up to the old house--through the path lined with boxwood over the little flower garden. "yes, there is a light. see it near the roof?" the girls were almost on the heels of the men. they could not be induced to remain in the lane. "what is that?" "a woman's voice," said officer brown. "she is calling the dogs!" but no dogs came. instead, a girl, lena, confronted them. "what do you want?" she demanded rather rudely. "you," said the younger officer--graham by name--and as he spoke he seized her arm. "i am only lena. i have done nothing. let me go. help! help!" shrieked the girl. this aroused the old woman. she flung open the door and stood with lantern in hand. "lena! lena," she shrieked. "the dogs! where are the dogs?" but lena did not answer. "sam! jack! tipo! where are you all? what does this mean?" the searchers stood for a moment considering what was best to do. as they did so something came dangling down--the rope from the window near the roof! "cora!" she fell into the very arms of bess. another moment and a second form slid down in that same mysterious way. it was helka! and leland was there to grasp her. "lillian!" he murmured. "oh, david! am i--are we safe!" the door had slammed shut and the old woman was gone. "is this the girl we are after?" exclaimed the officer in astonishment. "none other," declared mr. rand. "and i say, boys, just pick these girls up and carry them. that will be no task for you." cora was weeping on jack's shoulder, helka was folded in leland's arms. to her he was david. "what happened?" asked betty. "don't leave lena," begged cora. "she must come with us!" "simply get everybody down on the road," suggested mr. rand, "then we may be able to tell lena from cora and all the rest." how different it was going back over that path! how merrily the girls prattled, and how excited were the men! it was cora! cora! cora! and it was helka! my friend helka! then lillian. and david! even lena! it was well the automobiles had a few spare seats, for there were now four new passengers to be taken back to the tip-top. "belle!" said cora, when she could get her voice, "however did you venture out here?" "now, cora," and belle protested feebly, "i have been very ill, since you left; and you know i would have gone anywhere to help find you. anywhere in the world!" cora kissed her fondly. nothing and no one could resist teasing belle. "of course you would! but who has lena?" "she is with the rands," replied bess, "but we claimed you. oh, cora kimball!" as only girls know how to show affection, this sort was now fairly showered upon the rescued girl. "it almost seemed worth while to have been lost," cora managed to say. "when shall we hear all about it?" asked belle. "not to-night," objected the twin sister. "it is enough to know that we have cora." the automobiles were rumbling on. every mile post took them farther from the gypsies, and nearer the hotel. "hey there!" called mr. rand. "you boys keep a tight hold!" "aye, aye, sir!" shouted back walter. "seems to me mr. rand is getting very gay," he remarked to betty. "he simply means," said the dutiful daughter, "that you must look carefully after the girls. they might be after us--the gypsies, i mean. "oh," said walter, in that way that walter had. chapter xxix a real love feast "however did it happen?" demanded belle. "please let the child draw her breath," insisted mr. rand. "remember, she has been kidnapped--a prisoner, a slave!" "no, not that," objected helka. "she was my guest." "i knew we would find her," declared betty, crowding up to cora's chair. "we didn't," contradicted ed, "she found us. she simply----" "flopped down on us," finished jack. "cora, i never knew i loved you until i lost you." "oh, yes, you did, jackie. you always made sugary speeches when--you wanted small change." "and the dogs?" asked the detectives. "what happened to them?" "we put them to sleep!" announced cora, in the gravest possible tones. "do you know, we never could have done it but for lena." "lena shall be rewarded," declared walter. "wallie!" warned jack. "the newest girl!" whispered belle. "at any rate, no one can steal helka," said cora, glancing over at lillian and david. "but how does he come to be leland?" the question was aimed at dr. robbins. "oh, that boy! he must change everything--even his name, although it really is leland david." "david for strength, of course," said cora. "oh, i just must scream! think of it! no more dogs! no more eating off the floor----" she caught helka's eye. "what is it, cora?" asked the gypsy queen. cora clasped her arms about her. "isn't she beautiful?" whispered belle. "did you ever see such a face?" "glorious," pronounced betty. "but say, betty, did you notice how the daddy takes up with the doc?" said ed. "i am dreadfully afraid of stepmothers." "i'm not," said betty, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders. "i rather like them." "had one on trial?" teased the boy. "no, on probation," braved betty. "then," said the officer, aside to mr. rand, "we shall raid the place!" "exactly, exactly! there may be more girls under the stoop or up the chimney. that place should not be allowed to stand." "it was a great find," admitted the officer, "but i never would have been able to do anything if the young ladies had not recognized the voice. that place has been there for years. the bradly house would have got past any of us." "yes, the girls helped," said mr. rand proudly. "i have a great regard for girls." "you say silver was stolen from the seashore cottage? likely it is in that place." "haven't the slightest doubt of it, and more, too, i'll wager. now, boys"--to the officers--"you have done a good night's work. we're a happy family, and i don't want to keep you longer from yours." so, with promises to soon overhaul the old bradly house, the men of the law departed. "but why did you sing, cora? how could you?" asked ed. "oh, i knew i was soon going to be happy, and wanted to get used to it," said cora, with a laugh. "you haven't failed," said dr. robbins. "praise from you? no, thanks to my good friend, we had everything but liberty. didn't we, helka?" "oh, she's too busy. let her alone," suggested jack, his face radiant. "and you have on my bracelet! cora kimball!" accused betty. "another link in the endless chain," explained cora vaguely. "that is a present from gypsy land." "suppose we eat," suggested the practical mr. rand. "i have cabled mrs. kimball. she had not yet sailed." "oh, poor, darling mother!" exclaimed cora, her eyes filling. "poor, darling--you," added jack, not hesitating to kiss her openly. "next!" called ed. "halves on that!" demanded walter. "fenn!" shouted cora, for, indeed, the boys threatened to carry out the game. "maybe you would like--a minister," suggested mr. rand mischievously, glancing at the undisturbed helka and david. "for a couple of jobs?" asked walter, looking keenly at mr. rand and carrying the same look into dr. robbins' face. "well, i don't mind," replied the gentleman. "betty is getting beyond my control." but lillian, the gypsy queen, was not in such a hurry to wed, even her princely david. she would have a correct trousseau, and have a great wedding, with all the motor girls as maids. her fear of the clan was entirely dispelled, just as cora said it would be when she breathed the refreshing air of american freedom. "so you are the motor girls?" she asked, trying to comprehend it all. "they call us that," said bess. then the porter announced supper, and at the table were seated fifty guests--all to welcome back cora and to sing the praises of the real, live, up-to-date motor girls. there is little more to tell. a few days later the house where cora had been held a prisoner was raided, but there was no one there; the place had been stripped, and of mother hull and the unscrupulous men not a trace remained. but tony slavo was not so lucky. he was still in the clutches of the law, and there he remained for a long time, for he was convicted of the robbery of the kimball cottage. cora arranged to have the gypsy girl, lena, sent to a boarding school. as for lillian, who resumed her real name, mr. rand engaged a lawyer for her, and most of the wealth left to her was recovered from another band of gypsies who had control of it. so there was a prospect of new happiness for her and leland, who promised to give up his odd ways, at least for a time. cora soon recovered from the effects of her captivity and she formed a warm friendship for the former gypsy queen, even as did the other motor girls. "oh, but wasn't it exciting, though?" exclaimed bess one afternoon, when, after leaving the tip-top hotel they had resumed their tour through new england. "i shall never forget how i felt when i saw cora coming down that rope from the window." "nor i, either," added belle. "i wonder----" "who's kissing her now?" interrupted jack, with a laugh. "silly boy! i was going to say i wonder what will happen to us next vacation." "hard to tell," declared ed. "let's arrange for us boys to get lost, and for the girls to find us," proposed walter. "don't consider yourselves of such importance," said hazel, but she blushed prettily. "oh, well, it's all in the game," declared jack. "i feel in my bones that something will happen." it did, and what it was will be told in the next volume of this series, to be entitled, "the motor girls on cedar lake; or, the hermit of fern island." in that we will meet with the young ladies and their friends again, and hear further of cora's resourcefulness in times of danger. the tour through new england came to an end one beautiful day, when, after a picnic at a popular mountain resort, our friends turned their cars homeward. and so, as they are scudding along the pleasant roads, on which the dried leaves--early harbingers of autumn--were beginning to fall--we will take leave of the motor girls. this ebook was produced by bryan sherman and david widger paul clifford, volume . by edward bulwer lytton chapter xvi. whackum. my dear rogues, dear boys, bluster and dingboy! you are the bravest fellows that ever scoured yet!--suadwell: scourers. cato, the thessalian, was wont to say that some things may be done unjustly, that many things may be done justly.--lord bacon (being a, justification of every rascality). although our three worthies had taken unto themselves a splendid lodging in milsom street, which, to please ned, was over a hairdresser's shop, yet, instead of returning thither, or repairing to such taverns as might seem best befitting their fashion and garb, they struck at once from the gay parts of the town, and tarried not till they reached a mean-looking alehouse in a remote suburb. the door was opened to them by an elderly lady; and clifford, stalking before his companions into an apartment at the back of the house, asked if the other gentlemen were come yet. "no," returned the dame. "old mr. bags came in about ten minutes ago; but hearing more work might be done, he went out again." "bring the lush and the pipes, old blone!" cried ned, throwing himself on a bench; "we are never at a loss for company!" "you, indeed, never can be, who are always inseparably connected with the object of your admiration," said tomlin, son, dryly, and taking up an old newspaper. ned, who, though choleric, was a capital fellow, and could bear a joke on himself, smiled, and drawing forth a little pair of scissors, began trimming his nails. "curse me," said he, after a momentary silence, "if this is not a devilish deal pleasanter than playing the fine gentleman in that great room, with a rose in one's button-hole! what say you, master lovett?" clifford (as henceforth, despite his other aliases, we shall denominate our hero), who had thrown himself at full length on a bench at the far end of the room, and who seemed plunged into a sullen revery, now looked up for a moment, and then, turning round and presenting the dorsal part of his body to long ned, muttered, "fish!" "harkye, master lovett!" said long ned, colouring. "i don't know what has come over you of late; but i would have you to learn that gentlemen are entitled to courtesy and polite behaviour; and so, d' ye see, if you ride your high horse upon me, splice my extremities if i won't have satisfaction!" "hist, man! be quiet," said tomlinson, philosophically, snuffing the candles,-- "'for companions to quarrel, is extremely immoral.' "don't you see that the captain is in a revery? what good man ever loves to be interrupted in his meditations? even alfred the great could not bear it! perhaps at this moment, with the true anxiety of a worthy chief, the captain is designing something for our welfare!" "captain indeed!" muttered long ned, darting a wrathful look at clifford, who had not deigned to pay any attention to mr. pepper's threat; "for my part i cannot conceive what was the matter with us when we chose this green slip of the gallows-tree for our captain of the district. to be sure, he did very well at first, and that robbery of the old lord was not ill-planned; but lately--" "nay, nay," quoth augustus, interrupting the gigantic grumbler; "the nature of man is prone to discontent. allow that our present design of setting up the gay lothario, and trying our chances at bath for an heiress, is owing as much to lovett's promptitude as to our invention." "and what good will come of it?" returned ned, as he lighted his pipe; "answer me that. was i not dressed as fine as a lord, and did not i walk three times up and down that great room without being a jot the better for it?" "ah! but you know not how many secret conquests you may have made. you cannot win a prize by looking upon it." "humph!" grunted ned, applying himself discontentedly to the young existence of his pipe. "as for the captain's partner," renewed tomlinson, who maliciously delighted in exciting the jealousy of the handsome "tax-collector,"--for that was the designation by which augustus thought proper to style himself and companions,--"i will turn tory if she be not already half in love with him; and did you hear the old gentleman who cut into our rubber say what a fine fortune she had? faith, ned, it is lucky for us two that we all agreed to go shares in our marriage speculations; i fancy the worthy captain will think it a bad bargain for himself." "i am not so sure of that, mr. tomlinson," said long ned, sourly eying his comrade. "some women may be caught by a smooth skin and a showy manner; but real masculine beauty,--eyes, colour, and hair,--mr. tomlinson, must ultimately make its way; so hand me the brandy, and cease your jaw." "well, well," said tomlinson, "i'll give you a toast,--'the prettiest girl in england,' and that's miss brandon!" "you shall give no such toast, sir!" said clifford, starting from the bench. "what the devil is miss brandon to you? and now, ned," seeing that the tall hero looked on him with an unfavourable aspect, "here's my hand; forgive me if i was uncivil. tomlinson will tell you, in a maxim, men are changeable. here's to your health; and it shall not be my fault, gentlemen, if we have not a merry evening!" this speech, short as it was, met with great applause from the two friends; and clifford, as president, stationed himself in a huge chair at the head of the table. scarcely had he assumed this dignity, before the door opened, and half-a-dozen of the gentlemen confederates trooped somewhat noisily into the apartment. "softly, softly, messieurs," said the president, recovering all his constitutional gayety, yet blending it with a certain negligent command, --"respect for the chair, if you please! 't is the way with all assemblies where the public purse is a matter of deferential interest!" "hear him!" cried tomlinson. "what, my old friend bags!" said the president; "you have not come empty- handed, i will swear; your honest face is like the table of contents to the good things in your pockets!" "ah, captain clifford," said the veteran, groaning, and shaking his reverend head, "i have seen the day when there was not a lad in england forked so largely, so comprehensively-like, as i did. but, as king lear says at common garden, 'i be's old now!'" "but your zeal is as youthful as ever, my fine fellow," said the captain, soothingly; "and if you do not clean out the public as thoroughly as heretofore, it is not the fault of your inclinations." "no, that it is not!" cried the "tax-collectors" unanimously. "and if ever a pocket is to be picked neatly, quietly, and effectually," added the complimentary clifford, "i do not know to this day, throughout the three kingdoms, a neater, quieter, and more effective set of fingers than old bags's!" the veteran bowed disclaimingly, and took his seat among the heartfelt good wishes of the whole assemblage. "and now, gentlemen," said clifford, as soon as the revellers had provided themselves with their wonted luxuries, potatory and fumous, "let us hear your adventures, and rejoice our eyes with their produce. the gallant attie shall begin; but first, a toast,--'may those who leap from a hedge never leap from a tree!'" this toast being drunk with enthusiastic applause, fighting attie began the recital of his little history. "you sees, captain," said he, putting himself in a martial position, and looking clifford full in the face, "that i'm not addicted to much blarney. little cry and much wool is my motto. at ten o'clock a.m. saw the enemy--in the shape of a doctor of divinity. 'blow me,' says i to old bags, 'but i 'll do his reverence!' 'blow me,' says old bags, 'but you sha' n't,--you'll have us scragged if you touches the church.' 'my grandmother!' says i. bags tells the pals,--all in a fuss about it,-- what care i? i puts on a decent dress, and goes to the doctor as a decayed soldier wot supplies the shops in the turning line. his reverence--a fat jolly dog as ever you see--was at dinner over a fine roast pig; so i tells him i have some bargains at home for him. splice me, if the doctor did not think he had got a prize; so he puts on his boots, and he comes with me to my house. but when i gets him into a lane, out come my pops. 'give up, doctor,' says i; 'others must share the goods of the church now.' you has no idea what a row he made; but i did the thing, and there's an end on't." "bravo, attie!" cried clifford; and the word echoed round the board. attie put a purse on the table, and the next gentleman was called to confession. "it skills not, boots not," gentlest of readers, to record each of the narratives that now followed one another. old bags, in especial, preserved his well-earned reputation by emptying six pockets, which had been filled with every possible description of petty valuables. peasant and prince appeared alike to have come under his hands; and perhaps the good old man had done in the town more towards effecting an equality of goods among different ranks than all the reformers, from cornwall to carlisle. yet so keen was his appetite for the sport that the veteran appropriator absolutely burst into tears at not having "forked more." "i love a warm-hearted enthusiasm," cried clifford, handling the movables, while he gazed lovingly on the ancient purloiner. "may new cases never teach us to forget old bags!" as soon as this "sentiment" had been duly drunk, and mr. bagshot had dried his tears and applied himself to his favourite drink,--which, by the way, was "blue ruin,"--the work of division took place. the discretion and impartiality of the captain in this arduous part of his duty attracted universal admiration; and each gentleman having carefully pouched his share, the youthful president hemmed thrice, and the society became aware of a purposed speech. "gentlemen!" began clifford,--and his main supporter, the sapient augustus, shouted out, "hear!"--"gentlemen, you all know that when some months ago you were pleased, partly at the instigation of gentleman george--god bless him!--partly from the exaggerated good opinion expressed of me by my friends, to elect me to the high honour of the command of this district, i myself was by no means ambitious to assume that rank, which i knew well was far beyond my merits, and that responsibility which i knew with equal certainty was too weighty for my powers. your voices, however, overruled my own; and as mr. muddlepud, the great metaphysician, in that excellent paper, 'the asinaeum,' was wont to observe, 'the susceptibilities, innate, extensible, incomprehensible, and eternal,' existing in my bosom, were infinitely more powerful than the shallow suggestions of reason,--that ridiculous thing which all wise men and judicious asinaeans sedulously stifle." "plague take the man! what is he talking about?" said long ned, who we have seen was of an envious temper, in a whisper to old bags. old bags shook his head. "in a word, gentlemen," renewed clifford, "your kindness overpowered me; and despite my cooler inclinations, i accepted your flattering proposal. since then i have endeavoured, so far as i have been able, to advance your interests; i have kept a vigilant eye upon all my neighbours; i have, from county to county, established numerous correspondents; and our exertions have been carried on with a promptitude that has ensured success. "gentlemen, i do not wish to boast; but on these nights of periodical meetings, when every quarter brings us to go halves,--when we meet in private to discuss the affairs of the public, show our earnings as it were in privy council, and divide them amicably as it were in the cabinet ["hear! hear!" from mr. tomlinson],--it is customary for your captain for the time being to remind you of his services, engage your pardon for his deficiencies, and your good wishes for his future exertions. gentlemen, has it ever been said of paul lovett that he heard of a prize and forgot to tell you of his news? ["never! never!" loud cheering.] has it ever been said of him that he sent others to seize the booty, and stayed at home to think how it should be spent? ["no! no!" repeated cheers.] has it ever been said of him that he took less share than his due of your danger, and more of your guineas? [cries in the negative, accompanied with vehement applause.] gentlemen, i thank you for these flattering and audible testimonials in my favour; but the points on which i have dwelt, however necessary to my honour, would prove but little for my merits; they might be worthy notice in your comrade, you demand more subtle duties in your chief. gentlemen, has it ever been said of paul lovett that he sent out brave men on forlorn hopes; that he hazarded your own heads by rash attempts in acquiring pictures of king george's; that zeal, in short, was greater in him than caution, or that his love of a quid (a guinea) ever made him neglectful of your just aversion to a quod? (a prison) [unanimous cheering.] "gentlemen, since i have had the honour to preside over your welfare, fortune, which favours the bold, has not been unmerciful to you! but three of our companions have been missed from our peaceful festivities. one, gentlemen, i myself expelled from our corps for ungentlemanlike practices; he picked pockets of fogles, (handkerchiefs)--it was a vulgar employment. some of you, gentlemen, have done the same for amusement; jack littlefork did it for occupation. i expostulated with him in public and in private; mr. pepper cut his society; mr. tomlinson read him an essay on real greatness of soul: all was in vain. he was pumped by the mob for the theft of a _bird's-eye wipe_. the fault i had borne with,-- the detection was unpardonable; i expelled him. who's here so base as would be a fogle-hunter? if any, speak; for him have i offended! who's here so rude as would not be a gentleman? if any, speak; for him have i offended! i pause for a reply! what, none! then none have i offended. [loud cheers.] gentlemen, i may truly add, that i have done no more to jack littlefork than you should do to paul lovett! the next vacancy in our ranks was occasioned by the loss of patrick blunderbull. you know, gentlemen, the vehement exertions that i made to save that misguided creature, whom i had made exertions no less earnest to instruct. but he chose to swindle under the name of the 'honourable captain smico;' the peerage gave him the lie at once; his case was one of aggravation, and he was so remarkably ugly that he 'created no interest.' he left us for a foreign exile; and if as a man i lament him, i confess to you, gentlemen, as a 'tax-collector' i am easily consoled. "our third loss must be fresh in your memory. peter popwell, as bold a fellow as ever breathed, is no more! [a movement in the assembly.] peace be with him! he died on the field of battle; shot dead by a scotch colonel, whom poor popwell thought to rob of nothing with an empty pistol. his memory, gentlemen,--in solemn silence! "these make the catalogue of our losses," resumed the youthful chief, so soon as the "red cup had crowned the memory" of peter popwell; "i am proud, even in sorrow, to think that the blame of those losses rests not with me. and now, friends and followers! gentlemen of the road, the street, the theatre, and the shop! prigs, tobymen, and squires of the cross! according to the laws of our society, i resign into your hands that power which for two quarterly terms you have confided to mine, ready to sink into your ranks as a comrade, nor unwilling to renounce the painful honour i have borne,--borne with much infirmity, it is true, but at least with a sincere desire to serve that cause with which you have intrusted me." so saying, the captain descended from his chair amidst the most uproarious applause; and as soon as the first burst had partially subsided, augustus tomlinson rising, with one hand in his breeches' pocket and the other stretched out, said,-- "gentlemen, i move that paul lovett be again chosen as our captain for the ensuing term of three months. [deafening cheers.] much might i say about his surpassing merits; but why dwell upon that which is obvious? life is short! why should speeches be long? our lives, perhaps, are shorter than the lives of other men; why should not our harangues be of a suitable brevity? gentlemen, i shall say but one word in favour of my excellent friend,--of mine, say i? ay, of mine, of yours. he is a friend to all of us! a prime minister is not more useful to his followers and more burdensome to the public than i am proud to say is--paul lovett. [loud plaudits.] what i shall urge in his favour is simply this: the man whom opposite parties unite in praising must have supereminent merit. of all your companions, gentlemen, paul lovett is the only man who to that merit can advance a claim. [applause.] you all know, gentlemen, that our body has long been divided into two factions,--each jealous of the other, each desirous of ascendancy, and each emulous which shall put the greatest number of fingers into the public pie. in the language of the vulgar, the one faction would be called 'swindlers,' and the other 'highwaymen.' i, gentlemen, who am fond of finding new names for things and for persons, and am a bit of a politician, call the one whigs, and the other tories. [clamorous cheering.] of the former body i am esteemed no uninfluential member; of the latter faction mr. bags is justly considered the most shining ornament. mr. attie and mr. edward pepper can scarcely be said to belong entirely to either; they unite the good qualities of both. 'british compounds' some term them; i term them liberal aristocrats! [cheers.] i now call upon you all, whig, or swindler, tory, or highwayman, 'british compounds,' or liberal aristocrats,--i call upon you all to name me one man whom you will all agree to elect." all,--"lovett forever!" "gentlemen," continued the sagacious augustus, "that shout is sufficient; without another word, i propose, as your captain, mr. paul lovett." "and i seconds the motion!" said old mr. bags. our hero, being now by the unanimous applause of his confederates restored to the chair of office, returned thanks in a neat speech; and scarlet jem declared, with great solemnity, that it did equal honour to his head and heart. the thunders of eloquence being hushed, flashes of lightning, or, as the vulgar say, _glasses of gin_, gleamed about. good old mr. bags stuck, however, to his blue ruin, and attie to the bottle of bingo; some, among whom were clifford and the wise augustus, called for wine; and clifford, who exerted himself to the utmost in supporting the gay duties of his station, took care that the song should vary the pleasures of the bowl. of the songs we have only been enabled to preserve two. the first is by long ned; and though we confess we can see but little in it, yet (perhaps from some familiar allusion or other with which we are necessarily unacquainted) it produced a prodigious sensation. it ran thus:-- the rogue's recipe. your honest fool a rogue to make, as great as can be seen, sir, two hackneyed rogues you first must take, then place your fool between, sir. virtue 's a dunghill cock, ashamed of self when paired with game ones; and wildest elephants are tamed if stuck betwixt two tame ones. the other effusion with which we have the honour to favour our readers is a very amusing duet which took place between fighting attie and a tall thin robber, who was a dangerous fellow in a mob, and was therefore called mobbing francis; it was commenced by the latter:-- mobbing francis: the best of all robbers as ever i knowed is the bold fighting attie, the pride of the road!-- fighting attie, my hero, i saw you to-day a purse full of yellow boys seize; and as, just at present, _i'm low in the lay,_ i'll borrow a quid, if you please. oh! bold fighting attie, the knowing, the natty, by us all it must sure be confest, though your shoppers and snobbers are pretty good robbers, a soldier is always the best. fighting attie stubble your whids, (hold your tongue) you wants to trick i. lend you my quids? not one, by dickey. mobbing francis: oh, what a beast is a niggardly ruffler, nabbing, grabbing all for himself! hang it, old fellow, i'll hit you a muffler, since you won't give me a pinch of the pelf. you has not a heart for the _general distress,_ you cares not a mag if our party should fall, and if scarlet jem were not good at a press, by goles, it would soon be all up with us all! oh, scarlet jem, he is trusty and trim, like his wig to his poll, sticks his conscience to him; but i vows i despises the fellow who prizes more his own ends than the popular stock, sir; and the soldier as bones for himself and his crones, should be boned like a traitor himself at the block, sir. the severe response of mobbing francis did not in the least ruffle the constitutional calmness of fighting attie; but the wary clifford, seeing that francis had lost his temper, and watchful over the least sign of disturbance among the company, instantly called for another song, and mobbing francis sullenly knocked down old bags. the night was far gone, and so were the wits of the honest tax-gatherers, when the president commanded silence, and the convivialists knew that their chief was about to issue forth the orders for the ensuing term. nothing could be better timed than such directions,--during merriment and before oblivion. "gentlemen," said the captain, "i will now, with your leave, impart to you all the plans i have formed for each. you, attie, shall repair to london: be the windsor road and the purlieus of pimlico your especial care. look you, my hero, to these letters; they will apprise you of much work. i need not caution you to silence. like the oyster, you never open your mouth but for something. honest old bags, a rich grazier will be in smithfield on thursday; his name is hodges, and he will have somewhat like a thousand pounds in his pouch. he is green, fresh, and avaricious; offer to assist him in defrauding his neighbours in a bargain, and cease not till thou hast done that with him which he wished to do to others. be, excellent old man, like the frog-fish, which fishes for other fishes with two horns that resemble baits; the prey dart at the horns, and are down the throat in an instant!--for thee, dearest jem, these letters announce a prize: fat is parson pliant; full is his purse; and he rides from henley to oxford on friday,--i need say no more! as for the rest of you, gentlemen, on this paper you will see your destinations fixed. i warrant you, ye will find enough work till we meet again this day three months. myself, augustus tomlinson, and ned pepper remain in bath; we have business in hand, gentlemen, of paramount importance; should you by accident meet us, never acknowledge us,--we are _incog._; striking at high game, and putting on falcon's plumes to do it in character,--you understand; but this accident can scarcely occur, for none of you will remain at bath; by to-morrow night, may the road receive you. and now, gentlemen, speed the glass, and i'll give you a sentiment by way of a spur to it,-- "'much sweeter than honey is other men's money!"' our hero's maxim was received with all the enthusiasm which agreeable truisms usually create. and old mr. bags rose to address the chair; unhappily for the edification of the audience, the veteran's foot slipped before he had proceeded further than "mr. president;" he fell to the earth with a sort of reel,-- "like shooting stars he fell to rise no more!" his body became a capital footstool for the luxurious pepper. now augustus tomlinson and clifford, exchanging looks, took every possible pains to promote the hilarity of the evening; and before the third hour of morning had sounded, they had the satisfaction of witnessing the effects of their benevolent labours in the prostrate forms of all their companions. long ned, naturally more capacious than the rest, succumbed the last. "as leaves of trees," said the chairman, waving his hand, "'as leaves of trees the race of man is found, now fresh with dew, now withering on the ground.'" "well said, my hector of highways;" cried tomlinson; and then helping himself to the wine, while he employed his legs in removing the supine forms of scarlet jem and long ned, he continued the homeric quotation, with a pompous and self-gratulatory tone,-- "'so flourish these when those have passed away!'" "we managed to get rid of our friends," began clifford-- "like whigs in place," interrupted the politician. "right, tomlinson, thanks to the milder properties of our drink, and perchance to the stronger qualities of our heads; and now tell me, my friend, what think you of our chance of success? shall we catch an heiress or not?" "why, really," said tomlinson, "women are like those calculations in arithmetic, which one can never bring to an exact account; for my part, i shall stuff my calves, and look out for a widow. you, my good fellow, seem to stand a fair chance with miss ------" "oh, name her not!" cried clifford, colouring, even through the flush which wine had spread over his countenance. "ours are not the lips by which her name should be breathed; and, faith, when i think of her, i do it anonymously." "what, have you ever thought of her before this evening?" "yes, for months," answered clifford. "you remember some time ago, when we formed the plan for robbing lord mauleverer, how, rather for frolic than profit, you robbed dr. slopperton, of warlock, while i compassionately walked home with the old gentleman. well, at the parson's house i met miss brandon--mind, if i speak of her by name, _you_ must not; and, by heaven!--but i won't swear. i accompanied her home. you know, before morning we robbed lord mauleverer; the affair made a noise, and i feared to endanger you all if i appeared in the vicinity of the robbery. since then, business diverted my thoughts; we formed the plan of trying a matrimonial speculation at bath. i came hither,--guess my surprise at seeing her--" "and your delight," added tomlinson, "at hearing she is as rich as she is pretty." "no!" answered clifford, quickly; "that thought gives me no pleasure. you stare. i will try and explain. you know, dear tomlinson, i'm not much of a canter, and yet my heart shrinks when i look on that innocent face, and hear that soft happy voice, and think that my love to her can be only ruin and disgrace; nay, that my very address is contamination, and my very glance towards her an insult." "heyday!" quoth tomlinson; "have you been under my instructions, and learned the true value of words, and can you have any scruples left on so easy a point of conscience? true, you may call your representing yourself to her as an unprofessional gentleman, and so winning her affections, deceit; but why call it deceit when a genius for intrigue is so much neater a phrase? in like manner, by marrying the young lady, if you say you have ruined her, you justly deserve to be annihilated; but why not say you have saved yourself, and then, my dear fellow, you will have done the most justifiable thing in the world." "pish, man!" said clifford, peevishly; "none of thy sophisms and sneers!" "by the soul of sir edward coke, i am serious! but look you, my friend! this is not a matter where it is convenient to have a tender-footed conscience. you see these fellows on the ground, all d---d clever, and so forth; but you and i are of a different order. i have had a classical education, seen the world, and mixed in decent society; you, too, had not been long a member of our club before you distinguished yourself above us all. fortune smiled on your youthful audacity. you grew particular in horses and dress, frequented public haunts, and being a deuced good- looking fellow, with an inborn air of gentility and some sort of education, you became sufficiently well received to acquire in a short time the manner and tone of a--what shall i say?--a gentleman, and the taste to like suitable associates. this is my case too! despite our labours for the public weal, the ungrateful dogs see that we are above them; a single envious breast is sufficient to give us to the hangman. we have agreed that we are in danger; we have agreed to make an honourable retreat; we cannot do so without money. you know the vulgar distich among our set. nothing can be truer,-- "'hanging is 'nation more nice than starvation!' you will not carry off some of the common stock, though i think you justly might, considering how much you have put into it. what, then, shall we do? work we cannot, beg we will not; and, between you and me, we are cursedly extravagant! what remains but marriage?" "it is true," said clifford, with a half sigh. "you may well sigh, my good fellow. marriage is a lackadaisical proceeding at best; but there is no resource. and now, when you have got a liking to a young lady who is as rich as a she-craesus, and so gilded the pill as bright as a lord mayor's coach, what the devil have you to do with scruples?" clifford made no answer, and there was a long pause; perhaps he would not have spoken so frankly as he had done, if the wine had not opened his heart. "how proud," renewed tomlinson, "the good old matron at thames court would be if you married a lady! you have not seen her lately?" "not for years," answered our hero. "poor old soul! i believe that she is well in health, and i take care that she should not be poor in pocket." "but why not visit her? perhaps, like all great men, especially of a liberal turn of mind, you are ashamed of old friends, eh?" "my good fellow, is that like me? why, you know the beaux of our set look askant on me for not keeping up my dignity, robbing only in company with well-dressed gentlemen, and swindling under the name of a lord's nephew. no, my reasons are these: first, you must know, that the old dame had set her heart on my turning out an honest man." "and so you have," interrupted augustus,--"honest to your party; what more would you have from either prig or politician?" "i believe," continued clifford, not heeding the interruption, "that my poor mother, before she died, desired that i might be reared honestly; and strange as it may seem to you, dame lobkins is a conscientious woman in her own way,--it is not her fault if i have turned out as i have done. now i know well that it would grieve her to the quick to see me what i am. secondly, my friend, under my new names, various as they are,-- jackson and howard, russell and pigwiggin, villiers and gotobed, cavendish and solomons,--you may well suppose that the good persons in the neighbourhood of thames court have no suspicion that the adventurous and accomplished ruffler, at present captain of this district, under the new appellation of lovett, is in reality no other than the obscure and surnameless paul of the mug. now you and i, augustus, have read human nature, though in the black letter; and i know well that were i to make my appearance in thames court, and were the old lady (as she certainly would, not from unkindness, but insobriety,--not that she loves me less, but heavy wet more) to divulge the secret of that appearance--" "you know well," interrupted the vivacious tomlinson, "that the identity of your former meanness with your present greatness would be easily traced; the envy and jealousy of your early friends aroused; a hint of your whereabout and your aliases given to the police, and yourself grabbed, with a slight possibility of a hempen consummation." "you conceive me exactly!" answered clifford. "the fact is, that i have observed in nine cases out of ten our bravest fellows have been taken off by the treachery of some early sweetheart or the envy of some boyish friend. my destiny is not yet fixed. i am worthy of better things than a ride in the cart with a nosegay in my hand; and though i care not much about death in itself, i am resolved, if possible, not to die a highwayman. hence my caution, and that prudential care for secrecy and safe asylums, which men less wise than you have so often thought an unnatural contrast to my conduct on the road." "fools!" said the philosophical tomlinson; "what has the bravery of a warrior to do with his insuring his house from fire?" "however," said clifford, "i send my good nurse a fine gift every now and then to assure her of my safety; and thus, notwithstanding my absence, i show my affection by my presents,--excuse a pun." "and have you never been detected by any of your quondam associates?" "never! remember in what a much more elevated sphere of life i have been thrown; and who could recognize the scamp paul with a fustian jacket in gentleman paul with a laced waistcoat? besides, i have diligently avoided every place where i was likely to encounter those who saw me in childhood. you know how little i frequent flash houses, and how scrupulous i am in admitting new confederates into our band; you and pepper are the only two of my associates--save my /protege/, as you express it, who never deserts the cave--that possess a knowledge of my identity with the lost paul; and as ye have both taken that dread oath to silence, which to disobey until indeed i be in the jail or on the gibbet, is almost to be assassinated, i consider my secret is little likely to be broken, save with my own consent." "true," said augustus, nodding; "one more glass, and to bed, mr. chairman." "i pledge you, my friend; our last glass shall be philanthropically quaffed,--'all fools, and may their money soon be parted!'" "all fools!" cried tomlinson, filling a bumper; "but i quarrel with the wisdom of your toast. may fools be rich, and rogues will never be poor! i would make a better livelihood off a rich fool than a landed estate." so saying, the contemplative and ever-sagacious tomlinson tossed off his bumper; and the pair, having kindly rolled by pedal applications the body of long ned into a safe and quiet corner of the room, mounted the stairs, arm-in-arm, in search of somnambular accommodations. chapter xvii that contrast of the hardened and mature, the calm brow brooding o'er the project dark, with the clear loving heart, and spirit pure of youth,--i love, yet, hating, love to mark! h. fletcher. on the forenoon of the day after the ball, the carriage of william brandon, packed and prepared, was at the door of his abode at bath; meanwhile the lawyer was closeted with his brother. "my dear joseph," said the barrister, "i do not leave you without being fully sensible of your kindness evinced to me, both in coming hither, contrary to your habits, and accompanying me everywhere, despite of your tastes." "mention it not, my dear william," said the kind-hearted squire, "for your delightful society is to me the most agreeable (and that's what i can say of very few people like you; for, for my own part, i generally find the cleverest men _the most unpleasant) in the world!_ and i think lawyers in particular (very different, indeed, from your tribe _you are!) perfectly intolerable!_" "i have now," said brandon, who with his usual nervous quickness of action was walking with rapid strides to and fro the apartment, and scarcely noted his brother's compliment,--"i have now another favour to request of you. consider this house and these servants yours for the next month or two at least. don't interrupt me,--it is no compliment,-- i speak for our family benefit." and then seating himself next to his brother's armchair, for a fit of the gout made the squire a close prisoner, brandon unfolded to his brother his cherished scheme of marrying lucy to lord mauleverer. notwithstanding the constancy of the earl's attentions to the heiress, the honest squire had never dreamed of their palpable object; and he was overpowered with surprise when he heard the lawyer's expectations. "but, my dear brother," he began, "so great a match for my lucy, the lord-lieutenant of the coun--" "and what of that?" cried brandon, proudly, and interrupting his brother. "is not the race of brandon, which has matched its scions with royalty, far nobler than that of the upstart stock of mauleverer? what is there presumptuous in the hope that the descendant of the earls of suffolk should regild a faded name with some of the precious dust of the quondam silversmiths of london? besides," he continued, after a pause, "lucy will be rich, very rich, and before two years my rank may possibly be of the same order as mauleverer's!" the squire stared; and brandon, not giving him time to answer, resumed. it is needless to detail the conversation; suffice it to say that the artful barrister did not leave his brother till he had gained his point, --till joseph brandon had promised to remain at bath in possession of the house and establishment of his brother; to throw no impediment on the suit of mauleverer; to cultivate society, as before; and above all, not to alarm lucy, who evidently did not yet favour mauleverer exclusively, by hinting to her the hopes and expectations of her uncle and father. brandon, now taking leave of his brother, mounted to the drawing-room in search of lucy. he found her leaning over the gilt cage of one of her feathered favourites, and speaking to the little inmate in that pretty and playful language in which all thoughts, innocent yet fond, should be clothed. so beautiful did lucy seem, as she was thus engaged in her girlish and caressing employment, and so utterly unlike one meet to be the instrument of ambitious designs, and the sacrifice of worldly calculations, that brandon paused, suddenly smitten at heart, as he beheld her. he was not, however, slow in recovering himself; he approached. "happy he," said the man of the world, "for whom caresses and words like these are reserved!" lucy turned. "it is ill!" she said, pointing to the bird, which sat with its feathers stiff and erect, mute and heedless even of that voice which was as musical as its own. "poor prisoner!" said brandon; "even gilt cages and sweet tones cannot compensate to thee for the loss of the air and the wild woods!" "but," said lucy, anxiously, "it is not confinement which makes it ill! if you think so, i will release it instantly." "how long have you had it?" asked brandon. "for three years!" said lucy. "and is it your chief favourite?" "yes; it does not sing so prettily as the other, but it is far more sensible, and so affectionate!" "can you release it then?" asked brandon, smiling. "would it not be better to see it die in your custody than to let it live and to see it no more?" "oh, no, no!" said lucy, eagerly; "when i love any one, anything, i wish that to be happy, not me!" as she said this, she took the bird from the cage; and bearing it to the open window, kissed it, and held it on her hand in the air. the poor bird turned a languid and sickly eye around it, as if the sight of the crowded houses and busy streets presented nothing familiar or inviting; and it was not till lucy with a tender courage shook it gently from her, that it availed itself of the proffered liberty. it flew first to an opposite balcony; and then recovering from a short and as it were surprised pause, took a brief circuit above the houses; and after disappearing for a few minutes, flew back, circled the window, and re-entering, settled once more on the fair form of its mistress and nestled into her bosom. lucy covered it with kisses. "you see it will not leave me!" said she. "who can?" said the uncle, warmly, charmed for the moment from every thought but that of kindness for the young and soft creature before him, --"who can," he repeated with a sigh, "but an old and withered ascetic like myself? i must leave you indeed; see, my carriage is at the door! will my beautiful niece, among the gayeties that surround her, condescend now and then to remember the crabbed lawyer, and assure him by a line of her happiness and health? though i rarely write any notes but those upon cases, you, at least, may be sure of an answer. and tell me, lucy, if there be in all this city one so foolish as to think that these idle gems, useful only as a vent for my pride in you, can add a single charm to a beauty above all ornament?" so saying, brandon produced a leathern case; and touching a spring, the imperial flash of diamonds, which would have made glad many a patrician heart, broke dazzlingly on lucy's eyes. "no thanks, lucy," said brandon, in answer to his niece's disclaiming and shrinking gratitude; "i do honour to myself, not you; and now bless you, my dear girl. farewell! should any occasion present itself in which you require an immediate adviser, at once kind and wise, i beseech you, my dearest lucy, as a parting request, to have no scruples in consulting lord mauleverer. besides his friendship for me, he is much interested in you, and you may consult him with the more safety and assurance; because" (and the lawyer smiled) "he is perhaps the only man in the world whom my lucy could not make in love with her. his gallantry may appear adulation, but it is never akin to love. promise me that you will not hesitate in this." lucy gave the promise readily; and brandon continued in a careless tone: "i hear that you danced last night with a young gentleman whom no one knew, and whose companions bore a very strange appearance. in a place like bath, society is too mixed not to render the greatest caution in forming acquaintances absolutely necessary. you must pardon me, my dearest niece, if i remark that a young lady owes it not only to herself but to her relations to observe the most rigid circumspection of conduct. this is a wicked world, and the peach-like bloom of character is easily rubbed away. in these points mauleverer can be of great use to you. his knowledge of character, his penetration into men, and his tact in manners are unerring. pray, be guided by him; whomsoever he warns you against, you may be sure is unworthy of your acquaintance. god bless you! you will write to me often and frankly, dear lucy; tell me all that happens to you,--all that interests, nay, all that displeases." brandon then, who had seemingly disregarded the blushes with which during his speech lucy's cheeks had been spread, folded his niece in his arms, and hurried, as if to hide his feelings, into his carriage. when the horses had turned the street, he directed the postilions to stop at lord mauleverer's. "now," said he to himself, "if i can get this clever coxcomb to second my schemes, and play according to my game and not according to his own vanity, i shall have a knight of the garter for my nephew-in-law!" meanwhile lucy, all in tears, for she loved her uncle greatly, ran down to the squire to show him brandon's magnificent present. "ah," said the squire, with a sigh, "few men were born with more good, generous, and great qualities (pity only that his chief desire was to get on in the world; for my part, i think _no motive makes greater and more cold-hearted rogues) than my brother william!_" chapter xviii. why did she love him? curious fool, be still! is human love the growth of human will? to her he might be gentleness! lord byron. in three weeks from the time of his arrival, captain clifford was the most admired man in bath. it is true the gentlemen, who have a quicker tact as to the respectability of their own sex than women, might have looked a little shy upon him, had he not himself especially shunned appearing intrusive, and indeed rather avoided the society of men than courted it; so that after he had fought a duel with a baronet (the son of a shoemaker), who called him _one_ clifford, and had exhibited a flea- bitten horse, allowed to be the finest in bath, he rose insensibly into a certain degree of respect with the one sex as well as popularity with the other. but what always attracted and kept alive suspicion, was his intimacy with so peculiar and _dashing_ a gentleman as mr. edward pepper. people could get over a certain frankness in clifford's address, but the most lenient were astounded by the swagger of long ned. clifford, however, not insensible to the ridicule attached to his acquaintances, soon managed to pursue his occupations alone; nay, he took a lodging to himself, and left long ned and augustus tomlinson (the latter to operate as a check on the former) to the quiet enjoyment of the hairdresser's apartments. he himself attended all public gayeties; and his mien, and the appearance of wealth which he maintained, procured him access into several private circles which pretended to be exclusive,--as if people who had daughters ever could be exclusive! many were the kind looks, nor few the inviting letters, which he received; and if his sole object had been to marry an heiress, he would have found no difficulty in attaining it. but he devoted himself entirely to lucy brandon; and to win one glance from her, he would have renounced all the heiresses in the kingdom. most fortunately for him, mauleverer, whose health was easily deranged, had fallen ill the very day william brandon left bath; and his lordship was thus rendered unable to watch the movements of lucy, and undermine or totally prevent the success of her lover. miss brandon, indeed, had at first, melted by the kindness of her uncle, and struck with the sense of his admonition (for she was no self-willed young lady, who was determined to be in love), received captain clifford's advances with a coldness which, from her manner the first evening they had met at bath, occasioned him no less surprise than mortification. he retreated, and recoiled on the squire, who, patient and bold, as usual, was sequestered in his favourite corner. by accident, clifford trod on the squire's gouty digital; and in apologizing for the offence, was so struck by the old gentleman's good-nature and peculiarity of expressing himself, that without knowing who he was, he entered into conversation with him. there was an off-hand sort of liveliness and candour, not to say wit, about clifford, which always had a charm for the elderly, who generally like frankness above all the cardinal virtues; the squire was exceedingly pleased with him. the acquaintance, once begun, was naturally continued without difficulty when clifford ascertained who was his new friend; and next morning, meeting in the pump-room, the squire asked clifford to dinner. the entree to the house thus gained, the rest was easy. long before mauleverer recovered his health, the mischief effected by his rival was almost beyond redress; and the heart of the pure, the simple, the affectionate lucy brandon was more than half lost to the lawless and vagrant cavalier who officiates as the hero of this tale. one morning, clifford and augustus strolled out together. "let us," said the latter, who was in a melancholy mood, "leave the busy streets, and indulge in a philosophical conversation on the nature of man, while we are enjoying a little fresh air in the country." clifford assented to the proposal, and the pair slowly sauntered up one of the hills that surround the city of bladud. "there are certain moments," said tomlinson, looking pensively down at his kerseymere gaiters, "when we are like the fox in the nursery rhyme, 'the fox had a wound, he could not tell where,'--we feel extremely unhappy, and we cannot tell why. a dark and sad melancholy grows over us; we shun the face of man; we wrap ourselves in our thoughts like silkworms; we mutter fag-ends of dismal songs; tears come into our eyes; we recall all the misfortunes that have ever happened to us; we stoop in our gait, and bury our hands in our breeches-pockets; we say, 'what is life?--a stone to be shied into a horsepond!' we pine for some congenial heart, and have an itching desire to talk prodigiously about ourselves; all other subjects seem weary, stale, and unprofitable. we feel as if a fly could knock us down, and are in a humour to fall in love, and make a very sad piece of business of it. yet with all this weakness we have at these moments a finer opinion of ourselves than we ever had before. we call our megrims the melancholy of a sublime soul, the yearnings of an indigestion we denominate yearnings after immortality, nay, sometimes 'a proof of the nature of the soul!' may i find some biographer who understands such sensations well, and may he style those melting emotions the offspring of the poetical character,' which, in reality, are the offspring of--a mutton-chop!" [vide moore's "life of byron," in which it is satisfactorily shown that if a man fast forty-eight hours, then eat three lobsters, and drink heaven knows how many bottles of claret; if, when he wake the next morning, he sees himself abused as a demon by half the periodicals of the country,--if, in a word, he be broken in his health, irregular in his habits, unfortunate in his affairs, unhappy in his home, and if then he should be so extremely eccentric as to be low-spirited and misanthropical, the low spirits and the misanthropy are by no means to be attributed to the above agreeable circumstances, but, god wot, to the "poetical character"!] "you jest pleasantly enough on your low spirits," said clifford; "but i have a cause for mine." "what then?" cried tomlinson. "so much the easier is it to cure them. the mind can cure the evils that spring from the mind. it is only a fool and a quack and a driveller when it professes to heal the evils that spring from the body. my blue devils spring from the body; consequently my mind, which, as you know, is a particularly wise mind, wrestles riot against them. tell me frankly," renewed augustus, after a pause, "do you ever repent? do you ever think, if you had been a shop-boy with a white apron about your middle, that you would have been a happier and a better member of society than you now are?" "repent!" said clifford, fiercely; and his answer opened more of his secret heart, its motives, its reasonings, and its peculiarities than were often discernible,--"repent! that is the idlest word in our language. no; the moment i repent, that moment i reform! never can it seem to me an atonement for crime merely to regret it. my mind would lead me, not to regret, but to repair! repent! no, not yet. the older i grow, the more i see of men and of the callings of social life, the more i, an open knave, sicken at the glossed and covert dishonesties around. i acknowledge no allegiance to society. from my birth to this hour, i have received no single favour from its customs or its laws; openly i war against it, and patiently will i meet its revenge. this may be crime; but it looks light in my eyes when i gaze around, and survey on all sides the masked traitors who acknowledge large debts to society, who profess to obey its laws, adore its institutions, and, above all--oh, how righteously!--attack all those who attack it, and who yet lie and cheat and defraud and peculate,--publicly reaping all the comforts, privately filching all the profits. repent!--of what? i come into the world friendless and poor; i find a body of laws hostile to the friendless and the poor! to those laws hostile to me, then, i acknowledge hostility in my turn. between us are the conditions of war. let them expose a weakness,--i insist on my right to seize the advantage; let them defeat me, and i allow their right to destroy."--[the author need not, he hopes, observe that these sentiments are mr. paul clifford's, not his.] "passion," said augustus, coolly, "is the usual enemy of reason; in your case it is the friend." the pair had now gained the summit of a hill which commanded a view of the city below. here augustus, who was a little short-winded, paused to recover breath. as soon as he had done so, he pointed with his forefinger to the scene beneath, and said enthusiastically, "what a subject for contemplation!" clifford was about to reply, when suddenly the sound of laughter and voices was heard behind. "let us fly!" cried augustus; "on this day of spleen man delights me not--or woman either." "stay!" said clifford, in a trembling accent; for among those voices he recognized one which had already acquired over him an irresistible and bewitching power. augustus sighed, and reluctantly remained motionless. presently a winding in the road brought into view a party of pleasure, some on foot, some on horseback, others in the little vehicles which even at that day haunted watering-places, and called themselves "flies" or "swallows." but among the gay procession clifford had only eyes for one! walking with that elastic step which so rarely survives the first epoch of youth, by the side of the heavy chair in which her father was drawn, the fair beauty of lucy brandon threw--at least in the eyes of her lover--a magic and a lustre over the whole group. he stood for a moment, stilling the heart that leaped at her bright looks and the gladness of her innocent laugh; and then recovering himself, he walked slowly, and with a certain consciousness of the effect of his own singularly handsome person, towards the party. the good squire received him with his usual kindness, and informed him, according to that _lucidus ordo_ which he so especially favoured, of the whole particulars of their excursion. there was something worthy of an artist's sketch in the scene at that moment: the old squire in his chair, with his benevolent face turned towards clifford, and his hands resting on his cane, clifford himself bowing down his stately head to hear the details of the father; the beautiful daughter on the other side of the chair, her laugh suddenly stilled, her gait insensibly more composed, and blush chasing blush over the smooth and peach-like loveliness of her cheek; the party, of all sizes, ages, and attire, affording ample scope for the caricaturist; and the pensive figure of augustus tomlinson (who, by the by, was exceedingly like liston) standing apart from the rest, on the brow of the hill where clifford had left him, and moralizing on the motley procession, with one hand hid in his waistcoat, and the other caressing his chin, which slowly and pendulously with the rest of his head moved up and down. as the party approached the brow of the hill, the view of the city below was so striking that there was a general pause for the purpose of survey. one young lady in particular drew forth her pencil, and began sketching, while her mamma looked complacently on, and abstractedly devoured a sandwich. it was at this time, in the general pause, that clifford and lucy found themselves--heaven knows how!--next to each other, and at a sufficient distance from the squire and the rest of the party to feel in some measure alone. there was a silence in both which neither dared to break; when lucy, after looking at and toying with a flower that she had brought from the place which the party had been to see, accidentally dropped it; and clifford and herself stooping at the same moment to recover it, their hands met. involuntarily, clifford detained the soft fingers in his own; his eyes, that encountered hers, so spell-bound and arrested them that for once they did not sink beneath his gaze; his lips moved, but many and vehement emotions so suffocated his voice that no sound escaped them. but all the heart was in the eyes of each; that moment fixed their destinies. henceforth there was an era from which they dated a new existence; a nucleus around which their thoughts, their remembrances, and their passions clung. the great gulf was passed; they stood on the same shore, and felt that though still apart and disunited, on that shore was no living creature but themselves! meanwhile augustus tomlinson, on finding himself surrounded by persons eager to gaze and to listen, broke from his moodiness and reserve. looking full at his next neighbour, and flourishing his right hand in the air, till he suffered it to rest in the direction of the houses and chimneys below, he repeated that moral exclamation which had been wasted on clifford, with a more solemn and a less passionate gravity than before,--"what a subject, ma'am, for contemplation!" "very sensibly said, indeed, sir," said the lady addressed, who was rather of a serious turn. "i never," resumed augustus in a louder key, and looking round for auditors,--"i never see a great town from the top of a hill without thinking of an apothecary's shop!" "lord, sir!" said the lady. tomlinson's end was gained. struck with the quaintness of the notion, a little crowd gathered instantly around him, to hear it further developed. "of an apothecary's shop, ma'am!" repeated tomlinson. "there lie your simples and your purges and your cordials and your poisons,--all things to heal and to strengthen and to destroy. there are drugs enough in that collection to save you, to cure you all; but none of you know how to use them, nor what medicines to ask for, nor what portions to take; so that the greater part of you swallow a wrong dose, and die of the remedy!" "but if the town be the apothecary's shop, what, in the plan of your idea, stands for the apothecary?" asked an old gentleman, who perceived at what tomlinson was driving. "the apothecary, sir," answered augustus, stealing his notion from clifford, and sinking his voice lest the true proprietor should overhear him (clifford was otherwise employed),--"the apothecary, sir, is the law! it is the law that stands behind the counter, and dispenses to each man the dose he should take. to the poor it gives bad drugs gratuitously; to the rich, pills to stimulate the appetite; to the latter, premiums for luxury; to the former, only speedy refuges from life! alas! either your apothecary is but an ignorant quack, or his science itself is but in its cradle. he blunders as much as you would do if left to your own selection. those who have recourse to him seldom speak gratefully of his skill. he relieves you, it is true,--but of your money, not your malady; and the only branch of his profession in which he is an adept is that which enables him to bleed you! o mankind!" continued augustus, "what noble creatures you ought to be! you have keys to all sciences, all arts, all mysteries, but one! you have not a notion how you ought to be governed; you cannot frame a tolerable law, for the life and soul of you! you make yourselves as uncomfortable as you can by all sorts of galling and vexatious institutions, and you throw the blame upon 'fate.' you lay down rules it is impossible to comprehend, much less to obey; and you call each other monsters, because you cannot conquer the impossibility! you invent all sorts of vices, under pretence of making laws for preserving virtue; and the anomalous artificialities of conduct yourselves produce, you say you are born with; you make a machine by the perversest art you can think of, and you call it, with a sigh, 'human nature.' with a host of good dispositions struggling at your breasts, you insist upon libelling the almighty, and declaring that he meant you to be wicked. nay, you even call the man mischievous and seditious who begs and implores you to be one jot better than you are. o mankind! you are like a nosegay bought at covent garden. the flowers are lovely, the scent delicious. mark that glorious hue; contemplate that bursting petal! how beautiful, how redolent of health, of nature, of the dew and breath and blessing of heaven, are you all! but as for the dirty piece of string that ties you together, one would think you had picked it out of the kennel." so saying, tomlinson turned on his heel, broke away from the crowd, and solemnly descended the hill. the party of pleasure slowly followed; and clifford, receiving an invitation from the squire to partake of his family dinner, walked by the side of lucy, and felt as if his spirit were drunk with the airs of eden. a brother squire, who among the gayeties of bath was almost as forlorn as joseph brandon himself, partook of the lord of warlock's hospitality. when the three gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, the two elder sat down to a game at backgammon, and clifford was left to the undisturbed enjoyment of lucy's conversation. she was sitting by the window when clifford joined her. on the table by her side were scattered books, the charm of which (they were chiefly poetry) she had only of late learned to discover; there also were strewn various little masterpieces of female ingenuity, in which the fairy fingers of lucy brandon were especially formed to excel. the shades of evening were rapidly darkening over the empty streets; and in the sky, which was cloudless and transparently clear, the stars came gradually out one by one, until,-- "as water does a sponge, so their soft light filled the void, hollow, universal air." beautiful evening! (if we, as well as augustus tomlinson, may indulge in an apostrophe)--beautiful evening! for thee all poets have had a song, and surrounded thee with rills and waterfalls and dews and flowers and sheep and bats and melancholy and owls; yet we must confess that to us, who in this very sentimental age are a bustling, worldly, hard-minded person, jostling our neighbours, and thinking of the main chance,--to us thou art never so charming as when we meet thee walking in thy gray hood through the emptying streets and among the dying sounds of a city. we love to feel the stillness where all, two hours back, was clamour. we love to see the dingy abodes of trade and luxury--those restless patients of earth's constant fever--contrasted and canopied by a heaven full of purity and quietness and peace. we love to fill our thought with speculations on man, even though the man be the muffin-man, rather than with inanimate objects,--hills and streams,--things to dream about, not to meditate on. man is the subject of far nobler contemplation, of far more glowing hope, of a far purer and loftier vein of sentiment, than all the "floods and fells" in the universe; and that, sweet evening! is one reason why we like that the earnest and tender thoughts thou excitest within us should be rather surrounded by the labours and tokens of our species than by sheep and bats and melancholy and owls. but whether, most blessed evening! thou delightest us in the country or in the town, thou equally disposest us to make and to feel love! thou art the cause of more marriages and more divorces than any other time in the twenty- four hours! eyes that were common eyes to us before, touched by thy enchanting and magic shadows, become inspired, and preach to us of heaven. a softness settles on features that were harsh to us while the sun shone; a mellow "light of love" reposes on the complexion which by day we would have steeped "full fathom five" in a sea of mrs. gowland's lotion. what, then, thou modest hypocrite! to those who already and deeply love,--what, then, of danger and of paradise dost thou bring? silent, and stilling the breath which heaved in both quick and fitfully, lucy and clifford sat together. the streets were utterly deserted; and the loneliness, as they looked below, made them feel the more intensely not only the emotions which swelled within them, but the undefined and electric sympathy which, in uniting them, divided them from the world. the quiet around was broken by a distant strain of rude music; and as it came nearer, two forms of no poetical order grew visible. the one was a poor blind man, who was drawing from his flute tones in which the melancholy beauty of the air compensated for any deficiency (the deficiency was but slight) in the execution. a woman much younger than the musician, and with something of beauty in her countenance, accompanied him, holding a tattered hat, and looking wistfully up at the windows of the silent street. we said two forms; we did the injustice of forgetfulness to another,--a rugged and simple friend, it is true, but one that both minstrel and wife had many and moving reasons to love. this was a little wiry terrier, with dark piercing eyes, that glanced quickly and sagaciously in all quarters from beneath the shaggy covert that surrounded them. slowly the animal moved onward, pulling gently against the string by which he was held, and by which he guided his master. once his fidelity was tempted: another dog invited him to play; the poor terrier looked anxiously and doubtingly round, and then, uttering a low growl of denial, pursued-- "the noiseless tenour of his way." the little procession stopped beneath the window where lucy and clifford sat; for the quick eye of the woman had perceived them, and she laid her hand on the blind man's arm, and whispered him. he took the hint, and changed his air into one of love. clifford glanced at lucy; her cheek was dyed in blushes. the air was over; another succeeded,--it was of the same kind; a third,--the burden was still unaltered; and then clifford threw into the street a piece of money, and the dog wagged his abridged and dwarfed tail, and darting forward, picked it up in his mouth; and the woman (she had a kind face!) patted the officious friend, even before she thanked the donor, and then she dropped the money with a cheering word or two into the blind man's pocket, and the three wanderers moved slowly on. presently they came to a place where the street had been mended, and the stones lay scattered about. here the woman no longer trusted to the dog's guidance, but anxiously hastened to the musician, and led him with evident tenderness and minute watchfulness over the rugged way. when they had passed the danger, the man stopped; and before he released the hand which had guided him, he pressed it gratefully, and then both the husband and the wife stooped down and caressed the dog. this little scene--one of those rough copies of the loveliness of human affections, of which so many are scattered about the highways of the world--both the lovers had involuntarily watched; and now as they withdrew their eyes,-- those eyes settled on each other,--lucy's swam in tears. "to be loved and tended by the one i love," said clifford, in a low voice, "i would walk blind and barefoot over the whole earth!" lucy sighed very gently; and placing her pretty hands (the one clasped over the other) upon her knee, looked down wistfully on them, but made no answer. clifford drew his chair nearer, and gazed on her, as she sat; the long dark eyelashes drooping over her eyes, and contrasting the ivory lids; her delicate profile half turned from him, and borrowing a more touching beauty from the soft light that dwelt upon it; and her full yet still scarcely developed bosom heaving at thoughts which she did not analyze, but was content to feel at once vague and delicious. he gazed, and his lips trembled; he longed to speak; he longed to say but those words which convey what volumes have endeavoured to express and have only weakened by detail,--"_i love._" how he resisted the yearnings of his heart, we know not,--but he did resist; and lucy, after a confused and embarrassed pause, took up one of the poems on the table, and asked him some questions about a particular passage in an old ballad which he had once pointed to her notice. the passage related to a border chief, one of the armstrongs of old, who, having been seized by the english and condemned to death, vented his last feelings in a passionate address to his own home--his rude tower--and his newly wedded bride. "do you believe," said lucy, as their conversation began to flow, "that one so lawless and eager for bloodshed and strife as this robber is described to be, could be so capable of soft affections?" "i do," said clifford, "because he was not sensible that he was as criminal as you esteem him. if a man cherish the idea that his actions are not evil, he will retain at his heart all its better and gentler sensations as much as if he had never sinned. the savage murders his enemy, and when he returns home is not the less devoted to his friend or the less anxious for his children. to harden and embrute the kindly dispositions, we must not only indulge in guilt but feel that we are guilty. oh! many that the world load with their opprobrium are capable of acts--nay, have committed acts--which in others the world would reverence and adore. would you know whether a man's heart be shut to the power of love,--ask what he is, not to his foes, but to his friends! crime, too," continued clifford, speaking fast and vehemently, while his eyes flashed and the dark blood rushed to his cheek,--"crime,--what is crime? men embody their worst prejudices, their most evil passions, in a heterogeneous and contradictory code; and whatever breaks this code they term a crime. when they make no distinction in the penalty--that is to say, in the estimation--awarded both to murder and to a petty theft imposed on the weak will by famine, we ask nothing else to convince us that they are ignorant of the very nature of guilt, and that they make up in ferocity for the want of wisdom." lucy looked in alarm at the animated and fiery countenance of the speaker. clifford recovered himself after a moment's pause, and rose from his seat, with the gay and frank laugh which made one of his peculiar characteristics. "there is a singularity in politics, miss brandon," said he, "which i dare say you have often observed,--namely, that those who are least important are always most noisy, and that the chief people who lose their temper are those who have nothing to gain in return." as clifford spoke, the doors were thrown open, and some visitors to miss brandon were announced. the good squire was still immersed in the vicissitudes of his game; and the sole task of receiving and entertaining "the company," as the chambermaids have it, fell, as usual, upon lucy. fortunately for her, clifford was one of those rare persons who possess eminently the talents of society. there was much in his gay and gallant temperament, accompanied as it was with sentiment and ardour, that resembled our beau-ideal of those chevaliers, ordinarily peculiar to the continent,--heroes equally in the drawing-room and the field. observant, courteous, witty, and versed in the various accomplishments that combine (that most unfrequent of all unions!) vivacity with grace, he was especially formed for that brilliant world from which his circumstances tended to exclude him. under different auspices, be might have been-- pooh! we are running into a most pointless commonplace; what might any man be under auspices different from those by which his life has been guided? music soon succeeded to conversation, and clifford's voice was of necessity put into requisition. miss brandon had just risen from the harpsichord, as he sat down to perform his part; and she stood by him with the rest of the group while he sang. only twice his eye stole to that spot which her breath and form made sacred to him; once when he began, and once when he concluded his song. perhaps the recollection of their conversation inspired him; certainly it dwelt upon his mind at the moment,--threw a richer flush over his brow, and infused a more meaning and heartfelt softness into his tone. stanzas. when i leave thee, oh! ask not the world what that heart which adores thee to others may be! i know that i sin when from thee i depart, but my guilt shall not light upon thee! my life is a river which glasses a ray that hath deigned to descend from above; whatever the banks that o'ershadow its way, it mirrors the light of thy love. though the waves may run high when the night wind awakes, and hurries the stream to its fall; though broken and wild be the billows it makes, thine image still trembles on all!" while this ominous love between clifford and lucy was thus finding fresh food in every interview and every opportunity, the unfortunate mauleverer, firmly persuaded that his complaint was a relapse of what he termed the "warlock dyspepsia," was waging dire war with the remains of the beef and pudding, which he tearfully assured his physicians "were lurking in his constitution." as mauleverer, though complaisant, like most men of unmistakable rank, to all his acquaintances, whatever might be their grade, possessed but very few friends intimate enough to enter his sick-chamber, and none of that few were at bath, it will readily be perceived that he was in blissful ignorance of the growing fortunes of his rival; and to say the exact truth, illness, which makes a man's thoughts turn very much upon himself, banished many of the most tender ideas usually floating in his mind around the image of lucy brandon. his pill superseded his passion; and he felt that there are draughts in the world more powerful in their effects than those in the phials of alcidonis.--[see marmontel's pretty tale of "les quatres flacons."]-- he very often thought, it is true, how pleasant it would be for lucy to smooth his pillow, and lucy to prepare that mixture; but then mauleverer had an excellent valet, who hoped to play the part enacted by gil blas towards the honest licentiate, and to nurse a legacy while he was nursing his master. and the earl, who was tolerably good-tempered, was forced to confess that it would be scarcely possible for any one "to know his ways better than smoothson." thus, during his illness, the fair form of his intended bride little troubled the peace of the noble adorer. and it was not till he found himself able to eat three good dinners consecutively, with a tolerable appetite, that mauleverer recollected that he was violently in love. as soon as this idea was fully reinstated in his memory, and he had been permitted by his doctor to allow himself "a little cheerful society," mauleverer resolved to go to the rooms for an hour or two. it may be observed that most great personages have some favourite place, some cherished baiae, at which they love to throw off their state, and to play the amiable instead of the splendid; and bath at that time, from its gayety, its ease, the variety of character to be found in its haunts, and the obliging manner in which such characters exposed themselves to ridicule, was exactly the place calculated to please a man like mauleverer, who loved at once to be admired and to satirize. he was therefore an idolized person at the city of bladud; and as he entered the rooms he was surrounded by a whole band of imitators and sycophants, delighted to find his lordship looking so much better and declaring himself so convalescent. as soon as the earl had bowed and smiled, and shaken hands sufficiently to sustain his reputation, he sauntered towards the dancers in search of lucy. he found her not only exactly in the same spot in which he had last beheld her, but dancing with exactly the same partner who had before provoked all the gallant nobleman's jealousy and wrath. mauleverer, though not by any means addicted to preparing his compliments beforehand, had just been conning a delicate speech for lucy; but no sooner did the person of her partner flash on him than the whole flattery vanished at once from his recollection. he felt himself grow pale; and when lucy turned, and seeing him near, addressed him in the anxious and soft tone which she thought due to her uncle's friend on his recovery, mauleverer bowed, confused and silent; and that green-eyed passion, which would have convulsed the mind of a true lover, altering a little the course of its fury, effectually disturbed the manner of the courtier. retreating to an obscure part of the room, where he could see all without being conspicuous, mauleverer now employed himself in watching the motions and looks of the young pair. he was naturally a penetrating and quick observer, and in this instance jealousy sharpened his talents; he saw enough to convince him that lucy was already attached to clifford; and being, by that conviction, fully persuaded that lucy was necessary to his own happiness, he resolved to lose not a moment in banishing captain clifford from her presence, or at least in instituting such inquiries into that gentleman's relatives, rank, and respectability as would, he hoped, render such banishment a necessary consequence of the research. fraught with this determination, mauleverer repaired at once to the retreat of the squire, and engaging him in conversation, bluntly asked him who the deuce miss brandon was dancing with. the squire, a little piqued at this _brusquerie_, replied by a long eulogium on paul; and mauleverer, after hearing it throughout with the blandest smile imaginable, told the squire, very politely, that he was sure mr. brandon's good-nature had misled him. "clifford!" said he, repeating the name,--"clifford! it is one of those names which are particularly selected by persons nobody knows,--first, because the name is good, and secondly, because it is common. my long and dear friendship with your brother makes me feel peculiarly anxious on any point relative to his niece; and, indeed, my dear william, overrating, perhaps, my knowledge of the world and my influence in society, but not my affection for him, besought me to assume the liberty of esteeming myself a friend, nay, even a relation of yours and miss brandon's; so that i trust you do not consider my caution impertinent." the flattered squire assured him that he was particularly honoured, so far from deeming his lordship (which never could be the case with people so distinguished _as his lordship was, especially!) impertinent._ lord mauleverer, encouraged by this speech, artfully renewed, and succeeded, if not in convincing the squire that the handsome captain was a suspicious character, at least in persuading him that common prudence required that he should find out exactly who the handsome captain was, especially as he was in the habit of dining with the squire thrice a week, and dancing with lucy every night. "see," said mauleverer, "he approaches you now; i will retreat to the chair by the fireplace, and you shall cross-examine him,--i have no doubt you will do it with the utmost delicacy." so saying, mauleverer took possession of a seat where he was not absolutely beyond hearing (slightly deaf as he was) of the ensuing colloquy, though the position of his seat screened him from sight. mauleverer was esteemed a man of the most punctilious honour in private life, and he would not have been seen in the act of listening to other people's conversation for the world. hemming with an air and resettling himself as clifford approached, the squire thus skilfully commenced the attack "ah, ha! my good captain clifford, and how do you do? i saw you (and i am very glad, my friend, as every one else is, to see you) at a distance. and where have you left my daughter?" "miss brandon is dancing with mr. muskwell, sir," answered clifford. "oh! she is! mr. muskwell,--humph! good family the muskwells,--came from primrose hall. pray, captain, not that i want to know for my own sake, for i am a strange, odd person, i believe, and i am thoroughly convinced (some people are censorious, and others, thank god, are not!) of your respectability,--what family do you come from? you won't think my--my caution impertinent?" added the shrewd old gentleman, borrowing that phrase which he thought so friendly in the mouth of lord mauleverer. clifford coloured for a moment, but replied with a quiet archness of look, "family! oh, my dear sir, i come from an old family,--a very old family indeed." "so i always thought; and in what part of the world?" "scotland, sir,--all our family come from scotland; namely, all who live long do,--the rest die young." "ay, particular air does agree with particular constitutions. i, for instance, could not live in all countries; not--you take me--in the north!" "few honest men can live there," said clifford, dryly. "and," resumed the squire, a little embarrassed by the nature of his task, and the cool assurance of his young friend,--"and pray, captain clifford, what regiment do you belong to?" "regiment?--oh, the rifles!" answered clifford. ("deuce is in me," muttered he, "if i can resist a jest, though i break my neck over it.") "a very gallant body of men," said the squire. "no doubt of that, sir!" rejoined clifford. "and do you think, captain clifford," renewed the squire, "that it is a good corps for getting on?" "it is rather a bad one for getting off," muttered the captain; and then aloud, "why, we have not much interest at court, sir." "oh! but then there is a wider scope, as my brother the lawyer says--and no man knows better--for merit. i dare say you have seen many a man elevated from the ranks?" "nothing more common, sir, than such elevation; and so great is the virtue of our corps, that i have also known not a few willing to transfer the honour to their comrades." "you don't say so!" exclaimed the squire, opening his eyes at such disinterested magnanimity. "but," said clifford, who began to believe he might carry the equivoke too far, and who thought, despite of his jesting, that it was possible to strike out a more agreeable vein of conversation--"but, sir, if you remember, you have not yet finished that youthful hunting adventure of yours, when the hounds were lost at burnham copse." "oh, very true," cried the squire, quite forgetting his late suspicions; and forthwith he began a story that promised to be as long as the chase it recorded. so charmed was he, when he had finished it, with the character of the gentleman who had listened to it so delightedly, that on rejoining mauleverer, he told the earl, with an important air, that he had strictly examined the young captain, and that he had fully convinced himself of the excellence of his family, as well as the rectitude of his morals. mauleverer listened with a countenance of polite incredulity; he had heard but little of the conversation that had taken place between the pair; but on questioning the squire upon sundry particulars of clifford's birth, parentage, and property, he found him exactly as ignorant as before. the courtier, however, seeing further expostulation was in vain, contented himself with patting the squire's shoulder, and saying, with a mysterious urbanity, "ah, sir, you are too good!" with these words he turned on his heel, and, not yet despairing, sought the daughter. he found miss brandon just released from dancing, and with a kind of paternal gallantry, he offered his arm to parade the apartments. after some preliminary flourish, and reference for the thousandth time to his friendship for william brandon, the earl spoke to her about that "fine-looking young man who called himself captain clifford." unfortunately for mauleverer, he grew a little too unguarded, as his resentment against the interference of clifford warmed with his language, and he dropped in his anger one or two words of caution, which especially offended the delicacy of miss brandon. "take care how i encourage, my lord!" said lucy, with glowing cheeks, repeating the words which had so affronted her, "i really must beg you--" "you mean, dear miss brandon," interrupted mauleverer, squeezing her hand with respectful tenderness, "that you must beg me to apologize for my inadvertent expression. i do most sincerely. if i had felt less interest in your happiness, believe me, i should have been more guarded in my language." miss brandon bowed stiffly, and the courtier saw, with secret rage, that the country beauty was not easily appeased, even by an apology from lord mauleverer. "i have seen the time," thought he, "when young unmarried ladies would have deemed an _affront_ from _me_ an honour! they would have gone into hysterics at an _apology!_" before he had time to make his peace, the squire joined them; and lucy, taking her father's arm, expressed her wish to return home. the squire was delighted at the proposition. it would have been but civil in mauleverer to offer his assistance in those little attentions preparatory to female departure from balls. he hesitated for a moment. "it keeps one so long in those cursed thorough draughts," thought he, shivering. "besides, it is just possible that i may not marry her, and it is no good risking a cold (above all, at the beginning of winter) for nothing!" fraught with this prudential policy, mauleverer then resigned lucy to her father, and murmuring in her ear that "her displeasure made him the most wretched of men," concluded his adieu by a bow penitentially graceful. about five minutes afterwards, he himself withdrew. as he was wrapping his corporeal treasure in his _roquelaire_ of sables, previous to immersing himself in his chair, he had the mortification of seeing lucy, who with her father, from some cause or other, had been delayed in the hall, handed to the carriage by captain clifford. had the earl watched more narrowly than in the anxious cares due to himself he was enabled to do, he would, to his consolation, have noted that lucy gave her hand with an averted and cool air, and that clifford's expressive features bore rather the aspect of mortification than triumph. he did not, however, see more than the action; and as he was borne homeward with his flambeaux and footmen preceding him, and the watchful smoothson by the side of the little vehicle, he muttered his determination of writing by the very next post to brandon all his anger for lucy and all his jealousy of her evident lover. while this doughty resolve was animating the great soul of mauleverer, lucy reached her own room, bolted the door, and throwing herself on her bed, burst into a long and bitter paroxysm of tears. so unusual were such visitors to her happy and buoyant temper, that there was something almost alarming in the earnestness and obstinacy with which she now wept. "what!" said she, bitterly, "have i placed my affections upon a man of uncertain character, and is my infatuation so clear that an acquaintance dare hint at its imprudence? and yet his manner--his tone! no, no, there can be no reason for shame in loving him!" and as she said this, her heart smote her for the coldness of her manner towards clifford on his taking leave of her for the evening. "am i," she thought, weeping yet more vehemently than before,--"am i so worldly, so base, as to feel altered towards him the moment i hear a syllable breathed against his name? should i not, on the contrary, have clung to his image with a greater love, if he were attacked by others? but my father, my dear father, and my kind, prudent uncle,--something is due to them; and they would break their hearts if i loved one whom they deemed unworthy. why should i not summon courage, and tell him of the suspicions respecting him? one candid word would dispel them. surely it would be but kind in me towards him, to give him an opportunity of disproving all false and dishonouring conjectures. and why this reserve, when so often, by look and hint, if not by open avowal, he has declared that he loves me, and knows--he must know--that he is not indifferent to me? why does he never speak of his parents, his relations, his home?" and lucy, as she asked this question, drew from a bosom whose hue and shape might have rivalled hers who won cymon to be wise,--[see dryden's poem of "cymon and iphigenia."]--a drawing which she herself had secretly made of her lover, and which, though inartificially and even rudely done, yet had caught the inspiration of memory, and breathed the very features and air that were stamped already ineffaceably upon a heart too holy for so sullied an idol. she gazed upon the portrait as if it could answer her question of the original; and as she looked and looked, her tears slowly ceased, and her innocent countenance relapsed gradually into its usual and eloquent serenity. never, perhaps, could lucy's own portrait have been taken at a more favourable moment, the unconscious grace of her attitude; her dress loosened; the modest and youthful voluptuousness of her beauty; the tender cheek to which the virgin bloom, vanished for a while, was now all glowingly returning; the little white soft hand on which that cheek leaned, while the other contained the picture upon which her eyes fed; the half smile just conjured to her full, red, dewy lips, and gone the moment after, yet again restored,--all made a picture of such enchanting loveliness that we question whether shakspeare himself could have fancied an earthly shape more meet to embody the vision of a miranda or a viola. the quiet and maiden neatness of the apartment gave effect to the charm; and there was a poetry even in the snowy furniture of the bed, the shutters partly unclosed and admitting a glimpse of the silver moon, and the solitary lamp just contending with the purer ray of the skies, and so throwing a mixed and softened light around the chamber. she was yet gazing on the drawing, when a faint stream of music stole through the air beneath her window, and it gradually rose till the sound of a guitar became distinct and clear, suiting with, not disturbing, the moonlit stillness of the night. the gallantry and romance of a former day, though at the time of our story subsiding, were not quite dispelled; and nightly serenades under the casements of a distinguished beauty were by no means of unfrequent occurrence. but lucy, as the music floated upon her ear, blushed deeper and deeper, as if it had a dearer source to her heart than ordinary gallantry; and raising herself on one arm from her incumbent position, she leaned forward to catch the sound with a greater and more unerring certainty. after a prelude of some moments a clear and sweet voice accompanied the instrument, and the words of the song were as follows:-- clifford's serenade. there is a world where every night my spirit meets and walks with thine; and hopes i dare not tell thee light, like stars of love, that world of mine! sleep!--to the waking world my heart hath now, methinks, a stranger grown; ah, sleep! that i may feel thou art within _one_ world that is my own. as the music died away, lucy sank back once more, and the drawing which she held was pressed (with cheeks glowing, though unseen, at the act) to her lips. and though the character of her lover was uncleared, though she herself had come to no distinct resolution even to inform him of the rumours against his name, yet so easily restored was her trust in him, and so soothing the very thought of his vigilance and his love, that before an hour had passed, her eyes were closed in sleep. the drawing was laid, as a spell against grief, under her pillow; and in her dreams she murmured his name, and unconscious of reality and the future, smiled tenderly as she did so! chapter xix. come, the plot thickens! and another fold of the warm cloak of mystery wraps us around. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and for their loves? behold the seal is on them! tanner of tyburn. we must not suppose that clifford's manner and tone were towards lucy brandon such as they seemed to others. love refines every roughness; and that truth which nurtures tenderness is never barren of grace. whatever the habits and comrades of clifford's life, he had at heart many good and generous qualities. they were not often perceptible, it is true,--first, because he was of a gay and reckless turn; secondly, because he was not easily affected by any external circumstances; and thirdly, because he had the policy to affect among his comrades only such qualities as were likely to give him influence with them. still, however, his better genius broke out whenever an opportunity presented itself. though no "corsair," romantic and unreal, an ossianic shadow becoming more vast in proportion as it recedes from substance; though no grandly-imagined lie to the fair proportions of human nature, but an erring man in a very prosaic and homely world,--clifford still mingled a certain generosity and chivalric spirit of enterprise even with the practices of his profession. although the name of lovett, by which he was chiefly known, was one peculiarly distinguished in the annals of the adventurous, it had never been coupled with rumours of cruelty or outrage; and it was often associated with anecdotes of courage, courtesy, good humour, or forbearance. he was one whom a real love was peculiarly calculated to soften and to redeem. the boldness, the candour, the unselfishness of his temper, were components of nature upon which affection invariably takes a strong and deep hold. besides, clifford was of an eager and aspiring turn; and the same temper and abilities which had in a very few years raised him in influence and popularity far above all the chivalric band with whom he was connected, when once inflamed and elevated by a higher passion, were likely to arouse his ambition from the level of his present pursuits, and reform him, ere too late, into a useful, nay, even an honourable member of society. we trust that the reader has already perceived that, despite his early circumstances, his manner and address were not such as to unfit him for a lady's love. the comparative refinement of his exterior is easy of explanation, for he possessed a natural and inborn gentility, a quick turn for observation, a ready sense both of the ridiculous and the graceful; and these are materials which are soon and lightly wrought from coarseness into polish. he had been thrown, too, among the leaders and heroes of his band; many not absolutely low in birth, nor debased in habit. he had associated with the barringtons of the day,--gentlemen who were admired at ranelagh, and made speeches worthy of cicero, when they were summoned to trial. he had played his part in public places; and as tomlinson was wont to say after his classic fashion, "the triumphs accomplished in the field had been planned in the ball-room." in short, he was one of those accomplished and elegant highwaymen of whom we yet read wonders, and by whom it would have been delightful to have been robbed: and the aptness of intellect which grew into wit with his friends, softened into sentiment with his mistress. there is something, too, in beauty (and clifford's person, as we have before said, was possessed of even uncommon attractions) which lifts a beggar into nobility; and there was a distinction in his gait and look which supplied the air of rank and the tone of courts. men, indeed, skilled like mauleverer in the subtleties of manner, might perhaps have easily detected in him the want of that indescribable essence possessed only by persons reared in good society; but that want being shared by so many persons of indisputable birth and fortune, conveyed no particular reproach. to lucy, indeed, brought up in seclusion, and seeing at warlock none calculated to refine her taste in the fashion of an air or phrase to a very fastidious standard of perfection, this want was perfectly imperceptible; she remarked in her lover only a figure everywhere unequalled, an eye always eloquent with admiration, a step from which grace could never be divorced, a voice that spoke in a silver key, and uttered flatteries delicate in thought and poetical in word; even a certain originality of mind, remark, and character, occasionally approaching to the bizarre, yet sometimes also to the elevated, possessed a charm for the imagination of a young and not unenthusiastic female, and contrasted favourably, rather than the reverse, with the dull insipidity of those she ordinarily saw. nor are we sure that the mystery thrown about him, irksome as it was to her, and discreditable as it appeared to others, was altogether ineffectual in increasing her love for the adventurer; and thus fate, which transmutes in her magic crucible all opposing metals into that one which she is desirous to produce, swelled the wealth of an ill-placed and ominous passion by the very circumstances which should have counteracted and destroyed it. we are willing, by what we have said, not to defend clifford, but to redeem lucy in the opinion of our readers for loving so unwisely; and when they remember her youth, her education, her privation of a mother, of all female friendship, even of the vigilant and unrelaxing care of some protector of the opposite sex, we do not think that what was so natural will be considered by any inexcusable. mauleverer woke the morning after the ball in better health than usual, and consequently more in love than ever. according to his resolution the night before, he sat down to write a long letter to william brandon: it was amusing and witty as usual; but the wily nobleman succeeded, under the cover of wit, in conveying to brandon's mind a serious apprehension lest his cherished matrimonial project should altogether fail. the account of lucy and of captain clifford contained in the epistle instilled, indeed, a double portion of sourness into the professionally acrid mind of the lawyer; and as it so happened that he read the letter just before attending the court upon a case in which he was counsel to the crown, the witnesses on the opposite side of the question felt the full effects of the barrister's ill humour. the case was one in which the defendant had been engaged in swindling transactions to a very large amount; and among his agents and assistants was a person of the very lowest orders, but who, seemingly enjoying large connections, and possessing natural acuteness and address, appeared to have been of great use in receiving and disposing of such goods as were fraudulently obtained. as a witness against the latter person appeared a pawnbroker, who produced certain articles that had been pledged to him at different times by this humble agent. now, brandon, in examining the guilty go-between, became the more terribly severe in proportion as the man evinced that semblance of unconscious stolidity which the lower orders can so ingeniously assume, and which is so peculiarly adapted to enrage and to baffle the gentlemen of the bar. at length, brandon entirely subduing and quelling the stubborn hypocrisy of the culprit, the man turned towards him a look between wrath and beseechingness, muttering,-- "aha! _if_ so be, counsellor prandon, you knew vat i knows. you vould not go for to bully i so!" "and pray, my good fellow, what is it that you know that should make me treat you as if i thought you an honest man?" the witness had now relapsed into sullenness, and only answered by a sort of grunt. brandon, who knew well how to sting a witness into communicativeness, continued his questioning till the witness, re-aroused into anger, and it may be into indiscretion, said in a low voice,-- "hax mr. swoppem the pawnbroker what i sold 'im on the th hof february, exactly twenty-three yearn ago." brandon started back, his lips grew white, he clenched his hands with a convulsive spasm; and while all his features seemed distorted with an earnest yet fearful intensity of expectation, he poured forth a volley of questions, so incoherent and so irrelevant that he was immediately called to order by his learned brother on the opposite side. nothing further could be extracted from the witness. the pawnbroker was resummoned: he appeared somewhat disconcerted by an appeal to his memory so far back as twenty-three years; but after taking some time to consider, during which the agitation of the usually cold and possessed brandon was remarkable to all the court, he declared that he recollected no transaction whatsoever with the witness at that time. in vain were all brandon's efforts to procure a more elucidatory answer. the pawnbroker was impenetrable, and the lawyer was compelled reluctantly to dismiss him. the moment the witness left the box, brandon sank into a gloomy abstraction,--he seemed quite to forget the business and the duties of the court; and so negligently did he continue to conclude the case, so purposeless was the rest of his examination and cross-examination, that the cause was entirely marred, and a verdict "not guilty" returned by the jury. the moment he left the court, brandon repaired to the pawnbroker's; and after a conversation with mr. swoppem, in which he satisfied that honest tradesman that his object was rather to reward than intimidate, swoppem confessed that twenty-three years ago the witness had met him at a public-house in devereux court, in company with two other men, and sold him several articles in plate, ornaments, etc. the great bulk of these articles had, of course, long left the pawnbroker's abode; but he still thought a stray trinket or two, not of sufficient worth to be reset or remodelled, nor of sufficient fashion to find a ready sale, lingered in his drawers. eagerly, and with trembling hands, did brandon toss over the motley contents of the mahogany reservoirs which the pawnbroker now submitted to his scrutiny. nothing on earth is so melancholy a prospect as a pawnbroker's drawer! those little, quaint, valueless ornaments,-- those true-lovers' knots, those oval lockets, those battered rings, girdled by initials, or some brief inscription of regard or of grief,-- what tales of past affections, hopes, and sorrows do they not tell! but no sentiment of so general a sort ever saddened the hard mind of william brandon, and now less than at any time could such reflections have occurred to him. impatiently he threw on the table, one after another, the baubles once hoarded perchance with the tenderest respect, till at length his eyes sparkled, and with a nervous gripe he seized upon an old ring which was inscribed with letters, and circled a heart containing hair. the inscription was simply, "w. b. to julia." strange and dark was the expression that settled on brandon's face as he regarded this seemingly worthless trinket. after a moment's gaze, he uttered an inarticulate exclamation, and thrusting it into his pocket, renewed his search. he found one or two other trifles of a similar nature; one was an ill-done miniature set in silver, and bearing at the back sundry half- effaced letters, which brandon construed at once (though no other eye could) into "sir john brandon, , aetat. ;" the other was a seal stamped with the noble crest of the house of brandon, 'a bull's head, ducally crowned and armed, or.' as soon as brandon had possessed himself of these treasures, and arrived at the conviction that the place held no more, he assured the conscientious swoppem of his regard for that person's safety, rewarded him munificently, and went his way to bow street for a warrant against the witness who had commended him to the pawnbroker. on his road thither, a new resolution occurred to him. "why make all public," he muttered to himself, "if it can be avoided? and it may be avoided!" he paused a moment, then retraced his way to the pawnbroker's, and, after a brief mandate to mr. swoppem, returned home. in the course of the same evening the witness we refer to was brought to the lawyer's house by mr. swoppem, and there held a long and private conversation with brandon; the result of this seemed a compact to their mutual satisfaction, for the man went away safe, with a heavy purse and a light heart, although sundry shades and misgivings did certainly ever and anon cross the latter; while brandon flung himself back in his seat with the triumphant air of one who has accomplished some great measure, and his dark face betrayed in every feature a joyousness and hope which were unfrequent guests, it must be owned, either to his countenance or his heart. so good a man of business, however, was william brandon that he allowed not the event of that day to defer beyond the night his attention to his designs for the aggrandizement of his niece and house. by daybreak the next morning he had written to lord mauleverer, to his brother, and to lucy. to the last his letter, couched in all the anxiety of fondness and the caution of affectionate experience, was well calculated to occasion that mingled shame and soreness which the wary lawyer rightly judged would be the most effectual enemy to an incipient passion. "i have accidentally heard," he wrote, "from a friend of mine, just arrived from bath, of the glaring attentions paid to you by a captain clifford; i will not, my dearest niece, wound you by repeating what also i heard of your manner in receiving them. i know the ill-nature and the envy of the world; and i do not for a moment imagine that my lucy, of whom i am so justly proud, would countenance, from a petty coquetry, the advances of one whom she could never marry, or evince to any suitor partiality unknown to her relations, and certainly placed in a quarter which could never receive their approbation. i do not credit the reports of the idle, my dear niece; but if i discredit, you must not slight them. i call upon your prudence, your delicacy, your discretion, your sense of right, at once and effectually to put a stop to all impertinent rumours: dance with this young man no more; do not let him be of your party in any place of amusement, public or private; avoid even seeing him if you are able, and throw in your manner towards him that decided coldness which the world cannot mistake." much more did the skilful uncle write, but all to the same purpose, and for the furtherance of the same design. his letter to his brother was not less artful. he told him at once that lucy's preference of the suit of a handsome fortune-hunter was the public talk, and besought him to lose not a moment in quelling the rumour. "you may do so easily," he wrote, "by avoiding the young man; and should he be very importunate, return at once to warlock. your daughter's welfare must be dearer to you than anything." to mauleverer, brandon replied by a letter which turned first on public matters, and then slid carelessly into the subject of the earl's information. among the admonitions which he ventured to give mauleverer, he dwelt, not without reason, on the want of tact displayed by the earl in not manifesting that pomp and show which his station in life enabled him to do. "remember," he urged, "you are not among your equals, by whom unnecessary parade begins to be considered an ostentatious vulgarity. the surest method of dazzling our inferiors is by splendour, not taste. all young persons--all women in particular--are caught by show, and enamoured of magnificence. assume a greater state, and you will be more talked of; and notoriety wins a woman's heart more than beauty or youth. you have, forgive me, played the boy too long; a certain dignity becomes your manhood; women will not respect you if you suffer yourself to become 'stale and cheap to vulgar company.' you are like a man who has fifty advantages, and uses only one of them to gain his point, when you rely on your conversation and your manner, and throw away the resources of your wealth and your station. any private gentleman may be amiable and witty; but any private gentleman cannot call to his aid the aladdin's lamp possessed in england by a wealthy peer. look to this, my dear lord! lucy at heart is vain, or she is not a woman. dazzle her, then,--dazzle! love may be blind, but it must be made so by excess of light. you have a country-house within a few miles of bath. why not take up your abode there instead of in a paltry lodging in the town? give sumptuous entertainments,--make it necessary for all the world to attend them,-- exclude, of course, this captain clifford; you will then meet lucy without a rival. at present, excepting only your title, you fight on a level ground with this adventurer, instead of an eminence from which you could in an instant sweep him away. nay, he is stronger than you; he has the opportunities afforded by a partnership in balls where you cannot appear to advantage; he is, you say, in the first bloom of youth, he is handsome. reflect!--your destiny, so far as lucy is concerned, is in your hands. i turn to other subjects," etc. as brandon re-read, ere he signed, this last letter, a bitter smile sat on his harsh yet handsome features. "if," said he, mentally, "i can effect this object,--if mauleverer does marry this girl,--why so much the better that she has another, a fairer, and a more welcome lover. by the great principle of scorn within me, which has enabled me to sneer at what weaker minds adore, and make a footstool of that worldly honour which fools set up as a throne, it would be to me more sweet than fame--ay, or even than power --to see this fine-spun lord a gibe in the mouths of men,--a cuckold, a cuckold!" and as he said the last word brandon laughed outright. "and he thinks, too," added he, "that he is sure of my fortune; otherwise, perhaps, he, the goldsmith's descendant, would not dignify our house with his proposals; but he may err there,--he may err there," and, finishing his soliloquy, brandon finished also his letter by--"adieu, my dear lord, your most affectionate friend"! it is not difficult to conjecture the effect produced upon lucy by brandon's letter. it made her wretched; she refused for days to go out; she shut herself up in her apartment, and consumed the time in tears and struggles with her own heart. sometimes what she conceived to be her duty conquered, and she resolved to forswear her lover; but the night undid the labour of the day,--for at night, every night, the sound of her lover's voice, accompanied by music, melted away her resolution, and made her once more all tenderness and trust. the words, too, sung under her window were especially suited to affect her; they breathed a melancholy which touched her the more from its harmony with her own thoughts. one while they complained of absence, at another they hinted at neglect; but there was always in them a tone of humiliation, not reproach; they bespoke a sense of unworthiness in the lover, and confessed that even the love was a crime: and in proportion as they owned the want of desert did lucy more firmly cling to the belief that her lover was deserving. the old squire was greatly disconcerted by his brother's letter. though impressed with the idea of self-consequence, and the love of tolerably pure blood, common to most country squires, he was by no means ambitious for his daughter. on the contrary, the same feeling which at warlock had made him choose his companions among the inferior gentry made him averse to the thought of a son-in-law from the peerage. in spite of mauleverer's good-nature, the very ease of the earl annoyed him, and he never felt at home in his society. to clifford he had a great liking; and having convinced himself that there was nothing to suspect in the young gentleman, he saw no earthly reason why so agreeable a companion should not be an agreeable son-in-law. "if he be poor," thought the squire, "though he does not seem so, lucy is rich!" and this truism appeared to him to answer every objection. nevertheless, william brandon possessed a remarkable influence over the weaker mind of his brother; and the squire, though with great reluctance, resolved to adopt his advice. he shut his doors against clifford, and when he met him in the streets, instead of greeting him with his wonted cordiality, he passed him with a hasty "good day, captain!" which, after the first day or two, merged into a distant bow. whenever very good-hearted people are rude, and unjustly so, the rudeness is in the extreme. the squire felt it so irksome to be less familiar than heretofore with clifford, that his only remaining desire was now to drop him altogether; and to this consummation of acquaintance the gradually cooling salute appeared rapidly approaching. meanwhile clifford, unable to see lucy, shunned by her father, and obtaining in answer to all inquiry rude looks from the footman, whom nothing but the most resolute command over his muscles prevented him from knocking down, began to feel perhaps, for the first time in his life, that an equivocal character is at least no equivocal misfortune. to add to his distress, "the earnings of his previous industry"--we use the expression cherished by the wise tomlinson--waxed gradually less and less beneath the expenses of bath; and the murmuring voices of his two comrades began already to reproach their chief for his inglorious idleness, and to hint at the necessity of a speedy exertion. chapter xx. whackum. look you there, now! well, all europe cannot show a knot of finer wits and braver gentlemen. dingboy. faith, they are pretty smart men. shadwell: scourers. the world of bath was of a sudden delighted by the intelligence that lord mauleverer had gone to beauvale (the beautiful seat possessed by that nobleman in the neighbourhood of bath), with the intention of there holding a series of sumptuous entertainments. the first persons to whom the gay earl announced his "hospitable purpose" were mr. and miss brandon; he called at their house, and declared his resolution of not leaving it till lucy (who was in her own room) consented to gratify him with an interview, and a promise to be the queen of his purposed festival. lucy, teased by her father, descended to the drawing-room, spiritless and pale; and the earl, struck by the alteration of her appearance, took her hand, and made his inquiries with so interesting and feeling a semblance of kindness as prepossessed the father for the first time in his favour, and touched even the daughter. so earnest, too, was his request that she would honour his festivities with her presence, and with so skilful a flattery was it conveyed, that the squire undertook to promise the favour in her name; and when the earl, declaring he was not contented with that promise from another, appealed to lucy herself, her denial was soon melted into a positive though a reluctant assent. delighted with his success, and more struck with lucy's loveliness, refined as it was by her paleness, than he had ever been before, mauleverer left the house, and calculated, with greater accuracy than he had hitherto done, the probable fortune lucy would derive from her uncle. no sooner were the cards issued for lord mauleverer's fete than nothing else was talked of among the circles which at bath people were pleased to term "the world." but in the interim caps are making, and talk flowing, at bath; and when it was found that lord mauleverer--the good-natured lord mauleverer, the obliging lord mauleverer--was really going to be exclusive, and out of a thousand acquaintances to select only eight hundred, it is amazing how his popularity deepened into respect. now, then, came anxiety and triumph; she who was asked turned her back upon her who was not,--old friendships dissolved,--independence wrote letters for a ticket,--and, as england is the freest country in the world, all the mistresses hodges and snodges begged to take the liberty of bringing their youngest daughters. leaving the enviable mauleverer,--the god-like occasion of so much happiness and woe, triumph and dejection,--ascend with us, o reader, into those elegant apartments over the hairdresser's shop, tenanted by mr. edward pepper and mr. augustus tomlinson. the time was that of evening; captain clifford had been dining with his two friends; the cloth was removed, and conversation was flowing over a table graced by two bottles of port, a bowl of punch for mr. pepper's especial discussion, two dishes of filberts, another of devilled biscuits, and a fourth of three pomarian crudities, which nobody touched. the hearth was swept clean, the fire burned high and clear, the curtains were let down, and the light excluded. our three adventurers and their rooms seemed the picture of comfort. so thought mr. pepper; for, glancing round the chamber and putting his feet upon the fender, he said,-- "were my portrait to be taken, gentlemen, it is just as i am now that i would be drawn!" "and," said tomlinson, cracking his filberts,--tomlinson was fond of filberts,--"were i to choose a home, it is in such a home as this that i would be always quartered." "ah, gentlemen," said clifford, who had been for some time silent, "it is more than probable that both your wishes may be heard, and that ye may be drawn, quartered, and something else, too, in the very place of your desert!" "well," said tomlinson, smiling gently, "i am happy to hear you jest again, captain, though it be at our expense." "expense!" echoed ned; "ay, there's the rub! who the deuce is to pay the expense of our dinner?" "and our dinners for the last week?" added tomlinson. "this empty nut looks ominous; it certainly has one grand feature strikingly resembling my pockets." "heigho!" sighed long ned, turning his waistcoat commodities inside-out with a significant gesture, while the accomplished tomlinson, who was fond of plaintive poetry, pointed to the disconsolate vacua, and exclaimed, "e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, the heart desponding asks if this be joy!" "in truth, gentlemen," added he, solemnly depositing his nut-crackers on the table, and laying, as was his wont when about to be luminous, his right finger on his sinister palm,--"in truth, gentlemen, affairs are growing serious with us, and it becomes necessary forthwith to devise some safe means of procuring a decent competence." "i am dunned confoundedly," cried ned. "and," continued tomlinson, "no person of delicacy likes to be subjected to the importunity of vulgar creditors; we must therefore raise money for the liquidation of our debts. captain lovett, or clifford, whichever you be styled, we call upon you to assist us in so praiseworthy a purpose." clifford turned his eyes first on one and then on the other; but made no answer. "_imprimis_," said tomlinson, "let us each produce our stock in hand; for my part, i am free to confess--for what shame is there in that poverty which our exertions are about to relieve?--that i have only two guineas four shillings and threepence halfpenny!" "and i," said long ned, taking a china ornament from the chimney-piece, and emptying its contents in his hand, "am in a still more pitiful condition. see, i have only three shillings and a bad guinea. i gave the guinea to the waiter at the white hart yesterday; the dog brought it back to me to-day, and i was forced to change it with my last shiner. plague take the thing! i bought it of a jew for four shillings, and have lost one pound five by the bargain." "fortune frustrates our wisest schemes," rejoined the moralizing augustus. "captain, will you produce the scanty wrecks of your wealth?" clifford, still silent, threw a purse on the table. augustus carefully emptied it, and counted out five guineas; an expression of grave surprise settled on tomlinson's contemplative brow, and extending the coins towards clifford, he said in a melancholy tone,-- "all your pretty ones? did you say all?" a look from clifford answered the interesting interrogatory. "these, then," said tomlinson, collecting "in his hand the common wealth,-- "these, then, are all our remaining treasures!" as he spoke, he jingled the coins mournfully in his palm, and gazing upon them with a parental air, exclaimed,-- "alas! regardless of their doom, the little victims play!" "oh, d---it!" said ned, "no sentiment! let us come to business at once. to tell you the truth, i, for one, am tired of this heiress-hunting, and a man may spend a fortune in the chase before he can win one." "you despair then, positively, of the widow you have courted so long?" asked tomlinson. "utterly," rejoined ned, whose addresses had been limited solely to the dames of the middling class, and who had imagined himself at one time, as he punningly expressed it, sure of a dear rib from cheapside,--"utterly; she was very civil to me at first, but when i proposed, asked me, with a blush, for my 'references.' 'references?' said i; 'why, i want the place of your husband, my charmer, not your footman!' the dame was inexorable, said she could not take me without a character, but hinted that i might be the lover instead of the bridegroom; and when i scorned the suggestion, and pressed for the parson, she told me point-blank, with her unlucky city pronunciation, 'that she would never accompany me to the halter!'" "ha, ha, ha!" cried tomlinson, laughing. one can scarcely blame the good lady for that. love rarely brooks such permanent ties. but have you no other lady in your eye?" "not for matrimony,--all roads but those to the church!" while this dissolute pair were thus conversing, clifford, leaning against the wainscot, listened to them with a sick and bitter feeling of degradation, which till of late days had been a stranger to his breast. he was at length aroused from his silence by ned, who, bending forward and placing his hand upon clifford's knee, said abruptly,-- "in short, captain, you must lead us once more to glory. we have still our horses, and i keep my mask in my pocketbook, together with my comb. let us take the road to-morrow night, dash across the country towards salisbury, and after a short visit in that neighbourhood to a band of old friends of mine,--bold fellows, who would have stopped the devil himself when he was at work upon stonehenge,--make a tour by reading and henley and end by a plunge into london." "you have spoken well, ned!" said tomlinson, approvingly. "now, noble captain, your opinion?" "messieurs," answered clifford, "i highly approve of your intended excursion, and i only regret that i cannot be your companion." "not! and why?" cried mr. pepper, amazed. "because i have business here that renders it impossible; perhaps, before long, i may join you in london." "nay," said tomlinson, "there is no necessity for our going to london, if you wish to remain here; nor need we at present recur to so desperate an expedient as the road,--a little quiet business at bath will answer our purpose; and for my part, as you well know, i love exerting my wits in some scheme more worthy of them than the highway,--a profession meeter for a bully than a man of genius. let us then, captain, plan a project of enrichment on the property of some credulous tradesman! why have recourse to rough measures so long as we can find easy fools?" clifford shook his head. "i will own to you fairly," said he, "that i cannot at present take a share in your exploits; nay, as your chief i must lay my positive commands on you to refrain from all exercise of your talents at bath. rob, if you please: the world is before you; but this city is sacred." "body o' me!" cried ned, colouring, "but this is too good. i will not be dictated to in this manner." "but, sir," answered clifford, who had learned in his oligarchical profession the way to command,--"but, sir, you shall, or if you mutiny you leave our body, and then will the hangman have no petty chance of your own. come, come! ingrate as you are, what would you be without me? how many times have i already saved that long carcass of thine from the rope, and now would you have the baseness to rebel? out on you!" though mr. pepper was still wroth, be bit his lip in moody silence, and suffered not his passion to have its way; while clifford, rising, after a short pause continued: "look you, mr. pepper, you know my commands; consider them peremptory. i wish you success and plenty! farewell, gentlemen!" "do you leave us already?" cried tomlinson. "you are offended." "surely not!" answered clifford, retreating to the door. "but an engagement elsewhere, you know!" "ay, i take you," said tomlinson, following clifford out of the room, and shutting the door after him. "ay, i take you!" added he, in a whisper, as he arrested clifford at the head of the stairs. "but tell me, how do you get on with the heiress?" smothering that sensation at his heart which made clifford, reckless as he was, enraged and ashamed, whenever through the lips of his comrades there issued any allusion to lucy brandon, the chief replied: "i fear, tomlinson, that i am already suspected by the old squire! all of a sudden he avoids me, shuts his door against me; miss brandon goes nowhere, and even if she did, what could i expect from her after this sudden change in the father?" tomlinson looked blank and disconcerted. "but," said he, after a moment's silence, "why not put a good face on the matter, walk up to the squire, and ask him the reason of his unkindness?" "why, look you, my friend; i am bold enough with all others, but this girl has made me as bashful as a maid in all that relates to herself. nay, there are moments when i think i can conquer all selfish feeling and rejoice for her sake that she has escaped me. could i but see her once more, i could--yes! i feel--i feel i could--resign her forever!" "humph!" said tomlinson; "and what is to become of us? really, my captain, your sense of duty should lead you to exert yourself; your friends starve before your eyes, while you are shilly-shallying about your mistress. have you no bowels for friendship?" "a truce with this nonsense!" said clifford, angrily. "it is sense,--sober sense,--and sadness too," rejoined tomlinson. "ned is discontented, our debts are imperious. suppose, now,--just suppose,-- that we take a moonlight flitting from bath, will that tell well for you whom we leave behind? yet this we must do, if you do not devise some method of refilling our purses. either, then, consent to join us in a scheme meet for our wants, or pay our debts in this city, or fly with us to london, and dismiss all thoughts of that love which is so seldom friendly to the projects of ambition." notwithstanding the manner in which tomlinson made this threefold proposition, clifford could not but acknowledge the sense and justice contained in it; and a glance at the matter sufficed to show how ruinous to his character, and therefore to his hopes, would be the flight of his comrades and the clamour of their creditors. "you speak well, tomlinson," said he, hesitating; "and yet for the life of me i cannot aid you in any scheme which may disgrace us by detection. nothing can reconcile me to the apprehension of miss brandon's discovering who and what was her suitor." "i feel for you," said tomlinson, "but give me and pepper at least permission to shift for ourselves; trust to my known prudence for finding some method to raise the wind without creating a dust; in other words (this cursed pepper makes one so vulgar!), of preying on the public without being discovered." "i see no alternative," answered clifford, reluctantly; "but if possible, be quiet for the present. bear with me for a few days longer, give me only sufficient time once more to see miss brandon, and i will engage to extricate you from your difficulties!" "spoken like yourself, frankly and nobly," replied tomlinson; "no one has a greater confidence in your genius, once exerted, than i have!" so saying, the pair shook hands and parted. tomlinson rejoined mr. pepper. "well, have you settled anything?" quoth the latter. "not exactly; and though lovett has promised to exert himself in a few days, yet, as the poor man is in love, and his genius under a cloud, i have little faith in his promises." "and i have none!" said pepper; "besides, time presses! a few days!-- a few devils! we are certainly scented here, and i walk about like a barrel of beer at christmas, under hourly apprehension of being tapped!" "it is very strange," said the philosophic augustus; "but i think there is an instinct in tradesmen by which they can tell a rogue at first sight; and i can get (dress i ever so well) no more credit with my laundress than my friends the whigs can with the people." "in short, then," said ned, "we must recur at once to the road; and on the day after to-morrow there will be an excellent opportunity. the old earl with the hard name gives a breakfast, or feast, or some such mummery. i understand people will stay till after nightfall; let us watch our opportunity, we are famously mounted, and some carriage later than the general string may furnish us with all our hearts can desire!" "bravo!" cried tomlinson, shaking mr. pepper heartily by the hand; "i give you joy of your ingenuity, and you may trust to me to make our peace afterwards with lovett. any enterprise that seems to him gallant he is always willing enough to forgive; and as he never practises any other branch of the profession than that of the road (for which i confess that i think him foolish), he will be more ready to look over our exploits in that line than in any other more subtle but less heroic." "well, i leave it to you to propitiate the cove or not, as you please; and now that we have settled the main point, let us finish the lush!" "and," added augustus, taking a pack of cards from the chimney-piece, "we can in the mean while have a quiet game at cribbage for shillings." "done!" cried ned, clearing away the dessert. if the redoubted hearts of mr. edward pepper, and that ulysses of robbers, augustus tomlinson, beat high as the hours brought on lord mauleverer's fete, their leader was not without anxiety and expectation for the same event. he was uninvited, it is true, to the gay scene; but he had heard in public that miss brandon, recovered from her late illness, was certainly to be there; and clifford, torn with suspense, and eager once more, even if for the last time, to see the only person who had ever pierced his soul with a keen sense of his errors or crimes, resolved to risk all obstacles and meet her at mauleverer's. "my life," said he, as he sat alone in his apartment, eying the falling embers of his still and lethargic fire, "may soon approach its termination; it is, indeed, out of the chances of things that i can long escape the doom of my condition; and when, as a last hope to raise myself from my desperate state into respectability and reform, i came hither, and meditated purchasing independence by marriage, i was blind to the cursed rascality of the action! happy, after all, that my intentions were directed against one whom i so soon and so adoringly learned to love! had i wooed one whom i loved less, i might not have scrupled to deceive her into marriage. as it is,--well, it is idle in me to think thus of my resolution, when i have not even the option to choose; when her father, perhaps, has already lifted the veil from my assumed dignities, and the daughter already shrinks in horror from my name. yet i will see her! i will look once more upon that angel face, i will hear from her own lips the confession of her scorn, i will see that bright eye flash hatred upon me, and i can then turn once more to my fatal career, and forget that i have ever repented that it was begun. yet, what else could have been my alternative? friendless, homeless, nameless,--an orphan, worse than an orphan,--the son of a harlot, my father even unknown; yet cursed with early aspirings and restlessness, and a half glimmering of knowledge, and an entire lust of whatever seemed enterprise,--what wonder that i chose anything rather than daily labour and perpetual contumely? after all, the fault is in fortune and the world, not me! oh, lucy! had i but been born in your sphere, had i but possessed the claim to merit you, what would i not have done and dared and conquered for your sake!" such, or similar to these, were the thoughts of clifford during the interval between his resolution of seeing lucy and the time of effecting it. the thoughts were of no pleasing though of an exciting nature; nor were they greatly soothed by the ingenious occupation of cheating himself into the belief that if he was a highwayman, it was altogether the fault of the highways. chapter xxi. dream. let me but see her, dear leontins. humorous lieutenant. hempskirke. it was the fellow, sure. wolfort. what are you, sirrah? beggar's bush. o thou divine spirit that burnest in every breast, inciting each with the sublime desire to be fine; that stirrest up the great to become little in order to seem greater, and that makest a duchess woo insult for a voucher,--thou that delightest in so many shapes, multifarious yet the same; spirit that makest the high despicable, and the lord meaner than his valet; equally great whether thou cheatest a friend or cuttest a father; lacquering all thou touchest with a bright vulgarity that thy votaries imagine to be gold,--thou that sendest the few to fashionable balls and the many to fashionable novels; that smitest even genius as well as folly, making the favourites of the gods boast an acquaintance they have not with the graces of a mushroom peerage rather than the knowledge they have of the muses of an eternal helicon,--thou that leavest in the great ocean of our manners no dry spot for the foot of independence; that pallest on the jaded eye with a moving and girdling panorama of daubed vilenesses, and fritterest away the souls of free-born britons into a powder smaller than the angels which dance in myriads on a pin's point,--whether, o spirit! thou callest thyself fashion or ton, or ambition or vanity or cringing or cant or any title equally lofty and sublime,--would that from thy wings we could gain but a single plume! fain would we, in fitting strain, describe the festivities of that memorable day when the benevolent lord mauleverer received and blessed the admiring universe of bath. but to be less poetical, as certain writers say, when they have been writing nonsense,--but to be less poetical and more exact, the morning, though in the depth of winter, was bright and clear, and lord mauleverer found himself in particularly good health. nothing could be better planned than the whole of his arrangements. unlike those which are ordinarily chosen for the express reason of being as foreign as possible to the nature of our climate, all at lord mauleverer's were made suitable to a greenland atmosphere. the temples and summer-houses, interspersed through the grounds, were fitted up, some as esquimaux huts, others as russian pavilions; fires were carefully kept up; the musicians mauleverer took care should have as much wine as they pleased; they were set skilfully in places where they were unseen, but where they could be heard. one or two temporary buildings were erected for those who loved dancing; and as mauleverer, miscalculating on the principles of human nature, thought gentlemen might be averse from ostentatious exhibition, he had hired persons to skate minuets and figures of eight upon his lakes, for the amusement of those who were fond of skating. all people who would be kind enough to dress in strange costumes and make odd noises, which they called singing, the earl had carefully engaged, and planted in the best places for making them look still stranger than they were. there was also plenty to eat, and more than plenty to drink. mauleverer knew well that our countrymen and countrywomen, whatever be their rank, like to have their spirits exalted. in short, the whole _dejeuner_ was so admirably contrived that it was probable the guests would not look much more melancholy during the amusements than they would have done had they been otherwise engaged at a funeral. lucy and the squire were among the first arrivals. mauleverer, approaching the father and daughter with his most courtly manner, insisted on taking the latter under his own escort, and being her cicerone through the round of preparations. as the crowd thickened, and it was observed how gallant were the attentions testified towards lucy by the host, many and envious were the whispers of the guests! those good people, naturally angry at the thought that two individuals should be married, divided themselves into two parties: one abused lucy, and the other lord mauleverer; the former vituperated her art, the latter his folly. "i thought she would play her cards well, deceitful creature!" said the one. "january and may," muttered the other; "the man's sixty!" it was noticeable that the party against lucy was chiefly composed of ladies, that against mauleverer of men; that conduct must indeed be heinous which draws down the indignation of one's own sex! unconscious of her crimes, lucy moved along, leaning on the arm of the gallant earl, and languidly smiling, with her heart far away, at his endeavours to amuse her. there was something interesting in the mere contrast of the pair; so touching seemed the beauty of the young girl, with her delicate cheek, maiden form, drooping eyelid, and quiet simplicity of air, in comparison to the worldly countenance and artificial grace of her companion. after some time, when they were in a sequestered part of the grounds, mauleverer, observing that none were near, entered a rude hut; and so fascinated was he at that moment by the beauty of his guest, and so meet to him seemed the opportunity of his confession, that he with difficulty suppressed the avowal rising to his lips, and took the more prudent plan of first sounding and preparing as it were the way. "i cannot tell you, my dear miss brandon," said he, slightly pressing the beautiful hand leaning on his arm, "how happy i am to see you the guest-- the queen, rather--of my house! ah! could the bloom of youth return with its feelings! time is never so cruel as when, while stealing from us the power to please, he leaves us in full vigour the unhappy privilege to be charmed!" mauleverer expected at least a blushing contradiction to the implied application of a sentiment so affectingly expressed: he was disappointed. lucy, less alive than usual to the sentimental, or its reverse, scarcely perceived his meaning, and answered simply that it was very true. "this comes of being, like my friend burke, too refined for one's audience," thought mauleverer, wincing a little from the unexpected reply. "and yet!" he resumed, "i would not forego my power to admire, futile, nay, painful as it is. even now, while i gaze on you, my heart tells me that the pleasure i enjoy, it is at your command at once and forever to blight into misery; but while it tells me, i gaze on!" lucy raised her eyes, and something of her natural archness played in their expression. "i believe, my lord," said she, moving from the hut, "that it would be better to join your guests: walls have ears; and what would be the gay lord mauleverer's self-reproach if he heard again of his fine compliments to--" "the most charming person in europe!" cried mauleverer, vehemently; and the hand which he before touched he now clasped. at that instant lucy saw opposite to her, half hid by a copse of evergreens, the figure of clifford. his face, which seemed pale and wan, was not directed towards the place where she stood, and he evidently did not perceive mauleverer or herself; yet so great was the effect that this glimpse of him produced on lucy, that she trembled violently, and, unconsciously uttering a faint cry, snatched her hand from mauleverer. the earl started, and catching the expression of her eyes, turned instantly towards the spot to which her gaze seemed riveted. he had not heard the rustling of the boughs, but he saw, with his habitual quickness of remark, that they still trembled, as if lately displaced; and he caught through their interstices the glimpse of a receding figure. he sprang forward with an agility very uncommon to his usual movements; but before he gained the copse, every vestige of the intruder had vanished. what slaves we are to the moment! as mauleverer turned back to rejoin lucy, who, agitated almost to fainting, leaned against the rude wall of the but, he would as soon have thought of flying as of making that generous offer of self, etc., which the instant before he had been burning to render lucy. the vain are always sensitively jealous; and mauleverer, remembering clifford, and lucy's blushes in dancing with him, instantly accounted for her agitation and its cause. with a very grave air he approached the object of his late adoration, and requested to know if it were not some abrupt intruder that had occasioned her alarm. lucy, scarcely knowing what she said, answered in a low voice that it was, indeed, and begged instantly to rejoin her father. mauleverer offered his arm with great dignity; and the pair passed into the frequented part of the grounds, where mauleverer once more brightened into smiles and courtesy to all around him. "he is certainly accepted!" said mr. shrewd to lady simper. "what an immense match for the girl!" was lady simper's reply. amidst the music, the dancing, the throng, the noise, lucy found it easy to recover herself; and disengaging her arm from lord mauleverer, as she perceived her father, she rejoined the squire, and remained a patient listener to his remarks till late in the noon it became an understood matter that people were expected to go into a long room in order to eat and drink. mauleverer, now alive to the duties of his situation, and feeling exceedingly angry with lucy, was more reconciled than he otherwise might have been to the etiquette which obliged him to select for the object of his hospitable cares an old dowager duchess instead of the beauty of the fete; but he took care to point out to the squire the places appointed for himself and daughter, which were, though at some distance from the earl, under the providence of his vigilant survey. while mauleverer was deifying the dowager duchess, and refreshing his spirits with a chicken and a medicinal glass of madeira, the conversation near lucy turned, to her infinite dismay, upon clifford. some one had seen him in the grounds, booted and in a riding undress (in that day people seldom rode and danced in the same conformation of coat); and as mauleverer was a precise person about those little matters of etiquette, this negligence of clifford's made quite a subject of discussion. by degrees the conversation changed into the old inquiry as to who this captain clifford was; and just as it had reached that point, it reached also the gently deafened ears of lord mauleverer. "pray, my lord," said the old duchess, "since he is one of your guests, you, who know who and what every one is, can possibly inform us of the real family of this beautiful mr. clifford?" "one of my guests, did you say?" answered mauleverer, irritated greatly beyond his usual quietness of manner. "really, your grace does me wrong. he may be a guest of my valet, but he assuredly is not mine; and should i encounter him, i shall leave it to my valet to give him his _conge_ as well as his invitation!" mauleverer, heightening his voice as he observed athwart the table an alternate paleness and flush upon lucy's face, which stung all the angrier passions, generally torpid in him, into venom, looked round, on concluding, with a haughty and sarcastic air. so loud had been his tone, so pointed the insult, and so dead the silence at the table while he spoke, that every one felt the affront must be carried at once to clifford's hearing, should he be in the room. and after mauleverer had ceased, there was a universal nervous and indistinct expectation of an answer and a scene; all was still, and it soon became certain that clifford was not in the apartment. when mr. shrewd had fully convinced himself of this fact,--for there was a daring spirit about clifford which few wished to draw upon themselves,--that personage broke the pause by observing that no man who pretended to be a gentleman would intrude himself, unasked and unwelcome, into any society; and mauleverer, catching up the observation, said (drinking wine at the same time with mr. shrewd) that undoubtedly such conduct fully justified the rumours respecting mr. clifford, and utterly excluded him from that rank to which it was before more than suspected he had no claim. so luminous and satisfactory an opinion from such an authority, once broached, was immediately and universally echoed; and long before the repast was over, it seemed to be tacitly agreed that captain clifford should be sent to coventry, and if he murmured at the exile, he would have no right to insist upon being sent thence to the devil. the good old squire, mindful of his former friendship for clifford, and not apt to veer, was about to begin a speech on the occasion, when lucy, touching his arm, implored him to be silent; and so ghastly was the paleness of her cheek while she spoke, that the squire's eyes, obtuse as he generally was, opened at once to the real secret of her heart. as soon as the truth flashed upon him, he wondered, recalling clifford's great personal beauty and marked attentions, that it had not flashed upon him sooner; and leaning back on his chair, he sank into one of the most unpleasant reveries he had ever conceived. at a given signal the music for the dancers recommenced, and at a hint to that effect from the host, persons rose without ceremony to repair to other amusements, and suffer such guests as had hitherto been excluded from eating to occupy the place of the relinquishers. lucy, glad to escape, was one of the first to resign her situation, and with the squire she returned to the grounds. during the banquet, evening had closed in, and the scene now really became fairy-like and picturesque; lamps hung from many a tree, reflecting the light through the richest and softest hues; the music itself sounded more musically than during the day; gipsy- tents were pitched at wild corners and copses, and the bright wood-fires burning in them blazed merrily upon the cold yet cheerful air of the increasing night. the view was really novel and inviting; and as it had been an understood matter that ladies were to bring furs, cloaks, and boots, all those who thought they looked well in such array made little groups, and scattered themselves about the grounds and in the tents. they, on the contrary, in whom "the purple light of love" was apt by the frost to be propelled from the cheeks to the central ornament of the face, or who thought a fire in a room quite as agreeable as a fire in a tent, remained within, and contemplated the scene through the open windows. lucy longed to return home, nor was the squire reluctant; but, unhappily, it wanted an hour to the time at which the carriage had been ordered, and she mechanically joined a group of guests who had persuaded the good- natured squire to forget his gout and venture forth to look at the illuminations. her party was soon joined by others, and the group gradually thickened into a crowd; the throng was stationary for a few minutes before a little temple in which fireworks had just commenced an additional attraction to the scene. opposite to this temple, as well as in its rear, the walks and trees had been purposely left in comparative darkness, in order to heighten the effect of the fireworks. "i declare," said lady simper, glancing down one of the alleys which seemed to stretch away into blackness,--"i declare it seems quite a lovers' walk. how kind in lord mauleverer!--such a delicate attention--" "to your ladyship!" added mr. shrewd, with a bow. while, one of this crowd, lucy was vacantly eying the long trains of light which ever and anon shot against the sky, she felt her hand suddenly seized, and at the same time a voice whispered, "for god's sake, read this now and grant my request!" the voice, which seemed to rise from the very heart of the speaker, lucy knew at once; she trembled violently, and remained for some minutes with eyes which did not dare to look from the ground. a note she felt had been left in her hand; and the agonized and earnest tone of that voice, which was dearer to her than the fulness of all music, made her impatient yet afraid to read it. as she recovered courage, she looked around, and seeing that the attention of all was bent upon the fireworks, and that her father in particular, leaning on his cane, seemed to enjoy the spectacle with a child's engrossed delight, she glided softly away, and entering unperceived one of the alleys, she read, by a solitary lamp that burned at its entrance, the following lines, written in pencil and in a hurried hand, apparently upon a leaf torn from a pocket-book:-- i implore, i entreat you, miss brandon, to see me, if but for a moment. i purpose to tear myself away from the place in which you reside, to go abroad, to leave even the spot hallowed by your footstep. after this night my presence, my presumption, will degrade you no more. but this night, for mercy's sake, see me, or i shall go mad! i will but speak to you one instant: this is all i ask. if you grant me this prayer, the walk to the left where you stand, at the entrance to which there is one purple lamp, will afford an opportunity to your mercy. a few yards down that walk i will meet you,--none can see or hear us. will you grant this? i know not, i dare not think; but under any case, your name shall be the last upon my lips. p. c. as lucy read this hurried scrawl, she glanced towards the lamp above her, and saw that she had accidentally entered the very walk indicated in the note. she paused, she hesitated; the impropriety, the singularity of the request, darted upon her at once; on the other hand, the anxious voice still ringing in her ear, the incoherent vehemence of the note, the risk, the opprobrium clifford had incurred solely--her heart whispered--to see her, all aided her simple temper, her kind feelings, and her love for the petitioner, in inducing her to consent. she cast one glance behind,--all seemed occupied with far other thoughts than that of notice towards her; she looked anxiously before,--all looked gloomy and indistinct; but suddenly, at some little distance, she descried a dark figure in motion. she felt her knees shake under her, her heart beat violently; she moved onward a few paces, again paused, and looked back. the figure before her moved as in approach; she resumed courage, and advanced,--the figure was by her side. "how generous, how condescending, is this goodness in miss brandon!" said the voice, which so struggled with secret and strong emotion that lucy scarcely recognized it as clifford's. "i did not dare to expect it; and now--now that i meet you--" clifford paused, as if seeking words; and lucy, even through the dark, perceived that her strange companion was powerfully excited; she waited for him to continue, but observing that he walked on in silence, she said, though with a trembling voice, "indeed, mr. clifford, i fear that it is very, very improper in me to meet you thus; nothing but the strong expressions in your letter--and--and--in short, my fear that you meditated some desperate design, at which i could not guess, caused me to yield to your wish for an interview." she paused, and clifford still preserving silence, she added, with some little coldness in her tone: "if you have really aught to say to me, you must allow me to request that you speak it quickly. this interview, you must be sensible, ought to end almost as soon as it begins." "hear me, then!" said clifford, mastering his embarrassment and speaking in a firm and clear voice; "is that true which i have but just heard,--is it true that i have been spoken of in your presence in terms of insult and affront?" it was now for lucy to feel embarrassed; fearful to give pain, and yet anxious that clifford should know, in order that he might disprove, the slight and the suspicion which the mystery around him drew upon his name, she faltered between the two feelings, and without satisfying the latter, succeeded in realizing the fear of the former. "enough!" said clifford, in a tone of deep mortification, as his quick ear caught and interpreted, yet more humiliatingly than the truth, the meaning of her stammered and confused reply,--"enough! i see that it is true, and that the only human being in the world to whose good opinion i am not indifferent has been a witness of the insulting manner in which others have dared to speak of me!" "but," said lucy, eagerly, "why give the envious or the idle any excuse? why not suffer your parentage and family to be publicly known? why are you here"--and her voice sank into a lower key--"this very day, unasked, and therefore subject to the cavils of all who think the poor distinction of an invitation an honour? forgive me, mr. clifford; perhaps i offend. i hurt you by speaking thus frankly; but your good name rests with yourself, and your friends cannot but feel angry that you should trifle with it." "madam," said clifford; and lucy's eyes, now growing accustomed to the darkness, perceived a bitter smile upon his lips, "my name, good or ill, is an object of little care to me. i have read of philosophers who pride themselves in placing no value in the opinions of the world. rank me among that sect. but i am--i own i am--anxious that you alone, of all the world, should not despise me; and now that i feel you do, that you must, everything worth living or hoping for is past!" "despise you!" said lucy, and her eyes filled with tears; "indeed you wrong me and yourself. but listen to me, mr. clifford. i have seen, it is true, but little of the world, yet i have seen enough to make me wish i could have lived in retirement forever. the rarest quality among either sex, though it is the simplest, seems to me good-nature; and the only occupation of what are termed 'fashionable people' appears to be speaking ill of one another. nothing gives such a scope to scandal as mystery; nothing disarms it like openness. i know, your friends know, mr. clifford, that your character can bear inspection; and i believe, for my own part, the same of your family. why not, then, declare who and what you are?" "that candour would indeed be my best defender," said clifford, in a tone which ran displeasingly through lucy's ear; "but in truth, madam, i repeat, i care not one drop of this worthless blood what men say of me: that time has passed, and forever; perhaps it never keenly existed for me,--no matter. i came hither, miss brandon, not wasting a thought on these sickening fooleries, or on the hoary idler by whom they are given. i came hither only once more to see you, to hear you speak, to watch you move, to tell you"--and the speaker's voice trembled, so as to be scarcely audible--"to tell you, if any reason for the disclosure offered itself, that i have had the boldness, the crime, to love--to love--o god! to adore you; and then to leave you forever!" pale, trembling, scarcely preserved from falling by the tree against which she leaned, lucy listened to this abrupt avowal. "dare i touch this hand?" continued clifford, as he knelt and took it timidly and reverently. "you know not, you cannot dream, how unworthy is he who thus presumes; yet not all unworthy, while he is sensible of so deep, so holy a feeling as that which he bears to you. god bless you, miss brandon!-- lucy, god bless you! and if hereafter you hear me subjected to still blacker suspicion or severer scrutiny than that which i now sustain; if even your charity and goodness can find no defence for me; if the suspicion become certainty, and the scrutiny end in condemnation,-- believe at least that circumstances have carried me beyond my nature, and that under fairer auspices i might have been other than i am!" lucy's tear dropped upon clifford's hand as he spoke; and while his heart melted within him as he felt it and knew his own desperate and unredeemed condition, he added,-- "every one courts you,--the proud, the rich, the young, the high-born,-- all are at your feet! you will select one of that number for your husband; may he watch over you as i would have done!--love you as i do he cannot! yes, i repeat it," continued clifford, vehemently,--"he cannot! none amidst the gay, happy, silken crowd of your equals and followers can feel for you that single and overruling passion which makes you to me what all combined--country, power, wealth, reputation, an honest name, peace, common safety, the quiet of the common air, alike the least blessing and the greatest-are to all others! once more, may god in heaven watch over you and preserve you! i tear myself, on leaving you, from all that cheers or blesses or raises or might have saved me! farewell!" the hand which lucy had relinquished to her strange suitor was pressed ardently to his lips, dropped in the same instant, and she knew that she was once more alone. but clifford, hurrying rapidly through the trees, made his way towards the nearest gate which led from lord mauleverer's domain; when he reached it, a crowd of the more elderly guests occupied the entrance, and one of these was a lady of such distinction that mauleverer, in spite of his aversion to any superfluous exposure to the night air, had obliged himself to conduct her to her carriage. he was in a very ill humour with this constrained politeness, especially as the carriage was very slow in relieving him of his charge, when he saw, by the lamplight, clifford passing near him, and winning his way to the gate. quite forgetting his worldly prudence, which should have made him averse to scenes with any one, especially with a flying enemy, and a man with whom, if he believed aright, little glory was to be gained in conquest, much less in contest; and only remembering clifford's rivalship, and his own hatred towards him for the presumption, mauleverer, uttering a hurried apology to the lady on his arm, stepped forward, and opposing clifford's progress, said, with a bow of tranquil insult, "pardon me, sir, but is it at my invitation or that of one of my servants that you have honoured me with your company this day?" clifford's thoughts at the time of this interruption were of that nature before which all petty misfortunes shrink into nothing; if, therefore, he started for a moment at the earl's address, he betrayed no embarrassment in reply, but bowing with an air of respect, and taking no notice of the affront implied in mauleverer's speech, he answered,-- "your lordship has only to deign a glance at my dress to see that i have not intruded myself on your grounds with the intention of claiming your hospitality. the fact is, and i trust to your lordship's courtesy to admit the excuse, that i leave this neighbourhood to-morrow, and for some length of time. a person whom i was very anxious to see before i left was one of your lordship's guests; i heard this, and knew that i should have no other opportunity of meeting the person in question before my departure; and i must now throw myself on the well-known politeness of lord mauleverer to pardon a freedom originating in a business very much approaching to a necessity." lord mauleverer's address to clifford had congregated an immediate crowd of eager and expectant listeners; but so quietly respectful and really gentlemanlike were clifford's air and tone in excusing himself, that the whole throng were smitten with a sudden disappointment. lord mauleverer himself, surprised by the temper and deportment of the unbidden guest, was at a loss for one moment; and clifford was about to take advantage of that moment and glide away, when mauleverer, with a second bow, more civil than the former one, said,-- "i cannot but be happy, sir, that my poor place has afforded you any convenience; but if i am not very impertinent, will you allow me to inquire the name of my guest with whom you required a meeting?" "my lord," said clifford, drawing himself up and speaking gravely and sternly, though still with a certain deference, "i need not surely point out to your lordship's good sense and good feeling that your very question implies a doubt, and consequently an affront, and that the tone of it is not such as to justify that concession on my part which the further explanation you require would imply!" few spoken sarcasms could be so bitter as that silent one which mauleverer could command by a smile, and with this complimentary expression on his thin lips and raised brow, the earl answered: "sir, i honour the skill testified by your reply; it must be the result of a profound experience in these affairs. i wish you, sir, a very good night; and the next time you favour me with a visit, i am quite sure that your motives for so indulging me will be no less creditable to you than at present." with these words mauleverer turned to rejoin his fair charge. but clifford was a man who had seen in a short time a great deal of the world, and knew tolerably well the theories of society, if not the practice of its minutiae; moreover, he was of an acute and resolute temper, and these properties of mind, natural and acquired, told him that he was now in a situation in which it had become more necessary to defy than to conciliate. instead therefore of retiring he walked deliberately up to mauleverer, and said,-- "my lord, i shall leave it to the judgment of your guests to decide whether you have acted the part of a nobleman and a gentleman in thus, in your domains, insulting one who has given you such explanation of his trespass as would fully excuse him in the eyes of all considerate or courteous persons. i shall also leave it to them to decide whether the tone of your inquiry allowed me to give you any further apology. but i shall take it upon myself, my lord, to demand from you an immediate explanation of your last speech." "insolent!" cried mauleverer, colouring with indignation, and almost for the first time in his life losing absolute command over his temper; "do you bandy words with me? begone, or i shall order my servants to thrust you forth!" "begone, sir! begone!" cried several voices in echo to mauleverer, from those persons who deemed it now high time to take part with the powerful. clifford stood his ground, gazing around with a look of angry and defying contempt, which, joined to his athletic frame, his dark and fierce eye, and a heavy riding-whip, which, as if mechanically, he half raised, effectually kept the murmurers from proceeding to violence. "poor pretender to breeding and to sense!" said he, disdainfully turning to mauleverer; "with one touch of this whip i could shame you forever, or compel you to descend from the level of your rank to that of mine, and the action would be but a mild return to your language. but i love rather to teach you than to correct. according to my creed, my lord, he conquers most in good breeding who forbears the most,--scorn enables me to forbear! adieu!" with this, clifford turned on his heel and strode away. a murmur, approaching to a groan, from the younger or sillier part of the parasites (the mature and the sensible have no extra emotion to throw away), followed him as he disappeared. the outdoor girls at ocean view or the box that was found in the sand by laura lee hope author of "the outdoor girls of deepdale," "the moving picture girls," "the bobbsey twins," etc. _illustrated_ new york grosset & dunlap publishers books for girls by laura lee hope * * * * * mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume. cents, postpaid. =the outdoor girls series= the outdoor girls of deepdale the outdoor girls at rainbow lake the outdoor girls in a motor car the outdoor girls in a winter camp the outdoor girls in florida the outdoor girls at ocean view =the moving picture girls series= the moving picture girls at oak farm the moving picture girls snow bound the moving picture girls under the palms the moving picture girls at rocky ranch the moving picture girls at sea =the bobbsey twins series= for little men and women the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school the bobbsey twins at snow lodge the bobbsey twins on a houseboat the bobbsey twins at meadowbrook grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york copyright, , by grosset & dunlap. * * * * * the outdoor girls at ocean view [illustration: mollie brought up out of the hole a curious iron box.--_page ._ _the outdoor girls at ocean view._] contents chapter page i anticipations ii interruptions iii preparations iv off for ocean view v old tin-back vi the boys vii the storm viii the men in the boat ix the box in the sand x conjectures xi the cipher xii the false bottom xiii the diamond treasure xiv seeking clues xv a night alarm xvi on the beach xvii another alarm xviii anxious days xix the picnic xx caught xxi on the schooner xxii the search xxiii smuggled diamonds xxiv to the rescue xxv all's well--conclusion the outdoor girls at ocean view chapter i anticipations three girls were strolling down the street, and, as on the occasion when the three fishermen once sailed out to sea, the sun was going down. the golden rays, slanting in from over the western hills that stood back of the little town of deepdale, struck full in the faces of the maids as they turned a corner, and so bright was the glare that one of them--a tall, willowy lass, with a wealth of fluffy, light hair, turned aside with a cry of annoyance. "oh, why can't the sun be nice!" she exclaimed, half-petulantly. "what do you want it to do, grace?" asked a vivacious, dark-complexioned sprite next to the complaining one. "go under a cloud just to suit you?" "no, my dear, i'm not as fussy as that!" "indeed not!" chimed in the third member of the trio, a quiet girl, with thoughtful eyes. "what grace wants is some nice young fellow to come along with an umbrella, hoist it over her, and invite her in to have--a chocolate soda!" "why, amy blackford! i'll never speak to you again!" gasped the accused one, blushing vividly, the more so as the rays of the setting sun fell upon her face. "all i said was----" "look!" suddenly interrupted the vivacious member of the small party--a party that attracted no little attention, for at the sight of the three pretty girls, strolling arm in arm down the main thoroughfare of the town, more than one person turned for a second look. "gracious! what is it?" demanded grace. "did you see--some one, billy?" "no--something," came the answer from the dark girl with the boyish name, and at a glance you could understand why she was called so. there was such a wholesome, frank and comrade-like quality about her, though she was not at all masculine, that "billy" just suited. "look," she went on. "isn't that a perfectly gorgeous display of chocolates!" and she indicated the window of a confectionery store just in front of them. "oh, i _must_ have some of those!" cried grace ford. "come on in, girls! i'll treat. they're those new bitter-sweet chocolates. i didn't know borker kept them. i'm simply dying for some!" and with this rather exaggerated statement she fairly pulled her two chums after her into the store. "look!" grace went on, pausing a moment when inside the shop to glance at the chocolate display in the show-window. "did you ever see anything so--so appetizing?" "it looks like a display at a picnic candy kitchen," murmured she who had been called billy. "why, mollie billette!" reproached grace ford. "i think it's perfectly splendid." "but not appetizing," declared amy blackford. "i don't see how you can think of eating any, when it's so near dinner time, grace." "we don't have dinner until seven, and it's only five. besides, i'm not going to eat many--now." "no, she'll take a box home, and keep them in bed, under her pillow--i know her," put in mollie, alias billy. "i slept with her one night and i wondered whether she had lumps of coal, or some kitchen kindling wood between the sheets. but it wasn't--it was chocolates! the box had worked out from under her pillow in the night and----" "mollie billette! you promised never to tell that!" pouted grace. "i don't care. they were hard chocolates, and didn't do any damage." "no, and they weren't damaged, either," laughed mollie. "i know we sat up eating them until your mother came in and made us go to sleep. oh, grace, you certainly are hopeless when it comes to chocolates!" a smiling clerk came up to wait on the girls, and while grace was pointing out what she wanted, the two friends stood aside, talking in low tones. "where are you going this summer?" asked mollie, of amy. "i don't know. henry isn't just sure what he will do--at least, he wasn't the last i talked with him about it. i suppose, though, i shall go wherever mr. and mrs. stonington go, and that is likely to be the mountains, i heard them say. what are your plans, mollie?" "about as unsettled as yours. i did want to go to the seashore, but mamma is _so_ afraid of the water for paul and dodo. those children never seem to grow, and half my pleasure is spoiled giving way to them." "oh, but they are such sweet dears!" protested amy. "yes, i know, but you ought to live with them a year or so. did i tell you paul's latest?" "i think not." "well, he has a rocking-horse, you know, and the other day----" "have some," interrupted grace, thrusting her bag of chocolates between her two girl chums, and thus interrupting mollie's story. "don't you want a soda? i've enough change left." "soda? indeed not!" cried mollie. "and i don't want more than one or two candies, either!" she went on, as she tried to prevent grace from generously emptying half the bag into her small, gloved hands. the three girls were laughing and--yes, truth compels me to say they were giggling--when the door of the shop swung open, a girl entered and at the sight of the newcomer the three burst out with: "betty!" "the little captain!" "betty nelson, where were you? we've been looking _all over_ for you!" "yes, so i heard," was the calm response of the fourth girl, who swung in with a certain vigor and lithesomeness as though she had just come from a game of tennis or basketball. there was a wholesome air of good health about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a glow in her cheeks that told of life in the open. "i saw you turn in here," she went on, "and i knew i had plenty of time, as long as i saw grace with you, so i didn't hurry." "oh, i haven't bought so much," declared grace, with an injured air. "just because i want some chocolates now and then----" "now--and--_then_!" mocked betty nelson, with a laugh. "better say _now_--and--_always_. no, thank you," and with a shake of her head she declined some candy from the bag. "just had lunch a little while ago. mother and i ate on the train." "where were you?" demanded mollie. "at the house they said you were out of town, and we thought it strange, as you hadn't said anything about going away, especially as we so recently came back from florida." "it was just a little trip, suddenly taken," betty explained. "mother and i went down to the shore to select our summer cottage." "and did you?" asked mollie, with sparkling eyes. "we did, and, oh, it's such a darling place!" "where?" came the question in a chorus. "at ocean view, the prettiest place on the new england coast, i think. of course it's small, and old fashioned, and all that, but----" "oh, how i wish _we_ were going to some place like that!" exclaimed mollie. "so do i," chimed in grace. "father talks of lake champlain again, and i detest it." "how about you, amy?" asked the little captain, turning to the quiet girl. "i haven't heard where we are going." "good!" cried betty. "this is just what i expected. if you haven't any plans, none will have to be--un-made. it makes it so much easier." "makes what easier?" demanded mollie. "my plan, my dear! listen, i think it's just the loveliest idea. mother and i looked at two cottages. one was almost too small, and the other was much too large, until i unfolded my plan to her. then she saw that it was just right." "just right for what?" asked grace. "just right for all us girls to go there and spend the summer. now don't say a word until you have heard it _all_!" cautioned betty, as she saw signs of protest on amy's face. "you must agree with me--at least for once." "as if she didn't always have her way!" remarked mollie. "we four--the outdoor girls--are going to ocean view for the summer!" went on betty. "we'll have the loveliest, gayest times, for it's the most beautiful beach! and the cottage is a perfect dear--it's just charming. mother has agreed, so it's all settled. all that remains is to tell your people, and we'll do that right away. come on!" and leading her friends forth from the candy-shop, betty really seemed like some little captain marshaling her pretty forces. "the seashore!" repeated amy. "oh, i'm sure i should love it!" "of course you would, dear!" exclaimed betty. "and that's where you--and all of us--are going!" "oh, but you are so _sure_!" exclaimed mollie, in accented tones. "oh, but you are so--frenchy!" half-mocked betty, with a laugh. "there! it is all settled! we will spend the summer at ocean view! and now come down to my house and we'll talk about it!" and, filled with delightful anticipations, the four girls strolled down the sun-lit street. chapter ii interruptions "come in, girls! grace, put your chocolates--what are left of them--over on the mantel. now sit down, and i'll tell you all about it." betty drew forward some easy chairs for her guests, who distributed themselves about the handsome library, in more or less artistic confusion. betty herself took a hard, uncompromising sort of chair, of teakwood, wonderfully carved by some dead and forgotten chinese artist. the seat was of red marble, and the back was inlaid with ivory, in the shape of a grinning face. "do keep yourself close against it, betty dear," begged grace, who sat opposite her friend. "that chinese face positively hypnotizes me." "well, i want you all to be hypnotized into quietness, long enough to listen to me," spoke betty, with a charmingly commanding air. grace ford, obediently depositing her chocolates on the mantel, save a few which she "sequestered" for use during the talk, had tastefully "draped" herself on a comfortable couch. mollie, with a mind to color effect, had seated herself in a big chair that had a flame-colored velvet back, against which her blue-black hair showed to advantage (like a poster girl, betty said), while amy, like the quiet little mouse which she was, had stolen off into a corner, where she was half-hidden by a palm. "and, now to begin at the beginning," announced betty. "oh, i know you will just love it at ocean view!" and she gave a little squeal of delight. "i wish we were as sure of going as you are," murmured grace, putting out the tip of her red tongue, to absorb a drop of chocolate from a long, slim finger. "just you wait," said betty, half-mysteriously. and while she is preparing to plunge into the details concerning the new summer plans, i will take just a moment to tell my new readers something about the other books of this series, and give them an idea of the girls themselves. in "the outdoor girls of deepdale; or, camping and tramping for fun and health," the originating idea of the four girls was set forth. they felt that they were spending too much time indoors, and they decided to live more in the glorious open. they felt that they would have better health and more fun in doing this, and events proved that they were right, at least in part. as for the girls themselves, they were grace ford, mollie billette, betty nelson and amy stonington-blackford, or _nee_ blackford, if you dislike the hyphen. but that latter form of name does not indicate that amy was married. in the opening story amy's name was stonington, the ward of john and sarah stonington. but there was a mystery in her past, and it was solved when, in addition to unraveling the mystery of a five-hundred-dollar bill, amy found a long-lost brother, whose name was henry blackford. so amy's real name was found to be blackford, though she continued to live with the stoningtons, and more than half the time her chums called her by the name under which they had known her so long. amy was a girl of quiet disposition, and while she had not been altogether happy during the time she was unable to solve the mystery about her identity, when that problem had been cleared up she was of a much brighter disposition. still, the years of quiet had had their effect on her. betty nelson, often called the little captain, because she was such a born leader, was the only daughter of mr. and mrs. charles nelson, the former a rich carpet manufacturer. betty loved, to "do things," as witness her assumption of the summer plans of her chums. grace ford was tall and slender, and often spoken of as a "gibson" type, by those who admire that artist's peculiar, and always charming, conception of young womanhood. grace lived with her father and mother, the other member of the family being her brother will, a hasty, impulsive lad, whose character had, more than once, gotten him into trouble, to the no small annoyance of grace. grace had one failing, if such it can be called. she was exceedingly fond of chocolates and other sweets, and was never without some confection in her possession. and then there was billy--as mollie billette was nicknamed. mollie was the daughter of a well-to-do widow, mrs. pauline billette, whose french ancestry you could guess by her name and by her appearance and manner. mollie was a bit french herself. there were two other children, the funny little twins, paul and "dodo," as dora called herself in her lisping fashion. paul and dodo were at once the loving care and despair of mollie and her mother. so much for the four chums, who were known as the outdoor girls. after their activities, as set down in the first volume of this series, they were next heard of at rainbow lake, where, in betty's motor boat, the _gem_, they had some stirring and exciting times. but, stirring as those times were, they were equalled, if not excelled, when mollie became possessed of a motor car, and took her chums on a tour which ended only when the mystery of the haunted mansion of shadow valley was solved. glorious days on skates and iceboats followed, when the outdoor girls went to a winter camp. and then came a contrast when it was learned that mr. stonington had purchased an orange grove in florida, and that amy had the privilege of inviting her friends to spend the winter in the sunny south. for what happened there i refer you to the volume dealing with our friends' activities amid the palms. sufficient to say that they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. they had returned to deepdale, their home town on the argono river, just as spring was budding forth. and now, this glorious day, the four girls had met once again, and were ready for something new, which something seemed to be offered by betty nelson. "you see it's this way, girls," went on the little captain, as she explained matters. "mother just loves the sea, and she has been wanting a permanent place there for some time. papa has been looking about, and he heard of edgemere, a beautiful big cottage, almost on the beach. he said he would buy it if mamma liked it, and so she and i went to look at it to-day." "you don't mean to say you have been to ocean view, and back, this same day!" exclaimed grace, in surprise. "yes. we went down on the first train this morning--up before the sun, really, and we arrived before noon. it did not take us long to decide about the cottage. mamma and i leased it, with the privilege of buying in the fall, if we like it. then we came back, and on the way, in the train, i asked mamma if i couldn't have you girls down for the summer." "and she didn't faint at the prospect?" asked mollie, mischievously. "the idea!" cried betty. "of course not! she was delighted! so, as soon as our train arrived, which was only a few minutes ago, i started looking for you. as i came up from the station, leaving mamma to go home in the car, i spied you three just turning into the candy store." "grace is the only one who will 'turn into' a candy store," spoke mollie. "she will actually turn into a drop of chocolate some day, if she isn't careful." "smarty!" mocked the fair one. "well, i found you there, at any rate," went on betty, "and you know the rest; or, rather, you will when i tell you about edgemere!" "edgemere--what's that?" asked amy. "it isn't a new kind of confection, even if grace thinks so," laughed mollie. "i--i'll throw something at you if you don't stop!" threatened the gibson girl, but as all she had in her hand was a chocolate, and as she never would have devoted that to such a purpose, she once more curled up luxuriously on the sofa. "edgemere--on the edge of the ocean," translated betty. "it's the name of our cottage. now, girls, i'm just dying to have you see it. i brought back some picture postcards of the place. ocean view is the dearest, quaintest old fishing village you can imagine. it's like provincetown, somewhat, only different, and----" "what's that?" suddenly interrupted grace. "the boys," spoke mollie. "as if that awful racket could be anything else." there sounded on the porch of the nelson home the heavy tramp of several feet, and the murmur of eager voices. "are the girls here?" someone asked. "that's my brother, will--bother! i suppose i have to go home," said grace, petulantly. "i'll go see," offered betty. "it sounds like more than will." "it is!" cried mollie, peering under the window shade. "there's amy's brother, besides allen washburn, roy anderson and--oh, there's that johnny--percy falconer. what in the world can have brought them all here?" "natural attractions--the magnet--as the flower draws the bee--and so on and so on," murmured betty. "i'll ask them in," and she went to meet the boys whose voices could now be heard in the hall. chapter iii preparations "hello, betty!" "is grace here?" "where's amy? i heard she came this way--oh, yes, they're all here, boys. we've found the right place." "just in time for five o'clock tea, aren't we!" "what's that? did percy get that off? just for that he sha'n't have any sweet spirits of nitre!" a chorus of laughs followed the last remarks, which, in turn, were uttered after the rather drawling manner of a tall, slim, well-dressed lad, whose countenance did not betoken any great amount of intelligence. "well, it is _time_ for five o'clock tea!" remonstrated the youth who had been characterized by one of the girls as a "johnny" for want of a better term. "oh, mercy, girls! percy's got a wrist watch!" gasped will ford in falsetto tones. "the saucy little humming bird! zip!" "behave yourselves or you can't come in!" remonstrated betty, who had relieved the maid at the door. "what is this, anyhow; a delegation of protest or petition?" "both," answered allen washburn, with a quick, eel-like motion that took him past his chums and placed him at betty's side. she blushed a little at this act, but did not seem displeased. "we heard you girls had been seen planning some deep-laid scheme, as you came down the street," went on will ford, the brother of grace, "and we followed. where is my sainted sister? making fudge or looking to see if some one is going to treat to sodas?" "i wouldn't get many sodas if i depended on _you_," observed grace, with pointed sarcasm. "save me!" ejaculated will, pretending to hide behind percy. "don't let them harm me, will you, old man?" "stop!" remonstrated the slim chap, for will was rather violent in his action, and percy falconer was anything but robust. "besides, you are wrinkling my coat," he added. "shades of beau brummel!" murmured roy anderson, rather tousled in appearance, but with a wholesome, boyish look about him, "save the wrist watch, will." "say, what's the idea?" asked mollie, a bit slangily. "are you going to ask us out? if you are we can't go, for we have important business to transact." "yes, fellows, this is the annual session of the associated chocolate fiends," spoke will. "if you interrupt you'll be fined a box of caramels." the laughing boys and girls crowded into the library. it was not an unusual occurrence for them all to thus gather at betty's home, which seemed to be a rendezvous for such little parties. but the boys seldom came in such numbers. "i wonder why they brought that--percy," whispered betty, when she had a chance at grace's ear. "no danger--they didn't _bring_ him--he _attached_ himself," replied grace. for, be it known, percy was not very well liked. the boys did not care for him because of his too well-dressed appearance, and his lack of appreciation of manly sports. and the girls did not like him--well, for as much a reason as anything, because betty did not care for him. percy falconer was, or imagined he was, very fond of betty. and, to tell more of the truth, betty distinctly did not care for percy, though he tried to show her attentions. now if it had been allen washburn, the young law student--well, that is an entirely different story. but as allen was present on this occasion, the presence of percy was rather mitigated. "girls, we've got news for you!" exclaimed will, when he and the others had more or less carefully distributed themselves about the library. "fine and dandy news!" "the best ever!" added henry blackford, with a nod at amy, who still clung to her modest place behind the palm. "and, if you're real good, we'll let you in on it," declared allen washburn. "aren't they condescending, though," mocked mollie. "as if we didn't have secrets ourselves!" "shall we tell them?" asked grace. "let's hear theirs first," suggested betty. "what's the matter, percy, has your wrist watch stopped?" asked roy anderson, with a chuckle, for the "johnny" was anxiously holding the timepiece to his ear. "i--i believe i quite forgot to wind it," was the answer. "serious calamity!" murmured allen, not taking much pains to keep his voice from percy. that was one thing about the well-dressed youth; he never knew when fun was being poked at him. "no, it's going all right," percy spoke, after a silent pause. "it's just five," he added, with a meaning look at betty. she choose to ignore it, however, and at a nod from mollie at once plunged into the matter she and her chums had been discussing when the boys interrupted them. "we have taken a fine cottage at the shore--ocean view," said betty, "and we girls are going to spend the summer there. don't you boys wish you were us?" for a moment the young men looked at one another. then smiles broke over their faces, which were beginning to take on the tan that would be deepened as the summer days approached. "that sort of takes the edge off our news," spoke allen. "but we'll tell you, just the same. one of my clients," he began, "has----" "hark to him, would you!" broke in will. "as if he had more than _one_ client." "oh, will, can't you be quiet!" rebuked his sister. "let allen tell it." "yes," urged roy. "go on, old man." "as i was saying, when interrupted by this individual," resumed allen, "one of my clients, who owns a large motor boat, has decided not to use it this summer. he has offered it to me, and we boys have made up a party to go on a cruise along the new england shore--martha's vineyard, block island and all that, you know!" "the new england shore!" cried betty. "why, that's where ocean view is--in new england. if you boys motor along there, can't you come to see us?" "of course we can!" exclaimed allen, quickly. "but we hoped you might be able to take a cruise with us." "not a very long one, though we might go for a day or so," went on betty. "you see, the girls are to be my guests. we were just arranging it when you came in. but we're awfully glad you will be down that way." "so are we!" exclaimed roy. "it's a dandy boat allen has the use of. sleeping cabin and all that. we can live aboard her. be out of sight of land for a week, maybe." "hardly as long as that," objected will. "why not?" allen wanted to know. "i'm expecting news, you know. my appointment--and all that." "oh, that's so. i forgot. well, we could put in every now and then, to see if there was any word for you." "what's all this?" asked grace, with a glance at her brother. "just a little secret, sis," he answered. "oh, tell me!" "not now. later. now if you girls----" "i say!" broke in percy. "hello! he's come to life!" laughed roy. "has your watch stopped again?" demanded will. "this is the first i heard about you fellows going on a cruise," went on percy. "i--i really, i don't know that i can quite make it, don't you know." "oh, mercy! what a calamity!" whispered allen, in the depths of a sofa cushion. "will you--will you go out where it is very rough?" asked percy. "rough! you should see the water along the new england coast!" cried henry blackford. "why, even when it's smoothest, a boat nearly turns on her beam ends." "would one--er--would one get--er--seasick?" faltered percy. "one would--most decidedly!" exclaimed roy. "oh, dear! then i don't believe i can go," went on the other. "but my father has promised to go for a tour in our motor car, and i may be able to induce him to take in the new england shore. it would be horribly jolly if i could, now; wouldn't it? what? ha! ha!" and he beamed on the assembled crowd of young people. "most beastly delightful!" mocked will, in a low voice. "where's your place, betty?" asked allen. the little captain told him, and the two moved off by themselves for a little chat. "say, will, why don't you want to get too far from shore?" asked grace of her brother. "what's the secret? i think you might tell me!" "i will when the time comes," he said, coolly. "you're not going back to uncle isaac's factory; are you?" "father neptune forbid! no." for, as a punishment for a school scrape, will had been sent to work in a cotton factory owned by a relative. and, unable to stand the hard conditions there, he had run away, and had had no end of hard times in a turpentine camp, until, on their trip to florida, the outdoor girls had been instrumental in rescuing him. "no, i'm not going back there," will said. "it's a new line of work, sis, and while i'm waiting for a certain appointment i think i'll go on this cruise with allen and the others." "and do you think you'll come to see us at ocean view?" "we certainly will!" a little later the conference of young people broke up. the boys said they must make preparations for their motor boat outing, and naturally grace, mollie and amy were anxious to lay before their folks the invitation from betty. "but i'm sure they'll let you come," the latter said. later that day she received telephone messages from her chums, stating that they could go to the seashore. "then get ready as soon as you can!" urged betty. "we will," promised grace. then as she carried up to her room a box of chocolates she had purchased--the third that day--she murmured to herself: "i wonder what that secret of will's can be about? i do hope he doesn't get into any more trouble." chapter iv off for ocean view "are you going to take all those?" "all those? why, there aren't so many, mollie." "well, i like your idea of _many_, betty. why, you'll need two trunks for those dresses. oh, where did you get that pretty linen skirt, and it's quite full, too; isn't it?" "yes, they're coming in that way again," and betty draped the skirt in question over her hip, holding it up for mollie to see. the two girls were in betty nelson's room, and the little captain was packing a trunk. at least that was the official name of the operation. to the uninitiated, or to "mere man," it looked as though nothing was being done except to scatter dresses on chairs, on the bed, divan and other vantage points. "but i have to lay them all out this way," betty had explained, when mollie, running over in an interval of her own packing, to get ready to go to ocean view, had gasped in wonder at the confusion in her friend's room. "i want to see what i have, so i'll know what to take with me." "that isn't my way," mollie laughed. "i simply open a closet door, sweep everything off the hooks and toss them into a trunk. then i get felice to jump on the lid with me, and--presto! the trick is done, madame!" and she laughed and shrugged her shoulders in pretty little french fashion. "i simply can't do it that way," sighed betty. "i suppose it does take a long time to lay each dress out separately, but----" "it is much more kind to the dresses," agreed mollie. "that's why you always look so nice, and why i always appear so--so----" "don't you dare say a word about yourself, mollie billette!" protested betty. "you always look so sweet. why, you can take an old piece of cloth and a couple of faded flowers, and make of it a hat that looks prettier than one mamma pays madame rosenti twelve dollars for when i go with her. i don't see how you manage to do it." "it was born in me!" laughed the french girl, as with a quick motion she draped one of betty's garments about her shoulders, producing an effect at which betty gasped in pleasure. "now, why doesn't that ever look like that on _me_?" she demanded. "betty, you're a dear!" replied mollie, without answering. "now i am keeping you. i must run back. i haven't begun to pack yet, and i know paul and dodo will have my room in dreadful shape. they are probably, at this minute, parading around in my best frocks, playing soldier," and mollie with a laughing kiss for her chum jumped up and fled from the room to hurry home and minimize the work of the playful twins. "don't forget the time!" cried betty, after her chum, leaning out of the window of her room, and breathing in deep of the balmy june air. "we leave a week from to-day." "oh, i won't forget!" answered mollie. "it is altogether too delightful for that." betty resumed her inspection of dresses, to determine which she should take, while mollie hastened home. but betty had not long been alone when the doorbell tinkled and grace ford was announced. "tell her to come right up, if she will," betty directed the maid, and the tall, willowy one entered with a rush and a rustling of silken skirts. "my!" gasped betty, looking up from her position, kneeling amid a pile of clothes. "all dressed up and no place to go, grace! what does it mean? no, thank you, no chocolates when i'm looking over my pretty things. i might spot them." "that's just what happened to me," sighed the gibson girl. "i had to put on my best silk petticoat, as i spilled a lot of chocolate down my other. i sent it away to be cleaned, and that's why i'm wearing my best one. don't you just love the swish of silk?" "i guess we all do," answered betty. "oh, dear!" "what's the matter?" asked grace. "oh, but you are going at it wholesale; aren't you?" as she surveyed the room overflowing with clothes. "have to, my dear. it means an all-summer stay, you know. and i don't know what to take and what to leave. i'm sure to want the very things i don't take." "take them all, then. that's what i'm doing. only i haven't really begun yet. i just ran over to ask you something." "well, let it be something very easy, grace dear. my brain isn't capable of taking in very much this morning." "it's about will," went on grace, thoughtfully selecting a chocolate from a bag. "are you sure you won't have some?" she asked. "what, of will? no, thank you!" "silly, of course not. i mean this candy. it's delicious! just fresh and----" "cloying," interrupted betty. "you haven't a lime drop, have you?" "ugh! the horrid, sour things, no! but about will. did you know he had a secret betty?" "a secret? mercy, no! is it about some----" "i don't believe it's a girl. if it is, will acts the funniest of anyone i ever saw. he has a lot of books and papers he's studying over." "it might be her--letters--or--her picture that he puts in a book so no one will see----" "it isn't that!" declared grace with conviction. "oh, this is a nougat!" she exclaimed in rapture, as her white teeth bit into a particularly delicious candy. "hopeless!" sighed betty, folding a skirt neatly. "i mean he hasn't any girl's picture, or anything like that," went on grace. "i found one of the books where he had laid it down. it is some sort of government report. i thought you might know." "why?" asked betty, quickly. "i'm not in his confidence." "i know, but you see, will and allen being so chummy, and allen being so fond of you----" "grace ford!" broke in betty. "you shouldn't say such things!" and she blushed crimson. "why not?" demanded grace, coolly. "there's no one here but us, and we know it. i thought perhaps will had told allen, and allen might have hinted to you." "not a word, grace, dear. i didn't even know will had a secret." "well, he has, and he won't tell me. but i'll find out. he's up to something. i only hope he doesn't run away again, or do something foolish." "will doesn't mean anything," declared betty. "he is just high-spirited; that's all. what sort of a secret did it seem to be, if it wasn't about--girls?" and betty laughed. "oh, i'm sure it isn't about girls," grace went on, seriously enough. "at least it isn't any girl in our set, and will doesn't know any others. and if it is some one in our set, they're all nice girls, so it won't really matter--after we get used to it." "oh, dear!" laughed betty. "you speak as though he were engaged!" "oh, i know he isn't," declared grace. "but he _is_ such a tease. but if you don't know, you don't, betty. and now i must run back. have any of the other members of the club been over?" "yes, mollie was just here." grace fished out another chocolate, after shaking up the bag to see if there were any choice ones at the bottom, and then, after trying in vain to induce betty to accept a sweet, took her departure, saying she was going to see to her own packing. "now it only needs a call from amy to make the round of visits complete," murmured betty, as she resumed the sorting of her garments. but amy did not come that morning. the outdoor girls were making ready for their trip to ocean view, where the better part of the summer would be spent. the arrangements had been made for the nelson family to occupy the beautiful cottage, edgemere, which was completely furnished. "even to matches and a candle in each bedroom," betty had said. "but i thought you said it was a modern place," objected grace. "i don't like candles--excuse me, betty dear, but they are so--so smelly!" "i know. the candles are only for emergency. the house has electric lights." "electric lights! i thought ocean view was such a _quaint_ old place," murmured mollie. "so it is. the electric plant is in point lomar, that swell summer resort. only a few places in ocean view have electricity." and so the arrangements went on. mollie, grace and amy were to be betty's guests during the summer, though their parents or relatives had a standing invitation to spend week-ends and holidays at the shore. "and of course the boys are always welcome!" added betty. "and of course we'll _come_!" declared will and the others. "that is, i'll spend as much time as i can away from my official duties!" "oh, he nearly told us then!" cried grace. "will, i'll never speak to you again, if you don't tell me that secret." "you shall know in due time, sister mine. as for your threat, i don't mind your not speaking to me if you don't make me buy your chocolates. i care not who speaks to me!" he paraphrased, "as long as i do not have to buy their candy!" "here comes percy falconer!" interrupted roy, and the little conference, one of many held whenever the friends met--broke up. while the girls were getting ready with trunks of clothes, the boys were no less busily engaged. they had completed their plans for a series of cruises along the coast, in the motor boat _pocohontas_, loaned to allen washburn by a wealthy gentleman for whom he had done some law business, though allen was not as yet admitted to the bar. "i'll have a chance to practice this summer, getting the boat off a sand-bar!" he had jokingly said. and finally trunks were packed, tickets had been purchased, word had come from ocean view that the cottage was in readiness, and at last, on a beautifully sunny june morning, the outdoor girls stood at the station, ready to take the train. the boys were there, also, as might have been guessed. "and when are you coming down in the boat?" asked betty. "in about a week," allen said. "we're having the engine overhauled, a new magneto put in and some other things done." "i'm coming in the auto," broke in percy falconer. "father did not want me to make the boat trip, but the chauffeur will bring me down to the shore in the car." "pity he wouldn't use a feather bed," murmured roy anderson. "oh, here comes the train!" cried mollie. "girls, i'm almost sure i've forgotten half my things." "good-bye, girls!" chorused the boys. "good-bye!" came the answer. "oh, grace!" called will to his sister. "yes," she answered. "that secret of mine." "oh, yes. what is it? do tell me! i haven't a second----" "i'll tell you--when i come down!" his words floated to her as she was borne along the platform with her chums to the train that was to take them to ocean view. chapter v old tin-back "isn't he provoking!" murmured grace, sinking into a seat beside mollie, as the train slowly pulled out. "who?" asked mollie, leaning toward the window to wave to the boys on the platform. "my brother will. he's up to something--he has a secret and he won't tell me!" "don't let him know you care, and he'll tell you all the quicker. boys are that way," declared mollie, with the accumulated wisdom of--say--seventeen years. "yes, i suppose so," agreed grace, and then she began a hurried search among the various articles she had deposited on the seat between herself and mollie. "what is it--lost something?" asked the latter. "my bag of--oh, here they are," and grace, with a look of contentment, began munching some chocolates. "it is awfully nice of you, mrs. nelson, to ask us down for the summer," said amy blackford to her hostess when they were settled in the speeding train. "i do so love the seashore." "then i think you will like it at ocean view," remarked betty's mother. "and we think edgemere a pretty place." "i'm sure it must be from what betty has told me." "do you like lobsters?" asked mr. nelson, looking over the top of his paper, with a twinkle in his eyes. "lobsters?" repeated amy, questioningly. "i haven't eaten many." "it's a great place for lobsters at ocean view," went on betty's father. "that's one reason i decided on it." "the idea!" cried his wife. "to hear you talk anyone would think you never ate anything else, and you know if you take too much _a la newburg_ you don't feel well the next day." "i'm going to take only the plain boiled, and salads," declared mr. nelson. "but there's an old lobsterman--tin-back, they call him--near edgemere in whom i think you girls will be interested," he went on. "he's quite a character." "why do they call him tin-back?" asked amy. "has he really a----" "a tin back? how funny that would be?" laughed betty. "you must ask him," declared her father. "i didn't have time when i came down to see if everything was all right." "oh, what lovely times we'll have, girls!" sighed mollie, when, a little later, the four chums were conversing. "we can go sailing, bathing and sit on the sands and watch the tide come in." "and perhaps find buried pirate-treasure in some cave," added betty, with a laugh. "can we, really?" asked amy, perhaps the most unsophisticated of the quartette. "really what?" asked grace, silently offering her bag of sweets. the habit was almost automatic with her. "find buried treasure," said amy, eagerly. "i should love to do that. i've often read----" "that's all you can do--read about it," spoke mollie, regretfully. "there isn't any romance left in this world. if there was a pirate's cave it would be lighted with electricity and an admission fee charged. and yet the new england coast ought to contain some treasure. some pirates used to land there." "did they, mr. nelson?" asked amy, catching sight of betty's father again glancing over the top of his paper. "did pirates ever land on the coast near where we are going?" "well, perhaps, yes. i believe there are several stories about kidd's treasure being buried somewhere around ocean view. or, perhaps it would be more correct to say that _one_ of kidd's treasures. on the very lowest count he must have had at least a double score, all hidden in different places." "really?" demanded amy, with glistening eyes, and flushed cheeks. "well, as really as any other treasure story, i suppose," answered mr. nelson, while betty murmured: "oh, daddy! don't tease her!" "i'm not!" he declared. "it is possible that there may be some treasure buried in the sand near ocean view. stranger things have happened." "oh, what if _we_ should find it!" cried amy. "i'm going to look the first thing i do." "find what?" asked grace, who had been looking from the window as they passed through a town. "buried treasure," amy said. "oh, i thought you meant will's secret," observed grace. "i wonder where that train boy is?" she went on. "what for?" asked betty. "i want another box of those chocolates. they were a new kind and----" "grace ford! if you buy another bit of candy before we arrive i--i don't know what i'll do to you!" threatened betty. the train rolled on, as all trains do, and, eventually, the little seaside resort of ocean view was reached. there was the usual scramble on the part of our friends, and other passengers, to alight, and when the girls stood on the rather dingy platform of the station mollie, looking about her in some disappointment, said: "ocean view! i don't see why they call it that. you can't see the ocean at all." "it's down that way," said mr. nelson, with a wave of his hand toward the east. "property is too valuable along the shore to allow of the village being there. the town is about a mile back from the water. we'll take a carriage to the cottage. you see the railroad doesn't run very close to the ocean." ocean view was like most summer resorts, built some distance back from the shore, which property was held by cottage or bungalow owners. there were several shell roads running from the main street of the town down to the water's edge, however. and soon, in a carriage, with their valises piled around them, our party set off for edgemere, leaving a truckman to bring the trunks. "oh what a perfectly dear place!" exclaimed grace, as the carriage turned along a highway that paralleled the beach. "and how blue the water is!" they were up on a little elevation. down below them was a large bay, enclosed in a point of land that ran out into the ocean, forming a perfect breakwater. "where is edgemere?" asked mollie. "over there," answered betty, pointing. the girls beheld a large cottage nestling amid a group of evergreen and other trees, on the very point of land that jutted out, with the bay on one side and the ocean on the other. "oh, how perfectly charming!" exclaimed amy. "and we can have still water bathing as well as that in the surf." "exactly," answered betty. "that's why mamma and i decided on it. i like still water myself." "so do i," murmured amy. "i don't! i want the boiling surf!" declared mollie, who was an excellent swimmer. they drove up to the cottage, finding new delights every moment, and when the carriage stopped within the fence, at the side porch, the whole party waited a moment before alighting to admire the place. "it _is_ nice," decided mrs. nelson. "i had forgotten part of it, but i like it even better than i thought i should." "it's sweet!" declared grace. "horribly fascinating, as percy falconer would say," mocked mollie. "don't!" begged betty, making a wry face. as they were alighting, a quaint figure of an old man, bent and shuffling, with gnarled and twisted hands, and a face almost lost in a bush of beard, yet in whose blue eyes twinkled kindliness and good fellowship, came around the side path. "wa'al, i see ye got here!" he exclaimed in hoarse tones--his voice seemed to be coming out of a perpetual fog. "yes, we've arrived," mr. nelson said. "glad ye come. ye'll find everything all ready for ye! 'mandy has a fire goin', an' th' chowder's hot." "who is he?" asked mrs. nelson, in a whisper. "old tin-back," replied her husband. "he's a lobsterman and a character. i engaged his wife to clean the cottage, and be here when you arrived." "yes, i'm old tin-back," replied the man with a gruff but not unpleasant laugh. "leastways they all calls me that. i'll take them grips," he went on, as the girls advanced, and into his gnarled hands he gathered the valises. "oh, what a delicious smell!" exclaimed mollie, as they went up the steps. "that's th' chowder," chuckled the old lobsterman. "i reckoned it'd be tasty. plenty of quahogs in _that_." "what?" gasped amy. "quahogs--big clams, miss," he explained. "old tin-back dug 'em this mornin' at low tide. nothin' like quahogs for chowder, though some folks likes soft clams. but not for old tin-back." "is--is that really your name?" asked amy. "wa'al not _really_, miss. it's a sort of nickname. you see, i sell clams, lobsters and crabs, but i don't never sell no tin-back crabs, and so they sorter got in the habit of callin' me that." "what are tin-backs?" asked amy, but before the lobsterman could answer, betty, from within the cottage, called to her chums: "come, girls, and select your rooms!" chapter vi the boys amy remained standing beside the old lobsterman. mollie and grace had followed mrs. nelson and betty into the cottage. mr. nelson was paying the carriage driver, and arranging to have some things brought over from the station. "tin-backs," repeated amy. "what sort of crabs are they?" "soft crabs, just turnin' hard, miss," explained the old man. "if you punch in their backs they spring up and down like the bottom of a tin dish pan. that's why they call 'em that. tin-backs is tough to eat. i never sell 'em, though some folks do. that's why they call me that, i guess." "oh!" remarked amy. "then that means you are--honest!" "wa'al, miss, i don't lay no special claims to virtue," he protested. "but if you don't sell tinny crabs--ugh, how funny that sounds--then you _must_ be honest!" amy insisted. "i'm so glad to know you. tell me, is there any pirate's treasure buried around here?" old tin-back looked at her, startled. then he edged away slightly. "exactly," laughingly said amy afterward, "as though i had announced that i was a militant suffragist, and intended burning his boats." "pirate's treasure, miss?" repeated the old lobsterman. "i--er--i never found any." "but mr. nelson said there might be some." "oh, there _might_--yes. and i _might_ find a dead whale with a lump of ambergris in him, as big as a barrel," spoke tin-back, "but i never _have_." "what's ambergris?" asked amy, who rather enjoyed his talk. "i don't rightly know, miss, but it's something like a lump of suet in a dead whale, and it's worth its weight in gold. it makes perfume!" "the idea," murmured amy, with a little shudder. "i don't believe i shall like perfume after that." "oh, i don't s'pose they use none of it around ocean view," spoke old tin-back, with a frank air. "anyhow, we never see a dead whale in these parts. there was one once, but folks was glad when the high tide carried him out to sea. i guess they're callin' you," he added. amy was aware of betty summoning her within the cottage. she smiled at tin-back and entered the house. "where were you?" demanded betty. "i want you to see which room you like best. there are several to choose from." "i was talking with the lobsterman," explained amy. "he is called tin-back because he never sells that sort of crab, and he hopes he can find a lump of ambergris in a dead whale some day." "well, if that isn't a combination!" laughed mollie. "oh, but i think my room is the _dearest_ one! come and see it, amy." "not until she selects her own," decided betty. then began the settling down in the charming cottage of edgemere at ocean view. the girls had bedrooms adjoining, and across from one another along a hall that ran the whole length of the house, and ended in a little open balcony at either end. the house stood on a point of land, and from one end a view could be had of the ocean, while the other opened on lobster bay. there was a large plot of ground around the nelson cottage so that other bungalows were not too near. and it was in the midst of a little summer colony of houses, so, though it stood rather by itself, the place was not in the least lonesome. trunks were unpacked, valises stripped of their contents, closets and chiffoniers filled, bureaus blossomed with a wonderful collection of combs, brushes, barettes, ribbons, and various bottles and jars. for, though the outdoor girls were not afraid of sun, wind or rain, betty had warned them that sunburn was not an ailment to be rashly courted, and that cold cream, or talcum powder, judiciously used, might lessen many a smart. behold our friends then, a little later, well fortified within with clam chowder and other dainties prepared by 'mandy, the wife of old tin-back, strolling along the ocean beach. mrs. nelson was superintending the efforts of the maid to bring some order out of chaos at the cottage. "it is perfectly lovely!" murmured mollie, as she and her chums walked along the strand. "charming." "and so sweet of you to ask us down, betty dear!" declared grace. "oh, it was partly selfishness," betty admitted. "i didn't want to stay here all summer alone." "may we always meet with that sort of selfishness," observed amy. "i wonder when the boys will come," went on grace. "lonesome already?" asked betty, smiling. "no. but will promised to let me know what new plans he had when he came, and i've tried so hard to guess his secret that i'm tired." "give it up," advised mollie. "oh, look what pretty shells!" and she gathered several from the sand. "how damp it is!" exclaimed grace. "positively, there isn't a bit of curl left in my hair. but just look at amy's! i never saw it so pretty!" "the salt air agrees with hers," said betty. "we'll all have nice complexions if this newport fog continues," and she indicated the mist arising from the sea. "let's sit down and just look at the ocean," suggested amy, when they had walked some distance down the beach, and while they were thus idly employed, and when the afternoon was waning, they spied a solitary figure approaching them down the stretch of sand. "it's old tin-back," said betty. "i wonder if he is looking for us?" "he seems to be looking for something on the beach," commented grace, "and unless he thinks we have slipped down one of those funny little holes the sand fleas make, i can't see how he could be searching for us." but the old lobsterman had a message for them, nevertheless, for when he came within hailing distance he called hoarsely: "ahoy there, young ladies! your folks want you to come back. i told 'em i'd tell you if i saw you as i come along, and i done it." "what were you looking for--treasure?" asked grace, with a mischievous smile at amy. "treasure? humph, no, miss. i was looking for some of my lobster pots. a lot of them dragged their moorings in the last storm, and they get cast upon the beach sooner or later." "did you ever find any treasure on the beach?" demanded betty. "wa'al, no, not exactly what you could call _treasure_!" was the slow and cautious answer, "but i did find a pipe once, an' it lasted me for quite a while. found it jest after i lost my corncob, too. so, in a manner of speakin', i did find suthin'." "but never gold, or diamonds or _real_ treasure, washed up from a wreck?" asked amy, eagerly. "no, miss." "are there ever wrecks?" inquired betty. "oh, yes, once in a while, though not usually this time of year. in the winter the sea's altogether different, miss. it's terrible cruel and cold. then we have wrecks. why, right off there, two year ago," and with a gnarled finger he pointed though at no particular object as far as the girls could see, "right off there a three-master went down one night in a january, and all hands--eleven of 'em--was drownded." "didn't anyone try to save them?" asked grace. [illustration: the old lobsterman peered through a battered spy-glass. "that's her," he announced.--_page ._ _the outdoor girls at ocean view._] "oh, yes, they tried, miss, but they couldn't launch the boat, and the wind was blowin' so they couldn't shoot a line over. the boat went to pieces on the bar, and the bodies washed ashore next day." he told it simply, and was silent for a space. "does anything ever wash ashore from the wrecks?" asked mollie. "oh, yes, once in a while, but not what you could rightly call treasure. once a banana steamer got on the bar, and they had to throw over lots of cargo to lighten her. folks here made quite a tidy sum collectin' them bunches of green bananas." "but no boxes of gold or diamonds--mysterious, locked boxes?" asked amy, still hopefully. "no, miss, nothin' like that," and old tin-back looked as though he was not altogether sure whether or not he was being made fun of. the days passed at ocean view, sunny, happy days. each one brought new pleasure and delight to the outdoor girls, and they lived up to their name, for they were seldom in the house. they bathed and rowed in the bay, or paid visits to the quaint little town, where grace discovered an old french woman who made delicious taffy. "so grace's happiness is assured for the summer," declared mollie. then came a day when, as the four went down to see old tin-back set off from the little dock in his dory to take up his lobster pots, they saw a motor boat heading into the bay. "oh, if that should be the boys!" exclaimed grace, hopefully. "they wrote they might come this week; didn't they?" "yes," answered betty. "what boat ye lookin' fer?" asked tin-back. "the _pocohontas_," answered amy. the old lobsterman peered through a battered spyglass he took from a locker-box in his dory. "that's her," he announced. and so it proved. the big motor boat swung up to the dock and will, roy, henry and allen smiled at the girls. "well, we're here, you see!" announced grace's brother. "this is the first real stop of our cruise. been having a fine time these last five days. but we're glad we're here." "and we're glad to see you!" responded betty. "do come up to the cottage. mamma will want to see you. how long can you stay?" "oh, a week--two weeks--a month in a place like this with--ahem! such nice girls!" remarked roy. "oh, what's that? you scratched me!" exclaimed grace as she suffered her brother to imprint a sort of half-way kiss on her cheek. his coat blew open, disclosing something shining through an armhole of his vest. "oh, that's my--badge!" he announced. "your badge? what are you, a pilot?" demanded amy. "ahem! at your service!" exclaimed will, with a low bow, as he extended a card to his sister. grace fairly grabbed it from him, and read her brother's name, while, in a corner of the pasteboard, under a monogram device, were the letters "u. s. s. s." "what does it mean?" she asked. "that's the secret," will explained. "i have joined the united states secret service, sister mine!" "secret service!" repeated grace. "what does it mean?" "it means i'm out for smugglers, counterlaws. so beware!" chapter vii the storm for a moment or two the girls did not know whether or not to accept as truth the statement will had made in such a dramatic manner. then his sister grace burst out with: "oh, will, is it really true? is that the secret you were going to tell me?" "that's the secret, sis! isn't it a good one, and didn't i keep it well?" "you certainly did, but i didn't expect it would be that. i thought it would be about--about--er----" she paused in some confusion. "she thought it would be about a _girl_!" broke in mollie. "why wasn't it, will?" "it may be yet. there are lady smugglers, you know!" "oh, nonsense!" "will ford!" "is it really true?" "i think he's just teasing us!" thus cried the girls in turn, betty appealing to allen in an aside to know whether will really had been appointed to a government position. "oh, yes, its true enough," allen said, smiling indulgently. and finally, after a little gale of laughter had subsided, will managed to make the girls, his sister included, understand, and believe that he really was telling the truth. then they inspected his badge, looked at a sort of identifying card he carried in an inner pocket, and were satisfied. "but what does it all mean?" asked grace. "i didn't know you were going in for that sort of thing, will! how did it happen? and are there any smugglers around here?" "hist! not a word! sush! take care!" hissed her brother, stepping about with elaborate precautions on tiptoes, glancing rapidly from side to side, while he flashed a pretended dark lantern, and allen imitated the low, shivery music of a chinese orchestra. "they may be here any minute!" chanted will in dramatic tones. "quick! we must hide those diamonds. and then, gal, at the peril of your life, you must give me those papers!" and he hissed after the manner of some stage villains. "oh, quit your fooling and tell us!" demanded grace. "then we'll go for a ride in your boat, and you can stop at the point and get me some chocolates, will." "oh, i can, eh? awfully kind, i'm sure." "do tell us about it," begged amy. "ah, at least _you_ are sincere!" exclaimed will, with a look that made gentle amy blush. "go on," urged roy. "then we'll get out on the water again. this weather is too good to miss." "it was this way," explained will. "i told dad i wanted a little longer vacation before i started in for college, after my experiences in that turpentine camp, and he agreed that i could have it. i don't know whether i told you or not, but when i ran away from uncle isaac's down south, i fell in with a government secret service man. i guess he rather suspected i was up to some game, but he was real decent about it, and didn't give me away. "i happened to do him a favor--helped him trail a certain man he was looking for, and he was good enough to compliment me on my memory for faces. he said it was the beginning of a successful detective's career. "well, i had no notion of being a detective, but it made me stop and think. i _am_ pretty good at remembering faces and voices, you know, even if i do say it myself." "that's right!" chimed in allen. "i wish i had that faculty. it is the hardest thing for me to remember the faces and names of those i meet. but go on, will." "well, the upshot of it was that this government man said if i ever wanted a lift he'd be glad to help me. he gave me his card, and, after all my troubles were over, thanks to your efforts, girls," and he included them all in his bow, "i decided to go in for secret service work. "it wasn't as easy as i had expected, but at last i got the promise of a chance, and i began studying up, and taking the examinations. i passed successfully, and received my commission." "so that's what you were doing all those days you were away so much?" asked grace. "that was it, sis. and now i am a full fledged secret service agent, though i haven't arrested anyone yet." "and are you really going to?" asked betty. "that all depends," replied will. "if i see any law violations i'll have to." "but are you looking for anyone in particular, up here?" asked amy. "any smugglers, pirates, or--or anything like that?" "bless her heart! she shall see a pirate arrested the first chance i have!" laughed will. "oh, be serious, can't you?" asked grace, with just the hint of a snap in her voice. "beg your pardon, amy," apologized will. "you see it's this way. i'm in the boston district, and that takes in a good part of the new england coast. i haven't really been assigned to any particular locality yet. i'm supposed to keep my eyes open wherever i am, though." "around here?" mollie wanted to know. "yes, here as well as anywhere else. but i'm on a leave of absence now. i'm spending a few days cruising with the boys. i'll soon have to go back to boston." "well, then busy yourself and buy me those chocolates!" demanded grace. "you don't need to act in your official capacity for that." "do you really think there may be pirates or smugglers around here?" asked amy, who seemed strangely interested in the matter. "well, there might be. you never can tell," said will, with a look around the horizon as though to discover some mysterious and suspicious vessel in the offing. after will's explanations he had to answer a hail of questions from the girls. the boys already knew all he could tell them. then his sister and her chums wished him all kinds of good luck. "and i hope we see you arrest your first smuggler!" exclaimed mollie, with a quick gesture of her expressive hands and shoulders. "oh, i don't!" cried amy, with a nervous look behind her. "well, if we're going to take the girls for a ride let's do it," suggested allen. "how does the boat run?" asked betty, as she turned her attention to it. "fine and dandy!" he exclaimed with enthusiasm. a little later the merry party of young people were out on the wide, blue waters of the bay. several gladsome days followed. the boys were welcomed at edgemere, and, as the cottage was a large one, mrs. nelson insisted on will and his chums remaining there, though they said they wanted to camp out, or sleep aboard the _pocohontas_. but the quarters there were rather cramped. one day, when the boys were coming back in the boat with the girls, the engine suddenly stopped while they were still a short distance from the dock. "hello! what's up? trouble?" asked roy. "yes, it's that magneto again," decided allen. "i think i'd better tie her up and get a new one. it will be giving us trouble all summer if i don't." and then, as the craft was ingloriously paddled up to the dock, the boys held a mysterious conversation regarding ground-wires, brushes, platinum points, spark plugs and batteries. "oh, will the boat have to go to the repair shop?" asked betty. "will you be sorry?" returned allen, meaningly. "you know i shall. i do so enjoy--the water," she answered with a little blush and a bright glance. "you sha'n't miss anything," he declared. "i'll charter a sailboat while the _pocohontas_ is laid up." and this he did, arranging with old tin-back for the hire of a catboat that would hold all the party. thus the glorious summer days were used to best advantage, the young people cruising about the bay, fishing and bathing as suited their fancy. "not going out to-day; are ye?" asked old tin-back, as he came down to the dock one morning, and found the boys and girls about to start off. "we certainly are!" declared will. "i think something will happen to-day. i have a feeling in my bones that i may land a smuggler or two." "oh, will!" expostulated his sister. "don't joke. that may be serious." "i only hope it _is_ serious," he declared. "what's the matter with going out to-day?" asked allen. "wa'al, it looks like a squall," replied the old lobsterman. "if ye do go don't go out too far." "oh, i don't want to go!" objected grace. the others laughed grace out of her fears, and they started off in the sailboat, the motor craft having been left at the repair dock some distance up the coast. as they swung and dipped over the blue waters of the bay, the signs of the storm increased, and the girls, becoming more and more nervous, insisted on the boys keeping close to shore. and finally, when they were some distance from ocean view, but fortunately near a little sheltering cove, the storm broke with sudden fury. "down with that sail!" yelled allen, as the gust struck the boat, heeling her over so that one rail dipped well under water. "oh, we're going to capsize!" screamed grace. "keep still!" ordered her brother. with frightened eyes the girls clung to one another, huddled together in the little cockpit cabin, while a big wave coming from the stern seemed to threaten to swamp them. chapter viii the men in the boat "oh! oh!" screamed grace. "we'll be drowned!" "nonsense! keep quiet!" commanded will, with the authority only a brother could have displayed on such an occasion. his stern voice had the desired effect and grace ceased clinging to her chums with a grip that really endangered them. "oh, i'm so sorry i was silly!" she exclaimed contritely, as the big wave passed harmlessly under the sailboat. then the craft swung behind a projecting point of land and they were in calmer waters. allen had let the sail come down on the run, and all danger of capsizing was over. the wind still blew in fitful gusts, however, and the rain, which had been holding off, came down in a drenching shower. "get out the mackintoshes!" cried roy, for those garments had been brought with them at the suggestion of old tin-back. protected now against the downpour, and in calmer waters, the young people were themselves once more. the jib gave way enough to the craft for allen to head it toward a little dock which seemed to be the landing place of the neighborhood fishermen. "what are you going to do?" asked will. "stay here until the storm is over?" "might as well," allen answered. "and yet--hello! what's that?" he interrupted himself suddenly, pointing out to the bay. "a motor boat broken loose from its mooring," answered roy. "and if it isn't the _pocohontas_ i miss my guess!" added amy's brother. "that's right!" declared allen. "john's repair shop is in this cove. he must have anchored her out, and the storm tore her loose. he evidently doesn't know it." "well, we know it!" cried will, "and she'll be on those rocks in a few minutes more. see! she's drifting right toward them!" it needed but a glance to disclose this. the drifting motor boat, under the influence of wind and waves, was heading straight toward some half-submerged but sharp rocks that were a danger-point in the little cove. "what's to be done?" demanded roy. "you must save your boat, that's certain!" put in betty, thus sustaining her reputation as a little captain. "we've got to," said will. "but to take you girls out there again----" "don't you dare do it, in this storm!" broke in grace, for the wind and rain had now reached their height. "can't you land us?" asked betty, taking in the situation at a glance. "that will be best. put us on shore and then this boat will be so much easier to handle. the wind is right, and you can get the _pocohontas_ before she goes on the rocks." "she's got the idea," declared allen, admiringly. "we can save our boat, if we hustle." "then--'hustle'!" cried betty, with a little blush, as she shook her head to rid her flashing eyes of raindrops. "put us ashore at the dock, and save the _pocohontas_." "but what will you do?" asked allen. "i don't like to leave you on the beach alone." "we four girls won't be lonesome," declared mollie. "it isn't the first time we've roughed it. besides, there is some sort of a fisherman's shanty there. we'll go inside, if the storm gets too bad. but i think it is going to clear." indeed there were indications that the weather at least was going to get no worse. there was a hasty conference among the boys, who cast anxious eyes toward their drifting boat. then the sailing craft was worked up to the little dock, and the girls sprang out. "we'll come back for you," promised will. "if you can't it will be all right," betty assured him. "we can walk back along the beach after the storm. it isn't more than a mile or two, and we haven't done very much walking lately." "well, we'll see what happens," spoke allen, anxious to get out to the _pocohontas_, which was dangerously near the rocks. the girls paused on the dock a moment, to watch the boys beating back out over the bay, and then turned to go up the beach. they had never been on this part of the coast before. it was lonesome and deserted, save for one rather shabby hut just above high-water mark. over beyond some distant sand dunes, the boys had been told, was the establishment of the boat-builder, where they had taken their craft to have a new magneto put in. "shall we go in and ask for shelter?" asked amy, as they neared the hut. "well, it's raining pretty hard," returned grace. "oh, don't let's go in!" said betty, suddenly, as she looked at a window of the hut. "it's much nicer outside." "but it's raining so!" protested mollie, with a quick look at her chum. "i know. but we're neither sugar nor salt, and this isn't the first rain we've been out in. besides, i'm sure, in there, it will smell of--fish! i can't bear to be shut up in a stuffy cabin that smells of fish. i vote we stay out. see, it is beginning to clear already," and she pointed to a streak of light in the west. "is that your real reason--a dislike of the smell of--fish?" asked mollie, in a low voice, that betty alone could hear. "not exactly, no," was the reply, equally guarded. "i happened to catch a glimpse of some faces at the window of that hut, and i did not like the look of them--they were--ugh! i don't know what to say," and betty gave a slight shiver that was not caused entirely by the chilling rain. "i saw them, too," spoke mollie, in louder tones now, for grace and amy had walked on ahead. "and one of them was--a woman's face." "yes, but such a face!" agreed betty. "it was hard--cruel--oh, i'll never go in that hut." "nor will i. the rain is stopping, i think." "then let's walk back to ocean view," proposed betty. "what do you say, girls?" she called to amy and grace. "shall we walk back? it's stopping, and the sand will be firm and hard after the rain." "i don't mind," spoke amy, always willing to be accommodating. "oh, well, i suppose we'll have to, if the boys don't come for us," assented grace. "they won't be back for some time," declared betty. "see, they have just reached the boat, and in time, too, i think. a little later she would have been on the rocks." allen and his chums had indeed been fortunate in saving the _pocohontas_. through the clearing air the girls watched them preparing to tow the motor craft back. "it will be some time before they can come for us," repeated betty. "we might as well go on." "but they won't know where we are," objected grace, who did not altogether relish the idea of walking. she was wearing shoes with very high heels. "they'll understand," responded betty. "see, they are looking this way. i'll give them some sign language they'll understand," and she began waving her arms, and pointing in the direction of ocean view, down the coast. "who in the world will understand that?" demanded mollie. "allen will," answered betty. "oh!" exclaimed mollie with a laugh. "then this isn't the first time you have talked with him in sign language." "silly!" protested betty. "come on, girls," and she strode off down the wet sands. the rain had almost stopped. "this is better than waiting back in that hut," observed mollie, walking beside the little captain. "i should say so!" exclaimed betty. "oh, those horrid faces." "just like smugglers!" declared mollie. "what's that about smugglers?" demanded grace, quickly, turning around. she was in advance with amy. "oh--nothing," spoke betty, and grace resumed her talk with her other chum. the girls walked along the beach. now a turn of the coast hid the boys from sight, and their work of towing back the drifting motor boat. "oh, it's farther than i thought!" sighed grace, as the atmosphere became clearer, and, some distance down the coast they could see the little village of ocean view. "oh, it isn't far at all!" declared betty. "we haven't done enough walking lately, that's the reason. we'll soon be there." as the girls made a turn around some high sand dunes they heard the staccato puffing of a motor boat. "can that be the boys?" asked mollie, quickly. "of course not! they are away behind us," declared betty, "and that sound came from in front. see, there it is--a motor boat," and she pointed to one just leaving the shore of a little cove. several men had evidently just leaped into the craft which, because of the shallow water, had to be shoved some distance out. then a strange thing happened. the men appeared to be surprised at the sight of the girls--an unexpected sight, it would appear--for some of them seemed anxious to put back, while others were urgent for keeping on out into the bay. "that's queer!" commented betty. "what?" asked amy. "those men seem anxious to come back; at least, some of them do, and others don't," went on betty. "look, they seem to be quarreling among themselves!" chapter ix the box in the sand "goodness!" cried grace, shrinking back against betty. "they are fighting!" "it does look so," responded the little captain. "one man seems to be trying to jump overboard!" it did so appear to the outdoor girls. the motor boat containing the half-dozen rough-looking men was rapidly leaving the shore of the cove, but one man in it seemed anxious to return to the beach. his companions had forcibly to restrain him, as he seemed willing to leap into the water, and swim back. confused shouts and cries came from the men in the boat, as though they were of several opinions. finally, however, the majority seemed to gain their point, and the man who had appeared so excited quieted down. but, as the boat gathered headway, this man, sitting in the stern, never took his eyes from the four girls. he watched them until the craft was so far out that his features could not be distinguished. "wasn't that odd?" demanded amy, being the first to speak after the little episode. "it certainly was," agreed betty. "they seemed afraid--yes, actually afraid of us," put in grace. "and there wasn't the least need of it," laughed mollie. "i wouldn't have harmed one of those men--oh, for anything!" "i guess not!" amy declared. "i was all ready to run if they headed their boat back this way." "what in the world do you suppose was the matter?" asked grace, as they stood looking after the vanishing boat. the boys were no longer in sight, being hidden from view behind a projecting point of land. "perhaps this is private grounds we are on," suggested mollie, "and they didn't like to see us trespassing." "it couldn't have been that," grace remarked. "everyone walks along the beach, and i believe no one is allowed to claim any land below high water mark, so it couldn't have been that." "maybe there are quicksands here!" exclaimed amy, looking nervously about. "there are such things, you know. the goodwin sands, in england, are awful. if you once are caught in a quicksand you never get out." "nothing like that around here," asserted betty. "if there was, you can depend on it, daddy never would have hired a cottage." "besides," added grace, "if there had been danger the men would not have been in two minds about coming back to warn us. they would surely not have let us run into danger." "no, it couldn't have been that," decided betty. "but the men were certainly divided in opinion about coming back here, and they must have left just before we came in sight. well, it will never be solved, i suppose, but i don't know that it need worry us. though if the boys were here i think they would make quite a mystery of it." "will would make quite a fuss about it, if he were here, i guess," laughed grace. "he'd be sure the men were pirates, or something like that, show his new badge and want to question them." "then i'm glad he isn't here!" exclaimed amy, with such warmth that grace exclaimed: "oh, amy! i never knew you cared--so much." "i don't! that is--yes, of course i care! that is--oh, i wish you'd let me alone!" burst out the blushing amy, whereas grace teased her all the more, until betty put an end to it saying: "well, let's get along. the men don't seem to be coming back, and mamma may be worried, knowing that we went out when a storm was brewing. old tin-back is sure to tell her that we went off defying the elements." "isn't he a queer old character?" remarked mollie. "yes, but i like him," betty answered. "he says he has never yet given up hope of finding some treasure washed ashore from a wreck. he's always looking as he walks along the beach." "and that in spite of the fact that, with all his years of looking, he has found only a pipe," laughed mollie. "he is very persevering, is old tin-back." "most fishermen are," spoke betty. "i suppose things _are_ occasionally washed up by the sea," amy observed. "let's look as we walk along the beach." hardly knowing why they did so, the eyes of the outdoor girls roamed the beach, which, as the tide had just gone out, was strewn with odds and ends. nothing of moment, though, it seemed--bits of broken boxes and barrels, bottles and tin cans, probably the refuse from coasting vessels. "oh, i'm tired!" suddenly exclaimed grace. "let's see if we can't find a place to sit down." "tired! no wonder, wearing such high-heeled shoes!" objected betty. "you are violating one of the ethics of the outdoor girls' organization!" she went on. "you can't expect to walk in those." "i'm not going to try again," confessed grace. "oh, i simply must sit down." "the sand is so wet," objected mollie. they managed to find a broken spar, cast up by the waves, and by putting on it some boards, which they turned over to find the dry side, they evolved a comfortable seat. "oh, isn't this just lovely!" exclaimed betty, as she gazed out over the bay, now glistening beneath the sun, which had come out from behind the storm clouds. "it is perfect," agreed amy. mollie was idly digging in the sand behind the spar. she used a shell, and had scooped out quite a hole. suddenly the shell scraped on something with a shrill sound. "oh, don't!" begged grace. "you set my teeth on edge! what is it, mollie?" mollie did not answer at once. she was digging in the sand more quickly now. again the shell scraped on some metal. "oh, mollie!" objected grace again, putting her hands over her ears. "what is it?" "i--i think i've found something," replied mollie in a low voice. "look, girls, it's some sort of box." they leaned over her. her shell had scraped away the wet sand from the top of a square piece of metal. mollie tapped it. "it--it sounds hollow!" she whispered. "probably a tin can," said betty. "no," spoke mollie, resolutely. "here, let me help you!" exclaimed amy. she looked about for something with which to dig. near where mollie had uncovered the piece of metal a queerly shaped stick stuck upright in the sand. amy pulled it out, with no small effort, and at once began digging. "oh, it's some sort of a box--an iron box!" cried mollie, with eager, shining eyes. "we have really found something." mollie and amy dug until they had wholly uncovered the object. then, with a quick motion, mollie put her hands under the lower edges, and with a sudden effort brought up out of the hole in the sand a curious iron box. "it--it really is--something!" she said. instinctively betty looked out over the bay in the direction taken by the strange, quarreling men in the motor boat. chapter x conjectures mollie billette set the black iron box down on the log that had formed the seat for the outdoor girls. a little wind was rapidly drying the dampness. the wind even dried some of the sand on the box, and scattered it in a little rattling shower on a bit of paper on the beach. the girls did not seem to know what to say. betty looked back from her glance across the bay, in the direction of the now unseen boat, in time to notice mollie, ever neat, wiping her damp hands on her pocket handkerchief. amy was looking at the queerly-carved stick which had served her as a shovel to dig in the sand. "oh! oh!" exclaimed grace. "isn't it wonderful! it really is a box!" "yes, it's certainly _that_, all right!" added the more practical mollie. "and if it should contain treasure!" went on grace, rather at a loss because her chocolates were all gone. "old tin-back should have found this," commented mollie. "or the boys," spoke betty. "i wish they were here." "the idea!" exploded mollie. "as if we didn't know what to do as well as though the boys were here to tell us. that isn't our little captain; is it, girls?" she asked the others. "oh, i only meant about the legal end of it," said betty, quickly. "oh, i see! she just wants--allen!" remarked grace. "no, it isn't that at all!" betty cried, quickly. "but you know there are certain rules about things found at sea, or near the sea. for instance, if this is above the high-water mark it might be, the property of whoever owns the land back there." "well, it's above high-water mark all right," declared amy. "though i think in a heavy blow or at a high tide the water might come up here. but we can't go by rules now; can we, betty?" "oh, i suppose not." "i'm going to take the box home with us," mollie declared. "it may have been washed ashore from some ship, and there may be nothing in it but----" "tobacco!" exclaimed grace with a laugh. "tobacco?" questioned the others in a chorus. "it looks just like a tobacco box," the chocolate-loving girl went on. "but perhaps it isn't." "of course it isn't!" declared mollie. "i'm sure it contains treasure," said amy. "oh, if it should! wouldn't the old lobsterman be surprised?" "well, he wouldn't be the only one to be surprised," spoke mollie. "i think we would ourselves," added betty, with a laugh. "now, girls, let's see what we really have found." with a bunch of seaweed mollie brushed from the box the sand that clung to it. then the outdoor girls gathered around the case as it rested on the log. "look!" exclaimed grace as the covering of sand was disposed of. "there are some letters on the box." "so there are!" agreed betty. they leaned forward to look. staring at them from the black top of the box were three white letters. they were rather scratched and faded, but the girls soon made them out as follows: _b. b. b._ "b-b-b," repeated mollie, as she read them. "i wonder what they stand for?" "base-ball-band," said grace, quickly. "at least that's what will would say if he were here." "i wish some of the boys _were_ here," remarked betty, and again she gave a quick glance out across the bay. "why?" amy wanted to know. "because those men might come back, and----" "do you think those men hid the box here?" asked grace. "that's exactly what i think," replied betty, quickly. "wouldn't that be an explanation of their strange conduct when they saw us?" "how do you mean?" asked amy. "i mean i think those men had just hidden this box here in the sand. as they went away they saw us coming along. they were afraid we would find the box, or at least some of them were, and wanted to come back to dig it up again." "and do you think that was why they quarreled among themselves?" demanded mollie. "i think so--yes. doesn't it seem natural?" betty asked. "well, of course you can make almost any theory fit when you don't know the facts," mollie went on. "but how about the box having been washed up from the ocean, and buried in the sand naturally? that could have happened; couldn't it?" "oh, yes," assented betty. "the box wasn't buried so deep but what it could have come about in a perfectly natural way. but when you stop to think how the men acted, and the fact that it was just about here their boat was, i think my idea is the best." "well, it certainly was from here they pushed off their boat," declared grace, walking down toward the edge of the water. "see, there are the marks of the keel in the sand." that was true enough, as all the girls could see. the black box had been buried in the sand directly back from the point where the men had made their departure. "there's another thing, too," added betty. "that stick amy has." the other girls looked at it, amy herself regarding it with rather curious eyes. "it was stuck in the sand near the box," amy said. "i worked it loose, pulled it up, and used it as a shovel." "exactly what it might have been intended for," spoke betty, who let a little note of exultation creep into her voice. "at least, that was one of the purposes for which it was intended." "and what was the other?" mollie asked, as she put back a stray lock of her dark hair, for the wind had blown it about. "as a mark," said betty. "a mark!" exclaimed amy. "yes," went on betty. "the men who hid the box put the stake in the sand so they could find their treasure again." "oh, then you are sure it _is_ treasure," mollie returned. "well, we might as well think that as anything else--until we get the box open and find it full of--sand!" declared betty, laughing. "oh, let's open it now!" cried grace, impulsively. "i'm just dying to see what's in it. please let's open it now." "perhaps we have no right," objected amy. "why, of _course_ we have," insisted grace, making "big eyes" at amy. "we found it. can't we open it, betty?" but there was a very good reason why the girls could not open the box--at least then and there. chapter xi the cipher "locked!" exclaimed betty, laconically, when she had tried the cover of the box. "oh, dear!" came petulantly from grace. "isn't that horrid!" "well, i suppose the men have a right to lock up their treasure," coolly remarked betty, again vainly trying to raise the cover. "you will have it that those men hid the box," said amy, with a smile. "also that it is treasure." "i'm getting romantic--like grace," commented the little captain. then, as they found that their efforts to open the box were vain, the girls looked at it more closely. it was a black japanned box of tin, or, rather, light sheet iron, rather heavier than the usual box made for holding legal papers. it was such a receptacle as would be described, in england, as a "dispatch box." and in fact, the box did seem to be of some foreign make. it was not like the light tin affairs used locally to hold deeds, insurance policies and the like. the cover fitted on tightly. this much was seen at a glance, and so well did it fit that it needed a second look to make sure which was the bottom and which the top, for there was no bulge or "shoulder" of the metal to indicate where the lid rested. "it's water-tight, i'm sure," mollie said, when the box had again been set upright. they decided that the top was that place where the initials "b. b. b." showed, half-obliterated, in white paint. "then it might have been washed ashore from some wreck," amy said. "too heavy to float," was the answer of mollie, as she again lifted it. "but it could work up in a heavy wind or sea; that is, if it didn't go down too far from shore," grace remarked. "but can't we get it open some way?" "we might break it," mollie observed. "otherwise, i don't see how we can. it is a complicated lock, if i am any judge," and she looked at the front of the box. "let me take that stake, amy." "oh, no! don't break it open!" expostulated betty. "we must try and see if we can't slip the lock, after we get it home. papa has a lot of odd keys." "but i don't see any lock!" exclaimed grace. "there it is," and betty pushed to one side a round disk of metal that fitted over the keyhole. whether this was to keep out sand or water, the girls could not determine. it might even have been designed to hide the keyhole, but former use, or the battering which the box had received, had loosened and disclosed the metal slide, and betty's quick eyes had discerned the object of it. "it would take a peculiar key to open that," decided mollie. "mamma has a historic french jewel case home, and it has a lock something like that." "oh, suppose this contains--jewels!" cried grace. "wouldn't it be just--" "nonsense!" broke in betty. "if the box contains anything at all it is probably papers of no value. my own opinion is that there's nothing in it, for it's too light. however, we'll take it home, and see what the boys say." "you seem to have a great deal of faith in their opinion," laughed mollie. "ah, my dear!" and she put a finger on betty's blushing cheek. "methinks it is the opinion of _one_ certain boy you want." "silly!" murmured betty. "oh, don't mind us. a legal opinion would be most excellent to have," mocked grace. "now who is eating the chocolates?" she wanted to know. betty did not answer. she bent over the black box, with its indefinable air of mystery, and the three queer letters on the top. she was, seemingly, trying to find a way to open it. finally she straightened up, looked once more across the bay and said: "well, let's take it to edgemere." "and let's hurry, too!" urged amy. "hurry? why?" asked grace. "there's no more danger from the storm." "no, but those men might come back, and, finding their treasure gone--oh, well, let's hurry," she finished. "don't make me nervous," begged grace, with a glance over her shoulder. "come along, betty. i'm just dying to see what is in it. but i'm not so sure those men in the boat left it, and if they demand it don't you give it up to them." "oh, i should say not!" cried mollie, bristling a bit. "_we_ found the box. they'll have to prove ownership." betty tucked the box under her arm. no one disputed her right to carry it, for the other girls deferred to the little captain in matters of this sort. "won't the boys be surprised when they see it!" commented amy. "but listen!" cautioned betty. "we mustn't pretend that we think there is anything in it. if we do, and there isn't, they'd have the laugh on us." "oh, of course," assented grace. "we'll just say we found the box on the beach, and couldn't open it. the boys will be anxious enough to do that." and, sure enough, when the girls reached the cottage, the boys being not far behind them, the latter were even more eager than betty and her chums to have a look inside the mysterious iron case. "pry the cover off!" cried will, when he and the others had briefly related their experience in saving their motor boat and sailing back in the other craft, while the girls gave their story bit by bit, from the sighting of the men in the boat, to the finding of the box. only betty said nothing about the faces at the window of the fisherman's hut. "pry the cover off!" cried will. "an axe is the best thing to use!" "indeed not!" exclaimed betty. "let's see if we can't open it with a key. you have some odd ones; haven't you, daddy?" "yes," assented mr. nelson, who was down at the shore for the week-end. "betty, get them. you'll find them in that desk in the living room." betty's father had looked at the box on all sides, had shaken it, and had examined the lock through a reading glass. "it sure is a find, all right!" declared roy anderson. "i wish i had been with you." "oh, if it's a treasure-trove, we'll all share, as they did in treasure island," declared betty, who was almost a boy in her liking for adventure stories. "ahem!" exclaimed allen washburn, with an elaborate assumption of dignity. "treasure, you know, is subject to the claim of the commonwealth, if the lawful heirs cannot be located. i must look up the law on that subject." "more likely it's the spoil of pirates, and fair booty for whoever finds it!" declared will. "i think i'm the proper one to take charge of this, representing as i do the united states government, which takes precedence over any state commonwealth." "go on!" laughed henry blackford. "you'll be saying next that it's smugglers' booty, and you'll be asking us to pay a duty on it. let's open the box and see what it is--maybe nothing but seaweed. i've heard of jokes being played before," and he looked at the girls meaningly. "oh, _we_ didn't hide it and then find it again," amy assured him, so earnestly that the others laughed. "well, here goes for a try, anyhow," said mr. nelson. with a bunch of assorted keys he tried one after another in the strange lock. some keys would not even enter the aperture, while others turned uselessly around in it. betty's father used all he had without success, and then the boys were called on. they were not able to produce the sesame to the japanned box, and will's plan of using an axe was finding more favor when allen produced a small key of peculiar make. "try this," he said. "it locks the switch on the motor boat, but it may fit. it looks as though it would." and, to the surprise of them all, it did. as though it had been made for that lock, the little switch key slipped in. there was a click, a grinding sound, as the cover slipped on the sand-encrusted hinges, and the lid went back. "stung!" cried roy, as nothing was seen but a slip of paper within the black interior. mr. nelson lifted it out. "i can't make anything of this," he said. "it's some sort of a note, written in cipher, i should judge. it is signed 'b. b. b.'" "the same letters that are on top of the box," said allen. "was there ever a pirate who had those initials?" asked mollie, and the others laughed. "well, there might have been," she went on. "i don't think it's so funny." "of course it isn't, dear," declared betty. "i guess we're all a bit nervous. is that all there is, daddy?" "everything, my dear. the box is empty save for this bit of paper that doesn't make any sense." "we must translate that at once, sir," said allen. "if it is in cipher that's all the more evidence that it means something. i might have a try at that secret message, or whatever it is." "well, you're welcome to have a go at it," assented mr. nelson. "it may all be a joke, so don't take it too seriously." "i'll not," agreed allen. he took the paper from mr. nelson's hand. the others looked over his shoulder at it. "oh, what do you suppose it means?" marveled grace. "do hurry and translate it, allen." chapter xii the false bottom for a moment the queer box itself was forgotten in the wonderment over the cipher. that it would prove a solution to the mystery, if such there was, and that it was not a joke, was believed by all. even allen, calm as he usually was, displayed some excitement. the girls themselves could not conceal their eagerness. "how are you going to make sense out of that?" asked roy, who did not like to spend much time over anything. "it's worse than greek." "most ciphers are," agreed allen. "the only way to translate it is to go at it with some sort of system. i'll need plenty of paper, and some pencils." "i'll tell you what to do," said mr. nelson. "make several copies of the cipher, and we can all work on it at once. it will be a sort of game." and a fascinating game it proved. the possibility that the queer paper in the iron box might contain directions for finding some hidden treasure made it all the more alluring. "there are any number of ciphers," allen explained, when several copies had been made of the original. "the simplest is to change the letters of the alphabet about, using z for a, and so on. another simple one is to make figures stand for letters, as no. is a, and so on. but those are so simple that only a schoolboy would use them." "what are same of the more difficult ciphers?" asked betty. "well, there are so many i don't know that i could explain them all. but the most simple of the difficult ones is the taking of a number of arbitrary signs or symbols to represent the letters of the alphabet. that is what was done in poe's 'gold bug,' you remember. unless the person has a copy of the list of signs and symbols it is very difficult to decipher that cipher, or decode it, as they say in government circles." "ahem!" exclaimed will, with an important air, as all eyes were turned on him. "i ought to know something about that, but you see they haven't trusted me with the code book yet. now then, allen, how are we to go about this chinese puzzle?" "if i had that story of poe's here, it would be rather easier," allen said. "as it is, we shall have to do a little preliminary work. to start off with we will take the letter e." "why e?" asked roy. "because of all the letters in the ordinary use of english, that letter most frequently occurs," allen answered. "in other words, if you take a written, or printed, page, and count up the letters, you will find that e is used most frequently." "what is the next one?" asked mollie. "oh, isn't this fascinating, girls!" "it will be more fascinating to discover the secret," betty said. "i don't know what letter is next in importance, or, rather frequency," allen answered. "but we will each take a book and by counting the letters on a page we can find out." "some work!" groaned roy. but they began it. even mr. and mrs. nelson were interested enough in the novel game to attempt it. it took some little time, but at last betty and allen, who were working together, announced that they found a to be the next most predominating letter after e. and the others' search agreed with this. then in order came o, i, d, h, n, and so on. but they did not do that in one day, or even two, for they found it rather tiring to the eyes. so that it was not until three days after the finding of the box that allen was ready with the ground-work of his cipher translation. in the meanwhile the motor boat had been repaired and was ready for service. the weather had cleared, and in the intervals of working over the mysterious paper in the box the boys, escorted by the girls, went to the place where it had been found. the hole in the sand was just as they had left it. "the men haven't come back to discover their loss," said betty. "or, if they have, they are leaving the ground undisturbed with a view to getting a clue to the one who took the box," allen said, with a look at betty. the next day a real attempt was made to decipher the code. as allen had said, it was made up of several letters, numbers and arbitrary signs, some of them resembling chinese characters in form. "the thing to do," said allen, "is to pick out the letter, number or sign that occurs most frequently. in other words, the predominating one. and that will be e, for e is the predominating letter in any communication. now we'll begin." they all had great hopes, but, alas! they were doomed to disappointment. for either allen's system was wrong, or else the cipher did not follow the plan of any of the well known ones. they succeeded in deciphering it, after a fashion, but the result was a meaningless jumble of words that told them nothing. the word "treasure" did not even occur; that is, according to the translation made by allen. "well, i give up," he said, with a sigh of disappointment. "i sure thought i could make something of it, but i can't." "maybe will could send it to some of his secret service friends," suggested grace. "yes, i could do that," her brother assented. "let's let the government experts take a crack at it, allen." "i'm willing," assented the young lawyer. betty was in a corner of the big sitting room, the bay window of which gave a beautiful view of the ocean. she had the queer box in her lap, and was turning it from side to side, now and then holding it to her ear and shaking it. "what are you doing, betty nelson?" asked grace, coming in from a walk to town. "i was just listening to see if there was any hidden mechanism in this box," answered the little captain. "i wonder if there's a ruler anywhere about?" she went on. she found a foot ruler, and with that began measuring inside and outside the box, jotting down some figures on a piece of paper. "what's this--a new way to work out the cipher i couldn't solve?" asked allen, coming in. "don't talk to me for a minute, please," said betty, puckering up her forehead. she seemed to be adding and subtracting, and then she suddenly cried: "i thought so! i thought so! it is the only way to account for the thickness of it." "the thickness of what?" asked allen. "the bottom of that box!" went on betty. "it has a false bottom. i'm sure of it. look here! it is seven inches deep on the outside, and only five inches deep inside. where are those two missing inches except in a false bottom?" in her excitement betty tapped on the inside of the bottom of the box with the ruler, and then a strange thing happened. there was a clicking, springing sound, and the bottom of the iron box seemed to rise up in two parts, like the twin doors of a sidewalk elevator hatchway. the false bottom had been found, and as it swung up out of the way there was disclosed an opening in which lay a package wrapped in white tissue paper. "oh! oh!" cried betty, staring at the box "i--i've found it--the treasure!" chapter xiii the diamond treasure for a moment the others clustered around betty like bees in a swarm, saying not a word. the girls could only gasp their astonishment as they looked over the little captain's shoulder, as she sat there, holding the black box, the false bottom of which had so unexpectedly opened before their eyes. the boys were a little more demonstrative. "how in the world did you do it, bet?" asked will. "did you know there was some trick about the box?" demanded roy. "she's been holding this back," declared henry, nudging his sister amy. "and to think of all the time we wasted on that cipher!" observed allen, reproachfully. this seemed to galvanize betty into speech. "i didn't know a thing about it!" she declared, earnestly. "i just discovered it by accident. of course when i found there was a difference in depth between the inside and the outside of the box i began to suspect something. but i didn't dream of--this!" she motioned to the white package in the secret compartment--a package she had not, as yet, touched. "but how in the world did you come to discover it, betty dear?" asked mollie, with wonder-distended eyes. "it seemed to open itself," the little captain replied. "i just dropped the end of the ruler in the box, and it sprang open." "you must have touched the secret catch, or spring," was allen's opinion. "let's have a look!" proposed will. "i always did want to see how one of those hidden mysteries worked. pass it over, betty!" "indeed, don't you do it!" cried mollie. "let's see, first, what is in that package, betty. you said it was a treasure; didn't you?" "well, that's what i said," admitted betty. "but it will probably be some more meaningless cipher." "oh, do open it!" begged grace. "i'm all on pins and needles----" "thinking it may be--chocolates!" teased her brother. she aimed a futile blow at him, which he did not even dodge. betty reached in and lifted the white tissue-paper package from its hiding place. it almost completely filled the space. there was a rustling sound, showing that the paper had acquired no dampness by being buried under the sand in the box. "put it on the table," suggested allen, removing the box from betty's lap. she turned to the table, near which she had been sitting, when her experiment resulted so unexpectedly. on the soft cloth she laid the paper packet. "now don't breathe!" cautioned mollie, "or the spell will be broken." no one answered her. they were all too intent on what would be disclosed when those paper folds should be turned back. "it looks just like--just like--pshaw! i know i've seen packages just like that before, somewhere," said will. "but i can't, for the life of me, think where it was." "was it in a jeweler's window?" asked amy, in a low voice, from where she stood beside him. "that's it, little girl! you've struck it!" will cried, and impulsively he held out his hand, which amy clasped, blushing the while. "what's that talk about a jeweler's?" asked allen. but no one answered him. for, at that moment betty had folded back the white paper, and there to the gaze of all, flashing in the sun which glinted in through an open window, lay a mass of sparkling stones. thousands of points of light seemed to reflect from them. they seemed to be a multitude of dewdrops shaken from the depths of some big rose, and dropped into the midst of a rainbow. "oh!" cried betty, shrinking back. "oh!" she could say no more. "look!" whispered grace, and her voice was hoarse. "well, i'll be jiggered!" gasped will. "diamonds!" cried allen. "betty, you've discovered a fortune in diamonds!" "diamonds?" ejaculated amy, and her voice was a questioning one. then there came a silence while they all looked at the flashing heap of stones--there really was a little heap of them. "can they really be diamonds?" asked betty, finding her voice at last. allen reached over her shoulder and picked up one of the larger stones. he held it to the light, touched it to the tip of his tongue, rubbed it with his fingers and laid it back. he did the same thing with two others. "well?" asked will, at length. "what's the verdict?" "i'm no expert, of course," allen said, slowly, and he seemed to have difficulty in breathing, "but i really think they are diamonds." "diamonds? all those?" cried mollie. "why, they must be worth--millions!" they all laughed at that. it seemed a relief from the strain, and to break the spell that hung over them all. "hardly millions," spoke allen, "but if they are really diamonds they will run well up into the thousands." "but are they really diamonds?" asked betty. "as i said, i'm no expert," allen repeated, "but a jeweler once told me several ways of testing diamonds, and these answer to all those tests. of course it wouldn't be safe to take my word. we should have a jeweler look at these right away." "i knew i had seen paper like that before," will said. "it's just the kind you see loose diamonds displayed in around holiday times in jewelers' windows." "that doesn't make these diamonds, just because they are in the proper kind of paper," scoffed roy. "i think they're only moonstones." "moonstones aren't that color at all," declared henry. "they are sort of a smoky shade." "i guess roy means rhinestones," said amy, with a smile. "that's it," he agreed. "they're only fakes. who would leave a lot of diamonds like that in a box in the sand?" "no one would leave them there purposely, to lose them," said allen. "but i think we've stumbled on a bigger mystery here than we dreamed of. i am sure these are diamonds!" "i--i'm afraid to hope so," said betty, with a little laugh. "well, it's easy to tell," allen said. "there's a jeweler in town. he probably doesn't handle many diamonds, but he ought to be able to tell a real one from a false. let's take one of the smaller stones and ask him what he thinks." "oh, yes, let's find out--and as soon as we can!" cried grace. "isn't it just--delicious!" "delicious!" scoffed will. "you'd think she was speaking of--chocolates!" chapter xiv seeking clues the first shock of the discovery over (and it was a shock to them all, boys included), the young folks began to examine the stones more calmly. they spoke of them as diamonds, and hoped they would prove to be stones of value, and not mere imitations. there were several of fairly large size, and others much smaller; some, according to allen, of only a sixteenth-karat in weight. "but stones of even that small size may be very valuable if they are pure and well cut," he said. "and what would be the value of the largest ones?" asked betty, for there were one or two stones that will was sure were three or four karats in size. "i'd be afraid to guess," allen said. "we'd better have them valued." the girls handled the stones, holding them on their fingers and trying to imagine how they would look set in rings. "engagement rings?" asked grace of betty, who had suggested that. "silly! i didn't say anything of the kind!" "well, it isn't what you say, it's what you mean." it did not seem they could look at the stones enough. every specimen was examined again and again, held up to the light, and turned this way and that in the sun so that the sparkle might be increased. "well, i suppose we might as well put them away," said betty, with a sigh, after a while. "it's no use wishing----" "wishing what?" demanded mollie, quickly. "that they were ours." "ours! i don't see why they aren't!" exclaimed grace, quickly. "of course mollie and amy dug them up, but----" "oh, don't hesitate on my account!" mollie said, quickly. "if we share at all we share alike, of course." "that's sweet of you, billy," returned betty. "but i don't see how we can keep them. the diamonds, if such they are, must belong----" "yes, whom do they belong to?" demanded mollie. "if you mean the men we saw in the boat, i should say they didn't have any more right to them than we have. they were pirates if ever i saw any." "well, you never saw any pirates," remarked betty, calmly. "but of course the men in the boat may have hidden the diamonds there." "do you think they knew they were in the box?" asked amy. "well, whoever hid the box must have known it contained something of value," betty declared. "they would hardly hide an empty box, and if they had found it locked they would have opened it to make sure there was nothing of value in it. of course those men may only have been acting for others." "but what are we to do?" asked amy. "we must try to find out to whom these diamonds belong," betty said. "we'll have to watch the advertisements in the paper, and if we see none we'll advertise for ourselves. that's the law, i believe," and she looked at allen. "yes, the finder of property must make all reasonable efforts to locate the owner," he said, "though of course he could claim compensation for such effort. i think the papers are our best chance for finding clues." "has there been a big diamond robbery lately?" asked mollie. "what has that to do with it?" will wanted to know. "because i think these diamonds are the proceeds of some robbery," went on the girl. "as you say, the stones are wrapped in a paper just as though they had come from a jewelry store. it might be that those men broke into a store, took the diamonds and hid them in this secret part of the box, which one of them owned. they are probably from some big robbery in new york, or boston, seeing we're nearer boston than we are new york, up here." "i don't remember any such robbery lately," roy said, and he was a faithful reader of the newspapers. "but of course we've been pretty busy lately. i'll get some back numbers of the papers." "ha! what's going on now?" asked the voice of mr. nelson. he had come in from the station, having run up to boston on business. "oh, daddy!" cried betty. "such news! you'll never guess!" "you've solved the cipher!" he hazarded. "no. we didn't need to. we solved the mystery of the box, and look----" she spread the sparkling stones out before him. "whew!" he whistled. "i should say that _was_ news. where did you get those?" "in a hidden compartment of the black box. i stumbled on the secret spring by accident when i was measuring it. are they diamonds, father?" anxiously the young people hung on mr. nelson's answer. he laid aside the packages he had brought from boston, and turned for a moment to greet his wife, who had come into the room. she had been told of the find as soon as it was discovered, and had been properly astonished. "it takes the young folks to do things nowadays," he said, with a smile. "doesn't it?" she responded. "but are they diamonds? that's what we want to know!" chanted betty, her arms around her father's shoulders. mr. nelson tested the stones much as allen had done, but he went farther. from his pocket he produced a small but powerful magnifying glass. it was one he used, sometimes, in looking at samples of carpet at his office. he put one of the larger stones under the glass. the young people hardly breathed while the test was going on. but the result was not announced at once, for mr. nelson took several of the sparkling stones, and subjected them to the scrutiny under the microscope. "well," he announced finally, "i should say they are diamonds, and pretty fine diamonds, too!" the girls gave little squeals of delight. "you were right, old man," spoke henry to allen, with a nod. "well, i wasn't sure, of course" began the young law student "but----" "of course i didn't look at all the stones," broke in mr. nelson, and the talk was instantly hushed to listen to him, "but i picked several out at random, and made sure of them. and it is fair to assume in a packet of stones like this that, if one is a diamond, the others are also." "and how much are they worth?" asked betty. she was not mercenary, but it did seem the most natural thing to ask. "well, it's hard to tell," her father replied. "at a rough guess i should say--oh, put it at fifty thousand dollars." "oh!" cried mollie. "to think of it!" "catch me! i'm going to faint!" mocked roy, leaning up against will. "do you really think they are as valuable as that?" asked amy, in a gentle voice. "she helped find them, and she wants to reckon her share," said mollie, who did not always make the most appropriate remarks. "nothing of the sort!" exclaimed betty. "it's just the wonder of it all." "i think fifty thousand dollars would be pretty close to the mark," said mr. nelson. "i once had to serve on a committee to value the contents of a jewelry store for an estate. i didn't know much about precious stones, but the others gave me some points, and i remember them. of course i may be several thousands out of the way, but----" "oh, fifty thousand dollars is a nice enough sum--to dream about," betty said, with a gurgling laugh. "it will do very well, daddy dear." "but isn't it the most wonderful thing, that we should find all those diamonds!" gasped mollie. "who could have hidden them?" wondered amy. "that's what we've got to find out," put in allen. "i suggested the newspapers," he went on to mr. nelson. "and a good idea," that gentleman said. "oh, betty. let's look at the box, and see how the wonderful false bottom fitted in," proposed mollie. "i think it was the most perfectly gorgeous thing how you happened to discover it." "and that's just how it was--a happening," the little captain remarked. "oh, but if those men in the boat should discover that we have those diamonds, and come for them," and betty glanced nervously over her shoulder. "ha! let them deal with _me_!" exclaimed will, as he displayed his secret service badge. "i'll attend to the--pirates!" "i thought your specialty was--smugglers," voiced allen, with a chuckle. "smugglers or pirates, it is all one to me!" will declaimed, strutting about. "oh, but----" began betty. "well, what?" will asked. "think i'm afraid?" "no--oh, no. i was thinking of something else." and to betty came a vision of those glowering faces in the window of the fisherman's hut on the beach. chapter xv a night alarm the diamonds were wrapped again in their protective covering of tissue paper. the girls could hardly take their eyes off them as mr. nelson put them in his pocketbook. "oh, it doesn't seem--real," sighed betty, with a long breath. "no, it _is_ like some fairy story," agreed mollie. "and to think the box has been in the house two or three days, and we never knew what a treasure it contained." "because of that secret compartment," suggested amy. "wasn't it just wonderful?" that same false bottom of the tin box was interesting the boys more, just then, than were the diamonds themselves. will, allen, roy and henry gathered around the queer jewel casket. "there, it's shut!" exclaimed will, as a click proclaimed that he had pushed the two folding leaves of sheet iron back into place. "you'd never know but that that was the real bottom," said roy. "let's see if we can open it again," proposed allen. the boys tried, pushing here and there. but the bottom did not fly up as it had done for betty. "say, what magical charm, or 'open sesame,' did you use on this?" asked allen, after vainly trying. "we can't make it work, bet." "i don't know," she answered. "i just simply jabbed it with the ruler, that's all." "well, then, please 'jab' again," pleaded will. obligingly betty took the piece of wood, and began poking about in the bottom of the tin box. for some time she was as unsuccessful as the boys had been. "i don't believe i can do it again," she said, puckering her forehead in an attempt to remember. "let's see, i sat _this_ way, and i held it _that_ way." "did you have your fingers crossed?" asked roy, laughing. "what had that to do with it?" demanded betty. but before roy could answer she uttered a cry, for, as she was moving the ruler about on the bottom of the box, there was that sudden click and spring again, and the false bottom sprang out of the way, disclosing the place where the diamonds had been. "how did you do it betty?" asked allen, and then it was seen that the ruler had pressed on a tiny plate in the corner of the box, a plate so well hidden that only the most careful scrutiny revealed it. once it was seen, however, the trick was easy to work. the cover was snapped into place again, and as soon as the ruler, or for that matter, the tip of one's finger, pressed on the little plate, the hiding place was disclosed. the boys and girls "played" the trick over and over again, until it was an easy matter to do it. "this is more fun than the cipher," said allen, taking a copy of it from his pocket. "going to have another go at it?" asked will. "yes. it might be a clue to the owner of the diamonds." "that's so," agreed the other. "i would like to know to whom they belong." "i suppose diamonds are smuggled once in a while; aren't they?" asked allen. "indeed they are," will answered. "that's what uncle sam has to guard against more than anything else. they are so easy to hide, and it doesn't take many of them to represent a whole lot of money. but then the government has the system down pretty fine, and it isn't often that anything gets away. you see as soon as any purchase of stones on the other side is made, word is sent to the officials here--that is, any purchase of any large amount, such as this." "then you don't think those diamonds were smuggled?" asked allen. "not for a minute!" declared will. "they're the proceeds of some robbery, all right. i'm sure of that. smugglers don't work the game that way--bury the stuff in the sand. it's a robbery!" "well, perhaps you're right," assented allen, as he bent over the cipher. "i'll have another go at that with you," said will, as he looked over his copy. but the further efforts of the boys, and the girls, too, to decipher the code, were unavailing. the queer paper held fast to its mystery, if indeed mystery it concealed. it did not give it up as had the box with the secret bottom. the day when the diamonds were discovered was an exciting one, and the excitement had not calmed down when evening came. mr. nelson had taken charge of the precious stones, and it had been decided not to say anything about them, even to the servants in the house. "and i don't believe i'd take one to the village jeweler," was the opinion of betty's father. "as a matter of fact, i don't believe he would be any better judge of the stones than i am, and he certainly would talk about them." "that's right," mollie agreed. "the folks here want to know what you had for breakfast and what you're going to eat for luncheon and dinner. i suppose they can't help it." "no, the natives haven't much to do," affirmed betty, "except to talk about the summer cottagers. but we'll keep quiet about the diamonds, at least down here." "if the natives only knew what we know!" exclaimed grace. "think of having dug up buried treasure from the sand!" "poor old tin-back would be heartbroken if he ever heard of it," said amy, gently. "all his life he has dreamed of finding treasure, or ambergris or something, and here we come along and take it right from under his eyes." "poor old man," sighed betty. "he is a dear, and so honest. he brought some crabs to-day, hard ones, for the shedders aren't around yet. and he was so careful to have every one alive. he held them up for me to see them wiggle." "i can't bear them!" exclaimed grace, making a wry face. "you mean uncooked," observed mollie. "i notice you take your share when the salad is passed." "oh, well, that's different," grace returned. "what are you going to do with the diamonds?" asked betty of her father, when they were gathered around the sitting room table, after supper. "i haven't fully decided," he said. "i want to make some inquiries in boston, first, as to whether or not there has been a robbery." "that's what i'll do, too," said will. "when are you going to boston?" asked his sister. "first i heard about that." "i'm going up in the morning," her brother answered. "i received word to report at the office. there's something that needs my attention. ahem! uncle sam can't get along without me, it seems." "nothing like patting yourself on the back," grace said. "just for that you sha'n't have any of--these!" and will drew from his pocket a box that unmistakably held candy. "oh, will. i didn't mean it!" grace cried. "of course you're of value to the government. what are they--those new bitter-sweets?" "that's for you to ask, and amy to know," said will, as he passed amy the confections. "oh, thank you!" she said, blushing furiously. "amy blackford. what i know about you!" mocked mollie. "oh, i'm going to share them, of course." "oh, of course!" chanted grace. "how nice." "well, it will keep her still for a while, at least," sighed will. "whom do you mean?" demanded mollie, catching him by the ear. "ouch! let go! i meant my sister--of course. a fellow wouldn't dare talk that way about anyone but his sister," confessed will. merrily they discussed the finding of the diamonds, and what disposition might be made of them. the strange actions of the men in the boat, too, came in for a share of attention. the girls were quite sure the men had hidden the box in the sand, though whether or not they knew of the valuable contents was a question. "well, they'll look in vain for it now," declared betty. "we have it," and she glanced at the now empty receptacle. "better put it away," suggested her father. "if the servants see it they may ask awkward questions." "i'll keep it in my room," said betty. "and i'll have another go at this cipher to-morrow," allen said. "i have a new idea for solving it." "i thought you were going to take us girls out in the boat to-morrow," objected mollie. "so i am. but i can be working on this between times." "sorry i can't be with you," will said. "then you are really going to run up to boston?" asked mr. nelson. "yes, sir, i have to go, if i want to keep this new position." "well, i'd advise you to do so, then. go up with me on the express in the morning." "thank you, i will." "and if you hear anything about the diamonds, don't wait to come back and tell us, write--no, telegraph!" urged betty. "it wouldn't be wise to wire," her father objected. "there is no great rush. i will make some inquiries myself." "and where will you leave the diamonds, meanwhile?" "down here, of course. i'm not going to carry them around with me--too valuable," and mr. nelson patted his pocket. "i'll take the box to my room, and lock it in my trunk," betty said. the evening wore on. it was one of beautiful moonlight, and the party of young people went out on the beach to have a marshmallow roast over a drift-wood fire. "the sea sparkles--just like diamonds," said mollie, as they turned to go back to the cottage, when the little frolic had ended. "hush!" cautioned betty. "some one might hear you," and she looked out over the bay as though she might catch a glimpse of the rough men in the boat. "you have diamonds on the brain," chided grace. the cottage became quiet. only dim night lights burned. betty had taken to her room the queer box, which had given up part of its secret. her father had the diamonds with him. it was grace who gave the alarm. awakening at she knew not what hour, and feeling the need of a drink of water, she donned a dressing gown and found her slippers. as she went through the hall to the bathroom, she saw a dark figure, unmistakably that of a man, gliding down the corridor. under his arm was the black box, and in one hand was held a tissue paper packet. "the diamonds!" screamed grace, her voice shrilling out in the night. "burglars are after the diamonds!" chapter xvi on the beach the whole house was roused in an instant. lights gleamed in various rooms, and from the quarter where the maids slept came shrill screams that matched those of grace herself. hoarse shouts came from the rooms of the boys. but the affair had a most unexpected ending. for the man at whose back grace was gazing horror-stricken, turned at her sudden shout, and his face betrayed almost as much astonishment, not to say fear, as the countenance of the girl showed. and then grace noticed that the man was attired in a bath robe, the pattern of which was strangely familiar to her. she noticed this even before she looked at his face recognizingly, and beheld her host, mr. nelson. "oh! oh!" gasped grace, weakly, and she had to lean against the wall for support, for she was trembling. "what--what's the matter?" asked betty's father. "are you ill, grace?" "no, but i--i thought you--oh, i thought----" out into the hall poured the others of edgemere cottage, attired in a nondescript collection of garments hastily donned. will, in his bath robe, had his collar and tie in his hand, though it is doubtful if he wore an article of dress to which it could be attached. from the servants' rooms came frantic demands to know if the house were on fire. "no, it's all right!" called mr. nelson. "go back to bed, all of you!" "but what's it all about?" asked betty. "what is the matter?" "oh, i guess it's my fault," grace said. "i got up to get a drink, and i saw your father going down the hall, with the box and the package of diamonds, and i thought--i thought he was a----" "burglar! is that what you thought me?" demanded mr. nelson, as a smile crept over his face. "ye--yes," faltered grace. "i know it was silly of me--dreadfully silly, but i--i----" "it's all right, my dear. i don't blame you a bit!" comforted betty, her arms around the shrinking figure of grace. "go on back, you boys!" she commanded the others. "our--our hair isn't fit to be seen!" and the boys retired, snickering. no girl likes to be looked at in a dressing gown, when suddenly aroused from sleep. and one's hair doesn't appear half so becoming in that state as it does even under a bathing cap. "but what does it all mean?" asked mrs. nelson, who had waited to put on something smarter than a dressing sack before venturing out into the hall. "grace thought papa was a burglar," explained betty. "well--that is, i didn't exactly----" protestingly began grace. "did you have a nightmare?" asked mrs. nelson. "i'm afraid the diamond excitement was too much for you. a little bromide, perhaps, or some----" "oh, she doesn't need that," betty said as the boys "made themselves small" around a corner, that they might hear the explanation, if unseen. "she really did think papa was taking the diamonds." "why, he is!" cried mrs. nelson, as she caught sight of the objects her husband carried--the mysterious box and the packet of precious stones. "what are you doing with them?" she asked. "i was putting them in a safer place," he explained. "perhaps it was foolish of me, but, after i had brought them to my room, i got to thinking it was rather careless to leave them about so. it wasn't so much the fear of thieves as it was of fire. you know diamonds can't stand much fire." "oh, if they should be melted before we know who owns them!" gasped mrs. nelson. "so when i found i couldn't sleep, for thinking of them," went on betty's father, "i made up my mind to hide them in a different place. perhaps it was foolish of me, but i couldn't help it. i'm as bad as some of the girls, i guess," and he glanced at betty and her chums, who now, with flushed cheeks and looking pretty enough for any number of boys to gaze upon, even if their hair was a bit awry, stood grouped in the hall. "so i got up," resumed mr. nelson, "took the diamonds from the bureau drawer where i had placed them, and started to take them down cellar. i----" "down cellar!" cried betty. "what a place to hide diamonds--in the cellar!" "it's the safest all-around place," her father said. "i don't believe any burglars would be able to find them where i was going to put them, and in case of fire the diamonds would be in little danger. of course they might be buried under a lot of rubbish, but they wouldn't go up in puffs of smoke. "so i got up as quietly as i could, and took the diamonds, intending to go down cellar with them, hoping i would disturb no one." "but where did you get the box?" asked betty. "that was in my room, daddy." "i know. i went in and took it out." "and i never awakened?" "no." "a fine guard for the diamonds," mocked will from around the corner of the hall. "go to bed--you boys!" commanded betty. "i thought i would take the box, too," mr. nelson resumed. "it forms one of the clues, and i didn't want anything to happen to that. so i decided to take that, put the diamonds in the secret bottom, and hide all down cellar. only grace rather upset my plans." "i--i'm so sorry," said the thirsty one, contritely. "don't you be!" returned betty. "you're as good as a watch dog. to think of _me_ never waking when papa came in my room." "i was glad you didn't," he said. "i hoped to have it all go off quietly, and tell you in the morning. but as long as you know it now i might as well proceed. i'll go on down cellar and hide them." "and don't forget to tell us where you put them," betty urged. "if you go away in the morning, we'll want to know where to run to get them in case the house does catch fire." "oh, don't suggest such a thing!" begged her mother. mr. nelson laughed and went on down cellar, coming back soon to tell the waiting ones that he had found a little niche in the wall, near the chimney, and had put the diamonds in the box there. then the house quieted down again. will and mr. nelson left on an early train for boston, both promising to do all they could to learn the secret of the mysterious package of diamonds. "and now what shall we girls do?" asked betty, after breakfast. "what do the boys want to do?" queried mollie. "perhaps you may have some plans for us." "sorry, ladies," allen said, "but our boat is on a strike again, and we'll have to have it fixed. it isn't much, though, and we can go out this afternoon." "then we'll go down on the beach for a while," proposed betty. "it's lovely this morning. we'll go in bathing just before luncheon, and then, after a little sleep, we'll be ready to have the boys amuse us." "sounds nice, to hear them tell us," commented roy with a laugh. and this plan was followed. when the boys went off in the motor boat, the ignition system of which was not working to their satisfaction, the girls strolled down to the shore, walking along it. "let's go as far as the place we found the diamonds," proposed amy. "think you might find some more?" asked betty, with a smile. "no such luck. but i thought perhaps we might see----" "those men again? no, thank you!" cried grace. "nonsense!" exclaimed mollie. "the beach is free, and it is broad daylight. come along." so they strolled along the sand, stopping now and then to pick up a pretty shell or pebble. out in the bay was the fleet of clamming boats, little schooners from which the grappling rakes were thrown overboard, and allowed to drag along the bottom with the motion of the craft, to be hauled up now and then, and emptied of their shelly catch. on the other side of the point of land the ocean beat restlessly on the beach. "here's the place," exclaimed betty, at length, as they came to the log where they had sat when mollie and amy dug up the box of diamonds. "it doesn't look as though they had come back and searched in vain for the treasure," said betty. there was no evidence in the sand, that was certain. the girls looked about a bit, and then strolled on. before they knew it they found themselves in front of the lone hut where, from the odor that hung in the air, and the evidence of nets and boats about, it was evident a fisherman dwelt. as the girls came opposite this, the door opened and a woman, with a hard, cruel face, peered out. "ah, little missies!" she croaked, "it's a fine morning for a walk, but you must be tired. won't you come in and rest?" and she leered up into their faces. chapter xvii another alarm at the first sight of the old crone betty had drawn back, and now, as the fishwife spoke, in a voice which she tried to render melodious, though it ended only in a croak, the little captain seemed to urge her chums away. "what does she mean?" whispered grace. "come in and rest--it is wearyin' work, walkin' in the sand," the woman persisted. "i know, for many a day i have walked it lookin' for my man to come back from the fishin' channel. but he's away now, and it's lonesome for an old woman. do come ye in!" "no, thank you, we like to be out of doors," answered betty, forestalling something amy was going to say. "i could give you a drink of milk," the old fishwife went on. "nice cold milk. and cookies i baked myself--molasses cookies." "no, thank you just the same," spoke betty, in a voice she tried to render appreciative, though she showed a distinct distaste for the nearness of the old woman. "we have just had breakfast," she added. "but won't you come in and rest?" the crone persisted. "the walk in the sand----" "no, we aren't tired," said mollie, seconding betty's efforts. "and we must be going back. come on, girls. i'll race you to the old boat!" she cried, with a sudden air of gaiety, and she set off at a rapid pace. for a moment the others hung back, and then betty cried: "come on, girls! it sha'n't be said that billy beat me!" the old woman stared after the girls, uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then, with a scowl on her face, turned back to the hut again. "run on! run on!" she muttered. "but i'll get ye yet! i'll get ye!" she turned, and seeing the backs of the girls toward her, shook a gnarled and wrinkled fist at them. "i'll get ye yet!" she repeated. as she entered the hut a man's face was thrust down through an opening in the ceiling--a hole that had been covered by a hatch-board. "wouldn't they come?" he asked. "naw! they turned from me as if i was dirt." "the snips! well, maybe we'll get another chance." "another chance?" repeated the crone. "yes! we've got to, i tell you. if not, jake will----" "hush! no names!" cautioned the woman. meanwhile the outdoor girls, having raced to the goal, an old boat half-buried in the sand, came to a panting halt. mollie had won, chiefly because she had started off before the others, for betty was accounted the best runner of her chums. "well, what does it all mean?" asked grace, who came limping in last, for, in spite of her expressed promise to the contrary, she still wore those high-heeled shoes. "you act as though you had run away from the plague, betty!" "and so we did, my dear. the plague of fish! ugh! i can almost taste them--fishy, oily fish!" "and she offered us--milk!" added mollie. "it would probably have been--cod-liver oil," spoke betty, with a shudder of repugnance. "oh, let me get a breath of real air!" and she turned her face to the misty wind of the sea. "but what does it all mean?" asked amy, in rather bewildered tones. "why did we run away?" "that's what i want to know," put in grace. "and i believe--yes, i have dropped my chocolates. oh, how provoking! i'm going back after them." "you're going to do nothing of the sort!" declared betty, with a firmness she seldom manifested. "but--why?" questioned grace. "why can't i go back after my candy?" "baby!" mocked mollie. "because it's probably near that abominable hut!" said betty. "and that old crone might capture you. did you see how eager she was to get us in there?" "she did seem rather insistent," agreed amy. "but was it any more than mere kindness?" "if you ask me--it was," said betty, firmly. "but why?" persisted grace. "eternal question mark!" betty commented. "now, girls," she went on, "i don't know all the whys and wherefores, but i'm sure of one thing, and that is nice people don't live in that hut. i don't mean just poor, or unfortunate, or ignorant people, either," she went on. "i mean they aren't nice--or--or safe! there, perhaps you'll like that better." "not safe?" repeated grace. "what do you mean?" "i mean i saw faces looking from the window of that hut, the day we found the diamonds, that i wouldn't want to meet in the dark, or alone--those who go with the faces, perhaps, i should say." "oh!" exclaimed grace, glancing involuntarily over her shoulder. "oh, no one is following us," betty said; "but i wanted to get well away." "why do you think she wanted us to go in?" inquired mollie. "do you think it had anything to do with the diamonds?" was amy's question. "i don't know what to think," confessed betty. "but i wouldn't have gone into that hut for a good bit. though perhaps the worst we would have been asked would have been to purchase some worthless trifles." "or perhaps buy smuggled lace," suggested mollie. "i never thought of that!" exclaimed betty. "of course it might be that." "if will were only here!" said amy. "we'll tell him when he comes back," betty said. "perhaps it may not amount to anything, but if he can give the government some information it may serve him a good turn, since he is just beginning work in the secret service." "but do you really think that old woman, and those you may have seen through the window of the hut the day we made our find, have anything to do with the diamonds?" asked mollie. "frankly, i haven't the least idea," admitted betty. "and what is the use of guessing and wondering? only i am sure of one thing. i'll never go into that hut!" betty little realized how her boast was to be recalled to her under strange circumstances. the outdoor girls sat down to rest on the old boat, and talked of many things. the impression caused by the old woman's invitation soon wore off. then they started back, for they wanted to get their morning bath before luncheon. "oh, some one is here!" exclaimed betty, as they saw an auto standing on the graveled drive of the cottage. "i wonder who it can be?" "you father or will wouldn't be back so soon; would they?" asked amy. "no, it must be----" a voice interrupted betty. "ah, i dare say i shall find them! i will keep along the beach. charming weather, isn't it? ah, yes, really!" "percy falconer!" said grace. "catch me, somebody!" "hush! he'll hear you!" cautioned betty, and a moment later the "johnny" of deepdale, attired in the latest fashion in motoring togs, came out on the porch, followed quickly by mrs. nelson. "oh, here are the girls now!" said betty's mother. "yes," assented betty. "we are back," but there was no enthusiasm in her voice. "oh, but i say, i am charmed to see you--all," added percy, after a glance at the little captain. "i motored down, don't you know. father let me, after some arguing. i should have liked to come in the boat, with the rest of the fellows, but i can't stand the sea, really i can't. but i'm glad i'm here." "yes, we--we are glad to see you," betty said. "we are going in bathing; won't you come along?" "ah, thank you, now. i'm afraid it's a little too cool for going into the water to-day; don't you?" "no, we like it!" said mollie. "how did you leave deepdale?" "oh, everything is the same, though it's very lonesome, with you girls away." "oh, who let him in?" murmured grace, with a despairing glance at betty. "hush!" the latter cautioned her. "at least he has his car, and we can have a ride now and then," for mollie's machine was in use by her mother that summer, and the girls had no chance at its pleasures. "mercenary!" whispered mollie to the little captain. percy was made as welcome as the circumstances permitted, and he sat on the sand under a huge umbrella while the girls frolicked in the water. the boys came back for luncheon, and helped to divide the boredom of the newest arrival, though they made uncomplimentary remarks behind his back, and betty was in constant fear lest some unpleasant incident should occur. she had to remember that she was the hostess. nothing was said of the incident at the fisherman's hut, and that afternoon the young people went for a motor boat trip. that is, all but percy falconer. he could not be induced to embark, even on the calm waters of the bay, and so he spent a lonesome afternoon at the cottage, talking to mrs. nelson. toward evening betty found a chance to speak to old tin-back, who came with a mess of crabs. she asked him who lived in the little, lone hut. "well, no one as you would care to know, miss betty. he's a man that hasn't a good name." "a man? but i thought a woman----" "oh, yes, mag, his wife, is there, too. she's worse than pete in some respects." "are they smugglers?" betty wanted to know. "well, they might be, if there was anythin' to smuggle. but i call 'em just plain--thieves. pete could tell lots about other folks' lobster and crab cars being opened if he wanted to, i guess." a telegram came from mr. nelson that evening, saying he would remain in boston two or three days. he added that there was "no news," which the girls took to mean he had heard nothing about the diamonds. will sent no word. it was about nine o'clock, when, after a stroll down the moonlit beach, the boys and girls were returning to the cottage. as they came up the walk a scream rang out. "what's that?" cried allen, who was beside betty. "it sounded like jane, the cook," was the answer. "but----" more screams interrupted betty, and then the voice of a woman was heard calling: "come quick! there's men in the cellar!" chapter xviii anxious days "come on, boys!" cried allen, evidently the first to sense the meaning of the alarm. "oh, but shouldn't we have some sort of weapons, you know?" spoke percy. "get out of my way!" cried roy anderson, brushing past the dude. "my fists are the only weapons i want." betty and the other girls hung back in a frightened group. the maid's voice continued to ring out, and now mrs. nelson could be heard demanding to know what was the matter. "around to the side, fellows!" commanded allen. "there's an outer door they'll probably try for." "but who'll guard the front here?" asked amy's brother. "let percy do that!" allen flung back over his shoulder. "he probably won't come with us, anyhow," he added. the three young men hastened around to the side of the cottage, while percy, hardly knowing what to do, remained with the girls in front. at the side was an old-fashioned, slanting cellar door, the kind celebrated in song as the one down which children slide, to the no small damage of their clothes. as allen and his chums reached a point where they could view this door, they saw it suddenly flung up with a bang, and three men spring up the stone steps. "there they are!" yelled roy. "after 'em!" shouted henry blackford. "it wasn't a false alarm, anyhow," added allen. "hold on there!" he cried. "stop! who are you? what do you want? stop!" but neither the commands nor the questions halted the men. they ran on, with never a word of answer or defiance flung back--dogged shadows fleeing through the moonlight to the shrubbery-encompassed grounds of edgemere. "stop, or i'll shoot!" cried roy. "oh!" screamed grace, covering her ears. "good bluff, all right," complimented allen. "but it won't work." nor did it. roy's bright idea went for naught, for the men still crashed on. they were lost sight of now behind a screen of bushes, but the boys were not going to give up the pursuit so easily. "come on!" called allen. "we'll have them in another minute! they can't get over the stone wall." "stone wall?" echoed henry. "sush! it was another bluff, just as my threat was to shoot," cautioned roy. "it may turn them back." but it did not. evidently the men knew the grounds about edgemere as well as did the boys, for there was no sign of a halt in their headlong pace. on they crashed through bushes and underbrush, dodging among the trees of the garden, and minding not the flower beds they trampled under foot. "they're getting away from us," remarked henry, who was panting along beside allen. "yes, they evidently had a line of retreat all marked out." "who are they?" "haven't the least idea. tramps, maybe--maybe something worse." "you mean----" "i don't know just what i do mean," replied allen. "come on, let's do a little sprint, and we may get them. if we don't they'll soon be down on the beach, and it will be all up with the chase if they have a boat, as they probably have." "if it was on the ocean side we'd have some chance; the surf is heavy to-night." "yes, but they're running toward the bay." as i have explained, edgemere was built on a point of land. one side of the house fronted the ocean, and the other the bay. at this point the land was not above a thousand feet wide, and the cottage property extended from shore line to shore line. as allen had said, the intruders, coming from the cellar, had turned toward the bay side, and if they had a boat waiting for them in those quiet waters they would have no difficulty in pushing off. but if they had gone the other way the unusually heavy surf would have held them back, at least for a time. "there they go!" cried roy, breaking out through the last fringe of bushes. "and in a motor boat, too!" added roy. "if we only had ours," henry mourned. but it was vain wishing. the _pocohontas_ was docked some distance away, and by the time the boys could reach her, and start an engine that was never noted for going without considerable "tinkering," it would be too late. for the men had luck on their side. they fairly tumbled into a swift looking craft that was near shore, in charge of some one evidently waiting for them. in another instant the chug of the motor told that it had started. then the boys had the dissatisfaction of standing on the sand, panting after their run, and seeing the men gradually draw out into the bay. the sky had clouded over and the moon, that might have been a help, was not now of any service. "well, there they go," said allen, in exasperated tones. "i'd give a good deal to know who they were, and what they were after." "let's go back to the house and see if we can find out," suggested roy. "the fuss started there, you know." "in the cellar--where the diamonds are," added henry. "that's so!" cried allen. "for the moment i had forgotten them! come on back. maybe the rascals got the stones!" the boys went back the same route they had so recently and so uselessly traveled. as they neared the cottage a voice hailed them. "i say. hold on! who are you? what do you want? remember there are ladies here!" "it's percy!" gasped allen, trying not to laugh. "he's acting as home guard!" "i wonder if he has his wrist watch on," laughed roy. "it's all right," called henry, not wishing his sister and the other girls to be needlessly frightened. "we're coming back." "did you get them?" asked betty, from the darkness. "no, they got away in a boat," answered allen. "is anyone hurt?" "no, but the servants and mother are quite frightened. could you see who they were?" "no. evidently tramps, or fishermen. we'll have to have a look at those----" allen did not complete the sentence, but they all knew to what he referred. "so you--er--missed them?" questioned percy, when the two groups were together again. "too bad! i was just coming to join you. i had to have a weapon, you know, and i found--this." he showed a little stick which he had picked up. "i should have hit them with it had i gotten near enough," he went on, seriously--for him. "it's a good thing you didn't," spoke roy. "you might have killed one of them with that, percy." "oh, so i should! i--i can strike very hard when i am angry. i am just as well pleased that there was no need for desperate measures. i really am!" but no one paid any attention to him now, though he tried to walk beside betty. allen and roy had taken this vantage place, one on either side of the little captain. "betty, where are you?" called mrs. nelson, from the darkness. "here, mother. don't worry. it's all right. the men got away in a boat. we are coming in to hear all about it." the story was soon told. one of the maids, going down cellar to get something from the food store-room, had surprised a man prowling about with an electric flashlight. the girl screamed, and her cries were augmented by the yells of another domestic in the kitchen. then the first girl saw two other men come from some part of the cellar and join the first one. they ran out just as the boys came up, and the fruitless chase resulted. "what sort of men were they?" asked betty of the girl who had given the alarm. "oh, i don't know, miss betty," was the half-sobbed reply. "but you must know! did he wear a tall hat or----" "a tall hat? of course not, miss. he was like a tramp, or a fisherman--maybe a clammer." "that's how i sized them up," allen said. "fishermen. did they say anything to you?" he asked the maid. "not a thing--no, sir. he just caught his breath, sort of frightened like, and ran out." "did the one you saw call to the others?" "oh, no, sir, they all ran out at once, as soon as i went down. i had a light myself." "what part of the cellar were they in?" "i couldn't exactly say. they seemed to be all over." "well, we'll have a look for--to see if anything is missing," allen hastily changed his remarks, for the servants knew nothing about the diamonds; or, at least, they were not supposed to know about them. "come on, boys," the young law student went on. "oh, but hadn't we better send for the authorities?" asked percy. "or at least take a weapon," for allen and the others had nothing in their hands. "he's loony on the subject of weapons," grunted roy. allen led the way down cellar, the girls and the servants not venturing, though betty did want to go. but her mother kept her back. a glance served to show that the diamonds were in the box, safe. as far as could be learned the intruders had not been near them. "we'll bring them up, after the servants have gone to bed," allen confided to his chums. and when the maids had retired there was a sort of "council of war" among the others. opinion was divided as to whether the men were ordinary tramps, or perhaps sneak thieves, or whether they were after the diamonds. "but how would they know they were down cellar?" asked betty. "we are the only ones who know of the hiding place, and we haven't told anyone, except percy." "oh, i never said a word!" percy cried. indeed he only heard the story of the find, after the scare. "of course if some men from this neighborhood hid the diamonds in the sand, and knew we girls took them out, and if they were around the house and heard something of the excitement the night papa took them down cellar, it would explain how they knew where to look for them," betty said. "too many ifs," commented allen. "have there been any strangers around lately--tramps or anyone like that?" at first betty said there had been none, but later she recalled that a maid had reported to her that an undesirable specimen of a man had begged something to eat at the kitchen door the morning after mr. nelson had hid the diamonds down cellar. "and," betty said, "he may have been hanging around when father and will left for boston that day." "but how could he know the stones were hidden down cellar?" asked mollie. "i don't know that he could tell that, exactly," betty admitted, "but if you remember, as papa was going away he called back: 'be sure to keep the cellar locked!' don't you remember?" "yes, i heard that," amy contributed. "well, if a tramp, who was not really a tramp, but some one in disguise, heard that he might jump to some conclusion," betty went on. "too much jumping," allen said. "as a matter of fact we're all in the dark about this." "and it isn't a very pleasant suspense, either," declared betty, as she looked at the black box with the diamonds safe in the secret compartment. "what are we going to do with that?" "hide it in a new place," suggested henry. that much was decided on, and the treasure was taken up to the attic, though there the danger of fire was ever present. "oh, i wish father were home," said betty, a worried look on her face. but it would be several days before mr. nelson could return, and those days were anxious ones indeed for the outdoor girls. the morning after the scare in the cellar inquiries were made, but no trace of the mysterious men was found. "i can't stand this much longer!" declared betty, one night. "i almost wish we'd never found the diamonds." "you're nervous," said mollie. "we've been too much in the house. to-morrow we shall try one of our old stunts--a picnic!" "good!" cried grace. "that will be fun!" chapter xix the picnic "did you bring plenty of olives?" "and i do hope we didn't forget the cheese crackers!" "oh, everything is here--more than we'll eat, i think, by the weight of the baskets." "where did i put--oh, here they are!" this last, with a sigh of relief, as she found her package of candy, came from grace. mollie, amy and betty had, in turn, been heard from in the aforequoted remarks. "it's a glorious day; isn't it?" questioned grace as she walked on beside amy. "yes, but not so nice that you need forget you're carrying only a box of chocolates," remarked betty, pointedly. "take one of these baskets." "oh, excuse me," apologized grace, and she turned quickly, wincing a bit as she did so. "those same ridiculous shoes!" cried mollie. "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, grace ford." "why? they're the most comfortable ones i have, to go tramping about in, and they're so stained from the salt water that they can't be damaged any more. just right for the picnic, i think." "yes, but you walk worse than a chinese woman before the binding of feet was forbidden. don't let her carry anything spillable, betty, or we won't have all the lunch we count on," mollie urged. "oh, is that so!" exclaimed grace, with as near an approach to "snippiness" as she ever permitted herself. "oh, i'll carry the basket," said gentle amy, always anxious to avoid a quarrel. "you'll do nothing of the sort!" insisted betty, who had, like the little captain she was, arranged the commissary department on lines she intended to see carried out. "oh, well, if we're going, let's go!" exclaimed mollie. "we're wasting the best part of the day getting ready." it was the day after mollie had proposed that the outdoor girls go on a little picnic, and her plan had been enthusiastically adopted. as she had said, the affair of the diamonds was getting on the nerves of them all. they had stuck too close to the house, and there was a "jumpiness" and fault-finding spirit seldom manifested by the four chums. they were to take their lunch, and spend the day on the beach, or in the scrubby woods, not far away, taking to a boat if they felt so inclined. the boys had offered to take them out for a cruise in the _pocohontas_, but the girls felt that they would rather be by themselves on this occasion. accordingly lunch baskets had been packed and now this glorious summer morning they were about to start. the boys, their kind offer refused, had gone off on a fishing jaunt--that is, all but will, and he had not returned from boston. grace had a hasty note from him in which he stated that work connected with his new duties would keep him busy for a week or so, after which he hoped to join his friends at edgemere. "no news of a diamond robbery around boston," he wrote, in a letter. "i've written to a fellow in new york about it, though. sometimes the police keep those things out of the papers for reasons of their own. maybe they think the robbers won't know the diamonds have been taken, if nothing is printed about it, at least that's the way it looks." at any rate will reported no news, and mr. nelson had pretty much the same story to tell. his wife had written to him about the men in the cellar, and he had advised getting some fisherman of the neighborhood to stay on guard every night, until he could come down to ocean view again. "we might get old tin-back," suggested betty. "it would only make me nervous," her mother said. "i don't believe the men will bother us again." "well, they won't find the diamonds down cellar if they do pay us another visit," betty had said. she had, after some thought, hidden the precious stones in her own room, wrapping the box in some sheets of asbestos, which allen had left over after putting some on the muffler of the motor boat. "the asbestos will protect the diamonds in case of fire," betty said, "and i'll protect them in case of thieves. anyhow, no one, not even the servants, know where they are, and it would take a good while to find them in my room." for she had discovered an ingenious little hiding place for the mysterious black box. the boys, after the scare of the men in the cellar, had offered to take the diamonds up to boston, or some other city near ocean view, and put them in the vault of some bank. "but you might be robbed on the train, going up," objected betty. "we'll keep them here until the secret is discovered. that will be the best thing to do." "and that may never be," allen had said, for he had long since given up the cipher. nor had experts, to whom he had submitted it, been able to furnish a clue to its solution. so, while the boys had gone out fishing in the motor boat, the girls prepared for their picnic, leaving the diamonds at home. percy falconer had declined the boys' invitation to go fishing, and when betty heard him say that he feared to go out on the water she had looked at her chums with hopeless despair on her face. "what if he wants to come on the picnic with us?" she whispered to grace. "we--we'll run away from him!" had been the ultimatum. but percy did not pluck up enough courage to trust himself, the only youth, with four girls. "i'll go for a run in my car, and may pick you up and bring you back later," he said, with a glance at his wrist watch. he was still a guest at edgemere. "well, let's start!" called betty, and the four girls set off down the beach. "why are you going that way?" asked grace, as mollie and betty, who had taken the lead, started along a certain path amid the sand dunes. "just for fun," answered betty. "i have a fancy for looking again at the place where we found the diamonds." "we can't seem to get rid of them, day or night--sleeping or waking," spoke amy. "isn't it dreadful how they follow one?" "well, i, for one, don't want to get rid of them," mollie said, with a laugh. "they are far too pretty and valuable to lose sight of. though of course i want whoever owns them to get his property back." "even those horrid men?" asked grace. "well, if they have a right to the diamonds, the fact of their being horrid, as you call it, should not deprive them of the stones," betty said. "we ought to get a reward, anyhow," spoke amy. "that's right, little girl!" exclaimed betty. "well, i do wish it was settled, one way or the other. having fifty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds, more or less, in one's possession isn't calculated to make one sleep nights. and i just would love one of those big sparklers in a ring. i think----" but betty did not complete her sentence. there was a rattling sound on the farther side of a sand dune around which the girls were just then making their way. some gravel and shells seemed to be sliding down the declivity. "what's that?" asked grace, shrinking back against betty. "i don't know," answered the little captain. "maybe the wind." but it was not the wind, for, a moment later, the wrinkled face of the aged crone of the fisherman's cabin peered at the girls from over the rushes that grew in the sand hill. "oh, excuse me, my dears," she said in her cracked voice. "i didn't see you. out for a walk again; aren't you, my dears? won't you come up to my cottage, and have a glass of milk?" "no, thank you," betty answered, and she could not help being "short," as she said afterward. "we are going on a little picnic." she swung around into another path between the dunes, and changed her mind about going to look at the hole near the broken spar, where the diamonds had been found. "oh, i wonder if she heard us?" whispered mollie, as they lost sight of the old crone around the rushes and dunes. "i hope not," said betty, and her usually smiling face wore a worried look. chapter xx caught "that woman seems to--persecute us!" burst out mollie, when the girls were well on their way again, out of range of the sand dunes, going down the beach where the salty air of the ocean and bay blew in their faces. "oh, hardly as bad as _that_," remarked amy. "well, she always seems to be following us," insisted mollie, "and i am positively tired of being asked to her cottage to drink milk." "i'd never touch a thing she offered," said betty. "i would be afraid it wouldn't be--clean." "she always seems to leer at one so," went on mollie. "oh, you're making out a terrible case against the old woman," grace put in, carefully selecting a chocolate from her supply. "well, she is very persistent," observed betty. "and now let's forget all about her, and the--well, i won't mention them, but you know what i mean," and she smiled at her chums. indeed betty was beginning to think she had been just a little indiscreet in speaking aloud of the precious stones. "we'll just have a good outing, as we used to," she went on. "like the time when we found the five-hundred-dollar bill," suggested amy. "or when the girl fell out of the tree," added mollie. "gracious! those _were_ tragic times enough!" broke in grace. "but we enjoyed them--after they were over," added betty. "and i think we shall enjoy finding--well, finding what we did find, after allen straightens it out for us." "oh, is he going to straighten it out for us?" asked mollie. "well, isn't he working hard on it?" betty wanted to know. "i thought will was going to get us clues," mollie went on. "or your father?" "oh, of course they may find the owners, but they are waiting for something to be published in the papers." "well, is allen doing any more?" amy asked. "if he is he hasn't said anything to us about it, though of course you'd be the first one to hear of it, betty," she said, innocently enough. "i?" cried the little captain, with upraised eyebrows. "why i, pray?" "oh, because you and allen are----" "that's enough!" laughed mollie. "spare her blushes, child!" "oh!" exclaimed amy, in confusion. "you needn't worry about me," said betty, quickly. "what i meant was that allen is working on a plan to solve the mystery." "has he told you all about it?" grace wanted to know. "not all. we agreed that it would be better to say nothing to any one else about it until he was ready to act." "oh, of course," admitted mollie. "the fewer the outsiders are who know about the--well, let's call them 'apples,' and then no one will suspect. the fewer who know about the 'apples' so much the better. but i do hope we each get one--'apple'--out of it," and she laughed. "we ought to," returned betty. she looked back toward the sand dunes, possibly for a sight of the old fishwife, but no one was in view. the girls wandered on. the day was bright and beautiful, giving little hint of the tragic occurrence that was in the air. it was as if the outdoor girls were on one of the walking tours which they had instituted. the sand, however, was not conducive to rapid progress, and they were content to stroll idly. they were now past the place where the diamonds had been found, though they were all anxious for a sight of the hole in the sand, to see if they could discover any signs that those who hid the precious stones there had come back to find their booty gone. but they did not think it wise to visit the place, with that queer old woman in the nearby sand dunes. now and then they would stop to pick up some prettier shell than usual, or to gather a few of the odd-shaped pebbles. "they look just like that queer candy they sell in tracey's," commented grace, as she rattled a handful of the little stones of various colors, shapes and sizes. "oh, the pebble candy--yes," assented mollie. "i wonder what they will imitate next?" "plenty of wood here for a marshmallow roast," commented amy, a little later, as she idly kicked the bits of drift on the beach. "yes!" exclaimed grace. "but we didn't bring any. i meant to, but----" "she had so much other candy she couldn't carry marshmallows," interrupted betty. grace threw a wisp of seaweed at her chum, but the little captain easily dodged it. "i wonder if percy will really come for us in the car?" asked amy, after a pause. "do you want him to?" asked betty, with a smile. "i? no, indeed!" and amy's face was suffused with a blush. "oh, well, don't get fussy about it," mocked mollie. "we don't want him, either." "he'd have trouble running his car through this sand," grace said. "it's awfully deep and dry. let's stop. when are we going to eat?" "eat?" cried mollie. "eat?" echoed amy. "why we just had breakfast!" "eat?" spoke betty, in a tone characterized as "dull and hopeless," in stories. "why, grace ford, if you have done anything else but eat--candy--ever since we started on this picnic, i'd like to know it!" poor grace looked a little startled at this combined attack on her. "why, i--i haven't done anything," she said, innocently enough. "i just asked when you were going to eat and you take me up as though i had proposed throwing those--'apples'--we found, into the sea." "if you look back along the way you'll see at least three empty candy bags," declared betty. "oh, well, they were little bags," protested grace. "i had them put in small bags on purpose so i would know just how much i was eating." "i don't believe you ever know how much candy you are eating," laughed mollie. "never mind, grace, we all have our faults." "we'll eat soon," promised betty. "i want to get in the shade." they strolled on, walking near the wet edge of the sand where the tide was coming in, for that section of the beach made firmer footing. "there's a good place for our picnic," finally decided mollie, as she saw a little clump of scrub evergreens which grew rather close to the water. "we can eat and have a fine view at the same time." "is that the boys' boat out there?" asked mollie, as they made their way toward the bit of shade. "no, that's a small schooner. it's been anchored there for some days," betty said. "there's something queer about it, too." "something queer?" repeated amy. "yes, the men in it don't seem to be gathering clams, which work all the other schooners are engaged in around here, and they're not net fishermen aboard her." "who told you that?" asked mollie. "old tin-back. he notices anything odd about the boats. he said he passed her in his dory the other day, and some one yelled to him not to come too close." "why was that?" grace asked. "that's what tin-back didn't know. he thought it was very strange," betty went on. "but come on, i know grace must be--famished! aren't you, my dear?" the baskets were opened, and the contents spread out on a cloth on the sand. grace reached for the bottle of olives. "for an appetizer," she explained. "you need it, after munching candy all the way here," commented mollie. and then, as they ate, the girls talked of many matters, now and then looking off toward the bay or ocean, whereon could be seen many vessels, mostly little clamming schooners, drifting with the wind on their squared sails, dragging the big rakes along the bottom. but the schooner of which betty had spoken rose and fell at her anchor, and there was no sign of life aboard. "this is just perfect," remarked grace, as she found a comfortable position, leaning back against a tree. "please don't disturb me, any one, i'm going to sleep." "i believe i'll join you," added mollie. "salt air always makes me drowsy. or perhaps it is the effect of the bright sun on the sand." while mollie and grace closed their eyes, betty dug idly in the sand, and amy produced a handkerchief and a tiny embroidery frame and began initialling a corner. "virtuous girl," observed betty. "you shame us all by your industry." "it's only that i promised henry i would put his initials on some new handkerchiefs he bought," amy explained. "i must hurry and finish them, for he is going west on a trip soon." "it's nice to have a brother," remarked betty, idly. she tossed some sand and little pebbles toward grace, but the latter had actually gone to sleep, and the deep and regular breathing of mollie proclaimed the same fact. "oh, i can't stand this!" the little captain cried, a few minutes later. "i want to do something. let's go for a little walk, amy, and let them sleep." "all right." "will you go as far as the place where we found the--'apples'?" asked betty, with a look around to be sure no stray fishermen were in the neighborhood. "yes, if you like." "then come on. i want to see if the men came back, and tried to find the box that was buried in the sand." it was rather a longer walk than betty had thought, but finally she and amy came within sight of the lone fisherman's hut, and the log that lay on the edge of the hole in the sand, though the latter, so betty expected, would be filled up by the action of the waves or wind ere this. "i do hope that horrid old woman doesn't invite us in again," betty remarked. "she is a--pest!" the little captain and amy were walking down the sands, in the midst of a number of high dunes, or hills. "there's the place!" betty said. "it doesn't seem to have been----" a noise behind caused her to turn suddenly. a scream came to her lips, but it was choked off by the sudden forward rush of the old crone who roughly placed her withered hand over betty's mouth. "i--i've got her!" she croaked. at the same time a man caught amy by the arm, and stifled her impending cry in the same manner. [illustration: the old crone placed her hand over betty's mouth.--_page ._ _the outdoor girls at ocean view._] chapter xxi on the schooner betty nelson was an unusually muscular girl. she and her outdoor chums had not lived so much in the open air for nothing, and taken long tramps and regular physical exercise. they had played basketball, tennis and golf, and though their arms looked pretty in evening dresses, there were muscles beneath those same beautifully tanned skins. for a moment betty was so surprised at the suddenness of the attack that she could do nothing. she had had but a momentary glimpse of the face of the old crone, and only for that she might have thought it was the boys, who had stolen up behind her and amy, and had put their hands over their eyes to make them guess who had thus blinded them. but in an instant betty knew this was no friendly game. and so, as soon as she realized that, she began to struggle, and to some good purpose. she managed to pull from her mouth the horrible, fishy-smelling hand of the old woman, and then betty screamed as she endeavored to loosen the grip the old crone had on her arms. "help! help!" screamed betty. "let me go! how dare you! what does this mean? amy, where are you?" for betty could not, for the moment, see her chum. but poor amy was not as muscular as betty, nor did she have the advantage of battling against a woman, for a man had caught her, and held her in a cruel grip. "help! help!" betty cried again, struggling desperately. "be quiet! be quiet, my little dear--little imp!" hissed the old woman, for betty had struck her in the face. "be quiet or i'll----" "can't you stop her screams?" roughly demanded the man. "she'll have some one buzzing down on us if you don't! clap a stopper on her, or i'll----" "you must be quiet, my dear!" hissed the old crone, struggling to infuse some measure of conciliation in her cracked voice. "be quiet or----" "i'll not! let me go! how dare you! help! help!" screamed betty, but, even as she called, she realized how hopeless it was, for she saw no one in sight and the thunder of the surf would not permit her cries to carry far. she tried to get a sight of amy, but could not. "let me--let me----" panted betty, and then, though she struggled with all her might, making the old woman pant and hiss to overcome her, betty found herself being gradually exhausted. again that horrid hand stole over her mouth, making her feel ill, and effectually shutting off her cries. "quick!" panted the old woman. "i can't hold her much longer. you'll have to tie her--or--something." "i'll do _something_, all right!" said the man, significantly. he was having little trouble with poor amy, who had yielded like some broken flower. "i'll just tie this one up, and then take care of her," the fellow went on. betty had a glimpse of his dark and brutal face and she shuddered. it was bad enough to have him touch amy, and bad enough for the old fishwife to clasp betty in her horrid arms, but betty thought she surely would die if that man approached her. she tried to speak--to say that she would not scream again if they would only tell what they wanted--take her purse and its contents--but only let her alone. but she could only mutter a meaningless jumble of sounds with that fishy hand over her mouth, pressing cruelly on her lips. "can you carry her, and keep her from screaming?" asked the man, who had pulled some cords from his pocket and was quickly tying amy's hands. then he fastened a rag over her mouth, and poor amy, who came out of a half-faint, was too late to add her voice to betty's. "carry her--no, she'll struggle like a cat!" muttered the old woman. "you'll have to help." "help! haven't i got my hands full?" he demanded. "where are some of the others? they ought to be back now. they knew this chance might come any time." "they have been lying in wait for us," thought betty. it was one of the many ideas that raced through her brain at express-train speed. "that is why this old woman wanted us to come to her hut." "there's some one now!" exclaimed the man, leaning up from having put a cord around amy's ankles as she lay on a sand hill. "if it isn't some one she's brought by her yells," snarled the fishwife. "no, it's jake, thank goodness!" muttered the man, as a rough-looking specimen, the counterpart of himself, peered around a dune. "get busy here, jake, and truss up that other--cat!" the first man ordered. "all right, pete," was the answer. "got any rope?" "here's some," and the one addressed as pete kicked over some net-cord toward the newcomer. meanwhile betty had desisted from her struggle to get loose. she was strong and wiry, but the old crone was more than a match for the little captain. the fisherman's wife seemed to know how to handle struggling persons, for she held betty in a peculiar grip that was most effective. bend and strain as betty might, she could not break away, and that hand was still held over her mouth, preventing any further outcry. "just a minute now, mag, and i'll have her safe," went on jake, as, with practiced hands he whipped several coils of cord around betty's wrists and ankles. "stop! stop!" she implored as the woman's hand was taken from her mouth for a second. it was poor betty's last chance to appeal, for, an instant later, a fold of ill-smelling cloth was put over her lips, and she was effectually gagged. tears of shame, rage and fear came into her eyes. "now you can carry her, without any trouble," announced jake, rising. "take 'em up to the shack," ordered pete. "then tell the others to get the boat ready." betty wondered what that meant. were they to be kidnapped? she tried to look at amy, but could not see her just then. a moment later she felt herself being lifted up between the two men. it was useless to struggle. amy was much lighter than betty, and was hoisted up to the shoulder of the old crone, who seemed wonderfully strong. "take a look out, mag, and see if any one's in sight before we make a dash for the shack," directed pete. "her screams may have been heard. she yelled like a banshee!" the fishwife, carrying the limp figure of amy, peered beyond the line of sand dunes. "no one in sight," she muttered, beckoning the others to advance. "but what gets me is where the other two are," growled pete who, with jake, was carrying betty. "there's four of 'em, and they've always been together ever since they come down here. where are the other two? that's what i'd like to know." betty shuddered as she thought of mollie and grace sleeping in the little clump of trees. suppose these horrid men should go back there and find them. it was horrible to contemplate. "well, you've got half of 'em. that ought to be enough for what you want," said jake, hoarsely chuckling. betty was puzzling her brains, trying to think why she and amy had been thus captured. what object had the old fisherman and, too, why had the old crone been so eager to get them to her hut? betty could only guess. her head ached. she felt really ill, and could not doubt but that poor amy was in like condition. a few seconds later they were both carried into the hut, and set in rickety chairs. their bonds were not removed, and the door was closed and locked. amy looked over at betty, and the latter could see that her chum's eyes were filled with tears. then, suddenly, amy seemed to collapse. she slipped from the chair to the floor. "now what's up?" roughly demanded pete. "i wish i'd never gone into this girl business, anyhow--it's so uncertain. what's happened?" and he looked at the limp form of amy on the floor. betty tried to rise, but sank back dizzily. the room seemed to become suddenly dark. she feared she would topple over as amy had done. "it's only a faint, the poor dear," chuckled the old woman. "i'll attend to her. you go out and get the boat ready," she told the two men. betty's brain became clearer. there was no longer blackness before her eyes. "here, drink this," said the woman, raising amy by her shoulders, and holding a glass of water to her lips. the gag had been removed. amy drank and a little color came into her face. "where--where am i? what happened?" she faltered. "nothing, dearie," said the hoarse voice of the crone. "you'll be all right soon. you're just going to stay with me a little while--you and your friend. you won't suffer a bit of harm, if you tell us what we want to know. you'll be well taken care of." betty began to see a light now. she wished the gag might be taken from her lips, and water given her, but the old woman was busy with amy. the girl closed her eyes again, and seemed too weak to cry out, even though the rag was not again bound across her lips. there sounded voices outside the cabin, and a knock on the door. "drat 'em," muttered the old woman. "a body would need four hands to attend to all that's to be done." she laid amy back on the floor, and hobbled across the room to unbar the door. betty was frantically struggling to loosen the bonds that held her hands behind her back. "the boat's ready," gruffly said jake, as he and pete were admitted to the shack. "that's good," muttered the old crone. "we can take care of 'em easier when we get 'em out of here. we don't care if they do yell then. wait until i tie up this one's mouth. she may rouse up enough to make a racket." poor, half-senseless amy was again gagged. betty had given up trying to loosen her bonds. those men knew how to tie knots. and then, as before, betty was carried down to the shore and placed in a boat. amy was brought down on the shoulders of the old woman, who also got in the boat with the captured girls. "now row out," she ordered the man. they were on the bay side, where there was no surf, so the boat was easily pushed out. the men leaped in and began pulling on the long oars. betty could see them heading for the mysterious schooner, and, a little later she and amy were lifted on board that vessel. "up anchor!" came the command from some one, and, an instant later, the vessel was in motion. poor betty wished she could do as amy had done, and faint. chapter xxii the search grace ford slowly opened her eyes. grace seldom did anything in a hurry, not even awakening, and on this occasion, after the little doze that hot summer day, in the grove by the seashore, she was even more dilatory than usual in bringing all her faculties into play. lazily enough she glanced over at mollie, who was still asleep. grace felt a little sense of elation that she was awake before her friend. she did not look around for betty or amy, but, picking up a small pebble, tossed it in mollie's direction. straight and true it went, alighting on the sleeper's nose, which, in spite of the assurance of her friends, mollie felt was always likely to be classed as "slightly pug." "score one for me!" laughed grace, still lazily, as mollie sat up with a start. there was nothing slow about mollie, waking or sleeping. "what is it? oh, you! did you throw that?" she asked, rubbing her nose, on which a little red spot had been raised. feeling a sting there mollie opened her bag and gave a hasty glance at the little mirror hidden in one flap. "you mean thing!" she cried. "and you know how sensitive my skin is!" by this time mollie had glanced around her, something which grace had not yet done. "why--why," mollie exclaimed. "where is betty--and amy?" "oh, probably off somewhere indulging in athletic stunts for fear they'll lose their figures on account of eating so much lunch," remarked grace, reaching out her hand toward a box that had held some chocolate almonds. "but they're not in sight!" declared mollie. she rose to her feet, and glanced rapidly up and down the beach. "i can't see them anywhere," she went on. "they--could they have gone back and left us sleeping here?" "well, we certainly _were_ sleeping," admitted grace, with a smile that was lazy--like her drawling words. "oh, do be sensible--for once!" exclaimed mollie, and her tones had a snap to them that made grace sit up and fairly gasp. "why, whatever is the matter, billy?" she asked in aggrieved accents. "i haven't done anything. and just because betty and amy aren't here----" "that's just it--where are they?" asked mollie, sharply. "how should i know?" returned grace, determined not to be conciliated so easily. "they went off for a walk while we were asleep, i suppose." "yes, but unless they went a long distance we ought to be able to see them," mollie went on. "and they're not in sight--you can see for yourself." "if they're not in sight i _can't_ see, mollie dear," spoke grace, this time soothingly. "oh, do be sensible!" snapped the other. "stop eating that silly candy, and help me gather up some of these things. i--i wonder what could have happened?" the manner in which mollie said this startled grace as perhaps nothing else could have done. "help me up," she begged. "this skirt is so narrow. oh, mollie, do you think----" and she paused with frightened eyes, gazing into the more determined ones of her chum. "i don't know that i think anything--just now," replied mollie, in rather gentler tones. "i'm afraid i was a bit cross, grace, but you know, dear it is----" "a _bit_ cross! you were positively--horrid. but i forgive you." "i'm always cross when i wake up suddenly," explained mollie. "you shouldn't have hit me on the nose, grace." "i wouldn't have, had i known you were such a--er--what animal is it that has such a sensitive nose, mollie?" "bear, i guess you mean," mollie admitted. "yes, that's it. oh, but i did have a nice sleep!" and grace lazily stretched first one arm and then the other. "but where are betty and amy keeping themselves?" she asked. "that's just what i've been trying to get you to realize," said mollie. "it's rather strange of them to go so far away." "oh, probably betty wants to get some more shells for those string portiers she is making," grace said. "come on, we'll walk down the beach a little way ourselves." mollie assented and the two were soon strolling down the strand, looking in advance for a sight of their chums. but the seashore was deserted, save for the presence of some birds that swooped down now and then to snap up the hopping white insects which made such queer little burrows down in the sand. a few hundred feet beyond the little grove where the picnic had been held, mollie and grace came to a pause. "i don't see them," mollie said, and her voice was troubled. "nor i," conceded grace. "do you suppose they can be hiding to play a joke on us?" "they might," mollie admitted. "but they would hardly go so far away." "let's look on the other side," proposed grace. but that beach, of the little arm of land that jutted out into the bay and ocean, showed no sight of betty and amy. "oh, i--i'm getting--worried," returned practical mollie. "nothing could have happened, unless one of them sprained her ankle, or something like that, and can't walk. even then the beach is so open, and there isn't a place on it that one need fear----" "unless it's that old fisherman's hut," broke in grace. "oh," observed mollie, slowly, and there came a change over her face. "i didn't think of that. yes, they might----" she was interrupted by a shrill whistle, as if of some boat. both girls turned quickly, and the same exclamation came to the lips of both. "the boys!" it was the _pocohontas_ approaching, and allen, roy and henry waved their hands as they came on swiftly over the blue waters. "are they in the boat?" asked grace. "who?" mollie wanted to know. "betty and amy." "why, how could they be?" "i thought perhaps the boys might have come up while we were asleep, taken betty and amy out for a little run, and were now coming back, to laugh at us for being so lazy." "well, they're not in the motor boat, anyhow," mollie said. "i do hope nothing has happened." grace did not ask what might possibly have happened. she was just a little afraid of what her chum might say. the sprained ankle theory was too simple. somehow grace felt a growing concern. but, for the present, at least, this was lost sight of in the little excitement over the advent of the boys. they came on, laughing, singing and shouting, while roy held up a string of fish. evidently they had had good luck. the motor boat grounded gently in the shallow water and the boys jumped out, allen tossing out a light anchor high up on the sand. "we came to take you home," he announced. "we thought you'd have enough of picnic by this time. where's betty?" he asked, quite frankly. allen was not at all fussy about showing his admiration for the little captain. "why, it's queer," mollie replied, smiling just the least bit, "but she and amy seem to have gone off by themselves. grace and i dozed, and when we awoke they were gone." "probably down the beach," suggested roy. "how's that for fish?" and he held up the string. but mollie and grace were not interested in fish just then. "we've been looking for them," mollie went on. "we were looking when--when you came." something in her words and manner caused allen to ask quickly: "you--you don't think anything could have happened; do you?" "i--i don't know what to think," mollie faltered. "it seems--a little strange." "oh, we'll find them," declared henry. "amy isn't one to go far." "but betty is a great walker," grace ventured. "well, we'll find them and all go back in the boat," proposed allen. "it looks as though we might have a thunder shower. that's why we gave up fishing. come on, have a look." it did not take a very long search up and down the beach to disclose the fact that amy and betty were nowhere near. the little clump of trees held no hiding place, and unless they had gone inland there was no other explanation except that they had gone back to the cottage. "and this they would hardly do," said mollie. "unless something had happened. maybe----" "what?" asked roy, as she stopped suddenly. "oh, nothing," she said in some confusion. "nothing at all." "they may have gone over to that fisherman's hut, just to see what it was like," mollie said. "you know the old woman was always teasing us to come in and have some milk. she may have been more persuasive this time, though betty couldn't bear her." "we'll have a look in that direction," suggested henry. "yes, for i don't just like the looks of the weather," added allen. "henry and i will go over there," he said. "roy, you stay here with the girls and help them pack up the things. we may have to make a run for it when we come back with betty and amy." "if you find them," said mollie, in a low voice--so low that no one heard her. allen and henry set off over toward the sand dunes behind which was hidden the fisherman's shack. grace, mollie and roy began collecting the picnic things. the young law student and his chum made good time. nor did they waste any when they reached the lone cabin. a glance up and down the beach showed no trace of the missing ones. in the offing a schooner was slowly sailing away. "there goes that boat," remarked allen. "didn't seem to have any business around here--neither clamming or fishing." "that's right," agreed henry. he knocked, and, after waiting a moment, tried the latch. the door swung open, showing the place to be deserted. "betty--amy!" called allen. there was no answer. then with a quick motion henry darted forward and picked up something from the floor. it was a handkerchief. "it's my sister's," he said. "they--they've been here!" he and allen looked at each other strangely. chapter xxiii smuggled diamonds slowly the mysterious schooner gathered headway. her sails creaked and groaned as the ropes slipped through the sheaves, and the chains squeaked around the drum of the steering wheel. there was a rattle of blocks, hoarse cries from several sailors on deck, and then, down in the cabin, where the horrid old woman slipped the pieces of cloth from the mouths of betty and amy, had the two girls the strength to utter cries it is doubtful if they would have been heard a hundred feet away. there was no other craft within a mile of the vessel that was moving up the bay toward the more open water. "there you are, my dear," leered the fishwife. "all nice and snug and comfortable." "oh--oh!" gasped betty, as the creature stretched out her hands toward her. "don't--don't you dare touch me!" "jest goin' to take the ropes off your pretty hands, dearie," was the smirking answer. "you don't need them now. you can't run away, you know. tee-hee!" and she tittered in glee. betty felt it better to submit to the ministrations of the crone, for the sake of being released from the bonds, which hurt her cruelly. for they had been pulled tight by the fishermen. it was some time after the ropes were taken off her ankles and wrists before betty felt the blood circulating normally. amy lay inert on the rude bunk where she had been placed. betty noticed there were sleeping accommodations for three in the place, and with a shudder she wondered if the old woman was to be their companion on the voyage that seemed to have begun. for the schooner was pitching and tossing on a ground swell, that seemed to presage a change of weather. "oh--oh, betty! what has happened?" faltered amy, as she opened her eyes. the cloth had been removed from her mouth and the ropes loosed. having done this much the old woman crouched on the third bunk, smiling, muttering to herself, and looking from one girl to the other. "oh, betty--what does it mean?" repeated amy. "i don't know, but i'm going to find out soon," declared the little captain, with a return of her usual courage. she felt better now that she had the use of her arms and legs. she started toward the door. "it's locked--on the outside, my dearie!" chuckled the old woman. "and it won't be opened until i call to 'em. so there's no use in makin' a fuss, my dear!" "stop your senseless talk!" snapped betty. "don't dare call me by that name, you--you horrid creature." "no use gettin' mad," said the crone, and she showed a change of temper. "you're here, and you're goin' to stay until we put you on shore, so you might as well make up your mind to that." "we demand to be put on shore at once!" cried betty. "evidently you and--and those with you have made some mistake. we will not make trouble for you, if you set us ashore at once. if not----" "well, what will you do, dearie?" sneered the old woman. "my father will deal with such as you!" declared betty, her eyes flashing. "you must put us ashore." "the men will have to attend to that," the crone said. "one of 'em will be here pretty soon, and you'd better answer 'em fair, or it may be the worse for you." her tone was fierce now. "oh--oh, i--i feel faint," gasped amy. "it is so close in here----" "get her some water," ordered betty, authoritatively. "it's right here," said the old woman. "i thought you'd want a drink. and you can have somethin' to eat as soon as you like. it sha'n't be said we starved you." "eat! i couldn't bear the sight of food!" said betty, with a shudder. "here, amy, drink this. it seems to be--clean!" and betty tried to express the contempt she felt for the slovenly appearance of the old woman. fortunately the water did seem to be drinkable, and it was quite cold, as though it had been on ice. both girls drank gratefully, for their mouths were parched and dry. "are you better?" asked betty, smoothing back the hair of her chum. "oh, yes, much. but, betty dear, what does it all mean? why are we here? i--i seem to be in a sort of daze." "i feel that way myself. i don't know what has happened, amy, except that we were kidnapped, and brought to this schooner." "kidnapped? oh, no, my dear!" interrupted the old woman. "we only want you to tell us something, and as soon as you do that you can go where you please." "tell you? tell you what?" demanded betty, though she felt she could answer that question herself. "i don't rightly know what it is, my pretty!" protested the crone with an evil glance. "my man will be here pretty soon and tell you. he has to get the sails up, and all of that, first." the creaking of pulleys on the deck told that the operation of getting the schooner under way was not yet completed. there was a regular swing to the vessel now, however, that told she was getting into more open water. fortunately both the outdoor girls were good sailors. the old woman was putting back in a box the bottle of water and the tin cup from which she had given amy and betty to drink. for a moment her back was turned, and betty decided on a bold move. quickly she darted over toward the door, and pulled with fierce strength on the knob. it resisted her efforts. the old woman turned with a mocking smile on her wrinkled face. "i told you it was locked," she jeered. "it won't be opened until i knock in a certain way. i'll do it soon, for we must be getting pretty well out." she peered through a dirty round window that gave light to the cabin, which seemed to be located in the after part of the schooner, though neither betty nor amy had noticed to which part they had been taken. "i demand that you let us out of here!" cried betty, stamping her foot. she looked around as though for some weapon with which to enforce her orders, and the woman evidently guessed this, for she chuckled grimly. "you can't have your own way here," she said, with a grin that showed her almost toothless gums. "my man is captain of this boat, and out at sea, you know, the captain has to be obeyed." "oh, are you going to take us out to sea?" gasped amy. "please don't! i'll do anything if you will release us. see, i have money," and she brought out a little gold purse from a skirt pocket. at the sight of the gleaming metal the crone's eyes glittered. "don't be afraid," she said. "you won't be harmed. all we want to know is----" a knock interrupted her. she glided quickly between betty and amy and the door was opened a crack. betty had a wild idea of forcing her way out, but she had a glimpse of two rough looking men through the opening, and she dared not approach. there was a whispered talk between the old woman and one of the men. then, in an instant the old crone slipped out, and the door was locked again, leaving betty and amy alone in the cabin. "oh--oh!" cried amy, and a moment later she was sobbing in the strong arms of betty. meanwhile allen and henry had come out from the fisherman's cottage, having satisfied themselves, by a quick search, that no one was in the upper story, or down in the cellar. "they were here, though," allen said. "yes, my sister's handkerchief proves that," agreed his chum. "now we must go back to the others." "but grace and mollie will have a fit when they know we haven't found betty and amy." "it can't be helped. there has been some mix-up somewhere. i have an idea, but i won't spring it now. come on." they hurried back to where the motor boat had been left. "were they there?" asked grace, eagerly. "yes, they--_were_," said allen, slowly. "but they've gone home." "how do you know that?" asked henry in a low voice. "i don't know it!" came the reply in a whisper. "but we've got to pretend that until we find it isn't so. i'm hoping it is, though. you see," he went on, aloud, "we found they had been there. amy dropped her handkerchief." "but where are they now?" demanded mollie. "they probably hurried back to the cottage." "but without coming to tell us?" objected grace. "they probably had no time," said allen. "my idea is," he went on, speaking rapidly so he would not be interrupted, "that they got some news about the diamonds, and had to act on it quickly. i think that is why they didn't wait to tell you girls. they knew if they didn't come back that you would know enough to come home, or they may have planned to return to you later." "what had we better do?" asked grace. "get back to edgemere as soon as we can," was allen's opinion. "we'll probably find them waiting for us." they piled into the motor boat, and used all speed in getting back. no sooner had they reached the little dock, where tin-back tied his boats, than will ford came racing down from the cottage. "i thought you would never come back!" he cried, his face showing excitement. "why, have you found them? are they here?" asked his sister, wondering why her brother had returned from boston. "here? of course they're here!" he answered. "where else would they be. and i've found them." "i don't see how----" began allen. "oh, it wasn't easy, i assure you. i had to work on a lot of clues. but i came out all right. i've found out all about 'em. those diamonds were smuggled, and there's a good reward offered for the capture of the men, as well as something due for turning the diamonds over to uncle sam." "the diamonds!" cried mollie. "yes. i've found out their secret!" will said. "we--we thought you meant you had found betty and amy," returned grace, in a strange voice. "they--they're lost! they're gone!" chapter xxiv to the rescue "what gone? not the diamonds!" cried will, hopping about, first on one foot, and then the other. "don't tell me those sparklers are gone, after all the trouble i've had on this case--and it's my first, too! that's a shame! how did it happen." "oh, you and your diamonds!" cried allen. "it's the girls who are missing! don't you understand? the girls!" "i don't understand," replied will. "what's the game?" "and betty and amy are not up at the cottage?" asked mollie. will shook his head. "i just came down from boston," he said. "i was told you were all out--the boys fishing and the girls on a picnic. i could hardly wait until you came back to tell you the news. but you've knocked my feet from under me." "oh, it's just terrible!" said grace. "what will mrs. nelson say?" "now look here!" exclaimed allen, taking charge of matters in the masterful way he had. "we've got to do something in a hurry. of course mrs. nelson will have to be told, but it may be all right after all. betty and amy may have gone in to the village, to send a telegram, or something like that." "what about?" asked grace. "the diamonds, of course. they may have struck a clue. now look here," allen went on quickly. "will, as i understand it, you have found out to whom those stones belong?" "well, yes; that is, almost. there's been a big smuggling job, and those diamonds are part of the loot, or swag----" "such slang!" protested grace. "don't worry about slang at a time like this," said mollie. "go on, will." "no, we haven't time for all his story now," said allen. "it is enough for us to know that he has solved the mystery." "this much of it, at any rate," will assented, "though i'm in the dark yet about the missing girls. as i said, i've been working my government position for all it's worth. there was a big smuggling job lately, and they were keeping it quiet. these diamonds are undoubtedly part of it, and now if i can only help get some of the men it sure will be a feather in my cap--a whole ostrich plume, in fact." "well, the rest of your story will keep," allen remarked. "the next thing is to trace the girls. here's the story about them, will," and he rapidly told it as he had gathered it from mollie and grace. "at the fisherman's hut, eh?" mused will. "i always thought he had a hand in the affair. but where did the girls go from there?" "that's just what we don't know," henry remarked. "i found amy's handkerchief in the cabin, or we wouldn't have known that much." "it's a bare chance that they may have gone to the telegraph office in the village, to send a wire to betty's father," said allen. "we'll try there before we raise an alarm." "but can we keep the news from mrs. nelson?" asked mollie. "she isn't home," will said. "she's out calling somewhere. i've been keeping bachelor's hall at edgemere ever since i came from the train. the maids told me where you were." "we might stave off worrying mrs. nelson if one of us could get to town and back before she returned," said allen. "of course if the girls haven't been there we'll have to come out with the whole story." "if we only could get to the village in a rush," said mollie. "an auto!" exclaimed grace. "there isn't one near enough----" began will, when grace cried: "percy falconer! there he comes!" the deepdale johnny was coming down the road in his powerful machine. with all his faults he had the car in his favor, though he was not a skilled driver, and seldom could get anyone to venture out with him. "hey, percy! you're just in time!" "over here!" "this way!" "got to get to town in a hurry!" thus called the boys and girls to him, and it is doubtful if percy falconer ever received such a warm welcome before, or since. "just the one we want to see," said allen, getting into the car with will. "we are in a hurry to get to the telegraph office." "some one ill?" asked percy, looking at his wrist watch. "no, but there may be if we don't hustle," allen said. "to the telegraph office as fast as you can make it, percy boy." "and let allen drive, if you don't mind, old man," put in grace's brother. "you must be tired, and we don't want to be ditched." "oh, all right, of course. if you're in a rush," agreed percy, good-naturedly, and he found a warmer place in the hearts of those who had hitherto cared little for him. "after all, percy isn't such a bad sort," remarked roy, as he walked with grace and mollie up the drive leading to edgemere. "he came in very useful to-day, at all events," mollie agreed. "i think i shall teach him that new aeroplane whirl in the hesitation he is so anxious to learn." "oh, a dance!" acclaimed grace. "i'm just dying for one." "there won't be any--if we don't find betty," said mollie, seriously enough. "oh, we'll find them!" declared roy. "i hope mrs. nelson stays away until--well, until the scare is either over, or until we have something to go on, in case--in case they are lost," commented grace. betty's mother had not returned home when the auto, driven at break-neck speed by allen, swung down the road again. "what news?" asked mollie, as the echo of the screeching brakes died away. but there was no need to ask. a look at the faces of allen and will told her what she wanted to know. "they weren't there, and hadn't been," said allen, slowly. "oh, but i say! what's it all about?" asked percy. "you'll know soon enough," will answered in a low voice. as they stood on the porch, a much-worried group of young people, mrs. nelson came back from her call. there was no need for her to ask if anything was the matter. a glance told her that. but she met the emergency bravely. the girls told their story first--how they had awakened to find betty and amy gone. then henry told of finding the handkerchief in the hut, and lastly will explained how he had found out that the diamonds were the booty of a smuggling plot. "well, we must get right to work," said mrs. nelson, and she proved herself a worthy mother of a worthy daughter. "i am sure nothing serious could have happened--no drowning, or anything like that. the only other explanation is, i think, along the lines suggested by allen. "their disappearance must have something to do with the diamonds. it is possible they are following some suspect, and have had no chance to send back word. in that case they are all right. but we must search for them, and begin at the fisherman's shanty. "we must also telegraph for mr. nelson. i'll go to town and do that. i'll also try to get him on the long distance telephone. now, let me see. some of you will come with me, others will go to the fisherman's cabin, and others will start a search along the beach, and notify the life saving station. we must neglect nothing." "isn't she splendid?" asked grace of mollie. "i feel better already." "so do i." there was a hasty consultation, and three parties were made up. percy offered the use of his car, and allen elected to go in it with mrs. nelson, to town. the others would go to the fisherman's shack and to the life saving station, though at this time of year there was only one man on duty. but he would know how to organize a corps of fishermen and clammers to make a search, if needed. mrs. nelson returned from the village, after sending a telegraph message. she was unable to communicate with her husband by telephone. "we had best follow them to the fisherman's cabin," said allen. "that will be a sort of rallying point." there they found all the young folks gathered, those who had been assigned the task of going to the life saving station having accomplished their errand, bringing back the message that soon a body of hardy men would be patrolling both beaches. but it was tin-back who gave the real clue. he came up as they were making a second examination of the cabin, to discover some other evidence of the former presence of betty and amy there. "the girls missin'!" exclaimed the old crabber. "wa'al, there's only one place t' look fer 'em!" "where's that?" asked mrs. nelson. "not--not----" "no'm, they're not drowned, don't fear that, mum," said tin-back, with ready perception. "nothin' like that could happen. they're off--there!" he waved his hand toward where the mysterious schooner had been anchored. "what makes you think so?" asked allen, after the crabber had spoken of his belief, and mentioned the absence of the schooner as evidence. "because that vessel has been hanging around here on purpose to work off some such scheme as that! take my word for it, the girls are aboard her. pete and his woman mag haven't gone off together for nothin'. the girls are on the _spud_, and bad luck to her for a sneaky craft!" "there's no time to lose!" he went on. "we've got to take after 'em, and locate her before nightfall. we need a fast boat----" "the _pocohontas_ is in good trim!" interrupted allen. "the very thing!" cried tin-back. "hurray! this is like old times! i'm with you!" and he clapped his hand on his thigh with a report like a pistol shot. "to the rescue!" he cried. chapter xxv all's well--conclusion "all aboard!" it was the tense voice of allen washburn calling, as he and his chums clambered aboard the _pocohontas_. there had been a hurried filling of the gasoline and oil tanks after the suggestion offered by tin-back, that the disappearance of the mysterious schooner was coincident with the disappearance of the girls. "if she only will run," ventured roy, who was in charge of the motor. "she's _got_ to run!" declared allen, fiercely. not all of the party went in the motor boat. mrs. nelson did not feel equal to the task, but mollie said she would go, for her girl chums might need her in case they were found. tin-back went, of course, with henry, allen and roy. will volunteered to stay with mrs. nelson and grace. at first he had begged to be taken along, but some one had to stay to be the "man of the house," and i think, after all, will wanted to get another look at the diamonds, in which he now had so strong and growing an interest. "let her go!" cried allen, and the motor boat glided away from the little dock. it was late afternoon, and while the threatened storm had held off, the daylight was fast fading. fortunately they had a clue as to the direction the schooner had taken after leaving her anchorage. the man at the life saving station had observed her beating out on a long tack. he had noticed her through a glass, but had taken no note of any girls that might have been put aboard. but the wind was now quite strong, and the schooner would hardly sail against it. so our friends had a certain fairly sure direction to follow. will and mrs. nelson, with grace and percy, went back to the cottage. their first care was to see that the diamonds were safe, and this was soon ascertained to be the case. meanwhile the motor boat had taken up the search. driven at top speed, and with the engine "doing its prettiest," as roy boasted, they made good time. in and out they went, over the course, now and then pausing to speak some clammer, but getting no information, save in one or two instances. but they learned enough to know that they were on the right track. "are you going to cruise all night," asked mollie. "no, unfortunately we'll have to turn back at dark," allen said. "that is why i want to cover as much water as possible before all the light is gone." they chased after one or two schooners, but without result, until, just as the last light of a threatening day was fading, tin-back startled them all by leaping up and shouting: "sail, ho!" "where away?" demanded allen, in true nautical fashion. "dead ahead. there she is or i'm a candidate for davy jones's locker! put after her, boys!" it was comparatively easy, for the wind had died out--the calm before a storm, and as the schooner had no "kicker," or small gasoline engine, as had some of the clammers, she was soon overhauled. that she was at least the one which had been anchored out in the bay was evident, for tin-back recognized her at once. also it was evident that no visitors were desired, for, as the _pocohontas_ came up alongside the almost motionless sailing craft, an ugly face looked over the low rail, and a gruff voice cried: "that'll do, now. keep off or you'll get into trouble! what do you want, anyhow?" "you know well enough what we want!" cried allen. "up on deck, boys! we've got 'em just where we want 'em. there's your man, officer!" he called. it was pure "bluff," but it seemed to have its effect, for the man who had given the warning drew back. "what is it?" demanded some one else, coming up out of the cabin. "oh, some fresh guys----" "come on, fellows!" allen called loudly. he had leaped out on the forward deck of the motor boat. mollie had been urged to stay in the little cabin, and did so. but it was evident there was to be no serious trouble--at least just yet. "come on!" cried tin-back, and at the sound of his resolute voice there was a surprised exclamation from the group of men on the schooner's deck. "all aboard!" yelled the old clammer. "we've got 'em where we want 'em! close-hauled! we'll holystone 'em an' slush 'em with hot tar if they give any trouble! come on!" another instant and, despite his age and the crippling effects of rheumatism caused by exposure in all sorts of weather, tin-back had leaped to the schooner's deck. he was followed by roy, allen and a couple of sturdy fishermen, who had been picked up on the beach. "now, then, what do you fellows want?" demanded pete, who was recognized as the fisherman of the lonely cabin. "you know well enough what we want!" answered allen resolutely. "the two young ladies you have on board here." "there's nobody here," was the surly denial. "i tell you there are!" "you----" there came a shrill scream from somewhere below decks, followed by an exclamation in a woman's voice. "they're loose! they're loose. pete--jake--i--i----" the men of the schooner uttered surprised exclamations. "come on!" cried pete, leaping up. "not so fast," interposed tin-back, stepping in front of the man who had made a dash toward the cabin. "wait a minute," and an extended foot tripped pete, who fell heavily to the deck. "we're coming!" shouted allen, and, followed by roy and mollie, who by this time had made her way to the deck of the schooner, they hurried below. from behind a closed door came the sound of a struggle. "in here!" cried allen, and he threw himself against the panels as though he were stopping a rush on the football field. there was a cracking of wood and a snapping of metal. the door burst open. in the cabin, struggling against the old crone, were betty and amy, disheveled and almost hysterical, but otherwise safe and sound. "allen!" gasped betty, holding out her hands to him. he clasped them warmly, and the old crone, seeing that the whole affair was over, slunk off, whining something about meaning no harm to the "dearies"! "just watch those fellows that they don't do any mischief," said henry to tin-back, when he had comforted his sister. "oh, they won't do any harm. they know it's all up. besides, i brought this with me," and the clammer showed an ancient horse pistol, that, had it been fired, would probably have worked more havoc to the marksman than to the person aimed at. there were tears, hysterical laughter, and rapid-fire explanations--all, seemingly, at once. "but you're safe!" cried allen, who had both betty's hands. whether or not it had been a continuous performance i cannot say. probably it had. betty was a very nice girl. "oh, yes, we're safe," she said, trying to control her voice. "but those awful men; that--that horrid woman!" gasped amy. "you needn't worry about them any more," allen assured her. "we'll see that they get what's coming to them." whether or not he would have been able to put this into operation is a question. but unexpected help arrived. it would not have been easy for the little force in the motor boat to cope with the larger crew of men on the schooner. besides, there were three girls to be considered, and, though they were equal to most emergencies, both betty and amy were now rather unnerved. there was a sharp whistle outside--a boat signal, evidently. "what's that?" asked allen, who, with henry, roy and the girls, was in the cabin, so recently a prison. "it's a revenue cutter," bawled tin-back down the hatchway. "they want to know if we need help." "we'll take it, anyhow," chuckled allen. he felt like laughing now. "but how in the world did they come, and in the nick of time?" "maybe will sent them," suggested mollie. "they may be down here after the smugglers." and so it proved when allen went up on deck and held a short talk with an officer aboard the trim cutter, which had come to a stop alongside the motor boat and drifting schooner. will, left behind at the cottage with mrs. nelson and grace, had suddenly thought to send the cutter _minoa_ to follow up the _pocohontas_. the government vessel had come down to ocean view in view of certain facts will had given his chief in the secret service, but will had not expected to use the _minoa_ in the chase. when he recalled that she was but a short distance off shore, awaiting wireless instructions, he rushed in percy's auto to the telegraph office in town, and got into communication with his chief, who was awaiting word from him. it was but the matter of a few minutes to relay the instructions to the cutter by wireless from boston, and she started out to look for a small motor boat chasing a suspicious schooner. she found both in the nick of time. explanations made, men from the revenue vessel boarded the sailing craft and made her captain and crew prisoners, the old crone being among those captured. she had tried to make off in the rowboat trailing at the schooner's stern, but had been caught by tin-back. "no, you don't!" he cried. "we want you!" and the old lobsterman held to her despite her struggles. there were more explanations, and then, as the storm showed signs of breaking, the rescued girls and their friends set out for ocean view in the motor boat. the revenue officers remained in charge of the captured schooner, and said they would see will in the morning to complete the case. "but what in the world did they want to capture you girls for?" asked roy, when they were all safe again in edgemere. the rain was beating against the windows, for they arrived just as the downpour began. "they thought to get the secret of the diamonds," declared will. "i can tell you that much. though how they expected to do it i can't say." "but were those men who had us--and that horrid old woman--the smugglers?" asked amy. "no, only their tools," will said. "in brief, the game was this: the box of diamonds you found was smuggled from france. but before those interested in bringing them over could make good they received word that the customs officers in boston were waiting for them. the government agents abroad had sent word here to be on the lookout. "so the smugglers adopted a bold plan. they sent a message in cipher, by the ship's wireless, when two or three days outside of boston, to their confederates, to have a boat waiting for them off this coast. that was done, and one dark night the smugglers tossed overboard the box with the diamonds concealed in the false bottom. it was fixed in a cork arrangement, so it would float. this box was picked up, but before the confederates could make away with it something happened. there was a quarrel among the smugglers, i believe, and one gang hurried off and buried the box here in the sand. "you girls came along just as that had been done, and though some of the men wished to come back and take away the booty, others would not permit this, thinking no chance comer would find it." "those were the men we saw leaving in the boat," said mollie. "yes," assented will. "and we did find the diamonds!" cried grace. "yes, and that made all the trouble--for the smugglers," went on will. "of course they soon learned that the box was gone, and they guessed you girls had taken it. then they tried to get it back." "those men in the cellar?" asked betty. "were part of the gang," declared will. "and i learned that they found the diamonds were in the cellar because a tramp hanging around for food overheard us taking about them. he wasn't in with the smugglers then, but later he joined them, giving this information. "but the plan to get the diamonds from the cellar failed, and they had to do something else. that old woman and her fisherman husband were delegated to capture one or more of you girls, and force you either to tell where the diamonds were, or else they were going to hold you as a ransom for them." "how terrible!" cried grace. "but it's all over now," her brother said. "now we have the diamonds, we have the poor dupes of tools the smugglers bribed--the fisherman and the men of the schooner--and it only remains to get the criminals themselves. we'll do it, too." "did they treat you badly?" asked grace of betty and amy. "badly enough," the little captain replied. "they would not tell us why we were made prisoners. but after they had taken the gags from our mouths, they put them on again, just before you came." "that was because they saw the motor boat after them and knew they couldn't get away because of no wind," suggested will. "we thought perhaps there was a pursuit," amy said. "and then betty grew desperate and managed to attack the old woman." "but you helped," said betty. "oh, don't let's talk about it," exclaimed grace. "all's well that ends well." "but it isn't all ended yet," will remarked, significantly. working on the fears of their prisoners the government men learned where the real smugglers were hiding, waiting for the success of their plot, and they were arrested. in due time they were tried, found guilty and sentenced to pay heavy fines on the charge of trying to defraud uncle sam. on the charge of kidnapping the two girls the heavier punishment of imprisonment was meted out to those involved. it developed that the smugglers, however, had protected themselves from the graver charge. they had instructed the fishermen to get information from the girls about the diamonds, in any way the ignorant men thought best, and the kidnapping scheme was the product of the brains of the old woman and her husband. they laid the plot to capture the girls, and secured the help of several friends, hiring the schooner for their purpose. when the schooner sailed away with betty and amy the old woman and her husband expected to pick up the smugglers and let them force the truth from the girls. but their plan was spoiled. the diamonds, of course, became the property of the government, and were sold at auction, and on such favorable terms that each of the girls was able to obtain one for herself. will helped bring this about, for the government was under obligation to him and his friends for recovering the jewels and capturing the smugglers. the reward was evenly divided. "and i received a fine letter of thanks from my chief," said will. "for my first case he said it was a--corker!" "oh, will!" objected his sister. "well, he meant that, if he didn't say it," was the answer. "and i'm going to have a vacation which i'm going to spend down here if betty will let me." "of course i will," she said. "we'll have jolly times!" and then began glorious days at ocean view, days in which there was no worriment about the packet of diamonds. allen was allowed to keep the mysterious box and the original of the cipher, but he was never able to discover the meaning of it, nor who the enigmatical "b. b. b." was. it was practically certain, however, that "b. b. b." was the real head of the smugglers, he who furnished the money and most of the brains. but his confederates never betrayed him. the value of the diamonds was several thousand dollars above mr. nelson's estimate. there followed vacation days of boating and bathing, with more picnics, and grace had all the chocolates she wanted--or at least all that were good for her. tin-back came in for a share of the reward, and bought himself, among other things, a new fish net. and, while the outdoor girls are enjoying life at beautiful ocean view, we will take leave of them. the end the moving picture girls series by laura lee hope author of "the bobbsey twins series." * * * * * = mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding= * * * * * the adventures of ruth and alice devere. their father, a widower, is an actor who has taken up work for the "movies." both girls wish to aid him in his work and visit various localities to act in all sorts of pictures. the moving picture girls or first appearance in photo dramas. having lost his voice, the father of the girls goes into the movies and the girls follow. tells how many "parlor dramas" are filmed. the moving picture girls at oak farm or queer happenings while taking rural plays. full of fun in the country, the haps and mishaps of taking film plays, and giving an account of two unusual discoveries. the moving picture girls snowbound or the proof on the film. a tale of winter adventures in the wilderness, showing how the photo-play actors sometimes suffer. the moving picture girls under the palms or lost in the wilds of florida. how they went to the land of palms, played many parts in dramas before the camera; were lost, and aided others who were also lost. the moving picture girls at rocky ranch or great days among the cowboys. all who have ever seen moving pictures of the great west will want to know just how they are made. this volume gives every detail and is full of clean fun and excitement. the moving picture girls at sea or a pictured shipwreck that became real. a thrilling account of the girls' experiences on the water. the moving picture girls in war plays or the sham battles at oak farm. the girls play important parts in big battle scenes and have plenty of hard work along with considerable fun. * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the bobbsey twins books for little men and women by laura lee hope author of "the bunny brown" series, etc. * * * * * = mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding.= * * * * * copyright publications which cannot be obtained elsewhere. books that charm the hearts of the little ones, and of which they never tire. many of the adventures are comical in the extreme, and all the accidents that ordinarily happen to youthful personages happened to these many-sided little mortals. their haps and mishaps make decidedly entertaining reading. the bobbsey twins the bobbsey twins in the country the bobbsey twins at the seashore the bobbsey twins at school telling how they go home from the seashore; went to school and were promoted, and of their many trials and tribulations. the bobbsey twins at snow lodge telling of the winter holidays, and of the many fine times and adventures the twins had at a winter lodge in the big woods. the bobbsey twins on a houseboat mr. bobbsey obtains a houseboat, and the whole family go on a tour. the bobbsey twins at meadow brook the young folks visit the farm again and have plenty of good times and several adventures. the bobbsey twins at home the twins get into all sorts of trouble--and out again--also bring aid to a poor family. * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the moving picture boys series by victor appleton * * * * * = mo. bound in cloth. illustrated. uniform style of binding.= * * * * * moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made--the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the wild west, among the cowboys and indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. the volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last. the moving picture boys or perils of a great city depicted. the moving picture boys in the west or taking scenes among the cowboys and indians. the moving picture boys on the coast or showing the perils of the deep. the moving picture boys in the jungle or stirring times among the wild animals. the moving picture boys in earthquake land or working amid many perils. the moving picture boys and the flood or perilous days on the mississippi. the moving picture boys at panama or stirring adventures along the great canal. the moving picture boys under the sea or the treasure of the lost ship. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the boys of columbia high series by graham b. forbes never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than frank allen, the hero of this series of boys' tales, and never was there a better crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the school. all boys will read these stories with deep interest. the rivalry between the towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and counterplots to win the champions, at baseball, at football, at boat racing, at track athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number. any lad reading one volume of this series will surely want the others. the boys of columbia high or the all around rivals of the school the boys of columbia high on the diamond or winning out by pluck the boys of columbia high on the river or the boat race plot that failed the boys of columbia high on the gridiron or the struggle for the silver cup the boys of columbia high on the ice or out for the hockey championship the boys of columbia high in track athletics or a long run that won the boys of columbia high in winter sports or stirring doings on skates and iceboats = mo. illustrated. handsomely bound in cloth, with cover design and wrappers in colors.= * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. frontispiece caption, "molly" changed to "mollie". (molly brought up) page , "molly" changed to "mollie". (when mollie became) page , "they" changed to "she". (as she turned) page , "claming" changed to "clamming". (fleet of clamming boats) page , "on" changed to "oh". (oh, no, sir) page , "molly" changed to "mollie". (yes," assented mollie) page , "themselvs" changed to "themselves". (amy keeping themselves) bobbsey twins advertisement, word "on" added to text. (go on a tour) aunt jane's nieces abroad by edith van dyne author of "aunt jane's nieces," "aunt jane's nieces at millville," "aunt jane's nieces in society," etc. publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago * * * * * the aunt jane's nieces series books for girls by edith van dyne [illustration] seven titles _aunt jane's nieces_ _aunt jane's nieces abroad_ _aunt jane's nieces at millville_ _aunt jane's nieces at work_ _aunt jane's nieces in society_ _aunt jane's nieces and uncle john_ _aunt jane's nieces on vacation_ * * * * * distinctly girls' books and yet stories that will appeal to _brother_ as well--and to older folk. real and vital--rousing stories of the experiences and exploits of three real girls who do things. without being sensational, mrs. van dyne has succeeded in writing a series of stories that have the tug and stir of fresh young blood in them. each story is complete in itself. illustrated mo. uniform cloth binding, stamped in colors, with beautiful colored inlay. fancy colored jackets. price cents each * * * * * list of chapters chapter page i. the doyles are astonished ii. uncle john makes plans iii. "all ashore!" iv. some new acquaintances and a warning v. vesuvius rampant vi. under a cloud vii. a friend in need viii. across the bay ix. count ferralti x. the road to amalfi xi. the eagle screams xii. moving on xiii. "il duca" xiv. uncle john disappears xv. days of anxiety xvi. tato xvii. the hidden valley xviii. the guests of the brigand xix. a difficult position xx. uncle john plays eavesdropper xxi. the pit xxii. news at last xxiii. beth begins to plot xxiv. patsy's new friend xxv. turning the tables xxvi. the count unmasks xxvii. tato is adopted xxviii. dreams and dress-making xxix. tato wins xxx. a way to forget xxxi. safe home [illustration] prefatory: the author is pleased to be able to present a sequel to "aunt jane's nieces," the book which was received with so much favor last year. yet it is not necessary one should have read the first book to fully understand the present volume, the characters being taken to entirely new scenes. the various foreign localities are accurately described, so that those who have visited them will recognize them at once, while those who have not been so fortunate may acquire a clear conception of them. it was my good fortune to be an eye witness of the recent great eruption of vesuvius. lest i be accused of undue sensationalism in relating the somewhat dramatic sicilian incident, i will assure my reader that the story does not exaggerate present conditions in various parts of the island. in fact, il duca and tato are drawn from life, although they did not have their mountain lair so near to taormina as i have ventured to locate it. except that i have adapted their clever system of brigandage to the exigencies of this story, their history is truly related. many who have travelled somewhat outside the beaten tracks in sicily will frankly vouch for this statement. italy is doing its best to suppress the mafia and to eliminate brigandage from the beautiful islands it controls, but so few of the inhabitants are italians or in sympathy with the government that the work of reformation is necessarily slow. americans, especially, must exercise caution in travelling in any part of sicily; yet with proper care not to tempt the irresponsible natives, they are as safe in sicily as they are at home. aunt jane's nieces are shown to be as frankly adventurous as the average clear headed american girl, but their experiences amid the environments of an ancient and still primitive civilization are in no wise extraordinary. edith van dyne. chapter i the doyles are astonished it was sunday afternoon in miss patricia doyle's pretty flat at willing square. in the small drawing room patricia--or patsy, as she preferred to be called--was seated at the piano softly playing the one "piece" the music teacher had succeeded in drilling into her flighty head by virtue of much patience and perseverance. in a thick cushioned morris-chair reclined the motionless form of uncle john, a chubby little man in a gray suit, whose features were temporarily eclipsed by the newspaper that was spread carefully over them. occasionally a gasp or a snore from beneath the paper suggested that the little man was "snoozing" as he sometimes gravely called it, instead of listening to the music. major doyle sat opposite, stiffly erect, with his admiring eyes full upon patsy. at times he drummed upon the arms of his chair in unison with the music, nodding his grizzled head to mark the time as well as to emphasize his evident approbation. patsy had played this same piece from start to finish seven times since dinner, because it was the only one she knew; but the major could have listened to it seven hundred times without the flicker of an eyelash. it was not that he admired so much the "piece" the girl was playing as the girl who was playing the "piece." his pride in patsy was unbounded. that she should have succeeded at all in mastering that imposing looking instrument--making it actually "play chunes"--was surely a thing to wonder at. but then, patsy could do anything, if she but tried. suddenly uncle john gave a dreadful snort and sat bolt upright, gazing at his companions with a startled look that melted into one of benign complacency as he observed his surroundings and realized where he was. the interruption gave patsy an opportunity to stop playing the tune. she swung around on the stool and looked with amusement at her newly awakened uncle. "you've been asleep," she said. "no, indeed; quite a mistake," replied the little man, seriously. "i've only been thinking." "an' such _beaut_chiful thoughts," observed the major, testily, for he resented the interruption of his sunday afternoon treat. "you thought 'em aloud, sir, and the sound of it was a bad imithation of a bullfrog in a marsh. you'll have to give up eating the salad, sir." "bah! don't i know?" asked uncle john, indignantly. "well, if your knowledge is better than our hearing, i suppose you do," retorted the major. "but to an ignorant individual like meself the impression conveyed was that you snored like a man that has forgotten his manners an' gone to sleep in the prisence of a lady." "then no one has a better right to do that," declared patsy, soothingly; "and i'm sure our dear uncle john's thoughts were just the most beautiful dreams in the world. tell us of them, sir, and we'll prove the major utterly wrong." even her father smiled at the girl's diplomacy, and uncle john, who was on the verge of unreasonable anger, beamed upon her gratefully. "i'm going to europe," he said. the major gave an involuntary start, and then turned to look at him curiously. "and i'm going to take patsy along," he continued, with a mischievous grin. the major frowned. "conthrol yourself, sir, until you are fully awake," said he. "you're dreaming again." patsy swung her feet from side to side, for she was such a little thing that the stool raised her entirely off the floor. there was a thoughtful look on her round, freckled face, and a wistful one in her great blue eyes as the full meaning of uncle john's abrupt avowal became apparent. the major was still frowning, but a half frightened expression had replaced the one of scornful raillery. for he, too, knew that his eccentric brother-in-law was likely to propose any preposterous thing, and then carry it out in spite of all opposition. but to take patsy to europe would be like pulling the major's eye teeth or amputating his good right arm. worse; far worse! it would mean taking the sunshine out of her old father's sky altogether, and painting it a grim, despairing gray. but he resolved not to submit without a struggle. "sir," said he, sternly--he always called his brother-in-law "sir" when he was in a sarcastic or reproachful mood--"i've had an idea for some time that you were plotting mischief. you haven't looked me straight in the eye for a week, and you've twice been late to dinner. i will ask you to explain to us, sir, the brutal suggestion you have just advanced." uncle john laughed. in the days when major doyle had thought him a poor man and in need of a helping hand, the grizzled old irishman had been as tender toward him as a woman and studiously avoided any speech or epithet that by chance might injure the feelings of his dead wife's only brother. but the major's invariable courtesy to the poor or unfortunate was no longer in evidence when he found that john merrick was a multi-millionaire with a strongly defined habit of doing good to others and striving in obscure and unconventional ways to make everybody around him happy. his affection for the little man increased mightily, but his respectful attitude promptly changed, and a chance to reprove or discomfit his absurdly rich brother-in-law was one of his most satisfactory diversions. uncle john appreciated this, and holding the dignified major in loving regard was glad to cross swords with him now and then to add variety to their pleasant relations. "it's this way, major doyle," he now remarked, coolly. "i've been worried to death, lately, over business matters; and i need a change." "phoo! all your business is attended to by isham, marvin & co. you've no worry at all. why, we've just made you a quarter of a million in c.h. & d's." the "we" is explained by stating that the major held an important position in the great banking house--a position mr. merrick had secured for him some months previously. "that's it!" said uncle john. "you've made me a quarter of a million that i don't want. the c.h. & d. stocks were going to pieces when i bought them, and i had reason to hope i'd lose a good round sum on them. but the confounded luck turned, and the result is an accumulation of all this dreadful money. so, my dear major, before i'm tempted to do some-other foolish thing i've determined to run away, where business can't follow me, and where by industry and perseverance i can scatter some of my ill-gotten gains." the major smiled grimly. "that's europe, right enough," he said. "and i don't object, john, to your going there whenever you please. you're disgracefully countryfied and uninformed for a man of means, and europe'll open your eyes and prove to you how insignificant you really are. i advise you to visit ireland, sor, which i'm reliably informed is the centhral jewel in europe's crown of beauty. go; and go whinever you please, sor; but forbear the wickedness of putting foolish thoughts into our patsy's sweet head. she can't go a step, and you know it. it's positive cruelty to her, sir, to suggest such a thing!" the major's speech had a touch of the brogue when he became excited, but recovered when he calmed down. "why, you selfish old humbug!" cried uncle john, indignantly. "why can't she go, when there's money and time to spare? would you keep her here to cuddle and spoil a vigorous man like yourself, when she can run away and see the world and be happy?" "it's a great happiness to cuddle the major," said patsy, softly; "and the poor man needs it as much as he does his slippers or his oatmeal for breakfast." "and patsy has the house to look after," added the major, complacently. uncle john gave a snort of contempt. "for an unreasonable man, show me an irishman," he remarked. "here you've been telling me how europe is an education and a delight, and in the next breath you deliberately deprive your little daughter, whom you pretend to love, of the advantages she might gain by a trip abroad! and why? just because you want her yourself, and might be a bit lonesome without her. but i'll settle that foolishness, sir, in short order. you shall go with us." "impossible!" ejaculated the major. "it's the time of year i'm most needed in the office, and mr. marvin has been so kind and considerate that i won't play him a dirty trick by leaving him in the lurch." patsy nodded approval. "that's right, daddy," she said. uncle john lay back in the chair and put the newspaper over his face again. patsy and her father stared at one another with grave intentness. then the major drew out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. "you'd like to go, mavourneen?" he asked, softly. "yes, daddy; but i won't, of course." "tut-tut! don't you go putting yourself against your old father's will, patsy. it's not so far to europe," he continued, thoughtfully, "and you won't be away much longer than you were when you went to elmhurst after aunt jane's money--which you didn't get. mary takes fine care of our little rooms, and doubtless i shall be so busy that i won't miss you at all, at all." "daddy!" she was in his lap, now, her chubby arms clasped around his neck and her soft cheek laid close beside his rough and ruddy one. "and when ye get back, patsy darlin'," he whispered, tenderly stroking her hair, "the joy of the meeting will make up for all that we've suffered. it's the way of life, mavourneen. unless a couple happens to be siamese twins, they're bound to get separated in the course of events, more or less, if not frequently." "i won't go, daddy." "oh, yes you will. it's not like you to be breakin' my heart by stayin' home. next week, said that wicked old uncle--he remoinds me of the one that tried to desthroy the babes in the woods, patsy dear. you must try to reclaim him to humanity, for i'm hopin' there's a bit of good in the old rascal yet." and he looked affectionately at the round little man under the newspaper. uncle john emerged again. it was wonderful how well he understood the doyle family. his face was now smiling and wore a look of supreme satisfaction. "your selfishness, my dear major," said he, "is like the husk on a cocoanut. when you crack it there's plenty of milk within--and in your case it's the milk of human kindness. come! let's talk over the trip." chapter ii uncle john makes plans "the thought came to me a long time ago," uncle john resumed; "but it was only yesterday that i got all the details fixed and settled in my mind. i've been a rough old duffer, patsy, and in all my hard working life never thought of such a thing as travelling or enjoying myself until i fell in with you, and you taught me how pleasant it is to scatter sunshine in the hearts of others. for to make others happy means a lot of joy for yourself--a secret you were trying to keep from me, you crafty young woman, until i discovered it by accident. now, here i am with three nieces on my hands--" "you may say two, sir," interrupted the major. "patsy can take care of herself." "hold your tongue," said uncle john. "i say i've got three nieces--as fine a trio of intelligent, sweet and attractive young women as you'll run across in a month of sundays. i dare you to deny it, sir. and they are all at an age when an european trip will do them a world of good. so off we go, a week from tuesday, in the first-class steamer 'princess irene,' bound from new york for the bay of naples!" patsy's eyes showed her delight. they fairly danced. "have you told beth and louise?" she asked. his face fell. "not yet," he said. "i'd forgotten to mention it to them." "for my part," continued the girl, "i can get ready in a week, easily. but beth is way out in ohio, and we don't know whether she can go or not." "i'll telegraph her, and find out," said uncle john. "do it to-day," suggested the major. "i will." "and to-morrow you must see louise," added patsy. "i'm not sure she'll want to go, dear. she's such a social butterfly, you know, that her engagements may keep her at home." "do you mean to say she's engaged?" asked mr. merrick, aghast. "only for the parties and receptions, uncle. but it wouldn't surprise me if she was married soon. she's older than beth or me, and has a host of admirers." "perhaps she's old enough to be sensible," suggested the major. "well, i'll see her and her mother to-morrow morning," decided uncle john, "and if she can't find time for a trip to europe at my expense, you and beth shall go anyhow--and we'll bring louise a wedding present." with this declaration he took his hat and walking stick and started for the telegraph station, leaving patsy and her father to canvass the unexpected situation. john merrick was sixty years old, but as hale and rugged as a boy of twenty. he had made his vast fortune on the pacific coast and during his years of busy activity had been practically forgotten by the eastern members of his family, who never had credited him with sufficient ability to earn more than a precarious livelihood. but the man was shrewd enough in a business way, although simple almost to childishness in many other matters. when he returned, quite unheralded, to end his days "at home" and employ his ample wealth to the best advantage, he for a time kept his success a secret, and so learned much of the dispositions and personal characteristics of his three nieces. they were at that time visiting his unmarried sister, jane, at her estate at elmhurst, whither they had been invited for the first time; and in the race for aunt jane's fortune he watched the three girls carefully and found much to admire in each one of them. patsy doyle, however, proved exceptionally frank and genuine, and when aunt jane at last died and it was found she had no estate to bequeath, patsy proved the one bright star in the firmament of disappointment. supposing uncle john to be poor, she insisted upon carrying him to new york with her and sharing with him the humble tenement room in which she lived with her father--a retired veteran who helped pay the family expenses by keeping books for a mercantile firm, while patsy worked in a hair-dresser's shop. it was now that uncle john proved a modern fairy godfather to aunt jane's nieces--who were likewise his own nieces. the three girls had little in common except their poverty, elizabeth de graf being the daughter of a music teacher, in cloverton, ohio, while louise merrick lived with her widowed mother in a social atmosphere of the second class in new york, where the two women frankly intrigued to ensnare for louise a husband who had sufficient means to ensure both mother and daughter a comfortable home. in spite of this worldly and unlovely ambition, which their circumstances might partially excuse, louise, who was but seventeen, had many good and womanly qualities, could they have been developed in an atmosphere uninfluenced by the schemes of her vain and selfish mother. uncle john, casting aside the mask of poverty, came to the relief of all three girls. he settled the incomes of substantial sums of money upon both beth and louise, making them practically independent. for patsy he bought a handsome modern flat building located at willing square, and installed her and the major in its cosiest apartment, the rents of the remaining flats giving the doyles an adequate income for all time to come. here uncle john, believing himself cordially welcome, as indeed he was, made his own home, and it required no shrewd guessing to arrive at the conclusion that little patsy was destined to inherit some day all his millions. the great banking and brokerage firm of isham, marvin & co. had long managed successfully john merrick's vast fortune, and at his solicitation it gave major doyle a responsible position in its main office, with a salary that rendered him independent of his daughter's suddenly acquired wealth and made him proud and self-respecting. money had no power to change the nature of the doyles. the major remained the same simple, honest, courteous yet brusque old warrior who had won uncle john's love as a hard working book-keeper; and patsy's bright and sunny disposition had certain power to cheer any home, whether located in a palace or a hovel. never before in his life had uncle john been so supremely happy, and never before had aunt jane's three nieces had so many advantages and pleasures. it was to confer still further benefits upon these girls that their eccentric uncle had planned this unexpected european trip. his telegram to elizabeth was characteristic: "patsy, louise and i sail for europe next tuesday. will you join us as my guest? if so, take first train to new york, where i will look after your outfit. answer immediately." that was a message likely to surprise a country girl, but it did not strike john merrick as in any way extraordinary. he thought he could depend upon beth. she would be as eager to go as he was to have her, and when he had paid for the telegram he dismissed the matter from further thought. next morning patsy reminded him that instead of going down town he must personally notify louise merrick of the proposed trip; so he took a cross-town line and arrived at the merrick's home at nine o'clock. mrs. merrick was in a morning wrapper, sipping her coffee in an upper room. but she could not deny herself to uncle john, her dead husband's brother and her only daughter's benefactor (which meant indirectly her own benefactor), so she ordered the maid to show him up at once. "louise is still sweetly sleeping," she said, "and won't waken for hours yet." "is anything wrong with her?" he asked, anxiously. "oh, dear, no! but everyone does not get up with the milkman, as you do, john; and the dear child was at the opera last night, which made her late in getting home." "doesn't the opera let out before midnight, the same as the theatres?" he asked. "i believe so; but there is the supper, afterward, you know." "ah, yes," he returned, thoughtfully. "i've always noticed that the opera makes folks desperately hungry, for they flock to the restaurants as soon as they can get away. singular, isn't it?" "why, i never thought of it in that light." "but louise is well?" "quite well, thank you." "that's a great relief, for i'm going to take her to europe with me next week," he said. mrs. merrick was so astonished that she nearly dropped her coffee-cup and could make no better reply than to stare blankly at her brother-in-law. "we sail tuesday," continued uncle john, "and you must have my niece ready in time and deliver her on board the 'princess irene' at hoboken at nine o'clock, sharp." "but john--john!" gasped mrs. merrick, feebly, "it will take a month, at least, to make her gowns, and--" "stuff and rubbish!" he growled. "that shows, martha, how little you know about european trips. no one makes gowns to go abroad with; you buy 'em in paris to bring home." "ah, yes; to be sure," she muttered. "perhaps, then, it can be done, if louise, has no other engagements." "just what patsy said. see here, martha, do you imagine that any girl who is half human could have engagements that would keep her from europe?" "but the requirements of society--" "you'll get me riled, pretty soon, martha; and if you do you'll wish you hadn't." this speech frightened the woman. it wouldn't do to provoke uncle john, however unreasonable he happened to be. so she said, meekly: "i've no doubt louise will be delighted to go, and so will i." "you!" "why--why--whom do you intend taking?" "just the three girls--aunt jane's three nieces. also mine." "but you'll want a chaperone for them." "why so?" "propriety requires it; and so does ordinary prudence. louise, i know, will be discreet, for it is her nature; but patsy is such a little flyaway and beth so deep and demure, that without a chaperone they might cause you a lot of trouble." uncle john grew red and his eyes flashed. "a chaperone!" he cried, contemptuously; "not any in mine, martha merrick. either we young folks go alone, without any death's head to perpetually glower at us, or we don't go at all! three better girls never lived, and i'll trust 'em anywhere. besides that, we aren't going to any of your confounded social functions; we're going on a reg'lar picnic, and if i don't give those girls the time of their lives my name ain't john merrick. a chaperone, indeed!" mrs. merrick held up her hands in horror. "i'm not sure, john," she gasped, "that i ought to trust my dear child with an uncle who disregards so openly the proprieties." "well, i'm sure; and the thing's settled," he said, more calmly. "don't worry, ma'am. i'll look after patsy and beth, and louise will look after all of us--just as she does after you--because she's so discreet. talk about your being a chaperone! why, you don't dare say your soul's your own when louise is awake. that chaperone business is all humbuggery--unless an old uncle like me can be a chaperone. anyhow, i'm the only one that's going to be appointed. i won't wait for louise to wake up. just tell her the news and help her to get ready on time. and now, i'm off. good morning, martha." she really had no words of protest ready at hand, and it was long after queer old john merrick had gone away that she remembered a dozen effective speeches that she might have delivered. "after all," she sighed, taking up her cup again, "it may be the best thing in the world for louise. we don't know whether that young weldon, who is paying her attentions just now, is going to inherit his father's money or not. he's been a bit wild, i've heard, and it is just as well to postpone any engagement until we find out the facts. i can do that nicely while my sweet child is in europe with uncle john, and away from all danger of entanglements. really, it's an ill wind that blows no good! i'll go talk with louise." chapter iii "all ashore" beth de graf was a puzzle to all who knew her. she was a puzzle even to herself, and was wont to say, indifferently, that the problem was not worth a solution. for this beautiful girl of fifteen was somewhat bitter and misanthropic, a condition perhaps due to the uncongenial atmosphere in which she had been reared. she was of dark complexion and her big brown eyes held a sombre and unfathomable expression. once she had secretly studied their reflection in a mirror, and the eyes awed and frightened her, and made her uneasy. she had analyzed them much as if they belonged to someone else, and wondered what lay behind their mask, and what their capabilities might be. but this morbid condition mostly affected her when she was at home, listening to the unpleasant bickerings of her father and mother, who quarrelled constantly over trifles that beth completely ignored. her parents seemed like two ill tempered animals confined in the same cage, she thought, and their snarls had long since ceased to interest her. this condition had, of course, been infinitely worse in all those dreadful years when they were poverty stricken. since uncle john had settled a comfortable income on his niece the grocer was paid promptly and mrs. de graf wore a silk dress on sundays and held her chin a little higher than any other of the cloverton ladies dared do. the professor, no longer harrassed by debts, devoted less time to the drudgery of teaching and began the composition of an oratorio that he firmly believed would render his name famous. so, there being less to quarrel about, beth's parents indulged more moderately in that pastime; but their natures were discordant, and harmony in the de graf household was impossible. when away from home beth's disposition softened. some of her school-friends had seen her smile--a wonderful and charming phenomenon, during which her expression grew sweet and bewitchingly animated and her brown eyes radiant with mirthful light. it was not the same beth at all. sometimes, when the nieces were all at aunt jane's, beth had snuggled in the arms of her cousin louise, who had a way of rendering herself agreeable to all with whom she came in contact, and tried hard to win the affection of the frankly antagonistic girl. at such times the gentleness of elizabeth, her almost passionate desire to be loved and fondled, completely transformed her for the moment. louise, shrewd at reading others, told herself that beth possessed a reserve force of tenderness, amiability and fond devotion that would render her adorable if she ever allowed those qualities full expression. but she did not tell beth that. the girl was so accustomed to despise herself and so suspicious of any creditable impulses that at times unexpectedly obtruded themselves, that she would have dismissed such a suggestion as arrant flattery, and louise was clever enough not to wish to arouse her cousin to a full consciousness of her own possibilities. the trained if not native indifference of this strange girl of fifteen was demonstrated by her reception of uncle john's telegram. she quietly handed it to her mother and said, as calmly as if it were an invitation to a church picnic: "i think i shall go." "nothing like that ever happened to me," remarked mrs. de graf, enviously. "if john merrick had an atom of common sense he'd have taken me to europe instead of a troop of stupid school girls. but john always was a fool, and always will be. when will you start, beth?" "to-morrow morning. there's nothing to keep me. i'll go to patsy and stay with her until we sail." "are you glad?" asked her mother, looking into the expressionless face half curiously. "yes," returned beth, as if considering her reply; "a change is always interesting, and i have never travelled except to visit aunt jane at elmhurst. so i think i am pleased to go to europe." mrs. de graf sighed. there was little in common between mother and daughter; but that, to a grave extent, was the woman's fault. she had never tried to understand her child's complex nature, and somewhat resented beth's youth and good looks, which she considered contrasted unfavorably with her own deepening wrinkles and graying hair. for mrs. de graf was vain and self-important, and still thought herself attractive and even girlish. it would really be a relief to have beth out of the way for a few months. the girl packed her own trunk and arranged for it to be taken to the station. in the morning she entered the music room to bid the professor good-bye. he frowned at the interruption, for the oratorio was especially engrossing at the time. mrs. de graf kissed her daughter lightly upon the lips and said in a perfunctory way that she hoped beth would have a good time. the girl had no thought of resenting the lack of affection displayed by her parents. it was what she had always been accustomed to, and she had no reason to expect anything different. patsy met her at the train in new york and embraced her rapturously. patsy was really fond of beth; but it was her nature to be fond of everyone, and her cousin, escaping from her smacking and enthusiastic kisses, told herself that patsy would have embraced a cat with the same spontaneous ecstacy. that was not strictly true, but there was nothing half hearted or halfway about miss doyle. if she loved you, there would never be an occasion for you to doubt the fact. it was patsy's way. uncle john also was cordial in his greetings. he was very proud of his pretty niece, and discerning enough to realize there was a broad strata of womanliness somewhere in elizabeth's undemonstrative character. he had promised himself to "dig it out" some day, and perhaps the european trip would give him his opportunity. patsy and elizabeth shopped for the next few days most strenuously and delightfully. sometimes their dainty cousin louise joined them, and the three girls canvassed gravely their requirements for a trip that was as new to them as a flight to the moon. naturally, they bought much that was unnecessary and forgot many things that would have been useful. you have to go twice to europe to know what to take along. louise needed less than the others, for her wardrobe was more extensive and she already possessed all that a young girl could possibly make use of. this niece, the eldest of uncle john's trio, was vastly more experienced in the ways of the world than the others, although as a traveller she had no advantage of them. urged thereto by her worldly mother, she led a sort of trivial, butterfly existence, and her character was decidedly superficial to any close observer. indeed, her very suavity and sweetness of manner was assumed, because it was so much more comfortable and effective to be agreeable than otherwise. she was now past seventeen years of age, tall and well formed, with a delicate and attractive face which, without being beautiful, was considered pleasant and winning. her eyes were good, though a bit too shrewd, and her light brown hair was fluffy as spun silk. graceful of carriage, gracious of manner, yet affecting a languor unsuited to her years, louise merrick was a girl calculated to draw from the passing throng glances of admiration and approval, and to convey the impression of good breeding and feminine cleverness. all this, however, was outward. neither patsy nor beth displayed any undue affection for their cousin, although all of the girls exhibited a fair amount of cousinly friendship for one another. they had once been thrown together under trying circumstances, when various qualities of temperament not altogether admirable were liable to assert themselves. those events were too recent to be already forgotten, yet the girls were generous enough to be considerate of each others' failings, and had resolved to entertain no sentiment other than good will on the eve of their departure for such a charming outing as uncle john had planned for them. mr. merrick being a man, saw nothing radically wrong in the dispositions of any of his nieces. their youth and girlishness appealed to him strongly, and he loved to have them by his side. it is true that he secretly regretted louise was not more genuine, that beth was so cynical and frank, and that patsy was not more diplomatic. but he reflected that he had had no hand in molding their characters, although he might be instrumental in improving them; so he accepted the girls as they were, thankful that their faults were not glaring, and happy to have found three such interesting nieces to cheer his old age. at last the preparations were complete. tuesday arrived, and uncle john "corralled his females," as he expressed it, and delivered them safely on board the staunch and comfortable ocean greyhound known as the "princess irene," together with their bags and baggage, their flowers and fruits and candy boxes and all those other useless accessories to a voyage so eagerly thrust upon the departing travellers by their affectionate but ill-advised friends. mrs. merrick undertook the exertion of going to hoboken to see her daughter off, and whispered in the ear of louise many worldly admonitions and such bits of practical advice as she could call to mind on the spur of the moment. major gregory doyle was there, pompous and straight of form and wearing an assumed smile that was meant to assure patsy he was delighted at her going, but which had the effect of scaring the girl because she at first thought the dreadful expression was due to convulsions. the major had no admonitions for patsy, but she had plenty for him, and gave him a long list of directions that would, as he said, cause him to "walk mighty sthraight" if by good luck he managed to remember them all. having made up his mind to let the child go to europe, the old fellow allowed no wails or bemoanings to reach patsy's ears to deprive her of a moment's joyful anticipation of the delights in store for her. he laughed and joked perpetually during that last day, and promised the girl that he would take a vacation while she was gone and visit his old colonel in virginia, which she knew was the rarest pleasure he could enjoy. and now he stood upon the deck amusing them all with his quaint sayings and appearing so outwardly jolly and unaffected that only patsy herself suspected the deep grief that was gripping his kindly old heart. uncle john guessed, perhaps, for he hugged the major in a tight embrace, whispering that patsy should be now, as ever, the apple of his eye and the subject of his most loving care. "an' don't be forgetting to bring me the meerschaum pipe from sicily an' the leathern pocket-book from florence," the major said to patsy, impressively. "it's little enough for ye to remember if ye go that way, an' to tell the truth i'm sending ye abroad just for to get them. an' don't be gettin' off the boat till it stops at a station; an' remember that uncle john is full of rheumatics an' can't walk more n' thirty mile an hour, an'--" "it's a slander," said uncle john, stoutly. "i never had rheumatics in my life." "major," observed patsy, her blue eyes full of tears but her lips trying to smile, "do have the tailor sponge your vest every saturday. it's full of spots even now, and i've been too busy lately to look after you properly. you're--you're--just disgraceful, major!" "all ashore!" called a loud voice. the major gathered patsy into an embrace that threatened to crush her, and then tossed her into uncle john's arms and hurried away. mrs. merrick followed, with good wishes for all for a pleasant journey; and then the four voyagers pressed to the rail and waved their handkerchiefs frantically to those upon the dock while the band played vociferously and the sailors ran here and there in sudden excitement and the great ship left her moorings and moved with proud deliberation down the bay to begin her long voyage to gibraltar and the blue waters of the mediterranean. chapter iv some new acquaintances, and a warning for an inexperienced tourist uncle john managed their arrangements most admirably. he knew nothing at all about ocean travel or what was the proper method to secure comfortable accommodations; but while most of the passengers were writing hurried letters in the second deck gallery, which were to be sent back by the pilot, mr. merrick took occasion to interview the chief steward and the deck steward and whatever other official he could find, and purchased their good will so liberally that the effect of his astute diplomacy was immediately apparent. his nieces found that the sunniest deck chairs bore their names; the most desirable seats in the dining hall were theirs when, half famished because breakfast had been disregarded, they trooped in to luncheon; the best waiters on the ship attended to their wants, and afterward their cabins were found to be cosily arranged with every comfort the heart of maid could wish for. at luncheon it was found that the steward had placed a letter before uncle john's plate. the handwriting of the address louise, who sat next her uncle, at once recognized as that of her mother; but she said nothing. mr. merrick was amazed at the contents of the communication, especially as he had so recently parted with the lady who had written it. it said: "i must warn you, john, that my daughter has just escaped a serious entanglement, and i am therefore more grateful than i can express that you are taking her far from home for a few weeks. a young man named arthur weldon--a son of the big railroad president, you know--has been paying louise marked attentions lately; but i cautioned her not to encourage him because a rumor had reached me that he has quarrelled with his father and been disinherited. my informant also asserted that the young man is wild and headstrong and cannot be controlled by his parent; but he always seemed gentlemanly enough at our house, and my greatest objection to him is that he is not likely to inherit a dollar of his father's money. louise and i decided to keep him dangling until we could learn the truth of this matter, for you can easily understand that with her exceptional attractions there is no object in louise throwing herself away upon a poor man, or one who cannot give her a prominent position in society. imagine my horror, john, when i discovered last evening that my only child, whom i have so fondly cherished, has ungratefully deceived me. carried away by the impetuous avowals of this young scapegrace, whom his own father disowns, she has confessed her love for him--love for a pauper!--and only by the most stringent exercise of my authority have i been able to exact from louise a promise that she will not become formally engaged to arthur weldon, or even correspond with him, until she has returned home. by that time i shall have learned more of his history and prospects, when i can better decide whether to allow the affair to go on. of course i have hopes that in case my fears are proven to have been well founded, i can arouse louise to a proper spirit and induce her to throw the fellow over. meantime, i implore you, as my daughter's temporary guardian, not to allow louise to speak of or dwell upon this young man, but try to interest her in other gentlemen whom you may meet and lead her to forget, if possible, her miserable entanglement. consider a loving mother's feelings, john. try to help me in this emergency, and i shall be forever deeply grateful." "it's from mother, isn't it?" asked louise, when he had finished reading the letter. "yes," he answered gruffly, as he crumpled the missive and stuffed it into his pocket. "what does she say, uncle?" "nothing but rubbish and nonsense. eat your soup, my dear; it's getting cold." the girl's sweet, low laughter sounded very pleasant, and served to calm his irritation. from her demure yet amused expression uncle john guessed that louise knew the tenor of her mother's letter as well as if she had read it over his shoulder, and it comforted him that she could take the matter so lightly. perhaps the poor child was not so deeply in love as her mother had declared. he was greatly annoyed at the confidence mrs. merrick had seen fit to repose in him, and felt she had no right to burden him with any knowledge of such an absurd condition of affairs just as he was starting for a holiday. whatever might be the truth of the girl's "entanglement,"--and he judged that it was not all conveyed in martha merrick's subtle letter--louise would surely be free and unhampered by either love or maternal diplomacy for some time to come. when she returned home her mother might conduct the affair to suit herself. he would have nothing to do with it in any way. as soon as luncheon was finished they rushed for the deck, and you may imagine that chubby little uncle john, with his rosy, smiling face and kindly eyes, surrounded by three eager and attractive girls of from fifteen to seventeen years of age, was a sight to compel the attention of every passenger aboard the ship. it was found easy to make the acquaintance of the interesting group, and many took advantage of that fact; for uncle john chatted brightly with every man and patsy required no excuse of a formal introduction to confide to every woman that john merrick was taking his three nieces to europe to "see the sights and have the time of their lives." many of the business men knew well the millionaire's name, and accorded him great respect because he was so enormously wealthy and successful. but the little man was so genuinely human and unaffected and so openly scorned all toadyism that they soon forgot his greatness in the financial world and accepted him simply as a good fellow and an invariably cheerful comrade. the weather was somewhat rough for the latter part of march--they had sailed the twenty-seventh--but the "irene" was so staunch and rode the waves so gracefully that none of the party except louise was at all affected by the motion. the eldest cousin, however, claimed to be indisposed for the first few days out, and so beth and patsy and uncle john sat in a row in their steamer chairs, with the rugs tucked up to their waists, and kept themselves and everyone around them merry and light hearted. next to patsy reclined a dark complexioned man of about thirty-five, with a long, thin face and intensely black, grave eyes. he was carelessly dressed and wore a flannel shirt, but there was an odd look of mingled refinement and barbarity about him that arrested the girl's attention. he sat very quietly in his chair, reserved both in speech and in manner; but when she forced him to talk he spoke impetuously and with almost savage emphasis, in a broken dialect that amused her immensely. "you can't be american," she said. "i am sicilian," was the proud answer. "that's what i thought; sicilian or italian or spanish; but i'm glad it's sicilian, which is the same as italian. i can't speak your lingo myself," she continued, "although i am studying it hard; but you manage the english pretty well, so we shall get along famously together." he did not answer for a moment, but searched her unconscious face with his keen eyes. then he demanded, brusquely: "where do you go?" "why, to europe," she replied, as if surprised. "europe? pah! it is no answer at all," he responded, angrily. "europe is big. to what part do you journey?" patsy hesitated. the magic word "europe" had seemed to sum up their destination very effectively, and she had heretofore accepted it as sufficient, for the time being, at least. uncle john had bought an armful of guide books and baedeckers, but in the hurry of departure she had never glanced inside them. to go to europe had been enough to satisfy her so far, but perhaps she should have more definite knowledge concerning their trip. so she turned to uncle john and said: "uncle, dear, to what part of europe are we going?" "what part?" he answered. "why, it tells on the ticket, patsy. i can't remember the name just now. it's where the ship stops, of course." "that is napoli," said the thin faced man, with a scarcely veiled sneer. "and then?" "and then?" repeated patsy, turning to her uncle. "then? oh, some confounded place or other that i can't think of. i'm not a time-table, patsy; but the trip is all arranged, in beautiful style, by a friend of mine who has always wanted to go abroad, and so has the whole programme mapped out in his head." "is it in his head yet?" enquired patsy, anxiously. "no, dear; it's in the left hand pocket of my blue coat, all written down clearly. so what's the use of bothering? we aren't there yet. by and bye we'll get to eu-rope an' do it up brown. whatever happens, and wherever we go, it's got to be a spree and a jolly good time; so take it easy, patsy dear, and don't worry." "that's all right, uncle," she rejoined, with a laugh. "i'm not worrying the least mite. but when folks ask us where we're going, what shall we say?" "eu-rope." "and then?" mischievously. "and then home again, of course. it's as plain as the nose on your face, patsy doyle, and a good bit straighter." that made her laugh again, and the strange italian, who was listening, growled a word in his native language. he wasn't at all a pleasant companion, but for that very reason patsy determined to make him talk and "be sociable." by degrees he seemed to appreciate her attention, and always brightened when she came to sit beside him. "you'll have to tell me your name, you know," she said to him; "because i can't be calling you 'sir' every minute." he glanced nervously around. then he answered, slowly: "i am called valdi--victor valdi." "oh, that's a pretty name, mr. valdi--or should i say signor?" "you should." "do i pronounce it right?" "no." "well, never mind if i don't; you'll know what i mean, and that i intend to be proper and polite," she responded, sweetly. beth, while she made fewer acquaintances than patsy, seemed to have cast off her sullen reserve when she boarded the ship. in truth, the girl was really happy for the first time in her life, and it softened her so wonderfully and made her so attractive that she soon formed a select circle around her. a young lady from cleveland, who had two big brothers, was impelled to introduce herself to beth because of the young men's intense admiration for the girl's beautiful face. when it was found that they were all from ohio, they formed a friendly alliance at once. marion horton was so frank and agreeable that she managed to draw out all that was best in beth's nature, and the stalwart young hortons were so shyly enthusiastic over this, their first trip abroad, that they inspired the girl with a like ardor, which resulted in the most cordial relations between them. and it so happened that several other young men who chanced to be aboard the "princess irene" marked the hortons' intimacy with beth and insisted on being introduced by them, so that by the time louise had conquered her _mal-de-mer_ and appeared on deck, she found an admiring group around her cousin that included most of the desirable young fellows on the ship. beth sat enthroned like a queen, listening to her courtiers and smiling encouragement now and then, but taking little part in the conversation herself because of her inexperience. such adoration was new to the little country girl, and she really enjoyed it. nor did the young men resent her silence. all that they wanted her to do, as tom horton tersely expressed it, was to "sit still and look pretty." as for uncle john, he was so delighted with beth's social success that he adopted all the boys on the spot, and made them a part of what he called his family circle. louise, discovering this state of affairs, gave an amused laugh and joined the group. she was a little provoked that she had isolated herself so long in her cabin when there was interesting sport on deck; but having lost some valuable time she straightway applied herself to redeem the situation. in the brilliance of her conversation, in her studied glances, in a thousand pretty ways that were skillfully rendered effective, she had a decided advantage over her more beautiful cousin. when louise really desired to please she was indeed a charming companion, and young men are not likely to detect insincerity in a girl who tries to captivate them. the result was astonishing to uncle john and somewhat humiliating to beth; for a new queen was presently crowned, and louise by some magnetic power assembled the court around herself. only the youngest horton boy, in whose susceptible heart beth's image was firmly enshrined, refused to change his allegiance; but in truth the girl enjoyed herself more genuinely in the society of one loyal cavalier than when so many were clamoring for her favors. the two would walk the deck together for hours without exchanging a single word, or sit together silently listening to the band or watching the waves, without the need, as tom expressed it, of "jabbering every blessed minute" in order to be happy. patsy was indignant at the artfulness of louise until she noticed that beth was quite content; then she laughed softly and watched matters take their course, feeling a little sorry for the boys because she knew louise was only playing with them. the trip across the atlantic was all too short. on the fifth of april they passed the azores, running close to the islands of fayal and san jorge so that the passengers might admire the zigzag rows of white houses that reached from the shore far up the steep hillsides. on the sixth day they sighted gibraltar and passed between the moorish and spanish lighthouses into the lovely waters of the mediterranean. the world-famed rock was now disclosed to their eyes, and when the ship anchored opposite it uncle john assisted his nieces aboard the lighter and took them for a brief excursion ashore. of course they rode to the fortress and wandered through its gloomy, impressive galleries, seeing little of the armament because visitors are barred from the real fortifications. the fortress did not seem especially impregnable and was, taken altogether, a distinct disappointment to them; but the ride through the town in the low basket phaetons was wholly delightful. the quaint, narrow streets and stone arches, the beautiful vistas of sea and mountain, the swarthy, dark-eyed moors whose presence lent to the town an oriental atmosphere, and the queer market-places crowded with spaniards, frenchmen, jews and red-coated english soldiers, altogether made up a panorama that was fascinating in the extreme. but their stay was short, and after a rush of sightseeing that almost bewildered them they returned to the ship breathless but elated at having "seen an' done," as uncle john declared, their first foreign port. and now through waters so brightly blue and transparent that they aroused the girls' wonder and admiration, the good ship plowed her way toward the port of naples, passing to the east of sardinia and corsica, which they viewed with eager interest because these places had always seemed so far away to them, and had now suddenly appeared as if by magic directly before their eyes. patsy and the big whiskered captain had become such good friends that he always welcomed the girl on his own exclusive deck, and this afternoon she sat beside him and watched the rugged panorama slip by. "when will we get to naples?" she asked. "to-morrow evening, probably," answered the captain. "see, it is over in that direction, where the gray cloud appears in the sky." "and what is the gray cloud, captain?" "i do not know," said he, gravely. "perhaps smoke from vesuvius. at gibraltar we heard that the volcano is in an ugly mood, i hope it will cause you no inconvenience." "wouldn't it be fine if we could see an eruption!" exclaimed the girl. the captain shook his head. "interesting, perhaps," he admitted; "but no great calamity that causes thousands of people to suffer can be called 'fine.'" "ah, that is true!" she said, quickly. "i had forgotten the suffering." next morning all the sky was thick with smoke, and the sun was hidden. the waters turned gray, too, and as they approached the italian coast the gloom perceptibly increased. a feeling of uneasiness seemed to pervade the ship, and even the captain had so many things to consider that he had no time to converse with his little friend. signor valdi forsook his deck chair for the first time and stood at the rail which overlooked the steerage with his eyes glued to the grim skies ahead. when uncle john asked him what he saw he answered, eagerly: "death and destruction, and a loss of millions of lira to the bankrupt government. i know; for i have studied etna for years, and vesuvio is a second cousin to etna." "hm," said uncle john. "you seem pleased with the idea of an eruption." the thin faced man threw a shrewd look from his dark eyes and smiled. uncle john frowned at the look and stumped away. he was not at all easy in his own mind. he had brought three nieces for a holiday to this foreign shore, and here at the outset they were confronted by an intangible danger that was more fearful because it was not understood. it was enough to make his round face serious, although he had so strong an objection to unnecessary worry. afternoon tea was served on deck amidst an unusual quiet. people soberly canvassed the situation and remarked upon the fact that the darkness increased visibly as they neared the bay of naples. beth couldn't drink her tea, for tiny black atoms fell through the air and floated upon the surface of the liquid. louise retired to her stateroom with a headache, and found her white serge gown peppered with particles of lava dust which had fallen from the skies. the pilot guided the ship cautiously past capri and into the bay. the air was now black with volcanic dross and a gloom as of midnight surrounded them on every side. the shore, the mountain and the water of the bay itself were alike invisible. chapter v vesuvius rampant it was saturday night, the seventh day of april, nineteen hundred and six--a night never to be forgotten by those aboard the ship; a night which has its place in history. at dinner the captain announced that he had dropped anchor at the immacollatella nuova, but at a safe distance from the shore, and that no passengers would be landed under any circumstances until the fall of ashes ceased and he could put his people ashore in a proper manner. a spirit of unrest fell upon them all. big tom horton whispered to beth that he did not intend to leave her side until all danger was over. the deck was deserted, all the passengers crowding into the smoking room and saloons to escape the lava dust. few kept their rooms or ventured to sleep. at intervals a loud detonation from the volcano shook the air, and the mystery and awe of the enveloping gloom were so palpable as almost to be felt. toward midnight the wind changed, driving the cloud of ashes to the southward and sufficiently clearing the atmosphere to allow the angry glow of the crater to be distinctly seen. now it shot a pillar of fire thousands of feet straight into the heavens; then it would darken and roll skyward great clouds that were illumined by the showers of sparks accompanying them. the windows of every cabin facing the volcano were filled with eager faces, and in the smoking room uncle john clasped beth around the waist with one arm and patsy with the other and watched the wonderful exhibition through the window with a grave and anxious face. tom horton had taken a position at one side of them and the dark italian at the other. the latter assured patsy they were in no danger whatever. tom secretly hoped they were, and laid brave plans for rescuing beth or perishing at her side. louise chose to lie in her berth and await events with calm resignation. if they escaped she would not look haggard and hollow-eyed when morning came. if a catastrophy was pending she would have no power to prevent it. it was four o'clock on sunday morning when vesuvius finally reached the climax of her travail. with a deep groan of anguish the mountain burst asunder, and from its side rolled a great stream of molten lava that slowly spread down the slope, consuming trees, vineyards and dwellings in its path and overwhelming the fated city of bosco-trecase. our friends marked the course of destruction by watching the thread of fire slowly wander down the mountain slope. they did not know of the desolation it was causing, but the sight was terrible enough to inspire awe in every breast. the volcano was easier after that final outburst, but the black clouds formed thicker than ever, and soon obscured the sky again. chapter vi under a cloud "after all," said uncle john, next morning, "we may consider ourselves very lucky. your parents might have come to naples a hundred times, my dears, and your children may come a hundred times more, and yet never see the sights that have greeted us on our arrival. if the confounded old hill was bound to spout, it did the fair thing by spouting when we were around. eh, patsy?" "i quite agree with you," said the girl. "i wouldn't have missed it for anything--if it really had to behave so." "but you'll pay for it!" growled signor valdi, who had overheard these remarks. "you will pay for it with a thousand discomforts--and i'm glad that is so. vesuvio is hell let loose; and it amuses you. hundreds are lying dead and crushed; and you are lucky to be here. listen," he dropped his voice to a whisper: "if these neapolitans could see the rejoicing in my heart, they would kill me. and you? pah! you are no better. you also rejoice--and they will welcome you to naples. i have advice. do not go on shore. it is useless." they were all startled by this strange speech, and the reproof it conveyed made them a trifle uncomfortable; but uncle john whispered that the man was mad, and to pay no attention to him. although ashes still fell softly upon the ship the day had somewhat lightened the gloom and they could see from deck the dim outlines of the shore. a crowd of boats presently swarmed around them, their occupants eagerly clamoring for passengers to go ashore, or offering fruits, flowers and souvenirs to any who might be induced to purchase. their indifference to their own and their city's danger was astonishing. it was their custom to greet arriving steamers in this way, for by this means they gained a livelihood. nothing short of absolute destruction seemed able to interfere with their established occupations. a steam tender also came alongside, and after a cordial farewell to the ship's officers and their travelling acquaintances, uncle john placed his nieces and their baggage aboard the tender, which shortly deposited them safely upon the dock. perhaps a lot of passengers more dismal looking never before landed on the beautiful shores of naples--beautiful no longer, but presenting an appearance gray and grewsome. ashes were ankle deep in the streets--a fine, flour-like dust that clung to your clothing, filled your eyes and lungs and seemed to penetrate everywhere. the foliage of the trees and shrubbery drooped under its load and had turned from green to the all-pervading gray. the grass was covered; the cornices and balconies of the houses were banked with ashes. "bless me!" said uncle john. "it's as bad as pompey, or whatever that city was called that was buried in the bible days." "oh, not quite, uncle," answered patsy, in her cheery voice; "but it may be, before vesuvius is satisfied." "it is certainly bad enough," observed louise, pouting as she marked the destruction of her pretty cloak by the grimy deposit that was fast changing its color and texture. "well, let us get under shelter as soon as possible," said uncle john. the outlines of a carriage were visible a short distance away. he walked up to the driver and said: "we want to go to a hotel." the man paid no attention. "ask him how much he charges, uncle. you know you mustn't take a cab in naples without bargaining." "why not?" "the driver will swindle you." "i'll risk that," he answered. "just now we're lucky if we get a carriage at all." he reached up and prodded the jehu in the ribs with his cane. "how much to the hotel vesuvius?" he demanded, loudly. the man woke up and flourished his whip, at the same time bursting into a flood of italian. the girls listened carefully. they had been trying to study italian from a small book beth had bought entitled "italian in three weeks without a master," but not a word the driver of the carriage said seemed to have occurred in the vocabulary of the book. he repeated "vesuvio" many times, however, with scornful, angry or imploring intonations, and louise finally said: "he thinks you want to go to the volcano, uncle. the hotel is the vesuve, not the vesuvius." "what's the difference?" "i don't know." "all right; you girls just hop in, and leave the rest to me." he tumbled them all into the vehicle, bag and baggage, and then said sternly to the driver: "ho-tel ve-suve--ve-suve--ho-tel ve-suve! drive there darned quick, or i'll break your confounded neck." the carriage started. it plowed its way jerkily through the dust-laden streets and finally stopped at an imposing looking structure. the day was growing darker, and an electric lamp burned before the entrance. but no one came out to receive them. uncle john climbed out and read the sign. "hotel du vesuve." it was the establishment he had been advised to stop at while in naples. he compared the sign with a card which he drew from his pocket, and knew that he had made no mistake. entering the spacious lobby, he found it deserted. in the office a man was hastily making a package of some books and papers and did not respond or even look up when spoken to. at the concierge's desk a big, whiskered man sat staring straight ahead of him with a look of abject terror in his eyes. "good morning," said uncle john. "fine day, isn't it?" "did you hear it?" whispered the concierge, as a dull boom, like that of a distant cannon, made the windows rattle in their casements. "of course," replied mr. merrick, carelessly. "old vesuve seems on a rampage. but never mind that now. we've just come from america, where the mountains are more polite, and we're going to stop at your hotel." the concierge's eyes wandered from the man to the three girls who had entered and grouped themselves behind him. then they fell upon the driver of the carriage, who burst into a torrent of vociferous but wholly unintelligible exclamations which uncle john declared "must be an excuse--and a mighty poor one--for talking." the whiskered man, whose cap was elaborately embroidered in gold with the words "hotel du vesuve," seemed to understand the driver. he sighed drearily and said to mr. merrick: "you must pay him thirty lira." "how much is that?" "six dollars." "not by a jugfull!" "you made no bargain." "i couldn't. he can't talk." "he claims it is you who cannot talk." "what!" "and prices are advanced during these awful days. what does it matter? your money will do you no good when we are all buried deep in ash and scoria." the big man shuddered at this gloomy picture, and added, listlessly: "you'll have to pay." uncle john paid, but the driver wouldn't accept american money. the disconsolate concierge would, though. he unlocked a drawer, put the six dollars into one section and drew from another two ten-lira notes. the driver took them, bowed respectfully to the whiskered man, shot a broadside of invective italian at the unconscious americans, and left the hotel. "how about rooms?" asked uncle john. "take any you please," answered the concierge. "all our guests are gone but two--two mad americans like yourselves. the servants are also gone; the chef has gone; the elevator conductors are gone. if you stay you'll have to walk up." "where have they all gone?" asked uncle john, wonderingly. "fled, sir; fled to escape destruction. they remember pompeii. only signor floriano, the proprietor, and myself are left. we stick to the last. we are brave." "so i see. now, look here, my manly hero. it's possible we shall all live through it; i'll bet you a thousand to ten that we do. and then you'll be glad to realize you've pocketed a little more american money. come out of that box and show us some rooms, and i'll help to build up your fortune." the concierge obeyed. even the horrors of the situation could not eliminate from his carefully trained nature that desire to accumulate which is the prime qualification of his profession. the americans walked up one flight and found spacious rooms on the first floor, of which they immediately took possession. "send for our trunks," said mr. merrick; and the man consented to do so provided he could secure a proper vehicle. "you will be obliged to pay high for it," he warned; "but that will not matter. to witness the destruction of our beautiful naples is an unusual sight. it will be worth your money." "we'll settle that in the dim hereafter," replied uncle john. "you get the trunks, and i'll take care of the finances." when the concierge had retired the girls began to stuff newspapers into the cracks of the windows of their sitting room, where the fine ash was sifting in and forming little drifts several inches in thickness. also the atmosphere of the room was filled with impalpable particles of dust, which rendered breathing oppressive and unpleasant. uncle john watched them for a time, and his brow clouded. "see here, girls," he exclaimed; "let's hold a council of war. do you suppose we are in any real danger?" they grouped around him with eager interest. "it's something new to be in danger, and rather exciting, don't you think?" said beth. "but perhaps we're as safe as we would be at home." "once," said louise, slowly, "there was a great eruption of vesuvius which destroyed the cities of herculaneum and pompeii. many of the inhabitants were buried alive. perhaps they thought there was no real danger." uncle john scratched his head reflectively. "i take it," he observed, "that the moral of your story is to light out while we have the chance." "not necessarily," observed the girl, smiling at his perplexity. "it is likewise true that many other eruptions have occurred, when little damage was done." "forewarned is forearmed," declared patsy. "naples isn't buried more than six inches in ashes, as yet, and it will take days for them to reach to our windows, provided they're falling at the same rate they do now. i don't see any use of getting scared before to-morrow, anyhow." "it's a big hill," said uncle john, gravely, "and i've no right to take foolish chances with three girls on my hands." "i'm not frightened, uncle john." "nor i." "nor i, the least bit." "everyone has left the hotel but ourselves," said he. "how sorry they will be, afterward," remarked beth. he looked at them admiringly, and kissed each one. "you stay in this room and don't move a peg till i get back," he enjoined them; "i'm going out to look over the situation." chapter vii a friend in need some of mr. merrick's business friends in new york, hearing of his proposed trip, had given him letters of introduction to people in various european cities. he had accepted them--quite a bunch, altogether--but had firmly resolved not to use them. neither he nor the nieces cared to make superficial acquaintances during their wanderings. yet uncle john chanced to remember that one of these letters was to a certain colonel angeli of the twelfth italian regiment, occupying the barracks on the pizzofalcone hill at naples. this introduction, tendered by a relative of the colonel's american wife, was now reposing in mr. merrick's pocket, and he promptly decided to make use of it in order to obtain expert advice as to the wisdom of remaining in the stricken city. enquiring his way from the still dazed concierge, he found that the pizzofalcone barracks were just behind the hotel but several hundred feet above it; so he turned up the strada st. lucia and soon came upon the narrow lane that wound upward to the fortifications. it was a long and tedious climb in the semi-darkness caused by the steady fall of ashes, and at intervals the detonations from vesuvius shook the huge rock and made its massive bulk seem insecure. but the little man persevered, and finally with sweating brow arrived at the barracks. a soldier carried in the letter to his colonel and presently returned to usher uncle john through the vast building, up a flight of steps, and so to a large covered balcony suspended many hundred feet above the via partenope, where the hotel was situated. here was seated a group of officers, watching intently the cloud that marked the location of the volcano. colonel angeli, big and bluff, his uniform gorgeous, his dark, heavy moustaches carefully waxed, his handsome face as ingenuous and merry as a schoolboy's, greeted the american with a gracious courtesy that made uncle john feel quite at his ease. when he heard of the nieces the italian made a grimace and then laughed. "i am despairing, signore," said he, in english sufficiently strangulated to be amusing but nevertheless quite comprehensible, "that you and the sweet signorini are to see our lovely naples under tribulations so very great. but yesterday, in all the world is no city so enchanting, so brilliant, so gay. to-day--look! is it not horrible? vesuvio is sick, and naples mourns until the tyrant is well again." "but the danger," said uncle john. "what do you think of the wisdom of our staying here? is it safe to keep my girls in naples during this eruption?" "ah! why not? this very morning the mountain asunder burst, and we who love our people dread the news of devastation we shall hear. from the observatory, where his majesty's faithful servant still remains, come telegrams that the great pebbles--what we call scoria--have ruined ottajano and san guiseppe. perhaps they are overwhelmed. but the beast has vomited; he will feel better now, and ever become more quiet." "i suppose," remarked mr. merrick, thoughtfully, "that no one knows exactly what the blamed hill may do next. i don't like to take chances with three girls on my hands. they are a valuable lot, colonel, and worth saving." the boyish italian instantly looked grave. then he led uncle john away from the others, although doubtless he was the only officer present able to speak or understand english, and said to him: "where are you living?" "at the hotel named after your sick mountain--the vesuve." "very good. in the bay, not distant from your hotel, lies a government launch that is under my command. at my home in the viala elena are a wife and two children, who, should danger that is serious arise, will be put by my soldiers on the launch, to carry them to safety. admirable, is it not?" "very good arrangement," said uncle john. "it renders me content to know that in any difficulty they cannot be hurt. i am not scare, myself, but it is pleasant to know i have what you call the side that is safe. from my american wife i have many of your excellent speech figures. but now! the launch is big. remain happy in naples--happy as vesuvio will let you--and watch his vast, his gigantic exhibition. if danger come, you all enter my launch and be saved. if no danger, you have a marvelous experience." the serious look glided from his face, and was replaced by a smile as bright as before. "thank you very much," responded uncle john, gratefully. "i shall go back to the girls well satisfied." "make the signorini stay in to-day," warned the colonel. "it is bad, just now, and so black one can nothing at all observe. to-morrow it will be better, and all can go without. i will see you myself, then, and tell you what to do." then he insisted that uncle john clear his parched throat with a glass of vermouth--a harmless drink of which all italians are very fond--and sent him away much refreshed in body and mind. he made his way through the ashy rain back to the hotel. people were holding umbrellas over their heads and plodding through the dust with seeming unconcern. at one corner a street singer was warbling, stopping frequently to cough the lava dust from his throat or shake it from his beloved mandolin. a procession of peasants passed, chanting slowly and solemnly a religious hymn. at the head of the column was borne aloft a gilded statuette of the virgin, and although uncle john did not know it, these simple folks were trusting in the sacred image to avert further disaster from the angry mountain. on arriving home mr. merrick told the girls with great elation of his new friend, and how they were to be taken aboard the launch in case of emergency. "but how will we know when danger threatens?" asked louise. while uncle john tried to think of an answer to this puzzling query someone knocked upon the door. the concierge was standing in the passage and beside him was a soldier in uniform, a natty cock's plume upon his beaver hat and a short carbine over his arm. "a guard from colonel angeli, signor," said the concierge, respectfully--the first respectful tone he had yet employed. the soldier took off his hat with a flourish, and bowed low. "he is to remain in the hotel, sir, yet will not disturb you in any way," continued the whiskered one. "but should he approach you at any time and beckon you to follow him, do so at once, and without hesitation. it is colonel angeli's wish. you are in the charge of this brave man, who will watch over your welfare." "that settles it, my dears," said uncle john, cheerfully, when the soldier and the concierge had withdrawn. "this italian friend doesn't do things by halves, and i take it we are perfectly safe from this time on." chapter viii across the bay tom horton called an hour later. he was in despair because his party had decided to leave naples for rome, and he feared beth would be engulfed by the volcano unless he was present to protect her. "mr. merrick," said the boy, earnestly, "you'll take good care of miss de graf, sir, won't you? we both live in ohio, you know, and we've just got acquainted; and--and i'd like to see her again, some time, if she escapes." uncle john's eyes twinkled, but he drew a long face. "my dear tom," he said, "don't ask me to take care of anyone--please don't! i brought these girls along to take care of _me_--three of 'em, sir--and they've got to do their duty. don't you worry about the girls; just you worry about _me_." that was not much consolation for the poor fellow, but he could do nothing more than wring their hands--beth's twice, by mistake--and wish them good luck before he hurried away to rejoin his family. "i'm sorry to see him go," said beth, honestly. "tom is a nice boy." "quite right," agreed uncle john. "i hope we shall meet no worse fellows than tom horton." at noon they were served a modest luncheon in their rooms, for signor floriano, having sent his important papers to a place of safety, had resolved to stick to his hotel and do his duty by any guests that chose to remain with him in defiance of the existent conditions. he had succeeded in retaining a few servants who had more courage than those that had stampeded at the first alarm, and while the hotel service for the next few days was very inadequate, no one was liable to suffer any great privation. during the afternoon the gloom grew denser than before, while thicker than ever fell the rain of ashes. this was the worst day naples experienced during the great eruption, and uncle john and his nieces were content to keep their rooms and live in the glare of electric lights. owing to their wise precautions to keep out the heavily laden air they breathed as little lava dust into their lungs as any people, perhaps, in the city; but to escape all was impossible. their eyes and throats became more or less inflamed by the floating atoms, and the girls declared they felt as if they were sealed up in a tomb. "well, my chickens, how do you like being abroad, and actually in europe?" enquired uncle john, cheerfully. beth and patsy smiled at him, but louise looked up from the baedecker she was studying and replied: "it's simply delightful, uncle, and i'm glad we happened here during this splendid eruption of vesuvius. only--only--" "only what, my dear?" "only it is such hard work to keep clean," answered his dainty niece. "even the water is full of lava, and i'm sure my face looks like a chimney-sweep's." "and you, beth?" "i don't like it, uncle. i'm sure i'd prefer naples in sunshine, although this is an experience we can brag about when we get home." "that is the idea, exactly," said louise, "and the only thing that reconciles me to the discomforts. thousands see naples in sunshine, but few can boast seeing vesuvius in eruption. it will give us considerable prestige when we return home." "ah, that is why i selected this time to bring you here," declared uncle john, with a comical wink. "i ordered the eruption before i left home, and i must say they've been very prompt about it, and done the thing up brown. eh, patsy?" "right you are, uncle. but you might tell 'em to turn off the eruption now, because we've had enough." "don't like eu-rope, eh?" "why, if i thought all europe was surrounded by volcanoes, i'd go home at once, if i had to walk. but the geographies don't mention many of these spouters, so we may as well stick out our present experience and hope the rest of the continent will behave better. the major'll be worried to death when he hears of this." "i've sent him a cable," said uncle john. "what did you say?" asked patsy, eagerly. "'all safe and well and enjoying the fireworks.'" "i'm glad you did that," replied the girl, deeply grateful at this evidence of thoughtfulness. "it's bad enough for the major to have me away, without making him worry, into the bargain." "well, no one is likely to worry about me," said beth, philosophically. "mother seldom reads the papers, except to get the society news," remarked louise. "i doubt if she'll hear of the eruption, unless the major happens to tell her." "i've cabled them all," said uncle john. "they're entitled to know that their kidiwinkles are in good shape." the evening was a tedious one, although they tried to enliven it with a game of bridge, in which uncle john and louise were quite proficient and the others dreadfully incompetent. once in a while the volcano thundered a deep detonation that caused the windows to shiver, but the americans were getting used to the sound and paid little heed to it. in the morning the wind had shifted, and although the air was still full of dust all near-by objects were clearly visible and even the outline of vesuvius could be seen sending skyward its pillar of black smoke. colonel angeli appeared soon after breakfast, his uniform fresh and bright and his boyish face beaming as pleasantly as ever. "vesuvio is better," said he, "but the rascal has badly acted and done much harm to our poor people. like herculaneum, our boscatrecase is covered with lava; like pompeii our ottajano is buried in ashes. let me advise you. to-day go to sorrento, and there stay for a time, until we can the dust brush from our streets and prepare to welcome you with the comfort more serene. i must myself ride to the villages that are suffering. my men are already gone, with the red-cross corps, to succor whom they can. i will send to you word when you may return. just now, should you stay, you will be able to see nothing at all." "i believe that is wise counsel," replied uncle john. "sorrento has no ashes," continued the colonel, "and from there you may watch the volcano better than from naples. to-day come the duke and duchess d'aosta to render assistance to the homeless and hungry; to-morrow his majesty the king will be here to discover what damage has been caused. alas! we have no sackcloth, but we are in ashes. i trust you will pardon my poor naples for her present inhospitality." "sure thing," said uncle john. "the city may be under a cloud, but her people are the right stuff, and we are greatly obliged to you for all your kindness to us." "but that is so little!" said the colonel, deprecatingly. they decided to leave their heavy baggage at the hotel du vesuve, and carried only their suit-cases and light luggage aboard the little steamer that was bound across the bay for sorrento. the decks were thronged with people as eager to get away from the stricken city as were our friends, and uncle john was only enabled to secure seats for his girls by bribing a steward so heavily that even that modern brigand was amazed at his good fortune. the ride was short but very interesting, for they passed under the shadow of the smoking mountain and came into a fresh, sweet atmosphere that was guiltless of a speck of the disagreeable lava dust that had so long annoyed them. the high bluffs of sorrento, with their picturesque villas and big hotels, seemed traced in burnished silver by the strong sunshine, and every member of uncle john's party was glad that colonel angeli had suggested this pleasant change of condition. small boats took them ashore and an elevator carried them swiftly to the top of the cliff and deposited them on the terrace of the victoria, a beautiful inn that nestled in a garden brilliant with splendid flowers and shrubbery. here they speedily established themselves, preparing to enjoy their first real experience of "sunny italy." chapter ix count ferralti at dinner it was announced that the famous tarantella would be danced in the lower hall of the hotel at nine o'clock, and the girls told uncle john that they must not miss this famous sight, which is one of the most unique in sorrento, or indeed in all italy. as they entered the pretty, circular hall devoted to the dance louise gave a start of surprise. a goodly audience had already assembled in the room, and among them the girl seemed to recognize an acquaintance, for after a brief hesitation she advanced and placed her hand in that of a gentleman who had risen on her entrance and hastened toward her. he was a nice looking young fellow, beth thought, and had a foreign and quite distinguished air. presently louise turned with cheeks somewhat flushed and brought the gentleman to her party, introducing him to uncle john and her cousins as count ferralti, whom she had once met in new york while he was on a visit to america. the count twirled his small and slender moustaches in a way that patsy thought affected, and said in excellent english: "it delights me to meet mr. merrick and the young ladies. may i express a hope that you are pleased with my beautiful country?" "are you italian?" asked uncle john, regarding the young man critically. "surely, mr. merrick. but i have resided much in new york, and may well claim to be an adopted son of your great city." "new york adopts a good many," said uncle john, drily. "it has even been thoughtless enough to adopt me." the dancers entered at that moment and the americans were forced to seat themselves hastily so as not to obstruct the view of others. count ferralti found a place beside louise, but seemed to have little to say to her during the course of the entertainment. the dances were unique and graceful, being executed by a troup of laughing peasants dressed in native costume, who seemed very proud of their accomplishment and anxious to please the throng of tourists present. the tarantella originated in ischia, but sorrento and capri have the best dancers. afterward uncle john and his nieces stood upon the terrace and watched the volcano rolling its dense clouds, mingled with sparks of red-hot scoria, toward the sky. the count clung to louise's side, but also tried to make himself agreeable to her cousins. in their rooms that night patsy told beth that the young foreigner was "too highfalutin' to suit her," and beth replied that his manners were so like those of their cousin louise that the two ought to get along nicely together. uncle john liked his nieces to make friends, and encouraged young men generally to meet them; but there was something in the appearance of this callow italian nobleman that stamped his character as artificial and insincere. he resolved to find out something about his antecedents before he permitted the young fellow to establish friendly relations with his girls. next morning after breakfast he wandered through the lobby and paused at the little office, where he discovered that the proprietor of this hotel was a brother of that floriano who managed the hotel du vesuve. that gave him an excuse to talk with the man, who spoke very good english and was exceedingly courteous to his guests--especially when they were american. "i see you have count ferralti with you," remarked uncle john. "whom, sir?" "ferralti--count ferralti. the young man standing by the window, yonder." "i--i did not know," he said, hesitatingly. "the gentleman arrived last evening, and i had not yet learned his name. let me see," he turned to his list of guests, who register by card and not in a book, and continued: "ah, yes; he has given his name as ferralti, but added no title. a count, did you say?" "yes," replied uncle john. the proprietor looked curiously toward the young man, whose back only was visible. then he remarked that the eruption of vesuvius was waning and the trouble nearly over for this time. "are the ferraltis a good family?" asked uncle john, abruptly. "that i cannot tell you, signor merrick." "oh. perhaps you know little about the nobility of your country." "i! i know little of the nobility!" answered floriano, indignantly. "my dear signor, there is no man better posted as to our nobility in all italy." "yet you say you don't know the ferralti family." the proprietor reached for a book that lay above his desk. "observe, signor. here is our record of nobility. it is the same as the 'blue book' or the 'peerage' of england. either fortunately or unfortunately--i cannot say--you have no need of such a book in america." he turned the pages and ran his finger down the line of "fs." "find me, if you can, a count ferralti in the list." uncle john looked. he put on his glasses and looked again. the name of ferralti was no place in the record. "then there is no such count, signor floriano." "and no such noble family, signor merrick." uncle john whistled softly and walked away to the window. the young man greeted him with a smile and a bow. "i misunderstood your name last evening," he said. "i thought you were count ferralti." "and that is right, sir," was the prompt reply. "allow me to offer you my card." uncle john took the card and read: "conte leonardi ferralti, milano, italia." he carefully placed the card in his pocket-book. "thank you," said he. "it's a fine morning, count." "charming, mr. merrick." uncle john walked away. he was glad that he had not suspected the young man unjustly. when an imposture is unmasked it is no longer dangerous. he joined his nieces, who were all busily engaged in writing letters home, and remarked, casually: "you've been deceived in your italian friend, louise. he is neither a count nor of noble family, although i suppose when you met him in new york he had an object in posing as a titled aristocrat." the girl paused, examining the point of her pen thoughtfully. "are you sure, uncle john?" "quite sure, my dear. i've just been through the list of italian counts, and his name is not there. floriano, the proprietor, who knows every aristocrat in italy, has never before heard of him." "how singular!" exclaimed louise. "i wonder why he has tried to deceive us." "oh, the world is full of impostors; but when you are on to their game they are quite harmless. of course we won't encourage this young man in any way. it will be better to avoid him." "he--he seems very nice and gentlemanly," said louise with hesitation. the other girls exchanged glances, but made no remark. uncle john hardly knew what to say further. he felt he was in an awkward position, for louise was the most experienced in worldly ways of his three nieces and he had no desire to pose as a stern guardian or to deprive his girls of any passing pleasure they might enjoy. moreover, louise being in love with that young weldon her mother so strongly objected to, she would not be likely to care much for this italian fellow, and mrs. merrick had enjoined him to keep her daughter's mind from dwelling on her "entanglement." "oh, well, my dear," he said to her, "you must act as you see fit. i do not imagine we shall see much of this young man, in any event, and now that you are well aware of the fact that he is sailing under false colors, you will know how to handle him better than i can advise you." "i shall be very careful," said louise slowly, as she resumed her writing. "well then, girls, what do you say to a stroll around the village?" asked their uncle. "i'm told it's a proper place to buy silk stockings and inlaid wood-work. they come assorted, i suppose." beth and patsy jumped up with alacrity, but louise pleaded that she had several more letters to write; so the others left her and passed the rest of the forenoon in rummaging among the quaint shops of sorrento, staring at the statue of tasso, and enjoying the street scenes so vividly opposed to those of america. it was almost their first glimpse of foreign manners and customs. in naples they had as yet seen nothing but darkness and falling ashes. chapter x the road to amalfi the hotel victoria faces the bay of naples. back of it are the famous gardens, and as you emerge from these you find yourself upon the narrow main street of sorrento, not far from the square of tasso. as our little party entered this street they were immediately espied by the vetturini, or cabmen, who rushed toward them with loud cries while they waved their whips frantically to attract attention. one tall fellow was dressed in a most imposing uniform of blue and gold, with a high hat bearing a cockade _a la inglese_ and shiny top boots. his long legs enabled him to outstrip the others, and in an almost breathless voice he begged uncle john to choose his carriage: "the besta carrozza ina town!" "we don't want to ride," was the answer. the cabman implored. certainly they must make the amalfi drive, or to massa lubrense or saint' agata or at least il deserto! the others stood by to listen silently to the discussion, yielding first place to the victor in the race. uncle john was obdurate. "all we want to-day is to see the town," he declared, "we're not going to ride, but walk." "ah, but the amalfi road, signore! surely you will see that." "to-morrow, perhaps; not now." "to-morrow, signore! it is good. at what hour, to-morrow, illustrissimo?" "oh, don't bother me." "we may as well drive to amalfi to-morrow," suggested beth. "it is the proper thing to do, uncle." "all right; we'll go, then." "you take my carrozza, signore?" begged the cabman. "it is besta ina town." "let us see it." instantly the crowd scampered back to the square, followed more leisurely by uncle john and the girls. there the uniformed vetturio stood beside the one modern carriage in the group. it was new; it was glossy; it had beautiful, carefully brushed cushions; it was drawn by a pair of splendid looking horses. "is not bellissima, signore?" asked the man, proudly. "all right," announced uncle john, nodding approval. "be ready to start at nine o'clock to-morrow morning." the man promised, whereat his confreres lost all interest in the matter and the strangers were allowed to proceed without further interruption. they found out all about the amalfi drive that evening, and were glad indeed they had decided to go. even louise was pleased at the arrangement and as eager as the others to make the trip. it is one of the most famous drives in the world, along a road built upon the rocky cliff that overhangs the sea and continually winds in and out as it follows the outlines of the crags. they had an early breakfast and were ready at nine o'clock; but when they came to the gate of the garden they found only a dilapidated carriage standing before it. "do you know where my rig is?" uncle john asked the driver, at the same time peering up and down the road. "it is me, sir signore. i am engage by you. is it not so?" mr. merrick looked at the driver carefully. it was long-legs, sure enough, but shorn of his beautiful regalia. "where's your uniform?" he asked. "ah, i have leave it home. the road is dusty, very; i must not ruin a nice dress when i work," answered the man, smiling unabashed. "but the carriage. what has become of the fine carriage and the good horses, sir?" "ah, it is dreadful; it is horrible, signore. i find me the carrozza is not easy; it is not perfect; it do not remain good for a long ride. so i leave him home, for i am kind. i do not wish the signorini bella to tire and weep. but see the fine vetture you now have! is he not easy like feathers, an' strong, an' molto buena?" "it may be a bird, but it don't look it," said uncle john, doubtfully. "i rented the best looking rig in town, and you bring me the worst." "only try, signore! others may look; it is only you who must ride. you will be much please when we return." "well, i suppose we may as well take it," said the little man, in a resigned tone. "hop in, my dears." they entered the crazy looking vehicle and found the seats ample and comfortable despite the appearance of dilapidation everywhere prevalent. the driver mounted the box, cracked his whip, and the lean nags ambled away at a fair pace. they passed near to the square, where the first thing that attracted uncle john's attention was the beautiful turnout he had hired yesterday. it was standing just as it had before, and beside it was another man dressed in the splendid uniform his driver had claimed that he had left at home. "here--stop! stop, i say!" he yelled at the man, angrily. but the fellow seemed suddenly deaf, and paid no heed. he cracked his whip and rattled away through the streets without a glance behind him. the girls laughed and uncle john stopped waving his arms and settled into his seat with a groan. "we've been swindled, my dears," he said; "swindled most beautifully. but i suppose we may as well make the best of it." "better," agreed patsy. "this rig is all right, uncle. it may not be as pretty as the other, but i expect that one is only kept to make engagements with. when it comes to actual use, we don't get it." "that's true enough," he returned. "but i'll get even with this rascal before i've done with him, never fear." it was a cold, raw morning, but the portiere at the victoria had told them the sun would be out presently and the day become more genial. indeed, the sun did come out, but only to give a discouraged look at the landscape and retire again. during this one day in which they rode to amalfi and back, uncle john afterward declared that they experienced seven different kinds of weather. they had sunshine, rain, hail, snow and a tornado; and then rain again and more sunshine. "sunny italy" seemed a misnomer that day, as indeed it does many days in winter and spring, when the climate is little better than that prevailing in the eastern and central portions of the united states. and perhaps one suffers more in italy than in america, owing to the general lack of means to keep warm on cold days. the italian, shivering and blue, will tell you it is not cold at all, for he will permit no reproach to lie on his beloved land; but the traveller frequently becomes discouraged, and the american contingent, especially, blames those misleading english writers who, finding relief from their own bleak island in italian climes, exaggerated the conditions by apostrophizing the country as "sunny italy" and for more than a century uttered such rhapsodies in its praise that the whole world credited them--until it acquired personal experience of the matter. italy is beautiful; it is charming and delightful; but seldom is this true in winter or early spring. the horses went along at a spanking pace that was astonishing. they passed through the picturesque lanes of sorrento, climbed the further slope, and brought the carriage to the other side of the peninsula, where the girls obtained their first view of the gulf of salerno, with the lovely isles of the sirens lying just beneath them. and now they were on the great road that skirts the coast as far as salerno, and has no duplicate in all the known world. for it is cut from the solid rock of precipitous cliffs rising straight from the sea, which the highway overhangs at an average height of five hundred feet, the traveller being protected only by a low stone parapet from the vast gulf that yawns beneath. and on the other side of the road the cliffs continue to ascend a like distance toward the sky, their irregular surfaces dotted with wonderful houses that cling to the slopes, and vineyards that look as though they might slip down at any moment upon the heads of timorous pilgrims. when it rained they put up the carriage top, which afforded but partial shelter. the shower was brief, but was shortly followed by hail as big as peas, which threatened to dash in the frail roof of their _carrozza_. while they shrank huddled beneath the blankets, the sun came out suddenly, and the driver shed his leathern apron, cracked his whip, and began singing merrily as the vehicle rolled over the smooth road. our travellers breathed again, and prepared to enjoy once more the wonderful vistas that were unfolded at every turn of the winding way. sometimes they skirted a little cove where, hundreds of feet below, the fishermen sat before their tiny huts busily mending their nets. from that distance the boats drawn upon the sheltered beach seemed like mere toys. then they would span a chasm on a narrow stone bridge, or plunge through an arch dividing the solid mountain. but ever the road returned in a brief space to the edge of the sea-cliff, and everywhere it was solid as the hills themselves, and seemingly as secure. they had just sighted the ancient town of positano and were circling a gigantic point of rock, when the great adventure of the day overtook them. without warning the wind came whistling around them in a great gale, which speedily increased in fury until it drove the blinded horses reeling against the low parapet and pushed upon the carriage as if determined to dash it over the precipice. as it collided against the stone wall the vehicle tipped dangerously, hurling the driver from his seat to dive headforemost into the space beneath. but the man clung to the reins desperately, and they arrested his fall, leaving him dangling at the end of them while the maddened horses, jerked at the bits by the weight of the man, reared and plunged as if they would in any instant tumble themselves and the carriage over the cliff. at this critical moment a mounted horseman, who unobserved had been following the party, dashed to their rescue. the rider caught the plunging steeds by their heads and tried to restrain their terror, at his own eminent peril, while the carriage lay wedged against the wall and the driver screamed pitifully from his dangerous position midway between sea and sky. then beth slipped from her seat to the flat top of the parapet, stepped boldly to where the reins were pulling upon the terrified horses, and seized them in her strong grasp. "hold fast," she called calmly to the driver, and began dragging him upward, inch by inch. he understood instantly the task she had undertaken, and in a moment his courage returned and he managed to get his foot in a crack of the rock and assist her by relieving her of part of his weight. just above was a slight ledge; he could reach it now; and then she had him by the arm, so that another instant found him clinging to the parapet and drawing himself into a position of safety. the wind had died away as suddenly as it came upon them. the horses, as soon as the strain upon their bits was relaxed, were easily quieted. before those in the carriage had quite realized what had occurred the adventure was accomplished, the peril was past, and all was well again. uncle john leaped from the carriage, followed by louise and patsy. the young horseman who had come to their assistance so opportunely was none other than count ferralti, whom they had such good reason to distrust. he was sitting upon his horse and staring with amazement at beth, at whose feet the driver was grovelling while tears flowed down his bronzed cheeks and he protested in an absurd mixture of english and italian, by every saint in the calendar, that the girl had saved him from a frightful death and he would devote his future life to her service. "it is wonderful!" murmured ferralti. "however could such a slip of a girl do so great a deed?" "why, it's nothing at all," returned beth, flushing; "we're trained to do such things in the gymnasium at cloverton, and i'm much stronger than i appear to be." "'twas her head, mostly," said patsy, giving her cousin an admiring hug; "she kept her wits while the rest of us were scared to death." uncle john had been observing the count. one of the young man's hands hung limp and helpless. "are you hurt, sir?" he asked. ferralti smiled, and his eyes rested upon louise. "a little, perhaps, mr. merrick; but it is unimportant. the horses were frantic at the time and wrenched my wrist viciously as i tried to hold them. i felt something snap; a small bone, perhaps. but i am sure it is nothing of moment." "we'd better get back to sorrento," said uncle john, abruptly. "not on my account, i beg of you," returned ferralti, quickly. "we are half way to amalfi now, and you may as well go on. for my part, if the wrist troubles me, i will see a surgeon at amalfi--that is, if you permit me to accompany you." he said this with a defferent bow and a glance of inquiry. uncle john could not well refuse. the young fellow might be a sham count, but the manliness and courage he had displayed in their grave emergency surely entitled him to their grateful consideration. "you are quite welcome to join us," said uncle john. the driver had by now repaired a broken strap and found his equippage otherwise uninjured. the horses stood meekly quiescent, as if they had never known a moment's fear in their lives. so the girls and their uncle climbed into the vehicle again and the driver mounted the box and cracked his whip with his usual vigor. the wind had subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, and as they passed through positano--which is four hundred feet high, the houses all up and down the side of a cliff like swallows' nests--big flakes of snow were gently falling around them. count ferralti rode at the side of the carriage but did not attempt much conversation. his lips were tight set and the girls, slyly observing his face, were sure his wrist was hurting him much more than he cared to acknowledge. circling around the cliff beyond positano the sun greeted them, shining from out a blue sky, and they wondered what had become of the bad weather they had so lately experienced. from now on, past prajano and into amalfi, the day was brilliant and the temperature delightful. it was full noon by the time they alighted at the little gate-house of the ancient cappuccini-convento, now a hotel much favored by the tourist. count ferralti promised to join them later and rode on to the town to find a surgeon to look after his injured hand, while the others slowly mounted the long inclines leading in a zigzag fashion up to the old monastery, which was founded in the year . from the arbored veranda of this charming retreat is obtained one of the finest views in europe, and while the girls sat enjoying it uncle john arranged with a pleasant faced woman (who had once lived in america) for their luncheon. an hour later, and just as they were sitting down to the meal, count ferralti rejoined them. his hand was bandaged and supported by a sling, and in answer to louise's gentle inquiries he said, simply: "it was as i had feared: a small bone snapped. but my surgeon is skillful, and says time will mend the wrist as good as new." in spite of his courage he could eat no luncheon, but merely sipped a glass of wine; so uncle john, alarmed at his pallor, insisted that he take a seat in the carriage on the return journey. beth wanted to ride the count's horse home, but there was no side saddle to be had, so they led the animal by a halter fastened behind the ricketty carriage, and beth mounted the box and rode beside her friend the driver. the pleasant weather lasted until they neared sorrento, when another shower of rain came up. they reached their hotel damp and bedraggled, but enthusiastic over their wonderful trip and the interesting adventure it had incidentally developed. chapter xi the eagle screams despite the glories of the amalfi road our tourists decided it was more pleasant to loiter around sorrento for a time than to undertake further excursions. the mornings and evenings were chill, but during the middle of the day the air was warm and delicious; so the girls carried their books and fancy-work into the beautiful gardens or wandered lazily through the high-walled lanes that shut in the villas and orange groves. sometimes they found a gate open, and were welcomed to the orchards and permitted to pluck freely the fragrant and rich flavored fruit, which is excelled in no other section of the south country. also uncle john, with beth and patsy, frequented the shops of the wood-workers and watched their delicate and busy fingers inlaying the various colored woods; but louise mostly kept to the garden, where count ferralti, being a semi-invalid, was content to sit by her side and amuse her. in spite of her uncle's discovery of the false position assumed by this young man, louise seemed to like his attentions and to approve his evident admiration for her. his ways might be affected and effeminate and his conversational powers indifferent; but his bandaged wrist was a constant reminder to all the nieces that he possessed courage and ready wit, and it was but natural that he became more interesting to them because just now he was to an extent helpless, and his crippled hand had been acquired in their service. uncle john watched the young fellow shrewdly, but could discover little harm in him except his attempt to deceive them in regard to his name and position. yet in his mature eyes there was not much about ferralti to arouse admiration, and the little man considered his girls too sensible to be greatly impressed by this youthful italian's personality. so he allowed him to sit with his nieces in the gardens as much as he pleased, believing it would be ungrateful to deprive the count of that harmless recreation. "a reg'lar chaperone might think differently," he reflected; "but thank goodness there are no dragons swimming in our cup of happiness." one day they devoted to capri and the blue grotto, and afterward they lunched at the quisisana and passed the afternoon in the town. but the charms of sorrento were too great for capri to win their allegiance, and they were glad to get back to their quaint town and delightful gardens again. the week passed all too swiftly, and then came a letter from colonel angeli telling them to return to naples and witness the results of the eruption. this they decided to do, and bidding good-bye to signor floriano and his excellent hotel they steamed across the bay and found the "vesuve" a vastly different hostelry from the dismal place they had left in their flight from naples. it was now teeming with life, for, all danger being past, the tourists had flocked to the city in droves. the town was still covered with ashes, but under the brilliant sunshine it did not look as gloomy as one might imagine, and already thousands of carts were busily gathering the dust from the streets and dumping it in the waters of the bay. it would require months of hard work, though, before naples could regain a semblance of its former beauty. their friend the colonel personally accompanied them to the towns that had suffered the most from the eruption. at boscatrecasa they walked over the great beds of lava that had demolished the town--banks of cinders looking like lumps of pumice stone and massed from twenty to thirty feet in thickness throughout the valley. the lava was still so hot that it was liable to blister the soles of their feet unless they kept constantly moving. it would be many more days before the interior of the mass became cold. through the forlorn, dust-covered vineyards they drove to san guiseppe, where a church roof had fallen in and killed one hundred and forty people, maiming many more. the red-cross tents were pitched in the streets and the whole town was one vast hospital. ottajano, a little nearer to the volcano, had been buried in scoria, and nine-tenths of the roofs had fallen in, rendering the dwellings untenable. from here a clear view of mt. vesuvius could be obtained. the shape of the mountain had greatly altered and the cone had lost sixty-five feet of its altitude. but when one gazed upon the enormous bulk of volcanic deposit that littered the country for miles around, it seemed to equal a dozen mountains the size of vesuvius. the marvel was that so much ashes and cinders could come from a single crater in so short a period. naples was cleaning house, but slowly and listlessly. the people seemed as cheerful and light-hearted as ever. the volcano was one of their crosses, and they bore it patiently. the theatres would remain closed for some weeks to come, but the great museo nationale was open, and uncle john and his nieces were much interested in the bronze and marble statuary that here form the greatest single collection in all the world. it was at the museum that mr. merrick was arrested for the first time in his life, an experience he never afterward forgot. bad money is so common in naples that uncle john never accepted any change from anyone, but obtained all his silver coins and notes directly from the banca commerciale italiana, a government institution. one morning he drove with the girls to the museum and paid the cabman a lira, but before he could ascend the steps the man was after him and holding out a leaden coin, claiming that his fare had given him bad money and must exchange it for good. this is so common a method of swindling that uncle john paid no heed to the demands of the cabman until one of the guard municipale, in his uniform of dark blue with yellow buttons and cap, placed a restraining hand upon the american's shoulder. uncle john angrily shook him off, but the man persisted, and an interpreter employed by the museum stepped forward and explained that unless the cabman was given a good coin in exchange for the bad one the guarde would be obliged to take him before a commissionaire, or magistrate. "but i gave him a good coin--a lira direct from the bank," declared uncle john. "he exhibits a bad one," returned the interpreter, calmly. "he's a swindler!" "he is a citizen of naples, and entitled to a just payment," said the other, shrugging his shoulders. "you are all leagued together," said uncle john, indignantly. "but you will get no more money out of me, i promise you." the result was that the stubborn american was placed under arrest. leaving the girls at the museum in charge of ferralti, who had made no attempt to interfere in the dispute but implored uncle john to pay and avoid trouble, the angry prisoner was placed in the same cab he had arrived in and, with the officer seated beside him, was publicly driven to the office of the magistrate. this official understood no english, but he glowered and frowned fiercely when the american was brought before him. the guarde and the cabman stood with bared bowed heads and in low tones preferred the charge against the prisoner; but uncle john swaggered up to the desk and pounded his clinched fist upon it while he roared a defiance of italian injustice and threatened to "bring over a few war-ships and blow naples into kingdom come!" the magistrate was startled, and ordered the prisoner searched for concealed weapons. uncle john doubled his fists and dared the guarde to touch him. then the cabman was dispatched for someone who could speak english, and when an interpreter arrived the american told him to send for the united states consul and also to inform the magistrate that nothing but war between america and italy could wipe out the affront that had been thrust upon him. the magistrate was disturbed, and preferred not to send for the consul. he offered to release uncle john if he would give the cabman a good lira in exchange for the bad one. the official fee would be five lira--or say three lira--or even two. uncle john flatly refused to pay anything to anybody. only war could settle this international complication--bloody and bitter war. the consul must cable at once for war-ships and troops. he would insist upon it. all compromise was now impossible! the magistrate was frightened. the guarde's eyes bulged with horror and he trembled visibly. it was evident they had made a grave mistake in arresting this mad american, who was evidently a personage of great importance and able to declare war at a moment's notice. the cabman, the magistrate, the guarde and the interpreter put their heads together and chattered voluble italian--all speaking at once in excited tones--while uncle john continued to warn them at the top of his lungs that their country was doomed to sudden annihilation and they were the culprits responsible for the coming calamity. as a result they bundled the irate american into the carriage again and drove him poste haste back to the museum, where they deposited him upon the steps. then in a flash the guarde and the cabman disappeared from sight and were seen no more. the victor smiled proudly as his nieces rushed toward him. "did you have to pay another lira, uncle?" asked patsy, anxiously. "not on your life, my dear," mopping his brow vigorously. "they're a lot of cutthroats and assassins--policemen, magistrates and all--but when the eagle screams they're wise enough to duck." the girls laughed. "and did the eagle scream, then?" patsy enquired. "just a little, my dear; but if it whispered it would sound mighty loud in this mummified old world. but we've lost enough time for one day. come; let's go see 'narcissus' and the 'dancing faun.'" chapter xii moving on "here's a letter from my dear old friend silas watson," said uncle john, delightedly. "it's from palermo, where he has been staying with his ward--and your friend, girls--kenneth forbes, and he wants me to lug you all over to sicily at once." "that's jolly," said patsy, with a bright smile. "i'd like to see kenneth again." "i suppose he is a great artist, by this time," said beth, musingly. "how singular!" exclaimed louise. "count ferralti told me only this morning that he had decided to go to palermo." "really?" said uncle john. "yes, uncle. isn't it a coincidence?" "why, as for that," he answered, slowly, "i'm afraid it will prevent our seeing the dear count--or whatever he is--again, at least for some time. for mr. watson and kenneth are just leaving palermo, and he asks us to meet him in another place altogether, a town called--called--let me see; tormenti, or terminal, or something." "give me the letter, dear," said patsy. "i don't believe it's terminal at all. of course not," consulting the pages, "it's taormina." "is that in sicily?" he asked. "yes. listen to what mr. watson says: 'i'm told it is the most beautiful spot in the world, which is the same thing you hear about most beautiful places. it is eight hundred feet above the mediterranean and nestles peacefully in the shadow of mount etna.'" "etna!" cried uncle john, with a start. "isn't that another volcano?" "to be sure," said beth, the geographer. "etna is the biggest volcano in the world." "does it spout?" he asked, anxiously. "all the time, they say. but it is not usually dangerous." "the proper thing, when you go to eu-rope," declared uncle john, positively, "is to do venice, where the turpentine comes from, and switzerland, where they make chocolate and goat's milk, and paris and monte carlo, where they kick high and melt pearls in champagne. everybody knows that. that's what goin' to eu-rope really means. but sicily isn't on the programme, that i ever heard of. so we'll just tell silas watson that we'll see him later--which means when we get home again." "but sicily is beautiful," protested patsy. "i'd as soon go there as anywhere." "it's a very romantic place," added louise, reflectively. "everybody goes to france and switzerland," remarked beth. "but it's because they don't know any better. let's be original, uncle, and keep out of the beaten track of travel." "but the volcano!" exclaimed mr. merrick. "is it necessary to stick to volcanoes to be original?" "etna won't hurt us, i'm sure," said patsy. "isn't there a greek theatre at taormina?" asked louise. "i've never heard of it; but i suppose the greeks have, if it's there," he replied. "but why not wait till we get home, and then go to kieth's or hammerstein's?" "you don't understand, dear. this theatre is very ancient." "playing minstrel shows in it yet, i suppose. well, girls, if you say sicily, sicily it is. all i'm after is to give you a good time, and if you get the volcano habit it isn't my fault." "it is possible the count said taormina, instead of palermo," remarked louise, plaintively. "i wasn't paying much attention at the time. i'll ask him." the others ignored this suggestion. said patsy to her uncle: "when do we go, sir?" "whenever you like, my dears." "then i vote to move on at once," decided the girl. "we've got the best out of naples, and it's pretty grimey here yet." the other nieces agreed with her, so uncle john went out to enquire the best way to get to sicily, and to make their arrangements. the steamer "victor emmanuel" of the navigazione general italiana line was due to leave naples for messina the next evening, arriving at its destination the following morning. uncle john promptly booked places. the intervening day was spent in packing and preparing for the journey, and like all travellers the girls were full of eager excitement at the prospect of seeing something new. "i'm told sicily is an island," grumbled uncle john. "here we are, on a trip to eu-rope, and emigrating to an island the first thing we do." "sicily is europe, all right, uncle," answered patsy. "at least, it isn't asia or africa." that assertion seemed to console him a little, and he grew cheerful again. the evening was beautiful as they embarked, but soon after leaving the bay the little, tub-shaped steamer began to tumble and toss vigorously, so that all the passengers aboard speedily sought their berths. uncle john found himself in a stuffy little cabin that smelled of tar and various other flavors that were too mixed to be recognizable. as a result he passed one of the most miserable nights of his life. toward morning he rolled out and dressed himself, preferring the deck to his bed, and the first breath of salt air did much to restore him. day was just breaking, and to the right he could see a tongue of fire flaming against the dark sky. "what is that, sir?" he enquired of an officer who passed. "that is stromboli, signor, the great volcano of lipari. it is always in eruption." uncle john groaned. "volcanoes to right of us, volcanoes to left of us volleyed and thundered," he muttered dismally, as he fell back in his chair. the sky brightened, and the breath of the breeze changed and came to him laden with delicious fragrance. "see, signore!" called the officer, passing again; "before us is mighty etna--you can see it clearly from the bow." "volcanoes in front of us, volcanoes behind us!" wailed the little man. but he walked to the bow and saw the shores of sicily looming in advance, with the outline of the stately mountain rising above and dominating it. then the sun burst forth, flooding all with a golden radiance that was magical in its gorgeous effects. patsy came on deck and stood beside her uncle, lost in rapturous admiration. beth soon followed her. before long they entered the straits of messina and passed between the classic rock of scylla on the calabrian coast, and the whirlpool of charybdis at the point of the promontory of faro, which forms the end of the famous "golden sickle" enclosing the bay of messina. "if this is really eu-rope, i'm glad we came," said uncle john, drawing a long breath as the ship came to anchor opposite the palazzo municipale. "i don't remember seeing anything prettier since we left new york." presently they had loaded their trunks and hand baggage, and incidentally themselves, into the boat of the hotel trinacria which came alongside in charge of a sleepy porter. after a brief examination at the custom-house, where uncle john denied having either sugar, tobacco or perfumery, they followed on foot the truck laden with their worldly possessions, and soon reached the hotel. a pleasant breakfast followed, which they ate before a window overlooking the busy marina, and then they drove about the town for a time to see in a casual way the "sights." in the afternoon they took the train for taormina. messina seemed a delightful place, but if they were going to settle in taormina for a time it would not pay them to unpack or linger on the way. so they rolled along the coast for a couple of hours in a quaint, old-fashioned railway carriage, and were then deposited upon the platform of the little station at giardini. "i'm afraid there has been a mistake," said the little man, gazing around him anxiously. "there's no town here, and i told the guard to put us off at taormina--not this forlorn place." just then beth discovered a line of carriages drawn up back of the station. the drivers were mostly asleep inside them, although several stood in a group arguing in fluent italian the grave question as to whether signora gani's cow had a black patch over its left shoulder, or not. some of the carriages bore signs: "hotel timeo;" "grand hotel san domenico;" "hotel castello-a-mare;" "grand hotel metropole," and so forth. in that of the castello-a-mare the man was awakening and rubbing his eyes. uncle john said to him: "good morning. had a nice rest?" "i thank you, signore, i am well refreshed," was the reply. "by the way, can you tell us where the town of taormina is? i hate to trouble you; but we'd like to know." the man waved an arm upward, and following the motion with their eyes they saw a line of precipitous cliffs that seemed impossible to scale. "do you desire to go to the grand hotel castello-a-mare?" enquired the driver, politely. "is it in taormina?" "most certainly, signore." "and you will take us?" "with pleasure, signore." "oh; i didn't know. i supposed you were going to sleep again." the man looked at him reproachfully. "it is my business, signore. i am very attentive to my duties. if you permit me to drive you to our splendide--our magnifico hotel--you will confer a favor." "how about the baggage?" "the trunks, signor, we will send for later. there is really no hurry about them. the small baggage will accompany us. you will remark how excellent is my english. i am frascatti vietri; perhaps you have heard of me in america?" "if i have it has escaped my memory," said uncle john, gravely. "have you been to america?" asked beth. "surely, signorina. i lived in chicago, which, as you are aware, is america. my uncle had a fruit shop in south water, a via which is chicago. is it not so? you will find few in taormina who can the english speak, and none at all who can so perfectly speak it as frascatti vietri." "you are wonderful," said patsy, delighted with him. but uncle john grew impatient to be off. "i hate to interrupt you, mr. vietri," he hinted; "but if you can spare the time we may as well make a start." the driver consented. he gracefully swung the suit-cases and travelling bags to the top of the vehicle and held the door open while his fares entered. then he mounted to his seat, took the reins, and spoke to the horses. some of the other drivers nodded at him cheerfully, but more as if they were sorry he must exert himself than with any resentment at his success in getting the only tourists who had alighted from the train. as they moved away uncle john said: "observe the difference between the cab-drivers here and those at home. in america they fight like beasts to get a job; here they seem anxious to avoid earning an honest penny. if there could be a happy medium somewhere, i'd like it." "are we going to the best hotel?" asked louise, who had seemed a trifle disconsolate because she had not seen count ferralti since leaving naples. "i don't know, my dear. it wasn't a question of choice, but of necessity. no other hotel seemed willing to receive us." they were now winding upward over a wonderful road cut in the solid rock. it was broad and smooth and protected by a parapet of dressed limestone. now and then they passed pleasant villas set in orchards of golden oranges or groves of olives and almonds; but there was no sign of life on any side. the road was zigzag, making a long ascent across the face of the cape, then turning abruptly to wind back again, but always creeping upward until an open space showed the station far below and a rambling stone building at the edge of the cliff far above. "behold!" cried frascatti, pointing up, "the grand hotel castello-a-mare; is it not the excellenza location?" "has it a roof?" asked uncle john, critically. "of a certainty, signore! but it does not show from below," was the grave reply. at times frascatti stopped his horses to allow them to rest, and then he would turn in his seat to address his passengers in the open victoria and descant upon the beauties of the panorama each turn unfolded. "this road is new," said he, "because we are very progressive and the old road was most difficulty. then it was three hours from the bottom to the top. now it is but a short hour, for our energy climbs the three miles in that brief time. shall i stop here for the sunset, or will your excellenzi hasten on?" "if your energy approves, we will hasten," returned uncle john. "we love a sunset, because it's bound to set anyway, and we may as well make the best of it; but we have likewise an objection to being out after dark. any brigands around here?" "brigands! ah; the signor is merry. never, since the days of naxos, have brigands infested our fair country." "when were the days of naxos?" "some centuries before christ, signor," bowing his head and making the sign of the cross. "very good. the brigands of those days must, of course, be dead by this time. now, sir, when you have leisure, let us hasten." the horses started and crept slowly upward again. none of the party was in a hurry. such beautiful glimpses of scenery were constantly visible from the bends of the road that the girls were enraptured, and could have ridden for hours in this glorious fairyland. but suddenly the horses broke into a trot and dragged the carriage rapidly forward over the last incline. a moment later they dashed into the court of the hotel and the driver with a loud cry of "oo-ah!" and a crack of his whip drew up before the entrance. the portiere and the padrone, or landlord--the latter being also the proprietaire--came out to greet them, extending to their guests a courteous welcome. the house was very full. all of the cheaper rooms were taken; but of course the signor americain would wish only the best and be glad to pay. uncle john requested them to rob him as modestly as possible without conflicting with their sense of duty, and they assured him they would do so. the rooms were adorable. they faced the sea and had little balconies that gave one a view of the blue mediterranean far beneath, with lovely isola bella and the capo san andrea nestling on its bosom. to the right towered the majestic peak of etna, its crest just now golden red in the dying sunset. the girls drew in deep breaths and stood silent in a very ecstacy of delight. at their feet was a terraced garden, running downward two hundred feet to where the crag fell sheer to the sea. it was glorious with blooming flowers of every sort that grows, and the people on the balconies imagined at the moment they had been transferred to an earthly paradise too fair and sweet for ordinary mortals. and then the glow of the sun faded softly and twilight took its place. far down the winding road could be seen the train of carriages returning from the station, the vetturini singing their native songs as the horses slowly ascended the slope. an unseen organ somewhere in the distance ground out a neapolitan folk song, and fresh and youthful voices sang a clear, high toned accompaniment. even practical uncle john stood absorbed and admiring until the soft voice of the facchino called to ask if he wanted hot water in which to bathe before dinner. "it's no use," said patsy, smiling at him from the next balcony with tears in her eyes; "there's not another taormina on earth. here we are, and here we stay until we have to go home again." "but, my dear, think of paris, of venice, of--" "i'll think of nothing but this, uncle john. unless you settle down with us here i'll turn milkmaid and live all my days in sicily!" beth laughed, and drew her into their room. "don't be silly, patsy dear," she said, calmly, although almost as greatly affected as her cousin. "there are no cows here, so you can't be a milkmaid." "can't i milk the goats, then?" "why, the men seem to do that, dear. but cheer up. we've only seen the romance of taormina yet; doubtless it will be commonplace enough to-morrow." chapter xiii il duca beth's prediction, however, did not come true. the morning discovered nothing commonplace about taormina. their hotel was outside the walls, but a brief walk took them to the messina gate, a quaint archway through which they passed into the narrow streets of one of the oldest towns in sicily. doorways and windows of saracen or norman construction faced them on every side, and every inch of the ancient buildings was picturesque and charming. some of the houses had been turned into shops, mostly for the sale of curios. uncle john and his nieces had scarcely passed a hundred yards into the town when one of these shops arrested their attention. it was full of antique jewelry, antique furniture, antique laces and antique pottery--all of the most fascinating description. the jewelry was tarnished and broken, the lace had holes in it and the furniture was decrepit and unsteady; but the proprietor cared nothing for such defects. all was very old, and he knew the tourist was eager to buy. so he scattered his wares inside and outside his salesroom, much as the spider spreads his web for the unwary, and waited for the inevitable tourist with a desire to acquire something ancient and useless. the girls could not be induced to pass the shop. they entered the square, low room and flooded the shopman with eager questions. notwithstanding frascatti's assertion that few in taormina could speak english, this man was quite intelligible and fixed his prices according to the impression his wares made upon the artistic sense of the young american ladies. it was while they were intently inspecting some laces that the proprietor suddenly paused in his chatter, removed his hat and bowed almost to the floor, his face assuming at the same time a serious and most humble expression. turning around they saw standing outside the door a man whom they recognized at once as their fellow passenger aboard the "princess irene." "oh, signor valdi!" cried patsy, running toward him, "how strange to find you again in this out-of-the-way place." the italian frowned, but in a dignified manner took the hand of all three girls in turn and then bowed a greeting to mr. merrick. uncle john thought the fellow had improved in appearance. instead of the flannel shirt and prince albert coat he had affected on shipboard he now wore a native costume of faded velvet, while a cloak of thin but voluminous cloth swung from his shoulders, and a soft felt hat shaded his dark eyes. his appearance was entirely in keeping with the place, and the american noticed that the villagers who passed doffed their hats most respectfully to this seemingly well-known individual. but mingled with their polite deference was a shyness half fearful, and none stopped to speak but hurried silently on. "and how do we happen to find you here, signor valdi?" patsy was saying. "do you live in taormina?" "i am of this district, but not of taormina," he replied. "it is chance that you see me here. eh, signor bruggi, is it not so?" casting one of his characteristic fierce glances at the shopkeeper. "it is so, your excellency." "but i am glad you have come to the shadow of etna," he continued, addressing the americans with slow deliberation. "here the grandeur of the world centers, and life keeps time with nature. you will like it? you will stay?" "oh, for a time, anyway," said patsy. "we expect to meet some friends here," explained uncle john. "they are coming down from palermo, but must have been delayed somewhere on the way." "who are they?" asked valdi, brusquely. "americans, of course; silas watson and kenneth forbes. do you know of them?" "no," said the other. he cast an uneasy glance up and down the street. "i will meet you again, signorini," he added. "which is your hotel?" "the castello-a-mare. it is delightful," said beth. he nodded, as if pleased. then, folding his cloak about him, he murmured "adios!" and stalked away without another word or look. "queer fellow," remarked uncle john. the shopkeeper drew a long breath and seemed relieved. "il duca is unusual, signore," he replied. "duke!" cried the girls, in one voice. the man seemed startled. "i--i thought you knew him; you seemed friends," he stammered. "we met signor valdi on shipboard," said uncle john. "valdi? ah, yes; of course; the duke has been to america." "isn't his name valdi?" asked beth, looking the man straight in the eyes. "has he another name here, where he lives?" the shopman hesitated. "who knows?" was the evasive reply. "il duca has many names, but we do not speak them. when it is necessary to mention him we use his title--the duke." "why?" asked the girl. "why, signorina? why? perhaps because he does not like to be talked about. yes; that is it, i am sure." "where does he live?" asked patsy. the man seemed uneasy under so much questioning. "somewhere in the mountains," he said, briefly. "his estates are there. he is said to be very rich and powerful. i know nothing more, signorini." realizing that little additional information could be gleaned from this source they soon left the shop and wandered into the piazzo vittorio emanuele, and from thence by the narrow lane to the famous teatro greco. for a time they admired this fascinating ruin, which has the best preserved stage of any greek theatre now in existence. from the top of the hill is one of the most magnificent views in sicily, and here our travellers sat in contemplative awe until uncle john declared it was time to return to their hotel for luncheon. as they passed the portiere's desk mr. merrick paused to ask that important official: "tell me, if you please, who is signor victor valdi?" "valdi, signore?" "yes; the duke di valdi, i suppose you call him." "i have never heard of him," replied the man. "but every one seems to know him in taormina." "is it so? we have but one duke near to us, and he--. but never mind. i do not know this valdi." "a thin faced man, with black eyes. we met him on the steamer coming from america." the portiere dropped his eyes and turned toward his desk. "luncheon is served, signore," he remarked. "also, here is a letter for you, which arrived this morning." uncle john took the letter and walked on to rejoin the girls. "it seems hard work to find out anything about this valdi," he said. "either the folks here do not know him, or they won't acknowledge his acquaintance. we may as well follow suit, and avoid him." "i don't like his looks a bit," observed beth. "he seems afraid and defiant at the same time, and his temper is dreadful. it was only with great difficulty he could bring himself to be polite to us." "oh, i always got along with him all right," said patsy. "i'm sure signor valdi isn't as bad as he appears. and he's a duke, too, girls--a real duke!" "so it seems," uncle john rejoined; "yet there is something queer about the fellow, i agree with beth; i don't like him." "did mr. watson say when he would join us here?" enquired louise, when they were seated at the little round table. "no; but here's a letter from him. i'd quite forgotten it." he tore open the envelope and carefully read the enclosure. "too bad," said he. "we might have stayed a few days in messina. watson says he and kenneth have stopped at girgenti--wherever that is--to study the temples. wonder if they're solomon's? they won't get to taormina before saturday." "it won't matter," declared patsy, "so long as they arrive then. and i'd a good deal rather be here than in messina, or any other place. of course we'll all be glad to see kenneth." "mr. watson wants us to be very careful while we are in sicily," continued uncle john, referring to the letter. "listen to this: 'don't let the girls wear jewelry in public places, or display their watches openly; and take care, all of you, not to show much money. if you buy anything, have it sent to your hotel to be paid for by the hall porter. and it is wise not to let anyone know who you are or how long you intend to remain in any one place. this may strike you as an absurd precaution; but you must remember that you are not in america, but in an isolated italian province, where government control is inefficient. the truth is that the terrible mafia is still all powerful on this island, and brigandage is by no means confined to the neighborhood of castrogiovanni, as the guide books would have you believe. the people seem simple and harmless enough, but kenneth and i always keep our revolvers handy, and believe it is a reasonable precaution. i don't want to frighten you, john; merely to warn you. sicily is full of tourists, and few are ever molested; but if you are aware of the conditions underlying the public serenity you are not so liable to run yourself and your nieces into needless dangers.' how's that for a hair-curler, girls?" "it sounds very romantic," said louise, smiling. "mr. watson is such a cautious man!" "but it's all rubbish about there being danger in taormina," declared patsy, indignantly. "mr. watson has been in the wilds of the interior, which baedecker admits is infested with brigands. here everyone smiles at us in the friendliest way possible." "except the duke," added beth, with a laugh. "oh, the duke is sour by nature," patsy answered; "but if there really was danger, i'm sure he'd protect us, for he lives here and knows the country." "you are sure of a lot of things, dear," said her cousin, smiling. "but it will do no harm to heed the advice, and be careful." they all agreed to that, and uncle john was glad to remember he had two brand new revolvers in the bottom of his trunk, which he could use in an emergency if he could manage to find the cartridges to load them with. he got them out next morning, and warned his nieces not to touch the dangerous things when they entered his room. but patsy laughed at him, saying: "you are behind the times, uncle. beth has carried a revolver ever since we started." "beth!" he cried, horrified. "just as a precaution," said that young lady, demurely. "but you're only a child!" "even so, uncle, i have been taught to shoot in cloverton, as a part of my education. once i won a medal--think of that! so i brought my pet revolver along, although i may never have need to use it." uncle john looked thoughtful. "it doesn't seem like a girlish accomplishment, exactly," he mused. "when i was young and went into the west, the times were a bit unsettled, and i used to carry a popgun myself. but i never shot at a human being in my life. there were women in the camps that could shoot, too; but the safest place was always in front of them. if beth has won a medal, though, she might hit something." "don't try, beth," said louise; "you ought to make a hit without shooting." "thank you, dear." as they left their hotel for a walk they came upon count ferralti, who was standing in the court calmly smoking a cigarette. his right hand was still in a sling. no one was greatly surprised at his appearance, but uncle john uttered an exclamation of impatience. it annoyed him that this fellow, whose antecedents were decidedly cloudy, should be "chasing around" after one of his nieces, beth and patsy smiled at each other significantly as the young man was discovered, but louise, with a slight blush, advanced to greet ferralti in her usual pleasant and cordial way. there was no use resenting the intrusion. they owed a certain consideration to this boyish italian for his assistance on the amalfi road. but uncle john almost wished he had left them to escape as best they might, for the obligation was getting to be decidedly onerous. while ferralti was expressing his astonishment at so "unexpectedly" meeting again his american friends, uncle john discovered their english speaking cocchiere, frascatti vietri, lolling half asleep on the box of his victoria. "would your energy like to drive us this morning?" he asked. "it is my duty, signore, if you wish to go," was the reply. "then you are engaged. come, girls; hop in, if you want to ride." the three nieces and uncle john just filled the victoria. the count was disconsolate at being so cleverly dropped from the party, but could only flourish his hat and wish them a pleasant drive. they descended the winding road to the coast, where frascatti took the highway to sant' alessio, a charming drive leading to the taormina pass. "by the way," uncle john asked the driver, "do you know of a duke that lives in this neighborhood?" the laughing face of the sicilian suddenly turned grave. "no, signore. there is the prince di scaletta; but no duke on this side the town." "but on the other side?" "oh; in the mountains? to be sure there are noblemen there; old estates almost forgotten in our great civilization of to-day. we are very progressive in taormina, signore. there will be a fountain of the ice cream soda established next summer. quite metropolitan, _ne c'e_?" "quite. but, tell me, frascatti, have you a duke in the mountains back of taormina?" "signore, i beg you to pay no attention to the foolish stories you may hear from our peasants. there has been no brigandage here for centuries. i assure you the country is perfectionly safe--especial if you stay within the town or take me on your drives. they know me, signore, and even il duca dares not trifle with my friends." "why should he, frascatti, if there is no brigandage? is it the mafia?" "ah, i have heard that mafia spoken of, but mostly when i lived in america, which is chicago. here we do not know of the mafia." "but you advise us to be careful?" "everywhere, illustrissimo signore, it is well to be what you call the circumspection. i remember that in the state street of chicago, which is america, peaceful citizens were often killed by bandits. eh, is it not so?" "quite probable," said uncle john, soberly. "then, what will you? are we worse than americans, that you fear us? never mind il duca, or the tales they foolishly whisper of him. here you may be as safe and happy as in chicago--which is america." he turned to his horses and urged them up a slope. the girls and uncle john eyed one another enquiringly. "our duke seems to bear no good reputation," said beth, in a tone so low that frascatti could not overhear. "everyone fears to speak of him." "singular," said uncle john, "that patsy's friend turns out to be a mystery, even in his own home. i wonder if he is a leader of the mafia, or just a common brigand?" "in either case," said patsy, "he will not care to injure us, i am sure. we all treated him very nicely, and i just made him talk and be sociable, whether he wanted to or not. that ought to count for something in our favor. but my opinion is that he's just a gruff old nobleman who lives in the hills and makes few friends." "and hasn't a name, any more than louise's count has. is it customary, my dear, for all italian noblemen to conceal their identity?" "i do not know, uncle," answered louise, casting down her eyes. chapter xiv uncle john disappears uncle john grew to love taormina. its wildness and ruggedness somehow reminded him of the rockies in the old pioneer days, and he wandered through all the lanes of the quaint old town until he knew every cornice and cobblestone familiarly, and the women who sat weaving or mending before their squalid but picturesque hovels all nodded a greeting to the cheery little american as he passed by. he climbed malo, too, a high peak crowned by a ruined castle; and also mt. venere, on the plateau of which an ancient city had once stood. his walking tours did him good, and frequently while the girls lay stretched upon the grass that lined the theatre enclosure, to idle the time or read or write enthusiastic letters home, uncle john, scorning such laziness, would take his stick and climb mountains, or follow the rough paths that diverged from the highway just beyond the catania gate. the tax gatherer whose tiny office was just inside the gate came to know the little gentleman very well, and although he could speak no english he would bob his grizzled head and murmur: "_buon giorno, signore!_" as the stranger passed out on his daily stroll. one afternoon mr. merrick went down the hill path leading from the castello-a-mare to capo di san andrea, and as he passed around a narrow ledge of rock came full upon two men seated upon a flat stone. one was valdi and the other ferralti, and they seemed engaged in earnest conversation when he interrupted them. the count smiled frankly and doffed his hat; the duke frowned grimly, but also nodded. uncle john passed on. the path was wild and little frequented. he felt in his side pocket and grasped the handle of his revolver; but there was no attempt to follow or molest him. nevertheless, when he returned from the beach he came up the longer winding roadway and was glad of the company of a ragged goatherd who, having no english, entertained "il signore" by singing ditties as he drove his goats before him. the misgivings uncle john had originally conceived concerning count ferralti returned in full force with this incident; but he resolved to say nothing of it to his nieces. silas watson would be with them in a couple of days more and he would consult the shrewd lawyer before he took any decisive action. next morning after breakfast he left his nieces in the garden and said he would take a walk through the town and along the highway west, toward kaggi. "i'll be back in an hour or so," he remarked, "for i have some letters to write and i want them to catch the noon mail." so the girls sat on the terrace overlooking the sea and etna, and breathed the sweet air and enjoyed the caressing sunshine, until they noticed the portiere coming hastily toward them. "pardon, signorini," he said, breathlessly, "but it will be to oblige me greatly if you will tell me where signor ferralti is." "he is not of our party," answered patsy, promptly; but louise looked up as if startled, and said: "i have been expecting him to join us here." "then you do not know?" exclaimed the portiere, in an anxious tone. "know what, sir?" asked the girl. "that signor ferralti is gone. he has not been seen by any after last evening. he did not occupy his room. but worse, far worse, will i break you the news gently--his baggage is gone with him!" "his baggage gone!" echoed louise, greatly disturbed. "and he did not tell you? you did not see him go?" "alas, no, signorina. his bill is still unsettled. he possessed two large travelling cases, which must have been carried out at the side entrance with stealth most deplorable. the padrone is worried. signor ferralti is american, and americans seldom treat us wrongfully." "signor ferralti is italian," answered louise, stiffly. "the name is italian, perhaps; but he speaks only the english," declared the portiere. "he is not a rogue, however. assure your master of that fact. when mr. merrick returns he will settle count ferralti's bill." "oh, louise!" gasped patsy. "i don't understand it in the least," continued louise, looking at her cousins as if she were really bewildered. "i left him in the courtyard last evening to finish his cigar, and he said he would meet us in the garden after breakfast. i am sure he had no intention of going away. and for the honor of american travellers his account here must be taken care of." "one thing is singular," observed beth, calmly. "there has been no train since last you saw him. if count ferralti has left the hotel, where could he be?" the portiere brightened. "_gia s'intende!_" he exclaimed, "he must still be in taormina--doubtless at some other hotel." "will you send and find out?" asked louise. "i will go myself, and at once," he answered. "and thank you, signorina, for the kind assurance regarding the account. it will relieve the padrone very much." he hurried away again, and an uneasy silence fell upon the nieces. "do you care for this young man. louise?" asked beth, pointedly, after the pause had become awkward. "he is very attentive and gentlemanly, and i feel you have all wronged him by your unjust suspicions," she replied, with spirit. "that does not answer my question, dear," persisted her cousin. "are you especially fond of him?" "what right have you to question me in this way, beth?" "no right at all, dear. i am only trying to figure out our doubtful position in regard to this young man--a stranger to all of us but you." "it is really none of our business," observed patsy, quickly. "we're just a lot of gossips to be figuring on count ferralti at all. and although this sudden disappearance looks queer, on the face of it, the gentleman may simply have changed his boarding place." "i do not think so," said louise. "he liked this hotel very much." "and he may have liked some of its guests," added patsy, smiling. "well, uncle john will soon be back, and then we will talk it over with him." uncle john was late. the portiere returned first. he had been to every hotel in the little town, but none of them had received a guest since the afternoon train of yesterday. count ferralti had disappeared as if by magic, and no one could account for it. noon arrived, but no uncle john. the girls became dispirited and anxious, for the little man was usually very prompt in keeping his engagements, and always had returned at the set time. they waited until the last moment and then entered the _salle a manger_ and ate their luncheon in gloomy silence, hoping every moment to hear the sound of their uncle's familiar tread. after luncheon they held a hurried consultation and decided to go into town and search for him. so away they trooped, asking eager questions in their uncertain italian but receiving no satisfactory reply until they reached the little office of the tax gatherer at the catania gate. "_ah, si, signorini mia_," he answered, cheerfully, "_il poco signore passato da stamattini._" but he had not returned? not yet. they looked at one another blankly. "see here," said patsy; "uncle john must have lost his way or met with an accident. you go back to the hotel, louise, and wait there in case he returns home another way. beth and i will follow some of these paths and see if we can find him." "he may have sprained an ankle, and be unable to walk," suggested beth. "i think patsy's advice is good." so louise returned through the town and the other girls began exploring the paths that led into the mountains from every turn of the highway. but although they searched eagerly and followed each path a mile or more of its length, no sign of life did they encounter--much less a sight of their missing uncle. the paths were wild and unfrequented, only on the catania road itself a peasant now and then being found patiently trudging along or driving before him a donkey laden with panniers of oranges or lemons for the markets of taormina. on some of the solitary rocky paths they called to uncle john by name, hoping that their voices might reach him; but only the echoes replied. finally they grew discouraged. "it will be sunset before we get back, even if we start this minute," said beth, finally. "let us return, and get some one to help us." patsy burst into tears. "oh, i'm sure he's lost, or murdered, or kidnapped!" she wailed. "dear, dear uncle john! whatever shall we do, beth?" "why, he may be at home, waiting for us to get back. don't give way, patsy; it will do no good, you know." they were thoroughly tired when, just at sunset, they reached the hotel. louise came to meet them, and by the question in her eyes they knew their uncle had not returned. "something must be done, and at once," said beth, decidedly. she was the younger of the three girls, but in this emergency took the lead because of her calm and unruffled disposition and native good sense. "is frascatti in the courtyard?" patsy ran to see, and soon brought the vetturino into their sitting room. he could speak english and knew the neighborhood thoroughly. he ought to be able to advise them. frascatti listened intently to their story. he was very evidently impressed. "tell me, then, signorini," he said, thoughtfully; "is senor merreek very rich?" "why do you ask?" returned beth, suspiciously. she remembered the warning conveyed in mr. watson's letter. "of course, i know that all the americans who travel are rich," continued frascatti. "i have myself been in chicago, which is america. but is signor merreek a very rich and well acquainted man in his own country? believe me, it is well that you answer truly." "i think he is." the man looked cautiously around, and then came nearer and dropped his voice to a whisper. "are you aware that il duca knows this?" he asked. beth thought a moment. "we met the man you call il duca, but who told us he was signor victor valdi, on board the ship, where many of the passengers knew my uncle well. if he listened to their conversation he would soon know all about john merrick, of course." frascatti wagged his head solemnly. "then, signorina," he said, still speaking very softly, "i assure you there is no need to worry over your uncle's safety." "what do you mean?" demanded beth. "people do not lose their way in our mountains," he replied. "the paths are straight, and lead all to the highways. and there is little danger of falling or of being injured. but--i regret to say it, signorini--it is a reflection upon our advanced civilization and the good name of our people--but sometimes a man who is rich disappears for a time, and no one knows how it is, or where he may be. he always returns; but then he is not so rich." "i understand. my uncle is captured by brigands, you think." "there are no brigands, signorina." "or the mafia, then." "i do not know the mafia. all i know is that the very rich should keep their riches secret when they travel. in chicago, which is america, they will knock you upon the head for a few miserable dollars; here my countrymen scorn to attack or to rob the common people. but when a man is so very rich that he does not need all of his money, there are, i regret to say, some lawless ones in sicily who insist that he divide with them. but the prisoner is always well treated, and when he pays he is sent away very happy." "suppose he does not pay?" "ah, signorina, will not a drowning man clutch the raft that floats by? and the lawless ones do not take his all--merely a part." the girls looked at one another helplessly. "what must we do, frascatti?" asked patsy. "wait. in a day--two days, perhaps--you will hear from your uncle. he will tell you how to send money to the lawless ones. you will follow his instructions, and he will come home with smiles and singing. i know. it is very regrettable, but it is so." "it will not be so in this case," said beth, indignantly. "i will see the american consul--" "i am sorry, but there is none here." "i will telegraph to messina for the military. they will search the mountains, and bring your brigands to justice." frascatti smiled sadly. "oh, yes; perhaps they will come. but the military is italian--not sicilian--and has no experience in these parts. the search will find nothing, except perhaps a dead body thrown upon the rocks to defy justice. it is very regrettable, signorina; but it is so." patsy was wringing her hands, frantic with terror. louise was white and staring. beth puckered her pretty brow in a frown and tried to think. "ferralti is also gone," murmured louise, in a hoarse voice. "they will rob or murder him with uncle john!" "i am quite convinced," said beth, coldly, "that your false count is a fellow conspirator of the brigand called il duca. he has been following us around to get a chance to ensnare uncle john." "oh, no, no, beth! it is not so! i know better than that." "he would lie to you, of course," returned the girl bitterly. "as soon as the trap was set he disappeared, bag and baggage, and left the simple girl he had fooled to her own devices." "you do not know what you are saying," retorted louise, turning her back to beth and walking to a window. from where they stood they could hear her sobbing miserably. "whether frascatti is right or not," said patsy, drying her eyes and trying to be brave, "we ought to search for uncle john at once." "i think so, too," agreed beth. then, turning to the sicilian, she said: "will you get together as many men as possible and search the hills, with lanterns, for my uncle? you shall be well paid for all you do." "most certainly, signorina, if it will please you," he replied. "how long do you wish us to search?" "until you find him." "then must we grow old in your service. _non fa niente!_ it is regrettable, but--" "will you go at once?" stamping her foot angrily. "most certainly, signorina." "then lose no time. i will go with you and see you start." she followed the man out, and kept at his side until he had secured several servants with lanterns for the search. the promise of high _caparra_ or earnest money made all eager to join the band, but the padrone could only allow a half dozen to leave their stations at the hotel. in the town, however, whither beth accompanied them, a score of sleepy looking fellows were speedily secured, and under the command of frascatti, who had resolved to earn his money by energy and good will because there was no chance of success, they marched out of the catania gate and scattered along the mountain paths. "if you find uncle john before morning i will give you a thousand lira additional," promised beth. "we will search faithfully," replied her captain, "but the signorina must not be disappointed if the lawless ones evade us. they have a way of hiding close in the caves, where none may find them. it is regrettable, very; but it is so." then he followed his men to the mountains, and as the last glimmer from his lantern died away the girl sighed heavily and returned alone through the deserted streets to the hotel. clouds hid the moon and the night was black and forbidding; but it did not occur to her to be afraid. chapter xv days of anxiety uncle john's nieces passed a miserable night. patsy stole into his room and prayed fervently beside his bed that her dear uncle might be preserved and restored to them in health and safety. beth, meantime, paced the room she shared with patsy with knitted brows and flashing eyes, the flush in her cheeks growing deeper as her anger increased. an ungovernable temper was the girl's worst failing; the abductors of her uncle were arousing in her the most violent passions of which she was capable, and might lead her to adopt desperate measures. she was only a country girl, and little experienced in life, yet beth might be expected to undertake extraordinary things if, as she expressed it, if she "got good and mad!" no sound was heard during the night from the room occupied by louise, but the morning disclosed a white, drawn face and reddened eyelids as proof that she had rested as little as her cousins. yet, singularly enough, louise was the most composed of the three when they gathered in the little sitting room at daybreak, and tried earnestly to cheer the spirits of her cousins. louise never conveyed the impression of being especially sincere, but the pleasant words and manners she habitually assumed rendered her an agreeable companion, and this faculty of masking her real feelings now stood her in good stead and served to relieve the weight of anxiety that oppressed them all. frascatti came limping back with his tired followers in the early dawn, and reported that no trace of the missing man had been observed. there were no brigands and no mafia; on that point all his fellow townsmen agreed with him fully. but it was barely possible some lawless ones who were all unknown to the honest taorminians had made the rich american a prisoner. il duca? oh, no, signorini! a thousand times, no. il duca was queer and unsociable, but not lawless. he was of noble family and a native of the district. it would be very wrong and foolish to question il duca's integrity. with this assertion frascatti went to bed. he had not shirked the search, because he was paid for it, and he and his men had tramped the mountains faithfully all night, well knowing it would result in nothing but earning their money. on the morning train from catania arrived silas watson and his young ward kenneth forbes, the boy who had so unexpectedly inherited aunt jane's fine estate of elmhurst on her death. the discovery of a will which gave to kenneth all the property their aunt had intended for her nieces had not caused the slightest estrangement between the young folks, then or afterward. on the contrary, the girls were all glad that the gloomy, neglected boy, with his artistic, high-strung temperament, would be so well provided for. without the inheritance he would have been an outcast; now he was able to travel with his guardian, the kindly old elmhurst lawyer, and fit himself for his future important position in the world. more than all this, however, kenneth had resolved to be a great landscape painter, and italy and sicily had done much, in the past year, to prepare him for this career. the boy greeted his old friends with eager delight, not noticing for the moment their anxious faces and perturbed demeanor. but the lawyer's sharp eyes saw at once that something was wrong. "where is john merrick?" he asked. "oh, i'm so glad you've come!" cried patsy, clinging to his hand. "we are in sore straits, indeed, mr. watson," said louise. "uncle john is lost," explained beth, "and we're afraid he is in the hands of brigands." then she related as calmly as she could all that had happened. the relation was clear and concise. she told of their meeting with valdi on the ship, of count ferralti's persistence in attaching himself to their party, and of uncle john's discovery that the young man was posing under an assumed name. she did not fail to mention ferralti's timely assistance on the amalfi drive, or his subsequent devoted attentions to louise; but the latter beth considered merely as an excuse for following them around. "in my opinion," said she, "we have been watched ever since we left america, by these two spies, who had resolved to get uncle john into some unfrequented place and then rob him. if they succeed in their vile plot, mr. watson, we shall be humiliated and disgraced forever." "tut-tut," said he; "don't think of that. let us consider john merrick, and nothing else." louise protested that beth had not been fair in her conclusions. the count was an honorable man; she would vouch for his character herself. but mr. watson did not heed this defense. the matter was very serious--how serious he alone realized--and his face was grave indeed as he listened to the descriptions of that terrible il duca whom the natives all shrank from and refused to discuss. when he had learned all the nieces had to tell he hastened into the town and telegraphed the american consul at messina. then he found the questura, or police office, and was assured by the officer in attendance that the disappearance of mr. merrick was already known to the authorities and every effort was being made to find him. "do you think he has been abducted by brigands?" asked the lawyer. "brigands, signore?" was the astonished reply. "there are no brigands in this district at all. we drove them out many years ago." "how about il duca?" "and who is that, signore?" "don't you know?" "i assure you we have no official knowledge of such a person. there are dukes in sicily, to be sure; but 'il duca' means nothing. perhaps you can tell me to whom you refer?" "see here," said the lawyer, brusquely; "i know your methods, _questore mia_, but they won't prove effective in this case. if you think an american is helpless in this country you are very much mistaken. but, to save time, i am willing to submit to your official requirements. i will pay you well for the rescue of my friend." "all shall be done that is possible." "but if you do not find him at once, and return him to us unharmed, i will have a regiment of soldiers in taormina to search your mountains and break up the bands of brigands that infest them. when i prove that brigands are here and that you were not aware of them, you will be disgraced and deposed from your office." the official shrugged his shoulders, a gesture in which the sicilian is as expert as the frenchman. "i will welcome the soldiery," said he; "but you will be able to prove nothing. the offer of a reward may accomplish more--if it is great enough to be interesting." "how great is that?" "can i value your friend? you must name the reward yourself. but even then i can promise nothing. in the course of our duty every effort is now being made to find the missing american. but we work in the dark, as you know. your friend may be a suicide; he may have lost his mind and wandered into the wilderness; he may have committed some crime and absconded. how do i know? you say he is missing, but that is no reason the brigands have him, even did brigands exist, which i doubt. rest assured, signore, that rigid search will be made. it is my boast that i leave no duty unfulfilled." mr. watson walked back to the telegraph office and found an answer to his message. the american consul was ill and had gone to naples for treatment. when he returned, his clerk stated, the matter of the disappearance of john merrick would immediately be investigated. feeling extremely helpless and more fearful for his friend than before, the lawyer returned to the hotel for a conference with the nieces. "how much of a reward shall i offer?" he asked. "that seems to be the only thing that can be depended upon to secure results." "give them a million--uncle john won't mind," cried patsy, earnestly. "don't give them a penny, sir," said beth. "if they are holding him for a ransom uncle is in no personal danger, and we have no right to assist in robbing him." "but you don't understand, my dear," asserted the lawyer. "these brigands never let a victim go free unless they are well paid. that is why they are so often successful. if john merrick is not ransomed he will never again be heard of." "but this is not a ransom, sir. you propose to offer a reward to the police." "let me explain. the ways of the italian police are very intricate. they know of no brigandage here, and cannot find a brigand. but if the reward is great enough to divide, they know where to offer a share of it, in lieu of a ransom, and will force the brigands to accept it. in that way the police gets the glory of a rescue and a share of the spoils. if we offer no reward, or an insignificant one, the brigands will be allowed to act as they please." "that is outrageous!" exclaimed beth. "yes. the italian government deplores it. it is trying hard to break up a system that has existed for centuries, but has not yet succeeded." "then i'd prefer to deal directly with the brigands." "so would i, if--" "if what, sir?" "if we were sure your uncle is in their hands. do you think the party you sent out last night searched thoroughly?" "i hope so." "i will send out more men at once. they shall search the hills in every direction. should they find nothing our worst fears will be confirmed, and then--" "well, mr. watson?" "then we must wait for the brigands to dictate the terms of a ransom, and make the best bargain we can." "that seems sensible," said kenneth, and both patsy and louise agreed with him, although it would be tedious waiting. but beth only bit her lip and frowned. mr. watson's searching party was maintained all day--for two days, and three; but without result. then they waited for the brigands to act. but a week dragged painfully by and no word of john merrick's whereabouts reached the ears of the weary watchers. chapter xvi tato when uncle john passed through the west gate for a tramp along the mountain paths he was feeling in an especially happy and contented mood. the day was bright and balmy, the air bracing, the scenery unfolded step by step magnificent and appealing. to be in this little corner of the old world, amid ruins antedating the christian era, and able to wholly forget those awful stock and market reports of wall street, was a privilege the old gentleman greatly appreciated. so away he trudged, exploring this path or that leading amongst the rugged cliffs, until finally he began to take note of his erratic wanderings and wonder where he was. climbing an elevated rock near the path he poised himself upon its peak and studied the landscape spread out beneath him. there was a patch of sea, with the dim calabrian coast standing sentry behind it. the nearer coast was hidden from view, but away at the left was a dull white streak marking the old wall of taormina, and above this the ruined citadel and the ancient castle of mola--each on its separate peak. "i must be getting back," he thought, and sliding down the surface of the rock he presently returned to the path from whence he had climbed. to his surprise he found a boy standing there and looking at him with soft brown eyes that were both beautiful and intelligent. uncle john was as short as he was stout, but the boy scarcely reached to his shoulder. he was slender and agile, and clothed in a grey corduroy suit that was better in texture than the american had seen other sicilian youths wear. as a rule the apparel of the children in this country seemed sadly neglected. yet the most attractive thing about this child was his face, which was delicate of contour, richly tinted to harmonize with his magnificent brown eyes, and so sensitive and expressive that it seemed able to convey the most subtle shades of emotion. he seemed ten or twelve years of age, but might have been much older. as soon as the american had returned to the path the boy came toward him in an eager, excited way, and exclaimed: "is it not signor merrick?" the english was fluent, and only rendered softer by the foreign intonation. "it is," said uncle john, cheerfully. "where did you drop from, my lad? i thought these hills were deserted, until now." "i am sent by a friend," answered the boy, speaking rapidly and regarding the man with appealing glances. "he is in much trouble, signore, and asks your aid." "a friend? who is it?" "the name he gave me is ferralti, signore. he is near to this place, in the hills yonder, and unable to return to the town without assistance." "ferralti. h-m-m. is he hurt?" "badly, signore; from a fall on the rocks." "and he sent for me?" "yes, signore. i know you by sight--who does not?--and as i hurried along i saw you standing on the rock. it is most fortunate. will you hasten to your friend, then? i will lead you to him." uncle john hesitated. he ought to be getting home, instead of penetrating still farther into these rocky fastnesses. and ferralti was no especial friend, to claim his assistance. but then the thought occurred that this young italian had befriended both him and his nieces in an extremity, and was therefore entitled to consideration when trouble in turn overtook himself. the natural impulse of this thought was to go to his assistance. "all right, my lad," said he. "lead on, and i'll see what can be done for ferralti. is it far?" "not far, signore." with nervous, impatient steps the child started up the narrow path and uncle john followed--not slowly, but scarcely fast enough to satisfy his zealous guide. "what is your name, little one?" "tato, signore." "where do you live?" "near by, signore." "and how did you happen to find ferralti?" "by chance, signore." uncle john saved his remaining breath for the climb. he could ask questions afterward. the path was in a crevasse where the rocks seemed once to have split. it was narrow and steep, and before long ended in a _cul de sac_. the little man thought they had reached their destination, then; but without hesitation the boy climbed over a boulder and dropped into another path on the opposite side, holding out a hand to assist the american. uncle john laughed at the necessity, but promptly slid his stout body over the boulder and then paused to mop his brow. "much farther, tato?" "just a step, signore." "it is lucky you found ferralti, or he might have died in these wilds without a soul knowing he was here." "that is true, signore." "well, is this the path?" "yes, signore. follow me, please." the cliffs were precipitous on both sides of them. it was another crevasse, but not a long one. presently the child came to a halt because the way ended and they could proceed no farther. he leaned against the rock and in a high-pitched, sweet voice sang part of a sicilian ditty, neither starting the verse nor ending it, but merely trilling out a fragment. uncle john regarded him wonderingly; and then, with a sudden suspicion, he demanded: "you are not playing me false, tato?" "i, signore?" smiling frankly into the man's eyes; "you need never fear tato, signore. to be your friend, and signor ferralti's friend, makes me very proud." the rock he leaned against fell inward, noiselessly, and disclosed a passage. it was short, for there was light at the other end. the strange child darted in at once. "this way, signore. he is here!" uncle john drew back. he had forgotten until now that these mountains are dangerous. and something strange in the present proceedings, the loneliness of the place and the elfish character of his guide, suddenly warned him to be cautious. "see here, my lad," he called: "i'll go no farther." instantly tato was at his side again, grasping the man's hand in his tiny brown one and searching his face with pleading eyes. "ah, signore, you will not fail your friend, when he is so near you and in such great trouble? see! i who am a stranger and not even his countryman, even i weep for the poor young man, and long to comfort him. do you, his friend, refuse him aid because you have fear of the wild mountains and a poor peasant boy?" tears really stood in the beautiful brown eyes. they rolled down his cheeks, as with both hands he pressed that of uncle john and urged him gently forward. "oh, well; lead on, tato. i'll see the other side of your tunnel, anyhow. but if you play me tricks, my lad--" he paused, for a wonderful vision had opened before him. coming through the short passage hewn in the rocks the american stood upon a ledge facing a most beautiful valley, that was hemmed in by precipitous cliffs on every side. from these stern barriers of the outside world the ground sloped gradually toward the center, where a pretty brook flowed, its waters sparkling like diamonds in the sunlight as it tumbled over its rocky bed. groves of oranges and of olive, lemon and almond trees occupied much of the vale, and on a higher point at the right, its back to the wall of rock that towered behind it, stood a substantial yet picturesque mansion of stone, with several outbuildings scattered on either side. the valley seemed, indeed, a toy kingdom sequestered from the great outside world, yet so rich and productive within itself that it was independent of all else. uncle john gazed with amazement. who could have guessed this delightful spot was hidden safe within the heart of the bleak, bare mountain surrounding it? but suddenly he bethought himself. "what place is this, tato?" he asked; "and where is our friend ferralti, who needs me?" there was no reply. he turned around to find the boy had disappeared. moreover, the passage had disappeared. only a wall of rock was behind him, and although his eyes anxiously searched the rifts and cracks of its rough surface, no indication of the opening through which he had passed could be discovered. chapter xvii the hidden valley uncle john's first inspiration was to sit down upon a stone to think. he drew out his pipe and lighted it, to assist his meditations. these were none too pleasant. that he had been cleverly entrapped, and that by a child scarcely in its teens, was too evident to need reflection. and what a secure trap it was! the mountains ranged all around the valley were impossible to scale, even by an alpine climber, and to one who was not informed of its location the existence of the valley itself was unimaginable. "i had not believed ferralti was so shrewd," he muttered, wonderingly. "that something was wrong about the fellow i knew, of course; but i had not suspected such a thing as this. now, then, first of all let me mark this spot, so that i will remember it. just back of where i now stand is the entrance or outlet to the tunnel through the wall. it is closed, i suppose, by a swinging stone, like the one on the opposite side. i saw that one opened--opened by some person concealed from view, as soon as the boy sang his bit of song which was the signal agreed upon. and i was fool enough, after that warning, to walk straight through the tunnel! you're getting old, john merrick; that's the only way i can account for your folly. but ferralti hasn't won the odd trick yet, and if i keep my wits about me he isn't likely to win." thus ruminating, uncle john searched the rocky wall carefully and believed he would know the place again, although which of the rough stones of its surface formed the doorway to the tunnel he could not guess. a ledge of rock served as a path leading to right and left around this end of the valley, or "pocket" in the mountain, as it could more properly be called. uncle john turned to the right, striding along with his usual deliberation, smoking his pipe and swinging his cane as he approached the stone dwelling that formed the center of the little settlement. as yet no sign of human life had he observed since tato had disappeared, although a few cows were standing in a green meadow and some goats scrambled among the loose rocks at the further end of the enclosure. around the house the grounds had been laid out in gardens, with flowers and shrubbery, hedges and shade trees scattered about. chickens clucked and strutted along the paths and an air of restfulness and peace brooded over all. uncle john was plainly mystified until he drew quite close to the dwelling, which had many verandas and balconies and bore every evidence of habitation. then, to his astonishment, he beheld the form of a man stretched lazily in a wicker chair beside the entrance, and while he paused, hesitating, the man sat up and bowed politely to him. "good morning, signor merreek." it was victor valdi, or, ignoring the fictitious name, the mysterious personage known as "il duca." "behold my delight, signor merreek, to receive you in my poor home," continued the man. "will you not be seated, _caro amico_?" the words were soft and fair, but the dark eyes gleamed with triumph and a sneer curled the thin lips. "thank you," said uncle john; "i believe i will." he stepped upon the veranda and sat down opposite his host. "i came to see count ferralti, who is hurt, i understand," he continued. "it is true, signore, but not badly. the poor count is injured mostly in his mind. presently you shall see him." "no hurry," observed uncle john. "pleasant place you have here, duke." "it is very good of you to praise it, signore. it is my most ancient patrimony, and quite retired and exclusive." "so i see." "the house you have honored by your presence, signore, was erected some three hundred and thirty years ago, by an ancestor who loved retirement. it has been in my family ever since. we all love retirement." "very desirable spot for a brigand, i'm sure," remarked the american, puffing his pipe composedly. "brigand? ah, it pleases you to have humor, signore, mia. brigand! but i will be frank. it is no dishonor to admit that my great ancestors of past centuries were truly brigands, and from this quiet haven sallied forth to do mighty deeds. they were quite famous, i am told, those olden dukes d'alcanta." "i do not question it." "our legends tell of how my great ancestors demanded tribute of the rich who passed through their domain--for all this end of sicily was given to us by peter of aragon, and remained in our possession until the second ferdinand robbed us of it. those times were somewhat wild and barbarous, signore, and a gentleman who protected his estates and asked tribute of strangers was termed a brigand, and became highly respected. but now it is different. we are civilized and meek, and ruled most lovingly by italy. they will tell you there is no brigandage in all sicily." "so i understand." "to-day i am nobody. my very name is forgotten. those around this mountain know nothing of my little estate, and i am content. i desire not glory: i desire not prominence; to live my life in seclusion, with the occasional visit of a friend like yourself, is enough to satisfy me." "you seem well known in taormina." "quite a mistake, signore." "and the natives must have climbed these peaks at times and looked down into your secluded kingdom." "if so, they have forgotten it." "i see." "i give to the churches and the poor, but in secret. if i have an enemy, he disappears--i do not know how; no one knows." "of course not. you are an improvement on your ancestors, duke. instead of being a brigand you belong to the mafia, and perform your robberies and murders in security. very clever, indeed." "but again you are wrong, signore," replied the duke, with a frown. "i have never known of this mafia, of which you speak, nor do i believe it exists. for myself, i am no robber, but a peaceful merchant." "a merchant?" returned uncle john, surprised by the statement. "to be sure. i have some ancient and very valuable relics in my possession, treasured most carefully from the mediæval days. these i sell to my friends--who are fortunately all foreigners like yourself and can appreciate such treasures--and so obtain for myself and my family a modest livelihood." "and you expect to sell something to me?" asked uncle john, understanding very well the sicilian's meaning. "it is my earnest hope, signore." the american fell silent, thinking upon the situation. the fierce looking brigand beside him was absurd enough, in his way, but doubtless a dangerous man to deal with. uncle john was greatly interested in the adventure. it was such a sharp contrast to the hum-drum, unromantic american life he had latterly known that he derived a certain enjoyment from the novel experience. if the girls did not worry over his absence he would not much regret his visit to il duca's secluded valley. it was already midday, and his nieces would be expecting him to luncheon. when he did not appear they would make enquiries, and try to find him. it occurred to him how futile all such attempts must prove. even to one acquainted with the mountain paths the entrance to the duke's domain was doubtless a secret, and the brigand had plainly hinted that the native sicilians were too cautious to spy upon him or molest him in any way. so far, the only person he had seen was il duca himself. the child who had decoyed him was, of course, somewhere about, and so also was ferralti. how many servants or followers the brigand might have was as yet a mystery to the new arrival. in the side pocket of uncle john's loose coat lay a loaded revolver, which he had carried ever since he had received mr. watson's warning letter. he had never imagined a condition of danger where he could not use this weapon to defend himself, and as long as it remained by him he had feared nothing. but he had been made a prisoner in so deft a manner that he had no opportunity to expostulate or offer any sort of resistance. later there might be a chance to fight for his liberty, and the only sensible action was to wait and bide his time. "for example," the duke was saying, in his labored, broken english, "i have here a priceless treasure--very antique, very beautiful. it was in one time owned by robert the norman, who presented it to my greatest ancestor." he drew an odd-shaped ring from his pocket and handed it to the american. it was of dull gold and set with a half dozen flat-cut garnets. perhaps antique; perhaps not; but of little intrinsic value. "this ring i have decided to sell, and it shall be yours, signor merreek, at a price far less than is represented by its historic worth. i am sure you will be glad to buy it." "for how much?" asked uncle john, curiously. "a trifle; a mere hundred thousand lira." "twenty thousand dollars!" "the ring of king roger. how cheap! but, nevertheless, you shall have it for that sum." uncle john smiled. "my dear duke," he replied, "you have made a sad mistake. i am a comparatively poor man. my fortune is very modest." the brigand lay back in his chair and lighted a fresh cigarette. "i fear you undervalue yourself, my dear guest," he said. "recently have i returned from america, where i was told much of the wealth of signor john merreek, who is many times a millionaire. see," drawing a paper from his pocket, "here is a list of the stocks and securities you own. also of government and railway bonds, of real estate and of manufactures controlled by your money. i will read, and you will correct me if an error occurs." uncle john listened and was amazed. the schedule was complete, and its total was many millions. it was a better list of holdings than uncle john possessed himself. "you foreigners make queer mistakes, duke," said he, taking another tack. "this property belongs to another john merrick. it is a common name, and that is doubtless why you mistook me for the rich john merrick." "i have noticed," returned the duke, coldly, "that this strange delusion of mind is apt to overtake my guests. but do not be alarmed; it will pass away presently, and then you will realize that you are yourself. remember that i crossed the atlantic on your steamship, signore. many people there on board spoke of you and pointed you out to me as the great man of finance. your own niece that is called patsy, she also told me much about you, and of your kindness to her and the other young signorini. before i left new york a banker of much dignity informed me you would sail on the ship 'princess irene.' if a mistake has been made, signore, it is yours, and not mine. is your memory clearer now?" uncle john laughed frankly. the rascal was too clever for him to dispute with. "whoever i am," said he, "i will not buy your ring." "i am pained," replied the brigand, lightly. "but there is ample time for you to reflect upon the matter. do not decide hastily, i implore you. i may have been too liberal in making my offer, and time may assist me in fixing a just price for the relic. but we have had enough of business just now. it is time for our midday collation. oblige me by joining us, signore." he blew a shrill whistle, and a man stepped out of a doorway. he was an enormous sicilian, tall, sinewy and with a countenance as dark and fierce as his master's. in his belt was a long knife, such as is known as a stilleto. "tommaso," said the duke, "kindly show signor merreek to his room, and ask guido if luncheon is ready to be served." "_va bene, padrone_," growled the man, and turned obediently to escort the american. uncle john entered the house, traversed a broad and cool passage, mounted to the second floor and found himself in a pleasant room with a balcony overlooking the valley. it was comfortably furnished, and with a bow that was not without a certain grim respect the man left him alone and tramped down the stairs again. there had been no attempt to restrain his liberty or molest him in any way, yet he was not slow to recognize the fact that he was a prisoner. not in the house, perhaps, but in the valley. there was no need to confine him more closely. he could not escape. he bathed his hands and face, dried them on a fresh towel, and found his toilet table well supplied with conveniences. in the next room some one was pacing the floor like a caged beast, growling and muttering angrily at every step. uncle john listened. "the brigand seems to have more than one guest," he thought, and smiled at the other's foolish outbursts. then he caught a word or two of english that made him start. he went to the door between the two rooms and threw it open, finding himself face to face with count ferralti. chapter xviii guests of the brigand "good morning, count," said uncle john, cheerfully. the other stared at him astonished. "good heavens! have they got you, too?" he exclaimed. "why, i'm visiting his excellency, il duca, if that's what you mean," replied mr. merrick. "but whether he's got me, or i've got him, i haven't yet decided." the young man's jaw was tied in a bandage and one of his eyes was black and discolored. he looked agitated and miserable. "sir, you are in grave danger; we are both in grave danger," he announced, "unless we choose to submit to being robbed by this rascally brigand." "then," observed uncle john, "let's submit." "never! not in a thousand years!" cried ferralti, wildly. and then this singular young man sank into a chair and burst into tears. uncle john was puzzled. the slender youth--for he was but a youth in spite of his thin moustaches--exhibited a queer combination of courage and weakness; but somehow uncle john liked him better at that moment than he ever had before. perhaps because he now realized he had unjustly suspected him. "you seem to have been hurt, count," he remarked. "why, i was foolish enough to struggle, and that brute tommaso pounded me," was the reply. "you were wise to offer no resistance, sir." "as for that, i hadn't a choice," said uncle john, smiling. "when did they get you, ferralti?" "last evening. i walked in the garden of the hotel and they threw a sack over my head. i resisted and tried to cry out. they beat me until i was insensible and then brought me here, together with my travelling cases, which they removed from my room to convey the impression that i had gone away voluntarily. when i awakened from my swoon i was in this room, with the doctor bending over me." "the doctor?" "oh, they have a doctor in this accursed den, as well as a priest and a lawyer. the duke entreated my pardon. he will punish his men for abusing me. but he holds me a safe prisoner, just the same." "why?" "he wants a ransom. he will force me to purchase an ancient brass candlestick for fifty thousand lira." uncle john looked at his companion thoughtfully. "tell me, count ferralti," he said, "who you really are. i had believed you were il duca's accomplice, until now. but if he has trapped you, and demands a ransom, it is because you are a person of some consequence, and able to pay. may i not know as much about your position in life as does this brigand duke?" the young man hesitated. then he spread out his hands with an appealing gesture and said: "not yet, mr. merrick! do not press me now, i implore you. perhaps i have done wrong to try to deceive you, but in good time i will explain everything, and then you will understand me better." "you are no count." "that is true, mr. merrick." "you are not even an italian." "that is but partly true, sir." "you have seen fit to deceive us by--" tommaso threw wide the door. "_il dejuné é servito_," he said gruffly. "what does that mean?" asked uncle john. "luncheon is ready. shall we go down?" "yes; i'm hungry." they followed the man to the lower floor, where he ushered them into a low, cool room where a long table was set. the walls were whitewashed and bore some religious prints, gaudily colored. a white cloth covered the table, which was well furnished with modern crockery and glass, and antique silverware. at the head of the table were two throne-like chairs, one slightly larger and more elevated than the other. in the more important seat was a withered old woman with a face like that of a mummy, except that it was supplied with two small but piercing jet eyes that seemed very much alive as they turned shrewdly upon the strangers. she was the only one of the company they found seated. the duke stood behind the smaller chair beside her, and motioned the americans to occupy two places at the side of the table next him. opposite them, in the places adjoining the elevated dais, were two remarkable individuals whom uncle john saw for the first time. one was a cappuccin monk, with shaven crown and coarse cassock fastened at the waist by a cord. he was blind in one eye and the lid of the other drooped so as to expose only a thin slit. fat, awkward and unkempt, he stood holding to the back of his chair and swaying slightly from side to side. next to him was a dandified appearing man who was very slight and thin of form but affected the dress and manners of extreme youth. ferralti whispered to uncle john that this was the doctor. the table dropped a step in heighth from these places, and the balance of its length was occupied by several stalwart sicilians, clothed in ordinary peasant costume, and a few silent, heavy-featured women. tato was not present. "signori," said the duke to the americans, "allow me to present you to my mother, the head of our illustrious family; one who is known, admired and feared throughout sicily as her excellenza la duchessa d'alcanta." with the words the duke bowed low to the old woman. uncle john and ferralti also bowed low. the lines of servitors humbly bent themselves double. but the duchessa made no acknowledgment. her bead like eyes searched the faces of the "guests" with disconcerting boldness, and then dropped to her plate. at this signal the fat priest mumbled a blessing upon the food, the duke waved his hand, and all the company became seated. uncle john felt as if he were taking part in a comic opera, and enjoyed the scene immensely. but now his attention was distracted by the stewards bringing in steaming platters of macaroni and stewed mutton, from which they first served the duchessa, and then the duke, and afterward the guests. the servants waited hungry-eyed until these formalities were completed, and then swept the platters clean and ate ravenously. uncle john plied his knife and fork busily and found the food excellently prepared. ferralti seemed to have little appetite. some of his teeth had been knocked out and his broken wrist, which had but partially healed, had been wrenched in the scrimmage of the night before so that it caused him considerable pain. the duke attempted little conversation, doubtless through deference to the aged duchessa, who remained absolutely silent and unresponsive to her surroundings. he praised his wine, however, which he said was from their own vineyards, and pressed the americans to drink freely. when she had finished her meal the duchessa raised a hand, and at the signal the whole company arose and stood at their places while two of the women assisted her to retire. she leaned upon their shoulders, being taller than her son, but displayed surprising vigor for one so advanced in years. when she had gone the others finished at their leisure, and the conversation became general, the servants babbling in their voluble italian without any restraint whatever. then the duke led his prisoners to the veranda and offered them cigars. these were brought by tato, who then sat in the duke's lap and curled up affectionately in his embrace, while the brigand's expression softened and he stroked the boy's head with a tender motion. uncle john watched the little scene approvingly. it was the first time he had seen tato since the child had lured him through the tunnel. "your son, duke?" he asked. "yes, signore; my only child. the heir to my modest estate." "and a very good brigand, already, for his years," added mr. merrick. "ah, tato, tato," shaking his head at the child, "how could you be so cruel as to fool an innocent old chap like me?" tato laughed. "i did not deceive you, signore. you but misunderstood me. i said signor ferralti was hurt, and so he was." "but you said he needed my assistance." "does he not, signore?" "how do you speak such good english?" "father antoine taught me." "the monk?" "yes, signore." "my child is a linguist," remarked the duke, complacently. "sh--he has been taught english, german and french, even from the days of infancy. it is very good for me, for now tato can entertain my guests." "have you no italian guests, then?" asked uncle john. "no, since italy owns sicily, and i am a loyal subject. neither have i many germans or frenchmen, although a few wander my way, now and then. but the americans i love, and often they visit me. there were three last year, and now here are two more to honor me with their presence." "the americans make easier victims, i suppose." "oh, the americans are very rich, and they purchase my wares liberally. by the way, signor ferralti," turning to the young man, "have you decided yet the little matter of your own purchase?" "i will not buy your candlestick, if that is what you refer to," was the response. "no?" "by no means. fifty thousand lira, for a miserable bit of brass!" "but i forgot to tell you, signore; the candlestick is no longer for sale," observed the duke, with an evil smile. "instead, i offer you a magnificent bracelet which is a hundred years old." "thank you. what's the price?" "a hundred thousand lira, signore." ferralti started. then in turn he smiled at his captor. "that is absurd," said he. "i have no wealth at all, sir, but live on a small allowance that barely supplies my needs. i cannot pay." "i will take that risk, signore," said the brigand, coolly. "you have but to draw me an order on mr. edward leighton, of new york, for one hundred thousand lira--or say twenty thousand dollars--and the bracelet is yours." "edward leighton! my father's attorney! how did you know of him, sir?" "i have an agent in new york," answered the duke, "and lately i have been in your city myself." "then, if you know so much, you scoundrelly thief, you know that my father will not honor a draft for such a sum as you demand. i doubt if my father would pay a single dollar to save me from assassination." "we will not discuss that, signore, for i regret to say that your father is no longer able to honor drafts. however, your attorney can do so, and will, without question." ferralti stared at him blankly. "what do you mean by that?" he demanded. the duke shook the ashes from his cigar and examined the glowing end with interest. "your father," was the deliberate reply, "was killed in a railway accident, four days ago. i have just been notified of the fact by a cable from america." ferralti sat trembling and regarding the man with silent horror. "is this true, sir?" asked uncle john, quickly; "or is it only a part of your cursed game?" "it is quite true, signore, i regret being obliged to break the ill news so abruptly; but this gentleman thought himself too poor to purchase my little bracelet, and it was necessary to inform him that he is suddenly made wealthy--not yet so great a croesus as yourself, signor merreek, but still a very rich man." ferralti ceased trembling, but the horror still clung to his eyes. "a railway wreck!" he muttered, hoarsely. "where was it, sir? tell me, i beseech you! and are you sure my father is dead?" "very sure, signore. my informant is absolutely reliable. but the details of the wreck i do not know. i am only informed of the fact of your father's death, and that his will leaves you his entire fortune." ferralti arose and staggered away to his room, and uncle john watched him go pityingly, but knew no way to comfort him. when he had gone he asked gently: "his father was an american, duke?" "yes, signore." "and wealthy, you say?" "exceedingly wealthy, signore." "what was his name?" "ah; about that ring, my dear guest. do you think a hundred and fifty thousand lira too much for it?" "you said a hundred thousand." "that was this morning, signore. the ring has increased in value since. to-morrow, without doubt, it will be worth two hundred thousand." tato laughed at the rueful expression on the victim's face, and, a moment after, uncle john joined in his laughter. "very good, duke," he said. "i don't wish to rob you. let us wait until to-morrow." the brigand seemed puzzled. "may i ask why, signor merreek--since you are warned?" he enquired. "why, it's this way, duke. i'm just a simple, common-place american, and have lived a rather stupid existence for some time. we have no brigands at home, nor any hidden valleys or protected criminals like yourself. the romance of my surroundings interests me; your methods are unique and worth studying; if i am so rich as you think me a few extra hundred thousand lira will be a cheap price to pay for this experience. is it not so?" the duke frowned. "do you play with me?" he asked, menacingly. "by no means. i'm just the spectator. i expect you to make the entertainment. i'm sure it will be a good show, although the price is rather high." il duca glared, but made no reply at the moment. instead, he sat stroking tato's hair and glowering evilly at the american. the child whispered something in italian, and the man nodded. "very well, signore," he said, more quietly. "to-morrow, then, if it so pleases you." then, taking tato's hand, he slowly arose and left the veranda. for a moment the american looked after them with a puzzled expression. then he said to himself, with a smile: "ah, i have solved one mystery, at any rate. tato is a girl!" chapter xix a difficult position and now uncle john, finding himself left alone, took his walkingstick and started out to explore the valley. he felt very sorry for young ferralti, but believed his sympathy could in no way lighten the blow caused by the abrupt news of his parent's death. he would wish to be alone with his grief for a time. by and by mr. merrick intended to question his fellow prisoner and try to find out something of his history. the dale was very beautiful as it lay basking in the afternoon sun. near the house was a large vegetable garden, which, being now shaded by the overhanging cliffs, was being tended by a sour-visaged sicilian. uncle john watched him for a time, but the fellow paid no heed to him. every servant connected with the duke's establishment seemed surly and morose, and this was the more remarkable because the country folk and villagers uncle john had met were usually merry and light-hearted. down by the brook were green meadows and groves of fruit trees. the little gentleman followed the stream for some distance, and finally came upon a man seated on the bank above a broad pool, intently engaged in fishing. it proved to be the dandified old doctor, who wore gloves to protect his hands and a broad-rimmed straw hat to shade his face. uncle john stood beside the motionless figure for a moment, watching the line. then, forgetting he was in a foreign country, he asked carelessly: "any luck?" "not yet," was the quiet reply, in clear english. "it is too early to interest the fishes. an hour later they will bite." "then why did you come so soon?" "to escape that hell-hole yonder," nodding his head toward the house. uncle john was surprised. "but you are not a prisoner, doctor," he ventured to say. "except through the necessity of earning a livelihood. il duca pays well--or rather the duchessa does, for she is the head of this household. i am skillful, and worth my price, and they know it." "you say the duchessa is the head of the house?" "assuredly, signore. il duca is her slave. she plans and directs everything, and her son but obeys her will." "did she send him to america?" "i think so. but do not misunderstand me. the duke is clever on his own account, and almost as wicked as his old mother. and between them they are training the child to be as bad as they are. it is dreadful." "have you been here long?" "for seven years, signore." "but you can resign whenever you please?" "why not? but the doubt makes me uneasy, sometimes. in another year i would like to go to venice, and retire from professional life. i am a venetian, you observe; no dastardly brigand of a sicilian. and in another year i shall have sufficient means to retire and end my days in peace. here i save every centessimo i make, for i can spend nothing." uncle john sat down upon the bank beside the confiding venetian. "doctor," said he, "i am somewhat puzzled by this man you call il duca, as well as by my audacious capture and the methods employed to rob me. i'd like your advice. what shall i do?" "the only possible thing, signore. submit." "why is it the only possible thing?" "have you not yet discovered? unless you pay, your friends will never hear from you again. il duca, by his mother's favor, is king here. he will murder you if you oppose his demands." "really?" "it is quite certain, signore. he has murdered several obstinate people since i have been here, and the outside world will never know their fate. it is folly to oppose the king. were you not rich you would not be here. il duca knows the exact wealth of every american who travels abroad and is likely to visit sicily. many escape him, but a few wander into his toils, for he is wonderfully sagacious. mark you: he does not demand your all; he merely takes tribute, leaving his victims sufficient to render life desirable to them. if he required their all, many would as soon forfeit life as make the payment; but a tithe they will spare for the privilege of living. that is why he is so successful. and that is why he remains undisturbed. for an american, being robbed so simply, never tells of his humiliating experience. he goes home, and avoids sicily ever after." "h-m-m. i understand." "but if you do not pay, you are not permitted to leave this place. you are killed at once, and the incident is over. il duca does not love to murder, but he takes no chances." "i see. but suppose i pay, and then make complaint to the italian government?" "it has been done, signore. but the government is very blind. it does not know il duca d' alcanta. its officials are convinced he does not exist. they investigate carefully, and declare the tale is all a myth." "then there is no way of escape?" "absolutely none. such a condition is almost inconceivable, is it not? and in this enlightened age? but it exists, and is only harmful when its victims are stubborn and rebellious. to be cheerful and pay promptly is the only sensible way out of your difficulty." "thank you," said uncle john. "i shall probably pay promptly. but tell me, to satisfy my curiosity, how does your duke murder his victims?" "he does not call it murder, as i do; he says they are suicides, or the victims of accident. they walk along a path and fall into a pit. it is deep, and they are killed. the pit is also their tomb. they are forgotten, and the trap is already set for their successors." "rather a gloomy picture, doctor." "yes. i tell you this because my nature is kind. i abhor all crime, and much prefer that you should live. but, if you die, my _salario_ continues. i am employed to guard the health of the duke's family--especially the old duchessa--and have no part in this detestable business." "isn't that a bite?" "no, signore. it is the current. it is not time for the fish to bite." uncle john arose. "good afternoon, doctor." "good afternoon, signore." he left the old fellow sitting there and walked on. the valley was about a half mile long and from a quarter to a third of a mile in width. it resembled a huge amphitheatre in shape. the american tramped the length of the brook, which disappeared into the rocky wall at the far end. then he returned through the orchards to the house. the place was silent and seemed deserted. there was a languor in the atmosphere that invited sleep. uncle john sought his room and lay down for an afternoon nap, soon falling into a sound slumber. when he awoke he found ferralti seated beside his bed. the young man was pale, but composed. "mr. merrick," said he, "what have you decided to do?" uncle john rubbed his eyes and sat up. "i'm going to purchase that ring," he answered, "at the best price the duke will make me." "i am disappointed," returned ferralti, stiffly. "i do not intend to allow myself to be robbed in this way." "then write a farewell letter, and i'll take it to your friends." "it may not be necessary, sir." uncle john regarded him thoughtfully. "what can you do?" he asked. ferralti leaned forward and whispered, softly: "i have a stout pocket-knife, with a very long blade. i shall try to kill the duke. once he is dead his people will not dare to oppose us, but will fly in terror. it is only il duca's audacity and genius that enables this robber's den to exist." "you would rather attempt this than pay?" "sir, i could not bear the infamy of letting this scoundrel triumph over me." "well, ferralti, you are attempting a delicate and dangerous task, but so far as i can, i will help you." he took the revolver from his pocket and handed it to his companion. "it's loaded in every chamber," he whispered. "perhaps it will serve your purpose better than a knife." ferralti's eyes sparkled. "good!" he exclaimed, concealing the weapon. "i shall watch for my opportunity, so as to make no mistake. meantime, do you bargain with the duke, but postpone any agreement to pay." "all right, my lad. i'll wait to see what happens. it may add a good deal to the cost of that ring, if you fail; but i'll take the chances of that for the sake of the game." he paused a moment, and then added: "is your father really dead, count?" "yes; the duke has sent me the cablegram he received from his agent. i cannot doubt his authority. my father and i have not been friendly, of late years. he was a severe man, cold and unsympathetic, but i am sorry we could not have been reconciled before this awful fate overtook him. however, it is now too late for vain regrets. i tried not to disobey or antagonize my one parent, but he did not understand my nature, and perhaps i failed to understand his." he sighed, and rising from his chair walked to the window to conceal his emotion. uncle john remained silent, and presently tommaso entered to notify them that dinner would be served in a half hour, and the duke expected them to join him at the table. the next morning mr. merrick bargained pleasantly with his jailer, who seemed not averse to discussing the matter at length; but no conclusion was reached. ferralti took no part in the conversation, but remained sullen and silent, and the duke did not press him. the day after, however, he insisted that he had dallied long enough, although after much argument on the part of his enforced guests he agreed to give them three days to decide, with the understanding that each day they delayed would add a goodly sum to their ransom. if at the end of the three days the americans remained obdurate, he would invite them to take a little walk, and the affair would be terminated. ferralti hugged his revolver and awaited his opportunity. it seemed to uncle john that he might have had a hundred chances to shoot the brigand, who merited no better fate than assassination at their hands; but although ferralti was resolved upon the deed he constantly hesitated to accomplish it in cold blood, and the fact that he had three days grace induced him to put off the matter as long as possible. he came to regret most bitterly his indecision; for something in the young man's eyes must have put the brigand on his guard. when they awoke on the third morning, which was the fifth since their imprisonment, some one had searched their rooms thoroughly. the revolver and the knife were both gone, and the loss rendered them absolutely helpless. chapter xx uncle john plays eavesdropper it now seemed to uncle john that further resistance to the demands of il duca was as useless as it was dangerous. he resented the necessity of paying a ransom as much as any man could; but imprisoned as he was in a veritable "robbers' den," without means of communicating with the authorities or the outside world, and powerless to protect his life from the vengeance of the unprincipled scoundrel who held him, the only safe and sane mode of procedure was to give in as gracefully as possible. he formed this conclusion during a long walk around the valley, during which he once more noted the absolute seclusion of the place and the impossibility of escape by scaling the cliffs. the doctor was fishing again by the brook, but paid no heed when uncle john tramped by. the sight of the dapper little man gave mr. merrick a thought, and presently he turned back and sat down beside the fisherman. "i want to get out of this," he said, bluntly. "it was fun, at first, and rather interesting; but i've had enough of it." the physician kept his eye on the line and made no reply. "i want you to tell me how to escape," continued uncle john. "it's no use saying that it can't be done, for nothing is impossible to a clever man, such as i believe you to be." still no reply. "you spoke, the other day, of earning enough money to go home and live in peace for the rest of your days. here, sir, is your opportunity to improve upon that ambition. the brigand is trying to exact a large ransom from me; i'll give it to you willingly--every penny--if you'll show me how to escape." "why should you do that?" enquired the doctor, still intent upon his line. "does it matter to you who gets your money?" "of course," was the prompt reply. "in one case i pay it for a service rendered, and do it gladly. on the other hand, i am robbed, and that goes against the grain. il duca has finally decided to demand fifty thousand dollars. it shall be yours, instead, if you give me your assistance." "signore," said the other, calmly, "i would like this money, and i regret that it is impossible for me to earn it. but there is no means of escape from this place except by the passage through the rocks, which passage only three people know the secret of opening--il duca himself, the child tato, and the old duchessa. perhaps tommaso also knows; i am not certain; but he will not admit he has such knowledge. you see, signore, i am as much a prisoner as yourself." "there ought to be some way to climb these cliffs; some secret path or underground tunnel," remarked uncle john, musingly. "it is more than a hundred years since this valley was made secure by a brigand ancestor of our duchessa," was the reply. "it may be two or three centuries ago, for all i know. and ever since it has been used for just this purpose: to hold a prisoner until he was ransomed--and no such man has ever left the place alive unless he paid the price." "then you cannot help me?" asked uncle john, who was weary of hearing these pessimistic declarations. "i cannot even help myself; for i may not resign my position here unless the duke is willing i should go." "good morning, doctor." the prisoner returned slowly toward the dwelling, with its group of outhouses. by chance he found a path leading to the rear of these which he had not traversed before, and followed it until he came to a hedge of thickly set trees of some variety of cactus, which seemed to have been planted to form an enclosure. cautiously pushing aside the branches bordering a small gap in this hedge, uncle john discovered a charming garden lying beyond, so he quickly squeezed himself through the opening and entered. the garden was rudely but not badly kept. there was even some attempt at ornamentation, and many of the shrubs and flowers were rare and beautiful. narrow walks traversed the masses of foliage, and several leafy bowers invited one to escape the heat of the midday sun in their shelter. it was not a large place, and struck one as being overcrowded because so many of the plants were taller than a man's head. uncle john turned down one path which, after several curves and turns, came to an abrupt ending beneath the spreading branches of an acacia tree which had been converted into a bower by a thick, climbing vine, whose matted leaves and purple blossoms effectually screened off the garden beyond. while he stood gazing around him to find a way out without retracing his steps, a clear voice within a few feet of him caused him to start. the voice spoke in vehement italian, and came from the other side of the screen of vines. it was sharp and garrulous in tone, and although uncle john did not understand the words he recognized their dominating accent. the duke replied, slowly and sullenly, and whatever he said had the effect of rousing the first speaker to fierce anger. the american became curious. he found a place where the leaves were thinner than elsewhere, and carefully pressing them apart looked through the opening. beyond was a clear space, well shaded and furnished with comfortable settles, tables and chairs. it adjoined a wing of the dwelling, which stood but a few paces away and was evidently occupied by the women of the household. the old duchessa, her face still like a death mask but her eyes glittering with the brightness of a serpent's, sat enthroned within a large chair in the center of a family group. it was her sharp voice that had first aroused the american's attention. opposite her sat the duke, his thin face wearing an expression of gloom and dissatisfaction. the child tato occupied a stool at her father's feet, and in the background were three serving women, sewing or embroidering. near the duke stood the tall brigand known as pietro. answering the old woman's fierce tirade, tato said: "it is foolish to quarrel in italian. the servants are listening." "let us then speak in english," returned the duchessa. "these are matters the servants should not gossip about." the duke nodded assent. both tato and her grandmother spoke easily the foreign tongue; the duke was more uncertain in his english, but understood it perfectly. "i am still the head of this family," resumed the duchessa, in a more moderate tone. "i insist that my will be obeyed." "your dignity i have the respect for," replied the duke, laboredly; "but you grow old and foolish." "foolish! i?" "yes; you are absurd. you live in past centuries. you think to-day we must do all that your ancestors did." "can you do better?" "yes; the world has change. it has progress. with it i advance, but you do not. you would murder, rob, torture to-day as the great duke, your grandfather, did. you think we still are of the world independent. you think we are powerful and great. bah! we are nothing--we are as a speck of dust. but still we are the outlaws and the outcasts of sicily, and some day italy will crush us and we will be forgotten." "i dare them to molest us!" "because you are imbecile. the world you do not know. i have travel; i see many countries; and i am wise." "but you are still my vassal, my slave; and i alone rule here. always have you rebelled and wanted to escape. only my iron will has kept you here and made you do your duty." "since you my brother ridolfo killed, i have little stomach for the trade of brigand. it is true. but no longer is this trade necessary. we are rich. had i a son to inherit your business, a different thought might prevail; but i have only tato, and a girl cannot be a successful brigand." "why not?" cried the old duchessa, contemptuously. "it is the girl--always the girl--you make excuses for. but have i not ruled our domain--i, who am a woman?" tato herself answered, in a quiet voice. "and what have you become, nonna, more than an outcast?" she enquired. "what use to you is money, or a power that the world would sneer at, did the world even suspect that you exist? you are a failure in life, my nonna, and i will not be like you." the duchessa screamed an epithet and glared at the child as if she would annihilate her; but no fitting words to reply could she find. uncle john smiled delightedly. he felt no sense of humiliation or revolt at eavesdropping in this den of thieves, and to be able to gain so fair a revelation of the inner life of this remarkable family was a diversion not lightly to be foregone. "so far, we have managed to escape the law," resumed the duke. "but always it may not be our fortune to do this, if we continue this life. it is now a good time to stop. of one american we will gain a quarter of a million lira--a fortune--and of the other one hundred and fifty thousand lira. with what we already have it is enough and more. quietly we will disband our men and go away. in another land we live the respectable life, in peace with all, and tato shall be the fine lady, and forget she once was a brigand's daughter." the child sprang up in glee, and clasping her father's neck with both arms kissed him with passionate earnestness. silently the duchessa watched the scene. her face was as pallid and immobile as ever; even the eyes seemed to have lost expression. but the next words showed that she was still unconquered. "you shall take the money of the fat pig of an american; it is well to do so. but the youth who boldly calls himself ferralti shall make no tribute to this family. he shall die as i have declared." "i will not take the risk," asserted the duke, sourly. "have the others who lie in the pit told tales?" she demanded. "no; but they died alone. here are two americans our prisoners, and they have many and powerful friends, both at taormina and at naples. the man merrick, when he goes, will tell that ferralti is here. to obtain his person, alive or dead, the soldiers will come here and destroy us all. it is folly, and shows you are old and imbecile." "then go!" she cried, fiercely. "go, you and tato; take your money and escape. and leave me my valley, and the youth ferralti, and my revenge. then, if i die, if the soldiers destroy me, it is my own doing." "in this new world, of which you know nothing, escape is not possible," replied the duke, after a moment's thought. "ferralti must be accounted for, and because i captured him they would accuse me of his death, and even tato might be made to suffer. no, madame. both the americans must be killed, or both set free for ransom." uncle john gave a start of dismay. here was a development he had not expected. "then," said the old woman, positively, "let them both die." "oh, no!" exclaimed tato. "not that, grandmother!" "certainly not so," agreed the duke. "we want their money." "you are already rich," said the duchessa. "you have yourself said so, and i know it is truth." "this new world," explained the duke, "contains of luxuries many that you have no understanding of. to be rich to-day requires more money than in your days, madre mia. with these ransoms, which already we have won, we shall have enough. without this money my tato would lack much that i desire for her. so of new murders i will take no risk, for the bambina's sake." "and my revenge?" "bah, of what use is it? because the boy's father married my sister bianca, and ill-treated her, must we kill their offspring?" "he is his father's son. the father, you say, is dead, and so also is my child bianca. then my hatred falls upon the son arturo, and he must die to avenge the wrong to our race." "more proof that you are imbecile," said the duke, calmly. "he shall not die. he is nothing to us except a mine from whence to get gold." "he is my grandson. i have a right to kill him." "he is my nephew. he shall live." "do you defy me?" "with certainty. i defy you. the new world permits no crazy nonna to rule a family. that is my privilege. if you persist, it is you who shall go to the pit. if you have reason, you shall remain in your garden in peace. come, tato; we will retire." he arose and took the child's hand. the old woman sat staring at them in silence, but with an evil glint in her glistening eyes. uncle john turned around and softly made his retreat from the garden. his face wore a startled and horrified expression and on his forehead stood great beads of sweat that the sultriness of the day did not account for. but he thought better of il duca. chapter xxi the pit they met an hour later at luncheon, all but the duchessa, who sulked in her garden. tato was bright and smiling, filled with a suppressed joy which bubbled up in spite of the little one's effort to be dignified and sedate. when her hand stole under the table to find and press that of her father, uncle john beamed upon her approvingly; for he knew what had occurred and could sympathize with her delight. the duke, however, was more sombre than usual. he had defied his mother, successfully, so far; but he feared the terrible old woman more than did tato, because he knew more of her history and of the bold and wicked deeds she had perpetrated in years gone by. only once had a proposed victim escaped her, and that was when her own daughter bianca had fallen in love with an american held for ransom and spirited him away from the valley through knowledge of the secret passage. it was well bianca had fled with her lover; otherwise her mother would surely have killed her. but afterward, when the girl returned to die in the old home, all was forgiven, and only the hatred of her foreign husband, whose cruelty had driven her back to sicily, remained to rankle in the old duchessa's wicked heart. no one knew her evil nature better than her son. he entertained a suspicion that he had not conquered her by his recent opposition to her will. indeed, he would never have dared to brave her anger except for tato's sake. tato was his idol, and in her defense the cowardly brigand had for the moment become bold. tato laughed and chatted with uncle john all through the meal, even trying at times to cheer the doleful ferralti, who was nearly as glum and unsociable as her father. the servants and brigands at the lower end of the table looked upon the little one admiringly. it was evident she was a general favorite. on the porch, after luncheon, the duke broached the subject of the ransoms again, still maintaining the fable of selling his antique jewelry. "sir," said uncle john, "i'm going to submit gracefully, but upon one condition." the duke scowled. "i allow no conditions," he said. "you'd better allow this one," uncle john replied, "because it will make it easier for all of us. of my own free will and accord i will make a present to tato of fifty thousand dollars, and she shall have it for her dowry when she marries." tato clapped her hands. "how did you know i am a girl, when i wear boys' clothes?" she asked. even the duke smiled, at that, but the next moment he shook his head solemnly. "it will not do, signore," he declared, answering uncle john's proposition. "this is a business affair altogether. you must purchase the ring, and at once." the little american sighed. it had been his last hope. "very well," he said; "have your own way." "you will send to your friends for the money?" "whenever you say, duke. you've got me in a hole, and i must wiggle out the best way i can." the brigand turned to ferralti. "and you, signore?" he asked. "i do not know whether i can get the money you demand." "but you will make the attempt, as i shall direct?" "yes." "then, signori, it is all finished. in a brief time you will leave my hospitable roof." "the sooner the better," declared ferralti. they sat for a time in silence, each busy with his thoughts. "go to your grandmother, tato," said the duke, "and try to make your peace with her. if she is too angry, do not remain. to-morrow you must go into town with letters from these gentlemen to their friends." the child kissed him and went obediently to do his will. then the brigand spoke to tommaso, who brought writing material from the house and placed it upon a small table. uncle john, without further demur, sat down to write. the duke dictated what he should say, although he was allowed to express the words in his own characteristic style, and he followed his instructions implicitly, secretly admiring the shrewdness of the brigand's methods. it was now ferralti's turn. he had just seated himself at the table and taken the pen when they were startled by a shrill scream from the rear of the house. it was followed by another, and another, in quick succession. it was tato's voice, and the duke gave an answering cry and sprang from the veranda to dart quickly around the corner of the house. uncle john followed him, nearly as fearful as the child's father. tommaso seized a short rifle that stood near and ran around the house in the other direction, when ferralti, who for a moment had seemed dazed by the interruption, followed tommaso rather than the others. as they came to the rear they were amazed to see the old duchessa, whom they had known to be feeble and dependent upon her women, rush through the garden hedge with the agility of a man, bearing in her arms the struggling form of little tato. the child screamed pitifully, but the woman glared upon tommaso and ferralti, as she passed them, with the ferocity of a tiger. "she is mad!" cried ferralti. "quick, tommaso; let us follow her." the brigand bounded forward, with the young man scarce a pace behind him. the woman, running with wonderful speed in spite of her burden, began to ascend a narrow path leading up the face of a rugged cliff. a yell of anguish from behind for a moment arrested ferralti's rapid pursuit. glancing back he saw the duke running frantically toward them, at the same time waving his arms high above his head. "the pit!" he shouted. "she is making for the pit. stop her, for the love of god!" ferralti understood, and dashed forward again at full speed. tommaso also understood, for his face was white and he muttered terrible oaths as he pressed on. yet run as they might, the mad duchessa was inspired with a strength so superhuman that she kept well in advance. but the narrow path ended half way up the cliff. it ended at a deep chasm in the rocks, the edge of which was protected by a large flat stone, like the curb of a well. with a final leap the old woman gained this stone, and while the dreadful pit yawned at her feet she turned, and with a demoniacal laugh faced her pursuers, hugging the child close to her breast. tommaso and ferralti, who were nearest, paused instinctively. it was now impossible for them to prevent the tragedy about to be enacted. the duke, spurred on by fear, was yet twenty paces in their rear, and in a moment he also stopped, clasping his hands in a gesture of vain entreaty. "listen, lugui!" his mother called to him, in a dear, high voice. "this is the child that has come between us and turned you from a man into a coward. here alone is the cause of our troubles. behold! i will remove it forever from our path." with the words she lifted tato high above her head and turned toward the pit--that terrible cleft in the rocks which was believed to have no bottom. at her first movement tommaso had raised his gun, and the duke, perceiving this, called to him in an agonized voice to fire. but either the brigand wavered between his loyalty to the duke or the duchessa, or he feared to injure tato, for he hesitated to obey and the moments were precious. the child's fate hung in the balance when ferralti snatched the weapon from the brigand's hands and fired it so hastily that he scarcely seemed to take aim. a wild cry echoed the shot. the woman collapsed and fell, dropping tato at her feet, where they both tottered at the edge of the pit. the child, however, clung desperately to the outer edge of the flat stone, while the duchessa's inert form seemed to hesitate for an instant and then disappeared from view. tommaso ran forward and caught up the child, returning slowly along the path to place it in the father's arms. ferralti was looking vaguely from the weapon he held to the pit, and then back again, as if not fully understanding what he had done. "thank you, signore," said the duke, brokenly, "for saving my precious child." "but i have slain your mother!" cried the young man, horrified. "the obligation is even," replied the duke. "she was also your grandmother." ferralti stood motionless, his face working convulsively, his tongue refusing to utter a sound. "but he did not shoot my grandmother at all," said tato, who was sobbing against her father's breast; "for i heard the bullet strike the rock beside us. my grandmother's strength gave way, and she fainted. it was that that saved me, padre mia." chapter xxii news at last kenneth forbes had always been an unusual boy. he had grown up in an unfriendly atmosphere, unloved and uncared for, and resented this neglect with all the force of his impetuous nature. he had hated aunt jane, and regarded her as cruel and selfish--a fair estimate of her character--until aunt jane's nieces taught him to be more considerate and forgiving. patricia, especially, had exercised a gentler influence upon the arbitrary youth, and as a consequence they had become staunch friends. when the unexpected inheritance of a fortune changed the boy's condition from one of dependence to one of importance he found he had no longer any wrongs to resent; therefore his surly and brusque moods gradually disappeared, and he became a pleasant companion to those he cared for. with strangers he still remained reserved and suspicious, and occasionally the old sullen fits would seize him and it was well to avoid his society while they lasted. on his arrival at taormina, kenneth had entered earnestly into the search for uncle john, whom he regarded most affectionately; and, having passed the day tramping over the mountains, he would fill the evening with discussions and arguments with the nieces concerning the fate of their missing uncle. but as the days dragged wearily away the search slackened and was finally abandoned. kenneth set up his easel in the garden and began to paint old etna, with its wreath of snow and the soft gray cloud of vapor that perpetually hovered over it. "anyone with half a soul could paint that!" said patsy; and as a proof of her assertion the boy did very well indeed, except that his uneasiness on mr. merrick's account served to distract him more or less. nor was kenneth the only uneasy one. mr. watson, hard-headed man of resource as he was, grew more and more dejected as he realized the impossibility of interesting the authorities in the case. the sicilian officials were silent and uncommunicative; the italians wholly indifferent. if strangers came to taormina and got into difficulties, the government was in no way to blame. it was their duty to tolerate tourists, but those all too energetic foreigners must take care of themselves. probably mr. watson would have cabled the state department at washington for assistance had he not expected each day to put him in communication with his friend, and in the end he congratulated himself upon his patience. the close of the week brought a sudden and startling change in the situation. the girls sat on the shaded terrace one afternoon, watching the picture of etna grow under kenneth's deft touches, when they observed a child approaching them with shy diffidence. it was a beautiful sicilian boy, with wonderful brown eyes and a delicate profile. after assuring himself that the party of young americans was quite separate from any straggling guest of the hotel, the child came near enough to say, in a low tone: "i have a message from signor merrick." they crowded around him eagerly then, raining questions from every side; but the boy shrank away and said, warningly: "if we are overheard, signorini mia, it will be very bad. no one must suspect that i am here." "is my uncle well?" asked patsy, imploringly. "quite well, mees." "and have you also news of count ferralti?" anxiously enquired louise. "oh, ferralti? he is better. some teeth are knocked out, but he eats very well without them," replied the child, with an amused laugh. "where are our friends, my lad?" kenneth asked. "i cannot describe the place, signore; but here are letters to explain all." the child produced a bulky package, and after a glance at each, in turn, placed it in patsy's hands. "read very secretly, signorini, and decide your course of action. to-morrow i will come for your answer. in the meantime, confide in no one but yourselves. if you are indiscreet, you alone will become the murderers of signor merrick and the sad young ferralti." "who are you?" asked beth, examining the child closely. "i am called tato, signorina mia." "where do you live?" "it is all explained in the letters, believe me." beth glanced at patricia, who was examining the package, and now all crowded around for a glimpse of uncle john's well-known handwriting. the wrapper was inscribed: _"to miss doyle, miss de graf and miss merrick,_ _hotel castello-a-mare, taormina._ _by the safe hands of tato."_ inside were two letters, one addressed to louise personally. she seized this and ran a little distance away, while beth took uncle john's letter from patsy's trembling hands, and having opened it read aloud in a clear and composed voice the following: "my dear nieces: (and also my dear friends, silas watson and kenneth forbes, if they are with you) greeting! you have perhaps been wondering at my absence, which i will explain by saying that i am visiting a noble acquaintance in a very cozy and comfortable retreat which i am sure would look better from a distance. my spirits and health are a no. and it is my intention to return to you as soon as you have executed a little commission for me, which i want you to do exactly as i hereby instruct you. in other words, if you don't execute the commission you will probably execute me. "i have decided to purchase a valuable antique ring from my host, at a price of fifty thousand dollars, which trifling sum i must have at once to complete the transaction, for until full payment is made i cannot rejoin you. therefore you must hasten to raise the dough. here's the programme, my dear girls: one of you must go by first train to messina and cable isham, marvin & co. to deposit with the new york correspondents of the banca commerciale italiana fifty thousand dollars, and have instructions cabled to the messina branch of that bank to pay the sum to the written order of john merrick. this should all be accomplished within twenty-four hours. present the enclosed order, together with my letter of credit and passport, which will identify my signature, and draw the money in cash. return with it to taormina and give it secretly to the boy tato, who will bring it to me. i will rejoin you within three hours after i have paid for the ring. "this may seem a strange proceeding to you, my dears, but you must not hesitate to accomplish it--if you love me. should my old friend silas watson be now with you, as i expect him to be, he will assist you to do my bidding, for he will be able to realize, better than i can now explain, how important it is to me. "also i beg you to do a like service for count ferralti, who is entrusting his personal commission, to louise. he also must conclude an important purchase before he can return to taormina. "more than this i am not permitted to say in this letter. confide in no stranger, or official of any sort, and act as secretly and quietly as possible. i hope soon to be with you. "very affectionately, uncle john." "what does it all mean?" asked patsy, bewildered, when beth had finished reading. "why, it is clear enough, i'm sure," said kenneth. "uncle john is imprisoned by brigands, and the money he requires is his ransom. we must get it as soon as possible, you know, and luckily he is so rich that he won't miss this little draft at all." beth sat silent, angrily staring at the letter. "i suppose," said patsy, hesitating, "the robbers will do the dear uncle some mischief, if he doesn't pay." "just knock him on the head, that's all," said the boy. "but there's no need to worry. we can get the money easily." suddenly beth jumped up. "where's that girl?" she demanded, sharply. "what girl?" "tato." "tato, my dear coz, is a boy," answered kenneth; "and he disappeared ages ago." "you must be blind," said beth, scornfully, "not to recognize a girl when you see one. a boy, indeed!" "why, he dressed like a boy," replied kenneth, hesitatingly. "so much the more disgraceful," sniffed beth. "she belongs to those brigands, i suppose." "looks something like victor valdi," said patsy, thoughtfully. "il duca? of course! i see it myself, now. patricia, it is that wicked duke who has captured uncle john." "i had guessed that," declared patsy, smiling. "he must be a handsome rascal," observed kenneth, "for the child is pretty as a picture." "he isn't handsome at all," replied beth; "but there is a look about the child's eyes that reminds me of him." "that's it, exactly," agreed patsy. louise now approached them with a white, frightened face. "isn't it dreadful!" she moaned. "they are going to kill ferralti unless he gives them thirty thousand dollars." "and i don't believe he can raise thirty cents," said patsy, calmly. "oh, yes, he can," answered louise, beginning to cry. "hi--his--father is d--dead, and has left him--a--fortune." "don't blubber, lou," said the boy, chidingly; "in that case your dago friend is as well off as need be. but i suppose you're afraid the no-account count won't figure his life is worth thirty thousand dollars. it does seem like an awful price to pay for a foreigner." "it isn't that," said louise, striving to control her emotion. "he says he hates to be robbed. he wouldn't pay a penny if he could help it." "good for the count! i don't blame him a bit," exclaimed beth. "it is a beastly shame that free born americans should be enslaved by a crew of thieving sicilians, and obliged to purchase their freedom!" "true for you," said kenneth, nodding. "but what are we going to do about it?" "pay, of course," decided patsy, promptly. "our uncle john is too precious to be sacrificed for all the money in the world. come; let's go and find mr. watson. we ought not to lose a moment's time." the lawyer read uncle john's letter carefully, as well as the one from count ferralti, which louise confided to him with the request that he keep the young man's identity a secret for a time, until he could reveal it to her cousins in person. "the only thing to be done," announced mr. watson, "is to carry out these instructions faithfully. we can send the cable messages from here, and in the morning louise and i will take the train for messina and remain there until we get the money." "it's an outrage!" cried beth. "of course, my dear. but it can't be helped. and your uncle is wise to take the matter so cheerfully. after all, it is little enough to pay for one's life and liberty, and our friend is so wealthy that he will never feel the loss at all." "it isn't that; it's the principle of the thing that i object to," said the girl. "it's downright disgraceful to be robbed so easily." "to be sure; but the disgrace is italy's, not ours. object all you want to, beth, dear," continued the old lawyer, smiling at her; "but nevertheless we'll pay as soon as possible, and have done with it. what we want now is your uncle john, and we want him mighty badly." "really, the pirates didn't charge enough for him," added patsy. so mr. watson sent the cables to john merrick's bankers and count ferralti's attorney, and the next morning went with louise to messina. frascatti drove all the party down the road to the station at giardini, and as the train pulled out, beth, who had remained seated in the victoria with patricia and kenneth, suddenly stood up to pull the _vetturino's_ sleeve. "tell me, frascatti," she whispered, "isn't that il duca's child? look--that little one standing in the corner?" "why, yes; it is really tato," answered the man, before he thought to deny it. "very well; you may now drive us home," returned beth, a shade of triumph in her voice. chapter xxiii beth begins to plot once back in their sitting-room behind closed doors, beth, patsy and kenneth got their three heads together and began eagerly to discuss a plot which beth had hinted of on the way home and now unfolded in detail. and while they still whispered together a knock at the door startled them and made them look rather guilty until the boy answered the call and admitted little tato. the child's beautiful face wore a smile of demure satisfaction as tato bowed respectfully to the young americans. kenneth winked at beth from behind the visitor's back. "as you have a guest," he remarked, with a yawn that was somewhat rude, "i shall now go and take my nap." "what, do you sleep so early in the day, you lazy-bones?" asked patsy, brightly. "any time, my dear, is good enough for an overworked artist," he replied. "au revoir, my cousins. see you at luncheon." with this he strolled away, and when he had gone beth said to tato: "won't you sit down, signorina?" "do you mean me?" asked the child, as if surprised. "yes; i can see plainly that you are a girl." "and a pretty one, too, my dear," added patsy. tato blushed as if embarrassed, but in a moment smiled upon the american girls. "do you think me immodest, then?" she asked, anxiously. "by no means, my dear," beth assured her. "i suppose you have an excellent reason for wearing boys' clothes." "so i have, signorina. i live in the mountains, where dresses catch in the crags, and bother a girl. and my father has always been heart-broken because he had no son, and likes to see me in this attire. he has many errands for me, too, where a boy may go unnoticed, yet a girl would attract too much attention. this is one of the errands, signorini. but now tell me, if you please, how have you decided to answer the letters of signor merrick and signor ferralti?" "oh, there was but one way to answer them, tato," replied beth, composedly. "we have sent mr. watson and our cousin louise merrick to messina to get the money. if our friends in america act promptly mr. watson and louise will return by to-morrow afternoon's train, and be prepared to make the payment." "that is well, signorina," responded tato. "we are to give the money to you, i suppose?" said patsy. "yes; i will return for it to-morrow afternoon," answered the child, with business-like gravity. then she looked earnestly from one to the other of the two girls. "you must act discreetly, in the meantime, you know. you must not talk to anyone, or do anything to imperil your uncle's safety." "of course not, tato." "i beg you not, signorini. the uncle is a good man, and brave. i do not wish him to be injured." "nor do we, tato." "and the young man is not a coward, either. he has been kind to me. but he is sad, and not so pleasant to talk with as the uncle." "true enough, tato," said beth. patsy had been examining the child with curious intentness. the little one was so lovely and graceful, and her voice sounded so soft and womanly, that patsy longed to take her in her arms and hug her. "how old are you, dear?" she asked. tato saw the friendly look, and answered with a smile. "perhaps as old as you, signorina, although i am so much smaller. i shall be fifteen in a month." "so old!" tato laughed merrily. "ah, you might well say 'so young,' amico mia! to be grown up is much nicer; do you not think so? and then i shall not look such a baby as now, and have people scold me when i get in the way, as they do little bambini." "but when you are grown you cannot wear boys' clothing, either." tato sighed. "we have a saying in sicily that 'each year has its sunshine and rain,' which means its sorrow and its joy," she answered. "perhaps i sometimes think more of the tears than of the laughter, although i know that is wrong. not always shall i be a mountaineer, and then the soft dresses of the young girls shall be my portion. will i like them better? i do not know. but i must go now, instead of chattering here. farewell, signorini, until to-morrow." "will you not remain with us?" "oh, no; although you are kind. i am expected home. but to-morrow i will come for the money. you will be silent?" "surely, tato." the child smiled upon them pleasantly. it was a relief to deal with two tender girls instead of cold and resentful men, such as she had sometimes met. at the door she blew a kiss to them, and darted away. in the courtyard frascatti saw her gliding out and discreetly turned his head the other way. tato took the old road, circling around the theatre and through the narrow, winding streets of the lower town to the catania gate. she looked back one or twice, but no one noticed her. if any of the villagers saw her approaching they slipped out of her path. once on the highway, however, tato became lost in reflection. her mission being successfully accomplished, it required no further thought; but the sweet young american girls had made a strong impression upon the lonely sicilian maid, and she dreamed of their pretty gowns and ribbons, their fresh and comely faces, and the gentleness of their demeanor. tato was not gentle. she was wild and free and boyish, and had no pretty gowns whatever. but what then? she must help her father to get his fortune, and then he had promised her that some day they would go to paris or cairo and live in the world, and be brigands no longer. she would like that, she thought, as she clambered up the steep paths; and perhaps she would meet these american girls again, or others like them, and make them her friends. she had never known a girl friend, as yet. these ambitions would yesterday have seemed far in the dim future; but now that her stern old grandmother was gone it was possible her father would soon fulfill his promises. while the duchessa lived she ruled them all, and she was a brigand to the backbone. now her father's will prevailed, and he could refuse his child nothing. kenneth was not an expert detective, but he had managed to keep tato in sight without being suspected by her. he had concealed himself near the catania gate, through which he knew she must pass, and by good luck she had never looked around once, so intent were her musings. when she came to the end of the path and leaned against the rock to sing the broken refrain which was the "open sesame" to the valley, the boy was hidden snug behind a boulder where he could watch her every movement. then the rock opened; tato passed in, and the opening closed behind her. kenneth found a foothold and climbed up the wall of rock, higher and higher, until at last he crept upon a high ridge and looked over. the hidden valley lay spread before him in all its beauty, but the precipice at his feet formed a sheer drop of a hundred feet or more, and he drew back with a shudder. then he took courage to look again, and observed the house, on the porch of which stood tato engaged in earnest conversation with a tall, dark sicilian. uncle john was nowhere to be seen, but the boy understood that he was there, nevertheless, and realized that his prison was so secure that escape was impossible. and now he climbed down again, a much more difficult feat than getting up. but although he was forced to risk his life several times, he was agile and clear-headed, and finally dropped to the path that led to the secret door of the passage. his next thought was to mark the exact location of the place, so that he could find it again; and as he returned slowly along the paths through the rocky fissures he took mental note of every curve and communication, and believed he could now find his way to the retreat of the brigands at any time he chose. chapter xxiv patsy's new friend "i must say that i don't like the job," said patsy, the next morning, as she stood by the window and faced beth and kenneth. "suppose we fail?" "in the bright lexicon of youth--" "shut up, ken. if we fail," said beth, "we will be no worse off than before." "and if we win," added the boy, "they'll think twice before they try to rob americans again." "well, i'm with you, anyhow," declared patricia. "i can see it's risky, all right; but as you say, no great harm will be done if we slip up." "you," announced beth, gravely, "must be the captain." "it isn't in me, dear. you figured the thing out, and ken and i will follow your lead." "no," said beth, decidedly; "i'm not quick enough, either in thought or action, to be a leader, patsy. and there's a bit of deception required that i couldn't manage. that clever little thing, tato, would know at once i was up to some mischief; but she would never suspect you." "i like that compliment," replied patricia. "i may deserve it, of course; but it strikes me louise is the one best fitted for such work." "we can't let louise into this plot," said the boy, positively; "she'd spoil it all." "don't be silly, patsy," said beth. "you're genuine and frank, and the child likes you. i could see that yesterday. all you have to do is to be nice to her and win her confidence; and then, when the climax comes, you must be the spokesman and talk straight out from the shoulder. you can do that all right." "i'll bet on her," cried kenneth, with an admiring look at the girl. "then," said patsy, "it is all arranged, and i'm the captain. and is it agreed that we won't lisp a word to mr. watson or louise?" "not a word." "here," said kenneth, drawing a revolver from his pocket, "is uncle john's pop-gun. it's the only one i could find in his room, so he must have taken the other with him. be careful of it, patsy, for it's loaded all 'round. can you shoot?" "no; but i suppose the pistol can. i know enough to pull the trigger." "and when you do, remember to point it away from your friends. now hide it, my dear, and be careful of it." patsy concealed the weapon in the bosom of her dress, not without making a wry face and shivering a bit. "have you got your revolver, beth?" asked the boy. "yes." "and she can shoot just wonderfully!" exclaimed patsy. "yesterday she picked an orange off a tree with a bullet. you should have seen her." "i know," said ken, nodding. "i've seen beth shoot before, and she's our main reliance in this conspiracy. for my part, i can hit a mark sometimes, and sometimes i can't. see here." he exhibited a beautiful pearl and silver-mounted weapon which he drew from his pocket. "mr. watson and i have carried revolvers ever since we came to sicily, but we've never had occasion to use them. i can hardly believe, even now, that this beautiful place harbors brigands. it's such a romantic incident in our prosaic world of to-day. and now, young ladies, we are armed to the teeth and can defy an army. eh, captain pat?" "if you're not more respectful," said the girl, "i'll have you court-marshalled and drummed out of camp." on the afternoon train came louise and mr. watson from messina. the american agents had responded promptly, and the bank had honored the orders and delivered the money without delay. "it is all safe in my satchel," said the lawyer, as they rode together to the hotel; "and our dear friends are as good as rescued already. it's pretty bulky, kenneth--four hundred thousand lira--but it is all in notes on the banca d'italia, for we couldn't manage gold." "quite a haul for the brigand," observed kenneth, thoughtfully. "true; but little enough for the lives of two men. that is the way i look at the transaction. and, since our friends can afford the loss, we must be as cheerful over the thing as possible. it might have been a tragedy, you know." louise shivered. "i'm glad it is all over," she said, gratefully. the conspirators looked at one another and smiled, but held their peace. arriving at the hotel, beth and kenneth at once disappeared, saying they were going to town, as they would not be needed longer. patsy accompanied their cousin and the lawyer to the sitting-room, where presently tato came to them. "well, little one," said the lawyer, pleasantly, "we have secured the money required to enable mr. merrick to purchase the ring, and mr.--er--count ferralti to buy his bracelet. will you count it?" "yes, signore, if you please," replied tato, with a sober face. mr. watson drew out two packages of bank notes and placed them upon the table. the child, realizing the importance of the occasion, carefully counted each bundle, and then replaced the wrappers. "the amounts are correct, signore," she said. "i thank you for making my task so easy. and now i will go." the lawyer brought a newspaper and wrapped the money in it once again. "it is always dangerous to carry so much money," said he; "but now no one will be likely to suspect the contents of your package." tato smiled. "no one would care to molest me," she said; "for they fear those that protect me. good afternoon, signore. your friends will be with you in time to dine in your company. good afternoon, signorini," turning to patsy and louise. "i'll walk a little way with you; may i?" asked patsy, smiling into tato's splendid eyes. "to be sure, signorina," was the quick response. patricia caught up a sunshade and followed the child out at the side entrance, which was little used. tato took the way along the old road, and patsy walked beside her, chatting brightly of the catacombs, the norman villa that showed its checkered tower above the trees and the ancient wall that still hemmed in the little village. "i love taormina," she said, earnestly, "and shall be sorry to leave it. you must be very happy, tato, to be able to live here always." "it is my birthplace," she said; "but i long to get away from it and see other countries. the view is fine, they say; but it tires me. the air is sweet and pure; but it oppresses me. the climate is glorious; but i have had enough of it. in other places there is novelty, and many things that sicily knows nothing of." "that is true," replied patsy, tucking the little one's arm underneath her own, with a sympathetic gesture. "i know just how you feel, tato. you must come to america some day, and visit me. i will make you very welcome, dear, and you shall be my friend." the child looked into her face earnestly. "you do not hate me, signorina, because--because--" "because why?" "because my errand to you has been so lawless and--and--unfriendly?" "ah, tato, you do not choose this life, do you?" "no, signorina." "it is forced on you by circumstances, is it not?" "truly, signorina." "i know. you would not long so wistfully to change your condition if you enjoyed being a little brigand. but nothing that has passed must interfere with our friendship, dear. if i were in your place, you see, i would do just as you have done. it is not a very honest life, tato, nor one to be proud of; but i'm not going to blame you one bit." they had passed the catania gate and reached the foot of one of the mountain paths. tato paused, hesitatingly. "oh, i'll go a little farther," said patsy, promptly. "no one will notice two girls, you know. shall i carry your parcel for a time?" "no," replied the child, hugging it close with her disengaged arm. but she offered no objection when patsy continued to walk by her side. "have you any brothers or sisters, tato?" "no, signorina." "have you a mother?" "no, signorina. my father and i are alone." "i know him well, tato. we were on the ship together, crossing the ocean. he was gruff and disagreeable, but i made him talk to me and smile." "i know; he has told me of the signorina patsy. he is fond of you." "yet he robbed my uncle." the child flushed, and drew away her arm. "that is it. that is why you should hate me," she replied, bitterly. "i know it is robbery, and brigandage, although my father masks it by saying he sells antiques. until now i have seen nothing wrong in this life, signorina; but you have made me ashamed." "why, dear?" "because you are so good and gentle, and so forgiving." patsy laughed. "in reality, tato, i am resentful and unforgiving. you will find out, soon, that i am a very human girl, and then i will not make you ashamed. but your father's business is shameful, nevertheless." tato was plainly puzzled, and knew not what to reply. but just then they reached the end of the crevasse, and the child said: "you must return now, signorina patsy." "but why cannot i go on with you, and come back with my uncle?" tato hesitated. accustomed as she was to duplicity and acting, in her capacity as lure for her thieving father, the child was just now softened by patsy's kindly manner and the successful accomplishment of her mission. she had no thought of any treachery or deception on the part of the american girl, and the request seemed to her natural enough. "if you like," she decided, "you may come as far as the barrier, and there wait for your uncle. it will not be long." "very well, dear." tato clambered over the dividing rock and dropped into the path beyond. patsy sprang lightly after her. a short distance farther and they reached the barrier. "this is the place, signorina. you will sit upon that stone, and wait until your uncle appears." she hesitated, and then added, softly: "i may not see you again. but you will not forget me?" "never, tato. and if you come to america you must not forget to visit me. remember, whatever happens, that we are friends, and must always remain so." the child nodded, gratefully. then, leaning against the face of the cliff, she raised her voice and warbled clearly the bit of song that served as the signal to her father. chapter xxv turning the tables no sooner had the notes ceased than kenneth sprang from behind a rock that had concealed him and grasped the child in his strong arms, trying to cover her mouth at the same time to prevent her from crying out. tato developed surprising strength. the adventure of yesterday had so thoroughly frightened her that when she found herself again seized she struggled madly. the boy found that he could scarcely hold her, so he enfolded her in both his arms and, letting her scream as she might, picked up her tiny form and mounted the slope of the hill, leaping from rock to rock until he came to a broad boulder twenty feet or more above the path. here he paused, panting, and awaited results. the rock doors had opened promptly. even while kenneth struggled with the brigand's daughter patsy could see straight through the tunnel and into the valley beyond. the child had dropped her bundle in the effort to escape, and while kenneth was leaping with her up the crags patsy ran forward and secured the money, returning quickly to her position facing the tunnel. and now they heard shouts and the sound of hastening feet as il duca ran from the tunnel, followed closely by two of his brigands. they paused a moment at the entrance, as if bewildered, but when the father saw his child in the grasp of a stranger and heard her screams he answered with a roar of fury and prepared to scramble up the rock to rescue her. that was where patsy showed her mettle. she hastily covered the brigand with her revolver and shouted warningly: "stop, or you are a dead man!" it was wonderfully dramatic and effective. il duca shrank back, scowling, for he had no weapon at hand. leaning against the entrance to his valley he glared around to determine the number of his foes and the probable chance of defeating them. kenneth laughed boyishly at his discomfiture. kneeling down, the youth grasped tato by both wrists and lowered her body over the edge of the rock so that her feet just touched a little ledge beneath. he continued to hold fast to her wrists, though, and there she remained, stretched against the face of the rock fronting the path, in full view of all, but still unable to move. from this exasperating sight il duca glanced at patsy. she was holding the revolver rigidly extended, and her blue eyes blazed with the excitement of the moment. it was a wonder she did not pull the trigger inadvertently, and the thought that she might do so caused the brigand to shudder. turning half around he beheld a third enemy quietly seated upon the rocks directly across the path from kenneth, her pose unconcerned as she rested her chin lightly upon her left hand. it was beth, who held her revolver nonchalantly and gazed upon the scene below her with calm interest. the duke gave a cough to clear his throat. his men hung back of him, silent and motionless, for they did not like this absolute and dangerous defiance of their chief. "tell me, then, tato," he called in english, "what is the cause of this trouble?" "i do not know, my father, except that these are friends of signor merrick who have secretly followed me here." the carefully arranged programme gave patsy a speech at this point, but she had entirely forgotten it. "let me explain," said beth, coldly. "you have dared to detain in your robbers' den the persons of mr. merrick and count ferralti. you have also demanded a ransom for their release. that is brigandage, which is denounced by the laws of sicily. we have appealed to the authorities, but they are helpless to assist us. therefore, being americans, we have decided to assist ourselves. we command you to deliver to us on this spot, safe and uninjured, the persons of our friends, and that without any unnecessary delay." the duke listened with a sneer. "and if we refuse, signorina?" "if you refuse--if you do not obey at once--i swear that i will shoot your child, tato, whose body yonder awaits my bullet. and afterward i shall kill you." as she spoke she levelled the revolver and aimed it carefully at the exposed body of the child. the brigand paled, and grasped the rock to steady himself. "bah! no girl can shoot from that distance," he exclaimed, scornfully. "indeed! take care of your finger," called beth, and a shot echoed sharply along the mountain side. the brigand jumped and uttered a yell, at the same time whipping his right hand underneath his left arm; for beth's bullet had struck one of his fingers and then flattened itself against the cliff. that settled all argument, as far as il duca was concerned; for he now had ample evidence that the stern-eyed girl above him could shoot, and was not to be trifled with. all his life he had ruled by the terror of his threats; to-day he was suddenly vanquished by a determination he dared not withstand. "enough!" he cried. "have your way." he spoke to his men in italian, and they hastened through the tunnel, glad to escape. following their departure there was a brief silence, during which all stood alert. then, tato, still half suspended against the cliff, said in a clear, soft voice: "father, if you think you can escape, let them shoot me, and keep your prisoners. the money for their ransom i brought to this place, and they will pay it even yet to save their friends from your vengeance. do not let these wild americans defeat us, i beg of you. i am not afraid. save yourself, and let them shoot me, if they will!" kenneth afterward declared that he thought "the jig was up" then, for they had no intention whatever of harming tato. it was all merely a bit of american "bluff," and it succeeded because the brigand was a coward, and dared not emulate his daughter's courage. "no, no, tato!" cried the duke, brokenly, as he wrung his hands in anguish. "there is more money to be had, but i have only one child. they shall not harm a hair of your head, my pretty one!" patsy wanted to yell "bravo!" but wisely refrained. her eyes were full of tears, though, and her resolution at ebb tide. fortunately the men had made haste. they returned with surprising promptness, pushing the amazed prisoners before them. uncle john, as he emerged from the tunnel, looked around upon the tragic scene and gasped: "well, i declare!" count ferralti was more composed, if equally surprised. he lifted his hat politely to beth and patsy, and smiled with great satisfaction. "you are free," said il duca, harshly. "go!" they lost no time in getting the brigands between themselves and the mouth of the tunnel, and then kenneth gently drew tato to a place beside him and assisted her to clamber down the path. "good bye, little one," he said, pleasantly; "you're what we call a 'brick' in our country. i like you, and i'm proud of you." tato did not reply. with streaming eyes she was examining her father's shattered hand, and sobbing at sight of the blood that dripped upon the rocks at his feet. "get inside!" called beth, sharply; "and close up that rock. lively, now!" the "girl who could shoot" still sat toying with her revolver, and the mountaineers obeyed her injunction. the rock promptly closed, and the group of americans was left alone. then beth came slowly down to where patsy was hugging uncle john in a wild frenzy of delight, and count ferralti was shaking kenneth's hand with a face eloquent of emotion. "come," said she, her voice sounding faint and weary, "let us get away from here. it was a pretty game, while it lasted, but i'll feel safer when we are home again. where's the money?" "i've got it," said kenneth, holding up the package. "what! didn't you pay?" demanded uncle john, astounded. "of course not, dear," said patsy, gleefully. "did you think your nieces would let you be robbed by a bunch of dagoes?" ferralti caught hold of beth's swaying form. "look after your cousin," he said, sharply. "i think she has fainted!" chapter xxvi the count unmasks "and now," said uncle john, as he sat in their cosy sitting-room, propped in an easy chair with his feet upon a stool, "it's about time for you to give an account of yourselves, you young rascals." they had eaten a late but very satisfactory dinner at the castello-a-mare, where the return of the missing ones was hailed with joy by the proprietor and his assistants. even the little bewhiskered head-waiter, who resembled a jack-in-the-box more than he did a man, strove to celebrate the occasion by putting every good thing the house afforded before the returned guests. for, although they dared not interfere to protect the victims of the terrible il duca, the hotel people fully recognized the fact that brigandage was not a good advertisement for taormina, and hoped the "little incident" would not become generally known. old silas watson, dignified lawyer as he was, actually danced a hornpipe when he beheld his old friend safe and sound. but he shook his head reproachfully when he learned of the adventure his ward and the two girls had undertaken with such temerity but marvelous success. beth had quickly recovered from her weakness, although kenneth had insisted on keeping her arm all the way home. but the girl had been silent and thoughtful, and would eat nothing at dinner. when they had gathered in their room to talk it all over the lawyer thought his young friends deserved a reproof. "the money wasn't worth the risk, you crazy lunatics!" he said. "it wasn't the money at all," replied patsy, demurely. "no?" "it was the principle of the thing. and wasn't beth just wonderful, though?" "shucks!" said kenneth. "she had to go and faint, like a ninny, and she cried all the way home, because she had hurt the brigand's finger." the girl's eyes were still red, but she answered the boy's scornful remark by saying, gravely: "i am sorry it had to be done. i'll never touch a revolver again as long as i live." uncle john gathered his brave niece into an ample embrace. "i'm very proud of you, my dear," he said, stroking her hair lovingly, "and you mustn't pay any attention to that silly boy. i've always known you were true blue, beth, and now you have proved it to everyone. it may have been a reckless thing to do, as mr. watson says, but you did it like a major, and saved our self-esteem as well as our money." "hurrah for beth!" yelled the boy, changing his colors without a blush. "if you don't shut up, i'll box your ears," said his guardian, sternly. uncle john and young ferralti were the heroes of the evening. the little old gentleman smoked a big cigar and beamed upon his nieces and friends with intense satisfaction, while ferralti sat glum and silent beside louise until an abrupt challenge from mr. merrick effectually aroused him. "i've only one fault to find with this young man," was the observation referred to: "that he made our acquaintance under false pretenses. when a fairly decent fellow becomes an impostor there is usually reason for it, and i would like count ferralti--or whatever his name is--to give us that reason and make a clean breast of his deception." ferralti bowed, with a serious face, but looked significantly toward the other members of the company. "whatever you have to say should be heard by all," declared uncle john, answering the look. "perhaps you are right, mr. merrick, and all present are entitled to an explanation," answered the young man, slowly. "i may have been foolish, but i believe i have done nothing that i need be ashamed of. fortunately, there is now no further reason for concealment on my part, and in listening to my explanation i hope you will be as considerate as possible." they were attentive enough, by this time, and every eye was turned, not unkindly, upon the youth who had so long been an enigma to them all--except, perhaps, to louise. "i am an american by birth, and my name is arthur weldon." in the pause that followed uncle john gave a soft whistle and patsy laughed outright, to the undisguised indignation of louise. "years ago," resumed the youth, "my father, who was a rich man, made a trip to sicily and, although i did not know this until recently, was seized by brigands and imprisoned in the hidden valley we have just left. there he fell in love with a beautiful girl who was the daughter of the female brigand known as the duchess of alcanta, and who assisted him to escape and then married him. it was a pretty romance at the time, but when my father had taken his bride home to new york and became immersed in the details of his business, his love grew cold and he began to neglect his wife cruelly. he became a railway president and amassed a great fortune, but was not so successful a husband as he was a financier. the result was that the sicilian girl, after some years of unhappiness and suffering, deserted him and returned to her own country, leaving her child, then three years old, behind her. to be frank with you, it was said at the time that my mother's mind had become unbalanced, or she would not have abandoned me to the care of a loveless father, but i prefer to think that she had come to hate her husband so bitterly that she could have no love for his child or else she feared that her terrible mother would kill me if i came into her power. her flight mattered little to my father, except that it made him more stern and tyrannical toward me. he saw me very seldom and confided my education to servants. so i grew up practically unloved and uncared for, and when the proper time arrived i was sent to college. my father now gave me an ample allowance, and at the close of my college career called me into his office and ordered me to enter the employ of the railway company. i objected to this. i did not like the business and had other plans for my future. but he was stubborn and dictatorial, and when i continued unsubmissive he threatened to cast me off entirely and leave his fortune to charity, since he had no other near relatives. he must have thought better of this decision afterward, for he gave me a year to decide whether or not i would obey him. at the end of that time, he declared, i would become either a pauper or his heir, at my option. "it was during this year that i formed the acquaintance of your niece, miss merrick, and grew to love her devotedly. louise returned my affection, but her mother, learning of my quarrel with my father, refused to sanction our engagement until i was acknowledged his heir. i was forbidden her house, but naturally we met elsewhere, and when i knew she was going to europe with you, sir, who had never seen me, we hit upon what we thought was a happy and innocent plan to avoid the long separation. i decided to go to europe also, and without you or your other nieces suspecting, my identity, attach myself to your party and enjoy the society of louise while she remained abroad. so i followed you on the next ship and met you at sorrento, where i introduced myself as count ferralti--a name we had agreed i should assume before we parted in america. "the rest of my story you know. my father was killed in an accident on his own railroad, and i received the news while we were prisoners of the brigand, whom i discovered to be my uncle, but who had no mercy upon me because of the relationship. to-night, on my return here, i found a letter from my father's attorney, forwarded from my bankers in paris. through my father's sudden death i have inherited all his wealth, as he had no time to alter his will. therefore mrs. merrick's objection to me is now removed, and louise has never cared whether i had a penny or not." he halted, as if not knowing what more to say, and the little group of listeners remained quiet because it seemed that no remark from them was necessary. young weldon, however, was ill at ease, and after hitching nervously in his chair he addressed uncle john in these words: "sir, you are the young lady's guardian for the present, as she is in your charge. i therefore ask your consent to our formal engagement." "not any," said uncle john, decidedly. "i'll sanction no engagement of any children on this trip. you are wrong in supposing i am louise's guardian--i'm just her chum and uncle. it's like cradle-snatching to want to marry a girl of sixteen, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself, for you can't be much more than twenty-one yourself. while louise is in my care i won't have any entanglements of any sort, so you'll have to wait till you get home and settle the business with her mother." "very wise and proper, sir," said mr. watson, nodding gravely. louise's cheeks were flaming. "do you intend to drive arthur away, uncle?" she asked. "why should i, my dear? except that you've both taken me for a blind old idiot and tried to deceive me. let the boy stay with us, if he wants to, but he'll have to cut out all love-making and double-dealing from this time on--or i'll take you home in double-quick time." the young man seemed to resent the indictment. "the deception seemed necessary at the time, sir," he said, "and you must not forget the old adage that 'all's fair in love and war.' but i beg that you will forgive us both and overlook our fault, if fault it was. hereafter it is our desire to be perfectly frank with you in all things." that was a good way to disarm uncle john's anger, and the result was immediately apparent. "very good," said the old gentleman; "if you are proper and obedient children i've no objection to your being together. i rather like you, arthur weldon, and most of your failings are due to the foolishness of youth. but you've got to acquire dignity now, for you have suddenly become a man of consequence in the world. don't think you've got to marry every girl that attracts you by her pretty face. this devotion to louise may be 'puppy-love,' after all, and--" "oh, uncle!" came a chorus of protest. "what, you rascals! are you encouraging this desperate fol-de-rol?" "you are too severe, uncle john," said patsy, smiling. "the trouble with you is that you've never been in love yourself." "never been in love!" he beamed upon the three girls with devotion written all over his round, jolly face. "then you're jealous," said kenneth. "give the poor kids a fair show, uncle john." "all right, i will. arthur, my lad, join our happy family as one of my kidlets, and love us all--but no one in particular. eh? until we get home again, you know. we've started out to have the time of our lives, and we're getting it in chunks--eh, girls?" "we certainly are, uncle john!" another chorus. "well, what do you say, arthur weldon?" "perhaps you are right, sir," answered the young man. "and, anyway, i am deeply grateful for your kindness. i fear i must return home in a couple of weeks, to look after business matters; but while i remain with you i shall try to conduct myself as you wish." "that sounds proper. is it satisfactory to you, louise?" "yes, uncle." "then we've settled cupid--for a time, anyway. and now, my dears, i think we have all had enough of taormina. where shall we go next?" chapter xxvii tato is adopted they canvassed the subject of their future travels with considerable earnestness. uncle john was bent upon getting to rome and venice, and from there to paris, and the nieces were willing to go anywhere he preferred, as they were sure to enjoy every day of their trip in the old world. but mr. watson urged them strongly to visit syracuse, since they were not likely to return to sicily again and the most famous of all the ancient historic capitals was only a few hours' journey from taormina. so it was finally decided to pass a week in syracuse before returning to the continent, and preparations were at once begun for their departure. kenneth pleaded for one more day in which to finish his picture of etna, and this was allowed him. uncle john nevertheless confessed to being uneasy as long as they remained on the scene of his recent exciting experiences. mr. watson advised them all not to stray far from the hotel, as there was no certainty that il duca would not make another attempt to entrap them, or at least to be revenged for their escape from his clutches. on the afternoon of the next day, however, they were startled by a call from the duke in person. he was dressed in his usual faded velvet costume and came to them leading by the hand a beautiful little girl. the nieces gazed at the child in astonishment. tato wore a gray cloth gown, ill-fitting and of coarse material; but no costume could destroy the fairy-like perfection of her form or the daintiness of her exquisite features. with downcast eyes and a troubled expression she stood modestly before them until patsy caught her rapturously in her arms and covered her face with kisses. "you lovely, lovely thing!" she cried. "i'm _so_ glad to see you again, tato darling!" the duke's stern features softened. he sighed heavily and accepted uncle john's polite invitation to be seated. the little party of americans was fairly astounded by this unexpected visit. kenneth regretted that he had left his revolver upstairs, but the others remembered that the brigand would not dare to molest them in the security of the hotel grounds, and were more curious than afraid. il duca's hand was wrapped in a bandage, but the damaged finger did not seem to affect him seriously. beth could not take her eyes off this dreadful evidence of her late conflict, and stared at it as if the bandage fascinated her. "signore," said the duke, addressing uncle john especially, "i owe to you my apologies and my excuses for the annoyance i have caused to you and your friends. i have the explanation, if you will so kindly permit me." "fire away, duke," was the response. "signore, i unfortunately come of a race of brigands. for centuries my family has been lawless and it was natural that by education i, too, should become a brigand. in my youth my father was killed in an affray and my mother took his place, seizing many prisoners and exacting from them ransom. my mother you have seen, and you know of her sudden madness and of her death. she was always mad, i think, and by nature a fiend. she urged my elder brother to wicked crimes, and when he rebelled she herself cast him, in a fit of anger, into the pit. i became duke in his place, and did my mother's bidding because i feared to oppose her. but for years i have longed to abandon the life and have done with crime. "with me our race ends, for i have no sons. but my one child, whom you know as tato, i love dearly. my greatest wish is to see her happy. the last few days have changed the fortunes of us both. the duchessa is gone, and at last i am the master of my own fate. as for tato, she has been charmed by the young american signorini, and longs to be like them. so we come to ask that you forgive the wrong we did you, and that you will now allow us to be your friends." uncle john was amazed. "you have decided to reform, duke?" he asked. "yes, signore. not alone for tato's sake, but because i loathe the life of brigandage. see; here is my thought. at once i will disband my men and send them away. my household effects i will sell, and then abandon the valley forever. tato and i have some money, enough to live in quiet in some other land, where we shall be unknown." "a very good idea, duke." "but from my respect for you, signer merreek, and from my daughter's love for your nieces--the brave and beautiful signorini--i shall dare to ask from you a favor. but already i am aware that we do not deserve it." "what is it, sir?" "that you take my tato to keep for a few weeks, until i can send away my men and arrange my affairs here. it would be unpleasant for the child here, and with you she will be so happy. i would like the sweet signorini to buy nice dresses, like those they themselves wear, for my little girl, and to teach her the good manners she could not gain as the brigand's daughter. tato has the money to pay for everything but the kindness, if you will let her stay in your society until i can claim her. i am aware that i ask too much; but the signorina patsy has said to my child that they would always be friends, whatever might happen, and as i know you to be generous i have dared to come to you with this request. i only ask your friendship for my tato, who is innocent. for myself, after i have become a good man, then perhaps you will forgive me, too." uncle john looked thoughtful; the old lawyer was grave and listened silently. patsy, her arms still around the shrinking form of the child, looked pleadingly at her uncle. beth's eyes were moist and louise smiled encouragingly. "well, my dears? the duke is certainly not entitled to our friendship, as he truly says; but i have nothing against little tato. what do you advise?" "let us keep her, and dress her like the beautiful doll she is, and love her!" cried patsy. "she shall be our adopted cousin," said louise. "tato is good stuff!" declared kenneth. "well, beth?" "it seems to me, uncle," said the girl, seriously, "that if the duke really wishes to reform, we should give him a helping hand. the little girl has led a bad life only because her father forced her to lure his victims and then procure the money for their ransoms; but i am sure her nature is sweet and pure, and she is so young that she will soon forget the evil things she has learned. so i vote with my cousins. let us adopt tato, and care for her until her father can introduce her into a new and more proper life." "well argued, beth," said uncle john, approvingly. "i couldn't have put the case better myself. what do you say, silas watson?" "that you are all quite right," answered the old lawyer. "and the best part of the whole thing, to me, is the fact that this nest of brigands will be wiped out of existence, and taormina be hereafter as safe for tourists as old elmhurst itself. i wish i could say as much for the rest of sicily." uncle john extended his hand to the duke, who took it gratefully, although with a shamefaced expression that was perhaps natural under the circumstances. "look up, dear," said patsy to the girl, softly; "look up and kiss me. you've been adopted, tato! are you glad?" chapter xxviii dreams and dress-making tato was now one of the family. they left taormina the next day, and frascatti drove all the girls in his victoria to the station. "you must come again, signorini," said he, looking regretful at their departure. "next year the fountain of the ice cream soda will be in operation, like those you have in chicago, which is america. our culture increases with our civilization. it is even hinted that il duca is to abandon our island forever. he has been interesting to us, but not popular, and you will not miss him when you come again to find he is not here. if this time he has caused you an inconvenience, i am sorry. it is regrettable, but,--" "but it is so!" said patsy, laughing. tato was again transformed. patricia, who was the smallest of the three nieces, though not especially slim, had quickly altered one of her own pretty white gowns to fit the child, and as she was deft with her needle and the others had enthusiastically assisted her, tato now looked more like a fairy than ever. it was really wonderful what a suitable dress could do for the tiny sicilian maid. she had lost her free and boyish manner and become shy and retiring with strangers, although when in the society of the three nieces she was as sweet and frank as ever. she wore her new gown gracefully, too, as if well accustomed to feminine attire all her life. the only thing now needed, as patsy said, was time in which to grow her hair, which had always been cut short, in boyish fashion. they were a merry party when they boarded the train for syracuse, and uncle john arranged with the guard to secure two adjoining compartments all to themselves, that they might have plenty of room. "where did you put the money, uncle john?" beth whispered, when at last they were whirling along and skirting the base of mt. etna toward the catania side. "i've hidden it in my trunk," he replied, in the same confidential tone. "there is no bank in this neighborhood to receive it, so i decided to carry it with us." "but will it be safe in the trunk?" she enquired. "of course, my dear. who would think of looking there for fifty thousand dollars? and no one knows we happen to have so much money with us." "what did the count--i mean, mr. weldon--do with his ransom?" "carries it in his satchel, so he can keep it with him and have an eye on it. it's a great mistake, beth, to do such a thing as that. it'll make him uneasy every minute, and he won't dare to let a _facchino_ handle his grip. but in my case, on the other hand, i know it's somewhere in the baggage car, so i don't have to worry." the journey was a delightful one. the road skirted the coast through the oldest and most picturesque part of sicily, and it amazed them to observe that however far they travelled etna was always apparently next door, and within reaching distance. at aci castello they were pointed out the seven isles of the cyclops, which the blind polyphemus once hurled after the crafty ulysses. then they came to catania, which is the second largest city in sicily, but has little of historic interest. here they were really at the nearest point to the mighty volcano, but did not realize it because it always seemed to be near them. eighteen miles farther they passed leontinoi, which in ancient days dared to rival siracusa itself, and an hour later the train skirted the bay and capo santa panagia and slowly came to a halt in that city which for centuries dominated all the known world and was more powerful and magnificent in its prime than athens itself--syracuse. the day had become cloudy and gray and the wind whistled around them with a chill sweep as they left their coach at the station and waited for kenneth to find carriages. afterward they had a mile to drive to their hotel; for instead of stopping in the modern town uncle john had telegraphed for rooms at the villa politi, which is located in the ancient achradina, at the edge of the latomia de cappuccini. by the time they arrived there they were blue with cold, and were glad to seek the warm rooms prepared for them and pass the remainder of the afternoon unpacking and "getting settled." "i'm afraid," said patsy, dolefully, "that we shall miss the bright sunshine and warmth of taormina, tato." "oh, it is not always warm there, nor is it always cold here," replied the child. "indeed, signorina, i have heard that the climate of siracusa is very delightful." "it doesn't look it," returned patsy; "but it may improve." the interior of the hotel was comfortable, though, however bleak the weather might be outside. a good dinner put them all in a better humor and they passed the evening watching the strangers assembled in the parlors and wondering where they had come from and who they were. "that money," whispered uncle john to beth, as he kissed her good night, "is still as safe as can be. i've lost the key to my trunk, and now i can't even get at it myself." "lost it!" she exclaimed. "yes; but that won't matter. it's the big trunk that holds the things i don't often use, and if i can't unlock it no one else can, that's certain. so i shall rest easy until i need something out of it, and then i'll get a locksmith to pick the lock." "but i wish you hadn't lost the key," said the girl, thoughtfully. "strikes me it's good luck. pleasant dreams, my dear. i can fancy arthur weldon lying awake all night with his dreadful thirty thousand tucked under his pillow. it's a great mistake to carry so much money with you, beth, for you're sure to worry about it." the next morning when they came down to breakfast they were all amazed at the gorgeous sunshine and the genial temperature that had followed the dreary afternoon of their arrival. syracuse was transformed, and from every window of the hotel the brilliant glow of countless flowers invited one to wander in the gardens, which are surpassed by few if any in the known world. the villa politi stood so near the edge of a monstrous quarry that it seemed as if it might topple into the abyss at any moment. our friends were on historic ground, indeed, for these quarries--or latomia, as they are called--supplied all the stone of which the five cities of ancient syracuse were built--cities which in our age have nearly, if not quite, passed out of existence. the walls of the quarry are a hundred feet in depth, and at the bottom are now acres upon acres of the most delightful gardens, whose luxuriance is attributable to the fact that they are shielded from the winds while the sun reaches them nearly all the day. there are gardens on the level above, and beautiful ones, too; but these in the deep latomia are the most fascinating. the girls could scarcely wait to finish breakfast before rushing out to descend the flights of iron steps that lead to the bottom of the vast excavation. and presently they were standing on the ground below and looking up at the vine covered cliffs that shut out all of the upper world. it was peaceful here, and soothing to tired nerves. through blooming shrubbery and along quiet paths they might wander for hours, and at every step find something new to marvel at and to delight the senses. here were ancient tombs cut from the solid rock--one of them that of an american midshipman who died in syracuse and selected this impressive and lovely vault for his burial place. and there stood the famous statue of archimedes, who used in life to wander in this very latomia. "once," said mr. watson, musingly, "there were seven thousand athenian prisoners confined in this very place, and allowed to perish through starvation and disease. the citizens of syracuse--even the fine ladies and the little children--used to stand on the heights above and mock at the victims of their king's cruelty." "couldn't they climb out?" asked patsy, shuddering at the thought that some of the poor prisoners might have died on the very spot her feet now trod. "no, dear. and it is said the guards constantly patrolled the edge to slay any who might venture to make the attempt." "wasn't it dreadful!" she exclaimed. "but i'm glad they have made a flower garden of it now. somehow, it reminds me of a cemetery." but there were other interesting sights to be seen at syracuse, and they laid out a systematic programme of the places they would visit each morning while they remained there. the afternoons were supposed to be reserved for rest, but the girls were so eager to supply tato with a fitting wardrobe that they at once began to devote the afternoons to shopping and dress-making. the child had placed in uncle john's keeping a liberally supplied purse, which the duke wished to be applied to the purchase of whatever his daughter might need or desire. "he wants me to dress as you do," said tato, simply; "and because you will know what is fitting my station and will be required in my future life, he has burdened you with my society. it was selfish in my father, was it not? but but--i wanted so much to be with you--because you are good to me!" "and we're mighty glad to have you with us," answered patsy. "it's no end of fun getting a girl a whole new outfit, from top to toe; and, aside from that, we already love you as if you were our little sister." beth and louise equally endorsed this statement; and indeed the child was so sweet and pretty and so grateful for the least kindness bestowed upon her that it was a pleasure to assist and counsel her. tato looked even smaller in girls' clothing than in boys', and she improved so rapidly in her manners by constantly watching the nieces that it was hard to imagine she had until now been all unused to polite society. already they began to dread the day when her father would come to claim her, and the girls and uncle john had conceived a clever plan to induce the duke to let his daughter travel with them on the continent and then go for a brief visit to them in america. "by that time," declared louise, "tato's education will be accomplished, and she will be as refined and ladylike as any girl of her age we know. blood will tell, they say, and the monk who taught her must have been an intelligent and careful man." "she knows more of history and languages than all the rest of us put together," added beth. "and, having adopted her, we mustn't do the thing by halves," concluded patsy; "so our darling little brigandess must tease her papa to let her stay with us as long as possible." tato smiled and blushed with pleasure. it was very delightful to know she had such enthusiastic friends. but she was afraid the duke would not like to spare her for so long a time as a visit to america would require. "you leave him to me," said uncle john. "i'll argue the case clearly and logically, and after that he will have to cave in gracefully." meantime the dainty gowns and pretty costumes were one by one finished and sent to the hotel, and the girls ransacked the rather inadequate shops of syracuse for the smartest things in lingerie that could be procured. as they were determined to "try everything on" and see how their protégé looked in her finery, tato was now obliged to dress for dinner and on every other possible occasion, and she not only astonished her friends by her loveliness but drew the eye of every stranger as surely as the magnet attracts the needle. even in sicily, where the greek type of beauty to-day exists more perfectly than in helene, there were few to compare with tato, and it was only natural that the americans should be very proud of her. kenneth was sketching a bit of the quarry and the old monastery beyond it, with the blue sea glimmering in the distance. sometimes he would join the others in their morning trips to the catacombs, the cathedrals or the museum; but the afternoons he devoted to his picture, and the others came to the gardens with him and sat themselves down to sew or read beside his easel. arthur weldon was behaving very well indeed; and although a good deal of the credit belonged to louise, who managed him with rare diplomatic ability, uncle john grew to like the young man better each day, and had no fault whatever to find with him. he was still rather silent and reserved; but that seemed a part of his nature, inherited doubtless from his father, and when he chose to talk his conversation was interesting and agreeable. kenneth claimed that arthur had a bad habit of "making goo-goo eyes" at louise; but the young man's manner was always courteous and judicious when addressing her, and he managed to conceal his love with admirable discretion--at least when others were present. uncle john's private opinion, confided in secret to his friend mr. watson, was that louise "really might do worse; that is, if they were both of the same mind when they grew up." and so the days passed pleasantly away, and the time for their departure from syracuse drew near. on the last morning all of them--with the exception of tato, who pleaded a headache--drove to the latomia del paradiso to see the celebrated "ear of dionysius"--that vast cavern through which the tyrant is said to have overheard every whisper uttered by the prisoners who were confined in that quarry. there is a little room at the top of the cliff, also built from the rock, where it is claimed dionysius sat and played eavesdropper; and it is true that one in that place can hear the slightest sound uttered in the chamber below. afterward the amphitheatre and the ancient street of the tombs were paid a final visit, with a stop at san giovanni, where st. paul once preached. and at noon the tourists returned to the hotel hungry but enthusiastic, in time for the table-d'-hote luncheon. chapter xxix tato wins "this is funny!" cried patsy, appearing before uncle john with a white and startled face. "i can't find tato anywhere." "and her new trunk is gone from her room, as well as her gowns and everything she owns," continued beth's clear voice, over her cousin's shoulder. uncle john stared at them bewildered. then an expression of anxiety crept over his kindly face. "are you sure?" he asked. "there can't be a mistake, uncle. she's just _gone_." "none of you has offended, or annoyed the child, i suppose?" "oh, no, uncle. she kissed us all very sweetly when we left her this morning." "i can't understand it." "nor can we." "could her father have come for her, do you think?" suggested mr. merrick, after a moment's thought. "i can't imagine her so ungrateful as to leave us without a word," said patsy. "i know tato well, uncle, and the dear child would not hurt our feelings for the world. she loves us dearly." "but she's a queer thing," added louise, "and i don't trust her altogether. sometimes i've surprised a look in her eyes that wasn't as innocent and demure as she would have us imagine her." "oh, louise!" "and there's another reason." "what is it?" "she reformed too suddenly." uncle john slapped his forehead a mighty blow as a suspicious and dreadful thought flashed across his mind. but next instant he drew a long breath and smiled again. "it was lucky i lost that key to the trunk," he observed, still a little ashamed of his temporary lack of confidence in tato. "it's been locked ever since we left taormina, so the child couldn't be tempted by that." "she wouldn't touch your money for the world!" said patsy, indignantly. "tato is no thief!" "she comes of a race of thieves, though," beth reminded her. "i wonder if arthur's money is still safe," remarked louise, following the line of thought suggested. as if with one accord they moved down the hall to the door of the young man's room. "are you in, arthur?" asked uncle john, knocking briskly. "yes, sir." he opened his door at once, and saw with surprise the little group of anxious faces outside. "is your money safe?" asked uncle john. weldon gave them a startled glance and then ran to his dresser and pulled open a drawer. after a moment's fumbling he turned with a smile. "all safe, sir." uncle john and his nieces were visibly relieved. "you see," continued arthur, "i've invented a clever hiding-place, because the satchel could not be left alone and i didn't wish to lug it with me every step i took. so i placed the packages of bills inside the leg of a pair of trousers, and put them in a drawer with some other clothing at top and bottom. a dozen people might rummage in that drawer without suspecting the fact that money is hidden there. i've come to believe the place is as good as a bank; but you startled me for a minute, with your question. what's wrong?" "tato's gone." "gone!" "departed bag and baggage." "but your fifty thousand, sir. is it safe?" "it has to be," answered uncle john. "it is in a steel-bound, double-locked trunk, to which i've lost the key. no bank can beat that, my boy." "then why did the child run away?" they could not answer that. "it's a mystery," said patsy, almost ready to weep. "but i'll bet it's that cruel, wicked father of hers. perhaps he came while we were out and wouldn't wait a minute." "what does the hall porter say?" asked kenneth, who had joined the group in time to overhear the last speech and guess what had happened. "stupid!" cried uncle john. "we never thought of the hall-porter. come back to our sitting room, and we'll have him up in a jiffy." the portiere answered his bell with alacrity. the americans were liberal guests. the young lady? ah, she had driven away soon after they had themselves gone. a thin-faced, dark-eyed man had called for her and taken her away, placing her baggage on the box of the carriage. yes, she had paid her bill and tipped the servants liberally. "just as i suspected!" cried patsy. "that horrid duke has forced her to leave us. perhaps he was jealous, and feared we would want to keep her always. was she weeping and miserable, porter?" "no, signorina. she laughed and was very merry. and--but i had forgotten! there is a letter which she left for the signorina d'oyle." "where?" "in the office. i will bring it at once." he ran away and quickly returned, placing a rather bulky parcel in the girl's hands. "you read it, uncle john," she said. "there can't be anything private in tato's letter, and perhaps she has explained everything." he put on his glasses and then took the missive and deliberately opened it. tato wrote a fine, delicate hand, and although the english words were badly spelled she expressed herself quite well in the foreign tongue. with the spelling and lack of punctuation corrected, her letter was as follows: "dear, innocent, foolish patsy: how astonished you will be to find i have vanished from your life forever; and what angry and indignant words you will hurl after poor tato! but they will not reach me, because you will not know in which direction to send them, and i will not care whether you are angry or not. "you have been good to me, patsy, and i really love you--fully as much as i have fear of that shrewd and pretty cousin of yours, whose cold eyes have made me tremble more than once. but tell beth i forgive her, because she is the only clever one of the lot of you. louise thinks she is clever, but her actions remind me of the juggler who explained his tricks before he did them, so that the audience would know how skillful he was." "but oh, patsy, what simpletons you all are! and because you have been too stupid to guess the truth i must bother to write it all down. for it would spoil much of my satisfaction and enjoyment if you did not know how completely i have fooled you. "you tricked us that day in the mountain glen, and for the first time an alcanta brigand lost his prisoners and his ransom money through being outwitted. but did you think that was the end? if so you failed to appreciate us. "look you, my dear, we could have done without the money, for our family has been robbing and accumulating for ages, with little need to expend much from year to year. it is all in the bank of italy, too, and drawing the interest, for my father is a wise man of business. that four hundred thousand lira was to have been our last ransom, and after we had fairly earned it you tricked us and did not pay. "so my father and i determined to get even with you, as much through revenge as cupidity. we were obliged to desert the valley at once, because we were getting so rich that the government officials became uneasy and warned us to go or be arrested. so we consulted together and decided upon our little plot, which was so simple that it has worked perfectly. we came to you with our sad story, and you thought we had reformed, and kindly adopted me as one of your party. it was so easy that i almost laughed in your foolish faces. but i didn't, for i can act. i played the child very nicely, i think, and you quite forgot i was a brigand's daughter, with the wild, free blood of many brave outlaws coursing in my veins. ah, i am more proud of that than of my acting. "innocent as i seemed, i watched you all carefully, and knew from almost the first hour where the money had been put. i stole the key to uncle john's trunk on the train, while we were going from taormina to syracuse; but i did not take the money from it because i had no better place to keep it, and the only danger was that he would force the lock some day. but ferralti's money--i call him ferralti because it is a prettier name than weldon--bothered me for a long time. at the first he would not let that little satchel out of his sight, and when he finally did he had removed the money to some other place. i searched his room many times, but could not find his hiding place until last night. while he was at dinner i discovered the bills in one of the drawers of his dresser. "but for this difficulty i should have left your charming society before, as my father has been secretly waiting for me for three days. having located ferralti's money i waited until this morning and when you had all left me i signalled to my father from my window and prepared to disappear. it took but a few minutes to get the money from uncle john's trunk and arthur's trouser-leg. much obliged for it, i'm sure. then i packed up all my pretty dresses in my new trunk--for part of our plot was to use your good taste in fitting me out properly--and now i am writing this loving epistle before i leave. "we shall go to paris or vienna or cairo or london--guess which! we shall have other names--very beautiful ones--and be rich and dignified and respected. when i grow older i think i shall marry a prince and become a princess; but that will not interest you much, for you will not know that the great princess is your own little tato. "tell uncle john i have left the key to his trunk on the mantel, behind the picture of the madonna. i stuffed papers into arthur's trouser leg to deceive him if he came back before i had a chance to escape. but i hoped you would discover nothing until you read this letter, for i wanted to surprise you. have i? then i am content. you tricked me once; but i have tricked you at the last, and the final triumph is mine. "in spite of all, patsy dear, i love you; for you are sweet and good, and although i would not be like you for the world i can appreciate your excellent qualities. remember this when your anger is gone. i won't be able to visit you in america, but i shall always think of you in a more kindly way than i fear you will think of the sicilian tomboy, tato." chapter xxx a way to forget the faces of the group, as uncle john finished reading, were worth studying. arthur weldon was white with anger, and his eyes blazed. silas watson stared blankly at his old friend, wondering if it was because he was growing old that he had been so easily hoodwinked by this saucy child. beth was biting her lip to keep back the tears of humiliation that longed to trickle down her cheeks. louise frowned because she remembered the hard things tato had said of her. patsy was softly crying at the loss of her friend. then kenneth laughed, and the sound sent a nervous shiver through the group. "tato's a brick!" announced the boy, audaciously. "can't you see, you stupids, that the thing is a good joke on us all? or are you too thin skinned to laugh at your own expense?" "oh, we can laugh," responded uncle john, gravely. "but if tato's a brick it's because she is hard and insensible. the loss of the money doesn't hurt me, but to think the wicked little lass made me love her when she didn't deserve it is the hardest blow i have ever received." that made patsy sob outright, while louise ejaculated, with scorn: "the little wretch!" "it serves us right for having confidence in a child reared to crime and murder from the cradle," said arthur, rather savagely. "i don't know how much money i am worth, but i'd gladly spend another thirty thousand to bring this wretched creature to justice." "money won't do it," declared the lawyer, shaking his head regretfully. "the rascals are too clever to be caught in europe. it would be different at home." "well, the best thing to do is to grin and bear it, and forget the unpleasant incident as soon as possible," said uncle john. "i feel as if i'd had my pocket picked by my best friend, but it isn't nearly as disgraceful as being obliged to assist the thief by paying ransom money. the loss amounts to nothing to either of us, and such treachery, thank goodness, is rare in the world. we can't afford to let the thing make us unhappy, my friends; so cheer up, all of you, and don't dwell upon it any more than you can help." they left syracuse a rather solemn group, in spite of this wise advice, and journeyed back to naples and thence to rome. there was much to see here, and they saw it so energetically that when they boarded the train for florence they were all fagged out and could remember nothing clearly except the coliseum and the baths of carracalla. florence was just now a bower of roses and very beautiful. but kenneth lugged them to the galleries day after day until uncle john declared he hated to look an "old master" in the face. "after all, they're only daubs," he declared. "any ten-year-old boy in america can paint better pictures." "don't let anyone hear you say that, dear," cautioned patsy. "they'd think you don't know good art." "but i do," he protested. "if any of those pictures by old masters was used in a street-car 'ad' at home it would be money wasted, for no one would look at them. the people wouldn't stand for it a minute." "they are wonderful for the age in which they were painted," said kenneth, soberly. "you must remember that we have had centuries in which to improve our art, since then." "oh, i've a proper respect for old age, i hope," replied uncle john; "but to fall down and worship a thing because it's gray-haired and out-of-date isn't just my style. all of these 'oh!'s' and 'ahs!' over the old masters are rank humbug, and i'm ashamed of the people that don't know better." and now arthur weldon was obliged to bid good-bye to louise and her friends and take a train directly to paris to catch the steamer for home. his attorney advised him that business demanded his immediate presence, and he was obliged to return, however reluctantly. kenneth and mr. watson also left the party at florence, as the boy artist wished to remain there for a time to study the pictures that uncle john so bitterly denounced. the others went on to venice, which naturally proved to the nieces one of the most delightful places they had yet seen. mr. merrick loved it because he could ride in a gondola and rest his stubby legs, which had become weary with tramping through galleries and cathedrals. these last monuments, by the way, had grown to become a sort of nightmare to the little gentleman. the girls were enthusiastic over cathedrals, and allowed none to escape a visit. for a time uncle john had borne up bravely, but the day of rebellion was soon coming. "no cathedrals in venice, i hope?" he had said on their arrival. "oh, yes, dear; the loveliest one in the world! st. mark's is here, you know." "but no st. paul's or st. peter's?" "no, uncle. there's the saluta, and the--" "never mind. we'll do that first one, and then quit. what they build so many churches for i can't imagine. nobody goes to 'em but tourists, that i can see." he developed a streak of extravagance in venice, and purchased venetian lace and venetian glassware to such an extent that the nieces had to assure him they were all supplied with enough to last them and their friends for all time to come. major doyle had asked for a meerschaum pipe and a florentine leather pocket book; so uncle john made a collection of thirty-seven pipes of all shapes and sizes, and bought so many pocketbooks that patsy declared her father could use a different one every day in the month. "but they're handy things to have," said her uncle, "and we may not get to europe again in a hurry." this was his excuse for purchasing many things, and it was only by reminding him of the duty he would have to pay in new york that the girls could induce him to desist. this customs tax worried the old gentleman at times. before this trip he had always believed in a protective tariff, but now he referred to the united states customs as a species of brigandage worse than that of il duca himself. they stopped at milan to visit the great cathedral, and then raced through switzerland and made a dash from luzerne to paris. "thank heaven," said uncle john, "there are no cathedrals in gay paree, at any rate." "oh, yes there are," they assured him. "we must see notre dame, anyway; and there are a dozen other famous cathedrals." here is where uncle john balked. "see here, my dears," he announced, "not a cathedral will i visit from this time on! you can take a guide and go by yourselves if you feel you can't let any get away from you. go and find another of mike angelo's last work; every church has got one. for my part, i've always been religiously inclined, but i've been to church enough lately to last me the rest of my natural life, and i've fully determined not to darken the doors of another cathedral again. they're like circuses, anyhow; when you've seen one, you've seen 'em all." no argument would induce him to abandon this position; so the girls accepted his proposal and visited their beloved cathedrals in charge of a guide, whose well of information was practically inexhaustible if not remarkable for its clarity. the opera suited uncle john better, and he freely revelled in the shops, purchasing the most useless and preposterous things in spite of that growing bugbear of the customs duties. but finally this joyous holiday came to an end, as all good things will, and they sailed from cherbourg for new york. uncle john had six extra trunks, patsy carried a french poodle that was as much trouble as an infant in arms, and louise engineered several hat-boxes that could not be packed at the last minute. but the girls embarked gay and rosy-cheeked and animated, and in spite of all the excitement and pleasure that had attended their trip, not one of the party was really sorry when the return voyage began. chapter xxxi safe home "to me," said uncle john, as he stood on the deck and pointed proudly to the statue of liberty in new york harbor, "that is the prettiest sight i've seen since i left home." "prettier than the old masters, uncle?" asked patsy, mischievously. "yes, or the cathedrals!" he retorted. when they reached the dock there was the major waiting to receive patsy in a new checked suit with a big flower in his button-hole and a broad smile on his jolly face. and there was mrs. merrick, too, with arthur weldon beside her, which proved to louise that he had succeeded in making his peace with her mother. also there were the stern-featured custom-house officials in their uniforms, and the sight of them sent the cold chills flying down uncle john's spine. there was no one present to receive beth, but her uncle tucked her arm underneath his own with a proud gesture and kept her close beside him. for the girl had quite won his loving old heart on this trip, and she seemed to him more mature and far sweeter than when they had left home. but the greetings and the "brigandage" were soon over, and in good time they were all assembled in the doyle flat, where the joyous major had prepared an elaborate dinner to celebrate the return of the wanderers. "we've a million pipes and pocket-books for you, daddy," whispered patsy, hugging him for the twentieth time; "and i've got a thousand things to tell you about our adventures in strange lands." "save 'em till we're alone," said the major; "they're too good to waste on a crowd." mr. merrick was placed at the head of the table to make a speech. it was brief and to the point. "i promised these young ladies to give them time of their lives," he said, "did i do it, girls?" and in a lively chorus they answered: "you did, uncle john!" * * * * * this story is one of the delightful "aunt jane series" in which are chronicled the many interesting adventures in the lives of those fascinating girls and dear old "uncle john." the other volumes can be bought wherever books are sold. a complete list of titles, which is added to from time to time, is given on page of this book. (complete catalog sent free on request.) exhilarating books for girls of today the flying girl series _by_ edith van dyne _author of "aunt jane's nieces" series_ capital up-to-the-minute stories for girls and young people, in which the author is at her very best. thrilling and full of adventure, but of that wholesome type parents are glad to put in the hands of their daughters. two titles: [illustration] the flying girl orissa kane, self-reliant and full of sparkling good nature, under-study for her brother, prospective inventor and aviator whose experiments put the kane family into great difficulties, in the crisis proves resourceful and plucky, and saves the day in a most thrilling manner. the flying girl and her chum this story takes orissa and her friend sybil through further adventures that test these two clever girls to the limit. a remarkably well told story. _ mo. bound in extra cloth with design stamping on cover and fancy jacket. printed on high grade paper. illustrated in black and white_. _price cents each. postage cents_. * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago the captain becky series _by_ margaret love sanderson resourceful, self-reliant, sunny-natured captain becky will find many friends among girl readers. the captain becky series is a noteworthy contribution to books for girls--distinctive and individual in every detail, inside and out. two very much alive stories of a girl who makes things happen--who is a _doer_. whether she is on cruise on the picturesque indian river in florida or in laughable masquerade among the old homesteads of new hampshire, her experiences are worth writing about--and worth reading. two titles: captain becky's winter cruise. captain becky's masquerade. _attractive binding; cover inlay in full color. frontispiece for each by norman hall. price cents._ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago _books for older children by l. frank baum_ the daring twins series _by_ l. frank baum [illustration] in writing "the daring twins series" mr. baum yielded to the hundreds of requests that have been made of him by youngsters, both boys and girls, who in their early childhood read and loved his famous "oz" books, to write a story for young folk of the ages between twelve and eighteen. a story of the real life of real boys and girls in a real family under real conditions _two titles_: the daring twins phoebe daring while preparing these books mr. baum lived with his characters. they have every element of the drama of life as it begins within the lives of children. the two stories are a mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous; the foibles and fancies of childhood, interspersed with humor and pathos. _price, $ . each_ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago azalea _by_ elia w. peattie the first book of the "blue ridge" series azalea is the heroine of a good, wholesome story that will appeal to every mother as the sort of book she would like her daughter to read. in the homy mcbirneys of mt. tennyson, down in the blue ridge country, and their hearty mountain neighbors, girl readers will find new friends they will be glad to make old friends. this book marks a distinct advance in the quality of books offered for girls. no lack of action--no sacrifice of charm. _four half-tone illustrations from drawings by hazel roberts. attractive cover design, $ . ._ [illustration: azalea] the second title in the blue ridge series will be published in * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago annabel _by_ susanne metcalf a girls' book with a clever, quick-moving plot is unusual. annabel is that kind. the heroine is a lovable girl, but one with plenty of snap--her red hair testifies to that. her friend, will carden, too, is a boy of unusual qualities, as is apparent in everything he does. he and annabel make an excellent team. [illustration] the two, the best of chums, retrieve the fortunes of the carden family in a way that makes some exciting situations. the secret of the mysterious mr. jordan is surprised by annabel, while will, in a trip to england with an unexpected climax, finds the real fortune of the cardens. annabel is a book whose make-up is in keeping with the high quality of the story. _beautiful cover and jacket in colors, mo. illustrated by joseph pierre nuyttens. price cents_ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago _a novelty every girl wants_ the girl graduate her own book in which to keep the happy record of her last year at school or college--a book she will keep and prize always. there is a place for everything dear to the girl graduate's heart and memory--class flower, color, yell, motto, photographs, jokes and frolics. departments for social events, officers, teachers, invitations, baccalaureate sermon, programmes, presents, press notices, class prophecy and various "doings." the girl graduate is equally appropriate for young girls leaving grade or high schools and their older sisters who have "finished" at college or boarding school. it makes a suitable present at any season of the year. _fifteenth edition. revised and improved_ dainty designs in delicate colorings on pearl gray stationery. cover to match, with a trellis of roses in tints and decorations in gold. _ vo. pages. decorated on every page. each book put up in an attractive gray box. price $ . . swiss velvet ooze, price $ . . full leather, gold edges, de luxe edition, price $ . . commencement edition, crushed levant, price $ . ._ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago _a memory book for younger girls_ school-girl days _designed by_ clara powers wilson a school memory book appropriate for girls of the upper grammar grades through high school, private school and normal school. new and exquisite illustrations, printed in two colors on specially made tinted paper, having a good writing surface. cloth edition _bound in fancy cloth with fetching cover design in five colors and gold. large vo. pages. in beautiful box. price $ . _ classmates edition _swiss velvet ooze. silk marker. special box. price $ . _ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago _an ideal book for young travelers_ travel notes abroad my own record [illustration] _arranged by_ clara powers wilson it would be hard to imagine a girl who does not want a real record of the ecstatic joys of her first glimpses of foreign lands. this very attractive book is the first of its kind, and will be found to provide for every kind of an experience that comes to young american travelers. there are departments for recording the itinerary, the events of the trip across, friends met, autographs, expenses, different general divisions for the various countries, places to keep a memorandum of hotels where the travelers stayed, also of restaurants, shops, galleries, and purchases, the return trip, etc., etc. _travel notes abroad is profusely illustrated and decorated in two colors with striking cover design, and inclosed in a box. price, cloth, $ . ; leather, $ . ._ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago the boys' big game series [illustration] the giant moose. the monarch of the big northwest; a story told over camp fires in the reek of cedar smoke and the silence of the barrens. the white tiger of nepal. the weird story of the man-killer of the foothills. tinged with the mysticism of india, dramatic and stirring. the blind lion of the congo. a story of the least known part of the earth and its most feared beast. a gripping tale of the land of the white pigmies. the king bear of kadiak island. a tale of the bully of the frozen north and his mysterious guardian. a game-and-man-story that makes a good boy-story. _the topnotch of production in boys' books. remarkable covers and four-color jackets. illustrations and cover designs by dan sayre grosbeck._ price, cents each the reilly & britton co. publishers, chicago the boy scouts of the air books _by_ gordon stuart [illustration] are stirring stories of adventure in which real boys, clean-cut and wide-awake, do the things other wide-awake boys like to read about. _four titles, per volume, cents_ the boy scouts of the air at eagle camp the boy scouts of the air at greenwood school the boy scouts of the air in indian land the boy scouts of the air in northern wilds _splendid illustrations by norman hall_ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago _the best aviation stories for boys_ the aeroplane boys series _by_ ashton lamar [illustration: the aeroplane boys series when scout meets scout ashton lamar] [illustration: the aeroplane boys series battling the bighorn ashton lamar] these are the newest and most exciting books of aeroplane adventure. a special point is the correctness of the aviation details. _ . in the clouds for uncle sam or, morey marshall of the signal corps_ _ . the stolen aeroplane or, how bud wilson made good_ _ . the aeroplane express or, the boy aeronaut's grit_ _ . the boy aeronauts' club or, flying for fun_ _ . a cruise in the sky or, the legend of the great pink pearl_ _ . battling the bighorn or, the aeroplane in the rockies_ _ . when scout meets scout or, the aeroplane spy_ _fully illustrated. colored frontispiece. cloth, mo. cents each._ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago [illustration: the famous airship boys series] _by_ h.l. sayler _seven titles_ . the airship boys or, the quest of the aztec treasure . the airship boys adrift or, saved by an aeroplane . the airship boys due north or, by balloon to the pole . the airship boys in the barren lands or, the secret of the white eskimos . the airship boys in finance or, the flight of the flying cow . the airship boys' ocean flyer or, new york to london in twelve hours . the airship boys as detectives or, on secret service in cloudland fascinating stories of that wonderful region of invention where imagination and reality so nearly meet. there is no more interesting field for stories for wide-awake boys. mr. sayler combines a remarkable narrative ability with a degree of technical knowledge that makes these books correct in all airship details. full of adventure without being sensational. _the make-up of these books is strictly up-to-date and fetching. the covers are emblematic, and the jackets are showy and in colors. the illustrations are full of dash and vim. standard novel size, mo. price $ . each._ * * * * * publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago [transcriber's note: the word "to" was inserted into the sentence "next him was a dandified appearing man" in chapter xviii] this ebook was produced by bryan sherman and david widger paul clifford, volume . by edward bulwer-lytton chapter xxviii. god bless our king and parliament, and send he may make such knaves repent! loyal songs against the rump parliament. ho, treachery! my guards, my cimeter! byron. when the irreverent mr. pepper had warmed his hands sufficiently to be able to transfer them from the fire, he lifted the right palm, and with an indecent jocularity of spirits, accosted the _ci-devant_ ornament of "the asinaeum" with a sounding slap on his back, or some such part of his conformation. "ah, old boy!" said he, "is this the way you keep house for us? a fire not large enough to roast a nit, and a supper too small to fatten him beforehand! but how the deuce should you know how to provender for gentlemen? you thought you were in scotland, i'll be bound!" "perhaps he did when he looked upon you, ned!" said tomlinson, gravely; "'t is but rarely out of scotland that a man can see so big a rogue in so little a compass!" mr. macgrawler, into whose eyes the palmistry of long ned had brought tears of sincere feeling, and who had hitherto been rubbing the afflicted part, now grumbled forth,-- "you may say what you please, mr. pepper, but it is not often in my country that men of genius are seen performing the part of cook to robbers!" "no!" quoth tomlinson, "they are performing the more profitable part of robbers to cooks, eh!" "damme, you're out," cried long ned,--"for in that country there are either no robbers, because there is nothing to rob; or the inhabitants are all robbers, who have plundered one another, and made away with the booty!" "may the de'il catch thee!" said macgrawler, stung to the quick,--for, like all scots, he was a patriot; much on the same principle as a woman who has the worst children makes the best mother. "the de'il," said ned, mimicking the "silver sound," as sir w. scott had been pleased facetiously to call the "mountain tongue" (the scots in general seem to think it is silver, they keep it so carefully) "the de'il,--_macdeil_, you mean, sure, the gentleman must have been a scotchman!" the sage grinned in spite; but remembering the patience of epictetus when a slave, and mindful also of the strong arm of long ned, he curbed his temper, and turned the beefsteaks with his fork. "well, ned," said augustus, throwing himself into a chair, which he drew to the fire, while he gently patted the huge limbs of mr. pepper, as if to admonish him that they were not so transparent as glass, "let us look at the fire; and, by the by, it is your turn to see to the horses." "plague on it!" cried ned; "it is always my turn, i think. holla, you scot of the pot! can't you prove that i groomed the beasts last? i'll give you a crown to do it." the wise macgrawler pricked up his ears. "a crown!" said he,--"a crown! do you mean to insult me, mr. pepper? but, to be sure, you did see to the horses last; and this worthy gentleman, mr. tomlinson, must remember it too." "how!" cried augustus; "you are mistaken, and i'll give you half a guinea to prove it." macgrawler opened his eyes larger and larger, even as you may see a small circle in the water widen into enormity, if you disturb the equanimity of the surface by the obtrusion of a foreign substance. "half a guinea!" said he; "nay, nay, you joke. i'm not mercenary. you think i am! pooh, pooh! you are mistaken; i'm a man who means weel, a man of veracity, and will speak the truth in spite of all the half- guineas in the world. but certainly, now i begin to think of it, mr. tomlinson did see to the creatures last; and, mr. pepper, it is your turn." "a very daniel!" said tomlinson, chuckling in his usual dry manner. "ned, don't you hear the horses neigh?" "oh, hang the horses!" said the volatile pepper, forgetting everything else, as he thrust his hands in his pockets, and felt the gains of the night; "let us first look to our winnings!" so saying, he marched towards the table, and emptied his pockets thereon. tomlinson, nothing loath, followed the example. heavens! what exclamations of delight issued from the scoundrels' lips, as, one by one, they inspected their new acquisitions! "here's a magnificent creature!" cried ned, handling that superb watch studded with jewels which the poor earl had once before unavailingly redeemed,--"a repeater, by jove!" "i hope not," said the phlegmatic augustus; "repeaters will not tell well for your conversation, ned! but, powers that be! look at this ring,--a diamond of the first water!" "oh, the sparkler! it makes one's mouth water as much as itself. 'sdeath, here's a precious box for a sneezer,--a picture inside, and rubies outside! the old fellow had excellent taste; it would charm him to see how pleased we are with his choice of jewelry!" "talking of jewelry," said tomlinson, "i had almost forgotten the morocco case. between you and me, i imagine we have a prize there; it looks like a jewel casket!" so saying, the robber opened that case which on many a gala day had lent lustre to the polished person of mauleverer. oh, reader, the burst of rapture that ensued! imagine it! we cannot express it. like the grecian painter, we drop a veil over emotions too deep for words. "but here," said pepper, when they had almost exhausted their transports at sight of the diamonds,--"here's a purse,--fifty guineas! and what's this? notes, by jupiter! we must change them to-morrow before they are stopped. curse those fellows at the bank! they are always imitating us, we stop their money, and they don't lose a moment in stopping it too. three hundred pounds! captain, what say you to our luck?" clifford had sat gloomily looking on during the operations of the robbers; he now, assuming a correspondent cheerfulness of manner, made a suitable reply, and after some general conversation the work of division took place. "we are the best arithmeticians in the world," said augustus, as he pouched his share; "addition, subtraction, division, reduction,--we have them all as pat as 'the tutor's assistant;' and, what is better, we make them all applicable to the _rule of three_." "you have left out multiplication!" said clifford, smiling. "ah! because that works differently. the other rules apply to the specie-s of the kingdom; but as for multiplication, we multiply, i fear, no species but our own!" "fie, gentlemen!" said macgrawler, austerely,--for there is a wonderful decorum in your true scotsmen. "actions are trifles; nothing can be cleaner than their words!" "oh, you thrust in your wisdom, do you?" said ned. "i suppose you want your part of the booty!" "part!" said the subtilizing tomlinson. "he has nine times as many parts as we have already. is he not a critic, and has he not the parts of speech at his fingers' end?" "nonsense!" said macgrawler, instinctively holding up his hands, with the fork dropping between the outstretched fingers of the right palm. "nonsense yourself," cried ned; "you have a share in what you never took! a pretty fellow, truly! mind your business, mr. scot, and fork nothing but the beefsteaks!" with this ned turned to the stables, and soon disappeared among the horses; but clifford, eying the disappointed and eager face of the culinary sage, took ten guineas from his own share, and pushed them towards his quondam tutor. "there!" said he, emphatically. "nay, nay," grunted macgrawler; "i don't want the money,--it is my way to scorn such dross!" so saying, he pocketed the coins, and turned, muttering to himself, to the renewal of his festive preparations. meanwhile a whispered conversation took place between augustus and the captain, and continued till ned returned. "and the night's viands smoked along the board!" souls of don raphael and ambrose lamela, what a charming thing it is to be a rogue for a little time! how merry men are when they have cheated their brethren! your innocent milksops never made so jolly a supper as did our heroes of the way. clifford, perhaps acted a part, but the hilarity of his comrades was unfeigned. it was a delicious contrast,-- the boisterous "ha, ha!" of long ned, and the secret, dry, calculating chuckle of augustus tomlinson. it was rabelais against voltaire. they united only in the objects of their jests, and foremost of those objects (wisdom is ever the but of the frivolous!) was the great peter macgrawler. the graceless dogs were especially merry upon the subject of the sage's former occupation. "come, mac, you carve this ham," said ned; "you have had practice in cutting up." the learned man whose name was thus disrespectfully abbreviated proceeded to perform what he was bid. he was about to sit down for that purpose, when tomlinson slyly subtracted his chair,--the sage fell. "no jests at macgrawler," said the malicious augustus; "whatever be his faults as a critic, you see that he is well grounded, and he gets at once to the bottom of a subject. mac, suppose your next work be entitled a tail of woe!" men who have great minds are rarely flexible,--they do not take a jest readily; so it was with macgrawler. he rose in a violent rage; and had the robbers been more penetrating than they condescended to be, they might have noticed something dangerous in his eye. as it was, clifford, who had often before been the protector of his tutor, interposed in his behalf, drew the sage a seat near to himself, and filled his plate for him. it was interesting to see this deference from power to learning! it was alexander doing homage to aristotle! "there is only one thing i regret," cried ned, with his mouth full, "about the old lord,--it was a thousand pities we did not make him dance! i remember the day, captain, when you would have insisted on it. what a merry fellow you were once! do you recollect, one bright moonlight night, just like the present, for instance, when we were doing duty near staines, how you swore every person we stopped, above fifty years old, should dance a minuet with you?" "ay!" added augustus, "and the first was a bishop in a white wig. faith, how stiffly his lordship jigged it! and how gravely lovett bowed to him, with his hat off, when it was all over, and returned him his watch and ten guineas,--it was worth the sacrifice!" "and the next was an old maid of quality," said ned, "as lean as a lawyer. don't you remember how she curvetted?" "to be sure," said tomlinson; "and you very wittily called her a hop- pole!" "how delighted she was with the captain's suavity! when he gave her back her earrings and aigrette, she bade him with a tender sigh keep them for her sake,--ha! ha!" "and the third was a beau!" cried augustus; "and lovett surrendered his right of partnership to me. do you recollect how i danced his beauship into the ditch? ah! we were mad fellows then; but we get sated-- _blases_, as the french say--as we grow older!" "we look only to the main chance now," said ned. "avarice supersedes enterprise," added the sententious augustus. "and our captain takes to wine with an _h_ after the _w_!" continued the metaphorical ned. "come, we are melancholy," said tomlinson, tossing off a bumper. "methinks we are really growing old, we shall repent soon, and the next step will be-hanging!" "'fore gad!" said ned, helping himself, "don't be so croaking. there are two classes of maligned gentry, who should always be particular to avoid certain colours in dressing; i hate to see a true boy in black, or a devil in blue. but here's my last glass to-night! i am confoundedly sleepy, and we rise early to-morrow." "right, ned," said tomlinson; "give us a song before you retire, and let it be that one which lovett composed the last time we were here." ned, always pleased with an opportunity of displaying himself, cleared his voice and complied. a ditty from sherwood. i. laugh with us at the prince and the palace, in the wild wood-life there is better cheer; would you board your mirth from your neighbour's malice, gather it up in our garners here. some kings their wealth from their subjects wring, while by their foes they the poorer wax; free go the men of the wise wood-king, and it is only our foes we tax. leave the cheats of trade to the shrewd gude-wife let the old be knaves at ease; away with the tide of that dashing life which is stirred by a constant breeze! ii. laugh with us when you hear deceiving and solemn rogues tell you what knaves we be commerce and law have a method of thieving worse than a stand at the outlaw's tree. say, will the maiden we love despise gallants at least to each other true? i grant that we trample on legal ties, but i have heard that love scorns them too, courage, then,--courage, ye jolly boys, whom the fool with the knavish rates oh! who that is loved by the world enjoys half as much as the man it hates? "bravissimo, ned!" cried tomlinson, rapping the table; "bravissimo! your voice is superb to-night, and your song admirable. really, lovett, it does your poetical genius great credit; quite philosophical, upon my honour." "bravissimo!" said macgrawler, nodding his head awfully. "mr. pepper's voice is as sweet as a bagpipe! ah! such a song would have been invaluable to 'the asinaeum,' when i had the honour to--" "be vicar of _bray_ to that establishment," interrupted tomlinson. "pray, macgrawler, why do they call edinburgh the modern athens?" "because of the learned and great men it produces," returned macgrawler, with conscious pride. "pooh! pooh!--you are thinking of ancient athens. your city is called the modern athens because you are all so like the modern athenians,--the greatest scoundrels imaginable, unless travellers belie them." "nay," interrupted ned, who was softened by the applause of the critic, "mac is a good fellow, spare him. gentlemen, your health. i am going to bed, and i suppose you will not tarry long behind me." "trust us for that," answered tomlinson; "the captain and i will consult on the business of the morrow, and join you in the twinkling of a bedpost, as it has been shrewdly expressed." ned yawned his last "good-night," and disappeared within the dormitory. macgrawler, yawning also, but with a graver yawn, as became his wisdom, betook himself to the duty of removing the supper paraphernalia: after bustling soberly about for some minutes, he let down a press-bed in the corner of the cave (for he did not sleep in the robbers' apartment), and undressing himself, soon appeared buried in the bosom of morpheus. but the chief and tomlinson, drawing their seats nearer to the dying embers, defied the slothful god, and entered with low tones into a close and anxious commune. "so, then," said augustus, "now that you have realized sufficient funds for your purpose, you will really desert us? have you well weighed the pros and cons? remember that nothing is so dangerous to our state as reform; the moment a man grows honest, the gang forsake him; the magistrate misses his fee; the informer peaches; and the recusant hangs." "i have well weighed all this," answered clifford, "and have decided on my course. i have only tarried till my means could assist my will. with my share of our present and late booty, i shall betake myself to the continent. prussia gives easy trust and ready promotion to all who will enlist in her service. but this language, my dear friend, seems strange from your lips. surely you will join me in my separation from the corps? what! you shake your head! are you not the same tomlinson who at bath agreed with me that we were in danger from the envy of our comrades, and that retreat had become necessary to our safety? nay, was not this your main argument for our matrimonial expedition?" "why, look you, dear lovett," said augustus, "we are all blocks of matter, formed from the atoms of custom; in other words, we are a mechanism, to which habit is the spring. what could i do in an honest career? i am many years older than you. i have lived as a rogue till i have no other nature than roguery. i doubt if i should not be a coward were i to turn soldier. i am sure i should be the most consummate of rascals were i to affect to be honest. no: i mistook myself when i talked of separation. i must e'en jog on with my old comrades, and in my old ways; till i jog into the noose hempen or--melancholy alternative!-- the noose matrimonial." "this is mere folly," said clifford, from whose nervous and masculine mind habits were easily shaken. "we have not for so many years discarded all the servile laws of others, to be the abject slaves of our own weaknesses. come, my dear fellow, rouse yourself. heaven knows, were i to succumb to the feebleness of my own heart, i should be lost indeed. and perhaps, wrestle i ever so stoutly, i do not wrestle away that which clings within me, and will kill me, though by inches. but let us not be cravens, and suffer fate to drown us rather than swim. in a word, fly with me ere it be too late. a smuggler's vessel waits me off the coast of dorset: in three days from this i sail. be my companion. we can both rein a fiery horse, and wield a good sword. as long as men make war one against another, those accomplishments will prevent their owner from starving, or--" "if employed in the field, not the road," interrupted tomlinson, with a smile,--"from hanging. but it cannot be! i wish you all joy, all success in your career. you are young, bold, and able; and you always had a loftier spirit than i have. knave i am, and knave i must be to the end of the chapter!" "as you will," said clifford, who was not a man of many words, but he spoke with reluctance: "if so, i must seek my fortune alone." "when do you leave us?" asked tomlinson. "to-morrow, before noon. i shall visit london for a few hours, and then start at once for the coast." "london!" exclaimed tomlinson; "what, the very den of danger? pooh! you do not know what you say: or do you think it filial to caress mother lobkins before you depart?" "not that," answered clifford. "i have already ascertained that she is above the reach of all want; and her days, poor soul! cannot, i fear, be many. in all probability she would scarcely recognize me; for her habits cannot much have improved her memory. would i could say as much for her neighbours! were i to be seen in the purlieus of low thievery, you know, as well as i do, that some stealer of kerchiefs would turn informer against the notorious captain lovett." "what, then, takes you to town? ah! you turn away your face. i guess! well, love has ruined many a hero before; may you not be the worse for his godship!" clifford did not answer, and the conversation made a sudden and long pause; tomlinson broke it. "do you know, lovett," said he, "though i have as little heart as most men, yet i feel for you more than i could have thought it possible. i would fain join you; there is devilish good tobacco in germany, i believe; and, after all, there is not so much difference between the life of a thief and of a soldier." "do profit by so sensible a remark," said clifford. "reflect! how certain of destruction is the path you now tread; the gallows and the hulks are the only goals!" "the prospects are not pleasing, i allow," said tomlinson; "nor is it desirable to be preserved for another century in the immortality of a glass case in surgeons' hall, grinning from ear to ear, as if one had made the merriest finale imaginable. well! i will sleep on it, and you shall have my answer tomorrow; but poor ned?" "would he not join us?" "certainly not; his neck is made for a rope, and his mind for the old bailey. there is no hope for him; yet he is an excellent fellow. we must not even tell him of our meditated desertion." "by no means. i shall leave a letter to our london chief; it will explain all. and now to bed. i look to your companionship as settled." "humph!" said augustus tomlinson. so ended the conference of the robbers. about an hour after it had ceased, and when no sound save the heavy breath of long ned broke the stillness of the night, the intelligent countenance of peter macgrawler slowly elevated itself from the lonely pillow on which it had reclined. by degrees the back of the sage stiffened into perpendicularity, and he sat for a few moments erect on his seat of honour, apparently in listening deliberation. satisfied with the deep silence that, save the solitary interruption we have specified, reigned around, the learned disciple of vatel rose gently from the bed, hurried on his clothes, stole on tiptoe to the door, unbarred it with a noiseless hand, and vanished. sweet reader! while thou art wondering at his absence, suppose we account for his appearance. one evening clifford and his companion augustus had been enjoying the rational amusement at ranelagh, and were just leaving that celebrated place when they were arrested by a crowd at the entrance. that crowd was assembled round a pickpocket; and that pickpocket--o virtue, o wisdom, o asinaeum!--was peter macgrawler! we have before said that clifford was possessed of a good mien and an imposing manner, and these advantages were at that time especially effectual in preserving our orbilius from the pump. no sooner did clifford recognize the magisterial face of the sapient scot, than he boldly thrust himself into the middle of the crowd, and collaring the enterprising citizen who had collared macgrawler, declared himself ready to vouch for the honesty of the very respectable person whose identity had evidently been so grossly mistaken. augustus, probably foreseeing some ingenious ruse, of his companion, instantly seconded the defence. the mob, who never descry any difference between impudence and truth, gave way; a constable came up, took part with the friend of two gentlemen so unexceptionally dressed; our friends walked off; the crowd repented of their precipitation, and by way of amends ducked the gentleman whose pockets had been picked. it was in vain for him to defend himself, for he had an impediment in his speech; and messieurs the mob, having ducked him once for his guilt, ducked him a second time for his embarrassment. in the interim clifford had withdrawn his quondam mentor to the asylum of a coffee-house; and while macgrawler's soul expanded itself by wine, he narrated the causes of his dilemma. it seems that that incomparable journal "the asinaeum," despite a series of most popular articles upon the writings of "aulus prudentius," to which were added an exquisite string of dialogues, written in a tone of broad humour, namely, broad scotch (with scotchmen it is all the same thing), despite these invaluable miscellanies, to say nothing of some glorious political articles, in which it was clearly proved to the satisfaction of the rich, that the less poor devils eat the better for their constitutions,-- despite, we say, these great acquisitions to british literature, "the asinaeum" tottered, fell, buried its bookseller, and crushed its author. macgrawler only,--escaping, like theodore from the enormous helmet of otranto,--macgrawler only survived. "love," says sir philip sidney. "makes a man see better than a pair of spectacles." love of life has a very different effect on the optics,--it makes a man wofully dim of inspection, and sometimes causes him to see his own property in another man's purse! this _deceptio visus_, did it impose upon peter macgrawler? he went to ranelagh. reader, thou knowest the rest! wine and the ingenuity of the robbers having extorted this narrative from macgrawler, the barriers of superfluous delicacy were easily done away with. our heroes offered to the sage an introduction to their club; the offer was accepted; and macgrawler, having been first made drunk, was next made a robber. the gang engaged him in various little matters, in which we grieve to relate that though his intentions were excellent, his success was so ill as thoroughly to enrage his employers; nay, they were about at one time, when they wanted to propitiate justice, to hand him over to the secular power, when clifford interposed in his behalf. from a robber the sage dwindled into a drudge; menial offices (the robbers, the lying rascals, declared that such offices were best fitted to the genius of his country!) succeeded to noble exploits, and the worst of robbers became the best of cooks. how vain is all wisdom but that of long experience! though clifford was a sensible, and keen man, though he knew our sage to be a knave, he never dreamed he could be a traitor. he thought him too indolent to be malicious, and--short-sighted humanity!--too silly to be dangerous. he trusted the sage with the secret of the cavern; and augustus, who was a bit of an epicure, submitted, though forebodingly, to the choice, because of the scotchman's skill in broiling. but macgrawler, like brutus, concealed a scheming heart under a stolid guise. the apprehension of the noted lovett had become a matter of serious desire; the police was no longer to be bribed, nay, they were now eager to bribe. macgrawler had watched his time, sold his chief, and was now on the road to reading to meet and to guide to the cavern mr. nabbem of bow street and four of his attendants. having thus, as rapidly as we were able, traced the causes which brought so startlingly before your notice the most incomparable of critics, we now, reader, return to our robbers. "hist, lovett!" said tomlinson, half asleep, "methought i heard something in the outer cave." "it is the scot, i suppose," answered clifford: "you saw, of course, to the door?" "to be sure!" muttered tomlinson, and in two minutes more he was asleep. not so clifford: many and anxious thoughts kept him waking. at one while, when he anticipated the opening to a new career, somewhat of the stirring and high spirit which still moved amidst the guilty and confused habits of his mind made his pulse feverish and his limbs restless; at another time, an agonizing remembrance,--the remembrance of lucy in all her charms, her beauty, her love, her tender and innocent heart,--lucy all perfect, and lost to him forever,--banished every other reflection, and only left him the sick sensation of despondency and despair. "what avails my struggle for a better name?" he thought. "whatever my future lot, she can never share it. my punishment is fixed,--it is worse than a death of shame; it is a life without hope! every moment i feel, and shall feel to the last, the pressure of a chain that may never be broken or loosened! and yet, fool that i am! i cannot leave this country without seeing her again, without telling her that i have really looked my last. but have i not twice told her that? strange fatality! but twice have i spoken to her of love, and each time it was to tear myself from her at the moment of my confession. and even now something that i have no power to resist compels me to the same idle and weak indulgence. does destiny urge me? ay, perhaps to my destruction! every hour a thousand deaths encompass me. i have now obtained all for which i seemed to linger. i have won, by a new crime, enough to bear me to another land, and to provide me there a soldier's destiny. i should not lose an hour in flight, yet i rush into the nest of my enemies, only for one unavailing word with her; and this, too, after i have already bade her farewell! is this fate? if it be so, what matters it? i no longer care for a life which, after all, i should reform in vain if i could not reform it for her; yet--yet, selfish and lost that i am! will it be nothing to think hereafter that i have redeemed her from the disgrace of having loved an outcast and a felon? if i can obtain honour, will it not, in my own heart at least,--will it not reflect, however dimly and distantly, upon her?" such, bewildered, unsatisfactory, yet still steeped in the colours of that true love which raises even the lowest, were the midnight meditations of clifford; they terminated, towards the morning, in an uneasy and fitful slumber. from this he was awakened by a loud yawn from the throat of long ned, who was always the earliest riser of his set. "hullo!" said he, "it is almost daybreak; and if we want to cash our notes and to move the old lord's jewels, we should already be on the start." "a plague on you!" said tomlinson, from under cover of his woollen nightcap; "it was but this instant that i was dreaming you were going to be hanged, and now you wake me in the pleasantest part of the dream!" "you be shot!" said ned, turning one leg out of bed; "by the by, you took more than your share last night, for you owed me three guineas for our last game at cribbage! you'll please to pay me before we part to-day: short accounts make long friends!" "however true that maxim may be," returned tomlinson, "i know one much truer,--namely, long friends will make short accounts! you must ask jack ketch this day month if i'm wrong!" "that's what you call wit, i suppose!" retorted ned, as he now, struggling into his inexpressibles, felt his way into the outer cave. "what, ho, mac!" cried he, as he went, "stir those bobbins of thine, which thou art pleased to call legs; strike a light, and be d---d to you!" "a light for you," said tomlinson, profanely, as he reluctantly left his couch, "will indeed be a 'light to lighten the gentiles!'" "why, mac, mac!" shouted ned, "why don't you answer? faith, i think the scot's dead!" "seize your men!--yield, sirs!" cried a stern, sudden voice from the gloom; and at that instant two dark lanterns were turned, and their light streamed full upon the astounded forms of tomlinson and his gaunt comrade! in the dark shade of the background four or five forms were also indistinctly visible; and the ray of the lanterns glimmered on the blades of cutlasses and the barrels of weapons still less easily resisted. tomlinson was the first to recover his self-possession. the light just gleamed upon the first step of the stairs leading to the stables, leaving the rest in shadow. he made one stride to the place beside the cart, where, we have said, lay some of the robbers' weapons; he had been anticipated,--the weapons were gone. the next moment tomlinson had sprung up the steps. "lovett! lovett! lovett!" shouted he. the captain, who had followed his comrades into the cavern, was already in the grasp of two men. from few ordinary mortals, however, could any two be selected as fearful odds against such a man as clifford,--a man in whom a much larger share of sinews and muscle than is usually the lot even of the strong had been hardened, by perpetual exercise, into a consistency and iron firmness which linked power and activity into a union scarcely less remarkable than that immortalized in the glorious beauty of the sculptured gladiator. his right hand is upon the throat of one assailant; his left locks, as in a vice, the wrist of the other; you have scarcely time to breathe! the former is on the ground, the pistol of the latter is wrenched from his grip, clifford is on the step; a ball --another--whizzes by him; he is by the side of the faithful augustus! "open the secret door!" whispered clifford to his friend; "i will draw up the steps alone." scarcely had he spoken, before the steps were already, but slowly, ascending beneath the desperate strength of the robber. meanwhile ned was struggling, as he best might, with two sturdy officers, who appeared loath to use their weapons without an absolute necessity, and who endeavoured, by main strength, to capture and detain their antagonist. "look well to the door!" cried the voice of the principal officer, "and hang out more light!" two or three additional lanterns were speedily brought forward; and over the whole interior of the cavern a dim but sufficient light now rapidly circled, giving to the scene and to the combatants a picturesque and wild appearance. the quick eye of the head-officer descried in an instant the rise of the steps, and the advantage the robbers were thereby acquiring. he and two of his men threw themselves forward, seized the ladder, if so it may be called, dragged it once more to the ground, and ascended. but clifford, grasping with both hands the broken shaft of a cart that lay in reach, received the foremost invader with a salute that sent him prostrate and senseless back among his companions. the second shared the same fate; and the stout leader of the enemy, who, like a true general, had kept himself in the rear, paused now in the middle of the steps, dismayed alike by the reception of his friends and the athletic form towering above, with raised weapons and menacing attitude. perhaps that moment seemed to the judicious mr. nabbem more favourable to parley than to conflict. he cleared his throat, and thus addressed the foe: "you, sir, captain lovett, alias howard, alias jackson, alias cavendish, alias solomons, alias devil,--for i knows you well, and could swear to you with half an eye, in your clothes or without,--you lay down your club there, and let me come alongside of you, and you'll find me as gentle as a lamb; for i've been used to gemmen all my life, and i knows how to treat 'em when i has 'em!" "but if i will not let you 'come alongside of me,' what then?" "why, i must send one of these here pops through your skull, that's all!" "nay, mr. nabbem, that would be too cruel! you surely would not harm one who has such an esteem for you? don't you remember the manner in which i brought you off from justice burnflat, when you were accused, you know whether justly or--" "you're a liar, captain!" cried nabbem, furiously, fearful that something not meet for the ears of his companions should transpire. "you knows you are! come down, or let me mount; otherwise i won't be 'sponsible for the consequences!" clifford cast a look over his shoulder. a gleam of the gray daylight already glimmered through a chink in the secret door, which tomlinson had now unbarred and was about to open. "listen to me, mr. nabbem," said he, "and perhaps i may grant what you require! what would you do with me if you had me?" "you speaks like a sensible man now," answered nabbem; "and that's after my own heart. why, you sees, captain, your time is come, and you can't shilly-shally any longer. you have had your full swing; your years are up, and you must die like a man! but i gives you my honour as a gemman, that if you surrenders, i'll take you to the justice folks as tenderly as if you were made of cotton." "give way one moment," said clifford, "that i may plant the steps firmer for you." nabbem retreated to the ground; and clifford, who had, good-naturedly enough, been unwilling unnecessarily to damage so valuable a functionary, lost not the opportunity now afforded him. down thundered the steps, clattering heavily among the other officers, and falling like an avalanche on the shoulder of one of the arresters of long ned. meanwhile clifford sprang after tomlinson through the aperture, and found himself--in the presence of four officers, conducted by the shrewd macgrawler. a blow from a bludgeon on the right cheek and temple of augustus felled that hero. but clifford bounded over his comrade's body, dodged from the stroke aimed at himself, caught the blow aimed by another assailant in his open hand, wrested the bludgeon from the officer, struck him to the ground with his own weapon, and darting onward through the labyrinth of the wood, commenced his escape with a step too fleet to allow the hope of a successful pursuit. chapter xxix. "in short, isabella, i offer you myself!" "heavens!" cried isabella, "what do i hear? you, my lord?" castle of otranto. a novel is like a weatherglass,--where the man appears out at one time, the woman at another. variable as the atmosphere, the changes of our story now re-present lucy to the reader. that charming young person--who, it may be remarked, is (her father excepted) the only unsophisticated and unsullied character in the pages of a story in some measure designed to show, in the depravities of character, the depravities of that social state wherein characters are formed--was sitting alone in her apartment at the period in which we return to her. as time, and that innate and insensible fund of healing, which nature has placed in the bosoms of the young in order that her great law, the passing away of the old, may not leave too lasting and keen a wound, had softened her first anguish at her father's death, the remembrance of clifford again resumed its ancient sway in her heart. the loneliness of her life, the absence of amusement, even the sensitiveness and languor which succeed to grief, conspired to invest the image of her lover in a tenderer and more impressive guise. she recalled his words, his actions, his letters, and employed herself whole hours, whole days and nights, in endeavouring to decipher their mystery. who that has been loved will not acknowledge the singular and mighty force with which a girl, innocent herself, clings to the belief of innocence in her lover? in breasts young and unacquainted with the world, there is so pure a credulity in the existence of unmixed good, so firm a reluctance to think that where we love there can be that which we would not esteem, or where we admire there can be that which we ought to blame, that one may almost deem it an argument in favour of our natural power to attain a greater eminence in virtue than the habits and arts of the existing world will allow us to reach. perhaps it is not paradoxical to say that we could scarcely believe perfection in others, were not the germ of perfectibility in our own minds! when a man has lived some years among the actual contests of faction without imbibing the prejudice as well as the experience, how wonderingly be smiles at his worship of former idols, how different a colour does history wear to him, how cautious is he now to praise, how slow to admire, how prone to cavil! human nature has become the human nature of art; and he estimates it not from what it may be, but from what, in the corruptions of a semi-civilization, it is! but in the same manner as the young student clings to the belief that the sage or the minstrel, who has enlightened his reason or chained his imagination, is in character as in genius elevated above the ordinary herd, free from the passions, the frivolities, the little meannesses, and the darkening vices which ordinary flesh is heir to, does a woman who loves for the first time cling to the imagined excellence of him she loves. when evelina is so shocked at the idea of an occasional fit of intoxication in her "noble, her unrivalled" lover, who does not acknowledge how natural were her feelings? had evelina been married six years, and the same lover, then her husband, been really guilty of what she suspected, who does not feel that it would have been very unnatural to have been shocked in the least at the occurrence? she would not have loved him less, nor admired him less, nor would he have been less "the noble and the unrivalled,"--he would have taken his glass too much, have joked the next morning on the event, and the gentle evelina would have made him a cup of tea; but that which would have been a matter of pleasantry in the husband would have been matter of damnation in a lover. but to return to lucy. if it be so hard, so repellent, to believe a lover guilty even of a trivial error, we may readily suppose that lucy never for a moment admitted the supposition that clifford had been really guilty of gross error or wilful crime. true that expressions in his letter were more than suspicious; but there is always a charm in the candour of self- condemnation. as it is difficult to believe the excellence of those who praise themselves, so it is difficult to fancy those criminal who condemn. what, too, is the process of a woman's reasoning? alas! she is too credulous a physiognomist. the turn of a throat, with her, is the unerring token of nobleness of mind; and no one can be guilty of a sin who is blessed with a beautiful forehead! how fondly, how fanatically lucy loved! she had gathered together a precious and secret hoard,-- a glove, a pen, a book, a withered rose-leaf,--treasures rendered inestimable because he had touched them; but more than all, had she the series of his letters,--from the first formal note written to her father, meant for her, in which he answered an invitation, and requested miss brandon's acceptance of the music she had wished to have, to the last wild and, to her, inexplicable letter in which he had resigned her forever. on these relics her eyes fed for hours; and as she pored over them, and over thoughts too deep not only for tears but for all utterance or conveyance, you might have almost literally watched the fading of her rich cheek and the pining away of her rounded and elastic form. it was just in such a mood that she was buried when her uncle knocked at her door for admittance. she hurried away her treasures, and hastened to admit and greet him. "i have come," said he, smiling, "to beg the pleasure of your company for an old friend who dines with us to-day. but, stay, lucy, your hair is ill-arranged. do not let me disturb so important an occupation as your toilette; dress yourself, my love, and join us." lucy turned, with a suppressed sigh, to the glass. the uncle lingered for a few moments, surveying her with mingled pride and doubt; he then slowly left the chamber. lucy soon afterwards descended to the drawing-room, and beheld with a little surprise (for she had not had sufficient curiosity to inquire the name of the guest), the slender form and comely features of lord mauleverer. the earl approached with the same grace which had in his earlier youth rendered him almost irresistible, but which now, from the contrast of years with manner, contained a slight mixture of the comic. he paid his compliments, and in paying them declared that he must leave it to his friend, sir william, to explain all the danger he had dared, for the sake of satisfying himself that miss brandon was no less lovely than when he had last beheld her. "yes, indeed," said brandon, with a scarcely perceptible sneer, "lord mauleverer has literally endured the moving accidents of flood and field,--for he was nearly exterminated by a highwayman, and all but drowned in a ditch!" "commend me to a friend for setting one off to the best advantage," said mauleverer, gayly. "instead of attracting your sympathy, you see, brandon would expose me to your ridicule; judge for yourself whether i deserve it!" and mauleverer proceeded to give, with all the animation which belonged to his character, the particulars of that adventure with which the reader is so well acquainted. he did not, we may be sure, feel any scruple in representing himself and his prowess in the most favourable colours. the story was scarcely ended when dinner was announced. during that meal mauleverer exerted himself to be amiable with infinite address. suiting his conversation, more than he had hitherto deigned to do, to the temper of lucy, and more anxious to soften than to dazzle, he certainly never before appeared to her so attractive. we are bound to add that the point of attraction did not reach beyond the confession that he was a very agreeable old man. perhaps, if there had not been a certain half-melancholy vein in his conversation, possibly less uncongenial to his lordship from the remembrance of his lost diamonds, and the impression that sir william brandon's cook was considerably worse than his own, he might not have been so successful in pleasing lucy. as for himself, all the previous impressions she had made on him returned in colours yet more vivid; even the delicate and subdued cast of beauty which had succeeded to her earlier brilliancy, was far more charming to his fastidious and courtly taste than her former glow of spirits and health. he felt himself very much in love during dinner; and after it was over, and lucy had retired, he told brandon, with a passionate air, that he adored his niece to distraction! the wily judge affected to receive the intimation with indifference; but knowing that too long an absence is injurious to a grande passion, he did not keep mauleverer very late over his wine. the earl returned rapturously to the drawing-room, and besought lucy, in a voice in which affectation seemed swooning with delight, to indulge him with a song. more and more enchanted by her assent, he drew the music- stool to the harpsichord, placed a chair beside her, and presently appeared lost in transport. meanwhile brandon, with his back to the pair, covered his face with his handkerchief, and to all appearance yielded to the voluptuousness of an after-dinner repose. lucy's song-book opened accidentally at a song which had been praised by clifford; and as she sang, her voice took a richer and more tender tone than in mauleverer's presence it had ever before assumed. the complaint of the violets which lose their scent in may. in the shadow that falls from the silent hill we slept, in our green retreats and the april showers were wont to fill our hearts with sweets. and though we lay in a lowly bower, yet all things loved us well, and the waking bee left her fairest flower, with us to dwell. but the warm may came in his pride to woo the wealth of our honeyed store; and our hearts just felt his breath, and knew their sweets no more! and the summer reigns on the quiet spot where we dwell, and its suns and showers bring balm to our sisters' hearts, but not-- ah! not to ours. we live, we bloom, but forever o'er is the charm of the earth and sky; to our life, ye heavens, that balm restore, or--bid us die! as with eyes suffused with many recollections, and a voice which melted away in an indescribable and thrilling pathos, lucy ceased her song, mauleverer, charmed out of himself, gently took her hand, and holding the soft treasure in his own, scarcely less soft, he murmured,-- "angel, sing on! life would be like your own music, if i could breathe it away at your feet!" there had been a time when lucy would have laughed outright at this declaration; and even as it was, a suppressed and half-arch smile played in the dimples of her beautiful mouth, and bewitchingly contrasted the swimming softness of her eyes. drawing rather an erroneous omen from the smile, mauleverer rapturously continued, still detaining the hand which lucy endeavoured to extricate,-- "yes, enchanting miss brandon! i, who have for so many years boasted of my invulnerable heart, am subdued at last. i have long, very long, struggled against my attachment to you. alas! it is in vain; and you behold me now utterly at your mercy. make me the most miserable of men or the most enviable. enchantress, speak!" "really, my lord," said lucy, hesitating, yet rising, and freeing herself from his hand, "i feel it difficult to suppose you serious; and perhaps this is merely a gallantry to me by way of practice on others." "sweet lucy, if i may so call you," answered mauleverer, with an ardent gaze, "do not, i implore you, even for a moment, affect to mistake me! do not for a moment jest at what, to me, is the bane or bliss of life! dare i hope that my hand and heart, which i now offer you, are not deserving of your derision?" lucy gazed on her adorer with a look of serious inquiry; brandon still appeared to sleep. "if you are in earnest, my lord," said lucy, after a pause, "i am truly and deeply sorry. for the friend of my uncle i shall always have esteem; believe that i am truly sensible of the honour you render me, when i add my regret that i can have no other sentiment than esteem." a blank and puzzled bewilderment for a moment clouded the expressive features of mauleverer; it passed away. "how sweet is your rebuke!" said he. "yes; i do not yet deserve any other sentiment than esteem. you are not to be won precipitately; a long trial, a long course of attentions, a long knowledge of my devoted and ardent love, alone will entitle me to hope for a warmer feeling in your breast. fix then your own time of courtship, angelic lucy!---a week, nay, a month! till then, i will not even press you to appoint that day which to me will be the whitest of my life!" "my lord!" said lucy, smiling now no longer half archly, "you must pardon me for believing your proposal can be nothing but a jest; but here, i beseech you, let it rest forever. do not mention this subject to me again." "by heavens!" cried mauleverer, "this is too cruel. brandon, intercede with me for your niece." sir william started, naturally enough, from his slumber, and mauleverer continued, "yes, intercede for me; you, my oldest friend, be my greatest benefactor! i sue to your niece; she affects to disbelieve. will you convince her of my truth, my devotion, my worship?" "disbelieve you!" said the bland judge, with the same secret sneer that usually lurked in the corners of his mouth. "i do not wonder that she is slow to credit the honour you have done her, and for which the noblest damsels in england have sighed in vain. lucy, will you be cruel to lord mauleverer? believe me, he has often confided to me his love for you; and if the experience of some years avails, there is not a question of his honour and his truth. i leave his fate in your hands." brandon turned to the door. "stay, dear sir," said lucy, "and instead of interceding for lord mauleverer, intercede for me." her look now settled into a calm and decided seriousness of expression. "i feel highly flattered by his lordship's proposal, which, as you say, i might well doubt to be gravely meant. i wish him all happiness with a lady of higher deserts; but i speak from an unalterable determination, when i say that i can never accept the dignity with which he would invest me." so saying, lucy walked quickly to the door and vanished, leaving the two friends to comment as they would upon her conduct. "you have spoiled all with your precipitation," said the uncle. "precipitation! d---n it, what would you have? i have been fifty years making up my mind to marry; and now when i have not a day to lose, you talk of precipitation!" answered the lover, throwing himself into an easy-chair. "but you have not been fifty years making up your mind to marry my niece," said brandon, dryly. "to be refused, positively refused, by a country girl!" continued mauleverer, soliloquizing aloud; "and that too at my age and with all my experience!--a country girl without rank, _ton_, accomplishments! by heavens! i don't care if all the world heard it,--for not a soul in the world will ever believe it." brandon sat speechless, eying the mortified face of the courtier with a malicious complacency, and there was a pause of several minutes. sir william then, mastering the strange feeling which made him always rejoice in whatever threw ridicule on his friend, approached, laid his hand kindly on mauleverer's shoulder, and talked to him of comfort and of encouragement. the reader will believe that mauleverer was not a man whom it was impossible to encourage. chapter xxx. before he came, everything loved me, and i had more things to love than i could reckon by the hairs of my head. now i feel i can love but one, and that one has deserted me. . . . well, be it so,-- let her perish, let her be anything but mine!--melmoth. early the next morning sir william brandon was closeted for a long time with his niece, previous to his departure to the duties of his office. anxious and alarmed for the success of one of the darling projects of his ambition, he spared no art in his conversation with lucy, that his great ingenuity of eloquence and wonderful insight into human nature could suggest, in order to gain at least a foundation for the raising of his scheme. among other resources of his worldly tact, he hinted at lucy's love for clifford; and (though darkly and subtly, as befitting the purity of the one he addressed) this abandoned and wily person did not scruple to hint also at the possibility of indulging that love _after_ marriage; though he denounced, as the last of indecorums, the crime of encouraging it _before_. this hint, however, fell harmless upon the innocent ear of lucy. she did not in the remotest degree comprehend its meaning; she only, with a glowing cheek and a pouting lip, resented the allusion to a love which she thought it insolent in any one even to suspect. when brandon left the apartment, his brow was clouded, and his eye absent and thoughtful: it was evident that there had been little in the conference with his niece to please or content him. miss brandon herself was greatly agitated; for there was in her uncle's nature that silent and impressive secret of influencing or commanding others which almost so invariably and yet so quietly attains the wishes of its owner; and lucy, who loved and admired him sincerely,--not the less, perhaps, for a certain modicum of fear,--was greatly grieved at perceiving how rooted in him was the desire of that marriage which she felt was a moral impossibility. but if brandon possessed the secret of sway, lucy was scarcely less singularly endowed with the secret of resistance. it may be remembered, in describing her character, that we spoke of her as one who seemed, to the superficial, as of too yielding and soft a temper. but circumstances gave the lie to manner, and proved that she eminently possessed a quiet firmness and latent resolution, which gave to her mind a nobleness and trustworthy power that never would have been suspected by those who met her among the ordinary paths of life. brandon had not been long gone, when lucy's maid came to inform her that a gentleman, who expressed himself very desirous of seeing her, waited below. the blood rushed from lucy's cheek at this announcement, simple as it seemed. "what gentleman could be desirous of seeing her? was it-- was it clifford?" she remained for some moments motionless, and literally unable to move; at length she summoned courage, and smiling with self-contempt at a notion which appeared to her after thoughts utterly absurd, she descended to the drawing-room. the first glance she directed towards the stranger, who stood by the fireplace with folded arms, was sufficient,--it was impossible to mistake, though the face was averted, the unequalled form of her lover. she advanced eagerly with a faint cry, checked herself, and sank upon the sofa. clifford turned towards her, and fixed his eyes upon her countenance with an intense and melancholy gaze, but he did not utter a syllable; and lucy, after pausing in expectation of his voice, looked up, and caught, in alarm, the strange and peculiar aspect of his features. he approached her slowly, and still silent; but his gaze seemed to grow more earliest and mournful as he advanced. "yes," said he at last, in a broken and indistinct voice, "i see you once more, after all my promises to quit you forever,--after, my solemn farewell, after all that i have cost you; for, lucy, you love me, you love me, and i shudder while i feel it; after all i myself have borne and resisted, i once more come wilfully into your presence! how have i burned and sickened for this moment! how have i said, 'let me behold her once more, only once more, and fate may then do her worst!' lucy! dear, dear lucy! forgive me for my weakness. it is now in bitter and stern reality the very last i can be guilty of!" as he spoke, clifford sank beside her. he took both her hands in his, and holding them, though without pressure, again looked passionately upon her innocent yet eloquent face. it seemed as if he were moved beyond all the ordinary feelings of reunion and of love. he did not attempt to kiss the hands he held; and though the touch thrilled through every vein and fibre of his frame, his clasp was as light as that in which the first timidity of a boy's love ventures to stamp itself! "you are pale, lucy," said he, mournfully, "and your cheek is much thinner than it was when i first saw you. when i first saw you! ah! would for your sake that that had never been! your spirits were light then, lucy; your laugh came from the heart, your step spurned the earth. joy broke from your eyes, everything that breathed around you seemed full of happiness and mirth; and now, look upon me, lucy! lift those soft eyes, and teach them to flash upon me indignation and contempt! oh, not thus, not thus! i could leave you happy,--yes, literally blessed,--if i could fancy you less forgiving, less gentle, less angelic!" "what have i to forgive?" said lucy, tenderly. "what! everything for which one human being can pardon another. have not deceit and injury been my crimes against you? your peace of mind, your serenity of heart, your buoyancy of temper,--have i marred these or not?" "oh, clifford!" said lucy, rising from herself and from all selfish thoughts, "why, why will you not trust me? you do not know me, indeed you do not,--you are ignorant even of the very nature of a woman, if you think me unworthy of your confidence! do you believe i could betray it, or do you think that if you had done that for which all the world forsook you, i could forsake?" lucy's voice faltered at the last words; but it sank, as a stone sinks into deep waters, to the very core of clifford's heart. transported from all resolution and all forbearance, he wound his arms around her in one long and impassioned caress; and lucy, as her breath mingled with his, and her cheek drooped upon his bosom, did indeed feel as if the past could contain no secret powerful enough even to weaken the affection with which her heart clung to his. she was the first to extricate herself from their embrace. she drew back her face from his, and smiling on him through her tears, with a brightness that the smiles of her earliest youth had never surpassed, she said,-- "listen to me. tell me your history or not, as you will. but believe me, a woman's wit is often no despicable counsellor. they who accuse themselves the most bitterly are not often those whom it is most difficult to forgive; and you must pardon me if i doubt the extent of the blame you would so lavishly impute to yourself. i am now alone in the world" (here the smile withered from lucy's lips). "my poor father is dead. i can injure no one by my conduct; there is no one on earth to whom i am bound by duty. i am independent, i am rich. you profess to love me. i am foolish and vain, and i believe you. perhaps, also, i have the fond hope which so often makes dupes of women,--the hope that if you have erred, i may reclaim you; if you have been unfortunate, i may console you! i know, mr. clifford, that i am saying that for which many would despise me, and for which, perhaps, i ought to despise myself; but there are times when we speak only as if some power at our hearts constrained us, despite ourselves,--and it is thus that i have now spoken to you." it was with an air very unwonted to herself that lucy had concluded her address, for her usual characteristic was rather softness than dignity; but, as if to correct the meaning of her words, which might otherwise appear unmaidenly, there was a chaste, a proud, yet not the less a tender and sweet propriety and dignified frankness in her look and manner; so that it would have been utterly impossible for one who heard her not to have done justice to the nobleness of her motives, or not to have felt both touched and penetrated, as much by respect as by any warmer or more familiar feeling. clifford, who had risen while she was speaking, listened with a countenance that varied at every word she uttered,--now all hope, now all despondency. as she ceased, the expression hardened into a settled and compulsive resolution. "it is well!" said he, mutteringly. "i am worthy of this,--very, very worthy! generous, noble girl! had i been an emperor, i would have bowed down to you in worship; but to debase, to degrade you,--no! no!" "is there debasement in love?" murmured lucy. clifford gazed upon her with a sort of enthusiastic and self-gratulatory pride; perhaps he felt to be thus loved and by such a creature was matter of pride, even in the lowest circumstances to which he could ever be exposed. he drew his breath hard, set his teeth, and answered,-- "you could love, then, an outcast, without birth, fortune, or character? no! you believe this now, but you could not. "could you desert your country, your friends, and your home,--all that you are born and fitted for? could you attend one over whom the sword hangs, through a life subjected every hour to discovery and disgrace? could you be subjected yourself to the moodiness of an evil memory and the gloomy silence of remorse? could you be the victim of one who has no merit but his love for you, and who, if that love destroy you, becomes utterly redeemed? yes, lucy, i was wrong--i will do you justice; all this, nay, more, you could bear, and your generous nature would disdain the sacrifice. but am i to be all selfish, and you all devoted? are you to yield everything to me, and i to accept everything and yield none? alas! i have but one good, one blessing to yield, and that is yourself. lucy, i deserve you; i outdo you in generosity. all that you would desert for me is nothing--o god!--nothing to the sacrifice i make to you! and now, lucy, i have seen you, and i must once more bid you farewell; i am on the eve of quitting this country forever. i shall enlist in a foreign service. perhaps" (and clifford's dark eyes flashed with fire) "you will yet hear of me, and not blush when you hear! but" (and his voice faltered, for lucy, hiding her face with both hands, gave way to her tears and agitation),--"but, in one respect, you have conquered. i had believed that you could never be mine,--that my past life had forever deprived me of that hope! i now begin, with a rapture that can bear me through all ordeals, to form a more daring vision. a soil maybe effaced,--an evil name maybe redeemed,--the past is not set and sealed, without the power of revoking what has been written. if i can win the right of meriting your mercy, i will throw myself on it without reserve; till then, or till death, you will see me no more!" he dropped on his knee, left his kiss and his tears upon lucy's cold hand; the next moment she heard his step on the stairs, the door closed heavily and jarringly upon him, and lucy felt one bitter pang, and, for some time at least, she felt no more! chapter xxxi. many things fall between the cup and the lip! your man does please me with his conceit. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . comes chanon hugh accoutred as you see disguised! and thus am i to gull the constable? now have among you for a man at arms. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . high-constable was more, though he laid dick tator by the heels. ben jonson--tale of a tub. meanwhile clifford strode rapidly through the streets which surrounded the judge's house, and turning to an obscurer quartier of the town, entered a gloomy lane or alley. here he was abruptly accosted by a man wrapped in a shaggy great-coat, of somewhat a suspicious appearance. "aha, captain!" said he, "you are beyond your time, but all 's well!" attempting, with indifferent success, the easy self-possession which generally marked his address to his companions, clifford, repeating the stranger's words, replied,-- "all's well! what! are the prisoners released?" "no, faith!" answered the man, with a rough laugh, "not yet; but all in good time. it is a little too much to expect the justices to do our work, though, by the lord harry, we often do theirs!" "what then?" asked clifford, impatiently. "why, the poor fellows had been carried to the town of -----, and brought before the queer cuffin (magistrate) ere i arrived, though i set off the moment you told me, and did the journey in four hours. the examination lasted all yesterday, and they were remanded till to-day,--let's see, it is not yet noon; we may be there before it's over." "and this is what you call well!" said clifford, angrily. "no, captain, don't be glimflashy! you have not heard all yet! it seems that the only thing buffed hard against them was by a stout grazier, who was cried 'stand!' to, some fifty miles off the town; so the queer coffin thinks of sending the poor fellows to the jail of the county where they did the business!" "ah! that may leave some hopes for them! we must look sharp to their journey; if they once get to prison, their only chances are the file and the bribe. unhappily, neither of them is so lucky as myself at that trade!" "no, indeed, there is not a stone-wall in england that the great captain lovett could not creep through, i'll swear!" said the admiring satellite. "saddle the horses and load the pistols! i will join you in ten minutes. have my farmer's dress ready, the false hair, etc. choose your own trim. make haste; the three feathers is the house of meeting." "and in ten minutes only, captain?" "punctually!" the stranger turned a corner and was out of sight. clifford, muttering, "yes, i was the cause of their apprehension; it was i who was sought; it is but fair that i should strike a blow for their escape before i attempt my own," continued his course till he came to the door of a public-house. the sign of a seaman swung aloft, portraying the jolly tar with a fine pewter pot in his hand, considerably huger than his own circumference. an immense pug sat at the door, lolling its tongue out, as if, having stuffed itself to the tongue, it was forced to turn that useful member out of its proper place. the shutters were half closed, but the sounds of coarse merriment issued jovially forth. clifford disconcerted the pug; and crossing the threshold, cried in aloud tone, "janseen!" "here!" answered a gruff voice; and clifford, passing on, came to a small parlour adjoining the tap. there, seated by a round oak table, he found mine host,--a red, fierce, weather-beaten, but bloated-looking personage, like dick hatteraick in a dropsy. "how now, captain!" cried he, in a gutteral accent, and interlarding his discourse with certain dutch graces, which with our reader's leave we will omit, as being unable to spell them; "how now!--not gone yet!" "no! i start for the coast to-morrow; business keeps me to-day. i came to ask if mellon may be fully depended on?" "ay, honest to the back-bone." "and you are sure that in spite of my late delays he will not have left the village?" "sure! what else can i be? don't i know jack mellon these twenty years! he would lie like a log in a calm for ten months together, without moving a hair's-breadth, if he was under orders." "and his vessel is swift and well manned, in case of an officer's chase?" "the 'black molly' swift? ask your grandmother. the 'black molly' would outstrip a shark." "then good-by, janseen; there is something to keep your pipe alight. we shall not meet within the three seas again, i think. england is as much too hot for me as holland for you!" "you are a capital fellow!" cried mine host, shaking clifford by the hand; "and when the lads come to know their loss, they will know they have lost the bravest and truest gill that ever took to the toby; so good-by, and be d---d to you!" with this valedictory benediction mine host released clifford; and the robber hastened to his appointment at the three feathers. he found all prepared. he hastily put on his disguise; and his follower led out his horse,--a noble animal of the grand irish breed, of remarkable strength and bone, and save only that it was somewhat sharp in the quarters (a fault which they who look for speed as well as grace will easily forgive), of most unequalled beauty in its symmetry and proportions. well did the courser know, and proudly did it render obeisance to, its master; snorting impatiently and rearing from the hand of the attendant robber, the sagacious animal freed itself of the rein, and as it tossed its long mane in the breeze of the fresh air, came trotting to the place where clifford stood. "so ho, robin! so ho! what, thou chafest that i have left thy fellow behind at the red cave! him we may never see more. but while i have life, i will not leave thee, robin!" with these words the robber fondly stroked the shining neck of his favourite steed; and as the animal returned the caress by rubbing its head against the hands and the athletic breast of its master, clifford felt at his heart somewhat of that old racy stir of the blood which had been once to him the chief charm of his criminal profession, and which in the late change of his feelings he had almost forgotten. "well, robin, well," he renewed, as he kissed the face of his steed,-- "well, we will have some days like our old ones yet; thou shalt say, ha! ha! to the trumpet, and bear thy master along on more glorious enterprises than he has yet thanked thee for sharing. thou wilt now be my only familiar, my only friend, robin; we two shall be strangers in a foreign land. but thou wilt make thyself welcome easier than thy lord, robin; and thou wilt forget the old days and thine old comrades and thine old loves, when--ha!" and clifford turned abruptly to his attendant, who addressed him; "it is late, you say. true! look you, it will be unwise for us both to quit london together. you know the sixth milestone; join me there, and we can proceed in company!" not unwilling to linger for a parting cup, the comrade assented to the prudence of the plan proposed; and after one or two additional words of caution and advice, clifford mounted and rode from the yard of the inn. as he passed through the tall wooden gates into the street, the imperfect gleam of the wintry sun falling over himself and his steed, it was scarcely possible, even in spite of his disguise and rude garb, to conceive a more gallant and striking specimen of the lawless and daring tribe to which he belonged; the height, strength, beauty, and exquisite grooming visible in the steed; the sparkling eye, the bold profile, the sinewy chest, the graceful limbs, and the careless and practised horsemanship of the rider. looking after his chief with a long and an admiring gaze, the robber said to the hostler of the inn, an aged and withered man, who had seen nine generations of highwaymen rise and vanish,-- "there, joe, when did you ever look on a hero like that? the bravest heart, the frankest hand, the best judge of a horse, and the handsomest man that ever did honour to hounslow!" "for all that," returned the hostler, shaking his palsied head, and turning back to the tap-room,--"for all that, master, his time be up. mark my whids, captain lovett will not be over the year,--no, nor mayhap the month!" "why, you old rascal, what makes you so wise? you will not peach, i suppose!" "i peach! devil a bit! but there never was the gemman of the road, great or small, knowing or stupid, as outlived his seventh year. and this will be the captain's seventh, come the st of next month; but he be a fine chap, and i'll go to his hanging!" "fish!" said the robber, peevishly,--he himself was verging towards the end of his sixth year,--"pish!" "mind, i tells it you, master; and somehow or other i thinks--and i has experience in these things--by the fey, of his eye and the drop of his lip, that the captain's time will be up to-day!" [fey--a word difficult to translate; but the closest interpretation of which is, perhaps, "the ill omen."] here the robber lost all patience, and pushing the hoary boder of evil against the wall, he turned on his heel, and sought some more agreeable companion to share his stirrup-cup. it was in the morning of the day following that in which the above conversations occurred, that the sagacious augustus tomlinson and the valorous edward pepper, handcuffed and fettered, were jogging along the road in a postchaise, with mr. nabbem squeezed in by the side of the former, and two other gentlemen in mr. nabbem's confidence mounted on the box of the chaise, and interfering sadly, as long ned growlingly remarked, with "the beauty of the prospect." "ah, well!" quoth nabbem, unavoidably thrusting his elbow into tomlinson's side, while he drew out his snuffbox, and helped himself largely to the intoxicating dust; "you had best prepare yourself, mr. pepper, for a change of prospects. i believes as how there is little to please you in _guod_ [prison]." "nothing makes men so facetious as misfortune to others!" said augustus, moralizing, and turning himself, as well as he was able, in order to deliver his body from the pointed elbow of mr. nabbem. "when a man is down in the world, all the bystanders, very dull fellows before, suddenly become wits!" "you reflects on i," said mr. nabbem. "well, it does not sinnify a pin; for directly we does our duty, you chaps become howdaciously ungrateful!" "ungrateful!" said pepper; "what a plague have we got to be grateful for? i suppose you think we ought to tell you you are the best friend we have, because you have scrouged us, neck and crop, into this horrible hole, like turkeys fatted for christmas. 'sdeath! one's hair is flatted down like a pancake; and as for one's legs, you had better cut them off at once than tuck them up in a place a foot square,--to say nothing of these blackguardly irons!" "the only irons pardonable in your eyes, ned," said tomlinson, "are the curling-irons, eh?" "now, if this is not too much!" cried nabbem, crossly; "you objects to go in a cart like the rest of your profession; and when i puts myself out of the way to obleedgie you with a shay, you slangs i for it!" "peace, good nabbem!" said augustus, with a sage's dignity; "you must allow a little bad humour in men so unhappily situated as we are." the soft answer turneth away wrath. tomlinson's answer softened nabbem; and by way of conciliation, he held his snuff-box to the nose of his unfortunate prisoner. shutting his eyes, tomlinson long and earnestly sniffed up the luxury, and as soon as, with his own kerchief of spotted yellow, the officer had wiped from the proboscis some lingering grains, tomlinson thus spoke: "you see us now, mr. nabbem, in a state of broken-down opposition; but our spirits are not broken too. in our time we have had something to do with the administration; and our comfort at present is the comfort of fallen ministers!" "oho! you were in the methodist line before you took to the road?" said nabbem. "not so!" answered augustus, gravely. "we were the methodists of politics, not of the church; namely, we lived upon our flock without a legal authority to do so, and that which the law withheld from us our wits gave. but tell me, mr. nabbem, are you addicted to politics?" "why, they says i be," said mr. nabbem, with a grin; "and for my part, i thinks all who sarves the king should stand up for him, and take care of their little families!" "you speak what others think!" answered tomlinson, smiling also. "and i will now, since you like politics, point out to you what i dare say you have not observed before." "what be that?" said nabbem. "a wonderful likeness between the life of the gentlemen adorning his majesty's senate and the life of the gentlemen whom you are conducting to his majesty's jail." the libellous parallel of augustus tomlinson. "we enter our career, mr. nabbem, as your embryo ministers enter parliament,--by bribery and corruption. there is this difference, indeed, between the two cases: we are enticed to enter by the bribery and corruptions of others; they enter spontaneously by dint of their own. at first, deluded by romantic visions, we like the glory of our career better than the profit, and in our youthful generosity we profess to attack the rich solely from consideration for the poor! by and by, as we grow more hardened, we laugh at these boyish dreams,--peasant or prince fares equally at our impartial hands; we grasp at the bucket, but we scorn not the thimbleful; we use the word 'glory' only as a trap for proselytes and apprentices; our fingers, like an office-door, are open for all that can possibly come into them; we consider the wealthy as our salary, the poor as our perquisites. what is this, but a picture of your member of parliament ripening into a minister, your patriot mellowing into your placeman? and mark me, mr. nabbem! is not the very language of both as similar as the deeds? what is the phrase either of us loves to employ? 'to deliver.' what? 'the public.' and do not both invariably deliver it of the same thing,--namely, its purse? do we want an excuse for sharing the gold of our neighbours, or abusing them if they resist? is not our mutual, our pithiest plea, 'distress'? true, your patriot calls it 'distress of the country;' but does he ever, a whit more than we do, mean any distress but his own? when we are brought low, and our coats are shabby, do we not both shake our heads and talk of 'reform'? and when, oh! when we are up in the world, do we not both kick 'reform' to the devil? how often your parliament man 'vacates his seat,' only for the purpose of resuming it with a weightier purse! how often, dear ned, have our seats been vacated for the same end! sometimes, indeed, he really finishes his career by accepting the hundreds,--it is by 'accepting the hundreds' that ours may be finished too! [ned drew a long sigh.] note us now, mr. nabbem, in the zenith of our prosperity,--we have filled our pockets, we have become great in the mouths of our party. our pals admire us, and our blowens adore. what do we in this short-lived summer? save and be thrifty? ah, no! we must give our dinners, and make light of our lush. we sport horses on the race-course, and look big at the multitude we have bubbled. is not this your minister come into office? does not this remind you of his equipage, his palace, his plate? in both cases lightly won, lavishly wasted; and the public, whose cash we have fingered, may at least have the pleasure of gaping at the figure we make with it! this, then, is our harvest of happiness; our foes, our friends, are ready to eat us with envy,-- yet what is so little enviable as our station? have we not both our common vexations and our mutual disquietudes? do we not both bribe [nabbem shook his head and buttoned his waistcoat] our enemies, cajole our partisans, bully our dependants, and quarrel with our only friends,--namely, ourselves? is not the secret question with each, 'it is all confoundedly fine; but how long will it last?' now, mr. nabbem, note me,--reverse the portrait: we are fallen, our career is over,--the road is shut to us, and new plunderers are robbing the carriages that once we robbed. is not this the lot of-- no, no! i deceive myself! your ministers, your jobmen, for the most part milk the popular cow while there's a drop in the udder. your chancellor declines on a pension; your minister attenuates on a grant; the feet of your great rogues may be gone from the treasury benches, but they have their little fingers in the treasury. their past services are remembered by his majesty; ours only noted by the recorder. they save themselves, for they hang by one another; we go to the devil, for we hang by ourselves. we have our little day of the public, and all is over; but it is never over with them. we both hunt the same fox; but we are your fair riders, they are your knowing ones,--we take the leap, and our necks are broken; they sneak through the gates, and keep it up to the last!" as he concluded, tomlinson's head dropped on his bosom, and it was easy to see that painful comparisons, mingled perhaps with secret murmurs at the injustice of fortune, were rankling in his breast. long ned sat in gloomy silence; and even the hard heart of the severe mr. nabbem was softened by the affecting parallel to which he had listened. they had proceeded without speaking for two or three miles, when long ned, fixing his eyes on tomlinson, exclaimed,-- "do you know, tomlinson, i think it was a burning shame in lovett to suffer us to be carried off like muttons, without attempting to rescue us by the way! it is all his fault that we are here; for it was he whom nabbem wanted, not us." "very true," said the cunning policeman; "and if i were you, mr. pepper, hang me if i would not behave like a man of spirit, and show as little consarn for him as he shows for you! why, lord now, i doesn't want to 'tice you; but this i does know, the justices are very anxious to catch lovett; and one who gives him up, and says a word or two about his c'racter, so as to make conviction sartain, may himself be sartain of a free pardon for all little sprees and so forth!" "ah!" said long ned, with a sigh, "that is all very well, mr. nabbem, but i'll go to the crap like a gentleman, and not peach of my comrades; and now i think of it, lovett could scarcely have assisted us. one man alone, even lovett, clever as he is, could not have forced us out of the clutches of you and your myrmidons, mr. nabbem! and when we were once at -----, they took excellent care of us. but tell me now, my dear nabbem," and long ned's voice wheedled itself into something like softness,--"tell me, do you think the grazier will buff it home?" "no doubt of that," said the unmoved nabbem. long ned's face fell. "and what if he does?" said he; "they can but transport us!" "don't desave yourself, master pepper!" said nabbem: "you're too old a hand for the herring-pond. they're resolved to make gallows apples of all such numprels [nonpareils] as you!" ned cast a sullen look at the officer. "a pretty comforter you are!" said he. "i have been in a post chaise with a pleasanter fellow, i'll swear! you may call me an apple if you will, but, i take it, i am not an apple you'd like to see peeled." with this pugilistic and menacing pun, the lengthy hero relapsed into meditative silence. our travellers were now entering a road skirted on one side by a common of some extent, and on the other by a thick hedgerow, which through its breaks gave occasional glimpses of woodland and fallow, interspersed with cross-roads and tiny brooklets. "there goes a jolly fellow!" said nabbem, pointing to an athletic-looking man, riding before the carriage, dressed in a farmer's garb, and mounted on a large and powerful horse of the irish breed. "i dare say he is well acquainted with your grazier, mr. tomlinson; he looks mortal like one of the same kidney; and here comes another chap" (as the stranger, was joined by a short, stout, ruddy man in a carter's frock, riding on a horse less showy than his comrade's, but of the lengthy, reedy, lank, yet muscular race, which a knowing jockey would like to bet on). "now that's what i calls a comely lad!" continued nabbem, pointing to the latter horseman; "none of your thin-faced, dark, strapping fellows like that captain lovett, as the blowens raves about, but a, nice, tight little body, with a face like a carrot! that's a beauty for my money! honesty's stamped on his face, mr. tomlinson! i dare says" (and the officer grinned, for he had been a lad of the cross in his own day),-- "i dare says, poor innocent booby, he knows none of the ways of lunnun town; and if he has not as merry a life as some folks, mayhap he may have a longer. but a merry one forever for such lads as us, mr. pepper! i say, has you heard as how bill fang went to scratchland [scotland] and was stretched for smashing queer screens [that is, hung for uttering forged notes]? he died 'nation game; for when his father, who was a gray-headed parson, came to see him after the sentence, he says to the governor, say he, 'give us a tip, old 'un, to pay the expenses, and die dacently.' the parson forks him out ten shiners, preaching all the while like winkey. bob drops one of the guineas between his fingers, and says, 'holla, dad, you have only tipped us nine of the yellow boys! just now you said as how it was ten!' on this the parish-bull, who was as poor as if he had been a mouse of the church instead of the curate, lugs out another; and bob, turning round to the jailer, cries, 'flung the governor out of a guinea, by god!--[fact]--now, that's what i calls keeping it up to the last!" mr. nabbem had scarcely finished this anecdote, when the farmer-like stranger, who had kept up by the side of the chaise, suddenly rode to the window, and touching his hat, said in a norfolk accent,-- "were the gentlemen we met on the road belonging to your party? they were asking after a chaise and pair." "no!" said nabbem, "there be no gentlemen as belongs to our party!" so saying, he tipped a knowing wink at the farmer, and glanced over his shoulder at the prisoners. "what! you are going all alone?" said the farmer. "ay, to be sure," answered nabbem; "not much danger, i think, in the daytime, with the sun out as big as a sixpence, which is as big as ever i see'd him in this country!" at that moment the shorter stranger, whose appearance had attracted the praise of mr. nabbem (that personage was himself very short and ruddy), and who had hitherto been riding close to the post-horses, and talking to the officers on the box, suddenly threw himself from his steed, and in the same instant that he arrested the horses of the chaise, struck the postilion to the ground with a short heavy bludgeon which he drew from his frock. a whistle was heard and answered, as if by a signal: three fellows, armed with bludgeons, leaped from the hedge; and in the interim the pretended farmer, dismounting, flung open the door of the chaise, and seizing mr. nabbem by the collar, swung him to the ground with a celerity that became the circular rotundity of the policeman's figure rather than the deliberate gravity of his dignified office. rapid and instantaneous as had been this work, it was not without a check. although the policemen had not dreamed of a rescue in the very face of the day and on the high-road, their profession was not that which suffered them easily to be surprised. the two guardians of the dicky leaped nimbly to the ground; but before they had time to use their firearms, two of the new aggressors, who had appeared from the hedge, closed upon them, and bore them to the ground. while this scuffle took place, the farmer had disarmed the prostrate nabbem, and giving him in charge to the remaining confederate, extricated tomlinson and his comrade from the chaise. "hist!" said he in a whisper, "beware my name; my disguise hides me at present. lean on me,--only through the hedge; a cart waits there, and you are safe!" with these broken words he assisted the robbers as well as he could, in spite of their manacles, through the same part of the hedge from which the three allies had sprung. they were already through the barrier,-- only the long legs of ned pepper lingered behind,--when at the far end of the road, which was perfectly straight, a gentleman's carriage became visible. a strong hand from the interior of the hedge, seizing pepper, dragged him through; and clifford,--for the reader need not be told who was the farmer, perceiving the approaching reinforcement, shouted at once for flight. the robber who had guarded nabbem, and who indeed was no other than old bags, slow as he habitually was, lost not an instant in providing for himself; before you could say "laudamus," he was on the other side of the hedge. the two men engaged with the police-officers were not capable of an equal celerity; but clifford, throwing himself into the contest and engaging the policemen, gave the robbers the opportunity of escape. they scrambled through the fence; the officers, tough fellows and keen, clinging lustily to them, till one was felled by clifford, and the other, catching against a stump, was forced to relinquish his hold; he then sprang back into the road and prepared for clifford, who now, however, occupied himself rather in fugitive than warlike measures. meanwhile, the moment the other rescuers had passed the rubicon of the hedge, their flight, and that of the gentlemen who had passed before them, commenced. on this mystic side of the hedge was a cross-road, striking at once through an intricate and wooded part of the country, which allowed speedy and ample opportunities of dispersion. here a light cart, drawn by two swift horses in a tandem fashion, awaited the fugitives. long ned and augustus were stowed down at the bottom of this vehicle; three fellows filed away at their irons, and a fourth, who had hitherto remained inglorious with the cart, gave the lash--and he gave it handsomely--to the coursers. away rattled the equipage; and thus was achieved a flight still memorable in the annals of the elect, and long quoted as one of the boldest and most daring exploits that illicit enterprise ever accomplished. clifford and his equestrian comrade only remained in the field, or rather the road. the former sprang at once on his horse; the latter was not long in following the example. but the policeman, who, it has been said, baffled in detaining the fugitives of the hedge, had leaped back into the road, was not idle in the meanwhile. when he saw clifford about to mount, instead of attempting to seize the enemy, he recurred to his pistol, which in the late struggle hand to hand he had been unable to use, and taking sure aim at clifford, whom he judged at once to be the leader of the rescue, he lodged a ball in the right side of the robber at the very moment he had set spurs in his horse and turned to fly. clifford's head drooped to the saddle-bow. fiercely the horse sprang on. the robber endeavoured, despite his reeling senses, to retain his seat; once he raised his head, once he nerved his slackened and listless limbs, and then, with a faint groan, he fell to the earth. the horse bounded but one step more, and, true to the tutorship it had received, stopped abruptly. clifford raised himself with great difficulty on one arm; with the other hand he drew forth a pistol. he pointed it deliberately towards the officer that wounded him. the man stood motionless, cowering and spellbound, beneath the dilating eye of the robber. it was but for a moment that the man had cause for dread; for muttering between his ground teeth, "why waste it on _an enemy_?" clifford turned the muzzle towards the head of the unconscious steed, which seemed sorrowfully and wistfully to incline towards him. "thou," he said, "whom i have fed and loved, shalt never know hardship from another!" and with a merciful cruelty he dragged himself one pace nearer to his beloved steed, uttered a well- known word, which brought the docile creature to his side, and placing the muzzle of the pistol close to his ear, he fired, and fell back senseless at the exertion. the animal staggered, and dropped down dead. meanwhile clifford's comrade, profiting by the surprise and sudden panic of the officer, was already out of reach, and darting across the common, he and his ragged courser speedily vanished. chapter xxxii lose i not with him what fortune could in life allot? lose i not hope, life's cordial? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . in fact, the lessons he from prudence took were written in his mind as in a book; there what to do he read, and what to shun, and all commanded was with promptness done. he seemed without a passion to proceed, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . yet some believed those passions only slept! crabbe. relics of love, and life's enchanted spring! a. watts: on burning a packet of letters. many and sad and deep were the thoughts folded in thy silent breast! thou, too, could'st watch and weep! mrs. hemans. while sir william brandon was pursuing his ambitious schemes, and, notwithstanding lucy's firm and steady refusal of lord mauleverer, was still determined on that ill-assorted marriage; while mauleverer himself day after day attended at the judge's house, and, though he spoke not of love, looked it with all his might,--it became obvious to every one but the lover and the guardian, that lucy herself was rapidly declining in appearance and health. ever since the day she had last seen clifford, her spirits, before greatly shattered, had refused to regain even a likeness to their naturally cheerful and happy tone. she became silent and abstracted; even her gentleness of temper altered at times into a moody and fretful humour. neither to books nor music, nor any art by which time is beguiled, she recurred for a momentary alleviation of the bitter feelings at her heart, or for a transient forgetfulness of their sting. the whole world of her mind had been shaken. her pride was wounded, her love galled; her faith in clifford gave way at length to gloomy and dark suspicion. nothing, she now felt, but a name as well as fortunes utterly abandoned, could have justified him for the stubbornness of heart in which he had fled and deserted her. her own self-acquittal no longer consoled her in affliction. she condemned herself for her weakness, from the birth of her ill-starred affection to the crisis it had now acquired. "why did i not wrestle with it at first?" she said bitterly. "why did i allow myself so easily to love one unknown to me, and equivocal in station, despite the cautions of my uncle and the whispers of the world?" alas! lucy did not remember that at the time she was guilty of this weakness, she had not learned to reason as she since reasoned. her faculties were but imperfectly awakened; her experience of the world was utter ignorance. she scarcely knew that she loved, and she knew not at all that the delicious and excited sentiment which filled her being could ever become as productive of evil and peril as it had done now; and even had her reason been more developed, and her resolutions more strong, does the exertion of reason and resolution always avail against the master passion? love, it is true, is not unconquerable; but how few have ever, mind and soul, coveted the conquest! disappointment makes a vow, but the heart records it not. or in the noble image of one who has so tenderly and so truly portrayed the feelings of her own sex,-- "we make a ladder of our thoughts where angels step, but sleep ourselves at the foot!" [the history of the lyre, by l. e. l.] before clifford had last seen her, we have observed that lucy had (and it was a consolation) clung to the belief that, despite of appearances and his own confession, his past life had not been such as to place him without the pale of her just affections; and there were frequent moments when, remembering that the death of her father had removed the only being who could assert an unanswerable claim to the dictation of her actions, she thought that clifford, hearing her hand was utterly at her own disposal, might again appear, and again urge a suit which he felt so few circumstances could induce her to deny. all this half-acknowledged yet earnest train of reasoning and hope vanished from the moment he had quitted her uncle's house. his words bore no misinterpretation. he had not yielded even to her own condescension, and her cheek burned as she recalled it. yet he loved her. she saw, she knew it in his every word and look! bitter, then, and dark must be that remorse which could have conquered every argument but that which urged him to leave her, when he might have claimed her forever. true, that when his letter formally bade her farewell, the same self-accusing language was recurred to, the same dark hints and allusions to infamy or guilt; yet never till now had she interpreted them rigidly, and never till now had she dreamed how far their meaning could extend. still, what crimes could he have committed? the true ones never occurred to lucy. she shuddered to ask herself, and hushed her doubts in a gloomy and torpid silence. but through all her accusations against herself, and through all her awakened suspicions against clifford, she could not but acknowledge that something noble and not unworthy of her mingled in his conduct, and occasioned his resistance to her and to himself; and this belief, perhaps, irritated even while it touched her, and kept her feelings in a perpetual struggle and conflict which her delicate frame and soft mind were little able to endure. when the nerves once break, how breaks the character with them! how many ascetics, withered and soured, do we meet in the world, who but for one shock to the heart and form might have erred on the side of meekness! whether it come from woe or disease, the stroke which mars a single fibre plays strange havoc with the mind. slaves we are to our muscles, and puppets to the spring of the capricious blood; and the great soul, with all its capacities, its solemn attributes, and sounding claims, is, while on earth, but a jest to this mountebank,--the body,--from the dream which toys with it for an hour, to the lunacy which shivers it into a driveller, laughing as it plays with its own fragments, and reeling benighted and blinded to the grave! we have before said that lucy was fond both of her uncle and his society; and still, whenever the subject of lord mauleverer and his suit was left untouched, there was that in the conversation of sir william brandon which aroused an interest in her mind, engrossed and self-consuming as it had become. sorrow, indeed, and sorrow's companion, reflection, made her more and more capable of comprehending a very subtle and intricate character. there is no secret for discovering the human heart like affliction, especially the affliction which springs from passion. does a writer startle you with his insight into your nature, be sure that he has mourned; such lore is the alchemy of tears. hence the insensible and almost universal confusion of idea which confounds melancholy with depth, and finds but hollow inanity in the symbol of a laugh. pitiable error! reflection first leads us to gloom, but its next stage is to brightness. the laughing philosopher had reached the goal of wisdom; heraclitus whimpered at the starting-post. but enough for lucy to gain even the vestibule of philosophy. notwithstanding the soreness we naturally experience towards all who pertinaciously arouse an unpleasant subject, and in spite therefore of brandon's furtherance of mauleverer's courtship, lucy felt herself inclined strangely, and with something of a daughter's affection, towards this enigmatical being; in spite, too, of all the cold and measured vice of his character,--the hard and wintry grayness of heart with which he regarded the welfare of others, or the substances of truth, honour, and virtue,--the callousness of his fossilized affections, which no human being softened but for a moment, and no warm and healthful impulse struck, save into an evanescent and idle flash;--in spite of this consummate obduracy and worldliness of temperament, it is not paradoxical to say that there was something in the man which lucy found at times analogous to her own vivid and generous self. this was, however, only noticeable when she led him to talk over earlier days, and when by degrees the sarcastic lawyer forgot the present, and grew eloquent, not over the actions, but the feelings of the past. he would speak to her for hours of his youthful dreams, his occupations, or his projects, as a boy. above all, he loved to converse with her upon warlock, its remains of ancient magnificence, the green banks of the placid river that enriched its domains, and the summer pomp of wood and heath-land, amidst which his noonday visions had been nursed. when he spoke of these scenes and days, his countenance softened, and something in its expression, recalling to lucy the image of one still dearer, made her yearn to him the more. an ice seemed broken from his mind, and streams of released and gentle feelings, mingled with kindly and generous sentiment, flowed forth. suddenly a thought, a word, brought him back to the present,--his features withered abruptly into their cold placidity or latent sneer; the seal closed suddenly on the broken spell, and, like the victim of a fairy-tale, condemned at a stated hour to assume another shape, the very being you had listened to seemed vanished, and replaced by one whom you startled to behold. but there was one epoch of his life on which he was always silent, and that was his first onset into the actual world,--the period of his early struggle into wealth and fame. all that space of time seemed as a dark gulf, over which he had passed, and become changed at once,--as a traveller landing in a strange climate may adopt, the moment he touches its shore, its costume and its language. all men--the most modest--have a common failing; but it is one which often assumes the domino and mask,--pride! brandon was, however, proud to a degree very rare in men who have risen and flourished in the world. out of the wrecks of all other feelings this imperial survivor made one great palace for its residence, and called the fabric "disdain." scorn was the real essence of brandon's nature; even in the blandest disguises, the smoothness of his voice, the insinuation of his smile, the popular and supple graces of his manners, an oily derision floated, rarely discernible, it is true, but proportioning its strength and quantum to the calm it produced. in the interim, while his character thus displayed and contradicted itself in private life, his fame was rapidly rising in public estimation. unlike many of his brethren, the brilliant lawyer had exceeded expectation, and shone even yet more conspicuously in the less adventitiously aided duties of the judge. envy itself--and brandon's political virulence had, despite his personal affability, made him many foes--was driven into acknowledging the profundity of his legal knowledge, and in admiring the manner in which the peculiar functions of his novel dignity were discharged. no juvenile lawyer browbeat, no hackneyed casuist puzzled, him; even his attention never wandered from the dullest case subjected to his tribunal. a painter, desirous of stamping on his canvas the portrait of an upright judge, could scarcely have found a finer realization for his beau-ideal than the austere, collected, keen, yet majestic countenance of sir william brandon, such as it seemed in the trappings of office and from the seat of justice. the newspapers were not slow in recording the singular capture of the notorious lovett. the boldness with which he had planned and executed the rescue of his comrades, joined to the suspense in which his wound for some time kept the public, as to his escape from one death by the postern gate of another, caused a very considerable ferment and excitation in the popular mind; and, to feed the impulse, the journalists were little slothful in retailing every anecdote, true or false, which they could collect touching the past adventures of the daring highwayman. many a good story then came to light, which partook as much of the comic as the tragic,--for not a single one of the robber's adventures was noted for cruelty or bloodshed; many of them betokened rather an hilarious and jovial spirit of mirthful enterprise. it seemed as if he had thought the highway a capital arena for jokes, and only robbed for the sake of venting a redundant affection for jesting. persons felt it rather a sin to be severe with a man of so merry a disposition; and it was especially observable that not one of the ladies who had been despoiled by the robber could be prevailed on to prosecute; on the contrary, they always talked of the event as one of the most agreeable remembrances in their lives, and seemed to bear a provoking gratitude to the comely offender, rather than resentment. all the gentlemen were not, however, of so placable a temper; and two sturdy farmers, with a grazier to boot, were ready to swear, "through thick and thin," to the identity of the prisoner with a horseman who had civilly borne each of them company for an hour in their several homeward rides from certain fairs, and had carried the pleasure of his society, they very gravely asserted, considerably beyond a joke; so that the state of the prisoner's affairs took a very sombre aspect, and the counsel--an old hand--intrusted with his cause declared confidentially that there was not a chance. but a yet more weighty accusation, because it came from a much nobler quarter, awaited clifford. in the robbers' cavern were found several articles answering exactly to the description of those valuables feloniously abstracted from the person of lord mauleverer. that nobleman attended to inspect the articles, and to view the prisoner. the former he found himself able to swear to, with a very tranquillized conscience; the latter he beheld feverish, attenuated, and in a moment of delirium, on the sick-bed to which his wound had brought him. he was at no loss, however, to recognize in the imprisoned felon the gay and conquering clifford, whom he had once even honoured with his envy. although his former dim and vague suspicions of clifford were thus confirmed, the good-natured peer felt some slight compunction at appearing as his prosecutor. this compunction, however, vanished the moment he left the sick man's apartment; and after a little patriotic conversation with the magistrates about the necessity of public duty,--a theme which brought virtuous tears into the eyes of those respectable functionaries,--he re-entered his carriage, returned to town, and after a lively dinner _tete-a-tete_ with an old _chere amie_, who, of all her charms, had preserved only the attraction of conversation and the capacity of relishing a _salami_, mauleverer, the very evening of his return, betook himself to the house of sir william brandon. when he entered the hall, barlow, the judge's favourite servant, met him, with rather a confused and mysterious air, and arresting him as he was sauntering into brandon's library, informed him that sir william was particularly engaged, but would join his lordship in the drawing-room. while barlow was yet speaking, and mauleverer was bending his right ear (with which he heard the best) towards him, the library door opened, and a man in a very coarse and ruffianly garb awkwardly bowed himself out. "so this is the particular engagement," thought mauleverer,--"a strange sir pandarus; but those old fellows have droll tastes." "i may go in now, my good fellow, i suppose?" said his lordship to barlow; and without waiting an answer, he entered the library. he found brandon alone, and bending earnestly over some letters which strewed his table. mauleverer carelessly approached, and threw himself into an opposite chair. sir william lifted his head, as he heard the movement; and mauleverer, reckless as was that personage, was chilled and almost awed by the expression of his friend's countenance. brandon's face was one which, however pliant, nearly always wore one pervading character,-- calmness; whether in the smoothness of social courtesy, or the austerity of his official station, or the bitter sarcasm which escaped him at no unfrequent intervals, still a certain hard and inflexible dryness stamped both his features and his air. but at this time a variety of feelings not ordinarily eloquent in the outward man struggled in his dark face, expressive of all the energy and passion of his powerful and masculine nature; there seemed to speak from his features and eyes something of shame and anger and triumph and regret and scorn. all these various emotions, which it appears almost a paradox to assert met in the same expression, nevertheless were so individually and almost fearfully stamped as to convey at once their signification to the mind of mauleverer. he glanced towards the letters, in which the writing seemed faint and discoloured by time or damp; and then once more regarding the face of brandon, said in rather an anxious and subdued tone,-- "heavens, brandon! are you ill; or has anything happened? you alarm me!" "do you recognize these locks?" said brandon, in a hollow voice; and from under the letters he drew some ringlets of an auburn hue, and pushed them with an averted face towards mauleverer. the earl took them up, regarded them for a few moments, changed colour, but shook his head with a negative gesture, as he laid them once more on the table. "this handwriting, then?" renewed the judge, in a yet more impressive and painful voice; and he pointed to the letters. mauleverer raised one of them, and held it between his face and the lamp, so that whatever his features might have betrayed was hidden from his companion. at length he dropped the letter with an affected nonchalance, and said,-- "ah, i know the writing even at this distance of time; this letter is directed to you!" "it is; so are all these," said brandon, with the same voice of preternatural and strained composure. "they have come back to me after an absence of nearly twenty-five years; they are the letters she wrote to me in the days of our courtship" (here brandon laughed scornfully),--"she carried them away with her, you know when; and (a pretty clod of consistency is woman!) she kept them, it seems, to her dying day." the subject in discussion, whatever it might be, appeared a sore one to mauleverer; he turned uneasily on his chair, and said at length,-- "well, poor creature! these are painful remembrances, since it turned out so unhappily; but it was not our fault, dear brandon. we were men of the world; we knew the value of--of women, and treated them accordingly!" "right! right! right!" cried brandon, vehemently, laughing in a wild and loud disdain, the intense force of which it would be in vain to attempt expressing. "right! and, faith, my lord, i repine not, nor repent." "so, so, that's well!" said mauleverer, still not at his ease, and hastening to change the conversation. "but, my dear brandon, i have strange news for you! you remember that fellow clifford, who had the insolence to address himself to your adorable niece? i told you i suspected that long friend of his of having made my acquaintance somewhat unpleasantly, and i therefore doubted of clifford himself. well, my dear friend, this clifford is--whom do you think?--no other than mr. lovett of newgate celebrity!" "you do not say so!" rejoined brandon, apathetically, as he slowly gathered his papers together and deposited them in a drawer. "indeed it is true; and what is more, brandon, this fellow is one of the very identical highwaymen who robbed me on my road from bath. no doubt he did me the same kind office on my road to mauleverer park." "possibly," said brandon, who appeared absorbed in a revery. "ay!" answered mauleverer, piqued at this indifference. "but do you not see the consequences to your niece?" "my niece!" repeated brandon, rousing himself. "certainly. i grieve to say it, my dear friend,--but she was young, very young, when at bath. she suffered this fellow to address her too openly. nay,--for i will be frank,--she was suspected of being in love with him!" "she was in love with him," said brandon, dryly, and fixing the malignant coldness of his eye upon the suitor. "and, for aught i know," added he, "she is so at this moment." "you are cruel!" said mauleverer, disconcerted. "i trust not, for the sake of my continued addresses." "my dear lord," said brandon, urbanely taking the courtier's hand, while the _anguis in herba_ of his sneer played around his compressed lips,-- "my dear lord, we are old friends, and need not deceive each other. you wish to marry my niece because she is an heiress of great fortune, and you suppose that my wealth will in all probability swell her own. moreover, she is more beautiful than any other young lady of your acquaintance, and, polished by your example, may do honour to your taste as well as your prudence. under these circumstances, you will, i am quite sure, look with lenity on her girlish errors, and not love her the less because her foolish fancy persuades her that she is in love with another." "ahem!" said mauleverer, "you view the matter with more sense than sentiment; but look you, brandon, we must try, for both our sakes, if possible, to keep the identity of lovett with clifford from being known. i do not see why it should be. no doubt he was on his guard while playing the gallant, and committed no atrocity at bath. the name of clifford is hitherto perfectly unsullied. no fraud, no violence are attached to the appellation; and if the rogue will but keep his own counsel, we may hang him out of the way without the secret transpiring." "but if i remember right," said brandon, "the newspapers say that this lovett will be tried some seventy or eighty miles only from bath, and that gives a chance of recognition." "ay, but he will be devilishly altered, i imagine; for his wound has already been but a bad beautifier to his face. moreover, if the dog has any delicacy, he will naturally dislike to be known as the gallant of that gay city where he shone so successfully, and will disguise himself as well as he is able. i hear wonders of his powers of self- transformation." "but he may commit himself on the point between this and his trial," said brandon. "i think of ascertaining how far that is likely, by sending my valet down to him (you know one treats these gentlemen highwaymen with a certain consideration, and hangs them with all due respect to their feelings), to hint that it will be doubtless very unpleasant to him, under his 'present unfortunate circumstances' (is not that the phrase?), to be known as the gentleman who enjoyed so deserved a popularity at bath, and that, though 'the laws of my country compel me' to prosecute him, yet, should he desire it, he may be certain that i will preserve his secret. come, brandon, what say you to that manoeuvre? it will answer my purpose, and make the gentleman--for doubtless he is all sensibility--shed tears at my generous forbearance!" "it is no bad idea," said brandon. "i commend you for it. at all events, it is necessary that my niece should not know the situation of her lover. she is a girl of a singular turn of mind, and fortune has made her independent. who knows but that she might commit some folly or another, write petitions to the king, and beg me to present them, or go-- for she has a world of romance in her--to prison, to console him; or, at all events, she would beg my kind offices on his behalf,--a request peculiarly awkward, as in all probability i shall have the honour of trying him." "ay, by the by, so you will. and i fancy the poor rogue's audacity will not cause you to be less severe than you usually are. they say you promise to make more human pendulums than any of your brethren." "they do say that, do they?" said brandon. "well, i own i have a bile against my species; i loathe their folly and their half vices. 'ridet et odit'--["he laughs and hates"]--is my motto; and i allow that it is not the philosophy that makes men merciful!" "well, juvenal's wisdom be yours, mine be horace's!" rejoined mauleverer, as he picked his teeth; "but i am glad you see the absolute necessity of keeping this secret from lucy's suspicion. she never reads the papers, i suppose? girls never do!" "no! and i will take care not to have them thrown in her way; and as, in consequence of my poor brother's recent death, she sees nobody but us, there is little chance, should lovett's right to the name of clifford be discovered, that it should reach her ears." "but those confounded servants?" "true enough! but consider that before they know it, the newspapers will; so that, should it be needful, we shall have our own time to caution them. i need only say to lucy's woman, 'a poor gentleman, a friend of the late squire, whom your mistress used to dance with, and you must have seen,--captain clifford,--is to be tried for his life. it will shock her, poor thing! in her present state of health, to tell her of so sad an event to her father's friend; therefore be silent, as you value your place and ten guineas,'--and i may be tolerably sure of caution!" "you ought to be chairman to the ways and means committee!" cried mauleverer. "my mind is now easy; and when once poor clifford is gone,-- fallen from a high estate,--we may break the matter gently to her; and as i intend thereon to be very respectful, very delicate, etc., she cannot but be sensible of my kindness and real affection!" "and if a live dog be better than a dead lion," added brandon, "surely a lord in existence will be better than a highwayman hanged!" "according to ordinary logic," rejoined mauleverer, "that syllogism is clear enough; and though i believe a girl may cling now and then to the memory of a departed lover, i do not think she will when the memory is allied with shame. love is nothing more than vanity pleased; wound the vanity, and you destroy the love! lucy will be forced, after having made so bad a choice of a lover, to make a good one in a husband, in order to recover her self-esteem!" "and therefore you are certain of her!" said brandon, ironically. "thanks to my star,--my garter,--my ancestor, the first baron, and myself, the first earl,--i hope i am," said mauleverer; and the conversation turned. mauleverer did not stay much longer with the judge; and brandon, left alone, recurred once more to the, perusal of his letters. we scarcely know what sensations it would have occasioned in one who had known brandon only in his later years, could he have read those letters referring to so much earlier a date. there was in the keen and arid character of the man so little that recalled any idea of courtship or youthful gallantry that a correspondence of that nature would have appeared almost as unnatural as the loves of plants, or the amatory softenings of a mineral. the correspondence now before brandon was descriptive of various feelings, but all appertaining to the same class; most of them were apparent answers to letters from him. one while they replied tenderly to expressions of tenderness, but intimated a doubt whether the writer would be able to constitute his future happiness, and atone for certain sacrifices of birth and fortune and ambitious prospects, to which she alluded: at other times, a vein of latent coquetry seemed to pervade the style,--an indescribable air of coolness and reserve contrasted former passages in the correspondence, and was calculated to convey to the reader an impression that the feelings of the lover were not altogether adequately returned. frequently the writer, as if brandon had expressed himself sensible of this conviction, reproached him for unjust jealousy and unworthy suspicion. and the tone of the reproach varied in each letter; sometimes it was gay and satirizing; at others soft and expostulatory; at others gravely reasoning, and often haughtily indignant. still, throughout the whole correspondence, on the part of the mistress, there was a sufficient stamp of individuality to give a shrewd examiner some probable guess at the writer's character. he would have judged her, perhaps, capable of strong and ardent feeling, but ordinarily of a light and capricious turn, and seemingly prope to imagine and to resent offence. with these letters were mingled others in brandon's writing,--of how different, of how impassioned a description! all that a deep, proud, meditative, exacting character could dream of love given, or require of love returned, was poured burningly over the pages; yet they were full of reproach, of jealousy, of a nice and torturing observation, as calculated to wound as the ardour might be fitted to charm; and often the bitter tendency to disdain that distinguished his temperament broke through the fondest enthusiasm of courtship or the softest outpourings of love. "you saw me not yesterday," he wrote in one letter, "but i saw you; all day i was by you: you gave not a look which passed me unnoticed; you made not a movement which i did not chronicle in my memory. julia, do you tremble when i tell you this? yes, if you have a heart, i know these words would stab it to the core! you may affect to answer me indignantly! wise dissembler! it is very skilful, very, to assume anger when you have no reply. i repeat during the whole of that party of pleasure (pleasure! well, your tastes, it must be acknowledged, are exquisite!) which you enjoyed yesterday, and which you so faintly asked me to share, my eye was on you. you did not know that i was in the wood when you took the grin of the incomparable digby, with so pretty a semblance of alarm at the moment the snake which my foot disturbed glided across your path. you did not know i was within hearing of the tent where you made so agreeable a repast, and from which your laughter sent peals so many and so numerous. laughter! o julia, can you tell me that you love, and yet be happy, even to mirth, when i am away! love! o god, how different a sensation is mine! mine makes my whole principle of life! yours! i tell you that i think at moments i would rather have your hate than the lukewarm sentiment you bear to me, and honour by the name of affection.' pretty phrase! i have no affection for you! give me not that sickly word; but try with me, julia, to invent some expression that has never filtered a paltry meaning through the lips of another! affection! why, that is a sister's word, a girl's word to her pet squirrel! never was it made for that ruby and most ripe mouth! shall i come to your house this evening? your mother has asked me, and you--you heard her, and said nothing. oh! but that was maiden reserve, was it? and maiden reserve caused you to take up a book the moment i left you, as if my company made but an ordinary amusement instantly to be replaced by another! when i have seen you, society, books, food, all are hateful to me; but you, sweet julia, you can read, can you? why, when i left you, i lingered by the parlour window for hours, till dusk, and you never once lifted your eyes, nor saw me pass and repass. at least i thought you would have watched my steps when i left the house; but i err, charming moralist! according to you, that vigilance would have been meanness." in another part of the correspondence a more grave if not a deeper gush of feeling struggled for expression. "you say, julia, that were you to marry one who thinks so much of what he surrenders for you, and who requires from yourself so vast a return of love, you should tremble for the future happiness of both of us. julia, the triteness of that fear proves that you love not at all. i do not tremble for our future happiness; on the contrary, the intensity of my passion for you makes me know that we never can be happy, never beyond the first rapture of our union. happiness is a quiet and tranquil feeling. no feeling that i can possibly bear to you will ever receive those epithets,--i know that i shall be wretched and accursed when i am united to you. start not! i will presently tell you why. but i do not dream of happiness, neither (could you fathom one drop of the dark and limitless ocean of my emotions) would you name to me that word. it is not the mercantile and callous calculation of chances for 'future felicity' (what homily supplied you with so choice a term?) that enters into the heart that cherishes an all-pervading love. passion looks only to one object, to nothing beyond; i thirst, i consume, not for happiness, but you. were your possession inevitably to lead me to a gulf of anguish and shame, think you i should covet it one jot the less! if you carry one thought, one hope, one dim fancy, beyond the event that makes you mine, you may be more worthy of the esteem of others, but you are utterly undeserving of my love. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "i will tell you now why i know we cannot be happy. in the first place, when you say that i am proud of birth, that i am morbidly ambitious, that i am anxious to shine in the great world, and that after the first intoxication of love has passed away i shall feel bitterness against one who has so humbled my pride and darkened my prospects, i am not sure that you wholly err. but i am sure that the instant remedy is in your power. have you patience, julia, to listen to a kind of history of myself, or rather of my feelings? if so, perhaps it may be the best method of explaining all that i would convey. you will see, then, that my family pride and my worldly ambition are not founded altogether on those basements which move my laughter in another; if my feelings thereon are really, however, as you would insinuate, equal matter for derision, behold, my julia, i can laugh equally at them! so pleasant a thing to me is scorn, that i would rather despise myself than have no one to despise! but to my narrative! you must know that there are but two of us, sons of a country squire, of old family, which once possessed large possessions and something of historical renown. we lived in an old country-place; my father was a convivial dog, a fox-hunter, a drunkard, yet in his way a fine gentleman,--and a very disreputable member of society. the first feelings towards him that i can remember were those of shame. not much matter of family pride here, you will say! true, and that is exactly the reason which made me cherish family pride elsewhere. my father's house was filled with guests,--some high and some low; they all united in ridicule of the host. i soon detected the laughter, and you may imagine that it did not please me. meanwhile the old huntsman, whose family was about as ancient as ours, and whose ancestors had officiated in his capacity for the ancestors of his master time out of mind, told me story after story about the brandons of yore. i turned from the stories to more legitimate history, and found the legends were tolerably true. i learned to glow at this discovery; the pride, humbled when i remembered my sire, revived when i remembered my ancestors. i became resolved to emulate them, to restore a sunken name, and vowed a world of nonsense on the subject. the habit of brooding over these ideas grew on me. i never heard a jest broken on my paternal guardian, i never caught the maudlin look of his reeling eyes, nor listened to some exquisite inanity from his besotted lips, but that my thoughts flew instantly back to the sir charleses and the sir roberts of my race, and i comforted myself with the hope that the present degeneracy should pass away. hence, julia, my family pride; hence, too, another feeling you dislike in me,--disdain! i first learned to despise my father, the host, and i then despised my acquaintances, his guests; for i saw, while they laughed at him, that they flattered, and that their merriment was not the only thing suffered to feed at his expense. thus contempt grew up with me, and i had nothing to check it; for when i looked around i saw not one living thing that i could respect. this father of mine had the sense to think i was no idiot. he was proud (poor man!) of 'my talents,' namely, of prizes won at school, and congratulatory letters from my masters. he sent me to college. my mind took a leap there; i will tell you, prettiest, what it was! before i went thither i had some fine vague visions about virtue. i thought to revive my ancestral honours by being good; in short, i was an embryo king pepin. i awoke from this dream at the university. there, for the first time, i perceived the real consequence of rank. "at school, you know, julia, boys care nothing for a lord. a good cricketer, an excellent fellow, is worth all the earls in the peerage. but at college all that ceases; bats and balls sink into the nothingness in which corals and bells had sunk before. one grows manly, and worships coronets and carriages. i saw it was a fine thing to get a prize, but it was ten times a finer thing to get drunk with a peer. so, when i had done the first, my resolve to be worthy of my sires made me do the second,--not, indeed, exactly; i never got drunk: my father disgusted me with that vice betimes. to his gluttony i owe my vegetable diet, and to his inebriety my addiction to water. no, i did not get drunk with peers; but i was just as agreeable to them as if i had been equally embruted. i knew intimately all the 'hats' in the university, and i was henceforth looked up to by the 'caps,' as if my head had gained the height of every hat that i knew. [at cambridge the sons of noblemen and the eldest sons of baronets are allowed to wear hats instead of the academical cap.] but i did not do this immediately. i must tell you two little anecdotes that first initiated me into the secret of real greatness. "the first was this: i was sitting at dinner with some fellows of a college, grave men and clever. two of them, not knowing me, were conversing about me; they heard, they said, that i should never be so good a fellow as my father,--have such a cellar or keep such a house. 'i have met six earls there and a marquess,' quoth the other senior. 'and his son,' returned the first don, 'only keeps company with sizars, i believe.' 'so then,' said i to myself, 'to deserve the praise even of clever men, one must have good wines, know plenty of earls, and for swear sizars.' nothing could be truer than my conclusion. "anecdote the second is this: on the day i gained a high university prize i invited my friends to dine with me. four of them refused because they were engaged (they had been asked since i asked them), --to whom? the richest man at the university. these occurrences, happening at the same time, threw me into a profound revery. i awoke, and became a man of the world. i no longer resolved to be virtuous, and to hunt after the glory of your romans and your athenians,--i resolved to become rich, powerful, and of worldly repute. "i abjured my honest sizars, and as i said before, i courted some rich 'hats.' behold my first grand step in the world! i became the parasite and the flatterer. what! would my pride suffer this? verily, yes, my pride delighted in it; for it soothed my spirit of contempt to put these fine fellows to my use! it soothed me to see how easily i could cajole them, and to what a variety of purposes i could apply even the wearisome disgust of their acquaintance. nothing is so foolish as to say the idle great are of no use; they can be put to any use whatsoever that a wise man is inclined to make of them. well, julia, lo! my character already formed; the family pride, disdain, and worldly ambition,--there it is for you. after circumstances only strengthened the impression already made. i desired, on leaving college, to go abroad; my father had no money to give me. what signified that? i looked carelessly around for some wealthier convenience than the paternal board; i found it in a lord mauleverer. he had been at college with me, and i endured him easily as a companion,--for he had accomplishments, wit, and good- nature. i made him wish to go abroad, and i made him think he should die of ennui if i did not accompany him. to his request to that effect i reluctantly agreed, and saw everything in europe, which he neglected to see, at his expense. what amused me the most was the perception that i, the parasite, was respected by him; and he, the patron, was ridiculed by me! it would not have been so if i had depended on 'my virtue.' well, sweetest julia, the world, as i have said, gave to my college experience a sacred authority. i returned to england; and my father died, leaving to me not a sixpence, and to my brother an estate so mortgaged that he could not enjoy it, and so restricted that he could not sell it. it was now the time for me to profit by the experience i boasted of. i saw that it was necessary i should take some profession. professions are the masks to your pauper-rogue; they give respectability to cheating, and a diploma to feed upon others. i analyzed my talents, and looked to the customs of my country; the result was my resolution to take to the bar. i had an inexhaustible power of application; i was keen, shrewd, and audacious. all these qualities 'tell' at the courts of justice. i kept my legitimate number of terms; i was called; i went the circuit; i obtained not a brief,-- not a brief, julia! my health, never robust, gave way beneath study and irritation. i was ordered to betake myself to the country. i came to this village, as one both salubrious and obscure. i lodged in the house of your aunt; you came hither daily,--i saw you,--you know the rest. but where, all this time, were my noble friends? you will say. 'sdeath, since we had left college, they had learned a little of the wisdom i had then possessed; they were not disposed to give something for nothing; they had younger brothers, and cousins, and mistresses, and, for aught i know, children to provide for. besides, they had their own expenses; the richer a man is, the less he has to give. one of them would have bestowed on me a living, if i had gone into the church; another, a commission if i had joined his regiment. but i knew the day was past both for priest and soldier; and it was not merely to live, no, nor to live comfortably, but to enjoy power, that i desired; so i declined these offers. others of my friends would have been delighted to have kept me in their house, feasted me, joked with me, rode with me, nothing more! but i had already the sense to see that if a man dances himself into distinction, it is never by the steps of attendance. one must receive favours and court patronage, but it must be with the air of an independent man. my old friends thus rendered useless, my legal studies forbade me to make new, nay, they even estranged me from the old; for people may say what they please about a similarity of opinions being necessary to friendship,--a similarity of habits is much more so. it is the man you dine, breakfast, and lodge with, walk, ride, gamble, or thieve with, that is your friend; not the man who likes virgil as well as you do, and agrees with you in an admiration of handel. meanwhile my chief prey, lord mauleverer, was gone; he had taken another man's dulcinea, and sought out a bower in italy. from that time to this i have never heard of him nor seen him; i know not even his address. with the exception of a few stray gleanings from my brother, who, good easy man! i could plunder more, were i not resolved not to ruin the family stock, i have been thrown on myself; the result is that, though as clever as my fellows, i have narrowly shunned starvation,--had my wants been less simple, there would have been no shunning in the case; but a man is not easily starved who drinks water, and eats by the ounce. a more effectual fate might have befallen me. disappointment, wrath, baffled hope, mortified pride, all these, which gnawed at my heart, might have consumed it long ago; i might have fretted away as a garment which the moth eateth, had it not been for that fund of obstinate and iron hardness which nature--i beg pardon, there is no nature--circumstance bestowed upon me. this has borne me up, and will bear me yet through time and shame and bodily weakness and mental fever, until my ambition has won a certain height, and my disdain of human pettiness rioted in the external sources of fortune, as well as an inward fountain of bitter and self-fed consolation. yet, oh, julia! i know not if even this would have supported me, if at that epoch of life, when i was most wounded, most stricken in body, most soured in mind, my heart had not met and fastened itself to yours. i saw you, loved you; and life became to me a new object. even now, as i write to you, all my bitterness, my pride, vanish; everything i have longed for disappears; my very ambition is gone. i have no hope but for you, julia; beautiful, adored julia! when i love you, i love even my kind. oh, you know not the power you possess over me! do not betray it; you can yet make me all that my boyhood once dreamed, or you can harden every thought, feeling, sensation, into stone. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "i was to tell you why i look not for happiness in our union. you have now seen my nature. you have traced the history of my life, by tracing the history of my character. you see what i surrender in gaining you. i do not deny the sacrifice. i surrender the very essentials of my present mind and soul. i cease to be worldly. i cannot raise myself, i cannot revive my ancestral name; nay, i shall relinquish it forever. i shall adopt a disguised appellation. i shall sink into another grade of life. in some remote village, by means of some humbler profession than that i now follow, we must earn our subsistence, and smile at ambition. i tell you frankly, julia, when i close the eyes of my heart, when i shut you from my gaze, this sacrifice appalls me. but even then you force yourself before me, and i feel that one glance from your eye is more to me than all. if you could bear with me,--if you could soothe me,--if when a cloud is on me you could suffer it to pass away unnoticed, and smile on me the moment it is gone,--o julia! there would be then no extreme of poverty, no abasement of fortune, no abandonment of early dreams which would not seem to me rapture if coupled with the bliss of knowing that you are mine. never should my lip, never should my eye tell you that there is that thing on earth for which i repine or which i could desire. no, julia, could i flatter my heart with this hope, you would not find me dream of unhappiness and you united. but i tremble, julia, when i think of your temper and my own; you will conceive a gloomy look from one never mirthful is an insult, and you will feel every vent of passion on fortune or on others as a reproach to you. then, too, you cannot enter into my nature; you cannot descend into its caverns; you cannot behold, much less can you deign to lull, the exacting and lynx-eyed jealousy that dwells there. sweetest julia! every breath of yours, every touch of yours, every look of yours, i yearn for beyond all a mother's longing for the child that has been torn from her for years. your head leaned upon an old tree (do you remember it, near ------?), and i went every day, after seeing you, to kiss it. do you wonder that i am jealous? how can i love you as i do and be otherwise! my whole being is intoxicated with you! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "this then, your pride and mine, your pleasure in the admiration of others, your lightness, julia, make me foresee an eternal and gushing source of torture to my mind. i care not; i care for nothing so that you are mine, if but for one hour." it seems that, despite the strange, sometimes the unloverlike and fiercely selfish nature of these letters from brandon, something of a genuine tone of passion,--perhaps their originality,--aided, no doubt, by some uttered eloquence of the writer and some treacherous inclination on the part of the mistress, ultimately conquered; and that a union so little likely to receive the smile of a prosperous star was at length concluded. the letter which terminated the correspondence was from brandon: it was written on the evening before the marriage, which, it appeared by the same letter, was to be private and concealed. after a, rapturous burst of hope and joy, it continued thus:-- "yes, julia, i recant my words; i have no belief that you or i shall ever have cause hereafter for unhappiness. those eyes that dwelt so tenderly on mine; that hand whose pressure lingers yet in every nerve of my frame; those lips turned so coyly, yet, shall i say, reluctantly from me,--all tell me that you love me; and my fears are banished. love, which conquered my nature, will conquer the only thing i would desire to see altered in yours. nothing could ever make me adore you less, though you affect to dread it,--nothing but a knowledge that you are unworthy of me, that you have a thought for another; then i should not hate you. no; the privilege of my past existence would revive; i should revel in a luxury of contempt, i should despise you, i should mock you, and i should be once more what i was before i knew you. but why do i talk thus? my bride, my blessing, forgive me!" in concluding our extracts from this correspondence, we wish the reader to note, first, that the love professed by brandon seems of that vehement and corporeal nature which, while it is often the least durable, is often the most susceptible of the fiercest extremes of hatred or even of disgust; secondly, that the character opened by this sarcastic candour evidently required in a mistress either an utter devotion or a skilful address; and thirdly, that we have hinted at such qualities in the fair correspondent as did not seem sanguinely to promise either of these essentials. while with a curled yet often with a quivering lip the austere and sarcastic brandon slowly compelled himself to the task of proceeding through these monuments of former folly and youthful emotion, the further elucidation of those events, now rapidly urging on a fatal and dread catastrophe, spreads before us a narrative occurring many years prior to the time at which we are at present arrived. chapter xxxiii. clem. lift the dark veil of years! behind, what waits? a human heart. vast city, where reside all glories and all vilenesses; while foul, yet silent, through the roar of passions rolls the river of the darling sin, and bears a life and yet a poison on its tide. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . clem. thy wife? vict. avaunt! i've changed that word to "scorn"! clem. thy child? vict. ay, that strikes home,--my child, my child! love and hatred, by -------- to an obscure town in shire there came to reside a young couple, whose appearance and habits drew towards them from the neighbouring gossips a more than ordinary attention. they bore the name of welford. the man assumed the profession of a solicitor. he came without introduction or recommendation; his manner of life bespoke poverty; his address was reserved and even sour; and despite the notice and scrutiny with which he was regarded, he gained no clients and made no lawsuits. the want of all those decent charlatanisms which men of every profession are almost necessitated to employ, and the sudden and unushered nature of his coming were, perhaps, the cause of this ill-success. "his house was too small," people said, "for respectability." and little good could be got from a solicitor the very rails round whose door were so sadly in want of repainting! then, too, mrs. welford made a vast number of enemies. she was, beyond all expression, beautiful; and there was a certain coquetry in her manner which showed she was aware of her attractions. all the ladies of ------- hated her. a few people called on the young couple. welford received them coldly; their invitations were unaccepted, and, what was worse, they were never returned. the devil himself could not have supported an attorney under such circumstances. reserved, shabby, poor, rude, introductionless, a bad house, an unpainted railing, and a beautiful wife! nevertheless, though welford was not employed, he was, as we have said, watched. on their first arrival, which was in summer, the young pair were often seen walking together in the fields or groves which surrounded their home. sometimes they walked affectionately together, and it was observed with what care welford adjusted his wife's cloak or shawl around her slender shape, as the cool of the evening increased. but often his arm was withdrawn; he lingered behind, and they continued their walk or returned homeward in silence and apart. by degrees whispers circulated throughout the town that the new-married couple lived by no means happily. the men laid the fault on the stern- looking husband; the women, on the minx of a wife. however, the solitary servant whom they kept declared that though mr. welford did sometimes frown, and mrs. welford did sometimes weep, they were extremely attached to each other, and only quarrelled through love. the maid had had four lovers herself, and was possibly experienced in such matters. they received no visitors, near or from a distance; and the postman declared he had never seen a letter directed to either. thus a kind of mystery hung over the pair, and made them still more gazed on and still more disliked--which is saying a great deal--than they would have otherwise been. poor as welford was, his air and walk eminently bespoke what common persons term gentility. and in this he had greatly the advantage of his beautiful wife, who, though there was certainly nothing vulgar or plebeian in her aspect, altogether wanted the refinement of manner, look, and phrase which characterized welford. for about two years they lived in this manner, and so frugally and tranquilly that though welford had not any visible means of subsistence, no one could well wonder in what manner they did subsist. about the end of that time welford suddenly embarked a small sum in a county speculation. in the course of this adventure, to the great surprise of his neighbours, he evinced an extraordinary turn for calculation, and his habits plainly bespoke a man both of business and ability. this disposal of capital brought a sufficient return to support the welfords, if they had been so disposed, in rather a better style than heretofore. they remained, however, in much the same state; and the only difference that the event produced was the retirement of mr. welford from the profession he had embraced. he was no longer a solicitor! it must be allowed that he resigned no great advantages in this retirement. about this time some officers were quartered at ------; and one of them, a handsome lieutenant, was so struck with the charms of mrs. welford, whom he saw at church, that he lost no opportunity of testifying his admiration. it was maliciously yet not unfoundedly remarked that though no absolute impropriety could be detected in the manner of mrs. welford, she certainly seemed far from displeased with the evident homage of the young lieutenant. a blush tinged her cheek when she saw him; and the gallant coxcomb asserted that the blush was not always without a smile. emboldened by the interpretations of his vanity, and contrasting, as every one else did, his own animated face and glittering garb with the ascetic and gloomy countenance, the unstudied dress, and austere gait which destroyed in welford the effect of a really handsome person, our lieutenant thought fit to express his passion by a letter, which he conveyed to mrs. welford's pew. mrs. welford went not to church that day; the letter was found by a good-natured neighbour, and inclosed anonymously to the husband. whatever, in the secrecy of domestic intercourse, took place on this event was necessarily unknown; but the next sunday the face of mr. welford, which had never before appeared at church, was discerned by one vigilant neighbour,--probably the anonymous friend,--not in the same pew with his wife, but in a remote corner of the sacred house. and once, when the lieutenant was watching to read in mrs. welford's face some answer to his epistle, the same obliging inspector declared that welford's countenance assumed a sardonic and withering sneer that made his very blood to creep. however this be, the lieutenant left his quarters, and mrs. welford's reputation remained dissatisfactorily untarnished. shortly after this the county speculation failed, and it was understood that the welfords were about to leave the town, whither none knew,--some said to jail; but then, unhappily, no debts could be discovered. their bills had been "next to nothing;" but, at least, they had been regularly paid. however, before the rumoured emigration took place, a circumstance equally wonderful to the good people of occurred. one bright spring morning a party of pleasure from a great house in the vicinity passed through that town. most conspicuous of these was a young horseman, richly dressed, and of a remarkably showy and handsome appearance. not a little sensible of the sensation he created, this cavalier lingered behind his companions in order to eye more deliberately certain damsels stationed in a window, and who were quite ready to return his glances with interest. at this moment the horse, which was fretting itself fiercely against the rein that restrained it from its fellows, took a fright at a knife-grinder, started violently to one side, and the graceful cavalier, who had been thinking, not of the attitude best adapted to preserve his equilibrium, but to display his figure, was thrown with some force upon a heap of bricks and rubbish which had long, to the scandal of the neighbourhood, stood before the paintless railings around mr. welford's house. welford himself came out at the time, and felt compelled--for he was by no means one whose sympathetic emotions flowed easily--to give a glance to the condition of a man who lay motionless before his very door. the horseman quickly recovered his senses, but found himself unable to rise; one of his legs was broken. supported in the arms of his groom, he looked around, and his eye met welford's. an instant recognition gave life to the face of the former, and threw a dark blush over the sullen features of the latter. "heavens!" said the cavalier, "is that--" "hist, my lord!" cried welford, quickly interrupting him, and glancing round. "but you are hurt,--will you enter my house?" the horseman signified his assent, and, between the groom and welford, was borne within the shabby door of the ex-solicitor. the groom was then despatched with an excuse to the party, many of whom were already hastening around the house; and though one or two did force themselves across the inhospitable threshold, yet so soon as they had uttered a few expletives, and felt their stare sink beneath the sullen and chilling asperity of the host, they satisfied themselves that though it was d---d unlucky for their friend, yet they could do nothing for him at present; and promising to send to inquire after him the next day, they remounted and rode homeward, with an eye more attentive than usual to the motion of their steeds. they did not, however, depart till the surgeon of the town had made his appearance, and declared that the patient must not on any account be moved. a lord's leg was a windfall that did not happen every day to the surgeon of -------. all this while we may imagine the state of anxiety experienced in the town, and the agonized endurance of those rural nerves which are produced in scanty populations, and have so _taliacotian_ a sympathy with the affairs of other people. one day, two days, three days, a week, a fortnight, nay, a month, passed, and the lord was still the inmate of mr. welford's abode. leaving the gossips to feed on their curiosity,--"cannibals of their own hearts,"--we must give a glance towards the interior of the inhospitable mansion of the ex-solicitor. it was towards evening, the sufferer was supported on a sofa, and the beautiful mrs. welford, who had officiated as his nurse, was placing the pillow under the shattered limb. he himself was attempting to seize her hand, which she coyly drew back, and uttering things sweeter and more polished than she had ever listened to before. at this moment welford softly entered; he was unnoticed by either; and he stood at the door contemplating them with a smile of calm and self-hugging derision. the face of mephistopheles regarding margaret and faust might suggest some idea of the picture we design to paint; but the countenance of welford was more lofty, as well as comelier, in character, though not less malignant in expression, than that which the incomparable retsch has given to the mocking fiend. so utter, so congratulatory, so lordly was the contempt on welford's dark and striking features, that though he was in that situation in which ridicule usually attaches itself to the husband, it was the gallant and the wife that would have appeared to the beholder in a humiliating and unenviable light. after a momentary pause welford approached with a heavy step. the wife started; but with a bland and smooth expression, which since his sojourn in the town of had been rarely visible in his aspect, the host joined the pair, smiled on the nurse, and congratulated the patient on his progress towards recovery. the nobleman, well learned in the usages of the world, replied easily and gayly; and the conversation flowed on cheerfully enough till the wife, who had sat abstracted and apart, stealing ever and anon timid glances towards her husband and looks of a softer meaning towards the patient, retired from the room. welford then gave a turn to the conversation; he reminded the nobleman of the pleasant days they had passed in italy,--of the adventures they had shared, and the intrigues they had enjoyed. as the conversation warmed, it assumed a more free and licentious turn; and not a little, we ween, would the good folks of ----- have been amazed, could they have listened to the gay jests and the libertine maxims which flowed from the thin lips of that cold and severe welford, whose countenance gave the lie to mirth. of women in general they spoke with that lively contempt which is the customary tone with men of the world; only in welford it assumed a bitterer, a deeper, and a more philosophical cast than it did in his more animated yet less energetic guest. the nobleman seemed charmed with his friend; the conversation was just to his taste; and when welford had supported him up to bed, he shook that person cordially by the hand, and hoped he should soon see him in very different circumstances. when the peer's door was closed on welford, he stood motionless for some moments; he then with a soft step ascended to his own chamber. his wife slept soundly; beside the bed was the infant's cradle. as his eyes fell on the latter, the rigid irony, now habitual to his features, relaxed; he bent over the cradle long and in deep silence. the mother's face, blended with the sire's, was stamped on the sleeping and cherub countenance before him; and as at length, rousing from his revery, he kissed it gently, he murmured,-- "when i look on you i will believe that she once loved me. pah!" he said abruptly, and rising, "this fatherly sentiment for a -----'s offering is exquisite in me!" so saying, without glancing towards his wife, who, disturbed by the loudness of his last words, stirred uneasily, he left the room, and descended into that where he had conversed with his guest. he shut the door with caution, and striding to and fro the humble apartment, gave vent to thoughts marshalled somewhat in the broken array in which they now appear to the reader:-- "ay, ay, she has been my ruin! and if i were one of your weak fools who make a gospel of the silliest and most mawkish follies of this social state, she would now be my disgrace; but instead of my disgrace, i will make her my footstool to honour and wealth. and, then, to the devil with the footstool! yes! two years i have borne what was enough to turn my whole blood into gall,--inactivity, hopelessness, a wasted heart and life in myself; contumely from the world; coldness, bickering, ingratitude from the one for whom (oh, ass that i was!) i gave up the most cherished part of my nature,--rather, my nature itself! two years i have borne this, and now will i have my revenge. i will sell her,--sell her! god! i will sell her like the commonest beast of a market! and this paltry piece of false coin shall buy me--my world! other men's vengeance comes from hatred,--a base, rash, unphilosophical sentiment! mine comes from scorn,--the only wise state for the reason to rest in. other men's vengeance ruins themselves; mine shall save me! ha! how my soul chuckles when i look at this pitiful pair, who think i see them not, and know that every movement they make is on a mesh of my web! yet," and welford paused slowly,--"yet i cannot but mock myself when i think of the arch gull that this boy's madness, love,--love, indeed! the very word turns me sick with loathing,--made of me. had that woman, silly, weak, automatal as she is, really loved me; had she been sensible of the unspeakable sacrifice i had made to her (antony's was nothing to it,--he lost a real world only; mine was the world of imagination); had she but condescended to learn my nature, to subdue the woman's devil at her own,--i could have lived on in this babbling hermitage forever, and fancied myself happy and resigned,--i could have become a different being. i fancy i could have become what your moralists (quacks!) call 'good.' but this fretting frivolity of heart, this lust of fool's praise, this peevishness of temper, this sullenness in answer to the moody thought, which in me she neither fathomed nor forgave, this vulgar, daily, hourly pining at the paltry pinches of the body's poverty, the domestic whine, the household complaint,--when i--i have not a thought for such pitiful trials of affection; and all this while my curses, my buried hope and disguised spirit and sunken name not thought of; the magnitude of my surrender to her not even comprehended; nay, her 'inconveniences'--a dim hearth, i suppose, or a daintiless table--compared, ay, absolutely compared, with all which i abandoned for her sake! as if it were not enough,--had i been a fool, an ambitionless, soulless fool,-the mere thought that i had linked my name to that of a tradesman,--i beg pardon, a retired tradesman!--as if that knowledge--a knowledge i would strangle my whole race, every one who has ever met, seen me, rather than they should penetrate--were not enough, when she talks of 'comparing,' to make me gnaw the very flesh from my bones! no, no, no! never was there so bright a turn in my fate as when this titled coxcomb, with his smooth voice and gaudy fripperies, came hither! i will make her a tool to carve my escape from this cavern wherein she has plunged me. i will foment 'my lord's' passion, till 'my lord' thinks 'the passion' (a butterfly's passion!) worth any price. i will then make my own terms, bind 'my lord' to secrecy, and get rid of my wife, my shame, and the obscurity of mr. welford forever. bright, bright prospects! let me shut my eyes to enjoy you! but softly! my noble friend calls himself a man of the world, skilled in human nature, and a derider of its prejudices; true enough, in his own little way--thanks not to enlarged views, but a vicious experience--so he is! the book of the world is a vast miscellany; he is perfectly well acquainted, doubtless, with those pages that treat of the fashions,--profoundly versed, i warrant, in the 'magasin des modes' tacked to the end of the index. but shall i, even with all the mastership which my mind must exercise over his,--shall i be able utterly to free myself in this 'peer of the world's' mind from a degrading remembrance? cuckold! cuckold! 't is an ugly word; a convenient, willing cuckold, humph!--there is no grandeur, no philosophical varnish in the phrase. let me see--yes! i have a remedy for all that. i was married privately,--well! under disguised names,--well! it was a stolen marriage, far from her town,--well! witnesses unknown to her,--well! proofs easily secured to my possession,--excellent! the fool shall believe it a forged marriage, an ingenious gallantry of mine; i will wash out the stain cuckold with the water of another word; i will make market of a mistress, not a wife. i will warn him not to acquaint her with this secret; let me consider for what reason,--oh! my son's legitimacy may be convenient to me hereafter. he will understand that reason, and i will have his 'honour' thereon. and by the way, i do care for that legitimacy, and will guard the proofs. i love my child,--ambitious men do love their children. i may become a lord myself, and may wish for a lord to succeed me; and that son is mine, thank heaven! i am sure on that point,--the only child, too, that ever shall arise to me. never, i swear, will i again put myself beyond my own power! all my nature, save one passion, i have hitherto mastered; that passion shall henceforth be my slave, my only thought be ambition, my only mistress be the world!" as thus terminated the revery of a man whom the social circumstances of the world were calculated, as if by system, to render eminently and basely wicked, welford slowly ascended the stairs, and re-entered his chamber. his wife was still sleeping. her beauty was of the fair and girlish and harmonized order, which lovers and poets would express by the word "angelic;" and as welford looked upon her face, hushed and almost hallowed by slumber, a certain weakness and irresolution might have been discernible in the strong lines of his haughty features. at that moment, as if forever to destroy the return of hope or virtue to either, her lips moved, they uttered one word,--it was the name of welford's courtly guest. about three weeks from that evening mrs. welford eloped with the young nobleman, and on the morning following that event the distracted husband with his child disappeared forever from the town of -----. from that day no tidings whatsoever respecting him ever reached the titillated ears of his anxious neighbours; and doubt, curiosity, discussion, gradually settled into the belief that his despair had hurried him into suicide. although the unfortunate mrs. welford was in reality of a light and frivolous turn, and, above all, susceptible to personal vanity, she was not without ardent affections and keen sensibilities. her marriage had been one of love,--that is to say, on her part, the ordinary love of girls, who love not through actual and natural feeling so much as forced predisposition. her choice had fallen on one superior to herself in birth, and far above all, in person and address, whom she had habitually met. thus her vanity had assisted her affection, and something strange and eccentric in the temper and mind of welford had, though at times it aroused her fear, greatly contributed to inflame her imagination. then, too, though an uncourtly, he had been a passionate and a romantic lover. she was sensible that he gave up for her much that he had previously conceived necessary to his existence; and she stopped not to inquire how far this devotion was likely to last, or what conduct on her part might best perpetuate the feelings from which it sprang. she had eloped with him. she had consented to a private marriage. she had passed one happy month, and then delusion vanished! mrs. welford was not a woman who could give to reality, or find in it, the charm equal to delusion. she was perfectly unable to comprehend the intricate and dangerous character of her husband. she had not the key to his virtues, nor the spell for his vices. neither was the state to which poverty compelled them one well calculated for that tender meditation, heightened by absence and cherished in indolence, which so often supplies one who loves with the secret to the nature of the one beloved. though not equal to her husband in birth or early prospects, mrs. welford had been accustomed to certain comforts, often more felt by those who belong to the inferior classes than by those appertaining to the more elevated, who in losing one luxury will often cheerfully surrender all. a fine lady can submit to more hardships than her woman; and every gentleman who travels smiles at the privations which agonize his valet. poverty and its grim comrades made way for a whole host of petty irritations and peevish complaints; and as no guest or visitor ever relieved the domestic discontent, or broke on the domestic bickering, they generally ended in that moody sullenness which so often finds love a grave in repentance. nothing makes people tire of each other like a familiarity that admits of carelessness in quarrelling and coarseness in complaining. the biting sneer of welford gave acrimony to the murmur of his wife; and when once each conceived the other the injurer, or him or herself the wronged, it was vain to hope that one would be more wary, or the other more indulgent. they both exacted too much, and the wife in especial conceded too little. mrs. welford was altogether and emphatically what a libertine calls "a woman,"--such as a frivolous education makes a woman,--generous in great things, petty in small; vain, irritable, full of the littleness of herself and her complaints, ready to plunge into an abyss with her lover, but equally ready to fret away all love with reproaches when the plunge had been made. of all men, welford could bear this the least. a woman of a larger heart, a more settled experience, and an intellect capable of appreciating his character and sounding all his qualities, might have made him perhaps a useful and a great man, and, at least, her lover for life. amidst a harvest of evil feelings the mere strength of his nature rendered him especially capable of intense feeling and generous emotion. one who relied on him was safe; one who rebelled against him trusted only to the caprice of his scorn. still, however, for two years, love, though weakening with each hour, fought on in either breast, and could scarcely be said to be entirely vanquished in the wife, even when she eloped with her handsome seducer. a french writer has said pithily enough: "compare for a moment the apathy of a husband with the attention, the gallantry, the adoration of a lover, and can you ask the result?" he was a french writer; but mrs. welford had in her temper much of the frenchwoman. a suffering patient, young, handsome, well versed in the arts of intrigue, contrasted with a gloomy husband whom she had never comprehended, long feared, and had lately doubted if she disliked,--ah! a much weaker contrast has made many a much better woman food for the lawyers! mrs. welford eloped; but she felt a revived tenderness for her husband on the very morning that she did so. she carried away with her his letters of love as well as her own, which when they first married she had in an hour of fondness collected together,--then an inestimable board!--and never did her new lover receive from her beautiful lips half so passionate a kiss as she left on the cheek of her infant. for some months she enjoyed with her paramour all for which she had sighed in her home. the one for whom she had forsaken her legitimate ties was a person so habitually cheerful, courteous, and what is ordinarily termed "good-natured" (though he had in him as much of the essence of selfishness as any nobleman can decently have), that he continued gallant to her without an effort long after he had begun to think it possible to tire even of so lovely a face. yet there were moments when the fickle wife recalled her husband with regret, and contrasting him with her seducer, did not find all the colourings of the contrast flattering to the latter. there is something in a powerful and marked character which women and all weak natures feel themselves constrained to respect; and welford's character thus stood in bold and therefore advantageous though gloomy relief when opposed to the levities and foibles of this guilty woman's present adorer. however this be, the die was cast; and it would have been policy for the lady to have made the best of her present game. but she who had murmured as a wife was not complaisant as a mistress. reproaches made an interlude to caresses, which the noble lover by no means admired. he was not a man to retort, he was too indolent; but neither was he one to forbear. "my charming friend," said he one day, after a scene, "you weary of me,-- nothing more natural! why torment each other? you say i have ruined you; my sweet friend, let me make you reparation. become independent; i will settle an annuity upon you; fly me,--seek happiness elsewhere, and leave your unfortunate, your despairing lover to his fate." "do you taunt me, my lord?" cried the angry fair; "or do you believe that money can replace the rights of which you have robbed me? can you make me again a wife,--a happy, a respected wife? do this, my lord, and you atone to me!" the nobleman smiled, and shrugged his shoulders. the lady yet more angrily repeated her question. the lover answered by an innuendo, which at once astonished and doubly enraged her. she eagerly demanded explanation; and his lordship, who had gone further than he intended, left the room. but his words had sunk deep into the breast of this unhappy woman, and she resolved to procure an elucidation. agreeably to the policy which stripped the fabled traveller of his cloak, she laid aside the storm and preferred the sunshine: she watched a moment of tenderness, turned the opportunity to advantage, and by little and little she possessed herself of a secret which sickened her with shame, disgust, and dismay. sold! bartered! the object of a contemptuous huxtering to the purchaser and the seller, sold, too, with a lie that debased her at once into an object for whom even pity was mixed with scorn! robbed already of the name and honour of a wife, and transferred as a harlot from the wearied arms of one leman to the capricious caresses of another! such was the image that rose before her; and while it roused at one moment all her fiercer passions into madness, humbled, with the next, her vanity into the dust. she, who knew the ruling passion of welford, saw at a glance the object of scorn and derision which she had become to him. while she imagined herself the betrayer, she had been betrayed; she saw vividly before her (and shuddered as she saw) her husband's icy smile, his serpent eye, his features steeped in sarcasm, and all his mocking soul stamped upon the countenance, whose lightest derision was so galling. she turned from this picture, and saw the courtly face of the purchaser,--his subdued smile at her reproaches,--his latent sneer at her claims to a station which he had been taught by the arch plotter to believe she had never possessed. she saw his early weariness of her attractions, expressed with respect indeed,--an insulting respect,--but felt without a scruple of remorse. she saw in either--as around--only a reciprocation of contempt. she was in a web of profound abasement. even that haughty grief of conscience for crime committed to another, which if it stings humbles not, was swallowed up in a far more agonizing sensation, to one so vain as the adulteress,--the burning sense of shame at having herself, while sinning, been the duped and deceived. her very soul was appalled with her humiliation. the curse of welford's vengeance was on her, and it was wreaked to the last! whatever kindly sentiment she might have experienced towards her protector, was swallowed up at once by this discovery. she could not endure the thought of meeting the eye of one who had been the gainer by this ignominious barter; the foibles and weaknesses of the lover assumed a despicable as well as hateful dye. and in feeling _herself_ degraded, she loathed _him_. the day after she had made the discovery we have referred to, mrs. welford left the house of her protector, none knew whither. for two years from that date, all trace of her history was lost. at the end of that time what was welford? a man rapidly rising in the world, distinguished at the bar, where his first brief had lifted him into notice, commencing a flattering career in the senate, holding lucrative and honourable offices, esteemed for the austere rectitude of his moral character, gathering the golden opinions of all men, as he strode onward to public reputation. he had re-assumed his hereditary name; his early history was unknown; and no one in the obscure and distant town of ------ had ever guessed that the humble welford was the william brandon whose praise was echoed in so many journals, and whose rising genius was acknowledged by all. that asperity, roughness, and gloom which had noted him at ------, and which, being natural to him, he deigned not to disguise in a station ungenial to his talents and below his hopes, were now glitteringly varnished over by an hypocrisy well calculated to aid his ambition. so learnedly could this singular man fit himself to others that few among the great met him as a companion, nor left him without the temper to become his friend. through his noble rival--that is (to make our reader's "surety doubly sure"), through lord mauleverer--he had acquired his first lucrative office, a certain patronage from government, and his seat in parliament. if he had persevered at the bar rather than given himself entirely to state intrigues, it was only because his talents were eminently more calculated to advance him in the former path to honour than in the latter. so devoted was he become to public life that he had only permitted himself to cherish one private source of enjoyment,--his son. as no one, not even his brother, knew he had been married (during the two years of his disguised name, he had been supposed abroad), the appearance of this son made the only piece of scandal whispered against the rigid morality of his fair fame; but he himself, waiting his own time for avowing a legitimate heir, gave out that it was the orphan child of a dear friend whom he had known abroad; and the puritan demureness not only of life, but manner, which he assumed, gained a pretty large belief to the statement. this son brandon idolized. as we have represented himself to say, ambitious men are commonly fond of their children, beyond the fondness of other sires. the perpetual reference which the ambitious make to posterity is perhaps the main reason. but brandon was also fond of children generally; philoprogenitiveness was a marked trait in his character, and would seem to belie the hardness and artifice belonging to that character, were not the same love so frequently noticeable in the harsh and the artificial. it seems as if a half-conscious but pleasing feeling that they too were once gentle and innocent, makes them delight in reviving any sympathy with their early state. often after the applause and labour of the day, brandon would repair to his son's chamber and watch his slumber for hours; often before his morning toil commenced, he would nurse the infant in his arms with all a woman's natural tenderness and gushing joy; and often, as a graver and more characteristic sentiment stole over him, he would mentally say, "you shall build up our broken name on a better foundation than your sire. i begin too late in life, and i labour up a painful and stony road; but i shall make the journey to fame smooth and accessible for you. never, too, while you aspire to honour, shall you steel your heart to tranquillity. for you, my child, shall be the joys of home and love, and a mind that does not sicken at the past, and strain, through mere forgetfulness, towards a solitary and barren distinction for the future. not only what your father gains you shall enjoy, but what has cursed him his vigilance shall lead you to shun!" it was thus not only that his softer feelings, but all the better and nobler ones, which even in the worst and hardest bosom find some root, turned towards his child, and that the hollow and vicious man promised to become the affectionate and perhaps the wise parent. one night brandon was returning home on foot from a ministerial dinner. the night was frosty and clear, the hour was late, and his way lay through the longest and best-lighted streets of the metropolis. he was, as usual, buried in thought, when he was suddenly aroused from his revery by a light touch laid on his arm. he turned, and saw one of the unhappy persons who haunt the midnight streets of cities, standing right before his path. the gaze of each fell upon the other; and it was thus, for the first time since they laid their heads on the same pillow, that the husband met the wife. the skies were intensely clear, and the lamplight was bright and calm upon the faces of both. there was no doubt in the mind of either. suddenly, and with a startled and ghastly consciousuess, they recognized each other. the wife staggered, and clung to a post for support; brandon's look was calm and unmoved. the hour that his bitter and malignant spirit had yearned for was come; his nerves expanded in a voluptuous calmness, as if to give him a deliberate enjoyment of his hope fulfilled. whatever the words that in that unwitnessed and almost awful interview passed between them, we may be sure that brandon spared not one atom of his power. the lost and abandoned wife returned home; and all her nature, embruted as it had become by guilt and vile habits, hardened into revenge,--that preternatural feeling which may be termed the hope of despair. three nights from that meeting brandon's house was broken into. like the houses of many legal men, it lay in a dangerous and thinly populated outskirt of the town, and was easily accessible to robbery. he was awakened by a noise; he started, and found himself in the grasp of two men. at the foot of the bed stood a female, raising a light; and her face, haggard with searing passions, and ghastly with the leprous whiteness of disease and approaching death, glared full upon him. "it is now my turn," said the female, with a grin of scorn which brandon himself might have envied; "you have cursed me, and i return the curse! you have told me that my child shall never name me but to blush. fool! i triumph over you; you he shall never know to his dying day! you have told me that to my child and my child's child (a long transmission of execration) my name--the name of the wife you basely sold to ruin and to hell--should be left as a legacy of odium and shame! man, you shall teach that child no further lesson whatever: you shall know not whether he live or die, or have children to carry on your boasted race; or whether, if he have, those children be not outcasts of the earth, the accursed of man and god, the fit offspring of the thing you have made me. wretch! i hurl back on you the denunciation with which, when we met three nights since, you would have crushed the victim of your own perfidy. you shall tread the path of your ambition childless and objectless and hopeless. disease shall set her stamp upon your frame. the worm shall batten upon your heart. you shall have honours and enjoy them not; you shall gain your ambition, and despair; you shall pine for your son, and find him not; or, if you find him, you shall curse the hour in which he was born. mark me, man,--i am dying while i speak,--i know that i am a prophet in my curse. from this hour i am avenged, and you are my scorn!" as the hardest natures sink appalled before the stony eye of the maniac, so, in the dead of the night, pinioned by ruffians, the wild and solemn voice, sharpened by passion and partial madness, of the ghastly figure before him curdling through his veins, even the haughty and daring character of william brandon quailed! he uttered not a word. he was found the next morning bound by strong cords to his bed. he spoke not when he was released, but went in silence to his child's chamber,--the child was gone! several articles of property were also stolen; the desperate tools the mother had employed worked not perhaps without their own reward. we need scarcely add that brandon set every engine and channel of justice in motion for the discovery of his son. all the especial shrewdness and keenness of his own character, aided by his professional experience, he employed for years in the same pursuit. every research was wholly in vain; not the remotest vestige towards discovery could be traced until were found (we have recorded when) some of the articles that had been stolen. fate treasured in her gloomy womb, altogether undescried by man, the hour and the scene in which the most ardent wish of william brandon was to be realized. this ebook was produced by bryan sherman and david widger paul clifford, volume . by edward bulwer lytton chapter vii. begirt with many a gallant slave, apparelled as becomes the brave, old giaffir sat in his divan: . . . . . . . much i misdoubt this wayward boy will one day work me more annoy. _bride of abydos_. the learned and ingenious john schweighaeuser (a name facile to spell and mellifluous to pronounce) hath been pleased, in that _appendix continens particulam doctrinae de mente humana_, which closeth the volume of his "opuscula academica," to observe (we translate from memory) that, "in the infinite variety of things which in the theatre of the world occur to a man's survey, or in some manner or another affect his body or his mind, by far the greater part are so contrived as to bring to him rather some sense of pleasure than of pain or discomfort." assuming that this holds generally good in well-constituted frames, we point out a notable example in the case of the incarcerated paul; for although that youth was in no agreeable situation at the time present, and although nothing very encouraging smiled upon him from the prospects of the future, yet, as soon as he had recovered his consciousness, and given himself a rousing shake, he found an immediate source of pleasure in discovering, first, that several ladies and gentlemen bore him company in his imprisonment; and, secondly, in perceiving a huge jug of water within his reach, which, as his awaking sensation was that of burning thirst, he delightedly emptied at a draught. he then, stretching himself, looked around with a wistful earnestness, and discovered a back turned towards him, and recumbent on the floor, which at the very first glance appeared to him familiar. "surely," thought he, "i know that frieze coat, and the peculiar turn of those narrow shoulders." thus soliloquizing, he raised himself, and putting out his leg, he gently kicked the reclining form. "muttering strange oaths," the form turned round, and raising itself upon that inhospitable part of the body in which the introduction of foreign feet is considered anything but an honour, it fixed its dull blue eyes upon the face of the disturber of its slumbers, gradually opening them wider and wider, until they seemed to have enlarged themselves into proportions fit for the swallowing of the important truth that burst upon them, and then from the mouth of the creature issued,-- "queer my glims, if that be n't little paul!" "ay, dummie, here i am! not been long without being laid by the heels, you see! life is short; we must make the best use of our time!" upon this, mr. dunnaker (it was no less respectable a person) scrambled up from the floor, and seating himself on the bench beside paul, said in a pitying tone,-- "vy, laus-a-me! if you be n't knocked o' the head! your poll's as bloody as murphy's face ven his throat's cut!" ["murphy's face,"unlearned reader, appeareth, in irish phrase, to mean "pig's head."] "'t is only the fortune of war, dummie, and a mere trifle; the heads manufactured at thames court are not easily put out of order. but tell me, how come you here?" "vy, i had been lushing heavy vet--" 'till you grew light in the head, eh,--and fell into the kennel?" "yes." "mine is a worse business than that, i fear;" and therewith paul, in a lower voice, related to the trusty dummie the train of accidents which had conducted him to his present asylum. dummie's face elongated as he listened; however, when the narrative was over, he endeavoured such consolatory palliatives as occurred to him. he represented, first, the possibility that the gentleman might not take the trouble to appear; secondly, the certainty that no watch was found about paul's person; thirdly, the fact that, even by the gentleman's confession, paul had not been the actual offender; fourthly, if the worst came to the worst, what were a few weeks' or even months' imprisonment? "blow me tight!" said dummie, "if it be n't as good a vay of passing the time as a cove as is fond of snuggery need desire!" this observation had no comfort for paul, who recoiled, with all the maiden coyness of one to whom such unions are unfamiliar, from a matrimonial alliance with the _snuggery_ of the house of correction. he rather trusted to another source for consolation. in a word, he encouraged the flattering belief that long ned, finding that paul had been caught instead of himself, would have the generosity to come forward and exculpate him from the charge. on hinting this idea to dummie, that accomplished "man about town" could not for some time believe that any simpleton could be so thoroughly unacquainted with the world as seriously to entertain so ridiculous a notion; and, indeed, it is somewhat remarkable that such a hope should ever have told its flattering tale to one brought up in the house of mrs. margaret lobkins. but paul, we have seen, had formed many of his notions from books; and he had the same fine theories of your "moral rogue" that possess the minds of young patriots when they first leave college for the house of commons, and think integrity a prettier thing than office. mr. dunnaker urged paul, seriously, to dismiss so vague and childish a fancy from his breast, and rather to think of what line of defence it would be best for him to pursue. this subject being at length exhausted, paul recurred to mrs. lobkins, and inquired whether dummie had lately honoured that lady with a visit. mr. dunnaker replied that he had, though with much difficulty, appeased her anger against him for his supposed abetment of paul's excesses, and that of late she had held sundry conversations with dummie respecting our hero himself. upon questioning dummie further, paul learned the good matron's reasons for not evincing that solicitude for his return which our hero had reasonably anticipated. the fact was, that she, having no confidence whatsoever in his own resources independent of her, had not been sorry of an opportunity effectually, as she hoped, to humble that pride which had so revolted her; and she pleased her vanity by anticipating the time when paul, starved into submission, would gladly and penitently re-seek the shelter of her roof, and, tamed as it were by experience, would never again kick against the yoke which her matronly prudence thought it fitting to impose upon him. she contented herself, then, with obtaining from dummie the intelligence that our hero was under macgrawler's roof, and therefore out of all positive danger to life and limb; and as she could not foresee the ingenious exertions of intellect by which paul had converted himself into the "nobilitas" of "the asinaeum," and thereby saved himself from utter penury, she was perfectly convinced, from her knowledge of character, that the illustrious macgrawler would not long continue that protection to the rebellious _protege_ which in her opinion was his only preservative from picking pockets or famishing. to the former decent alternative she knew paul's great and jejune aversion; and she consequently had little fear for his morals or his safety, in thus abandoning him for a while to chance. any anxiety, too, that she might otherwise have keenly experienced was deadened by the habitual intoxication now increasing upon the good lady with age, and which, though at times she could be excited to all her characteristic vehemence, kept her senses for the most part plunged into a lethean stupor, or, to speak more courteously, into a poetical abstraction from the things of the external world. "but," said dummie, as by degrees he imparted the solution of the dame's conduct to the listening ear of his companion,--"but i hopes as how ven you be out of this 'ere scrape, leetle paul, you vill take varning, and drop meester pepper's acquaintance (vich, i must say, i vas alvays a sorry to see you hencourage), and go home to the mug, and fam grasp the old mort, for she has not been like the same cretur ever since you vent. she's a delicate-'arted 'oman, that piggy lob!" so appropriate a panegyric on mrs. margaret lobkins might at another time have excited paul's risible muscles; but at that moment he really felt compunction for the unceremonious manner in which he had left her, and the softness of regretful affection imbued in its hallowing colours even the image of piggy lob. in conversation of this intellectual and domestic description, the night and ensuing morning passed away, till paul found himself in the awful presence of justice burnflat. several cases were disposed of before his own; and among others mr. duminie dunnaker obtained his release, though not without a severe reprimand for his sin of inebriety, which no doubt sensibly affected the ingenuous spirit of that noble character. at length paul's turn came. he heard, as he took his station, a general buzz. at first he imagined it was at his own interesting appearance; but raising his eyes, he perceived that it was at the entrance of the gentleman who was to become his accuser. "hush," said some one near him, "'t is lawyer brandon. ah, he's a 'cute fellow! it will go hard with the person he complains of." there was a happy fund of elasticity of spirit about our hero; and though he had not the good fortune to have "a blighted heart,"--a circumstance which, by the poets and philosophers of the present day, is supposed to inspire a man with wonderful courage, and make him impervious to all misfortunes,--yet he bore himself up with wonderful courage under his present trying situation, and was far from overwhelmed, though he was certainly a little damped, by the observation he had just heard. mr. brandon was, indeed, a barrister of considerable reputation, and in high esteem in the world, not only for talent, but also for a great austerity of manners, which, though a little mingled with sternness and acerbity for the errors of other men, was naturally thought the more praiseworthy on that account; there being, as persons of experience are doubtless aware, two divisions in the first class of morality,-- _imprimis_, a great hatred for the vices of one's neighbour; secondly, the possession of virtues in one's self. mr. brandon was received with great courtesy by justice burnflat; and as he came, watch in hand (a borrowed watch), saying that his time was worth five guineas a moment, the justice proceeded immediately to business. nothing could be clearer, shorter, or more satisfactory than the evidence of mr. brandon. the corroborative testimony of the watchman followed; and then paul was called upon for his defence. this was equally brief with the charge; but, alas! it was not equally satisfactory. it consisted in a firm declaration of his innocence. his comrade, he confessed, might have stolen the watch; but he humbly suggested that that was exactly the very reason why he had not stolen it. "how long, fellow," asked justice burnflat, "have you known your companion?" "about half a year." "and what is his name and calling?" paul hesitated, and declined to answer. "a sad piece of business!" said the justice, in a melancholy tone, and shaking his head portentously. the lawyer acquiesced in the aphorism, but with great magnanimity observed that he did not wish to be hard upon the young man. his youth was in his favour, and his offence was probably the consequence of evil company. he suggested, therefore, that as he must be perfectly aware of the address of his friend, he should receive a full pardon if he would immediately favour the magistrate with that information. he concluded by remarking, with singular philanthropy, that it was not the punishment of the youth, but the recovery of his watch, that he desired. justice burnflat, having duly impressed upon our hero's mind the disinterested and christian mercy of the complainant, and the everlasting obligation paul was under to him for its display, now repeated, with double solemnity, those queries respecting the habitation and name of long ned which our hero had before declined to answer. grieved are we to confess that paul, ungrateful for and wholly untouched by the beautiful benignity of lawyer brandon, continued firm in his stubborn denial to betray his comrade; and with equal obduracy he continued to insist upon his own innocence and unblemished respectability of character. "your name, young man?" quoth the justice. "your name, you say, is paul,--paul what? you have many an alias, i'll be bound." here the young gentleman again hesitated; at length he replied,-- "paul lobkins, your worship." "lobkins!" repeated the judge,--"lobkins! come hither, saunders; have not we that name down in our black books?" "so, please your worship," quoth a little stout man, very useful in many respects to the festus of the police, "there is one peggy lobkins, who keeps a public-house, a sort of flash ken, called the mug, in thames court,--not exactly in our beat, your worship." "ho, ho!" said justice burnflat; winking at mr. brandon, "we must sift this a little. pray, mr. paul lobkins, what relation is the good landlady of the mug, in thames court, to yourself?" "none at all, sir," said paul, hastily; "she's only a friend!" upon this there was a laugh in the court. "silence!" cried the justice. "and i dare say, mr. paul lobkins, that this friend of yours will vouch for the respectability of your character, upon which you are pleased to value yourself?" "i have not a doubt of it, sir," answered paul; and there was another laugh. "and is there any other equally weighty and praiseworthy friend of yours who will do you the like kindness?" paul hesitated; and at that moment, to the surprise of the court, but above all to the utter and astounding surprise of himself, two gentlemen, dressed in the height of the fashion, pushed forward, and bowing to the justice, declared themselves ready to vouch for the thorough respectability and unimpeachable character of mr. paul lobkins, whom they had known, they said, for many years, and for whom they had the greatest respect. while paul was surveying the persons of these kind friends, whom he never remembered to have seen before in the course of his life, the lawyer, who was a very sharp fellow, whispered to the magistrate; and that dignitary nodding as in assent, and eying the new-comers, inquired the names of mr. lobkins's witnesses. "mr. eustace fitzherbert" and "mr. william howard russell," were the several replies. names so aristocratic produced a general sensation. but the impenetrable justice, calling the same mr. saunders he had addressed before, asked him to examine well the countenances of mr. lobkins's friends. as the alguazil eyed the features of the memorable don raphael and the illustrious manuel morales, when the former of those accomplished personages thought it convenient to assume the travelling dignity of an italian prince, son of the sovereign of the valleys which lie between switzerland, the milanese, and savoy, while the latter was contented with being servant to monseigneur le prince; even so, with far more earnestness than respect; did mr. saunders eye the features of those high-born gentlemen, messrs. eustace fitzherbert and william howard russell; but after a long survey he withdrew his eyes, made an unsatisfactory and unrecognizing gesture to the magistrate, and said,-- "please your worship, they are none of my flock; but bill troutling knows more of this sort of genteel chaps than i does." "bid bill troutling appear!" was the laconic order. at that name a certain modest confusion might have been visible in the faces of mr. eustace fitzherbert and mr. william howard russell, had not the attention of the court been immediately directed to another case. a poor woman had been committed for seven days to the house of correction on a charge of _disrespectability_. her husband, the person most interested in the matter, now came forward to disprove the charge; and by help of his neighbours he succeeded. "it is all very true," said justice burnflat; "but as your wife, my good fellow, will be out in five days, it will be scarcely worth while to release her now." [a fact, occurring in the month of january, . _vide_ "the morning herald."] so judicious a decision could not fail of satisfying the husband; and the audience became from that moment enlightened as to a very remarkable truth,--namely, that five days out of seven bear a peculiarly small proportion to the remaining two; and that people in england have so prodigious a love for punishment that though it is not worth while to release an innocent woman from prison five days sooner than one would otherwise have done, it is exceedingly well worth while to commit her to prison for seven! when the husband, passing his rough hand across his eyes, and muttering some vulgar impertinence or another had withdrawn, mr. saunders said,-- "here be bill troutling, your worship!" "oh, well," quoth the justice; "and now, mr. eustace fitz---- hallo, how's this! where are mr. william howard russell and his friend mr. eustace fitzherbert?" "echo answered,--where?" those noble gentlemen, having a natural dislike to be confronted with so low a person as mr. bill troutling, had, the instant public interest was directed from them, silently disappeared from a scene where their rank in life seemed so little regarded. if, reader, you should be anxious to learn from what part of the world the transitory visitants appeared, know that they were spirits sent by that inimitable magician, long ned, partly to report how matters fared in the court; for mr. pepper, in pursuance of that old policy which teaches that the nearer the fox is to the hunters, the more chance he has of being overlooked, had, immediately on his abrupt departure from paul, dived into a house in the very street where his ingenuity had displayed itself, and in which oysters and ale nightly allured and regaled an assembly that, to speak impartially, was more numerous than select. there had he learned how a pickpocket had been seized for unlawful affection to another man's watch; and there, while he quietly seasoned his oysters, had he, with his characteristic acuteness, satisfied his mind by the conviction that that arrested unfortunate was no other than paul. partly, therefore, as a precaution for his own safety, that he might receive early intelligence should paul's defence make a change of residence expedient, and partly (out of the friendliness of fellowship) to back his companion with such aid as the favourable testimony of two well-dressed persons, little known "about town," might confer, he had despatched those celestial beings who had appeared under the mortal names of eustace fitzherbert and william howard russell to the imperial court of justice burnflat. having thus accounted for the apparition (the _disapparition_ requires no commentary) of paul's "friends," we return to paul himself. despite the perils with which he was girt, our young hero fought out to the last; but the justice was not by any means willing to displease mr. brandon, and observing that an incredulous and biting sneer remained stationary on that gentleman's lip during the whole of paul's defence, he could not but shape his decision according to the well-known acuteness of the celebrated lawyer. paul was sentenced to retire for three months to that country-house situated at bridewell, to which the ungrateful functionaries of justice often banish their most active citizens. as soon as the sentence was passed, brandon, whose keen eyes saw no hope of recovering his lost treasure, declared that the rascal had perfectly the old bailey cut of countenance, and that he did not doubt but, if ever he lived to be a judge, he should also live to pass a very different description of sentence on the offender. so saying, he resolved to lose no more time, and very abruptly left the office, without any other comfort than the remembrance that, at all events, he had sent the boy to a place where, let him be ever so innocent at present, he was certain to come out as much inclined to be guilty as his friends could desire; joined to such moral reflection as the tragedy of bombastes furioso might have afforded to himself in that sententious and terse line,-- "thy watch is gone,--watches are made _to go_." meanwhile paul was conducted in state to his retreat, in company with two other offenders,--one a middle-aged man, though a very old "file," who was sentenced for getting money under false pretences, and the other a little boy who had been found guilty of sleeping under a colonnade; it being the especial beauty of the english law to make no fine-drawn and nonsensical shades of difference between vice and misfortune, and its peculiar method of protecting the honest being to make as many rogues as possible in as short a space of time. chapter viii. _common sense._ what is the end of punishment as regards the individual punished? _custom._ to make him better! _common sense._ how do you punish young offenders who are (from their youth) peculiarly alive to example, and whom it is therefore more easy either to ruin or reform than the matured? _custom._ we send them to the house of correction, to associate with the d--dest rascals in the country! _dialogue between common sense and custom.--very scarce._ as it was rather late in the day when paul made his first _entree_ at bridewell, he passed that night in the "receiving-room." the next morning, as soon as he had been examined by the surgeon and clothed in the customary uniform, he was ushered, according to his classification, among the good company who had been considered guilty of that compendious offence, "a misdemeanour." here a tall gentleman marched up to him, and addressed him in a certain language, which might be called the freemasonry of flash, and which paul, though he did not comprehend _verbatim_, rightly understood to be an inquiry whether he was a thorough rogue and an entire rascal. he answered half in confusion, half in anger; and his reply was so detrimental to any favourable influence he might otherwise have exercised over the interrogator, that the latter personage, giving him a pinch in the ear, shouted out, "ramp, ramp!" and at that significant and awful word, paul found himself surrounded in a trice by a whole host of ingenious tormentors. one pulled this member, another pinched that; one cuffed him before, and another thrashed him behind. by way of interlude to this pleasing occupation, they stripped him of the very few things that in his change of dress be had retained. one carried off his handkerchief, a second his neckcloth, and a third, luckier than either, possessed himself of a pair of carnelian shirt-buttons, given to paul as a _gage d'amour_ by a young lady who sold oranges near the tower. happily, before this initiatory process--technically termed "ramping," and exercised upon all new-comers who seem to have a spark of decency in them--had reduced the bones of paul, who fought tooth and nail in his defence, to the state of magnesia, a man of a grave aspect, who had hitherto plucked his oakum in quiet, suddenly rose, thrust himself between the victim and the assailants, and desired the latter, like one having authority, to leave the lad alone, and go and be d--d. this proposal to resort to another place for amusement, though uttered in a very grave and tranquil manner, produced that instantaneous effect which admonitions from great rogues generally work upon little. messieurs the _ravmpers_ ceased from their amusements; and the ringleader of the gang, thumping paul heartily on the back, declared he was a capital fellow, and it was only a bit of a spree like, which he hoped had not given any offence. paul, still clenching his fist, was about to answer in no pacific mood, when a turnkey, who did not care in the least how many men he locked up for an offence, but who did not at all like the trouble of looking after any one of his flock to see that the offence was not committed, now suddenly appeared among the set; and after scolding them for the excessive plague they were to him, carried off two of the poorest of the mob to solitary confinement. it happened, of course, that these two had not taken the smallest share in the disturbance. this scene over, the company returned to picking oakum; the tread-mill, that admirably just invention by which a strong man suffers no fatigue and a weak one loses his health for life, not having been then introduced into our excellent establishments for correcting crime. bitterly and with many dark and wrathful feelings, in which the sense of injustice at punishment alone bore him up against the humiliations to which he was subjected,--bitterly and with a swelling heart, in which the thoughts that lead to crime were already forcing their way through a soil suddenly warmed for their growth, did paul bend over his employment. he felt himself touched on the arm; he turned, and saw that the gentleman who had so kindly delivered him from his tormentors was now sitting next to him. paul gazed long and earnestly upon his neighbour, struggling with the thought that he had beheld that sagacious countenance in happier times, although now, alas! it was altered not only by time and vicissitudes but by that air of gravity which the cares of manhood spread gradually over the face of the most thoughtless,--until all doubt melted away, and he exclaimed,-- "is that you, mr. tomlinson? how glad i am to see you here!" "and i," returned the quondam murderer for the newspapers, with a nasal twang, "should be very glad to see myself anywhere else." paul made no answer; and augustus continued,-- "'to a wise man all places are the same,'--so it has been said. i don't believe it, paul,--i don't believe it. but a truce to reflection! i remembered you the moment i saw you, though you are surprisingly grown. how is my friend macgrawler?--still hard at work for 'the asinaeum'?" "i believe so," said paul, sullenly, and hastening to change the conversation; "but tell me, mr. tomlinson, how came you hither? i heard you had gone down to the north of england to fulfil a lucrative employment." "possibly! the world always misrepresents the actions of those who are constantly before it." "it is very true," said paul; "and i have said the same thing myself a hundred times in 'the asinaeum,' for we were never too lavish of our truths in that magnificent journal. 't is astonishing what a way we made three ideas go." "you remind me of myself and my newspaper labours," rejoined augustus tomlinson. "i am not quite sure that i had so many as three ideas to spare; for, as you say, it is astonishing how far that number may go, properly managed. it is with writers as with strolling players,--the same three ideas that did for turks in one scene do for highlanders in the next; but you must tell me your history one of these days, and you shall hear mine." "i should be excessively obliged to you for your confidence," said paul, "and i doubt not but your life must be excessively entertaining. mine, as yet, has been but insipid. the lives of literary men are not fraught with adventure; and i question whether every writer in 'the asinaeum' has not led pretty nearly the same existence as that which i have sustained myself." in conversation of this sort our newly restored friends passed the remainder of the day, until the hour of half-past four, when the prisoners are to suppose night has begun, and be locked up in their bedrooms. tomlinson then, who was glad to re-find a person who had known him in his _beaux jours,_ spoke privately to the turnkey; and the result of the conversation was the coupling paul and augustus in the same chamber, which was a sort of stone box, that generally accommodated three, and was--for we have measured it, as we would have measured the cell of the prisoner of chillon--just eight feet by six. we do not intend, reader, to .indicate, by broad colours and in long detail, the moral deterioration of our hero; because we have found, by experience, that such pains on our part do little more than make thee blame our stupidity instead of lauding our intention. we shall therefore only work out our moral by subtle hints and brief comments; and we shall now content ourselves with reminding thee that hitherto thou hast seen paul honest in the teeth of circumstances. despite the contagion of the mug, despite his associates in fish lane, despite his intimacy with long ned, thou hast seen him brave temptation, and look forward to some other career than that of robbery or fraud. nay, even in his destitution, when driven from the abode of his childhood, thou hast observed how, instead of resorting to some more pleasurable or libertine road of life, he betook himself at once to the dull roof and insipid employments of macgrawler, and preferred honestly earning his subsistence by the sweat of his brain to recurring to any of the numerous ways of living on others with which his experience among the worst part of society must have teemed, and which, to say the least of them, are more alluring to the young and the adventurous than the barren paths of literary labour. indeed, to let thee into a secret, it had been paul's daring ambition to raise himself into a worthy member of the community. his present circumstances, it may hereafter be seen, made the cause of a great change in his desires; and the conversation he held that night with the ingenious and skilful augustus went more towards fitting him for the hero of this work than all the habits of his childhood or the scenes of his earlier youth. young people are apt, erroneously, to believe that it is a bad thing to be exceedingly wicked. the house of correction is so called, because it is a place where so ridiculous a notion is invariably corrected. the next day paul was surprised by a visit from mrs. lobkins, who had heard of his situation and its causes from the friendly dummie, and who had managed to obtain from justice burnflat an order of admission. they met, pyramus and thisbe like, with a wall, or rather an iron gate, between them; and mrs. lobkins, after an ejaculation of despair at the obstacle, burst weepingly into the pathetic reproach,-- "o paul, thou hast brought thy pigs to a fine market!" "'t is a market proper for pigs, dear dame," said paul, who, though with a tear in his eye, did not refuse a joke as bitter as it was inelegant; "for, of all others, it is the spot where a man learns to take care of his bacon." "hold your tongue!" cried the dame, angrily. "what business has you to gabble on so while you are in limbo?" "ah, dear dame," said paul, "we can't help these rubs and stumbles on our road to preferment!" "road to the scragging-post!" cried the dame. "i tells you, child, you'll live to be hanged in spite of all my care and 'tention to you, though i hedicated you as a scholard, and always hoped as how you would grow up to be an honour to your--" "king and country," interrupted paul. "we always say, honour to king and country, which means getting rich and paying taxes. 'the more taxes a man pays, the greater honour he is to both,' as augustus says. well, dear dame, all in good time." "what! you is merry, is you? why does not you weep? your heart is as hard as a brickbat. it looks quite unnatural and hyena-like to be so _devil-me-careish!" so saying, the good dame's tears gushed forth with the bitterness of a despairing parisina. "nay, nay," said paul, who, though he suffered far more intensely, bore the suffering far more easily than his patroness, "we cannot mend the matter by crying. suppose you see what can be done for me. i dare say you may manage to soften the justice's sentence by a little 'oil of palms;' and if you can get me out before i am quite corrupted,--a day or two longer in this infernal place will do the business,--i promise you that i will not only live honestly myself, but with people who live in the same manner." "buss me, paul," said the tender mrs. lobkins, "buss me--oh! but i forgits the gate. i'll see what can be done. and here, my lad, here's summat for you in the mean while,--a drop o' the cretur, to preach comfort to your poor stomach. hush! smuggle it through, or they'll see you." here the dame endeavoured to push a stone bottle through the bars of the gate; but, alas! though the neck passed through, the body refused, and the dame was forced to retract the "cretur." upon this, the kind-hearted woman renewed her sobbings; and so absorbed was she in her grief that seemingly quite forgetting for what purpose she had brought the bottle, she applied it to her own mouth, and consoled herself with that elixir vitae which she had originally designed for paul. this somewhat restored her; and after a most affecting scene the dame reeled off with the vacillating steps natural to woe, promising, as she went, that if love or money could shorten paul's confinement, neither should be wanting. we are rather at a loss to conjecture the exact influence which the former of these arguments, urged by the lovely margaret, might have had upon justice burnflat. when the good dame had departed, paul hastened to repick his oakum and rejoin his friend. he found the worthy augustus privately selling little elegant luxuries, such as tobacco, gin, and rations of daintier viands than the prison allowed; for augustus, having more money than the rest of his companions, managed, through the friendship of the turnkey, to purchase secretly, and to resell at about four hundred per cent, such comforts as the prisoners especially coveted. [a very common practice at the bridewell. the governor at the coldbath-fields, apparently a very intelligent and active man, every way fitted for a most arduous undertaking, informed us, in the only conversation we have had the honour to hold with him, that he thought he had nearly or quite destroyed in his jurisdiction this illegal method of commerce.] "a proof," said augustus, dryly, to paul, "that by prudence and exertion even in those places where a man cannot turn himself he may manage to turn a penny." chapter ix. "relate at large, my godlike guest," she said, "the grecian stratagems,--the town betrayed!" dryden: virgil, aeneid, book ii. descending thence, they 'scaped!--ibid. a great improvement had taken place in the character of augustus tomlinson since paul had last encountered that illustrious man. then augustus had affected the man of pleasure, the learned lounger about town, the all-accomplished pericles of the papers, gayly quoting horace, gravely flanking a fly from the leader of lord dunshunner. now a more serious yet not a less supercilious air had settled upon his features; the pretence of fashion had given way to the pretence of wisdom; and from the man of pleasure augustus tomlinson had grown to the philosopher. with this elevation alone, too, he was not content: he united the philosopher with the politician; and the ingenious rascal was pleased especially to pique himself upon being "a moderate whig"! "paul," he was wont to observe, "believe me, moderate whiggism is a most excellent creed. it adapts itself to every possible change, to every conceivable variety of circumstance. it is the only politics for us who are the aristocrats of that free body who rebel against tyrannical laws; for, hang it, i am none of your democrats. let there be dungeons and turnkeys for the low rascals who whip clothes from the hedge where they hang to dry, or steal down an area in quest of a silver spoon; but houses of correction are not made for men who have received an enlightened education,--who abhor your petty thefts as much as a justice of peace. can do,--who ought never to be termed dishonest in their dealings, but, if they are found out, 'unlucky in their speculations'! a pretty thing, indeed, that there should be distinctions of rank among other members of the community, and none among us! where's your boasted british constitution, i should like to know, where are your privileges of aristocracy, if i, who am a gentleman born, know latin, and have lived in the best society, should be thrust into this abominable place with a dirty fellow who was born in a cellar, and could never earn more at a time than would purchase a sausage? no, no! none of your levelling principles for me! i am liberal, paul, and love liberty; but, thank heaven, i despise your democracies!" thus, half in earnest, half veiling a natural turn to sarcasm, would this moderate whig run on for the hour together during those long nights, commencing at half-past four, in which he and paul bore each other company. one evening, when tomlinson was so bitterly disposed to be prolix that paul felt himself somewhat wearied by his eloquence, our hero, desirous of a change in the conversation, reminded augustus of his promise to communicate his history; and the philosophical whig, nothing loath to speak of himself, cleared his throat, and began. "never mind who was my father, nor what was my native place! my first ancestor was tommy linn (his heir became tom linn's son),--you have heard the ballad made in his praise, "'tommy linn is a scotchman born, his head is bald and his beard is shorn; he had a cap made of a hare skin, an elder man is tommy limn!' "there was a sort of prophecy respecting my ancestor's descendants darkly insinuated in the concluding stanza of this ballad:-- "'tommy linn, and his wife, and his wife's mother, they all fell into the fire together; they that lay undermost got a hot skin,-- "we are not enough!" said tommy linn.'" "you see the prophecy: it is applicable both to gentlemen rogues and to moderate whigs; for both are undermost in the world, and both are perpetually bawling out, 'we are not enough!' "i shall begin my own history by saying, i went to a north country school, where i was noted for my aptness in learning; and my skill at 'prisoner's base,'--upon my word i purposed no pun! i was intended for the church. wishing, betimes, to instruct myself in its ceremonies, i persuaded my schoolmaster's maidservant to assist me towards promoting a christening. my father did not like this premature love for the sacred rites. he took me home; and wishing to give my clerical ardour a different turn, prepared me for writing sermons by reading me a dozen a day. i grew tired of this, strange as it may seem to you. 'father,' said i, one morning, 'it is no use talking; i will not go into the church,--that's positive. give me your blessing and a hundred pounds, and i'll go up to london and get a living instead of a curacy.' my father stormed; but i got the better at last. i talked of becoming a private tutor; swore i had heard nothing was so easy,--the only things wanted were pupils; and the only way to get them was to go to london and let my learning be known. my poor father,--well, he's gone, and i am glad of it now!" the speaker's voice faltered. "i got the better, i say, and i came to town, where i had a relation a bookseller. through his interest, i wrote a book of travels in ethiopia for an earl's son, who wanted to become a lion; and a treatise on the greek particle, dedicated to the prime minister, for a dean, who wanted to become a bishop,--greek being, next to interest, the best road to the mitre. these two achievements were liberally paid; so i took a lodging in a first floor, and resolved to make a bold stroke for a wife. what do you think i did?--nay, never guess; it would be hopeless. first, i went to the best tailor, and had my clothes sewn on my back; secondly, i got the peerage and its genealogies by heart; thirdly, i marched one night, with the coolest deliberation possible, into the house of a duchess, who was giving an immense rout! the newspapers had inspired me with this idea. i had read of the vast crowds which a lady 'at home' sought to win to her house. i had read of staircases impassable, and ladies carried out in a fit; and common-sense told me how impossible it was that the fair receiver should be acquainted with the legality of every importation. i therefore resolved to try my chance, and--entered the body of augustus tomlinson, as a piece of stolen goods. faith! the first night i was shy,--i stuck to the staircase, and ogled an old maid of quality, whom i had heard announced as lady margaret sinclair. doubtless she had never been ogled before; and she was evidently enraptured with my glances. the next night i read of a ball at the countess of -------'s. my heart beat as if i were going to be whipped; but i plucked up courage, and repaired to her ladyship's. there i again beheld the divine lady margaret; and observing that she turned yellow, by way of a blush, when she saw me, i profited by the port i had drunk as an encouragement to my entree, and lounging up in the most modish way possible, i reminded her ladyship of an introduction with which i said i had once been honoured at the duke of dashwell's, and requested her hand for the next cotillion. oh, paul, fancy my triumph! the old damsel said, with a sigh, she remembered me very well, ha, ha, ha!--and i carried her off to the cotillion like another theseus bearing away a second ariadne. not to be prolix on this part of my life, i went night after night to balls and routs, for admission to which half the fine gentlemen in london would have given their ears. and i improved my time so well with lady margaret, who was her own mistress and had l , ,--a devilish bad portion for some, but not to be laughed at by me,--that i began to think when the happy day should be fixed. meanwhile, as lady margaret introduced me to some of her friends, and my lodgings were in a good situation, i had been honoured with some real invitations. the only two questions i ever was asked were (carelessly), "was i the only son?" and on my veritable answer 'yes!' 'what' (this was more warmly put),--'what was my county?' luckily my county was a wide one,--yorkshire; and any of its inhabitants whom the fair interrogators might have questioned about me could only have answered, i was not in their part of it. "well, paul, i grew so bold by success that the devil one day put it into my head to go to a great dinner-party at the duke of dashwell's. i went, dined,--nothing happened; i came away, and the next morning i read in the papers,-- "'mysterious affair--person lately going about--first bouses--most fashionable parties--nobody knows--duke of dashwell's yesterday. duke not like to make disturbance--as royalty present." "the journal dropped from my hands. at that moment the girl of the house gave me a note from lady margaret,--alluded to the paragraph; wondered who was 'the stranger;' hoped to see me that night at lord a-----'s, to whose party i said i had been asked; speak then more fully on those matters i had touched on!--in short, dear paul, a tender epistle! all great men are fatalists,--i am one now; fate made me a madman. in the very face of this ominous paragraph i mustered up courage, and went that night to lord a-----'s. the fact is, my affairs were in confusion,--i was greatly in debt. i knew it was necessary to finish my conquest over lady margaret as soon as possible; and lord a-----'s seemed the best place for the purpose. nay, i thought delay so dangerous, after the cursed paragraph, that a day might unmask me, and it would be better therefore not to lose an hour in finishing the play of 'the stranger' with the farce of 'the honey moon.' behold me then at lord a-----'s, leading off lady margaret to the dance. behold me whispering the sweetest of things in her ear. imagine her approving my suit, and gently chiding me for talking of gretna green. conceive all this, my dear fellow, and just at the height of my triumph, dilate the eyes of your imagination, and behold the stately form of lord a-----, my noble host, marching up to me, while a voice that, though low and quiet as an evening breeze, made my heart sink into my shoes, said, 'i believe, sir, you have received no invitation from lady a-----?' "not a word could i utter, paul,--not a word. had it been the highroad instead of a ballroom, i could have talked loudly enough; but i was under a spell. 'ehem!' i faltered at last,--'e-h-e-m! some mis-take, i-- i--' there i stopped. "'sir,' said the earl, regarding me with a grave sternness, 'you had better withdraw.' "'bless me! what's all this?' cried lady margaret, dropping my palsied arm, and gazing on me as if she expected me to talk like a hero. "'oh,' said i, 'eh-e-m, eh-e-m,--i will exp--lain to-morrow,--ehem, e-h-e-m.' i made to the door; all the eyes in the room seemed turned into burning-glasses, and blistered the very skin on my face. i heard a gentle shriek, as i left the apartment,--lady margaret fainting, i suppose! there ended my courtship and my adventures in 'the best society.' "i felt melancholy at the ill-success of my scheme. you must allow it was a magnificent project. what moral courage! i admire myself when i think of it. without an introduction, without knowing a soul, to become, all by my own resolution, free of the finest houses in london, dancing with earls' daughters, and all but carrying off an earl's daughter myself as my wife. if i had, the friends must have done something for me; and lady margaret tomlinson might perhaps have introduced the youthful genius of her augustus to parliament or the ministry. oh, what a fall was there! yet, faith, ha, ha, ha! i could not help laughing, despite of my chagrin, when i remembered that for three months i had imposed on these 'delicate exclusives,' and been literally invited by many of them, who would not have asked the younger sons of their own cousins, merely because i lived in a good street, avowed myself an only child, and talked of my property in yorkshire! ha, ha! how bitter the mercenary dupes must have felt when the discovery was made! what a pill for the good matrons who had coupled my image with that of some filial mary or jane,--ha, ha, ha! the triumph was almost worth the mortification. however, as i said before, i fell melancholy on it, especially as my duns became menacing. so i went to consult with my cousin the bookseller. he recommended me to compose for the journals, and obtained me an offer. i went to work very patiently for a short time, and contracted some agreeable friendships with gentlemen whom i met at an ordinary in st. james's. still, my duns, though i paid them by driblets, were the plague of my life. i confessed as much to one of my new friends. 'come to bath with me,' quoth he, 'for a week, and you shall return as rich as a jew.' i accepted the offer, and went to bath in my friend's chariot. he took the name of lord dunshunner, an irish peer who had never been out of tipperary, and was not therefore likely to be known at bath. he took also a house for a year; filled it with wines, books, and a sideboard of plate. as he talked vaguely of setting up his younger brother to stand for the town at the next parliament, he bought these goods of the townspeople, in order to encourage their trade. i managed secretly to transport them to london and sell them; and as we disposed of them fifty per cent under cost price, our customers, the pawnbrokers, were not very inquisitive. we lived a jolly life at bath for a couple of months, and departed one night, leaving our housekeeper to answer all interrogatories. we had taken the precaution to wear disguises, stuffed ourselves out, and changed the hues of our hair. my noble friend was an adept in these transformations; and though the police did not sleep on the business, they never stumbled on us. i am especially glad we were not discovered, for i liked bath excessively; and i intend to return there some of these days, and retire from the world--on an heiress! "well, paul, shortly after this adventure i made your acquaintance. i continued ostensibly my literary profession, but only as a mask for the labours i did not profess. a circumstance obliged me to leave london rather precipitately. lord dunshunner joined me in edinburgh. d---it, instead of doing anything there, we were done! the veriest urchin that ever crept through the high street is more than a match for the most scientific of englishmen. with us it is art; with the scotch it is nature. they pick your pockets without using their fingers for it; and they prevent reprisal by having nothing for you to pick. "we left edinburgh with very long faces, and at carlisle we found it necessary to separate. for my part, i went as a valet to a nobleman who had just lost his last servant at carlisle by a fever; my friend gave me the best of characters! my new master was a very clever man. he astonished people at dinner by the impromptus he prepared at breakfast; in a word, he was a wit. he soon saw, for he was learned himself, that i had received a classical education, and he employed me in the confidential capacity of finding quotations for him. i classed these alphabetically and under three heads,--'parliamentary, literary, dining- out.' these were again subdivided into 'fine,' 'learned,' and 'jocular;' so that my master knew at once where to refer for genius, wisdom, and wit. he was delighted with my management of his intellects. in compliment to him, i paid more attention to politics than i had done before; for he was a 'great whig,' and uncommonly liberal in everything-- but money! hence, paul, the origin of my political principles; and i thank heaven there is not now a rogue in england who is a better--that is to say, more of a moderate-whig than your humble servant! i continued with him nearly a year. he discharged me for a fault worthy of my genius: other servants may lose the watch or the coat of their master; i went at nobler game, and lost him--his private character!" "how do you mean?" "why, i was enamoured of a lady who would not have looked at me as mr. tomlinson; so i took my master's clothes and occasionally his carriage, and made love to my nymph as lord. her vanity made her indiscreet. the tory papers got hold of it; and my master, in a change of ministers, was declared by george the third to be 'too gay for a chancellor of the exchequer.' an old gentleman who had had fifteen children by a wife like a gorgon, was chosen instead of my master; and although the new minister was a fool in his public capacity, the moral public were perfectly content with him, because of his private virtues! "my master was furious, made the strictest inquiry, found me out, and turned me out too! "a whig not in place has an excuse for disliking the constitution. my distress almost made me a republican; but, true to my creed, i must confess that i would only have levelled upwards. i especially disaffected the inequality of riches; i looked moodily on every carriage that passed; i even frowned like a second catiline at the steam of a gentle man's kitchen! my last situation had not been lucrative; i had neglected my perquisites, in my ardour for politics. my master, too, refused to give me a character: who would take me without one? "i was asking myself this melancholy question one morning, when i suddenly encountered one of the fine friends i had picked up at my old haunt, the ordinary, in st. james's. his name was pepper." "pepper!" cried paul. without heeding the exclamation, tomlinson continued:--"we went to a tavern and drank a bottle together. wine made me communicative; it also opened my comrade's heart. he asked me to take a ride with him that night towards hounslow. i did so, and found a purse." "how fortunate! where?" "in a gentleman's pocket. i was so pleased with my luck that i went the same road twice a week, in order to see if i could pick up any more purses. fate favoured me, and i lived for a long time the life of the blessed. oh, paul, you know not--you know not what a glorious life is that of a highwayman; but you shall taste it one of these days,--you shall, on my honour. "i now lived with a club of honest fellows. we called ourselves 'the exclusives,'--for we were mighty reserved in our associates, and only those who did business on a grand scale were admitted into our set. for my part, with all my love for my profession, i liked ingenuity still better than force, and preferred what the vulgar call swindling, even to the highroad. on an expedition of this sort, i rode once into a country town, and saw a crowd assembled in one corner; i joined it, and my feelings!--beheld my poor friend viscount dunshunner just about to be hanged! i rode off as fast as i could,--i thought i saw jack ketch at my heels. my horse threw me at a hedge, and i broke my collar-bone. in the confinement that ensued gloomy ideas floated before me. i did not like to be hanged; so i reasoned against my errors, and repented. i recovered slowly, returned to town, and repaired to my cousin the bookseller. to say truth, i had played him a little trick: collected some debts of his by a mistake,--very natural in the confusion incident on my distresses. however, he was extremely unkind about it; and the mistake, natural as it was, had cost me his acquaintance. "i went now to him with the penitential aspect of the prodigal son; and, faith, he would have not made a bad representation of the fatted calf about to be killed on my return,--so corpulent looked he, and so dejected! 'graceless reprobate!' he began, 'your poor father is dead!' i was exceedingly shocked; but--never fear, paul, i am not about to be pathetic. my father had divided his fortune among all his children; my share was l . the possession of this soon made my penitence seem much more sincere in the eyes of my good cousin; and after a very pathetic scene, he took me once more into favour. i now consulted with him as to the best method of laying out my capital and recovering my character. we could not devise any scheme at the first conference; but the second time i saw him, my cousin said with a cheerful countenance: 'cheer up, augustus, i have got thee a situation. mr. asgrave the banker will take thee as a clerk. he is a most worthy man; and having a vast deal of learning, he will respect thee for thy acquirements.' the same day i was introduced to mr. asgrave, who was a little man with a fine, bald, benevolent head; and after a long conversation which he was pleased to hold with me, i became one of his quill-drivers. i don't know how it was, but by little and little i rose in my master's good graces. i propitiated him, i fancy, by disposing of my l according to his advice; he laid it out for me, on what he said was famous security, on a landed estate. mr. asgrave was of social habits,--he had a capital house and excellent wines. as he was not very particular in his company, nor ambitious of visiting the great, he often suffered me to make one of his table, and was pleased to hold long arguments with me about the ancients. i soon found out that my master was a great moral philosopher; and being myself in weak health, sated with the ordinary pursuits of the world, in which my experience had forestalled my years, and naturally of a contemplative temperament, i turned my attention to the moral studies which so fascinated my employer. i read through nine shelves full of metaphysicians, and knew exactly the points in which those illustrious thinkers quarrelled with each other, to the great advance of the science. my master and i used to hold many a long discussion about the nature of good and evil; as, by help of his benevolent forehead and a clear dogged voice, he always seemed to our audience to be the wiser and better man of the two, he was very well pleased with our disputes. this gentleman had an only daughter,--an awful shrew, with a face like a hatchet but philosophers overcome personal defects; and thinking only of the good her wealth might enable me to do to my fellow-creatures, i secretly made love to her. you will say that was playing my master but a scurvy trick for his kindness. not at all; my master himself had convinced me that there was no such virtue as gratitude. it was an error of vulgar moralists. i yielded to his arguments, and at length privately espoused his daughter. the day after this took place, he summoned me to his study. 'so, augustus,' said he, very mildly, 'you have married my daughter: nay, never look confused; i saw a long time ago that you were resolved to do so, and i was very glad of it.' "i attempted to falter out something like thanks. 'never interrupt me!' said he. 'i had two reasons for being glad,--first, because my daughter was the plague of my life, and i wanted some one to take her off my hands; secondly, because i required your assistance on a particular point, and i could not venture to ask it of any one but my son-in-law. in fine, i wish to take you into partnership!' "'partnership!' cried i, falling on my knees. 'noble, generous man!' "'stay a bit,' continued my father-in-law. 'what funds do you think requisite for carrying on a bank? you look puzzled! not a shilling! you will put in just as much as i do. you will put in rather more; for you once put in l , which has been spent long ago. i don't put in a shilling of my own. i live on my clients, and i very willingly offer you half of them!' "imagine, dear paul, my astonishment, my dismay! i saw myself married to a hideous shrew,--son-in-law to a penniless scoundrel, and cheated out of my whole fortune! compare this view of the question with that which had blazed on me when i contemplated being son-in-law to the rich mr. asgrave. i stormed at first. mr. asgrave took up bacon 'on the advancement of learning,' and made no reply till i was cooled by explosion. you will perceive that when passion subsided, i necessarily saw that nothing was left for me but adopting my father-in-law's proposal. thus, by the fatality which attended me at the very time i meant to reform, i was forced into scoundrelism, and i was driven into defrauding a vast number of persons by the accident of being son-in-law to a great moralist. as mr. asgrave was an indolent man, who passed his mornings in speculations on virtue, i was made the active partner. i spent the day at the counting-house; and when i came home for recreation, my wife scratched my eyes out." "but were you never recognized as 'the stranger' or 'the adventurer' in your new capacity?" "no; for of course i assumed, in all my changes, both aliases and disguises. and, to tell you the truth, my marriage so altered me that, what with a snuff-coloured coat and a brown scratch wig, with a pen in my right ear, i looked the very picture of staid respectability. my face grew an inch longer every day. nothing is so respectable as a long face; and a subdued expression of countenance is the surest sign of commercial prosperity. well, we went on splendidly enough for about a year. meanwhile i was wonderfully improved in philosophy. you have no idea how a scolding wife sublimes and rarefies one's intellect. thunder clears the air, you know! at length, unhappily for my fame (for i contemplated a magnificent moral history of man, which, had she lived a year longer, i should have completed), my wife died in child-bed. my father-in-law and i were talking over the event, and finding fault with civilization for the enervating habits by which women die of their children instead of bringing them forth without being even conscious of the circumstance, when a bit of paper, sealed awry, was given to my partner. he looked over it, finished the discussion, and then told me our bank had stopped payment. 'now, augustus,' said he, lighting his pipe with the bit of paper, 'you see the good of having nothing to lose.' "we did not pay quite sixpence in the pound; but my partner was thought so unfortunate that the british public raised a subscription for him, and he retired on an annuity, greatly respected and very much compassionated. as i had not been so well known as a moralist, and had not the prepossessing advantage of a bald, benevolent head, nothing was done for me, and i was turned once more on the wide world, to moralize on the vicissitudes of fortune. my cousin the bookseller was no more, and his son cut me. i took a garret in warwick court, and with a few books, my only consolation, i endeavoured to nerve my mind to the future. it was at this time, paul, that my studies really availed me. i meditated much, and i became a true philosopher, namely, a practical one. my actions were henceforth regulated by principle; and at some time or other, i will convince you that the road of true morals never avoids the pockets of your neighbour. so soon as my mind had made the grand discovery which mr. asgrave had made before me, that one should live according to a system,--for if you do wrong, it is then your system that errs, not you, --i took to the road, without any of those stings of conscience which had hitherto annoyed me in such adventures. i formed one of a capital knot of 'free agents,' whom i will introduce to you some day or other, and i soon rose to distinction among them. but about six weeks ago, not less than formerly preferring byways to highways, i attempted to possess myself of a carriage, and sell it at discount. i was acquitted on the felony, but sent hither by justice burnflat on the misdemeanour. thus far, my young friend, hath as yet proceeded the life of augustus tomlinson." the history of this gentleman made a deep impression on paul. the impression was strengthened by the conversations subsequently holden with augustus. that worthy was a dangerous and subtle persuader. he had really read a good deal of history, and something of morals; and he had an ingenious way of defending his rascally practices by syllogisms from the latter, and examples from the former. these theories he clenched, as it were, by a reference to the existing politics of the day. cheaters of the public, on false pretences, he was pleased to term "moderate whigs;" bullying demanders of your purse were "high tories;" and thieving in gangs was "the effect of the spirit of party." there was this difference between augustus tomlinson and long ned,--ned was the acting knave, augustus the reasoning one; and we may see therefore, by a little reflection, that tomlinson was a far more perilous companion than pepper,--for showy theories are always more seductive to the young and clever than suasive examples, and the vanity of the youthful makes them better pleased by being convinced of a thing than by being enticed to it. a day or two after the narrative of mr. tomlinson, paul was again visited by mrs. lobkins,--for the regulations against frequent visitors were not then so strictly enforced as we understand them to be now; and the good dame came to deplore the ill-success of her interview with justice burnflat. we spare the tender-hearted reader a detail of the affecting interview that ensued. indeed, it was but a repetition of the one we have before narrated. we shall only say, as a proof of paul's tenderness of heart, that when he took leave of the good matron, and bade "god bless her," his voice faltered, and the tears stood in his eyes,--just as they were wont to do in the eyes of george the third, when that excellent monarch was pleased graciously to encore "god save the king!" "i'll be hanged," soliloquized our hero, as he slowly bent his course towards the subtle augustus,--"i'll be hanged (humph! the denunciation is prophetic), if i don't feel as grateful to the old lady for her care of me as if she had never ill-used me. as for my parents, i believe i have little to be grateful for or proud of in that quarter. my poor mother, by all accounts, seems scarcely to have had even the brute virtue of maternal tenderness; and in all human likelihood i shall never know whether i had one father or fifty. but what matters it? i rather like the better to be independent; and, after all, what do nine tenths of us ever get from our parents but an ugly name, and advice which, if we follow, we are wretched, and if we neglect, we are disinherited?" comforting himself with these thoughts, which perhaps took their philosophical complexion from the conversations he had lately held with augustus, and which broke off into the muttered air of-- "why should we quarrel for riches?" paul repaired to his customary avocations. in the third week of our hero's captivity tomlinson communicated to him a plan of escape that had occurred to his sagacious brain. in the yard appropriated to the amusements of the gentlemen "misdemeaning," there was a water-pipe that, skirting the wall, passed over the door through which every morning the pious captives passed in their way to the chapel. by this tomlinson proposed to escape; for to the pipe which reached from the door to the wall, in a slanting and easy direction, there was a sort of skirting-board; and a dexterous and nimble man might readily, by the help of this board, convey himself along the pipe, until the progress of that useful conductor (which was happily very brief) was stopped by the summit of the wall, where it found a sequel in another pipe, that descended to the ground on the opposite side of the wall. now, on this opposite side was the garden of the prison; in this garden was a watchman, and this watchman was the hobgoblin of tomlinson's scheme,--"for suppose us safe in the garden," said he, "what shall we do with this confounded fellow?" "but that is not all," added paul; "for even were there no watchman, there is a terrible wall, which i noted especially last week, when we were set to work in the garden, and which has no pipe, save a perpendicular one, that a man must have the legs of a fly to be able to climb!" "nonsense!" returned tomlinson; "i will show you how to climb the stubbornest wall in christendom, if one has but the coast clear. it is the watchman, the watchman, we must--" "what?" asked paul, observing his comrade did not conclude the sentence. it was some time before the sage augustus replied; he then said in a musing tone,-- "i have been thinking, paul, whether it would be consistent with virtue, and that strict code of morals by which all my actions are regulated, to--slay the watchman!" "good heavens!" cried paul, horror-stricken. "and i have decided," continued augustus, solemnly, without regard to the exclamation, "that the action would be perfectly justifiable!" "villain!" exclaimed paul, recoiling to the other end of the stone box-- for it was night--in which they were cooped. "but," pursued augustus, who seemed soliloquizing, and whose voice, sounding calm and thoughtful, like young's in the famous monologue in "hamlet," denoted that he heeded not the uncourteous interruption,--"but opinion does not always influence conduct; and although it may be virtuous to murder the watchman, i have not the heart to do it. i trust in my future history i shall not by discerning moralists be too severely censured for a weakness for which my physical temperament is alone to blame!" despite the turn of the soliloquy, it was a long time before paul could be reconciled to further conversation with augustus; and it was only from the belief that the moralist had leaned to the jesting vein that he at length resumed the consultation. the conspirators did not, however, bring their scheme that night to any ultimate decision. the next day augustus, paul, and some others of the company were set to work in the garden; and paul then observed that his friend, wheeling a barrow close by the spot where the watchman stood, overturned its contents. the watchman was good-natured enough to assist him in refilling the barrow; and tomlinson profited so well by the occasion that that night he informed paul that they would have nothing to dread from the watchman's vigilance. "he has promised," said augustus, "for certain consi-de-ra-tions, to allow me to knock him down; he has also promised to be so much hurt as not to be able to move until we are over the wall. our main difficulty now, then, is the first step,-- namely, to climb the pipe unperceived!" "as to that," said paul, who developed, through the whole of the scheme, organs of sagacity, boldness, and invention which charmed his friend, and certainly promised well for his future career,--"as to that, i think we may manage the first ascent with less danger than you imagine. the mornings of late have been very foggy; they are almost dark at the hour we go to chapel. let you and i close the file: the pipe passes just above the door; our hands, as we have tried, can reach it; and a spring of no great agility will enable us to raise ourselves up to a footing on the pipe and the skirting-board. "the climbing then is easy; and what with the dense fog and our own quickness, i think we shall have little difficulty in gaining the garden. the only precautions we need use are, to wait for a very dark morning, and to be sure that we are the last of the file, so that no one behind may give the alarm--" "or attempt to follow our example, and spoil the pie by a superfluous plum!" added augustus. "you counsel admirably; and one of these days, if you are not hung in the mean while, will, i venture to auger, be a great logician." the next morning was clear and frosty; but the day after was, to use tomlinson's simile, "as dark as if all the negroes of africa had been stewed down into air." "you might have cut the fog with a knife," as the proverb says. paul and augustus could not even see how significantly each looked at the other. it was a remarkable trait of the daring temperament of the former, that, young as he was, it was fixed that he should lead the attempt. at the hour, then, for chapel the prisoners passed as usual through the door. when it came to paul's turn he drew himself by his hands to the pipe, and then creeping along its sinuous course, gained the wall before he had even fetched his breath. rather more clumsily, augustus followed his friend's example. once his foot slipped, and he was all but over. he extended his hands involuntarily, and caught paul by the leg. happily our hero had then gained the wall, to which he was clinging; and for once in a way, one rogue raised himself without throwing over another. behold tomlinson and paul now seated for an instant on the wall to recover breath; the latter then,--the descent to the ground was not very great, --letting his body down by his hands, dropped into the garden. "hurt?" asked the prudent augustus, in a hoarse whisper, before he descended from his "bad eminence," being even willing-- "to bear those ills he had, than fly to others that he knew not of" "no!" without taking every previous precaution in his power, was the answer in the same voice, and augustus dropped. so soon as this latter worthy had recovered the shock of his fall, he lost not a moment in running to the other end of the garden. paul followed. by the way tomlinson stopped at a heap of rubbish, and picked up an immense stone. when they came to the part of the wall they had agreed to scale, they found the watchman,--about whom they needed not, by the by, to have concerned themselves; for had it not been arranged that he was to have met them, the deep fog would have effectually prevented him from seeing them. this faithful guardian augustus knocked down, not with a stone, but with ten guineas; he then drew forth from his dress a thickish cord, which he procured some days before from the turnkey, and fastening the stone firmly to one end, threw that end over the wall. now the wall had (as walls of great strength mostly have) an overhanging sort of battlement on either side; and the stone, when flung over and drawn to the tether of the cord to which it was attached, necessarily hitched against this projection; and thus the cord was as it were fastened to the wall, and tomlinson was enabled by it to draw himself up to the top of the barrier. he performed this feat with gymnastic address, like one who had often practised it; albeit the discreet adventurer had not mentioned in his narrative to paul any previous occasion for the practice. as soon as he had gained the top of the wall, he threw down the cord to his companion, and, in consideration of paul's inexperience in that manner of climbing, gave the fastening of the rope an additional security by holding it himself. with slowness and labour paul hoisted himself up; and then, by transferring the stone to the other side of the wall, where it made of course a similar hitch, our two adventurers were enabled successively to slide down, and consummate their escape from the house of correction. "follow me now!" said augustus, as he took to his heels; and paul pursued him through a labyrinth of alleys and lanes, through which he shot and dodged with a variable and shifting celerity that, had not paul kept close upon him, would very soon, combined with the fog, have snatched him from the eyes of his young ally. happily the immaturity of the morning, the obscurity of the streets passed through, and above all, the extreme darkness of the atmosphere, prevented that detection and arrest which their prisoner's garb would otherwise have insured them. at length they found themselves in the fields; and skulking along hedges, and diligently avoiding the highroad, they continued to fly onward, until they had advanced several miles into "the bowels of the land." at that time "the bowels" of augustus tomlinson began to remind him of their demands; and he accordingly suggested the desirability of their seizing the first peasant they encountered, and causing him to exchange clothes with one of the fugitives, who would thus be enabled to enter a public-house and provide for their mutual necessities. paul agreed to this proposition, and accordingly they watched their opportunity and caught a ploughman. augustus stripped him of his frock, hat, and worsted stockings; and paul, hardened by necessity and companionship, helped to tie the poor ploughman to a tree. they then continued their progress for about an hour, and, as the shades of evening fell around them, they discovered a public-house. augustus entered, and returned in a few minutes laden with bread and cheese, and a bottle of beer. prison fare cures a man of daintiness, and the two fugitives dined on these homely viands with considerable complacency. they then resumed their journey, and at length, wearied with exertion, they arrived at a lonely haystack, where they resolved to repose for an hour or two. chapter x. unlike the ribald, whose licentious jest pollutes his banquet, and insults his guest, from wealth and grandeur easy to descend, thou joy'st to lose the master in the friend. we round thy board the cheerful menials see, gay-- with the smile of bland equality; no social care the gracious lord disdains; love prompts to love, and reverence reverence gains. translation of lucan to paso, prefixed to the twelfth paper of "the rambler." coyly shone down the bashful stars upon our adventurers, as, after a short nap behind the haystack, they stretched themselves, and looking at each other, burst into an involuntary and hilarious laugh at the prosperous termination of their exploit. hitherto they had been too occupied, first by their flight, then by hunger, then by fatigue, for self-gratulation; now they rubbed their hands, and joked like runaway schoolboys at their escape. by degrees their thoughts turned from the past to the future; and "tell me, my dear fellow," said augustus, "what you intend to do. i trust i have long ago convinced you that it is no sin 'to serve our friends' and to 'be true to our party;' and therefore, i suppose, you will decide upon taking to the road." "it is very odd," answered paul, "that i should have any scruples left after your lectures on the subject; but i own to you frankly that, somehow or other, i have doubts whether thieving be really the honestest profession i could follow." "listen to me, paul," answered augustus; and his reply is not unworthy of notice. "all crime and all excellence depend upon a good choice of words. i see you look puzzled; i will explain. if you take money from the public, and say you have robbed, you have indubitably committed a great crime; but if you do the same, and say you have been relieving the necessities of the poor, you have done an excellent action. if, in afterwards dividing this money with your companions, you say you have been sharing booty, you have committed an offence against the laws of your country; but if you observe that you have been sharing with your friends the gains of your industry, you have been performing one of the noblest actions of humanity. to knock a man on the head is neither virtuous nor guilty, but it depends upon the language applied to the action to make it murder or glory. why not say, then, that you have testified the courage of a hero, rather than the atrocity of a ruffian? this is perfectly clear, is it not?" [we observe in a paragraph from an american paper, copied without comment into the "morning chronicle," a singular proof of the truth of tomlinson's philosophy! "mr. rowland stephenson," so runs the extract, "the celebrated english banker, has just purchased a considerable tract of land," etc. most philosophical of paragraphists! "celebrated english banker!"--that sentence is a better illustration of verbal fallacies than all ben tham's treatises put together. "celebrated!" o mercury, what a dexterous epithet!] "it seems so," answered paul. "it is so self-evident that it is the way all governments are carried on. wherefore, my good paul, we only do what all other legislators do. we are never rogues so long as we call ourselves honest fellows, and we never commit a crime so long as we can term it a virtue. what say you now?" paul smiled, and was silent a few moments before he replied: "there is very little doubt but that you are wrong; yet if you are, so are all the rest of the world. it is of no use to be the only white sheep of the flock. wherefore, my dear tomlinson, i will in future be an excellent citizen, relieve the necessities of the poor, and share the gains of my industry with my friends." "bravo!" cried tomlinson. "and now that that is settled, the sooner you are inaugurated the better. since the starlight has shone forth, i see that i am in a place i ought to be very well acquainted with; or, if you like to be suspicious, you may believe that i have brought you purposely in this direction. but first let me ask if you feel any great desire to pass the night by this haystack, or whether you would like a song and the punchbowl almost as much as the open air, with the chance of being eaten up in a pinch of hay by some strolling cow." "you may conceive my choice," answered paul. "well, then, there is an excellent fellow near here, who keeps a public- house, and is a firm ally and generous patron of the lads of the cross. at certain periods they hold weekly meetings at his house: this is one of the nights. what say you? shall i introduce you to the club?" "i shall be very glad if they will admit me," returned paul, whom many and conflicting thoughts rendered laconic. "oh! no fear of that, under my auspices. to tell you the truth, though we are a tolerant set, we welcome every new proselyte with enthusiasm. but are you tired?" "a little; the house is not far, you say?" "about a mile off," answered tomlinson. "lean on me." our wanderers now, leaving the haystack, struck across part of finchley common; for the abode of the worthy publican was felicitously situated, and the scene in which his guests celebrated their festivities was close by that on which they often performed their exploits. as they proceeded, paul questioned his friend touching the name and character of "mine host;" and the all-knowing augustus tomlinson answered him, quaker-like, by a question,-- "have you never heard of gentleman george?" "what! the noted head of a flash public-house in the country? to be sure i have, often; my poor nurse, dame lobkins, used to say he was the best-spoken man in the trade!" "ay, so he is still. in his youth, george was a very handsome fellow, but a little too fond of his lass and his bottle to please his father,--a very staid old gentleman, who walked about on sundays in a bob-wig and a gold-headed cane, and was a much better farmer on week-days than he was head of a public-house. george used to be a remarkably smart-dressed fellow, and so he is to this day. he has a great deal of wit, is a very good whist-player, has a capital cellar, and is so fond of seeing his friends drunk, that he bought some time ago a large pewter measure in which six men can stand upright. the girls, or rather the old women, to which last he used to be much more civil of the two, always liked him; they say nothing is so fine as his fine speeches, and they give him the title of 'gentleman george.' he is a nice, kind-hearted man in many things. pray heaven we shall have no cause to miss him when he departs! but, to tell you the truth, he takes more than his share of our common purse." "what! is he avaricious?" "quite the reverse; but he's so cursedly fond of building, he invests all his money (and wants us to invest all ours) in houses; and there's one confounded dog of a bricklayer who runs him up terrible bills,--a fellow called 'cunning nat,' who is equally adroit in spoiling ground and improving ground rent." "what do you mean?" "ah! thereby hangs a tale. but we are near the place now; you will see a curious set." as tomlinson said this, the pair approached a house standing alone, and seemingly without any other abode in the vicinity. it was of curious and grotesque shape, painted white, with a gothic chimney, a chinese sign- post (on which was depicted a gentleman fishing, with the words "the jolly angler" written beneath), and a porch that would have been grecian if it had not been dutch. it stood in a little field, with a hedge behind it, and the common in front. augustus stopped at the door; and while he paused, bursts of laughter rang cheerily within. "ah, the merry boys!" he muttered; "i long to be with them;" and then with his clenched fist he knocked four times on the door. there was a sudden silence which lasted about a minute, and was broken by a voice within, asking who was there. tomlinson answered by some cabalistic word; the door was opened, and a little boy presented himself. "well, my lad," said augustus, "and how is your master? stout and hearty, if i may judge by his voice." "ay, master tommy, ay, he's boosing away at a fine rate, in the back- parlour, with mr. pepper and fighting attie, and half-a-score more of them. he'll be woundy glad to see you, i'll be bound." "show this gentleman into the bar," rejoined augustus, "while i go and pay my respects to honest geordie." the boy made a sort of a bow, and leading our hero into the bar, consigned him to the care of sal, a buxom barmaid, who reflected credit on the taste of the landlord, and who received paul with marked distinction and a gill of brandy. paul had not long to play the amiable, before tomlinson rejoined him with the information that gentleman george would be most happy to see him in the back-parlour, and that he would there find an old friend in the person of mr. pepper. "what! is he here?" cried paul. "the sorry knave, to let me be caged in his stead!" "gently, gently; no misapplication of terms!" said augustus. "that was not knavery; that was prudence, the greatest of all virtues, and the rarest. but come along, and pepper shall explain to-morrow." threading a gallery or passage, augustus preceded our hero, opened a door, and introduced him into a long low apartment, where sat, round a table spread with pipes and liquor, some ten or a dozen men, while at the top of the table, in an armchair, presided gentleman george. that dignitary was a portly and comely gentleman, with a knowing look, and a welsh wig, worn, as the "morning chronicle" says of his majesty's hat, "in a _degage_ manner, on one side." being afflicted with the gout, his left foot reclined on a stool; and the attitude developed, despite of a lamb's-wool stocking, the remains of an exceedingly good leg. as gentleman george was a person of majestic dignity among the knights of the cross, we trust we shall not be thought irreverent in applying a few of the words by which the aforesaid "morning chronicle" depicted his majesty on the day he laid the first stone of his father's monument to the description of gentleman george. "he had on a handsome blue coat and a white waistcoat;" moreover, "he laughed most good-humouredly," as, turning to augustus tomlinson, he saluted him with,-- "so this is the youngster you present to us? welcome to the jolly angler! give us thy hand, young sir; i shall be happy to blow a cloud with thee." "with all due submission," said mr. tomlinson, "i think it may first be as well to introduce my pupil and friend to his future companions." "you speak like a leary cove," cried gentleman george, still squeezing our hero's hand; and turning round in his elbow-chair, he pointed to each member, as he severally introduced his guests to paul. "here," said he,--"here's a fine chap at my right hand" (the person thus designated was a thin military-looking figure, in a shabby riding-frock, and with a commanding, bold, aquiline countenance, a little the worse for wear),--"here's a fine chap for you! fighting attie we calls him; he's a devil on the road. 'halt,--deliver,--must and shall,--can't and sha' n't,--do as i bid you, or go to the devil!' that's all fighting attie's palaver; and, 'sdeath, it has a wonderful way of coming to the point! a famous cull is my friend attie,--an old soldier,--has seen the world, and knows what is what; has lots of gumption, and devil a bit of blarney. howsomever, the highflyers does n't like him; and when he takes people's money, he need not be quite so cross about it. attie, let me introduce a new pal to you." paul made his bow. "stand at ease, man!" quoth the veteran, without taking the pipe from his mouth. gentleman george then continued; and after pointing out four or five of the company (among whom our hero discovered, to his surprise, his old friends mr. eustace fitzherbert and mr. william howard russell), came, at length, to one with a very red face and a lusty frame of body. "that gentleman," said he, "is scarlet jem; a dangerous fellow for a press, though he says he likes robbing alone now, for a general press is not half such a good thing as it used to be formerly. you have no idea what a hand at disguising himself scarlet jem is. he has an old wig which he generally does business in; and you would not go for to know him again when he conceals himself under the wig. oh, he's a precious rogue, is scarlet jem! as for the cove on t' other side," continued the host of the jolly angler, pointing to long ned, "all i can say of him, good, bad, or indifferent, is that he has an unkimmon fine head of hair; and now, youngster, as you knows him, s'pose you goes and sits by him, and he'll introduce you to the rest; for, split my wig!" (gentleman george was a bit of a swearer) "if i be n't tired; and so here's to your health; and if so be as your name's paul, may you always rob peter [a portmanteau] in order to pay paul!" this witticism of mine host's being exceedingly well received, paul went, amidst the general laughter, to take possession of the vacant seat beside long ned. that tall gentleman, who had hitherto been cloud-compelling (as homer calls jupiter) in profound silence, now turned to paul with the warmest cordiality, declared himself overjoyed to meet his old friend once more, and congratulated him alike on his escape from bridewell and his admission to the councils of gentleman george. but paul, mindful of that exertion of "prudence" on the part of mr. pepper by which he had been left to his fate and the mercy of justice burnflat, received his advances very sullenly. this coolness so incensed ned, who was naturally choleric, that he turned his back on our hero, and being of an aristocratic spirit, muttered something about "upstart, and vulgar clyfakers being admitted to the company of swell tobymen." this murmur called all paul's blood into his cheek; for though he had been punished as a clyfaker (or pickpocket), nobody knew better than long ned whether or not he was innocent; and a reproach from him came therefore with double injustice and severity. in his wrath he seized mr. pepper by the ear, and telling him he was a shabby scoundrel, challenged him to fight. so pleasing an invitation not being announced sotto voce, but in a tone suited to the importance of the proposition, every one around heard it; and before long ned could answer, the full voice of gentleman george thundered forth,-- "keep the peace there, you youngster! what! are you just admitted into our merry-makings, and must you be wrangling already? harkye, gemmen, i have been plagued enough with your quarrels before now; and the first cove as breaks the present quiet of the jolly angler shall be turned out neck and crop,--sha' n't he, attie?" "right about, march!" said the hero. "ay, that's the word, attie," said gentleman george. "and now, mr. pepper, if there be any ill blood 'twixt you and the lad there, wash it away in a bumper of bingo, and let's hear no more whatsomever about it." "i'm willing," cried long ned, with the deferential air of a courtier, and holding out his hand to paul. our hero, being somewhat abashed by the novelty of his situation and the rebuke of gentleman george, accepted, though with some reluctance, the proffered courtesy. order being thus restored, the conversation of the convivialists began to assume a most fascinating bias. they talked with infinite gout of the sums they had levied on the public, and the peculations they had committed for what one called the good of the community, and another, the established order,--meaning themselves. it was easy to see in what school the discerning augustus tomlinson had learned the value of words. there was something edifying in hearing the rascals! so nice was their language, and so honest their enthusiasm for their own interests, you might have imagined you were listening to a coterie of cabinet ministers conferring on taxes or debating on perquisites. "long may the commons flourish!" cried punning georgie, filling his glass; "it is by the commons we're fed, and may they never know cultivation!" "three times three!" shouted long ned; and the toast was drunk as mr. pepper proposed. "a little moderate cultivation of the commons, to speak frankly," said augustus tomlinson, modestly, "might not be amiss; for it would decoy people into the belief that they might travel safely; and, after all, a hedge or a barley-field is as good for us as a barren heath, where we have no shelter if once pursued!" "you talks nonsense, you spooney!" cried a robber of note, called bagshot; who, being aged and having been a lawyer's footboy, was sometimes denominated "old bags." "you talks nonsense; these innowating ploughs are the ruin of us. every blade of corn in a common is an encroachment on the constitution and rights of the gemmen highwaymen. i'm old, and may n't live to see these things; but, mark my words, a time will come when a man may go from lunnun to johnny groat's without losing a penny by one of us; when hounslow will be safe, and finchley secure. my eyes, what a sad thing for us that'll be!" the venerable old man became suddenly silent, and the tears started to his eyes. gentleman george had a great horror of blue devils, and particularly disliked all disagreeable subjects. "thunder and oons, old bags!" quoth mine host of the jolly angler, "this will never do; we're all met here to be merry, and not to listen to your mullancolly taratarantarums. i says, ned pepper, s'pose you tips us a song, and i'll beat time with my knuckles." long ned, taking the pipe from his mouth, attempted, like walter scott's lady heron, one or two pretty excuses; these being drowned by a universal shout, the handsome purloiner gave the following song, to the tune of "time has not thinned my flowing hair." long ned's song. oh, if my hands adhere to cash, my gloves at least are clean, and rarely have the gentry flash in sprucer clothes been seen. sweet public, since your coffers must afford our wants relief, oh! soothes it not to yield the dust to such a charming thief? "'and john may laugh at mine,'--excellent!" cried gentleman george, lighting his pipe, and winking at attie; "i hears as how you be a famous fellow with the lasses." ned smiled and answered, "no man should boast; but--" pepper paused significantly, and then glancing at attie, said, "talking of lasses, it is my turn to knock down a gentleman for a song, and i knock down fighting attie." "i never sing," said the warrior. "treason, treason!" cried pepper. "it is the law, and you must obey the law; so begin." "it is true, attie," said gentleman george. there was no appeal from the honest publican's fiat; so, in a quick and laconic manner, it being attie's favourite dogma that the least said is the soonest mended, the warrior sung as follows:-- fighting attie's song. air: "he was famed for deeds of arms." i never robbed a single coach but with a lover's air; and though you might my course reproach, you never could my hair. rise at six, dine at two, rob your man without ado, such my maxims; if you doubt their wisdom, to the right-about! ( signing to a sallow gentleman on the same side of the table to send up the brandy bowl.) pass round the bingo,--of a gun, you musty, dusky, husky son! john bull, who loves a harmless joke, is apt at me to grin; but why be cross with laughing folk, unless they laugh and win? john bull has money in his box; and though his wit's divine, yet let me laugh at johnny's locks, and john may laugh at mine [much of whatever amusement might be occasioned by the not (we trust) ill-natured travesties of certain eminent characters in this part of our work when first published, like all political allusions, loses point and becomes obscure as the applications cease to be familiar. it is already necessary, perhaps, to say that fighting attie herein typifies or illustrates the duke of wellington's abrupt dismissal of mr. huskisson.] the sallow gentleman (in a hoarse voice). attie, the bingo's now with me; i can't resign it yet, d' ye see! attie (seizing the bowl). resign, resign it,--cease your dust! (wresting it away and fiercely regarding the sallow gentleman.) you have resigned it, and you must. chorus. you have resigned it, and you must. while the chorus, laughing at the discomfited tippler, yelled forth the emphatic words of the heroic attie, that personage emptied the brandy at a draught, resumed his pipe, and in as few words as possible called on bagshot for a song. the excellent old highwayman, with great diffidence, obeyed the request, cleared his throat, and struck off with a ditty somewhat to the tune of "the old woman." old bags's song. are the days then gone, when on hounslow heath we flashed our nags, when the stoutest bosoms quailed beneath the voice of bags? ne'er was my work half undone, lest i should be nabbed slow was old bags, but he never ceased till the whole was grabbed. chorus. till the whole was grabbed. when the slow coach paused, and the gemmen stormed, i bore the brunt; and the only sound which my grave lips formed was "blunt,"--still "blunt"! oh, those jovial days are ne'er forgot! but the tape lags-- when i be's dead, you'll drink one pot to poor old bags! chorus. to poor old bags! "ay, that we will, my dear bagshot," cried gentleman george, affectionately; but observing a tear in the fine old fellow's eye, he added: "cheer up! what, ho! cheer up! times will improve, and providence may yet send us one good year, when you shall be as well off as ever. you shakes your poll. well, don't be humdurgeoned, but knock down a gemman." dashing away the drop of sensibility, the veteran knocked down gentleman george himself. "oh, dang it!" said george, with an air of dignity, "i ought to skip, since i finds the lush; but howsomever here goes." gentleman george's song. air: "old king cole." i be's the cove, the merry old cove, of whose max all the rufflers sing; and a lushing cove, i thinks, by jove, is as great as a sober king! chorus. is as great as a sober king! whatever the noise as is made by the boys at the bar as they lush away, the devil a noise my peace alloys as long as the rascals pay! chorus. as long as the rascals pay! what if i sticks my stones and my bricks with mortar i takes from the snobbish? all who can feel for the public weal likes the public-house to be bobbish. chorus. likes the public-house to be bobbish. "there, gemmen!" said the publican, stopping short, "that's the pith of the matter, and split my wig but i'm short of breath now. so send round the brandy, augustus; you sly dog, you keeps it all to yourself." by this time the whole conclave were more than half-seas over, or, as augustus tomlinson expressed it, "their more austere qualities were relaxed by a pleasing and innocent indulgence." paul's eyes reeled, and his tongue ran loose. by degrees the room swam round, the faces of his comrades altered, the countenance of old bags assumed an awful and menacing air. he thought long ned insulted him, and that old bags took the part of the assailant, doubled his fist, and threatened to put the plaintiff's nob into chancery if he disturbed the peace of the meeting. various other imaginary evils beset him. he thought he had robbed a mail-coach in company with pepper; that tomlinson informed against him, and that gentleman george ordered him to be hanged; in short, he laboured under a temporary delirium, occasioned by a sudden reverse of fortune,-- from water to brandy; and the last thing of which he retained any recollection, before he sank under the table, in company with long ned, scarlet jem, and old bags, was the bearing his part in the burden of what appeared to him a chorus of last dying speeches and confessions, but what in reality was a song made in honour of gentleman george, and sung by his grateful guests as a finale of the festivities. it ran thus:-- the robber's grand toast. a tumbler of blue ruin, fill, fill for me! red tape those as likes it may drain; but whatever the lush, it a bumper must be, if we ne'er drinks a bumper again! now--now in the crib, where a ruffler may lie, without fear that the traps should distress him, with a drop in the mouth, and a drop in the eye, here's to gentleman george,--god bless him! god bless him, god bless him! here's to gentleman george,--god bless him! 'mong the pals of the prince i have heard it's the go, before they have tippled enough, to smarten their punch with the best curagoa, more conish to render the stuff. i boast not such lush; but whoever his glass does not like, i'll be hanged if i press him! upstanding, my kiddies,--round, round let it pass! here's to gentleman george,--god bless him! god bless him, god bless him! here's to gentleman george,-god bless him! see, see, the fine fellow grows weak on his stumps; assist him, ye rascals, to stand! why, ye stir not a peg! are you all in the dumps? fighting attie, go, lend him a hand! (the robbers crowd around gentleman george, each, under pretence of supporting him, pulling him first one way and then another.) come, lean upon me,--at your service i am! get away from his elbow, you whelp! him you'll only upset,--them 'ere fellows but sham! here's to gentleman george,--god help him! god help him, god help him! here's to gentleman george, god help him! chapter xi. i boast no song in magic wonders rife; but yet, o nature! is there nought to prize, familiar in thy bosom scenes of life? and dwells in daylight truth's salubrious skies no form with which the soul may sympathize? young, innocent, on whose sweet forehead mild the parted ringlet shone in simplest guise, an inmate in the home of albert smiled, or blessed his noonday walk,--she was his only child. gertrude of wyoming. o time, thou hast played strange tricks with us; and we bless the stars that made us a novelist, and permit us now to retaliate. leaving paul to the instructions of augustus tomlinson and the festivities of the jolly angler, and suffering him, by slow but sure degrees, to acquire the graces and the reputation of the accomplished and perfect appropriator of other men's possessions, we shall pass over the lapse of years with the same heedless rapidity with which they have glided over us, and summon our reader to a very different scene from those which would be likely to greet his eyes, were he following the adventures of our new telemachus. nor wilt thou, dear reader, whom we make the umpire between ourself and those who never read,--the critics; thou who hast, in the true spirit of gentle breeding, gone with us among places where the novelty of the scene has, we fear, scarcely atoned for the coarseness, not giving thyself the airs of a dainty abigail,--not prating, lacquey-like, on the low company thou has met,--nor wilt thou, dear and friendly reader, have cause to dread that we shall weary thy patience by a "damnable iteration" of the same localities. pausing for a moment to glance over the divisions of our story, which lies before us like a map, we feel that we may promise in future to conduct thee among aspects of society more familiar to thy habits; where events flow to their allotted gulf through landscapes of more pleasing variety and among tribes of a more luxurious civilization. upon the banks of one of fair england's fairest rivers, and about fifty miles distant from london, still stands an old-fashioned abode, which we shall here term warlock manorhouse. it is a building of brick, varied by stone copings, and covered in great part with ivy and jasmine. around it lie the ruins of the elder part of the fabric; and these are sufficiently numerous in extent and important in appearance to testify that the mansion was once not without pretensions to the magnificent. these remains of power, some of which bear date as far back as the reign of henry the third, are sanctioned by the character of the country immediately in the vicinity of the old manor-house. a vast tract of waste land, interspersed with groves of antique pollards, and here and there irregular and sinuous ridges of green mound, betoken to the experienced eye the evidence of a dismantled chase or park, which must originally have been of no common dimensions. on one side of the house the lawn slopes towards the river, divided from a terrace, which forms the most important embellishment of the pleasure-grounds, by that fence to which has been given the ingenious and significant name of "ha-ha!" a few scattered trees of giant growth are the sole obstacles that break the view of the river, which has often seemed to us, at that particular passage of its course, to glide with unusual calmness and serenity. on the opposite side of the stream there is a range of steep hills, celebrated for nothing more romantic than their property of imparting to the flocks that browse upon that short and seemingly stinted herbage a flavour peculiarly grateful to the lovers of that pastoral animal which changes its name into mutton after its decease. upon these hills the vestige of human habitation is not visible; and at times, when no boat defaces the lonely smoothness of the river, and the evening has stilled the sounds of labour and of life, we know few scenes so utterly tranquil, so steeped in quiet, as that which is presented by the old, quaint- fashioned house and its antique grounds,--the smooth lawn, the silent, and (to speak truly, though disparagingly) the somewhat sluggish river, together with the large hills (to which we know, from simple though metaphysical causes, how entire an idea of quiet and immovability peculiarly attaches itself), and the white flocks,--those most peaceful of god's creatures,--that in fleecy clusters stud the ascent. in warlock house, at the time we refer to, lived a gentleman of the name of brandon. he was a widower, and had attained his fiftieth year without casting much regret on the past or feeling much anxiety for the future. in a word, joseph brandon was one of those careless, quiescent, indifferent men, by whom a thought upon any subject is never recurred to without a very urgent necessity. he was good-natured, inoffensive, and weak; and if he was not an incomparable citizen, he was at least an excellent vegetable. he was of a family of high antiquity, and formerly of considerable note. for the last four or five generations, however, the proprietors of warlock house, gradually losing something alike from their acres and their consequence, had left to their descendants no higher rank than that of a small country squire. one had been a jacobite, and had drunk out half-a-dozen farms in honour of charley over the water; charley over the water was no very dangerous person, but charley over the wine was rather more ruinous. the next brandon had been a fox-hunter, and fox-hunters live as largely as patriotic politicians. pausanias tells us that the same people; who were the most notorious for their love of wine were also the most notorious for their negligence of affairs. times are not much altered since pausanias wrote, and the remark holds as good with the english as it did with the phigalei. after this brandon came one who, though he did not scorn the sportsman, rather assumed the fine gentleman. he married an heiress, who of course assisted to ruin him; wishing no assistance in so pleasing an occupation, he overturned her (perhaps not on purpose), in a new sort of carriage which he was learning to drive, and the good lady was killed on the spot. she left the fine gentleman two sons,--joseph brandon, the present thane,--and a brother some years younger. the elder, being of a fitting age, was sent to school, and somewhat escaped the contagion of the paternal mansion. but the younger brandon, having only reached his fifth year at the time of his mother's decease, was retained at home. whether he was handsome or clever or impertinent, or like his father about the eyes (that greatest of all merits), we know not; but the widower became so fond of him that it was at a late period and with great reluctance that he finally intrusted him to the providence of a school. among harlots and gamblers and lords and sharpers, and gentlemen of the guards, together with their frequent accompaniments,--guards of the gentlemen, namely, bailiffs,--william brandon passed the first stage of his boyhood. he was about thirteen when he was sent to school; and being a boy of remarkable talents, he recovered lost time so well that when at the age of nineteen he adjourned to the university, he had scarcely resided there a single term before he had borne off two of the highest prizes awarded to academical merit. from the university he departed on the "grand tour," at that time thought so necessary to complete the gentleman; he went in company with a young nobleman, whose friendship he had won at the university, stayed abroad more than two years, and on his return he settled down to the profession of the law. meanwhile his father died, and his fortune, as a younger brother, being literally next to nothing, and the family estate (for his brother was not unwilling to assist him) being terribly involved, it was believed that he struggled for some years with very embarrassed and penurious circumstances. during this interval of his life, however, he was absent from london, and by his brother supposed to have returned to the continent; at length, it seems, he profited by a renewal of his friendship with the young nobleman who had accompanied him abroad, reappeared in town, and obtained through his noble friend one or two legal appointments of reputable emolument. soon afterwards he got a brief on some cause where a major had been raising a corps to his brother officer, with the better consent of the brother-officer's wife than of the brother officer himself. brandon's abilities here, for the first time in his profession, found an adequate vent; his reputation seemed made at once, he rose rapidly in his profession, and, at the time we now speak of, he was sailing down the full tide of fame and wealth, the envy and the oracle of all young templars and barristers, who, having been starved themselves for ten years, began now to calculate on the possibility of starving their clients. at an early period in his career he had, through the good offices of the nobleman we have mentioned, obtained a seat in the house of commons; and though his eloquence was of an order much better suited to the bar than the senate, he had nevertheless acquired a very considerable reputation in the latter, and was looked upon by many as likely to win to the same brilliant fortunes as the courtly mansfield,--a great man, whose political principles and urbane address brandon was supposed especially to affect as his own model. of unblemished integrity in public life,--for, as he supported all things that exist with the most unbending rigidity, he could not be accused of inconsistency,--william brandon was (as we have said in a former place of unhappy memory to our hero) esteemed in private life the most honourable, the most moral, even the most austere of men; and his grave and stern repute on this score, joined to the dazzle of his eloquence and forensic powers, had baffled in great measure the rancour of party hostility, and obtained for him a character for virtues almost as high and as enviable as that which he had acquired for abilities. while william was thus treading a noted and an honourable career, his elder brother, who had married into a clergyman's family, and soon lost his consort, had with his only child, a daughter named lucy, resided in his paternal mansion in undisturbed obscurity. the discreditable character and habits of the preceding lords of warlock, which had sunk their respectability in the county as well as curtailed their property, had rendered the surrounding gentry little anxious to cultivate the intimacy of the present proprietor; and the heavy mind and retired manners of joseph brandon were not calculated to counterbalance the faults of his forefathers, nor to reinstate the name of brandon in its ancient popularity and esteem. though dull and little cultivated, the squire was not without his "proper pride;" he attempted not to intrude himself where he was unwelcome, avoided county meetings and county balls, smoked his pipe with the parson, and not unoften with the surgeon and the solicitor, and suffered his daughter lucy to educate herself with the help of the parson's wife, and to ripen (for nature was more favourable to her than art) into the very prettiest girl that the whole county--we long to say the whole country--at that time could boast of. never did glass give back a more lovely image than that of lucy brandon at the age of nineteen. her auburn hair fell in the richest luxuriance over a brow never ruffled, and a cheek where the blood never slept; with every instant the colour varied, and at every variation that smooth, pure; virgin cheek seemed still more lovely than before. she had the most beautiful laugh that one who loved music could imagine,--silvery, low, and yet so full of joy! all her movements, as the old parson said, seemed to keep time to that laugh, for mirth made a great part of her innocent and childish temper; and yet the mirth was feminine, never loud, nor like that of young ladies who had received the last finish at highgate seminaries. everything joyous affected her, and at once,--air, flowers, sunshine, butterflies. unlike heroines in general, she very seldom cried, and she saw nothing charming in having the vapours. but she never looked so beautiful as in sleep; and as the light breath came from her parted lips, and the ivory lids closed over those eyes which only in sleep were silent,--and her attitude in her sleep took that ineffable grace belonging solely to childhood, or the fresh youth into which childhood merges,--she was just what you might imagine a sleeping margaret, before that most simple and gentle of all a poet's visions of womanhood had met with faust, or her slumbers been ruffled with a dream of love. we cannot say much for lucy's intellectual acquirements; she could, thanks to the parson's wife, spell indifferently well, and write a tolerable hand; she made preserves, and sometimes riddles,--it was more difficult to question the excellence of the former than to answer the queries of the latter. she worked to the admiration of all who knew her, and we beg leave to say that we deem that "an excellent thing in woman." she made caps for herself and gowns for the poor, and now and then she accomplished the more literary labour of a stray novel that had wandered down to the manorhouse, or an abridgment of ancient history, in which was omitted everything but the proper names. to these attainments she added a certain modicum of skill upon the spinet, and the power of singing old songs with the richest and sweetest voice that ever made one's eyes moisten or one's heart beat. her moral qualities were more fully developed than her mental. she was the kindest of human beings; the very dog that had never seen her before knew that truth at the first glance, and lost no time in making her acquaintance. the goodness of her heart reposed upon her face like sunshine, and the old wife at the lodge said poetically and truly of the effect it produced, that "one felt warm when one looked on her." if we could abstract from the description a certain chilling transparency, the following exquisite verses of a forgotten poet might express the purity and lustre of her countenance:-- "her face was like the milky way i' the sky, a meeting of gentle lights without a name." she was surrounded by pets of all kinds, ugly and handsome,--from ralph the raven to beauty the pheasant, and from bob, the sheep-dog without a tail, to beau, the blenheim with blue ribbons round his neck; all things loved her, and she loved all things. it seemed doubtful at that time whether she would ever have sufficient steadiness and strength of character. her beauty and her character appeared so essentially womanlike--soft yet lively, buoyant yet caressing--that you could scarcely place in her that moral dependence that you might in a character less amiable but less yieldingly feminine. time, however, and circumstance, which alter and harden, were to decide whether the inward nature did not possess some latent and yet undiscovered properties. such was lucy brandon in the year ----; and in that year, on a beautiful autumnal evening, we first introduce her personally to our readers. she was sitting on a garden-seat by the river side, with her father, who was deliberately conning the evening paper of a former week, and gravely seasoning the ancient news with the inspirations of that weed which so bitterly excited the royal indignation of our british solomon. it happens, unfortunately for us,--for outward peculiarities are scarcely worthy the dignity to which comedy, whether in the drama or the narrative, aspires,--that squire brandon possessed so few distinguishing traits of mind that he leaves his delineator little whereby to designate him, save a confused and parenthetical habit of speech, by which he very often appeared to those who did not profit by long experience or close observation, to say exactly, and somewhat ludicrously, that which he did not mean to convey. "i say, lucy," observed mr. brandon, but without lifting his eyes from the paper,--"i say, corn has fallen; think of that, girl, think of that! these times, in my opinion (ay, and in the opinion of wiser heads than mine, though i do not mean to say that i have not some experience in these matters, which is more than can be said of all our neighbours), are very curious and even dangerous." "indeed, papa!" answered lucy. "and i say, lucy, dear," resumed the squire, after a short pause, "there has been (and very strange it is, too, when one considers the crowded neighbourhood--bless me! what times these are!) a shocking murder committed upon (the tobacco stopper,--there it is)--think, you know, girl,--just by epping!--an old gentleman!" "dear, how shocking! by whom?" "ay, that's the question! the coroner's inquest has (what a blessing it is to live in a civilized country, where a man does not die without knowing the why and the wherefore!) sat on the body, and declared (it is very strange, but they don't seem to have made much discovery; for why? we knew as much before) that the body was found (it was found on the floor, lucy) murdered; murderer or murderers (in the bureau, which was broken open, they found the money left quite untouched) unknown!" here there was again a slight pause; and passing to another side of the paper, mr. brandon resumed, in a quicker tone,--"ha! well, now this is odd! but he's a deuced clever fellow, lucy! that brother of mine has (and in a very honourable manner, too, which i am sure is highly creditable to the family, though he has not taken too much notice of me lately,--a circumstance which, considering i am his elder brother, i am a little angry at) distinguished himself in a speech, remarkable, the paper says, for its great legal (i wonder, by the by, whether william could get me that agistment-money! 't is a heavy thing to lose; but going to law, as my poor father used to say, is like fishing for gudgeons [not a bad little fish; we can have some for supper] with, guineas) knowledge, as well as its splendid and overpowering (i do love will for keeping up the family honour; i am sure it is more than i have done, heigh-ho!), eloquence!" "and on what subject has he been speaking, papa?" "oh, a very fine subject; what you call a (it is astonishing that in this country there should be such a wish for taking away people's characters, which, for my part, i don't see is a bit more entertaining than what you are always doing,--playing with those stupid birds) libel!" "but is not my uncle william coming down to see us? he promised to do so, and it made you quite happy--, papa, for two days. i hope he will not disappoint you; and i am sure that it is not his fault if he ever seems to neglect you. he spoke of you to me, when i saw him, in the kindest and most affectionate manner. i do think, my dear father, that he loves you very much." "ahem!" said the squire, evidently flattered, and yet not convinced. "my brother will is a very acute fellow, and i make no--my dear little girl-- question, but that (when you have seen as much of the world as i have, you will grow suspicious) he thought that any good word said of me to my daughter would (you see, lucy, i am as clear-sighted as my neighbours, though i don't give myself all their airs; which i very well might do, considering my great-great-great-grandfather, hugo brandon, had a hand in detecting the gunpowder plot) he told to me again!" "nay, but i am quite sure my uncle never spoke of you to me with that intention." "possibly, my dear child; but when (the evenings are much shorter than they were!) did you talk with your uncle about me? "oh, when staying with mrs. warner, in london; to be sure, it is six years ago, but i remember it perfectly. i recollect, in particular, that he spoke of you very handsomely to lord mauleverer, who dined with him one evening when i was there, and when my uncle was so kind as to take me to the play. i was afterwards quite sorry that he was so good-natured, as he lost (you remember i told you the story) a very valuable watch." "ay, ay, i remember all about that, and so (how long friendship lasts with some people!) lord mauleverer dined with william! what a fine thing it is for a man (it is what i never did, indeed; i like being what they call 'cock of the walk'--let me see, now i think of it, pillum comes to-night to play a hit at backgammon) to make friends with a great man early in (yet will did not do it very early, poor fellow! he struggled first with a great deal of sorrow--hardship, that is) life! it is many years now since will has been hand-and-glove with my ('t is a bit of a puppy) lord mauleverer. what did you think of his lordship?" "of lord mauleverer? indeed i scarcely observed him; but he seemed a handsome man, and was very polite. mrs. warner said he had been a very wicked person when he was young, but he seems good-natured enough now, papa." "by the by," said the squire, "his lordship has just been made (this new ministry seems very unlike the old, which rather puzzles me; for i think it my duty, d'ye see, lucy, always to vote for his majesty's government, especially seeing that old hugo brandon had a hand in detecting the gun powder plot; and it is a little odd-at least, at first-to think that good now which one has always before been thinking abominable) lord lieutenant of the county." "lord mauleverer our lord lieutenant?" "yes, child; and since his lordship is such a friend of my brother, i should think, considering especially what an old family in the county we are,--not that i wish to intrude myself where i am not thought as fine as the rest,--that he would be more attentive to us than lord -------- was; but that, my dear lucy, puts me in mind of pillum; and so, perhaps, you would like to walk to the parson's, as it is a fine evening. john shall come for you at nine o'clock with (the moon is not up then) the lantern." leaning on his daughter's willing arm, the good old man then rose and walked homeward; and so soon as she had wheeled round his easy-chair, placed the backgammon board on the table, and wished the old gentleman an easy victory over his expected antagonist, the apothecary, lucy tied down her bonnet, and took her way to the rectory. when she arrived at the clerical mansion and entered the drawing-room, she was surprised to find the parson's wife, a good, homely, lethargic old lady, run up to her, seemingly in a state of great nervous agitation and crying,-- "oh, my dear miss brandon! which way did you come? did you meet nobody by the road? oh, i am so frightened! such an accident to poor dear dr. slopperton! stopped in the king's highway, robbed of some tithe-money he had just received from farmer slowforth! if it had not been for that dear angel, good young man, god only knows whether i might not have been a disconsolate widow by this time!" while the affectionate matron was thus running on, lucy's eye glancing round the room discovered in an armchair the round and oily little person of dr. slopperton, with a countenance from which all the carnation hues, save in one circular excrescence on the nasal member, that was left, like the last rose of summer, blooming alone, were faded into an aspect of miserable pallor. the little man tried to conjure up a smile while his wife was narrating his misfortune, and to mutter forth some syllable of unconcern; but he looked, for all his bravado, so exceedingly scared that lucy would, despite herself, have laughed outright, had not her eye rested upon the figure of a young man who had been seated beside the reverend gentleman, but who had risen at lucy's entrance, and who now stood gazing upon her intently, but with an air of great respect. blushing deeply and involuntarily, she turned her eyes hastily away, and approaching the good doctor, made her inquiries into the present state of his nerves, in a graver tone than she had a minute before imagined it possible that she should have been enabled to command. "ah! my good young lady," said the doctor, squeezing her hand, "i--may, i may say the church--for am i not its minister? was in imminent danger-- but this excellent gentleman prevented the sacrilege, at least in great measure. i only lost some of my dues,--my rightful dues,--for which i console myself with thinking that the infamous and abandoned villain will suffer hereafter." "there cannot be the least doubt of that," said the young man. "had he only robbed the mail-coach, or broken into a gentleman's house, the offence might have been expiable; but to rob a clergyman, and a rector too!--oh, the sacrilegious dog!" "your warmth does you honour, sir," said the doctor, beginning now to recover; "and i am very proud to have made the acquaintance of a gentleman of such truly religious opinions." "ah!" cried the stranger, "my foible, sir,--if i may so speak,--is a sort of enthusiastic fervour for the protestant establishment. nay, sir, i never come across the very nave of the church without feeling an indescribable emotion--a kind of sympathy, as it were--with--with--you understand me, sir--i fear i express myself ill." "not at all, not at all!" exclaimed the doctor: "such sentiments are uncommon in one so young." "sir, i learned them early in life from a friend and preceptor of mine, mr. macgrawler, and i trust they may continue with me to my dying day." here the doctor's servant entered with (we borrow a phrase from the novel of ----------) "the tea-equipage;" and mrs. slopperton, betaking herself to its superintendence, inquired with more composure than hitherto had belonged to her demeanour, what sort of a looking creature the ruffian was. "i will tell you, my dear, i will tell you, miss lucy, all about it. i was walking home from mr. slowforth's, with his money in my pocket, thinking, my love, of buying you that topaz cross you wished to have." "dear, good man!" cried mrs. slopperton; "what a fiend it must have been to rob so excellent a creature!" "and," resumed the doctor, "it also occurred to me that the madeira was nearly out,--the madeira, i mean, with the red seal; and i was thinking it might not be amiss to devote part of the money to buy six dozen more; and the remainder, my love, which would be about one pound eighteen, i thought i would divide--'for he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the lord!'--among the thirty poor families on the common; that is, if they behaved well, and the apples in the back garden were not feloniously abstracted!" "excellent, charitable man!" ejaculated mrs. slopperton. "while i was thus meditating, i lifted my eyes, and saw before me two men,--one of prodigious height, and with a great profusion of hair about his shoulders; the other was smaller, and wore his hat slouched over his face: it was a very large hat. my attention was arrested by the singularity of the tall person's hair, and while i was smiling at its luxuriance, i heard him say to his companion, 'well, augustus, as you are such a moral dog, he is in your line, not mine; so i leave him to you.' little did i think those words related to me. no sooner were they uttered than the tall rascal leaped over a gate and disappeared; the other fellow, then marching up to me, very smoothly asked me the way to the church, and while i was explaining to him to turn first to the right and then to the left, and so on,--for the best way is, you know, exceedingly crooked,--the hypocritical scoundrel seized me by the collar, and cried out, 'your money or your life!' i do assure you that i never trembled so much,--not, my dear miss lucy, so much for my own sake, as for the sake of the thirty poor families on the common, whose wants it had been my intention to relieve. i gave up the money, finding my prayers and expostulations were in vain; and the dog then, brandishing over my head an enormous bludgeon, said--what abominable language!-- 'i think, doctor, i shall put an end to an existence derogatory to your self and useless to others.' at that moment the young gentleman beside me sprang over the very gate by which the tall ruffian had disappeared, and cried, 'hold, villain!' on seeing my deliverer, the coward started back, and plunged into a neighbouring wood. the good young gentleman pursued him for a few minutes, but then returning to my aid, conducted me home; and as we used to say at school,-- "' te rediisse incolumem gaudeo,'-- which, being interpreted, means (sir, excuse a pun, i am sure so great a friend to the church understands latin) that i am very glad to get back safe to my tea. he! he! and now, miss lucy, you must thank that young gentleman for having saved the life of your pastoral teacher, which act will no doubt be remembered at the great day!" as lucy, looking towards the stranger, said something in compliment, she observed a vague, and as it were covert smile upon his countenance, which immediately and as if by sympathy conjured one to her own. the hero of the adventure, however, in a very grave tone replied to her compliment, at the same time bowing profoundly,-- "mention it not, madam! i were unworthy of the name of a briton and a man, could i pass the highway without relieving the distress or lightening the burden of a fellow-creature. and," continued the stranger, after a momentary pause, colouring while he spoke, and concluding in the high-flown gallantry of the day, "methinks it were sufficient reward, had i saved the whole church instead of one of its most valuable members, to receive the thanks of a lady whom i might reasonably take for one of those celestial beings to whom we have been piously taught that the church is especially the care!" though there might have been something really ridiculous in this overstrained compliment, coupled as it was with the preservation of dr. slopperton, yet, coming from the mouth of one whom lucy thought the very handsomest person she had ever seen, it appeared to her anything but absurd; and for a very long time afterwards her heart thrilled with pleasure when she remembered that the cheek of the speaker had glowed, and his voice had trembled as he spoke it. the conversation now, turning from robbers in particular, dwelt upon robberies in general. it was edifying to hear the honest indignation with which the stranger spoke of the lawless depredators with whom the country, in that day of macheaths, was infested. "a pack of infamous rascals!" said he, in a glow, "who attempt to justify their misdeeds by the example of honest men, and who say that they do no more than is done by lawyers and doctors, soldiers, clergymen, and ministers of state. pitiful delusion, or rather shameless hypocrisy!" "it all comes of educating the poor," said the doctor. "the moment they pretend to judge the conduct of their betters, there's an end of all order! they see nothing sacred in the laws, though we hang the dogs ever so fast; and the very peers of the land, spiritual and temporal, cease to be venerable in their eyes." "talking of peers," said mrs. slopperton, "i hear that lord mauleverer is to pass by this road to-night on his way to mauleverer park. do you know his lordship, miss lucy: he is very intimate with your uncle." "i have only seen him once," answered lucy. "are you sure that his lordship will come this road?" asked the stranger, carelessly. "i heard something of it this morning, but did not know it was settled." "oh, quite so!" rejoined mrs. slopperton. "his lordship's gentleman wrote for post-horses to meet his lordship at wyburn, about three miles on the other side of the village, at ten o'clock to-night. his lordship is very impatient of delay." "pray," said the doctor, who had not much heeded this turn in the conversation, and was now "on hospitable cares intent,"--"pray, sir, if not impertinent, are you visiting or lodging in the neighbourhood; or will you take a bed with us?" "you are extremely kind, my dear sir, but i fear i must soon wish you good-evening. i have to look after a little property i have some miles hence, which, indeed, brought me down into this part of the world." "property!--in what direction, sir, if i may ask?" quoth the doctor; "i know the country for miles." "do you, indeed? where's my property, you say? why, it is rather difficult to describe it, and it is, after all, a mere trifle; it is only some common-land near the highroad, and i came down to try the experiment of hedging and draining." "'t is a good plan, if one has capital, and does not require a speedy return." "yes; but one likes a good interest for the loss of principal, and a speedy return is always desirable,--although, alas! it is often attended with risk!" "i hope, sir," said the doctor, "if you must leave us so soon, that your property will often bring you into our neighbourhood." "you overpower me with so much unexpected goodness," answered the stranger. "to tell you the truth, nothing can give me greater pleasure than to meet those again who have once obliged me." "whom you have obliged, rather!" cried mrs. slopperton; and then added, in a loud whisper to lucy, "how modest! but it is always so with true courage!" "i assure you, madam," returned the benevolent stranger, "that i never think twice of the little favours i render my fellow-men; my only hope is that they may be as forgetful as myself." charmed with so much unaffected goodness of disposition, the doctor and mrs. slopperton now set up a sort of duet in praise of their guest: after enduring their commendations and compliments for some minutes with much grimace of disavowal and diffidence, the stranger's modesty seemed at last to take pain at the excess of their gratitude; and accordingly, pointing to the clock, which was within a few minutes to nine, he said,-- "i fear, my respected host and my admired hostess, that i must now leave you; i have far to go." "but are you yourself not afraid of the highwaymen?" cried mrs. slopperton, interrupting him. "the highwaymen!" said the stranger, smiling; "no; i do not fear them; besides, i have little about me worth robbing." "do you superintend your property yourself?" said the doctor, who farmed his own glebe and who, unwilling to part with so charming a guest, seized him now by the button. "superintend it myself! why, not exactly. there is a bailiff, whose views of things don't agree with mine, and who now and then gives me a good deal of trouble." "then why don't you discharge him altogether?" "ah! i wish i could; but 't is a necessary evil. we landed proprietors, my dear sir, must always be plagued with some thing of the sort. for my part, i have found those cursed bailiffs would take away, if they could, all the little property one has been trying to accumulate. but," abruptly changing his manner into one of great softness, "could i not proffer my services and my companionship to this young lady? would she allow me to conduct her home, and indeed stamp this day upon my memory as one of the few delightful ones i have ever known?" "thank you, dear sir," said mrs. slopperton, answering at once for lucy; "it is very considerate of you.--and i am sure, my love, i could not think of letting you go home alone with old john, after such an adventure to the poor dear doctor." lucy began an excuse which the good lady would not hear. but as the servant whom mr. brandon was to send with a lantern to attend his daughter home had not arrived, and as mrs. slopperton, despite her prepossessions in favour of her husband's deliverer, did not for a moment contemplate his accompanying, without any other attendance, her young friend across the fields at that unseasonable hour, the stranger was forced, for the present, to re-assume his seat. an open harpsichord at one end of the room gave him an opportunity to make some remark upon music; and this introducing an eulogium on lucy's voice from mrs. slopperton, necessarily ended in a request to miss brandon to indulge the stranger with a song. never had lucy, who was not a shy girl,--she was too innocent to be bashful,--felt nervous hitherto in singing before a stranger; but now she hesitated and faltered, and went through a whole series of little natural affectations before she complied with the request. she chose a song composed somewhat after the old english school, which at that time was reviving into fashion. the song, though conveying a sort of conceit, was not, perhaps, altogether without tenderness; it was a favourite with lucy, she scarcely knew why, and ran thus:-- lucy's song. why sleep, ye gentle flowers, ah, why, when tender eve is falling, and starlight drinks the happy sigh of winds to fairies calling? calling with low and plaining note, most like a ringdove chiding, or flute faint-heard from distant boat o'er smoothest waters gliding. lo, round you steals the wooing breeze; lo, on you falls the dew! o sweets, awake, for scarcely these can charm while wanting you! wake ye not yet, while fast below the silver time is fleeing? o heart of mine, those flowers but show thine own contented being. the twilight but preserves the bloom, the sun can but decay the warmth that brings the rich perfume but steals the life away. o heart, enjoy thy present calm, rest peaceful in the shade, and dread the sun that gives the balm to bid the blossom fade. when lucy ended, the stranger's praise was less loud than either the doctor's or his lady's; but how far more sweet it was! and for the first time in her life lucy made the discovery that eyes can praise as well as lips. for our part, we have often thought that that discovery is an epoch in life. it was now that mrs. slopperton declared her thorough conviction that the stranger himself could sing. he had that about him, she said, which made her sure of it. "indeed, dear madam," said he, with his usual undefinable, half-frank, half-latent smile, "my voice is but so-so, and any memory so indifferent that even in the easiest passages i soon come to a stand. my best notes are in the falsetto; and as for my execution--but we won't talk of that." "nay, nay; you are so modest," said mrs. slopperton. "i am sure you could oblige us if you would." "your command," said the stranger, moving to the harpsichord, "is all- sufficient; and since you, madam," turning to lucy, "have chosen a song after the old school, may i find pardon if i do the same? my selection is, to be sure, from a lawless song-book, and is supposed to be a ballad by robin hood, or at least one of his merry men,--a very different sort of outlaws from the knaves who attacked you, sir!" with this preface the stranger sung to a wild yet jovial air, with a tolerable voice, the following effusion: the love of our profession; or the robber's life. on the stream of the world, the robber's life is borne on the blithest wave; now it bounds into light in a gladsome strife, now it laughs in its hiding cave. at his maiden's lattice he stays the rein; how still is his courser proud (but still as a wind when it hangs o'er the main in the breast of the boding cloud), with the champed bit and the archd crest, and the eye of a listening deer, like valour, fretful most in rest, least chafed when in career. fit slave to a lord whom all else refuse to save at his desperate need; by my troth! i think one whom the world pursues hath a right to a gallant steed. "away, my beloved, i hear their feet! i blow thee a kiss, my fair, and i promise to bring thee, when next we meet, a braid for thy bonny hair. hurrah! for the booty!--my steed, hurrah! thorough bush, thorough brake, go we; and the coy moon smiles on our merry way, like my own love,--timidly." the parson he rides with a jingling pouch, how it blabs of the rifled poor! the courtier he lolls in his gilded coach, --how it smacks of a sinecure! the lawyer revolves in his whirling chaise sweet thoughts of a mischief done; and the lady that knoweth the card she plays is counting her guineas won! "he, lady!--what, holla, ye sinless men! my claim ye can scarce refuse; for when honest folk live on their neighbours, then they encroach on the robber's dues!" the lady changed cheek like a bashful maid, the lawyer talked wondrous fair, the parson blasphemed, and the courtier prayed, and the robber bore off his share. "hurrah! for the revel! my steed, hurrah! thorough bush, thorough brake, go we! it is ever a virtue, when others pay, to ruffle it merrily!" oh, there never was life like the robber's, --so jolly and bold and free! and its end-why, a cheer from the crowd below, and a leap from a leafless tree! this very moral lay being ended, mrs. slopperton declared it was excellent; though she confessed she thought the sentiments rather loose. perhaps the gentleman might be induced to favour them with a song of a more refined and modern turn,--something sentimental, in short. glancing towards lucy, the stranger answered that he only knew one song of the kind mrs. slopperton specified, and it was so short that he could scarcely weary her patience by granting her request. at this moment the river, which was easily descried from the windows of the room, glimmered in the starlight; and directing his looks towards the water, as if the scene had suggested to him the verses he sung, he gave the following stanzas in a very low, sweet tone, and with a far purer taste, than, perhaps, would have suited the preceding and ruder song. the wish. as sleeps the dreaming eve below, its holiest star keeps ward above, and yonder wave begins to glow, like friendship bright'ning into love! ah, would thy bosom were that stream, ne'er wooed save by the virgin air!-- ah, would that i were that star, whose beam looks down and finds its image there! scarcely was the song ended, before the arrival of miss brandon's servant was announced; and her destined escort, starting up, gallantly assisted her with her cloak and her hood,--happy, no doubt, to escape in some measure the overwhelming compliments of his entertainers. "but," said the doctor, as he shook hands with his deliverer, "by what name shall i remember and" (lifting his reverend eyes) "pray for the gentleman to whom i am so much indebted?" "you are very kind," said the stranger; "my name is clifford. madam," turning to lucy, "may i offer my hand down the stairs?" lucy accepted the courtesy; and the stranger was half-way down the staircase, when the doctor, stretching out his little neck, exclaimed,-- "good-evening, sir! i do hope we shall meet again." "fear not!" said mr. clifford, laughing gayly; "i am too great a traveller to make that hope a matter of impossibility. take care, madam, --one step more." the night was calm and tolerably clear, though the moon had not yet risen, as lucy and her companion passed through the fields, with the servant preceding them at a little distance with the lantern. after a pause of some length, clifford said, with a little hesitation, "is miss brandon related to the celebrated barrister of her name?" "he is my uncle," said lucy; "do you know him?" "only your uncle?" said clifford, with vivacity, and evading lucy's question. "i feared--hem! hem!--that is, i thought he might have been a nearer relation." there was another, but a, shorter pause, when clifford resumed, in a low voice: "will miss brandon think me very presumptuous if i say that a countenance like hers, once seen, can never be forgotten; and i believe, some years since, i had the honour to see her in london, at the theatre? it was but a momentary and distant glance that i was then enabled to gain; and yet," he added significantly, "it sufficed!" "i was only once at the theatre while in london, some years ago," said lucy, a little embarrassed; "and indeed an unpleasant occurrence which happened to my uncle, with whom i was, is sufficient to make me remember it." "ha! and what was it?" "why, in going out of the play-house his watch was stolen by some dexterous pickpocket." "was the rogue caught?" asked the stranger. "yes; and was sent the next day to bridewell. my uncle said he was extremely young, and yet quite hardened. i remember that i was foolish enough, when i heard of his sentence, to beg very hard that my uncle would intercede for him; but in vain." "did you, indeed, intercede for him?" said the stranger, in so earnest a tone that lucy coloured for the twentieth time that night, without seeing any necessity for the blush. clifford continued, in a gayer tone: "well, it is surprising how rogues hang together. i should not be greatly surprised if the person who despoiled your uncle were one of the same gang as the rascal who so terrified your worthy friend the doctor. but is this handsome old place your home?" "this is my home," answered lucy; "but it is an old-fashioned, strange place; and few people, to whom it was not endeared by associations, would think it handsome." "pardon me!" said lucy's companion, stopping, and surveying with a look of great interest the quaint pile, which now stood close before them; its dark bricks, gable-ends, and ivied walls, tinged by the starry light of the skies, and contrasted by the river, which rolled in silence below. the shutters to the large oriel window of the room in which the squire usually sat were still unclosed, and the steady and warm light of the apartment shone forth, casting a glow even to the smooth waters of the river; at the same moment, too, the friendly bark of the house-dog was heard, as in welcome; and was followed by the note of the great bell, announcing the hour for the last meal of the old-fashioned and hospitable family. "there is a pleasure in this," said the stranger, unconsciously, and with a half-sigh; "i wish i had a home!" "and have you not a home?" said lucy, with naivety. "as much as a bachelor can have, perhaps," answered clifford, recovering without an effort his gayety and self-possession. "but you know we wanderers are not allowed the same boast as the more fortunate benedicts; we send our hearts in search of a home, and we lose the one without gaining the other. but i keep you in the cold, and we are now at your door." "you will come in, of course!" said miss brandon, "and partake of our evening cheer." the stranger hesitated for an instant, and then said in a quick tone,-- "no! many, many thanks; it is already late. will miss brandon accept my gratitude for her condescension in permitting the attendance of one unknown to her?" as he thus spoke, clifford bowed profoundly over the hand of his beautiful charge; and lucy, wishing him good-night, hastened with a light step to her father's side. meanwhile clifford, after lingering a minute, when the door was closed on him, turned abruptly away; and muttering to himself, repaired with rapid steps to whatever object he had then in view. this ebook was produced by bryan sherman and david widger paul clifford preface to the edition of . this novel so far differs from the other fictions by the same author that it seeks to draw its interest rather from practical than ideal sources. out of some twelve novels or romances, embracing, however inadequately, a great variety of scene and character,--from "pelham" to the "pilgrims of the rhine," from "rienzi" to the "last days of pompeii,"--"paul clifford" is the _only one_ in which a robber has been made the hero, or the peculiar phases of life which he illustrates have been brought into any prominent description. without pausing to inquire what realm of manners or what order of crime and sorrow is open to art, and capable of administering to the proper ends of fiction, i may be permitted to observe that the present subject was selected, and the novel written, with a twofold object: first, to draw attention to two errors in our penal institutions; namely, a vicious prison-discipline, and a sanguinary criminal code,--the habit of corrupting the boy by the very punishment that ought to redeem him, and then hanging the man at the first occasion, as the easiest way of getting rid of our own blunders. between the example of crime which the tyro learns from the felons in the prison-yard, and the horrible levity with which the mob gather round the drop at newgate, there is a connection which a writer may be pardoned for quitting loftier regions of imagination to trace and to detect. so far this book is less a picture of the king's highway than the law's royal road to the gallows,--a satire on the short cut established between the house of correction and the condemned cell. a second and a lighter object in the novel of "paul clifford" (and hence the introduction of a semi-burlesque or travesty in the earlier chapters) was to show that there is nothing essentially different between vulgar vice and fashionable vice, and that the slang of the one circle is but an easy paraphrase of the cant of the other. the supplementary essays, entitled "tomlinsoniana," which contain the corollaries to various problems suggested in the novel, have been restored to the present edition. clifton, july , . preface to the edition of . most men who with some earnestness of mind examine into the mysteries of our social state will perhaps pass through that stage of self-education in which this novel was composed. the contrast between conventional frauds, received as component parts of the great system of civilization, and the less deceptive invasions of the laws which discriminate the _meum_ from the _tuum_, is tempting to a satire that is not without its justice. the tragic truths which lie hid in what i may call the philosophy of circumstance strike through our philanthropy upon our imagination. we see masses of our fellow-creatures the victims of circumstances over which they had no control,--contaminated in infancy by the example of parents, their intelligence either extinguished or turned against them, according as the conscience is stifled in ignorance or perverted to apologies for vice. a child who is cradled in ignominy, whose schoolmaster is the felon, whose academy is the house of correction,--who breathes an atmosphere in which virtue is poisoned, to which religion does not pierce,--becomes less a responsible and reasoning human being than a wild beast which we suffer to range in the wilderness, till it prowls near our homes, and we kill it in self-defence. in this respect the novel of "paul clifford" is a loud cry to society to amend the circumstance,--to redeem the victim. it is an appeal from humanity to law. and in this, if it could not pretend to influence or guide the temper of the times, it was at least a foresign of a coming change. between the literature of imagination, and the practical interests of a people, there is a harmony as complete as it is mysterious. the heart of an author is the mirror of his age. the shadow of the sun is cast on the still surface of literature long before the light penetrates to law; but it is ever from the sun that the shadow falls, and the moment we see the shadow we may be certain of the light. since this work was written, society has been busy with the evils in which it was then silently acquiescent. the true movement of the last fifteen years has been the progress of one idea,--social reform. there it advances with steady and noiseless march behind every louder question of constitutional change. let us do justice to our time. there have been periods of more brilliant action on the destinies of states, but there is no time visible in history in which there was so earnest and general a desire to improve the condition of the great body of the people. in every circle of the community that healthful desire is astir. it unites in one object men of parties the most opposed; it affords the most attractive nucleus for public meetings; it has cleansed the statute-book from blood; it is ridding the world of the hangman. it animates the clergy of all sects in the remotest districts; it sets the squire on improving cottages and parcelling out allotments. schools rise in every village; in books the lightest, the grand idea colours the page, and bequeaths the moral. the government alone (despite the professions on which the present ministry was founded) remains unpenetrated by the common genius of the age; but on that question, with all the subtleties it involves, and the experiments it demands,--not indeed according to the dreams of an insane philosophy, but according to the immutable laws which proportion the rewards of labour to the respect for property,--a government must be formed at last. there is in this work a subtler question suggested, but not solved,--that question which perplexes us in the generous ardour of our early youth,--which, unsatisfactory as all metaphysics, we rather escape from than decide as we advance in years; namely, make what laws we please, the man who lives within the pale can be as bad as the man without. compare the paul clifford of the fiction with the william brandon,--the hunted son with the honoured father, the outcast of the law with the dispenser of the law, the felon with the judge; and as at the last they front each other,--one on the seat of justice, the other at the convict's bar,--who can lay his hand on his heart and say that the paul clifford is a worse man than the william brandon. there is no immorality in a truth that enforces this question; for it is precisely those offences which society cannot interfere with that society requires fiction to expose. society is right, though youth is reluctant to acknowledge it. society can form only certain regulations necessary for its self-defence,--the fewer the better,--punish those who invade, leave unquestioned those who respect them. but fiction follows truth into all the strongholds of convention; strikes through the disguise, lifts the mask, bares the heart, and leaves a moral wherever it brands a falsehood. out of this range of ideas the mind of the author has, perhaps, emerged into an atmosphere which he believes to be more congenial to art. but he can no more regret that he has passed through it than he can regret that while he dwelt there his heart, like his years, was young. sympathy with the suffering that seems most actual, indignation at the frauds which seem most received as virtues, are the natural emotions of youth, if earnest. more sensible afterwards of the prerogatives, as of the elements, of art, the author, at least, seeks to escape where the man may not, and look on the practical world through the serener one of the ideal. with the completion of this work closed an era in the writer's self-education. from "pelham" to "paul clifford" (four fictions, all written at a very early age), the author rather observes than imagines; rather deals with the ordinary surface of human life than attempts, however humbly, to soar above it or to dive beneath. from depicting in "paul clifford" the errors of society, it was almost the natural progress of reflection to pass to those which swell to crime in the solitary human heart,--from the bold and open evils that spring from ignorance and example, to track those that lie coiled in the entanglements of refining knowledge and speculative pride. looking back at this distance of years, i can see as clearly as if mapped before me, the paths which led across the boundary of invention from "paul clifford" to "eugene aram." and, that last work done, no less clearly can i see where the first gleams from a fairer fancy broke upon my way, and rested on those more ideal images which i sought with a feeble hand to transfer to the "pilgrims of the rhine" and the "last days of pompeii." we authors, like the children in the fable, track our journey through the maze by the pebbles which we strew along the path. from others who wander after us, they may attract no notice, or, if noticed, seem to them but scattered by the caprice of chance; but we, when our memory would retrace our steps, review in the humble stones the witnesses of our progress, the landmarks of our way. knelworth, . paul clifford. chapter i. say, ye oppressed by some fantastic woes, some jarring nerve that baffles your repose, who press the downy couch while slaves advance with timid eye to read the distant glance, who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease to name the nameless, ever-new disease, who with mock patience dire complaints endure, which real pain and that alone can cure, how would you bear in real pain to lie despised, neglected, left alone to die? how would you bear to draw your latest breath where all that's wretched paves the way to death? --crabbe. it was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents, except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in london that our scene lies), rattling along the house-tops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness. through one of the obscurest quarters of london, and among haunts little loved by the gentlemen of the police, a man, evidently of the lowest orders, was wending his solitary way. he stopped twice or thrice at different shops and houses of a description correspondent with the appearance of the _quartier_ in which they were situated, and tended inquiry for some article or another which did not seem easily to be met with. all the answers he received were couched in the negative; and as he turned from each door he muttered to himself, in no very elegant phraseology, his disappointment and discontent. at length, at one house, the landlord, a sturdy butcher, after rendering the same reply the inquirer had hitherto received, added, "but if _this_ vill do as vell, dummie, it is quite at your sarvice!" pausing reflectively for a moment, dummie responded that he thought the thing proffered _might_ do as well; and thrusting it into his ample pocket, he strode away with as rapid a motion as the wind and the rain would allow. he soon came to a nest of low and dingy buildings, at the entrance to which, in half-effaced characters, was written "thames court." halting at the most conspicuous of these buildings, an inn or alehouse, through the half-closed windows of which blazed out in ruddy comfort the beams of the hospitable hearth, he knocked hastily at the door. he was admitted by a lady of a certain age, and endowed with a comely rotundity of face and person. "hast got it, dummie?" said she, quickly, as she closed the door on the guest. "noa, noa! not exactly; but i thinks as 'ow--" "pish, you fool!" cried the woman, interrupting him peevishly. "vy, it is no use desaving me. you knows you has only stepped from my boosing-ken to another, and you has not been arter the book at all. so there's the poor cretur a, raving and a dying, and you--" "let i speak!" interrupted dummie in his turn. "i tells you i vent first to mother bussblone's, who, i knows, chops the whiners morning and evening to the young ladies, and i axes there for a bible; and she says, says she, 'i 'as only a "companion to the _h_alter," but you'll get a bible, i think, at master talkins', the cobbler as preaches.' so i goes to master talkins, and he says, says he, 'i 'as no call for the bible, --'cause vy? i 'as a call vithout; but mayhap you'll be a getting it at the butcher's hover the vay, -'cause vy? the butcher 'll be damned!' so i goes hover the vay, and the butcher says, says he, 'i 'as not a bible, but i 'as a book of plays bound for all the vorld just like 'un, and mayhap the poor cretur may n't see the difference.' so i takes the plays, mrs. margery, and here they be sure_ly!_ and how's poor judy?" "fearsome! she'll not be over the night, i'm a thinking." "vell, i'll track up the dancers!" so saying, dummie ascended a doorless staircase, across the entrance of which a blanket, stretched angularly from the wall to the chimney, afforded a kind of screen; and presently he stood within a chamber which the dark and painful genius of crabbe might have delighted to portray. the walls were whitewashed, and at sundry places strange figures and grotesque characters had been traced by some mirthful inmate, in such sable outline as the end of a smoked stick or the edge of a piece of charcoal is wont to produce. the wan and flickering light afforded by a farthing candle gave a sort of grimness and menace to these achievements of pictorial art, especially as they more than once received embellishments from portraits of satan such as he is accustomed to be drawn. a low fire burned gloomily in the sooty grate, and on the hob hissed "the still small voice" of an iron kettle. on a round deal table were two vials, a cracked cup, a broken spoon of some dull metal, and upon two or three mutilated chairs were scattered various articles of female attire. on another table, placed below a high, narrow, shutterless casement (athwart which, instead of a curtain, a checked apron had been loosely hung, and now waved fitfully to and fro in the gusts of wind that made easy ingress through many a chink and cranny), were a looking-glass, sundry appliances of the toilet, a box of coarse rouge, a few ornaments of more show than value, and a watch, the regular and calm click of which produced that indescribably painful feeling which, we fear, many of our readers who have heard the sound in a sick-chamber can easily recall. a large tester-bed stood opposite to this table, and the looking-glass partially reflected curtains of a faded stripe, and ever and anon (as the position of the sufferer followed the restless emotion of a disordered mind) glimpses of the face of one on whom death was rapidly hastening. beside this bed now stood dummie, a small, thin man dressed in a tattered plush jerkin, from which the rain-drops slowly dripped, and with a thin, yellow, cunning physiognomy grotesquely hideous in feature, but not positively villanous in expression. on the other side of the bed stood a little boy of about three years old, dressed as if belonging to the better classes, although the garb was somewhat tattered and discoloured. the poor child trembled violently, and evidently looked with a feeling of relief on the entrance of dummie. and now there slowly, and with many a phthisical sigh, heaved towards the foot of the bed the heavy frame of the woman who had accosted dummie below, and had followed him, _haud passibus aequis_, to the room of the sufferer; she stood with a bottle of medicine in her hand, shaking its contents up and down, and with a kindly yet timid compassion spread over a countenance crimsoned with habitual libations. this made the scene,--save that on a chair by the bedside lay a profusion of long, glossy, golden ringlets, which had been cut from the head of the sufferer when the fever had begun to mount upwards, but which, with a jealousy that portrayed the darling littleness of a vain heart, she had seized and insisted on retaining near her; and save that, by the fire, perfectly inattentive to the event about to take place within the chamber, and to which we of the biped race attach so awful an importance, lay a large gray cat, curled in a ball, and dozing with half-shut eyes, and ears that now and then denoted, by a gentle inflection, the jar of a louder or nearer sound than usual upon her lethargic senses. the dying woman did not at first attend to the entrance either of dummie or the female at the foot of the bed, but she turned herself round towards the child, and grasping his arm fiercely, she drew him towards her, and gazed on his terrified features with a look in which exhaustion and an exceeding wanness of complexion were even horribly contrasted by the glare and energy of delirium. "if you are like _him_," she muttered, "i will strangle you,--i will! ay, tremble, you ought to tremble when your mother touches you, or when _he_ is mentioned. you have his eyes, you have! out with them, out,--the devil sits laughing in them! oh, you weep, do you, little one? well, now, be still, my love; be hushed! i would not harm thee! harm -- god, he _is_ my child after all!" and at these words she clasped the boy passionately to her breast, and burst into tears. "coom, now, coom," said dummie, soothingly; "take the stuff, judith, and then ve'll talk over the hurchin!" the mother relaxed her grasp of the boy, and turning towards the speaker, gazed at him for some moments with a bewildered stare; at length she appeared slowly to remember him, and said, as she raised herself on one hand, and pointed the other towards him with an inquiring gesture,--"thou hast brought the book?" dummie answered by lifting up the book he had brought from the honest butcher's. "clear the room, then," said the sufferer, with that air of mock command so common to the insane. "we would be alone!" dummie winked at the good woman at the foot of the bed; and she (though generally no easy person to order or to persuade) left, without reluctance, the sick chamber. "if she be a going to pray," murmured our landlady (for that office did the good matron hold), "i may indeed as well take myself off, for it's not werry comfortable like to those who be old to hear all that 'ere!" with this pious reflection, the hostess of the mug,--so was the hostelry called,--heavily descended the creaking stairs. "now, man," said the sufferer, sternly, "swear that you will never reveal,--swear, i say! and by the great god whose angels are about this night, if ever you break the oath, i will come back and haunt you to your dying day!" dummie's face grew pale, for he was superstitiously affected by the vehemence and the language of the dying woman, and he answered, as he kissed the pretended bible, that he swore to keep the secret, as much as he knew of it, which, she must be sensible, he said, was very little. as he spoke, the wind swept with a loud and sudden gust down the chimney, and shook the roof above them so violently as to loosen many of the crumbling tiles, which fell one after the other, with a crashing noise, on the pavement below. dummie started in affright; and perhaps his conscience smote him for the trick he had played with regard to the false bible. but the woman, whose excited and unstrung nerves led her astray from one subject to another with preternatural celerity, said, with an hysterical laugh, "see, dummie, they come in state for me; give me the cap--yonder--and bring the looking-glass!" dummie obeyed; and the woman, as she in a low tone uttered something about the unbecoming colour of the ribbons, adjusted the cap on her head, and then, saying in a regretful and petulant voice, "why should they have cut off my hair? such a disfigurement!" bade dummie desire mrs. margery once more to ascend to her. left alone with her child, the face of the wretched mother softened as she regarded him, and all the levities and all the vehemences--if we may use the word--which, in the turbulent commotion of her delirium, had been stirred upward to the surface of her mind, gradually now sank as death increased upon her, and a mother's anxiety rose to the natural level from which it had been disturbed and abased. she took the child to her bosom, and clasping him in her arms, which grew weaker with every instant, she soothed him with the sort of chant which nurses sing over their untoward infants; but her voice was cracked and hollow, and as she felt it was so, the mother's eyes filled with tears. mrs. margery now reentered; and turning towards the hostess with an impressive calmness of manner which astonished and awed the person she addressed, the dying woman pointed to the child and said,-- "you have been kind to me, very kind, and may god bless you for it! i have found that those whom the world calls the worst are often the most _human_. but i am not going to thank you as i ought to do, but to ask of you a last and exceeding favour. protect my child till he grows up. you have often said you loved him,--you are childless yourself,--and a morsel of bread and a shelter for the night, which is all i ask of you to give him, will not impoverish more legitimate claimants." poor mrs. margery, fairly sobbing, vowed she would be a mother to the child, and that she would endeavour to rear him honestly; though a public-house was not, she confessed, the best place for good examples. "take him," cried the mother, hoarsely, as her voice, failing her strength, rattled indistinctly, and almost died within her. "take him, rear him as you will, as you can; any example, any roof, better than--" here the words were inaudible. "and oh, may it be a curse and a-- give me the medicine; i am dying." the hostess, alarmed, hastened to comply; but before she returned to the bedside, the sufferer was insensible,--nor did she again recover speech or motion. a low and rare moan only testified continued life, and within two hours that ceased, and the spirit was gone. at that time our good hostess was herself beyond the things of this outer world, having supported her spirits during the vigils of the night with so many little liquid stimulants that they finally sank into that torpor which generally succeeds excitement. taking, perhaps, advantage of the opportunity which the insensibility of the hostess afforded him, dummie, by the expiring ray of the candle that burned in the death-chamber, hastily opened a huge box (which was generally concealed under the bed, and contained the wardrobe of the deceased), and turned with irreverent hand over the linens and the silks, until quite at the bottom of the trunk he discovered some packets of letters; these he seized, and buried in the conveniences of his dress. he then, rising and replacing the box, cast a longing eye towards the watch on the toilet-table, which was of gold; but he withdrew his gaze, and with a querulous sigh observed to himself: "the old blowen kens of that, 'od rat her! but, howsomever, i'll take this: who knows but it may be of sarvice. tannies to-day may be smash to-morrow!" [meaning, what is of no value now may be precious hereafter.] and he laid his coarse hand on the golden and silky tresses we have described. "'t is a rum business, and puzzles i; but mum's the word for my own little colquarren [neck]." with this brief soliloquy dummie descended the stairs and let himself out of the house. chapter ii. imagination fondly stoops to trace the parlor splendours of that festive place. _deserted village._ there is little to interest in a narrative of early childhood, unless, indeed, one were writing on education. we shall not, therefore, linger over the infancy of the motherless boy left to the protection of mrs. margery lobkins, or, as she was sometimes familiarly called, peggy, or piggy, lob. the good dame, drawing a more than sufficient income from the profits of a house which, if situated in an obscure locality, enjoyed very general and lucrative repute, and being a lone widow without kith or kin, had no temptation to break her word to the deceased, and she suffered the orphan to wax in strength and understanding until the age of twelve,--a period at which we are now about to reintroduce him to our readers. the boy evinced great hardihood of temper, and no inconsiderable quickness of intellect. in whatever he attempted, his success was rapid, and a remarkable strength of limb and muscle seconded well the dictates of an ambition turned, it must be confessed, rather to physical than mental exertion. it is not to be supposed, however, that his boyish life passed in unbroken tranquillity. although mrs. lobkins was a good woman on the whole, and greatly attached to her _protegee_, she was violent and rude in temper, or, as she herself more flatteringly expressed it, "her feelings were unkimmonly strong;" and alternate quarrel and reconciliation constituted the chief occupations of the _protegee's_ domestic life. as, previous to his becoming the ward of mrs. lobkins, he had never received any other appellation than "the child," so the duty of christening him devolved upon our hostess of the mug; and after some deliberation, she blessed him with the name of paul. it was a name of happy omen, for it had belonged to mrs. lobkins's grandfather, who had been three times transported and twice hanged (at the first occurrence of the latter description, he had been restored by the surgeons, much to the chagrin of a young anatomist who was to have had the honour of cutting him up). the boy did not seem likely to merit the distinguished appellation he bore, for he testified no remarkable predisposition to the property of other people. nay, although he sometimes emptied the pockets of any stray visitor to the coffee-room of mrs. lobkins, it appeared an act originating rather in a love of the frolic than a desire of the profit; for after the plundered person had been sufficiently tormented by the loss, haply, of such utilities as a tobacco-box or a handkerchief; after he had, to the secret delight of paul, searched every corner of the apartment, stamped, and fretted, and exposed himself by his petulance to the bitter objurgation of mrs. lobkins, our young friend would quietly and suddenly contrive that the article missed should return of its own accord to the pocket from which it had disappeared. and thus, as our readers have doubtless experienced when they have disturbed the peace of a whole household for the loss of some portable treasure which they themselves are afterwards discovered to have mislaid, the unfortunate victim of paul's honest ingenuity, exposed to the collected indignation of the spectators, and sinking from the accuser into the convicted, secretly cursed the unhappy lot which not only vexed him with the loss of his property, but made it still more annoying to recover it. whether it was that, on discovering these pranks, mrs. lobkins trembled for the future bias of the address they displayed, or whether she thought that the folly of thieving without gain required speedy and permanent correction, we cannot decide; but the good lady became at last extremely anxious to secure for paul the blessings of a liberal education. the key of knowledge (the art of reading) she had, indeed, two years prior to the present date, obtained for him; but this far from satisfied her conscience,--nay, she felt that if she could not also obtain for him the discretion to use it, it would have been wise even to have withheld a key which the boy seemed perversely to apply to all locks but the right one. in a word, she was desirous that he should receive an education far superior to those whom he saw around him; and attributing, like most ignorant persons, too great advantages to learning, she conceived that in order to live as decorously as the parson of the parish, it was only necessary to know as much latin. one evening in particular, as the dame sat by her cheerful fire, this source of anxiety was unusually active in her mind, and ever and anon she directed unquiet and restless glances towards paul, who sat on a form at the opposite corner of the hearth, diligently employed in reading the life and adventures of the celebrated richard turpin. the form on which the boy sat was worn to a glassy smoothness, save only in certain places, where some ingenious idler or another had amused himself by carving sundry names, epithets, and epigrammatic niceties of language. it is said that the organ of carving upon wood is prominently developed on all english skulls; and the sagacious mr. combe has placed this organ at the back of the head, in juxtaposition to that of destructiveness, which is equally large among our countrymen, as is notably evinced upon all railings, seats, temples, and other things-belonging to other people. opposite to the fireplace was a large deal table, at which dummie, surnamed dunnaker, seated near the dame, was quietly ruminating over a glass of hollands and water. farther on, at another table in the corner of the room, a gentleman with a red wig, very rusty garments, and linen which seemed as if it had been boiled in saffron, smoked his pipe, apart, silent, and apparently plunged in meditation. this gentleman was no other than mr. peter macgrawler, the editor of a magnificent periodical entitled "the asiaeum," which was written to prove that whatever is popular is necessarily bad,--a valuable and recondite truth, which "the asinaeum" had satisfactorily demonstrated by ruining three printers and demolishing a publisher. we need not add that mr. macgrawler was scotch by birth, since we believe it is pretty well known that _all_ periodicals of this country have, from time immemorial, been monopolized by the gentlemen of the land of cakes. we know not how it may be the fashion to eat the said cakes in scotland, but _here_ the good emigrators seem to like them carefully buttered on both sides. by the side of the editor stood a large pewter tankard; above him hung an engraving of the "wonderfully fat boar formerly in the possession of mr. fattem, grazier." to his left rose the dingy form of a thin, upright clock in an oaken case; beyond the clock, a spit and a musket were fastened in parallels to the wall. below those twin emblems of war and cookery were four shelves, containing plates of pewter and delf, and terminating, centaur-like, in a sort of dresser. at the other side of these domestic conveniences was a picture of mrs. lobkins, in a scarlet body and a hat and plume. at the back of the fair hostess stretched the blanket we have before mentioned. as a relief to the monotonous surface of this simple screen, various ballads and learned legends were pinned to the blanket. there might you read in verses, pathetic and unadorned, how-- "sally loved a sailor lad as fought with famous shovel!" there might you learn, if of two facts so instructive you were before unconscious, that "ben the toper loved his bottle,-- charley only loved the lasses!" when of these and various other poetical effusions you were somewhat wearied, the literary fragments in bumbler prose afforded you equal edification and delight. there might you fully enlighten yourself as to the "strange and wonderful news from kensington, being a most full and true relation how a maid there is supposed to have been carried away by an evil spirit on wednesday, th of april last, about midnight." there, too, no less interesting and no less veracious, was that uncommon anecdote touching the chief of many-throned powers entitled "the divell of mascon; or, the true relation of the chief things which an unclean spirit did and said at mascon, in burgundy, in the house of one mr. francis pereaud: now made english by one that hath a particular knowledge of the truth of the story." nor were these materials for satanic history the only prosaic and faithful chronicles which the bibliothecal blanket afforded. equally wonderful, and equally indisputable, was the account of "a young lady, the daughter of a duke, with three legs and the face of a porcupine." nor less so "the awful judgment of god upon swearers, as exemplified in the case of john stiles, who dropped down dead after swearing a great oath; and on stripping the unhappy man they found 'swear not at all' written on the tail of his shirt!" twice had mrs. lobkins heaved a long sigh, as her eyes turned from paul to the tranquil countenance of dummie dunnaker, and now, re-settling herself in her chair, as a motherly anxiety gathered over her visage,-- "paul, my ben cull," said she, "what gibberish hast got there?" "turpin, _the great_ highwayman!" answered the young student, without lifting his eyes from the page, through which he was spelling his instructive way. "oh! he be's a chip of the right block, dame!" said mr. dunnaker, as he applied his pipe to an illumined piece of paper. "he'll ride a 'oss foaled by a hacorn yet, i varrants!" to this prophecy the dame replied only with a look of indignation; and rocking herself to and fro in her huge chair, she remained for some moments in silent thought. at last she again wistfully eyed the hopeful boy, and calling him to her side, communicated some order, in a dejected whisper. paul, on receiving it, disappeared behind the blanket, and presently returned with a bottle and a wineglass. with an abstracted gesture, and an air that betokened continued meditation, the good dame took the inspiring cordial from the hand of her youthful cupbearer,-- "and ere a man had power to say 'behold!' the jaws of lobkins had devoured it up: so quick bright things come to confusion!" the nectarean beverage seemed to operate cheerily on the matron's system; and placing her hand on the boy's curly head, she said (like andromache, _dakruon gelasasa_, or, as scott hath it, "with a smile on her cheek, but a tear in her eye"),-- "paul, thy heart be good, thy heart be good; thou didst not spill a drop of the tape! tell me, my honey, why didst thou lick tom tobyson?" "because," answered paul, "he said as how you ought to have been hanged long ago." "tom tobyson is a good-for-nought," returned the dame, "and deserves to shove the tumbler [be whipped at the cart's tail]; i but oh, my child, be not too venturesome in taking up the sticks for a blowen,--it has been the ruin of many a man afore you; and when two men goes to quarrel for a 'oman, they doesn't know the natur' of the thing they quarrels about. mind thy latter end, paul, and reverence the old, without axing what they has been before they passed into the wale of years. thou mayst get me my pipe, paul,--it is upstairs, under the pillow." while paul was accomplishing this errand, the lady of the mug, fixing her eyes upon mr. dunnaker, said, "dummie, dummie, if little paul should come to be scragged!" "whish!" muttered dummie, glancing over his shoulder at macgrawler; "mayhap that gemman--" here his voice became scarcely audible even to mrs. lobkins; but his whisper seemed to imply an insinuation that the illustrious editor of "the asinaeum" might be either an informer, or one of those heroes on whom an informer subsists. mrs. lobkins's answer, couched in the same key, appeared to satisfy dunnaker, for with a look of great contempt he chucked up his head and said, "oho! that be all, be it!" paul here reappeared with the pipe; and the dame, having filled the tube, leaned forward, and lighted the virginian weed from the blower of mr. dunnaker. as in this interesting occupation the heads of the hostess and the guest approached each other, the glowing light playing cheerily on the countenance of each, there was an honest simplicity in the picture that would have merited the racy and vigorous genius of a cruikshank. as soon as the promethean spark had been fully communicated to the lady's tube, mrs. lobkins, still possessed by the gloomy idea she had conjured up, repeated,-- "ah, dummie, if little paul should be scragged!" dummie, withdrawing the pipe from his mouth, heaved a sympathizing puff, but remained silent; and mrs. lobkins, turning to paul, who stood with mouth open and ears erect at this boding ejaculation, said,-- "dost think, paul, they'd have the heart to hang thee?" "i think they'd have the rope, dame!" returned the youth. "but you need not go for to run your neck into the noose!" said the matron; and then, inspired by the spirit of moralizing, she turned round to the youth, and gazing upon his attentive countenance, accosted him with the following admonitions:-- "mind thy kittychism, child, and reverence old age. never steal, 'specially when any one be in the way. never go snacks with them as be older than you,--'cause why? the older a cove be, the more he cares for hisself, and the less for his partner. at twenty, we diddles the public; at forty, we diddles our cronies! be modest, paul, and stick to your sitivation in life. go not with fine tobymen, who burn out like a candle wot has a thief in it,--all flare, and gone in a whiffy! leave liquor to the aged, who can't do without it. tape often proves a halter, and there be's no ruin like blue ruin! read your bible, and talk like a pious 'un. people goes more by your words than your actions. if you wants what is not your own, try and do without it; and if you cannot do without it, take it away by insinivation, not bluster. they as swindles does more and risks less than they as robs; and if you cheats toppingly, you may laugh at the topping cheat [gallows]. and now go play." paul seized his hat, but lingered; and the dame, guessing at the signification of the pause, drew forth and placed in the boy's hand the sum of five halfpence and one farthing. "there, boy," quoth she, and she stroked his head fondly when she spoke, "you does right not to play for nothing,--it's loss of time; but play with those as be less than yoursel', and then you can go for to beat 'em if they says you go for to cheat!" paul vanished; and the dame, laying her hand on dummie's shoulder, said, -- "there be nothing like a friend in need, dummie; and somehow or other, i thinks as how you knows more of the horigin of that 'ere lad than any of us!" "me, dame!" exclaimed dummie, with a broad gaze of astonishment. "ah, you! you knows as how the mother saw more of you just afore she died than she did of 'ere one of us. noar, now, noar, now! tell us all about 'un. did she steal 'un, think ye?" "lauk, mother margery, dost think i knows? vot put such a crotchet in your 'ead?" "well!" said the dame, with a disappointed sigh, "i always thought as how you were more knowing about it than you owns. dear, dear, i shall never forgit the night when judith brought the poor cretur here,--you knows she had been some months in my house afore ever i see'd the urchin; and when she brought it, she looked so pale and ghostly that i had not the heart to say a word, so i stared at the brat, and it stretched out its wee little hands to me. and the mother frowned at it, and throwed it into my lap." "ah! she was a hawful voman, that 'ere!" said dummie, shaking his head. "but howsomever, the hurchin fell into good 'ands; for i be's sure you 'as been a better mother to 'un than the raal 'un!" "i was always a fool about childer," rejoined mrs. lobkins; "and i thinks as how little paul was sent to be a comfort to my latter end! fill the glass, dummie." "i 'as heard as 'ow judith was once blowen to a great lord!" said dummie. "like enough!" returned mrs. lobkins,--"like enough! she was always a favourite of mine, for she had a spuret [spirit] as big as my own; and she paid her rint like a decent body, for all she was out of her sinses, or 'nation like it." "ay, i _knows_ as how you liked her,--'cause vy? 't is not your vay to let a room to a voman! you says as how 't is not respectable, and you only likes men to wisit the mug!" "and i doesn't like all of them as comes here!" answered the dame,--"'specially for paul's sake; but what can a lone 'oman do? many's the gentleman highwayman wot comes here, whose money is as good as the clerk's of the parish. and when a bob [shilling] is in my hand, what does it sinnify whose hand it was in afore?" "that's what i call being sinsible and _practical_," said dummie, approvingly. "and after all, though you 'as a mixture like, i does not know a halehouse where a cove is better entertained, nor meets of a sunday more illegant company, than the mug!" here the conversation, which the reader must know had been sustained in a key inaudible to a third person, received a check from mr. peter macgrawler, who, having finished his revery and his tankard, now rose to depart. first, however, approaching mrs. lobkins, he observed that he had gone on credit for some days, and demanded the amount of his bill. glancing towards certain chalk hieroglyphics inscribed on the wall at the other side of the fireplace, the dame answered that mr. macgrawler was indebted to her for the sum of one shilling and ninepence three farthings. after a short preparatory search in his waistcoat pockets, the critic hunted into one corner a solitary half-crown, and having caught it between his finger and thumb, he gave it to mrs. lobkins and requested change. as soon as the matron felt her hand anointed with what has been called by some ingenious johnson of st. giles's "the oil of palms," her countenance softened into a complacent smile; and when she gave the required change to mr. macgrawler, she graciously hoped as how he would recommend the mug to the public. "that you may be sure of," said the editor of "the asinaeum." "there is not a place where i am so much at home." with that the learned scotsman buttoned his coat and went his way. "how spiteful the world be!" said mrs. lobkins, after a pause, "'specially if a 'oman keeps a fashionable sort of a public! when judith died, joe, the dog's-meat man, said i war all the better for it, and that she left i a treasure to bring up the urchin. one would think a thumper makes a man richer,--'cause why? every man _thumps!_ i got nothing more than a watch and ten guineas when judy died, and sure that scarce paid for the burrel [burial]." "you forgits the two quids [guineas] i giv' you for the hold box of rags,--much of a treasure i found there!" said dummie, with sycophantic archness. "ay," cried the dame, laughing, "i fancies you war not pleased with the bargain. i thought you war too old a ragmerchant to be so free with the blunt; howsomever, i supposes it war the tinsel petticoat as took you in!" "as it has mony a viser man than the like of i," rejoined dummie, who to his various secret professions added the ostensible one of a rag-merchant and dealer in broken glass. the recollection of her good bargain in the box of rags opened our landlady's heart. "drink, dummie," said she, good-humouredly,--"drink; i scorns to score lush to a friend." dummie expressed his gratitude, refilled his glass, and the hospitable matron, knocking out from her pipe the dying ashes, thus proceeded: "you sees, dummie, though i often beats the boy, i loves him as much as if i war his raal mother,--i wants to make him an honour to his country, and an ixciption to my family!" "who all flashed their ivories at surgeons' hall!" added the metaphorical dummie. "true!" said the lady; "they died game, and i be n't ashamed of 'em. but i owes a duty to paul's mother, and i wants paul to have a long life. i would send him to school, but you knows as how the boys only corrupt one another. and so, i should like to meet with some decent man, as a tutor, to teach the lad latin and vartue!" "my eyes!" cried dummie; aghast at the grandeur of this desire. "the boy is 'cute enough, and he loves reading," continued the dame; but i does not think the books he gets hold of will teach him the way to grow old." "and 'ow came he to read, anyhows?" "ranting rob, the strolling player, taught him his letters, and said he'd a deal of janius." "and why should not ranting rob tache the boy latin and vartue?" "'cause ranting rob, poor fellow, was lagged [transported for burglary] for doing a panny!" answered the dame, despondently. there was a long silence; it was broken by mr. dummie. slapping his thigh with the gesticulatory vehemence of a ugo foscolo, that gentleman exclaimed,-- "i 'as it,--i 'as thought of a tutor for leetle paul!" "who's that? you quite frightens me; you 'as no marcy on my narves," said the dame, fretfully. "vy, it be the gemman vot writes," said dummie, putting his finger to his nose,--"the gemman vot paid you so flashly!" "what! the scotch gemman?" "the werry same!" returned dummie. the dame turned in her chair and refilled her pipe. it was evident from her manner that mr. dunnaker's suggestion had made an impression on her. but she recognized two doubts as to its feasibility: one, whether the gentleman proposed would be adequate to the task; the other, whether he would be willing to undertake it. in the midst of her meditations on this matter, the dame was interrupted by the entrance of certain claimants on her hospitality; and dummie soon after taking his leave, the suspense of mrs. lobkins's mind touching the education of little paul remained the whole of that day and night utterly unrelieved. chapter iii. i own that i am envious of the pleasure you will have in finding yourself more learned than other boys,--even those who are older than yourself. what honour this will do you! what distinctions, what applauses will follow wherever you go! --lord chesterfield: letters to his son. example, my boy,--example is worth a thousand precepts. --maximilian solemn. tarpeia was crushed beneath the weight of ornaments. the language of the vulgar is a sort of tarpeia. we have therefore relieved it of as many gems as we were able, and in the foregoing scene presented it to the gaze of our readers _simplex munditiis_. nevertheless, we could timidly imagine some gentler beings of the softer sex rather displeased with the tone of the dialogue we have given, did we not recollect how delighted they are with the provincial barbarities of the sister kingdom, whenever they meet them poured over the pages of some scottish story-teller. as, unhappily for mankind, broad scotch is not yet the universal language of europe, we suppose our countrywomen will not be much more unacquainted with the dialect of their own lower orders than with that which breathes nasal melodies over the paradise of the north. it was the next day, at the hour of twilight, when mrs. margery lobkins, after a satisfactory _tete-d-tete_ with mr. macgrawler, had the happiness of thinking that she had provided a tutor for little paul. the critic having recited to her a considerable portion of _propria qum maribus_, the good lady had no longer a doubt of his capacities for teaching; and on the other hand, when mrs. lobkins entered on the subject of remuneration, the scotsman professed himself perfectly willing to teach any and every thing that the most exacting guardian could require. it was finally settled that paul should attend mr. macgrawler two hours a day; that mr. macgrawler should be entitled to such animal comforts of meat and drink as the mug afforded, and, moreover, to the weekly stipend of two shillings and sixpence,--the shillings for instruction in the classics, and the sixpence for all other humanities; or, as mrs. lobkins expressed it, "two bobs for the latin, and a site for the vartue." let not thy mind, gentle reader, censure us for a deviation from probability in making so excellent and learned a gentleman as mr. peter macgrawler the familiar guest of the lady of the mug. first, thou must know that our story is cast in a period antecedent to the present, and one in which the old jokes against the circumstances of author and of critic had their foundation in truth; secondly, thou must know that by some curious concatenation of circumstances neither bailiff nor bailiff's man was ever seen within the four walls continent of mrs. margery lobkins; thirdly, the mug was nearer than any other house of public resort to the abode of the critic; fourthly, it afforded excellent porter; and fifthly, o reader, thou dost mrs. margery lobkins a grievous wrong if thou supposest that her door was only open to those mercurial gentry who are afflicted with the morbid curiosity to pry into the mysteries of their neighbours' pockets,--other visitors, of fair repute, were not unoften partakers of the good matron's hospitality; although it must be owned that they generally occupied the private room in preference to the public one. and sixthly, sweet reader (we grieve to be so prolix), we would just hint to thee that mr. macgrawler was one of those vast-minded sages who, occupied in contemplating morals in the great scale, do not fritter down their intellects by a base attention to minute details. so that if a descendant of langfanger did sometimes cross the venerable scot in his visit to the mug, the apparition did not revolt that benevolent moralist so much as, were it not for the above hint, thy ignorance might lead thee to imagine. it is said that athenodorus the stoic contributed greatly by his conversation to amend the faults of augustus, and to effect the change visible in that fortunate man after his accession to the roman empire. if this be true, it may throw a new light on the character of augustus, and instead of being the hypocrite, he was possibly the convert. certain it is that there are few vices which cannot be conquered by wisdom; and yet, melancholy to relate, the instructions of peter macgrawler produced but slender amelioration in the habits of the youthful paul. that ingenious stripling had, we have already seen, under the tuition of ranting bob, mastered the art of reading,--nay, he could even construct and link together certain curious pot-hooks, which himself and mrs. lobkins were wont graciously to term "writing." so far, then, the way of macgrawler was smoothed and prepared. but, unhappily, all experienced teachers allow that the main difficulty is not to learn, but to unlearn; and the mind of paul was already occupied by a vast number of heterogeneous miscellanies which stoutly resisted the ingress either of latin or of virtue. nothing could wean him from an ominous affection for the history of richard turpin; it was to him what, it has been said, the greek authors should be to the academician,--a study by day, and a dream by night. he was docile enough during lessons, and sometimes even too quick in conception for the stately march of mr. macgrawler's intellect. but it not unfrequently happened that when that gentleman attempted to rise, he found himself, like the lady in "comus," adhering to-- "a venomed seat smeared with gums of glutinous heat;" or his legs had been secretly united under the table, and the tie was not to be broken without overthrow to the superior powers. these, and various other little sportive machinations wherewith paul was wont to relieve the monotony of literature, went far to disgust the learned critic with his undertaking. but "the tape" and the treasury of mrs. lobkins re-smoothed, as it were, the irritated bristles of his mind, and he continued his labours with this philosophical reflection: "why fret myself? if a pupil turns out well, it is clearly to the credit of his master; if not, to the disadvantage of himself." of course, a similar suggestion never forced itself into the mind of dr. keate [a celebrated principal of eton]. at eton the very soul of the honest headmaster is consumed by his zeal for the welfare of the little gentlemen in stiff cravats. but to paul, who was predestined to enjoy a certain quantum of knowledge, circumstances happened, in the commencement of the second year of his pupilage, which prodigiously accelerated the progress of his scholastic career. at the apartment of macgrawler, paul one morning encountered mr. augustus tomlinson, a young man of great promise, who pursued the peaceful occupation of chronicling in a leading newspaper "horrid murders," "enormous melons," and "remarkable circumstances." this gentleman, having the advantage of some years' seniority over paul, was slow in unbending his dignity; but observing at last the eager and respectful attention with which the stripling listened to a most veracious detail of five men being inhumanly murdered in canterbury cathedral by the reverend zedekiah fooks barnacle, he was touched by the impression he had created, and shaking paul graciously by the hand, he told him there was a deal of natural shrewdness in his countenance, and that mr. augustus tomlinson did not doubt but that he (paul) might have the honour to be murdered himself one of these days. "you understand me," continued mr. augustus,--"i mean murdered in effigy,--assassinated in type,--while you yourself, unconscious of the circumstance, are quietly enjoying what you imagine to be your existence. we never kill common persons,--to say truth, our chief spite is against the church; we destroy bishops by wholesale. sometimes, indeed, we knock off a leading barrister or so, and express the anguish of the junior counsel at a loss so destructive to their interests. but that is only a stray hit, and the slain barrister often lives to become attorney-general, renounce whig principles, and prosecute the very press that destroyed him. bishops are our _proper_ food; we send them to heaven on a sort of flying griffin, of which the back is an apoplexy, and the wings are puffs. the bishop of---, whom we despatched in this manner the other day, being rather a facetious personage, wrote to remonstrate with us thereon, observing that though heaven was a very good translation for a bishop, yet that in such cases he preferred 'the original to the translation.' as we murder bishop, so is there another class of persons whom we only afflict with lethiferous diseases. this latter tribe consists of his majesty and his majesty's ministers. whenever we cannot abuse their measures, we always fall foul on their health. does the king pass any popular law, we immediately insinuate that his constitution is on its last legs. does the minister act like a man of sense, we instantly observe, with great regret, that his complexion is remarkably pale. there is one manifest advantage in _diseasinq_ people, instead of absolutely destroying them: the public may flatly contradict us in one case, but it never can in the other; it is easy to prove that a man is alive, but utterly impossible to prove that he is in health. what if some opposing newspaper take up the cudgels in his behalf, and assert that the victim of all pandora's complaints, whom we send tottering to the grave, passes one half the day in knocking up a 'distinguished company' at a shooting-party, and the other half in outdoing the same 'distinguished company' after dinner? what if the afflicted individual himself write us word that he never was better in his life? we have only mysteriously to shake our heads and observe that to contradict is not to prove, that it is little likely that our authority should have been mistaken, and (we are very fond of an historical comparison), beg our readers to remember that when cardinal richelieu was dying, nothing enraged him so much as hinting that he was ill. in short, if horace is right, we are the very princes of poets; for i dare say, mr. macgrawler, that you--and you, too, my little gentleman, perfectly remember the words of the wise old roman,-- "'ille per extentum funem mihi posse videtur ire poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit, irritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet.'" ["he appears to me to be, to the fullest extent, a poet who airily torments my breast, irritates, soothes, fills it with unreal terrors."] having uttered this quotation with considerable self-complacency, and thereby entirely completed his conquest over paul, mr. augustus tomlinson, turning to macgrawler, concluded his business with that gentleman,--which was of a literary nature, namely, a joint composition against a man who, being under five-and-twenty, and too poor to give dinners, had had the impudence to write a sacred poem. the critics were exceedingly bitter at this; and having very little to say against the poem, the court journals called the author a "coxcomb," and the liberal ones "the son of a pantaloon!" there was an ease, a spirit, a life about mr. augustus tomlinson, which captivated the senses of our young hero; then, too, he was exceedingly smartly attired,--wore red heels and a bag,--had what seemed to paul quite the air of a "man of fashion;" and, above all, he spouted the latin with a remarkable grace! some days afterwards, macgrawler sent our hero to mr. tomlinson's lodgings, with his share of the joint abuse upon the poet. doubly was paul's reverence for mr. augustus tomlinson increased by a sight of his abode. he found him settled in a polite part of the town, in a very spruce parlour, the contents of which manifested the universal genius of the inhabitant. it hath been objected unto us, by a most discerning critic, that we are addicted to the drawing of "universal geniuses." we plead not guilty in former instances; we allow the soft impeachment in the instance of mr. augustus tomlinson. over his fireplace were arranged boxing-gloves and fencing foils; on his table lay a cremona and a flageolet. on one side of the wall were shelves containing the covent garden magazine, burn's justice, a pocket horace, a prayer-book, _excerpta ex tacito_, a volume of plays, philosophy made easy, and a key to all knowledge. furthermore, there were on another table a riding-whip and a driving-whip and a pair of spurs, and three guineas, with a little mountain of loose silver. mr. augustus was a tall, fair young man, with a freckled complexion, green eyes and red eyelids, a smiling mouth, rather under-jawed, a sharp nose, and a prodigiously large pair of ears. he was robed in a green damask dressing-gown; and he received the tender paul most graciously. there was something very engaging about our hero. he was not only good-looking, and frank in aspect, but he had that appearance of briskness and intellect which belongs to an embryo rogue. mr. augustus tomlinson professed the greatest regard for him,--asked him if he could box, made him put on a pair of gloves, and very condescendingly knocked him down three times successively. next he played him, both upon his flageolet and his cremona, some of the most modish airs. moreover, he sang him a little song of his own composing. he then, taking up the driving-whip, flanked a fly from the opposite wall, and throwing himself (naturally fatigued with his numerous exertions) on his sofa, observed, in a careless tone, that he and his friend lord dunshunner were universally esteemed the best whips in the metropolis. "i," quoth mr. augustus, "am the best on the road; but my lord is a devil at turning a corner." paul, who had hitherto lived too unsophisticated a life to be aware of the importance of which a lord would naturally be in the eyes of mr. augustus tomlinson, was not so much struck with the grandeur of the connection as the murderer of the journals had expected. he merely observed, by way of compliment, that mr. augustus and his companion seemed to be "rolling kiddies." a little displeased with this metaphorical remark,--for it may be observed that "rolling kiddy" is, among the learned in such lore, the customary expression for "a smart thief,"--the universal augustus took that liberty to which by his age and station, so much superior to those of paul, he imagined himself entitled, and gently reproved our hero for his indiscriminate use of flash phrases. "a lad of your parts," said he,--"for i see you are clever, by your eye,--ought to be ashamed of using such vulgar expressions. have a nobler spirit, a loftier emulation, paul, than that which distinguishes the little ragamuffins of the street. know that in this country genius and learning carry everything before them; and if you behave yourself properly, you may, one day or another, be as high in the world as myself." at this speech paul looked wistfully round the spruce parlour, and thought what a fine thing it would be to be lord of such a domain, together with the appliances of flageolet and cremona, boxing-gloves, books, fly-flanking flagellum, three guineas, with the little mountain of silver, and the reputation--shared only with lord dunshunner--of being the best whip in london. "yes," continued tomlinson, with conscious pride, "i owe my rise to myself. learning is better than house and land. 'doctrina sed vim,' etc. you know what old horace says? why, sir, you would not believe it; but i was the man who killed his majesty the king of sardinia in our yesterday's paper. nothing is too arduous for genius. fag hard, my boy, and you may rival (for the thing, though difficult, may not be impossible) augustus tomlinson!" at the conclusion of this harangue, a knock at the door being heard, paul took his departure, and met in the hall a fine-looking person dressed in the height of the fashion, and wearing a pair of prodigiously large buckles in his shoes. paul looked, and his heart swelled. "i may rival," thought he,--"those were his very words,--i may rival (for the thing, though difficult, is not impossible) augustus tomlinson!" absorbed in meditation, he went silently home. the next day the memoirs of the great turpin were committed to the flames, and it was noticeable that henceforth paul observed a choicer propriety of words, that he assumed a more refined air of dignity, and that he paid considerably more attention than heretofore to the lessons of mr. peter macgrawler. although it must be allowed that our young hero's progress in the learned languages was not astonishing, yet an early passion for reading, growing stronger and stronger by application, repaid him at last with a tolerable knowledge of the mother-tongue. we must, however, add that his more favourite and cherished studies were scarcely of that nature which a prudent preceptor would have greatly commended. they lay chiefly among novels, plays, and poetry,--which last he affected to that degree that he became somewhat of a poet himself. nevertheless these literary avocations, profitless as they seemed, gave a certain refinement to his tastes which they were not likely otherwise to have acquired at the mug; and while they aroused his ambition to see something of the gay life they depicted, they imparted to his temper a tone of enterprise and of thoughtless generosity which perhaps contributed greatly to counteract those evil influences towards petty vice to which the examples around him must have exposed his tender youth. but, alas! a great disappointment to paul's hope of assistance and companionship in his literary labours befell him. mr. augustus tomlinson, one bright morning, disappeared, leaving word with his numerous friends that he was going to accept a lucrative situation in the north of england. notwithstanding the shock this occasioned to the affectionate heart and aspiring temper of our friend paul, it abated not his ardour in that field of science which it seemed that the distinguished absentee had so successfully cultivated. by little and little, he possessed himself (in addition to the literary stores we have alluded to) of all it was in the power of the wise and profound peter macgrawler to impart unto him; and at the age of sixteen he began (oh the presumption of youth!) to fancy himself more learned than his master. chapter iv. he had now become a young man of extreme fashion, and as much _repandu_ in society as the utmost and most exigent coveter of london celebrity could desire. he was, of course, a member of the clubs, etc. he was, in short, of that oft-described set before whom all minor beaux sink into insignificance, or among whom they eventually obtain a subaltern grade, by a sacrifice of a due portion of their fortune.--almack's revisited. by the soul of the great malebranche, who made "a search after truth," and discovered everything beautiful except that which he searched for, --by the soul of the great malebranche, whom bishop berkeley found suffering under an inflammation in the lungs, and very obligingly _talked to death_ (an instance of conversational powers worthy the envious emulation of all great metaphysicians and arguers),--by the soul of that illustrious man, it is amazing to us what a number of truths there are broken up into little fragments, and scattered here and there through the world. what a magnificent museum a man might make of the precious minerals, if he would but go out with his basket under his arm, and his eyes about him! we ourselves picked up this very day a certain small piece of truth, with which we propose to explain to thee, fair reader, a sinister turn in the fortunes of paul. "wherever," says a living sage, "you see dignity, you may be sure there is expense requisite to support it." so was it with paul. a young gentleman who was heir-presumptive to the mug, and who enjoyed a handsome person with a cultivated mind, was necessarily of a certain station of society, and an object of respect in the eyes of the manoeuvring mammas of the vicinity of thames court. many were the parties of pleasure to deptford and greenwich which paul found himself compelled to attend; and we need not refer our readers to novels upon fashionable life to inform them that in good society the _gentlemen always pay for the ladies!_ nor was this all the expense to which his expectations exposed him. a gentleman could scarcely attend these elegant festivities without devoting some little attention to his dress; and a fashionable tailor plays the deuce with one's yearly allowance. we who reside, be it known to you, reader, in little brittany are not very well acquainted with the manners of the better classes in st. james's. but there was one great vice among the fine people about thames court which we make no doubt does not exist anywhere else,--namely, these fine people were always in an agony to seem finer than they were; and the more airs a gentleman or a lady gave him or her self, the more important they became. joe, the dog's-meat man, had indeed got into society entirely from a knack of saying impertinent things to everybody; and the smartest exclusives of the place, who seldom visited any one where there was not a silver teapot, used to think joe had a great deal in him because he trundled his cart with his head in the air, and one day gave the very beadle of the parish "the cut direct." now this desire to be so exceedingly fine not only made the society about thames court unpleasant, but expensive. every one vied with his neighbour; and as the spirit of rivalry is particularly strong in youthful bosoms, we can scarcely wonder that it led paul into many extravagances. the evil of all circles that profess to be select is high play; and the reason is obvious: persons who have the power to bestow on another an advantage he covets would rather sell it than give it; and paul, gradually increasing in popularity and _ton_, found himself, in spite of his classical education, no match for the finished, or, rather, finishing gentlemen with whom he began to associate. his first admittance into the select coterie of these men of the world was formed at the house of bachelor bill, a person of great notoriety among that portion of the _elite_ which emphatically entitles itself "flash." however, as it is our rigid intention in this work to portray _at length_ no episodical characters whatsoever, we can afford our readers but a slight and rapid sketch of bachelor bill. this personage was of devonshire extraction. his mother had kept the pleasantest public-house in town, and at her death bill succeeded to her property and popularity. all the young ladies in the neighbourhood of fiddler's row, where he resided, set their caps at him: all the most fashionable _prigs_, or _tobymen_, sought to get him into their set; and the most crack _blowen_ in london would have given her ears at any time for a loving word from bachelor bill. but bill was a longheaded, prudent fellow, and of a remarkably cautious temperament. he avoided marriage and friendship; namely, he was neither plundered nor cornuted. he was a tall, aristocratic _cove_, of a devilish neat address, and very gallant, in an honest way, to the _blowens_. like most single men, being very much the gentleman so far as money was concerned, he gave them plenty of "feeds," and from time to time a very agreeable _hop_. his _bingo_ [brandy] was unexceptionable; and as for his _stark-naked_ [gin], it was voted the most brilliant thing in nature. in a very short time, by his blows-out and his bachelorship,--for single men always arrive at the apex of _haut ton_ more easily than married,--he became the very glass of fashion; and many were the tight apprentices, even at the west end of the town, who used to turn back in admiration of bachelor bill, when of a sunday afternoon he drove down his varment gig to his snug little box on the borders of turnham green. bill's happiness was not, however, wholly without alloy. the ladies of pleasure are always so excessively angry when a man does not make love to them, that there is nothing they will not say against him; and the fair matrons in the vicinity of fiddler's row spread all manner of unfounded reports against poor bachelor bill. by degrees, however,--for, as tacitus has said, doubtless with a prophetic eye to bachelor bill, "the truth gains by delay,"--these reports began to die insensibly away; and bill now waxing near to the confines of middle age, his friends comfortably settled for him that he would be bachelor bill all his life. for the rest, he was an excellent fellow,--gave his broken victuals to the poor, professed a liberal turn of thinking, and in all the quarrels among the blowens (your crack blowens are a quarrelsome set!) always took part with the weakest. although bill affected to be very select in his company, he was never forgetful of his old friends; and mrs. margery lobkins having been very good to him when he was a little boy in a skeleton jacket, he invariably sent her a card to his _soirees_. the good lady, however, had not of late years deserted her chimney-corner. indeed, the racket of fashionable life was too much for her nerves; and the invitation had become a customary form not expected to be acted upon, but not a whit the less regularly used for that reason. as paul had now attained his sixteenth year, and was a fine, handsome lad, the dame thought he would make an excellent representative of the mug's mistress; and that, for her _protege_, a ball at bill's house would be no bad commencement of "life in london." accordingly, she intimated to the bachelor a wish to that effect; and paul received the following invitation from bill:-- "mr. william duke gives a hop and feed in a quiet way on monday next, and _hops_ mr. paul lobkins will be of the party. n. b. gentlemen is expected to come in pumps." when paul entered, he found bachelor bill leading off the ball to the tune of "drops of brandy," with a young lady to whom, because she had been a strolling player, the ladies patronesses of fiddler's row had thought proper to behave with a very cavalier civility. the good bachelor had no notion, as be expressed it, of such tantrums, and he caused it to be circulated among the finest of the _blowens_, that he expected all who kicked their heels at his house would behave decent and polite to young mrs. dot. this intimation, conveyed to the ladies with all that insinuating polish for which bachelor bill was so remarkable, produced a notable effect; and mrs. dot, being now led off by the flash bachelor, was overpowered with civilities the rest of the evening. when the dance was ended, bill very politely shook hands with paul, and took an early opportunity of introducing him to some of the most "noted characters" of the town. among these were the smart mr. allfair, the insinuating henry finish, the merry jack hookey, the knowing charles trywit, and various others equally noted for their skill in living handsomely upon their own brains, and the personals of other people. to say truth, paul, who at that time was an honest lad, was less charmed than he had anticipated by the conversation of these chevaliers of industry. he was more pleased with the clever though self-sufficient remarks of a gentleman with a remarkably fine head of hair, and whom we would more impressively than the rest introduce to our reader under the appellation of mr. edward pepper, generally termed long ned. as this worthy was destined afterwards to be an intimate associate of paul, our main reason for attending the hop at bachelor bill's is to note, as the importance of the event deserves, the epoch of the commencement of their acquaintance. long ned and, paul happened to sit next to each other at supper, and they conversed together so amicably that paul, in the hospitality of his heart, expressed a hope that he should see mr. pepper at the mug! "mug,--mug!" repeated pepper, half shutting his eyes, with the air of a dandy about to be impertinent; "ah, the name of a chapel, is it not? there's a sect called muggletonians, i think?" "as to that," said paul, colouring at this insinuation against the mug, "mrs. lobkins has no more religion than her betters; but the mug is a very excellent house, and frequented by the best possible company." "don't doubt it!" said ned. "remember now that i was once there, and saw one dummie dunnaker,--is not that the name? i recollect some years ago, when i first came out, that dummie and i had an adventure together; to tell you the truth, it was not the sort of thing i would do now. but--would you believe it, mr. paul?--this pitiful fellow was quite rude to me the only time i ever met him since; that is to say, the only time i ever entered the mug. i have no notion of such airs in a merchant,--a merchant of rags! those commercial fellows are getting quite insufferable." "you surprise me," said paul. "poor dummie is the last man to be rude; he is as civil a creature as ever lived." "or sold a rag," said ned. "possibly! don't doubt his amiable qualities in the least. pass the bingo, my good fellow. stupid stuff, this dancing!" "devilish stupid!" echoed harry finish, across the table. "suppose we adjourn to fish lane, and rattle the ivories! what say you, mr. lobkins?" afraid of the "ton's stern laugh, which scarce the proud philosopher can scorn," and not being very partial to dancing, paul assented to the proposition; and a little party, consisting of harry finish, allfair, long ned, and mr. hookey, adjourned to fish lane, where there was a club, celebrated among men who live by their wits, at which "lush" and "baccy" were gratuitously sported in the most magnificent manner. here the evening passed away very delightfully, and paul went home without a "brad" in his pocket. from that time paul's visits to fish lane became unfortunately regular; and in a very short period, we grieve to say, paul became that distinguished character, a gentleman of three outs,--"out of pocket, out of elbows, and out of credit." the only two persons whom he found willing _to accommodate him with a slight loan_, as the advertisements signed x. y. have it, were mr. dummie dunnaker and mr. pepper, surnamed the long. the latter, however, while he obliged the heir to the mug, never condescended to enter that noted place of resort; and the former, whenever he good-naturedly opened his purse-strings, did it with a hearty caution to shun the acquaintance of long ned,--"a parson," said dummie, "of wery dangerous morals, and not by no manner of means a fit 'sociate for a young gemman of cracter like leetle paul!" so earnest was this caution, and so especially pointed at long ned,--although the company of mr. allfair or mr. finish might be said to be no less prejudicial,--that it is probable that stately fastidiousness of manner which lord normanby rightly observes, in one of his excellent novels, makes so many enemies in the world, and which sometimes characterized the behaviour of long ned, especially towards the men of commerce, was a main reason why dummie was so acutely and peculiarly alive to the immoralities of that lengthy gentleman. at the same time we must observe that when paul, remembering what pepper had said respecting his early adventure with mr. dunnaker, repeated it to the merchant, dummie could not conceal a certain confusion, though he merely remarked, with a sort of laugh, that it was not worth speaking about; and it appeared evident to paul that something unpleasant to the man of rags, which was not shared by the unconscious pepper, lurked in the reminiscence of their past acquaintance. how beit, the circumstance glided from paul's attention the moment afterwards; and he paid, we are concerned to say, equally little heed to the cautions against ned with which dummie regaled him. perhaps (for we must now direct a glance towards his domestic concerns) one great cause which drove paul to fish lane was the uncomfortable life he led at home. for though mrs. lobkins was extremely fond of her _protege_, yet she was possessed, as her customers emphatically remarked, "of the devil's own temper;" and her native coarseness never having been softened by those pictures of gay society which had, in many a novel and comic farce, refined the temperament of the romantic paul, her manner of venting her maternal reproaches was certainly not a little revolting to a lad of some delicacy of feeling. indeed, it often occurred to him to leave her house altogether, and seek his fortunes alone, after the manner of the ingenious gil blas or the enterprising roderick random; and this idea, though conquered and reconquered, gradually swelled and increased at his heart, even as swelleth that hairy ball found in the stomach of some suffering heifer after its decease. among these projects of enterprise the reader will hereafter notice that an early vision of the green forest cave, in which turpin was accustomed, with a friend, a ham, and a wife, to conceal himself, flitted across his mind. at this time he did not, perhaps, incline to the mode of life practised by the hero of the roads; but he certainly clung not the less fondly to the notion of the cave. the melancholy flow of our hero's life was now, however, about to be diverted by an unexpected turn, and the crude thoughts of boyhood to burst, "like ghilan's giant palm," into the fruit of a manly resolution. among the prominent features of mrs. lobkins's mind was a sovereign contempt for the unsuccessful. the imprudence and ill-luck of paul occasioned her as much scorn as compassion; and when for the third time within a week he stood, with a rueful visage and with vacant pockets, by the dame's great chair, requesting an additional supply, the tides of her wrath swelled into overflow. "look you, my kinchin cove," said she,--and in order to give peculiar dignity to her aspect, she put on while she spoke a huge pair of tin spectacles,--"if so be as how you goes for to think as how i shall go for to supply your wicious necessities, you will find yourself planted in queer street. blow me tight, if i gives you another mag." "but i owe long ned a guinea," said paul; "and dummie dunnaker lent me three crowns. it ill becomes your heir apparent, my dear dame, to fight shy of his debts of honour." "taradididdle, don't think for to wheedle me with your debts and your honour," said the dame, in a passion. "long ned is as long in the forks [fingers] as he is in the back; may old harry fly off with him! and as for durnmie dunnaker, i wonders how you, brought up such a swell, and blest with the wery best of hedications, can think of putting up with such wulgar 'sociates. i tells you what, paul, you'll please to break with them, smack and at once, or devil a brad you'll ever get from peg lobkins." so saying, the old lady turned round in her chair, and helped herself to a pipe of tobacco. paul walked twice up and down the apartment, and at last stopped opposite the dame's chair. he was a youth of high spirit; and though he was warm-hearted, and had a love for mrs. lobkins, which her care and affection for hire well deserved, yet he was rough in temper, and not constantly smooth in speech. it is true that his heart smote him afterwards, whenever he had said anything to annoy mrs. lobkins, and he was always the first to seek a reconciliation; but warm words produce cold respect, and sorrow for the past is not always efficacious in amending the future. paul then, puffed up with the vanity of his genteel education, and the friendship of long ned (who went to ranelagh, and wore silver clocked stockings), stopped opposite to mrs. lobkins's chair, and said with great solemnity,-- "mr. pepper, madam, says very properly that i must have money to support myself like a gentleman; and as you won't give it me, i am determined, with many thanks for your past favours, to throw myself on the world, and seek my fortune." if paul was of no oily and bland temper, dame margaret lobkins, it has been seen, had no advantage on that score. (we dare say the reader has observed that nothing so enrages persons on whom one depends as any expressed determination of seeking independence.) gazing therefore for one moment at the open but resolute countenance of paul, while all the blood of her veins seemed gathering in fire and scarlet to her enlarging cheeks, dame lobkins said,-- "ifeaks, master pride-in-duds! seek your fortune yourself, will you? this comes of my bringing you up, and letting you eat the bread of idleness and charity, you toad of a thousand! take that and be d--d to you!" and, suiting the action to the word, the tube which she had withdrawn from her mouth in order to utter her gentle rebuke whizzed through the air, grazed paul's cheek, and finished its earthly career by coming in violent contact with the right eye of duinmie dunnaker, who at that exact moment entered the room. paul had winced for a moment to avoid the missive; in the next he stood perfectly upright. his cheeks glowed, his chest swelled; and the entrance of dummie dunuaker, who was thus made the spectator of the affront he had received, stirred his blood into a deeper anger and a more bitter self-humiliation. all his former resolutions of departure, all the hard words, the coarse allusions, the practical insults he had at any time received, rushed upon him at once. he merely cast one look at the old woman, whose rage was now half subsided, and turned slowly and in silence to the door. there is often something alarming in an occurrence merely because it is that which we least expect. the astute mrs. lobkins, remembering the hardy temper and fiery passions of paul, had expected some burst of rage, some vehement reply; and when she caught with one wandering eye his parting look, and saw him turn so passively and mutely to the door, her heart misgave her, she raised herself from her chair, and made towards him. unhappily for her chance of reconciliation, she had that day quaffed more copiously of the bowl than usual; and the signs of intoxication visible in her uncertain gait, her meaningless eye, her vacant leer, her ruby cheek, all inspired paul with feelings which at the moment converted resentment into something very much like aversion. he sprang from her grasp to the threshold. "where be you going, you imp of the world?" cried the dame. "get in with you, and say no more on the matter; be a bob-cull,--drop the bullies, and you shall have the blunt!" but paul heeded not this invitation. "i will eat the bread of idleness and charity no longer," said he, sullenly. "good-by; and if ever i can pay you what i have cost you, i will." he turned away as he spoke; and the dame, kindling with resentment at his unseemly return to her proffered kindness, hallooed after him, and bade that dark-coloured gentleman who keeps the _fire-office_ below go along with him. swelling with anger, pride, shame, and a half-joyous feeling of emancipated independence, paul walked on, he knew not whither, with his head in the air, and his legs marshalling themselves into a military gait of defiance. he had not proceeded far before he heard his name uttered behind him; he turned, and saw the rueful face of dummie dunnaker. very inoffensively had that respectable person been employed during the last part of the scene we have described in caressing his afflicted eye, and muttering philosophical observations on the danger incurred by all those who are acquainted with ladies of a choleric temperament; when mrs. lobkins, turning round after paul's departure, and seeing the pitiful person of that dummie dunnaker, whose name she remembered paul had mentioned in his opening speech, and whom, therefore, with an illogical confusion of ideas, she considered a party in the late dispute, exhausted upon him all that rage which it was necessary for her comfort that she should unburden somewhere. she seized the little man by the collar,--the tenderest of all places in gentlemen similarly circumstanced with regard to the ways of life,--and giving him a blow, which took effect on his other and hitherto undamaged eye, cried out,-- "i'll teach you, you blood-sucker [that is, parasite], to sponge upon those as has expectations! i'll teach you to cozen the heir of the mug, you snivelling, whey-faced ghost of a farthing rushlight! what! you'll lend my paul three crowns, will you, when you knows as how you told me you could not pay me a pitiful tizzy? oh, you're a queer one, i warrants; but you won't queer margery lobkins. out of my ken, you cur of the mange!--out of my ken; and if ever i claps my sees on you again, or if ever i knows as how you makes a flat of my paul, blow me tight but i'll weave you a hempen collar,--i'll hang you, you dog, i will. what! you will answer me, will you? oh, you viper, budge and begone!" it was in vain that dummie protested his innocence. a violent _coup-de-pied_ broke off all further parlance. he made a clear house of the mug; and the landlady thereof, tottering back to her elbow-chair, sought out another pipe, and, like all imaginative persons when the world goes wrong with them, consoled herself for the absence of realities by the creations of smoke. meanwhile dummie dunnaker, muttering and murmuring bitter fancies, overtook paul, and accused that youth of having been the occasion of the injuries he had just undergone. paul was not at that moment in the humour best adapted for the patient bearing of accusations. he answered mr. dunnaker very shortly; and that respectable individual, still smarting under his bruises, replied with equal tartness. words grew high, and at length paul, desirous of concluding the conference, clenched his fist, and told the redoubted dummie that he would "knock him down." there is something peculiarly harsh and stunning in those three hard, wiry, sturdy, stubborn monosyllables. their very sound makes you double your fist if you are a hero, or your pace if you are a peaceable man. they produced an instant effect upon dummie dunnaker, aided as they were by the effect of an athletic and youthful figure, already fast approaching to the height of six feet, a flushed cheek, and an eye that bespoke both passion and resolution. the rag-merchant's voice sank at once, and with the countenance of a wronged cassius he whimpered forth,-- "knock me down? leetle paul, vot wicked vhids are those! vot! dummie dunnaker, as has dandled you on his knee mony's a time and oft! vy, the cove's 'art is as 'ard as junk, and as proud as a gardener's dog vith a nosegay tied to his tail." this pathetic remonstrance softened paul's anger. "well, dummie," said he, laughing, "i did not mean to hurt you, and there's an end of it; and i am very sorry for the dame's ill-conduct; and so i wish you a good-morning." "vy, vere be you trotting to, leetle paul?" said dummie, grasping him by the tail of the coat. "the deuce a bit i know," answered our hero; "but i think i shall drop a call on long ned." "avast there!" said dummie, speaking under his breath; "if so be as you von't blab, i'll tell you a bit of a secret. i heered as 'ow long ned started for hampshire this werry morning on a toby [highway expedition] consarn!" "ha!" said paul, "then hang me if i know what to do!" as he uttered these words, a more thorough sense of his destitution (if he persevered in leaving the mug) than he had hitherto felt rushed upon him; for paul had designed for a while to throw himself on the hospitality of his patagonian friend, and now that he found that friend was absent from london and on so dangerous an expedition, he was a little puzzled what to do with that treasure of intellect and wisdom which he carried about upon his legs. already he had acquired sufficient penetration (for charles trywit and harry finish were excellent masters for initiating a man into the knowledge of the world) to perceive that a person, however admirable may be his qualities, does not readily find a welcome without a penny in his pocket. in the neighbourhood of thames court he had, indeed, many acquaintances; but the fineness of his language, acquired from his education, and the elegance of his air, in which he attempted to blend in happy association the gallant effrontery of mr. long ned with the graceful negligence of mr. augustus tomlinson, had made him many enemies among those acquaintances; and he was not willing--so great was our hero's pride--to throw himself on the chance of their welcome, or to publish, as it were, his exiled and crestfallen state. as for those boon companions who had assisted him in making a wilderness of his pockets, he had already found that that was the only species of assistance which they were willing to render him. in a word, he could not for the life of him conjecture in what quarter he should find the benefits of bed and board. while he stood with his finger to his lip, undecided and musing, but fully resolved at least on one thing,--not to return to the mug,--little dummie, who was a good-natured fellow at the bottom, peered up in his face, and said,-- "vy, paul, my kid, you looks down in the chops; cheer up,--care killed a cat!" observing that this appropriate and encouraging fact of natural history did not lessen the cloud upon paul's brow, the acute dummie dunnaker proceeded at once to the grand panacea for all evils, in his own profound estimation. "paul, my ben cull," said he, with a knowing wink, and nudging the young gentleman in the left side, "vot do you say to a drop o' blue ruin? or, as you likes to be conish [genteel], i does n't care if i sports you a glass of port!" while dunnaker was uttering this invitation, a sudden reminiscence flashed across paul: he bethought him at once of macgrawler; and he resolved forthwith to repair to the abode of that illustrious sage, and petition at least for accommodation for the approaching night. so soon as he had come to this determination, he shook off the grasp of the amiable dummie, and refusing with many thanks his hospitable invitation, requested him to abstract from the dame's house, and lodge within his own until called for, such articles of linen and clothing as belonged to paul and could easily be laid hold of, during one of the matron's evening _siestas_, by the shrewd dunnaker. the merchant promised that the commission should be speedily executed; and paul, shaking hands with him, proceeded to the mansion of macgrawler. we must now go back somewhat in the natural course of our narrative, and observe that among the minor causes which had conspired with the great one of gambling to bring our excellent paul to his present situation, was his intimacy with macgrawler; for when paul's increasing years and roving habits had put an end to the sage's instructions, there was thereby lopped off from the preceptor's finances the weekly sum of two shillings and sixpence, as well as the freedom of the dame's cellar and larder; and as, in the reaction of feeling, and the perverse course of human affairs, people generally repent the most of those actions once the most ardently incurred, so poor mrs. lobkins, imagining that paul's irregularities were entirely owing to the knowledge he had acquired from macgrawler's instructions, grievously upbraided herself for her former folly in seeking for a superior education for her _protege_; nay, she even vented upon the sacred head of macgrawler himself her dissatisfaction at the results of his instructions. in like manner, when a man who can spell comes to be hanged, the anti-educationists accuse the spelling-book of his murder. high words between the admirer of ignorant innocence and the propagator of intellectual science ensued, which ended in macgrawler's final expulsion from the mug. there are some young gentlemen of the present day addicted to the adoption of lord byron's poetry, with the alteration of new rhymes, who are pleased graciously to inform us that they are born to be the ruin of all those who love them,--an interesting fact, doubtless, but which they might as well keep to themselves. it would seem by the contents of this chapter as if the same misfortune were destined to paul. the exile of macgrawler, the insults offered to dummie dunnaker,--alike occasioned by him,--appear to sanction that opinion. unfortunately, though paul was a poet, he was not much of a sentimentalist; and he has never given us the edifying ravings of his remorse on those subjects. but macgrawler, like dunnaker, was resolved that our hero should perceive the curse of his fatality; and as he still retained some influence over the mind of his quondam pupil, his accusations against paul, as the origin of his banishment, were attended with a greater success than were the complaints of dummie dunnaker on a similar calamity. paul, who, like most people who are good for nothing, had an excellent heart, was exceedingly grieved at macgrawler's banishment on his account; and he endeavoured to atone for it by such pecuniary consolations as he was enabled to offer. these macgrawler (purely, we may suppose, from a benevolent desire to lessen the boy's remorse) scrupled not to accept; and thus, so similar often are the effects of virtue and of vice, the exemplary macgrawler conspired with the unprincipled long ned and the heartless henry finish in producing that unenviable state of vacuity which now saddened over the pockets of paul. as our hero was slowly walking towards the sage's abode, depending on his gratitude and friendship for a temporary shelter, one of those lightning flashes of thought which often illumine the profoundest abyss of affliction darted across his mind. recalling the image of the critic, he remembered that he had seen that ornament of "the asinaeum" receive sundry sums for his critical lucubrations. "why," said paul, seizing on that fact, and stopping short in the street,--"why should i not turn critic myself?" the only person to whom one ever puts a question with a tolerable certainty of receiving a satisfactory answer is one's self. the moment paul started this luminous suggestion, it appeared to him that he had discovered the mines of potosi. burning with impatience to discuss with the great macgrawler the feasibility of his project, he quickened his pace almost into a run, and in a very few minutes, having only overthrown one chimney-sweeper and two apple-women by the way, he arrived at the sage's door. chapter v. ye realms yet unrevealed to human sight, ye canes athwart the hapless hands that write, ye critic chiefs,-permit me to relate the mystic wonders of your silent state! virgil, _aeneid_, book vi. fortune had smiled upon mr. macgrawler since he first undertook the tuition of mrs. lobkins's _protege_. he now inhabited a second-floor, and defied the sheriff and his evil spirits. it was at the dusk of evening that paul found him at home and alone. before the mighty man stood a pot of london porter; a candle, with an unregarded wick, shed its solitary light upon his labours; and an infant cat played sportively at his learned feet, beguiling the weary moments with the remnants of the spiral cap wherewith, instead of laurel, the critic had hitherto nightly adorned his brows. so soon as macgrawler, piercing through the gloomy mist which hung about the chamber, perceived the person of the intruder, a frown settled upon his brow. "have i not told you, youngster," he growled, "never to enter a gentleman's room without knocking? i tell you, sir, that manners are no less essential to human happiness than virtue; wherefore, never disturb a gentleman in his avocations, and sit yourself down without molesting the cat!" paul, who knew that his respected tutor disliked any one to trace the source of the wonderful spirit which he infused into his critical compositions, affected not to perceive the pewter hippocrene, and with many apologies for his want of preparatory politeness, seated himself as directed. it was then that the following edifying conversation ensued. "the ancients," quoth paul, "were very great men, mr. macgrawler." "they were so, sir," returned the critic; "we make it a rule in our profession to assert that fact." "but, sir," said paul, "they were wrong now and then." "never, ignoramus; never!" "they praised poverty, mr. macgrawler!" said paul, with a sigh. "hem!" quoth the critic, a little staggered; but presently recovering his characteristic, acumen, he observed, "it is true, paul; but that was the poverty of other people." there was a slight pause. "criticism," renewed paul, "must be a most difficult art." "a-hem! and what art is there, sir, that is not difficult,--at least, to become master of?" "true," sighed paul; "or else--" "or else what, boy?" repeated mr. macgrawler, seeing that paul hesitated, either from fear of his superior knowledge, as the critic's vanity suggested, or from (what was equally likely) want of a word to express his meaning. "why, i was thinking, sir," said paul, with that desperate courage which gives a distinct and loud intonation to the voice of all who set, or think they set, their fate upon a cast,--"i was thinking that i should like to become a critic myself!" "w-h-e-w!" whistled macgrawler, elevating his eyebrows; "w-h-e-w! great ends have come of less beginnings!" encouraging as this assertion was, coming as it did from the lips of so great a man and so great a critic, at the very moment too when nothing short of an anathema against arrogance and presumption was expected to issue from those portals of wisdom, yet such is the fallacy of all human hopes, that paul's of a surety would have been a little less elated, had he, at the same time his ears drank in the balm of these gracious words, been able to have dived into the source whence they emanated. "know thyself!" was a precept the sage macgrawler had endeavoured to obey; consequently the result of his obedience was that even by himself he was better known than trusted. whatever he might appear to others, he had in reality no vain faith in the infallibility of his own talents and resources; as well might a butcher deem himself a perfect anatomist from the frequent amputation of legs of mutton, as the critic of "the asinaeum" have laid "the flattering unction to his soul" that he was really skilled in the art of criticism, or even acquainted with one of its commonest rules, because he could with all speed cut up and disjoint any work, from the smallest to the greatest, from the most superficial to the most superior; and thus it was that he never had the want of candour to deceive himself as to his own talents. paul's wish therefore was no sooner expressed than a vague but golden scheme of future profit illumined the brain of macgrawler,--in a word, he resolved that paul should henceforward share the labour of his critiques; and that he, macgrawler, should receive the whole profits in return for the honour thereby conferred on his coadjutor. looking therefore at our hero with a benignant air, mr. macgrawler thus continued:-- "yes, i repeat,--great ends have come from less beginnings! rome was not built in a day; and i, paul, i myself was not always the editor of 'the asinaeum.' you say wisely, criticism is a great science, a very great science; and it maybe divided into three branches,--namely, 'to tickle, to slash, and to plaster.' in each of these three i believe without vanity i am a profound adept! i will initiate you into all. your labours shall begin this very evening. i have three works on my table; they must be despatched by tomorrow night. i will take the most arduous; i abandon to you the others. the three consist of a romance, an epic in twelve books, and an inquiry into the human mind, in three volumes. i, paul, will tickle the romance; you this very evening shall plaster the epic, and slash the inquiry!" "heavens, mr. macgrawler!" cried paul, in consternation, "what do you mean? i should never be able to read an epic in twelve books, and i should fall asleep in the first page of the inquiry. no, no, leave me the romance, and take the other two under your own protection!" although great genius is always benevolent, mr. macgrawler could not restrain a smile of ineffable contempt at the simplicity of his pupil. "know, young gentleman," said he, solemnly, "that the romance in question must be tickled; it is not given to raw beginners to conquer that great mystery of our science." "before we proceed further, explain the words of the art," said paul, impatiently. "listen, then," rejoined macgrawler; and as he spoke, the candle cast an awful glimmering on his countenance. "to slash is, speaking grammatically, to employ the accusative, or accusing case; you must cut up your book right and left, top and bottom, root and branch. to plaster a book is to employ the dative, or giving case; and you must bestow on the work all the superlatives in the language,--you must lay on your praise thick and thin, and not leave a crevice untrowelled. but to tickle, sir, is a comprehensive word, and it comprises all the infinite varieties that fill the interval between slashing and plastering. this is the nicety of the art, and you can only acquire it by practice; a few examples will suffice to give you an idea of its delicacy. "we will begin with the encouraging tickle: 'although this work is full of faults,--though the characters are unnatural, the plot utterly improbable, the thoughts hackneyed, and the style ungrammatical,--yet we would by no means discourage the author from proceeding; and in the mean while we confidently recommend his work to the attention of the reading public." "take, now, the advising tickle: 'there is a good deal of merit in these little volumes, although we must regret the evident haste in which they were written. the author might do better,--we recommend him a study of the best writers;' then conclude by a latin quotation, which you may take from one of the mottoes in the 'spectator.' "now, young gentleman, for a specimen of the metaphorical tickle: 'we beg this poetical aspirant to remember the fate of pyrenaeus, who, attempting to pursue the muses, forgot that he had not the wings of the goddesses, flung himself from the loftiest ascent he could reach, and perished.' "this you see, paul, is a loftier and more erudite sort of tickle, and may be reserved for one of the quarterly reviews. never throw away a simile unnecessarily. "now for a sample of the facetious tickle: 'mr.---has obtained a considerable reputation! some fine ladies think him a great philosopher, and he has been praised in our hearing by some cambridge fellows for his knowledge of fashionable society.' "for this sort of tickle we generally use the dullest of our tribe; and i have selected the foregoing example from the criticisms of a distinguished writer in 'the asinaeum,' whom we call, _par excellence, the_ ass. "there is a variety of other tickles,--the familiar, the vulgar, the polite, the good-natured, the bitter; but in general all tickles may be supposed to signify, however disguised, one or other of these meanings: 'this book would be exceedingly good if it were not exceedingly bad;' or, 'this book would be exceedingly bad if it were not exceedingly good.' "you have now, paul, a general idea of the superior art required by the tickle?" our hero signified his assent by a sort of hysterical sound between a laugh and a groan. macgrawler continued:-- "there is another grand difficulty attendant on this class of criticism.--it is generally requisite to read a few pages of the work; because we seldom tickle without extracting, and it requires some judgment to make the context agree with the extract. but it is not often necessary to extract when you slash or when you plaster; when you slash, it is better in general to conclude with: 'after what we have said, it is unnecessary to add that we cannot offend the taste of our readers by any quotation from this execrable trash.' and when you plaster, you may wind up with: 'we regret that our limits will not allow us to give any extracts from this wonderful and unrivalled work. we must refer our readers to the book itself.' "and now, sir, i think i have given you a sufficient outline of the noble science of scaliger and macgrawler. doubtless you are reconciled to the task i have allotted you; and while i tickle the romance, you will slash the inquiry and plaster the epic!" "i will do my best, sir!" said paul, with that modest yet noble simplicity which becomes the virtuously ambitious; and macgrawler forthwith gave him pen and paper, and set him down to his undertaking. he had the good fortune to please macgrawler, who, after having made a few corrections in style, declared he evinced a peculiar genius in that branch of composition. and then it was that paul, made conceited by praise, said, looking contemptuously in the face of his preceptor, and swinging his legs to and fro,-- "and what, sir, shall i receive for the plastered epic and the slashed inquiry?" as the face of the school-boy who, when guessing, as he thinks rightly, at the meaning of some mysterious word in cornelius nepos, receiveth not the sugared epithet of praise, but a sudden stroke across the _os humerosve_ [face or shoulders] even so, blank, puzzled, and thunder- stricken, waxed the face of mr. macgrawler at the abrupt and astounding audacity of paul. "receive!" he repeated,--"receive! why, you impudent, ungrateful puppy, would you steal the bread from your old master? if i can obtain for your crude articles an admission into the illustrious pages of 'the asinaeum,' will you not be sufficiently paid, sir, by the honour? answer me that. another man, young gentleman, would have charged you a premium for his instructions; and here have i, in one lesson, imparted to you all the mysteries of the science, and for nothing! and you talk to me of 'receive!--receive!' young gentleman, in the words of the immortal bard, 'i would as lief you had talked to me of ratsbane!'" "in fine, then, mr. macgrawler, i shall get nothing for my trouble?" said paul. "to be sure not, sir; the very best writer in 'the asinaeum' only gets three shillings an article!" almost more than he deserves, the critic might have added; for he who writes for nobody should receive nothing! "then, sir," quoth the mercenary paul, profanely, and rising, he kicked with one kick the cat, the epic, and the inquiry to the other end of the room,--"then, sir, you may all go to the devil!" we do not, o gentle reader! seek to excuse this hasty anathema. the habits of childhood will sometimes break forth despite of the after blessings of education; and we set not up paul for thine imitation as that model of virtue and of wisdom which we design thee to discover in macgrawler. when that great critic perceived paul had risen and was retreating in high dudgeon towards the door, he rose also, and repeating paul's last words, said,-- "'go to the devil!' not so quick, young gentleman,--_festinca lente_,--all in good time. what though i did, astonished at your premature request, say that you should receive nothing; yet my great love for you may induce me to bestir myself on your behalf. the 'asinaeum,' i it is true, only gives three shillings an article in general; but i am its editor, and will intercede with the proprietors on your behalf. yes, yes; i will see what is to be done. stop a bit, my boy." paul, though very irascible, was easily pacified; he reseated himself, and taking macgrawler's hand, said,-- "forgive me for my petulance, my dear sir; but, to tell you the honest truth, i am very low in the world just at present, and must get money in some way or another,--in short, i must either pick pockets or write (not gratuitously) for 'the asinaeum. '" and without further preliminary paul related his present circumstances to the critic, declared his determination not to return to the mug, and requested, at least, from the friendship of his old preceptor the accommodation of shelter for that night. macgrawler was exceedingly disconcerted at hearing so bad an account of his pupil's finances as well as prospects, for he had secretly intended to regale himself that evening with a bowl of punch, for which he purposed that paul should pay; but as he knew the quickness of parts possessed by the young gentleman, as also the great affection entertained for him by mrs. lobkins, who in all probability would solicit his return the next day, he thought it not unlikely that paul would enjoy the same good fortune as that presiding over his feline companion, which, though it had just been kicked to the other end of the apartment, was now resuming its former occupation, unhurt, and no less merrily than before. he therefore thought it would be imprudent to discard his quondam pupil, despite of his present poverty; and, moreover, although the first happy project of pocketing all the profits derivable from paul's industry was now abandoned, he still perceived great facility in pocketing a part of the same receipts. he therefore answered paul very warmly, that he fully sympathized with him in his present melancholy situation; that, so far as he was concerned, he would share his last shilling with his beloved pupil, but that he regretted at that moment he had only eleven-pence halfpenny in his pocket; that he would, however, exert himself to the utmost in procuring an opening for paul's literary genius; and that, if paul liked to take the slashing and plastering part of the business on himself, he would willingly surrender it to him, and give him all the profits whatever they might be. _en attendant_, he regretted that a violent rheumatism prevented his giving up his own bed to his pupil, but that he might, with all the pleasure imaginable, sleep upon the rug before the fire. paul was so affected by this kindness in the worthy man, that, though not much addicted to the melting mood, he shed tears of gratitude. he insisted, however, on not receiving the whole reward of his labours; and at length it was settled, though with a noble reluctance on the part of macgrawler, that it should be equally shared between the critic and the critic's _protege_,--the half profits being reasonably awarded to macgrawler for his instructions and his recommendation. chapter vi. bad events peep out o' the tail of good purposes.--_bartholomew fair_. it was not long before there was a visible improvement in the pages of "the asinaeum." the slashing part of that incomparable journal was suddenly conceived and carried on with a vigour and spirit which astonished the hallowed few who contributed to its circulation. it was not difficult to see that a new soldier had been enlisted in the service; there was something so fresh and hearty about the abuse that it could never have proceeded from the worn-out acerbity of an old _slasher_. to be sure, a little ignorance of ordinary facts, and an innovating method of applying words to meanings which they never were meant to denote, were now and then distinguishable in the criticisms of the new achilles; nevertheless, it was easy to attribute these peculiarities to an original turn of thinking; and the rise of the paper on the appearance of a series of articles upon contemporary authors, written by this "eminent hand," was so remarkable that fifty copies--a number perfectly unprecedented in the annals of "the asinaeum"--were absolutely sold in one week; indeed, remembering the principle on which it was founded, one sturdy old writer declared that the journal would soon do for itself and become popular. there was a remarkable peculiarity about the literary debutant who signed himself "nobilitas:" he not only put old words to a new sense, but he used words which had never, among the general run of writers, been used before. this was especially remarkable in the application of hard names to authors. once, in censuring a popular writer for pleasing the public and thereby growing rich, the "eminent hand" ended with "he who surreptitiously accumulates bustle [money] is, in fact, nothing better than a buzz gloak!" [pickpocket]. these enigmatical words and recondite phrases imparted a great air of learning to the style of the new critic; and from the unintelligible sublimity of his diction, it seemed doubtful whether he was a poet from highgate or a philosopher from konigsberg. at all events, the reviewer preserved his incognito, and while his praises were rung at no less than three tea-tables, even glory appeared to him less delicious than disguise. in this incognito, reader, thou hast already discovered paul; and now we have to delight thee with a piece of unexampled morality in the excellent macgrawler. that worthy mentor, perceiving that there was an inherent turn for dissipation and extravagance in our hero, resolved magnanimously rather to bring upon himself the sins of treachery and malappropriation than suffer his friend and former pupil to incur those of wastefulness and profusion. contrary therefore to the agreement made with paul, instead of giving that youth the half of those profits consequent on his brilliant lucubrations, he imparted to him only one fourth, and, with the utmost tenderness for paul's salvation, applied the other three portions of the same to his own necessities. the best actions are, alas! often misconstrued in this world; and we are now about to record a remarkable instance of that melancholy truth. one evening macgrawler, having "moistened his virtue" in the same manner that the great cato is said to have done, in the confusion which such a process sometimes occasions in the best regulated heads, gave paul what appeared to him the outline of a certain article which he wished to be slashingly filled up, but what in reality was the following note from the editor of a monthly periodical:-- sir,--understanding that my friend, mr.---, proprietor of "the asinaeum," allows the very distinguished writer whom you have introduced to the literary world, and who signs himself "nobilitas," only five shillings an article, i beg, through you, to tender him double that sum. the article required will be of an ordinary length. i am, sir, etc., now, that very morning, macgrawler had informed paul of this offer, altering only, from the amiable motives we have already explained, the sum of ten shillings to that of four; and no sooner did paul read the communication we have placed before the reader than, instead of gratitude to macgrawler for his consideration of paul's moral infirmities, he conceived against that gentleman the most bitter resentment. he did not, however, vent his feelings at once upon the scotsman,--indeed, at that moment, as the sage was in a deep sleep under the table, it would have been to no purpose had he unbridled his indignation,--but he resolved without loss of time to quit the abode of the critic. "and, indeed," said he, soliloquizing, "i am heartily tired of this life, and shall be very glad to seek some other employment. fortunately, i have hoarded up five guineas and four shillings; and with that independence in my possession, since i have forsworn gambling, i cannot easily starve." to this soliloquy succeeded a misanthropical revery upon the faithlessness of friends; and the meditation ended in paul's making up a little bundle of such clothes, etc., as dummie had succeeded in removing from the mug, and which paul had taken from the rag-merchant's abode one morning when dummie was abroad. when this easy task was concluded, paul wrote a short and upbraiding note to his illustrious preceptor, and left it unsealed on the table. he then, upsetting the ink-bottle on macgrawler's sleeping countenance, departed from the house, and strolled away he cared not whither. the evening was gradually closing as paul, chewing the cud of his bitter fancies, found himself on london bridge. he paused there, and leaning over the bridge, gazed wistfully on the gloomy waters that rolled onward, caring not a minnow for the numerous charming young ladies who have thought proper to drown themselves in those merciless waves, thereby depriving many a good mistress of an excellent housemaid or an invaluable cook, and many a treacherous phaon of letters beginning with "parjured villen," and ending with "your affectionot but melancholy molly." while thus musing, he was suddenly accosted by a gentleman in boots and spurs, having a riding-whip in one hand, and the other hand stuck in the pocket of his inexpressibles. the hat of the gallant was gracefully and carefully put on, so as to derange as little as possible a profusion of dark curls, which, streaming with unguents, fell low not only on either side of the face, but on the neck and even the shoulders of the owner. the face was saturnine and strongly marked, but handsome and striking. there was a mixture of frippery and sternness in its expression,-- something between madame vestries and t. p. cooke, or between "lovely sally" and a "captain bold of halifax." the stature of this personage was remarkably tall, and his figure was stout, muscular, and well knit. in fine, to complete his portrait, and give our readers of the present day an exact idea of this hero of the past, we shall add that he was altogether that sort of gentleman one sees swaggering in the burlington arcade, with his hair and hat on one side, and a military cloak thrown over his shoulders; or prowling in regent street, towards the evening, _whiskered_ and _cigarred_. laying his hand on the shoulder of our hero, this gentleman said, with an affected intonation of voice,-- "how dost, my fine fellow? long since i saw you! damme, but you look the worse for wear. what hast thou been doing with thyself?" "ha!" cried our hero, returning the salutation of the stranger, "and is it long ned whom i behold? i am indeed glad to meet you; and i say, my friend, i hope what i heard of you is not true!" "hist!" said long ned, looking round fearfully, and sinking his voice; "never talk of what you hear of gentlemen, except you wish to bring them to their last dying speech and confession. but come with me, my lad; there is a tavern hard by, and we may as well discuss matters over a pint of wine. you look cursed seedy, to be sure; but i can tell bill the waiter--famous fellow, that bill!--that you are one of my tenants, come to complain of my steward, who has just distrained you for rent, you dog! no wonder you look so worn in the rigging. come, follow me. i can't walk _with_ thee. it would look too like northumberland house and the butcher's abode next door taking a stroll together." "really, mr. pepper," said our hero, colouring, and by no means pleased with the ingenious comparison of his friend, "if you are ashamed of my clothes, which i own might be newer, i will not wound you with my--" "pooh! my lad, pooh!" cried long ned, interrupting him; "never take offence. _i_ never do. i never take anything but money, except, indeed, watches. i don't mean to hurt your feelings; all of us have been poor once. 'gad, i remember when i had not a dud to my back; and now, you see me,--you see me, paul! but come, 't is only through the streets you need separate from me. keep a little behind, very little; that will do. ay, that will do," repeated long ned, mutteringly to himself; "they'll take him for a bailiff. it looks handsome nowadays to be so attended; it shows one _had_ credit _once!_" meanwhile paul, though by no means pleased with the contempt expressed for his personal appearance by his lengthy associate, and impressed with a keener sense than ever of the crimes of his coat and the vices of his other garment,--"oh, breathe not its name!"--followed doggedly and sullenly the strutting steps of the coxcombical mr. pepper. that personage arrived at last at a small tavern, and arresting a waiter who was running across the passage into the coffee-room with a dish of hung-beef, demanded (no doubt from a pleasing anticipation of a similar pendulous catastrophe) a plate of the same excellent cheer, to be carried, in company with a bottle of port, into a private apartment. no sooner did he find himself alone with paul than, bursting into a loud laugh, mr. ned surveyed his comrade from head to foot through an eyeglass which he wore fastened to his button-hole by a piece of blue ribbon. "well, 'gad now," said he, stopping ever and anon, as if to laugh the more heartily, "stab my vitals, but you are a comical quiz. i wonder what the women would say, if they saw the dashing edward pepper, esquire, walking arm in arm with thee at ranelagh or vauxhall! nay, man, never be downcast; if i laugh at thee, it is only to make thee look a little merrier thyself. why, thou lookest like a book of my grandfather's called burton's ''anatomy of melancholy;' and faith, a shabbier bound copy of it i never saw." "these jests are a little hard," said paul, struggling between anger and an attempt to smile; and then recollecting his late literary occupations, and the many extracts he had taken from "gleanings of the belles lettres," in order to impart elegance to his criticisms, he threw out his hand theatrically, and spouted with a solemn face,-- "'of all the griefs that harass the distrest, sure the most bitter is a scornful jest!'" "well, now, prithee forgive me," said long ned, composing his features, "and just tell me what you have been doing the last two months." "slashing and plastering!" said paul, with conscious pride. "slashing and what? the boy's mad. what do you mean, paul?" "in other words," said our hero, speaking very slowly, "know, o very long ned! that i have been critic to 'the asinaeum.'" if paul's comrade laughed at first, he now laughed ten times more merrily than ever. he threw his full length of limb upon a neighbouring sofa, and literally rolled with cachinnatory convulsions; nor did his risible emotions subside until the entrance of the hung-beef restored him to recollection. seeing, then, that a cloud lowered over paul's countenance, he went up to him with something like gravity, begged his pardon for his want of politeness, and desired him to wash away all unkindness in a bumper of port. paul, whose excellent dispositions we have before had occasion to remark, was not impervious to his friend's apologies. he assured long ned that he quite forgave him for his ridicule of the high situation he (paul) had enjoyed in the literary world; that it was the duty of a public censor to bear no malice, and that he should be very glad to take his share in the interment of the hung-beef. the pair now sat down to their repast; and paul, who had fared but meagerly in that temple of athena over which macgrawler presided, did ample justice to the viands before him. by degrees, as he ate and drank, his heart opened to his companion; and laying aside that asinaeum dignity which he had at first thought it incumbent on him to assume, he entertained pepper with all the particulars of the life he had lately passed. he narrated to him his breach with dame lobkins, his agreement with macgrawler, the glory he had acquired, and the wrongs he had sustained; and he concluded, as now the second bottle made its appearance, by stating his desire of exchanging for some more active profession that sedentary career which he had so promisingly begun. this last part of paul's confessions secretly delighted the soul of long ned; for that experienced collector of the highways--ned was, indeed, of no less noble a profession--had long fixed an eye upon our hero, as one whom he thought likely to be an honour to that enterprising calling which he espoused, and an useful assistant to himself. he had not, in his earlier acquaintance with paul, when the youth was under the roof and the _surveillance_ of the practised and wary mrs. lobkins, deemed it prudent to expose the exact nature of his own pursuits, and had contented himself by gradually ripening the mind and the finances of paul into that state when the proposition of a leap from a hedge would not be likely greatly to revolt the person to whom it was made. he now thought that time near at hand; and filling our hero's glass up to the brim, thus artfully addressed him:-- "courage, my friend! your narration has given me a sensible pleasure; for curse me if it has not strengthened my favourite opinion,--that everything is for the best. if it had not been for the meanness of that pitiful fellow, macgrawler, you might still be inspired with the paltry ambition of earning a few shillings a week and vilifying a parcel of poor devils in the what-d'ye-call it, with a hard name; whereas now, my good paul, i trust i shall be able to open to your genius a new career, in which guineas are had for the asking,--in which you may wear fine clothes, and ogle the ladies at ranelagh; and when you are tired of glory and liberty, paul, why, you have only to make your bow to an heiress, or a widow with a spanking jointure, and quit the hum of men like a cincinnatus!" though paul's perception into the abstruser branches of morals was not very acute,--and at that time the port wine had considerably confused the few notions he possessed upon "the beauty of virtue,"--yet he could not but perceive that mr. pepper's insinuated proposition was far from being one which the bench of bishops or a synod of moralists would conscientiously have approved. he consequently remained silent; and long ned, after a pause, continued:-- "you know my genealogy, my good fellow? i was the son of lawyer pepper, a shrewd old dog, but as hot as calcutta; and the grandson of sexton pepper, a great author, who wrote verses on tombstones, and kept a stall of religious tracts in carlisle. my grandfather, the sexton, was the best temper of the family; for all of us are a little inclined to be hot in the mouth. well, my fine fellow, my father left me his blessing, and this devilish good head of hair. i lived for some years on my own resources. i found it a particularly inconvenient mode of life, and of late i have taken to live on the public. my father and grandfather did it before me, though in a different line. 't is the pleasantest plan in the world. follow my example, and your coat shall be as spruce as my own. master paul, your health!" "but, o longest of mortals!" said paul, refilling his glass, "though the public may allow you to eat your mutton off their backs for a short time, they will kick up at last, and upset you and your banquet; in other words (pardon my metaphor, dear ned, in remembrance of the part i have lately maintained in 'the asinaeum,' that most magnificent and metaphorical of journals!),--in other words, the police will nab thee at last; and thou wilt have the distinguished fate, as thou already hast the distinguishing characteristic, of absalom!" "you mean that i shall be hanged," said long ned, "that may or may not be; but he who fears death never enjoys life. consider, paul, that though hanging is a bad fate, starving is a worse; wherefore fill your glass, and let us drink to the health of that great donkey, the people, and may we never want saddles to ride it!" "to the great donkey," cried paul, tossing off his bumper; "may your _(y)ears_ be as long! but i own to you, my friend, that i cannot enter into your plans. and, as a token of my resolution, i shall drink no more, for my eyes already begin to dance in the air; and if i listen longer to your resistless eloquence, my feet may share the same fate!" so saying, paul rose; nor could any entreaty, on the part of his entertainer, persuade him to resume his seat. "nay, as you will," said pepper, affecting a nonchalant tone, and arranging his cravat before the glass,--"nay, as you will. ned pepper requires no man's companionship against his liking; and if the noble spark of ambition be not in your bosom, 't is no use spending my breath in blowing at what only existed in my too flattering opinion of your qualities. so then, you propose to return to macgrawler (the scurvy old cheat!), and pass the inglorious remainder of your life in the mangling of authors and the murder of grammar? go, my good fellow, go! scribble again and forever for macgrawler, and let him live upon thy brains instead of suffering thy brains to--" "hold!" cried paul. "although i may have some scruples which prevent my adoption of that rising line of life you have proposed to me, yet you are very much mistaken if you imagine me so spiritless as any longer to subject myself to the frauds of that rascal macgrawler. no! my present intention is to pay my old nurse a visit. it appears to me passing strange that though i have left her so many weeks, she has never relented enough to track me out, which one would think would have been no difficult matter; and now, you see, that i am pretty well off, having five guineas and four shillings all my own, and she can scarcely think i want her money, my heart melts to her, and i shall go and ask pardon for my haste!" "pshaw! sentimental," cried long ned, a little alarmed at the thought of paul's gliding from those clutches which he thought had now so firmly closed upon him. "why, you surely don't mean, after having once tasted the joys of independence, to go back to the boozing-ken, and bear all mother lobkins's drunken tantrums! better have stayed with macgrawler, of the two!" "you mistake me," answered paul; "i mean solely to make it up with her, and get her permission to see the world. my ultimate intention is--to travel." "right," cried ned, "on the high-road,--and on horseback, i hope." "no, my colossus of roads! no. i am in doubt whether or not i shall enlist in a marching regiment, or--give me your advice on it! i fancy i have a great turn for the stage, ever since i saw garrick in 'richard.' shall i turn stroller? it must be a merry life." "oh, the devil!" cried ned. "i myself once did cassio in a barn, and every one swore i enacted the drunken scene to perfection; but you have no notion what a lamentable life it is to a man of any susceptibility. no, my friend, no! there is only one line in all the old plays worthy thy attention,-- "'toby [the highway] or not toby, that is the question.' "i forget the rest!" "well," said our hero, answering in the same jocular vein, "i confess i have 'the actor's high ambition.' it is astonishing how my heart beat when richard cried out, 'come bustle, bustle!' yes, pepper, avaunt!- "'a thousand hearts are great within my bosom.'" "well, well," said long ned, stretching himself, "since you are so fond of the play, what say you to an excursion thither to-night? garrick acts." "done!" cried paul. "done!" echoed lazily long ned, rising with that _blase_ air which distinguishes the matured man of the world from the enthusiastic tyro,-"done! and we will adjourn afterwards to the white horse." "but stay a moment," said paul; "if you remember, i owed you a guinea when i last saw you,--here it is!" "nonsense," exclaimed long ned, refusing the money,--"nonsense! you want the money at present; pay me when you are richer. nay, never be coy about it; debts of honour are not paid now as they used to be. we lads of the fish lane club have changed all that. well, well, if i must!" and long ned, seeing that paul insisted, pocketed the guinea. when this delicate matter had been arranged,--"come," said pepper, "come, get your hat; but, bless me! i have forgotten one thing." "what?" "why, my fine paul, consider. the play is a bang-up sort of a place; look at your coat and your waistcoat, that's all!" our hero was struck dumb with this _arqumentum ad hominem_. but long ned, after enjoying his perplexity, relieved him of it by telling him that he knew of an honest tradesman who kept a ready-made shop just by the theatre, and who could fit him out in a moment. in fact, long ned was as good as his word; he carried paul to a tailor, who gave him for the sum of thirty shillings--half ready money, half on credit-a green coat with a tarnished gold lace, a pair of red inexpressibles, and a pepper-and-salt waistcoat. it is true, they were somewhat of the largest, for they had once belonged to no less a person than long ned himself; but paul did not then regard those niceties of apparel, as he was subsequently taught to do by gentleman george (a personage hereafter to be introduced to our reader), and he went to the theatre as well satisfied with himself as if he had been mr. t---or the count de --. our adventurers are now quietly seated in the theatre; and we shall not think it necessary to detail the performances they saw, or the observations they made. long ned was one of those superior beings of the road who would not for the world have condescended to appear anywhere but in the boxes; and, accordingly, the friends procured a couple of places in the dress-tier. in the next box to the one our adventurers adorned they remarked, more especially than the rest of the audience, a gentleman and a young lady seated next each other; the latter, who was about thirteen years old, was so uncommonly beautiful that paul, despite his dramatic enthusiasm, could scarcely divert his eyes from her countenance to the stage. her hair, of a bright and fair auburn, hung in profuse ringlets about her neck, shedding a softer shade upon a complexion in which the roses seemed just budding as it were into blush. her eyes, large, blue, and rather languishing than brilliant, were curtained by the darkest lashes; her mouth seemed literally girt with smiles, so numberless were the dimples that every time the full, ripe, dewy lips were parted rose into sight; and the enchantment of the dimples was aided by two rows of teeth more dazzling than the richest pearls that ever glittered on a bride. but the chief charm of the face was its exceeding and touching air of innocence and girlish softness; you might have gazed forever upon that first unspeakable bloom, that all untouched and stainless down, which seemed as if a very breath could mar it. perhaps the face might have wanted animation; but perhaps, also, it borrowed from that want an attraction. the repose of the features was so soft and gentle that the eye wandered there with the same delight, and left it with the same reluctance, which it experiences in dwelling on or in quitting those hues which are found to harmonize the most with its vision. but while paul was feeding his gaze on this young beauty, the keen glances of long ned had found an object no less fascinating in a large gold watch which the gentleman who accompanied the damsel ever and anon brought to his eye, as if he were waxing a little weary of the length of the pieces or the lingering progression of time. "what a beautiful face!" whispered paul. "is the face gold, then, as well as the back?" whispered long ned, in return. our hero started, frowned, and despite the gigantic stature of his comrade, told him, very angrily, to find some other subject for jesting. ned in his turn stared, but made no reply. meanwhile paul, though the lady was rather too young to fall in love with, began wondering what relationship her companion bore to her. though the gentleman altogether was handsome, yet his features and the whole character of his face were widely different from those on which paul gazed with such delight. he was not, seemingly, above five-and-forty, but his forehead was knit into many a line and furrow; and in his eyes the light, though searching, was more sober and staid than became his years. a disagreeable expression played about the mouth; and the shape of the face, which was long and thin, considerably detracted from the prepossessing effect of a handsome aquiline nose, fine teeth, and a dark, manly, though sallow complexion. there was a mingled air of shrewdness and distraction in the expression of his face. he seemed to pay very little attention to the play, or to anything about him; but he testified very considerable alacrity, when the play was over, in putting her cloak around his young companion, and in threading their way through the thick crowd that the boxes were now pouring forth. paul and his companion silently, and each with very different motives from the other, followed them. they were now at the door of the theatre. a servant stepped forward and informed the gentleman that his carriage was a few paces distant, but that it might be some time before it could drive up to the theatre. "can you walk to the carriage, my dear?" said the gentleman to his young charge; and she answering in the affirmative, they both left the house, preceded by the servant. "come on!" said long ned, hastily, and walking in the same direction which the strangers had taken. paul readily agreed. they soon overtook the strangers. long ned walked the nearest to the gentleman, and brushed by him in passing. presently a voice cried, "stop thief!" and long ned, saying to paul, "shift for yourself, run!" darted from our hero's side into the crowd, and vanished in a twinkling. before paul could recover his amaze, he found himself suddenly seized by the collar; he turned abruptly, and saw the dark face of the young lady's companion. "rascal!" cried the gentleman, "my watch!" "watch!" repeated paul, bewildered, and only for the sake of the young lady refraining from knocking down his arrester,--"watch!" "ay, young man!" cried a fellow in a great-coat, who now suddenly appeared on the other side of paul; "this gentleman's watch. please your honour," addressing the complainant, "_i_ be a watch too; shall i take up this chap?" "by all means," cried the gentleman; "i would not have lost my watch for twice its value. i can swear i saw this fellow's companion snatch it from my fob. the thief's gone; but we have at least the accomplice. i give him in strict charge to you, watchman; take the consequences if you let him escape." the watchman answered, sullenly, that he did not want to be threatened, and he knew how to discharge his duty. "don't answer me, fellow!" said the gentleman, haughtily; "do as i tell you!" and after a little colloquy, paul found himself suddenly marched off between two tall fellows, who looked prodigiously inclined to eat him. by this time he had recovered his surprise and dismay. he did not want the penetration to see that his companion had really committed the offence for which he was charged; and he also foresaw that the circumstance might be attended with disagreeable consequences to himself. under all the features of the case, he thought that an attempt to escape would not be an imprudent proceeding on his part; accordingly, after moving a few paces very quietly and very passively, he watched his opportunity, wrenched himself from the gripe of the gentleman on his left, and brought the hand thus released against the cheek of the gentleman on his right with so hearty a good will as to cause him to relinquish his hold, and retreat several paces towards the areas in a slanting position. but that roundabout sort of blow with the left fist is very unfavourable towards the preservation of a firm balance; and before paul had recovered sufficiently to make an effectual bolt, he was prostrated to the earth by a blow from the other and undamaged watchman, which utterly deprived him of his senses; and when he recovered those useful possessions (which a man may reasonably boast of losing, since it is only the minority who have them to lose), he found himself stretched on a bench in the watchhouse. this ebook was produced by bryan sherman and david widger paul clifford, volume . by edward bulwer-lytton chapter xxii. outlaw. stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you! val. ruffians, forego that rude, uncivil touch! the two gentlemen of verona. on leaving the scene in which he had been so unwelcome a guest, clifford hastened to the little inn where he had left his horse. he mounted and returned to bath. his thoughts were absent, and he unconsciously suffered the horse to direct its course whither it pleased. this was naturally towards the nearest halting-place which the animal remembered; and this halting-place was at that illustrious tavern, in the suburbs of the town, in which we have before commemorated clifford's re-election to the dignity of chief. it was a house of long-established reputation; and here news of any of the absent confederates was always to be obtained. this circumstance, added to the excellence of its drink, its ease, and the electric chain of early habits, rendered it a favourite haunt, even despite their present gay and modish pursuits, with tomlinson and pepper; and here, when clifford sought the pair at unseasonable hours, was he for the most part sure to find them. as his meditations were interrupted by the sudden stopping of his horse beneath the well-known sign, clifford, muttering an angry malediction on the animal, spurred it onward in the direction of his own home. he had already reached the end of the street, when his resolution seemed to change, and muttering to himself, "ay, i might as well arrange this very night for our departure!" he turned his horse's head backward, and was once more at the tavern door. he threw the bridle over an iron railing, and knocking with a peculiar sound at the door, was soon admitted. are ------ and ------- here?" asked he of the old woman, as he entered, mentioning the cant words by which, among friends, tomlinson and pepper were usually known. "they are both gone on the sharps to-night," replied the old lady, lifting her unsnuffed candle to the face of the speaker with an intelligent look; oliver (the moon) is sleepy, and the lads will take advantage of his nap." "do you mean," answered clifford, replying in the same key, which we take the liberty to paraphrase, "that they are out on any actual expedition?" "to be sure," rejoined the dame. "they who lag late on the road may want money for supper!" "ha! which road?" "you are a pretty fellow for captain!" rejoined the dame, with a good- natured sarcasm in her tone. "why, captain gloak, poor fellow! knew every turn of his men to a hair, and never needed to ask what they were about. ah, he was a fellow! none of your girl-faced mudgers, who make love to ladies, forsooth,--a pretty woman need not look far for a kiss when he was in the room, i warrant, however coarse her duds might be; and lauk! but the captain was a sensible man, and liked a cow as well as a calf." "so, so! on the road, are they?" cried clifford, musingly, and without heeding the insinuated attack on his decorum. "but answer me, what is the plan? be quick!" "why," replied the dame, "there's some swell cove of a lord gives a blow- out to-day; and the lads, dear souls! think to play the queer on some straggler." without uttering a word, clifford darted from the house, and was remounted before the old lady had time to recover her surprise. "if you want to see them," cried she, as he put spurs to his horse, "they ordered me to have supper ready at------" the horse's hoofs drowned the last words of the dame; and carefully rebolting the door, and muttering an invidious comparison between captain clifford and captain gloak, the good landlady returned to those culinary operations destined to rejoice the hearts of tomlinson and pepper. return we ourselves to lucy. it so happened that the squire's carriage was the last to arrive; for the coachman, long uninitiated among the shades of warlock into the dissipation of fashionable life, entered on his debut at bath, with all the vigorous heat of matured passions for the first time released, into the festivities of the ale-house, and having a milder master than most of his comrades, the fear of displeasure was less strong in his aurigal bosom than the love of companionship; so that during the time this gentleman was amusing himself, lucy had ample leisure for enjoying all the thousand-and-one reports of the scene between mauleverer and clifford which regaled her ears. nevertheless, whatever might have been her feelings at these pleasing recitals, a certain vague joy predominated over all. a man feels but slight comparative happiness in being loved, if he know that it is in vain; but to a woman that simple knowledge is sufficient to destroy the memory of a thousand distresses, and it is not till she has told her heart again and again that she is loved, that she will even begin to ask if it be in vain. it was a partially starlight yet a dim and obscure night, for the moon had for the last hour or two been surrounded by mist and cloud, when at length the carriage arrived; and mauleverer, for the second time that evening playing the escort, conducted lucy to the vehicle. anxious to learn if she had seen or been addressed by clifford, the subtle earl, as he led her to the gate, dwelt particularly on the intrusion of that person, and by the trembling of the hand which rested on his arm, he drew no delicious omen for his own hopes. "however," thought he, "the man goes to-morrow, and then the field will be clear; the girl's a child yet, and i forgive her folly." and with an air of chivalric veneration, mauleverer bowed the object of his pardon into her carriage. as soon as lucy felt herself alone with her father, the emotions so long pent within her forced themselves into vent, is and leaning back against the carriage, she wept, though in silence, tears, burning tears, of sorrow, comfort, agitation, anxiety. the good old squire was slow in perceiving his daughter's emotion; it would have escaped him altogether, if, actuated by a kindly warming of the heart towards her, originating in his new suspicion of her love for clifford, he had not put his arm round her neck; and this unexpected caress so entirely unstrung her nerves that lucy at once threw herself upon her father's breast, and her weeping, hitherto so quiet, became distinct and audible. "be comforted, my dear, dear child!" said the squire, almost affected to tears himself; and his emotion, arousing him from his usual mental confusion, rendered his words less involved and equivocal than they were wont to be. "and now i do hope that you won't vex yourself; the young man is indeed--and, i do assure you, i always thought so--a very charming gentleman, there's no denying it. but what can we do? you see what they all say of him, and it really was--we must allow that--very improper in him to come without being asked. moreover, my dearest child, it is very wrong, very wrong indeed, to love any one, and not know who he is; and-- and--but don't cry, my dear love, don't cry so; all will be very well, i am sure,--quite sure!" as he said this, the kind old man drew his daughter nearer him, and feeling his hand hurt by something she wore unseen which pressed against it, he inquired, with some suspicion that the love might have proceeded to love-gifts, what it was. "it is my mother's picture," said lucy, simply, and putting it aside. the old squire had loved his wife tenderly; and when lucy made this reply, all the fond and warm recollections of his youth rushed upon him. he thought, too, how earnestly on her death-bed that wife had recommended to his vigilant care their only child now weeping on his bosom: he remembered how, dwelling on that which to all women seems the grand epoch of life, she had said, "never let her affections be trifled with,--never be persuaded by your ambitious brother to make her marry where she loves not, or to oppose her, without strong reason, where she does: though she be but a child now, i know enough of her to feel convinced that if ever she love, she will love too well for her own happiness, even with all things in her favour." these words, these recollections, joined to the remembrance of the cold-hearted scheme of william brandon, which he had allowed himself to favour, and of his own supineness towards lucy's growing love for clifford, till resistance became at once necessary and too late, all smote him with a remorseful sorrow, and fairly sobbing himself, he said, "thy mother, child! ah, would that she were living, she would never have neglected thee as i have done!" the squire's self-reproach made lucy's tears cease on the instant; and as she covered her father's hands with kisses, she replied only by vehement accusations against herself, and praises of his too great fatherly fondness and affection. this little burst, on both sides, of honest and simple-hearted love ended in a silence full of tender and mingled thoughts; and as lucy still clung to the breast of the old man, uncouth as he was in temper, below even mediocrity in intellect, and altogether the last person in age or mind or habit that seemed fit for a confidant in the love of a young and enthusiastic girl, she felt the old homely truth that under all disadvantages there are, in this hollow world, few in whom trust can be so safely reposed, few who so delicately and subtilely respect the confidence, as those from whom we spring. the father and daughter had been silent for some minutes, and the former was about to speak, when the carriage suddenly stopped. the squire heard a rough voice at the horses' heads; he looked forth from the window to see, through the mist of the night, what could possibly be the matter, and he encountered in this action, just one inch from his forehead, the protruded and shining barrel of a horse-pistol. we may believe, without a reflection on his courage, that mr. brandon threw himself back into his carriage with all possible despatch; and at the same moment the door was opened, and a voice said, not in a threatening but a smooth accent,-- "ladies and gentlemen, i am sorry to disturb you, but want is imperious; oblige me with your money, your watches, your rings, and any other little commodities of a similar nature!" so delicate a request the squire had not the heart to resist, the more especially as he knew himself without any weapons of defence; accordingly he drew out a purse, not very full, it must be owned,--together with an immense silver hunting-watch, with a piece of black ribbon attached to it. "there, sir," said he, with a groan, "don't frighten the young lady." the gentle applicant, who indeed was no other than the specious augustus tomlinson, slid the purse into his waistcoat-pocket, after feeling its contents with a rapid and scientific finger. "your watch, sir," quoth he,--and as he spoke he thrust it carelessly into his coat-pocket, as a school-boy would thrust a peg-top,--"is heavy; but trusting to experience, since an accurate survey is denied me, i fear it is more valuable from its weight than its workmanship: however, i will not wound your vanity by affecting to be fastidious. but surely the young lady, as you call her,--for i pay you the compliment of believing your word as to her age, inasmuch as the night is too dark to allow me the happiness of a personal inspection,--the young lady has surely some little trinket she can dispense with. 'beauty when unadorned,' you know, etc." lucy, who, though greatly frightened, lost neither her senses nor her presence of mind, only answered by drawing forth a little silk purse, that contained still less than the leathern convenience of the squire; to this she added a gold chain; and tomlinson, taking them with an affectionate squeeze of the hand and a polite apology, was about to withdraw, when his sagacious eyes were suddenly stricken by the gleam of jewels. the fact was that in altering the position of her mother's picture, which had been set in the few hereditary diamonds possessed by the lord of warlock, lucy had allowed it to hang on the outside of her dress, and bending forward to give the robber her other possessions, the diamonds at once came in full sight, and gleamed the more invitingly from the darkness of the night. "ah, madam," said tomlinson, stretching forth his hand, you would play me false, would you? treachery should never go unpunished. favour me instantly with the little ornament round your neck!" "i cannot,--i cannot!" said lucy, grasping her treasure with both her hands; "it is my mother's picture, and my mother is dead!" "the wants of others, madam," returned tomlinson, who could not for the life of him rob immorally, "are ever more worthy your attention than family prejudices. seriously, give it, and that instantly; we are in a hurry, and your horses are plunging like devils: they will break your carriage in an instant,--despatch!" the squire was a brave man on the whole, though no hero; and the nerves of an old fox-hunter soon recover from a little alarm. the picture of his buried wife was yet more inestimable to him than it was to lucy, and at this new demand his spirit was roused within him. he clenched his fists, and advancing himself as it were on his seat, he cried in a loud voice,-- "begone, fellow! i have given you--for my own part i think so--too much already; and, by god, you shall not have the picture!" "don't force me to use violence," said augustus; and putting one foot on the carriage-step, he brought his pistol within a few inches of lucy's breast, rightly judging, perhaps, that the show of danger to her would be the best method to intimidate the squire. at that instant the valorous moralist found himself suddenly seized with a powerful gripe on the shoulder; and a low voice, trembling with passion, hissed in his ear. whatever might be the words that startled his organs, they operated as an instantaneous charm; and to their astonishment, the squire and lucy beheld their assailant abruptly withdraw. the door of the carriage was clapped to, and scarcely two minutes had elapsed before, the robber having remounted, his comrade, hitherto stationed at the horses' heads, set spurs to his own steed, and the welcome sound of receding hoofs smote upon the bewildered ears of the father and daughter. the door of the carriage was again opened; and a voice, which made lucy paler than the preceding terror, said,-- "i fear, mr. brandon, the robbers have frightened your daughter. there is now, however, nothing to fear; the ruffians are gone." "god bless me!" said the squire; "why, is that captain clifford?" "it is; and he conceives himself too fortunate to have been of the smallest service to mr. and miss brandon." on having convinced himself that it was indeed to mr. clifford that he owed his safety as well as that of his daughter, whom he believed to have been in a far more imminent peril than she really was,--for to tell thee the truth, reader, the pistol of tomlinson was rather calculated for show than use, having a peculiarly long bright barrel with nothing in it,--the squire was utterly at a loss how to express his gratitude; and when he turned to lucy to beg she would herself thank their gallant deliverer, he found that, overpowered with various emotions, she had, for the first time in her life, fainted away. "good heavens!" cried the alarmed father, "she is dead,--my lucy, my lucy, they have killed her!" to open the door nearest to lucy, to bear her from the carriage in his arms, was to clifford the work of an instant. utterly unconscious of the presence of any one else,--unconscious even of what he said, he poured forth a thousand wild, passionate, yet half-audible expressions; and as he bore her to a bank by the roadside, and seating himself supported her against his bosom, it would be difficult perhaps to say, whether something of delight--of burning and thrilling delight--was not mingled with his anxiety and terror. he chafed her small hands in his own; his breath, all trembling and warm, glowed upon her cheek; and once, and but once, his lips drew nearer, and breathing aside the dishevelled richness of her tresses, clung in a long and silent kiss to her own. meanwhile, by the help of the footman, who had now somewhat recovered his astonished senses, the squire descended from his carriage, and approached with faltering steps the place where his daughter reclined. at the instant that he took her hand, lucy began to revive; and the first action, in the bewildered unconsciousness of awaking, was to throw her arm around the neck of her supporter. could all the hours and realities of hope, joy, pleasure, in clifford's previous life have been melted down and concentrated into a single emotion, that emotion would have been but tame to the rapture of lucy's momentary and innocent caress! and at a later yet no distant period, when in the felon's cell the grim visage of death scowled upon him, it may be questioned whether his thoughts dwelt not far more often on the remembrance of that delightful moment than on the bitterness and ignominy of an approaching doom. "she breathes,--she moves,--she wakes!" cried the father; and lucy, attempting to rise, and recognizing the squire's voice, said faintly,-- "thank god, my dear father, you are not hurt! and are they really gone? --and where--where are we?" the squire, relieving clifford of his charge, folded his child in his arms, while in his own elucidatory manner he informed her where she was, and with whom. the lovers stood face to face to each other; but what delicious blushes did the night, which concealed all but the outline of their forms, hide from the eyes of clifford! the honest and kind heart of mr. brandon was glad of a release to the indulgent sentiments it had always cherished towards the suspected and maligned clifford, and turning now from lucy, it fairly poured itself forth upon her deliverer. he grasped him warmly by the hand, and insisted upon his accompanying them to bath in the carriage, and allowing the footman to ride his horse. this offer was still pending, when the footman, who had been to see after the health and comfort of his fellow- servant, came to inform the party, in a dolorous accent, of something which, in the confusion and darkness of the night, they had not yet learned,--namely, that the horses and coachman were gone! "gone!" said the squire, "gone! why, the villains can't (for my part, i never believe, though i have heard such wonders of, those sleight of hand) have bagged them!" here a low groan was audible; and the footman, sympathetically guided to the spot whence it emanated, found the huge body of the coachman safely deposited, with its face downward, in the middle of the kennel. after this worthy had been lifted to his legs, and had shaken himself into intelligence, it was found that when the robber had detained the horses, the coachman, who required very little to conquer his more bellicose faculties, had--he himself said, by a violent blow from the ruffian, though, perhaps, the cause lay nearer home--quitted the coach-box for the kennel, the horses grew frightened, and after plunging and rearing till he cared no longer to occupy himself with their arrest, the highwayman had very quietly cut the traces, and by the time present, it was not impossible that the horses were almost at the door of their stables at bath. the footman who had apprised the squire of this misfortune was, unlike most news-tellers, the first to offer consolation. "there be an excellent public," quoth he, "about a half a mile on, where your honour could get horses; or, mayhap, if miss lucy, poor heart, be faint, you may like to stop for the night." though a walk of half a mile in a dark night and under other circumstances would not have seemed a grateful proposition, yet at present, when the squire's imagination had only pictured to him the alternatives of passing the night in the carriage or of crawling on foot to bath, it seemed but a very insignificant hardship; and tucking his daughter's arm under his own, while in a kind voice he told clifford "to support her on the other side," the squire ordered the footman to lead the way with clifford's horse, and the coachman to follow or be d---d, whichever he pleased. in silence clifford offered his arm to lucy, and silently she accepted the courtesy. the squire was the only talker; and the theme he chose was not ungrateful to lucy, for it was the praise of her lover. but clifford scarcely listened, for a thousand thoughts and feelings contested within him; and the light touch of lucy's hand upon his arm would alone have been sufficient to distract and confuse his attention. the darkness of the night, the late excitement, the stolen kiss that still glowed upon his lips, the remembrance of lucy's flattering agitation in the scene with her at lord mauleverer's, the yet warmer one of that unconscious embrace, which still tingled through every nerve of his frame, all conspired with the delicious emotion which he now experienced at her presence and her contact to intoxicate and inflame him. oh, those burning moments in love, when romance has just mellowed into passion, and without losing anything of its luxurious vagueness mingles the enthusiasm of its dreams with the ardent desires of reality and earth! that is the exact time when love has reached its highest point,--when all feelings, all thoughts, the whole soul, and the whole mind, are seized and engrossed,--when every difficulty weighed in the opposite scale seems lighter than dust,--when to renounce the object beloved is the most deadly and lasting sacrifice,--and when in so many breasts, where honour, conscience, virtue, are far stronger than we can believe them ever to have been in a criminal like clifford, honour, conscience, virtue, have perished at once and suddenly into ashes before that mighty and irresistible fire. the servant, who had had previous opportunities of ascertaining the topography of the "public" of which he spake, and who was perhaps tolerably reconciled to his late terror in the anticipation of renewing his intimacy with "the spirits of the past," now directed the attention of our travellers to a small inn just before them. mine host had not yet retired to repose, and it was not necessary to knock twice before the door was opened. a bright fire, an officious landlady, a commiserate landlord, a warm potation, and the promise of excellent beds, all appeared to our squire to make ample amends for the intelligence that the inn was not licensed to let post-horses; and mine host having promised forthwith to send two stout fellows, a rope, and a cart-horse to bring the carriage under shelter (for the squire valued the vehicle because it was twenty years old), and moreover to have the harness repaired, and the horses ready by an early hour the next day, the good humour of mr. brandon rose into positive hilarity. lucy retired under the auspices of the landlady to bed; and the squire having drunk a bowl of bishop, and discovered a thousand new virtues in clifford, especially that of never interrupting a good story, clapped the captain on the shoulder, and making him promise not to leave the inn till he had seen him again, withdrew also to the repose of his pillow. clifford remained below, gazing abstractedly on the fire for some time afterwards; nor was it till the drowsy chambermaid had thrice informed him of the prepared comforts of his bed, that he adjourned to his chamber. even then it seems that sleep did not visit his eyelids; for a wealthy grazier, who lay in the room below, complained bitterly the next morning of some person walking overhead "in all manner of strides, just for all the world like a happarition in boots." chapter xxiii. viola. and dost thou love me? lysander. . . . love thee, viola? do i not fly thee when my being drinks light from thine eyes?--that flight is all my answer! the bride, act ii. sc. . the curtain meditations of the squire had not been without the produce of a resolve. his warm heart at once reopened to the liking he had formerly conceived for clifford; he longed for an opportunity to atone for his past unkindness, and to testify his present gratitude; moreover, he felt at once indignant at, and ashamed of, his late conduct in joining the popular, and, as he now fully believed, the causeless prepossession against his young friend, and before a more present and a stronger sentiment his habitual deference for his brother's counsels faded easily away. coupled with these favourable feelings towards clifford were his sagacious suspicions, or rather certainty, of lucy's attachment to her handsome deliverer; and he had at least sufficient penetration to perceive that she was not likely to love him the less for the night's adventure. to all this was added the tender recollection of his wife's parting words; and the tears and tell-tale agitation of lucy in the carriage were sufficient to his simple mind, which knew not how lightly maiden's tears are shed and dried, to confirm the prediction of the dear deceased. nor were the squire's more generous and kindly feelings utterly unmixed with selfish considerations. proud, but not the least ambitious, he was always more ready to confer an honour than receive one, and at heart he was secretly glad at the notion of exchanging, as a son- in-law, the polished and unfamiliar mauleverer for the agreeable and social clifford. such in "admired disorder," were the thoughts which rolled through the teeming brain of joseph brandon; and before be had turned on his left side, which he always did preparatory to surrendering himself to slumber, the squire had fully come to a determination most fatal to the schemes of the lawyer and the hopes of the earl. the next morning, as lucy was knitting "the loose train of her amber-dropping hair" before the little mirror of her chamber, which even through its dimmed and darkened glass gave back a face which might have shamed a grecian vision of aurora, a gentle tap at her door announced her father. there was in his rosy and comely countenance that expression generally characteristic of a man pleased with himself, and persuaded that he is about to give pleasure. "my dear child," said the squire, fondly stroking down the luxuriance of his lucy's hair, and kissing her damask cheek, "i am come to have some little conversation with you. sit down now, and (for my part, i love to talk at my ease; and, by the by, shut the window, my love, it is an easterly wind) i wish that we may come to a clear and distinct understanding. hem!--give me your hand, my child,--i think on these matters one can scarcely speak too precisely and to the purpose; although i am well aware (for, for my own part, i always wish to act to every one, to you especially, my dearest child, with the greatest consideration) that we must go to work with as much delicacy as conciseness. you know this captain clifford,--'t is a brave youth, is it not? well--nay, never blush so deeply; there is nothing (for in these matters one can't have all one's wishes, one can't have everything) to be ashamed of! tell me now, child, dost think he is in love with thee?" if lucy did not immediately answer by words, her pretty lips moved as if she could readily reply; and finally they settled into so sweet and so assured a smile that the squire, fond as he was of "precise" information, was in want of no fuller answer to his question. "ay, ay, young lady," said he, looking at her with all a father's affection, "i see how it is. and, come now, what do you turn away for? dost think, if, as i believe, though there are envious persons in the world, as there always are when a man's handsome or clever or brave,-- though, by the way, which is a very droll thing in my eyes, they don't envy, at least not ill-naturedly, a man for being a lord or rich, but, quite on the contrary, rank and money seem to make them think one has all the cardinal virtues. humph! if, i say, this mr. clifford should turn out to be a gentleman of family,--for you know that is essential, since the brandons have, as my brother has probably told you, been a great race many centuries ago,--dost think, my child, that thou couldst give up (the cat is out of the bag) this old lord, and marry a simple gentleman?" the hand which the squire had held was now with an arch tenderness applied to his mouth, and when he again seized it lucy hid her glowing face in his bosom; and it was only by a whisper, as if the very air was garrulous, that he could draw forth (for now he insisted on a verbal reply) her happy answer. we are not afraid that our reader will blame us for not detailing the rest of the interview between the father and daughter: it did not last above an hour longer; for the squire declared that, for his own part, he hated more words than were necessary. mr. brandon was the first to descend to the breakfast, muttering as he descended the stairs, "well now, hang me if i am not glad that's off (for i do not like to think much of so silly a matter) my mind. and as for my brother, i sha' n't tell him till it's all over and settled. and if he is angry, he and the old lord may, though i don't mean to be unbrotherly, go to the devil together!" when the three were assembled at the breakfast-table, there could not, perhaps, have been found anywhere a stronger contrast than that which the radiant face of lucy bore to the haggard and worn expression that disfigured the handsome features of her lover. so marked was the change that one night seemed to have wrought upon clifford, that even the squire was startled and alarmed at it. but lucy, whose innocent vanity pleased itself with accounting for the alteration, consoled herself with the hope of soon witnessing a very different expression on the countenance of her lover; and though she was silent, and her happiness lay quiet and deep within her, yet in her eyes and lip there was that which seemed to clifford an insult to his own misery, and stung him to the heart. however, he exerted himself to meet the conversation of the squire, and to mask as well as he was able the evidence of the conflict which still raged within him. the morning was wet and gloomy; it was that drizzling and misty rain which is so especially nutritious to the growth of blue devils, and the jolly squire failed not to rally his young friend upon his feminine susceptibility to the influences of the weather. clifford replied jestingly; and the jest, if bad, was good enough to content the railer. in this facetious manner passed the time, till lucy, at the request of her father, left the room to prepare for their return home. drawing his chair near to clifford's, the squire then commenced in real and affectionate earnest his operations--these he had already planned-- in the following order: they were,first, to inquire into and to learn clifford's rank, family, and prospects; secondly, having ascertained the proprieties of the outer man, they were to examine the state of the inner one; and thirdly, should our skilful inquirer find his guesses at clifford's affection for lucy confirmed, they were to expel the modest fear of a repulse, which the squire allowed was natural enough, and to lead the object of the inquiry to a knowledge of the happiness that, lucy consenting, might be in store for him. while, with his wonted ingenuity, the squire was pursuing his benevolent designs, lucy remained in her own room, in such meditation and such dreams as were natural to a heart so sanguine and enthusiastic. she had been more than half an hour alone, when the chambermaid of the hostelry knocked at her door, and delivered a message from the squire, begging her to come down to him in the parlour. with a heart that beat so violently it almost seemed to wear away its very life, lucy slowly and with tremulous steps descended to the parlour. on opening the door she saw clifford standing in the recess of the window; his face was partly turned from her, and his eyes downcast. the good old squire sat in an elbow-chair, and a sort of puzzled and half-satisfied complacency gave expression to his features. "come hither, child," said he, clearing his throat; "captain clifford-- ahem!--has done you the honour to--and i dare say you will be very much surprised--not that, for my own part, i think there is much to wonder at in it, but such may be my partial opinion (and it is certainly very natural in me)--to make you a declaration of love. he declares, moreover, that he is the most miserable of men, and that he would die sooner than have the presumption to hope. therefore you see, my love, i have sent for you, to give him permission to destroy himself in any way he pleases; and i leave him to show cause why (it is a fate that sooner or later happens to all his fellowmen) sentence of death should not be passed against him." having delivered this speech with more propriety of word than usually fell to his share, the squire rose hastily and hobbled out of the room. lucy sank into the chair her father had quitted; and clifford, approaching towards her, said in a hoarse and low voice,-- "your father, miss brandon, says rightly, that i would die rather than lift my eyes in hope to you. i thought yesterday that i had seen you for the last time; chance, not my own folly or presumption, has brought me again before you; and even the few hours i have passed under the same roof with you have made me feel as if my love, my madness, had never reached its height till now. oh, lucy!" continued clifford, in a more impassioned tone, and, as if by a sudden and irresistible impulse, throwing himself at her feet, "if i could hope to merit you,--if i could hope to raise myself,--if i could--but no, no, no! i am cut off from all hope, and forever!" there was so deep, so bitter, so heartfelt an anguish and remorse in the voice with which these last words were spoken, that lucy, hurried off her guard, and forgetting everything in wondering sympathy and compassion, answered, extending her hand towards clifford, who, still kneeling, seized and covered it with kisses of fire,-- "do not speak thus, mr. clifford; do not accuse yourself of what i am sure, quite sure, you cannot deserve. perhaps--forgive me--your birth, your fortune, are beneath your merits, and you have penetrated into my father's weakness on the former point; or perhaps you yourself have not avoided all the errors into which men are hurried,--perhaps you have been imprudent or thoughtless, perhaps you have (fashion is contagious) played beyond your means or incurred debts: these are faults, it is true, and to be regretted, yet surely not irreparable." for that instant can it be wondered that all clifford's resolution and self-denial deserted him, and lifting his eyes, radiant with joy and gratitude, to the face which bent in benevolent innocence towards him, he exclaimed,-- "no, miss brandon!--no, lucy!--dear, angel lucy! my faults are less venial than these, but perhaps they are no less the consequence of circumstances and contagion; perhaps it may not be too late to repair them. would you--you indeed deign to be my guardian, i might not despair of being saved!" "if," said lucy, blushing deeply and looking down, while she spoke quick and eagerly, as if to avoid humbling him by her offer,--"if, mr. clifford, the want of wealth has in any way occasioned you uneasiness or --or error, do believe me--i mean _us_--so much your friends as not for an instant to scruple in relieving us of some little portion of our last night's debt to you." "dear, noble girl!" said clifford, while there writhed upon his lips one of those smiles of powerful sarcasm that sometimes distorted his features, and thrillingly impressed upon lucy a resemblance to one very different in reputation and character to her lover,--"do not attribute my misfortunes to so petty a source; it is not money that i shall want while i live, though i shall to my last breath remember this delicacy in you, and compare it with certain base remembrances in my own mind. yes! all past thoughts and recollections will make me hereafter worship you even more than i do now; while in your heart they will--unless heaven grant me one prayer--make you scorn and detest me!" "for mercy's sake, do not speak thus!" said lucy, gazing in indistinct alarm upon the dark and working features of her lover. "scorn, detest you! impossible! how could i, after the remembrance of last night?" "ay! of last night," said clifford, speaking through his ground teeth,-- "there is much in that remembrance to live long in both of us; but you-- you--fair angel" (and all harshness and irony vanishing at once from his voice and countenance, yielded to a tender and deep sadness, mingled with a respect that bordered on reverence),--"you never could have dreamed of more than pity for one like me,--you never could have stooped from your high and dazzling purity to know for me one such thought as that which burns at my heart for you,--you--yes, withdraw your hand, i am not worthy to touch it!" and clasping his own hands before his face, he became abruptly silent; but his emotions were but ill-concealed, and lucy saw the muscular frame before her heaved and convulsed by passions which were more intense and rending because it was only for a few moments that they conquered his self-will and struggled into vent. if afterwards, but long afterwards, lucy, recalling the mystery of his words, confessed to herself that they betrayed guilt, she was then too much affected to think of anything but her love and his emotion. she bent down, and with a girlish and fond self-abandonment which none could have resisted, placed both her hands on his. clifford started, looked up, and in the next moment he had clasped her to his heart; and while the only tears he had shed since his career of crime fell fast and hot upon her countenance, he kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips in a passionate and wild transport. his voice died within him,--he could not trust himself to speak; only one thought, even in that seeming forgetfulness of her and of himself, stirred and spoke at his breast,-- flight. the more he felt he loved, the more tender and the more confiding the object of his love, the more urgent became the necessity to leave her. all other duties had been neglected, but he loved with a real love; and love, which taught him one duty, bore him triumphantly through its bitter ordeal. "you will hear from me to-night," he muttered; "believe that i am mad, accursed, criminal, but not utterly a monster! i ask no more merciful opinion!" he drew himself from his perilous position, and abruptly departed. when clifford reached his home, he found his worthy coadjutors waiting for him with alarm and terror on their countenances. an old feat, in which they had signalized themselves, had long attracted the rigid attention of the police, and certain officers had now been seen at bath, and certain inquiries had been set on foot, which portended no good to the safety of the sagacious tomlinson and the valorous pepper. they came, humbly and penitentially demanding pardon for their unconscious aggression of the squire's carriage, and entreating their captain's instant advice. if clifford had before wavered in his disinterested determination,--if visions of lucy, of happiness, and reform had floated in his solitary ride too frequently and too glowingly before his eyes,-- the sight of these men, their conversation, their danger, all sufficed to restore his resolution. "merciful god!" thought he, "and is it to the comrade of such lawless villains, to a man, like them, exposed hourly to the most ignominious of deaths, that i have for one section of a moment dreamed of consigning the innocent and generous girl, whose trust or love is the only crime that could deprive her of the most brilliant destiny?" short were clifford's instructions to his followers, and so much do we do mechanically, that they were delivered with his usual forethought and precision. "you will leave the town instantly; go not, for your lives, to london, or to rejoin any of your comrades. ride for the red cave; provisions are stored there, and, since our late alteration of the interior, it will afford ample room to conceal your horses. on the night of the second day from this i will join you. but be sure that you enter the cave at night, and quit it upon no account till i come!" "yes!" said he, when he was alone, "i will join you again, but only to quit you. one more offence against the law, or at least one sum wrested from the swollen hands of the rich sufficient to equip me for a foreign army, and i quit the country of my birth and my crimes. if i cannot deserve lucy brandon, i will be somewhat less unworthy. perhaps--why not? i am young, my nerves are not weak, my brain is not dull,--perhaps i may in some field of honourable adventure win a name that before my death-bed i may not blush to acknowledge to her!" while this resolve beat high within clifford's breast, lucy sadly and in silence was continuing with the squire her short journey to bath. the latter was very inquisitive to know why clifford had gone, and what he had avowed; and lucy, scarcely able to answer, threw everything on the promised letter of the night. "i am glad," muttered the squire to her, "that he is going to write; for, somehow or other, though i questioned him very tightly, he slipped through my cross-examination, and bursting out at once as to his love for you, left me as wise about himself as i was before: no doubt (for my own part i don't see what should prevent his being a great man incog.)this letter will explain all!" late that night the letter came. lucy, fortunately for her, was alone in her room; she opened it, and read as follows:-- clifford's letter. i have promised to write to you, and i sit down to perform that promise. at this moment the recollection of your goodness, your generous consideration, is warm within me: and while i must choose calm and common words to express what i ought to say, my heart is alternately melted and torn by thoughts which would ask words, oh how different! your father has questioned me often of my parentage and birth,--i have hitherto eluded his interrogatories. learn now who i am. in a wretched abode, surrounded by the inhabitants of poverty and vice, i recall my earliest recollections. my father is unknown to me as to every one; my mother,--to you i dare not mention who or what she was,--she died in my infancy. without a name, but not without an inheritance (my inheritance was large,--it was infamy!), i was thrown upon the world. i had received by accident some education, and imbibed some ideas not natural to my situation; since then i have played many parts in life. books and men i have not so neglected but that i have gleaned at intervals some little knowledge from both. hence, if i have seemed to you better than i am, you will perceive the cause. circumstances made me soon my own master; they made me also one whom honest men do not love to look upon; my deeds have been, and my character is, of a par with my birth and my fortunes. i came, in the noble hope to raise and redeem myself by gilding my fate with a wealthy marriage, to this city. i saw you, whom i had once before met. i heard you were rich. hate me, miss brandon, hate me!--i resolved to make your ruin the cause of my redemption. happily for you, i scarcely knew you before i loved you; that love deepened,--it caught something pure and elevated from yourself. my resolution forsook me; even now i could throw myself on my knees and thank god that you--you, dearest and noblest of human beings--are not my wife. now, is my conduct clear to you? if not, imagine me all that is villanous, save in one point, where you are concerned, and not a shadow of mystery will remain. your kind father, overrating the paltry service i rendered you, would have consented to submit my fate to your decision. i blush indignantly for him--for you--that any living man should have dreamed of such profanation for miss brandon. yet i myself was carried away and intoxicated by so sudden and so soft a hope,--even i dared to lift my eyes to you, to press you to this guilty heart, to forget myself, and to dream that you might be mine! can you forgive me for this madness? and hereafter, when in your lofty and glittering sphere of wedded happiness, can you remember my presumption and check your scorn? perhaps you think that by so late a confession i have already deceived you. alas! you know not what it costs me now to confess! i had only one hope in life,--it was that you might still, long after you had ceased to see me, fancy me not utterly beneath the herd with whom you live. this burning yet selfish vanity i tear from me, and now i go where no hope can pursue me. no hope for myself, save one which can scarcely deserve the name, for it is rather a rude and visionary wish than an expectation,--it is that under another name and under different auspices you may hear of me at some distant time; and when i apprise you that under that name you may recognize one who loves you better than all created things, you may feel then, at least, no cause for shame at your lover. what will you be then? a happy wife, a mother, the centre of a thousand joys, beloved, admired, blest when the eye sees you and the ear hears! and this is what i ought to hope, this is the consolation that ought to cheer me; perhaps a little time hence it will. not that i shall love you less, but that i shall love you less burningly, and therefore less selfishly. i have now written to you all that it becomes you to receive from me. my horse waits below to bear me from this city, and forever from your vicinity. for ever!---ay, you are the only blessing forever forbidden me. wealth i may gain, a fair name, even glory i may perhaps aspire to,--to heaven itself i may find a path; but of you my very dreams cannot give me the shadow of a hope. i do not say, if you could pierce my soul while i write, that you would pity me. you may think it strange, but i would not have your pity for worlds; i think i would even rather have your hate,--pity seems so much like contempt. but if you knew what an effort has enabled me to tame down my language, to curb my thoughts, to prevent me from embodying that which now makes my brain whirl, and my hand feel as if the living fire consumed it; if you knew what has enabled me to triumph over the madness at my heart, and spare you what, if writ or spoken, would seem like the ravings of insanity, you would not and you could not despise me, though you might abhor. and now heaven guard and bless you! nothing on _earth_ could injure you. and even the wicked who have looked upon you learn to pray,--i have prayed for you! thus, abrupt and signatureless, ended the expected letter. lucy came down the next morning at her usual hour, and, except that she was very pale, nothing in her appearance seemed to announce past grief or emotion. the squire asked her if she had received the promised letter. she answered, in a clear though faint voice, that she had,--that mr. clifford had confessed himself of too low an origin to hope for marriage with mr. brandon's family; that she trusted the squire would keep his secret; and that the subject might never again be alluded to by either. if in this speech there was something alien to lucy's ingenuous character, and painful to her mind, she felt it as it were a duty to her former lover not to betray the whole of that confession so bitterly wrung from him. perhaps, too, there was in that letter a charm which seemed to her too sacred to be revealed to any one; and mysteries were not excluded even from a love so ill-placed and seemingly so transitory as hers. lucy's answer touched the squire in his weak point. "a man of decidedly low origin," he confessed, "was utterly out of the question; nevertheless, the young man showed a great deal of candour in his disclosure." he readily promised never to broach a subject necessarily so unpleasant; and though he sighed as he finished his speech, yet the extreme quiet of lucy's manner reassured him; and when he perceived that she resumed, though languidly, her wonted avocations, he felt but little doubt of her soon overcoming the remembrance of what he hoped was but a girlish and fleeting fancy. he yielded, with avidity, to her proposal to return to warlock; and in the same week as that in which lucy had received her lover's mysterious letter, the father and daughter commenced their journey home. chapter xxiv. butler. what are these, sir? yeoman. and of what nature, to what use? latroc. imagine. the tragedy of rollo. quickly. he's in arthur's bosom, if ever man went to arthur's bosom. henry v. the stream of our narrative now conducts us back to william brandon. the law-promotions previously intended were completed; and to the surprise of the public, the envied barrister, undergoing the degradation of knighthood, had, at the time we return to him, just changed his toilsome occupations for the serene dignity of the bench. whatever regret this wily and aspiring schemer might otherwise have felt at an elevation considerably less distinguished than he might reasonably have expected, was entirely removed by the hopes afforded to him of a speedy translation to a more brilliant office: it was whispered among those not unlikely to foresee such events, that the interest of the government required his talents in the house of peers. just at this moment, too, the fell disease, whose ravages brandon endeavoured, as jealously as possible, to hide from the public, had appeared suddenly to yield to the skill of a new physician; and by the administration of medicines which a man less stern or resolute might have trembled to adopt (so powerful and for the most part deadly was their nature), he passed from a state of almost insufferable torture to an elysium of tranquillity and ease. perhaps, however, the medicines which altered also decayed his constitution; and it was observable that in two cases where the physician had attained a like success by the same means, the patients had died suddenly, exactly at the time when their cure seemed to be finally completed. however, sir william brandon appeared very little anticipative of danger. his manner became more cheerful and even than it had ever been before; there was a certain lightness in his gait, a certain exhilaration in his voice and eye, which seemed the tokens of one from whom a heavy burden had been suddenly raised, and who was no longer prevented from the eagerness of hope by the engrossing claims of a bodily pain. he had always been bland in society, but now his courtesy breathed less of artifice,--it took a more hearty tone. another alteration was discernible in him, and that was precisely the reverse of what might have been expected. he became more thrifty, more attentive to the expenses of life than he had been. though a despiser of show and ostentation, and far too hard to be luxurious, he was too scientific an architect of the weaknesses of others not to have maintained during his public career an opulent appearance and a hospitable table. the profession he had adopted requires, perhaps, less of externals to aid it than any other; still brandon had affected to preserve parliamentary as well as legal importance; and though his house was situated in a quarter entirely professional, he had been accustomed to assemble around his hospitable board all who were eminent, in his political party, for rank or for talent. now, however, when hospitality and a certain largeness of expenses better became his station, he grew closer and more exact in his economy. brandon never could have degenerated into a miser; money, to one so habitually wise as he was, could never have passed from means into an object; but he had evidently, for some cause or another, formed the resolution to save. some said it was the result of returning health, and the hope of a prolonged life, to which many objects for which wealth is desirable might occur. but when it was accidentally ascertained that brandon had been making several inquiries respecting a large estate in the neighbourhood of warlock, formerly in the possession of his family, the gossips (for brandon was a man to be gossiped about) were no longer in want of a motive, false or real, for the judge's thrift. it was shortly after his elevation to the bench, and ere these signs of change had become noticeable, that the same strange ragamuffin whom we have mentioned before, as introduced by mr. swoppem to a private conference with brandon, was admitted to the judge's presence. "well," said brandon, impatiently, the moment the door was closed, "your news?" "vy, your 'onor," said the man, bashfully, twirling a thing that stood proxy for a hat, "i thinks as 'ow i shall be hable to satisfy your vorship's 'onor.'! then, approaching the judge and assuming an important air, he whispered, "'t is as 'ow i thought!" "my god!" cried brandon, with vehemence. "and he is alive,--and where?" "i believes," answered the seemly confidant of sir william brandon, "that he be's alive; and if he be's alive, may i flash my ivories in a glass case, if i does not ferret him out; but as to saying vhere he be at this nick o' the moment, smash me if i can!" "is he in this country," said brandon; "or do you believe that he has gone abroad?" "vy, much of one and not a little of the other!" said the euphonious confidant. "how! speak plain, man; what do you mean?" "vy, i means, your 'oner, that i can't say vhere he is." "and this," said brandon, with a muttered oath,--"this is your boasted news, is it? dog! damned, damned dog! if you trifle with me or play me false, i will hang you,--by the living god, i will!" the man shrank back involuntarily from brandon's vindictive forehead and kindled eyes; but with the cunning peculiar to low vice, answered, though in a humbler tone,-- "and vet good vill that do your 'oner? if so be as how you scrags i, will that put your vorship in the vay of finding _he_?" never was there an obstacle in grammar through which a sturdy truth could not break; and brandon, after a moody pause, said in a milder voice,-- "i did not mean to frighten you! never mind what i said; but you can surely guess whereabouts he is, or what means of life he pursues. perhaps,"--and a momentary paleness crossed brandon's swarthy visage,-- "perhaps he may have been driven into dishonesty in order to maintain himself!" the informant replied with great naivete that such a thing was not impossible! and brandon then entered into a series of seemingly careless but artful cross-questionings, which either the ignorance or the craft of the man enabled him to baffle. after some time brandon, disappointed and dissatisfied, gave up his professional task; and bestowing on the man many sagacious and minute instructions as well as a very liberal donation, he was forced to dismiss his mysterious visitor, and to content himself with an assured assertion that if the object of his inquiries should not already be gone to the devil, the strange gentleman employed to discover him would certainly, sooner or later, bring him to the judge. this assertion, and the interview preceding it, certainly inspired sir william brandon with a feeling like complacency, although it was mingled with a considerable alloy. "i do not," thought he, concluding his meditations when he was left alone,--"i do not see what else i can do! since it appears that the boy had not even a name when he set out alone from his wretched abode, i fear that an advertisement would have but little chance of even designating, much less of finding him, after so long an absence. besides, it might make me the prey to impostors; and in all probability he has either left the country, or adopted some mode of living which would prevent his daring to disclose himself!" this thought plunged the soliloquist into a gloomy abstraction, which lasted several minutes, and from which he started, muttering aloud,-- "yes, yes! i dare to believe, to hope it. now for the minister and the peerage!" and from that time the root of sir william brandon's ambition spread with a firmer and more extended grasp over his mind. we grieve very much that the course of our story should now oblige us to record an event which we would willingly have spared ourselves the pain of narrating. the good old squire of warlock manor-house had scarcely reached his home on his return from bath, before william brandon received the following letter from his brother's gray-headed butler:-- honnured sur,--i send this with all speede, thof with a hevy bart, to axquainte you with the sudden (and it is feered by his loving friends and well-wishers, which latter, to be sur, is all as knows him) dangeros ilness of the squire. he was seezed, poor deer gentleman (for god never made a better, no offence to your honnur), the moment he set footing in his own hall, and what has hung rond me like a millston ever sin, is that instead of his saying, "how do you do, sampson?" as was his wont, whenever he returned from forren parts, sich as bath, lunnun, and the like, he said, "god bless you, sampson!" which makes me think sumhow that it will be his last wurds; for he has never spoke sin, for all miss lucy be by his bedside continual. she, poor deer, don't take on at all, in regard of crying and such woman's wurk, but looks nevertheless, for all the wurld, just like a copse. i sends tom the postilion with this hexpress, nowing he is a good hand at a gallop, having, not sixteen years ago, beat some o' the best on 'un at a raceng. hoping as yer honnur will lose no time in coming to this "house of mourning," i remane, with all respect, your honnur's humble servant to command, john sampson. [the reader, who has doubtless noticed how invariably servants of long standing acquire a certain tone from that of their master, may observe that honest john sampson had caught from the squire the habit of parenthetical composition.] sir william brandon did not give himself time to re-read this letter, in order to make it more intelligible, before he wrote to one of his professional compeers, requesting him to fill his place during his unavoidable absence, on the melancholy occasion of his brother's expected death; and having so done, he immediately set off for warlock. inexplicable even to himself was that feeling, so nearly approaching to real sorrow, which the worldly lawyer felt at the prospect of losing his guileless and unspeculating brother. whether it be that turbulent and ambitious minds, in choosing for their wavering affections the very opposites of themselves, feel (on losing the fellowship of those calm, fair characters that have never crossed their rugged path) as if they lost, in losing them, a kind of haven for their own restless thoughts and tempest-worn designs!--be this as it may, certain it is that when william brandon arrived at his brother's door, and was informed by the old butler, who for the first time was slow to greet him, that the squire had just breathed his last, his austere nature forsook him at once, and he felt the shock with a severity perhaps still keener than that which a more genial and affectionate heart would have experienced. as soon as he had recovered his self-possession, sir william made question of his niece; and finding that after an unrelaxing watch during the whole of the squire's brief illness, nature had failed her at his death, and she had been borne senseless from his chamber to her own, brandon walked with a step far different from his usual stately gait to the room where his brother lay. it was one of the oldest apartments in the house, and much of the ancient splendour that belonged to the mansion ere its size had been reduced, with the fortunes of its successive owners, still distinguished the chamber. the huge mantelpiece ascending to the carved ceiling in grotesque pilasters, and scroll-work of the blackest oak, with the quartered arms of brandon and saville escutcheoned in the centre; the panelled walls of the same dark wainscot; the armorie of ebony; the high-backed chairs, with their tapestried seats; the lofty bed, with its hearse-like plumes and draperies of a crimson damask that seemed, so massy was the substance and so prominent the flowers, as if it were rather a carving than a silk,--all conspired with the size of the room to give it a feudal solemnity, not perhaps suited to the rest of the house, but well calculated to strike a gloomy awe into the breast of the worldly and proud man who now entered the death-chamber of his brother. silently william brandon motioned away the attendants, and silently he seated himself by the bed, and looked long and wistfully upon the calm and placid face of the deceased. it is difficult to guess at what passed within him during the space of time in which he remained alone in that room. the apartment itself he could not at another period have tenanted without secret emotion. it was that in which, as a boy, he had himself been accustomed to sleep; and, even then a schemer and an aspirant, the very sight of the room sufficed to call back all the hopes and visions, the restless projects and the feverish desires, which had now brought him to the envied state of an acknowledged celebrity and a shattered frame. there must have been something awful in the combination of those active remembrances with the cause which had led him to that apartment; and there was a homily in the serene countenance of the dead, which preached more effectually to the heart of the living than william brandon would ever have cared to own. he had been more than an hour in the room, and the evening had already begun to cast deep shadows through the small panes of the half-closed window, when brandon was startled by a slight noise. he looked up, and beheld lucy opposite to him. she did not see him; but throwing herself upon the bed, she took the cold hand of the deceased, and after a long silence burst into a passion of tears. "my father!" she sobbed,--"my kind, good father! who will love me now?" "i!" said brandon, deeply affected; and passing round the bed, he took his niece in his arms: "i will be your father, lucy, and you--the last of our race--shall be to me as a daughter!" chapter xxv. falsehood in him was not the useless lie of boasting pride or laughing vanity: it was the gainful, the persuading art, etc. crabbe. on with the horses--off to canterbury, tramp, tramp o'er pebble, and splash, splash thro' puddle; hurrah! how swiftly speeds the post so merry! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "here laws are all inviolate: none lay traps for the traveller; every highway's clear; here--" he was interrupted by a knife, with "d---your eyes! your money or your life!" don juan. misfortunes are like the creations of cadmus,--they destroy one another! roused from the torpor of mind occasioned by the loss of her lover at the sudden illness of the squire, lucy had no thought for herself, no thought for any one, for anything but her father, till long after the earth had closed over his remains. the very activity of the latter grief was less dangerous than the quiet of the former; and when the first keenness of sorrow passed away, and her mind gradually and mechanically returned to the remembrance of clifford, it was with an intensity less strong, and less fatal to her health and happiness than before. she thought it unnatural and criminal to allow anything else to grieve her, while she had so sacred a grief as that of her loss; and her mind, once aroused into resistance to passion, betrayed a native strength little to have been expected from her apparent character. sir william brandon lost no time in returning to town after the burial of his brother. he insisted upon taking his niece with him; and, though with real reluctance, she yielded to his wishes, and accompanied him. by the squire's will, indeed, sir william was appointed guardian to lucy, and she yet wanted more than a year of her majority. brandon, with a delicacy very uncommon to him where women (for he was a confirmed woman-hater) were concerned, provided everything that he thought could in any way conduce to her comfort. he ordered it to be understood in his establishment that she was its mistress. he arranged and furnished, according to what he imagined to be her taste, a suite of apartments for her sole accommodation; a separate carriage and servants were appropriated to her use; and he sought, by perpetual presents of books or flowers or music, to occupy her thoughts, and atone for the solitude to which his professional duties obliged him so constantly to consign her. these attentions, which showed this strange man in a new light, seemed to bring out many little latent amiabilities, which were usually imbedded in the callosities of his rocky nature; and, even despite her causes for grief and the deep melancholy which consumed her, lucy was touched with gratitude at kindness doubly soothing in one who, however urbane and polished, was by no means addicted to the little attentions that are considered so gratifying by women, and yet for which they so often despise, while they like, him who affords them. there was much in brandon that wound itself insensibly around the heart. to one more experienced than lucy, this involuntary attraction might not have been incompatible with suspicion, and could scarcely have been associated with esteem; and yet for all who knew him intimately, even for the penetrating and selfish mauleverer, the attraction existed. unprincipled, crafty, hypocritical, even base when it suited his purpose; secretly sneering at the dupes he made, and knowing no code save that of interest and ambition; viewing men only as machines, and opinions only as ladders,-- there was yet a tone of powerful feeling sometimes elicited from a heart that could at the same moment have sacrificed a whole people to the pettiest personal object: and sometimes with lucy the eloquence or irony of his conversation deepened into a melancholy, a half-suppressed gentleness of sentiment, that accorded with the state of her own mind and interested her kind feelings powerfully in his. it was these peculiarities in his converse which made lucy love to hear him; and she gradually learned to anticipate with a gloomy pleasure the hour in which, after the occupations of the day, he was accustomed to join her. "you look unwell, uncle, to-night," she said, when one evening he entered the room with looks more fatigued than usual; and rising, she leaned tenderly over him, and kissed his forehead. "ay!" said brandon, utterly unwon by, and even unheeding, the caress, "our way of life soon passes into the sear and yellow leaf; and when macbeth grieved that he might not look to have that which should accompany old age, he had grown doting, and grieved for what was worthless." "nay, uncle, 'honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,' these surely were worth the sighing for?" "pooh! not worth a single sigh! the foolish wishes we form in youth have something noble and something bodily in them; but those of age are utter shadows, and the shadows of pygmies! why, what is honour, after all? what is this good name among men? only a sort of heathenish idol, set up to be adored by one set of fools and scorned by another. do you not observe, lucy, that the man you hear most praised by the party you meet to-day is most abused by that which you meet to-morrow? public men are only praised by their party; and their party, sweet lucy, are such base minions that it moves one's spleen to think one is so little as to be useful to them. thus a good name is only the good name of a sect, and the members of that sect are only marvellous proper knaves." "but posterity does justice to those who really deserve fame." "posterity! can you believe that a man who knows what life is cares for the penny whistles of grown children after his death? posterity, lucy,-- no! posterity is but the same perpetuity of fools and rascals; and even were justice desirable at their hands, they could not deal it. do men agree whether charles stuart was a liar or a martyr? for how many ages have we believed nero a monster! a writer now asks, as if demonstrating a problem, what real historian could doubt that nero was a paragon? the patriarchs of scripture have been declared by modern philosophy to be a series of astronomical hieroglyphs; and, with greater show of truth, we are assured that the patriot tell never existed! posterity! the word has gulled men enough without my adding to the number. i, who loathe the living, can scarcely venerate the unborn. lucy, believe me that no man can mix largely with men in political life, and not despise everything that in youth he adored! age leaves us only one feeling,--contempt!" "are you belied, then?" said lucy, pointing to a newspaper, the organ of the party opposed to brandon: "are you belied when you are here called 'ambitious'? when they call you 'selfish' and 'grasping,' i know they wrong you; but i confess that i have thought you ambitious; yet can he who despises men desire their good opinion?" "their good opinion!" repeated brandon, mockingly: "do we want the bray of the asses we ride? no!" he resumed, after a pause. "it is power, not honour; it is the hope of elevating oneself in every respect, in the world without as well as in the world of one's own mind: it is this hope which makes me labour where i might rest, and will continue the labour to my grave. lucy," continued brandon, fixing his keen eyes on his niece, "have you no ambition,--have power and pomp and place no charm for your mind?" "none!" said lucy, quietly and simply. "indeed! yet there are times when i have thought i recognized my blood in your veins. you are sprung from a once noble, but a fallen race. are you ever susceptible to the weakness of ancestral pride?" "you say," answered lucy, "that we should care not for those who live after us; much less, i imagine, should we care for those who have lived ages before!" "prettily answered," said brandon, smiling. "i will tell you at one time or another what effect that weakness you despise already once had, long after your age, upon me. you are early wise on some points; profit by my experience, and be so on all." "that is to say, in despising all men and all things!" said lucy, also smiling. "well, never mind my creed,--you may be wise after your own; but trust one, dearest lucy, who loves you purely and disinterestedly, and who has weighed with scales balanced to a hair all the advantages to be gleaned from an earth in which i verily think the harvest was gathered before we were put into it,--trust me, lucy, and never think love, that maiden's dream, so valuable as rank and power: pause well before you yield to the former; accept the latter the moment they are offered you. love puts you at the feet of another, and that other a tyrant; rank puts others at your feet, and all those thus subjected are your slaves!" lucy moved her chair so that the new position concealed her face, and did not answer; and brandon, in an altered tone, continued,-- "would you think, lucy, that i once was fool enough to imagine that love was a blessing, and to be eagerly sought for? i gave up my hopes, my chances of wealth, of distinction,--all that had burned from the years of boyhood into my very heart. i chose poverty, obscurity, humiliation; but i chose also love. what was my reward? lucy brandon, i was deceived,-- deceived!" brandon paused; and lucy took his hand affectionately, but did not break the silence. brandon resumed:-- "yes, i was deceived! but i in my turn had a revenge, and a fitting revenge; for it was not the revenge of hatred, but" (and the speaker laughed sardonically) "of contempt. enough of this, lucy! what i wished to say to you is this,--grown men and women know more of the truth of things than ye young persons think for. love is a mere bauble, and no human being ever exchanged for it one solid advantage without repentance. believe this; and if rank ever puts itself under those pretty feet, be sure not to spurn the footstool." so saying, with a slight laugh, brandon lighted his chamber candle, and left the room for the night. as soon as the lawyer reached his own apartment, he indited to lord mauleverer the following epistle: "why, dear mauleverer, do you not come to town? i want you, your party wants you; perhaps the k--g wants you; and certainly, if you are serious about my niece, the care of your own love-suit should induce you yourself to want to come hither. i have paved the way for you; and i think, with a little management, you may anticipate a speedy success. but lucy is a strange girl; and, perhaps, after all, though you ought to be on the spot, you had better leave her as much as possible in my hands. i know human nature, mauleverer, and that knowledge is the engine by which i will work your triumph. as for the young lover, i am not quite sure whether it be not better for our sake that lucy should have experienced a disappointment on that score; for when a woman has once loved, and the love is utterly hopeless, she puts all vague ideas of other lovers altogether out of her head; she becomes contented with a husband whom she can esteem! sweet canter! but you, mauleverer, want lucy to love you! and so she will--after you have married her! she will love you partly from the advantages she derives from you, partly from familiarity (to say nothing of your good qualities). for my part, i think domesticity goes so far that i believe a woman always inclined to be affectionate to a man whom she has once seen in his nightcap. however, you should come to town; my poor brother's recent death allows us to see no one,--the coast will be clear from rivals; grief has softened my niece's heart; in a word, you could not have a better opportunity. come! "by the way, you say one of the reasons which made you think ill of this captain clifford was your impression that in the figure of one of his comrades you recognized something that appeared to you to resemble one of the fellows who robbed you a few months ago. i understand that at this moment the police are in active pursuit of three most accomplished robbers; nor should i be at all surprised if in this very clifford were to be found the leader of the gang, namely, the notorious lovett. i hear that the said leader is a clever and a handsome fellow, of a gentlemanlike address, and that his general associates are two men of the exact stamp of the worthies you have so amusingly described to me. i heard this yesterday from nabbem, the police-officer with whom i once scraped acquaintance on a trial; and in my grudge against your rival, i hinted at my suspicion that he, captain clifford, might not impossibly prove this rinaldo rinaldini of the roads. nabbem caught at my hint at once; so that, if it be founded on a true guess, i may flatter my conscience as well as my friendship by the hope that i have had some hand in hanging this adonis of my niece's. whether my guess be true or not, nabbem says he is sure of this lovett; for one of his gang has promised to betray him. hang these aspiring dogs! i thought treachery was confined to politics; and that thought makes me turn to public matters, in which all people are turning with the most edifying celerity. . . ." sir william brandon's epistle found mauleverer in a fitting mood for lucy and for london. our worthy peer had been not a little chagrined by lucy's sudden departure from bath; and while in doubt whether or not to follow her, the papers had informed him of the squire's death. mauleverer, being then fully aware of the impossibility of immediately urging his suit, endeavoured, like the true philosopher he was, to reconcile himself to his hope deferred. few people were more easily susceptible of consolation than lord mauleverer. he found an agreeable lady, of a face more unfaded than her reputation, to whom he intrusted the care of relieving his leisure moments from ennui; and being a lively woman, the confidante discharged the trust with great satisfaction to lord mauleverer, for the space of a fortnight, so that he naturally began to feel his love for lucy gradually wearing away, by absence and other ties; but just as the triumph of time over passion was growing decisive, the lady left bath in company with a tall guardsman, and mauleverer received brandon's letter. these two events recalled our excellent lover to a sense of his allegiance; and there being now at bath no particular attraction to counterbalance the ardour of his affection, lord mauleverer ordered the horses to his carriage, and attended only by his valet, set out for london. nothing, perhaps, could convey a better portrait of the world's spoiled darling than a sight of lord mauleverer's thin, fastidious features, peering forth through the closed window of his luxurious travelling- chariot; the rest of the outer man being carefully enveloped in furs, half-a-dozen novels strewing the seat of the carriage, and a lean french dog, exceedingly like its master, sniffing in vain for the fresh air, which, to the imagination of mauleverer, was peopled with all sorts of asthmas and catarrhs! mauleverer got out of his carriage at salisbury, to stretch his limbs, and to amuse himself with a cutlet. our nobleman was well known on the roads; and as nobody could be more affable, he was equally popular. the officious landlord bustled into the room, to wait himself upon his lordship and to tell all the news of the place. "well, mr. cheerly," said mauleverer, bestowing a penetrating glance on his cutlet, "the bad times, i see, have not ruined your cook." "indeed, my lord, your lordship is very good, and the times, indeed, are very bad,--very bad indeed. is there enough gravy? perhaps your lordship will try the pickled onions?" "the what? onions!--oh! ah! nothing can be better; but i never touch them. so, are the roads good?" "your lordship has, i hope, found them good to salisbury?" "ah! i believe so. oh! to be sure, excellent to salisbury. but how are they to london? we have had wet weather lately, i think!" "no, my lord. here the weather has been dry as a bone." "or a cutlet!" muttered mauleverer; and the host continued,-- "as for the roads themselves, my lord, so far as the roads are concerned, they are pretty good, my lord; but i can't say as how there is not something about them that might be mended." "by no means improbable! you mean the inns and the turnpikes?" rejoined mauleverer. "your lordship is pleased to be facetious; no! i meant something worse than them." "what! the cooks?" "no, my lord, the highwaymen!" "the highwaymen! indeed?" said mauleverer, anxiously; for he had with him a case of diamonds, which at that time were on grand occasions often the ornaments of a gentleman's dress, in the shape of buttons, buckles, etc. he had also a tolerably large sum of ready money about him,--a blessing he had lately begun to find very rare. "by the way, the rascals robbed me before on this very road. my pistols shall be loaded this time. mr. cheerly, you had better order the horses; one may as well escape the nightfall." "certainly, my lord, certainly.--jem, the horses immediately!--your lordship will have another cutlet?" "not a morsel!" "a tart?" "a dev--! not for the world!" "bring the cheese, john!" "much obliged to you, mr. cheerly, but i have dined; and if i have not done justice to your good cheer, thank yourself and the highwaymen. where do these highwaymen attack one?" "why, my lord, the neighbourhood of reading is, i believe, the worst part; but they are very troublesome all the way to salthill." "damnation! the very neighbourhood in which the knaves robbed me before! you may well call them troublesome! why the deuce don't the police clear the country of such a movable species of trouble?" "indeed, my lord, i don't know; but they say as how captain lovett, the famous robber, be one of the set; and nobody can catch him, i fear!" "because, i suppose, the dog has the sense to bribe as well as bully. what is the general number of these ruffians?" "why, my lord, sometimes one, sometimes two, but seldom more than three." mauleverer drew himself up. "my dear diamonds and my pretty purse!" thought he; "i may save you yet!" "have you been long plagued with the fellows?" he asked, after a pause, as he was paying his bill. "why, my lord, we have and we have not. i fancy as how they have a sort of a haunt near reading, for sometimes they are intolerable just about there, and sometimes they are quiet for months together! for instance, my lord, we thought them all gone some time ago; but lately they have regularly stopped every one, though i hear as how they have cleared no great booty as yet." here the waiter announced the horses, and mauleverer slowly re-entered his carriage, among the bows and smiles of the charmed spirits of the hostelry. during the daylight mauleverer, who was naturally of a gallant and fearless temper, thought no more of the highwaymen,--a species of danger so common at that time that men almost considered it disgraceful to suffer the dread of it to be a cause of delay on the road. travellers seldom deemed it best to lose time in order to save money; and they carried with them a stout heart and a brace of pistols, instead of sleeping all night on the road. mauleverer, rather a _preux chevalier_, was precisely of this order of wayfarers; and a night at an inn, when it was possible to avoid it, was to him, as to most rich englishmen, a tedious torture zealously to be shunned. it never, therefore, entered into the head of our excellent nobleman, despite his experience, that his diamonds and his purse might be saved from all danger if he would consent to deposit them, with his own person, at some place of hospitable reception; nor, indeed, was it till he was within a stage of reading, and the twilight had entirely closed in, that he troubled his head much on the matter. but while the horses were putting to, he summoned the postboys to him; and after regarding their countenances with the eye of a man accustomed to read physiognomies, he thus eloquently addressed them,-- "gentlemen, i am informed that there is some danger of being robbed between this town and salthill. now, i beg to inform you that i think it next to impossible for four horses, properly directed, to be stopped by less than four men. to that number i shall probably yield; to a less number i shall most assuredly give nothing but bullets. you understand me?" the post-boys grinned, touched their hats; and mauleverer slowly continued,-- "if, therefore,--mark me!--one, two, or three men stop your horses, and i find that the use of your whips and spurs are ineffectual in releasing the animals from the hold of the robbers, i intend with these pistols-- you observe them!---to shoot at the gentlemen who detain you; but as, though i am generally a dead shot, my eyesight wavers a little in the dark, i think it very possible that i may have the misfortune to shoot you, gentlemen, instead of the robbers! you see the rascals will be close by you, sufficiently so to put you in jeopardy, unless indeed you knock them down with the but-end of your whips. i merely mention this, that you may be prepared. should such a mistake occur, you need not be uneasy beforehand, for i will take every possible care of your widows; should it not, and should we reach salthill in safety, i intend to testify my sense of the excellence of your driving by a present of ten guineas apiece! gentlemen, i have done with you. i give you my honour that i am serious in what i have said to you. do me the favour to mount." mauleverer then called his favourite servant, who sat in the dickey in front (rumble-tumbles not being then in use). "smoothson," said he, "the last time we were attacked on this very road, you behaved damnably. see that you do better this time, or it may be the worse for you. you have pistols to-night about you, eh? well, that's right! and you are sure they're loaded? very well! now, then, if we are stopped, don't lose a moment. jump down, and fire one of your pistols at the first robber. keep the other for a sure aim. one shot is to intimidate, the second to slay. you comprehend? my pistols are in excellent order, i suppose. lend me the ramrod. so, so! no trick this time!" "they would kill a fly, my lord, provided your lordship fired straight upon it." "i do not doubt you," said mauleverer; "light the lanterns, and tell the postboys to drive on." it was a frosty and tolerably clear night. the dusk of the twilight had melted away beneath the moon which had just risen, and the hoary rime glittered from the bushes and the sward, breaking into a thousand diamonds as it caught the rays of the stars. on went the horses briskly, their breath steaming against the fresh air, and their hoofs sounding cheerily on the hard ground. the rapid motion of the carriage, the bracing coolness of the night, and the excitement occasioned by anxiety and the forethought of danger, all conspired to stir the languid blood of lord mauleverer into a vigorous and exhilarated sensation, natural in youth to his character, but utterly contrary to the nature he had imbibed from the customs of his manhood. he felt his pistols, and his hands trembled a little as he did so,--not the least from fear, but from that restlessness and eagerness peculiar to nervous persons placed in a new situation. "in this country," said he to himself, "i have been only once robbed in the course of my life. it was then a little my fault; for before i took to my pistols, i should have been certain they were loaded. to-night i shall be sure to avoid a similar blunder; and my pistols have an eloquence in their barrels which is exceedingly moving. humph, another milestone! these fellows drive well; but we are entering a pretty- looking spot for messieurs the disciples of robin hood!" it was, indeed, a picturesque spot by which the carriage was now rapidly whirling. a few miles from maidenhead, on the henley road, our readers will probably remember a small tract of forest-like land, lying on either side of the road. to the left the green waste bears away among the trees and bushes; and one skilled in the country may pass from that spot, through a landscape as little tenanted as green sherwood was formerly, into the chains of wild common and deep beech-woods which border a certain portion of oxfordshire, and contrast so beautifully the general characteristics of that county. at the time we speak of, the country was even far wilder than it is now; and just on that point where the henley and the reading roads unite was a spot (communicating then with the waste land we have described), than which, perhaps, few places could be more adapted to the purposes of such true men as have recourse to the primary law of nature. certain it was that at this part of the road mauleverer looked more anxiously from his window than he had hitherto done, and apparently the increased earnestness of his survey was not altogether without meeting its reward. about a hundred yards to the left, three dark objects were just discernible in the shade; a moment more, and the objects emerging grew into the forms of three men, well mounted, and riding at a brisk trot. "only three!" thought mauleverer, "that is well;" and leaning from the front window with a pistol in either hand, mauleverer cried out to the postboys in a stern tone, "drive on, and recollect what i told you!-- remember!" he added to his servant. the postboys scarcely looked round; but their spurs were buried in their horses, and the animals flew on like lightning. the three strangers made a halt, as if in conference; their decision was prompt. two wheeled round from their comrade, and darted at full gallop by the carriage. mauleverer's pistol was already protruded from the front window, when to his astonishment, and to the utter baffling of his ingenious admonition to his drivers, he beheld the two postboys knocked from their horses one after the other with a celerity that scarcely allowed him an exclamation; and before he had recovered his self- possession, the horses taking fright (and their fright being skilfully taken advantage of by the highwaymen), the carriage was fairly whirled into a ditch on the right side of the road, and upset. meanwhile smoothson had leaped from his station in the front; and having fired, though without effect, at the third robber, who approached menacingly towards him, he gained the time to open the carriage door and extricate his master. the moment mauleverer found himself on terra firma, he prepared his courage for offensive measures; and he and smoothson, standing side by side in front of the unfortunate vehicle, presented no unformidable aspect to the enemy. the two robbers who had so decisively rid themselves of the postboys acted with no less determination towards the horses. one of them dismounted, cut the traces, and suffered the plunging quadrupeds to go whither they listed. this measure was not, however, allowed to be taken with impunity; a ball from mauleverer's pistol passed through the hat of the highwayman with an aim so slightly erring that it whizzed among the locks of the astounded hero with a sound that sent a terror to his heart, no less from a love of his head than from anxiety for his hair. the shock staggered him for a moment; and a second shot from the hands of mauleverer would have probably finished his earthly career, had not the third robber, who had hitherto remained almost inactive, thrown himself from his horse, which, tutored to such docility, remained perfectly still, and advancing with a bold step and a levelled pistol towards mauleverer and his servant, said in a resolute voice, "gentlemen, it is useless to struggle; we are well armed, and resolved on effecting our purpose. your persons shall be safe if you lay down your arms, and also such part of your property as you may particularly wish to retain; but if you resist, i cannot answer for your lives!" mauleverer had listened patiently to this speech in order that he might have more time for adjusting his aim. his reply was a bullet, which grazed the side of the speaker and tore away the skin, without inflicting any more dangerous wound. muttering a curse upon the error of his aim, and resolute to the last when his blood was once up, mauleverer backed one pace, drew his sword, and threw himself into the attitude of a champion well skilled in the use of the instrument he wore. but that incomparable personage was in a fair way of ascertaining what happiness in the world to come is reserved for a man who has spared no pains to make himself comfortable in this. for the two first and most active robbers having finished the achievement of the horses, now approached mauleverer; and the taller of them, still indignant at the late peril to his hair, cried out in a stentorian voice,-- "by jove! you old fool, if you don't throw down your toasting-fork, i'll be the death of you!" the speaker suited the action to the word by cocking an immense pistol. mauleverer stood his ground; but smoothson retreated, and stumbling against the wheel of the carriage, fell backward; the next instant, the second highwayman had possessed himself of the valet's pistols, and, quietly seated on the fallen man's stomach, amused himself by inspecting the contents of the domestic's pockets. mauleverer was now alone; and his stubbornness so enraged the tall bully that his hand was already on his trigger, when the third robber, whose side mauleverer's bullet had grazed, thrust himself between the two. "hold, ned!" said he, pushing back his comrade's pistol. "and you, my lord, whose rashness ought to cost you your life, learn that men can rob generously." so saying, with one dexterous stroke from the robber's riding-whip, mauleverer's sword flew upwards, and alighted at the distance of ten yards from its owner. "approach now," said the victor to his comrades. "rifle the carriage, and with all despatch!" the tall highwayman hastened to execute this order; and the lesser one having satisfactorily finished the inquisition into mr. smoothson's pockets, drew forth from his own pouch a tolerably thick rope; with this he tied the hands of the prostrate valet, moralizing as he wound the rope round and round the wrists of the fallen man, in the following edifying strain:-- "lie still, sir,--lie still, i beseech you! all wise men are fatalists; and no proverb is more pithy than that which says, 'what can't be cured must be endured.' lie still, i tell you! little, perhaps, do you think that you are performing one of the noblest functions of humanity; yes, sir, you are filling the pockets of the destitute; and by my present action i am securing you from any weakness of the flesh likely to impede so praiseworthy an end, and so hazard the excellence of your action. there, sir, your hands are tight,--lie still and reflect." as he said this, with three gentle applications of his feet, the moralist rolled mr. smoothson into the ditch, and hastened to join his lengthy comrade in his pleasing occupation. in the interim mauleverer and the third robber (who, in the true spirit of government, remained dignified and inactive while his followers plundered what he certainly designed to share, if not to monopolize) stood within a few feet of each other, face to face. mauleverer had now convinced himself that all endeavour to save his property was hopeless, and he had also the consolation of thinking he had done his best to defend it. he therefore bade all his thoughts return to the care of his person. he adjusted his fur collar around his neck with great sang froid, drew on his gloves, and, patting his terrified poodle, who sat shivering on its haunches with one paw raised and nervously trembling, he said,-- "you, sir, seem to be a civil person, and i really should have felt quite sorry if i had had the misfortune to wound you. you are not hurt, i trust. pray, if i may inquire, how am i to proceed? my carriage is in the ditch, and my horses by this time are probably at the end of the world." "as for that matter," said the robber, whose face, like those of his comrades, was closely masked in the approved fashion of highwaymen of that day, "i believe you will have to walk to maidenhead,--it is not far, and the night is fine!" "a very trifling hardship, indeed!" said mauleverer, ironically; but his new acquaintance made no reply, nor did he appear at all desirous of entering into any further conversation with mauleverer. the earl, therefore, after watching the operations of the other robbers for some moments, turned on his heel, and remained humming an opera tune with dignified indifference until the pair had finished rifling the carriage, and seizing mauleverer, proceeded to rifle him. with a curled lip and a raised brow, that supreme personage suffered himself to be, as the taller robber expressed it, "cleaned out." his watch, his rings, his purse, and his snuff-box, all went. it was long since the rascals had captured such a booty. they had scarcely finished when the postboys, who had now begun to look about them, uttered a simultaneous cry, and at some distance a wagon was seen heavily approaching. mauleverer really wanted his money, to say nothing of his diamonds; and so soon as he perceived assistance at hand, a new hope darted within him. his sword still lay on the ground; he sprang towards it, seized it, uttered a shout for help, and threw himself fiercely on the highwayman who had disarmed him; but the robber, warding off the blade with his whip, retreated to his saddle, which he managed, despite of mauleverer's lunges, to regain with impunity. the other two had already mounted, and within a minute afterwards not a vestige of the trio was visible. "this is what may fairly be called single blessedness!" said mauleverer, as, dropping his useless sword, he thrust his hands into his pockets. leaving our peerless peer to find his way to maidenhead on foot, accompanied (to say nothing of the poodle) by one wagoner, two postboys, and the released mr. smoothson, all four charming him with their condolences, we follow with our story the steps of the three _alieni appetentes_. chapter xxvi. the rogues were very merry on their booty. they said a thousand things that showed the wickedness of their morals.---gil bias. they fixed on a spot where they made a cave, which was large enough to receive them and their horses. this cave was inclosed within a sort of thicket of bushes and brambles. from this station they used to issue, etc.---memoirs of richard turpin. it was not for several minutes after their flight had commenced that any conversation passed between the robbers. their horses flew on like wind; and the country through which they rode presented to their speed no other obstacle than an occasional hedge, or a short cut through the thicknesses of some leafless beechwood. the stars lent them a merry light, and the spirits of two of them at least were fully in sympathy with the exhilaration of the pace and the air. perhaps, in the third, a certain presentiment that the present adventure would end less merrily than it had begun, conspired, with other causes of gloom, to check that exaltation of the blood which generally follows a successful exploit. the path which the robbers took wound by the sides of long woods or across large tracts of uncultivated land; nor did they encounter anything living by the road, save now and then a solitary owl, wheeling its gray body around the skirts of the bare woods, or occasionally troops of conies, pursuing their sports and enjoying their midnight food in the fields. "heavens!" cried the tall robber, whose incognito we need no longer preserve, and who, as our readers are doubtless aware, answered to the name of pepper,--"heavens!" cried he, looking upward at the starry skies in a sort of ecstasy, "what a jolly life this is! some fellows like hunting; d---it! what hunting is like the road? if there be sport in hunting down a nasty fox, how much more is there in hunting down a nice, clean nobleman's carriage! if there be joy in getting a brush, how much more is there in getting a purse! if it be pleasant to fly over a hedge in the broad daylight, hang me if it be not ten times finer sport to skim it by night,--here goes! look how the hedges run away from us! and the silly old moon dances about, as if the sight of us put the good lady in spirits! those old maids are always glad to have an eye upon such fine, dashing young fellows." "ay," cried the more erudite and sententious augustus tomlinson, roused by success from his usual philosophical sobriety; "no work is so pleasant as night-work, and the witches our ancestors burned were in the right to ride out on their broomsticks with the awls and the stars. we are their successors now, ned. we are your true fly-by-nights!" "only," quoth ned, "we are a cursed deal more clever than they were; for they played their game without being a bit the richer for it, and we--i say, tomlinson, where the devil did you put that red morocco case?" "experience never enlightens the foolish," said tomlinson, "or you would have known, without asking, that i had put it in the very safest pocket in my coat. 'gad, how heavy it is! "well," cried pepper, "i can't say i wish it were lighter! only think of our robbing my lord twice, and on the same road too!" "i say, lovett," exclaimed tomlinson, "was it not odd that we should have stumbled upon our bath friend so unceremoniously? lucky for us that we are so strict in robbing in masks! he would not have thought the better of bath company if he had seen our faces." lovett, or rather clifford, had hitherto been silent. he now turned slowly in his saddle, and said: "as it was, the poor devil was very nearly despatched. long ned was making short work with him, if i had not interposed!" "and why did you?" said ned. "because i will have no killing; it is the curse of the noble art of our profession to have passionate professors like thee." "passionate!" repeated ned. "well, i am a little choleric, i own it; but that is not so great a fault on the road as it would be in housebreaking. i don't know a thing that requires so much coolness and self-possession as cleaning out a house from top to bottom,--quietly and civilly, mind you!" "that is the reason, i suppose, then," said augustus, "that you altogether renounced that career. your first adventure was house breaking, i think i have heard you say. i confess it was a vulgar debut,--not worthy of you!" "no! harry cook seduced me; but the specimen i saw that night disgusted me of picking locks; it brings one in contact with such low companions. only think, there was a merchant, a rag-merchant, one of the party!" "faugh!" said tomlinson, in solemn disgust. "ay, you may well turn up your lip; i never broke into a house again." "who were your other companions?" asked augustus. "only harry cook, --[a noted highwayman.]--and a very singular woman--" here ned's narrative was interrupted by a dark defile through a wood, allowing room for only one horseman at a time. they continued this gloomy path for several minutes, until at length it brought them to the brink of a large dell, overgrown with bushes, and spreading around somewhat in the form of a rude semicircle. here the robbers dismounted, and led their reeking horses down the descent. long ned, who went first, paused at a cluster of bushes, which seemed so thick as to defy intrusion, but which, yielding on either side to the experienced hand of the robber, presented what appeared the mouth of a cavern. a few steps along the passage of this gulf brought them to a door, which, even seen by torchlight, would have appeared so exactly similar in colour and material to the rude walls on either side as to have deceived any unsuspecting eye, and which, in the customary darkness brooding over it, might have remained for centuries undiscovered. touching a secret latch, the door opened, and the robbers were in the secure precincts of the "red cave." it may be remembered that among the early studies of our exemplary hero the memoirs of richard turpin had formed a conspicuous portion; and it may also be remembered that in the miscellaneous adventures of that gentleman nothing had more delighted the juvenile imagination of the student than the description of the forest cave in which the gallant turpin had been accustomed to conceal himself, his friend, his horse, "and that sweet saint who lay by turpin's side;" or, to speak more domestically, the respectable mrs. turpin. so strong a hold, indeed, had that early reminiscence fixed upon our hero's mind, that no sooner had he risen to eminence among his friends than he had put the project of his childhood into execution. he had selected for the scene of his ingenuity an admirable spot. in a thinly peopled country, surrounded by commons and woods, and yet, as mr. robins would say if he had to dispose of it by auction, "within an easy ride" of populous and well-frequented roads, it possessed all the advantages of secrecy for itself and convenience for depredation. very few of the gang, and those only who had been employed in its construction, were made acquainted with the secret of this cavern; and as our adventurers rarely visited it, and only on occasions of urgent want or secure concealment, it had continued for more than two years undiscovered and unsuspected. the cavern, originally hollowed by nature, owed but little to the decorations of art; nevertheless, the roughness of the walls was concealed by a rude but comfortable arras of matting; four or five of such seats as the robbers themselves could construct were drawn around a small but bright wood-fire, which, as there was no chimney, spread a thin volume of smoke over the apartment. the height of the cave, added to the universal reconciler (custom), prevented, however, this evil from being seriously unpleasant; and, indeed, like the tenants of an irish cabin, perhaps the inmates attached a degree of comfort to a circumstance which was coupled with their dearest household associations. a table, formed of a board coarsely planed, and supported by four legs of irregular size, made equal by the introduction of blocks or wedges between the legs and the floor, stood warming its uncouth self by the fire. at one corner a covered cart made a conspicuous article of furniture, no doubt useful either in conveying plunder or provisions; beside the wheels were carelessly thrown two or three coarse carpenter's tools, and the more warlike utilities of a blunderbuss, a rifle, and two broadswords. in the other corner was an open cupboard, containing rows of pewter platters, mugs, etc. opposite the fireplace, which was to the left of the entrance, an excavation had been turned into a dormitory; and fronting the entrance was a pair of broad, strong wooden steps, ascending to a large hollow about eight feet from the ground. this was the entrance to the stables; and as soon as their owners released the reins of the horses, the docile animals proceeded one by one leisurely up the steps, in the manner of quadrupeds educated at the public seminary of astley's, and disappeared within the aperture. these steps, when drawn up,--which, however, from their extreme clumsiness, required the united strength of two ordinary men, and was not that instantaneous work which it should have been,--made the place above a tolerably strong hold; for the wall was perfectly perpendicular and level, and it was only by placing his hands upon the ledge, and so lifting himself gymnastically upward, that an active assailant could have reached the eminence,--a work which defenders equally active, it may easily be supposed, would not be likely to allow. this upper cave--for our robbers paid more attention to their horses than themselves, as the nobler animals of the two species--was evidently fitted up with some labour. the stalls were rudely divided, the litter of dry fern was clean, troughs were filled with oats, and a large tub had been supplied from a pond at a little distance. a cart-harness and some old wagoners' frocks were fixed on pegs to the wall; while at the far end of these singular stables was a door strongly barred, and only just large enough to admit the body of a man. the confederates had made it an express law never to enter their domain by this door, or to use it, except for the purpose of escape, should the cave ever be attacked; in which case, while one or two defended the entrance from the inner cave, another might unbar the door, and as it opened upon the thickest part of the wood, through which with great ingenuity a labyrinthine path had been cut, not easily tracked by ignorant pursuers, these precautions of the highwaymen had provided a fair hope of at least a temporary escape from any invading enemies. such were the domestic arrangements of the red cave; and it will be conceded that at least some skill had been shown in the choice of the spot, if there were a lack of taste in its adornments. while the horses were performing their nightly ascent, our three heroes, after securing the door, made at once to the fire. and there, o reader! they were greeted in welcome by one--an old and revered acquaintance of thine--whom in such a scene it will equally astound and wound thee to re-behold. know, then--but first we will describe to thee the occupation and the garb of the august personage to whom we allude. bending over a large gridiron, daintily bespread with steaks of the fatted rump, the individual stood, with his right arm bared above the elbow, and his right hand grasping that mimic trident known unto gastronomers by the monosyllable "fork." his wigless head was adorned with a cotton nightcap. his upper vestment was discarded, and a whitish apron flowed gracefully down his middle man. his stockings were ungartered, and permitted between the knee and the calf interesting glances of the rude carnal. one list shoe and one of leathern manufacture cased his ample feet. enterprise, or the noble glow of his present culinary profession, spread a yet rosier blush over a countenance early tinged by generous libations, and from beneath the curtain of his pallid eyelashes his large and rotund orbs gleamed dazzlingly on the new comers. such, o reader! was the aspect and the occupation of the venerable man whom we have long since taught thee to admire; such, alas for the mutabilities of earth! was--a new chapter only can contain the name. chapter xxvii. caliban. hast thou not dropped from heaven? tempest. peter macgrawler! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! google books(the new york public library) transcriber's notes: . page scan source: google books https://books.google.com/books?id=xygnaaaamaaj&pg (the new york public library) [illustration: front cover. "minion of the moon: a romance of the king's highway." thomas wilkinson speight] [illustration: "god people, your money or your lives!" he said.] a minion of the moon by t. w. speight author of "the mysteries of heron dyke," "hoodwinked," "by devious ways," "the heart of a mystery," etc. new amsterdam book company fifth avenue new york mdcccxcvii copyright, , by new amsterdam book company contents -------- the prologue chapter i. "we fly by night." ii. on the king's highway the narrative i. a prentice hand. ii. in search of a lodging. iii. mr. ellerslie of rockmount. iv. the squire of stanbrook. v. family matters. vi. a man who never forgave. vii. who shall be heir? viii. "a woman of a thousand." ix. converging threads. x. the sequel of miss baynard's adventure. xi. "little short of miraculous." xii. a startling recognition. xiii. love the conqueror. xiv. a fresh actor on the scene. xv. "fate points the way." xvi. the shears of atropos. xvii. an astounding discovery. xviii. the missing heir. xix. mutual confidences. xx. the adventures of a snuff-box. xxi. in quest of the missing heir. xxii. the hon mrs. bullivant to captain ferris. xxiii. a joyful surprise. xxiv. a parting and a letter. xxv. a desperate resolve. xxvi. "for my sake." xxvii. three years after. a minion of the moon. the prologue. chapter i. "we fly by night." when the nineteenth century was still a puling infant scarcely able to stand alone, and not yet knowing what to make of the strange hurly-burly into which it found itself born, abel ringwood and sarah his wife were respectively landlord and landlady of the king's arms, a noted commercial hotel and posting-house at appleford, a town in the north of england, on one of the great coach roads from the south to scotland. all his majesty's mails, which travelled by that route, stopped to change horses at the king's arms, and, as there was a great deal of private posting by noblemen and rich commoners in those days, the hotel stables had seldom fewer than from twenty to thirty horses in them at one time. in view of the fact that appleford--was and is--on the high-road from the south to gretna green, it was hardly to be wondered at that a week seldom passed without one or more runaway couples stopping to change horses at the king's arms, and then hurrying on again, helter-skelter, as hard as they could go. thus there was nothing out of the common when, about six o'clock on a certain december evening, a post-chaise dashed up to the hotel door containing a runaway couple and a lady's maid. the gentleman, although he seemed in a desperate hurry to get on, induced the young lady to alight in order to relieve her cramped limbs while fresh horses were being put into the chaise, and the lamps freshly trimmed. she declined all refreshment, but he partook of a glass of sherry and a biscuit, while a glass of steaming negus was handed to the maid inside. the young lady, who was dressed from head to foot in expensive furs, was exceedingly pretty, with large, pathetic-looking eyes, and a wistful smile. the gentleman was enveloped in a long military cloak, and was evidently connected with the army. in three minutes and a half they were on the road again. everybody there, down to the stable-boy, wished them god-speed and a happy ending to their adventure. the evening was clear and frosty; there had been a slight fall of snow in the afternoon, which still lay crisp and white on the hard roads; the moon would rise in less than an hour. no long time passed before it was known throughout the hotel who the runaways were. the post-boy whispered the news to john ostler, who, a few minutes later, told it to his mistress. the lady was miss dulcie peyton, the niece and ward of sir peter warrendale, of scrope hall, near whatton regis. the gentleman was a captain pascoe, the heir of an old but impoverished family. according to report, sir peter had set his heart on his niece's marrying some one who was utterly distasteful to her, and, with more anger than politeness, had shown captain pascoe the door when that gentleman had called upon him to ask permission to pay his addresses to miss dulcie. it was further reported that for the last three months or more the poor young lady had been virtually a prisoner, never on any pretence being allowed outside the precincts of the park; and that sir peter vowed a prisoner she should remain till the last hour of his guardianship had struck, which would not be for three long years to come. but "bolts and bars cannot keep love out," nor in either, for that matter. the pretty bird had escaped from its cage, and everybody devoutly hoped that it would not be recaptured. the runagates had not been gone more than forty minutes when up dashed another post-chaise, out of which bounced a very irascible-looking, red-faced, middle-aged gentleman, presumably sir peter warrendale, who, with much spluttering and several expletives, ordered fresh horses to be instantly put into the chaise, and then, perceiving comely mrs. ringwood where she sat among the glasses and bottles in her little snuggery, he strode up to her, and in his arrogant way demanded to know whether she had seen anything of a runaway couple, who, so he was credibly informed, had passed through appleford a little while before on their way to gretna green. now, the conscience of the worthy landlady was of that tender kind that it would not allow her to tell a lie, but, in order to give the fugitives a few minutes more start, she asked him to describe the two persons to whom he referred. this he did in very few words, and nothing was then left mrs. ringwood but to confess that she had seen the young people in question, and that they had changed horses there about an hour before. on hearing this, the red-faced gentleman indulged in more bad language, ordered a glass of hot brandy-and-water, which half choked him in his hurry to swallow it, and then, still growling savagely in his throat, was shut up next minute in his chaise, and driven rapidly away. one small service mrs. ringwood had been able to do the runaways. she had secretly told john ostler to let them have the two best horses in the stables, and the latter, of his own accord, had supplied the red-faced gentleman with the two worst. unless something unforeseen should happen, there was not much likelihood of the fugitives being overtaken. everything was going well with them, they had left appleford about a dozen miles behind, and had pretty well got over the worst part of the fells, when one of the horses fell lame, and it quickly became apparent that the poor animal was unable to go at any pace faster than a walk, and that only with difficulty. what was to be done? the next place where they could hope to obtain fresh horses was five or six miles ahead, and it was almost a certainty that before they could get so far they would be overtaken by sir peter, who, they had not the slightest doubt, was in close pursuit of them. the quick-witted post-boy suggested that they should tie the lame horse to a tree by the roadside, leaving it to be fetched later on, and press forward as fast as possible with the remaining horse; but, even so, the chances were that the irate sir peter would overtake them before another hour had gone by. it was a desperate chance, but no other was left them. the post-boy had just tied up the lame horse, and was on the point of mounting the other, when, not more than a dozen yards from the chaise, and as if he had sprung that moment out of the ground, a masked horseman leaped the rough wall that divided the high-road from the fells. "stand, or you are a dead man!" he exclaimed in commanding tones, as he presented a pistol at the postboys head. then, turning to the chaise window, which was open, and at the same moment flashing a bull's-eye lantern on the travellers: "good people your money or your lives!" he said. the maid gave utterance to a scream; but the young lady only clung in terrified silence to her lover's arm. a network of filmy clouds covered the sky; but the moon, which had now risen, gave enough light to enable the postilion to see that the highwayman was mounted on a powerful black horse with a white stocking on its near fore-leg, and a white star on its forehead; that he wore a bell-shaped beaver hat; that his mask just reached to the tip of his nose, and that his outer garment was a dark horseman's cloak with several capes to it. "i durst wager a thousand pounds to a farden it's captain nightshade," he muttered under his breath. "sir," said the young captain, bending forward so that his face was in a line with the open window, speaking with much dignity and a ceremonious politeness more common in those days than now, "here is my watch, together with that of this lady, and here are our purses; but if the feelings of a gentleman are still cherished by you--and by your accent i judge you to be one--and if the sentiments of our common humanity have still power to appeal to your heart, i beg and entreat that you do not leave us wholly destitute of the means wherewith to prosecute our journey. i and this lady are on our way to gretna green. she has escaped from the custody of a most tyrannical uncle, who is also her guardian, and who would fain force her into marriage with a man whom she detests. that he is in pursuit of us, and no great distance behind, we have every reason to believe. now, sir, should you be sufficiently hard-hearted to deprive us of the whole of our funds, even should we by some miracle be enabled to reach the end of our journey, the needful gold would still be lacking wherewith to forge that link of hymen which would give me a husband's right to protect this dear girl from all the tyrannical uncles in existence." the highwayman had listened attentively. the reins lay on his horse's neck; his left hand held the lantern, the light from which shone full into the body of the chaise; his right grasped a pistol the barrel of which gleamed coldly in the moonlight. "sir, not another word, i entreat," he said when the captain had done speaking, bowing low and withdrawing the light of his lantern at the same moment. "never shall it be said of me that i took toll of lovers in distress. rather would i do all that in me lies to aid them as far as my poor powers might avail." "sir, i thank you most heartily," answered the captain with as much high-breeding as though he were addressing a duke. "one of your horses has fallen lame, is it not so?" demanded the robber. "alas! yes; and the chances are a score to one that we shall be overtaken by sir peter before we can reach any place where we can obtain fresh ones." the highwayman, who had put back his pistol into its holster, refreshed himself with a pinch of snuff from a box, the jewels in which flashed in the moonbeams, before he spoke. then he said:-- "in that case, sir, it seems to me there is only one thing left you to do." "and that is----?" queried the captain eagerly. "for you and the young lady to make use of my mare to speed you on your journey. leila will carry the pair of you to gretna, and be as fresh as a daisy at the end of it. and as for sir peter overtaking you----" his scornful laugh rang clear through the frosty night. captain pascoe might be excused if he fairly gasped for breath as he listened to this extraordinary proposition, but it was far too good an offer to be lightly refused. as a matter of politeness he made some slight demur, which the highwayman promptly overruled, and three minutes later he was astride the black mare. then the highwayman, taking the young lady round the waist, swung her lightly on to the crupper. "but what is to become of you?" queried the captain. "never fear for me, sir," replied the other. "i shall know how to take care of myself." then in a low voice he gave the captain certain instructions where to leave the mare, which he would send a trusty man to reclaim on the morrow. then the captain held out his hand, which the other frankly grasped. "it is the hand of one," he said, "who, under different circumstances, would doubtless have been a different man." then the two men lifted their hats, the lady waved her hand, and half a minute later black leila and her double burden had disappeared round a turn of the road. chapter ii. on the king's highway. the amazed post-boy was now directed to put the lame horse back into its place and go slowly ahead, while the highwayman himself took the captain's place inside the chaise. "don't you be frightened, my dear," he said to the trembling waiting-woman, whom her young mistress had done her best to reassure before leaving her. "i love your sex far too dearly ever to harm one of you. with your leave i will ride part of the way with you, and should anybody ask my name, you may call me mr. darke." he removed his mask as he spoke; but it was too dark inside the chaise to allow of his features being distinguished, even if the waiting-woman had not been too terrified to do more than glance furtively at him. they had gone on slowly for about a quarter of an hour when it became evident that some other vehicle was approaching them rapidly from the rear. "keep your veil down and don't say a word," said mr. darke to his companion after a backward glance through the open window. he drew his hat down over his brows and turned up the collar of his redingote about his ears, so that even had it been daylight little of his face would have been visible. it was not unlikely that the sir peter of whom mention had been made might do the same as he had done--throw the light of a lantern on the inmates of the chaise. presently the pursuing chaise came up at a great pace, the post-boy lashing his horses freely, and, passing the other one, drew up suddenly some dozen yards ahead, straight across the narrow road, so as effectually to bar its progress and bring it to a stand. mr. darke put his head out of the window. "post-boy, what is the meaning of this stoppage?" he called. "why don't you go on?" "can't do it, sir--road blocked by t'other shay." before more could be said, sir peter himself came stalking up trembling with rage, followed by his servant with a lantern. "so, so! sir, your nefarious scheme has not succeeded; your villainous plot has miscarried, as it deserved to do," he stuttered, his words tumbling headlong over each other in his passion. "i'll have the law of you, sir, for this! you shall be taught that you cannot run off with a gentleman's ward with impunity! you shall be cast for damages, sir. five thousand pounds--not one farthing less--damme!--but where is that niece of mine--the shameless hussy? i will----" "may i ask, sir, the meaning of this singular outrage?" demanded a grave, stern voice from the interior of the chaise. "if his majesty's liege subjects are to be stopped on the highway by every inebriate brawler, it is indeed time for the hand of authority to intervene. i am myself in the commission of peace, and i must demand from you your name and address, sir, in order that further inquiry may be made into this most discreditable proceeding." but by this time the servant had directed the rays of his lantern into the interior of the chaise. sir peter stood like a man petrified. in the farther corner sat a plainly-dressed, thin, angular woman, bolt upright, and as rigid as a ramrod, who, although her face was hidden by a thick veil, no one in his senses would for a moment mistake for miss dulcie peyton, and it was doubtless owing to the veil that he failed to recognize in her that young lady's maid, with whose features he was presumably not unfamiliar. of the person who had addressed him little could be seen save a large aquiline nose and a pair of fierce black eyes. it was equally impossible, however, to confound him with captain pascoe. "i crave your pardon, sir," said sir peter, in a tone of almost abject apology, as he took off his hat and made a ceremonious bow. "i shall never forgive myself for my stupid blunder; but the fact is i mistook your chaise for the one in which a niece of mine--confound her!--is at the present moment on her way to gretna green. we had tidings of her at the place where we last changed horses, and i made sure that the first chaise we should overtake must be the one of which we were in pursuit." "sir, your apology makes ample amends," responded mr. darke in the most gracious of tones. "your mistake was a most natural one. no doubt the flight of your niece has been a source of much annoyance to you." the scowl on sir peter's face was not pleasant to see. "if once i clap hands on her, she won't escape me again. bolts and bars and bread-and-water--that's the only treatment for refractory wenches. but pardon me for not introducing myself. i am sir peter warrendale, of scrope hall, near whatton regis." "and i, colonel delnay, of scowthwaite, by carlisle." at this point the two gentlemen bowed ceremoniously to each other. "i trust, sir peter, to have the pleasure of meeting you on some more auspicious occasion." "with all my heart, colonel, i reciprocate the wish. but, ouns-an-codlins! i'm forgetting all about my runaway niece. may i ask whether anything has passed you on the road at all resembling a fly-by-night couple in a post-chaise?" "nothing resembling what you speak of, sir peter, i give you my word. most likely they have a post-boy with them who is acquainted with the short cut across the fells. it's a dangerous road for a chaise to traverse after dark, and the chances are that they will come to grief before they reach the end of it." "i'd give a hundred guineas, damme if i wouldn't, if one of their linch-pins was to drop out! but i may yet be in time to overtake 'em." and so, with a few more polite phrases on both sides, the two men parted. no sooner had the other chaise started on its way than mr. darke lay back in his seat and gave vent to a burst of hearty laughter. then, in a full rich voice, he sang as under:-- you may ride through the night, nor draw rein all the day, change horse as you list, and--tantivy! away! but from humber to ribble, 'twixt derwent and dee, you'll ne'er find a trace of sweet ellen o'lee! "poor uncle! poor sir peter!" he exclaimed. "his pretty niece will have been wed a couple of hours ere he crosses the border. what a surly old curmudgeon he looks! no wonder his little bird was tired of its cage, and seized the first chance to flutter its wings and away." when they had gone about a mile further, he called to the post-boy to stop, and alighted from the chaise. dipping his hand into one of his capacious pockets, he drew out something which he presented with a bow to the maid. "here's a trifle for you, my dear, to keep you in mind of mr. darke," he said. "and now i must wish you goodnight and _bon voyage_, with the hope that one of these days you will be run away with by as gallant a gentleman as he who has carried off your mistress." with that he took off his hat and swept her a low bow with all the grace imaginable. then, stepping up to the post-boy, he put a couple of guineas into his hand, "just to drink my health with," as he said. half-a-minute later he was lost to view in a plantation of young trees which at that point lined one side of the road. the present he had given the maid proved to be a chased-silver sweetmeat box of elaborate workmanship, which had doubtless at one time been the property of some person of quality. some six weeks later than the events just recorded, mrs. ringwood, the landlady of the king's arms, was drinking a dish of tea with her friend, miss capp, who had been from home for a couple of months, and was agog to hear all the news. "the young people had been three hours married by the time sir peter reached gretna green," said the landlady, in continuation of what had gone before. "he stormed and raved, as a matter of course, and vowed he would have the law of captain pascoe; but it was well known that he would never have dared to go into court and let the world know with how much cruelty he had treated his orphan niece. when the captain and his bride came south a week later they stopped and dined at the king's arms, and it was then i learned all the particulars i have just told you of their strange adventure." "but what about mr. darke? what about the highwayman?" queried miss capp eagerly. "i can tell you very little about him. as to who he really was, nothing has ever come out. he may have been the notorious captain nightshade, as the post-boy firmly believes, or he may not. the post-boy says he recognized him by the horse he was riding--a black mare, with a white stocking on the near fore-leg and a white blaze on the forehead. in any case, the act was that of one who had not forgotten that once on a time he was a gentleman." "it was the act of one who, whatever his other faults may be, has not yet forfeited all right to that title," responded the enthusiastic spinster, who envied miss peyton's maid her adventure. "by the way, i mustn't forget to tell you that poor sir peter was unlucky enough to be stopped on his way back from gretna green, and eased of his watch and purse, together with his snuff-box, which latter it seems he set great store by, it being a sort of family heirloom. and i have it from the post-boy in charge of the chaise that as the highwayman was on the point of riding away he lifted his hat and said: 'colonel delnay has the honor, sir peter, to wish you a very goodnight.'" the narrative. chapter i. a prentice hand. among other wayfarers who, on a certain evening some four months subsequently to the events already narrated, halted at the king's arms hotel, appleford, in order to refresh the inner man, was a stranger on horseback, with a rather bulky saddle-bag strapped behind him, who, judging from his style and appearance, might have been a cattle jobber on his way to some fair, or farm bailiff, a "statesman" who farmed his own acres, and had a comfortable little balance at the local bank; or, at any rate, a man used to a healthy, outdoor country life, to whom existence in a town would have been nothing less than intolerable. having dismounted from his very serviceable nag, he gave it into the ostler's charge, with strict injunctions that it was to be well cared for, and then made for the coffee-room, where, five minutes later, he was seated with a noble cold sirloin before him, and at his elbow a tankard of the best old ale the house could supply. he was a prime trencherman, was john dyce--they were common enough in those days--and it would have made a modern dyspeptic stare to watch the heroic way in which he attacked the sirloin, and with what unequivocal appetite one well-mustarded slice after another, with its accompaniment of delicious home-made bread, was disposed of. but not even john could go on eating forever, and by and by he laid down his knife and fork with an audible sigh, which might be partly due to the satisfaction which comes--or should come--of comfortable repletion, and partly a sigh of regret at having to bid farewell to the sirloin. while the waiter cleared away he went as far as the stable in order to satisfy himself that his nag was being properly looked after. he was gone some little time, and when he came back he ordered a churchwarden pipe, a screw of tobacco, and a tumbler of cold punch to be brought him. there were some half-dozen people in the room who had been there when he arrived, and a number of others had come and gone in the interim. now and then a bell would be heard to ring somewhere indoors, now and then a chaise or other vehicle would rattle up to the door and come to an abrupt stand. the _highflyer_ coach, going south, had stopped for exactly three minutes and a half in order to change horses, during which time a majority of the passengers had crowded into the hotel, clamoring for drinks of various kinds. john dyce, sitting apart in a quiet corner of the long, oak-panelled, low-ceilinged room, and puffing meditatively at his churchwarden, had a quietly observant eye for every fresh face that came in. at length--but not till his glance had travelled more than once, with some anxiety in it, to the clock over the chimney-piece--his waiting was rewarded. the coffee-room door opened, and there entered a little, comfortable-looking, rosy-gilled man, in whose features professional gravity seemed to be struggling against a latent sense of humor. he was mr. tew, managing clerk to mr. piljoy, solicitor of arkrigg, a town at the other end of the county. his employer being laid up with gout, he had been sent to stanbrook in his stead in order to get squire cortelyon's will duly signed and witnessed. having accomplished his errand, he was now on his way back home, with the will carefully buttoned up inside his breast pocket. squire cortelyon was not expected to live from hour to hour. "bottle-green surtout with black velvet collar," muttered john dyce to himself. "front tooth broken short off; red and black silk muffler round his throat; white beaver hat the worse for wear. it must be him." mr. tew beckoned the waiter. "ham and eggs and a cup of strong coffee; and let me have them as quick as possible. i must be on the road again in half an hour." "'am-an'-eggs--yessir--have 'em in a jiffy. going far, sir, to-night, may i ask?" "only as far as arkrigg." "a dozen long miles, sir, and as nasty a bit o' road as any in the county, being nearly all up-hill and windin' in an' out among the moors--let alone its bein' such a favorite road with captain nightshade." then, insinuatingly: "better stay where you are, sir. could put you up very comfortable. his grace of malvern stayed with us a night last month, and before goin' away he says, says he----" "no, no," broke in mr. tew good-naturedly--waiters in our great-grandfathers' days were often privileged mortals--"it's not a bit of use your trying to tempt me. home to-night i must get--highly important; and as for captain nightshade, he flies at higher game than the likes of me. if he were to strip me to the shirt, all i have would hardly fetch him the price of a decent dinner and a bottle of wine. so now for my ham and eggs." not a word of all this had escaped john dyce, but his stolid face was absolutely devoid of expression. he had changed his position to the settle near the chimney-corner, and was sitting with one hand buried deep in his breeches pocket, while the other held his long pipe, his gaze meanwhile being contemplatively fixed on a corner of the well-smoked ceiling. he had already paid his "shot," and he now put down his pipe, stood up, yawned, stretched himself, and then, after clapping his hat on his head, strode slowly out of the room. passing the bar, now empty of customers, through the inner window of which he could see the plump landlady busy with her knitting-needles, he paused for a few moments at the top of the flight of broad shallow steps which led up to the front door. like so many similar establishments in those days, the king's arms hotel formed three sides of a quadrangle, with the windows facing into it, the fourth side consisting of an open gateway large enough for a coach-and-four to be driven through with ease, having shops on either side, the windows of which fronted on the main street. as john dyce stood on the topmost step he looked to right and he looked to left. for a small provincial town the hour was growing late. in the inn yard no one was about. a light shone dimly through the stable window, and in one corner mr. tew's chaise, with two or three other vehicles, made a confused heap, dimly discernible. half an hour later, with the arrival of the _comet_, bound for edinburgh, the whole place would wake up, as at the stroke of an enchanter's wand, to a brief spasm of feverish energy and excitement. meanwhile somnolence reigned. john dyce, whistling under his breath, descended the steps and picked his way slowly in the direction of the stable, presumably in search of the ostler; but it was not till a full quarter of an hour later that he rode out of the inn yard, and, having crossed the market-place, took the road which led due north out of the town. the clock of the old church chimed the half-hour past ten as he left it behind. a crescent moon was sailing in a clear sky. presently john's nag broke into a gentle trot, and so the two jogged quietly along till the last house in appleford had been left some four miles behind. then, at a point where the road, dipping a little, cut through the dark heart of a plantation of firs, he drew rein and let his horse subside into a walk. he had got about halfway through the plantation when, a little way ahead of him, what looked like an irregular fragment of the blackness which walled him in on either hand broke itself away, as it were, and, moving out into the middle of the road, showed there clear and distinct by the light of the young moon, and then, as he drew a pace or two nearer, took on itself the shape of another horse and another rider. john seemed in nowise alarmed by the sudden apparition, but rather, indeed, as if the _rencontre_ was not unexpected by him. "so! it is you; i was rather doubtful at first," said the other in a full rich voice as he drew near. "well, what luck have you had?" as well as could be seen, the speaker was a young and very handsome man, with an unmistakable air of distinction. his outer garment was a long, loose, dark blue cloak without sleeves, fastened at the throat by a silver clasp, which hid the rest of his attire except his long riding boots and his small three-cornered hat. his dark hair, the real color of which could not be distinguished by that light, was slightly sprinkled with powder and tied up behind with black ribbon into the form of an ample queue. his hands were covered by a pair of buff gauntlets, and from the holsters in front of him the stocks of a brace of pistols bulged menacingly. john dyce carried a finger to his forehead as his nag came to halt. "everything gone off all right, your honor," he said in reply to the young man's question. "i left mr. tew at the king's arms in appleford. he'd just ordered his supper, but seemed in a hurry to get on, and i should say that by this time he's nearly ready to start again, so that your honor's wait for him shouldn't be a long one. before coming away i managed, unseen by anybody, to draw the charges of his pistols, which he had left behind him in the chaise when he went in to supper." "well done, john! there's far more in that head of years than most people give you credit for. but now you must leave me. i will await mr. tew here. i don't think i could find a more convenient bit of road for my purpose than this. you will wait for me, as arranged, at the first toll-bar on the whinbarrow road." "better not send me away, your honor," said john in a tone of earnest entreaty; "better let me keep with you, or, at least, be within hail in case of accident." "no, no, john, i won't have you mixed up in the affair more than is absolutely necessary. there's nothing to fear--more especially now that you have drawn the charges of the pistols. but, at the best of times, i don't believe mr. tew has an ounce of courage in that plump, well-lined body of his. more likely than not he will take me for captain nightshade, and be all a-quake with fright. so you must just do as you are bidden, and make the best of your way to the place agreed upon. and remember, i forbid you on any account to wait about here." john attempted no further protest, knowing, probably, how futile it would have been, but wheeling his nag round, without a word more started off down the road at a gentle trot. the young man waited without stirring till the last thud of his horse's hoofs had died into silence. then he shivered--the night was bitter enough to excuse his doing so--and drew his cloak more closely around him; and then he glanced about him, somewhat timorously it might have been thought. "pish! what folly is this!" he muttered peevishly. "a gentleman of the road, a despoiler of timid travellers, shivering and shaking because he finds himself alone, drawing on for midnight, on a solitary bit of the king's highway! i shall be frightened of my own shadow next. captain nightshade would indeed laugh me to scorn." he patted his mare on the neck and began to walk her up and down on the narrow stretch of turf which fringed the road on either hand. it was not one of the great thoroughfares running north and south, busy day and night with traffic in one or other of its manifold forms, but merely a by-road between one provincial town and another. the only living things seen by our young horseman while he waited were a drove of cattle, in charge of a couple of men, on their way to appleford market. while they were passing he withdrew into the shade of the plantation. after all, he had hardly so long to wait as he had feared he would have. john dyce had not been more than a quarter of an hour gone when his straining ears caught the faint sound of wheels. he had already adjusted the crape mask he had brought with him, and settled his chin in the ample folds of the india silk muffler he had tied round his throat. he now set his hat more firmly on his head, and drew a pistol from its holster. and now, some distance down the road, there shone two yellow points of flame, as they might be the eyes of some wild animal shining in the dark. they were the lamps of the coming chaise. nearer and nearer sounded the hoof-beats of the horses on the hard road. a minute more and the whole concern had passed out of the moonlight into the gully of blackness in which our horseman was lurking. the moment for action had come. three strides of his horse brought him into a line with the postilion. "halt, or you are a dead man!" he called out in commanding tones, as he held a pistol to the man's head, and at once the horses were pulled up short on their haunches. it was not the first command of the kind that postilion had been called upon to obey. the highwayman had brought no lantern with him. he knew, or thought he knew, quite well who the occupant of the chaise was. he could just discern a vague huddled-up figure in one corner. and now, in no uncertain voice, came the formula, sacred by long use on such occasions: "your money or your life!" not that it was the traveller's money our young friend was risking so much to obtain, but something very different, only he had not seen his way at the moment to vary the customary command. the answer was a flash and a report from the interior of the chaise, and the same instant a harsh voice yelled out, "drive on tim, and be damned to you!" hardly had the words left his lips before the post-boy's lash came down heavily on his horses, and the chaise sprang forward. unused to such surprises, the young man's horse shied violently and then backed towards the plantation, as if its rider had lost control of it. what would have happened next there is no telling, had not another horse and rider, springing from nowhere, as it seemed, appeared at this instant on the scene. our would-be highwayman, his hat fallen off and his head thrown back, was swaying in his saddle, and the newcomer was only just in time to grasp him round the waist, and so save him from falling. a few seconds later he gave vent to a low whistle, expressive of an amazement almost too deep for words. "by the lord that made me--a woman!" was his whispered ejaculation. chapter ii. in search of a lodging. it was not the chaise of timorous-hearted mr. tew, but of hot-tempered sir humphrey button, which the young highwayman had so valorously bidden to halt. at the last moment mr. tew had been accosted by an old friend whom he had not seen for a number of years, and had been easily persuaded to put off his departure for another hour in order to talk over bygone days, and discuss a jorum or two of punch with him. our young friend was not long in coming to himself, and mightily surprised and discomposed he was at finding his waist firmly encircled by a sinewy arm, and to dimly discern a pair of eyes gazing intently into his own--his head was reclining on the stranger's shoulder--through the orifices of a crape mask. he was bareheaded, and his own mask had come unfastened and had fallen off. for a moment or two he felt dazed, and could not make out what had happened to him. then in a flash he recalled everything. with a quick, resentful movement he drew himself away from the stranger's clasp, and set his back as stiff as a ramrod. for all that, his cheek was aflame with blushes, but the kindly night hid them. "thank you very much," he said in freezing accents, "but i am all right now. i was never taken like it before, and trust i never shall be again. it was too ridiculous." "let us hope that you were more startled than hurt," said the other. "for all that, it was a close shave." with that he swung himself off his horse, and, going a yard or two down the road, he picked up the youngster's hat and mask. "there's a bullet-hole through the brim," he remarked, as he handed him his property. "yes, a very close shave indeed." then, as he proceeded to remount his horse, he added with a mellow laugh, "if an old professor may venture an opinion, you are a prentice hand at this sort of business." "yes, indeed. this is my first adventure of the kind, and i am quite sure it will be my last. if you are under the impression," he continued, with a touch of hauteur which seemed to become him naturally, "that the object of my adventure to-night was merely the replenishing of my pockets by the emptying of those of somebody else, you were never more mistaken. my intent was not money or jewels, but to obtain possession of a will--of a most iniquitous will--the destruction of which would have the effect of righting a great wrong. unhappily, my attempt has failed, and the wrong will never be righted. i mistook my man. the traveller in the chaise was not the person i was expecting. _he_ has doubtless made up his mind to stay the night at appleford." "a very wise resolve on his part, considering how unsafe the king's highway is for honest folk after dark," retorted the elder man, with his careless laugh. "but tell me this, young sir. even if you had succeeded in getting possession of the will and destroying it, what would there have been to hinder the testator from having a fresh one drawn up in precisely similar terms?" "merely the fact that he is given up by the doctors, and that, in the event of the first will having been destroyed, he would not have lived to have a second one drawn up and signed. at any moment he may breathe his last. possibly he is dead already." "your heroic attempt to right a great wrong is of a nature to appeal to every generous heart. such being the case, it will not, perhaps, be deemed presumptuous on my part to suggest that where you have failed it is just possible that i might succeed. should you, therefore, be pleased to accept of my services, i beg to assure you that they are yours to command." here he removed his hat and swept the youngster a low bow. the other hesitated for a few moments, as hardly knowing in what terms to reply, but when he did speak it was with no lack of decision. "from the bottom of my heart i thank you, sir, for your offer, which i assure you i appreciate at its full value; but, for certain reasons which i am not at liberty to explain, it is quite out of the question that i should avail myself of it." "in that case, there is nothing more to be said. will it be deemed an impertinence on my part if i ask in what direction you are now bound?" neither of them had noticed a huge black cloud which had been gradually creeping up the sky, and which at this moment burst in a deluge of rain. as by mutual consent, the two men who had so strangely come together pricked up their horses and sought such shelter as the plantation afforded from the downpour. then said the younger man in reply to the other's question: "what i am anxious to do is to find my way into the whinbarrow road, after which i shall manage well enough." "do you know the way to it from here?" "no more than a dead man." "it's an awkward road to hit on after dark, and you might flounder about till daybreak without finding it. in five minutes from now what little moonlight there's left will be swallowed up by this confounded rain-cloud, after which it will be as dark as the nethermost pit. on such a night for you, a stranger, to attempt to find the whinbarrow road would be the sheerest madness." "what, then, do you recommend me to do?" "i will tell you. not more than three miles from here stands a lonely house among the moors, rockmount by name. its owner, a solitary, is a man well advanced in years--a scholar and a bookworm. but although leading such a secluded life, his door is open day and night to any one who--like yourself--has lost his way, or who craves the shelter of his roof on any account whatever. to rockmount you must now hie you and put mr. ellerslie's hospitality to the proof: that you will not do so in vain i am well assured. i know the way and will gladly guide you there. come, let us lose no more time. this cursed rain shows no signs of leaving off." "but if this part of the country is so well known to you," urged the other, "why not direct me the way i want to go, instead of pressing me--and at this hour of the night--to intrude on the hospitality of a stranger?" "there are two, if not more, very sufficient reasons why i am unable to oblige you in this matter," responded the other dryly. "in the first place, i could not direct you, as you call it, into the whinbarrow road. on such a night as this no directions would avail you; i should have to lead you there, and plant the nose of your mare straight up the road before leaving you. in the second place, my way lies in an opposite direction. matters of moment need my presence elsewhere, and before the first cock begins to crow i must be a score miles from here." as if to bar any further discussion in the matter, he took hold of the bridle of the other's horse and, leading the way out of the plantation, started off at an easy canter up the road in the direction taken by the chaise. the younger man offered no opposition to the proceeding. he seemed little more than a boy, and the night's adventures had fluttered his nerves. to go wandering about in the pitch-dark, hunting for a road that was wholly strange to him--not one of the great highways, which he could hardly have missed, but a narrow cross-country turnpike which had nothing to distinguish it from half-a-dozen other roads--was more than he was prepared to do. he felt like one in a half-dream; all that had happened during the last hour had an air of unreality; he was himself, and yet not himself. to-night's business seemed to separate him by a huge gap both from yesterday and to-morrow. his will was in a state of partial suspension; he allowed himself to be led blindly forward, he neither knew nor greatly cared whither. before long they turned sharply to the left up a rutted and stony cart-track, which apparently led right into the heart of the moors. here they could only go slowly, trusting in a great measure to the instinct and surefootedness of their horses. the highwayman still kept hold of the other's bridle. the rain had in some measure abated, and a rift in the clouds low down in the east was slowly broadening. not a word had passed between them since they left the plantation. but now, as if the silence had become irksome to him, the man with the crape mask burst into song. his voice was a full, clear baritone: "oh, kiss me, childe lovel," she breathes in his ear; "night's shadows flee fast, the moon's drown'd in the mere." he turns his head slowly. "christ! what is't i see? a demon rides with me!" shrieks ellen o'lee. when he had come to the end of the verse, he drew forth his snuff-box, tapped it, opened it, and with a little bow proffered it to his companion. the moon had come out again, dim and watery, by this time, and they were now enabled to see each other so far as outlines and movements were concerned, although the more minute points of each other's appearance were still to some extent conjectural. "_bien oblige, monsieur_," replied the younger man, "but snuff-taking is an acquirement--i ought, perhaps, to say an accomplishment--to which as yet i cannot lay claim, and, in so far, my education may be said to be incomplete." "'tis a necessary part of a gentleman's curriculum--a pinch of rappee or good kendal brown serves at once to soothe the nerves, disperse the vapors, and enliven the brain. but you are young yet, my dear sir--_oh, les beaux jours de la jeunesse!_--and, with luck, have many years before you for the cultivation of a habit which, unlike other habits i could name, the older you grow the more quiet satisfaction you derive from the practice of it. amid the straits and disappointments of life, when his fortunes are at their lowest, and his fair-weather friends have fallen one by one away, many a man draws his truest consolation from his snuff-box." "you speak like one grown old both in years and experience," said the other laughingly. he was recovering his _sang-froid_, and, the failure of his enterprise notwithstanding, was beginning to enjoy the adventure for the adventure's sake. the highwayman gave vent to an audible sigh. "experience keeps a dear school," he said, "and 'tis only fools who fail to learn at it." and so for a time they rode on in silence. then said the younger man, "you seem to know your way hereabouts pretty well." "the home of my youth was no great distance away, and, as a lad, i wandered over these moors and fells till i grew to know them, as one might say, by heart." "have we much farther to go, may i ask?" "another ten minutes will bring us to our destination." with that he proceeded to remove his mask and stuff it into one of his pockets. for a little while they jogged along side by side without speaking. the tract of country they were traversing was wild and desolate in the extreme. on every side stretched the bare swelling moorland--bare save for the short sparse grass and the many-hued mosses which grew in its hollows and more sheltered places, but left naked its huge ribs and bosses of granite, which showed through the surface in every direction, and seemed to crave the decent burial which only some great cataclysm of nature could give them. here and there at wide intervals a narrow track-way unwound itself like a dusky ribbon till it was lost in the distance. these rude by-roads had been in use for more centuries than history or tradition knew of, and served to connect one outlying hamlet with another. over them from time to time paced great droves of cattle and sheep on their way to one or other of the frequent fairs which in those days, far more than now, brought the country-side together and formed one of the most distinctive features of english rural life. "here we are at last," said the highwayman, as an indefinite mass of black buildings loomed vaguely before them--for the rain was over and gone, and the moon was again shining in a clear sky--which presently, as they drew nearer, took on the shape of a long, low, two-storied house, with a high-pitched roof and twisted chimneys, and having a group of detached outbuildings in the rear. as they reined in their horses a few yards from the low wall, which enclosed a space of rank and untended shrubbery, the younger horseman saw, not without a sense of misgiving, that the whole front of the house was in darkness. not the faintest glimmer of light was anywhere visible. "and do you mean to tell me," he asked in a low voice, for a sense of night and darkness was upon him, "that this desolate and out-of-the-world spot is any one's home?" "it is the home of mr. cope-ellerslie, as i have already remarked." "how far away is mr. ellerslie's nearest neighbor?" "four good miles, as the crow flies. but he is a recluse and a student, and the loneliness of rockmount was probably his main inducement for becoming its tenant." "in any case, we are too late to-night to claim his hospitality. there is not a light anywhere visible." "you mean that there's none to be seen from where we are standing," retorted the highwayman dryly. "but that's no proof mr. ellerslie's abed. he's a genuine nightbird, and often does not go to roost before daybreak, so busy is he over his studies of one kind or another." at another time the younger man might have wondered how his law-breaking companion had acquired such an intimate knowledge of the habits of the recluse of rockmount, but just then he had other things to think about. "follow me," said the highwayman, and with that he walked his horse round a corner of the house, to where a large bow window, invisible before, bulged out from the main building. "that is the window of mr. ellerslie's study," he resumed. "you can see by the light shining through the circular openings at the top of the shutters that he is still at work." "that may be," rejoined the other, "but doubtless all his household are asleep long ago, and rather than disturb mr. ellerslie himself at such an hour i would----" "what a fastidious young cock-o'-wax you are!" broke in the elder man. "do you think i would have brought you here if there had been nobody but mr. e. to the fore? as i happen to know, his old manservant never on any account goes to bed before his master. him we shall find as wide awake as an owl at midnight. follow me." he led the way back to where a ramshackle, loosely-hung gate, merely on latch, gave admittance to a gravelled path which led up to a small carriage-sweep in front of the house, on reaching which, at the instance of the highwayman, they both dismounted. then going up to the door, he lifted the massive knocker and struck three resounding blows with it slowly one after the other; after which, going back to his companion, he said, "here, young sir, we must part." "but not, i trust, before you have told me to whom i am indebted for the very great service you have rendered me to-night." a bitter laugh broke from the other. "my real name," he said, "is that of a broken and ruined man, whom the world already has well-nigh forgotten. that by which i am customarily known nowadays is--captain nightshade, at your service." the younger man showed no trace of surprise. "i suspected as much from the first," he said. "in this part of the country only one _gentleman_ of the road does us the honor of taking toll of us. the rest are scum--mere vulgar ruffians, ripe for the gallows-tree." "sir, you flatter me"--with a grave inclination of the head. "may i, in my turn, if it be not deemed an impertinence, ask to whom i am indebted for an hour of the pleasantest companionship it has been my good fortune to enjoy for many a long day?" "_my_ name? hum! i must consider. by the way, you remarked a little while ago, and very truly, that, as far as your profession was concerned, i was a prentice hand. suppose, then, that you call me jack prentice. 'twill serve as well as another." "mr. jack prentice let it be, with all my heart. 'tis a name i shall not forget. ah! here comes somebody in answer to my summons." and, indeed, there was a noise as of the undoing of the bolts and bars of the massive door, which, a few seconds later, was opened wide, disclosing a gray-haired serving-man in a faded livery, who stood there staring into the darkness, shielding with one hand a lighted candle which he carried in the other. captain nightshade strode up to the door, and in his easy, off-hand way said, "you are one of mr. ellerslie's servants, i presume?" "i be," answered the old man laconically. "then be good enough to present my compliments to your master, the compliments of a neighbor--hem!--and tell him there's a young gentleman at the door who has been belated on the moors and craves the hospitality of rockmount for the remainder of the night." mr. jack prentice had followed close on the captain's heels, and, as the candlelight shone full on the latter's face, he had now, for the first time, an opportunity of seeing what the noted highwayman was like. what he saw was a long, lean, brown face, the face of an ascetic it might almost have been termed, had it not been contradicted by a pair of black, penetrating eyes of extraordinary brilliancy, and by a mobile, changeable mouth which rarely wore the same expression for three minutes at a time. his rounded, massive chin seemed a little out of keeping with the rest of his features, as though it belonged of right to another type of face. his high nose, thin and curved, with its fine nostrils, lent him an air of breeding and distinction. in figure he was tall and sinewy. his black hair, tied into a queue not more than half the size of his companion's, showed no trace of powder. his prevailing expression might be said to be one of almost defiant recklessness mingled with a sort of cynical good-humor. it was as though into an originally noble nature a drop of subtle poison had been distilled, which had served to muddy and discolor it, so that it no longer reflected things in their true proportions, without having been able to more than partially corrupt it. the old man-servant's lips worked as though he were mumbling over the message with which he had been charged, then with a curt nod he turned away, and, putting down his candlestick on a side table, was presently lost to view in the gloom of the corridor beyond the entrance-hall. if captain nightshade had any consciousness of the brief but keen scrutiny to which he had been subjected, he failed to betray it. while they were awaiting the man's return, he slowly paced the gravelled sweep, singing in a low voice a snatch of a ditty the last line of which had something to do with "ruby wine and laughing eyes." then the serving-man came back. "the master bids yo welcome," he said. "there's supper, bed, and breakfast at yore sarvice. he's busy just now, but mayhap he'll find time to see yo for a few minutes by an' by." "i felt assured you would not claim the hospitality of rockmount in vain," said captain nightshade. "and now, my dear mr. prentice, i must wish you a very goodnight, coupled with the hope that sound sleep and pleasant dreams will be yours. i have a presentiment that we have not seen the last of each other, and my presentiments generally come true." he would have turned away, but the other held out his hand. "i am your debtor for much this night," he said. "you say you have a presentiment that we shall meet again. when that time comes i may, perhaps, be able to repay you. at present 'tis out of my power to do so." their hands met for a moment and parted, and each bowed ceremoniously to the other. then captain nightshade climbed lightly into his saddle, waved his hand, gave rein to his horse and disappeared in the darkness. the same instant a second servant appeared from somewhere, and, taking charge of mr. prentice's horse, led it away towards the rear of the house. then, with such a throb of the heart as one experiences on stepping across the threshold of the unknown, doubtful of what one may find on the other side, our young gentleman stepped across the threshold of rockmount and heard the bolts and bars of the great door shot one by one behind him. chapter iii. mr. ellerslie of rockmount. having resumed possession of his candlestick, the old serving-man, whose face wore a sour and suspicious look, beckoned mr. jack, and, leading the way, presently threw open a door at the end of a corridor, and ushered him into a spacious panelled room, in the grate of which a cosy fire was burning. "supper's bein' got ready, sir, and will be served in the course of a few minutes," said the man, and with that he lighted a couple of wax candles on the centre table and two more over the chimney-piece. then he stirred up the fire to a blaze and hobbled out of the room without a word more. mr. jack's first action was to relieve himself of his sodden cloak, which he laid over the back of a chair. that done, he spread his chilled fingers to the blaze, and proceeded to take stock of his surroundings. this was soon done, for the room held nothing calculated to arrest his attention or excite his curiosity. it was sparsely furnished, and its few chairs and tables, together with the bureau in one corner, although of choice workmanship, were all venerable with age. carpet and hearthrug alike were faded and in places worn threadbare. of pictures or ornaments of any kind, except for a small malachite vase on the chimney-piece, the room was wholly destitute. judging from appearances, it seemed clear that the master of rockmount was not a wealthy man. scarcely had mr. jack concluded his survey before the door was opened, and in came a middle-aged woman, carrying a supper-tray, which she proceeded to deposit on a centre table, and then wheeled the latter nearer the fire. the tray proved to contain a cold fowl, some slices of ham, butter, cheese, bread, and a bottle of claret. to our young friend, ravenously hungry and chilled to the marrow, it seemed a supper fit for the gods. "will you please to ring, sir, when you are ready for your coffee?" said the woman. and then he was left alone. not till half an hour had gone by did he ring the bell, by which time his spirits had gone up several degrees. intensely chagrined though he was by his failure to secure that for which he had risked so much, there was a relish about his adventure which he appreciated to the full, which appealed at once to his imagination and to the unconventional side of a character which had often vainly beat itself against the restrictions and restraints by which it was environed. he felt that to-night was a night to have lived for. it would dwell freshly in his memory to the last day of his life. for the space of one hour and a half he had been hand-and-glove with captain nightshade, the most redoubtable highwayman in all the north country; and if some people might think that was nothing to be proud of, it was at any rate something to remember. whether he was proud of it or no, he was conscious of a secret sense of elation, into the origin of which he had no wish to inquire. he only knew that he would not have foregone the night's experiences for a great deal. but the night was not yet over, although there seemed to be some danger of his forgetting that fact, so busy were his thoughts with the events of the last couple of hours. however, the bringing in of his coffee served to break up his reverie, and he began to wonder whether he was destined to see his unknown host. he was not left long in doubt. "mr. ellerslie, sir, will do himself the pleasure of waiting upon you in the course of a few minutes," said the woman. together with the coffee she had brought in a case of spirits, with the needful concomitants for the manufacture of grog, without a tumbler or two of which, by way of nightcap, our great-grandfathers rarely thought of wending their way bedward. while the woman cleared the table mr. jack went back to his chair near the fire. the blaze, as he bent towards it in musing mood, resting an elbow on either knee, lighted up a face that was very pleasant to look upon. in shape it was a rather long oval, the cheeks as smooth and rounded as those of a girl of twenty, with that pure healthy tint in them which nothing but plenty of exposure to sun and wind can impart; indeed, if you had looked closely, you would have seen that here and there they were slightly freckled. add to this a nose of the grecian type, long and straight, and a short upper lip with a marked cleft in it. his hair, which was brushed straight back from his forehead, so as to help in the formation of his queue, was of the color of filberts when at their ripest, with here and there a gleam of dead gold in it. his large eyes were of the deepest shade of hazel, heavily lashed, and with a wonderful velvety softness in them, which, when he was at all excited, would glow and kindle with a sort of inner flame, or, if his temper were roused--which it easily was--would flash with scornful lightnings, while the line between his brows deepened to a veritable furrow. for, truth to tell, mr. jack prentice was of a quick and somewhat fiery disposition; a little too ready, perhaps, to take offence; with an intense hatred for every kind of injustice, and a fine scorn, for the little meannesses and subterfuges of everyday life, the practice of which with many of us is so habitual and matter-of-course that we no longer recognize them for what they really are. but if master jack was a little too ready, so to speak, to clap his hand on the hilt of his rapier, he never bore any after-malice. his temper would flare out and be done with it with the suddenness of a summer storm, which has come and gone and given you a taste of its quality almost before you know what has happened. but we shall know more of "jack," generous, loyal, and true-hearted, before we have done with him. the door opened and mr. cope-ellerslie came in. his guest stood up and turned to receive him. the master of rockmount was a tall, thin, elderly man, apparently about sixty years old, with a pronounced stoop of the shoulders. his outer garment was a dark, heavy robe or gaberdine, which wrapped him from throat to ankle. his long, grizzled hair, parted down the middle, fell on either side over his ears, and rested on the collar of his robe; the crown of his head was covered with a small velvet skull cap. he wore a short vandyck beard and moustache, which, like his prominent eyebrows, were thickly flecked with gray. for the rest, his face, when seen from a little distance, looked like nothing so much as a mask carved out of ivory with the yellow tint of age upon it; but when, a little later, jack was enabled to view it close at hand, it was seen to be marked and lined with thousands of extremely fine and minute creases and wrinkles, as it might be the face of a man centuries old. but there was nothing old about the eyes, which were very bright and of a singularly penetrative quality. jack started involuntarily when his own traversed them. of whose eyes did they remind him? when and where had he seen that look before? was it in some dream which he had forgotten till they supplied the missing link? if so, all else had escaped him. hardly, however, had he time to ask himself these questions before his host, advancing with a grave inclination of the head, said: "welcome to rockmount, young gentleman. i am happy to be in a position to extend to you the hospitality of my humble roof. you are neither the first nor the second who, having lost his bearings in this remote district, has found shelter here. you were fortunate in there being no fog to-night; at such times to be lost on the moors is not merely unpleasant, but dangerous. i am sorry my people were not prepared to put before you fare of a more _recherché_ kind, but we are very isolated here, as you may imagine, and so few are my visitors that it would be folly to prepare for people who might never come. for my own part, i may add that i am no sybarite." there was a peculiarly hollow ring about mr. ellerslie's voice, as though it reached one from out of the depths of a cavern; and yet it seemed to his guest as if there was a note of half-familiarity in it, as if he had heard it somewhere before--it might be long ago. but that, of course, was absurd. while speaking, mr. ellerslie had advanced to the fire, and, motioning his guest to resume his seat, had himself taken possession of a chair on the opposite side of the hearth. then master jack made haste to express his gratitude for the hospitality so generously extended to him. "very prettily turned, young gentleman," said mr. ellerslie, with a nod of approval when he had come to an end. "you have good choice of words, and express yourself without any trace of that affectation which nowadays mars the speech of so many of our so-called bucks and young men of _ton_." the blush of ingenuous youth mantled in jack's cheeks for a moment or two. he could not help noticing--and in after-days it was a point which often recurred to him--that his host never smiled, that no flitting shade of expression ever changed the mask-like, bloodless features. they remained wholly unmoved in their set, waxen pallor. "and now," resumed mr. ellerslie, "will there be any impropriety in my asking my guest to favor me with his name? but if, for any reason whatever, he would prefer to remain incognito, he has merely to intimate as much and his reticence will be duly respected." mr. jack was prepared for the question, and he answered it without hesitation. "if, mr. ellerslie, we should ever meet in after-days, as i sincerely trust we may, and you should accost me by the name of frank nevill, you will find me answer to it." "it is a name i promise not to forget. you seem to have got _my_ name quite pat, mr. nevill." mr. nevill, or mr. prentice, or whatever his real name was, laughed a little uneasily. "it was from the--er--gentleman who acted as my guide and brought me here that i learnt it." "how you learnt it, my dear sir, is a matter of no moment, so long as you know it. but i am forgetting that the grog is waiting to be mixed. you will join me over a tumbler, of course?" but this his guest politely but firmly declined doing. mr. ellerslie was careful not to press him farther than good breeding sanctioned, which, however, did not hinder him from mixing a stiff and steaming tumbler for himself. having tasted it and apparently found it to his liking, he went back to his seat by the fire. "you were good enough just now, mr. nevill, to express a hope that you and i might some day meet again. such a meeting, although not beyond the bounds of possibility--as, indeed, in this world, what is?--hardly comes within the range of likelihood. you are just on the point of stepping into the arena--the struggle, the turmoil, the dust, the elation of victory or, it may be, the bitterness of defeat, lie still before you; while for me it is all over. i have come out of the fight with reversed arms, i have left the sweating crowd and its plaudits--plaudits never showered upon me!--behind me forever. here, in this rude hermitage--somewhat bleak, of a truth, in winter time--i hope to pass the remainder of my days, as mr. pope so aptly expresses, it, 'the world forgetting, by the world forgot.' therefore, my dear mr. nevill, the chances are that after to-night you and i are hardly likely to meet again. to you belong the golden possibilities of the future, to me nothing but memories." he stirred his grog, took a good pull at it, and then went on with his monologue:-- "rockmount has now been my home for a couple of years, and i have no desire to leave it. here i live in the utmost seclusion with my books and a few scientific instruments. an act of the blackest treachery drove me from the world, a ruined man, bankrupt in hope, in friendship, in means, with not one illusion left of all those with which----but i weary you with my egotistic maunderings. besides, the hour is late--i cannot expect you to be such a night-owl as i am--and doubtless you are hungering for your bed." nevill protested, a little mendaciously, that he was not at all tired. tired he was, but not sleepy. he would willingly have sat out the rest of the night with his singular host. presently mr. ellerslie, having finished the remainder of his grog, said, "by the way, towards which point of the compass are you desirous of bending your steps in the morning?" "if i could only find my way to the whinbarrow road, i should know where i was." "one of my fellows shall go with you and not leave you till he has put you into it. you have but to name your own hour for breakfast, and mrs. dobson will have it ready for you." he rose, as intimating that the moment for retiring had come. a light was burning in the entrance-hall, and two bed-candles had been placed in readiness, one of which mr. ellerslie proceeded to light. at the foot of the stairs he held out his hand. it was a long, lean, sinewy hand, nevill could not help noticing, and not at all like that of a man on whom age had in other respects set its unmistakable seal. "i am one of those mortals who have an uncomfortable habit of turning night into day," remarked the elder man as he clasped his guest's fingers. "i usually sit up till dawn is in the sky, and, as a consequence, i sleep till late in the forenoon. as you tell me that you want to be on your way at an early hour, i had better, perhaps, say both goodnight and goodbye here and now----ah, a mouse!" frank nevill gave a backward spring, and a little frightened cry escaped his lips. next moment the blood rushed to his face, and he felt as if he could have bitten his tongue out for betraying him as it had. but mr. ellerslie seemed to have noticed nothing. "we have not many such vermin, i am happy to say," he resumed after a momentary pause. "but these old country houses are seldom altogether free of them." and so presently they parted. mrs. dobson was awaiting nevill at the head of the stairs. "your room, sir, is the third door on the left down the corridor," she said. "at what hour would you be pleased to like breakfast?" "will eight o'clock be too early?" "no hour you may name will be either too early or too late, sir." "then eight o'clock let it be." thereupon the woman curtsied, wished him a respectful goodnight, and left him. as soon as he found himself in the room indicated, and with the door not merely shut but locked, he sat down with an air of weariness, almost of despondency. body and brain were alike tired out, yet never had he felt more wakeful than at that moment. even had he been in the habit of trying to analyze his emotions, which he certainly was not, the effort to do so would have puzzled him just then. the bitter consciousness that he had failed in the endeavor for which he had risked so much was always with him, lurking, as it were, in the background of his brain. he felt it like a dull, persistent ache which never quite let go its hold of him, whatever other subject might be occupying the forefront of his thoughts. and then, there were all the other events of the day just ended, which---- he started to his feet. "i shall have to-morrow and a hundred to-morrows in which i shall have nothing to do but think, and think, and think. if i begin the process to-night i shall not sleep a wink." as yet he had given neither a thought nor a glance to the room, but he now began to look about him with a little natural curiosity. it was a somewhat gloomy chamber, the walls having been originally painted a dull chocolate color, which had not improved with the passage of time. in one corner was a large four-poster bed, with furniture of dark moreen. the dressing-table of black oak was crowded with an assortment of toilet requirements and appurtenances, silver-mounted and of most elegant workmanship. then his wandering glances were arrested by something--a garment of snowy whiteness--which had been laid over the back of a chair. mr. nevill, crossing to it, took it up gingerly and opened it. it proved to be a fine lawn _chemise de nuit_, frilled and trimmed with beautiful lace--a garment such as a duchess might have worn, but certainly never intended to be worn by one of the opposite sex. our young friend dropped it as if it were a red-hot cinder, and, sinking into the nearest chair, covered his face with his hands. from head to foot he felt as if he were one huge blush. chapter iv. the squire of stanbrook. before proceeding to narrate the sequel of the strange adventure of the _soi-disant_ mr. frank nevill, it may be as well that the reader should be made acquainted with the circumstances to which was owing his appearance on the king's highway in the character of an amateur claude duval. at the time with which our narrative has to do, mr. ambrose cortelyon, commonly known as squire cortelyon, of stanbrook, an old family seat in one of the most northern counties of england, was well over his seventieth birthday. thrown by his horse more than twenty years before, he had not only broken his leg, but three or four of his ribs into the bargain. surgical science in those days, especially in country places, was not what it is now. his leg was badly set, with the result that from that time he had been a partial cripple, who when he walked any distance alone, had to do so with the help of a couple of stout sticks, but who usually preferred the arm of his factotum, andry luce, and one stick. andry--of whom we shall hear more later--was a man of forty, with a big, shaggy head and the torso of an athlete set on the short, bowed legs of a dwarf. further, he was dumb (the result of a fright when a child), a deficiency which only caused his employer to value him the more. he was clever with his pen and at figures, and kept the squire's accounts and wrote most of his letters, for mr. cortelyon hated pen work, and besides suffered occasionally from gout in his fingers. finally, andry filled up his spare time by dabbling in chemistry in an amateurish fashion, being quite content to experiment on the discoveries of others, and having no ambition to adventure on any of his own. a full-length oil painting of squire cortelyon, taken a short time before his accident, and still in existence, represents him as a thin, wiry-looking man of medium height, close shaven, with a long, narrow face--a handsome face, with its regular, clear-cut features, most people would call it; cold, unsympathetic light-blue eyes, and a dry, caustic smile. his dark, unpowdered hair, cut short in front, is doubtless gathered into a queue, only, as he stands facing the spectator, the picture fails to show it. he is dressed in a high-collared, swallow-tailed, chocolate-colored coat with gilt buttons. his waistcoat is of white satin, elaborately embroidered with sprays of flowers. his small-clothes, tight-fitting and of some dark woven material, reach to the ankle, where they are tied with a knot of ribbon and are supplemented by white silk stockings and buckled shoes. round his throat is wound a soft cravat of many folds; his shirt is frilled, and he wears lace ruffles at his wrists. he stands in an easy and not ungraceful posture, looking right into the spectator's eyes. in one hand he clasps his snuff-box, deprived of which life for him would have lost half its value. although squire cortelyon courted and loved a cheap popularity, at heart he was a man of a hard and griping disposition, whose chief object in life, more especially of late years, had been the accumulation of wealth in the shape of landed property. even in early life he had never either hunted or shot, but, for all that, he subscribed liberally to the nearest pack of hounds, as also--but less liberally--to the usual local charities. although he employed a couple of keepers, he did not preserve too strictly, a fact which tended to his popularity among his poorer neighbors, while having an opposite effect among those of his own standing in the county. in point of fact, three-fourths of the game on his estates was shot by his keepers and sent, under his direction, for sale to the nearest large town. when ambrose cortelyon, at the age of thirty-five, came into his patrimony, it was not only grievously burdened with debt, but, as far as mere acreage was concerned, owing to extravagant living on the part of his two immediate progenitors, had dwindled to little more than a third of what it had been sixty years before. from the first the new squire made up his mind that the follies of his father and grandfather should not be repeated in his case. from the first he set two objects definitely before him, and never allowed himself to lose sight of them. object number one was to wipe off the burden of debt he had inherited from his father. this, by the practice of rigid economy, he was enabled to do in the course of eight or ten years, after which he began to save. object number two was to become, in the course of time, a large landowner, even as his great-grandfather and his more remote ancestors right away back to the sixteenth century had been. thus, in the course of time it came to pass that ambrose cortelyon had become the owner of sundry considerable properties (not all of them situated in his own county, but none of them farther off than a day's ride) which, owing to one cause or another, had come into the market. every season--and what was true then seems equally true to-day--brought its own little crop of landed proprietors who, owing to improvidence or misfortune or both, had fallen upon evil days, and whenever there was a likely property in the neighborhood to be had a bargain, the squire, or his agent mr. piljoy, was always to the fore. with the former it was an article of faith that, for one reason or other, landed property would rise greatly in value in the course of the next generation or two, and so constitute a stable inheritance for those to come after him. in so believing the prescience with which he credited himself was undoubtedly at fault. many things were to happen during the next half-century of which not even the most far-seeing of the statesmen of those days had the slightest prevision. squire cortelyon was turned forty before he married. he fixed his mature affections on a banker's daughter, who brought him a dowry of ten thousand pounds, with the prospect of thirty thousand to follow at her father's demise. but three years later the bank in which mr. lowthian was senior partner failed, and the prospective thirty thousand went in the general smash. such a loss to such a man was undoubtedly a terrible blow. a couple of years later still his wife died, leaving him with one child,--a son. he had felt no particular affection for her while living, and he was not hypocrite enough to pretend to mourn her very deeply now she was dead. ambrose cortelyon was one of those men who never feel comfortable, or at home, in the presence of children, and as soon as master dick was old enough he was packed off to a public school, and for the next dozen or more years, except at holiday times, it was but little he saw either of his father or his home. from school he went to college, but with his twenty-first birthday his career at cambridge came to an end. the life his father intended him for was that of a country gentleman, with, perhaps, an m.p.-ship _in future_. where, then, would have been the use of wasting more time in competing for a degree which, even if he should succeed in taking it, would be of no after-value to him? far better that he should spend a season or two in town, perfecting himself in his french meanwhile--the country swarmed with _emigrés_ glad to give lessons for the merest pittance--and after that devote a couple of years to the grand tour. mr. cortelyon would have his son a man of the world, and neither a milksop nor a puritan. with his own hands he put a copy of "lord chesterfield's letters to his son" into dick's valise. "a book to profit by," he said. "let me adjure you to read and re-read it." dick felt more respect--which till he was grown-up had not been unmixed with awe--than affection for his father. all his life mr. cortelyon had been a reserved and undemonstrative man, and averse from any display of feeling or sentiment. still, that his son was far dearer to him than aught else in life, and that he looked with secret pride and hope to moulding him in accordance with his own views and wishes, can hardly be doubted. the mistake he made was in imagining that dick was fashioned on the same lines, mental and moral, as himself; whereas the lad took after his mother in almost every particular. easy-going, affable to all, led far more by his heart than his head, everybody's friend and nobody's enemy but his own--how was such a young man, with his handsome person, well-lined purse, and a certain element of rustic simplicity which still clung to him, to escape shipwreck in the great maelstrom of london in one form or another? at any rate, dick cortelyon did not escape shipwreck in so far as the utter ruin of his worldly prospects was concerned. he had not been a year in town before he committed the unpardonable folly--unpardonable in the only son of squire cortelyon--of marrying a fascinating little actress of no particular ability, who at that time was playing "chambermaid" parts at one of the patent theatres for a remuneration of a guinea a week. the marriage was kept by dick a profound secret both from his father and his friends. but it had to be told the former when, some months later, he summoned dick home on purpose to inform him that it was his wish--really tantamount to a command on the part of such a man--that he should "make up" to miss onoria flood, the only daughter of a neighbor, and do his best to secure her before any other suitor appeared on the scene. when the fatal news was broken to the squire he bundled master dick out of doors without a moment's hesitation. there and then he took an oath that he would never forgive him, nor ever set eyes on him again, and he was a man who prided himself on keeping his word. at once he stopped dick's allowance. some few years before these things came to pass, the squire's grand-niece--granddaughter of his sister agatha--an orphan left without means beyond a narrow pittance of eighty pounds a year, had come to live at stanbrook, no other home being open to her. although there was a difference of some six years in their ages, and although they had only met at intervals, they had been to each other like elder brother and younger sister. from the first miss baynard had conceived an almost passionate liking and admiration for her handsome, kind-hearted kinsman, and now that poor dick was leaving home never to return, she contrived to have a stolen interview with him before he went. although only just turned sixteen, she was in many things wise beyond her years, and before parting from dick she obtained from him an address at which, he told her, a letter would at any time find him. not being sure what his future movements might be, he gave her the address of his wife's uncle, who kept a tobacconist's shop in a street off holborn. that done, dick kissed her and went, and with his going half the sunshine seemed to vanish out of nell's life. at once dick cortelyon broke with his old life and all its associations. the fashionable world knew him no more: he disappeared, he went under. he took a couple of furnished rooms in an obscure neighborhood, and for the next few months his wife's earnings and the proceeds of the sale of his watch and trinkets kept the pair of them. but there came a time when his wife could earn no more; and then a son was born to him. in this contingency he deemed himself a fortunate man in being able to get a lot of copying to do for a law firm in chancery lane. but poor dick's trials and troubles--the fruit, as every reasonable person must admit, of his own headstrong folly--were not destined to be of long duration. when his child was about six months old he caught a fever, and died after a very short illness. one of his last requests was that when all was over his wife should write and inform miss baynard of his death. this mrs. cortelyon did not fail to do. her letter conveyed the double news of dick's death and the birth of his son. [illustration: "he gave her the address of his wife's uncle."] miss baynard at once took the letter to her uncle. his sallow face became still sallower as he read the account of his son's death, but a frown deeper than the girl had ever seen on them before darkened his features by the time he had come to the end of the letter. "had dick not been idiot enough to wed that play-acting huzzy," he said, "the lad would have been alive to-day. i owe his loss to her. neither her nor her brat will i ever countenance or acknowledge. tell her so from me. stay, though; you may send her this ten-pound note, with the assurance that it is the last money she will ever receive at my hands." a few days later the note was returned to the squire through the post, accompanied by a few unsigned lines to the effect that the widow of richard cortelyon would accept no help at the hands of the man who had treated her husband with such inhuman cruelty. not long after this miss baynard wrote to the widow, to the address furnished by her in her letter, mentioning how attached she had been to dick, and hinting delicately at the happiness it would afford her to send mrs. cortelyon a little monetary help now and again. but at the end of a fortnight her letter came back marked, "gone away--present address not known," and enclosed in an official envelope. it had been opened and resealed by the post-office authorities. as it happened, the letter fell into the squire's hands, who, noticing only the official envelope, opened it without perceiving that it was addressed to his niece. as a consequence he at once sent for her. after explaining how it happened that he had opened the letter, he continued: "i am astonished and annoyed, nell--very seriously annoyed--that, after what thou heard me say two or three weeks ago, thou should have chosen of thy own accord to communicate with this play-acting creature, and even to offer to help her out of thy own scanty means. fortunately, the woman has disappeared. no doubt she has gone back to the life and the companions that are most congenial to her--curses on her for a vile baggage! to her i owe it that my boy lies mouldering in the grave. never again, nell, on pain of offending me past forgiveness, do thou attempt to have aught to do with her. 'tis beneath thee to notice such creatures in any way--and she above all others." it was an injunction which nell--who had listened to his tirade with a sort of proud disdain and without a word of reply--determined to obey or disobey as circumstances might determine. for the present she was helpless to do more than she had done. unfortunately, she had mislaid the address given her by dick at parting, otherwise she might perhaps have been able to obtain tidings of mrs. cortelyon through the latter's uncle, the london tobacconist. chapter v. family matters. four years passed away without bringing any further tidings of the widow and her child, during all which time their names were not once mentioned between uncle and niece. by the latter their existence was by no means forgotten; she often thought about them, often longed to see them. whether it ever entered the mind of squire cortelyon that he had a living grandson was known to himself alone. he grew old and made no sign. meanwhile miss baynard had shot up from a lanky slip of a girl into a very beautiful young woman. when she first went to live at stanbrook, the squire, having no female element in his house of a higher status than that of housekeeper, engaged the services of mrs. budd--widow of the rev. onesimus budd--for the dual positions of _gouvernante_ and companion to his orphan niece. mrs. budd's duties as governess had long ago come to an end, but therewith she had assumed what to many people would have seemed the much more responsible and onerous post of chaperon. but, although a clever little woman in her way, mrs. budd was nothing if not easy-going. for her the wheels of existence were always well oiled. nothing disturbed her much. responsibility slid off her like water off a duck's back. life for her meant little more than a sufficiency of sofas fitted with the softest cushions. she was excessively good-natured, and, hating to be worried herself, was careful never to worry others. she and her charge got on capitally together, chiefly because she was too wise ever to offer any very strenuous opposition to the whims and vagaries of that self-willed young woman. a mild protest, by way of easement to her conscience, she did now and then venture upon, which, however, miss baynard would brush aside with as little effort or compunction as she would a cobweb. to some of squire cortelyon's neighbors it seemed an inconsistency on his part that he, who had packed off his son to school at the earliest possible age, should have taken to his hearth, and have kept her there, an orphan niece of no fortune, when he might so easily have rid himself of her in the same way that he had rid himself of dick. and certainly, as has been remarked, the squire was no lover of children, and was generally credited with not having an ounce of sentiment in his composition. for all that, miss baynard stayed on at stanbrook, knowing no other house, her great-uncle so far relaxing his ingrained parsimony on her account as to pay mrs. budd's salary without a murmur, and allow his niece a few--a very few--guineas a year by way of pocket-money. perhaps it might be said of ambrose cortelyon that he had never really cared but for one person, and that one his sister agatha, who had been the solitary ray of sunshine that had brightened the home-life of his youth--a youth repressed and stunted, and thrown back upon itself, but in all higher respects uncared for, under the rule of a tyrannical and passionate father, who was accustomed to flog him unmercifully for the most trivial offences, and of an indifferent, cold-hearted mother, who left her children to vegetate in the country for three parts of the year, while she led the life of a woman of fashion in town. but agatha cortelyon, in the course of time, had grown tired and sick of her life at home, and had ended by running away with, and becoming the wife of, an impecunious young lieutenant in a marching regiment. thereafter brother and sister had never met. the young wife had died three years later, leaving one daughter, who in her turn had grown up and married, but who had never been acknowledged or recognized in any way by her mother's family. she also had died young, her husband having pre-deceased her, leaving one child, the miss elinor baynard with whom we have now to do. not till then did ambrose cortelyon become aware of the existence of his grand-niece. he had heard at the time of his sister's death, but no further news having reference to her husband or child had reached him, nor had he ever felt the least inclination to seek for any. thus, to find himself with a girl of twelve, of whom he had never heard, thrown on his hands was for him anything but an agreeable surprise. immediately after her mother's funeral the child had been packed off to stanbrook by some half-cousins of her dead father--who had neither the means nor the will to keep her--with almost as little ceremony as if she had been a christmas hamper. the squire happened to be out riding when nell was put down by the coach at the gate of stanbrook, and it fell to mrs. dace, the housekeeper, to break the news to him on his return and hand him a letter from one of the half-cousins which the girl had brought with her. when, an hour later, the squire, in response to nell's timid knock at the library door, gruffly bade her enter, he was quite prepared to dislike her at first sight, and had already determined in his mind to at once pack her off to some cheap country school, and so rid himself, at any rate for some time to come, of her unwelcome presence under his roof. yet somehow he did neither one nor the other. was it because he was struck by a vague, elusive something in the girl's eyes, her air, her manner, and the way she carried her head, which brought vividly to mind the half-forgotten image of the dead-and-gone sister of his youth, that his determination to send her away presently melted into thin air and never again took shape in his thoughts? in any case, from that day forward stanbrook was nell's home; but that its being so was due not so much to the mere tie of relationship, by which her uncle set no great store, as to a sentimental recollection on his part, was what she had no knowledge of and would have found hard to credit. she had grown up self-willed and high-spirited, and with no small share of that determination of character--some people, chiefly such as had come into contact with it, stigmatized it as sheer obstinacy--for which the cortelyons had always been noted. but above and beyond that, she had an intense scorn for all that was mean, base, sordid, or double-faced, and she was never slow to give expression to it. for many of the small conventions and grandmotherly restrictions with which society at that period (leaving the present out of question) saw fit to hedge round its fledglings, she betrayed a fine indifference, going her own way without let or hindrance, and without deigning a thought to what others might say or think about her. that she should be regarded with favorable eyes by mothers with daughters about the same age as herself could hardly be expected. they averred that she set their darlings "a dangerous example"; but many of the darlings in question secretly envied her, and wished that a kind fate had allowed of their following her example. her uncle must be credited with allowing her to do pretty much as she liked. there was nothing strait-laced about the squire. he was a strenuous hater of shams in others, while not being without a few little weaknesses of his own; and his niece's somewhat wilful independence of character secretly delighted him, even when, as sometimes happened, it opposed itself to his own flinty will, and sparks resulted from the collision. between two people so constituted there could be and was no question of sentiment. from the first it had seemed to nell that her uncle simply tolerated her presence under his roof. he had taken her in because no other door was open to her, and because it would never have done for squire cortelyon's niece to have sought the shelter of the workhouse. his kindness, if kindness it could be called, had in it, or so she fancied, a certain grudging element which deprived it of whatever grace it might otherwise have had. she knew nothing of a certain strange, haunting likeness on her own part, nor how often, when her uncle's eyes seemed to be watching her every movement, it was not her he saw at all, but some one known to her only by hearsay, who had been in her grave these forty years or more. when dick cortelyon had been a little more than four years in his grave, the squire, acting on his doctor's advice, went up to london for the purpose of undergoing a certain operation. it was an operation which is not usually supposed to be attended with any particular risk, and mr. cortelyon was quite cheerful about it; but of course in such a case, although he did not seem to think so, the question of age becomes an important factor. at this time he was within a month or so of his seventy-second birthday, but, barring his permanent lameness, the result of an accident a score years before, he avouched himself to be--and he fully believed it--as brisk and robust as when he was only half that age. so up to town, accompanied by his niece, he travelled by easy stages in the roomy and comfortable, if somewhat lumbering, family chariot, which dated from his grandfather's time; while, perched in the rumble, tatham, his body-servant, made platonic love to miss baynard's elderly maid, who had not known what it was to feel a man's arm round her waist for more years than she cared to remember. comfortable lodgings in bloomsbury had been secured beforehand, and there the operation was presently performed by one of the most eminent surgeons of the day. everything went well with the squire, as he had felt sure from the first it would do, and at the end of six weeks he was back at stanbrook thoroughly cured. but miss baynard, when she found herself in london, set herself a task she had hitherto had no opportunity of undertaking. this was nothing less than the hunting-up of her dead cousin's widow and child. as already stated, she had lost the address given her by dick, and had never afterwards found it. she remembered that the name on the slip of paper, that of dick's wife's uncle, was mcmanus, and that the man was a tobacconist in a small way of business in one of the many turnings off holborn, but the name of the street itself she had clean forgotten. fortunately for her purpose, there was a sharp youth connected with the lodgings who, besides making himself generally useful indoors, was willing to run on errands of any and every kind for anybody disposed to pay for his services. him miss baynard engaged to discover for her what she wanted to know; nor had she long to wait. within a very few hours he placed in her hands the address of mr. mcmanus. chapter vi. a man who never forgave. to the address thus obtained by her--her uncle being now well on the road to recovery--miss baynard went next afternoon in a hackney-coach, accompanied by her maid. mr. mcmanus, a little, old, and very snuffy man, with a shrewd but kindly expression, readily furnished her with the information asked for, after nell had introduced herself and told him for what purpose she wanted it. "ah, poor lass! i'm sadly afraid she's not long for this world," remarked the old fellow with a melancholy shake of the head, in allusion to dick's widow. "is she so ill as that?" queried nell, thoroughly shocked. "aye, that is she. long afore next year at this time the daisies'll be growin' over her grave. she caught a chill last christmas, and it settled on her chest, which was always delicate, and now--why now, as i say, all the doctors in the world couldn't set her on her feet again." "i cannot tell you how grieved i am to hear this. and the boy--her child--what of him?" "oh, he's as right as a trivet. a famous young shaver, and no mistake. there's nothing the matter with him." miss baynard drove direct from holborn to the address given her, which was lawn cottage, chelsea. there marjory cortelyon rented a couple of rooms, a middle-aged widow, mrs. mardin by name, being at once her landlady and her nurse. nell, having sent in her name, was presently admitted to the invalid's little sitting-room, with its pleasant outlook across a wide sweep of sunny meadows, long ago covered with bricks and mortar. the ex-actress lay on a couch near the window, a frail figure, wasted by illness to little more than skin and bone. that she had been very pretty once on a time was still plainly evident, and in her large, lustrous eyes, sunken though they were, nell read something which went direct to her heart. there had never been anything meretricious or tawdry about her, otherwise dick cortelyon would not have made her his wife. she had been good and pure, and, in her way, a lady. nell, after pausing on the threshold for a couple of seconds while she took in the scene, went quickly forward and, dropping on one knee by the couch, bent over and kissed the dying woman. tears dimmed her eyes, and a few moments passed before a word would come. indeed, marjory was the first to speak. at the touch of nell's lips her ivory cheeks flushed, and a lovely smile played for a few seconds round her mouth. "my dick loved you very dearly, and no wonder," she said softly. "i have often longed to see you, and i'm sure i shall die happier now that i have done so." nell's visit lasted upwards of an hour. she explained to marjory how it happened that she had been unable either to communicate with her or to visit her before. greatly to her disappointment, young evan was from home, he having been taken into the country to spend a few days with a married sister of marjory's, but nell was told that if she chose to come again in a week's time he would then be back, and this she promised herself that she certainly would do. by and by nell said: "and now, marjory dear, you must allow me to renew the offer made by me in the letter which failed to find you. although you do not see your way to accept pecuniary help from mr. cortelyon, there is no reason in the world why you should not accept it from me, and i am quite sure that if poor dear dick could speak to you from the grave he would agree with all i say. that he left you very poorly off, although through no fault of his own, i know full well. therefore, i say again, why not----" the sick woman held up one of her transparent hands. "you are kindness itself, miss baynard," she said, "and were i in want of help, you would be the first person to whom i would appeal; but i am not in want of anything. i have everything i need, and more, thanks to the generosity of mr. geoffrey dare." "of mr. geoffrey dare?" echoed nell. "did dick never speak of him to you?" "not to my knowledge; but you must remember that when dick first came to london i was hardly out of the schoolroom, and that we saw very little of him at stanbrook afterwards, before that last visit of all, with its unhappy ending." "well, my husband and geoff dare--we always used to call him and speak of him as 'geoff'--were like brothers (not that all brothers hit it off together by any means), and of all dick's many fine friends he was the only that was in the secret of our wedding. it was a secret he told to nobody, and when dick's father cast him off and hard times came, he remained just the same geoff that he had always been; not the least bit of change did we ever find in him. then, when my child was born, nothing would suit him but that he must stand godfather to it. all through dick's illness, which lasted a matter of four months, he would leave his gayeties and engagements at the other end of the town--we were living at that time in a couple of rooms in clerkenwell--and come two or three times a week to sit with him and cheer him up. and when all was over, it was his money that helped to bury my husband, and it was on his arm that i leaned as i stood by the grave-side--he and i by our two selves. is there any one like him in the world, i wonder?" she sank back exhausted; but a little wine and water which miss baynard proceeded to administer speedily revived her. then said nell: "judging from what you tell me, mr. dare must indeed be a friend among a thousand, and for what he has done for you and yours i honor and respect him. now, however, that you and i have found each other, there is no reason why you should any longer burden his generosity. you and i, my dear marjory, are cousins; dick and i, as you know, loved each other like brother and sister; consequently, it is to me, and to me only, that you and evan ought to look in time to come." a faint smile, it might almost be termed a smile of amusement, lighted up the sick woman's face. "'tis very evident that you don't know geoff dare, or you would not talk like that," she said. "why, merely for me to hint at such a thing would turn him into a thundercloud, and then there would be an explosion fit to bring the roof off. oh, he has a fine temper of his own, i can tell you! and besides and worse than all, it would cut him to the quick, and that is what i would never be a party to doing. then again, dear miss baynard, it isn't as if he was a poor man. in that case what you urge would bear twice thinking about. but geoff is anything but poor, although--so dick used to say--far over-fond of the gaming table and the race-course, like most young bucks of the day." nell sat silent, if not convinced. the ground, so to speak, had been cut from under her, and she was at a loss what to say next. presently mrs. cortelyon spoke again. "while we are talking about mr. dare, there is something else with which he is concerned that i may as well tell you about, as my doing so may perhaps prevent any misunderstanding in time to come." she closed her eyes for a few seconds while she inhaled her smelling-salts. then she went on: "although both the doctor and mrs. mardin try to keep the truth from me, i am not deceived. that my days are numbered, that a very few weeks will bring the end, i know full well--and mr. dare knows it too. the last time he was here i challenged him with the truth, and he could not deny it. it was the uncertainty about my child's future, which lay like a dead weight at my heart, that impelled me to do so. but he--god bless him for it!--at once put my mind at rest on that score. he gave me his solemn promise that when i am gone he will act a father's part by his dead friend's child. he will bring up evan as if he were his own son. that the boy is his godson i have already told you." "but what if evan's grandfather should some day change his mind and want to claim him?" the question sprang to nell's lips almost before she knew that it had formed itself in her mind. an angry light leapt into the young widow's eyes; a spot of vivid red flamed out in either cheek. for a moment or two she bit her nether lip hard, as if thereby to control her emotion. then she said: "if i thought there was any likelihood of my darling ever falling into the hands of that cruel and wicked old man, i am quite sure that i should never rest in my grave. oh, if only, when i am dead, i may be allowed to haunt him! but you do not think, do you, dear miss baynard, that he is ever likely to want to claim evan?" "one never can tell what may happen. even the most self-willed people sometimes see reason to change their mind. my uncle is an old man, and evan is his lineal heir. he has neither child nor grandchild but him. what more natural than that he should some day turn round, hold out his arms, and say: 'the past is dead and buried. come to me. you belong to me and to me only. i am rich, and all that i have is yours?' what is to hinder such a thing from coming to pass?" mrs. cortelyon remained silent for a few moments as if considering the picture thus presented to her. then she said: "when geoff comes next i must talk to him about it. you have frightened me. neither he nor i have dreamt of such a possibility. when i am dead the child must disappear, he must be hidden away by geoff where the squire, should he ever want to do so, could not find him. rather, i truly believe, could i bear to see evan stark in his coffin than walking hand in hand with that flinty-hearted old man. i never hated any one in my life as i hate him, and i shall keep on hating him after i am dead." miss baynard paid two more visits to lawn cottage before the time came for her and her uncle to go back to stanbrook. evan was at home on both occasions, and on both occasions they went together for a long walk. the boy took to her from the first. he was a handsome, healthy child, and--or so it seemed to nell--wonderfully like what his father must have been at the same age. she would have liked dearly to take him and set him down suddenly in front of the squire, and leave the rest to nature's prompting, but such a course was out of the question. all she could do was to extort a promise from mrs. cortelyon that if that should come to pass which she herself asserted to be inevitable, and the boy before long be left motherless, then should she, nell, be informed, either by mr. dare or mr. mcmanus, where he could at any time be found, and should be allowed to have access to him as often as she might feel disposed to claim the privilege. when the time came for the two women to say goodbye, both knew that the parting was a final one, but not a word was said by either to that effect. both feigned a cheerfulness which was the last thing in the heart of either, and it was a relief to both when the ordeal was over and the door shut between them. then came the time for tears. before leaving town nell paid a second visit to mr. mcmanus, and got him to promise to write to her as soon as all was over. it was a promise the old tobacconist faithfully kept, and nell had only been six weeks back at home when the fatal tidings reached her. after a little time given to tears in the solitude of her room, she dried her eyes and went in search of her uncle. she found him in the library, dusting and gloating over one of his cases of coins. he looked up sourly as the door opened. when so engaged he did not like being interrupted, but for that nell cared not at all. walking directly up to the table, she said without preface: "uncle, news has just reached me of the death of poor dick's widow. she died of consumption three days ago." the squire dropped his duster, and, leaning back in his chair, grasped an arm of it with either hand, and turned his cold eyes full upon her. "and pray, miss baynard, may i ask in what way the news concerns me?" he had not called her "miss baynard" since her last mention of her cousin's name more than four years before, and nell did not forget it. but she was in no wise daunted. "if you choose to consider that the death of your son's wife is no concern of yours, so be it. that is a matter between yourself and your conscience. but, in case the fact should have escaped your memory, i may be allowed to remind you that dick left a child behind him--a son--who is now both fatherless and motherless." "and what have i to do with that?" "everything. he is your grandson, your sole descendant, your natural heir. he is flesh of your flesh, bone of your bone, and ought to be dearer to you than all the world beside. poor dick died years ago. why avenge his fault, if fault it was, on his innocent child? think, uncle, think and----" he brought down his fist heavily on the table. "think, girl, say'st thou? zounds! there's no need for me to think. my mind was made up long ago, and nothing thou can'st urge will move me from it. i tell thee, my grandson is no more to me than the veriest beggar's brat that crawls in a london gutter. never will i acknowledge him, or have aught to do with him in any way. and if thou hast any regard left for me, or any care for my displeasure, thou wilt never speak of him in my presence again. as thou ought to have found out by now, i am a man who never forgives." chapter vii. who shall be heir? from that day forward ambrose cortelyon seemed to regard his niece with a certain amount of suspicion and distrust, but it was a distrust that found no expression in words, and although nell was conscious of an undefinable change in her uncle's manner towards her, she was wholly at a loss to what cause to attribute it. the squire was a man who expected those of his household, and all who were in any way dependent on him, not merely to believe as he believed, but to share his conviction that whatever decision he might come to in any given set of circumstances was the right one, and that all who differed from him were, theoretically, either fools or worse. in short, he was one of that numerous class who have a firm belief in their own infallibility in all the concerns of life; and as he was an autocrat in his own domain, with nobody to contradict him, it was not to be expected that his opinion of himself would become less confirmed with advancing years. when, therefore, his niece chose to impugn his action in a certain affair--and he now called to mind that it was not the first time she had done so--and even to imply, not by her words but by her manner, that his treatment of his grandson, or, to speak correctly, his absolute neglect of him, was both cruel and unjust, he was not, at any rate at first, so much angered as amazed at her audacity in daring to set up her feeble girl's will in opposition to his own, and, indeed, at her presumption in venturing to question his decision in any way. nor, when he came to think the matter over at his leisure, did his surprise, not unleavened with resentment, diminish. he told himself that he could not have believed it of her; she had hurt him in a tender place, and he felt as if she could never be quite the same to him again as she had been in the past: and she never was. it is just possible that the squire's little smoulder of resentment against his niece would gradually have died out had he not been beset by a certain underlying consciousness, of which he vainly strove to rid himself, that all through nell had been undeniably in the right and he indisputably in the wrong. had he but seen his way to overlook his son's _mésalliance_, and have brought him and his wife to stanbrook, in all probability dick would still have been living. and then, with regard to this grandson of his, this child of a play-acting mother---- but when he got as far as that in his musings his passion seemed to choke him. no, he had done right, quite right; no other course was open to him. come what might, he would never acknowledge the brat. his blood was tainted; he was no true cortelyon. but all his arguing with himself did not suffice to pluck out the hidden thorn; it was still there, rankling in his flesh. but if he could not get rid of it, no one save himself should know of its existence, and he swore a great oath that in the matter of his grandson he would not go back from his word. a day or two after her interview with her uncle nell replied to mr. mcmanus's letter. what she wished him to do was to inform mr. dare that he need be under no apprehension that mr. cortelyon would claim his grandson or interfere in any way with the boy's future. she further asked to be informed of the latter's address when mr. dare should have settled upon a home for him. to this the old tobacconist replied in the course of a week or two. what he had to tell her was that for the present mr. dare had decided to let evan remain at lawn cottage in the care of mrs. mardin; but that should he later think well to remove the child, miss baynard should be duly advised of the change. and there for the present the matter rested. when squire cortelyon found himself once more at home, he went back to his old mode of life with an added relish. he knew now that he had just escaped a great danger. he had been led to believe that the operation he was advised to undergo was of a very simple nature, but a casual remark of the great london doctor, which he chanced to overhear, had served to open his eyes after a very uncomfortable fashion. in reality, the operation was anything but a simple one, in view of possible consequences in the case of a man of threescore years and ten. however, all is well that ends well. the dreaded consequences had not developed themselves. he had come back home feeling a new man, with every prospect of a renewed lease of life, and he smiled grimly to himself to think how "that scoundrel of a banks"--his local medico--had succeeded in thoroughly hoodwinking him. so he went back to the old familiar routine as if there had never been a break in it, save that life seemed to have taken on an added sweetness now that he knew what he had escaped. he trembled when he thought of the risk he had run, not merely in one way, but in another, for had the operation had a fatal termination he would have died intestate (he had torn up his will after his quarrel with dick and had never made another), in which case his detested grandson would have been his heir-at-law and have inherited everything. it was enough to put him in a cold sweat when he thought of it. of course, the day would come when he could no longer defer asking himself the question, "to whom or to what shall i leave my property?" but it was an uncomfortable question to face, and a difficult one to answer; so, as there seemed no immediate need for answering it, he shelved it till what he chose to term "a more convenient time." pleasant to him were those long forenoons in the library, with no company save that of andry luce, who kept his accounts, looked after his rents, and to whom he dictated his correspondence. pleasant it was, with the help of andry's sturdy arm, to stroll slowly about the grounds, watching the gardeners and laborers at their work, chatting with his bailiff, and giving his orders about this or the other. not less pleasant was it, when the fit took him, to have himself driven in his old shandrydan to one or other of his outlying properties, some of which lay many miles away, and satisfy himself that everything was going on as it should do, which meant so far as the interests of his own pocket were concerned. but when the weather was bad, and he could not get out of doors, he had other occupations wherewith to engage his time. he was an ardent numismatist, and was very proud of his collection of coins and medals, to which he kept adding from time to time as opportunity served. he was also something of a bibliophile, and possessed a small but rather choice collection of rare books and illuminated mss. he would gloat over these treasures as a miser gloats over his gold, and he derived the most intense satisfaction from the belief (which on no account would he have had disturbed) that his collections contained two or three absolutely unique specimens in the way of coins such as no other cabinet could match. and so some months passed away, and no such person as young evan cortelyon might have been in existence for any mention of him between uncle and niece. then, as the winter crept springward, the squire became unpleasantly conscious that his physical powers were slowly, almost imperceptibly, declining. for some little time he succeeded in persuading himself that it was a mere temporary _faiblesse_ from which he was suffering, due probably, in a great measure, to the moist oppressiveness of an unhealthy season, which was carrying off numbers of younger people than he. but when, at length, the weather vane on the stables veered from southwest to northeast, and stuck there day after day, as if it would never move again, bringing with it dry, sunny morns, and crisp, bracing nights, he was obliged to seek for some other excuse for his growing weakness. not yet, however, would he give in and summon dr. banks. although the son on whom he had at one time built such hopes was dead and gone, not for years had existence been sweeter to him than it was just then, and yet, to all seeming, it was gradually but surely slipping away from him. he felt as if a great wrong were being done him. what was providence about? at length his weakness so far increased that he reluctantly authorized andry to summon dr. banks, who had attended him, off and on, from the date of his accident, and in the course of years had extracted more guineas from his purse than the squire cared to reckon up. "you have been very remiss, mr. cortelyon, very remiss indeed," said the fussy little rural practitioner when he had completed his brief examination, and had listened to the squire's recital of his symptoms. "you ought to have sent for me six weeks ago, if not earlier than that. there has been a serious lowering of the vital forces, and, at your time of life----" "at my time of life! damme! what d'ye mean? you don't mean to call me an old man, and i not seventy-three till next birthday! zounds! i'm only just in my prime. banks, you're an ass! it will be time enough for you to begin to hint at my age--only to hint at it, mind you--a dozen years hence." dr. banks did his best, but his best in this instance proved of no avail. the diminution of strength still went slowly on. at length the squire became too weak to go out of doors, even for a drive, and then after a time the day came when he was unable to leave his bedroom. at dr. banks's request, that well-known physician, dr. mills, of lanchester, was called into consultation, but all he could do, after making one or two minor suggestions, was to accord his full approval to the treatment already adopted by his colleague. "i won't pay you your fee, doctor--hang me if i will, sir--till you tell me what you think of me," said the squire in his masterful way when dr. mills was ready to go. "well, squire, to be frank with you, i think your condition a somewhat grave one. but while there's life there's hope, you know. yes, yes, we mustn't give up hope on any account; and you could not be in better hands than those of my friend dr. banks." "you would advise me to make my will, eh?" the cunning smile with which he leered up into the physician's face hid a terrible anxiety at the back of it. the doctor pursed out his lips. "in such matters it is always advisable to be prepared, to take time by the forelock, as one may say. and in your case, mr. cortelyon, i am inclined to think--um--well, yes, that any testamentary arrangements you may have to make should not----" "i understand," broke in the squire with a wave of his hand. "not a word more is needed. here is your fee. i am obliged to you for your frankness; and so good-day to ye." he felt as if sentence of death had just been pronounced on him. yes, it was no longer possible to cheat himself with vain hopes of recovery. the dread fact that for him life's business was nearly over could no longer be ignored, and the sooner he clasped it to him and made himself familiar with its grim visage, the better it would be for him during the little time he could call his own. he had lately had private information from piljoy that a certain property, on which for years he had set longing eyes, would be in the market before another twelvemonth was over, and yet he, ambrose cortelyon, would not be there to bid for it! again he asked himself what providence was about. still, however much he might rail and rebel in secret at the dark prospect before him, knowing all the while how childish and futile it was to do so, his hard face in nowise softened to those about him, and he betrayed no slackness of interest in any of the little everyday affairs that went on around him. but another spectre, besides that grisly one which dr. mills's words had called up, began to haunt him, hovering round his pillow by night, and never being far from his elbow between daybreak and dark. there was only one way of exorcising it, as he knew full well, and that was by making his will. the entail had been cut off in his grandfather's time, sixty years before. how hateful soever the necessity might be, it was one which could not with safety be much longer delayed, unless he wished that all he might die worth should go to his disowned and unknown grandson. beyond him and nell, so far as he knew, he had not a single living relative. whom, then, should he make his heir? for him it was fast becoming the question of questions. oh, it was hard, hard, while he was still in what, rightly considered, ought to be looked upon as the prime of life, to have to part from the earthly possessions he loved so well, and which had cost him such long and painful scraping to accumulate! but there was no help for it; leave them he must; the fatal fiat had gone forth. at times, it may be, his heart sent forth an anguished cry for his dead son; but if such were the case, it in nowise served to mitigate the rancor, almost inhuman in its bitterness, with which he regarded the dead man's child. he had spoken no more than the truth when he said that he never forgave. it was just about this time that the hon. mrs. bullivant, having heard of his illness, drove over from uplands to see him. the squire had never been very popular among those of his own class, and even now, when he was reported to be in failing health, there were not many callers at stanbrook. such as there were got no farther than the entrance hall, for in each case the squire, on the plea of illness, excused himself from seeing them, and probably the majority of them were as well pleased that he did so. but of the hon. mrs. bullivant a special exception was made. she was shown up into his bedroom, where the squire lay in his huge four-poster, propped up with pillows, and there she stayed for upwards of an hour. for this, however, there was a reason. mrs. bullivant, when known to the world as miss onoria flood, the only daughter and heiress of a wealthy brewer, was the lady chosen by mr. cortelyon for his son's prospective wife. he and mr. flood were neighbors, so to speak, for only a short half-dozen miles divided uplands from stanbrook, and when once the subject was broached--by the squire in the first instance--they were not long in coming to a quiet understanding between themselves. then mr. flood dropped a hint of what was in the wind to onoria, who was a dutiful daughter, and at once fell in with her father's views. after that, all the squire had to do was to recall his son from london and break the news to him. to mr. cortelyon the match seemed an eminently desirable one. although the brewer did not come of a county family, he was most respectably connected, having one brother an archdeacon, and another high up in the service of john company. but the great attraction of all lay in the fact that on coming of age onoria would be entitled to a legacy of twenty thousand pounds bequeathed her by her grandfather. further, she would be her father's sole heiress (he had flood's word for that); and as the brewer was of a gouty habit and somewhat plethoric withal, it seemed not unlikely that---- yes, in every way a most desirable match. but we know what happened when dick was told his father's goodwill and pleasure in the matter. however willing under other circumstances he might have been to fall in with the old man's views, he was precluded from doing so by the simple fact that he was already a married man. thereupon followed the quarrel, and all that sad succession of events with which we are already acquainted. but onoria did not go long unwedded. before six months had gone by she became the wife of the hon. hector bullivant, the second son of lord cossington, an impecunious peer, whose estates were mortgaged up to the hilt. neither affection nor sentiment had anything to do with the union. onoria married for position, the hon. hector for money. everybody who knew the young couple said that what followed was only what they had prophesied all along, so easy is it to be wise after the event. the hon. hector was a notorious gambler and _roué_, and within a couple of years of his marriage he had contrived to dissipate his wife's fortune to the last guinea. a few months later he came by his end in a drunken brawl, greatly to the relief of everybody connected with him, leaving behind him one child, a boy a little over twelve months old. then the widow went back home to her father, taking her son with her. not long afterwards mr. flood was carried off in a fit of apoplexy. when his will was read it was a terrible disappointment to onoria to find that, instead of coming in for everything, as she had all along been led to expect she would, she was merely left an income of six hundred a year, together with the uplands estate, and that everything else was left in trust for her son. she had known that her father was not likely to be a long liver, and, backed up by his wealth, she had looked forward to a brilliant _rentrée_ into london society at no very distant date, with, it may be, a second and more brilliant marriage in the background. it was, indeed, a terrible disappointment. mrs. bullivant at this period of her life was what is generally understood by the term "a fine woman," that is to say, she was built on ample lines, and was of generous proportions. later on she would tend to obesity. she was black-eyed and black-haired, with regular features of a cold, statuesque type, which, as she was essentially unemotional and a thorough specimen of ingrained selfishness, formed a fair enough index to her disposition. such was the woman who came one day to see squire cortelyon on what she had been given to understand was likely to be his deathbed. as a matter of course, she knew of the quarrel between father and son, of dick's untimely death, and of his having left a widow and a child whom the old man refused to acknowledge or to recognize in any way. she and the squire had not met since a little while before her marriage; still, it seemed only what was due to good feeling and neighborly sympathy, more especially in view of what had happened in the past, that she should be desirous of seeing him once again before it was too late. if there was any other motive, or half-motive, at work below the surface, she would hardly have confessed its existence even to herself. as already stated, the interview between her and the squire lasted over an hour. by the time it came to an end the sick man was pretty well exhausted; still, he was glad, he was very glad, that he had seen her. her visit had supplied him with a ray of light where all had been darkness before. she was a woman after his own heart--energetic, capable, a man as regarded business ability, of a like saving disposition and with an ambition similar to his own; that is to say, to become a great landed proprietor, or rather, that her son should become one when he grew up and came into his inheritance. he did not think that flood had treated her as handsomely as he ought to have done. still, uplands was hers--a fine property, and one which could not have come into more capable hands. had the fates proved propitious, onoria would have been his daughter-in-law; it was owing to no fault of hers that she was not; consequently she might, in a sense, be said to have a claim upon him. why should he not leave her a life-interest in his landed property, the same, at her decease, to devolve upon her son, on condition of his adding the name of cortelyon to his present one? but it was a project not to be hastily decided upon. he would think it over. and he did. chapter viii. "a woman of a thousand." about this time tatham, the squire's body-servant, fell ill, and at his own request was allowed to leave stanbrook for awhile and go to stay with his married sister, who lived in the next county. hitherto he and miss baynard had shared the duties of the sick-room between them, and as the squire, instead of gathering strength, seemed to be slowly losing what little was left him, it was evident that some one must be found to fill tatham's place during his unavoidable absence. now in the village--a populous and thriving one--the outlying houses of which lay within a bowshot of the park gates of stanbrook, there dwelt at this time a certain mrs. dinkel, herself english, but the widow of a dutchman who had formerly been head gardener at heronscourt, the seat of sir willoughby freke. mrs. dinkel had been left with enough to keep her comfortably in humble village fashion, but being at the time of her husband's death scarcely beyond middle age, and of an active disposition, she presently began to cast about for some way not merely of adding to her limited income, but of banishing from her life the idleness which her soul abhorred. being determined to find work, she took the first chance that came in her way, which was to nurse a young lady laid up with a virulent fever. and thus it fell out that within a couple of years of that time mrs. dinkel's name had become well known throughout a wide circle of provincial society as that of a woman with a born gift for nursing. like many others of both sexes, she had not discovered her _métier_ till late in life, but having once found it, she stuck to it. still, her services were not at the beck and call of anybody, nor were they to be bought merely by the offer of a certain number of guineas. she would only go out to nurse among gentlefolk, or, as she termed them, "the quality," and whenever none of the quality stood in need of her services she preferred to stay at home with folded hands, doing nothing, till they should send for her. when a message from stanbrook one day reached her, she responded to it with alacrity. to the squire it seemed very inconsiderate on tatham's part that he should choose to fall ill at such a time, but as he supposed there was no help for it, it mattered not a jot to him, he said, whom they supplied him with by way of temporary substitute. so, at the express instance of dr. banks, mrs. dinkel was sent for. she was a woman of few words and strong nerve, who seemed never to require more than two hours' sleep out of the twenty-four. all her thoughts and attention were given to her patient; she moved about the sick room almost as silently as a shadow, and before long the squire found her presence far more soothing, and her ministrations far more gentle, than those of tatham had been. nell took to mrs. dinkel from the first. they seemed to understand each other instinctively. the sick man was the bond between them. each in her separate way had for the time being vowed herself to his service. a few days later, and mr. cortelyon had finally made up his mind, bitter as the need for doing so was to him. but it was indeed high time that he should come to some conclusion, for the sands of life were now beginning to run very low indeed, and he knew it. what but a little while before had been a suggestion--not emanating from any outside source, but his own suggestion to himself--had now become a determination. to mrs. bullivant in the first place, and to her son after her, he would bequeath three-fourths of everything he was worth. he was quite aware that, in the ordinary course of things--his grandson being out of the running--his niece's claim upon him ought to have had priority of that of everybody else. and he told himself that it should have had if only nell had been a clear-headed, sensible, businesslike woman of the type of onoria bullivant. unfortunately, she was nothing of the kind. instead, her head was crammed full of high-flown, sentimental, and quixotic notions (he prided himself on having read her thoroughly), and he felt morally sure that if he were to leave her any large lump sum, say fifteen or twenty thousand pounds, by way of legacy, she would be quite capable, when she found that master evan had been left out in the cold, of making over a big slice, perhaps even the whole of it, for the benefit of the brat. such a result as that must on no account be allowed to come to pass. what he would do was, to invest a certain number of thousands in her name in the funds, just enough to bring in about three hundred a year, and allow her the interest to live upon. with such an income she could not do much harm, or what the squire designated to himself as harm. should she be fool enough to take the boy to live with her, and assume the responsibility of his future, why, she was welcome to do so. but owner of stanbrook and barrowmead, and of his latest purchase, that big property on the yorkshire border, his grandson never should be. thus it one day came to pass that mrs. bullivant received a note written by andry luce, asking her, if convenient, to drive over next day to stanbrook in time for luncheon, and take her son with her. the widow was a shrewd woman, and it seemed to her that such a note was capable of but one interpretation, and as she drove through the country lanes next day on her way to the hall her heart beat high with hopes, which, however wanting in substance they might be, were none the less _couleur de rose_. in point of fact, before causing his testamentary dispositions to be recorded in black and white the squire was desirous of taking stock of the youngster whom he was proposing to constitute his heir. if he should prove to be a weak, puling child, or betray any signs of delicacy of constitution, why, in that case that there would be good reason for reconsidering his decision. as it turned out, the squire had no cause for uneasiness on that score. young gavin bullivant, who had just entered on his fifth year, looked as strong and sturdy as an oak sapling. he was a bright-eyed, apple-cheeked lad, both inquisitive and acquisitive by natural disposition, and not knowing what shyness meant. he was very like his mother, but more in expression than features, and at times one caught a far-off hint of something in his face, at once hard and cunning, which seemed curiously out of keeping with his years. it was as though a very old man--and not a good old man either--was peering at you from behind a beautiful mask of childhood. "not much likeness here to the late lamented--hey?" queried the squire after a good stare at him, which the boy returned with interest. mr. cortleyon had only met the hon. hector on one occasion, at a sale of some of lord cossington's stock, and had felt no desire to cultivate his acquaintance. "it may seem like self-flattery to say so," replied mrs. bullivant with a complacent smile, "but both in looks and disposition dear gavin takes wholly after me. even his grandfather cannot help admitting as much." then the squire proceeded to put several questions to the lad, which he answered with promptitude and aplomb. he betrayed no timidity in the presence of the sick man, although to many a child of his age the latter would have seemed a sufficiently formidable object, with his parchment-like skin, his hollow cheeks, his heavy, grizzled eyebrows, which seemed bent in a perpetual frown, and the strange half-fierce, half-pathetic eyes beneath them, in which the flame of life seemed to burn all the more strongly just now because it was so soon to be extinguished forever. after that gavin was planted in the big easy-chair, with a supply of sweet cakes to keep him quiet while his mother and the squire talked together in confidential fashion. but it was not in gavin to keep quiet for any length of time, and hardly had the last cake gone the way of the rest before he had slid from his perch to the ground, bent on a more minute inspection of the room and its contents than he had yet been able to give them. so, while the two elder people talked together in low tones, he went about his self-imposed task, examining this object and the other, opening every drawer that was unlocked in the big escritoire and making a study of its contents, and in all respects making himself thoroughly at home. at the end of three-quarters of an hour mrs. bullivant rose to take her leave, for the squire was showing signs of fatigue. there was upon her a sense of disappointment, for nothing of a confidential nature had fallen from the sick man's lips, and she was still at a loss to imagine not merely why she had been sent for, but why she had been asked to bring gavin with her. sick people are subject to strange whims, but surely there was something more than a whim at the back of mr. cortelyon's request to see her son! the squire's keen eyes seemed to be reading her thoughts. "onoria," he said--and he was holding her hand as he spoke--"onoria, i am about to make my will, a new one, for i destroyed the old one some years ago and i have sent for you to-day in order to tell you that it is my intention to bequeath you the sum of three thousand pounds. nor will the boy be forgotten, as you will find when my testament comes to be read. no thanks, please--they would only worry me, and--and i can't afford to be worried nowadays." mrs. bullivant raised the hand that was holding hers to her lips and kissed it. "dear mr. cortelyon," she said, and for once her voice had, or seemed to have, a tremor in it, "although you forbid me to thank you for your act of noble generosity to me and my son, you cannot, at any rate, hinder me from remembering you in my prayers." [illustration: "his mother now produced the squire's watch and appendages."] a cynical smile lighted up the squire's haggard face. perhaps the picture of mrs. bullivant on her knees, returning thanks for a thumping legacy--for that was the form her remembrance of him would take, if it took any--struck him as being a trifle incongruous. next moment an exclamation escaped him. he had suddenly missed his big gold watch, with its pendant of seals and trinkets, which he was in the habit of keeping within reach on the little table by his bedside. that it had been there only a few minutes before he was fully convinced. whither, then, had it vanished? mrs. bullivant at once began a search for the missing article, but at the end of two or three minutes she gave it up as a bad job. then her eyes fell on gavin, who had gone back to his perch on the easy-chair, and had been watching her movements with much apparent interest. she knew from previous experience that when he looked the most cherubic he was usually most in fault. it seemed to her that he appeared too unconscious to be wholly innocent. "come here," she said, beckoning him with her finger. he obeyed without hesitation. he had only lately been breeched, and very proud he was at having been emancipated from petticoats. pockets had not been omitted from his jean trousers--cut short in the leg, as was the fashion, so as to leave displayed an amplitude of white stocking--and from one of them his mother now produced the squire's watch and appendages. he flushed a little and threw a timorous glance at the sick man, but, on the whole, his mother was the more put about of the two. "i cannot imagine what made him do such a thing," she said, with tears of vexation in her eyes. "but you may rest assured, dear mr. cortelyon, that i will not fail to chastise him most severely when we reach home." but the squire was sniggering. "i trust, onoria, you will do no such thing," he said. "it was merely the trick of a child too young to know the difference between _meum_ and _tuum_. the best course will be to overlook it as if it were a matter of no consequence and so leave him to forget it. indeed, i am rather glad than otherwise to have had such a proof of the young rascal's acquisitive faculty. it goes, i think, to prove that he will not grow up a prodigal like his father." when his visitors had left him the squire lay for some time deep in thought. at length he said, speaking aloud, for he had just taken his cordial and was alone: "the more i see of her, the more confirmed i am in my decision. her views in all that relates to the great question of property are almost the counterpart of my own. she is a woman of a thousand. what an admirable daughter-in-law she would have made! if only that poor headstrong lad of mine had---- but why go back to that business even in thought? the past is dead and buried; we have now to deal with the present and to arrange for the future. i would give something to be able to see onoria's face while she is hearing the will read. i told her about the legacy of three thousand pounds, but i said nothing about a life-interest in my landed estate. i have left that by way of a surprise, and what a joyful surprise it will be to her! well, well, to-morrow i will send for piljoy." it was in the course of the afternoon of the second day after mrs. bullivant's last visit that mr. piljoy arrived at stanbrook. he was genuinely shocked at the condition in which he found the squire, whose confidential business agent he had been for more than a quarter of a century. the sick man's lamp of life had indeed flickered down to a very feeble flame. evidently no time must be lost in having the all-important document drawn up and then signed and witnessed in due form. so for a full hour or more the two men, lawyer and client, were closeted together in the latter's bedroom. the will itself, engrossed and ready for signature, was to be brought by mr. piljoy three days later. the lawyer was to dine and stay the night at stanbrook, as he had done many times before; and in order that he should not lack company, his old acquaintance mr. herries, the vicar, had been asked to meet him. miss baynard and mrs. budd honored the two gentlemen with their company at dinner, but left them to their own devices as soon as the meal was over. then the lawyer and the vicar--the latter of whom was a jovial, fox-hunting parson of what we are accustomed to term "the old school!"--drew their chairs closer, in anticipation of a pleasant evening over their long pipes and a steaming bowl of punch, and in all likelihood they were not disappointed. at ten o'clock the vicar's man came with a lantern to light his master home. by this time mr. piljoy was not quite so steady on his feet as he customarily was, and when andry luce brought him his bed-candle and proffered his arm to help him upstairs, he accepted it without demur, for he had sense enough to know that at his time of life it would not do to risk a fall. but, indeed, andry had helped him in similar fashion on more than one occasion before. nor did the thoughtful andry leave him till he had helped him off with his coat, waistcoat, cravat, gaiters, and shoes. he also wound up his watch, and placed it, together with his purse and bunch of keys, on the dressing-table. one of the abominations of those days, known as a rushlight, was left to burn itself away. an hour later, andry, minus his shoes, stole into the bedroom, having, earlier in the evening, taken the precaution to abstract the key of the door. the lawyer's measured, long-drawn breathing convinced him that he had nothing to fear. inside the small valise mr. piljoy had brought with him he found the paper of instructions for the drawing-up of the squire's will. to make himself master of its contents was the object of his nocturnal intrusion. five minutes by the dim aid of the rushlight sufficed for his purpose. then he put the paper back and went his way as silently as he had come. mr. piljoy left stanbrook immediately after breakfast, and without seeing the squire again, travelling, as he always did on such occasions, by post-chaise. chapter ix. converging threads. in the course of the same forenoon andry luce sought miss baynard with the view of making a certain private communication to her. talking on andry's part was, of course, done by means of his fingers, but long practice had made nell an adept at reading the language of the dumb. andry, who retained no recollection of his parents, in his brooding, self-contained fashion had never really cared but for two people, to-wit, his young master, dick cortelyon, and miss baynard. one of them was dead, and to the other was now given a double measure of that love and devotion which had sprung full-grown from his heart the moment he first set eyes on her, and had burnt there with a steady, unflickering flame ever since. she was the secret goddess at whose shrine he worshipped daily. his love was unmixed with any taint of ordinary passion, and was as absolutely pure as that of a father for his child. it was the one well-spring of living water his maimed life knew. there was nothing in the wide world he would not have done, or have attempted, at miss baynard's bidding. his object in seeing her this morning was to enlighten her with regard to the provisions of the squire's new will, which mr. piljoy was to bring a couple of days hence for the purpose of having it signed and witnessed. he did not tell her through what channel he had obtained his information, and, naturally enough, nell imagined that it was he and not mr. piljoy who had drawn up the instructions, or, at any rate, that he had been present at their specification by her uncle. but before andry's fingers, working although they were at their quickest, had got more than half through their tale, nell's thoughts were otherwise engaged. she was rendered terribly indignant, as andry knew full well she would be, by the thought of the gross and cruel injustice of which mr. cortelyon meditated making his innocent grandson the victim. she was made both to love strongly and to hate strongly, and there was nothing she hated more than aught that savored of cruelty or injustice. she had loved poor dead and gone dick as a younger sister loves a handsome, generous, kind-hearted elder brother, and it made her blood boil to think that his child should be treated as an outcast from the hearth to which he ought to have been welcomed as the pride and the heir. but what could be done? how could the purpose of this most iniquitous will be defeated? she could discern no way--none. she was as helpless in the matter as a new-born babe. tears hot and passionate were shed by her in the privacy of her own room. but of what avail are a girl's tears? they fall, only to be dried up as quickly as a summer shower. now, it so happened that about this time a certain peripatetic dealer in rare books, coins, and curios of different kinds, of whom mr. cortelyon had made sundry purchases at various times, called at stanbrook on purpose to submit to the squire a choice illuminated ms. of the fifteenth century, for which he was desirous of finding a customer. the price asked was a high one, but after a little haggling--he was too weak to hold out long--the squire agreed to pay it rather than let the treasure go. it was not so much that he had fallen in love with it on his own account, as he believed that in it he had secured a rarity, to possess which his friend mr. delafosse, who was also a bibliophile and a numismatist, but more of the former than the latter, would be willing to give in exchange a certain unique stater of epaticcus which he, ambrose cortelyon, had long coveted. although he believed himself to be so near his end, it seemed to him that he should die happier with the precious stater shut up in his palm, and the knowledge that at last it was his own. yes, nell should go to dene house, taking the ms. with her and negotiate the exchange. she was already known to mr. delafosse, who was no stranger at stanbrook, and, in point of fact, was a special favorite of the old collector. dene house was some twenty-five miles away across country. she could go on horseback, accompanied by john dyce by way of escort. so great became his impatience that he would have her set out that very afternoon. the days were already long, and she could reach dene house soon after sunset, stay there overnight--mrs. delafosse would give her a hearty welcome--and be back home before noon on the morrow. so nell was sent for, and the manuscript given into her charge. by this time her uncle's weakness had become so extreme that his wishes and instructions had perforce to be limited to a few whispered sentences. but nell gave him to understand that she knew exactly what he wanted done, and he was satisfied. she would set out in the course of the afternoon, and be back by midday on the morrow. about an hour later dr. banks arrived, accompanied by dr. mills. the squire had expressed a wish to see the latter about once a week, and although all the doctors in the world could have done nothing for him, that was no reason why his whim should not be humored. but there was no need for a lengthened visit, and the pair had come and gone in the course of half an hour. this was the day fixed for the return of mr. piljoy with the will, and about half-past two a post-chaise drove up, from which, however, there alighted not the lawyer himself, but his managing clerk, mr. tew. mr. piljoy, he reported, was laid up with gout, and unable to come, but he, mr. tew, was just as competent to see to the proper signing of the will. mr. tew was not sorry to be told that the squire was asleep and must on no account be disturbed. he was both tired and hungry, and was glad to be able to put the hospitality of stanbrook to the proof before having to attend to the business which had taken him there. it was not till close upon five o'clock that he was summoned to the squire's presence. the sick man was alone, propped up in bed as usual, but andry luce had been instructed to keep within hearing of his master's bell. mr. tew, having explained the cause of his employer's absence, went on, at the squire's request, to read the will aloud, slowly and deliberately, the testator giving a nod of approval at the end of each clause. five or six minutes brought the reading to an end, and as he took off his spectacles mr. tew said: "i presume, sir, that your witnesses are in readiness?" the squire nodded. "ask andry to summon the gardener and the groom. they have been told to hold themselves in readiness," he whispered. the two subordinates in question were not long in making their appearance, and very self-important, albeit somewhat sheepish, they looked. they did not know they had been chosen as witnesses because most of the older servants were legatees under the will, whereas they were not mentioned in it. besides, it had been ascertained that they could actually sign their names, which, for persons of their class, was regarded in those days as a very considerable accomplishment. then andry, who had charge of the proceedings, brought in the squire's big leaden inkstand, together with a couple of quill pens, which he had cut and trimmed specially for the occasion. all being in readiness, andry put a stalwart arm round his master, and held him in a firm support while the latter, with slow and painful elaborateness, wrote his name at the foot of the will, which mr. tew held for him in a convenient position. that done, the groom and the gardener in turn followed their master's example, not without many strange facial contortions as the pen travelled shakily over the parchment. then they touched their forelocks and shuffled out of the room, glad the ceremony was over, and yet feeling themselves to be much more important persons than they had been a quarter of an hour before. as they shambled downstairs they whispered to each other that they had set eyes on "th' owd squire" for the last time. of the contents of the document signed by them they knew nothing. they had been told it was their employer's will, and that was enough for them. mr. tew was not allowed to leave stanbrook till after dinner, nor, indeed, had he any particular desire to do so. he could not stay overnight, as mr. piljoy would have done, but so long as he was back at business by nine o'clock on the morrow, that was all that would be expected of him. he was carrying back with him the signed will, in an envelope sealed with the squire's own seal, to be retained in the custody of his employer till the time should have come for it to be made public. mrs. budd and he dined alone. he was told that miss baynard, to whom he had been introduced earlier in the afternoon, had in the meantime left the hall on some private business for her uncle, and was not expected back till next day. shortly after seven o'clock, mr. tew, who was beginning to be a little muddled with the quantity of old port he had imbibed, bade mrs. budd an almost affectionate farewell (she was a widow, and, to his thinking, still a charming woman), climbed into his chaise, and was driven off on his return to arkrigg. night settled down over the old house. in those remote country parts people kept early hours, and when the hall clock chimed the half-hour past ten the only light left burning in the hall was the one in the sick man's room. near it sat nurse dinkel busily knitting--for she could not bear her fingers to be idle--but watchful and alert, as she always was. the squire did not like to be looked at as he lay there, and from where she sat she could not see him for the heavy curtains that shrouded the head of the bed, but the slightest movement of his fingers on the counterpane drew her to his side. she was a woman of some education, and had a low and pleasant voice, and as mr. cortelyon's nights were often restless and wakeful, he had got into the way of occasionally asking her to read aloud to him. her doing so took him for a time out of the dungeon of his own thoughts and sometimes brought in its train the sleep he longed for. so to-night, after lying awake for some time, as motionless as if he were already dead, he said, "nurse!" "yes, sir?" "i want you to read to me." his voice was still very feeble, but stronger than it had been in the afternoon; such fluctuations were frequent with him. "yes, sir. what would you like? shall i go on with mr. pope from where we left off the night before last?" "aye, you can't improve on him. draw back this curtain that i may the better hear you." when the curtain had been drawn back nurse dinkel did not return to her chair, but stood there, looking at her patient, nursing an elbow in either hand. "mr. cortelyon, sir," she said after a brief pause, "i have something on my mind which i wish most particularly to say to you, if you will kindly give me leave to do so." "surely, mrs. dinkel, i will listen to anything you may have to say. but don't stand there while you talk. go back to your chair." "thank you, sir," she said, as she resumed her seat. "i will try not to tire you, although what i wish to say may at the beginning seem a bit tedious. you may or may not be aware, sir, that i have a son, cornelius by name, who is now turned thirty years of age. when he was quite a boy--and a clever boy he was, though 'tis i who say it--the late sir willoughby freke took a great fancy to him. in the course of time he went to london, at sir willoughby's expense, for he was bent on studying to become a doctor. and study he did to such good purpose that he passed all his examinations with flying colors. hardly, however, had he obtained his diploma before a very good offer was made him to go out to java, where he has relations on his father's side engaged in business. it was an offer he felt bound to accept. that was ten years ago, and now he has come back to england and is not going abroad any more. his home will be in london, but before settling down there he has come to spend a little time with his old mother, from whom he has been so long parted. and now, sir, i come to the reason why i have taken on myself to trouble you with all these dry particulars. "my son has brought a wonderful discovery back with him from the east. according to his account, it will cure certain diseases after all other medicines have been tried in vain, and, in some cases, will almost bring dead people back to life. what the drug consists of i cannot tell you, because that is my son's secret, and one which he would not think of opening his lips about even to me. all i know is that the chief ingredient is the powdered bark of a certain tree, of which he has brought a considerable supply back with him. cornelius feels as sure as it is possible for a man to be of anything that he has only to introduce his discovery to the medical world of london to find himself on the high road to a big fortune. his heart is buoyed up not merely by hope but by certainty. "well, sir, no longer ago than last sunday afternoon, when you and miss baynard were good enough to spare me from my duties for a few hours, i had a long talk with my son, and took the liberty of telling him about your illness. and what do you think he said, sir? why this: 'if mr. cortelyon could only be persuaded into trying my drug, i feel sure that it would give him a new lease of life.' those were his very words, sir--'a new lease of life.'" the squire lay silent for a little while. then he said, "and it is your opinion that i ought to allow myself to be experimented upon by this vaunted remedy of your son?" "most emphatically it is, sir. cornelius is no idle boaster; he always knows what he is talking about, and he would not have said what he did without good reason. he tried the drug again and again in several desperate cases before he left batavia, and in no instance was it a failure." "but i am an old man, mrs. dinkel, and my case is not one of any particular disorder, but a gradual decay of the vital forces, which can have but one end--and that is now close at hand." "don't say that, sir, i beg. who can say what wonder my son's remedy might not effect even in your case, as it has already done in those of others? it is true that neither dr. banks nor dr. mills seems able to do anything for you, but that is no reason why you should refuse the help now offered you from another source. my son knows your age within a year or two; i described to him all about your illness, and yet for all that, it is his deliberate opinion that he can give you a fresh lease of life." again the squire lay for some time without speaking. "only one quack the more," he murmured to himself with a touch of his old cynicism. "well, why not? from the highest to the lowest they're quacks, every mother's son of 'em. as it is, i'm at death's door already, and if the fellow can do me no good, i'll defy him to do me much harm." then he said aloud: "d'you know, i'm half inclined to let this son of yours experiment upon me, if only to take some of the brag out of him and prove to him that in such a case as mine his wonder-working stuff is no more effectual than a dose of senna would be." "then you _will_ try it, sir! that is all i ask. in any case, no harm can come of it." "my own opinion exactly"--with a dismal attempt at a chuckle. "yes, i agree to try it. only, the affair must be kept secret; outside this room nobody must know about it, unless it be my man, andry luce. and now, when can this son of yours be smuggled into the house?" "it's only a little past eleven o'clock, sir, and if you think you can spare me, i will go at once and bring him back with me. the servants are all abed, and my son could come and go without one of them being a whit the wiser." "that's a very good notion of yours, damme! go at once, my dear woman; but first give me a drink of that cordial. i shall want nothing till you get back. and if i can coax that shy dog, morpheus, to keep me company meanwhile, so much the better." chapter x. the sequel of miss baynard's adventure. it was with a bitter sense of helplessness that miss baynard continued to brood over the news brought her by andry luce. the knowledge that, with the exception of a certain legacy to herself and sundry small bequests to old servants, the whole of her uncle's wealth, both in land and money, would go to mrs. bullivant and her son, who were not even cousins six times removed, cut her to the quick. the amazing injustice of the thing, so to speak, struck her dumb. to think that a man who knew full well his span of life had dwindled to a few brief hours should, in cold blood, choose to perpetrate so black a sin--for in her eyes it was nothing less--was to nell wholly inconceivable. and all for what? merely because his son had married beneath him, and had thereby brought to naught a certain ambitious scheme on which his heart had been set. and now the innocent child was to suffer for its father's fault, if fault it were. oh, it was monstrous--monstrous! of one thing she was quite sure: she would never touch her uncle's legacy. every shilling of it should go to the boy. but what was such a pittance in comparison with the income which, when he should come of age, ought to be his of inalienable right? yet his name was not once mentioned in the will! the last of the cortelyons--bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh--might die in a gutter or come to the gallows for anything the old man cared. such a revenge was more than human; it was fiendish, and could only have been prompted by the devil. nell burnt from head to foot with a fine flame of indignation when she thought of these things, and for the next forty-eight hours she could think of nothing else. it was in the course of the second afternoon after andry luce had told her that she happened--herself unseen--to overhear the two doctors talking together as they stood for a few moments in the corridor after coming out of her uncle's room. "i give him three days at the outside," one of them said. to which the other replied: "hum! i daresay you are right. but i shouldn't be a bit surprised if he were to go off in his sleep between now and to-morrow." nell gave one quick gasp, and a shudder ran through her from head to foot. she had known for some time what each day was bringing nearer, but to hear from the lips of those who knew that the end was so close came upon her with a shock, and for a moment or two made her feel as if she had suddenly come face to face with a skeleton. it was the day mr. piljoy had promised to bring the will for the purpose of having it signed, and as she remembered this she could not help saying to herself: "if i could only get hold of it and destroy it, my uncle would hardly live to sign another in its stead, and evan, as his grandfather's heir-at-law, would succeed to everything!" then a little derisive laugh at her folly broke from her lips. get hold of the will, forsooth! why, she would not be allowed to so much as set eyes on it. her brain must be softening even to imagine such a thing. about an hour later her uncle sent for her. it was in connection with the errand to mr. delafosse that he wanted to see her. having received her instructions--given brokenly and in whispers--and had the precious ms. committed to her charge, she left the room. he gazed after her, a little wistfully as it seemed, thinking, perhaps, that she might have kissed him before going--for in his heart he loved the girl--as at another time she most likely would have done; but her proud, set face had never changed while he gave her his message, and when he had done she simply inclined her head and went. she felt that even if she were never to see him alive again she could not forgive him; but he did not know that. about two o'clock mr. tew, in mr. piljoy's stead, arrived with the will. in the absence of mrs. budd, who had gone into the village, he was received by miss baynard, to whom he explained the nature of his business and apologized for his employer's absence. nell's heart grew cold as she listened. why did not providence intervene, and not allow so black a deed to be consummated? if only mr. tew's arrival had been delayed for two or three days--she would not have cared by what means--then would he have come too late, and all would have been well. as it was, she could but wring her hands in sheer helplessness. she was going sadly upstairs to her own room (after seeing mr. tew planted in front of a pigeon pie), when an idea flashed across her brain which for a moment or two seemed mentally to blind her. but it was a notion at once so wild and extravagant that, after drawing one long breath, her hands went involuntarily to her head, and she said to herself, "my reason must be deserting me." for all that, she could not thrust the notion from her; indeed, it had taken such a firm grip of her that when she reached her room she found herself under compulsion to sit down and face it, and, however bizarre and impracticable it had at first seemed, to consider it dispassionately from a common-sense point of view. the idea which had so startled her, and without any conscious leading up to it on her own part, was nothing less than, in the guise of a highwayman, to stop mr. tew when on his way back to arkrigg and despoil him of the will. when a young spark of nineteen or twenty, dick cortelyon, on the occasion of one of his brief visits at home, had attended a fancy ball in the neighborhood in the character of a gentleman of the road. in the wardrobe in his room upstairs--a room left untouched since the date of his quarrel with his father--the dress, wig, mask, pistols, and other items of his make-up on that occasion were stored to the present day, a fact which was within nell's cognizance. the picture of her cousin, masked and ready to set out for the ball, had impressed her girlish imagination very vividly at the time, and had often recurred to her memory since; and this recollection it must have been, acting through some sub-conscious channel, which, while asking herself despairingly how she could get possession of the will, had inspired her with the idea of turning highwayman in reality--for one night only. we know at what decision she arrived. instead of scouting the idea and casting it from her, as ninety-nine young women out of every hundred would have done, she determined, _coûte que coûte_, to put it to a practical issue. whatever risks might be connected with, or follow on, the affair she was prepared to face, if only she could thereby insure the destruction of her uncle's iniquitous will. fortunately for her, when she came to consider, several things seemed to work in favor of her scheme, desperate as at first sight it had appeared. in the first place, everything in the way of dress and accessories needful for the part she had made up her mind to play were there ready to her hand. in the second, john dyce, who was to act as her escort, had known her from childhood, was devoted to her, and could be thoroughly depended upon to keep any secret she might think well to entrust him with. in point of fact, john had originally been one of her father's servants, and he it was who had brought her, a girl of twelve, to stanbrook, where he had remained ever since, filling the part of man-of-all-work in the squire's establishment. then, again, it was a good thing, so far as her purpose was concerned, that a married cousin of john should be keeper of the first toll-bar on the whinbarrow road, which was the road she would have to journey by on her errand to mr. delafosse. for the last time she asked herself, "shall i adventure it, or shall i not?" knowing all the while what the answer would be. by now the afternoon was so far advanced that she must no longer delay her preparations. she knew already that mr. tew would not set off on his return journey till dinner should be well over. she herself would start in the early dusk about an hour in advance of him. she made it her first business to see john dyce and have a little private talk with him. next she invented an errand for her maid to a neighboring village which would keep that elderly damsel out of the way till after her own departure. next came one of the most essential features of the programme she was bent on carrying out: the transformation of miss baynard into the guise of a young man. the change was affected in due course, and a very handsome and dashing young blade she looked. she took a long survey of herself in the cheval glass, blushing and smiling as she did so. nell was a tall, juno-like young woman, and as her cousin dick had been a somewhat slender, medium-sized young fellow, his clothes fitted her almost as if they had been made for her. but servants have prying eyes, and not thus would it do for her to be seen leaving the house; besides, there was the risk of encountering some one in the village to whom her face was known. so, over her man's dress she now proceeded to put on certain articles of feminine attire, to wit, a long riding-skirt, and a mantle with a hood to it, the latter of which she drew over her head. it was a common enough costume for ladies travelling on horseback. into a couple of saddle-bags, which john dyce had supplied her with, she had already stowed away a number of things. then, when all was ready, she went down by way of the back staircase, and so out of the house, unseen by any one save a gaping kitchen wench. in the court near the stables were two horses in readiness, one of them being her mare peggy, a birthday gift, two years before, from her godmother, lady carradine. john helped her into the saddle, then mounted his own horse, and two minutes later they were cantering down the avenue. they rode through the village, and so on their way for a couple of miles or more till they reached a little wooded hollow somewhat removed from the high-road. there nell, having doffed her riding skirt and hooded mantle (her hair having been previously brushed back from her forehead and fashioned into a queue), substituted for them the three-cornered hat worn by her cousin at the fancy ball, with, by way of overall, an ample riding cloak, well worn, which poor dick had been used to travel in. these articles she produced from the saddle-bags. neither was the mask forgotten. although she had never seen mr. tew before that day, and then only for a few minutes, it would not do to leave the slightest opening for his recognition of her in the part she was bent on playing. john, meanwhile, had been changing peggy's sidesaddle for an ordinary one. that done, he again helped her to mount. it was as well for nell in her new character that her mare had been thoroughly trained, and that she was a fearless horsewoman. whatever awkwardness or embarrassment she might feel at first the friendly night covered up; but presently she had other things to think of than any little hot and cold shivers of her own. in the holsters in front of her were stuck a brace of unloaded pistols. john's pistols, however, were fully charged. how miss baynard sped on her hare-brained expedition has already been told: how she mistook the chaise of a stranger for that of mr. tew; how she was fired at, but escaped with nothing worse than a fright; and how the notorious captain nightshade appeared in the nick of time and acted as her guide as far as rockmount, where, under the name of mr. frank nevill (that of a cousin in india) she was made welcome, and found shelter for the night. we left her just after mr. cope-ellerslie's housekeeper had shown her to her chamber; and now that the two threads of our narrative have been brought together we will take up her history from the following morning. when "mr. frank nevill" went downstairs he found an excellent breakfast awaiting him in the same room into which he had been shown overnight. he was waited upon by mrs. dobson, who expressed much concern at the smallness of his appetite. when the meal had come to an end she said, "at what o'clock, sir, would you like your horse to be brought round?" "as soon as it can be got ready, for i am anxious to get on my way." in ten more minutes he was in the saddle. in accordance with mr. ellerslie's promise, a serving-man on horseback was in readiness to show him the way as far as the whinbarrow road. he did not part from mrs. dobson without asking her to convey to her master his warmest thanks for the hospitality which had been extended to him; nor did he forget to press a guinea into her palm, reluctant though she was to take it. as he turned away from the house he gave it a long backward look. it was a two-storied domicile, plain to the verge of ugliness, built of roughly-hewn blocks of the dark gray stone of the country. its walls were of great thickness, and it was roofed with huge slabs of slate, well fitted to withstand the fierce gales which assailed it during the winter months. it stood alone in the centre of a great plateau of stony, desolate moorland, which spread away on every side till it was lost in the distance. no other homestead or sign of man's occupancy or vicinage was anywhere visible. a narrow rutted lane, originally, no doubt, nothing more than a sheep track, passed close by it, seemingly coming from nowhere and leading to nowhere. frank nevill shuddered as he looked. what must it be like, he asked himself, to live there in winter? what man in his proper senses would think of building a house on such a spot? and yet mr. cope-ellerslie seemed well satisfied to live there! after traversing the lane for a matter of three or four miles, frank and his conductor emerged on one of the great highways running due north and south. crossing this, they found themselves after a little while in a tangle of country roads, among which a stranger would infallibly have lost himself. frank's guide, however, evidently knew every foot of the way, and at the end of a couple of hours, at a point where the cross-road they had been traversing debouched into one much wider, he pulled up his horse and said: "this is the whinbarrow road, sir; six miles straight ahead will bring you to dunthale prior. do you wish me to go any further with you, sir?" they were almost the first words the man had spoken, and frank, as in honor bound, had refrained from putting any questions to him. he now dismissed him with thanks and a little present for himself. twenty minutes later he drew rein and dismounted at the first toll-bar, at which place it had been arranged that john dyce should await his arrival. and there honest john was, and a glad man was he to set eyes again on his young mistress. never before had he passed so wretched a night. fear and anxiety had rendered him half crazy, and had put all thought of sleep out of his head. as already stated, the keeper of the toll-bar was a cousin of john dyce; and mrs. nixon, his wife, now proceeded to show "mr. nevill" into a neat little bedroom. it was the last time that young gentleman was seen by mortal eye. at the end of half-an-hour miss baynard--stately and gracious, but with a defiant sparkle in her eye which seemed to say, "challenge me who dare!"--issued from the chamber and made her way downstairs. miss baynard reached dene house on the stroke of noon, where she was warmly welcomed by mr. delafosse and his wife. the old bibliophile proved to be quite willing to exchange his gold stater of epaticcus for the rare ms. on vellum which nell had brought with her. although genuinely grieved to receive such a bad account of his old friend, he could not help reminding himself that there were several rarities in cortelyon's collection the possession of which he had long envied him. well, we must all die some time, and as his friend's collection would be sure to come to the hammer, there would at length be a possibility of his becoming the owner of such articles as he especially coveted. all the more would they be valued by him for having been the property of a man he so highly esteemed. after joining the dene house family over their three o'clock dinner, miss baynard set out on her return, and, there being nothing this time to detain her on the road, stanbrook was reached by dusk. as she rode up the avenue she glanced anxiously at the windows. had the squire been dead the blinds would have been drawn down. but there was no change in the usual aspect of the house, and it was with a relieved heart that she dismounted. she went up to her uncle's room without delay when told that he had more than once asked for her. "there's a great improvement in him to-day, my dear," mrs. budd had said to her in the entrance hall. "dr. banks was quite struck by the change when he called this morning." nell found her uncle awake. his eyes met hers questioningly as she entered the room, but when she produced the coveted coin and placed it in his hand his face lighted up wonderfully. "good lass! good lass!" he murmured. then he gave a sigh of relief, and his lean fingers closed lovingly over the stater. as to whether miss baynard's attempt to purloin her uncle's will was, or was not, under the circumstances morally justifiable, the writer wishes it to be understood that the point is one with which he considers himself in nowise concerned. his duty, as he apprehends it, is simply that of a recorder of facts, without taking on himself either to justify or condemn any actions, good, bad, or indifferent on the part of his characters, who are allowed to go their own way without let or hindrance, and as we all have to do, must accept and make the best of whatever consequences may result therefrom. chapter xi. "little short of miraculous." yes, as mrs. budd had told miss baynard, there was a decided change for the better in mr. cortelyon's condition, but by what means the change in question had been brought about was known to three people only--the sick man, his nurse, and the latter's son. cornelius dinkel had gone to stanbrook in obedience to his mother's midnight summons, taking with him a small quantity of his remedy, and had spent an hour with the squire, unknown to any of the household. he was a tall, sallow, dried-up man, who looked as if all the juices of his body had been sucked out of him by the heat of a tropical climate. he was thirty years old, but might well have been taken for a man of forty-five. nobody would have ventured to call him handsome, but his expression was one of marked intelligence, in combination with considerable will-power and great tenacity of purpose. "mr. cortelyon, my son," said mrs. dinkel, as she introduced the young doctor into the sick room. dinkel bowed gravely. the squire blinked his eyes; he would have nodded, but had not strength to do so. then he said, speaking in a thin whisper, broken by frequent gaspings for breath: "your mother informs me that you have brought some wonderful discovery back home with you, and she would fain cozen me into the belief that by means of it you can succeed in prolonging the life of a moribund like me. i tell you at once that i don't believe in your ability to do anything of the kind. no, damme! i'm too far gone for any hanky-panky of that sort, and both banks and mills would simply dub you a quack for your pains." dinkel's face remained impassive. "permit me, mr. cortelyon," he said, and with that he proceeded to submit the other to a brief but searching examination. till it had come to an end no one spoke. then taking up a position on the hearth with his back to the fire, and speaking in the tone of one who felt himself master of the situation, he broke the silence: "your case, mr. cortelyon, i find to be exactly such as my mother described it to me. that i can permanently cure you i at once admit to be an impossibility. you are too advanced in life, and your constitution is too nearly worn out, to warrant any such hope. but that i can succeed in prolonging your life for weeks, nay, it may well be for several months to come, i make no manner of doubt--such is the marvellous efficacy of the remedy i have brought back with me from abroad." this, to a man who had every reason for believing that a few more hours would bring the end, was news indeed. weeks--perhaps months--of life, when he had looked forward to being buried about a week hence! it was too marvellous to credit. for a little while he was too overcome to speak. then he murmured, and dinkel had to bend over him in order to catch what he said: "i--i cannot believe it--i cannot!" "nevertheless, mr. cortelyon, i am not dealing in romance--heaven forbid that i should in such a case!--but in sober fact. there is a homely proverb which affirms that the proof of the pudding is in the eating. i have brought with me a small quantity of my remedy. will you permit me to administer a dose of it to you?" again there was a space of silence. the sick man's gaze was bent on the young doctor as if he would fain read him through and through, while his grizzled eyebrows made a straight line across his forehead, he liked the look of him; there was something in that strong, earnest, plain face which inspired confidence. compared with him, dr. banks looked like an amiable old woman. "first of all, i should like to know what this so-called wonder-worker of yours is compounded of," he murmured, after a time. dinkel shrugged his shoulders. "its chief constituent is the dried and powdered bark of the tatao tree--a tree indigenous to the island of java. the other ingredients consist of sundry drugs in certain fixed proportions, the secret of which i am not at present prepared to divulge." "quite right--quite right. very sensible on your part. you don't want to poison me, i suppose--hey?" the ghost of a smile flitted across dinkel's rugged face. "what should i gain by that, sir? only the hangman's noose. i think you ought to credit me with a desire for lengthening your days, not for shortening them." "it would puzzle you to make 'em much shorter than they seem likely to be," gasped the squire, with a painful imitation of one of his old chuckles. "well, well," he resumed, "i'll venture on a dose of this stuff of yours, not because i've any faith in it, mind you, but merely to take the cock-a-doodle out of you, and prove to you that you're not the wonderfully clever fellow you're inclined to crack yourself up as being." not for days had the squire spoken so much in so short a time, and as the last words died from off his lips his eyes closed and he sank into a half swoon. he could not have been in more competent hands, and before long he was brought back to consciousness. his first words, in a feeble whisper, were: "give me the stuff; i'll take it." from his waistcoat pocket dinkel extracted a tiny phial, no bigger than his little finger, about three-parts full of a ruby-colored fluid, which he proceeded to empty into a dessert spoon. "you won't find it at all disagreeable," he said, as he proffered the spoon and its contents to the squire. "it tastes not unlike the liquorice-root i used to be fond of when a lad," murmured the latter half a minute later, and with that his eyes closed again. dinkel held up his hand, and for a little space neither he nor his mother stirred. then said the young doctor, "he is asleep, and if all goes well, as i have every reason to think it will, he won't awake for five or six hours. i will go now, and return between six and seven o'clock." as already stated, dr. banks, when he called as usual in the course of next forenoon, was considerably surprised at finding such a decided improvement in his patient's condition, when, according to all the rules and regulations of medical science, he ought to have been nearly, if not quite, in a state of collapse. "it's merely a flash in the pan--the sudden flare-up of a candle before it drops into darkness," he said to himself. "he's a wonderful old fellow, and i've evidently underrated the strength of his constitution." but next day, and the day after that, a still further improvement unmistakably manifested itself. dr. banks rubbed his nose with his forefinger and was clearly nonplussed. on the fourth morning he was joined by dr. mills, who had been expecting from hour to hour to have tidings of the squire's demise. he and banks did not fail to discuss the case as they drove over to stanbrook in the latter's gig, but neither of them could make head or tail of it, and certainly it was difficult for them to believe the evidence of their eyes when, on entering their patient's room, they found him seated in his easy-chair, propped up by cushions, and not only that, but dictating a letter in a firm voice to his secretary, andry luce. he favored them with a curt nod, but did not otherwise notice them till he had brought his dictation to an end. then turning with a sardonic smile, he said: "good-morrow, gentlemen. very pleased to see you, especially you, mills. you find an unlooked-for change in me since you were here last week--hey? it's all your friend jimmy banks's doing. from the hour he changed my physic, now four or five days since, i began to mend. why he didn't change it before, instead of letting me get down to death's door first, the lord only knows. but jimmy always was a wag. don't shake your pow in that way, sir; you know i'm speaking the truth. what grand weather for the crops we are having just now! i'm told that both my corn and my taties are coming on famously; but i hope to drive round in a day or two and see them for myself." there was nothing to be done and very little to be said, and the two doctors cut their visit as short as possible. said mills to the other after they had left the room: "what was the change of medicine he spoke of? what fresh treatment have you been subjecting him to?" "to none at all, i give you my word. i am sending him the same mixture now that i was sending him three weeks ago--the one that you and i agreed upon. no single ingredient has been changed. in saying what he did he was only poking fun at us in his cynical way." "possibly at you, banks, but certainly not at me," rejoined the other in his pompous way. "in any case, he's a very remarkable old man, and although i could not quite follow you in thinking that his vitality was at such a low ebb as you seemed to make out, i certainly did not credit him with the possession of the marvellous recuperative powers to which our eyes have just borne testimony." "humph! you seem to be blessed with a very short memory, mills. your own words on the occasion of your last visit were, 'i give him three days at the outside,' and that's just a week ago." "well, well; we are all liable to err, of course. still, i'm afraid that i allowed my judgment to be in some measure led astray by your diagnosis. i ought to have subjected him to a more comprehensive examination than seemed to be necessary at the time. for all that, i cannot deny that his case is one of the most remarkable which has come under my notice. in short, i should hardly be going too far if i were to term his recovery, however temporary it may be, little short of miraculous." dr. banks grunted. he was too indignant to reply in words. only to himself he said, "i always set you down in my own mind as a humbug, and now i'm more convinced of it than ever." as the reader will have rightly surmised, the marvellous change in squire cortelyon was wholly and solely due to the drug administered to him by cornelius dinkel. already, as we have seen, he was able to sit up--although only for a short hour at first--and transact business; and each day brought its own small addition of strength and vital power. soon he was able to go out on fine days for a drive, and a little later he even got so far as, with the help of andry luce's arm, to take short strolls about the grounds. but this eminently satisfactory state of things could only be maintained on one condition: it was absolutely essential that a certain regulated dose of the wonderful drug should be administered to the patient daily. for the purpose of carrying out this arrangement dinkel made a point of coming to the hall every evening after dark, bringing the day's dose with him in a phial. he simply waited long enough to see the squire swallow it, and then went his way. mrs. dinkel remained at stanbrook, nor, although he was so much better, would her patient listen to a word about her departure. perhaps it seemed to him that so long as he could succeed in retaining her services he would have a firmer hold on those of her son. besides, his man tatham was not yet able to resume his duties. so interested was young dinkel in the case of mr. cortelyon that for the present he made up his mind to stay where he was. as his mother had told the squire, the object of his life now was to take his discovery to london, and build up a fortune on the strength of it. but he was gifted with the patience, slow but sure, of his father's race, and was content to wait. by this time it had got rumored about the country-side that the squire's amazing recovery was due to dinkel, or rather, to the effect of some magic compound he had brought with him from abroad. further, it was commonly reported that so long as dinkel continued to practise his arts on the old man, the latter would not, or could not, die. among others, the whisper went that the squire had sold himself, body and soul, to the young doctor on condition of his life being prolonged till he was a hundred. these rumors were not lessened by dinkel's mode of life. he had fitted up an old shed at the back of his mother's cottage, and there he conducted his experiments. strange-colored flames would often be seen issuing from its chimney after dark, and one or two bolder spirits, who had ventured to pry upon him, averred that they had seen him warming his hands at a big glass jar which gave off blue sparks when he touched it. evidently he was a man to be both shunned and feared. but the love of life burns strongly in us. not merely are we desirous of prolonging our own existence, but the lives of those dear to us, and among the villagers were three mothers who, their children having been given up by the local doctor, went to cornelius dinkel as a last resource, and prayed him with tears in their eyes to try to save their little ones. he did try, and in two cases out of the three he succeeded. still, the country people, with their ingrained superstitious prejudices, fought shy of him, and regarded him with a suspicion that was largely mixed with dislike. "he's a man-witch, that's what he is," they muttered among themselves. if he could prolong "th' owd squire's" life, why couldn't he save molly grigg's child?--and why didn't he try his hand on old tommy binns, who was only eighty-seven when he died? chapter xii. a startling recognition. in view of the astonishing and wholly unexpected change for the better in mr. cortelyon's condition, it became manifest to miss baynard that, even if she had succeeded in despoiling mr. tew of the will, her doing so would have been to no purpose, seeing that her uncle had lived long enough to make half-a-dozen others had he been so inclined. she could not help cherishing a faint hope that, now a fresh lease of life had mercifully been granted him, he would see fit to change his mind in the matter of his grandson, and, either by means of a codicil to his present will, or the drawing-up of a new will, repair, in a greater or lesser degree, the act of cruel injustice of which he had been guilty. but as time passed on nell's hope faded and died. no allusion to his will ever passed her uncle's lips, or she would have heard of it from andry luce. it seemed that he was satisfied to let it stand unchanged. one day a brief letter from her godmother, lady carradine, was received by miss baynard. her ladyship was up in town for a fortnight--her usual home was in devonshire--and she wrote very pressingly to nell to join her there during her stay. this nell was by no means loth to do; and as her uncle raised no objection to her going, but rather urged her to accept the invitation, she and her maid were driven over to lanchester a couple of days later, where she booked two inside places in the london mail. nell was especially glad to find herself again in london, because she would now be enabled to renew her acquaintance with young evan, whom she had not seen since his mother's death. but before going to lawn cottage, where, so far as she was aware, the boy was still domiciled, she deemed it advisable to call upon mr. mcmanus, whom she found in nowise changed, but still as genial, as shabby-looking, and as snuffy as ever. "yes," he said in answer to a question, after he had ushered his visitor into a little parlor behind the shop, "the young shaver is quite well and hearty, or was so a week since, and is still in charge of mrs. mardin." "and all the expenses in connection with him are still defrayed by mr. dare?" "in that respect nothing is changed. i may, however, just mention that some time ago a report reached me--although, mind you, miss, i can't tell how true it was--that between two and three years ago mr. dare came to the end of his tether--was ruined, in point of fact (no doubt gambling had to do with it), and had to give up all his fine acquaintances and leave london. but be that as it may, i have it from mrs. mardin's lips that the quarter's money for young evan is always punctually remitted. he's one of those gentlemen, is mr. dare, whose word is his bond. i wish all so-called gentlemen were like him." the old man paused to refresh himself with a pinch of his favorite mixture and then went on: "i myself, on a fine sunday afternoon, sometimes manage to get as far as chelsea, in order to satisfy myself as to how the boy is getting on. although mrs. mardin knows me for his great-uncle on the mother's side, that fact, at my request, has been kept a secret from evan. from the first i made up my mind that i would not spoil any chance the boy might have of one day being acknowledged by his father's relations by putting my humble self in the way, and when you entered the shop just now, miss, i was in hopes you had come to tell me that mr. cortelyon had changed his mind at last, and had sent you to fetch his grandson." nell shook her head sadly. "i am afraid there is no present likelihood of my uncle doing anything of the kind. up till now his feelings in the matter have undergone no change." "and maybe he will go down to the grave without having known how sweet it is to forgive. poor old gentleman, how i pity him!" an hour later nell despatched a note to mrs. mardin, telling her that she hoped to be at lawn cottage in the course of the afternoon of next day, and there the specified time found her. evan had by no means forgotten his "aunt nell," and she was made very glad thereby. but she had sent him so many presents of toys and other things from time to time that it would have been odd if he had not remembered her. to her he seemed to have grown more like his father than ever. if his grandfather would but once have admitted the lad to his presence, surely his hard heart would have softened at evan's haunting likeness to the dead man! but, as the old tobacconist had said he would go down to the grave without having known how sweet it is to forgive. mrs. mardin was nothing if not hospitable, and before long tea was served; nor were the toothsome buns for which chelsea was famed forgotten. but scarcely had the first cup been poured out before mrs. mardin rose suddenly to her feet. some one had just passed the window, and next moment there was a tug at the front-door bell. "i declare if here isn't mr. dare!" exclaimed the widow. "what a strange thing that you and he should happen to come on the same day!" and with that she hurried out of the room. miss baynard had often desired to make the acquaintance of this unknown benefactor of her dead kinsman's widow and child, and now her wish was about to be gratified. she stood up as the door opened, with a slightly heightened color, and with a heart that beat somewhat faster than common. a second later every vestige of color fled her face, and it seemed to her as if her limbs were on the point of giving way under her. she drew one long, gasping breath, and unconsciously her hand gripped the back of her chair, as if to keep herself from falling. in the man who now entered the room she had recognized--or she felt nearly sure she had--the notorious captain nightshade, he who had come to her help that night when she was reeling in her saddle after having been fired at by the unknown traveller in the chaise, and who had afterwards acted as her guide as far as rockmount! it was true that she had only had a clear view of his face for a few brief seconds, while the old serving-man stood at the open door with his lighted candle, but the picture thus seen had burnt itself into her memory as few things had ever done, and many a time since then had she conjured it up in fancy till its every lineament seemed to have grown familiar to her. and now, marvel of marvels, here before her, a living reality, was the face she had never thought to see again--long and brown, with its thin, high-ridged nose, its delicate nostrils, its black, brilliant eyes, its mobile mouth, and its massive, rounded chin, together with that air of almost defiant recklessness which of itself would have served to mark the man out from his more commonplace fellows, and which seemed to sit so easily upon him. and there, too, had further proof been needed, was the tiny brown mole on the lower half of the left side of his face, which had caught her attention at the time, as a "beauty-patch" might have done on the cheek of one of her own sex. she tightened her grip on the back of the chair, and their eyes met. into his there came no flicker of recognition, no slightest evidence which betrayed any consciousness on his part that they had ever met before. his glance encountered hers with the clear, unwinking steadfastness of one stranger regarding another. his features were grave and composed; there was no start of surprise; the sallow of his cheeks remained untinged by any faintest flush of color. miss baynard was bewildered. could it be that he had known beforehand whom he was about to meet and had schooled himself accordingly? but this was a question nell had no grounds for asking herself. [illustration: "she had recognized the notorious captain nightshade."] the girl's perturbation and amazement passed unnoticed by mrs. mardin, whose eyesight was no longer what it once had been, and she now went through the office of introducing the young people in the fewest words possible. miss baynard curtsied a little _gauchement_, which was not like her. mr. dare, with his hat pressed to his heart, made her a profound bow. "i am indeed fortunate in finding here to-day a lady whom it has long been the chief desire of my existence to have the felicity of meeting." such a speech addressed nowadays by a young man to a young woman would seem, and rightly so, absurdly high-flown and unreal; but to our great-grandfathers and grandmothers it would have appeared nothing of the kind. they and their progenitors for generations had brought the art of compliment, especially as between the sexes, to a degree of perfection of which we, in these degenerate times, retain little more than the tradition. very likely it was all very artificial and insincere, but the fair sex of a day which now seems so far removed not only expected it but liked it. if we have been brought up on sugared food, the taste for it generally clings to us through life. if any doubt had lingered in miss baynard's mind with regard to the dual personality of the man before her, his first words would have finally dispelled it. she would have known his voice among a thousand. how many times since she first heard those full deep tones had she heard them again in her dreams? she would have blushed to tell how often had she cared, or been able to count them. yes, the last shred of amazed doubt was gone. had she encountered dare in the dark and heard him speak, she would have whispered to herself, "that is the voice of captain nightshade, and of no one but him." and yet he had not recognized her! but perhaps there was nothing to wonder at in that. so far as she knew he had had no opportunity of scanning her features as she had of his, and probably had no curiosity to do so, besides which he had been unaware of her sex, and had parted from her as one man parts from another. to a man of his profession the adventure of that night would seem a tame little episode hardly worth the trouble of remembering. she was glad, she was very glad, that he had failed to recognize her, and yet--being of the sex she was--even while she told herself so she felt a bitter heart-stab. _she_ would have known _him_ again anywhere, and under any disguise. but she put this thought from her, and drew a breath of reviving courage. her blood began to flow again, and soon a strange gladness, for which she could not account, began to make itself felt at her heart. before this came about she had found words to reply to dare's little speech. "and i on my part, mr. dare, can say in all sincerity that i am very glad to make your acquaintance. i have long wanted to be able to thank you for your generous kindness towards both the dead and the living, and now the time has come when i can do so. but pray let us be seated." mrs. mardin had discreetly withdrawn. she was sorry that all the good tea in the pot would be spoiled with standing, but such little mishaps cannot always be avoided. master evan was in the garden, urging on his wild career on a big rocking-horse which his aunt nell had sent him by carrier the day before. "dick cortelyon and i were very dear friends, miss baynard, as you are doubtless aware. when his premature death left those he loved on the verge of destitution, was it not the place of him he had honored with his friendship to come forward and shield them, in some measure at least, from the chill blasts of penury? this it has been my privilege to be able to do. 'twas but little--very little--and had our places been reversed i feel assured that dick would have done the same by me." "there i agree with you; but such friendships are rare, or so i am bidden believe. for all you have done in the past, mr. dare, i thank you from the bottom of my heart; it is what not one so-called friend out of a hundred would have done. but from to-day his charge upon your generosity must cease." a shade of perplexity passed across dare's face. "pardon me, miss baynard, if i fail to apprehend your meaning." "what i mean is that my cousin's child must no longer be a burden on you, and that it devolves upon those to whom he is bound by the ties of blood to care henceforth for his future." "a burden, miss baynard! the word stabs me." "pardon me, i was wrong. it ought never to have passed my lips. i am very sorry." mr. dare bent his head as accepting the apology, and, indeed, for once nell looked almost abject. "from your remark," said dare, "i can only conclude that mr. cortelyon's hard heart has at length relented, and that he has made up his mind to acknowledge his grandson." nell shook her head. "i am sorry to say that nothing of the kind has come to pass. my uncle is still as much embittered against the boy as ever he was." "excuse me, but you spoke of those to whom the boy is bound by the ties of blood as----" "am i not bound to evan by the tie of blood, mr. dare?" "the fact is one which cannot be disputed. then, you wish me to understand----?" he paused. "that from now i charge myself wholly and solely with evan's future. 'tis what i have long wished, nay, determined to do, but till to-day you and i have never met." the last words had hardly passed her lips before a quick flush mounted to her cheeks. unthinkingly she had given utterance to an untruth. they two _had_ met before, although he seemed to be wholly unaware of the fact. but there was no possibility of recalling her words even had she been desirous of doing so. "and----and consequently i have had no opportunity of making this known to you before." the break had only been momentary. had he noticed it? she could not tell. dare's face darkened, and the line between his eyebrows became more marked. "i was certainly not prepared for this," he replied. "had i had any prevision of what i was about to hear, much as i value my introduction to miss baynard, i think i should hardly have come near lawn cottage to-day." nell's eyes struck fire, and for a moment or two her teeth bit into her underlip; but when she spoke it was with no trace of temper. "that was a very rude speech on your part, mr. dare, to address to a lady. but, under the circumstances, i can make every allowance for your feelings, and i am not going to take offence at it. the one thing i am sorry about in connection with this affair is that some such arrangement was not come to long ago." "and i am grieved that it should ever be come to. it will cut me to the quick, i tell you plainly. when poor dick lay on his deathbed i gave him my word that while i had a crust his boy should not want, and that i would do my best to make up to him for that stroke of ill-fortune which was about to rob him of a father's love and care. it was a promise which, as far as the exigencies and circumstances of my life would allow, i have striven to fulfil to the best of my ability. that life--my life--is a very lonely one, how lonely you cannot conceive, and in the course of time my dead friend's son has grown very dear to me. yet now, miss baynard, you would come between us (how cruel in some things is your sex!) and would deprive me of him." "you misapprehend my intentions, mr. dare. i have no wish to come between you and the boy in any way. you will have full freedom to visit him as often as you wish. all i say is, that henceforth all charges in connection with him must be defrayed by me." dare got up abruptly, crossed to the window, stared out of it for a few moments, and then went back to his seat. "look here, miss baynard," he said, "why should not you and i come to a compromise in this matter, as one finds it advisable to do in so many of the affairs of life? suppose we share the expense--'tis a mere bagatelle after all. come, now, what say you?" miss baynard shook her head. "it cannot be, mr. dare. on this point my mind is finally made up. i am very sorry if my telling you so causes you any pain or annoyance, but there is no help for it. my action is based on reasons which i do not feel at liberty to explain. your goodness in the past will never be forgotten by me, and i trust----" "not a syllable more, i beg," said dare, with a queer little break in his voice. "my 'goodness,' forsooth! revile me, strike me, but never fling that word at me again as applicable to anything between me and my dead friend! but i will urge you no longer. you tell me your mind is made up, in which case there is nothing more to be said or done." chapter xiii. love the conqueror. although dare had not succeeded in persuading miss baynard to reverse or modify the decision she had come to in the case of her cousin's child, and although he was at no pains to hide his chagrin and disappointment, he and she did not fail to part as good friends are in the habit of parting. neither of them had any wish to part otherwise, and it would have been hard to say which of them would have been the more sorry to do so; indeed, nell was unwilling to say goodbye till she had obtained from him an address--that of a lawyer--to which she could write in case she should have occasion to communicate with him about the boy. both of them put the selfsame question to themselves within five minutes of their parting: "when and where, if ever, shall we meet again?" dare went direct from chelsea to holborn. miss baynard had said that her action was influenced by certain reasons which she did not feel at liberty to specify. was one of those reasons based on the fact that he was now a ruined man? if so, through what channel had the information reached her? finding mr. mcmanus as usual in his shop, dare at once challenged him with being the tale-bearer. it was an accusation he made no attempt to rebut; but that in saying what he had to miss baynard he had been actuated by any feeling of ill-will towards dare was too absurd a notion to be entertained for one moment. however, the mischief was done and could not be undone, and with all his faults dare was not the man to vent his annoyance on so helpless an object as the old tobacconist. but miss baynard had spoken as if there were more reasons than one for the decision she had arrived at. might not another, and perhaps the chief one, lie in the fact that in him she had recognized the man who had been mixed up with herself in a certain memorable adventure, and who, when asked his name, had told her that he was none other than the notorious "captain nightshade"? it was a recognition he had not counted on, being unaware how incautiously he had afforded her the opportunity of scanning his features by the light of the serving-man's candle at the door of rockmount. but that she had recognized him was an indisputable fact. was it, then, to be wondered at that she should refuse in such positive terms to permit him any longer to defray young evan's expenses with money which she doubtless regarded as the proceeds of robbery on the king's highway? no, he felt bound to admit that it was not to be wondered at, and that, in point of fact, no other course was open to her. and yet, knowing him now to be that which he had told her he was, she had parted from him with a cordiality in which he felt assured there was no _arrière-pensée_. she had given him her hand frankly, and in her beautiful eyes he had read nothing but kindliness, with just a hint of sadness, or so he fancied, shining through it. and then, what had her last words to him been? "let us not say goodbye, but _au revoir_." and this to the man who had confessed to being captain nightshade! but to attempt to follow the turnings and twistings of that incomprehensible thing, a woman's mind, was what he made no pretensions to doing. it was enough for him that her own lips had said _au revoir_; and that a propitious fate in its own good time would bring them together again he did not permit himself to doubt. dare had had no thought or expectation of finding miss baynard at lawn cottage; he had not even known that she was in town; consequently the meeting was as great a surprise to him as it was to her. but what he did know, and had known all along, was that she and the _soi-disant_ "mr. jack prentice" were one and the same person. so piqued had his curiosity been by the adventure which had brought them together after such a strange fashion, that after her departure from rockmount he had caused a watch to be set upon her movements till she had been traced back to stanbrook. that she should prove to be the cousin of his dead friend, dick cortelyon, was merely one of those coincidences such as people who habitually keep their eyes open can see happening around them every day. dare had been quite right in his surmise as to the reasons which had actuated nell in her refusal to allow him to contribute any longer, even in part, towards the cost of evan's maintenance. the fact that he was a ruined man would of itself have been argument sufficient for the step she had decided upon taking. but when, in addition, she had to face the question, and it was one she could not shirk, "from what source is the money derived which is remitted every quarter-day to mrs. mardin?" she felt that no answer was needed from her. it was a question which answered itself. and this state of things had been going on for she knew not how long! not another day must it last. she had only been a couple of days back at stanbrook when a small packet reached her through the post. it bore the london postmark, and was addressed in a writing wholly strange to her. she opened it, not without curiosity, to find that all it contained was the mask worn by her on a certain never-to-be-forgotten occasion. she had been unable to find it when, after reaching home, she proceeded to replace dick's habiliments in the closet whence she had disinterred them. to the best of her belief she had inadvertently left it behind her in the bedroom at rockmount, but it was a point as to which she could not be positive. anyhow, here it was, sent back to her by an unknown hand, and her receipt of it in such fashion raised more than one perplexing question. but supposing she was in error in thinking she had left the mask at rockmount? in that case only one conclusion was open to her--that it was not mr. ellerslie, but mr. dare, who had returned it. one or the other of them it must be. if mr. dare were the sender of it, how woefully in error she must have been in assuming that he had not recognized her when they met accidentally at lawn cottage! and yet, by not so much as the flicker of an eyelid had he betrayed any knowledge, or even suspicion, of their ever having met before! if he did recognize her on that occasion, then of course her secret--the secret of her sex--was equally in his keeping. perhaps he had known or guessed it from the first! had he not, when she reeled and all but swooned in the saddle, caught her in his arms? and had she not, with wandering senses, lain for a little while--a very little while--in his embrace! was it then he made the discovery, supposing it to have been made at all? hardly had she asked herself the question before a delicious thrill went through her from crown to foot, and all the pulses of her being began to palpitate with a strange, new, sweet life, far sweeter than anything she had hitherto known. she felt as a chrysalis may feel when it bursts its husk and first spreads its wings to the sun. she sat for some little time, her face hidden in her hands, although she was alone, and her veins aglow with something that almost frightened her. then on a sudden her mood changed: she sprang to her feet, and with clenched hands and hard-set face took to pacing her room from end to end, doing silent battle with herself meanwhile. never had she been so assailed before, and she brought all the forces of her womanly pride to bear on the insidious foe that was undermining her outworks one by one. she had deemed herself invulnerable; she had, as it were, set herself on a pedestal as a being apart, whom the one great weakness of her sex--for such it seemed to her--could never touch. and now nature was beginning to revenge itself by proving to her that she was no stronger in some ways than the weakest of her weak sisters. but she would not yield, she would not give way, she told herself again and again with a sort of fierce despair, while conscious all the while that one bastion after another was crumbling before the enemy's assaults. "shall not a woman remain mistress of her own fate?" she cried despairingly. in some things she shall, my dear nell, but not in all, as you are proving to your cost. there is a power within you that is stronger than yourself. at length, sick and weary at heart, she cast herself on her bed and buried her face in the pillows. "never, never will i submit!" she moaned. but even as the words escaped her some traitor in the garrison hauled down the flag which had flaunted itself so defiantly, and the citadel was won. but who the sender of the mask was remained as much a mystery as before. chapter xiv. a fresh actor on the scene. except in a few occasional instances, mr. ambrose cortelyon, who prided himself on his possession of an unbiassed mind, was not in the habit of being unreasonable either in his demands or his expectations, whether they concerned himself or others. thus, he was quite aware that when his convalescence, so to call it, had reached a certain point and made no advance beyond it, it would be both useless and unreasonable on his part to look for any. although dinkel's marvellous drug could do much, it could not work miracles. he, the squire, must not only be content, but must deem himself one of the most fortunate of men that such a measure of health had been given back to him as was now his, and henceforward his most fervent prayer must be for a continuance of it for an indefinite time to come. dinkel had held out to him the hope--nay, it had been next door to a promise--of a prolongation of his life for several months. what was there to hinder those months from extending themselves to years? he himself could see nothing in the way. why should he not go on as he was going on now till his years had stretched themselves out to fourscore? of course, he was only living a half-life, as it were; it was existence with sadly maimed powers, but only on such terms was existence possible to him at all. when we can't have what we would, the only wisdom is to content ourselves with what we have. he was quite aware of his utter dependence on dinkel, but on that score he had no fears. he knew that the young doctor meditated a removal to london before long; indeed, the contingency had already been discussed between them and provided for. week by week dinkel would forward to his mother by coach a small packet containing seven phials, the contents of one of which would be administered to the squire each day by mrs. dinkel, whose services had been exclusively secured by the payment of a wage far more liberal than she could hope to obtain elsewhere. dinkel's own services were to be remunerated at the rate of one hundred pounds a month for as long a time as he should prove successful in keeping his patient in the land of the living. under these circumstances, the squire could bear to look forward to dinkel's proximate departure with tolerable equanimity. dr. banks, at the squire's request, still kept up his visits to the hall, but he no longer came daily as of yore. at each visit the same little farce, which each knew to be a farce, was enacted between him and his patient. having felt the latter's pulse and looked at his tongue, banks would remark in his inanely amiable way: "we are going on famously--famously. strength thoroughly maintained; total absence of febrile symptoms; temperature absolutely normal. i think we could not do better than keep on with the old medicine." "of course we couldn't, banks," the squire would respond with a chuckle. "it's wonderful stuff that of yours. send another pailful along as soon as you like." then would banks take his departure, knowing well that not one drop of his medicine would be swallowed by the master of stanbrook. but he had a large family, and could not afford to quarrel with his bread-and-cheese. he was no worse than the majority of his fellows, for circumstances make humbugs of most of us, if not in one way, then in another. he had heard all that common report had to tell him about dinkel, and about the magical drug he had brought with him from the east, but he forebore to make any inquiries of his own into the matter. to him the whole thing was an insoluble mystery; but, for all that, there was one consolatory feature connected with it. so long as mr. cortelyon could be kept alive, even were it with the connivance of the foul fiend himself, so long would he, james banks, continue to draw a certain number of guineas for visits paid and physic supplied, although the one might be nothing more than a solemn farce, and the other might be poured down the kitchen sink. to himself he stigmatized cornelius dinkel as a "son of the devil." but what about the hon. mrs. bullivant all this time? after that last interview with the squire, she had waited with exemplary patience for the news of his demise. he was a dear old man, and she had been grieved at finding him so near to death's door; but all these things are ordained by providence for the best, and it would not only be useless but wicked to rebel against them. of course, under the circumstances, she would have to go into mourning--that is to say, into a modified kind of mourning--for a short time. society would expect it of her when the dead man's munificent bequest to her was made public. well, she had the consolation of knowing that she never looked better than she did in mourning. dear, dear mr. cortelyon! still, the expected news--one hardly likes to term it the longed-for news--failed to come. it was strange, it was very strange. after waiting a few more days with restrained impatience, she sent one of her servants direct to the hall with a diplomatically worded message having reference to the state of mr. cortelyon's health. the answer he brought back was both surprising and disconcerting. an unexpected change had manifested itself; the squire was very much better, and the improvement seemed likely to last. "oh, i am so glad, so very glad!" said mrs. bullivant to her messenger when he had unburdened himself of his news. "you have relieved me of a great anxiety." "so the improvement seemed likely to last, did it?" she said to herself. but that was sheer nonsense. it had been her lot to see a good deal of sickness and death, and if she had ever seen a man whose hours were numbered, that man was ambrose cortelyon. the so-called improvement, as to the nature of which every one about him seemed to be laboring under a misapprehension, was but nature's expiring effort. she had been a witness of such things before. for a few brief moments the lamp would flame up as brightly as ever it had done, and then would come sudden darkness. it was with an easy mind that she set out next day for london, where some law business connected with her late father's affairs rendered her presence imperatively necessary. she was gone six weeks, during the whole of which time she looked, morning by morning, to receive a letter containing an announcement of the squire's demise. but none came to hand. it was both unaccountable and disappointing. it would have been such an advantage to her to be able to buy her mourning in town! she journeyed back home in anything but a pleasant frame of mind. it was no longer "dear, noble-hearted mr. cortelyon," with her; he was now a "nasty tiresome old man, who ought to be ashamed of himself to be so long a-dying." on this occasion mrs. bullivant had a travelling companion in the person of her half-brother, captain wilton ferris, who was a son of the late mrs. flood by her first husband. captain ferris, who had sold out of the army some years before in consequence of a certain scandal with which his name was prominently mixed up, was a handsome but blasé-looking man of forty. he was well-known in london society as a gambler and a rake who had been black-balled at more than one club. in his time he had gone through two fortunes, his own and his wife's--he was now a widower without family--and for the last few years had been reduced to living by such wits as nature had endowed him with; but at length he had come to the end of his tether. he had received a quiet hint that his presence on the heath at newmarket was undesirable; men looked shyly on him at the card-table; his reputation with the dice-box seemed to have preceded him wherever he went; pigeons worth the plucking were few and far between; and, worse than all, a bill for five hundred pounds, bearing his signature, would fall due in about ten weeks' time, his failure to take up which would involve nothing less than social ruin--such ruin as was still possible to him--and outlawry. his strait was a desperate one, and, as a last resource, he had come to his half-sister, in the hope that once more--neither for the first nor second time--he might find salvation at her hands. mrs. bullivant was a woman of tepid affections; nature had made her so, and she could not help herself; but, in her limited and narrow way, she had always cherished a fondness for her handsome, scampish half-brother. her own bringing-up had been of the most strait-laced kind, and maybe for that very reason she liked him none the worse on account of his faults, which--and so far one may give him credit--he never strove to hide from her; in point of fact, she was the only person in the world to whom he ever spoke frankly. as a consequence, she cherished no illusions in respect of him; she knew that at his time of life it was useless to look for any radical change or improvement in him; that which he had been and was now he would remain till the end. he had told her all about the "damnable fix" in which he now found himself, and if she did not sympathize with him, that was probably because it was not in her nature to sympathize with any one. on the other hand, she did not blame him, as so many people in her place would have done, for the reckless folly which had at length landed him in such an _impasse_. but if she did not sympathize with him in words, she did something else which was very much more to the purpose so far as he was concerned. she said to him, "as soon as ever mr. cortelyon's legacy of three thousand pounds comes into my hands--and i am expecting the news of his death from hour to hour--i will place five hundred pounds of it at your disposal." that had been a fortnight ago, but the wished-for news was still lacking; so now captain ferris was journeying down to uplands with his sister, glad enough to get away from london for awhile, where, so importunate were his creditors becoming, it was no longer safe for him to venture out of his lodgings by daylight. besides, at uplands he would be on the spot when the longed-for legacy, in which lay his only hope of salvation, should drop into his sister's lap. at this time it so happened that mrs. bullivant was not in a position to supply her brother out of her own resources with anything approaching the sum needed to help him out of his difficulty. she had just completed the purchase of a considerable slice of freehold property abutting on her own estate, and for the present her balance at her banker's might be said to be down to zero. although the late mr. flood had never liked his stepson, and after his wife's death, which occurred within a few years of their marriage, had kept him at arm's-length as much as possible, he had yet felt compelled, for the sake of appearances, to invite him now and again on a short visit to uplands, so that the captain was no stranger to the place and its surroundings. no sooner was breakfast over on the morning after the arrival of himself and his sister than he set out on foot for a long ramble. the way he took led him in the direction of stanbrook, and when he reached the village of that name, which, as we know, lay within a bowshot of the hall, he marched into the bar parlor of the white hart inn and called for a bottle of the best sherry the house could furnish. such an order was attended to by the landlord in person, which was just what ferris had counted on. after they had chatted together for a few minutes about the weather and the crops, there was nothing out of the common in the captain asking the worthy boniface to join him over a glass of his own wine. a second glass helped to loose the latter's tongue, after which the rest was easy. they gossiped together for upwards of an hour before ferris went his way. there was no need for him to seek further information elsewhere; he had learnt all he wanted to know. what he had heard impressed him greatly; nor was its effect less marked upon his sister, who was, however, inclined to be skeptical with regard to some of the details. one thing was evident to both: mrs. bullivant must go to stanbrook on the morrow and ascertain for herself how matters were progressing. chapter xv. "fate points the way." "well, how did you fare? how much longer is the old scoundrel going to keep beelzebub out of his own?" these questions were addressed by captain ferris to his sister, who had just got back from stanbrook. he had been awaiting her return with ill-concealed impatience. it seemed to him that she had been gone an unconscionable time. "my dear wilton, i wish you wouldn't flurry one so. i will tell you all there is to tell if you will give me time. but first of all, mix me a little brandy-and-water." having taken off her outdoor things, inducted her feet into a pair of roomy house-shoes, and planted herself in her favorite easy-chair mrs. bullivant was ready to begin her narrative: "in the first place, the rumors which have reached us from various quarters about mr. cortelyon's amazing recovery are not a bit exaggerated. i know for a fact that, at the time i saw him last, he had been given up by both his doctors, and was not expected to last the week out. if i ever saw a man with death in his face, it seemed to me he was that man. when i left him i bade him (mentally) a final farewell. so far so good. but what do i find to-day on reaching stanbrook? the same man, truly, and yet another. not the ambrose cortelyon whom i left at death's door, on whose face i saw already the shadow of the tomb, but ambrose cortelyon as i remember him a number of years ago. for him time's dial has been put back a decade. can you wonder if, for a few moments, i was struck dumb with astonishment? "i found him, not in his bedroom, but in his library, and how do you think he was engaged? why, in drawing up, with the help of his secretary, a catalogue of the coins and medals which he has been accumulating for the last forty years? when he turned to greet me his voice was as firm and resonant as i ever remember it to have been. then his secretary left the room and we were alone. "he held out a lean, withered hand, and his face lighted up with one of his peculiar smiles. (when mr. cortelyon smiles you never can be sure whether he is smiling with you, at you, or merely at some hidden thought of his own.) 'welcome, onoria!' he began. 'i have been expecting a visit from you for some time past, but better late than not at all. you are surprised--he!--he! (now don't deny it, i can read your face like a book) at finding me perched here and busying myself with my favorite trivialities, when, if only i had behaved as ordinary mortals are wont to do, i should have been shouldered to my last abode weeks ago, and you would have been a considerably richer woman than you are to-day. well, well, nobody can be more surprised than i. but why don't you sit down? i hate to have people standing about and staring at me.' "what i said in reply, when he gave me a chance of speaking, is not worth repeating. as a matter of course, i explained how i had been called from home and did not get back till yesterday, but he listened without seeming to hear what i was talking about. evidently he was busy with his own thoughts. "his next words had reference to gavin. he wanted to know whether the boy was quite well. when assured on the point he nodded his head and seemed pleased. then he lay back in his chair for a little while without speaking, twiddling between his fingers, as if he loved it, a large gold coin which looked as if it might have been minted a couple of thousand years ago. "at length he spoke: 'there is one matter, onoria, about which i wish to give you my assurance. it is this: that whether i die to-morrow or not for five years to come, my will, as it now stands, will remain unchanged. when once my mind is made up, it is made up for good; i never go back from my decision. consequently, you may make yourself easy on that point. you know already that neither yourself nor your son has been forgotten in the will; indeed, i will go so far as to tell you this, that there is perhaps such a surprise in store for you as you little wot of. and now let us talk of something else. i hear the browhead property is likely to come into the market in the course of a few weeks. i wish you would drive as far some day soon, look over it, and let me know what you think of it.' "nothing more passed that it would interest you to be told about, and before long i took my leave, but not till mr. cortelyon had requested me to visit him again on this day fortnight and take gavin with me." captain ferris's face was black as night. "then it's quite evident the old fox has made up his mind not to die just yet," he said. "and yet it might be as well that he should not live too long. his promise about the will may be taken for what it's worth. invalids--and i suppose mr. cortelyon may be counted one still--are notoriously changeable, and any day may see your hopes dashed to the ground." mrs. bullivant looked at him, but his eyes did not meet hers. there was something behind his words, but she was not quite sure what it was. "of course i fully admit, between you and me, that it would be a great relief if the lord were to see fit to take the poor man to himself," she said, after a pause. "but what can i do? in a case of this sort one is absolutely helpless." the captain was trimming his nails, and did not reply. after waiting a moment or two, his sister said: "by the way, i have something more to tell you. as i was driving back i overtook ann thorpe, who used to be under-cook at uplands, but left my service three years ago to enter that of the squire. i know her for a talkative, simple-minded young woman, and the sight of her supplied me with an idea which i at once proceeded to put into practice. stopping the carriage, i alighted, and bade trotter drive on slowly and pick me up at the toll-bar. then i joined ann, and we walked on together. it was a lonely bit of road, and there was nobody to observe us. i was desirous of putting certain questions to her which no one but an inmate of the hall could have answered to my satisfaction. "with the questions themselves i need not trouble you. what i wanted from ann was a confirmation or otherwise of the all but incredible news you picked up yesterday with reference to the man dinkel and his doings at the hall. what you had heard might be merely one of those idle rumors in which ignorant folk delight, but which they are never at the trouble to sift; or there might be a substratum of truth in it, but so overlaid with fiction that it would be next to impossible to separate the two. strange to say, your statement was confirmed by ann thorpe in almost every particular. "mrs. dinkel, the mother, has been acting as nurse to the squire ever since tatham, his body-servant, had to resign his duties on account of ill-health, and it was she who introduced her son at the hall, but not till her patient had been given up by his doctors and was hardly expected to live from hour to hour. "as you were told yesterday, this young dinkel is said to have brought with him a marvellous drug from the far east, which will almost bring dead people back to life. in any case, it seems certain that he has effected several remarkable cures in the village and neighborhood, and from the date of his first visit to the hall the squire began to mend. it appears that he goes there every evening after dark, taking with him a dose of his wonderful medicine, which he will allow no one to administer but himself. "i have told you already how changed i found the squire from what he was when i saw him last. it is a change which to me seems little less than miraculous, and yet, so far as can be gathered, it is wholly due to the man dinkel. dr. banks, who has attended the squire for years, keeps on sending his physic as usual, but ann thorpe assures me that the bottles are never as much as uncorked. from what i saw myself to-day, and from what i gathered from ann, it seems not unlikely that the squire may last for a year or two, or even longer. but life is made up of crosses, and, however much one may try to convince oneself that everything is ordered for the best, it is sometimes a little difficult to do so." captain ferris shut his penknife with a click. "and what would be the consequence, so far as mr. cortelyon is concerned, in case of anything happening to this fellow dinkel?" he asked. mrs. bullivant lifted her eyebrows. "really, my dear wilton, that is a question which i have no means of answering." "for all that, it is one which might be worth considering." he got up, stretched himself, crossed to the window, and stood staring out, whistling under his breath. his sister followed him with her eyes. she could read between the lines of his character far more clearly than any one else could. "in such a case as you speak of, i should think it would be a very bad thing for mr. cortelyon," she said after a pause, in a low voice. "my own opinion exactly," he made answer, without turning round. the days followed each other till a week had gone by, and captain ferris was still at uplands. indeed, he knew of nowhere else to go to. london was too hot to hold him; the bailiffs were looking for him high and low. here at any rate, he could lie by for awhile. but not for long. hour by hour the day was creeping nearer when the fatal bill for five hundred pounds would fall due. after that not even uplands would be safe for him. he must put the channel between himself and the bloodhounds of the law. [illustration: "the body of the 'man-witch' had been found shot through the heart."] little further allusion was made either by his sister or himself to the subject which loomed so largely in the thoughts of both. what more, indeed, was there to be said? talk for talking's sake was what neither of them was given to indulge in. for them, just then, life seemed to be at a standstill. they were waiting breathlessly, so to speak, for the tidings which still delayed their coming. captain ferris was out and about a great deal, putting a discreet question here, and eliciting a morsel of information there, but all he heard pointed to an unchanged state of affairs at the hall. any fine afternoon mr. cortelyon might be seen driving about the country roads in the shabby old chariot which dated from his grandfather's era, and had in those days ranked as one of the grandest coaches in town. "he'll live to be a hundert, you see if he doan't, sir," said one man to whom the captain had put a certain question. ferris turned away with a stifled oath. it was on the afternoon of the tenth day after mrs. bullivant's return from london that some startling news reached uplands. it was brought by the tuxford carrier, who retailed it as a _bonne bouche_ to the maids in the kitchen, whence, before long, it penetrated to the drawing-room. the body of the "man-witch," cornelius dinkel, had been found early that morning, shot through the heart, in threeways spinny. so far nobody had been arrested for the crime. mrs. bullivant was alone in the drawing-room when her maid brought her the news. gavin had lately had a pony given him, and his uncle had taken him out for a ride on it. a sudden vertigo took the mistress of uplands almost before her maid had got halfway through her story. she motioned for her salts, and for a few moments lay back in her chair with closed eyes and white face. then presently, with a faint, "i'm better; you can go," she dismissed the girl. it was not the news itself, startling though it was, which had had such an effect on mrs. bullivant. it was a horrible suspicion which, so to speak, had gripped her by the throat and refused to loosen its hold of her. yesterday evening, as daylight was dying into dusk, her brother had left the house without saying either where he was going or when he might be looked for back. but she was used to his queer moods and apparently purposeless comings and goings, and found it best to question him as little as possible. she had hardly thought to see anything more of him till breakfast time next morning. great, therefore, was her astonishment when, on crossing the hall a little after eleven o'clock on her way to her bedroom, she suddenly met him face to face. he had entered the house by a side door which could be opened from the outside without disturbing any of the servants. that he was both surprised and disconcerted by the meeting he showed plainly, his intention having apparently been to reach his room unseen by any one. but it was not so much the fact of coming unexpectedly on her brother as the appearance he presented that caused mrs. bullivant to start back with a low cry of alarm. for his face was as colorless as that of a corpse; his features were drawn and haggard; he looked at her with eyes which she did not recognize as his, so strangely changed was their expression; he was bareheaded, and his black hair, matted with sweat, was all in disorder; while his chest rose and fell pantingly like that of one who had outspent himself with running. finally, both his boots and his clothes were bespattered with mud, for much rain had fallen in the course of the day. "great heavens! wilton, what ails you? what has happened to you?" cried mrs. bullivant. "for god's sake not so loud! such an adventure!" he panted. "set upon by two ruffians in a lonely part of the road. one of 'em i managed to knock over with a lefthander--then took to my heels. if i hadn't they'd have bludgeoned my brains out. two to one, you know." "what a narrow escape for you! but what has become of your hat?" "i've not lost it, have i?" he gasped, while a great terror leapt into his eyes. "if so, i'm lost too!" a moment later his expression changed. "what a fool i am!" he exclaimed with a ghastly attempt at a smile. "i've got it all the while. it fell off while i was running and as the rascals were not far behind me i made a dash at it and crammed it into one of my pockets. it will look a pretty object to-morrow, _sans doute_. but now to bed, for i'm dog-tired." "shall i send you up some hot water and----" "curse it all, no! i want no eye but yours to see me to-night." he glared at her for a moment as if he was about to strike her. then with a shrug and a sudden dropping of his hands, he said. "forgive me, onny, i'm not myself to-night." and with that he passed her and went swiftly upstairs, and presently she heard the key turned in the lock of his room. it was the recollection of this scene which shook her with such a terrible fear this afternoon. what had her brother meant by saying that if his hat were lost he was lost too? supposing he had lost it and it had afterwards been found, what then? and why had he been so anxious that no eyes save hers should see him on his return? was there any truth in the story of his encounter with the two men? but, above all, had he had any hand in last night's tragedy? that he was utterly unscrupulous she had long known, and she divined, without knowing, that in his nature there were dark unsounded depths in which the most ghastly secret might be hidden up forever. she was only too well aware by what desperate reasons her brother was urged to wish dinkel out of the way. to him it might, and most likely would, mean all the difference between salvation and ruin. she waited his coming with a quaking heart. she was sitting in a mixed light, that of the dying afternoon and that thrown out by the glowing embers on the hearth, when he entered the room. having shut the door, he stood there with the handle in his hand, without advancing. "well, have you heard the news?" he asked abruptly in a high, harsh voice, very different from his usual smooth cultivated tones. "dinkel's dead--shot through the heart last night, presumably when on his way back from stanbrook. body found early this morning by some hedgers on their way to work. what will happen now, i wonder? there's the rub, both for you and me." "i had already heard. the tuxford carrier brought the news about an hour ago." "had i known that i needn't have hurried back, as i did, on purpose to tell you. but no matter." "have any traces of the--the perpetrator of the crime been discovered, or have they any idea where to look for him?" "'pon my soul, i don't know. i never asked. 'twas a point that had no interest for me. but now i'll go upstairs and make myself presentable, and join you presently over a cup of tea. we have had a famous scamper, the boy and i. but he will be with you in a minute or two." after tea they played ecarté for a couple of hours, and never had mrs. bullivant seen her brother more cheerful and at his ease. she went to bed not knowing what to think. chapter xvi. the shears of atropos. the news of the tragedy in threeways spinny reached stanbrook about nine o'clock in the morning. the body of the murdered man had already been taken home, and it was mrs. dinkel's next-door neighbor who was deputed to convey the sad tidings to her. she was on the point of taking the squire's breakfast upstairs when the man arrived at the hall, and asked to see her. ten minutes later mrs. dinkel entered her patient's room. like the thoughtful creature she was, even in the midst of her distress she had not forgotten the breakfast tray. having placed it on the table by the bedside, she turned to the squire, and, in a voice which not all her efforts could render firm, said: "sir, a great misfortune has befallen me--the most terrible that could have happened. my son has been murdered! the tidings have just reached me. his body was found early this morning in threeways spinny. he had been shot through the heart--he who had not an enemy in the world! sir, i must leave here at once. i am wanted at home, as you can well conceive; but if----" "dead! your son dead!" shrieked the squire, almost as shrilly as a woman might have done. then for a few seconds he remained speechless. his heart stopped beating, and a black veil dropped before his eyes. but the very force of the shock brought its own reaction. he flung up his arms, and then let them drop helplessly on the bed. "in that case, what is to become of me?" he moaned. "the lord in heaven only knows, sir, for i'm sure i don't," answered mrs. dinkel. it was all she could do to crush down her emotion. the squire sank back on his pillow with a groan. the bereaved mother stood looking at him, anxious to go, and yet, so strong was the professional instinct in her, not liking to leave him. of a sudden he beckoned her to go closer to him, and when she had done so he clutched her by the sleeve of her gown. in three short minutes his face seemed to have aged a dozen years. his lips had turned of a grayish purple, and a thin froth had gathered at their corners. his eyes were the eyes of a terror-hunted soul brought to bay, and yet ready to turn and curse with its latest breath the inexorable fate which had driven it there. "don't think i do not pity you, because that would be a mistake on your part," he said. "i pity you and sympathize with you most sincerely. but--but your son must have left a lot of the drug--you know what i mean--behind him. don't you think so, hey? and--and as soon as ever you can spare time--in the course of the day, you know--you will have a thorough search made, and ascertain the quantity, and let me know at the earliest possible moment, won't you? yes, yes; he must have left quite a considerable quantity ready prepared. i feel sure of it; so don't forget to send me word as soon as you can." there was a terrible eagerness in the way he spoke, and he would not loose his hold of her till she had promised him, that he should hear from her in the course of the forenoon. when she was gone her place was taken by miss baynard. that morning the squire's breakfast was sent away untasted, and he made no effort to get up. anxiety held him as with a vise--an anxiety shot through and through with forebodings the most dire. he lay without speaking, watching with feverish eyes the slow-moving fingers of the clock on the chimney-piece, each of whose solemn ticks seemed to him to mark a stitch in the tapestry of doom. it was a few minutes past two when a servant brought upstairs a small sealed packet, together with a letter, both of them addressed to "ambrose cortelyon, esq.," and both of them just brought by a special messenger. the sick man had no need to ask who was the sender. "open the letter and read it aloud, nell," he said, as soon as the servant had left the room. it was not merely that he had lost the control of his fingers--he shook from head to foot like one in an ague fit. nell did as she was bidden. "honored sir" (she read), "in accordance with your wish and my own promise, i have made diligent and careful search in every corner, cupboard, and drawer of the room in which my poor son mixed his physics and attended to his doctoring business, with the result (and it grieves me much to have to tell it you) that i have not succeeded in finding more than two phials of the stuff ready mixed for taking, the which, under cover, i herewith send you. "it would appear to have been my son's custom not to prepare any large quantity of the drug beforehand, perhaps--but on this point i speak without certainty--because he found that some portion of its virtue was lost with keeping. "i remain, honored sir, "your obedient, humble servant, "martha dinkel. "p.s.--since writing the above i have made another thorough search, high and low, in every nook and corner of the premises, but it has proved a sheer waste of time. "mr. cortelyon, sir, in the midst of my own distress, permit me respectfully to observe that my heart bleeds for you." when nell had read to the last word, the squire made no comment aloud, only to himself he murmured: "_mors ultima linea rerum est_." he had not opened his horace for years, but the line came back to him quite freshly to-day. he knew that he was a doomed man, and that no earthly power could save him. well, according to all human calculations he ought to have been dead and buried a number of weeks ago, but another brief spell of life had been granted him, and if, through a tragic misfortune which no one could have foreseen, it had come prematurely to a close, why, there was no help for it. all that was now left him to do was to wrap his toga about him and await the end with silent stoicism. although he took the two remaining doses of the drug in due course, he made no attempt to rise from his bed after hearing of dinkel's death. from that hour life, with its manifold interests, became to him as a dead letter. he had done with it, and it had done with him. they were quits. so, day after day and night after night, he lay in the big four poster, silent for the most part, and often without opening his eyes for hours together; feeling his strength ebbing imperceptibly away, and, between his fitful snatches of sleep, thinking, ever thinking, for his mind remained as vigorous and lucid as ever it had been. what strange and awesome thoughts must oftentimes have been his as he lay there in grim resolute silence, waiting for his "order of release"! his niece and andry luce took it in turns to watch by him. it was an easy task, there was so little that he wanted or that could be done for him. miss baynard had taken it on herself to send for drs banks and mills, who responded to the summons in all haste. the squire opened his eyes and favored them with one of his sardonic smiles as they entered the room. "eh-eh! come to see the last of your handiwork?" he said, and already his voice had sunk to a half-whisper. "very kind and attentive of you, i'm sure. and besides, my case is such an interesting and uncommon one. it will be something for you to wrangle over as long as you live, and at the end you will know no more about it than you do now. yes, yes, very kind and attentive of you; but as for your physic, i'll have no more on't--that's flat. throw it to the dogs, as shakespeare says. and now, 'i have an exposition of sleep come upon me.'" of course they could do nothing, and to miss baynard they were candid enough to admit as much. it was a sad state of things. and so the muffled hours stole after each other one by one till a week had gone by, by which time it became evident that the end was not far off. no arrest had yet been made in connection with the murder of cornelius dinkel, and it may here be added that none ever was made. the murderer had left no traces behind him, and, search as diligently as they might, not a tittle of evidence was forthcoming to back up any of the theories propounded by the authorities in relation to the crime. on a certain afternoon, somewhat to miss baynard's surprise, mrs. bullivant made her appearance at the hall. it was a step which she had not taken till after mature consideration. the first few days after dinkel's death had been passed by her in a fever of apprehension. precisely what it was that she feared she did not whisper even to herself, but she could not bear a ring or a knock at the door without experiencing a spasm of silent terror. yet all this time her brother remained as darkly quiet, as listless, and apparently as indifferent to everything, save his own little comforts, as she ever remembered him to have been. wet or fine, he went out every day for a long walk, and it was he who brought back the rumors he lighted on in his rambles anent the squire of stanbrook. one day he brought back something which was more than a rumor. it was something he had been told at second-hand as having emanated from no less an authority than dr. banks. mr. cortelyon was at death's door, and this time there was no possible chance of his recovery! then it was that mrs. bullivant debated with her brother whether she ought not to pay one more visit to stanbrook while the squire was able to recognize her. captain ferris was strongly of opinion that she ought on no account to omit doing so. there was no knowing what influences might be at work. what more easy than to persuade a dying man to execute a codicil to his will, or even to have a fresh will drawn up, cancelling wholly or in part the provisions of the one already in existence? most certainly she ought to see for herself how the land lay, not merely in her own interest, but in that of her son, and, if necessary, remain on the spot till all was over. little persuasion was needed to induce mrs. bullivant to fall in with her brother's views. by this time her vague, unspoken apprehensions had in a great measure subsided. dinkel had been dead more than a week, and nothing had happened. nothing would happen now, she told herself. she would go to stanbrook. more than once--indeed quite a number of times--when talking over her last interview with mr. cortelyon, her brother had made her repeat one sentence in particular which the squire had addressed to her in allusion to the contents of his will: "there is perhaps such a surprise in store for you as you little wot of." to both her and the captain it was a sentence which seemed pregnant with golden possibilities; and it is hardly to be wondered at that, on her way to stanbrook, her imagination built up more than one gorgeous aerial fabric, although, as a rule, she kept that arrant jerry-builder in the most complete subjection. on hearing that mrs. bullivant had arrived, miss baynard went downstairs to receive her. when they met the former made as if she would have kissed nell, but the girl drew back a little haughtily. she was not in the habit of being kissed, even by those of her own sex, and in her visitor's case it would have seemed to her a veritable _baiser de judas_. but she could not, with any show of courtesy, refuse her hand. "how is he, dear miss baynard?" were mrs. bullivant's first words. she spoke in hushed tones, although as yet she had got no farther than the entrance-hall. "he is sinking fast, and is almost speechless." "you shock me more than i can say." and, to do her justice, for the moment she looked shocked. to herself she said, "if he is speechless, or nearly so, it is too late for him to think of altering his will, and, if he has done so already, i have come too late to help it." aloud she went on: "i had not the faintest idea that his illness had assumed the gravity you tell me it has--news percolates to us so slowly at uplands--otherwise i should have been here before now. but now that i am here, dear miss baynard, you must let me stay with you till the end. mr. cortelyon, as you are probably aware, regarded me with a very special affection. had circumstances turned out differently, i should have been his daughter-in-law. but my life has been one long disappointment." knowing what she did of the purport of her uncle's will, nell felt that, little as she liked the woman, she was not in a position to object to her presence in the house. in a very little while mrs. bullivant would be mistress of stanbrook and of everything in it, while she, nell, would be little better than an outcast. but however bitter and humiliating it might be to know this, she had other things to think of just now. when mrs. bullivant and nell entered the sick room together some minutes later, mrs. budd, who had been keeping watch in the interim, rose, curtsied to the newcomer, and went. mr. cortelyon lay with closed eyes and with both arms extended on the coverlet; one shut hand held the coveted stater of epaticcus, the other grasped his silver snuff-box. an involuntary exclamation escaped mrs. bullivant as her eyes fell on his face. once before she had believed him to be at the point of death, and only by what might almost be termed a miracle had his life been prolonged. this time no miracle would intervene. his hours, nay, his very minutes, were numbered; death's awful shadow was already closing round him; would he live through the night? about half an hour later he opened his eyes, turned his head slightly and stared about him. mrs. bullivant rose, crossed on tiptoe to the bed and bent over him. "dear mr. cortelyon, don't you know me?" she murmured. "yes, i am sure you do." for a second or two he peered up into her face with contracted lids, as if not quite sure about her identity. then, with an inarticulate noise, which seemed more indicative of anger and repulsion than of anything else, he raised both his hands and pushed her rather roughly away. mrs. bullivant went back to her chair with a somewhat heightened color in her cheeks. "poor dear!" she said in an undertone; "it is quite evident that he no longer knows what he is about." and so daylight slid slowly into dark, and the two women still kept watch on either side of the bed. dr. banks, with a cheerful fire and a magnum of port to keep him company, sat below in the library--merely for form's sake, and because it would be an injustice to his wife, and family not to make his bill as long a one as possible while the chance was his of doing so. for some hours the dying man's skin had been gradually changing color, till now it had become of one uniform leaden blue tint. dr. banks, who stepped upstairs for a couple of minutes every half-hour or so, said to himself that it must be one of the effects of "that damned drug." midnight was drawing on. for upwards of an hour mr. cortelyon had been lying to all appearance in a comatose state, when of a sudden he opened his eyes and raised himself in bed without help--a thing he had not done for days past. "the will! the will!--get it and destroy it before it's too late!" he cried in harsh, insistent tones, punctuated by gasps. "i've done wrong--wrong. i know it now--i feel it. to my grandson all--all! to that woman"--pointing to the shocked mrs. bullivant--"nothing. send at once--not a minute's delay. piljoy has it. or else it will be too late--too late!" alas! it was already too late. he sank back, gasping for breath, with eyes that were already beginning to glaze. five minutes later all was over. mrs. bullivant dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. "poor dear! i am so thankful he did not suffer much," she said. "that he should wander a little in his mind at the last is not to be wondered at. nearly all aged people do that when they are dying." chapter xvii. an astounding discovery. it was five days later. the funeral was over. everything had been done decently and in order, and in the great drawing-room at stanbrook, the shutters of which of late years had been rarely opened, a small company were assembled, by invitation of mr. piljoy, to hear the reading of the dead man's will. miss baynard and mrs. budd sat together on one of the couches; a little way removed, in stately isolation, sat mrs. bullivant; while mrs. dace, the housekeeper, remained modestly in the background, with andry luce and two or three other old servants to keep her company. the gentlemen comprised mr. herries, the vicar; mr. delafosse, sir james dalrymple, of langrig, and squire staniforth, of claypool; the two latter of whom, at mr. cortelyon's request, had agreed to act as trustees under his will. they were clear-headed, thoroughly practical men, with plenty of leisure on their hands, and, as such, had recommended themselves to the late squire, who was their senior by more than a score years, and had known their fathers before them. mr. piljoy sat by himself at the big oval table in the centre of the room. the will, as yet unopened, lay there in front of him. when everybody had settled into their places and the door was finally shut, mr. piljoy cleared his voice, and, leaning forward a little with his clasped hands resting on the table, said, addressing the company at large: "before breaking the seal of the document which i am here for the purpose of reading to you, i may just remark for the information of everybody, and in order to satisfy any curiosity which might otherwise be felt on the point, that this is not the first testament drawn up by me for the late mr. cortelyon. there was a much earlier will, the provisions of which, i need scarcely tell you, were of a widely different nature from those of the present one; but that will was destroyed at the time of the unhappy quarrel between father and son, of which, i daresay, most of those here have some cognizance. for the next few years no will of any kind was in existence, nor could mr. cortelyon be persuaded into making another till he found himself overtaken by illness of a very serious kind. i will now, with your permission, proceed to open and read the will." sir james tapped his snuff-box, opened it, offered it to his co-trustee, and then indulged himself with a large pinch. the servants in the background laid their heads together and whispered among themselves. mrs. bullivant tried to look as if the reading was a matter which in no way concerned her, and almost succeeded. miss baynard and andry luce alone knew what was coming. to the former the whole proceeding was fraught with heartfelt torture, from which she would fain have escaped had there been any way open for her to do so. the will itself was enclosed in a sheet of parchment secured with two large black seals. these latter mr. piljoy did not break, but cut round them with his penknife and got at the contents that way. pushing the envelope aside, he proceeded to unfold and straighten out the will; then, having settled his spectacles more firmly astride his nose, he gave a preliminary cough and turned over the first page. apparently, however, he had forgotten to how many pages the document extended, and in order to satisfy himself on the point, before beginning to read he turned the leaves over one by one--there were only five or six in all--till he came to the last one, on reaching which his eye instinctively travelled to the foot of it. next instant he gave a start and sprang to his feet, his eyes still glued to the bottom of the will. he looked dazed--thunderstruck--and well he might. "what is the meaning of this?" he cried. "what devilry has been at work? the will is unsigned!" and so, indeed, it proved to be. there was the space for the three signatures, those of the testator and the two witnesses, but the signatures themselves were wanting. over the scene that ensued we need not linger. the servants were told that they were no longer wanted, and went back to their duties terribly crestfallen. the legacies on which they had so surely counted seemed to have dissolved on a sudden into thin air. for the first few minutes after the fatal announcement mrs. bullivant sat like an image of stony despair. so stunned was she that, for the time being, she seemed deprived of the power of coherent thought. she was roused, in part at least, by some words addressed by sir james dalrymple to mr. piljoy. "of course the will as it stands is wholly inoperative, still, mr. staniforth and i are a little curious with regard to its contents, so perhaps you won't mind devoting a minute or two to our enlightenment. there is no need for you to read out the different clauses; all we want is to be made acquainted with the main features of the document." "five minutes will suffice for that purpose," replied the lawyer. "to begin with, there are some half-dozen bequests, varying in amount, to as many old servants and dependents, with the details of which i need not trouble you. to the testator's old friend, mr. delafosse"--bowing to that gentleman--"are bequeathed sundry coins, medals, and other curios, a list of which will be found among the private papers of the deceased. then i must not omit to mention that to each of you gentlemen, for your trouble in acting as trustees, is left the sum of one hundred and fifty guineas; and to mr. herries a similar sum for distribution among the deserving poor of the parish. with regard to his niece, miss baynard"--here he favored nell with a bow--"the testator's instructions are that a sum of money be invested in her name in the public funds sufficient to bring her in an annual income of three hundred pounds, the which she shall enjoy for life, the principal at her demise to be divided among certain specified charitable institutions. to the hon. mrs. bullivant"--a bow for that lady--"is left the sum of three thousand pounds in hard cash. every thing else of which the testator may die possessed--including the stanbrook and barrowmead properties, another large estate on the borders of yorkshire, and certain other smaller estates--is willed in trust to gavin bullivant, the son of the hon. mrs. bullivant, on condition that on coming of age he adds to his present cognomen that of 'cortelyon.' finally, i may mention that as regards the stanbrook property mrs. bullivant is bequeathed a life-interest in the same." he ceased, and sir james and his friend stared at each other in sheer amazement, but in mrs. bullivant's presence they could not well give expression to what they thought. mr. staniforth was the first to break the silence. "both sir james and i were under the impression that the late mr. cortelyon had a grandson. his only son died some few years ago, did he not, leaving behind him a widow and one child?" "he did." "and yet in your summary of the contents of the will you made no mention of either of their names." "the widow died some time ago. there was no mention of the boy's name on my part for the very good reason that it is not included in the will. mr. cortelyon never forgave his son's marriage, and refused in any way to acknowledge his grandchild." again the two men looked at each other, and again they refrained from giving expression to the thoughts at work within them. then said sir james: "an unsigned will is so much waste paper. in case no other will, duly executed, should turn up, what will happen?" "only one thing can happen. the case will resolve itself into one of intestacy, and everything--lock, stock, and barrel--will go to the heir-at-law, that is to say, to the grandson of whom mention has just been made." the two gentlemen nodded. that was their own view exactly. miss baynard had sat all this time without speaking or stirring. when mr. piljoy made the startling announcement that the will was without signature, she flashed a look at andry luce which seemed to ask in bewilderment, "what is the meaning of this?" but andry, nursing his chin in the palm of one hand, was apparently staring straight before him, and did not, or would not, meet her eyes. when, however, mrs. dace and the others proceeded to leave the room, andry, who was about to follow them, glanced at nell, and, in obedience to a signal from her, resumed his seat. nell as was dumfounded as mrs. bullivant by the turn events had taken. she had not clearly comprehended what the result would be of the will being unsigned till she heard mr. piljoy's declaration that, in the event of no other will being found, everything would go to evan as his grandfather's heir-at-law. then a great gladness took possession of her, and her heart swelled with thankfulness. but of a sudden, a shiver of apprehension ran through her. mr. staniforth was speaking: "have you any reason whatever, mr. piljoy, for supposing that any other will than this unsigned one is in existence?" not miss baynard only, but mrs. bullivant as well, awaited the lawyer's answer with strained breathlessness. mr. piljoy shrugged his shoulders. "that, sir, is a question which just now i am hardly prepared to answer, and for this reason, that no one can be more mystified and puzzled by the turn affairs have taken this afternoon than i am. one supposition, and one only, suggests itself to me as tending in the slightest degree to elucidate the mystery. what that supposition is i will, with your permission, now proceed to explain." he lay back in the big library chair, cleared his voice, and toyed with his spectacles for a few seconds before proceeding. "in accordance with mr. cortelyon's instructions, his will was drawn up by me in duplicate. this was done as a provision of safety; in the event of any hitch or blunder occurring in the signing or witnessing of one document, the other would be available. gout having laid me by the heels, i gave the duplicate wills into the charge of mr. tew, my managing clerk, who was just as competent to see to the signing and witnessing as i was. here before me is the will which he next day brought back and handed to me for safe custody in the belief that it had been duly signed and witnessed; and here is the envelope that held it, sealed in two places with mr. cortelyon's own seal, and with the words, 'ambrose cortelyon--his will' written across the face of it with his own pen. now, on consideration, it seems to me just possible that, through some mischance, the unsigned will got substituted for the signed one in the envelope. if my supposition has any basis of fact, the question that naturally follows is, what became of the duplicate will? is there any one present, who is in a position to throw any light on the point involved?" whether consciously or unconsciously, as he asked the question his eyes fixed themselves on miss baynard. the eyes of every one there followed those of mr. piljoy. nell stood up, her cheeks warmed with the fine glow of color. "my uncle's secretary, andry luce, who is now present, was, i believe, in the room when the will was signed." "then he will doubtless be willing to answer to the best of his ability any questions we may think well to put to him?" turning to andry, nell said, "you are quite willing to answer any questions mr. piljoy or these other gentlemen may ask you, are you not?" the reply was two vigorous nods in the affirmative. turning to sir james and his friend, nell said, "unfortunately, andry is dumb, and has been so from his youth, so that i shall have to translate his answers for you." "come a bit more to the front, andry, there's a good fellow," said mr. piljoy, who knew him of old. then he seemed to consider for a few seconds while andry changed his seat. "you were in the room when the will was signed?" was the lawyer's first question. with a look at nell, his quick-moving fingers spelled out the answer, "i was," which was repeated aloud by her; and the same process had to be gone through in the case of all his answers. "what persons were in the room at the time besides yourself and the testator?" "mr. tew, and the two witnesses--peter grice, the groom, and mike denny, the under-gardener." "were you aware that mr. tew had brought two wills with him?" "i was, i saw both of them." "on entering the room what did he do with them?" "he gave them both to the squire." "and what happened next?" "the squire thrust one of them under his pillow, and gave the other back to mr. tew for him to read it aloud." "and what happened when the reading had come to an end?" "the bell rang for me--i had been ordered out of the room while the reading took place--and, on entering, mr. tew told me that the squire was ready for the witnesses, whom i had been careful to have close at hand, so that there should be no delay." "proceed." "the witnesses were brought into the room and placed where they could see all that went forward. pen and ink were in readiness. i raised the squire in bed--he was too weak to sit up without help--and supported him with an arm round his waist. mr. tew placed the will in front of him, gave him the pen, pointed out the place for him, and with that mr. cortelyon slowly and carefully signed his name. then mr. tew took the will to the table and caused grice and denny to sign it one after the other. when that was done the two men were dismissed." "yes, and after that?" "following the men into the corridor, by the squire's orders i made each of them a present of a crown piece. that done, i at once went back to the room. mr. tew was standing by the table with the folded will in his hand. 'seal it up,' said my master to me. mr. tew having handed to it to me, i at once proceeded to enclose it in the sheet of parchment, out of which it was taken by mr. piljoy a little while since, sealing the packet in two places with my master's own seal. then i held him up again, and with a trembling hand he wrote on the envelope, 'ambrose cortelyon--his will.' that done, the packet was given into the custody of mr. tew, and the business was at an end." "not quite, andry, not quite--at least as far as we are concerned. you are forgetting the duplicate will. what became of that?" "mr. tew had not been five minutes gone before my master drew the other will from under his pillow, and, giving it to me, said, 'burn it now--at once.' there was a fire in the room, and, taking the will, i thrust it between the bars. mr. cortelyon never took his eyes off the grate till it was burnt to ashes." "you have no reason whatever for supposing that the unsigned will was substituted for the signed one during the time you were out of the room?" "no, sir--how should i? mr. tew never left the room, and when i went back it was from his hands i received the will in order to seal it up." apparently mr. piljoy had no more questions to put. after a glance round at the perplexed faces of his audience, he said: "notwithstanding the very clear and straightforward statement with which andry luce has just favored us, the mystery of the unsigned will remains exactly where it was before. we seem no nearer a solution of it than we were at first, and i confess myself wholly at a loss to advise as to what step, if any, it behoves us to take next. never in the whole of my experience have i been confronted with a state of affairs so puzzling and inexplicable." "never heard tell of owt like it, dang me if i have!" exclaimed sir james, who had a habit of lapsing into the vernacular now and again. "licks cock-fighting all to bits, that it does," muttered mr. staniforth. the vicar and mr. delafosse spoke together in low tones. so far mrs. bullivant had maintained an unbroken silence. though more than once greatly tempted to do so, she had put a strong restraint upon herself, and had sat there with compressed lips listening to all that was said, passing through the whole gamut of feeling from hope to despair, and finally struck to the earth, almost, as it seemed, beyond recovery, by mr. piljoy's last words. there had been revealed to her a golden vision far exceeding her utmost dreams, but between her and it some malignant fiend had dug a shadowy gulf which he defied her to overpass. she had been vouchsafed a glimpse of paradise, only to have the gates of pearl slammed in her face. it was maddening. her very soul was aflame with impotent rage. she was tortured almost beyond endurance by the knowledge of all she had lost; of all that had slipped through her fingers, as at the bidding of a necromancer, before she had a chance of grasping it; of all that ought to have been hers, but was not! she could no longer keep silent. "it is very evident to me," she began, addressing herself directly to the lawyer, "that my helpless boy and i have been made the victims of a vile conspiracy. whether you, sir, are in the secret of it or no i cannot say, but i give you warning that i shall lose no time in placing the affair in the hands of my solicitors, and that even if it cost me every shilling i have in the world, this foul attempt to defraud me and mine shall be unmasked, and the concocters of it brought to the bar of justice." she spoke with studied quietude and without any trace of passion, but her hearers felt that in those smooth accents there was a hidden venom far more dangerous than any mere outburst of feminine anger would have been. "a vile conspiracy!" burst forth the irate lawyer. "i would have you know, madame, that----" she stopped him with an imperious gesture. "i have said all i wish to say, and no empty protestations on your part will avail anything. roguery has been at work and must be unmasked. it is enough that you know my intentions." she had risen while speaking, and now, after the slightest possible bow to sir james and the others, she moved with her proudest and most dignified air towards the door, which andry hastened to open for her, and so went her way, to the great relief of everybody there. "well, that caps everything!" ejaculated mr. staniforth. "a sweet temper to live with, eh, jimmy?" "ay, but think of all the woman has lost, and by a turn of fortune's wheel the like of which i never heard tell of. no wonder she's put about; in her place who wouldn't be? not but what, mind you, i consider the will a most unjust one, and i can't say i'm anything but glad that things have turned out as they have." mr. delafosse had sat through the proceedings as mum as a mouse. he had all a collector's selfishness, and although he told himself how glad he was that, despite his late friend's unjust will, the rightful heir would succeed to the property, he could not help being very sorrowful on his own account. under the changed circumstances of the case not a coin, not a medal, not a curio of any kind would come to him; and there were so many things in his friend's collection which his soul coveted! it was very, very sad, but there was no help for it. when the others were gone mr. piljoy and nell had a little confidential talk together. "never in the whole of my professional experience have i been so perplexed and mystified as by the events of this afternoon," said the lawyer. "i can't make head or tail of 'em, and that's a fact. of course, when i get back i shall question tew very closely about all that took place at the signing of the will, but i must say that i have very little hope of his being able to throw any fresh light on the affair. it's just as if we had all been made the victims of a conjurer's trick. not but what, miss nell, i'm more than pleased at the way things have turned out, and i don't mind confessing to you that i was strongly opposed to the will as it stands, and went as far as i dared in the endeavor to persuade your uncle not to disinherit his grandson _in toto_. but you know the kind of man he was, how obstinate, and how utterly opposed to any suggestions from others which ran counter to his own views; indeed, he would hardly listen to me, and ended by telling me with an oath to mind my own business. on one point only do i feel sorry. if no other will turns up, of which i fail to see any likelihood, you, my dear miss nell, will be left out in the cold, for in that case, as i have remarked already, the son of richard cortelyon becomes the sole heir and legatee." "and do you think for one moment, mr. piljoy, that i am anything but rejoiced that such should be the case?" demanded nell, with sparkling eyes. "if you do, you misjudge me strangely. oh! it was a most unjust and unnatural will, and my uncle himself acknowledged it to be so, but not till too late. with his last breath he implored me to send for the will and destroy it. his last conscious words were, 'to my grandson--all; to that woman'--meaning mrs. bullivant, who was there by the bedside--'nothing.' had he but lived a few hours longer, the will would have been destroyed in accordance with his wishes." "i am very glad you have told me this, miss nell, very glad indeed. if one were superstitiously inclined, one would not find it hard to believe that it was the squire's own hand which, by some means unknown to us, erased his signature from a document the existence of which, in the clear light which sometimes comes to people at the point of death, he saw reason to regret." "should i live to be a hundred, i shall look back to this day as one of the red-letter days of my existence," said nell with fervor. "no words could express to you how glad i am. but tell me, mr. piljoy, what is the next thing to be done?" "my advice is that just at present we do nothing. should it really prove to be mrs. bullivant's intention to contest the heir's claim--for one never can foretell what a desperate woman may or may not choose to do--i shall doubtless hear from her solicitors before long. meanwhile, our best plan will be to rest quietly on our oars." chapter xviii. the missing heir. not till a fortnight had gone by did nell hear from mr. piljoy. then he wrote as follows:-- "dear miss baynard,--before parting from you last i told you that on getting back home i would lose no time in minutely questioning my clerk tew with regard to all that passed between mr. cortelyon and himself at the signing of the will. as you may remember, the chief point that wanted clearing up was whether there was any possibility of the unsigned will having been substituted for the signed one during the two or three minutes andry luce was absent from the room. tew is positive no such substitution took place. his words are: 'the signed will was never out of my keeping from the moment the witnesses left the room till andry luce's return, when, by mr. cortelyon's direction, i gave the will to him to be enclosed and sealed up.' so we remain just as wise as we were before. "i believe i told you that, for a little while to come, i thought it would be advisable to remain quiescent in the affair while awaiting the first move on the part of mrs. bullivant's solicitors, provided they thought it advisable to move at all. well, a couple of days ago i was waited upon by mr. cotwell, the junior partner in a firm of lanchester lawyers. he met me in a by no means hostile spirit, the main object of his visit being to obtain my permission to put to tew the very question i had put to him already. of course tew could only give mr. cotwell the same answer that he had given me, and, so far as mrs. bullivant was concerned, there was no satisfaction to be got out of that. "cotwell and i had a long confabulation before he left. from certain hints he let fall, i judge that mrs. b. has not scrupled to give expression to her belief that she was designedly tricked by mr. c.--that of set purpose he caused the signed will to be burnt and left the unsigned one in existence; all which is an absolute contradiction of what tew is prepared to swear to. but what strange beliefs will not a disappointed woman cherish, more especially when she sees cause for imagining that she has been hoodwinked into the bargain! "after all, it seems to be very doubtful whether mrs. b. will go to law. in my opinion it would be sheer madness on her part to do so, and i have very little doubt that, privately, cotwell thinks the same, only, of course, he is bound to bark at the bidding of his client; but when it comes to biting--we shall see. "at any rate, i shall wait no longer, but at once proceed to take the necessary steps for legalizing the rights of the youthful heir, as if no such person as mrs. b. were in existence. "will you be good enough to inform me at your convenience under whose care the child is now living, and where he may be found, provided, of course, that his present address is known to you?" nell's reply was sent by the next post. it was on a friday morning that mr. piljoy's letter came to hand, and had she not been suffering from a cold which had reduced her voice to a mere whisper, she would have set out for london within a few hours of her receipt of it. but, although she was hungering to see the child, a delay of a few days would not matter greatly, and doubtless she would be well enough to travel (it was a matter of between two hundred and fifty and three hundred miles, and all by coach) by the following tuesday or wednesday at the latest. tuesday morning came, and found nell's few preparations made. her impatience would brook no further delay. places for herself and her maid had been secured in the london coach, which passed through tuxford shortly after midday. but a surprise was in store for her. [illustration: "evan has been missing since yesterday."] the postman's time for arriving at stanbrook was ten o'clock or thereabouts. this morning he brought a letter for miss baynard, which she knew by the address, before opening it, to be from mrs. mardin. one of those intuitions which come to us we know not how or whence whispered to her that it was a bringer of ill tidings. her fingers trembled as she opened it. all it had to tell was told in little more than a dozen words:-- "evan has been missing since yesterday, and cannot be found anywhere. come at once. "harriet mardin." never had the journey to london seemed so long and tedious to nell as it did on this occasion. from the coach office she drove to lady carradine's, where, although she had not advised her ladyship of her coming, she knew that she was sure of a welcome. half an hour later she was on her way to chelsea. mrs. mardin received her with a burst of tears; indeed, the good soul had done little else than cry since the child had been missed. her story did not take long in the telling. it was a fine afternoon, and evan had been playing, as he was often allowed to do, with some neighbors' children in a field not more than a couple of hundred yards from the house. mrs. mardin had been on the point of going to call him in to tea, when one of his playmates came to tell her that evan had gone off with a tall, dark gentleman, who went up to him in the field, and, telling him that "a pretty lady" had sent for him, led him away to a carriage which was waiting in the lane close by, into which they both got and were at once driven away. from the first mrs. mardin had felt convinced in her own mind that the boy had been abducted by means of a ruse, and that there was no intention of bringing him back. then she went on to inform nell that she had not only written to her, but to mr. dare as well, who fortunately happened to be in town, and had lost no time in making his appearance at lawn cottage. further, when told that miss baynard had been communicated with, and in all likelihood would come as fast as the coach could bring her after her receipt of the news, he had at once hired a room at an inn in the neighborhood, thinking that she might perhaps like to see him and consult with him in the matter as soon as possible after her arrival. at the mention of dare's name the wild-rose tints in nell's cheeks deepened till they glowed like those of a damask rose, and the thought of so soon seeing him again sent a rush of happiness to her heart, and caused her to tingle from head to foot with a flush of gladness which yet had in it a touch of apprehension. it might be a fact that her strength had failed her in her struggle against fate, and that her heart had secretly capitulated, but the secret was her own and should never pass her lips. her conqueror should never know that he had conquered; on that point she was resolved. and yet in the midst of her happiness she trembled at the thought of meeting dare again. was it because she had a fear of betraying herself in her own despite, or was it because she was conscious that she had to guard against a traitor who had betrayed her once already? a question which mrs. mardin put to her did not tend to reassure her: "shall i send word to mr. dare that you are here, miss, and that you would like to see him?" she was still hesitating over her reply when there came a ring at the bell. "why, that must be him!" exclaimed the widow; and so it proved to be. he had been watching for nell's arrival, had seen her come, and, after waiting half-an-hour, had followed her to the cottage. but of all this he said nothing. nell strung herself up, and met him without any show of embarrassment, but not without a touch of heightened color. dare was as easy, cool, and as much master of himself as he always was. the only difference that any one who knew him well might have marked in him was that his eyes to-day were more than ordinarily brilliant. when he had shaken hands with nell he sat down in the chair just vacated by mrs. mardin. nell had not forgotten the return of the mask and all that was implied thereby, and as her eyes met dare's she could not help saying to herself, "does he still know me simply as miss baynard of stanbrook, or has he discovered in me the amateur highwayman to whom on a certain occasion he behaved with such signal kindness?" but it was a question she was no nearer being able to answer to-day than she had been the first time she asked it. dare plunged at once _in medias res_, like a man who has a matter in hand in dealing with which there must be neither delay nor hesitancy. before his coming nell had felt utterly helpless in the affair; she had neither known what to do, nor what even to suggest; but she had not been long in his company before she felt, figuratively speaking, as if a strong arm had been put round her from which she drew both comfort and support. his mere presence braced and strengthened her like a tonic. "this is a very strange piece of business, miss baynard, which has brought you and me together again," he began. "i presume that mrs. mardin has made you acquainted with such scanty particulars as are known to her. that the case is one of abduction there can, i think, be very little doubt, if any at all. i saw the notice of mr. cortelyon's death in the _times_. presumably the stolen boy is his grandfather's heir. but doubtless you are in a position to inform me whether such is or is not the case." "that evan is his grandfather's heir is due to a singular and wholly inexplicable circumstance, the nature of which it may be as well that i should explain to you." with that nell went on to relate to him the story of the will as already known to the reader. he was intensely interested in the recital. when she had come to an end he remained for some moments lost in thought. then he said: "so far as i can see at present, there is only one person who would have any motive for spiriting away the boy. that person is mrs. bullivant, and the motive--revenge. but to revenge oneself on an innocent child! it seems too mean and cowardly, for belief. happily, miss baynard, you have seen but little of the darker side of human nature. mean and cowardly actions are far more common than such as you have any notion of; but, if my supposition has any truth in it, the case we are now considering will go far to widen your knowledge of such things. with your permission, i will go at once to bow street and report the circumstances of the abduction, so far as they are known to us, to the authorities there, but without any mention of mrs. bullivant's name, leaving them to take whatever steps may seem advisable. as regards mrs. bullivant, i purpose making certain private inquiries on my own account, the result of which i will communicate to you as early as possible. meanwhile, i would suggest that it would be as well for you to write to mr. piljoy informing him of the disappearance of the child, as also that the case has been reported to the proper authorities. finally, it may be advisable that for the present my name should be kept in the background." and so, after a little further talk they parted, with an agreement to meet again at lawn cottage next day. a hackney coach was fetched, and dare saw miss baynard into it. she had been startled by his announcement that he was about to go personally to bow street. such a proceeding on his part seemed to her the very acme of recklessness. one would have thought it was the last place in the world at which "captain nightshade" would have cared to show his face. she could not help admiring him for his daring, but, all the same, she felt that she should breathe more freely when she knew that he had gone and come in safety. chapter xix. mutual confidences. one may be sure there was no failure of appointment next day on the part of either of our young people. after nell had informed dare that the letter to mr. piljoy had been duly written and dispatched, and he had given her a brief account of his visit to bow street--where he had left a full description of the missing child, compiled with information furnished by mrs. mardin--there seemed little more to say or do. of a certain task he had set before himself, and of a certain journey he meant to undertake, dare deemed it best not to enter into any details. all he gave miss baynard to understand was, that nothing should be left undone on his part in his endeavor to trace the abducted heir. but nell felt strongly that the time had come for a clear understanding on both sides. their masks had been seen through, their disguise penetrated. each of them had played a double part within the other's knowledge, and yet each had pretended to ignore the fact. the day of make-believe was at an end. she saw clearly that if any reference was to be made to their first meeting, it must come from herself. dare, she felt sure, would never as much as hint at a circumstance, her silence about which could only lead him to conclude that she was determined to ignore it. further than that, she wanted to set herself straight with him--to explain the motives which led to her assumption for one night only of the _rôle_ of a "gentleman of the road." she could no longer rest satisfied with the consciousness that any action of hers should remain in his eyes under the shadow of ambiguity or suspicion. that she had managed so far not to betray her other and far sweeter secret she felt pretty well assured, and the knowledge comforted her exceedingly; for, while determined to brush aside all the cobwebs that had hitherto existed between them, she was equally as determined that of that hidden flower which perfumed and made beautiful the garden of her heart he should know nothing whatever. "you and i, mr. dare, had met on one occasion before our first meeting under this roof," began nell, turning her large hazel eyes, with a sort of grave questioning in them, full upon him. it was not often that dare was taken by surprise, but he certainly was just now. his swarthy cheeks flushed with a color that was rare to them; but it did not take him longer than half a dozen seconds to recover himself. with a low bow, he said, "it is not for me to dispute any statement miss baynard may choose to make." "my reason for referring to the occasion in question is because i am desirous of explaining under what circumstances i was led to embark on that hare-brained adventure." "pardon me, but is any such explanation needed? certainly it is not by me. such an impertinence is what i never dreamed of. why go into a matter which now belongs wholly to the past?" "for my own satisfaction, if for nothing else." again dare gravely inclined his head. it was evident miss baynard was determined to have her own way, although probably she had nothing more to tell him than he either knew or guessed already. "on the occasion of our first meeting of all," resumed nell, "i believe i remarked to you that the object of my escapade was, not to despoil some innocent traveller of his purse, but to obtain possession of a will which i knew to be in the keeping of a certain person who, on his way home, travelling by post-chaise, was bound to pass the place where i was lying in wait for him." "so much i gathered from what you told me." "the will in question was the one i spoke to you about yesterday, by the provisions of which my uncle disinherited his grandson in favor of the son of the woman between whom and himself there was no relationship whatever. i thought then, as i think still, that the will was a most unjust and iniquitous one and i determined, if it were anyhow possible to do so, to get possession of it and destroy it. how ignominiously i failed in the attempt you know already." "all this i understood from what you were good enough to tell me yesterday. that served to throw a clear light on whatever had seemed dark before." "when i ventured on my rash attempt, which, so fortunately for all concerned, proved unsuccessful, my uncle had been given up by his doctors, and i had every reason for believing that he could not possibly live to make another will. as for the moral aspect of the affair, i think perhaps that the less i say on that score the better. i was carried away by a flame of indignation, which, so to speak, swept me off my feet, thrusting all considerations of prudence, as well as of right or wrong, into the background, blinding my moral sense for the time being, and leaving room in my mind for nothing save a burning desire, at whatever cost, to get the will into my hands. but fate defeated my purpose, and the end i aimed at was brought about by far different means." miss baynard had relieved her mind, and one usually derives a sense of comfort from being able to do that. she had put herself straight with dare; there was no longer any question between them of a dual personality. he knew that in him she had recognized the captain nightshade of her adventure, and he had heard from her own lips, if there was any satisfaction in that, what he most likely knew or guessed before, that she was the masquerader in male attire who had played such an unheroic part on that occasion. but one confidence often tends to beget another, and now, strange to say. geoffrey dare felt strongly impelled to crave miss baynard's patience for a little while in order that he might make clear to her under what stress of circumstances he had been driven to take to the king's highway. miss baynard raised no objections to listening to anything he might have to tell her. did not desdemona "seriously incline" to the moor of venice, the while he told the tale of his adventures by sea and land, and why should not she do the same? "what i have to tell you is in the main a record of faults and follies," began dare when leave had been given him, "but i will make my narrative as brief as possible. let me start by remarking that i have good blood in my veins, and can trace back my ancestry in a direct line for upwards of two hundred years. it was my misfortune to lose both my parents long before i was out of my teens. on coming of age i succeeded to a fortune of forty thousand pounds, the accumulated income of my minority. thereupon i at once plunged into all the gayeties and temptations of town life, showering my guineas right and left with lavish hands, as if they could never come to an end. cards, dice, and the turf helped me in turn on the downward road. i had no one to counsel or warn me. the person who had filled the post of guardian to me from the date of my father's death was himself a broken man of pleasure, who encouraged rather than restrained me in the road i was treading, and had no scruple about dipping his hand into my purse whenever he had been more than usually unlucky at the tables. "then by and by i fell in love, or what at that time i believed to be love. but i know now, and have long known, that i was drawn to miss tighe as in the fable we read how hapless mariners were drawn to the sirens of the deep--because they had not enough will-power to resist their wiles. however, i was infatuated, and--which was all she cared about, for she was a compound of greed and selfishness--i lavished jewelry and presents upon her as if i could not do enough to make patent my folly. thus it came to pass that my twenty-fourth birthday found my fortune reduced to a very few thousands. the end came shortly after with the elopement of miss tighe with the man whom (next to dick cortelyon) i had accounted my dearest friend. "i was still staggering from this blow when another of my 'dear friends,' by means of a forged cheque, contrived to defraud me of the poor wreck of my fortune, save a few paltry hundreds, before putting the atlantic between himself and me. "it was not till ruin stared me in the face, and i knew not which way to turn, that i took to the 'road'--as many a broken-down spendthrift of as good birth as i has done before me. but it is some slight salve to my conscience to know that i have never eased any man of his purse who was not well able to bear the loss, that i have never despoiled one of the opposite sex, and that i have never failed to distribute among the poor more than half of all i have taken from the rich." he ceased, and for some moments neither of them broke the silence. his eyes had been fixed on the window as he told his tale, and he still kept them turned away from his companion. he was now softly tapping his teeth with the nails of one hand. it was wrong, it was very wrong, and nell admitted it to be such, but, do what she would, she could not blame him. the man, by his own admission, was a highwayman, a "minion of the moon"; of course the fact had long been known to her, but it had never been so clearly brought home to her before to-day, and yet all she could do was to pity him! oh, it was shameful! and besides, we all know how close pity is akin to something else. she tried to despise herself, and to feel enraged with herself, but could not. but they could not sit mum forever. it was her turn to speak. something she must say--but what? "the dangers and perils of the kind of life you have been speaking of are many and great." her words faltered a little in her own despite. "why not give it up, mr. dare? why not try to find some other and more reputable way of making a living? how i wish you would! how i wish----" "pardon me, miss baynard, but i _have_ given it up." he spoke with a certain abruptness, and as he did so he turned his black eyes full upon her. "captain nightshade's last adventure on the road was the one in which you yourself were so singularly mixed up. from that night he resolved to turn over a fresh leaf. for one short hour he had come under an influence powerful enough and sweet enough to make a new man of him. the resolve then made has never been broken." he spoke with an emphasis which left no room for mistake as to his meaning. nell's eyes sank before the half-veiled passion which had suddenly leapt to life in his. face and throat flushed a lovely color. it was all she could do not to betray that she was a-tremble in every limb. "i am very, very glad, mr. dare, to hear that you have seen your way to a changed mode of life." was it miss baynard who spoke or some one else? what was this strange new feeling of timidity, almost of shrinking, which had seized upon her? she might have been the veriest bread-and-butter miss fresh from school. never had she despised herself more heartily than at that moment. "i have told you, miss baynard, that i left london a broken man," resumed dare after a pause. "i had, however, my mother's jewelry still untouched, but, no other resource being now left me, i was compelled to let it go. a little later the sum of four hundred pounds reached me anonymously, with a letter stating that it was 'conscience money' returned by a dying man, it having been won from my father twenty years before by cheating at cards. that it came as a veritable godsend i need hardly tell you." "and yet, if i would have let you, you would still have gone on paying for evan's maintenance." "i had promised my dead friend that i would care for the boy as if he were my own, and, had you not come between me and him, it was a promise i was resolved to keep at every cost. i had already decided on my plans for the future, and when i left england i should have taken the boy with me." "when you left england, mr. dare?" "i have some relations settled in virginia who have more than once pressed me to go out to them. it was, and remains, my intention to settle there, and there to lay the foundations of a new life, very different from the old one. now i shall have to go alone. but first i shall see this business through of my missing godson." why did nell's heart sink so unaccountably at this statement of dare's intentions? what did it matter where he might choose to make his future home? whatever he might secretly be to her, she was nothing to him, and it was out of the question that she ever could be. she knew, and she made no attempt to disguise the fact from herself, that when he sailed away from england he would take her heart with him. but what then? of how many women was it not the lot to give away their hearts in secret, and to go through life hopeless of a return? nay, in many cases without the man to whom it was given knowing that he had such a thing in his keeping? her case would be merely one more added to the number. nell was to return to stanbrook on the morrow, and before she and dare parted it was arranged that he should communicate with her there as soon as he had any tidings of the missing child, and that the bow street authorities on their part should do the same. there was one point with regard to which nell wished that dare had seen fit to enlighten her, and that was as to the nature of the relationship between himself and the mysterious mr. ellerslie of rockmount, for that a relationship of some sort existed between them she now felt more convinced than ever. she had seen mr. ellerslie but once, and that merely for an hour by candlelight, and, while conscious of a strange illusive likeness on his part to some one, more especially about the eyes, she had been unable to recall to mind who that some one was. she knew now, and had known for some time, that the original of the shadowy likeness was none other than geoffrey dare. but no mention of mr. ellerslie's name had escaped the latter's lips, and it was certainly not her place to question him. there was one more point as to which her curiosity seemed doomed to remain equally unsatisfied. she was still ignorant whether she was indebted for the return of her mask to mr. ellerslie or to geoffrey dare. chapter xx. the adventures of a snuff-box. it may or may not be remembered by the reader that in an early chapter of this veracious history mention was made of a certain sir peter warrendale, and of his unavailing pursuit of his runaway niece and her lover when on their way to gretna green. it was also told how, on his return journey, he was stopped by a highwayman, whom, under the title of "colonel delnay," he had met before under rather peculiar circumstances, and was politely relieved of his purse, snuff-box, and other trifles. no one need have wished for a worse character than that borne by sir peter warrendale for a score miles round whatton ferris. his private life would not bear examination; as a landlord he was mean and close-fisted to a degree, and in his magisterial capacity he was never known to temper mercy with justice, but always to make a point of inflicting the maximum penalty allowed by law on any poor wretch who might have the misfortune to be haled before him. notwithstanding his irascibility of temper and the bluster in which he indulged when in pursuit of his runaway niece, sir peter was an arrant poltroon at heart, and into such a fright did he fall when his chaise was stopped by the sham colonel delnay that, happening to have his snuff-box in his hand, he proffered it on the impulse of the moment, together with his purse, if only his life might be spared. the box was studded with brilliants, and dare--for he was the "gentleman of the road"--being well aware of the mean and avaricious nature of the man, and how the loss of it would grieve him to the soul, took it, with the intention of returning it anonymously after the lapse of a few weeks. but when, about a month later, he caused certain inquiries to be made with a view to the restitution of the box, he found that scrope hall was shut up, and that sir peter and his family had taken their departure for bath, and from thence were expected to go to town. then, somewhat later, came the news that scrope hall was to let and that the baronet had taken up his permanent residence in london. it may here be noted that it was captain nightshade's invariable practice to limit his attentions to hard cash and bank-notes--to the purse of the well-to-do traveller by chaise or coach, and the plethoric money-bag of the wealthy landowner on its way to or from the local bank. watches, snuff-boxes, rings, and other trinkets he put politely aside as "unconsidered trifles" with which he did not choose to concern himself. dare at the time troubled himself no further about sir peter's snuff-box, but when he next went to london he took it with him, with the intention of ascertaining sir peter's address and forwarding it to him by a trusty messenger. but it was found that sir peter was on the continent, and when dare went back to the north the box went with him. once more he had brought the box to town, hoping on this occasion to be able to rid himself of it. but before he had an opportunity of doing so, the news of evan's abduction reached him, and he at once hurried off to chelsea, and for the next two or three days his time and thoughts were taken up with far more important matters than the baronet's snuff-box. meanwhile, with the carelessness, hardly removed from recklessness, that was characteristic of him, he carried the box about with him in his waistcoat pocket. now, it so happened that in the course of the forenoon of the day following that of his second interview with miss baynard, as he was taking a short cut to his lodgings through one of the narrow and not over savory lanes which divided holborn from the strand, he came on a crowd of people gathered round a man who had fallen down in a fit, either real or simulated. dare had pushed his way steadily, through the crowd and had got some yards beyond it, when some instinct, so to call it, caused him to clap his hand to his waistcoat. sir peter's jeweled snuff-box was gone! for geoffrey dare such an experience was certainly a novel one. no sooner did he realize his loss than he broke into a cynical but not unamused laugh. "confound the rogue's impudence!" he exclaimed half aloud. "where were his eyes that he failed to recognize a gentleman of his own kidney? it is to be feared that he will find himself landed at tyburn one of these days." he was still standing with his hand pressed to his empty pocket, and staring at the fluctuating crowd, when a hand was laid on his shoulder and a voice said in his ear: "what's the matter, mr. dare? you look as if you had just lost something." dare, turning, recognized the speaker for john tipway, a famous bow street runner, whose acquaintance he had made a couple of days before when reporting the abduction of the young heir. "that's exactly what i have done," replied dare. "pocket picked, eh?" dare nodded. "anything of consequence?" "a very valuable snuff-box." "ah-ha! a noted neighborhood this for petty larceny. hardly a worse anywhere. but come along with me to the office--i'm on my way there--and lodge a description of the missing property. who knows but we may be able to recover it for you from the pawnbroker's or somewhere else." dare hesitated, and well he might, considering under what circumstances the box had come into his possession. but in the company of mr. tipway to have hesitated over a matter of that sort would have tended to provoke suspicion, and that was what he could not afford to do. so he accompanied the runner to bow street--not without a certain relish for the comedy of the situation--and there furnished a description of the stolen box, leaving an address, that of a humble lodging in a back street in bloomsbury, at which any tidings of it might be communicated to him. by that night's coach he started for the north in order to take up the quest to which he had vowed himself. about a fortnight later the snuff-box was found in the possession of a swell-mobsman who had been arrested for another offence. now, it so fell out that sir peter warrendale, who was much put about by the loss of his box--although he had himself almost thrust it into the hands of the self-styled colonel delnay--not only because it was intrinsically valuable, but because it was a cherished heirloom, had, on his arrival in town some weeks after his encounter with the highwayman, given a description of it at bow street, on the faint chance that it might turn up at one of the london pawnshops, or in some other fashion. a peculiarity of the box was that it had a false bottom, a fact which dare had failed to discover. but it was a feature which sir peter, in his account of the box, had not forgotten to specify, so that the bow street official, who happened to be blessed with a good memory, found himself in possession of an article which was claimed by two different owners and was stated to have been stolen from both! sir peter warrendale was communicated with, and at once identified the box as his property, and explained the mystery of the false bottom, under which lay _perdu_ a miniature of his great-grandmother when a beauty of eighteen. the question that now put itself was by what means had the box come into dare's possession? it was a question which only himself could answer. so a messenger was sent to his lodgings with a request that he would go to bow street and identify the box. but dare was not there, and all the information his landlady could supply was that he had gone into the country and that the date of his return was uncertain. accordingly, a message was left requesting his presence at bow street immediately upon his return to town. meanwhile the snuff-box remained in the hands of the authorities. chapter xxi. in quest of the missing heir. mr. geoffrey dare alighted from the london coach at tuxford, a small market-town some half dozen miles from uplands. next morning he set about making certain inquiries, which resulted in his ascertaining that uplands was now empty and to let, and that mrs. bullivant had transferred herself and her belongings to a much smaller house, known as homecroft, about twenty miles away on the other side of the country. the nearest town to homecroft was broxham, a place of some twelve thousand inhabitants, and thither dare lost no time in betaking himself. after breakfast next morning he hired a horse and started for a long ride. when he got back in the early evening he had learnt a good deal more about homecroft than he knew when he set out. whether the particulars thus gathered by him would prove of any after use it was too early to determine: in point of fact, he had not yet decided upon his course of action. the subject was one which needed careful consideration if a fiasco were to be avoided, and just then he was turning it over and over in his mind. next day was broxham horse and cattle fair, and from early morn till late at night the little town was a busy scene in which business and pleasure were strangely commingled. dare was a lover of horseflesh, and he found much to interest him in a casual way as he strolled idly about the fair, mentally chewing over the question of what his next step ought to be in the undertaking to which he had bound himself. in those days even more than now a horse fair acted as a sure magnet for bringing together a small crowd of gypsies, and certainly there was no lack of them on this occasion at broxham. dare had come across a couple of their encampments while riding out the day before, but it was not till to-day when, as he stood on the fringe of the crowd, listening to the chaffering and bargaining, but thinking of other things, a smiling, black-eyed, ruddy-lipped _chi_ sidled up to him and asked him to cross her hand with a bit of silver, that of a sudden an idea came to him which seemed to open up a way out of the difficulty with which he had been perplexing his brain ever since he left london. if dare crossed the girl's hand with a piece of silver, it was not with the view of having his fortune told. drawing her further apart from the crowd, he stood in earnest talk with her for several minutes, nor did they part till they had come to a mutual understanding. dare's last words to the girl were, "tell your father that he may expect to see me at dusk to-morrow." dare was not unacquainted with romany life and romany ways. as a lad of seventeen he had once spent a month of _vie intime_ at one of their encampments, and the knowledge then acquired by him he hoped to be able to turn to good account on the present occasion. not till the sun had dipped below the horizon did he set out next afternoon to walk the couple of miles or more which would bring him to a certain furze-lined hollow among the moors, where a number of gypsies whom the fair had brought into the neighborhood had made their temporary home. he had got about halfway, and was on the point of turning off the high-road--which was here unfenced and open to the moors on both sides--at a place previously described to him, when he was suddenly confronted by a man who started up from behind a thick clump of brambles. dare came to a halt, and for a few moments the two stood measuring each other in silence. the stranger, an unmistakable gypsy, was the first to speak: "you are the _gorgio_ that had something to say to my daughter yesterday at the fair?" "i am." "and you want her, with my leave, to do something for you for which you are willing to pay us in good red gold?" "you could not have put the case in fewer words." "well, here we are, with only the rising moon and our own shadows for company. we could not have a better chance for saying what is to be said." nothing could have suited dare's purpose better. the _gryengro_, or horse-dealer, proceeded to charge and light his pipe, while dare refreshed himself with a copious pinch of snuff. then, by the light of the young moon, as they slowly paced the soft turf to and fro, the latter went on to unfold his wishes: "about a mile on the other side of broxham there stands in its own grounds a small country house, the name of which is homecroft. after remaining empty for a long time, it has now found a tenant in the person of mrs. bullivant, whose husband died a few years ago, and whose one child, a boy of five or six, is at present from home, most probably on a visit to his grandfather, lord cossington. now, although her own child is away, i have strong reasons for believing that mrs. bullivant has another child, who has been stolen away from his friends, hidden in the house, whose presence there is only known to the _rawni_ herself and two or three of her domestics. so, what i want to have found out for me is, whether there is, or is not, such a child as the one i speak of under the roof of homecroft, and the first question is, whether your daughter can obtain that information for me without arousing any suspicion on the part of mrs. bullivant or any of her people." to this the gypsy, whose name was enoch bosworth, replied that he had very little doubt his daughter rosilla could manage to obtain the required information if time were allowed her, and she was allowed to go to work in her own way in the affair. dare did not care how she went to work, so long as she got him the needed particulars. it then became a question of terms between the two men, and these having been satisfactorily arranged, they parted, with an agreement to meet again at the same hour and place four evenings later. although dare kept his appointment to the minute, he found the _gryengro_ and his daughter waiting for him, and it soon appeared that rosilla had indeed made good use of her time. she was already in a position to assure him that his belief in the presence of a strange child at homecroft was amply justified. such a child was there, a boy, with regard to whom none of the domestics knew anything--neither his name, where he came from, the connection between him and the mistress of homecroft, or, in point of fact, why he was there at all. a middle-aged woman who had been in mrs. bullivant's service for a number of years, was his sole attendant, and none of the other servants were ever allowed to speak to him--not that much chance of doing so was given them, a couple of rooms having been set apart for the boy and the woman, into which they were forbidden to penetrate. all this information the artful rosilla, in the exercise of her calling as a fortune-teller, had succeeded in worming out of mrs. bullivant's maid, a girl of the name of moggy dredge, who, for some reason or other, had conceived a violent dislike for her mistress--an admission of which dare did not fail to see the importance. he must contrive an interview with the girl dredge, and this rosilla was commissioned to arrange for. if mrs. bullivant's maid would name her own time and place for meeting a certain gentleman, name unknown, and there answer a few questions he would put to her having no reference to herself or her own business, she would find her pocket the richer by a couple of guineas. rosilla at once undertook to do her best to arrange the meeting in question, which took place a couple evenings later at a solitary spot a little way outside the palings of the homecroft grounds. the gypsy-girl, of her own accord, went a little way apart out of hearing while the _gorgio_ and the lady's-maid said what they had to say to each other. even before she quite comprehended what it was dare wanted her to do, moggy did not hesitate to confess that, in her own words, she hated her mistress "worse than poison," and that because of the latter's treatment of her, and of the insults she saw fit to heap upon her. in reply to this, dare very naturally asked her why she did not leave mrs. bullivant and go into service elsewhere. thereupon moggy burst out crying, and, after sobbing quietly for a little while, confided to dare that she had had a "misfortune," and had thereby forfeited her character, and that it was mrs. bullivant's knowledge of this fact which enabled her to trample on the unhappy girl in the way she did. moggy could tell dare little more about the strange child than he had already learnt from rosilla. nor had he expected that she would be able to do so. what he had now to arrange for was the future, and he did not part from the girl till she had given him her promise to furnish him daily with a written report of everything she could hear or gather having reference to the child. this report she was to place each day after nightfall in the hollow of a certain tree, whence it would be fetched by rosilla, who would play the part of messenger between her and dare. later, there would be three more guineas for her, and she confessed that she was badly in need of money to help to pay for the keep of her child. moggy kept her promise, and night after night dare received at the hands of the gypsy-girl her brief and half-illegible reports, the writing of which caused her many groans, and was the cause of much perturbation of spirit. but it was not till ten days had gone by that she found anything of consequence to communicate. then, indeed, her news was of a sufficiently startling kind. it had been arranged, moggy wrote, that mrs. balchin, the child's attendant, together with her husband, who was mrs. bullivant's coachman, were to start next evening for liverpool on their way to america, the report being that, by the death of a relative in the states, they had come in for a small fortune, which, however, could not be paid over to them without their presence on the spot. but it was not till dare had got nearly to the end of moggy's ill-spelt effusion--he was painfully deciphering it in his room at the inn by the light of a solitary candle--that of a sudden he sat up and gave vent to a low whistle. the child, the mysterious child, about whom none of the servants at homecraft knew anything, was to accompany the balchins on their long journey--a journey, in those days, infinitely more formidable than it is now. the little party of three were to leave homecraft in mrs. bullivant's carriage at half-past eight p.m., so as to reach tuxford in time to catch the night coach bound for the south. dare sat for some time staring at the letter, but without seeing it, when he had succeeded in mastering its contents. what step ought he to take next? was the question he was revolving in his brain, and for some time no satisfactory answer was forthcoming. of course, all along he had been without any absolute certainty that the child in question was young evan cortelyon. morally sure he might be, but that was hardly foundation enough on which to base any action of a definite kind. if he were to go to piljoy and state his conviction in the matter, what could the lawyer do? at present no evidence was available conclusive enough to justify an application for a warrant, especially against a person of the social standing of the hon. mrs. bullivant. and yet, if the child were really evan (as to which he felt no sort of doubt in his own mind), then must he be rescued at every cost. for a full hour he sat with bent brows, excogitating one scheme after another, only to reject each in turn, till he had worked round to the notion which had struck him first of all, but which he had put temporarily aside till he had satisfied himself that no other plan was equally feasible. at length he rose abruptly and pushed back his chair, "'tis the only way," he said aloud. "'twas the first notion that came to me, and if i had only had the sense to embrace it there and then, i might have saved myself all this useless muddling of my brains. a year ago--nay, far later than that--i should not have hesitated a moment; but now----! what has come over me? what strange change has been at work within me? is that a conundrum very hard to crack, geoff, my boy? it may be true, after all, that the moon is made of green cheese." chapter xxii. the hon. mrs. bullivant to captain ferris. "my dear wilton," wrote mrs. bullivant to her half-brother a couple of days subsequently to the events recorded in the last chapter, "i have some very singular news for you which i lose no time in communicating; but whether--bearing in mind the peculiar features of the case--you will be inclined to stigmatize it as bad news or to bless it as good, seems to me somewhat problematical, and i at once confess that i am myself at a loss to know in which light to regard it. "although my disappointment in the matter of mr. cortelyon's will was so extreme as almost for a time to drive me beyond myself, and to stir up within me feelings and passions to which i had been a stranger aforetime, and although i took a silent oath that, come what might, i would be revenged for what i then regarded, and still regard, as the vile trick of which i was made the victim; yet am i inclined to think that had it not been for your persistent fanning of the flame which just then burnt so fiercely within me, my passion would gradually have cooled down, my reason would have again found its equipoise, and i should never have given my sanction to a certain step, the rashness and futility of which i recognized almost from the moment of agreeing to it. "mind, in writing this i am not imputing any blame to you; or, if there is any, we share it on equal terms. your own disappointment was bitter enough in all conscience to goad you on to do things from which, at another time and in your calmer moments, you would have turned away as being not merely useless, but impolitic. "from the moment you placed young cortelyon in my hands my almost insane longing to be revenged for the foul wrong his grandfather had done me slackened and grew faint, and i recognized with overwhelming clearness what a blunder we had made and with what a burden i had saddled myself. now that i had got the child into my keeping what was i to do with him? there was the rub. as for carrying out the dark hint you one day let drop--only by way of trying me, i feel sure, and with no thought that i would agree to act on it--as you know, i shrank from it aghast. i have a child of my own, and i could not forget it; and, little cause as i had to love young c., whatever else might happen to him his life was absolutely safe so long as he remained under my roof. but the perplexing question of how to dispose of him was one which allowed me no rest. "as you are aware, from the date of the lad's arrival at homecroft i put him into the sole charge of mrs. balchin (whom, as i have good reason for knowing, i can thoroughly trust), and kept him wholly secluded from the rest of the household, for whose benefit i invented a little fable explanatory of my reasons for acting as i did, but to what extent they believed it i have no means of knowing. "if i had been uncomfortable before, you may imagine what effect your letter had on me in which you informed me that a reward of five hundred pounds was offered for the recovery of the missing heir. for the next few days i was like a distracted woman, turning over in my mind a dozen schemes, each one more wild and impracticable than the last. "then, all at once, the black clouds opened and a way of escape lay clear before me. "as i daresay you may remember, not only mrs. balchin, but her husband, is in my service, the latter having acted as my coachman ever since my marriage. well, a few mornings ago balchin received a letter from a firm of lawyers in new york informing him that a legacy equivalent to five hundred pounds of english money had been left him by an uncle lately deceased, but that it would be requisite for him to go over to the states, and be prepared to prove his identity, before the money could be paid him. when he came to me and showed me his letter, and told me all this, i could have found it in my heart to embrace him. "can you guess, _mon cher frère_, what were the first words i said to myself? they were these: 'balchin's wife shall keep him company on the voyage, and with them they shall take young cortelyon. _but they shall come back alone?_ "there is no need to trouble you with details. it will be enough to state that by the evening of the second day after balchin's receipt of the letter all arrangements had been made, and the little party of three were ready to start. they were to have the use of my carriage as far as tuxford, where they would join the night coach for the south on their way to liverpool, from which port they would sail by the first available packet for new york, balchin is a capable man, and i had no fear about his failing to carry out the instructions laid down for him. of course the expenses of the journey, so far as his wife and the child were concerned, were to be defrayed by me. "i ought to mention here that i had often heard mrs. balchin refer to her numerous clan of cousins in america, and when i put the case before her she readily engaged, for a hundred pounds paid down, to get the boy permanently adopted by one of them. as you know, i could ill spare any such sum, but i would have made a still greater sacrifice rather than let the opportunity go by of ridding myself of what had latterly become the incubus of my life. "the clocks were striking nine when they started, which would leave them an hour and a-half for the journey to tuxford. balchin was on the box, with the stable-boy beside him, whom it was necessary to take in order that he might bring back the carriage. inside were mrs. balchin and the child, the latter soundly asleep under the influence of a narcotic. you can but faintly imagine with what an intense feeling of relief i watched the carriage disappear in the soft darkness of the autumn night. "you will be wondering by this time as to the nature of the singular news which i began this letter by telling you i had to communicate. you shall now be told it, what i have written so far being merely the needful introduction thereto. "imagine, then, if you can, my feelings of mingled amazement and alarm when, shortly after ten o'clock, my maid came to tell me that the carriage had just returned, and that balchin was very anxious to speak to me. i ordered him to be at once admitted, and the moment i set eyes on his face i knew that something had gone amiss, although the mere fact of his presence there was enough to convince me on that point. "without giving him time to speak, i said quickly: 'where is the child? nothing has happened to him i hope?' "'only this, ma'am, that we've been robbed of him,' was his reply. "and so it proved to be. as they were crossing blaydon heath they had been stopped by a masked horseman carrying a pistol in one hand and a small lantern in the other, who had bidden balchin bring the carriage to a halt, on pain of instant death. naturally the man was much frightened, seeing that in his wife's purse was not merely the passage-money for all three, but the hundred pounds given by me for the purpose just named. but in that respect his fears proved to be unfounded. riding up to the carriage window, the horseman first turned his lantern full on mrs. balchin and then on the face of the sleeping child. 'as i thought, madam, as i thought,' he said. 'i find you here in possession of property which does not belong to you. with your good pleasure i will relieve you of it. nay, no demur, or you will find it the worse for you. child-stealing, allow me to remind you, is a crime punishable with a long term of transportation. hand the boy over to me at once, and thank your lucky stars that you are allowed to escape so easily.' [illustration: "the compliments of captain nightshade."] "what could the woman do but comply? indeed, as she has since told me, she was nearly frightened out of her wits. without dismounting, the horseman opened the carriage door, and the child, still sleeping soundly, was transferred to him. placing the boy in front of him, with one arm round him, he backed his horse from the carriage, and then addressing balchin, said, 'you can drive back home, and when you get there give my compliments to your mistress--the compliments of captain nightshade--and tell her she ought to go down on her knees and thank me for having saved her from the consequences of a most shameful crime.' with that he waved his hand, set spur to his horse, and cantered off. "such was the story brought back by balchin. "captain nightshade, i must tell you, is a notorious highwayman who for two or three years past has been the terror of this part of england. for the last six or seven months, however, nothing has been heard of him, and everybody was hoping that he had seen fit to transfer his attentions elsewhere. "now, tell me this if you can. how did he, of all people in the world, succeed in discovering that young c. was hidden under my roof, and that he was about to be smuggled away at that particular time? it is a question which the oftener i ask it, the more bewildered i become. somebody must have acted the part of spy and traitor, but who is that somebody? and through what mysterious channel did he or she succeed in communicating my intentions to the highwayman? i have my suspicions in the matter, but i refrain from inflicting them upon you. "captain nightshade's motive in getting hold of the boy is as plain as a pikestaff. he will restore him to his friends, and claim the reward offered for his recovery. "and after such an ignominious fashion has the scheme of revenge hatched by you, and in a weak moment acceded to by me, collapsed and crumbled to pieces. that i should ever have allowed myself to be mixed up with any such affair seems to me, writing now, wholly inconceivable; but it merely serves to prove to what lengths a woman will go when blinded by passion, spite, and the overthrow of her most cherished hopes. "somehow, i have not much fear that the friends of young c., even should the facts of the case be made known to them, will take any further steps in the affair. they will not, i am quite sure, if miss baynard has any say in the affair. i could love that girl, wilton, were it in my nature to love anybody. and to think that not a shilling of her great-uncle's wealth will come to her! it is most shameful. "but enough, i am tired, and must leave till another day my answers to certain questions which you ask in your last letter. "your affectionate sister, "onoria bullivant." chapter xxiii. a joyful surprise. all this time miss baynard was waiting at stanbrook for the news which seemed so long in coming. as one slow day followed another without bringing the longed-for tidings her heart grew sick within her. perhaps the boy had been spirited out of the country, and she should never set eyes on him again; perhaps something worse even than that had befallen him. mr. piljoy came over on business connected with the estate, but brought no comfort with him. till some tidings of the missing heir should come to hand no steps whatever could be taken with reference to the settlement of the property. after his receipt of nell's letter containing the news of the abduction he had communicated direct with the authorities in london, but, beyond a reply to the effect that the case was already in hand and having their best attention, he had heard nothing. he had more than one question to put to miss baynard having reference to mr. geoffrey dare, to which she contented herself with replying that dare had been her cousin's bosom friend, and was the missing boy's godfather, and had promised poor dick to look after him as if he were his own son. what would have been mr. piljoy's horror and amazement had he been told that mr. geoffrey dare and the notorious captain nightshade were one and the same person! nell could not help laughing a little to herself as her imagination conjured up the picture. but our heroine's state of soul-wearing suspense was not destined to last much longer. on the evening of the second day after mr. piljoy's return home a letter was brought her which caused her to start with amazement the moment her eyes fell on it. the address was in the same writing as that of the packet in which her lost mask had been returned to her. for a space of some seconds she stood staring at it like one fascinated; then with fingers that shook a little she broke the seal and tore open the letter. here is what she read: "mr. cope-ellerslie presents his compliments to miss baynard, and has much happiness in informing her that news has reached him not only of the safety but of the whereabouts of her young relative, master evan cortelyon. "should miss baynard think it worth her while to come as far as rockmount, mr. ellerslie will be pleased to tell her all that has come to his knowledge in connection with the affair, in which case the bearer of this letter is instructed to act as her guide and escort on the journey." she could hardly make out the last few lines for the happy tears which already dimmed her eyes, and so had to read them again. go to rockmount! of course she would. had it been to the end of europe she would have gone, and ten minutes later she was ready to start. day was already drawing to dusk, and timorous-hearted mrs. budd would fain have persuaded her to put off her journey till morning. but timid counsels had never prevailed with nell, and it was not in the least likely that they would in a case like the present. she had at once sent word to have her mare saddled and brought round, and it was waiting for her, in charge of john dyce, by the time she was ready. nell was hardly surprised at finding that the man who had brought the letter, and who was waiting for an answer to it, was the one who on the occasion of her first sojourn at rockmount had acted as her guide as far as the whinbarrow road. would he recognize in her the young spark whom he had then escorted? it seemed hardly likely that he would, and in any case, it did not matter greatly. it was far more probable that he would recognize her mare peggy. "i am going back with you to rockmount," she said to him. "all right, mum," he replied, with a tug at his forelock. "you couldn't have a finer evenin' for a ride." neither man nor horse had lacked for refreshment while waiting. and so presently they set out, miss baynard leading the way by about a dozen yards. this lasted till they had gone some six or eight miles, and had reached a point where it became necessary to diverge from the great highway they had hitherto been traversing and take to one of the tortuous cross-country roads which branched off into the desolate region of fells and moors. then the position of the two was reversed, and it was the man who led the way. it was quite dark by the time they reached rockmount, or as nearly so as it ever is on a clear, starlit autumnal night. as miss baynard drew rein in front of the house, her mind was busy with the incidents of that other night, now many months old, when one whom she had since learnt to love in secret with all the fervency of a first great passion had brought her to the door of rockmount and had there left her. how full of incident for her those months had been! what a changed life, both inwardly and outwardly, had hers become between then and now! her guide, having dismounted, gave a resounding knock on the great oaken door and then helped miss baynard to alight. when that was done he led the horses away towards the back premises, and the same instant there was the sound of bolts and bars being unloosened one by one. so remote and lonely was the house that it was no wonder the inmates looked carefully to their fastenings. then the door was opened, disclosing the same sour-visaged old serving-man, carrying a lighted candle, whom nell had seen on the first occasion. "be good enough to tell your master that miss baynard is here," she said. making an arch of one of his knotted hands, he peered at her for a moment or two from under it. then he said: "the master is expecting yo. will yo be pleased to come in?" and so for the second time, nell crossed the threshold of rockmount. the door having been shut behind her, the old fellow led the way across the hall, and so brought her presently to the same sparsely furnished room with which she was already so well acquainted. then she was left alone. as nell looked round the room she could have fancied that only a few hours had gone by since she was last there. the candles were alight, a cheerful fire was burning in the grate; the heavy curtains of faded red moreen were closely drawn; nothing was changed. from moment to moment she looked to see mr. cope-ellerslie enter. would he, when they met, treat her as a stranger, or as one whom he knew already? it was a question she had asked herself more than once while on her way to rockmount. that he knew the pseudo mr. frank nevill to be none other than miss baynard, of stanbrook, he had himself furnished her with proof positive in the return of her mask; but did he know at the time he gave her a night's lodging who she was, or did he not discover it till afterwards? and, in either case, by what mysterious means had he made the discovery? she had not forgotten, nor was it likely she should forget, that in the chamber assigned her at rockmount she had found a certain feminine garment, but whether placed there by accident or design she had no means whatever of knowing. if by design, then must mr. ellerslie from the first have penetrated the secret of her sex. it was a thought which, even after all this time, caused the blood to tingle in her veins. but these questions, personal to herself, perplexing though they were, did not cause her for more than a minute or two at a time to lose sight of the main object which had brought her to rockmount, while wholly at a loss to imagine how it had come to pass that the first news of the lost child should have reached her through mr. ellerslie, and neither through bow street nor geoffrey dare. not that it mattered greatly, so long as news of him had come to hand. she was all impatience to hear what mr. ellerslie had to tell her. she could not help starting when the door opened, thinking to see him; but it was mrs. dobson, the housekeeper, who now came in. nell had by no means forgotten mrs. dobson, and she scrutinized her a little anxiously. would the housekeeper recognize her? would there be anything in her manner to betray a knowledge of their having ever met before? mrs. dobson, having shut the door, came forward a little way, crossed her hands in front of her, and made miss baynard a respectful curtsey. then their eyes met, and nell read nothing in those of the other which she might not have read in the eyes of any stranger. undisguised admiration they betrayed of a surety, but to that our young lady was so used that she thought nothing of it. "madam," began the housekeeper, with the tone and manner of a well-bred dependent, "my master desires me to say that in another room there is a very charming little picture, a view of which he feels sure would please you vastly. if you will be good enough to accompany me i will conduct you to it." miss baynard stared at the housekeeper with wide-set eyes. "a picture!" she said. "surely mr. ellerslie has not asked me to rockmount merely to show me a picture!" "that is more than i can say, miss. my business is simply to repeat my master's message. but i feel quite sure that if you knew what the picture is, you would never forgive yourself for having refused to see it. do come, miss," she added next moment, seeing that miss baynard still hesitated. "very well, i will go with you," said nell. mrs. dobson led the way through the gloomy old house to a bedroom on the first floor, but not the one occupied by miss baynard on the occasion of her first visit to rockmount, although differing very little from it in its furniture and appointments, except in one particular. in the middle of the floor stood a couch, to which nell's eyes travelled instinctively the moment she entered the room. it had been made up temporarily with pillows and coverlets, so as to form a child's bed. a solitary wax candle was alight on the chimney-piece. a low, inarticulate cry broke from nell. brushing past the housekeeper, she went swiftly forward and bent over the couch. the truth had flashed across her as she set foot over the threshold, and now her eyes verified it. there, in rosy slumber, his cheek pillowed on one hand, the other arm flung with graceful abandon outside the coverlet, lay the missing child. this was the picture mr. ellerslie had invited her to come and see! tears rushed to her eyes and overbrimmed them; a sob broke in her throat. not for a full minute, for fear of waking him, did she venture to stoop and touch the peach-bloom of his cheek with her lips. her heart was full, and not till a few more moments had gone by would she trust herself to speak. the housekeeper was at her elbow. "who brought him, and how long has he been here?" she asked. "i found him keeping master company in the library when i came downstairs this morning. some one had brought him in the course of the night. he has been playing about on the moors a good part of the day--not, of course, without some one to look after him--and came to bed thoroughly tired out. what a dear little gentleman he is! not a bit like many children i've known, but trying to make friends with everybody. i suppose, miss, that you won't have any objection to sharing this room with him to-night?" miss baynard was startled. "but i have not seen mr. ellerslie yet," she objected. "when his message reached me, my only aim was to lose no time in getting here, and certainly i had no thought or intention of staying the night at rockmount." "but consider the lateness of the hour, miss; and you would hardly care, i should think, to have the child wakened in order to take him a long journey in the middle of the night." "no, i certainly should not care for that. but when i left home i did not know that evan had been found, and that i was going to see him; only that mr. ellerslie had a message of some kind for me which concerned him." "well, miss, master certainly expects you to stay till morning, and asked me hours ago to arrange accordingly. but most likely he will speak to you himself about it. and now, if you are ready, we will go downstairs." but nell could not go without another kiss. "he is not left alone while he sleeps," remarked mrs. dobson as they left the room; "my niece watches by him." downstairs miss baynard found the table laid for one person, and three minutes later a dainty little supper was brought in. "when shall i see mr. ellerslie?" she asked, as the housekeeper was on the point of leaving the room. "he will do himself the honor of waiting upon you in the course of half an hour." it was very rarely that nell's appetite failed her, and her long ride through the night air had, if anything, tended to sharpen it on the present occasion. she was a healthy english girl, who came of a healthy stock. she hardly knew that she had such things as nerves. she was neither hysterical, nor anæmic, nor introspective. no _fin-de-siècle_ questions troubled her, because the century was yet in its infancy. she was a warm-hearted, warm-blooded creature, somewhat too impulsive perhaps, and too easily led away by her own generous instincts, and although an existence such as hers would nowadays be regarded as intolerably narrow and antiquated, yet was her life an exemplar of several of those minor if homely virtues with which so many of our up-to-date young women profess to be, and probably are, wholly unacquainted, and to regard with silent contempt. at any rate, miss baynard did full justice to her supper. scarcely had the table been cleared when mr. ellerslie entered the room. to nell it seemed as if she might have parted from him no longer ago than the day before, so wholly unchanged was he from the picture of him which still lived so freshly in her memory. there was the long, grizzled hair parted down the middle, the short vandyck beard and moustache, the black velvet skull cap, and the dark monkish robe which wrapped him from head to foot. there, too, was the set, mask-like face with its thousands of fine wrinkles, which from a little distance looked as if it were carved out of old ivory, a face which seemed to emphasize the pair of brilliant black eyes that looked out from under their heavy penthouse brows with an illusive something in them which reminded nell strangely of geoffrey dare. as he entered the room miss baynard rose and advanced to meet him with both hands outstretched. "oh, mr. ellerslie!" she said, and in her voice there was a veiled emotion not far removed from tears, "how can i ever thank you enough, how ever be sufficiently grateful to you, for the glad surprise you have given me this evening? surely you must be a necromancer, or the good wizard of a fairy tale, for to me it seems nothing less than a fairy tale to have one i hold so dear restored to me in this fashion." mr. ellerslie took her hands in his, bent over them, and raised them for a second to his lips. "nay, nay, my dear young lady," he replied, "if any thanks be due in the matter--though why there should be i fail to see--then must they fall not to my share, but to that of my nephew, geoffrey dare." an involuntary "oh!" broke from miss baynard. his nephew! it was a revelation which seemed to throw light on several things. "it was geoff who brought the child here at a late hour last night, asleep and perched on his horse in front of him. as to whom, where, and how he picked the youngster up, i must refer you to him in person." "but when shall i see mr. dare? is he not here?" "at present he is not. some business called him away in the course of the day. but i have his promise that he will be back not later than ten o'clock to-morrow morning." "and i shall see him then?" "certainly you will, my dear miss baynard. he will be here immediately after breakfast." by this time he had led her back to her chair, and had seated himself in another on the opposite side of the hearth. miss baynard hesitated a moment, then she said: "when i left stanbrook in consequence of your message, mr. ellerslie, it was certainly without any design of staying over night at rockmount." "but, my dear young lady, as circumstances have fallen out, i fail to see how you can very well help yourself; that is to say, unless it is your intention to leave your young cousin for a time under my charge, a charge, i need scarcely tell you, which i will very gladly undertake." "you are very good, mr. ellerslie, but when i go back evan must go with me." "then permit me to observe that, putting yourself out of the question, the hour is far too late a one for the child to travel." it was the same argument the housekeeper had made use of. "besides, where's your hurry?" resumed mr. ellerslie. "the boy is restored to you, and that, as i take it, is the main thing. the rest's but leather and prunella." "you might have added, mr. ellerslie, by way of clinching your argument, that it would not be the first time i have slept under the roof of rockmount." "eh?" exclaimed mr. ellerslie, with a palpable start. "a certain mr. frank nevill sought and found shelter here one night early in the present year. it may be that you have not quite forgotten the young man in question?" "i have not by any means forgotten him." "furthermore, you have been for some time aware--for how long i do not know--that the aforesaid mr. nevill and miss baynard, of stanbrook, were and are one and the same person. and how i happen to know this i will now make clear to you. for a certain reason--which at the time seemed to him all-powerful, but which after-circumstances turned to foolishness--the _soi-disant_ frank nevill chose, for one night, to enact the part of an amateur highwayman, and wound up his adventure by accepting the hospitality of rockmount. on quitting here next morning, by some oversight he left his mask behind him. time passed on, and when three or four months had gone by the missing mask was forwarded through the post to miss baynard, but without any word of explanation, or any clue to the sender of it. and there the matter rested till this afternoon, when miss baynard received a note from mr. ellerslie informing her that he had certain news to communicate. to miss b. the writing seemed not wholly strange, and on comparing it with the address on the sheet of paper, which she had kept, in which the mask had been enclosed, she could not doubt that they had both emanated from one pen. but doubtless much of this is old news to you, mr. ellerslie. to mr. dare my double identity has for some time been no secret, and he----" mr. ellerslie held up his hand. "pardon me. not even to me would my nephew speak of matters which involved a point of honor between himself and another. that which you have just told me has now become a matter of little or no moment, and such being the case, there can be no harm in my confessing that the identity of miss baynard with mr. frank nevill was suspected by me almost from the first. why was the same mare ridden by both, as one of my men, who chanced on miss baynard next day when on her way back to stanbrook, averred to be the fact? but it was my housekeeper who was the first to raise a doubt in my mind with regard to the sex of 'mr. frank nevill.' that young blade had not been ten minutes under my roof before she came to me and said, 'you may take my word for it, sir, that yon young gentleman in the oak parlor is no more a gentleman than i am, and would be far more at home in petticoats than in what he's wearing now.' evidently mrs. dobson knew what she was talking about. she is a woman of penetration, and i have a great respect for her." chapter xxiv. a parting and a letter. next morning miss baynard and evan breakfasted alone, mr. ellerslie remaining invisible. but nell, who was becoming accustomed to her host's eccentricities, was hardly surprised at his non-appearance. not much appetite had she this morning. dare was coming at ten o'clock, and the thought of her forthcoming interview with him disturbed her strangely. they were about to part. when she had given expression to her gratitude, and they had taken leave of each other, and she had gone her way and he his, what chance or likelihood was there of their ever meeting again? by his own confession his business in england was now at an end; in a few days, or a few weeks at the latest, he would have left its shores, never to return; they would have passed out of each other's life, and, except for one thing, all would be as it was before they first met. yes, save and except for one thing, but one which to nell made all imaginable difference. then she had held her heart fast in her own keeping, but what had become of the poor thing now? she had given it away without having been asked for it. could anything be more shameful? it was gone from her past reclaiming; lost to her forever; and yet he into whose keeping it had been given knew nothing about it. and he never would know. he would carry it away with him, all unwitting, and to all outward seeming, life with her would go on just as before. she alone would know that she had lost something which nothing else could make up to her, that some of the magic had faded out of existence, and that the sun no longer shone quite so brightly as it had been used to do. hardly had the clocks struck ten when there came a tap at the door, which was followed by the entrance of geoffrey dare. young evan was on the floor busied with some toys which the housekeeper had disinterred for him out of one of the garrets. the moment he saw who the newcomer was, he called out: "uncle geoff, come here. one of my horses has only got three legs, and i want you to make me a new one." "presently, my dear boy, presently," he replied, as, after pausing for a moment at the door, he went slowly forward, his eyes fixed full on miss baynard. she was standing, supporting herself with one hand on the table and with the other pressed to her side. for a little space her gaze met his without the flicker of an eyelash and then dropped before the ardor of his regard. her heart was beating tumultuously, while the quick rise and fall of her bosom told of the emotions at work beneath. a lovely flush suffused both face and throat; but dare was paler than ordinary, and haggard and weary-looking, and might have just risen from a sick bed. both were putting a strong restraint on themselves, but each showed it in a different way. nell did not advance with impulsive outstretched hands, as she had done in the case of mr. ellerslie. it was as though her limbs refused to move under her. but when dare came up and held out one of his hands, she laid one of hers in it readily enough. "it did not take long to bring you here, miss baynard," he said, "when once you knew that my uncle had tidings of the boy." after pressing her hand slightly he had withdrawn his own. they might have been the merest casual acquaintances, nell felt a little bitterly. and yet, unless her feelings had blinded her, as he entered the room, she had detected in his eyes a flame of passionate ardor from which her own had been fain to shrink abashed. could it be that he was hiding something from her, even as she was hiding something from him? as this question flashed across her she raised her eyes once more to his. but the flame which had so dazzled her a minute before was no longer there. had it been extinguished? or was it merely that a veil had been temporarily drawn before it? it was after a scarcely observable pause that she answered his remark. "you may be sure that after mr. ellerslie's message reached me i let no grass grow under my feet. i came, looking to have merely some tidings of the boy, whereas it was evan himself whom i found! but i am only telling you what you know already. when i began to thank your uncle, under the belief that i owed evan's recovery to him, he stopped me. it seems that you are the person to whom my thanks are due. believe me, mr. dare, they are yours from the bottom of my heart." dare bowed. "not a word more on that score, i beg," he said with a smile. "i need not tell you that it makes me very happy to have been the means of restoring evan to you; but, as you are aware, i myself have a strong interest in the boy--strong enough to make it impossible for me to leave a stone unturned till he had been found, whether by me or some one else did not greatly matter." "i am very glad it was you, and not another, who found him." "and, of course, i am not sorry that such should have been the case." miss baynard had resumed her chair, and dare had dropped into another no great distance away. "if there is no secret involved in the affair, and it will be breaking no confidence on your part, i should like you to tell me, not only how you succeeded in discovering evan's whereabouts, but by what means you contrived to rescue him from the wretches--for wretches they must have been--who, to gratify some vile purpose of their own, stole him away in broad daylight." "'tis a story very easily told. to your old friend captain nightshade is due the boy's rescue from those who abducted him." "to captain nightshade? oh!" "who once more, and for the last time, revisited the glimpses of the moon. but i am starting my story at the wrong end. i will tell it you from the beginning, since you say you would like to hear it. first of all, however, i must inquire into the state of master evan's horse, which seems to be minus one of its legs." miss baynard left rockmount two hours later, but without seeing mr. ellerslie again, who sent his apologies by his nephew. his rheumatism had come on in the night, and this morning he was unable to rise. dare rode with miss baynard as far as the park gates of stanbrook, with evan in front of him. next day he was going to london, there to complete a few preparations and arrange certain business matters for mr. ellerslie, before setting sail for that new world where his home would henceforth be. but this was not to be their final farewell; they would see each other once more in about a fortnight, when dare would come north in order to bid his uncle goodbye, on which occasion he would not fail to call at stanbrook. he would not, of course, dream of leaving england without seeing his godson again. and so they parted, both secretly consumed with love. dare would not open his lips. in the first place, he was far too poor to marry; and then, to dream that, in any case, the proud and beautiful miss baynard would stoop so low as to wed the notorious "captain nightshade" was the veriest moonstruck folly. had he but known how often nell, with despair gnawing at her heartstrings, murmured sadly to herself, "if only he would say one word!" what a change, little less than miraculous, would have come over him! but the word was not said, and they separated with nothing warmer than a hand-grasp--torn asunder, not by fate, but by their own pride, and to the full as wretched as parted lovers are always said, or supposed, to be. lady carradine, having much leisure time on her hands, and being fond of letter-writing, not infrequently obliged her goddaughter with one of her lengthy and somewhat diffusely-worded epistles. to miss baynard, in the retirement of stanbrook, these occasional glimpses of a life so different from her own were always welcome; and as her ladyship had now taken up her permanent residence in london and saw a good deal of company, she had much to tell that was both fresh and interesting. nearly a fortnight had gone by since nell's return from rockmount, and she was looking daily for the coming of dare, when one of lady carradine's crossed and recrossed letters--postage in those days was a consideration--came to hand. with only one part of her ladyship's epistle are we in any way concerned. the part in question ran as under:-- "i forget, my dear, whether i ever mentioned to you that among my many acquaintances is numbered sir peter warrendale, a baronet of old family, whose home, when he is at home, is somewhere in your benighted part of the country. of late years, however, he has been seen a good deal in town. i have a notion that his health is not quite what he would like it to be, and that he has little or no faith in your rural practitioners, which i can't wonder at. but that is his own secret. "he is now well on for seventy, a tetchy, cross-grained old man, with a good word for nobody behind their back; and i have not the least doubt he pulls me to pieces before others, just as he pulls others to pieces before me. i candidly confess that i don't like him, but he helps to amuse me, and to any one who does that i can forgive much. "i had not seen him for some little time till one evening about a week ago, when he called upon me, evidently brimful of news, of which it was needful that he should relieve himself to somebody if he wished to escape a fit of apoplexy. i quite expected that i was about to be treated to the latest scandalous _on dit_, or the most recent morsel of society gossip, which would lose nothing in sir peter's telling, but for once i was mistaken. what he had to tell me was the particulars of a somewhat singular incident in which he had figured as one of the chief actors. "it would appear that several months ago sir peter, while travelling in his own chariot, was stopped by a mounted highwayman and relieved, among other things, of a choice snuff-box--an heirloom, and set with brilliants--by which he set great store. although the affair happened in his own part of the country, when he came to town, a few weeks later, he reported his loss at bow street, and handed in a full description of the box. this he did in the faint hope that the box might some day find its way to one of the london pawnbrokers--to each of whom a description of it would have been furnished--and, through him, back to its rightful owner. "time went on, and sir peter had given up all hope of ever seeing his box again, when he was one day requested to betake himself to bow street, and there, sure enough, he set eyes once more on his precious heirloom. it had been found on the person of a low london thief who had been arrested for something altogether different. "but now comes the most singular feature of the affair. the box had been _twice_ stolen, once, several months ago, from the person of sir peter, and a second time, a few weeks ago, here in london, from the person of a certain mr. geoffrey dare, and both losses had been notified to the authorities. "sir peter having identified the box as his property, it became needful to ascertain through what channel it had come into the possession of mr. dare, who seems to be one of those numerous young men of good family about whom one is continually hearing, who seem to think that twenty thousand pounds will go as far as a hundred thousand, and who, after their follies and extravagances have made them the talk of the town for a few seasons, vanish and are no more seen. at any rate, that, some two or three years ago, the young man in question was a well-known figure in london society, and that, with the help of the gaming table--an important factor in nearly all such cases--he dissipated his fortune to the last shilling, are well ascertained facts. "when inquired for at his lodgings--a couple of cheap rooms in some horrid back street--it was ascertained that he had gone into the country for an indefinite time, without leaving any word where he might be found. such being the state of affairs, nothing more could be done till he should return, which he did about ten days ago. a message had been left at his lodgings, requesting his attendance at bow street, which he seems to have lost no time in obeying. there he was questioned as to how the snuff-box came into his keeping, and, his answers not being deemed satisfactory, he was confronted with sir peter. "in him--although he admitted that the highwayman was masked--the baronet professed to recognize the man who robbed him of his purse and the box; indeed, on being pressed, he actually went so far as to swear to his identity with the robber, although, from what he has confessed to me, i cannot help thinking that the evidence on which he grounds his accusation is of the flimsiest possible kind. "but be that as it may, after two or three remands at bow street, dare has been committed to take his trial for highway robbery at the next lanchester assizes, within a few miles of which town sir peter was waylaid. "i had written thus far yesterday when sir peter himself rang the bell. he brought me some further news with regard to young dare which is of a sufficiently remarkable kind. "it would appear that the authorities have some ground for believing that in him they have laid hands on no less a personage than a certain captain nightshade (a sobriquet, of course), whose exploits and adventures as a gentleman of the road in the course of the past two or three years have, according to sir peter, formed the fireside talk of half the households in the north of england. it seems, however, that some six or eight months ago he disappeared, and has not been heard of since. but now that the runners have been laid on the scent, 'twill not be their fault if they fail to run their quarry to earth. "poor fellow! i can't help feeling sorry for him, although it may be very reprehensible on my part to say so. i am afraid it will go hard with him at his trial. 'tis said that captain nightshade was one of the most chivalrous of men, and never robbed a woman in his life." chapter xxv. a desperate resolve. lady carradine's letter, figuratively speaking, smote poor nell, like a bolt from the blue. she had imagined several things, any one of which might have delayed dare's coming--he had given her to understand that his business in london would not take up more than a fortnight at the most--but no faintest dread or suspicion that, after so long a time, he would be arrested and cast for trial on a charge connected with his past career had ever entered her mind. it was like a stab in the dark by an unseen hand, and she reeled under it, and felt for a while as if she were hurt in a vital part past hope of recovery. she did not sleep a wink during the whole of the night after her receipt of the news. now and then she lay down for a little while on a couch, but for the most part she spent the long dark hours in pacing her room restlessly from end to end. no sooner, however, had the first streak of daylight appeared in the sky than she quitted the house, and, making her way down to the banks of the little river which ran past the foot of the park, she followed its solitary windings for some miles, till it drew near the village of mosscrags, where the early housewives were now astir, and the laborers going forth to their work; then she turned and retraced the way she had come. it had seemed to her that she could think more clearly and coherently under the free air of heaven than in the confined space of her own chamber. all her thinking had for its intent the answering of one question: "what can i do to help him?" but so bitterly did the sense of her powerlessness weigh upon her that she could have beaten her head against the wall in a tempest of rage and impotent passion. she could do nothing--nothing; a month-old babe would be as competent to help him as she was. the four walls of a jail held him, and there was no door of escape open to him save that last one of all which led to the gallows. several times in the course of the night the shadows that seem to lurk so thickly around one at such times had shaped themselves into the ghastly semblance of a cross-tree with its dangling rope, which, all imaginary though it was, had caused her soul to shudder and grow sick within her. in the days to which our narrative refers the old barbarous and inhuman penal code was still in full operation, and crimes which a short term of imprisonment with hard labor would now expiate had the last dread sentence of the law pronounced on them without hope of reprieve. at the lanchester spring assizes of that year, as miss baynard did not fail to call to mind, a couple of men had been condemned to death, one of them for sheep-stealing and the other for shop-lifting. in the eye of the law the crime for which geoffrey dare stood committed was of a much more heinous kind than either of those, and should the charge be proved against him, as there seemed every likelihood of its being, then would the gallows seen by nell with the eyes of her imagination develop into a very real erection on the roof of lanchester jail. in such a case as dare's--whether or no they succeeded in identifying him with "captain nightshade"--the death penalty would indubitably be exacted. justice would demand her victim, while mercy wept with her face turned to the wall. and still nell's heart echoed persistently with the cry, "what can i do to help him?" but it was a cry which both earth and heaven flung back, and to which no answer was vouchsafed her. all that day and all the next night she was like a distracted creature, but distracted after the quiet fashion of one who craves for absolute solitude, and to whom even the society of those nearest and dearest is distasteful, if not positively unbearable. kind-hearted mrs. budd was greatly put about, being altogether at a loss to divine what was the matter with nell, and whether the strangeness of her manner was due to a mental or bodily cause. never before had she developed such peculiar symptoms, for no more sane and healthy being ever existed. she had never swooned in her life, although swooning, at proper times and season, was regarded rather as a fashionable accomplishment than otherwise. she never fancied that she was ill when nothing ailed her, or pretended that she had lost her appetite; she was never troubled with qualms, or spasms, or "the vertigo"; and as for being dyspeptic, she did not know the meaning of the word. she had been rendered very anxious and unhappy by the abduction of evan, and proportionately happy by his recovery, but there had been nothing in the way she bore herself at that time which at all resembled the peculiar and inexplicable mood of which she had been the victim for the last four-and-twenty hours. it was in a certain measure due to mrs. budd's instinctive tact, which taught her when it was advisable to speak and when to keep silent, that she and miss baynard had got on so well together. on the present occasion her instinct told her that nell was in no mood to bear questioning, and she kept a guard on her tongue accordingly. but by the afternoon of the second day her uneasiness had grown to such an extent that she felt she should be lacking in her duty to one so much younger than herself if she refrained any longer from endeavoring to discover what it was that had changed miss baynard so unaccountably in so short a space of time. "my dear elinor, what is it that ails you? whatever is the matter with you?" she at length summoned up courage to ask. "you are not like the same girl that you were at breakfast-time yesterday." "am i not? and yet i am the same," replied nell with a smile which had more of tears than mirth in it. "what is't that ails me, do you ask! nothing more serious than a fit of the megrims, i assure you. but i am apt to be dangerous at such times. you had better not come too near me; i might grow worse and bite you." then, before the astonished lady had time to collect her faculties, she found herself hugged and kissed, and left alone. half a minute later she heard miss baynard singing as she went upstairs to her room. then a door clashed somewhere in the distance, and all was still. some time in the dead of night nell lay down on the couch in her bedroom, and presently sank into the deep sleep of utter exhaustion. in that sleep she had a very vivid dream, from which, at the end of a couple of hours, she suddenly awoke. so strongly had the particulars of her dream impressed themselves upon her that she lay for another hour without stirring, turning them over and over in her mind till she had mastered every detail of the scheme which, as she firmly believed, had been revealed to her by some supernatural influence in her sleep. she had scarcely eaten a mouthful of anything since her receipt of her godmother's letter, but this morning she appeared at the breakfast-table as usual, and looking as if the last two days had been blotted out of her existence. she was still a little pale, and dark round the eyes, but the eyes themselves had lost that look of almost fierce despair, as of a creature driven to bay and not knowing which way to turn, which had been their dominant expression for the last eight-and-forty hours. now they shone with a serene and steadfast lustre, which yet had in it a something of fixed resolution, as if bent on carrying out some hidden purpose, which the busy brain behind was brooding remotely over, even while its outward attention was occupied and given with seeming abandonment to far other things. mrs. budd saw and was satisfied, and was far too wise to put any further questions with reference to a state of affairs which was so evidently over and done with. nell followed mrs. budd's lead over breakfast-table-talk wherever that good lady chose to let it wander, and her divagations were many and various. she seemed in the best of spirits, and when the meal was over she indulged herself and evan with a wild romp. the boy had been much put about in his childish way because for the last two nights he had been banished from his aunt nell's chamber to that of mrs. budd (in those first days after his recovery nell would not entrust him at night to the care of any of the servants), but this glorious romp made amends for everything. after that nell disappeared for some hours, and was engaged upstairs in her own rooms; but she joined mrs. budd and evan at dinner, and in the afternoon they all drove out together and watched the sunset from the summit of goat scar. then followed a long and happy evening. never had mrs. budd seen the girl more seemingly merry and light-hearted than she was that day; she and the nell of the day before were two different beings. and yet at times there would come a pause in her gayety, and for a few seconds the light in her eyes would deepen and darken, and a look would come into them as if something had suddenly crossed her vision, seen by herself alone. but, whatever it might be, it went as quickly as it had come, and with one sharp-drawn breath she was herself again. next day at breakfast her mood was unaltered; but again, in the course of the forenoon, she was invisible for a couple of hours. that there was some secret business afoot mrs. budd felt satisfied, but, being the most discreet of matrons, she would rather have tied a handkerchief over her eyes than have allowed them to see what it was evidently not intended they should see. still, it was not without a little shock of surprise that she heard the news which nell broke abruptly to her as soon as their two o'clock dinner had come to an end. "i am about to leave you for a little while," said the girl, smiling bravely. "at present i can tell you neither the object of my journey nor my destination, but that you will know everything in good time i do not doubt. neither can i fix the date of my return, because that is a point about which i am not quite clear. i leave evan in your hands with every confidence. that you will look well after him i feel assured. he loves you and will be happy with you." after this followed a few directions with regard to household and other matters; then miss baynard went to get ready for her journey. an hour later mrs. budd and evan were waiting on the steps of the main entrance to see her start. presently, mounted on her mare peggy, and followed by john dyce, also on horseback, she came riding round from the stables, and a very fair and gracious picture she made in her long dark-blue riding habit, over which she wore a short gray cloak lined with black and tied with black ribbons, being in mourning for mr. cortelyon. her hat was of black beaver, broad-brimmed and ornamented with two sweeping ostrich plumes of the same color. the afternoon sun, shining upon three or four heavy ringlets of chestnut hair which had escaped from under her hat, made a golden glory of them. the late pallor of her complexion had given place to a lovely flush of color. her eyes, while more than ordinarily brilliant, did not smile as her lips did; rather did it seem as if they were charged with the light of some great resolution which might need all her courage to carry it through. evan was held aloft for the sake of a last kiss. there was a fervent "heaven keep you, darling!" a flickering smile, the glisten of a tear, a last wave of the hand, and nell was gone. the widow and child stood hand in hand till the trees of the avenue hid her from view and the sound of hoof-beats had died into silence. then they went back indoors, but for both the light and gladness of the house had vanished. there was a chill upon everything, their spirits included. an hour-and-a-half's good riding brought miss baynard and her escort to the quaint old town of lanchester, with its narrow streets and narrower alleyways, with its many overhanging, lopsided houses, and its grim old county jail, built of ragged graystone, which frowns blankly down from the upper end of its wide, irregularly-shaped market-place, as if in mute warning to all and sundry. miss baynard, whose road led her past one corner of it, shuddered involuntarily as she glanced at it out of a corner of her eye. for her just then that gray old pile was the most vitally interesting spot in the whole world. she was bound, first of all, for langrig, the seat of sir james dalrymple, which was situated in the suburbs of lanchester. sir james, it may be remembered, was one of the trustees appointed under mr. cortelyon's unsigned will, and very glad he was, when he came to learn the contents of that document, to find that it was so much waste paper, and that he would not be called upon to help in the carrying out of what he regarded as its most wicked and unjust provisions. he had a warm regard for nell, not only for her own sake, but for that of her father, whom he had known and liked, and with whom he had spent many a roystering evening when they were young blades together about london town. finally, it may be mentioned that sir james was chairman of the lanchester bench of magistrates. "i have come to you, sir james, on rather a singular errand," began miss baynard, when she had been shown into the library, where she found the baronet sitting with one leg in a gout-rest, and after the usual greetings had passed between them. "my dear young lady, my humble services are at your command in any and every way." "at the present time there is a certain prisoner, mr. geoffrey dare by name, in lanchester jail, awaiting his trial at the next assizes." "which open in three weeks from now. to be sure--to be sure. the rascal who is said to have waylaid sir peter warrendale and robbed him of his watch and snuff-box, and who is shrewdly suspected of being none other than the notorious captain nightshade. but what about him?" "merely this, sir james, that i want you to give me an order of admission--i know you have ample power to do so--to see him privately in prison. when i say privately in prison, i of course mean without witnesses." sir james gave vent to a low whistle. "my dear miss baynard, do you know that this is really a somewhat extraordinary request of yours?" "i am quite aware of it. but let me explain why i have preferred it." she drew a long breath. without she was prepared to tell a lie--nay, more than one--she felt sure that her request would run the risk of a refusal. lies to her had ever been an abomination, but the aim she had set before herself was such as to leave her no option in the matter. when a man's life is at stake, and that the life of the person you love best in the world, the ordinary rules of conduct are apt to get mixed and blurred, and much may be forgiven. in such extreme cases black is liable to be regarded as white, and white as any color you please. miss baynard had come prepared to answer objections, and she went on after a hardly observable pause. "the fact of the matter is, sir james, that mr. dare, in his more prosperous days, was the bosom friend of my late cousin, dick cortelyon, whose young son, as you are aware, has just inherited his grandfather's property. well, it so happens that a couple of days ago, in turning over some letters and other effects which had belonged to my cousin, i came across a sort of rough diary which had been kept by him during the last year of his life. in it there is a passage in which he makes mention of a batch of rather important family papers which, after he had fallen into disgrace at home, he had entrusted to the keeping of mr. dare. now, although i have sought for them high and low, i have failed to find any trace of the papers in question, and am consequently most anxious to ascertain from mr. dare what has become of them; indeed, i think it most likely that they are still somewhere in his keeping. such is my reason, sir james, for desiring an interview with him. if it could be arranged for to-day i should esteem it a great favor, as some very special business will take me from home to-morrow, and the date of my return is altogether uncertain." "my dear miss baynard, not a word more is needed. i will at once write and give you a note, addressed to captain jeffs, the governor of the jail, authorizing him to permit you to have a private interview with the prisoner dare. what a pity, what a damnable pity it is (begging your pardon) that a young fellow with good family and with the brilliant prospects which, i am given to understand, were once his, should have brought his kettle of fish to such a market as he seems to have done! but, as we make our bed, so must we lie on it. and now---- but, dear me! dear me! here am i running on without ever thinking to ask you what you will take in the way of refreshment. that's one of the fruits of being an old bachelor, and of having no womenfolk to keep me up to the mark and teach me not to forget the minor courtesies of life." in the result, nell agreed to accept a glass of the baronet's "particular old madeira" and a biscuit. not to have done as much as that would have been to infringe the unwritten laws of north-country hospitality. then said sir james: "i had lawyer piljoy here t'other day. his purpose in coming was to tell me all about the lost child and its recovery, and a most amazing story it is; and, further, to consult with me as to what steps, if any, it is advisable to take in the affair. the first thing i did was to send for staniforth, who was to have been your uncle's other trustee, and then we three laid our heads together. i need not bother you with reciting any of our arguments pro and con, but in the end we agreed that it would not, for various reasons, be advisable that any further proceedings should be taken in the matter. the child has been restored, which is the main thing to be borne in mind, and we felt pretty sure that no attempt would be made to abduct him a second time." "you say, sir james, that the child has been restored, which is quite true, but do you know whom we have to thank for it?" "haven't the remotest notion. i asked piljoy how it came about, but he couldn't tell me. he said that if anybody knew, you did, but that beyond telling him it was the honorable mrs. b. who had abducted the youngster (what a she-cat that woman must be!) you had favored him with no particulars." "it is to mr. geoffrey dare, now a prisoner in lanchester jail, that the child's recovery is due. it had been arranged that he--the boy--should be secretly transported to america, where we should never have heard of him more, when mr. dare, having discovered what was afoot, in the guise of a highwayman stopped the carriage in which he was being carried off, and rescued him from the wretches to whose charge he had been committed." "never heard of such a thing in my life, damme if i did! um--um! i crave your pardon, my dear, but strong feelings have a way of finding their vent in strong language. and young dare did that, did he? well, well, we must see what can be done for him when his trial comes on. such stuff as he seems made of is too good for the gallows. and now i will write you the promised note. i'm afraid you'll be a little later than the regulation hour for seeing prisoners, but maybe jeffs will strain a point for once in a way. at any rate, i'll ask him to do so." chapter xxvi. "for my sake." the late september afternoon was closing rapidly in when john dyce helped his mistress to alight from her mare, which had been reined up close to the great, black, bolt-studded gates of lanchester jail. it was a rare thing for those gates to be opened except for the admission of prisoners, the usual means of entrance and exit being by a postern in the wall no great distance away. on this door miss baynard now proceeded to give three resounding blows with the huge iron knocker. half a minute later a small wicket was opened, and a hirsute face peered out into the glowing darkness. "be good enough to have this note given to captain jeffs without a minute's delay," said miss baynard in her clear, imperious tones. "it is of the utmost importance. i will wait here while you obtain an answer." with that she handed in sir james's note at the wicket, but on the top of it lay a shining guinea. there was a grunt, and the wicket was shut. while awaiting an answer, nell drew from one of her pockets a long diaphanous black veil, which she proceeded to fix round the brim of her hat and to fasten in a knot behind in such a fashion that it came halfway down her face, leaving nothing of it exposed save her upper lip, her mouth, and her chin. the wait seemed an intolerably long one, and her nerve was beginning to give way a little, when the wicket was opened for the second time, and the same hirsute face made its appearance. "the governor says it's beyont the hour for visitors, and that ye should have come earlier; but as ye're a friend o' sir james dalrymple's he'll admit ye. he sends word that he's sorry not to come and speak to ye hisself, but he's got company at dinner, and can't leave th' table." such, in the gruffest of tones, was the doorkeeper's welcome message. then the wicket was closed again, and half a minute later the narrow black door had opened to admit nell. she slipped in like a shadow, the postern was shut with a clash, and she found herself in a bare, flagged ante-room or entrance-hall, with three or four doors opening out of it, and dimly lighted with a couple of guttering candles. here was a second man, like the first, in uniform, who carried in one hand a jingling bunch of keys, and to whom the doorkeeper introduced her with the remark, "this is willyam, mum, who will show ye the way if ye will please to follow him." "then perhaps william will oblige me by accepting this trifle," said miss baynard; and before the turnkey knew what had happened there was a guinea nestling in his palm. then from some mysterious pocket miss baynard produced a large, flat bottle containing a quart of the most potent brandy in the stanbrook cellars. "and here is something to share between you and to drink my health in," she added, as she proffered the bottle for the doorkeeper's acceptance, who took it as tenderly as if it had been a month-old baby. "eh, mum, but it's agen the rules to accept anything o' this sort," he remarked, with a wag of his head. "we'll not engage to drink it. no, no. rules isn't made in order that they may be broke. we'll just hide it away where nobody but ourselves can find it, so as not to put temptation in the way of any other poor body." and with that the rascal favored his fellow-officer with a portentous wink. the latter functionary now lighted a small lantern, and, having unlocked one of the inner doors, he said, "if you will be pleased to follow me, mum." by this time nell's nerves were worked up to a point of tension that was almost unendurable. she set her teeth hard and clenched her hands as if she intended never to open them again. success had attended her so far; would it desert her now? what she had already achieved was as nothing in comparison with that which was still before her. for a few moments it seemed as if the courage which had hitherto sustained her were about to give way. as she followed the man she had merely a vague impression of a gloomy, flagged, earth-smelling corridor, lighted only by the turnkey's lantern; of a heavy iron door which had to be unlocked to allow of their further advance; of another corridor the counterpart of the first, save that on one side of it some half-dozen doors were ranged at intervals. at one of these her conductor came to a halt, and, having selected a key from his bunch, proceeded to unlock it. then, flinging wide the door, he said in deep, gruff tones which seemed to fill the corridor, "prisoner, a lady to see you," and with that he moved aside to allow miss baynard to enter. at the words dare sprang to his feet. he had been reading, stretched at full length on the pallet which served him for a bed by night and a couch by day. a wooden sconce, fixed against the wall, held a solitary candle of the coarsest tallow, which diffused a dim, sickly light through the cell. it was an indulgence his own pocket had to pay for. had not the volume on which he was engaged been in large print he could not have seen to read it. at sight of him all nell's failing courage came back to her with a rush, mingled with a great wave of love and compassion. hardly could she command her voice while she whispered to the turnkey, "leave us for half-an-hour; don't come before." "all right, mum," whispered the man back. then nell stepped across the threshold of the cell, and the door was locked behind her. dare, his book fallen unheeded to the floor, stood staring at her with wide-lidded eyes as though she were some visitant from the tomb. nell responded to his amazement with a strangely-wistful smile, and eyes that no longer strove to hide a secret which, she flattered herself, they had never revealed before. she could not have spoken at that moment to save her life. she felt as if a spell were upon her; everything about her was unreal. dare himself was not a creature of flesh and blood, but merely a projection of her own imagination. some sorceress had thrown an enchantment over her which---- "is it you, miss baynard, whom i see? and here, of all places in the universe!" dare's voice broke the spell that was upon her, and recalled to her, as in a flash, the very real business--the matter of life and death--which had taken her there, and which must be entered on without a minute's unnecessary delay. "yes, it is i, mr. dare," she answered in accents that were slightly tremulous. "you did me and mine a great, nay, an inestimable service; and i am here to see whether i cannot do something for you in return." a bitter smile lit up his sallow features for a moment. "it is indeed good of you to have put yourself to so much trouble about such a worthless wretch as i. but, were i a hundred-fold more worthy than i am, neither you, miss baynard, nor any power on earth (save and except the king's clemency, which is altogether out of the question) could do aught to help me out of the coil of trouble which i have brought upon myself." "do not be too sure on that point, mr. dare. it is the humblest instruments which sometimes avail for the most difficult tasks. we have all read the fable of the lion and the mouse, and cases might arise in which even such an inconsiderable person as i, owing to my very insignificance might be able to do things which would be impossible in any one of greater importance." her voice was firm enough by now, and her eyes confronted his unwaveringly. she had pushed up her veil till only an edge of it was visible across her forehead at the moment the turnkey had locked the door behind her. dare bowed, but looked slightly puzzled. to what was all this the prelude? that she had not come there without having some very special purpose in view he could no longer doubt. but merely to see her face again was to him what the sight of water is to some poor wretch dying of thirst in the desert. to himself he always spoke of her as the lady of his dreams. "will you not be seated, miss baynard?" he now said, as he brought forward a substantial three-legged stool, the only thing, except his pallet, he had to sit on. "my accommodation is of the simplest, as you can see for yourself. that, however, is not my fault, but an oversight (shall we call it?) on the part of my custodians, whose affection for me is so extreme that they cannot bear to part from me." so nell sat down on the three-legged stool, while dare stood a little apart, with folded arms, resting a shoulder against the whitewashed wall of his cell. miss baynard cleared her voice; the crucial moment had come at last. "i am not here this evening, mr. dare, merely to sympathize with you," she resumed, "although that my most heartfelt sympathy is yours needs no assurance on my part, but to put before you a certain definite proposition, which has been carefully thought out in all its details, and the carrying out of which seems to me perfectly feasible. here, in the fewest words possible--necessarily few because half an hour at the outside must bring my visit to an end--is my proposition. it is simply that you and i shall change places. in half a hour from now you shall quit this cell in the guise of elinor baynard, and i shall stay where i am, having, for the nonce, exchanged my personality for that of mr. geoffrey dare." dare had sprung to "attention" long before nell had come to an end. a wave of dark crimson swept across his lean face, leaving it sallower than before. his eyes lighted up with an intense glow. would any woman, he asked himself, any woman who was young and beautiful, put such a proposition to a man if she did not love him? it was a question he did not wait to answer. he would have time enough to consider it later on. "never had an undeserving man a more noble offer made him than you have just made me. but, putting aside the insuperable difficulties in the way of carrying it out, there are other reasons which----" "there are no insuperable difficulties in the way of carrying it out," broke in nell. "every arrangement has been made, as you shall presently hear. but remember this, that we have no time to waste in explanations or idle objections." dare bowed as accepting a correction. "then permit me to say as briefly as may be, miss baynard, that it cannot be, that on no account whatever could i, or would i accept such a sacrifice at your hands." "a sacrifice! oh, the mockery of the phrase!" although she spoke aloud, the words seemed addressed to herself rather than to dare. she had removed her riding gloves, and the long, slender fingers of one hand now gripped those of the other convulsively. her sharp, white teeth bit into her underlip and left their mark there. she seemed to be bracing herself for a final effort. "you are no doubt aware," she resumed, "that your trial will come on in about three weeks from now." "that is a circumstance i am not likely to forget." "and have you considered, have you allowed your imagination to paint for you what the consequence will be should the verdict at your trial go against you?" "as, considering the evidence which will be brought against me, it is nearly sure to do. yes, i have fully considered the consequence, and may be said to be on pretty familiar terms with it by this time. but as for my imagination, i trust it is too well-bred to allow itself to dwell unnecessarily on details which are best kept in the background till the latest possible moment." "and the prospect does not appall you?" "appall me? no. 'tis not a pleasant one, i admit. but what would you? i played a game with fate, the dice went against me, and i have lost. that, however, is no reason why i should bewail myself like a puling child, or why my cheek should blanch at the prospect which i shall presently be called upon to confront." "but will you not see, cannot you comprehend, that a door of escape is open for you?" her voice had in it a ring of almost passionate impatience. the precious minutes were drifting away one by one. "possibly so, but only at an expense which i do not choose to incur." "oh, what headstrong folly! did the world ever see its like? and you would rather face your--your doom than accept this sacrifice, as you choose to call it, at my hands?" "even so. i have said it, and nothing will avail to move me from it." for a moment or two she beat her hands together in an agony of helplessness. then she stood up. her face was colorless, and her forehead contracted as if with a spasm of intense pain. "you do not know how cruel you are," she said in low, concentrated tones. "you drag from me things which i thought never to reveal to a living soul." she paused for a space of half-a-dozen heart-beats, as though fighting against some hidden emotion. then she went on. "should it be your fate to die, geoffrey dare, the same day that ends your life shall end mine! i swear it." she lifted up her hands and let her face sink into them. an inarticulate cry broke from dare, a great light leapt into his eyes, he drew a step nearer and held out both his arms. then he half drew back, with his arms extended in mid-air. "such words, unless i am a bad interpreter, can have but one meaning." he seemed to breathe the syllables rather than to speak them. for a few seconds there was no reply, and when it did come he had to strain his ears or he would have lost it. "your death-day shall be mine. i have said it. is not that enough?" a moment later his arms were about her, and he was straining her passionately to his heart. "and you love me!--me!!" he ejaculated. "oh, miracle of miracles!" sweet to him as a breath from paradise was the whispered answer: "i have loved you ever since the night you were so kind to jack prentice." it was three minutes later. with what passed in the interim we are in no way concerned. "but consider, my darling, think and consider before it is too late," urged dare. "that miss baynard of stanbrook should stoop to love captain nightshade--a highwayman--a minion of the moon! no, it must not be! and i--i should be a scoundrel to accept so great a gift, unless----" a hand was laid on his lips. "oh, hush! i will not listen to such words. you steal away a poor girl's heart, and then you bid her think and consider! too late, too late. but never, never will i forgive you for having wrung my secret from me! yet, what am i saying? on one condition i will forgive you fully and freely." "and that is----?" "that without a word more of demur you do your share in helping me to carry out the scheme which brought me here. what that scheme is i have already told you." "but, my dearest----" for the second time a hand was laid on his lips. "not a word! i will not listen. you will do it, if not for your own sake, then for mine. do you hear? for mine." "for yours, then, let it be," he assented, but for the life of him he could not see by what means she purposed carrying out her extraordinary proposition. the prison clock began to boom the hour. miss baynard started. "heavens! our little slice of time more than half gone, and nothing done!" then, without a word more, she untied her short gray cloak and laid it aside. under it she had on a loosely fitting bodice and her long riding skirt, both of which garments a couple a minutes later lay in a heap on the floor; and then to dare's astonished eyes there stood revealed the seeming figure of a young man, wearing a ruffled shirt and cravat, a pair of dark small clothes and hessian boots--all at one time the property of unfortunate dick cortelyon. only the plumed hat, the veil, and the heavy chestnut curls still remained to bespeak their owner's sex. but nell's hands went quickly up to her head, there were a few deft movements of her fingers, and the whole paraphernalia--hat, veil, and ringlets came bodily away. well might dare's eyes open themselves still wider. before leaving home she had shorn off her wealth of tresses, and then, by means of some feminine sleight-of-hand, had contrived to secure them to the inner side of her hat in such a way that when the hat was worn the curls lay in quite natural fashion round the nape of the neck. nor was dare's wonder yet to end. from a pocket in her small-clothes nell now drew forth a black wig, a masquerade relic of poor dick's, and proceeded to draw it on over her close-cropped chestnut locks. then turning to her companion, who had been regarding her all this time without a word, she said in mock-serious tones, "your coat and vest, sir, or your life!" at once dare divested himself of the articles in question, and when nell had inducted herself into them her transformation was complete, and a very dashing and debonair young buck she looked. "and now it is high time for miss baynard to make _her_ toilet," she remarked; "but such an awkward young woman is she that it may be as well i should lend her a helping hand." dare, who recognized the futility of any further opposition, yielded himself into her hands and did exactly as she bade him. although nell was tall, he was three inches taller than she, but the riding skirt admitted of ample allowance for the difference. when, however, it came to the bodice, that garment cracked ominously, and the hooks and eyes wholly refused to come together. but, happily, the gray cloak was ample enough to hide all shortcomings. [illustration: "your coat and vest sir--or your life."] lastly, the elaborate headdress--hat, veil, and curls--had to be adjusted. this was a matter of some nicety, but presently it was accomplished to miss baynard's satisfaction. then, stepping back a pace, she took a general survey of her handiwork. "yes, i think you'll do," she said, "although you do look so preternaturally tall. on no account must you either speak or cough, and do for goodness' sake try to mitigate that seven-league stride of yours. i suppose that, try as you might, you couldn't mince or bridle a little, as all young ladies are supposed to do?" although she spoke with such seeming levity, her nerves were all a-tingle with mingled apprehension and excitement. she felt as if she were strapped down on the operating table, and waiting for the coming of the surgeon with his terrible knife. the only remark made by dare during the process of his transformation was when nell was on the point of crowning him with the hat and curls. with a caressing touch on one of the tresses, he said: "oh, my dear one, to think you should have done this for me! what a sacrifice! can i ever forgive you?" "of course you can," she answered lightly. "am i not making you a present of the rubbish, to do what you like with? some lovers think themselves well off if they can secure a tiny tress of their mistress' hair, but so great is _my_ generosity that i freely present you with enough to stuff a sofa cushion." he caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately. but now was heard a faint sound as of the unlocking and opening of a door in the distance, and then, heralded by a cough, the noise of approaching footsteps on the flagged floor of the corridor. instead of a bare thirty minutes, our young people had been nearly an hour together. whether the guineas and the brandy were in any way concerned with such a liberal measurement of time is more than one would undertake to decide. "the time to part has come," said nell in a hurried whisper. "listen. my man john dyce is waiting outside, in charge of my mare. he may be trusted implicitly. he has had his instructions, and will ask no questions. the future i leave wholly in your hands." more was impossible. the turnkey was at the door. after a preliminary rap on it, he called out, "time's up long since, mum. are you ready?" "quite ready, william, thank you," was miss baynard's clear response. so william unlocked the door, and drew it back on its hinges. what he saw when he had done so was his prisoner, as it seemed to him, seated on his pallet in a dejected attitude, with bowed head, and his elbows resting on his knees; nor did he so much as look up at the opening of the door. just inside, waiting apparently for the opening of the door, and with her back to the candle, was the young lady visitor, whose face was now wholly hidden by her veil. as soon as the door was opened she passed out without a word, and then stood aside for a moment, while it was shut and relocked. that done, william, swinging his hand-lantern, and not, it must sorrowfully be confessed, quite so steady on his feet as he had been earlier in the evening, led the way, in happy ignorance of the peck of trouble he was brewing for himself. hardly was the cell door shut before nell was kneeling by it with one ear pressed to its cold iron surface. the footsteps died into silence, then as before, was heard the clash of a distant door, and after that all was still with a stillness as of the tomb. then nell stood up, a great calm, a great happiness almost, shining out of her eyes. "if only i have succeeded in saving him," she said aloud, "nothing else matters!" but next moment her overwrought nerves gave way. staggering across the floor and flinging herself face downward on the pallet, she burst into a tempest of tears. chapter xxvii. three years after. _from mrs. dare to lady carradine_. "my dear godmother,--your last letter, to hand five days ago, brought me a large measure of happiness. in it you tell me that you have at length forgiven me in full for what heretofore you have always designated as my 'rash and ill-considered marriage.' it does indeed make me glad to learn that i am once more to be taken back, fully and freely, into your affections, the loss of which has been the bitterest drop in the cup of my married felicity. "in your letter you put several questions to me having reference to the events of the last few weeks prior to my departure from england. these i will now endeavor to answer to the best of my ability. "thanks to the interest brought to bear by your ladyship in a certain high quarter, your scapegrace goddaughter, after having made three appearances before the lanchester bench of magistrates, was unceremoniously set at liberty. this, of course, is ancient history to you, but it is the point from which, for your information, i purpose narrating as briefly as may be what befell me afterwards up to the date of my departure for america. "i had only been a couple of days back at stanbrook when a note reached me which had been brought by a man on horseback. the writer of it was mr. cope-ellerslie, of rockmount, whose acquaintance i had made some time before under rather peculiar circumstances, asking me to go back with his messenger, as the writer had some news of importance to communicate. this i had no hesitation about doing, seeing that mr. ellerslie was known to me as the uncle of geoffrey dare. "a couple of hours later i alighted from my mare at the door of rockmount. "a man between sixty and seventy, tall and bowed, habited in a monkish robe, with a moustache and a short peaked beard, long grizzled hair parted down the middle, and a singular waxen pallor of complexion--such was the mr. ellerslie known to me, and such was the man who now received me. i had assumed that it was in order to be favored with some tidings of, or to receive some message from, his nephew (who had been utterly lost to me from the moment the cell door was shut between us), that i had been summoned to rockmount. nor was i mistaken. "after having referred to the lanchester affair in terms which i would not recapitulate even if i could, mr. ellerslie went on to mark that his nephew had not yet left the country, but was in safe hiding no great distance away. proceeding, he went on to observe that he was the bearer of a certain message from geoffrey, but that he found himself somewhat at a loss for terms in which to convey it. stripped, however, of all verbiage it came to this: geoffrey would not hold me to my word or promise, given him in the cell at lanchester, if, since then, and after further consideration, i in the slightest degree regretted, or wished, to recall, anything which had passed between us on that occasion. "then, before i had time to frame into words the answer which leapt from my heart, mr. ellerslie proceeded to address me on his own account. i was young and parentless, he remarked, and, so far as he could judge, somewhat liable to be led away by generous but undisciplined impulses. he begged of me to pause, to reflect coolly and dispassionately, before linking my lot with that of a man who, should no worse fate befall him, must henceforth be an outcast from his native land. and so on, and so on, till i begged of him to cease. "need i tell you, my dear godmother, in what terms i answered him? no, i am sure i need not. you know your nelly too well not to have guessed already. "the pith of all i had to say was comprised in less than a score words: 'geoffrey dare is my chosen husband, and, come weal or woe, i will wed none but him.' "mr. ellerslie threw up his hands. 'if you will persist, my dear young lady, in your headstrong course, then have i nothing more to urge. my ambassadorial functions are at an end, and the sooner my nephew comes and does his own talking the better for all concerned.' "without a word more he rose and left the room, and five minutes later geoffrey entered it. "to relate what passed between him and me would not entertain you in the least. it will be enough to state that if we had not been betrothed lovers before, we became so from that hour. "it was to rockmount that geoffrey had directed his steps on the night of his escape, and there he had been in hiding ever since. "when the time had come for me to take my departure in order that i might get back to stanbrook before dark, i said to him, 'but shall i not see mr. ellerslie again before i go?' "'that you certainly will not,' he replied with one of his puzzling smiles. 'mr. cope-ellerslie is no longer in existence. he died about an hour ago. his life was brief but necessary. peace to his remains!' then, seeing my look of amazement, he added, 'have you not yet found out, or even suspected, that mr. ellerslie and geoffrey dare were one and the same person?" "no, that i certainly had not. nevertheless, i was now assured that such was the fact, and i had to delay my departure for another half hour while the mystery was cleared up for me. "when geoffrey dare left london a ruined man, bankrupt in love, in friendship, in means (i long ago explained to you under what peculiar circumstances he was induced to take to the king's highway), he came to rockmount, which was his own property, and which, owing doubtless to its isolated situation in the midst of a wide stretch of desolate moorland, had been untenanted for years. with him he brought three old family servants, whom not even the rack or the thumbscrew would have forced into betraying him. but it was mr. cope-ellerslie, the scholar and the recluse, who had become the tenant of rockmount, and no faintest suspicion ever got abroad that there was, or could be, any connection between him and captain nightshade. "so far so good; but i still failed to comprehend the nature of a disguise which so completely changed geoffrey's identity that only an hour before my eyes had failed to penetrate it. to take one point alone: in mr. ellerslie's face, leaving out of account the difference in the complexions, there bad been a thousand fine lines and creases, whereas in geoffrey's it would have puzzled one to find a dozen. "then was i enlightened. mr. cope-ellerslie's face was a mask, of which moustache, beard, eyebrows, and hair formed component parts. the foundation of the mask consisted of the skin of a newly-born kid, pared or scraped to an exceeding fineness, and moulded to the features while still plastic. geoffrey had brought it with him from italy several years before, where such disguises seem to be not unknown, and where it had been made for him in order that he might take part in a certain carnival frolic. so simple sometimes is the explanation of an apparently inscrutable mystery! "but my letter is dragging itself out to an unconscionable length, and i must hurry on. "of a certain quiet wedding in holland, and of the after-sailing of the two people concerned for the united states, i have no particulars worth recounting beyond those already known to you. here they have lived happily ever since, and here--whatever home-sickness they may have felt in secret--they had made up their minds to pass the rest of their days, when a passage in your last letter set their hearts dancing with a happiness so unlooked-for that since it burst into their life like a flash of sunlight they have hardly been able to talk about anything else. "you write, my dear godmother, that you have fair hopes of being able, by and by, through bringing your influence to bear in the same all-powerful quarter in which you brought it to bear once before, to secure for geoffrey a free pardon. what two happy and grateful beings you would, in that case, make of my husband and me, i should fail to tell you in any words. "you are kind enough to say, further, that you miss your nelly's face and long to see it again, as also that there is a big corner for her in your will. we will say nothing about the latter, but, as regards the former, let me whisper in your ear that you need not be very much surprised if you see me in london in the course of next season. if geoffrey should be free to come with me, what happiness that would be! but, in any case, i think you may look forward pretty confidently to seeing your vagrant goddaughter. "you will readily believe me when i tell you that i am also very desirous of setting eyes again on my young kinsman, evan cortelyon, the account of whose abduction and recovery had for you such a special interest. (don't forget, please, that his recovery was wholly due to my dear husband.) he has been made a ward in chancery, and although i have frequent news of him, and am assured that he is well and happy, yet that is not like seeing him and feeling his dear arms about my neck. "what you had to tell me in your last letter anent the hon. mrs. bullivant took me by surprise, as you said it would; but i'm afraid my disposition is not of a sufficiently forgiving kind to allow of my stating, with any regard for truth, that i feel sorry for her, because i certainly do nothing of the kind. "my surprise arises from the fact that she--of all women i have ever known the most unlikely--should have allowed herself to be so thoroughly hoodwinked as she seems to have been over her marriage with the earl of mortlake. of course she was dazzled by the prospect of becoming a countess, and by the likelihood--you say she regarded it as a certainty--that in less than a twelvemonth she would be left a widow (a titled widow with a handsome jointure), such a mere wreck of humanity was his lordship, to all seeming, when she accepted him, besides being more than double her age. "if this latter consideration was--and you appear to have no doubt on the point--her chief reason for becoming his wife, then, indeed, must her awakening have been anything but a pleasant one when she found that the man who had been carried into the church by four of his tenants, so feeble did he seem, was able, as soon as the ceremony was over, not merely to walk unassisted out of the sacred edifice, but to offer his bride the support of his arm. what a genuine comedy scene it must have been for everybody there, save and except her newly-made ladyship! "and now you tell me that his lordship is likely to live for a dozen years to come. i know that he has been married twice before, and that he has the reputation of being one of the most brutal and unfeeling of husbands, a reputation with which it is hard to believe his present wife can have been unacquainted. "yes, on consideration i think i can afford to forget bygones, and to spare a little pity for my lady countess. hers is indeed an unhappy fate; nor will she derive much consolation from the knowledge that she owes it wholly to herself. "i have kept a very singular bit of news till the last. "you may remember that when we came here we brought with us the dumb man, andry luce, who had been my uncle cortelyon's secretary and factotum, and about whom you have often heard me speak. notwithstanding his infirmity, geoffrey found him very useful in keeping the books and accounts of the large property of which my husband has the management. he was deeply attached to me, and i had a very warm regard for him. "well, i am grieved to have to relate that the poor fellow has come to a sad end. about a fortnight ago he was fatally injured while trying to stop a runaway horse and vehicle. some days passed before he succumbed to his injuries, and it was while he lay dying (i am thankful to say he did not suffer much) that he confessed something to me which perhaps i might otherwise have gone to the grave without knowing. "you and i, my dear godmother, in days gone by, more than once bewildered our brains in trying to solve the mystery of my uncle's unsigned will, for if he had not believed it to be signed, why should he have been so anxious in his last moments, as he certainly was, to have it destroyed? "this was the puzzle which andry's confession--spelled out to me word by word on his fingers after the manner of dumb people--solved once for all. "andry was in the habit of dabbling in chemicals in his spare moments, and it was with a chemically prepared ink, manufactured by him specially for the purpose, that the will was signed by the testator and the witnesses. the special property of the ink in question was that, within forty-eight hours of its having been used, anything written with it would fade out of existence, leaving nothing but the blank, unsullied paper where it had been. "of course it was a very wicked thing of andry to do, but he had somehow learnt the contents of the will, and his indignation at the iniquity of its provisions seems to have utterly confused his sense of right and wrong, as, i verily believe, it would have done mine had i been in his place. "if you ask me what notice i intend taking of the information which has thus strangely come into my keeping, i answer, none at all. and it is a view in which my husband bears me out. i hold myself to be wholly absolved from taking any action whatever in the affair, because my uncle's last wish--nay, his positive command--was that the will in question should be destroyed. "and thus, after all, his dying wish was carried out, but in a way certainly never contemplated by him." the end the high toby by the same author galloping dick captain fortune skirts of happy chance the adventurers twisted eglantine [illustration: but, being by the door, he swept it open with a movement, and backed into the passage page ] the high toby being further chapters in the life and fortunes of dick ryder, otherwise galloping dick, sometime gentleman of the road by h. b. marriott watson author of "twisted eglantine" with a frontispiece by claude shepperson methuen & co. essex street w.c. london _first published in _ to j. m. barrie my dear barrie,--it is all but twenty years since we were first acquainted, for if we live till the spring of , our friendship will have reached its majority. of those far-off days i cherish, as i believe you do, a grateful memory. how many problems had we to discuss, how many ideals had we to satisfy, and how much ambition had we to fulfil! i think you, at least, have gone far to fulfil all yours, who have written your name indelibly in the literature of our generation. that name i am, after the long lapse of years, prefixing to this book of stories, in the hope that they will interest you, and as a testimony to the enduring quality of our friendship. yours always, h. b. marriott watson. _january _ contents page under the moon the draper's niece miss and my lady the lord chief justice the attack on the chaise the gentlemanly haberdasher the man in black the lady in the coach the turtle-doves my lady's ring gallows gate the high toby under the moon i ever had the name of one that kept to himself, nor was bedfellow to none upon the high toby. 'tis true enough that i have mixed in one or two affairs with others of my kidney, but these were mainly in my heady youth and when i was raw upon the pad, and the issues for the more part were against me. for one, there was that business with creech about the king's treasure chests, the which came near to hanging of us all through that toad, timothy grubbe. indeed, i have never cared to participate in any act that was not of my own devising, and there was none on the road that i would ha' pinned my faith on--no, not even old jeremy starbottle, that was hanged afore my time. for this reason it was that i was used to avoid the portsmouth road, which, being so greatly traversed, and so set with wastes and wilds, was pretty much in favour with our gentry. i was often in the west, where my chief quarry lay, or the north road was that on which i beat; but, lord! there was no point nor parcel of these shires that knew me not at one time or another, and i warrant i kept the officers all over the country a-jigging. yet i was once took for an affair near petersfield, and swore not to touch that road again, but to leave it to the scurvy tiddlers that hold it. i came back, however, once after, and that was upon a late december night, and when the moon was shining and the sky alight and glistening. i had rode across from alton with two bottles of good wine under my jacket, and a pocket of gold guineas, and i was trotting across witley common whistling of an air, very merry, and with no thought but to come by town the easier, lying maybe by guildford that night in a cosy private tavern that i knew. some imp of mischief shook me up and cozened me that night, for i had no intent in the world but to walk like a plain citizen or any talking parson. yet what happens but this--that i, like a sorry fool, spying of a coach that was running down from the hills with a great clatter, and two postilions before, set up a cry and a hulloa, and ere they or dick ryder himself was aware of what he would do, why calypso was alongside, i had gotten the reins in my hands, and the nose of my pistol was through the window. the body of that coach trembled under a concussion of someone that threw himself about within, but there came a voice on that. "stay, nick, you fool, and let's guess at where we are." "'sdeath," says another voice, "i will run this fellow through." "young man," says i, seeing the moon shine clear upon his face as he peered through the window, "you know not with whom ye are dealing. heaven rest the soul of them that withstand dick ryder!" at that the other man puts his head to the window also and looks out. "oh," says he, in a quiet voice, "so this is captain ryder! i ha' heard some talk of you, captain; your name has travelled." "why, yes," said i, laughing, for this was no news to me; "you will find it from the quantocks to the humber, and that with a significance. i tell you, sirs, that ryder spells terror to those that he chooses." "well, then," says the second gentleman, eyeing me queerly, "we are now to learn if captain ryder does so choose with us poor devils." "stab me!" cries t'other, who was a hot young blood, "i will snick the rogue through, avory." "you will do nothing of the like, nick," says he, sharply. "would ye peril our precious lives? hear ye not that i have some inkling of this gentleman's repute? gad, i would keep my skin sound, so i would;" and turning to me he smiled pleasantly, beckoning away my pistol that was still directed on the window. "we are at your mercy, captain," said he, coolly. "what prize guess you that you have taken?" "why," said i, "i give not a groat for prize or no prize. i do what i list, and 'tis my whim to catch a pair of fine cocks thus." "well," says he to the other, "i see we must needs open our pockets. i thank heaven that 'twas you won from me this evening; so i shall lose the less." he was a tall fellow was this one, with a fair wig and two cold eyes, and he spoke in an equable fashion, with neither a smile nor a frown upon him. yet he had clearly a command of the other, who prepared to empty his pockets. this set me thinking. "what," says i to myself, "is amiss with this game cock that he will not venture his spurs?" and i looked sharply on him. "captain ryder," says he, very deliberate, "there is on our bodies, as i assure you as a gentleman, but ten poor guineas, scant alms for this great office of yours, as i will admit." "deliver," said i. "'twill serve me for some madam in town as well as you." "that is very true, ryder," said he, bending his golden eyebrows at me. "yet consider this. behind these fine apparels no doubt you will say there is a stout purse somewhere. ay, so it is. we are upon our way to godalming, where we lie at the angel. what! d'ye suppose that any gentleman of the court would travel abroad so ill provided?" "what does this mean?" i asked bluntly, looking at both, but very wary; for i trusted him not. "look ye, captain," he answered, showing his teeth, "i am in want of some such brave fellow as yourself, and you shall choose between two courses--whether to strip us of these few and paltry coins or to take service for a noble sum." "there is some emprise you would do?" i asked surprised. "nay, a very easy task," said he, airily, "but one to be well paid, i warrant." "what price would you put on this job?" said i, considering. "i believe, nick, there is one hundred guineas awaiting at the angel, is't not?" said he, turning to his fellow. he that was termed nick nodded in a surly fashion. "'tis a nice round bag," said i, "and what should be done for this?" for i was sick of these approaches, and i liked him not. "i have a runaway wife," says he, with a faint smile. "faith, captain, she is a madcap; she stalketh by day and by night, and she has taken wings from her dear husband. i would have you to unite us again." i grinned on him, for i knew what this portended. "sure this poor lady must be clipped, but where?" i asked. "she rides from midhurst," said he, "and doubtless will pass this way. i had intended with this friend, who is so kind to give me sympathy and his company--i had intended to have catched her myself and brought her to a meeting. but, captain, you will understand my feelings. my emotions run. i am wax. she were best in your civil hands, that would not imbrue themselves in hasty deeds. you will soothe and dissuade her, i warrant, a man of your tongue. she needs but a sure hand and a cool heart, which i dare not promise. i am disaffected by my passion. i would use an instrument rather." again i corresponded with him in a grin, for i guessed at what fellow he was. "this is very well," said i, "but by your leave i would learn what warranty have i of this payment." "you have the honour of sir gilbert avory," said he. i knew him then for what he was, the greatest cupid in the court, and one that stood at no hazards to boot. there were tales of this sir gilbert, in sooth, upon every wench's tongue. but this was no business of mine. "very well," said i, "if 'tis a petticoat you are after i say no more. faith, i have been about them myself, and i know no greater zest in a pursuit. 'slife, your worship, i blame you not, and you shall come by your own." "that is spoken with spirit," he answered, "and now there remains to set you on your quarry. the coach has a green body, and the lady--my lady that is--is crowned with a mass of red hair." "there was never a nut," said i, "given dick ryder but he cracked it i' the jaw." "then," says he, smiling civilly out of his broad face, "we have your leave to depart." "go in heaven's name," said i, laughing, "and if i get not those hundred guineas, call me catchpole." with that i drew off, and the coach rolled away, disappearing into the shining distance; but i rode back a little distance until i had come to the half moon tavern in the middle of that wilderness. here i sat for an hour or more, hob-a-nobbing with the landlord, and drinking of mulled wine to keep me warm. there was no sound upon the roads in all that time, so that i had grown to fear sir gilbert was mistaken, and that the lady was gone another way. a little on eleven, however, there comes a sound from far away, and the landlord sets his ear to the door. "'tis a coach," says he, "and they drive fast." "they have a need," said i, with a yawn, "for 'tis growing late enough, and indeed, 'tis time i was upon my road." with which i called on the ostler for calypso. by the time i was in the saddle, and standing ready before the tavern in that great open space of the woods, the coach had rolled up and fled past into the night with a huge clamour and the groaning of axles and shrieking of postilions. but in that glimpse of the lights i had seen that the body was of a greenish colour. i pulled calypso out on the highway, therefore, and, taking to my pistols, set her to canter sharply across the waste. the coach was flying like a frightened pigeon, and the lights dwindled afore me, shaking and rocking as they ran. but i was in no hurry, and fetched the mare nearer, keeping her at an even distance. then it seemed that some suspicion took them, for the moonlight struck full upon me, throwing me out like a black shadow a-riding on them. so the postilions heightened their pace, plying their whips, and when that would not serve, they began to call out, and turned the horses from the highway upon a track that ran among vast and sombre pines. i cried to them to halt, but the fools only increased their terror and their efforts, and the big coach lurched and rumbled over the rough ground, crashing among the branches of the firs, while the horses galloped and leaped in a panic. i put spurs to the mare and went after them, cautiously enough, for the road was darkened by the trees about it. yet i drew nigh foot by foot, being in no haste, for the wretches knew not whither they rushed. and presently i heard a woman's voice calling angrily and calling loudly, and then there was a stream of oaths from the postboys mingled with some shrill screaming. i came out at that instant from the cover of the firs, and there before me was the coach, sunk to its axles in a marshy place such as are thereabouts, with the devil of a commotion in progress. "what ado is this?" i cried, coming up and pulling in the nag. but at that the screaming began again, and one of the postboys levelled a pistol at me. "put up that toy," said i, sharply, "or by the lord i will let light in your brains, you numbskull." "jerry, do as the gentleman bids you," said a woman's voice out of the coach, and looking in i saw plain enough that i had here what i wanted. she was a slim-bodied girl with a great canopy of guinea-coloured hair, her bosom moved quickly for all her brave voice. but that gave me a kindly sense of her. "who are you?" she says boldly enough, while the maid was still whimpering by her. "bless those red lips," says i, "but who should i be save one attracted by your distress who is come to help you?" she regarded me doubtfully. "come," i went on, "let me give you a hand, mistress, for that pretty face will ere long kiss the mud else, which is no business for it." she shrank away, but i took hold on her. "come, come," said i, "by your leave, pretty miss." she trembled, but she kept her face. "i will give you what you wish," she answered. "put no finger upon me. here is my purse. you would not rob my maid." "'tis not your purse i want," said i, laughing, "but your person, my dear." "oh," she cried out in alarm; and then, "had not these cravens refused my commands we should be galloping into milford and not thus at your mercy." "i would ha' gone, not only to milford, but to the gallows, for that sweet face," i said, bowing. "what would you do with me?" she asked, now all of a flutter. "know you not that i am mrs barbara crawford, wife to mr crawford of grebe?" "fie!" said i, laughing at her. "i would be ashamed at your years to talk so! what does a chit like you know of wives?" she turned red, and then suddenly white, as i haled her from the coach, struggling with me like a vixen. "fire, jerry, fire," she cried; but the lout was too frightened, and so i flung her before me on calypso, and, with a discharge of my pistol through jerry's hat as he fumbled with his blunderbuss, which set up a new alarm, i got out of the marsh swiftly, and was soon striking through the firs towards milford. this mrs barbara, as she called herself, wrestled like satan, but presently came to be quiet, and, says she, in a cool voice,-- "i would sit up. fear not; you have done your will with me." "there is spirit in this wench," said i, and i fetched her up on the mare's crupper, where she sat, gaping out into the night. "you go by blind ways," said she next. "this is not the road." "why," said i, "no, or that dulcet voice of yours would call louder than i like. you may squeal, my pretty," says i, "but you are bound upon what path your legs should go." "and what path is that?" she asked soberly. "'tis where all women walk," i answered with a chuckle. "they know the road. i have seen 'em ride that way in troops." "you have a generous knowledge of the sex," says she after a pause. "i ha' been in many circumstances," said i, "and i know a stark wench--also, mark ye, i know when one kicks that would be fain." "i think you mistake me, sir," said she with dignity. "but whither are we set?" "what you shall see that you shall see," said i, lightly, for i had an acquaintance with women and knew what way was best to take them. "sir," says she to me on that, "i have no doubt that you are a man of honour." "ay, so it is there you would tickle me?" i cried, laughing. "gadzooks, so i am, and one to keep my word whenever it is given." "then 'tis given against me?" she said, after a moment's silence, and very gravely. "faith, but you talk too much," i cried, in an irritation at her persistence. "you shall neither cajole nor trick me, and that's plain enough for you. i have shut my ears afore to many pleading tongues that wagged in dainty mouths. you are none so sweet as to dissuade me, madam, fair though you be." she was silent again for a time, and then she spoke bitterly. "ay," said she, "yet 'tis my fairness that has pulled this ruin upon me." "why, you gabble of ruin," said i, with a sneer, "as one that wears the buskin. i warrant there is that in you that knows well enough and laments not. i care not what ye think or what ye wish. you shall do my will and no other." she made no answer, and now we were come to a hamlet upon the back parts of milford, where a stream ran under a bridgeway and by high cliffs. 'twas a place called eashing. here was an inn that i had once visited, with an old goose-neck for a landlord, and, taking pity on mrs barbara (if she were so called) and her white face, i stopped before the door and, demanding to be shown into a privy room, led her thither. "you will have a glass of wine against your faintness," said i, quickly, "but i will have no speaking. raise your voice and you shall learn the worst, and what it is to offend dick ryder." she said nothing, but sat very still and pallid, watching me with fluttering eyes; nor would she take the wine i ordered. "drink, my little cockatrice," said i, with command, and on that she sipped at the liquor, making a pretence. a little after comes the innkeeper, and, staring on us, beckons me forth with his finger. i stepped into the passage wondering what game this might be, when says he, suddenly,-- "i recognise you, captain. yonder are fine feathers. a precious morsel you ha' gotten somewhere," says he. "oh, damn your words," says i. "d'ye suppose i left my home to hear this muck?" "no, captain," says he, lowering his voice, "but there has been a pother on the heaths this past week, and the traps are about. there is one or more in the room behind you." at that i whistled and thanked him. "i will put the wine in my gullet and mizzle," said i, not that i cared for the traps, but 'twas safer for the aim i was making. so i was not three minutes ere i was in the saddle with the girl as before, and we were riding amain for godalming. "you ride hard, sir," said she, presently; and when i made no answer, for to say the truth i wanted no more of her voice, and the job for the first time disaffected me, "i think i should say," she went on quietly, "that when you were with the taverner there was one looked in upon me from a further room." "why d'ye say this?" i asked abruptly. "he was well armed," says she, "and there was another with him. i had but to raise my finger," she says quietly. "why did you not?" i asked in a surprise. "i knew nought of them," she answered; "and i know this of you, that you are more honest than you seem, sir." at that i laughed, though i will confess the wench took me by her talk, pretty parrot. "well, you must know," i said, "that those were the officers of the law who watched you, and they would ha' been glad to lay hands on dick ryder." "it may be," she replied thoughtfully. "but i regret not. there is that in your face i would rather trust." at that i pulled in calypso. "look you!" said i, "who are you, and what do you here? i can get no ease of this puzzle. are ye maid, saint or sinner?" "nay, but i am wife and maid, sir," says she, her face deepening with colour; "i am the mistress barbara crawford, that was wed this day at midhurst." "what!" cried i, "you are wed this day!" "indeed," says she, "'tis so; and now am i stolen away and like to be no longer what i am." "where is your husband?" i asked sharply, fixing her with my eyes. "he was called away almost ere the marriage was finished," she answered distressfully. "there was news brought of his father's illness, and he rode off. yet was he to meet me this night at guildford." for a moment i was silent, for there leaped into my mind a notion of what that rogue, sir gilbert avory, was about, and then--for the creature drew me compassionately, and she was but a chick for all her steady face,-- "by heaven," says i, "but this is to go beyond me. i spoil no proper sport, not i; and you and your husband sup together to-night, i promise you, so shall ye." she looked at me somewhat startled, but with a glow of colour on her face. "i knew you were true, i knew you were true," said she, repeating it, and seizing of my hand. "oh, faugh," says i, "i am well enough," for it irked me to think for what i had taken her all along. "will you tell me," she asked in a hesitating voice, "who was it that put you to this?" "you are welcome to that," i returned bluntly. "'twas sir gilbert avory himself." she sighed. "so i had guessed," she said. "he has persecuted me a full year, and no doubt 'twas he that drew off my husband." that, as i knew, was like enough, but there was no time to fall discussing of mr crawford nor sir gilbert neither. the hour was late and we must be pushing. "you will take me back?" says she, softly. i broke out laughing. "lord no!" says i. "bless your bobbing heart, d'ye think you will find the coach still a-sticking in the mud?" "you will ride then to guildford?" she asked with some diffidence, and regarding me beseechingly. "'twould try your generosity to do this for me." "ay," said i, "we ride for guildford, but by way of godalming." "what!" she cried, stricken with fear, "you would carry me where that man lies!" "'twas that very maggot was in my head, mistress," i said; for indeed i had taken a notion to have the laugh of this same smiling _beau_. she clasped her hands, and would have appealed to me, but i broke in sharply on that silly pate. "faith, you must render yourself to me, or i will none of it. i make my plans and so abide. you shall come off with a sound skin, and cry 'pap' to your husband. have no fears." to this soothing she said nothing, and presently we resumed our journey, and, getting into the town, pulled up afore the angel. it was now close upon midnight, and there was but one light in the inn, which shone from a room above. mrs barbara looked on me in alarm when she saw this, but she still said nothing. as for me, i left the mare standing--a trick she was used to--and pressed up the stairway with the girl. it was not my design to seek sir gilbert avory for the nonce, as i had other work to do; but, as it fell, the matter was taken out of my hands, for the man himself met us at the stair-head smiling and courteous. "i give you welcome, madam," says he, bowing with ceremony. "there is a chamber all prepared for you, and a warming supper. you must ha' gotten a rare appetite with the winds." she returned him no word, but shrank away towards me; and says he to me,-- "i fear my lady has lost her tongue i' the cold. you have had a rough journey; but 'tis well done. i swear the lady was never in more careful custody," and a little smile illumined his even features. as we had come upon him there was nought to do save to make the best of the case, and though i will admit that at first i was put about i soon recovered my wits, and entered the chamber with him, whence the light shone, with some merry jest on my tongue. here was a table spread very generously, and some wine heating by the fire. "by the lord," said i, "i am fain of good liquor." "you have earned it, captain," says he, pouring forth a glass, but keeping his eyes on the girl. i drained the glass. "and now," says i, "to business, sir gilbert." "ay, to business, sir," says he, and, with a gentle motion of his hands, he would have invited mrs barbara to an inner room. "these coarse facts are not for a lady, ryder," says he. "seeing the lady is a main pawn in this business, by your leave she shall stay," said i, with a laugh. "why, yes," he says, controlling his lips into that little smile, "she is certainly of chief importance. but i would rather call her queen, captain." "call her what you will," said i, bluffly. "'tis all you shall do with her, my master." he turned slowly from considering her, and gazed on me quietly. "ha!" says he, without showing any perturbation, for he was a man of spirit, and he must have suspected that something was wrong. "here we have a riddle for tobymen. what is the explanation, sirrah?" "very simple," said i, grinning at him. "i ha' made the lady's acquaintance, and ha' taken a fancy to her myself." he raised his eyebrows, while he looked from one to the other of us, as though he would disentangle my real intention. "i fear me you have been drinking, ryder," said he, pleasantly. "true," said i, "but none so deep as you think." "would you go back on your bargain?" he asked, bending his brows on me. "nay," said i, "i will take no unfair advantage of any man, huff or bishop. we shall stand both of us where we stood, you and i." "and where is that?" he asked as quietly as before. "upon the heath," i answered. "i had you under my hands, you and t'other, and there were ten guineas atween you, so ye said. well," said i, "i will have those guineas and cry quits with you." "ten guineas, was it?" he says, considering--"ah, so 'twas. i would not cheat you, captain ryder," and smiling softly he drew a bag from his pocket. "i perceive you to be a man of honour," says he, equably. "i love to do business so! sure, if there were more such at court! ten guineas, say you, captain? keep your tally," and he paid out the pictures on the table afore him. i took them up with a nod, where i sat, but the girl, mrs barbara, watched us from the distance, standing with her arm resting upon a tall chair to support her. "then here's your good health, sir gilbert," said i, wondering what method he would take; for i was sure enough that he had a design against me. "now," says he, "we are quits, as you say; and that leaves us free, you to go your way, and me to ask the offices of the law to recover that which is stolen of me. nick," cries he in a clear voice, and at the word the young fellow's nose was through the door. "an officer from the justice, nick," he says. "i have been robbed," and smiled pleasantly in my face. now i will confess that this predicament had not occurred to me, for to say the truth, i had a thought that he would fall on me with his weapon, which i minded not, being as good a swordsman as ever any chamber knight in town. and on that astonishment followed also these sequels in my mind--that if so be he carried out the plan he had, i should not only go to the jug, but he would have the wife that was maid. this put me in a frenzy, yet i dared not attack him with nick outside, and i knew not what other also. so, very quickly making my resolution, i broke out a-laughing, and said i,-- "you have me held, your worship, by heaven you have. yet i was but jesting. am i a fool to peril a hundred guineas for a chitty face? come, here are your ten guineas. pay me down my price, and there stands your madam for you." he cocked his eye on mrs barbara, smiling the while, as if pleased with his victory, but mightily civil. "madam," he says, "you will see that i have no responsibility in this insult. 'tis the gentleman's manner, no doubt. i can but think myself fortunate to deliver you of his custody." but she stood where she was, white and fearful, throwing her troubled eyes about; and part of her terror was no doubt feigned, but i think that in part it was earnest. she knew not, poor wretch, what i would be at. but, lord love you, i had no fears. "the hundred guineas," says i, "and i pray mr nick for witness," for i was resolved to get that young bantam into the room forthwith. "ho, nick!" says sir gilbert, merrily. "come in for a witness to me," and in steps that young and elegant ninny, looking very sour and sleepy. sir gilbert pulled out his bag and counted the money to me. "'slife," says he, with a frown, "'tis like the thirty pieces," and then he shrugged his shoulders. i took 'em up one by one, and with the very movement in which the last was taken to my pouch out slipped my sword, and,-- "defend ye, defend ye," said i, "or i will run ye through. d'ye think to get even with dick ryder, you fool, you?" sir gilbert started back and lugged out his iron, and master nick leaped forward. "let be, nick, let be," says t'other. "the fellow shall have his way, devil take him! he shall feed the crows some way." but in the course of my life i have never come upon any, save one, that was more than the match of dick ryder, and so he soon found. for he plied his point elegantly, but with no proper freedom; and presently down comes i with my favourite twist and took him through the left breast. he fell a-bleeding to the floor. "curse you!" he cried and gasped. but nick then sprang at my throat with his weapon drawn; yet was i no such lambkin to be took unawares by such a raw smooth-face. "what!" says i, "d'ye fancy that such as i will take thought to drill holes in veal? not i, young master, not i," and dodging his point i drove the hilt of my rapier hard upon his forehead. he dropped like a shot partridge; and giving neither any further thought i turned to the lady. "fly!" says i, "down the stairway, mistress, for i have not a blink of wind more within me." she ran in terror, and i clattered after her, being afraid lest the noise might have woke those in the inn. and so, indeed, it proved; for when we were got into the road, where calypso stood, a commotion broke out behind us, and i heard sir gilbert's voice raised in angry oaths. 'twas the work of a moment to set the lady on the mare and to leap after her. calypso has carried heavier burdens than that, yet she has carried none so gallantly or so speedily. and thus it had grown to be scarce one o'clock in the morning on that frosty night when we reached guildford in company, and drew up at the red lion. the draper's niece 'twas late of night when i reached wimbledon common, out of the west, where i had been patrolling the roads for some two months or more, and with mighty little success, as it chanced that year. i love the west country, not only because i have, as a rule, found there fat pockets jogging home untimely on a nag, or fine noblemen in rich chaises, very proud but tender to pick, but i have also a sentimental leaning towards that part, and that's the truth i will not deny. there is some that hanker after the great north road, and boast that there is no better toby-ground than 'twixt stevenage and grantham, while i have even known 'em to set up finchley common or hounslow for choice. old irons, who never had much self-respect, and was not above turning common crib-cracker if it so served him, was wont to go no further than finchley when he was lacking a goldfinch or two. "sink me!" says he in my presence once to the landlord of the king's head, who spoke of his score there, "i will pay you to-morrow, and be hanged to you!" the which he did, sure enough, by a visit to finchley and not so much as a charged pistol. that was never my way. i never could abide such sport. give me a creditable fellow that shows fight and gives your wits some exercise. there's the true spirit in which to take the life of the road. i would not give a pint of mulled ale for it else. but the west is after my heart, being big and populous and swarming with squires and comfortable warm folk. i know the north road, and was once very well known there myself, and celebrated on the yorkshire moors, a confounded cold, uncivil place. indeed, there are few parts of the kingdom i have not traversed in my time. well, i was newly out of the west that may night, but on this occasion in no very good humour, as you may imagine, when i say that i had been forced to leave a belt of guineas behind at devizes--so close upon me were the traps. indeed, i was very nearly taken in the night, all owing to the treachery of an innkeeper, roast him! 'twas a fine, mild night, and i was for lying in clerkenwell at a house i knew, but i had reached no further than roehampton lane, when of a sudden i reined in, for i remembered an inn there that i had sometimes used, and, to say the truth, i was thirsty. "well," thinks i, "maybe i will lie here and maybe not. i will let fortune decide," and i was turning the mare into the lane, when something comes up quick in the thick of the darkness, and rushes upon calypso's rump. the mare started and backed into the hedge, and i raised my voice and cursed, as you may guess. "why," says i, "you toad, you muckrake, you dung-fork--" and the lord knows where i should ha' gotten to if a gleam of white in the blackness had not in that instant disclosed to me the blunderer. 'twas a woman, or, at least, a slip so young and silly that maybe she should not be so styled; and i had no sooner made that out and ceased in the middle of my objurgations, than i made another discovery. it was her voice that did it, for no doubt she was mightily in terror, seeing me so wrathful and the night being so black and lonely. "oh, sir," she calls in a trembling voice, "i did not see--i--" and here she broke a-weeping. well, dick ryder is not the man to stand by while a pretty woman weeps (for i could have sworn she was pretty enough), and so down i popped off calypso and approached her. "why," said i, "i love not to see a miss like you in tears, and as for my words, pray forget them. i thought you was some blundering, hulking bully that was meat for my bodkin, or my whip, if no more. but as it is," says i, "there's no more ado. so dry your eyes, my dear, for i am no ogre to eat pretty children." "oh," she says, with a gulp, "i was not afraid of you. i only feared i had angered you justly." "oh!" i said, trying for a look at her face in the darkness. "why, i see you are a very brave girl, for sure. that i'll swear you are. and if those pearly drops be not for me, why, i should like to know what opened the wells, my dear? and then i will see if you have broken the mare's leg with your onset, and get on to bed like any honest, sober man that leaves the witching hours to maids and misses and innocent children, as is only right and proper." i do not suppose the girl took me, for women have but scant appreciation of irony, but she spoke glibly enough. "i--i am thrown out into the night, sir!" she cries. "i have nowhere to go!" now you may imagine how this touched me, and what i felt; but she was innocent as a lamb and as foolish, as you might detect from her voice, to say nothing of her face, the which i saw later. so i considered a moment. "that's just my case," said i. "and i was going to wake up some fat villain, to take me in and sup me. but," says i, "if you will find me the particular villain, fat or lean and cock or cockatrice, that has thrown out a ba-lamb like you, miss, well, 'tis he or she i will have awake and out, and something more beside, rip me if i don't!" i had put her down as a child from her stature, which was small, and her body, which was slight, but i was to be undeceived in that presently. "'tis my uncle," she sobbed. "he has shut the door on me. he will not let me in. he vows he has done with me." "maybe," said i, "he has some cause for his anger. but uncles are not hard masters even to young misses that know not the world nor their own minds." "nay," she says, "he has a reason for his anger, and he will not relent. he has threatened me before, and he is full of burning fury. he will not have me back," she said in a voice of hesitating timidity; and, seeming of a sudden to have taken in the shame of her situation, she began to withdraw into the night. "not so fast, young madam," said i, "you have broken my mare's leg, i believe, and i must have a talk with you. what's the reason?" says i. she paused, and then in a tremulous quick voice said, "he will not hear that george riseley shall marry me." "oh, ho!" said i, "i begin to smell powder. and he has turned you out of doors?" "no," she faltered. "he would not admit me." "i begin to see beyond my nose," i said; "you were walking with this george, and returned late?" she hesitated. "why, come," i said, rallying her, "i'd ha' done the same myself, although you would not credit it of a prim and proper youth like me. you was back late?" "yes," says she in a low voice. "well," said i, "old hunks shall take you in, never fear; so come along of me, and show me where nunky lives and fumes and fusses." at that i threw calypso's bridle over my arm, and began to go along the road, the little miss walking by my side, something reluctant, as i guessed, but cheering as she went. her uncle, says she, was a draper in the city with a good custom and a deep purse, while this george was but a 'prentice with small prospects. "well, i have no prospects myself," said i, "but i warrant i can get what i want in the end. 'tis the same with george. let him worry at it as a dog a bone. i'll wager he is a handsome fellow to have taken a pretty girl's eyes." "he is very handsome," says miss, with enthusiasm; "and he is the best judge of calico in the city." "damme!" says i, smacking my thigh as we walked on together quite friendly, "damme! that's the lad for my money, and i don't wonder at you," said i. whereat, poor chit, she brings me forth tales of her blessed george's goodness and estimable virtues, and how his master trusted him, and how his neighbours loved him. "well," i said, "best let 'em not love him too much, or maybe this paragon will slip you." and on that she came to a halt, and falling very tremulous again, pointed at a house. "'tis my uncle's," she says, "but there are no lights and he is gone to bed." "so shall you," said i, and forthwith went up and banged upon the door. now i could guess very much what had happened in that house, and how old hunks had taken a fit of choler and, choking on it, had sent his niece packing for a peccadillo. to be sure she was out over-late for virtuous maids, but what's a clock in the balance with lovers' vows? and if any was to blame, 'twas this same george that should have been swinged, not pretty miss like a dove. thought i to myself--old hunks slams the door in an anabaptist frenzy, and, presently after, while setting on his night-cap and a-saying his prayers, remembers and considers what a fool he is, and how the girl is under his authority and malleable, and that he has pitched her into the roads to come by what she may on a lone night. what does that come to, then, but this, that nunky sits uneasy, and a-tremble at the first knock, and ready to open and take miss to his arms? well, i was right about the readiness to open, but as for the rest you shall hear. the door comes open sharply, and there was an old fat fellow with a candle in his hand, glaring at me. "who are you?" says he, for my appearance took him by surprise. "well," says i in a friendly way, "i'm not old rowley, nor am i the topsman, but something in between, and what that is matters nothing. but i found a poor maid astray on the heath, and have taken the liberty to fetch her home safe and secure." he pushed his head further out, holding the candle so as to throw the light into the road. "it's you, nelly!" said he, sharply. "have i not said i have done with you? go to your lover, you baggage!" and he made a motion to pull to the door, but my foot was inside. "softly," said i, "softly, gaffer. this is your niece, i believe," nodding over my arm to miss. "well," he snarled, "as she is mine and not yours i can do what i like with her." "oh! is that how the wind blows?" said i. "then, sink me! but i shall have to go to school again to learn morals. but there is one thing i have no need to learn again, and that's how to knock sense and discretion into a thick head," said i, meaningly, and at the same time i threw the bridle over calypso's ears and stood free before the old villain. he looked at me a moment, the flame of the candle wagging before his face, and the grease guttering down the candlestick. "you do not understand, sir," he said in a quieter voice. "i have to give my niece lessons; i have to teach her by severity; but since it is probable that she has been sufficiently frightened by this night's adventure, and come to reason, let her enter." and so saying, he stepped back and held the door wide. that he was of a savage, uncontrollable temper was evident, but i had not reckoned with the old bear's cunning, and i vow i was to blame for it. so old a hand as dick ryder should not have been caught by so simple a trick. yet he was miss's uncle, and how was i to suspect him so deeply? at anyrate, the facts are that, on seeing him alter so reasonably, and step back with the invitation on his lips and in his bearing, i too stepped back from the doorway to leave way for miss to enter. then of a sudden bang goes the door to, shaking the very walls of the house, and a great key is turned on the inside, groaning rustily. i will confess i felt blank, but i recovered in a moment, when out of the window above the old rascal stuck his head. "let her go back to her lover!" he says with a sneer. "or maybe you can take her yourself. i want no soiled pieces in a christian house," and then the head was withdrawn, the window shut tight, and the house was plunged in darkness. you may suppose how this usage annoyed me, who am not wont to be treated in so scurvy a fashion, or to come out of any contest so shabbily. i was, on the instant, for flying at the door and employing barkers and point forthwith, but it is not wise to leap too soon with your eyes shut, and so i held my temper and my tongue, only showing my teeth in an ugly grin as i turned to mrs nelly. "why," says i, "the old buck has said the truth. and there is something in his whimsies after all. it seems that george and i must fight or toss for you, my dear." you must remember that i had not seen her face all this time, for all the streaming candle the old gentleman carried, but i gathered that she was in distress from the note of her voice, which trembled. "you cannot mean it, sir," she cried, and shrank away into the darkness, whence i caught the noise of sobbing. "why, bless you, child," said i, touched at the exhibition of her weakness and innocence, "such chitterkins as you are no meat for me, pretty as you be, i'll swear. no, you're for george, or may i perish! i would as leave mishandle a sucking babe as pink-and-white-and-fifteen; so i would, child." "sir," says she, staying her tears, and speaking with an air of dignity, vastly entertaining, "i am past eighteen." "well," says i, "if you are so old as that, i would i had a mother like you, granny. but as for old suet yonder, rip and stab me if i do not pay him back in gold coin before two hours is out! and in the meantime you come along with me, grandam." i think she was confused and fluttered to be so addressed, not understanding my sarcasm; but she followed me obediently, not having any ideas of her own, poor soul. i led the way towards roehampton, where i had made up my mind she should lie meanwhile in the care of a wench i knew at the inn. i was fashioning in my mind a plan for the confounding of the old tub-of-lard as i went, for i never lose time, but am speedy at my aim; yet all the same i talked with miss pretty jovial, for she was a shrinking slip of a girl who was beginning now to get scared, and no wonder. when we were got to the tavern i came into the tap-room and called out for costley, who had the house then, but is since dead of good liquor; and out runs he in his apron, with a lively face, for he was in a merry state enough, the hour being late. "what, dick ryder!" says he in surprise. "yes, 'tis dick ryder!" says i; "and he wants a bed along of sally for a little madam, and supper for both." "a madam!" he calls out, and laughs broadly. "'tis unexpected orders, captain," says he. "at least 'tis put in an amazing odd way. but," he cries out, bursting with his news, "old irons is here!" "what! that old damber," said i, annoyed, for i was no friend to old irons. "yes," said he, eagerly, "you'll sup along of him?" "damme, i won't!" said i. "i want no cutpurses in my company." "come, captain," says he, protesting, for he had a fear of me, and knew of my repute on many roads. "fair play and equality in a trade," says he. i was on the point to give him the rough edge of my tongue--for it was like his impudence to try cozening me--when down the stairs into the passage came a man, walking very stiffly, and with his head in the air. i stopped at once, for i knew not who he might be, and down he stepped into the light, showing a foppish sort of a face, hair very particularly curled, and a becoming dress. no sooner did i clap eyes on him than i knew what kidney he was, and that he was not worth two blinks of the ogles, as they say. so i turned my back on him and was beginning on costley again, when i was surprised by the girl's voice crying out from the entrance behind me. "what the devil?" says i, flying about, for i thought she was insulted maybe by some of costley's fellows, and i ran to the door. but there was she with her arms about the neck of this jack-a-dandy. "what's this, miss?" said i, beginning to think there was some truth in old nunky's words after all; and at that she stepped into the inn, in her excitement, and i saw her plainly for the first time. lord! there was nothing in her face that would not have convinced any court at old bailey forthright. she was prettily handsome, like a doll that turns eyes up or down and smiles out of pink cheeks, in which were two dimples mighty enticing. up she comes in a rush, almost breathless, and breaks out to me,-- "'tis he; 'tis he, sir!" "who the devil is he?" said i, sharply. "'tis mr riseley," she says, somewhat abashed. "he has been supping here, and is setting forth for his lodging." "i commend his discretion," i said dryly; "an excellent good place for supper, so it is, specially for young bloods like that. well," says i, "since you're content, as it seems, i will leave you and young cupid, and be about my business." at that she looked dumbfounded. "but--" she begins, stammering, and paused. i threw a glance at riseley, who stood by with an air something 'twixt arrogance and uneasiness. i plumbed his depths, for i have come across many such as he in my time--fine feathers enough and nothing behind 'em. but it was true that the coxcomb's appearance did not better her case, beyond the titillation of mutual affection; so i considered, and the idea i had taken suddenly bloomed forth in my mind. there was old irons, and here were we. i could have laughed aloud to think how i was for binding all the threads in one, to say nothing of nunky's, on the common. so i turned about to costley. "i was wrong," says i; "i will do captain irons the honour to sup with him, and this young gentleman, i make no doubt, will join me." "i beg your pardon--i--i have supped," he stammered. "'tis a friend," i heard her whisper: "if it were not for him i know not what must have happened to me." "well," says i, "miss here will sup at anyrate," at which i saw his colour move. "i will take the pleasure myself to keep you company, sir," said he, and forthwith we marched into the room. here was old irons, rude, jovial, and blatant as ever, but happily not too far gone as yet. he stared at my guests hard enough, but seemed to be at a loss what to make of them or how to deal by them. so that he was for a time pretty silent, casting glances of perplexity at me and frowning, as if he would invite me to say what i was doing. he was drinking, however, of humpty-dumpty, which soon loosened his tongue. "what cock and pullet have ye got here, dick?" says he in a loud whisper. "friends of mine," says i. "oh!" says he, and stared; then passed off into a chuckle, with his eyes twinkling on miss; at which my apprentice in the fine clothes, not knowing, poor fool, what sort of man he had to deal with, fired up and demanded haughtily why he laughed at a lady. but irons only roared the more, paying no more heed to him than if he were a babe in arms. "shut your mouth!" says i to him, seeing the girl's colour fly about. "why," says he, on the grin still, "you've turned anabaptist, dick. what fad's this? i will say it's as toothsome and sweet mutton as--" "if you close not your cheese-trap," said i, sharply, "i will take leave to do it for you with my pistol-butt." at that old irons stared at me, for he was never very quarrelsome save in his cups, and he had a respect for me. "captain," says he, "don't go for to say you're going to commit assault on old irons, and shut his pretty peepers for ever. i'll warrant this pretty lady would be affrighted by it, and the gentleman too, rip me! when they see old irons a-lying in his gore--" "oh," says i, impatiently, "have done and pull up, for i maybe shall want you afore the day comes." "now that's like dick ryder's own self," said the old fool, and feigned to wipe a tear from his eye and regain his spirits. he whistled a snatch, and called for more ale and brandy, which was his favourite drink. "i will now proceed to deliver a toast, captain," says the dirty old rogue, holding his beaker up and ogling towards miss. "here's to the beauty of roehampton--rip me! no--of putney heath to kingston! toast me that, dick." i let him drink his toast, for i did not wish to thwart him too much in view of what i intended later, and he continued in a wheedling tone to address the girl, asking if she was not the duchess of this or my lady that, and feigning to inquire after his friends at court in a mincing, fashionable voice that was grotesque to hear. but at last i stopped him, for i thought it was time to come to business, and moreover, old irons had taken enough within his jacket for my purpose. "irons," says i, "a man of heart and tenderness like you would be all agog to do service to a young lady that was in trouble," and i winked at him meaningly across the table. "service!" says he, starting up, "why, i've just been pining, dick, all this time for you to come to it. 'what's dick got?' says i to myself, and says myself to i, 'maybe (and i hope) he will be for letting me strike a blow in behalf of youth and beauty?' stab me, dick! those was my very words to myself." "well," said i, bluntly, "you shall have your wish, old man, and this young gentleman too, who i see is regularly jumping for to join us." "i--i know not what you mean," stuttered the peacock. "having supped, and being called on to retire to my lodging, which is far hence, i will take the opportunity to thank you, sir, for your hospitality, and begone." now at that i was only confirmed in the opinion i had formed of him as nothing but a cur of no spirit: for here he was willing--nay, anxious, to fly off and leave his lady in the hands of those whom he knew not, with never a roof to cover her. he had taken a fear of irons, maybe, or perhaps his suspicion was due to my masterful air. but i was not going to let him escape that way, specially as he was part of the plot i was laying against old nunky. so i put my hand on his shoulder. "sit down," said i, cheerily. "you must not begone till you have put something inside of that brave coat of yours. moreover," says i, "here is a lady in trouble, and if i read your honest face aright, you are not the man to leave a poor maid in the lurch--not you." "rip me, no!--he's a brave young gentleman. i can see it in his cheeks," chuckled old irons. "i--i do not know what can be done," said the other, in confusion. "i am willing to help in any way. but her uncle refuses--" "well," said i, looking on him attentively, "you may be thankful that you have met one who, however inferior in courage, does not need to cry mercy to your wits. for here's my plan, plain and pat," and i gave it them, there and then. it had come into my head as i walked along the road with mrs nelly, but i had the whole form perfect only when i had encountered the apprentice and heard irons was in the tavern. old irons and i were to make an entry into the house, and the peacock was to make the rescue, by which means, as you will see, the way would be cleared for nunky's reconciliation with his niece's choice. but no sooner had i told them than cries the peacock, stammering,-- "but--but--i could not--'tis not seemly. i will be no party. 'tis time i was gone home." "oh, very well," says i, "then we will adventure without you, and 'tis i will rescue miss from old irons." the girl's eyes lighted up. "you will do it, george?" says she, beaming. "i believe it will convince my uncle of all that i have said of you." he hesitated, and being pushed into the corner, knew not what to say. "but," says he in a troubled voice, and glancing from old irons to me, and from me to old irons, anxiously, "i do not know who these gentlemen are. i--" "sink me!" says old irons in a cozening voice, "d'ye think we are really on the toby? why, bless you, young master, we are both noblemen in disguise, so we are, and would think shame of this job if it were not to make an honest girl come by her own. we're only a-posing as crib-crackers," says he. "george!" says the girl, in a voice of soft entreaty that would have persuaded a topsman. "no good will come of it," said he with an air of protest. "'twill fail," and he cast up his eyes in despair. "agreed like a brave lad!" said i, clapping him on the back; "and you shall drink to us and success," with which i filled him up a pot of humpty-dumpty, well laced. he drank and coughed, but the compound mounting in his blood, fired him presently, so that he began to talk lightly and proffer advice and boast of what he would do and what part he would take. "why, yes," says old irons, "a pistol clapped at the head, and bang goes the priming, out flows the red blood. sink me! there you are, as cold as clay, and with no more life in you than in a dead maggot. 'slife! here's a jolly boy, dick, that is handy with his barker, i'll vow." but i stopped him ere he went too far, and he and i prepared the arrangements. we left miss behind in sally's charge with strict instructions, and 'twas nigh three before we reached the house. there i set the popinjay outside the window to shiver, pot-valiant, until so be the time should come, while irons and i went to the back of the house and made scrutiny of the yard. there was little trouble in the job, as it chanced, for irons is skilled in the business, which i should scorn to be, holding it for a scurvy, mean-livered craft, unworthy of a gentleman. but i was committed to it for this occasion only, and so was resolved to go through with it. irons fetched out his tools and got to work; and in a short time we were through the window of the kitchen, and irons with his glim was creeping up the stairs. but he stopped half-way and whispered back to me--as if he had only then recalled something. "what ken's this?" he asked, using his cant word. "why, an honest merchant's house," said i, "and he traffics in calicoes." "look ye, dick ryder," says he, sitting down on the stairs, "i may be dullard, but rip me if i know how you stand in this!" "why," says i, "you need only know where you stand, irons, and that's pretty sure. you know me." he stared at me a moment, and then said he, "well, i'll empty old nunky of his spanks, and we'll settle afterwards," and he resumed his journey. now, what i had arranged with the apprentice was that i should knock upon the window when the time was come, at which he would spring in with cries of alarm and fury, falling upon the rascals that had dared break into the merchant's house. at which irons and i were to make off, and the old gentleman, rising in terror from his bed, should discover us in flight, and his deliverer george, full-armed, in possession. yet it did not fall out quite in this way, owing, as i believe, to old irons's muddled head and his stopping on the stairs. at anyrate, we were no sooner come to the hall, after irons had visited two rooms, than we were surprised by the figure of the old gentleman moving down the staircase in his night-dress and a large blunderbuss in his hand. "stand!" says he, seeing irons in the faint light. "stand, rogue, or i fire!" old irons uttered a curse, and, edging into the shadows, put up an arm to slip the catches of the window. but his knuckles fell on it with a rap as he withdrew the catch, and immediately after there was a loud, shrill cry, the window fell open, and there was our peacock in the midst, calling in his falsetto,-- "surrender, or i will blow a hole in you! surrender, by--!" i could have broken out laughing at the sight, only the situation promised to grow risky. for old irons, taken aback at this, and never very particular when on his lay, jumped up sharply and smashed at t'other with his pistol-butt; while, to make confusion worse, the old man in the night-cap let off his blunderbuss. such a screeching arose as would have astonished a churchyard of ghosts, for the truth was, old nunky hit george somewhere in his hinderparts, and simultaneously down came irons's blow on his head. that set his finger to work on the trigger of the pistol i had given him, and ere i was aware, something had took me in the big toe, and set me cursing. "here!" says i, grabbing old irons in the darkness, for he was ready to destroy both in his wildness, "this is no place for a tender-hearted chicken like you or me. we're no match for savage fire-eaters like these. we'd best go," and i dragged him through the window and we made off together. when we reached the inn, i called out the girl. "what has happened?" she cried eagerly. "well," said i, "i think you had best walk home sharp. i'll wager nunky will be calling for you presently to reward a gallant youth that has risked his life for to save him." her eyes glistened, and, lord! i believe the poor fool thought her george _had_ been brave. she clasped her hands. "oh, i must thank you, sir!" she cried. "nay, never thank me," said i, "for, if i mistake not, old irons has taken thanks for us both, and would have had more if it had not been for young jack-a-dandy." "split him!" cries old irons. "i would i had hit him harder." "hit!" she cries, and clutches at me. "nay, never fear," i said. "'twas not irons, but nunky's blunderbuss. faith, he took both wounds like a lamb. i would i had his courage, and was to be comforted like him. but he is in no danger." "oh, sir!" says she, gratefully, and if she were fool she was pretty enough, and her innocence touched me, for she had scarce understood anything of what we spoke. "but run home," says i, "and i'll warrant you'll find him a-rubbing of his head, and nunky a-hugging him for joy and gratitude." but even ere i had finished she was gone, flying lightly into the grey of the coming dawn, and, as i heard afterwards from costley, what i had forecast was pretty accurate. but i had finished with miss then, and the next business was to divide with old irons. 'twas the first time that i had ever engaged in a job with him, and i vow 'twill be the last; so scurvy was he in the partition. but, then, i had always a detestation of so ungentlemanly a game as cracking cribs. miss and my lady there are few people that can truly say they have tricked dick ryder, and fewer still can say that in the end he did not wriggle out of his predicament (whatsoever it might be) and turn the tables on them. yet of these few one, i will confess, was a woman, and a woman i had eyes for, though i am not fool enough to cast my wits away for a petticoat. i have always admired spirit in the sex, but there is a point at which it degenerates into vice, and of such shrews or vixens i wish any man joy. they are good to be beat if you be so inclined, but for myself i have never taken up stick, lash, or fist against any woman, and never would so long as i am free of the topsman. the adventure happened when i was by maidstone in the summer of , coming up from dover very merry. i had ridden round from deal and lain at the crown in dover the night before, and i warrant i had made the people of the inn open their eyes with what tales i told of court and old rowley and affairs of state. i cannot say why, but all the way from deal to london i seemed possessed of a devil that would wag me, whether i willed it or not. i am not used to be so precipitate, but 'twas as if a cask of french brandy had gotten into my brains and set 'em a-quarrelling. at least, i was gay-headed and recked of nothing. not that i care for any risk or peril under the sun if it be necessary; but this was to go rollicking, with the gait, so to say, of a drunken man, whistling on danger and leering at fate--a mighty foolish thing to do for any man. there is no question but i would not have fallen into that blunder by leeds castle if i had been in any other mood. but there it was--the devil was in me, as i say. i pulled out of dover pretty late, and with a parting wave of my hand at as sweet a kinxiewinsy as i have seen, i started on the london road in good temper and good fettle. but ere i had gone a mile or so, i came up with a little fat, dark fellow that had been at the inn and had listened agog to my tales. it was, "lord, sir, say you so?" and "bless me, i would not ha' believed it!" and then again, "save us, what shall we hear next?" well, this little black man, as it seems, was steward, or factotum, or what-ye-may-call-it to my lady dane, who, also, as it seemed, had lain at dover overnight, having crossed in a packet from france, and was on her way to winchester by reigate and guildford. the fellow was not given to talking, but more to listening, with his "bless me-s," but he was a simple rustic, and you may fancy that i led him on so that he opened his mouth as wide as i my ears. for this lady dane was a rich widow (so he said), and, moreover, a woman that was greatly besought in marriage by many suitors of all degrees, and both for her looks and her money. 'tis not i that would blame any man that saw his chance to seize beauty and booty alike together. 'tis the worst of it that they generally go singly--at least, to judge by what i have seen of fine ladies. well, says the little black man, my lady dane was on a journey to her home on the itchin in the company of her niece, that was daughter to the late sir philip's brother, and he was going afore to prepare for them at maidstone, as they were not yet started. it seemed that my lady had property in maidstone, and was for giving a water-fountain to the town in her kindness. "my lady," says he, puffing himself out, "rises late, like any lady of the court." "why," said i, "she must be a rare fine woman--that she must, from your accounts. i would like to clap eyes on her, so that i might compare her with the beauties;" for he was the most obsequious in praise of his mistress that ever you heard, and vexed my soul. "and the niece," says i, "would be pretty handsome too." "the niece!" says he, with a gesture of contempt, waving his hands in a foreign way in imitation of what he had seen in france, and thus nearly falling off his nag. "oh! the niece is well enough," says he, and recovered himself carefully. "_je ne sais quoi_," says he, and shook his head with a mighty knowing look. "she would do pretty well, but not in a capital, not in paris or london, where there is need always of the most elegant style. you, sir, with your knowledge of cities, know that. you have the air." it tickled me to see the little fool a-sitting uneasily on his big horse, with his toes cocked out on each side, looking for all the world like a radish that would split as he bobbed and bounced up and down upon the saddle, and mimicking foreign airs and tongues and manners as if 'twere natural to him. but i kept a grave face until i had gotten out of him what i wanted, by which time 'twas late in the afternoon (for we had ridden together all the way), and we were within ten miles of maidstone. so i bade him good-bye and good-luck, for he was not worth any gentleman wasting his hands on, and, turning the mare up a lane, left him to pursue his way to maidstone alone. but a mile or so along the lane i pitched on a wayside tavern, where i took leave to rest and refresh the mare and myself while waiting; for, from what i had gathered from the steward, the lady would make no start before twelve, in which case she would not be in maidstone before six at the least. so there i sat and waited, with never a companion, and not even a serving-wench to clack tongues with. a little before six i rode down and came into the maidstone highway near by leeds castle, where the moat was shining in the descending sun, and the pastures spread very ample and green to the heights beyond. i waited there for an hour in a convenient copse, and in the end got very tired. "damme!" says i, with a yawn, "this mother beauty has overslept herself for certain, and will save her jewels after all;" for i was in no mood to wait until the next day for the chance, being due in london. there was the lake, first gleaming with the sun, then with long shadows afloat and stretching, and at the last plunged in vacant blankness. this was near upon twilight, and i was for cursing myself as a fool to attend upon the whims of a woman, when there was the sound in the distance of rumbling wheels, and i pulled calypso out and waited by the grassy border of the road. 'twas not long before the chaise came up, rolling in a dignified way down the hill, and speaking of wealth and consideration in every spoke and appointment. there was the coachman with his fellow beside him, and two spirited horses, and, if you please, by the lackey was a huge and bell-mouthed blunderbuss, like a brass viol. i could ha' yelled for laughter at the sight of them and their brave preparations. rip me! what a formidable array 'twas, with two gallant fellows in livery, all ready to blow the soul out of such as galloping dick and his kidney! why, the first time i ever clapped peepers on 'em i could see that there was no fight in them. so i put the mare right across the way and waited. the twilight was come now, and the coachman called out to me to stand aside. "are you drunk?" says he, as he draws up of necessity. "no," says i; "i am only a poor fellow that's thirsty and tired of waiting on you, and would like to be drunk," said i. "'tis a 'wayman!" shouted t'other lackey; and pulled up his blunderbuss. but i put the point of my sword in his wrist, and he dropped it with a howl. "what's this?" now cried a voice from the interior of the chaise; and, pushing the mare to the window, i looked in. there was the lady, sure enough, of whom the little fat man had spoke; and he had been right about her looks, for in her anger she was mighty handsome. but her companion, that was the niece, according to the steward, was by no means what he had suggested, being a tall girl of a delicate beauty, with a gentle kindness in her eye, very becoming to modest virginity. my lady was in a storm of anger. "who are you?" she said furiously. "why," said i, "i know not if 'tis of consequence to your ladyship to discover who it is or who it isn't that rumpads you, so long as you be rumpadded; but if it be any convenience to you, why, set me down in your accounts as galloping dick of the roads, and debit me with what you will," says i. "you would rob me?" said she, looking at me sharply, and, as i could see, controlling herself with an effort. "your ladyship has a mind that flies direct to the point," said i, politely; "i call miss in witness of its quickness. never so much as a word have i spoke afore you out with your guess. 'you would rob me,' says you. why, damme! i will not deny a lady." she looked at me in doubt for a moment, as if she would count me up, and then it was that i got my first idea of her quality, for her gaze pierced me through, and there was capacity in her very bearing. "you would rob a poor woman?" said she next, in a softer voice. "i thought 'twas only fat, bloated purses that you gentlemen of the road would steal." "no," says i, "i take nothing under five hundred guineas, and if there be some jewels to crown the pile i will not refuse them"--for this, i knew from the little fat fool's talk, was what her ladyship carried. she bit her lip, but still kept her temper. "i see you are pleased to jest with me," said she. "you gentlemen are as light of heart as of finger. come, you shall have my twenty guineas, if you are so hard, and i will even refrain my curse, if you will kindly withdraw your head and allow me to proceed"--and at that she thrust towards me a little bag. she was as cool as ever i have seen man or woman, which was the more remarkable, seeing how evil was her real temper. but i took the bag and still kept my place. "hark you, madam," said i, for i was not ill-pleased to have a duel worthy of my tongue and skill; "galloping dick never makes a wanton boast, nor asks what he gets not, nor is afraid of his own mind. there is five hundred guineas with you, the which i will beg of you for a keepsake, and in kind memory also will ask those pretty toys." and i pointed at her necklace. "had i not been kept a-yawning my head off the two hours by the wayside, maybe i would have taken the one and left t'other; but, sink me! i am of a mind for both now," says i. again she shot me a glance, and i thought for a moment that she would have shouted an order to her servants, and have driven on and trusted to chance. but perhaps she came to the conclusion that the hazard was too great, as indeed it was, for i would have clapped holes through chaise and coachman ere they had rolled three paces, and her ladyship might have come off in that case worse than i was for leaving her. at anyrate, she did nothing so foolish, but merely uttered an exclamation in which her fury and her chagrin were indicated, and says she, in angry despair,-- "will nothing make you give up? cannot i persuade you in any way to use me decently? lord forgive you, i thought that the toby had some sense of gallantry." "by the lord!" said i, promptly, "and if there is any huff that says 'no' to that, i would run him through his midriff. we are no money-weasels, and least of all, dick ryder. and maybe that name is known to you, madam," said i. "why, i have heard it, sure," says she, eagerly. "and those that have spoken of you have given you a good name, for a brave and chivalrous fellow." "i have a good repute, and that widely," said i, for 'twas true enough, and maybe she had heard of my adventure with old rowley and the duchess of cleveland, in which i played a pretty figure. "why, of course," said she; "i recall you now. your name, captain, has been bruited about the roads from one end of the kingdom to the other, and it has always come to my ears in good condition. if i recall aright, there was a tale in which you did some good to an honest woman." "does your ladyship refer to mrs barbara crawford and to her abduction?" said i. "why," said she, "now 'tis what i did think of, more especially as a great friend of mine acquainted me with the facts." "'twas on the york road," said i, looking at her, for her glib tongue of a sudden had made me shy at her, like a colt of two years. "'twas there, captain, as i remember now well," said she. "well," says i, "'tis strange you should ha' happened upon some witnesses to that little episode, for i thought it had passed out of mind. but seeing your ladyship is so mindful of me, let me hang if i do not mark it upon my account with you." this i said, having discovered how greatly false she spoke, for 'twas not on york road, but by guildford, that the affair happened, and i would swear that she had heard not a word of it, which, nevertheless, she might very well have done, seeing that it was notorious in the town at that time. "i am always glad to meet a famous man," said she. "no more than i a handsome lady," said i. "and to show how deeply i am in earnest, i will forego half the account and all the jewels for a salutation from miss there." to say the truth, i had enjoyed my bout with the lady, and was disposed to be lenient to her for all her airs and sharpness. but the sight of the niece's eyes of a sudden warmed me and incited me; for she was looking at me gently, with an odd expression of interest and of wonder, and her bosom rose and fell swiftly. you may guess that that set it on even a swifter ebb and tide. "what d'ye mean?" asked her ladyship. "i am a gentleman adventurer," said i, "and, damme! i will not deny my calling; 'tis efficient at the least. but if miss there will permit me the salutation, rip me! you shall go scot-free." at that, miss shrank into her corner, all the expression fled from her face, which was white and stark. but my lady turns on her. "hear you that, celia?" says she. "buss and let us get on, since this gallant gentleman must have already delayed himself over-long." "you are right," said i. "'tis a scurvy long time since i ha' been waiting here." "if you haste not, celia," says she, very ironic in tone, "the gentleman will be getting impatient--as well he may, seeing your pale beauty." now this (for 'twas nothing but a sneer) set me against her, the girl being mightily more handsome than herself and of a fine frailty. but i said nothing, only looked at miss, who seemed as if she would have withered out of the chaise. "celia!" cries her ladyship, sharply. "you--you must be jesting, madam. you cannot mean it," says miss in a low voice. "i have stood much from you, but this insult--" but my lady broke in, "you will do what i say," she said harshly; "i command you." "i will not," says t'other. "indeed, madam, i may not. ask me not so to violate myself." upon that her ladyship turned about. "hark ye," she said, and whispered in her ear, and upon that, observing her to wince, she said aloud, "what, d'ye hesitate, when 'tis to spare five hundred guineas and some odd jewels, including your own?" "i--i value not mine, madam," says miss, trembling. "well, there is mine," said she, "and if they be of not much marketable value, there is a higher value i put upon them, since they were given me by your dear uncle. you shall save them." but, lord! i am a pretty judge of jewels, and she was lying; for there was more worth in her jewels far than in her guineas. but i said nothing, only listened, to hear what miss would answer. she hesitated, and her ladyship made a peremptory gesture. "why, 'tis cheap enough," said she, sardonically. miss still hesitated, and then, as it seemed, on a rap from her ladyship, very white of face and drawn, leaned across to the window. i saw the large eyes gleam in the faint light, and they were like pools at even in which the stars do set; but her lips were trembling. "i have never bought jewels so cheap," says my lady with her sneer, thinking, no doubt, that the bargain was struck now and the act consummated. "no!" says i; "i kiss no maid against her will. fetch forth the pieces and the toys, my lady." miss fell back, still white, and i saw something leap in her eye. she put her kerchief before her face and sobbed. "damme!" says i roughly, "out with the goldfinches, or must i make bold to help myself from ye? there is too much prattle here, and i have delayed long enough." the lady had gone red with anger, and moved her arm as though she would have struck someone in her fury; but suddenly containing herself, and considering, as i must suppose, that 'twould put no embargo on the guineas and the diamonds, she says, says she,-- "if my niece will not save my jewels at the price, i, at anyrate, will save hers." and she leaned softly towards me. now in a flash i saw what she intended, and how she would go any length to preserve her property, the which gave me but a poor thought of her for a basely avaricious woman with no pretensions to honour, and (as was clear) a very brutal mind and temper towards the girl. so i did that which maybe i should not ha' done, though 'tis hard to say, and no one ever accused dick ryder justly of handling a woman harshly. but she would have put me in a hole else, with her quickness and her cunning; and there was only the one way out, which i took. "no," says i, "there is no talk of miss's jewels. what she may have she may keep. i war not on pretty girls. and as for yours, madam--damme! there's nothing will save 'em! no, split me, there isn't!" she fell quite white, as i could see even in the gloom, and for a perceptible moment hesitated. 'twas then, i suppose, that she made up her mind, casting this way and that venomously and desperately for a way out. "well," said she, in a muffled voice, "i cry you mercy. here's what ye are wanting!" and she flung her bag at me; and with her fingers, that trembled, undid the necklet she wore, and handed it to me. "come, that's the mood in which to take reverses," says i cheerfully. "i'll warrant there's more where these came from, and more behind them again; for i should think shame to rob the last jewel from a neck that so becomes 'em." this i said by way of consolation for her vanity, if that were touched at my previous refusal. but she said nothing to that; only put her head nearer, and addressed me with a chastened voice,-- "look ye, captain, i think you be a hard man, but not so hard perhaps as you may seem. i ask not for myself, as you've taken all i had, but for my niece here, who has had the privilege of your benevolence to retain what she has. you have said your name is ryder, and i will believe you. 'tis nothing to me now if it be ryder or creech, as--" "creech!" says i, for i knew dan creech well, and had, indeed, been in some surprises with him. "yes, creech!" said she, looking me steady in the face. "i was warned of a ruffian named creech that would haunt this road to maidstone." "well, creech," said i, "will reap nothing from bare acres." "no," said she, "save from my niece." and there she spoke truly enough, as i saw; for if creech was on that road (and maybe he was), i knew him better than to suppose he would be content with their asseverations. he would rummage and overhaul, would creech, and there was never gold or farden would escape danny's notice, not if 'twas as pitch black as midnight. "as you have been so generous," said my lady, "i thought that maybe you would go further, and save my niece from robbery and me from further needless alarms. it seems to me, though i may be prejudiced, that you owe me that at least." i thought on that for a moment, and--well, i had not spared miss to let her fall a victim later; so says i,-- "you mean that i shall give you my protection?" "i see that you are quick of your wits," said she, speaking evenly now, and not with any irony apparent. "done!" says i. "i will conduct ye to within a mile of maidstone, and you shall go secure. i'll swear to that." "will ye not be afraid to venture so closely?" asked she. "i will conduct ye up to the doors of maidstone," said i. "damme! i'll see you safe within the precincts." "spoken like a brave knight of the roads," said her ladyship, and lay back in her seat. "and now, perhaps, you will be good enough to bid my coachman drive on." there was something in her tones which should have given me pause even then, if i had been less pleased with myself. but i had been hard with her, not in the matter of the jewels only, and i was disposed to meet her on a point, for all that i was sure she bullied the girl. so i rode on in the front and the coach rolled after me, for all the world as though i were advance guard in protection of beauty, which, after all, is pretty much what i was. there was no denying looks to her ladyship, but she was of a hard, handsome face that has never taken me. you would swear she would never change till the tomb swallowed her, but would grow old and fade white insensibly, battling for her beauty all the way, and holding its handsome ghost until the end. if there was anyone that would be attracted by her person (and there must ha' been many), to say nothing of her purse, why, thank the lord, 'twas not i. i would sooner lie in shackles at newgate than have lain in shackles to her at my lady's house. not but what i can speak generously of her (as witness what i have wrote of her beauty), for i came out of the affair all right, yet by an accident, as you will see. we had got near by maidstone, within three miles, and the twilight had thickened into dark. there was never a soul upon the lonely road, for you may conceive that i kept a sharp eye, not only for danny, if he should be about, as was possible, but also lest my lady should play any trick upon me by the way. but i was not much afraid of that, as i knew there was nothing between us and maidstone save a few scattered cottages and an insignificant village or two, which i would have warranted to scare with a blank charge. so when we were, as i say, within three miles of the town, her ladyship put out her head and called to me. "see you," said she, "there is the town drawing near, and you expose yourself in the front. it will serve if you ride behind and be for your better safety, captain." "why," said i, "what the deuce do i mind of riding before or behind! there's none will take me, and i will fetch ye into maidstone, as i have said." "well, captain," said she, with a laugh, "i will confess 'twas not wholly your safety that moved me, which is not strange in the circumstances; but i should feel more secure myself were my escort in the rear, from which side 'tis more likely any assault would be made." "i came at you in the front, madam," said i. "ah! captain ryder is captain ryder," said she, beaming, "and was not afraid of my blunderbusses and my rascals. but conceive a less brave and straightforward adventurer that sees not only blunderbusses and lackeys, but a gallant swordsman to boot in front. 'tis surely from the rear such a one would attack!" "oh, well," said i indifferently, "afore or behind matters nothing. you will have no assault while dick ryder's sign-manual is on you, and that's his toasting-fork." and so i fell behind, as she wished, and we proceeded. it was true enough, what she said, that the body of the coach would protect me from any eyes in front, and that i could make off more easily from the rear; but, lord love you! i had no thoughts of that; and if i had been thinking of it, it might have occurred to me that, being in the van, i could see more plainly into what we were running than if i were in the rear. and, sure enough, that came near my undoing, for we had not gone two miles further, and were still some way out of the town bounds, when the coach suddenly pulled up before a tavern in a little village thereby, of which i cannot recall the name. we had passed several of these, and, as i have said, i cared not two straws for them, and so i was mildly exercised in my mind at this unexpected stoppage, and, coming to myself, moved the mare slowly round t'other side of the coach to see what was forward. "if she is thirsty," said i to myself, "she shall drink," and, if it came to that, i was thirsty myself. and i was ready to hold up the innkeeper with a pistol-butt while we all drank a draught to our better acquaintance and miss's eyes, maybe. but as i came round i was suddenly aware of a small crowd of people, some wearing uniforms, armed with halberds and lanthorns, and in the middle a short important gentleman with a paper in his hand. i had no sooner made this discovery than her ladyship shrieked out very loud,-- "seize that man! he is a highwayman!" at that, all alert, i pulled calypso round and put my heels into her flanks; but there was a bank of people before me in that quarter and the chaise to one side and the tavern t'other, and ere i could draw half a dozen hands were on the mare, and two of a posse that was in the throng had their pistols on the level. there was i, taken, netted like any duck in a decoy, for certain, and with no prospect even of a struggle, for the numbers against me were great. i saw that in the twinkling of an eye, and so sat still, making no effort to escape. "what is this?" said i loudly. "hands off, sirrah! do you dare arrest an innocent man? who is in authority here, and what's his foolish name?" said i. at that the short man came forward, and i saw that he wore a long gown edged with some sort of fleece. "who are you?" i asked, assuming the most haughty, arrogant air, "and under what pretence is a gentleman that is on the king's business arrested and delayed?" "sir," he said, hesitating, "i am mayor of the town, and 'tis at her ladyship's request--" "i know nothing of her ladyship," said i, interrupting angrily. "if her ladyship blunders, and you through her, you must take the consequence, mr mayor." he seemed put about at that, but my lady herself intervened, or i would have managed things for myself pretty easily. "i charge that man with stealing from me jewels and money to the amount of five hundred guineas, which you will find upon him," said she, for she was now out of the coach and standing in the road among them all. "yes, your ladyship," says the mayor anxiously, "it shall be attended to." "well, someone shall smart for this," said i, "ere many days are out." "and my witness," pursued her ladyship calmly, "sits in the coach, and is my late husband's niece." "oh, a witness," says mr mayor, brightening up. "to say nothing of my two fellows," she ended. with that i saw it was all up, for she was not one to lose her head, and with that plain issue before the mayor, he could not blunder very far. so i said nothing more, but sat in the clutches of the officers cudgelling my wits for a way out. "celia," says she, "is this the man that attacked us upon the road and stole my jewels?" "i--i cannot discern very well--'tis dark," stammered miss, and, rip me! i blessed the chit for that reluctance, though 'twas useless, as it happened, for says her ladyship,-- "nonsense, baggage!" she says: "you can see quite plain. you are a coward, that's what it is. here, james and joshua, what say you--is this the villain?" whereupon the lackeys both swore with one voice that it was i, and that i had attacked them brutally; and says one that i had put a bullet near his leg, whereas 'twas his own silly blunderbuss that he dropped. "that is sufficient, my lady," says the mayor, looking very pompous, and to that added what gave me the clue as to this unexpected trap. 'twas nothing more or less than that little toad, the fat steward, who, for all his gabble and talk, had forgot to say that the mayor of maidstone was to come forth to meet her ladyship in state, in token of gratitude for favours to the townsfolk. 'twas along of that fountain, as it seems, and i cursed the little fat fool in my heart in that, being so garrulous, he had put a limit to his tongue. but at the same time i could not but admire her ladyship's admirable skill and cunning. sink me! she was a wonder with her quickness, so to contrive to drag me into the trap. but these considerations availed me nothing, and i will confess that i saw no road of escape, though i am far from saying that i was beaten or that some notion would not ha' come to me later. why, i have broke out of newgate jug in the face of all. yet this is what happened. in the thick of this talk and confusion, and even while the throng pressed upon me and my captors, suddenly a voice cried out from the coach. "there is the other, seize him!--there he goes, on the right there!" this was miss's voice, as i recognised, though i was amazed, and for the time did not pick up my wits. but in a second all was uproar. "who d'ye mean? what is it, you baggage?" cried out her ladyship. "seize him!--there he goes!" cries miss again, leaping from the coach in a state of excitement; and to her ladyship: "why, the other, my lady!--the man that assisted--creech, was it not?" in an instant i saw how it was and what she intended, and i believe her ladyship, in her quickness, saw it just after me; for in the confusion the throng swayed, and some ran this way and others that, and there were my two jailers gaping into the darkness like moping owls. 'twas but the work of a moment to wrench free an arm from one and deliver t'other a rap with a pistol on his skull; and at the same time i wheeled calypso about and broke a third that stood there in the wind. the three thus scattered, with a whistle to the mare i dropped low in the saddle, and breaking out of the circle thundered down the road at a gallop, while all behind me arose cries and shouts, and above all her ladyship's shrill voice, screaming with fury. i rode till i reached the first turning on the left, and then went up a black lane for some distance; after which i paused and listened. sounds still came to me, sailing on the night, and i stood awhile, chuckling to think how deeply her ladyship was cursing, and how smartly i had evaded her. and upon that comes the thought of miss. "why," thinks i, "she's a heart o' gold, is miss; and that wild cat will be flying in her face with her claws;" and, the devil being in me, as i have said, all through that business, i turned about and came back into the road. i jogged along comfortably until i was within a hundred yards of the inn, and here was the same confusion that i had left. "what's this?" said i to a fellow that passed me. "oh," says he, "'tis a highwayman that has robbed a lady and is got off." "stab me!" says i, "what fools these traps be!" and i moved on, until i came by the coach, where i stood in the darkness. i heard her ladyship's voice, coming out of the inn, and still angry, and there was several in the roadway, but the traps had vanished, and, i make no doubt, were looking for me busily. as i stood there thinking, someone comes from t'other side of the chaise, and i saw it was miss. at the same time she saw me and started. "what do you here?" she asked tremulously. "why," says i, "i am a-looking anxiously for a tobyman that has wickedly robbed a lady." "go," she cried, "you will be caught. they will be back directly." "no," said i, "i am not the man to leave other people with my burdens." "what do you mean?" said she after a pause. "there is her ladyship," said i, "and there is yourself." "oh, i am well used to deal with her ladyship," she said, a little bitterly. "you need be in no alarm." "well, 'tis i shall deal with her ladyship this time," said i. "you are mad!" she said. "go--go--i hear them coming!" "no," says i. "oh, go," she pleaded anxiously. "if you stay you will do me no good, and yourself all harm. i think you are bewitched to stay." with that i looked at her, and though i could not see her very clearly in the small light, i vow she was mightily pretty. i suppose 'twas the devil in me moved me, or maybe 'twas only her beauty; but, at anyrate, said i,-- "if i may have now what i denied myself upon the road there, i will go," said i. she drew herself straight and i could see her under-lip quiver. "sir," she said; "i know you to be a highwayman; at least, let me think you a gentleman." "damme!" says i bluntly, for i was taken aback at this. "damme! no one shall say i am no gentleman, for i am that afore everything else, as i will prove on any buck's body." and so, with a big congee in my stirrups, i turned and left her. the lord chief justice there was many an adventure befell me in a pretty broad circuit of life that tickled my ribs to a proper tune; and i have cackled over some escapades with a wider mouth than ever i sat out the most roaring comedy of the play-houses. not but what there were some high-stepping pieces to my taste in the town--well enough to clap eyes on, no doubt, but cockatrices mighty greedy of the gullet, as you could spy at a glance. and, after all, a wench is no food for humour, but for another purpose altogether. i pin no faith upon 'em at the best. but of all the chances that i encountered, what most rarely served my palate was this unexpected meeting in the west country, which, i will admit at the outset, and ere i saw clearly the shape of my predicament, set my heart a-bobbing fast enough. it fell in this way. 'twas on a monday in the late summer of that year of grace that i rode up from the valleys of the north in the company of tony flack, and we came to a pause upon the hind quarters of exeter town. tony himself was for caution, and would have us turn away to a little roadside tavern that we both knew for a safe resting-place, with a staunch innkeeper to boot. but i was for exeter itself, for, to say the truth, my stomach was sour with those rank swipes of the country-side, and 'twas some days since i champed my teeth about a town. the facts argued with tony, chicken-hearted as he was, and i will not deny it; for there right before us lay the argument, in the shape of a rumbling, muddy, parti-coloured chaise that was creeping up the hill. now it had so fallen out, more by way of a jest than by any material design, that we had scarified the occupant of this same carriage some ten miles back in the thick of a waste moorland that afternoon. 'twas a mere idle freak, taken out of wantonness and upon a merry dinner, and by no means for the sake of the guinea or two that we found in his pockets. tony gives the nag a slap of his sword, and off she goes a-spinning down the highway for dear life, with the coachman all a-sweat with terror, and the melancholy visage of a gentleman in his red periwig hanging out of the window; while there we stood, the two of us, laughing a broadside. the nag had a piebald front to her, and the chaise, as i have said, was in several colours; and thus it happened that, the lights falling suddenly on 'em in that tail of the day, as we came out upon the back of exeter, tony drew up and shoved his paw forward with a mighty blank face. "see there, dick!" says he. "and what d'ye make of that?" 'twas plain enough what i made of it, but i only laughed. "i make a chaise and the half," says i, "and i'll warrant to make two by the time we reach exeter," for, to be sure, swipes or no swipes, we had, each of us, a good warm lining to the stomach. tony cast me a surly glance. "rot you!" said he, "an' if the liquor spoil your wits, i'll be damned if it shall mine. nor i won't run my neck into the noose for you nor any like you." "you're a white-livered sort of cur, you are, tony," said i, with another laugh. "and i suppose the traps will be waiting for us in a posse outside the white hart. and i shouldn't wonder if the topsman himself was to snatch off his hat to us as we passed by." "sink me!" growled tony, "you forget 'twas broad daylight when we took 'em." "well," says i, "i have a notion to sleep in exeter, and i mind me of a very dainty belly under my belt." with that we brought up in a disputation, and being in a merry mood, what with the wine and the sight of the windows twinkling in the town above me, i gave him a pretty salvo of wit, which sent him presently into a sullen temper. "as you will," said he at last, "but i am no fool, and none knows better than you, dick ryder, that i am no coward. and i will be hanged for a common cutpurse if i go forth again upon any such mad business with a tipsy braggart." "braggart!" i cried, starting aflame, and twisting calypso round against his horse's rump. but tony saw in a flash that he had gone too far, and he turned very mild again. "i mean no offence," said he; "we have been good comrades together, dick ryder. but i will warrant these daredevil humours will fetch us both up in newgate ere long, and that's what i'm looking at," says he. i laughed. "you would prove a better tobyman, tony," said i, "if you would think less of your neck." and then, looking at him, i roared, "but, zounds, i don't wonder at your fears!" for his neck was like a cygnet's, only discoloured to a rusty iron. but tony was still in a sour enough mood, and though he jogged his horse to my summons, he spoke no word as we went up the hill. the chaise had vanished, but for all that i could see his thoughts were twittering about it. and in this way we rode up into the town, sprinkled with growing lights, and 'twas not until we came abreast of the white hart that tony opened his mouth. "if i was you, and was of your kidney," says he, with a sneer, "i should think shame to dine upon a sanded floor and drink out of ale-jugs. nothing short of the white hart would suit me; no, not if i was to swing for it--if i was you, dick ryder." "damme," says i, suddenly, and reining in, "that same thought was in my own noddle! and, sure, the white hart it shall be." with that i turned the mare's nose and was pointing for the door, when tony stopped me. "what the devil would you do?" he cried in his alarm. "you will fetch the noose over us!" "faith," said i, "but you may go to the devil for me. i am weary of your clacking, and i have a mind to dine in good company." he fell back with a curse, and calypso moved on. but turning back, i saw him staring with a sulky sneer upon his face, and i could perceive from his attitude that he took my words for an empty piece of boasting. then there was that term "braggart" stuck in my gullet; and in a second, and upon the impulse, i pulled the mare's nose against the doorway and bawled for the ostler. tony was still visible, standing agape in the centre of the road; but i paid him no heed, merely handing the bridle to the ostler, and then leaping from the saddle, i walked through the doorway as bold as you please. now within the doorway there was a space of hall, very bare and plain, and upon two sides there opened doors into the further parts of the house; but the third was filled with a screen of windows, separating a little privy corner, in which sat the innkeeper, very greasy and affable of look. i threw down a guinea and he fetched out a pint of wine; the which drunken, i turned on my heel and clattered up to a great door set with brass knobs. but the little fat landlord was on my heels in a moment. "you cannot enter there," says he, in a great taking. "'tis a private room, and not for strangers." but with the wine newly bubbling in my head, i made little of him. "the devil!" said i. "i will have what i pay for, and i will enter where i list." "but, indeed," he gasped, "'tis a place privily set apart, and for an occasion." "'tis good news," i answered, with a cackle, "for that is what my heart is set upon." he clasped my arm. "sir! sir!" he cried, "indeed this will be most vexatious to his lordship, and will lose me his custom." i started round on him sharply. "if i want a door with brass knobs," says i, angrily, "i will have you know that i will have a door with brass knobs, ye little louse, ye!" and throwing off his hand, i opened the door. now 'tis certain enough that had i conserved my wits more properly, and that dismal juice was not so fluent in my blood, i would never have risked this piece of devilry. not but what dick ryder wears a better face on him in the nick of peril than most, but this, as you will see, was scarce the occasion for a wanton adventure, and i will confess that tony's counsels were wiser than my own. but i was heated with the drink and the long ride, and i would bear no gainsaying. and so back i flung the door. the same instant a cackle of laughter saluted my ears and a stream of light flashed in my eyes. what i made out was a long table, very elegantly prepared, and a dozen or more of gentle-folk seated at the board, and plying their knives like good trenchermen. there was a fire roaring on the hearth, and altogether the scene was very merry and presented a comfortable face. and what with that appearance of warmth and the smell of the viands tickling my nostrils, i hesitated no longer upon the threshold where i stood, but pulling to the door, i strode across the room and shot my eyes about the table. just then there came another flood of laughter, and in the noise of it i stood surveying the company, by this time in something of a confusion, and wondering in my fuddled wits what the devil i was at; when suddenly there gets up a gentleman from his seat near by, and very civilly offers me a chair. "oh, well," thinks i, "as i am gone so far, i may as well flesh my nose in the victuals;" and with a word of grace in answer to his courtesy, down i propped upon my prats, and fell upon the viands with a will. the room was buzzing with sound, and the warmth and the fare pleased me very well. but where the devil i was gotten, and who the devil these cullies might be, and why in god's name i was thus politely admitted to the board--these were the enigmas that floated about in my head. not that i was in any embarrassment; for it was enough for me if i was to be entertained thus royally, waited upon with the best, and conjoined with a high company, such as was scattered about me--and all without so much as a single trespass upon the pocket. but by-and-by my civil neighbour turns to me. "you are late," he says. "i suppose you were held at the court; or do you ride from town?" "well," says i, very careful, for i am not the man to trip myself over a word, "in a manner you may say yes," i says; and i took a draught of the tanker afore me. "ah!" he said, and seemed to puzzle his wits over the rejoinder; but i conceive he was in no very active condition of mind, and it is like enough that what i said seemed from some corners of aspect to contain a sensible answer. so he followed after my example, and sipped his wine meditatively. "his lordship," says he, soon again, "is in high feather this evening." "you may say that," said i, delivering a glance towards the head of the table, where sat a long-faced, handsome-looking fellow, whom, to say sooth, i had not as yet minded in the satisfaction of my appetite. "he is filling a paunch, i warrant," i said, with a laugh. "hush!" whispered he, with a scared look on his face, and glancing about him, "you will be overheard." "overheard!" i said. "am i a wench that must walk mim-mouthed through her wine, and not deal in the king's plain english? i permit no man to dictate me upon my language--not i." the fellow stared at me for a time, and then, "you have a bold tongue," said he, with what i could perceive was a hint of the ironic. "i have no doubt you ply it well. what is your court?" says he. ay, there was the rub--what was my court? and what the devil was i when you came to the kernel? i had made out nothing as yet, being taken up with the food and the attentions of this gaping oaf. but i was not to be confounded by him, not if i knew my own temper; and court or no court, i made answer bluff as you please. "the same as yours," says i. "oh!" says he, breaking into a smile. "i wear my professions very discernible, then?" "yes, you do," said i, bluntly. "i am glad i have met you," he went on, pleasantly, "and i shall make it my duty to pursue our acquaintance. it is odd, indeed. and what think you, sir, of the fassett business?" he spoke with the air of hanging on my words, and i was convinced that, whatever this d----d matter was, 'twas something of which i must needs be cognizant. so in i plunged. "ah, you may well ask," says i, nodding my head. "gad! and i see you are agreed with me. the circumstances stand so plain that there is no denial. by god! you are right; i'll warrant that; and i myself am game to prove it with the point," says i, slapping my sword. the gentleman drew away, looking at me with some amazement, and presently his face took on an expression of confusion, and says he,-- "quite so!" says he. "oh, yes, i am of your party;" and in truth i believe the fool took what i said for a reply to his interrogation. but by this i was now sobered enough to discover the responsibilities among which i was thrown, and that i must keep a strong observation open if i was not to run my head into danger. and the first, i must enlighten myself upon this company in which i found myself; for which purpose, leaning forward, i set my eyes upon the man at the end of the table and examined him diligently. he was, i judged, somewhere about thirty-five, of a fine oval face, very justly proportioned, a sallow brown in habit, and crowned above his rich brown eyes with a great brown wig, which sat awry upon his head, and added an effeminate look to the profligate softness of his lower face. his features were very finely marked, his nose long and straight and delicately fleshed, as were his curved and smiling lips; and his eyes, which were large within the sockets, gleamed like agates between the narrow curtains of his eyelids, and sprang very quickly into one simulation or another. altogether his was a remarkable face to look on, and attracted strongly, for all the saturnine changes of his colour. he was laughing, flushed to the sombre eyes. i had finished my scrutiny, and i took off my gaze from him, and was for letting it fall back on my neighbour to interrogate him upon the identity of this fine cock, when in its passage along the opposite side of the table i discovered, not very far from his lordship himself, no other than the prim-faced gentleman of the parti-coloured chaise that tony and i had ransacked that same afternoon upon the moors. the discovery struck me with dismay, as you will imagine; but there was worse to tread upon its heels, for the man was bowing with a delicate and sickly smile to one that toasted him from t'other side, and in putting down his glass, and with the grin still upon his lips, his eyes lighted upon mine and we exchanged glances. the cully turned a trifle pale, and winced, moving in his seat. then he frowned, and seemed mightily taken up with his plate, after which he lifted his head again and directed a look on me. i met him very bold and square, and his eyes gave way before me, surrendering, so to say, to my discharge; for i warrant i gave him a heavy broadside. but all the time i kept seeking in my brain for some way out of this damnable predicament. presently he catches up a piece of paper, and ripping out a quill, makes some writing, and calling to a lackey, hands him the document. "what's he up to now?" thinks i. but i was soon to learn, for the footboy walked up to the head of the table, and with a bow offered the paper to his lordship--whoever the devil _he_ might be. "well," says i to myself, "i am committed to it now; and it's my bearing against his, and the best credentials." and with that, feeling that the matter was passed out of my hands, i turned on my neighbour, and says i to him, but still keeping an eye on the pale-faced booby, "who may his lordship be?" i says. now 'twas folly in me to have put the query so direct, and indeed i would not have ventured on the simplicity had not my wits been disturbed by the incident i have related. but, in point of fact, it mattered very little to the issue of the misadventure, though my friend started very suddenly, and gazed at me in a gaping fashion. "you are jesting," he says. "his lordship?" "well," says i, a trifle grimly, for i saw the same lordship casting his eyes upon the paper. "and maybe you can put a name on him, if i can't." "but--but," he stammered, and then "who may you be?" he asked, with some suspicion, and in another manner. "damn you!" said i, "i've put you a question, and a gentleman should need no reminder of his necessary civilities," for by this i saw his lordship's soft and shining eyes directed on us. "what's the cully's name?" i asked. he looked up, following my glance, and we both stared at the man who was staring at us. "'tis my lord jeffreys," he says, in a bare whisper. you will believe me, and i make no shame to admit it, that my legs took a tremor at the words; but i can keep a face upon me with any, and so i stared at that sinister and smiling butcher, and he stared at me, for the space of some seconds; and then i took a draught of wine. "thank'ee," says i, calmly, to my neighbour. "'tis well. i have some business with his lordship." i spoke very calmly, as i say, but you will believe me my heart was sunk into my boots on this news. there was no man at that time but held the name of bloody jeffreys in a horror. he lumped so large in the popular fear that he was taken for an emblem and ensign of satan himself, so diabolic and so ensanguined was his practice. i have seen many formidable persons in my time, and exchanged passadoes with several of them, but there it was--the fact and figure of that murdering, black-hearted, handsome rake, almost of an age with myself, seated there in his chair, crept over me like the pest, and discharged my wits abroad like a spray of sand scattered afore the wind. i cast my eye again on him, for, indeed, i could not keep it away, and a faint sardonic grin touched his face as he met my glance. he summoned to him a lackey and spoke in his ear with an imperious gesture, whereat the fellow, seeming very much frightened, hurried out of the room, and i doubted not that he was gone for the officers. his lordship then turns to the gentleman near him and, still with his stealthy and terrible smile, whispers under his breath. the whole company, meanwhile, which had all along hung upon his looks and conversation like a pack of craven dogs on their master, was fallen into sudden silence; but this communication was spread from mouth to mouth like a running fire, and in a moment the whole room was agape and directing on me surprised and startled glances. but this pulled me together, and 'twas high time too. "well," thinks i, "an' i must lay my back against a wall, i must; but they shall learn that dick ryder is not to be browbeat by a lot of scurvy lawyers" (for so i supposed 'em), "whatever fate be in store for him." and so, turning to my next-door neighbour, i began very loudly, and as if resuming a conversation with him,-- "nay, nay; but i am at odds with you, sir. faith, i disagree with you entirely! upon my soul, i have never seen his lordship in a better condition and better plumed for service! a worm in his head, say you? godsakes, i'll never believe it! his wits wear to a knife edge with practice." now this was spoke, as i have said, in a clamant voice, which, resounding on the unnatural silence that had fallen on the room, reaches me the ears of all this company, as i had desired, and more particularly those of his lordship, for whom i had designed the speech. jeffreys turned of a sudden a darker red under his brown, and his woman's eyes shot anger. "and who is this that dares pass questions on his lordship?" he cries, in a sharp, clear tone. "come, i should like to look on him attentively," he says, "that i might know him again. he must be a fellow worth acquaintance if for his future only. i promise you that shall be secured to him, and that he shall know very soon." but at this ugly exhibition of temper, and more especially at the malicious menace it conveyed, my poor neighbour fell into a fluster, and ran white and red in turns, opening his mouth, and trembling and stuttering, and gasping like a dying fish. "my lord, i--i said nothing. 'tis false," he stammered. the poor wretch was in so pitiable a way that i found it in my heart to be sorry for him; and, after all, he had served me very kindly at the start, so i spoke up, rising in my seat and bowing. "my lord," i said, "the gentleman says well. though 'twas to him that my remarks in praise of yourself were addressed, i was mistook. 'twas not on you that his comment was directed." "that is a very likely tale," said his lordship, with a frown; and then appearing to recover himself, as he was used to do, quite rapidly, he stared at me with another expression. "i am in your debt, sir," he said, "for your defence of me. you do well. i warrant jeffreys has still his wits about him. he has an eye for a rogue, sir. you will do him the justice to acknowledge that, i hope, on our better acquaintance." and he laughed somewhat harshly, and eyed the board as if inviting a round of acclamation. the miserable time-servers cackled their loudest, and his lordship, turning again to me, "i should know your face," says he, and offers a kind of wink to the company. "'tis no wonder, my lord," i answered, pat as you will; "'tis almost as well known as your lordship's, and almost as favourably received." at that a young fellow across the table from me broke into a stutter of laughter. but all the rest were silent. jeffreys looked at him savagely. "i will remember you, charteris," he said simply, and i saw the light flaming in the eyes he directed on me. "that's well," he said, "and i make no doubt that you are, like myself, a dispenser of justice. you hold the scales." "indeed, my lord," said i, for i was not in a mood to be thus baited whilst waiting on the officers, "there is more resemblance between you and me, perchance, than your lordship will acknowledge." "ha!" he cried, with his cold and bitter laugh. "i knew not that i was unawares entertaining a rival. a learned man in the law is this gentleman, no doubt. well, sir, i will be greedy of your advice while i may. look you. there was a man tried afore me this day that had rumpadded a civil and innocent gentleman upon the king's highway, and faith the rascal was rash enough to venture into the company of his victim to dinner. what d'ye say to that? what sort of sentence would ye deliver on the wretch?" "how was he took?" said i. "well," says his lordship, after a pause, and smiling towards the door, "i fancy the sheriff's officers were summoned upon him." "nay," said i. "then, had i been justice, since he was took, i would ha' hanged him, for 'twas a poor wit that served him no surer than to be so took." "fie!" says jeffreys. "what interpreter of the law is here!" "'twould not be the first time that the law was twisted by its dispenser, my lord," said i, boldly. his lordship's smile stole farther up his face, and opened his lips so that the white teeth shone, and he smiled in an ugly fashion to the fellow next him. "you hear that, my lord?" says he, in his sneering way. "faith, they will presently be saying that we did not deal justice to dame alice lisle." the man that he addressed winced and smiled uneasily, for 'twas well known that the popular feeling ran high upon the scandalous trial, which was but newly concluded, though i wondered to hear the prime engine of that infamous conviction jest so wantonly upon it. but that was jeffreys's way, to offer a bold face and play the bully when he was in power; but when he was down, there was no coward to whine like him, as events proved subsequently. but jeffreys turns to me again, content enough with his sally. "sirrah," he said, "you have a signal charter for your tongue, i can perceive. it is a righteous conscience keeps you in countenance. you are bold upon your virtues. i have met your kidney before, and if i must hang a knave, i prefer to hang one with an insolent front to him that snivels. i would disembowel t'other in the pillory. there is too much softness in this modern justice." "my lord," says i, "you speak my feelings like a book. faith, i would griddle the canting rogue with these two hands." his lordship smiled very diabolic, and then finished his wine with the air of one that has tired of the play, at the same time nodding to the lackey that stood near by him exceedingly respectful. but he went out of the room. "gad!" says the young man that was called charteris, in a whisper to his neighbour, "'tis a pity to go farther. faith, i think he hath earned his pardon for the steady face he keeps." but you must suppose that all this time i was not idle in my mind, but kept casting my wits about the predicament, with a mighty sharp eye upon any chances that emerged. well, the case was turning very black by now, seeing i knew well enough for what the signal of his lordship was intended, and i had as yet gotten no very clear notion in my head. yet at the next opening of the door, and when the first noise of heavy feet sounded on the threshold, my thoughts spouted forth in a clear stream, and there sat i as taut and cool as you please, for all the world as though 'twas a private party to which jeffreys had invited me for a guest. his lordship rose as the officers entered, and was turning away indifferently without ever a sign or a word, when he suddenly stopped again. "'twould be strange to learn, sirrah," said he, addressing me, "out of a natural curiosity, what robbed thee of thy senses to fetch thee here. 'tis an odd new policy for the hare to lie down with the fox." with that i got to my feet. "my lord," said i, very boldly and in a public voice, "i have come here uninvited, 'tis true, and i proffer you my apologies for the trespass; but i have come upon a pressing private business with your lordship." his lordship stared at me with a sour look in his eye. "indeed?" says he, harshly. "i am not used to have any business but the one with your kidney, and that not private," he says. "my lord," said i, "'tis the most urgent message, and needeth instant delivery." i saw in his eye that he still meditated to refuse me, but i set my gaze upon him very intently, and what he thought he saw there made him waver. "well," said he, in his tyrannical fashion, "i hope we shall hear good of this message; for i swear, if i do not, i will have thee hanged the higher," and he motioned to me to draw nearer, at the same time that the other gentlemen of the king's counsel withdrew to the bottom of the room, conversing together. but the officers approached, and stood a little way off by jeffreys's signal, but keeping out of earshot. "who are you, fellow, and what pretences are these you make?" asked his lordship, roughly, as soon as we were alone, but examining me with curiosity. "my lord," said i, "i make no pretences, as i shall assure you; and as for myself, believe me that i play a truer part than does appear." i looked at him meaningly. "let us come to plain speech," said he, sharply. "i cannot dawdle with your riddles." "i ask no better, my lord," i cried. "i bear a message from the prince." he started, and stared at me under his brows in suspicion. "what prince?" he asked brusquely. "there is but one," said i, boldly, "and one that shall rest so no longer by god's grace and the trusty arms of england." "you mean the prince of orange?" he asked, in a lower voice. i nodded. for a while he looked me in the eyes, and then, turning to the sheriff's officers, ordered them to withdraw a little; after which he came back to me, surveying me with his cold and savage eyes, but with something of anxiety. "you are a bold man," he said, "to bring me this message." "i would do that and more than that for the good cause," said i. jeffreys was silent, and then, "come, what is this message, then?" he inquired, with a sardonic glance. for the life of me i could not have determined if he were taken with the bait, but i swore to hook him, as, indeed, it was the only course left to me. "your lordship has not heard the news from the coast?" says i, looking round very cautiously. "proceed," he commanded, watching me with his beautiful and horrid eyes. "events have been stirring in the low country," said i, "as your lordship will be aware. the whole of the north is disaffected against his majesty. it needs but to land," i said, "and your lordship knows what might happen." "i think, sir, we were to come to quarters," said jeffreys, in a low voice, but still in his imperious way. well, if he would take it, he was to have it then and there. "the prince," says i, whispering, "is already landed." he started before my eyes, but recovering himself, "i have had runners from plymouth this afternoon," he said, "and there was no news of import." "nay," said i, "'tis not from plymouth i come, my lord." "if i were to ask you whence--" he began, after a pause. "you would remember, my lord, ere you did so, that i have not yet delivered my message, and thus have had no reply," i said. "you remind me of my duty," he exclaimed sternly. "deliver this message, for i can tarry no longer." "my lord," said i, "i would have come to it sooner were it not for your distrust. i am charged by the prince himself, no less. i have ridden all day upon a circuit. three noblemen were named, and your lordship also. the prince lies on english soil to-night, and would confer with these four faithful subjects." jeffreys stood awhile in thought, his delicate face changing with a dozen emotions. then he spoke very harshly. "this is very well, sirrah. you make an excellent liar," he said. "you would come here and offer me a cock-and-bull tale, thinking me a lack-wit to see you so impudently stand in your lie." "my lord," said i, as warm as may be, "see in what my position stands. i am come here, penetrating to your very fireside. i stake my head upon the risk. 'tis in your office to sound a word, and these fellows will take me forth upon a capital charge of treason. i have cast my die for the good cause. yet my death, which would be an evil to me in that case, would profit you nothing, my lord--nay, less than nothing in the coming trouble." again he paused. "the chief justice of this realm does not parley with treason," said he. but i had a glimpse of the man now; i saw what fear ran in his blood; he would not have kept me haggling there if he had it not in his heart to coquet with fortune. "my lord," i said, "and who would credit that a poor highwayman talked of state politics with the lord chief justice? why, a gallows and the topsman would serve his turn." he heaved a little sigh, fidgeting with his fingers. "who the devil are you?" he asked. "you are taken for a padsman." "my lord," said i, "'tis strange company a man may keep for a purpose. i will not deny that i know your suspicions, and whence they spring. indeed, it was the gentleman's natural conclusion. i was pressed to carry my mission. sure i have been worse accompanied than by a tobyman. but as for my name, your lordship has given me no answer. call me ryder. i am for the prince." he heard me out, and 'twas the little touch of braggadocio i think that converted him, as much as anything. "what do you propose?" he asked, in another tone. "i would ride back to-night," i said, "unless your lordship decide that i must lodge in jail." "as to that," he exclaimed, "mr ryder, i fear that we must lodge you there in the meantime. what hour would you start?" "the sooner the better," said i. "but nine will serve." he regarded me with an urgent face of inquiry. "this may be a trap," he said suspiciously. "your lordship may guard against that," said i, suavely. "as large an escort of horse as you will, and none to know our destination save us two." "nay, none save yourself, mr ryder, it appears," he said grimly. "but you say well. i will be with you at nine." thereupon he motioned me away with a gesture of impatience and calling on the sheriff, pointed at me. the next moment i was surrounded and in their arms; but i played my part like a play-actor, crying upon his lordship to hear me, and making a piteous struggle with the officers. a little later, and you might see me settled in the compter, hugging myself the one minute, and the next perplexed upon a further step; for, by what i saw of jeffreys, i reckoned upon my punctual deliverance. the fact is that he was afeared of what would issue from this promised trouble of the dutchman, and 'twas reported that such was the state of most of those about the court, who were in the mind to play two parts, and neither with any stomach. yet as the time drew on and i had ample leisure to digest the various aspects of the adventure, i confess i was assailed by a fear lest jeffreys should have been disporting himself with me, or should have cocked the white feather, and that i was still to rest and rot in that pestiferous dungeon. so that when at last the door swung wide and one of the turnkeys appeared, i was like to have cried out in my glee. 'twas the signal, sure enough, for i was taken forthright out of my cell, and commanded into the presence of the governor. i do not know by what trickery the affair was managed, but if there was ever any dark intrigue to the point, you might trust bloody jeffreys for that; all i know is that 'twas but a few minutes ere i was out of the gates of the compter, under the pale face of the moon, and with my heels in the flanks of calypso, gently ambling in a silent company towards the plymouth road. his lordship had taken me at my word, and there were six or more in the band that surrounded me; but we rode in a deep quiet, and for a long while i offered no address to the horseman by me, whom i supposed to be the chief justice himself. but presently, and when our faces were well set upon the plymouth highway, and there was less chance that the cavalcade would invite curiosity owing to the sparseness of the wayfarers, he turned to me and spoke up for himself. it was jeffreys, sure enough, and he wore a mighty look of worry, as i could perceive at the first glance. "you have not informed me, mr ryder," says he, "to what destination we are bound?" now this was pretty much to the point, for bloody jeffreys was not the man to waste useless words; but, lord love you, i had as much notion of whither we were set for as he had himself. 'twas for a chance i was playing, and now that i had my two legs across calypso once more, it would go badly with the whole half-dozen of 'em if i did not show a clean pair of heels somewhere and sometime. but of course i had thought upon the question in my prison, and says i, "you will understand, your lordship, that it's not in my authority to commit anything to words. i am bound by the prince's orders." "that is very well," he retorted, in his arrogant way. "but it appears that i must commit myself, and no one else. 'tis a one-sided bargain i am not used to make." "my lord," said i, very earnestly, "i will not deny but there is reason in your argument--and, for myself, i would at once admit you to my plans. but i am the custodian of the prince's secret. 'tis none of my own i guard." "well, well," he cried with impatience, "i suppose that i am to arrive somewhere." "and where that somewhere is your lordship shall learn," said i, "with the permission and from the lips of his gracious majesty king william." he started at the words, and eyed me askance for a space, a dubious expression of irresolution crossing his features. "you are a bold man, mr ryder," he exclaimed, with something of a sneer. "i may remind you that there surround you five stalwart men-at-arms that own allegiance to his majesty james ii." "and you would have added, my lord," said i, "that james stuart's trusted servant is conversing with me. i am sensible of the peril in which i stand. but i am no facing-both-ways. i hold by my conscience, i' faith." "sir," he rapped out, harsh and sudden, "i have laid you by the heels within the precincts of the compter once, and there i will lay you again, if you brandish your impudence before me." "in the which case, my lord," quoth i, coldly, "you will be nothing bettered, and king william would have a loyal servant to avenge." he said nothing, angrily considering me. "come, come, my lord," i said, "we are in a kind of silly balance one against t'other, and, to put no veil upon the situation, we scarce dare trust each other. i walk in a great public peril, sure, with your hands upon me, but consider upon what risks you yourself also move. i am familiar to the prince; my errand is known about his court. turn about your horse, fetch me in chains to justice, and how will you appear? 'tis a summary way with a royal herald. i ask you with what eyes the king will view this act, and with what penalties he will reward it?" jeffreys said nothing for a time, and then, speaking slowly, "you have," he said, in a quieter voice, "a strong persuasion of the prince's triumph." "my lord," said i, "you yourself shall be the judge. what cries are these that issue from the town these many months? with what voices was the duke of monmouth welcomed but yesterday? nay, the people of this very country-side, newly trodden and trampled by king james's dragoons, scarred and lacerated by your own ensanguined hands, my lord--with what a face do they regard james stuart, and what a welcome think you they would give ye for yourself?" his lordship whitened under the moonlight, and his face betrayed an emotion of terror. 'twas plain that he had entertained these same thoughts, and that my design had given him several unhappy hours. but he made me no answer, and rode on, digesting these considerations with what stomach he might. now all this time we were getting farther into the rude country parts of the shire, and more than once i had turned the party upon a by-way, so that by this we were come out by the devil knows where. moreover, it was become very late, and a shrewd wind from the south came snapping about our faces. and thus it grew upon me that i must bring this topsy-turvy adventure to some close, with what wit i might; the more particularly as by his lordship's contrivance (i make no doubt) i rode in the midst of a circle, and was evidently to consider myself a fast prisoner in the meantime. now i had bred in my mind a very tolerable design by which i might have given 'em the slip, but by this time i was too nearly watched for that, and the bare appearance of the little inn of wolcombe, which i was contemplating, would have served to start suspicions, if not certainty, in jeffreys's noddle. so thinks i to myself that 'tis ever a bold course that runs the least risk, as, indeed, i have always attributed my own security to my never shirking a hazard in the passage of fortune. upon which suggestion comes another--that the present would serve as well as another opportunity, and better too, seeing that his lordship's eyes were beginning to lower on me at this undue delay. wherefore what do i at this juncture, and when jogging along the way in the full face of old oliver, but rein the nag to one side, and reaching down, open a huge gate that stood a little aback from the road. "what is this?" asked jeffreys, in surprise. "this is the place, my lord," said i, in a whisper. "if you will march with me a little in the fore of these men, i will instruct you further as we ride up." there was a moment's pause on his part, but then i suppose he considered the probabilities, and he saw that the road was clearly an approach to some great house. at anyrate, he issued an order to his escort, and the party wheeled up after me through the gateway and up the avenue. "i take it, sir," he said at once, "that the prince lies here?" "that is so, my lord," said i, though, to say sooth, i was all the time wondering what the devil might lie at the end of this long passage, and what should be my next turn in the game. but jeffreys seemed quite satisfied, and he even displayed a ruffle of eagerness at this juncture; and so once more in deep silence we rode on, and came out soon upon a great terrace of gravel surrounded by an amphitheatre of trees, with the long house lying black and high upon one side. the whole troop came to a halt here, and his lordship turned to me as who should ask, "what must be done now?" it was manifest on the instant that my only course lay in some prompt act, seeing that there was no opportunity to show my heels; and so, beckoning him with a quiet motion, i jogged on towards the house, calypso's heels making a devilish noise trampling on the stones. somewhere within the house shone a faint light, though 'twas long past midnight, and it seemed, therefore, that someone was astir within. his lordship's eyes met mine anxiously, and he moistened his lips. he was greatly agitated, for certain, and the sight strung my nerves. off i leaped, and rapped loudly upon the knocker before the big door. now i swear to you that when i laid my fingers to the knocker i had never a thought in my head as to the course i should pursue. but on that instant, and while the echoes rang still in my ears, i took a quick notion. leaning forward to jeffreys, i said, whispering,-- "my lord, i will prepare your way. keep ye here, and you shall be fetched presently." he stared at me suspiciously and in some bewilderment; but ere he could say anything the door swung gently back. with a spring i was across the threshold--and click goes the lock behind me in the very face of the astonished janitor. but he fell a-trembling. "who are you?" he said, while the light he carried shook in his hands. "hush!" says i, warningly; "make no noise. your lives hang on it. there is a pack of dirty cut-throats on my heels," i says. "oh, lord!" he groaned, and retired hurriedly from the door. i followed him, but he drew back, very suspicious. "my good man," said i, judging him by his looks to be the butler, "pray use me with no suspicion. i am come to warn you. see, i bear no arms, but am a private and peaceful citizen like yourself." "how come you here?" he asked, being somewhat reassured. "i became privy to their designs by accident at the wolcombe inn, the scurvy rogues," said i, very pat and indignant, "and i have rode on to warn your master in the nick of time. where may he be?" "his lordship is abed, sir," he says. "oh, well," said i, "hale him forth." "nay, but i dare not," says he. "oh, very well," said i. "then you shall have your throats cut, every man." his jaw fell; then, "i have a blunderbuss," says he, brightening of a sudden. "blunderbuss!" says i, with a sneer. "why, 'tis a veritable band of roaring satans, that lives on blunderbusses." "oh, lord deliver us!" he cried, and wrung his hands. "what shall we do?" now, in point of fact, as you may see, 'twas in my power without more ado to play on my poor butler's fears, and so, skipping out of a back door, to leave jeffreys and his crew to cool their heels on the terrace. but i was by this time infused with a certain zest of the adventure; i entertained it with a gusto; and so, drawing him gravely to a window near by that looked upon the front. "see you," said i, pointing out the escort where they lay in waiting, "there's a monstrous set of rascals for ye, all a-hungering for blood, they are, all a-spitting on their hands to flirt their hangers, with which to slit the throats of poor civil citizens like me and you." "lord save us!" he said, with his teeth going. and just at that moment a thin voice sounded from somewhere above, and a tall lean old gentleman, wrapped in a night-rail and looking choleric of face, peered over the stairway at us. "what the devil are you at, jenkins?" he says peevishly. "oh, my lord," cried jenkins (if that was the fool's name), "'tis a gentleman that has come to warn us--and there is a pack of highwaymen without, and our throats shall all be cut! heaven help us!" "silence, sirrah! i will have none of this noise," cries the old gentleman, in a peppery voice. "you have disturbed my rest!" he says angrily. "but, my lord," cried poor jenkins, "the highwaymen--" "well, well," says he, shrilly, "send 'em away. you must get rid of 'em," and he looked testily at the butler. but by this time with the noise of our talking the whole house was awake, and there came the sound of doors opening, and forth from dark passages broke lights, and faces peeped over balustrades. "my lord," said i, for 'twas time for me to think of old jeffreys outside, "'tis true there's highwaymen without, but i can think of a way to trap 'em." "'tis well someone has his wits," says he, pettishly. "well, what would you do?" "i would let the captain in," said i, "when he knocks on the door, and shutting him off from his fellows, fall upon him and take him." "what then?" said he. "why," says i, "you may then make your terms with the gang, having him for a hostage." "why did you not think of that, jenkins?" said the old gentleman, querulously. "jenkins, you shall capture the captain as this gentleman advises." but jenkins's face fell, and he fidgeted with his fingers: 'twas plain the mission was not to his taste. there was no time to spend upon such tremors, for indeed i knew that jeffreys would be getting suspicious in his mind, and i was now resolute to put a score upon him for his ugly behaviour. so said i: "there is no need, my lord, to entrust the matter to jenkins here, seeing that all may bear a hand. i make no doubt that there be weapons of a kind, and if mr jenkins, maybe, will jump on the villain's back when he is down--" "faith, that will i," said jenkins, stoutly, and armed himself forthwith with a warming-pan that hung upon the walls. and that act setting the note, the company broke away in a commotion, each securing some form of a missile wherewith to assail the miscreant. and with that, as if the affair was already at an end, the old gentleman pulls his wrapper close around him and returns very coolly to his bed. but i had no time for these observations, for now was come the occasion upon which my scheme depended, and,-- "there he knocks," said i, suddenly. but they were all so cluttered with their fears and their excitement that not one of them but believed i spoke the truth. "lord, how savage he knocks!" says a wench, with a shiver, and lays hold of a lackey's arm. i went down to the door, and upon the first lifting of the latch they popped away like rabbits in a warren. there, sure enough, was his lordship, in a mighty trepidation and with an ugly scowl. "come in," says i, in a whisper; "the prince was abed, but will see you at once, my lord." he came over the threshold, and--clap--i shut the door behind him; and when that was done i breathed more freely, for i knew that i was secure in my game. the chief justice, looking very fine and stately, advanced down the solitary hall, emerging under the dim light; and then, all of a sudden a hassock came rustling through the air and took him in the belly. over he went with a little gasp, and measured his length upon the floor. upon that leaps out my friend jenkins with his warming-pan, and bestriding his lordship's back, sets to belabouring for dear life. immediately after, and encouraged by this, others of the lackeys sprang forth and fell to maltreating the poor cully where he lay. "take that, you lousy knave, you?" says one fat wench, and turns over him a kitchen utensil of some kind. "let me scratch his eyes!" cries another; and lord love you, what with their exclamations and the screaming, to say nothing of the noise of jenkins's warming-pan and his lordship's angry oaths, you would have thought that bedlam was broke loose. but in the midst of it all i caught suddenly a sound of horses' hoofs upon the gravel, and on the top of that came a hammering at the door. i am no fool to outstay my welcome and so thinks i that the time is come, and seizing a light that stood near by i made straight through the midst of that uproar and plunged into the nether darkness of the house. here, by picking my way through divers passages, i presently came forth by a side door and passed out into the night. a shrill whistle in the old way fetched calypso to me whinnying, and as i put my hand upon her bridle i turned back and listened. there was that pandemonium still within the hall, reaching me faintly through the open doorway, and the escort was still hammering on the hall door. then i leaped into the saddle and turned the mare's nose down a side track in the park, and the last i heard as i rode off, chuckling to myself, was the noise of the escort pounding on the door. the attack on the chaise i have had ever an eye for a doxy, and in the course of my life have happened upon a variety of the sex such as falls to few men. some have been fine ladies, brave with their lace and powder, and others again have descended upon a scale to the common kixsywinsy; but in the end i would wager polly scarlet against any of the pack. yet i will confess that there were some that have mightily tickled me, and one or two that went near to turn my head for their looks alone, to speak nothing of their state and grace. not but what i have long learned the measure of beauty, and how far it may go--a man is a fool to surrender to that on the summons; yet i will not deny how greatly it disturbs the midriff, and, coming home so sharp, does thus affect the bearing of us all. madam or miss, there was no handsomer lady in town on that summer night when i encountered her than sir philip caswell's ward, and 'twas that, i'll be bound, influenced me in my behaviour subsequently. nevertheless, i vow i did not care two straws for the pretty puss in my heart. 'twas after a long evening at a gaming house in marylebone that i was returning on my two legs through the fields for soho. i was in a pleasant temper, having filled my pockets with king's pictures, and i had drunk nothing save a bottle or so of good burgundy since dinner. the hour, indeed, was past midnight, and i was casting up the chances to find supper at the pack horse, or the golden eagle, or some other house known to me. "well," says i, as i came out in the hedgerows, "'tis nearly one, and rip me if i do not sup and lie abed by two, and live virtuous," for i was pleased with what i was carrying, and loth to lose it. a bird was calling in a flutter from the hedge, and just upon that another sound came to my ears, and on the still air arose the clamour of swords in engagement. this was nothing to me, for i am not used to intermeddle in such affairs as nocturnal brawls, unless, indeed, i am gone in liquor, as sometimes happens, or am led off by troublesome company. but to the sounds of the fight succeeded the voice of a woman, crying, but not very loudly, for help. this, as you may believe, was upon another footing, for there was never a petticoat that appealed to dick ryder in her trouble in vain, as my records will prove on any road in england. so off i set at a run in the direction of the sounds, which seemed to stream out of the entrance to windmill street. the houses here were black and silent (it being so late) and there was no sign of any interest on the part of the inhabitants of the quarter. but the moon, which had been under a scurry of clouds, struck out of her shelter and showed me plain the scene of the struggle. there, in the roadway, stood the body of a chaise, with two trampling horses, while about it was a melley of figures, two of which were engaged, hammer and tongs, upon each other. i was not long ere i had seized the situation, and interpreted it properly; and, whipping out my blade, i made no ado about falling on the assailants of the chaise. 'twas easy to make out who these were, inasmuch as one of the men wore a mask across his eyes. i ran upon him and those behind him, while i was aware of the woman's cry that still issued out of the chaise but now suddenly stopped. at that i lunged, but on that same instant the scum about him came at me from the side, so that i was forced to keep my eyes and weapon in two places. the man in the mask had not ceased to ply his point on the gentleman whom i took to be the owner of the chaise, and this seemed a sturdy, obstinate fellow enough, for he puffed and grunted hard at my ear, but fought like any dragon. one of those that came at me i winged in the arm, and, swiftly dodging behind my ally, i came upon the masked man and ran him through the shoulder without advertisement. he dropped his arm with an oath, and, as he did so, the mask fell from his face, which showed clear and lean in the moonlight. but that was no sooner done than the big man by me lurched and staggered, so that it was plain he had taken something in his vitals. well, here was i now all alone with that evil pack about me, pressing on me like birds of prey, for although i had pinked one and his master, there was two more able-bodied culleys left, to say nothing of the master himself, whose wound, to judge from his language, was more painful than serious. i am quick at a resolve, and know when to withdraw from in front of odds. there was a man fallen wounded, and maybe dead, and no signs of the watch; while from the chaise peered, as i caught a glimpse, a white and terrified face in the moonlight. the coachman, it was clear, had taken to his heels already, and the horses stood champing and trembling and swaying in their alarm at the noises. what does i, then, as there was a little lull in the fray and the others temporarily drew off, but stoop and lift the big man from the ground and bundle him rapidly into the chaise. bang goes the door and, leaping to the coachman's seat, i lashed the horses with the flat of my blade. they started in a panic, and the chaise went plunging and rocking down the narrow way. this fetched me into king street, and, in fear of pursuit, i stood up and banged at the nags, so that i had them bumping at a gallop round into the oxford road and on the way for tyburn. when we had run some distance i brought 'em to with an effort, and, hearing no noise of the enemy, descended and opened the door of the chaise. the moon shone sufficiently for me to make out the humped body of the man i had thrust in so roughly, and opposite, white, shrinking, and in an evident state of terror and agitation, a mighty handsome and engaging miss that stared at me helplessly. "is--is he dead?" she asked hoarsely. "faith, miss," says i, "i cannot say. yet i hope not. he's not for worms, i'll warrant. best get him home and have a surgeon fetched; and if you will acquaint me with the house, i will make so bold as to take you myself." she waited a moment and then spoke, giving a street in st james's, at which i made her a congee and got upon the box again. i am better astride a nag than with a whip in my hand, and moreover the night was now pretty dark, yet 'twas not long ere we had reached the house, and, the bell being rung and the servants called, the fat gentleman was got in safely enough. upon that someone flies for the surgeon, and there was i all alone with the lady, and not loth to clap my peepers on her more nearly. she moved with a style, but had a fearful air, yet it was her face that took me most. she was young and slender and nothing too tall--large-eyed and round of limb, and with a mouth that budded in repose and opened like a flower in speech. but she was very still and white just then. "i am sir philip caswell's ward, sir," she says, very tremulously, "and we are much beholden to you." "i am honoured, madam," said i with a congee again, "to have been of some small service to you." "the scoundrels fell upon us by windmill street upon our way home," she continued, with a pretty shudder. "sir philip stepped out to face them. i begged he would not, but he is very obstinate." "faith, miss, what could he do less?" said i. "we might have whipped up and so escaped them," says she, with an air of some petulance now, "but that our cowardly man took to his heels and left us helpless." as she spoke she eyed me with more coldness, i thought, than the occasion warranted, for all she was so shook, and though she had made me her compliments quite prettily, she had spoke as if she were thinking of something else; which, as you will conceive, nettled me not a little. it was as if she wished me away, for she fell silent and cast glances at the chamber clock that hung at the wall. but seeing i had been at the pains for her and the old fat man, why, says i to myself, rip me if i will go like any discharged lackey. i will tire her out, says i, and let beauty yawn or pay in gratitude. so i sat on in the saloon, making conversation as it seemed fit to me to serve one of her class and age. no doubt she was tired, for the hour was about two in the morning, yet her pretty yawns, which she feigned to cover with her hands, vexed me. but indeed i might have gone forth and left her there and then for very shame as would have been natural, had it not been that an excuse came to aid me in a message from sir philip, who had recovered under the attentions of the surgeon. he had learned, it seemed, that his rescuer was in the house and begged that he might be allowed to thank him in person presently. this set me in feather, but miss in the sulks, as i thought, which maddened me the more that the hussy should prove so ungrateful, particularly at a time when she should be showing concern at her adventure or, at least, grief for her guardian. yet as i watched her, perish me but she charmed me with her petulant prettiness the more. such a dainty head and a mouth so pert and alluring i had never yet clapped eyes on, which i say for all that followed. there, then, were we set, awaiting sir philip, in the big chamber, she yawning without disguise, and me racking my wits to attract her. i'll warrant she must have taken an idea of me as a buck of town, although she feigned coldness then. i spoke of the play and the court, of both of which i knew secrets, and i talked on a level proper to the sex. "d'ye not love the play, miss?" says i. "lard, it is pretty well," says she, and covered up a yawn with ostentation. "i doubt not but you have seen _love in a tub_?" said i, for i would not be beat by her impudence. "maybe," says she, "i have a poor memory." "there was one played in it t'other day like to you, miss," said i, with significance, thinking to rouse her. she lifted her eyebrows. "well, indeed," says she, indifferently. "as handsome as i might wish to see--so she was," said i, persisting. "why! do you say so?" cries miss. "what a fortunate lady!" and stifles another yawn. "you favour her, miss," says i, giving her an eye. "lard, i favour none, sir," said she, tartly. "i am cross like two sticks that could beat myself," and ere i could find a word in retort she had gone from the room. if i had followed my first temper i should have marched from the house forthright, being sore to be so used by the minx; but i will admit she had a fascination for me, and wherein my teeth are set there i hold; so that i paced the chamber once or twice and "faith," says i, angrily, "i will make the little cockatrice sing another tune afore i've done." and no sooner was i come to this conclusion than the door at the foot of the room opened, and in walks an elegant gentleman. the sound made me turn, and i watched him till he came into the light of the candles, when i cried out sharply--for the face was no other than that which had lain behind the mask in that nocturnal attack. i took some steps across the room and halted by him, so that he might see me as clearly as i saw him. "well, sir," says i, "i'll make bold to say you recognise me," for i was amazed and disordered by his remarkable appearance in that house. he looked me up and down. "not the least in the world," says he, coolly, and arranged some nice point in his sleeves. "who the devil may you be?" "rip me," says i, angrily. "the question is not that so much as who be you and what audacity brings you here? but if you want it you shall have it. my name is ryder." he paused again before he replied to me, and there was no manner of irritation in his voice, but merely languor. "well, mr ryder, one good turn deserves another; so my name is york, and i am a friend of sir philip caswell." "what!" said i, mightily taken aback at this rejoinder, as you may suppose, then i laughed. "s'blood," i said, "'tis a pretty demonstration of friendship to be for striking your bodkin in someone's belly, as you was an hour ago, you rogue." york's eyebrows lifted at this, but i will admit he had a fine command of himself, which took my admiration, toad as he was. he was a healthy, ruddy man, of looks not displeasing. "indeed," says he to me, "why, here is news. have we simon bedlam here, madam?" and he turned to miss, who had entered at that moment. he bowed very low to her, and the colour sprang in her face. "mr york," she cried, in a fluttered way. "why, you did not look for me so late, madam," says he, pleasantly. "but i spied lights, and thought maybe sir philip was at his cards and would give me welcome, and the door was open. but i find only," he concluded, with an indifferent glance on me, "a merry andrew who talks brimstone and looks daggers." "sir philip has been attacked," stammered miss; "the surgeon has just left him." "'tis not serious, i trust," says the fellow, gravely, and when she had faltered out her negative, continued very polite, "footpads, i doubt not. the streets are abominable in these days, and the watch is ever asleep." but that was too much for me, and i burst forth. "footpads!" said i. "hear him, miss? why, 'twas the dung-fork himself. the mask fell from his face as he fought me, and i saw him plain. i would have you and sir philip know what manner of man this is who calls himself friend." "softly, softly; you crow loud," said he, as impudent as ever, and smiling softly. "who, d'ye suppose, would credit this cock-and-bull story? i profess i know none. would you, madam?" he asked, turning suddenly on the girl. she hesitated ever so little, and showed some confusion. "i--i think the gentleman mistook," said she. "i cannot credit such a story. 'tis monstrous." "why, miss," said i, "'tis true as i am a living man. and as for this muckrake here, why, i will prove it on his skin if he denies it," and out i whipped my iron, ready for an onfall. but it seemed that he would not budge, and smiled as indifferent as ever. and miss, too, though she showed no colour, regained her composure, and says she, firmly,-- "'tis monstrous. i cannot believe it. this gentleman is a friend to me and sir philip. he is on terms of intimacy. lard, sir, you surprise me to make such rash statements. your eyes deceived you, or the dark." the man that called himself york nodded impudently. "that is it, madam," he says. "'twas his eyes, no doubt, and the blinking moon. this gentleman, whom i have not the honour of knowing, is doubtless much excited by the event and must be excused. otherwise...." he shrugged his shoulders significantly, "i am honoured by the resemblance he detects, and, my faith, i shall be seeing my double kick the triple beam--so i shall, and curse him for a rogue." but you may guess that this was too much for me--to stand there quiet and see the cully talk so suave and false, and the girl so credulous, and perilling herself and the house by blind faith in such a villain. upon his features, moreover, there was a faint grin that spread and counterfeited civility, almost as it were, a leer, and that maddened me; so that i spoke out pretty hotly. "'tis very true what you say, sir," said i, "and there was no witness of what happened save me and old oliver, the moon. and so the law shall go free of you. indeed, i have no particular fancy for the law myself. but, perish me, sir," says i, "i detect a mighty resemblance in you to a wheedler that cheated me at dice this night, and, rip me, if i will not run you through the midriff for it." there was my point towards him, with that little menacing twist of my wrist, such as has served me often in good stead, and he must have seen what sort of kidney he had to deal with, for he gazed at me in surprise, laughed slightly, and made protest with his shoulders, exhibiting some discomposure. "i would remind you, sir," said he, "that there is a lady here." "faith," says i, "but she will not be outside, then, and thither you shall go." york frowned at this and stood for a moment as though he was at a loss for answer. i was not to be put down by a naughty fop like him, with his punctilios, more especially as i was acting in the interests of the lady, so i pressed him with the naked blade. "come," says i, "let's see your tricks out of doors." but at that a voice broke in and stayed me, coming from the door behind. "pray, sir," says this, very level and quiet, "what may this scene mean?" round i whipped, and there, on the threshold of the room, was the tall big man that had fought by me, sir philip himself, with his arm in a bandage, a cap on his iron-grey hair, and on his face a stern, commanding expression. out of the tail of my eye i saw miss shrank back against the wall in a posture of alarm. but york was no whit abashed; he saluted most ceremoniously. "good evening, sir philip," said he. "your servant. you are come in time--perish me, in the very nick. here's a most impudent and amazing case," and he cocks his finger at me. "i have never heard of a more shameless, audacious fellow. faith, it has made me laugh--so impudent is it!" "i should like to know what it is, mr york, so that i maybe might share the jest," says sir philip, with some dryness of tone. "why, naturally," returned t'other cheerfully. "having had the good fortune to rescue you and your ward from a pack of villains, cutpurses or worse, what is my surprise to find installed in your house the very chief of the villains, as impudent as you please. faith, if it were not so grave 'twould tickle me still." i must admit that the fellow took me back, and for all i was furious i could not but admire his cool bearing and ready wit. sir philip stared at me with a black frown, for i could find nothing for the moment to counter this monstrous brazen charge, but at last i broke out, only with an oath, for sure--so amiss was i. "you damnable rogue!" said i. but york goes on as calm as ever. "'twould be a good thing, sir," says he, looking at me with a kind of wondering interest, "if perhaps the watch was called. for he is a man that can use a weapon, as your arm bears witness, and, indeed, my own skin, too," with which he stroked his elbow gently. sir philip had come forward and now began in a formidable voice of anger. "what!" he cries to me, "you are the ruffian--" but i was not going to put up meekly under this, and broke out myself. "rip me," said i, "if i have ever heard or seen the like. why, yonder stands the fellow that was in the assault on your carriage, and 'twas me, dick ryder, that thrust him through the elbow as he fell on you." sir philip's eyes went from one to t'other of us, under his bent black brows, but york's eyebrows were lifted in a feint of amazement. "why, sir philip," said he, "you will see from this how an excess of impudence may move a man. it may be that he is drunk that he plays so wildly. you have known me long. sure, i needn't speak in my own behalf to so preposterous a charge," and dropped silent with a grand air. "i have known you long, as you say, sir," said sir philip, slowly, "and i have known you to be a suitor for my ward's hand." "i have always had that honour," said york, with a bow towards miss, "which, unhappily, you have not seen fit to allow me so far. yet, if any witness is wanted, why, here is your ward herself." at that sir philip turned as though reminded. "lydia," said he, "what is the truth of this story? we were attacked and rescued. was this gentleman in the assault?" and he pointed at me. miss's eyes fell; she was fluttered and her bosom went fast; and there flashed, i'll swear, a glance from york. "indeed, sir," she faltered, "i could not say. the men were masked." "ay, so they were," said he, considering. "'twas from this one's face that i took the cover," put in york, pertly. "but certain it is that mr york rescued us," went on miss in a faint voice. at that news i could have reeled under the words, so little was i ripe for them, and so unsuspicious of her. "why," said i, opening my mouth and stuttering, "why, 'twas i drove off the pack, and fetched the chaise home. 'twas i lifted you in and took the reins. the lord deliver me from this wicked puss!" sir philip threw up his sword arm with a gesture of black wrath. "'tis plain," said he, "that one here is a villainous rogue, and if we have not always agreed, mr york, at least i cannot think you that." miss leaned against the wall white and trembling, and i gave her a congee, very deep and ironical. truth to say, as soon as i had recovered i had, after my habit, begun to ply my wits pretty sharply, and already i had taken a notion of how things stood between the two. moreover, i was not done with yet, and i cast about to be even with the pair. sir philip, it seemed, was hostile to the addresses of this york; and as patently, miss herself was not. the attack, then, must have been part of a plan to gain miss lydia's person, to which she was herself privy. what do i then but step in and interfere with the pretty plot? this was why she bore me no goodwill, no doubt. "well," says i, with the congee, "i cannot contest a lady's word, be she poll or moll. let the gentleman have his way." sir philip, without more ado, turned to him. "mr york," said he, civilly, "i beg your pardon for my coldness, which, indeed, had nothing of suspicion. but you must remember that we have never quite agreed. i hope that will mend. i remain greatly in your debt, and i trust you will be good enough to add to my obligations by keeping this man secure until my return. i will have the watch fetched at once." "nothing will give me greater satisfaction, sir," says the rogue, cheerfully, and off goes sir philip with his black, portentous face, leaving us three there together again. as for me, i had made up my mind and was feeling my way to some action; but says york, looking on me pleasantly,-- "egad, you're in a ticklish case. stap me, you've run your head into a noose. now, why the devil did you yield that way? i had looked for a good round fight, as good, egad, as we had this evening. and i had begun to have my fears, too--stap me, i did." but i paid him no heed then, for i will confess that i was all eyes for miss lydia, whose face was very piteous. she was trembling violently and looked out of tragic eyes, and then it came upon me like a flash that she was no party to the lie herself, but had spoken in fear of that bully. indeed, it may be that she took a distaste of him, as it were, from that scene which began to show from that minute. how else can be explained what ensued? "you had better go, sir," said she at last, in a whisper. "ay, that's true," says york, nodding. "i had not thought of that. you had better go. the watch will be fetched." he looked so comfortable and so friendly, rather than what he was at heart, that my gorge rose of a sudden. "perish me if i will go," says i. "if i must hang i must hang." miss started. "oh!" she cried, and "you must go, oh, you must go, sir! fly, fly, while there is time." here were the two culprits in unison for my withdrawal, which would fetch them out of a scrape, yet how far the girl was involved in the business i had not yet determined. so i pushed her further, as, indeed, i had the right. i folded my arms. "i am waiting my reward, madam," i said, "something in recognition of my efforts on behalf of yourself and sir philip." but at this she fell into a greater exhibition of distress, imploring me to go, and flitting in agitation 'twixt me and the door, on which she kept anxious watch. well, thought i, if here's not innocence at least she's in a pickle enough, and i believe i would have gone had it not been for york, whose bearing annoyed me. besides, i wanted to see how far miss would go, and if her resolution to veil the truth would stand out against the watch and a poor victim haled to prison. not that i wanted the watch or the law about me nearer than was necessary, for sundry reasons, but i can always trust to my own ingenuity and sword if it comes to the pinch. so i listened to her deafly, and made no sign to go. "let him be, lydia," says york, pleasantly. "he's an obstinate fellow, and, faith, deserves his fate. let him hang; i'll warrant it must have come to that some day." but this turns me on him, and i whipped out my blade again in a fury at his insolence; only miss lydia intervened, and, her face very pale, put a hand on my arm. "oh, sir," says she, very low of voice, but clear and earnest for all that, "i beg you will not suffer further harm to come to-night. indeed, but i am ashamed to look you in the face. i will not excuse myself--i will offer no apologies, yet, maybe, you will not think too hardly of me if you know more. my guardian keeps me close. he stands in my way, and will not allow me what is allowed all women. i am not a schoolgirl, sir. i am grown a height," and she raised herself to her full stature. "surely i may have that liberty to command, to choose where i will and whom. sir, he has sought to make himself all the law to me," she cries, with heaving bosom. "and as for his hurt, god knows i did not wish it, and was not privy to it," and she cast a glance, as i thought, of scorn and reproach at her lover. the eloquence of this new attitude struck me to the reins, tender as i ever was to the wounds of women, though not to be frustrated or deceived by vain pretences. "he is a hog," says i, "a pig of a man to interfere with you, madam." but here spoke york, when he had better have held his tongue, yet it was impossible. "faith, child," he said lightly, "you have touched him there. best stop and go no farther. let it work." "i will go on," she cried, stamping her foot and turning on him. "i will tell all to this gentleman, all that should be told; for it is his due and meed--a small recompense for the unworthy usage he has had. you have heard him, sir," she says, "and, indeed, your eyes have been witness to his deeds and what he is. my guardian came between us and denied us. and this was _his_ plan--to snatch me away by violence while i stood passive, not refusing nor accepting." she wrung her hands in a transport of distress. "i--i was wild ... i did madly; yet, sir, i would not have you judge me by that. see, it has all ended in trouble, nothing but trouble, and i have gained nothing for myself but shame." she paused upon the edge of tears, as i could see pretty plain, and says i, bluntly, "you were misled, and by them that should not," and i scowled at york where he stood. but york says nothing, merely lifting his shoulders, and being content, no doubt, to let miss deal with the situation. she sank her face in her hands, which moved me strangely, for she had a helpless look. "if i have misjudged, sir, and been mistook," she said, "can you blame me if i would bury that shame and not have it flaunted in my face?" "not i, madam," said i. "i would i might help you, troth i do." "you can," she cried, sparkling shyly and eagerly upon me. "why ...," says i. "if you will go, sir, there will be no trouble, no inquiry, and no law will be set in motion. 'twill die a quiet death, and nothing will be digged up against me. i shall not have to tell the truth, as i shall have else," she cried. her lips parted in her fever, her eyes burning with a wild zeal. york uttered a sound, but i was silent. "oh, sir!" she pleaded. "why," i said, with a laugh. "it seems i must condone wounds and abduction and all." "'tis on me the brunt will fall--the shame and scandal," she urged, and, looking in her pretty face, i could resist no longer, for i'll swear she was genuine, and had been misled by that muckrake. "i will go," says i, and then of a sudden remembered. "but how am i to escape?" says i. "by the window," she said, pointing to it with animation. "why, to be sure," says i, slowly, for i was taken with a notion, "but there is this gentleman who is my guard." "oh!" says she, archly, "i think your sword is better than his, and he will not stay you." "true," says i, "but 'tis best to be prudent and to avoid sir philip's suspicions. he must have some marks of a struggle. either i must leave him with a wound, or senseless, or gagged and bound ... or maybe suspicion will come to rest on you, madam." her brows were bent in a little frown. "that is true," she said, and turned to york, whose face for the first time, as i could see, wore a look of discomposure. "he must be bound and gagged," says i, shaking my head. "ye-es," she says, hesitatingly. whereupon i went forward to the fellow, who gnawed his lip and fidgeted. he looked at miss lydia as if about to speak, and then shot an angry glance at me, but paused. "oh, very well," says he, at last, with a grin, "but pray make haste or you will be surprised in the middle of your job--" and he had the air of yielding himself with good humour. but i knew what must be his chagrin, though i admired him for his manner. he would have done pretty well on the road if he could have put by his scurvy way with women. yet i was not for letting him off, after what he had done, so, withdrawing the cords from the window curtains, i tied him pretty quickly in a fast enough bundle. but when, his arms being lashed behind, i approached with a wedge of wood, york cried out in protest. "i'll have none of that," said he. "he must be gagged," says i to the lady, appealing to her. she hesitated, and, looking on him, appeared to take pity; or maybe she was afraid of him. "perhaps it is not necessary," she said. "why, look you, madam," said i, earnestly, "we must convince sir philip of our good faith; else he will smell out this trickery and all our pains are thrown away." she made no answer and with the wedge i moved a step nearer to york, who grimaced and cried out with an oath,-- "may i be--" but ere he could get it forth i had it between his teeth, and with my knee in his wind threw him in a heap upon the floor. miss lydia looked on with open eyes, and with an air of uncertainty. what she would have said i know not, but at that moment there was a sound without the door, and she broke out. "go--go," she cried, running to me. "you can go now in safety." "yes, 'tis time i was gone if i am to keep the bargain," said i, looking with a grin on york, who was wriggling on the floor. i gave miss a congee, and backed to the window. "if you will credit me, madam," says i, "you will think twice ere you take up with york there." "i know, i know," says she, eagerly, for she was terrified of the sounds outside. "i will be wise, i promise you." her skirts swung against me, and that touch on my arm sent through me an amazing thrill, so that, beholding her so vastly handsome and passionate at my elbow, my blood fired at the sight. "madam," said i, very grave, "i had thought to do you some good, and that privilege would have been my reward. but i find myself only to have plunged you in embarrassments, for which may i be whipped. what get i for my pains, then? why, nothing, not even the private consolation to have relieved you; and in this escape what touches me is not so much the ignominy as the deprivation of these eyes of one they would have dwelled on always." 'twas not ill phrased, as you will admit, and i got it off with unction, her face being so close to me, and devilish enticing. the sounds were not now audible, and i was at the window, so that i suppose she had forgot her tremors. a demure look crept in her face under my boldness, and says she softly,-- "what would you have me do?" "oh, madam," said i, burning on her. "look up, look up, i pray you, and i'll warrant you'll read me as clear as a book." "i cannot guess, sir," says she, looking up with her innocent eyes all the same, while from the floor there was a choking sound which, maybe, was the dust in york's nostrils. miss looked round. "we are keeping mr york in an uncomfortable position," says she, sweetly. "'tis not a pleasant posture to be in." "faith," said i, boldly, "i would lie so all night if i might get what i want now." "what is it you want?" says she, opening her eyes in wonder. "why, what i will take, and suffer all risks," says i of a sudden. with which i put my arm about her swiftly and carried her face to mine. miss lydia called out "oh!" and the gag was shaken with uncouth, unintelligible sounds. a noise streamed out of the hall. "go, go!" cries she, pink of face and sparkling, and seeing my time was come i turned and went, leaving the gag still spluttering in the corner. the gentlemanly haberdasher i have dealt in my time with traps and catchpoles of many colours; i have treated with justices and officers of the law that were mighty difficult; and i have encountered innumerable rough bucks that have pressed me badly. but give me them all rather than a pack of silly, screaming women that know not their own mind for two minutes on end. many times have i adventured the sex in one way or another, and i can claim to have been esteemed by them, from milkmaids to ladies, even to my lady barbara, duchess of cleveland. but i will confess that my heart beats too soft in me to confront them rightly. i cannot abide tears nor a swollen countenance, and a petticoat catches me; and there it is. not that i am a fool where women are concerned, for on occasion there is no harder flint than dick ryder, as is known in the four quarters of the kingdom. but i lean to mercy and consideration, and particularly if i be in a good humour or in liquor. 'twas in a frolic mood that i met the wench of the magpie, which meeting led to an evening's entertainment, tolerably humoursome, but something "pretty-missy" for a stark man like me. i was newly come from the bath road with my purse full of king's pictures, to the which i had added on turnham green without so much as a thought of it. 'twas fallen dark of a foul december evening, and, as i was riding for town, i missed the road and calypso floundered into a bog of water and mire. with a curse i pulled her out, when just at that moment i heard a voice crying out a little way off. the common oozed mud, for the rain had been falling heavily, but i pushed the mare across in the direction of the voice, and there was another that had fallen into my plight, but much worse. for a chaise had wandered off the road and was axle-deep in a pond that spreads on the common. "help!" says the voice. "that i will! help you and myself, too," says i; and i gave a hand to the coachman and together we got the carriage to land. "i am much in your debt, sir," says the master of it when we were done--a smug-speaking sort of fellow whose face i could not see. "you have placed samuel hogg, haberdasher, of bristol, under obligations," he said pompously. "oh, you are in my debt, 'tis no doubt," says i, laughing, "but, rip me, you won't be long;" and at that i delivered him of a pile of gold guineas, and turned my back on his entreaties and objurgations. when i was come to town i put up at my favourite inn and where i am known, and on the next day i set out for polly scarlet's. but when i got there, there was my poor girl abed with a swollen cheek. so, says i, giving her good cheer and a certain trinket that i had for her, i will make the best of my way to soho and see if, maybe, some of the lads be assembled. but i had got no further than the minories, when who should emerge into sight in the company of two officers, but timothy grubbe, that rascally thief-taker, crimp and scoundrel. i am not to be frightened by any man on earth, but 'twas wise to go shy of timothy and his friends at that time; so ere they had a sight of me i turned my back on them and slipped in at the magpie tavern. here was a warm room and comfortable, and the wine, when mulled, was passable, though sour. so i tossed off a draught and says to the wench, ironically,-- "to bring out the flavour of this tap, i'll eat cheese, my dear. 'tis a wine worth testing," says i. thereat she fetched me cheese, and stood staring on a ring that she wore on her finger, a little in the shadow. well, i sat idly there, sipping at my glass, for 'twas pleasant enough, and quiet. 'twas a bare, empty tap, as it chanced, and the wench and i had it to ourselves. she was a pretty sort of figure, all in white--white mob and white apron; of a middle height and slightness pleasant in so young a maid, brisk of eye, quick of face, and with a certain abruptness of chin. she stood, as i say, staring on a ring, in a brooding seriousness, and then of a sudden she uttered a little sob and rushed her apron to her eye. "whoa!" says i. "whoa there, mare," speaking softly enough, but she started up and turned about, so that her face was no longer in the light, and so remained a little while. "come, my pretty," said i in a good-humoured way. "wash no colour from that blue. i'll warrant 'tis admired, and rightly. if there's any huff or bully that breeds those dew-drops give me his name, and on my word, i'll make carrion of him." at that she turned to me again, holding herself erect, and her eyes discharged at me a glance. 'twas not one of haughtiness merely, but rather one in which fear and defiance and anger rubbed shoulders. one might have said, indeed, that all these sentiments rained together from her pretty peepers. but then she dropped her head as quickly, and affected her interest in the bottles or the casks or something else in the distance. "why," says i, "i will even taste once more that delectable bin," and she came forth, reluctant, to fill my glass again. "now," says i, when i had her there, "you're a girl of spirit; rip me, what's amiss?" "sir?" she says with a glare in her face. "come, if every pretty filly used her hind legs so hard," said i with a laugh, "what room would be left in the stalls?" she said no word but went about her business, the which, as i am not used to rebuffs either from man, madam, or maid, nettled me; but i know such wildings; they be not pigeons nor doves nor tame sparrows neither. i must lime her with another manner; so i altered my voice, and says i, in a pleasant, but masterful, tone,-- "you must not think me any peeping tom," i said, "to twist his eyes on you and badger you. tears spoil that handsome cheek, and i would know if there be no remedy. i cannot abide to see youth and beauty weeping." she had turned her head now, and gave me a searching glance. "'tis naught you could help in, sir," she says with some demureness, and then broke out, "'tis along of my aunt. she has put upon me and treated me ill." "a hag of an aunt," says i sympathetically, "to bruise one so tender and so dutiful, i'll swear." "yes, 'tis so," says she, now with some confidence, and wagging her little head towards me. "she knows not when she is well-served--that she doth not." "i'll take oath of that," says i. "i am daughter to her husband's sister, sir," said she, running on glibly by this time, "and cousin tom is sib to me." "why, for sure, if he be your cousin," said i. "and when my mother died," she said, taking no heed, "uncle says i must live with him, and there have i lived all these years." "none so many, rip me," says i, handsomely. "he has had good service out of me," she said, casting me a glance, as of one who would assert her rights. "there have i worked for my aunt susan and cast up figures for uncle, and no thanks given me--no, not a crown's worth all these years." "a sorry pair of skinflints," said i, nodding. "but i would not cry tears on them, not i, if i was a spirited wench." "'tis not that," says she, weeping anew. "'tis that i am turned out of doors; they will not have me more." "why, how is that?" i asked, whereat she looked demure as a saint, and says she,-- "oh, 'twas but nothing. 'twas cousin tom." and it appeared that cousin tom had set calf's eyes on her, and that his mother destined him for better things; so that the wench must quit, though she kept the tally for nunkie and the house for aunt. "well," says i, "'tis a piece of injustice, my dear, and that i'll swear to. love you this tom?" whereat she hesitated, and stammered, and turned aside her face, and then heaved up her pretty shoulders. "he is so silly," says she. "why, that is the right kind of silliness for a maid, i'll take oath," said i. but she said nothing, so i tossed a guinea on the table, for i had just taken a fancy to a little entertainment, having nothing to do and being at a loose end by reason of polly. "there's that will pay for a bottle of wine," said i, "the which i will put under my jacket by your leave, mistress. and i will be the one to pull you out of your despair." she looked at me in surprise. "oh, i have an eye for a wench," said i, "and i know virtue when it peeps out. and if so be you want tom, rip me, you shall have him." "i do not understand you, sir," said she, still wondering. "see you here, mistress," says i, with a wink, "if you was known to be in the expectation of money," says i, "maybe auntie would sing to another tune." "yes," said she, with her mouth open and her eyes. "very well," said i, "a gentlemanly haberdasher has clapped eyes on a pretty miss and taken a fancy to her for a daughter." she stared at me. "say that here sits the haberdasher," said i, cocking an eye at her, "a gentlemanly haberdasher that is a widower and is peaking for a daughter that he will never get," says i, "what says auntie and nunkie now?" she met my glance and presently hers fell. i could see she was quick of wit and took me now. "but, sir, i do not know who you be," said she, demurely, and fidgeting with her apron. "oh, we will better that," says i, remembering of the man on turnham green. "call me samuel hogg," said i, "godly samuel hogg, of bristol, that wants a daughter all to himself and is willing to leave her a hundred guineas for a dowry and a thousand on his deathbed." her lips parted and her eyes gleamed. then she gave me a shrewd glance, for she was no fool, and at last she smiled. "you are very kind," said she. "pooh!" said i, emptying the bottle. "you may say that when i see you this evening and confront 'em." "confront 'em," she said. "d'ye suppose i will not pursue that which i propose?" i asked. "i will see auntie, nunkie and all, and so you may warn 'em. the gentlemanly haberdasher, rip me, will visit 'em to-night, for to beg their niece of 'em." 'twas on that understanding we parted, though i believe the girl thought me gone in liquor and talking foolishly. but that i was not, as she discovered, for i meant to go through with the jest and help a poor female against her shrew of an aunt at the same time. so that evening when it had fallen dark, sure enough, i presented myself before the magpie, clothed very old and sober and with a wig to suit, and knocked for admittance. well, there were they assembled to meet me (for the wench had done her part), looking very expectant and all in a flutter. there was uncle that was broad and short and of a weak cast of face with a grin on it, and by him was aunt, prim and stiff, but the vinegar of her face sugared over with a smile; and to these were added cousin tom, a lubberly big fellow with a booby expression, and a couple more. why, had i not been used to distinguished company i might have turned white of trembling and bashfulness before them. but as it was, the more the merrier, and, says i, with a congee to aunt,-- "by your leave, madam." "sir," says she, "our niece nancy has acquainted us with your story;" at which, thinks i, "'egad i'm glad i know her name," the which i had misremembered to ask. "she hath done me honour, mistress," i replied, polite as a pea. "and since you know why i am here, faith, let us sit down and discuss of it." uncle sat down, blinking rapidly at us, and a little fat man in the corner eyed me curiously. "your sister's daughter, my good man?" says i to uncle, with a benevolent smile. he nodded. "and a very precious daughter she has been to us, sir," says aunt with a sort of whine. now that kind fairly makes my stomach queasy, and, moreover, i guessed what she was after. she meant to pull a long face on parting with her niece, with an eye to money. "i hope," said i, suavely, "that she will prove a precious daughter to me in good time." "that depends," says the little fat man, who, it seems, was a grocer. "ay, that depends," says the remaining person in the room, a thin, elderly woman. "well," said i, annoyed at this intervention, "it depends on whether miss here suits me. i will confess she has took my fancy, and i have room for her." "you want to adopt nancy?" says the aunt. "'tis my intention," i answered plump. "may we ask what set the notion in your head?" says the grocer from his corner. "faith you may," said i, "and 'tis easy said. for walking down the minories yesterday, whom did i spy but a handsome miss with as two pretty eyes as ever sparkled in a wench's face. 'she's for me,' says i to myself, 'she'll suit my town house like a linnet or a piping lark. i'll warrant she's all sunshine.'" at that i thought they looked on me with some suspicion, and, perish me, i believe i had spoken too warmly, for she was dainty enough. "oh!" says aunt, faintly, and glanced at her husband, as if inviting him to speak, but he sat smoking. "my niece says you are a godly man, sir?" she pursued. "godly," says i, "is not the word. i cry second to none if it comes to church and prayers." she looked astonished at that, but 'twas the grocer who spoke next. "'tis a strange matter," he said, "that you should have took so great a fancy to miss nancy here. it may be, as you say, that you would adopt her, yet you are young for a daughter." "young!" said i, "why, i be ancient enough. i have gone through enough in my time to fetch out grey hairs in bunches. there was my poor wife that died ten years gone, and my daughter that followed her in the flower of her youth, to whom miss hath a most singular likeness. 'twas that attracted me." "you are a haberdasher, sir?" says the thin woman. "'tis my calling," i replied. "ah," she sighed. "and so 'twas my poor husband's that is at rest." "he was engaged in an honourable trade," said i. "you say truly. that he was," she assented, sighing. but here uncle spoke for the first time. he was clearly no man of words, but the fat grocer had been whispering in his ears. "we should want some warranty," said he. "warranty," said i indignantly. "there's my name, samuel hogg, of bristol, and, for the rest, if it is the colour you wish, why i can satisfy you," and i brought out a purse full of king's pictures. i could see that their eyes glistened. "you seem well endowed," said the grocer. "ay, and 'tis all at the disposal of miss nancy, when i am in my gloomy tomb," said i. but the grocer whispered to the widow, and she to aunt, and they glanced askance at me. so, as matters were not going forward to my taste, i got up and said i,-- "it seems that suspicions rule here. i am the target of eyes. rip me, i carry not my wares to a market that fancies me not, and so i will bid you good evening." but that shook them. "stay, sir," says the aunt, "i am sure we may be pardoned if we hesitate to lose one so dear to us. 'tis a new idea, and we must get used to it." "why," said i, smiling, for i could see the drift of her thoughts, "there is no haste. you shall satisfy yourself of what i promise. 'tis but the preliminary to my design. i will not pluck your partridge from you roughly--not i. but i would have her remain with you during my preparations, and only ask that i may present her with that which shall fit her out as becomes one who is to do honour to my house and me." and with that i opened the purse and counted out ten golden guineas. miss nancy gazed wide-eyed, and there was a little silence among the others, save that uncle started and rubbed his eyes, and cried, "the devil!" but 'twas enough for them. auntie melted like a snowball in the sun; the grocer pursed up his lips; and the widow regarded me with wonder. booby, in his corner, gave vent to a silly chuckle. "well, that's fair," said uncle hastily, and, at that, supper being ready, i was invited to join them. now this was the time that i should have taken to go, for i had done what i promised; but i had nothing to attract me that night, and, moreover, i was for pushing the fun a little further. lord, if tony or old creech could have seen me a-sitting there, in such company, with an adopted daughter on my hands, 'twould have made them split their sides. so says i,-- "at your service, and thank ye;" and down we sat to the table. as chance would have it i was set alongside of the widow, and on t'other side was the grocer. says i to the girl in a whisper, as she passed me,-- "there; 'tis all laid for you, and you can fire the train when you will, along of booby." she cast a glance at me and looked down, fingering her guineas as if she loved 'em. but, bless you, i did not mind the guineas. there was plenty more behind 'em. and then the widow turns on me, and begins to ply me with questions about haberdashery and prices, but, rot me, i knew nothing about them more than the babe in its cradle. so said i presently,-- "madam, i leave all such trifles to my man." "heavens!" says she, "you will be ruined. 'tis most perilous. you want someone that will look after your interests, and keep your house in trim." "why, that's what miss will do," i laughed. she shrugged her shoulders. "my husband," said she, "was worth his two hundred guineas a year, and that's all come to me, alas," she says sighing. "'tis not i would cry 'alack,' if that befel me," i said with a grin. "ah, 'tis not the money," she says, "but the loneliness; and to think that it's all lost to business; for i am my own mistress," she says, "and can do what i like, having no child to consider." "well," said i, "i have one now, and an amazing beauty." she looked sourly at miss nancy, who flushed very deep. just then i was digged in the ribs t'other side, and, turning, found the grocer with a grin on his face. "pretty wench," says he with a wink. "that is so," said i, tossing off the wine, which was not so ill. "there's none too many like her about the town," he says again with his significant wink. "what the plague--" says i, but he winked again. "i seen what you was after from the first," he said. "the devil you did!" i said, and stared at him. he dug his thumb into me again. "ten guineas for her!" he said with a knowing air. "well?" said i, for i guessed what the fool was after. "well," says he in his fat whisper, "you ain't no haberdasher. i seen through you from the first." "look you," said i sharply, "get on with your supper and keep your foul fingers off me, or i will choke your weasand for you." that, as i conceive, startled him, for he fell away, looking at me mighty anxiously, but said no more. moreover, i was not for turning the party into pepper and mustard, so i took another glass, and the vintner at t'other end of the table nodded at me in a friendly way. "'tis a good bottle," says he knowingly, "and not every man's liquor." that was true enough, for 'twas not the swipes i had took in his tavern that afternoon, and he himself was witness to his words, for he had drunk the better part of a bottle already and seemed very merry and on familiar terms with the world. he plied the widow on one side and his wife on t'other, but aunt's visage, for all her simper, would have turned the best wine sour. miss took but a sip of wine, but her face was flushed and eager, but booby--he made up for that abstinence, and drank and talked and laughed as though he was at a goose-fair. well, they were a pretty party, and by this time i was entered into the proper spirit of it. booby over the way made a feint of embracing miss and whispered in her ear, seeing which i bestowed a smile on him as who should say "brava! i commend your spirit." but miss turned away from him sharply and i could see she was firing him a rejoinder. thinks i, maybe he hath crushed her steels, the which no woman will stand, and the least of all in public. but as 'twas to settle their little affairs that i was there the time had come to speak out, and so up jumps i with my glass in hand. "i will ask this company," said i, "to toast a pretty girl and her lover. i'll warrant their names spring to your minds. need i put a style on them? well, when these hairs be whitening, sure i shall be comforted in a nursery of babes that shall bring 'em tenderly to the grave, all along of my adopted daughter there and cousin tom that shall inherit my fortune." now aunt's face was lined with smiles, and she lifted up her glass, and looked towards the couple. the vintner, too, chuckled and called out an indelicate jest for such maidenly ears. but what was my surprise that miss turned crimson, and then pale, and started up with a little exclamation. booby looked sheepish and grinned, but she gave him her shoulder, and,-- "i will not have you drink it," says she tartly. "i am my own mistress, and not to be dictated to by any." "why, child, who is dictating to you?" said i amazed, and aunt frowned, but says sweetly,-- "we have known all along 'twas a strong attachment 'twixt my son and niece." "why, so i should ha' guessed," i replied. "no, no," says uncle, shaking his silly head, "i never did believe there was aught in it. so now you know, wife." but his wife, who was as black as night, cried out sharply,-- "'tis all nonsense. they are affianced duly." and then the fat grocer muttered in my ears, "'twas precious cunning; you have noosed and caught her already. gad, she'll fall into your maw like a ripe plum!" "if you will not cease," said i angrily, "i will run my hilt down your throat." "hilt!" says he, staring, and edged away from me; and i could see him eyeing me up and down to see if i carried a weapon. "come," said i to the girl. "maybe this is sprung on you too suddenly. take your time," i said, "and we will wait. 'tis a hundred guineas on your wedding, my dear, and much more at my funeral." "i do not want your money," said she petulantly, and flung the guineas on the table. aunt cried out in a fury, and uncle stared, for he was much in liquor. but the grocer and the widow began hurriedly to gather them up. "steady," said i. "whoa, my lass. what's come over you? this suits not with your mood this afternoon. i will admit booby is no beauty and hath a tongue too gross for his phiz, but 'tis your own choice." "whom call you booby?" cries the youth, rising in a passion that was compounded of wine and jealousy. "if you will not sit down," said i, "i will teach you a lesson. sit down and buss, you fool. buss and be thankful." he flopped into his seat foolishly, but miss rose and moved from the table. "i will not stay here for insult," she said, with spirit. "you shall not refuse," says aunt, white with anger, "or you shall be turned out of doors this very night, you shall." "oh, she is a sly slut; she casts her eyes high," says the widow, in a high vindictive note. "look ye here," says the vintner sillily, and with a tipsy frown. "let us not tangle this merry meeting into knots. be easy all. if nancy wants a husband, as well she may, being of a marriageable age, here's one for her, and no better than he--mr samuel hogg, of bristol. sir, i toast you and nancy as bride and groom." i looked at the girl. she had come to a pause and now stood, her face demurely cast down, and she said nothing, not raising any protest. and then, in a flash, it came to me what she wanted. i could have laughed aloud if i had been in my own company. she took me for a real well-to-do haberdasher and would have me, the puss; or maybe 'twas my looks took her, for she is not the first to be tantalised by my bearing. but i had not bargained for this, and so i laughed a little, and looked askew at the vintner. "how!" says i, "will you turn a daughter into a wife?" "'tis infamous," says the widow. "'tis shocking to the ordinances of religion." "not so fast," said i. "she's no daughter to me yet, nor perhaps will be," for i was weary of her hints and innuendoes, the meaning of which was apparent. "oh, maybe he can find room for you both," says the grocer, with his fat laugh. "though 'tis my only niece," says the vintner, pursuing his theme, as if none had spoken, "i will spare her to so worthy a gentleman. i have known her since she was a chit so high--my own sister's child!" and he began to weep maudlin tears that came of the drink. "i'm sure," says the widow, "that the gentleman will be well rid of such an ungrateful baggage, and 'tis an insult to use him so. he does not want a silly slip like that, either to daughter or wife, undutiful as she would be, and extravagant in her habit. what would suit you, sir," she says, turning on me, "would be a staid comely wife near to your own age, with a knowledge of haberdashery, and some money to--" "will you be quiet," says i to her, savagely. "he's got his eye on the young 'un; he's marked her," says the fat grocer, dipping his nose in the wine, "i knew it all along. there's mighty little chance to deceive me. i know these dogs. why, directly he came in i saw a look on him when he eyed her that--" "look here, i have warned you once," says i, infuriated, and i gave him a blow under his fat chin that sent him sprawling over the next chair to the floor. at that the widow screamed out and cries,-- "murder! murder!" i was for turning on her, for my blood was up at this silliness, when the vintner got upon his legs unsteadily. "i will have no murder done in my house," says he, with a hiccough. "i will fight any man that is for doing murder in my house." but ere i could answer booby rushed at me. "i'll have your blood," he cried. and when i would have treated him as i had done the grocer, the widow put her arms about me and squealed that i was being killed, while miss clung to booby behind and strove to pull him off with her hands and nails. "oh, sir, oh, sir, 'tis a christian house," cries aunt, wringing her hands. but, christian or not, i was not for being choked by the old cat, and so i threw her off roughly; but a blow from the vintner took me in the stomach, so that all my wind was out. he was whirling his arms like a mill. "i'll learn you to do murder," cries he. 'twas too much for me. i had been sorely tried by their stupidity, and to have them falling on me was more than i could stand. "rip me," says i, "as sure as my name is dick ryder i'll lay a corpse out if you do not leave me." "dick ryder!" cries miss nancy, letting go of booby, who toppled over upon the grocer. "yes," says i, "dick ryder, who is mightily sorry that he ever set forth to do any kindness to a ninny like you." "ay," says a voice behind me, "'tis dick ryder for sure, young woman." i turned at the sound, and on the steps, descending from the tavern, was timothy grubbe, with the face of a trap behind him. "dick ryder," says he, with a grin, "i arrest you in the name of his majesty for the robbery of one samuel hogg, on turnham green, last night." "is that you, timothy?" said i, for i never minded the wretch. "why, come in and welcome. you come in the nick of time to prevent murder." "why, i see you have been very merry," says he, with his leer. i tapped the vintner on the shoulder. "here is a party," i said, "that will drink my health. i beg you to open a bottle of your best for these good friends of mine. how many be you, timothy?" i asked. "call it three, dick," says he with his tongue in his cheek. "make it two bottles, host," said i cheerily. the vintner, with his mouth open, now coming to his sober senses, stared at the visitors and at me; but in obedience to my command, he moved slowly towards the tap-room door, where grubbe and the trap stood. i followed him, and had, out of the tail of my eye, a glimpse of the wench--struck dumb and terrified. "as touching the guineas of hogg, timothy," said i, "you will find 'em on that scratch-cat over yonder, with the red nose. she is an old hand, timothy, and hath a maw for gold, so she hath." at that the widow started up, protesting and crying out that she knew nothing of it, and she was innocent, and that he would spare her and the lord knows what. so i was avenged on her, the vain old noodle. but i paid no heed, only walked up behind the vintner till i came abreast of grubbe, who grinned at me as he eyed me carefully. "'twas not so skilful as usual, dick," says he, "'twas a boggle--a blunder." "well, there's no boggle this time," said i shortly, and of a sudden put my foot under him sharply, knocked away his leg and sent him flying into the room on the top of booby, who was standing, mouth open. and next moment i thrust the solid body of the vintner in the face of the trap and toppled 'em both over. that done, i clapped to the door instantaneous and darted through the dark tavern and into the road. there was no one there, so that i knew that grubbe had lied, or else he had posted a man behind the house, never thinking i should break out in front. once in the road i ran through the blackness of the night, and, ere the pursuit was after me, was safe in a hiding-place i know, cursing myself for a fool to have wasted my time and temper on a pack of asses. the man in black it was after the affair of the king's treasure that there was maybe the hottest hue and cry raised on me which has ever fallen to my lot in the course of many adventurous years. the pursuit opened in a little tavern in southwark, where i was foolish enough to spend a night and some guineas in entertaining a pack of rude huffs that did not know a gentleman from a dung-fork. i had took too much of liquor, and i suppose that i had spoke too much also. at least, at three of the morning comes me up the landlord, a decent fellow, with the news that the traps were on me. i hardly rubbed my eyes, for the fumes were all gone now, but skipped into my clothes, and, giving him good-day, was out afoot in a twinkling by a back window, and made for clapham. here, as chance had it, i encountered a stout man on his horse coming up for the fair, and, laying him in the mud, i mounted and rode as hard as the nag would carry me towards the south. i passed through kingston in the thick of the darkness, and made for the wilds beyond, only pulling in when i had reached the village of ripley in the dawn. 'twas bitter cold of a raw january day, and the sun was in a grey welter of clouds that betokened snow. so i drank a hot draught of ale and brandy, and, giving my nag a bite, was on the road again, for i knew not how near the enemy might be, and i had vowed to put ten leagues behind me ere i lay anywhere. the way was vile in that weather, but i pushed on through guildford, and at last came to liphook, where i sheltered for the night. now what was my predicament on the morrow but to find the nag lame and myself in chains to the spot! but i had covered a long distance, and so says i to myself, i will rest and give odds to fortune. so i tarried there, pretty comfortable. but in the afternoon there comes along a stage from town, in the which, having spied the ground very carefully, i decided to journey; for i had by now made up my mind to reach portsmouth, and ply between there and southampton and the west, until such time as the chase was over. so in goes i, much against my habit, along with a company that seemed at first little to my taste. there was a respectable old gentleman that was full of questions; and madam, his wife, that was fat and slumberous; and to them was a daughter, pretty enough, but with eyes that marched and countermarched, and usually upon a young man that was dressed like a court popinjay. this fellow, as i discovered, was her lover, harringay by name, and a pretty cupid he was. the last in the coach was a staid-faced, sober-clad man, all in a dark kerseymere, that had come in with me at liphook, and read a book while 'twas light and between the jolts. this was dull company, as you may guess, for dick ryder to find himself in, all save the girl, whose eyes went on a campaign with mine. so, thinks i, if i must be here for some drab hours, i will at least take some merriment of it, and so i fell to ogling her, at which she minced and took on a better colour. 'twas in the act that the old gentleman broke the silence by addressing me. snow had fallen in the night, and 'twas now darkening for more. out on the sussex waste tumbled the stage, and of a sudden took the wind. it heeled her over, and the horses stayed and swayed. "heaven save us! we are overturned!" cried the old fellow, looking at me. "not we," said i. "why, 'twould take all the breath of two heavens to capsize this old village." "you think 'tis safe?" says he anxiously. "as safe as a snail," said i, "and about as speedy. confound all such conveyances!" said i. "give me a horse atwixt my legs and i ask no more." "you are a soldier, sir?" said he. "you may call me that," says i--"a soldier of fortune." "i knew it," says miss, beaming; and at that the wind took us again, and the stage jolted on her creaking wheels, sending miss into my arms, and the old lady upon the thin black fellow. miss got herself back with my assistance, blushing ripe and red, and the old lady cries,-- "geoffrey, my smelling-salts! harringay, tuck my skirts down." at which the popinjay began fumbling in his pockets, and with a sulky air stooped to do as he was bid. t'other man feigned to go on reading, but it was too dark now to see print. "i have no taste for these common stages," says harringay, presently, in a fluting voice of affectation. "if i had my way, i would travel by private coach." "maybe," said i, "you cannot stride a horse." "indeed," said he, loftily, "i am quite accustomed to it." "'tis the only way of progression," i said. "a stout nag and a pair of barkers." "ah," said the old man admiringly, "you soldiers see strange things." "i'll warrant, yes," said i. "i could tell you that which would make your hair stand." miss was gaping at me, and so was the whole family, but young harringay crossed his legs, and says he indifferently,-- "'tis said soldiers have long tongues." "why, they have long swords," said i peremptorily, for i was annoyed by his airs and graces. he gave a little laugh, as if he were amused with something all to himself; and i was aware at the same time that the man in black was eyeing me steadily. he had the look of a lawyer's clerk, or something of the sort, so i returned him his stare with nonchalance. this made him give way, and he turned his attention to the party opposite, for there could be no pretence now of reading a page. "you go armed always, sir?" inquired the old gentleman. "one never knows whom one may meet," said i, with a yawn. "you signify highwaymen?" he said in a lower voice. "why, i'm told there is danger from these gentry," said i. harringay laughed lightly. "pooh!" he says. "they are main cowards, and would not attack any man with boldness and a pistol." the man in black looked at him with interest. "you carry a pistol, sir?" i asked politely of the popinjay. he tapped his pocket significantly. "there is none would dare assail me," he boasted; and miss cast him a glance of admiration. "we put ourselves in mr harringay's hands," explained the old gentleman cheerily. "he is our escort." i thought i saw a smile on the face of the man in black, and i could not help meeting it; but his suddenly faded away, and he looked out at the moor, on which the snow and the wind were threshing. the old coach was lurching on, as if she had been a packet in a storm. "i shall be sick. my stomach heaves," cried the fat woman, and applied her smelling-salts; whereat she was attended by her husband and her daughter, and, lying back, seemed to pass off into sleep. "'tis a wild night," says the old man. "i misdoubt we shall fetch petersfield." "why, that we shall," said i cheerfully, "unless these same gentry you speak of play us a trick." "do you think it likely?" inquired a voice in my ear; and there was the man in black, broken out of silence for the first time. "maybe," said i indifferently, "and maybe not." "why," he says, in a raucous voice, "there is nothing here to tempt any such. what is there among us all?" "speak for yourself," said i. "i have that which i would not part with willingly." "and i, sir," said the old gentleman. "but with three such young gentlemen to protect us we need fear nothing." "well, i will confess i wouldn't care to be stopped," says the man in black. "but they would not have much of me." "there is my box of jewels," says miss, looking eagerly at harringay, who smiled and nodded and clapped his hand to a pocket. "'tis safe," said he. "you may trust me for that, sweetheart." at which she smiled on him adoringly. the man in black had sunk back into his seat, and his heavy breathing sounded presently in my ear, so that i concluded he, too, was fallen asleep. i was like to have done the same, for the jolting and the stuffiness of the air had wearied me; but at that moment the coach came to a stop, and there was the voice of the coachman calling out that this was rake. 'twas now darkling overhead, but the snow had ceased, and we entered the flying bull to refresh ourselves--a long barn of a place, with a surly landlord that had not sense enough to serve his customers properly. but the wine was fair, and i ordered a bottle or two, in the which i asked the old gentleman to join me. says he, "with all my heart, sir, seeing that you add this to my other obligations." "what be those?" said i. he gave me a bow, for he was a civil gentleman, though of a rustic habit. "you protect us, sir," he said. "we are relying upon your good weapons and bright courage in the face of emergency." i laughed. "oh, as for that," i said, "i can promise you there's none likely to infest you. you are as safe as in whitehall within these fields of white." "that is well said," remarked the man in black. "and i shall eat, for my part, with the better assurance after that promise." he had certain sourness of voice, at which, however, i could not take offence, for there was nothing in his words to warrant it. but harringay must be popping into the conversation, and so i turned my spleen on him. "i would not promise," said he, "that we shall not be molested. there is plenty of cut-throats about, as i have heard." "lord, harringay!" says the old lady, dropping her knife and fork, "you terrify me. what possessed us to come on this journey?" he simpered, as one pleased with his effort, adding, "'tis known as the worst road out of london." "dear heart!" cries the lady, and i saw miss whitening under the bloom she had took of the cold air. "'tis a pity," said i, "that simpletons talk of what they know not. 'tis the safest road in the kingdom." "oh," says he with an air, "i would not discompose anyone. 'tis best you should keep up your spirits." and he drank of his wine, whistling gently, and as one who is superior to circumstance and the rest of the company. if he had not been so grotesque an ape i would have said something more, but as it was i had not the heart to overwhelm him in miss's presence. so said i good-humouredly, "well, call me when there is danger, and i will see if i can spy it out of two spectacles." i gave miss a jorum of mulled wine, and i plied her mother, who would eat anything. never did i see a woman with such an appetite. but the old gentleman took little or nothing, and only sipped his glass, being clearly in an anxious state. "i was promised we should lie at petersfield to-night," he said in a plaintive way, "for i have business in portsmouth to-morrow." "oh, you shall lie there safe and warm," said i, "and madam and miss, too, in as snug blankets as any in the realm, or call me hangman." i got up and walked to the window. the black night stared back at me with ominous eyes. thinks i to myself that we must be hauling out at once if my words were to come true; for there was snow in the sky like lead. i turned about, and under the candles saw the man in black guttling his wine as if he were in a haste to feel its temper in his stomach. he had drunk one bottle and the better part of another. i called out to the innkeeper, bidding him ask if we were to stay there all night, for, if not, we had better be gone. and that seemed to affect the coachman, for in a little news was come that we were to start. the last i saw of the table was the figure of the man in black drinking his second bottle to the dregs. no sooner were we set in the stage again than the storm began. the wind swept over the heights and rained on us a deadly flurry of snow. it battered against the windows and penetrated even to the recesses of the interior. but we were warm with our wine, and i, for one, lay back with contentment, with one eye open on miss (who was conscious of my stare, and fidgeted under it), and t'other on nothingness. the old lady went off to sleep forthwith with the food she had taken, and trumpeted at times to the chagrin of her daughter. but what's a snore? at least it interfered not with me, and presently miss had slipped from me, and i was at rest like any child. the coach rocked in my dreams, and then there was a cry, and presently after i opened my eyes with the feeling that the snow was on my temples. 'twas not that, however, but the barrel of a pistol that the man in black held. "move," says he fiercely, "and you are a dead man!" as soon as i was awake i guessed what it was, and so, never stirring a hand, said i,-- "that command concerns not my jaw, i conceive." "'twere best you kept your mouth closed," said he. "why," said i, "i perceive that my prognostications were all wrong, and that we be fallen indeed into the hands of a tobyman, who will, i trust, prove as gallant as all his kidney." "silence!" says he, "and give me what you have." "you have my pistols?" i asked politely. "yes," he replied triumphantly; and at that i knew he was a mere bungler, and no real gentleman of the road, for he was all a-tremble with his excitement. "well," said i, "there is but the matter of a small bag of guineas--" "hand it out," said he sharply. "look'ee," said i; "you promise me death do i move." "i will find it myself," he said quickly. but i was not for having his dirty fingers on me; so said i, with a heavy sigh, "if i must, i must." and i drew out a bag from my inner pocket. "you have saved yourself," said he hoarsely; and, lord! i knew again he was new to the game, for no born tobyman would have rested content with what i gave him, when there was two bags more of golden pictures safely stowed in my coat. "now that you have what you want," said i meekly, "maybe you will allow me to ask after my companions." "you will understand," said he, "that i am here with four loaded pistols, with the which i will shoot any that moves." "oh, i accept my fate," i replied, as if desperately. "tis the young lady that i am thinking on." he laughed harshly. "you have cast sheep's eyes enough, my good man. i have her jewels." "damme, now," says i, "had the jewels been in my keeping i would not have let 'em go so cheaply. is the young gentleman in his gore?" "no," says he curtly. "we have all been taken by surprise and robbed," says the voice of the old gentleman tremulously. "this man--" "silence!" said the man in black. "are you there, miss?" said i to the darkness. a small voice says,-- "yes"--very frightened. "keep up your heart," said i. "we are none of us hurt, and when once this awesome ruffian--" "i command you to be silent," said he savagely. "come," said i, "let us have some liberty. you have took our goods; let us have our tongues left." at that he said nothing, but there came an interruption. if you will believe me the old lady had slumbered through it all, and now woke up at a jolt of the coach, and cried out,-- "thieves!" "why, madam, you say right," said i; "thieves it is, and as ferocious a tobyman as ever i remember." with that she fell to screaming, but the man in black clapped his pistol to her, and gave her a fright that paralysed her to silence. "give me what you have," says he. "i--i have nothing," she stammered. "there is no room on me to hide so much as a--" "bah!" says he. "if you will cease your clatter i will do you no harm." "the gentleman has promised to do none of us harm," said i, "if we behave modestly. this coach shall not swim in blood, for the which we should fall to our prayers in thankfulness." whether he perceived my ironic tone and was to resent it i know not; but i would have been equal to him, the nincompoop. but as chance had it, just at that moment the coach came to with a crash that sent him flying against the window. he flourished his pistols wildly, and i thought the fool would have let one off. only the door opened on the other side now, and the head of the coachman peered in. my man presents at him, shouting,-- "move, and you're a dead man!" "what's all this stir?" says the coachman in amazement. "are ye gone out of your wits?" "no," says he. "but you shall be gone out of yours if you stir, and do not as i wish." "this gentleman," says i in a mild voice, "has robbed the coach; and 'tis only of his kindness that we get off with our lives." "you shall cut one of the horses loose and let me have it," said this ridiculous tobyman, "or i will blow out your brains." "you're welcome to a horse," grumbled the other, still in astonishment; "you're welcome to 'em all, if you can get anywhere from here." "what is it you mean?" he demanded haughtily. "why, we're astray--we're in a drift somewhere towards liss--the lord knows where," says t'other. "indeed," says i imploringly, "you will not venture your valuable life on such a night." but he uttered a savage oath, yet appeared perplexed. "look you," said i in another voice. "if you take the horse you will reach nowhere from here, and you will leave five hapless mortal beings to starve of cold. let 'em get back to the road, and then take your nag." he was silent for a while, but this argument seemed to appeal to him. "very well," said he, "i consent. but if there be any sign of treachery i will not hesitate to shoot. go back to your horses." at this the coachman, no doubt well enough content to be let off at such a price, shut the door and departed, and presently the stage began to rumble on again, floundering on the hills towards liss. now you may think how i was tickled at this muckworm trying his hand at the road. he was some attorney's clerk or maybe 'prentice, i could have sworn, and he was as fidgety as a cat, seeming not to know what to do, or whom to confront and bully. moreover, my attitude had put him in a flurry, and the knowledge that we were astray had discomfited him. so he stands with his back at the door, saying nothing, but holding a barker in each fist. but i was not for letting him alone, and says i,-- "you done that very well. i would i had your composure, and i would have been his majesty's chief justice by now, with the hanging of rogues for my business." at that the old gentleman plucked up spirit enough to venture on a word. "alack," he said, "i fear that all those that follow a trade of violence must come by violence to their end." and sighed. "that's the truth," said i, smacking my leg. "you have spoke truth if you die to-night." "silence!" cries this shoddy highwayman nervously. "your tongue wags, young man," says the fat old lady to me. "but it appears to me you did little in the defence you boasted of some time ago." "i can't abide cold steel at my ears," said i. "alas that i was born to encounter so redoubtable a captain!" "you are a soldier," says she angrily, "and you see us robbed and put about like this." "why, i can endure any ordinary tobyman," said i. "but this fellow is the very devil. i think any man may be excused to surrender to so vehement an antagonist. his bark's his bite," says i. "harringay, my smelling-salts," says she petulantly. "i--i have 'em not," stammers he. "no," said i. "'tis all along of this gentleman with the barkers. see you. mr harringay and i have had to yield up; and if one of mr harringay's spirit hath done so, why, i think it no shame myself. but indeed," i went on, struck with a comic idea, "we are neither of us in need of shame, for i believe this gentleman to be a notorious gentleman of the road with a terrible reputation. is't not so, sir?" says i. "you are at liberty to believe what you will," says he, but in a milder voice. "i have heard of these gentlemen," i went on, "and from his description i would take oath this is not other than galloping dick, dick ryder, that is a terror on the highways. is it so?" says i again. "what if i be?" says he; and i believe the huff was well pleased, as indeed he might be. "there!" said i triumphantly. "i guessed it. and, believe me, any man might be proud to submit to dick ryder from all i hear." "ay, i have heard of him, too," says the old gentleman. "but they say he is better than would appear, and merciful." "oh, never fear," said i. "this gentleman will prove merciful ere we are finished with him." "i warn you to expect nothing from me," said he in a more complacent voice. just at that moment the coach began to roll along more smoothly and at a faster pace, and i judged that we were upon the road again, and that the coachman was whipping up. this same thought seems to occur to the fellow, for he opened the window and shouted out to the man to stop, with a lot of horrid threats. so that presently the coach came to and the coachman appeared at the door, seeing his manoeuvre had failed. "what is it?" he said innocently. "you must keep your bargain," says the man in black. "we are on the road?" "such road as there is," he grumbled. "well, cut me one of the horses out, or i will make a hole in you," cries the fellow. "come," says i, "we were getting on quite famously till now. 'tis a pity to end this pleasant party." but he gave me an oath and stepped out of the vehicle, at which i seized the young man, harringay. "out with you," said i, "and we will see this mischief to an end." we got out into the snow, which was still whirling in the air, and i watched the coachman extricate one of his nags. the tobyman (if i may so style him) stood with his legs apart, drawn up in his most dramatic posture, pistols in hand. "you will not stir," says he, "for full ten minutes after i am gone. if you do, i will come back and blow your brains out." this truculent fellow quite appalled the coachman, who busied himself with the gear, and presently has one of his horses out. this t'other mounted in an awkward fashion, and turned to us. "remember," says he in a warning voice, "i never forget or forgive." "now," whispered i to harringay, "now is the chance to show your quality. you take him on the near side and i will on the off. leg or arm will do. he will topple off on the least shove, the fool." "but--but," he stammered, "he is armed." "damme," said i, furious to meet such cowardice, "are ye frightened of a pistol in the hands of a mumchance?" and with an oath i left him and flew at my quarry. i had got half-way to him when he saw me coming and pointed a barker at me. "stop!" cries he. "stop be damned!" says i, and sprang at him. the pistol went off and took my hat, singeing my forehead, which made me all the hotter. i seized him leg and neck, and swung him down into the snow, where he grabbled for another weapon. "if you move," said i, "i will crack your neck like a rotten stick, my brave tobyman. quit, you worm, quit!" and i gave him my fist between the eyes, so that he lay still. "coachman," said i, "you may take your horse and throw a lantern here." and i fumbled in the man's pockets for a pistol. "now," said i, "we are on terms again." and i dragged him to his feet. harringay came up now, and says he,-- "let me help." "get you gone! i want none of you!" i said sharply. "damme, miss will serve me better. she will wear the breeches properly." and i called out to her. by that time the coachman had his lantern, and cast the light on the miserable sheepish object who scowled at us. "here's a pretty tobyman," said i, "a right gallant fellow that sheds lustre on the craft. why, a child could manage him. see," says i, for miss was come up, looking very handsome and excited, in the snow. "take ye this pistol, miss, and hold it to him. he will do you no harm--no more than a louse, and never could." she hesitated a moment, and then, summoning up her courage, did as i bid, holding the barker in a gingerly fashion, the while i searched his pockets, taking out what he had took of us. i had just completed my job when there was the sound of voices quite close, for the snow had dulled the tread of the horses of the party that approached. they were on us ere i knew, and one called out,-- "what is this? is't an accident?" "it is a little accident to a tobyman," said i. "a brave fellow that is come by misfortune all unknown to his mother." "the devil!" says the voice. "we are after one such. let us see him." now you conceive how i felt, for that this was a party of traps on my heels i guessed at once. so i moved a little into the shadow of the lantern, and waited while the man examined t'other. "i do not know if this is our man," says he, "but 'tis enough if he be guilty." "who is your man?" asked i, emboldened by this ignorance. "'tis dick ryder," says he; "we tracked him as far as liphook, but the one that could speak to him has been detained by a fall at the village." "why, this is he!" said i in triumph. "did he not confess to being ryder?" i asked of the others, for by this the old gentleman and his lady were both with us. "certainly. i will swear to it," says the old fellow. "i heard him with these ears say he was ryder." "then is our business done," says the trap, "and i'm not sorry, considering the night." and his men surrounded my man and seized him. his face was as pale as the snow, and he had a horrid, frightened look. maybe he was some attorney's clerk that had robbed his master, and was in flight. i cared not, and i never knew; and he went off silent with his captors on the way to the triple beam, which he deserved for a bungling, bragging nincompoop. but now we were alone, and the guineas and the jewels were in my pockets. lord, i love the jingle of 'em, and so i took my counsel forthwith. "sir," says i to the old gentleman, "here be your purse and your papers; and to you, sir," says i to harringay, "i restore the smelling-salts, that is your charge. miss, this, i'll warrant, is your jewels, the which i would advise you to place in a better security than heretofore. and now justice is done, and we conclude with a merry evening." "but there is my purse!" says harringay, in an amaze. "my purse with fifty guineas." "why, your purse must be where your heart is, in your boots," says i contemptuously, and called to the coachman. "give me that nag," says i. and before he understood i was on the beast, and, doffing to miss and her mother, rode off into the snowy night with a peal of laughter. the lady in the coach it was not until i was three parts across the heath upon the adventure that i had gotten any suspicion i was forestalled. the night was very thick, owing to a pack of clouds that lay furled upon the moon, and till then was as still as a mouse. but calypso's hoofs started a wether bleating near by, and it ran jumping into the distance, with its silly bell a-tinkling round its neck. and just upon that the noise of a commotion far off came down to me, and, pulling up the mare, i set my ears to the valley. i knew the coach must be wobbling along two miles this side of belbury, and i reckoned to meet it by the fork. but this news, as you may conjecture, put me in a taking. there was none along that road save me and creech's lot, and 'twas gall to me to play jackal to dan, or to anyone else for the matter of that; so, putting my boots into calypso, i rode down the valley at a gallop, but i had gone no farther than a few hundred paces when a clatter of nags came up the road to my left, and i stopped the roan dead. i was not to be taken like a fool, all agape with chagrin, and i held up under the cover of a tall furze bush, till all four were by, passing like shadows into the night. "damn creech!" i says to myself, for i had scarce a crown to my pocket. but seeing that vexation would not serve me, i rode on, mighty discomfited, and presently entered the high road near the foot of the heath. right afore me, and wrapt in the shadows of a black clump of trees, was the hulk of the stage, out of which proceeded a clamour of excited voices. when i came up with it the coachman was gathering his reins for a start, but at sight of me rising out of the darkness he dropped 'em again. "save us!" he cried, with an oath, "here's more of the gentry," and stared at me very sullen. at this exclamation an instant silence fell inside the coach, and then a head was poked cautiously through the window. "'tis useless, my good man," said a thin, high voice. "we are by this plucked to our bare bones, and sit grinning in them." "heaven save us from this accursed heath! i feared 'twould be so," says someone else, with a whine. "faith," says i, coming to a stop alongside, "'tis an honour you put upon me. i have been mistaken afore now for his highness, and for jack ketch too, but 'tis the first time i was dubbed gentleman of the highway." the old fellow at the window rolled his eyes over me without a word, and pretty sharp eyes they were. "and who may you be, then?" says he, with a queer smile upon his lean face. "why, if it comes to that," says i in turn, "who the devil may you be?" he scrutinised me closely, and then, "coachman," he called, "bestir your horses." "come, come," says i, for the old scarecrow tickled my curiosity, "there's no need to quarrel upon our characters. you have had the highwaymen here?" he shrugged his shoulders. "four dirty rascals," he said; "and we're in no humour for another." "look 'ee," says i sharply, "i allow no one to repeat a mistake." he surveyed me with indifference, smiled, and withdrew his head. "in that case," he said bluntly, "'tis ill to waste your time and ours." he was a surly old cock, and, but that i knew dan must have skinned him close, i would have dragged him forth and served him according to his deserts; and, in truth, i was half in the mind to despoil him of some of his fine fig, but just then another voice broke in. "sir," says this noodle, "if you be an officer, as i should judge by your dress, i pray you will despatch these villains. i am a poor man and can ill afford to lose my purse, but if a small reward will serve--" "ha, ha!" says i, nodding, "here is some sense at last," and, drawing the roan nearer, i looked into the coach. there was six of 'em, all looking pretty sheepish; and one, as i discerned in the dim light, was a lady. "lord!" says i, "five of you, and the coachman to be frightened by four scurvy cut-throats!" "why, sir," says the man that had just spoke, who wore a heavy paunch, "an you had been here i warrant you could ha' done nothing. the ruffians wore black masks and swore abominably. for my part, all i can say is that there was the cracking of whips and a pistol through each window ere i was out of the lady's lap, where, being asleep, the jolt had thrown me." "the exchange was effected, i assure you," put in the old man suavely, "with less noise than if it had been a sabbath sermon, save for the protestations of my friends here." "protestations!" says the lady, breaking her silence, and in an voice rough with anger. "there were tears enough to have touched a heart of stone, and less resistance than a barndoor fowl's. a fine company for escort, forsooth!" i shot another look at her--for a woman, specially if she be beautiful, tickles my fancy--and, sure enough, i could perceive even in that light she wore an air of quality. but i put her aside a moment, and says i to the man with the paunch: "what have you lost?" says i. "sir," says he, "i am a goldsmith, the which trade hath in these days sunk so low that--" but here belinda intervened on him very sharp. "for heaven's sake," says she impatiently, "spare us the repetition of your circumstances; and since," she added with a sneer, "this gentleman is so good as to promise you assistance, specify your guineas and be done." "there were a hundred guineas in my bag," said the goldsmith humbly. but at that, and it may be because of the hint in the lady's words about me, there came another voice from t'other side. "i am a merchant, sir," it began. "perhaps," says i, with a glance at the lady, "we had better spare that also." "sir," says the cully, accepting my rebuke, "if you will but save me my two hundred and fifty guineas you will place me deeply in your debt. a king's officer, like yourself, should have no difficulty in running these rascals to earth." that made me smile, as you may fancy; and then, turning to hoity-toity, i says, "and how have you fared, madam?" now that i regarded her more closely, i could perceive that she was very elegant, but she wore an ill-tempered frown, that set her beauty askew. "i," says she, shrilly, "am in no mood to indulge a wayside curiosity--unless, indeed, 'tis your business to catch robbers." i bowed very solemn, and she eyed me with asperity. "i have been rifled of many valuable jewels, which i should now possess had i kept other company than that of chicken-hearts." "'tis a fool's trick to carry jewels on the king's highway," says i. "these gentlemen of the road snap their fingers at his majesty." "and you a king's officer to say that!" she said scornfully. "faith," said i, with a laugh, "i make no such claim to dignity. i am a poor civil gentleman, of no more pretensions than your brave companions." "brave!" she echoed, with disdain. "five able-bodied men, and never a blow among them!" "pardon me, madam," interposed the old gentleman softly; "i have already explained that you must not reckon with me, having these five years no certain knowledge if my legs be still my own." at this point the coachman broke in with a gruff voice. "we must be going," says he, "or maybe we shall have further trouble ere belbury." "heavens! would they flay us?" asked the old gentleman, lifting his eyebrows. "i assure you, i have nothing beyond my skin and two very incompetent legs." that set me laughing, for the old cock tickled me. "faith," says i, "here is a philosopher." whereupon, like a pistol-shot, madam turns upon me in a fury. "and who are you, sir, that dares mock at our misfortunes?" she cried angrily. "who are you, that comes swelling with fine feathers and a cock-a-doodle-doo about assistance? oh, were there stuff enough within the four walls of this carriage, some one should fetch you a clout for your impertinence! i was a fool to have ventured in this company--a fool not to have taken my lord kerslake's offer of a seat." the old gentleman looked amused, and glanced whimsically at me; but, sure, i liked her spirit, though i made answer mockingly. "faith, gentlemen," says i, "you have here spirit enough to arm a regiment. i crave your ladyship's pardon; i am of a round and jocund temper, and can scarce keep my teeth inside my lips; i should grin upon a tombstone. but as for your misfortunes, rot me, but they touch me nearly; and, had the opportunity fallen, i should ha' been proud to draw a skewer for you." "you have fine words, sir," says she, still very angry. "i am weary of words; i have heard brave words enough to outlast my years. you brag of your sword!" (she puffed her nostrils in a sneer), "had you arrived five minutes sooner, the chance had been yours to show the spirit under your fine coat. i am weary of words. drive on, a god's name, coachman!" i glanced about the coach with a smile--though, to say the truth, the wench's tongue nettled me; and "it seems," says i, "that we are a pack of superfluous cravens. why is there none to fight us? my stomach, i vow, heaves for a highwayman. how stand yours, sirs?" "mine, sir, is sinking," says the old gentleman caustically--"sinking for the meal from which you detain us." "pray begone, sir!" added hoity-toity. "as we may not have your valiant aid, no doubt your comfortable bed will provide you bloodless dreams of battle." there was no limit to the jade's tongue; but i kept myself in control, and merely laughed. "why," says i, "it seems i come to the table when the wine is cleared." "by five minutes," she exclaimed--"by bare five minutes! the hoofs of their horses were not round the corner ere yours was poking its nose through the window." "i would i had forestalled 'em," says i, with meaning. the lady paid me no heed, but continued, "i have come from a town where young gentlemen of blood blink not at danger, and to lose five minutes were not to lose the privilege of protecting a lady of birth." her sneers made me mad; but "ha!" says i, "your ladyship lives in a brave town. and what would these young gentlemen do? sink me, i am so humble that i must go to school under them." "they would not hang to gossip upon the wheels of a coach; and i should have my jewels within four-and-twenty hours," says she curtly. "gad," says i, "they are gallant young gentlemen indeed, and of a rare devotion to your ladyship. as for me--" "as for you, sir," interrupted the old gentleman, testily, "if you will be good enough to resume your journey, we may have some chance at least of our dinner." hereupon the coachman cracked his whip, and the horses plunged forward a step; but i leaned over and laid my hand upon the side. "fie, fie!" says i, "to mumble of dinner when the lady's jewels are in question, and but four-and-twenty hours to get 'em!" "the more reason for your leaving at once," said the old mawkin, sarcastically. somehow the behaviour of these two nettled me. i could see that the one entertained suspicions of me, and t'other used me with so small an amount of ceremony that i was loth to leave 'em ere i had cried quits with 'em. but it was the ejaculation of the goldsmith as set the idea suddenly in my head, for, says he, in astonishment, taking up the old gentleman's phrase, "you will undertake the quest, sir?" and immediately the thought of a pretty whimsy flared in my head; but ere ever i had taken it, up springs the merchant crying, "mine too--mine also, sir; i pray you, young gentleman, my bag of guineas!" "the devil!" says i, very calm, and as if i had made my resolve long since. "how would those same young gentlemen of blood entreat you, i wonder? 'slife, i have a notion that they would despatch you all to hell, for your common quality, it being of untoward audacity for to seat you next her ladyship." and then, putting my head right through the window, i says, addressing the lady in the most pretentious, solemn manner, "your ladyship," i says, "frame me in your fancy, however high the flight, as one of these gentlemen of blood. sirs, bear your misfortune with patience, i adjure you. lard and oddsbobs, i wish you a more prosperous journey." and, with a sweeping bow, i spurred the roan into a gallop down the road. when i pulled up at the foot of the heath, i could hear the creaking of the coach as it lumbered in the distance; then, turning the mare's nose to the common, i put her to an easy canter. 'twas a design of some humour that possessed me; and what further drove me on was the reflection that i had a bare lining to my pockets, and, if i could not come by a high-toby lay, well, i would juggle with creech for a venture. i knew dan's haunts well enough, and that as like as not he was hiding in the woodman for to celebrate his success. and, sure enough, when i had crossed the heath and struck into the pine wood on the further slopes, after concealing calypso in a thicket, there was old kettle met me at the door of his inn, very suspicious, but of a mighty cheerful countenance. he was acquainted with me by sight, for he let me pass with a nod; and, proceeding to the rear of the hostelry, i found one of dan's lads stuck before the door of the barn. he challenged me as i approached; but "pooh, tom!" says i, "keep your lead against traps and such vermin," the which made him grin upon recognising my voice. "what brings you here, dick ryder?" says he. "we thought you was in london." "i'm on the king's service, i am, tom," says i. whereat he broke into a loud guffaw, and says he, "you'd best forswear, then, or dan'll crack no bottle for you to-night. he's in a rare humour, is dan." but i pushed by him, and entered the barn, where creech and two more of his rogues were sprawling upon the floor, pretty far gone in liquor, as i conceived. at the sight of me, up jumps dan to his feet, but falls back again drunkenly. "you damned pink-faced truant, dick ryder!" he cried, "what do you out of your bed at this hour? and mistress polly all forlorn!" "women," says i, "are devilish seductive for ornament, dan, but theirs is a heavy price, and i'm quit of 'em." and with that, nodding at a crate of bottles, i added, "a fetch of luck, eh, danny?" "sit down, my fine feathered bird," says creech; "sit down and tipple along of us. stab me if i keep my luck to myself! i'm a generous hand, i am." the wine was none so bad, being sack of an elegant body, though creech had never the palate of a fly; and presently, after i had drunken, i looked about me, but could see nothing of the booty. "ah!" says i, "i'll warrant you have filled your purse, danny. you're no company for a poor wastrel like me." creech grinned, and winked a bloodshot eye on me. "you should ha' joined the company, dick," he said. "but, damme, you're so devilish shy. plague take you, haven't i given you your chances? stab me, you fine young bantam, for all your pride i wager you've not a crown in your pockets, and ours a-bulging out with goldfinches." "one, danny--one," says i, "and a good well-thumbed crown, come by honestly." "bah!" says creech, with a sneer; "you'd be dragging your pockets along the ground if you'd been along of us to-night." "did you take a coach?" says i. "a coach!" replied creech. "such a coach as you never saw--just guineas a-dropping off the box into your mouth, and none to deny you. eight hundred and thirty golden pictures, you young fool, all stamped of his majesty; and more to that." "more?" says i, very innocent. "and it mightn't be a little box, dick--only a little box," says creech, in a wheedling voice; "but a queen's ransom to its belly;" and without more ado, but as if anxious to strut upon his dungheap, he put his hands between his legs, and fetching out a casket, threw it at me. "catch it," he cried; "open it and feast your eyes upon it. there's glamour enough there to turn a stomach sour." 'twas a rare lot of jewels, for sure, and it was small wonder that her ladyship was in such a taking. but creech, in the exultation of drink and success, could not hold his tongue, which it was not my desire that he should. "where's your damned independence now?" he chuckled. "what sort of figure upon the lay does galloping dick cut atween here and london?" but if i was to have it forth of his fingers i would have it openly, and so i says plumply, "i have a fancy for that box, dan," says i. creech leaned over, and set his dirty finger against his nose, poking out his tongue. "yes," says i, in a careless fashion; "i have taken a main liking to it. i want that, dan." creech burst into a fit of laughing. "hear him!" he cried. "hearken at the avaricious young fellow. he wants it, the precious boy! and so he does. and will his nursey give him the pretty things for a plaything till he falls asleep? oh, dicky, dicky, stab me but you'll be my death of bursting!" and he rolled upon the ground in merriment that came in good part of the sack. "come, dan," says i, as pleasant as you like; "you won't deny me, old friend--not you. let us shake hands on it." but this set creech yelling with laughter. "why, curse me," said he, "here's a queer game, hearties! here's a poor young man with but a crown to his pocket, and a soul a-soaring in the sky!" but then, without further ado, i whipped the coin out of my pocket and spun it in the air. "come, danny," says i, affably; "i will toss against you, with the precious gems for stakes. put 'em down atween us, and by god i'll nick 'em." creech stopped in his laughing and set the box in front of him, piling upon it two heavy pistols and a naked sword. "there, dick ryder," says he, grinning, "come and fetch 'em. there's none as can charge meanness upon me. take 'em, cocky; stab me, dick ryder, where's your grit?" and over he rolls upon his side, shrieking with laughter, in which t'others joined him. now he had, as it were, laid the job fairly before me, and for the moment i was in the mind to take him at his word; but the next second i had abandoned the purpose, for though i had little doubt that i could manage the three with them in a drunken condition, i was not for spilling blood, at anyrate at that stage. so what does i do but merely stick forth my foot and kick the weapons into the air. that fetched creech to his legs mighty sudden, and scowling at me he says, "is this serious, dick?" "you'd best guard 'em well," says i, "for i mean ill by them." "look 'ee, dick," said creech slowly, "if you want 'em you can take 'em. d'ye see? i'm not a man to botch my words. curse me, i've given you your chances afore now." "well," says i, "i'll fight you for 'em." creech winked. "i ain't afeard of your toasting-fork," he said, "though you are used to wear it for a taunt. i have as many bloody facts to my tally as, maybe, dick ryder himself. but i'm no precious baby, to risk my skin in behalf of what's my own. an you take 'em, you shall reckon with the gang." "damme," says i, "gang or no, 'tis all one with me. i'll have 'em within a round of the clock." "no, no, young fellow," replied creech, with a sly look. "'tisn't upon our side as the whole bargain must lie. strike me a proper balance. curse me, if you're for sport, i'll meet you. put up that crown. d'ye think i'm to cast away the baubles on the fall of a shield? place me something fat in the scales." "why, my sword," says i, with a laugh. creech grunted. "calypso," says i. "bah!" says he; "mare and sword and all, yourself atop, my young blood." "would you buy blood for money?" i asked. "faith, yes," he answered; "'tis the fashion of the trade. and you're a pretty hand with the irons. look at you--you with your fine fancy dress, for all the world like a gentleman in his majesty's service. stout muscles, dick, but small wits behind 'em. what say you? you shall have the trinkets, and the guineas too if you can get 'em. but an you fail we'll have you, by hell, body and soul for twelve months." i knew 'twas his inflation that drew him on thus, but it served my purpose; and so, after a pause, i said, "how long do you give me for the job?" "till this hour to-morrow night," says dan, seeming to consider. thereupon i jumped to my feet. "i'll take you," says i; "and now for another glass." creech stares at me for a moment in stupid wonder, and then solemnly reached out his hand, which i took. filling a glass, i nodded at the three and gave them a toast. "here's success to me, lads!" i says. but at that creech turned black, and spilling the wine he was drinking, looked at me savagely. "damn you!" he said, "keep your toasts to yourself, and get you gone, or tom out there will have leave to thrid you with bullets." but having made my point i was in no humour to be offended at the surly hunks, and so i tossed off the wine very leisurely. "good danny," i said; "there's sense in your tipsy brain yet. best go to bed and nurse it, for you'll need all your wits to-night." but creech, who had now fallen into a dark mood, made no answer, merely muttering to himself; and with a nod i was gone. but, lord, the adventure was ready to my hands, for to cheat three such clumsy sots was no difficult task for me. i scarce gave it a thought until, coming upon tom in the yard afore the barn, a sudden notion took my fancy, and i came to a stop beside him. "ah, tom," says i, shaking my head, "'tis a raw night for to gnaw the vitals out of a hedgehog, and you with no drink. i've a mind to spare you." "what d'ye mean?" says he, without a suspicion. "when is your time up?" i asked, paying him no heed. "at midnight," says he, cursing a little to himself. "tom," says i, "you're a friendly fellow, you are, and i have taken a compassion on a poor devil as can neither eat nor drink his belly full." and with that, and ere he was aware, i had my hands upon his throat. the sudden action took him by surprise, and though he struggled i forced him presently upon his knees. "why," says i, pleasantly, "sure, i told you i was upon the king's service, tom, engaged by his sacred majesty for to get rid of rascals like yourself." but then, getting his breath, he opened his mouth to cry for help, only on the instant i slipped a splinter of wood atween his teeth. so there was he soon, bitted and bound safe enough. now these transactions fell, and with little noise, in the shadow of the barn, where it ran forth to the margin of the wood; and no sooner was tom secured than there was the noise of someone opening the door, and creech's footsteps sounded in the yard. in an instant i slipped tom's cloak about me, and, all muffled to my nose, withdrew a pace into the darkness, at the same time letting the point of my sword fall on the cully's chest. i reckon that he knew well enough what was enjoined on him, for he never stirred; but i was a little anxious about creech, lest, even in his state, he should recognise my voice. he stopped at the corner and called tom in a loud voice, to the which i made a surly reply. "cold, eh?" says he, with a chuckle, "and sulky? well, if 'twill warm you, you'd best put a bullet through galloping dick. d'ye hear? we have a little game atween us, and if he gets by you ye shall answer for it." i durst trust myself to nothing but a mumble by way of answer, but it suited creech, who swaggered off to the barn again; and then, getting tom in my arms, i dragged the body into a coppice, and presently resumed my post as sentinel. 'twas a shrewd night, and the hours passed very slowly; but there was that in my heart to warm me against the cold, for i knew that all hung upon the change at midnight. and when that time came, and there was once more the sound of feet in the yard, i drew up stiff and stark, being solicitous for the hazard. twas blake that came to relieve me, but, as fortune had it, his head was mazed with sleep and drink, and he paid me little attention. i growled out an oath or two, to which he gave no answer, his teeth chattering in his jaws; and with that i left him, and rounding the corner i made straight for the entry. when i got in, there was ned lying in a heap upon some straw, snoring like a swine, and creech, as i perceived, seated with his back against the wall, and his eyes lifted meditatively to the rafters. "that you, tom?" says he, and without even a glance at me, chucked his thumb towards a pile of bottles. "there's no sleep yet in that voice," thinks i; and, seating myself in a dark corner, where the lanthorn shed no light, i helped myself to wine. 'twas grateful enough to a pinched stomach, but when i was done, and stretched snugly in the straw, there was i, destined to wait upon creech's convenience, till so be as it pleased him to fall off. he had by this, as i could see, shook off the most of his liquor, being, i fancy, in no wise comfortable as to the bargain he had struck with me. but that did not disturb me, for i could bide my time; only it gave me a start, i confess, when, after half an hour in this fashion, he got upon his feet and came towards me. i had all along been feigning slumber, and as he came i managed to bury my head deeper in my cloak, lest he should take a suspicion of my phiz. he stood over a moment, and then, "drunk," says he, and fitting his foot into the small of my back, shoved me a pace forward. i rolled a little more upon my face, and gave a grunt, like one stirred in a deep sleep; and then i knew 'twas all right, for creech's jaws cracked in a yawn, and, retiring to his corner, he flung himself down. from where i lay, and by the faint light of the lanthorn, i could perceive him turning the casket over in his fingers, and presently he popped it in the straw beneath him, and, laying his head upon it, disposed himself for the night. to this point the affair had gone very well, but i must now wait until dan was nodding, and a little more than that too. so the better part of two hours elapsed before i made a movement. then, pulling myself cautiously into a sitting posture, i listened. the barn reverberated with the noise the two cullies made; there was little doubt about creech this time. i rose, still as a spectre. the light flickered upon dan's body; and very slowly i drew near. i warrant there was never a mouse so quiet as me as i bended over him, with my fingers in the straw. pah! the job was easy enough done, for all it was so furtive. for, the box proving hard to his neck, his head had slipped away, and there was no need to disturb him in extracting it; and, more by token, when i had inserted my fingers, they came upon a bag of goldfinches too, the which, as i recalled, was in our pact. and so with exceeding wariness i fetched both of 'em out, and only a quiver upon dan's features to mark for it. that accomplished, i tripped it to the door, which i unlatched gently. now all was going well enough, and i should have had the booty without more ado than a sharp time in the frost; only who should intervene, unexpected, but the fat sneak kettle, upon whom, prowling round the barn after some dirty business of his own, i stumbled over the threshold. the shock sent me back against the door, which fell to with a loud bang, and what with that and with the alarm kettle made, creech and the others were upon their feet and wide awake in a moment. knocking the innkeeper aside, with a curse on him for his interference, i slipped forth of the yard and made forthright for the wood. but creech was sharp enough too. he bellowed with rage, and came roaring upon me with his pair of rascals at his heels. there was little enough to spare between us, though the dark was on my side. but then again 'twas the dark that made against me too; for, mistaking my direction, i ran into the forest upon the side away from calypso, and shortly found myself in a wilderness of coppice, scarce able to move a yard for the undergrowth about me. creech was not far off, for i could hear him breaking through the wood and yelling at the top of his voice. i reckon there was never a cully in such a taking afore. but i was not yet quit of 'em--not by any means; for here was i, uncertain of my position, and wanting a nag to carry me safe out of their hands. and the worser part of it was, that creech was pretty sure to happen upon the mare in his wanderings. still there was nothing further to be done at this juncture for the noise of my advance would be heard, and so i lay very still in the brake for upwards of an hour. by that time the night was yielding, and the dawn came up in a thin white mist, that stretched like a counterpane upon the forest. overhead heavy-bellied clouds were labouring in clumsy flight towards the west. i knew creech would not have given up; but 'twas foolish to remain longer in concealment, and so very circumspectly i crept through the wood towards t'other face of the barn, where, i guessed, calypso was tethered. calypso was there, sure enough, but so was someone else; and had it not been that i proceeded with such stealth, he must have overheard the sounds of my progress. creech knew me too well to suppose i would have left the roan to him, and there he sat upon his haunches, just afore me in the bracken, with his eyes on the nag. not a twig stirred as i approached, and my steps fell noiselessly upon the grass, for here the forest was more open. and thus i came within spring of dan, when drawing a pistol, i suddenly walked out of the bushes with the most unconcerned air you can imagine. creech turned sharply, but the nozzle of my barker was at his forehead. "ah, danny, danny!" says i, "you would not rob a poor young fellow of his mare!" creech turned white with rage, and swore horribly. "hush, danny, hush!" says i. "think on your immortal soul, danny, and forego wicked words--also," says i, "those ugly weapons, being the instruments of an evil life." dan said nothing, but i meant to take his fangs out, and so brought him to sharply with the pistol. "drop 'em!" says i briskly; and with another furious oath creech threw his barkers to the ground. after that i had gathered them up, says i again, very cheerful, "and now, danny," i says, "'tis time for an innocent young fellow like me to be getting home to his mammie; which being so, with your kind help, faith, i will e'en venture to mount the nag, me and my treasure," and i slapped the box underneath my coat. creech was livid, and his eyes glared on me full of the devil; but i kept him under with the pistol, and drove him, sullen, up to calypso. vaulting into the saddle, i turned and took off my hat to him, with a mocking tongue; but in that instant, whenas my back was towards him, dan had skipped into the thicket, and now i heard him scrambling through the bushes, yelling and whistling as he went. i was not afraid of him or his creatures, but i did not design to be caught, and so set calypso's heels to work. but just as i did so there came up a clatter of hoofs from the yard near by, and i knew that creech was upon my track. calypso flew forward like a swallow, and at the same moment the noise of a pistol spread echoes abroad, and a bullet snipped a corner from my hat. that was my signal to be gone. "come, my girl," says i; and the roan, leaping to the rowels, sped down the narrow pathway in a gallop. the track was as lean as a gutter, and sloped very sharply; the bushes, too, pressed hard upon it, and 'twas not the least of my hazards to come down that descent at a breakneck speed. but i knew well enough that the pursuit would be instant, and that creech was in too black a rage to pick his footsteps. so i kept the nag to her pace, and on she rushed, floundering from side to side, swaying against the bushes, and slithering over the smooth rocks. i held her up with the reins, and more than once saved her from coming down upon her prats; and once she took me sudden under the overhanging bough of a tree, which fell so low that the sight of it set me a-blinking. but or ever i was past my doubts we were through, and the mare was clattering for the high road. not until we reached this did i pull in, and twist about in my saddle to inspect what was forward. creech and his men were not yet forth of the wood, but i could hear 'em pounding away down the path, and guessed that they were none so far away. but for that i cared not a groat, for calypso was staunch and fleet, and more than a match for any horse in the shires. so, pulling her round upon the belbury road, i urged her into a gentle canter. i reckon that they must ha' been amazed, when they were come to the highway, to see me no more than half a mile away, and jogging along as easy and unconcerned as you please. but that was in my device, for i had no animosity against such a braggart fool as creech, and, as i have said, i was tickled by a pretty touch of humour. so on i cantered, and creech and his two lads behind me, very much excited, as i conceive, by the prospect of overtaking me. that, however, was not my notion; and no sooner were they drawn within shot than i put the spurs into calypso and forged out of range again. this manoeuvre i repeated several times, till their faces must ha' been yellow with chagrin. if they had entertained but a grain of reason about 'em, they might have seen as i was merely playing with 'em. and maybe they did; but creech had no stomach for defeat, and, being now a veritable cauldron of passions, stuck as close to me as he might. and thus we galloped, the four of us, at length into belbury. here i dropped into a canter, and coming to a halt afore a little inn in the main street, i flung out of the saddle and opened the stable yard. t'others were not yet round the corner, and so, tethering calypso to a stake in the wall immediately below a window in the upper floor, i bade the ostler give her a bite where she stood, and hurried into the hostelry. i was now, as you may conceive, possessed of a roaring appetite, and ordered breakfast forthwith to be served in the said upper room. and no sooner was i got there and set comfortable upon a seat, than the three horses came thundering down the road and drew up with a plunge before the doorway. i laughed at that, for i knew they were too drunken with rage to think straightly; and i had half a mind to invite danny to breakfast. sink me, but the ninnies thought that they had nicked me! for presently after, up comes the innkeeper with the breakfast, but bearing a message for me, from "three gentlemen below, as, saving my presence, would be glad for to breakfast in my company." lord, how it set me laughing! "why," says i, "if they be honest folk, benjamin, by all means." "they have ridden hard," says he, hesitating. "why, so have i," i answered; and then, but still with reluctance, he was departing, when i suddenly fetched him back. "has the coach been long gone?" says i; for though 'twas early i knew the next stage was long. "'tis gone half an hour," says he. "that is well," i thinks to myself, and, dismissing him with a nod, i threw open the window and looked down into the yard. there was calypso, ready bridled, and munching her oats beneath me. that too contented me, and i sat down and handled my knife. it was a little time afore any feet ascended the stairs, and then at last the handle turned and in tramped creech, all alone, with a look of triumph fastened on his ugly face. it was clear they had had some parley outside, and he was set to beard me. i rose to my feet, and making him a deep bow, waved my fingers at a chair. "pray you, sit down," said i, very ceremonious; "i takes it kindly of you, danny, to come for to cheer up an old friend like this. 'tis poor fare to a nobleman such as you, but suitable enough for a humble man like me." creech scowled, for he had not looked for me to talk in this fashion, i warrant. "you're game is up, my precious cully," he said savagely, "and you'd best put a pleasant phiz on you and give in." i glanced at the clock. "i think not, danny," i says softly; "there is some mistake, sure. there's ten more hours to run--a pleasant little holiday for all three. and, by the way, where are my friends ned and blake? i don't see their handsome faces." creech grinned in a sour way. "you'll make their acquaintance soon enough," says he. "oh! waiting outside, eh?" says i. "bashful, eh?" "yes," says creech, showing his teeth. "just waiting outside on your convenience, captain; just awaiting for to help your honour into the saddle." "you overload me with favours, danny," says i, going on with my breakfast undisturbed. but creech's temper was too constrained to carry the jest further, and he broke out harshly,-- "hark 'ee, dick; why the hell d'ye pull such a long face over the job? what does this play-acting do? bah! out with the casket, and we'll split a bottle on it." forthwith i put my hand under my coat, and fetching out the casket set it on the table afore me. upon that i placed the bag of guineas, and atop of all a brace of pistols. "come and take 'em," says i, mimicking creech's own words to me. "come and take 'em, danny. here they are.--rip me, danny, where's your grit?" he swore abominably, and made a step to me; but slipping my fingers over a barker, i cocked it. dan drew back and gazed doubtfully at the door. i knew what was passing in his mind, and how he was meaning to set the other tykes on me; but i said nothing, merely replacing the baubles in my pocket. this distracted creech again, and he yelled,-- "give 'em up, you young hell-hound!" i laughed, and at the laugh creech's temper snapped, and he flung himself upon me. he was no coward creech, though mighty judicious out of his rage. but his leap availed him little now, for plump goes my pistol on his skull, and down he comes to the floor. i walked to the window. "good-bye, dan," i said. creech, scrambling to his feet, with his eyes agog, made as though to follow me, and then sprang at the door, screaming to his men. but i was already out of the window ere he had reached the stairs, and dropping silently upon calypso, cast her free. another instant more, and, the gates of the yard opening, calypso shot past the inn, and, gathering her knees under her belly, was sweeping out of belbury at a gallop. i was already a quarter of a mile away, when glancing behind, i saw them making a start, for they were in no wise prepared for my diversion, and were thrown into confusion thereby. but now they came abreast for me at their hardest, for all of which the roan held her own without any difficulty. in this way the chase sped into the open plain beyond belbury, creech clinging like a leech, as i knew he would, to the smell of the gold. half-way across the moor i stopped and listened. there, for sure, was what i wanted right ahead of me; and so, clapping back my heels, i galloped over the rise afore me, and came down into the hollow, where the coach was rumbling along like a blowsy bluebottle. 'twas rolling and lurching and pitching, like as if 'twas a cockle at sea, and i soon overtook it and hailed the driver. he looked at me suspiciously, but reined in his horses, and i pulled the mare across the window. "why," says a piping voice, that i recognised, "bless me! here is our young gentleman again." i gave the old mawkin a wink, and glanced round the company. there was hoity-toity, as plump and proud as you please, leaning back against the cushions with her nose in the air. "your ladyship," says i, addressing her politely, "i trust that you have enjoyed your night's rest to the full." "i am in tolerable health," says she shortly, but eyeing me in some wonder. "life, your ladyship," says i, very sententious, "is full of reverses, best forgot; and the most excellent intentions are fraught with the most woeful issues." "oh!" she broke in coldly, "if you are come to recount your failure, your time is ill spent. in truth, i had not remembered your face till this good gentleman spoke, and i had never a thought for your errand." but if i was in any doubt about my business, it was that ungracious speech disposed of it; and, saying no more, i drew the casket from my pocket, and, bowing low to the saddle with a great air of ceremony, passed it to her. "if i am remembered in your ladyship's sneers," i says, "i beg it shall be along of those young gentlemen of blood you talk of." but here i glanced along the road, and there was the noise of hoofs coming over the hill. "and i pray," said i, turning again to her, "that you will now, as always, accept the accidents of fortune with better submission." i saw that the fat merchant had been eager to speak for some time, and now he jumped up and opened his mouth wide. but i laughed, and, sweeping my hat to the saddle, pulled off the mare and left 'em, with the lady staring in an amaze at the casket on her knee. "drive on," says i to the coachman; and, slapping the leaders with the flat of my sword as i passed, i spurred calypso across their noses and out upon the furze-grown common. as i did so, there was creech and blake clattering up on their blown nags. crack goes the coachman's whip, and the horses plunged forward; but by that i was out of sight behind a clump of trees upon the heath, where, pausing, i looked back. the noise of a great commotion reached me; and there, as i guessed, stood creech with t'others about the coach. i reckon that the passengers would have short shrift with that angry party. i watched 'em for a while, with my sides a-shaking for laughter, and then put the nag to a trot across the common. dan, i vow, must have been astonished. but 'twas a pretty even division after all; for i kept the goldfinches and creech resumed his jewels, whereas hoity-toity had the privilege to take a lesson in manners. the turtle-doves 'tis not the first face of a predicament that is always the right aspect, and men may, as often as not by holding their peace, come at the heart of the matter, always provided there is naught in the case to make the blood sing. now in a pretty lively turn of life on the road i have met many types, and some of these such characters as you would scarce credit; but 'tis not always that they are conjoined thus in their odd individualities with a stirring episode; and hence i pass them by in these accounts of my career. nevertheless there was in the meeting with sir damon boll that which pleased me mightily, at least in the end. indeed, 'twas a rare piece of chicanery from the outset, what time i left the boar's head in a chaise and two horses of my own for epsom, like any gentleman with an important journey of his own before him. and so in truth i had, for i was to set up for my lord, if you please, with a lackey and all; but the affair, though 'twas humorous beyond fancy, enters not into this adventure. it was enough that the thought tickled me on my road out of southwark, going by camberwell and newington, and i was in a fair good humour as we rocked along the ruts that sharp november evening. when the postilion was come out by streatham and was for making across the heath, the moon, that was half and bright, struck into the lowering clouds, and the open waste glowed of a sudden swiftness. the window of the chaise was open and the air streamed in, but i could make out little with my peepers because of the blackness. and here there was a savage rocking of the body of the chaise, and a cracking as of a wheel against something. so popped i forth my head and roared to the postilion, cursing him for his clumsiness, and he cursing back at the horses; and between us there was a pretty commotion. for here was a nobleman (save me!) upon his travels with a damned dung-fork of a rascal on whom he might let loose his tongue and be not questioned. that was how i phrased it to myself, being not as wroth as i seemed, but indeed enjoying to feign it; when withdrawing my head, as we were got back again upon the track, i espied a blacker shadow in the blackness about the heath. it held my eye a moment, for i knew it well enough to be the figure of a man, and then it darted into nearer view; and the light, bettering at the same instant, showed me a fellow with a hat askew on the back of his head, a heavy pistol at the stand-and-deliver, and a face under a dark mask at the chaise's edge. "hold!" says he loudly to the postilion, and catches at the horse nearest. the frightened fellow pulled in, and says this night-bat, as boldly as you will, and as cheerfully, poking his barker through the window, "now, my good sir, pray do not dally, but hand out forthwith. dalliance, my dear sir, is the spirit of my lady's chamber, not of snapping sharp winter nights like this. disgorge, my buck, disgorge!" now you will conceive it was an odd situation for galloping dick to be thus waylaid and handled after the manner of his own craft, though this was not the first occasion that it had happened. but to that you will add this, that there was that in his air, as in his voice, and in the very swagger of his challenge, which showed me here was no ordinary tobyman. so says i to myself, silently gazing in his pistol: "what have we here?" and then aloud said i: "sirrah, what do you?" in a lordly tone. "faith," says he, not lowering his pistol, but speaking in a rollicking way, "be not my words plain, brave knight, or must i make 'em bark? i require of you all that you have in the chaise, barring what i will spare you out of charity, your clothes and cock-hat for the sake of shame." "oh!" said i, in a hesitating way, "then are you a gentleman of the road, rascal?" "you honour me to put a name upon me," said he, with an inclination of his head. "for myself, i should desire to go unnamed, so as to escape the perils of the law." "i will tell you this," i broke out in seeming indignation, "you shall be well hanged--that's your destiny." "maybe," said he, carelessly. "as well be picked by crows on a gallows as in a ditch. deliver, my lord." "i ask your indulgence, captain," said i, in another voice; "there is a packet i would fain keep--" "pish! i must have all or none," he interposed. "yet i am in a mood to indulge you, so be you give me your hand on paper that i took all off you." this made me perpend, for my wits are sharp, and i began to guess that this was maybe by way of a wager, and that the fool was rattling the dice on his life. "i will do that," said i, after a pause, "if you will let this document that is important to none but myself remain. i have sixty guineas also." "hand 'em over," says he, in a jocose way. his pistol was still at my head, and i made search for my purse and gave it to him, the which he pocketed without so much as examining it. "and for this warranty," said he, "i have quill and paper;" whereat i knew that i was upon the right thought. he put a hand into his pocket, but being by now unsuspecting that he had any to deal with save a mild sheep, he paid little heed to his earlier precautions; and the next i had his pistol hand in my clutch. he was taken aback at the first, but struggled gamely, though (lord save us!) he was no match for me. with a twist of the wrist his pistol fell to the road with a dull clank, and presently i had the door of the chaise open and was gripping him in the darkness. and now 'twas my barker that was against his forehead. "i was mistook," said i, as he came to a pause in his struggles, "and 'tis not the gallows will have you, sure, but this cold barrel o' mine. and so say your prayers." he uttered a little reckless laugh. "oh, i will spare you them," says he; "doubtless you're in haste to be on." "come," said i, "off with that mask," and i knocked it clean off his face with the pistol, just as the moon emerged in her full whiteness. 'twas a young man, well-formed, and of a handsome bearing, that stood before me, and i saw that his features were disfigured by a cynical smile. yet there was in that expression, as i judged, something impulsive and full-hearted that took me. i contemplated him. "you're no tobyman," said i. "a tobyman would think shame to be took as i took you just now." for answer he whistled, and then, "good my man, get forward with your job," said he. "i have cast and lost." "why," said i, lowering my barker, "i know 'twas along of a wager this was done, and so bungled." he threw me a glance under the moon without offering to run. "how know you?" he asked. i shrugged my shoulders. "rip me," said i, "when a gentleman of the road takes the road (save he be in liquor) 'tis for a serious purpose, and that's guineas. he walks with a proper gait; he's no come-lightly. but you--" i came to a pause. "you're wrong," said he, "'twas no wager." "oh, well," said i "'tis a pity that so fit a youth should go woo the triple beam, and i find it in my heart to give you a chance. what say you? your story for your life." he thought a moment. "agreed," said he. "'tis no harm and no good to no one. if your ears itch you shall have it." "then 'tis sealed on that," i replied, and happened to look away a moment from him. in the moonlight the heath emerged dimly, and i descried near a patch of bushes a waiting figure. "so," said i, "that is your game, my master. you bring confederates, and accept of my terms to betray me. damme, but i will shoot ye both where ye stand or run." now, i was broke out very furious, for it seemed to me that i saw the whole purpose of this ambush very clearly, and i raised my pistol as i spoke. "what's that?" said he, suddenly, and stared at me, and then away to where my eyes had gone. but at that instant the waiting figure took to its heels and ran in a white light, limping as it ran till it vanished swiftly into the darkness. "by the lord, crookes!" said my tobyman. "so," said i, not now realising where i was, but feeling cautiously ahead. "and who may crookes be that's such a white-liver?" "'tis sir damon's servant," said he, and added: "'tis in the tale and the bargain." "in that case," said i, "let's have the tale and the bargain ere my mind shifts, as it is apt to do of a cold november night." he shrugged his shoulders. "you have the advantage, and 'twill hurt nor harm none. sir damon boll is uncle and guardian to a young lady who returns me my passion. but he will none of the match, being anxious to dispose of her to a certain lord. this evening i besought him to acquiesce in our betrothal, but he refused. "'if it be money' said i. ''tis not money,' says he, with his grin. 'if it be place and position,' said i again, but again he interrupted me. ''tis neither,' says he. 'ye're well enough, man, but who weds my niece must prove himself. ye're a young gentleman of the town,' says he. 'when i was young we was wont to be more than that; and, by god! young man,' says he, 'ye shall have her if ye rob a coach or carry stand-and-deliver to a chaise.' 'what mean you?' said i, not knowing what he meant. 'if so be,' said he, speaking more slowly, 'you shall have spirit and temper enough to take all that is within a traveller's chaise this night you have my word you shall have my niece.'" "well," said i, seeing he paused. "well, here i am," said he, and laughed discordantly. "come, 'tis a very proper and romantic comedy," said i. "and why d'ye suppose he gives you this chance?" he shook his head. "i know not," he said. "and why d'ye suppose this crookes, sir damon's man, if that be his name, is hanging about?" he started. "i never thought of that," said he. "well," said i, deliberately, "it means if i was you, young cockerel, i would think twice ere i put faith in sir damon boll. he hath you in a cleft stick." "you mean--" he asked anxiously. "why, are you not took in the act?" i replied; "took with a red hand. and why runs that rogue back to his master? he hath followed you." "damnation!" says he, starting, and looks at me. "upon my heart," i said, "ye're a pretty fellow to take to the roads, with no more prudence or care about you than a sucking dove. if i mistake not, down flies this crookes with news of your discomfiture, as he would also have been witness to your success; and presently maybe up comes sir damon to gloat upon you. oh, i have a fondness for such deep, ripe rascals, stap me, i have!" he stood moodily fiddling with his fingers, a frown on his brow. "well?" said he at last inquiringly, and smiling defiant. "well," said i, "i think i will have a look at this sir damon, and gads me! if there be not the sound of a vehicle. would ye like another fling at the high toby?" he looked at me in wonder, and i winked. "should this be sir damon--" he whistled. "now, damme," he cried briskly, "ye're the gamest cock that ever crowed out of whitehall." "well, let's go to meet him and seek what we shall find," i said, for i did not want that the arriving carriage should come up with mine; and so bestowing an order on my wondering fellow; we walked back briskly upon the london road. the night was still relieved by the pale moon that shone through the naked oaks behind us, and we could perceive the huddle of a chaise separating out of the darkness a score or two of yards away. "'tis his livery," says my friend, "'tis his coach for sure." "well, may i perish, but he runs a hazard this night, does this said sir damon," i said with a laugh, and i took him by the arm. "look you," says i, "you were but a bantam, with a bantam's voice yonder. you shrilled too high, damme, for your spurs. if you would venture another main, take heed to one that knows, and keep your eyes straight--as straight as your weapon. with level hands and eyes, rot me! i would be afraid of nothing under heaven save stalking ghosts and ill-willing witches. set on, man, if so you have a mind, and i'll wager you will go through with the adventure." "gad!" says he, with his laugh, "i will pluck him bare for his pains, and enjoy it. i am your debtor, sir, for this night's topsy-turvy." just then the chaise rocked into the faint light before us that stood in the darkness of the trees, and he made a step forward, halted as if in doubt, and then dashed at it, shouting in a loud voice to the postilion. but i lay close in my earth, like an old fox, watching of 'em. well, the chaise was at a stand-still, and there was a hubbub, as you may fancy; for the old gentleman was come out to see a highwayman took, and not to be rumpadded himself. but he was of a stout spirit, and though there was my young gentleman at the window with his barker, and his mask that he had refitted on him, i could descry a white head poked forth and a voice exchanging words sharply. "deliver!" says my man. "deliver! i will see thee damned first," says the spirited old bubblyjock. "i regret the necessity," says my man, presently, but his barker drew nearer. "i will have this place scoured for you," said the old boy. "if you make more ado," says my man, amiably, "i shall be in the sad case of dabbling white hairs red." with that, seeming to recognise the folly of resistance, sir damon sank back in his seat. "what is't you want?" he asked in another voice. "'tis very simple," says t'other; "merely all that is in your chaise with you, save what clothes you sit in." and now that the man's head no longer blocked the window he pressed closer in, and at the same instant uttered an exclamation of surprise. and so i daresay did sir damon also, for he must have recognised by that saying with whom he had to deal; the which must have astonished him who came forth to see the young buck laid by the heels. but he gave vent to no sound just then, and 'twas my young gentleman of the toby who spoke. "i will be content with nothing short of all that is with you, sir," said he, in a gay voice, as of one well content with himself and destiny. "and first, your purse." well, he must have got that, for says he next, "now, your jewel-case;" and that too came out of the window in the ghost of a hand that was like a woman's for slenderness. "ye're prompt in payment, my dear sir," continues my friend, "for the which i thank ye as an exacting creditor. but you have still something by you." then comes in sir damon's voice, quite still and cool now. "you have all, sir--you have all. my word spells my honour, unless, indeed, you have changed your courteous intention about my clothes." "nay, i leave none bare," says he, "in particular to those wild winds. but i see you have company, and fair company too;" at the which, as you may guess, i pricked up my ears and moved forward a step out of the darkness. "well, sir," says sir damon from the coach, sharply, "would you rob the lady also?" "no," says he, with a laugh, "only of your company. i trust i am a gallant tobyman, if even upon compulsion. in truth i have no real liking for the business, but was driven to it of necessity. yet while i am in it i must e'en make what i can out of it. and since i must take all that is in the chaise, save yourself, my good sir, i will make bold with the lady if she will forgive me." hearing that, i could have slapped my thigh in my delight at his wit and quickness, for i began at once to see how matters stood. here was sir damon driving forth with his ward and niece, maybe with the intent that she should publicly witness with her own eyes the wretched plight and humiliation of her lover; and now that lover appears to discomfit her guardian and wrest her triumphantly from his arms. it was an excellent fine ploy and tickled me much; for, damme, 'twas after my own heart. but when he had spoken sir damon answers nothing for a time, and then seeing, i suppose, that he was beaten all round he says,-- "very well," says he, "i am, as i have assured you, my good scoundrel, a man of my word and honour. so what i have said i have said. you have now your wages, and shall have your reward, though i confess i had not anticipated it. but to-morrow 'tis my turn, for i too have an unexpected card in the game. and so, when the lady is safely alighted in this balmy air and on this cosy heath, at your disposal, i shall be obliged if you will order my man to drive on, so that i may finish this somewhat benighted journey in peace." this was, you will admit, a dignified surrender, and i could not but see that he was really at the advantage. for though the lad had won his wages and his bride, he was at the mercy of this man, as hard as satan, maybe, or as grim as death. and he would go hang on the beam for this night's work, if so be sir damon desired it, and this, you may conceive, was not a pleasant plight for the young fellow. but, bless you, he had no fears. he had won his bet, and he had handed forth his sweetheart, and was, i doubt not, all in a flurry of passion for the meeting. bah! this love turns men dizzy; it steals their wits more wildly than wine. let be! 'tis well enough in a way, but, rip me, if i would be so rankly stirred. the old cock had the advantage and knew it. he gazed out at the silly pair from his window with hard eyes and expressionless face, and shouted a command to his man, at which the chaise turned and began to move slowly towards london again. at that instant, seeing how awkward a face things wore, and being of a mind to see the stir through to the end, a notion flashed in my head and i came forward to the couple. miss i could not see, for she was in wraps, and she might have been a scullion-wench for all i could tell. but says i to him,-- "see you, take my coach and drive on to the nag by carshalton and there await me. i will deal with this lord chief justice myself;" and leaving 'em with no more words i ran after the departing chaise as fast as maybe. when i had reached it i rapped on the window, and out pops the old gentleman's white head once more. "another of you?" says he; "this place grows 'em like brambles," and would have discharged a pistol full in my face. "hold!" said i, "'tis your assistance i want, sir. i believe you have been rumpadded by a tobyman just now. well, i am in a like case, and was bound whilst he took you. but now he is gone off with my chaise, and i beg you will join us in pursuit. sure, sir," seeing nothing on his face but its pale mask, "we be enough, armed as we are, to overtake and bring him to account, especially that he hath with him now, as it seems, some go-lightly. but i cannot without my coach o'ertake them." he seemed to consider a little, scrutinising me. "well," said he, at last, "you seem a likely man in emergencies. if you are armed, as you say, and have the resolution, i do not know but the plan will fit in with my own. i had another design, but maybe both are admirable, and at least they will not conflict." so without more ado he invited me into the chaise, and then conceive me sitting in miss's place, the horse's heads turned again for the south, and sir damon and dick ryder chatting agreeably and affably together as they had been sworn friends or long acquaintances. at least 'twas i that chatted, and he was mostly silent in an amicable enough way, interjecting a question, or commenting with satiric humour, what time we lurched along towards ewell and epsom. but now you will have an inkling of my design when i say that if this old fox was permitted to return straightway to town he would no doubt set the officers on his enemy and have him forthwith lodged in the jug. maybe, thought i to myself, with a little trickery and a little persuasion of my own kind, that could be prevented and the boy have a run for his life at the least. so that was why we were jogging along the epsom road through a dark and miry night on the track (as he thought) of the runaways. presently, interrupting a tale of mine about jeremy starbottle, says he, bluffly,-- "we seem no nearer, sir. it would look as if your horses were superior to mine." "why," said i, in answer, "'tis odds they'll keep this road, for the sideways are foul and lead nowhither. moreover, they will not expect to be pursued. we shall fetch 'em presently." "very well," says he, lying back, "but i beg you will give me a little leave. i was shortened of my nap this afternoon." now this was a plain hint, as you see, for me to hold my tongue, but i took no offence, for there was no occasion. "sir," said i, "i am mum. i do not overstay my welcome," and i too lay back. for some time we proceeded in silence; but presently, the chaise jogging more than usual, he sat up. "it seems to me," said he, "that we are upon a wild-goose chase, we shall not catch him in this wilderness." "oh," said i, "he cannot be so far in advance--not he with my nags, i'll warrant." he looked at me doubtfully in the small light. "very well," he said at last, shortly, "we will try a little longer;" and he peered out upon the night if so be he might determine where we were. i looked out also, and now we were passing through carshalton, where i had bid the doves assemble for to meet me. but, damme, my business was not yet done, and the coach rolls creaking out of carshalton and on the way to epsom. this seemed to stir the old gentleman again to perplexity, for again he directed a look out of the window, and then another at me. i felt his gaze wander over me from top to boot as if he measured me. "you have fought abroad," says he at last. "not i," says i; and added to that, "there's too many that babble about these foreign wars. deliver us, a good english war is more to my taste, and better fighting too," says i. "ah!" says he, still coolly inspecting me, as if he cared not whether i saw him or not, "then you will have fought in his majesty's intestine wars?" said he. "what's that?" said i, turning on him. "no doubt," said he, suavely, "you have fought, sir, for his majesty king james against the unfortunate duke of monmouth." "who gave you leave to suppose i have fought at all?" said i, sharply, being irked by his persistence. "i am no fighting man, but one of peace." "oh," says he, "but i took you for a soldier and a captain-at-arms at least. and indeed i believe you would have furnished material for a good soldier." he surveyed me meditatively. "yes, i'll promise that; good material, sir, sound fighting stock, and no splitting straws or scruples." "damme," said i, bluntly, "what d'ye mean?" he sank back in his seat. "i mean no offence," said he, "but i think as 'tis shrewd to-night i will e'en turn about for home." "nay," said i, masterfully, "you must not do that since we are come so far. let us finish the adventure, sir, and not leave hold of it. 'twould never do. we will be catching of 'em by the heels presently." he pursed his lips together, as if he whistled under his breath, and there was a pause, while the noise of the chaise drowned all sound about us. but my senses are not sharp for nothing, and next i was aware of a glint of light upon steel, for the moon as we rocked swayed in at the window, and i guessed that he was bringing his pistol from under his cloak. i pulled forth mine abruptly. "yes," says i, "'tis as well to be prepared, sir. i am glad you are so forward. we may have a fall-to when we encounter, but i'll warrant ye're as good with your barker as i with mine." "i hope so," said he, without betraying any feeling. "i do earnestly hope so; even, sir, to be a little better would be to my taste. as you say, we may come to an encounter soon, and 'tis as well to be prepared." now the old buck puzzled me, and i perpended. if he had any suspicion that this was not a genuine pursuit, and i was other than i had feigned to be, why sat he there silent and cool? but if he had no scent of danger what was the significance of his words, which did smell to me of the ironic? it angered me to be so baffled by him and his quiet features; but i did not well see what i might do or say just then, and so kept silence like himself. and indeed 'twas he broke it. "we must be drawing nigh ewell, so far as i may guess," he said. "would you be good enough to tell me what course you propose when we reach ewell? if i might without impropriety make a humble suggestion, i would advise that we ate some supper and lay there comfortably for the night, to resume this interesting journey doubtless on the morrow, or perhaps the next day." with that i saw at once how it was, and i gave vent to a little laugh. "why, you shall do as you please, sir," said i, "and that plan will serve me admirably." "ah!" says he, looking at me, "then maybe there is something amiss with it. suppose we come to an understanding. i think you are too young, and i am too old, to want to die by violence. we both have a taste for life, i take it. where stand we then? we are pursuing a gentleman of the road--" "pardon me," said i, interrupting, for the time was come now to disclose myself, and i looked to be mightily tickled by the disclosure, "no longer pursuing, but maybe even pursued." "pursued!" he asked doubtfully. "well, at least we are some miles ahead of the turtle-doves that are cooing, maybe, somewhere safe and sound behind us." his eyes never changed; only the thin lips moved a little. "ah!" says he, "the turtle-doves! i had some notion--but who then are you, my dear sir?" "i am but a philosophic observer," said i, airily. "'tis my business to look on and smile. i take no part in the rough acts of fortune." "pardon me," said he, suavely, "but i think you are too modest, captain." "captain!" said i, sharply. "well, well, i had forgot you were no soldier. you have the air of a soldier, and the makings, as i have remarked. but, sir, let me tell you, you are too modest. this journey, for example--" "oh, that was my whim," said i. "i interposed out of a benevolent heart, for to serve two young folks fond of billing and to make an illustrious acquaintance for myself." he bowed in his corner. "i trust you will not make a more illustrious acquaintance still," he said dryly. "why," said i, for i knew what he meant, "you forget that at your invitation i am here in pursuit of our common enemy." "true," he said, considering. "it has a smooth face upon it. i perceive you, sir, to be a gentleman of your wits." now 'twas my turn to bow, and indeed he was not wrong, for it has ever been my good fortune to find a way out of a difficulty when others would stand agape, like oafs and asses. but he went on, in his still voice: "but now that i see our friend, the common enemy, as you put it, enjoyed a confederate, it appears i must reconsider the circumstances. in fine, his wager fails--" "i am no confederate," i broke in. "and thus there is no necessity that he receive the penalty which i had designed as a wedding-present for him," he finished, not appearing to heed me. "sir damon, i have told you that i am but an onlooker," said i. he elevated his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. "rip me," said i, angrily, "i never clapped eyes on the fellow till the quarter-of-an-hour ere you came up, and i will be damned if i should tick him off from adam did i see him again." "you perceive that you are rehabilitating the penalty," he remarked dryly, and i could see he did not credit me, which made me angrier. "by the lord," said i, "i have the honour to tell ye that the young muckworm rumpadded me in my chaise just as you were come up--damme, he did, if it were not that i turned his barkers on him." sir damon eyed me and then all of a sudden broke out into soft laughter, as if he were greatly tickled. "is't so?" said he. "the lord love him for a simpleton! faith, i could forgive--" he chuckled quietly, and then looked at me again, still smiling. "you know, sir, what penalty menaces them that abduct or hold a ward from her guardian?" "'tis a guardian i have abducted from his ward," said i. he laughed quietly. "very well," said he, "let us leave it at that." and then, "you know, sir, what a fool the fool is?" "he is no tobyman," said i. "'tis commensurate with his life in general," said sir damon, easily. "he is born tom-fool and has two handsome, dancing eyes." he paused. "i will not maintain," says he next, "that for happiness wisdom is necessary, or even adequate. i have not found it so myself, nor perhaps you, friend--captain?" "in that case," says i, "repay a fool with his folly, which is marriage." "then we are agreed," said he, genially. "i too am a bachelor. and now that we are agreed on one thing, captain, mr--" he hesitated. "ryder," said i. "mr ryder," said he, "let us be agreed all along the line. if i forego the penalty--" "i will treat your worship to as damnable a fine supper and bottle as was ever served in england," i interrupted, "and we will drink to the turtles at carshalton." "carshalton," he says reflectively. "i had an idea 'twas carshalton, but your pistol was persuasive." "well, sir," said i, "here is ewell, and in a tavern that i know we shall be hospitably received and used this foul night." "good," says he, preparing to alight as the chaise came to a stop, "and pray bear in mind, mr ryder, that i am penniless and homeless." "damme," said i, heartily, "ye're welcome to all that's mine, and that's not beggary; and, damme, while i can keep such company i envy not the turtle with his mate at carshalton." he was now in the road, and he turned. "nor i, ryder, nor i," he said pleasantly. my lady's ring as i wheeled the mare out of the gateway into the gloom of the night the lighted windows of the inn winked on me with yellow eyes. a cold sleet was falling, very piercing to the flesh, and i rolled my collar higher about my neck. it came upon me then that i was a fool to leave that warm and comfortable tavern on such a savage night; but 'twas christmas eve, and seven of the clock, and i was for bristol on the following day, where was a doxy that i knew, as pretty a parcel as ever i did see, saving polly scarlet, and she was in london. the landlord had joined me in a bottle well-laced with brandy, and being of a lively and generous disposition had furnished another himself. 'twas a lonely inn that stood on the border of the moor, and says he that he was mightily gratified to be in company. so 'twas with a full belly and a merry heart that i turned into the welter of the night. 'twas rarely cold, and i whistled as i went, though the breath of my nostrils went up like reek. now i was in the mind, being amply loaded and light-spirited, to be amiable with the devil himself, if so be he should come that way, though 'twas, for sure, not the night for him. certainly i was not thinking of rumpadding any mortal man, but would have taken him to my bosom for a fellow-traveller. for 'tis a vulgar error to suppose that gentlemen of the road are for ever with an eye to goldfinches. money is muck for us as often as not, at least to such of us as maintain a proper dignity. but as for dan creech and his lousy pack, or that much-boasted jeremy starbottle, why, they are no better than common cutpurses or tally-thieves. no; to ride the high toby has its obligations as well as its privileges, and on that christmas eve, damme, the whole world and his wife might have gone secure for me. well in this humour, despite of the night, i rode on, sometimes at a jog, but mostly at a walk, for the snow was heavier as i reached the moor. upon the stretch of broken land it lay uneven, for i suppose 'twas caught by the rough winds on that upland heath and blown into the hollows, and upon the furze and thorn. but the continuous spread of whiteness had absorbed the road, and calypso had to feel her way mighty patiently. 'twas thus we arrived at the cross-roads near the middle of the moor, where the ways divide 'twixt bollingham and messiter; and reining in on the impulse, to make sure of my path, i perceived even through the blackness another figure on horseback under the sign-post. "is't anyone?" says a voice, pretty clear. "ay," says i, "'tis a traveller." "is there a village near by?" says he out of the dark. "within three miles two upon either road," said i. "i am bound for bath," says he, "and have met with a mishap this cursed night," and began to deliver oaths as they had been sword-thrusts in a duello. now i can tolerate a man that has been put to sore discomfort and is enraged, and as for a few mouth-filling oaths, why, they are neither here nor there. but there was something in the way of his voice, manner and address that grated on me, and so i answered him pretty coolly. "well, you can take your choice of roads with an easy heart," i said. "look ye here," says he, after a moment. "from what i catch of you through your voice, my man, you should be a sturdy fellow. what think you of carrying a message for help to the village for a guinea-piece. 'twill serve you with good wine, mulled ale, or a doxy, i'll warrant." that maddened me for all my good humour, to be taken for granted as a common fetch-and-carry, and to be so addressed like a footboy by his grace. i heard insolence and overbearing in his accent, and i would have sworn patronage and contempt was in his face. "be damned!" says i, angrily, "i am no lackey. find your own village," says i. at that he uttered an oath. "you are impudent!" said he, and moved his horse nearer, as though he would take action. but, lord, i was awaiting him, and this muckworm would have eaten snow in two minutes had he so ventured. but prudence came to him, so he hesitated. "ye're the sort of man that is the better of the whip and the pillory," says he. "rogue, were it not for the darkness i would beat you for your insolence." "damme, what's amiss with the darkness?" said i. "for sure i can well make out your ugly body against the snow. 'tis a monstrous, unsightly blackness against so much innocent whiteness." he cursed me, and then dug his rowels into his nag so deeply that the poor beast started and reared. but that was enough for me, for i hate to see a creature that is so kindly in its services so mishandled; and so says i, driving at him,-- "rip me, you muckworm, i'll give you that which will recall this moor to you. deliver, damn ye!" says i, "or i'll make you food for maggots;" and i had the barker at his head ere he knew what had happened. well, he made much ado, but 'twas of no avail, for i had the mastery from the outset, and he was perforce obliged to plumb his pockets, the which yielded but a score of guineas and a ring or so. but that was of no consequence to me, for i had no care for his money, merely for his discomfiture, along of his arrogance. as i left him, foully imprecating, i threw a laughing word at him. "messiter," says i, "lies on the left, and bollingham to the right. turn round three times, my cock, and choose which you will," whereat i rode laughing into the darkness, yet ere i did so i saw him savagely wheel into the messiter road, cutting viciously at his horse. as for me, i rode on, singing cheerfully enough, for the encounter had warmed my blood, and i no longer felt the cold so greatly. but i had not got farther than a mile from the cross-roads when i was aware in the pause of my singing of a sound near by, of a voice that called on the unquiet air, very faint and melancholy. i reined in, and listened, and presently the cry came to me again from the right; and so, jumping off the mare, i left her in the road, standing obedient as she was used to do, and walked gingerly in that direction. i did not trust myself in that profound darkness and the treacherous snow, and, sure enough, i was right to be careful, for in a little i was plunged up to my waist in a hollow. "where are you?" i called aloud, and the voice, so clearly now a woman's, came back. i made my way to it with difficulty, and soon solved the riddle; here was a chaise wandered out of the road and buried in a deep drift, and by the body of the carriage a poor lady in the direst state of distress and terror. "why, madam," said i, "are ye alone?" at which she broke out that her husband was gone for help, as was the postilion, but in different directions, and that they had took the horses, and that she, poor delicate creature, was thus solitary on a naked and solitary moor, with never even a wild-fowl to scream with her for company. "oh," says i, "we will soon mend that, madam, or call me catchpole," and i took hold of her. "ye're in a drift, mistress," i said. "i'll give ye company, if ye will have it, until your husband shall return"--and then all of a sudden it flashed upon me that her husband was he who had abused me so grossly, and whom i had rumpadded. "phew!" says i to myself, "why, here's a pretty comedy." but the lady was all that occupied my thoughts just then, and so i conducted her to the road, and encouraged her into talk as i did so, for she was in a terrible fluster, what with the loneliness and the cold and the darkness. "now," says i, "what you need, madam, is a posset of hot brandy and a warm and virtuous couch," i says, "and with the help of my good nag here 'tis what you'll have." "oh, sir, you are very good," says she, tremulously. "you are good beyond christian seeming." that tickled me pleasantly, as you may think, and i was the more disposed to take charge of this poor creature thus left to starve of the perishing winds of heaven. it rains not clemency from december skies in this brisk isle of england. so says i, in a cheering voice,-- "i'll warrant you shall toast your toes and warm your stomach with victuals within the better part of an hour. faith, pin your hopes on me, mistress, and you shall not be disappointed. tis not the first time dick ryder has comforted and succoured the fair. there's dick's luck, madam." she smiled in a weak way, but began to take some confidence, as i could see from the new note in her voice. "is it far, sir, to shelter?" she asked, and i told her there was an inn some two miles distant, at which she plucked up her heart once more, not knowing (bless her folly) that two miles on that wild moor, and with that drift of snow, was no matter for spoon-fed babes. but as chance had it, she made the discovery pretty quickly, and that through no fault or neglect of mine. for i put her upon calypso--as gentle a mare, when needs be, as ever was straddled; and, sure enough, she was straddled now. for my lady could keep no seat otherwise, and so says i to her, if she would play the man for the nonce we should maybe be the sooner out of our troubles. 'twas then for the first time that i saw there was good blood and spirit to her; for instead of crying out in protest that she could not, or she would not, or that she dared not, says she,-- "oh, think you so?" and over she cocks her foot with the best grace in the world, and a charming genuflexion to boot. "i fear i trouble you greatly," says she. but, lord, with such an one (duchess or doxy, dame or dirty-face) i would have gone to the farthest verge of trouble and made no odds of it. 'tis spirit that ever has appealed to me. well, we were no sooner astir, calypso pegging slowly along with me at her mouthpiece, than there comes over us a flurry of snow, driving full and hard in our faces, the which blinded me for the time. but when i recovered the mare was gone from the road and had took a step into a hollow. she staggered, and plump goes the lady over her head into the drift. i hauled her forth, breathless as she was, and all she cried out when the wind was in her again was,-- "i fear i did not hold to her properly. i fear i am a bungler." "bless your heart, no," says i. "it would have took a king's regiment to have sat that fall. you do mighty well," said i, "and i'd wring his nose that said no to that;" with which i assisted her once more into the saddle. what with the drift and the darkness, and the squalls of snow, it was an hour and more before we reached the inn which lay on the road to bollingham. arrived here i rapped out the landlord, who was surprised to see me returned--"not but what you are wise," says he. but when he saw the lady and heard my tale he was, being a decent kindly fellow, all of a bustle. madam was all a-wet from her sojourn in the snow, to say nothing of her tumble, and so she was set afore a great fire in the ingle to dry herself, which she did with sincere appreciation, the while the host prepared supper. she sat there, her hands extended, drawing in deep breaths of comfort from the grateful blaze, and i watched her. twas the first i had seen of her face, which was of a delicate beauty, pink from the whipping wind, and crowned with disordered hair. i judged she was of a quality deemed proper in courts, and she was young withal. presently says she, looking round at me with bright soft eyes,-- "do you think," said she, "that my husband has reached safety?" "why, yes," said i, "for though he be not here, he may have taken the other road and be at messiter," the which i knew it was likely he had done. "oh!" said she, as if thinking, and said no more. but nearby after that supper was served, and madam was set to take in company with your faithful servant, by your leave! not but what i have not often supped with the quality, ay, and made merry with them too, man and woman, and of all ages; for we are served in our calling with strange accidents. yet i will confess that to be seated there at table with her tickled me handsomely, and i fell to with a will. but the lady showed little appetite, and had an anxious look, and thought i that she was troubled for her husband; but i soon made out that she was not so concerned, for said i, to stimulate her,-- "maybe he is supping like us in a cosy room at messiter." "oh!" said she, and i saw her mind had come back from another quarter. "he is like to sup and be comfortable wherever he is. he will emerge scatheless;" and there was that in her tone which was all but a sneer. "oh, well, damn the husband," says i to myself, "i take no interest in him;" and i gave my attention to the lady. the glow had now receded from her face, leaving it pale, according to what i took to be its true habit, and she answered in a pleasant and engaging way, with an emphasis of her gratitude for my assistance. but this i pooh-poohed in curt terms, for i was more than repaid for my trouble by the figure she cut over against the board, and the honour she did me. and i was in the midst of rebuffing her thanks for the third time when the door opened from the flagged passage and a man entered. he was followed by the innkeeper, suave and bowing, and the first thing was that madam says, in an even, pleasant voice,-- "so you are behind us after all, charles." at that i studied him the closer, for it must be her husband, and perhaps he that had put an affront on me, and i knew for certain who he was when he spoke. "it seems so," said he, scowling at me; and then "why did you not wait? i found you gone from the chaise." "it was so cold. i was chilled to death," she answered, "and this gentleman happened upon me, and was so good as to offer me his services for a rescue." he turned a glowering, arrogant eye on me, but said nothing at the moment, save a demand to the innkeeper to fetch mulled wine. now, 'twas clear he was in ignorance of my identity, and so i was emboldened to make trial of him, maybe, you will say, with some rashness; but i have ever found the boldest course is the wisest. "perhaps, sir," said i, "you will honour me with a share of this bottle in the meanwhile." he hesitated, and then lowered his eyes. "i thank you, no, sir," he returned briefly, and sat down to the fire to wait. his ungraciousness nettled me, all the more that he thus deranged the comfort of his own lady, who was manifestly put about by his incivility. seeing that he knew not i had rumpadded him he might have thrown thanks at me for her care, even if 'twere only as you may throw coins at a beggar. but not he. he sat and frowned, and then looked up at her. "the next time i pray you will have faith and patience to remain where you are set, my lady," says he, curtly. "why, husband--" she began, but i broke in, for i was infuriate with his grossness of manner. "look you, sir," said i, "would you have a tender lady bare to the snow and sour winds to await your convenience? sink me, i should be glad to think she was warming of her ankles, what fate soever came to mine." "your opinion," said he, pompously, and looking at me inquisitively, "is naturally of weight, sir." he was a full-faced, big-nosed man, with small eyes, and a hard mouth, but was manifestly of some dignity from his dress and style. "sir charles," says she, with a little pride in her voice, "you forget my plight. i should have perished but for this good gentleman." "humph," says this pig, puffing out his nostrils, and leaned over the fire to warm himself, but cast narrow glances at me. but here comes in mine host with the wine, and sir charles (if that was his name) sits to the table, and takes a draught, which served to loosen his tongue. "these roads," says he, "do no credit to your country, my man." "sir, they are such as we must endure," says the innkeeper. "they are a disgrace to any country," says he; "they are the haunt of thieves and cut-throats," he says, and thumped on the table. "why, i've heard of none, your honour," says the fellow. "i tell you, sir," he went on, "that no more than a mile or so from here i was stopped by a ruffian and robbed--yes, robbed, sir; and you boast of your secure roads. i am a justice and will see to it when i reach london." "lord, sir, you say not so?" said the innkeeper, and the lady called out in surprise, "robbed, charles; why, what is this?" "stopped and robbed," says the man, with emphasis on his words and looking from one to another of us. "stopped and robbed by a dastard with pistols and swords, when i had been looking for a friendly voice in the night and the snow--rings, guineas and all," he says, addressing his wife. "i have my purse," says she, fumbling in her bodice with nervous fingers. "i will bring down the law on this wretched place," he declared formidably, ignoring her. "i will see that his majesty's processes do clean these parts of the gentry, and of all who harbour them," he added, with suspicious beady eyes on the innkeeper. "nay, sir, there is no house on this road but what is honest," says he, hastily. "why," says sir charles, as importantly as if he were examining a prisoner, "this fellow must have come from here, and no doubt was in waiting for me. you cannot deny it." "there was none such here, sir, all the day," says the landlord, humbly; "there was none but honest folk." "ah, but how mark you the difference?" he asked triumphantly. "i ask you, how do you discriminate? does a man wear his virtue on his nose?" and at that, looking at his blobbed nose, i chuckled to myself, for i minded in no way that he was thus cross-questioning the taverner. lord, i would not have cared two sucking straws for such as he. so i broke in,-- "there is some that has an honest look," said i, "and there's some that wants it." "that is so," said the lady. "'twere easy to tell the difference." "you are very confident," said he, sourly, "and maybe then you could read the faces in this room, madam?" she glanced about her with a flush at his rudeness. "i think there is no question of this room," she answered. he said nothing, but shot a glance at me, and then took a draught of wine. "and how was it this kind gentleman happened upon you, betty?" he asked. "sir, 'twas a delicate voice, as of a lamb bleating in the cold darkness, that i heard, and went for to rescue," i answered him coolly. "oh!" he says, and looked at the table as if thinking. "and whence came you?" he asked bluntly. now it entered into my mind then for the first time that he had conceived a suspicion of me. it was true that his bearing might be part of his customary gross conduct, but 'twas possible that his questions were pursuing some point. and so, as the landlord was gone from the room, i said indifferently, "i am from bristol and go south for taunton." "ho!" he said, "then you came along the road after me?" "very like," i said with the same indifference. "i know not which way you came, as the chaise was buried deep in the drift." "that brings to my memory," said he, rising, "a neglected duty. the postilion must take aid to rescue the carriage;" and he marched to the door with his heavy gait and determined mien. when he was gone i looked across at the lady, but she avoided my eye, embarrassed (i made no doubt) by her husband's arrogant behaviour. and now i recalled that 'twas high time for me to be on my way after this interlude, and i put my hand into my pocket to bring forth a coin wherewith to discharge my reckoning. and i pulled out a handful of guineas. as i was picking out one i heard an exclamation, and raising my eyes, perceived that the lady was staring in astonishment at my hand. "where got you that?" she asked in an excitement, pointing with her hand. "where got you that ring?" and then to my chagrin i saw that i had pulled out some of the jewellery i had took from sir charles. "that?" says i, thinking to gain time. "why that?" "the ring i gave my husband," she almost whispered across the table, and her eyes met mine. in them suddenly arose a light of understanding, and of something else commingled. damme, i am not ashamed to ply the high toby, but there is some matters that do not concern women, and which they do not understand. she turned of a red glow to her neck. "what--you?" she murmured faintly. "it was you?" and i, like a fool, had never a word, but sat glum and still, staring at her. to look at her it would have seemed that she it was that had took the ring and been discovered. "oh, why did you that?" she asked in her low voice. "was it that you were in need?" "faith, no," said i, with a laugh, and never attempting to deny. "there's a plenty of king's pictures to my pockets. but if ye will have it, 'twas his voice annoyed me. i thought 'twas any man's duty and right to take toll of such complacency." she eyed me sadly, as i hate to be eyed. i can endure the devil's own temper, and a scold's tongue (for i have my own cure for them), but tears, and shining eyes, and melancholy looks--i cannot abide 'em. so says i gruffly,-- "ye are welcome to them back. i have no use for them. maybe 'twill teach him a lesson in manners, and that will serve;" whereat i turned the contents of my pocket upon the table and thrust them towards her. she sat looking at the gold and the jewels for some moments in silence, while i looked at her. she was, i'll warrant, a pious good woman, and though such are not generally to my taste, i can appreciate ripe goodness and beauty, and it irked me to think of her being bound with such a surly and unmannerly boar. but presently, with a start, she put out her hands and began to collect the pieces with fever in her haste, glancing fearfully at the door; and no sooner had she disposed of them than in stalks my portentous friend, with an ugly look on his phiz. "you come from bristol, sir," says he in a loud voice, "and maybe can explain why you set forth for taunton from this very house two hours agone by the bristol road?" i gave him a steady stare, for it was plain to me now how he had come by his information, and that he had been questioning the innkeeper about me. it mattered not a rap to me, for he could prove nothing against me, and even if he had, i would have kissed the beam if i could not have settled with that hulking dung-fork. so said i equably,-- "why the devil should i explain to you?" "well, to the justices, if you like it better," said he with an angry snort. "i had a notion that i recognised that voice, and now i know it for certain. you are the thief that made me deliver in the snow on the heath. you have stolen my guineas and my jewels." now, he had no witnesses against me, and it would have been the easiest thing in the world to have deceived him, and played him off, and got him into a tangle of fact and evidence and imaginings. but, bless me, ere i could get fairly started upon the sally the poor lady darts in and shoves the fat in the fire. "oh, charles," she cried trepidantly, going towards him, "this gentleman has preserved my life. i pray you forget not that. 'tis christmas eve," says she, "'tis the eve of our lord's birth, and should teach us mercy. sir charles," she says, poor thing, a-bleating, "as you hope for christ's compassion for yourself visit not this short-coming on one that has shown himself so full of tenderness and pity." "the devil!" thinks i to myself, pulling a lugubrious face. "she plays king's prosecutor to me. what's to do?" "stand aside," says he to her sharply, and glowering on me. but i looked him in the phiz with a smile; i was not incommoded by this silly business, not i. "you make no denial," said he, restraining himself with an effort, as i could see. "you are a ruffianly gallows-bird. you shall hang." "oh, charles," pleaded the poor lady in despair, "he has made restitution. here's all that was yours--rings, guineas and all. spare him, i implore you, for his kindness and consideration to me." "he showed me nice consideration," said he, with a sneer, for he was now confident and a-swagger; "we will dispose of him with as gentle a consideration, madam." and at that he moved to the door, i doubt not to summon the landlord; but i stepped in his way, for i was tired of his mustard looks and arrogance. "rot me," said i, "you mistake my kidney. if 'tis a gentleman of the road you have to deal with, you have yet to learn his quality." he drew himself up, while the lady looked at me breathless. he was a vastly bigger man than i, but i drew my toasting-fork. "madam," said i to the lady, "you have a great heart, but it breaks itself too readily. i would not have that ample heart for half the kingdom. i'll warrant it troubles you. here you be fretting yourself over this poor carcase which is worth no tears nor tremors, and moreover can look after itself; and i will swear you waste your blood and tissue on this same hulk that i must spit, damn him! sir," says i to the man, "if ye will stand aside i will learn you to toast or roast as you will, your toes and midriff, afore this fire; but if ye will not you shall taste the sawdust under the table. for i have an appointment in bristol, and i wait no man's pleasure." "you threaten me," says he, haughtily, and pulled out his sword. "oh, no," says i, "'tis but a plain statement. will ye go by or go down? choose ye." for answer he came at me, for the man was no coward, and did not lack spirit; and we were presently engaged in the discharge of thrusts. he plied his blade not unskilfully, but, lord, i have learned in a rough school, and 'twas not long ere i was under the cully's guard and took him in the ribs. he collapsed like a log, and the lady uttered a scream, and flying to him bent over him. i dropped my point. "faith, my lady," said i, "'tis no more than letting of some of that superfluous blood that animates him. 'twill fetch down his proud stomach, the which he needs. let him bleed. 'twill serve your turn also." "sir," says she, remembering me, even in her trouble and confusion, "you were best to go. fly, fly! 'twas not your fault. he attacked you. fly!" dear heart, there was none in those parts and on that night that might aspire to stop or catch dick ryder; but she knew not that, the innocent. i bowed to her. "give ye good cheer, madam," said i; "maybe i have served you better than ye think, first with the cold night, and second with the eclipse of this hot blood." she threw me a wistful, wondering and pitiful glance, and then a groan drew her attention to her husband and she stooped over him tenderly. at that i swung out of the door and sought my horse; and as i mounted calypso, says i to the innkeeper, who attended me all unconscious, "i have stuck a point in that muckworm's shoulder," says i, "and ye had better relieve the lady's fears; but," says i, as i rode off, "if i had stuck it in his gizzard, as i had a mind to do, 'twould have served her better." and with that i plunged into the wind and snow of the night. gallows gate 'twas two o'clock of a bright mild march day that i cleared st leonard's forest and came out upon the roads at the back of horsham. i was for london, but chose that way by reason of a better security it promised, which, as it chanced, was a significant piece of irony. horsham, a mighty quiet pretty town, lay in a blaze of the sun, enduring the sallies of a dusty wind, and feeling hot and athirst after my long ride i pulled up at an inn and dismounted. "host," says i, when i was come in, "a pint of your best burgundy or canary to wash this dust adown; and rip me if i will not have it laced with brandy." "why, sir," says he, "a cold bright day for horseback," and shakes his head. "damme, you're right," says i. "cold i' the belly and hot in the groin. here's luck to the house, man," and i tossed off the gallipot, though the brandy barely saved exceeding thin swipes that he had the impudence to pass for wine. "why, goodman, ye'll make your fortune on this," i said with a laugh and flung open the door to go out, when all of a sudden i came to a silence and a pause. "'tis the officers," says the landlord, who was at my ear. "gadslife, 'tis the sheriff's men from lewes." "lewes!" says i, slowly. "what be they here for?" "why," says he, in a flutter, "there was him that was taken for a tobyman by guildford. he was tried at lewes, and will hang." "if he be fool enough to be taken, let him be hanged and be damned," says i, carelessly. when i was got upon my horse i began to go at a walk down the high street, for though, as was according to nature, i was inquisitive about the matter i was too wary to adventure ere i was sure of my ground. and this denial of unnecessary hazards, as is my custom, saved me from a mishap; for as the procession wound along, the traps and the carriage between 'em, there was one of them that turned his head aside to give an order, and, rip me, if 'twas not that muckworm traitor and canter, the thief-taker timothy grubbe. i had an old score with timothy, the which i had sworn to pay; but that was not the time nor the opportunity, and so i pulled in and lowered my head, lest by chance his evil eye might go my way. as i did so, something struck on the mare's rump, and, looking back, i saw a young man a-horseback that had emerged from a side street. "whoa, there!" says i, cheerfully, "are you so blinded by march dust as not to see a gentleman when he goes by?" he was a slight, handsome-looking youth, of a frank face but of a rustic appearance, and he stammered out an apology. "why, i did but jest," i said heartily, "think no more on't, particularly as 'twas my fault to have checked the mare of a sudden. but to say the truth i was gaping at the grand folks yonder." he stared after the traps, and says he in an interested voice, "who be they? is it my lord blackdown?" now this comparison of that wry-necked, pock-faced villain grubbe to a person of quality tickled me, but i answered, keeping a straight face,-- "well, not exactly," says i, "not my lord, but another that should stand, or hang, as high maybe, and shall some day." "oh," says he, gazing at me, "a friend of yours, sir?" he was of a ruddy colour, and his mouth was habitually a little open, giving him an expression of perpetual wonder and innocence, so that, bless you, i knew him at once for what he was at heart--a simple fellow of a natural kindliness, and one of no experience in the world, and a pretty dull wit. "not, as you might call him, a friend," said i, gravely, "but rather one that has put an affront upon me." "you should wipe it out, sir," says this innocent, seriously. "i would allow no man to put an affront on me, gad, i would not." "why," said i, dryly, "i bide my time, being, if i may say so, of less mustard and pepper than yourself. nevertheless, it shall be wiped out to the last stain." "gad, i like that spirit," says he, briskly, and, as if it constituted a bond betwixt us, he began to amble slowly at my side. "if there is any mischief, sir," says he, "i trust you will allow me to stand your friend." here was innocence indeed, yet i could have clapped him on the back for a brick of good-fellowship and friendliness, and, relaxing my tone, i turned the talk on himself. "you are for a journey?" says i. he nodded, and his colour rose, but he frowned. "i am for effingham," said he. "so am i," said i, "at least i pass that way," which was not so, for i was for reading, and had meant to go by guildford. yet i was in no mind to risk an encounter with grubbe and his lambs, who were bound for guildford, if what the innkeeper said was true, and the way by effingham would serve me as well as another. he looked pleased, and says he,-- "why, we will travel in company," says he. "with all my heart," said i. the traps had disappeared upon the guildford road in a mist of dust, and we jogged on comfortably till we came to cross-roads, where we turned away for slinfold, reaching that village nearby two of the clock. here my companion must slake his thirst, and i was nothing loth. he had a gentlemanly air about him for all his rustic habit, and very pleasantly, if with some awkwardness, offered me of a bottle. "you mind me," said i, drinking to him, for i liked the fellow, "of a lad that i knew that was in the wars." "was you in the wars?" says he, eagerly. i had meant the wars of the road, which indeed are as perilous and as venturesome as the high quarrels of ravening nations. "i served in flanders," said i. "my father fought for his gracious majesty, charles i.," says he, quickly, "and took a deep wound at marston moor. there was never a braver man than squire masters of rockham." "i'll warrant his son is his spit," said i. he bowed, as if he were at court. "your servant, sir," says he, smiling well-pleased, and eyed me. "you have seen much service, sir?" he asked. "why, as much as will serve, mr masters," said i. he looked at me shyly. "you have my name now," said he, and left his question in the air. "you may call me ryder," said i. "you have had your company, sir?" he went on in a hesitating voice. "not always as good company as this," i replied laughing. "i knew it," said he, eagerly. "you are captain ryder?" "there have been those that have put that style on me," i answered, amused at his persistence. "i am glad that i have met you, captain," said this young fool, and put his arm in mine quite affectionately. "i have been unhappily kept much at home, and have seen less than i might of things beyond the hills. not but what sussex is a fine shire," he says with a sigh. "why, it is fine if so be your home be there," i replied. "my home is there," he said, and paused, and again the frown wrinkled up his brow. he said no more till we were in the saddle again and had gone some half a mile, and then he spoke, and i knew his poor brain had been playing pitch and toss with some thought. "captain ryder," said he, abruptly, "you have travelled far and seen much. you might advise one junior to you on a matter of worldly wisdom." sink me (thinks i), what's the boy after; but says i gravely from a mutinous face, "you can hang your faith on me for an opinion or a blow, mr masters." "thank you," says he, heartily, and then thrust a hand into his bosom and rapidly stuck at me a document. "read that, sir," said he, impulsively. i opened it, and found 'twas writ in a woman's hand, and subscribed anne varley; and the marrow of it was fond affection. why, 'twas but a common love-billet he had given me, of the which i have seen dozens and received very many--some from persons of quality that would astonish you. but what was i to do with this honest ninny and his mistress? i had no nose for it, and so said i, handing him back his letter,-- "it has a sweet smack and 'tis pretty enough inditing." "ah," says he, quickly, "'tis her nature, captain--'tis her heart that speaks. yet is she denied by her parents. they will have none of me." "the more to their shame," i said. "they aspire high," says he, "as anne's beauty and virtues of themselves would justify. yet she does love me, and i her, and we are of one spirit and heart. see you how she loves me, poor thing, poor silly puss! and they would persuade her to renunciation. but she shall not--she shall not, i swear it," he cried in excitement. "she shall be free to choose whom she will." "spoken like a man of temper," said i, approvingly. "you will go win her forthright." "i am on my journey to accomplish that now," says he. "she has wrote in this letter, as you have seen, that her father dissuades her, and she signs her renunciation, adding sweet words of comfort that her affection will not die--no, never, never; and that she will die virgin for me. say you not, sir, that this is beautiful conduct, and say, am i not right to ride forth and seize her from her unnatural parents, to make her mine?" "young gentleman," said i, being struck by his honest sincerity and his bubbling over, "were you brother to me, or i to mrs anne, you would have my blessing." at that he glowed, and, his spirits having risen with this communication, he babbled on the road of many things cheerfully, but mostly of love and beauty, and the virtues of mrs anne of effingham manor. i will confess that after a time his prattle wearied me; 'twas too much honey, and cloyed my palate. if he had known as much of the sex as has fallen to my lot he would have took another stand and sung in a lower key. well, 'twas late in the afternoon when we reached the hills beyond ewhurst and began to climb the rugged way to the top. the wind had gone down with the sun in a flurry of gold in the west to which the eastern breeze had beat all day; and over the head of pitch hill last year's heather still blazed in its decay. when we had got to the windmill inn that lies packed into the side of the hill and woods there we descended for refreshment, and i saw the horses stalled below for baiting. now that house, little and quiet, perches in a lonely way in the pass of the hill, and upon one side the ground falls so fast away that the eye carries over a precipitous descent towards the weald of surrey and the dim hills by the sea. and this view was fading swiftly in the window under a bleak sky as masters and i ate of our dinner in the upstairs room that looked upon it. he had a natural grace of mind, despite the rawness of his behaviour, and his sentiments emerged sometimes in a gush, as when, says he, looking at the darkening weald,-- "i love it, captain. 'tis mine. my home is there, and, god willing, anne's too shall be." "amen," said i, heartily, for the boy had gone to my heart, absurd though he was. and just on that there was a noise without the door, the clank of heavy feet rang on the boards, and timothy grubbe's ugly mask disfigured the room. he came forward a little with a grin on his distorted features, and, looking from one to the other of us, said he,-- "my respects, captain, and to this young plover that no doubt you're plucking. by the lord, dick ryder, but i had given you up! heaven sends us good fortune when we're least thinking of it." masters at his word had started up. "who are you, sir, that intrudes on two gentlemen?" he demanded with spirit. "i'll have you know this is a private room. get you gone." "softly, man," says grubbe in an insinuating voice, "but maybe i'm wrong, and you're two of a colour. is it an apprentice, dick, this brave lad that talks so bold and has such fine feathers?" "if you do not quit," said i shortly, "i will spit your beauty for you in two ticks." "dick ryder had always plenty heart," said he, in his jeering way; "dick had always a famous wit, and was known as a hospitable host. so i will take the liberty to invite to his sociable board some good fellows that are below, to make merry. we shall prove an excellent company, i'll warrant." masters took a step towards him. "now, who the devil soever you may be, you shall not use gentlemen so," he said, whipping out his blade. but grubbe turned on him satirically. "as for you, young cockchafer," said he, "it bodes no good to find you in this company. but as you seem simpleton enough i'll give you five minutes to take your leave of this gentleman of the road. dick, ye're a fine tobyman, and you have enjoyed a brave career, but your hour is struck." i rose, but ere i could get to him young masters had fallen on him. "defend yourself, damn ye!" he said, "you that insult a gentleman that is my friend. put up your blade, curse you," and he made at him with incredible energy. uttering a curse, grubbe thrust with his point and took the first onrush, swerving it aside; and ere i could intervene they were at it. my young friend was impetuous, and, as i saw at once, none too skilful, and grubbe kept his temper, as he always did. he stood with a thin, ugly smile, pushing aside his opponent's blade for a moment or two, until, of a sudden, he drew himself up and let drive very low and under the other's guard. the sword rattled from masters's hand and he went down on the floor. i uttered an oath. "by god, for this you shall die, you swine," said i, fiercely, and i ran at him; but, being by the door, he swept it open with a movement and backed into the passage. "the boot is on t'other leg, dick," says he, maliciously. "'tis you are doomed;" and, closing the door sharply behind him, he whistled shrilly. i knew what he intended, and that his men were there, but i stooped over the boy's body and held my fingers to his heart. 'twas dead and still. i cursed grubbe and started up. if i was not to be taken there was only the window looking on the deeps of the descending valley. i threw back the casement and leaped over the sill. grubbe should perish, i swore, and, doubled now my oath. i could have wept for that poor youth that had died to avenge my honour. but my first business was my safety, and i crept down as far as i might, and dropped. by that time the catchpoles were crowding into the room above. i struck the slanting hill and fell backwards, but getting to my feet, which were very numb with the concussion of the fall, i sped briskly into the darkness, making for the woods. i lay in the shelter of the woods an hour, and then resolved on a circumspection. 'twas not my intention to leave the mare behind, if so be she had escaped grubbe and his creatures, and moreover, i had other designs in my head. so i made my way back deviously to the inn, and reconnoitred. stillness hung about it, and after a time i marched up to the door mighty cautiously and knocked on it. the innkeeper opened it, and, the lamp burning in my face, started as if i were the devil. "hush, man," said i, "is the officer gone?" he looked at me dubiously, and trembling. "come," said i, for i knew the reputation of those parts, "i am from shoreham gap yonder, and i was near taken for an offence against the revenue." "you are a smuggler?" said he, anxiously. "they said you were a tobyman." "they will take away any decent man's name," said i. "come, i want my horse. you have no fancy for preventive men, i'll guess." and this was true enough, for he had a mine of cellars under his inn and through the roadway. "but your friend?" said he, still wavering. "him that is dead--" "as good a man as ever rolled a barrel," said i. he relaxed his grip of the door. "'tis a sore business for me this night," he complained. "nay," said i, "for i will rid your premises of myself and friend, by your leave or without it," says i. he seemed relieved at that, and i entered. the horses were safe, as i discovered, for grubbe must have been too full of his own prime business to make search, and getting them out, i made my preparations. i strapped the lad's body in the stirrups, so that he lay forward on the horse with his head a-wagging but (god deliver him!) his soul at rest. and presently we were on the road, and threading the wilderness of the black pine-woods for the vale below towards london. the moon was a glimmering arc across the hurtwood as i came out on the back of shere, and pulling out of the long lane that gave entry to the village, reined up by the white horse. from the inn streamed a clamour of laughter, and without the doorway, and well-nigh blocking it, was drawn up a carriage, with a coachman in his seat, that struck my eyes dimly in the small light. i was not for calling eyes on me with a dead man astride his horse, so i moved into the yard, thinking to drain a tankard of ale, if no better, before i took the road over the downs to effingham. but i was scarce turned into the yard ere a light flung through the window peered on a face that changed all the notions in my skull. 'twas grubbe! leaving the horses by i went back to the front of the inn, and says i to the coachman that waited there, as i rapped loud on the door,-- "'tis shrewish to-night." "ay," says he, in a grumbling, surly voice, "i would the country were in hell." "why, so 'twill be in good time," said i, cheerfully; and then to the man that came, "fetch me two quarts well laced with gin," says i, "for to keep the chill o' the night and the fear o' death out." the coachman laughed a little stoutly, for he knew that this was his invitation. "whence come you then?" said i, delivering him the pot that was fetched out. he threw an arm out. "lewes," said he, "under charge with a tobyman that was for chains yonder." he nodded towards the downs and drank. i cast my eyes up and the loom of the hill just t'other side of the village was black and ominous. "oh," says i, "he hangs there?" "at the top of london road," says he, dipping his nose again. "there stands the gallows, where the roads cross, and near the gate." "gallows gate," said i, laughing. "well, 'twas a merry job enough." "ay," says he, "but by this we might ha' been far towards london town, whither most of us are already gone. but 'twas not his meaning. he must come back with the lewes sheriff and drink him farewell." "leaving a poor likely young man such as yourself to starve of cold and an empty belly here," said i. "well, i would learn such a one manners in your place; and you shall have another tankard of dog's-nose for your pains," says i; whereat i called out the innkeeper again, but took care that he had my share of the gin in addition to his own. by that time he was garrulous, and had lost his caution, so keeping him in talk a little, and dragging his wits along from point to point, i presently called to him,-- "come down," said i, "and stamp your feet. 'twill warm you without as the liquor within;" and he did as i had suggested without demur. "run round to the back," says i, "and get yourself a noggin, and if so be you see a gentleman on horseback there asleep, why, 'tis only a friend of mine that is weary of his long journey. i will call you if there be occasion." he hesitated a moment, but i set a crown on his palm and his scruples vanished. he limped into the darkness. 'twas no more than two minutes later that i heard voices in the doorway, and next came timothy grubbe into the night, in talk with someone. at which it took me but thirty seconds to whip me into the seat and pull the coachman's cloak about me, so that i sat stark and black in the starlight. grubbe left the man he talked with and came forward. "you shall drink when ye reach cobham, crossway," says he, looking up at me, "and mind your ways, damn ye." and at that he made no more ado, but humming an air he lurched into the carriage. i pulled out the nags, and turned their heads so that they were set for the north. and then i whistled low and short--a whistle i knew that the mare would heed, and i trusted that she would bring her companion with her. then the wheels rolled out upon the road and timothy grubbe and i were bound for london all alone. as i turned up the london road that swept steeply up the downs i looked back, and behind the moon shone faintly on calypso, and behind her on the dead man wagging awkwardly in his stirrups. i pushed the horses up the steeps of the london road as fast as might be, but the ruts were still deep in mud, and the carriage jolted and rocked and swayed as we went. the wind came now with a little moaning sound from the bottom of the valley, and the naked branches creaked above my head, for that way was sunken and tangled with the thickets of nut and yew. and presently i was forced to go at a foot pace, so abrupt was the height. the moon struck through the trees and peered on us, and grubbe put his head forth of the window. "why go you not faster, damn ye?" says he, being much in liquor. "'tis the hill, your honour," said i. he glanced up and down. "what is't comes up behind?" says he, shouting. "there is a noise of horses that pounds upon the road." "'tis the wind," says i, "that comes off the valley, and makes play among the branches." he sank back in his seat, and we went forward slowly. but he was presently out again, screaming on the night. "there is a horseman behind," says he. "what does he there?" "'tis a traveller, your honour," say i, "that goes, no doubt, by our road, and is bound for london." "he shall be bound for hell," says he, and falls back again. the horses wound up foot by foot and emerged now upon a space of better light. i looked round, and there was grubbe, with his head through the window and his eyes cast backwards. "what fool is this," says he, "that rides so awkwardly, and drives a spare horse? if he ride no better i will ask him to keep me company, if he be a gentleman. many gentlemen have rode along of me, and have rode to the gallows tree," and he chuckled harshly. "maybe he will ride with you to the gallows gate, sir," says i. "why, crossway," says he, laughing loudly, "you have turned a wit," says he; and once more withdrew his head. by now we were nigh to the top of the down, and i could see the faint shadow of the triple beam. with that i knew my journey was done, and that my work must be accomplished. i pulled to the horses on the rise, and got down from my seat. "why d'ye stop, rascal?" called grubbe in a fury, but i was by the door now and had it open. "timothy grubbe," said i, "ye're a damned rogue that the devil your master wants, and he shall have ye." he stared at me in a maze, his nostrils working, and then says he in a low voice,-- "so 'tis you." "your time has come, timothy," said i, flinging off my cloak, and i took my sword. "out with you, worm!" he said never a word, but stepped forth and looked about him. he was sobered now, as i could see from his face, which had a strange look on it. "ye're two rascals to one, dick," says he, slowly, looking on the dead man on his horse which had come to a stop in the shadows. "no," says i. "this gentleman will see fair play for us." grubbe took a step backward. "sir," says he, addressing the dead man, but at that moment calypso and her companion started and came into the open, and the moon shone on the face of the dead. grubbe uttered a cry and turned on me. his teeth showed in a grin. "no ghost shall haunt me, dick," says he. "rather shall another ghost keep him company;" and his wry neck moved horridly in the wan light. i pointed upwards where the tobyman hung in chains, keeping his sheep by moonlight. "there's your destiny," said i, "there's your doom. now defend ye, damn ye, for i'll not prick an adder at a disadvantage." he drew his blade, for no man could say that timothy grubbe, time-server, pander, and traitor as he was, lacked courage. suddenly he sliced at me, but i put out and turned off the blow. "if you will have it so soon," said i, "in god's name have it," and i ran upon him. my third stroke went under his guard and took him in the midriff. he gave vent to an oath, cursed me in a torrent, and struck at me weakly as he went down. he was as dead as mutton almost ere he reached the ground. i have never been a man of the church, nor do i lay any claim to own more religion than such as to make shift by when it comes to the end. no, nor do i deny that i have sundry offences on my conscience, some of which i have narrated in my memoirs. but when it comes to a reckoning i will make bold to claim credit in that i rid the world he had encumbered of timothy grubbe--the foulest ruffian that ever i did encounter in the length of my days on the roads. i climbed the beam and lowered the poor tobyman, and it took me but a little time to make the exchange. the one i left where he had paid quittance in the peace of this earth, and t'other a-swinging under the light of the moon on gallows gate. i have said my journey was done, but that was not so. there was more for me to do, which was to deliver poor masters at his ladylove's and break the unhappy news. and so, leaving the carriage where it stood, with the patient horses, that were cropping the grass, i mounted the mare and began to go down the long span of the downs to the north. 'twas late--near midnight--when i reached effingham and found my way to the manor. i rapped on the door, leaving calypso and t'other in the shadows by the house, and presently one answered to my knock. "what is it?" says she. "'tis a stranger," says i, "that has news of great import for mrs anne varley, whom i beg you will call." "she cannot hear you," said she, "'tis her wedding-night." "what!" said i, in amazement, and instantly there flowed in upon me the meaning of this. damn all women, save one or two, thinks i. and i turned to the maid again, with my mind made up. "look you, wench," said i, "this is urgent. i have an instant message that presses. and if so be your mistress will bear with me a moment and hold discourse, i'll warrant she shall not regret it--nor you," says i, with a crown piece in my palm. she hesitated, and then, "maybe she will refuse," says she. "she hath but these few hours been wed." "not she," said i, "if you will tell her that i bring good news, great news--news that will ease her spirit and send her to her bridal bed with a happy heart." at that she seemed to consent, and with my coin in her hand she disappeared into the darkness of the house. it must have been some ten minutes later that a light flashed in the hall, and a voice called to me. "who is it?" it asked, "and what want you at this hour?" i looked at her. she was of a pretty face enough, rather pale of colour, and with eyes that moved restlessly and measured all things. lord, i have known women all my life in all stations, and i would have pinned no certainty on those treacherous eyes. she was young too, but had an air of satisfaction in herself, and was in no wise embarrassed by this interview. i had no mercy on her, with her oaths of constancy writ in water that feigned to be tears, and her false pretences. "madam," said i, civilly, "i hear you're wed to-day to a gentleman of standing." "what is that to you, sir?" she asked quickly. "'tis nothing, for sure," said i, "but to a friend of mine that i value deeply 'tis much." "you speak of mr masters," said she, sharply, and with discomposure. "sure, if he be a gentleman he will not trouble me when he knows." "anne!" cried a voice from the top of the stairs, "anne!" 'twas her bridegroom calling. well, she should go to him in what mood she might when i had done with her. "he will never know," says i, "unless he have it from yourself." "anne!" says the voice above the stairs. "he shall not--i will not," she cried angrily. "i will not be persecuted, 'twas all a mistake." i whistled, and calypso emerged from the night, and behind calypso was the horse with its burden. an anxious look dawned in her face. "i am insulted--" says she, and paused quickly. "edward!" she called, and put a hand to her bosom. "anne, my dove!" cried the voice, "where are you? come, child, 'tis late." the horses came to a stop before the door, with the body in the saddle, bound to the crupper. "what is it?" she cried in alarm, and suddenly she shrieked out, clutching at the door-post. "it is an omen--my wedding-night." "ay," says i, "which be your bridegroom, he that calls out or he that is silent? call on him and he hears not." peal after peal went up now from her, and the house was awake with alarm. i turned away, leaving her on the door-step, and mounted the mare. as i cantered off into the night i cast a glance behind me, and a group was gathered at the door, and in that group lay mrs anne fallen in a swoon, with the sleeping figure on the horse before her. colston and coy. limited, printers, edinburgh transcriber's note: obvious printer errors have been corrected. otherwise, the author's original spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustration. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). [illustration: _"you hold the flashlight, jane," said mary louise. "while i make the slit."_ (page ) (the mystery at dark cedars)] the mary lou series the mystery at dark cedars by edith lavell a. l. burt company publishers new york chicago the mary lou series by edith lavell the mystery at dark cedars the mystery of the fires the mystery of the secret band copyright, , by a. l. burt company printed in the united states of america _to my daughter_ jeanne marie lavell _who loves mystery stories_ contents chapter page i. the house of mystery ii. the robbery iii. suspects iv. interviewing hannah v. the stolen treasure vi. a wild ride vii. "hands up!" viii. a confession ix. the fifty-dollar bill x. night at dark cedars xi. the picnic xii. bound and gagged xiii. detective work xiv. bad news xv. an alibi xvi. spreading the net xvii. the empty house xviii. found! xix. conclusion _characters_ mary louise gay a girl detective. jane patterson her chum. miss mattie grant spinster at dark cedars. elsie grant orphan, niece of miss grant, living at dark cedars. mrs. grace grant sister-in-law to miss grant. family of mrs. grace grant. john grant middle-aged bachelor harry grant younger bachelor ellen grant pearson married daughter corinne pearson granddaughter, girl of nineteen hannah and william groben servants at dark cedars. mr. gay, mrs. gay, joseph (freckles) gay family of mary louise. max miller, norman wilder, hope dorsey, bernice tracey friends of mary louise. mrs. abraham lincoln jones a colored woman. mira a gypsy fortune teller. silky mary louise's dog. chapter i _the house of mystery_ "be quiet, silky! what's the matter with you? you don't usually bark like common dogs over nothing!" the brown spaniel stopped under a maple tree and wagged his tail forlornly, looking pleadingly into his mistress's eyes, as if he were trying to tell her that he wasn't just making a fuss over nothing. mary louise gay stooped over and patted his head. she was a pretty girl of sixteen, with dark hair and lovely brown eyes and long lashes that would make an actress envious. "i see what silky means!" cried her companion, jane patterson who lived next door to mary louise and was her inseparable chum. "look, mary lou! up in the tree. a kitten!" both girls gazed up at the leafy branches overhead and spied a tiny black kitten crying piteously. it had climbed up and couldn't get down. "i'll get it," said mary louise. she swung herself lightly to the lowest branch, chinned herself, and climbed the tree. in another minute she had rescued the kitten with her hands. "stretch on your tiptoes, jane," she called to her chum, "and see if i can hand it down to you." the other girl, who was much shorter and stockier than mary louise, did as she was told, but the distance was too great. "i suppose i'll have to climb down with her in one hand," concluded mary louise. "that's not so easy." "drop her over to that branch you swung up by, and i'll get her from there," suggested jane. a moment later mary louise was at her chum's side, stroking the little black kitten, now purring contentedly in jane's arms. "i wonder whose it is," she remarked. "there isn't any house near----" "except old miss grant's." both girls turned and looked at the hill which rose at the right of the lonely road on which they had been walking. the house, a large drab plaster building, was barely visible through the dark cedars that surrounded it on all sides. a high, thick hedge, taller than an average-sized man, gave the place an even greater aspect of gloominess and seclusion. "maybe it is miss grant's kitten," suggested jane. "old maids are supposed to like cats, you know." mary louise's brown eyes sparkled with anticipation. "i hope it is!" she exclaimed. "and then we'll get a look at the inside of that house. because everybody says it's supposed to be haunted. our colored laundress's little girl was walking past it one evening about dusk, and she heard the most terrible moan. she claims that two eyes, without any head or body, looked out through the hedge at her. she dropped her bundle and ran as fast as she could for home." "you don't really believe there is anything, do you, mary lou?" "i don't know. there must be something queer about it." "maybe there's a crazy woman shut up in the tower." "you've been reading _jane eyre_, haven't you, jane? but there isn't any tower on the grant house." "well, i guess miss grant is crazy enough herself. she dresses in styles of forty years ago. did you ever see her?" "yes, i've had a glimpse of her once or twice when i walked past here. she looks like the picture of the old maid on the old-maid cards. it must be awful for that girl who lives with her." "what girl?" inquired jane. "a niece, i believe. she must be about our age. her father and mother both died, so she has to live with miss grant. they say the old lady treats her terribly--much worse than the two old servants she keeps." while this conversation was going on, the two girls, followed by silky, were walking slowly up the hill towards the big hedge which surrounded the grant place. once inside the yard, it was almost like being in a deep, thick woods. cedar trees completely enclosed the house and grew thick on both sides of the narrow path leading from the gate to the porch. in spite of the fact that it was broad daylight, jane found herself shuddering. but mary louise seemed delighted with the strange, gloomy atmosphere. "doesn't this girl go to high school?" asked jane. "if she's about our age----" "i don't believe so. i never saw her there." they stopped when they reached the steps of the porch and looked about with curiosity. it certainly was a run-down place. boards were broken in the steps, and pieces of plaster had crumbled from the outer wall. the grayish-colored ivy which grew over the house seemed to emphasize its aspect of the past. "isn't miss grant supposed to be rich?" whispered jane incredulously. "it doesn't look like it!" "they say she's a miser. hoards every cent she can get." mary louise smiled. "i believe i'll tell daddy to report her for hoarding. she deserves it!" "better wait and find out whether she really is rich, hadn't you?" returned jane. "your father's a busy man." mary louise nodded and looked at her dog. "you lie down, silky," she commanded, "and wait here for us. miss grant probably wouldn't like you. she might think you'd hurt pussy." she smiled indulgently. "she doesn't know you belong to the dog scouts and do a kind act every day--like rescuing cats in distress!" the spaniel obeyed, and the two girls mounted the rickety steps of the porch. although it was late in june, the door was closed tightly, and they had to pull a rusty knocker to let the people inside know that they were there. it was some minutes before there was any reply. a sad-faced girl in an old-fashioned purple calico dress finally opened the door and stared at them with big gray eyes. the length of her dress, the way her blond hair was pulled back and pinned into a tight knot, made her seem much older than her visitors. a suggestion of a smile crossed her face at the sight of the girls' pleasant faces, and for a second she looked almost pretty. "is this your kitten?" asked mary louise. "we rescued it from a tree down the road." the girl nodded. "yes. it belongs to my aunt mattie. come in, and i'll call her." the girls stepped into the dark square hall and looked about them. the inside of the house was even more forbidding than the outside. the ceilings were high and the wall paper dark. all the shutters were drawn, as if there were poison in the june sunlight. for no reason at all that they could see, the old stairs suddenly creaked. jane shuddered visibly, and the girl in the purple dress smiled. "don't mind the queer noises," she said. "nothing ever happens in daytime." "then something does happen after dark?" questioned mary louise eagerly. "oh, yes. why, only two nights ago----" "what's this? what's this?" demanded the sharp, high voice of an old woman. "what are you standing there talking about, elsie? with all those peaches waiting to be pared!" all eyes turned naturally towards the old staircase, from which the sound of the voice was coming. miss grant slowly descended, holding her hand on her right side and grunting to herself as if the act of walking were painful to her. she was a woman of at least sixty-five, thin and wrinkled, but with little sharp black beady eyes that seemed to peer into everything suspiciously, as if she believed the whole world evil. she was wearing an old-fashioned black dress, and a dark shawl about her shoulders. "these girls have found your kitten, aunt mattie," elsie informed her. "they rescued her from a tree." the black eyes softened, and the old woman came towards the girls. "my precious little puffy!" she exclaimed, as one might talk to a baby. then her tone abruptly became harsh again as she turned to her niece. "go back to your work, elsie!" she ordered gruffly. "i'll attend to this!" without any reply the girl slunk away to the kitchen, and miss grant took the kitten from jane. "tell me what happened to my poor little pet," she said. briefly jane repeated the story, with an emphasis upon mary louise's prowess in climbing trees. apparently the old lady was touched. "i must say that was good of you," she remarked. "not a bit like what most young people nowadays would do! all they seem to enjoy is torturing poor helpless creatures!" she put the kitten down on the floor and turned towards the stairs. "you wait!" she commanded the girls, "i'm going to get you a reward for this!" "oh, no, miss grant!" they both protested instantly, and mary louise went on to explain that they were girl scouts and never accepted money for good turns. (even silky knows better than that, she added to herself. he won't expect a bone for rescuing pussy--only a pat on the head!) "you really mean that?" demanded miss grant, in obvious relief. she would save two cents! she had meant to give each girl a whole penny! "tell me your names, then," she continued, "and where you live. i might want to call on you for help sometime. i can't trust my niece as far as my nose, and my servants are both old." mary louise chuckled. so there was a mystery in this house! a lurking danger that miss grant and her niece both feared! and she and jane were being drawn into it. "jane patterson and mary louise gay," she replied. "we live over in riverside, next to the high school. you can get us on the phone." "i haven't a telephone. too expensive. besides, if i had one, i couldn't tell what deviltry elsie might be up to.... no, i don't hold with these modern inventions." "well, you could send elsie for us if you need any help," suggested jane. "it's only a little over a mile. you see, mary louise's father is a detective on the police force, and we're both interested in mysteries." "i'm not thinking of any mystery," snapped miss grant. "what i'm thinking of is _facts_. one fact is that i've got a pack of scheming relations who are trying to send me off to the hospital for an operation while they loot my house." mary louise's forehead wrinkled in surprise. "i didn't know you had any relations besides your niece," she said. "certainly i have. haven't you ever heard of the grants in riverside? mrs. grace grant--a woman about my age? she has two grown sons and a married daughter. well, they spent all their money, and now they want mine. but they're not going to get it!" her hand went to her side again, as if she were in pain, and mary louise decided it was time for them to go. "well, good-bye, miss grant," she said. "and don't forget to call on us if you want help." it was a relief to be out in the bright sunlight again, away from the gloom and the decay of that ugly house. mary louise took a deep breath and whistled for silky. he was waiting at the foot of the porch steps. as they walked down the path they were startled by a rustle in one of the cedar trees. silky perked up his ears and went to investigate the disturbance. in another moment a head peered cautiously through the branches. it was elsie grant. "will you come over here and talk to me a little while?" she whispered, as if she were afraid of being caught. "i never see any girls my own age--and--you look so nice!" both mary louise and jane were touched by the loneliness of this poor unhappy orphan. they went gladly to her side. "don't you go to school?" asked mary louise. "i mean--when it isn't vacation time?" the girl shook her head. "that must be awful!" exclaimed jane. "sometimes i hate school, but i'd certainly hate worse never to go. how old are you?" "i'm only fifteen," replied elsie. "but it seems as if i were fifty. i mean--the time is so long. yet i've really only lived here with aunt mattie two years." "and didn't you ever go to school?" questioned mary louise. she couldn't believe that, for the girl spoke beautiful english. "oh, yes--before i came here. i was just ready to enter high school when mother died--only a couple of months after my father was killed in an accident. he was aunt mattie's youngest brother. and he didn't leave any money, so i had to come and live with her." "but i can't see why she doesn't send you to school," protested jane. "it's a public high school. it wouldn't cost her anything." "yes, it would, because i haven't any clothes except these old things of hers. i can't go anywhere--i'm too ashamed." mary louise's eyes gleamed with indignation. "that's terrible!" she cried. "we can report her--" elsie shook her head. "no, you couldn't. because she feeds me well enough and gives me clothing that is clean, and warm enough in winter. no, there isn't a thing anybody can do. except wait until i'm old enough to work in somebody's kitchen." "no!" protested jane. "but i thought if i could just see you two girls once in a while and talk to you, life wouldn't seem so bad. if i could call you by your first names----" "of course you can," mary louise assured her, and she told elsie their names. "we'll come over often. and i don't believe your aunt will object, because she seems to like us." "she loves that kitten," explained elsie. "it's the only thing in the world she does love, besides money." "she mentioned her money," remarked jane, "and told us that she believed her relatives were trying to get it away from her." "by the way," said mary louise, "you started to tell us about something that happened here two nights ago. remember? what was it?" elsie shivered, as though the memory of it were still painful to her. "i sleep up in the attic, all by myself. and i hear the most awful noises all night. i'm always scared to death to go to bed." "don't the servants sleep there too?" asked mary louise. she was anxious to get her facts straight from the beginning. "no. they sleep on the second floor, in a room over the kitchen. there are just two of them--an old married couple named hannah and william groben. "well, night before last i heard more distinct noises than ever. first i thought it was one of the trees near my window, and i nerved myself to get out of bed and look out. and what do you think i saw?" "a ghost?" whispered jane, in awe. "no, i don't think so. i believe it was a human being. anyway, all i saw was two bright eyes peering in at the window!" "what did you do?" demanded mary louise breathlessly. "scream?" "no, i didn't. once before i screamed, and aunt mattie had william investigate everything, and when he found nobody i was punished for my foolishness. i had to eat bread and water for two days. and it taught me a lesson. i never screamed again." "then what happened?" "i think whoever it was climbed from the tree into the attic storeroom window and went through an old trunk in there. i heard a little noise, but i couldn't tell whether it was only the wind or not. anyway, nothing was known about it till yesterday, when aunt mattie went up to look for something in her trunk." "did you tell her then?" "i tried to. but she wouldn't listen. she accused me of going through her trunk. but i wasn't punished, because nothing was stolen." "then it couldn't have been a robber," said mary louise. "or something would have been taken. wasn't there anything else in the house missing?" "not a thing! hannah even counted the silver and found it was all there." "how does hannah account for it? or does she think, like your aunt, that you did it?" questioned mary louise. "hannah says it was 'spirits.' she says the spirits can't rest as long as their old things are around. she wants aunt mattie to burn or give away all the old clothing in the house. she says dead people's clothes are possessed." jane let out a peal of laughter, but mary louise warned her to be quiet. "we mustn't get elsie into trouble," she explained. "was that the only time anything like that ever happened?" asked jane. "no. once, earlier in the spring, when hannah and william were away at some lodge supper, their room was entered and searched. i was blamed and punished then, though nothing was missing that time, either. but the awful part of it is: i expect it to happen again every night. every time the wind howls or a branch beats against a windowpane, i'm sure they're coming again--whoever they are. and--i'm afraid!" "something's got to be done!" announced mary louise, with determination. "i'm not my father's daughter if i allow a mysterious outrage like this to go on." she pressed elsie's hand. "you can count on us," she concluded. "we'll be back to see you tomorrow!" chapter ii _the robbery_ the house in which mary louise's family lived was as different from the grants' as day is from night. it was painted white, and its smooth green lawn was dotted here and there with bright flower beds. modern, airy, and filled with sunshine, the house itself looked like the home of a happy family, which the gays were--as their name implied. mary louise's young brother--always called "freckles"--was setting the breakfast table when she came downstairs the morning after her visit to dark cedars. it was mary louise's task to put the bedding to air while her mother cooked breakfast. mrs. gay did not keep a maid, and both children did their share of the work. as they sat down to breakfast mary louise could not help contrasting her life with poor elsie grant's. thinking how different, how cheerful everything was here--though of course it was never quite the same when her father was away on a case, as so happened at the present time. mary louise wanted to do something to help elsie, besides just visiting her. she had a sudden inspiration. "i have a lot of clothes, haven't i, mother?" she inquired as she spread marmalade on her toast. mrs. gay smiled. she was a pretty woman, with the same dark hair and dark eyes as her daughter. "i wouldn't say that, dear," she replied. "i think you have enough. but if there is something you specially want, i guess you can have it. is that why you ask?" "no," replied mary louise laughingly. "it's just the other way around. instead of buying more, what i want to do is to give some away. a couple of dresses, perhaps, and some lingerie. and a pair of slippers." mrs. gay nodded approvingly. being both a neat housekeeper and a charitable woman, she loved to clear things out and, if possible, give them to someone who could use them. "yes," she said. "i was thinking of making up a package to send to the salvation army today. that old blue sweater of yours could go, and the red woolen dress----" "no! no!" interrupted mary louise. "i didn't mean things like that, mother. i want to give away a couple of nice dresses. like my green flowered silk, for instance, and my pink linen. may i?" "why, mary louise! i thought you especially liked those dresses. what's the matter with them?" "nothing. i do like them a lot. that's why i chose them. i want to give them to a girl who hasn't had a new dress for over two years." "who is she?" asked mrs. gay sympathetically. "a niece of old miss grant. you know--that queer old maid who lives at dark cedars. about a mile out of town." her mother nodded. "yes, i know where you mean, dear. but that woman is reputed to be rich--much better off than we are. i can't understand----" "of course you can't, mother, unless you see poor elsie grant. she's about my age--a year younger, to be exact--and she's an orphan. two years ago, when her mother died, she came to live with miss grant because she hadn't anywhere to go and no money. and the old lady treats her shamefully. dresses her in those old calico dresses that servants used to wear years ago. so elsie can't go anywhere, not even to school." mrs. gay's lips closed tightly, and her eyes narrowed. "so that's the kind of woman miss grant is!" she muttered. "i always knew she was queer, but i never thought she was cruel.... yes, of course you can give the girl some clothing, dear. go pick out anything you want, except those brand-new things we bought last week for our trip in august." mary louise lost no time in making her selection. she piled the clothing on her bed, after she had put her room in order, and called her mother in for her approval. but before tying up the package she whistled for jane from her window. her chum came running across the grass that grew between the two houses and bounded up the steps. briefly mary louise explained what she was doing. "but i want to give elsie something too," jane said. "she ought to have some kind of summer coat and a hat. wait till i ask mother." she returned in less than five minutes bringing a lovely white wool coat and a white felt hat to match it. mary louise tied up the bundle. "please ask freckles to take care of silky this morning, mother," she said. "i'm afraid that perhaps miss grant might not like him." the girls started off immediately through the streets of riverside to the lonely road that led to dark cedars. "i sort of wish we had silky with us," observed jane as they approached the house. "he is a protection." mary louise laughed. "but there isn't anything to protect us from! elsie said nothing ever happened in the daytime." a stifled sob coming from under the cedar trees caused the girls to stop abruptly and peer in among the low branches. there, half concealed by the thick growth, sat elsie grant, crying bitterly. mary louise and jane were beside her in a second. "what's the matter, elsie?" demanded mary louise. "what happened?" the girl raised her tear-stained face and attempted to smile. for mary louise and jane came nearest to being her friends of all the people in the world. "aunt mattie has been robbed," she said. "and--everybody thinks i did it!" "you!" cried jane. "oh, how awful!" the girls sat down on the ground beside her and asked her to tell them all about it. the bundle of clothing was forgotten for the time being in this new, overwhelming catastrophe. "my aunt has a big old safe in her room, that she always keeps locked," elsie began. "she hasn't any faith in banks, she says, because they are always closing, so all her money is in this safe. i've often heard aunt grace try to make aunt mattie stop hoarding, but aunt mattie always refuses. she loves to have it where she can see it and count it." "a regular miser," remarked jane. "yes. it's her one joy in life--besides the little kitten. every morning after breakfast she opens that safe and counts her money over again." "doesn't she ever spend any?" asked mary louise. "a little, of course. she pays william and hannah a small amount, and she buys some food, especially in winter. but we have a garden, you know, and chickens and a cow." "when did she miss this money?" "this morning. it was there yesterday. aunt mattie counted it right after you girls went home. you can hear her say the figures out loud and sort of chuckle to herself. but today she just let out a scream. it was horrible! i thought she was dying." "maybe it was taken last night," said mary louise. "did you hear any of those queer noises--i mean the kind you heard before, when you thought somebody searched that old trunk in the attic?" "no, i didn't. that's the worst part. nobody else heard anything, either, all night long, and no door locks were broken. of course, a burglar might have entered over the front porch roof, through aunt mattie's window. but she's a light sleeper, and she says she never heard a sound." "so of course she claims you stole it!" elsie nodded and started to cry again. "but i didn't! i give you my word i didn't!" "of course you didn't, elsie. we believe you." "aunt mattie did everything but torture me to get a confession out of me. she said if i didn't own up to it and give it back she'd send me to a reform school, and i'd be branded as a criminal for the rest of my life." "she couldn't do that!" exclaimed mary louise furiously. "if she has no proof ... i'll tell you what i'll do, elsie! i'll put my father on the case when he comes home! he's a detective on the police force, and he's just wonderful. he'll find the real thief." elsie shook her head. "no, i'm afraid you can't do that. because aunt mattie distinctly said that she won't have the police meddling in this. she says that if i didn't steal the money somebody else in the family did." "what family?" "aunt grace's family. she's the mrs. grant, you know, who lives in riverside. she has three grown-up children and one grandchild. aunt mattie says one of these relatives is guilty, if i'm not, and she'll find out herself, without bringing shame upon the grant name." mary louise groaned. "the only thing i can see for us to do, then, is to be detectives ourselves. jane and i will do all we can to help you, won't we, jane?" her chum nodded. "at least, if we don't have to get into any spookiness at night," she amended. "those mysterious sounds you told us about, elsie----" "they may all have some connection with this robbery," announced mary louise. "and i'd like to find out!" elsie looked doubtful. "i only hope aunt mattie doesn't try the bread-and-water diet on me, to get a confession. really, you have no idea how awful that is till you try it. you just get crazy for some real food. you'd be almost willing to lie to get it, even if you knew the lie was going to hurt you." "if she tries that, you let us know," cried jane angrily, "and we'll bring our parents right over here!" "all right, i will." elsie seemed to find some relief in the promise. "elsie," said mary louise very seriously, "tell me who you really think did steal the money." the girl considered the problem carefully. "i believe it was somebody in aunt grace's family," she replied slowly. "because they used to be rich, and now they are poor. and i think that if a burglar had entered the house, somebody, probably aunt mattie, would have wakened up." "couldn't he have entered before your aunt went to bed?" suggested mary louise. "maybe. but aunt mattie was on the front porch all evening, and she'd probably have heard him." "all right, then," agreed mary louise. "let's drop the idea of the burglar for the time being. let's hear about the family--your aunt grace's family, i mean." she reached into her pocket and took out a pencil and notebook, which she had provided for the purpose of writing down any items of clothing that elsie might particularly want. instead of that, she would list the possible suspects, the way her father usually did when he was working on a murder case. "go ahead," she said. "i'm ready now. tell me how many brothers and sisters your aunt mattie had, and everything else you can." "aunt mattie had only two brothers, and not any sisters at all. my father was one brother, and aunt grace's husband was the other. they're both dead." "then your aunt grace isn't your aunt mattie's real sister?" inquired jane. "no. but aunt mattie seems to like her better than any of her blood relations, even if she is only a sister-in-law. she comes over here pretty often." "maybe she took the money." elsie looked shocked. "not aunt grace! she's too religious. always going to church and talking about right and wrong. she even argued with aunt mattie to let me go to sunday school, but aunt mattie wouldn't buy me a decent dress." at the mention of clothing, jane reached for the package they had carried with them to dark cedars, but mary louise shook her head, signalling her to wait until elsie had finished. "well, anyway, aunt mattie's father liked her better than her two brothers, and he promised to leave her his money if she wouldn't get married while he was alive. and she didn't, you know." "i guess nobody ever asked her," remarked jane bluntly. "that's what my mother used to say," agreed elsie. "she didn't like aunt mattie, and aunt mattie hated her. so it's no wonder i'm not welcome here!" mary louise called elsie back to her facts by tapping her pencil on her notebook. "so far i have only one relative written down," she said. "that's your aunt grace. please go on." "as i told you, i think," elsie continued immediately, "aunt grace has three grown children. two boys and a girl." "names, please," commanded mary louise in her most practical tone. "john grant, harry grant, and mrs. ellen grant pearson. the daughter is married." "how old are they?" "all about forty, i guess. i don't know. middle-aged--no, i guess you wouldn't call harry middle-aged. he's the youngest. except, of course, the granddaughter--mrs. pearson's only child. she's a girl about eighteen or nineteen." "what's her name?" "corinne--corinne pearson." "is that everybody?" asked mary louise. "i mean, all the living relatives of miss mattie grant?" "yes, that's all." mary louise read her list aloud, just to make sure that she had gotten the names correctly and to impress them upon her own mind. "mrs. grace grant--aged about sixty-five, sister-in-law of miss mattie. "john grant--middle-aged. "ellen grant pearson--middle-aged. "harry grant--about thirty. "corinne pearson--about nineteen...." "but you forgot me!" elsie reminded her. "no, we didn't forget you, either," replied mary louise, with a smile. "we've got something for you--in that package." "something to make you forget your troubles," added jane. "some new clothes." the girl's eyes lighted up with joy. "honestly? oh, that's wonderful! let me see them!" mary louise untied the package and held the things up for elsie to look at. the girl's expression was one of positive rapture. a silk dress! in the latest style! and the kind of soft wooly coat she had always dreamed of possessing! a hat that was a real hat--not one of those outlandish sunbonnets her aunt mattie made her wear! dainty lingerie--and a pair of white shoes! "oh, it's too much!" she cried. "i couldn't take them! they're your best things--i know they are." and once again her eyes filled with tears. "we have other nice clothes," mary louise assured her. "and our mothers said it was all right. so you must take them: we'd be hurt if you didn't." "honestly?" the girl looked as if she could not believe there was so much goodness in the world. "absolutely! now--don't you want to go in and try them on?" "i'll do it right here," said elsie. "these cedars are so thick that nobody can see me. and if i went into the house they might not let me out again to show you." with trembling fingers she pulled off her shoes and stockings, and the old calico dress she was wearing, and put on the silk slip and the green flowered dress. then the white stockings and the slippers, which fitted beautifully. and last of all, the coat. her eyes were sparkling now, and her feet were taking little dancing steps of delight. elsie grant looked like a different person! "wonderful!" cried mary louise and jane in the same breath. "only--let me fix your hair," suggested the former. "it's naturally curly, isn't it? but you have it drawn back so tightly you can scarcely see any wave." "i'd like to wear it like yours, mary louise," replied the orphan wistfully. "but it's too long, and i have no money for barbers or beauty parlors." "we'll see what we can do next time we come," answered mary louise. "but let's loosen it up a bit now and put your knot down low on your neck so that the hat will fit." deftly she fluffed it out a little at the sides and pinned it in a modish style. then she put the little white felt hat on elsie's head at just the correct angle and stepped back to survey the transformed girl with pride. "you're positively a knockout, elsie!" she exclaimed in delight. "take my word for it, you're going to be a big hit in riverside." she chuckled to herself. "we'll all lose our boy-friends when they see you!" "oh no!" protested elsie seriously. "you are really beautiful, mary louise! and so clever and good. and so is jane." both girls smiled at elsie's extravagant praise. then mary louise turned back to her notebook. "i'd like to hear more about yesterday," she said: "whether you think any of these five relatives had a chance to steal that money." "they all had a chance," answered elsie. "they were all here--and all up in aunt mattie's room at some time or other during the day or evening!" chapter iii _suspects_ "let's sit down again while you tell me every single thing that happened here yesterday," suggested mary louise. elsie took off the white coat and folded it carefully. then she removed her hat. "but i can't sit down in this silk dress," she objected. "i might get it dirty, and i don't want to take it off till i see myself in a mirror. i might not have another chance to put it on all day long!" "you can sit on the paper," advised jane. "that will protect it. besides, the ground is dry, and these needles are a covering." very cautiously elsie seated herself, and turned to mary louise, who had dropped down beside her on the ground. "begin when you got up in the morning," she said. "that was about seven o'clock," replied elsie. "but really, that doesn't matter, because i'm sure aunt mattie counted her money after you girls brought the kitten back. i heard her. and she stayed in her room until after lunch." "does this safe have a combination lock?" inquired mary louise. "no, it doesn't. just a key. john grant suggested to aunt mattie that she have one put on, and she refused. she said people can guess at combinations of figures by twisting the handle around, but if she kept the key with her day and night, nobody could open the safe.... but she got fooled!" "the lock was broken?" "yes. but the door of the safe was closed, so she hadn't noticed it until she went to count her money this morning." "do you know how much was taken?" "no, i don't. plenty, i guess. only, there was one queer thing about it: the thief didn't take the bonds she kept in a special drawer." "overlooked them, probably," remarked mary louise. "maybe. i don't know. well, as i said, aunt mattie was in her room until lunch time, and then she went out on the front porch. about two o'clock in the afternoon aunt grace and her son john drove over." "john--grant," repeated mary louise, consulting the list in her notebook. "he's your aunt grace's oldest son?" "yes. he's about forty, as i said. fat and a little bit bald. an old bachelor. probably you'd recognize him if you saw him, because he's on the school board. aunt mattie likes him because he does little repair jobs for her around the house that save her spending money for a carpenter. "yesterday he went upstairs and fixed a window sash in her bedroom." elsie paused thoughtfully. "so you see john had a good chance to open the safe and steal the money." "why, he's the guilty one, of course!" cried jane instantly. "it's just too plain. i should think your aunt would see that." elsie shook her head. "no, it would never occur to aunt mattie to accuse john. he's the one person in the family she trusts. she always says she is leaving him all her money in her will--so why would he bother to steal it?" "he might need it now, for some particular purpose," replied jane. "he is handy with tools, you say--and had such a good opportunity." "we better get on with the story," urged mary louise. "any minute elsie may be called in." the girl shuddered, as if she dreaded the ordeal of meeting her aunt again. "was your aunt grace in the bedroom at all during the afternoon?" questioned mary louise. "by herself, i mean?" "i don't know. she and aunt mattie went up together to look at the window after john finished fixing it, but whether or not aunt grace was there alone, i couldn't say. anyhow, there's no use worrying about that. aunt grace just _couldn't_ steal anything." "according to the detective stories," put in jane, "it's the person who just _couldn't_ commit the crime who always is the guilty one. the one you suspect least." "but this isn't a story," said elsie. "i wish it were. if you knew how dreadful it is for me, living here and having everybody think i'm a thief!" "why don't you run away, now that you have some decent clothes?" suggested jane. "i just wouldn't stand for anything like that!" "but i have nowhere to go. besides, running away would make me look guiltier than ever." "elsie's right," approved mary louise. "she can't run away now. but we'll prove she's innocent!" she added, with determination. "there's something else that happened during that visit," continued elsie. "i mean, while aunt grace and john were here. part of a conversation i overhead that may give you a clue. aunt grace said her youngest son--harry, you remember--had gotten into debt and needed some money very badly. she didn't actually ask aunt mattie to help him out: she only hinted. but she didn't get any encouragement from aunt mattie. she told aunt grace just to shut harry out of the house till he learned to behave himself!" "so this harry grant is in debt!" muttered mary louise, making a note of this fact in her little book. "could he have stolen the money?" "yes, it's possible. after aunt grace and john went home, harry came over to dark cedars." "what time was that?" "around four o'clock, i think. i was out in the kitchen, helping hannah shell some peas for supper. we heard his car--it's a terribly noisy old thing--and then his voice." "what's he like?" asked mary louise. "i told you he was the youngest of aunt grace's children, you know, and he's rather handsome. he treats me much better than any of the other relations, except aunt grace, but still i don't like him. he always insists on kissing me and teasing me about imaginary boy-friends. i usually run out into the kitchen when i hear him coming." "is he here often?" "only when he wants something. he tries to flatter aunt mattie and tease her money away from her. but, as far as i know, he never gets any." "what did he want yesterday?" "he said he wanted a loan. he didn't bother to talk quietly: i could hear every word he said from the kitchen." "and your aunt refused?" "yes. she told him to sell his car if he needed money. as if he could sell that old bus!" elsie laughed. "you'd have to pay somebody to take that away," she explained. mary louise tapped her pencil again. she hated to get away from the all-important subject. "but how do you think harry could have stolen the money if your aunt mattie was with him all the time?" she asked. "aunt mattie wasn't. he had a fine chance. something had gone wrong with his car, and he had to fix it on the way over. so his hands were all dirty, and he went upstairs to wash them." "oh!" exclaimed jane significantly. "looks bad for harry grant," commented mary louise, "because he had a motive. daddy always looks for two things when he's solving a crime: the motive, and the chance to get away with it. and it seems that this young man had both." elsie nodded. "yes, he had. and he was upstairs a good while, too. but then, he's an awful dandy about everything. you never see grease in harry grant's finger nails!" "did he go right out when he came downstairs?" inquired mary louise. "no. he laughed and joked a lot. i heard him ask aunt mattie to lend him her finger-nail rouge because he had forgotten his. then he said he'd like some cookies, and i had to make lemonade." "so, if he took the money, he must have had it in his pocket all this time? he didn't go upstairs again?" "no, he didn't. and i know aunt mattie had a good deal of it in gold, so it must have been terribly heavy. still, men have a lot of pockets." mary louise nodded. "yes, that's true. but you'd think if he really had taken it he'd have been anxious to get away. that story about asking for cookies and lemonade almost proves an alibi for him." she sighed; it was all getting rather complicated. "did anything else happen yesterday?" she asked wearily. "i mean, after harry went home?" "not till after supper. then mrs. pearson and her daughter walked over to see aunt mattie. they used to be rich, but mr. pearson lost his job, and they had to sell their car. so now they have to walk wherever they go." jane let out a groan. "so every one of those five relations of miss grant was here yesterday and had a chance to steal that money!" she exclaimed. "yes," agreed elsie. "every one of them!" "what are the pearsons like?" asked mary louise. "well, mrs. pearson looks like aunt grace--she's her daughter, you remember--but she isn't a bit like her. she isn't religious; in fact, she doesn't seem to care for anything in the world but that nasty daughter of hers. corinne, you know. have you ever seen corinne pearson?" "i think i have," replied mary louise. "though she never went to our school. i believe she attended that little private school, and now she goes around with the country club set, doesn't she?" "yes. her one ambition, and her mother's ambition for her, is to marry a rich man. i hate both of them. they're so rude to me--never speak to me at all unless they give me a command as if i were a servant. last night corinne told me to bring her a certain chair from the parlor, because she thought our porch rockers were dirty. and the tone she used! as if i ought to keep them clean just for her!" "i always imagined she was like that," said jane. "i was introduced to her once, and when i passed her on the street the next day she cut me dead." "once she told me to untie her shoe and see if there was a stone in it," continued elsie. "in the haughtiest tone!" "i'd have slapped her foot!" exclaimed jane. "you didn't obey her, did you?" "i had to. aunt mattie would have punished me if i hadn't. she dislikes corinne pearson and her mother, but she hates me worst of all.... so you can easily see why i run off when i see the pearsons coming. i went back into the kitchen with hannah, but aunt mattie soon called me to bring some ice water. and the conversation i heard may be another clue for you, mary louise." "oh, dear!" sighed jane. "we've got too many clues already." a voice sounded from the house, making the girls pause for a moment in silence. "elsie! oh, elsie!" "it's hannah. i'll have to go in a minute," said the girl, carefully getting to her feet, not forgetting her new dress. "but first i must tell you about this conversation, because it's important. it seems corinne was invited to a very swell dance by one of those rich mason boys, and she came over to ask aunt mattie for a new dress. aunt mattie laughed at her--that nasty cackle that she has. and then she said, 'certainly i'll give you a dress, corinne. go up to my closet and pick out anything you want. you'll find some old party dresses there!' "well, i could see that corinne was furious, but she got up and went upstairs. and she did pick out an old lace gown--i thought maybe she was going to make it over. perhaps she was just using it to hide the money, if she did steal it.... anyhow, she and her mother went home in a few minutes, carrying the dress with them." mary louise closed her notebook in confusion. "you better run along now, elsie, or you'll get punished," she advised. "all right, i will," agreed the younger girl as she gathered up her things. "you know all the suspects now." "all but the servants," replied mary louise. "and if i can, i'm going to interview hannah immediately." chapter iv _interviewing hannah_ keeping under cover of the cedar trees, mary louise and jane followed elsie grant, at a discreet distance, to the back of the house. unlike the front entrance, there was a screen at the kitchen door, so the girls could hear hannah's exclamation at the sight of the transformation in elsie's appearance. "my land!" she cried in amazement. "where did you get them clothes, elsie?" elsie laughed; the first normal, girlish laugh that mary louise and jane had ever heard from her. "don't i look nice, hannah?" she asked. "i haven't seen myself yet in a mirror, but i'm sure i do. i feel so different." "you look swell, all right," agreed the servant. "but no credit to you! if that's what you done with your aunt's money----" "oh, no, hannah!" protested elsie. "you're wrong there. i didn't _buy_ these things. they were given to me." the two girls were standing at the screen door now, in full view, and elsie beckoned for them to come inside. "these are my friends, hannah. the girls who rescued aunt mattie's kitten--remember? and they brought me the clothes this morning." the woman shook her head. "it might be true, but nobody'd believe it. folks don't give away nice things like that. i know that, for i've had a lot of 'hand-me-downs' in my life.... besides, they fit you too good." "but we did bring them to elsie," asserted jane. "you can see that we're all about the same size. and we can prove it by our mothers. we'll bring them over----" "you'll do nuthin' of the kind!" returned hannah. "miss mattie don't want a lot of strangers pokin' into her house and her affairs. now, you two run along! and, elsie, hurry up and get out of that finery. look at them dishes waitin' fer you in the sink!" the girl nodded and disappeared up the back stairs, humming a little tune to herself as she went. mary louise stood still. "we want to ask you a question or two, hannah," she explained. "we want to help find the thief who stole miss grant's money." the woman's nose shot up in the air, and a stubborn look came over her face. "is that so?" she asked defiantly. "and what business is that of your'n?" "we're making it our business," replied mary louise patiently, "because we're fond of elsie. we think it's terrible for her to be accused of something she didn't do." "how do you know she didn't do it?" "why--we just know." "that ain't no reason! besides, what do you know about elsie grant? seen her a couple of times and listened to her hard luck story and believe you know all about her!" "but surely you don't believe elsie stole that money?" demanded jane. "if she had, she'd certainly have run away immediately. wouldn't she?" "maybe--if she had the spirit. but, anyhow, it ain't none of your business, and miss mattie don't want it to get around. she don't want no scandal. now--get along with you!" "please, hannah!" begged mary louise. "we'll promise not to tell anybody about the robbery--not even our mothers. if you'd just answer a couple of questions----" the woman eyed her suspiciously. "you think maybe i done it?" she demanded. "well, i didn't! miss mattie knows how honest i am. william too--that's me husband. we've been in this house ever since miss mattie was a girl, and the whole family knows they can trust us." "oh, my goodness!" exclaimed mary louise. "i'm not suspecting _you_, hannah! all i want is a little information." "you're not going to the police and tell what you know? or to some detective?" "no. on my word of honor, no! jane and i are going to try to be detectives ourselves, that's all. for elsie's sake." the woman's expression softened. after all, mary louise's brown eyes had a winning way. "all right. only hurry up. i got a lot of work to do." mary louise smiled. "i'll be quick," she promised. "i just want to know whether you think there was any time during the day or evening--before miss grant went to bed--when a burglar could have entered the house without being seen or heard." hannah stopped beating the cake which she had been mixing while this conversation was taking place and gave the matter her entire consideration. "let me think," she muttered. "not all mornin', fer miss mattie was in her room herself. not in the afternoon, neither, fer there was too many people around. all them relations come over, and miss mattie was right on the front parch--and i was here at the back.... no, i don't see how anybody could have got in without bein' heard." "how about supper time?" questioned mary louise. "couldn't somebody have climbed in over the porch roof while the family were eating in the dining room?" "it's possible," answered hannah. "but it ain't likely. burglars ain't usually as quiet as all that. no; i hold with miss mattie--that elsie or maybe that good-fer-nuthin' harry took the money." mary louise sighed and turned towards the door. "i'm sure it wasn't elsie," she said again. "but maybe you're right about mr. harry grant. i hope we find out.... by the way," she added, "you couldn't tell me just how much was taken, could you, hannah?" "no, i couldn't. miss mattie didn't say.... now, my advice to you girls is: fergit all about it! it ain't none of your affairs, and elsie ain't a good companion fer you young ladies. she ain't had no eddication, and probably, now she's fifteen, her aunt'll put her into service as a housemaid somewheres. and you won't want to be associatin' with no servant girl!" jane's eyes blazed with indignation. "it's not fair!" she cried. "in a country like america, where education is free. anybody who wants it has a right to it." "then she can git it at night school while she's workin', if she sets her mind to it," remarked hannah complacently. "well, hannah, we thank you very much for your help," concluded mary louise as she opened the screen door. "and--you'll see us again!" neither girl said anything further until they were outside the big hedge that surrounded dark cedars. both of them felt baffled by the conflicting information they had gathered. "i wish i could put the whole affair up to daddy," observed mary louise, as they descended the hill to the road. "he isn't home now, but he soon will be." "well, you can't," replied her chum. "it might get elsie into trouble. and besides, we gave our promise." "it'll be hard not to talk about it. oh, dear, if we only knew where and how to begin!" "i guess the first thing to do is to find out just what was stolen," said jane. "that would make it more definite, at least. we have heard that it was money, but we don't know how much or what kind." "yes, that's true--and it would help considerably to know. for instance, if there was a lot of gold, as elsie seems to think, it would be practically impossible for harry grant to have concealed it in his pockets, or for corinne pearson to have carried it back to riverside without any car. but if, on the other hand, it was mostly paper money, it would be no trick at all for either one of them to have made away with it." the shrill screech of a loud horn attracted the girls' attention at that moment. a familiar horn, whose sound could not be mistaken. it belonged on the roadster owned by max miller, mary louise's special boy-friend. in another second the bright green car flashed into view, came up to the girls, and stopped with a sudden jamming on of the brakes. two hatless young men in flannel trousers and tennis shirts jumped out of the front seat. "what ho! and hi!--and greetings!" cried max in delight. "where have you two been?" "taking a walk," answered mary louise calmly. "taking a walk!" repeated norman wilder, the other young man, who was usually at jane's elbow at parties and sports affairs. "you mean--giving _us_ the air!" "giving _you_ the air? in what way?" jane's tone sounded severe, but her eyes were smiling into norman's, as if she were not at all sorry to see him. "forgot all about that tennis date we had, didn't you?" demanded max. "is that a nice way to treat a couple of splendid fellows like ourselves?" he threw out his chest and pulled himself up to his full height, which was six feet one. mary louise gasped and looked conscience-stricken. "we did forget!" she exclaimed. "but we can play now just as well as not--at least, if you'll take us home to get our shoes and rackets." "o.k.," agreed max. he turned to norman. "get into the rumble, old man. i crave to have mary louise beside me." the car started forward with its customary sudden leap, and max settled back in his seat. "we've got some great news for you, mary lou," he announced immediately. "big picnic on for this coming saturday! rounding up the whole crowd." mary louise was not impressed. picnics seemed tame to her in comparison with the excitement of being a detective and hunting down thieves. "afraid i have an engagement," she muttered. she and jane had a special arrangement, by which every free hour of the day was pledged to the other, so that if either wanted to get out of an invitation, she could plead a previous date without actually telling a lie. "the heck you have!" exclaimed max, in disappointment. "you've got to break it!" "sez you?" "yeah! sez i. and you'll say so too, mary lou, when you hear more about this picnic. it's going to be different. we're driving across to cooper's woods----" "oh, i've been there," yawned mary louise. "there's nothing special there. looks spooky and deep, but it's just an ordinary woods. maybe a little wilder----" "wait! you women never let a fellow talk. i've been trying to tell you something for five minutes, and here we are at your house, and you haven't heard it yet." "i guess i shan't die." with a light laugh she opened the car door and leaped out, at the exact moment that jane and norman jumped from the rumble, avoiding a collision by a fraction of an inch. "tell me about it when i come out again," called mary louise to max as she and jane ran into their respective houses to change. freckles met mary louise at the door. "can i go with you, sis?" he demanded. "yes, if you're ready," she agreed, making a dash for the stairs. her mother, meeting her in the hall, tried to detain her. she asked, "did the girl like the clothes, dear?" "oh, yes, she loved them," replied mary louise. "i'll tell you more about it when i get back from tennis. the boys are pestering us to hurry." three minutes later both she and jane were back in the car again, with freckles and silky added to the passenger list. max immediately went on about the picnic, just as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. "here's the big news," he said, as he stepped on the starter: "there are gypsies camping over in that meadow beside cooper's woods! so we're all going to have our fortunes told. that's why we're having the picnic there. now, won't that be fun?" "yes, i guess so. but i really don't see how jane and i can come----" she was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder from the rumble seat. "i think we can break that date, mary lou," announced her chum, with a wink. mary louise raised her eyebrows. "well, of course, if jane thinks so----" she said to max. "it's as good as settled," concluded max, with a chuckle. but mary louise was not convinced until she had a chance, after the game was over, to talk to jane alone and to ask her why she wanted to go on the picnic when they had such important things to do. "because i had an inspiration," replied jane. "one of us can ask the gypsy to solve our crime for us! they do tell strange things, sometimes, you know--and they might lead us to the solution!" chapter v _the stolen treasure_ "i'm not just tired," announced jane patterson, dropping into the hammock on mary louise's porch after the tennis was over. "i'm completely exhausted! i don't believe i can even move as far as our house--let alone walk anywhere." "oh, yes, you can," replied mary louise. "you'll feel lots better after you get a shower and some clean clothing. four sets of tennis oughtn't to do you up. many a time i've seen you good for six." "i know, but they weren't so strenuous. honestly, you and max ran me ragged. i tell you, mary lou, i'm all in. and i couldn't walk up that hill to miss grant's house if it meant life or death to me." "but think of poor elsie! she may need us now." "oh, what could we do?" "i don't know yet. but we have to go to find out just what was stolen, if for nothing else. she may know by this time." "then why not let the boys drive us up?" asked jane, with a yawn. "you know why. we can't let them into the secret: they'd tell everybody. and i bet, if the thing got out, miss grant would be so mad she'd have elsie arrested then and there. no, there's nothing for us to do but walk.... so please go get your shower." wearily jane struggled to her feet. "o.k. but i warn you, i may drop in my tracks, and then you'll have to carry me." "i'll take a chance." mary louise met another protest from her mother, who tried to insist that her daughter lie down for a little rest before supper. but here again persuasion won. "really, i'm not tired, mother," she explained. "it's only that i'm hot and dirty. and we have something very important to do--i wish i could tell you all about it, but i can't now." her mother seemed satisfied. she had learned by this time that she could trust mary louise. "all right, dear," she said. "call jane over, and you may all have some lemonade. freckles said he had to have a cold drink." the refreshments revived even jane, and half an hour later the two girls were walking up the shady lane which led towards the grant place. it wasn't so bad as jane had expected; the road was so sheltered by trees that they did not mind the climb. once inside the hedge they peered eagerly in among the cedar trees for a glimpse of elsie. but they did not see her anywhere. "she's probably in the kitchen helping hannah with the dinner," concluded mary louise. "let's go around back." here they found her, sitting on the back step, shelling peas. she was wearing her old dress again, and the girls could see that she had been crying. but her eyes lighted up with pleasure at the sight of her two friends. "oh, i'm so glad to see you girls!" she cried. "i wanted you so much, and i didn't know how to let you know. you see, i don't even have your address--though that wouldn't have done me much good, because i'm not allowed out of the gate, and i haven't any stamp to put on a letter. the only thing i could do was pray that you would come!" "well, here we are!" announced mary louise, with a significant look at jane. "now tell us why you specially wanted us." "i wanted you to assure aunt mattie that you really did give me those dresses and things. right away she said i must have bought them with her money. though how she thinks i ever had a chance to get to any store is beyond me. she knows i never leave this place." "how did she find out about them?" inquired mary louise. "you didn't show them to her, did you?" "no, i didn't. she found them while she was searching through my things this morning, to see whether i had her money hidden anywhere." "that's terrible!" exclaimed jane. "oh, how dreadful it must be to be all alone in the world, without anybody who trusts you!" something of the same thought ran through mary louise's brain at the same time. "tell us just what has happened today, since we left," urged mary louise. "has anybody been here?" "no. not a soul. but aunt mattie put me through a lot more questions at lunch, and afterward she gave my room a thorough search. when she found my new clothes, she was more sure than ever that i was the thief. she told me if i didn't confess everything right away she'd have to change her mind and call the police." "did she call them?" demanded jane. "not yet. it's lucky for me that she hasn't a telephone. she said she guessed she'd send william after supper. so you can see how much it meant to me for you girls to come over now!" mary louise nodded gravely, and jane blushed at her reluctance in wanting to come. if elsie had gone to jail, it would have been their fault for giving her the clothing! "when can we see your aunt?" inquired mary louise. "right now. i'll go in and tell her. she's out on the front porch, i think." elsie handed her pan to hannah and went through the kitchen to the front of the house. she was back again in a moment, telling the girls to come with her. they found the old lady in her favorite rocking chair, with her knitting in her lap. but she was not working--just scowling at the world in general, and when elsie came out on the dilapidated porch an expression of pain crossed her wrinkled brows. whether it was real pain from that trouble in her side which she had mentioned, or whether it was only a miserly grief over the loss of her money, mary louise had no way of telling. "good-afternoon, miss grant," she said pleasantly. "how is your kitten today?" a smile crept over the woman's face, making her much more pleasant to look at. "she's fine," she replied. "come here, puffy, and speak to the kind girls who rescued you yesterday!" the kitten ran over and jumped into miss grant's lap. "she certainly is sweet," said mary louise. she cleared her throat: why couldn't the old lady help her out by asking her a question about the clothing? but elsie, nervously impatient, brought up the subject they were all waiting for. "tell aunt mattie about the dresses and the coat," she urged. "oh, yes," said mary louise hastily. "your niece told us, miss grant, that she never gets to riverside to buy any new clothes, so when i noticed we were all three about the same size, jane and i asked our mothers whether we couldn't give her some of ours. they were willing, and so we brought them over this morning." "humph!" was the only comment miss grant made to this explanation. mary louise could not tell whether she believed her or not and whether she was pleased or angry. "you didn't mind, did you, miss grant?" she inquired nervously. "no, of course not. elsie's mighty lucky.... i only hope when she's working as somebody's maid that they'll be as nice to her. it helps out, when wages are small. for nobody wants to pay servants much these days." a lump came into mary louise's throat at the thought of elsie's future, which miss grant had just pictured for them. she longed to plead the girl's cause, but she knew it would do no good. especially at the present time, with miss grant poorer than she had ever been in her life. the old lady's eyes suddenly narrowed, and she looked sharply at mary louise. "see here!" she said abruptly. "you two girls are the only people besides those living in this house who know about this robbery, and i don't want you to say a word of it to anybody! understand? i don't want the police in on this until i am ready to tell them. or my other relatives, either. i expect to get that money back myself!" all three girls breathed a sigh of relief: it was evident that the police would not be summoned that evening. and both mary louise and jane gave their promise of utmost secrecy. "but we'd like to help discover the thief, if we can," added mary louise. "you don't mind if we try, do you, miss grant--if it's all on the quiet?" "no, i don't mind. but i don't see what you can do." miss grant looked sharply at elsie, as if she thought maybe her niece might confess to these girls while she stubbornly refused to tell her aunt anything. "yes," she added, "you might succeed where i failed.... yes, i'll pay ten dollars' reward if you get my money back for me." "we think it might have been a robber," remarked mary louise, to try to divert miss grant's suspicious eyes from her niece. "he could have slipped in while you were at supper." "it wasn't a robber," announced miss grant, with conviction. "if it had been, he'd have taken everything. the most valuable things were left in the safe. my bonds. they're government bonds, too, so anybody could see the value of them--except a child! no, it was somebody right in this house!" and she laughed with that nasty cackle which made jane so angry, that, she said afterward, if miss grant hadn't been an old lady, she would have slapped her then and there in the face. "or maybe it was one of your other relations," said mary louise evenly. "possibly. i wouldn't trust harry grant or corinne pearson. or corinne's mother, either, for that matter!" "how about mrs. grant?" "my sister-in-law? no, i don't think she'd take anything. and i know it wasn't john--or either of the servants.... no." she looked at elsie again. "there's your culprit. make her confess--and you get ten dollars!" she paused, while everybody looked embarrassed. but she was enjoying the situation. "i'll make it ten dollars apiece!" she added. "it isn't the money we want, miss grant," said mary louise stiffly. "it's to clear elsie of suspicion." "nonsense! everybody wants money!" mary louise took her notebook out of her pocket. "would you tell us just how much money was taken, miss grant?" she asked. "and--all about it?" "yes, of course i will. there was a metal box in the safe with five hundred dollars in gold----" "gold!" exclaimed jane. "i thought you were supposed to turn that in to the government!" "you mind your business!" snapped miss grant. "we will--we will!" said mary louise hastily. "please go on, miss grant!" "five hundred dollars in twenty-dollar gold pieces," she repeated. "then there was eight hundred and fifty dollars in bills--all in fifty-dollar notes. i have the numbers of the bills written down in a book upstairs. would you like to copy them down, mary louise?" "yes, indeed!" cried the latter rapturously. miss grant was treating her just like a real detective! "come upstairs, then, with me, and you can see the safe and my room at the same time." the old lady turned to her niece, who was still waiting nervously beside the door. "go back to your work, elsie," she commanded. "hannah will be wanting you." the girl nodded obediently, but before she disappeared she softly asked mary louise, "will you and jane be back again tomorrow?" "yes, of course," was the reply. "you can count on us." miss grant gathered up her knitting and picked up her kitten from the porch floor, where it had been rolling about with a ball of its mistress's wool. "i may want you girls to walk over to the bank with me tomorrow," she remarked. "unless john happens to come here in his car. i've about decided to put my bonds into a safe-deposit box at the bank." "we'll be glad to go with you," mary louise assured her. the old lady struggled painfully to her feet and led the way through the house, up the stairs to her room. both girls noticed the ominous creak which these gave when anything touched them, and jane shuddered. it must be awful to live in a tumble-down place like this! miss grant's room on the second floor was at the front of the house, just as elsie had said, and one window overlooked the porch. it was furnished with ugly, heavy wooden furniture, and a rug that was almost threadbare. along one wall, opposite the bed, was a huge closet, in which, no doubt, miss grant kept those old dresses which she had offered to corinne pearson. and the most astonishing thing about the bedroom was the fact that it contained not a single mirror! ("but, of course," jane remarked afterward, "you wouldn't want to see yourself if you looked like that old maid!") off in the corner was the iron safe, with the only comfortable chair in the room beside it. here, evidently, miss grant spent most of her time, rocking in the old-fashioned chair and gloating over her money. now she hobbled directly to the safe and opened the door for the girls to look into it. "you can see how the lock has been picked," she pointed out. "it's broken now, of course." she suddenly eyed the girls suspiciously, as if they were not to be trusted either, and added, "the bonds aren't in there now! i hid them somewhere else." mary louise nodded solemnly. "yes, that was wise, miss grant.... now, may i write down the numbers of the bills that were stolen?" after she had concluded this little task, she went to examine the windows. they were both large--plenty big enough for a person to step through without any difficulty. but the one over the porch proved disappointing, for the roof of the porch was crumbling so badly and the posts were so rotted that anyone who attempted to climb in by that method would be taking his life in his hands. "i always keep that window locked," said miss grant, following mary louise. "so you see why i don't think it was a burglar who took my money. locked--day and night!" mary louise nodded and examined the other window. it was high from the ground; there was a tree growing near it, but not near enough to make it possible for a human being to jump from a branch to the window sill. only a monkey could perform a trick like that! mary louise turned away with a sigh. she was almost ready to admit that the robbery was an inside job, as miss grant insisted. "may we see inside the closet before we go?" she asked as an afterthought. miss grant nodded and opened the door, disclosing a space as large as the kitchenettes in some of the modern apartments. miss grant herself used it as a small storeroom for the things that she did not want to put up in the attic. "anybody could hide here for hours," jane remarked, "without being suffocated." "which is just what i believe elsie did!" returned miss grant, with a smirk. and the girls, unhappy and more baffled than ever, went home to their suppers. chapter vi _a wild ride_ "one of the best points in this case," mary louise observed, in her most professional tone, "is its secrecy." "why do you say that?" questioned jane. the girls were returning from their second visit that day to dark cedars and were walking as fast as they could towards home. it was almost six o'clock, and mary louise usually helped her mother a little with the supper. but freckles was there; she knew he would offer his services. "what i mean is, since the robbery hasn't been talked about, nobody is on guard," she explained. "if any of those relatives did take the money, probably they think the theft hasn't been discovered yet, or miss grant would have called them over to see her. in a way, it's pretty tricky of her." "but, do you know, i can hardly believe any of them stole all that gold," returned jane. "because, what would they do with it? nobody is supposed to use gold nowadays, and it would arouse all sorts of suspicions." "yes, that's true. but then, they might want to hoard it, the same as miss grant did." "a man like harry grant wouldn't want to hoard any! from what i hear of him, he spends money before he even gets it." "true. but there are other relatives. and somebody did steal it!" "yes, somebody stole it, all right. only, the fact that a lot of it was gold makes elsie look guilty. she probably wouldn't know about the new law." mary louise frowned: she didn't like that thought. "well, i'm not going to suspect elsie till i've investigated everybody else. every one of those five relations--mrs. grant, john grant, harry grant, mrs. pearson, and her daughter corinne!" "have you any plan at all?" inquired jane. "yes, i'd like to do a little snooping tonight." "snooping? where? how?" "sneak around those two houses in riverside--the grants', where john and harry live with their mother, and the pearsons'! it's such a warm evening they'll probably be on their porches, and we might overhear something to our advantage." "but suppose we were arrested for prowling?" "oh, they wouldn't arrest two respectable-looking girls like us! besides, if they did, daddy could easily get us out." "is he home?" "no, he isn't. but he'll be back in a day or two." "a day or two in the county jail wouldn't be so good!" "nonsense, jane! nothing will happen," mary louise assured her. "we've got to take some chances if we're going to be detectives. daddy takes terrible ones sometimes." "do you know where these people live?" inquired her chum. "the grants and the pearsons, i mean?" "i know where the grants live: in that big red brick house on green street. old-fashioned, set back from the street. don't you remember?" "yes, i guess i do." "we can pass it on our way home, if we go one block farther down before we turn in at our street." "how about the pearsons?" asked jane. "i don't know where they live. but i think we can get the address from the phone book." the girls stepped along at a rapid rate, entirely forgetful of the tennis which had tired jane so completely a couple of hours ago. in a minute or so they came in sight of the red brick house. it was an ugly place, but it was not run down or dilapidated like miss mattie grant's. john grant evidently believed in keeping things in repair. the house stood next to a vacant lot, and it was enclosed by a wooden fence, which was overgrown with honeysuckle vines. a gravel drive led from the front to the back yard, alongside of this fence, and there were half a dozen large old trees on the lawn. "we could easily hide there after dark," muttered mary louise. "climb over that fence back by the garage and sneak up behind those trees to a spot within hearing distance of the porch." "i don't see what good it would do us," objected jane. "it might do us lots of good! look at that car! that must be harry grant's, judging from elsie's description. if his car's there, he must be home. and if we hear him say anything about spending money, then we can be suspicious. because, where would he get the money unless he stole his aunt's?" jane nodded her head. "yes, i see your logic," she agreed. "but there isn't a soul around now, and likely as not there won't be all evening." "they're probably eating supper. come on, let's hurry and get ours over. and meet me as soon as you can afterwards." the girls separated at their gates, and mary louise ran inside quickly to be on hand to help her mother. "daddy isn't home yet?" she asked, as she carried a plate of hot biscuits to the table. "no, dear," answered her mother. "he's in chicago--i had a special-delivery letter from him today. he can't be back before the weekend--saturday or sunday." mary louise sighed. she had been hoping that perhaps she could get some advice from him without giving away any names or places. freckles dashed into the room, with silky close at his heels. "where have you been, sis?" he demanded. "why didn't you take silky with you? he's been fussing for you." "jane and i had an errand to go," the girl explained. "and we couldn't take him along. but we'll take him with us for a walk after supper." "walk again?" repeated mrs. gay, her forehead wrinkled in disapproval. "mary louise, you're doing too much! you must get some rest!" "we shan't be out long, mother. it isn't a date or anything. jane and i want to take a little stroll, with silky, after supper. isn't it all right if i promise to go to bed very early?" "i suppose so. if you get in by nine-thirty----" "i promise!" replied mary louise, little thinking how impossible it was going to be for her to keep her word. she did not start upon her project until she had finished washing the dishes for her mother. then, slipping upstairs, she changed into a dark green sweater dress and brown shoes and stockings. through the window of her bedroom she signaled to her chum to make a similar change. "might as well make ourselves as inconspicuous as possible," she explained, as the two girls, followed by silky, walked down the street ten minutes later. "did you have any trouble getting away, jane? i mean, without giving any explanation?" "yes, a little. mother can't understand all this sudden passion for walking, when i used to have to ride everywhere in norman's or max's car. i really think she believes i have a new boy-friend and that i meet him somewhere so as not to make norman jealous. as if i'd go to all that trouble!" mary louise nodded. "a little jealousy does 'em good," she remarked. "of course, mother doesn't think it's so queer for me, because i always did have to take silky for walks. and he's a good excuse now." "oh, well, we'll be home early tonight," concluded jane. "so there won't be any cause for worry." "there's somebody on the porch--several people, i think," said mary louise as the girls turned into the street on which the grants' house was situated. "two men," added jane as they came nearer. "i think the person sitting down is a woman. but it's getting too dark to see clearly." "all the better! that's just what we want. let's cut across the lot to the back of the place, and sneak up behind the car in the driveway. we can see the porch from there." "but i'm afraid we'll be caught," objected jane fearfully. nevertheless, she followed mary louise around a side street to the rear of the lot, and together they climbed the grants' fence, cautiously and silently. once inside, they crept noiselessly along the grass near the fence until they came to the back of harry grant's car. there could be no doubt that it was his. at least five years old, with battered mudguards and rusted trimmings, it looked like the relic elsie had laughed about. it was a small black coupé, with a compartment behind for carrying luggage. "if mr. harry grant goes for a ride in this, we're going with him!" announced mary louise. "no!" cried her chum. "how could we?" "in the luggage compartment." "we'd smother." "no, we wouldn't. we'd open the lid after we got started." "suppose he locked us in?" "he can't. i just made sure that the lock has rusted off." "but what good would it do us to ride with him?" demanded jane. "sh! they might hear us!" warned mary louise. she turned to the dog and patted him. "you keep quiet too, silky.... why," she explained in a whisper, "we could watch to see whether mr. harry spends any money. if he brings out a fifty-dollar bill, he's a doomed man!" "you are clever, mary lou!" breathed her chum admiringly. "but it's an awful risk to take." "oh no, it isn't. mr. grant isn't a gangster or a desperate character. he wouldn't hurt us." jane looked doubtful. "have you made out who the people are on the porch?" she asked. "it must be mrs. grace grant--and her two sons. yes, and i feel sure that is harry, coming down the steps now.... listen!" the girls' eyes, more accustomed to the darkness, could distinguish the figures quite plainly by now. the younger of the two men, with a satchel in his hand, was speaking to his mother. "i ought to be back by saturday," he said in a loud, cheerful voice. "and if this deal i've been talking about over in new york goes through, i'll be driving home in a new car." "you better pay your debts first, harry," cautioned his mother. "i hope to make enough money to do both," he returned confidently. "and if you see aunt mattie, you can tell her i don't need her help!" mary louise nudged jane's arm at this proud boast and repressed a giggle. "maybe he can fool his mother," she whispered. "but he can't fool us! come on, get in, jane." holding open the lid of the car's compartment she lifted silky in and gave her hand to her chum. "suppose he puts his satchel in here," said jane, when they were all huddled down in the extremely small space and mary louise had cautiously let down the lid, shutting them in absolute darkness. "he won't--not if it has money in it. he'll keep it right on the seat beside him.... he will anyway, because it doesn't take up much room." the car rocked to one side, indicating that harry grant had stepped in and was seating himself at the wheel. jane's lip trembled. "it's so dark in here! so terribly dark! where's your hand, mary lou?" "here--and here's silky. oh, jane, this is going to be good!" the motor started, and the car leaped forward with a sudden uneven bound. jane repressed a cry of terror. it turned sharply at the gate and buzzed along noisily for several minutes before mary louise cautiously raised the lid and looked out. oh, how good it was to see the lights again, and the sky--after that horrible blackness! the car had reached the open highway which led out of riverside, and it picked up speed until it was rattling along at a pace of about sixty miles an hour. growing bolder, mary louise continued to raise the lid of the compartment until it was upright at its full height. the girls straightened up, with their heads and shoulders sticking out of the enclosure. "quite a nice ride after all, isn't it?" observed mary louise, gazing up at the stars. "i don't know," returned jane. "it sounds to me as if there were something wrong with that engine. if we have an accident----" "that's just what i'm hoping for," was the surprising reply. "or rather, a breakdown." "whatever would you do?" "i'll tell you. listen carefully, so we'll be prepared to act the minute the car stops. while harry gets out on the left--he surely will, because his wheel is on the left--we jump out on the right. if there are woods beside the road, as i remember there are for some distance along here, we disappear into them. if not, we get to the path, and just walk along as if we were two people out for a walk with their dog. he won't think anything about that, for he doesn't know us, or know that we came with him." "but how will that help us to find out whether he is the thief?" inquired jane. "my plan is to grab that satchel, if we get a chance, and run off with it!" "but that's stealing, mary lou! he could have us arrested." "detectives have to take chances like that. it isn't really stealing, for we want to get hold of it merely to give its contents to the rightful owner. of course, if there's no money in it, we could return it later." they were silent for a while, listening to the pounding of the engine. fifteen minutes passed; mary louise saw by her watch when they rode under a light that it was quarter after nine, and she recalled her promise to her mother. but she couldn't do anything about it now. they were ascending a hill, and the speed of the car was diminishing; it seemed to the girls that they were not going to make it. the engine wheezed and puffed, but the driver was evidently doing his best. ahead, on the left, shone the lights of a gas station, and this, mary louise decided, must be the goal that harry was now aiming for. but the engine refused to go the full distance: it sputtered and died, and the girls felt the car jerked close to the right side, with no sign of civilization about except the lighted gas station about fifty yards ahead. but, lonely or not, the time had come for action, and there was not a second to be lost. before harry grant's feet were off the running board both girls were out of the car on the other side, holding silky close to them and hiding in the shadow. mr. grant stepped forward and raised the hood of his motor, peering inside with a flashlight. keeping her eye on him through the open window of the car, mary louise crept cautiously along the right side towards the front. the young man turned about suddenly and swore softly to himself. but it was not because he had seen or heard the girls, although jane did not wait to find that out. desperately frightened, she dashed wildly into the protecting darkness of the bushes at the side of the road. mary louise, however, remained steadfastly where she was, waiting for her opportunity. it came in another moment. lighting a cigarette, mr. grant started to walk to the gas station. "what could be sweeter!" exclaimed mary louise rapturously to herself, for jane was out of hearing distance by this time. "my big chance!" she reached her hand quickly through the open window and picked up the satchel from the seat. then, with silky close at her heels, she too made for the protecting woods. in another moment she was at jane's side, breathless and triumphant. "you're all right?" demanded her chum exultantly. "oh, mary lou, you're marvelous!" "not so marvelous as you think," replied the other, feeling for jane's hand in the darkness. "lift that satchel!" jane groped about, and took it from mary louise, expecting a heavy weight. but it was surprisingly, disappointingly light! "it can't possibly contain any gold," said mary louise, dropping to the ground in disgust. "all our trouble--and we're only a common pair of thieves ourselves!" silky came close to her and licked her hand reassuringly, as if he did not agree with her about the name she was calling herself and jane. "stranded on a lonely road--at least ten miles from home!" wailed jane. "sh!" warned mary louise. "they're at the car--harry and another man. we might be caught!" but she stopped suddenly: something was coming towards them, as they could sense from the snapping of a twig close by. not from the road, however, but from the depth of the woods! chapter vii "_hands up!_" the two girls sat rigid with terror, mary louise holding tightly to silky. in the darkness they could see nothing, for the denseness of the trees blotted even the sky from view. the silence of the woods was broken only by a faint rustle in the undergrowth, as something--they didn't know what--came nearer. silky's ears were alert, his body as tense with watching, and jane was actually trembling. "got your flashlight, mary lou?" she whispered. "yes, but i'm afraid to put it on till harry grant gets away. he might see it from the road." the sudden roar of the motor almost drowned out her words. the noise startled whatever it was that was near them, and the girls felt a little animal pass so close that it nearly touched them. they almost laughed out loud at their fear: the cause of their terror was only an innocent little white rabbit! mary louise took a tighter grip upon her dog. "you mustn't leave us, silky! you don't want that bunny! we need you with us." the engine continued to roar; the girls heard the car start, and drive away. jane uttered a sigh of relief. "i wonder whether he missed his satchel," she remarked. "probably he didn't care if he did," returned her chum. "i don't believe it has anything in it but a toothbrush and a change of linen." "let's open it and see." mary louise turned on her flashlight and looked at the small brown bag beside them. "shucks!" she exclaimed in disappointment. "it's locked." "it would be. well, so long as we have to carry it home, maybe we'll be glad that it's so light." "i've got my penknife. i'm going to cut the leather." "but, mary lou, it doesn't belong to us!" "can't help that. we'll buy harry grant a new one if he's innocent." "o.k. you're the boss. be careful not to cut yourself." "you hold the flashlight, jane," said mary louise. "while i make the slit." the operation was not so easy, for the leather was tough, but mary louise always kept her knife as sharp as a boy's, and she succeeded at last in making an opening. excitedly both girls peered into the bag, and jane reached her hand into its depths. she drew it out again with an expression of disappointment. "an old turkish towel!" she exclaimed in dismay. but mary louise's search proved more fruitful. her hand came upon a bulky paper wad, encircled by a rubber band. she drew her hand out quickly and flashed the light upon her find. it was a fat roll of money! the girls gazed at her discovery in speechless joy. it seemed more like a dream than reality: one of those strange dreams where you find money everywhere, in all sorts of queer, dark places. "hide it in your sweater, mary lou!" whispered jane. "now let's make tracks for home." her companion concealed it carefully and then took another look into the satchel to make sure that none of the gold was there. she even inserted the flashlight into the bag, to confirm her belief. but there was nothing more. both girls got to their feet, jane with the satchel still in her hands. "i wish we were home," she remarked after the flashlight had been turned off, making the darkness seem blacker than before. "we can pick up a bus along this road, i think," returned mary louise reassuringly. "they ought to run along here about every half hour." "shall we use some of this money for carfare?" "no, we don't have to. i have my purse with me." choosing their way carefully through the bushes and undergrowth, the two girls proceeded slowly towards the road. but their adventures in the wood were not over. they heard another rustle of twigs in front of them, and footsteps. human footsteps, this time! "hands up!" snarled a gruff voice. the reactions of the two girls and the dog were instantaneous--and utterly different. jane clutched her chum's arm in terror; mary louise flashed her light upon the man--a rough, uncouth character, without even a mask--and silky flew at his legs. the dog's bite was quick and sharp: the bully cried out in pain. mary louise chuckled and, pulling jane by the hand, dashed out to the road, towards the lights of the gas station in the distance. as the girls retreated, they could hear groans and swearing from their tormentor. when they slowed down across the road from the gas station, mary louise looked around and whistled for silky. jane, noticing that she still clutched the empty bag in her hand, hurled it as far as she could in the direction from which they had come. in another moment the brave little dog came bounding to them. mary louise stooped over and picked him up in her arms. "you wonderful silky!" she cried, as she led the way across the road. "you saved our lives!" "suppose we hadn't taken him!" said jane in horror. "we'd be dead now." "let's go ask the attendant about buses," suggested mary louise, still stroking her dog's head. "we better not!" cautioned jane. "he may suspect us, if harry grant told him about his loss of the satchel." "oh no, he won't," replied mary louise. "because we'll tell him about the tramp, or the bandit, or whatever he is--and he'll suspect him." they walked confidently up to the man inside the station. "we're sort of lost," announced mary louise. "we want to get to riverside. there was a tramp back there about fifty yards who tried to make trouble for us. can we stay here until a bus comes along--they do run along here, don't they?" "yes, certainly," replied the man, answering both questions at once. "about fifty yards back, you say? did he have a brown satchel with him?" "i saw a brown satchel lying in the road," replied mary louise innocently. "why?" "because a motorist stopped there a few minutes ago with engine trouble, and while he came to me for help his grip was stolen." "did it have anything valuable in it?" inquired jane, trying to keep her tone casual. "yes. i believe there was about eight hundred dollars in it." mary louise gasped in delight. that meant that practically all of miss grant's paper money was there--in her sweater! all but one fifty-dollar bill! "well, i wouldn't go back there for eight thousand dollars!" said jane. "you can be sure there ain't any money in the bag now," returned the attendant shrewdly. "here comes your bus. you're lucky: they only run every half hour.... i'll go stop it for you." mary louise kept silky in her arms, and the two girls followed their protector to the middle of the road. the bus stopped, and the driver looked doubtfully at silky. "don't allow no dogs," he announced firmly. "oh, please!" begged mary louise in her sweetest tone. "silky is such a good, brave dog! he just saved our lives when we were held up by a highwayman. and we have to get home--our mothers will be so worried." "it's agin' the rules----" "please let us this time! i'll hold him in my lap." her brown eyes looked into his; for a moment the man thought mary louise was going to cry. then he turned to the half a dozen passengers in his car. "i'll leave it up to youse. would any of youse people report me if i let this here lady's dog in the bus?" "we'd report you if you didn't," replied a good-natured woman with gray hair. "these girls must get home as quickly as possible. it's not safe for them to be out on a lonely road like this at night." "oh, thank you so much!" exclaimed mary louise, smiling radiantly at the kind woman. "it's so good of you to help us out." the door closed; the girls waved good-bye to the attendant, and the bus started. mary louise gazed dismally at her watch. "even now we'll be an hour late," she remarked. "we promised our mothers we'd be home by half-past nine!" "girls your age shouldn't go lonely places after dark," observed the motherly woman. "let this be a lesson to you!" "oh, it will be, we assure you!" jane told her. "one experience like this is enough for us." the bus rumbled on for twenty minutes or so and finally deposited the girls in riverside, half a block from their homes. "still have the money?" whispered jane, as they ran the short distance to their gates. "yes, i can feel the wad here. i was so afraid somebody in the bus would notice it. but having silky in my lap helped." "it seems we have company," remarked jane, recognizing a familiar roadster parked in front of their houses. "now what can max want at this time of night?" demanded mary louise impatiently. she longed so terribly to get into her room by herself and count the money. "here they are, mrs. gay!" called a masculine voice from the porch. "they're all right, apparently." the two mothers appeared on mary louise's porch. "what in the world happened?" demanded mrs. patterson. "mrs. gay and i have been worried to death." "not to mention us," added norman wilder from the doorstep. "we phoned all your friends, and nobody had seen a thing of you." "i wish we could tell you all about it," answered mary louise slowly. "but we aren't allowed to. all i can say is, it's something in connection with elsie grant--the orphan, you know, mother, whom we told you about." mrs. gay looked relieved but not entirely satisfied. "i can't have you two girls going up that lonely road at night, dear," she said. "to the grants' place, i mean. it isn't safe." "oh, we weren't there tonight," jane assured her, not going on to explain that they had gone somewhere far more dangerous. "well, if you do have to go there, let max or norman drive you," suggested mrs. patterson. "the boys are willing, aren't you?" "sure thing!" they both replied. "let's all come inside and have some chocolate cake," said mrs. gay, delighted that everything had turned out all right. "you girls must be hungry." they were, of course; but mary louise was more anxious to be alone to count her treasure than to eat. however, she could not refuse, and the party lasted until after eleven. her mother followed her upstairs after the company had gone home. "you must be tired, dear," she said tenderly. "just step out of your clothes, and i'll hang them up for you." "oh, no, thanks, mother. i'm not so tired. we rode home in the bus.... please don't bother. i'm all right." "just as you say, dear," agreed mrs. gay, kissing her daughter good-night. "but don't get up for breakfast. try to get some sleep!" mary louise smiled. ("not if i know it," she thought to herself. "i'm going after the rest of that treasure! the gold! maybe if i get that back for miss grant, she'll consent to let elsie go to high school in the fall.") very carefully she drew off her sweater and laid the bills under the pillow on her bed. then, while she ran the shower in the bathroom, behind a locked door, she counted the money and checked the numbers engraved on the paper. the attendant was right! there were eight hundred dollars in all, in fifty-dollar notes. and the best part about it was the fact that the numbers proved that the money belonged to miss mattie grant! chapter viii _a confession_ it was a little after nine o'clock the following morning that mary louise and jane set off for dark cedars. the money was safely hidden in mary louise's blouse, and silky was told to come along for protection. "i'll never leave him home again," said mary louise. "miss grant will have to get used to him. but when we tell her about last night i guess she'll think he's a pretty wonderful dog." "i dreamed about bandits and robbers," remarked jane, with a shudder. "no more night adventures for me!" "well, it was worth it, wasn't it? think of the pleasure of clearing elsie of suspicion!" "it won't, though. her aunt will insist that she took that gold." "we're going to get that back too," asserted mary louise confidently. "by the way," observed jane, "norman tried to make me promise we'd drive over to the park with them this afternoon and have our supper there, after a swim. i said i'd let him know." mary louise shook her head. "we can't make dates, jane. it's out of the question, for we don't know what may turn up. i want to investigate the pearsons today. that disagreeable corinne may have had a part in the theft.... i'm sorry now that we promised the boys we'd go on that picnic." "that picnic's going to be fun! you know what marvelous swimming there is down by cooper's woods. and don't forget the gypsies! i love to have my fortune told." "yes, that's fun, i admit. but a whole day----" "oh, well, maybe we'll solve the whole crime today! and maybe miss grant will let us take elsie with us, now that she has some nice dresses." mary louise's eyes brightened. "that is an idea, jane. i'll ask miss grant today--as our reward for returning her money." the increasing heat of the day and the steepness of the climb to dark cedars made the girls long for that swimming pool in the amusement park, and jane at least wished that they were going with the boys. but one glance at her chum's determined face made her realize that such a hope was not to be fulfilled. both girls felt hot and sticky when they finally mounted the porch steps at dark cedars and pulled the old-fashioned knocker on the wooden door. it was opened almost immediately by hannah, who evidently had been working right there in the front of the house. the woman looked hot and disturbed, as if she had been working fast, under pressure. "good-morning," said mary louise brightly. "may we see miss grant, hannah?" "i don't know," replied the servant. "she's all of a fluster. we're at sixes and sevens here this mornin'. the ghosts walked last night." "what ghosts?" asked mary louise, trying to repress a smile. "you know. elsie's told you about 'em. the spirits that wanders through this house at night, mussin' up things. they had a party all over the downstairs last night." "hannah!" exclaimed jane. "you know that isn't possible. if there was a disturbance, it was caused by human beings. burglars." the woman shook her head. "you don't know nuthin' about it! if it was burglars, why wasn't somethin' stolen?" "wasn't anything stolen?" demanded mary louise incredulously. "not miss grant's bonds?" "nope. they're all there--safe. pictures was taken down--old pictures that must-a belonged to the spirits when they was alive. that old desk in the corner of the dinin' room--the one that belonged to miss mattie's father--was rummaged through, and all the closets was upset. but nuthin's missin'!" "it looks as if somebody were searching for a will," remarked jane. "you know--'the lost will' you so often read about." "there ain't no will in this house," hannah stated. "miss mattie give hers to mr. john grant to keep, long ago. no, ma'am, it ain't nateral what's goin' on here, and william and i are movin' out----" "what's this? what's this?" interrupted the shrill, high voice of the old lady. "what are you gossiping about, hannah? and to whom?" "i'm just tellin' them two young girls--the ones that come here before, you know----" "well, never mind!" snapped the spinster. "we haven't time to bother with them this morning. tell them to run along and not to take up elsie's time, either. she's got plenty to do." jane laughed sarcastically. "somebody ought to teach that woman manners," she whispered to mary louise. "serve her right if we didn't give her the money!" her chum smiled. "we couldn't be so cruel," she replied. "besides, it wouldn't be honest." she raised her voice. "miss grant, we have some money for you." "money? my money?" the old lady's voice was as eager as a child's. for the moment she forgot all about the pain in her side and came downstairs more rapidly than she had done for many a day. both girls watched her in surprise. she looked different today--much younger. instead of the somber old black sateen which she usually wore, she was dressed in a gray gown of soft, summery material, and her cheeks were flushed a pale pink. her black eyes were alight with vivacity. "you're not fooling me?" she demanded fearfully. mary louise reached into her blouse and produced the roll of bills. "no, miss grant. we have eight hundred dollars here--your money! the numbers on the bills correspond to the figures you gave me." "where's the other fifty?" asked the woman greedily. "did you keep it yourselves?" "no, of course not. we don't know where it is. but if you sit down, miss grant, we'll tell you our story." the spinster reached out her hand for the roll of money and clasped it as lovingly as a mother might fondle her lost child. "come into the parlor," she said, leading the way from the hall, "and tell me all about it." the girls followed her into the ugly room with its old-fashioned furniture, and saw for themselves the chaos which hannah had been describing. instinctively mary louise glanced at the windows to determine how an intruder could enter, for she did not believe hannah's story of the ghosts. although the shutters were half closed, she could see that the catch on the side window had been broken. but everything in this house was so dilapidated that perhaps no one had noticed it. when they were all seated, jane told the story of the previous evening's adventure, stressing the part that silky had played at the end. miss grant was impressed and actually asked to see the wonderful little dog. mary louise replied that he was waiting for them on the porch. "so it was harry grant after all!" the old lady muttered. "i'm not surprised. but i still believe elsie had some part in it--and got the gold pieces for herself. she'd rather have them than the paper money." "oh no, miss grant!" protested mary louise. "we're going to track them down too. we want to go over to harry grant's now, if you'll write us a note of introduction and explanation. he may have the gold at his house--it isn't likely that he'd carry it around." "possibly. but i don't believe i'll write a note--i think i'll go along with you! i want to talk to that good-for-nothing nephew of mine myself--if he's home. and he probably is, since you got the money.... yes, and i'm going to put this money and my bonds in the bank!" she hesitated a moment. "if you girls get me back that other fifty-dollar bill, i'll give you a reward." "we don't want a reward, miss grant," objected mary louise. "if you'll just let us take elsie with us to a picnic the young people in riverside are planning, we'll be satisfied." "i'll think about it," replied the woman. "hannah!" she called. "you go up and get my bonnet, and a brown paper package that's underneath it in the box. i'm going to riverside." "you ain't a-goin' a walk, miss mattie?" demanded the servant in horror. "of course i am. i haven't any car. john may not be over for several days." "but your side----" "fiddlesticks! do as you're told, hannah." the girls hated to leave without seeing elsie, but they knew that hannah would tell her what had happened. besides, they would probably return with miss grant; perhaps they could get norman or max to drive them over. jane chuckled at the idea of putting the old lady in the rumble seat--just for spite! silky came darting up to them as they came out of the door, and miss grant reached over and patted his head. ("it's her one redeeming trait," thought mary louise--"her kindness to animals.") "i'm glad you brought him," she said, "in case we meet anybody like that man you encountered last night!" they proceeded slowly, although the road was downhill; every few minutes miss grant stopped and held her hand over her side. mary louise wondered what they would do if the old lady collapsed, and decided that jane would have to run for a doctor while she and silky stayed to protect her and administer first aid. but they reached the riverside bank without any such mishap, and miss grant attended to her business while the girls waited outside. then, very slowly, they walked the three blocks to the home of harry grant. "he is back!" exclaimed mary louise jubilantly as she recognized the battered old car in the driveway. "i didn't expect he would be. i thought he'd stay away as long as that fifty-dollar bill lasted him." "maybe he didn't have it," remarked miss grant. jane turned on her angrily. "you think we kept that, don't you, miss grant?" she demanded. "no, no! nothing of the kind!" before they had mounted the porch steps, mrs. grace grant had rushed out of her house in amazement and stood gazing at her sister-in-law as if she were a ghost. she was a woman of about the same age, but much pleasanter looking, with soft gray hair and a sweet smile. as elsie had said, nobody could believe anything bad about mrs. grace grant. "why, mattie, this is a surprise!" she exclaimed. "it's been five years at least----" "it'll be more of a surprise when i tell you why i'm here, grace," snapped the other, sinking into a chair on the porch with a sigh of relief. "i've got bad news. i've been robbed." "robbed?" "yes." in a few words the spinster told the story of her loss of thirteen hundred and fifty dollars, and of the two girls' offer of assistance in discovering the thief. "of course, i suspected elsie immediately," she said, "but it seems i made a mistake. or partly a mistake, for there is still five hundred missing--all in gold. but these girls found out who took the bills and have got them all back for me--all but fifty dollars." "who was the thief?" demanded mrs. grant excitedly. "_your son harry!_ i'm sorry to have to tell you this, grace." "i don't believe it!" protested the other woman. "what proof have you, mattie?" "tell the story, jane," said miss grant. "i'm too tired." she leaned against the back of her chair in exhaustion. briefly jane related the incidents of the previous evening, describing their perilous ride in harry grant's car. the story rang true; jane repeated the very words the young man had uttered as he drove away, words which mrs. grant recalled easily. before she had finished, the unhappy mother was crying softly. "what are you going to do to him, mattie?" she asked finally. "have him arrested?" "that depends on him," replied her visitor. "if he gives me back the other bill, maybe i'll let him go. i don't want to drag the grant name into the papers if i can help it.... is he home?" "yes. he's upstairs, dressing." "just getting up, eh?" "he was out late last night." "carousing with my fifty dollars, i suppose." "i hope not." mrs. grant rose and went through the screen door. five minutes later she returned with her son. as elsie had remarked, harry grant was a good-looking man. he was stylishly dressed, in an immaculate linen suit, and he came out smiling nonchalantly at his aunt, as if the whole thing were a joke. "well, i'll be darned!" he exclaimed, staring incredulously at mary louise and jane. "are these the girls mother says i took for a ride last night?" "it's a terrible car," remarked jane. miss grant stamped her foot to put a stop to what she considered nonsensical talk. "tell me just how you managed to steal my money, harry," she commanded. "and where the other fifty-dollar bill is--and my five hundred in gold." the young man's chin went up in the air. "i didn't steal your money, aunt mattie," he said. "i was never inside your bedroom in my life--at least, not since i was grown up!" "don't lie, harry! how did you get it if you didn't steal it out of my safe?" "it was given to me." "by whom?" miss grant looked scornful: she couldn't believe any such foolish statement. the young man hesitated. "i don't think i ought to tell that," he replied. "oh yes, you ought! and you have to, or i'll have you arrested," threatened his aunt. "tell the truth, dear," urged his mother. "whoever stole that money deserves to suffer for it." "all right--i will! it was corinne--my niece, corinne pearson. she took it. eight hundred and fifty dollars in bills. she gave me eight hundred dollars--half of it to spend for her, and half for myself. i was to buy a certain evening gown and cloak in a shop in new york with which she had been corresponding. with my four hundred i was going to get a new car and drive back to riverside and announce that i had a present for corinne, because i was sorry for her about the party, and because i had put a good sale through. that's all.... it simply didn't work." "corinne!" repeated miss grant. "i'm not surprised. i always did suspect her.... and has she the other fifty dollars?" "yes, i believe she kept that for slippers and the beauty parlor," answered harry. miss grant got up from her chair. "you surely haven't any of the gold, have you, harry?" she inquired. "no. corinne didn't say anything about any gold pieces. you can't use them now, anyhow." "no doubt she's keeping them put away," surmised the old lady. "come, girls! we're going to the pearsons' now." "can i drive you over, aunt mattie?" offered harry jovially. "i wouldn't put a foot in that rattletrap for anything in the world!" was his aunt's ungracious retort. so she hobbled down the steps with mary louise and jane beside her and silky close at their heels. chapter ix _the fifty-dollar bill_ the pearsons' home, an attractive house of the english cottage type, was half a mile from mrs. grant's, in the best residential section of riverside. mary louise, noticing miss grant's increasing weakness, suggested a taxicab. the old lady scorned such a proposal. "use your common sense, mary louise!" she commanded, in that brusque manner which jane so resented. "you know i've lost five hundred and fifty dollars, and now you suggest that i throw money away on luxuries like taxicabs!" "i'll pay for it," offered the girl. "i have my purse with me." "fiddlesticks!" the hot sun of the june day poured mercilessly down upon their heads as they made their slow progress along the streets of riverside, but miss grant refused to give up, although it was evident that she was suffering intensely. when they finally reached the porch of the pearson home she almost collapsed. corinne pearson was sitting in the swing, idly smoking a cigarette when the little party arrived. she was a blonde, about nineteen years of age, pretty in an artificial way. even her pose, alone on the porch, was theatrical. she rose languidly as her great-aunt came up the steps. "mother's inside, aunt mattie," she said, ignoring the two girls completely. "i'll go and tell her that you are here." miss grant opened her eyes wide and looked sharply at corinne. "don't trouble yourself!" she snapped, gasping for breath. "it's _you_ i came to see, corinne pearson!" the girl raised her delicately arched eyebrows. "really? well, i am honored, aunt mattie." there was nothing in her manner to indicate nervousness, and mary louise began to wonder whether harry grant's story were really true. "you won't be when i tell you why i'm here! though of course you can guess." miss grant paused and took a deep breath. "it's about that money you stole from my safe!" "what money?" the girl's indifference was admirable, if indeed she were guilty, as harry grant claimed. "you know. eight hundred and fifty dollars in bills and five hundred in gold pieces." corinne laughed in a nasty superior way. "really, aunt mattie, you are talking foolishly. i'm sorry if you have been robbed, but it's just too absurd to connect me with it." "stop your posing and lying, corinne pearson!" cried the old lady in a shrill voice. "i know all about everything. harry grant has confessed." mary louise, watching the girl's face intently, thought that she saw her wince. anyway, the cigarette she was smoking dropped to the floor. but her voice sounded controlled as she spoke to her great-aunt. "please don't scream like that, aunt mattie," she said. "the neighbors will hear you. i think you had better come inside and see mother." "all right," agreed the old lady. then, turning to the girls, she requested them to help her get to her feet. "i'll help you," offered corinne. "these young girls can wait out here." "no, they can't, either! they're coming right inside with me!" corinne shrugged her slim shoulders and opened the screen door. her mother, a stout woman of perhaps forty-five, was standing in the living room, which opened directly on the porch. "why, aunt mattie!" she exclaimed. "this is a surprise. you must be feeling better----" "i'm a lot worse!" interrupted the old lady, sinking into a chair beside the door. "your daughter's the cause of it, too!" "my daughter? how could corinne be the cause of your bad health, aunt mattie? you're talking foolishly." "don't speak to me like that, ellen grant pearson! your daughter corinne's a thief--and she stole my money, out of my safe. night before last, when she went upstairs to get that old lace dress of mine." "impossible!" protested mrs. pearson. "you didn't, did you, corinne?" "certainly not," replied the girl. "i think aunt mattie's mind is wandering, mother. send these girls home, and i'll call up uncle john. he'll come and drive aunt mattie back to dark cedars." "you'll do nothing of the kind!" announced miss grant. "there's not a thing the matter with my mind--it's my side and my breathing." she turned to her two young friends. "jane, you tell them all about everything that has happened since i was robbed." jane nodded and again related the story, telling of their wild ride in harry grant's car, the capture of the satchel with the bills in it, and concluding with harry's confession concerning corinne's part in the crime. mrs. pearson leaned forward in her chair, listening to the recital with serious attention, but her daughter acted as if she were bored with such nonsense and wandered about the room while jane was talking, rearranging the flowers on the tables and lighting herself a fresh cigarette. "it isn't true, is it, dear?" asked mrs. pearson eagerly. corinne laughed scornfully. "it's just too absurd to contradict," she replied. "uncle harry made it all up about me just to save his own face." she turned about and faced her great-aunt. "you know yourself, aunt mattie, that if i had stolen that money i wouldn't pay him four hundred dollars just to buy me some clothes in new york. it's all out of proportion." miss grant nodded: she could see the sense to that. a hundred dollars would have been ample commission. "may i say something?" put in mary louise meekly. "certainly," replied miss grant. the girl felt herself trembling as all eyes in the room turned upon her. but she spoke out bravely, disregarding corinne's open scorn. "i believe i can explain why miss pearson divided the money evenly with mr. harry grant," she said. "it was a clever trick, to throw the suspicion on him. because you know, miss grant, if you saw him drive home with a new car, wouldn't you naturally jump to the conclusion that he had bought it with your money?" the old lady nodded her head: the idea sounded reasonable to her. "and as for miss pearson's evening dress and cloak," continued mary louise, "if she didn't buy them in riverside, you'd probably never know what she paid for them, or suspect them of being particularly expensive." "that's true, mary louise," agreed miss grant. "i'd never dream anybody would spend four hundred dollars for two pieces of finery." exasperated with the discussion, corinne pearson started towards the stairway. "i'm not going to listen to any more of this ridiculous babble!" she said to her mother, with a scathing glance towards mary louise. "you'll have to excuse me, aunt mattie," she added condescendingly. "i have a date." "you stay right here!" commanded the old lady. "i'm not through with you. you hand over that other fifty-dollar bill!" corinne shrugged her shoulders and looked imploringly at her mother, as if to say, "can't something be done with that crazy woman?" mrs. pearson looked helpless: she didn't know how to get rid of her aunt. the situation was apparently at a standstill. corinne pearson wouldn't admit any part in the theft, and miss grant refused to allow her to go off as if she were innocent. but mary louise, recalling harry grant's explanation of the use to which corinne had put that last fifty-dollar bill, had a sudden inspiration. she stood up and faced mrs. pearson. "may i use your telephone?" she asked quietly. "why, yes, certainly," was the reply. "right there on the table." again all eyes in the room were turned upon mary louise as she searched through the telephone book and gave a number to the operator. everybody waited, in absolute silence. "hello," said mary louise when the connection was made. "is this the bon ton boot shop? yes? can you tell me whether you took in a fifty-dollar bill yesterday from any of your customers?" it seemed to her that she could actually feel the tenseness of the atmosphere in that room in the pearsons' house while she waited for the shop girl to return with the information she had asked for. her eyes turned towards corinne to see how the question had affected her, but mary louise could not see her face from where she was seated. in another moment the voice at the other end of the wire summoned her thoughts back to the phone. and the answer was in the affirmative! "so you did take in a fifty-dollar bill?" mary louise repeated for the benefit of her listeners. "could you possibly read me the number engraved on it?" her hand trembled as she fumbled for her little notebook in which the notations were made, and jane, guessing her intention, dashed across the room to assist her. when the salesgirl finally read out the number on the bill, mary louise was able to check it with the one marked "missing." it was the identical bill! "will you keep it out of the bank for an hour or two--in case we want to identify it--for a certain purpose?" she inquired. "my name is mary louise gay--detective gay's daughter.... oh, thank you so much!" she replaced the receiver and jumped up from the chair, squeezing jane's arm in delight. she noticed that miss grant's black eyes were beaming upon her with admiration and that mrs. pearson's were shifting uneasily about the room. corinne was standing at the window with her back to the other people. suddenly she burst into hysterical sobs. wheeling about sharply, she turned on mary louise like a cat that is ready to spit. "you horrible girl!" she screamed. "you nasty, vile creature! what right have you----" "hush, corinne!" admonished miss grant. "be quiet, or i'll send you somewhere where you will be! dry your eyes and sit down there in that chair and tell us the truth. and throw that cigarette away!" frightened by her great-aunt's threat, the girl did as she was told. "i suppose you won't believe me now when i tell you that i didn't take any gold pieces," she whined. "but that's the solemn truth. i admit about the bills----" "begin at the beginning," snapped miss grant. "all right. it was night before last, when mother and i walked over to ask you for money for a dress. it means so much to me to look nice at the dance on saturday night----" "i don't care what it means to you," interrupted the spinster. "go ahead with your story." "well, i thought it was pretty stingy of you not to help me out, aunt mattie," continued corinne. "but i never thought of taking the money till i went up in your room." "how did you get the safe open?" "that's the queer part. _it was open!_ i thought you had forgotten to close the door." miss grant gasped in horror. "i never forget. besides, i saw that the lock had been picked. somebody did break it, if you didn't, corinne." "there wasn't a bit of gold there, aunt mattie. i'm willing to swear to that!" corinne looked straight into the old lady's black eyes, and mary louise could see that her aunt believed her and was already trying to figure out who else was guilty. "no, you didn't have time to fiddle with a lock," she agreed. "i can believe that.... i think i was right in the beginning: elsie must have stolen the box of gold pieces." "of course!" cried corinne in relief. "that would explain it perfectly. an ignorant child like her would want only the gold--that's why the paper money and the bonds were untouched. did you lose the bonds too, aunt mattie?" "no, they were still there. i put them in the bank today, with the eight hundred dollars these girls got from harry grant.... well, corinne, you did give your uncle harry that money then?" "yes, i did. for the exact purpose he told you about." mary louise sighed. they were right back where they started, with only this difference: that while elsie had been suspected of the theft of the whole amount in the beginning, now she was thought to be guilty of stealing only the gold. but stealing is stealing, no matter what the amount, and mary louise was unhappy. miss grant grasped hold of the arms of her chair and struggled to her feet. she stood there motionless for a moment, holding her hand on her side. the flush on her cheeks had disappeared; her face was now deathly white. both girls knew that she could never make that climb in the heat to dark cedars. "you won't do anything to corinne, will you, aunt mattie?" pleaded mrs. pearson fearfully. "no--i guess not. go get me--" mary louise expected her to ask for aromatics, to prevent a fainting fit, but she was mistaken--"go get me--my fifty dollars--what you have left of it, corinne. you can owe----" but she could not complete her sentence: she reeled, and would have fallen to the floor had not mary louise sprung to her side at that very second. as it was, miss grant fainted in the girl's arms. very gently mary louise laid her down on the davenport and turned to mrs. pearson. "water, please," she requested. but it failed to revive the patient. "i think she ought to go to the hospital, mrs. pearson," she said. "there's something terribly wrong with her side." mrs. pearson looked relieved: she had no desire to nurse a sick old lady in her house, even though she was her aunt. she told corinne to call for an ambulance. it was not until two white-uniformed attendants were actually putting her on the stretcher that miss grant regained consciousness. then she opened her eyes and asked for mary louise. "come with me, child!" she begged. "i want you." the girl nodded, and whispering a message for her mother to jane, she climbed into the ambulance and rode to the hospital with the queer old spinster. chapter x _night at dark cedars_ mary louise sat in the waiting room of the riverside hospital, idly looking at the magazines, while the nurses took miss grant to her private room. she couldn't help smiling a little as she thought how vexed the old lady would be at the bill she would get. corinne pearson had carelessly told the hospital to have one of the best rooms in readiness for the patient. ("but, if she had her own way, miss grant would be in a ward," thought mary louise.) however, it was too late now to dispute over details. the head nurse came into the waiting room and spoke to mary louise in a soft voice. "miss matilda grant is your aunt, i suppose, miss----?" she asked. "gay," supplied mary louise. "no, i'm not any relation. just a friend--of her niece." "oh, i see.... yes, i know your father, miss gay. he is a remarkable man." mary louise smiled. "i think so too," she said. "as you no doubt expected," continued the nurse, "an operation is absolutely necessary. the nurses are getting miss grant ready now." "has she consented?" "yes. she had to. it is certain death if the surgeon doesn't operate immediately. but before she goes under the anesthetic she wants to see you. so please come with me." a little surprised at the request, mary louise followed the nurse through the hall of the spotless hospital to the elevator and thence to miss grant's room. the old lady was lying in a white bed, attired in a plain, high-necked nightgown which the hospital provided. her face was deathly pale, but her black eyes were as bright as ever, and she smiled at mary louise as she entered the room. with her wrinkled hand she beckoned the girl to a chair beside the bed. "you're a good girl, mary louise," she said, "and i trust you." mary louise flushed a trifle at the praise; she didn't know exactly what to say, so she kept quiet and waited. "will you do something for me?" asked the old lady. "yes, of course, miss grant," replied mary louise. "if i can." "i want you to live at dark cedars while i'm here in the hospital. take jane with you, if you want to, and your dog too--but plan to stay there." "i can't be there every minute, miss grant. tomorrow i've promised to go on a picnic." "oh, that's all right! i remember now, you told me. take elsie with you. but go back to dark cedars at night. _sleep in my room._ and shut the door!" mary louise looked puzzled; she could not see the reason for such a request. "but there isn't anything valuable for anybody to steal now, is there, miss grant?" she inquired. "you put your money and your bonds in the bank today." the sick woman gasped for breath and for a moment she could not speak. finally she said, "you heard about last night from hannah? and saw the way things were upset?" "yes. but if the burglars didn't take anything, they won't be likely to return, will they?" miss grant closed her eyes. "it wasn't common burglars," she said. mary louise started. did miss grant believe in hannah's theory about the ghosts? "you don't mean----?" "i don't know what i mean," answered the old lady. "somebody--living or dead--is trying to get hold of something very precious to me." "what is it, miss grant?" demanded mary louise eagerly. oh, perhaps now she was getting close to the real mystery at dark cedars! for that petty theft by corinne pearson was only a side issue, she felt sure. the old lady shook her head. "i can't tell--even you, mary louise! nobody!" "then how can i help you?" "you can watch elsie and try to find out where she hid my box of gold pieces. you can keep your eye open for trouble at night--and let me know if anything happens.... will you do it, mary louise?" "i'll ask mother--at least, if you'll let me tell her all about what has happened. it won't get around riverside--mother is used to keeping secrets, you know, for my father is a detective. and if she consents, i'll go and stay with elsie till you come home." tears of gratitude stood in the sick woman's eyes; the promise evidently meant a great deal to her. "yes, tell your mother," she said. "and jane's mother. but nobody else." mary louise stood up. "i must go now, miss grant. your nurse has been beckoning to me for the last two minutes. you have to rest.... but i'll come in to see you on sunday." she walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind her and thinking how sad it must be to face an operation all alone, with no one's loving kiss on your lips, no one's hopes and prayers to sustain you. but, sorry as mary louise was for miss grant, she could not show her any affection. she couldn't forget or forgive her cruelty to elsie. her mother was waiting for her on the porch when she arrived at her house. "you must be starved, mary louise!" she exclaimed. "i have your lunch all ready for you." "thanks heaps, mother--i am hungry. but so much has happened. did jane tell you about miss grant?" "yes. but i can't see why _you_ had to go to the hospital with her when she has all those relatives to look after her." mary louise shrugged her shoulders. "they don't like her, mother--and consequently she doesn't trust them." "do you like her?" inquired mrs. gay. "no, i don't. but in a way i feel sorry for her." mary louise followed her mother into the dining room and for the next fifteen minutes gave herself up to the enjoyment of the lovely lunch of dainty sandwiches and refreshing iced tea which her mother had so carefully prepared. it was not until she had finished that she began her story of the robbery at dark cedars and of her own and jane's part in the partial recovery of the money. she made no mention, however, of the bandit who had tried to hold them up, or of the queer disturbances at night at dark cedars. she concluded with the old lady's request that they--mary louise and jane--stay with elsie and watch her. mrs. gay looked a little doubtful. "i don't know, dear," she said. "something might happen. still, if mrs. patterson is willing to let jane go, i suppose i will say yes." fifteen minutes later mary louise whistled for her chum and put the proposition up to her. jane shivered. "i'm not going to stay in that spooky old place!" she protested. "not after what happened there last night." "'who's afraid of the big, bad wolf?'" teased mary louise. "jane, i thought you had more sense!" "there's something uncanny about dark cedars, mary lou, and you know it! not just that the house is old, and the boards creak, and there aren't any electric lights. there's something _evil_ there." "of course there is. but that's the very reason it thrills me. i don't agree with miss grant and just want to go there because i believe elsie is guilty of stealing that gold and that maybe we can find out where she has hidden it. somebody else took it, i'm sure--and that somebody keeps coming back to dark cedars to get _something_ else. something valuable, 'precious to me,' miss grant called it. and we've got to catch them!" "you didn't tell your mother that?" "no. i told her about only what has actually been stolen so far. no need to alarm her. and will you do the same with your mother?" jane rose reluctantly. "i suppose so. if you've made up your mind to go through with it, you'll do it. i know you well enough for that. and i don't want you over there at dark cedars alone--or only with elsie. even hannah and william are moving out, you remember.... yes, i'll go. if mother will let me." "you're a peach, jane!" cried her chum joyfully. it was several hours, however, before the girls actually started to dark cedars. arrangements for the picnic the following day had to be completed; their suitcases had to be packed, and their boy-friends called on the telephone. it was after five o'clock when they were finally ready. from the porch of mary louise's house they saw max miller drive up in his car. "i'm taking you over," he announced, for mary louise had told him that she and jane were visiting elsie grant for a few days. "that's nice, max," replied mary louise. "we weren't so keen about carrying these suitcases in all this heat." "it is terribly hot, isn't it?" remarked mrs. gay. "i'm afraid there will be a thunderstorm before the day is over." jane made a face. dark cedars was gloomy enough without a storm to make it seem worse. "come on, silky!" called mary louise. "we're taking you this time." "i'll say we are!" exclaimed her chum emphatically. elsie grant was delighted to see them. she came running from behind the hedge attired in her pink linen dress and her white shoes. mary louise was thankful that max did not see her in the old purple calico. his sense of humor might have got the better of him and brought forth a wisecrack or two. as soon as they were out of the car she introduced them to each other. "you didn't know we were coming for a visit, did you, elsie?" she inquired. "well, i'll tell you how it happened: your aunt mattie is in the hospital for an operation, and she wanted jane and me to stay with you while she was away." the girl wrinkled her brows. "it doesn't sound like aunt mattie," she said, "to be so thoughtful of me. she must have some other motive besides pity for my loneliness." "she has!" cried jane. "you can be sure----" mary louise put her finger to her lips. "we'll tell you all about it later," she whispered while max was getting the suitcases from the rumble seat. "it's quite a story." "is hannah still here?" inquired jane. "or do we cook our own supper?" "yes, she's here," answered elsie. "she expects to come every day to work in the house, and william will take care of the garden and the chickens and milk the cow just the same. but they're going away every night after supper." max, overhearing the last remark, looked disapproving. "you don't mean to tell me you three girls will be here alone every night?" he demanded. "you're at least half a mile from the nearest house." "oh, don't worry, max, we'll be all right," returned mary louise lightly. "there's a family of colored people who live in a shack down in the valley behind the house. we can call on them if it is necessary." "speaking of them," remarked elsie, "reminds me that william says half a dozen chickens must have been stolen last night. at least, they're missing, and of course he blames abraham lincoln jones. but i don't believe it. mr. jones is a deacon in the riverside colored church, and his wife is the kindest woman. i often stop in to see her, and she gives me gingerbread." mary louise and jane exchanged significant looks. perhaps this colored family was the explanation of the mysterious disturbances about dark cedars. mary louise suggested this to elsie after max had driven away with a promise to call for the girls at nine o'clock the following morning. "i don't think so," said elsie. "but of course it's possible." "let's walk over to see this family after supper," put in jane. "we might learn a lot." "all right," agreed elsie, "if a storm doesn't come up to stop us.... now, come on upstairs and unpack. what room are you going to sleep in--hannah's or aunt mattie's--or up in the attic with me?" "we have to sleep in your aunt mattie's bedroom," replied mary louise. "i promised we would." elsie looked disappointed. "you'll be so far away from me!" she exclaimed. "why don't you sleep on the second floor too?" inquired jane. "there isn't any room that's furnished as a bedroom, except hannah's, and i think she still has her things in that. besides, aunt mattie wouldn't like it." "oh, well, we'll leave our door open," promised jane. "no, we can't do that either," asserted mary louise. "miss grant told me to close it." "good gracious!" exclaimed her chum. "what next?" "supper's ready!" called hannah from the kitchen. "so that's next," laughed mary louise. "well, we'll unpack after supper. i'm not very hungry--i had lunch so late--but i guess i can eat." hannah came into the dining room and sat down in a chair beside the window while the girls ate their supper, so that she might hear the news of her mistress. mary louise told everything--the capture of the bills, the part harry grant played in the affair, and corinne pearson's guilt in the actual stealing. she went on to describe miss grant's collapse and removal to the riverside hospital, concluding with her request that the two girls stay with elsie while she was away. "so she still thinks i stole her gold pieces!" cried the orphan miserably. "i'm afraid she does, elsie," admitted mary louise. "but there's something else she's worrying about. what could miss grant possibly own, hannah, that she's afraid of losing?" "i don't know for sure," replied the servant. "but i'll tell you what i think--if you won't laugh at me." "of course we won't, hannah," promised jane. "well, there was something years ago that old mr. grant got hold of--something valuable--that i made out didn't belong to him. i don't know what it was--never did know--but i'd hear mrs. grant--that was miss mattie's mother, you understand--tryin' to get him to give it back. 'it can't do us no good,' she'd say--or words like them. and he'd always tell her that he meant to keep it for a while; if they lost everything else, this possession would keep 'em out of the poorhouse for a spell. mrs. grant kept askin' him whereabouts it was hidden, and he just laughed at her. i believe she died without ever findin' out.... "well, whatever it was, mr. grant must have give it to miss mattie when he died, and she kept it hid somewheres in this house. no ordinary place, or i'd have found it in house-cleanin'. you can't houseclean for forty years, twicet a year, without knowin' 'bout everything in a house.... but i never seen nuthin' valuable outside that safe of her'n. "so what i think is," continued hannah, keeping her eyes fixed on mary louise, "that mrs. grant can't rest in her grave till that thing is give back to whoever it belongs to. i believe her spirit visits this house at night, lookin' for it, and turnin' things upside down to find it. that's why nuthin' ain't never stolen. so anybody that lives here ain't goin' have no peace at nights till she finds it." hannah stopped talking, and, as jane had promised, nobody laughed. as a matter of fact, nobody felt like laughing. the woman's belief in her explanation was too sincere to be derided. the girls sat perfectly still, forgetting even to eat, thinking solemnly of what she had told them. "we'll have to find out what the thing is," announced mary louise finally, "if we expect to make any headway. i wish i could go see miss mattie at the hospital tomorrow." "well, you can't," said jane firmly. "you're going to that picnic. we can ask the gypsies when we have our fortunes told." "gypsies!" exclaimed hannah scornfully. "gypsies ain't no good! they used to camp around here till they drove miss mattie wild and she got the police after 'em. don't have nuthin' to do with gypsies!" "we're just going to have our fortunes told," explained jane. "we don't expect to invite them to our houses." "well, don't!" was the servant's warning as she left the room. when the girls had finished their supper they went upstairs to miss grant's bedroom and unpacked their suitcases. but they were too tired to walk down the hill to call upon abraham lincoln jones. if he wanted to steal chickens tonight, he was welcome to, as far as they were concerned. hannah and william left about eight o'clock, locking the kitchen door behind them, and the girls stayed out on the front porch until ten, talking and singing to jane's ukulele. the threatening storm had not arrived when they finally went to bed. it was so still, so hot outdoors that not even a branch moved in the darkness. the very silence was oppressive; jane was sure that she wouldn't be able to go to sleep when she got into miss mattie's wooden bed with its ugly carving on the headboard. but, in spite of the heat, both girls dropped off in less than five minutes. they were awakened sometime after two by a loud clap of thunder. branches of the trees close to the house were lashing against the windows, and the rain was pouring in. mary louise jumped up to shut the window. as she crawled back into bed she heard footsteps in the hall. light footsteps, scarcely perceptible above the rain. but someone--something--was stealthily approaching their door! her instinct was to reach for the electric-light button when she remembered that miss grant used only oil lamps. trembling, she groped in the darkness for her flashlight, on the chair beside her. but before she found it the handle rattled on the door, and it opened--slowly and quietly. there, dimly perceptible in the blackness of the hall, stood a figure--all in white! chapter xi _the picnic_ the figure in white remained motionless in the doorway of miss grant's room. mary louise continued to sit rigid in the bed, while jane, who was still lying down, clutched her chum's arm with a grip that actually hurt. for a full minute there was no sound in the room. then a flash of lightning revealed the cause of the girls' terror. mary louise burst out laughing. "elsie!" she cried. "you certainly had us scared!" jane sat up angrily. "what's the idea, sneaking in like a ghost?" she demanded. the orphan started to sob. "i was afraid of waking you," she explained. "i didn't mean to frighten you." "well, it's all right now," said mary louise soothingly. "ordinarily we shouldn't have been scared. but in this house, where everybody talks about seeing ghosts all the time, it's natural for us to be keyed up." "why that woman doesn't put in electricity," muttered jane, "is more than i can see. it's positively barbarous!" "come over and sit here on the bed, elsie, and tell us why you came downstairs," invited mary louise. "are you afraid of the storm?" "yes, a little bit. but i thought i heard something down in the yard." "old mrs. grant's ghost?" inquired jane lightly. "maybe it was abraham lincoln jones, returning for more chickens," surmised mary louise. "but no, it couldn't be, or silky would be barking--he could hear that from the cellar--so it must be just the wind, elsie. it does make an uncanny sound through all those trees." "may i stay here till the storm is over?" asked the girl. "certainly." if it had not been so hot, mary louise would have told elsie to sleep with them. but three in a bed, and a rather uncomfortable bed at that, was too close quarters on a night like this. the storm lasted for perhaps an hour, while the girls sat chatting together. as the thundering subsided, jane began to yawn. "suppose i go up to the attic and sleep with elsie?" she said to mary louise, "if you're not afraid to stay in this room by yourself." "of course i'm not!" replied her chum. "i think that's a fine idea, and your being there will prevent elsie from being nervous and hearing things. does it suit you, elsie?" "yes! oh, i'd love it! if you're sure you don't mind, mary louise." "i don't expect to mind anything in about five minutes," yawned mary louise. "i'm dead for sleep." she was correct in her surmise: she knew nothing at all until the bright sunshine was pouring into her room and jane wakened her by throwing a pillow at her head. "wake up, lazybones!" she cried. "don't you realize that today is the picnic?" mary louise threw the pillow back at her chum and jumped out of bed. "what a glorious day!" she exclaimed. "and so much cooler." elsie, attired in her new pink linen dress, dashed into the room. "oh, this is something like!" she cried. "i haven't heard any gayety like this for three years!" "mary louise is always 'gay,'" remarked jane demurely. "in fact, she'll be 'gay' till she gets married." her chum hurled the other pillow from miss grant's bed just as hannah poked her nose into the room. "don't you girls throw them pillows around!" she commanded. "miss mattie is that careful about her bed--she even makes it herself. and at house-cleanin' time i ain't allowed to touch it!" "it's a wonder she let you sleep on it, mary louise," observed elsie. "_made_ me sleep on it, you mean." then, of hannah, she inquired, "how soon do we have breakfast?" "right away, soon as you're dressed. then you girls can help pack up some doughnuts and rolls i made for your picnic." "you're an angel, hannah!" exclaimed mary louise. to the girls she said, "scram, if you want me downstairs in two minutes." soon after breakfast the cars arrived. there were three of them--the two sports roadsters belonging to max miller and norman wilder, and a sedan driven by one of the girls of their crowd, a small, red-haired girl named hope dorsey, who looked like janet gaynor. max had brought an extra boy for elsie, a junior at high school, by the name of kenneth dormer, and mary louise introduced him, putting him with elsie in max's rumble seat. she herself got into the front. "got your swimming suit, mary lou?" asked max, as he started his car with its usual sudden leap. "of course," she replied. "as a matter of fact, i brought two of them." "i hadn't noticed you were getting that fat!" "that's just about enough out of you! i don't admire the mae west figure, you know." "then why two suits?" inquired the young man. "change of costume?" "one for elsie and one for me," explained mary louise. "i don't believe elsie can swim, but she'll soon learn. will you teach her, max?" "i don't think i'll get a chance to, from the way i saw ken making eyes at her. he'll probably have a monopoly on the teaching." mary louise smiled: this was just the way she wanted things to be. the picnic grounds near cooper's woods were only a couple of miles from riverside. a wide stream which flowed through the woods had been dammed up for swimming, and here the boys and men of riverside had built two rough shacks for dressing houses. the cars were no sooner unloaded than the boys and girls dashed for their respective bath houses. "last one in the pool is a monkey!" called max, as he locked his car. "i guess i'll be the monkey," remarked elsie. "because i have a suit i'm not familiar with." "i'll help you," offered mary louise. they were dressed in no time at all; as usual the girls were ahead of the boys. they were all in the water by the time the boys came out of their shack. the pool was empty except for a few children, so the young people from riverside had a chance to play water games and to dive to their hearts' content. everybody except elsie grant knew how to swim, and mary louise and several of the others were capable of executing some remarkable stunt diving. before noontime arrived elsie found herself venturing into the deeper parts of the pool, and, with kenneth or mary louise beside her, she actually swam several yards. all the while she was laughing and shouting as she had not done since her parents' death; the cloud of suspicion that had been hanging over her head for the past few days was forgotten. she was a normal, happy girl again. the lunch that followed provided even more fun and hilarity than the swim. it seemed as if their mothers had supplied everything in the world to eat. cakes and pies and sandwiches; hot dogs and steaks to be cooked over the fire which the boys built; ice cream in dry ice, and refreshing drinks of fruit juices, iced tea, and soda water. keen as their appetites were from the morning's swim, the young people could not begin to eat everything they had brought. "we'll have enough left for supper," said mary louise, leaning back against a tree trunk with a sigh of content. "if the ants don't eat it up," returned jane. "we better cover things up." "we'll do it right away," announced hope dorsey. "come on, boys! you burn rubbish, and we girls will pack food." "i can't move," protested max. "the ants are welcome to their share as far as i'm concerned. i don't think i'll ever eat again." "i hate _aunts_," said elsie, with a sly look at mary louise and jane. "i don't want them to get a thing, so i'll help put the food away." max and a couple of the other lazier boys were pulled to their feet by kenneth and norman, and the picnic spot was soon as clean as when the party had arrived. hope dorsey suggested that they drive back to her home later in the afternoon and have supper on the lawn. then they could turn on the radio and dance on her big screened porch. "when do we visit these gypsies you were talking about, max?" demanded jane. "i'm keen to hear my fortune." "they're back towards riverside," replied the youth. "about half a mile from dark cedars," he added, to mary louise. "they used to camp at dark cedars--at least, some gypsies did," elsie informed the party. "if they're the same ones, you'd think they wouldn't come back, after they were driven away by the police." "is that what your aunt did?" inquired kenneth. "yes, so hannah says--hannah is the maid, you know. she says aunt mattie hates them." the young people piled into the cars again, and max led the way, off the main highway to a dirt road extending behind dark cedars. through the trees they could catch a glimpse of the gypsy encampment. "has everybody some money--in silver?" inquired max, after the cars were parked beside the road. "the gypsies insist on gold and silver." mary louise nodded; she was prepared for herself as well as for elsie. "do we all go in in a bunch?" asked hope. "certainly not!" replied max. "you don't think we could tell our secrets in front of the whole bunch, do you?" "must be pretty bad," observed jane. "all right, then, if that's the way you feel about it, i'll go in with you!" challenged norman. "suits me," returned the girl, with a wink at mary louise. as the crowd came closer to the gypsy encampment, they saw the usual tents, the caravan, which was a motor truck, and a fire, over which a kettle was smoldering. half a dozen children, dressed in ordinary clothing but without shoes and stockings, were playing under a tree, and there were several women about. but there did not appear to be any men at the camp at the time. one of the women, who had been standing over the fire, came forward to meet the young people. she was past middle age, mary louise judged, from her dark, wrinkled skin, but her hair was jet black, and her movements were as agile and as graceful as a girl's. she wore a long dress of a deep blue color, without any touch of the reds and yellows one usually associates with gypsies. "fortunes?" she asked, smiling, and revealing an ugly gap in her front teeth, which made her look almost like a story-book witch. "how much?" asked max, holding up a quarter in his hand. the gypsy shook her head. "one dollar," she announced. max pulled down the corners of his mouth and looked doubtfully at his friends. "there are fourteen of us," he said. "fourteen at fifty cents each is seven dollars. all in silver.... take it or leave it." the woman regarded him shrewdly; she saw that he meant what he said. "all right," she agreed. "i'll go into my tent and get ready." the young people turned to max with whispered congratulations. "she certainly speaks perfect english," remarked mary louise. they sat down on the grass while they waited for the gypsy woman to summon them, and when the tent flap finally opened, jane patterson and norman wilder jumped to their feet and walked over to the fortune teller first. "she'll think you two are engaged, jane," teased hope, "if you go in together." "then she'll get fooled," returned the other girl laughingly. the couple were absent for perhaps five minutes. when they came out of the tent jane dashed down the hill to the road. "the gypsy told her that her class ring is in my car," explained norman to the others. "the one she lost, you remember? she said it's under the seat." "i could have suggested that she look there myself," remarked max. "only i thought, of course, that she already had.... shall i try my luck next, or will one of you girls go?" "i'd love to go," offered hope dorsey. "i simply can't wait. by the way, did she think you two were engaged?" "no, she didn't. she's pretty wise, after all. she told me some astounding things. one was that a relation had just died--my uncle did, you know--and that we're going to get some money.... i hope that part's true.... you have to hand it to her. i don't believe it's all just the bunk." hope ran into the tent, and while she was gone jane returned triumphantly from the car with her lost ring. mary louise's eyes flashed with excitement: perhaps the gypsy was really possessed of second sight. oh, if she could only solve that mystery at dark cedars! mary louise was last of all the group to enter the fortune teller's tent. the woman was seated on the ground with a dirty pack of cards in her hands. she indicated that the girl should sit down beside her and gave her the cards to shuffle. "i'm really not interested in my fortune half so much as i am in a mystery i'm involved in," explained mary louise. she paused, wondering whether the gypsy would understand what she was talking about. perhaps she ought to use simpler language. "you mean you want to ask me questions?" inquired the woman. "yes, that's it," replied mary louise. "i'm staying at dark cedars now, and there are strange things going on there. maybe you can explain them." "dark cedars!" repeated the gypsy. "i know the place.... you don't live there?" "no, i don't live there. i'm just staying there while miss grant is in the hospital." the black eyes gleamed, and the woman held two thin, dirty hands in front of her face. "mattie grant is _evil_," she announced. "keep away from her!" mary louise wrinkled her brows. "i'm not with her," she said. "i'm only staying at dark cedars while miss grant is away." "but why is that?" "that's just what i want to ask you! miss grant's money has already been stolen, and i thought maybe you could tell me what i'm supposed to be protecting--by sleeping in her bed every night." "in the old witch's bed? oh-ho!" "yes." it struck mary louise funny that this gypsy woman should call miss grant a witch when she herself looked much more like one. the gypsy, however, was giving her attention to the cards, shuffling them, and finally drawing one of them out of the deck. she laid it face up in mary louise's lap and nodded significantly. it was the eight of hearts. "mattie grant's treasure--is--a ruby necklace," she announced slowly, staring hard at the card. "with eight precious rubies!" she handed the card to mary louise. "count them for yourself!" she said. mary louise gazed at the woman in amazement, not knowing whether to believe her or not. the explanation was plausible, but it seemed rather foolish to her--that the eight of hearts should mean eight rubies.... would the ace of diamonds have indicated a diamond ring? but there was no use in questioning the gypsy's power, no point in antagonizing her. so, instead, she changed the subject by telling her that a box of gold pieces had been stolen from the safe in miss grant's bedroom. "perhaps you can tell me who took them?" she suggested. the woman picked up the cards and shuffled them again, muttering something unintelligible to herself as she did it. once more she drew out a card, seemingly at random. this time it was the queen of diamonds. "a light-haired girl--or woman," she announced. "that's all i can say." mary louise gasped. elsie grant had light hair--but, then, so did corinne pearson.... and mrs. grace grant's hair was gray. the gypsy rose from the ground as lightly and as easily as a girl. "i think you've had more than your time, miss," she concluded. "now, please to go!" chapter xii _bound and gagged_ "how was your fortune, mary louise?" inquired max, as the former emerged from the gypsy's tent and joined the merry group in the field. "did she say you'd marry a tall, good-looking fellow, with lots of personality?" mary louise laughed. "no, she didn't. i guess i'm going to be an old maid." "then you're the only one," remarked hope. "all the rest of us get rich husbands and trips around the world." elsie came up close to mary louise and whispered in her ear. "she told me to leave dark cedars," she said. "how do you suppose she knew that i lived there?" "must have seen you around, i suppose," replied mary louise. "she warned me to get out too, but then i told her i was staying there.... but don't tell jane, elsie. she'd go in a minute if she heard that." "hadn't we better all go--till aunt mattie gets back from the hospital? wouldn't your mother let me stay at your house if i worked for my board?" "of course she would. you wouldn't have to work any more than i do--just help mother a little. but i promised your aunt i'd live at her place and sleep in her bed, and i'm going to stay. there's some explanation for all this superstition about dark cedars, and i mean to find it out!" "stop whispering secrets!" commanded max miller, separating the two girls forcibly. "of course, ken and i know you're talking about us, and what you're saying is probably complimentary." elsie laughed and followed mary louise into the car. the group drove to hope dorsey's, as she had suggested, and ate the rest of the picnic food for their supper. another round of fun followed, and it was after ten when the party finally broke up. dropping kenneth dormer at his own home, max ran the three girls back to dark cedars. "don't you think i better go into the house and light the lamps for you?" he inquired. "it looks so spooky in there." "oh, we have silky for protection," returned mary louise lightly. "thank you just the same, max." the young man waited, however, until he saw the girls unlock the front door and light the lamp in the hall. "everything's o.k.!" shouted mary louise. "we'll be asleep inside of ten minutes." max waved back again and started his engine. elsie lighted two more lamps which hannah had left in readiness for the girls, and all together, with silky at their heels, they mounted the creaking staircase. "you can't sleep upstairs, silky!" said mary louise to her dog. "miss grant would never allow that. go down to your box in the cellar." the spaniel seemed to understand, for he stood still, wagging his tail and looking pleadingly at his mistress. "i think it's a shame to send him off by himself," remarked jane. "so do i," agreed mary louise. "but it's got to be done. he'd get up on the bed, as likely as not--the way he does at home. and just imagine what miss grant would think of that! her precious bed!" turning about, she led the little dog to the cellar, and there, in a box next to the kitten's, he settled down to sleep. when she returned the girls were waiting for her in miss grant's bedroom. "how do we sleep tonight?" inquired elsie. "oh, you can have jane again if you want her," agreed mary louise. "it doesn't make any difference to me." the younger girl was delighted. "only," added mary louise, "if you expect to do any prowling around tonight, please shout your presence in the room." "i expect to go right to sleep," replied elsie. "with jane beside me, i'll feel safe." mary louise smiled and kissed her goodnight. in many ways elsie grant seemed like a child to her, in spite of her fifteen years. alone in the room, she undressed quickly, hanging her clothing on a chair, for she could not bring herself to use that big, old closet, filled with miss grant's things. she was very tired, and, thankful that the night was so much cooler than the preceding one, she blew out the lamp and crawled into bed. the utter blackness of the room was rather appalling, even to a courageous girl like mary louise. accustomed as she was to the street lights of riverside, the darkness was thick and strange, for the denseness of the trees about dark cedars shut out even the sky, with its stars, from the windows. but mary louise closed her eyes immediately, resolved not to let anything so trivial bother her. the girls in the attic had quieted down; the house was in absolute silence. mary louise, too, lay very still. listening.... she almost believed that she heard somebody breathing! "but that's absurd!" she reprimanded herself sharply. "it couldn't be a ghost, as hannah insists, for ghosts don't breathe. and it couldn't be a robber trying to get into the house, or silky would be barking. that dog has keen ears." she turned over and put the thought out of her mind by recalling the high lights of the picnic, and soon dozed off. but she knew that she had not been asleep long when she was suddenly awakened by the low, squeaking creak of a door. thinking it was probably elsie, restless after too much picnic food, mary louise opened her eyes and peered about in the darkness. now she heard that breathing distinctly--and something big and dark seemed to be moving towards her, something blacker than the darkness of the room. no face was visible to her until the figure bent over close to her in the bed. then she beheld two gleaming eyes! she opened her lips to scream, but at the same instant a thin hand was clapped over her mouth, making utterance impossible. both her hands were caught and held in an iron grip, and a bag was pulled over her head and tied so tightly under her chin that she believed she would choke. mary louise could see nothing now, but she felt a rope being twisted around her body, tying her arms to her sides. in another second she was lifted bodily and tossed roughly into miss grant's closet.... the key was turned in the lock. in wild desperation mary louise tried to shout, but the thickness and tightness of the bag over her head muffled the sound, and the closet walls closed it in. the girls in the attic would never hear her, for they were at the back of the house, and probably sleeping soundly. so she abandoned the effort, and became quiet, twisting her hands about under the rope, and listening to the sounds from the room. whoever, whatever it was that had attacked her was moving about stealthily, making a queer noise that sounded like the tearing of a garment. for a brief moment the thought of corinne pearson jumped into her mind. had the girl come here to get revenge on mary louise for disclosing her guilt, and was she tearing her clothes to pieces? but such an explanation was too absurd to be possible. it couldn't be corinne--she was at that dance with ned mason. but it might be harry grant, searching for that precious possession of his aunt mattie's--that ruby necklace, if the gypsy was correct.... but, no, mary louise did not believe it was harry--or any man. something about the motion of the figure, the touch of its hands, proclaimed it to be feminine.... she thought of that ghost hannah had described, the spirit of dead mrs. grant, looking for the hidden treasure, and she shuddered. the tearing and ripping was becoming more pronounced. mary louise listened more intently, still twisting her hands about in an effort to free them. she heard a chair being moved away from the window, and the screen being taken away.... she twisted her hands again.... her right hand--was free! in spite of her terror, mary louise almost sang out with joy. the next sound she heard was a dear, familiar noise, a sound that sent a thrill through her whole body. it was the infuriated bark of her little dog silky from the cellar. mary louise lost no time in freeing her other hand and in untying the knot about her chin which fastened the bag over her head. she was free at last--as far as her limbs were concerned. but she was still locked securely in miss grant's closet. through the crack of the door she perceived a streak of light; the intruder had not worked in darkness. but in a second it was extinguished, and she heard a noise at the window. then--utter blackness and silence again! mary louise raised her voice now and screamed at the top of her lungs. she was rewarded by the sound of hurrying footsteps and the incessant bark of her dog, coming nearer and nearer. in another moment she heard the girls in the room and saw the gleam of a flashlight through the crack. "i'm locked in the closet!" she shouted. "let me out, jane!" her chum turned the key in the door. thank heaven, it was still there! blinded by the light from the flash, mary louise staggered out. "what happened?" demanded jane, her face deathly pale with terror. mary louise stumbled towards the bed. "no bones broken, thank goodness!" she exclaimed, sitting down carefully upon the bed. but she jumped up immediately. "what's happened to this bed?" she demanded. "it's full of pins and needles!" her chum turned the flashlight upon the ugly piece of furniture, and mary louise perceived at once the explanation of the ripping sound she had heard. the bed clothing was literally torn to pieces; the mattress was cut in a dozen places, and straw strewn all over the floor. no wonder it felt sharp to sit down on! "so the ruby necklace was hidden in the bed!" she muttered. "what ruby necklace?" demanded jane. "that's what the gypsy said miss grant was treasuring so carefully. she probably just made a guess at it--to seem wise. it may be a diamond ring, for all i know.... anyhow, somebody stole it. who could it have been?" "tell us exactly what happened," begged jane. briefly mary louise told the grim story. elsie had lighted the lamp, and the girls sat about on chairs, listening intently. silky, who had stopped barking now, climbed into his mistress's lap. "funny elsie didn't hear you try to scream the first time," remarked jane. "she was awake." "you were?" asked mary louise. "what time is it?" "it's only quarter-past eleven," answered elsie. "i couldn't go to sleep--too much chocolate cake and apple pie, i suppose." "it was silky who waked me up," said jane. "i heard him barking. and i looked for elsie and saw she wasn't in bed. so i thought he was just barking at her, prowling around the house." mary louise opened her eyes wide. "where were you, elsie?" "i--was down in the kitchen, getting some baking soda." she burst into tears. "you don't think i did that fiendish thing, do you, mary louise?" "no, of course not." but mary louise knew that miss grant would not be so ready to accept her niece's innocence. "we better make a tour of the house," she suggested, standing up and going over to the window, where she noticed that the screen was out, lying on the floor. "i think the intruder must have gotten out this way." "but that's not the window with the porch underneath," objected jane. "no, but he could have used a ladder," returned mary louise. the girls slipped coats over their pajamas and put on their shoes. with silky close at their heels, they went downstairs and out the front door, around to the side of the house. the first thing that they spied was a ladder, lying on the ground perpendicular to the wall. "that's william's ladder," announced elsie. "he often leaves it around. it seems to me he had it out yesterday, nailing up a board on the porch roof." "if only we could find some footprints," said mary louise, flashing her light on the ground. but she could see no marks. if the intruder had made off that way, he had been wise enough to walk over the rounds of the ladder. and everywhere cedar needles covered the ground, making footprints almost impossible. "wait till aunt mattie hears about this!" sobbed elsie. "it'll be the end of me." "we won't tell her till she gets better," decided mary louise. "maybe by that time we'll discover a clue that will help us solve the mystery." "oh, i hope so!" breathed the young girl fervently. all this time, however, jane said nothing. but she was watching elsie closely, as if she was beginning to believe that she might be guilty. "let's go to bed," concluded mary louise when the tour of inspection was finished. "i'm going to sleep in hannah's room--and i'm going to keep silky with me this time." "i wish you had taken that precaution before," sighed jane. "so do i. but it's too late now. let's get some sleep, for tomorrow we have to get to work--and work fast!" chapter xiii _detective work_ sunday morning dawned clear and peaceful. as mary louise wakened to hear the birds singing in the trees outside the window of hannah's old room at dark cedars, she could hardly believe in the terrifying experience of the previous night. it was just like a horrible dream, incredible in the morning sunshine. "i believe i'd like to go to sunday school," she said to jane at the breakfast table. "it's a lovely day, and we'd see all our friends. don't you want to come along too, elsie?" the young girl, still pale and nervous from the night before, shook her head. "no, thank you, mary louise," she replied. "i'll stay home and help hannah." mary louise glanced up apprehensively. as yet the servant had not been informed of the mysterious intruder. "will you tell her what happened last night?" she asked, in a low tone. "or shall we?" "no, i will," agreed elsie. "she'll be sure it was mrs. grant's ghost again.... and i'll help her fix up the bedroom." mary louise nodded. "you'll come, jane?" she inquired. "i'm leaving--for good!" announced her chum. "i wouldn't spend another night at dark cedars for all the necklaces in the world!" mary louise said nothing: there was no use arguing with jane. as she went out of the door with silky at her heels she called to hannah that she alone would be back to dinner. "about two o'clock," returned the woman. "and ain't miss jane comin'?" "no, hannah," answered the girl for herself. "i shan't see you again. good-bye." the girls were some distance beyond the hedge of dark cedars when mary louise asked her companion her reason for leaving. "because," she added, "now that everything valuable has been stolen, i don't see what you have to fear." jane hesitated a moment. "i hate to say it, mary lou, but i feel i must tell you--for your own protection. it's _elsie_ i'm afraid of. i really believe she is guilty. i think she has those gold pieces hidden somewhere at dark cedars--and now the necklace. i think she's a sneak, and i believe she's planning a getaway. but if one of us should discover her theft, i'm afraid she'd do something desperate to us." an expression of pain passed over mary louise's face. "go on, and tell me why you suspect her," she said. "on account of last night. figure it out for yourself. if that had been a burglar, why wouldn't silky have barked when he was getting into the house? why wouldn't elsie have heard him, if she was down in the kitchen, as she said? and how could he have gotten away so quickly? you think maybe he went out that window at the side of the house, but that's only a guess. elsie could have _pretended_ to make an escape from the window while you were locked in the closet and then have slipped out the door and down to the kitchen." mary louise gasped in horror. "it doesn't sound possible," she admitted. "and the way she protested her innocence immediately," added jane. "remember that?" "yes, i do. but there is a possible explanation, jane. the burglar might have broken into the house while we were away and been hiding in the closet while i got ready for bed. i didn't open the door." "but why would he do that? why wouldn't he finish the job and leave before we came back?" "he might have just gotten in about the time we arrived at dark cedars." she paused, thinking of corinne pearson. "suppose it was corinne--on her way to that dance----" jane shook her head. "possible, but not probable," she said. "no, i believe it was elsie. do you remember how pleased she was that i wasn't going to sleep with you in miss mattie's room? and how she sneaked in there night before last, scaring us so? oh, mary lou, i think all the evidence points that way. and she's beginning to notice our suspicion. that's why she was so quiet at breakfast--and so glad to get rid of us." mary louise was silent; she did not tell jane that she felt convinced that the burglar was of the feminine gender. "well, don't say anything about our experience to anybody," cautioned mary louise as the girls entered the sunday school building. "i may talk it over with daddy, if he's home. but nobody else." jane promised, and they both dismissed their troubles for the time being in the presence of their friends. it was eleven o'clock when the two girls came out of the building, to find silky patiently waiting for them. "you take him home, jane," said mary louise, "and i'll stop at the hospital. if i can do so tactfully, i want to find out whether it really was a ruby necklace that was hidden in the bed." but mary louise's visit proved a disappointment; she was told at the desk that it would be impossible for her or anyone else to see miss mattie grant at the present time. "the operation was successful," the attendant stated, in that matter-of-fact tone officials so often assume, "but miss grant is under the influence of a narcotic. she wouldn't know anybody.... come back tomorrow." mary louise nodded and walked slowly out of the door, uncertain as to what her next move should be. still thinking deeply, she strolled down the street until she came within a block of mrs. grace grant's home. here a sudden impulse decided her to visit these relations of miss mattie. if anyone in the world knew about the necklace, that person would be the trusted nephew, john grant. mary louise paused a moment in front of the gate, a little nervous about going in. suppose harry grant were home alone and he started to tease her in that familiar way of his! john she had never seen, except that night on his porch, in the dark; and of course mrs. grant would be at church. but the sight of a nice-looking sedan parked in front of the house reassured her. in all probability that was john's car, she decided, for it certainly was not harry's. bravely she opened the gate and walked up to the porch. she had to wait several minutes before there was any answer to her ring. then a middle-aged man, stout and rather bald, as elsie had described john, opened the door. "is this mr. john grant?" she asked, trying to make her tone sound business-like. "yes," replied the man. "i am mary louise gay," she stated. "the girl who found miss mattie grant's money for her, you know." john grant did not know; he shook his head. evidently the story had been suppressed by his mother out of consideration for harry. "you didn't hear about the robbery?" she inquired. "no. i only know that aunt mattie is in the hospital. my sister--mrs. pearson--phoned yesterday. but when was she robbed?" "can you come out on the porch and talk to me for a few minutes, mr. grant?" asked mary louise. "certainly," he answered, glancing at his watch. "i have to drive to church for mother at half-past twelve. but that's over an hour from now." "thank you, mr. grant," said mary louise, as she seated herself in one of the chairs. "i won't tell you the whole story--it's too long. but before your aunt went to the hospital, all her money was stolen out of her safe. my chum and i succeeded in getting most of it back--all but a box of gold pieces--and your aunt put the money and her bonds into the bank. "then, when she had to go to the hospital so suddenly, she became panic-stricken and made me promise to sleep in her room while she was away. she had something hidden in her room, something valuable, but she wouldn't tell me what it was. i'd like to find out just what it was." "why?" demanded the man fearfully. "has that been taken too?" mary louise nodded and briefly told her story of the mysterious intruder the preceding night. "it was a ruby necklace," said john. "a necklace someone gave to my grandfather, i believe. aunt mattie didn't know much about how he got it, but he told her it was very valuable and that she must guard it above everything else in the world. so she had it hidden in her straw mattress, and told me where it was, because it is willed to me. nobody else knew anything about it, to my knowledge." "a ruby necklace!" repeated mary louise. "that's what the gypsy said it was. i asked a fortune teller whom our crowd visited yesterday, and she told me. claimed it was 'second sight' on her part." john grant laughed. "more likely a rumor she had heard. the family knew there was something--i mean aunt mattie's family--my father and my uncle. but even they never knew where grandfather got it or from whom. there must have been something queer about it, though, for i understood from my father that grandmother wanted him to give it back. and then, when aunt mattie got hold of it, she kept it hidden." "yes, that's what hannah says," agreed mary louise. "she says all this disturbance is old mrs. grant's spirit trying to get it back again. but i can't be expected to believe that." "naturally." john smiled, and mary louise thought what a nice, pleasant face he had. no wonder his aunt mattie trusted him! "miss grant is going to blame elsie, of course," continued mary louise. "she accused her of stealing the gold pieces." "hm!" observed john, as if he too thought the idea possible. "did she take the rest of the money?" "no, she didn't. we proved that." "then who did?" inquired john. "i think i had better not say," answered mary louise. "that's over and done with. your mother knows--if you want, you can ask her." john smiled. mary louise believed he had guessed the solution himself. "you don't really think elsie would take the gold or the necklace, do you, mr. grant?" she asked anxiously. "of course, you know her a lot better than i do." "i don't know. she might argue that she had a right to some of that money. it wasn't quite fair that aunt mattie got all of grandfather's fortune, and elsie's father didn't get a penny.... yes, she might take it, while i don't believe she would ever steal anything else." mary louise shuddered: it seemed as if she were the only person in the world who still considered elsie innocent. "there's a colored family who live down the hill in back of dark cedars. could they know about the necklace, mr. grant, do you suppose?" "abraham lincoln jones? yes, they could have heard rumors about it--just as those gypsies did. but i happen to know that man, and i am sure he is thoroughly honest." "would he steal chickens?" "not even chickens.... of course, his children might. colored people love chicken, you know." "i'm going to get elsie to take me to see them this afternoon." mary louise rose from her chair. "i won't take any more of your time, mr. grant--unless you can tell me what to do. i don't like to go to the police without miss grant's consent." "no, i wouldn't do that. if there is something queer about her possession of the necklace, it would be better for her to lose it than to have an old disgrace exposed. at aunt mattie's age, i mean. we better wait until she gets well." mary louise nodded: that was exactly her idea too. unless, of course, one of the family had taken it--corinne pearson or harry grant. "but i guess it would be all right to speak to daddy in confidence about it," she said, "and get his advice." "your father?" "yes. he is detective gay, of the police force. you've heard of him?" "oh, yes, certainly. but tell him not to bring in the police--yet." mary louise held out her hand. "thank you so much, mr. grant, for giving me your time," she said. "i'll get in touch with you later." well satisfied with her interview, she left the grants' porch and determined to do a little more investigating for herself before she consulted her father. a little farther down the street was the home of bernice tracey, an attractive young woman of about twenty-five, who had once been a lieutenant in mary louise's girl scout troop. to this girl she decided to go for some information concerning corinne pearson, for she knew that miss tracey was a member of the country club set. miss tracey herself answered mary louise's ring at the door. "why, mary lou!" she exclaimed in surprise. "you are a stranger! and you almost caught me in bed, too! i just finished my breakfast. come in--or shall i come out on the porch?" "oh, i can only stay a minute, miss tracey," replied mary louise. "i just wanted to ask you a couple of questions, if you don't mind.... and please don't think i'm crazy." "i know there never was a girl with a more level head on her shoulders!" answered the other admiringly. "go ahead and ask me the questions, mary lou." "well--er--you went to that dance last night, didn't you, with the country club people? was corinne pearson there?" "yes, she and ned mason ate supper with us. why?" "please don't ask me why! what time did the dance begin?" "about eleven o'clock." mary louise frowned; it was possible, then, that corinne could have been at dark cedars a little after ten. "and--and--can you remember what miss pearson wore?" "yes. a white organdie. it was very simple, but awfully nice for a summer dance. i wish i had been as sensible." now for the final question! mary louise had to summon all her courage to put forth this one. "do you remember what kind of jewelry she had on? what color?" miss tracey's face lighted up with a smile. "i know why you're asking me these questions, mary lou!" she exclaimed. "you're a society reporter on the _star_--aren't you? but i don't see why you don't ask me what i wore. aren't i as pretty and as important as corinne pearson?" "you're twice as important and five times as pretty, miss tracey!" replied mary louise instantly. "but i'm not a reporter-or even trying to become one.... i'll explain some time later.... just tell me about the jewelry, if you can remember." "all right, my dear. corinne wore red with her white dress. imitation rubies, i suppose. earrings and necklace and two bracelets." "oh!" gasped mary louise. "that's what i want to know. thank you, miss tracey, thank you just heaps!" chapter xiv _bad news_ mary louise's first impulse, upon leaving miss tracey's home, was to rush right over to corinne pearson with a demand to see the necklace which she had worn at the dance the night before. but she had not taken more than a few steps before she saw the foolishness of such a proceeding. in the first place, corinne would not be likely to show her the necklace; in the second place, mary louise could tell nothing by examining it. she wasn't a connoisseur in rubies; it was doubtful whether she could spot a real stone if she saw one. no, nothing was to be gained by a visit to the pearsons' at this time. so instead she directed her course towards home, resolving to discuss the whole affair with her father, if he had returned from his business trip, as her mother had expected. she found him on the porch, reading the sunday paper and smoking his pipe. he was a big man with a determined chin and fine dark eyes which lighted up with joy at the sight of his daughter. "mary lou!" he exclaimed, getting up out of his chair and kissing her. "i was so afraid you wouldn't be home to see me!" "i just had to see you, daddy," returned the girl. "i need your help." "sit down, dear. your mother tells me that you are engaged in some serious business. i feel very proud of my detective daughter." "i'm afraid i'm not so good after all," she replied sadly. "now that i'm really up against a hard problem, i don't know which way to turn. i'd like to tell you about it, if you have time." she seated herself in the hammock and took off her hat. it was lovely and cool on the shaded porch after the heat of the riverside streets. "of course i have time," mr. gay assured her. "begin at the beginning." "i will, daddy. only, first of all, you must promise not to tell anybody--except mother, of course. miss grant seems to dread publicity of any kind." "why?" "the reason she gives is that she firmly believes some member of her own family to be guilty and wants to avoid scandal. but i think there's another--a deeper reason." "and what do you think that is, mary lou?" "a desire to keep her possession of a ruby necklace a secret. she kept it hidden in the mattress of her bed and never mentioned it to anybody except one trusted nephew." mr. gay wrinkled his brows. "i guess you had better tell me the facts in order, dear." mary louise settled herself more comfortably in the hammock, and told her story, just as everything had happened. when she finally came to the description of the robbery the previous night, and of her own shameful treatment at the hands of the thief, her father cried out in resentment. "don't tell mother about my being bound up and put in the closet," she begged. "it would worry her sick." "it worries me sick!" announced mr. gay. "and i don't want you to spend another night at that dreadful place.... in fact, i forbid it!" mary louise nodded: she had been expecting the command. "then may i bring elsie grant home with me while her aunt is in the hospital?" she asked. "yes, i suppose so--if your mother is willing." but his consent was rather reluctant; mary louise sensed his distrust of the orphan. "daddy, do you think elsie is guilty?" she asked immediately. "i don't know what to think. you believe that your intruder was a woman, don't you? then, if it was a woman in miss grant's family, how many possible suspects have you?" mary louise checked them off on her fingers. "old mrs. grant, mrs. pearson, corinne pearson--and elsie." "which are most likely to have heard about the necklace? old mrs. grant and elsie, i should say, offhand." "yes," agreed his daughter. "and i'm sure mrs. grace grant wouldn't steal. besides, she's too old to get down a ladder." "hold on a minute!" cautioned her father. "you're not sure that your thief got away in that manner. suppose, as you are inclined to believe, she was at dark cedars when you arrived last night, and suppose she did hide in the closet until she thought you were asleep. when she finished her job, why couldn't she have walked down the stairs and out the door--it must unlock from the inside--while you were still locked in the closet?" "that's true. but wouldn't elsie have heard her?" "probably. but, then, she'd have been likely to hear anybody getting out of a window.... yes, i think suspicion points to the young girl, with one possible exception." "you mean corinne pearson?" "no, i don't. i think the very fact that she wore a red necklace to the dance practically proves her innocence. if she even knew her aunt owned a ruby necklace, she wouldn't have done that, after she was caught in another theft." mary louise sighed: she felt as if her visit to miss tracey had been wasted time, and she said as much to her father. but he reassured her with the statement that real detectives make many such visits, which may seem to lead to nothing, but which all have their part in leading to the capture of the criminal. "then whom else do you suspect, daddy?" she asked. "the most obvious person of all. the person who had every reason to believe that there was something valuable hidden in miss grant's bed from the way the old lady guarded it. the person who made up all the stories about ghosts to throw you girls off the track. i mean hannah, of course." "hannah!" repeated mary louise in amazement. she had never thought of her as guilty since her interview with her that very first day. "you may be right, daddy. but if she was going to steal, why did she do it at night, when we were there? she had plenty of chance all day alone at dark cedars--except for william, her husband." "yes, but then you would immediately suspect her or william. this threw you off the track." mary louise pondered the matter seriously. "i still can't believe that, daddy. knowing hannah as i do, i would stake my word on the fact that both she and old mrs. grant are absolutely honest." "well, it may not have been a member of the family at all," observed mr. gay. "maybe it was an outsider, someone who had heard a rumor about the necklace and visited the house systematically at night, searching for it. that would account for those strange noises and the disturbances. it might even have been the person who owned the necklace in the first place, who would know, of course, that it was still at dark cedars. there is only one thing to do that i can see, and that is to notify the pawnshops and jewelers all over the country." "but that would take forever," protested mary louise. "and besides, we couldn't mention miss grant's name without her permission." mr. gay smiled; there was a great deal for mary louise to learn about the detective business. "it wouldn't take any time at all," he said. "the police have a list of all such places and a method of communication. and miss grant's name need not be mentioned--my name is sufficient. but i wish we could get a more accurate description of the necklace." "i wish we could. i'll try to see miss grant again tomorrow." "it doesn't make so much difference, however," her father told her. "if the rubies are real, they can easily be detected. it isn't likely that many ruby necklaces are being pawned at the same time." "will you do this for me, daddy?" asked mary louise, rising from the hammock and opening the screen door. "i just want to say 'hello' to mother, and then i must be on my way. i'm due back at dark cedars at two o'clock." mr. gay frowned. "must you go, dear? i don't forbid it, in broad daylight, but i don't like it." "yes, i must get my suitcase, daddy. and bring elsie back, if she wants to come." "all right, mary lou. i'll drive you over, if our dinner isn't ready. and i'll come back for you about five o'clock, so that i'm sure of getting you home here safely before dark." it was a simple matter for mary louise to gain her mother's consent to bring elsie grant home with her. believing the girl to be just a poor downtrodden orphan, mrs. gay adopted a motherly, sympathetic attitude, totally unaware that both jane patterson and mr. gay suspected the girl of the crime. she was delighted that her daughter had decided to leave dark cedars. "it's bad enough to have your father away on dangerous work, without having to worry about you too, mary louise," she said as she kissed her daughter good-bye. "be back in time for supper." "i will," promised the girl. "daddy is going to drive me over and come back for me." during the short ride in her father's car the theft was not mentioned. if possible, mary louise wanted to forget it for the time being. she hated to go to dark cedars and eat hannah's dinner as elsie's guest and all the while suspect one or the other of them of a horrible crime. mr. gay left mary louise at the hedge, and she ran up the path lightly, just like an ordinary girl visiting one of her chums for a sunday dinner. but elsie did not come out to meet her, and she had to knock on the door to gain admittance. in a minute or two hannah answered it. "hello!" she said. "ain't elsie with you?" mary louise shook her head. "no. she said she'd stay and help you," she replied. "didn't she tell you about what happened last night?" "no!" hannah's eyes opened wide. "was the spirits here again?" "somebody was here," answered mary louise. "haven't you been up in miss grant's room?" the woman shook her head. "no, i ain't. i've been too busy out in the garden helpin' william and gettin' dinner ready. i figured you girls'd make your own bed. elsie always did most of the upstairs work." "well, i couldn't very easily make the first bed i slept in," remarked mary louise. "because the mattress was torn to pieces." "miss mattie's?" gasped hannah, in genuine terror. she looked so frightened that mary louise could not believe she was acting. "yes. somebody bound and gagged me and locked me in the closet and then proceeded to strip the bed. they must have found miss grant's precious necklace--for that's what it was, john grant said." the servant woman bowed her head. "may the lord have mercy on us!" she said reverently. "it's his way of punishin' miss mattie fer keepin' the thing her dead mother warned her agin'." she looked up at mary louise. "eat your dinner quick," she said. "then let's get out of here, before the spirits come agin!" "but where's elsie?" insisted mary louise, knowing that it was no use to argue with hannah about the "spirits." "she went off soon after you girls left. i thought she changed her mind and went to sunday school. she had on her green silk." "and hasn't she come back all morning?" demanded mary louise in dismay. "nary a sign of her." mary louise groaned. this was bad news--just what she had been fearing ever since her conversations with jane and with her father. if elsie had run away, there could be only one reason for her going: she must be guilty! "i had better go right home and see my father," she said nervously. "you set right down and eat your dinner, miss mary louise!" commanded hannah. "you need food--and it's right here. you ain't a-goin' to take no hot walk on an empty stomach! besides, elsie may come in any minute. she probably run down to show them colored people her pretty green dress." mary louise's eyes brightened. "abraham lincoln jones's family?" she inquired. "yeah. elsie's awful fond of them. they kind of pet her up, you know." mary louise smiled and sat down to her dinner. the food tasted good, for it was fresh from the garden, and hannah was an excellent cook. but all the time she was eating she kept her eyes on the door, watching, almost praying that elsie would come in. "maybe you had better not touch that room of miss grant's," she cautioned hannah. "i think it might be better to leave it just as it is--for the sake of evidence. my clothes are in your old room now, and i'll get them from there." "don't you worry!" returned the woman, with a frightened look in her eyes. "i ain't givin' no spirits no chance at me! i'm leavin' the minute these dishes is done, and i ain't comin' back day or night. if elsie ain't home by the time i go, you can take the key, miss mary louise, and turn it over to miss mattie." mary louise nodded: perhaps this was for the best. "i'll leave my suitcase on the porch while i run down to see the jones family," she said, as she finished her apple pie. "and you had better clear out the refrigerator and take all the food that is left, because, if i find elsie, i'll take her home with me." "maybe she's havin' a chicken dinner with them colored people," returned hannah and for the first time since mary louise's arrival she smiled. chapter xv _an alibi_ the wooden shack where the jones family lived was picturesque in its setting among the cedar trees behind miss grant's home. in summer time mary louise could understand living very comfortably in such a place. but, isolated as it was, and probably poorly heated, it must be terribly cold in winter. she ran down the hill gayly, humming a tune to herself and smiling, for she did not want the colored family to think that her visit was anything but a friendly one. as she came to a clearing among the cedar trees she saw two nicely dressed children playing outside the shack and singing at the top of their lungs. they beamed at mary louise genially and went on with their song. "do you children know miss elsie grant?" she shouted. they both nodded immediately. "sure we know her! you a friend o' hers?" "yes," answered mary louise. "i've been visiting her, up at her aunt's place. but she didn't come home for dinner, so i thought maybe she was here." "no, ma'am, she ain't," replied the older child. "you-all want to see ma?" "yes, i should like to. if she isn't busy." "ma!" yelled both children at once, and a pleasant-faced colored woman appeared at the door of the shack. "here's a frien' of miz elsie's!" the woman smiled. "come in, honey," she invited. "i just wanted to ask you whether you had seen miss elsie this morning," said mary louise. mrs. jones opened the bright-blue screen door and motioned her caller into her house. there were only two rooms in the shack, but mary louise could see immediately how beautifully neat they were, although the color combinations made her want to laugh out loud. a purple door curtain separated the one room from the other, and some of the chairs were red plush, some brown leather, and one a bright green. but there was mosquito netting tacked up at the windows, and the linoleum-covered floor was spotless. "set down, honey," urged the woman, and mary louise selected a red-plush chair. she repeated her question about elsie. "yes and no," replied mrs. jones indefinitely. "what do you mean by 'yes and no,' mrs. jones?" inquired mary louise. "i saw her but didn't have no talk wid her," explained the other. "she was all dressed up in a fine dress and had a bundle unde' her arm. i reckoned she was comin' down to visit us, but she done go off through de woods. why you ask, honey? she ain't lost, am she?" "she didn't come back for dinner," answered mary louise. "so hannah and i were worried." mrs. jones rolled her eyes. "runned away, i reckon. miz grant didn't treat her good." "but miss grant isn't there--she's in the hospital." "you don't say!" "yes, and i wanted to take elsie home with me while she was away. so you wouldn't think she'd want to run away now." "no, you wouldn't. not when she's got a nice friend like you, honey. mebbe she was kidnaped." "nobody would want to kidnap elsie grant. she's too poor--and her aunt would never pay ransom money." mrs. jones chuckled. "you right 'bout dat, honey, fo' sure. miz grant's de stingiest white woman eve' lived. wouldn't give away a bone to a dog if she could help he'self. served her right 'bout dem chickens!" mary louise turned sharply. "chickens?" she repeated, trying to keep her voice calm. "yes. her chickens is bein' stolen all de time. half a dozen to oncet--and me and abraham won't lift a finger to put a stop to it!" "you know who has been taking them?" asked mary louise incredulously. "we knows fo' sure, honey. but we ain't tellin' no tales to miz grant." "suppose she accuses your husband?" suggested mary louise. "dat's sumpin' diff'rent. den we'd tell. but it'd be safe enough by dat time. de gypsies has wandered off by now." "gypsies!" exclaimed mary louise. "did they steal the chickens?" "dey sure did. we could see 'em, sneakin' up at night, by de light of de moon. if miz grant eve' catched 'em, it'd sure go right bad wid 'em. she hates 'em like pison." "but you think the gypsies have gone away, mrs. jones?" questioned mary louise. "i reckon so, or dey'd be stealin' mo' chickens. but we ain't seen nor heard 'em fo' several nights. guess dey done cleaned out of de neighborhood." mary louise cleared her throat. she wanted to ask this woman what she knew about the robbery at dark cedars, but she did not like to seem abrupt or suspicious. so she tried to speak casually. "since you know about the chickens being stolen, mrs. jones, did you happen to hear anything unusual last night at dark cedars?" "lem'me see.... las' night was sattiday, wasn't it? abraham done gone to lodge meetin' and got home bout ten o'clock, he said. no, i was in bed asleep, and we neve' wakened up at all.... why? did anything happen up there? mo' chickens took?" "not chickens--but something a great deal more valuable. a piece of jewelry belonging to miss grant." "you don't say! was dere real stones in it--genu-ine?" "yes." the colored woman shook her head solemnly. "abraham always say de old lady'd come to trouble sure as night follows day. de mean life she's done lived--neve' goin' to church or helpin' de poor. she neve' sent us so much as a bucket of coal fo' christmas. but we don't judge her--dat's de lord's business." "did you know she kept money and jewels in her house?" inquired mary louise. "no. it warn't none of our business. abraham ain't interested in folks' money--only in der souls. he's a deacon in rive'side colored church, you know!" "yes, i've heard him very highly spoken of, mrs. jones," concluded mary louise, rising from her chair. "if you see elsie, will you tell her to come to our house? anybody can direct her where to find the gays' home, in riverside." "i sure will, miz gay. dat's a perty name.... and you a perty gal!" "thanks," stammered mary louise in embarrassment.... "and good-bye, mrs. jones." she stepped out of the shack and waved to the children as she passed them again on her way back to dark cedars. glancing at her watch as she climbed the hill, she observed that it was only half-past three. what in the world would she do to pass the time until her father came for her at five o'clock? it occurred to her as she approached miss grant's house that she might try to interview hannah concerning her whereabouts the preceding night, and she was thankful to catch sight of the woman in the back yard, talking to william, her husband. it was evident from both the old servants' attitudes that they were having an argument, and mary louise approached slowly, not wishing to interrupt. william groben looked much older than his wife, although hannah was by no means a young woman. hadn't she claimed that she had done the house-cleaning for forty years at dark cedars? even if she had begun to work there in her teens, mary louise figured that she must be fast approaching sixty. but william looked well over seventy. he was thin and shriveled and bent; what little hair he had left was absolutely white. there could be no doubt about william's innocence in the whole affair at dark cedars: a frail old man like that could not have managed to handle a healthy girl like mary louise in the manner in which the criminal had treated her. "there ain't no use sayin' another word, hannah," mary louise heard william announce stubbornly. "i ain't a-goin' a-change me mind. duty is duty, and i always say if a man can't be faithful to his employer--" "i've heard that before, never mind repeatin' it!" snapped his wife. "and nobody can say i ain't been faithful to miss mattie, fer all her crankiness. but we've got a little bit saved up, and we can manage to live on it, with my sister jennie, without you workin' here. in a place that's haunted by spirits!" the man looked up sharply. "how long do you think four hundred dollars would keep us?" he demanded. "besides, it's invested for us--to bury us. you can't touch that, hannah. no, i want me regular wages. i like good victuals!" "so do i. but what's the use of good victuals if you're half scared of your life all the time? i'll never step inside that there house again!" william shrugged his shoulders. "do as you're a mind to, hannah--you always have. and i'll go on livin' over to jennie's with you. but i'm still workin' here in the daytime. i couldn't let them chickens starve and the garden go to seed. and what would become of the cow?" "you could sell her and turn the money over to miss mattie." william smiled sarcastically. "and have her half kill me for doin' it? not me! besides, it wouldn't be fair to the poor old lady in the hospital. dependin' on me as she is. no, siree! duty is duty, and i always say----" "shut up!" yelled hannah in exasperation. and then, all of a sudden, she spied mary louise. "don't you never get married, miss mary louise," she advised. "i never seen a man that wasn't too stubborn to reason with. did you find elsie?" mary louise shook her head. "no. mrs. jones saw her cutting across the woods this morning. but she didn't stop there." "i guess she must have them gold pieces of her aunt mattie's after all, and took her chance to clear out when the clearin' was good. can't say as i blame her!" mary louise sighed: that was the logical conclusion for everybody to come to. "so i think i'll go home now, hannah," she said. "i won't wait for my father to come for me. and shall i take the key, or will william want to keep it?" "you take it," urged the old man. "i don't want to feel responsible for it. my duty's outside the house." hannah handed it over with a sigh of relief. "i'm that glad to get rid of it! and you tell miss mattie that i'm livin' at my sister jennie's. i'll write the address down for you, if you've got your little book handy." mary louise gladly produced it from her pocket: this was easy--getting hannah's address without even asking for it. "is this where you were last night?" she inquired casually, as the woman wrote down the street and number. "yes. at least, except while we was at the movies. my sister jennie made william go with us--he never thought he cared about them before. but you ought to see him laugh at laurel and hardy. i thought i'd die, right there in the globe theater." william grinned at the recollection. "they was funny," he agreed. "when the show was over, i just set there, still laughin'!" "they almost closed the theater on us," remarked hannah. "it was half-past eleven when we got home, and that's late for us, even of a saturday night." mary louise chuckled. she couldn't have gotten any information more easily if she had been a real detective. yet here was a perfect alibi for hannah; if she had been at the movies until half-past eleven, she couldn't have stolen that necklace from dark cedars. maybe that bit of detective work wouldn't make an impression upon her father! "of course, i can check up on it at the globe theater," she decided in her most professional manner. she held out her hand to hannah. "it's good-bye, then, hannah--and thank you for all the nice things you cooked for me." "you're welcome, miss mary louise. and if you come over to see me at my sister jennie's, i'll make some doughnuts for you." "i'll be there!" promised the girl, and with a nod to william, she went around to the porch to get her suitcase. thankful that it was not heavy, she walked slowly down to the road and on to riverside. she had plenty of chance to think as she went along, but her thoughts were not pleasant. hannah's alibi only made elsie's guilt seem more assured. and how she hated to have to tell her father and jane of the girl's disappearance! there was bound to be publicity now, for the newspapers' help would have to be enlisted in the search for the missing orphan. miss grant would have to know the whole story, including the theft of the necklace.... mary louise shuddered, hoping that she would not be the bearer of the evil tidings to the sick old lady. chapter xvi _spreading the net_ mary louise spied norman wilder's car in front of jane patterson's house as she turned into her own street in riverside; a moment later she recognized both norman and max on her chum's porch. as soon as they, in their turn, saw her, they rushed down to the gate to meet her, and max seized her suitcase. "if you wouldn't be so doggone independent," he exclaimed, "and just let a fellow know when you needed a lift, mary lou, i'd have driven over for you!" "that's all right, max," returned mary louise. "as a matter of fact, dad was coming for me at five o'clock, but i didn't want to wait that long. there was nothing to do at dark cedars." "nothing to do?" echoed jane. "are you going to stay home now and leave elsie all alone?" "dad wants me home," was all the explanation mary louise would make before the boys. later, she would tell her chum about the girl's disappearance. "i've got to go right in now," she added. "after i have a bath and my supper, i'll join you people." "after supper!" repeated max in disgust. "we were just considering a little picnic in the woods. it's a marvelous day for a swim." "picnic? why, we had one yesterday!" "and it was such fun that we thought we'd have an encore." "i'm afraid i have too much to do to be in on any picnic," answered mary louise. "but i'll go for a walk or a drive with you all after supper--maybe." seeing that she was firm in her resolve, the young people released her, and she hurried into her own house. mr. gay was standing in the living room, holding the keys to his car in his hand and trying to persuade his wife to drive over to dark cedars with him. "why, mary lou!" he exclaimed in surprise. "we were just getting ready to go for you. why didn't you wait for me?" "and where is elsie?" inquired mrs. gay. mary louise dropped despondently into a chair. "she--went away," she replied briefly. mr. gay turned sharply. "where?" he demanded. mary louise shook her head. "i don't know. hannah said she went out soon after jane and i left for sunday school this morning, and the colored woman who lives in back of dark cedars saw her go through the woods. but she didn't come back in time for dinner--or at all, before i left." "the poor child is lost!" exclaimed mrs. gay sympathetically. "if she wandered into cooper's woods, it's no wonder." she turned to her husband. "hadn't we better get out a searching party, dear, immediately? the boy and the girl scouts, anyhow." mr. gay frowned. "no, my dear," he replied slowly. "i don't think elsie grant is lost. neither does mary lou. i'm afraid she's headed straight for harrisburg--and may have arrived by this time." "harrisburg?" repeated mrs. gay. "why, that's sixty miles away! she couldn't walk that far." "no, i don't expect her to walk. i think she took the train--not from riverside, but from the next station." "how could she take a train? she couldn't buy a ticket, for she hasn't any money." "we are afraid, my dear, that elsie grant has plenty of money, though she may encounter a little difficulty in spending it, since the new law was passed. we believe that she stole those gold pieces from her aunt--and last night a necklace was taken, so it looks as if she had that too." "how terrible!" exclaimed mrs. gay, looking at mary louise as if she expected her to protest, or at least explain, her father's accusation. but the girl was sitting disconsolately with her head bowed, as if she believed that every word was true. "what shall we do, daddy?" mary louise asked finally, in a hopeless tone. "notify the railroad stations to be on watch for a girl of elsie's description, who probably tried to buy a ticket with a gold piece. of course, it's possible she may have stolen some change from her aunt's pocketbook and used that for carfare.... do you happen to know what kind of dress she was wearing, mary lou?" "my green silk--with little flowers in it. i gave it to her." the reply was almost a sob. "i'll attend to that part, then," announced mr. gay. "and you will have to go over to see mr. john grant, mary lou, and tell him that elsie has gone. it will be up to him to take charge of the affair." "suppose he doesn't want the police notified that elsie is missing?" asked his daughter. "it isn't his place to decide that question. if a person is missing, it's the law's duty to step in and try to find him or her. the loss of the necklace is a different matter, which concerns the grant family alone." mary louise nodded and picked up her suitcase. she wanted to be alone in her own room; she felt too miserable to talk to anybody--even her father. what would be the use of telling him about her interview with mrs. jones, or the establishment of hannah groben's alibi? he no longer entertained any suspicions about these people: the finger of accusation pointed too surely at elsie grant. taking off her hat and her dress, mary louise threw herself down upon the bed. how tired she was! and how discouraged! how dreadful it was to believe in somebody and to have that trust betrayed! elsie grant had appeared to be such a sweet, innocent person, so worthy of sympathy. it didn't seem possible that while she was accepting the girls' friendship and their gifts she could be plotting this wicked thing. the laughter of mary louise's young friends rose from the porch next door and came through the open window, but the weary girl on the bed had no desire to join them. for once in her life she felt as if she wanted to avoid jane. she couldn't bear to tell her that her suspicions about elsie had been as good as proved. tired and unhappy, mary louise closed her eyes, and before she realized it she was fast asleep. the experience of the previous night and the strain of this day had overpowered her, and for an hour she forgot all her troubles in a dreamless rest. her mother wakened her by announcing that supper was on the table. mary louise sat up and rubbed her eyes. "i'm sorry, mother," she said. "i meant to help you. i haven't been much use to you for the last few days." "that's all right, dear," replied mrs. gay. "you needed the sleep, and freckles has been fine.... now, come to supper." mary louise was delighted to find that she felt much better after her nap. and much more cheerful. she no longer dreaded the coming necessary interview with john grant, which she meant to seek after supper. however, she was saved the trouble of going to his house, for scarcely had the gays finished eating when john grant arrived. mary louise and her father received him in the living room. "i have a message for you, miss gay," he announced, "from my aunt." "oh!" exclaimed mary louise. "you were able to see her, then?" "late this afternoon. she seemed much better and asked the nurse to send for me. so i went over to the hospital about five o'clock." "did you tell her about the necklace?" asked mary louise eagerly. "yes, i did. i thought it would be best to get it over with. she asked me whether it was safe, and i couldn't lie. so i told her what happened last night." mary louise gasped. "wasn't the shock too much for her? and wasn't she just furious at me?" "no, she stood it quite well. she said she knew something had happened because of a dream she had last night. and she said, 'tell mary louise not to worry, because i don't blame her. and i want to see her myself tomorrow morning.'" "why, that's wonderful!" exclaimed the girl, with a sigh of relief. "i had no idea she would take it so well." "neither did i," admitted john. "there's something queer about it--but maybe she'll explain tomorrow. i wasn't allowed to stay with her long today, and she was too weak to talk much." it was mr. gay who put the question that was trembling on mary louise's lips: "does she think her niece--elsie grant, i mean--stole the necklace?" "she didn't say," answered john. "but i don't believe so, because she asked whether elsie had confessed yet about the gold pieces. that wouldn't indicate that she believed her guilty of another theft." "no, it wouldn't," agreed mr. gay. "but everything points that way. we have bad news for you, mr. grant: elsie has disappeared." "humph!" john grant's grunt and his nod were significant. "i was afraid of that," he said. "i have already notified the police," announced mr. gay. "they are watching for her at the railroad stations, and i have wired the pawnshops and jewelers in harrisburg and other cities nearby. we'll probably catch her by tonight." "i hope so," sighed john. "it's too bad. i feel sort of guilty about the whole thing. if we had taken the child into our home, instead of letting her go with aunt mattie, it would never have happened. but we were feeling the depression and didn't see how we could assume any more expense. my brother isn't earning anything, and mother lost most of her inheritance. while aunt mattie, of course, had plenty.... but it was a mistake." mary louise looked gratefully at the man: john grant was the only person besides herself who felt any pity for elsie. how she wished he had been able to bring her up!... but it was too late now for regrets. "what will be done with her when they do find her?" she inquired tremulously. "will she be sent to prison if she is proved guilty?" john shrugged his shoulders. "that will be for aunt mattie to decide. but you know she has talked nothing but reform school since the child came to her." "maybe i can persuade her to give elsie another chance," murmured mary louise hopefully. "maybe," agreed john as he shook hands with mr. gay and departed. mary louise turned to her father after the man left. "i have some things to tell you, daddy," she said. "some clues i followed up this afternoon. do you want to hear them?" "by all means," returned mr. gay. "one thing i learned is that the gypsies stole those chickens. at least--the wife of the colored man who lives in back of dark cedars claims that they did." mr. gay smiled. "you don't think that's important?" asked mary louise in disappointment, for she could read his thought. "it occurred to me that, if they stole the chickens, maybe it was they who stole the necklace." "i'm afraid not, daughter. if we have only a colored woman's word for it, that's no proof. she's probably shielding herself or her husband.... besides, while gypsies might steal something on the outside, they very seldom have been known to break into people's houses." "yes, i was afraid you would say that." "it might be worth following up as a clue if we had nothing else to go on. but now we feel pretty sure that elsie grant is guilty.... but did this colored woman hear them last night--the gypsies, i mean?" "no, she didn't. it was several nights ago, and about the same time that william, the hired man, reported that the chickens were gone." "what else did you learn this afternoon?" inquired her father. "i sounded this mrs. jones out about the necklace, and she had never heard of any jewels at dark cedars. i believe her--i don't think she could have stolen that necklace--or her husband, either." "i never thought they did, for a minute. if the thief had been a colored person, you would have known it, i'm sure. the hands alone are different. didn't you say that the hand that touched you was thin?" "yes. almost bony. that's one reason why i didn't suspect elsie." "and how about hannah? did you learn her whereabouts last night?" "yes," answered mary louise, and she told of the woman's visit, with her husband and sister, to the moving-picture house--an alibi which the girl could easily check up on tomorrow. "i hear jane's whistle!" exclaimed mr. gay. "the young people want you, dear. you better go out with them and forget all this sad business for the rest of the evening. i think you need a little diversion." mary louise thought so too, and dashed off joyously to join her friends. chapter xvii _the empty house_ mr. gay was seated at the telephone table in the dining room the following morning when mary louise came downstairs to breakfast. she waited breathlessly for the news, for she felt sure that he was talking to some of the police about the whereabouts of elsie grant. "that's strange," she heard him say. "i can hardly believe it.... you checked up with the bus companies as well as the railroads?... o.k., then. keep on searching," he concluded. replacing the receiver, he turned to his daughter. "not a trace of elsie anywhere," he announced. mary louise smiled: she was almost glad that the girl had not been found. it gave her more time to believe in elsie's innocence. "do you think she could have been kidnaped, daddy?" she inquired. "people are, pretty often, nowadays." "but they're always rich or important," returned mr. gay. "no: that's one of the blessings of being poor--nobody would kidnap elsie grant unless he knew that she had the ruby necklace. then the criminal would be much more likely to steal it and let her go." "that's what i think," agreed mary louise.... "what are you going to do now?" "there's nothing more i can do. i suppose you are planning to go over to the hospital to see miss grant?" "yes, for a few minutes after breakfast. then--daddy--" mary louise hesitated: she didn't want her father to laugh at her next request, but she just had to ask him--"would you be willing to go on a search with me through cooper's woods? it's just possible that all our detective work may be wrong and my unsuspecting mother right. elsie might be lost in cooper's woods!" "i'm not going to smile," replied her father. "because i think your suggestion is a very good one. elsie may even be guilty of the thefts--and have the necklace and the gold pieces with her--and still be lost or hiding in those woods. i'll be glad to go with you." mary louise's brown eyes sparkled. what a good sport her father was! "don't let's take the car, daddy," she urged. "at least, not any farther than dark cedars. i'd like to set out from the back of miss grant's yard and try to trace elsie's steps--with silky to help us. if i get her old calico dress and shoes and let him sniff them, i think he'd understand." mr. gay gazed at his daughter admiringly. "mary lou, that is an idea!" he cried. "you're a better detective than i am." she blushed at the praise. "wait till we see how my plan turns out," she answered. "it may lead to nothing at all.... still, we'll be having fun. it'll be a regular hiking trip." "of course it will be fun," agreed her father, for he loved the out-of-doors. "and we'll carry blankets in case we stay overnight." "what's this i hear?" demanded mrs. gay, appearing from the kitchen with the coffee pot in her hands. "what mischief are you two up to now?" "only an all-day hike, my dear," explained mr. gay calmly. "you don't mind, do you? and will you drive us as far as dark cedars and bring the car back?" "certainly," replied mrs. gay graciously. "may i go?" asked freckles as he came into the dining room with silky at his heels. "i'm afraid you'll have to stay home and take care of your mother, son, for we may be gone overnight," replied his father. "but just wait till i get my real vacation, later on. we'll have a whale of a trip. all four of us together." "don't you expect to be home in time for supper?" asked mrs. gay. "that all depends upon our luck." and mr. gay went on to explain to his wife the nature of their excursion and the reason for making it. while he assembled the necessary equipment for the hike, mary louise hurried off to the hospital to see miss grant. it was early, but she was told that she might go up to the patient's room immediately. the old lady was expecting her. mary louise found her looking pale and wasted, but her black eyes beamed as brightly as ever, and she smiled faintly at her visitor. "i brought you some flowers, miss grant," began the girl cheerfully as she handed them to the nurse. "and i'm so glad to hear that you are better." miss grant nodded her thanks and indicated that she wanted mary louise to sit down in the chair beside her high white bed. "any news?" she asked in a weak but eager voice. mary louise shook her head. "nothing more," she replied. "mr. john grant told you about my awful experience on saturday night, didn't he?" "yes. i was afraid something like that might happen. i'm sorry, mary louise, and thankful that you weren't injured." "you mean you're sorrier for me than for yourself--about losing the necklace?" asked the girl incredulously. this didn't sound at all like the miser she believed miss grant to be. "yes, i am. because, somehow, i never thought that necklace would do me any good. i should have been afraid to sell it for fear it would bring up some old scandal or some disgrace about my father. i don't know how he got hold of it--i was always afraid it had something to do with gambling or a bet of some kind--but i do know that my mother never approved of his keeping it. and so i'm almost thankful it's gone." "who do you think could have taken it?" "either the original owner--whoever he is--or my mother's ghost. you read of queer things like that sometimes, things that never can be explained by the living. perhaps when we are dead we shall understand.... i don't know.... i dreamed about mother night before last, and in the dream i promised her to throw away the necklace.... so i'm almost thankful it's gone." mary louise let out a sigh of relief. "i'm so glad it doesn't worry you, miss grant. i was afraid you'd suspect elsie." the sick woman's eyes flashed angrily. "i do still suspect elsie of taking my gold!" the old expression of greed crossed her face. "you haven't found it for me yet, have you, mary louise?" "no, i haven't, miss grant." "where is elsie?" was the next question. mary louise hesitated: she hated to answer this. "she is--lost. she went away yesterday--sunday morning--and hasn't come back yet." miss grant nodded significantly. "i was expecting it. well, you don't believe any longer that she's innocent, do you, mary louise?" "i'm still hoping," replied the girl. miss grant was silent for some minutes, and mary louise felt that it was time for her to go. but before she made a move, she told the sick woman of hannah's decision to leave dark cedars, and she held out the key. "but i should like to keep it today, if you don't mind, miss grant," she added, "so i can get some clothing of elsie's for silky to sniff at. i want to take him down to the woods to see whether he can get on her trail." "keep it as long as you want it," agreed the old lady. "if hannah is gone, i shan't return to dark cedars very soon. john wants me to go to his home, anyhow, when i get out of the hospital, so i suppose i had better agree." "do you want to see william about your cow and your garden?" inquired mary louise. "yes, tell him to stop in to see me here at the hospital.... and now you had better go, child.... i'm very tired." enormously relieved that the interview had been so easy, mary louise left the hospital and hurried back to her home. she met jane patterson as she entered her own gate. "what next?" inquired her chum, who had been told the previous evening of elsie's disappearance. "still acting the detective?" "i should say," answered mary louise. "dad and i are going off now in search of elsie." "where are you going? harrisburg?" "no. cooper's woods. want to come along, jane?" the other girl shook her head. "i don't believe so. i have a tennis date with norman, and hope dorsey is rounding up the crowd to drive over to a country fair tonight. she'll be furious if you don't go--and so will max. kenneth was expecting we'd bring elsie grant along." "i only wish we could!" sighed mary louise. "but maybe we shall be able to. maybe we'll find her and bring her back home in time for supper." "and maybe not," remarked jane. "i've got to be off now," concluded the other, giving her chum a hasty kiss. "wish me good luck!" "you know i do!" was the reply. mary louise ran into the house and found her father all ready to start. he had made up a pack for each of them to carry; his own, the heavier, included a small tent for use if they were obliged to sleep in the woods. the food and equipment were sufficient but not overabundant, for mr. gay was a good camper and knew just what was necessary and what could be left at home. "get into your knickers, mary lou," he advised. "and bring a sweater along." "you don't think we'll be cold?" "the woods are chilly at night." "bring me back a bearskin," suggested freckles jokingly. "i could use one." "i don't expect to shoot anything," replied his father. "but, of course, you never can tell." half an hour later mrs. gay drove the two adventurers over to dark cedars and let them out at the hedge. mary louise, with silky at her heels, led the way up to the house. "it is a gloomy-looking place," observed her father as he followed her through the trees. "yet it could be made very attractive." mary louise shuddered. "nobody would ever want to live here after all the ghost stories get around. you know how people exaggerate, and the stories are bad enough as they are." "the porch certainly needs paint and repairs. it's a wonder miss grant hasn't fallen down and broken her neck." mary louise inserted her key in the lock and opened the heavy wooden door. inside, the shutters were carefully closed, and the dark, somber house seemed almost like a tomb. the stairs creaked ominously as the two ascended them, and mary louise was thankful that she was not alone. after that one experience in miss grant's bedroom, she never knew what strange creature might rush at her from the big, dark closet. "i can hardly see where i'm going," remarked mr. gay. "you better take my hand, mary lou." his daughter seized it gladly; she was only too pleased to feel its human, reassuring pressure. she led the way to the rear of the second floor, up the attic steps to elsie's room. here they found one of the windows open, so that a subdued light brightened the attic room. but there was no sunshine, for the boughs of the cedar trees pressed against the window sill. silky had been following them at a respectful distance, and mary louise lifted him up in her arms as she opened the closet door. a musty smell greeted her, but she had no difficulty in finding the clothing she wanted, and she held it close to silky's nose. "this is elsie's," she said, just as if the dog were human. "elsie is lost, and you must find her." still keeping the dog in her arms and the dress close to his nose, she carefully descended the stairs. "i'd like to see miss grant's bedroom," said mr. gay as they reached the second floor. "i want a look at the mattress." "o.k., daddy. but you go first. and have your gun ready if you open that closet door. i think that's where the ghosts live." "mary lou!" cried her father in amazement. "you don't believe that stuff, do you?" "i wish i did," sighed the girl. "because that would make elsie innocent." "you are very fond of elsie, aren't you, daughter?" "she seemed so sweet. and all our crowd liked her." mr. gay went to the window of miss grant's room and threw open the shutter to let in the light. just as mary louise had said, the mattress was literally torn to pieces. piles of straw were heaped on the floor, and the ragged covering was strewn all over the room. mr. gay examined it, and mary louise walked over to the side window--the one under which william's ladder had been found. "even a piece from the mattress is on this window ledge," she remarked as she pulled out a long strip of material. she examined it more closely. suddenly her eyes blinked in excitement. "this isn't mattress cover, daddy!" she exclaimed. "it's clothing material! blue sateen! from--somebody's dress!" mr. gay reached the window in two quick steps. "what do you make of that, mary lou?" he demanded. "i think it must be a piece from the thief's clothing!" she cried in delight. "and i don't believe it's elsie's. unless she was wearing some old dress of her aunt's." "i hope you're right," said mr. gay. "put the strip into your pocket. crimes have been solved on slimmer evidence than that." he turned aside. "there are no ghosts in the closet, mary lou," he announced solemnly. "i just looked." "then let's leave, daddy. i'm 'rarin' to go'--because--well--because i have another reason now besides wanting to find elsie!" "you suspect somebody definitely?" he inquired. "yes. but don't ask me whom--yet. just let's go." still holding on to elsie's calico dress, mary louise led the way out of the house and around to the back yard of dark cedars. here they found william complacently working in the garden, as if nothing had ever happened to disturb the peace at miss grant's home. he looked up and smiled at mary louise. "elsie didn't come back, did she, william?" asked the girl. the old man shook his head. "nope," he replied. "any more chickens stolen?" "nope." "well, we're off to hunt elsie--my father and i," explained mary louise. "and, by the way, william, miss grant wants you to stop in to see her at the hospital." "i'll do that," agreed the man. "and good luck to ye!" "thanks, william," returned mary louise. "good-bye." she and her father walked on down the hill towards the little shack where the colored family lived, and stopped there to inquire again about elsie. but mrs. jones had not seen her since the previous morning; however, she pointed out just what path the girl had taken. so mary louise put silky on the trail, and the three began their search. chapter xviii _found!_ with silky in the lead, mr. gay and mary louise followed the path behind dark cedars which led directly into cooper's woods. it was new to them both, for although they had gone to these woods many times, they had always entered from the road that ran past the creek and the swimming hole. "it's much cooler this way," observed the girl. "so nice and shady." "silky seems to know what he's doing," remarked her father. "he's going straight ahead." "i'm afraid he's making for the swimming hole," returned mary louise. "he loves a swim as much as we do." "do you want to stop for one?" "i'd like to, but i don't think we better. it would take too much time, dressing and undressing." "maybe we can have one on our way back." "yes, maybe," agreed mary louise. "i ought to have brought elsie's suit, so that if we find her she could go with us. she loved it on saturday." "i'm afraid you're being a little too optimistic, daughter," replied mr. gay. "don't get your hopes up too high." the path grew wide again as they approached the swimming hole, and when they arrived at the stream mary louise took off her pack and sat down under a tree. about a dozen children were playing about in the water, and mary louise threw a stick into the stream as a signal for silky to jump in. in another minute the children were romping with him. then they came out and crowded around mary louise, admiring the spaniel and asking his name. "you didn't see a girl about fifteen years old in a green silk dress, did you, children?" she inquired. they shook their heads. "were any of you here yesterday morning?" asked mr. gay. two of the older boys replied that they had been there. "did you see the girl then?" persisted the man. one boy thought that he did remember seeing a young lady--"all dressed up in a silk dress." but she hadn't stopped at the pool; she had crossed the bridge fifty yards below and had taken the path right back into the deepest part of the woods. mary louise jumped to her feet. "come on, daddy! let's get going!" "how about eating some of those sandwiches your mother packed for us?" suggested her father. "oh, no--not yet!" protested mary louise. "it's only eleven o'clock." she turned to the boys. "have you seen any gypsies around?" "a couple of days ago," was the answer. "i heard they moved on towards coopersburg. a fellow i know was over there last night and saw them telling fortunes." "what's the best way to coopersburg?" inquired mary louise. "through the woods is shortest, i guess. but i don't know if there's any path. we always go around by the road." "we were going through the woods anyhow," said mary louise. to her father she added, "i do want to see those gypsies again, almost as much as i want to find elsie." she whistled for silky, and he came running out of the water, shaking himself joyously and rolling over and over on the grass. "he's forgotten all about the trail he's supposed to be following," remarked mary louise, producing the purple calico dress. "come here, silky, and sniff this again." the couple turned their steps to the bridge and soon were out of the open space, back in the cool shade of the woods. here the path was narrow and deeply shaded, so that they had to walk single file for a long distance, sometimes picking their way carefully among the thick undergrowth. about noon they stopped to eat the sandwiches which mrs. gay had packed and to drink the iced-tea from the thermos bottle. "it's still a long walk to coopersburg," sighed mary louise. "i'd forgotten how these woods wound around. i don't believe i ever walked this way before." "are you tired?" inquired her father. "a little. but mostly hot. i'll soon cool off." "we won't try to walk back," replied mr. gay. "if we don't find elsie, we can take a bus back from coopersburg." "i don't think we should do that, daddy," argued mary louise. "if we don't find her or the gypsies either, i think we should come back here and camp for the night. that would give us a chance to make a more thorough search of the woods tomorrow. because we might easily miss elsie just by keeping on this path, as we are doing now." "why do you want to find the gypsies, mary lou?" "they may have seen elsie. for fifty cents that fortune teller will give you any information you want." mr. gay smiled. "i'm afraid she'd make up anything she didn't know," he remarked. "well, she was right about jane's lost ring--and about the ruby necklace," mary louise reminded him. "john grant said so." "yes, but she used her common sense in the first case, and in the second, she may have heard a rumor about the necklace--especially if this particular band of gypsies has been coming to this neighborhood for years.... i wouldn't attach too much faith to these people, daughter." they gathered up the remains of their picnic lunch and started forward again, with silky in the lead. on and on they walked for several hours, talking very little, and stopping only now and then for a drink of water from a spring or two which they passed. about three o'clock they came to a widening of the path, and through the trees they could see the fields that surrounded the town of coopersburg. with a new burst of energy mary louise started to run forward. "i see some tents, daddy!" she cried. "and that caravan! oh, i'm sure it's the gypsies." "don't run, mary lou!" called her father. "with that heavy pack on your back! i'm afraid you'll hurt yourself." "i can't wait, daddy." but she stopped and turned around, removing the pack from her shoulders. "you keep the packs, daddy," she said when he had caught up to her, "and i'll go ahead. i'd rather see the fortune teller by myself, anyhow. but stay where i can see you--within calling distance. and if i don't come back in half an hour, come and look for me." "mary lou, are you expecting any trouble from these gypsies?" "you never can tell!" she laughingly replied. blowing him a kiss with her hand, she started to run towards the encampment. when she was about fifty yards away she saw the same children whom she had noticed the day of the picnic, and she looked eagerly for the fortune teller. a few yards farther on she recognized the woman, coming from one of the tents. it seemed to mary louise that an expression of terror crossed the gypsy's face as the woman caught sight of her. but only for a second; in a moment she was grinning and showing all the gaps in her front teeth. "fortune?" she asked immediately, as mary louise approached her. "yes--that is--not exactly," replied the girl. however, she held up a silver half dollar in her hand, and the gypsy turned and lifted the flap of the tent. "bring the cards out here," suggested mary louise, glancing back towards the woods to make sure that her father was within sight. "it's too hot to go inside." the woman nodded and took the dirty pack of cards out of the pocket of her dress. "sit down," she commanded, and mary louise did as she was told. the oddly assorted pair stared at each other for a moment in silence. mary louise's eyes traveled slowly about the gypsy woman, from the top of her black head to the tips of her big old shoes. she examined her dress--of the same deep-blue color which she was wearing the day of the picnic--and she looked at her thin, bony, yet strong hands.... then, very deliberately, mary louise reached into the pocket of her knickers and brought out the strip of blue sateen which she had taken from the window ledge in miss mattie grant's bedroom at dark cedars. with a triumphant gleam in her eyes, she held the piece of torn material close to the gypsy's dress. dirty and spotted as it was, there could be no doubt of its identity. it was a perfect match! a wild gasp of terror escaped from the gypsy's lips, and she made a grab at the condemning piece of evidence. but mary louise was too quick for her. springing to her feet, she leaned over and hit the woman right in the mouth with her clenched fist. the gypsy groaned and rolled over in the grass. amazed at her own action, mary louise stood gazing at the woman in calm triumph. it had been years since she had hit anyone; she was surprised that she had it in her to deal such a blow. but the gypsy was not knocked out--merely stunned. "where is miss grant's necklace?" she demanded. the woman opened her eyes and whimpered. "it don't belong to that old witch! it's mine, i tell you! was my mother's, and her mother's before that. old woman grant had no right to it." she raised herself to a sitting position, and her black eyes flashed with hatred. "you wait till my man comes back--and see what he'll do to you!" mary louise smiled confidently. "i don't intend to wait," she replied. "i have a member of the police force right here with me." she raised her voice and cupped her hands. "daddy, come!" a look of awful fright crossed the gypsy's wrinkled face. "no! no! don't put me in jail! i'll give you the necklace. but it's mine--it's mine by right, i tell you!" mary louise was scarcely listening, so eagerly was she watching her father's quick approach. "you can tell that to detective gay," she said finally. "and, by the way, where is the box of gold pieces you stole from miss grant?" "gold pieces? what? uh--i never took----" but her tone was not convincing, and seeing that mary louise did not believe her, she suddenly changed her story. "i'll give you the gold pieces if you let me keep my mother's necklace," she pleaded. mr. gay reached his daughter's side in time to overhear this last statement. his eyes were shining at his daughter in speechless admiration. "your badge, please, daddy," said mary louise calmly. "please show it to this woman." mr. gay did as he was requested. "now go and get the necklace and the gold," mary louise commanded the gypsy. the woman struggled to her feet. "first let me tell you about that necklace!" she begged. her bony hands clutched mary louise's sleeve, and she looked imploringly into the girl's face. "it was a precious heirloom--has been in our family for years and years. we held it sacred; it brought us good luck. oh, i can't bear to give it up now that i've got it again!" mary louise glanced questioningly at her father. "sit down again," he said to the gypsy, "and tell us the story." "thank you, sir!" exclaimed the woman, dropping down on the grass at his feet. "i'll tell you.... "it goes back fifty years," she began, talking rapidly, "in my mother's time, when we used to come here to cooper's woods to camp every summer.... i was a child--and so was my little brother. a little fellow of six--my mother's darling.... "one day he got suddenly sick. a terrible pain in his side. my mother almost went crazy, for she felt sure he was going to die. we couldn't do a thing for him; the pain got worse and worse and worse. then, like a burst of sunshine after a storm, mr. grant came riding up to us--and stopped and asked what was the matter. i can remember just how he looked--not a bit like his awful daughter mattie! he promised to help us, to take my little brother to the hospital and get him well. "my mother agreed, and she went off with mr. grant and the boy. they told her there at the hospital that the child had appendicitis, and mr. grant ordered the best doctor in the country.... and my brother got well! "my mother was so happy that we thought she'd dance forever. she wanted to pay mr. grant for the expense, but he was such a generous man he wouldn't hear of it. so my mother gave him the ruby necklace to keep for her and said she'd be back every summer to see it. if ever mr. grant needed money, he was to borrow on it. "he promised to keep it safe for her, but he never thought of it as his. each summer we came back and camped on his place--we were always welcome while he lived--and each year we saw the necklace, and he would ask us whether we wanted to take it back. but we said no, because it was safer there, and he was our friend, and we trusted him. "and then one summer we came back, and old mr. grant was gone. dead. so we tried to tell miss mattie grant about the necklace, but she shut the door in our faces and called the police. for years we couldn't even come out of cooper's woods without meeting a policeman. "then my mother died, and my brother died, and i decided i was going to get that necklace back. so this year we came and camped in those woods, and every night i went over to dark cedars. sometimes i'd sneak in while they were eating supper; sometimes i'd climb in a window with a ladder late at night. i began in the attic and went through each room, searching for the necklace. "the first time i got into mattie grant's room--it was one evening last week, while they were eating supper--i opened that safe of hers. i was sure the necklace would be there. but it wasn't. i was so mad that i took that box of gold, although i hadn't stolen anything out of her house before that." while the woman paused for breath, mary louise recalled the evening of the theft of miss grant's money. this, then, was the explanation of the open safe, from which corinne pearson had taken the bills. and it proved, too, that harry grant had been innocent of any part in the actual theft. the gypsy woman continued her story: "it was you, miss, who gave me the information i wanted, the day you girls and boys had your fortunes told. you told me old mattie asked you to sleep in her bed while she was away. so i knew that the necklace must be hidden in the mattress.... "you know the rest. i went to dark cedars while you were still at your picnic, and i thought i'd get the necklace before you came home. but you surprised me, and i had to hide in the closet while you got ready for bed.... i--i--didn't want to hurt you! i only wanted what belonged to me!" tears were running out of the woman's eyes, and she rubbed her hands together in anguish, as if she were imploring mary louise for mercy. "what do you say, mary lou?" asked her father. mary louise hesitated. "i--i--honestly believe she has more right to that necklace than miss grant has," she answered finally. "so, if she will turn over the box of gold, i'm for letting her keep the necklace.... but what do you think, daddy?" "it's your case, dear. you are to decide." "suppose you go with her, daddy, while she gets both things. and be sure to keep your revolver handy, too," she added shrewdly. mr. gay smiled: he was delighted with his daughter's keenness. the gypsy nodded and, stepping inside her tent, produced the box of gold. the identical tin box which elsie had mentioned. the necklace she took from a pocket in her petticoat. meekly she handed both treasures to mr. gay. "how beautiful that necklace is!" cried mary louise, in admiration of the sparkling jewels. it was the first time in her life that she had ever seen real rubies, and their radiance, their brilliance, was breath-taking. "i love them dearly," said the gypsy, in a hoarse tone, filled with emotion. mary louise took the necklace from her father and handed it back to its real owner. "you may have it," she said slowly. "i'll take the gold back to miss grant. but first i must count it." "it's all there," mumbled the woman, her hands fondling the beloved rubies. mary louise found her statement to be correct, and, handing the box back to her father, she turned to go. "oh, i almost forgot!" she exclaimed, glancing at the gypsy. "have you seen a young girl anywhere around here--or in the woods?" before the woman could answer, silky, who had run straight to the motor truck, began to bark loudly and incessantly. putting his front feet on the step, he peered eagerly into the caravan, and increased his noise until it reached a volume of which a police dog might have been proud. nor did he stop until a head showed itself from the door and a voice called him by name. mary louise, watching the little drama, suddenly cried out in joy. the girl coming from the caravan was none other than elsie grant! chapter xix _conclusion_ mary louise threw her arms around elsie and hugged her tightly. it was so good to know that she was innocent--and safe! "you've found the gold pieces!" exclaimed the girl, staring at the box in mr. gay's hand. "and the necklace!" she added, as the gypsy proudly put on the jewels and went off to show her people. "yes, i'll tell you all about it later," replied mary louise. "but first i want to hear about you, elsie: why you are here, and how these gypsies have been treating you." "they've been treating me splendidly! much better than aunt mattie ever did. you see, they liked my father and my grandfather, and they hated aunt mattie. so of course they have a lot of sympathy for me." "but when did you come to them?" "yesterday afternoon. i was perfectly miserable after saturday night. i knew jane suspected me of doing that terrible thing to you, and i never slept a wink the whole night. so i decided to run away. i didn't think of the gypsies at the time: i just wanted to get out of riverside. i put on the green silk dress you gave me, and tied up my other things in a bundle, and made off through the woods so that i wouldn't meet anybody." "mrs. jones saw you go," said mary louise. "it was she who put daddy and silky and me on the trail." "i took some fruit and some biscuits from the kitchen at dark cedars," elsie went on to explain. "i thought i'd walk to the nearest town and ask for work. now that i have some decent clothes, i don't feel ashamed to be seen." "but you came upon the gypsies before you got to any town?" inquired mr. gay, who couldn't keep out of the conversation, although he had not been properly introduced. "yes. and i was tired and hungry, so i thought maybe they'd let me stay overnight with them. they were stewing chicken, and it smelled so good." "your aunt mattie's chickens," explained mary louise laughingly. "really?" asked elsie in surprise. the idea had not occurred to her. "yes. mrs. jones saw the gypsies stealing the chickens.... well, did they give you some supper?" "they certainly did. mira--she is the fortune teller--let me sleep in her tent. she said she used to play with my father when he was a little boy, when my grandfather--old mr. grant, you recall--let the gypsies camp at dark cedars. she told me i could stay with them all my life if i wanted to." "you didn't expect to do it, did you?" "i wanted to get a job. but there isn't much i can do, i'm afraid." the young girl's voice grew sad; the future looked gray to her. mary louise took her hand. "you're coming right back to riverside with daddy and me," she announced. "your aunt mattie will have to promise to treat you better, or else she won't get her gold pieces back!" "she'll be furious about the necklace," said elsie. "no, she won't either. i happen to know that she'll be thankful to have the matter all cleared up. and she'll be delighted to get the money, because that is rightfully hers." mr. gay leaned over and picked up his pack. "you go get your things together, elsie," he said, "and say good-bye to your gypsy friends. we'll take a bus back to riverside from coopersburg." "you really want me?" asked the girl. "absolutely!" replied mary louise. "you're going to go to high school this fall, i hope, and belong to our crowd of young people. all the boys and girls like you." elsie's face lighted up with a happy smile. "and i like them, too--but you and jane will always come first. oh, i'm so glad that jane will believe in me again!" ten minutes later the two girls and mr. gay were seated in the bus bound for riverside. mary louise held silky in her arms under her pack when she got in, and the conductor did not even notice him. she was thankful for that, because she was much too tired to walk. they went straight to the gays' home, taking elsie with them. mrs. gay was sitting on the front porch, little thinking that her two adventurers would return so soon. she jumped up in delight when she saw them coming in at the gate. "and is this elsie?" she asked as the three tired wanderers ascended the porch steps. "yes, mother, this is elsie grant," replied mary louise. "we found her, and we caught the thief too. it was the gypsy fortune teller." "well, of all things!" exclaimed mrs. gay. "and had she kidnaped elsie too?" "oh no, elsie went there voluntarily, because everybody suspected her of the crime, and she was unhappy. but elsie had no idea the gypsy was the thief, until she heard us accusing her." "if i'd only have been a detective like mary louise," the girl remarked admiringly, "i might have guessed. but i'm pretty stupid about things like that. i even ate some of aunt mattie's chicken for my supper last night without ever guessing that the gypsies stole it." mrs. gay laughed. "well, it certainly is nice to have you all back again. we'll have a fine dinner to celebrate--i'll send freckles for ice cream when he comes in." she stooped over and patted the little dog's head. "silky shall have some too. he loves ice cream." mary louise took elsie up to her room, and the two girls lay down on the bed to rest after they had removed their dusty clothing and cooled themselves under the shower. at five o'clock mrs. gay came in with the news that jane patterson was downstairs, asking for her chum. "please tell her to come up, mother," replied mary louise. "i can't understand why she is being so formal." "she knows elsie is here," explained mrs. gay, "and thought you might not like to be disturbed." "does she know i didn't steal the money or the necklace?" demanded elsie eagerly. "mary louise's father is telling her the story now. freckles just came in, and he had to hear all about it too. he's almost as keen to become a detective as mary louise is." mrs. gay returned to the first floor, and in a couple of minutes jane patterson dashed into the bedroom. she hugged both elsie and mary louise at once. "you're a wonder, mary lou!" she cried. "sherlock holmes, and philo vance, and spencer dean haven't a thing on you for solving mysteries. why, i bet your father loses his job and they hire you in his place!" "now, jane, be rational!" begged mary louise. the visitor seated herself upon the edge of the bed. "all right, i'll try.... what i came over about was to see whether you and elsie can go with our crowd to that country fair tonight. we're leaving early after supper, and mother and dad are both going along. you can take freckles too--but not silky. he might get into a fight with the cows or pigs or something." "don't insult my dog!" returned mary louise solemnly. "silky never associates with pigs!" "o.k.... well, can you go?" "we'd love to, but don't you think we ought to take miss grant's money back to her?" "not tonight, certainly!" was jane's emphatic reply. "let her worry about it a little longer--it's good for her." "but shouldn't i go over to see her?" asked elsie. "tomorrow's time enough for that," answered mary louise. "you can stay all night with me tonight." mrs. gay heartily approved of the plan, for she felt that both her daughter and elsie needed a little diversion, and so for the time being the adventure at dark cedars was completely forgotten. early after supper the young people drove off in four cars and enjoyed themselves thoroughly until nearly midnight. but both elsie and mary louise awakened early the following morning, intent upon tying up the few remaining threads of the mystery at dark cedars. mary louise had been hoping, ever since she found elsie, that the girl would be invited to live at the home of mrs. grace grant--if her aunt mattie would agree to contribute something towards her support. with this plan in her mind, she turned elsie over to jane to entertain for the morning, and she herself went directly to the grants' home in riverside. she was fortunate in catching john grant before he left for business, for she believed him to be an ally. he and his mother were seated at the breakfast table when she arrived. the maid brought her right into the dining room. "good-morning, mrs. grant--and mr. grant," she began brightly. "i must apologize for this early call, but i have great news. we caught the thief!" john grant, who had risen at mary louise's entrance, stepped forward excitedly. "not really?" he demanded. "do you mean elsie?" "no, mr. grant, elsie is not a thief. it was the gypsy fortune teller." and mary louise went on to explain the story of the necklace as the woman had told it to her. she concluded with the finding of elsie. "the poor child has been perfectly miserable all the time she lived with her aunt mattie," she said. "so i wondered--if i can make miss grant pay something towards her support--whether she couldn't live here. she needs someone like you, mrs. grant, to be a mother to her." the old lady's kind heart was touched. "of course she can live here!" she exclaimed, "whether mattie contributes towards her support or not. we'll manage somehow. don't you think we can, john?" "i have thought so all along," replied her son. "elsie should go to high school, like other normal young girls." mary louise seized the hands of both people at once. she was wild with joy at the success of her plan. "i'm going straight to the hospital now," she said, picking up the heavy tin box which she had laid on a small table in the dining room, "to see what kind of bargain i can drive with miss grant!" john laughed. "you have the gold?" he asked. "yes. but i'm not going to give it to her till she makes me some sort of promise." "let me drive you over," he suggested. "that box must be heavy." "it has five hundred dollars in gold in it," returned mary louise. "i counted it, to make sure. probably miss grant will offer me ten dollars as a reward." "i can believe that," agreed mrs. grant. "she certainly is stingy. poor little elsie!" five minutes later john grant left mary louise at the entrance to the hospital, and the girl carried her heavy box up to the patient's room. but it was carefully wrapped and tied, so that miss grant had no idea what it contained. the old lady was looking much brighter this morning. she smiled pleasantly as her young friend entered. "mary louise!" she exclaimed. "any news?" "lots of news," replied the girl, seating herself in the chair beside the bed. "do you feel equal to hearing it?" "i certainly do. have you found my money?" "i want to tell you the story straight from the beginning. but before i do that, i want to assure you that elsie is innocent. we found the real thief, and we also found elsie. she ran away because she was unhappy." miss grant's eyes sparkled with eagerness. "never mind about elsie now. tell me who stole my money." "one of the gypsies," replied mary louise. "i can give it to you if you'll promise to donate some of it for elsie's support. mrs. grace grant wants her to live with them, but you know how poor she is now." "all right, all right, i'll give you fifty dollars if you get it all back for me! where is it?" "i'll tell you in a minute." mary louise couldn't help enjoying teasing the miserly woman in retaliation for the way she had treated elsie. "but it isn't a case of giving fifty dollars now. it's rather that you pay mrs. grant something--say twenty dollars a month--as your share towards elsie's support." miss grant groaned. "for how long?" she demanded. "till elsie finishes high school." "that's a lot of money.... still, i wouldn't have to have the child around. and she does irritate me.... yes, i'll agree. where is my money?" mary louise unwrapped her box and put it down upon the white bed. miss grant reached for it as a child might grab at his christmas stocking. she opened it and immediately began to count the gold pieces. "it's all here!" she cried exultantly. mary louise nodded. "shall i tell you the story now--about the necklace?" she inquired. "yes, yes. i had forgotten the necklace. where is it?" "i'm afraid you won't get that, miss grant, because it never really belonged to your father." and mary louise went on to relate the gypsy's story. still fingering the gold, the old lady listened intently. "yes, that sounds right to me," she agreed, as the story ended. "i am thankful that the necklace is back with its rightful owner. that would please my mother. maybe now dark cedars will be a more peaceful place to live." "i believe it will be," concluded mary louise as she rose to go. "here is your key, miss grant--and--good-bye!" "wait, mary louise! i want to give you forty dollars--in gold. you can give ten to jane, as i promised her, but i think you deserve thirty. you're a good, clever girl!" mary louise shook her head. "no, thank you, miss grant. what i did, i did because of my love and sympathy for elsie. if you will treat her fairly, that is all the reward i want." the old lady gazed at the girl in amazement at her refusal. but she saw that she meant what she said; perhaps mary louise's generosity put her to shame. "i will, mary louise," she promised solemnly. "i will indeed." so, well satisfied with the happy solution of the mystery at dark cedars, mary louise hurried back to tell elsie grant the good news about her new home and the four happy years at high school which were in store for her. * * * * * * transcriber's note: --retained publication and copyright information from the printed exemplar (this book is public-domain in the u.s.). --obvious typographical errors were corrected without comment. possibly intentional spelling variations were not changed. [transcriber's note: extensive research found no evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] penny nichols and the knob hill mystery _by_ joan clark the goldsmith publishing company chicago copyright mcmxxxix by the goldsmith publishing company manufactured in the united states of america contents chapter i. a cottage at knob hill ii. helping a stranger iii. a queer old man iv. inside information v. a night visitor vi. the attic door vii. penny's discovery viii. the toy lantern clue ix. herman crocker's visit x. searching the loft xi. aid from michael xii. the matron's story xiii. a bolt of cloth xiv. a conversation overheard xv. the missing letters xvi. a lost handkerchief xvii. a new clue xviii. inside the gabled house xix. michael's admission xx. alias jay kline penny nichols and the knob hill mystery chapter i a cottage at knob hill penny nichols, hair flying in the wind, came running up the steps of the altman porch. she did not need to ring the bell, for just at that moment susan, her dark-haired chum, appeared in the open doorway. "why, hello, penny," greeted the altman girl. "you're all out of breath." "i ran most of the way from home," replied penny. "i was hoping you'd drop in today. come on into the house." "no, i can't, susan," said penny hurriedly. "i just ran over to say good-by." "good-by?" echoed susan blankly. "you're not going away, penny?" "yes, dad took a sudden notion he wanted to spend a quiet vacation at a place called knob hill. we're motoring down there this afternoon." "well, i like that!" exclaimed susan. "you didn't say a thing about it when we were playing tennis yesterday." "how could i when i didn't know anything about it myself until an hour ago? that's the way dad does things, susan." "i suppose you're going off on another one of those exciting mystery cases," susan said enviously. "i only wish we were," sighed penny. "this vacation won't be a bit exciting. dad just wants a complete rest at a quiet place. he says he'll not even think about work while we're gone." "what sort of place is knob hill?" "from all i can learn it's just a dead spot on the map," penny declared. "and we've rented a cottage sight unseen." "oh, it may not be half bad," said susan encouragingly. "you'll probably be able to do a lot of interesting things--swim, hike or ride." "not at knob hill," replied penny, shaking her head. "it isn't a summer resort place at all. there will be absolutely nothing to do except eat, sleep, and grow fat." susan laughed as she glanced at her chum's slender figure. penny was too active and athletic ever to be plump. she had sparkling blue eyes, golden hair, and a natural smile. it was very easy for her to make friends. "i haven't finished my packing yet," said penny. "i'll have to get back home or i'll keep dad waiting." "i'm terribly sorry to see you go," susan told her. "don't forget to send me a postcard now and then." penny promised that she would write often, and then, aware that time was slipping away, said a hurried farewell. reaching her own home, a large white house on hilburn street, she found her father washing the car in the back yard. christopher nichols was a tall, slim man with graying hair. for many years he had been in charge of the nichols detective agency and was well known not only in belton city but throughout the state. many persons believed that penny had inherited her father's sleuthing ability, for even at the age of fifteen she had shown remarkable talent in solving mystery cases. as penny paused for a moment to chat with her father before going into the house, she noticed the tired lines of his face. "dad really needs a long rest," she thought. "i ought to be glad we're both running off to a quiet place like knob hill." "hello, penny," mr. nichols greeted his daughter. "i'll have this cleaning job done in another ten minutes. then i'm ready to start whenever you are." "you seem anxious to get away from belton city," penny smiled. "you're not trying to escape from any creditors?" "nothing like that," laughed mr. nichols. "i'm just sick and tired of the nichols detective agency. for two weeks i intend to forget everything remotely connected with investigation work. why, if a thief broke into the house tonight and stole our diamonds, i'd not interest myself in the case!" "that's what you say now," chuckled penny. "anyway, we haven't any diamonds." "inspector harris tried to tempt me with a case only today," the detective went on, his face becoming serious again. "i told him i couldn't take it." "you've earned the right to your vacation," penny declared. mr. nichols glanced quickly at his daughter. "you're not very anxious to go to knob hill, are you, penny?" he asked. "why--what makes you think that?" penny stammered. the question had caught her off guard. "i pride myself that i've learned a few simple things during my twenty years as a detective. faces aren't hard to read--especially yours." "dear me," said penny, "i didn't suppose i was an open book. just what does my face tell you?" "that you're bored at the thought of going to a dull place such as knob hill. it's selfish of me to drag you along----" "no, it isn't, dad!" penny broke in. "you've needed this rest for years and i'd not think of letting you go off by yourself. why, for all your wonderful detective ability, you can never find your own slippers!" "that's so," mr. nichols chuckled. "well, i hope the two weeks won't turn out to be too monotonous for you." penny left her father to finish cleaning the car and ran into the house. mrs. gallup, the kindly housekeeper who had looked after the girl since the death of her mother, was preparing luncheon in the kitchen. "i've laid out all your things on the bed," she told penny. "and your suitcase is down from the attic." "thank you, mrs. gallup," said penny. "i'll soon have everything packed." by the time she had completed the task, the housekeeper announced luncheon. throughout the meal mr. nichols laughed and carried on in a high mood, declaring that he felt like a youngster let out of school. "what shall i do about your mail, sir?" inquired mrs. gallup when it was time for penny and her father to leave. "forward letters to me at knob hill in care of judd kilkane," the detective instructed. "but don't give anyone my address unless it is a matter of great importance." "i'll be careful about that," mrs. gallup promised. "and i do hope you have a good rest in the country, mr. nichols." she watched from the doorway until the car disappeared down the street. penny settled herself for a long ride. she switched on the radio and from force of habit turned the dial to the police station broadcast. "not that station," said mr. nichols. "i forgot, dad," laughed penny. "my mistake." she tuned to a program of band music and they both listened to it as they drove along. an hour's ride brought them into high hills. from then on they went more slowly, enjoying the view. approaching dusk found penny and her father still several miles from knob hill. "i thought we'd be settled in our cottage by this time," said mr. nichols, frowning. "perhaps we ought to spend the night at a hotel." "we can decide about that when we reach knob hill," penny replied. "but let's stop somewhere for an early supper. otherwise, we'll have to buy supplies and carry them with us." mr. nichols turned in at the next roadside cafe. he and penny enjoyed an excellent meal and then went on once more toward knob hill. it was nearly dark by this time. as they rounded a sharp curve, mr. nichols reached down to switch on the headlights. at the same moment penny gave a little cry of alarm. "oh, dad! there's a car in the ditch!" mr. nichols slammed on the foot brake, for he had seen the wreck at the same instant. a high-powered blue sedan lay on its side in the rain-gutted ditch to the right of the road. one tire was down, and mr. nichols judged that a blow-out had caused the accident. "i wonder if anyone was hurt?" penny gasped. just then a short, squat little man in a long gray overcoat and felt hat stepped out from behind the overturned car. he held up his hand as a signal to mr. nichols. "i see you've had an accident," said the detective as he brought his own car to a standstill at the side of the road. "anything we can do to help?" penny could not see the stranger's face clearly, for his soft felt hat was pulled low over his eyes. his voice, when he spoke, was husky. "sure, you can give me a lift if you will. my tire blew out when i was doing seventy. first thing i knew i was in the ditch." "you're lucky it wasn't a worse accident," replied the detective. "what's lucky about it?" demanded the stranger irritably. "your car doesn't appear much damaged," replied mr. nichols, studying the man curiously. "and you don't seem to be hurt. you easily might have been killed traveling at that speed." "what is this--a lecture in motor safety?" asked the man angrily. "not at all," said mr. nichols. "did you say you wanted a ride?" "yes; how far are you going?" "only to knob hill." "i'll ride along that far anyway," said the stranger. "my name is christopher nichols," the detective introduced himself, "and this is my daughter, penny." "pleased to meet you," muttered the man, without looking directly at either of them. he hesitated, and then added: "i'm walter crocker." "the name sounds familiar," commented mr. nichols. "you may be thinking of my uncle, herman crocker. he's well known in these parts." "i don't believe i know him," replied the detective. "i'm on my way to see him now," said the man. his voice was bitter. "herman crocker is a disreputable crook, even if he is my uncle. he's been stealing from me for years, but it's at an end now! i'll force him to give me my inheritance even if i have to tear him limb from limb----" "i'd not get so excited if i were you," interrupted mr. nichols calmly. "you're probably upset because of the accident." "it did shake me up a bit," replied crocker, with an abrupt change of tone. "just climb in and we'll take you to town with us," mr. nichols invited. penny started to move over so that the man could sit beside her. "never mind," he said quickly. "i'll ride in the rumble." "it's not very comfortable," mr. nichols warned. "no matter. i'd rather sit back there." he climbed into the rumble and mr. nichols drove on down the road. now and then when penny would glance back through the glass she could see the man gazing intently at her. his scrutiny made her feel very uncomfortable. she wondered if her father shared the feeling. mr. nichols was paying close attention to the road, and his masklike face revealed none of his thoughts. soon the car drove into the little sleepy village of kendon which had been settled at the foot of knob hill. "look for judd kilkane's real estate office," the detective told penny. "there it is!" she cried a moment later. "on the north side." mr. nichols parked the car in front of the building. "i'll be back in just a minute," he said to walter crocker. "i want to get the key to our cottage from judd kilkane." the man in the rumble made no reply. he sat hunched over in the seat, head bent low. "wait a minute, dad," called penny. "i'll go with you." they entered the building, which was little more than a one-story frame shack. the door had been left unlocked, yet judd kilkane's office appeared to be deserted. "this is annoying," said mr. nichols. "he's probably out to supper, but it means we may have a long wait." "we ought to tell walter crocker," returned penny. "dad, i don't like that fellow. he gives me the creeps." "he is a bit queer," the detective admitted with a short laugh. "dad, do you suppose----" "no," interrupted mr. nichols, "i don't think he's an escaped crook or anything of the sort. even if he were, i'd not be interested. this is my vacation." "oh, all right," laughed penny. "i was just thinking aloud." mr. nichols opened the door and they walked toward the car together. suddenly penny halted, staring toward the rumble seat. "why, dad!" she exclaimed. "walter crocker has gone!" chapter ii helping a stranger christopher nichols saw for himself that the rumble seat was empty. he looked quickly up and down the village street. walter crocker was nowhere to be seen. "well, that fellow certainly did a speedy disappearing act," the detective commented. "we weren't inside the real estate office five minutes." "he might at least have thanked us for the ride," said penny. "dad, i suppose you'll say this is silly, but i thought he acted as if he were afraid we'd recognize him." "what made you think that?" "in the first place he insisted upon riding in the rumble seat. and he kept pulling his hat down over his eyes." "i'll agree he did act queerly," the detective admitted. "but he's gone now, so we'll just forget about him." "oh, all right," laughed penny. "i keep forgetting that this is your vacation." a well dressed gentleman in gray came walking leisurely down the street. he gazed curiously at penny and her father, and they immediately guessed that he might be the missing judd kilkane. "you weren't looking for me by any chance?" the man asked. "we are if you're mr. kilkane," replied the detective. "that's my name all right. come on into the office. i stepped out for a minute to buy an evening paper at the drugstore. say, you're not nichols from belton city?" "yes," agreed the detective. "you rented me a cottage." "old man crocker's cottage," the real estate agent said as he opened the office door. "i have the key for you." "did i understand you to say we are renting the crocker cottage?" questioned mr. nichols quickly. "yes, it's owned by old herman crocker up on knob hill. do you know him?" "oh, i've merely heard his name mentioned," replied the detective carelessly. "i guess just about everyone has heard tell of herman," chuckled the real estate man. he sat down at his desk and motioned penny and her father into near-by chairs. "he's an eccentric character." "i trust that his cottage is at least habitable," said mr. nichols. mr. kilkane looked puzzled. then his face lighted and he declared heartily: "oh, you'll find the place to your liking. there's nothing wrong with the cottage. if everything isn't perfectly satisfactory i'll have herman crocker fix it right up for you." "and shall we pay our rent to him?" "no, i'll take care of that," replied the agent. "herman said he'd rather not have you coming to the house with the money. as i say, he's something of a recluse." "we met his nephew this evening." "his nephew?" asked mr. kilkane raising his eyebrows. "that's a new one on me. i didn't know herman had one. but then, he's close mouthed." "we gave this fellow a ride in our car," mr. nichols said. "then he went off somewhere. i suppose he's on his way to see his uncle." "did you say that herman crocker's home is close to our cottage?" inquired penny. "yes, miss. they're about a quarter of a mile apart on the knob hill road." "will we have many other neighbors?" asked the detective. "none at all," replied the agent, staring at him. "oh, you'll find it lonely up on knob hill. but you said in your letter that you wanted a quiet, isolated place----" "that's right, mr. kilkane. i'm not complaining, merely inquiring. however, it might be wise for us to spend the night at a hotel and pay our first visit to the cottage by daylight." the real estate agent tapped his pen against the desk and frowned. "we never had but one hotel here and it went out of business three years ago. i could put you up at my house----" "no, we don't wish to cause you any trouble," mr. nichols said quickly. "penny and i will just drive on to the cottage." "you can't miss the place," declared mr. kilkane eagerly. "i'll loan you my lantern too." "will we need a lantern?" gasped penny. "well, you might, miss. the cottage is wired for electricity but sometimes the company is slow about getting it turned on." penny and her father exchanged a quick glance but offered no comment. mr. nichols wrote out a check for the rent and in return received the key to the cottage. mr. kilkane carried the lantern out to the car for them and told mr. nichols how to reach the place. "remember now," he said in parting, "if everything isn't right at the cottage, just let me know." mr. nichols drove through the village and turned up a dark, narrow road which led to the summit of knob hill. the highway was densely lined with tall trees whose branches crashed in the wind. penny and her father could see only a short distance beyond the headlights. "i don't see how you ever found such an isolated place as this, dad," penny remarked as the car labored up the steep incline. "we'll practically be hermits up here." "so much the better," laughed the detective. the car rounded a curve in the road, and penny saw a large, rambling old house with many cupolas, set back amid a grove of evergreen trees. "that must be herman crocker's home," she remarked, turning her head to stare at it. "a gloomy old place." "young walter crocker had quite a walk if he came up here tonight," said the detective. "too bad he didn't wait. we could have hauled him right to his door." "i'm just as glad he went off," declared penny. "somehow i felt very uneasy when he was riding with us." the car bumped on until mr. nichols saw a narrow lane leading to a tiny cottage on a knoll. "this must be our little nest," he said, turning in. the cottage was a plain white frame building with a cobblestone chimney overgrown by vines. even at night the grounds appeared unkempt. several loose shutters flapped in the wind. penny and her father stepped from the car and stood staring at the cottage. the low whistle of the wind in the evergreens added to the depressing effect. "how much rent are we paying for this mansion, dad?" "fifteen a week. but everything is supposed to be furnished." "including cobwebs and atmosphere," laughed penny. "well, any sum for this tumble-down, antiquated wreck would be robbery! why, the cottage looks as if it hadn't been occupied in a dozen years." "i may have been stung," the detective admitted ruefully. "but let's hope it's better inside." mr. nichols carried the suitcases up the weed-choked path. he fumbled in his pockets for the key and finally found it. mr. kilkane had told them to enter by the kitchen door. as it swung back on squeaking hinges, penny and her father caught a whiff of stale air. "just as i thought!" exclaimed penny. "the place hasn't been opened up in weeks." mr. nichols passed through the doorway into the dark kitchen. he groped about for the electric light switch and could not find it. "wait here," he told penny. "i'll have to go back and get mr. kilkane's lantern." "i'll wait outside the door. it's too stuffy in here." penny stood on the sagging porch until her father returned with the lighted lantern. the bright beam illuminated a wide circle of barren kitchen. an old cook stove occupied one corner of the room; there was a plain table with four chairs and a make-shift sink with old-fashioned pump. the floors were without carpet or linoleum. every piece of furniture was covered by several inches of dust. "wait until i see that man kilkane!" said mr. nichols indignantly. "why, the electricity hasn't even been turned on. we can't live in a place like this!" "let's look at the other rooms, dad." there was no dining room, as the builder evidently had intended that the occupants should eat in the kitchen. the living room had a large fireplace but no other item of comfort. the three chairs were all straight-backed, the carpet was moth-eaten and dusty, and a small table still bore a vase filled with shriveled flowers which someone had forgotten to throw away. "come along, penny," said mr. nichols starting toward the door. "we'll not stay here." "but where will we go?" penny placed a detaining hand on his arm. "there's no hotel in the village." "it would be more pleasant sleeping in the car." "you know we'd be stiff in every muscle if we tried that, dad. let's open a few windows. it won't seem so bad then." mr. nichols raised several windows and they were then able to breathe more freely. an inspection of the adjoining bedrooms left them somewhat encouraged. the mattresses were fairly soft, and penny found clean linen in one of the bureau drawers. "i can have these beds made up in just a few minutes," she said cheerfully. "and we can bring in our own blankets from the car." "maybe that would be best," the detective agreed. "but we'll leave in the morning." penny was abroad at daybreak the next morning. while her father still slept, she explored the grounds, discovering a deep and rather lovely ravine not far from the cottage door. to the right stretched a dense wood and only a short distance on up the road was the summit of knob hill. "this place really isn't half bad by daylight," she told herself. "dad would be certain to get a complete rest here." penny went back into the house and set about cleaning up the kitchen. she had just finished the task when mr. nichols appeared in the doorway. "are there any mirrors in this place?" he asked irritably. "i'd like to know how i'm to get my whiskers cut off!" "why not let them grow?" giggled penny. "i think you'd look real cute with a beard!" "oh, you do?" demanded her father. "there's a looking glass over the sink," penny told him. "and plenty of water if you like it cold." "why not heat some on the stove?" "that would be a good idea," penny admitted, "only i can't find any matches. and apparently one is expected to cut down a tree for wood!" "we're starting right back to belton city as soon as i've shaved," said mr. nichols firmly. "no, i've changed my mind about this place, dad," penny replied quickly. "if our landlord, mr. crocker, will only fix things up, it won't be half bad." "the cottage would need to be rebuilt to make it comfortable. i doubt that mr. crocker will consent to do that." "he might clean it up for us, furnish wood and clean bedding, and see that the lights are turned on," penny said. "we could get along then. it wouldn't hurt us to rough it for a few weeks." "i guess i am too much attached to my comforts," mr. nichols smiled. "so you really are willing to stay?" "i think you'd have a grand rest here." "and what would you do, penny?" "oh, cook and hike. i'd manage to keep occupied." "you're being a good sport about this," the detective said gravely. "for myself, i'd not mind staying here. it's a change and that's what i need." "then it's settled," laughed penny. "while you're shaving, i'll run down and see our landlord. perhaps i can borrow a few supplies from him too." mr. nichols tossed her the car keys. "no, i'll walk," penny called over her shoulder as she left the cottage. "i need the exercise." by daylight the old crocker home was nearly as gloomy as when viewed amid the shadows. penny paused at the entrance of the narrow, rutty lane and stared at the place. everything was quiet. the blinds were all drawn and she could see no one moving about. "it looks almost as if no one were here," she thought. the winding lane led through the trees to the house and on either side were rows of tall, uncut privet hedge. suddenly as penny walked hurriedly along, she was startled to see a lean, yellow hound hurl itself over the top of the hedge directly in her path. she stopped short. the animal bared his fangs, growling low. penny was not afraid of dogs as a usual thing, but she had never seen a more vicious looking hound. she had every reason to believe that if she tried to go on up the lane he would attack. penny reached down and seized a stout stick. she did not know whether to try to advance or retreat. as she was eying the hound speculatively, penny heard another sound directly behind her. she whirled about to see an old man with intent dark eyes watching her from beyond the hedge. only his face was visible for the dense green foliage completely screened his body. "what do you want here?" asked the old fellow in a harsh voice. "who are you?" chapter iii a queer old man "my name is penelope nichols," the girl introduced herself after she had recovered from astonishment. "are you mr. crocker?" "i am," replied the old man grimly. "what do you want here?" "why, my father and i rented your cottage," penny told him quickly. "would you mind calling off your dog? he acts as if he'd enjoy chewing me to pieces." "rudy has been trained to attack anyone who tries to come up the lane," herman crocker said evenly. he stepped through a gap in the hedge and spoke sharply to the hound. rudy went reluctantly to the side of his master. penny could not help but stare at the old man. he was short and stooped and his clothes were not very clean. she saw that he was carrying a shotgun. herman crocker studied the girl shrewdly. "what is it you want of me?" he asked gruffly. "i told kilkane he was to handle everything about the cottage. i don't want to be bothered." "well, i'm sorry, mr. crocker, but there are a few details which must be settled if my father and i are to remain." "what's your complaint?" "the electricity hasn't been turned on, mr. crocker. the cottage needs cleaning. there is no wood. i can't find half enough dishes or cooking pans. we'll need more linen and blankets." "you can't expect me to fix up the place like it was a palace," complained the old man. "you're only paying fifteen dollars a week." "if you're unwilling to do anything about it then we'll leave this morning." penny turned to walk away. "here, wait," called the old man. "i'm willing to do anything that's reasonable. come up to the house and i'll give you some clean linen." penny walked with mr. crocker up the lane, trying not to show that she felt uneasy. the old man caught her staring at his shotgun. "i was hunting squirrels early this morning," he explained. "isn't this out of season?" penny asked before she stopped to think. herman crocker glanced at her with an expression which she was unable to fathom. "seasons make no difference to me," he answered shortly. "i go hunting when i please." they walked on in silence. when they were near the house penny said casually: "oh, by the way, my father and i met your nephew last night." "my nephew?" "why, yes, walter crocker. he told us he was on his way to visit you." penny saw the old man glance quickly toward her. she could tell that her words had disturbed him. "oh, i couldn't think who you meant at first," he muttered. "yes, walter was here last night. but he's gone back to the city." penny allowed the subject to drop, yet she wondered if herman crocker were telling the truth. had the younger man really visited his uncle for the purpose of claiming an inheritance? he had seemed very bitter toward the old fellow. from her observation of walter crocker she did not believe that he was a person who would be easily discouraged in his ambitious designs. penny had learned from past experience that if one wished to avoid trouble it did not pay to ask too many questions. more than once an inquiring turn of mind had involved her in strange adventures. not so many months before this same trait of curiosity had drawn her into a detective case which had baffled the belton city police. her clever work, which resulted in the capture of a daring group of auto thieves, is recounted in the first volume of this series, "penny nichols finds a clue." even more recently, penny had solved a mystery which concerned a queer sculptured figure called the black imp. by exposing an unscrupulous dealer in paintings who sought to betray his patrons, she saved many persons from being swindled and at the same time gained honor for herself. at the moment, penny was not eager to involve herself in trouble. she determined to say no more about walter crocker unless the old man reopened the subject. "i'll get the things for you," said herman crocker as they reached the kitchen door. "just wait here." penny was a little surprised because the old man did not invite her into the house. "it won't take me long," he said, deliberately closing the door behind him. penny seated herself on the steps of the sagging porch and kept her eye upon herman crocker's dog which had stationed himself only a few feet away. "that animal is vicious," she thought uneasily. "i don't see why crocker keeps him around." hearing a slight sound penny gazed toward the right and was surprised to observe a small boy peering at her from the corner of the house. he was tall and very thin but did not appear to be more than nine or ten years of age. "hello there," said penny in a friendly voice. "hello," answered the boy. he moved slowly toward her, staring rather blankly. "you're not mr. crocker's little boy?" penny asked, hoping to draw him into conversation. "i'm his grandson." "oh, his grandson," repeated penny, studying the lad with interest. he bore slight resemblance to herman crocker. "and is rudy your dog?" "no!" replied the lad bitterly. "i hate him. if i tried to go away from here he'd attack me. my grandfather has trained him to do that." penny was not certain that she had understood correctly. she could not believe that herman crocker deliberately kept his grandson a prisoner on the property. "you don't mean----" she began, but the words died away. the kitchen door had opened. herman crocker stood scowling at his grandson. "perry!" he said harshly. "get inside! there's work to be done!" "yes, sir," replied the boy meekly. with a frightened glance directed toward penny he scuttled into the house. mr. crocker closed the door again. "i do believe that old man was afraid to have me talk with his grandson!" penny thought shrewdly. "how strange!" she did not have long to reflect upon the queer actions of her new landlord, for in a very few minutes he reappeared with an armload of linen and blankets. "i've telephoned the electric company for you," he told her. "your lights ought to be on before night." "and will you have the cottage cleaned for us?" penny requested. "i can't do the work myself," scowled the man. "but if you want to get mrs. masterbrook, i'll pay the bill." "who is she?" inquired penny. "i'll give you her address. she does cleaning work by the day." penny was not very well pleased with the arrangement because it meant that she must make a special trip to find mrs. masterbrook. however, there seemed no other way since the landlord had proved himself to be such an unaccommodating person. "you'll likely be going in to town sometime to-day?" ventured mr. crocker as penny turned to leave. "why, i imagine so. we'll need supplies." the man hesitated, and then said in a tone which he tried to make sound casual: "it might be just as well for you not to mention to folks that you saw my nephew. not that i have any secrets to keep. i just don't like folks nosing into my affairs. anyway, walter's gone now and it's no one's business but my own." "i am a stranger in the community," replied penny. "i'd have no occasion to speak of your nephew." "that's what i thought," said herman crocker in a tone of relief. "well, if there's anything more you need, let me know. and i'll see that you get a supply of wood before nightfall." "thank you," penny responded. she permitted herself a smile as she walked down the lane with the arm load of bedding. it was easy enough to see why mr. crocker had become so obliging. he expected a favor in return--her silence regarding walter crocker. "he acts almost as if he is ashamed of his nephew," she thought. "i wonder why he doesn't wish folks to learn about him." mr. nichols had finished shaving by the time penny reached the cottage. "well, i hope you rounded up some breakfast for us," he remarked. penny shook her head as she dropped the pile of linen on the table. "no such luck, dad. i asked mr. crocker for so many things i didn't try to get any food. he's the strangest man!" "what's so strange about him?" "i suspect he's a miser or something of the sort. anyway, he keeps a wicked looking dog and goes around the premises with a shotgun. he won't let his grandson talk with strangers, either." "you didn't learn much, did you?" "well, i didn't have a very good chance," penny grinned. "you see, he wouldn't let me into the house. i had to wait on the porch while he brought the things." "penny, are you making all this up?" "of course not!" she retorted indignantly. "wait until you meet mr. crocker. he's a very mysterious character." "then i'd just as soon not meet him," laughed the detective. "in my present mood he'd not interest me a bit." "i'll tell you about the practical results of our talk," smiled penny. "we're to have all the wood we need and our electric lights should be hooked up by nightfall. mr. crocker has promised to pay for having the cottage cleaned. he gave me the name and address of a woman who will do the work." "that's fine," said the detective. "if she's any good as a housekeeper, why not hire her ourselves by the week? then you'd be free to roam around and have a good time." "the idea sounds all right to me," penny declared quickly. "to tell you the truth, i don't know much about cooking on an old-fashioned stove." "let's drive down to the village now," suggested the detective. "we'll have breakfast and then find the cleaning woman." penny and her father rode down knob hill to the little town of kendon. fortified by an excellent meal at the florence cafe they set forth to find the home of anna masterbrook. they were told that she was a spinster who lived two miles from the village. "why, this is the same road we came over last night," penny observed as they drove along. "yes, it is," agreed mr. nichols. "for half a cent i'd keep right on going until we reached belton city." "oh, we'll both like it after we get the cottage in order," penny said cheerfully. "mrs. masterbrook may easily turn out to be a diamond in the rough." "i hope so," sighed mr. nichols. "but our luck isn't running very well." the car rolled over a low hill and penny observed a curve just ahead. "dad, didn't we pick up walter crocker at just about this point?" she asked. "i think this was the place," he agreed. the car swung slowly around the bend. both penny and her father turned their heads to glance toward the ditch. they were surprised to see walter crocker's automobile still tipped over on its side. apparently it had not been greatly damaged. "well, that's certainly odd," said penny as they drove on past the scene of the accident. "meaning just what, penny?" "why, it seems queer to me that the car hasn't been towed to a garage," she replied thoughtfully. "mr. crocker told me his nephew had gone back to the city. if that is true, why did the man abandon a good automobile?" chapter iv inside information "the garage may be slow in towing the car into town," replied mr. nichols. "i've noticed that things don't move at lightning speed around kendon." "i suppose that could be the reason," penny admitted reluctantly. "but wouldn't you think that walter crocker would want to find out how much damage had been done to his car before he left?" "oh, he may have so much money that it doesn't matter." "i doubt that, dad. you remember he told us he was coming here to claim an inheritance. after meeting old herman i'd guess that he didn't get it. would you think----" "i'm not thinking at all these days," chuckled mr. nichols. "i've padlocked my brain for two weeks. please, penny, don't try to stir up imaginary cases for me to solve." penny made no reply, for just then they came within view of an old farmhouse which answered the description provided by herman crocker. a tin mailbox by the roadside bore the name anna masterbrook. "this is the right place," mr. nichols declared. they went up the front walk, observing that it had been swept that morning. the porch was freshly scrubbed, too, and clean curtains hung in the windows. "mrs. masterbrook must be a good housekeeper," the detective said. "i think we'll employ her if her price is right." he rapped on the door. after a moment it was opened by a tall, gaunt-looking woman of middle age. her black hair had been drawn back tightly from her face, accentuating the high cheek bones. "mrs. masterbrook?" inquired the detective, lifting his hat. "that's my name," said the woman. her voice was high pitched and unpleasant. "if you're selling anything----" "i am not a salesman," mr. nichols assured her. "mr. crocker sent us to you. i understand that you do cleaning work." "i worked for herman crocker seven years," the woman said. "precious little pay or thanks i ever got for it too!" "we are staying in his cottage," penny explained. "mr. crocker said we were to have you clean it up for us, and he would pay the bill." "how do i know he'll keep his promise?" "does mr. crocker usually break his word?" asked the detective. "well, he's close," mrs. masterbrook replied. "a dollar looks as big as a mountain to herman." "if mr. crocker fails to settle the bill, i'll look after it myself," mr. nichols promised. "and another thing. would you be willing to take a position as housekeeper for a couple of weeks?" "what would it pay?" mrs. masterbrook demanded quickly. "well, i might let you name your price." "five dollars a week," the woman said firmly after a moment of thought. "i wouldn't come for a cent less." penny and mr. nichols glanced at each other. they had expected mrs. masterbrook to ask double the amount. "you are hired, mrs. masterbrook," said the detective gently. penny and her father went back to the car to wait while the woman collected a few things to take with her. "i think we've found a jewel, penny," the detective declared enthusiastically. "if i'm any judge of character, she's a good housekeeper." "and if i'm a judge of it, she's a chronic grumbler and a gossip," replied penny. "but we're only paying five dollars, so we can't be too particular." mrs. masterbrook soon came down the walk with a small handbag. she crowded into the front seat of the car and even before they were well on their way to kendon, began to question her new employer. she asked his name, his business, where he was from, why he had come to kendon and how long he meant to stay. penny glanced impishly at her father, who was growing slightly annoyed. she had warned him that mrs. masterbrook would prove to be a gossip. "i met mr. crocker's grandson this morning," she remarked, hoping to switch the conversation to a less personal topic. "he seems like a fine lad." "yes, but it's a shame the way herman brings him up," replied mrs. masterbrook, shaking her head sadly. "perry has never had much schooling and he's kept at home all the time." "i should think the school authorities would see that the boy attended classes," remarked mr. nichols. "they don't like to cross herman," mrs. masterbrook explained. "at least that's how i figure it." "mr. crocker doesn't actually mistreat the boy?" penny questioned. "herman couldn't be very good to anyone even if he tried. perry was his daughter ella's son, and i guess old herman thought more of ella than he did of any other member of his family. when she died he took the boy to raise." "i judge his own wife isn't living," remarked mr. nichols. "no, poor ida went to her rest come twelve years ago this fall. folks said she wouldn't have taken down with pneumonia if herman had given her enough to eat." neither penny nor her father encouraged mrs. masterbrook to talk, but all the way to the cottage she chattered about first one person and then another. with no effort on her part, penny gathered many items of interesting information concerning herman crocker. "folks around here call him a miser," the woman revealed. "when his sister jenny died, she left quite a tidy little fortune. some people don't think herman ever inherited very much of it, but i could tell 'em a few things about that matter if i were minded to do it." "i'm sorry," interrupted mr. nichols, "but the crocker family isn't of great interest to us. suppose we forget about it." "i thought you wanted to hear," retorted mrs. masterbrook indignantly. she subsided into hurt silence. penny felt sorry that her father had discouraged the woman from talking. although she did not approve of idle gossip, she had been eager to learn more about herman crocker and his queer relatives. she wondered too if mrs. masterbrook could tell her anything about mr. crocker's nephew, walter. penny and her father left the housekeeper at the cottage and then drove back to the village for supplies. "i'm afraid i made a great mistake in hiring her," confessed the detective. "she'll talk us crazy." "at least you must admit it's interesting to have all the inside information about our landlord." "i'm not concerned in crocker's affairs," mr. nichols rejoined. "anyway, i'd not believe a word that woman said about him. obviously, she bears a grudge." penny and her father made their purchases in one of the grocery stores, finding the owner a pleasant, genial individual. during the course of the conversation he remarked upon the automobile accident which had occurred the previous night. "it's a funny thing about it," he said. "the owner of the car disappeared and no one seems to know the driver." "why, my daughter and i brought him to town last night," declared mr. nichols quickly. "he was herman crocker's nephew, or so he told us." "you don't say! well, that's the first time i ever heard that herman had a living nephew. shall i carry these packages out to the car for you?" "yes, please," requested the detective. the storekeeper deposited the grocery order in the automobile and then went back into his shop. "dad, mr. crocker asked me not to tell anyone about his nephew's having been here," penny said as they started up knob hill. "well, i didn't make any such promise," replied her father. "i can't see why there should be any mystery about it. anyway, it will be fairly easy for the police to learn the man's name by tracing the license plates of his abandoned car." "yes, that's true," penny agreed. "i can't for the life of me understand why walter crocker would go back to the city without trying to salvage his car." "i'd not worry about it too much," smiled the detective. "for all we know he may have left orders at one of the garages to have it hauled in and repaired." upon arriving at their cottage, mr. nichols and penny were pleasantly surprised to find mrs. masterbrook hard at work. she had cleaned up all the rooms, and she came out to the car to help carry in the groceries. "the electric company man was here while you were gone," she told mr. nichols. "the lights are on now." "fine," replied the detective. "and how about our supply of wood?" "herman sent over enough for today and to-morrow. he said he'd get busy and cut more. but i'd not count on it. herman is as lazy as all get out." mr. nichols laughed and told the housekeeper that he and penny were going for a little walk before lunch. "it will be ready at one o'clock sharp," mrs. masterbrook warned. "i hope you'll be back on time, because i don't like to keep victuals waiting." "we'll be here," promised the detective. when he and penny were beyond hearing, he added: "i'm afraid we made a big mistake in hiring that woman. i can see right now that she means to be the boss of the show." "oh, well, if the weather is nice we can stay away from the cottage most of the time," laughed penny. after exploring the ravine, they went back to the cottage to find that luncheon was nearly ready. in justice to mrs. masterbrook, the detective admitted that the meal was excellent. she had made biscuits, cake, and gravy, besides preparing the usual vegetables and meat. however, without being requested to do so, the housekeeper seated herself at the head of the table. penny and her father had assumed that she would take her meals alone, but neither of them had the courage to make the suggestion. they were a little afraid of the woman's sharp tongue. conversation was difficult in mrs. masterbrook's presence. penny and mr. nichols did not wish to say anything of a personal nature lest the housekeeper repeat it to her acquaintances. mrs. masterbrook talked enough for everyone. she prattled on about the gossip of the town until penny and her father were thoroughly bored. they were relieved when the meal was over. "i believe i'll drive back to town this afternoon," the detective announced. "i want to buy a newspaper, and i'll order a telephone installed." "i thought you were eager to lose contact with the world," laughed penny. "to a certain extent--yes," replied mr. nichols. "bui i also like to keep informed." "you don't need to worry about that part," chuckled penny. "mrs. masterbrook will see to it that you're up to date on all the news." "she'll probably appropriate the telephone too," said the detective ruefully. "but i think i'll put one in anyway. coming with me, penny?" "no, i'd rather stay here, dad. i thought i'd write a letter to susan." after her father had driven away, penny unpacked her suitcase. then she carried her writing materials to a pleasant nook not far from the ravine, finding a flat rock which served as a desk. the letter was soon finished. penny sealed it and then sat for a long time gazing at the distant trees which were waving gently in the breeze. "it's nice here," she thought dreamily, "but rather dull. i wish susan could visit me. together we might stir up a little excitement." after a while penny dozed off. when she awoke she gathered up her writing things and walked back to the house. she chanced to be wearing tennis shoes and so made very little noise as she entered. penny had no intention of trying to spy upon mrs. masterbrook. in fact, she had forgotten all about the housekeeper as she made her way toward her own bedroom. the kitchen and living rooms were in order but quite deserted. the significance of this did not dawn upon penny. then she came to the doorway of her father's bedroom. she might have passed it without a glance had she not heard a startled cry. "oh, i didn't hear you come in!" muttered mrs. masterbrook in confusion. the woman had been caught in the act of examining letters and papers contained in mr. nichols' suitcase. she straightened up quickly, a deep flush spreading over her cheeks. "mrs. masterbrook!" said penny sternly. "kindly explain the meaning of this! why are you prying into my father's private papers?" chapter v a night visitor "how dare you accuse me of such a thing!" exclaimed mrs. masterbrook angrily. "i merely came into this bedroom to do the work for which i was hired." "did my father employ you to read his private letters?" asked penny coldly. "i was cleaning the room and i thought i would unpack the suitcase. i had just come upon these letters when you walked in." "i'll relieve you of them now," said penny. "hereafter, please don't touch anything either in father's suitcase or my own." mrs. masterbrook did not trust herself to reply. with an angry toss of her head she marched back to the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. "i don't care if she is out of sorts!" penny thought. "dad ought to discharge her for a trick like this." she returned the letters to the suitcase and after locking the bag took the key with her. later in the afternoon when mr. nichols came back to the cottage in company with one of the telephone men, she drew him aside to reveal what the housekeeper had done. "it's nothing so very serious," the detective said. "of course the trick was a contemptible one, but i doubt that she learned anything of interest. the letters all dealt with matters of routine business." "but if mrs. masterbrook reads our letters she'll pry into other things too." "we could discharge her," the detective said, frowning thoughtfully. "the point is--where would we get another housekeeper on short notice? especially one who can cook." "mrs. masterbrook does do her work well," penny admitted grudgingly. "i'll discharge her if you say the word, penny." "no, let her stay," the girl decided. "but we'll have to be very careful about what we do and say around her." with a telephone installed, the electric lights connected, and the house stocked with groceries, penny and her father felt that they were fairly well established in the cottage. as was to be expected, mrs. masterbrook acted very distant during the remainder of the day. she went about the house with an injured air which was amusing to penny and mr. nichols. toward evening the telephone rang. "why, that was a long and two short!" exclaimed penny, springing up from her chair. "that's our ring." "must be a mistake," replied mr. nichols. "no one would be calling us so soon." before penny could reach the telephone, mrs. masterbrook answered it. she appeared in the doorway and said primly to mr. nichols: "long distance is calling." "long distance!" exclaimed the detective. "that's queer. how did anyone get my number so soon?" "i'm sure you can't blame _that_ on me," replied the housekeeper maliciously. mr. nichols went to answer the call. penny noticed that mrs. masterbrook lingered not far away, evidently listening. upon seeing that the girl was watching, she retreated to the kitchen. in a few minutes mr. nichols returned to the living room. "i hope nothing is wrong at home," penny said in a low tone. she was afraid the call had been from mrs. gallup. "no, everything is all right," returned the detective. "that was inspector harris who telephoned me." "but how did he get your telephone number?" "oh, he plagued mrs. gallup into revealing our address, and then he found that we had a telephone installed today. worse luck!" "mrs. gallup was instructed not to tell where we were unless something of great importance arose." "the inspector evidently convinced her that this was a vital matter." "what is it all about anyway?" penny inquired curiously. "inspector harris wants me to take a new case. last night a big robbery was committed at hannibal, which is the nearest town to kendon. the inspector thought that since i was on the scene it would be convenient for me to conduct the investigation." "convenient for him." "obviously." penny glanced quickly at her father. "and what did you tell him, dad?" "i said i wouldn't do it. this is my vacation and i mean to enjoy it." "good for you, dad," penny said approvingly. "the inspector didn't like to take 'no' for an answer," mr. nichols went on. "he claimed that this was not an ordinary robbery case and that i'd be sorry if i turned it down." "what was so unusual about it, dad?" "nothing that i could tell. a private home was entered and the thieves escaped with about a thousand dollars' worth of jewelry. the owner, a man of wealth, insists upon private detectives taking over the case. he's not satisfied with the local police talent." while penny and her father were discussing the robbery, mrs. masterbrook announced dinner. to their relief, she did not talk during the meal but maintained an aloof air. "i don't like the look of the weather," remarked mr. nichols, glancing out the window. "i shouldn't be surprised if we have a storm tonight." "the wind does appear to be rising," penny agreed. "just listen to it whistle in the grove of evergreens--it gives one a creepy feeling." "i hope we have a good roof over us," mr. nichols declared. "one that doesn't leak." as he spoke, the room was suddenly plunged into darkness. "mercy on us!" screamed mrs. masterbrook in terror. "what's happened to the lights?" "probably the current has been turned off, or the high wind may have broken a wire," said the detective calmly. "or a fuse may have blown out," penny added. "i'll get my flashlight from the car and take a look," said mr. nichols. "i don't know if i can locate the fuse box or not." "it's in the cellar," contributed mrs. masterbrook. "the only way to get down there is from the outside of the cottage," penny added. "those strange-looking double doors with the iron rings pull up, and beneath them is a stone stairway which leads into the cellar. be careful, for it's easy to fall. i took a tumble myself this afternoon when i was prowling around." mr. nichols groped his way to the door and disappeared into the night. a few minutes later penny saw the beam of his flashlight playing over the lawn. then the cellar doors were thrown back and the light vanished. "you'd not catch me going down into that dark, damp hole at night!" mrs. masterbrook said in a low voice. "why not?" asked penny. "isn't it just as dark here?" "something might happen. if you knew what i do about this place----" "what do you mean?" questioned penny quickly. "oh, i don't tell everything i know," the housekeeper retorted. penny felt certain that the woman was trying to plague her, but nevertheless she was greatly relieved when her father returned to the kitchen. "it was only a blown fuse after all," he reported. "but i can't find any extra ones." "i'll telephone mr. crocker!" penny announced. "he's our landlord and he ought to work at the job." "i'll bet a cent you don't get any," the detective rejoined. after a lengthy telephone conversation, penny faced her father triumphantly. "you lose your cent," she laughed. "mr. crocker was provoked, but he promised to come right over with a new fuse." twenty minutes later an ancient automobile was heard laboring up knob hill. mr. crocker came up the walk, carrying a lighted lantern. "seems like you folks are having a lot of trouble here," he said crossly as mr. nichols met him at the door. "we're sorry to trouble you," replied the detective. "if the cottage had been better equipped----" "i'll put in the fuse for you to be sure it's good," mr. crocker interrupted. he and mr. nichols went down into the cellar together. from the doorway of the kitchen penny noticed that someone was sitting in mr. crocker's car. "is that you, perry?" she called softly. there was no answer, so she walked down to the car. mr. crocker's grandson sat hunched down in the front seat. "aren't you going to say hello to me?" asked penny. "i do believe you're shy." "i'm not shy," replied the little boy quickly. "but my grandpa says he'll whip me if i talk with you." penny was silent for a moment. "of course i don't wish you to get into trouble, perry," she said quietly, "but why doesn't your grandfather like me?" "because you'll ask too many questions," the boy answered. "please go away now, before grandpa finds you talking with me." the cottage became flooded with light as mr. nichols and herman crocker replaced the old fuse. penny knew that they would be coming up the steps in a moment. she did not wish perry to be punished so she slipped back into the house. however, as soon as herman crocker had driven away penny ran back outside to meet her father. she told him what perry had said. "herman crocker is a queer old duck," the detective replied. "i don't doubt he abuses the boy." "we ought to do something about it, dad," penny said earnestly. "now don't get worked up over the affair. we haven't any proof that the boy is mistreated. if the local authorities aren't interested in the case, we have no call to interfere. we'd only stir up a tempest in a teapot." "i suppose you're right," penny admitted reluctantly. "you usually are." "i'd forget the crocker family if i were you. try to enjoy your vacation." penny did not wish to forget about perry. she felt that he deserved a better fate than life with a queer old man like herman crocker. later in the evening as she sat with a book, she kept thinking of the boy. she could not keep her mind on anything she read. at nine o'clock it began to rain. the wind, steadily growing stronger, rattled the windowpanes. "i'm afraid this will be a noisy place tonight," commented mr. nichols. "but i'm drowsy enough to sleep through anything." mrs. masterbrook had retired soon after the dishes were washed. after getting himself a drink in the kitchen, mr. nichols announced that he too was going to bed. "i'll be coming along in a few minutes," penny said. "how about the doors? shall i lock them?" "oh, it wouldn't do any harm," replied the detective carelessly. "but on a night like this there's no chance anyone will visit us----" mr. nichols' voice trailed slowly away. as if in contradiction to his words, there came a sharp rap on the door. chapter vi the attic door "it seems that you are wrong, dad," commented penny dryly. "already we have a visitor." mr. nichols went to the door and flung it open. the light revealed a bedraggled young man who might have been in his early twenties. he was not very well dressed and his clothes were rain soaked. penny and her father regarded the stranger a trifle suspiciously until he spoke. "i beg your pardon," the young man said apologetically, "but i am looking for the herman crocker place. would you be kind enough to direct me?" "why, certainly," replied the detective. "come in out of the rain, won't you?" "thanks, but my shoes are covered with mud." "you can't harm anything in this cottage," said penny. "come right in." the young man stepped over the threshold, removing his limp felt hat. he had sandy hair, penny observed, and penetrating blue eyes which roved swiftly about the room. "it's a nasty night," said mr. nichols. "have you walked far?" "all the way from kendon." "then you went right past herman crocker's place. it's a large house to the left of the road." "the rain is coming down so fast i couldn't see very far ahead of me," the young man replied. "this was the first light i saw along the way." "it may be that mr. crocker has gone to bed," penny remarked. "i imagine he retires early." "will he be expecting you?" inquired the detective. "why, no, he won't," the young man replied after a slight hesitation. "i suspect he'll be very much surprised to see me." "we have a telephone," penny said. "if you like, i'll call mr. crocker for you. he might be willing to drive up and get you." "oh, please don't go to any bother," returned the young man quickly, edging toward the door again. "it won't be any trouble at all." "please, i'd rather you wouldn't. i'll not mind the walk." penny glanced sharply at the young man. it was plain to see that he had some special motive for not wishing to give herman crocker advance notice of his arrival in the community. without having any real reason for such a belief, it suddenly struck penny that the young man's visit might have some connection with the mysterious call which walter crocker had made upon his uncle. "i take it you're a stranger in these parts," remarked mr. nichols. he too was studying the young man curiously. "well, yes, i am. i'm here to see mr. crocker on rather important business." "you'll be his second out-of-town visitor this week," penny commented in a casual tone. "mr. crocker's nephew was here, but i understand he has gone back to the city." "mr. crocker's nephew?" asked the young man quickly. "yes," said penny, watching him closely. "walter crocker." a strange look came into the young man's eyes. an expression of astonishment gave way to one of wariness. "you are acquainted with walter crocker perhaps?" asked penny, ignoring her father's warning glance. "i have heard of him," replied the young man after a brief hesitation. he turned once more toward the door. as he opened it a strong gust of wind blew a sheet of rain into the room. "see here, you can't go out in that," said mr. nichols firmly. "let me telephone crocker and tell him you're here." the young man shook his head. "then i'll put on chains and take you down there in my car." "no, i'd rather not have you go to any bother on my account. i don't mind a little rain." "it's blowing a gale and the storm is getting worse every minute," the detective insisted. "herman crocker keeps a vicious dog too. if you walk in there without being expected, you may receive an unpleasant reception." "i wasn't looking for a very cordial one anyway," the young man said slowly. "but thanks for the tip about the dog. maybe it would be just as well to go back to town for the night." "there's no need to do that," said mr. nichols. "you're welcome to stay here if you like. our quarters aren't very luxurious, but at least it will be better than walking back to the village." "i'll get mrs. masterbrook to help me fix up one of the bedrooms right away," penny added quickly. "it's very kind of you," said the young man, looking troubled. "you know nothing about me----" "we're not worried upon that score," replied mr. nichols with a smile. "but you might tell us your name." "oh, yes, to be sure----" stammered the young man. "just call me michael--michael haymond." "i am very glad to know you, mr. haymond," returned the detective. "may i take your coat and hat? i'll build up the fire so that your things will dry out." penny crossed the room intending to call mrs. masterbrook. as she opened the door leading into the hallway she saw the housekeeper hastily retreating into her own bedroom. obviously she had been listening to the conversation. "mrs. masterbrook!" called penny. "well, what is it?" asked the housekeeper, re-opening her door. "a guest is spending the night. will you please help me prepare the east bedroom?" "this is a nice time to start making up beds," the housekeeper complained. "i was just ready to undress." "i'm sorry to bother you, mrs. masterbrook. i'll do it myself." "i didn't say i wasn't willing to help," the housekeeper said quickly. "only if you ask me, you're making a big mistake to take a perfect stranger into the house." "what makes you think he's a stranger?" asked penny quickly. "i couldn't help hearing what he told you," mrs. masterbrook returned with a toss of her head. "i don't believe for a single minute that his name is michael haymond. anyone could tell that he was lying." "who do you think he is?" asked penny. "a 'g' man in disguise?" "he looks more like a young criminal to me," mrs. masterbrook replied soberly. "his face is very familiar." "dear me, how did you manage to see him? not through the keyhole?" the housekeeper had not meant to betray herself. she flushed and made no answer. "if you care to meet mr. haymond, come into the living room," penny invited. "i think you'll find him to be a very nice young man." "no, thank you, i don't wish to meet him," said the housekeeper coldly. "and if the cottage is robbed during the night, kindly don't blame me." "all right, i won't," laughed penny. the bedroom which the guest was to occupy adjoined mr. nichols' sleeping quarters. long after the house had settled down for the night, penny could hear sounds from that part of the cottage. either her father or mr. haymond was very restless. "it may have been unwise to take a stranger into the house," the girl reflected, "but he seemed honest enough. i don't see why mrs. masterbrook had to act so hateful about it." for some time penny remained awake thinking over the information which michael haymond had given about himself. he had not told where he lived nor had he mentioned the nature of his business with herman crocker. she had fancied that the young man had seemed somewhat shaken by her reference to walter crocker. "i may have imagined that part," she told herself. "dad didn't seem to notice anything wrong." shortly penny fell asleep. several hours later she found herself wide awake again. she did not know what had aroused her. although penny had left the curtains up, the room was dark. she could still hear the rain pattering against the tin roof. then the girl became aware of another sound. she heard a floor board creak. someone was moving softly down the hallway. "i wonder who is up at this hour?" she thought. for a minute penny lay perfectly still, listening. then she crept noiselessly from bed. drawing on her dressing gown, she tiptoed to the door. the hall was dark. at first she could distinguish nothing; then she made out a shadowy figure at the far end. someone was trying to open the door which led up to the attic. chapter vii penny's discovery "is that you, father?" penny asked. when there was no answer, she reached up and pressed the electric switch. the hallway became flooded with light. penny and michael haymond stood blinking at each other, both deeply embarrassed. "oh, i'm sorry," stammered the young man. "i didn't mean to disturb anyone. i was just after a drink of water." "i'm afraid you won't find it in the attic," replied penny. "not unless the roof is leaking." "the attic?" michael haymond repeated. "i must be turned around then. i thought this door led to the living room." penny could not be certain whether or not the young man was telling the truth. it was entirely possible that he had become confused in the dark hallway. she could not imagine any reason why he would have wished to investigate the attic. before penny could frame a reply mr. nichols' door opened and the detective peered out. "anything wrong?" he asked. "i am afraid i have disturbed the entire household," the young man apologized. "i was only looking for a drink of water." "there's no harm in that, i'm sure," replied mr. nichols pleasantly. "i'll get you one." "it really doesn't matter," the young man murmured. just then mrs. masterbrook's door swung open. the housekeeper, garbed in an old-fashioned nightgown and with her hair done up in curlers, looked out into the hall. "dear me, what is going on here?" she asked crossly. "after working hard all day i'd like to get a little sleep." "it was all my fault," michael haymond apologized again. the housekeeper turned to gaze at him. as their eyes met, mrs. masterbrook made a strange rasping sound in her throat. her hand moved instinctively toward her face as if to ward off a blow. "mrs. masterbrook, i don't believe you have met our guest," mr. nichols began. the housekeeper gave him no opportunity to finish. she moved back into her bedroom and closed the door. "did i offend your housekeeper?" asked michael haymond anxiously. "don't give it a thought," replied mr. nichols, lowering his voice. "mrs. masterbrook is a very odd character. she may have felt embarrassed because she wasn't dressed up for the occasion. come along now and we'll get that drink of water." penny went back into her room and sat down on the bed. apparently her father had not distrusted michael haymond's motives nor had he considered mrs. masterbrook's rude action as anything out of the way. "dad takes everything casually," penny thought. she could hear her father and michael haymond in the kitchen laughing and talking together. the icebox door slammed shut. evidently they were indulging in a snack of food. "mrs. masterbrook will be furious in the morning," penny chuckled. "she seems to detest michael haymond anyway. for a moment i thought she appeared to recognize him, but i suppose she was merely trying to be dramatic. that's the trouble with mrs. masterbrook--she's usually acting a part." penny allowed her thoughts to ramble at will until she heard her father and michael haymond enter their rooms. the hall light was switched out. once more the house quieted down. penny crept back into bed, but she could not sleep. she felt strangely excited. throughout the night there was no further disturbance. after a few hours the rain ceased and stars began to straggle through the clouds. the wind died down. penny tossed restlessly upon her pillow. now and then she could hear mrs. masterbrook's bed creak in the next room as if the housekeeper also were spending a sleepless night. at dawn penny arose and, quietly dressing, let herself out of the cottage. the grounds were muddy, but everything seemed fresh and green. birds chirped and the earth gave off a pleasant odor. at breakfast time penny returned to the house, feeling none the worse for her sleepless night. as she approached the porch she saw her father and the guest talking earnestly. they turned to greet her. "aren't you an early bird this morning, penny?" inquired her father. "oh, i just went for a little walk before breakfast, dad." mrs. masterbrook appeared in the doorway. "you're lucky to get anything to eat this morning," she said stiffly. "there's something the matter with the stove. it doesn't draw properly and we're practically out of wood." "anything else wrong about the place?" mr. nichols asked with a sigh. "there are enough odd jobs around here to keep a man busy for a week," replied the housekeeper. "the water pump isn't working well and someone ought to put on the screens." "i'll be glad to do that for you," offered michael haymond. "and i'm good at cutting wood too. is there an ax around here anywhere?" "i think i saw one in the basement," mr. nichols told him. "but see here--you're our guest." "i'll be glad to do a little to earn my breakfast. i like to work." "i can see you do," mr. nichols smiled. he studied the young man for a moment. then he asked abruptly, "how would you like a steady job for a few days?" "doing what?" "all the odd jobs i'm supposed to do. can you drive a car?" "yes." "then you could drive to town for our groceries, see that we have a daily wood supply, and repair all the things around here that are falling to pieces." "our landlord is expected to see that the place is in livable condition," penny said quickly. she felt a little troubled because her father wished to engage the strange young man. "if we wait for him to take care of things, we'll never be comfortable here," returned mr. nichols. he turned again to michael haymond. "perhaps i have spoken out of turn. probably you aren't in need of a job." "but i am," replied the young man quickly. "i'll be glad to work for my board and room." "i think we can do better than that for you," smiled mr. nichols. "your salary won't be large, but we'll keep you in spending money at least." "what shall i do first? chop the wood?" "you might look at the stove and see if you can discover what is wrong with it." "o.k.," laughed the young man. "i know a little about cook stoves. we had one at the----" he stopped abruptly and then finished in confusion: "we had a cook stove at the place where i lived." "and where was that, young man?" asked mrs. masterbrook tartly. "it doesn't matter in the least," interposed mr. nichols smoothly. "mr. haymond's affairs are his own." "there's no great mystery about my past," said the young man. "i came from the west. my parents are dead." "i'm sorry to hear that," replied mr. nichols sympathetically. michael haymond stood gazing thoughtfully toward the ravine for a moment. then, recovering himself, he followed mrs. masterbrook into the house to look at the cook stove. "now penny--don't say it," declared mr. nichols when he was alone with his daughter. "don't say what, dad?" "that i'm making a big mistake to hire young haymond. i can see you feel that way." "well, yes, i do," penny admitted. "i like michael a lot, but i don't exactly trust him. he hasn't told us much about himself----" "that's his own business. i haven't any patience with folks who go prying into other persons' private affairs." "i thought that was the work of a detective," penny said teasingly. "when a man commits a crime, then his actions become a matter of public concern," mr. nichols replied. "i had a long talk with michael last night and if i'm any judge of character, he's a decent sort. i don't intend to pry into his personal affairs just for the pleasure of it." "well, if the tin spoons disappear don't blame me," penny laughed, imitating the housekeeper's shrill voice. "young michael will save me a great deal of petty annoyance," mr. nichols went on. "i mean for him to serve as a buffer between me and mrs. masterbrook." "for some reason she's taken an intense dislike to him, dad." "i noticed that, penny. mrs. masterbrook isn't happy unless she is reading the law to someone. with young michael here, she'll vent her spite on him and leave us to enjoy our vacation." "how marvelously your mind works, dad!" "i do think of a smart idea now and then." "wouldn't it be wiser to discharge mrs. masterbrook?" "she bakes wonderful biscuits," the detective answered. "besides, she amuses me. i'm curious to see how she gets on with young michael." "you're beyond my depth," penny said with a shrug. "i don't understand your whims at all." she was forced to admit that from the standpoint of work her father had made no mistake in hiring the young man. michael put the cooking stove in good order again, chopped a day's supply of wood and repaired the pump. he worked quietly, yet effectively. even the housekeeper could find no complaint to voice. "michael, i suppose you'll be wanting to see herman crocker sometime today," mr. nichols remarked to the young man. "why, yes, sir, i guess so," he replied uncertainly. "you said that was why you came here," the detective reminded him. "yes, sir. i do want to see mr. crocker on a matter of business." "feel free to run down there whenever you like," mr. nichols told him. "you've done enough work around here for one day." "thank you, sir." mr. nichols went for a long walk in the woods but penny chose to remain at the cottage with a magazine. michael worked about the yard, washing the automobile. he did not seem in any hurry to make his call upon herman crocker. "i don't believe he's anxious to go there at all," penny thought. "i wonder if he didn't make up the entire story?" she was somewhat surprised to observe that for the most part mrs. masterbrook left the young man entirely alone. the housekeeper seemed more subdued than usual as if she were brooding over some matter. the day passed quickly. penny knew very well that michael had not visited herman crocker for she had kept watch of him the entire time. she had a theory that he did not wish to go there at all, and to test it she called the young man. "michael," she said, "mrs. masterbrook tells me that we need fresh eggs. i'm driving down to crocker's place after supper to get some. don't you wish to ride along with me?" the young man hesitated, his eyes dropping before penny's steady gaze. "why, i thought i'd wait until tomorrow before i see mr. crocker. thanks just the same." when supper was over, penny drove down to the crocker place. no lights were visible in the window. either the owner had gone away or was trying to save electricity. penny parked the car in the lane. she looked carefully about for the yellow hound. to her relief he was nowhere around the place. quickly she walked across the yard and pounded on the door. penny waited a few minutes and then turned back to the car. she halted as she heard a rap on one of the windows. glancing up, she saw perry looking out at her. "oh, hello, perry," penny called. "open the door." "i can't," shouted the boy through the glass. "it's locked." "isn't your grandfather here?" the lad shook his head. "he's been gone all day. i'm locked up in here." "can't you open a window?" penny called. again perry shook his head. "i haven't had anything except bread to eat all day," he told her. "i'm getting real hungry." "well, i should think so," said penny grimly. she observed that the lower floor windows were all high from the ground, beyond the reach of anyone in the yard. "aren't any of the upstairs windows unfastened?" she called to the boy. "yes, but i can't get out there." "does your grandfather have a ladder?" "i think there's one somewhere in the barn." "i'll find it," penny said encouragingly. "just you wait until i come back, perry." she hurried off to the barn, well aware that in taking matters into her own hands, she was certain to incur the wrath of herman crocker. "i don't care if i do get into trouble," she thought indignantly. "he has no right to shut perry up in the house without anything to eat. it's cruel." penny opened the barn doors and stepped inside. she stopped short to stare at an automobile which stood on the floor beside the granary. one glance assured her that it was not herman crocker's ancient car. this was an expensive model with a streamline design, shiny and new save that one fender was slightly battered. "why, it's walter crocker's automobile!" penny thought in amazement. "how did it get here?" chapter viii the toy lantern clue penny stood staring at the car. she knew she could not be mistaken. it was the same automobile which walter crocker had upset in the ditch. she had last seen it there when she and her father had gone after mrs. masterbrook. "i suppose walter crocker might have instructed his uncle to bring the car here," penny mused. "but it seems very odd. old herman didn't want me to tell anyone about seeing his nephew here. i wonder----" the girl's thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sound of a car coming up the lane. glancing out the barn doors penny saw herman crocker arrive in his battered old automobile. he parked beside her own car. "of course he'll know i am here," penny told herself. "i must act as if i've noticed nothing out of the way." she slipped out of the barn without being observed. as she approached the house, old herman climbed from the car, holding fast to rudy's chain. the hound began to growl and tried to get away from his master. "good evening, mr. crocker," said penny pleasantly. "i don't seem to be very popular with your dog." "i thought that was your car standing here in the lane," replied mr. crocker gruffly. "did i see you coming from the barn?" "i had started that way," said penny. "then i heard your car coming." mr. crocker seemed to relax. "what's wrong down at the cottage now?" he asked in the tone of one who had deeply suffered. "nothing at all, mr. crocker. i came to ask if i might buy some fresh eggs." "i don't make a practice of selling them," the man frowned. "then i suppose i'll have to drive in to town." "maybe i can let you have a dozen this time." mr. crocker started toward the house but as penny followed he turned and said pointedly: "i'll bring them out to the car." penny had hoped that she would have an opportunity to speak with perry. she wished to warn the boy to say nothing about her plan to help him escape from the house. she could only hope that he would be wise enough to remain silent concerning her presence near the barn. mr. crocker did not unlock the front door. instead he went around to the back porch and from a box which was stored there, counted out a dozen eggs into a paper sack. he returned to the car. "how much do i owe you, mr. crocker?" asked penny. the man named a price fifteen cents above the town market. she paid it without a protest. "how is your grandson, perry?" penny asked casually as she prepared to drive away. mr. crocker glanced at her sharply but the girl's face disclosed only polite interest. "oh, the boy's fine," he answered gruffly. "he's somewhere around the place." penny said goodbye and drove away without disclosing that she knew perry had been locked in the house during his grandfather's absence. such treatment seemed nothing short of cruel to her. she could not understand why the townspeople would show such indifference to the lad's fate unless they were unaware of existing conditions. upon reaching the cottage, penny drew her father aside and reported everything she had learned. "you're sure that the boy told the truth about having no food?" the detective inquired. "i can't be absolutely certain," penny admitted. "i've never been inside the house." "always there are two sides to every question," mr. nichols said slowly. "folks around here with the exception of mrs. masterbrook, seem to think that crocker isn't a bad sort." "i'm positive he's not the right person to have entire control of a child, dad." "that may be. however, he gave the boy a home when no one else came forward to take him in." "how do you account for walter crocker's car being in herman's barn?" "i don't see anything so mysterious about that, penny. they are relatives. walter probably asked herman to have the car hauled there until he came back from the city." "how do we know he ever went to the city, dad?" "what?" asked mr. nichols blankly. penny repeated her question. "you're not hinting that something may have happened to walter crocker?" "yes, i am, dad. herman crocker is a sinister character." "in your imagination." "in any one's imagination," penny said firmly. "we know that walter crocker came here to collect money from herman. that old man is a miser. what would be more natural than to have the nephew conveniently disappear?" "penny, you've been reading entirely too many wild stories." "dad, you are laughing at me!" "pardon me, but i can't help it," smiled the detective. "herman crocker is an eccentric character but i don't think he's quite as black as you paint him." before penny could reply, mrs. masterbrook came to the porch. "you're wanted on the 'phone," she told mr. nichols. "now what?" asked the detective, frowning. "i hope it's not inspector harris again." he went into the house and was gone several minutes. penny could hear him arguing with someone on the wire. finally he returned to the porch. "well, i've done it now," he told her gloomily. "what is wrong, dad?" "oh, it was inspector harris again. there's been another robbery." "near here?" penny asked quickly. "yes, about twenty miles away at a place called benton. unknown persons broke into the home of a wealthy family and made off with money and jewels valued at several thousand dollars." "why, that sounds almost like the other robbery case, dad." "inspector harris thinks that the same gang may have pulled both of them. he's after me to take the case." "and you told him you would?" "i finally agreed that i'd drive over to benton and make an inspection. but unless the case is a particularly interesting one i'll have nothing of it. this was supposed to have been my vacation." "are you going to benton now?" questioned penny eagerly. "yes, i'll be back in a few hours." "take me with you, dad," penny pleaded. "all right," the detective agreed, "but i don't care to be influenced by any of your wild theories as to who committed the robbery." "i'll be as quiet as a mouse," penny promised. during the ride to benton mr. nichols told her what little he had learned about the case. "it was the james kirmenbach home which was robbed," he revealed. "you may have heard of the man. he formerly was the head of the kirmenbach chemical company but retired a few years ago to live quietly in the country. the thieves broke into a wall safe, taking a box of money and jewels. the most valuable item was a diamond necklace." "i suppose the local police made a routine investigation?" "yes, but they found no clues. kirmenbach appealed to inspector harris and that's how i'm rung in on the deal." it was a few minutes after nine o'clock when mr. nichols drew up in front of an imposing brick house at the outskirts of benton. penny and her father presented themselves at the door and upon giving their names to the maid were promptly admitted. mr. kirmenbach, a bald headed man in his early sixties, came to greet the detective. "mr. nichols?" he asked, extending his hand. "inspector harris telephoned that you would take the case." "i only promised to make an inspection," the detective replied. "tell me exactly what happened please." "i'll call my wife," said mr. kirmenbach. "she'll be able to give you a better account than i." while penny and her father were waiting they glanced quickly about the living room. it was lavishly furnished and in excellent taste. mrs. kirmenbach, a gray haired lady, only a few years younger than her husband, smiled graciously as she bowed to penny and the detective. "i do hope that you'll be able to recover my necklace for me," she said to mr. nichols. "the other things do not matter, but the diamonds were left me by my father years ago. i prized them for sentimental reasons as well as their actual value." "when did you discover your loss?" questioned the detective. "early this morning ellen, our maid, noticed that the window of the study had been pried open. she called me at once. the wall safe had been forced and my box of jewels was missing. my husband sent for the police at once." "and they learned nothing," mr. kirmenbach said in a tone of disgust. "there were no finger-marks, no evidence of any kind." "how many servants do you employ?" asked the detective. "only three," answered mrs. kirmenbach. "ellen is the maid, and we have a colored woman who does the cooking. jerry, a young college boy, serves as our chauffeur. i can vouch for them all." "i'll talk with them later," mr. nichols said. "i'd like to look at the study now, please." "this way," invited mr. kirmenbach. "i had the room locked up again after the police were here this morning. nothing has been disturbed." "good," said mr. nichols. "i'll just look around for a few minutes." "we'll leave you alone," mrs. kirmenbach declared politely. "if you want us for anything, we'll be in the living room." "it will not take me long," replied the detective. penny glanced about the study with keen interest. it was a small paneled room, lined high with book shelves. there was a comfortable davenport, several chairs and a table. mr. nichols first turned his attention to the wall safe. next he carefully examined the window sill. "find anything, dad?" asked penny. "not yet," he answered. as her father continued his inspection, penny became a trifle bored. she sat down on the davenport and began idly to play with a toy lantern which had been dropped there. it was a child's toy such as one often saw in candy stores filled with sweets. the red isinglass had been broken in one place and the original string wick had been replaced by a tiny bit of cloth. "dad," said penny presently, "do the kirmenbachs have any children?" "they didn't mention any," mr. nichols replied absently. "they probably have grandchildren," penny went on. "does it make any difference?" asked the detective. he was feeling irritated at his failure to find clues. "not particularly, dad. i was just wondering about this toy lantern." mr. nichols turned around and looked quickly at the object in her hand. "where did you get that?" he asked sharply. "why, it was right here on the davenport, dad." mr. nichols took the toy from her hand. penny was surprised by the intent expression of his face as he examined the lantern. "come along, penny," he said quietly, dropping it into his coat pocket. "we'll talk with mr. and mrs. kirmenbach again. it's just possible that we've found a vital clue!" chapter ix herman crocker's visit "you really believe this toy lantern has a connection with the jewel theft?" penny asked in amazement. "and you say my theories are wild!" "wait until we have talked with the kirmenbachs," replied mr. nichols tersely. "i may be on the wrong track but i think not." penny and her father found mr. and mrs. kirmenbach awaiting them in the living room. the elderly couple had never seen the toy lantern before and scarcely could believe that the detective had picked it up in the study. "it may have been dropped there by some child," mr. nichols remarked. "but no child has been in the house in weeks," mrs. kirmenbach said quickly. "i can't understand it at all." "may i speak with your servants now?" requested the detective when the toy lantern had been fully discussed. "certainly," replied mrs. kirmenbach. "i will call them in." in turn mr. nichols questioned the chauffeur, the cook, and the maid. when he displayed the toy lantern, ellen's face lighted. "why, i saw that toy this morning when i first went into the study," she said. "it was lying on the floor. i picked it up so that no one would stumble over it and fall." "you dropped it on the davenport?" "yes, sir." "i'd like to have you show me exactly where you found the lantern." "certainly, sir." the maid led mr. nichols back to the study and indicated a place not far from the wall safe. "mr. nichols, you don't think that the toy was left by the jewel thieves?" mr. kirmenbach asked in amazement. "do you know of any other way the lantern happened to be in this room?" "no." "then we will go upon the assumption that the toy lantern is a clue left by the thief--a very interesting clue." "it seems unbelievable!" exclaimed mr. kirmenbach. "what would a jewel thief--a grown man be doing with a toy lantern?" "it does appear a bit unusual," mr. nichols admitted, "but i feel certain there is a logical explanation." "i have great faith in your ability, mr. nichols," said mr. kirmenbach. "however, i must say that i am unable to see where this clue will lead." "at the moment i have no idea myself," replied the detective, smiling. "but i think that this may develop into something." he declined to amplify his statement further, and a few minutes later left the house with penny. they drove slowly back toward knob hill. "dad, i'm inclined to agree with mr. kirmenbach," penny remarked. "i don't see what good that toy lantern will do you." "first i'll have it examined for finger prints," the detective explained. "however, so many persons have handled it that i don't look for anything on that score. next i'll get in touch with inspector harris and have him check on the manufacturers of toy lanterns. i'll try to find out who bought it." "but there must be hundreds of toys just like this," penny protested. "it doesn't have a single distinguishing feature." "you're wrong there, penny. did you notice the wick?" "why, it was just an old piece of cloth." "exactly. when the old wick tore away, some ingenious child fashioned another from a piece of clothing." "and you hope that it will be possible to trace the cloth?" penny asked in amazement. "that is what i shall try to do." "you surely don't think that a child committed the robbery, dad?" "hardly, penny. but the thief may have a child of his own or a small brother. there is a slight chance that the lantern was left deliberately, but i rather doubt such a possibility." turning in at their own cottage, penny and her father noticed a strange car standing by the picket fence. "it looks as if we have a visitor," the detective observed. penny saw a man in a light overcoat standing by the porch talking with the housekeeper. as she and her father came up the walk, he turned to stare at them. "this is mr. erwin madden from chicago," the housekeeper said. "he wishes to see you, mr. nichols." "i hope i haven't kept you waiting," remarked the detective pleasantly. "no, i arrived only a few minutes ago. may i talk with you?" "certainly," replied mr. nichols. he turned toward the housekeeper who was loitering in the doorway. "that will be all, mrs. masterbrook." after the woman had gone, mr. nichols offered the visitor a chair on the porch. penny started to go into the house but mr. madden indicated that it was unnecessary for her to leave. "my business isn't of a confidential nature," he said pleasantly. "in fact, i am trying to broadcast my mission here in kendon." "if i had known that i should have invited our housekeeper to remain," smiled mr. nichols. "the town has few secrets unshared by her." "i came here in search of my business partner, a man by the name of jay kline," the visitor went on. "he left chicago some days ago, coming to kendon to attend to a private business matter which did not concern the firm. he has not been heard from since." "indeed?" inquired mr. nichols politely. "you think that he has met with a mishap?" "yes, that is my belief," returned mr. madden gravely. "mr. kline gave me to understand that his mission here was a dangerous one. if something had not gone wrong i know i should have heard of him before this." "whom did your friend plan to visit here?" "i don't know," the visitor admitted. "mr. kline was very secretive." "have you inquired for him in the village?" "yes, no one has heard of the man. it is all very bewildering." "are you actually sure that he came to kendon?" inquired mr. nichols. "i have no proof, but neither have i any reason for thinking that he would go elsewhere. i am convinced that my partner met with foul play." "you wished to consult me professionally?" mr. nichols asked. he wondered who had sent the man to him. "professionally?" mr. madden questioned in a puzzled tone. "i am a detective, you know," mr. nichols smiled. "on vacation at the present." "oh," murmured the visitor in surprise. "no, i wasn't aware of your calling. the grocery store man sent me to you. he told me that you had picked up a stranger in your car several nights ago, and i thought that by some chance the man might have been my missing partner." "we did give a young man a lift to town," mr. nichols said. "but his name was walter crocker." "then i'll not trouble you further," said the visitor, arising. "thank you for your time." he bowed to penny and her father and drove away in his car. "he was afraid to tell me any more about the case for fear i'd charge him a fee," chuckled mr. nichols. "very likely by the time mr. madden gets back to chicago his partner will be there too." "dad," said penny thoughtfully, "maybe the man we picked up really was jay kline." "what was that?" mr. nichols demanded. "i said, perhaps the fellow who rode to town with us wasn't walter crocker at all but merely told us that name--" "i can't keep up with your theories," mr. nichols laughed. "you have a new one every minute." "that's because there are so many new developments, dad. i wonder if it's too late to stop mr. madden?" "he's a mile down the road by this time. and i'm glad of it because i don't want you to make yourself or me look ridiculous. what gave you the idea that jay kline and walter crocker are one and the same person?" "i don't know," admitted penny. "it just came to me all at once. walter crocker mysteriously disappeared--" "you mean he went back to the city." "we don't know that at all," penny argued. "did anyone except you and me see walter crocker? no! he went to talk with his uncle, herman crocker, and was seen no more. his automobile mysteriously appears in crocker's barn--" "not so loud!" mr. nichols warned. "i think mrs. masterbrook is standing by the dining room door." penny subsided into hurt silence. she felt that her theories were logical and she did not like to have her father tease her. "well, anyway i didn't think up the toy lantern clue!" she muttered under her breath. "that reminds me, i must telephone inspector harris," said mr. nichols. "i hope he thinks more of my theory than you do." penny could tell that her father was growing deeply interested in the kirmenbach robbery case and following his talk with inspector harris, he admitted that he had promised to do further work. "it's likely to be a tough case," he told penny the next morning. "harris thinks we'll have no luck in tracing the toy lantern. i'm driving over to the kirmenbach place again this morning." "i believe i'll stay here this time," she replied. penny was glad that she elected to remain, for a short time after her father left, herman crocker drove into the yard. he greeted her in a more cordial tone than usual. "is everything all right here?" he asked. "oh, yes, we're getting along very well," penny answered, glancing shrewdly at the old man. she felt certain that his real purpose in coming to the cottage was not to inquire for their comfort. "mrs. masterbrook at home?" mr. crocker questioned casually. "i saw her walking down toward the road a few minutes ago. shall i call her?" "no, i didn't want to see her anyway," he answered quickly. "just thought i'd take a look around. i have some things stored up in the attic that i'd like to get." "just go right in," said penny. she fell into step with him. "oh, by the way, do you know michael haymond, our new hired man?" "never heard of him." "i thought he might have been to see you." "why should he?" herman crocker demanded, looking at penny suspiciously. "i'm sure i don't know," she laughed uneasily. when the man made no comment penny waited a moment and then decided upon a bold attack. "for some reason michael reminds me of your nephew," she said. "i suppose he'll be coming back one of these days." "walter?" asked the old man gruffly. "i don't look for it." "but won't he wish to get his car which is stored in your barn?" penny asked with pretended innocence. herman crocker's expression became guarded. the girl's words startled him but only a slight twitch of his eye muscles disclosed that he had been taken unawares. "i suppose walter will get the car sometime," he answered slowly. "he told me he didn't have the money to pay a repair bill just now." "you had it towed to your place for him?" "that's right," replied herman crocker irritably. "any more questions? if not i'll go on up to the attic." "oh, i'm sorry," said penny apologetically. she had intended to go along with the old man to the attic, but there was something about the look he gave her which made her change her mind. she was afraid she had made her questions too pointed. it would not do for mr. crocker to suspect her motives. "i guess you know your way," she said evenly, opening the screen door for him. "i ought to," snapped the old man. "i lived in this cottage for eight years." he entered the house alone and penny heard him tramping up the stairs to the attic. "i wonder what he's doing up there?" she thought. "i'd give a lot to find out." chapter x searching the loft while penny stood listening to the sounds in the attic she saw mrs. masterbrook coming up the path to the cottage. the housekeeper paused by the gate to stare at mr. crocker's car and then glanced quickly about. "what is herman doing here?" she asked abruptly as penny met her on the porch. "i'm sure i don't know," replied the girl. "he said he wanted to get something from the attic." "the attic!" repeated mrs. masterbrook. "oh!" and for no apparent reason she began to laugh. "what do you find so funny?" "oh, nothing," replied the housekeeper, passing quickly into the cottage. penny stared after the woman, thoroughly bewildered by her actions. she felt certain that mrs. masterbrook knew why old herman crocker had come to the cottage. penny sat down on the porch steps to wait. fifteen minutes elapsed before she heard mr. crocker coming down the attic stairway. as he stepped out on the porch she noticed that he had nothing in his hands and he seemed somewhat disturbed. "did you find what you were after?" asked penny. "oh, yes--yes," replied the old man absently. mrs. masterbrook had emerged from the kitchen in time to hear the remark. "did you really?" she inquired with a slight smirk. the words were spoken casually enough but penny thought she detected a note of triumph in the woman's voice. mr. crocker noticed it too for he glanced sharply at the housekeeper. her face was expressionless. "well, i'll have to be getting back," the old man said. he walked slowly to the car. mrs. masterbrook waited on the porch until he had driven down the road. the housekeeper was highly pleased about something. penny thought that she looked exactly like a cat which had drunk its fill of rich cream. "mrs. masterbrook knows what herman came here for," the girl reflected. "i'd question her only it wouldn't do a bit of good." penny hoped that if she showed no interest the housekeeper might offer a little information. she was disappointed. without a word mrs. masterbrook walked back into the cottage. "i'd like to find out what is in the attic," penny thought. "when the coast is clear i'm going up there and look around." throughout the morning she lingered near the cottage, but it seemed that always either the housekeeper or michael haymond was at hand to observe her actions. when mr. nichols returned from his walk penny did not tell him about herman crocker's mysterious visit to the attic for she felt certain that he would not consider it mysterious at all. he was deeply absorbed in his own case and would sit for an hour at a time lost in thought. "are you worrying about toy lanterns, dad?" penny asked mischievously. "that's right," he agreed with a smile. "i talked with inspector harris this morning from the village store. he's not progressing very well in tracing down the lantern clue. it seems there are dozens of companies which manufacture toys exactly like the one you found at kirmenbach's place." "then you've reached a dead end?" asked penny. "for the time being, yes. but i've not given up. i still believe that it may be possible to trace the thief by means of the clue. after all, the toy lantern had one distinguishing feature--the cloth wick." "it's too bad all this had to come up on your vacation," penny said sympathetically. she could see that the lines of worry had returned to her father's face. "i wish i had kept out of the case," he returned. "but now that i'm in it, i'll have no peace of mind until it's solved. there's something about that toy lantern clue which challenges me!" "i feel the same way regarding herman crocker," penny nodded. "what was that?" mr. nichols looked up quickly. "i meant that our landlord's queer personality fascinates me. he's always doing such strange things." "let me see," mr. nichols said jokingly. "how many queer characters have you discovered since we came here?" "only three, dad. mrs. masterbrook, michael and old herman. unless you count walter crocker and mr. madden." "how about the postman? i noticed you were talking with him yesterday." "purely upon a matter of business," penny laughed. "his name isn't down on my list of suspects yet." she said no more for just then michael haymond came up the path with an armful of wood. after carrying it to the kitchen he returned to the porch. mr. nichols motioned him into a rocker. "i'm afraid i'm not doing very much to earn my wages," the young man said apologetically. "my chief occupation around here seems to be eating and sitting." "i'm well satisfied," replied the detective. although penny had thought that her father was unwise to hire michael she liked the young man a great deal. he was quiet, unassuming, and did his tasks willingly. whenever he had a spare moment he usually spent it with a book. penny had read the titles with surprise. michael devoted himself to volumes of philosophy and history and he studied textbooks of mathematics and french. "rather deep stuff," mr. nichols had commented, looking at one of the philosophy volumes. "i never had a chance to attend college, sir," michael had replied, flushing. "i'm trying to educate myself a little." during the afternoon both mr. nichols and michael absented themselves from the cottage. mrs. masterbrook decided that she would walk down to the village. penny was delighted to be left alone in the house. the moment that everyone was gone she hastened to the attic. it was a low-ceiling room, dimly lighted by two gable windows. dust and cobwebs were everywhere. the attic contained an old chest of drawers, the footboards of a bed, two trunks, a chair with a broken leg, and several boxes of dishes. as penny's gaze roved over the objects she observed that a faint scratch on the floor showed where the trunks had been recently moved. some of the dust had been brushed off from the lids. "herman must have been looking at the trunks," the girl thought. "i wonder what he expected to find?" she lifted the lid of the nearest one and was pleased that it was unlocked. there was nothing in the top tray but beneath it she found old fashioned clothing which had belonged to a woman. the garments had been very carefully packed in moth balls. penny opened the second trunk. it too was filled with clothing in a style worn some fifteen years before. in the bottom she came upon an old picture album and a packet of letters. all were addressed to herman crocker and appeared to be of a business nature. penny was tempted to read the letters, but she put aside the thought. after all it was not very honorable of her to pry into mr. crocker's personal affairs without a stronger motive than curiosity. "if there is any occasion for learning more about the man, i can read the letters later," penny reflected. "dad would be ashamed of me if he knew what i was doing." she replaced the packet in the trunk and closed down the lid. then after making certain that the chest of drawers contained nothing of interest, she hastened down stairs again and washed the grime from her hands. later in the afternoon mrs. masterbrook came back from kendon and it seemed to penny that she was more subdued than usual. even mr. nichols noticed a change in the woman. "i wonder what is the matter with her?" he remarked. "she seems to be losing her fire!" "i guess she's just tired from the long walk to town," penny replied. however, she watched mrs. masterbrook closely, and was inclined to agree that something had gone amiss. the housekeeper looked worried. "aren't you feeling well, mrs. masterbrook?" she inquired kindly. "of course i'm feeling well," the woman snapped. after supper that night michael haymond left the house, but penny did not know whether or not he went to call upon herman crocker. she went to bed about ten, and heard the young man return to the cottage shortly after that hour. by eleven o'clock everyone had gone to bed. penny went off to sleep soon after her head touched the pillow. it was hours later that she awoke to hear the kitchen clock chiming three o'clock. in the hallway a board creaked. penny sat up and listened. she was certain that someone was tiptoeing down the hall. for a moment she was frightened. then she crept out of bed and flung open the door. at the end of the hall she saw the figure of a man. he fled before she could speak or make an outcry. penny heard the outside door slam shut. she hurried to a window and was in time to see someone running swiftly toward the woods. "dad!" she screamed excitedly. "wake up! wake up!" and to emphasize her words, penny ran to her father's bedroom and pounded on the door with her clenched fist. chapter xi aid from michael "what's the matter, penny?" cried mr. nichols as he opened the door of his room. "are you having nightmares?" "dad, someone broke into the cottage!" she told him tensely. "when i stepped out into the hall he ran away. i saw him disappear into the woods." by this time the detective was thoroughly awake. "are you sure, penny?" "of course i am! i didn't imagine it this time and it wasn't someone after a drink either!" "let me get dressed," said her father. "then i'll look around." penny ran back to her own room. she was amazed that mrs. masterbrook and michael had not been aroused. in the next room she could hear the housekeeper snoring contentedly. there seemed no reason to awaken her. penny quickly dressed and was ready first. "we'll take a look around the place," mr. nichols said, "but it's probably too late to catch the prowler." "yes, he'll be a long way from here by this time," penny agreed. armed with a flashlight, they slipped outside and after making a tour of the house walked as far as the edge of the timber. they found no one. "it's no use going on," the detective declared. "we'd never catch the fellow now. he may have been a tramp who noticed that our door was unlocked." "i wonder if michael haymond is in his room?" penny asked abruptly. "why wouldn't he be?" "it seems odd he didn't awaken with me screaming all over the place." "mrs. masterbrook slept through it," mr. nichols replied. "just the same i'm curious to know if michael is in his room. dad, why don't you----" "penny, i'll not do it," the detective interrupted. "i like that young man and i'm not going to barge into his room in the middle of the night and ask him a lot of stupid questions." "all right," penny returned with a sigh. "but how easy it would be just to peep in the door and see if he's there." "i'll not do that either," replied mr. nichols. "you may have been mistaken about the prowler. you've taken such an imaginative turn this summer." "thanks, dad," penny drawled. she added mischievously: "let me know when you've found the owner of the toy lantern." "there's good common sense behind my theory," said mr. nichols seriously. "inspector harris seems to think i'm on the wrong track but i have a hunch----" "in that case you should be generous with your daughter," penny laughed. "she has a hunch too." "we'll call a truce," mr. nichols smiled. "you're free to trace down all the mystery you can find at kendon providing that you don't ask me to discharge michael." "seriously, dad, i think something is going on here that would bear investigation," penny said soberly. "i'd like to delve into it but i need a sympathetic helper." "i'm sorry, penny, but i haven't time to play around." "i didn't mean you at all, dad," penny laughed. "i was thinking about susan altman. would you mind if i invited her down here for a few days?" "go ahead if you like. she'll be company for you while i'm working on the kirmenbach case." "i'll send a letter right away," penny declared eagerly. the next morning after writing to her friend she walked down to the village to post the letter. dropping in at the grocery store for a loaf of bread she deliberately drew the genial owner into conversation, seeking information regarding herman crocker. "i feel rather sorry for him," she remarked. "i'm sure that he hasn't enough money to feed himself and his grandson properly." "don't you worry about that," replied the storekeeper with a quick laugh. "old herman has more money than anyone in this town. he inherited plenty when his sister jennie died in the east. herman was her only heir, and when he dies the money probably will go to his grandson, perry." "doesn't mr. crocker have any other living relatives?" penny questioned. she was thinking of walter crocker. "not to my knowledge," answered the storekeeper. "the crocker family has just about died out." penny paid for the bread and walked slowly back toward the cottage. she glanced curiously at the crocker homestead as she passed it, but as usual the blinds were drawn and the place seemed deserted. "how unhappy perry must be there," she thought. "he should go to school and have playmates his own age. i can't see why someone doesn't take an interest in his welfare." during the next two days penny found time heavy upon her hands. mr. nichols frequently was absent from the cottage and mrs. masterbrook and michael proved very poor company. the housekeeper talked entirely too much about nothing while michael scarcely spoke a word unless penny asked him a direct question. on the afternoon of the second day, for want of another occupation, penny wandered up to the attic to look around once more. "if i really mean to learn anything about herman crocker i'll have to examine those letters," she reflected. "i don't know whether to do it or not." penny opened the trunk and noticed that the layer of clothing had been disturbed. she did not remember having left the garments so carelessly. she refolded the clothes and then felt down in the bottom of the trunk for the packet of letters. it did not seem to be there. not until penny had removed all the clothing piece by piece could she realize that the letters were gone. the only papers remaining in the trunk were old receipts for bills paid. many of them were stamped tax statements. "someone has taken the letters," she told herself. "how foolish i was not to examine them when i had a chance." penny could only speculate upon what had become of the missing packet. she did not believe that herman crocker had taken the letters, for to her knowledge he had not returned to the cottage since his first visit. it was possible that the night prowler had opened the trunk, but a more likely supposition seemed to be that mrs. masterbrook had decided to get more "inside information." "that woman is a natural born snooper," the girl thought. "she knew that herman crocker was up here in the attic too, so it's quite possible she took the letters after he went away." although she was disappointed, penny did not believe that the missing letters had contained anything of vital significance. it was logical to assume that had they served as damaging evidence against herman crocker, the man would have destroyed them upon his visit to the attic. as penny was reflecting upon the problem, the stairway door opened and mrs. masterbrook called her name. "there's someone here to see you!" the housekeeper reported. penny was annoyed at having been caught in the attic. she had not known that mrs. masterbrook was anywhere about the premises. it was just another proof that nothing seemed to escape the vigilant eye of the woman. "i'll be there in a minute," penny said. she closed the lid of the trunk, wiped her dusty hands and went quickly down the stairs. reaching the front door, she gave a cry of amazed delight. "susan altman!" "i thought you'd be surprised," laughed the other girl, as penny gave her a welcome hug. "when your letter arrived i didn't stop to debate. i just jumped on the train and came." "i'm tickled pink!" penny declared slangily. "when you didn't write, i had started to believe you weren't coming. but why did you walk from town? why didn't you telephone?" "i didn't know you had one." "oh, yes, we have all the modern conveniences," laughed penny. "you must be dead tired. come on in." "i'm not a bit tired," susan insisted, "but i'd like to wash a few of the cinders out of my eyes. such a dirty old train." "let me take your suitcase," cried penny. the girls went inside and while susan freshened herself from the journey, they talked as fast as they could. "what's all this mystery you wrote me about?" susan asked in an undertone. "who is mrs. masterbrook, and where is that old house you mentioned?" "you'll hear all about it," penny promised eagerly. "but let's wait until we're away from the cottage." "even the walls have ears?" laughed susan. "no, but our housekeeper has," penny replied. the girls soon left the cottage, walking down by the ravine where they would be alone. penny told her chum everything that had happened since she and her father had arrived at kendon. susan did not feel that her friend had placed an imaginative interpretation upon any of the events. "i'm glad you're in sympathy with me," penny laughed. "i'm hoping that together we may be able to help little perry crocker. and incidentally, we might stumble into a mystery which would rival dad's toy lantern case." "you know i want to help," said susan eagerly. "but i'm an awful dub. i never have any ideas." "i'm a little short of them myself just now," penny admitted. "but first we'll go down to the crocker place. i'm anxious for you to meet the main characters of our melodrama." "i think i noticed the house on the way up the hill," susan replied. "is it that ancient, vine-covered mansion?" "yes, mrs. masterbrook told me old herman moved in there after his sister died. he used to live in this cottage." "and where is this young man named michael haymond?" "i don't know what became of him," penny admitted. "he should be somewhere around." "is he good looking?" "you would ask that," teased penny. "no, michael isn't handsome, but he's nice." "you said in your letter that you thought he might be a crook----" "well, he acted mysteriously at first," penny said defensively. "but after you get to know him, he seems like anyone else, only he's very reserved." "perhaps mr. crocker will turn out that way." "i don't think so," penny smiled. "he's really an eccentric character. do you mind walking down knob hill?" "not at all. i need a little exercise." the distance between the cottage and mr. crocker's house was only a quarter of a mile. penny intended to use as a pretext for calling upon the old man that she wished to buy more eggs. however, as the girls drew near the mansion they saw mr. crocker's car coming down the lane. "there goes herman now!" penny exclaimed. "and perry is with him." the car reached the end of the lane and turned down the main road toward kendon. "well, it looks as if i'll not get to meet the old gentleman after all," commented susan. "no, but this will be a good time to see the house at close range. with mr. crocker away, we can look around as much as we please." as the girls walked on up the lane penny told susan about the automobile which she had seen parked in mr. crocker's barn. "what do you think became of the owner?" asked susan. "you're not intimating that walter crocker never went back to the city?" "i've asked myself that question a great many times. i know that mr. crocker's nephew came here to claim an inheritance, yet the people of kendon are under the impression that old herman has no living relatives except perry." "you're making a very serious accusation against mr. crocker." "oh, i'm not saying that he had anything to do with his nephew's disappearance," penny said quickly. "i'm just speculating about it. for that matter, i'd not tell anyone else my thoughts." "it wouldn't be wise----" susan began. her words ended in a gasp of alarm for at that moment mr. crocker's hound came around the corner of the house. both girls stopped short. "rudy is vicious!" penny warned. "and he's been left unchained." "let's get away from here." the girls turned and started hurriedly back down the lane, but the hound had made up his mind that they were intruders. with a low growl he leaped toward them. "run!" cried susan in terror. instead of fleeing, penny stooped to snatch up a stick. rudy sprang at her, and the force of his powerful body knocked her to the ground. susan screamed in terror. help was closer at hand than either of the girls suspected. a man had been crouching behind the hedge. as penny struggled to regain her feet, he came running toward her. it was michael haymond. chapter xii the matron's story "stay where you are!" commanded the young man sternly. he seized the stick from penny's hand and used it to beat off the dog. rudy showed very little fight. when he felt the sting of the switch he ran off whining toward the barn. penny picked herself up and dusted off her linen dress. "thank you, michael," she said soberly. "it wasn't anything," the young man replied. "the dog is mostly bluff." "he bluffs too realistically to suit me," penny returned ruefully. "you're not hurt?" "no, the dog knocked me over but his teeth missed me. i'm glad you happened to be here at the right time, michael." "so am i." the young man glanced quickly at penny and then looked away. he seemed to realize that she was expecting him to offer an explanation for his presence at the crocker place. the thought had occurred to penny, but in view of the service which michael had rendered, she decided not to question him. instead she graciously introduced the young man to susan. "since mr. crocker isn't at home we may as well be walking back to the cottage," penny remarked after the three had chatted for a moment. "rudy may muster his courage and take after me again." "i'll go along with you," said michael falling into step with the girls. "i came to see herman crocker too." neither penny nor susan offered any comment. they were quite sure that the young man had been crouching behind the hedge. they believed that he had observed mr. crocker drive away, and they thought that probably he had been watching their own movements. during the walk back to the cottage, the girls chatted pleasantly with michael. susan, unaware that the young man had been uncommunicative regarding his past history, began to ask him casual questions about his home town. "you were born in the west, penny tells me," she commented. "that's right," the young man agreed uneasily. "i'd never have suspected it," susan went on. "you don't talk like a westerner. did you live on a ranch?" michael shook his head. he hesitated and then said in a low tone: "i spent most of my early life in an orphan's home. it was a place called glenhaven." "why, there's a home in this state by that name!" cried penny. "well, that's certainly odd," replied michael, avoiding her gaze. "but i suppose glenhaven is a common name." "tell us more about yourself," urged susan. "there's nothing to tell. i don't know very much about my parents. i was just turned over to the home until i was eighteen years of age. i worked hard there but i was well treated. then i left and got a job in a factory, but times turned hard and i was laid off. that about brings me up to date." penny thought: "but it doesn't explain why you came to kendon to see herman crocker." however, her serene countenance gave no hint that she doubted any of michael's story. alone in penny's bedroom, the girls discussed the young man. "i like him a great deal," said susan. "and so do i," penny agreed, "but that doesn't alter facts. i feel certain he's not telling us a straightforward story. he may have been born in the west but i believe he's spent a great deal of his life right herein this state." "what makes you think so, penny?" "because in talking with him i've noticed that he's always well versed in local history and state politics. and another thing--i doubt that glenhaven is a common name for an orphan's home." "he did act embarrassed about that." "do you want to know what i think?" asked penny earnestly. "i suspect michael haymond spent most of his life in the glenhaven home which is in this state--not out west." "but why should he try to hide the fact?" "i couldn't guess. it's remotely possible he's been mixed up in trouble, but michael seems like a decent sort." "if we were really prying we could write to the glenhaven officials," susan said slowly. "i don't consider it prying to try to find out more about the man," returned penny. "a good detective always investigates every angle of a case. i could send a letter off tonight only it will take so long to get a reply." "a week at best, i'd judge." "glenhaven isn't far from here!" penny cried. "let's drive over there tomorrow. i think dad would let me have the car if he doesn't need it himself." "why, i'd enjoy the trip," susan declared promptly. "we could start early and take our lunch," penny planned enthusiastically. when mr. nichols came home she asked him if they might use the car the following day. the detective readily agreed. he was delighted that susan had arrived to visit penny for he felt that the girls would have an enjoyable time together. "any news about your toy lantern?" penny asked her father teasingly. "none worth mentioning," the detective replied. "i'm getting a little discouraged." "don't hesitate to call upon me if you need my sleuthing services," penny laughed. "i'm doing very well with my own case." early the next morning penny and susan set off for glenhaven, telling no one save mr. nichols of their destination. they did not wish either mrs. masterbrook or michael to gain an inkling of their mission. noon found the girls within view of the orphan's home. it was a private institution and from the outside at least, a pleasant looking place. the brick building had several long wings and there was a wide expanse of bent grass lawn. "did you ever see such a beautiful yard?" asked susan admiringly. "it looks as smooth as a floor." "it's almost too pretty," said penny. "i'd rather see the grass worn thin in places. then i'd know that children had been playing on it instead of being cooped up inside." the girls turned in at the grounds and drove up to the front door. upon asking to see the matron they were shown into mrs. barker's office. "what may i do for you?" the woman inquired pleasantly. under her intent scrutiny, penny found it difficult to state her mission. she managed to say that she was trying to learn if an orphan named michael haymond had ever lived at the home. "one moment and i will see," replied the matron. she rang a bell and instructed an attendant to check over the institution records. in a short while the report came back. no person by the name of michael haymond had ever resided at the glenhaven home. "it's barely possible the young man took the name of haymond after leaving the institution," penny said slowly. "i wonder if you would recognize him by description?" "how long has he been away?" questioned the matron. "i am only guessing but i should say at least two years." "then i'd not remember him. you see i took charge of the glenhaven home only nine months ago. the person for you to see is mrs. havers. she was matron here for over twenty years." "do you know where i could find her?" inquired penny. "i will give you her address." mrs. barker reached for pencil and paper. "does she live close by?" penny asked. "yes, only a short distance away in the town of ferndale. mrs. havers left her duties here upon account of serious illness, but i understand she is considerably improved now." penny thanked the matron and accepting the slip of paper, left the institution in company with susan. outside the building the girls paused to consider their next move. "it shouldn't take us long to find mrs. havers," penny declared. "let's go to her place." "all right, we have plenty of time," susan agreed. "only it looks useless because if michael had ever lived here his name would have been on the records." "yes, unless he changed his name," penny admitted, "but let's go anyway." the girls drove on to the town of ferndale and had little difficulty in locating the address given them by mrs. barker. they were admitted to an overly heated brick cottage by an elderly woman with white hair and kind gray eyes. the living room was so warm and stuffy that penny had trouble in breathing but mrs. havers apparently did not notice. "you wish to see me concerning a former inmate of the glenhaven home?" the old lady asked after penny and susan had stated their mission. "i'll be glad to answer any of your questions." "we are trying to trace a young man by the name of michael haymond," penny explained. "would you remember him?" "i have never forgotten a single child who was ever placed under my care," replied mrs. havers with a smile. "but i am certain that no one by that name ever lived at the home." "then i am afraid we were mistaken in our facts," penny said in disappointment. "you are sure you have the right name?" "why, i think so," penny replied doubtfully. "the reason i ask is that we did have an orphan by the name of michael in our institution," mrs. havers declared reflectively. "he was one of my favorites. there was some mystery about his parentage, but he seemed to come from a good family." "do you recall his full name?" penny questioned. "oh, yes, it was michael gladwin." "that sounds a trifle like haymond," susan commented. "michael was brought to the institution when he was two years old," mrs. havers recalled. "his parents had been killed in an auto accident we were told, but while the facts were officially recorded, i always doubted the story." "may i ask why you doubted it?" penny inquired. "i consider myself a fairly good judge of character," mrs. havers replied. "the man who brought michael to our home was a very peculiar person. he claimed to be no relation to the boy, yet he had taken a deep liking to him and was willing to pay for his keep at the institution." "that would seem very generous," penny remarked. "so i thought. from his appearance, one would never suspect that the man had such a character." "didn't you investigate him?" asked susan. "it is not the policy of the glenhaven home to probe deeply into the parentage of the children placed there," mrs. havers replied. "babies left on our doorstep receive the same treatment as those brought by parents unable to keep their offsprings. in this case, the man paid michael's way for five years in advance." "after that i suppose you never heard from him again?" penny inquired. "to the contrary, money came regularly for ten years. however, during that period, no one ever visited the boy." "can you tell us the name of the person who brought michael to the home?" penny questioned. "it has slipped my mind for the moment. let me see--the name began with a k. it seems to me it was keenan or very similar. the money always came from a place by the name of fairfax." "what became of michael?" inquired susan curiously. "he lived at the home until he was eighteen years of age," mrs. havers answered. "then we found a position for him. after that our record ceases." "did you never make any attempt to trace the boy's parentage?" penny asked thoughtfully. "yes, a number of years ago i wrote to fairfax. it was a strange thing--the letter was never answered. and from that day, funds ceased to come for michael's support." "it appeared as if the man who had been paying for the boy's keep feared an investigation," penny commented. "yes, that is what i thought. i would have probed deeper into the matter but at that time i was taken ill. i went to a hospital for over a year, then i resumed my duties, only to give them up again a few months ago." mrs. havers began to talk of her own ailments and the girls had little opportunity to ask additional questions about michael. "i am sorry that i've not been able to help you," the woman said regretfully as she escorted the girls to the door. "of course the michael of my story has no connection with the young man you are trying to trace." "probably not," penny agreed. "thank you for giving us so much of your time." when the door had closed behind them, she turned eagerly to her chum. "susan, i didn't like to say so in front of mrs. havers, but why couldn't michael haymond and michael gladwin be the same person?" "michael is a common name." "yes, but many of the facts in michael haymond's life dovetail with those told us by mrs. havers." "there may be a slight similarity," susan acknowledged. "but we can never prove anything." penny stared at her chum for an instant. then her face relaxed into a broad smile. "susan, i have a dandy idea!" she cried. "fairfax isn't far from here. let's drive there right now and see if we can't locate that mysterious mr. keenan!" chapter xiii a bolt of cloth susan instantly approved of penny's idea, so the girls drove on toward fairfax, a small city of several thousand inhabitants. they stopped at a corner drugstore to consult a telephone directory. at least fifteen families by the name of keenan were listed. "this isn't going to be as easy as i thought," penny said in disappointment. "i suppose we could telephone every keenan in the book," susan ventured. "what could we say?" penny asked. "'i beg your pardon, but are you the person who took michael gladwin to the orphan's home?' we'd receive nothing but rebuffs." "i guess it would be silly," susan agreed. "let's give it up." "we might try the postoffice," penny said after a moment's thought. they located the government building in the downtown section of fairfax only to meet disappointment once more. the postmaster listened politely enough while penny told him that she was seeking a certain mr. keenan who for many years had regularly mailed letters to the glenhaven orphan's home, but she could tell that he considered her request for information rather ridiculous. "we handle hundreds of letters a day here," he explained. "it would be impossible for me to remember any particular one." penny and susan went back to the car, convinced that they could do no more. "we may as well go home," penny declared gloomily. "our day has been wasted." "oh, i'd not say that," replied susan cheerfully. "we've had an interesting time, and we learned quite a few facts from mrs. havers." "we don't know a bit more about michael haymond than we did before. he may be the same person as michael gladwin but we'll never be able to prove it." "not unless he breaks down and admits it, i fear." "i'd not want michael to think i was prying into his past life," penny said hastily. "after all, it's really none of my affair where he spent his early years. i'll just forget about it." the girls might have been unable to dismiss the affair completely from their minds had it not been that the following day another development crowded all else into the background. susan had started to knit a sweater. finding that she was in need of more wool, she asked penny to walk down to the village dry goods store with her. while susan was trying to match her sample, penny roved about the store, gazing at the various objects. she had never seen such a strange mixture in any one establishment before. there was a grocery section, a candy department, one devoted to books and stationery, a shoe section, and sundry articles too numerous to mention. suddenly penny's attention was drawn to a bolt of cloth lying on the counter. it was white material of a curious weave. the girl crossed over to examine it. "are you thinking of buying yourself a dress, penny?" asked susan. she had come up behind her chum. "oh! you startled me!" exclaimed penny with a little laugh. "susan, i wish you'd look at this cloth!" "i don't like it at all if you want my honest opinion," replied susan. "the material is too coarse." "i don't intend to buy it for a dress," penny explained quickly, lowering her voice. "do you remember that broken toy lantern which i showed you?" "of course i do. you mean the one which your father believes to be a clue in the kirmenbach case?" "yes." "i still don't understand what you are driving at," susan said a trifle impatiently. "what connection does it have with this bolt of dress goods?" "look at the cloth very closely," penny urged. "now don't you see?" "no, i don't." "have you forgotten the wick of the toy lantern?" "the wick----" repeated susan slowly. "oh! the cloth is the same!" "it's the very same weave," penny nodded. "at least that would be my guess. the wick of that toy lantern might have been made from a scrap of cloth sold from this very bolt of goods!" "i'd never have noticed a thing like that in a million years," susan murmured in awe. "penny, you've uncovered an important clue in your father's case." "i may be wrong about it," penny admitted. she lowered her voice for the storekeeper was coming toward the girls. "may i show you something in yard goods?" he inquired. "that bolt on the counter is one of our popular pieces." "have you sold very much of it?" penny asked quickly. "oh, yes, indeed. a great many women in kendon have had suits made from this particular pattern. it is very reasonably priced too--only thirty-nine cents a yard." "could you give me a list of the persons who have bought material from this bolt?" penny questioned eagerly. the storekeeper regarded her rather blankly for the request was a strange one. "well, no, i'm afraid i can't," he replied. "half the women in town buy yard goods from me. but i'm sure you can't go wrong in making this selection." "i'll take a quarter of a yard," penny told him. "only a quarter of a yard?" "yes, that will do for a sample. i may want more later on." the storekeeper cut off the material and wrapped it up. penny and susan left the store with their purchases. "i'm going straight back to the cottage and compare this cloth with the wick of the toy lantern!" penny exclaimed when they were beyond the storekeeper's hearing. "it's a pity so many persons bought the material," susan commented. "otherwise it might be possible to trace the buyers." "yes," agreed penny, "but the clue may prove to be a valuable one anyway. if this cloth is the same as the toy lantern wick, it's very possible that the thief who stole the kirmenbach jewels lives right in this town." "aren't you forgetting that other stores may have the same kind of material for sale," susan remarked. "that's possible of course. oh, dad may not consider the clue of much value, but at least it's worth reporting." mr. nichols was sitting on the front porch when the girls reached the cottage. making certain that mrs. masterbrook was not within hearing, penny told him of her important discovery in the village. mr. nichols examined the cloth very closely and then compared it with the wick of the toy lantern. "the material looks exactly the same to me, dad!" penny declared excitedly. "it is identical," her father agreed. "where did you say you bought the goods?" "at hunters store. unfortunately, every woman in kendon seems to have bought this same material." mr. nichols reached for his hat. "i'm going down there now and talk with the storekeeper," he declared. "then you think the clue is important, dad." "yes, i do, penny. it may not lead to anything, but one can never be sure." "didn't i tell you to call on me if you needed help with the case?" laughed penny. "you certainly did," her father agreed good-naturedly. "as a detective i'm afraid you're showing me up in a bad light." before leaving the cottage mr. nichols was careful to lock the toy lantern in his room. considering its value in the kirmenbach case he did not wish to run any risk of having it stolen. mr. nichols was absent from the cottage a little over an hour. when penny saw him coming up the road she ran to meet him. "did you learn anything, dad?" she asked eagerly. the detective shook his head. "i'm satisfied that the material is the same," he replied, "but the storekeeper couldn't remember anyone who had bought the goods from him. he seems to be a stupid fellow." penny walked along with her father for some distance without making any response. then she said half apologetically: "dad, i have an idea, but i suppose it's a very silly one." "what is it, penny?" the detective asked soberly. "i have a theory that the thief who took the kirmenbach jewels may have been some person living in this locality." "that is possible," mr. nichols agreed. "in that case the toy lantern probably belonged to some child who may reside in or near kendon." "true." "this is my idea," penny explained. "why not display the lantern in some prominent place where children will be likely to see it--for instance the candy department of hunter's store. take mr. hunter into your confidence and have him on the lookout for the original owner of the toy lantern. a child seeing it on the store shelf would be almost certain to identify the property as his." mr. nichols did not laugh. instead he remained thoughtfully silent for a moment. "there may be something in your idea, penny," he said gravely. "if we could locate the owner of the toy lantern it should prove fairly easy to trace the thief. but the chance that the right child would enter the store and recognize the toy is a very slim one." "would it do any harm to try?" "no, we've nothing to lose," mr. nichols declared. "i've tried all the sensible ways of tracing the thief, and have met with no success. we may as well test out your theory." "when will you see mr. hunter?" penny asked eagerly. "we'll get the toy lantern and go right back there together," mr. nichols promised. he smiled down at his daughter. "and by the way, there's a new development in the kirmenbach case which i forgot to mention." "what is that, dad?" "mr. kirmenbach has offered a five hundred dollar reward for the capture of the jewel thief. so you see, if your idea should lead to anything, it will prove a very profitable one." chapter xiv a conversation overheard penny had scant hope that ever she would win the reward offered by mr. kirmenbach. she knew as well as did her father that there was not one chance in fifty that her unique plan would bring results. mr. hunter, upon being taken into the detective's confidence, was very willing to cooperate. he placed the broken toy lantern on a prominent shelf near the candy counter and promised to report at once if any child appeared to claim the trinket. susan and penny fell into the habit of dropping into the store whenever they were in the village. they saw many children come to buy candy and all-day-suckers, but days passed and no child took the slightest interest in the broken lantern. "i'm afraid it was just another dud idea," penny admitted ruefully. "you are entirely too impatient," said her father. "cases aren't solved in a week. the idea hasn't been thoroughly tested yet." "i've lost confidence in it," penny declared. "it was a long shot at best," returned mr. nichols. "however, we'll leave the toy lantern at mr. hunter's store for another week at least." temporarily losing interest in her father's case, penny remembered that as yet susan had never met old herman crocker. "we might go back there this afternoon," she suggested. "i don't care for mr. crocker's dog," susan said uneasily. "michael may not be around to help us out of trouble again." "oh, we can be careful," penny replied. "anyway, i think that rudy is mostly bluff. i doubt he would bite." "i notice you had a different opinion when he was coming at you!" teased susan. "but if you're brave enough to go i suppose i'll tag along even if we do get bit." "i have a great curiosity to learn if walter crocker's car is still in the barn," penny confessed. "somehow i keep feeling that there's some mystery about that fellow's disappearance." "if the dog is around we'll probably never get within a mile of the barn. but come on! you'll never be satisfied until we're chewed to bits." the girls did not choose their usual route which led along the road. instead they cut through the woods, intending to approach mr. crocker's place from the direction of the barn. when susan and penny emerged from the trees they were on mr. crocker's farm. they could see two men standing by the barn. "there is herman crocker now!" exclaimed penny as they halted. "but who is with him?" "it looks a little like michael haymond," said susan. "it's not michael," penny corrected. "why, i do believe it's walter crocker!" "old herman's nephew!" "yes, i'm sure it is he." "but penny, you said he disappeared," susan protested. "you thought old herman was responsible----" "it seems i was wrong," penny admitted ruefully. "i may have misjudged herman crocker completely. i thought he was an unscrupulous person, but it doesn't look so much like it now." "they're having some sort of argument," susan observed. "i wish we could hear what they're saying." "let's try to get closer. we can move behind the barn and probably hear everything without being observed." the two men were so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to see the girls moving stealthily across the clearing. a moment more and they were protected by the barn. penny and susan crept as close to the men as they dared and then stood listening. they could hear walter crocker speaking. "this is the last warning i'll give you," he told the old man. "will you fork up the money or shall i go to the authorities?" "give me time," herman replied in a whining voice. "i've already given you all the cash i have in the bank." "i know better," said walter crocker grimly. "you have plenty of money but you're too miserly to part with it. but maybe you'd rather keep your stolen gold and go to jail!" "you can't send me to jail--i've done nothing wrong." "no?" asked the other mockingly. "i suppose you consider it perfectly legal to appropriate the inheritance of your nephew and lead townfolks to believe that your sister died without leaving a child." "you have no proof that you are jenny's child. i'm not going to pay you another cent. it's blackmail!" "call it what you like," replied walter crocker with a sneer. "i am your sister jenny's child whom you thought to be safely out of the way. and i do have proof." "i don't believe it," retorted the old man. "there could be no proof." "you've already given me five hundred dollars hush money which is indication enough that you accept my story as the truth." "i did that merely to get rid of you." "well, you'll not escape so easily this time, mr. crocker. either you turn over a good portion of the estate to me or i'll go to law." "your case would be thrown out of court. without proof----" "my proof will stand up in any court," walter crocker interrupted. "it happens that i have a certain packet of letters which were written to you by my mother before her death. and there is another communication from a woman named hilda frank----" "so you are the one who stole the letters from the trunk of my cottage!" herman crocker cried in rage. "i could have you arrested for house breaking!" "i'd not act too hastily if i were you," returned the nephew coolly. "however, i didn't steal the letters. they came into my possession in a perfectly legitimate way." "i know better. you could have obtained those letters only by stealing them!" "i'll not argue with you," replied walter crocker evenly, "for after all it is immaterial. the point is that i have the letters. now will you come to terms or shall i tell my story around kendon?" there was a long silence and then the girls heard old herman say in a weary voice: "how much do you want?" "i thought you would be reasonable in the matter," the other returned triumphantly. "i understand that my mother left an estate of eighty thousand dollars." "it was a great deal less than that," old herman muttered. "not wishing to be too hard on you i'll settle for an even fifty thousand dollars," walter crocker went on. "fifty thousand dollars," the old man groaned. "it's robbery." "you forget that i am entitled to the entire estate. it was you who robbed me. well, do you agree?" "you must give me time to raise the money." "i'll expect a first installment in exactly one week from today," walter crocker said firmly. "i'll pay it only on one condition," replied the old man with rising spirit. "you must deliver to me the packet of letters. otherwise i'd be blackmailed out of every penny i own." "you'll get the letters all right." "show them to me now." "i can't do that," walter crocker replied, and penny thought she detected a trace of uneasiness in his voice. "perhaps you haven't the letters at all," herman crocker said quickly. "oh, yes, i have. but i don't carry them around with me. i'll bring them a week from today." "all right, but remember, no letters, no money. and another thing, i can't have you coming here. already folks are talking about your car being in my barn. i shouldn't have towed it here for you." "would you have wanted me to take it to a kendon garage?" "no," answered herman crocker shortly. "i thought not. well, where shall i meet you if you don't want me coming here?" "at the footbridge by the ravine." "where is that?" walter crocker asked. "a quarter of a mile below my cottage. be there next thursday night at ten o'clock." "i'll be waiting," returned the young man. he started to walk away. "are you taking your car?" herman crocker called after him. "i fixed the wheel." "yes, i'll get it now," the young man replied. as the girls saw old herman walk toward the house alone they felt a trifle sorry for him. there was no question as to his misdeeds, yet their sympathies went out to him rather than to walter crocker who evidently had been deprived of his rightful inheritance. penny and susan heard the barn doors open and knew that the young man was getting out his car. as he remained in the building longer than seemed necessary, they moved around to a dust covered window and peered curiously inside. "why, he's searching for something!" penny whispered. walter crocker had removed the seat cushions and was examining every inch of the automobile. his face was twisted with worry. the girls could hear him muttering angrily to himself. "what do you imagine he has lost?" susan asked in an undertone. "you can tell by the way he acts that it's something important." "i don't know, of course," penny replied with a chuckle. "but i have a sneaking idea it may be herman crocker's packet of letters!" chapter xv the missing letters "what makes you think he has lost the letters?" susan whispered to her chum. "didn't he tell herman crocker that he would positively deliver them next thursday night?" "yes," nodded penny, "but obviously he had to say that. i thought he acted very uneasy as if he might not have the evidence in his possession." the girls did not peep into the barn again for they were afraid that herman crocker might see them. quietly they stole back to the woods and started for the cottage. "well, penny, you were right about old herman being a mysterious character," susan commented as they walked along. "i feel a little disappointed though," penny returned. "now that everything is explained so nicely we'll not have any more fun." "there are a great many things i don't understand." "i'm not clear on every point," penny admitted, "but in general i have an idea of the trouble." "then i wish you'd explain it to me." "well, from the conversation we overheard, it's evident that walter crocker is trying to blackmail his uncle. only legally i suppose it wouldn't be blackmail because walter is entitled to the entire fortune." "then you believe herman crocker really did cheat him out of the money?" susan asked. "mr. crocker practically admitted it, didn't he? i gathered that sometime during his life he had received letters from his sister, jenny, and another woman--letters which probably mentioned the boy, walter. herman made a bad mistake when he kept those communications." "but what became of walter after jenny's death?" susan questioned in deep perplexity. "why didn't his claim to the fortune come up at that time? and how did he get the letters?" "in some manner old herman must have kept walter in ignorance," penny replied thoughtfully. "i have no idea how he finally learned the truth. as for the letters, i believe they were stored in the trunk of the cottage attic." "think what an opportunity you missed!" susan exclaimed. "i'm not sure how long the letters have been there. i remember that several days ago old herman came to the cottage and went to the attic. at the time i couldn't imagine what he was after. now i feel certain he was alarmed because walter crocker had attempted to extort money from him. undoubtedly, he came to find the letters which he knew would stand as damaging evidence against him." "you think the letters already had been taken?" susan questioned. "herman didn't find what he was after, i know. you remember he accused walter of stealing the letters." "yes, but he denied the charge." "walter might have been lying, but he acted sincere," penny said slowly. "anyway, when i looked in the trunk--that was after herman had visited the cottage--a package of letters was still there. however, i doubt that it was the right packet or herman would have taken it with him." "yet you told me that when you went to the attic the second time, the letters were gone," susan reminded her chum. "that is right. if the letters wouldn't stand as damaging evidence against herman i don't see who would want them." "mightn't it have been that man who tried to break into your cottage at night?" "it could have been all right," penny admitted, "but i didn't hear the fellow in the attic. i was under the impression that he had just entered the cottage when i awoke." "it seems to me that there is a great deal which isn't explained." "the part about the letters is still a deep mystery," penny acknowledged. "but we do know that old herman cheated his nephew out of a fortune, and that fate has caught up with him at last." "i suppose the old man deserves everything he gets," susan commented. "i don't like him a bit, but for that matter there's something about walter crocker that gives me the creeps too. he has such a snakey look!" the girls emerged from the woods close to the nichols' cottage. observing that an automobile stood by the fence, they both halted. "why, that is walter crocker's car!" susan exclaimed in an undertone. "he must have driven straight over here from herman's place," penny added. "now what do you suppose he wants?" the girls walked slowly on. as they drew near the automobile, walter crocker alighted and tipped his hat politely. "how do you do, miss nichols," he said with a forced smile. "i'm not sure if you remember me or not." "i remember you perfectly," replied penny, hiding her uneasiness. she was afraid that the man might have seen susan and herself peeping through the window of the barn. "i feel very grateful for the ride which you and your father gave me some nights ago," said walter crocker. "i must apologize for running off the way i did without thanking you. i was in such a hurry to reach my uncle's home." penny and susan drew a breath of relief. they were glad that the man did not intend to question them concerning their latest actions. "oh, that was quite all right," penny replied. "we assumed that you had gone on to mr. crocker's place." the young man shifted his weight uneasily. "oh, by the way," he said, "i don't suppose you found a package of letters in the rumble seat?" "letters?" repeated penny. "i thought perhaps they might have dropped from my pocket while i was riding with you." "were they valuable?" asked penny very innocently. "only to me," answered walter crocker shortly. "but i must have them back. do you mind if i look in the back end of your car?" "you'd be welcome to search if it were here." "where is the car?" demanded the man, in his anxiety forgetting to be polite. "i couldn't say right now, mr. crocker. my father has the automobile." "when will he return?" "probably not before evening," penny replied, thinking quickly. "you might drop back after supper. he should be here by then." "thank you," said walter crocker shortly. he climbed into the car and drove away. "that's a good one!" laughed penny, highly amused. "he has lost the crocker letters all right, and he thinks they may be in our car!" "don't you expect your father home before night?" asked susan. "of course i don't know exactly when he'll come," chuckled penny. "but i'd not be surprised to see him driving in any minute. i wanted to give myself plenty of time to examine the car before mr. crocker returns." "what would you do if you found the letters, penny?" "i haven't thought that far," penny admitted. "but the chance that they're in our car is a very slim one." the girls stationed themselves on the front porch so that they would not miss mr. nichols when he drove in. two hours later they glimpsed the car coming up knob hill. penny meant to tell her father everything that had happened during the day, but the detective seemed to have important matters on his mind. when the girls ran down to the car to meet him, he responded absent-mindedly to their greetings and went on into the cottage. "penny!" exclaimed susan. "there's another auto coming up the hill!" "and it looks like walter crocker's car!" penny cried in alarm. "quick! we've no time to lose!" the girls darted to mr. nichols' automobile and lifted up the rumble seat. while susan anxiously watched the road, penny climbed up and peered into the bottom of the car. "susan, they're here!" she squealed in delight. "and so is walter crocker," susan muttered in an undertone. "he's looking right this way." with her back turned to the approaching automobile, penny deftly slipped the package of letters into the front of her dress. she pretended to keep on searching in the bottom of the car. "act as if everything is perfectly natural," she warned susan in a whisper. mr. crocker stopped his car with a jerk and sprang out. he glanced suspiciously at the girls as he came toward them. "oh, how do you do, mr. crocker," penny said, climbing slowly down from the rumble. "dad just drove in a minute ago. i was looking for your letters." "are they there?" the man asked sharply. "perhaps you ought to look," penny replied, avoiding susan's glance. "i had just started to search when you drove up." walter crocker climbed up on the step and made a careful examination of the interior of the automobile. penny and susan stood watching him with perfectly innocent faces. they knew that he would not find the letters. the man did not like to give up. "they may have been pushed up forward out of sight," he said. "do you have a flashlight?" "i'll get one from the garage," penny offered. she and susan went into the building, lingering there while they enjoyed a good laugh at the expense of walter crocker. they were just ready to return with the flashlight when penny suddenly placed a restraining hand on susan's arm. "wait!" she whispered. unaware that the girls were in the garage, mrs. masterbrook came hurrying from the cottage. she went directly toward walter crocker, her face convulsed with anger. "why did you come here?" she demanded. "you should have known better!" "i had to come," retorted the man in an undertone. he cast an anxious glance toward the garage. "now get away from here unless you want to give everything away!" "i didn't know anyone was around," the housekeeper muttered. she turned and fled into the house. penny and susan waited a minute or two before emerging from the garage with the flashlight. "sorry i was so long," apologized penny. "it doesn't matter," replied walter crocker crossly. "i've looked everywhere. the letters aren't here." "you must have dropped them some other place," said susan innocently. "yes," nodded penny, "you might have left them at mr. crocker's place. have you inquired there?" "no, i haven't," the man replied shortly. without another word he climbed into his own car and drove away. "that was a good quip--telling him to inquire of herman crocker!" susan laughed after the man was out of sight. "i thought he would explode with rage!" penny was staring thoughtfully toward the house. "susan," she said, "mrs. masterbrook evidently knew walter crocker." "yes, that was queer, wasn't it?" "she seemed to be afraid of him," penny went on in a low voice. "or rather, she appeared to fear that someone would find him here at the cottage. what do you make of it?" "i think," drawled susan, "that the mystery is a long way from explained." "and i agree with you," said penny, "but these letters may help a little. come on, let's go down to the ravine and read them." chapter xvi a lost handkerchief the girls ran down the path to the ravine, selecting a sunny spot by a large rock. from where they sat they could look far down the valley and see the swinging footbridge which herman crocker had designated as a meeting place with his nephew. "well, here are the letters," penny said gaily, removing them from her dress. "wouldn't walter rave if he knew we had them!" "they're worth fifty thousand dollars!" susan laughed. "at least that's the price walter expects to make his uncle pay for them. penny, what would happen if we just kept these letters?" "i suppose old herman would refuse to pay over the money. i know i should in his case." "then why wouldn't that be a good solution of the matter?" "it would from old herman's standpoint," penny said dryly. "but you're forgetting that walter isn't actually a blackmailer. the money really belongs to him." "then by keeping these letters we might be depriving him of his rightful inheritance?" "it seems that way. i don't like walter any better than you do--he appears to be a rather unscrupulous fellow even if he does have the law on his side. however, we can't let our personal feelings enter into the matter." "that being the case, why did we interfere at all?" susan asked. "wouldn't it have been better not to have taken the letters? now if we decide to give then back, we'll have a lot of explaining to do." "you are perfectly right, of course, susan. my curiosity simply got the best of me again. i felt as if i had to read these letters." "then let's read them," susan laughed. penny untied the cord which bound the letters into a neat package. there were eight of them all addressed to herman crocker. return notations in the corners showed that five of the letters were from the old man's sister, jenny. the others were from the woman named hilda frank and were postmarked, belgrade lakes, maine. "that is a summer resort place," penny commented as she opened the first letter. "if herman's sister had plenty of money she may have been staying there." susan crowded close beside her chum so that they might read the communications together. the letter from hilda frank disclosed several facts of interest. the woman, evidently a housekeeper for herman's sister, had written to say that her mistress had passed away following a sudden illness. she wished herman to come at once to take charge of funeral arrangements and to look after jenny's young son, walter. "jenny thought that no one would take care of him as well as you," the housekeeper wrote, "and the money she left will be more than enough to keep him. it is her wish as expressed in her will that if anything should ever happen to the boy, you are to be the sole heir--otherwise the money is to be kept in trust. "this will signed by my mistress on the day before her death is now in my possession. i await your arrival before filing it with the court." the two additional letters from hilda frank had been written weeks later, and inquired after the welfare of the boy, walter, indicating that herman crocker after going east to attend his sister's funeral had brought the lad home with him. "but we're quite certain herman never arrived here with walter," penny commented thoughtfully. "the only boy who has ever been seen at the crocker place is the old man's grandson." "what do you think happened?" susan asked. "obviously, from all we have learned, herman must have decided that he wanted all the money for himself. he then had the boy conveniently disappear." "how could he hope to get away with anything as crude as that?" "i don't know, but his plan seemed to work for many years. i suppose there weren't many persons who ever suspected that jenny had a child." "mrs. frank did." "yes, but herman probably quieted her with some simple story. anyway, she lived in maine and that's a long way from here." "it's inconceivable that he could get by with such high-handed robbery! stealing from a child!" "it is disgusting," penny agreed. "we don't know what became of walter, but probably he was brought up by some strange person in complete ignorance of his heritage." "then how did he learn his true name and that he had a right to the fortune? how did he know about these letters in the trunk?" "my theory collapses right there," penny admitted ruefully. "i can't figure that part out at all." "let's read the other letters," susan suggested. "we may learn something from them." the remaining communications were of no help at all. they were merely friendly letters written by jenny to her brother telling him how much she and her son were enjoying their stay at the lakes. she spoke at some length of her declining health and in one paragraph mentioned that if anything ever happened to her she trusted herman would take good care of walter. "after receiving a letter like that how could the old man be mean enough to act the way he did?" susan asked angrily. "it serves him right to lose the fortune! i'm glad that walter finally learned the truth." "so am i," penny agreed. "only it's too bad the young man couldn't have turned out to be a nicer type." "he may not have had the advantage of a good home." "i realize that, but aside from breeding, i don't like him." "the point is--what shall we do with these letters?" "oh, i guess i'll have to give them back," penny sighed. "i'll do it sometime before thursday night." she retied the letters and slipped them into her pocket. before the girls could leave the ravine, they heard someone coming through the woods. a moment later michael haymond appeared along the path. he was whistling a tune but broke off as he noticed penny and susan. "hello," he said pleasantly. "it's another warm day, isn't it?" penny and susan had been too busy to notice the weather, but they agreed that it was unpleasantly humid. michael paused to chat for a minute or two, and took out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. "have you been cutting more wood?" penny asked with a smile. "yes, i didn't know what else to do." "we have enough wood to last longer than we'll remain at the cottage," penny said. "why don't you try resting now and then?" "i'm not paid to do that." "you more than earn your salary," penny told him. "dad doesn't care whether you keep busy or not." "your father has been very good to me," michael said soberly. "i don't feel right about it. i think he's keeping me on because he knows i'd have trouble getting any other job." "nonsense, michael." "i don't feel right about drawing pay for nothing," the young man repeated. "you let him worry about that," penny laughed. "anyway, i suppose we'll be going back to the city soon." her words seemed to startle michael, but after a moment of silence, he nodded. "well, i'll be getting on up to the cottage," he said. "mrs. masterbrook probably has a job for me. when she can't think of anything else she has me peel potatoes." "that's her work, not yours," penny told him. "you're altogether too easy, michael." "your father said that part of my job was to keep mrs. masterbrook quiet," the young man grinned as he turned away. "i've discovered that the best way is to do exactly what she wishes with no argument!" michael bowed again to the girls and walked on up the path. "i like him better every day," susan declared in an undertone. "i think it's a great joke on you, penny! when he first came here you thought he might be a questionable character." penny did not pay very much heed to her chum's words for she was staring at an object lying on the path. "michael dropped his handkerchief," she said. "so he did," susan agreed indifferently, turning to look. "we can take it to him." penny picked up the handkerchief, noticing as she folded it that the linen was not a very expensive grade. she suspected that michael did not have very much money to spend upon clothing. turning the handkerchief over in her hand, penny saw that it bore a monogram. "why, that's odd!" she murmured aloud. "now what have you discovered, little miss detective?" susan asked teasingly. "look at the markings on this handkerchief," penny commanded. "the initials are 'm. g.'" chapter xvii a new clue "'m. g.'", susan repeated slowly, staring at the handkerchief. "what's so startling about that?" "michael dropped this handkerchief," penny said significantly. "and his last name is haymond!" susan cried as light dawned upon her. "why would he have a handkerchief marked 'm. g.'?" "why indeed? the simple answer is that maybe his name isn't michael haymond after all!" "maybe he happened to pick up some other person's handkerchief." "he'd not be apt to be using it." "once one of yours got into our washing somehow," susan defended her theory. "don't you remember i was using it for one of my own until you happened to notice it?" "that was different," penny replied. "i'll venture this is michael's handkerchief all right." "oh, you're too suspicious," laughed susan. "remember that wild chase we had to glenhaven just because you thought michael might be hiding something about his past." "i'm not sure that it was a wild chase at all," penny answered soberly. "if you recall, michael fitted into mrs. havers story quite nicely--everything except his last name. and now the initials of this handkerchief could stand for michael gladwin." "why, that's so," susan murmured in astonishment. "but it doesn't seem reasonable! what has michael done that he's ashamed to have his true name known?" "i may be jumping at another one of my false conclusions," penny admitted. "anyway, i think i'll keep this handkerchief." "if only we had a picture of michael we might send it to mrs. havers for identification," susan said thoughtfully. "i was thinking of that," penny nodded. "we'll get a picture today." "how? by telling michael that you've suddenly taken a great fancy to him?" "we'll take a snapshot. fortunately i brought my camera along when we came to kendon." "do you have a film?" "yes, it's all loaded ready to go." "then let's get our prey!" laughed susan. "but michael may refuse." "he shouldn't unless we make him suspicious. mind, not a word about the handkerchief." the girls went directly to the cottage for penny's camera. first they flattered mrs. masterbrook by requesting her picture. the housekeeper posed on the porch steps. "we'd like your picture too," penny said to michael who was standing near. "i'd break your camera," the young man laughed good-naturedly. "oh, don't be silly," susan cried, and catching him by the hand, pulled him up on the porch. penny snapped the picture. to make certain that she would have a good one, she took still another. "that's enough," declared michael moving away. mrs. masterbrook lingered on the porch, hoping that the girls would take another picture of her. however, they had no intention of wasting any film. "let's get it developed right away," susan declared. "there's one more picture i'd like to take just to make the record complete," penny announced as she and her chum walked away from the cottage. "whose?" asked susan. "herman crocker's." "it would be interesting to keep it as a souvenir of your vacation," susan agreed. "but try to get it!" "i believe i could." "you'd try anything." "we'll have an hour before the sun is low," penny declared, glancing toward the western horizon. "come on, let's go there now." "i don't like the idea a bit," susan complained but she allowed her chum to lead her down the road. "i'll have to think up a new excuse for calling on herman," penny remarked as they drew near the house. "that one about wanting to buy eggs is getting pretty thread bare." "you're inviting trouble to go there again," susan warned darkly. "herman will suspect something is wrong the minute you ask for his picture." "i don't mean to ask," penny chuckled. "perhaps i'll just snap it and run." there was no sign of activity about the crocker premises. they did not see the dog, and when they rapped on the door there was no response. "mr. crocker and his grandson are gone," susan said in relief. "i guess i'll have to give up the picture then," penny sighed. "i had a particular use for it too." "why don't you snap one of the house?" susan suggested. "i might do that just to finish out the roll. then we can take the film down to kendon and have it developed." "you mean now?" "yes, i'm in a hurry to get the prints. dad may take it into his head to leave this place any day and i have considerable unfinished business on my calendar." "it seems as if i've walked a million miles today," susan grumbled good-naturedly. "it's good for your figure," penny laughed. "you don't want to get fat." "no chance of it around you," susan retorted. penny took the picture and removed the roll of exposed film from her camera. walking down knob hill, the girls left it at one of the drugstores in kendon. "how soon may we have the prints?" penny asked. "tomorrow afternoon," the clerk promised. when the girls had left the drugstore, penny suggested that they drop in for a moment at turner's. "are you still hopeful that someone will claim the toy lantern?" susan inquired with a trace of amusement. "no, i gave up long ago," penny admitted. "i just keep asking as a matter of routine." "mr. turner would let you know if anything develops." "he might forget," penny insisted. "let's drop in for just a minute." susan sighed wearily and followed her chum into the store. mr. turner did not look very pleased to see them. he had grown tired of their frequent calls. "nothing new?" penny asked pleasantly. the storekeeper shook his head. "i think you may as well take the lantern with you," he said. "i'm convinced it doesn't belong to any child around here." "it begins to look that way," penny admitted. she was debating what to do when she felt susan pluck her sleeve. glancing quickly up she was surprised to see that perry crocker had entered the store. the boy did not notice the girls but walked toward the candy department. "i didn't know old herman ever let him go any place alone," susan whispered. "neither did i," penny agreed. "probably perry's grandfather is waiting outside." susan started toward the boy, but penny restrained her. "wait!" she whispered. the boy had gone directly to the candy counter. "good afternoon, perry," said the storekeeper. "i don't see you very often." "today is my birthday," the boy explained in an excited voice. "i'm eleven years old. my grandfather gave me ten cents to spend." "that's fine," said the storekeeper. "what kind of candy will you have?" "i want some of those caramels and lemon drops. or would i get more----" perry broke off to stare at the broken toy lantern which stood on the storekeeper's shelf directly behind the candy counter. "why, where did you get my lantern?" he asked quickly. "give it to me." "is this your lantern?" the storekeeper questioned, glancing toward penny and susan who had remained some distance away. "of course it's mine," said perry. "please give it to me." "but how do i know it is yours?" asked mr. turner. he had been coached carefully by mr. nichols. "a great many boys have lanterns exactly like this." "it's really mine, mr. turner," perry insisted. "i can tell because i made a new wick for it out of an old piece of white cloth. someone has smashed the isinglass." mr. turner again glanced inquiringly toward penny. she nodded her head as a signal that he was to give the lantern to the boy. "very well, perry, here you are," the storekeeper said, handing him the toy. "now what kind of candy do you want?" he filled the order and perry left the store without observing penny and susan. through the plate glass window the girls saw him show the toy lantern to his grandfather. then he climbed into the car and they drove away. "i hope i did right to let him take the toy," said the storekeeper anxiously. "yes, you did," said penny quietly. "the lantern has served its purpose now." "i was very much surprised that it belonged to perry," went on mr. turner. "it was somewhat of a shock to me too," penny acknowledged. "your father told me a little about the case," the storekeeper continued. "i fear that this clue has no significance for perry's grandfather is an upstanding man in the community." "i quite understand," replied penny gravely. "thank you for going to so much trouble to help my father. i'm sure that he'll not wish you to speak of this matter to anyone." "i'll keep it to myself," mr. turner promised. "if there is anything more i can do, let me know." the instant that the girls were outside the store they lost their serene attitude. "now what's our move?" asked susan tensely. "we must get home as fast as we can and tell dad," penny replied. "this clue has a lot more significance than mr. turner believes. it probably means that herman crocker is the man who took the kirmenbach jewels!" chapter xviii inside the gabled house penny and susan ran nearly all of the way back up knob hill. they were quite out of breath by the time they reached the cottage. "is there a fire somewhere?" inquired mr. nichols, who was reading the evening paper on the porch. "or are you girls running a race?" penny cast a quick glance about to be certain that neither michael nor mrs. masterbrook were near. "dad," she announced impressively. "the toy lantern has been claimed." the detective dropped his paper and quickly arose. "by whom?" he asked. "it was perry crocker who took the lantern away, dad. susan and i were in the store when he came in for candy." "he made a positive identification?" "oh, yes, dad," penny declared. "perry told mr. turner that he had constructed the wick from an old piece of cloth in the house." "then it looks as if herman crocker may be mixed up in the robbery." "don't you remember that from the very first i said he was a suspicious character," penny reminded her father. "yes, i remember," mr. nichols replied dryly. "what will you do now, dad? have mr. crocker arrested?" "not without more evidence against him," returned the detective. "our clue is an important one but it may not lead where we expect. it's a serious matter to arrest a man on a false charge." "but it must be herman crocker," penny argued. "we know perry couldn't have committed the robbery." "you say that you saw herman in town?" mr. nichols inquired. "yes, he waited for perry in the car and then drove away." "toward home?" "why, i didn't notice," penny admitted. "i did," susan declared, eager to make a contribution. "he was driving the opposite way." "then there is a chance he may not have returned home yet," mr. nichols said. "i'm going down there and look around." "may i go along, dad?" penny asked eagerly. "you both may come," mr. nichols said after a slight hesitation, "but you must do exactly as i say." at that moment mrs. masterbrook appeared in the doorway. "supper is ready," she announced. "you'll have to keep it waiting," the detective told her. "i've just remembered an important engagement." "i always serve at exactly six o'clock," mrs. masterbrook said primly. "the food won't be good if it stands." "that doesn't matter to me," mr. nichols returned impatiently. "we'll hash up our own supper when we get back." as he and the girls walked away, the housekeeper stood watching them with keen displeasure. penny wondered if the woman guessed that they were going to the herman crocker place. during the hike down knob hill, the girls told mr. nichols everything they had learned about herman crocker and his nephew, walter. this time the detective did not term penny's ideas wild. he listened in a manner which was most flattering. "it's all a mix-up," penny finished. "i feel sure that mrs. masterbrook is acquainted with walter crocker because she warned him to keep away from our cottage." "mrs. masterbrook seems to have her finger in every pie," commented mr. nichols. "but i'm not much concerned with her affairs, or whether or not old herman has cheated his nephew. i'm only interested in learning if he is the one who stole the diamond necklace." "if he'd rob his nephew it follows that he'd be the type to take jewels too." "not necessarily," answered the detective. "house breaking is a different sort of crime entirely. the fact is, herman crocker doesn't impress me as being the kind of person who would commit such an act." "the evidence is all against him," penny argued. "it is," mr. nichols agreed. "but one can't put too much faith in circumstantial proof. we must investigate first and draw our conclusions later." the three were close to the crocker premises by this time. there was no sign of the old man's car, and mr. nichols felt hopeful that he had not yet returned from town. at the entrance of the lane, mr. nichols paused. "susan," he said, "i'd like to have you remain here. if you see crocker's car coming up the road, run to the house as fast as you can and call out a warning." "i'll keep a careful watch," susan promised. mr. nichols and penny hurried on up the lane. they were quite certain that mr. crocker and his grandson had not returned from kendon, but taking no chance, they pounded several times on the door. "the place is empty all right," mr. nichols declared. he tried the door and found it locked. nor could they enter by either the side or rear entrance. "how are we going to get in?" penny asked in disappointment. "one of the windows should be unlocked," mr. nichols said, looking up speculatively. "here, i'll give you a boost." he lifted penny on his shoulders so that she could reach one of the high windows. "locked," she reported. "all right, we'll try another," said the detective. the second window likewise proved to be fastened, but when penny tried the third one it opened. "good!" exclaimed mr. nichols. "jump down inside and open the door!" penny found herself gazing into an untidy living room. the rug was moth eaten and there was dust everywhere on the old fashioned victorian furniture. the walls were heavy with family pictures in wooden frames, and penny's attention was drawn to a curious feather wreath. "hurry!" warned mr. nichols from below. "i'll be there in a jiffy," penny called back. she jumped lightly down and ran to unfasten the door. mr. nichols entered and closed it behind him, turning the night lock. "we'll have to work fast," he said crisply. "old herman may come back any minute." "what do you expect to find?" asked penny. "perhaps the necklace or at least some evidence which will attach herman to the crime. i'll start searching in the upstairs bedrooms. you might go through that desk." with a nod of his head, the detective indicated an old fashioned secretary which stood in one corner of the living room. the desk was filled to overflowing with papers of all sorts. a quick inspection satisfied penny that the diamond necklace was not there, but if she had time she meant to examine the papers carefully. "when you finish with the desk, start looking through the kitchen cupboards," mr. nichols called down from upstairs. penny was working swiftly at her task when the detective came down to assist her. "there's nothing in the bedrooms," he reported. "i thought old herman might have hidden the jewels in one of the mattresses. having any luck here?" "none yet, but there are a lot of papers in the desk." "we'll get to those later," mr. nichols nodded. the detective made a swift but thorough inspection of the kitchen. he examined the floor boards to see if any had been pried loose and even poked into the rag bag. "here's something!" he said triumphantly, pulling out a piece of white cloth. "why, that is the same material i saw in turner's store!" penny exclaimed. "yes, it was used to make the wick of the lantern. we'll keep it for evidence." mr. nichols stuffed the cloth into his coat pocket. "i've looked all through the cupboards," penny reported. "i'm going back and examine some of those papers now." "all right," her father agreed. penny had never seen such a disordered desk. apparently, herman crocker had kept every letter, receipt, and paper which ever came into his possession, tossing all together in one untidy heap. penny thumbed rapidly through the letters, discarding all which were of a strictly business nature. suddenly she came upon a photograph which had turned yellow with age. a glance assured penny that it was a likeness of herman crocker when he had been some years younger. "just what i need!" she thought triumphantly. "this will be a great deal better than a snapshot!" slipping the photograph into her pocket she went on with her search. in one drawer of the desk she found nothing but old tax receipts showing payments paid by herman crocker for both the cottage property and his farm. penny knew she would not have time to examine each receipt in turn so she opened a second drawer. it was crammed with old checks and bank statements. in the very bottom was a thick green book. penny opened it up and saw that it was a detailed expense account running back many years. she was about to toss the book carelessly aside, when a notation on one of the pages caught her eye. the item read: "paid to the glenhaven orphan's home--$ . for keep of michael gladwin." penny stared at the notation for an instant, and then turned toward her father. "dad, i've found something important!" she exclaimed. "this account book--" before she could finish, there was a loud pounding on the door. "herman crocker is coming up the road!" susan altman called excitedly. "hurry or he'll be here!" chapter xix michael's admission "bring the book and come on, penny," mr. nichols ordered tersely. "we don't want crocker to catch us here." penny snatched up the account book, slammed shut the desk and followed her father to the door. susan was waiting there, nervously watching the entrance to the narrow lane. a car was just coming into view. "duck into the pine grove," commanded the detective. the three disappeared behind the trees just as herman crocker's battered old car wheezed up the lane. mr. nichols and the girls remained motionless until the old man and his grandson had gone into the house. then they moved noiselessly away, keeping to the evergreen grove until they reached the main road. "penny, what were you starting to tell me about an account book?" questioned mr. nichols as they paused. "i'll show you," offered penny. she opened the account book to the item which had drawn her attention, but in the dim light it was difficult for mr. nichols to make out the fine writing. "michael gladwin," he read slowly aloud. "i seem to be thick headed----" "oh, susan and i didn't tell you that part!" penny cried. "we think gladwin is michael haymond's real name! he dropped a handkerchief bearing the initials 'm. g.', and when we were over at glenhaven we learned from the former matron of the institution that a strange person who might have been herman crocker, brought a boy who was named michael gladwin to the home." "there seems to be quite a bit going on that i know nothing about," mr. nichols remarked dryly. "suppose you start at the beginning, penny, and tell me everything." "are you sure you'll not think my ideas wild?" penny asked teasingly. "i am quite willing to retract my words," mr. nichols said. "your ideas and theories are proving remarkably sound." penny and susan were only too glad to relate everything they had learned about michael gladwin. "i'll question the young man just as soon as we reach the cottage," promised mr. nichols. "we'll get at the bottom of this matter and see if it can be straightened out." "michael may deny everything," penny said thoughtfully. "he has some particular reason for wishing to keep his past a secret. dad, i have an idea!" "what is it, penny?" "why couldn't we drive over to ferndale to-night and take michael with us? he'd have no suspicion that we were calling upon mrs. havers until he met her face to face!" "confronted with the former matron you believe that he would break down and confess the truth?" "yes, i think he might, dad. at any rate, mrs. havers could establish definitely whether or not he is michael gladwin." "your plan is a good one," mr. nichols said after a moment's reflection. "we'll start right away if we can locate michael." "he usually walks down to the village after supper," penny declared anxiously. "i hope he hasn't left yet." michael was just starting away from the cottage when mr. nichols and the girls arrived. the detective stopped him, explaining that they would like to have his company on a motor trip to a distant town. "i don't enjoy changing a tire at night," mr. nichols said. "while i'm not looking for trouble, i'd like to have a handy man along just in case something happens." "i'll be very glad to go, sir," replied michael. "you might be getting the car from the garage," mr. nichols directed. "i'll be along in a minute." he started for the cottage after his light overcoat. mrs. masterbrook sat rocking back and forth on the porch. "i hope you're ready for your supper now," she said tartly. "i've not time to eat it, mrs. masterbrook. i am sorry to have annoyed you this way." "i've kept it warming for over an hour," the housekeeper said crossly. "i declare, i can't understand your comings and goings." paying no heed to mrs. masterbrook's grumblings, the detective found his coat and hastened back to the car. "what shall i say if anyone telephones?" the housekeeper called after him. "where shall i say you are?" "tell them you don't know," shouted the detective. it was evident to penny and susan that michael had no suspicion where he was being taken. even when the automobile drew near ferndale he did not appear to grow uneasy. he was so calm and undisturbed that they began to wonder if they had made another mistake. "of course the orphan's home isn't at ferndale," penny told herself. "he probably doesn't know that mrs. havers has left the glenhaven home." it was after nine o'clock when the car finally drew up in front of the former matron's home. the girls were afraid that mrs. havers might have retired early and so were greatly relieved to see a light burning on the lower floor. "michael, why don't you come in with us?" penny asked as she alighted from the car. "oh, i'll wait out here," he replied. "no, come along," mr. nichols invited. he took michael by the arm and steered him up the walk. penny and susan went on ahead to ring the doorbell. they were a little worried for fear that mrs. havers would not wish to receive them so late in the evening. after a long wait, the door slowly opened. mrs. havers, her face hidden by the shadows, did not readily recognize the girls. however, after they had spoken, she urged them to come inside. penny and susan entered the cottage and waited for mr. nichols and michael. mrs. havers turned to face the newcomers. for an instant she stared blankly at michael and then she gave a cry of delight. "michael gladwin! how glad i am to see you again!" "mrs. havers!" exclaimed the young man. then he became confused and glanced quickly toward mr. nichols. "we've known for some time that you were michael gladwin," said mr. nichols. "of course he is michael gladwin," declared mrs. havers. "who else could he be?" "i have a great deal to explain," said the young man, looking again at the detective. "i know you surely must be thinking that i have deceived you----" "i am sure you had a very good reason," replied mr. nichols kindly. mrs. havers was deeply troubled by the conversation which she could not understand. she urged her visitors to seat themselves. mr. nichols, always restless in moments of stress, found it impossible to remain in a chair. he annoyed his hostess exceedingly by moving about the room, appearing to examine books, bric-a-brac and objects of furniture. "before we ask michael to tell his story, i should like to have you look at this picture, mrs. havers," said penny. she offered the photograph of herman crocker. "have you seen the man before?" "let me turn up the light. my eyes aren't as strong as they were." mrs. havers studied the picture intently for a minute. "this is a photograph of mr. keenan," said the former matron. her gaze wandered to michael. "he is the man who brought you to the orphan's home." "you are certain?" asked mr. nichols eagerly. "of course i am," answered the old lady firmly. "i seldom forget a face. this is a very good likeness of mr. keenan as i remember him." "mr. keenan and herman crocker were one and the same person!" cried penny. "i am beginning to understand everything now!" "then i wish you'd explain it to me," said michael. "i have known for some time that crocker was supposed to be my uncle, but until now i rather doubted that there was any truth to the story." "how did you learn that he was related to you?" penny asked quickly. "through an anonymous letter," michael replied. "it was forwarded to me after i left the glenhaven home. the writer informed me that my true name was walter crocker and that i would find evidence to support my claim to the crocker fortune at your cottage." "so your visit to kendon was made for the purpose of claiming crocker's money," mr. nichols said musing. "what did you expect to find in our cottage?" "i don't know, sir," michael returned soberly. "i thought possibly there might be letters or photographs which would establish my true identity." "were you the person whom i mistook for a robber a few nights ago?" penny questioned. "yes," michael admitted. "i shouldn't have been prowling about the house, but in the day time i never had a chance to search. when you heard me in the living room i ran out the door and hid in the woods." "and i suppose it was you who took a package of letters from the attic trunk," penny went on. "i did take some letters, but they were valueless. to tell you the truth, i haven't a scrap of evidence to support my claim." "i think we may be able to help you," mr. nichols said slowly. "but you must answer several questions. i recall that when you first came to our cottage you told us you intended to see mr. crocker on business. yet to my knowledge you never went to see him." "i don't wonder that my actions appear contrary, sir. i intended to visit herman crocker immediately, but while i was at your cottage, a remark was dropped which led me to believe that another person who claimed to be walter crocker already had called upon my uncle." "that is true," the detective nodded. "there is another young man who claims to be walter crocker." "you see my position, sir. i had no proof of anything. i was afraid that someone had played a joke on me. for that reason i gave a false name and said nothing of the matter. i thought i would wait a few days until i had gained more information." "you acted wisely," mr. nichols declared. "obviously, walter crocker is an imposter," penny said. "but who is he? what is his true name and how did he obtain the evidence against herman crocker?" "we may be able to answer all those questions before we finish with the case," returned the detective. "if mrs. havers will testify that michael is the same boy who was brought to the glenhaven home by mr. keenan and that keenan and crocker are the same person, it will be a simple matter to establish a claim to the fortune." "the man of this photograph is the same individual who came to the home years ago," declared mrs. havers. "i will be glad to sign papers to that effect." "the masquerading walter crocker is merely a blackmailer," the detective continued. "undoubtedly, he knew that he could never establish a court claim to the fortune. but with the letters in his possession, he was able to frighten herman crocker into dealing with him privately." "what finally became of the letters?" inquired michael. "dad has them," said penny. "and we have other evidence which should help your cause. at crocker's house we found an account book showing that the old man paid the glenhaven home various amounts of money." "i can't understand why a man would do such a thing," michael said slowly. "why did my uncle hate me?" "probably he didn't," replied the detective. "you merely stood in mr. crocker's way. greed leads many a person astray." "it was queer that for years herman crocker fooled everyone in kendon," penny remarked. "and then someone must have discovered his secret." "i am puzzled by the anonymous letter," mr. nichols admitted, turning to michael again. "i don't suppose you have it with you?" "yes, i do. you may read it if you wish." michael took a crumpled envelope from his inside coat pocket and offered it to the detective. mr. nichols scanned it briefly. "the letter was postmarked at kendon," he said. "may i see it, dad?" requested penny. he gave the letter to her and she studied it for a moment in silence. the communication contained no new information. as michael had said, it merely hinted that he was the true heir to the crocker fortune, and that he would find evidence to support his claim at the knob hill cottage. penny was more interested in the handwriting than in the message. it seemed to her that it looked strangely familiar. "why, i've seen this writing before!" she exclaimed. "do you know who sent the letter?" asked her father quickly. "i can make a very shrewd guess," replied penny. "it was our all-wise housekeeper, mrs. masterbrook!" chapter xx alias jay kline "it would be in keeping with mrs. masterbrook's character to send an anonymous letter," mr. nichols agreed quickly. "i am just sure this is her handwriting," penny insisted. "i'd not be mistaken for she has made out so many grocery lists." mr. nichols took the letter and put it in his pocket. "then mrs. masterbrook is the one person who should be able to clear up this tangle," he said. "we'll go to the cottage and question her." thanking mrs. havers for the aid she had offered, the party left ferndale and made a swift trip back to kendon. unaware that she was under suspicion, mrs. masterbrook had retired when mr. nichols and the young people arrived. the detective pounded on her door. "what is it?" called the housekeeper. "please come out here a minute," requested mr. nichols. "i am ready for bed. can't you tell me what you want from there." "no, i cannot, mrs. masterbrook. come out unless you prefer to tell your story to a policeman." "a policeman!" echoed the housekeeper with a little shriek. "oh, my goodness! i'll come right out." she was dressed in five minutes but did not take time to remove the curlers from her hair. "just what is it that you wish?" she asked tartly as she gazed from one person to another. everyone was watching her soberly. "look at this letter," said mr. nichols, placing the anonymous communication in her lap. a flush spread over the housekeeper's face but she threw back her head defiantly. "well, what about it?" "we know that you wrote the letter," said the detective sternly, "so you may as well admit the truth." mrs. masterbrook hesitated, and for a moment penny thought that she meant to deny the charge. then the woman said coldly: "well, what if i did write it? you can't send me to jail for trying to do a good turn." "no one has any intention of causing you trouble--providing you tell us everything," replied mr. nichols significantly. "what do you wish to know?" "first, how did you learn mr. crocker's secret?" "i worked for him a great many years," returned the housekeeper with a slight toss of her head. "both at this cottage and later when he lived at his present home. not being stupid, i suspected a fly in the ointment so to speak when he came into his fortune." "you did a little investigation work?" prompted the detective. "exactly. i read the letters in the attic, and i thought it was time someone knew about the great injustice which had been done walter crocker." "that was very kind of you, i'm sure," said the detective dryly. "what did you do when you found the letters?" "i didn't do anything at first. then mr. crocker discharged me----" "i see," interrupted mr. nichols. "his high-handed ways made you remember the letters in the cottage attic. thinking that the nephew should learn of them you no doubt entered the cottage and secured the evidence." "i did," the housekeeper nodded grimly. "but how did you know where to find walter crocker?" "i suspected that he was a certain boy named michael gladwin," mrs. masterbrook answered. "from various bits of evidence which came my way while i worked for herman, i gathered that jenny's child had been placed in the glenhaven orphan's home under that name." "i must say you have shown a distinct talent for detective work," mr. nichols told her dryly. "you sent the anonymous letter to michael at that address. then what happened?" "nothing. there was no reply. that's all i know of the matter." "mrs. masterbrook, i think you can tell us a great deal more," said penny quietly. "for instance when did you first meet the man who calls himself walter crocker." "i don't know what you're talking about," stammered the housekeeper. "either you explain everything or we'll take you to the police station," interposed mr. nichols. "all right, i'll tell you exactly what happened," mrs. masterbrook agreed after a long moment of thought. "the man is a lawyer--his name is jay kline." "mr. madden's missing partner!" exclaimed the detective. "i don't know anything about him being missing," said the housekeeper crossly. "but he's made me plenty of trouble. i wish i had never set eyes on him." "tell us how you came to meet jay kline," the detective ordered. "it was this way. i waited months to hear from the letter which i sent to the glenhaven home. when none came i decided that michael gladwin must be dead. i saw no reason in that case why i shouldn't profit a little myself. after all, i worked like a slave for old herman and he never paid me a living wage! i took the letters to a city law firm." "so mr. madden is mixed up in this affair too?" asked the detective. "i don't know anything about him," replied the housekeeper. "i met only jay kline. he told me to leave everything to him and that he would force old herman to pay me a good sum to get the letters back again." "there is an ugly name for that sort of thing," said mr. nichols. "blackmail." "i only meant to make herman pay me a hundred dollars." "the principle was exactly the same. i judge that jay kline being an unscrupulous rascal took matters out of your hands." "yes, the next thing i knew he came here and pawned himself off as walter crocker. i tried to make him go away but he wouldn't. i didn't mean to do wrong, mr. nichols. you'll not send me to jail, will you?" "that remains to be seen," replied the detective tersely. "for the time being you are to remain here in the cottage. talk with no one." "yes, sir," murmured the housekeeper meekly. the detective did not bother to tell the woman that michael gladwin and michael haymond were the same individual for he felt that the less she knew the easier it would be to carry out a plan which was forming in his mind. penny had supposed that her father would go directly to herman crocker, confronting him with the evidence. instead, mr. nichols bided his time. he held several conferences with the kendon police force. during his frequent absences from the cottage, penny, susan and michael were left to keep watch of mrs. masterbrook. the housekeeper was never allowed to talk with anyone by telephone or to greet persons who chanced to come to the door. while she had given her promise not to disclose anything, mr. nichols preferred to take no chance. "this is the set-up," he told penny as they held secret session. "i have arranged so that jay kline mysteriously recovered his package of letters----" "but dad----" "it is the only way to trap him, penny. with the letters in his possession, he'll meet herman crocker tonight by the footbridge. when crocker pays over the hush money, police will arrest them both." "i'd love to see the big roundup," said penny eagerly. "you shall," mr. nichols promised. "you've earned the right." that night long before the appointed hour, penny, her father and several plain-clothes men were waiting in the bushes for the arrival of kline and herman crocker. jay kline was the first to reach the footbridge. he appeared to be very nervous and smoked one cigarette after another. now and then he would light a match and glance at his watch. after a fifteen minute wait herman crocker's car was heard coming down the road. the automobile stopped some distance from the bridge, and penny, who had keen eyes, saw that the old man had brought his grandson with him. however, he left the boy in the car and came toward the bridge alone. "well, did you bring the money?" asked jay kline. "i could raise only half the sum you demanded," the old man whined. "you have the letters with you?" jay kline produced the packet. "oh, no you don't," he laughed as herman tried to take the letters from him. "you'll get them only when you've paid over all the money." "i'll give you what i have. don't be too hard on me." at a nod from mr. nichols, the plain-clothes men stepped from the bushes surrounding the pair. "tricked!" shouted jay kline. believing that old herman had betrayed him to the police, he struck savagely at the man and then brushing past one of the officers, ran down the ravine. two policemen took after him and soon dragged him back. herman crocker had not attempted to escape. "take kline down to kendon," mr. nichols ordered tersely. "i'll look after crocker myself." "you've nothing on me," the old man muttered. "i was being blackmailed, that's all." "it's no use trying to put up a front," the detective told him. "we know everything. this man was a blackmailer right enough, but the real walter crocker has a just claim to a large portion of your estate. a more serious matter is that you are wanted for the robbery of the kirmenbach residence." "i'm wanted for what?" gasped the old man. "you are under suspicion for stealing a diamond necklace." until this moment herman crocker had been calm and quiet, but suddenly he flew into a violent rage, denying any part in the robbery. "it's nothing but a frame-up!" he shouted. "maybe i did keep money that wasn't mine, but i never broke into anyone's house in all my life!" "did you or did you not have a toy lantern in your house?" asked mr. nichols. "a toy lantern?" the old man repeated. "perry had one i guess. he lost it and found it again." "it happens that perry's toy lantern was discovered at the scene of the robbery. perhaps you can explain that." "i don't know anything about it," said old herman dully. "that's the truth." "we'll see what perry has to say about it," returned mr. nichols. "come along." he led the old man back to the automobile where the boy was waiting. "perry," said the detective kindly, "do you remember a toy lantern which mr. turner gave you the other day?" "he didn't give it to me," the lad corrected. "it was mine." "you had lost it?" mr. nichols prompted. "do you recall how long ago you missed the lantern?" "it was the night walter crocker came to see my grandfather," perry answered instantly. "i was playing with it then and i think maybe i dropped it into his pocket." "you put the toy lantern into walter crocker's coat pocket?" the detective asked in amazement. "why did you do that?" "i don't know," answered perry with a shrug. "i guess i thought he might sit down on it and the glass would go bang! that would have been funny." "i take it that walter didn't discover the lantern in his pocket?" "no, he went off in a hurry and i couldn't even get my toy back." "this puts an entirely different light on the matter," said mr. nichols, speaking slowly. "if perry is telling the truth, then probably jay kline went off without suspecting that the lantern was in his coat. he may have pulled the kirmenbach job." "and the toy lantern probably fell from his pocket while he was working at the wall safe," penny added eagerly. "can we prove it, dad?" "it may be possible to make kline confess," the detective replied. "i'll go down to kendon right away and question him." with herman crocker in custody there was no one to look after perry, so penny took the lad back to her cottage. he was tucked into bed with no inkling of the unfortunate fate which had befallen his grandfather. penny and susan sat up until late awaiting the return of mr. nichols from kendon. he came in around midnight and the girls saw at once that he was highly elated. "well, penny, you've won the reward!" he called out gaily. "not really!" exclaimed penny. "yes, the case is closed," mr. nichols declared, "and kirmenbach's reward will go to you." "tell us all about it," pleaded penny eagerly. "jay kline broke down and admitted everything. he committed the kirmenbach robbery and several others as well. however, it was a shock to him when he learned that his conviction came about through perry's toy lantern. he never dreamed it was in his coat." "what will become of herman crocker?" penny inquired. "he has agreed to turn over the major part of his estate to the rightful heir--michael." "will he be sent to prison, dad?" "that hasn't been determined, but i imagine he may escape a sentence. however, in any case, perry is to be taken from him and turned over to someone who will give him better care." "i'm glad of that," said penny. "did herman offer any reason for doing what he did?" "only that he hoped to keep the fortune for himself. then too, it seems he wished to pass it on to his own grandson, perry. you remember he was the child of herman's daughter, ella--the only person whom the old man ever loved." "yet he mistreated perry." "in a way, yes, but he probably thought more of the boy than any other living person." "and what is to become of mrs. masterbrook?" penny questioned, lowering her voice. "i didn't bring her name into the case at all. at heart i doubt that the woman is bad--she is merely a natural born trouble maker. as far as i'm concerned she's free to go on living in this community. i imagine she has learned her lesson." "there's no question that michael will get the money, dad?" "not the slightest. and he'll owe all his good fortune to you, penny. come to think of it, i owe you quite a bit myself." "you?" asked penny, smiling. "yes, you practically solved my case for me," declared the detective. "not to mention digging up one of your own." "i had good fun doing it," laughed penny. then her face fell. "i suppose now that all the mystery is solved we'll be going back home again." "we'll certainly pack up and leave this place," answered mr. nichols. "but we're not starting for home." "then where are we going?" asked penny in surprise. "i don't know," replied mr. nichols, smiling broadly, "but it will be to some nice quiet place where i can have a vacation." the end transcriber's note: minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been harmonized. italic text has been marked with _underscores_. obvious typos have been corrected. an "illustrations" section has been added as an aid to the reader. life and adventures of frank and jesse james the noted western outlaws. by hon. j. a. dacus, ph. d. "strange murmurs fill my tingling ears, bristles my hair, my sinews quake, at this dread tale of reckless deeds." _illustrated._ st. louis: w. s. bryan, publisher, north fourth street. san francisco: a. l. bancroft & co., market street. indianapolis: fred. l. horton & co., east market street. chicago: j. s. goodman, lasalle street. . copyrighted, , by w. s. bryan [illustration: jesse james. from a late photograph. copyrighted, , by w. s. bryan. the copyright laws will be rigidly enforced against any person making or disposing of copies of this picture.] [illustration: frank james. jesse james. engraved from photographs taken about the close of the war.] contents. chapter i.--the james family.--the rev. robert james--his marriage--removal to missouri--his death in california, - chapter ii.--frank and jesse.--their childhood and youth--they desire fire-arms--youthful nimrods--pistol practice, - chapter iii.--in the guerrilla camp.--frank joins quantrell--outrage on dr. samuels and jesse--mrs. samuels and daughter, susie james, arrested--jesse as a courier for the guerrillas, - chapter iv.--bloody war.--the hatreds of the border people--the partisan rangers--frank james as a scout--fight at plattsburg, - chapter v.--at the sack of lawrence, kansas.--the black flag unfurled--the guerrillas mass their forces--the march to lawrence--capture of the town--frank and jesse participate, - chapter vi.--a gory record.--the cruel strife of the border--death in the thickets--quantrell and his followers, - chapter vii.--adventures in separate fields.--frank james follows quantrell into kentucky--fierce partisan contests--death of quantrell--jesse follows george shepherd to texas--the last fight of the war--jesse wounded, - chapter viii.--the brandenburg tragedy.--frank james followed by four men--they attempt to arrest him--terrible fight--frank wounded in the left hip--concealed by friends, - chapter ix.--the liberty bank affair.--a great robbery--st. valentine's day, and the prize drawn by bold marauders--the james boys accused of the crime, - chapter x.--jesse's sortie against the militiamen.--attacked at night--the family council of war--jesse desires to look out on the cold moonlight scene--throws the door open and fires upon the militiamen--three corpses on the crisp snow, - chapter xi.--in the hands of friends.--jesse goes to kentucky--among his relatives and friends--placed under the care of dr. paul f. eve--a good time, - chapter xii.--the russellville bank robbery.--a large haul--the james boys connected with the robbery--they ride away on george shepherd's horses--shepherd arrested and imprisoned--death of oll shepherd--persistent pursuit of the robbers--the jameses escape, - chapter xiii.--on the pacific slope.--jesse james sails for california--at paso robel--frank goes west--on the laponsu ranche--adventures in nevada--a dark seance--the boys return to the east, - chapter xiv.--were they driven to outlawry?--the peculiar circumstances surrounding the jameses--social and political ostracism--the vigilance committees--not allowed to remain at peace in their own home--they go forth as enemies of society, - chapter xv.--the gallatin bank tragedy.--strange men in gallatin--they call upon the cashier--captain john w. sheets shot by jesse james--pursuit of the man slayers--the escape of the robbers, - chapter xvi.--attempts to arrest the boys.--the people aroused--detectives on the trail of the boys--their neighbors arrayed against them--captain thomason expresses himself--he is interviewed by mrs. samuels--failure of all efforts to arrest them, - chapter xvii.--outrage at columbia, kentucky.--the citizens of adair county, kentucky, startled--bold daylight robbery of the bank at columbia--murder of the cashier, mr. martin--chasing the robbers--the marauders escape, - chapter xviii.--out of exile.--domestic and social relations of the boys--their visits to the cities--the theaters and concert stage--life in hotels--how the jameses play the part of gentlemen, - chapter xix.--the corydon raid.--the robbers pay a visit to iowa--their sudden appearance at corydon--they secure a large sum of money and ride away--hot pursuit by iowa officers--jesse as a rustic, - chapter xx.--the cash box of the fair.--frank and jesse at kansas city--the gate money seized and carried away--the pool cashier interviewed by frank, - chapter xxi.--ste. genevieve.--the cashier of the bank at ste. genevieve surprised--narrow escape of young rozier--the bank plundered by the raiders--escape of the robbers, - chapter xxii.--a railway train robbed in iowa.--a night vigil--on the chicago, rock island & pacific railway line--a locomotive ditched and a fireman killed--a successful raid, - chapter xxiii.--the gaines' place stage robbery.--how the invalids en route to hot springs were plundered on the malvern road--scenes and incidents of the robbery--grim jokes at the expense of the passengers, - chapter xxiv.--gadshill.--a startling sensation--the robbers at the lonely wayside station--the passengers made prisoners and robbed, - chapter xxv.--after gadshill.--pursuit of the robbers--trailed through southern missouri to st. clair county--diversions in bentonville, arkansas--the campaign leads to a tragedy, - chapter xxvi.--whicher's ride to death.--the brave detective caught in a trap--jim latche's observations in liberty--the use he made of his knowledge--the last night ride--whicher shot, - chapter xxvii.--a night raid of detectives.--attempt to avenge whicher's death--preparing a trap to catch frank and jesse at the samuels place--fire balls and bomb shells--a terrible scene--death of a boy and wounding of mrs. samuels, - chapter xxviii.--proposed amnesty.--movement in the legislature--gen. jones' amnesty bill--jesse quietly awaits the turn of events--failure of the bill to pass in the legislature--taking vengeance, - chapter xxix.--san antonio-austin stage plundered.--bandits on the prairies--strange horsemen at eventide--the stage halted--the passengers plundered, - chapter xxx.--farmer askew's fate.--the house of askew--the farmer incurs the hatred of the james boys--vengeance threatened--assassinated while standing on his porch--jesse and frank believed to be the guilty parties, - chapter xxxi.--gold dust--the muncie business.--lying in wait--the evening train bound from the mining regions--golden galore--the train stopped by masked men and the express car plundered, - chapter xxxii.--huntington, west virginia, bank robbery.--a band of robbers in the streets--the people alarmed--demand upon mr. oney--the robbers make off with the bank's funds--capture of jack kean, and death of mcdaniels--the handiwork of the jameses shown, - chapter xxxiii.--jesse's wooing and wedding.--courting under difficulties--a fair cousin--she admires the outlaw--the courtship continues, and jesse takes his cousin as his bride, - chapter xxxiv.--a dream of love.--frank james cherishes tender sentiments and goes a-wooing--a fair girl, beautiful and accomplished--frank's suit encouraged, - chapter xxxv.--fair annie ralston, the outlaw's bride.--how annie ralston carried off the honors of her class at college--a belle in society--her admiration for frank james--she quietly collects her effects, and leaves her home to share his fate with frank, - chapter xxxvi.--a seventeen thousand dollar haul.--the train robbery at otterville--the youngers and the jameses--frank james the planner--how the train was halted--capture of hobbs kerry--he gives away the gang--the escape, - chapter xxxvii.--in minnesota.--the bandits seek a new field--frank james and the younger brothers--bill chadwell, miller and pitts--the long ride, - chapter xxxviii.--the attack at northfield--haywood's death.--the raid on the bank--the cashier shot--bill chadwell killed in the street--the citizens come to the rescue--fusilades in the town--the bandits forced to go out in quick time--a hot pursuit--capture of the youngers, - chapter xxxix.--escape of frank and jesse james.--the terrible retreat--worn out, and yet no chance for rest--a remarkable escape--they disappear from the very midst of those who were hunting them--how they went away, - chapter xl.--a visit to carmen.--frank and jesse go into mexico--they rest at carmen, in chihuahua--the silver conducta--they join the mexican party--capture of the treasure bags of the mexicans, - chapter xli.--the robbers and their friends.--the various classes of people who exhibit friendship for the jameses--some are bad men, who gather about them because they are brave--social peculiarities, - chapter xlii.--excursions into mexico.--wild adventures beyond the border--chasing mexican cattle-thieves--a serious time at monclova--frank and jesse escape, - chapter xliii.--death to border brigands.--frank and jesse pay their respects to palacios' band--the raiders of the border punished by the american outlaws--a pleasant meeting with troops, - chapter xliv.--the union pacific express robbery.--the big springs ventures--the persons who engaged in it--large amount of gold coin taken--pursuit of the robbers--death of collins at buffalo, kansas--jim berry trailed to missouri--shot by the sheriff of audrain county, - chapter xlv.--a visit to the home of frank james.--a georgian's experience with the great outlaws--the home life of frank, - chapter xlvi.--epistles of jesse james.--how jesse takes his own part with a pen--some terse specimens of jesse's style, - chapter xlvii.--glendale.--the last great train robbery--a night ride to a lonely wayside station--how the robbery was effected, - chapter xlviii.--hunting clues.--marshal liggett--his efforts to hunt down the robbers--jesse james once more to the front, - chapter xlix.--george w. shepherd.--the childhood and youth of shepherd--his adventures in utah--enters the confederate service--joins quantrell's band--gets into trouble with the gang at the time of russellville--becomes inimical to the jameses--engages with marshal liggett--joins the band--the short creek fight, - chapter l.--pursuit of the glendale robbers.--shepherd goes south with the gang--he plans an ambuscade--failure of his plan--the robbers suspicious of shepherd--the fight in the forest, - chapter li.--allen parmer.--becomes a member of quantrell's band--takes part in the sack of lawrence--with quantrell in kentucky--marries jesse james' sister--accused of complicity with the glendale robbers, - chapter lii.--jesse james still a free rover.--the sequel to the fight with shepherd--jesse and his wife visit relatives and friends in kentucky--an unsuccessful attempt to capture the outlaw, - illustrations jesse james. frank james. jesse james. quantrell's last fight. in the woods with their new shot-guns. girdling a tree. a moonlight conference. after lawrence. a deed of mercy. a narrow escape. jesse james' escape from "pin" indians. a horrible deed. death of oll shepherd. fight in a gambler's den. whicher meets his fate. night attack on the samuels residence. death of farmer askew. an alarmed "cow-boy." after the "greasers." fight with mexican cattle thieves. the home of frank james, in texas. geo. w. shepherd. allen parmer. wild bill. [illustration: quantrell's last fight. [page .]] life and adventures of frank and jesse james. chapter i. the james family. "he was a godly man, gentle and loving. he sought to save from mortal shame and eternal death, forms laid in the silence of the grave." the rev. robert james, the father of frank and jesse, was a native of kentucky. his parents were quiet, respectable people, belonging to the middle class of society. their desire was to raise up their children "in the nurture and admonition of the lord." being themselves persons of intelligence and culture, far above the average of their neighbors in those days, the parents of rev. robert james resolved to give him as good an education as the facilities accessible to them would permit. accordingly, robert was early placed in a neighboring school, and made such progress as to gladden the hearts of his parents, and call forth auguries of future distinction from the friends and neighbors of the family. robert james was a moral, studious youth, much given to reflection on subjects of a religious character. before he had attained his eighteenth year, he had made an open profession of faith in the christian religion, and united himself with a baptist church, of which his parents were members. after passing through the various grades of an academic course, young james entered as a student of georgetown college, kentucky. resolving to follow the profession of a minister, he commenced the study of theology, was licensed to preach, and began his ministry in his twentieth year. even then he was regarded as a youth of decided culture and more than ordinary ability. while yet a young man, rev. mr. james decided to remove to the then new state of missouri. he settled on a farm in clay county, and commenced in earnest the onerous duties of a pioneer preacher. his labors were not unrewarded. he soon had the satisfaction of garnering the harvest of his sowing. a congregation was gathered and a church organized in clay county, called new hope, which is still in existence. for some years the rev. mr. james ministered to the people who had been gathered by his exertions, with great acceptance. nor were his labors confined to the spiritual welfare of the people of new hope. he visited many distant churches, and preached with great acceptance in many places. old citizens of clay county still entertain pleasant recollections of the earnest, god-fearing pastor, who went about only to do good, by cheering the despondent, consoling the sorrowful, assisting the needy, upholding the weak, confirming the hesitating, and pointing the way of salvation to the penitent. everywhere, in that region of country, he was held in the very highest esteem. so the years of his early manhood passed away while he was engaged in the commendable effort to better the condition, by purifying the moral nature of his friends and neighbors. in , following in the footsteps of hundreds of others, rev. robert james bade adieu to his family, friends and neighbors, and set out for "the golden land" of california, on a prospecting tour. we do not know what motives actuated him in making this move, nor is it pertinent to this relation. he went away, and was destined to return no more. not long after his arrival in california, whither he had been preceded by a brother, rev. mr. james was stricken by a mortal disease which terminated his life in a short time. far away from home, where the tall sequoias rear their lofty branches above the plain, on a gentle slope which catches the last beams of the setting sun, they laid the minister to rest, in a soil unhallowed by the dust of kinsmen, in a grave unbedewed by the tears of loved ones left behind. when yet a young man, rev. mr. james was united in marriage to miss zerelda cole, a native of scott county, kentucky. mrs. james is a lady of great determination of mind, and a masculine force of character. those who knew the couple in the old days seem to think that the minister and his wife were an ill-assorted pair. he was gentle and amiable, while, on the contrary, his wife was strong in passion, and of a very bitter, unrelenting temper--traits of character prominently developed in her sons, frank and jesse. it is said that the home-life of the minister was not as smooth as it might have been, had he been united with a companion of a less passionate and exacting temper. with his domestic life, however, we have nothing to do, except in so far as the home influences thrown around his children gave direction to their character, and tinged their mental disposition. whatever home-cares he might have had, the public has little cause to inquire now. he went down to death with a stainless name long years before his sons entered upon a career of crime, and made their names a terror to those who care to obey the dictates of justice, love and mercy. mrs. zerelda james was left a widow, having the responsible charge of a family of four small children. she was not left unprovided for, as mr. james was a prudent, careful man of business, and had already established a comfortable home. with that courage and determination which is so prominently manifested in her character, mrs. james commenced the battle of life as the head of the family. with all the favoring circumstances, the task assumed by her was not a light one. but she was equal to the performance of any required service. the years went by, and frank and jesse and their sisters were advancing toward manhood and womanhood. the mother was not neglectful of their mental training, and the children were very regular in their attendance at a neighboring district school. so passed away six years of mrs. zerelda james' widowhood, and life became lonely; the children were growing up, and her cares and responsibilities seemed to increase as they advanced in age and stature. though not of a romantic disposition, the widow james was yet young enough in years and comely enough in person to attract to her side more than one substantial citizen on matrimony intent. among the number of those who sought to produce a favorable impression on the widow's susceptible heart, was dr. reuben samuels, who, like herself, was a native of kentucky. to him she was not indifferent. she listened to his plea, and in they were united in marriage, near kearney, clay county, missouri. dr. samuels at once undertook to perform the duty of a parent toward her children. thus the career of the noted outlaws, the james boys, was commenced, under auspices fully as favorable as fell to the fortune of any of the boys of their own age, in their country home. and so the years rolled on, and the boys were approaching the estate of manhood; while fate was shaping them to perform a part in those troublous times, of which they dreamed not in the days of boyhood. one of the sisters of frank and jesse died just as she was approaching the estate of womanhood. she is represented as having been a beautiful and amiable child, who was called away from the world while life was still beautiful and all the promises of the future bright. miss susan james was arrested with her mother in the early part of the war and confined in the jail at st. joseph for several months. afterward she went to nebraska and remained there for more than a year. she married a gentleman named parmer, several years ago, and with her husband, resided for a time in sherman, texas. from that place she removed to henriette, and was living there in . mrs. samuels had an eight year old son killed in january, , when the detectives attacked the samuels' house. a daughter, a half sister of frank and jesse, remains unmarried, and resides with dr. and mrs. samuels. chapter ii. frank and jesse. "there will be storms in causeless, strange abuse, and the strong breath of busy mouths will blow upon our course." of prophecy, many have a doubt. and yet there are prophecies from simple lips, and warnings from babes and sucklings, which if we could but interpret aright, might assist us to change the whole currents of life in a fellow being. deeper than fear or doubting men are thrown into the great vortex of the world's thought and actions. what fortune or fate shall come to them, no one can tell. every billow in that maelstrom seeks its own wild independence; and the shores of that tumultuous deep--which we call human society--are strewn along with the dull wrecks of what were once glorious schemes--the bright day dreams--once borne buoyantly upon the topmost waves. these, and myriads of other schemes and hopes, are at last remanded to lie under the dark waters of the sea of fate, hidden so completely that no thought of man shall ever again recall them to memory. it is perhaps best so. it would be equivalent to the expulsion of all the joys of life to have opened before us the book of the future, wherein is recorded the deeds which must be performed, and the sorrows which shall fall, dark and impenetrable--extinguishing every scintillation of joyous hope. it was best for robert james, the minister, that he was called home before the shadows fell, before the prophet's voice gave warning of the things which should come to pass. it was well he was spared the revelation, so that when the summons came, in peace he drew around him the drapery of his couch, and while the brilliant sun of an undimmed faith shone full upon him, he laid aside the load of life, and went into the presence of the deity, satisfied with a career which had more of love toward mankind than displeasure at the conduct of the world. when their father was laid away in a far-off grave, frank was but a "wee boy," and jesse still an infant. from him they had received few lessons to guide them through the thorny ways of life. their widowed mother became their counsellor and teacher. from her they had inherited their most pronounced traits of character--strong-willed, courageous, self-assertive, and unrelenting toward those who had given cause of offense. those who knew them during the days of their childhood and youth, differ widely in opinion concerning the character of the promise they gave of their future course in life. some say they were "nice, well behaved boys," others that "they were about like other boys," and yet another class say that they were "bad boys, very bad boys from the beginning." there is no doubt that they were sometimes "a little wild," as their best friends admit. we have accounts of some of their childish actions which indicate that even in early life they manifested a decided inclination to be malicious, not to say heartless and cruel. the step-father of the boys seems to be a man of amiable disposition, and his government over the children was far from being after the order of the traditional step-father. the consequence was frank and jesse advanced to the years of maturity without any of those healthful, restraining influences which moralists assure us are essential to the proper development of the higher qualities of manhood. be that as it may, we have been assured by persons of the highest respectability, who were acquainted with them long before the commencement of the war between the states, that "they were their own masters" at a very early age, save only when their strong-willed mother asserted her prerogative to dominate over them, which, by the way, she seldom did. among the boys of the neighborhood they were not without friends. but among them, they were leaders. aside from a willingness on the part of other boys to accept such leadership, the jameses were exceedingly disagreeable, and generally attempted to enforce a due recognition of their superiority. such were the great outlaws as boys. it is related of them, that when frank was thirteen, and jesse eleven years of age respectively, they met a boy with whom at some previous time they had engaged in a childish wrangle. the lad who had incurred their ill-will was thirteen years old, well developed, and possessed of courage and determination. but he was not able to engage successfully in a contest with the brothers. it was in the spring time. the streams were full and deep. the boys met in a large forest. the jameses attacked their neighbor, and succeeded in administering to him a severe beating. not content with this, they procured thongs of tough bark, bound their victim securely and threw him into a deep pool in a neighboring stream. several times was this ducking process repeated, to the great terror of the boy, and the infinite satisfaction of his tormentors. after satiating their vengeance in this way, until thoroughly wearied, the young tyrants drew him out and tied him securely to a tree in the midst of the gloomy forest. it was in the morning when they left him there, and he was not released until nearly dusk, when a neighbor, who was out in pursuit of squirrels, heard his cries and went to his assistance. the boy had suffered so much, that he was thrown into a fever, from which he did not recover in many weeks. these tyrant boys were the predecessors of the guerrillas and the outlaws. it was an early ambition of frank and jesse to have and use fire-arms. dr. samuels presented each of them with a small double-barrel shot-gun, and the accompanying accoutrements of the sportsman. the day the gift was received was a proud and happy one to the boys. they soon learned to use them, and in a brief time they were expert shots, and many feathered songsters ceased to sing forever before their unerring aim. rabbits, squirrels and other small game were their prey. [illustration: in the woods with their new shot-guns.] but shot-guns lost their novelty after awhile, and they yearned for pistols. they had read or heard of the skill of the adventurers away out on the borders, and they dreamed of rivaling them some day. at last by dint of self-denial and persistent saving, frank and jesse were made glad by an opportunity which was offered to procure pistols, on the occasion of a visit to st. joseph, which they were permitted to make in company with dr. and mrs. samuels. we may safely conclude that the pistols were not of the pattern which the outlaws of the present day most esteem. but they had pistols, and the neighbors in the vicinity of the samuels' residence very speedily became painfully aware of the fact, by the perpetual reports of their weapons while they were out "at practice," which was nearly every hour of daylight. this constant practice gave them proficiency in the use of such weapons, and long before they had arrived at manhood's estate they were masters of the art of pistol shooting. they became noted throughout the neighborhood for their skill. so accurate had become their aim that they would measure a distance of fifteen paces from a tree standing in an open space, and commence walking around it, firing glancing shots as they walked, and so continuing until they had completely girdled the tree. later in life they acquired such skill that they would ride at a full gallop around a circle, with a tree in its center, at a distance of seventy-five paces, firing as they rode, and entirely girdle the tree with revolver bullets, never losing a single shot. thus frank and jesse had become masters of an art which rendered them dangerous foes when the days of turmoil came. [illustration: girdling a tree.] so the years passed away, and the lads had already grown to be tall and shapely, when the tocsin of civil war rang throughout the land. they were not then old enough to enter at once upon the duties incumbent upon soldiers. but they were growing apace, and the days of strife and bloodshed were not destined to pass away ere they grew strong enough to ride with the strongest, and bold enough to face danger with the most daring. we may well suppose that all their dreams at that momentous period were of war, bloodshed, and all the concomitant horrors of warfare. the shadow of destiny had fallen athwart their pathway when the first gun was fired--the pandemonium of passion, still dormant in their breasts, was ready to be kindled in all its baleful fury. chapter iii. in the guerrilla camp. "woe, ah, bitter woe! the suffering mother and the moaning babe the aged feeling in their veins the blood chilling forever." at last the war-cloud, which had been hovering for months over our fair land, burst with a fury that was appalling. cheeks were blanched and hearts were made tremulous in agony. missouri was destined to realize a season of despair, such as has fallen upon few people in modern times. it was neighbor against neighbor, kinsman against kinsman, brother against brother, and vengeful hate burning up all that was merciful and good in human nature. the night of woe had descended. the appearance of the renowned guerrilla chieftain, quantrell, on the border; the stories which were circulated concerning his achievements; the feverish state of the public mind, and the circumstances in which the people of this state were involved, all contributed to exert a large influence over the minds of the youths and young men just coming upon the stage of life in the western counties. cole younger, who had not then been regarded as "a wild lad," equally with frank james, who had been so regarded, was attracted to the standard of the daring guerrilla. in the vortex of passion which whirled through the land, all principles, love, justice, mercy and hope were swallowed up. men were transformed by the baleful influence. previous to the departure of frank james for quantrell's camp, there is no evidence that dr. or mrs. samuels had been mistreated or in any way insulted by the federal militia. the samuels family were intensely attached to the southern cause, and the very appearance of soldiers in the blue uniform of the united states was not a little galling to the sectional pride and native passion of mrs. samuels, who did not hesitate at any time to abuse the cause which they represented. in this pleasant pastime she was always emphatic and unamiable in expression. it was early in that frank james bid adieu to all peaceful pursuits, and rode away in the dim twilight hour to seek the camp of the guerrilla chieftain. he had made a start toward becoming an outlaw. it was in the spring-time. frank was away with quantrell's reckless band, and jesse, who had attained the age of sixteen years, was ploughing in a field on the samuels estate, near kearney, when on a bright day a band of federal militia approached the homestead. they first encountered dr. samuels, and him they laid violent hands upon, bore him away to a convenient tree, adjusted a rope about his neck and hanged him to a projecting branch until life was almost extinct, and so they left him for others to relieve. not content with this exhibition of prowess, the valiant warriors proceeded to the field where jesse followed his plough, and laid hold upon him, and placed a rope around his neck and told him his hour had come, and while they tormented him in this manner, some of them pricked his body with their bayonet-points or their sabres. the reason assigned by the militiamen for this exhibition of violence, was that jesse james was accustomed to ride fast and far when the shades of night fell upon the earth, to convey intelligence to the guerrilla chieftain of the movements of the militia. when they had chastised him, and warned him that if he rode any more to carry the news they would kill him, they let him go his way. but jesse james was not to be intimidated. he rode again and again to the hidden camp. his bad passions were aroused. the boy had become a savage. that same week the militia made a descent upon the farm-house of dr. samuels, and finding mrs. samuels and her daughter, miss susie james, at home, they were placed under arrest and conveyed to the jail at st. joseph, at that time a place reeking in filth, where they were detained for a number of weeks, all the while subjected to the coarse jests and cruel jeers of the unfeeling guards. this last act on the part of the federal militia determined the future course of jesse james. while his mother and sister languished in jail, jesse mounted a horse, fleet of foot, and rode away, nor did he stop until he drew rein in quantrell's camp. at this time he was described as not yet sixteen years of age, with a smooth, handsome face, with deep blue eyes, and a complexion as soft, as delicate and fair as a school girl's. but even then the bright blue eyes were never at rest, and about the mouth were the lines of strong determination, and a certain expression of countenance that indicated cool courage. he, perhaps, had the susceptibility of being merciful, but _his mercy_ was a mere whim--a passing fancy and not a quality. frank and jesse had both entered upon their career--a course in life destined to blight all that was noble, or susceptible of becoming noble and grand in character. the old life, with all its promise, and all its dreams and hopes, was past. henceforth a new life, fraught with danger and sufferings, and crimes which should make their very names a terror, was to animate them. the hard lines were drawn, and the men who might have served well the interests of a peaceful society, had more favorable circumstances surrounded them, cast loose all the restraints of civilized life, and in a day, as it were, returned to that condition of savage existence from which the race had been raised by ages of struggle. they were not long in proving to their comrades that they were worthy to be numbered among their desperate ranks. their efficiency as daring and dangerous partisans was soon made manifest. chapter iv. bloody war. "the presence of soldiers is a wicked thing, bounded in time and circumscribed in space." the presence of armed men wearing the blue uniform of the federal army in the counties of platte, clinton and clay, missouri, was commingled gall and worm-wood to the souls of that portion of the population which was devoted to the southern cause. these constituted probably more than two-thirds of the inhabitants. the passions of the people on both sides were at a white heat. neighbor was contending with neighbor, and friends were ready to strike down the friends who opposed, and old associates divided by politics, had become the bitterest of foes. anarchy prevailed. society was rent into fragments and the law of hate was triumphant. frank and jesse james were with quantrell's band, and were selected to go on an expedition with a scout under captain scott, to the north side of the missouri river. the town of richfield was garrisoned by a company of some thirty men under command of a captain sessions, of the federal state militia. scott's command consisted of only twelve. yet with this feeble force he determined to attack richfield. frank james was one of the men appointed to lead the attacking party. a desperate fight ensued. captain sessions and lieut. graffenstien, of the federal garrison, were killed at the first fire. the guerrillas gained a complete triumph. ten of the militiamen were killed, while scott did not lose a man. the survivors of the fray surrendered to the partisan, captain scott, and he paroled them. after the morning fight, scott moved about twenty miles that day to the house of one pat mcginnis, in clay county. it was made the duty of frank james to scout through the country that night, and he rode away from the camp of the partisan in the black night--rode straightway to the home of his mother. that lady was at home. she had been collecting information for the use of the guerrillas, and was pleased to see her son. to him she opened her budget of intelligence. the movement of scott on richfield had startled the federal militia. the small bands were rapidly concentrating, and were strengthening their position every day. plattsburg, the county seat of clinton, had been stripped of its garrison, which had been sent out to hunt for the bold raiders, and was at that very time defenseless. such was the character of the information gathered by mrs. samuels, and imparted to her son, who, in company with a comrade, mr. fletcher taylor, rode hastily back to scott's camp to report the character of the information which he had gained. [illustration: a moonlight conference.] on receiving the information, scott resolved to make an attempt upon plattsburg. during the succeeding day it was ascertained that captain rodgers had left plattsburg to make an effort to discover and capture scott, taking with him most of the garrison. in the first watch of the second night after the affair at richfield, scott's little band silently deserted their camp and rode rapidly toward plattsburg. two o'clock in the morning found them within four miles of that place, on smith's fork of grand river. here they halted and slept until daylight. they were in a deep forest, and quite secure from observation. until three o'clock in the evening they remained quiet, feeding their horses and resting. then the scouts brought intelligence concerning the situation at the town, and the guerrillas, mounting, set out to capture it. there were a few men left as a guard at the court-house, under the command of a lieutenant. the officer had been out in town when the guerrillas charged into the public square. before he could rejoin his men he was cut off by frank james, to whom he was compelled to yield himself a prisoner. james at once conducted his captive into the presence of captain scott. the militia in the court-house, though taken by surprise, were not disposed to yield without a struggle. at the time the lieutenant was brought before scott, they were pouring a severe fire among the guerrillas, and the issue was in doubt. pointing to his prisoner, frank said, "captain, shoot that man, unless he delivers up the court-house." "that i will!" responded scott, with a terrible oath as he drew his pistol. the officer besought his men to yield, which under the circumstances they consented to do. two hundred muskets were captured and destroyed, and $ , in "union defence warrants," of the state of missouri, were seized and appropriated. the spoils of victory were divided among the band. frank's share was $ , . it was his first taste of gain through violent appropriation--an initiative lesson, so to speak. he has become a proficient since that time. the raiders, whose camps were usually to be found in forests, far away from the generally traveled highways, concluded to sup like civilized men that night, hence they ordered supper at the hotel, and had for their guest the late federal commander of the post. frank james is a silent man, having little to say, and that little is brought out in sharp, short sentences. he is not so tall as jesse, nor so robust in form. he never laughs, and was never known to jest with his comrades. in the early days of the war he was beardless, and the outlines of his features were visible to all. his face is long, with a broad, square forehead, and a strong under jaw and heavy chin. his eyes are dark gray and are restless, and always have a wicked expression about them. in later years frank james wears a full beard, and on that account is not so readily recognizable by those who knew him in the old days. jesse james, as a youth, had a round jovial face, and rather a pleasant expression of countenance. he was then the reverse of taciturn; had a merry laugh, and was "a fellow of infinite jest" among his comrades. in all his subsequent career he has been the aaron to frank. jesse always does the talking yet, when they have occasion to communicate with strangers. in later years jesse, too, has become reserved, not so taciturn as his brother, but still more silent than the average of men. neither one of the brothers is given to boisterous merriment now-a-days, since life's shadows have fallen so darkly around them. chapter v. at the sack of lawrence, kansas. "wherefore this tangle of perplexities, the trouble or the joys? the weary maze of narrow fears and hopes, that may not cease, a chill falls on us from the skiey ways, black with the night-tide where is none to hear the ancient cry, the wherefore of our days." the years come and go, and they give birth to bright and tender dreams, as well as to passions dark as azrael's wing, and fierce as flames of tophet. yes, the years give joy and peace to some, and hope buds, as in the spring days the lilacs bloom. yet time digs deep graves in which to bury our fondest hopes, and obliterates in indistinguishable night every earthly joy. it is better so. if we could draw aside the screen which hides from our ken the things of the future, who of us would enjoy the prospect? there was a time, perhaps, when frank and jesse james would shudder at the thought that they should become not only soldier-slayers of men, but robbers and murderers as well. and yet they were drifting down a rapid tide toward the great black gulf of evil. a few months calls the leaves from their buds, and dresses the forest in green--a few months more and the leaves and flowers wither before the north wind's breath and the beautiful flowers and the gay leaves become loathesome in the dust of decay. and so too, we imagine, are the changes of mind and the transformation of character. the james boys were in a school where the gentle law of mercy was never imparted; in a school where the instructors were incarnations of bitterness and hate, and every pupil devoted to the lessons they gave out. so the months rolled away and it was not long before they could listen unmoved to the last sigh of the dying victim, and send a foe before the aim of their unerring bullets, to challenge the sentinels on the farther shore of the river of death without a thought or tremor of remorse. they were fit now to take part in the most sanguinary warfare ever waged in this country--the guerrilla warfare along the border of missouri. it was therefore without any twinges of conscience that they heard the proposition of the revengeful quantrell, to capture and sack the city of lawrence and massacre its male inhabitants. they were in the transforming stage, the full grown desperadoes were just coming along the steps of time from the closet of the future. it was a night in august--the th-- , when the commander of the fiercest band of guerrillas that ever marauded in the state of missouri, gave the order, "saddle up, men!" in his camp on the blackwater, and unfurling that ominous black banner with the single relief of the word "quantrell" in white, the bush-warriors rode west toward the kansas border, intent upon a mission which could neither succeed nor suffer repulse without bringing sorrow to many hearts. on the way three peaceable citizens beyond the aubrey, were pressed into service as guides to the bloody band. they forced these to lead them until they had reached a part of the country where their knowledge extended no further, and when they came to a grove of timber on the margin of a stream, the three poor inoffensive men were remorsely shot, frank james being one of the executioners. they had set out to kill all kansas men. [illustration: after lawrence.] on the morning of the st, it was as clear and bright a summer morning as ever gladdened the earth. quantrell's band was in full view of the ill-fated city. there was a charge, women's faces blanched, and shrieks rent the air. volley after volley broke the stillness of the morning. the people saw the sombre black flag, and knew that the guerrillas were upon them. on they came, a resistless tide. men sank down without a groan. the very streets ran red in human blood. women and children, coming before the fatal revolver bullets which streamed along the street, met their fate as they fled for the shelter of homes that were destined for the flames to feed upon. in this pandemonium of war-fiends, frank and jesse james were conspicuous actors. here, there, everywhere, when opportunity offered, men either armed or unarmed and defenseless were made victims of their skill as pistol shooters, and they felt no more regret than if they had been acting the part of honorable soldiers and chevaliers. the torch was applied, and the terrors of billowy flames were added to the horrors of the scene. how many houses they burned, and how many lives they destroyed that day, they themselves do not know; of the first there were several, of the second there were many. they returned with quantrell to missouri. they had learned well. the lads who are claimed by their friends to have been gentle as cooing doves in the home nest had been singularly transformed into merciless eagles, or vindictive kites, rather. they had proved that human rights and human lives had little to call for their regard, and so the first stage of a notorious career had been attained by these brothers ere yet they had reached their majority. chapter vi. a gory record. "oh, the dread of by-gone days!-- a fearful tale they tell, when rung the woodland echoes round to warlike shout and yell, when fiercely met the hostile bands, and deadly grew the strife, and wildly, with the clash of arms, went up the shriek for life." the cruel strife of the border can never be forgotten. those were tragic days, the very remembrance of which comes like a dream of sorrow and desolation of soul. it is well that such terrible times have passed away, for to those who were exposed to the fury of that tidal-wave of passion, which swept over the fair borderland, physical existence must have been a wheel of pain. but the mighty procession of the ages, sweeping by, will soon obliterate the traces of the storm's ravages, and only the dim legends of horrible deeds will remain. in that dreadful ebullition of human hatreds, frank and jesse james played no laggard's part. as boys, they accepted service under quantrell, and became renowned for caution and daring even in the days of their youth. members of a partisan organization, famed even in the early days of the strife for daring deeds and extraordinary activity; a band, every man of which was a desperado of great cunning and prowess, these two callow-youths, taken from a country farm, speedily rose to the eminence of leading spirits among the most daring of men. both sides in the border counties of missouri and kansas prosecuted war with a vindictive fury unparalleled in modern history. the scene of the operations of the guerrillas was at first confined to the limits of clay, platte, jackson, bates, henry, johnson, and lafayette counties, in missouri, and along the kansas border. these men rode far and fast in the night time, and fought their foes at early dawn. living in out-of-the-way neighborhoods were their friends. when pressed hard they disbanded and scattered, and rendered all pursuit futile. frank and jesse james early discovered those traits of character which have rendered them famous as the greatest outlaws and freebooters of modern times. they became scouts and spies for quantrell at the beginning of their career, and showed themselves possessors of remarkable capacity for such service. they were cool and brave, fertile in resources, and marvelous in cunning. after lawrence came the disbandment, and with the disbandment came that strange training in individual development and personal reliance which have made the boys objects of fear to the people of many regions, and enabled them to plunder at will, baffle pursuit, and defy the civil authorities of great states. they had hiding places with friends in clay, platte, jackson, johnson, cass and lafayette counties, and when the guerrilla band to which they belonged scattered in order to evade pursuers, the boys retired to the dwellings of their friends and rested in peace till the time of re-organizing, when an enemy was to be punished. perhaps no two individuals ever lived on this continent who have taken so many lives, as the james boys. emerging from the seclusion which they could always find in the hudspeth neighborhood, in the eastern part of jackson county, in july, , with captain george todd, a redoubtable guerrilla chieftain, with whose command frank and jesse often fought, they struck the road leading from pleasant hill to blue springs. major ransom, a federal officer with a cavalry force, was traveling that road at the time. a collision took place. the fighting was savage. the volleys of revolver bullets fired by the guerrillas proved awfully destructive to their opponents. jesse and frank james have been credited with a tremendous destruction of life--jesse killing seven, and, frank eight men in the federal ranks during that encounter. one night frank james and five or six of his comrades were detailed to capture and kill the militia men who were accustomed to frequent a bagnio, four miles east of wellington, in lafayette county. frank james preceded the little band, and, creeping up under the window, he saw the company inside. there were eleven men in dalliance with the women. james returned to his comrades, reported the result of his observations, and the guerrillas rode to the house. a peremptory summons brought the militiamen to the yard. the guerrillas poured a volley of bullets among them. the ten men fell, pierced by the deadly missiles. but where was the eleventh man? there had been that number in the house when james saw the company, and the man could not have left the place. a search was instituted. the man could not be found. but there was one woman more in the party than had been seen before. a candle was procured and a search instituted among them. they all appeared to be women. frank james discovered the man. he was a youth, fair skinned and blue eyed, with long brown hair. his features were handsome, and in the garments of a woman he appeared not unlike a fresh country girl. of course he expected to die there. his ten companions presented the spectacle of a ghastly wreck of humanity in the yard as they lay there cold in death. but he plead for his life. he was so young to die. "here, frank, take him," said the leader. "you discovered him; he is yours to deal with." it was a sentence of death, they said. the boy thought so, and hope vanished. "come," said frank, "come along and be shot." the poor youth trembled in every nerve. he could scarcely walk. his supposed executioner had to assist him down the steps and out through the yard. they passed the ghastly heap of corpses, lying there in the dim starlight. they went away, into the darkness under the sombre trees, down the road. poor boy, he thought of his mother. under the wide-spreading branches of an ancient oak they halted. "here! we are far enough," said frank james. the poor youth almost fell to the earth from excess of emotion. to die, and so young, and in such a way, too! "oh, spare me for the sake of my mother!" he wailed. "you are free to go! i give you your life. you are outside of the pickets, outside of danger. go, and be quick about it!" and at that moment frank james fired a pistol shot upward through the branches of the oak, and the fair haired boy soldier disappeared in the darkness--spared for the sake of his mother by the youthful desperado. frank james returned to his comrades. they had heard the shot and naturally concluded that it meant one more life ended. frank assumed a grave expression. "quick work," remarked a comrade. "yes," returned the guerrilla, "babies and boys are not hard to kill." he never spoke of that better deed he performed out there, with only the stars and god as witnesses. [illustration: a deed of mercy.] and the border strife went on. frank and jesse rode with quantrell, sometimes with todd and poole, then again they fought at unexpected times by the side of john jarrette, and bill anderson, and arch clements. one week they would be charging blunt's body guard in southeastern kansas; the next they would ambush a moving column of federal militia in lafayette, or jackson county, missouri. it was fighting--cruel, savage fighting, all the while. in the bottom lands along the blue, or among the sni hills, when hotly pursued, they would find hiding places, from whence they emerged only to deal out destruction and death. down to texas, marching with the close of autumn, like migratory birds, they returned to their old haunts with the bright spring days. deceiving and cutting to pieces lieut. nash's small command in the road west of warrensburg, on a monday, we hear of their successfully ambushing a column of union militia on the banks of the little blue on the succeeding wednesday, and a few days afterwards we hear of frank and jesse playing "the trumps" of revolver bullets among a squad of rollicking soldier gamesters at camden; then again they are heard of with todd, riding down the road from independence toward harrisonville, where, seven miles from the former place, they encounter captain wagner, of the second colorado cavalry, and engage in a terrible hand-to-hand conflict in which jesse james takes the life of the captain, and with his deadly aim sends seven of wagner's men to the bourne of the dead. on the same occasion frank, riding furiously among the federal cavalrymen, deals death to eight of them. so the spring and summer of was passing with these men engaged in deeds of blood. it was in the last days of july of , that arch clements and jesse james were riding along a country road one evening, when they discovered four militiamen in an orchard gathering apples. two of the men were in one tree and two in another. without ceremony the guerrillas shot them as they would have shot squirrels from a forest tree, and jested of the deed as they might have jested over the fall of wild beasts. it was about this time that frank james had a thrilling adventure. he had been ordered out on a scout to ascertain the movements of the federals in jackson and cass counties. it was a period of deep anxiety to the guerrilla leaders, as it appeared that special efforts were being made by the federal militia, and several companies of the second colorado cavalry, to capture all the irregular confederates found in the state of missouri. frank had reached the independence and harrisonville road at a point about midway between the two towns. as he passed through the country he ascertained that a force of infantry and cavalry were at a house some miles away from the road. how many there were in this detachment he could not learn. but he resolved to investigate. taking a neighborhood path, not much traveled, he rode toward the federal encampment. on the roadside was a lonely cabin, now uninhabited, as he believed. he examined the indications, and rode on. at the cabin the road made a short turn. when frank turned around the corner of the old cabin, two militiamen presented their muskets and commanded him to halt. in an instant the ready pistol was snatched from its place by the guerrilla, and even before the militiaman could fire, the bullet from frank's pistol had penetrated his brain, and he fell in the agonies of death to the earth. at the very instant of firing, frank put spurs to his horse and galloped away, turning and firing at the remaining guard as he did so, and wounding him unto death just as he was in the act of firing at the daring rider. the bullet from the militiaman's gun whistled within an inch of frank james' ear as it sped on its harmless mission. the picket post where the firing took place was within a few hundred yards of a camp where a hundred militiamen, and half that number of cavalrymen, who rode good horses, were taking their dinners. frank, surmising that the two soldiers with whom he had the combat were on guard duty close to camp, and that an alarm and pursuit would follow, rode with all speed toward the guerrilla camp. he was pursued, as he expected, but he easily eluded the coloradoans. [illustration: a narrow escape.] in august--it was the th day of that month, , that jesse and frank participated with their comrades, todd, anderson and others, in a desperate conflict in ray county, missouri. again the deadly revolvers, in the hands of the boys, accomplished fatal results. between the two, seven fellow-beings were sent to the silent realms of death. two days afterward they were at the flat rock ford, on grand river, and a desperate struggle with some federal militia and volunteers ensued. during that fight jesse was struck by a musket ball which tore through his breast, cut into and through his left lung, and caused him to fall. his comrades carried him away. at length he was transported to the house of captain john a. m. rudd. the wound was a dangerous one, and all expected it would prove fatal. jesse believed so himself, and took from his finger a ring which he charged his friends to carry to his sister, miss susie james, and give her also his dying message, which was, "i have no regret. i've done what i thought was right. i die contented." this event occurred august th, . by the th of september he had so far recovered as to be able to ride and fight again. on the th of september jesse and frank rode away with lieutenant george shepherd, from the guerrilla rendezvous at judge gray's, near bone hill, jackson county, for a raid into clay county. at this time he visited his mother. on the th of september jesse james killed three militiamen in an encounter near keytesville, chariton county, missouri. he was now so far recovered as to perform the services of a scout. on the th he rode twenty-nine miles in the night time, through a country swarming with militia, to advise todd concerning the movements of the federal forces. on the th of september, , occurred the battle of fayette, missouri. the whole of quantrell's band was concentrated for the purpose of making this attack. all the chieftains were present, quantrell and anderson, poole and clements. during the assault on the stockade, lee mcmurtry was desperately wounded close up to the enemy's position. jesse and mcmurtry were comrades, and he would not allow his friend to fall into the hands of the federals if he could help it. he rushed up to where the wounded man lay, and though exposed to a terrible fire, he carried away his wounded friend without receiving any injury. the guerrillas were driven from fayette. at this time the various bands seemed to accept the leadership of bill anderson, who was then gathering forces for the centralia expedition. quantrell separated from him, and returned to a secure place of repose in howard county. todd and poole and the james boys, pringle, the scalper, the two hills and clements, indeed, all of the most desperate of the guerrilla gang followed the black banner of the most savage guerrilla that ever trod the soil of missouri. the th of september, , must ever be a memorable day in the annals of the civil war in missouri. on that day, with a flag black as the raven's wing, and ominous of the coming night of death, bill anderson rode to centralia, a village in the northeastern part of boone county, mo., on the line of the st. louis, kansas city and northern railroad. he was not long idle. a train of cars drew up to the depot. there were soldiers and citizens on that train. very few of the former, however, were armed. only a few guns, at any rate, were fired. the train and its passengers were completely at the mercy of the guerrillas. the federal soldiers and citizen passengers were formed in a line. then a separation of citizens and soldiers took place. twenty-eight soldiers and four citizens who wore blue blouses were selected, marched out and shot with an atrocious haste that would make even the cruel kurds shudder. in this bloody tragedy, frank and jesse james were prominent actors. scarcely had this butchery been consummated, when major johnson, in command of about iowa cavalrymen, came upon the scene. the force of the guerrillas under command of todd numbered more than two hundred men, and as both were determined, a desperate fight ensued. but the impetuous charge of the guerrillas, led by george todd, broke the lines of the iowans, and a panic ensued among them. major johnson made gallant effort to rally his men. it was in vain. the furious riders dashed among them and shot them down like so many panic-stricken sheep. jesse james, mounted on a superb horse, rode directly at major johnson. the issue was not doubtful. the deadly aim of the guerrilla soon laid him stark and still on the prairie. it was all over with him, and also for the men he commanded that morning. appeals for mercy were of no avail. the vanquished federals were massacred. frank james was equally active with his brother. he is credited with having taken the lives of eight men that day. it was a day of horror, and the partisan rangers revelled in the carnage. after centralia came hard knocks. in one of the fights immediately succeeding the centralia holocaust, dick kinney, a noted guerrilla, received his death wound. he was frank james' comrade, and he fell heir to the pistol which kinney had worn. on the handle of this weapon were fifty notches, each notch signifying one. he had killed fifty men. frank james probably has the pistol yet. in a corner of clay county lived an old man named banes. he was a staunch union man, and blessed the guerrillas with the same kind of blessing that balak desired balaam to bestow upon israel. banes was particularly severe in his condemnation of jesse and frank james. one night the boys went to bane's house under the guise of colorado troopers. the old man received them gladly, and at once unbosomed himself freely in regard to the guerrillas. in the course of his remarks he animadverted on mrs. samuels, the mother of the boys, in bitter terms. he denounced her as being "the mother of two devils, jesse and frank james." the boys secured his confidence, and then a promise of immediate assistance in hunting up the desperadoes. banes got his gun and pistols and saddled his horse, mounted and rode out to his death, for when the trio had gone about half a mile away from the house, the pretended soldiers announced themselves as the james boys, and gave him no space for repentance. two pistol shots rang out on the still night, a heavy body fell to the earth, and then the living men rode away, leaving a cold form of mortality out under the stars. with difficulty the guerrillas made their way to their haunts on the blackwater. fighting was going on constantly. the shadow of death was gathering over many a bold rider of the guerrilla band. moving out from their camp on the blackwater, one day, the guerrillas fell into an ambuscade, and several received wounds. among those thus wounded was jesse james, who had his horse killed and received a shot through the leg. todd was sent out to skirmish with the advance guard of the federal army then following the retiring army of general price. at every creek there was a battle, and at every encounter there was bloodshed. in one of these fights, when the leaves were all falling on the brown earth, george todd was killed. in the night time his followers came to pay the last tribute of respect to his remains. there were not many who gathered there in the gloom of the midnight to gaze for the last time on the face of the courageous guerrilla, but among them were jesse and frank james, and they pointed their pistols toward the cloud-veiled, teary sky, and swore to avenge his death. but the old band was broken up. late in october, , jesse and frank parted, the former with shepherd went to texas, the latter with quantrell to kentucky. it proved to be the final dissolution of quantrell's once formidable force of partisans. george todd, the paladine of the command, the leader who was persistent and daring, slept quietly after the fierce turmoil of life's battlefield had ended. john poole, another hard rider, desperate fighter and dauntless leader, mouldered in a gory grave. john jarrette and cole younger had sometime before separated from the band, and were operating in the far south where the magnolias grow and the moss-bearded live-oaks stand sentinels in the fever-haunted swamps. fernando scott was dead. bill anderson had fallen in a terrible combat while endeavoring to effect a crossing of the missouri river in howard county. as he had lived for some years, grimly fighting, so in the last extremity when the odds were all against him and unseen messengers of death burdened the air with their low-hummed dirges, his life went out while he still fought in the very shades of despair. kinney was dead, and many more had surrendered life in the hot simoon of battle. and what a band it had been, which was now broken! its deeds must ever remain a part of the history of missouri, and the chapter wherein the record is made will always be read with a shudder, and in years to come men will remember the mournful story of devastation and death with feelings of painful regret that human beings could so revel in the miseries and misfortunes of whole communities. to those who can calmly sit and look down the vista of the dead years and recall without prejudice the history of men who were authors of deeds so notable--actions which, performed under other circumstances, would have made heroes of deathless fame, there must come a feeling of regret that such men should have been the victims of a baleful destiny. chapter vii. adventures in separate fields. the days of guerrilla warfare were drawing to a close. the retreat of price and shelby from missouri left the federals free to operate against the guerrillas. the old bands were decimated. death had been busy in their ranks; and for the remnants of a once formidable organization, no confederate army could extend over them sheltering arms. the drama was about completed; the curtain was soon to drop. jesse james went with lieutenant george shepherd to texas in the autumn of . during the long march through the indian territory, they met with many stirring adventures. on the d day of november, shepherd's band encountered the band of union militia, commanded by captain emmett goss, which had acquired an unenviable name on account of the excesses which they had committed. goss was coming up from a marauding trip into arkansas, and had reached cabin creek, in the cherokee nation. goss was "a fighting man," and a fierce conflict ensued. jesse james singled out the commander and rode full at him, firing his pistol and receiving the return fire of the other. the contest was short; the steady aim of the guerrilla secured him a triumph. goss fell from his horse with one bullet-hole through his head and another through his heart. on this occasion there was one other to realize the skill of jesse james with the pistol, if indeed he realized anything after his ineffectual plea for life. the rev. u. p. gardiner, chaplain of the thirteenth kansas, rode with captain goss' band up from toward the south. jesse james pursued him, and came up with him. the chaplain told his pursuer who he was, and plead for life. the answer he received to this petition was a bullet through the brain. he fell from his horse dead. [illustration: jesse james' escape from "pin" indians.] two days afterward, jesse and a companion were riding over the prairie, near the bank of a stream. for some cause the comrade of jesse left him for a time alone. not far away was a skirt of heavy timber. on a sudden, a wild shout burst from the wood, and a party of pin indians--that is, cherokees, who were friendly to the union, came skurrying across the prairie, directly toward the guerrilla. his danger was imminent, for the cherokees were well armed with long range guns, which they knew well how to use. safety lay in retreat, and jesse turned to flee. he was on the open prairie, and could not get to the timber. there was a high and steep bank before him, and the indians were following close behind. he determined to leap his horse down the precipice. it happened to be where the water was deep, and a slight projection and growth of brush broke the fall. the leap was successfully made, and neither horse nor rider was badly injured. jesse, following down the creek, made his escape, and soon regained lieutenant shepherd's camp. [illustration: a horrible deed.] during the winter of - jesse james remained in texas, leading quite an inactive life. with the spring, however, that part of the missouri guerrillas which went with shepherd, began to think of missouri again. in april they began the return march. the road was beset with dangers. the pin indians in the cherokee country were extremely hostile, and left no opportunity to strike at them unimproved. by the time the may flowers bloomed, jesse james had reached benton county, missouri. in that county lived a union militiaman named harkness, who had made himself exceedingly obnoxious to people of confederate sympathies. this man was captured by the returning guerrillas, and jesse james and two comrades held him in a vice-like embrace, while another guerrilla, arch. clements, cut his throat from ear to ear. at kingsville, johnson county, mo., lived an old man named duncan, who had belonged to the militia, and was very cordially disliked on account of his bad disposition toward the southern people. jesse james sought him, found him, and slew him. duncan was a man of years of age. the guerrilla career of jesse james drew to a close. in may, , all the confederate bands in the state were coming into the federal posts and surrendering. a considerable number of those who had come up from texas with arch. clements desired to surrender, but several refused to do so. among these were jesse james. but the formality of a surrender of the others led them all to lexington, mo., under a flag of truce. there were eight unsurrendered guerrillas to bid a last adieu to their old comrades. this little band had proceeded into johnson county, when suddenly they were met by a band of federal troops returning from a scouting expedition. these fired upon the guerrillas, and a sanguinary struggle ensued. jesse james' horse was killed; he was wounded in the leg and retired into the woods pursued by the federals. he fought with desperation, but received, at last, a shot through the lungs. the wound was a terrible one, but he escaped, and dragged himself to a hiding place near the banks of a small stream. here, for two days and nights, alone, consumed by a raging fever, the wounded guerrilla lay. finally he crawled to a field where a man was ploughing. this man proved to be a friend, and took james in, cared for him, and finally sent him to his friends. the soldier who shot jesse james that day was john e. jones, company e., second wisconsin regiment of cavalry. the guerrilla and his antagonist afterward became acquainted, and were warm personal friends. jesse james joined his mother in nebraska, and returned with her to clay county, missouri. * * * * * quantrell gathered up a small band of his old comrades in the guerrilla warfare, at wigginton's place, five miles west of the town of waverly, lafayette county. among those who obeyed the summons to this rendezvous was frank james. the confederate armies had retreated from missouri. there was no longer a field in that state for the exercise of his peculiar talents. he resolved to go east, to maryland, and there open up a guerrilla warfare. it was on the fourth day of december when quantrell and frank james and about thirty others of their old followers and comrades left wigginton's for kentucky. on the first day of january, , the dreaded quantrell's band effected the passage of the mississippi river at charlie morris' "pacific place," sixteen miles above memphis. morris rendered quantrell valuable service, although at that time he was a frequent visitor to memphis, and on excellent terms with the federal authorities at that place. after leaving the river they marched through big creek, portersville, covington, tabernacle, brownsville, bell's, gadsden, humboldt, milan, mckenzie, and on to paris. here they had their first difficulty, and were compelled to mount in hot haste and ride away. from paris the guerrillas proceeded to birmingham, and crossed the tennessee river. their route then lay through canton, cadiz, and to hopkinsville. near this place they came to a house where there were twelve cavalrymen. nine of them fled, leaving their horses. the three men who remained fought the whole of quantrell's band for many hours, until preparations were made to burn the house, and, indeed, until the fire was kindled. they then came out and surrendered. quantrell, of course, appropriated the twelve fresh horses which were in the stable. there was one captain frank barnette, who commanded a company of kentucky militia stationed at hartford, ohio county. quantrell at that time was playing the role of a federal captain. as such, he induced barnette to go with him on a hunt for confederate guerrillas. barnette carried with this expedition about thirty of his men. quantrell resolved to assassinate them all, and a way was found to do so during the day. frank james was made the executioner of captain barnette, and as he rode by him when they entered a stream of water at a ford, as the sun went down behind the western hills, frank james fired the fatal shot, and barnette fell dead from his horse, dying the clear waters of the brook red with his blood. the career of the guerrillas was drawing to a close in kentucky as well as in missouri. quantrell, and mundy, and marion were constantly hunted by dashing cavalry officers. the disguise thrown off, the federal officers knew that work must be done in order to stop the guerrillas, and they were not slow in engaging in the undertaking. major bridgewater and captain terrell were untiring in their pursuit of mundy, marion and quantrell. frank james visited an uncle, and was not with quantrell when that chieftain fought his last fight at wakefield's house, near the little post village of smiley, kentucky. that day quantrell's band was nearly annihilated. subsequently, henry porter gathered up the survivors of the once formidable guerrilla band, and surrendered with them at samuel's depot, nelson county, kentucky, on the th of july, . among those who surrendered was frank james. after the surrender, frank remained in kentucky because of a deed which he had performed in missouri about a year before. there lived in the northeast corner of clay county a man named alvas dailey. he had made himself very obnoxious to the james boys, and frank resolved to rid the world of his presence. one night he went to alvas dailey's place, and the next morning he was found dead with two bullet holes through his head. frank james had assassinated him. chapter viii. the brandenburg, ky., tragedy. frank james went down to wakefield's house, where the noted guerrilla chieftain, quantrell, lay wounded unto death. had the terrible scenes of the hard, cruel guerrilla warfare through which he had passed, obliterated from the breast of frank james every tender emotion? it appeared not, when he bent over the white face of the wounded chief with its traces of suffering and anguish. he shed tears like rain. he loved his leader, and did not hesitate to manifest that regard. knowing that the hand of death was upon him, quantrell advised his disheartened followers to accept henry porter's leadership and surrender themselves to the federal authorities. it might have been because their dying commander desired it, that such men as frank james and his companions so readily consented to lay down the weapons of war. at any rate, the formal submission of the guerrillas was made. in missouri, the terrible warfare which had been waged had left scars wide and deep and bloody, and they were yet recent when the banners of the contending armies were furled. at any rate, it so appeared to frank james, and he did not return at once to the state of his nativity. the part he had played had been a conspicuous one, and, on account of centralia, he was on the list of the proscribed, and when the war ended, so far as actual hostilities were concerned, it had not ended, so far as frank james was interested, because he was not restored to the peaceful pursuits which he had abandoned when first the war cry arose in the land. he still lingered in kentucky. the conduct of frank james for some time after the surrender indicated a desire on his part to become once more a quiet, peaceable citizen. he was extremely circumspect in behavior, and demeaned himself in a most unobtrusive way. such was the promise of the new life after the years of bitter strife in the late guerrilla. but he was not proof against the assaults of passion. one day the old flame burst out anew with consuming fury. frank had started away from the state and stopped at the town of brandenburg. it was several months after the remnants of the desperate band which quantrell led into kentucky had surrendered to the federal authorities. but the country was still in an unsettled condition. bad men who had found occupation in hovering about the verge of battle and plundering the ghastly victims of war ere the last feeble breath had departed from their pale lips, were now idle and had become wandering thugs in the highways of the land. horse thieves and bestial monsters were to be found prowling about in nearly every community, and more especially in the border states. a large number of people, and those, too, who had served in the confederate, as well as those who had been soldiers in the union armies, looked upon the men who had been with quantrell, and mundy, magruder and marion, anderson, farris, hickman and other noted guerrillas, with suspicion. many persons looked upon them as men of evil antecedents--as thieves. horse stealing was carried on at a lively rate all along the border. kansas, missouri and kentucky were particularly afflicted for many months after the surrender by the presence of these enemies of the farming and stock-raising communities. just about the time frank james was passing through from nelson county to brandenburg, in meade county, on the ohio river, on his way to missouri, a number of horses were stolen in larue county. a posse went in pursuit of the thieves. they traced them to brandenburg. there they found frank james. there were four of them when they came up with james, and he was alone, sitting in the office of a hotel. by some means they induced him to come out, and then they told him he might consider himself their prisoner on a charge of horse stealing in larue county. "by g--d! i consider no such proposition," exclaimed frank james, as he drew a pistol and commenced firing. in less time than it requires to state the fact, two of the posse lay extended in the embrace of death, and a third was down and writhing in agony. but the fourth man fired a shot into frank's left hip, and then ran away. the wounded desperado was immediately surrounded by an excited throng. the ball had taken effect at the point of his hip, and the wound produced was not only painful but dangerous. yet the superb nerve of the man sustained him in the midst of an appalling crisis. a perfect storm of excitement was raging in the town. threats loud and terrible were made, and frank james coolly presented his pistols as he stood leaning against a post and ordered the excited crowd to stand back, and they obeyed him. somehow it has always happened that the jameses never wanted for friends wherever they have wandered. it was so on this occasion. though the great majority of the people of brandenburg thirsted for the blood of the slayer of two men in their midst, yet that grim young man, though wounded and suffering, had friends at that town, and in the midst of the excitement, these came to his assistance, and he was borne away to a secure place, where the populace could not tell, and nursed by tender hands prompted by affectionate hearts. attended by a scientific surgeon, the ghastly wound which had brought him to the very brink of the abyss of death, began to heal, and in a few weeks the surgeon who had attended the hidden patient was able to report that he would surely live and might ultimately recover entirely from the dreadful wound. when frank had gained some strength, and it was deemed safe to remove him, in a quiet and secret manner he was conveyed in a close vehicle to the house of a staunch friend and relative in nelson county, where he remained during many months, suffering excruciating pain on account of the horrible wound. he did not entirely recover from the effects of the wound for several years. chapter ix. the liberty bank affair. certainly no one could say that jesse james possessed any of the qualities which would make him "like one who on a lonely road doth walk in fear and dread, and having once turned round, walks on, and turns no more his head, because he knows a frightful fiend doth close behind him tread." he was constituted of a different element. if he ever felt the sense of dread, no one ever knew it, for certainly none ever saw it exhibited in his conduct. yet he knew that he was hunted, knew that shrewd, bold men sought to bind him in fetters, to deprive him of liberty, or, failing in that, rob him of life. and yet this knowledge did not alarm him, and the very presence of his foes did not make him afraid, though they numbered "ten strong, brave men." perhaps jesse james never knew what fear meant, having never experienced the sensation. it was in , on st. valentine's day, february th, that an event occurred at liberty, missouri, which created intense excitement in that community, and a profound sensation throughout the west. the event alluded to was the plundering of the commercial bank of that city of an amount of money said to have been nearly $ , . the robbery was not effected in the same bold way as characterized the raids into russellville, gallatin, columbia, corydon and other notable incidents in the career of the james bandits. but inasmuch as the bank was depleted of its funds, and that the robbery was unusually bold and audacious, there were many who secretly believed that jesse james planned the robbery, if he did not lead the robbers, and that the treasures of the bank had been largely diverted to the individual possession of that noted young man. it will be remembered that the liberty bank robbery occurred at a time when the james boys were regarded only in the light of "desperate fighters--perhaps sometimes cruel in their vengeance," but otherwise they were believed to be honest and honorable men. hence men were cautious in coupling the name of any member of the james family with an act of highway robbery. but the conviction was strong in the minds of many people, nevertheless, that the funds of the liberty bank had gone to minister to the wants and satisfy the desires of jesse james and his friends and confederates. no immediate action was taken against him, but as time passed on, and other acts were committed by jesse james and his friends, which were not regarded as either right or proper, the belief that they had participated in the robbery, if, indeed, they were not the robbers themselves, became wide-spread in the community. but in justice to jesse james, it is but right to say that no evidence directly implicating him in that affair has ever been secured. cole younger, when asked by a visitor to the stillwater penitentiary concerning the liberty bank robbery, remarked, "i have always had my opinion about that affair. if the truth is ever told, many of the crimes charged to me and my brothers will be located where they belong." former friends of jesse james are firm in the belief that he was the instigator of the deed, if not the leader of the brigands who sacked the bank. this belief, at any rate, influenced the public mind to no small extent, and led eventually to an effort to arrest jesse james a year afterward, which attempt ended in a bloody tragedy, as narrated in the next chapter. chapter x. jesse's sortie against the militiamen. when the war closed, jesse james was sorely wounded. it was only by the most persistent and sureful nursing that he could expect to recover. when he was able to travel he was furnished transportation from lexington to go to nebraska to join his mother, who was then a fugitive from her home. it does not appear that he lingered very long in nebraska, since we are assured that before the brown leaves had fallen, mrs. samuels had returned to her old home near kearney, clay county, missouri. this point appears to be conceded by all who have written concerning them. jesse's wounds healed slowly--so slowly that after the lapse of a year he was but just able to ride on horseback a little. during the summer of jesse rode around the country, but there was still considerable feeling against him, and he went well armed. indeed, he always had his pistols "handy to use." nothing appears to have disturbed the quiet of his life until the night of february , . it was a cold night. the ground was covered with a thick mantle of snow, and the wind blew bitterly cold from the north; the full moon shone brightly on the glittering garments of mother earth. jesse james was at his mother's home near kearney, clay county, tossing under the infliction of a burning fever. his pistols were loaded and rested beneath his pillow. on that night, five well-armed and well-mounted militiamen rode to the home of the james boys. dr. samuels heard the heavy tread of the armed men on the piazza, and demanded their business. he was told to open the door. he went up to confer with the sick ex-guerrilla. he asked jesse what should be done. the sick man begged his step-father to assist him to the window so that he might look out upon the crisp snow out in the moonlight. he looked with a deeper interest at the five horses hitched in front of the house. they all had cavalry saddles on their backs. he knew that they were soldiers, and he well understood the object of their coming. it was a moment when decisions must be reached quickly. he had never surrendered, and he never intended to do so. hastily dressing himself, he descended to the floor below with his pistols in his hands. the militiamen, impatient at the delay of dr. samuels in opening the door, had commenced hammering at the shutter with the butts of their muskets, all the while calling to jesse to come down and surrender himself. they swore they knew he was in the house, and vowed to take him out dead or alive. jesse crept softly and close to the door, and listened attentively until, from the voices, he thought he could get an accurate aim. he raised a heavy dragoon pistol, placed the muzzle to within three inches of the upper panel of the door, and fired. there was a stifled cry, and a heavy body dropped with a dull thud to the floor of the piazza. his aim had been deadly. before the militiamen could recover from their surprise, jesse james had thrown the door wide open, and, standing on the threshold with a pistol in each hand, he commenced a rapid and deadly fire. another man fell dead, and two more men had received wounds which were painful and dangerous, and surrendered to the outlaw they came to capture. the fifth man, terror-stricken, fled, reached his horse, mounted him, and rode rapidly away in the moonlight. thus was commenced that long strife which has gone on year after year, and the warfare has made frank and jesse james the most renowned outlaws who have ever appeared on the american continent. all the skill and ingenuity of the shrewdest detectives have been at various times brought into requisition, but failure has attended all their efforts to capture the boys. the scene presented at the samuels house, after the flight of the only man of the attacking party who remained unhurt, was indeed a sad one. here, in the cold night wind, extended on the open piazza, with faces ghastly and white in the moonbeams, lay the forms of two human beings, who but an hour before, in the prime of life and the full flush of manhood, had ridden to the retreat of the wounded and sick guerrilla. they were still in death now. and the next day friends came weary miles to bear them away. "helpless upon their sable biers, they bore them forth with bitter sighs and tears, with no gay pageantry they moved along, most silent they, amid a silent throng. and there they left them in that drear abode alone with its still tenants and their god." and there were two more men who had come with brave hearts and steady hands to capture the weary, feverish ex-guerrilla, lying there writhing in agony after the attempt had been made. they had come with the hope of delivering jesse james over to the law, and thus bind him forever. now they lay completely helpless, and in the power of the daring outlaw, who had the name of being devoid of the quality of mercy. and yet they were spared by him. when a large company of armed men arrived at the house of dr. samuels, the next day, to take jesse james dead or alive, that redoubtable adventurer was many miles away. the place that had proved so disastrous to the five militiamen the evening before, was quiet enough now, and the militia ranged through the old farm-house without molestation. jesse was not at home! chapter xi. in the hands of friends. jesse james, soon after the night attack before related, proceeded to kentucky, where frank was stopping with friends. he had not recovered from the effects of the terrible wounds which he had received in the breast just after the close of the war. frank was still unable to ride abroad on account of the bullet wound in his hip received on the day of the brandenburg tragedy. in the early part of the summer of , jesse arrived at the house of a friend in nelson county, kentucky, near the town of chaplin. frank was already there. in this neighborhood dwelt a large number of people who were either related to them or devoted admirers of the noted guerrillas. they had been the friends and entertainers of quantrell, marion, sue mundy, and others of the guerrillas in the closing days of the war. soon after his arrival in chaplin, jesse, whose condition seemed to grow worse instead of better, concluded to place himself under the surgical care of dr. paul f. eve, of nashville, tenn. he proceeded to nashville, where he remained for several months, and received much benefit to his health. in the beginning of the year jesse and frank were once more re-united at the house of a relative at chaplin. from all that can be learned, the life led by the wounded desperadoes while with their kentucky friends was as pleasant as could be expected under the circumstances. there was a large community of people in that section who were intensely southern in feeling, and mourned the defeat of the cause for which so many noble lives had been sacrificed, with an intense grief. every one who had fought for that cause was dear to them, and when the missouri youths came to the homes of the samuels, and mcclaskeys, and russels, and thomases, and sayers, they were sure to receive a warm welcome. in that part of kentucky there were scattered about many of the adventurous partisans who had followed sue mundy, magruder, marion and other guerrilla chiefs in the days of the war. with some of these frank james had served in the closing days of quantrell's career. the jameses were feted and feasted by the hospitable kentuckians, and so tenderly nursed that their wounds had very much improved. logan county was also the home of many of their friends, and numerous relatives of the boys, and between these and those residing in nelson county, they passed to and fro at will, and wherever they might happen to rest, they were honored guests of families who possessed the pecuniary means to enable them to be hospitable. fair ladies smiled on them, and gentle hands were ready to serve them in the hour of pain. it seems that they should have been happy, or at least contented. but the james boys' career had been stormy; they had an active, restless disposition; they had lost the delicate sensibilities of well organized members of society, and the rough experiences through which they had passed had evidently destroyed, in a measure, whatever of human sympathy had belonged to their nature. and yet at this time their friends--and they had many--believed them to be honorable and honest, if desperate in conflict. they knew that they had killed many men, but this was excused, because the men killed were enemies, and the killing was done in combats. so it came about that these most noted of outlaws for many years had friends who believed in their integrity, and were ready at all times to engage in the defense of their character. the times were favorable. there were many desperate young men turned adrift by the events of the war; men ready to engage in any undertaking which promised excitement and gain. over such, jesse and frank james could exercise a large influence, and from among such they drew allies in the commission of crime. the individual members of organizations which had hovered along the borders, and hung on the verge of the great field of warfare, in character one half soldier and the other half bandit, were just the kind of men from whose ranks recruits for lawless enterprises could be enlisted. in kentucky and tennessee, arkansas and missouri, there were many such persons--men who, during the great strife, when mighty hosts clashed against each other, and tremendous events were taking place, had occupied an anomalous position which brought upon them the hate of the federals, and incurred for them the displeasure of the confederates, were in a position where a step further could not materially alter their relations to society. the men who had fought with regiments, banded in great armies, whether on the side of the federals or confederates, did not look with any great consideration on those who had lingered along the borders of war, as independent companies of scouts and guerrillas. there were many men in kentucky at the time of which we speak who had been in organizations of the character above described--that is, guerrilla bands, both federal and confederate. the regular soldiers of both armies, whose families had suffered in consequence of the partisan warfare, looked with ill-concealed dislike upon the free riders of the border, and this fact, no doubt, had a large influence in driving many of the guerrillas into downright outlawry when the war had closed. it was in a community of ex-guerrillas that frank and jesse found themselves in kentucky, and among such "friends," no doubt, their first great project of bank robbing had its inception and complete maturity. chapter xii. the russellville bank robbery. russellville is a beautiful village--almost grown to a city--in a lovely region of country in logan county, kentucky. the people of russellville are educated and refined. it is the seat of much wealth and boasts its colleges and academies. in general, russellville is a quiet place, and from year in to year out its quietude is not often broken by any startling incident. but things will occur everywhere, sometime, to create a profound sensation. it happened that this quiet, prim old place should have a great and notable sensation. it was a bright morning in march. the blue birds had returned and were singing their matin songs from the budding branches of the trees. russellville was as staid and sober as usual. there was not a single thing to indicate that the old town was about to be shaken up as it had never been before. the bank doors stood wide open, and the cashier stood at his desk. an old lady hobbled down the street, and a fresh school-miss paused to gaze at the early spring flowers which adorned a neighbor's garden; a kitchen maid was singing a ditty to her absent swain in the back yard; and a sturdy citizen crossed the street to inquire if a certain bill which he held in his hands was good. nothing strange in all this? of course not. people were simply minding their affairs according to their own inclinations. there was a sudden clatter of hoofs that morning, the th of march, . terrible shouts and fearful oaths, and the sharp reports of pistols accompanied the sound of the horses' hoofs. the old lady suddenly dropped her staff and stood as if petrified; the young miss ran hastily away; the cashier turned pale, and the sturdy citizen hastily retreated back across the street. a dozen horsemen, armed with two pairs of revolvers each, rode furiously about the streets, and with fearful oaths commanded the people to keep in their houses. two of the men rode to the bank, dismounted and rushed in. one of them presented a pistol at the head of the cashier, and commanded him, under penalty of instant death, to be still and make no noise. the other took out the contents of the safe, amounting to many thousands of dollars; they then remounted and rode away. in a few minutes the streets of russellville were comparatively deserted. the brigands had come in, secured their plunder, and had as suddenly disappeared; the citizens scarcely knew what had happened. surprise prevented immediate pursuit. the bandits had taken the road toward the mississippi. they were traced to that stream and across to the rugged hills of southeast missouri, and then the trail divided up, and all marks of their passage were lost. they found friends, did these bandits, in west missouri. who were the bold raiders? where did they come from and where did they go when they secured the rich booty from the plundered bank? the good friends of the james boys declared that it was impossible that they could have participated in that affair. in substantiation of this position they pointed to the fact that jesse james was at the town of chaplin, in nelson county, which is fifty miles or more from russellville, and that incomparable raider himself wrote a letter for publication in the nashville (tennessee) _american_, in which he triumphantly points to the fact that at the very time of the raid on russellville, he was at the marshall house, chaplin, and refers to mr. marshall, the proprietor of the hotel, for the truth of the statement, that on a certain day in march, , he was at his house. but unfortunately the date of the robbery, and the day which jesse asserts he spent at chaplin, were not the same days. it was no uncommon thing for jesse james to make more than fifty miles on horseback in six hours, in those days when the roads were good. he rode no inferior animals--the best blooded horses of old kentucky were bestridden by the daring raider. another thing: jesse james was only seen in chaplin the day after the robbery, and in the evening at that; even if he had been seen late the _same_ evening after the robbery, it would not have constituted even a presumptive evidence of his innocence, since after the robbery occurred in the morning he could have ridden to chaplin before nightfall. just previous to the robbery, jesse had spent much of his time in logan county, almost a dozen miles from russellville, with relatives, of whom he had a number residing in that region. as we have before stated, frank had been severely wounded while resisting arrest at brandenburg; but he was then so far recovered that he had no difficulty in riding on horseback. he had made a number of journeys between his usual stopping place at mr. sayers' house in nelson county, and the houses of his kin in logan county. the statement made by jesse that frank was at the house of mr. thompson, in san luis obispo county, california, at the time of the russellville bank robbery, is incorrect. frank had not then visited california. the friends of the boys, however, were unable to make a clear defense for them, and they have been generally credited with being not only participators, but leaders of the raiders. at the time of the robbery, geo. w. shepherd, oliver shepherd, and several others of "the old guerrilla guard," as they were called, had their homes or stopping places in nelson county. geo. shepherd had married the widow of the noted missouri guerrilla, dick maddox, who was a member of the band which quantrell led out of that state. this redoubtable warrior, who had assisted at lawrence and centralia, and had participated in many desperate and bloody affrays, met his fate in a terrible conflict with a cherokee indian. maddox and shepherd had been friends and comrades in the dark days when they rode with quantrell, and as mrs. maddox was left alone in a strange land, and was yet young in years and comely in features, george shepherd readily agreed to console the widow in her affliction and perform the duty of a faithful comrade to the memory of his friend by espousing his widow. they were married and settled in chaplin before the raid on the bank. the people of russellville quickly recovered from their surprise by the audacity of the robbers. the officers of the law rallied, and there was mounting in hot haste and an earnest pursuit of the robbers. oll. shepherd had suddenly disappeared from chaplin; several of the old guerrillas had also gone away, and frank and jesse james, too, had quietly departed from that region of country. the kentucky blood of the pursuers was up, and they followed the trail of the robbers with tireless energy. they were traced west over hills and through valleys. the cumberland river was crossed, and through the rugged region between that stream and the tennessee, they were tracked as foxes might have been trailed. but the pursuers were always just too late to come up with the gang. still they followed on, and finally reached the banks of the mississippi only to learn that the persons they sought had crossed before their arrival, and plunged into the wilderness regions of southeast missouri. some effort was made to keep on the track of the fugitives through the swamps of missouri, but the traces became fainter and fainter as the pursuers advanced, until among the rugged hills of the southeast they faded out altogether, and the kentuckians were forced to give up the chase and reluctantly returned home after a bootless pursuit. george shepherd had married a wife--moreover, he had bought a house at chaplin--and therefore he did not travel with his comrades to the west. the officers of the law soon found him, and as he was one of the suspected parties, and the bank robbers had taken shepherd's horses on which to escape, he was arrested and a thorough search was made for evidence to convict him. he was taken to russellville and placed in jail. the grand jury of logan county at its next sitting found an indictment against him, and he was in due time arraigned before the logan county circuit court on a charge of aiding and abetting the robbers. the evidence was deemed conclusive by the jury before which he was tried, and a verdict of guilty was returned and the punishment was fixed at three years in the penitentiary at hard labor. the other members of the band escaped to western missouri. oll shepherd, a cousin of george shepherd, was found in jackson county by the persistent kentuckians. they desired to arrest him. a requisition was procured from the governor of kentucky, and the executive order of the chief magistrate of missouri, for the arrest of the fugitive. but oll shepherd was an old guerrilla, and he flatly refused to be taken back to kentucky as a prisoner. the civil officers were deterred from executing the warrant of arrest. in those days there were vigilance committees in missouri. to one of these the situation of affairs was reported. it was at once determined by the vigilantes that oll shepherd must either submit to arrest or be killed. the company of vigilantes found him at his home near lea's summit. would he surrender? they demanded of him. "never! death first," he shouted back to them. then the bloody work began. but what could one man do against twenty-five? there could be but one result. the one man must die at last, however bold and skillful. so it resulted in this case. oll shepherd had been an old guerrilla under quantrell, and had learned how to shoot and how to despise fear. he resisted, and not until he had received seven bullet wounds did he succumb. in fact, he died fighting. the other members of the gang implicated in the russellville robbery escaped. the jameses soon after went to the pacific coast, and remained there for quite a while. they were on a tour in search of health. the hard life which they had led and the desperate wounds which they had received had sadly impaired their superb physical systems, and they needed rest and time to recuperate wasted energies and allow their wounds to heal. [illustration: death of oll shepherd.] meanwhile, george shepherd, shut out from the world, toiled on at his unrequited tasks in the penitentiary at frankfort. he who had been the free rover and wild guerrilla, the dauntless rider and relentless foe, in the garb of a convict did service to the state, and answered not again when ordered to his daily rounds of labor. and he alone of the survivors of that band of freebooters who rode so fearlessly and madly into russellville that morning, bent on mischief and crime, was made to feel the heavy rod of retributive justice. oll shepherd had perished. nemesis had overtaken some of the old guerrillas. chapter xiii. on the pacific slope. immediately after the russellville robbery, jesse james appeared once more in his old haunts in missouri. but his physical system had been greatly taxed by the tremendous strain to which it had been subjected. twice already had he received bullet wounds through the lungs which would have killed any man less extraordinarily endowed with vitality. scars of twenty wounds were on his person, and yet the man who had gone out from home as a boy; entered into close affiliation with a band of the most daring and desperate men ever organized in america; sustained his part with them, and even surpassed them all in the daring feats they accomplished ere yet the "manly beard had shaded his face," after having passed through more exciting scenes than any living man, and participated in more terrible encounters than most men, yet survived, and though his terrible wounds had weakened his frame, yet his wonderful courage and tremendous reserve of vital forces were such as to insure his final restoration to complete health. he had traveled on horseback from the little town of chaplin, on the eastern verge of nelson county, in central kentucky, to the western border of missouri, in the space of a few days subsequent to the th of march, . jesse james was seen in clay county, missouri, in the first days of april of that year, and was seen at chaplin on the th of march. that he was at russellville the evidence seems to be clear; and that he led a most exciting retreat from that place, through the hill country of kentucky, until he reached the banks of the mississippi, is one of the facts of his history. it was his genius which enabled his confederates to escape from a determined pursuit of resolute men. once on the west bank of the mississippi, to use a westernism, "he was on his own stamping ground." he knew every "trail" across the swamps of southeastern missouri, and every pathway in the tangled brakes over the rugged hills of the southern counties of that state, were as familiar to him as the woodlands about the old farm in clay county. he knew more--that there were scattered through the country from chaplin to kearney, a route of more than five hundred miles in length, men with the reputation of respectable members of society, who always had a warm welcome for him and his daring men. who, then, could pursue and capture him? there is no room for wonder that jesse james escaped the irate kentuckians, who followed his trail from russellville to the banks of the mississippi, and finally lost it among the rugged hills and vast forests west of the river. jesse's extraordinary journeys under such circumstances did not tend to the restoration of his physical system, which had been greatly shattered by the terrible wounds which he had received at the close of the war, in an encounter with a company of federal soldiers in lafayette county. in those days the friends of the jameses were numerous in the state of missouri; for at that time scarcely any one believed that they had developed into brigands. among those who advised with jesse james at that time was his physician and friend, dr. joseph wood, of kansas city. it was the opinion of this physician that the condition of his patient imperatively demanded a change of scene, and a more genial climate to insure his restoration. in accordance with this advice, the patient set about his preparations for a voyage by sea, and a sojourn on the pacific slope. toward the close of may, , jesse james left the home of his mother near kearney, missouri, for new york. here he spent only a few days. on the th of june he embarked on the steamship santiago de cuba, bound for aspinwall, crossed the isthmus to panama, and there again took a steamer for san francisco. the spoils of russellville allowed him means to gratify every desire in the "city of the golden gate," and he remained there for some time. meanwhile frank james, who was not deemed able to make the long ride, in the flight before the officers at russellville, was secluded for a time in the house of a respectable citizen of nelson county, kentucky. but it was not deemed best that frank should linger long in that part of the country. a friend provided a close carriage, and a few weeks after the russellville robbery frank james was very quietly driven northward one evening, passing by bloomfield, through fairfield, by smithville, and on through mount washington to louisville. here he remained a few days, and then took the cars for st, louis. arrived in that city, frank put up at the southern hotel, registering as "f. c. markland, kentucky." the name was one he had used before when he did not desire that his real name and character should be known. here he met two or three of his old comrades, and he spent several days very pleasantly with them. meanwhile he communicated with his mother and apprised her of his intention to go west across the rocky mountains. mrs. samuels met her son at the house of a relative in kansas city, where he remained for two days, and then bidding farewell to those who had always been true to him, he took passage for california, where he arrived some weeks before the arrival of jesse. frank did not remain long in san francisco, but proceeded very soon to san luis obispo county, and paid a visit to his uncle, mr. d. w. james, who was at that time proprietor of the paso robel hot sulphur springs, a much frequented resort of invalids in that county. the friends of the boys, and jesse james himself, in a published letter, claim that frank went by sea to california, and that he sailed from new york on one of the vessels belonging to the pacific mail steamship line. but this story was doubtless set afloat to mislead the public concerning the movements of the boys. the above account we have from a gentleman who was at that time a friend of the jameses, and who traveled with frank from kansas city to san francisco. he knew the desperado well, and had daily conversations with him on the journey. after spending some time at the springs, frank james proceeded to the ranche of mr. j. d. thompson, with whom he had a previous acquaintance, gained while that gentleman was visiting in the states. the noted ex-guerrilla remained at the laponsu ranche for many months, and until after the arrival of jesse. the two brothers met at paso robel. here they remained for several months. in the autumn they went out to the mining districts of nevada. it appears, from information in the possession of the writer, that the boys behaved themselves with much circumspection while they were the guests of their uncle. their evil propensities were suppressed, and no one who came in contact with the quiet, sedate frank, and the genial, companionable jesse, during those days, would have suspected that these brothers were the most daring and dangerous men who had ever yet defied the powers of the state, and disregarded the demands of society. some quiet weeks had been passed. the weak lungs of jesse had healed, and the lame hip of frank was well again. the climate had wrought a wonderful change in their physical systems. jesse had grown robust, and possessed all the powers of physical endurance which have been since tested and proved incomparable. the quiet life at paso robel began to be irksome to the men whose lives had been passed amid the rudest shocks and the wildest storms of excitement and passion. they would go out among the miners and have a little fun while prospecting there. in nevada, society was in its rudest stages of development. the country was filled with adventurers from every country under the sun. in the camps of the miners and prospectors were desperadoes from all regions, and a visitor to these places who wanted to fight only had to say so, and there was no delay in getting accommodated. it was then flush times in the bonanza state. frank and jesse went up to the mountains to take a look at the country. they formed some acquaintances among the adventurers, and they found several old acquaintances from missouri and kentucky. the rude life of the mining camps was more congenial to the disposition of the men who had rode with quantrell than the refined society found about a fashionable resort for invalids; and the restless raiders liked well to linger in the tents of the miners among the lofty summits of the sierras. for a while they passed their time very pleasantly in such associations. they prospected some, and played sportsmen in the intervals of time so spent. but their pleasant days in the sierras were doomed to draw to an abrupt close. there was a new camp formed at a place called battle mountain. it will be remembered that we are writing of a period when the rich mineral discoveries of nevada had drawn a miscellaneous population from the four quarters of the globe. camps and towns sprang up like jonah's gourd--in a night, and disappeared with the noonday sun of the morrow. battle mountain was "a rattling place;" the people who had pitched their tents there had come in search of gold. many of them were old pioneers, accustomed to hard knocks and sudden surprises. others were "hard visaged men," who knew how to flee before the avengers of blood--a knowledge gained during years of practical experience. they were quick with the knife, and "lightning shots." they were inured to scenes of danger, and were not liable to suffer from sudden surprises. frank and jesse james, accompanied by two old missouri acquaintances, concluded to pay a visit to battle mountain, "to shake up the encampment," as they said. they found spirits there who were congenial and some who were uncongenial. at last they brought up at a shanty where women, whisky and cards united their attractions to allure the old pioneers and chance visitors. the jameses do not drink, but they claim to be "handy with the pasteboard." here they engaged in a game of cards with two notorious roughs and blacklegs; and their companions also found a pair of gamesters, ready and anxious to join them in a "bout of poker." for a time the game proceeded without anything occurring to disturb the amicable relations of the players. at last one of the old missouri friends of the jameses detected his opponent cheating in the game. he charged him with it, and the other denied the charge and demanded a retraction. of course nothing of that sort could happen. the gambler retorted by drawing a knife, and the other snatched a pistol from his belt. jesse james, who was sitting at a table a little distance away, saw the danger of his friend, and in an instant, just as the gambler was in the act of striking the missourian, he threw his pistol out and shot the blackleg through the heart. as he turned, the man who had been sitting opposite to him, engaged in play, had a pistol leveled at his breast. jesse brought his pistol around with a swing, and another gambler fell without a groan to the earth--dead!--shot through the brain. by this time the utmost confusion prevailed. lights were overturned, and the place was shrouded in utter darkness in an instant of time. there was a crowd of twenty or thirty men in the shanty when the firing commenced. every man was armed, and all had their weapons in hand. jesse cried out: "stand aside! be ready!" the other three men of the party understood what he meant. it was for them to get out, and they rushed for the door. a pistol would flash and a heavy body would fall with a thud to the ground. when the door had been gained by his companions, jesse, who had covered their exit, sprang forward to escape from that pandemonium of darkness, suffering and death. pistols were popping and knives were clashing in a horrid din. the maimed, writhing in agony, mingled their groans and curses in the awful uproar. by the flashing of pistols, jesse saw that frank and his two friends had made their exit, and were firing into the crowd as opportunity offered, taking care to not shoot toward him. he determined to leave the shanty, but two burly roughs, with huge knives, stood in the way. a pistol ball quieted one of them, and almost before the flash of his pistol had faded away, and before the other could think of using his knife, jesse sprang upon him and dealt him a fearful blow on the head with the butt of his pistol. the gambler sank with a groan to the earth, and with a spring jesse joined his friends on the outside. by this time a light had been placed on a barrel behind the slab which served for a counter. three men were seen weltering in their own blood--dead. four others were lying writhing in pain, and all were gory from the blood which flowed from ghastly wounds. [illustration: fight in a gambler's den.] the crowd saw all this at a glance. the dead and the wounded in the shanty did not include any of the strangers. the crowd yelled for vengeance on the authors of the bloody tragedy. there was a shout that awakened the mountain echoes for miles around, as the infuriated pioneers and gamblers surged out of the shanty. meanwhile the jameses and their friends had retired a short distance from the place to ascertain the extent of the injuries they had received in the melee. it was a cloudless night and the stars shone brightly. the leaders of the mob soon discovered the four missourians, and ran, yelling, toward them. "back, you d--d miscreants! stand back, i say!" cried jesse james. but they rushed forward at the top of their speed. "boys, we are in for it," said jesse, quietly. "all right, be ready." then he shouted: "come on, d--n you! just come ahead and be killed!" he had no more than ceased speaking when they had approached near enough to open fire. "wait, boys! steady! every shot must tell! now!" and as the sound of the last word died away, there was the report of four pistols, almost simultaneously discharged, and four men fell badly wounded; once more the four deadly pistols were discharged, and two more of the howling mob sank down in their tracks. the others paused. but they gave the missourians a parting salute as the latter moved rapidly away. that salute seriously wounded one of the friends of the jameses, and carried away a portion of jesse's hat brim. but they escaped, aided by the night, and hastily returned to winnemucca. here they learned that intelligence of the terrible dark seance at battle mountain had preceded them, and that it was not a safe place. aided by friends, they remained in seclusion a few days, waiting an opportunity to get away. during these days of retirement they made up their minds to return to the states east of the mountains, and when they met a favorable opportunity they embraced it, and in another week after their departure they were secure among friends near their old haunts in missouri, ready to plan still more startling campaigns than any which they had yet undertaken. chapter xiv. were they driven to outlawry? "those misnamed men whom damned custom had brazed so that they were proof and bulwark against sense." were the james boys driven to outlawry? a strange question, no doubt, many readers will think, in the light of the history of their lives. and yet it is a pertinent question, when we consider the tendency of the human mind and conscience to deteriorate under the pressure of circumstances. environments have much to do in molding character. perhaps there is not as wide a space between the natural characteristics of mind and heart in boys of eight as is generally supposed. but philosophizing aside. are there not mitigating circumstances in the case of the james boys? we do not undertake to defend them--their course is indefensible; we cannot apologize for them; for outlawry cannot be palliated. but let justice be done even to these renowned outlaws. though sinners, have they not been sinned against? though slayers of men, have they had no provocation? let facts speak. when the banner, beloved by the southern people, whether wisely or unwisely, it matters not, was folded away forever at appomattox, that event brought peace and repose to hundreds, nay, thousands of grim, worn soldiers who had bravely striven to uphold the ensign they loved so well. the war ended for them, never to be commenced again. but all along the bloody borderland there existed a distinctly different condition of affairs. the warfare was that of community against community, of neighbor against neighbor, and of relative against relative. cole younger, the guerrilla, engaged in mortal combat with charles younger, the union militia officer; it was kindred blood that strove. in such a warfare the common ties of humanity are severed, and fury and hate come in where love and friendship have expired. such was the situation in missouri. the dissolution of the confederate government did not restore peace in such communities. the quarrel was no longer political, and for principle, but personal, and for vengeance. for others there might be peace, but for contestants in such a strife there was no peace. if jesse james took vengeance on bond, it must be remembered that in the dreadful days of the bitter border war, bond had gone with his band of militia to the samuels' place, taken dr. samuels, jesse's step-father, out, and hanged him by the neck until they supposed he was dead, and left him there while they went to find jesse, who was plowing in the field. he was but a lad then. but they took him, tied him like a felon, and castigated him like a slave with a plow line, until faint from loss of blood and crazed from the agony of the infliction, he fell in a swoon--a mere quivering mass of flesh and blood. jesse james was like other youthful human beings. could he then forget such treatment? was it not natural that he should seek vengeance? and the hour came; the tormentor fell into his hands; the strong passion overcame the young man, and he slew his enemy. and so, too, with banes and others who fell victims to his relentless purpose. they met a fate at the hands of the boys which, perhaps, better men than the jameses would have connived at under similar circumstances. thus, during the long, dark struggle, old scores were paid, but at the same time new causes of offense were given. the regularly organized armies of the late contending sections had been disbanded, and peace ostensibly reigned in the land. but old wounds had not healed along the border. there were malignant stars in the zenith of the guerrillas. hope animated them for a space. they sought their childhood's homes. doubtless they loved the scenes familiar to them in the old days, before they had learned to be slayers of men, as well as others of the race do that anchor-spot of memory. but the bright gleam of hope faded; the clouds of anguish overspread their sky. the lurid lightning of the old bitterness flashed athwart their heavens, and the ex-guerrillas were pursued and hunted, like felons, beyond the pale of hope or pardon. the resources of the james family had been impaired, absorbed, wasted, in the crucial time of strife. but they were not permitted to make a peaceful effort to build up and restore wasted fortunes. harassed on every hand, these boys, who were naturally of a strong temperament, and perhaps of revengeful natures, were yet mere boys who had learned to be self-reliant; impatient of restraint, bold in action, and acquainted with the art of slaughter, turned upon their hunters and revealed the desperate character of the game they pursued. they were not left in peace after the light of peace blessed the land and made glad other hearts; and they would have been more than human not to have undertaken their own protection under such circumstances. if others attempted to murder them, they did not hesitate to slay. so their lives have become lurid with slaughter. it must be remembered that we are not attempting to justify such a line of conduct; but there are many things in connection with human affairs that cannot be defended. we look at things as they are, and not as they ought to be. doubtless, it will be admitted on all hands that the james boys ought not to have led such a wild career of outlawry; that they ought not to have entered upon such a course of action; and finally it will be urged that it would have been far better for them, and everything and everybody connected with them, to have quietly yielded to the inevitable, and voluntarily exiled themselves forever from the scenes of childhood and all the dear associations of their tenderer and more hopeful youth. certainly, it would have been best for them. but such a course would have been contrary to the world's experience of human nature. so when vigilance committees were hanging their comrades who had been with them by the camp fires in the deep forests, and in many a bloody foray; and when armed men, fours and sixes, hunted for them; when repose was banished from their home, and the phantom shadow of death peered out at them from every forest thicket, and from the sombre shades of the silent night, these boys rose up in rebellion against that society which refused to own them, and that order which organized the cohorts of vengeance. jesse w. and frank james, the terrible guerrillas of the war-time, were henceforth to "become enemies of every man," or at least outlaws from society, and free companions of the highways. it might have been different with them. but the long, lingering fires of hate burned after the lurid days of slaughter, and they were not the persons to refuse the gauntlet when thrown at their feet. never too good by nature, circumstances have made them desperate, and hence, after concluding their bloody guerrilla record, we proceed with their history as outlaws and highwaymen of the most remarkable character of any known in the annals of history. chapter xv. the gallatin bank tragedy. the sudden appearance among the people of a peaceful community of a band of armed men, who whoop like savages, fire off pistols, swear fearful oaths, and issue sharp commands, is calculated to produce a feeling of terror, and, for a time at least, to paralyze the energies of men. by pursuing this kind of tactics, the band of robbers which commenced at russellville, kentucky, in , and concluded their last exploit at glendale, in the fall of , have uniformly, with one single exception, been able to accomplish their work and make good their escape. the th day of december, , will not be soon forgotten by the citizens of the flourishing little city of gallatin, daviess county, missouri, because of an incident which created a thrill of excitement that extended all over the land. daylight bank robberies were not events of frequent occurrence until these later times. the affair at russellville had taken place many months before, and it was thought altogether unlikely that such another audacious robbery would be soon attempted. after the russellville affair, it was known jesse and frank james had made a journey to california, and it was not until late in the fall that they returned. it was supposed that only the youngers and jameses were capable of doing such deeds, and it was not known that the boys were at home by any considerable number of people. such conclusions as these proved to be fallacious. on the day named--a gray, cold december day--the people of gallatin were suddenly startled by the presence, in the streets of the place, of a band of armed men, who rode furiously, shouted loudly, and swore fiercely at the people, commanding them, in sharp, decisive tones, to get inside their houses and stay within their own domicils. while a part of the band remained out in the streets, two of the robbers rushed into the bank. the cashier, captain john w. sheets, was behind the counter. he was instantly covered by a pistol, and imperiously commanded to be still. the other robber proceeded to secure the contents of the safe, placed the bank's assets in a sack, and walking to the cashier, he placed the muzzle of a pistol almost against his temple, and fired, the bullet crashing through the brain, and the unfortunate gentleman fell dead at the foot of his slayer. the robbers regained their horses, mounted, and the whole gang rode rapidly away. the citizens of gallatin had seen them come and go. they did not remain long. the whole affair was the work of a few moments. they soon realized what had been done, and then there was mounting in hot haste, and almost as quickly as the robbers had come and gone, a well-armed posse was riding after them in hot pursuit. captain john w. sheets, the murdered cashier of the gallatin bank, served as a captain in the missouri militia, and had often met parties of guerrillas in combat during the war. he was much esteemed, and his wanton assassination created a profound sensation, and a strong desire to capture his slayers was manifested throughout the community. the whole country was aroused. daviess county had sent many men to the ranks of the militia, and somehow the impression rapidly went abroad that the robbery had been committed by the james boys and their old associates among the guerrillas. it stimulated them to greater exertions in the pursuit. the robbers obtained the start, and the men who had ridden with quantrell never made a reconnoissance on indifferent steeds. besides, no dashing cavaliers knew better how to ride than they. it was an exciting chase. the people of gallatin had been taken by surprise. the startling suddenness of the appearance of the robbers; their matter-of-fact attention to the business in hand, and the terrible tragedy which concluded the drama, were well calculated to create surprise, not to say astonishment. the robbers were trailed directly toward clay county. the gallatin posse, after a hot chase, came up with the fleeing bandits. the latter turned upon their pursuers in so determined a way that they were compelled to call a halt, and retreat to meet reinforcements. this gave the robbers time. they continued to retire toward the clay county line. it was not difficult to trace them into that county. but after they had once penetrated well into the territory of clay, all traces faded out. no one had seen such a band of men or any other gang like them, and all efforts to discover their retreat proved abortive. they disappeared--like the picture thrown out by the magic lantern when the slide is withdrawn suddenly and broken--at once and forever. hearing that they were accused of the robbery, the james boys, who were then at home, mounted their horses and rode to kearney to file their protest against the accusation. their manner convinced the citizens--that it might be dangerous to insist upon the allegation that they were the gallatin robbers. it was given out, in extenuation of the shooting of captain sheets, that the person who did it believed him to be lieut. cox, who, it is said, claimed to have killed bill anderson, when that noted guerrilla was attempting to force the passage of the missouri river in the face of a superior force of federal troops. the murder of the cashier has yet to be avenged. not a dollar of the money has been recovered up to this time. chapter xvi. attempt to arrest the boys. "the past, we may never forget, the present, swift its moments fly, the future, we must trust it yet, and trusting will not sigh." after gallatin, the situation of the boys became perilous, for although their denials and the affidavits which they were able to procure, served to convince their friends that they were not at gallatin; still the conviction had grown and deepened that they were concerned in the robbery, and that they had aided and abetted those who committed the crime, even if they were not present in person. immediately after the perpetration of the outrage, jesse w. james wrote a letter on behalf of himself and his brother frank, offering to surrender to the officers of the law and submit to a trial, on condition that the governor should guarantee them against the chances of mob violence and lynch law in daviess county. after examining all the papers in the case, and the facts submitted to him, governor mcclurg declared that he did not believe the boys had anything to do with the robbery, and was fully convinced that they could not have been personally concerned in it. this had the effect of quieting the suspicions of many persons, but there were others who still cherished the opinion that they were the instigators of the robbery, and had aided the perpetrators in concealing themselves, and had doubtless shared with them the booty which they had secured. in subsequent years this opinion grew into a conviction, and now many believe that it was frank james' pistol which proved fatal to captain sheets. be this as it may, the people of daviess county were aroused, and many of the citizens of clay county also, indeed all northwest missouri was excited. this led to a systematic and persistent attempt to arrest frank and jesse james, the generally recognized leaders of the lawless elements of the state. among those who firmly believed in the guilt of the james boys, was captain john thomason, of clay county, missouri, a citizen well known and highly esteemed by the people of the county. captain thomason had served during the war on the confederate side, and was known as a man of unimpeachable courage. the war over, he returned to his home, and settled down to peaceful pursuits, with an earnest zeal to repair the losses sustained during the war. he had been sheriff of clay county at one time, and was an outspoken friend of submission to law. he disapproved of the conduct of the james boys, and believed that they ought to be arrested and tried for their misdeeds. so believing, he had the courage to act. soon after the gallatin robbery, captain thomason placed himself at the head of a posse of resolute men, and started out to execute his purpose--the arrest of the jameses. these men have never yet been caught unprepared--they cannot be surprised. they were aware of thomason's purposes, they knew the feelings which he entertained for them, and they were ready to meet him. that meeting took place near the samuels residence in clay county. thomason demanded their surrender. they laughed at the idea. then firing commenced. the affray lasted but a few minutes. several shots were fired, and by one of them captain thomason's horse was killed. the other members of the party did not care to press upon men so daring, and frank and jesse rode away scathless, and captain thomason had to regret the loss of a valuable horse. but this little episode did not deter the captain from freely expressing his opinion about the boys and those concerned with them. he had no admiration for the womanly qualities of their mother, and expressed himself in language much more forcible than elegant in regard to her. some of his harsh sayings about her came to the hearing of mrs. samuels. she was much incensed against him on this account, and concluded to see him about it. it was ten miles from her residence to captain thomason's house; but she mounted a horse and rode the distance. she entered the house. the family was dining, and not the slightest attention was paid to her. she went up to where captain thomason was seated, and said: "captain thomason, i understand that you have called me a----!" "yes, i did," replied the sturdy farmer, "and i want you to understand that if ever i, or any of mine, are injured by you or yours, in the least thing, i swear before heaven and earth that there shall not be a stone left of your house." "indeed!" was all the reply she made. "if any killing is to be done," pursued the captain, "it will be well for you to kill all my family, and leave none to avenge the injury." mrs. samuels saw that captain thomason was in earnest, and that no compromise or apology could be extorted, and she took her departure. the efforts of captain thomason were not all that were made for arresting the james boys about the time of the gallatin tragedy. the daviess county officials hunted them. detectives from chicago and st. louis tracked them and sought an opportunity to entrap them. but these shrewd men were not so to be caught. all attempts to capture them proved abortive. chapter xvii. outrage at columbia, kentucky. "gold begets in brethren hate; gold, in families, debate; gold does friendship separate; gold does civil wars create." the james boys were good travelers, and did not confine themselves to narrow limits. one week they might be in clay county, missouri, and the next in nelson, or logan, or jessamine county, kentucky, and then in five days more or less they would be in new york city, and in another week they might be found in texas far toward the mexican border. the boys understood the advantages of rapid movements. when they had "business" on hand, they never appeared in the vicinity of the scene of their intended operation. only one or two of their most trusted friends, under any circumstances, were allowed to know anything of their presence in the vicinity. when going to commit a robbery in a strange place, the utmost caution was used to keep down even the suspicion that anything was wrong. thus it was with the band at russellville, and at gallatin, mo. no one had seen them or even heard of any suspicious characters around. in both cases the first intimation the citizens had of the presence of banditti in their streets was the reports of fire-arms and the shouts of the dashing robbers as they thundered along the highways. they appeared as suddenly as a meteor, and departed as quickly as an apparition. such were their tactics at northfield, where the jameses are known to have taken part in the attempt to rob the bank. precisely the same order was observed on the occasion of the outrage at columbia, kentucky, which we shall now proceed to describe. columbia is a pleasant village in adair county, in the middle part of the state of kentucky. in the region of country in which adair county is included, there are many of the relatives of the boys resident, and these were then also friends. columbia is a quiet village, except during the terms of the courts which meet there, it being the seat of justice of the county. at the time which we are now considering, the courts were not in session, and no more sedate a town in all kentucky could be found than columbia. it was a lovely afternoon, april , . the genial warmth of the sun had decked the earth in a carpet of green, clothed the trees in the forest, and called into being the myriad flowers, whose perfumes scented the breezy air. it was mild, and one of those lazy, dreamy afternoons, when, from very excess of enjoyment of the beauties of reviving nature, men are disposed to fall into sweet reveries. but the quietude of columbia was about to be rudely broken in upon, the repose of the beautiful spring day disturbed, and the place swept by a storm of excitement such as columbia never experienced before. but we will not anticipate. at the hour of two o'clock, on the afternoon of april th, , mr. r. a. c. martin, cashier of the deposit bank at columbia, and mr. garnett, a citizen, and two friends, were sitting quietly conversing in the bank office. neither of the gentlemen was armed, and no one could have anticipated danger. everything in the village was quiet, and the country around was enjoying the blessings of peace. a half hour later the equanimity of the gentlemen was disturbed by the entrance of three men, well armed, who, with cocked pistols, ordered the cashier to surrender up the keys of the safe. another one attempted to shoot mr. garnett, but that gentleman saved his life by knocking up the pistol, but was burned slightly by the flame produced by the discharge. all this was the transaction of a moment of time. "will you give up the safe-key, d--n you?" shouted one of the robbers, with a cocked pistol presented at martin's head. "i will not," was the answer. "then, d--n you, will you open the safe? come, i've no time to wait. if you don't, i will blow your brains out. come, will you?" "i will not. i will d--" the words were cut short. the sentence was never completed. there was a loud report, an involuntary moan from lips that would never speak again, and the lifeless form of r. a. c. martin, the brave cashier, fell heavily to the floor. the other three gentlemen were guarded by one of the robbers, who kept his pistol cocked and pointed at them, and in view of their dead friend, jested with them about the facility with which he could dispatch all three of them. they had witnessed a demonstration of his skill, and they trembled for their lives. having disposed of the cashier, the two robbers who were in the bank commenced gathering up all the money and other valuables which were outside the safe. they tried to open the safe, but the combination was with the dead cashier, and the robbers were baffled. it was soon known that five men, splendidly mounted, had entered columbia, at an hour when very few people were abroad. they were armed with heavy dragoon pistols, but as they were divided, two coming in on one road and three on another, the citizens did not take the alarm until they heard, the firing at the bank. two men held the horses of the three who went into the bank, and with pistols fired at every one who appeared on the street; and by their savage yells and fearful oaths they alarmed the people to such an extent that the place soon appeared as if it had been deserted. gathering everything they could carry away that had the semblance of money, placing it in a sack, and, one of them throwing it across his horse, the three robbers who had gone inside the building came out, remounted their horses, and with a shout which sent a thrill of terror to the hearts of the citizens of columbia, they galloped away unmolested. the suddenness of the raid; the terrible character of the men revealed by the murder of so highly esteemed a citizen as mr. martin; the facility with which they shot a vane off a chimney, and their declarations that they would murder every man in the place, which declarations were accompanied by the most terrible oaths, all had a tendency to demoralize the men of columbia. surprise and consternation prevented immediate action. but when the cause of their fears no longer remained, they rallied, and then commenced a pursuit which continued until in the mountains of tennessee, in fentress county, one of the robbers, who went by the name of saunders, was wounded and finally captured. this man was often seen, by their friends, with frank and jesse james. this is conclusive of the fact that the columbia robbery was committed by the same gang, who for some years are known to have aided the james boys and younger brothers in many of their depredations. it has been asserted by some persons, in a position to obtain reliable information, that frank james was the leader in this raid, and that bill longley, the noted texas desperado, formed one of the party. at any rate, none of the robbers were ever caught, except the texan, who went by the name of saunders, and he was so fatally wounded that death closed his existence soon after. martin, the murdered cashier, was a gentleman held in high regard by the people of adair county, and was a member of the kentucky legislature at the time of his tragic death. the failure to catch the robbers on this occasion had the effect of creating in the public mind the belief that an organized band of bank breakers existed, and sometimes the names of the jameses and youngers were mentioned as leaders of the band. chapter xviii. out of exile. as frank and jesse james, the celebrated outlaws, live separate and apart from the rest of mankind, they have no confidence in men, and will not receive the confidence of others. frank is a self-possessed, silent man, who cares little for the society of his fellows. jesse, on the contrary, under some circumstances, might have become a rollicking, good-humored citizen, given to "merry jests and healthy laughter." both have schooled themselves to wariness and a caution which keeps guard over their words at all times. they are temperate to the extent of total abstinence from every thing which could intoxicate. in brief, the james boys are brave as men ever become; they are daring, but not reckless; they are intrepid to a degree perhaps unexcelled in any who have ever lived on this globe; no combination of circumstances or conditions can place them in a position to be surprised. in the midst of imminent personal danger they are cool and collected as if they were sitting at a table with a party of friends. they have made human nature a study, and have noted its every manifestation. they expect no mercy from a society which has long ago proscribed them, and they have little emotional regard to waste on that social organization which spurns them. brothers in outlawry, separated from the balance of mankind by an impassable gulf which they have created themselves, they have learned to hate the representatives of law and order, and their defiance is not to be despised. superadded to physical courage unequalled, they possess cunning and craft never surpassed. with mental gifts which, properly directed, might have made them renowned as leaders of men in the better walks of life, they are no trifling foes to the vindicators of lawful authority. these brothers, when under their true names, never even associate together. they do not travel the same road in company, and never travel the same way on the same day. though never together, they are never far apart. if one needs assistance the other is sure to be near at hand to render it. if one should fall, it is safe to assume that his fall would be terribly avenged by the other. they ride at will over the vast plains of texas, nearly always alone, unless danger threatens, and neither savage aborigines or wild borderers can make them afraid. they are veritable roving kings of the plains. in the haunts of civilization they are no less men to be dreaded and avoided. the quick pistol and the unerring aim cannot be despised. dead men tell no tales, and the man who would betray will not return to reveal their counsels. whicher sought them and whicher died; askew would surrender them, and he, too, perished on his own threshold. they seem to possess the occult power of reading other men's very thoughts. such are the characteristics of the james boys. bold, shrewd, cool, deliberate men, whom no danger can appall; no sudden surprise can disconcert. they are always ready, and can act instantaneously whatever may be the emergency. but it must not be supposed that these men, though outlaws, are exiles from the haunts of men. as jameses they are seldom seen, by even the most intimate of the associates of other days. but they are not always the terrible outlaws to the seeming of men. nor are they condemned to a lonely life away beyond the borders of civilization among wild herds and roaming savages. they have travelled much, and have carefully studied; they know the ways of the world, and avail themselves of that knowledge to enjoy some of the privileges and pleasures of civilization. many times when they were hunted in the out-of-the-way regions of the country, they have been enjoying life as respectable gentlemen among the citizens of our metropolitan centers. while pinkerton's men have sought them among the forests of clay county, missouri, they have calmly reposed in the grand pacific hotel of chicago; while mcdonough's "staff" hunted the outlaws in western missouri, they were listening to the soul-stirring strains of kellogg and carey in st. louis. it must be known that for years they have led a double existence. they have many names, and are capable of assuming any character. the same circumspection in speech and action which enables them to successfully plunder a bank or overhaul an express train is carried with them into social life, and enables them to make friends and secure immunity from annoyance, and disarms all suspicion. the plundered money of an express train permits them to appear as gentlemen at the fifth avenue hotel, new york, and jesse james as charles lawson, of nottingham, is not regarded as an outlaw in new york society. it must be remembered that the james boys are not altogether illiterate, nor did they spring from a parentage of uncouth, unlettered rustics. they have made voyages by sea, and have been thrown with persons of culture and refinement. their father was a man of decided culture, and they have many relatives of education and refinement. an uncle of theirs is a somewhat prominent citizen of california, recognized as a gentleman of intelligence and good breeding. it is, therefore, not so difficult for them to play the role of gentlemen even in refined society. the jameses have various names which they assume as occasion requires. another peculiarity of their method is the respectable character of their friends in their own immediate neighborhoods. these are respectable farmers and stock-traders, and merchants and what not. among their neighbors they are kind and hospitable, and in every transaction scrupulously honest. on sunday they are punctually at church service, and are usually liberal contributors to all neighborhood charities. no one would for a moment suspect that such persons could possibly be in league with the most desperate outlaws who ever lived. such good neighbors and upright persons surely can do nothing wrong--so the people think. among these, frank and jesse are not known under their own proper names, and if they were it would make no difference. they are circumspect when with such people, and sometimes can assume the piety of puritans. it is related of the boys that on several occasions after a great robbery, as known and respectable citizens, they have joined in the pursuit of the marauders without exciting the least suspicion that they were concerned in the affair. the following story of jesse has been repeated among their acquaintances: one day--it was the second after the corydon bank robbery--he was riding along a not much frequented highway, when he saw two men in pursuit. confident that they had not seen him, he turned his horse's head toward them and rode up the road to meet them. they were citizens, well mounted and well armed. jesse wore grangers' clothes, and at once assumed a rustic simplicity which comported well with his garb. when he had approached near enough he quietly saluted the robber hunters, and in a simple manner began to converse with them in the following style: "well, gentlemen, hev you met anybody up the road ridin' of a hoss an' leadin ov another one, 'cause you see as how i lives down on the noderway, an' some infernal thief has gone off with my best two hosses. i hearn about two miles furder back at the blacksmith's shop that er man passed there about a hour an' a half ago with two hosses, an' they fits the descripshun of mine to a t. hev you seen sich?" "no. where are you travelling from?" "why, lord, i've come all the way from the noderway. the infernal thieves are just usin' us up that way. i wish i'd come on the infernal son of a seacook whose taken my hosses. i do, you bet, i'd go fur him with these 'ere irons. i would that!" and jesse revealed his "weepons" as he called them. "did you see anybody on the road ahead?" "not for sum miles. i met four ugly lookin' customers this mornin'. they looked like they might 'a been hoss-thieves theirselves. d--n the hoss-thieves!" "thieves are plenty now-a-days. they come into towns and break banks in open daylight. how far did you say the four men were ahead?" "well, i didn't say, but it must be more'n two hours since i met 'em, an' they were a ridin' purty fast, an' i've rid my hoss almost down, as you can see." "what kind of looking men were they?" asked the robber hunters. "well, one was a sizable man, with long, red beard, an' a flopped black hat on, aridin' on a big chesnut sorrel hoss, an' one more was a smallish man, with very black hair and beard, and sharp black eyes, an' he was a ridin' on a roan hoss, an' another was an oldish man, with some gray among his beard, an' he wore a blue huntin' shirt coat, an' he was a ridin' a gray hoss, and the last feller was a little weazle-faced chap, with tallowy complexion, who didn't ware no beard, an' he rode on a dark brown hoss." the two robber hunters then consulted together. "that's their description," said one. "precisely," said the other. "shall we follow?" asked one. "i would like to," replied the other. "but there are four of them," was the remark in rejoinder. "yes that is bad. if ed, dick and will would just hurry up. those fellows are no doubt very dangerous men," was the comment of one. "you bet they are," was the response. all this time jesse had listened as an interested party. now he thought he was privileged to make an inquiry. "what's up, strangers, anyhow?" jesse asked. "you blow it! don't you know that the corydon bank, up in iowa, was robbed yesterday." jesse opened his eyes in well-feigned surprise. "you don't say so!" he ejaculated. "yes, in broad daylight, and the men you met are the robbers, no doubt. there's a big reward offered to catch them." "what's this country a comin' to, anyhow? hoss thieves down on the noderway, an' bank rogues up to iowa. 'pears like hard workin' honest folks can't get along much more." "could you go back with us?" "i'd like to, but the cussed hoss thieves will get away. besides, you see, my hoss is mighty nigh played out hisself. howsumever, i might ride with you as fur as i can. d--n all thieves, say i, don't you?" and jesse actually turned around with the two pursuers of the robbers, in pursuit of another posse of pursuers which jesse had been enabled to accurately describe by having seen them pass him while lying snug in a dense thicket. "they might catch the robbers, an' as he'd hev a sheer ov the reward, it would be better'n nothin' at all fur his stolin hosses." for some miles he kept company with the robber catchers, until his horse becoming lame, and jesse getting near a railway station, rendered further pursuit of bank robbers distasteful to him, and as his excuse was received as valid, he bid his late traveling companions an enthusiastic adieu, boarded a night train, and was in the vicinity of home next morning. those were jesse's courting days. the writer of these pages has been informed by a reputable citizen of st. louis, that at a time when the detective forces of both st. louis and chicago were out in the western part of the state, hunting for the james boys and younger brothers, that he saw and conversed with jesse james on the corner of fifth and chestnut streets, st. louis, and that on that occasion jesse attended the opera, max strakosch's troupe being then in the city. of course jesse james was not the name the people called him by, but he was to all seeming mr. william campbell, a most respectable shipper of cattle from wichita, kansas. as mr. campbell, he had business relations with many of the citizens, who esteemed him as "a very clever gentleman." at that time, according to the statement of the gentleman upon whose authority this incident is given, jesse remained in st. louis a number of days. his associations were excellent, and he was a visitor on 'change, and ventured even into the four courts building, in company with a well-known citizen, who was, of course, ignorant of his true name and character. it is believed that during this trip he made banking arrangements, and that the boys now carry a heavy bank account in some st. louis bank. of course this business is transacted under assumed names. chapter xix. the corydon raid. thus far no arrests had been made of the plunderers of the banks at russellville, kentucky; gallatin, missouri, and columbia, kentucky. boldly the brigands had ridden, and skillfully they had executed their purpose, and, we may almost say, peacefully they rode away when their deeds were done. at first, people knew not what to think of these daring daylight raids. the best detective skill was placed at fault in ferreting out the haunts of the robbers. russellville and gallatin are separated by many hundreds of miles. could the robbers of the former possibly be the raiders into the last-named place? and gallatin is far removed from columbia; was it possible that the murderers and robbers at the first-named place were the same persons who astonished the people, murdered the cashier and plundered the bank at columbia? people asked these questions, and no one was found able to answer them. scarcely had the people ceased to talk, and the excitement incident to the bold raid on columbia, with its concomitant horror, died away, ere the country was shaken by the recurrence of a similar daring outrage in another state. it was the old story repeated. this time a flourishing town in iowa was selected for the scene of exciting events. in corydon there was, and there still is, a bank. in that town a considerable amount of business is transacted, and it was a season of the year--june th, --when much of the capital usually employed in mercantile transactions--it was reasonable to infer--was held in reserve by the bank, and the raiders calculated on a large prize to compensate for the risk taken. certainly the men who went to corydon were trained in the same school in which the russellville, gallatin, columbia and northfield robbers were at one time pupils. riding into town in daylight, when the inhabitants were out and abroad pursuing their usual avocations, the thoroughly armed and well-mounted desperadoes proceeded to the bank. three of them dismounted, drew their pistols, and entered the office. taken entirely by surprise, the cashier and two other gentlemen who were present, could offer no resistance. in fact, the memory of gallatin, and the fate of poor captain sheets, came back to them with painful distinctness. they were paralyzed before the dark chambers of the huge dragoon pistols, and could not even so much as protest against the proceedings. they yielded to the inevitable. the horsemen who remained in the street ordered all citizens to retire to their houses, and, with fearful imprecations, threatened to blow the heads off those who manifested the slightest hesitation in obeying their commands. meanwhile, the bandits on the inside were exercising their pleasure with the assets of the bank. the safe was opened and its contents raked into a sack which the robbers carried along. during the progress of their labors in "taking in" the valuables of the institution, one of them, who seemed to have been deputied to stand guard over the persons found in the place, amused himself by jesting at their distress, and cheerfully asserting his ability to pick the buttons off their coats with pistol bullets. the robbers remained but a few minutes. the citizens were becoming aware of what was transpiring in their midst, and were recovering from their surprise, and rallying to contest with the robbers. with great oaths they bade the people in the bank to remain perfectly quiet until they were gone, forced them to the door while they retired, regained and mounted their horses, and, shouting loudly, they rode rapidly away, and were out of town many minutes before any one was ready to go in pursuit. they were pursued afterward, but none were captured. chapter xx. the cash box of the fair. fair time! kansas city was gay with flags and streamers and banners. it was a holiday season. the streets were thronged and trains from leavenworth and sedalia, and st. joseph and moberly, and lawrence and clinton and regions further removed from kansas city, brought crowds of men, women and children to see the show. it was a lovely october day. the temperature was mild, and the sun shone through an atmosphere which tinged his rays with gold. all day the great crowd surged and circled about the grounds and through the textile hall, and the art gallery, and the agricultural exhibition, and among the fat kine and the lazy swine, the sheep and the horses, and the poultry coops. it was a good day, so the "management" thought, one of the very best they had ever had. shrewd mental arithmeticians declared there was not a soul less than twenty thousand visitors present that day, and an incident of some importance has placed it forever out of the power of any one to disprove the statement of the mental arithmetician. the management, too, from that day to this, have been unable to count the gate money. why not we now proceed to tell. the people visiting the fair were deeply interested in "the speed and bottom" of sundry "blooded horses" which were making time around the race track. the sun was getting low in the west. it was the last "ring" to be exhibited that day. of course no one would think of paying their entrance fee and go away without seeing the races. while the great multitude was so engaged, there was a commotion near the entrance gate. the level beams of the declining sun cast gigantic shadows over the ground. a sudden clattering of horses, hoofs on the beaten road aroused the guardians at the gate. what could it mean? the noise came nearer. the guardians looked up. a strange sight met their gaze. a band of well mounted, well armed, strange, weird looking men, seven in number, dashed up to the gate. among some of the spectators it was supposed that these singularly brigandish looking men, were simply actors, that they had been employed by the "management" for the entertainment of the visitors to the fair--that it was, in short, an irruption of the "cowbellions," or some such mystic order of men. even the treasurers in their "cuddy boxes" did not comprehend the character of the movement. but they were not kept in doubt long. riding directly to the receiver of money, who, like matthew, of saintly memory, was sitting at the receipt of customs, two of them sprang to the ground, drew their pistols, and rushed up to the cashier. with a fearful threat they commanded him to remain quiet, and designate the money box. what could he do? instantly the other robber seized the cash-box. the men who still remained mounted covered the retreat of the two who did the seizing. they remounted, fired a volley as a warning, and dashed away with the receipts of the day, probably $ , or $ , . there were twenty thousand people, they said, on the ground. and yet in the sight of all these the brigands had done this thing, and were galloping away unmolested. there were hundreds who saw them, and if any old guerrilla comrade was one of them, and recognized frank and jesse james, and cole and bob younger, they said nothing about it. as soon as the "management" of the fair and the police authorities, and sheriffs, and constables, and marshals had time to think and consider the necessity for energetic measures in efforts to capture the brigands, there was mounting in hot haste of police officers, marshals and other enforcers of the law, and pursuit was commenced with great vigor. but the pursuers had little better success than those who went after young lord lochinvar when he eloped with the bride of netherby hall, whom "they never did see." the pursuers of the robbers of the gate did hear of a man who was riding along a country road in clay county who looked as if he might have been a robber, but the robbers they never did see. the fact of the matter is, the robbers rode away about five miles over the hills, until they came to a piece of wild forest country, rode into the woods; came to a sequestered glade; struck a light; emptied the cash out of the box; counted and divided the spoils; remounted their horses, and favored by the darkness of the night, and their thorough knowledge of the country, they went their way, every man choosing his own route. jesse and frank james made a visit to the east part of jackson county to see some friends, and cole and bob younger, passing down to the neighborhood of monegaw springs, to visit mr. theodoric snuffer and others of their friends and relatives. a great many people did not believe that the james boys and younger brothers had anything to do with this robbery, or had ever had anything to do with any robbery at that time. but there is now no longer a doubt that the boys enjoyed the good in this life which the receipts at the fair ground gate could procure for them. an incident in connection with the robbery at the fair ground gate is of sufficient interest to bear reproduction here. as we have before related, the robbery took place while the attention of the people was deeply engrossed in the horse races then in progress on the track. that day mr. ford, a well known journalist of kansas city, was acting treasurer at "the pool stand." there was a sum of money in the box amounting to between $ , and $ , . mr. ford was seated upon the box when a couple of strangers came along. one of them approached the treasurer, and entered into a conversation about as follows: the stranger remarked, "you must have considerable money in there?" "well, yes," responded mr. ford. "there is a considerable amount of cash in here." "suppose the james boys should come and demand it; what would you do?" asked the stranger. "well, they would have to fight for it," replied mr. ford. "they might kill me, but somebody would have to be killed before they could get this box away, that is certain." "you would fight for it, eh?" responded the stranger. "that i would," said mr. ford. "if you knew it was the james boys who made the demand?" asked the stranger. "certainly i would," replied mr. ford. the stranger gazed sharply at the treasurer of "the pool stand" for an instant, and, turning about, walked away without further remark. mr. ford had met frank james before, on some occasion, and was convinced that the person who addressed him was no other than frank james. he recognized him beyond a doubt before he had passed out of sight. that evening the robbery was consummated. other respectable parties saw frank and jesse james that day about kansas city, but for a time they were able to beguile the public into the belief that they were not present on that occasion. but time has furnished sufficient evidence to connect them with that daring enterprise. chapter xxi. ste. genevieve. ste. genevieve! to many it calls up sweet memories, and in many hearts the name is sacred and holy. the very words sound as if full of gentleness, and love, and purity. and yet, in the very midst of the ste. genevieve of missouri, acts of wickedness have been committed which from, their very nature, startled the whole people of the west. ste. genevieve, missouri, is an old, old town. more than a century ago it was a beacon light of civilization, in the midst of the vast wilderness then called the "far west." and the people of ste. genevieve are quiet and sedate, and still preserve, with the traditions of the venerable past, the grand, courtly ways inherited from their ancestors from the banks of the rhone and the saone. when spring-time comes, ste. genevieve is redolent with the perfumes of many flowers, and when the sun climbs higher toward the northern parallel, ste. genevieve reposes amid gardens of summer roses. why should brigands dare place their unhallowed feet on the dust in these ancient streets? if they were not brigands, they would have loved to inhale the perfumed air of the old gardens. but being brigands, they preferred to handle the gold which the fathers of some generations of men commenced to hoard. and for this cause they came to ste. genevieve. brigands are not a sentimental race of beings. tuesday morning, may th, , was lovely, as such spring days are, when the sun is bright, and the flowers blooming, and the air balmy. mr. o. d. harris, cashier of the bank known as the ste. genevieve savings association, being a gentleman of fine sensibilities, thought so as he sniffed the delicious aroma of the perfume-laden air, when he wended his way to the bank, and so he said to his friends who saluted him by the way. arriving at the bank--it was just about the hour of opening--he was joined by young mr. rozier, a son of general firman a. rozier, then president of the bank. as mr. harris was about to enter the bank office, his attention was momentarily engaged by the appearance of two men who were walking on the street in front of the building, and looking up at it with an intense interest. they were just passing it, when suddenly they turned, and came back as though they intended to enter. they approached the steps and commenced to ascend them, preceded by mr. harris, who, having reached the front office, started at once to go behind the counter. he had not progressed half the distance when he was suddenly arrested by a harsh, authoritative command: "stop! surrender, d--n you!" of course mr. harris stopped, but could not turn round, because the fellow who had given the command had two pistols, with muzzles against his temple. the other fellow presented a pistol at the head of young rozier, and called out: "you keep still, you d--d little rat, if you don't want to die in an instant." "i? for what?" "not another word, young chap! that's enough! a blabbing tongue can be stopped d--d easy." fearing to remain, and impelled by a sudden and overpowering desire to take his departure, young rozier sprang down the steps, near the landing of which he was standing, and fled swiftly from the place. as he ran away, the fellow fired at him, the bullet cutting its way through his coat on the shoulder, and just grazing his person. a neighbor across the way saw the robber with his pistols at the cashier's head, and started to get his gun. just at that moment the other robber fired at mr. rozier, and the wife of the neighbor, seeing the predicament of mr. harris, dissuaded her husband from attempting to fight them, because she feared resistance would inevitably lead to the shooting of mr. harris. young rozier, after his escape, gave the alarm to the citizens, who at once began preparations to make an attempt to capture the bold marauders. meanwhile mr. harris, without arms, was helpless, and could only comply with the demands of the robbers. "open that safe!" thundered out one of them. "certainly, sir. i cannot do otherwise," said mr. harris. the safe was opened. by this time the other robber, who had pursued young rozier, joined his comrade in the bank. a money package, containing upwards of $ , , was secured. then the thief took the coin box, containing between three and four hundred dollars, principally in gold. by this time the town was aroused, and men began to move toward the bank. the robbers had no time to waste. turning to mr. harris, they emphatically commanded: "d--n you, come with us!" mr. harris obeyed. what else could he do? when they had gone about fifty yards along the street, they turned to the little knot of women and boys collecting about the bank building, and shouted: "hurrah for sam hilderbrand!" and continued to move rapidly away. two hundred yards from the bank they came to two other men equally well armed, and all having superb horses, who awaited their coming. here, perceiving that mr. harris wore an elegant gold watch, one of the robbers took it from him, and transferred it to his own person. then all four of the men started to get on their horses. just at that time one of the horses got loose and ran off. a german farmer, in a wagon, happened to be passing. him they compelled, under the most dire threats of immediate extermination, to go after the horse. the german caught the horse and brought him back to where the robbers still held mr. harris. then they all mounted and rode rapidly away, not forgetting to fire a salute at the crowd of citizens who had started in their direction. by this time fully a dozen citizens had armed themselves, and taking horses, were ready for pursuit. they followed the robbers rapidly, and soon came up with them. but it was at once evident that the four men were desperadoes, who would not submit to arrest. they fired at the pursuing posse, and compelled them to fall back. then the whole population turned out, and went in pursuit. but they never came up with them, and soon lost even the trail which they followed. some miles from ste. genevieve the robbers met a farmer going toward the town. they informed him that he would find something valuable, which belonged to the bank, in the road ahead of him. in accordance with their statement, the farmer found the empty coin box and a lot of papers scattered about. the robbers had taken away a number of valuable papers belonging to the sheriff and others, for which they had no use, and these they had considerately thrown away. this was one of the boldest robberies which had ever taken place at that time in the west. the "ste. genevieve savings association" building was situated in the most populous part of the town of ste. genevieve, with a population of about three thousand souls. the street through which they passed to reach the bank was the most traveled thoroughfare in that part of the country. it happened in broad daylight, when all the people of the village were engaged about their ordinary concerns. of course a deed like this was calculated to create a sensation. the citizens of ste. genevieve pursued the bandits, but lost them, and even all traces of the route which they had taken. what could be done? that was the question. mr. harris went up to st. louis on the th of may to see the police authorities in that city. general rozier, at that time a state senator, and on duty at jefferson city, as a member of the state board of equalization, was advised of the robbery, and went down to st. louis to confer with mr. harris and the chief of police. then the hunt was commenced, and prosecuted with a great show of vigor for a time. theories as to who the robbers were appeared in the public journals almost every day. some said it was sam hilderbrand--who was not known to be dead then--and his gang of desperadoes; some said that it was cullen baker's crowd from arkansas; others thought it might possibly be the james boys and younger brothers who "put up the job," but were far from satisfied that they "were the lads who did it." in those days there were a vast number of very respectable people who, while admitting that frank and jesse james, and coleman and james younger, were dangerous men, so far as taking the life of fellow-beings was concerned, would at the same time repel any insinuations that they might possibly raid a bank or flag a train. no, they were too honorable and honest for that sort of business. while the people were discussing these questions, the band, of which the james boys were the leading spirits, was enjoying life on the spoils of ste. genevieve. chapter xxii. a railway train robbed in iowa. "robin hood and his merry men," of sherwood forest fame, have left a name indelibly written on the pages of history. in the days of our youth we have heard or read about claude duval and jack shepherd, and their wonderful exploits in old england; and we have a faint recollection of one john a. murrell, who obtained great distinction as an outlaw in the southern section of our own country. the harps who infested the passes of the mountains of east tennessee were celebrated robbers in their days. and that shrewd mongrel of the commingled blood of old castile and a red daughter of the western wilds, agatone, the terror of the rio grande border, made no little noise in his day as a daring brigand. but neither these nor the celebrated fra diavola were like the brigands we are speaking about. william de la marck, the outlawed nobleman of the low countries, and known in history as "the wild boar of ardennes," plundered by the wholesale. there was nothing little or mean in his methods. he would scorn to pounce upon a lonely traveller and demand his purse. he sacked villages and plundered caravans. in this our missouri outlaws resemble "the wild boar of ardennes." they do not wait in gloomy places to catch a single wayfarer; they do not meet a weary traveller on the highway and cry out to him, "your money or your life!" they would despise such petty meanness. after ste. genevieve they rested. but their season of repose was not long. a new campaign was planned. hitherto they had depredated on the banks. but they were about to commence another line of business. the whole question was, no doubt, discussed with profound interest in their secret conclave. such a thing as plundering a railway train was something new. the public mind had not become accustomed to read accounts of the arrest of railway trains and the robbery of the passengers by a band of armed robbers. the missouri bandits thought to create a sensation. in the early part of july, , frank james, cole younger, robert moore, a desperado from the indian territory, jesse james and jim younger, held a conference in jackson county, missouri, when a scheme was broached to overhaul and rob a railway train. the first suggestion was to rob a train on the hannibal & st. joe. railway, or some other road in the state of missouri. but that was rejected after due deliberation. the plan of going into iowa was suggested and met with favor. the plans were matured before the gang separated. about the th of the month the robbers met at the house of a friend in clay county, and the final arrangements were made; a place of rendezvous was appointed, and the gang then separated into couples. as usual, frank and jesse james took the same route; cole younger and bob moore another, and jim younger and a texas desperado who went by the name of commanche tony, followed another route. the robbers leisurely pursued their journey, and on the th of july they were near the line of the chicago, rock island & pacific railway, about fourteen miles east of the city of council bluffs. at the appointed place of rendezvous they all meet after dark, on the night of the twentieth. during that day jesse james and cole younger made a reconnoissance, and selected the exact spot to carry out the enterprise in which they were engaged. it was agreed that they would "throw" the morning train bound east from council bluffs, as it was supposed to carry a large amount of specie _en route_ east from the pacific slope. the robbers didn't care much for silver, but they were willing to accept all the gold bricks that might fall into their hands. the place selected was about three miles from the rendezvous, in the edge of a belt of timber, and where the road bed was in an excavation about four feet deep. the train was due at that point about three o'clock in the morning. with deliberate purpose the robbers took their station in the underbrush near the track. several cross ties were placed in a position to be immediately utilized when the time came. three or four rails were loosened from the ties, and in silence the bandits waited for the approach of the train. in due time the train was descried by the watcher at the upper end of the curve--the road was very straight for a long distance to the west of the place selected. at that point there is a rather sharp curve and an obstruction placed on the track could not be seen by the engineer until he was within sixty yards of it. as soon as the train was seen coming down the long straight track, the robbers suddenly awoke into life and activity. the loosened rails were thrown apart, and half a dozen cross ties were thrown across the tracks just above. the engineer saw the danger when too late. he reversed his engine, but the momentum was too great. the ponderous locomotive plunged on, struck the obstruction, and careened on the side of the track. the shock was terrific. the engineer was killed and the fireman seriously injured. but the train stood still. the aroused passengers had no time to inquire the cause of the sudden stoppage. they knew full soon. the presence of armed men--strange, weird, desperate--appearing on the platforms of the coaches informed them concerning the situation. the train passed into the hands of bandits. the passengers were ordered in a peremptory manner to keep still. the command was accompanied by dreadful threats of instant annihilation on the least evidence of disobedience. surprised and unnerved by the suddenness of the attack, the passengers obeyed. then three of the band proceeded through the train and commanded the passengers to surrender up their money and their jewelry. they made a searching examination of each person in the cars. it is understood that several thousand dollars were obtained in this way. the express and mail car were searched and rifled. the spoils of the examination were put into a sack, and the robbers sought their horses, and mounting, speedily galloped away. of course the intelligence of such an occurrence was telegraphed far and wide. a most determined pursuit of the robbers was at once organized and set on foot. the sheriff of the county in which the robbery was committed summoned a large posse of men and started in pursuit. his theory was that they were missouri outlaws. he got on the trail of the robbers, and tracked them through western missouri as far as st. clair county. here he lost their trail, and efforts to find the outlaws proved unavailing. the sheriff finally gave up the chase and returned home. it is proper to add that friends of cole younger denied that he could possibly have had anything to do with this robbery. they assert that he was at the monegaw hotel, st. clair, on sunday morning, the th of july, and therefore could not have been in iowa the next morning. but there is no doubt that the youngers--at least bob and jim--were present with the jameses on that occasion. at any rate, the bandits escaped with their booty. chapter xxiii. the gains' place stage robbery. "their cruel bandits you would climb the rungs of the world! oh, curse sublime with tears and laughters for all time." they used to say that the james boys and the younger brothers might kill men who attempted to impose upon them, but they would not rob or steal. those who rob men of life must be the greatest criminals, and the lesser crimes are included in the greater. the career they had chosen required the service which money alone can render. these men had need for money which their legitimate resources were inadequate to supply. those who have taken many lives will not hesitate long to take a few dollars when their necessities require it. such are the laws which govern human actions. long before many of the very respectable citizens of clay, clinton and jackson counties believed it, the sons of the excellent minister whom they had known were the most unscrupulous and daring highwaymen who had ever followed the roads on this continent. the jameses early became the most dangerous outlaws of which history gives us any account. they were bold, but cautious; skilled in the school of cunning; trained in the art of killing; shrewd in planning, and swift in the execution of their designs. they seldom attempted a robbery except in out-of-the-way places where the presence of robbers was not expected. nor did they ever attempt robberies a second time at the same place. their plan was to strike unexpected blows. this week they would rob a train at gad's hill, next week at muncie, kansas; again, they would arrest a stage on the malvern and hot springs road, and then again they would flag a train at big springs, wyoming territory, a thousand miles from the scene of their last exploit. it was a gray, raw day in january, , when the regular stage running from malvern, on the st. louis, iron mountain & southern railway, to hot springs, pulled out from the little town. two ambulances for the accommodation of the afflicted pilgrims bound for that mecca of relief, accompanied the stage on the road. this cavalcade had reached the romantic vale of the golpha, near the old gains' mansion. this is a narrow dell, shut in by abrupt hills, clad with a dense forest of pine and tangled underbrush and evergreen vines. at this particular place the valley widens, and there is a beautiful farm and lovely grounds bordering the roadside on the east and north side of the stream. west and south the deep, tangled forest crowns the hills, which rise to a great height. here is a favorite halting place for travelers along that way. the clear waters of the golpha afford refreshing draughts to the wearied teams. we have said it was a gray, raw morning in january. the long drive from malvern over the stony roads inclined the passengers, as well as the horses, to rest. that particular thursday morning the drivers had stopped, as usual, directly opposite the gains residence, which is about two hundred yards from the road, toward the northeast. the spot is about five miles southeast from hot springs. a little beyond the stopping place the road crosses the stream at a ford. beyond the creek the country is very rugged, and covered with forest trees. and in those trees a band of robbers were crouched, waiting the approach of the stage and ambulances. the unsuspecting pilgrims were soon moving on, inwardly congratulating themselves on the near termination of their fatiguing journey. the stage and ambulances had proceeded well into the wood on the hot springs side of the golpha, perhaps half a mile from "the watering place," when a strong, emphatic voice called out from the borders of the brush: "stop! d--n you, or i'll blow your head off!" thus commanded, of course the driver of the stage brought his team to a standstill. the passengers naturally threw aside the flaps of the vehicles and thrust out their heads to ascertain what the strange proceedings meant. they saw at once. cocked revolvers yawned before them, and stern, harsh voices exclaimed in chorus, "d--n you, tumble out!" "certainly, under the circumstances, we will do so with alacrity," replied one of the passengers, a mr. charles moore. "raise your hands, you d--d----." of course every passenger promptly obeyed the order. one passenger, a rheumatic invalid, alone, was left undisturbed. then the leader cried out: "come! be quick, form a circle here!" the order was obeyed. then two of the robbers, one of whom was armed with a double-barrel shot-gun and the other with a navy repeater, mounted guard over the prisoners, and made many sinister remarks, doubtless intended to be jocose, but which kept the prisoners in a tremor of apprehension all the while. then two of the brigands proceeded to examine the effects and pockets of the passengers. when the affable gentlemen of the road had completed their undertaking, they proceeded in the coolest manner imaginable to cast up their accounts. they had lost in cash--nothing; in jewelry--naught; in conscience--well, it happened they didn't have any to lose. they had gained from sundry passengers as follows: ex-gov. burbank, of dakota, cash, $ " " " " diamond pin, " " " " gold watch, passenger from syracuse, n. y., william taylor, esq., lowell, mass., john dietrich, esq., little rock, ark., charles moore, esq., " " e. a. peebles, hot springs, three country farmers, southern express company, geo. r. crump, memphis, tenn., ------ total, $ , it was a very good morning's work, and the bandits were so well pleased that they were inclined to indulge in a sort of grim facetiousness. one of them unharnessed the best stage horse, saddled him and mounted him, and after trying his gait by riding up and down the road a few times, called out: "boys, i reckon he'll do!" another one of the band went to each passenger as he stood in the circle. john dietrich was the first to pass through the ordeal of cross-examination. "where are you from?" "little rock," replied dietrich. "ah, ha!" "yes, have a boot and shoe store there," remarked dietrich. "you'd better be there attending to it," was the observation of the chief of the bandits. "are there any southern men here?" "i am," replied mr. crump and three others. "any who served in the army?" "i did," said crump. the leader then asked him what regiment he belonged to, and what part of the country he had served in. the answers were satisfactory, and then the robber handed crump his watch and money, remarking as he did so: "well, you look like an honest fellow. i guess you're all right. we don't want to rob confederate soldiers. but the d--d yankees have driven us all into outlawry, and we will make them pay for it yet." mr. taylor, of lowell, mass., was examined. "where are you from?" "st. louis." "yes, and d--n your soul, you are a reporter for the st. louis _democrat_, the vilest sheet in the land. go to hot springs and send the dirty concern a telegram about this affair, and give them my compliments, will you?" then governor burbank felt encouraged to ask a favor of them. "will you please return me my papers?" asked the governor. "they are valuable to me, but i am sure you can make no use of them." "we'll see," said the leader, sententiously, and took the packet and kneeled down to examine them. in a few moments he took up a paper with an official seal, that excited his ire, and before he paused to examine it sufficiently to enable him to determine its character, he reached the conclusion that the bearer was a detective, a class which he held in the utmost hatred. "boys, i believe he's a detective--shoot him, at once!" was the sententious command. in an instant governor burbank was covered by three ready cocked dragoon pistols. the ex-governor was on the border of time. "stop!" cried the robber, "i reckon it's all right. here, take your papers." and the ex-governor felt that a mighty load had suddenly been lifted from him, and that a dark cloud, which but a moment before had enshrouded the world in the deepest gloom of midnight, had drifted away, allowing the bright sun to shine out on the scenes of time. the passenger from syracuse asked for the return of $ , to enable him to telegraph home for assistance. the chief looked at him rather sternly for a few moments, and said: "so, you have no friends nor money. you had better go and die. your death would be no loss to yourself or the country. you'll get nothing back, at any rate." all this while one of the robbers, said to have been james younger, held a double-barrel shot-gun cocked in his hand, which he pointed ever and anon at mr. taylor, the supposed _democrat_ reporter, making such cheerful remarks as these: "boys, i'll bet a hundred dollar bill i can shoot his hat off his head and not touch a hair on it." and the others would respond with a banter of a very uncomfortable character, while the facetious bandit went on: "now, wouldn't that button on his coat make a good mark. i'll bet a dollar i can clip it off and not cut the coat!" with such grim jests did he amuse himself and torment the captive. having thoroughly accomplished their work, the bandits made the drivers hitch up their teams and drive away. the whole transaction was completed in less than ten minutes. the robbers did not linger. in a few minutes they scattered through the brush. some "struck out," as they expressed it, for the nation, another for texas, and one for louisiana. of course, denials of complicity on the part of the jameses in this affair were at once entered by their friends. but it has since been ascertained that the party who did the deed consisted of frank and jesse james, coleman and james younger, and clell miller, one of the associates of the daring outlaws. chapter xxiv. gadshill. during the morning of january , at the hour of : o'clock, the st. louis and texas express train, with a goodly number of passengers, and the mails and valuable express freight, departed from the plum street depot in st. louis, bound for texas, via the st. louis, iron mountain and southern railroad. mr. c. a. alford was the conductor in charge of the train when it departed, and when the event which we are about to describe occurred. gadshill, a name rich in historical associations, is a lonely wayside station on the road, situated in the northeast corner of wayne county, missouri, about seven miles from piedmont, which is the nearest telegraph station. the st of january, , was a dreary, winter day. the cold gray clouds veiled the sky, and no ray of sunlight filtered through the wintry pall. the day wore away, wearily enough, with the passengers on mr. alford's train. they had not yet been together a sufficient length of time to assimilate, and each one was left to his, or her, own device for amusement or entertainment. slowly the hours passed away. the landscape was cold, dreary and forbidding; the winds came blowing from the north with a chill in their breath that made the passengers think longingly of "sweet home." iron mountain, and pilot knob, and shepherd's mountain, and the beautiful valley of arcadia, in their winter dress, wore anything but a pleasing aspect. in fact, it was a comfortless sort of day, which made the passengers feel anything but merry. nightfall was approaching. already the thick atmosphere was becoming sombre in hue, and it was evident the curtains of darkness were falling over the earth. by this time it was about : o'clock in the afternoon. the train was approaching the little station dignified by the name of gadshill, in honor of the locality where sir john falstaff so valiantly met the buckramite host, an event graphically delineated by the historian and poet of all climes and times. as the train drew near, the engineer saw the red flag displayed, and whistled "down brakes." before proceeding to relate what happened to the train and the passengers on it, we shall state what had happened at gadshill before the train came. about half-past three o'clock that afternoon, a party of seven men, splendidly mounted and armed to the teeth, rode to the station, secured the agent, then took in a blacksmith, and afterwards all the citizens and two or three countrymen, and one lad, who were waiting for the arrival of the train. among the persons so detained was the son of dr. rock, at that time representative in the legislature from wayne county. the captives were taken to the little station-house and confined there, under the surveillance of one of the armed robbers. then the bandits set about completing their arrangements for executing the work which they had come to perform. the signal flag was displayed on the track and the lower end of the switch was opened, so that the train would be ditched if it attempted to pass. then the bandits waited for their prey. in due time the train came dashing down the road. the engineer saw the flag and gave the signal for stopping. mr. alford, the conductor, was ready to step upon the little platform as soon as the train came alongside. the robbers did not show themselves until the cars were at the station. no sooner had the train come to a full halt than mr. alford stepped off to the platform. he was instantly confronted by the muzzle of a pistol and greeted with the salutation: "give me your money and your watch, d--n your soul! quick!" mr. alford had no alternative. he gave up his pocketbook containing fifty dollars in money, and an elegant gold watch. "get in there!" they commanded, and mr. alford obeyed. while this was going on, one of the brigands had covered the engineer with a revolver, and compelled him to leave his cab. meanwhile, part of the band occupied the platforms at the ends of the passenger coaches, while two of them went through the train with a revolver in one hand and commanded the passengers to give up their money. of course the defenseless travellers yielded their change to the uttermost farthing into the hands of the robbers. mr. john h. morley, chief engineer of the st. louis, iron mountain & southern railroad, was among the passengers, and was plundered along with the rest of them. the robbers made a clean sweep, taking money, watches and jewelry from all. among the passengers robbed, were silas ferry, c. d. henry, geo. g. dent, mr. scott, sr., mr. scott, jr., mr. lincoln, mr. meriam, o. s. newell and a. mclain. after having effectually stripped the passengers of worldly wealth, the robbers proceeded to the express car, broke open the safe, and secured the contents. the mail bags were next cut open and their contents rifled of everything of value. the whole amount of money secured by the robbers was somewhere between eight and ten thousand dollars. after completing their work the bandits went to mr. alford and remarked that as he was conductor he needed a watch, and they gave him back his timekeeper. when they had satisfied themselves that there was no more plunder to be gained, they released the conductor and engineer, and told them to draw out at once. as the robbers, whose part of the business it was to relieve the passengers of their spare cash, passed through the cars, they asked each one of the gentlemen passengers his name. one of the victims, a mr. newell, asked the brigands, "what do you want to know that for?" "d--n you, out with your name, and ask questions afterward!" was the profane reply. "well, my name is newell, and here's my money, and now i want to know why you ask me for my name?" said mr. newell, with an attempt at pleasantry, fortified by a sort of grim smile. "you seem to be a sort of jolly coon, anyhow," said the robber, "and i'll gratify you. that old scoundrel, pinkerton, is on this train, or was to have been on it, and we want to get him, so that we can cut out his heart and roast it." during the time they were in the cars among the passengers, they mentioned the name of pinkerton many times, and exhibited the most intense hatred of the distinguished detective. it was very fortunate for mr. allan pinkerton that he was not a passenger on the train that lumbered up to the dreary station of gadshill that winter day. this circumstance is confirmatory of the evidence that jesse and frank james were leaders in the gadshill affair. they, for years, have cherished the most bitter animosity toward the detective, and the very mention of his name was sufficient to render them almost frantic with rage. the citizens were released, and the robbers mounted their horses and rode away in the gathering darkness, over the forest-crowned hills to the west. some of the features of this bold robbery were ludicrous in the extreme. the trepidation of the passengers made the job a quick one, because they were ready on demand to give up everything to the freebooters. one passenger complained at the hardship, and the following dialogue ensued: "give me your money, watch and jewelry, you blamed cur! quick!" "now, please, i--" "dry up, d--n you, and shell out!" and the robber thrust a pistol against his temple. "oh, yes! excuse m-m-me, p-p-p-please, d-don't shoot. here's a-all i've g-got in t-t-the world." and the poor fellow, all tremblingly, handed up his wealth. "i'm a good mind to shoot you, anyhow," remarked the robber, "for being so white livered." at this the alarmed traveller crouched down behind a seat. it was nightfall when the robbers rode away. gadshill is in the midst of a wilderness country. there are but few settlements among the hills, and it was impossible to organize an effective posse at once for pursuit. at piedmont, on the arrival of the train, the news was telegraphed to st. louis and little rock. the citizens of that vicinity were aroused, and before midnight a well armed posse of a dozen men were riding over the hills westward in pursuit. but the robbers, who were all mounted on blooded horses, rode swiftly away. before the dawn of day they were sixty miles from the scene of the crime. they called at the residence of a widow lady named cook, one mile above carpentersville, on the current river, to obtain a breakfast. there were but five of them in the party, and these were each armed with a pair of pistols and a repeating rifle. they continued on, and passed mr. payne's on the big piney, in texas county, and went to the house of the hon. mr. mason, then a member of the state legislature, and who was at that time absent attending its session, and demanded food and lodging from mrs. mason. they remained there all night, and proceeded westward in the morning. the same day that the five men took breakfast with mrs. cook, a dozen pursuers from gadshill and piedmont arrived at the same place, having tracked them sixty miles. chapter xxv. after gadshill. the bold act of brigandage at gadshill aroused the whole country. the outlaws had become formidable. missouri and arkansas were alike interested, and the citizens of both states were ready to make personal sacrifices to aid in the capture of such daring brigands. but who were the robbers? a question not easy to answer with any assurance of correctness. some said at once that it was the jameses and the youngers and their associates. geo. w. shepherd, one of quantrell's most daring guerrillas in missouri, and one of those who separated from him when he went to kentucky, was an intimate friend of the jameses in the old guerrilla times. after the war shepherd emigrated to kentucky and married at chaplin, nelson county, where he settled down. after russellville, circumstances pointed to him as one of the persons implicated in the robbery. he was arrested, carried to logan county and tried. the proof was of such a character that he was found guilty of aiding and abetting the robbers, and was sentenced to the penitentiary for a term of three years. at the expiration of his sentence he returned to chaplin and learned that during his incarceration his wife had obtained a divorce and married another man. shepherd had paid $ on the house and lot which he found his ex-wife and husband occupying. but he left them there and took his departure from kentucky. at the time of the gadshill affair he was somewhere in missouri. but there is not a particle of evidence to connect him with the robbery. bradley collins was a noted desperado in those days, who figured in texas and the indian territory as one of the worst outlaws in the business. he also rode at times with the jameses and the youngers. john chunk was another daring outlaw who infested texas and the indian territory, and often came into missouri and co-operated with the brigands of that state. sid wallace, afterwards hanged at clarksville, arkansas, was another noted outlaw between the years and . he, too, was a "friend" of the jameses. cal carter, jim reed, john wes. hardin, sam bass, bill longley, tom taylor and jim clark, all notorious in texas and the nation, often joined the missouri outlaws and hunted with them. indeed, it appears that there was a regularly organized band of brigands ramifying through the states of missouri, kansas, colorado, arkansas, the indian territory and texas. this banditti was composed of the most desperate and daring men who had ever placed themselves beyond the pale of the law in this country. whatever doubts might once have existed concerning the personality of the bandits of gadshill, they have all vanished in the light of subsequent events. jesse and frank james, some of the youngers and their associates, were undoubtedly the men who rode to gadshill. the fellows seemed to have had a bit of classical humor in their composition in selecting a place so named as the scene of such an exploit. it seemed to have created a conviction in the minds of those in authority, also, that the jameses were the leaders. governor woodson, of missouri, offered a reward to the full extent of the law's provisions. governor baxter, of arkansas, communicated to governor woodson his desire to aid in the capture of the outlaws, and also offered a reward. the express company offered a heavy reward for the capture of the bandits, and the united states authorities took an active interest in the movement set on foot to break up the formidable banditti. stimulated by the prospect of gain, the detectives all over the country became active in the pursuit. the citizens, too, were on the move, and it seemed that the auguries all pointed to a speedy annihilation of this formidable gang which infested the west. meanwhile another outrage was committed almost on the line of retreat from gadshill, which still further agitated the public mind. during the afternoon of the th of february, , five men, splendidly mounted and well armed, rode into the town of bentonville, benton county, arkansas. their entrance was quiet. they rode to the store of craig & son; dismounted and entered the store; made prisoners of the proprietors and clerks at the muzzle of pistols, and proceeded to rifle the cash box. fortunately for the firm of craig & son, they had made a deposit that day and the robbers only obtained about one hundred and fifty dollars in money. they helped themselves to about one hundred dollars' worth of goods; warned the proprietors and clerks not to give the alarm until they had passed out of town; went out; mounted their horses and rode away in the most nonchalant manner. in a saloon adjacent, there were more than twenty men who were uninformed as to what was taking place in the store of messrs. craig & son, until after the robbers had departed. pursuit was made, but the bandits escaped. the weeks following the gadshill outrage were busy ones with the detectives. a carefully planned campaign against the marauders was at once instituted and prosecuted with great vigor. allan pinkerton, the american vidocq, was employed by the express company to hunt the robbers down. the united states government ordered the secret service force into the field, and the police and constabulary forces of missouri and arkansas, under orders from the governors of the respective states, were acting in concert with the forces of detectives called into service by the general government and the express company. the brigands were successfully tracked through the wilds of southern missouri, and their trail led into the hill country of st. clair county, and across jackson county on beyond the missouri river. no doubt was left upon the minds of the man-hunters as to the personalty of the gadshill robbers. the james boys and some of the youngers were certainly engaged in it. the youngers, at least john and jim, had returned to roscoe, st. clair county, "flush with cash." the detectives were on their tracks. to the force was added ed. b. daniels, a courageous young man of osceola, who was thoroughly acquainted with the country. the detective force in st. clair county was under the direction of one of allan pinkerton's picked men, captain w. j. allen, whose real name was lull. with him was a st. louis "fly cop," well known, and distinguished for his shrewdness and daring, who for the time had assumed the name of wright. daniels was extremely serviceable as a guide. one morning, when near the residence of theodoric snuffer, a short distance from roscoe, these three men were suddenly surprised by john and james younger, who rode up behind them in the road. they were at snuffer's house, and saw the detectives pass, and started out with the avowed purpose of capturing them. approaching the three men in the rear, they raised their double-barrel shot-guns, and with an oath commanded them to hold up their hands and drop their pistols. taken thus, at a disadvantage, the detectives complied, and dropped their belts of pistols in the road. james younger dismounted to secure them, while john remained on horseback with a double-barrel gun covering them. for a moment he lowered his gun. that moment was fatal. captain lull drew a concealed smith & wesson revolver from his bosom, and fired. the ball took effect in john younger's neck, severing the left jugular vein. in the very agonies of death, as he fell from his horse to die, john younger raised a pistol and fired, the ball taking effect in the left arm and side of captain lull. two more shots were fired, probably by james younger, before allen, or rather lull, fell. james younger then commenced firing at ed. b. daniels. that gentleman also had a concealed pistol, returned the fire and inflicted a slight flesh wound on the person of james younger. but his fate was sealed. a fatal bullet crashed through the left side of the neck, and daniels fell, and soon afterward expired. this tragedy excited and alarmed the whole country. it was no longer possible for james younger to remain in the country. he took the pistols which his dead brother, john, had worn, and departed for the house of a friend in boone county, arkansas, where he was soon joined by cole and bob. wright, who was riding a short distance in advance of captain lull and ed. daniels, hearing the summons of the younger brothers, turned, and at a glance saw the situation, and, putting spurs to his horse, dashed away. although he was fired upon and pursued a short distance by james younger, he managed to escape unharmed, aided as he was by a very fleet horse. the hunters for the jameses met with no better luck. one of the darkest tragedies which ever disgraced the state of missouri followed the efforts of the detectives to capture the shrewdest and most daring outlaws who have yet appeared in this country. there is an air of mystery about this terrible episode which makes it all the more thrilling. the full details of this crime are reserved for another chapter. chapter xxvi. whicher's ride to death. the james boys were believed to have been the projectors and leaders of the gadshill enterprise. soon after that event they returned to clay county. traces of their trail through southern missouri were soon discovered. the description given of two of the five travellers who took breakfast at mrs. cook's on current river, and lodged at mr. mason's house in texas county, answered well for frank and jesse james. the detectives caught at every clue. the james boys were at gadshill beyond a doubt. and so the brigand hunters passed into clay county. meanwhile the james boys and other members of the gang were resting in the vicinity of kearney, in clay county, at the residence of dr. samuels. among those known to have been there were jim cummings and clell miller, jim anderson, a brother of bill anderson, of centralia notoriety, and bradley collins, a texas desperado. the sheriff of clay county thought arthur mccoy was probably at that time with the jameses. on the th day of march, jesse james spent a portion of the day in kearney. the gang had several horses shod a few days before at a country blacksmith shop in that vicinity. wednesday, march , , arrived at liberty, the county seat of clay county, missouri, j. w. whicher, from what place it mattered not to the citizens of liberty. this man was in the very vigor of a matured manhood. he was just twenty-six years of age, lately married to an estimable and accomplished young lady, a resident of iowa city. whicher was intelligent, shrewd and daring. he was selected by his chief, allan pinkerton, who is acknowledged as a consummate judge of human nature, as the fittest instrument to execute the most dangerous enterprise which he had ever yet undertaken. immediately on arriving at liberty, whicher called at the commercial savings bank to see mr. adkins, its president. to him he made known his errand into that section. at the same time he deposited in the bank some money and papers. mr. adkins was not able to give whicher all the information which he desired, and sent him to col. o. p. moss, ex-sheriff of clay county, for further information. when he opened his plans to moss, that gentleman advised him not to go. he gave him a terrible account of the prowess of the desperadoes; told him of their shrewdness and of their merciless nature when excited by the presence of an enemy, and warned him that he need not hope to secure such wary men by stratagem. col. moss was earnest in his efforts to dissuade whicher from making the rash attempt. but it was of no avail. whicher had received what he regarded as positive evidence that the jameses were the leaders of the gadshill bandits, and, further, that they were now at home, near kearney. stimulated by the hope of "catching his game," and securing the large rewards, whicher, who seems to have been destitute of any sense of fear, made his arrangements to go that very evening to the jameses' place of retreat. disguised in the garb of a farm laborer, with an old carpet bag swung on a stick, whicher took the evening train for kearney, and there made inquiries for work on a farm. he did not tarry long at the station, but soon started out toward the samuels place. poor whicher! he little thought that his fate was already determined upon by those whose destiny he was seeking to determine. but so it was. there was a friend of the jameses in liberty that day--a fellow named jim latche, who had been expelled from texas on account of his worthless qualities as a citizen and dangerous attributes as a criminal. latche had met the james boys, and had made a raid with them, on one occasion, down in texas. he had been resting at their retreat for a few days, and was probably on a scout for them that day. at any rate, he was in liberty when whicher arrived. he observed his movements, because whicher was a stranger; saw him go to the bank and make a deposit; waited while he conferred with mr. adkins, and then, tracked him to col. moss' office. he came to the conclusion that whicher was a detective; and when afterward he saw that the detective had changed his clothes, he was convinced that he was right. latche hastened away to give a report of what he had heard and observed. when whicher arrived at kearney the jameses knew of it, and suspected the truth concerning his mission. it was in the evening. jim anderson, jesse james and bradley collins were in waiting on the roadside, about half a mile from the samuels residence. soon after whicher came along. he was carrying a carpet-sack. jesse james came out of their concealment alone, and met whicher in the road. "good evening, sir," said whicher. "where in h--ll are _you_ going?" responded the other. "well, it's a rude response, but i will not answer as rudely again. i am seeking work. can you tell me where i can get some work on a farm?" "no, not much, you don't want any, either, you d--d thief. old pinkerton has already given you a job that will last you as long as you live, i reckon." and jesse laughed a cold, hard laugh that meant death. of course whicher was helpless, for the other had him under cover of a pistol from the moment he came in sight. but whicher was dauntless and wary, and, without exhibiting the least trepidation, he said: "who do you take me to be? what have i to do with pinkerton or his business? i am a stranger in the country and want something to do. i don't see why you should keep that pistol pointed at me. i don't know you, and have never done you any wrong." "oh, d--n it, you are the kind of a dog that sneaks up and bites, are you? you will carry in the james boys, will you? you are a nice sneaking cur, ain't you? want work, do you? what say you, my sneak? eh?" the tantalizing manner of jesse james did not disconcert the detective. he answered these taunts with perfect coolness: "i don't understand you, sir. i am no cur, and know nothing of the james boys. i addressed you politely, and you did not return the same. i said i wanted some employment, and you taunt me for it. i must bid you good evening." with this, whicher made a step forward. his progress was arrested by the harsh voice of jesse james. "you shall die if you move out of your tracks! keep up your hands!" whicher realized by this time that his chance of escape was small, for he knew that jesse james stood before him, and he had quickly made up his mind that he would sell his life dearly. he was cool, active and expert with the pistol; his right hand was almost involuntarily seeking to grasp his weapon. but jesse james evidently had him at a great disadvantage. instantly realizing this, he changed his purpose. "well, this is a singular adventure, i declare. now, why you should make such a mistake concerning me is more than i can imagine. you are surely making sport of me. i tell you i know nothing of the persons of whom you speak, and why should you interrupt me? let me go on, for i must find a place to stop to-night, anyhow." jesse james laughed outright. "what," said he, "were you doing at liberty to-day? why did you deposit money in the bank? what business did you have with adkins and moss? where are the clothes you wore? plotting to capture the james boys, eh?" and jesse laughed aloud, and jim anderson and fox, another confederate of the boys, came from their concealment, with pistols in hand. poor whicher saw this, and for the first time he fully realized the helplessness of his position. "betrayed," he thought, almost said. jesse james said, in a cold, dry tone: "young man, we want to hear no more from you. we know you. move but a finger and you die now. boys," he said, addressing anderson and fox, "i don't think it best to do the job here. it wouldn't take long, but for certain reasons i don't think this is the place. shall we cross the river to-night?" the others answered they would, if it was his pleasure. all this time whicher had stood still; not a muscle moved, and not a single wave of pallor had covered his features. he knew what they meant by "the job," and made up his mind to improve any incident, however slight, to have revenge on his murderers. but there were no favorable incidents for him. he had been tried and condemned in a court from which he could not appeal. at what time the sentence would be executed he could not tell. "boys, relieve him of his burden and weapons," said jesse james. quick as thought, whicher's hand was thrust into the bosom of his coat. it was too late. fox and anderson sprang upon him, while jesse james placed the muzzle of his pistol against his temple. to struggle was useless. he was compelled to yield, for just then brad collins and jim latche joined the others. the case of the detective was hopeless. in an instant they had disarmed him; he had brought only one smith & wesson pistol. then the desperadoes felt of his hands, and laughed at his pretensions as a farm-laborer. [illustration: whicher meets his fate.] confident in the belief that he had been betrayed by one of the two gentlemen to whom he had applied at liberty, whicher made up his mind that he would make no whining petition to the murderers. if he had known the exact state of the case he would not have gone to kearney, and if he had gone he would have been better prepared to encounter the boys. but fate had ordained it otherwise, and another victim to the long, long catalogue of names which jesse james had written in blood was the outcome of it all. darkness had fallen upon the fair scenes of nature while these things were happening. the cool march winds whistled dismally through the yet naked forest trees. the stars came out and looked coldly from the empyrean, but there was purity in their beams, and no blood marks on their twinkling discs. it was meet that the tragedy which was about to take place should be enacted in the hours of gloomy night, and at a time when all without was comfortless and dreary. whicher was bound securely, and a gag was placed in his mouth that he might call for no aid or deliverance. the desperadoes placed hum upon a horse, in the still hours of the night, and rode away. his legs were tied securely under the horse's belly, and his arms were pinioned with strong ropes. jesse james, bradley collins and jim anderson were the executioners. in silence himself, whicher, during that long, lonely ride heard the three discussing their bloody deeds with a thrill of horror, for they had told him what his fate was to be. about three o'clock on the morning of the th of march, the drowsy ferryman at blue mills, on the missouri river, was roused to wakefulness by the shouts of men on the north side, who signified their desire to cross over. "be in a hurry," cried the belated travelers. "we are after horse thieves and must cross quick if we catch them." thus appealed to the ferryman crossed the river to the northeastern shore, where the horse thief hunters awaited him. when they came down to the boat, they said to the ferryman: "we have caught the thief, and if you want to keep your head on your shoulders you had better put us across the river very quick." so persuaded, the ferryman obeyed. they were soon on the south side of the river. the ferryman observed that one of the men was bound and gagged. it was poor whicher on his way to his execution. the very stars shone piteously through a veil of mist, and the winds sighed sadly as the strange group moved off on the independence road. but neither the helpless condition of their victim, nor the sad aspect of nature in the solemnity of the hours of darkness could evoke a spark of pity in the sered hearts of whicher's executioners. they rode away in the darkness. just how they executed their purpose only the red-handed outlaws and the merciful god knows. the next morning an early traveler on the road from independence to blue mills, about half way between the places, in a lonely spot, saw a ghastly corpse with a bullet-hole through the forehead and another through the heart. it was all that remained of whicher. chapter xxvii. a night raid of detectives. after whicher's melancholy fate, allan pinkerton had motives aside from those of gain for pursuing to the death the celebrated border bandits, frank and jesse james. in one year, three of the most courageous and trusted men in the employ of the distinguished detective had been sent out after the missouri outlaws, and were carried back cold in death, after conflicts with the desperadoes. whicher and lull and daniels were asleep in gory beds. and yet frank and jesse james, and their followers and allies, were free as the winds that blow, to come and go as interest or caprice might dictate to them. while this condition of affairs continued, pinkerton must have felt that his reputation as a skillful entrapper of criminals suffered. about the first of the year , the great detective commenced a campaign against the renowned brigands which was meant to be finally effective. the most elaborate and careful preparations were made. nothing was left undone which could in any way contribute to the success of the undertaking. the utmost secrecy was observed in every movement. several circumstances seemed to favor the detectives. many of the most respectable citizens of clay county had grown weary of the presence in their midst of persons of the evil reputation of the jameses, and entered with alacrity and zeal into the scheme inaugurated for the capture of the boys. among those of the citizens most prominent in the movement which had for its design the annihilation of the band of which jesse james was supposed to be the chief leader, were several of the old neighbors and acquaintances of the james and samuels families. with these citizens, mr. william pinkerton, who had gone from chicago to kansas city, to direct the movements of the detective forces, opened communication. a system of cipher signals was adopted, and communications constantly passed between the different persons engaged in the undertaking. the citizens in the neighborhood of kearney were watchful, and keenly observed every movement in the vicinity of the residence of dr. samuels, and daily transmitted the results to their chief, who had established temporary headquarters at kansas city. it was known to some of the immediate neighbors of dr. samuels that frank and jesse james were at home. they had been seen occasionally at the little railway station of kearney, which is three miles distant from the residence which had been, and was still claimed, as the home of the outlaws. near neighbors, in casually passing, had seen them about the barnyards. all these things had been faithfully reported to the chief detective at kansas city. at length the opportune time for striking a decisive blow was deemed to have arrived. dispatches in cipher were sent to chicago for reinforcements, and specific orders touching their movements after their arrival near the objective point, were given. the kansas city division of the forces was held in readiness to co-operate with the force from the east. the citizens of clay county, who had so zealously aided the detectives, received final instructions as to the part they were to take in the grand _coup_, by which their county was to be forever relieved of the presence of the dangerous outlaws. extraordinary precautions had been taken to maintain a profound secrecy as to the movements and purposes of the detectives. no strange men had been seen loitering about kearney. everything which could possibly be done to allay suspicion on the part of the outlaws had been done. but the jameses had friends everywhere in western missouri--keen, shrewd, vigilant men, who noted everything, and whose suspicions were aroused by the slightest circumstance. the very quiet which prevailed was ominous of approaching danger. somehow, too, they had learned of the sending and receiving of cipher messages by a clay county man, at liberty. this made them doubly watchful. the extensive preparations which had been made, and the necessity imposed upon them of waiting for a suitable opportunity to strike, had occupied much time, and it was not until the night of the th of january, that the detectives made the final attack. jesse and frank had been seen near the samuels place that very evening, and no doubt was entertained that they were at home. the detective forces destined for the attack on what was facetiously termed "castle james," were divided into small squads, and began to arrive in clay county on the afternoon of the th, from the east. coming after night, they were met by citizens of clay county and conducted to places of shelter in the most quiet and secret manner. after nightfall on the evening of the th, a special train came up by kearney, and on it came another detachment from kansas city. these were met by citizens well acquainted, and conducted to the place of rendezvous. secretly as these movements had been conducted, the ever-vigilant jesse had his suspicions aroused by some trivial circumstance, which would have escaped the attention of almost any other man. convinced that some formidable movement was going on, designed to consummate his destruction, jesse james, his brother, and another member of the band rode away from the samuels house after nightfall that very evening, and at the hour when the detectives arrived in the vicinity of the place where they expected to capture them, the jameses were riding in the cold, well on their way to the house of a friend, miles away. the detectives had no intimation that their intended victims had taken the alarm and departed from the place. they were assured that the outlaws had been seen in the vicinity of their home at a late hour in the afternoon, and it was believed that they were there still. the night was cold and dark. it was late--perhaps near midnight, when the detective force arrived at the farm-house. there were nine men selected from pinkerton's force because of their shrewdness and courage, and several citizens of the vicinity who, like the detectives, were fully armed. the assailing forces took up their stations completely surrounding the house. some balls of tow thoroughly saturated with kerosene oil and turpentine had been prepared, and the detectives carried with them some formidable hand-grenades to be used in the assault. two of the assailants approached a window at the rear of the house. the slight noise made in opening the shutters and raising the sash aroused a negro woman, an old family servant, who was sleeping in the apartment. she at once set up a shout of alarm which speedily brought to the room mrs. samuels, her husband, and several members of the family, some of them young children. [illustration: night attack on the samuels residence.] just then a lighted ball of tow and oil was thrown into the room. the place was instantly brilliantly illuminated. the inmates of course, having just been aroused from slumber, were greatly agitated at this unexpected assault. the situation was truly appalling. another lighted ball was hurled into the room. the younger members of the family cried out piteously as they fled aghast from the lurid flames that shot toward the ceiling. mrs. samuels quickly recovered her presence of mind, and began to give directions and personally to exert herself in the work of subduing the flames. she was permitted only a moment to engage in this employment. there was a sudden crash as a great iron ball struck the floor, followed in an instant by a terrific explosion. instantly the room was filled by a dense cloud of smoke, through which the white flames of the fireballs gleamed with a lurid red hue as if tinged with blood. there was a wail of agony from within that pandemonium of midnight horrors which might well have called emotion to a heart of stone. the piteous moans of childhood in dying throes, were mingled with the deeper groans of suffering age, and the shriller cries of terrified youth. the work of the assailants in that particular line of attack was complete. and yet the noted outlaws did not appear. it was at once concluded that they were not present or they would have shown themselves under such circumstances. the attacking force did not wait to ascertain the result of the explosion of their terrible missile. they realized only that the game they sought had escaped them, and they retired from the place without caring to learn anything more about the consequences of their effort. they had failed, and that was all they felt interested in ascertaining. when the smoke had cleared away and the fires which had been kindled about the house were extinguished, the extent of the execution done by the explosion was fully revealed. the spectacle presented was awful beyond any power of our pen to describe. there, lying on the floor, in a pool of blood, poured out from his own young veins, was the mangled form of an eight-year old son of mrs. samuels, in the very throes of death; mrs. samuels' right arm hung helpless by her side, having been almost completely torn off above the elbow. dr. samuels was cut and bruised; the aged colored woman was wounded in several places; in fact, every member of the household was more or less injured. blood was everywhere. death was in the room; and pain and grief combined smote upon every soul in that stricken home. whatever the crimes of the boys of ill-favored reputation, they afforded no justification for this terrible assault in which innocent childhood was made the victim for the deeds of others. and the people of the state, without any exceptions, condemned the deed as wholly unjustifiable. the detectives made haste to leave the country, and the citizens who had assisted them returned to their homes and kept counsel with themselves. the dead boy was taken away, and in his little grave under the snow they left him lying, the sinless victim of sin, over whose untimely fate many hearts have swelled with emotions too big for utterance. chapter xxviii. proposed amnesty. there can be no doubt that there was a heavy undercurrent of popular opinion in favor of the james boys, generated by a conviction that they were the victims of cruel and uncalled-for persecution, brought upon themselves by their adhesion to a cause which was dear to the hearts of many thousands of the citizens of missouri. their later deeds were forgotten, while their former acts were remembered with admiration. though the evidence seemed clear, which connected the jameses and youngers with innumerable daring robberies, yet many hundreds of good people refused to credit the reports, and offered their sympathy to the men whom they believed to be victims of vile slanders and unwarrantable persecutions. the sympathy openly manifested for the boys came not from the reckless and vicious elements, but from influential persons all over the state. as late as , there were thousands of respectable people in missouri who had no sympathy with the movements set on foot by the legal authorities for the apprehension of the desperadoes, simply because they did not believe them to be robbers, and that the killing done by them was a justifiable punishment inflicted on ancient enemies who richly deserved their fate. the effect of the raid on the residence of mrs. samuels, the mother of frank and jesse james, was to create a diversion in favor of the boys. the tragedy of that event was of so horrible a nature, that public sentiment set in strongly against any further attempt to capture the boys by force. there was a strong sentiment in many quarters of the state in favor of trying a policy of conciliation toward the desperadoes. the reasons advanced in favor of this policy were numerous, and some of them possessed some weight. it was alleged that the state had already suffered the loss of considerable sums in pursuing them; that it was extremely doubtful whether their capture could ever be effected; that in consequence the good name of the state must be tarnished; that while the jameses and youngers were declared to be, and treated as outlaws, other bad men would commit crimes and shift the responsibility to the outlawed men; that the course pursued toward the jameses and youngers was a species of persecution, and finally it was plead that all this persistent hunting of these men was stimulated by the animosities of enemies, dating from the war time, and inasmuch as the united states government had granted amnesty to its enemies for acts committed during the continuance of hostilities, that it was not right the state of missouri should pursue with vindictive persecution any of its citizens for acts committed during the war, and their friends contended that the outlawry of these men grew out of their course in the period between and . these views and opinions in respect to the jameses and youngers assumed a formal shape in the early part of march, , by the introduction in the legislature of missouri by the late general jeff. jones, then a member of the house of representatives from callaway county, of a bill, or preambles and resolution, offering amnesty for all past offenses to jesse w. james, thomas coleman younger, frank james, robert younger and james younger, on the condition that they should return to their homes and quietly submit to such proceedings as might be instituted against them for acts alleged to have been committed by them since the war. the preambles and resolution offered by general jones received the approval of attorney-general john a. hockaday, and of many other lawyers of acknowledged ability. general jones supported the measure with great zeal and earnestness, and no little ability and eloquence. as this measure was one of great importance to the subjects of this volume, we deem it necessary to give the essential parts of the document, as follows: whereas, by the th section of the th article of the constitution of missouri, all persons in the military service of the united states, or who acted under the authority thereof in this state, are relieved from all civil liability and all criminal punishment for all acts done by them since the st day of january, a. d., ; and, whereas, by the th section of the said th article of said constitution, provision is made by which, under certain circumstances, may be seized, transported to, indicted, tried and punished in distant counties, any confederate under ban of despotic displeasure, thereby contravening the constitution of the united slates and every principle of enlightened humanity; and, whereas, such discrimination evinces a want of manly generosity and statesmanship on the part of the party imposing, and of courage and manhood on the part of the party submitting tamely thereto; and, whereas, under the outlawry pronounced against jesse w. james, frank james, coleman younger, robert younger and others, who gallantly periled their lives and their all in the defense of their principles, they are of necessity made desperate, driven as they are from the fields of honest industry, from their friends, their families, their homes and their country, they can know no law but the law of self-preservation, nor can have no respect for and feel no allegiance to a government which forces them to the very acts it professes to deprecate, and then offers a bounty for their apprehension, and arms foreign mercenaries with power to capture and kill them; and, whereas, believing these men too brave to be mean, too generous to be revengeful, and too gallant and honorable to betray a friend or break a promise; and believing further that most, if not all the offences with which they are charged have been committed by others, and perhaps by those pretending to hunt them, or by their confederates; that their names are and have been used to divert suspicion from and thereby relieve the actual perpetrators; that the return of these men to their homes and friends would have the effect of greatly lessening crime in our state by turning public attention to the real criminals, and that common justice, sound policy and true statesmanship alike demand that amnesty should be extended to all alike of both parties for all acts done or charged to have been done during the war; therefore, be it _resolved by the house of representatives, the senate concurring therein_: that the governor of the state be, and he is hereby requested to issue his proclamation notifying the said jesse w. james, frank james, coleman younger, robert younger and james younger, and others, that full and complete amnesty and pardon will be granted them for all acts charged or committed by them during the late civil war, and inviting them peaceably to return to their respective homes in this state and there quietly to remain, submitting themselves to such proceedings as may be instituted against them by the courts for all offenses charged to have been committed since said war, promising and guaranteeing to them and each of them full protection and a fair trial therein, and that full protection shall be given them from the time of their entrance into the state and his notice thereof under said proclamation and invitation. the above bill was introduced about the first of march, , and was referred to the committee on criminal jurisprudence, of which its author was a leading member. the bill was fully discussed in committee, and finally, through the influence of its author, a majority of the committee agreed to make a favorable report on the measure to the house of representatives. sometime towards the close of the session of the th general assembly, the bill came up for its third reading in the house. general jones made an earnest speech in advocacy of the measure. a member aroused a strong opposition to the measure from the very side of the house from which general jones had hoped to obtain assistance in carrying it through. the member simply read a portion of a message transmitted by governor silas woodson to the th general assembly denouncing these same outlaws; and the democratic legislature of missouri refused to pass the bill. thus the stigma of outlawry remained upon them, and their hands were turned against every man. chapter xxix. the san antonio-austin stage plundered. it had been a lovely day. nature had put on her richest habiliments of bloom and beauty. the sun shone with a genial warmth, and the air was soft and perfume-laden from the thousands of wild flowers exhaling the rich aroma from the wide prairies. it was an eminently respectable party who travelled from san antonio on the stage that day. there were in the company the right rev. bishop gregg, of the protestant episcopal diocese of texas, and mr. breckenridge, president of the first national bank of san antonio; three ladies, and six other gentlemen, merchants of san antonio--in all, eleven travellers, well provided with the means to get through the world without fear of famishing. the stage was the regular four-horse, united states mail coach, running in the line between san antonio and austin, texas. the respectable party of eleven travellers had as pleasant a time as the crowded condition of the stage and the monotonous nature of the scenery could be expected to afford them. of course the bright sunlight made the scenery appear at least cheerful. the stage was bowling along the well-beaten highway, drawn by four fresh horses, which had been hitched to it about half an hour before sundown. they had gone from "the stand" perhaps as much as four miles, and it was getting quite dusky--daylight fading away in the west. the stage had reached a point about twenty-five miles west from austin. in the gathering gloom, the driver beheld what appeared to be six rancheros, wearing sombreros, approaching the road just before him. such incidents were not infrequent on that part of the route, and the appearance of the six men did not at first create any feeling of disquiet in the mind of the jehu. but as the party drew nearer, and he discovered that they were mounted on splendid "american horses," and not "mustangs," he thought it very singular, to say the least of it. he was an old stager on the plains, and not inclined to be "panicky," but he muttered, "i'll sware, them's queer fellers, anyhow." he did not have time to think very much about them, for in another moment two of the horsemen rode alongside the stage, with revolvers cocked, and commanded, with a great oath, "halt!" of course there was no alternative, for two more of the robbers had galloped in front of the foremost span of horses and checked the further progress of the stage team. the other two robbers had taken up a position on both sides of the stage--one at each post, and were pointing pistols at the passengers, and with horrible oaths telling them to "tumble out" at once, or die. the astonished passengers--not even the reverend bishop--were just then ready to adopt the latter alternative, and very gracefully descended from the stage. the passengers were formed into a group, which included the driver, and two of the bandits, with drawn revolvers, stood guard over them. the two horsemen in front dismounted and detached the lead-span of horses, and with the other two commenced their search for booty. the trunks of the passengers were broken open, and every valuable thing which could be easily carried away was appropriated. the united states mail bags were then cut and the letters torn open. in this part of the stage-load they were quite successful, securing a large amount of bills in registered packages. one of the mail-bags was appropriated as a receptacle for the plunder. having gone through the baggage and mail matter, the bandits turned their attention to the passengers. there was an animated dialogue carried on for a time, in the following style: "well, gentlemen and ladies, allow us to trouble you for the money and jewelry which you may have about you." "do you mean to rob us?" asked the bishop. "oh, no! don't use such ugly language. we just want to relieve you of a burden--that's all, old sock." "you don't call that robbery?" asked the bishop. "come, now, old coon! dry up, or you'll not have an opportunity to ask any more nonsensical questions. hand out your money!" the bishop reluctantly complied. "now that watch of yours!" they further commanded. "what! will you not allow me to keep my watch. it is a gift and dearly prized. you would not rob an humble minister of christ of his timepiece, would you?" queried the bishop. "so, ho! you are a parson then, judging from the cut of your buckskins--or a priest--it makes no difference. well, christ didn't have any watch, and he didn't ride in stages either. he walked about to do his father's will, and wasn't arrayed in fine clothes, and didn't fare sumptuously every day. what use has a preacher for a watch? go and travel like the master. out with that watch! no more words--not one, mind you! we are not christians, we are philistines." the bishop was constrained to give up his watch--a valuable and much prized one. "anything more? out with it." the bishop protested that he had nothing more of value about his person. they, however, made a personal examination before they were satisfied, one of them remarking: "you can't depend on many of these long-faced canters, anyhow." then the robbers searched mr. breckenridge, and from him they obtained a plethoric pocketbook, containing one thousand dollars, and an elegant gold watch, and a very valuable diamond pin. so they went from one to another of the passengers, until the eight gentlemen of the respectable party of travellers had been politely plundered. then the turn of the ladies came. "hand out your pocketbook," said the leader to the first lady approached. "yes, sir, here it is," replied the frightened lady, handing him her money. the robber took it, opened it, and examined the contents by the light of the stage lantern. then he came back to the lady, and asked if that was all the money she had. she replied that it was. he then inquired where she was going. she told him to houston. "here, madam, take your money. we regret the trouble we have given you." so they went to the other two ladies, and from one they got a watch, some jewelry, and about one hundred dollars in cash. from another they received some valuable jewelry, and a considerable sum of money. their work was now completed. during the two hours they held the passengers under guard, they sometimes made jesting remarks, and at other times threatening ones. the least want of alacrity in obeying their orders was sure to subject the passengers to the direst threats. the robbers took with them the lead-span of horses when they rode away. the whole amount of cash taken from the passengers exceeded three thousand dollars, besides several gold watches, and considerable jewelry of value. the amount taken from the mail bags was several hundred dollars. who were the robbers? this question was inferentially answered sometime afterward, when, in a conflict with a texas official, jim reed, a member of the gang, was mortally wounded, and confessed that he was one of the party, and that his associates were men from missouri, noted as "brave boys." who were so noted on the th day of april, , at which time the stage robbery took place, but frank and jesse james, and the younger brothers? it is now the settled conviction of all who are acquainted with the facts, that the james boys were there and "bossed the job." chapter xxx. farmer askew's fate. during the time general jone's amnesty measure was pending in the legislature of missouri, jesse and frank james remained very quiet. they even opened up communication with governor charles h. hardin and attorney-general john a. hockaday, through sheriff groome, of clay county. from all the evidence at present available, we are forced to believe that at this time jesse and frank james were sincerely anxious that the measure should be adopted, and were in earnest in the desire to conclude a peace with society with which they had been at war for ten long years. for a time their vengeance slumbered. it was known to them that certain neighbors of theirs in clay county had taken an active interest in the efforts which had been put forth to accomplish their arrest, and every one expected that a bloody retaliation would follow. their conduct had made for them many enemies in the community of which their father had been an honored member. some of these were open and outspoken in denunciation of their course, while others were restrained in expressions of hostility by their knowledge of the desperate and vengeful character of the men. but the jameses knew when to restrain themselves, and carefully abstained from any act that might lose to them the effect of the slight revulsion in public opinion in their favor caused by the tragic results of the night raid. but they had marked their men--vengeance was only delayed. possibly, if general jone's amnesty measure had succeeded, they would have withheld the hand of destruction, and their intended victims, instead of mouldering in gory graves, might to-day be alive. it is impossible to even conjecture what might have been the effect on the future life of the daring desperado, jesse james. he might have turned away from the evil way which he had travelled so long, and atoned by an upright life for all the past. but it was not to be. for to them-- "the die now cast, their station known, fond expectation past; the thorns which former days had sown, to crops of late repentance grown, through which they toil'd at last; while every care's a driving harm, that helped to bear them down; which faded smiles no more could charm, but every tear a winter storm, and every look a frown." they were outlaws still. hunted as enemies of their kind, they turned viciously to avenge what they, no doubt, earnestly believed their wrongs. among those who had expressed in strong terms his disapproval of the conduct of the james boys, was mr. daniel h. askew, a well-to-do farmer, and somewhat prominent citizen of clay county, whose farm and residence was near the home of the jameses. the outspoken opinion of mr. askew had given great offense to the jameses and their friends, and when the night raid was made in january they at once suspected that askew had been partly instrumental in bringing it about. this belief was strengthened by some of the scouts in the interest of the jameses finding a couple of blankets, and evidences of the late presence of men among mr. askew's haystacks. to still further confirm them in the belief that askew assisted the detectives in the attack on the samuels house, a young man known as jack ladd, who had been in askew's employ as a farmer, departed from the country on the night of the assault. it is but justice to the memory of mr. askew, to state in this place that he frequently and earnestly disclaimed having any knowledge whatever of the movements of the detectives in the employ of mr. pinkerton. but his denials had no weight with the vengeful jameses. they and their friends continued to believe that the attacking party were sheltered and led by farmer daniel h. askew, and they resolved to execute dire vengeance upon him. on the night of april th, , mr. askew went with a bucket to a spring some distance from his residence, and returned to the house with the bucket filled with water. he had sat the bucket on a bench and was standing on his back porch, not having yet entered the house after returning from the spring. just in the rear of the house, and within ten paces of the edge of the porch on which mr. askew was standing, there was a heap of firewood reaching perhaps to the height of five or six feet. behind this wood-heap the assassins found a convenient hiding place. whoever they may have been, they had ridden to the rear of a field, hitched their horses, and walked through the field to their place of concealment. [illustration: death of farmer askew.] suddenly the report of a pistol, followed instantaneously by the report of two shots, rang out on the night air, and mr. askew fell upon the floor of the porch and immediately expired. some members of the family, in a great state of alarm, rushed out to his assistance, but found him already dead. three shots, evidently fired from heavy revolvers, had taken effect in the head of the poor farmer, and one had crashed through his brain. the murderers had run back across the field, mounted their horses and departed before the grief-stricken and astonished family could make any movements toward discovering their identity. that night at a late hour some men on horseback rode by the house of mr. henry sears, and summoned him to the door. he saw three men in the road. one of them called to him and said, "we have killed dan askew to-night, and if anyone wants to know who did it, say detectives." having thus delivered their terrible message, the men rode away in the dark. and the friends and neighbors gathered to the askew farm-house to console his bereaved and stricken family, and the coroner came next day, "due inquisition to make into the causes which led to daniel h. askew's death." but from that day to this no one knows to a certainty who took the farmer's life. the general belief at the time was, that he had fallen a victim to the vengeance of the james boys. the years that have elapsed have only served to strengthen that belief and deepen the convictions of those who believed that askew died at the hands of the vengeful outlaws. who can tell? only him who knoweth all things, and the assassins, if still alive, hold the dreadful secret. chapter xxxi. gold dust--the muncie business. "scores may be found whose errant-time know not one hour of rest; their lives one course of faithless crime, their every deed--unrest." muncie is a little wayside station on the kansas pacific railroad, not many miles from kansas city, in wyandotte county, kansas. the situation, surroundings and small importance of the place in other respects, were not calculated to give it a wide-spread fame; and yet muncie has become a place of historic renown, as the scene of one of the most daring exploits of the most renowned outlaws of modern times. it happened one dreary december evening in the year . on that occasion the programme which had served at gadshill was carried out at muncie. a band of armed men, well mounted, and keen and alert, had waited until the east-bound passenger train on the great thoroughfare between the rich mines of the west and the centers of commerce in the east arrived near their chosen lair. the topography of the region, and other favorable circumstances, rendered the task one of easy accomplishment, though it involved an exhibition of daring which few men care to manifest. in some way the bandits, of which frank and jesse james were chiefs, had information that a large amount of silver and gold was in charge of the express messenger on that train. it has been said that this information was transmitted to them by jackson bishop, who had been a noted guerrilla in quantrell's command, and who, subsequent to the cessation of hostilities, had journeyed to the "far west," and entered into business as a mining operator in colorado. be that as it may, one thing is certain, the knights of the road had information that the express company had treasures in trust that trip, and these they were ready to appropriate. in due time the train approached muncie. there was no sign of warning, and when the engine came to a standstill at the wayside station, in obedience to a signal, it was immediately taken possession of by seven men. the engineer and fireman were carefully guarded. the passengers were admonished and intimidated by the presence of armed men on the platforms of the cars, whose formidable pistols seemed to be pointed at each individual passenger, and the harsh commands of those men were obeyed with alacrity by the surprised passengers. but the robbers were generous that evening. the treasure in the express car was what they sought. individual possessions were as "the small dust" compared to that. the express messenger was immediately confronted. demands were made upon him with which he was compelled to comply. the safe was opened, and then the robbers proceeded to examine the contents of that treasure box at their leisure. the gain was worth the daring. their reward was _thirty thousand dollars in gold dust_. the contents of the car were further examined, and a large amount of silver and other valuables were secured. on this occasion the bandits were content with the spoils of the express car, which, it is said, amounted to about _fifty-five thousand dollars_. the passengers were, therefore, not subjected to the manipulations of the robbers. as usual, the news of this fresh outrage by bandits was flashed far and wide. the country was aroused, and in an incredibly short space of time many bands of men were abroad in all directions, hunting the robbers. all their efforts proved vain. the shrewd raiders escaped with their booty. a few days after the great train robbery at muncie, a police officer at kansas city, in the discharge of his duty, arrested one bill mcdaniels, charged with being drunk on the street. when he was brought to the station and searched, articles on his person were identified as having been taken from the express car at muncie. every possible effort was made to induce bill mcdaniels to designate his confederates in the train robbery. but to every proposition he was deaf, and finally, in attempting to escape, he was shot dead, dying without revealing the name of his confederates. the bandits escaped. chapter xxxii. other exploits. "where i am injured, there i'll sue redress, look to it, every one who bars my access; i have a heart to feel the injury, a hand to right myself, and by my honor, that hand shall grasp what gray beard law denies me." the james boys have always claimed that they were driven into outlawry by the very instrumentality which organized society has employed to subserve the ends of justice and afford protection to the rights and liberties of all--namely, the government. this claim, made by them, has been partly conceded by a large class of persons, irrespective of all political affiliations and social relations. so their wild career was commenced, and so it has proceeded through many years. that the jameses have been accused of crimes which they did not commit, there is scarcely room for doubt. one of the deeds which has been laid to their charge was the robbery committed at corinth, alcorn county, mississippi. this event happened the same day that the train was robbed at muncie, kansas. the two places are many hundred miles apart, and of course the jameses could not have been at both places at the same time. it is possible, indeed probable, that the robbery at corinth, which stripped the bank at that place of a very large sum of money, was the handiwork of some of the members of the desperate band of men, of which the jameses were the acknowledged leaders. the same tactics which had been so successfully employed at ste. genevieve, russellville, corydon, gallatin, and other points, characterized the raid on the funds of the bank of corinth. the spoils obtained were exceedingly valuable, and although energetic pursuit was made, the robbers succeeded in making their escape. their trail, however, was followed into missouri, and several circumstances indicate that the successful bandits were members of the same organization with the james boys and younger brothers. after this there was a season of quiet. in the spring of the robbers renewed the campaign for spoils. the incidents of the past year had begun to become memories, and the success which had attended the gang during the past years had given them confidence in their ability to plunder at will wherever they might select a field for the exhibition of their prowess and skill. the trees had assumed their green habiliments, and the early spring flowers exhaled their choicest perfumes, scenting the balmy breezes as they blew over hills and through valleys. the schemers had planned another raid. this time they selected an objective point remote from the scenes of their former deeds. it was a romantic expedition away into the mountain regions of eastern kentucky and the state of west virginia. the spring-birds sang cheery lays as the brigands marched on to their destined halting place. huntington, west virginia, is a beautiful town of about , inhabitants, situated on the ohio river, in cabell county, and is on the line of the chesapeake & ohio railroad. in , the advent of the steam cars had given an impetus to trade, and the old town had taken a new growth. the bold bandits had selected huntington as the scene of a most sensational event. the tactics which had served so well on many other occasions were once more adopted. on a bright april day, four men made their appearance at the bank. they had come through the streets without exciting any suspicion. when they had arrived at the front of the bank, two of them dismounted, drew their pistols, rushed into the bank, where they found mr. oney, the cashier, and another gentleman. these they at once covered with their pistols, and proceeded to overpower the cashier. they then emptied the contents of the safe into a sack, and leaving oney and his friend securely bound, they proceeded to remount their horses. while the two robbers were engaged inside, the other two, who had remained in the street, very effectually overawed the citizens who came that way, by displaying their pistols and occasionally firing a shot. the whole operation was completed within less than half an hour from the time the robbers made their appearance in huntington. there were not many persons who knew what had happened until after the marauders had left the place. when the people awakened to a realization of the true nature of the morning occurrence, there was at once a storm of excitement raised. officers of the law and citizens of huntington, without official relations, vied with each other in the alacrity with which they prepared to pursue the robbers. as soon as the two robbers who had taken the treasure were mounted, the whole party galloped away, intimidating the citizens as they went by firing off their pistols. a vigorous pursuit was at once commenced. the robbers were a long way from their base; and the road before them was rugged and difficult. for days the pursuit was unabated. bligh, the well-known detective of louisville, sent his best men on the road to track the fugitives. the chase became exciting. diverted from their intended line of retreat, the marauders sought refuge among the mountains of eastern kentucky and tennessee. the horses of the robbers failed and were abandoned. finally the pursuers came up with the fugitives. a fight ensued, and one of the robbers was killed before they had left the borders of kentucky. this person was identified afterward as thomason mcdaniels, a brother of bill, who was killed while attempting to escape from the officers in kansas city, after the affair at muncie. the pursuit was continued. in the hills of fentress county, tennessee, the officers came up with the robbers again. this time they succeeded in capturing jack kean, another desperado, known in western missouri and kentucky. the others escaped, and finally made their way into missouri. kean was taken back and lodged in jail at cabell. the grand jury of cabell county returned a true bill against him, and in due time he was placed on trial, convicted, and received a long sentence in the penitentiary of west virginia. the presence of mcdaniels and kean, both well-known desperadoes of missouri, at once suggested the james boys as leaders in the huntington robbery. detective bligh at first heralded to the world that jesse james was captured when kean was taken. statements subsequently made by the convicted robber left no doubt that certainly jesse james, and probably frank, were parties to the robbery of the bank at huntington. it matters not who were the robbers in name. the deed was undoubtedly committed by members of the organization of which the james boys were the most noted leaders. the destiny which seems to have led them continued to favor them. the leaders of the huntington raid escaped, and carried the bulk of the huntington bank's funds with them. chapter xxxiii. jesse's wooing and wedding. "oh, say not that my heart is cold to aught that once could warm it; that beauty's form, so dear of old, no more has power to charm it; or that the ungenerous world can chill one glow of fond emotion, for those who made it dearer still and shared my wild devotion." jesse james, the bold raider and dashing outlaw, in love? preposterous! and yet why not? those who have studied the ways of human nature with most attention, find nothing singular in the fact that jesse might prove an ardent lover, or wonderful in the assumption that he might be beloved in turn. love is the grand passion after all, and few persons have lived who did not at some time in the course of their lives feel the deep chords of their hearts touched, and realize the tender spell that enchained them. why should not jesse james, the man of splendid physique, the very embodiment of strong passions, yield to the powerful influence which so universally sways the human heart? rather, we might ask, why should jesse james not "fall in love," as the expression goes? it was perfectly natural that he should at some time, somewhere, find some one endowed with the capability of awakening in him the tender passion. was he not human? were his emotions and constitution so different from the rest of the children of time? what if he was outlawed? had he not eyes to see and ears to hear? had all tender feelings found a grave in his heart? it is true that the nature of his employment and the circumstances which surrounded him, rendered his life an isolated one to a certain extent. he was not thrown into the great whirlpool which the world calls society, and this very isolation of his position would very naturally prompt him to seek the companionship of one who could hold a nearer and dearer place in his heart than even his brother. he might yet retrieve some of the disasters of the past, and wipe out some of the stains which blurred his character, if led by the sweet, gentle influence of a true woman. who can ever know what hopes animated him; what bright dreams of a better life cheered him, when he thought of her who would not--perhaps could not join in the general execration of his name? it may be that at such times a vision rose before him, of a quiet home with peace after the strife, where love dwelt, and where the bitter curses of the past might never come; it may be that he looked forward to the rest which would come to his tempest-riven breast, when the storm had passed and the serene sun lighted his pathway through a quiet land. and at such times it was but natural that he should seek the presence of the beloved one, and plead with her-- "oh linger yet a moment! is it a sin that i have loved thee so, and worshiped thy bright image? if it be, let grief and suffering atone for that, long as this heart can know the power of pain,-- but let me look on thee and hear thee still." and what woman ever listened unmoved to such appeals? "the brave deserve the fair," and the history of the race shows that when the heart is enlisted, when the tender bloom of love sheds its perfume around her, woman is careless of the world's opinion, and brave in daring its frowns. jesse had a fair cousin--a handsome young lady, possessed of an amiable disposition, and a mind well stored with knowledge. this destined bride of the distinguished outlaw is the daughter of a sister of the rev. robert james, who was married in the days of her youth to a mr. mimms. miss zee mimms was deprived of a mother's love and guidance at a time when she was just entering the estate of womanhood. she had a sister older than herself who was united in marriage with mr. charles mcbride, a respectable carpenter and builder in kansas city, about the year . for several years miss mimms resided with her relatives in kansas city, and gained the respect and esteem of a large circle of acquaintances. in the days of her childhood she had known her cousin jesse, and his bright blue eyes and soft, peach-like complexion, and the smile that used to ripple over his countenance, and his cheery words, may even then have drawn the little girl toward her cousin. as time went by, zee had grown to the condition of womanhood, and jesse had become celebrated as a daring soldier, and afterwards a reckless outlaw. but somehow miss zee could never believe her cousin jesse to be so bad as he was represented, and when they met--which they frequently did--she always had a word of gentle affection for cousin jesse, who was ever kind in his behavior toward her. many times jesse james was seen in kansas city, when to be there was an exposure to imminent peril. when the wild winds swept across the frozen river, and screamed over the hills, jesse was accustomed to dare the fury of the tempest, brave the chill of the temperature, and seek the cosy fireside which became a shrine, when blessed by the presence of his fair cousin. and when it was summer time and the forest pathways were gloomy in the shadows of night; and the stars in the deep azure vault of heaven alone lent their feeble rays to illuminate the dark world, then the outlaw would take his lonely way across the wide prairies, through the deep-tangled forests where the owls hide by day and hoot by night, and the wild tenants of the woodlands make their lair; by lonely streams, murmuring as their waters go on the way to mingle with the far-wandering tide of the mighty missouri, to seek the side of her whose smile was always brighter at his coming. what mattered it to him if the streets of the city were deserted by all, save the guardians of the law, who, in the deep shadowed recesses waited and watched for him? his courage owned no limitations under ordinary circumstances. what might it become if stimulated by the all-intoxicating influence of love? if the watchers saw him under the gaslight in the streets of the slumbering city, they let him go, and so jesse's courting days passed away. the outlaw's wooing proceeded, and was completed. who knows what thoughts were his in those days? who can ever tell by what processes of reasoning, or influence of love, miss zee mimms reciprocated the outlaw's passion? who knows what earnest councils she held with her own mind and the processes which ended in the triumph of the affections, and a perfect yielding to him, and the development of a devotion which smiled at contumely and consented to sacrifice all things which had before been pleasing to her, at the shrine of love? his presence became necessary to her happiness, and her smile was sunlight poured into the otherwise dark recesses of the outlaw's heart. so it came about one pleasant evening in , that jesse james and miss zee mimms repaired to the house of dr. denham, a mutual friend, near kearney, clay county, missouri, where they were met by the rev. william james, of the m. e. church, south, an uncle of jesse, who proceeded to unite the lovers in the holy bonds of matrimony. the ceremony was performed in the presence of the doctor's family and one or two intimate friends. jesse james had won a wife, and miss zee mimms had consented in her devotion to become an outlaw's bride. ostracised by society, proscribed by the law, and hunted by enemies and the officers of justice, jesse james took his bride, and they journeyed away. across plains, through valleys, over streams toward "the clime of the sun," the outlaw and his bride sought a place where they could rest, and in each other's society, "like some vision olden of far other time, when the age was golden, in the young world's prime. of the future dreaming, weary of the past, for the present scheming, happy they, at last." what cared they for the cold world's scorn? jesse had provided a cosy home far away on the borders of civilization, where the names of mountains, vales, and springs, and streams, are softened in the musical language of old castile. but we have heard that even in that distant land the life of the outlaw's wife is not isolated, but, on the contrary, under a name which their conduct has made respectable, they have friends, and she her associates, who are ignorant of the history of the outlaw, and hold her in esteem. a little child, born sometime in , has come to bless their union by its childish prattle, and the daring outlaw has been seen with the innocent little one mounted on his shoulder engaged in racing about his ranche. it may be that there are episodes in the life of jesse james which are like the green oasis in the sun-beaten desert--bright moments when the demon is temporarily vanquished, and the spirit of goodness illuminates the world about him. the man who can love cannot be wholly the slave of vengeance and hate, and even jesse james may possess traits of mind and qualities of the heart, which point to something higher and better than what is known of him. chapter xxxiv. a dream of love. "fancies, bright as flowers of eden, often to his spirit come, winging through the mind's brief sunlight, glad as swallows flying home. love is the true heart's religion! let us not its power deny. but love on as flowers love sunshine, or the happy birds the sky." frank james was an outlaw. the smooth-faced, beardless youth who came from the school where he had pondered over the thoughts of euripides, who had all greece for a monument, to unite his fortune and venture his fate with quantrell's band, had become a man, bearded and strong, daring and dangerous to his fellow-men. and the sprightly intellect that had enabled him to lead his class, and the youthful ardor which had conjured up classic forms among "the sacred relics of almighty rome," as his mental vision was turned back through the vista of many departed centuries, were now floundering in the muddy pools, and reveling in plots and schemes, sordid and debasing. he was not old in years, and yet he was ripe in experience. year after year had chased each other down the steeps of time since frank james became a soldier of the highways, a participant in the well-planned ambushment, and an executioner in the sudden surprise and fatal catastrophe to the enemy who came into the well-planned ambuscade, and he had witnessed unmoved the agony of victims when shaken by the throes of death. could this man, whose hands were red with the crimson stains left there by the blood of victims; whose mind was made harsh and hard by years of struggle against organized society; whose conscience must have become seared by the long contact with the rude, rough elements in human nature; whose heart must have become callous by reason of the cruel scenes through which he had passed--could such a one have tender dreams of love? and yet we might ask, why not? the tender affinities of affection which sprang from psychological causes is one of the most beneficent schemes of god's benevolence, which traverses all space in its flights, and lives the visible token of man's divinity on earth and his hope in heaven. the hand that would thwart them would interrupt the course of laws based on eternal verities. the fact is, neither time, space, conditions, nor the recognized canons of social life, can induce or hinder the inception, growth, or maturity of a passion, which is acknowledged to be the most potent of all to which man is subject. why, then, should frank james not be smitten? in his wanderings he had met many fair ones. and beauty had smiled on him. but he knew that they were unacquainted with his name and antecedents, and so he refused to be led captive by these, whose love might turn to hate when they knew all. it is said by those who know frank james, that he is endowed with a very superior mind; that his education is very good; that he is able to read the classics, and can converse fluently in both the german and spanish languages. with these accomplishments, he possesses a handsome person and agreeable features. in conversation, he speaks in a soft, low tone of voice, and in private life, among his friends, his manners are pleasing, and well calculated to produce a favorable impression. frank has been about the world a great deal, and has mingled in refined society not a little. it is his custom to visit new york almost every season, and sometimes he goes to saratoga, newport and long branch. friends of frank assume that he is in many respects a superior man to jesse; that he has more principle, and that there is far less of the desperado in his composition. he is cool, cautious, shrewd, and more manly than the other, and is not so reckless nor so revengeful in disposition. frank james was susceptible to the blandishments of the fair sex in the days of his youth. in kentucky, he came near being caught in the silken meshes spread by a beautiful young lady of the "blue grass" country, who had come to regard him as a hero, whose adventurous career she longed to share. but fate interposed for her sake, or against him. frank found it for his interest to take his departure from kentucky, and it was not convenient for him to return for two whole years. in the interim, another gallant was attracted to her side, and eventually won her affections, and the young lady was married. a story is told, by persons who claim to know much of frank james' private affairs, about a love affair between that redoubtable outlaw and an heiress in new york. she was beautiful and accomplished, and when she met the handsome and gentlemanly outlaw, who was not known in that character to her, she conceived an admiration for him which was fast ripening into affection. they rode together through the parks, and were soothed by the music of the waves, when the twilight and shadows fell, as together they strolled along the lonely shore. but circumstances over which she had no control summoned her away from the side of the western adventurer, and they never met again. so the years passed away, and frank james found one being long ago who inspired his heart with tenderer dreams of love than any which had ever come to him before. for years the fair face, with its shadings of glossy brown hair, and eyes of deepest azure, glancing from beneath their long silken lashes, was imprinted on his mind and shrined in his heart. frank james had met her many times, and no more touching story of woman's devotion has yet been told; than that of the attachment of pretty annie ralston for frank james, the bold border bandit. in time to come, the writers of the romance of the period covered by the career of the james boys, will recall the name of the fair girl who became the outlaw's bride, and weave around it the choicest flowers of literature. chapter xxxv. fair annie ralston, the outlaw's bride. "the loves and hopes of youthful hours, though buried in oblivion deep, like hidden threads in woven flowers, upon life's web will start from sleep. and one loved face we sometimes find pictured there with memories rife-- a part of that mysterious mind which forms the endless warp of life." there are many people about the old town of independence who cherish pleasant memories of fair annie ralston. there are many who knew and loved her long ago, who will not soon forget the beautiful face of the outlaw's bride. and long after those who knew her in the halcyon days of her innocent girlhood shall have passed to the quiet repose beneath the sod in "the silent cities of the dead," her story will be repeated. many a romance has been based on incidents in lives far less dramatic than has fallen to the fortune or the fate of annie ralston. the years which have rolled their cycles round to swell the measure of the greedy past, have not been so many that they have swallowed up the memories which cluster around the name of the gentle annie, and bring sighs to the lips of those who but a few short winters ago conned with her the lessons of the sages from the dreary pages of text books when they were schoolmates. people are not all ossified--brain, sense and heart, because god's commentary on his written revelation was given first--was handed down from a thousand sinais, and strewed in green, and golden shadowy lines through all the ages. it yet lives, and is, from under his own hand, above, around, beneath us; and by it we may understand that holy mystery--how god is love, and love is god-like. and we feel, and know, that never again to us from out the shade of the years, can ministers of grace or glad ideals come, except through such sweet enchantment. who, then, will condemn gentle annie ralston, the pet of the class, the warm friend, the glad-hearted girl, if she proved at last to be--like all her sisters--human? what circumstances conspired to induce her to become an outlaw's bride? if we could answer all the questions which might be asked concerning the emotions of the heart, the freaks of the mind, and other phenomena of human nature, and the structure of society, then might we be able to answer why fair annie ralston became the wife of frank james, the proscribed enemy of society. but we cannot engage in such an undertaking. her story is brief, but full of interest. before the period of blighting war, which swept like a destructive tornado over the fairest portions of western missouri, annie's father, mr. ralston, was a wealthy man, and his home was one of the most pleasant to be found in the vicinity of independence. he was a gentleman of culture and refinement, and his wealth gave him leisure to cultivate all the social graces. his hospitality was unbounded, and no man was more esteemed than samuel ralston. annie was a "wee girl" when the thunder peal of war burst in all its lurid terrors all around and about her. it was no period of sentimental dreaming, and she was early accustomed to see and hear of bloodshed and devastation. she must necessarily have grown familiar with scenes which, under ordinary circumstances, would have excited her terror, and she had learned to look unmoved on the bloody corpse of the battle's victim. but no storm can continue forever; after the convulsion comes quiet; after the night dawns the day--so, at last, the war-cloud rolled away. then commenced the work of collecting fragments of wrecked fortunes and rebuilding waste places. but some wrecks were complete, and no fragments remained. in a large measure this was the case with the life-barque in which mr. ralston sailed down the river of time. annie grew with the passing years, and stood, as it were, "with reluctant feet on the boundary where childhood and womanhood meet." the residence of mr. ralston was convenient to the independence female college, and annie became a student in that institution. she possessed excellent intellectual gifts, and in her course of study she led her classes. in due time the prescribed course of mental training was completed, and "at commencement," fair annie carried away the highest honors of her class. she was now a young lady, accomplished in "all the learning of the school." she sang delightfully, and could touch and cause to thrill with deepest harmony, the chords of the harp and other instruments. she was a favorite in society at once. and annie ralston was handsome--almost beautiful. her complexion was fair and soft, her features regular and pleasing, her eyes were large and azure blue, and these soulful orbs looked out from curtains of long silken lashes of deep brown, that lent a charm to their expression, and her long brown tresses well completed this charming picture. and she possessed a symmetry of form and a gracefulness of carriage which might well attract the admiration of those who knew her. but there came a time when a shadow fell athwart her pathway, and eclipsed this star in the social firmament. annie's father had been ardent in his attachment to the southern cause, and all who had contended in behalf of that cause were ever welcome to the hospitality of his home. he had suffered much from the consequences of the war, and perhaps more from the genial convivialities in which he indulged, and which had extended beyond the bounds of propriety. frank and jesse james, with their confederates, became frequent visitors at the ralston home. people saw them there often, and it was whispered softly at first, but shouted aloud later, that pretty annie ralston was an attraction for the outlaws, and received from them, without rebuke, their openly-expressed admiration, and then her social star paled, and finally went out. frank james became to her a hero worthy of her love--nay, her heart's deep adoration. she waited with impatience his coming, and when he was away, and she thought of the hazards which he might make, and the destruction which might overtake him, she grew faint through apprehension. to her, he was assiduous and gentle and kind, whatever might be his disposition toward others, and she gave her heart to him long before an opportunity was presented to her to yield to him her hand. one bright day, in , some friends who had known pretty annie ralston from the days of her childhood, met her at the union depot, kansas city, with many valises and travelling bags in charge. "would she go up in town? could they render her any service?" were questions which were asked. no, at another time she would go up town, there was nothing they could do for her. soon she was joined by her outlawed lover. together they took a train and proceeded to leavenworth, kansas, where the vows which they had made to each other were renewed and sealed by legal authority, and fair annie ralston became the outlaw's bride, and with him she journeyed toward the yellow southern sea, where the sunlight is warm and the breezes balmy. it was a sacrifice to thus banish herself from that society in which she was so well fitted to shine as one of its brightest ornaments; it was a trial to surrender up the friends and associates of her girlhood; to bid adieu to those who were near and dear to her; it was heroic to cast herself upon the care of the man she loved. on the altar of her affection, therefore, she placed all the idols of her youth; and in her devotion she proceeded to dig a wide, deep grave in which to bury forever the images which she had cherished. and so annie ralston became an outlaw's wife. chapter xxxvi. a seventeen thousand dollar haul. it had been some weeks since the people of the west had enjoyed a sensation growing out of the robbery of a train, or the plundering of a bank. frank and jesse james, and cole, and jim, and bob younger, with their merry companions, had been unusually quiet for quite a long season for these restless rovers and adroit plunderers. the gang was increasing in numbers, and was now really formidable. others as daring had joined themselves to the noted outlaws--the jameses and the youngers. cal carter from texas, and clell miller, and bill chadwell, charles pitts, and sam bass, and bill longley, and the hardins and the moores of the indian territory and texas divisions of the clan were frequently with frank and jesse james and the younger brothers. in the gang, but apparently merely as a subaltern, whose principal employment was to hold the horses of the chief robbers when business required them to dismount, was a young fellow who went by the name of hobbs kerry. before otterville, the protestations and denials of the jameses and the youngers were accepted by many good citizens, and there were numbers of very honorable persons who believed sincerely that these men were sadly slandered. the express robbery at rocky cut, near otterville, served to remove the scales from the eyes of numbers of these good people, and frank and jesse james, and the three youngers were revealed before the public as most dangerous highwaymen. the principals in the otterville affair were frank james, his brother jesse, cole younger, and his brother bob, clell miller, charlie pitts, bill chadwell and hobbs kerry. these men concerted the project in southwest missouri, in the lead mining districts. frequent interviews took place between frank and jesse james, and cole and bob younger in regard to the feasibility of the undertaking. the jameses were the original suggestors of the enterprise, and from what information we have been able to gather, the youngers did not at first entertain the suggestion favorably; indeed, it was some time before it was finally agreed that the attempt should be made. then the bandits discussed the route to be taken, and the place to be selected for the scene of this notable robbery, on the iron-highway. all these were settled in due time, and everything was ready to carry out their well-matured plan. jesse james was the leader, the others merely acting in concert with him, and taking their places in accordance with his suggestions. the expedition left the scene of their plotting about the first day of july, . before leaving, the band separated into two parties, jesse and frank james, bill chadwell and bob younger, composed one, and cole younger, charlie pitts, clell miller and hobbs kerry, made up the other. the journey through the country was made leisurely enough. the two parties travelled by different routes, and had no difficulty in securing lodging places. sometimes they travelled in the night to make the distance to the house of a friend in good time the next day. on sunday, july rd, there were four of the bandits at duval's house. tuesday a part of the band were in california, and after lingering about the place for a part of the day, they mounted their horses and rode to a house four miles north of the town, where four others of the robbers were stopping. a heavy rain came on that night, and so the robbers stayed nearly all of the day on the th, and remained during the night. there is no evidence that the people where they stayed had any knowledge of the character of the persons whom they received under their roof. however, jesse james and cole younger were acquainted with the gentleman, but not under their names. on the morning of the th, the raiders mounted their horses and rode west in pairs. the james boys travelled together, clell miller and hobbs kerry rode by each other, charlie pitts and coleman younger formed a pair, and bill chadwell and bob younger followed another route in company. these all travelled different roads. the place of meeting previously agreed upon was a spot about two miles east from the bridge, across the lamine river, and the time appointed was at o'clock friday evening, july th. there were designated stopping places on all the roads. the jameses under assumed names were acquainted personally with a number of very respectable people along the route travelled by them, and therefore had no difficulty in obtaining comfortable quarters and receiving a hospitable welcome. and so of the others of that band--"on mischief bent"--they all had good quarters on thursday night, and as only two travelled together on a road, no suspicion was aroused on account of their presence. the robbers came by pairs to the rendezvous. they had all assembled by o'clock in the evening. some of them went without their dinners that day. here the whole band remained until sundown on the evening of the th. the place selected was at a deep cut known as rocky cut, about four miles east of otterville, in pettis county, missouri, on the line of the missouri pacific railroad. three of the band, bob younger, clell miller and charlie pitts, were detailed to capture the watchman at the bridge. bill chadwell and hobbs kerry, it appears, were assigned the duty of taking care of the horses. a dense piece of timber land adjacent to a field was selected as the place of concealment. the express train bound east was due at that spot about o'clock at night. the robbers did not arrive at the designated rendezvous until some time after the curtains of night had been drawn over the scene. at a little after o'clock, younger, miller and pitts went down to the bridge, and were hailed by the watchman. they were close upon him, and with drawn revolvers and fearful oaths they commanded him to surrender. the helpless watchman could not do otherwise. they took him in charge and secured his signal lanterns. "what are you going to do with me?" asked the astonished watchman. "you keep still," was the reply. "but you ain't going to hurt me?" he inquired. "what do we want to hurt you for? we want that money on the train, that's all we care for," was the reply he received. the whole party walked up the track to the mouth of the cut. it was about half past ten o'clock. a heap of rocks and a number of old cross ties were piled across the rails. then the cunning brigands sat down quietly in the darkness to await the coming of the train. the horses of the robbers were about fifty yards away ready to be bestridden, and fresh enough to make a long journey if that should be necessary. crouched there, they were silent as the broken fragments of rocks which lay scattered around them. they had not long to wait. a distant rumbling was heard, like the first low mutterings of thunder before the storm cloud appears. then it grew louder and shriller like the raging wind. it was the train. the robbers were not asleep. charlie pitts had been detailed to display the red lantern--the danger signal--as the train came thundering around the curve into the cut. he performed his part of the programme well. precisely at the right spot the train came to a standstill. the engineer had reversed his engine and put on the air brakes. instantly the train was boarded by a number of masked men, said to have been twelve at least, all heavily armed. guards were placed at each end of the cars, and the leader boarded the express car, compelled the messenger under threats of immediate death to open his safe, and then the contents were emptied out into a sack, and the car was thoroughly searched for valuable packages. the result was about $ , were secured and carried away for the use and behoof of the robbers. the whole transaction was completed in less than an hour. the passengers were greatly alarmed during the time of the detention. the robbers stationed at the ends of the cars kept their revolvers bearing upon the passengers, and would not allow them to stir a finger under threats of death. every moment they expected their turn to be robbed would come. but the robbers appeared to be satisfied with the amount realized from the plundering of the express car, and when they had accomplished that job thoroughly, they released the train, sought their horses and rode away. several shots were fired during the time the train was standing, for the purpose of keeping the passengers in a state of alarm. the news was telegraphed from the next station to st. louis, sedalia, kansas city and other points. by this event the whole country was thoroughly excited. the detective forces of st. louis, kansas city, chicago, and even the cities of the atlantic seaboard were taken by surprise, and aroused to make efforts to capture them. the railroad and express companies offered large rewards, and the governor of the state took measures to aid in the pursuit of the brigands. meanwhile, the men who had created all this furore of excitement rode through the darkness with their treasure bag. when "the first faint blush of dawn streaked the east," the plunderers of the express car at rocky cut were twenty miles away and just turning off the main highway into the dim recesses of a large forest. after travelling more than a mile in the woods, the brigands came to an open space. here they dismounted. jesse james had the treasure bag. during the journey, frank james, cole younger and charlie pitts had relieved each other alternately in carrying the precious burden. now they had reached a safe place, and the spoils of the adventure were about to be divided. frank james acted as master of ceremonies on that occasion. whether "the divide" was an equal one we are not advised, and perhaps we shall never know. the envelopes were torn from the express packages and the money divided into separate heaps, one of which was given to each of the men who had participated in the exploit. the ceremony of dividing the money having been gone through with, and jesse james, cole younger, frank james and charlie pitts having parceled out the captured jewelry among themselves, the robbers remounted and separated into pairs, each pair selecting the route which pleased them best. in the day time they rode in the woods and along by-paths; in the night they returned to the highways, and were soon secure from pursuit because they went at once among friends who, if they were acquainted with the character of their guests, "never gave away anything." an outrage of so daring a character was not slow in producing effects. the news had been flashed afar on the lightning's track. the chief of police of st. louis, the marshals and constables, and county sheriffs were aroused to unusual activity. the people everywhere were excited by an event of so sensational a character. a keen pursuit was inaugurated. watchful eyes and open ears were in every town and hamlet throughout missouri, and even in adjacent states. this time, it appeared, the robbers would be surely compelled to remain hidden far from the habitations of man. but secure in their retreats, the shrewd leaders of the raid, jesse and frank james, and cole and bob younger and charlie pitts, laughed at the efforts of the officers of the law to capture them. they enjoyed reading the newspapers containing accounts of their daring feat, and made merry at what they were pleased to term "the stupid work of the d--d detectives." the robbers had one single thing on their minds which gave them some concern. the "cub" robber, hobbs kerry, was scarcely shrewd enough to evade capture, and, they feared, not brave enough to withstand the pressure which they knew would be brought to bear upon him to "make him squeal on his associates." what if kerry should fall into the hands of the hunters? and was it not extremely probable that he would? these were questions which they asked themselves, and in time they framed an answer in the form of another question, "what if he does? we don't know the fellow?" we have said the passengers and trainmen were passive witnesses of the proceedings of the robbers. but there was one person on the train who was not afraid to resist. that individual was the train newsboy. johnny, as he was called, had a small pistol, of a cheap grade, with which to defend himself against all enemies, and robbers in particular. now the opportunity had come to display the latent heroism which he knew he possessed. johnny did not believe in being plundered, and, though his weapon was not very dangerous, he believed he could do some execution with it; at any rate, he could try. from the car window, where he had taken a position, he opened fire on the marauders. his first shot was ineffective, and the bandits derisively encouraged him to try again, when they discovered the youthful appearance and diminutive size of their assailant. johnny took them at their word, and blazed away again. the robbers were well satisfied and good humored, and they laughed and jeered at the little hero who had exhibited so much courage. they told him he would do for a train-robber himself when he was a little older. johnny insisted for a time that he knew he had shot one of the robbers badly. charlie pitts, bill chadwell and hobbs kerry made a forced march to southwest missouri. late saturday night they forded grand river. after going a little distance from the river, the three robbers dismounted, threw themselves on the ground, and slept soundly until morning. here kerry's horse, which was well broken down, was abandoned. the saddle he hid in the brush in the grand river bottom. kerry at this point separated from pitts and chadwell, they remaining in the grand river forests, while he proceeded to montrose station, on the m., k. & t. railway. he had not long been there when a train bound south came along. he stepped on the car and went down to fort scott, kansas. finding a clothing store open, he purchased a good suit of clothes, which he donned at once. with valise in hand, he boldly entered a hotel, called for supper, which he partook of, and then proceeded on the train to parsons, took lodgings there, where he remained until o'clock next morning. from vinita, to which he went from parsons, he proceeded to granby, where he had "a good time with the boys." from granby to joplin, and from that place to granby again, and then away down in the indian territory hobbs kerry went, without remaining very long at one place. wherever he went he drank, and whenever he drank whisky he talked, and showed his money and boasted. he was liberal with the boys, had money for the faro dealer, and was for the time "a hale fellow well met" with all. but the eyes that were looking, and the ears that were listening, putting this and that together by an act of cogitation, concluded that hobbs kerry knew about the rocky cut business. it was not a mistake. the detectives "pulled" kerry, and when he had time to reflect, he unfolded his mind, and told of his friends and their ride at night. he proved to be "a good peacher," as the police say, and whatever may be the slight inconsistencies of his narrative of the otterville affair, the events at northfield, minnesota, a few months later, confirm the truthfulness of hobbs kerry's story in all the main particulars. of course the james boys and their friends were swift to denounce hobbs kerry as a fraud, and his stories of the midnight ride and the flaring of the "danger signal" before the train, as pure fabrications of a diseased or wicked brain. meanwhile, the jameses and youngers had not gone far away. the former found friends and a safe retreat in the eastern part of jackson county, and the latter retired to st. clair county, where they rested in contentment for a season. the jameses have friends yet in a certain neighborhood in that section of jackson county--men and women--who, despite their known character, and the edict of outlawry against them, would receive them into their houses and treat them not only with ordinary hospitality, but with marked consideration. chapter xxxvii. in minnesota. hitherto the brigands, led by the jameses and the youngers, had only committed outrages in those countries with the physical features of which they were well acquainted. they had ridden through missouri, arkansas, texas and kentucky, and iowa was not so far away from their haunts in clay county that they could not reasonably hope to retreat to their hiding places. the list of outrages already committed by them was extravagantly long. commencing at russellville, kentucky, they had ransacked bank safes at gallatin, corydon, iowa, columbia, kentucky, ste. genevieve, mo., huntington, west virginia, and a section of the band had paid a visit to, and plundered the bank at corinth, mississippi. they had stopped trains in kansas, wyoming, iowa and missouri, and they had plundered stages in arkansas, texas and kansas. but over the whole territory intervening between the widely separated scenes of their depredations, they had often travelled and were perfectly familiar with the topography of the country, and had friends in many places. having achieved such remarkable success in their nefarious calling, the brigand chiefs were emboldened to enter upon new enterprises, and seek new fields for the exercise of their prowess and genius. they agreed to go beyond the borders of their accustomed field of operations. after otterville, a part of the gang went into st. clair county, and the other members of the banditti proceeded to clay county, to the vicinity of kearney, where resided the mother of frank and jesse james, mrs. zerelda samuels. that person was always true to the interests of her sons, and under no circumstances did she ever desert their cause or betray their designs. mrs. samuels was a very useful ally of frank and jesse, and when hard pressed in other quarters, they were always sure of a safe retreat and succor in the vicinity of the samuels house. the successful robbery accomplished at otterville, had created a profound sensation throughout the southwest, and the law abiding citizens were vigilant and suspicious, and it was not a pleasant time to travel in any direction where the least possible suspicion in regard to the character of the traveller was once aroused. therefore, the robbers of the train at otterville sought their hiding places and remained quiet for a time. but idleness under such circumstances became extremely irksome to the free riders, accustomed as they were to a life of activity and exciting adventure. the division of the band from st. clair county, journeyed into clay county, missouri, and then began a series of conferences in regard to the next campaign which they contemplated inaugurating. these consultations between the leaders of the banditti were held in a thick forest near the residence of mrs. samuels. the result of the deliberations was the development of a plan to pay a visit to minnesota, and raid some bank there, the exact place of its situation to be determined when they should have arrived in that state. who originated the scheme is a question which, in all human probability, will forever remain unanswered. the credit of the project has been often given to jesse james. whether or not he originated it, we have good reason to know that he was one of the parties who went to northfield, and in all probability he was the leader of the band. be that as it may, a plan was concocted to pay a visit to minnesota, and plunder as many of the banks in that state as possible before the beginning of winter, and then retire to winter quarters on the texas and mexican frontiers. the general plans were finally agreed upon, and about the middle of august, , the bandit camp in the vicinity of the samuels house was broken up, and the brigands, separating in couples, commenced their long ride through the country to the flourishing villages of minnesota. the party which left clay county was composed of frank and jesse james; coleman, robert and james younger; clell miller, bill chadwell and charlie pitts. it is related, on what appears excellent authority, that cole younger and bill chadwell preceded the other members of the gang, to fix upon a suitable rendezvous. near mankato, bill chadwell had "a friend," a man who had often before rendered him substantial service. preconcerted "signs" of the route to be taken by the main body of the bandits had been left by the advance guard, cole younger and bill chadwell. the final rendezvous selected by these leaders was at mankato, and the whole band then proceeded to chadwell's friend's resting place, where their final councils were held. a gentleman of the highest respectability, well known in central missouri, who is in a position to be informed, assures us that cole younger did not favor an attack on the bank at northfield; indeed, that he was opposed to raiding any bank in minnesota, but that he was overruled in his judgment by the other members of the gang. it is said that cole favored a movement into canada, where the prospects for a large haul were believed to be very much better. but whatever might have been his wishes, the other members of the band did not accede to them, and, after due consideration, it was determined to strike a minnesota bank. cole younger was too far committed to recede, and so he submitted to the will of the majority, and was among the law's victims after northfield. bill chadwell was for many years a border rough and horse-thief in minnesota. he had committed depredations in many parts of that state, and was perfectly familiar with the geography and topography of the country. with a vast number of the dishonest and rough class in that state, he was on terms of intimate personal acquaintance. to him, as a guide, the other members of the brigand company looked with confidence to lead them successfully to a handsome deposit of spoils, and away from pursuers and pursuit. chadwell's friends were relied upon to afford them succor in the hour of need, and chadwell's skill inspired them with hopes of great gains, at a small sacrifice of time and little risk of danger. all these things had been discussed, and the plans of the gang were well matured before the departure from clay county. it was a long expedition, and the principal members of the company were unfamiliar with the country into which they journeyed. they based their hopes of success on the conditions which at that time existed in minnesota. it was at that season of the year when the grain growers were disposing of their crops; when it was supposed grain buyers and shippers would have their heaviest deposits in bank, and when the farmers were "in funds," which the robbers doubted not would be placed in the country banks for safe-keeping. moreover, they reasoned that inasmuch as the people of minnesota were unacquainted with their bold methods, that, as usual, when they made an onset, the customary panic would ensue, and the risk taken would be small. thus the preliminaries of the celebrated raid into northfield were settled. never before had this gang of desperadoes failed in accomplishing their object, and when the last council was held, and it was settled that northfield should be the objective point of their great raid into minnesota, "the signs" were propitious, and the superstitious element in the character of the outlaws rested satisfied. the remainder of the band divided into couples. jesse and frank james, as usual, travelled the road in company. bob younger and charlie pitts went together, and james younger and clell miller bore each other company by the way. these separate detachments travelled different roads, and kept a good lookout for favorable places for concealment in case of necessity, and they also noted the characteristics of the surface of the country over which they passed. previous to leaving missouri, jesse james wrote, or caused to be written, two letters for publication in the kansas city _times_, denying the charge of complicity in the otterville robbery, and denouncing the statement of hobbs kerry as "a villainous pack of lies." these letters were printed, and lead to the belief that the jameses were still in missouri. the latest one of these letters was dated "safe retreat, august th, ," and appeared in the kansas city _times_ august d, . divided as they were, their passage through the country excited no comment. they travelled as respectable persons might have travelled. in the evenings they would put up at a respectable village inn, or country farm-house, and in the mornings they paid for their accommodations as any other reputable citizens might have done. they did not hurry, because they did not want to break down their horses. the distance was great, and they were many days on the road. it was about the st of september, , when the whole band had arrived in the neighborhood of mankato. their advance agents, having found a suitable place for a rendezvous at the house of chadwell's friend, met their comrades, and, without exciting suspicion among the people, they directed the various detachments to the designated place of meeting. the robbers were now in minnesota, but as yet they had not determined which of more than half a dozen banks they would rob. first, the claims of some one of the three banks doing business in mankato to the distinction were considered. but the proposition to rob any one of them met with little consideration in the council of the brigands. they reasoned that three banks in such a place would naturally cause the business and investment funds of the community to be divided into three parts, no one of which could be very large, and as they "played for high stakes" at a great risk, they concluded to let mankato banks alone. then they considered the claims of the bank at st. peter to be plundered. but there was not enough business done in the place, and it was not surrounded by a community deemed wealthy, and the brigands concluded to pass st. peter, believing that they would not get a large haul in case they should raid the place. several other banks were considered, and the probabilities as to the amount of treasure likely to be obtained were all considered. finally, indications pointed to the bank of northfield as probably richer in the treasures contained in its vaults than any other in that region of minnesota. northfield, the place selected by the desperadoes as the scene of their attempt at plundering, is a nourishing town on the line of the milwaukee and st. paul railroad, situated in the northeast corner of rice county, minnesota. the town is compactly built, and contains a population of about , souls. the country around northfield is very productive, and there is considerable activity in commercial pursuits in the village. the bank building is situated in the very center of the business portion of the town. at the time the raid was made a large sum of money had accumulated in the vault of the institution. but northfield happened to be peopled by a hardy and courageous race of pioneers who were not made of the material to submit with a good grace to be plundered by strange outlaws from another state. but the leaders of the brigands had selected northfield, and it only remained to fix upon a time when the attempt should be made. that time was set for the afternoon of september th, . chapter xxxviii. the attack at northfield--haywood's death. sometime before noon on the th of september, four well mounted and well armed men approached northfield from the north. they did not at once enter the town, but remained on that side of the bridge in the suburbs for the advance of the other division of the band, which came via dundas, a small station on the line of the railway about four miles south of northfield. the brigands from dundas were cole and james younger, bill chadwell and clell miller. on the north side were frank and jesse james, charlie pitts and robert younger. about o'clock in the afternoon, cole younger and his party appeared, then the brigands rode into town and directly to the bank, the exact position of which had been before ascertained. jesse and frank james and cole younger dismounted and entered the bank. the brigands had entered the town at a full charge, shouting at the top of their voices and firing off their pistols as they rode. the inhabitants were taken by surprise, but were not at all panic-stricken. the movement on the bank was noted, and its object at once comprehended. the three leading brigands who had entered the bank proceeded to business at once. they sprang over the counter and confronted the surprised cashier, mr. j. l. haywood, with a huge knife, which they placed at his throat, and ordered him to open the safe, threatening him with instant death in case he refused. the knife had already marked his throat, but the brave cashier refused to comply with their demands. again with fearful threats the command was repeated. but haywood still persisted in his refusal, when one of them, now generally believed to have been jesse james, placed the muzzle of his pistol to haywood's right temple, and fired. the cashier fell, and expired ere he had touched the floor. besides the cashier, there were mr. a. e. bunker, assistant cashier, and mr. frank wilcox, clerk. these were ordered to hold up their hands when the robbers first entered. of course, under the circumstances, they could not do otherwise than to obey. after haywood fell they turned to mr. bunker and ordered him to open the vault. that gentleman declared that he did not know the combination. then they thrust a pistol into his face and made other threatening demonstrations. mr. bunker, acting under an impulse to preserve his own life, fled out through the back door. as he ran, the robbers fired at him, the ball taking effect in his shoulder. they seem not to have paid any further attention to mr. wilcox, but occupied the remainder of the brief time allowed them in efforts to find the cashier's money drawer. the nickel drawer was found, and they scattered the contents of that over the floor. meanwhile, an exciting scene was transpiring in the street in front of the bank building. a mr. wheeler, a young gentleman who occupied a second-story room in a building opposite, happened to possess a gun. seizing this weapon, he took deliberate aim and fired. the ball took effect, and charlie pitts, a notorious texas desperado, fell from his horse, shot through the heart. the shots fired by the brigands who had remained on the street did not have the desired effect in intimidating the citizens of northfield. in a few moments many citizens who had seized guns and pistols, and whatever other weapons came in their way, were rushing toward the bank. mr. wheeler having been so successful in his first shot, fired a second time, and bill chadwell fell, mortally wounded, from his horse. by this time others were firing from windows, and one of the horses was struck and fell dead. another horse which had been ridden by charlie pitts ran through the street. another one of the band was struck by a bullet, but managed to keep his place. the situation was desperate. the leaders in the bank had not succeeded in getting anything, when the events happening in the street admonished them that their only salvation was in immediate flight. they rushed out of the bank, mounted their horses, and the six living bandits galloped away. indeed, there was need that they should. already a band of fifty citizens, well mounted and well armed, were nearly ready to take the road in pursuit. at the head of this party rode wheeler, who had already proved himself to be cool and daring. the flight of the discomfited robbers was rapid. these free riders would never mount an inferior horse. but chances for escape were very few. the robbery, or rather, bold attempt at robbery, and especially the death of mr. haywood, a gentleman held in the very highest esteem by the community at northfield, had created a state of feeling in the public mind which would not allow the people to rest satisfied until the murderers were either captured or killed. in less than twenty-four hours the whole region about was notified of the occurrence at northfield, and not less than four hundred well armed and well mounted men were in hot pursuit of the six surviving brigands. the excitement occasioned by the events at northfield was at fever heat. efforts to capture the outlaws were further stimulated by the proclamation of governor pillsbury offering a reward of $ , for the apprehension of each of the robbers, or $ , for the capture of the survivors of the band. the bandits fled in a southwestern direction, toward the little hamlet of shieldsville, situated about miles on an air line, southwest from the scene of the tragedy at northfield. the route taken by the robbers made the distance more than twenty-five miles; yet they were at shieldsville before dark. they passed straight through the place and made no concealment of their identity. shieldsville is a small post village, containing a population of no more than souls. as they passed through the village, they shouted to the citizens who were on the streets to get into their houses, and they made such demonstrations by firing off their pistols that the people were greatly alarmed. the pursuers meanwhile were gathering about them. sheriff davis and posse were behind them; sheriff estes and posse were before them, and there were officers and armed citizens to the right and to the left of them. their situation became extremely critical after leaving shieldsville. but the indomitable courage of the bandits seemed for a time to promise them a final escape. from shieldsville the bandits travelled in a westerly direction toward kilkenny, a post town and railway station in le sueur county. they were now avoiding the towns and travelled highways, and keeping in the forest, and travelling through the farms. all the crossing places on the streams were guarded by armed citizens. the guards at the ford on french creek became alarmed at the approach of the bandits and fled, so that they met no resistance at the crossing place. they remained one night for rest in a large forest near kilkenny. the next morning they crossed the ford at little canyon. they pressed on toward the west. the route was beset with difficulties and dangers for them. they were anxious to reach the borderland, the frontier region, where men are few and wild. there was no rest for them. it was at length necessary for them to abandon their horses. they had camped in the depths of a great forest. the officials had taken to the by-paths and scoured the woods in search of them. leaving their horses and some of their heavier clothing, they trudged on foot, skulking among the thickets. their progress was slow. one day they camped on a sort of a peninsula, about half a mile from a church. they were now thoroughly exhausted. their diet had been green corn, potatoes and watermelons for several days, and they had been constantly on the move. here a stray calf came along and they shot it in the head, but the calf did not fall, on the contrary, it ran away. a small pig passed by their camp, and one of them shot him in the head. but the pig refused to succumb, and ran away. after leaving their isolated camp in the evening, foot-sore and worn out by reason of the anxiety and fatigue, they pushed forward in a more southerly direction, leaving cleveland and the forest where they had abandoned their horses to the right. at midnight they had reached marysburg, a small post village in the southern part of le sueur county. finding a convenient hiding place they kindled a fire, and had a meal of roasted potatoes and corn. the village clock struck six. they heard the bell and judged themselves to be about a mile from the town. they left the marysburg camp somewhat refreshed, and with buoyant hope of an ultimate escape from impending peril. thus far they had eluded their pursuers. their route from marysburg lay southwestward through blue earth county, to mankato. they made good headway during the day, and late in the evening they found a nice hiding place in a thicket in a cornfield, and lay very quiet without making a fire. twice during the night they were alarmed by persons passing near them. their hiding place happened to be near a neighborhood path which ran through the fields. six days after the affair at northfield, when the worn robbers were struggling along through a great forest near shaubut's, a few miles in a northeasterly direction from mankato, they came suddenly upon a man named dunning, who was one of a posse of citizens in pursuit of them. they at once captured this man, and a question arose as to the course to be taken with him. at once it was suggested by some one of the band to bind him fast to a tree and so leave him. dunning pleaded hard for his life, and to be spared the terrible ordeal of such an uncertainty as that of being left bound in that great forest. it might be days before he would be discovered, and it might be that no human being would pass that way until he would be starved. finally, from motives of humanity, as they claim, they administered to dunning the most terrible oaths that he would not say one word about having seen them until they had ample time allowed to get out of the country altogether. dunning gladly consented to take upon himself these solemn obligations, and they let him go. the released citizen sought the haunts of men and made haste to communicate to others all the particulars of his adventure with the robbers in the woods; and then the pursuit was renewed with new ardor and zeal. at midnight, six days after northfield, the weary bandits trudged through mankato in a very different plight from that in which they had made their entry into the place but a little more than a week before. as they approached the town with which they had made themselves familiar as they went to northfield, they were alarmed by the shrill whistle of the oil mill. they concluded that their approach had been noted, and the steam whistle was the signal agreed upon to call the citizens together in case the approach of the robbers was noted. they therefore turned aside from the main streets, and sought the lanes and alleys back of the oil-mill. here they hid awhile, but as there did not seem to be any movement among the citizens, they stealthily passed on, across the bridge. the guards had retired, or were not disposed to attack the six desperadoes. at any rate, they were not interrupted. after crossing, they raided a field of watermelons, selected four large ones, and under the deep shade of the trees, at the hour of one o'clock, they had a feast on the melons. they visited a house near by and got one spring chicken, and would have secured more had time been allowed. but they heard a great shouting of people, and saw one man looking for tracks. they fled at once up a bank, and pushed forward through the woods bordering the blue earth river. during the day they crossed that stream. it was on the day after they passed mankato that frank and jesse james, who appeared to have suffered less from the fatigue and exposure than the others, bid a last adieu to their comrades in the ill-starred northfield enterprise. only cole younger and his brothers, jim and bob, and clell miller, were left. the pursuers struck the trail of the jameses, and these desperadoes now had a terrible time in eluding those who sought them. they were repeatedly fired upon, and were both wounded severely several times. the four men left in the blue earth river forest struggled on toward the west. they had passed through the county of blue earth, and entered watonwan county, full seventy-five miles on a straight line from northfield, and a hundred and twenty-five miles by the route they had travelled. they had reached the swamps bordering the watonwan river. they had been now exposed to untold hardships from the afternoon of the th of september to the st of the same month, a period of fourteen days. they had subsisted on green corn, potatoes and melons for the most part during that whole time. they had had but little sleep, and had been constantly harassed by their pursuers. for nine days and nights they had been compelled to walk through forests and thickets, and their clothes had been literally picked from their bodies by the thorns and brambles through which they had struggled. their feet were in a most terrible condition. but their pursuers still followed them with a grim resolve that nothing could equal. on the afternoon of the st, sheriff mcdonald, of sioux city, having tracked the brigands to a swamp a few miles from madelia, the county seat of watonwan county, minnesota, the final struggle commenced. the sheriff's forces had surrounded the swamp where the brigands lay concealed. the armed citizens then began to close in upon the surrounded men, keeping up a continuous fire as they advanced. the bandits were not the men to yield, even to a superior force, without making a desperate resistance. one of the sheriff's men was severely and another was slightly wounded as they closed in upon the wearied but still determined men. the continuous volleys poured into the thicket where the bandits had concealed themselves were not without effect. first, clell miller fell, moaned once, and then his lips became mute forever. a heavy rifle ball then crashed through jim younger's jaw, shattering the lower jawbone in a most frightful manner. cole younger received seven wounds, and bob was shot in the right elbow. they fought desperately, but what could four men do? sheriff mcdonald commanded a hundred and fifty courageous men, whose lives had been spent on the frontiers. resistance could no longer be offered, when one of their number had fallen, and the other three were wounded, two of them nigh unto death. it was the last struggle of four as daring and dangerous men as ever rode over the western prairies. when resistance had ceased, the sheriff's men gathered around them. they were prisoners; their last hour of freedom had expired. they were placed in spring-wagons and carried into madelia. the people of the whole surrounding regions came flocking into the town to see the renowned outlaws, for they had confessed that they were the younger brothers, whose fame as daring freebooters had already been extended over the entire country. in a few days the wounded robbers--cole, jim and bob younger--were carried to faribault, the county seat of rice county. they were closely guarded, as well to prevent excited citizens taking the law into their own hands as to insure the safe custody of the bandits. the body of clell miller was conveyed to st. paul to be embalmed. while confined at faribault, the youngers received every attention, and rapidly recovered from the effects of their long exposure and the terrible wounds which they had received. during this time a strong guard was maintained about their prison. early in october, the rice county circuit court met at faribault, and thomas coleman, james and robert ewing younger were arraigned at the bar to plead to an indictment for murder in the first degree, and for conspiring to commit murder and robbery. advised by counsel that under the laws of the state the death penalty could not be inflicted in cases when the parties charged entered the plea of guilty, the three brothers plead guilty, and were sentenced to the penitentiary at stillwater for the terms of their natural lives. a few days afterward they were removed to their life-time place of abode, and the stormy career of the youngers closed. since their incarceration, it is understood that jim younger has died. cole and bob, in their dreary isolation, still survive, without hope of breathing the air of freedom again. chapter xxxix. escape of frank and jesse james. the most formidable band of robbers in this country had suffered terribly in consequence of the raid on northfield. charlie pitts, bill chadwell and clell miller--the last-named a formidable lawbreaker, who was raised in clay county--had lost their lives. cole, jim and bob younger had been captured. jesse and frank james were still free, but numerous officers of the law were on their trail. when the jameses left the youngers in the blue earth river bottom, they were on foot. the youngers and miller had entrusted to them their watches and jewelry and most of their money, believing that there was a possibility for the jameses to escape. the departure of frank and jesse created a diversion in favor of the youngers and miller. the bands of armed citizens followed the jameses. for two days and nights the brothers travelled westward, their footsteps constantly dogged by wary citizens. the hardships through which they were passing were almost incredible. the men were sometimes almost completely surrounded by the citizens. three days after they had separated from their comrades, they came to a wilderness region, where the timber was heavy and the underbrush thick. here they proposed to rest for a season. but they were tracked to their hiding place, and fired upon by a band of pursuers. frank james received a wound in the hip. the brush was so thick that the pursuers, who were on horseback, could make no headway, and three of them dismounted to continue the chase on foot. the direction taken by the hunted men led to a swamp, but the season being dry, there was but little mud in the basin. the bushes were close together, and aquatic plants were high. the three men seemed resolved to close up with them. several times the hunted bandits could have killed the citizens, but for the fact that their ammunition was giving out, and they desired to take care of what remained for the last emergency. it was getting late; the sun was low in the west, and the shadows were deepening in the forest. the three pursuers were determinedly following them. once or twice the hunted men were tempted to turn and try the issues with their foes. but they kept on. just when daylight faded away, they emerged from the swamp, and found themselves in a travelled highway. they had lost their determined foes in the darkness of the sombre swamp behind them. they started down the road, which lay along the bank of a stream of considerable size. wearied into a state of exhaustion, they hoped to find a snug place where they could rest and take some food. but their trials were not yet at an end. in the lonely depths of the forest, with the dark, still river on one side, and the timbered wilderness on the other, they heard the ominous sounds of horses' hoofs. they listened. there were horsemen behind and before them. in another moment, sounds came from the woods, which indicated that they were being surrounded. the wearied freebooters quickly stepped into the deep shadow of a great tree which stood upon the bank of the stream, to await further developments. that the horsemen were gradually closing around them they were speedily convinced. their situation was critical. what could be done? the stream below them was evidently deep and dangerous to ford. their plans were quickly formed and consummated. they quietly dropped down the bank to the margin of the stream, which at that place flowed close by an abrupt bank. "they were there by that tree but a moment ago," they heard one man remark, as a party came up to the spot where the outlaws had stood but a moment before. it was evident that their numbers must exceed twenty. stealthily the hunted brothers moved down the stream along the margin of the water, and close up under the overhanging bank. they heard their pursuers discuss the situation. "they are still near at hand, no doubt," the brothers heard one remark. then the movements indicated that they were preparing for a more careful examination of the situation where they were. soon several men came riding down the road just over their heads. they had reached a place where the river runs under a shelving bank and the brothers could go no further without taking to the water. four men came down the bank above, and came toward them. the brothers were constrained to take to the stream. the water was about two feet deep. they clung close to the bank, and silently reached a place they deemed safe, in a cave-like excavation made by the water under the roots of a great tree. the hunters came to the place where the bank and the waters met, and, apparently satisfied, they turned and went back. the brothers heard the clash of horses' feet on a bridge below, and then they knew that the crossing below was guarded. after a time all became still around them. they concluded to swim or wade the river from the point where they were, and, once on the opposite side, to strike through the country. silently as possible, without any splashing, they came from their place of concealment and waded out into the stream until they were compelled to swim. the night was quite dark, and they passed over without being discovered. climbing the opposite bank, they found themselves in an open wood. with all the haste which they could make, they proceeded westward. a mile away they came to a cornfield, and in the field there was a thicket. here they found a hiding-place, and, as wet as they were, they partook of a repast of green corn, and lying down on the grass, they slept soundly until the sun was up. waiting some time in a sunny place until their clothing had partly dried, the brothers started on their weary way. all day they travelled without being molested. in the evening, while travelling along a country road, they met a man leading two horses, one of which was saddled. they spoke to him, and from his manner and the answers he made them, they were convinced that he had not heard anything about the affair at northfield. they asked him if he would like to sell the horses he was leading. he answered that it was his business to deal in horse-flesh. what would he take for the pair? the man named the price, and, after some bantering, a trade was effected, and even the saddle on which he rode was transferred, the horse-trader declaring that he did not own anything which he would not sell. jesse and frank james were once more mounted. they stopped at a cabin in a lonely locality and asked for supper. a woman and two children were apparently the only inmates. they learned from her that her husband had been summoned to help catch a gang of horse-thieves, and had not been home for three days. frank carefully concealed his wound, and the woman quickly prepared a good supper for them, and, after settling with her, they mounted and rode away. the brothers rode all night, and as their horses were fresh and good travellers, they traversed many miles. they had already begun to congratulate themselves on their escape, when one day when they were in the neighborhood of a town on the western border of iowa, they were fiercely attacked by seven men, all well armed, but, fortunately for the outlaw brothers, not very well mounted. a running fight ensued, and frank received a desperate wound. but the good fortune which had so often attended them came to their aid, and in the darkness of the night they rode far away, and in the morning reached a house where the services of a physician were secured, who dressed frank's wounds. the physician was afterward arrested, but no evidence of his having knowledge of the character of his patient was produced, and he was discharged. the brothers had reached the borders of nebraska. jesse had a "friend" somewhere on the confines of that state, and they proceeded to his place by easy stages. here they rested for some days while frank's wounds were attended to by a physician. but the news of northfield had reached there, and suspicions of their friend and his strange guests were aroused. it was deemed best to take an early departure. an ambulance was procured. one of the horses was disposed of, and the boys by easy stages drove into kansas. their horse and ambulance was disposed of there. at a station not a thousand miles west of kansas city they took the cars, and were transported to texas. at waco, frank was placed under the care of a physician, and nursed until restored to health again. thus was terminated one of the most remarkable escapes from capture ever recorded. none other than men of very superior genius could have succeeded. as it is, the exploit is one of marvelous adroitness, one which cannot fail to excite our admiration. chapter xl. a visit to carmen. after northfield, missouri was deemed an unsuitable field for operations by the james boys. nor did it afford a safe place of retirement for persons who had engaged in such a desperate warfare against the established order of society. but they were accustomed to make long expeditions, and they were at home anywhere. the shelter of a rock sufficed for them in the wintry nights, and the branches of a tree, with their spreading leaves, furnished roof enough for them when the summer nights came. far away, in that region of the great state of texas known for many years as the territory of bexar, where a beautiful stream flows down from the rugged mountains toward the west, to unite with the rio pecos, jesse and frank had established a retreat which they called rest ranche. it is many miles east of fort quitman, and a long way from san estevan. to the west there are rugged hills and low mountains, covered with chaparral almost impenetrable to man or beast. far away in a southern direction is the little frontier post called fort lancaster. there are no frequented trails near the place which they had selected. the rio grande road, from fort quitman to fort lancaster, runs southwest of the rugged region alluded to above, and the usual line of travel from fort mckavitt to the military posts and settlements on the upper rio grande, in new mexico, was a long distance from their chosen retreat. toward the northeast are the salt plains, and, further away still, the staked plains, the dread of all travellers in those regions. in this retreat they were free from the intrusion of prying neighbors, and the inquisitiveness of passing travellers. it was and is a lovely place. there are few traces of the presence of man in that wilderness land. the pecos flows miles away from their place through a valley full of natural beauties. but the region is lonely--so lonely! there are only trails occasionally followed by a band of predatory lipans, or traversed by marauding parties of comanches and kickapoos, on raids to the mexican border through that vast region. it was in such a country the daring bandits found repose; and, when occasion suited, to ride untrammeled by fears. "when the wild turmoil of this wearisome life, with its scenes of oppression, corruption and strife; the proud man's scorn and the base man's fear, and the scoffer's laugh and the sufferer's tear; and malice and meanness, and falsehood and folly, disposed them to musing and dark melancholy; when their bosoms were full, and their thoughts were high, and their souls were sick with the outlaw's sigh-- oh, then there was freedom, and joy, and pride, afar in the broad plains alone to ride!" such seasons of reflection concerning that which is, and that which might have been, come to all mankind, and it came to the outlawed brothers, because they are members of the great family. it was doubtless at some such time, when their spirits were subdued by their lonely communion with the grander mysteries of nature, that the james boys plead for pardon of past offences, and promised future amendment and conformity to the laws established for the government of society. they have often manifested a desire to be at peace with the world. but such resting did not wait upon them. issuing from their retreat, they dared the danger of the border, plunged through the chaparral, ascended rugged mountain steeps, plunged down their western slopes to the sand plains which border the rio grande. passing through the poor pueblo of san estevan, noted as the haunt of cattle raiders and bandits; alarming the people at early morn by their imperious behavior and skill as pistol-shooters, exhibited by bringing down a chicken for their breakfast at a distance of sixty paces, they rode away to the grande river, crossed over to the mexican side, and passed westward until the adobe walls of mojmia rose before and around them. the brothers had grown weary of secluded living. they had now started on an expedition destined to create a profound sensation all along the border. they passed on through santa rosa, and through the desert lands, and over the mountains to the westward of that place. these men never pause before obstacles which would appall others. neither the rugged mountain passes where the mexican guerrillas have their hiding places, nor the desolation and terrors of "the dead man's journey" arrested their course. carmen is a village of considerable size and importance in the northern part of the state of chihuahua in mexico. surrounded on three sides by rugged hills rising into mountains, it is situated on a line with an important pass through the sierra madres. carmen is therefore a halting place for caravans of traders, and through its plaza passes treasure-conductas from the mines of chihuahua. the bold riders from the north of the rio grande had an object in going to carmen, which was made plain in due time. arrived at carmen, jesse and frank, who had been joined by three other members of the band at santa rosa, among them jack bishop, put up at the leading _posado_ of the place. they were a well-behaved company, and as they paid liberally for all they desired, the people regarded them as a valuable accession to the population. the boys had a delicate way of demonstrating their capacity to shoot, by killing a fowl, or pig, or dog, by shooting it with a revolver from a great distance, taking care always to make the exhibition as public as possible. so it happened on this occasion. the guerrillas and other rough characters about carmen had a very respectful manner toward such persons. the mexican, whose pig had been shot, received four times its value and conceived thereafter a very ardent affection for the american gentlemen of the north. it was in the late spring-time and the road through carmen was travelled by many traders and miners, bound north through new mexico, to the markets of this country. the adventurers from rest ranche noted everything. there were little parties travelling together with considerable money, on their way to purchase supplies in the united states. but it was not for such small profits that they proposed to practice their profession. one day, six pack mules, each loaded with pounds of silver, and each with a muleteer to control him, moved out of the city of chihuahua. with these rode twelve men as a guard. they kept on until carmen was reached, without anything unusual happening. at this place they halted for a day's rest. the outlaws went among the guards, sought out the persons to whose charge the treasures had been committed, and ascertained the direction of their future movements. nay, further, they simulated fears of the lurking indians and plundering guerrillas along the road before them. they claimed to be anxious to get into the united states, but had heard so many stories of the dangers of the road that it had deterred them from undertaking the journey. they professed to be american gentlemen who had been looking over the mines of chihuahua. their manners were affable, and their story plausible. when they made overtures to the chief of the conducta, to be allowed to journey with the treasure party for mutual protection across the dangerous border, their desires were acceded to, and when the cavalcade moved slowly away from carmen the next day, the unsuspecting merchants and treasure-bearers were accompanied by five men of the most desperate character. for the first three days of the march the americans were watched with some degree of vigilance, and the mexicans maintained a strict guard over the treasure-pouches. but the deportment of the outlaws was such that they soon succeeded in allaying any suspicion which might have attached to them. carmen was a long way from the border, and the bandits did not care to strike the blow which they had resolved upon when too far away from their retreat, and that, too, on unfamiliar ground. so they journeyed on with their intended victims on the most amicable terms. a suitable opportunity to seize the treasure was now all that they wanted, for the mexicans had grown somewhat careless in consequence of their confidence in the numbers of their party. one day they halted by a crystal stream which flowed down from a gorge in the mountains, and where a spring of pure, cold water gushed from the rocky bank. it was noon time, and the weary travellers took the burdens from their beasts, and allowed them to graze in the fresh, tall grass in the valley. it was a lovely day, and the scenery about them was very charming. the muleteers and guards, all save two, who stood sentinel over the treasure-pouches, had thrown themselves on the verdant bank, and were lazily conversing about the beauty of the situation; the length of time yet required in which to complete the journey before them, and like topics of small interest to our readers. there were in the company a senor molines, and another mexican gentleman, both merchants of chihuahua. the american desperadoes stood upon the bank under the shade of a tree, a little apart from the group of guards, who were in fact largely owners of the treasure they watched. the muleteers formed a little group not far away. the guns which the mexicans carried had been stacked, or rather leaned against a tree. mr. molines and his friend sat smoking on a moss-grown rock by the bank of the stream. it was a picturesque scene, and the surroundings heightened the effect of the picture. the two guards on duty carried their guns carelessly on their shoulders. suddenly, jesse james called out, "let's go, boys!" there was a sharp report of pistols. the two armed guards sank quivering to the earth. the outlaws rushed to the tree where the guards had left their arms, and placed themselves with presented revolvers between the guardians of the treasure and their weapons. the two mexican merchants were ordered to throw up their hands, and with the forcible argument of leveled dragoon pistols, presented as an alternative, they yielded, and one of the gang went and disarmed them. the muleteers were paralyzed with fear, and remained sprawled upon the grass carpet. the place has been well named _la temido_ (the place of fear.) it had been but a minute since the first act in the drama was presented, and in that time the whole tragic play had been completed. what a revolution in the circumstances of the actors had taken place? two were dead, and sixteen survivors were prisoners, and at the mercy of five of the most desperate men who ever played the part of freebooters on this continent. they took the horses of the merchants and guards, broke their guns, forced the muleteers to place the treasure pouches upon the best and fleetest of the horses; shot the mules and other horses not required, and threatened the frightened men who were in their power with death, and finally left them a long way from any human habitation, without horses and without food, and proceeded to the rio grande at an unfrequented part of its course, many miles above fort quitman, where they had provided a boat before they ventured on their expedition, ferried the captured treasure and swam their horses across, and in less than twenty-four hours after their surprise and capture of the treasures of the caravan, they had disappeared in the rugged region which lies between the rio grande and the pecos, in the territory of bexar, texas. they had so completely hidden their trail that all attempts to follow them were futile. in a few days after this successful foray into mexico, jesse and frank were at their ranche enjoying much-needed repose. how the members of the wealthy party, with which they travelled from carmen, managed to get once more into the haunts of civilized men, we have received no information. the great heap of silver which they had taken was brought by the outlaws into their retreat in the mountains, and there divided among the five daring brigands. chapter xli. the robbers and their friends. "wherefore, in the hour of need, shall a people house them? wherefore did our brothers bleed, when great wrongs did rouse them? is this the sod, so blest by god, that slaves swear by its clay, men? or are we still, the men of will? we ask you that to-day, men!" why have the james boys so many friends? is it because there are so many people disposed to lawlessness? are the friends of the jameses, like themselves, all outlaws? if they are not, why do they yet sympathize with them? how can any honest man succor and shelter them? can it be possible that any one can be so impervious to testimony as to believe these men to be anything but outlaws? these are the questions asked by those who believe that the boys ought to have been caught long ago, and lay a large part of the blame for their escape from arrest so long on the people of the states where their most notable deeds have been committed. some persons point to the results obtained in minnesota, after northfield, as an evidence that a large part of the population in missouri, arkansas, texas and kentucky, where their most successful raids have been made, must necessarily be in sympathy with them, if, indeed, they are not in direct collusion with the great outlaws. such a charge is evidently made by persons who have not examined into the circumstances of the case, and the conditions which have favored them in escaping apprehension by the officers of the law. it will be remembered that the james boys have committed successful robberies in both iowa and kansas, and it will not be claimed by the most prejudiced mind that the people of iowa and kansas, resident in the neighborhood where these exploits were committed, were more in sympathy with the marauders than were the people of northfield and vicinity. and yet the jameses escaped capture. without in any way assuming a defence of the people of the states named above, on account of their failure to capture the outlaws--for they need no service of the kind from us--we may be permitted in this place to state a few facts which may enable cavilers to form a more rational judgment in this matter. that the jameses have friends scattered through many states we readily admit. that all those who have a friendly feeling toward them are not in the lower classes of roughs, is undeniable; that some who move in respectable circles of society, and who are above reproach, so far as their individual actions are concerned, are yet disposed to apologize for them, is unfortunately true. but such "friends" as these have nothing to do with obstructing the execution of the law. the jameses have numerous friends in missouri, kentucky, arkansas, texas, new mexico and colorado. and under like conditions they would have equally as large a list of friends in illinois, iowa, wisconsin, minnesota, dakota and wyoming. their active, helpful friends are to be found among that class which the law is ever pursuing but never subduing. they are called "thugs" in new york and all the other large cities; and on the border everywhere, the same elements in human nature which create "the thugs, pariahs and roughs," of the urbane populations, produce the desperadoes and road agents of the wilderness regions. now the fact is, the jameses have ranged over the entire country, from the ohio river to the shores of the gulf; from the borders of iowa to the sierra madres, and from the blue ridge to the rocky mountains. their reputation as daring men and skillful leaders has made them known to all that class of people who are without the pale of society, as that term is applied--and there are members of that class in every community--who at once seek an alliance with such distinguished leaders of their class--the outlaws. the result is, that these people embrace every opportunity to serve such men as frank and jesse james. why has not pinkerton, with all his ability and resources as a catcher of lawbreakers, caught these men? the answer is simple enough. they know the country thoroughly; they have, not one, but many places to which they can retreat, and when hard pressed or sorely wounded, they go to their retreats, where they are nursed and cared for until they choose to go away. again, there may be, and doubtless are, a few persons who have known the boys from early childhood--knew their father before them--and afterward remembered the deeds performed by them in a cause which they regarded as right, who are loth to believe that the boys are brigands and robbers. and then it is certain that some of their "friends" are persons who are free to admit that the boys have degenerated into lawless marauders, but excuse them on the ground that they were driven to it by the terribly bad treatment which they received at the hands of those who were enemies of the southern cause in the struggle of long ago. it is barely possible that a limited number of people, whose whole mind and strength were devoted to the success of the south during the great conflict, yet look back with deep regret at the melancholy failure of their efforts, and have apotheosized every man who engaged on that side and fought for the cause which had become sacred in their eyes--a very few persons who belong to that class, representatives of which are to be found everywhere, who can neither forgive nor forget--who only remember that frank and jesse james were fighters in that struggle, and hence all subsequent bad conduct cannot exclude them from a place in their affections. this is in accordance with the laws of human nature. all men are not cosmopolitan in their views, and hence, when disasters fell upon a cause which was believed to be right and sacred, the little world in which these persons lived and moved and had their being, suffered a moral convulsion from which it has not yet recovered, and, in their minds, can never recover. with the social conditions and mental state which enshrouded people like those described above, and rendered them insensible to the requirements of social order, we have nothing to do. such people are found in all climes now; and such people have lived in all ages since the human family commenced the struggle for existence. but the "friends" of the jameses are for the most part persons who, like themselves, have rebelled against the established order of society. they are scattered all over the country, and among that class, from the rio grande to the ohio, the boys have personal acquaintances and active allies. even beyond the lofty range of the rocky mountains they have confederates in spirit, if not in action. these children of an ill-starred destiny roam over a vast extent of country. and wherever they go, they are likely to find some one who, from some cause or other, open their houses to them and willingly afford them succor and shelter. some of these men doubtless share with the renowned freebooters the spoils gained in their daring profession. the "friends" of the jameses--even those who are active allies and participators in their lawless deeds, are many of them respected in the communities where they belong. among their neighbors they are known as liberal-minded men of unquestionably good character. some of them have families who are respected and honored by their associates. some of them, when at home, are regular in their attendance at church, and liberal in their donations for the support of the ministry. some affect to patronize the educational interests, while there are others who are promoters of improvements in horticulture, agriculture, and all other movements intended to benefit the communities of which they are members. who would surmise that these staid and respected members of society are leagued with outlaws? generally, their evil deeds are committed far away from their places of residence. they are not often mixed up in any affair near by, and when they join the band for the purpose of committing depredations, they always give out that they are about to make a journey in a way directly contrary to that in which they intend to travel. but the most valuable of the members of the band of friends of the jameses are those who never go abroad to depredate. they are of infinite service to the boys. in all their relations with their neighbors and the members of the society with which they are brought in contact, these allies of the brigands are scrupulously exact and strictly upright. the consequence is, no suspicion attaches to their character, and with them the outlaws are safe. not only do these "friends" not go abroad to plunder, but when their confederates who "do the work" commit a deed of outlawry in their vicinity, they first conceal the robbers, and then turn out as leaders of the hunters of the outlaws. they are sometimes loudest in their execration of the plunderers, and strongest in their expressions of hatred toward all lawless men. being good citizens of honorable repute, no one suspects them, and their friends, the robbers, rest until the storm has swept by, and then quietly they ride away. many of these men are well-to-do; have good farms, live in comfortable houses, and have many fine horses and fat cattle. of course these valuable allies have a liberal allowance of the brigands' spoils set apart for their use and behoof. it must be borne in mind that these men are residents of regions of comparatively recent settlement, where the antecedents of newly-arrived citizens are not strictly inquired into by those who only arrived yesterday themselves. so long, therefore, as the citizen deports himself as "a clever man," so long will his neighbors implicitly trust him. such is the character of the men which jesse james' fertile brain has called into service; the character of the organization, which all the devices of the shrewdest detectives, all the bravest executors of the law have failed in ten long years of effort, to disintegrate or destroy. the very fact that such an organization does exist, and that jesse james furnished the brains which summoned it into existence, and has maintained it for so long a time, stamps him as an extraordinary man--one who, under other circumstances, might have become a leader of men, and passed into history along with george cadoudal, paoli, and other like actors on the world's wide stage. chapter xlii. excursions into mexico. the wild, adventurous career of the boys has been wonderful. they loved the road, loved to ride at will over the land, and set at defiance the officers of the law. nor have they confined their excursions to the american side of the rio grande. not unfrequently they ride far away over the sierra madres into the valley of the lakes; in coahuila and san luis potosi, they are known of many. in some of these expeditions they pass through thrilling experiences and innumerable dangers. those border rovers of mexico who have crossed the path of the boys once and have escaped with their lives, evince no disposition to renew hostilities with the "gringo devils," as they affectionately call the american outlaws. in this chapter we propose to relate some of "the hair breadth escapes" of the daring outlaws in the land of the otomis. these tales of wild life will not fail to interest the reader. one time--it was in the spring of --frank and jesse james rode down to the bank of the "river of the north." piedras negras is a favorite crossing place, both for mexican cattle thieves and american outlaws. to this point came frank and jesse james. the river was high and the crossing difficult. it was not the season for successful raiding, and the enterprising mexican raiders had turned their attention to the business of revolutionizing their own country. in this pious undertaking they had not met with that degree of success which justified them in rejoicing. the lazaroni, gathered at piedras negras, were particularly ill-humored, and the lonely texan who came in their way could expect nothing better than to be plundered. such was the situation of affairs when frank and jesse james arrived on the texas side of the river in front of the wretched mexican pueblo. the surly "greaser," who acted as the charon at that point, was even more surly than usual. but the boys had passed that way before, and the ferryman had a vivid recollection that one estevan sandoval, who had molested them on one occasion, was now no more in the land of the living. he complied with the usual tedious alacrity of his countrymen to set them across the stream. there was an unusual number of ill-looking fellows about the place, a fact which did not escape the immediate attention of the boys. there were regular brigands from the passes of the sierra madres; thieves from matamoras, cut-throats from saltillo; smugglers from all along the border, and rogues of all grades. the boys knew there was "fun ahead." it must be said to the credit of the jameses that they neither seek nor run away from a fight. in this case the character of the boys was sustained. they proposed to pass on without stopping. in this benevolent intention they were not destined to succeed. riding through the square, or plaza, as the mexicans call it, they passed on toward the country of woods beyond. they had not got out of the straggling village, when a mob of half-drunken, howling mexicans, mounted on horses, came after them, cursing and firing off their pistols as they came. it would have been well for some of them if they had never beheld the face of a gringo. doubtless the leaders expected to see the boys use their spurs liberally and make time out of town. in this they were disappointed. the american outlaws were not accustomed to flee before such "outfits." instead of galloping away, they deliberately halted, and the inevitable pistols were drawn and "the fun began." the jameses do not have occasion to kill unless they desire to do so, as they can easily disable an enemy without taking his life. in less time than is required to state the incident, four of the foremost of the rabble were on the ground, with broken right arms. the remainder of the crowd turned and rode with all speed through the plaza. actuated by some wild impulse which sometimes seems to possess them, the jameses turned and rode back again to the square. it came near proving a fatal ride to frank. some of the mexicans had taken refuge in an adobe house on one side of the plaza, and seeing the daring american outlaws sitting on their horses in the very midst of the place, in an attitude of defiance of all "the brave men" of piedras negras, they mustered courage to open fire upon the boys. a perfect shower of bullets was discharged, and one of them cut the brim of the hat worn by frank james, narrowly missing the side of his head. then the boys felt that they were in for "a good deal of fun," and all scruple as to killing vanished. they shot to kill, and death was the doom of any greaser who came within their deadly range. two were killed outright, and then the ill-natured mob that had sought to avenge the death of estevan sandoval, fled from the village in terror, leaving the brothers in undisputed possession of the place. it was not their purpose to remain, and they rode on in a short time. that evening, when they were crossing a stream, swollen by the recent spring rains, a party of brigands in ambush on the opposite bank opened fire upon them, and jesse received a slight wound in the left shoulder. the boys charged the thicket which had afforded the robbers shelter, and the whole ten broke and fled, not however, before one of their number was made to atone for the hurt which jesse had received. this journey into san luis potosi, was one fraught with many perils, and only the fate which seems to protect them, enabled them to return into texas. they met with a singular adventure on this trip. they had reached monclova, a large town in coahuila. here they found an acquaintance--an old comrade of the guerrilla times. he had taken up his residence in mexico, had married a handsome mexican girl, and had settled down to a quiet life in a strange land. of course he was glad to see the boys whom he had not met since they parted in kentucky, when he was captured and sent to prison. his home was placed at their disposal, and his mexican wife received them with that cordial hospitality which is a characteristic of her countrywomen. here they proposed to remain a day or two and rest. in accordance with the customs of the country, the mexicanized american gave his old comrades a reception on the following afternoon, or rather evening after their arrival. a reception in mexico means a ball or _fandango_. many of the leading citizens of monclova attended the reception, for the friend of the jameses was esteemed a very worthy citizen and respectable gentleman. among the guests was a young lieutenant of the mexican army, and an american long resident in the country, who came from the vicinity of matehuala. these two men scrutinized the faces of the boys in a very peculiar manner, and a careful observer could have seen the flushes of anger which ever and anon overspread their countenances. jesse had noticed their behavior, and called the attention of his brother to the strangeness of their conduct. he was sure that he had seen the american before somewhere, at some time, just when and where he could not remember. frank was enjoying himself in the society of a fair senorita, and seemed to attach little importance to his brother's suggestions. but jesse watched them closely, and became thoroughly convinced that he had met both men before, and he knew that the meeting had been that of enemies. the lieutenant and his companion did not remain long, but took their departure. there was at that time encamped, in the environs of monclova, a brigade of the mexican army, and the regiment to which the lieutenant belonged had barracks near the plaza. on leaving the ball-room, the two men went directly to the headquarters of the regiment, and found there the colonel and lieutenant-colonel. the young officer at once laid before them the knowledge which he possessed concerning the character of the men who were being entertained in monclova that night. both men had a score to settle with the jameses. the account of the american dated back to --that of the young officer only a little more than a year, at which time, unfortunately, in one of the border broils, frequent about that time between mexicans and texans, the boys had killed a brother of the officer. the superior officers looked with favor on the scheme to arrest the boys. the more readily, too, did they agree to the plan of capture when informed that the american authorities were offering a reward of $ , for the apprehension of these men. it was a bonanza which the impecunious colonels hoped to gain. silently as possible a company of eighty men was mustered, and marched to the house, and immediately surrounded it. the merry makers were just in the midst of an evening of enjoyment. indeed, "there was a sound of revelry by night," and the fair senoritas and chivalrous youths of monclova were animated by high hopes and dreams of future bliss. suddenly there was an interruption. the doors were thrown open, and an officer, accompanied by a guard, strode into the room. the violinist dropped his bow; the dancers stood still; the faces of women blanched, and men quailed before this apparition of war and bloodshed. the officer stepped briskly to the part of the room where the jameses were standing, and addressing them in broken english, commanded them to surrender in the name and by the authority of the government of mexico. frank and jesse looked at him with a disdainful, dangerous smile. would they surrender without his being under the painful necessity of using force, inquired the officer. "never!" the answer was firmly delivered. the officer turned to the guards, and gave a signal of command for them to move up. "stop!" it was jesse's voice of command. the officer waved the guards to halt. "we have a proposition to submit. will you hear it?" "if it means surrender, yes," replied the officer. "it is this:" pursued jesse, not appearing to notice the purport of the officer's reply, "allow these ladies here to retire, and we will discuss the question with you." "i shall be compelled to take you by force," said the officer. "let the ladies retire, i say!" exclaimed jesse james, in a tone that betrayed his impatience. the boys were not surprised without arms. they never lay aside a pair of pistols. they are ever at their sides, and always ready for use. the officer parleyed. he did not desire to begin an affray in the midst of a company of ladies--his instincts as a gentleman revolted against subjecting them to alarm and danger. the house was surrounded; he had ample force to enforce the orders of his superiors; so he said, "let the ladies all retire." the order was given at the door to the guards to to allow the ladies to pass through. the ball-room was soon free from their presence. the men huddled in one corner, and finally were permitted to retire into another room. "now," said the officer, "lay down your pistols. i have an ample force to enforce these orders. the house is surrounded; you cannot get away." the answer he received was a derisive peal of laughter. at the same moment a pistol flashed before the eyes of the officer as he raised his sword to signal his guard. he saw it but for an instant, there was an explosion, and the officer fell dead to the floor. the guard, amazed, rushed forward to succor their fallen leader. they were thrown off their guard. one, two, three deafening reports, and three soldiers lay still, weltering in their gore. celerity of execution is safety, was ever the motto of the jameses. the guards who had followed their officer into the house, fled when they saw their comrades fall. the boys rushed out of the house. the soldiers in the street met them with a volley of balls. but they were too much agitated to shoot well. the boys escaped with two or three trifling scratches. they opened fire on the line of guards around the house. seized with consternation, the soldiers fled from their deadly revolvers. the whole town was excited. the streets began to teem with surging throngs of men, women and children; the alarm drums were beat in the barracks; the soldiers hastily formed in line and marched to the scene of the disturbance. never had monclova been so shaken before. it was too late. the cause of all the hubbub had reached their horses, hastily saddled them, mounted, and were then thundering far away through the dark streets. they did not travel the highways after daylight next morning. but they found a refuge in the mountains, and when the excitement had subsided they went their way. chapter xliii. death to border brigands. the ranche of the james boys furnished a temptation to the mexican border brigands, which they were in no wise able to resist, even if they had possessed the least particle of that moral sense which enables men to withstand temptation. the jameses were successful rancheros; they lived out on the confines of the white settlements in texas. their fat herds spread over the valleys and ranged over many hills. this wealth of cattle excited the cupidity of the mexican border banditti. they envied the outlawed boys their goodly possessions; and they were nerved to undertake to appropriate the herds, even if the lives of the owners should be taken in order to compass their wishes. there was a robber chief of nueva leon, who had once been a faithful lieutenant of cortinas, "the robber governor" of the state of tamaulipas. this fellow, whose name was juan fernando palacios, had achieved a local reputation about piedras negras, eagle pass, mier, and other localities on the upper rio grande, as a daring freebooter and bloody minded murderer. he had gathered about him a band of men of like disposition with himself--principally fugitives from justice from the neighboring states. this gang of desperadoes numbered more than thirty men, and palacios resolved to lead them over among the ranches of the texans. there was much booty to be gained by a successful raid. it was at a season of the year when many herds were being pastured in the valley of the pecos, and with thirty men and more he fondly hoped that he could come upon, and discomfit all the "cow boys" in that region, and drive away the well conditioned herds at his leisure. it was in the autumn of . the dry season had withered the grass on the hill slopes and the upland plains. but down in the valleys the grass was green, and the wild flowers bloomed in all the freshness of the spring time. palacios and his brigands made careful preparations before they set out. there had been a season of quiet on the border. several months had passed since the last raid was made. the mexican brigand hoped to take the "cow boys" unawares--surprise them--kill them, and drive away their herds. this was his hope. mexican brigands are good night travellers. indeed, their most important movements are made in the night. during the day time, if possible, they take shelter in the chaparral, and remain quiet until the shades of night fall over valley and plain, and then under the starlight they ride--sometimes accomplishing long journeys in a thinly inhabited country without giving the least information of their presence, so secretly do they move. it was a lovely evening in october. there was no moon, but the stars shone brightly from the cloudless sky. el paso was unusually quiet that evening. there was not a fandango in progress in the place; the sound of the violin was not heard within its borders. the senoritas sang no vesper hymns. palacios and his robber band had gone across the river into texas, and not many young men remained in el paso. all night, beneath the silent stars, the mongrel band of the bandit chief rode on toward "the settlements" of the hated, as well as dreaded texans. before dawn they found shelter in a patch of chaparral in the valley of an affluent of the rio pecos. no one had seen them. thirty miles and more they had ridden in the direction of the fat herds of the texans. the day passed away, and once more the curtain of night fell, and the mexican raiders rode in its shadow. by dawn they had reached the vicinity of a well stocked ranche. a convenient shelter was sought and found near a little stream. the raiders were many miles from el paso now, and the valleys and the hill slopes, and the lower plains were dotted with great herds of cattle. but the rancheros had not yet discovered the presence of the enemy, and rested in fancied security. [illustration: an alarmed "cow-boy."] palacios and his band hovered near the herds all day. men were sent out to ascertain the number of herdsmen attending the different droves. all this time the horses of the raiders were carefully concealed in a thicket by the bank of the stream. when the evening came on, palacios was well informed of the locality of all the herds in his immediate neighborhood. dividing his men into two bands, over one of which he appointed a notorious murderer from mier, named jesus almonte, and assumed command of the other in person. the time appointed for "the stampede" of the herds was ten o'clock at night. at that hour the western herdsmen are almost always sound asleep. palacios was certain that his presence on the american side of the rio grande was not known. he had met no one, and his scouts had reported everything quiet among the herdsmen. ten o'clock came. the mexican robbers, well armed and splendidly mounted, quietly left their covert. almonte and his band proceeded two and a half or three miles up the stream where a large herd of cattle were corraled. palacios went down the creek to "stampede" another herd of seven or eight hundred head. the process of "stampeding" is thoroughly understood by the mexicans. the herdsmen were aroused by the approaching horsemen. but it was too late. the mexicans were among them, and almonte's gang killed two of the "cow-boys" at the upper herd, and palacios' crowd killed one at the lower herd. the "stampede" was complete. the herds were turned toward the rio grande, and driven rapidly away. all the remainder of that night, and all the next day, the robbers pressed forward toward their place of concealment and shelter beyond the rio grande. as yet, no pursuers had appeared, but palacios knew well that they were not safe on this side the river. he knew that the avengers were on his track, and he cared not to see the face of a texan at that time. coming at night time to the river some distance below el paso, he crossed over with all his booty, and speedily made himself comfortable among his sympathizing countrymen and countrywomen. it chanced about that time that frank and jesse james rode down toward the rio grande to make observations, and enjoy life just beyond the borders of civilization. being somewhat in the outlaw business themselves, they cared very little for "the borders of civilization," or for that matter, for the interior. while riding, they met one of the sorely disconsolate herdsmen, who told the story which we have related, with many embellishments; for instance, that a band had come out of the south country, killed all the herdsmen in the valley, driven off _all_ the herds, and that _he_ only was left alive to tell of their fate. to this doleful tale frank and jesse james gave good heed, for one of the missing herds had been their property. the two brothers consulted together as to what could be done under the circumstances. they had been into mexico on many occasions before, and, although the frightened herdsman had magnified the numbers of the raiders, so that they appeared a mighty host, frank and jesse james were not the men to submit tamely to downright robbery. the brothers resolved to pursue the raiders. and so they rode on and on until they came to the rio grande. it was in the early morning. the october sun had not yet appeared above the horizon, but all the eastern sky was refulgent with the coming glories of a lovely day. frank and jesse james had ridden far, but their horses were not jaded, and as for themselves, physical endurance is their normal characteristic. they were ready for any desperate adventure, such as they were then engaged in. only for a moment did they pause when they emerged from the river. their fire-arms were carefully examined, and then they urged their horses onward. el paso was silent. the inhabitants had not yet awakened from their slumbers. palacios and his band, with their stolen herds, had passed on through the village in the direction of the mountains. their trail through the sand was still fresh. the james boys rode on. three miles away they came to the camp. deeming themselves safe, the mexican raiders had taken no precautions to guard against surprise. the herds had been corraled, and the bandits, wearied by their long marches, slumbered heavily. [illustration: after the "greasers."] cautiously approaching the mexican camp, the two brothers, with that quick perception for which they are distinguished, saw at a glance the situation of the camp and the position of the sleeping robbers. the dreamers were suddenly aroused by the reports of the avengers' pistols. jesse and frank james were in their midst, and dealing death to the miscreants ere they could grasp their weapons. some who dreamed were sent to their account before the phantasy had cleared from their brains. with a death-dealing pistol in each hand, they fired with incredible rapidity, and at each discharge an unfortunate wretch fell to rise no more. terror-stricken, the robbers fled in every direction. some were arrested in their flight by the unerring aim of the outlawed brothers; and some more fortunate escaped to the mountains with life only, everything being left behind in order that they might save it. the corral was broken up. the boys are skillful herdsmen, and soon the great tramping drove was turned toward the rio grande. ten dead robbers, stark and still, among the cactus patches, testified to the prowess of the american desperadoes. they passed back through the village. not a man was visible. they had heard of the fate of their robber friends. terror-stricken, they had abandoned their homes and fled into the chaparral beyond the hills, which at this point approach the river. the boys were hungry after their morning's engagement, and halting at the little adobe _posado_, they ordered breakfast, taking care that it was prepared under their personal supervision, in order that no treachery on the part of their unwilling entertainers should succeed. the feat which they had accomplished was one of the most daring ever recorded in the annals of border strife. then, the nonchalant way in which they ordered the trembling inhabitants to minister to their physical comfort, furnished another proof of the admirable nerve of these remarkable men. after refreshing themselves, the boys, at their leisure, recrossed the rio grande with nearly the whole number of cattle which the bandits had driven away. desperadoes as they were, palacios and almonte were indisposed to surrender the rich prize which they had secured, as they thought, without any effort. the two chiefs had stopped in the village the night previous to the arrival of the jameses, and were not in the camp at the time of the attack of the boys. in el paso, they lay hidden in a heap of hay, while frank and jesse regaled themselves with "the best the market afforded." the mexicans were convinced that a large force of _gringo diablos_ were at hand, and they feared for their lives. they waited for the appearance of the squadrons of rangers in vain. gradually it began to dawn upon their dull comprehension that the whole force of the _gringos_ numbered just two men. palacios, almonte, and a few of their followers rallied some hours after the boys were on their march over the rolling plains of texas. they were furious, and boasted of what great things they intended to accomplish. sometime, toward noon, they cautiously approached the river, reconnoitered, and finally ventured to cross over. there was no enemy in sight, and the twenty-five brigands of the border became valiant, and set out on the trail of the boys who were marching on with the recaptured herds. encumbered as they were, by a vast drove of cattle, their progress was slow. toward evening the mexican bandits came in sight. but they did not venture to attack. hovering on the rear, and galloping along the flanks of the moving herd, the mexicans made a thorough reconnaissance of the force of americans. there were just two men, and no more. emboldened by this knowledge, they approached with a view of "stampeding" the herd. five well mounted men were sent to engage the boys while the others advanced on the left flank of the herd. but they did not know the character of the men they sought to kill out there on the plains. secured to the saddles which they bestrode, each carried a long range sixteen shot winchester rifle. the bandits came within range. if they ever prayed, the time for prayers had arrived. they were approaching, unwittingly it may be, the margin of the river of death; the black angel hovered over them, the sun of time was being surely extinguished. detaching their deadly rifles from the fastenings, each singled out his man, took deliberate aim, touched the trigger, and instantaneously two mexican robbers fell to the earth pierced through their hearts. their comrades marked their fall, and knew the cause. they turned to flee. it was too late. even as they turned two more of them fell, pierced through and through by the unerring bullets from the steadily aimed rifles of the american outlaws. the other one of the five fled, and succeeded in making his escape. the boys fully comprehended the designs of the mexicans, and jesse suggested that he would ride to the summit of "the swell" to the left, to see what "those other devils are about." [illustration: fight with mexican cattle thieves.] riding rapidly up the slope, his horse was soon reined up on the crest of the ridge. there he discovered on the slope below him a party of some fifteen armed men. bringing his rifle to bear, a mexican saddle was emptied in an instant. the raiders replied; but their guns would not send a ball so far. they were not less than four hundred yards away. jesse continued to empty saddles until four men were down. the mexicans turned and fled, and jesse gave them a parting salute, which brought down a horse. when he rejoined his brother he remarked sententiously, "well, i've prepared a feast for the vultures over yonder." "how many are down?" asked the other. "oh, only four men and one horse," he answered, with a grim sort of smile. the dangerous time for them was the shadowy hours. they knew that all the brigands of that region would take their trail. they were a hundred miles from any certain succor. the mexican raiders are not to be despised in a night affray. they expected attack, and it is one of the peculiarities of the boys, that they never sleep when there is danger surrounding them. the severe losses which they had sustained only rendered the pursuers more wary; but they still hovered around. the boys expected an attack that night. the sun was sinking low in the west, and the brothers were earnestly consulting as to the best means of guarding against the consequences of a night attack. "see," said frank, "away there on that ridge whose top the sun is gilding! are those moving objects men on horseback, or a herd of buffalo? what do you think?" the brothers halted. since their removal to texas they never ride abroad without carrying with them a field glass each. they now raised their glasses and looked long and earnestly at the dark objects moving between them and the horizon. "they are mounted men," said jesse. "texans, mexicans, lipans or commanches? which do you say?" asked frank. jesse looked again. the mounted men were nearly two miles away--a long distance to determine the character of men, or designate their nationality. long and carefully did he scrutinize the movements of the horsemen. "soldiers--federal soldiers--by jehovah!" he exclaimed. "well, i've seen the time that i would not like to see such a company, but i'm confounded glad they've come around this evening. i'll get a nap to-night, anyway." it was agreed that jesse should ride forward and inform the officer in command of the presence of palacios' band of raiders. he spurred his horse forward over the high rolling swells of prairie toward the horsemen, who were also advancing. the mexicans saw this movement, and saw the horsemen. they at once surmised that a detachment of mckenzie's command was out looking for them, and turning about, they rode hastily back the way they came. the boys were left in peace. the detachment of cavalry swept onward in pursuit of the fleeing raiders, and the herd, fatigued by long driving, were indisposed to scatter. the return to the pastures from whence they had been driven was leisurely made. the boys returned safely to their abode, and jesse was welcomed by one who worships him as the world's noblest hero. chapter xliv. a golden harvest reaped by outlaws. "wide is our home, boys, freely we roam, boys, merrily, merrily, o'er the brown lea; brief though our life, boys, with peril rife, boys, oh! it has wildness, and rapture, and glee." in the mellow days of september, , a party of seven men came to the neighborhood of ogallala, nebraska, and went into camp there. they were "stockmen," they said, and only wished to rest awhile before entering upon the long, wearisome march across the plains to texas, which lay before them. they had brought droves of cattle from the pasture-prairies of the "lone star" state to supply the markets of chicago and other cities to the east, and it was their intention, according to their statements, to return to texas to be in readiness for "the spring drive." there was in this party jim berry, of portland, callaway county, missouri, an old-time guerrilla in the days of anderson; jack davis, formerly of the vicinity of fort smith, arkansas, a man of sinister reputation; billy heffridge, a pennsylvanian of no good repute; jim collins, a brother of brad, the well-known texan desperado, who was killed in an encounter with a sheriff who attempted his arrest, and sam bass, the somewhat distinguished outlaw, whose name figures so prominently in the criminal annals of the period between and . there were two others, the identity of one of whom has never been discovered. of these, berry, collins, davis, and one other, had sometimes ridden with frank and jesse james, and exchanged the civilities of the craft with them. who the seventh man of the party of "campers at ogallala" was, the detectives have never been able to discover. the "stockmen," as they styled themselves, remained in camp near ogallala for a number of days, and were frequent visitors to the village. jim berry had been in business at plattsmouth, nebraska, and had made some acquaintances along the road. among the business men residing at ogallala, which is the county seat of keith county, and a station of some importance on the line of the union pacific railway, was mr. m. f. leach, a gentleman of great mental acuteness, and an excellent judge of men. one day some of the "cattlemen" came to leach's store in ogallala, among them jim berry, and purchased a number of red bandana handkerchiefs. of course nothing was thought of the circumstance at the time, but subsequently the red bandanas afforded "a clue" to the identity of the robbers of a train on the union pacific railroad. big springs is a station on the railroad, about twenty-three miles west of ogallala, nearly on the line between keith and cheyenne counties, nebraska. at this place there is an excellent supply of water, which constitutes its greatest claim to importance, for on other accounts big springs possesses little to interest the traveller. one evening--it was the th of september--the people of brule and ogallala were thrown into a great ferment of excitement on the arrival of the train from the west, bringing, as the conductor and passengers did, a full account of the great robbery of the express car, and all the passengers, at big springs station, which event had occurred just after nightfall that same evening. it was a great sensation at the time, and interest in it has not yet ceased to operate on the public mind. a brief account of the robbery, and pursuit and death of several of the robbers, will not be regarded out of place in this volume, inasmuch as some of the robbers had an acquaintance with the principal characters who are the subjects of this work. the train from the pacific slope arrived at big springs on the evening of september th, , a little after nightfall. no sooner had the locomotive come to a standstill at the little station, than a band of seven men, all of whom wore red bandana handkerchiefs on their heads, which fell over and concealed their faces, sprang upon the train with drawn revolvers. four of the men guarded the engineer, and entered the express car. wells, fargo & co.'s safe contained $ , in gold. this was opened, and the contents taken out and deposited in a sack which one of the robbers carried. another one kept guard over the train's crew, and two men, well armed with heavy revolvers, went through the train to take the purses, watches and jewelry of the passengers. one of the fellows carried a sack, and whenever the other handed him a watch, a pocketbook or some jewelry, he thrust it into the receptacle which he carried along. there were many passengers, and they were on a long journey. many fine watches, much valuable jewelry, and innumerable pocketbooks were collected in the sack, in a miscellaneous heap. when the golden treasures of the express safe, and the valuables of the passengers were all secured, the brigands released the train and rode away over the plains. the train then proceeded eastward, by brule and to ogallala. the particulars of the robbery were detailed, and the inhabitants of those places were aroused by the intelligence. it was late and nothing could be done that night. the next morning the "stockmen" were in camp as usual, and mr. leach and some others of the inhabitants of ogallala were preparing to hunt the robbers. mr. m. f. leach had performed some amateur detective work, and had exhibited so much acuteness that he was regarded as one of the ablest catchers of lawbreakers in the west. he was at once secured to work up the great train robbery. to him is due the larger share of the credit for tracking down the big springs bandits. and the men leach had to deal with were keen, adroit, and endowed with extraordinary effrontery. we cannot enter into detail concerning his remarkable pursuit of sam bass and his companions, from ogallala. a full narrative would fill a volume. to show the character of the men with whom he had to deal, we will relate an anecdote of a meeting he had with jim berry, one of the gang, the morning after the robbery. as before stated, the "stockmen," who were no other than the brigands, had returned to their camp at ogallala, and were there as if nothing had happened, the morning after the robbery. leach was preparing to go after the robbers. he encountered jim berry, who addressed him in a familiar manner: "well, are you going out after those fellows?" "yes," said leach, "that's what i am going to do." "i wonder what they would give me to go along? i might be of service to them." "well, i can say," said leach, "that you would certainly receive a liberal compensation for any service you may be able to render." the two men talked together some time, but berry did not go on the hunt for the train robbers. mr. leach proceeded out the road to sidney, in cheyenne county, not forgetting on his way to stop off at big springs to find, if possible, some clue to the robbers' course after leaving that place. he found part of a red bandana handkerchief, which he secured, and went on to sidney in a special train which had been provided for his use. a careful examination of the situation in that place was barren of results, and mr. leach returned to ogallala. the "stockmen" had remained in camp two days after the robbery, and then they had marched away--whither--no one knew. leach had brought with him the piece of red bandana from big springs. he was sure the goods had come from his store in ogallala. while looking about the deserted camp of the "stockmen," leach discovered the other piece of the bandana which he had brought from big springs. the ragged edges of the two pieces fitted exactly. the inevitable inference was that the "stockmen" were the robbers. the direction taken by them was not known, but leach soon discovered their trail. then commenced one of the most remarkable pursuits ever known. leach ascertained that the robbers would probably cross the kansas pacific railroad at buffalo station, gove county, kansas. he was ever on their track, and on many occasions he escaped with his life in a marvelous manner. once he saw them count the spoils of the robbery, and divide the money, watches and jewelry among themselves. then he sent a rancheman a long distance, a hundred miles or more, with a dispatch to the commandant at fort hayes to have a guard of soldiers at buffalo. the bandits divided into couples, and pursued their course. at buffalo, some of the robbers and the soldiers had a conflict, and billy heffridge and jim collins were killed. sam bass, jack davis and two others escaped. jim berry made toward missouri. it was ascertained that he would probably return to callaway county, and detectives were at once hurried into that county and quietly waited around fulton and portland for the appearance of "the game." one day jim berry made his appearance at mexico, in audrain county, missouri. it was known that he had been in the black hills, and when he went to the bank in mexico with a large amount of gold coin, principally twenty dollar pieces, to exchange it for currency, the circumstance seems to have aroused no suspicion at the time. berry then "went on a big bender." while in mexico he had ordered a suit of clothes from a tailor there. in a few days, information was received by sheriff glascock that jim berry was known to have been engaged in the big springs robbery. concerning this nothing was said at the time, but the sheriff made all necessary preparations, and patiently abided his time to make an attempt to capture jim berry. one day, an old comrade of berry made his appearance in mexico, bearing an order on the tailor to "deliver to the bearer" the new suit of clothes which had been ordered by berry. this fact was at once communicated to sheriff glascock by the tailor. the friend of berry was seized, and persuaded in a manner frequently employed by officers of the law, to reveal the whereabouts of his friend. the friend of berry was a man named bose kazy. sheriff glascock and john carter were in company when kazy was seized. the sheriff then called to his aid john coons, robert steele, and a young man named moore. they then set out, compelling kazy to act as a guide. it was on saturday night, october , , when the party rode quietly away from mexico, on their way to callaway county, to find the lurking-place of jim berry, "the best man in callaway." it was a long ride. daylight had not dawned on the landscape sunday morning when the officers arrived within a half-mile of kazy's house. they did not go to the house to alarm those slumbering there. the officers took kazy into the woods and bound him to a tree, leaving robert steele to guard him. they then secreted themselves in thickets to await results. as the men in the posse were assigned to their respective stations, the sheriff gave the following command: "boys, if you see him, halt him; if he shows fight, shoot him; if he runs, shoot him in the legs. catch him, at all hazards." half an hour after giving this order, sheriff glascock heard the neigh of a horse about half a mile away, as he judged. the sheriff and moore then crept cautiously about three hundred yards down the course of a branch. they came to a fence, and crossed over it. they discovered the tracks of a horse, freshly made. they were in a thicket at this time, and listening intently. in a few moments they heard the snort of a horse, apparently not more than fifty yards away. the sheriff then crawled through the thicket about twenty yards toward the spot from whence the sound had proceeded. he was on his knees, and, cautiously peering through the autumn-tinted leaves of the tangled thicket, he saw the back of a horse, about forty yards away. laying aside his hat, sheriff glascock crept twenty yards nearer. he then rose to his feet and saw jim berry unhitching the horse, which had been tied to a tree. berry started to lead the horse in a direction nearly toward glascock. the sheriff cocked both barrels of the breech-loading gun which he carried, ran about twenty yards and within twenty feet of berry, and commanded him to halt. berry, taken by surprise, started on a run. the sheriff then fired. the charge of buckshot passed over the head of the train robber, but in an instant he fired again, and this time seven buckshot took effect in berry's left leg, below the knee, and he fell to the ground. glascock sprang forward. berry was endeavoring to draw a pistol, as he lay writhing on the ground. it was too late; the sheriff was upon him, and, seizing the pistol, he wrested it from the grasp of berry. finding himself overpowered, the wounded man, in his helplessness, besought the sheriff to shoot him, as he did not want to live any longer. the officer told him that he did not want to kill him, but that he wanted him to have justice. by this time moore arrived on the scene. berry was wounded and defenseless in the hands of the officers of the law. sheriff glascock then summoned the other members of the posse to the scene of the conflict. when they had arrived, berry was searched. in a belt worn on his person they found five $ packages of money, and in his pocketbook was found $ ; in all, $ , were secured. berry also had a gold watch and chain, a dress-coat, three overcoats and a comforter. he had slept there in the thicket the night before. afterward, berry was removed to kazy's house, and a messenger was sent to williamsburg for a surgeon. after taking breakfast at kazy's, sheriff glascock and john carter proceeded to berry's house to search for the balance of the money. arriving there, they asked mrs. berry concerning the whereabouts of her husband. she did not know; had not seen him for several days, and she thought he had left the country. the sheriff then showed her berry's watch and chain. on seeing it, one of the little children exclaimed: "oh! i thought that was papa's!" poor child! perhaps it was too young to fully comprehend the tragic meaning of those tokens. to mrs. berry the whole story of the tragedy in the thicket that sunday morning was repeated. in response, she said, "i never thought he would be taken alive. he has said a great many times that he would never be taken alive." then ensued a scene deeply affecting. the robber had those at home who loved him. the wife and mother began to weep bitterly, and the wailings of her little boy and five little girls, made a scene calculated to touch the deep chords of emotion in the breasts of the stern men, who in the performance of lawful duty had been compelled to inflict all this misery on the family of the robber. they searched the house, but they found no hoards of money. then glascock and carter returned to kazy's, a conveyance was procured, and the officer and his posse with their wounded prisoner set out for mexico, where they arrived late in the evening. berry was placed in a room in the ringo house, and received the attention of dr. russell, of mexico. berry's wounds were painful, and he did not rally from their effects. on monday, gangrene supervened, and a little before o'clock tuesday, october th, , jim berry, one of the robbers of the train at big springs, quietly passed over the dark river, and the records of his stormy career were closed forever. sam bass escaped from buffalo station, and finally, after many thrilling adventures, reached his haunts in texas. a little more than one year afterward he met his fate in a manner equally as tragic as the event which closed the career of jim berry. of the seven men who plundered the train and its passengers at big springs, billy heffridge, jim collins, jim berry, sam bass, and one other, have met violent deaths. the robber who went by the name of jack davis has disappeared. the seventh man--the only one whose name was never ascertained by the detectives--succeeded in getting away. who he was, from whence he came, and whither he went, are, until this day, unanswered questions. much speculation in regard to the identity of the seventh man, whom we shall call the unknown, has been indulged in, and the question has been asked, was it jesse james? or was it jack bishop, dave pool, john jarrette or jim cummings? we have no means of answering such interrogatories. whoever the unknown is or was, he has probably not a single comrade of the occasion alive, and is therefore in little danger of being betrayed. there are people who believe that jesse james was with the big springs bandits. upon what particular grounds such belief is based, we have been unable to ascertain. he may or may not have been present. our readers may well be left free to draw their own inferences. but certain it is, a mystery, which perhaps may forever remain such, surrounds the personality of one of the daring raiders who accomplished one of the greatest robberies which has yet taken place on any american railroad. chapter xlv. a visit to frank james' home. "in southern climes where ardent gleams the sun, gilding each rivulet, and tree, and flower, with crimson radiance--and gaily flings on all around of light a golden shower-- where lavish nature mingles in the breeze, refreshing odors with her spicy hand; the rare nepenthes wave their flexile form, the floral wonder of that fragrant land." during the autumn of the year , a young gentleman of the highest respectability, a citizen of the state of georgia, being on a tour through texas, expressed to his friends a desire to make the personal acquaintance of the celebrated outlaws, frank and jesse james. his friends endeavored to dissuade him from making the attempt to see them at their own retreat. they represented to him that such an undertaking would be fraught with no little personal danger. the boys have been hounded and hunted over so large a territory, through so many years, that they have become extremely cautious, and very suspicious of all strangers. but the young georgian was courageous and determined. there was a tinge of romance in his composition, and the career of the boys, to his mind, was the most romantic in all history. he felt that he would venture farther to see them than to behold the face of any living man. the advice of his friends fell unheeded upon his ear. he resolved to seek their retreat at whatever hazard. he had learned to admire their cool bravery, indomitable energy, and shrewd ability to evade the snares laid for them by the officers of the law. the jameses, outlaws as they are, do not want for friends. they have devoted admirers and staunch friends even in the ranks of respectable circles--persons who would suffer death rather than betray them. such a friend was a texas relative of the young georgian. finding that his kinsman was resolved upon a visit--that he would in all probability be able to discover the retreat of the outlaws, and, believing that he might possibly meet with a misfortune by venturing to penetrate to their place, the texan gave his relative a letter addressed to a certain name--which is not that of james--described the route to be taken, and gave a minute description of the personnel of the renowned desperadoes, and with many admonitions and cautions, after having solemnly pledged his kinsman to reveal nothing concerning the exact whereabouts of their home, the texan bid his georgia kinsman god-speed, and they parted. many days he rode over the plains, and crossed many a limpid stream, and pushed his way through many a tangled wold before he approached the retreat of the outlaws. he found it, however, but in what county or division of the state, he declines to say. in a letter written to the author, subsequent to that visit, he gave a most interesting account of his reception and sojourn with the outlawed brothers on their own ranche. we have obtained his permission to use that portion of the letter relating to the jameses, which we herewith present to our readers: "it was a lovely afternoon. the grass was brown and sere. a few late autumn flowers relieved the otherwise monotonous landscape. the country through which i was passing was high, undulating prairie. here and there, from the tops of the long swells in the surface, the course of streams far away to the right and the left, were well defined by dark lines of trees from which the foliage had not yet been cast. the journey had become lonely and irksome. i had lost interest in the landscape. the faded grass and the golden-hued flowers no longer possessed charms for me. the limpid brooks and darting minnows in their clear waters even failed to awaken the slightest interest. the truth is, i was worn out by the excessive fatigue of the long journey. "i had just crossed a small stream, skirted by some wind-twisted trees, and was ascending a long slope. looking toward the crest of the ridge, i saw two horsemen, splendidly mounted, riding rapidly directly toward me. they wore low-crowned, broad-brimmed felt hats, looped up at the side. i could see at a glance that they were heavily armed. a repeating-rifle was swung behind the shoulder of each, and a holster was attached at the saddle-bow. when the horsemen had approached within seventy-five yards of me, they suddenly halted, and each drew a heavy pistol, and simultaneously presented them at me, calling out at the same time for me to raise my hands. i confess that i felt a little shaky about that time. i readily complied with their command, and held up both hands as high over my head as possible. the horrible thought occurred to me that i was to be shot, and left out there to make a feast for voracious vultures and ferocious wolves. a cold shudder thrilled through my veins. i had dropped the reins, and my horse stopped still. it was a dreadful moment. there were the two men, grim in features and steady of hand, with their horrible, yawning repeaters pointed at my heart. i felt sure they were murderous highwaymen. strange that i never once thought of the renowned outlaws! i know not how long i looked at those dreadful pistols; it seemed half an age. i was aroused by the voice of one of the men calling out, "'why don't you come on?' "i did go on. once i let my hands droop slightly, as i advanced up the slope. "'up with your hands, i say!' exclaimed one of them. "you may readily suppose that i threw up my hands without further admonition. "when i had arrived within fifteen paces of the spot where the men were sitting on their horses, the thought that these were no other than the men whom i was seeking, flashed through my brain. "'what are you doing here?' asked the larger one of the two. "i must have stammered a little, and appeared awkward and frightened as i made answer that i had a great desire to meet mr. ---- and his brother--naming the person to whom the letter was addressed--and i have a message for mr. ---- here with me now. "one of them--it was frank--turned to me sharply, and asked me what i knew about mr. ----. i told him that i had never met the gentleman, but that i had a great desire to do so. he then asked me when i was last in st. louis. i replied that i had not been in st. louis for a period of more than five years. 'what are you doing here?' he asked. 'looking about the country,' i replied. 'you like it, do you?' he inquired. 'very well,' i said. 'you go to chicago, do you?' 'never was there in my life,' i answered. 'do you know allan pinkerton?' 'i don't,' i said. 'what state do you hail from?' 'georgia.' 'a very good state,' he soliloquized. 'from whom did you say you had a message for mr.----?' 'from col.----, of----,' i answered. 'you know where you can find----?' 'i do not.' 'give me the message; i'll see that he gets it.' 'are you mr.----?' 'no matter,' he answered, 'i'll see that he gets the communication.' 'but i've come all the way here to see him myself. i do not want to go back without seeing him,' i remarked. 'what do you want to see him for?' 'well,' i stammered, 'i have heard a great deal about him and his brother, and i just wanted to visit them at home.' 'you know who he is then?' 'certainly, he is jesse james and----.' 'an outlaw!' he interrupted me. 'mind how you act, young man.' the tones of his voice were dry and harsh, and the pistol which had been allowed to droop was once more raised, and pointed at my breast. "you may be sure i was thoroughly alarmed, and it required some effort to speak distinctly. at last i managed to say in a tolerably low tone, 'i wish you would read this letter which i have brought.' the pistol was lowered and he reached out his hand to take the letter from the breast-pocket of my coat. meanwhile, frank kept me under cover of a pistol. jesse secured the letter, and commenced to read it. i watched his features closely. a change came over his countenance. the cold, stern look relaxed, and his face put on a sunny smile as he read on. when he had finished, he turned to frank and said, 'i guess this is all right.' then he turned to me and said, 'so you are a kinsman of colonel----?' 'i am,' i replied. he continued, 'he is a good friend of ours, and i reckon you're all right. you wanted to see the james boys. you see before you what is left of them. i guess you had better give us your pistols to keep for you until you are ready to leave again, for you know we are the only armed men allowed around our place. this is a very odd world anyhow. we do not trust anyone.' 'i have but one, and here it is,' i said, presenting it to him, while i held the muzzle. he took the pistol and thrust it into a side-pocket, and turning full toward me, he said with a smile on his face, and a merry twinkle in his bright blue eyes: 'so you wanted to see the _notorious_ outlaws?' 'yes.' 'well, did you expect we wore horns, and had split feet, and spouted fire and brimstone, eh? but you see you are mistaken. there are a hundred, yes, a thousand, worse men along the borders here than the james boys. but they have not been lied about as we have been; they have not been hunted all over the states as we have been; they have not been so grossly misrepresented and abused, and we must bear not only our sins, but the sins of many others. it is a pretty hard fate, young man.' the hard, unpitying expression came upon his features once more, but it was only for a moment, and the cloud passed away, and his countenance was illuminated by a smile that was genial and pleasant, and whoever could have gazed into the face of jesse james at that moment, would not have concluded that he was a desperado and an outlaw. "'i suppose,' said frank, 'that you will accept an outlaw's invitation to his humble retreat?' 'most gladly,' i said. [illustration: the home of frank james, in texas.] "they turned their horses' heads, and jesse taking a position on one side and frank on the other, we rode on to the crest of the ridge. 'there is where we camp,' said frank, as he pointed away to the northwest. camp! indeed, it seemed more like the residence of a well-to-do planter in georgia. the situation which they had selected was beautiful as any i had yet seen in the west. before us a broad, green valley lay spread out in the sunlight, bounded by a line of high hills toward the northeast, and widening toward the southwest. a noble grove of timber skirted the margin of the stream, which appeared to be of considerable size, and meandered through the valley. beyond the stream and the grove, situated on a gentle slope in the midst of gardens and cultivated fields, and vigorous young trees, rose a pleasant house of two stories in elevation, with a garden in front. some distance away were the barns, stables and other outbuildings. 'a lovely home!' i exclaimed. frank smiled at my evident delight, and remarked that he found it very comfortable, after the exposure and hardships through which he had passed. "so we rode on down the slope into the grove, and across a beautiful broad pebble-bottom stream, and up the slope to the front of the mansion, talking, by the way, of many things in the past, and expressing views and opinions concerning the future. "the james boys are far from being loquacious. they seem to maintain a perpetual guard over their words. sometimes this reserve is momentarily cast aside, and the brothers will converse with considerable freedom. but the fits of relaxation do not last long. they speedily relapse into their accustomed reticent state, and then they answer questions only in monosyllables. "it was not long before i discovered that i was at the home of frank james, and that jesse and his family were only visitors. my peculiar reception was due to the fact that a person supposed to be a detective, had been making inquiries concerning the boys at san antonio, some weeks before my arrival. "arriving at the yard gate, we dismounted, and i was invited into the house. at the door we were met by a neatly dressed and handsome lady, whose deep blue eyes and regular features produced a favorable impression at once, to whom i was introduced. it was mrs. frank james. she received me with much dignity, yet with a genial cordiality which assured me that i was a welcome visitor. her manner toward her husband was trusting and affectionate. 'we welcome you,' said frank, 'as a relative of one of our best friends. we hope you will prove as manly as he. annie, this is mr.----, a near relative of colonel----, who was so kind to you when you arrived at----, on your way out here.' 'i am very, very glad to meet you. we all feel extremely grateful to col.----, for his kindness toward us, and we are only too glad to serve any of his friends,' she said. "such was the welcome which i received at the home of frank james. i felt myself quite at ease very soon, and the four days and nights which i spent under their hospitable roof gave no occasion for me to think hard of the outlaws. indeed, i could not bring myself to think of them in that light. mrs. james is a lady who is suited by education and disposition to grace any circle. and where is this model home? you ask. well, it is in texas--just what part of texas i must leave you to find out. i know that i never met with better treatment in any home, anywhere." chapter xlvi. epistles of jesse james. jesse james is not an educated man in the scholastic sense of that term. in this respect he differs widely from his brother frank, who has a fair knowledge of the latin and greek languages, and is said to be able to converse fluently in the spanish and german tongues. frank was a college student when the war was commenced, and jesse a school boy in a country place. he had made some progress, had learned to "read, write and cipher," and was wrestling with "the knotty intricacies" of english grammar and geography, when his career in school was stopped short by the political events occurring about him. it cannot be expected that jesse's literary performances should exhibit the classic finish of an addison or an irving, and yet barring his faulty orthography, his style is direct and pointed, and under other circumstances he might have become a very good newspaper reporter. although jesse is deficient in the command of language to express his views in accordance with the canons of literary criticism, yet his letters, if not elegant specimens of composition, are at least vigorous and clear. it is a matter of regret that so few specimens of his epistolary ability are available. we have succeeded in obtaining copies of a few of his letters, but unfortunately none which reveal the domestic relations and characteristics of the man. such of jesse's letters as we have been able to secure, which have any interest for the public, we present in this chapter. the following note was addressed from jesse to "a friend" in missouri, and came into the hands of a gentleman who, for reasons which the author is bound to respect, desires his name to be withheld. the orthography alone is revised. the year, it will be observed, is not given. commanche, texas, june th. dear jim: i hear they are making a great fuss about old dan askew, and say the james boys done the killing. it's one of old pink's lies, circulated by his sneaks. i can prove that i was in texas, at dallas, on the th of may, when the killing was done. several persons of the highest respectability know that i could not have been in clay county, missouri, at that time. i might name a number who could swear to this, whose words would be taken anywhere. it's my opinion askew was killed by jack ladd and some of pinkerton's men. but no meanness is ever done now but the james boys must bear the blame for it. this is like the balance of the lies they tell about me and my brother. i wish you would correct the lies the kansas city papers have printed about the shooting of old askew, and oblige, yours faithfully, jesse. the date of the murder of askew, given in the above letter, is wrong. that event occurred on the night of _april_ th, and not _may_, as the writer of the above note assumes. * * * * * the following is a characteristic note. it contains several allusions unintelligible to the uninitiated. it was written to an old comrade, who long ago abandoned a "wild life," and is living as a respectable citizen. ft. worth, march th, . dear ----: the beeves will soon be ready. as soon as the roads dry up, and the streams run down, we will _drive_. we expect to take a good bunch of _cattle_ in. you may look out. there will be plenty of bellowing after the drive. remember, it is business. the range is good, i learn, between sidney and deadwood. we may go to pasture somewhere in that region. you will hear of it. tell sam to come to honey grove, texas, before the 'drive season' comes. there's money in the stock. as ever, jesse j. * * * * * the following letter was obtained in colorado, by a gentleman who claims to be well acquainted with the handwriting of jesse james, and claims that it was dropped by jack bishop. as to its authenticity, we leave the reader to judge. it is in style much such a letter as jesse james might have written. rest ranche, texas, january d. dear jack: we had a little fun on the other side of the line lately. a lot of greasers came over and broke up several ranches. some of us were down that way, and "the cow-boys" wanted us to help them and we done it. some of our cattle had been taken, and i don't owe the yellow legs anything good anyhow. well, we left some half a dozen or more for carrion-bird meat. we brought the cattle back. i was confounded glad we met some cavalry out after raiders. there was a big lot of them motley scamps, and we would have had a pretty rough time, i expect. but the sneaks got back as fast as they could. you would have enjoyed the racket. as ever yours, j. w. j. the last letter, to an individual, which we here present, is vouched for as being in the handwriting of jesse james, by marshal james liggett. it was written to george w. shepherd about two weeks after the glendale train robbery. in this, as in the other notes given above, we have revised the orthography, without correcting the grammatical errors. the letter is without date, and runs as follows: friend george: i can't wait for you here. i want you to meet me on rogues island, and we will talk about that business we spoke of. i would wait for you, but the boys wants to leave here. don't fail to come, and if we don't buy them cattle, i will come back with you. come to the place where we met going south that time, and stay in that neighborhood until i find you. your friend, j. on many occasions jesse has written, or caused to be written, exculpatory letters for publication in the public journals. we present a few of these as specimens of jesse's epistolary style, and because of the interesting character of their allusions to his own conduct. it will be observed that the dates of outrages on banks and railways, are wrong in several instances, as given in these letters. for instance: the following communication appeared in the nashville (tenn.) _banner_, of july th, : ray town, mo., july th, . gentlemen: as my attention has been called, recently, to the notice of several sensational pieces copied from the nashville _union and american_, stating that the jameses and youngers are in kentucky, i ask space in your valuable paper to say a few words in my defence. i would treat these reports with silent contempt, but i have many friends in kentucky and nashville that i wish to know that these reports are false and without foundation. i have never been out of missouri since the amnesty bill was introduced into the missouri legislature, last march, asking for pardon for the james and younger boys. i am in constant communication with governor hardin, sheriff groom, of clay county, mo., and several other honorable county and state officials, and there are hundreds of persons in missouri who will swear that i have not been in kentucky. there are desperadoes roving round in kentucky, and it is probably very important for the officials of kentucky to be vigilant. if a robbery is committed in kentucky to-day, detective bligh, of louisville, would telegraph all over the united states that the james and younger boys did it, just as he did when the columbia, kentucky, bank was robbed, april th, . old bly, the sherman bummer, who is keeping up all the sensational reports in kentucky, and if the truth was known, i am satisfied some of the informers are concerned in many robberies charged to the james and younger boys for ten years. the radical papers in missouri and other states have charged nearly every daring robbery in america to the james and younger boys. it is enough for the northern papers to persecute us without the papers of the south; the land we fought for for four years, to save from northern tyranny, to be persecuted by papers claiming to be democratic, is against reason. the people of the south have only heard one side of the report. i will give a true history of the lives of the james and younger boys to the _banner_ in the future; or rather a sketch of our lives. we have not only been persecuted, but on the night of the th of january, , at the midnight hour, nine chicago assassins and sherman bummers, led by billy pinkerton, jr., crept up to my mother's house and hurled a missile of war (a -pound shell) in a room among innocent women and children, murdering my eight year old brother and tearing my mother's right arm off, and wounding several others of the family, and then firing the house in seven places. the radical papers here in missouri have repeatedly charged the russellville, kentucky, bank robbery to the james and younger boys, while it is well known, that on the day of the robbery, march th, , i was at the chaplin hotel in chaplin, nelson county, kentucky, which i can prove by mr. tom marshall, the proprietor, and fifty others; and on that day my brother frank was at work on the laponsu ranche in san luis obispo county, california, for j. d. p. thompson, which can be proven by the sheriff of san luis obispo county, and many others. frank was in kentucky the winter previous to the robbery, but he left alexander sayer's, in nelson county, january th, , and sailed from new york city, january the th, which the books of the united states mail line of steamers will show. probably i have written too much, and probably not enough, but i hope to write much more to the _banner_ in the future. i will close by sending my kindest regards to old dr. eve, and many thanks to him for kindness to me when i was wounded and under his care. yours respectfully, jesse james. the following communications appeared in the kansas city _times_ during the excitement succeeding the great train robbery at rocky cut, near otterville, missouri. the first one appeared in the _times_ in its edition of august th, , and the second one came out on the morning of the d of the same month. jesse james' first letter. oak grove, kan., august , . you have published hobbs kerry's confession, which makes it appear that the jameses and the youngers were the rocky cut robbers. if there was only one side to be told, it would probably be believed by a good many people that kerry has told the truth. but his so-called confession is a well-built pack of lies from beginning to end. i never heard of hobbs kerry, charles pitts and william chadwell until kerry's arrest. i can prove my innocence by eight good, well-known men of jackson county, and show conclusively that i was not at the train robbery. but at present i will only give the names of two of those gentlemen to whom i will refer for proof. early on the morning after the train robbery east of sedalia, i saw the hon. d. gregg, of jackson county, and talked with him for thirty or forty minutes. i also saw and talked to thomas pitcher, of jackson county, the morning after the robbery. those two men's oaths cannot be impeached, so i refer the grand jury of cooper county, mo., and gov. hardin to those men before they act so rashly on the oath of a liar, thief and robber. kerry knows that the jameses and youngers can't be taken alive, and that is why he has put it on us. i have referred to messrs. pitcher and gregg because they are prominent men, and they know i am innocent, and their word can't be disputed. i will write a long article to you for the _times_, and send it to you in a few days, showing fully how hobbs kerry has lied. hoping the _times_ will give me a chance for a fair hearing and to vindicate myself through its columns, i will close, respectfully, j. james. second letter. safe retreat, aug. , . i have written a great many articles vindicating myself of the false charges that have been brought against me. detectives have been trying for years to get positive proof against me for some criminal offense, so that they could get a large reward offered for me, dead or alive; and the same by frank james and the younger boys, but they have been foiled on every turn, and they are fully convinced that we will never be taken alive, and now they have fell on the deep-laid scheme to get hobbs kerry to tell a pack of base lies. but, thank god, i am yet a free man, and have got the power to defend myself against the charge brought against me by kerry, a notorious liar and poltroon. i will give a full statement and prove his confession false. lie no. . he said a plot was laid by the jameses and youngers to rob the granby bank. i am reliably informed that there never was a bank in granby. lie no. . he said he met with cole younger and me at mr. tyler's. if there is a man in jackson county by that name, i am sure that i am not acquainted with him. lie no. . he said frank james was at mr. butler's, in cass county. i and frank don't know any man in cass county by that name. i can prove my innocence by eight good citizens of jackson county, mo., but i do not propose to give all their names at present. if i did, those cut-throat detectives would find out where i am. my opinion is that bacon montgomery, the scoundrel who murdered capt. a. j. clements, december , , is the instigator of all this missouri pacific affair. i believe he planned the robbery and got his share of the money, and when he went out to look for the robbers he led the pursuers off the robbers' trail. if the truth was half told about montgomery, it would make the world believe that montgomery has no equal, only the bender family and the midnight assassins who murdered my poor, helpless and innocent eight-year old brother, and shot my mother's arm off; and i am of opinion he had a hand in that dirty, cowardly work. the detectives are a brave lot of boys--charge houses, break down doors and make the gray hairs stand up on the heads of unarmed victims. why don't president grant have the soldiers called in and send the detectives out on special trains after the hostile indians? a. m. pinkerton's force, with hand-grenades, and they will kill all the women and children, and as soon as the women and children are killed it will stop the breed, and the warriors will die out in a few years. i believe the railroad robbers will yet be sifted down on some one at st. louis or sedalia putting up the job and then trying to have it put on innocent men, as kerry has done. hoping the _times_ will publish just as i have written, i will close. jesse james. chapter xlvii. glendale. the eastern part of jackson county, the western part of lafayette, and down southward through cass county, constitute the very center of the field of operation chosen by the old guerrilla leaders--quantrell, todd, anderson, younger, pool, clements, and the jameses--during the war. the sni hills and the timber-crowned undulations bordering the big blue, afforded them excellent hiding places when sorely pressed, and from their fastnesses in the hills they could easily make forays into the very suburbs of the garrisoned towns of kansas city, independence, lexington, pleasant hill and harrisonville. they knew every pathway over the hills, and every crossing place along the streams. around and among these forests were the farms and dwellings of their friends, and warm sympathizers in their cause. time has wrought some changes in the country since those days; but the forest-crowned hills and the deep, tangled thickets, and the sparkling streams still are there. the face of nature has changed but little among the hills of the sni, or along the banks of the blue. it was meet that the bandits, who are believed to be the same men who once were guerrillas, should come back to the scenes of their earlier adventures, to consummate their latest and most daring robbery. october th, , was a beautiful, sunny, warm day. the woods had not yet assumed the sober brown hues of autumn, but nature was lovely in the rich ripeness of the summer's close. the great tide of human life flowed on in its accustomed channels. some were engaged in the pursuit of pleasure; some were in search of gain; others were toiling for bread; some were happy in having accomplished their designs; others were wretched in realizing the bitterness of disappointment; some were glad in the knowledge that they had contributed to the happiness of their fellow-mortals; others were miserable because they beheld the gladness of their neighbors, and knew of the triumphs of their rivals; some planned good deeds; others plotted dark crimes. these all go to constitute the atoms of the mighty tide of human life; and their plans, purposes and deeds all contribute to the production of the surges and swirls of the stream as it flows through time to the gulf of eternity. there were always plotters. since the world began men have schemed, and until the end of time there will be the good and the bad in humanity, sometimes one and sometimes the other quality predominating. and so, while the autumn sunshine was golden, and the wood-cricket's chirp was mournful, the schemers were prodding their brain in the devising of a scheme to commit a grievous crime. glendale is a lonely wayside station in the western part of lafayette county, missouri, on the line of the chicago & alton railway, kansas city branch. there is a water-tank, a little station-house, and a few houses in a narrow vale, wedged in between rugged hills, which are covered with lofty trees and tangled thickets, a fit place for the rendezvous of a banditti. glendale is about twenty miles from kansas city, and on the line of the road between independence and blue springs, in the very midst of a region where many of the darkest crimes and deeds of blood which marked the guerrilla warfare of the border were committed both by the federal militia and the confederate guerrillas. the country about glendale is one of the wildest regions in western missouri, and the hills and dark ravines afford excellent opportunities for the concealment of both men and horses. a better situation for a successful foray by brigands does not exist on the line of the road between chicago and kansas city. the night express train, bound from kansas city to chicago and st. louis, left the union depot in the first-named city on the evening of the th, at six o'clock, and consequently was due at glendale at about seven o'clock--a short time after daylight had faded from the west. now, as we have before intimated, glendale is a place with a nice name, but few inhabitants. though perhaps it is not destined to go down to history with the historic interest attached to arbela, malplaquet, shiloh, kennesaw or waterloo, yet so early in its history glendale has become famous. the incident which contributed so much to this result occurred on the evening of the th of october, . in addition to the station-house, the business of glendale is represented by a post-office and a general store, kept by the postmaster. the evening in question was very pleasant outside of houses, and when the curtains of night were drawn, and the store was lighted, the postmaster and four others, who constituted the male population of the place, except the station agent, mr. mcintire, had gathered in front of the little store to discuss the neighborhood's affairs. they were quietly interchanging views. suddenly a stranger joined the circle, and, walking quickly to where the proprietor was sitting, he tapped him on the shoulder and said: "i want you." "what do you want?" asked the other. the new arrival did not deign to answer the question, but quietly stepped away, and said: "here, boys." in a minute--nay, a moment--half a dozen rough-looking men, muffled and masked, stood by his side, armed with huge pistols and wicked-looking knives. their pistols they held cocked in their hands. then the leader, in a harsh, grating voice, said: "now, take care, make tracks out of this!" the terrified citizens started to obey. as they were going, the leader said: "to the depot, do you hear!" in great consternation, the little company of citizens filed away to the depot. in the depot was the operator and agent, mr. mcintire, and mr. w. e. bridges, assistant auditor of the chicago & alton railway company, already under duress. when the citizens were all assembled in the room, the leader said: "now, sit down, act clever and keep still, or you will not have heads left on you." of course, obedience to such an order was just then regarded by all the parties as a great virtue, and they therefore obeyed. the masked men, who had now assembled to the number of twelve, according to one account--fourteen by another witness--tore away the telegraphic instrument and went out and cut the wires. the instrument was smashed. "now," said the leader, whose only mask was a long dark beard, "i want you to lower that green light!" "but," said the agent, "the train will stop if i do." "that's the alum! precisely what we want it to do, my buck, and the sooner you obey orders the better. i will give you a minute to lower the light," said the bearded leader, at the same time thrusting a cocked pistol to the face of the agent. the operator could see the long, bright barrel of the pistol, and the dark, cavernous interior of the tube had a forbidding appearance. he looked up into the face of the long-bearded man. he saw a cold, fixed look, and every indication, so far as features could reveal intentions, that the robber chieftain meant just what he said, and he lowered the light. of course the position of the light was an order to the conductor to stop at glendale and receive fresh instructions, according to the code of signals in use among railway men. but to be perfectly sure of the expected plunder, and in order to destroy even the possibility of the train passing without making a stop, the robbers heaped a pile of cross-ties, fence rails and other lumber across the track. having completed their preparations, the robbers quietly awaited the coming of the train. it was a little after seven o'clock. the prisoners in the station-house were wondering about what would happen next, and especially were they concerned and anxious respecting what should happen to them. then the distant rumbling of the train was heard; louder and louder it fell upon the ears of the listeners. the engineer saw the signal displayed which commanded him to stop. he sounded the whistle and ordered the brakes on. the train stood still on the track, with the engine at the tank. the conductor, with lantern in hand, sprang upon the platform ere the wheels had ceased to revolve, and was about to proceed to the little station-house to receive his orders. but he had made little progress in that direction, when a man rushed up to him with a cocked revolver, which he held out as if about to fire. this man was speedily joined by another, who was also armed in like manner. both the men wore masks. mr. greeman, the conductor, was of course powerless to resist such odds, and with mingled feelings of alarm and disgust was compelled to await the pleasure of the strange men whom he now knew to be robbers. two men rushed up to the cab of the locomotive and made prisoners of the engineer and fireman by the presentation of pistols, and the stern declaration that instant death would certainly follow a failure to obey, or an attempt at resistance. one of the robbers, addressing the engineer, called out: "hand me that coal hammer of yours!" "what do you want of it?" asked the other. "hand it here very quick, or you'll never have use for another," was the emphatic command of the robber, accompanied by a very significant movement of the pistol arm. thus appealed to, the engineer obeyed. the large hammer used by stokers to break coal was handed to the masked desperado. then a group of the masked men, with the long-bearded man at their head, gathered at the door of the express car. one of the men with the coal-hammer then commenced beating in the door of the car. the messenger, who was in charge of a large sum of money--more than $ , in currency, and much other valuable property--was inside, but had refused to open the door. the messenger, mr. william grimes, could hear the blows of the ponderous hammer, and knew that his place would soon be open to the marauders. the door was already yielding--it was falling to splinters, and a minute later the car was broken into by the masked and armed robbers. grimes, in the meanwhile, had formed a hasty plan to escape with the money. while the robbers were beating in the door, he opened the safe, took therefrom a large amount of money, hastily deposited it in a satchel, re-locked the door of the safe, and was in the act of attempting to escape by the other door. he was too late. the robbers sprang into the car before he was ready to leave it. in any event, escape was rendered impossible by the fact that the other door of the car was guarded. he could only have escaped a part of the band to fall into the hands of their comrades. when the robbers rushed into the car, after having broken the door open, one of them cried out to the messenger: "here, you! give me that key!" "i will not. you may take it," answered the messenger. the words had no more than escaped his lips, when one of the gang in the car dealt him a terrible blow with the butt of a heavy revolver, which felled him to the floor. they took the key, opened the safe, and rifled it of all its contents which were of value to them. they then took the packages from the messenger's satchel, and the great railway and express robbery at glendale was an accomplished fact. during the time occupied by a part of the robber band about the express car, a patrol was distributed along the sides of the train, and these were discharging fire-arms at intervals, for the purpose, as is supposed, of intimidating the passengers. the whole time occupied in completing this great robbery probably did not exceed ten minutes. the whole amount of booty secured was probably fully forty thousand dollars. the passengers were greatly alarmed during these proceedings. valuables were hastily concealed under seats, about the persons of the owners, and wherever else a place not likely to be examined by the robbers could be found. after concluding the work which brought them to glendale, the brigands, amid the reports of pistol shots, set up a shout which echoed among the hills for a long distance around, sought their horses, mounted, and rode away through the gloom. they had locked the citizens in the little station-house. these waited until everything seemed still about the place, for the train had moved on, and then they broke down the door and walked out of their temporary prison-house. chapter xlviii. hunting clues. after the affair at glendale, the marshal of kansas city, major james liggett, a cool-tempered, clear-headed man, took charge of the case and directed all movements intended to result in the discovery of the robbers. it was soon ascertained beyond a doubt that jesse james had been in kansas city only a few days before the robbery. then the inquiry proceeded as to who else had probably been participants. it came to the knowledge of the marshal that jim cummings, ed. miller, and a hard character named blackamore, had been moving about the country in a suspicious way. little by little, fragmentary scraps of information were secured, and a generalization of all the facts led to the general conclusion that the train robbery at glendale had been effected under the direction of the james boys; that certainly jesse, and probably frank, had participated in it, and that jim cummings, ed. miller and blackamore were probable accomplices. the next important point to gain, was information concerning the route travelled by the bandits in their retreat from the scene of their lawless depredation. this was not so easy a task as the uninitiated might conclude. the character of much of the country in western missouri, with the thorough knowledge of the region possessed by the principals in the outrage, forbade an easy discovery of the route which they had taken. but the marshal had called about him men as well acquainted with the country as any of quantrell's old raiders could be, and the little information gathered by each one, finally brought together, led to the inference that they had gone in a southerly direction toward the indian territory. the inference afterward became a certainty. their "trail" was discovered. men were at once placed at various points on their probable line of retreat; men were dispatched on their trail to hunt them to their places of concealment. there were men in western missouri who had ridden with the old guerrilla band, bold, daring men, who laid aside the weapons of destruction when the war closed; men who had never learned the meaning of the word fear, who yet became weary of turmoil and strife, and settled down in life as quiet citizens, who long ago ceased to sympathize with their old comrades in their acts of outlawry, and who, notwithstanding their peaceable demeanor, were subjected to annoying suspicions at every recurrence of the visitations of their former associates; who felt when the train was robbed at glendale that it was time to take a positive stand on the side of the law and to co-operate with the officers in every endeavor to put an end to such depredations for all time by capturing the depredators. these persons became active allies of marshal liggett in his efforts against the bandits, and materially contributed to the discovery of the robbers and the line which they had chosen on their retreat. so the active campaign began. there is reason to believe that after the robbery was consummated, at least a part of the band went into clay county, and remained in seclusion there for some days. then they started south. it was pending these events that marshal liggett made an arrangement with george w. shepherd, formerly a guerrilla captain, under whom jesse james served near the close of the war, to take part in the campaign, then about to be prosecuted against the bandits. as subsequent events have brought shepherd prominently before the public, and the mystery which attaches to some of the proceedings will continue to excite the interest of the public until it is cleared up, it is deemed best to present a brief history of the career of george w. shepherd in this connection. chapter xlix. george w. shepherd. the name of george w. shepherd, which attained prominence during the old guerrilla times, when he was one of quantrell's most trusted lieutenants, had passed out of the public mind, in a measure, until the events following the glendale train robbery once more brought it prominently before the country. at the time of the affair at glendale, shepherd was following a peaceful avocation in kansas city. it was known to the marshal of that place, and other officers of the law, that the relations subsisting between the james boys and shepherd had been rather unfriendly for several years, and overtures were made looking to his engaging in the pursuit of the outlaws. shepherd's reputation for desperate courage was not inferior to that of any other man in the days when he led a band of quantrell's men, and when marshal liggett, of kansas city, had obtained his consent to engage in the desperate undertaking, everyone expected some sensational denouement. a history of the jameses, after the events which occurred since glendale, would be incomplete without some notice of george w. shepherd, the man who is credited with engaging in a terrible conflict with jesse w. james and his followers, near joplin, missouri, resulting in the alleged death of the outlaw, and in shepherd's receiving a severe wound in the left leg. george w. shepherd is a son of the late james shepherd, a respectable farmer of jackson county, missouri. he was born near independence, january th, , on a farm now belonging to the staten heirs. there were two brothers older than george, namely, john and james m., and one brother his junior, whose name was william. j. m. shepherd is now a respectable farmer in jackson county. during his boyhood, george resided with his parents on the farm, and when of sufficient age he attended the neighborhood school for a few months every summer and winter until he was able "to read, write and cipher," as he expressed it. in early youth he manifested an adventurous and somewhat wayward disposition. in he left home and proceeded to utah, where he joined the army, at that time operating against the mormons under the command of general albert sydney johnston. the shepherd family, which originally came from virginia, were a race of pioneers, and the disposition of the subject of this notice to seek exciting adventure on the borderland of civilization was legitimately inherited. after a varied experience, and absence of two years, george returned to missouri in the autumn of , and resumed farming operations with his brothers. he continued in this employment on a farm about one mile and a half distant from independence, until the commencement of warlike preparations in . seized by the prevailing military fever, and his surroundings being all southern, george w. shepherd was among the first to cast his lot with the confederate recruits. he enlisted in company a, captain duncan's, of rosser's regiment. this command participated in the great battles fought at wilson's creek and pea ridge, and engaged in many other skirmishes in missouri and arkansas, in all of which he took a part. when the confederate army, under the command of general sterling price, was ordered to the east of the mississippi, young shepherd returned to jackson county, and soon afterward joined quantrell's command of guerrillas. the war record of shepherd would fill a volume if written out in full. for this we have not the space. we can only summarize the chief events in this part of his career. we first hear of george shepherd in a desperate charge made by quantrell's men on the garrison at independence, in february, . on that occasion he and a comrade, william gregg, swept down one of the streets of independence, causing the greatest consternation, and inflicting no little damage on the soldiers of col. burris' command. from that day forward shepherd took rank among the most daring of quantrell's men. when quantrell's small command of twenty men was surrounded at night by a large federal force, while asleep in the tate house, near santa fe, jackson county, missouri, in march , shepherd was with the guerrillas there, and was selected to guard one of the doors of the house. the conflict which ensued was terrible. after some minutes' fighting, and when the house had been fired, the federals desired a parley with a view of inducing the guerrillas to surrender. shepherd commanded the men who defended the lower rooms of the house. he asked for twenty minutes time. it could not be granted. for ten minutes. no. for five minutes then. no, if the guerrillas did not yield within one minute, not a man of them should escape, was the ultimatum of the federal officer. "then count sixty," exclaimed shepherd, "and take the consequences." the fight was renewed. that house had become a pandemonium. in it were such men as cole younger, stephen shores, john jarrette, james little, hoy, haller, and others. the federal commander permitted major tate and his family to leave the house. then the fighting was resumed more fiercely than before. the building was on fire. it was manifest that the guerrillas would be forced to evacuate their fortress. it was resolved to break through the federal line. quantrell led the desperate charge, followed by george shepherd, jarrette, younger, toler, little, hoy and others. seventeen men made the attempt, and succeeded in making their escape. three had surrendered before the attempt was made. once, in the spring of , george shepherd, cole younger and oliver shepherd were surrounded at the house of john shepherd, in jackson county. their peril was imminent. the federal force numbered ten to their one. cole younger was about to lead a desperate sortie, when martin shepherd, scott, little and john coger came up and attacked the federals in the rear. the diversion enabled the shepherds and younger to escape from the house. soon after the incident noted above, george shepherd and cole younger were detailed to go into jackson county for the purpose of collecting ammunition. they had collected a large amount of the materials of war which were most needed in quantrell's command. one day they went to find a wagon to convey the ammunition to camp. they were at a house behind which was an orchard, and this had been sown in rye which was now tall and luxuriant. while at this house seventy-five federal troopers surrounded the place, and demanded their surrender. they refused, and made a rush to the rye-grown orchard ground, where they had hitched their horses. beyond the orchard was a skirt of timber, now clothed in luxuriant green. they gained the orchard in safety, although followed by a storm of bullets. mounting, they made a dash for the forest. but they were not destined to reach it unscathed. three buckshot had penetrated the body of cole younger, and george shepherd was hit hard and badly wounded. he, however, continued his flight until he reached a shelter where he could receive surgical attention. it was about harvest time, , that major peabody undertook to capture quantrell's band by a vigorous movement with superior forces. the two joined issue at swearingen's place, a few miles from pleasant hill, cass county. a series of desperate encounters followed. the guerrillas were forced to seek shelter in the woods. in the fights which ensued, george shepherd lost his horse. the guerrillas suffered fearfully, both in the neighborhood of swearingen's barn, and later in a depression near fred. farmer's house. a number of quantrell's followers were seriously wounded. george shepherd had great difficulty in escaping from this sanguinary engagement. he was again wounded, though not severely. col. upton hayes, col. gideon thompson and col. john t. hughes, co-operating, resolved upon attacking independence, then garrisoned by a federal force of about five hundred men, under command of col. j. t. buell, now of st. louis. the confederate forces numbered about seven hundred. quantrell was requested to aid the enterprise, and joined his forces with the regular confederate troops in an attack on independence. george shepherd was there, and fought with desperate valor. after the battle was over, when quantrell was asked to name the men of his command who had most distinguished themselves for daring courage, george shepherd was designated as one among half a dozen others. in the early days of the autumn of , george todd, commanding about fifty men, prepared an ambuscade, with rifle pits, on the road leading from kansas city to harrisonville. the place was admirably selected, and the utmost caution and vigilance was observed in guarding it, but it came near being a slaughter-pen for the guerrillas. one evening he succeeded in destroying a wagon train, and scattering the escort which accompanied it. but sometime afterward, gregg, scott, haller and shepherd, with a number of followers, re-occupied the rifle pits. george shepherd was sent out on the road toward harrisonville, south of the ambuscade. it was, perhaps, past ten o'clock at night. the rifle pits were still, and the droning hum of insects was the only sound to break the silence. shepherd was motionless at his post down the road. suddenly he was made conscious of the presence of an enemy, by a tall form which rose up at his right stirrup--a form which had apparently come from the shadows around him. but it was no apparition conjured up by a disordered brain. the leveling of a gun barrel at his breast, and the sharp utterance of the single word, "surrender!" convinced george shepherd that the form was very real. a glance satisfied him that crouching forms were all about him, and all were armed. he threw himself forward, shot the dismounted trooper in the breast as he whirled his horse around, and received a scattering volley as he dashed away to arouse his comrades in the rifle pits. the federal forces were under command of major hubbard, a gallant officer of the sixth missouri cavalry. he had received full information about todd's rifle pits, had dismounted his command, and but for shepherd's extraordinary nerve and presence of mind, he would have made a complete surprise of the guerrilla garrison. as it was, a terrible conflict ensued, and a number of federals were killed and eight of the guerrillas were wounded, among them shepherd, who received a slight flesh wound. [illustration: geo. w. shepherd.] in august, , quantrell began to rally around his standard all the small, detached bands in western missouri for his expedition against lawrence, kansas. at this time shepherd was one of his confidential advisers. in that grim council of war, summoned by the guerrilla chieftain to consider the feasibility of engaging in such an enterprise, george shepherd sat among the stern, relentless warriors of the border. when fletcher taylor returned from lawrence, whither he had gone to obtain information concerning the military situation there, and made his report at quantrell's headquarters to the assembled leaders, the chief spoke: "you have heard the report. before you decide, you should know it all. the march to lawrence is a long one; in every little village there are soldiers. we leave soldiers behind us; we march between garrisons of soldiers; we attack a town guarded by soldiers; we must retreat through swarms of armed men; and when we would rest after such an exhaustive march, we must do so with soldiers all about us, and do the best we can. come, speak out, somebody! what is it, shepherd?" thus appealed to, the answer came deliberately and firmly from george shepherd: "lawrence! i know the place of old. they make no difference there between negroes and white people. it is a boston colony, and it should be cleared out." and the others gave similar replies, and so the expedition, which was destined to be fraught with consequences so baleful, was resolved upon. george shepherd went with the rest of the command, and in the terrors and tragedies of that dreadful day, he had his share. the winter of - , shepherd spent in quantrell's camp, in the vicinity of sherman, texas, leading a comparatively inactive life; but the following summer he was engaged in innumerable skirmishes. at pink hill, in johnson county, at pleasant hill, at keytesville, and many other places the fighting was severe. then came the mustering to aid general price. in that summer campaign the guerrillas took a conspicuous part. toward the middle of september, bill anderson was carrying destruction to many neighborhoods in north missouri. todd and anderson combined, had a force of a little more than two hundred men. in this troop rode george shepherd. he was present at centralia. the particulars of that dreadful day's work are given in another place in this volume, and need not now be recited. it may be accepted as a fact that george shepherd performed his part in that carnival of death. price and shelby were compelled to retire from missouri. in a desperate encounter with the federal advance, in pursuit of the retiring confederate army, todd, who was protecting the rear, was killed. george shepherd succeeded him in the command, and after lingering awhile in missouri, he led the remainder of the once formidable band of guerrillas, save about twenty men, who went with quantrell into kentucky--to texas. the forces under shepherd had fighting all the way. the indians beset their pathway and struck at them viciously as they marched. among those who went to texas with this force was jesse james. in the following spring the guerrillas, or at least a part of them, returned. the cause of the confederacy had suffered. lee surrendered. johnston followed. the catastrophe came; the confederacy was no more. then the guerrillas of missouri were permitted to go in and surrender, and all save eight men of the band which shepherd had led back from texas surrendered. his career as a guerrilla had ended, and shepherd went to kentucky soon after the close of the war. chapter l. pursuit of the glendale robbers. during the days succeeding the robbery, the marshal had learned sufficient to satisfy him that the robbers had gone into retreat in clay county; and becoming aware of the fact that shepherd was working in kansas city, the officer sought him out and engaged him as a detective to assist him in the pursuit. shepherd consented, and it was arranged that he should, in some way, place himself in communication with the gang. the unfriendly relations existing between shepherd and the jameses presented a serious difficulty. the plan adopted to overcome this was shrewdly devised. a story was told, and industriously circulated, that it was a matter of little doubt that george w. shepherd was engaged in the robbery, and that in consequence he had fled to parts unknown. this was not all; marshal liggett had printed on a slip of paper, already printed on one side, an item to the effect that shepherd was believed to be implicated in the robbery. it was reported to have been clipped from one of the kansas city papers. what follows in relation to this enterprise is based upon the statements of shepherd. he relates that he went to clay county, visited the residence of mrs. samuels; saw that lady; told her a story about his persecution by the detectives about the glendale business; showed her the pseudo newspaper clipping, and expressed a desire to become a member of the gang; that he was blindfolded; led a long way, and when relieved of his eye bandages, he found himself in the midst of the gang confronted by jesse james; that his reception was anything but pleasant, but that finally he was able to convince them that he, like themselves, was hunted; that he became cognizant of all their plans, and then sought and obtained permission to go into kansas city after having taken a terrible oath to reveal nothing and act true in every respect with the band. he came into kansas city, related all that he had seen and heard to the marshal; was furnished a fleet horse, pistols and blankets, and returned to the gang. liggett was informed by shepherd that they would leave clay county at a certain time; that they would cross near sibley at a certain other time, and would be at a certain place at a certain hour, where he could see them if he so desired. marshal liggett, acting upon this information, proceeded to the point designated, and at the hour named he had the satisfaction of seeing a party of armed men cross at the previously announced place, and among them recognized his chosen detective, shepherd. the robbers passed on southward. rogue's island is in the river marais des cygnes, not far from fort scott. here the band camped one night. their plan was to rob the bank of street & mcarthur at short creek, kansas. this was to be effected on sunday evening, nov. d, at o'clock. when shepherd arrived in the camp on shoal creek, about nine miles southeast of short creek, he exhibited his pseudo news item to jesse james, and in other ways succeeded in convincing him that he was also an outlaw, and shepherd was thenceforward treated as "a man and a brother." he states that the party consisted of jesse james, jim cummings, ed. miller, and sam kaufman. it has been ascertained that the person who was supposed to be sam kaufman was one blackamore. the plan to rob the bank was known to the authorities, and contrary to the pre-arranged measures for the capture of the outlaws, the guard of armed men who were to have been in waiting at the hour appointed for the raid, went on duty early in the morning. jesse james that morning went from the shoal creek camp to short creek, and was in the town when the guardsmen assumed their places, and he noted everything. of course this mistake on the part of those engaged in the efforts to capture them, caused a change in the plans of the gang. shepherd, well armed and mounted, rode to the camp in the afternoon, after having been informed by jesse james of the situation at short creek in the morning when they met. he found the brigands much alarmed, preparing to break camp. mike and tom cleary, two of shepherd's assistants, were to form an ambuscade, but this part of the arrangement failed because of the sudden movement of the band. shepherd was to proceed to camp, provoke a quarrel with jesse, shoot him and flee, when of course the other members of the gang would follow. but the camp was broken up too soon. the ambushers could not reach their place in time. shepherd relates that they were riding scattered out in the woods; that he was riding near, and a little in the rear of jesse james; that he suddenly drew a pistol, called out, "damn you, jesse james! thirteen years ago you killed my cousin, frank shepherd." at the first word jesse wheeled his horse and sought his pistol. he was too late. shepherd fired, the ball taking effect just behind the left ear, and jesse james fell heavily to the ground. after firing, shepherd says no one moved for a few seconds, when he, suddenly realizing his position, wheeled his horse around, and driving his spurs deep into the animal's flanks, dashed away. at the same time cummings rode furiously toward him, while miller went to the assistance of the fallen chief. the pursuit of cummings was persistent and rapid. blackamore soon fell behind in the chase, but cummings gained on shepherd until at last it became necessary for the latter to make a stand and fight it out there. as he wheeled his horse to carry out this resolution, a ball from cummings' pistol took effect in the calf of shepherd's left leg. the firing which had been maintained during a chase of three miles, now became quick and furious, and the result for a time was doubtful. at last, shepherd says, a ball took effect in cummings' side, and he turned his horse and rode back through the woods by the way they came. shepherd rode into short creek to have his wound attended to. the foregoing is shepherd's account of his pursuit of the glendale robbers and contest with jesse james. but developments since do not sustain the statements in many important particulars. the relation appears to be correct up to the time of the shooting, but it is now clear that he did not wound jesse james. the truth is, that jesse james was at all times suspicious of shepherd's motives, and from the time he joined them he was watched with a ceaseless vigilance. the outlaws had little confidence in his protestations, and his movements were carefully observed. they went into camp on shoal creek, shepherd being with them. according to their custom they arranged to remove to another camping place about three miles away the next day. it was saturday night, and shepherd obtained the consent of his ostensible confederates to go into short creek. one of the brigands, assuming a disguise, followed him for the purpose of watching his movements. this man discovered that shepherd was laying a train for the capture of the band. during sunday morning, it appears shepherd met jesse james, who informed him that "the game was up" in short creek, and that they had been given away. shepherd agreed in this view of the situation, and the two separated. later in the day shepherd went to the camp, where he had left them. it was deserted, but he found their trail, and followed it to where the new camp was established. the fact that it was not the place which had been selected in shepherd's presence ought to have warned him that his situation was one of extreme peril. but it appears that he did not consider this evidence that he was distrusted, and approached the camp. the moment he appeared jim cummings opened fire upon him, and mounting his horse gave chase. both men were well mounted, but cummings' horse was the superior one of the two. shepherd, placing the reins of the bridle in his teeth, and drawing two revolvers, the fight commenced. he received a bullet wound in the calf of his left leg, and in turn shot cummings in the right side, which fractured the sixth rib and wounded the intercostal artery. some fragments of clothing, driven into the wound, arrested the flow of blood from the artery, else the probabilities are that the wound would have proved fatal. as it was, the surgeon, who has furnished the above facts, removed the foreign matter, took out some fragments of bone, put a ligature on the artery, and in a short time the wounded bandit went on his way. it is asserted as a fact, that jesse james was neither wounded nor killed, but rode away a picture of health and vitality. the peril of shepherd was imminent. had he not wounded cummings, that desperado would soon have come up with him, when the death of one or both of them would have been inevitable. the whole relation but confirms what has been reiterated in the pages of this volume, that the resources and shrewdness of jesse james are truly wonderful; that in all respects he and his brother are men of extraordinary capacity, and that in courage, skill, adroitness, and vitality, they are men strangely endowed. what they may yet accomplish is hidden in the unrevealed future, which to our questioning returns no answer. chapter li. allen parmer. allen parmer is a missourian. his boyhood days were passed principally in jackson county. when the late war broke over the country, allen parmer was a youth, little fitted to enter the ranks with fighting men. yet he became a member of quantrell's band. he first came into prominence among his comrades in august, , at the capture and sack of lawrence, kansas. that day parmer was a member of the squad led by bill anderson, who murdered without compunction and destroyed without feeling. he escaped with the rest of the band. he was at independence; at lone jack; at camden; at weston; in their lairs among the sni hills, and along the waters of the blues. he was one of the six men who remained with todd at judge gray's house, near bone hill, jackson county, when captain john chestnut arrived in that neighborhood, in september, , bearing a communication from general price to the guerrillas, which at once caused a rally of the old partisans. he was selected by lieut. geo. w. shepherd as one of the picked men ordered on a dangerous expedition to the north side of the missouri. the guerrilla campaign there was short but bloody. the terrible massacre and rout at centralia was the crowning event, and parmer performed a conspicuous part in that conflict. all through the operations of the guerrillas he was one of the most daring in the band. he was one of the executioners of bradley bond, a militiaman of clay county. he and frank james captured the man, and afterward he was shot. [illustration: allen parmer. (williams & thomson, photographers, kansas city, mo.)] when missouri no longer offered a field for operations, and quantrell entered upon his last campaign in kentucky, allen parmer was one of the old guerrillas who followed him. the federal garrison was compelled to surrender at hustonville, lincoln county, kentucky. thenceforward quantrell was known in his true character. in a fight in jessamine county, george roberson and a member of quantrell's command, was captured, taken to louisville, and confined in prison, but subsequently escaped. afterward he was captured again, taken to lexington, transferred to louisville once more, and there arraigned before a court-martial, tried, convicted and sentenced to be hanged on a charge of murdering the federal major at hustonville, who fell by the hand of parmer. roberson was afterward publicly executed at louisville. parmer took part in all the dreadful frays of quantrell's little band in kentucky. when peace once more brooded over the land, he returned to missouri, and commenced a commission business in st. louis, with j. w. shawhan for a partner, under the style of shawhan & co. this was in . it does not appear that the firm was very successful. parmer is said to have lost several thousand dollars in this venture. later, the business was closed out. payne jones, and some others, among them jim white, a friend of parmer, were implicated in a bank robbery at richmond, mo. mayor shaw was killed at that time. suspicion attached to parmer as being one of the robbers, and he was arrested, but, on examination, discharged. then he led a sort of roving life for some years, sometimes in missouri, then in texas, sometimes in colorado, then in the indian territory. finally he came to regard texas as his home. in he returned to jackson county, where his boyhood had been passed. for a long time his relations with the james family had been friendly, and when he came to woo miss susan james, the sister of frank and jesse, she did not deny his suit, and they were married, and removed to arkansas the same year. he remained in that state during the autumn and winter, and in the spring of he removed with his family to texas. for a time, his wife taught a school at sherman. subsequently, parmer established a ranche near henriette, clay county, texas, about miles west of sherman. clay county lies on the red river, directly south of the kiowa indian reservation. here he had all the freedom he desired, and for some years he tended his herds and was prosperous. he frequently made trips to kansas city, st. louis and chicago with droves of cattle. when the train robbery at glendale took place, the authorities sought for clues to the robbers in every direction. mr. grimes, the express messenger who was knocked down by one of the robbers who wore no mask, was able to give a vivid and minute description of the features of his assailant, and that description suited the personnel of parmer. deputy marshal whig keshlear was dispatched to texas by marshal liggett to effect parmer's arrest. he proceeded to sherman, where he met and conferred with mr. everhart, sheriff of grayson county. that officer readily consented to assist in the arrest of parmer, and proceeded at once to his ranche, near henriette. the officers effected the arrest without difficulty on the d day of november, , under a requisition from governor phelps, of missouri. parmer was taken by the officers to sherman. he was followed by a number of his friends from clay county. there the prisoner attempted to regain his liberty by a writ of _habeas corpus_. but the judge before whom the writ was returned ruled out testimony, and remanded the prisoner to the custody of the officers from missouri, in obedience to the requisition of the governor of that state. parmer took exceptions and appealed. marshal liggett, however, had sworn out a warrant for his arrest before a united states commissioner, charging him with interrupting the united states mail. but this was unnecessary, for, on hearing the case, the state authorities of texas discharged the writ, and remanded the prisoner again to the custody of the missouri officers, who at once set out for kansas city, where they arrived with their prisoner sunday morning, november d, and parmer was promptly incarcerated in the jackson county jail. he emphatically denied all complicity in the glendale affair, or any knowledge of the parties who accomplished the robbery, and after four weeks' imprisonment he was discharged by the grand jury, the authorities failing to connect him, in any way, with the glendale affair. chapter lii. jesse james still a free rover. "still fate, regardless of a mortal's woe, may have reserved for him a cruel blow-- a blow more dreaded than the passing breath, of the grim spectre men call gloomy death." it required no ordinary sagacity to escape the environments which his daring deeds had created for him, after the robbery at glendale. had jesse james been other than a man of extraordinary capacity in great emergencies, his career would have been brought to an inglorious close before the clock of time would have indicated the commencement of the new year, . but the destiny which seems to guide him once more manifested itself, and jesse james, the bandit, rode through difficulties and dangers, and away to repose and freedom on the far off plains of texas. there were many persons who believed that the reported death of jesse james was true; that the account of the bloody duel between george w. shepherd and jim cummings, was confirmatory of the statement of the former, that he had shot jesse james. it is probable after that fateful sunday in the deep recesses of a southwest missouri forest, and the terrible peril to which he was there subjected, that shepherd really believed he had shot jesse. but, be that as it may, there were many people who resolutely insisted upon it, that jesse james rode away unscathed. time has disclosed the fact that they were correct. several circumstances combine to show that jesse went away from the vicinity of short creek, after the cummings-shepherd conflict, in the enjoyment of perfect health. a few days after christmas, the newspapers of kansas city announced the arrival in that city of mrs. jesse james, from what point they did not say, perhaps because they did not know. mrs. james visited relatives and friends in kansas city for several days, and her conduct was not at all like that of a recently bereaved widow. after spending some days pleasantly in the city, she proceeded with mrs. dr. samuels to the residence of that lady near kearney, clay county, which fact was duly gazetted in the society notes of the st. louis and kansas city journals. mrs. samuels herself, though professing to believe the reports concerning the death of her son, yet did not act as though the conviction had taken a very firm hold upon her mind. mrs. jesse james remained some days at the residence of her mother-in-law, and then suddenly she concluded to visit her relatives and friends in logan and nelson counties, kentucky. these movements of the supposed widow of the late dreaded leader of the glendale robbers does not appear to have attracted any great amount of attention from the officers of the law. indeed it appears marshal liggett had not yet abandoned the opinion entertained by him, that george w. shepherd had shot and seriously if not fatally wounded the noted outlaw. one day, after the middle of january, , a young man of respectability, residing in kansas city, who had been entrusted with a certain message to deliver at russellville, ky., called upon another young gentleman of his acquaintance, and invited him to accompany the first-mentioned young man to kentucky. it was a mistake on the part of the message bearer, for the young man was no admirer of the methods of the chief of the glendale band, and, after revolving the proposition in his mind, he came to the conclusion to acquaint major liggett with the facts in his possession. this he did. the marshal urged him to accept the invitation, and proceed to kentucky with his friend. it is intimated that he supplied the necessary funds to enable the young gentleman to make the journey. the two men started. there lives in kansas city a gentleman who has known the james boys, and who is not their enemy, even now. this gentleman received an intimation of what was going on, and learned definitely the aims of the marshal. in half an hour a message--it matters not what words were employed, they were significant--was sent to louisville, to a friend. that friend received it, understood it, and a message was at once sent to a person in russellville. meanwhile, the conscientious young man and his friend journeyed in the ordinary course of travel toward russellville. arrived there, the message-bearer cut his companion of the journey, and the latter could learn nothing to report to the marshal of kansas city. the person to whom the message came understood precisely what it meant, and the person whom pinkerton and his employees have often sought, once more found a quiet retreat, where he cannot be readily discovered. there are several stories afloat with regard to the course taken by jesse james after the cummings-shepherd conflict. the following is understood to be a correct narrative. sunday night the party of robbers separated, each man taking a route of his own selection. cummings was first cared for and left in a secure place. jesse james made a detour toward the east, and then turned northward. he remained in st. clair county two days, and came into jackson county while the attention of everyone was directed to the marshal's posse pushing down through the indian territory to texas. in jackson county he remained for some days, and when it suited his convenience he proceeded to texas by a route of his own selection, without molestation. afterward he desired to enjoy a little civilized life and went to kentucky, where he was joined by mrs. james. but when the marshal's agent arrived in the region he was not there. thus the great outlaw roves at will over the country, and all the skill of men clothed with authority to entrap him has for so long a time proved unequal to the task. but it is said by those who are in a position to know, that he longs to retire from the business of an outlaw, make peace with society and prove by an exemplary life in the future that his nature is not wholly bad. life and marvelous adventures of wild bill, the scout, by j. w. buel, of the st. louis press. _illustrated with numerous engravings._ [illustration: wild bill.] being a true and exact history of all the sanguinary combats and hair-breadth escapes of the most famous scout and spy america has ever produced. a marvelously exciting book, full of daring adventures and wonderful escapes among the indians and lawless white men of the far west. paper covers, price cents. sent free to any address on receipt of price. w. s. bryan, publisher, north fourth street, st. louis, mo. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). [illustration: the big beast had a monkey in its mouth.] the motor boys in mexico or the secret of the buried city by clarence young author of "the racer boys series" and "the jack ranger series." new york cupples & leon co. * * * * * * * books by clarence young =the motor boys series= (_trade mark, reg. u. s. pat. of._) mo. illustrated price per volume, cents, postpaid the motor boys or chums through thick and thin the motor boys overland or a long trip for fun and fortune the motor boys in mexico or the secret of the buried city the motor boys across the plains or the hermit of lost lake the motor boys afloat or the stirring cruise of the dartaway the motor boys on the atlantic or the mystery of the lighthouse the motor boys in strange waters or lost in a floating forest the motor boys on the pacific or the young derelict hunters the motor boys in the clouds or a trip for fame and fortune =the jack ranger series= mo. finely illustrated price per volume, $ . , postpaid jack ranger's schooldays or the rivals of washington hall jack ranger's western trip or from boarding school to ranch and range jack ranger's school victories or track, gridiron and diamond jack ranger's ocean cruise or the wreck of the polly ann jack ranger's gun club or from schoolroom to camp and trail * * * * * * * copyright, , by cupples & leon company the motor boys in mexico contents chapter page i. the professor in trouble ii. the professor's story iii. news of noddy nixon iv. over the rio grande v. a thief in the night vi. into the wilderness vii. a fierce fight viii. the old mexican ix. a view of the enemy x. some tricks in magic xi. noddy nixon's plot xii. noddy schemes with mexicans xiii. on the trail xiv. the angry mexicans xv. caught by an alligator xvi. the laughing serpent xvii. an interrupted kidnapping xviii. the underground city xix. in an ancient temple xx. mysterious happenings xxi. noddy has a tumble xxii. face to face xxiii. bob is kidnapped xxiv. bob tries to flee xxv. an unexpected friend xxvi. the escape of maximina xxvii. a strange message xxviii. to the rescue xxix. the fight xxx. homeward bound preface. _dear boys_: at last i am able to give you the third volume of "the motor boys series," a line of books relating the doings of several wide-awake lads on wheels, in and around their homes and in foreign lands. the first volume of this series, called "the motor boys," told how ned, bob and jerry became the proud possessors of motor-cycles, and won several races of importance, including one which gave to them, something that they desired with all their hearts, a big automobile touring car. having obtained the automobile, the lads were not content until they arranged for a long trip to the great west, as told in "the motor boys overland." on the way they fell in with an old miner, who held the secret concerning the location of a lost gold mine, and it was for this mine that they headed, beating out some rivals who were also their bitter enemies. while at the mine the boys, through a learned professor, learned of a buried city in mexico, said to contain treasures of vast importance. their curiosity was fired, and they arranged to go to mexico in their touring car, and the present volume tells how this trip was accomplished. being something of an automobile enthusiast myself, it has pleased me greatly to write this story, and i hope the boys will like "the motor boys in mexico" fully as well as they appeared to enjoy "the motor boys" and "the motor boys overland." clarence young. _may , ._ the motor boys in mexico. chapter i. the professor in trouble. "bang! bang! bang!" it was the sound of a big revolver being fired rapidly. "hi, there! who you shootin' at?" yelled a voice. miners ran from rude shacks and huts to see what the trouble was. down the valley, in front of a log cabin, there was a cloud of smoke. "who's killed? what's the matter? is it a fight?" were questions the men asked rapidly of each other. down by the cabin whence the shots sounded, and where the white vapor was rolling away, a chinaman was observed dancing about on one foot, holding the other in his hands. "what is it?" asked a tall, bronzed youth, coming from his cabin near the shaft of a mine on top of a small hill. "cowboys shooting the town up?" "i guess it's only a case of a chinaman fooling with a gun, jerry. shall i run down and take a look?" asked a fat, jolly, good-natured-looking lad. "might as well, chunky," said the other. "then come back and tell ned and me. my, but it's warm!" the stout youth, whom his companion had called chunky, in reference to his stoutness, hurried down toward the cabin, about which a number of the miners were gathering. in a little while he returned. "that was it," he said. "dan beard's chinese cook got hold of a revolver and wanted to see how it worked. he found out." "is he much hurt?" asked a third youth, who had joined the one addressed as jerry, in the cabin door. "one bullet hit his big toe, but he's more scared than injured. he yelled as if he was killed, ned." "well, if that's all the excitement, i'm going in and finish the letter i was writing to the folks at home," remarked jerry. the other lads entered the cabin with him, and soon all three were busy writing or reading notes, for one mail had come in and another was shortly to leave the mining camp. it was a bright day, early in november, though the air was as hot as if it was mid-summer, for the valley, which contained the gold diggings, was located in the southern part of arizona, and the sun fairly burned as it blazed down. the three boys, who had gone back into their cabin when the excitement following the accidental shooting of the chinaman had died away, were jerry hopkins, bob baker and ned slade. bob was the son of andrew baker, a wealthy banker; ned's father was a well-to-do merchant, and jerry was the son of a widow, julia hopkins. all of the boys lived in cresville, mass., a town not far from boston. the three boys had been chums through thick and thin for as many years as they could remember. a strange combination of circumstances had brought them to arizona, where, in company with jim nestor, an old western miner, they had discovered a rich gold mine that had been lost for many years. "there, my letter's finished," announced jerry, about half an hour after the incident of the shooting. "i had mine done an hour ago," said ned. "let's run into town in the auto and mail them. we need some supplies, anyhow," suggested bob. "all right," assented the others. the three boys went to the shed where their touring car, a big, red machine in which they had come west, was stored. ned cranked up, and with a rattle, rumble and bang of the exhaust, the car started off, carrying the three lads to rockyford, a town about ten miles from the gold diggings. "i wonder if we'll ever see noddy nixon or jack pender again?" asked bob, when the auto had covered about three miles. "and you might as well say bill berry and tom dalsett," put in jerry. "they all got away together. i don't believe in looking on the dark side of things, but i'm afraid we'll have trouble yet with that quartette." "they certainly got away in great shape," said bob. "i'll give noddy credit for that, if he is a mean bully." noddy nixon was an old enemy of the three chums. as has been told in the story of "the motor boys," the first book of this series, jerry, ned and bob, when at home in massachusetts, had motor-cycles and used to go on long trips together, on several of which they met noddy nixon, jack pender and bill berry, a town ne'er-do-well, with no very pleasant results. the boys had been able to secure their motor-cycles through winning prizes at a bicycle race, in which noddy was beaten. this made him more than ever an enemy of the motor boys. the latter, after having many adventures on their small machines, entered a motor-cycle race. in this they were again successful, defeating some crack riders, and the prize this time was a big, red touring automobile, the same they were now using. once they had an auto they decided on a trip across the continent, and their doings on that journey are recorded in the second book of this series, entitled "the motor boys overland." it was while out riding in their auto in cresville one evening that they came across a wounded miner in a hut. he turned out to be jim nestor, who knew the secret of a lost mine in arizona. while sick in the hut, nestor was robbed of some gold he carried in a belt. jack pender was the thief, and got away, although the motor boys chased him. with nestor as a guide, the boys set out to find the lost mine. on the way they had many adventures with wild cowboys and stampeded cattle, while once the auto caught fire. they made the acquaintance, on the prairies, of professor uriah snodgrass, a collector of bugs, stones and all sorts of material for college museums, for he was a naturalist. they succeeded in rescuing the professor from a mob of cowboys, who, under the impression that the naturalist had stolen one of their horses, were about to hang him. the professor went with the boys and nestor to the mine, and was still with them. the gold claim was not easily won. noddy nixon, pender, berry and one pud stoneham, a gambler, aided by tom dalsett, who used to work for nestor, attacked the motor boys and their friends and tried to get the mine away from them. however, jerry and his friends won out, the sheriff arrested stoneham for several crimes committed, and the others fled in noddy's auto, which he had stolen from his father, for noddy had left home because it was discovered that he had robbed the cresville iron mill of one thousand dollars, which crime jerry and his two chums had discovered and fastened on the bully. so it was no small wonder, after all the trouble noddy and his gang had caused, that jerry felt he and his friends might hear more of their unpleasant acquaintances. noddy, jerry knew, was not one to give up an object easily. in due time town was reached, the letters were mailed, and the supplies purchased. then the auto was headed back toward camp. about five miles from the gold diggings, ned, who sat on the front seat with bob, who was steering, called out: "hark! don't you hear some one shouting?" bob shut off the power and, in the silence which ensued, the boys heard a faint call. "help! help! help!" "it's over to the left," said ned. "no; it's to the right, up on top of that hill," announced jerry. they all listened intently, and it was evident that jerry was correct. the cries could be heard a little more plainly now. "help! hurry up and help!" called the voice. "i'm down in a hole!" the boys jumped from the auto and ran to the top of the hill. at the summit they found an abandoned mine shaft. leaning over this they heard groans issuing from it, and more cries for aid. "who's there?" asked jerry. "professor uriah snodgrass, a. m., ph.d., f. r. g. s., b. a. and a. b. h." "our old friend, the professor!" exclaimed ned. "how did you ever get there?" he called down the shaft. "never mind how i got here, my dear young friend," expostulated the professor, "but please be so kind as to help me out. i came down a ladder, but the wood was rotten, and when i tried to climb out, the rungs broke. have you a rope?" "run back to the machine and get one," said jerry to bob. "we'll have to pull him up, just as we did the day he fell over the cliff." in a few minutes bob came back with the rope. a noose was made in one end and this was lowered to the professor. "put it around your chest, under your arms, and we will haul you up," said jerry. "i can't!" cried the professor. "why not?" "can't use my hands." "are your arms broken?" asked the boy, afraid lest his friend had met with an injury. "no, my dear young friend, my arms are not broken. i am not hurt at all." "then, why can't you put the rope under your arms?" "because i have a very rare specimen of a big, red lizard in one hand, and a strange kind of a bat in the other. they are both alive, and if i let them go to fix the rope they'll get away, and they're worth five hundred dollars each. i'd rather stay here all my life than lose these specimens." "how will we ever get him up?" asked bob. chapter ii. the professor's story. for a little while it did seem like a hard proposition. the professor could not, or rather would not, aid himself. once the rope was around him it would be an easy matter for the boys to haul him out of the hole. "if we could lasso him it would be the proper thing," said bob. "i have it!" exclaimed ned. he began pulling up the rope from where it dangled down into the abandoned shaft. "what are you going to do?" asked jerry. "i'll show you," replied ned, adjusting the rope around his chest, under his arms. "now if you two will lower me into the hole i'll fasten this cable on the professor and you can haul him up. then you can yank me out, and it will be killing two birds with one stone." "more like hanging two people with one rope," laughed bob. but ned's plan was voted a good one. jerry and bob lowered him carefully down the shaft, until the slacking of the rope told that he was at the bottom. in a little while they heard a shout: "haul away!" it was quite a pull for the two boys, for, though the professor was a small man, he was no lightweight. hand over hand the cable was hauled until, at last, the shining bald head of the naturalist was observed emerging from the black hole of the abandoned mine. "easy, easy, boys!" he cautioned, as soon as his chin was above the surface. "i've got two rare specimens with me, and i don't want them harmed." when jerry and bob had pulled professor snodgrass up as far as possible, by means of the rope, the naturalist rested his elbows on the edge of the shaft and wiggled the rest of the way out by his own efforts. in one hand was a big lizard, struggling to escape, and in the other was a large bat, flapping its uncanny wings. "ah, i have you safe, my beauties!" exclaimed the collector. "you can't get away from me now!" he placed the reptile and bat in his green specimen-box, which was on the ground a short distance away, his face beaming with pride over his achievement, though in queer contrast to his disordered appearance, for he had fallen in the mud of the mine, his clothes were all dirt, his hat was gone and he looked as ruffled as a wet hen. "much obliged to you, boys," he said, coming over to bob and jerry. "i might have stayed there forever if you hadn't come along. seems as though i am always getting into trouble. do you remember the day i fell over the cliff with broswick and nestor, and you pulled us up with the auto?" "i would say we did," replied jerry. "but now we must pull ned up." once more the rope was lowered down the shaft and in a few minutes ned was hauled up safely. "it's almost as deep as our mine shaft," he said, as he brushed the dirt from his clothes, "but i didn't see any gold there, for it's as dark as a pocket. how did you come to go down, professor?" "i suspected i might get some specimens in such a place," replied the naturalist, "so i just went down, and i had excellent luck, most excellent!" "it's a good thing you think so," put in jerry. "most people would call it bad to get caught at the bottom of a mine shaft." "oh, it wasn't so bad," went on the professor, casting his eyes over the ground in search of any stray specimens of snakes or bugs. "i had my candle with me until i lost it, just after i caught the lizard and bat. i could have come up all right if the ladder hadn't broken. it was quite a hole, for a fact. it reminds me of another big hole i once heard about." "what hole is that?" asked ned. "oh, that's quite a story, all about mysteries, buried cities and all that." "tell us about it," suggested jerry. "to-night, maybe," answered the naturalist. "i want to get back to camp now and attend to my specimens." the boys and the professor, the latter carrying his box of curiosities, were soon in the auto and speeding back to the gold mine. that night, sitting around the camp-fire, which blazed cheerfully, the boys asked professor snodgrass to tell them the story he had hinted at when they hauled him from the mine shaft. "let me listen, too," said jim nestor, filling his pipe and stretching out on the grass. then, in the silence of the early night, broken only by the crackle of the flames and the distantly heard hoot of owls or howl of foxes, the naturalist told what he knew of a buried city of ancient mexico. "it was some years ago," he began, "that a friend of mine, a young college professor, was traveling in mexico. he visited all the big places and then, getting tired of seeing the things that travelers usually see, he struck out into the wilds, accompanied only by an old mexican guide. "he traveled for nearly a week, getting farther and farther away from civilization, until one night he found himself on a big level plain, at the extreme end of which there was a curiously shaped mountain. "he proposed to his guide that they camp for the night and proceed to the mountain the next day. the guide assented, but he acted so queerly that my friend wondered what the matter was. he questioned his companion, but all he could get out of him was that the mountain was considered a sort of unlucky place, and no one went there who could avoid it. "this made my friend all the more anxious to see what might be there, and he announced his intention of making the journey in the morning. he did so, but he had to go alone, for, during the night, his guide deserted him." "and what did he find at the mountain?" asked bob. "a gold mine?" "not exactly," replied the professor. "maybe it was a silver lode," suggested nestor. "there's plenty of silver in mexico." "it wasn't a silver mine, either," went on the professor. "all he found was a big hole in the side of the mountain. he went inside and walked for nearly a mile, his only light being a candle. then he came to a wall of rock. he was about to turn back, when he noticed an opening in the wall. it was high up, but he built a platform of stones up and peered through the opening." "what did he see?" asked jerry. "the remains of an ancient, buried city," replied professor snodgrass. "the mountain was nothing more than a big mound of earth, with an opening in the top, through which daylight entered. the shaft through the side led to the edge of the city. my friend gazed in on the remains of a place thousands of years old. the buildings were mostly in ruins, but they showed they had once been of great size and beauty. there were wide streets with what had been fountains in them. there was not a vestige of a living creature. it was as if some pestilence had fallen on the place and the people had all left." "did he crawl through the hole in the wall and go into the deserted city?" asked nestor, with keen interest. "he wanted to," answered the naturalist, "but he thought it would be risky, alone as he was. so he made a rough map of as much of the place as he could see, including his route in traveling to the mountain. then he retraced his steps, intending to organize a searching party of scientists and examine the buried city." "did he do it?" came from bob, who was listening eagerly. "no. unfortunately, he was taken ill with a fever as soon as he got back to civilization, and he died shortly afterward." "too bad," murmured jerry. "it would have been a great thing to have given to the world news of such a place in mexico. it's all lost now." "not all," said the professor, in a queer voice. "why not? didn't you say your friend died?" "yes; but before he expired he told me the story and gave me the map." "where is it?" asked nestor, sitting up and dropping his pipe in his excitement. "there!" exclaimed the professor, extending a piece of paper, which he had brought forth from his possessions. eagerly, they all bent forward to examine the map in the light of the camp-fire. the drawing was crude enough, and showed that the buried city lay to the east of the chain of sierra madre mountains, and about five hundred miles to the north of the city of mexico. "there's the place," said the professor, pointing with his finger to the buried city. "how i wish i could go there! it has always been my desire to follow the footsteps of my unfortunate friend. perhaps i might discover the buried city. i could investigate it, make discoveries and write a book about it. that would be the height of my ambition. but i'm afraid i'll never be able to do it." for a few minutes there was silence about the camp-fire, each one thinking of the mysterious city that was not so very many miles from them. suddenly ned jumped to his feet and gave a yell. "whoop!" he cried. "i have it! it will be the very thing!" chapter iii. news of noddy nixon. "what's the matter? bit by a kissin' bug?" asked nestor, as ned was capering about. "nope! i'm going to find that buried city," replied ned. "he's loony!" exclaimed the miner. "he's been sleepin' in the moonlight. that's a bad thing to do, ned." "i'm not crazy," spoke the boy. "i have a plan. if you don't want to listen to it, all right," and he started for the cabin. "what is it, tell us, will you?" came from the professor, who was in earnest about everything. "i just thought we might make a trip to mexico in the automobile, and hunt for that lost city," said ned. "we could easily make the trip. it would be fun, even if we didn't find the place, and the gold mine is now in good shape, so that we could leave, isn't it, jim?" "oh, i can run the mine, all right," spoke nestor. "if you boys want to go traipsin' off to mexico, why, go ahead, as far as i'm concerned. better ask your folks first, though. i reckon you an' the professor could make the trip, easy enough, but i won't gamble on your finding the buried city, for i've heard such stories before, an' they don't very often come true." "dearly as i would like to make the trip in the automobile, and sure as i feel that we could do it, i think we had better sleep on the plan," said professor snodgrass. "if you are of the same mind in the morning we will consider it further." "i'd like to go, first rate," came from jerry. "same here," put in bob. that night each of the boys dreamed of walking about in some ancient towns, where the buildings were of gold and silver, set with diamonds, and where the tramp of soldiers' feet resounded on the paved courtyards of the palaces of the montezumas. "waal," began nestor, who was up early, making the coffee, when the boys turned out of their bunks, "air ye goin' to start for mexico to-day, or wait till to-morrow?" "don't you think we could make the trip?" asked jerry, seriously. "oh, you can make it, all right, but you'll have troubles. in the first place, mexico ain't the united states, an' there's a queer lot of people, mostly bad, down there. you'll have to be on the watch all the while, but if you're careful i guess you'll git along. but come on, now, help git breakfust." through the meal, though the boys talked little, it was evident they were thinking of nothing but the trip to mexico. "i'm going to write home now and find if i can go," said ned. jerry and bob said they would do the same, and soon three letters were ready to be sent. after their usual round of duties at the mine, which consisted in making out reports, dealing out supplies, and checking up the loads of ore, the boys went to town in the auto to mail their letters. it was a pleasant day for the trip, and they made good time. "it will be just fine if we can go," said bob. "think of it, we may find the buried city and discover the stores of gold hidden by the inhabitants." "i guess all the gold the mexicans ever had was gobbled up by the spaniards," put in jerry. "but we may find a store of curios, relics and other things worth more than gold," added ned. "if we take the professor with us that's what he would care about more than money. i do hope we can go." "it's going to be harder to find than the lost gold mine was," said jerry. "that map the professor has isn't much to go by." "oh, it will be fun hunting for the place," went on bob. "we may find the city before we know it." in due time the boys reached town and mailed their letters. there was some excitement in the village over a robbery that had occurred, and the sheriff was organizing a posse to go in search of a band of horse thieves. "don't you want to go 'long?" asked the official of the boys, whom he knew from having aided them in the battle at the mine against noddy nixon and his friends some time before. "come along in the choo-choo wagon. i'll swear you in as special deputies." "no, thanks, just the same," jerry said. "we are pretty busy up at the diggings and can't spare the time." "like to have you," went on the sheriff, genially. "you could make good time in the gasolene gig after those hoss thieves." but the boys declined. they had been through enough excitement in securing the gold mine to last them for a while. "we must stop at the store and get some bacon," said ned. "nestor told me as we were coming away. there's none at the camp." bidding the sheriff good-by, and waiting until he had ridden off at the head of his forces, the boys turned their auto toward the general store, located on the main street of rockyford. "howdy, lads!" exclaimed the proprietor, as he came to the door to greet them. "what is it to-day, gasolene or cylinder oil?" "bacon," replied jerry. "got some prime," the merchant said. "best that ever come off a pig. how much do you want?" "twenty pounds will do this time," answered jerry. "we may not be here long, and we don't want to stock up too heavily." "you ain't thinkin' of goin' back east, are ye?" exclaimed the storekeeper. "more likely to go south," put in ned. "we were thinking of mexico." "you don't say so!" cried the vendor of bacon and other sundries. "got another gold mine in sight down there?" "no; but----" and then ned subsided, at a warning punch in the side from jerry, who was not anxious to have the half-formed plans made public. "you was sayin'----" began the storekeeper, as if desirous of hearing more. "oh, we may take a little vacation trip down into mexico," said jerry, in a careless tone. "we've been working pretty hard and we need a rest. but nothing has been decided yet." "mexico must be quite a nice place," went on the merchant. "what makes you think so?" asked bob. "i heard of another automobilin' party that went there not long ago." "who was it?" spoke jerry. "some chap named dixon or pixon or sixon, i forget exactly what it was." "was it nixon?" asked jerry. "that's it! noddy nixon, i remember now. he had a chap with him named perry or ferry or kerry or----" "bill berry, maybe," suggested bob. "that was it! berry. queer what a poor memory i have for names. and there was another with him. let's see, i have it; no, that wasn't it. oh, yes, hensett!" "you mean dalsett," put in ned. "that's it! dalsett! and there was another named jack pender. there, i bet i've got that right." "you have," said jerry. "you say they went to mexico?" "you see, it was this way," the storekeeper went on. "it was about three weeks ago. they come up in a big automobile, like yours, an' bought a lot of stuff. i kind of hinted to find out where they was headed for, an' all the satisfaction i got was that that there nixon feller says as how he guessed mexico would be the best place for them, as the united states government hadn't no control down there. then one of the others says mexico would suit him. so i guess they went. now, is there anything else i can let you have?" "thanks, this will be all," replied jerry, paying for the bacon. the boys waited until they were some distance on the road before they spoke about the news the storekeeper had told them. "i wouldn't be a bit surprised if noddy and his gang had gone to mexico," said ned. "that's the safest place for them, after what they did." "i wish they weren't there, if we are to take a trip in that country," put in bob. "it's a big place, i guess they won't bother us," came from jerry. but he was soon to find that mexico was not big enough to keep noddy and his crowd from making much trouble and no little danger for him and his friends. they arrived at camp early in the afternoon and told nestor the news they had heard. he did not attach much importance to it, as he was busy over an order for new mining machinery. there was plenty for the boys to do about camp, and soon they were so occupied that they almost forgot there was such a place as mexico. chapter iv. over the rio grande. a week later, during which there had been busy days at the mining camp, the boys received answers to their letters. they came in the shape of telegrams, for the lads had asked their parents to wire instead of waiting to write. each one received permission to make the trip into the land of the montezumas. "hurrah!" yelled bob, making an ineffectual attempt to turn a somersault, and coming down all in a heap. "what's the matter?" asked nestor, coming out of the cabin. "wasp sting ye?" "we can go to mexico!" cried ned, waving the telegram. "same thing," replied the miner. "ye'll git bit by sand fleas, tarantulas, scorpions, centipedes, horse-flies an' rattlesnakes, down there. better stay here." "is it as bad as that?" asked bob. "if it is i'll get the finest collection of bugs the college ever saw," put in professor snodgrass. "well, it may not be quite as bad, but it's bad enough," qualified nestor. "but don't let me discourage you. go ahead, this is a free country." so it was arranged. the boys decided they would start in three days, taking the professor with them. "and we'll find that buried city if it's there," put in ned. the next few days were busy ones. at nestor's suggestion each one of the boys had a stout money-belt made, in which they could carry their cash strapped about their waists. they were going into a wild country, the miner told them, where the rights of people were sometimes disregarded. then the auto was given a thorough overhauling, new tires were put on the rear wheels, and a good supply of ammunition was packed up. in addition, many supplies were loaded into the machine, and professor snodgrass got an enlarged box made for his specimens, as well as two new butterfly nets. the boys invested in stout shoes and leggins, for they felt they might have to make some explorations in a wild country. a good camp cooking outfit was taken along, and many articles that nestor said would be of service during the trip. "your best way to go," said the miner, "will be to scoot along back into new mexico for a ways, then take over into texas, and strike the rio grande below where the conchas river flows into it. this will save you a lot of mountain climbing an' give you a better place to cross the rio grande. at a place about ten miles below the conchas there is a fine flat-boat ferriage. you can take the machine over on that." the boys promised to follow this route. final preparations were made, letters were written home, the auto was gone over for the tenth time by jerry, and having received five hundred dollars each from nestor, as their share in the mine receipts up to the time they left, they started off with a tooting of the auto horn. "that's more money than i ever had at one time before," said bob, patting his money-belt as he settled himself comfortably down in the rear seat of the car, beside professor snodgrass. "money is no good," said the naturalist. "no good?" "no; i'd rather catch a pink and blue striped sand flea, which is the rarest kind that exists, than have all the money in the world. if i can get one of them or even a purple muskrat, and find the buried city, that will be all i want on this earth." "i certainly hope we find the buried city," spoke up ned, who was listening to the conversation, "but i wouldn't care much for a purple muskrat." "well, every one to his taste," said the professor. "we may find both." the journey, which was to prove a long one, full of surprises and dangers, was now fairly begun. the auto hummed along the road, making fast time. that night the adventurers spent in a little town in new mexico. their arrival created no little excitement, as it was the first time an auto had been in that section. such a crowd of miners and cowboys surrounded the machine that jerry, who was steering, had to shut off the power in a hurry to avoid running one man down. "i thought maybe ye could jump th' critter over me jest like they do circus hosses," explained the one who had nearly been hit by the car. jerry laughingly disclaimed any such powers of the machine. two days later found them in texas, and, recalling nestor's directions about crossing the rio grande, they kept on down the banks of that mighty river until they passed the junction where the conchas flows in. so far the trip had been without accident. the machine ran well and there was no trouble with the mechanism or the tires. just at dusk, one night, they came to a small settlement on the rio grande. they rode through the town until they came to a sort of house-boat on the edge of the stream. a sign over the entrance bore the words: ferry here. "this is the place we're looking for, i guess," said jerry. he drove the machine up to the entrance and brought it to a stop. a dark-featured man, with a big scar down one side of his face, slouched to the door. "well?" he growled. "we'd like to be ferried over to the other side," spoke jerry. "come to-morrow," snarled the man. "we don't work after five o'clock." "but we'd like very much to get over to-night," went on jerry. "and if it's any extra trouble we'd be willing to pay for it." "that's the way with you rich chaps that rides around in them horseless wagons," went on the ferrymaster. "ye think a man has got to be at yer beck an' call all the while. i'll take ye over, but it'll cost ye ten dollars." "we'll pay it," said jerry, for he observed a crowd of rough men gathering, whose looks he did not like, and he thought he and his friends would be better off on the other side of the stream, on mexican territory. "must be in a bunch of hurry," growled the man. "ain't tryin' to git away from th' law, be ye?" "not that we know of," laughed jerry. "looks mighty suspicious," snarled the man. "but, come on. run yer shebang down on the boat, an' go careful or you'll go through the bottom. the craft ain't built to carry locomotives." jerry steered the car down a slight incline onto a big flat boat, where it was blocked by chunks of wood so that it could not roll forward or backward. by this time the ferrymaster and his crew had come down to the craft. they were all rather unpleasant-looking men, with bold, hard faces, and it was evident that each one of the five, who made up the force that rowed the boat across the stream, was heavily armed. they wore bowie-knives and carried two revolvers apiece. but the sight of armed men was no new one to the boys since their experience in the mining camp, and they had come to know that the chap who made the biggest display of an arsenal was usually the one who was the biggest coward, seldom having use for a gun or a knife. "all ready?" growled the ferryman. "all ready," called jerry. he and the other boys, with the professor, had alighted from the auto and stood beside it on the flat boat. pulling on the long sweeps, the men sent the boat out into the stream, which, at this point, was about a mile wide. once beyond the shore the force of the current made itself felt, and it was no easy matter to keep the boat headed right. every now and then the ferryman would cast anxious looks at the sky, and several times he urged the men to row faster. "do you think it is going to storm, my dear friend?" asked the professor, in a kindly and gentle voice. "think it, ye little bald-headed runt! i know it is!" exploded the man. "and if it ketches us out here there's goin' to be trouble." the sky was blacking up with heavy clouds, and the wind began to blow with considerable force. the boat seemed to make little headway, though the men strained at the long oars. "row, ye lazy dogs!" exclaimed the pilot. "do ye want to upset with this steam engine aboard? row, if ye want to git ashore!" the men fairly bent the stout sweeps. the wind increased in violence, and quite high waves rocked the ferryboat. the sky was getting blacker. jagged lightning came from the clouds, and the rumble of thunder could be heard. "row, i tell ye! row!" yelled the pilot, but the men could do no more than they were doing. the big boat tossed and rocked, and the automobile started to slide forward. "fasten it with a rope!" cried jerry, and aided by his companions they lashed the car fast. "look out! we're in for it now!" shouted the ferryman. "here comes the storm!" with a wild burst of sky artillery, the clouds opened amid a dazzling electrical display, and the rain came down in torrents. at the same time the wind increased to hurricane force, driving the boat before it like a cork on the waves. three of the men lost their oars, and the craft, with no steerage way, was tossed from side to side. then, as there came a stronger blast of the gale, the boat was driven straight ahead. "we're going to hit something!" yelled jerry, peering through the mist of rain. "hold fast, everybody!" the next instant there was a resounding crash, and the sound of breaking and splintering wood. [illustration: the next instant there was a resounding crash.] chapter v. a thief in the night. the shock was so hard that every one on the ferryboat was knocked down, and the auto, breaking from the restraining ropes, ran forward and brought up against the shelving prow of the scow. "here, where you fellers goin'?" demanded a voice from amid the scene of wreckage and confusion. "what do ye mean by tryin' t' smash me all to splinters?" at the same time this remonstrance was accompanied by several revolver shots. then came a volley of language in choice spanish, and the noise of several men chopping away at planks and boards. the wind continued to blow and the rain to fall, while the lightning and thunder were worse than before. but the ferryboat no longer tossed and pitched on the storm-lashed river. it remained stationary. "now we're in for it," shouted the ferryman, as soon as he had scrambled to his feet. "a nice kettle of fish i'm in for takin' this automobile over on my boat!" "what has happened?" asked jerry, trying to look through the mist of falling rain, and seeing nothing but a black object, as large as a house, looming up before him. "matter!" exclaimed the pilot. "we've gone and smashed plumb into don alvarzo's house-boat and done no end of damage. wait until he makes you fellers pay for it." "it wasn't our fault," began jerry. "you were in charge of the ferryboat. we are only passengers. besides, we couldn't stop the storm from coming up." "tell that to don alvarzo," sneered the ferryman. "maybe he'll believe you. but here he comes himself, and we can see what has happened." several mexicans bearing lanterns now approached. at their head was a tall, swarthy man, wearing a big cloak picturesquely draped over his shoulders, velvet trousers laced with silver, and a big sombrero. by the lantern light it could be seen that the ferryboat had jammed head-on against the side of a large house-boat moored on the mexican side of the rio grande. so hard had the scow rammed the other craft that the two were held together by a mass of splintered wood, the front of the ferryboat breaking a hole in the side of the house-boat and sticking there. the automobile had nearly gone overboard. don alvarzo began to speak quickly in spanish, pointing to the damage done. "i beg your pardon," said jerry, taking off his cap and bowing in spite of the rain that was still coming down in torrents. "i beg your pardon, señor, but if you would be so kind as to speak in english we could understand it better." "certainly, my dear young sir," replied don alvarzo, bowing in his turn, determined not to be outdone by an _americano_. "i speak english also. but what is this? _diablo!_ i am taking my meal on my house-boat. i smoke my cigarette, and am thankful that i am not out in the storm. presto! there comes a crash like unto that the end of the world is nigh! i rise! i run! i fire my revolver, thinking it may be robbers! my _americano_ manager he calls out! now, if you please, what is it all about?" "the storm got the best of the ferryboat," said jerry. "my friends and myself, including professor uriah snodgrass, of whom you may have heard, for he is a great scientist----" "i salute the professor," interrupted don alvarzo, bowing to the naturalist. "well, we are going to make a trip through mexico," went on jerry. "we engaged this man," pointing to the ferrymaster, "to take us over the river in his boat. unfortunately we crashed into yours. it was not our fault." angry cries from the mexicans who stood in a half circle about don alvarzo on the deck of the house-boat showed that they understood this talk, but did not approve of it. "_americanos_ pigs! make pay!" called out one man. "we're not pigs, and if this accident is our fault we will pay at once," said jerry, hotly. "there, there, señor," said the don, motioning to his man to be quiet. "we will consider this. it appears that you are merely passengers on the ferryboat. the craft was in charge of señor jenkins, there, whom i very well know. he will pay me for the damage, i am sure." "you never made a bigger mistake in your life!" exclaimed jenkins. "if there's any payin' to be done, these here automobile fellers will have to do it. i'm out of pocket now with chargin' 'em only ten dollars, for three of my oars are lost." "very well, then, we will let the law take its course," said the don. "here!" he called to his men, "take the ferry captain into custody. we'll see who is to pay." "rather than have trouble and delay we would be willing to settle for the damages," spoke up jerry. "how much is it?" "i will have to refer you to señor jones, my manager," said the mexican. "what's all the row about?" interrupted a voice, and a tall, lanky man came forward into the circle of lantern light. "people can't expect to smash boats an' not pay for 'em." "we are perfectly willing to pay," said jerry. "well, if there ain't my old friend professor snodgrass!" cried jones, jumping down on the flat-boat and shaking hands with the naturalist. "well, well, this is a sight for sore eyes. i ain't seen ye since i was janitor in your laboratory in wellville college. how are ye?" the professor, surprised to meet an acquaintance under such strange circumstances, managed to say that he was in good health. "well, well," went on jones, "i'll soon settle this. look here, don alvarzo," he went on, "these is friends of mine. if there's any damage----" "oh, i assure you, not a penny, not a penny!" exclaimed the mexican. "i regret that my boat was in their way. i beg a thousand pardons. say not a word more, my dear professor and young friends, but come aboard and partake of such poor hospitality as don miguel fernandez alvarzo can offer. i am your most humble servant." the boys and the professor were glad enough of the turn events had taken. at a few quick orders from jones and the don, the mexicans and the ferry captain's crew backed the scow away from the house-boat. a landing on shore was made, the automobile run off, and the ferryman having been paid his money, with something extra for the lost oars, pulled off into the rain and darkness, growling the while. "now you must come in out of the rain," said don alvarzo, as soon as the auto had been covered with a tarpaulin, carried in case of bad weather. "we can dry and feed you, at all events." it was a pleasant change from the storm outside to the warm and well-lighted house-boat. the thunder and lightning had ceased, but the rain kept up and the wind howled unpleasantly. "i regret that your advent into this wonderful land of mexico should be fraught with such inauspicious a beginning as this outburst of the elements," spoke don alvarzo, with a bow, as he ushered his guests into the dining-room. "oh, well, we're used to bad weather," said bob, cheerfully. in a little while the travelers had divested themselves of their wet garments and donned dry ones from their valises that had been brought in from the auto. soon they sat down to a bountiful meal in which red peppers, garlic and frijoles, with eggs and chicken, formed a prominent part. jones, the don's manager, ate with them, and told how, in his younger days, he had worked at a college where professor snodgrass had been an instructor. supper over, they all gathered about a comfortable fire and, in answer to questions from don alvarzo, the boys told something of their plans, not, however, revealing their real object. "i presume you are searching for silver mines," said the don, with a laugh and a sly wink. "believe me, all the silver and gold, too, is taken out of my unfortunate country. you had much better go to raising cattle. now, i have several nice ranches i could sell you. what do you say? shall we talk business?" but jerry, assuming the rôle of spokesman, decided they had no inclination to embark in business just yet. they might consider it later, he said. the don looked disappointed, but did not press the point. the evening was passed pleasantly enough, and about nine o'clock, as the travelers showed signs of fatigue, jones suggested that beds might be agreeable. "i am sorry i cannot give you sleeping apartments together," remarked the don. "i can put two of you boys in one room, give the professor another small room, and the third boy still another. it is the best arrangement i can make." "that will suit us," replied jerry. "ned and i will bunk together." "very well; if you will follow my man he will escort you to your rooms," went on the mexican. "perhaps the professor will sit up and smoke." the naturalist said he never smoked, and, besides, he was so tired that bed was the best place for him. so he followed the boys, and soon the travelers were lighted to their several apartments. ned and jerry found themselves together, the professor had a room at one end of a long gangway and bob an apartment at the other end. good-nights were called, and the adventurers prepared to get whatever rest they might. as ned and jerry were getting undressed they heard a low knock on their door. "who's there?" asked jerry. "hush! not so loud!" came in cautious tones. "this is jones. keep your guns handy, that's all. i can't tell you any more," and then the boys heard him moving away. "well, i must say that's calculated to induce sleep," remarked ned. "keep your guns handy! i wonder if we've fallen into a robber's den?" "i don't like the looks of things," commented jerry. "the don may be all right, and probably is, but he has a lot of ugly-looking mexicans on his boat. i guess we'll watch out. i hope jones will warn the others." there came a second knock on the door. "what is it?" called jerry, in a whisper. "i've warned your friends," replied jones. "now watch out. i can't say any more." his footsteps died away down the gangway. jerry and ned looked at each other. "i guess we'll sit up the rest of the night," said ned. they started their vigil. but they were very tired and soon, before either of them knew it, they were nodding. several times they roused themselves, but nature at length gained the mastery and soon they were both stretched out asleep on the bed. about three o'clock in the morning there came a cautious trying of the door of the room where ned and jerry were sleeping. soft footsteps sounded outside. if ever the boys needed to be awake it was now, for there was a thief in the night stealing in upon them. chapter vi. into the wilderness. jerry had a curious dream. he thought he was back in cresville and was playing a game of ball. he had reached second base safely and was standing there when the player on the other side grabbed him by his belt and began to pull him away. "here! stop that! it's not in the game!" exclaimed jerry, struggling to get away. so real was the effort that he awakened. he looked up, and there, standing over him in the darkness, was a dim form. "silence!" hissed a voice. "one move and i'll kill you. remain quiet and you shall not be harmed!" jerry had sense enough to obey. he was wide awake now and knew that he was at the mercy of a mexican robber. the man was struggling to undo the lad's money-belt about his waist, and it was this that had caused the boy's vivid dream. jerry had been kicking his feet about rather freely, but now he stretched out and submitted to the mauling to which the robber was subjecting him. if only ned would awake, jerry thought, for ned, he knew, had his revolver ready in his hand. with a yank the thief took off jerry's belt containing the money. "lie still or you die!" the fellow exclaimed. then he moved over to where ned reclined on the bed. jerry could see more plainly now, for the storm had ceased, the moon had risen and a stray beam came in the side window of the house-boat. the robber stretched out his hand to ned's waist. he was about to reach under the coat and unbuckle the money-belt, when ned suddenly sat upright. in his hand he held his revolver, which he pointed full in the face of the marauder. "drop that knife!" exclaimed ned, for the mexican held a sharp blade in his hand. "bah!" the fellow exclaimed, but the steel fell with a clang to the floor. "now lay the money-belt on the bed, if you don't want me to shoot!" said the boy, pushing the cold steel of the weapon against the mexican's face. "pardon, señor, it was all a joke! don't shoot!" the fellow uttered, in a trembling voice, at the same time tossing the belt over to jerry, who had drawn his own revolver from under the pillow where he had placed it. "light the candle, jerry," went on ned, "while i keep him covered with the gun. we'll see what sort of a chap he is." jerry rose to find matches. but the robber did not wait for this. with a bound he leaped to the window. one jump took him through, and a second later a splash in the river outside told how he had escaped. ned ran to the casement and fired two shots, not with any intention of hitting the man, but to arouse his friends. in an instant there was confused shouting, lights gleamed in several rooms, and don alvarzo came hurrying in. "what's the matter? what is it all about? is any one killed?" he cried. "nothing much has happened," said ned, as coolly as possible under the circumstances. "a burglar got in the room and got out again." "a burglar? a thief? impossible! in my house-boat? where did he go? did he get anything?" "he got jerry's money-belt," said ned, "but----" "a money-belt! santa maria! was there much in it?" and ned thought he saw a gleam come into the don's eyes. "oh, he didn't get it to keep!" went on jerry. "we both fell asleep, and the fellow robbed jerry first. i was awakened by feeling jerry accidentally kick me. i saw the robber take his belt, but when he came for mine i was ready for him. i made him give jerry's back----" "made him give it back!" exclaimed don alvarzo, and ned fancied he detected disappointment in his host's face. "you are a brave lad. where did the fiend go?" "out of the window," answered ned. "i fired at him to give him a scare." "i am disgraced that such a thing should happen in my house!" exclaimed the don, and this time it was jerry who noticed jones, the american manager, winking one eye as he stood behind his employer. "i am disgraced," went on the mexican. "but never mind, i shall inform the authorities and they will hang every robber they catch to please me." "i'm robbed! i'm robbed!" exclaimed professor snodgrass, bursting into the room. he was attired in blue pajamas, and his bald head was shining in the candle light. "what did they get from you?" asked the don, his face once more showing interest. "the rascals took three fine specimens of sand fleas from me!" exclaimed the naturalist. "the loss is irreparable!" "_diablo!_" exclaimed the don, under his breath. "three sand fleas! ah, these crazy _americanos_!" "i fancy you can get more, professor," said jones, with a laugh. "well, there seems to be no great damage done. i reckon we can all go back to bed now." the servants, who had been aroused by the commotion, went back to their rooms. in a little while the don, with many and profuse apologies, withdrew, and the professor and bob returned to their apartments. jones was the last to go. "i told you to be on the watch," he whispered, as he prepared to leave. "i overheard some of the rascals making up a game to relieve you of some of your cash. i wouldn't say the don was in on it, but the sooner you get out of this place the better. you can go to sleep now. there is no more danger. lucky one of you happened to wake up in time or you'd have been cleaned out. good-night." "good-night," said ned and jerry, as they locked their door, which had been opened by false keys. they went to bed and slept soundly until daybreak, in spite of the excitement. nor were they disturbed again. don alvarzo talked of nothing but the attempted robbery the next morning at breakfast. he declared he had sent one of his men post-haste to inform the authorities, who, he said, would dispatch a troop of soldiers to search for the miscreant. "i am covered with confusion that my guests should be so insulted," he said. but, somehow, his voice did not ring true. the boys and the professor, however, thanked him for his consideration and hospitality. "i think we must be traveling now," announced jerry. "will you not pass another night under my roof?" asked the don. "i promise you that you will not be awakened by robbers again." "no, thank you," said jerry. afterward, he said the don might carry out his promise too literally, and take means to prevent them from waking if thieves did enter their rooms. so, amid protestations that he was disappointed at the shortness of their stay, and begging them to come and see him again, the don said farewell. "i think, perhaps, we ought to pay for the damage to your boat," said jerry, not wishing to be under any obligations to the mexican. "do not insult me, i beg of you!" exclaimed the don, and he really seemed so hurt that jerry did not press it. then, with a toot of the horn, the auto started off on the trip through mexico. it was a beautiful day, and the boys were enchanted with the scenery. behind them lay the broad rio grande, while off to the right were the foothills that increased in height and size until they became the mighty mountains. the foliage was deep green from the recent shower, and the sun shone, making the whole country appear a most delightful place. "it looked as if our entrance into mexico was not going to be very pleasant," said jerry, "especially during the storm and the smash-up with the house-boat. but to-day it couldn't be better." "that was a close call you and ned had," put in bob. "i wonder why they didn't tackle me?" "because you are so good-natured-looking the robbers knew you never had any money," replied jerry, with a laugh. "i wonder what chunky would have done if a mexican brigand had demanded his money-belt?" "he could have had it without me making a fuss," replied the stout youth. "money is a good thing, but i think more of myself than half a dozen money-belts." "ah, my poor fleas!" exclaimed the professor. "i wonder if the robber killed them." "i guess they hopped away," suggested ned. "no, they would never leave me," went on the naturalist. "well, i'm glad i haven't such an intimate acquaintance with them as that," commented jerry, with a laugh. "oh, they were tame. they never bit me once," the professor said, with pride in his voice. with ned at the steering-wheel, the auto made good time. the road was a fair one, skirting the edge of a vast plain for several miles. about noon the path led into a dense forest, where there was barely room for the machine to pass the thick trees and vines that bordered the way on either side. "i hope we don't get caught in this wilderness," said ned, making a skilful turn to avoid a fallen tree. "supposing we stop now and get dinner," suggested jerry. "it's past noon, and i'm hungry." the plan was voted a good one. the portable stove that burned gasolene was set going, coffee was made and some canned chicken was warmed in a frying pan. with some seasoning and frijoles don alvarzo had given them the boys made an excellent meal. after a rest beneath the trees the boys started off in their auto again. the road widened when they had gone a few miles, and improved so that traveling was easier. about dusk they came to a small village, in the centre of which was a comfortable-looking inn. "how will that do to stop at overnight?" asked ned. "first rate," answered jerry. the auto was steered into the yard, and the proprietor of the place came out, bowing and smiling. "your friends have just preceded you, señors," he said. "our friends?" asked jerry, in surprise. "_si, señor._ don nixon and don pender. they were here not above an hour ago. i think they must be your friends, because they were in the same sort of an engine as yourselves." "noddy nixon here!" exclaimed jerry. chapter vii. a fierce fight. the boys glanced at each other in blank astonishment. as for professor snodgrass, he was too occupied with chasing a little yellow tree-toad to pay much attention to anything but the pursuit of specimens. "we seem bound to cross the trail of noddy sooner or later," remarked ned. "well, if he's ahead of us he can't be behind, that's one consolation." "will the honorable señors be pleased to enter my poor inn?" spoke the mexican, bowing low. "i suppose we may as well stop here," said jerry, in a low tone to his companions. "it looks like a decent place, and it will give noddy a chance to get a good way ahead, which is what we want. but i don't see what he means by going on when it will soon be night." the auto was run under a shed, its appearance causing some fright among the servants and a few travelers, who began to mutter their prayers in spanish. the boys, escorted by the mexican, then entered the hostelry. it was a small but decent-looking place, as jerry had said. the boys were shown to rooms where, washing off some of the grime of their journey, they felt better. "supper is ready," announced the innkeeper, who spoke fairly good english. "where is the professor?" asked ned, as the boys descended to the dining-room. "the last i saw of him he was climbing up the tree after that toad," answered bob. "but here he comes now." the naturalist came hurrying into the room, clasping something in his hand. "i've got it! i've got it!" he shouted. "a perfect beauty!" the professor opened his fingers slightly to peer at his prize, when the toad, taking advantage of the opportunity, hopped on the floor and was rapidly escaping. "oh, oh, he's got away!" the professor exclaimed. "help me catch him, everybody! he's worth a thousand dollars!" the naturalist got down on his hands and knees and began crawling after the hopping tree-toad, while the boys could not restrain their laughter. a crowd of servants gathered in the doorway to watch the antics of the strange _americano_. "there! i have you again, my beauty!" cried the professor, pouncing on his specimen in a corner of the room. "you shall not escape again!" and with that he popped the toad into a small specimen box which he always wore strapped on his back. "tell me," began the innkeeper, in a low tone, sidling up to jerry, "is your elderly friend, the bald-headed señor, is he--ah--um--is he a little, what you _americanos_ call--er--wheels?" and he moved his finger with a circular motion in front of his forehead. "not in the least," replied the boy. "he is only collecting specimens for his college." the mexican shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in an apologetic sort of way, but it was easy to see that he believed professor snodgrass insane, an idea that was shared by all the servants in the inn, for not one of them, during the adventurers' brief stay in the hotel, would approach him without muttering a prayer. "i wonder what we'll have to eat?" asked ned, as with the others he prepared to sit down. the innkeeper clapped his hands, which signal served in lieu of a bell for the servants. in a little while a meal of fish, eggs, chocolate and chicken, with the ever-present frijoles and tortillas, was served. it tasted good to the hungry lads, though as jerry remarked he would have preferred it just as much if there hadn't been so much red pepper and garlic in everything. "water! water! quick!" cried bob, after taking a generous mouthful of frijoles, which contained an extra amount of red pepper. "my mouth is on fire!" he swallowed a tumblerful of liquid before he had eased the smart caused by the fiery condiment. thereafter he was careful to taste each dish with a little nibble before he indulged too freely. in spite of these drawbacks, the boys enjoyed their experience, and were interested in the novelty of everything they saw. "i wonder how we are to sleep?" said jerry, after the meal was over. "i've heard that mexican beds were none of the best." "you shall sleep the sleep of the just, señors," broke in the mexican hotel keeper, coming up just as jerry spoke. "my inn is full, every room is occupied, but you shall sleep _en el sereno_." "well, as long as it's on a good bed in a room where the mosquitoes can't get in i shan't mind that," spoke bob. "i don't know as i care much for scenery, but if it goes with the bed, why, all right." "you'll sleep in no room to-night," said professor snodgrass, who for the moment was not busy hunting specimens. "by '_en el sereno_' our friend means that you must sleep out of doors, under the stars. it is often done in this country. they put the beds out in the courtyard or garden and throw a mosquito net over them." "that's good enough," said bob. "it won't be the first time we've slept in the open. bring on the '_en el sereno_,'" and he laughed, the innkeeper joining in. the beds for the travelers were soon made up. they consisted of light cots of wood, with a few blankets on them. placed out in the courtyard, under the trees, with the sky for a roof, the sleeping-places were indeed in the open. but the boys and professor snodgrass had no fault to find. they had partaken of a good meal, they were tired with their day's journey, and about nine o'clock voted to turn in. "we'll keep our revolvers handy this time," said bob, "though i guess we won't need 'em." "can't be too sure," was ned's opinion, as he took off his shoes and placed his weapon under his pillow. it was not long before snores told that the travelers were sound asleep. for several hours the inn bustled with life, for the mexicans did not seem to care much about rest. at length the place became quiet, and at midnight there was not a sound to be heard, save the noises of the forest, which was no great distance away, and the vibrations caused by the breathing of the slumberers. it was about two o'clock in the morning when bob was suddenly awakened by feeling a hand passed lightly over his face. "here!" he cried. "get out of that!" "silence!" hissed a voice in his ear. but bob was too frightened to keep quiet. he gave a wild yell and tried to struggle to his feet. some one thrust him back on the cot, and rough hands tried to rip off his money-belt. the boy fought fiercely, and struck out with both fists. "wake up, jerry and ned!" he yelled. "we're being robbed. shoot 'em!" the courtyard became a scene of wild commotion. it was dark, for the moon was covered with clouds, but as jerry and ned sat up, alarmed by bob's voice, they could detect dim forms moving about among the trees. "the mexicans are robbing us!" shouted ned. he drew his revolver and fired in the air for fear of hitting one of his comrades. by the light of the weapon's flash he saw a man close to him. bob aimed the pistol in the fellow's face and pulled the trigger. there was a report, followed by a loud yell. at the same time a thousand stars seemed to dance before ned's eyes, and he fell back, knocked unconscious by a hard blow. jerry had sprung to his feet, to be met by a blow in the face from a brawny fist. he quickly recovered himself, however, and grappled with his assailant. he found he was but an infant in the hands of a strong man. the boy tried to reach for his revolver, but just as his hand touched the butt of the weapon he received a stinging blow on the head and he toppled over backward, his senses leaving him. in the meanwhile bob was still struggling with the robber who had attacked him. fleshy as he was, bob had considerable strength, and he wrestled with the fellow. they both fell to the ground and rolled over. in their struggles they got underneath one of the beds. "let me go!" yelled bob. at that instant he felt the ear of his enemy come against his mouth. the boy promptly seized the member in his teeth and bit it hard enough to make the fellow howl for mercy. bob suddenly found himself released, and the robber, with a parting blow that made the boy's head sing, rolled away from under the bed and took to his heels. "help! help! help!" cried professor snodgrass, as bob tried to sit upright, for it was under the bed of the naturalist that the boy had rolled. in straightening up he had tipped the scientist, who, up to this point, had been sleeping soundly on the cot. "what is it? what has happened? is it a fire? has an earthquake occurred? is the river rising? has a tidal wave come in? santa maria! but what is all the noise about?" cried the landlord, rushing into the courtyard, bearing an ancient lantern. "what has happened, señors? was your rest disturbed?" "was our rest disturbed?" inquired bob, in as sarcastic a tone as possible under the circumstances. "well, i would say yes! a band of robbers attacked us." "a band of robbers! santa maria! impossible! there are no robbers in mexico!" and the innkeeper began to chatter volubly in spanish. chapter viii. the old mexican. "well, if they weren't robbers they were a first-class imitation," responded bob. "there's jerry and ned knocked out, at any rate, and they nearly did for me. they would have, only i bit the chap's ear. i guess i'll know him again; he has my mark on him." "bit his ear! the _americano_ is brave! but we must see to the poor unfortunate señors! robbers! impossible!" by this time the whole inn was aroused and the courtyard was filled with servants and guests. water was brought and with it jerry and ned were revived. "what happened?" began jerry. "oh, i remember now! did they get our money?" "i guess they got yours and ned's," said bob, in sorrowful tones, as he noted his chums' disordered clothing and saw that the money-belts were gone. "they didn't get mine, though, so we're not in such bad luck, after all. how do you feel?" "as if a road-roller had gone over me," replied jerry. "same here," put in ned, holding his head in his hands. "he must have given me a pretty good whack. who was it robbed us?" "are you sure you were robbed, señors?" asked the hotel keeper. "perhaps you may have been dreaming." "does that look as if it was only a nightmare?" asked ned, showing a big lump on his head. "or this?" added jerry, showing his clothing cut with a knife where the robber had slashed it in order to take out the money-belt. "no, it was not a dream," murmured the innkeeper. "there must have been robbers here. i wonder who they were?" "they didn't leave their cards, so it's hard to say," remarked jerry. "i don't suppose the burglars down here are in the habit of sending word in advance of their visit, or of telling the police where to find them after they commit a crime." "never! never!" exclaimed the mexican host. "but speaking of the police, i must tell them about this some time to-morrow." "any time will do," put in ned. "we're in no hurry, you know." "i am glad of that," said the hotel keeper, in all seriousness. "most _americanos_ are in such a rush, and i have to go to market to-morrow. the next day will do very well. i thank you, señors. now i bid you good-night, and pleasant dreams." "well, he certainly does take things easy," said jerry, when the innkeeper and his servants, with many polite bows, had withdrawn. "he don't seem to care much whether we were nearly killed or not. i guess this must be a regular occurrence down here." "i always heard the mexican brigands were terrible fellows," said professor snodgrass. "now i am sure of it. i am glad they did not get any of my specimens, however. all my treasures are safe." "but ned and i have lost five hundred dollars each," put in jerry. "you can get more from the gold mine," went on the professor. "yes; but it may spoil our trip," said ned. "i have my five hundred dollars," said bob. "and i have nearly one thousand in bills," spoke the professor, in a whisper. "we will have enough. the robbers would never suspect me of carrying money. listen; it is in the box with the big lizard and the bat, and no one will ever look there for it," and he chuckled in silent glee. "then i guess we can go on," said jerry. "but i wonder who it was robbed us?" "i suppose it was the mexican brigands that hang about every hotel," said ned. "i'm not so sure of that," went on jerry. "you know noddy nixon and his crowd are not far off. it may have been they." "that's so; i never thought of them," said ned. "did you recognize any one?" "the fellow who grappled with me had a mask on," said jerry. "but i thought i recognized that fellow dalsett. however, i couldn't be sure." "i didn't get a chance to see my man," ned added. "the fellow who came for me had a voice like bill berry's," put in bob. "if i could see his ear i could soon tell." "it will be a good while before you see his ear," continued jerry. "i wonder if it was nixon's crowd, or only ordinary robbers? if we are to be attacked by noddy and his gang all the way through mexico the trip will not be very pleasant." "well, there's only one thing certain, and that is, the money-belts are gone," put in ned, gazing ruefully at his waist around which he had strapped his cash. "the next question is, who took them?" "which same question is likely to remain unanswered for some time," interrupted professor snodgrass. "now, don't worry, boys. we are still able to continue on our search for the buried city. this will teach us a lesson not to go to sleep again unless some one is on guard. the money loss is nothing compared to the possibility that one of us might have been killed, or some of my specimens stolen. now we had better all go to bed again." "shall we stand guard for the remainder of the night?" asked bob. "i think it will not be necessary," spoke the professor. "the robbers are not likely to return." so, extinguishing the lantern which the innkeeper had left, the travelers once more sought their cots, on which they had a somewhat fitful rest until morning. at breakfast the innkeeper urged the travelers to spend a few days at his hotel, saying he had sent for a government officer to come and make an investigation of the robbery. but the boys and the professor, thanking their host for his invitation, called for their bill, settled it, and were soon puffing away through the forest once more. for several hours they journeyed on beneath giant palms which lined either side of the road. the scenery was one unending vista of green, in which mingled brilliant-hued flowers. wild parrots and other birds flitted through the trees and small animals rustled through the underbrush as the automobile dashed by. jerry was at the steering wheel and was sending the car along at a good clip, when, as he suddenly rounded a curve he shut off the power and applied the brakes. not a moment too soon was he, for he stopped the machine only a few feet from an aged mexican, who was traveling along the road, aiding his faltering steps with a large, wooden staff. the mexican glanced at the auto which, with throbbing breath, as the engine still continued to vibrate, seemed to fill him with terror. suddenly he dropped to his knees and began to pray. "be not afraid," professor snodgrass called to him, speaking in the spanish language. "we are but poor travelers like yourself. we will not harm you." "whence do you come in your chariot of fire?" asked the old man. "ye are demons and no true men!" "we will not hurt you," said the naturalist, again. "see, we bring you gifts," and he held out to the mexican a package of tobacco and a small hand-mirror. the old man's eyes brightened at the sight of them. he rose to his feet and took them, though his hands trembled. in a moment he had rolled a cigarette of the tobacco, and, puffing out great clouds of smoke, complacently gazed at his image in the looking-glass. "truly ye are men and not demons," he said. "the tobacco is very good. but whence come ye, and whither do ye go?" "we are travelers from a far land," answered the professor. "whither we go we scarcely know. we are searching for the unknown." the aged mexican started. then he gazed fixedly at the professor. "it may be that i can tell whither ye journey," he said. "for your kindness to me i am minded to look into the future for you. shall i?" "no one can look into the future," answered the naturalist. "no one knows what is going to happen." for the professor was no believer in anything but what nature revealed to him. "unbelievers! unbelievers!" muttered the old man, blowing out a great cloud of smoke. "but ye shall see. i will read what is to happen for you." he sat down at the side of the road. in the dust he drew a circle. this he divided into twelve parts, and in one he placed a small quantity of powder, which he took from his sash. the powder he lighted with a match. there was a patch of fire, and a cloud of yellow smoke. for an instant the old man was hidden from view. then his voice was heard. "ye seek the unknown, hidden and buried city of ancient mexico!" he said, in startling tones. "and ye shall find it. yea, find it sooner than ye think, and in a strange manner. look behind ye!" involuntarily the boys and the professor turned. "nothing there," grunted ned, as he looked to where the old man had been seated. to his astonishment, as well as the surprise of the others, the aged mexican had disappeared. chapter ix. a view of the enemy. "where is he?" cried bob. "he must have gone down through a hole in the earth," said ned. "i didn't have my eyes off him three seconds. he didn't go down the road or we would have seen him, and he couldn't have run into the bushes on either side without making a great racket. he's a queer one." "just like the east indian jugglers i've read about," put in jerry. "i think probably he was something on that order," agreed professor snodgrass. "strange how he should have known about the buried city, and we have spoken to no one about it since we came to mexico." "let's look and see if we can find a trace of him," suggested bob. the boys alighted from the car. they made a careful search around the spot where the old man had sat. there was the circle he had drawn in the dust, and the mark where the powder had burned, but not another trace of the mexican could they find. they looked behind trees and rocks, but all they found was big toads and lizards that hopped and crawled away as they approached. the professor annexed several of the reptiles for specimens. "how do you explain it all?" asked jerry of the naturalist, when they had taken their seats in the automobile again. "have those men any supernatural powers?" "i do not believe they have," replied the professor. "they do some things that are hard to explain, but they are sharp enough to do their tricks under their own conditions, and they disappear before those who can see them have gotten over their momentary surprise." "the disappearing was the funny part of it," went on jerry. "i can understand how he made the smoke. a pinch of gunpowder would produce that. but how did he dissolve himself into thin air?" "he didn't," replied the naturalist. "i'll tell you how that was done. it is a favorite trick in india. when he suddenly called to us to look behind us he took advantage of our momentary glance away to hide himself." "but where?" "behind that big rock," and the naturalist pointed to a large one near where the mexican had been sitting. "but we looked behind that," said ned. "yes, several minutes after the disappearance," went on the professor, with a laugh. "this was how he did it: he wore a long, gray cloak, which, perhaps, you didn't notice. it was exactly the color of the stone and was partly draped over it. it was there all the while he was doing his trick. i saw it, but thought nothing of it at the time. now, when he had finished the hocus-pocus, and when our heads were turned, he just rolled himself up into a ball and got under the cloak by the stone. of course, it looked as if he had dropped down through the earth." "but how about him getting away so completely that our search didn't reveal him?" asked jerry. "i think he waited a while and then, when he heard us getting out of the automobile he took advantage of the confusion to crawl, still under his cloak, into the bushes, perhaps by a path he alone knew. there really is no mystery to it." "how about him telling us we were searching for the buried city?" asked bob. "wasn't that mind-reading?" "i think he knew that part of it," said the professor, "though it seemed strange to me at first. you must remember that the object of our trip was pretty freely talked of back in the gold camp. some one may have come here from there before we started, and, in some manner, this old mexican may have heard of us. he may even have been waiting for us. no; it looks queer when it happens, but reasoned out, it is natural enough. however, i am glad to know we are on the right road and will find what we are searching for, though the old man may be mistaken." "shall we go forward again?" asked jerry, resuming his place at the steering wheel. "forward it is!" cried ned. "ho, for the buried city!" once more the auto puffed along the forest road. it was warm with the heat of the tropics, and the boys were soon glad to take off their coats and collars. even with the breeze created by the movement of the machine, it was oppressive. "i say, when are we going to eat?" asked bob. "i know it's long past noon." "wrong for once, chunky," answered ned, looking at his watch. "it's only eleven o'clock." "well, here's a good place to stop and eat, anyhow," went on the stout lad, to whom eating never came amiss. "all right, we'll camp," put in jerry, bringing the machine to a stop. it was rather pleasant in the shade of the forest in spite of the heat, and the boys enjoyed it very much. the gasolene stove was lighted and ned made some chocolate, for, since their advent into mexico the travelers had come to like this beverage, which almost every one down in that country drinks. with this and some frijoles and cold chicken brought from the inn, they made a good meal. "i'm going to hunt for some specimens," announced the professor. "you boys can rest here for an hour or so." with his green collecting box and his butterfly net the naturalist disappeared along a path that led through the forest. "i suppose he'll come back with a blue-nosed baboon or a flat-headed gila monster," said ned. "he does find the queerest things." it was almost an hour later, when the boys were wondering what had become of the naturalist, that they heard faint shouts in the direction he had taken. "hurry, boys!" the professor's voice called. "hurry! help! help! i'm caught!" "he's in trouble again!" exclaimed ned. "we must go to his rescue!" "have you got your revolver?" asked jerry, as ned was about to rush away. "no; it's in the auto." "better get it. i'll take a rifle along. bob, you bring the rope. no telling what has happened, and we may need all three." with rifle, revolver and rope the three boys rushed into the forest to the rescue of their friend. they could hear his shouts more plainly now. "hurry or he'll kill me!" cried the professor. running at top speed the boys emerged into a sort of clearing. there they saw a sight that filled them with terror. professor snodgrass was standing underneath a tree, from one of the lower branches of which a big snake had dropped its sinuous folds about him. the reptile was slowly winding its coils about the unfortunate man, tightening and tightening them. its ugly head was within a few feet of the professor's face, and the man was striking at the snake with the butterfly net. "we're coming! we'll save you!" shouted jerry. the boy started to run close to the naturalist, intending to get near enough to fire at the snake's head without danger of hitting the professor. "look out!" yelled bob, pointing to the ground in front of the tree. "there's another of the reptiles!" as he spoke a second snake reared its head from the grass, right in the path jerry would have taken. bob had warned him just in time. jerry dropped to one knee. he took quick but careful aim at the snake on the ground and fired. the reptile thrashed about in a death struggle, for the bullet had crashed through its head. "now for the other one!" cried jerry. he ran in close to the reptile that was slowly crushing the professor to death. the unfortunate naturalist could no longer cry for help, so weak was he. jerry placed the muzzle of the rifle close to the snake's head, and pulled the trigger. the ugly folds relaxed, the long, sinuous body straightened out and the professor would have fallen had not jerry, dropping his gun, caught him. the other boys came to his aid, and they carried the naturalist to one side and placed him on the grass. bringing water from a nearby spring, bob soon restored the professor to his senses. "i'm all right," said the collector in a few minutes. "the breath was about squeezed out of me, though." "you had a narrow escape," said ned. "thanks to you boys, it ended fortunately," said the naturalist. "you see, i was trying to capture a new kind of tree-toad, and i didn't see the snake until it had me in its folds. i'll be more careful next time." in a little while the professor was able to walk. jerry recovered his gun and the whole party made their way back to the auto. the camp utensils were soon packed up and the journey was resumed. "i wonder what sort of an inn we'll stop at to-night?" said bob. "i hope they don't have any robbers." "we won't run any chances," spoke ned. "we'll post a guard." for several hours the auto chugged along. as it came to the top of a hill the boys saw below them quite a good-sized village. "there's where we'll spend the night," remarked jerry. "hello! what's that?" and he pointed to some object round a turn of the road, just ahead of them. "it looks like an automobile," said the professor. "it is!" cried ned. "and noddy nixon is in it!" chapter x. some tricks in magic. "you don't mean it!" exclaimed the professor. "noddy nixon, the young man who made all the trouble for us! i thought we had seen the last of him." "i hoped we had," said jerry. "but you can't always get what you want in this world." "no, indeed! there is a purple grasshopper i've been hunting for for nearly five years, and i never found it!" spoke the naturalist. "i wonder if noddy saw us?" asked ned. "it doesn't make much difference," was bob's opinion. "he'll run across us sooner or later. if he stops in the same village we do he's sure to hear about us." "then we may as well put up overnight in this town," said jerry, sending the machine ahead again. though the boys kept a close watch, they saw no more of noddy, for his automobile disappeared around a turn of the road. when the red touring car came up to the village, such a crowd of curious mexicans surrounded the auto that the occupants had difficulty in descending. "i guess noddy couldn't have come here, or these people wouldn't be so curious about our car," said bob. "oh, you can depend on it, he's somewhere in the neighborhood," was ned's opinion. the keeper of the tavern, running out, bowed low to the prospective guests. "enter, señors!" he exclaimed. "you are welcome a thousand times. the whole place is yours." "will you guarantee that there are no robbers?" asked jerry. "robbers, señors? not one of the rascals within a thousand miles!" "and will my bugs, snakes and specimens be safe?" asked the professor. "bugs and snakes! santa maria! what do you want of such reptiles? of course they will be safe. the most wretched thief, of which there are none here, would not so much as lay a finger on them." "then we will stay," said the naturalist. "out of the way, dogs, cattle, swine, pigs and beasts!" cried the innkeeper, brushing the crowd aside. "let the noble señors enter!" at these words, spoken in fierce tones, though mine host was smiling the while, the throng parted, and the boys, accompanied by the professor, made their way to the inn. it was not long before supper was served. there were the frijoles and tortillas, without which no mexican meal of ordinary quality is complete, but the adventurers had not yet become used to this food. then, too, there was delicious chocolate, such as can be had nowhere but in mexico. while the meal was in progress the travelers noticed that there was considerable excitement about the inn. crowds of people seemed to be going and coming, all of them talking loudly, and most of them laughing. "what is it all about?" asked jerry. "to-day is a fête day," replied the innkeeper. "no one has worked, and to-night there is an entertainment in the village square. every one will attend. it will be a grand sight." "what sort of entertainment?" "i know only what i heard, that a most wonderful magician will do feats. ah, some of those performers are very imps of darkness!" and the man muttered a prayer beneath his breath. "that sounds interesting. let's go," suggested bob. "i haven't any objection," said jerry. "will you go, professor?" "i will go anywhere where there is a chance i may add to the stock of scientific knowledge," replied the naturalist. "lead on, i'll follow." the meal over, the boys and professor had only to follow the crowd in order to reach the public square. a centre space had been roped off, and in the middle of this a small tent was erected. on the payment of a small sum to some officials, who seemed to be acting as ushers, the travelers managed to get places in the front row. there they stood, surrounded by swarthy mexican men, women and boys, waiting for the performance to begin. suddenly from within the tent sounded some weird music: the shrill scraping of fiddle and the beat of tom-toms. then a voice was heard chanting. a few seconds later a young man, dressed completely in white, stepped from the tent and sat down, cross-legged, on the ground. a score of flaring torches about him gave light, for it was now night. he spread a cloth on the ground, sprinkled a few drops of water on it, muttered some words, whisked away the covering, and there was a tiny dwarfed tree, its branches bearing fruit. "the old indian mango trick!" exclaimed the professor. "i have seen it done better, many times." the next trick was more elaborate. the youth in white clapped his hands and a boy came running from the tent. with him he brought a basket. the youth began to scold the boy, beating him with a stick. to escape the blows, the boy leaped into the basket. in a trice the youth clapped the cover on. then drawing a sword at his side, the youth plunged it into the wicker-work several times. from the basket horrible cries came, growing fainter and fainter at each thrust of the weapon. with a cry of satisfaction the youth finally held his sword aloft. the boys could see that it ran red, as if with blood. "has he stabbed him?" asked bob, in frightened tones. "watch," said the professor, with a smile. the youth opened the basket. it was empty. the boy had disappeared. the youth gave a cry of astonishment, and gazed up into the starlit sky. naturally, every one in the crowd gazed upward, likewise. all at once there was a cry from behind the youth, and the boy who had been in the basket, laughing and capering about as if being thrust through with a sword was the biggest joke in the world, moved among the assemblage, collecting coins in his cap. "another old indian trick," said the professor. "he simply curled up close to the outer rim of the basket and the sword went through the middle, where his body formed a circle." "but the blood!" exclaimed bob. "the boy had a sponge wet with red liquid, and when the sword blade came through the basket he wiped the crimson stuff on it," explained the professor. the tricks seemed to please the crowd very much, for few of them saw how they were done. the mexicans cried for more. the youth and boy retired to the tent. their place was taken by an old man, wrapped in a cloak. he produced a long rope, which he proceeded to knot about his body, tying himself closely. then he signed for two of the spectators to take hold, one at either end of the cord, which extended from under his cloak. two men did as he desired. then the old man began a sort of chant. he waved his hands in the air. with a quick motion he threw something at one of the torches. a cloud of smoke arose. there was a wild cry from the two men who held the rope. when the vapor cleared away the magician was nowhere to be seen, though his cloak lay on the ground and the men still held the ends of the rope that had bound him. an instant later there came a laugh from a tree off to the left. every one turned to look, and the old man jumped down from among the branches. "he tied fake knots," said the professor. "while he was waving his hands he managed to undo them. then he threw some powder in the torch flame, and while the smoke blinded every one he slipped out of his bonds and cloak, went through the crowd like a snake, and climbed a tree. the tricks are nothing to what i have seen in egypt and india." "perhaps there is nothing wonderful but in india or egypt," spoke a voice at the professor's elbow. he turned with a start, to see the old magician standing near him. the naturalist had not spoken aloud, yet it seemed that the mexican had heard him. "there are stranger things in this land than in egypt," went on the trickster. "buried cities are stranger. buried cities, where there is much gold to be had and great riches." "what do you know about buried cities?" asked the professor. "ask him who sat in the road, who drew the circle in the dust. ask him whom ye vainly sought," replied the mexican, with a laugh. the professor started. "it can't be! yes, it is. it's the same mexican we met before, and to whom i gave the tobacco," said the naturalist. "_si, señor_," was the answer, as the old man bowed low. "and be assured that though you mock at my poor magic, yet i can look into the future for you. i tell you," and he leaned over and whispered, "you shall soon find what you seek, the mysterious city. you are on the right road. keep on. when ye reach a place where the path turns to the left, at the sign where ye shall see the laughing serpent, take that path. see, the stars tell that you will meet with good fortune." with a dramatic gesture the old man pointed aloft. involuntarily the professor and the boys looked up. then, remembering the trick that had been played on them before, they looked for the mexican. but he had disappeared. chapter xi. noddy nixon's plot. "his old trick again," murmured the professor. "i should have been on my guard. however, it doesn't matter. but come on, boys. if we stand out here our plans will soon be known to every one." the travelers went back to their hotel, but the crowds of people remained at the square, for there were other antics of the entertainers to follow. "i wonder if we'll have to sleep '_en el sereno_' to-night?" said bob. "if we do, i'm going to stay awake." "yes, indeed; if they treat chunky the way they did jerry and myself, we'll be stranded," put in ned. "have you got it all right, chunky?" what "it" was, ned did not say; but bob understood, and, feeling where his money-belt encircled his waist, nodded to indicate that it was still in place. the travelers found there was plenty of room in the hotel. they were given a large apartment with four beds in it, and told they could sleep there together. they found that the room had but one door to it, and all the windows were too high up to admit of easy entrance. so, building a barricade of chairs in front of the portal, the adventurers decided it would not be necessary to stand guard. if any one came into the apartment he would have to make noise enough to awaken the soundest sleeper. thus protected, the travelers went to bed. nor were their slumbers disturbed by the advent of any robbers. however, if they could have seen what was taking place in a small hut on the outskirts of the town, about midnight, they might not have slept as peacefully. within a small adobe house, well concealed in a grove of trees, five figures were grouped around a table on which burned a candle stuck in a bottle. "i'll make trouble for jerry hopkins and his friends yet," spoke a youth, pounding the table with his fist. "that's what you're always saying, noddy nixon," put in a man standing over in the shadow. "well, i mean it this time, tom dalsett. we'd have put them out of business long ago if i'd had my way." "well, what are you going to do this time?" asked a lad, about noddy's age, whom, had the motor boys seen him, they would have at once known for jack pender, though he had become quite stout and bronzed by his travels. "i've got a plan," went on noddy. "i didn't come over to mexico for nothing." "what do you s'pose they come for?" asked bill berry, who was busy cleaning his revolver. "to locate a silver mine, of course," replied noddy. "ain't that so, vasco?" and nixon turned to a slick-looking mexican, who was rolling a cigarette. the fellow was a halfbreed, having some american blood in his veins. "_si, señor_," was the reply. "trust vasco bilette for finding out things. i heard them talking about a mine." "of course; i told you so," said noddy. the truth of it was that bilette had heard nothing of the sort, but thought it best to agree with noddy. "i hope we have better luck getting in on this mine than we did on their gold mine," said pender. "well, rather!" put in dalsett. "leave it to me," went on noddy. "i have a plan. and now do you fellows want to stay here all night or travel in the auto?" "stay here," murmured bilette. "it is warm and comfortable. one can smoke here." then, as if that settled it, he rolled himself up in his blanket, and, with a last puff on his cigarette, he went to sleep on the floor. in a little while the others followed his example. bilette slept better than any one, for he seemed to be used to the hordes of fleas that infested the hut. as for noddy, he awakened several times because of the uncomfortableness of his bed. finally he got up and went out to sit up the rest of the night on the cushioned seats of the automobile. so far, the nixon crowd had done nothing but ride on a sort of pleasure trip through mexico. noddy had managed to get some cash from home, and, with what dalsett obtained by gambling, they managed to live. shortly after crossing the rio grande river, noddy had fallen in with a slick mexican, vasco bilette by name, and had added him to his party. bilette knew the country well, and was of considerable assistance. he seemed to have no particular occupation. some evenings, when they would be near a large town, he would disappear. he always turned up in the morning with plenty of cash. how he got it he never said. but once he returned with a knife wound in the hand, and again, limping slightly from a bullet in the leg. from which it might be inferred that vasco used other than gentle and legitimate means of making a livelihood. but noddy's crowd was not one that asked embarrassing questions. with no particular object in view, noddy had driven his car hither and thither. however, accidentally hearing that jerry and his friends had come over into mexico, noddy determined to remain in their vicinity, learn their plans, and, if possible, thwart them to his own advantage. fortunately, the boys and the professor, soundly sleeping at their inn, could not look into the future and see the dangers they were to run, all because of noddy and his gang. if they could have, they might have turned back. bright and early the next morning professor snodgrass awoke. he looked out of the window, saw that the sun was shining, and rejoiced that the day was to be pleasant. then he happened to spy a new kind of a fly buzzing around the room. "ah, i must have you!" exclaimed the naturalist, unlimbering his insect net. "easy now, easy!" on tiptoes he began encircling the room after the fly. the buzzer seemed in no mood to be caught, and the professor made several ineffectual attempts to ensnare it. finally the insect lighted on bob's nose, as the boy still slumbered. "now i have you!" the professor cried. he forgot that bob might have some feelings, and thinking only of the rare fly, he brought the net down smartly on bob's countenance. "help! help! robbers! thieves!" shouted the boy. "keep still! don't move! i have it now!" yelled the professor, gathering up his net with the fly in it. "ah, there you are, my little beauty!" ned and jerry tumbled out of their beds, ned with his revolver ready in his hand. "oh, i thought it was some one after my money-belt," said bob, when his eyes were fully opened and he saw the professor. "sorry to disturb you," said the naturalist. "but it's in the interest of science, my dear young friend, and science is no respecter of persons." "nor of my nose, either," observed bob, rubbing his proboscis with a rueful countenance. there came a loud pounding at the door. "who's there?" asked jerry. "'tis i, the landlord," was the answer. "what is it? have the brigands come? is the place on fire? why did the señor yell, as if some one had stuck a knife into him?" "it was only me," called bob. "the professor caught a new kind of fly on my nose." "a fly! on your nose! _diablo!_ those _americanos_! they are crazy!" the innkeeper muttered as he went away. "well, we're up; i suppose we may as well stay up," said ned, stretching and yawning. "my, but i did sleep good!" they all agreed that the night's sleep had been a restful one. they dressed, had breakfast, and, in spite of the entreaties of the landlord to stay a few days, they were soon on the road in the automobile. "i'm glad to know we are on the right path," said the professor, after several miles had been covered. "i only hope that old mexican was not joking with us." "what was that he said about turning to the left?" asked ned. "we are to turn when we come to the place where the laughing monkey is," said bob. "serpent was what he said," observed jerry. "the laughing serpent. i wonder what that can be. i never saw a snake laugh." "it might be a figure of speech, or he may have meant there is a stone image carved in that design set up to mark a road," spoke the professor. "however, we shall see." dinner was eaten in a little glade beside a small brook, where some fish were caught. then, while the boys stretched out on the grass, the professor, who was never idle, took a small rifle and said he would go into the forest and see if he could not get a few specimens. "look out for snakes!" called ned. "i will," replied the naturalist, remembering his former experience. about an hour later, when jerry was just beginning to think it was time to start off, the stillness of the forest was broken by a terrible and blood-curdling yell. "a tiger!" cried bob. "there are no tigers here," said jerry. "but it's some wild beast!" the yell was repeated. then came a crashing of the underbrush, followed by a wild call for help. "that's the professor!" cried jerry, seizing his rifle. chapter xii. noddy schemes with mexicans. the boys crashed through the bushes and under the low branches of trees in the direction of the professor's voice. they could hear him more plainly now. "help! help! come quick!" the naturalist cried. the sight that met the boys' eyes when they came out into a little clearing of the forest was at once calculated to amuse and alarm them. they saw the professor clinging to the tail of a mountain lion, the beast being suspended over a low tree-limb, with the naturalist hanging on one side of the branch and the animal on the other, the brute in the air and the professor on the ground. [illustration: they saw the professor clinging to the tail of a mountain lion.] the infuriated beast was struggling and wiggling to get free from the grip the professor had of its tail. it snarled and growled, now and then giving voice to a fierce roar, and endeavoring to swing far enough back to bite or claw the naturalist. as for professor snodgrass, he was clinging to the tail with both hands for dear life, and trying to keep as far as possible away from the dangerous teeth and claws of the lion. "let go!" yelled jerry. "i dare not!" shouted the professor. "if i do the brute will fall to the ground and eat me up. i can't let go, and i can't hold on much longer. hurry up, boys, and do something!" "how did you get that way?" asked bob. "i'll--tell--you--later!" panted the poor professor, as he was swung clear from the ground by a particularly energetic movement of the beast. "hurry! hurry! the tail is slipping through my fingers!" in fact, this seemed to be the case, and the beast was now nearer the ground, while the length of tail the naturalist grasped was lessened. the big cat-like creature suddenly began swinging to and fro, like a pendulum. at each swing it came closer and closer to the professor. all the while it was spitting and snarling in a rage. suddenly the professor gave a yell louder than any he had uttered. "ouch! he bit me that time!" he cried. "hurry, boys!" the lads saw that the situation now had more of seriousness than humor in it. jerry crept up close and, with cocked rifle, waited for a chance to fire at the beast without hitting the professor. at that instant the lion made a strong, backward swing, and its claws caught in the professor's trousers. the beast tried to sink its teeth in the naturalist's legs, but with a quick movement the professor himself jumped back, and, with his own momentum and that of the lion to aid him, he swung in a complete circle around the limb of the tree, the lion going with him, so their positions were exactly reversed. "steady now! i have him!" called jerry. the change in the positions of man and beast had given the boy the very opportunity he wanted. the animal was now nearest to him. quickly raising the rifle, jerry sent a bullet into the brute's head, following it up with two others. the lion, with a last wild struggle to free itself, dangled limply from the tree-limb, from which it was still suspended by the professor's hold on its tail. seeing that his enemy was dead, and could do him no harm, the naturalist let go his grip and the big cat fell in a heap on the ground. "once more you boys have saved my life," said the collector, as he mopped his brow, for his exertions in trying to keep free from the beast had not been easy. "are you bit much?" asked ned. "nothing more than scratches," was the reply. "how in the world did you ever get in such a scrape?" asked jerry. "i'll tell you how it was," answered the professor. "you see, i was busy collecting bugs and small reptiles, going from tree to tree. when i came to this one i saw what i thought was a small, yellow snake. i believed i had a fine prize. "i approached without making a sound, and when i was near enough i made a grab for what i imagined was the snake. instead, it turned out to be the tail of the mountain lion, which dangled from the limb, on which the beast was crouched. all at once there was a terrible commotion." "i would say there was!" interrupted ned. "we heard it over where we were." "yes, of course," resumed the professor. "well, as soon as i got the tail in my hands i found i had made a mistake. it was then too late to let go, so the only thing to do was to hold on. it was rather a peculiar position to be in." "it certainly was," said jerry, with a laugh. "yes, of course. well, seeing that the only thing to do was to keep my grip, i kept it and yelled for help. i guess the lion was as badly scared as i was first, when it felt me grab its tail. after it found i wasn't going to let go it got mad, i guess." "it acted so, at any rate," put in bob. "yes, of course," went on the professor. "well, anyhow, i knew if i did let go i would be clawed to pieces, so there i hung, like the man on the tail of the mad bull, not daring to let go. then you came, and you know the rest." "are you sure you're not hurt?" asked ned. "sure," was the reply. "i was too lively for the lion. i'm sorry the tail didn't turn out to be a snake, though, for if it had been i'm sure it would have been a rare specimen." leaving the dead body of the animal where it had fallen, the travelers went back to their auto. the camp utensils were packed away, and soon, with ned at the steering wheel, the machine was running off the miles that separated the adventurers from the hidden city they hoped to find. they traveled until nearly nightfall, and came to no village or settlement. it began to look as if they would have to camp in the open, when, just as darkness was approaching, they came to a small adobe hut in the midst of a sugar-cane plantation. "maybe we can stop here overnight," said jerry. an aged mexican and his wife came to the door of the cabin to see the strange fire-wagon pass. speaking to them in spanish, the professor asked if he and his companions could get beds for the night. at first the man seemed to hesitate, but the rattling of a few coins in bob's pockets soon changed his mind, and he bade the travelers enter. the woman quickly got a fairly good meal, and then, after sitting about for an hour or so and talking over the events of the day, the travelers sought their beds. they found themselves in one apartment, containing two small, cane couches, neither one hardly big enough for a single occupant. "however, it's better than sleeping out of doors, where the mosquitoes can carry you away," said ned. contrary to their expectations, the travelers slept good, the only trouble being the fleas, which were particularly numerous. but by this time they had become somewhat used to this mexican pest. while the professor and the boys were taking a well-earned rest, quite a different scene was being enacted by noddy nixon and his companions. following a half-formed plan he had in mind, noddy had hung on the trail of the motor boys. he had followed them from the inn where they last stopped, and now he was camped out, with his followers, about five miles from the adobe hut. but jerry and his friends did not know this. "isn't it pretty near time you told us what you are going to do, noddy?" asked jack pender, as he piled some wood on the camp-fire. "i'll tell you," spoke noddy. "we're going to follow them until they locate their mine, and then we're going to stake a claim right near theirs. they're not going to get all the gold or silver in this country the way they did in arizona." "are you sure it's a mine they're after?" asked bilette, puffing at his cigarette. "of course," replied noddy. "what else could it be? didn't you hear that's what they came for?" "i don't know," went on the slick mexican. "i only asked for information. if it's a mine they're after we'll need a bigger force than we have to run things." "where can we get help?" asked noddy. "i'll show you," replied vasco. he put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. an instant later half a dozen mexicans stepped from the shadow of the trees and stood in a line, in the glare of the fire. "well, you didn't lose any time over it," observed noddy. "where did they come from, and who are they?" and the bully looked a little uneasy. "they came from the greenwood," replied vasco bilette, "for the forest is their home. and they are friends of mine, so now both your questions are answered." "if they're friends of yours i s'pose it's all right," went on noddy. "well, rather!" drawled vasco, lighting another cigarette from the stump of his last one. "will they help us?" went on noddy. bilette addressed something in spanish to his friends who had so mysteriously appeared. "_si, señor_," they exclaimed as one man, bowing to noddy. "queer you happened to have 'em on hand," said noddy, accepting the answer to his question, for he had learned a little spanish, and knew that "si" meant yes. "i anticipated we might need them," said bilette. "so i told them to be on hand and in waiting to-night. they are very prompt." "then we'll join forces with them and show jerry hopkins and his crowd that he can't have everything his own way," growled noddy. "come on, we'll follow them now and see what they are doing," and noddy seemed ready to start off. "not to-night; it's time to turn in," objected bilette. "we'll begin early in the morning." he spoke once more to the six men, who disappeared into the forest as quietly as they had come. then bilette, wrapping himself up in his cloak, went to sleep. the others followed his example, and soon the camp was quiet. noddy now had his plans in working order, and he thought, with satisfaction, of the revenge he would have. chapter xiii. on the trail. "come, come, boys! are you going to sleep all day?" exclaimed professor snodgrass, the next morning. his cheery voice awoke the others, and they sat up on the hard cots. "where are we? oh, yes, i remember now!" said bob. "i thought i was back at the gold mine." "i dreamed i was back in cresville," added jerry. "i wonder how all the folks are. we must write some letters home." after breakfast, which the mexican and his wife served in an appetizing style, the travelers decided to delay their start an hour or two, and spend the time writing. professor snodgrass said he had no one to correspond with, so he wandered off with his net and specimen box, but the boys got out paper, pens and ink, and were soon busy scratching away. in about two hours the professor returned, having collected a number of specimens and escaped getting into any difficulties or dangers for once. "we'd better start," he called. "i'm anxious to get to that underground city. if that turns out half as well as i expect, our fortunes are made." "will it be better than the gold mine?" asked bob, with a grin. "the gold mine!" exclaimed the naturalist. "why, i had rather reach this buried city than have half a dozen gold mines!" he was very enthusiastic and seemed anxious to get on with the journey. the automobile was made ready, and, bidding their hosts good-by, the travelers were again under way. as they progressed the road became rougher and more difficult of passage. in places it was so narrow that the automobile could barely be taken past the thick growth of foliage on either side. the forest fairly teemed with animal life, while the flitting of brilliantly colored birds through the trees made the woods look as if a rainbow had burst and fallen from the sky. parrots and macaws, gay in their vari-tinted plumage, called shrilly as the puffing auto invaded their domains. it was necessary to run the car slowly. the professor fretted at the lack of speed, but nothing could be done about it, and, as jerry said, it was better to be slow and sure. so they went on for several miles. about noon the travelers came to the edge of a broad river, which cut in two the road they had been following. "here's a problem," said jerry, bringing the car to a stop. "how are we going to get over that? no bridge and no ferry in sight." "perhaps it isn't as deep as it looks," suggested the professor. "tell you what!" exclaimed ned. "we'll all go in for a swim and then we can tell whether it's too deep to run the auto across." his plan was voted a good one, and soon the boys and professor snodgrass were splashing about in the water. their bath was a refreshing one. incidentally, ned found out that he could wade across, the stream in one place coming only to his knees, while the bottom was of firm sand. while the travelers were splashing about in the cool water, they might not have felt so unconcerned had they been able to look through the thick screen of foliage on the bank of the stream, and see what was taking place there. several dark-complexioned men, in company with vasco bilette, had dismounted from their horses and were watching the bathers. "well, i'm glad they decided to stop," remarked vasco. "our horses are tired from following their trail. they will probably camp for the night on the other bank, for they would be foolish to go farther when they can find good water and fodder." "you forget they do not have a horse to consider," spoke one of the mexicans. "their machine does not eat." "no more it does," said bilette. "but they cannot go much farther. if necessary, we can cross the river and get at them." "is that noddy boy and his puff-puff carriage to join us?" asked one of the crowd of mexicans. "that is the plan," replied vasco. "he thought we could follow the trail on horses better than he could in the automobile, because that makes a noise, and those we are pursuing might hear it. so noddy has kept about five miles behind. as for us, you know that we have been only a mile in the rear, thanks to the slowness with which they had to run their machine. "ah, the _americanos_ have finished their bath. here they come back," went on vasco, as the boys and the professor began wading toward the shore, near which they had left their auto. suddenly the professor set up a great splashing and made a grab under the water. "i've got it! i've got it!" he yelled, holding something aloft. "got what?" asked jerry. "a rare specimen of the green-clawed crab," was the answer, and the naturalist held up to view a wiggling crawfish. "it bit my big toe, but i grabbed it before it got away. this was indeed a profitable bath for me. that specimen is worth one hundred dollars." "if there are crabs in there i don't see why there aren't fish," spoke ned. "i'm going to try, anyhow." quickly dressing, he got out a line and hook, cut a pole and, with a grasshopper for bait, threw in. in three minutes he had landed a fine big fish, and several others followed in succession. "i guess we'll have one good meal, anyhow," observed ned. "shall we stay on this side and eat, or cross the river?" asked the professor. "might as well stay here," was jerry's opinion. so the portable stove was made ready and soon the appetizing smell of frying fish filled the air. the travelers made a good meal, and vasco bilette and his gang, hiding among the trees, smoked their cigarettes and wished they had a portion. "but never mind, when we have the _americanos_ at our mercy we will be the ones who eat, and they will starve," was how vasco consoled himself. dinner over, the travelers took their places in the auto, and, with jerry at the wheel, the passage of the river was begun. following the course ned had tried, the machine was taken safely over the stream, and run up the opposite bank. no sooner had it got on solid ground, however, than, with a loud noise, one of the rear tires burst. "here's trouble!" exclaimed ned, as jerry brought the car to a sudden stop. "might have been worse," commented bob. "it might have blown out while we were in the water, and that would have been no joke." "right you are, chunky," said jerry. "well, i suppose we may as well camp here for a spell; at least until the repairs are made." he set to work to put in a new tube, ned and bob assisting him, while the professor wandered off after any stray specimens that might exist. he found several insects that he said were rare ones. the fixing of the tire proved a harder job than jerry had anticipated. it was several hours before it was repaired to suit him, and by then the sun was getting low. "what do you say that we camp here for the night?" proposed ned. "we can't get on much farther anyhow, and this is a nice place. it's more open than in the forest." this was voted a good plan, so a fire was made and a camp staked out. from their side of the river vasco and his companions viewed these preparations with satisfaction. "they cannot escape us now," said the leader of the mexicans. "we can easily cross the river after dark and get close to them. i wish noddy would hurry up." at that instant there was the sound of wheels in the road, to the left of which vasco and his men were concealed. in a little while noddy, with dalsett, berry and pender, rode up in the machine. "where are they?" asked noddy, eagerly. vasco pointed through the screen of bushes to the other side of the bank, where the professor and boys were encamped. "good!" exclaimed nixon. "we'll pay them a visit to-night." all unconscious of the nearness of their foes, the cresville boys, having had a good supper, sat talking about the camp-fire. the professor was engaged in sorting over the specimens he had gathered during the day. at this same time noddy and dalsett, with vasco and the six mexicans the latter had provided, were preparing to cross the river, under cover of the darkness. they did not undress, but waded in as they were, the gleaming camp-fire on the other side serving as a beacon to guide them. "softly!" cautioned vasco, as the nine crawled up on the opposite bank, and began creeping toward the campers. chapter xiv. the angry mexicans. the professor and the boys were thinking of getting out their blankets and turning in for the night. they sat in a circle about the camp-fire, talking over the events of the day. meanwhile, creeping nearer and nearer, noddy, vasco and their gang were encircling the camp of jerry and his friends. they came so close that they could hear the conversation between the professor and the boys. now, if the mexicans whom vasco had engaged to assist him had not understood something of the english language, or if chance had so arranged matters that they had not come near enough to overhear the talk of jerry and his comrades, this story might have had a different ending. as it was, fate so willed matters that noddy and his gang got close to the camp in time to hear the professor remark: "well, boys, it will not be many more days, i hope, before we reach the buried city we are searching for. and when we do i will be the proudest man in the world. think of discovering a buried town of ancient mexico! why, half the college professors would give their heads to be in my place." "but we haven't found the city yet," said ned. "no; but i am sure we are on the right road," went on the professor. "i am sure of it, not only because of what the old mexican magician told us, but from the map my friend left me. see, here it is," and he drew out the paper with the rude drawing on. the boys drew close to look the map over once more. "there seem to be two roads, one branching off to the right," remarked jerry, pointing to the map. "and it looks as if there was some sort of an image at the parting of the ways." "there is!" exclaimed the professor. "i never noticed it before, but there is the laughing serpent, as sure as you're a foot high!" "we'll reach the buried city all right," spoke bob. "i only hope we don't come upon it too unexpectedly." "well, the mexican prophesied we would find it sooner than we thought," observed ned. "but he may not have meant all he said. anyhow, i'm sleepy and i'm going to turn in." the others followed his example of wrapping themselves up in their blankets, and soon their deep breathing told they were on the road to slumberland. meanwhile, the mexicans who had listened to the above conversation were much disturbed. though they did not understand all that had been said, they caught enough to indicate to them that the boys and the professor were not on a search for gold or silver mines, the only things in which the mexicans were interested. there were angry but low-voiced mutterings among the mexicans. soon they became angry, talked among themselves and grew quite excited. they talked rapidly to vasco, in spanish. "what does all this mean, noddy?" asked bilette. "have you fooled us?" "no, no, it's all right!" exclaimed nixon. "their talk of a buried city is only a bluff to throw us off the track." "hardly, when they don't know we are following them," said vasco. "i'm afraid that's not true, noddy. better own up and say you guessed at the whole thing." "i didn't guess!" exclaimed noddy. "too much talk! not enough do!" exclaimed one of the mexicans, striding forward and pushing noddy to one side. noddy resented this, and drew back his hand as if to strike the mexican. the latter, quick as a flash, drew an ugly-looking knife. "put that up!" exclaimed vasco, noting, in the darkness, his companion's act. "we don't want to begin fighting among ourselves." he stepped between noddy and the mexican, and pushed them away from each other. the mexican muttered angrily, and his companions could be heard growling over the outcome of the affair. they could appreciate a gold or silver mine. a buried city was nothing to them, and they saw no use in pursuing the trail further. they were angry at noddy for having brought them thus far on a foolish errand. "now keep quiet," advised bilette. "the first thing you know you'll have them all aroused and then there'll be trouble." "_diablo!_" exclaimed one of the mexicans, beneath his breath. "are we fools or children? we leave the city and we travel for days through the wilderness. we are told we are to get great riches. santa maria! is this money? is this gold or silver? the crazy _americanos_ talk of nothing but lost cities. what care i for lost cities? what care any of us for lost cities? i hate lost cities!" "and i! and i!" exclaimed his companions, in whispers. "and this fellow, noddy nixon, is to blame for it all!" went on the angry mexican. "he gets us all to come out here. we follow the crazy _americano_ who does nothing but grab bugs and toads. he is man to be afraid of! yet we follow him, and all for what? to find he is looking for some old ruins. i will not stand it!" "clear out of here!" commanded bilette. "if we stand here quarreling much longer they'll wake up." under the guidance of their leader, the mexicans made their way back to the river bank. on the opposite shore they had left their horses and noddy's automobile. "what made you think they were after a mine, noddy?" asked bilette, when the party was well beyond earshot of the campers. "you must have made a mistake." "supposing i did," whispered noddy, in low tones to vasco, "what good will it do to tell every one? i may have failed on this plan, but i have another, even better." "better not try it until you find if it will work," advised bilette. "my men are in no mood to be fooled a second time." disappointed and dejected, the mexicans recrossed the river and made their camp on the opposite shore from professor snodgrass and the boys. the mexicans were still in a surly mood, and vasco had to keep close watch lest some one of them should harm noddy. wet and cold, for if the days were hot the nights were chilly, the nixon gang reached their camp. one of the men lighted a fire and cooked some frijoles and tortillas. the meal, simple as it was, made every one feel better. nixon and pender, as soon as they had finished eating, drew off to one side, leaving the mexicans to talk among themselves. "it looks as if we'd have trouble," said noddy. "it's all your fault," observed pender. "i'm not saying it isn't," put in noddy. "but what's the use of crying over spilled milk? the question is: what are we going to do about it now?" pender was silent a few minutes. then a thought seemed to come to him suddenly. "i have it!" he exclaimed. "what?" asked noddy. jack leaned over and whispered something in his friend's ear. noddy hesitated a moment, and then gave a start. "the very thing!" he exclaimed. "i wonder i didn't think of it before." he hurried to where vasco was sitting, near the camp-fire, smoking a cigarette. to him he whispered what pender had suggested. "it's a risky thing to do," said the mexican. "if it fails, we'll have to leave the country. if it succeeds we'll be in danger of heavy punishment from the authorities. however, i'm ready to risk it if you are. shall i tell the men?" "of course," replied noddy. "i want to make it up to them for being mistaken about the mine." thereupon vasco called his friends to him, and, motioning for silence, said: "our friend noddy," he explained, "has just told me something." "about a gold mine?" asked one of the men, bitterly. "it may prove to be a gold mine," said vasco. "but it concerns one of those across the river," and he nodded toward the other campers. "did you notice one of the boys"--bilette went on--"the fat one; the stout youth; the one they call bob and sometimes chunky?" "_si! si!_" exclaimed the mexicans. "well, his father is a rich banker." "what of it?" asked one of the men. "his money is not in mexico." "but it can be brought to mexico!" cried vasco. "how?" "by kidnapping the boy and holding him for a large ransom. will you do it?" "we will!" yelled the men. "this will provide us with gold. we'll kidnap the fat boy!" chapter xv. caught by an alligator. "easy! easy!" cried vasco bilette. "do you want them to hear you across the river?" under his caution the men subsided. "we must follow them and watch our chance," spoke noddy. "we'll demand a heavy ransom." "_si! si!_" agreed the mexicans. "that's how we get square, jack," whispered noddy to his chum. "you bet, noddy; and get money, too!" said pender. "we'll all have to have a share," put in dalsett. "i'm not here for my health." "me either," remarked bill berry. "i need cash as much as any one." "we'll share the ransom money," said vasco. "now turn in, every one of you." soon the camp became quiet, the only sounds heard being the movements of animals in the forest, or, now and then, the splash of a fish in the river. the sun was scarcely above the horizon the next morning ere vasco bilette was astir. he took a position where he could watch the other camp, and saw the professor and the boys get their breakfast and start off. "we'll give them about an hour's start," said vasco to noddy. "then the men on horses will follow and you can come, about a mile behind, in the auto. at the first opportunity we'll capture this bob baker." meanwhile, jerry and his companions were going along at a moderate pace. the weather was fine though hot, and the road fairly good. for perhaps twenty miles they puffed along, and then they came to another river. "i hope this isn't any deeper than the other," said jerry. "i'll swim across," volunteered ned. his offer was accepted, and, stripping off his outer garments, he plunged into the water. luckily, he found the stream was about as shallow as the first one the auto had forded. he reached the opposite bank and called over. "come on! fetch my clothes with you; i'm not going to swim back." jerry started the machine down into the water. it went along all right until about half way across. then there came a sudden swirl beneath the surface, a jar to the machine, and then the auto came to a stop. "what's the matter?" cried jerry. "have we struck a snag?" "looks more like a snag had struck us," replied bob, leaning over the rear seat and looking down into the water. "something has hold of one of the back wheels." "nonsense!" exclaimed jerry. "do you suppose a fish would try to swallow an automobile, as the whale did jonah?" "well, you can see for yourself," maintained bob. "there's some kind of a fish, or beast, or bird, down under the water, making quite a fuss. it's so muddy i can't make out what it is." jerry climbed over into the tonneau. sure enough, there was some disturbance going on. every now and then the water would swirl and eddy, and the automobile would tremble as if trying to move against some powerful force. jerry had thrown out the gears as soon as he felt an obstruction. professor snodgrass was closely observing the water. "what do you think it is?" asked jerry. "it might be that it is an eddy of the water about a sink-hole, or it may be, as bob suggests, a big fish," replied the naturalist. "i never knew there were fish in these waters big enough to stop an auto, though." "it may be a whole school of fishes," said bob. just then there came a more violent agitation of the water, and the auto began to move backward slightly. "whatever it is, it seems bound to get us," jerry remarked. "wait until i see if i can't beat the fish or whatever it is." he turned on more power and threw in the first speed gear. the auto shivered and trembled, and then moved ahead slightly. but the big fish, or whatever it was, with powerful strokes of its tail began a backward pull that neutralized the action of the automobile. "i see what it is!" cried the professor. "what?" asked jerry. "a big alligator! it has one wheel in its mouth and is trying to drag us back. hand me a rifle!" jerry passed over a gun. the professor, who was a good shot, leaned down over the back of the tonneau. he could just make out the ugly head of the 'gator beneath the surface. in quick succession he sent three bullets from the magazine rifle into its brain. there was a last dying struggle of the beast, the waters swirled in a whirlpool under the lashing of the powerful tail, and then the little waves became red with blood and the alligator ceased struggling. once more jerry threw the gear into place, and this time the machine went forward and reached the opposite bank. "i thought you were never coming," observed ned, who was shivering in his wet undergarments. "what did you stop for? to catch fish?" "we stopped because we had to," replied jerry, and he told ned about the alligator. "i thought you were shooting bullfrogs," observed the swimmer as he got out some dry clothing. "say, if we told the folks at home that a mexican alligator tried to chew up an automobile, i wonder what they'd say?" "the beast must have been very hungry, or else have taken us for an enemy," remarked the professor. "i wish i could have saved him for a specimen. but i suppose it would have been a bother to carry around." "i think it would," agreed jerry. "but now we are safe, i must see if mr. alligator damaged the machine any." he looked at the wheels where the saurian had taken hold, but beyond the marks of the teeth of the beast on the spokes and rim, no harm had been done. "are we ready to go on now?" asked the professor, when ned had finished dressing. "i'd like to take a dip in the river," said bob. "it's hot and dusty on the road, and we may not get another chance." "i think i'll go in, too," observed jerry. "we are in no hurry. will you come along, professor?" "no; i'll watch you," said the naturalist. he sat down on the bank while jerry and chunky prepared for a dip. they splashed around in the water near shore and had a good bath. bob was swimming a little farther out than was jerry. "better stay near shore," cautioned the professor. "no telling when some alligators may be along." at that instant bob gave a cry. he struggled in the water and gave a spring into the air. "something has stung me!" he cried. then he sank back, limp and unconscious, beneath the waves. "hurry!" cried the professor. "get him out, jerry, or he'll be drowned!" but jerry had hurried to the rescue even before the professor called. reaching down under the water he picked up his companion's body, and, placing it over his shoulder, waded to shore with it. bob was as limp as a rag. "is he killed?" asked ned. "i hope not," replied the professor. "still, he had a narrow escape." "did something bite him?" asked jerry. the professor pointed to a small red mark on bob's leg. "he received an electric shock," said the naturalist. "an electric shock?" echoed ned. "yes; from the electric battery fish, or stinging ray, as they are sometimes called. they can give a severe shock, causing death under some circumstances, it is said. but i guess it was a young one that stung bob. they are a fish," the professor went on to explain, "fitted by nature with a perfect electric battery. i wish i had caught one for a specimen." "i didn't think of it at the time this one stung me or i would have caught it for you," said bob, suddenly opening his eyes. "oh, you're better, are you?" asked jerry. "i'm all right," replied bob. "it was quite a jar at first." "i agree with you," put in the professor. "however, you got over it better than i expected you would. i think we had better get out of the neighborhood of this river. it seems unlucky." in a little while bob was sufficiently recovered to dress. then, having delayed only to fill the water tank of the auto from the stream, the travelers resumed their journey. they chugged along until nightfall, and having reached no settlement, they camped in the open, and made an early start the next day. it was about noon when, having made a sudden turn of the road, they came to a place where there was a parting of the ways. "i wonder which we shall take?" asked ned. "look! look!" cried bob, suddenly, pointing to something ahead. chapter xvi. the laughing serpent. "what is it?" asked jerry, bringing the machine up with a sudden jerk. "see! there is the laughing serpent!" exclaimed bob. "the laughing serpent?" inquired ned. "what do you mean?" "don't you remember what the old mexican said?" went on bob. "here is the parting of the ways, and here is the image of the laughing serpent." "sure enough!" agreed the professor. "it's an image cut out of stone, in the shape of a snake laughing. wonderful! wonderful!" right at the fork of the road and about fifteen feet from the automobile was the strange design. it was rudely cut out of stone, a serpent twining about a tree-trunk. there was nothing remarkable in the image itself except for the quaint, laughing expression the sculptor had managed to carve on the mouth of the reptile. "i wonder how it came here?" asked jerry, getting out of the car and going close for a better look. "probably a relic of the aztec race," replied the professor. "they were artists in their way. this must be the image the old mexican mentioned. if it is i suppose we may as well follow his advice and take the road to the left." "the road to the buried city," put in jerry. "we must be close to it now." "isn't that something sticking in the mouth of the image?" asked bob. "it looks like a paper," said ned. "i'll climb up and see what it is." he scrambled up the stone tree-trunk, about which the image of the laughing serpent was twined. reaching up, he took from the mouth of the reptile a folded paper. "what does it say?" called jerry. "it's written in some queer language; spanish, i guess," replied ned. "i can't read it." "bring it here," said professor snodgrass. "perhaps i can make it out." the naturalist puzzled over the writing a few minutes. then he exclaimed: "it's from our old friend, the mexican magician. he tells us to turn to the left, which is the same advice he has given us before, and he adds that we must beware of some sudden happening." "i wonder what he means by that?" asked jerry. "probably nothing," answered the professor. "but if something does happen, and he meets us after it, he'll be sure to say he warned us. it's a way those pretended wonder-workers have." "how do you suppose the note was placed there?" inquired bob. "we left the mexican many miles behind." "they are wonderful runners," answered the naturalist. "the magician may not have placed it here himself, but he may have given it to a friend. perhaps there was a relay of runners, such as used to exist among the ancient mexicans to carry royal messages. the old mexican, who, somehow or other, discovered our object in this country, probably wanted to impress us with his abilities in the mystifying line." the travelers spent a few minutes examining the queer, carved serpent. there were no other evidences of the existence of man at hand, and, except for the two roads, there was nothing to be seen but an almost unbroken forest. it was a wild part of mexico. "well, what are we going to do?" asked jerry. "go on or stay here?" "go on, by all means," said the professor. "why, we may be only a little way from the buried city! just think of it! there will be wealth untold for us!" "one thing puzzles me though," observed bob. "what is it, chunky?" asked ned. "how are we going to know this buried city when we come to it?" "how?" came from jerry. "why, i suppose there'll be a railroad station, with the name of the city on it. or there may be trolley cars, so we can ask the conductors if we are at the underground town. don't you worry about knowing the place when you get to it." "but if it's underground, how are we going to find it?" persisted bob. "it isn't like a mine, for people who know the signs can tell where gold or silver is hidden under the ground. but a city is different." "i confess that question has been a puzzle to me," admitted professor snodgrass. "the only thing to do is to keep on along this road until we come to the place, or see some evidence that a buried city is in the vicinity." "forward, then!" cried jerry, cranking up the auto. they all got into the car and, proceeding at a slow speed, for the path was uncertain, started down the road leading to the left. but all this while noddy nixon and vasco bilette, at the head of their two bands, had not been idle. noddy kept his auto going, and vasco and his mexicans trotted along on horseback, drawing nearer and nearer to the travelers ahead of them. it was about noon when the boys and the professor had started away from the image of the laughing serpent, and it was three hours later that vasco and his men came up to it. "hello!" exclaimed the mexican, staring at the carved stone. "i never saw you before, but you're not remarkable for beauty. i wonder what you're here for?" he had never been in this part of mexico before, and it was like a new country to him. "i wonder which way those chaps took?" asked vasco, dismounting from his horse. "it won't do for us to take the wrong trail." "see!" exclaimed one of the mexicans, pointing to where the tracks of the auto wheels could be seen, imprinted in the dust of the way leading to the left. "see! that way they go!" "sure enough they did, petro!" remarked vasco. "you have sharp eyes. well, we'll just wait here until noddy comes up and sees how things are. i shouldn't wonder but what it would be time to close in on 'em to-night. i'm getting tired of waiting. i want some money." "so are we all tired!" exclaimed one of the gang, speaking in spanish, which was the language vasco always used save in talking to his english acquaintances. "we want gold, and if the fat boy is to be carried off and held for a ransom, the sooner the better." "have patience," advised vasco. "we'll have him quick enough. wait until noddy comes." then he began to roll a cigarette, his example being followed by all the others. in about an hour noddy, pender, dalsett and berry came up in the auto. a consultation was held, and it was decided to have the horsemen follow the party in front more closely. "we'll do the kidnapping to-night," said noddy. "we'll wait until they go into camp, because that's what they'll have to do, for there are no inns down here. we'll be hiding in the bushes and at the proper time we'll grab bob baker and run." "good!" exclaimed vasco. "my men were beginning to get impatient." the plotters made a fire and prepared dinner. then the mexicans got out their revolvers and began cleaning them. several also sharpened their knives. "look here," began noddy, as he saw these preparations, "there's to be no killing, you know, vasco." "killing! bless you, of course not," was the reply, but vasco winked one eye at dalsett. "my men are only seeing that their weapons do not get rusty. now, captain, we're ready to start as soon as you give the word." "then you may as well begin now," was noddy's reply. "they have a pretty good start of us, but we'll travel after dark, if need be, to catch up with them. as soon as they camp out for the night, vasco, surround them so they can't escape. then i'll come up in my car, and we'll take bob away in it." the horsemen started off, noddy following in a little while. the trail made by the auto of the boys and the professor was easily followed. noddy's car had barely turned around a bend in the road before something strange happened. the laughing serpent seemed to tremble and shake. it appeared alive, and about to fall to the ground. then a portion of the base and tree-trunk slid to one side and from the interior, which was hollow, there stepped out an old mexican--the same who had played the part of the magician and who had given prophetic warning to the travelers. "ha! my trick worked!" he exclaimed. "it was a hard journey to travel all that distance and get here ahead of them. only the fleetness of my horse and the fact that i knew all the roads that were short cuts, enabled me to do it. now for the final act in the game!" he placed his fingers to his mouth and blew a shrill whistle. in an instant a milk-white horse came from the bushes, where it had been concealed. "here, my beauty!" called the mexican. he leaped on the animal's back and dashed off like the wind, down the road leading to the right. chapter xvii. an interrupted kidnapping. as the auto containing the naturalist and the boys progressed, the road became more and more difficult to travel. part of the way was overgrown with brush, and several times the travelers had to stop, get out and cut big vines that grew across the path. "i guess there hasn't been much going on along this highway," observed jerry. "and i don't believe it will ever be much in favor with autoists," said ned. "there's too much sand." there was a great deal of the fine dirt and in some places it was so soft and yielding that the wheels of the car sank down half way to the hubs, making it impossible to proceed except at a snail's pace. then, again, would come firm stretches, where the going was easier. in this manner several miles were traversed. the forest on either side of the road became more dense and wilder. thousands of parrots and other birds flew about among the trees, and troops of monkeys followed the progress of the automobile, chattering as if in rage at the invasion of their stamping ground. suddenly the screams and chattering of the monkeys ceased. the birds also stopped their racket, and the silence was weird after the riot of noise. then there came such a series of shrill shrieks from a band of monkeys that it was evident something out of the ordinary had happened. the next instant a long, lithe, yellow animal shot across the road in front of the auto. the big beast had a monkey in its mouth. "a jaguar!" exclaimed the professor. "quick, boys! get the rifle!" ned handed the weapon to the professor, who fired three times, quickly, but the jaguar leaped on, unharmed. "well, we're getting into the region of big game," remarked the naturalist, "and we'll have to be on the lookout now or some of the beasts will be trying that trick on us." "the monkeys must have seen him; that's why they kept so still that time," remarked bob. "but it didn't do that particular one any good," said the professor. "he must have been caught napping. well, mr. jaguar will have a good supper to-night." "that reminds me," spoke bob. "when are we going to eat?" "that's right, speak of eating and you'll be sure to hear from chunky," said jerry. "but i suppose we'll have to camp pretty soon. it's five o'clock and there don't seem to be any hotels in the vicinity," and he glanced at the dense forest on every side and grinned. "we'll camp at the next clearing," said the professor. "better get to a place where there's a little space on every side of you when there are wild animals about." a mile further on the travelers came to a place where the trees were less thick. there was an open space on either side of the road. the auto was placed under the shelter of a wide-spreading palm and then the adventurers busied themselves getting supper. the professor took a gun and went a little way into the woods. he shot a small deer, and in a little while some choice venison steaks were broiling over the camp stove. "this is something like eating," remarked ned. "i was getting tired of those frijoles, eggs and tortillas," and he accepted a second helping of venison. the rubber and woolen blankets were taken from the auto, and the travelers prepared to spend the night in the forest. "i guess we'll mount guard," said the professor. "the forest is full of jaguars. i saw three while i was hunting the deer." "let me stay up," begged jerry. "i'm not sleepy, and i'd like to get a shot at one of the beasts." ned also wanted to remain up, but the professor said he could take the second watch; and, content with this, ned turned in with the others. as the night wore on the forests resounded more and more with the noises made by wild beasts. the howls of the foxes mingled with the more terrifying yells of the jaguars, and of the latter beasts the woods seemed to be full. jerry, with the loaded magazine rifle, was on the alert. he kept up a bright fire, for he knew that unless made desperate by hunger no wild thing would approach a flame. there were queer rustlings and cracklings of the underbrush on every side of the sentinel. now and then through the leaves he caught glimpses of reddish-green eyes reflecting back the shine of the blaze. following the plans they had made, vasco bilette and his mexicans, together with noddy and the crowd in the automobile, had trailed the boys and the professor to the camp. with great caution, vasco had led his men to within a short distance of the fire jerry had kindled, and noddy's auto was in readiness for the kidnapping. so, though jerry did not know it, there were the eyes of dangerous men on his movements as well as the eyes of dangerous beasts. like dark shadows, the mexicans slowly encircled the camp. they were so close they could distinguish the sleeping forms. "which is bob?" whispered vasco to noddy. "that one right at the foot of the big palm tree," replied noddy nixon, pointing out the banker's son. "is everything ready?" the leader of the mexicans asked. "all ready!" replied noddy. vasco was about to steal forward, hoping to be able to grab up bob and make off with him before the camp was aroused. in case of resistance, he had given his men orders to shoot. but at that instant a big jaguar, driven wild with hunger, and braving all danger, had crept to within a few feet of jerry. the animal smelled the meat of the recently killed deer, the carcass of which hung in a tree. the fierce beast determined to get a meal at all hazards. it crouched on the limb of a tree, just above jerry's head, ready for a spring at the body of the deer. jerry happened to glance up. he saw the long, lithe body, tense for a leap, the reddish-green eyes glaring at him. jerry was not a coward, but the sight of the brute, so dangerous and so close to him, scared him greatly for a second or two. then, recovering his nerve, he raised the rifle, took quick aim and fired three shots in rapid succession. with a snarl and roar the jaguar toppled to the ground, tearing up the earth and leaves in a death struggle. "what's the matter?" called out the professor. "are you hurt, jerry?" cried ned. bob, too, roused up, and the whole camp was soon astir, every one grabbing a gun or revolver. jerry fired two more shots into the jaguar, and the struggles ceased. "i got him just in time," he remarked. the others crowded around the brute. "halt!" exclaimed bilette, under his breath, as, ready with his men to rush on the camp, he saw that his plan was spoiled. "if it had not been for that jaguar i would have had the captive. come, we must get out of this!" chapter xviii. the underground city. vasco bilette's warning was received with ill humor by his men. they were angry because the kidnapping had not succeeded, and because the jaguar had alarmed the camp and put every one on guard. "come, let us give them battle now and take the boy!" suggested one. "do you want to be killed?" asked vasco, angrily. "they are all armed now, and would shoot at the least suspicious sound. i, for one, don't care to have a bullet in me. come, let us get out of this." the mexicans saw the force of vasco's arguments. they did not care about being shot at like wild beasts, and they knew that the boys and the professor were ready for anything now. "we will try to-morrow night," said bilette, as, with noddy and his men, he silently withdrew to where the horses and auto had been left. "perhaps we'll have better luck then." the men growled, but had to accept the situation. as for our friends, they were too excited to sleep any more that night, and so they sat around the camp-fire and talked until morning. breakfast over, camp was broken, and once more the auto started on the trip toward the hidden city. professor snodgrass got out the map made by his dead friend and studied it carefully. "i believe we are on the right road," the naturalist said. "here is a highway marked on the drawing that seems to correspond with the one we are on. and there is a place marked where two roads diverge. only there is nothing said about the laughing serpent, though there is something here that might be taken for it," and he pointed to the map. every one was becoming quite anxious, and the boys, as well as the professor, kept close watch on each foot of the way to see if there were any indications that they were close to the underground town. they stopped for dinner near a little brook, in which bob caught several fish that made a welcome addition to the bill of fare. "now, if you boys don't object, i think i'll take a little stroll into the woods and see what i can find in the way of specimens," remarked the naturalist, as he finished the last of his fish and frijoles. "better take a gun along," called ned. "a jaguar may get you." "i'm not going very far," replied the professor. "all i want is my net and box," and with these only he started off. it was about an hour later when jerry observed: "doesn't it seem as if the monkeys were making more noise than usual?" the boys listened for a few seconds. it was evident that something had disturbed these nimble inhabitants of the forest, for they were yelling and chattering at a great rate. "maybe another jaguar is after them," suggested bob. "no; it doesn't sound like that," said jerry. "they seem to be yelling more in rage than in fear." "maybe they're having a fight," put in ned. just then there came a crashing, as if several trees were being crashed down by a tornado. there was a crackling of the underbrush and a rustling in the leaves. then, above this noise and the yells of the monkeys, sounded a single cry: "help, boys!" "the professor's in trouble again!" cried jerry. "i wonder what it is this time?" grabbing up a rifle, which example bob and ned imitated, jerry ran in the direction of the voice. the noise made by the monkeys increased, and there were sounds as if a bombardment of the forest was under way. "where are you?" called jerry. "we are coming!" "under this big rock!" called the professor, and the boys, looking in the direction his voice came from, saw the naturalist hiding under a big ledge of stone that jutted out of the side of a hill in a sort of a clearing. "can't you come out?" called ned. "i tried to several times, but i was nearly killed," replied the professor. "the monkeys are after me. look at the ground." the boys looked and saw, strewn in front of the shallow cave in which the professor had ensconced himself, a number of round, dark objects. as they looked there came a shower of others through the air. several of them hit on the rock, broke, and a shower of white scattered all about. "what in the world are they?" asked bob. he ran toward the professor. no sooner had he emerged out of the dense forest into the clearing than a regular hail of the round objects fell all about him. one struck him on the shoulder and the boy was glad enough to retreat. "what's it all about?" asked ned. "the monkeys are bombarding the professor with cocoanuts," said bob, gasping for breath after his run. "cocoanuts?" "that's what they are. here come some more." he had scarcely spoken before the air was again dark with the brown nuts, which were much larger than those seen in market, being contained in their original husk. at the same time there was a chorus of angry cries from the monkeys. it was evident now why the professor dared not leave his rock shelter. the minute he did so he would run the risk of being struck down and probably killed by a volley of the nuts. nor could the boys go to his rescue, for the moment they crossed the clearing they would be targets for the infuriated animals. "what's to be done?" asked ned. "supposing we shoot some of the monkeys," suggested bob. "i don't think that would be a good idea," said jerry. "in the first place if we kill any of the animals it will make the others all the angrier. and then we would have to keep shooting for several days to make much of an inroad on the beasts. there must be five thousand of them." indeed, the forest was full of the long-tailed and nimble-fingered monkeys, all perched in cocoanut or other trees, ready to resent the slightest movement on the part of their human enemies. "i know a good trick," spoke bob. "what is it, chunky?" asked jerry. "take a big looking-glass and put it on a tree. the monkeys will be attracted by the shine of it; they will all go down to see what it is and when they see a strange monkey in the glass they will fight. that will make enough fuss so that the professor can escape." "that might be a good trick if we had the big mirror, which we haven't," spoke jerry. "you'll have to think of something else, chunky." but there was no need of this, for at that instant the cries of the monkeys ceased. the silence was almost oppressive in its suddenness and by contrast with the previous riot of noise. then came unmistakable screams of fear from the simians. "now what has happened, i wonder?" said ned. "it's a jaguar!" cried bob. he pointed to a tree, on a limb of which one of the animals the monkeys dreaded so much was stretched out. the beast was stalking one of the chattering animals, but his presence had been discovered by the whole tribe. so much in awe did the monkeys hold this scourge of the mexican forests that his presence accomplished what the boys could never hope to. the apes trooped off with a rush, chattering in fright. with a howl of rage the jaguar took after them. "you can come out now, professor," called ned. "the monkeys are gone." in fear and trembling the naturalist came from his sheltering rock. he seemed in momentary fear lest he might be greeted with a shower of the nuts, but none fell. with rapid strides he crossed the clearing and joined the boys. "how did it all happen?" asked jerry, as soon as the professor had recovered his breath. "it was all my fault," explained the naturalist. "i was collecting some butterfly specimens, when i happened to see some monkeys in the cocoanut trees. i had read that if any one threw something at the beasts they would retaliate by throwing down cocoanuts. i wanted to test it, so i threw a few stones at the monkeys. they returned my fire with interest, so i was forced to run under the rock for shelter. "there were only a few monkeys at first, but more came until there were thousands. they kept throwing cocoanuts until the ground was covered. it's lucky you came when i called." "it's luckier the jaguar came along when he did," said jerry. "let's get back to the auto before i get into any more trouble," suggested the professor. "i do seem to have the worst luck of getting into scrapes." half an hour later the travelers were on their way. it was getting well along into afternoon and they were beginning to think of where they would spend the night. they were getting deeper and deeper into the forest, and the way became more and more difficult to travel. but they would not turn back, for they felt they were on the right path. at length they came to a place where creepers and vines were so closely grown across the path that nothing short of hatchets could make a way. the boys got out the small axes kept for such emergencies, and, after an hour's work, made a passage. they started forward once more, and were going along at a pretty good clip, the road having improved in spots. "i wonder when we'll get to that underground city?" said ned, for perhaps the tenth time that day. he had no sooner spoken than the earth trembled under the auto. the machine seemed to stand still. then, with a sickening motion it plunged forward and downward. a big hole had opened in the road and let the car and its occupants through the surface of the earth. the machine slid forward, revealing, near the top of a shaft, a brief glimpse of several ruined buildings. "it is the underground city!" exclaimed the professor. then there came intense darkness. chapter xix. in an ancient temple. the auto seemed to be bumping along downhill, for at the first evidence of danger jerry had shut off the power and applied the brake. but the descent was too steep to have the bands hold. down and down the adventurers went, through some underground passage, it was evident. "are we all here?" called jerry, his voice sounding strange and muffled in the chamber to which they had come. "i'm here and all right, but i don't exactly know what has happened," replied the professor. "the same with me," put in ned, and bob echoed his words. just then the automobile came to a stop, having reached a level and run along it for a short distance. "well, we seem to have arrived," went on jerry. "i wonder how much good it is going to do us?" "supposing we light the search-lamp and see what sort of a place we are in," suggested professor snodgrass. "it's so dark in here we might just as well be inside one of the pyramids of egypt." the acetylene gas lamp on the front of the auto was lighted, and in its brilliant rays the travelers saw that they were in a large underground passage. it was about twenty feet high, twice as broad and seemed to be hewn out of solid rock. "this is what makes it so dark," observed the professor. "i knew it must be something like this, for it was still daylight when we tumbled into the hole and we haven't been five minutes down here. run the auto forward, jerry." the car puffed slowly along surely as strange a place as ever an automobile was in. the boys looked eagerly ahead. they saw nothing but the rocky sides and roof of the passage. "this doesn't look much like an underground city," objected ned. "i think it's an abandoned railway tunnel." at that instant jerry shut off the power and applied the brakes with a jerk. "what's the matter?" asked the professor. "there's some sort of a wall or obstruction ahead," was the answer, and jerry pointed to where, in the glare of the lamp, could be seen a wall that closed up the passageway completely. "i guess this is the end," remarked ned, ruefully. the naturalist got out of the car and ran forward. he seemed to be examining the obstruction carefully. he struck it two or three blows. "hurrah!" he cried. "come on, boys, this is only a big wooden door! we can open it!" in an instant the three lads had joined him. they found that the passage was closed by a big portal of planks, bolted together and swinging on immense hinges. there was also a huge lock or fastening. "can we open the door?" inquired bob. "it looks as if it was meant to stay shut." "we'll soon see," answered jerry. he ran back to the automobile and got a kit of tools. then, while ned held up one of the small oil lamps that was taken off the dashboard of the car, jerry tackled the lock. it was a massive affair, but time had so rusted it that very little trouble was found in taking it apart so that the door was free. "everybody push, now!" called jerry. "those hinges are pretty rusty." they shoved with all their strength, but the door, though it gave slightly, showing that no more locks held it, would not open. it had probably not been used for centuries. "looks as if we'd have to stay here," said the professor. "not a bit of it," spoke jerry. "wait a minute." he ran back to the auto, and soon the others heard him cranking it up. "look out! stand to one side!" he called. the auto came forward slowly. jerry steered the front part of it carefully against the massive door. once he was close to the portal he turned on full power. there was a cracking and splintering of wood, and a squeaking as the rusty hinges gave. then, with the auto pushing against it, the massive door swung to one side. the machine had accomplished what the strength of the boys and the professor could not. slowly but surely the portal opened. wider and wider it swung, until there burst on the astonished gaze of the travelers a flood of light. the sun was shining overhead, though fast declining in the west, but in the bright glare of the slanting beams there was revealed the underground city. there it stood in all its ancient splendor, most of it, however, but mere ruins of what had been fine buildings. there were rows and rows of houses, stone palaces and what had been beautiful temples. nearly all of the structures showed traces of elaborate carvings. but ruin was on every side. the roofs of houses, temples and palaces had fallen in. walls were crumbling and the streets were filled with debris. as the boys looked, some foxes scampered among the ruins, and shortly afterward a jaguar slunk along, crawling into a hole in a temple wall. "grand! beautiful! solemn!" exclaimed the professor, in raptures over the discovery. "it is more than i dared to hope for. think of it, boys! we have at last discovered the buried city of ancient mexico. how the people back in civilization will open their eyes when they hear this news! my name and yours as well will be covered with glory. oh, it is marvelous!" "i guess it will be some time before the people back in cresville hear of this," observed jerry. "there doesn't seem to be any way of sending a letter from here. i don't see any telegraph station, and there's not a messenger boy in sight." "that's funny," said ned. "you'd think a buried city, a dead one, so to speak, would be just the place where a district messenger would like to come to rest." "it's a lonesome place here," remarked bob. "i hope we'll find some one to talk to." "that's just the beauty of the place," said the professor. "what good would an ancient, ruined, buried city be if people were living in it? i hope there isn't a soul here but ourselves." "i guess you'll get your desire, all right," remarked jerry. the first surprise and wonder over, the travelers advanced a little way into the city and looked about them. they saw that the place, which was several miles square, was down in a hollow, formed of high hills. for this reason the location of the city had remained so long a secret. they had come upon it through one of the underground passages leading into the town, and these, as they afterward learned, were the only means of entering the place. there were four of these passages or tunnels, one entering from each side of the city, north, south, east and west. but time and change had closed up the outer ends of the tunnels after the city had become deserted, and it remained for professor snodgrass and his party to tumble in on one. it was as if a city had been built inside an immense bowl and on the bottom of it. the sides of the bowl would represent the hills and mountains that girt the ancient town. then, if four holes were made in the sides of the vessel, close to the bottom, they would be like the four entrances to the old city. "supposing we take a ride through the town before dark," suggested jerry. "we may meet some one." he started the machine, but after going a short distance it was found that it was impracticable to use the machine to any advantage. the streets were filled with debris and big stones from the ruined houses and fallen hills, and it needed constant twisting and turning to make the journey. "let's get out and walk," proposed ned. "then there's a good place to leave the machine," said bob, pointing to a ruined temple on the left. "we can run it right inside, through the big doors. it's a regular garage." the suggestion was voted a good one, and jerry steered the auto into the temple. the place had been magnificent in its day. even now the walls were covered with beautiful paintings, or the remains of them, and the whole interior and exterior of the place was a mass of fine stone carving. the roof had fallen away in several places, but there were spots where enough remained to give shelter. the machine was run into a covered corner and then the travelers went outside. the professor uttered cries of delight at every step, as he discovered some new specimen or relic. they seemed to exist on every side. "look out where you're stepping!" called the naturalist, suddenly, as jerry was about to set his foot down. "what's the matter--a snake?" asked the boy, jumping back. "no. but you nearly stepped on and ruined a petrified bug worth thousands of dollars!" "great scott! i'll be careful after this," promised jerry, as the professor picked up the specimen of a beetle and put it in his box. chapter xx. mysterious happenings. the travelers strolled for some time longer, the professor finding what he called rare relics at every turn. "this is like another gold mine," he said. "there are treasures untold here. i have no doubt we will find a store of diamonds and other precious stones before we are through." "i'd like to find a ham sandwich right now," observed bob. "it wouldn't be chunky if he wasn't hungry," laughed ned. "but i admit i feel somewhat the same way myself." "then we had better go back to the temple and get supper," advised jerry. so back they went, but their progress was slow, because the professor would insist on examining every bit of ruins he came to in order to see if there were not specimens to be gathered or relics to be picked up. his green box was full to overflowing and all his pockets bulged, but he was the happiest of naturalists. it was dark when they reached the ancient place of worship where the auto had been left, and at jerry's suggestion bob lighted the search-lamp and the other two lights on the machine. this made a brilliant circle of illumination in one place, but threw the rest of the temple into a dense blackness. "i wouldn't want to be here all alone," remarked bob, looking about and shuddering a bit. "why, chunky? afraid of ghosts?" asked ned. "what was that?" exclaimed bob, suddenly, starting at a noise. "a bat," replied the naturalist. "the place is full of them. i must get some for specimens." "i don't know but what i prefer ghosts to bats," said bob. "i hope none of them suck our blood while we're asleep." "no danger; i guess none of these are of the vampire variety," remarked the professor. "but now let's get supper." in spite of the strangeness of the surroundings, the travelers managed to make a good meal. the gasolene stove was set up and some canned chicken prepared, with tortillas and frijoles. "we'll have to replenish our larder soon," remarked jerry, looking into the provision chest. "there's only a little stuff left." "we'll have to go hunting some day," said the professor. "we can't starve in this country. game is too plentiful." "i wonder if the people who built this place didn't put some bedrooms in it," said bob, as, sitting on the floor of the temple, he began to nod from sleepiness. "perhaps they did," put in ned. "let's take a look." he unfastened one of the oil lamps from the auto and started off on an exploring trip. a little to the left of the corner where the auto stood he came to a door. though it worked hard on the rusted hinges he managed to push it open. he flashed the light inside. "hurrah! here are some beds or couches or something of the kind!" he shouted. the others came hurrying up. the room seemed to be a sort of resting place for the priests of the ancient temple. ranged about the side walls were wooden frames on which were stretched skins and hides of animals, in a manner somewhat as the modern cot is made. "i wonder if they are strong enough to hold us," said jerry. "let chunky try, he's the heaviest," suggested ned. accordingly, bob stretched out on the ancient bed. it creaked a little, but showed no signs of collapsing in spite of the many years it had been in the place. "this will be better than sleeping on a cold stone floor," remarked the professor. "fetch in the blankets and we'll have a good night's rest." "shall we post a guard?" asked jerry. "i don't think it will be necessary," replied the naturalist. "i hardly believe there is any one in this old city but ourselves, and we can barricade the door to keep out any stray animals." so, in a little while, the travelers were all slumbering. but the professor was wrong in his surmise that they were the only inhabitants of the underground city. no sooner had a series of snores proclaimed that every one was sleeping than from a dark recess on the opposite side of the temple to that where the automobile stood there came a strange figure, clad in white. if bob had seen it he surely would have said it was a ghost. "so you found my ancient city after all," whispered the figure. "you know now that the mexican magician was telling the truth, and you realize that you found the place sooner than you expected, and in a strange manner. but there will be more strange things happen before you go from here, i promise you." "are the _americano_ dogs asleep?" sounded a whisper from the recess whence came the aged mexican, who had so strangely prophesied to the professor. "yes, san lucia, they are asleep," replied the first figure, as another, attired as he was, joined him. "but speak softly, for they have sharp ears and wake easily." "have they the gold with them?" asked san lucia, who was also quite old. "that is what we want, murado. have they the gold?" "all _americanos_ have gold," replied murado. "that is why i lured them on. all my plans were made to get them here that we might take their gold." "and you succeeded wonderfully well, murado. tell me about it, for i have not had a chance to talk to you since you arrived in such breathless haste." "there is not much to tell," replied the other. "i heard of their arrival in a short time after they reached mexico. then, in a secret way, i heard what they were searching for. chance made it possible for me to somewhat startle them by pretending to know more than i did. i met them on the road and told them of what they were in search and how to find it." "that was easy, since you knew so well yourself," interrupted san lucia. "we have not been brigands for nothing, murado. well do i remember the day you and i came upon this buried city. and it has been our headquarters ever since." "as i said, it was easy to mystify them," went on murado. "they traveled fast in their steam wagon, or whatever it is, but i knew several short cuts that enabled me to get ahead of them. i was hidden in the hollow stone image of the laughing serpent and saw, through the little eye-holes, how they came up and took the paper i had written and put between the lips of the reptile. oh, it all worked out as i had planned, and now we have them here where we want them." "and we will kill them and get their gold!" whispered san lucia, feeling of a knife he wore in his belt. "but tell me, how did they happen to stumble on the right underground passage?" "they didn't happen to," replied murado. "that was one point where i failed. but it is just as well. you see, i had so managed things that i knew they would take the road to the left of the image. when i saw them depart i called my horse and galloped off to the right. i wanted to take a short cut and get here ahead of them. "i succeeded. you were away; just when i needed your help, too. but i managed. i went out in the underground passage and waited for them. "that passage, you know, goes right under the road they were traveling on. whoever built this ancient city must have wanted it to remain hidden, for the only way to get to it is by the tunnels. if, by chance, some one approached on the roads leading to the top of the mountains the ancients had a plan to get rid of them." "how?" asked san lucia. "at several places in the upper roadway there were false places. that is, they were traps. a portion of the road would be dug away, making a shaft down to the tunnel. then boards would be placed over the hole and a light covering of dirt sprinkled on the planks. watchers were stationed below, and at the sound of an enemy on the boards above the sentinels would pull a lever. this would take away the supports of the false portion of the road, and it would crash down into the tunnel, carrying the enemy with it. "so i played the part of the watcher, and when i heard the _americanos_ riding over the trap i pulled the lever and down they crashed. "there, as i said, i made my only mistake. i expected the _americanos_ would be killed, but their steam cart is strong, and the fall did not hurt them. besides, only one end of the trap gave way, and the other, holding fast, made an inclined road on which they descended into the tunnel. that is how they came here, and now we must to work if we are to get their gold." "and quickly, too," observed san lucia, "for i learned that another party is following this; they, too, have a steam wagon, and we may trap them also." "i know the crowd of whom you speak," said murado. "they are not far behind. one is a youth called nixy nodnot, or some barbarous thing like it. they will be surprised not to find their friends. but come, they sleep!" then the two mexican brigands began creeping toward the room where the professor and the boys were sleeping. chapter xxi. noddy has a tumble. when vasco and noddy, foiled in their attempt to kidnap bob, retreated through the forest, they went into camp with their crowd in no very pleasant frame of mind. the mexicans whom vasco had hired to assist him were angry at being foiled, and they talked of deserting. "go on, if you want to," said vasco, carelessly rolling a cigarette; "so much the more gold for us when the rich man ransoms his son." this was enough to excite the greed of the men, who talked no more of going away. the next day, after a consultation, noddy and vasco decided to continue on the trail of the boys and the professor. they pursued the same tactics they had previous to the interrupted kidnapping, and were careful not to get too close to those they were trailing. all was not harmonious among the members of the band with which noddy had surrounded himself. the men had frequent quarrels, especially when they were playing cards, which they seemed to do when they were not smoking cigarettes. after dinner one day the mexicans appeared to be much amused as they played their game. they laughed and shouted and seemed to be talking of the automobile, for noddy had brought his machine up to the camp of the horsemen. "what are they talking about?" asked noddy of vasco. "they are making a wager that the one who loses the game must ride, all by himself, in the automobile," replied bilette. "but i don't want them to do that," said noddy. "they don't know how to run the car." "that's the trouble," went on vasco. "no one wants to lose, for they're all afraid to operate the machine. but if one of them tries to do it, you'd better let him, if you don't want to get into trouble." with a shout of laughter the men arose from where they had been playing the game. they seemed to be railing at one chap, who looked at the auto as if he feared it might blow up and kill him. "you're in for it," remarked vasco. "whatever you do don't make a fuss." with a somewhat sheepish air a young mexican, one of vasco's crowd, came near the auto. he made a sign that he wanted to take noddy's place. the latter frowned and spoke in english, only a word or two of which the native understood. "you shan't have this machine," spoke noddy. "it's mine, and if you try to run it you'll break it." but the mexican paid no heed. he came close up to noddy, grabbed him by the collar and hauled him from the car. noddy was the only one in it at that time, berry, dalsett and pender having gone off a short distance. "let go of me!" cried noddy, trying to draw a small revolver he carried. the mexican only grunted and retained his grip. "if you don't let me alone i'll fire!" exclaimed the youth. he had his revolver out, and the mexican, seeing this, allowed his temper to cool a bit. but there was an angry look in his eyes that meant trouble for noddy. "now you fellows quit this gambling," commanded vasco. "we'll have hard work ahead of us in a little while, and we don't want any foolishness. leave noddy alone. don't you know if any one tries to run that machine that hasn't been introduced to it, the engine will blow up!" "_diablo!_" exclaimed the mexican who had lost at cards and who was about to attempt to operate the auto. "i will let it alone!" quiet was restored, but the bad feeling was only smoothed over. it was liable to break out again at any time. the main object of the crowd was not lost sight of, however, and every hour they drew nearer the trail of those of whom they were in pursuit. as it grew dusk, on the day of the quarrel over the auto, noddy and vasco, with their followers, came to a small clearing. they decided to stop and have supper. "if i'm not mistaken, the other auto has been here within a short time," remarked vasco, pointing to marks in the sandy road. "and there seem to be footprints leading over there through the underbrush." he followed the trail, and came to the place where, a short time before, professor snodgrass had battled with the cocoanut-throwing monkeys. "looks as if some one was going to start in the wholesale business," went on the mexican, glancing at the pile of nuts the simians had piled up. "do you think we are close to them?" asked noddy, for, since the experience of the afternoon, he was anxious to get the kidnapping over, and be rid of the mexicans. "they have been here very recently," said vasco. "how can you tell?" asked noddy. "see where the oil has dripped from their machine," replied bilette, pointing to a little puddle of the lubricant in the road. "it has not yet had time to soak away, showing that it must have been there but a short time, since in this sand it would not remain long on top." "shall we go on after them or camp for the night?" asked noddy, following a somewhat lengthy pause. "keep on," replied vasco. "no telling when we may get another chance. get the boy when we can. we'll have to do a little night traveling, but what of it?" noddy assented. he spent some time after supper in oiling up the auto and getting the lamps filled, for darkness was coming on. then, all being in readiness, noddy started off, the horsemen keeping close to him. for a few miles no one in the party spoke. the auto puffed slowly along, the horsemen managing to keep up to it. "how do we know we're on the right road?" asked noddy at length. "we may have gone astray in the darkness." tom dalsett took a lantern and made a careful survey of the highway. he came back presently. "we're all right," he said. "there are auto tracks just ahead of us. we may come up to them any minute now." once more noddy's auto, which he had stopped to let dalsett out, started up. the pace was swift and silent. but as they penetrated farther and farther into the depths of the forest there was no sign of the boys and the professor, who, by this time, were in the underground city. "i don't believe we'll find them," spoke jack pender. "let's camp now and take up the trail in the morning, when you can see better." "no; we must keep on," said vasco, firmly. "it is to-night or never. i can't hold my men together any longer than that." off into the darkness puffed the auto. the men on horseback followed it, the whole party keeping close together, for several jaguars were seen near the path, having been driven from their usual haunts because of the scarcity of game. every one was on the alert, watching for any signs of the travelers they were pursuing. every now and then some one would get out and examine the road to see if the auto marks were still to be seen. they were there, and led straight on to the hidden city. it was some time past midnight and the machine was going over a good patch of road, when jack pender, who was seated beside noddy, suddenly grabbed the steersman's arm. "what's that ahead in the road?" asked jack. "i don't see anything," replied noddy. "it's your imagination. what does it look like?" "like a big black shadow, bigger and blacker than any around here. can't you see it now? there it is! stop the machine, quick!" noddy, peering through the gloom, saw what seemed to be a patch of shadows. he gave the levers quick yanks, jammed down the brakes and tried to bring the machine to a stop. but he was too late. with a plunge the car sank through the earth and rushed along the inclined plane down which jerry and his friends had coasted a few hours before. there were wild cries of fear, mingled with the shrill neighing of horses, for some of the riders and their steeds also went down the trap that had been laid. the auto remained upright and shot along the floor of the tunnel to which it had fallen, undergoing the same experience as had the machine of jerry and his friends. then, with a crash that resounded through the confines of the ancient city, noddy and his machine and all who were in it brought up against the massive door closing the tunnel, which portal jerry had swung shut after he and his friends had passed through. following the crash there came an ominous silence. chapter xxii. face to face. "hark! what was that?" whispered san lucia to murado. the two old brigands paused in their stealthy march upon their sleeping victims, as the sound of the crash noddy's auto made came faintly to their ears. "how should i know?" asked murado, but he seemed alarmed. "it sounded in the tunnel," went on san lucia. "some one is coming! quick! let us hide! another night will do for our work." thereupon the two old villains, alarmed by the terror of the noise caused by they knew not what, hesitated and then fled as silently as they had advanced. for the time the lives of the boys and the professor had been saved. san lucia and murado went to their hiding place in the old temple, the building being so large and rambling that it would have hidden a score of men with ease. it may be added here that they did not dare to touch many things in the ancient city, thinking them bewitched. all unmindful of the danger which had menaced them, our travelers slept on, nothing disturbing them, and they did not hear the noise made by noddy's tumble, though they were not far from the mouth of the tunnel. "i say!" called bob, sitting up and looking at his watch in a sunbeam that came through a broken window. "i say, are you fellows going to sleep all day? it's nearly eight o'clock, and i want some breakfast." "oh, of course it's something to eat as soon as you open your eyes!" exclaimed jerry. "i should think you would take something to bed with you, chunky, and put it under your pillow so you could eat in the night whenever you felt hungry." "that's all right," snapped bob, "but i notice we don't have to call you twice to come to your meals." "is it morning?" called the professor from his cot. "long ago," replied bob, who was dressing. "i wonder if the folks that lived in this temple ever washed. i'd like to strike a bathroom about now." "hark! i hear something!" exclaimed the professor. they all listened intently. "it's running water," said the naturalist, "and close by. perhaps there's a wash-room in this temple." "i'm going to see what's behind this door," said bob, pointing to a portal none of them had noticed in the darkness. he pushed it open and went inside. the next instant he uttered a joyful cry: "come here, fellows! it's a plunge bath!" then they heard him spring in and splash about. jerry and ned soon followed, and the professor came a little later. it was a regular swimming-tank, stone-lined and sunk into the floor. the water came in through a sort of stone trough. "these old chaps knew something about life, after all," observed ned, as he climbed out and proceeded to dry himself. "they were probably a bit like the romans," remarked the professor, "and fond of bathing. but something has given me an appetite, and i wouldn't object to breakfast." the others were of the same mind, and soon ned had the gasolene stove set up and was preparing a meal. bob attended to the brewing of the coffee instead of chocolate, and the aroma of the beverage filled the old temple with an appetizing odor. "what are we going to do to-day?" asked jerry, when they had finished the meal and were sitting comfortably on some low stools that had been discovered in the room where they slept. "we must explore the city in all directions," said the professor. "there are many marvelous things here, and i have not begun to find them yet. it will take weeks and weeks." "are we going to stay here all that while?" asked bob, somewhat dubiously. "i'd like to," answered the naturalist. "but we can get a good load of specimens and relics, run up north and come back for more. this place is a regular treasure-trove." clearing away the remains of the breakfast, and looking over the auto to see that it had suffered no damage in the recent experience, the boys and the professor left the temple and strolled out into the deserted city. they did not know that their every movement was watched by the glittering eyes of san lucia and murado, who were hidden in an upper part of the temple whence they could look down on their intended victims from a small, concealed gallery. by full daylight the ancient city was even more wonderful than it had appeared in the waning light of the previous afternoon. in the days of its glory it was evident it had been a beautiful place. the travelers entered some of the better-preserved houses. they found the rooms filled with fine furniture, of a rude but simple and pleasing character, some of the articles being well preserved. one house they visited seemed to have belonged to some rich man, for it was filled with things that once had been of great beauty. "there is something that should interest me!" exclaimed the professor, as he caught sight of a small cabinet on the wall. "that must contain curios." he found his supposition right, and fairly reveled in the objects that were treasures to him, but not worth much to any one else. there were ancient coins, rings and other articles of jewelry and hundreds of bugs, beetles and minerals. "whoever lived here was a wise and learned man," observed the naturalist. "i shall take his whole collection back with me, since it is going to ruin here, and it belongs to no one." "there will be no room for any of us in the auto if you keep on collecting things," observed jerry. but this seemed to make no difference to the professor. he went right on collecting as if he had a freight car at his disposal. the travelers continued on their way, exploring the different buildings here and there. "i'm tired," announced bob, suddenly. "you fellows can go on, if you want to, but i'm going to sit down and take a rest." he found a comfortable place in the shade, where a stone ledge was built against the side of a ruined house, and sat down. jerry and ned followed his example, for they, too, were leg-weary. "i'll just take a look through this one place, and then we'll go back and have dinner," said the professor. he entered the structure, against which the boys were sitting. it was a small, one-storied affair, and did not look as if it would contain anything of value. the naturalist had not been inside five minutes before the boys heard him calling, in excited tones: "come quick, boys!" they ran in, to behold professor snodgrass with his arm stuck in a hole in the wall. he seemed to be pulling at something. "what is it?" cried jerry. "a gila monster," replied the professor. "i saw him and i got him." "it looks as if he had you," answered ned. "he tried to get away, but i grabbed him by the tail as he was going in his hole," went on the naturalist. "now he's got his claws dug down in the dirt and i can't pull him out. come out of there, my beauty!" he cried, addressing his remarks to the hidden gila monster. "come out, my pet!" then, with a sudden yank the professor succeeded in drawing the animal from its burrow. it was a repulsive-looking creature of the lizard variety, and as the professor held it up by the tail it wiggled and tried to escape. "now i have you, my little darling!" the naturalist cried, popping his prize into his collecting-box. "that would never take a prize at a beauty show," observed ned. "i wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole." "well, this has been a most profitable day," went on the collector, as, with the boys, he turned toward their residence in the old temple. "i must come back this afternoon for the cabinet of curios." without further incident, save that nearly every step of the homeward journey the professor stopped to pick up some relic, the travelers reached the temple. "here goes for another bath!" cried bob, running toward the room where the plunge was. "i'm nearly melted by the heat." "i'm with you!" said jerry. suddenly they heard the professor's voice calling them. "i wonder what in the world is the matter now?" said jerry. he and bob hurried outside where they had left the naturalist and ned. they found the pair gazing down the street toward the tunnel entrance. and as they gazed they saw the big door swing slowly open, while from the passage came noddy nixon, vasco bilette and the others of their crowd. a low cry of surprise broke from noddy as he stood face to face with the very persons he and vasco were seeking. chapter xxiii. bob is kidnapped. for a minute or two the unexpected encounter so astonished all concerned that no one spoke. noddy seemed ill at ease from meeting his former acquaintances, but vasco bilette smiled in an evil way. chance had thrown in his path the very person he wanted. tom dalsett was the first to speak. "well, we meet again," he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "how do you all do?" "i don't know that we're any the better for seeing you," remarked professor snodgrass, who was plain-spoken at times. "oh, but i assure you it's a sight for sore eyes to get a glimpse of you once more," went on tom. "besides, this is a free city, you know, even if it is an old, underground one; and we have as much right here as you have." "true enough," broke in jerry. "but you may as well know, first as last, that we're done fooling with you and your gang, noddy nixon. if you annoy us again there's going to be trouble!" noddy did not reply. he seemed anxious to get away, but dalsett and vasco urged him to stay, and they had secured quite an influence over the youth. "we must have come in by the same passage you did," went on dalsett. "you left it open behind you. we were wandering around in the dark tunnel until we discovered this door a little while ago. lucky, wasn't it?" "for you chaps, yes," commented ned. "some of us were nearly killed in the tumble," went on dalsett. "we got out of it rather well, on the whole." "you'd better come inside and have nothing more to say to him," said the professor to his friends. "this spoils all our plans." "never mind; perhaps we can give them the slip among the ruins," said jerry. he went back into the ancient temple, and the others followed him. noddy continued to stare as if he thought the whole thing was a dream. as for vasco and dalsett, they were much pleased with the turn affairs had taken. but the mexicans were excited. several of them had been bruised by the fall into the tunnel, and they wanted to proceed at once and kidnap bob, so they could get the ransom money. but vasco would not permit this. he did not believe in using force when he could use stealth. besides, he was a coward, and afraid of getting hurt, if it came to a fight. "let them go," he said to his men, who murmured as they saw their prospective captive and his friends retreat into the temple. "let them go. they can't get away from here without letting us know. we are better off than before. we can capture the fat boy whenever we want to now." with that, vasco's followers had to be content. as dalsett had said, noddy and his cronies, after groping about in the dark tunnel for some time, had finally discovered the door by which the boys and the professor had entered the ancient city. they had pushed it open and come face to face with our friends. "bah!" exclaimed one of the mexicans. "it is always to-morrow and to-morrow in this business. let us fight them! let us get the captive and let us share the ransom." "we'll do the trick to-night, sure," promised vasco. "to-night, positively, we will kidnap bob." meanwhile, all unconscious of the fate in store for him, bob was making a substantial meal, for the travelers had begun to get dinner after withdrawing from the front of the temple. they talked of little save the appearance of noddy and his followers. "how do you suppose he ever got here?" asked bob. "simply followed us," said jerry. "we left a plain enough trail. besides, automobiles are scarce in mexico, and any one seeing ours pass by would easily remember it and tell whoever came along afterward, making inquiries." "what had we better do?" asked ned. "stay here or go away?" "there'll be more or less trouble if we stay," was jerry's opinion. "supposing we go away for a while and come back. if noddy is after us we may give him the slip and return." "how are we going to get out of this place?" asked bob. "we can't go back through the tunnel we came in, as they are now on guard there." "there must be more than one entrance to this city," spoke the professor. "i think i'll go and hunt for another. when we find it we can take the automobile with us and escape to-night. i wish to be the first person to announce this discovery to the world." "that's the idea!" exclaimed ned. "i'll go along to help hunt for another passage, while bob and jerry can stay on guard." "in the meanwhile i'm going to have my swim," said bob. he went into the tank-room, and immediately uttered a cry. "what's the matter?" called jerry. "the water has all run out," replied bob, "and there's a big hole here!" the others came in on the run. they saw that the swimming-pool was empty. only a little water remained on the bottom in small puddles. they also saw that the pool was made with an incline of stone leading from the floor level down to the bottom. in the side opposite from where the incline was a big black hole showed itself. when the water was at the normal level this hole was invisible. once the water had lowered it was plain to see. "what made the water go out?" asked bob. "probably a gate at the end of the tunnel leading from the tank was opened," replied the naturalist. "or it may be an automatic arrangement, so that when the tank gets filled up to a certain height the water shuts itself off. so we'll defer our bath until the water rises. perhaps the tides may have some effect on it. we can only wait and see." "that tunnel is big enough to drive our auto through," observed bob. a sudden thought came to jerry. he whispered to the professor. "of course it could be done," replied the scientist after consideration, "but there is the danger of the water rising suddenly while we are in the tunnel. jerry talks of escaping by means of this new shaft," went on the professor. "we could run the auto down the incline and so out. but we must investigate the place." the naturalist walked down the incline. straight in front of them, as they neared it, yawned the black mouth of the passage. the professor would not let the boys come in until he had made an investigation. he walked quite a distance down the shaft and returned. he seemed in deep thought. "it will be safe to use the tunnel," he said. "it appears that the water was siphoned out. there is another tank or reservoir connected with this one. they both seem to be fed by springs. when the other tank, which is below the level and to one side, gets full of water, the fluid is siphoned out. as that tank is connected with the one we used, by a pipe, as soon as the water goes out of the first tank, that in the second follows to keep the first tank filled. and so it goes on, from day to day, repeating the operation once every twenty-four hours, i would judge. so we have plenty of time. the tunnel leads to one like that by which we entered the city. i have no doubt but that we can escape through it." if the professor and the boys could at this time have seen two evil faces peering down at them from a high balcony, they might not have felt so comfortable. san lucia and murado were on the lookout, and every move the travelers made was watched. it was decided to make the escape that night. accordingly, after supper, the automobile was prepared for a long trip. things were packed in it, and the professor took along his beloved specimens. "how are we going to get the car down the incline?" asked bob. "i can take it down, all right," replied jerry. at length all was in readiness. jerry and ned took the front seat, bob cranked up the car, which was still inside the old temple, and then joined the professor on the rear seat. "all ready?" asked jerry. "all ready," replied bob. "yes, and we are ready, too!" came in a whisper from the ruined doorway of the temple, where vasco bilette and his men were in hiding, watching the flight of the travelers. the mexican had guessed some sort of an attempt to escape would be made, and was on hand to frustrate it. but the preparations made for taking the auto down into the empty water pool puzzled vasco. so he was on the alert. "here we go!" called jerry, softly. the auto was vibrating, but almost noiselessly, for the explosions of the motor could scarcely be heard. down the incline jerry took the heavy car, without a mishap. straight for the open mouth of the tunnel he steered it. it was as dark as pitch now, but the lamps on the car gave good illumination. "come on, we have them now!" cried vasco to his followers. "the boy is in the back seat!" the mexicans ran down the incline. by this time the machine was well into the mouth of the shaft. hearing footsteps behind him, resounding on the stone pavement, jerry shut off the power for a moment. as he did so the car was surrounded by ugly-looking brigands, who had run up at a signal from vasco. "quick! grab him!" cried dalsett. "i have him!" replied vasco. he reached up, and, though bob was a heavy lad, the mexican, with the help of dalsett, pulled him over the rear seat. bob fought, kicked and struggled. it was of no avail. then a sack was quickly thrown over his head, and the men ran back out of the tunnel and up the incline, bearing chunky with them. "bob's been kidnapped!" shouted the professor. "turn the auto around, jerry, and chase after them!" chapter xxiv. bob tries to flee. in an instant jerry tried to turn the auto around. he found the passage too narrow. there was nothing to do but to back up the incline. this was a slow process in the darkness. "fire at them!" cried ned. "no. you might hit bob!" said the professor. "we must chase after the brigands. this is what they have been following us for. i wonder what they want of bob?" no one could guess. by this time jerry had run the machine up the inclined plane and into the temple. then he sent it out into the street. it was as dark as a pocket and not a trace of the kidnappers could be seen, nor could they be heard. the capture of bob came as a terrible blow. "let's take to the tunnel where we came in!" cried ned. "perhaps they are hiding there." "if they are, they are well armed, and their force is three times what ours is now," said the professor. "if we are to help bob we will have to do it by strategy rather than by force. come, we had better go back to the temple. we can make our plans from there." "poor chunky!" groaned jerry. "i wonder what they are doing to him now?" "i guess it was his money-belt they wanted more than they did him," put in ned. "you know he carried what was left of the five hundred dollars." "that's so!" exclaimed jerry, with a rueful face. "never mind the money; i have plenty," put in the naturalist. "and don't worry; we'll find bob yet." nothing could be done that night, so the professor and the two boys tried to get what sleep their troubled minds would allow. in the morning they made a hurried breakfast and then held a consultation. it was decided to explore the tunnel by which they had entered the city, and see if it still held the brigands and noddy's crowd. arming themselves, the professor, ned and jerry advanced carefully through the big wooden gate. they proceeded cautiously, but no one opposed them. the tunnel was deserted. they came to the hole where they had tumbled down. the inclined plane of planks was there, in the same position as when the cave-in, produced by murado, had occurred. "they have probably gone back up here and are running across country," remarked ned. "hello!" he exclaimed. "what's that?" he picked up a small object that lay at the foot of the incline, in the glare of the sunlight that streamed in from above. "that's bob's knife," said jerry. "he had it yesterday. that shows he must have been here since. there is no doubt but that they have carried him away from here." the professor agreed that this was probably the case. there was nothing left to do, so they returned to the temple. "i hardly know what to do," said the naturalist. "we might take the automobile and ride off, not knowing where, in a vain endeavor to find bob. or we can stay here on the chance that he may escape and come back. if we went away he would not know where to find us. "then, too, i am hopeful we may hear something from noddy nixon or some of those mexicans he had with him. those fellows are regular brigands, and may have captured bob, thinking we will pay a ransom for his return. on the whole, i think we had better stay here for a few days." this seemed the best thing to do. with heavy hearts, jerry and ned wandered about the old temple, wishing their chum was back with them. the professor began to gather more specimens and made several trips to the old buildings where he got many curios of value. meanwhile, poor bob was having his own troubles. at the first rough attack of the kidnappers, when he was hauled over the back of the auto, he did not know what had happened. he supposed it was some accident, such as the tunnel caving in or the water suddenly rising. but when he found himself held by two men, and the bag thrown over his head, he realized that he was a captive, though he did not know why any one would want him. holding him between them, vasco and dalsett ran back into the bath and up the incline, followed by noddy and the mexicans. berry and pender had been left in charge of the auto and horses, which were in the first tunnel. bob, who had not attempted to struggle after his first involuntary kicking when he was hauled out, decided that his captors were having too easy a time of it. he was by no means a baby, and though he was fat he had considerable muscle. so he began to beat about with his fists, and to kick with his heavy shoes, in a manner that made it very uncomfortable for vasco and dalsett. "quit that, you young cub, or i'll hurt you!" exclaimed vasco. "yes, an' i'll do the same!" growled dalsett, and, recognizing the voice, bob knew for the first time into whose hands he had fallen. he did not heed the command to stop struggling, and it was all the two men could do to hold him. suddenly they laid him down. "look here!" exclaimed dalsett, sitting on bob to keep him still, "if you want us to tie you up like a steer we're willin' to do it. an' we'll gag you into the bargain. if you quit wigglin' you'll be treated decent." "then you take this bag off my head!" demanded bob, with some spirit. "i will if you promise to walk an' not make us carry you," promised dalsett. "i'll walk until i get a good chance to get away," replied bob, determined to give no parole. "mighty little chance you have of gittin' away," remarked dalsett, as he removed the sack. it was as dark as a pocket, and bob wondered where he was. soon one of the men came with a lantern, and by the gleam the captive could see he was in the tunnel. "come on!" ordered vasco. walking in the midst of his captors, bob came to the foot of the incline. there he found noddy, pender and bill berry in the auto. the mexicans had their horses in readiness for a flight. "they're going to take me away," thought bob. "i wonder how i can give the boys and the professor a sign so they will know that?" his fingers came in contact with his knife and that gave him an idea. he dropped the implement on the ground, where it was found by his friends later. "is everything ready?" asked vasco. "i guess so," replied noddy. "shall i run the machine up the incline?" "go ahead," said dalsett. "we'll walk with our young friend here. i reckon the car will have trouble gittin' up the hill if too many gits in it." "come on, you fellows!" ordered vasco of his mexicans. "we have the captive now, and you'll soon be dividing the ransom money." he spoke in spanish, which bob could not understand. the boy was at a loss why so many should be interested in him, but laid it all to a plot of noddy's to get square. it was quite a pull for the auto, up the steep incline, but noddy, by using the low gear, managed it. the horses and their riders had less trouble, and soon the whole party stood in the road near the tunnel that led to the underground city. bob was placed on a small pony, and his hands were tied behind his back. then, with a mexican riding before and after him, and one on each side, the cavalcade started off. for several hours the journey was kept up. no one said much, and poor bob puzzled his brains trying to think what it all meant. one thing he determined on: that he would try to escape at the first opportunity. it came sooner than he expected. he had been working at the bonds on his hands and found, to his joy, that the rope was coming loose. in their hurry, vasco and dalsett had not tied it very securely. in a little while bob had freed his wrists, but he kept his hands behind his back, to let his captors think he was still bound. he waited until he came to a level stretch of land. then, at a time when the mexican in the rear had ridden off to one side to borrow a cigarette of a comrade, bob slipped from the pony's back. he struck the ground rather hard, but here his fat served him in good stead, for he was not hurt much. then he rolled quickly out of the way of the horses' feet. jumping up, he ran at top speed off to the left. instantly the cavalcade was in confusion. vasco and dalsett came riding back to see what the trouble was. they saw bob bounding away. "after him!" shouted vasco, drawing his revolver and firing in the air to scare bob. "after him! he's worth ten thousand dollars!" the mexicans spurred their horses after the fugitive, while noddy, turning the auto around, lighted the search-lamp and sent the light through the blackness to pick out bob so the others could find him in the darkness. on and on ran the boy, and after him thundered the horses of his pursuers, coming nearer and nearer. chapter xxv. an unexpected friend. it was too uneven a chase to last long. bob soon found that his enemies were gaining on him, and he resolved to play a trick. he came to a big rock and dropped down behind it, hiding in the shadow. for a time the mexicans were baffled, but they spread about in a half circle and bob could hear them gradually surrounding him. still he hoped to escape detection. "can't you find him?" he heard noddy call. "he seems to have given us the slip," replied vasco. "but we'll get him yet." noddy sent the searchlight of the automobile all about the rock behind which bob was hidden, but the deep shadow cast protected the boy. at length, however, one of the mexicans approached the place. at the same instant bob was seized with an uncontrollable desire to sneeze. his nose tickled and, though he held his breath and did everything he had ever read about calculated to prevent sneezes, the tickling increased. finally he gave voice to a loud "ka-choo!" "_diablo!_" exclaimed the nearest mexican. "what have we here?" he was at the rock in an instant and lost no time in grabbing bob. the boy tried to struggle and escape again, but his captor held him in a firm grip. the mexican set up a shout at the discovery of his prize, which speedily brought vasco and his comrades to the scene. "so, you didn't care much for our company," observed bilette. "but never mind, we think so much of you that we run after you wherever you go. now we have you again!" and he laughed in an unpleasant manner. "i don't see what you want of me," remarked bob, as he was led back and placed on his pony. "ah, perhaps you are not aware that you are worth much money to us," said vasco. "i'll give you all i have if you'll let me go," said bob. "that is something we overlooked," said dalsett. "take his money, vasco. he may have a few dollars." in another minute bob's money-belt, with the best part of five hundred dollars, was in the possession of the mexicans. he wished he had kept still. "this is doing very well," observed vasco, as he counted over the bills with glistening eyes. "this is very well indeed, and most unexpected. but we want more than this." "it is all i have," answered bob. "but your people, your father has more," went on the mexican. "i think if you were to write him a letter, stating that you were about to be killed unless he sent ten thousand dollars, he would be glad to give us the small amount." "i'll never write such a letter!" exclaimed bob. "you can kill me if you want to!" "you'll think differently in the morning," remarked vasco. "here, you fellows, tie him up so he can't get away again!" this time the ropes were knotted so tightly about the boy's arms and legs that he knew he could not work them loose. he was thrown over the back of the pony and the cavalcade started off again. all night long the march continued, the men on their horses and noddy and his friends in the auto. poor bob felt sick at heart over his failure to escape and the knowledge, conveyed to him in vasco's remarks, that he was being held for ransom. just as day was beginning to break, the party reached a small mexican village and preparations were made to spend some time there. vasco and his men seemed to know the place well, for they were greeted by many of the inhabitants of the place who had arisen early. noddy ran the automobile under a shed and then the whole crowd, taking bob with them, went to a large house at the end of the principal street, where they evidently intended to make their headquarters. bob was taken to a small room on the second floor, facing the courtyard, which is a feature of all mexican homes. his bonds were released and he was thrust roughly inside. the apartment was bare enough. there were a table, a chair and a bed in the room. the only window was guarded by heavy iron bars, and the single door was fastened with a massive lock. "i guess i'll have trouble getting out of here," said bob to himself. "it's a regular prison. i wonder if they're going to starve me?" he began to suffer for want of water, and his stomach cried for food. he had some thought of pounding on the walls and demanding to be fed, when the door opened and a girl quickly entered, setting on the table a tray of food. she was gone before bob had a chance to get a good look at her, but he saw that she was young and pretty, attired as she was in gay mexican colors. though the meal was not very appetizing, it tasted to bob as if it was the best dinner ever served. he felt better after eating it, and more hopeful. for several days he was held a captive in the room. one evening vasco bilette and tom dalsett paid him a visit. "we have brought a paper for you to sign," said vasco. "i will sign nothing," replied bob. "i think you will, my boy," spoke the mexican. "bring in the charcoal, tom." dalsett went out and returned with a small, portable clay stove in which burned some charcoal. heating in the flames was an iron used for branding cattle. "you can take your choice of signing this or of seeing how you look with a hot iron on," said vasco. "this paper is a letter to your father, telling him you have been captured by brigands, who will not let you go excepting they are paid ten thousand dollars." "i'll never sign!" replied bob, firmly. "then brand him!" cried vasco. one of the mexicans took the iron from the fire. it glowed with a white, cruel heat. at the sight of it bob's courage melted away. at the same time a plan came into his head. "i'll sign!" he exclaimed. "i thought you would," observed vasco. "put your name here." he handed bob a letter, written to mr. baker, whose name and address noddy nixon had supplied. in brief, it demanded that ten thousand dollars be sent to the brigands and left in a lonely spot mentioned, if mr. baker did not want to hear of the death of his son. any attempt to capture the writers, the missive stated, would be met with the instant killing of the boy. "sign there," said vasco, indicating the place. bob did so. at the same time he placed beneath his signature a scrawl and a row of figures. to the mexicans figures meant nothing, and it is doubtful if they observed them. but to mr. baker they spelled out the message: "send no money. i can get away." they were figures in a secret cypher bank code that mr. baker sometimes used, and which bob had learned. "i guess that will fool them," thought the boy, as he saw his captors take away the letter. for the next few days nothing occurred. bob was kept a close prisoner in his room, and the only person he saw was the girl who brought him food. he tried to talk to her, but she did not seem to understand english. the captive was beginning to despair. he feared he would never see his friends again, for he did not believe his father would send the money, and without it he was sure the desperate men would kill him. his confidence in his ability to escape lessened as the days went by. he tried to pick the lock on his door, and loosen a bar at the window, but without success. it was the fifth day of his captivity and the mexican girl came to bring him his supper. to bob's surprise, this time she did not hurry away. she set the tray of food down and looked at him anxiously. "you want go?" she asked, in a broken accent. "you mean escape? get away from here? leave?" asked bob, taking sudden hope. "um! go 'way. leave bad mans! maximina help! you go?" "of course," replied bob. "but how are you going to manage it?" "wait till dark. me come. you go, we go. leave bad mans. me no like it here. bad mans whip maximina." by which bob understood that the girl would come when it got dark and help him to escape, accompanying him because she herself had been ill treated by the mexicans. "be good boy! me come. you glad!" she said, in a whisper. just then the sound of voices was heard outside the room, in the corridor. "hush! no tell!" cautioned the girl as she glided from the room. bob began to eat his supper. his heart was in a flutter of hope. "queer why that money don't come," he heard vasco say, outside. "we'll have to do something pretty soon." it was getting dark now, and bob waited anxiously. chapter xxvi. the escape of maximina. several hours passed. bob was beginning to think maximina had forgotten her promise, when he heard a soft footstep outside. then came a gentle tapping at his door. it was unlocked from the outside, opened, and the mexican girl stepped in. "hush!" she whispered. "we go now. all bad mans gone to feast--holiday. we go. put on cloak." she gave bob a long, dark serape, and produced one for herself. little time was lost. led by maximina, bob passed out into the dark corridor, down the stairs and through the courtyard, out of the house, under the silent stars that twinkled in the sky. "this way!" whispered the girl. "we ride ponies. no one here, we take horses. where you live?" bob was at a loss what to do. he wondered how he could make maximina, whose language he could not speak, and who could talk but imperfectly in his, understand about the underground city. equally hard would it be to make her comprehend where he lived and how to start for the nearest large city in order to get help or communicate with his friends. he remembered that his captors had brought him almost directly north as they sped away from the buried city. so he thought the best thing to do would be to ride to the south, when he might see some landmark that would aid him in locating himself. "we'll go this way," he said, pointing in a direction opposite to that of the north star, which he saw blazing in the sky. "all right," exclaimed the mexican girl. she leaped to the back of one of two ponies she had brought from the stable. bob was not so expert, but managed to get into the saddle. so far they had met no one, nor had they heard the sound of any of the mexicans. as maximina had said, all of the men were away to a feast, one of the numerous ones celebrated in the country. even noddy and his friends had gone, so there was no one left to guard bob but the girl. away they rode, urging their ponies to a gallop. bob was fearful that at every turn of the road he would meet with some of vasco's men, but the highway appeared to be deserted. "me glad to go. bad mans steal maximina years ago," said the girl, after half an hour's ride. "me want to get back to own people." "i wish i could help you," said bob, "but i'm about as badly off as you are. the mexicans stole me, too." "we both same, like orphans," said maximina. "never min'. maybe we find our folks." by degrees she brokenly told bob her story, how she had been kidnapped by vasco when she was a child, and how he had kept her because her father was too poor to pay the ransom demanded. she had gradually come to be regarded as a regular inmate of the mexican camp, which, it seemed, was an organized headquarters for kidnappers and brigands generally. she had never thought of escaping before, she said, but when she saw bob she felt sorry for him and resolved to free not only him, but herself. "we ride faster," she said, after several miles had been covered. "gettin' late. men come back from feast find us gone, they ride after." she urged her pony to a gallop and bob's animal followed its leader. "if i only had a revolver or a gun i'd shoot some of them if they tried to take us back," bob said to himself. "i hope we can get away." in a small village, about ten miles from the camp of the mexicans, vasco and his friends were having a great time. there were wild music and dancing, and plenty of food well seasoned with red pepper. the mexicans were having what they called fun. noddy, with jack and bill berry, looked on, taking no part in the revels. they had come over in the automobile, while vasco and his gang rode their horses. it was past midnight when the leader of the mexicans decided that it was time to start for home. "come on," he said. "who knows but what our prisoner has escaped." "not much danger of that," said dalsett. "i told maximina that if he got away we'd hold her responsible and give her a good lashing. she'll not let him get away." but neither dalsett nor vasco knew what they were talking about. the mexicans were reluctant to leave the dance, but vasco insisted. soon the whole party was riding back to camp, noddy being in advance in his auto. he was the first to reach the kidnappers' headquarters. dalsett was with him. "i wonder how our captive is?" said the latter. he went up to the room where bob had been locked up. to his surprise and anger, the apartment was empty. "maximina!" he called. there was no answer. "they've gone!" he exclaimed. "here, noddy, ride back and meet vasco. tell him bob has got away!" the automobile was sent flying down the road. vasco bilette and his party were met and the news quickly imparted. "we'll catch 'em!" cried the mexican. "they have only a few hours' start, and only two slow ponies to ride on. here, i'll go in the auto with noddy. you fellows come after me!" vasco took jack pender's place in the machine and soon the chase was on. vasco rightly concluded that bob and maximina would head for the south, so he, too, took the road leading in that direction. noddy speeded up the car, under vasco's directions. faster and faster it raced, the searchlight throwing out a glaring beam far in advance. meanwhile, bob and maximina were making all speed possible. every now and then the girl would halt her pony and listen intently. "they no come yet," she would say. "no can hear horses comin' after us. we get 'way maybe." bob certainly hoped so. his experience as a captive was not such as to cause him to like the rôle, and he longed to be with his friends, who, he knew, must be greatly alarmed about him. it seemed to be getting darker as the two traveled on. "be sunrise 'bout hour," said maximina, and bob remembered that he had read about it being darkest just before daybreak. "we mus' hide then," the girl went on. suddenly a sound came to them from over the dark fields that bordered the road. at the same time there was a shaft of light. "there they come!" cried bob. "they're after us in the automobile!" "ride! ride fast!" called maximina, fiercely. "if they catch us they kill!" she lashed her pony with the short whip she carried, and struck bob's animal several smart blows. the two beasts leaped forward. but horses, especially small, mexican ponies, are not built to race against large touring automobiles. bob noticed that the chug-chug of noddy's machine came nearer and nearer. "maybe we can hide from them in the darkness," said bob. "it's our only chance. they'll soon be up to us." "no hide! keep on ride!" exclaimed maximina. "we git away!" but even as she spoke the searchlight picked them up and they were revealed in its blinding glare. a faint shout from their pursuers told that they had been seen. the ponies were tiring. already bob's was staggering along as the pace told on it. maximina's was a little better off. "we have them!" bob heard vasco shout. "they are both together. put a little more speed on, noddy!" the chug-chugs of the auto told that the machine was being sent ahead at a faster clip. the searchlight glared more strongly on the fugitives. "cave somewhere near here," said maximina. "if we could find 'um we be safe. ride more, bob." "this pony can't go much farther," replied the boy. "his legs are shaking now." crack! a flash of reddish fire cut the blackness, and a bullet sang unpleasantly close over bob's head. "they only shoot to scare!" cried maximina. "they no want to kill you. too valuable. want ransom; much money; ten thousand dollars." "all the same, it's no fun to be shot at," remarked bob, urging his pony on. the automobile was now but a few hundred feet away. noddy had to reduce his speed because the ground was getting rougher. "we'll have them in another minute!" cried vasco. at that instant, bob's pony, stepping in a hole, stumbled and fell, throwing the rider over its back. bob struck the ground heavily and was stunned. "me stay with you!" exclaimed maximina, reining in her pony and coming back to where bob was. "no, no! you ride on!" the boy said, faintly. "maybe you can find my friends and send help. they are in the underground city!" "all right. me go! bring help!" the girl whispered, and, leaping on her pony's back, she rode off to one side, getting away from the glare of the searchlight and so escaping observation. two minutes later the auto came up to where bob was stretched out on the ground. vasco leaped out before the machine had fairly stopped and made a grab for bob. "the boy is dead!" he exclaimed. "dead!" faltered noddy. he was beginning to be alarmed over the part he had played. "bring a light here!" commanded the mexican. noddy turned the search-lamp on bob's prostrate form. at that the boy opened his eyes. he had fainted from pain caused by his fall. "shamming, eh?" sneered vasco, striking bob a blow with a rope he carried. "get up, now! no nonsense; you've made trouble enough!" poor bob was too discouraged and felt too bad to reply. the other mexicans rode up. in a few minutes the captive was securely bound, lifted into the auto, and, as dawn broke, the start back to camp was made. "don't you want maximina?" asked dalsett. "let her go," replied vasco. "she was only a bother around, and never liked to work. she can't do any harm." chapter xxvii. a strange message. the days were full of anxiety for the professor, jerry and ned, who still remained in the ancient city after bob had been kidnapped. every night they went to bed, hoping some word would be received by morning, or that the missing one would return. every morning they said to each other: "well, something will happen to-morrow." but nothing happened, and, as day after day went by, they began to lose hope. "we may as well leave here," said ned. "not yet," jerry replied. "i am sure we will have some word from bob soon now." in the meanwhile, they made trips in all directions from the ancient city. but there was no trace of the mexicans. the country was uninhabited for twenty miles in every direction from the buried place, and farther than that the travelers did not venture. "we must be here every night," said the professor. "somehow, i feel that bob will come back at night, or we will hear something from him after dark. so we do not want to be away then, for if he should come, or if he should send some word, we would not be here to receive it." for that reason little was done toward hunting for the kidnapped boy. the travelers did not go so far but that they could get back by nightfall. they explored the city thoroughly and the professor found many more rare and valuable relics. his specimen boxes were full to overflowing, but still he kept searching. the boys occupied themselves by getting the meals and attending to the camp, for the naturalist bothered himself about nothing but his specimens. they still continued to reside in the old temple, which they found a comfortable place. "i wonder what we'll do when our food gives out?" asked ned one day when it was his turn to get the dinner. "why, haven't we got plenty for several weeks yet?" inquired jerry. "it don't look so to me," said ned, glancing in the box where the canned stuff was kept. "that's queer," remarked jerry. "there aren't any tomatoes left. did you cook any since yesterday?" "you cooked yesterday," retorted ned. "were there any then?" "six cans," said jerry. "now there are none left. i wonder if the professor took any?" "any what?" asked the naturalist, coming into the temple just then. "tomatoes," replied jerry, explaining what he and ned had been talking about. "no; i haven't touched a can," said the professor. "then some one has, and it isn't us," was ned's opinion. "i wonder if there is any one in this temple but ourselves?" "now that you speak of it, i think there is," went on the naturalist. "the other night i was restless and could not sleep well. i was looking out of the door of our bedroom, into the main apartment, when i saw something white moving. at first i thought it was one of you boys, but i looked over on your cots and saw you both were sleeping. then i thought it might be a white monkey, for i have heard there are such kinds, though i have never seen any. but when i looked a little closer i saw that it was a man wrapped in a long, white serape. "i didn't give any alarm, for i was afraid of waking you boys. but i watched and saw the man go to our box and take out some cans of provisions. i meant to speak about it the next morning, but i forgot it." "who do you suppose it was?" asked jerry. "probably some poor wandering mexican," replied the professor. "he may have happened along, fallen into the passage leading to this old city and been half starved until he found our camp." "we'll have to look out, though," said ned. "we have hardly enough left for ourselves." "then we must keep watch to-night," decided the professor. "it will not do for us to starve, though we will share what we have with any one who is in distress." and so, that night, they took turns in mounting guard. none of them saw anything out of the ordinary, though had they been able to witness a scene that took place in an obscure gallery of the temple they would have been surprised. san lucia and murado were still hiding in the place, waiting their chance to get something of value from the travelers. the capture of bob had upset the plans of the two aged brigands, and they were a little cautious about proceeding. but for several nights they had made raids on the improvised pantry ned had constructed. "are we to go again to-night?" asked san lucia, on the evening when ned made the discovery that led to the posting of the guard. "it remains to be seen," replied murado. "if we have no better luck than last night it is of little use." "no; tomatoes are a poor substitute for gold," agreed san lucia. "i wonder if they have nothing but things to eat in those cans." "some of them must contain gold," replied murado. "they do it to fool us, but we will get the best of them yet. we will carry off every can they have until we get those containing the treasure." for the two mexicans believed that the travelers had packed their gold in the tin cans, of which there was a number. and each night san lucia and murado had stolen a few, hoping that some of them contained gold. each time, on opening the tins, they had been disappointed. "i will go first to-night," said san lucia. "i feel that i will be successful. once we get the gold we can leave this place." about midnight he crept as softly as a cat upon the travelers. but, to his surprise, he found jerry on guard and armed. san lucia sneaked back to the balcony and told murado. "they are becoming suspicious," said the latter. "we will have to wait a while. perhaps they may be sleeping to-morrow night." but the two aged brigands never got another chance to attempt to rob the boys and the professor. why this was we shall soon see. the next morning, on account of the watch that was kept, nothing was found disturbed. "we fooled somebody that time," observed ned. after breakfast the professor announced that he was going to visit the house where he had, on a previous call, captured the gila monster. "there was a cabinet there i overlooked," he said. "do you boys want to come along?" "there is nothing else to do," said jerry. "how i wish we would hear something from bob! i think we ought to go out on a search for him. it doesn't seem that he will ever come here, after all this time." "i was thinking that myself," said the professor. "if we hear nothing by to-morrow we will leave this place." the boys accompanied the naturalist to the ruined house. it seemed strange to be walking through the streets of a place that had been inhabited thousands of years ago. the city was a silent one, a veritable city of the dead, and the houses and buildings seemed like tombstones that had toppled over from age. as ned was walking about through the lower rooms of the house the professor had marked for exploration, he noticed a ring fastened to a square stone in the courtyard. "i wonder what this is for?" he said. "looks as if it was meant to lift the stone up by," replied jerry. "give us a hand," said ned, "and we'll see what's here." the two boys pulled and tugged, but could not budge the stone. the professor happened along and saw them. "i'll show you how to do it," he said. he took a long pole and thrust it through the ring. then, using the pole as a lever, he easily raised the stone. "now let's see what we have unearthed," he remarked. the stone had covered a small hole. in it was a little casket of lead, the lid of which was locked. "we'll have to break it open," said jerry. "get a stone," put in ned. jerry brought a large one. one or two heavy blows and the lid of the box flew off. there was a sudden sparkle of light and several white objects fell to the ground. "diamonds!" cried the professor. "we have made a valuable discovery!" the box seemed full of jewels. there were stones of many colors, but most of all were the white, sparkling ones. "maybe they're only glass," suggested ned. "no; they are diamonds, rubies, turquoise and other precious stones," replied the professor. "this was probably the jewel case of some aztec millionaire." they returned to their camp, carrying the jewels with them. as they entered the old building, jerry, who was in the lead, started back. "there's some one at our auto!" he exclaimed. "nonsense!" replied the professor. "the place is deserted." but he changed his mind a moment later. as he entered the room he saw a girlish figure clinging to the side of the car. she seemed to be almost dead, and had only strength enough left to mutter: "bob; he want you! vasco bilette have him! come quick!" then she fell over in a faint. chapter xxviii. to the rescue. "who is she?" asked ned. "i don't know," replied the professor, calmly. he seemed to take the appearance of a strange girl in the underground city as a happening that might occur at any time. "where did she come from?" asked jerry. "i can't tell you that, either," went on the naturalist. "one thing i can say, though, and that is, this poor girl needs help. she must be hungry, and she has traveled a long distance. her clothes show that." "what did she mean by speaking about bob, saying vasco bilette had him, and for us to come quick?" asked ned. "all that in good time," replied the professor. "the thing to do now is to bring her out of her faint, and get her something to eat. ned, you make the coffee and jerry will heat some chicken soup. hurry now, boys." but the lads needed no urging. in a jiffy the camp-stove was going and hot coffee was soon ready. in the meanwhile the professor, by use of some simple remedies he always carried, brought the girl out of her faint. she opened her eyes and asked for a drink. the hot coffee, followed by a little of the warm soup, brought the color back to her face, and she was able to sit up. she stared at her strange surroundings and looked at the boys and the naturalist. "me maximina," she said, speaking slowly. "you ned, jerry and mr. snowgrass?" "snodgrass, snodgrass, my dear young lady," replied the professor, bowing low. "professor uriah snodgrass, a. m., ph.d., m. d., f. r. g. s., a. q. k., all of which is at your service." "bob need you," said the girl, simply. "he try to come, but he git ketch." "yes, yes! tell us about him. where can we find him?" asked jerry, eagerly. "me no spik inglis good," the girl replied. "you spik spanish, señor?" "_si_," answered the professor. thereupon maximina let forth a torrent of words that nearly overwhelmed the naturalist. yet he managed to understand what she said. maximina told how she had been at the mexicans' camp when bob was brought there, she having been a captive for many years. she determined to help him escape, and did so when the opportunity offered. she told how she knew, in a general way, where the buried city was, as bob had told her something about it, and she had overheard vasco and his men talking about the locality where they had fallen down the tunnel. "but bob's horse fell and threw him off," she explained, in her native tongue. "i wanted to stay with him, but he told me to go on. then vasco came and got him, but i rode away, for i wanted to find you. i had hard work, and i lost my way several times. three days ago my pony died and i walked the rest of the distance." "poor girl! you must be almost tired to death," said the professor. "i was tired, but it is happiness to find you, señors, for i know you will go and help señor bob." "of course we will, right away," said the naturalist. "she seems to have taken a sudden liking to our friend bob," commented ned. "she's a mighty pretty girl, too; don't you think so, jerry?" "be careful," laughed jerry. "don't go to having any love affairs with beautiful mexican maidens. i have read that they are a very jealous and quick-tempered nation. besides, you are too young." "i'm a year older than bob," maintained ned. "now, boys, what had we better do?" asked the professor. "maximina can guide us to the place where bob is held captive. shall we go and give battle to these brigands?" "sure!" exclaimed ned. "we have plenty of ammunition." "and they are about ten to our one," put in jerry. "but we've got to do something," he added, seriously. "then we'll start as soon as we can get in shape," decided the professor. "i have a better plan than making a direct attack on the camp of the mexicans, however. we will go to the authorities and ask their aid. maximina says there is a detachment of soldiers stationed about thirty miles from here and on the line we must take to go to the camp, from which they are distant about ten miles." "bully!" cried ned. "with a few soldiers to help us we'll give those brigands and noddy nixon such a licking that they'll never want another." the automobile was soon made ready. in it was packed all that remained of the provisions. the professor did up his precious specimens and curios, not forgetting the lead casket of jewels. the water tank was filled. fortunately, there was still plenty of gasolene left. jerry and ned pumped up the tires, maximina was invited to a seat in the rear, with the professor, and the travelers, taking a last look at the underground city, started off. they went through the tunnel, up the incline, the fall of which had precipitated them into the shaft, and soon were on the level road, speeding to the rescue of bob. after vasco had secured his captive, following bob's and maximina's flight, the brigand took measures to insure that the prisoner would not get away again. bob was placed in a regular dungeon, and outside the door was stationed a man with a gun. the poor lad was in low spirits. he began to give up hope, and the only thing that cheered him was the thought that perhaps maximina might have gotten away and would notify his friends or the authorities. but bob knew it was a remote chance, for he did not believe the frail girl could stand the long journey alone. he tried to learn something about her; whether she had been recaptured or not; but to all questions his guard, and the old woman who brought him food, returned but one answer, and that was: "no spik inglis, señor." bob saw it was of no use to try to get out of the dungeon. it was built partially underground, the walls were of stone and the door a massive wooden one, while the single window was heavily barred. it was hot in the small cell, and bob suffered very much. but he tried to keep up a brave heart. one day he heard voices outside of the dungeon window. he listened intently and found that noddy and vasco were talking. vasco, of necessity, had to speak english in talking with noddy, who understood only a little spanish. "have you got the money yet?" asked noddy. "no; and i think we never will get it," replied vasco, angrily. "i don't believe the boy is the son of a rich banker at all. it's another one of your wild dreams, just like the gold mine the crazy professor was going to locate." "bob's father is rich," maintained noddy. "it ain't my fault that he won't send the cash." "well, it's your fault for getting me into this muss," went on vasco, "and it'll be your fault if we don't get some money pretty soon. the men are mad and i won't be able to manage 'em in a few days. they blame it all on you, so you'd better look out!" "do you suppose they--they will ki-kill me?" faltered noddy. "i shouldn't be surprised," said vasco, coldly. at that instant bob heard some one come galloping up on a horse. it seemed to be a messenger, for he heard the steed come to a stop, while a man jumped down and began talking rapidly in spanish. "what is it? has bob's father sent the money?" asked noddy. "money? no!" snapped the leader of the brigands. "but the soldiers are after us! we must get out of here!" bob's heart thrilled with hope. perhaps, after all, maximina had been able to send help. he almost laughed in his happiness, thinking he would soon be free. but his hopes were dashed to the ground when, a few minutes later, his guard came into his cell, quickly bound his hands and feet, wrapped a long cloak about him, and, with the aid of another mexican, carried him out of the cell. bob realized, from the change of air, that he was being carried into the open. he could see nothing because of the cloak about his head, but he could hear much bustle and confusion. men were running here and there, while vasco was giving quick orders. then the sound of the automobile being started was heard. bob felt himself lifted into the car and, a few seconds later, he felt the vibration that told he was being carried away again, this time in noddy's machine. as the messenger had told vasco, the soldiers were on their way to the camp of the kidnappers. the boys and the professor had reached the garrison, and, telling their story, had induced the commander to send a detachment to capture the mexicans. but the troops traveled slowly, and one of vasco's friends, who happened to be hanging about the fort, hearing of the contemplated raid, mounted a swift horse and rode off to give the alarm. so when, a few hours after vasco had fled with his men and his captive, the troops galloped up, led by jerry, ned, maximina and the professor in the automobile, they found the camp deserted. "the birds have flown!" exclaimed the captain of the troopers. "we may as well go back!" "no!" cried jerry. "we must take after them. bob must be rescued!" "but how can we tell where they went?" asked the captain. "that woman can tell you!" exclaimed maximina, pointing to an aged crone who was trying to escape observation in one of the huts. chapter xxix. the fight. "bring her here!" commanded the captain. several of his soldiers ran toward the old woman who set up a loud screaming. "who is she?" asked the leader of the troops of maximina. "an old servant of vasco's," replied the girl. "she knows all his secrets and can tell where he has gone. he has several hiding places about here." protesting and crying that she knew nothing and could tell nothing, the aged servant was brought to the captain. "where is vasco bilette?" he asked. "i know not! i have not seen him these three days!" she exclaimed. "so," commented the captain, smiling. "we will see if we cannot refresh your memory. pedro, fetch my rawhide whip!" at this the woman howled most dismally, and threw herself on the ground, clinging to the legs of the men who held her. "i cannot allow this," interposed professor snodgrass, to whom the conversation, carried on in spanish, was intelligible. "even at the cost of seeing vasco bilette escape i will not stand by and see a woman whipped." "but, señor, you do not understand the case," said the captain. "that is the only way i can get the truth out of her. i must give her a few blows to loosen her tongue. that is the only persuasion these cattle understand; blows and money." "why not try the latter?" suggested the naturalist. "who has money to throw away on such as she?" asked the commander, with a shrug of his shoulders. "i will pay her," went on the professor. "see," he went on, taking out some bank-notes. "tell us where vasco went and you shall have fifty dollars." the old woman glanced at the money, looked around on the soldiers and glared at the captain, who was switching a cruel whip. then she said, sullenly: "i will tell you, señor, but not for money. it is because you had a kind thought for old julia. listen, vasco has gone to the cave by the small mountain." "i know where that is!" exclaimed the captain. "many a time have we had fights there with the brigands. it is about ten miles off." "then let us hurry there!" cried jerry. the professor handed the old woman the bills. she took them, hiding them quickly in her dress. "the whip would have been cheaper," said the captain, with a regretful sigh. "it is money thrown away." "i have more to throw after it, if you and your men rescue the kidnapped boy!" exclaimed the naturalist, for he understood something of the mexican character. "good!" cried the captain. "come, men, hurry! we will wipe the brigands from the face of the earth!" indeed, new enthusiasm seemed to be infused into the soldiers at the mention of money. those who had dismounted, sprang quickly to the saddles, the bugler blew a lively air, and the troops started off at a smart trot. old julia was left behind in the camp of the kidnappers. the boys and the professor, with maximina, in the automobile, followed the troopers. "i think there will be one big fight," said the girl, in english, speaking to the boys. "vasco has many guns in the cave." "i hope it will be his last fight," said ned. "i don't wish any one bad luck, but i would like to see vasco bilette and his gang put where they can do no more harm." "the soldiers don't seem to take this very seriously," remarked jerry. "hear them singing and laughing." "they probably want vasco to know they are coming, so they will not take him by surprise," spoke the professor. "it's a trait of mexican politeness, i suppose." the captain of the troop came riding back to the automobile, which had kept in the rear of the horsemen. "my compliments, señor," said the commander, bowing with a sweep of his helmet to the professor. "my best regards to you," replied the naturalist. "we will be up to the vicinity of the cave in about an hour," went on the captain. "is it your desire to charge in the fire-wagon with my troopers, or do you prefer to stay in the rear and watch us dispose of this brigand?" "we're not the ones to stay in the rear when there's fighting to be done," said the professor. "you will find us in the fore, señor captain." "very good; but what about the girl?" "i will stay with my friends," replied maximina. "i am not afraid of vasco bilette." "you may stay with us," consented the naturalist, "but i must insist on you getting down on the bottom of the car when the fighting begins." "fighting? there will be no fighting," said the captain. "aren't you going to tackle the brigands and get bob?" asked jerry, in some surprise. "_caramba!_ the dogs will run when they see my troops," spoke the captain, puffing out his chest. "they will not stand. that is why i said there would be no fighting." "i wouldn't be too sure," remarked the professor. "you shall see, señor," went on the commander. "but now i must go back to my men. my compliments, señor." "mine to you," responded the professor, not to be outdone in politeness. the cavalcade moved forward for several miles. it was getting hot and horses and men began to suffer. it was a relief when a small stream was reached, where every one could get a refreshing drink. after a short rest the command to move forward was given. "what is that?" cried jerry, suddenly, pointing ahead to where, on a broad, level stretch of country, several small, dark, moving objects could be seen. "i will tell you directly," said the professor, taking a pair of field-glasses from their case. he leveled the binoculars and gazed steadily through them. "it is vasco and his party!" he cried. "i can see noddy in his auto, and there are a number of horsemen. they have not yet reached the cave. quick, jerry, run the machine ahead and tell the captain!" jerry increased the speed of the auto. it ran up beside the trooper captain, who turned about to see what was up. "there are the brigands!" exclaimed the professor, pointing ahead. "hurry up and you can catch them before they get to the cave, where they may barricade themselves." "my compliments, señor; i thank you for the information," replied the captain, bowing low. "will you not smoke a cigarette with me?" "i don't smoke!" snapped the professor. "besides, we have no time for that now. we must fight!" "exactly, just so," answered the easy-going mexican. "come, men!" he exclaimed. "the enemy is in front of you! at them, and show what stuff you are made of! bugler, sound the charge!" instantly the troops were full of excitement. men began unslinging their carbines. they got out their ammunition and seemed eager for the fray. the bugler blew a merry blast. "forward, my brave men! cut down the brigands! kill the kidnappers of boys!" shouted the captain, waving his sword. with a shout, the mexican soldiers dashed forward to the fight. they might be slow, and given to too much delay and politeness, but when the time came they were full of action. they yelled as they dug spurs into their horses, and the more excited threw their hats into the air. several discharged their carbines when there was no chance of hitting any of the enemy. they were wild at the thought of battle. by this time the brigands became aware of the pursuit. vasco bilette had, with a powerful field-glass, detected the advance of the horsemen some time back. but an accident to the auto had detained them, and they were three miles from the cave when he saw the soldiers dashing toward him. he and his men strained every nerve, but they soon saw they could not get to their stronghold ahead of their enemies. "we'll have to fight 'em," said vasco. "i guess we can give 'em as good as they send. noddy and dalsett, you keep an eye on bob, and if you get a chance, skip off with him. go back to camp; they won't think of looking for you there." ten minutes later the soldiers were within shooting distance. they opened fire on the mexicans, who, not daunted by the numbers against them, returned the volleys. at first so great was the excitement that no damage was done. but after a few rounds two of the troopers were injured, and one of the mexicans had to withdraw, seriously wounded. "we must never surrender!" cried vasco. "exterminate the brigands!" shouted the soldiers. they came to closer quarters. the soldiers began to use their carbines for clubs, not taking the time to reload. then they drew their sabres and charged the mexicans under vasco, who had drawn his force up in a hollow square. several on both sides were killed in this mêlée. the boys and the professor, who, under the captain's later orders, had kept to the rear, now came dashing up in the automobile. maximina was lying down on the floor of the tonneau, out of harm's way. jerry was keeping an eye on noddy and his auto, and he noticed that the machine, which, as he could see plainly now, held bob, kept well behind the brigands. "we must get bob, no matter what happens," said jerry to ned. "look sharp now. i'm going to try something." "what is it?" asked ned. "just you watch!" exclaimed jerry. "look out!" he ducked, to avoid a bullet that sang over his head. "what's the use of doing that?" asked ned. "the bullet is past when you hear it sing." "can't help it," replied jerry. the fighting was now at its height. though the force on both sides was small, the guns kept up a continuous fusillade, and it sounded as though a good-sized detachment was going into action. "no quarter! not a man must escape!" cried the captain. "charge!" yelled vasco bilette, trying to urge his men to make a rush and overwhelm the soldiers. "charge and the day is won!" with a shout, his men prepared to obey his command. "now is your chance!" whispered the brigand leader to noddy. "away with bob!" noddy headed the machine, containing the bound captive, off to one side. "there he goes!" jerry shouted, catching sight of the movement. "we must take after him, ned. noddy has bob with him." chapter xxx. homeward bound. steering to one side, to avoid running into the mass of men, soldiers and kidnappers that seemed to be mixed up in inextricable confusion, jerry sent his machine after noddy's, which was speeding away. "shall i try a shot at the tires?" asked ned, fingering his revolver. "no; you might hit bob," replied jerry. "i'll catch him." the battle was now divided. on one side the soldiers and the mexicans were fighting. on the other was the race between the two autos; a contest of machinery. at first it seemed that noddy would escape. but jerry, throwing in the high-speed clutch, cut down the distance between his car and noddy's. a few minutes after the chase started it became evident that jerry would win. vasco, seeing how matters were likely to go, had jumped into the car as noddy started off. all this while poor bob was bound, and the cloak was still about his head, so he could not tell what was going on. but he guessed it was some attempt to rescue him. nearer and nearer came jerry's auto. the front wheels overlapped the rear ones of noddy's machine. "stop, or i'll fire!" cried the professor, suddenly, leveling a revolver at noddy's crowd. they paid no heed to him. with a quick motion, vasco leaned over the edge of the seat and fired three times in rapid succession at the tires of jerry's machine. he missed his aim, but jerry saw the danger that threatened him. he increased his speed. in another minute he had come up alongside of noddy's auto. "get ready to grab bob!" jerry yelled to ned and the professor. "then hold on tight!" "i'll pay you for this!" exclaimed vasco, fiercely. he leaned over the edge of the car and made a vicious lunge at jerry with a long knife. jerry swerved his machine the least bit and avoided the blow. the next instant the autos came together with a crash. the shock threw vasco out, for he was already leaning more than half way over the side door, in an endeavor to strike at jerry. the wheels of the heavy machine passed over his legs, making him a cripple for life. seeing how matters were likely to turn out, noddy shut off the power and brought his machine to a stop. ned and the professor took advantage of this to reach over and grab bob. "now we haf rescue him!" exclaimed maximina. "i knew we would haf found bob!" and she laughed and cried by turns. it did not take long to loosen the captive's bonds. the suffocating shawl was taken from his head. poor bob was faint and white. "we'll soon fix him up!" cried the professor, cheerily. "run to one side, jerry." leaving the discomfited noddy and his chum, jack pender, jerry steered off under a clump of trees, where, by the administrations of the professor, bob was soon himself again. meanwhile, the battle between the brigands and the troops was waging furiously. several had fallen on both sides, but the better-trained soldiers knew more about warfare, and slowly but surely they pressed their enemies back. then, when vasco fell and was crushed by the auto, the men lost heart. they faltered, wavered and then turned and fled. dalsett endeavored to rally them. he caught hold of some of the brigands and urged them to stand against the charge of the soldiers. one of the kidnappers resented dalsett's interference. with a wild cry he plunged a knife into the former miner, and dalsett fell, seriously wounded. "they fly! they fly! take after them!" cried the captain of the troopers. "at them, my brave men! hew them down! wipe them off the face of the earth!" it was noticeable that as the tide turned in favor of the soldiers their leader became more bold. he rode hither and thither, waving his sword, but taking care not to get too far to the front. at length, with a last volley, the brigands fled. the troopers took after them, killing several and wounding some. they chased them until the kidnappers came to the foothills, and, as this was a wild country, the troopers did not care to follow. so some of the brigands escaped. but the band was broken up and for many years thereafter no trouble was experienced with them. noddy had not started up his machine after vasco had been knocked from it. the former bully seemed to be in a sort of daze, and he and pender sat staring at the exciting scenes going on all about them. when bob had been made comfortable on a bed of blankets spread under the trees, jerry thought of their former enemy. "what had we better do about noddy?" he asked of the professor. "there he sits in his machine. shall we turn him over to the soldiers?" "i don't know but what it would be a good idea," said the naturalist. "just have an eye to him for a few minutes, anyhow. the captain will be here in a little while, and he'll decide what to do. i suppose the law must take its course." seeing that bob was doing very well under the care of maximina and the professor, ned and jerry ran their machine over to where noddy was. "don't give me up!" pleaded nixon. "i didn't mean to do any harm. it was all dalsett and vasco. see, here is your money-belt, jerry. i never touched a cent of it." "so it was you who took it, eh?" spoke ned. "no--no--i didn't steal it. dalsett made me take it that night," faltered noddy. "but i never took any money out of it. i used my own. please let me go!" "you are a prisoner of the captain, not one of ours," replied jerry. "he'll have to settle your case." at that instant the captain, who, with his men, had ridden to where vasco was stretched out on the ground, called to jerry and ned. they turned the machine toward him. the professor, too, came running over. the captain spoke some command to one of his men, who began a search of the clothing of the kidnapper leader. "ha! there is something!" exclaimed the captain, as his man hauled two money-belts out of vasco's pocket. "i wonder whom they belong to?" "one's mine!" cried ned. "and the other is bob's," said jerry. "i wonder if there is any money left in them?" "look," said the captain, passing them over. the boys and the professor, who had translated the captain's remarks as he had made them, looked over the articles. they found that about half the sum in each belt had been spent. "well, half a loaf is better than no bread," remarked jerry. "we ought to be thankful we're alive, to say nothing of getting part of our cash back." "you all seem to have plenty of money; you are not like the poor mexicans," said the captain, with a sigh, looking at the professor, meaningly. "that reminds me: i promised to reward you and your men if we were successful," spoke the naturalist. he distributed a good-sized sum among the soldiers, who seemed very pleased to get it. their salaries under the government were small, and not always paid regularly, so that any addition was welcome. "what's that?" asked the captain, suddenly, as he shoved his share of the distribution in his pocket. "it's noddy and pender in their auto," said jerry. "they are going to escape." "shall we fire at them?" asked the captain, eagerly. "what's the use?" asked jerry. "let them go. we would only have more bother if we tried to get them punished by law for their crimes. we have bob back, we discovered the underground city, and what more do we want?" "nothing, excepting to get back home," put in ned. "i'll be glad to see cresville again." so no attempt was made to capture noddy and his chum, and they sped off across-country in their machine, running at top speed, as if they feared pursuit. bill berry, slightly wounded, went with them. "is there anything more we can do for you?" asked the captain. "if there is not we will start back to the garrison, as it is growing late." the professor said he thought they could dispense with the services of the troops. so, amid a chorus of good-byes, the horsemen rode away. "well, here we are, all together once more," observed the professor. "and with an addition to our party," put in ned, pointing to maximina. "that's so; we must get her back home next," the professor said. "first, give me something to eat and drink," begged bob. "i'm almost starved." it was so near night that the travelers decided to make a camp. supper was soon ready, and after it had been disposed of, the boys made a small tent out of blankets for maximina. the next morning they started northward. maximina had told them she had relatives in the city of mexico, and they headed for that place. they reached it, without having any accidents, a week later, and left the girl who had befriended bob with her friends. "i wonder if we'll have any more adventures?" said ned, as, after a few days' rest, they started from the city of mexico toward home. "hard to say, but probably you boys will," said the professor. "boys are always having adventures. as for me, i am satisfied with those we had on this trip. we had the most excellent success. my name will be famous when the story of the underground city is told in four large volumes which i intend to issue." "i would think it might," commented ned. "four books are enough to make any one famous." "well, it will take some long letters to tell our folks of all that has happened to us," put in bob. telegrams had already been sent, so that nobody at home might worry further. "i'll be glad enough to get back to the states," said jerry. "mexico is not the best place in the world." "i suppose we'll have more adventures before long," was ned's comment, and he was right. what those adventures were will be told in the next volume of this series, to be called "the motor boys across the plains; or, the hermit of lost lake." here we shall meet all of our young friends again, and also some of their enemies, and learn much concerning a most peculiar mystery. the weather remained fine, and as the auto had been thoroughly repaired in the city of mexico before leaving, rapid progress was made in the journey northward. they kept, as far as possible, to the best and most frequented roads, having no desire to meet any more brigands. "tell you what," said bob, one day, "automobiling is great, isn't it?" "immense!" answered ned. "it's the best sport going," added jerry. "i love this touring car of ours as i would love a brother." and then he put on a burst of speed that soon took them around a bend of the road and out of sight--and also out of my story. the end. the motor boys series (_trade mark, reg. u. s. pat. of._) by clarence young cloth. mo. illustrated. price per volume, cents postpaid. [illustration: the motor boys] the motor boys or chums through thick and thin the motor boys overland or a long trip for fun and fortune the motor boys in mexico or the secret of the buried city the motor boys across the plains or the hermit of lost lake [illustration: the motor boys afloat] the motor boys afloat or the stirring cruise of the dartaway the motor boys on the atlantic or the mystery of the lighthouse the motor boys in strange waters or lost in a floating forest the motor boys on the pacific or the young derelict hunters [illustration: the motor boys in the clouds] the motor boys in the clouds or a trip for fame and fortune the motor boys over the rockies or a mystery of the air the motor boys over the ocean or a marvellous rescue in mid-air the motor boys on the wing or seeking the airship treasure [illustration: the motor boys after a fortune] the motor boys after a fortune or the hut on snake island the motor boys on the border or sixty nuggets of gold the motor boys under the sea or from airship to submarine (_new_) cupples & leon co., publishers new york the speedwell boys series by roy rockwood author of "the dave dashaway series," "great marvel series," etc. mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid all boys who love to be on the go will welcome the speedwell boys. they are clean cut and loyal to the core--youths well worth knowing. [illustration] the speedwell boys on motor cycles or the mystery of a great conflagration the lads were poor, but they did a rich man a great service and he presented them with their motor cycles. what a great fire led to is exceedingly well told. the speedwell boys and their racing auto or a run for the golden cup a tale of automobiling and of intense rivalry on the road. there was an endurance run and the boys entered the contest. on the run they rounded up some men who were wanted by the law. the speedwell boys and their power launch or to the rescue of the castaways here is a water story of unusual interest. there was a wreck and the lads, in their power launch, set out to the rescue. a vivid picture of a great storm adds to the interest of the tale. the speedwell boys in a submarine or the lost treasure of rocky cove an old sailor knows of a treasure lost under water because of a cliff falling into the sea. the boys get a chance to go out in a submarine and they make a hunt for the treasure. life under the water is well described. cupples & leon co. publishers new york up-to-date baseball stories baseball joe series by lester chadwick author of "the college sports series" cloth mo. illustrated. price per volume, cts. postpaid. [illustration] ever since the success of mr. chadwick's "college sports series" we have been urged to get him to write a series dealing exclusively with baseball, a subject in which he is unexcelled by any living american author or coach. baseball joe of the silver stars or the rivals of riverside in this volume, the first of the series, joe is introduced as an everyday country boy who loves to play baseball and is particularly anxious to make his mark as a pitcher. he finds it almost impossible to get on the local nine, but, after a struggle, he succeeds. a splendid picture of the great national game in the smaller towns of our country. baseball joe on the school nine or pitching for the blue banner joe's great ambition was to go to boarding school and play on the school team. he got to boarding school but found it harder making the team there than it was getting on the nine at home. he fought his way along, and at last saw his chance and took it, and made good. baseball joe at yale or pitching for the college championship from a preparatory school baseball joe goes to yale university. he makes the freshman nine and in his second year becomes a varsity pitcher and pitches in several big games. baseball joe in the central league or making good as a professional pitcher in this volume the scene of action is shifted from yale college to a baseball league of our central states. baseball joe's work in the box for old eli had been noted by one of the managers and joe gets an offer he cannot resist. the book shows how the hero "made good" in more ways than one, helping a down-and-out player back to the right path as well as doing his share to win some great victories on the diamond. cupples & leon co., publishers new york the motor girls series by margaret penrose author of the highly successful "dorothy dale series" cloth. mo. illustrated. price per volume, cts. postpaid. [illustration] the motor girls or a mystery of the road when cora kimball got her touring car she did not imagine so many adventures were in store for her. a tale all wide awake girls will appreciate. the motor girls on a tour or keeping a strange promise a great many things happen in this volume, starting with the running over of a hamper of good things lying in the road. a precious heirloom is missing, and how it was traced up is told with absorbing interest. the motor girls at lookout beach or in quest of the runaways there was a great excitement when the motor girls decided to go to lookout beach for the summer. the motor girls through new england or held by the gypsies a strong story and one which will make this series more popular than ever. the girls go on a motoring trip through new england. the motor girls on cedar lake or the hermit of fern island how cora and her chums went camping on the lake shore and how they took trips in their motor boat, are told in a way all girls will enjoy. the motor girls on the coast or the waif from the sea the scene is shifted to the sea coast where the girls pay a visit. they have their motor boat with them and go out for many good times. the motor girls on crystal bay or the secret of the red oar more jolly times, on the water and at a cute little bungalow on the beautiful shore of the bay. how cora aided frieda and solved the secret of benny shane's red oar, is told in a manner to interest all girls. cupples & leon co., publishers, new york the dorothy dale series by margaret penrose author of "the motor girls series" cloth. mo. illustrated. price per volume, cts. postpaid. dorothy dale: a girl of to-day dorothy is the daughter of an old civil war veteran who is running a weekly newspaper in a small eastern town. when her father falls sick, the girl shows what she can do to support the family. [illustration] dorothy dale at glenwood school more prosperous times have come to the dale family, and major dale resolves to send dorothy to a boarding school to complete her education. dorothy dale's great secret a splendid story of one girl's devotion to another. dorothy dale and her chums a story of school life, and of strange adventures among the gypsies. dorothy dale's queer holidays relates the details of a mystery that surrounded tanglewood park. dorothy dale's camping days many things happen in this volume, from the time dorothy and her chums are met coming down the hillside on a treacherous load of hay. dorothy dale's school rivals dorothy and her chum, tavia, return to glenwood school. a new student becomes dorothy's rival and troubles at home add to her difficulties. dorothy dale in the city dorothy is invited to new york city by her aunt. this tale presents a clever picture of life in new york as it appears to one who has never before visited the metropolis. dorothy dale's promise strange indeed was the promise and given under strange circumstances. only a girl as strong of purpose as was dorothy dale would have undertaken the task she set for herself. an absorbing story filled with plenty of fun,--one that will make this series a greater success. cupples & leon co., publishers new york a new line by the author of the ever-popular "motor boys series" the racer boys series by clarence young author of "the motor boys series," "jack ranger series," etc. etc. fine cloth binding. illustrated. price per vol. cts. postpaid. [illustration] the announcement of a new series of stories by mr. clarence young is always hailed with delight by boys and girls throughout the country, and we predict an even greater success for these new books, than that now enjoyed by the "motor boys series." the racer boys or the mystery of the wreck this, the first volume of the new series, tells who the racer boys were and how they chanced to be out on the ocean in a great storm. adventures follow each other in rapid succession in a manner that only our author, mr. young, can describe. the racer boys at boarding school or striving for the championship when the racer boys arrived at the school they found everything at a stand-still. the school was going down rapidly and the students lacked ambition and leadership. the racers took hold with a will, and got their father to aid the head of the school financially, and then reorganized the football team. the racer boys to the rescue or stirring days in a winter camp here is a story filled with the spirit of good times in winter--skating, ice-boating and hunting. the racer boys on the prairies or the treasure of golden peak from their boarding school the racer boys accept an invitation to visit a ranch in the west. the racer boys on guard or the rebellion of riverview hall once more the boys are back at boarding school, were they have many frolics, and enter more than one athletic contest. cupples & leon co., publishers new york _the jack ranger series_ _by clarence young_ author of the motor boys series cloth. mo. illustrated. price per volume, $ . , postpaid [illustration] jack ranger's schooldays _or, the rivals of washington hall_ you will love jack ranger--you simply can't help it. he is so bright and cheery, and so real and lifelike. a typical boarding school tale, without a dull line in it. jack ranger's school victories _or, track, gridiron and diamond_ in this tale jack gets back to washington hall and goes in for all sorts of school games. the rivalry is bitter at times, and enemies try to put jack "in a hole" more than once. jack ranger's western trip _or, from boarding school to ranch and range_ this volume takes the hero and several of his chums to the great west. at the ranch and on the range adventures of the strenuous sort befall him. jack ranger's ocean cruise _or, the wreck of the polly ann_ here is a tale of the bounding sea, with many stirring adventures. how the ship was wrecked, and jack was cast away, is told in a style all boys and girls will find exceedingly interesting. jack ranger's gun club _or, from schoolroom to camp and trail_ jack, with his chums, goes in quest of big game. the boys fall in with a mysterious body of men, and have a terrific slide down a mountain side. jack ranger's treasure box _or, the outing of the school boy yachtsmen_ this story opens at school, but the scene is quickly shifted to the ocean. the schoolboy yachtsmen visit porto rico and other places, and have a long series of adventures including some on a lonely island of the west indies. a yachting story all lovers of the sea will wish to peruse. cupples & leon co., publishers. new york the saddle boys series by captain james carson mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. all lads who love life in the open air and a good steed, will want to peruse these books. captain carson knows his subject thoroughly, and his stories are as pleasing as they are healthful and instructive. [illustration] the saddle boys of the rockies or lost on thunder mountain telling how the lads started out to solve the mystery of a great noise in the mountains--how they got lost--and of the things they discovered. the saddle boys in the grand canyon or the hermit of the cave a weird and wonderful story of the grand canyon of the colorado, told in a most absorbing manner. the saddle boys are to the front in a manner to please all young readers. the saddle boys on the plains or after a treasure of gold in this story the scene is shifted to the great plains of the southwest and then to the mexican border. there is a stirring struggle for gold, told as only captain carson can tell it. the saddle boys at circle ranch or in at the grand round-up here we have lively times at the ranch, and likewise the particulars of a grand round-up of cattle and encounters with wild animals and also cattle thieves. a story that breathes the very air of the plains. cupples & leon co. publishers new york the fred fenton athletic series by allen chapman author of "the tom fairfield series," "the boys of pluck series" and "the darewell chums series." mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. a line of tales embracing school athletics. fred is a true type of the american schoolboy of to-day. [illustration] fred fenton the pitcher or the rivals of riverport school when fred came to riverport none of the school lads knew him. but he speedily proved his worth in the baseball box. a true to life picture of school baseball. fred fenton in the line or the football boys of riverport school when fall came the thoughts of the boys turned to football. fred went in the line, and again proved his worth, making a run that helped to win a great game. fred fenton on the crew or the young oarsmen of riverport school in this volume the scene is shifted to the river, and fred and his chums show how they can handle the oars. there are many other adventures, all dear to the hearts of wide-awake readers. fred fenton on the track or the athletes of riverport school track athletics form a subject of vast interest to many boys, and here is a tale telling of great running races, high jumping, and the like. fred again proves himself a hero in the best sense of that term. cupples & leon co. publishers new york the tom fairfield series by allen chapman author of the "fred fenton athletic series," "the boys of pluck series," and "the darewell chums series." mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. tom fairfield is a typical american lad, full of life and energy, a boy who believes in doing things. to know tom is to love him. [illustration] tom fairfield's schooldays or the chums of elmwood hall tells of how tom started for school, of the mystery surrounding one of the hall seniors, and of how the hero went to the rescue. the first book in a line that is bound to become decidedly popular. tom fairfield at sea or the wreck of the silver star tom's parents had gone to australia and then been cast away somewhere in the pacific. tom set out to find them and was himself cast away. a thrilling picture of the perils of the deep. tom fairfield in camp or the secret of the old mill the boys decided to go camping, and located near an old mill. a wild man resided there and he made it decidedly lively for tom and his chums. the secret of the old mill adds to the interest of the volume. tom fairfield's luck and pluck or working to clear his name while tom was back at school some of his enemies tried to get him into trouble. then something unusual occurred and tom was suspected of a crime. how he set to work to clear his name is told in a manner to interest all young readers. cupples & leon co. publishers new york the dave dashaway series by roy rockwood author of the "speedwell boys series" and the "great marvel series." mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, cents, postpaid. never was there a more clever young aviator than dave dashaway, and all up-to-date lads will surely wish to make his acquaintance. [illustration] dave dashaway the young aviator or in the clouds for fame and fortune this initial volume tells how the hero ran away from his miserly guardian, fell in with a successful airman, and became a young aviator of note. dave dashaway and his hydroplane or daring adventures over the great lakes showing how dave continued his career as a birdman and had many adventures over the great lakes, and he likewise foiled the plans of some canadian smugglers. dave dashaway and his giant airship or a marvellous trip across the atlantic how the giant airship was constructed and how the daring young aviator and his friends made the hazard journey through the clouds from the new world to the old, is told in a way to hold the reader spellbound. dave dashaway around the world or a young yankee aviator among many nations an absorbing tale of a great air flight around the world, of hairbreadth adventures in alaska, siberia and elsewhere. a true to life picture of what may be accomplished in the near future. cupples & leon co. publishers new york the webster series by frank v. webster [illustration] mr. webster's style is very much like that of the boys' favorite author, the late lamented horatio alger jr., but his tales are thoroughly up-to-date. the stories are as clean as they are clever, and will prove of absorbing interest to boys everywhere. cloth. mo. over pages each. illustrated. stamped in various colors. price per volume, cents, postpaid. only a farm boy or dan hardy's rise in life tom the telephone boy or the mystery of a message the boy from the ranch or roy bradner's city experiences the young treasure hunter or fred stanley's trip to alaska bob the castaway or the wreck of the eagle the newsboy partners or who was dick box? two boy gold miners or lost in the mountains the young firemen of lakeville or herbert dare's pluck the boy pilot of the lakes or nat morton's perils the boys of bellwood school or frank jordan's triumph jack the runaway or on the road with a circus bob chester's grit or from ranch to riches airship andy or the luck of a brave boy the high school rivals or fred markham's struggles darry the life saver or the heroes of the coast dick the bank boy or a missing fortune ben hardy's flying machine or making a record for himself harry watson's high school days or the rivals of rivertown comrades of the saddle or the young rough riders of the plains the boys of the wireless or a stirring rescue from the deep cupples & leon co., publishers, new york * * * * * * * transcriber's note: --punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. --archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. --variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. --inconsistencies in formatting and punctuation of individual advertisements were retained. proofreading team. the adventures of captain horn by frank r. stockton contents chapter i an introductory disaster ii a new face in camp iii a change of lodgings iv another new face v the rackbirds vi three weld beasts vii gone! viii the alarm ix an amazing narration x the captain explores xi a new hemisphere xii a tradition and a waistcoat xiii "mine!" xiv a pile of fuel xv the cliff-maka scheme xvi on a business basis xvii "a fine thing, no matter what happens" xviii mrs. cliff is amazed xix left behind xx at the rackbirds' cove xxi in the caves xxii a pack-mule xxiii his present share xxvi his fortune under his feet the adventures of captain horn chapter i an introductory disaster early in the spring of the year the three-masted schooner _castor_, from san francisco to valparaiso, was struck by a tornado off the coast of peru. the storm, which rose with frightful suddenness, was of short duration, but it left the _castor_ a helpless wreck. her masts had snapped off and gone overboard, her rudder-post had been shattered by falling wreckage, and she was rolling in the trough of the sea, with her floating masts and spars thumping and bumping her sides. the _castor_ was an american merchant-vessel, commanded by captain philip horn, an experienced navigator of about thirty-five years of age. besides a valuable cargo, she carried three passengers--two ladies and a boy. one of these, mrs. william cliff, a lady past middle age, was going to valparaiso to settle some business affairs of her late husband, a new england merchant. the other lady was miss edna markham, a school-teacher who had just passed her twenty-fifth year, although she looked older. she was on her way to valparaiso to take an important position in an american seminary. ralph, a boy of fifteen, was her brother, and she was taking him with her simply because she did not want to leave him alone in san francisco. these two had no near relations, and the education of the brother depended upon the exertions of the sister. valparaiso was not the place she would have selected for a boy's education, but there they could be together, and, under the circumstances, that was a point of prime importance. but when the storm had passed, and the sky was clear, and the mad waves had subsided into a rolling swell, there seemed no reason to believe that any one on board the _castor_ would ever reach valparaiso. the vessel had been badly strained by the wrenching of the masts, her sides had been battered by the floating wreckage, and she was taking in water rapidly. fortunately, no one had been injured by the storm, and although the captain found it would be a useless waste of time and labor to attempt to work the pumps, he was convinced, after a careful examination, that the ship would float some hours, and that there would, therefore, be time for those on board to make an effort to save not only their lives, but some of their property. all the boats had been blown from their davits, but one of them was floating, apparently uninjured, a short distance to leeward, one of the heavy blocks by which it had been suspended having caught in the cordage of the topmast, so that it was securely moored. another boat, a small one, was seen, bottom upward, about an eighth of a mile to leeward. two seamen, each pushing an oar before him, swam out to the nearest boat, and having got on board of her, and freed her from her entanglements, they rowed out to the capsized boat, and towed it to the schooner. when this boat had been righted and bailed out, it was found to be in good condition. the sea had become almost quiet, and there was time enough to do everything orderly and properly, and in less than three hours after the vessel had been struck, the two boats, containing all the crew and the passengers, besides a goodly quantity of provisions and water, and such valuables, clothing, rugs, and wraps as room could be found for, were pulling away from the wreck. the captain, who, with his passengers, was in the larger boat, was aware that he was off the coast of peru, but that was all he certainly knew of his position. the storm had struck the ship in the morning, before he had taken his daily observation, and his room, which was on deck, had been carried away, as well as every nautical instrument on board. he did not believe that the storm had taken him far out of his course, but of this he could not be sure. all that he knew with certainty was that to the eastward lay the land, and eastward, therefore, they pulled, a little compass attached to the captain's watch-guard being their only guide. for the rest of that day and that night, and the next day and the next night, the two boats moved eastward, the people on board suffering but little inconvenience, except from the labor of continuous rowing, at which everybody, excepting the two ladies, took part, even ralph markham being willing to show how much of a man he could be with an oar in his hand. the weather was fine, and the sea was almost smooth, and as the captain had rigged up in his boat a tent-like covering of canvas for the ladies, they were, as they repeatedly declared, far more comfortable than they had any right to expect. they were both women of resource and courage. mrs. cliff, tall, thin in face, with her gray hair brushed plainly over her temples, was a woman of strong frame, who would have been perfectly willing to take an oar, had it been necessary. to miss markham this boat trip would have been a positive pleasure, had it not been for the unfortunate circumstances which made it necessary. on the morning of the third day land was sighted, but it was afternoon before they reached it. here they found themselves on a portion of the coast where the foot-hills of the great mountains stretch themselves almost down to the edge of the ocean. to all appearances, the shore was barren and uninhabited. the two boats rowed along the coast a mile or two to the southward, but could find no good landing-place, but reaching a spot less encumbered with rocks than any other portion of the coast they had seen, captain horn determined to try to beach his boat there. the landing was accomplished in safety, although with some difficulty, and that night was passed in a little encampment in the shelter of some rocks scarcely a hundred yards from the sea. the next morning captain horn took counsel with his mates, and considered the situation. they were on an uninhabited portion of the coast, and it was not believed that there was any town or settlement near enough to be reached by walking over such wild country, especially with ladies in the party. it was, therefore, determined to seek succor by means of the sea. they might be near one of the towns or villages along the coast of peru, and, in any case, a boat manned by the best oarsmen of the party, and loaded as lightly as possible, might hope, in the course of a day or two, to reach some port from which a vessel might be sent out to take off the remainder of the party. but first captain horn ordered a thorough investigation to be made of the surrounding country, and in an hour or two a place was found which he believed would answer very well for a camping-ground until assistance should arrive. this was on a little plateau about a quarter of a mile back from the ocean, and surrounded on three sides by precipices, and on the side toward the sea the ground sloped gradually downward. to this camping-ground all of the provisions and goods were carried, excepting what would be needed by the boating party. when this work had been accomplished, captain horn appointed his first mate to command the expedition, deciding to remain himself in the camp. when volunteers were called for, it astonished the captain to see how many of the sailors desired to go. the larger boat pulled six oars, and seven men, besides the mate rynders, were selected to go in her. as soon as she could be made ready she was launched and started southward on her voyage of discovery, the mate having first taken such good observation of the landmarks that he felt sure he would have no difficulty in finding the spot where he left his companions. the people in the little camp on the bluff now consisted of captain horn, the two ladies, the boy ralph, three sailors,--one an englishman, and the other two americans from cape cod,--and a jet-black native african, known as maka. captain horn had not cared to keep many men with him in the camp, because there they would have little to do, and all the strong arms that could be spared would be needed in the boat. the three sailors he had retained were men of intelligence, on whom he believed he could rely in case of emergency, and maka was kept because he was a cook. he had been one of the cargo of a slave-ship which had been captured by a british cruiser several years before, when on its way to cuba, and the unfortunate negroes had been landed in british guiana. it was impossible to return them to africa, because none of them could speak english, or in any way give an idea as to what tribes they belonged, and if they should be landed anywhere in africa except among their friends, they would be immediately reënslaved. for some years they lived in guiana, in a little colony by themselves, and then, a few of them having learned some english, they made their way to panama, where they obtained employment as laborers on the great canal. maka, who was possessed of better intelligence than most of his fellows, improved a good deal in his english, and learned to cook very well, and having wandered to san francisco, had been employed for two or three voyages by captain horn. maka was a faithful and willing servant, and if he had been able to express himself more intelligibly, his merits might have been better appreciated. chapter ii a new face in camp the morning after the departure of the boat, captain horn, in company with the englishman davis, each armed with a gun, set out on a tour of investigation, hoping to be able to ascend the rocky hills at the back of the camp, and find some elevated point commanding a view over the ocean. after a good deal of hard climbing they reached such a point, but the captain found that the main object was really out of his reach. he could now plainly see that a high rocky point to the southward, which stretched some distance out to sea, would cut off all view of the approach of rescuers coming from that direction, until they were within a mile or two of his landing-place. back from the sea the hills grew higher, until they blended into the lofty stretches of the andes, this being one of the few points where the hilly country extends to the ocean. the coast to the north curved a little oceanward, so that a much more extended view could be had in that direction, but as far as he could see by means of a little pocket-glass which the boy ralph had lent him, the captain could discover no signs of habitation, and in this direction the land seemed to be a flat desert. when he returned to camp, about noon, he had made up his mind that the proper thing to do was to make himself and his companions as comfortable as possible and patiently await the return of his mate with succor. captain horn was very well satisfied with his present place of encampment. although rain is unknown in this western portion of peru, which is, therefore, in general desolate and barren, there are parts of the country that are irrigated by streams which flow from the snow-capped peaks of the andes, and one of these fertile spots the captain seemed to have happened upon. on the plateau there grew a few bushes, while the face of the rock in places was entirely covered by hanging vines. this fertility greatly puzzled captain horn, for nowhere was to be seen any stream of water, or signs of there ever having been any. but they had with them water enough to last for several days, and provisions for a much longer time, and the captain felt little concern on this account. as for lodgings, there were none excepting the small tent which he had put up for the ladies, but a few nights in the open air in that dry climate would not hurt the male portion of the party. in the course of the afternoon, the two american sailors came to captain horn and asked permission to go to look for game. the captain had small hopes of their finding anything suitable for food, but feeling sure that if they should be successful, every one would be glad of a little fresh meat, he gave his permission, at the same time requesting the men to do their best in the way of observation, if they should get up high enough to survey the country, and discover some signs of habitation, if such existed in that barren region. it would be a great relief to the captain to feel that there was some spot of refuge to which, by land or water, his party might make its way in case the water and provisions gave out before the return of the mate. as to the men who went off in the boat, the captain expected to see but a few of them again. one or two might return with the mate, in such vessel as he should obtain in which to come for them, but the most of them, if they reached a seaport, would scatter, after the manner of seamen. the two sailors departed, promising, if they could not bring back fish or fowl, to return before dark, with a report of the lay of the land. it was very well that maka did not have to depend on these hunters for the evening meal, for night came without them, and the next morning they had not returned. the captain was very much troubled. the men must be lost, or they had met with some accident. there could be no other reason for their continued absence. they had each a gun, and plenty of powder and shot, but they had taken only provisions enough for a single meal. davis offered to go up the hills to look for the missing men. he had lived for some years in the bush in australia, and he thought that there was a good chance of his discovering their tracks. but the captain shook his head. "you are just as likely to get lost, or to fall over a rock, as anybody else," he said, "and it is better to have two men lost than three. but there is one thing that you can do. you can go down to the beach, and make your way southward as far as possible. there you can find your way back, and if you take a gun, and fire it every now and then, you may attract the attention of shirley and burke, if they are on the hills above, and perhaps they may even be able to see you as you walk along. if they are alive, they will probably see or hear you, and fire in answer. it is a very strange thing that we have not heard a shot from them." ralph begged to accompany the englishman, for he was getting very restless, and longed for a ramble and scramble. but neither the captain nor his sister would consent to this, and davis started off alone. "if you can round the point down there," said the captain to him, "do it, for you may see a town or houses not far away on the other side. but don't take any risks. at all events, make your calculations so that you will be back here before dark." the captain and ralph assisted the two ladies to a ledge of rock near the camp from which they could watch the englishman on his way. they saw him reach the beach, and after going on a short distance he fired his gun, after which he pressed forward, now and then stopping to fire again. even from their inconsiderable elevation they could see him until he must have been more than a mile away, and he soon after vanished from their view. as on the previous day darkness came without the two american sailors, so now it came without the englishman, and in the morning he had not returned. of course, every mind was filled with anxiety in regard to the three sailors, but captain horn's soul was racked with apprehensions of which he did not speak. the conviction forced itself upon him that the men had been killed by wild beasts. he could imagine no other reason why davis should not have returned. he had been ordered not to leave the beach, and, therefore, could not lose his way. he was a wary, careful man, used to exploring rough country, and he was not likely to take any chances of disabling himself by a fall while on such an expedition. although he knew that the great jaguar was found in peru, as well as the puma and black bear, the captain had not supposed it likely that any of these creatures frequented the barren western slopes of the mountains, but he now reflected that there were lions in the deserts of africa, and that the beasts of prey in south america might also be found in its deserts. a great responsibility now rested upon captain horn. he was the only man left in camp who could be depended upon as a defender,--for maka was known to be a coward, and ralph was only a boy,--and it was with a shrinking of the heart that he asked himself what would be the consequences if a couple of jaguars or other ferocious beasts were to appear upon that unprotected plateau in the night, or even in the daytime. he had two guns, but he was only one man. these thoughts were not cheerful, but the captain's face showed no signs of alarm, or even unusual anxiety, and, with a smile on his handsome brown countenance, he bade the ladies good morning as if he were saluting them upon a quarter-deck. "i have been thinking all night about those three men," said miss markham, "and i have imagined something which may have happened. isn't it possible that they may have discovered at a distance some inland settlement which could not be seen by the party in the boat, and that they thought it their duty to push their way to it, and so get assistance for us? in that case, you know, they would probably be a long time coming back." "that is possible," said the captain, glad to hear a hopeful supposition, but in his heart he had no faith in it whatever. if davis had seen a village, or even a house, he would have come back to report it, and if the others had found human habitation, they would have had ample time to return, either by land or by sea. the restless ralph, who had chafed a good deal because he had not been allowed to leave the plateau in search of adventure, now found a vent for his surplus energy, for the captain appointed him fire-maker. the camp fuel was not abundant, consisting of nothing but some dead branches and twigs from the few bushes in the neighborhood. these ralph collected with great energy, and maka had nothing to complain of in regard to fuel for his cooking. toward the end of that afternoon, ralph prepared to make a fire for the supper, and he determined to change the position of the fireplace and bring it nearer the rocks, where he thought it would burn better. it did burn better--so well, indeed, that some of the dry leaves of the vines that there covered the face of the rocks took fire. ralph watched with interest the dry leaves blaze and the green ones splutter, and then he thought it would be a pity to scorch those vines, which were among the few green things about them, and he tried to put out the fire. but this he could not do, and, when he called maka, the negro was not able to help him. the fire had worked its way back of the green vines, and seemed to have found good fuel, for it was soon crackling away at a great rate, attracting the rest of the party. "can't we put it out?" cried miss markham. "it is a pity to ruin those beautiful vines." the captain smiled and shook his head. "we cannot waste our valuable water on that conflagration," said he. "there is probably a great mass of dead vines behind the green outside. how it crackles and roars! that dead stuff must be several feet thick. all we can do is to let it burn. it cannot hurt us. it cannot reach your tent, for there are no vines over there." the fire continued to roar and blaze, and to leap up the face of the rock. "it is wonderful," said mrs. cliff, "to think how those vines must have been growing and dying, and new ones growing and dying, year after year, nobody knows how many ages." "what is most wonderful to me," said the captain, "is that the vines ever grew there at all, or that these bushes should be here. nothing can grow in this region, unless it is watered by a stream from the mountains, and there is no stream here." miss markham was about to offer a supposition to the effect that perhaps the precipitous wall of rock which surrounded the little plateau, and shielded it from the eastern sun, might have had a good effect upon the vegetation, when suddenly ralph, who had a ship's biscuit on the end of a sharp stick, and was toasting it in the embers of a portion of the burnt vines, sprang back with a shout. "look out!" he cried. "the whole thing's coming down!" and, sure enough, in a moment a large portion of the vines, which had been clinging to the rock, fell upon the ground in a burning mass. a cloud of smoke and dust arose, and when it had cleared away the captain and his party saw upon the perpendicular side of the rock, which was now revealed to them as if a veil had been torn away from in front of it, an enormous face cut out of the solid stone. chapter iii a change of lodgings the great face stared down upon the little party gathered beneath it. its chin was about eight feet above the ground, and its stony countenance extended at least that distance up the cliff. its features were in low relief, but clear and distinct, and a smoke-blackened patch beneath one of its eyes gave it a sinister appearance. from its wide-stretching mouth a bit of half-burnt vine hung, trembling in the heated air, and this element of motion produced the impression on several of the party that the creature was about to open its lips. mrs. cliff gave a little scream,--she could not help it,--and maka sank down on his knees, his back to the rock, and covered his face with his hands. ralph was the first to speak. "there have been heathen around here," he said. "that's a regular idol." "you are right," said the captain. "that is a bit of old-time work. that face was cut by the original natives." the two ladies were so interested, and even excited, that they seized each other by the hands. here before their faces was a piece of sculpture doubtless done by the people of ancient peru, that people who were discovered by pizarro; and this great idol, or whatever it was, had perhaps never before been seen by civilized eyes. it was wonderful, and in the conjecture and exclamation of the next half-hour everything else was forgotten, even the three sailors. because the captain was the captain, it was natural that every one should look to him for some suggestion as to why this great stone face should have been carved here on this lonely and desolate rock. but he shook his head. "i have no ideas about it," he said, "except that it must have been some sort of a landmark. it looks out toward the sea, and perhaps the ancient inhabitants put it there so that people in ships, coming near enough to the coast, should know where they were. perhaps it was intended to act as a lighthouse to warn seamen off a dangerous coast. but i must say that i do not see how it could do that, for they would have had to come pretty close to the shore to see it, unless they had better glasses than we have." the sun was now near the horizon, and maka was lifted to his feet by the captain, and ordered to stop groaning in african, and go to work to get supper on the glowing embers of the vines. he obeyed, of course, but never did he turn his face upward to that gaunt countenance, which grinned and winked and frowned whenever a bit of twig blazed up, or the coals were stirred by the trembling negro. after supper and until the light had nearly faded from the western sky, the two ladies sat and watched that vast face upon the rocks, its features growing more and more solemn as the light decreased. "i wish i had a long-handled broom," said mrs. cliff, "for if the dust and smoke and ashes of burnt leaves were brushed from off its nose and eyebrows, i believe it would have a rather gracious expression." as for the captain, he went walking about on the outlying portion of the plateau, listening and watching. but it was not stone faces he was thinking of. that night he did not sleep at all, but sat until day-break, with a loaded gun across his knees, and another one lying on the ground beside him. when miss markham emerged from the rude tent the next morning, and came out into the bright light of day, the first thing she saw was her brother ralph, who looked as if he had been sweeping a chimney or cleaning out an ash-hole. "what on earth has happened to you!" she cried. "how did you get yourself so covered with dirt and ashes?" "i got up ever so long ago," he replied, "and as the captain is asleep over there, and there was nobody to talk to, i thought i would go and try to find the back of his head"--pointing to the stone face above them. "but he hasn't any. he is a sham." "what do you mean?" asked his sister. "you see, edna," said the boy, "i thought i would try if i could find any more faces, and so i got a bit of stone, and scratched away some of the burnt vines that had not fallen, and there i found an open place in the rock on this side of the face. step this way, and you can see it. it's like a narrow doorway. i went and looked into it, and saw that it led back of the big face, and i went in to see what was there." "you should never have done that, ralph," cried his sister. "there might have been snakes in that place, or precipices, or nobody knows what. what could you expect to see in the dark?" "it wasn't so dark as you might think," said he. "after my eyes got used to the place i could see very well. but there was nothing to see--just walls on each side. there was more of the passageway ahead of me, but i began to think of snakes myself, and as i did not have a club or anything to kill them with, i concluded i wouldn't go any farther. it isn't so very dirty in there. most of this i got on myself scraping down the burnt vines. here comes the captain. he doesn't generally oversleep himself like this. if he will go with me, we will explore that crack." when captain horn heard of the passage into the rock, he was much more interested than ralph had expected him to be, and, without loss of time, he lighted a lantern and, with the boy behind him, set out to investigate it. but before entering the cleft, the captain stationed maka at a place where he could view all the approaches to the plateau, and told him if he saw any snakes or other dangerous things approaching, to run to the opening and call him. now, snakes were among the few things that maka was not afraid of, and so long as he thought these were the enemies to be watched, he would make a most efficient sentinel. when captain horn had cautiously advanced a couple of yards into the interior of the rock, he stopped, raised his lantern, and looked about him. the passage was about two feet wide, the floor somewhat lower than the ground outside, and the roof but a few feet above his head. it was plainly the work of man, and not a natural crevice in the rocks. then the captain put the lantern behind him, and stared into the gloom ahead of them. as ralph had said, it was not so dark as might have been expected. in fact, about twenty feet forward there was a dim light on the right-hand wall. the captain, still followed by ralph, now moved on until they came to this lighted place, and found it was an open doorway. both heads together, they peeped in, and saw it was an opening like a doorway into a chamber about fifteen feet square and with very high walls. they scarcely needed the lantern to examine it, for a jagged opening in the roof let in a good deal of light. passing into this chamber, keeping a good watch out for pitfalls as he moved on, and forgetting, in his excitement, that he might go so far that he could not hear maka, should he call, the captain saw to the right another open doorway, on the other side of which was another chamber, about the size of the one they had first entered. one side of this was a good deal broken away, and through a fracture three or four feet wide the light entered freely, as if from the open air. but when the two explorers peered through the ragged aperture, they did not look into the open air, but into another chamber, very much larger than the others, with high, irregular walls, but with scarcely any roof, almost the whole of the upper part being open to the sky. a mass of broken rocks on the floor of this apartment showed that the roof had fallen in. the captain entered it and carefully examined it. a portion of the floor was level and unobstructed by rocks, and in the walls there was not the slightest sign of a doorway, except the one by which he had entered from the adjoining chamber. "hurrah!" cried ralph. "here is a suite of rooms. isn't this grand? you and i can have that first one, maka can sleep in the hall to keep out burglars, and edna and mrs. cliff can have the middle room, and this open place here can be their garden, where they can take tea and sew. these rocks will make splendid tables and chairs." the captain stood, breathing hard, a sense of relief coming over him like the warmth of fire. he had thought of what ralph had said before the boy had spoken. here was safety from wild beasts--here was immunity from the only danger he could imagine to those under his charge. it might be days yet before the mate returned,--he knew the probable difficulties of obtaining a vessel, even when a port should be reached,--but they would be safe here from the attacks of ferocious animals, principally to be feared in the night. they might well be thankful for such a good place as this in which to await the arrival of succor, if succor came before their water gave out. there were biscuits, salt meat, tea, and other things enough to supply their wants for perhaps a week longer, provided the three sailors did not return, but the supply of water, although they were very economical of it, must give out in a day or two. "but," thought the captain, "rynders may be back before that, and, on the other hand, a family of jaguars might scent us out to-night." "you are right, my boy," said he, speaking to ralph. "here is a suite of rooms, and we will occupy them just as you have said. they are dry and airy, and it will be far better for us to sleep here than out of doors." as they returned, ralph was full of talk about the grand find. but the captain made no answers to his remarks--his mind was busy contriving some means of barricading the narrow entrance at night. when breakfast was over, and the entrance to the rocks had been made cleaner and easier by the efforts of maka and ralph, the ladies were conducted to the suite of rooms which ralph had described in such glowing terms. both were filled with curiosity to see these apartments, especially miss markham, who was fairly well read in the history of south america, and who had already imagined that the vast mass of rock by which they had camped might be in reality a temple of the ancient peruvians, to which the stone face was a sacred sentinel. but when the three apartments had been thoroughly explored she was disappointed. "there is not a sign or architectural adornment, or anything that seems to have the least religious significance, or significance of any sort," she said. "these are nothing but three stone rooms, with their roofs more or less broken in. they do not even suggest dungeons." as for mrs. cliff, she did not hesitate to say that she should prefer to sleep in the open air. "it would be dreadful," she said, "to awaken in the night and think of those great stone walls about me." even ralph remarked that, on second thought, he believed he would rather sleep out of doors, for he liked to look up and see the stars before he went to sleep. at first the captain was a little annoyed to find that this place of safety, the discovery of which had given him such satisfaction and relief, was looked upon with such disfavor by those who needed it so very much, but then the thought came to him, "why should they care about a place of safety, when they have no idea of danger?" he did not now hesitate to settle the matter in the most straightforward and honest way. having a place of refuge to offer, the time had come to speak of the danger. and so, standing in the larger apartment, and addressing his party, he told them of the fate he feared had overtaken the three sailors, and how anxious he had been lest the same fate should come upon some one or all of them. now vanished every spark of opposition to the captain's proffered lodgings. "if we should be here but one night longer," cried mrs. cliff, echoing the captain's thought, "let us be safe." in the course of the day the two rooms were made as comfortable as circumstances would allow with the blankets, shawls, and canvas which had been brought on shore, and that night they all slept in the rock chambers, the captain having made a barricade for the opening of the narrow passage with the four oars, which he brought up from the boat. even should these be broken down by some wild beast, captain horn felt that, with his two guns at the end of the narrow passage, he might defend his party from the attacks of any of the savage animals of the country. the captain slept soundly that night, for he had had but a nap of an hour or two on the previous morning, and, with maka stretched in the passage outside the door of his room, he knew that he would have timely warning of danger, should any come. but mrs. cliff did not sleep well, spending a large part of the night imagining the descent of active carnivora down the lofty and perpendicular walls of the large adjoining apartment. the next day was passed rather wearily by most of the party in looking out for signs of a vessel with the returning mate. ralph had made a flag which he could wave from a high point near by, in case he should see a sail, for it would be a great misfortune should mr. rynders pass them without knowing it. to the captain, however, came a new and terrible anxiety. he had looked into the water-keg, and saw that it held but a few quarts. it had not lasted as long as he had expected, for this was a thirsty climate. the next night mrs. cliff slept, having been convinced that not even a cat could come down those walls. the captain woke very early, and when he went out he found, to his amazement, that the barricade had been removed, and he could not see maka. he thought at first that perhaps the negro had gone down to the sea-shore to get some water for washing purposes, but an hour passed, and maka did not return. the whole party went down to the beach, for the captain insisted upon all keeping together. they shouted, they called, they did whatever they could to discover the lost african, but all without success. they returned to camp, disheartened and depressed. this new loss had something terrible in it. what it meant no one could conjecture. there was no reason why maka should run away, for there was no place to run to, and it was impossible that any wild beast should have removed the oars and carried off the negro. chapter iv another new face as the cook had gone, mrs. cliff and miss markham prepared breakfast, and then they discovered how little water there was. there was something mysterious about the successive losses of his men which pressed heavily upon the soul of captain horn, but the want of water pressed still more heavily. ralph had just asked his permission to go down to the beach and bathe in the sea, saying that as he could not have all the water he wanted to drink, it might make him feel better to take a swim in plenty of water. the boy was not allowed to go so far from camp by himself, but the captain could not help thinking how this poor fellow would probably feel the next day if help had not arrived, and of the sufferings of the others, which, by that time, would have begun. still, as before, he spoke hopefully, and the two women, as brave as he, kept up good spirits, and although they each thought of the waterless morrow, they said nothing about it. as for ralph, he confidently expected the return of the men in the course of the day, as he had done in the course of each preceding day, and two or three times an hour he was at his post of observation, ready to wave his flag. even had he supposed that it would be of any use to go to look for maka, a certain superstitious feeling would have prevented the captain from doing so. if he should go out, and not return, there would be little hope for those two women and the boy. but he could not help feeling that beyond the rocky plateau which stretched out into the sea to the southward, and which must be at least two miles away, there might be seen some signs of habitation, and, consequently, of a stream. if anything of the sort could be seen, it might become absolutely necessary for the party to make their way toward it, either by land or sea, no matter how great the fatigue or the danger, and without regard to the fate of those who had left camp before them. about half an hour afterwards, when the captain had mounted some rocks near by, from which he thought he might get a view of the flat region to the north on which he might discover the missing negro, ralph, who was looking seaward, gave a start, and then hurriedly called to his sister and mrs. cliff, and pointed to the beach. there was the figure of a man which might well be maka, but, to their amazement and consternation, he was running, followed, not far behind, by another man. the figures rapidly approached, and it was soon seen that the first man was maka, but that the second figure was not one of the sailors who had left them. could he be pursuing maka? what on earth did it mean? for some moments ralph stood dumfounded, and then ran in the direction in which the captain had gone, and called to him. at the sound of his voice the second figure stopped and turned as if he were about to run, but maka--they were sure it was maka--seized him by the arm and held him. therefore this newcomer could not be pursuing their man. as the two now came forward, maka hurrying the other on, ralph and his two companions were amazed to see that this second man was also an african, a negro very much like maka, and as they drew nearer, the two looked as if they might have been brothers. the captain had wandered farther than he had intended, but after several shouts from ralph he came running back, and reached the camp-ground just as the two negroes arrived. at the sight of this tall man bounding toward him the strange negro appeared to be seized with a wild terror. he broke away from maka, and ran first in this direction and then in that, and perceiving the cleft in the face of the rock, he blindly rushed into it, as a rat would rush into a hole. instantly maka was after him, and the two were lost to view. when the captain had been told of the strange thing which had happened, he stood without a word. another african! this was a puzzle too great for his brain. "are you sure it was not a native of these parts?" said he, directly. "you know, they are very dark." "no!" exclaimed mrs. cliff and her companions almost in the same breath, "it was an african, exactly like maka." at this moment a wild yell was heard from the interior of the rocks, then another and another. without waiting to consider anything, or hear any more, the captain dashed into the narrow passage, ralph close behind him. they ran into the room in which they had slept. they looked on all sides, but saw nothing. again, far away, they heard another yell, and they ran out again into the passage. this narrow entry, as the investigating ralph had already discovered, continued for a dozen yards past the doorway which led to the chambers, but there it ended in a rocky wall about five feet high. above this was an aperture extending to the roof of the passage, but ralph, having a wholesome fear of snakes, had not cared to climb over the wall to see what was beyond. when the captain and ralph had reached the end of the passage, they heard another cry, and there could be no doubt that it came through the aperture by which they stood. instantly ralph scrambled to the top of the wall, pushed himself head foremost through the opening, and came down on the other side, partly on his hands and partly on his feet. had the captain been first, he would not have made such a rash leap, but now he did not hesitate a second. he instantly followed the boy, taking care, however, to let himself down on his feet. the passage on the other side of the dividing wall seemed to be the same as that they had just left, although perhaps a little lighter. after pushing on for a short distance, they found that the passage made a turn to the right, and then in a few moments the captain and ralph emerged into open space. what sort of space it was they could not comprehend. "it seemed to me," said ralph, afterwards, "as if i had fallen into the sky at night. i was afraid to move, for fear i should tumble into astronomical distances." the captain stared about him, apparently as much confounded by the situation as was the boy. but his mind was quickly brought to the consideration of things which he could understand. almost at his feet was maka, lying on his face, his arms and head over the edge of what might be a bank or a bottomless precipice, and yelling piteously. making a step toward him, the captain saw that he had hold of another man, several feet below him, and that he could not pull him up. "hold on tight, maka," he cried, and then, taking hold of the african's shoulders, he gave one mighty heave, lifted both men, and set them on their feet beside him. ralph would have willingly sacrificed the rest of his school-days to be able to perform such a feat as that. but the africans were small, and the captain was wildly excited. well might he be excited. he was wet! the strange man whom he had pulled up had stumbled against him, and he was dripping with water. ralph was by the captain, tightly gripping his arm, and, without speaking, they both stood gazing before them and around them. at their feet, stretching away in one direction, farther than they could see, and what at first sight they had taken to be air, was a body of water--a lake! above them were rocks, and, as far as they could see to the right, the water seemed to be overhung by a cavernous roof. but in front of them, on the other side of the lake, which here did not seem to be more than a hundred feet wide, there was a great upright opening in the side of the cave, through which they could see the distant mountains and a portion of the sky. "water!" said ralph, in a low tone, as if he had been speaking in church, and then, letting go of the captain's arm, he began to examine the ledge, but five or six feet wide, on which they stood. at his feet the water was at least a yard below them, but a little distance on he saw that the ledge shelved down to the surface of the lake, and in a moment he had reached this spot, and, throwing himself down on his breast, he plunged his face into the water and began drinking like a thirsty horse. presently he rose to his knees with a great sigh of satisfaction. "oh, captain," he cried, "it is cold and delicious. i believe that in one hour more i should have died of thirst." but the captain did not answer, nor did he move from the spot where he stood. his thoughts whirled around in his mind like chaff in a winnowing-machine. water! a lake in the bosom of the rocks! half an hour ago he must have been standing over it as he scrambled up the hillside. visions that he had had of the morrow, when all their eyes should be standing out of their faces, like the eyes of shipwrecked sailors he had seen in boats, came back to him, and other visions of his mate and his men toiling southward for perhaps a hundred miles without reaching a port or a landing, and then the long, long delay before a vessel could be procured. and here was water! ralph stood beside him for an instant. "captain," he cried, "i am going to get a pail, and take some to edna and mrs. cliff." and then he was gone. recalled thus to the present, the captain stepped back. he must do something--he must speak to some one. he must take some advantage of this wonderful, this overpowering discovery. but before he could bring his mind down to its practical workings, maka had clutched him by the coat. "cap'n," he said, "i must tell you. i must speak it. i must tell you now, quick. wait! don't go!" chapter v the rackbirds the new african was sitting on the ground, as far back from the edge of the ledge as he could get, shivering and shaking, for the water was cold. he had apparently reached the culmination and termination of his fright. after his tumble into the water, which had happened because he had been unable to stop in his mad flight, he had not nerve enough left to do anything more, no matter what should appear to scare him, and there was really no reason why he should be afraid of this big white man, who did not even look at him or give him a thought. maka's tale, which he told so rapidly and incoherently that he was frequently obliged to repeat portions of it, was to the following effect: he had thought a great deal about the scarcity of water, and it had troubled him so that he could not sleep. what a dreadful thing it would be for those poor ladies and the captain and the boy to die because they had no water! his recollections of experiences in his native land made him well understand that streams of water are to be looked for between high ridges, and the idea forced itself upon him very strongly that on the other side of the ridge to the south there might be a stream. he knew the captain would not allow him to leave the camp if he asked permission, and so he rose very early, even before it was light, and going down to the shore, made his way along the beach--on the same route, in fact, that the englishman davis had taken. he was a good deal frightened sometimes, he said, by the waves, which dashed up as if they would pull him into the water. when he reached the point of the rocky ridge, he had no difficulty whatever in getting round it, as he could easily keep away from the water by climbing over the rocks. he found that the land on the other side began to recede from the ocean, and that there was a small sandy beach below him. this widened until it reached another and smaller point of rock, and beyond this maka believed he would find the stream for which he was searching. and while he was considering whether he should climb over it or wade around it, suddenly a man jumped down from the rock, almost on top of him. this man fell down on his back, and was at first so frightened that he did not try to move. maka's wits entirely deserted him, he said, and he did not know anything, except that most likely he was going to die. but on looking at the man on the ground, he saw that he was an african like himself, and in a moment he recognized him as one of his fellow-slaves, with whom he had worked in guiana, and also for a short time on the panama canal. this made him think that perhaps he was not going to die, and he went up to the other man and spoke to him. then the other man thought perhaps he was not going to die, and he sat up and spoke. when the other man told his tale, maka agreed with him that it would be far better to die of thirst than to go on any farther to look for water, and, turning, he ran back, followed by the other, and they never stopped to speak to each other until they had rounded the great bluff, and were making their way along the beach toward the camp. then his fellow-african told maka a great deal more, and maka told everything to the captain. the substance of the tale was this: a mile farther up the bay than maka had gone, there was a little stream that ran down the ravine. about a quarter of a mile up this stream there was a spot where, it appeared from the account, there must be a little level ground suitable for habitations. here were five or six huts, almost entirely surrounded by rocks, and in these lived a dozen of the most dreadful men in the whole world. this maka assured the captain, his eyes wet with tears as he spoke. it must truly be so, because the other african had told him things which proved it. a little farther up the stream, on the other side of the ravine, there was a cave, a very small one, and so high up in the face of the rock that it could only be reached by a ladder. in this lived five black men, members of the company of slaves who had gone from guiana to the isthmus, and who had been brought down there about a year before by two wicked men, who had promised them well-paid work in a lovely country. they had, however, been made actual slaves in this barren and doleful place, and had since worked for the cruel men who had beguiled them into a captivity worse than the slavery to which they had been originally destined. eight of them had come down from the isthmus, but, at various times since, three of them had been killed by accident, or shot while trying to run away. the hardships of these poor fellows were very great, and maka's voice shook as he spoke of them. they were kept in the cave all the time, except when they were wanted for some sort of work, when a ladder was put up by the side of the rock, and such as were required were called to come down. without a ladder no one could get in or out of the cave. one man who had tried to slip down at night fell and broke his neck. the africans were employed in cooking and other rough domestic or menial services, and sometimes all of them were taken down to the shore of the bay, where they saw small vessels, and they were employed in carrying goods from one of these to another, and were also obliged to carry provisions and heavy kegs up the ravine to the houses of the wicked men. the one whom he had brought with him, maka said, had that day escaped from his captors. one of the rackbirds, whom in some way the negro had offended, had sworn to kill him before night, and feeling sure that this threat would be carried out, the poor fellow had determined to run away, no matter what the consequences. he had chosen the way by the ocean, in order that he might jump in and drown himself if he found that he was likely to be overtaken, but apparently his escape had not yet been discovered. maka was going on to tell something more about the wicked men, when the captain interrupted him. "can this friend of yours speak english?" he asked. "only one, two words," replied maka. "ask him if he knows the name of that band of men." "yes," said maka, presently, "he know, but he no can speak it." "are they called the rackbirds?" asked captain horn. the shivering negro had been listening attentively, and now half rose and nodded his head violently, and then began to speak rapidly in african. "yes," said maka, "he says that is name they are called." at this moment ralph appeared upon the scene, and the second african, whose name was something like mok, sprang to his feet as if he were about to flee for his life. but as there was no place to flee to, except into the water or into the arms of ralph, he stood still, trembling. a few feet to the left the shelf ended in a precipitous rock, and on the right, as has been said, it gradually descended into the water, the space on which the party stood not being more than twenty feet long and five or six feet wide. when he saw ralph, the captain suddenly stopped the question he was about to ask, and said in an undertone to maka: "not a word to the boy. i will tell." "oh," cried ralph, "you do not know what a lively couple there is out there. i found that my sister and mrs. cliff had made up their minds that they would perish in about two days, and mrs. cliff had been making her will with a lead-pencil, and now they are just as high up as they were low down before. they would not let me come to get them some water, though i kept telling them they never tasted anything like it in their whole lives, because they wanted to hear everything about everything. my sister will be wild to come to this lake before long, even if mrs. cliff does not care to try it. and when you are ready to come to them, and bring maka, they want to know who that other colored man is, and how maka happened to find him. i truly believe their curiosity goes ahead of their thirst." and so saying he went down to the lake to fill a pail he had brought with him. the captain told ralph to hurry back to the ladies, and that he would be there in a few minutes. captain horn knew a great deal about the rackbirds. they were a band of desperadoes, many of them outlaws and criminals. they had all come down from the isthmus, to which they had been attracted by the great canal works, and after committing various outrages and crimes, they had managed to get away without being shot or hung. captain horn had frequently heard of them in the past year or two, and it was generally supposed that they had some sort of rendezvous or refuge on this coast, but there had been no effort made to seek them out. he had frequently heard of crimes committed by them at points along the coast, which showed that they had in their possession some sort of vessel. at one time, when he had stopped at lima, he had heard that there was talk of the government's sending out a police or military expedition against these outlaws, but he had never known of anything of the sort being done. everything that, from time to time, had been told captain horn about the rackbirds showed that they surpassed in cruelty and utter vileness any other bandits, or even savages, of whom he had ever heard. among other news, he had been told that the former leader of the band, which was supposed to be composed of men of many nationalities, was a french canadian, who had been murdered by his companions because, while robbing a plantation in the interior,--they had frequently been known to cross the desert and the mountains,--he had forborne to kill an old man because as the trembling graybeard looked up at him he had reminded him of his father. some of the leading demons of the band determined that they could not have such a fool as this for their leader, and he was killed while asleep. now the band was headed by a spaniard, whose fiendishness was of a sufficiently high order to satisfy the most exacting of his fellows. these and other bits of news about the rackbirds had been told by one of the band who had escaped to panama after the murder of the captain, fearing that his own talents for baseness did not reach the average necessary for a rackbird. when he had made his landing from the wreck, captain horn never gave a thought to the existence of this band of scoundrels. in fact, he had supposed, when he had thought of the matter, that their rendezvous must be far south of this point. but now, standing on that shelf of rock, with his eyes fixed on the water without seeing it, he knew that the abode of this gang of wretches was within a comparatively short distance of this spot in which he and his companions had taken refuge, and he knew, too, that there was every reason to suppose that some of them would soon be in pursuit of the negro who had run away. suddenly another dreadful thought struck him. wild beasts, indeed! he turned quickly to maka. "does that man know anything about davis and the two sailors? were they killed?" he asked. maka shook his head and said that he had already asked his companion that question, but mok had said that he did not know. all he knew was that those wicked men killed everybody they could kill. the captain shut his teeth tightly together. "that was it," he said. "i could not see how it could be jaguars, although i could think of nothing else. but these bloodthirsty human beasts! i see it now." he moved toward the passage. "if that dirty wretch had not run away," he thought, "we might have stayed undiscovered here until a vessel came. but they will track his footsteps upon the sand--they are bound to do that." chapter vi three wild beasts when the captain joined the two ladies and the boy, who were impatiently waiting for him on the plateau, he had made up his mind to tell them the bad news. terrible as was the necessity, it could not be helped. it was very hard for him to meet those three radiant faces, and to hear them talk about the water that had been discovered. "now," said mrs. cliff, "i see no reason why we should not live here in peace and comfort until mr. rynders chooses to come back for us. and i have been thinking, captain, that if somebody--and i am sure ralph would be very good at it--could catch some fish, it would help out very much. we are getting a little short of meat, but as for the other things, we have enough to last for days and days. but we won't talk of that now. we want to hear where that other colored man came from. just look at him as he sits there with maka by those embers. one might think he would shiver himself to pieces. was he cast ashore from a wreck?" the captain stood silent for a moment, and then, briefly but plainly, and glossing over the horrors of the situation as much as he could, he told them about the rackbirds. not one of the little party interrupted the captain's story, but their faces grew paler and paler as he proceeded. when he had finished, mrs. cliff burst into tears. "captain," she cried, "let us take the boat and row away from this dreadful place. we should not lose a minute. let us go now!" but the captain shook his head. "that would not do," he said. "on this open sea they could easily see us. they have boats, and could row much faster than we could." "then," exclaimed the excited woman, "we could turn over the boat, and all sink to the bottom together." to this the captain made no answer. "you must all get inside as quickly as you can," he said. "maka, you and that other fellow carry in everything that has been left out here. be quick. go up, ralph, and take the flag down, and then run in." when the others had entered the narrow passage, the captain followed. fortunately, he had two guns, each double-barrelled, and if but a few of the rackbirds came in pursuit of the escaped negro, he might be a match for them in that narrow passage. shortly after the party had retired within the rocks, miss markham came to the captain, who was standing at the door of the first apartment. "captain horn," said she, "mrs. cliff is in a state of nervous fear, and i have been trying to quiet her. can you say anything that might give her a little courage? do you really think there is any chance of our escape from this new danger?" "yes," said the captain, "there is a chance. rynders may come back before the rackbirds discover us, and even if two or three of them find out our retreat, i may be able to dispose of them, and thus give us a little more time. that is our only ground of hope. those men are bound to come here sooner or later, and everything depends upon the return of rynders." "but," urged miss markham, "perhaps they may not come so far as this to look for the runaway. the waves may have washed out his footsteps upon the sand. there may be no reason why they should come up to this plateau." the captain smiled a very sombre smile. "if any of them should come this way," he said, "it is possible that they might not think it worth while to cease their search along the beach and come up to this particular spot, were it not that our boat is down there. that is the same thing as if we had put out a sign to tell them where we are. the boat is hauled up on shore, but they could not fail to see it." "captain," said miss markham, "do you think those rackbirds killed the three sailors?" "i am very much afraid of it," he answered. "if they did, they must have known that these poor fellows were survivors of a shipwreck, and i suppose they stole up behind them and shot them down or stabbed them. if that were so, i wonder why they have not sooner been this way, looking for the wreck, or, at least, for other unfortunates who may have reached shore. i suppose, if they are making this sort of a search, they went southward. but all that, of course, depends upon whether they really saw davis and the two other men. if they did not, they could have no reason for supposing there were any shipwrecked people on the coast." "but that thought is of no use to us," said miss markham, her eyes upon the ground, "for, of course, they will be coming after the black man. captain," she continued quickly, "is there anything i can do? i can fire a gun." he looked at her for a moment. "that will not be necessary," he said. "but there is something you can do. have you a pistol?" "yes," said she, "i have. i put it in my pocket as soon as i came into the cave. here it is." the captain took the pistol from her hands and examined it. "five chambers," he said, "all charged. be very careful of it,"--handing it back to her. "i will put your brother and mrs. cliff in your charge. at the slightest hint of danger, you must keep together in the middle room. i will stand between you and the rascals as long as i can, but if i am killed, you must do what you think best." "i will," said she, and she put the pistol back in her pocket. the captain was very much encouraged by the brave talk of this young woman, and it really seemed as if he now had some one to stand by him, some one with whom he could even consult. "i have carefully examined this cavern," said the captain, after a moment's pause, "and there are only two ways by which those men could possibly get in. you need not be afraid that any one can scramble down the walls of that farthest apartment. that could not be done, though they might be able to fire upon any one in it. but in the middle room you will be perfectly secure from gunshots. i shall keep maka on guard a little back from the entrance to the passage. he will lie on the ground, and can hear footsteps long before they reach us. it is barely possible that some of them might enter by the great cleft in the cave on the other side of the lake, but in that case they would have to swim across, and i shall station that new african on the ledge of which you have heard, and if he sees any of them coming in that direction, i know he will give very quick warning. i hardly think, though, that they would trust themselves to be picked off while swimming." "and you?" said she. "oh, i shall keep my eyes on all points," said he, "as far as i can. i begin to feel a spirit of fight rising up within me. if i thought i could keep them off until rynders gets here, i almost wish they would then come. i would like to kill a lot of them." "suppose," said edna markham, after a moment's reflection, "that they should see mr. rynders coming back, and should attack him." "i hardly think they would do that," replied the captain. "he will probably come in a good-sized vessel, and i don't think they are the kind of men for open battle. they are midnight sneaks and assassins. now, i advise all of you to go and get something to eat. it would be better for us not to try to do any cooking, and so make a smoke." the captain did not wish to talk any more. miss markham's last remark had put a new fear into his mind. suppose the rackbirds had lured rynders and his men on shore? those sailors had but few arms among them. they had not thought, when they left, that there would be any necessity for defence against their fellow-beings. when edna markham told mrs. cliff what the captain had said about their chances, and what he intended to do for their protection, the older woman brightened up a good deal. "i have great faith in the captain," she declared, "and if he thinks it is worth while to make a fight, i believe he will make a good one. if they should be firing, and mr. rynders is approaching the coast, even if it should be night, he would lose no time in getting to us." toward the close of that afternoon three wild beasts came around the point of the bluff and made their way northward along the beach. they were ferocious creatures with shaggy hair and beards. two of them carried guns, and each of them had a knife in his belt. when they came to a broad bit of beach above the reach of the waves, they were very much surprised at some footsteps they saw. they were the tracks of two men, instead of those of the one they were looking for. this discovery made them very cautious. they were eager to kill the escaped african before he got far enough away to give information of their retreat, for they knew not at what time an armed force in search of them might approach the coast. but they were very wary about running into danger. there was somebody with that black fellow--somebody who wore boots. after a time they came to the boat. the minute they saw this, each miscreant crouched suddenly upon the sand, and, with cocked guns, they listened. then, hearing nothing, they carefully examined the boat. it was empty--there were not even oars in it. looking about them, they saw a hollow behind some rocks. to this they ran, crouching close to the ground, and there they sat and consulted. it was between two and three o'clock the next morning that maka's eyes, which had not closed for more than twenty hours, refused to keep open any longer, and with his head on the hard, rocky ground of the passage in which he lay, the poor african slept soundly. on the shelf at the edge of the lake, the other african, mok, sat crouched on his heels, his eyes wide open. whether he was asleep or not it would have been difficult to determine, but if any one had appeared in the great cleft on the other side of the lake, he would have sprung to his feet with a yell--his fear of the rackbirds was always awake. inside the first apartment was captain horn, fast asleep, his two guns by his side. he had kept watch until an hour before, but ralph had insisted upon taking his turn, and, as the captain knew he could not keep awake always, he allowed the boy to take a short watch. but now ralph was leaning back against one of the walls, snoring evenly and steadily. in the next room sat edna markham, wide awake. she knew of the arrangement made with ralph, and she knew the boy's healthy, sleepy nature, so that when he went on watch she went on watch. outside of the cave were three wild beasts. one of them was crouching on the farther end of the plateau. another, on the lower ground a little below, stood, gun in hand, and barely visible in the starlight. a third, barefooted, and in garments dingy as the night, and armed only with a knife, crept softly toward the entrance of the cave. there he stopped and listened. he could plainly hear the breathing of the sleepers. he tried to separate these sounds one from another, so that he should be able to determine how many persons were sleeping inside, but this he could not do. then his cat-like eyes, becoming more and more accustomed to the darkness within the entrance, saw the round head of maka close upon the ground. the soul of the listening fiend laughed within him. "pretty watchers they are," he said to himself. "not three hours after midnight, and they are all snoring!" then, as stealthily and as slowly as he had come, he slipped away, and joining the others, they all glided through the darkness down to the beach, and then set off at their best speed back to their rendezvous. after they had discovered that there were people in the cave, they had not thought of entering. they were not fully armed, and they did not know how many persons were inside. but they knew one thing, and that was that these shipwrecked people--for that was what they must be--kept a very poor watch, and if the whole band came on the following night, the affair would probably be settled with but very little trouble, no matter how large the party in the cave might be. it was not necessary to look any further for the escaped negro. of course, he had been picked up by these people. the three beasts reached their camp about daybreak, and everybody was soon awakened and the tale was told. "it is a comfort," said the leader, lighting the stump of a black pipe which he thrust under his great mustache, and speaking in his native tongue, which some of them understood, and others did not, "to know that to-night's work is all cut out for us. now we can take it easy to-day, and rest our bones. the order of the day is to keep close. no straggling, nor wandering. keep those four niggers up in the pigeonhole. we will do our own cooking to-day, for we can't afford to run after any more of them. lucky the fellow who got away can't speak english, for he can't tell anything about us, any more than if he was an ape. so snooze to-day, if you want to. i will give you work to do for to-night." chapter vii gone! that morning, when the party in the cavern had had their breakfast, with some hot tea made on a spiritlamp which mrs. cliff had brought, and had looked cautiously out at the sunlit landscape, and the sea beyond, without seeing any signs or hearing any sound of wicked men, there came a feeling of relief. there was, indeed, no great ground for such a feeling, but as the rackbirds had not come the day before nor during the night, perhaps they would not come at all. it might be they did not care whether the black man ran away or not. but captain horn did not relax his precautions. he would take no chances, and would keep up a watch day and night. when, on the night before, the time had come for ralph's watch to end, his sister had awakened him, and when the captain, in his turn, was aroused, he had not known that it was not the boy who had kept watch during his sleep. in the course of the morning mrs. cliff and edna, having been filled with an intense desire to see the wonderful subterranean lake, had been helped over the rocky barrier, and had stood at the edge of the water, looking over to where it was lighted by the great chasm in the side of the rocks, and endeavoring to peer into the solemn, cavernous distance into which it extended on the right. edna said nothing, but stood gazing at the wonderful scene--the dark, mysterious waters before her, the arched cavern above her, and the picture of the bright sky and the tops of the distant mountains, framed by the sides of the great opening which stretched itself upward like a cathedral window on the other side of the lake. "it frightens me," said mrs. cliff. "to be sure, this water was our salvation, for we should have been dead by this time, pirates or no pirates, if we had not found it. but it is terrifying, for all that. we do not know how far it stretches out into the blackness, and we do not know how far down it goes. it may be thousands of feet deep, for all we know. don't go so near the edge, ralph. it makes me shudder." when the little party had returned to the cavern, the captain and the two ladies had a long talk about the lake. they all agreed that the existence of this great reservoir of water was sufficient to account for the greenness and fertility of the little plateau outside. even if no considerable amount of water trickled through the cracks in the rocks, the moisture which arose from the surface of the water found its way out into the surrounding atmosphere, and had nourished the bushes and vines. for some time they discussed their new-found water-supply, and they were all glad to have something to think about and talk about besides the great danger which overhung them. "if it could only have been the lake without the rackbirds," said mrs. cliff. "let us consider that that is the state of the case," remarked edna. "we have the lake, and so far we have not had any rackbirds." it was now nearly noon, and the captain looked around for ralph, but did not see him. he went to search for him, and finding that the boy had not passed maka, who was on watch, he concluded he must have gone to the lake. there was no reason why the restless youth should not seek to enliven his captivity by change of scene, but captain horn felt unwilling to have any one in his charge out of sight for any length of time, so he went to look for ralph. he found no one on the rocky shelf. as there had been little reason to expect a water attack at this hour, mok had been relieved from guard for a meal and a nap. but as ralph was not here, where could he be? a second glance, however, showed the captain the boy's clothes lying close by, against the upright side of the rock, and at that moment he heard a cry. his eyes flashed out toward the sound. there on the other side of the water, sitting on a bit of projecting rock not far from the great opening in the cave, he saw ralph. at first the captain stood dumb with amazement, and he was just about to call out, when ralph shouted again. "i swam over," he said, "but i can't get back. i've got the cramps. can't you make some sort of a raft, and come over to me! the water's awfully cold." raft, indeed! there was no material or time for anything of the kind. if the boy dropped off that bit of rock, he would be drowned, and the captain did not hesitate a moment. throwing aside his jacket and slipping off his shoes, he let himself down into the water and struck out in ralph's direction. the water was, indeed, very cold, but the captain was a strong swimmer, and it would not take him very long to cross the lake at this point, where its width was not much more than a hundred feet. as he neared the other side he did not make immediately for ralph. he thought it would be wise to rest a little before attempting to take the boy back, and so he made for another point of rock, a little nearer the opening, urging the boy, as he neared him, to sit firmly and keep up a good heart. "all right," said ralph. "i see what you are after. that is a better place than this, and if you land there i think i can scramble over to you." "don't move," said the captain. "sit where you are until i tell you what to do." the captain had not made more than two or three strokes after speaking when his right hand struck against something hard, just below the surface of the water. he involuntarily grasped it. it was immovable, and it felt like a tree, a few inches in diameter, standing perpendicularly in the lake. wondering what this could be, he took hold of it with his other hand, and finding that it supported him, he let his feet drop, when, to his surprise, he found that they rested on something with a rounded surface, and the idea instantly came into his mind that it was a submerged tree, the trunk lying horizontally, from which this upright branch projected. this might be as good a resting-place as the rock to which he had been going, and standing on it, with his head well out of the water, he turned to speak to ralph. at that moment his feet slipped from the slimy object on which he stood, and he fell backward into the water, still grasping, however, his upright support. but this did not remain upright more than an instant, but yielded to his weight, and the end of it which he held went down with him. as he sank, the captain, in his first bewilderment, did not loosen his grasp upon what had been his support, and which still prevented him from sinking rapidly. but in a moment his senses came to him, he let go, and a few downward strokes brought him to the surface of the water. then he struck out for the point of rock for which he had been aiming, and he was soon mounted upon it. "hi!" shouted ralph, who had been so frightened by the captain's sudden sinking that he nearly fell off his narrow seat, "i thought something had pulled you down." the captain did not explain. he was spluttering a little after his involuntary dive, and he wanted to get back as soon as possible, and so wasted no breath in words. in a few minutes he felt himself ready for the return trip, and getting into the water, he swam to ralph. following the directions given him, the boy let himself down into the water behind the captain, and placed his hands upon the latter's hips, firmly grasping the waistband of his trousers. then urging the boy not to change his position, nor attempt to take hold of him in any other way, the captain struck out across the lake, ralph easily floating behind him. when they stood upon the shelf on the other side, and ralph, having rubbed himself down with the captain's jacket, put on his clothes, captain horn rather sternly inquired of him how he came to do such a foolish and wicked thing as to run the risk of drowning himself in the lake at a time when his sister and his friends had already trouble enough on their minds. ralph was sorry, of course, that the captain had to come after him, and get himself wet, but he explained that he wanted to do something for the good of the party, and it had struck him that it would be a very sensible thing to investigate the opening on the other side of the lake. if he could get out of that great gap, he might find some way of climbing out over the top of the rocks and get to the place where his flag was, and then, if he saw mr. rynders coming, he could wave it. it would be a great thing if the people in the vessel which they all expected should see that flag the moment they came in sight of the coast. they might get to shore an hour or two sooner than if they had not seen it. "if the cramp in this leg had kept off five minutes longer," he said, "i would have reached that big hole, and then, if i could have climbed over the top of the rocks, i could have come down on the other side to the front door, and asked maka to get me my clothes, so i would not have had to swim back at all." "that will do," said the captain. "and now that you are dressed, you can go inside and get me that woollen shirt and trousers that i use for a pillow, for i must take off these wet things." when the boy came back with the clothes, the captain told him that he need not say anything to his sister or mrs. cliff about the great danger he had been in, but before he had finished his injunction ralph interrupted him. "oh, i have told them that already," said he. "they wanted to know where i had been, and it did not take a minute to tell them what a splendid swimmer you are, and how you came over after me without taking as much as two seconds to think about it. and i let them know, too, that it was a mighty dangerous thing for you to do. if i had been one of those fellows who were not used to the water, and who would grab hold of any one who came to save them, we might both have gone to the bottom together." the captain smiled grimly. "it is hard to get ahead of a boy," he said to himself. it was late that afternoon when captain horn, with ralph and the two ladies, were standing on the rocks in the inner apartment, trying to persuade themselves that they were having a cosey cup of tea together, when suddenly a scrambling sound of footsteps was heard, and maka dashed through the two adjoining apartments and appeared before them. instantly the captain was on his feet, his gun, which had been lying beside him, in his hand. up sprang the others, mute, with surprise and fear on their faces. maka, who was in a state of great excitement, and seemed unable to speak, gasped out the one word, "gone!" "what do you mean?" cried the captain. maka ran back toward the passage, and pointed inward. instantly the captain conjectured what he meant. mok, the second african, had been stationed to watch the lake approach, and he had deserted! now the hot thought flashed upon the captain that the rascal had been a spy. the rackbirds had known that there were shipwrecked people in these caves. how could they help knowing it, if they had killed davis and the others? but, cowardly hounds as they were, they had been afraid to attack the place until they knew how many people were in it, what arms they had, and in what way the place could best be assailed. this mok had found out everything. if the boy could swim across the lake, that black man could do it, and he had gone out through the cleft, and was probably now making his report to the gang. all this flashed through the captain's brain in a few seconds. he set his teeth together. he was ashamed that he had allowed himself to be so tricked. that african, probably one of the gang, and able to speak english, should have been kept a prisoner. what a fool he had been to treat the black-hearted and black-bodied wretch as one of themselves, and actually to put him on guard! of course, it was of no use to go to look for him, and the captain had put down his gun, and was just about to turn to speak to the others, when maka seized him by the coat. the negro seemed wildly excited and still unable to speak. but it was plain that he wanted the captain to follow him along the passage. there was no use in asking questions, and the captain followed, and behind him came ralph, edna, and mrs. cliff. maka was about to climb over the rocky partition which divided the passage, but the captain stopped him. "stay here," said he, "and watch the passage. i will see what is the matter over there." and then he and ralph jumped over and hurried to the lake. as they came out on the little platform of rock, on which the evening light, coming through the great; cleft, still rendered objects visible, they saw mok crouching on his heels, his eyes wide open as usual. the captain was stupefied. that african not gone! if it were not he, who had gone? then the captain felt a tight clutch upon his arm, and ralph pulled him around. casting eyes outward, the captain saw that it was the lake that had gone! as he and ralph stood there, stupefied and staring, they saw, by the dim light which came through the opening on the other side of the cavern, a great empty rocky basin. the bottom of this, some fifteen or twenty feet below them, wet and shining, with pools of water here and there, was plainly visible in the space between them and the open cleft, but farther on all was dark. there was every reason to suppose, however, that all the water had gone from the lake. why or how this had happened, they did not even ask themselves. they simply stood and stared. in a few minutes they were joined by edna, who had become so anxious at their absence and silence that she had clambered over the wall, and came running to them. by the time she reached them it was much darker than when they had arrived, but she could see that the lake had gone. that was enough. "what do you suppose it means?" she said presently. "are we over some awful subterranean cavern in which things sink out of sight in an instant?" "it is absolutely unaccountable," said the captain. "but we must go back to mrs. cliff. i hear her calling. and if maka has come to his senses, perhaps he can tell us something." but maka had very little to tell. to the captain's questions he could only say that a little while before, mok had come running to him, and told him that, being thirsty, he had gone down to the edge of the lake to get a drink, and found that there was no water, only a great hole, and then he had run to tell maka, and when maka had gone back with him, so greatly surprised that he had deserted his post without thinking about it, he found that what mok had said was true, and that there was nothing there but a great black hole. mok must have been asleep when the water went away, but it was gone, and that was all he knew about it. there was something so weird and mysterious about this absolute and sudden disappearance of this great body of water that mrs. cliff became very nervous and frightened. "this is a temple of the devil," she said, "and that is his face outside. you do not know what may happen next. this rocky floor on which we stand may give way, and we may all go down into unknown depths. i can't think of staying here another minute. it is dark now. let us slip away down to the beach, and take the boat, and row away from this horrible region where human devils and every other kind seem to own the country." "oh, no," said the captain, "we can't consider such wild schemes as that. i have been thinking that perhaps there may be some sort of a tide in this lake, and in the morning we may find the water just as it was. and, at any rate, it has not entirely deserted us, for in these pools at the bottom we can find water enough for us to drink." "i suppose i would not mind such things so much," said mrs. cliff, "if they happened out of doors. but being shut up in this cave with magical lakes, and expecting every minute to see a lot of bloodthirsty pirates bursting in upon us, is enough to shake the nerves of anybody." "captain," said ralph, "i suppose you will not now object to letting me go in the morning to explore that opening. i can walk across the bottom of the lake without any danger, you know." "don't you try to do anything of the kind," said the captain, "without my permission." "no, indeed!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "supposing the water were to suddenly rise just as you were half-way across. now that i think of it, there are springs and bodies of water which rise and fall this way, some of them in our own western country, but none of them are as large as this. what if it should rise in the night and flood the cave while we are asleep?" "why, dear mrs. cliff," said edna, "i am not afraid of the water's rising or of the earth's sinking. don't let us frighten ourselves with imaginations like that. perhaps there may not even be any real thing to be afraid of, but if there should be, let us keep courage for that." the disappearance of the lake gave the captain an uneasiness of which the others had not thought. he saw it would be comparatively easy for the rackbirds to gain access to the place through the cleft in the eastern wall of the lake cavern. if they should discover that aperture, the cavern might be attacked from the rear and the front at the same time, and then the captain feared his guns would not much avail. of course, during the darkness which would soon prevail there was no reason to expect a rear attack, and the captain satisfied himself with leaving mok at his former post, with instructions to give the alarm if he heard the slightest sound, and put maka, as before, in the outer passage. as for himself, he took an early nap in the evening, because at the very first break of dawn it would be necessary for him to be on the alert. he did not know how much he had depended upon the lake as a barrier of defence, but now that it had gone, he felt that the dangers which threatened them from the rackbirds were doubled. chapter viii the alarm it was still dark when the captain woke, and he struck a match to look at his watch. it was three o'clock. "is that you, captain?" said a voice from the next room. "is it time for you to begin watch again?" "yes," said the captain, "it is about time. how do you happen to be awake, miss markham? ralph! i believe the boy is snoring." "of course he is," said edna, speaking in a low voice. "we cannot expect such a boy to keep awake, and so i have been on watch. it was easy enough for me to keep my eyes open." "it is too bad," said the captain, and then, listening for a moment, he said: "i truly believe that maka is snoring, too, and as for that black fellow over there, i suspect that he sleeps all the time. miss markham, you have been the only person awake." "why shouldn't i be?" said she. "i am sure that a woman is just as good as a man for keeping watch." "if they should come," thought the captain, as he again sat in the dark, "i must not try to fight them in the passage. that would have been my best chance, but now some of them might pick me off from behind. no, i must fight them in this chamber. i can put everybody else in the middle apartment. perhaps before to-morrow night it might be well to bring some of those loose rocks here and build a barricade. i wish i had thought of that before." the captain sat and listened and thought. his listening brought him no return, and his thinking brought him too much. the most mournful ideas of what might happen if more than two or three of the desperadoes attacked the place crowded into his mind. if they came, they came to rob, and they were men who left behind them no living witnesses of their whereabouts or their crimes. and if two or three should come, and be repulsed, it would not be long before the rest would arrive. in fact, the only real hope they had was founded on the early return of rynders--that is, if rynders and his men were living. the captain waited and listened, but nothing came but daylight. as soon as he was able to discern objects outside the opening on the plateau, he awoke maka, and, leaving him on guard, he made his way to the lake cavern. here the light was beginning to come freely through the chasm which faced nearly east. mok was sitting with his eyes open, and showed that he was alive by a little grunt when the captain approached. if there were such a thing here as a subterranean tide, it had not risen. there was no water where the lake had been. gazing across the empty basin, the captain felt a strong desire to go over, climb up to the opening, and discover whether or not the cavern was accessible on that side. it would be very important for him to know this, and it would not take long for him to make an investigation. one side of the rocky shelf which has been before mentioned sloped down to the lake, and the captain was just about to descend this when he heard a cry from the passage, and, at the same moment, a shout from mok which seemed to be in answer to it. instantly the captain turned and dashed into the passage, and, leaping over the barrier, found maka standing near the entrance. as soon as the negro saw him, he began to beckon wildly for him to come on. but there was no need now of keeping quiet and beckoning. the first shout had aroused everybody inside, and the two ladies and ralph were already in the passage. the captain, however, made them keep back, while he and maka, on their hands and knees, crawled toward the outer opening. from this point one could see over the plateau, and the uneven ground beyond, down to the beach and the sea; but there was still so little light upon this western slope that at first the captain could not see anything noticeable in the direction in which maka was pointing. but in a few moments his mariner eyes asserted themselves, and he saw some black spots on the strip of beach, which seemed to move. then he knew they were moving, and moving toward him--coming up to the cave! they were men! "sit here," said the captain to maka, and then, with his gun in his hand, he rushed back to the rest of the party. "they seem to be coming," said he, speaking as calmly as he could, "but we have discovered them in good time, and i shall have some shots at them before they reach here. let us hope that they will never get here at all. you two," said he to mrs. cliff and ralph, "are to be under command of miss markham. you must do exactly what she tells you to." then, turning to edna, he said, "you have your pistol ready?" "yes," said she, "i am ready." without another word, the captain took his other gun and all his ammunition, and went back into the passage. here he found mok, who had come to see what was the matter. motioning the negro to go back to his post, the captain, with his loaded guns, went again to the entrance. looking out, he could now plainly see the men. there were four of them. it was lighter down toward the sea, for the rocks still threw a heavy shadow over the plateau. the sight sent a thrill of brave excitement through the captain. "if they come in squads of four," thought he, "i may be a match for them. they can't see me, and i can see them. if i could trust maka to load a gun, i would have a better chance, but if i could pick off two, or even one, that might stop the others and give me time to reload. come on, you black-hearted scoundrels," he muttered through his teeth, as he knelt outside the cave, one gun partly raised, and the other on the ground beside him. "if i could only know that none of your band could come in at that hole in the back of the cave, i'd call the odds even." the dawn grew brighter, and the four men drew nearer. they came slowly, one considerably ahead of the others. two or three times they stopped and appeared to be consulting, and then again moved slowly forward straight toward the plateau. when the leading man was nearly within gunshot, the captain's face began to burn, and his pulses to throb hard and fast. "the sooner i pick off the head one," he thought, "the better chance i have at the others." he brought his gun to his shoulder, and was slowly lowering the barrel to the line of aim, when suddenly something like a great black beast rushed past him, pushing up his arm and nearly toppling him over. it came from the cave, and in a second it was out on the plateau. then it gave a leap upward, and rushed down toward the sea. utterly astounded, the captain steadied himself and turned to maka. "what was that?" he exclaimed. the african was on his feet, his body bent forward, his eyes peering out into the distance. "mok!" said he. "look! look!" it was mok who had rushed out of the cave. he was running toward the four men. he reached them, he threw up his arms, he sprang upon the first man. then he left him, and jumped upon the others. then maka gave a little cry and sprang forward, but in the same instant the captain seized him. "stop!" he cried. "what is it?" the african shouted: "mok's people! mok knowed them. look! look--see! mok!" the party was now near enough and the day was bright enough for the captain to see that on the lower ground beyond the plateau there were five black men in a state of mad excitement. he could hear them jabbering away at a great rate. so far as he could discover, they were all unarmed, and as they stood there gesticulating, the captain might have shot them down in a bunch, if he had chosen. "go," said he to maka, "go down there and see what it all means." the captain now stepped back into the passage. he could see miss markham and ralph peering out of the doorway of the first compartment. "there does not seem to be any danger so far," said he. "some more africans have turned up. maka has gone to meet them. we shall find out about them in a few minutes," and he turned back to the entrance. he saw that the six black fellows were coming toward him, and, as he had thought, they carried no guns. chapter ix an amazing narration when the captain had gone out again into the open air, he was followed by the rest of the party, for, if there were no danger, they all wanted to see what was to be seen. what they saw was a party of six black men on the plateau, maka in the lead. there could be no doubt that the newcomers were the remainder of the party of africans who had been enslaved by the rackbirds, and the desire of the captain and his companions to know how they had got away, and what news they brought, was most intense. maka now hurried forward, leading one of the strangers. "great things they tell," said he. "this cheditafa. he speak english good as me. he tell you." "the first thing i want," cried the captain, "is some news of those rackbirds. have they found we are here? will they be coming after these men, or have they gone off somewhere else? tell me this, and be quick." "oh, yes," cried maka, "they found out we here. but cheditafa tell you--he tell you everything. great things!" "very well, then," said the captain. "let him begin and be quick about it." the appearance of cheditafa was quite as miserable as that of poor mok, but his countenance was much more intelligent, and his english, although very much broken, was better even than maka's, and he was able to make himself perfectly understood. he spoke briefly, and this is the substance of his story: about the middle of the afternoon of the day before, a wonderful thing happened. the rackbirds had had their dinner, which they had cooked themselves, and they were all lying down in their huts or in the shadows of the rocks, either asleep, or smoking and telling stories. cheditafa knew why they were resting. the rackbirds had no idea that he understood english, for he had been careful to keep this fact from them after he found out what sort of men they were,--and this knowledge had come very soon to him,--and they spoke freely before him. he had heard some of the men who had been out looking for mok, and who had come back early that morning, tell about some shipwrecked people in a cave up the coast, and had heard all the plans which had been made for the attack upon them during the night. he also knew why he and his fellows had been cooped up in the cave in the rock in which they lived, all that day, and had not been allowed to come down and do any work. they were lying huddled in their little cave, feeling very hungry and miserable, and whispering together,--for if they spoke out or made any noise, one of the men below would be likely to fire a load of shot at them,--when suddenly a strange thing happened. they heard a great roar like a thousand bulls, which came from the higher part of the ravine, and peeping out, they saw what seemed like a wall of rock stretching across the little valley. but in a second they saw it was not rock--it was water, and before they could take two breaths it had reached them. then it passed on, and they saw only the surface of a furious and raging stream, the waves curling and dashing over each other, and reaching almost up to the floor of their cave. they were so frightened that they pressed back as far as they could get, and even tried to climb up the sides of the rocky cavity, so fearful were they that the water would dash in upon them. but the raging flood roared and surged outside, and none of it came into their cave. then the sound of it became not quite so loud, and grew less and less. but still cheditafa and his companions were so frightened and so startled by this awful thing, happening so suddenly, as if it had been magic, that it was some time--he did not know how long--before they lifted their faces from the rocks against which they were pressing them. then cheditafa crept forward and looked out. the great waves and the roaring water were gone. there was no water to be seen, except the brook which always ran at the bottom of the ravine, and which now seemed not very much bigger than it had been that morning. but the little brook was all there was in the ravine, except the bare rocks, wet and glistening. there were no huts, no rackbirds, nothing. even the vines and bushes which had been growing up the sides of the stream were all gone. not a weed, not a stick, not a clod of earth, was left--nothing but a great, rocky ravine, washed bare and clean. edna markham stepped suddenly forward and seized the captain by the arm. "it was the lake," she cried. "the lake swept down that ravine!" "yes," said the captain, "it must have been. but listen--let us hear more. go on," he said to cheditafa, who proceeded to tell how he and his companions looked out for a long time, but they saw nor heard nothing of any living creature. it would be easy enough for anybody to come back up the ravine, but nobody came. they had now grown so hungry that they could have almost eaten each other. they felt they must get out of the cave and go to look for food. it would be better to be shot than to sit there and starve. then they devised a plan by which they could get down. the smallest man got out of the cave and let himself hang, holding to the outer edge of the floor with his hands. then another man put his feet over the edge of the rock, and let the hanging man take hold of them. the other two each seized an arm of the second man, and lowered the two down as far as they could reach. when they had done this, the bottom man dropped, and did not hurt himself. then they had to pull up the second man, for the fall would have been too great for him. after that they had to wait a long time, while the man who had got out went to look for something by which the others could help themselves down--the ladder they had used having been carried away with everything else. after going a good way down the ravine to a place where it grew much wider, with the walls lower, he found things that had been thrown up on the sides, and among these was the trunk of a young tree, which, after a great deal of hard work, he brought back to the cave, and by the help of this they all scrambled down. they hurried down the ravine, and as they approached the lower part, where it became wider before opening into the little bay into which the stream ran, they found that the flood, as it had grown shallower and spread itself out, had left here and there various things which it had brought down from the camp--bits of the huts, articles of clothing, and after a while they came to a rackbird, quite dead, and hanging upon a point of projecting rock. farther on they found two or three more bodies stranded, and later in the day some rackbirds who had been washed out to sea came back with the tide, and were found upon the beach. it was impossible, cheditafa said, for any of them to have escaped from that raging torrent, which hurled them against the rocks as it carried them down to the sea. but the little party of hungry africans did not stop to examine anything which had been left. what they wanted was something to eat, and they knew where to get it. about a quarter of a mile back from the beach was the storehouse of the rackbirds, a sort of cellar which they had made in a sand-hill. as the africans had carried the stores over from the vessel which had brought them, and had afterwards taken to the camp such supplies as were needed from time to time, of course they knew where to find them, and they lost no time in making a hearty meal. according to cheditafa's earnest assertions, they had never eaten as they had eaten then. he believed that the reason they had been left without food was that the rackbirds were too proud to wait on black men, and had concluded to let them suffer until they had returned from their expedition, and the negroes could be let down to attend to their own wants. after they had eaten, the africans went to a spot which commanded a view up the ravine, as well as the whole of the bay, and there they hid themselves, and watched as long as it was daylight, so that if any of the rackbirds had escaped they could see them. but they saw nothing, and being very anxious to find good white people who would take care of them, they started out before dawn that morning to look for the shipwrecked party about whom cheditafa had heard the rackbirds talking, and with whom they hoped to find their companion mok, and thus it was that they were here. "and those men were coming to attack us last night?" asked the captain. "you are sure of that?" "yes," said cheditafa, "it was last night. they not know how many you are, and all were coming." "and some of them had already been here?" "yes," replied the african. "one day before, three went out to look for mok, and they found his track and more track, and they waited in the black darkness, and then came here, and they heard you all sleep and snore that night. they were to come again, and if they--" "and yesterday afternoon the lake came down and swept them out of existence!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. chapter x the captain explores captain horn had heard the story of cheditafa, he walked away from the rest of the party, and stood, his eyes upon the ground, still mechanically holding his gun. he now knew that the great danger he had feared had been a real one, and far greater than he had imagined. a systematic attack by all the rackbirds would have swept away his single resistance as the waters had swept them and their camp away. as to parley or compromise with those wretches, he knew that it would have been useless to think of it. they allowed no one to go forth from their hands to reveal the place of their rendezvous. but although he was able to appreciate at its full force the danger with which they had been threatened, his soul could not immediately adjust itself to the new conditions. it had been pressed down so far that it could not easily rise again. he felt that he must make himself believe in the relief which had come to them, and, turning sharply, he called out to cheditafa: "man, since you have been in this part of the country, have you ever seen or heard of any wild beasts here? are there any jaguars or pumas?" the african shook his head. "no, no," said he, "no wild beasts. everybody sleep out of doors. no think of beasts--no snakes." the captain dropped his gun upon the ground. "miss markham!" he exclaimed. "mrs. cliff! i truly believe we are out of all danger--that we--" but the two ladies had gone inside, and heard him not. they appreciated to the full the danger from which they had been delivered. ralph, too, had gone. the captain saw him on his post of observation, jamming the end of his flagpole down between two rocks. "hello!" cried the boy, seeing the captain looking up at him, "we might as well have this flying here all the time. there is nobody to hurt us now, and we want people to know where we are." the captain walked by the little group of africans, who were sitting on the ground, talking in their native tongue, and entered the passage. he climbed over the barrier, and went to the lake. he did not wish to talk to anybody, but he felt that he must do something, and now was a good time to carry out his previous intention to cross over the empty bed of the lake and to look out of the opening on the other side. there was no need now to do this for purposes of vigilance, but he thought that if he could get out on the other side of the cave he might discover some clew to the disappearance of the lake. he had nearly crossed the lake bottom, when suddenly he stopped, gazing at something which stood before him, and which was doubtless the object he had struck when swimming. the sun was now high and the cave well lighted, and with a most eager interest the captain examined the slimy and curious object on which his feet had rested when it was submerged, and from which he had fallen. it was not the horizontal trunk of a tree with a branch projecting from it at right angles. it was nothing that was natural or had grown. it was plainly the work of man. it was a machine. at first the captain thought it was made of wood, but afterwards he believed it to be of metal of some sort. the horizontal portion of it was a great cylinder, so near the bottom of the lake that he could almost touch it with his hands, and it was supported by a massive framework. from this projected a long limb or bar, which was now almost horizontal, but which the captain believed to be the thick rod which had stood upright when he clutched it, and which had yielded to his weight and had gone down with him. he knew now what it was: it was a handle that had turned. he hurried to the other end of the huge machine, where it rested against the rocky wall of the cavern. there he saw in the shadow, but plain enough now that he was near it, a circular aperture, a yard or more in diameter. inside of this was something which looked like a solid wheel, very thick, and standing upright in the opening. it was a valve. the captain stepped back and gazed for some minutes at this great machine which the disappearance of the water had revealed. it was easy for him to comprehend it now. "when i slipped and sank," he said to himself, "i pulled down that lever, and i opened the water-gate and let out the lake." the captain was a man whose mind was perfectly capable of appreciating novel and strange impressions, but with him such impressions always connected themselves, in one way or another, with action: he could not stand and wonder at the wonderful which had happened--it always suggested something he must do. what he now wanted to do was to climb up to the great aperture which lighted the cavern, and see what was outside. he could not understand how the lake could have gone from its basin without the sound of the rushing waters being heard by any one of the party. with some difficulty, he climbed up to the cleft and got outside. here he had a much better view of the topography of the place than he had yet been able to obtain. so far as he had explored, his view toward the interior of the country had been impeded by rocks and hills. here he had a clear view from the mountains to the sea, and the ridge which he had before seen to the southward he could now examine to greater advantage. it was this long chain of rocks which had concealed them from their enemies, and on the other side of which must be the ravine in which the rackbirds had made their camp. immediately below the captain was a little gorge, not very deep nor wide, and from its general trend toward the east and south the captain was sure that it formed the upper part of the ravine of the rackbirds. at the bottom of it there trickled a little stream. to the northeast ran another line of low rock, which lost itself in the distance before it blended into the mountains, and at the foot of this must run the stream which had fed the lake. in their search for water, game, or fellow-beings, no one had climbed these desolate rocks, apparently dry and barren. but still the captain was puzzled as to the way the water had gone out of the lake. he did not believe that it had flowed through the ravine below. there were no signs that there had been a flood down there. little vines and plants were growing in chinks of the rocks close to the water. and, moreover, had a vast deluge rushed out almost beneath the opening which lighted the cave, it must have been heard by some of the party. he concluded, therefore, that the water had escaped through a subterranean channel below the rocks from which he looked down. he climbed down the sides of the gorge, and walked along its bottom for two or three hundred yards, until around a jutting point of rock he saw that the sides of the defile separated for a considerable distance, and then, coming together again below, formed a sort of amphitheatre. the bottom of this was a considerable distance below him, and he did not descend into it, but he saw plainly that it had recently contained water, for pools and puddles were to be seen everywhere. at the other end of it, where the rocks again approached each other, was probably a precipice. after a few minutes' cogitation, captain horn felt sure that he understood the whole matter: a subway from the lake led to this amphitheatre, and thus there had been no audible rush of the waters until they reached this point, where they poured in and filled this great basin, the lower end of which was probably stopped up by accumulations of sand and deposits, which even in that country of scant vegetation had accumulated in the course of years. when the waters of the lake had rushed into the amphitheatre, this natural dam had held them for a while, but then, giving way before the great pressure, the whole body of water had suddenly rushed down the ravine to the sea. "yes," said the captain, "now i understand how it happened that although i opened the valve at noon, the water did not reach the rackbirds until some hours later, and then it came suddenly and all at once, which would not have been the case had it flowed steadily from the beginning through the outlet made for it." when the captain had returned and reported his discoveries, and he and his party had finished their noonday meal, which they ate outside on the plateau, with the fire burning and six servants to wait on them, mrs. cliff said: "and now, captain, what are we going to do? now that our danger is past, i suppose the best thing for us is to stay here in quiet and thankfulness, and wait for mr. rynders. but, with the provisions we have, we can't wait very long. when there were but five of us, we might have made the food hold out for a day or two longer, but now that we are ten, we shall soon be without anything to eat." "i have been talking to maka about that," said the captain, "and he says that cheditafa reports all sorts of necessary things in the rackbirds' storehouse, and he proposes that he and the rest of the black fellows go down there and bring us some supplies. they are used to carrying these stores, and six of them can bring us enough to last a good while. now that everything is safe over there, i can see that maka is very anxious to go, and, in fact, i would like to go myself. but although there doesn't seem to be any danger at present, i do not want to leave you." "as for me," said miss markham, "i want to go there. there is nothing i like better than exploring." "that's to my taste, too," said the captain, "but it will be better for us to wait here and see what maka has to say when he gets back. perhaps, if mr. rynders doesn't turn up pretty soon, we will all make a trip down there. where is ralph? i don't want him to go with the men." "he is up there on his lookout, as he calls it," said his sister, "with his spy-glass." "very good," said the captain. "i will send the men off immediately. maka wants to go now, and they can come back by the light of the young moon. when they have loads to carry, they like to travel at night. we shall have to get our own supper, and that will give ralph something to do." the party of africans had not gone half-way from the plateau to the beach before they were discovered by the boy on the outlook rock, and he came rushing down to report that the darkies were running away. when he was told the business on which they had gone, he was very much disappointed that he was not allowed to go with them, and, considerably out of temper, retired to his post of observation, where, as it appeared, he was dividing his time between the discovery of distant specks on the horizon line of the ocean and imaginary jaguars and pumas on the foot-hills. chapter xi a new hemisphere with a tin pail in his hand, the captain now went to the cavern of the lake. he wished very much to procure some better water than the last that had been brought, and which mok must have dipped up from a very shallow puddle. it was possible, the captain thought, that by going farther into the cavern he might find a deeper pool in which water still stood, and if he could not do this, he could get water from the little stream in the ravine. more than this, the captain wished very much to take another look at the machine by which he had let out the water. his mind had been so thoroughly charged with the sense of danger that, until this had faded away, he had not been able to take the interest in the artificial character of the lake which it deserved. as the captain advanced into the dimmer recesses of the cavern, he soon found a pool of water a foot or more in depth, and having filled his pail at this, he set it down and walked on to see what was beyond. his eyes having now conformed themselves to the duskiness of the place, he saw that the cavern soon made a turn to the left, and gazing beyond him, he judged that the cave was very much wider here, and he also thought that the roof was higher. but he did not pay much attention to the dimensions of the cavern, for he began to discern, at first dimly and then quite plainly, a large object which rose from the bottom of the basin. he advanced eagerly, peering at what seemed to be a sort of dome-like formation of a lighter color than the rocks about him, and apparently about ten feet high. carefully feeling his way for fear of pitfalls, the captain drew close to the object, and placed his hand upon it. he believed it to be of stone, and moving his hand over it, he thought he could feel joints of masonry. it was clearly a structure built by men. captain horn searched his pockets for a match, but found none, and he hastened back to the cave to get the lantern, passing, without noticing it, the pail which he had filled with water. he would have brought the lantern with him when he first came, but they had no oil except what it contained, and this they had husbanded for emergencies. but now the captain wanted light--he cared not what might happen afterwards. in a very short time, with the lantern in his hand, which lighted up the cave for a considerable distance about him, the captain again stood at the foot of the subterranean dome. he walked around it. he raised and lowered his lantern, and examined it from top to bottom. it was one half a sphere of masonry, built in a most careful manner, and, to all appearances, as solid as a great stone ball, half sunken in the ground. its surface was smooth, excepting for two lines of protuberances, each a few inches in height, and about a foot from each other. these rows of little humps were on opposite sides of the dome, and from the bottom nearly to the top. it was plain they were intended to serve as rude ladders by which the top of the mound could be gained. the captain stepped back, held up his lantern, and gazed in every direction. he could now see the roof of the cavern, and immediately above him he perceived what he was sure were regular joints of masonry, but on the sides of the cave he saw nothing of the sort. for some minutes he stood and reflected, his brain in a whirl. presently he exclaimed: "yes, this cave is man's work! i am sure of it. it is not natural. i wondered how there could be such a cave on the top of a hill. it was originally a gorge, and they have roofed it over, and the bottom of the basin has been cut out to make it deeper. it was made so that it could be filled up with water, and roofed over so that nobody should know there was any water here, unless they came on it by means of the passage from our caves. that passage must have been blocked up. as for the great opening in the side of the cave, the rocks have fallen in there--that is easy enough to see. yes, men made this cave and filled it with water, and if the water were high enough to cover the handle of that machine, as it was when i struck it, it must also have been high enough to cover up this stone mound. the lake was intended to cover and hide that mound. and then, to make the hiding of it doubly sure, the men who built all this totally covered up the lake so that nobody would know it was here. and then they built that valve apparatus, which was also submerged, so that they could let out the water when they wanted to get at this stone thing, whatever it is. what a scheme to hide anything! even if anybody discovered the lake, which would not be likely until some part of the cave fell in, they would not know it was anything but a lake when they did see it. and as for letting off the water, nobody but the people who knew about it could possibly do that, unless somebody was fool enough to take the cold bath i was obliged to take, and even then it would have been one chance in a hundred that he found the lever, and would know how to turn it when he did find it. this whole thing is the work of the ancient south americans, and i imagine that this stone mound is the tomb of one of their kings." at this moment the captain heard something, and turned to listen. it was a voice--the voice of a boy. it was ralph calling to him. instantly the captain turned and hurried away, and as he went he extinguished his lantern. when he reached his pail of water he picked it up, and was very soon joined by ralph, who was coming to meet him over the bottom of the lake. "i have been looking for you everywhere, captain," said he. "what have you been after? more water? and you took a lantern to find it, eh? and you have been ever so far into the cave. why didn't you call me? let me have the lantern. i want to go to explore." but the captain did not give him the lantern, nor did he allow him to go to explore. "no, sir," said he. "what we've got to do is to hurry outside and help get supper. we must wait on ourselves to-night." when supper was over, that evening, and the little party was sitting out on the plateau, gazing over the ocean at the sunlit sky, mrs. cliff declared that she wished they could bring their bedding and spread it on the ground out there, and sleep. "it is dry enough," she said, "and warm enough, and if there is really nothing to fear from animals or men, i don't want ever to go inside of those caves again. i had such horrible fears and ideas when i was sitting trembling in those dismal vaults, expecting a horde of human devils to burst in upon us at any moment, that the whole place is horrible to me. anyway, if i knew that i had to be killed, i would rather be killed out here." the captain smiled. "i don't think we will give up the caves just yet. i, for one, most certainly want to go in there again." and then he told the story of the stone mound which he had discovered. "and you believe," cried mrs. cliff, leaning forward, "that it is really the tomb of an ancient king?" "if it isn't that, i don't know what it can be," said the captain. "the grave of a king!" cried ralph. "a mummy! with inscriptions and paintings! oh, captain, let's go open it this minute, before those blackies get back." the captain shook his head. "don't be in such a hurry," he said. "it will not be an easy job to open that mound, and we shall need the help of the blackies, as you call them, if we do it at all." "do it at all!" cried ralph. "i'll never leave this place until i do it myself, if there is nobody else to help." miss markham sat silent. she was the only one of the company who had studied the history of south america, and she did not believe that the ancient inhabitants of that country buried their kings in stone tombs, or felt it necessary to preserve their remains in phenomenal secrecy and security. she had read things, however, about the ancient peoples of this country which now made her eyes sparkle and her heart beat quickly. but she did not say anything. this was a case in which it would be better to wait to see what would happen. "captain!" cried ralph, "let's go to see the thing. what is the use of waiting? edna and mrs. cliff won't mind staying here while you take me to see it. we can go in ten minutes." "no," said mrs. cliff, "there may be no danger, but i am not going to be left here with the sun almost down, and you two out of sight and hearing." "let us all go," said edna. the captain considered for a moment. "yes," said he, "let us all go. as we shall have to take a lantern anyway, this is as good a time as another." it was not an easy thing for the two ladies to get over the wall at the end of the passage, and to make their way over the rough and slippery bottom of the lake basin, now lighted only by the lantern which the captain carried. but in the course of time, with a good deal of help from their companions, they reached the turning of the cave and stood before the stone mound. "hurrah!" cried ralph. "why, captain, you are like columbus! you have discovered a new hemisphere." "it is like one of the great ant-hills of africa," said mrs. cliff, "but, of course, this was not built by ants i wonder if it is possible that it can be the abode of water-snakes." edna stood silent for a few moments, and then she said, "captain, do you suppose that this dome was entirely covered by water when the lake was full?" "i think so," said he. "judging from what i know of the depth of the lake, i am almost sure of it." "ralph!" suddenly cried mrs. cliff, "don't try to do that. the thing may break under you, and nobody knows what you would fall into. come down." but ralph paid no attention to her words. he was half-way up the side of the mound when she began to speak, and on its top when she had finished. "captain," he cried, "hand me up the lantern. i want to see if there is a trap-door into this affair. don't be afraid, mrs. cliff. it's as solid as a rock." the captain did not hand up the lantern, but holding it carefully in one hand, he ascended the dome by means of the row of protuberances on the other side, and crouched down beside ralph on the top of it. "oh, ho!" said he, as he moved the lantern this way and that, "here is a square slab fitted into the very top." "yes," said ralph, "and it's got different mortar around the edges." "that is not mortar," said the captain. "i believe it is some sort of resin. here, hold the lantern, and be careful of it." the captain took his jack-knife out of his pocket, and with the large blade began to dig into the substance which filled the joint around the slab, which was about eighteen inches square. "it is resin," said he, "or something like it, and it comes out very easily. this slab is intended to be moved." "indeed it is!" exclaimed ralph, "and we're intended to move it. here, captain, i'll help you. i've got a knife. let's dig out that stuff and lift up the lid before the darkies come back. if we find any dead bodies inside this tomb, they will frighten those fellows to death, if they catch sight of them." "very good," said the captain. "i shall be only too glad to get this slab up, if i can, but i am afraid we shall want a crowbar and more help. it's a heavy piece of stone, and i see no way of getting at it." "this isn't stone in the middle of the slab," said ralph. "it's a lot more resinous stuff. i had the lantern over it and did not see it. let's take it out." there was a circular space in the centre of the stone, about eight inches in diameter, which seemed to be covered with resin. after a few minutes' work with the jack-knives this substance was loosened and came out in two parts, showing a bowl-like depression in the slab, which had been so cut as to leave a little bar running from side to side of it. "a handle!" cried ralph. "that is what it is," said captain horn. "if it is intended to be lifted, i ought to be able to do it. move down a little with the lantern, and give me room." the captain now stood on the top of the mound, with the slab between his feet, and stooping down, he took hold of the handle with both hands. he was a powerful man, but he could not lift the stone. his first effort, however, loosened it, and then he began to move it from side to side, still pulling upward, until at last he could feel it rising. then, with a great heave, he lifted it entirely out of the square aperture in which it had been fitted, and set it on one side. in an instant, ralph, lantern in hand, was gazing down into the opening. "hello!" he cried, "there is something on fire in there. oh, no," he added quickly, correcting himself, "it's only the reflection from our light." chapter xii a tradition and a waistcoat captain horn, his face red with exertion and excitement, stood gazing down into the square aperture at his feet. on the other edge of the opening knelt ralph, holding the lantern so that it would throw its light into the hole. in a moment, before the boy had time to form a question, he was pushed gently to one side, and his sister edna, who had clambered up the side of the mound, knelt beside him. she peered down into the depths beneath, and then she drew back and looked up at the captain. his whole soul was in his downward gaze, and he did not even see her. then there came a voice from below. "what is it?" cried mrs. cliff. "what are you all looking at! do tell me." with half-shut eyes, edna let herself down the side of the mound, and when her feet touched the ground, she made a few tottering steps toward mrs. cliff, and placing her two hands on her companion's shoulders, she whispered, "i thought it was. it is gold! it is the gold of the incas." and then she sank senseless at the feet of the older woman. mrs. cliff did not know that miss markham had fainted. she simply stood still and exclaimed, "gold! what does it mean?" "what is it all about?" exclaimed ralph. "it looks like petrified honey. this never could have been a beehive." without answering, captain horn knelt at the edge of the aperture, and taking the lantern from the boy, he let it down as far as it would go, which was only a foot or two. "ralph," he said hoarsely, as he drew himself back, "hold this lantern and get down out of my way. i must cover this up, quick." and seizing the stone slab by the handle, he lifted it as if it had been a pot-lid, and let it down into its place. "now," said he, "get down, and let us all go away from this place. those negroes may be back at any moment." when ralph found that his sister had fainted, and that mrs. cliff did not know it, there was a little commotion at the foot of the mound. but some water in a pool near by soon revived edna, and in ten minutes the party was on the plateau outside the caverns. the new moon was just beginning to peep over the rocks behind them, and the two ladies had seated themselves on the ground. ralph was pouring out question after question, to which nobody paid any attention, and captain horn, his hands thrust into his pockets, walked backward and forward, his face flushed and his breath coming heavily, and, with his eyes upon the ground, he seemed to think himself entirely alone among those desolate crags. "can any of you tell me what it means?" cried mrs. cliff. "edna, do you understand it? tell me quickly, some of you!" "i believe i know what it means," said edna, her voice trembling as she spoke. "i thought i knew as soon as i heard of the mound covered up by the lake, but i did not dare to say anything, because if my opinion should be correct it would be so wonderful, so astounding, my mind could hardly take hold of it." "but what is it?" cried mrs. cliff and ralph, almost in one breath. "i scarcely know what to say," said edna, "my mind is in such a whirl about it, but i will tell you something of what i have read of the ancient history of peru, and then you will understand my fancies about this stone mound. when the spaniards, under pizarro, came to this country, their main object, as we all know, was booty. they especially wished to get hold of the wonderful treasures of the incas, the ancient rulers of peru. this was the reason of almost all the cruelties and wickedness of the invaders. the incas tried various ways of preserving their treasures from the clutch of the spaniards, and i have read of a tradition that they drained a lake, probably near cuzco, the ancient capital, and made a strong cellar, or mound, at the bottom of it in which to hide their gold. they then let the water in again, and the tradition also says that this mound has never been discovered." "do you believe," cried the captain, "that the mound back there in the cavern is the place where the incas stored their gold?" "i do not believe it is the place i read about," said miss markham, "for that, as i said, must have been near cuzco. but there is no reason why there should not have been other places of concealment. this was far away from the capital, but that would make the treasure so much the safer. the spaniards would never have thought of going to such a lonely, deserted place as this, and the incas would not have spared any time or trouble necessary to securely hide their treasures." "if you are right," cried the captain, "this is, indeed, astounding! treasure in a mound of stone--a mound covered by water, which could be let off! the whole shut up in a cave which must have originally been as dark as pitch! when we come to think of it," he continued excitedly, "it is an amazing hiding-place, no matter what was put into the mound." "and do you mean," almost screamed mrs. cliff, "that that stone thing down there is filled with the wealth of the incas!--the fabulous gold we read about?" "i do not know what else it can be," replied edna. "what i saw when i looked down into the hole was surely gold." "yes," said the captain, "it was gold--gold in small bars." "why didn't you get a piece, captain?" asked ralph. "then we could be sure about it. if that thing is nearly filled, there must be tons of it." "i did not think," said the captain. "i could not think. i was afraid somebody would come." "and now tell me this," cried mrs. cliff. "whom does this gold belong to? that is what i want to know. whose is if?" "come, come!" said the captain, "let us stop talking about this thing, and thinking about it. we shall all be maniacs if we don't quiet ourselves a little, and, besides, it cannot be long before those black fellows come back, and we do not want to be speaking about it then. to-morrow we will examine the mound and see what it is we have discovered. in the meantime, let us quiet our minds and get a good night's sleep, if we can. this whole affair is astounding, but we must not let it make us crazy before we understand it." miss markham was a young woman very capable of controlling herself. it was true she had been more affected in consequence of the opening of the mound than any of the others, but that was because she understood, or thought she understood, what the discovery meant, and to the others it was something which at first they could not appreciate. now she saw the good common sense of the captain's remarks, and said no more that evening on the subject of the stone mound. but mrs. cliff and ralph could not be quiet. they must talk, and as the captain walked away that they might not speak to him, they talked to each other. it was nearly an hour after this that captain horn, standing on the outer end of the plateau, saw some black dots moving on the moonlit beach. they moved very slowly, and it was a long time--at least, it seemed so to the captain--before maka and his companions reached the plateau. the negroes were heavily loaded with bags and packages, and they were glad to deposit their burdens on the ground. "hi!" cried the captain, who spoke as if he had been drinking champagne, "you brought a good cargo, maka, and now don't let us hear any tales of what you have seen until we have had supper--supper for everybody. you know what you have got, maka. let us have the best things, and let every one of you take a hand in making a fire and cooking. what we want is a first-class feast." "i got 'em," said maka, who understood english a good deal better than he could speak it,--"ham, cheese, lots things. all want supper--good supper." while the meal was being prepared, captain horn walked over to mrs. cliff and ralph. "now, i beg of you," he said, "don't let these men know we have found anything. this is a very important matter. don't talk about it, and if you can't keep down your excitement, let them think it is the prospect of good victuals, and plenty of them, that has excited you." after supper maka and cheditafa were called upon to tell their story, but they said very little. they had gone to the place where the rackbirds had kept their stores, and had selected what maka considered would be most desirable, including some oil for the lantern, and had brought away as much as they could carry. this was all. when the rest of his party had gone inside, hoping to get their minds quiet enough to sleep, and the captain was preparing to follow them, maka arose from the spot on the open plateau where the tired negroes had stretched themselves for the night, and said: "got something tell you alone. come out here." when the two had gone to a spot a little distance from the cavern entrance, where the light of the moon, now nearly set, enabled objects to be seen with some distinctness, maka took from inside his shirt a small piece of clothing. "look here," said he. "this belong to davis." the captain took the garment in his hand. it was a waistcoat made of plaid cloth, yellow, green, and red, and most striking in pattern, and captain horn instantly recognized it as the waistcoat of davis, the englishman. "he dead," said maka, simply. the captain nodded. he had no doubt of it. "where did you find it?" he asked. "sticking on rock," said the african. "lots things down there. some one place, some another place. didn't know other things, but know this. davis' waistcoat. no mistake that. him wear it all time." "you are a good fellow, maka," said the captain, "not to speak of this before the ladies. now go and sleep. there is no need of a guard to-night." the captain went inside, procured his gun, and seated himself outside, with his back against a rock. there he sat all night, without once closing his eyes. he was not afraid that anything would come to molest them, but it was just as well to have the gun. as for sleeping, that was impossible. he had heard and seen too much that day. chapter xiii "mine!" captain horn and his party sat down together the next morning on the plateau to drink their hot coffee and eat their biscuit and bacon, and it was plain that the two ladies, as well as the captain, had had little sleep the night before. ralph declared that he had been awake ever so long, endeavoring to calculate how many cubic feet of gold there would be in that mound if it were filled with the precious metal. "but as i did not know how much a cubic foot of gold is worth," said he, "and as we might find, after all, that there is only a layer of gold on top, and that all the rest is incas' bones, i gave it up." the captain was very grave--graver, miss markham thought, than the discovery of gold ought to make a man. "we won't worry ourselves with calculations," said he. "as soon as i can get rid of those black fellows, we will go to see what is really in that tomb, or storehouse, or whatever it is. we will make a thorough investigation this time." when the men had finished eating, the captain sent them all down to look for driftwood. the stock of wood on the plateau was almost exhausted, and he was glad to think of some reasonable work which would take them away from the cavern. as soon as they had gone, the captain rose to get the lantern, and called ralph to accompany him to the mound. when they were left alone, edna said to mrs. cliff, "let us go over there to that shady rock, where we can look out for a ship with mr. rynders in it, and let us talk about our neighbors in america. let us try to forget, for a time, all about what the captain is going to investigate. if we keep on thinking and talking of it, our minds will not be in a fit condition to hear what he will have to tell us. it may all come to nothing, you know, and no matter what it comes to, let us keep quiet, and give our nerves a little rest." "that is excellent advice," said mrs. cliff. but when they were comfortably seated in the shade, she said: "i have been thinking, edna, that the possession of vast treasures did not weaken the minds of those incas, i supposed, until yesterday, that the caverns here were intended for some sort of temple for religious ceremonies, and that the great face on the rock out here was an idol. but now i do not believe that. all openings into the cave must once have been closed up, but it would not do to hide the place so that no one could ever find it again, so they carved that great head on the rocks. nobody, except those who had hid the treasure, would know what the face meant." edna gave a little smile and sighed. "i see it is of no use to try to get that mound out of our minds," she said. "out of our minds!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "if one of the rothschilds were to hand you a check for the whole of his fortune, would you expect to get that out of your mind?" "such a check," said edna, "would be a certain fortune. we have not heard yet what this is." "i think we are the two meekest and humblest people in the whole world!" exclaimed mrs. cliff, walking up and down the sand. "i don't believe any other two persons would be content to wait here until somebody should come and tell them whether they were millionaires or not. but, of course, somebody must stay outside to keep those colored people from swarming into the cave when they come back." it was not long after this that mrs. cliff and edna heard the sound of quickly advancing feet, and in a few moments they were joined by ralph and the captain. "your faces shine like gold," cried edna. "what have you found?" "found!" cried ralph. "why, edna, we've got--" "be quiet, ralph," exclaimed edna. "i want to hear what the captain has to say. captain, what is in the mound?" "we went to the mound," said he, speaking very rapidly, "and when we got to the top and lifted off that stone lid--upon my soul, ladies, i believe there is gold enough in that thing to ballast a ship. it isn't filled quite up to the top, and, of course, i could not find out how deep the gold goes down; but i worked a hole in it as far down as my arm would reach, and found nothing but gold bars like this." then, glancing around to see that none of the africans were returning, he took from his pocket a yellow object about three inches in length and an inch in diameter, shaped like a rough prism, cast in a rudely constructed mortar or mould. "i brought away just one of them," he said, "and then i shut down the lid, and we came away." "and is this gold?" exclaimed edna, eagerly seizing the bar. "are you sure of it, captain?" "i am as sure of it as i am that i have a head on my shoulders," said he, "although when i was diving down into that pile i was not quite sure of that. no one would ever put anything but gold in such a hiding-place. and then, anybody can see it is gold. look here: i scraped that spot with my knife. i wanted to test it before i showed it to you. see how it shines! i could easily cut into it. i believe it is virgin gold, not hardened with any alloy." "and that mound full of it!" cried mrs. cliff. "i can't say about that," said the captain. "but if the gold is no deeper than my arm went down into it, and all pure metal at that, why--bless my soul!--it would make anybody crazy to try to calculate how much it is worth." "now, then," exclaimed mrs. cliff, "whom does all this gold belong to? we have found it, but whose is it?" "that is a point to be considered," said the captain. "what is your opinion?" "i have been thinking and thinking and thinking about it," said mrs. cliff. "of course, that would have been all wasted, though, if it had turned out to be nothing but brass, but then, i could not help it, and this is the conclusion i have come to: in the first place, it does not belong to the people who govern peru now. they are descendants of the very spaniards that the incas hid their treasure from, and it would be a shame and a wickedness to let them have it. it would better stay there shut up for more centuries. then, again, it would not be right to give it to the indians, or whatever they call themselves, though they are descendants of the ancient inhabitants, for the people of spanish blood would not let them keep it one minute, and they would get it, after all. and, besides, how could such treasures be properly divided among a race of wretched savages? it would be preposterous, even if they should be allowed to keep it. they would drink themselves to death, and it would bring nothing but misery upon them. the incas, in their way, were good, civilized people, and it stands to reason that the treasure they hid away should go to other good, civilized people when the incas had departed from the face of the earth. think of the good that could be done with such wealth, should it fall into the proper hands! think of the good to the poor people of peru, with the right kind of mission work done among them! i tell you all that the responsibility of this discovery is as great as its value in dollars. what do you think about it, edna?" "i think this," said miss markham: "so far as any of us have anything to do with it, it belongs to captain horn. he discovered it, and it is his." "the whole of it?" cried ralph. "yes," said his sister, firmly, "the whole of it, so far as we are concerned. what he chooses to do with it is his affair, and whether he gets every bar of gold, or only a reward from the peruvian government, it is his, to do what he pleases with it." "now, edna, i am amazed to hear you speak of the peruvian government," cried mrs. cliff. "it would be nothing less than a crime to let them have it, or even know of it." "what do you think, captain?" asked edna. "i am exactly of your opinion, miss markham," he said. "that treasure belongs to me. i discovered it, and it is for me to decide what is to be done with it." "now, then," exclaimed ralph, his face very red, "i differ with you! we are all partners in this business, and it isn't fair for any one to have everything." "and i am not so sure, either," said mrs. cliff, "that the captain ought to decide what is to be done with this treasure. each of us should have a voice." "mrs. cliff, miss markham, and ralph," said the captain, "i have a few words to say to you, and i must say them quickly, for i see those black fellows coming. that treasure in the stone mound is mine. i discovered the mound, and no matter what might have been in it, the contents would have been mine. all that gold is just as much mine as if i dug it in a gold-mine in california, and we won't discuss that question any further. what i want to say particularly is that it may seem very selfish in me to claim the whole of that treasure, but i assure you that that is the only thing to be done. i know you will all agree to that when you see the matter in the proper light, and i have told you my plans about it. i intended to claim all that treasure, if it turned out to be treasure. i made up my mind to that last night, and i am very glad miss markham told me her opinion of the rights of the thing before i mentioned it. now, i have just got time to say a few words more. if there should be any discussion about the ownership of this gold and the way it ought to be divided, there would be trouble, and perhaps bloody trouble. there are those black fellows coming up here, and two of them speak english. eight of my men went away in a boat, and they may come back at any time. and then, there were those two cape cod men, who went off first. they may have reached the other side of the mountains, and may bring us assistance overland. as for davis, i know he will never come back. maka brought me positive proof that he was killed by the rackbirds. now, you see my point. that treasure is mine. i have a right to it, and i stand by that right. there must be no talk as to what is to be done with it. i shall decide what is right, and i shall do it, and no man shall have a word to say about it. in a case like this there must be a head, and i am the head." the captain had been speaking rapidly and very earnestly, but now his manner changed a little. placing his hand on ralph's shoulder, he said: "now don't be afraid, my boy, that you and your sister or mrs. cliff will be left in the lurch. if there were only us four, there would be no trouble at all, but if there is any talk of dividing, there may be a lot of men to deal with, and a hard lot, too. and now, not a word before these men.--maka, that is a fine lot of fire-wood you have brought. it will last us a long time." the african shrugged his shoulders. "hope not," he said. "hope mr. rynders come soon. don't want make many fires." as captain horn walked away toward ralph's lookout, he could not account to himself for the strange and unnatural state of his feelings. he ought to have been very happy because he had discovered vast treasures. instead of that his mind was troubled and he was anxious and fearful. one reason for his state of mind was his positive knowledge of the death of davis. he had believed him dead because he had not come back, but now that he knew the truth, the shock seemed as great as if he had not suspected it. he had liked the englishman better than any of his seamen, and he was a man he would have been glad to have had with him now. the cape cod men had been with him but a short time, and he was not well acquainted with them. it was likely, too, that they were dead also, for they had not taken provisions with them. but so long as he did not really know this, the probability could not lower his spirits. but when he came to analyze his feelings, which he did with the vigorous directness natural to him, he knew what was the source of his anxiety and disquietude. he actually feared the return of rynders and his men! this feeling annoyed and troubled him. he felt that it was unworthy of him. he knew that he ought to long for the arrival of his mate, for in no other way could the party expect help, and if help did not arrive before the provisions of the rackbirds were exhausted, the whole party would most likely perish. moreover, when rynders and his men came back, they would come to rare good fortune, for there was enough gold for all of them. but, in spite of these reasonable conclusions, the captain was afraid that rynders and his men would return. "if they come here," he said to himself, "they will know of that gold, for i cannot expect to keep such fellows out of the cavern, and if they know of it, it will be their gold, not mine. i know men, especially those men, well enough for that." and so, fearing that he might see them before he was ready for them,--and how he was going to make himself ready for them he did not know,--he stood on the lookout and scanned the ocean for rynders and his men. chapter xiv a pile of fuel four days had passed, and nothing had happened. the stone mound in the lake had not been visited, for there had been no reason for sending the black men away, and with one of them nearer than a mile the captain would not even look at his treasure. there was no danger that they would discover the mound, for they were not allowed to take the lantern, and no one of them would care to wander into the dark, sombre depths of the cavern without a light. the four white people, who, with a fair habitation in the rocks, with plenty of plain food to eat, with six servants to wait on them, and a climate which was continuously delightful, except in the middle of the day, and with all fear of danger from man or beast removed from their minds, would have been content to remain here a week or two longer and await the arrival of a vessel to take them away, were now in a restless and impatient condition of mind. they were all eager to escape from the place. three of them longed for the return of rynders, but the other one steadily hoped that they might get away before his men came back. how to do this, or how to take with him the treasure of the incas, was a puzzling question with which the captain racked his brains by day and by night. at last he bethought himself of the rackbirds' vessel. he remembered that maka had told him that provisions were brought to them by a vessel, and there was every reason to suppose that when these miscreants went on some of their marauding expeditions they travelled by sea. day by day he had thought that he would go and visit the rackbirds' storehouse and the neighborhood thereabout, but day by day he had been afraid that in his absence rynders might arrive, and when he came he wanted to be there to meet him. but now the idea of the boat made him brave this possible contingency, and early one morning, with cheditafa and two other of the black fellows, he set off along the beach for the mouth of the little stream which, rising somewhere in the mountains, ran down to the cavern where it had once widened and deepened into a lake, and then through the ravine of the rackbirds on to the sea. when he reached his destination, captain horn saw a great deal to interest him. just beyond the second ridge of rock which maka had discovered, the stream ran into a little bay, and the shores near its mouth showed evident signs that they had recently been washed by a flood. on points of rock and against the sides of the sand mounds, he saw bits of debris from the rackbirds' camp. here were sticks which had formed the timbers of their huts; there were pieces of clothing and cooking-utensils; and here and there, partly buried by the shifting sands, were seen the bodies of rackbirds, already desiccated by the dry air and the hot sun of the region. but the captain saw no vessel. "dat up here," said cheditafa. "dey hide dat well. come 'long, captain." following his black guide, the captain skirted a little promontory of rocks, and behind it found a cove in which, well concealed, lay the rackbirds' vessel. it was a sloop of about twenty tons, and from the ocean, or even from the beach, it could not be seen. but as the captain stood and gazed upon this craft his heart sank. it had no masts nor sails, and it was a vessel that could not be propelled by oars. wading through the shallow water,--for it was now low tide,--the captain climbed on board. the deck was bare, without a sign of spar or sail, and when, with cheditafa's help, he had forced the entrance of the little companionway, and had gone below, he found that the vessel had been entirely stripped of everything that could be carried away, and when he went on deck again he saw that even the rudder had been unshipped and removed. cheditafa could give him no information upon this state of things, but after a little while captain horn imagined the cause for this dismantled condition of the sloop. the rackbirds' captain could not trust his men, he said to himself, and he made it impossible for any of them to escape or set out on an expedition for themselves. it was likely that the masts and sails had been carried up to the camp, from which place it would have been impossible to remove them without the leader knowing it. when he spoke to cheditafa on the subject, the negro told him that after the little ship came in from one of its voyages he and his companions had always carried the masts, sails, and a lot of other things up to the camp. but there was nothing of the sort there now. every spar and sail must have been carried out to sea by the flood, for if they had been left on the shores of the stream the captain would have seen them. this was hard lines for captain horn. if the rackbirds' vessel had been in sailing condition, everything would have been very simple and easy for him. he could have taken on board not only his own party, but a large portion of the treasure, and could have sailed away as free as a bird, without reference to the return of rynders and his men. a note tied to a pole set up in a conspicuous place on the beach would have informed mr. rynders of their escape from the place, and it was not likely that any of the party would have thought it worth while to go farther on shore. but it was of no use to think of getting away in this vessel. in its present condition it was absolutely useless. while the captain had been thinking and considering the matter, cheditafa had been wandering about the coast exploring. presently captain horn saw him running toward him, accompanied by the two other negroes. "'nother boat over there," cried cheditafa, as the captain approached him,--"'nother boat, but badder than this. no good. cook with it, that's all." the captain followed cheditafa across the little stream, and a hundred yards or so along the shore, and over out of reach of the tide, piled against a low sand mound, he saw a quantity of wood, all broken into small pieces, and apparently prepared, as cheditafa had suggested, for cooking-fires. it was also easy to see that these pieces of wood had once been part of a boat, perhaps of a wreck thrown up on shore. the captain approached the pile of wood and picked up some of the pieces. as he held in his hand a bit of gunwale, not much more than a foot in length, his eyes began to glisten and his breath came quickly. hastily pulling out several pieces from the mass of debris, he examined them thoroughly. then he stepped back, and let the piece of rudder he was holding drop to the sand. "cheditafa," said he, speaking huskily, "this is one of the castor's boats. this is a piece of the boat in which rynders and the men set out." the negro looked at the captain and seemed frightened by the expression on his face. for a moment he did not speak, and then in a trembling voice he asked, "where all them now?" the captain shook his head, but said nothing. that pile of fragments was telling him a tale which gradually became plainer and plainer to him, and which he believed as if rynders himself had been telling it to him. his ship's boat, with its eight occupants, had never gone farther south than the mouth of the little stream. that they had been driven on shore by the stress of weather the captain did not believe. there had been no high winds or storms since their departure. most likely they had been induced to land by seeing some of the rackbirds on shore, and they had naturally rowed into the little cove, for assistance from their fellow-beings was what they were in search of. but no matter how they happened to land, the rackbirds would never let them go away again to carry news of the whereabouts of their camp. almost unarmed, these sailors must have fallen easy victims to the rackbirds. it was not unlikely that the men had been shot down from ambush without having had any intercourse or conversation with the cruel monsters to whom they had come to seek relief, for had there been any talk between them, rynders would have told of his companions left on shore, and these would have been speedily visited by the desperadoes. for the destruction of the boat there was reason enough: the captain of the rackbirds gave his men no chance to get away from him. with a heart of lead, captain horn turned to look at his negro companions, and saw them all sitting together on the sands, chattering earnestly, and holding up their hands with one or more fingers extended, as if they were counting. cheditafa came forward. "when all your men go away from you?" he asked. the captain reflected a moment, and then answered, "about two weeks ago." "that's right! that's right!" exclaimed the negro, nodding violently as he spoke. "we talk about that. we count days. it's just ten days and three days, and rackbirds go 'way, and leave us high up in rock-hole, with no ladder. after a while we hear guns, guns, guns. long time guns shooting. when they come back, it almost dark, and they want supper bad. all time they eat supper, they talk 'bout shooting sharks. shot lots sharks, and chuck them into the water. sharks in water already before they is shot. we say then it no sharks they shot. now we say it must been--" the captain turned away. he did not want to hear any more. there was no possible escape from the belief that rynders and all his men had been shot down, and robbed, if they had anything worth taking, and then their bodies carried out to sea, most likely in their own boat, and thrown overboard. there was nothing more at this dreadful place that captain horn wished to see, to consider, or to do, and calling the negroes to follow him, he set out on his return. during the dreary walk along the beach the captain's depression of spirits was increased by the recollection of his thoughts about the sailors and the treasure. he had hoped that these men would not come back in time to interfere with his disposal, in his own way, of the gold he had found. they would not come back now, but the thought did not lighten his heart. but before he reached the caves, he had determined to throw off the gloom and sadness which had come upon him. under the circumstances, grief for what had happened was out of place. he must keep up a good heart, and help his companions to keep up good hearts. now he must do something, and, like a soldier in battle, he must not think of the comrade who had fallen beside him, but of the enemy in front of him. when he reached the caves he found supper ready, and that evening he said nothing to his companions of the important discoveries he had made, contenting himself with a general statement of the proofs that the rackbirds and their camp had been utterly destroyed by the flood. chapter xv the cliff-maka scheme the next morning captain horn arose with a plan of action in his mind, and he was now ready, not only to tell the two ladies and ralph everything he had discovered, but also what he was going to do. the announcement of the almost certain fate of rynders and his men filled his hearers with horror, and the statement of the captain's plans did not tend to raise their spirits. "you see," said he, "there is nothing now for us to wait for here. as to being taken off by a passing vessel, there is no chance of that whatever. we have gone over that matter before. nor can we get away overland, for some of us would die on the way. as to that little boat down there, we cannot all go to sea in her, but in it i must go out and seek for help." "and leave us here!" cried mrs. cliff. "do not think of that, captain! whatever happens, let us all keep together." "that cannot be," he said. "i must go because i am the only seaman among you, and i will take four of those black fellows with me. i do not apprehend any danger unless we have to make a surf landing, and even then they can all swim like fishes, while i am very well able to take care of myself in the water. i shall sail down the coast until i come to a port, and there put in. then i will get a vessel of some sort and come back for you. i shall leave with you two of these negroes--cheditafa, who seems to be a highly respectable old person, and can speak english, and mok, who, although he can't talk to you, can understand a great deal that is said to him. apart from his being such an abject coward, he seems to be a good, quiet fellow, willing to do what he is told. on the whole, i think he has the best disposition of the four black dummies, begging their pardons. i will take the three others, with maka as head man and interpreter. if i should be cast on shore by a storm, i could swim through the surf to the dry land, but i could not undertake to save any one else. if this misfortune should happen, we could make our way on foot down the coast." "but suppose you should meet some rackbirds?" cried ralph. "i have no fear of that," answered the captain. "i do not believe there is another set of such scoundrels on this hemisphere. so, as soon as i can get that boat in order, and rig up a mast and a sail for her, i shall provision her well and set out. of course, i do not want to leave you all here, but there is no help for it, and i don't believe you need have the slightest fear of harm. later, we will plan what is to be done by you and by me, and get everything clear and straight. the first thing is to get the boat ready, and i shall go to work on that to-day. i will also take some of the negroes down to the rackbirds' camp, and bring away more stores." "oh, let me go!" cried ralph. "it is the cruellest thing in the world to keep me cooped up here. i never go anywhere, and never do anything." but the captain shook his head. "i am sorry, my boy," said he, "to keep you back so much, but it cannot be helped. when i go away, i shall make it a positive condition that you do not leave your sister and mrs. cliff, and i do not want you to begin now." a half-hour afterwards, when the captain and his party had set out, ralph came to his sister and sat down by her. "do you know," said he, "what i think of captain horn? i think he is a brave man, and a man who knows what to do when things turn up suddenly, but, for all that, i think he is a tyrant. he does what he pleases, and he makes other people do what he pleases, and consults nobody." "my dear ralph," said edna, "if you knew how glad i am we have such a man to manage things, you would not think in that way. a tyrant is just what we want in our situation, provided he knows what ought to be done, and i think that captain horn does know." "that's just like a woman," said ralph. "i might have expected it." during the rest of that day and the morning of the next, everybody in the camp worked hard and did what could be done to help the captain prepare for his voyage, and even ralph, figuratively speaking, put his hand to the oar. the boat was provisioned for a long voyage, though the captain hoped to make a short one, and at noon he announced that he would set out late that afternoon. "it will be flood-tide, and i can get away from the coast better then than if the tide were coming in." "how glad i should be to hear you speak in that way," said mrs. cliff, "if we were only going with you! but to be left here seems like a death sentence all around. you may be lost at sea while we perish on shore." "i do not expect anything of the sort!" exclaimed edna. "with ralph and two men to defend us, we can stay here a long time. as for the captain's being lost, i do not think of it for a moment. he knows how to manage a boat too well for that." "i don't like it at all! i don't like it at all!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "i don't expect misfortunes any more than other people do, but our common sense tells us they may come, and we ought to be prepared for them. of course, you are a good sailor, captain, but if it should happen that you should never come back, or even if it should be a very long time before you come back, how are we going to know what we ought to do? as far as i know the party you leave behind you, we would all be of different opinions if any emergency arose. as long as you are with us, i feel that, no matter what happens, the right thing will be done. but if you are away--" at this moment mrs. cliff was interrupted by the approach of maka, who wished very much to speak to the captain. as the negro was not a man who would be likely to interrupt a conversation except for an important reason, the captain followed him to a little distance. there he found, to his surprise, that although he had left one person to speak to another, the subject was not changed. "cap'n," said maka, "when you go 'way, who's boss?" the captain frowned, and yet he could not help feeling interested in this anxiety regarding his successor. "why do you ask that?" he said. "what difference does it make who gives you your orders when i am gone?" maka shook his head. "big difference," he said. "cheditafa don' like boy for boss. he wan' me tell you, if boy is boss, he don' wan' stay. he wan' go 'long you." "you can tell cheditafa," said the captain, quickly, "that if i want him to stay he'll stay, and if i want him to go he'll go. he has nothing to say about that. so much for him. now, what do you think?" "like boy," said maka, "but not for boss." the captain was silent for a moment. here was a matter which really needed to be settled. if he had felt that he had authority to do as he pleased, he would have settled it in a moment. "cap'n big man. he know everyt'ing," said maka. "but when cap'n go 'way, boy t'ink he big man. boy know nothin'. better have woman for boss." captain horn could not help being amused. "which woman?" he asked. "i say old one. cheditafa say young one." the captain was not a man who would readily discuss his affairs with any one, especially with such a man as maka; but now the circumstances were peculiar, and he wanted to know the opinions of these men he was about to leave behind him. "what made you and cheditafa think that way?" he asked. "i t'ink old one know more," replied the negro, "and cheditafa t'ink wife make bes' boss when cap'n gone, and young one make bes' wife." "you impertinent black scoundrels!" exclaimed the captain, taking a step toward maka, who bounced backward a couple of yards. "what do you mean by talking about miss markham and me in that way? i'll--" but there he paused. it would not be convenient to knock the heads off these men at this time. "cheditafa must be a very great fool," said he, speaking more quietly. "does he suppose i could call anybody my wife just for the sake of giving you two men a boss?" "oh, cheditafa know!" exclaimed maka, but without coming any nearer the captain. "he know many, many t'ings, but he 'fraid come tell you hisself." "i should think he would be," replied the captain, "and i wonder you are not afraid, too." "oh, i is, i is," said maka. "i's all w'ite inside. but somebody got speak boss 'fore he go 'way. if nobody speak, den you go 'way--no boss. all crooked. nobody b'long to anybody. den maybe men come down from mountain, or maybe men come in boat, and dey say, 'who's all you people? who you b'long to?' den dey say dey don' b'long nobody but demselves. den, mos' like, de w'ite ones gets killed for dey clothes and dey money. and cheditafa and me we gets tuck somew'ere to be slaves. but if we say, 'dat lady big cap'n horn's wife--all de t'ings and de people b'long to big he'--hi! dey men hands off--dey shake in de legs. everybody know big cap'n horn." the captain could not help laughing. "i believe you are as big a fool as cheditafa," said he. "don't you know i can't make a woman my wife just by calling her so?" "don' mean dat!" exclaimed maka. "cheditafa don' mean dat. he make all right. he priest in he own country. he marry people. he marry you 'fore you go, all right. he talk 'bout dat mos' all night, but 'fraid come tell cap'n." the absurdity of this statement was so great that it made the captain laugh instead of making him angry; but before he could say anything more to maka, mrs. cliff approached him. "you must excuse me, captain," she said, "but really the time is very short, and i have a great deal to say to you, and if you have finished joking with that colored man, i wish you would talk with me." "you will laugh, too," said the captain, "when you hear what he said to me." and in a few words he told her what maka had proposed. instead of laughing, mrs. cliff stood staring at him in silent amazement. "i see i have shocked you," said the captain, "but you must remember that that is only a poor heathen's ignorant vagary. please say nothing about it, especially to miss markham." "say nothing about it!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "i wish i had a thousand tongues to talk of it. captain, do you really believe that cheddy man is a priest, or what goes for one in his own country? if he is, he ought to marry you and edna." the captain frowned, with an air of angry impatience. "i could excuse that poor negro, madam," he said, "when he made such a proposition to me, but i must say i did not expect anything of the kind from you. do you think, even if we had a bishop with us, that i would propose to marry any woman in the world for the sake of making her what that fellow called the 'boss' of this party?" it was now mrs. cliff's turn to be impatient. "that boss business is a very small matter," she replied, "although, of course, somebody must be head while you are gone, and it was about this that i came to see you. but after hearing what that colored man said, i want to speak of something far more important, which i have been thinking and thinking about, and to which i could see no head or tail until a minute ago. before i go on, i want you to answer me this question: if you are lost at sea, and never come back, what is to become of that treasure? it is yours now, as you let us know plainly enough, but whose will it be if you should die? it may seem like a selfish and sordid thing for me to talk to you in this way just before you start on such an expedition, but i am a business woman,--since my husband's death i have been obliged to be that,--and i look at things with a business eye. have you considered this matter?" "yes, i have," answered the captain, "very seriously." "and so have i," said mrs. cliff. "whether edna has or not i don't know, for she has said nothing to me. now, we are not related to you, and, of course, have no claim upon you in that way, but i do think that, as we have all suffered together, and gone through dangers together, we all ought to share, in some degree at least, in good things as well as bad ones." "mrs. cliff," said the captain, speaking very earnestly, "you need not say anything more on that subject. i have taken possession of that treasure, and i intend to hold it, in order that i may manage things in my own way, and avoid troublesome disputes. but i have not the slightest idea of keeping it all for myself. i intend that everybody who has had any concern in this expedition shall have a share in it. i have thought over the matter a great deal, and intended, before i left, to tell you and miss markham what i have decided upon. here is a paper i have drawn up. it is my will. it is written in lead-pencil and may not be legal, but it is the best i can do. i have no relatives, except a few second cousins somewhere out in the northwest, and i don't want them to have anything to do directly with my property, for they would be sure to make trouble. here, as you see, i leave to you, miss markham, and ralph all the property, of every kind and description, of which i may die possessed. this, of course, would cover all treasure you may be able to take away from this place, and which, without this will, might be claimed by some of my distant relatives, if they should ever chance to hear the story of my discovery. "besides this, i have written here, on another page of this note-book, a few private directions as to how i want the treasure disposed of. i say nothing definite, and mention no exact sums, but, in a general way, i have left everything in the hands of you two ladies. i know that you will make a perfectly just and generous disposition of what you may get." "that is all very kind and good of you," said mrs. cliff, "but i cannot believe that such a will would be of much service. if you have relatives you are afraid of,--and i see you have,--if edna markham were your widow, then by law she would get a good part of it, even if she did not get it all, and if edna got it, we would be perfectly satisfied." "it is rather a grim business to talk about miss markham being my widow," said the captain, "especially under such circumstances. it strikes me that the kind of marriage you propose would be a good deal flimsier than this will." "it does not strike me so," said she. "a mere confession before witnesses by a man and woman that they are willing to take each other for husband and wife is often a legal ceremony, and if there is any kind of a religious person present to perform the ceremony, it helps, and in a case like this no stone should be left unturned. you see, you have assumed a great deal of responsibility about this. you have stated--and if we were called upon to testify, miss markham and i would have to acknowledge that you have so stated--that you claimed this treasure as your discovery, and that it all belonged to you. so, you see, if we keep our consciences clear,--and no matter what happens, we are going to do that,--we might be obliged to testify every cent of it away from ourselves. but if edna were your wife, it would be all right." the captain stood silent for a few moments, his hands thrust into his pockets, and a queer smile on his face. "mrs. cliff," said he, presently, "do you expect me to go to miss markham and gravely propose this scheme which you and that half-tamed african have concocted?" "i think it would be better," said mrs. cliff, "if i were to prepare her mind for it. i will go speak to her now." "no," said he, quickly, "don't you do that. if the crazy idea is to be mentioned to her at all, i want to do it myself, and in my own way. i will go to her now. i have had my talk with you, and i must have one with her." chapter xvi on a business basis captain horn found edna at the entrance to the caves, busily employed in filling one of the rackbirds' boxes with ship-biscuit. "miss markham," said he, "i wish to have a little business talk with you before i leave. where is ralph?" "he is down at the boat," she answered. "very good," said he. "will you step this way?" when they were seated together in the shade of some rocks, he stated to edna what he had planned in case he should lose his life in his intended expedition, and showed her the will he had made, and also the directions for herself and mrs. cliff. edna listened very attentively, occasionally asking for an explanation, but offering no opinion. when he had finished, she was about to say something, but he interrupted her. "of course, i want to know your opinion about all this," he said, "but not yet. i have more to say. there has been a business plan proposed by two members of our party which concerns me, and when anything is told concerning me, i want to know how it is told, or, if possible, tell it myself." and then, as concisely as possible, he related to her maka's anxiety in regard to the boss question, and his method of disposing of the difficulty, and afterwards mrs. cliff's anxiety about the property, in case of accident to himself, and her method of meeting the contingency. during this recital edna markham said not one word. to portions of the narrative she listened with an eager interest; then her expression became hard, almost stern; and finally her cheeks grew red, but whether with anger or some other emotion the captain did not know. when he had finished, she looked steadily at him for a few moments, and then she said: "captain horn, what you have told me are the plans and opinions of others. it seems to me that you are now called upon to say something for yourself." "i am quite ready to do that," he answered. "a half-hour ago i had never thought of such a scheme as i have laid before you. when i heard it, i considered it absurd, and mentioned it to you only because i was afraid i would be misrepresented. but since putting the matter to you, even while i have been just now talking, i have grown to be entirely in favor of it. but i want you to thoroughly understand my views on the subject. if this marriage is to be performed, it will be strictly a business affair, entered into for the purpose of securing to you and others a fortune, large or small, which, without this marriage, might be taken from you. in other words," said he, "you are to be looked upon in this affair in the light of my prospective widow." for a moment the flush on the face of the young woman faded away, but it quickly returned. apparently involuntarily, she rose to her feet. turning to the captain, who also rose, she said: "but there is another way in which the affair would have to be looked at. suppose i should not become your widow? suppose you should not be lost at sea, and should come back safely?" the captain drew a deep breath, and folded his arms upon his chest. "miss markham," said he, "if this marriage should take place, it would be entirely different from other marriages. if i should not return, and it should be considered legal, it may make you all rich and happy. if it should not hold good, we can only think we have done our best. but as to anything beyond this, or to any question of my return, or any other question in connection with the matter, our minds should be shut and locked. this matter is a business proposition, and as such i lay it before you. if we adopt it, we do so for certain reasons, and beyond those reasons neither of us is qualified to go. we should keep our eyes fixed upon the main point, and think of nothing else." "something else must be looked at," said edna. "it is just as likely that you will come back as that you will be lost at sea." "this plan is based entirely on the latter supposition," replied the captain. "it has nothing to do with the other. if we consider it at all, we must consider it in that light." "but we must consider it in the other light," she said. she was now quite pale, and her face had a certain sternness about it. "i positively refuse to do that," he said. "i will not think about it, or say one word about it. i will not even refer to any future settlement of that question. the plan i present rests entirely upon my non-return." "but if you do return?" persisted edna. the captain smiled and shook his head. "you must excuse me," he said, "but i can say nothing about that." she looked steadily at him for a few moments, and then she said: "very well, we will say nothing about it. as to the plan which has been devised to give us, in case of accident to you, a sound claim to the treasure which has been found here, and to a part of which i consider i have a right, i consent to it. i do this believing that i should share in the wonderful treasures in that cave. i have formed prospects for my future which would make my life a thousand times better worth living than i ever supposed it would be, and i do not wish to interfere with those prospects. i want them to become realities. therefore, i consent to your proposition, and i will marry you upon a business basis, before you leave." "your hand upon it," said the captain; and she gave him a hand so cold that it chilled his own. "now i will go talk to maka and cheditafa," he said. "of course, we understand that it may be of no advantage to have this coal-black heathen act as officiating clergyman, but it can do no harm, and we must take the chances. i have a good deal to do, and no time to lose if i am to get away on the flood-tide this afternoon. will it suit you if i get everything ready to start, and we then have the ceremony?" "oh, certainly," replied edna. "any spare moment will suit me." when he had gone, edna markham sat down on the rock again. with her hands clasped in her lap, she gazed at the sand at her feet. "without a minute to think of it," she said to herself, presently,--"without any consideration at all. and now it is done! it was not like me. i do not know myself. but yes!" she exclaimed, speaking so that any one near might have heard her, "i do know myself. i said it because i was afraid, if i did not say it then, i should never be able to say it." if captain horn could have seen her then, a misty light, which no man can mistake, shining in her eyes as she gazed out over everything into nothing, he might not have been able to confine his proposition to a strictly business basis. she sat a little longer, and then she hurried away to finish the work on which she had been engaged; but when mrs. cliff came to look for her, she did not find her packing provisions for the captain's cruise, but sitting alone in one of the inner caves. "what, crying!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "now, let me tell you, my dear child, i do not feel in the least like crying. the captain has told me that everything is all right between you, and the more i think of it, the more firmly i believe that it is the grandest thing that could have happened. for some reason or other, and i am sure i cannot tell you why, i do not believe at all that the captain is going to be shipwrecked in that little boat. before this i felt sure we should never see him again, but now i haven't a doubt that he will get somewhere all right, and that he will come back all right, and if he does it will be a grand match. why, edna child, if captain horn never gets away with a stick of that gold, it will be a most excellent match. now, i believe in my heart," she continued, sitting down by edna, "that when you accepted captain horn you expected him to come back. tell me isn't that true?" at that instant miss markham gave a little start. "mrs. cliff," she exclaimed, "there is ralph calling me. won't you go and tell him all about it? hurry, before he comes in here." when ralph markham heard what had happened while he was down at the beach, he grew so furiously angry that he could not find words in which to express himself. "that captain horn," he cried, when speech came to him, "is the most despotic tyrant on the face of the earth! he tells people what they are to do, and they simply go and do it. the next thing he will do is to tell you to adopt me as a son. marry edna! my sister! and i not know it! and she, just because he asks her, must go and marry him. well, that is just like a woman." with savage strides he was about marching back to the beach, when mrs. cliff stopped him. "now, don't make everybody unhappy, ralph," she said, "but just listen to me. i want to tell you all about this matter." it took about a quarter of an hour to make clear to the ruffled mind of ralph the powerful, and in mrs. cliffs eyes the imperative, reasons for the sudden and unpremeditated matrimonial arrangements of the morning. but before she had finished, the boy grew quieter, and there appeared upon his face some expressions of astute sagacity. "well," said he, "when you first put this business to me, it was tail side up, but now you've got heads up it looks a little different. he will be drowned, as like as not, and then i suppose we can call our souls our own, and if, besides that, we can call a lot of those chunks of gold our own, we ought not to grumble. all right. i won't forbid the banns. but, between you and me, i think the whole thing is stuff and nonsense. what ought i to call him? brother horn?" "now, don't say anything like that, ralph," urged mrs. cliff, "and don't make yourself disagreeable in any way. this is a very serious time for all of us, and i am sure that you will not do anything which will hurt your sister's feelings." "oh, don't be afraid," said ralph. "i'm not going to hurt anybody's feelings. but when i first meet that man, i hope i may be able to keep him from knowing what i think of him." five minutes later ralph heard the voice of captain horn calling him. the voice came from the opening in the caves, and instantly ralph turned and walked toward the beach. again came the voice, louder than before: "ralph, i want you." the boy stopped, put his hands in his pockets, and shrugged his shoulders, then he slowly turned. "if i were bigger," he said to himself, "i'd thrash him on the spot. then i'd feel easier in my mind, and things could go on as they pleased. but as i am not six feet high yet, i suppose i might as well go to see what he wants." "ralph," said the captain, as soon as the boy reached him, "i see mrs. cliff has been speaking to you, and so you know about the arrangements that have been made. but i have a great deal to do before i can start, and i want you to help me. i am now going to the mound in the cave to get out some of that gold, and i don't want anybody but you to go with me. i have just sent all the negroes down to the beach to carry things to the boat, and we must be quick about our business. you take this leather bag. it is mrs. cliff's, but i think it is strong enough. the lantern is lighted, so come on." to dive into a treasure mound ralph would have followed a much more ruthless tyrant than captain horn, and although he made no remarks, he went willingly enough. when they had climbed the mound, and the captain had lifted the stone from the opening in the top, ralph held the lantern while the captain, reaching down into the interior, set himself to work to fill the bag with the golden ingots. as the boy gazed down upon the mass of dull gold, his heart swelled within him. his feeling of indignant resentment began to disappear rapidly before the growing consciousness that he was to be the brother-in-law of the owner of all that wealth. as soon as the bag was filled, the stone was replaced, and the two descended from the mound, the captain carefully holding the heavy bag under his arm, for he feared the weight might break the handle. then, extinguishing the lantern as soon as they could see their way without it, they reached the innermost cave before any of the negroes returned. neither mrs. cliff nor edna was there, and the captain placed his burden behind a piece of rock. "captain," said the boy, his eyes glistening, "there must be a fortune in that bag!" the captain laughed. "oh, no," said he, "not a very large one. i have had a good deal of experience with gold in california, and i suppose each one of those little bars is worth from two hundred and fifty to three hundred dollars." what we have represents a good deal of money. but now, ralph, i have something very important to say to you. i am going to appoint you sole guardian and keeper of that treasure. you are very young to have such a responsibility put upon you, but i know you will feel the importance of your duty, and that you will not be forgetful or negligent about it. the main thing is to keep those two negroes, and anybody who may happen to come here, away from the mound. do what you can to prevent any one exploring the cave, and don't let the negroes go there for water. they now know the way over the rocks to the stream. "if i should not come back, or a ship should come along and take you off before i return, you must all be as watchful as cats about that gold. don't let anybody see a piece of it. you three must carry away with you as much as you can, but don't let any one know you are taking it. of course, i expect to come back and attend to the whole business, but if i should not be heard from for a long time,--and if that is the case, you may be sure i am lost,--and you should get away, i will trust to your sister and you to get up an expedition to come back for it." ralph drew himself up as high as circumstances would permit. "captain," said he, "you may count on me. i'll keep an eye on those black fellows, and on anybody else who may come here." "very good," said the captain. "i am sure you will never forget that you are the guardian of all our fortunes." chapter xvii "a fine thing, no matter what happens" after the noonday meal, on the day of captain horn's departure, mrs. cliff went apart with maka and cheditafa, and there endeavored to find out, as best she might, the ideas and methods of the latter in regard to the matrimonial service. in spite of the combined efforts of the two, with their limited command of english, to make her understand how these things were done in the forests and wilds of the dark continent, she could not decide whether the forms of the episcopal church, those of the baptists, or those of the quakers, could be more easily assimilated with the previous notions of cheditafa on the subject. but having been married herself, she thought she knew very well what was needed, and so, without endeavoring to persuade the negro priest that his opinions regarding the marriage rites were all wrong, or to make him understand what sort of a wedding she would have had if they had all been in their own land, she endeavored to impress upon his mind the forms and phrases of a very simple ceremony, which she believed would embody all that was necessary. cheditafa was a man of considerable intelligence, and the feeling that he was about to perform such an important ceremony for the benefit of such a great man as captain horn filled his soul with pride and a strong desire to acquit himself creditably in this honorable function, and he was able before very long to satisfy mrs. cliff that, with maka's assistance as prompting clerk, he might be trusted to go through the ceremony without serious mistake. she was strongly of the opinion that if she conducted the marriage ceremony it would be far better in every way than such a performance by a coal-black heathen; but as she knew that her offices would not count for anything in a civilized world, whereas the heathen ministry might be considered satisfactory, she accepted the situation, and kept her opinions to herself. the wedding took place about six o'clock in the afternoon, on the plateau in front of the great stone face, at a spot where the projecting rocks cast a shade upon the heated ground. cheditafa, attired in the best suit of clothes which could be made up from contributions from all his fellow-countrymen present, stood on the edge of the line of shadow, his hands clasped, his head slightly bowed, his bright eyes glancing from side to side, and his face filled with an expression of anxiety to observe everything and make no mistakes. maka stood near him, and behind the two, in the brilliant sunlight, were grouped the other negroes, all very attentive and solemn, looking a little frightened, as if they were not quite sure that sacrifices were not customary on such occasions. captain horn stood, tall and erect, his jacket a little torn, but with an air of earnest dignity upon his handsome, sunburnt features, which, with his full dark beard and rather long hair, gave him the appearance of an old-time chieftain about to embark upon some momentous enterprise. by his side was edna markham, pale, and dressed in the simple gown in which she had left the ship, but as beautiful, in the eyes of mrs. cliff, as if she had been arrayed in orange-blossoms and white satin. [illustration: reverently the two answered the simple questions which were put to them.] reverently the two answered the simple questions which were put to them, and made the necessary promises, and slowly and carefully, and in very good english, cheditafa pronounced them man and wife. mrs. cliff then produced a marriage certificate, written with a pencil, as nearly as she could remember, in the words of her own document of that nature, on a leaf torn from the captain's note-book, and to this she signed cheditafa's name, to which the african, under her directions, affixed his mark. then ralph and mrs. cliff signed as witnesses, and the certificate was delivered to edna. "now," said the captain, "i will go aboard." the whole party, edna and the captain a little in the lead, walked down to the beach, where the boat lay, ready to be launched. during the short walk captain horn talked rapidly and earnestly to edna, confining his remarks, however, to directions and advice as to what should be done until he returned, or, still more important, as to what should be done if he did not return at all. when they reached the beach, the captain shook hands with edna, mrs. cliff, and ralph, and then, turning to cheditafa, he informed him that that lady, pointing to edna, was now the mistress of himself and mok, and that every word of command she gave them must be obeyed exactly as if he had given it to them himself. he was shortly coming back, he said, and when he saw them again, their reward should depend entirely upon the reports he should receive of their conduct. "but i know," said he, "that you are a good man, and that i can trust you, and i will hold you responsible for mok." this was the end of the leave-taking. the captain stepped into his boat and took the oars. then the four negroes, two on a side, ran out the little craft as far as possible through the surf, and then, when they had scrambled on board, the captain pulled out into smooth water. hoisting his little sail, and seating himself in the stern, with the tiller in his hand, he brought the boat round to the wind. once he turned toward shore and waved his hat, and then he sailed away toward the western sky. mrs. cliff and ralph walked together toward the caves, leaving edna alone upon the beach. "well," said ralph, "this is the first wedding i ever saw, but i must say it is rather different from my idea of that sort of thing. i thought that people always kissed at such affairs, and there was general jollification and cake, but this seemed more like a newfangled funeral, with the dear departed acting as his own charon and steering himself across the styx." "he might have kissed her," said mrs. cliff, thoughtfully. "but you see, ralph, everything had to be very different from ordinary weddings. it was a very peculiar case." "i should hope so," said the boy,--"the uncommoner the better. in fact, i shouldn't call it a wedding at all. it seemed more like taking a first degree in widowhood." "ralph," said mrs. cliff, "that is horrible. don't you ever say anything like that again. i hope you are not going to distress your sister with such remarks." "you need not say anything about edna!" he exclaimed. "i shall not worry her with any criticisms of the performance. the fact is, she will need cheering up, and if i can do it i will. she's captain now, and i'll stand up for her like a good fellow." edna stood on the beach, gazing out on the ocean illuminated by the rays of the setting sun, keeping her eyes fixed on the captain's boat until it became a mere speck. then, when it had vanished entirely among the lights and shades of the evening sea, she still stood a little while and watched. then she turned and slowly walked up to the plateau. everything there was just as she had known it for weeks. the great stone face seemed to smile in the last rays of the setting sun. mrs. cliff came to meet her, her face glowing with smiles, and ralph threw his arms around her neck and kissed her, without, however, saying a word about that sort of thing having been omitted in the ceremony of the afternoon. "my dear edna," exclaimed mrs. cliff, "from the bottom of my heart i congratulate you! no matter how we look at it, a rare piece of good fortune has come to you." edna gazed at her for a moment, and then she answered quietly, "oh, yes, it was a fine thing, no matter what happens. if he does not come back, i shall make a bold stroke for widowhood; and if he does come back, he is bound, after all this, to give me a good share of that treasure. so, you see, we have done the best we can do to be rich and happy, if we are not so unlucky as to perish among these rocks and sand." "she is almost as horrible as ralph," thought mrs. cliff, "but she will get over it." chapter xviii mrs. cliff is amazed after the captain set sail in his little boat, the party which he left behind him lived on in an uneventful, uninteresting manner, which, gradually, day by day, threw a shadow over the spirits of each one of them. ralph, who always slept in the outer chamber of the caves, had been a very faithful guardian of the captain's treasure. no one, not even himself, had gone near it, and he never went up to the rocky promontory on which he had raised his signal-pole without knowing that the two negroes were at a distance from the caves, or within his sight. for a day or two after the captain's departure edna was very quiet, with a fancy for going off by herself. but she soon threw off this dangerous disposition, and took up her old profession of teacher, with ralph as the scholar, and mathematics as the study. they had no books nor even paper, but the rules and principles of her specialty were fresh in her mind, and with a pointed stick on a smooth stretch of sand diagrams were drawn and problems worked out. this occupation was a most excellent thing for edna and her brother, but it did not help mrs. cliff to endure with patience the weary days of waiting. she had nothing to read, nothing to do, very often no one to talk to, and she would probably have fallen into a state of nervous melancholy had not edna persuaded her to devote an hour or two each day to missionary work with mok and cheditafa. this mrs. cliff cheerfully undertook. she was a conscientious woman, and her methods of teaching were peculiar. she had an earnest desire to do the greatest amount of good with these poor, ignorant negroes, but, at the same time, she did not wish to do injury to any one else. the conviction forced itself upon her that if she absolutely converted cheditafa from the errors of his native religion, she might in some way invalidate the marriage ceremony which he had performed. "if he should truly come to believe," she said to herself, "that he had no right to marry the captain and edna, his conscience might make him go back on the whole business, and everything that we have done would be undone. i don't want him to remain a heathen any longer than it can possibly be helped, but i must be careful not to set his priesthood entirely aside until edna's position is fixed and settled. when the captain comes back, and we all get home, they must be married regularly; but if he never comes back, then i must try to make cheditafa understand that the marriage is just as binding as any other kind, and that any change of religious opinion that he may undergo will have no effect upon it." accordingly, while she confined her religious teachings to very general principles, her moral teachings were founded upon the strictest code, and included cleanliness and all the household virtues, not excepting the proper care of such garments as an indigent human being in a tropical climate might happen to possess. in spite, however, of this occupation, mrs. cliffs spirits were not buoyant. "i believe," she thought, "things would have been more cheerful if they had not married; but then, of course, we ought to be willing to sacrifice cheerfulness at present to future prosperity." it was more than a month after the departure of the captain that ralph, from his point of observation, perceived a sail upon the horizon. he had seen sails there before, but they never grew any larger, and generally soon disappeared, for it would lengthen the course of any coasting-vessel to approach this shore. but the sail that ralph saw now grew larger and larger, and, with the aid of his little spy-glass, it was not long before he made up his mind that it was coming toward him. then up went his signal-flag, and, with a loud hurrah, down went he to shout out the glad news. twenty minutes later it was evident to the anxiously peering eyes of every one of the party that the ship was actually approaching the shore, and in the heart of each one of them there was a bounding delight in the feeling that, after all these days of weary waiting, the captain was coming back. as the ship drew nearer and nearer, she showed herself to be a large vessel--a handsome bark. about half a mile from the shore, she lay to, and very soon a boat was lowered. edna's heart beat rapidly and her face flushed as, with ralph's spy-glass to her eyes, she scanned the people in the boat as it pulled away from the ship. "can you make out the captain?" cried ralph, at her side. she shook her head, and handed him the glass. for full five minutes the boy peered through it, and then he lowered the glass. "edna," said he, "he isn't in it." "what!" exclaimed mrs. cliff, "do you mean to say that the captain is not in that boat?" "i am sure of it," said ralph. "and if he isn't in the boat, of course he is not on the ship. perhaps he did not have anything to do with that vessel's coming here. it may have been tacking in this direction, and so come near enough for people to see my signal." "don't suppose things," said edna, a little sharply. "wait until the boat comes in, and then we will know all about it.--here, cheditafa," said she, "you and mok go out into the water and help run that boat ashore as soon as it is near enough." it was a large boat containing five men, and when it had been run up on the sand, and its occupants had stepped out, the man at the tiller, who proved to be the second mate of the bark, came forward and touched his hat. as he did so, no sensible person could have imagined that he had accidentally discovered them. his manner plainly showed that he had expected to find them there. the conviction that this was so made the blood run cold in edna's veins. why had not the captain come himself? the man in command of the boat advanced toward the two ladies, looking from one to the other as he did so. then, taking a letter from the pocket of his jacket, he presented it to edna. "mrs. horn, i believe," he said. "here is a letter from your husband." now, it so happened that to mrs. cliff, to edna, and to ralph this recognition of matrimonial status seemed to possess more force and value than the marriage ceremony itself. edna's face grew as red as roses as she took the letter. "from my husband," she said; and then, without further remark, she stepped aside to read it. but mrs. cliff and ralph could not wait for the reading of the letter. they closed upon the mate, and, each speaking at the same moment, demanded of him what had happened to captain horn, why he had not come himself, where he was now, was this ship to take them away, and a dozen similar questions. the good mariner smiled at their impatience, but could not wonder at it, and proceeded to tell them all he knew about captain horn and his plans. the captain, he said, had arrived at callao some time since, and immediately endeavored to get a vessel in which to go after the party he had left, but was unable to do so. there was nothing in port which answered his purpose. the captain seemed to be very particular about the craft in which he would be willing to trust his wife and the rest of the party. "and after having seen mrs. horn," the mate politely added, "and you two, i don't wonder he was particular. when captain horn found that the bark out there, the mary bartlett, would sail in a week for acapulco, mexico, he induced the agents of the company owning her to allow her to stop to take off the shipwrecked party and carry them to that port, from which they could easily get to the united states." "but why, in the name of common sense," almost screamed mrs. cliff, "didn't he come himself? why should he stay behind, and send a ship to take us off?" "that, madam," said the mate, "i do not know. i have met captain horn before, for he is well known on this coast, and i know he is a man who understands how to attend to his own business, and, therefore, i suppose he has good reasons for what he has done--which reasons, no doubt, he has mentioned in his letter to his wife. all i can tell you is that, after he had had a good deal of trouble with the agents, we were at last ordered to touch here. he could not give us the exact latitude and longitude of this spot, but as his boat kept on a straight westward course after he left here, he got a good idea of the latitude from the mexican brig which he boarded three days afterwards. then he gave us a plan of the coast, which helped us very much, and soon after we got within sight of land, our lookout spied that signal you put up. so here we are; and i have orders to take you all off just as soon as possible, for we must not lie here a minute longer than is necessary. i do not suppose that, under the circumstances, you have much baggage to take away with you, and i shall have to ask you to get ready to leave as soon as you can." "all right," cried ralph. "it won't take us long to get ready." but mrs. cliff answered never a word. in fact, the injunction to prepare to leave had fallen unheeded upon her ear. her mind was completely occupied entirely with one question: why did not the captain come himself? she hastened to edna, who had finished reading the letter, and now stood silent, holding it in her hand. "what does he say?" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "what are his reasons for staying away? what does he tell you about his plans? read us the letter. you can leave out all the loving and confidential parts, but give us his explanations. i never was so anxious to know anything in all my life." "i will read you the whole of it," said edna. "here, ralph." her brother came running up. "that man is in an awful hurry to get away," he said. "we ought to go up to the caves and get our things." "stay just where you are," said mrs. cliff. "before we do anything else, we must know what captain horn intends to do, and what he wants us to do." "that's so!" cried ralph, suddenly remembering his guardianship. "we ought to know what he says about leaving that mound. read away, edna." the three stood at some little distance from the sailors, who were now talking with cheditafa, and edna read the letter aloud: "lima, may , . "my dear wife: i reached this city about ten days ago. when i left you all i did not sail down the coast, but stood directly out to sea. my object was to reach a shipping-port, and to do this my best plan was to get into the track of coasting-vessels. this plan worked well, and in three days we were picked up by a mexican guano brig, and were taken to callao, which is the port of lima. we all arrived in good health and condition. "this letter will be brought to you by the bark mary bartlett, which vessel i have engaged to stop for you, and take you and the whole party to acapulco, which is the port of the city of mexico, from which place i advise you to go as soon as possible to san francisco. i have paid the passage of all of you to acapulco, and i inclose a draft for one thousand dollars for your expenses. i would advise you to go to the palmetto hotel, which is a good family house, and i will write to you there and send another draft. in fact, i expect you will find my letter when you arrive, for the mail-steamer will probably reach san francisco before you do. please write to me as soon as you get there, and address me here, care of nasco, parmley & co." an exclamation of impatience here escaped from mrs. cliff. in her opinion, the reasons for the non-appearance of the captain should, have been the first thing in the letter. "when i reached lima, which is six miles from callao," the letter continued, "i disposed of some of the property i brought with me, and expect to sell it all before long. being known as a californian, i find no difficulty in disposing of my property, which is in demand here, and in a very short time i shall have turned the whole of it into drafts or cash. there is a vessel expected here shortly which i shall be able to charter, and as soon as i can do so i shall sail in her to attend to the disposition of the rest of my property. i shall write as frequently as possible, and keep you informed of my operations. "of course, you understand that i could not go on the mary bartlett to join you and accompany you to acapulco, for that would have involved too great a loss of time. my business must be attended to without delay, and i can get the vessel i want here. "the people of the _mary bartlett_ will not want to wait any longer than can be helped, so you would all better get your baggage together as soon as possible and go on board. the two negroes will bring down your baggage, so there will be no need for any of the sailors to go up to the caves. tell ralph not to forget the charge i gave him if they do go up. when you have taken away your clothes, you can leave just as they are the cooking-utensils, the blankets, and _everything else._ i will write to you much more fully by mail. cannot do so now. i hope you may all have a quick and safe voyage, and that i may hear from you immediately after you reach acapulco. i hope most earnestly that you have all kept well, and that no misfortune has happened to any of you. i shall wait with anxiety your letter from acapulco. let ralph write and make his report. i will ask you to stay in san francisco until more letters have passed and plans are arranged. until further notice, please give mrs. cliff one fourth of all moneys i send. i cannot insist, of course, upon her staying in san francisco, but i would advise her to do so until things are more settled. "in haste, your husband, "philip horn." "upon my word!" ejaculated mrs. cliff, "a most remarkable letter! it might have been written to a clerk! no one would suppose it the first letter of a man to his bride! excuse me, edna, for speaking so plainly, but i must say i am shocked. he is very particular to call you his wife and say he is your husband, and in that way he makes the letter a valuable piece of testimony if he never turns up, but--well, no matter." "he is mighty careful," said ralph, "not to say anything about the gold. he speaks of his property as if it might be panama stock or something like that. he is awfully wary." "you see," said edna, speaking in a low voice, "this letter was sent by private hands, and by people who were coming to the spot where his property is, and, of course, it would not do to say anything that would give any hint of the treasure here. when he writes by mail, he can speak more plainly." "i hope he may speak more plainly in another way," said mrs. cliff. "and now let us go up and get our things together. i am a good deal more amazed by the letter than i was by the ship." chapter xix left behind "ralph," said edna, as they were hurrying up to the caves, "you must do everything you can to keep those sailors from wandering into the lake basin. they are very different from the negroes, and will want to explore every part of it." "oh, i have thought of all that," said ralph, "and i am now going to run ahead and smash the lantern. they won't be so likely to go poking around in the dark." "but they may have candles or matches," said edna. "we must try to keep them out of the big cave." ralph did not stop to answer, but ran as fast as his legs would carry him to the plateau. the rest of the party followed, edna first, then the negroes, and after them mrs. cliff, who could not imagine why edna should be in such a hurry. the sailors, having secured their boat, came straggling after the rest. when edna reached the entrance to the caves, she was met by her brother, so much out of breath that he could hardly speak. "you needn't go to your room to get your things," he exclaimed. "i have gathered them all up, your bag, too, and i have tumbled them over the wall in the entrance back here. you must get over as quick as you can. that will be your room now, and i will tell the sailors, if they go poking around, that you are in there getting ready to leave, and then, of course, they can't pass along the passage." "that is a fine idea," said edna, as she followed him. "you are getting very sharp-witted, ralph." "now, then," said he, as he helped her over the wall, "take just as long as you can to get your things ready." "it can't take me very long," said edna. "i have no clothes to change, and only a few things to put in my bag. i don't believe you have got them all, anyway." "but you must make it take a long time," said he. "you must not get through until every sailor has gone. you and i must be the last ones to leave the caves." "all right," said edna, as she disappeared behind the wall. when mrs. cliff arrived, she was met by ralph, who explained the state of affairs, and although that lady was a good deal annoyed at the scattered condition in which she found her effects, she accepted the situation. the mate and his men were much interested in the caves and the great stone face, and, as might have been expected, every one of them wanted to know where the narrow passage led. but as ralph was on hand to inform them that it was the entrance to mrs. horn's apartment, they could do no more than look along its dusky length, and perhaps wonder why mrs. horn should have selected a cave which must be dark, when there were others which were well lighted. mrs. cliff was soon ready, and explained to the inquiring mate her notion that these caves were used for religious purposes, and that the stone face was an ancient idol. in fact, the good lady believed this, but she did not state that she thought it likely that the sculptured countenance was a sort of a cashier idol, whose duty it was to protect treasure. edna, behind the stone barrier, had put her things in her bag, though she was not sure she had found all of them in the gloom, and she waited a long time, so it seemed to her, for ralph's summons to come forth. but although the boy came to the wall several times, ostensibly to ask if she were not ready, yet he really told her to stay where she was, for the sailors were not yet gone. but at last he came with the welcome news that every one had departed, and they soon came out into the daylight. "if anything is lost, charge it to me," said ralph to mrs. cliff and his sister, as they hurried away. "i can tell you, if i had not thought of that way of keeping those sailors out of the passage, they would have swarmed over that lake bed, each one of them with a box of matches in his pocket; and if they had found that mound, i wouldn't give two cents for the gold they would have left in it. it wouldn't have been of any use to tell them it was the captain's property. they would have been there, and he wasn't, and i expect the mate would have been as bad as any of them." "you are a good fellow, ralph," said mrs. cliff, "and i hope you will grow up to be an administrator, or something of the kind. i don't suppose there was ever another boy in the world who had so much wealth in charge." "you can't imagine," exclaimed ralph, "how i hate to go away and leave it! there is no knowing when the captain will get here, nor who will drop in on the place before he does. i tell you, edna, i believe it would be a good plan for me to stay here with those two black fellows, and wait for the captain. you two could go on the ship, and write to him. i am sure he would be glad to know i am keeping guard here, and i don't know any better fun than to be on hand when he unearths the treasure. there's no knowing what is at the bottom of that mound." "nonsense!" exclaimed edna. "you can put that idea out of your head instantly. i would not think of going away and leaving you here. if the captain had wanted you to stay, he would have said so." "if the captain wanted!" sarcastically exclaimed ralph. "i am tired of hearing what the captain wants. i hope the time will soon come when those yellow bars of gold will be divided up, and then i can do what i like without considering what he likes." mrs. cliff could not help a sigh. "dear me!" said she, "i do most earnestly hope that time may come. but we are leaving it all behind us, and whether we will ever hear of it again nobody knows." one hour after this edna and mrs. cliff were standing on the deck of the mary bartlett, watching the plateau of the great stone face as it slowly sank into the horizon. "edna," said the elder lady, "i have liked you ever since i have known you, and i expect to like you as long as i live, but i must say that, for an intelligent person, you have the most colorless character i have ever seen. whatever comes to pass, you receive it as quietly and calmly as if it were just what you expected and what you happened to want, and yet, as long as i have known you, you have not had anything you wanted." "you are mistaken there," said edna. "i have got something i want." "and what may that be?" asked the other. "captain horn," said edna. mrs. cliff laughed a little scornfully. "if you are ever going to get any color out of your possession of him," she said, "he's got to very much change the style of his letter-writing. he has given you his name and some of his money, and may give you more, but i must say i am very much disappointed in captain horn." edna turned suddenly upon her companion. "color!" she exclaimed, but she did not finish her remark, for ralph came running aft. "a queer thing has happened," said he: "a sailor is missing, and he is one of the men who went on shore for us. they don't know what's become of him, for the mate is sure he brought all his men back with him, and so am i, for i counted them to see that there were no stragglers left, and all the people who were in that boat came on board. they think he may have fallen overboard after the ship sailed, but nobody heard a splash." "poor fellow!" exclaimed mrs. cliff, "and he was one of those who came to save us!" at this moment a wet and bedraggled sailor, almost exhausted with a swim of nearly a mile, staggered upon the beach, and fell down upon the sand near the spot from which the mary bartlett's boat had recently been pushed off. when, an hour before, he had slipped down the side of the ship, he had swum under water as long as his breath held out, and had dived again as soon as he had filled his lungs. then he had floated on his back, paddling along with little but his face above the surface of the waves, until he had thought it safe to turn over and strike out for land. it had been a long pull, and the surf had treated him badly, but he was safe on shore at last, and in a few minutes he was sound asleep, stretched upon the sand. toward the end of the afternoon he awoke and rose to his feet. the warm sand, the desiccating air, and the sun had dried his clothes, and his nap had refreshed him. he was a sharp-faced, quick-eyed man, a scotchman, and the first thing he did was to shade his face with his hands and look out over the sea. then he turned, with a shrug of his shoulders and a grunt. "she's gone," said he, "and i will be up to them caves." after a dozen steps he gave another shrug. "humph!" said he, "those fools! do they think everybody is blind? they left victuals, they left cooking-things. blasted careful they were to leave matches and candles in a tin box. i watched them. if everybody else was blind, i kenned they expected somebody was comin' back. that captain, that blasted captain, i'll wager! wi' sae much business on his hands, he couldna sail wi' us to show us where his wife was stranded!" for fifty yards more he plodded along, looking from side to side at the rocks and sand. "a dreary place and lonely," thought he, "and i can peer out things at me ease. i'll find out what's at the end o' that dark alley. they were so fearsome that we'd go into her room. her room, indeed! when the other woman had a big lighted cave! they expected somebody to come back, did they? well, blast their eyes, he's here!" chapter xx at the rackbirds' cove it was about six weeks after the _mary bartlett_ had sailed away from that desolate spot on the coast of peru from which she had taken the shipwrecked party, that the great stone face might have seen, if its wide-open eyes had been capable of vision, a small schooner beating in toward shore. this vessel, which was manned by a chilian captain, a mate, and four men, and was a somewhat dirty and altogether disagreeable craft, carried captain horn, his four negroes, and three hundred and thirty bags of guano. in good truth the captain was coming back to get the gold, or as much of it as he could take away with him. but his apparent purpose was to establish on this desert coast a depot for which he would have nothing to pay for rent and storage, and where he would be able to deposit, from time to time, such guano as he had been able to purchase at a bargain at two of the guano islands, until he should have enough to make it worth while for a large vessel, trading with the united states or mexico, to touch here and take on board his accumulated stock of odorous merchandise. it would be difficult--in fact, almost impossible--to land a cargo at the point near the caves where the captain and his party first ran their boats ashore, nor did the captain in the least desire to establish his depot at a point so dangerously near the golden object of his undertaking. but the little bay which had been the harbor of the rackbirds exactly suited his purpose, and here it was that he intended to land his bags of guano. he had brought with him on the vessel suitable timber with which to build a small pier, and he carried also a lighter, or a big scow, in which the cargo would be conveyed from the anchored schooner to the pier. it seemed quite evident that the captain intended to establish himself in a somewhat permanent manner as a trader in guano. he had a small tent and a good stock of provisions, and, from the way he went to work and set his men to work, it was easy to see that he had thoroughly planned and arranged all the details of his enterprise. it was nearly dark when the schooner dropped her anchor, and early the next morning all available hands were set to work to build the pier, and, when it was finished, the landing of the cargo was immediately begun. some of the sailors wandered about a little, when they had odd moments to spare, but they had seen such dreary coasts before, and would rather rest than ramble. but wherever they did happen to go, not one of them ever got away from the eye of captain horn. the negroes evinced no desire to visit the cave, and maka had been ordered by the captain to say nothing about it to the sailors. there was no difficulty in obeying this order, for these rough fellows, as much landsmen as mariners, had a great contempt for the black men, and had little to do with them. as captain horn informed maka, he had heard from his friends, who had arrived in safety at acapulco; therefore there was no need for wasting time in visiting their old habitation. in that dry and rainless region a roof to cover the captain's stock in trade was not necessary, and the bags were placed upon a level spot on the sands, in long double rows, each bag on end, gently leaning against its opposite neighbor, and between the double rows there was room to walk. the chilian captain was greatly pleased with this arrangement. "i see well," said he, in bad spanish, "that this business is not new to you. a ship's crew can land and carry away these bags without tumbling over each other. it is a grand thing to have a storehouse with a floor as wide as many acres." a portion of the bags, however, were arranged in a different manner. they were placed in a circle two bags deep, inclosing a space about ten feet in diameter. this, captain horn explained, he intended as a sort of little fort, in which the man left in charge could defend himself and the property, in case marauders should land upon the coast. "you don't intend," exclaimed the chilian captain, "that you will leave a guard here! nobody would have cause to come near the spot from either land or sea, and you might well leave your guano here for a year or more, and come back and find it." "no," said captain horn, "i can't trust to that. a coasting-vessel might put in here for water. some of them may know that there is a stream here, and with this convenient pier, and a cargo ready to their hands, my guano would be in danger. no, sir. i intend to send you off to-morrow, if the wind is favorable, for the second cargo for which we have contracted, and i shall stay here and guard my warehouse." "what!" exclaimed the chilian, "alone?" "why not?" said captain horn. "our force is small, and we can only spare one man. in loading the schooner on this trip, i would be the least useful man on board, and, besides, do you think there is any one among you who would volunteer to stay here instead of me?" the chilian laughed and shook his head. "but what can one man do," said he, "to defend all this, if there should be need?" "oh, i don't intend to defend it," said the other. "the point is to have somebody here to claim it in case a coaster should touch here. i don't expect to be murdered for the sake of a lot of guano. but i shall keep my two rifles and other arms inside that little fort, and if i should see any signs of rascality i shall jump inside and talk over the guano-bags, and i am a good shot." the chilian shrugged his shoulders. "if i stayed here alone," said he, "i should be afraid of nothing but the devil, and i am sure he would come to me, with all his angels. but you are different from me." "yes," said captain horn, "i don't mind the devil. i have often camped out by myself, and i have not seen him yet." when maka heard that the captain intended staying alone, he was greatly disturbed. if the captain had not built the little fort with the guano-bags, he would have begged to be allowed to remain with him, but those defensive works had greatly alarmed him, for they made him believe that the captain feared that some of the rackbirds might come back. he had had a great deal of talk with the other negroes about those bandits, and he was fully impressed with their capacity for atrocity. it grieved his soul to think that the captain would stay here alone, but the captain was a man who could defend himself against half a dozen rackbirds, while he knew very well that he would not be a match for half a one. with tears in his eyes, he begged captain horn not to stay, for rackbirds would not steal guano, even if any of them should return. but his entreaties were of no avail. captain horn explained the matter to him, and tried to make him understand that it was as a claimant, more than as a defender of his property, that he remained, and that there was not the smallest reason to suspect any rackbirds or other source of danger. the negro saw that the captain had made up his mind, and mournfully joined his fellows. in half an hour, however, he came back to the captain and offered to stay with him until the schooner should return. if captain horn had known the terrible mental struggle which had preceded this offer, he would have been more grateful to maka than he had ever yet been to any human being, but he did not know it, and declined the proposition pleasantly but firmly. "you are wanted on the schooner," said he, "for none of the rest can cook, and you are not wanted here, so you must go with the others; and when you come back with the second load of guano, it will not be long before the ship which i have engaged to take away the guano will touch here, and then we will all go north together." maka smiled, and tried to be satisfied. he and the other negroes had been greatly grieved that the captain had not seen fit to go north from callao, and take them with him. their one desire was to get away from this region, so full of horrors to them, as soon as possible. but they had come to the conclusion that, as the captain had lost his ship, he must be poor, and that it was necessary for him to make a little money before he returned to the land of his home. fortune was on the captain's side the next day, for the wind was favorable, and the captain of the schooner was very willing to start. if that crew, with nothing to do, had been compelled by adverse weather to remain in that little cove for a day or more, it might have been very difficult indeed for captain horn to prevent them from wandering into the surrounding country, and what might have happened had they chanced to wander into the cave made the captain shudder to conjecture. he had carefully considered this danger, and on the voyage he had made several plans by which he could keep the men at work, in case they were obliged to remain in the cove after the cargo had been landed. happily, however, none of these schemes was necessary, and the next day, with a western wind, and at the beginning of the ebb-tide, the schooner sailed away for another island where captain horn had purchased guano, leaving him alone upon the sandy beach, apparently as calm and cool as usual, but actually filled with turbulent delight at seeing them depart. chapter xxi in the gates when the topmasts of the chilian schooner had disappeared below the horizon line, with no reason to suppose that the schooner would put back again, captain horn started for the caves. had he obeyed his instincts, he would have begun to stroll along the beach as soon as the vessel had weighed anchor. but even now, as he hurried on, he walked prudently, keeping close to the water, so that the surf might wash out his footsteps as fast as he made them. he climbed over the two ridges to the north of rackbirds' cove, and then made his way along the stretch of sand which extended to the spot where the party had landed when he first reached this coast. he stopped and looked about him, and then, in fancy, he saw edna standing upon the beach, her face pale, her eyes large and supernaturally dark, and behind her mrs. cliff and the boy and the two negroes. not until this moment had he felt that he was alone. but now there came a great desire to speak and be spoken to, and yet that very morning he had spoken and listened as much as had suited him. as he walked up the rising ground toward the caves, that ground he had traversed so often when this place had been, to all intents and purposes, his home, where there had been voices and movement and life, the sense of desertion grew upon him--not only desertion of the place, but of himself. when he had opened his eyes, that morning, his overpowering desire had been that not an hour of daylight should pass before he should be left alone, and yet now his heart sank at the feeling that he was here and no one was with him. when the captain had approached within a few yards of the great stone face, his brows were slowly knitted. "this is carelessness," he said to himself. "i did not expect it of them. i told them to leave the utensils, but i did not suppose that they would leave them outside. no matter how much they were hurried in going away, they should have put these things into the caves. a passing indian might have been afraid to go into that dark hole, but to leave those tin things there is the same as hanging out a sign to show that people lived inside." instantly the captain gathered up the tin pan and tin plates, and looked about him to see if there was anything else which should be put out of sight. he did find something else. it was a little, short, black, wooden pipe which was lying on a stone. he picked it up in surprise. neither maka nor cheditafa smoked, and it could not have belonged to the boy. "perhaps," thought the captain, "one of the sailors from the _mary bartlett_ may have left it. yes, that must have been the case. but sailors do not often leave their pipes behind them, nor should the officer in charge have allowed them to lounge about and smoke. but it must have been one of those sailors who left it here. i am glad i am the one to find these things." the captain now entered the opening to the caves. passing along until he reached the room which he had once occupied, there he saw his rough pallet on the ground, drawn close to the door, however. the captain knew that the rest of his party had gone away in a great hurry, but to his orderly mariner's mind it seemed strange that they should have left things in such disorder. he could not stop to consider these trifles now, however, and going to the end of the passage, he climbed over the low wall and entered the cave of the lake. when he lighted the lantern he had brought with him, he saw it as he had left it, dry, or even drier than before, for the few pools which had remained after the main body of water had run off had disappeared, probably evaporated. he hurried on toward the mound in the distant recess of the cave. on the way, his foot struck something which rattled, and holding down his lantern to see what it was, he perceived an old tin cup. "confound it!" he exclaimed. "this is too careless! did the boy intend to make a regular trail from the outside entrance to the mound? i suppose he brought that cup here to dip up water, and forgot it. i must take it with me when i go back." he went on, throwing the light of the lantern on the ground before him, for he had now reached a part of the cave which was entirely dark. suddenly something on the ground attracted his attention. it was bright--it shone as if it were a little pale flame of a candle. he sprang toward it, he picked it up. it was one of the bars of gold he had seen in the mound. "could i have dropped this?" he ejaculated. he slipped the little bar into his pocket, and then, his heart beginning to beat rapidly, he advanced, with his lantern close to the rocky floor. presently he saw two other pieces of gold, and then, a little farther on, the end of a candle, so small that it could scarcely have been held by the fingers. he picked up this and stared at it. it was a commonplace candle-end, but the sight of it sent a chill through him from head to foot. it must have been dropped by some one who could hold it no longer. he pressed on, his light still sweeping the floor. he found no more gold nor pieces of candle, but here and there he perceived the ends of burnt wooden matches. going on, he found more matches, two or three with the heads broken off and unburnt. in a few moments the mound loomed up out of the darkness like a spectral dome, and, looking no more upon the ground, the captain ran toward it. by means of the stony projections he quickly mounted to the top, and there the sight he saw almost made him drop his lantern. the great lid of the mound had been moved and was now awry, leaving about one half of the opening exposed. in one great gasp the captain's breath seemed to leave him, but he was a man of strong nerves, and quickly recovered himself; but even then he did not lift his lantern so that he could look into the interior of the mound. for a few moments he shut his eyes. he did not dare even to look. but then his courage came back, and holding his lantern over the opening, he gazed down into the mound, and it seemed to his rapid glance that there was as much gold in it as when he last saw it. the discovery that the treasure was still there had almost as much effect upon the captain as if he had found the mound empty. he grew so faint that he felt he could not maintain his hold upon the top of the mound, and quickly descended, half sliding, to the bottom. there he sat down, his lantern by his side. when his strength came back to him,--and he could not have told any one how long it was before this happened,--the first thing he did was to feel for his box of matches, and finding them safe in his waistcoat pocket, he extinguished the lantern. he must not be discovered, if there should be any one to discover him. now the captain began to think as fiercely and rapidly as a man's mind could be made to work. some one had been there. some one had taken away gold from that mound--how much or how little, it did not matter. some one besides himself had had access to the treasure! his suspicions fell upon ralph, chiefly because his most earnest desire at that moment was that ralph might be the offender. if he could have believed that he would have been happy. it must have been that the boy was not willing to go away and leave all that gold, feeling that perhaps he and his sister might never possess any of it, and that just before leaving he had made a hurried visit to the mound. but the more the captain thought of this, the less probable it became. he was almost sure that ralph could not have lifted that great mass of stone which formed the lid covering the opening of the mound, for it had required all his own strength to do it; and then, if anything of this sort had really happened, the letters he had received from edna and the boy must have been most carefully written with the intention to deceive him. [illustration: holding his lantern over the opening he gazed down into the mound.] the letter from edna, which in tone and style was a close imitation of his own to her, had been a strictly business communication. it told everything which happened after the arrival of the mary bartlett, and gave him no reason to suppose that any one could have had a chance to pillage the mound. ralph's letter had been even more definite. it was constructed like an official report, and when the captain had read it, he had thought that the boy had probably taken great pride in its preparation. it was as guardian of the treasure mound that ralph wrote, and his remarks were almost entirely confined to this important trust. he briefly reported to the captain that, since his departure, no one had been in the recess of the cave where the mound was situated, and he described in detail the plan by which he had established edna behind the wall in the passage, so as to prevent any of the sailors from the ship from making explorations. he also stated that everything had been left in as high a condition of safety as it was possible to leave it, but that, if his sister had been willing, he would most certainly have remained behind, with the two negroes, until the captain's return. much as he wished to think otherwise, captain horn could not prevail upon himself to believe that ralph could have written such a letter after a dishonorable and reckless visit to the mound. it was possible that one or both of the negroes had discovered the mound, but it was difficult to believe that they would have dared to venture into that awful cavern, even if the vigilance of edna, mrs. cliff, and the boy had given them an opportunity, and edna had written that the two men had always slept outside the caves, and had had no call to enter them. furthermore, if cheditafa had found the treasure, why should he keep it a secret? he would most probably have considered it an original discovery, and would have spoken of it to the others. why should he be willing that they should all go away and leave so much wealth behind them? the chief danger, in case cheditafa had found the treasure, was that he would talk about it in mexico or the united states. but, in spite of the hazards to which such disclosures might expose his fortunes, the captain would have preferred that the black men should have been pilferers than that other men should have been discoverers. but who else could have discovered it? who could have been there? who could have gone away? there was but one reasonable supposition, and that was that one or more of the rackbirds, who had been away from their camp at the time when their fellow-miscreants were swept away by the flood, had come back, and in searching for their comrades, or some traces of them, had made their way to the caves. it was quite possible, and further it was quite probable, that the man or men who had found that mound might still be here or in the neighborhood. as soon as this idea came into the mind of the captain, he prepared for action. this was a question which must be resolved if he could do it, and without loss of time. lighting his lantern,--for in that black darkness it was impossible for him to find his way without it, although it might make him a mark for some concealed foe,--the captain quickly made his way out of the lake cavern, and, leaving his lantern near the little wall, he proceeded, with a loaded pistol in his hand, to make an examination of the caves which he and his party had occupied. he had already looked into the first compartment, but stopping at the pallet which lay almost at the passage of the doorway, he stood and regarded it. then he stepped over it, and looked around the little room. the pallet of blankets and rugs which ralph had used was not there. then the captain stepped into the next room, and, to his surprise, he found this as bare of everything as if it had never been used as a sleeping-apartment. he now hurried back to the first room, and examined the pallet, which, when he had first been looking at it, he had thought to be somewhat different from what it had been when he had used it. he now found that it was composed of all the rugs and blankets which had previously made up the beds of all the party. the captain ground his teeth. "there can be no doubt of it," he said. "some one has been here since they left, and has slept in these caves." at this moment he remembered the innermost cave, the large compartment which was roofless, and which, in his excitement, he had forgotten. perhaps the man who slept on the pallet was in there at this minute. how reckless he had been! to what danger he had exposed himself! with his pistol cocked, the captain advanced cautiously toward the innermost compartment. putting his head in at the doorway, he glanced up, down, and around. he called out, "who's here?" and then he entered, and looked around, and behind each of the massive pieces of rock with which the floor was strewn. no one answered, and he saw no one. but he saw something which made him stare. on the ground, at one side of the entrance to this compartment, were five or six pieces of rock about a foot high, placed in a small circle so that their tops came near enough together to support a tin kettle which was resting upon them. under the kettle, in the centre of the rocks, was a pile of burnt leaves and sticks. "here he has cooked his meals," said the captain--for the pallet made up of all the others had convinced him that it had been one man who had been here after his party had left. "he stayed long enough to cook his meals and sleep," thought the captain. "i'll look into this provision business." passing through the other rooms, he went to a deep niche in the wall of the entrance passage where his party had kept their stores, and where edna had written him they had left provisions enough for the immediate use of himself and the men who should return. here he found tin cans tumbled about at the bottom of the niche, and every one of them absolutely empty. on a little ledge stood a tin box in which they had kept the matches and candles. the box was open, but there was nothing in it. on the floor near by was a tin biscuit-box, crushed nearly flat, as if some one had stamped upon it. "he has eaten everything that was left," said the captain, "and he has been starved out. very likely, too, he got out of water, for, of course, those pools would dry up, and it is not likely he found the stream outside." now the captain let down the hammer of his revolver, and put it in his belt. he felt sure that the man was not here. being out of provisions, he had to go away, but where he had gone to was useless to conjecture. of another thing the captain was now convinced: the intruder had not been a rackbird, for, while waiting for the disappearance of the chilian schooner, he had gone over to the concealed storehouse of the bandits, and had found it just as he had left it on his last visit, with a considerable quantity of stores remaining in it. if the man had known of the rackbirds' camp and this storehouse, it would not have been necessary for him to consume every crumb and vestige of food which had been left in these caves. "no," said the captain, "it could not have been a rackbird, but who he was, and where he has gone, is beyond my comprehension." chapter xxii a pack-mule when captain horn felt quite sure that it was not ralph, that it was not cheditafa, that it was not a rackbird, who had visited the treasure mound, he stood and reflected. what had happened was a great misfortune,--possibly it was a great danger,--but it was no use standing there thinking about it. his reason could not help him; it had done for him all that it could, and it would be foolish to waste time in looking for the man, for it was plain enough that he had gone away. of course, he had taken some gold with him, but that did not matter much. the danger was that he or others might come back for more, but this could not be prevented, and it was needless to consider it. the captain had come to this deserted shore for a purpose, and it was his duty, without loss of time, to go to work and carry out that purpose. if in any way he should be interfered with, he would meet that interference as well as he could, but until it came he would go on with his work. having come to this conclusion, he got over the wall, lighted his lantern, and proceeded to the mound. on his way he passed the tin cup, which he had forgotten to pick up, but now he merely kicked it out of the way. "if the man comes back," he thought, "he knows the way. there is no need of concealing anything." when the captain had reached the top of the mound, he moved the stone lid so that the aperture was entirely uncovered. then he looked down upon the mass of dull yellow bars. he could not perceive any apparent diminution of their numbers. "he must have filled his pockets," the captain thought, "and so full that some of them dropped out. well, let him go, and if he ventures back here, we shall have it out between us. in the meantime, i will do what i can." the captain now took from the pocket of his jacket two small canvas bags, which he had had made for this purpose, and proceeded to fill one of them with the gold bars, lifting the bag, every now and then, to try its weight. when he thought it heavy enough, he tied up the end very firmly, and then packed the other, as nearly as possible, to the same extent. then he got down, and laying one of the bags over each shoulder, he walked about to see if he could easily bear their weight. "that is about right," he said to himself. "i will count them when i take them out." then, putting them down, he went up for his lantern. he was about to close the lid of the mound, but he reflected that this would be of no use. it had been open nobody knew how long, and might as well remain so. he was coming back as often as he could, and it would be a tax upon his strength to lift that heavy lid every time. so he left the treasures of the incas open to the air under the black roof of the cavern, and, with his lantern in his hand and a bag of gold on each shoulder, he left the cave of the lake, and then, concealing his lantern, he walked down to the sea. before he reached it he had thoroughly scanned the ocean, but not a sign of a ship could be seen. walking along the sands, and keeping, as before, close to the curving line of water thrown up by the surf, he said to himself: "i must have my eyes and ears open, but i am not going to be nervous or fidgety. i came here to be a pack-mule, and i intend to be a pack-mule until something stops me, and if that something is one man, he can look out for himself." the bags were heavy and their contents were rough and galling to the shoulders, but the captain was strong and his muscles were tough, and as he walked he planned a pair of cushions which he would wear under his golden epaulets in his future marches. when the captain had covered the two miles of beach and climbed the two rocky ridges, and reached his tent, it was long after noon, and throwing his two bags on the ground and covering them with a blanket, he proceeded to prepare his dinner. he laid out a complete working-plan, and one of the rules he had made was that, if possible, nothing should interfere with his regular meals and hours of sleep. the work he had set for himself was arduous in the extreme, and calculated to tax his energies to the utmost, and he must take very good care of his health and strength. in thinking over the matter, he had feared that the greed of gold might possess him, and that, in his anxiety to carry away as much as he could, he might break down, and everything be lost. even now he found himself calculating how much gold he had brought away in the two bags, and what would be its value in coined money, multiplying and estimating with his food untouched and his eyes fixed on the distant sea. suddenly he clenched his fist and struck it on his knee. "i must stop this," he said. "i shall be upset if i don't. i will not count the bars in those bags. i will not make any more estimates. a rough guess now and then i cannot help, but what i have to do is to bring away all the gold i can. it will be time enough to find out what it is worth when it is safe somewhere in north america." when the captain had finished his meal, he went to his tent, and opened one of the trunks which he had brought with him, and which were supposed to contain the clothes and personal effects he had bought in lima. this trunk, however, was entirely filled with rolls of cheap cotton cloth, coarse and strong, but not heavy. with a pair of shears he proceeded to cut from one of these some pieces, rather more than a foot square. then, taking from his canvas bags as many of the gold bars as he thought would weigh twelve or fifteen pounds, trying not to count them as he did so, he made a little package of them, tying the corners of the cloth together with a strong cord. when five of these bundles had been prepared, his gold was exhausted, and then he carried the small bundles out to the guano-bags. he had bought his guano in bulk, and it had been put into bags under his own supervision, for it was only in bags that the ship which was to take it north would receive it. the bags were new and good, and captain horn believed that each of them could be made twelve or fifteen pounds heavier without attracting the attention of those who might have to lift them, for they were very heavy as it was. he now opened a bag of guano, and thrusting a stick down into its contents, he twisted it about until he had made a cavity which enabled him, with a little trouble, to thrust one of the packages of gold down into the centre of the bag. then he pressed the guano down firmly, and sewed up the bag again, being provided with needles and an abundance of necessary cord. when this was done, the bag containing the gold did not differ in appearance from the others, and the captain again assured himself that the additional weight would not be noticed by a common stevedore, especially if all the bags were about the same weight. at this thought he stopped work and looked out toward the sea, his mind involuntarily leaping out toward calculations based upon the happy chance of his being able to load all the bags; but he checked himself. "stop that," he said. "go to work!" five guano-bags were packed, each with its bundle of gold, but the task was a disagreeable, almost a distressing, one, for the strong ammoniacal odor sometimes almost overpowered the captain, who had a great dislike for such smells. but he never drew back, except now and then to turn his head and take a breath of purer air. he was trying to make his fortune, and when men are doing that, their likes and dislikes must stand aside. when this task was finished, the captain took up his two empty canvas bags and went back to the caves, returning late in the afternoon, loaded rather more heavily than before. from the experiences of the morning, he believed that, with some folded pieces of cloth on each shoulder, he could carry without discomfort a greater weight than his first ones. the gold he now brought was made up into six bundles, and then the captain rested from his labors. he felt that he could do a much better day's work than this, but this day had been very much broken up, and he was still somewhat awkward. day after day captain horn labored at his new occupation, and a toilsome occupation it was, which no one who did not possess great powers of endurance, and great hopes from the results of his work, could have undergone. in about a month the schooner was to be expected with another load of guano, and the captain felt that he must, if possible, finish his task before she came back. in a few days he found that, by practice and improvements in his system of work, he was able to make four trips a day between the cove of the rackbirds and the caves. he rose very early in the morning, and made two trips before dinner. sometimes he thought he might do more, but he restrained himself. it would not do for him to get back too tired to sleep. during this time in which his body was so actively employed, his mind was almost as active, and went out on all sorts of excursions, some of them beneficial and some of them otherwise. sometimes the thought came to him, as he plodded along bearing his heavy bags, that he was no more than a common thief, carrying away treasures which did not belong to him. then, of course, he began to reason away these uncomfortable reflections. if this treasure did not belong to him, to whom did it belong? certainly not to the descendants of those spaniards from whom the original owners had striven so hard to conceal it. if the spirits of the incas could speak, they would certainly declare in his favor over that of the children of the men who, in blood and torture, had obliterated them and their institutions. sometimes such arguments entirely satisfied the captain; but if they did not entirely satisfy him, he put the whole matter aside, to be decided upon after he should safely reach the united states with such treasure as he might be able to take with him. "then," he thought, "we can do what we think is right. i shall listen to all that may be said by our party, and shall act justly. but what i do not take away with me has no chance whatever of ever falling into the proper hands." but no matter how he might terminate such reflections, the captain always blamed himself for allowing his mind to occupy itself with them. he had fully decided that this treasure belonged to him, and there was no real reason for his thinking of such things, except that he had no one to talk to, and in such cases a man's thoughts are apt to run wild. often and often he wondered what the others were thinking about this affair, and whether or not they would all be able to keep the secret until he returned. he was somewhat afraid of mrs. cliff. he believed her to be an honorable woman who would not break her word, but still he did not know all her ideas in regard to her duty. she might think there was some one to whom she ought to confide what had happened, and what was expected to happen, and if she should do this, there was no reason why he should not, some day, descry a ship in the offing with treasure-hunters on board. ralph gave him no concern at all, except that he was young, and the captain could foretell the weather much better than the probable actions of a youth. but these passing anxieties never amounted to suspicions. it was far better to believe in mrs. cliff and ralph, and he would do it; and every time he thought of the two, he determined to believe in them. as to edna, there was no question about believing in her. he did so without consideration for or against belief. the captain did not like his solitary life. how happy he would have been if they could all have remained here; if the guano could have been brought without the crew of the schooner knowing that there were people in the caves; if the negroes could have carried the bags of gold; if every night, after having superintended their labors, he could have gone back to the caves, which, with the comforts he could have brought from lima, would have made a very habitable home; if--but these were reflections which were always doomed to banishment as soon as the captain became aware of the enthralment of their charm, and sturdily onward, endeavoring to fix his mind upon some better sailor's knot with which to tie up his bundles, or to plant his feet where his tracks would soon be obliterated by the incoming waves, the strong man trudged, bearing bravely the burden of his golden hopes. chapter xxiii his present share with four trips a day from the caves to the cove, taking time for rests, for regular meals, and for sleep, and not working on sundays,--for he kept a diary and an account of days,--the captain succeeded in a little over three weeks in loading his bags of guano, each with a package of golden bars, some of which must have weighed as much as fifteen pounds. when this work had been accomplished, he began to consider the return of the schooner. but he had no reason to expect her yet, and he determined to continue his work. each day he brought eight canvas bags of gold from the caves, and making them up into small bundles, he buried them in the sand under his tent. when a full month had elapsed since the departure of the schooner, he began to be very prudent, keeping a careful lookout seaward, as he walked the beach, and never entering the caves without mounting a high point of the rocks and thoroughly scanning the ocean. if, when bearing his burden of gold, he should have seen a sail, he would have instantly stopped and buried his bags in the sand, wherever he might be. day after day passed, and larger and larger grew the treasure stored in the sands under the tent, but no sail appeared. sometimes the captain could not prevent evil fancies coming to him. what if the ship should never come back? what if no vessel should touch here for a year or two? and why should a vessel ever touch? when the provisions he had brought and those left in the rackbirds' storehouse had been exhausted, what could he do but lie down here and perish?--another victim added to the millions who had already perished from the thirst of gold. he thought of his little party in san francisco. they surely would send in search of him, if he did not appear in a reasonable time. but he felt this hope was a vain one. in a letter to edna, written from lima, he had told her she must not expect to hear from him for a long time, for, while he was doing the work he contemplated, it would be impossible for him to communicate with her. she would have no reason to suppose that he would start on such an expedition without making due arrangements for safety and support, and so would hesitate long before she would commission a vessel to touch at this point in search of him. if he should starve here, he would die months before any reasonable person, who knew as much of his affairs as did edna, would think the time had arrived to send a relief expedition for him. but he did not starve. ten days overdue, at last the chilian schooner appeared and anchored in the cove. she had now no white men on board but the captain and his mate, for the negroes had improved so much in seamanship that the economical captain had dispensed with his chilian crew. captain horn was delighted to be able to speak again to a fellow-being, and it pleased him far better to see maka than any of the others. "you no eat 'nough, cap'n," said the black man, as he anxiously scanned the countenance of captain horn, which, although the captain was in better physical condition than perhaps he had ever been in his life, was thinner than when maka had seen it last. "when i cook for you, you not so long face," the negro continued. "didn't us leave you 'nough to eat? did you eat 'em raw?" the captain laughed. "i have had plenty to eat," he said, "and i never felt better. if i had not taken exercise, you would have found me as fat as a porpoise." the interview with the chilian captain was not so cordial, for captain horn found that the chilian had not brought him a full cargo of bags of guano, and, by searching questions, he discovered that this was due entirely to unnecessary delay in beginning to load the vessel. the chilian declared he would have taken on board all the guano which captain horn had purchased at the smaller island, had he not begun to fear that captain horn would suffer if he did not soon return to him, and when he thought it was not safe to wait any longer, he had sailed with a partial cargo. captain horn was very angry, for every bag of guano properly packed with gold bars meant, at a rough estimate, between two and three thousand dollars if it safely reached a gold-market, and now he found himself with at least one hundred bags less than he had expected to pack. there was no time to repair this loss, for the english vessel, the _finland,_ from callao to acapulco, which the captain had engaged to stop at this point on her next voyage northward, might be expected in two or three weeks, certainly sooner than the chilian could get back to the guano island and return. in fact, there was barely time for that vessel to reach callao before the departure of the _finland_, on board of which the captain wished his negroes to be placed, that they might go home with him. "if i had any men to work my vessel," said the chilian, who had grown surly in consequence of the fault-finding, "i'd leave your negroes here, and cut loose from the whole business. i've had enough of it." "that serves you right for discharging your own men in order that you might work your vessel with mine," said captain horn. he had intended to insist that the negroes should ship again with the chilian, but he knew that it would be more difficult to find reasons for this than on the previous voyage, and he was really more than glad to find that the matter had thus arranged itself. talking with captain horn, the chilian mate, who had had no responsibility in this affair, and who was, consequently, not out of humor, proposed that he should go back with them, and take the english vessel at callao. "i can't risk it," said captain horn. "if your schooner should meet with head winds or any other bad luck, and the _finland_ should leave before i got there, there would be a pretty kettle of fish, and if she touched here and found no one in charge, i don't believe she would take away a bag." "do you think they will be sure to touch here?" asked the mate. "have they got the latitude and longitude? it didn't seem so bad before to leave you behind, because we were coming back, but now it strikes me it is rather a risky piece of business for you." "no," said captain horn. "i am acquainted with the skipper of the _finland,_ and i left a letter for him telling him exactly how the matter stood, and he knows that i trust him to pick me up. i do not suppose he will expect to find me here all alone, but if he gives me the slip, i would be just as likely to starve to death if i had some men with me as if i were alone. the _finland_ will stop--i am sure of that." with every reason for the schooner's reaching callao as soon as possible, and very little reason, considering the uncordial relations of the two captains, for remaining in the cove, the chilian set sail the morning after he had discharged his unsavory cargo. maka had begged harder than before to be allowed to remain with captain horn, but the latter had made him understand, as well as he could, the absolute necessity of the schooner reaching callao in good time, and the absolute impossibility of any vessel doing anything in good time without a cook. therefore, after a personal inspection of the stores left behind, both in the tent and in the rackbirds' storehouse, which latter place he visited with great secrecy, maka, with a sad heart, was obliged to leave the only real friend he had on earth. when, early the next morning, captain horn began to pack the newly arrived bags with the bundles of gold which he had buried in the sand, he found that the bags were not at all in the condition of those the filling of which he had supervised himself. some of these were more heavily filled than others, and many were badly fastened up. this, of course, necessitated a good deal of extra work, but the captain sadly thought that probably he would have more time than he needed to do all that was necessary to get this second cargo into fair condition for transportation. he had checked off his little bundles as he had buried them, and there were nearly enough to fill all the bags. in fact, he had to make but three more trips in order to finish the business. when the work was done, and everything was ready for the arrival of the _finland_, the captain felt that he had good reason to curse the conscienceless chilian whose laziness or carelessness had not only caused him the loss of perhaps a quarter of a million of dollars, but had given him days--how many he could not know--with nothing to do; and which of these two evils might prove the worse, the captain could not readily determine. as captain horn walked up and down the long double rows of bags which contained what he hoped would become his fortune, he could not prevent a feeling of resentful disappointment when he thought of the small proportion borne by the gold in these bags to the treasure yet remaining in the mound. on his last visit to the mound he had carefully examined its interior, and although, of course, there was a great diminution in its contents, there was no reason to believe that the cavity of the mound did not extend downward to the floor of the cave, and that it remained packed with gold bars to the depth of several feet. it seemed silly, crazy, in fact, almost wicked, for him to sail away in the _finland_ and leave all that gold behind, and yet, how could he possibly take away any more of it? he had with him a trunk nearly empty, in which he might pack some blankets and other stuff with some bags of gold stowed away between them, but more than fifty pounds added to the weight of the trunk and its contents would make it suspiciously heavy, and what was fifty pounds out of that vast mass? but although he puzzled his brains for the greater part of a day, trying to devise some method by which he could take away more gold without exciting the suspicions of the people on board the english vessel, there was no plan that entered his mind that did not contain elements of danger, and the danger was an appalling one. if the crew of the _finland_, or the crew of any other vessel, should, on this desert coast, get scent of a treasure mound of gold ingots, he might as well attempt to reason with wild beasts as to try to make them understand that that treasure belonged to him. if he could get away with any of it, or even with his life, he ought to be thankful. the captain was a man who, since he had come to an age of maturity, had been in the habit of turning his mind this way and that as he would turn the helm of his vessel, and of holding it to the course he had determined upon, no matter how strong the wind or wave, how dense the fog, or how black the night. but never had he stood to his helm as he now stood to a resolve. "i will bring away a couple of bags," said he, "to put in my trunk, and then, i swear to myself, i will not think another minute about carrying away any more of that gold than what is packed in these guano-bags. if i can ever come back, i will come back, but what i have to do now is to get away with what i have already taken out of the mound, and also to get away with sound reason and steady nerves." the next day there was not a sail on the far horizon, and the captain brought away two bags of gold. these, with some clothes, he packed in his empty trunk. "now," said he, "this is my present share. if i permit myself to think of taking another bar, i shall be committing a crime." chapter xxiv his fortune under his feet notwithstanding the fact that the captain had, for the present, closed his account with the treasure in the lake cave, and had determined not to give another thought to further drafts upon it, he could not prevent all sorts of vague and fragmentary plans for getting more of the gold from thrusting themselves upon him; but his hand was strong upon the tiller of his mind, and his course did not change a point. he now began to consider in what condition he should leave the caves. once he thought he would go there and take away everything which might indicate that the caves had been inhabited, but this notion he discarded. "there are a good many people," he thought, "who know that we lived there, and if that man who was there afterwards should come back, i would prefer that he should not notice any changes, unless, indeed,"--and his eyes glistened as a thought darted into his mind,--"unless, indeed, he should find a lake where he left a dry cave. good! i'll try it." with his hands in his pockets, the captain stood a few moments and thought, and then he went to work. from the useless little vessel which, had belonged to the rackbirds he gathered some bits of old rope, and having cut these into short pieces, he proceeded to pick them into what sailors call oakum. early the next morning, his two canvas bags filled with this, he started for the caves. when he reached the top of the mound, and was just about to hold his lantern so as to take a final glance into its interior, he suddenly turned away his head and shut his eyes. "no," he said. "if i do that, it is ten to one i'll jump inside, and what might happen next nobody knows." he put the lantern aside, lifted the great lid into its place, and then, with a hammer and a little chisel which he had brought with him from the tools which had been used for the building of the pier, he packed the crevices about the lid with oakum. with a mariner's skill he worked, and when his job was finished, it would have been difficult for a drop of water to have found its way into the dome, no matter if it rose high above it. it was like leaving behind a kingdom and a throne, the command of armies and vast navies, the domination of power, of human happenings; but he came away. when he reached the portion of the cave near the great gap which opened to the sky opposite the entrance to the outer caves, the captain walked across the dry floor to the place where was situated the outlet through which the waters of the lake had poured out into the rackbirds' valley. the machine which controlled this outlet was situated under the overhanging ledge of the cave, and was in darkness, so that the captain was obliged to use his lantern. he soon found the great lever which he had clutched when he had swum to the rescue of ralph, and which had gone down with him and so opened the valve and permitted egress of the water, and which now lay with its ten feet or more of length horizontally near the ground. near by was the great pipe, with its circular blackness leading into the depths below. "that stream outside," said the captain, "must run in here somewhere, although i cannot see nor hear it, and it must be stopped off by this valve or another one connected with it, so that if i can get this lever up again, i should shut it off from the stream outside and turn it in here. then, if that fellow comes back, he will have to swim to the mound, and run a good chance of getting drowned if he does it, and if anybody else comes here, i think it will be as safe as the ancient peruvians once made it." with this he took hold of the great lever and attempted to raise it. but he found the operation a very difficult one. the massive bar was of metal, but probably not iron, and although it was not likely that it had rusted, it was very hard to move in its socket. the captain's weight had brought it down easily, but this weight could not now be applied, and he could only attempt to lift it. when it had first been raised, it was likely that a dozen slaves had seized it and forced it into an upright position. the captain pushed up bravely, and, a few inches at a time, he elevated the end of the great lever. frequently he stopped to rest, and it was over an hour before the bar stood up as it had been when first he felt it under the water. when this was done, he went into the other caves, looked about to see that everything was in the condition in which he had found it, and that he had left nothing behind him during his many visits. when he was satisfied on these points, he went back to the lake cave to see if any water had run in. he found everything as dry as when he had left it, nor could he hear any sound of running or dripping water. considering the matter, however, he concluded that there might be some sort of an outside reservoir which must probably fill up before the water ran into the cave, and so he came away. "i will give it time," he thought, "and come back to-morrow to see if it is flooded." that night, as he lay on his little pallet, looking through the open front of his tent at the utter darkness of the night, the idea struck him that it was strange that he was not afraid to stay here alone. he was a brave man,--he knew that very well,--and yet it seemed odd to him that, under the circumstances, he should have so little fear. but his reason soon gave him a good answer. he had known times when he had been very much afraid, and among these stood preeminent the time when he had expected an attack from the rackbirds. but then his fear was for others. when he was by himself it was a different matter. it was not often that he did not feel able to take care of his own safety. if there were any danger now, it was in the daytime, when some stray rackbirds might come back, or the pilferer of the mound might return with companions. but if any such came, he had his little fort, two pistols, and a repeating rifle. at night he felt absolutely safe. there was no danger that could come by land or sea through the blackness of the night. suddenly he sat up. his forehead was moist with perspiration. a shiver ran through him, not of cold, but of fear. never in his life had he been so thoroughly frightened; never before had he felt his hands and legs tremble. involuntarily he rose and stood up in the tent. he was terrified, not by anything real, but by the thought of what might happen if that lake cave should fill up with water, and if the ancient valves, perhaps weakened by his moving them backward and forward, should give way under the great pressure, and, for a second time, a torrent of water should come pouring down the rackbirds' ravine! as the captain trembled with fear, it was not for himself, for he could listen for the sound of the rushing waters, and could dash away to the higher ground behind him; but it was for his treasure-bags, his fortune, his future! his soul quaked. his first impulse was to rush out and carry every bag to higher ground. but this idea was absurd. the night was too dark, and the bags too heavy and too many. then he thought of hurrying away to the caves to see if the lake had risen high enough to be dangerous. but what could he do if it had? in his excitement, he could not stand still and do nothing. he took hold of one end of his trunk and pulled it out of his tent, and, stumbling and floundering over the inequalities of the ground, he at last got it to a place which he supposed would be out of reach of a sudden flood, and the difficulties of this little piece of work assured him of the utter futility of attempting to move the bags in the darkness. he had a lantern, but that would be of little service on such a night and for such a work. he went back into his tent, and tried to prevail upon himself that he ought to go to sleep--that it was ridiculous to beset himself with imaginary dangers, and to suffer from them as much as if they had been real ones. but such reasoning was vain, and he sat up or walked about near his tent all night, listening and listening, and trying to think of the best thing to do if he should hear a coming flood. as soon as it was light, he hurried to the caves, and when he reached the old bed of the lake, he found there was not a drop of water in it. "the thing doesn't work!" he cried joyfully. "fool that i am, i might have known that although a man might open a valve two or three centuries old, he should not expect to shut it up again. i suppose i smashed it utterly." his revulsion of feeling was so great that he began to laugh at his own absurdity, and then he laughed at his merriment. "if any one should see me now," he thought, "they would surely think i had gone crazy over my wealth. well, there is no danger from a flood, but, to make all things more than safe, i will pull down this handle, if it will come. anyway, i do not want it seen." the great bar came down much easier than it had gone up, moving, in fact, the captain thought, as if some of its detachments were broken, and when it was down as far as it would go, he came away. "now," said he, "i have done with this cave for this trip. if possible, i shall think of it no more." when he was getting some water from the stream to make some coffee for his breakfast, he stopped and clenched his fist. "i am more of a fool than i thought i was," he said. "this solitary business is not good for me. if i had thought last night of coming here to see if this little stream were still running, and kept its height, i need not have troubled myself about the lake in the cave. of course, if the water were running into the caves, it would not be running here until the lake had filled. and, besides, it would take days for that great lake to fill. well, i am glad that nobody but myself knows what an idiot i have been." when he had finished his breakfast, captain horn went to work. there was to be no more thinking, no more plans, no more fanciful anxieties, no more hopes of doing something better than he had done. work he would, and when one thing was done, he would find another. the first thing he set about was the improvement of the pier which had been built for the landing of the guano. there was a good deal of timber left unused, and he drove down new piles, nailed on new planking, and extended the little pier considerably farther into the waters of the cove. when this was done, he went to work on the lighter, which was leaky, and bailed it out, and calked the seams, taking plenty of time, and doing his work in the most thorough manner. he determined that after this was done, and he could find nothing better to do, he would split up the little vessel which the rackbirds had left rudderless, mastless, and useless, and make kindling-wood of it. but this was not necessary. he had barely finished his work on the lighter, when, one evening, he saw against the sun-lighted sky the topmasts of a vessel, and the next morning the _finland_ lay anchored off the cove, and two boats came ashore, out of one of which maka was the first to jump. in five hours the guano had been transferred to the ship, and, twenty minutes later, the _finland_, with captain horn on board, had set sail for acapulco. the captain might have been better pleased if his destination had been san francisco, but, after all, it is doubtful if there could have been a man who was better pleased. he walked the deck of a good ship with a fellow-mariner with whom he could talk as much as he pleased, and under his feet were the bags containing the thousands of little bars for which he had worked so hard. chapter xxv at the palmetto hotel for about four months the persons who made up what might be considered as captain horn's adopted family had resided in the palmetto hotel, in san francisco. at the time we look upon them, however, mrs. cliff was not with them, having left san francisco some weeks previously. edna was now a very different being from the young woman she had been. her face was smoother and fuller, and her eyes seemed to have gained a richer brown. the dark masses of her hair appeared to have wonderfully grown and thickened, but this was due to the loose fashion in which it was coiled upon her head, and it would have been impossible for any one who had known her before not to perceive that she was greatly changed. the lines upon her forehead, which had come, not from age, but from earnest purpose and necessity of action, together with a certain intensity of expression which would naturally come to a young woman who had to make her way in the world, not only for herself, but for her young brother, and a seriousness born of some doubts, some anxieties, and some ambiguous hopes, had all entirely disappeared as if they had been morning mists rolling away from a summer landscape. under the rays of a sun of fortune, shining, indeed, but mildly, she had ripened into a physical beauty which was her own by right of birth, but of which a few more years of struggling responsibility would have forever deprived her. after the receipt of her second remittance, edna and her party had taken the best apartments in the hotel. the captain had requested this, for he did not know how long they might remain there, and he wanted them to have every comfort. he had sent them as much money as he could spare from the sale, in lima, of the gold he had carried with him when he first left the caves, but his expenses in hiring ships and buying guano were heavy. edna, however, had received frequent remittances while the captain was at the rackbirds' cove, through an agent in san francisco. these, she supposed, came from further sales of gold, but, in fact, they had come from the sale of investments which the captain had made in the course of his fairly successful maritime career. in his last letter from lima he had urged them all to live well on what he sent them, considering it as their share of the first division of the treasure in the mound. if his intended projects should succeed, the fortunes of all of them would be reconstructed upon a new basis as solid and as grand as any of them had ever had reason to hope for. but if he should fail, they, the party in san francisco, would be as well off, or, perhaps, better circumstanced than when they had started for valparaiso. he did not mention the fact that he himself would be poorer, for he had lost the _castor_, in which he was part-owner, and had invested nearly all his share of the proceeds of the sale of the gold in ship hire, guano purchases, and other necessary expenses. edna was waiting in san francisco to know what would be the next scene in the new drama of her life. captain horn had written before he sailed from lima in the chilian schooner for the guano islands and the rackbirds' cove, and he had, to some extent, described his plans for carrying away treasure from the mound; but since that she had not heard from him until about ten days before, when he wrote from acapulco, where he had arrived in safety with his bags of guano and their auriferous enrichments. he had written in high spirits, and had sent her a draft on san francisco so large in amount that it had fairly startled her, for he wrote that he had merely disposed of some of the gold he had brought in his baggage, and had not yet done anything with that contained in the guano-bags. he had hired a storehouse, as if he were going regularly into business, and from which he would dispose of his stock of guano after he had restored it to its original condition. to do all this, and to convert the gold into negotiable bank deposits or money, would require time, prudence, and even diplomacy. he had already sold in the city of mexico as much of the gold from his trunk as he could offer without giving rise to too many questions, and if he had not been known as a california trader, he might have found some difficulties even in that comparatively small transaction. the captain had written that to do all he had to do he would be obliged to remain in acapulco or the city of mexico--how long he could not tell, for much of the treasure might have to be shipped to the united states, and his plans for all this business were not yet arranged. before this letter had been received, mrs. cliff had believed it to be undesirable to remain longer in san francisco, and had gone to her home in a little town in maine. with edna and ralph, she had waited and waited and waited, but at last had decided that captain horn was dead. in her mind, she had allowed him all the time that she thought was necessary to go to the caves, get gold, and come to san francisco, and as that time had long elapsed, she had finally given him up as lost. she knew the captain was a brave man and an able sailor, but the adventure he had undertaken was strange and full of unknown perils, and if it should so happen that she should hear that he had gone to the bottom in a small boat overloaded with gold, she would not have been at all surprised. of course, she said nothing of these suspicions to edna or ralph, nor did she intend ever to mention them to any one. if edna, who in so strange a way had been made a wife, should, in some manner perhaps equally extraordinary, be made a widow, she would come back to her, she would do everything she could to comfort her; but now she did not seem to be needed in san francisco, and her new england home called to her through the many voices of her friends. as to the business which had taken mrs. cliff to south america, that must now be postponed, but it could not but be a satisfaction to her that she was going back with perhaps as much money as she would have had if her affairs in valparaiso had been satisfactorily settled. edna and ralph had come to be looked upon at the palmetto hotel as persons of distinction. they lived quietly, but they lived well, and their payments were always prompt. they were the wife and brother-in-law of captain philip horn, who was known to be a successful man, and who might be a rich one. but what seemed more than anything else to distinguish them from the ordinary hotel guests was the fact that they were attended by two personal servants, who, although, of course, they could not be slaves, seemed to be bound to them as if they had been born into their service. cheditafa, in a highly respectable suit of clothes which might have been a cross between the habiliments of a methodist minister and those of a butler, was a person of imposing aspect. mrs. cliff had insisted, when his new clothes were ordered, that there should be something in them which should indicate the clergyman, for the time might come when it would be necessary that he should be known in this character; and the butler element was added because it would harmonize in a degree with his duties as edna's private attendant. the old negro, with his sober face, and woolly hair slightly touched with gray, was fully aware of the importance of his position as body-servant to mrs. horn, but his sense of the responsibility of that position far exceeded any other sentiments of which his mind was capable. perhaps it was the fact that he had made edna mrs. horn which gave him the feeling that he must never cease to watch over her and to serve her in every possible way. had the hotel taken fire, he would have rushed through the flames to save her. had robbers attacked her, they must have taken his life before they took her purse. when she drove out in the city or suburbs, he always sat by the side of the driver, and when she walked in the streets, he followed her at a respectful distance. proud as he was of the fact that he had been the officiating clergyman at the wedding of captain horn and this grand lady, he had never mentioned the matter to any one, for many times, and particularly just before she left san francisco, mrs. cliff had told him, in her most impressive manner, that if he informed any one that he had married captain horn and miss markham, great trouble would come of it. what sort of trouble, it was not necessary to explain to him, but she was very earnest in assuring him that the marriage of a christian by a heathen was something which was looked upon with great disfavor in this country, and unless cheditafa could prove that he had a perfect right to perform the ceremony, it might be bad for him. when captain horn had settled his business affairs and should come back, everything would be made all right, and nobody need feel any more fear, but until then he must not speak of what he had done. if captain horn should never come back, mrs. cliff thought that edna would then be truly his widow, and his letters would prove it, but that she was really his wife until the two had marched off together to a regular clergyman, the good lady could not entirely admit. her position was not logical, but she rested herself firmly upon it. the other negro, mok, could speak no more english than when we first met him, but he could understand some things which were said to him, and was very quick, indeed, to catch the meanings of signs, motions, and expressions of countenance. at first edna did not know what to do with this negro, but ralph solved the question by taking him as a valet, and day by day he became more useful to the youth, who often declared that he did not know how he used to get along without a valet. mok was very fond of fine clothes, and ralph liked to see him smartly dressed, and he frequently appeared of more importance than cheditafa. he was devoted to his young master, and was so willing to serve him that ralph often found great difficulty in finding him something to do. edna and ralph had a private table, at which cheditafa and mok assisted in waiting, and mrs. cliff had taught both of them how to dust and keep rooms in order. sometimes ralph sent mok to a circulating library. having once been shown the place, and made to understand that he must deliver there the piece of paper and the books to be returned, he attended to the business as intelligently as if he had been a trained dog, and brought back the new books with a pride as great as if he had selected them. the fact that mok was an absolute foreigner, having no knowledge whatever of english, and that he was possessed of an extraordinary activity, which enabled him, if the gate of the back yard of the hotel happened to be locked, to go over the eight-foot fence with the agility of a monkey, had a great effect in protecting him from impositions by other servants. when a black negro cannot speak english, but can bound like an india-rubber ball, it may not be safe to trifle with him. as for trifling with cheditafa, no one would think of such a thing; his grave and reverend aspect was his most effectual protection. as to ralph, he had altered in appearance almost as much as his sister. his apparel no longer indicated the boy, and as he was tall and large for his years, the fashionable suit he wore, his gay scarf with its sparkling pin, and his brightly polished boots, did not appear out of place upon him. but edna often declared that she had thought him a great deal better-looking in the scanty, well-worn, but more graceful garments in which he had disported himself on the sands of peru. chapter xxvi the captain's letter on a sofa in her well-furnished parlor reclined edna, and on a table near by lay several sheets of closely written letter-paper. she had been reading, and now she was thinking--thinking very intently, which in these days was an unusual occupation with her. during her residence in san francisco she had lived quietly but cheerfully. she had supplied herself abundantly with books, she had visited theatres and concerts, she had driven around the city, she had taken water excursions, she had visited interesting places in the neighborhood, and she had wandered among the shops, purchasing, in moderation, things that pleased her. for company she had relied chiefly on her own little party, although there had been calls from persons who knew captain horn. some of these people were interesting, and some were not, but they all went away thinking that the captain was a wonderfully fortunate man. one thing which used to be a pleasure to edna she refrained from altogether, and that was the making of plans. she had put her past life entirely behind her. she was beginning a new existence--what sort of an existence she could not tell, but she was now living with the determinate purpose of getting the greatest good out of her life, whatever it might be. already she had had much, but in every respect her good fortunes were but preliminary to something else. her marriage was but the raising of the curtain--the play had not yet begun. the money she was spending was but an earnest of something more expected. her newly developed physical beauty, which she could not fail to appreciate, would fade away again, did it not continue to be nourished by that which gave it birth. but what she had, she had, and that she would enjoy. when captain horn should return, she would know what would happen next. this could not be a repetition of the life she was leading at the palmetto hotel, but whatever the new life might be, she would get from it all that it might contain for her. she did not in the least doubt the captain's return, for she believed in him so thoroughly that she felt--she knew--he would come back and tell her of his failure or his success, and what she was to do next. but now she was thinking. she could not help it, for her tranquil mind had been ruffled. her cogitations were interrupted by the entrance of ralph. "i say, edna," said he, throwing himself into an easy-chair, and placing his hat upon another near by, "was that a returned manuscript that cheditafa brought you this morning? you haven't been writing for the magazines, have you?" "that was a letter from captain horn," she said. "whew!" he exclaimed. "it must be a whopper! what does he say? when is he coming here? give me some of the points of it. but, by the way, edna, before you begin, i will say that i think it is about time he should write. since the letter in which he told about the guano-bags and sent you that lot of money--let me see, how long ago was that?" "it was ten days ago," said his sister. "is that so? i thought it was longer than that. but no matter. since that letter came, i have been completely upset. i want to know what i am to do, and, whatever i am to do, i want to get at it. from what the captain wrote, and from what i remember of the size and weight of those gold bars, he must have got away with more than a million dollars--perhaps a million and a half. now, what part of that is mine? what am i to do with it? when am i to begin to prepare myself for the life i am to lead when i get it? all this i want to know, and, more than that, i want to know what you are going to do. now, if i had got to acapulco, or any other civilized spot, with a million dollars in solid gold, it would not have been ten days before i should have written to my family,--for i suppose that is what we are,--and should have told them what i was going to do, and how much they might count on. but i hope now that letter does tell?" "the best thing to do," said edna, taking up the letter from the table, "is to read it to you. but before i begin i want to say something, and that is that it is very wrong of you to get into these habits of calculating about what may come to you. what is to come will come, and you might as well wait for it without upsetting your mind by all sorts of wild anticipations; and, besides this, you must remember that you are not of age, and that i am your guardian, and whatever fortune may now come to you will be under my charge until you are twenty-one." "oh, i don't care about that," said ralph. "we will have no trouble about agreeing what is the best thing for me to do. but now go ahead with the letter." "'i am going to tell you'" (at the beginning of the second paragraph) "'of a very strange thing which happened to me since i last wrote. i will first state that after my guano-bags had all been safely stored in the warerooms i have hired, i had a heavy piece of work getting the packages of gold out of the bags, and in packing the bars in small, stout boxes i found in the city of mexico and had sent down here. in looking around for boxes which would suit my purpose, i discovered these, which had been used for stereotype plates. they were stamped on the outside, and just what i wanted, being about as heavy after i packed them with gold as they were when they were filled with type-metal. this packing i had to do principally at night, when i was supposed to be working in a little office attached to the rooms. as soon as this was done, i sent all the boxes to a safe-deposit bank in mexico, and there the greater part of them are yet. some i have shipped to the mint in san francisco, some have gone north, and i am getting rid of the rest as fast as i can. "'the gold bars, cast in a form novel to all dealers, have excited a good deal of surprise and questioning, but for this i care very little. my main object is to get the gold separated as many miles as possible from the guano, for if the two should be connected in the mind of any one who knew where the guano was last shipped from, i might have cause for anxiety. but as the bars bear no sort of mark to indicate that they were cast by ancient peruvians, and, so far as i can remember,--and i have visited several museums in south america,--these castings are not like any others that have come down to us from the times of the incas, the gold must have been cast in this simple form merely for convenience in transportation and packing. some people may think it is california gold, some may think it comes from south america, but, whatever they think, they know it is pure gold, and they have no right to doubt that it belongs to me. of course, if i were a stranger it might be different, but wherever i have dealt i am known, or i send a good reference. and now i will come to the point of this letter. "'three days ago i was in my office, waiting to see a man to whom i hoped to sell my stock of guano, when a man came in,--but not the one i expected to see,--and if a ghost had appeared before me, i could not have been more surprised. i do not know whether or not you remember the two american sailors who were the first to go out prospecting, after mr. rynders and his men left us, and who did not return. this man was one of them--edward shirley by name.'" "i remember him perfectly!" cried ralph. "and the other fellow was george burke. on board the _castor_ i used to talk to them more than to any of the other sailors." "'but astonished as i was,'" edna went on to read, "'shirley did not seem at all surprised, but came forward and shook hands most heartily. he said he had read in a newspaper that i had been rescued, and was doing business in acapulco, and he had come down on purpose to find me. i told him how we had given up him and his mate for lost, and then, as he had read a very slim account of our adventures, i told him the whole story, taking great care, as you may guess, not to say anything about the treasure mound. he did not ask any questions as to why i did not come back with the rest of you, but was greatly troubled when he heard of the murders of every man of our crew except himself and burke and maka. "'when i had finished, he told me his story, which i will condense as much as possible. when he and burke started out, they first began to make their way along the slope of the rocky ridge which ended in our caves, but they found this very hard work, so they soon went down to the sandy country to the north. here they shot some little beast or other, and while they were hunting another one, up hill and down dale, they found night was coming on, and they were afraid to retrace their steps for fear they might come to trouble in the darkness. so they ate what they had with them, and camped, and the next morning the mountains to the east seemed to be so near them that they thought it much easier to push on instead of coming back to us. they thought that when they got to the fertile country they would find a settlement, and then they might be able to do something for the rest of the party, and it would be much wiser to go ahead than to turn back. but they found themselves greatly mistaken. mountains in the distance, seen over a plain, appear very much nearer than they are, and these two poor fellows walked and walked, until they were pretty nearly dead. the story is a long one as shirley told it to me, but just as they were about giving up entirely, they were found by a little party of natives, who had seen them from a long distance and had come to them. "'after a great deal of trouble,--i believe they had to carry burke a good part of the way,--the natives got them to their huts at the foot of the mountains, and took care of them. these people told shirley--he knows a little spanish--that it was a piece of rare good luck that they found them, for it was very seldom they went so far out into the desert. "'in a day or two the two men went on to a little village in the mountains, and there they tried to get up an expedition to come to our assistance. they knew that we had food enough to last for a week or two, but after that we must be starved out. but nobody would do anything, and then they went on to another town to see what they could do there.'" "good fellows!" exclaimed ralph. "indeed, they were," said edna. "but wait until you hear what they did next. "'nobody in this small town,'" she read on, "'was willing to join burke and shirley in their proposed expedition, and no wonder; for crossing those deserts is a dangerous thing, and most people said it would be useless anyway, as it would be easier for us to get away by sea than by land. at this time burke was taken sick, and for a week or two shirley thought he was going to die. of course, they had to stay where they were, and it was a long time before burke was able to move about. then they might have gone into the interior until they came to a railroad, and so have got away, for they had money with them, but shirley told me they could not bear to do that without knowing what had become of us. they did not believe there was any hope for us, unless the mate had come back with assistance, and they had not much faith in that, for if a storm had come up, such as had wrecked the castor, it would be all over with mr. rynders's boat. "'but even if we had perished on that desolate coast, they wanted to know it and carry the news to our friends, and so they both determined, if the thing could be done, to get back to the coast and find out what had become of us. they went again to the little village where they had been taken by the natives who found them, and there, by promises of big pay,--at least, large for those poor peruvians,--they induced six of them to join in an expedition to the caves. they did not think they had any reason to suppose they would find any one alive, but still, besides the provisions necessary for the party there and back, they carried something extra. "'well, they journeyed for two days, and then there came up a wind-storm, hot and dry, filling the air with sand and dust, so that they could not see where they were going, and the natives said they ought all to go back, for it was dangerous to try to keep on in such a storm. but our two men would not give up so soon, and they made a camp in a sheltered place, and determined to press on in the morning, when they might expect the storm to be over. but in the morning they found that every native had deserted them. the wind had gone down, and the fellows must have started back before it was light. then shirley and burke did not know what to do. they believed that they were nearer the coast than the mountains, and as they had plenty of provisions,--for the natives had left them nearly everything,--they thought they would try to push on, for a while at least. "'there was a bit of rising ground to the east, and they thought if they could get on the top of that they might get a sight of the ocean, and then discover how far away it was. they reached the top of the rising ground, and they did not see the ocean, but a little ahead of them, in a smooth stretch of sand, was something which amazed them a good deal more than if it had been the sea. it was a pair of shoes sticking up out of the sand. they were an old pair, and appeared to have legs to them. they went to the spot, and found that these shoes belonged to a man who was entirely covered by sand, with the exception of his feet, and dead, of course. they got the sand off of him, and found he was a white man, in sailor's clothes. first they had thought he might be one of our party, but they soon perceived that this was a mistake, for they had never seen the man before. he was dried up until he was nothing but a skeleton with skin over it, but they could have recognized him if they had known him before. from what they had heard of the rainless climate of the peruvian coast, and the way it had of drying up dead animals of all sorts, they imagined that this man might have been there for years. he was lying on his back, with his arms folded around a bundle, and when they tried to move this bundle, they found it was very heavy. it was something wrapped up in a blanket and tied with a cord, and when they opened the bundle, they were pretty nearly struck dumb; for they saw it held, as shirley expressed it, about a peck of little hunks of gold. "'they were utterly astounded by this discovery, and utterly unable to make head or tail of it. what that man, apparently an english sailor, had been doing out in the middle of this desert with a bundle of gold, and where he got it, and who he was, and where he was going to, and how long he had been dead, were things beyond their guessing. they dragged the body out of its burrow in the sand, and examined the pockets, but there was nothing in the trousers but an old knife. in the pocket of the shirt, however, were about a dozen matches, wrapped up in an old envelope. this was addressed, in a very bad hand, to a. mcleish, callao, peru, but they could not make out the date of the postmark. these things were all there was about the man that could possibly identify him, for his few clothes were such as any sailor would wear, and were very old and dirty. "'but the gold was there. they examined it and scraped it, and they were sure it was pure gold. there was no doubt in their minds as to what they would do about this. they would certainly carry it away with them. but before they did so, burke wanted to hunt around and see if they could not find more of it, for the mass of metal was so heavy he did not believe the sailor could have carried it very far. but after examining the country as far as the eye could reach, shirley would not agree to this. they could see nothing but wide-stretching sands, and no place where it seemed worth while to risk their lives hunting for treasure. their best plan was to get away with what they had found, and now the point was whether or not they should press on to the coast or go back; but as they could see no signs of the sea, they soon came to the conclusion that the best thing to do if they wanted to save their lives and their treasure was to get back to the mountains. "'i forgot to say that as soon as shirley began to talk about the dead man and his gold, i left the warehouse in charge of maka, and took him to my hotel, where he told me the rest of his story in a room with the door locked. i must try to take as many reefs in what followed as i can. i don't believe that the finding of the gold made any difference in their plans, for, of course, it would have been foolish for them to try to get to us by themselves. they cut the blanket in half and made up the gold into two packages, and then they started back for the mountains, taking with them all the provisions they could carry in addition to the gold, and leaving their guns behind them. shirley said their loads got heavier and heavier as they ploughed through the sand, and it took them three days to cover the ground they had gone over before in two. when they got to the village, they found scarcely a man in the place, for the fellows who had deserted them were frightened, and kept out of sight. they stayed there all night, and then they went on with their bundles to the next village, where they succeeded in getting a couple of travelling-bags, into which they put their gold, so that they might appear to be carrying their clothes. "'after a good deal of travel they reached callao, and there they made inquiries for a. mcleish, but nobody knew of him. of course, he was a sailor who had had a letter sent there. they went up to lima and sold a few pieces of the gold, but, before they did it, they got a heavy hammer and pounded them up, so that no one would know what their original shape was. shirley said he could not say exactly why they did this, but that they thought, on the whole, it would be safer. then they went to san francisco on the first vessel that sailed. they must have had a good deal of talk on the voyage in regard to the gold, and it was in consequence of their discussions that shirley wanted so much to find me. they had calculated, judging by the pieces they had sold, that the gold they had with them was worth about twelve thousand dollars, and they both thought they ought to do the right thing about it. in the first place, they tried in san francisco to find out something about mcleish, but no one knew of such a man. they then began to consider some persons they did know about. they had heard in lima that some of the people of the _castor_ had been rescued, and if any of them were hard up, as most likely they were, shirley and burke thought that by rights they ought to have some of the treasure that they had found. shirley said at first they had gone on the idea that each of them would have six thousand dollars and could go into business for himself, but after a while they thought this would be a mean thing to do. they had all been shipwrecked together, and two of them had had a rare piece of good luck, and they thought it no more than honorable to share this good luck with the others, so they concluded the best thing to do was to see me about it. burke left this business to shirley, because he wanted to go to see his sister who lives in st. louis. "'they had not formed any fixed plan of division, but they believed that, as they had had the trouble, and, in fact, the danger, of getting the gold, they should have the main share, but they considered that they had enough to help out any of the original party who might be hard up for money." of course, we must always remember," said shirley, in finishing up his story, "that if we can find the heirs of mcleish, the money belongs to them. but, even in that case, burke and i think we ought to keep a good share of it to pay us for getting it away from that beastly desert." here i interrupted him. "don't you trouble yourself any more about mcleish," i said. "that money did not belong to him. he stole it." "how do you know that, and who did he steal it from?" cried shirley. "he stole it from me," said i. "'at this point shirley gave such a big jump backward that his chair broke beneath him, and he went crashing to the floor. he had made a start a good deal like that when i told him how the rackbirds had been swept out of existence when i had opened the flood-gate that let out the waters of the lake, and i had heard the chair crack then. now, while he had been telling me about his finding that man in the sand, with his load of gold, i had been listening, but i had also been thinking, and almost any man can think faster than another one can talk, and so by this time i had made up my mind what i was going to say to shirley. i would tell him all about my finding the gold in the mound. it touched me to think that these poor fellows, who did all that they could to help us escape, and then, when they got safely home, started immediately to find us in order that they might give us some of that paltry twelve thousand dollars--give to us, who are actually millionaires, and who may be richer yet! it would not do to let any of the crew get ahead of their captain in fair dealing, and that was one reason why i determined to tell him. then, there was another point. ever since i have been here, selling and storing the gold i brought away, i have had a heavy load on my mind, and that was the thought of leaving all the rest of the gold in that mound for the next person who might come along and find it. "'i devised plan after plan of getting more of it, but none of them would work. two things were certain: one was that i could not get any more away by myself. i had already done the best i could and all i could in that line. and the second thing was that if i should try for any more of the treasure, i must have people to help me. the plan that suited me best was to buy a small vessel, man it, go down there, load up with the gold, and sail away. there would be no reasonable chance that any one would be there to hinder me, and i would take in the cargo just as if it were guano, or anything else. then i would go boldly to europe. i have looked into the matter, and i have found that the best thing i can do, if i should get that gold, would be to transport it to paris, where i could distribute it better than i could from any other point. but the trouble was, where could i get the crew to help me? i have four black men, and i think i could trust them, as far as honesty goes, but they would not be enough to work the ship, and i could not think of any white men with whom i would trust my life and that gold in the same vessel. but now they seemed to pop up right in front of me. "'i knew shirley and burke pretty well when they were on the _castor_, and after what shirley told me i knew them better, and i believed they were my men. to be sure, they might fail me, for they are only human, but i had to have somebody to help me, and i did not believe there were any other two men who would be less likely to fail me. so by the time shirley had finished his yarn i was ready to tell him the whole thing, and propose to him and burke to join me in going down after the rest of the treasure and taking it to france.'" at this point ralph sprang to his feet, his eyes flashing. "edna!" he cried, "i say that your captain horn is treating me shamefully. in the first place, he let me come up here to dawdle about, doing nothing, when i ought to have been down there helping him get more of that treasure. i fancy he might have trusted me, and if i had been with him, we should have brought away nearly twice as much gold, and at this minute we should be twice as well off as we are. but this last is a thousand times worse. here he is, going off on one of the most glorious adventures of this century, and he leaves me out. what does he take me for? does he think i am a girl? when he was thinking of somebody to go with him, why didn't he think of me, and why doesn't he think of me now? he has no right to leave me out!" "i look at the matter in a different light," said his sister. "captain horn has no right to take you off on such a dangerous adventure, and, more than that, he has no right to take you from me, and leave me alone in the world. he once made you the guardian of all that treasure, and now he considers you as my guardian. you did not desert the first trust, and i am sorry to think you want to desert the other." "that's all very fine," said ralph. "you blow hot and you blow cold at the same time. when you want me to keep quiet and do what i am told, you tell me i am not of age, and that you are my guardian; and when you want me to stay here and make myself useful, you tell me i am wonderfully trusty, and that i must be your guardian." edna smiled. "that is pretty good reasoning," she said, "but there isn't any reasoning needed in this case. no matter what captain horn may say or do, i would not let you go away from me." ralph sat down again. "there is some sense in what you say," he said. "if the captain should come to grief, and i were with him, we would both be gone. then you would have nobody left to you. but that does not entirely clear him. even if he thought i ought not to go with him, he ought to have said something about it, and put in a word or so about his being sorry. is there any more of the letter?" "yes," said edna, "there is more of it," and she began to read again: "'i intended to stop here and give you the rest of the matter in another letter, but now, as i have a good chance to write, i think it is better to keep on, although this letter is already as long as the pay-roll of the navy. when i told shirley about the gold, he made a bounce pretty nearly as big as the others, but this time i had him in a stout arm-chair, and he did no damage. he had in his pocket one of the gold bars he spoke of, and i had one of mine in my trunk, and when we put them together they were as like as two peas. what i told him dazed him at first, and he did not seem properly to understand what it all meant, but, after a little, a fair view of it came to him, and for hours we talked over the matter. who the man was who had gone there after we left did not matter, for he could never come back again. "'we decided that what we should do was to go and get that gold as soon as possible, and shirley agreed to go with me. he believed we could trust burke to join us, and, with my four black men,--who have really become good sailors,--we would have a crew of seven men altogether, with which we could work a fair-sized brig to havre or some other french port. before he went away our business was settled. he agreed to go with me as first mate, to do his best to help me get that gold to france, to consider the whole treasure as mine, because i had discovered it,--i explained the reason to him, as i did to you,--and to accept as regular pay one hundred dollars a day, from then until we should land the cargo in a european port, and then to leave it to me how much more i would give him. i told him there were a lot of people to be considered, and i was going to try to make the division as fair as possible, and he said he was willing to trust it to me. "'if we did not get the gold, he was to have eighteen dollars a month for the time he sailed with me, and if we got safely back, i would give him his share of what i had already secured. he was quite sure that burke would make the same agreement, and we telegraphed him to come immediately. i am going to be very careful about burke, however, and sound him well before i tell him anything. "'yesterday we found our vessel. she arrived in port a few days ago, and is now unloading. she is a small brig, and i think she will do; in fact, she has got to do. by the time burke gets here i think we shall be ready to sail. up to that time we shall be as busy as men can be, and it will be impossible for me to go to san francisco. i must attend to the shipping of the treasure i have stored in the city of mexico. i shall send some to one place and some to another, but want it all turned into coin or bonds before i start. besides, i must be on hand to see burke the moment he arrives. i am not yet quite sure about him, and if shirley should let anything slip while i was away our looked-for fortune might be lost to us.' "and that," said edna, "is all of the letter that i need read, except that he tells me he expects to write again before he starts, and that his address after he sails will be wraxton, fuguet & co., american bankers in paris." chapter xxvii edna makes her plans when she had finished reading the many pages of the letter, edna leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. ralph sat upright in his chair and gazed intently before him. "so we are not to see the captain again," he said presently. "but i suppose that when a man has a thing to do, the best thing is to go and do it." "yes," said his sister, "that is the best thing." "and what are we to do?" "i am now trying to decide," she answered. "doesn't he say anything about it?" "not a word," replied edna. "i suppose he considered he had made his letter long enough." about an hour after this, when the two met again, edna said: "i have been writing to captain horn, and am going to write to mrs. cliff. i have decided what we shall do. i am going to france." "to france!" cried ralph. "both of us?" "yes, both of us. i made up my mind about this since i saw you." "what are you going to france for?" he exclaimed. "come, let us have it all--quick." "i am going to france," said his sister, "because captain horn is going there, and when he arrives, i wish to be there to meet him. there is no reason for our staying here--" "indeed, there is not," interpolated ralph, earnestly. "if we must go anywhere to wait," continued his sister, "i should prefer paris." "edna," cried ralph, "you are a woman of solid sense, and if the captain wants his gold divided up, he should get you to do it. and now, when are we going, and is mrs. cliff to go? what are you going to do with the two darkies?" "we shall start east as soon as the captain sails," replied his sister, "and i do not know what mrs. cliff will do until i hear from her, and as for cheditafa and mok, we shall take them with us." "hurrah!" cried ralph. "mok for my valet in paris. that's the best thing i have got out of the caves yet." captain horn was a strong man, prompt in action, and no one could know him long without being assured of these facts. but although edna's outward personality was not apt to indicate quickness of decision and vigor of purpose, that quickness and vigor were hers quite as much as the captain's when occasion demanded, and occasion demanded them now. the captain had given no indication of what he would wish her to do during the time which would be occupied by his voyage to peru, his work there, and his subsequent long cruise around south america to europe. she expected that in his next letter he would say something about this, but she wished first to say something herself. she did not know this bold sailor as well as she loved him, and she was not at all sure that the plans he might make for her during his absence would suit her disposition or her purposes. consequently, she resolved to submit her plans to him before he should write again. above everything else, she wished to be in that part of the world at which captain horn might be expected to arrive when his present adventure should be accomplished. she did not wish to be sent for to go to france. she did not wish to be told that he was coming to america. wherever he might land, there she would be. the point that he might be unsuccessful, and might never leave south america, did not enter into her consideration. she was acting on the basis that he was a man who was likely to succeed in his endeavors. if she should come to know that he had not succeeded, then her actions would be based upon the new circumstances. furthermore, she had now begun to make plans for her future life. she had been waiting for captain horn to come to her, and to find out what he intended to do. now she knew he was not coming to her for a long time, and was aware of what he intended to do, and she made her own plans. of course, she dealt only with the near future. all beyond that was vague, and she could not touch it even with her thoughts. when sending his remittances, the captain had written that she and mrs. cliff must consider the money he sent her as income to be expended, not as principal to be put away or invested. he had made provisions for the future of all of them, in case he should not succeed in his present project, and what he had not set aside with that view he had devoted to his own operations, and to the maintenance, for a year, of edna, ralph, and mrs. cliff, in such liberal and generous fashion as might please them, and he had apportioned the remittances in a way which he deemed suitable. as edna disbursed the funds, she knew that this proportion was three quarters for herself and ralph, and one quarter for mrs. cliff. "he divides everything into four parts," she thought, "and gives me his share." acting on her principle of getting every good thing out of life that life could give her, and getting it while life was able to give it to her, there was no doubt in regard to her desires. apart from her wish to go where the captain expected to go, she considered that every day now spent in america was a day lost. if her further good fortune should never arrive, and the money in hand should be gone, she wished, before that time came, to engraft upon her existence a period of life in europe--life of such freedom and opportunity as never before she had had a right to dream of. across this golden outlook there came a shadow. if he had wished to come to her, she would have waited for him anywhere, or if he had wished her to go to him, she would have gone anywhere. but it seemed as if that mass of gold, which brought them together, must keep them apart, a long time certainly, perhaps always. nothing that had happened had had any element of certainty about it, and the future was still less certain. if he had come to her before undertaking the perilous voyage now before him, there would have been a certainty in her life which would have satisfied her forever. but he did not come. it was plainly his intention to have nothing to do with the present until the future should be settled, so far as he could settle it. in a few days after she had written to captain horn, informing him of the plans she had made to go to france, edna received an answer which somewhat disappointed her. if the captain's concurrence in her proposed foreign sojourn had not been so unqualified and complete, if he had proposed even some slight modification, if he had said anything which would indicate that he felt he had authority to oppose her movements if he did not approve of them,--in fact, even if he had opposed her plan,--she would have been better pleased. but he wrote as if he were her financial agent, and nothing more. the tone of his letter was kind, the arrangements he said he had made in regard to the money deposited in san francisco showed a careful concern for her pleasure and convenience, but nothing in his letter indicated that he believed himself possessed in any way of the slightest control over her actions. there was nothing like a sting in that kind and generous letter, but when she had read it, the great longing of edna's heart turned and stung her. but she would give no sign of this wound. she was a brave woman, and could wait still longer. the captain informed her that everything was going well with his enterprise--that burke had arrived, and had agreed to take part in the expedition, and that he expected that his brig, the _miranda_, would be ready in less than a week. he mentioned again that he was extremely busy with his operations, but he did not say that he was sorry he was unable to come to take leave of her. he detailed in full the arrangements he had made, and then placed in her hands the entire conduct of the financial affairs of the party until she should hear from him again. when he arrived in france, he would address her in care of his bankers, but in regard to two points only did he now say anything which seemed like a definite injunction or even request. he asked edna to urge upon mrs. cliff the necessity of saying nothing about the discovery of the gold, for if it should become known anywhere from greenland to patagonia, he might find a steamer lying off the rackbirds' cove when his slow sailing-vessel should arrive there. the other request was that edna keep the two negroes with her if this would not prove inconvenient. but if this plan would at all trouble her, he asked that they be sent to him immediately. in answer to this letter, edna merely telegraphed the captain, informing him that she would remain in san francisco until she had heard that he had sailed when she would immediately start for the east, and for france, with ralph and the two negroes. three days after this she received a telegram from captain horn, stating that he would sail in an hour, and the next day she and her little party took a train for new york. chapter xxviii "home, sweet home" on the high-street of the little town of plainton, maine, stood the neat white house of mrs. cliff, with its green shutters, its porchless front door, its pretty bit of flower-garden at the front and side, and its neat back yard, sacred once a week to that virtue which is next to godliness. mrs. cliff's husband had been the leading merchant in plainton, and having saved some money, he had invested it in an enterprise of a friend who had gone into business in valparaiso. on mr. cliff's death his widow had found herself with an income smaller than she had expected, and that it was necessary to change in a degree her style of living. the hospitalities of her table, once so well known throughout the circle of her friends, must be curtailed, and the spare bedroom must be less frequently occupied. the two cows and the horse were sold, and in every way possible the household was placed on a more economical basis. she had a good house, and an income on which, with care and prudence, she could live, but this was all. in this condition of her finances it was not strange that mrs. cliff had thought a good deal about the investments in valparaiso, from which she had not heard for a long time. her husband had been dead for three years, and although she had written several times to valparaiso, she had received no answer whatever, and being a woman of energy, she had finally made up her mind that the proper thing to do was to go down and see after her affairs. it had not been easy for her to get together the money for this long journey,--in fact, she had borrowed some of it,--and so, to lessen her expenses, she had taken passage in the _castor_ from san francisco. she was a housewife of high degree, and would not have thought of leaving--perhaps for months--her immaculate window-panes and her spotless floors and furniture, had she not also left some one to take care of them. a distant cousin, miss willy croup, had lived with her since her husband's death, and though this lady was willing to stay during mrs. cliff's absence, mrs. cliff considered her too quiet and inoffensive to be left in entire charge of her possessions, and miss betty handshall, a worthy maiden of fifty, a little older than willy, and a much more determined character, was asked to come and live in mrs. cliffs house until her return. betty was the only person in plainton who lived on an annuity, and she was rather proud of her independent fortune, but as her annuity was very small, and as this invitation meant a considerable reduction in her expenses, she was very glad to accept it. consequently, mrs. cliff had gone away feeling that she had left her house in the hands of two women almost as neat as herself and even more frugal. when mrs. cliff left edna and ralph in san francisco, and went home, nearly all the people in the little town who were worth considering gathered in and around her house to bid her welcome. they had heard of her shipwreck, but the details had been scanty and unsatisfactory, and the soul of the town throbbed with curiosity to know what had really happened to her. for the first few hours of her return mrs. cliff was in a state of heavenly ecstasy. everything was so tidy, everything was so clean, every face beamed with such genial amity, her native air was so intoxicating, that she seemed to be in a sort of paradise. but when her friends and neighbors began to ask questions, she felt herself gradually descending into a region which, for all she knew, might resemble purgatory. of course, there was a great deal that was wonderful and startling to relate, and as mrs. cliff was a good story-teller, she thrilled the nerves of her hearers with her descriptions of the tornado at sea and the rackbirds on land, and afterwards filled the eyes of many of the women with tears of relief as she told of their escapes, their quiet life at the caves, and their subsequent rescue by the _mary bartlett_. but it was the cross-examinations which caused the soul of the narrator to sink. of course, she had been very careful to avoid all mention of the gold mound, but this omission in her narrative proved to be a defect which she had not anticipated. as she had told that she had lost everything except a few effects she had carried with her from the _castor_, it was natural enough that people should want to know how she had been enabled to come home in such good fashion. they had expected her to return in a shabby, or even needy, condition, and now they had stories of delightful weeks at a hotel in san francisco, and beheld their poor shipwrecked neighbor dressed more handsomely than they had ever seen her, and with a new trunk standing in the lower hall which must contain something. mrs. cliff began by telling the truth, and from this course she did not intend to depart. she said that the captain of the _castor_ was a just and generous man, and, as far as was in his power, he had reimbursed the unfortunate passengers for their losses. but as every one knows the richest steamship companies are seldom so generous to persons who may be cast away during transportation as to offer them long sojourns at hotels, with private parlors and private servants, and to send them home in drawing-room cars, with cloaks trimmed with real sealskin, the questions became more and more direct, and all mrs. cliff could do was to stand with her back against the captain's generosity, as if it had been a rock, and rely upon it for defence. but when the neighbors had all gone home, and the trunk had to be opened, so that it could be lightened before being carried up-stairs, the remarks of willy and betty cut clean to the soul of the unfortunate possessor of its contents. of course, the captain had not actually given her this thing, and that thing, and the other, or the next one, but he had allowed her a sum of money, and she had expended it according to her own discretion. how much that sum of money might have been, willy and betty did not dare to ask,--for there were limits to mrs. cliff's forbearance,--but when they went to bed, they consulted together. if it had not been for the private parlor and the drawing-room car, they would have limited captain horn's generosity to one hundred dollars. but, under the circumstances, that sum would have been insufficient. it must have been nearly, if not quite, two hundred. as for mrs. cliff, she went to bed regretting that her reservations had not been more extended, and that she had not given the gold mound in the cave more company. she hated prevarications and concealments, but if she must conceal something, she should have concealed more. when the time came when she would be free to tell of her good fortune, even if it should be no more than she already possessed, then she would explain everything, and proudly demand of her friends and neighbors to put their fingers on a single untruth that she had told them. for the next day or two, mrs. cliff's joy in living again in her own home banished all other feelings, and as she was careful to say nothing to provoke more questions, and as those which were still asked became uncertain of aim and scattering, her regrets at her want of reticence began to fade. but, no matter what she did, where she went, or what she looked at, mrs. cliff carried about with her a millstone. it did not hang from her neck, but it was in her pocket. it was not very heavy, but it was a burden to her. it was her money--which she wanted to spend, but dared not. on leaving san francisco, edna had wished to give her the full amount which the captain had so far sent her, but mrs. cliff declined to receive the whole. she did not see any strong reason to believe that the captain would ever send any more, and as she had a home, and ralph and edna had not, she would not take all the money that was due her, feeling that they might come to need it more than she would. but even with this generous self-denial she found herself in plainton with a balance of some thousands of dollars in her possession, and as much more in edna's hands, which the latter had insisted that she would hold subject to order. what would the neighbors think of captain horn's abnormal bounteousness if they knew this? with what a yearning, aching heart mrs. cliff looked upon the little picket-fence which ran across the front of her property! how beautiful that fence would be with a new coat of paint, and how perfectly well she could afford it! and there was the little shed that should be over the back door, which would keep the sun from the kitchen in summer, and in winter the snow. there was this in one room, and that in another. there were new dishes which could exist only in her mind. how much domestic gratification there was within her reach, but toward which she did not dare to stretch out her hand! there was poor old mrs. bradley, who must shortly leave the home in which she had lived nearly all her life, because she could no longer afford to pay the rent. there had been an attempt to raise enough money by subscription to give the old lady her home for another year, but this had not been very successful. mrs. cliff could easily have supplied the deficit, and it would have given her real pleasure to do so,--for she had almost an affection for the old lady,--but when she asked to be allowed to subscribe, she did not dare to give more than one dollar, which was the largest sum upon the list, and even then betty had said that, under the circumstances, she could not have been expected to give anything. when she went out into the little barn at the rear of the house, and saw the empty cow-stable, how she longed for fresh cream, and butter of her own making! and when she gazed upon her little phaeton, which she had not sold because no one wanted it, and reflected that her good, brown horse could doubtless be bought back for a moderate sum, she almost wished that she had come home as poor as people thought she ought to be. now and then she ordered something done or spent some money in a way that excited the astonishment of willy croup--the sharper-witted betty had gone home, for, of course, mrs. cliff could not be expected to be able to afford her company now. but in attempting to account for these inconsiderable extravagances, mrs. cliff was often obliged to content herself with admitting that while she had been abroad she might have acquired some of those habits of prodigality peculiar to our western country. this might be a sufficient excuse for the new bottom step to the side door, but how could she account for the pair of soft, warm californian blankets which were at the bottom of the trunk, and which she had not yet taken out even to air? matters had gone on in this way for nearly a month,--every day mrs. cliff had thought of some new expenditure which she could well afford, and every night she wished that she dared to put her money in the town bank and so be relieved from the necessity of thinking so much about door-locks and window-fastenings,--when there came a letter from edna, informing her of the captain's safe arrival in acapulco with the cargo of guano and gold, and inclosing a draft which first made mrs. cliff turn pale, and then compelled her to sit down on the floor and cry. the letter related in brief the captain's adventures, and stated his intention of returning for the gold. "to think of it!" softly sobbed mrs. cliff, after she had carefully closed her bedroom door. "with this and what i am to get, i believe i could buy the bank, and yet i can only sit here and try to think of some place to hide this dangerous piece of paper." the draft was drawn by a san francisco house upon a boston bank, and edna had suggested that it might be well for mrs. cliff to open an account in the latter city. but the poor lady knew that would never do. a bank-account in boston would soon become known to the people of plainton, and what was the use of having an account anywhere if she could not draw from it? edna had not failed to reiterate the necessity of keeping the gold discovery an absolute secret, and every word she said upon this point increased mrs. cliff's depression. "if it were only for a fixed time, a month or three months, or even six months," the poor lady said to herself, "i might stand it. it would be hard to do without all the things i want, and be afraid even to pay the money i borrowed to go to south america, but if i knew when the day was certainly coming when i could hold up my head and let everybody know just what i am, and take my proper place in the community, then i might wait. but nobody knows how long it will take the captain to get away with that gold. he may have to make ever so many voyages. he may meet with wrecks, and dear knows what. it may be years before they are ready to tell me i am a free woman, and may do what i please with my own. i may die in poverty, and leave mr. cliff's nephews to get all the good of the draft and the money in my trunk up-stairs. i suppose they would think it came from valparaiso, and that i had been hoarding it. it's all very well for edna. she is going to europe, where ralph will be educated, i suppose, and where she can live as she pleases, and nobody will ask her any questions, and she need not answer them, if they should. but i must stay here, in debt, and in actual want of the comforts of life, making believe to pinch and to save, until a sea-captain thousands and thousands of miles away shall feel that he is ready to let me put my hand in my pocket and spend my riches." chapter xxix a committee of ladies it was about a week after the receipt of edna's letter that willy croup came to mrs. cliff's bedroom, where that lady had been taking a surreptitious glance at her californian blankets, to tell her that there were three ladies down in the parlor who wished to see her. "it's the minister's wife, and mrs. hembold, and old miss shott," said willy. "they are all dressed up, and i suppose they have come for something particular, so you'd better fix up a little afore you go down." in her present state of mind, mrs. cliff was ready to believe that anybody who came to see her would certainly want to know something which she could not tell them, and she went down fearfully. but these ladies did not come to ask questions. they came to make statements. mrs. perley, the minister's wife, opened the interview by stating that, while she was sorry to see mrs. cliff looking so pale and worried, she was very glad, at the same time, to be able to say something which might, in some degree, relieve her anxiety and comfort her mind, by showing her that she was surrounded by friends who could give her their heartfelt sympathy in her troubles, and perhaps do a little more. "we all know," said mrs. perley, "that you have had misfortunes, and that they have been of a peculiar kind, and none of them owing to your own fault." "we can't agree exactly to that," interpolated miss shott, "but i won't interrupt." "we all know," continued mrs. perley, "that it was a great loss and disappointment to you not to be able to get down to valparaiso and settle your affairs there, for we are aware that you need whatever money is due you from that quarter. and we understand, too, what a great blow it was to you to be shipwrecked, and lose all your baggage except a hand-bag." miss shott was about to say something here, but mrs. hembold touched her on the arm, and she waited. "it grieves us very much," continued the minister's wife, "to think that our dear friend and neighbor should come home from her wanderings and perils and privations, and find herself in what must be, although we do not wish to pry into your private affairs, something of an embarrassed condition. we have all stayed at home with our friends and our families, and we have had no special prosperity, but neither have we met with losses, and it grieves us to think that you, who were once as prosperous as any of us, should now feel--i should say experience--in any manner the pressure of privation." "i don't understand," said mrs. cliff, sitting up very straight in her chair. "privation? what does that mean?" "it may not be exactly that," said mrs. perley, quickly, "and we all know very well, mrs. cliff, that you are naturally sensitive on a point like this. but you have come back shipwrecked and disappointed in your business, and we want to show you that, while we would not hurt your feelings for anything in the world, we would like to help you a little, if we can, just as we would hope you would help us if we were in any embarrassment." "i must say, however--" remarked miss shott; but she was again silenced by mrs. hembold, and the minister's wife went on. "to come straight to the point," said she, "for a good while we have been wanting to do something, and we did not know what to do. but a few days ago we became aware, through miss willy croup, that what was most needed in this house is blankets. she said, in fact, that the blankets you had were the same you bought when you were first married, that some of them had been worn out and given to your poorer neighbors, and that now you were very short of blankets, and, with cold weather coming on, she did not consider that the clothing on your own bed was sufficient. she even went so far as to say that the blankets she used were very thin, and that she did not think they were warm enough for winter. so, some of us have agreed together that we would testify our friendship and our sympathy by presenting you with a pair of good, warm blankets for your own bed; then those you have could go to willy croup, and you both would be comfortable all winter. of course, what we have done has not been upon an expensive scale. we have had many calls upon us,--poor old mrs. bradley, for one,--and we could not afford to spend much money. but we have bought you a good pair of blankets, which are warm and serviceable, and we hope you will not be offended, and we do not believe that you will be, for you know our motives, and all that we ask is that when you are warm and comfortable under our little gift, you will sometimes think of us. the blankets are out in the hall, and i have no doubt that miss willy croup will bring them in." mrs. cliff's eyes filled with tears. she wanted to speak, but how could she speak! but she was saved from further embarrassment, for when willy, who had been standing in the doorway, had gone to get the blankets, miss shott could be restrained no longer. "i am bound to say," she began, "that, while i put my money in with the rest to get those blankets,--and am very glad to be able to do it, mrs. cliff,--i don't think that we ought to do anything which would look as if we were giving our countenances to useless extravagances in persons, even if they are our friends, who, with but small means, think they must live like rich people, simply because they happen to be travelling among them. it is not for me to allude to hotels in towns where there are good boarding-houses, to vestibule cars and fur-trimmed cloaks; but i will say that when i am called upon to help my friends who need it, i will do it as quick as anybody, but i also feel called upon by my conscience to lift up my voice against spending for useless things what little money a person may have, when that person needs that money for--well, for things i shall not mention. and now that i have said my say, i am just as glad to help give you those blankets, mrs. cliff, as anybody else is." every one in the room knew that the thing she would not mention was the money mrs. cliff had borrowed for her passage. miss shott had not lent any of it, but her brother, a retired carpenter and builder, had, and as his sister expected to outlive him, although he was twelve years younger than she was, she naturally felt a little sore upon this point. now mrs. cliff was herself again. she was not embarrassed. she was neither pale nor trembling. with a stern severity, not unknown to her friends and neighbors in former days, she rose to her feet. "nancy shott," said she, "i don't know anything that makes me feel more at home than to hear you talk like that. you are the same woman that never could kiss a baby without wanting to spank it at the same time. i know what is the matter with you. you are thinking of that money i borrowed from your brother. well, i borrowed that for a year, and the time is not up yet; but when it is, i'll pay it, every cent of it, and interest added. i knew what i was about when i borrowed it, and i know what i am about now, and if i get angry and pay it before it becomes due, he will lose that much interest, and he can charge it to you. that is all i have to say to you. "as for you, mrs. perley, and the other persons who gave me these blankets, i want you to feel that i am just as grateful as if--just as grateful as i can be, and far more for the friendliness than for the goods. i won't say anything more about that, and it isn't necessary, but i must say one thing. i am ready to take the blankets, and to thank you from the bottom of my heart, but i will not have them unless the money miss shott put in is given back to her. whatever that was, i will make it up myself, and i hope i may be excused for saying that i don't believe it will break me." now there was a scene. miss shott rose in anger and marched out of the house. mrs. perley and the other lady expostulated with mrs. cliff for a time, but they knew her very well, and soon desisted. twenty-five cents was handed to mrs. perley to take the place of the sum contributed by miss shott, and the ladies departed, and the blankets were taken up-stairs. mrs. cliff gave one glance at them as willy croup spread them out. "if those women could see my californian blankets!" she said to herself, but to willy she said, "they are very nice, and you may put them away." then she went to her own room and went to bed. this last shock was too much for her nerves to bear. in the afternoon willy brought her some tea, but the poor lady would not get up. so long as she stayed in bed, people could be kept away from her, but there was nowhere else where she could be in peace. all night she lay and thought and thought and thought. what should she do? she could not endure this condition of things. there was only one relief that presented itself to her: she might go to mr. perley, her minister, and confide everything to him. he would tell her what she ought to do. "but," she thought, "suppose he should say it should all go to the peruvians!" and then she had more thinking to do, based upon this contingency, which brought on a headache, and she remained in bed all the next day. the next morning, willy croup, who had begun to regret that she had ever said anything about blankets,--but how could she have imagined that anybody could be so cut up at what that old shott woman had said?--brought mrs. cliff a letter. this was from edna, stating that she and ralph and the two negroes had just arrived in new york, from which point they were to sail for havre. edna wished very much to see mrs. cliff before she left the country, and wrote that if it would be convenient for that lady, she would run up to plainton and stay a day or two with her. there would be time enough for this before the steamer sailed. when she read this brief note, mrs. cliff sprang out of bed. "edna come here!" she exclaimed. "that would be simply ruin! but i must see her. i must tell her everything, and let her help me." as soon as she was dressed, she went down-stairs and told willy that she would start for new york that very afternoon. she had received a letter from mrs. horn, and it was absolutely necessary to see her before she sailed. with only a small leather bag in her hand, and nearly all her ready money and her peace-destroying draft sewed up inside the body of her dress, she left plainton, and when her friends and neighbors heard that she had gone, they could only ascribe such a sudden departure to the strange notions she had imbibed in foreign parts. when plainton people contemplated a journey, they told everybody about it, and took plenty of time to make preparations; but south americans and californians would start anywhere at a moment's notice. people had thought that mrs. cliff was too old to be influenced by association in that way, but it was plain that they had been mistaken, and there were those who were very much afraid that even if the poor lady had got whatever ought to be coming to her from the valparaiso business, it would have been of little use to her. her old principles of economy and prudence must have been terribly shaken. this very journey to new york would probably cost twenty dollars! when mrs. cliff entered edna's room in a new york hotel, the latter was startled, almost frightened. she had expected her visitor, for she had had a telegram, but she scarcely recognized at the first glance the pale and haggard woman who had come to her. "sick!" exclaimed poor mrs. cliff, as she sank upon a sofa. "yes, i am sick, but not in body, only in heart. well, it is hard to tell you what is the matter. the nearest i can get to it is that it is wealth struck in, as measles sometimes strike in when they ought to come out properly, and one is just as dangerous as the other." when mrs. cliff had had something to eat and drink, and had begun to tell her tale, edna listened with great interest and sympathy. but when the good lady had nearly finished, and was speaking of her resolution to confide everything to mr. perley, edna's gaze at her friend became very intent, and her hands tightly grasped the arms of the chair in which she was sitting. "mrs. cliff," said she, when the other had finished, "there is but one thing for you to do: you must go to europe with us." "now!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "in the steamer you have engaged passage in? impossible! i could not go home and settle up everything and come back in time." "but you must not go home," said edna. "you must not think of it. your troubles would begin again as soon as you got there. you must stay here and go when we do." mrs. cliff stared at her. "but i have only a bag and the clothes i have on. i am not ready for a voyage. and there's the house, with nobody but willy in it. don't you see it would be impossible for me to go?" "what you need for the passage," said edna, "you can buy here in a few hours, and everything else you can get on the other side a great deal cheaper and better than here. as to your house, you can write to that other lady to go there and stay with miss croup until you come back. i tell you, mrs. cliff, that all these things have become mere trifles to you. i dare say you could buy another house such as you own in plainton, and scarcely miss the money. compared to your health and happiness, the loss of that house, even if it should burn up while you are away, would be as a penny thrown to a beggar." "and there is my new trunk," said mrs. cliff, "with my blankets and ever so many things locked up in it." "let it stay there," said edna. "you will not need the blankets, and i don't believe any one will pick the lock." "but how shall i explain my running away in such a fashion? what will they all think?" "simply write," said edna, "that you are going to europe as companion to mrs. horn. if they think you are poor, that will explain everything. and you may add, if you choose, that mrs. horn is so anxious to have you, she will take no denial, and it is on account of her earnest entreaties that you are unable to go home and take leave in a proper way of your friends." it was half an hour afterwards that mrs. cliff said: "well, edna, i will go with you. but i can tell you this: i would gladly give up all the mountains and palaces i may see in europe, if i could go back to plainton this day, deposit my money in the plainton bank, and then begin to live according to my means. that would be a joy that nothing else on this earth could give me." edna laughed. "all you have to do," she said, "is to be patient and wait awhile, and then, when you go back like a queen to plainton, you will have had your mountains and your palaces besides." chapter xxx at the hÔtel boileau it was early in december,--two months after the departure of edna and her little party from new york,--and they were all comfortably domiciled in the hotel boileau, in a quiet street, not far from the boulevard des italiens. this house, to which they came soon after their arrival in paris, might be considered to belong to the family order, but its grade was much higher than that of the hotel in which they had lived in san francisco. as in the former place, they had private apartments, a private table, and the service of their own colored men, in addition to that of the hotel servants. but their salon was large and beautifully furnished, their meals were cooked by a french chef, every one, from the lordly porter to the quick-footed chambermaid, served them with a courteous interest, and mrs. cliff said that although their life in the two hotels seemed to be in the main the same sort of life, they were, in reality, as different as an old, dingy mahogany bureau, just dragged from an attic, and that same piece of furniture when it had been rubbed down, oiled, and varnished. and ralph declared that, so far as he knew anything about it, there was nothing like the air of paris to bring out the tones and colorings and veinings of hotel life. but the greatest difference between the former and the present condition of this little party lay in the fact that in san francisco its principal member was mrs. philip horn, while in paris it was miss edna markham. this change of name had been the result of nights of thought and hours of consultation. in san francisco edna felt herself to be mrs. horn as truly as if they had been married at high noon in one of the city churches, but although she could see no reason to change her faith in the reality of her conjugal status, she had begun to fear that captain horn might have different views upon the subject. this feeling had been brought about by the tone of his letters. if he should die, those letters might prove that she was then his widow, but it was plain that he did not wish to impress upon her mind that she was now his wife. if she had remained in san francisco, edna would have retained the captain's name. there she was a stranger, and captain horn was well known. his agents knew her as mrs. horn, the people of the _mary bartlett_ knew her as such, and she should not have thought of resigning it. but in paris the case was very different. there she had friends, and expected to make more, and in that city she was quite sure that captain horn was very little known. edna's parisian friends, were all americans, and some of them people of consideration, one of her old schoolmates being the wife of a secretary of the american legation. could she appear before these friends as mrs. captain philip horn, feeling that not only was she utterly unable to produce captain horn, but that she might never be able to do so? should the captain not return, and should she have proofs of his death, or sufficient reason to believe it, she might then do as she pleased about claiming her place as his widow. but should he return, he should not find that she had trammelled and impeded his plans and purposes by announcing herself as his wife. she did not expect ever to live in san francisco again, and in no other place need she be known as mrs. horn. as to the business objects of her exceptional marriage, they were, in a large degree, already attained. the money captain horn had remitted to her in san francisco was a sum so large as to astound her, and when she reached paris she lost no time in depositing her funds under her maiden name. for the sake of security, some of the money was sent to a london banker, and in paris she did not deposit with the banking house which captain horn had mentioned. but directions were left with that house that if a letter ever came to mrs. philip horn, it was to be sent to her in care of mrs. cliff, and, to facilitate the reception of such a letter, mrs. cliff made wraxton, fuguet & co. her bankers, and all her letters were addressed to them. but at edna's bankers she was known as miss markham, and her only parisian connection with the name of horn was through mrs. cliff. the amount of money now possessed by edna was, indeed, a very fair fortune for her, without regarding it, as captain horn had requested, as a remittance to be used as a year's income. in his letters accompanying his remittances the captain had always spoken of them as her share of the gold brought away, and in this respect he treated her exactly as he treated mrs. cliff, and in only one respect had she any reason to infer that the money was in any manner a contribution from himself. in making her divisions according to his directions, her portion was so much greater than that of the others, edna imagined captain horn sent her his share as well as her own. but of this she did not feel certain, and should he succeed in securing the rest of the gold in the mound, she did not know what division he would make. consequently, this little thread of a tie between herself and the captain, woven merely of some hypothetical arithmetic, was but a cobweb of a thread. the resumption of her maiden name had been stoutly combated by both mrs. cliff and ralph. the first firmly insisted upon the validity of the marriage, so long as the captain did not appear, but she did not cease to insist that the moment he did appear, there should be another ceremony. "but," said edna, "you know that cheditafa's ceremony was performed simply for the purpose of securing to me, in case of his loss on that boat trip, a right to claim the benefit of his discovery. if he should come back, he can give me all the benefit i have a right to claim from that discovery, just as he gives you your share, without the least necessity of a civilized marriage. now, would you advise me to take a step which would seem to force upon him the necessity for such a marriage?" "no," said mrs. cliff. "but all your reasoning is on a wrong basis. i haven't the least doubt in the world---i don't see how any one can have a doubt--that the captain intends to come back and claim you as his wife; and if anything more be necessary to make you such, as i consider there would be, he would be as ready as anybody to do it. and, edna, if you could see yourself, not merely as you look in the glass, but as he would see you, you would know that he would be as ready as any of us would wish him to be. and how will he feel, do you suppose, when he finds that you renounce him and are going about under your maiden name?" in her heart edna answered that she hoped he might feel very much as she had felt when he did not come to see her in san francisco, but to mrs. cliff she said she had no doubt that he would fully appreciate her reasons for assuming her old name. ralph's remarks were briefer, and more to the point. "he married you," he said, "the best way he could under the circumstances, and wrote to you as his wife, and in san francisco you took his name. now, if he comes back and says you are not his wife, i'll kill him." "if i were you, ralph," said his sister, "i wouldn't do that. in fact, i may say i would disapprove of any such proceeding." "oh, you can laugh," said he, "but it makes no difference to me. i shall take the matter into my own hands if he repudiates that contract." "but suppose i give him no chance to repudiate it?" said edna. "suppose he finds me miss edna markham, and finds, also, that i wish to continue to be that lady? if what has been done has any force at all, it can easily be set aside by law." ralph rose and walked up and down the floor, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. "that's just like a woman," he said. "they are always popping up new and different views of things, and that is a view i hadn't thought of. is that what you intend to do?" "no," said edna, "i do not intend to do anything. all i wish is to hold myself in such a position that i can act when the time comes to act." ralph took the whole matter to bed with him in order to think over it. he did a great deal more sleeping than thinking, but in the morning he told edna he believed she was right. "but one thing is certain," he said: "even if that heathen marriage should not be considered legal, it was a solemn ceremony of engagement, and nobody can deny that. it was something like a caveat which people get before a regular patent is issued for an invention, and if you want him to do it, he should stand up and do it; but if you don't, that's your business. but let me give you a piece of advice: wherever you go and whatever you do, until this matter is settled, be sure to carry around that two-legged marriage certificate called cheditafa. he can speak a good deal of english now, if there should be any dispute." "dispute!" cried edna, indignantly. "what are you thinking of? do you suppose i would insist or dispute in such a matter? i thought you knew me better than that." ralph sighed. "if you could understand how dreadfully hard it is to know you," he said, "you wouldn't be so severe on a poor fellow if he happened to make a mistake now and then." when mrs. cliff found that edna had determined upon her course, she ceased her opposition, and tried, good woman as she was, to take as satisfactory a view of the matter as she could find reason for. "it would be a little rough," she said, "if your friends were to meet you as mrs. horn, and you would be obliged to answer questions. i have had experience in that sort of thing. and looking at it in that light, i don't know but what you are right, edna, in defending yourself against questions until you are justified in answering them. to have to admit that you are not mrs. horn after you had said you were, would be dreadful, of course. but the other would be all plain sailing. you would go and be married properly, and that would be the end of it. and even if you were obliged to assert your claims as his widow, there would be no objection to saying that there had been reasons for not announcing the marriage. but there is another thing. how are you going to explain your prosperous condition to your friends? when i was in plainton, i thought of you as so much better off than myself in this respect, for over here there would be no one to pry into your affairs. i did not know you had friends in paris." "all that need not trouble me in the least," said edna. "when i went to school with edith southall, who is now mrs. sylvester, my father was in a very good business, and we lived handsomely. it was not until i was nearly grown up that he failed and died, and then ralph and i went to cincinnati, and my life of hard work began. so you see there is no reason why my friends in paris should ask any questions, or i should make explanations." "i wish it were that way in plainton," said mrs. cliff, with a sigh. "i would go back there the moment another ship started from france." so it was miss edna markham of new york who took apartments at the hotel boileau, and it was she who called upon the wife of the american secretary of legation. chapter xxxi waiting for several weeks after their arrival, the members of the little party had but one common object,--to see and enjoy the wonders and beauties of paris,--and in their sight-seeing they nearly always went together, sometimes taking cheditafa and mok with them. but as time went on, their different dispositions began to assert themselves, and in their daily pursuits they gradually drifted apart. mrs. cliff was not a cultivated woman, but she had a good, common-sense appreciation of art in its various forms. she would tramp with untiring step through the galleries of the louvre, but when she had seen a gallery, she did not care to visit it again. she went to the theatre and the opera because she wanted to see how they acted and sang in france, but she did not wish to go often to a place where she could not understand a word that was spoken. ralph was now under the charge of a tutor, professor barré by name, who took a great interest in this american boy, whose travels and experiences had given him a precocity which the professor had never met with in any of his other scholars. ralph would have much preferred to study paris instead of books, and the professor, who was able to give a great deal of time to his pupil, did not altogether ignore this natural instinct of a youthful heart. in consequence, the two became very good friends, and ralph was the best-satisfied member of the party. it was in regard to social affairs that the lives of edna and mrs. cliff diverged most frequently. through the influence of mrs. sylvester, a handsome woman with a vivacious intelligence which would have made her conspicuous in any society, edna found that social engagements, not only in diplomatic circles and in those of the american colony, but, to some extent, in parisian society, were coming upon her much more rapidly than she had expected. the secretary's wife was proud of her countrywoman, and glad to bring her forward in social functions. into this new life edna entered as if it had been a gallery she had not yet visited, or a museum which she saw for the first time. she studied it, and enjoyed the study. but only in a limited degree did mrs. cliff enjoy society in paris. to be sure, it was only in a limited degree that she had been asked to do it. even with a well-filled purse and all the advantages of paris at her command, she was nothing more than a plain and highly respectable woman from a country town in maine. more than this silks and velvets could not make her, and more than this she did not wish to be. as edna's friend and companion, she had been kindly received at the legation, but after attending two or three large gatherings, she concluded that she would wait until her return to plainton before she entered upon any further social exercises. but she was not at all dissatisfied or homesick. she preferred plainton to all places in the world, but that little town should not see her again until she could exhibit her californian blankets to her friends, and tell them where she got the money to buy them. "blankets!" she said to herself. "i am afraid they will hardly notice them when they see the other things i shall take back there." with society, especially such society as she could not enjoy, mrs. cliff could easily dispense. so long as the shops of paris were open to her, the delights of these wonderful marts satisfied the utmost cravings of her heart; and as she had a fine mind for bargaining, and plenty of time on her hands, she was gradually accumulating a well-chosen stock of furnishings and adornments, not only for her present house in plainton, but for the large and handsome addition to it which she intended to build on an adjoining lot. these schemes for establishing herself in plainton, as a wealthy citizen, did not depend on the success of captain horn's present expedition. what mrs. cliff already possessed was a fortune sufficient for the life she desired to lead in her native town. what she was waiting for was the privilege of going back and making that fortune known. as to the increase of her fortune she had but small belief. if it should come, she might change her plans, but the claims of the native peruvians should not be forgotten. even if the present period of secrecy should be terminated by the news of the non-success of captain horn, she intended to include, among her expenses, a periodical remittance to some charitable association in peru for the benefit of the natives. the christmas holidays passed, january was half gone, and edna had received no news from captain horn. she had hoped that before leaving south. america and beginning his long voyage across the atlantic, he would touch at some port from which he might send her a letter, which, coming by steamer, would reach her before she could expect the arrival of the brig. but no letter had come. she had arranged with a commercial agency to telegraph to her the moment the miranda should arrive in any french port, but no message had come, and no matter what else she was doing, it seemed to edna as if she were always expecting such a message. sometimes she thought that this long delay must mean disaster, and at such times she immediately set to work to reason out the matter. from acapulco to cape horn, up through the south atlantic and the north atlantic to france, was a long voyage for a sailing-vessel, and to the time necessary for this she must add days, and perhaps weeks, of labor at the caves, besides all sorts of delays on the voyage. like ralph, she had an unbounded faith in the captain. he might not bring her one bar of gold, he might meet with all sorts of disasters, but, whenever her mind was in a healthy condition, she expected him to come to france, as he had said he would. she now began to feel that she was losing a great deal of time. paris was all very well, but it was not everything. when news should come to her, it might be necessary for her to go to america. she could not tell what would be necessary, and she might have to leave europe with nothing but paris to remember. there was no good objection to travel on the continent, for, if the _miranda_ should arrive while she was not in paris, she would not be so far away that a telegram could not quickly bring her back. so she listened to mrs. cliff and her own desires, and the party journeyed to italy, by the way of geneva and bern. ralph was delighted with the change, for professor barré, his tutor, had consented to go with them, and, during these happy days in italy, he was the preceptor of the whole party. they went to but few places that he had not visited before, and they saw but little that he could not talk about to their advantage. but, no matter what they did, every day edna expected a message, and every day, except sunday, she went to the banker's to look over the maritime news in the newspapers, and she so arranged her affairs that she could start for france at an hour's notice. but although edna had greatly enjoyed the italian journey, it came to an end at last, and it was with feelings of satisfaction that she settled down again in paris. here she was in the centre of things, ready for news, ready for arrivals, ready to go anywhere or do anything that might be necessary, and, more than that, there was a delightful consciousness that she had seen something of switzerland and italy, and without having missed a telegram by being away. the party did not return to the hotel boileau. edna now had a much better idea of the continental menage than she had brought with her from america, and she believed that she had not been living up to the standard that captain horn had desired. she wished in every way to conform to his requests, and one of these had been that she should consider the money he had sent her as income, and not as property. it was hard for her to fulfil this injunction, for her mind was as practical as that of mrs. cliff, and she could not help considering the future, and the probability of never receiving an addition to the funds she now had on deposit in london and paris. but her loyalty to the man who had put her into possession of that money was superior to her feelings of prudence and thrift. when he came to paris, he should find her living as he wanted her to live. it was not necessary to spend all she had, but, whether he came back poor or rich, he should see that she had believed in him and in his success. the feeling of possible disaster had almost left her. the fears that had come to her had caused her to reason upon the matter, and the more she reasoned, the better she convinced herself that a long period of waiting without news was to be expected in the case of an adventure such as that in which captain horn was engaged. there was, perhaps, another reason for her present state of mind--a reason which she did not recognize: she had become accustomed to waiting. it was at a grand hotel that the party now established themselves, the space, the plate-glass, the gilt, and the general splendor of which made ralph exclaim in wonder and admiration. "you would better look out, edna," said he, "or it will not be long before we find ourselves living over in the latin quarter, and taking our meals at a restaurant where you pay a sou for the use of the napkins." edna's disposition demanded that her mode of life should not be ostentatious, but she conformed in many ways to the style of her hotel. there were returns of hospitality. there was a liveried coachman when they drove. there was a general freshening of wardrobes, and even cheditafa and mok had new clothes, designed by an artist to suit their positions. if captain horn should come to paris, he should not find that she had doubted his success, or him. after the return from italy, mrs. cliff began to chafe and worry under her restrictions. she had obtained from europe all she wanted at present, and there was so much, in plainton she was missing. oh, if she could only go there and avow her financial condition! she lay awake at night, thinking of the opportunities that were slipping from her. from the letters that willy croup wrote her, she knew that people were coming to the front in plainton who ought to be on the back seats, and that she, who could occupy, if she chose, the best place, was thought of only as a poor widow who was companion to a lady who was travelling. it made her grind her teeth to think of the way that miss shott was talking of her, and it was not long before she made up her mind that she ought to speak to edna on the subject, and she did so. "go home!" exclaimed the latter. "why, mrs. cliff, that would be impossible just now. you could not go to plainton without letting people know where you got your money." "of course i couldn't," said mrs. cliff, "and i wouldn't. there have been times when i have yearned so much for my home that i thought it might be possible for me to go there and say that the valparaiso affair had turned out splendidly, and that was how i got my money. but i couldn't do it. i could not stand up before my minister and offer to refurnish the parsonage parlor, with such a lie as that on my lips. but there is no use in keeping back the real truth any longer. it is more than eight months since captain horn started out for that treasure, and it is perfectly reasonable to suppose either that he has got it; or that he never will get it, and in either one of these cases it will not do any injury to anybody if we let people know about the money we have, and where it came from." "but it may do very great injury," said edna. "captain horn may have been able to take away only a part of it, and may now be engaged in getting the rest. there are many things which may have happened, and if we should now speak of that treasure, it might ruin all his plans." "if he has half of it," said mrs. cliff, "he ought to be satisfied with that, and not keep us here on pins and needles until he gets the rest. of course, i do not want to say anything that would pain you, edna, and i won't do it, but people can't help thinking, and i think that we have waited as long as our consciences have any right to ask us to wait." "i know what you mean," replied edna, "but it does not give me pain. i do not believe that captain horn has perished, and i certainly expect soon to hear from him." "you have been expecting that a long time," said the other. "yes, and i shall expect it for a good while yet. i have made up my mind that i shall not give up my belief that captain horn is alive, and will come or write to us, until we have positive news of his death, or until one year has passed since he left acapulco. considering what he has done for us, mrs. cliff, i think it very little for us to wait one year before we betray the trust he has placed in us, and, merely for the sake of carrying out our own plans a little sooner, utterly ruin the plans he has made, and which he intends as much for our benefit as for his own." mrs. cliff said no more, but she thought that was all very well for edna, who was enjoying herself in a way that suited her, but it was very different for her. in her heart of hearts, mrs. cliff now believed they would never see captain horn again. "for if he were alive," she said to herself, "he would certainly have contrived in some way or other to send some sort of a message. with the whole world covered with post routes and telegraph-wires, it would be simply impossible for captain horn and those two sailors to keep absolutely silent and unheard of for such a long time--unless," she continued, hesitating even in her thoughts, "they don't want to be heard from." but the good lady would not allow her mind to dwell on that proposition; it was too dreadful! and so edna waited and waited, hoping day by day for good news from captain horn; and so mrs. cliff waited and waited, hoping for news from captain horn--good news, if possible, but in any case something certain and definite, something that would make them know what sort of life they were to lead in this world, and make them free to go and live it. chapter xxxii a mariner's wits take a little flight when captain horn, in the brig _miranda_, with the american sailors burke and shirley, and the four negroes, left acapulco on the th of september, he might have been said to have sailed "in ballast," as the only cargo he carried was a large number of coffee-bags. he had cleared for rio janeiro, at which port he intended to touch and take on board a small cargo of coffee, deeming it better to arrive in france with something more than the auriferous mineral matter with which he hoped to replace a large portion of discarded ballast. the unusual cargo of empty coffee-bags was looked upon by the customs officials as a bit of yankee thrift, it being likely enough that the captain could obtain coffee-bags in mexico much cheaper than in rio janeiro. the voyage to the peruvian coast was a slow one, the _miranda_ proving to be anything but a clipper, and the winds were seldom in her favor. but at last she rounded aguja point, and the captain shaped his course toward the coast and the rackbirds' cove, the exact position of which was now dotted on his chart. a little after noon on a quiet october day, they drew near enough to land to recognize the coast-line and the various landmarks of the locality. the negroes were filled with surprise, and afterwards with fright, for they had had no idea that they were going near the scene of their former horrible captivity. from time to time, they had debated among themselves the intentions of captain horn in regard to them, and now the idea seized them that perhaps he was going to leave them where he had found them. but, through maka, who at first was as much frightened as the rest, the captain succeeded in assuring them that he was merely going to stop as near as possible to the cave where he had stayed so long, to get some of his property which it had been impossible to take away when the rest of the party left. maka had great confidence in the captain's word, and he was able to infuse a good deal of this into the minds of the three other negroes. captain horn had been in considerable doubt in regard to the best method of shipping the treasure; should he be so fortunate as to find it as he had left it. the cove was a quiet harbor in which the small boats could easily ply between the vessel and the shore, but, in this case, the gold must be carried by tedious journeys along the beach. on the other hand, if the brig lay too near the entrance to the caves, the treasure-laden boats must be launched through the surf, and, in case of high seas, this operation might be hazardous; consequently, he determined to anchor in the rackbirds' cove and submit to the delay and inconvenience of the land transportation of the gold. when the captain and shirley went ashore in a boat, nothing was seen to indicate that any one had visited the spot since the last cargo of guano had been shipped. this was a relief, but when the captain had wandered through the place, and even examined the storehouse of the rackbirds, he found, to his regret, that it was too late for him to visit the caves that day. this was the occasion of a night of wakefulness and unreasonable anxiety--unreasonable, as the captain assured himself over and over again, but still impossible to dissipate. no man who has spent weeks in pursuit of a royal treasure, in a vessel that at times seemed hardly to creep, could fail to be anxious and excited when he is compelled to pause within a few miles of that treasure. but early in the morning the captain started for the caves. he took with him shirley and maka, leaving the brig in charge of burke. the captain placed great confidence in shirley, who was a quiet, steady man. in fact, he trusted every one on the ship, for there was nothing else to do. if any of them should prove false to him, he hoped to be able to defend himself against them, and it would be more than foolish to trouble his mind with apprehensions until there should be some reason for them. but there was a danger to be considered, quite different from the criminal cupidity which might be provoked by companionship with the heap of gold, and this was the spirit of angry disappointment which might be looked for should no heap of gold be found. at the moment of such possible disappointment, the captain wanted to have with him a man not given to suspicions and resentments. in fact, the captain thought, as the little party strode along the beach, that if he should find the mound empty,--and he could not drive from his mind that once he had found it uncovered,--he wished to have with him some one who would back him up a little in case he should lower his lantern into a goldless void. as they walked up the plateau in the path worn principally by his own feet, and the captain beheld the great stone face against the wall of rock, his mind became quieter. he slackened his pace, and even began to concoct some suitable remarks to make to shirley in case of evil fortune. shirley looked about him with great interest. he had left the place before the great stone face had been revealed by the burning of the vines, and he would have been glad to stop for a minute and examine it. but although captain horn had convinced himself that he was in no hurry, he could not allow delay. lighting a lantern, they went through the passageway and entered the great cave of the lake, leaving maka rummaging around with eager delight through the rocky apartments where he had once been a member of a domestic household. when they reached the mound, the captain handed his lantern to shirley, telling him to hold it high, and quickly clambered to the top. "good!" he exclaimed. "the lid is just as i left it. come up!" in a moment shirley was at his side, and the captain with his pocket-knife began to pick out the oakum which he had packed around the edges of the lid, for otherwise it would have been impossible for him to move it. then he stood up and raised the lid, putting it to one side. "give me the lantern!" he shouted, and, stooping, lie lowered it and looked in. the gold in the mound was exactly as he had left it. "hurrah!" he cried. "now you take a look!" and he handed the lantern to his companion. shirley crawled a little nearer the opening and looked into it, then lowered the lantern and put his head down so that it almost disappeared. he remained in this position for nearly a minute, and the captain gazed at him with a beaming face. his whole system, relieved from the straining bonds of doubt and fear and hope, was basking in a flood of ecstatic content. suddenly shirley began to swear. he was not a profane man, and seldom swore, but now the oaths rolled from him in a manner that startled the captain. "get up," said he. "haven't you seen enough?" shirley raised his head, but still kept his eyes on the treasure beneath him, and swore worse than before. the captain was shocked. "what is the matter with you?" said he. "give me the lantern. i don't see anything to swear at." shirley did not hand him the lantern, but the captain took it from him, and then he saw that the man was very pale. "look out!" he cried. "you'll slip down and break your bones." in fact, shirley's strength seemed to have forsaken him, and he was on the point of either slipping down the side of the mound or tumbling into the open cavity. the captain put down the lantern and moved quickly to his side, and, with some difficulty, managed to get him safely to the ground. he seated him with his back against the mound, and then, while he was unscrewing the top of a whiskey flask, shirley began to swear again in a most violent and rapid way. "he has gone mad," thought the captain. "the sight of all that gold has crazed him." "stop that," he said to the other, "and take a drink." shirley broke off a string of oaths in the middle, and took a pull at the flask. this was of service to him, for he sat quiet for a minute or two, during which time the captain brought down the lantern. looking up at him, shirley said in a weak voice: "captain, is what i saw all so?" "yes," was the reply, "it's all so." "then," said the other, "help me out of this. i want to get out into common air." the captain raised shirley to his feet, and, with the lantern in one hand, he assisted him to walk. but it was not easy. the man appeared to take no interest in his movements, and staggered and leaned upon the captain as if he were drunk. as soon as they came out of the utter darkness and had reached the lighter part of the cave, the captain let shirley sit down, and went for maka. "the first mate has been taken sick," said he to the negro, "and you must come help me get him out into the open air." when the negro saw shirley in a state of semi-collapse, he began to tremble from head to foot, but he obeyed orders, and, with a great deal of trouble, the two got the sailor outside of the caves and gave him another drink of whiskey. maka had his own ideas about this affair. there was no use telling him mr. shirley was sick--at least, that he was afflicted by any common ailment. he and his fellows knew very well that there were devils back in the blackness of that cave, and if the captain did not mind them, it was because they were taking care of the property, whatever it was, that he kept back here, and for which he had now returned. with what that property was, and how it happened to be there, the mind of the negro did not concern itself. of course, it must be valuable, or the captain would not have come to get it, but that was his business. he had taken the first mate into that darkness, and the sight of the devils had nearly killed him, and now the negro's mind was filled with but one idea, and that was that the captain might take him in there and make him see devils. after a time shirley felt very much better, and able to walk. "now, captain," said he, "i am all right, but i tell you what we must do: i'll go to the ship, and i'll take charge of her, and i'll do whatever has got to be done on shore. yes, and, what's more, i'll help do the carrying part of the business,--it would be mean to sneak out of that,--and i'll shoulder any sort of a load that's put out on the sand in the daylight. but, captain, i don't want to do anything to make me look into that hole. i can't stand it, and that is the long and short of it. i am sorry that maka saw me in such a plight--it's bad for discipline; but it can't be helped." "never mind," cried the captain, whose high spirits would have overlooked almost anything at that moment. "come, let us go back and have our breakfast. that will set you up, and i won't ask you to go into the caves again, if you don't want to." "don't let's talk about it," said shirley, setting off. "i'd rather get my mind down to marlin-spikes and bilge-water." as the captain walked back to the cove, he said to himself: "i expect it struck shirley harder than it did the rest of us because he knew what he was looking at, and the first time we saw it we were not sure it was gold, as it might have been brass. but shirley knew, for he had already had a lot of those bars, and had turned them into money. by george! i don't wonder that a poor fellow who had struggled for life with a small bag of that gold was knocked over when he saw a wagon-load of it." maka, closely following the others, had listened with eagerness to what had been said, and had been struck with additional horror when he heard shirley request that he might not again be asked to look into that hole. suddenly the captain and shirley were startled by a deep groan behind them, and, turning, saw the negro sitting upon the sand, his knees drawn up to his face, and groaning grievously. "what's the matter?" cried the captain. "i sick," said maka. "sick same as mr. shirley." "get up and come along," said the captain, laughing. he saw that something was really ailing the black fellow, for he trembled from head to foot, and his face had the hue of a black horse recently clipped. but he thought it best not to treat the matter seriously. "come along," said he. "i am not going to give you any whiskey." and then, struck by a sudden thought, he asked, "are you afraid that you have got to go into that cave?" "yes, sir," said maka, who had risen to his feet. "it make me pretty near die dead to think that." "well, don't die any more," said the captain. "you sha'n't go anywhere that you have not been before." the pupils of maka's eyes, which had been turned up nearly out of sight, were now lowered. "all right, cap'n," said he. "i lot better now." this little incident was not unpleasant to the captain. if the negroes were afraid to go into the blackness of the caves, it would make fewer complications in this matter. chapter xxxiii the "miranda" takes in cargo the next day the work of removing the treasure from the caves to the vessel began in good earnest. the miranda was anchored not far from the little pier, which was found in good order, and shirley, with one negro, was left on board, while the captain and burke took the three others, loaded with coffee-bags, to the caves. for the benefit of the minds of the black men, the captain had instructed maka to assure them that they would not be obliged to go anywhere where it was really dark. but it was difficult to decide how to talk to burke. this man was quite different from shirley. he was smaller, but stout and strong, with a dark complexion, and rather given to talk. the captain liked him well enough, his principal objection to him being that he was rather too willing to give advice. but, whatever might be the effect of the treasure on burke, the captain determined that he should not be surprised by it. he had tried that on shirley, and did not want to try it again on anybody. so he conversed freely about the treasure and the mound, and, as far as possible, described its appearance and contents. but he need not have troubled himself about the effect of the sight of a wagon-load of gold upon burke's mind. he was glad to see it, and whistled cheerfully as he looked down into the mound. "how far do you think it goes down?" said he to the captain. "don't know," was the reply. "we can't tell anything about that until we get it out." "all right," said burke. "the quicker we do it, the better." the captain got into the mound with a lantern, for the gold was now too low for him to reach it from above, and having put as many bars into a coffee-bag as a man could carry, he passed it up to burke, who slid it down to the floor, where another lantern had been left. when five bags had been made ready, the captain came out, and he and burke put each bag into another, and these were tied up firmly at each end, for a single coffee-bag was not considered strong enough to hold the weighty treasure. then the two carried the bags into the part of the cave which was lighted by the great fissure, and called the negroes. then, each taking a bag on his shoulder, the party returned to the cove. on the next trip, shirley decided to go with the captain, for he said he did not care for anything if he did not have to look down into the mound, for that was sure to make him dizzy. maka's place was taken by the negro who had been previously left in the vessel. day by day the work went on, but whoever might be relieved, and whatever arrangements might be made, the captain always got into the mound and handed out the gold. whatever discovery should be made when the bottom of the deposit was reached, he wanted to be there to make it. the operations were conducted openly, and without any attempt at secrecy or concealment. the lid of the mound was not replaced when they left it, and the bags of gold were laid on the pier until it was convenient to take them to the vessel. when they were put on board, they were lowered into the hold, and took the place of a proportionate amount of ballast, which was thrown out. all the negroes now spoke and understood a little english. they might think that those bags were filled with gold, or they might think that they contained a mineral substance, useful for fertilizer; but if by questioning or by accidental information they found out what was the load under which they toiled along the beach, the captain was content. there was no reason why he should fear these men more than he feared burke and shirley. all of them were necessary to him, and he must trust them. several times when he was crouched down in the interior of the mound, filling a bag with gold, he thought how easy it would be for one of the sailors to shoot him from above, and for them, or perhaps only one of them, to become the owner of all that treasure. but then, he could be shot in one place almost as well as in another, and if the negroes should be seized with the gold fever, and try to cut white throats at midnight, they would be more likely to attempt it after the treasure had been secured and the ship had sailed than now. in any case, nothing could be gained by making them feel that they were suspected and distrusted. therefore it was that when, one day, maka said to the captain that the little stones in the bags had begun to make his shoulder tender, the captain showed him how to fold an empty sack and put it between the bags and his back, and then also told him that what he carried was not stones, but lumps of gold. "all yourn, cap'n!" asked maka. "yes, all mine," was the reply. that night maka told his comrades that when the captain got to the end of this voyage, he would be able to buy a ship bigger than the _castor_, and that they would not have to sail in that little brig any more, and that he expected to be cook on the new vessel, and have a fine suit of clothes in which to go on shore. for nearly a month the work went on, but the contents of the mound diminished so slowly that the captain, and, in fact, the two sailors, also, became very impatient. only about forty pounds could be carried by each man on a trip, and the captain saw plainly that it would not do to urge greater rapidity or more frequent trips, for in that case there would be sure to be breakdowns. the walk from the cove to the caves was a long one, and rocky barriers had to be climbed, and although now but one man was left on board the vessel, only thirty bags a day were stored in its hold. this was very slow work. consultations were held, and it was determined that some quicker method of transportation must be adopted. the idea that they could be satisfied with what they already had seemed to enter the mind of none of them. it was a foregone conclusion that their business there was to carry away all the gold that was in the mound. a new plan, though rather a dangerous one, was now put into operation. the brig was brought around opposite the plateau which led to the caves, and anchored just outside the line of surf, where bottom was found at a moderate depth. then the bags were carried in the boats to the vessel. a line connected each boat with the ship, and the negroes were half the time in the water, assisting the boats backward and forward through the surf. now work went on very much more rapidly. the men had all become accustomed to carrying the heavy bags, and could run with them down the plateau. the boats were hauled to and from the vessel, and the bags were hoisted on board by means of blocks and tackle and a big basket. once the side of the basket gave way, and several bags went down to the bottom of the sea, never to be seen again. but there was no use in crying over spilt gold, and this was the only accident. the winds were generally from the south and east, and, therefore, there was no high surf; and this new method of working was so satisfactory that they all regretted they had not adopted it from the first, notwithstanding the risk. but the captain had had no idea that it would take so long for five men to carry that treasure a distance of two miles, taking forty pounds at a time. at night everybody went on board the brig, and she lay to some distance from the shore, so as to be able to run out to sea in case of bad weather, but no such weather came. it was two months since the brig had dropped anchor in the rackbirds' cove when the contents of the mound got so low that the captain could not hand up the bags without the assistance of a ladder, which he made from some stuff on board the brig. by rough measurement, he found that he should now be near the level of the outside floor of the cave, and he worked with great caution, for the idea, first broached by ralph, that this mass of gold might cover something more valuable than itself, had never left him. but as he worked steadily, filling bag after bag, he found that, although he had reached at the outer edge of the floor of the mound what seemed to be a pavement of stone, there was still a considerable depth of gold in the centre of the floor. now he worked faster, telling shirley, who was outside, that he would not come out until he had reached the floor of the mound, which was evidently depressed in the centre after the fashion of a saucer. working with feverish haste, the captain handed up bag after bag, until every little bar of gold had been removed from the mound. the bottom of the floor was covered with a fine dust, which had sifted down in the course of ages from the inside coating of the mound, but it was not deep enough to conceal a bar of gold, and, with his lantern and his foot, the captain made himself sure that not a piece was left. then his whole soul and body thrilled with a wild purpose, and, moving the ladder from the centre of the floor, he stooped to brush away the dust. if there should be a movable stone there! if this stone should cover a smaller cavity beneath the great one, what might he not discover within it? his mind whirled before the ideas which now cast themselves at him, when suddenly he stood up and set his teeth hard together. "i will not," he said. "i will not look for a stone with a crack around it. we have enough already. why should we run the risk of going crazy by trying to get more? i will not!" and he replaced the ladder. "what's the matter in there?" called shirley, from outside. "who're you talking to?" the captain came out of the opening in the mound, pulled up the ladder and handed it to shirley, and then he was about to replace the lid upon the mound. but what was the use of doing that, he thought. there would be no sense in closing it. he would leave it open. "i was talking to myself," he said to shirley, when he had descended. "it sounded crack-brained, i expect." "yes, it did," answered the other. "and i am glad these are the last bags we have to tie up and take out. i should not have wondered if the whole three of us had turned into lunatics. as for me, i have tried hard to stop thinking about the business, and i have found that the best thing i could do was to try and consider the stuff in these bags as coal--good, clean, anthracite coal. whenever i carried a bag, i said to myself, 'hurry up, now, with this bag of coal.' a ship-load of coal, you know, is not worth enough to turn a man's head." "that was not a bad idea," said the captain. "but now the work is done, and we will soon get used to thinking of it without being excited about it. there is absolutely no reason why we should not be as happy and contented as if we had each made a couple of thousand dollars apiece on a good voyage." "that's so," said shirley, "and i'm going to try to think it." when the last bag had been put on board, burke and the captain were walking about the caves looking here and there to take a final leave of the place. whatever the captain considered of value as a memento of the life they had led here had been put on board. "captain," said burke, "did you take all the gold out of that mound?" "every bit of it," was the reply. "you didn't leave a single lump for manners?" "no," said the captain. "i thought it better that whoever discovered that empty mound after us should not know what had been in it. you see, we will have to circulate these bars of gold pretty extensively, and we don't want anybody to trace them back to the place where they came from. when the time comes, we will make everything plain and clear, but we will want to do it ourselves, and in our own way." "there is sense in that," said burke. "there's another thing i want to ask you, captain. i've been thinking a great deal about that mound, and it strikes me that there might be a sub-cellar under it, a little one, most likely, with something else in it--rings and jewels, and nobody knows what not. did you see if there was any sign of a trap-door?" "no," said the captain, "i did not. i wanted to do it,--you do not know how much,--but i made up my mind it would be the worst kind of folly to try and get anything else out of that mound. we have now all that is good for us to have. the only question is whether or not we have not more than is good for us. i was not sure that i should not find something, if i looked for it, which would make me as sick as shirley was the first time he looked into the mound. no, sir; we have enough, and it is the part of sensible men to stop when they have enough." burke shook his head. "if i'd been there," he said, "i should have looked for a crack in that floor." when the brig weighed anchor, she did not set out for the open sea, but proceeded back to the rackbirds' cove, where she anchored again. before setting out, the next day, on his voyage to france, the captain wished to take on board a supply of fresh water. chapter xxxiv burke and his chisel that night george burke went off his watch at twelve o'clock, and a few minutes after he had been relieved, he did something he had never done before--he deserted his ship. with his shoes and a little bundle of clothes on his head, he very quietly slipped down a line he had fastened astern. it was a very dark night, and he reached the water unseen, and as quietly as if he had been an otter going fishing. first swimming, and then wading, he reached the shore. as soon as he was on land, he dressed, and then went for a lantern, a hammer, and a cold-chisel, which he had left at a convenient spot. without lighting the lantern, he proceeded as rapidly as possible to the caves. his path was almost invisible, but having travelled that way so often, he knew it as well as he knew his alphabet. not until he was inside the entrance to the caves did he light his lantern. then he proceeded, without loss of time, to the stone mound. he knew that the ladder had been left there, and, with a little trouble, he found it, where shirley had put it, behind some rocks on the floor of the cave. by the aid of this he quickly descended into the mound, and then, moving the foot of the ladder out of the way, he vigorously began to brush away the dust from the stone pavement. when this was done, he held up the lantern and carefully examined the central portion of the floor, and very soon he discovered what he had come to look for. a space about three feet square was marked off on the pavement of the mound by a very perceptible crevice. the other stones of the pavement were placed rather irregularly, but some of them had been cut to allow this single square stone to be set in the centre. "that's a trap-door," said burke. "there can't be any doubt about that." and immediately he set to work to get it open. there was no ring, nor anything by which he could lift it; but if he could get his heavy chisel under it, he was sure he could raise it until he could get hold of it with his hands. so he began to drive his chisel vigorously down into the cracks at various places. this was not difficult to do, and, trying one side after another, he got the chisel down so far that he could use it as a lever. but with all his strength he could not raise the stone. at last, while working at one corner, he broke out a large piece of the pavement, eight or nine inches long, and found that it had covered a metal bar about an inch in diameter. with his lantern he carefully examined this rod, and found that it was not iron, but appeared to be made of some sort of bronze. "now, what is this?" said burke to himself. "it's either a hinge or a bolt. it doesn't look like a hinge, for it wouldn't be any use for it to run so far into the rest of the pavement, and if it is a bolt, i don't see how they got at it to move it. i'll see where it goes to." and he began to cut away more of the pavement toward the wall of the dome. the pieces of stone came up without much trouble, and as far as he cut he found the metal rod. "by george!" said he, "i believe it goes outside of the mound! they worked it from outside!" putting the ladder in place, he ran up with his lantern and tools, and descended to the outside floor. then he examined the floor of the cave where the rod must run if it came outside the mound. he found a line of flat stones, each about a foot square, extending from the mound toward the western side of the cave. "oh, ho!" he cried, and on his knees he went to work, soon forcing up one of these stones, and under it was the metal rod, lying in a groove considerably larger than itself. burke now followed the line of stones to the western side of the cave, where the roof was so low he could scarcely stand up under it. to make sure, he took up another stone, and still found the rod. "i see what this means," said he. "that bolt is worked from clean outside, and i've got to find the handle of it. if i can't do that, i'll go back and cut through that bolt, if my chisel will do it." he now went back to a point on the line of stones about midway between the side of the cave and the mound, and then, walking forward as nearly as possible in a straight line, which would be at right angles with the metal rod, he proceeded until he had reached the entrance to the passageway which led to the outer caves, carefully counting his steps as he went. then he turned squarely about, entered the passage, and walked along it until he came to the door of the room which had once been occupied by captain horn. "i'll try it inside first," said burke to himself, "and then i'll go outside." he walked through the rooms, turning to the right about ten feet when he came to the middle apartment,--for the door here was not opposite to the others,--but coming back again to his line of march as soon as he was on the other side. he proceeded until he reached the large cave, open at the top, which was the last of these compartments. this was an extensive cavern, the back part being, however, so much impeded by rocks that had fallen from the roof that it was difficult for him to make any progress, and the numbering of his steps depended very much upon calculation. but when he reached the farthest wall, burke believed that he had gone about as great a distance as he had stepped off in the cave of the lake. "but how in the mischief," thought he, "am i to find anything here?" he held up his lantern and looked about. "i can't move these rocks to see what is under them." as he gazed around, he noticed that the southeast corner seemed to be more regular than the rest of the wall of the cave. in fact, it was almost a right-angled corner, and seemed to have been roughly cut into that shape. instantly burke was in the corner. he found the eastern wall quite smooth for a space about a foot wide and extending about two yards from the floor. in this he perceived lines of crevice marking out a rectangular space some six inches wide and four feet in height. "ha, ha!" cried burke. "the handle is on the other side of that slab, i'll bet my head!" and putting down the lantern, he went to work. with his hammer and chisel he had forced the top of the slab in less than two minutes, and soon he pulled it outward and let it drop on the floor. inside the narrow, perpendicular cavity which was now before him, he saw an upright metal bar. "the handle of the bolt!" cried burke. "now i can unfasten the trap-door." and taking hold of the top of the bar, he pulled back with all his force. at first he could not move it, but suddenly the resistance ceased, and he pulled the bar forward until it stood at an angle of forty-five degrees from the wall. further than this burke could not move it, although he tugged and bore down on it with all his weight. "all right," said he, at last. "i guess that's as far as she'll come. anyway, i'm off to see if i've drawn that bolt. if i have, i'll have that trap-door open, if i have to break my back lifting it." with his best speed burke ran through the caves to the mound, and, mounting by means of the stone projections, he was about to descend by the ladder, when, to his utter amazement, he saw no ladder. he had left it projecting at least two feet through the opening in the top of the mound, and now he could see nothing of it. what could this mean? going up a little higher, he held up his lantern and looked within, but saw no signs of the ladder. "by george!" he cried, "has anybody followed me and pulled out that ladder?" lowering the lantern farther into the mound, he peered in. below, and immediately under him, was a black hole, about three feet square. burke was so startled that he almost dropped the lantern. but he was a man of tough nerve, and maintained his clutch upon it. but he drew back. it required some seconds to catch his breath. presently he looked down again. "i see," said he. "that trap-door was made to fall down, and not to lift up, and when i pulled the bolt, down it went, and the ladder, being on top of it, slipped into that hole. heavens!" he said, as a cold sweat burst out over him at the thought, "suppose i had made up my mind to cut that bolt! where would i have gone to?" it was not easy to frighten burke, but now he trembled, and his back was chilled. but he soon recovered sufficiently to do something, and going down to the floor of the cave, he picked up a piece of loose stone, and returning to the top of the mound, he looked carefully over the edge of the opening, and let the stone drop into the black hole beneath. with all the powers of his brain he listened, and it seemed to him like half a minute before he heard a faint sound, far, far below. at this moment he was worse frightened than he had ever been in his life. he clambered down to the foot of the mound, and sat down on the floor. "what in the name of all the devils does it mean?" said he; and he set himself to work to think about it, and found this a great deal harder labor than cutting stone. "there was only one thing," he said to himself, at last, "that they could have had that for. the captain says that those ancient fellows put their gold there keep it from the spaniards, and they must have rigged up this devilish contrivance to work if they found the spaniards had got on the track of their treasure. even if the spaniards had let off the water and gone to work to get the gold out, one of the incas' men in the corner of that other cave, which most likely was all shut up and not discoverable, would have got hold of that bar, given it a good pull, and let down all the gold, and what spaniards might happen to be inside, to the very bottom of that black hole. by george! it would have been a pretty trick! the bottom of that mound is just like a funnel, and every stick of gold would have gone down. but, what is more likely, they would have let it out before the spaniards had a chance to open the top, and then, if the ancients had happened to lick the spaniards, they could have got all that gold up again. it might have taken ten or twenty years, but then, the ancients had all the time they wanted." after these reflections, burke sat for a few moments, staring at the lantern. "but, by george!" said he again, speaking aloud, though in low tones, "it makes my blood run cold to think of the captain working day after day, as hard as he could, right over that horrible trap-door. suppose he had moved the bolt in some way! suppose somebody outside had found that slab in the wall and had fooled with the bar! then, there is another thing. suppose, while they were living here, he or the boy had found that bar before he found the dome, and had pulled out the concern to see what it was! bless me! in that case we should all be as poor as rats! bat i must not stop here, or the next watch will be called before i get back. but one thing i'll do before i go. i'll put back that lid. somebody might find the dome in the dark, and tumble into it. why, if a wandering rat should make a slip, and go down into that black hole, it would be enough to make a fellow's blood run cold if he knew of it." without much trouble burke replaced the lid, and then, without further delay, he left the caves. as he hurried along the beach, he debated within himself whether or not he should tell captain horn what he had discovered. "it will be mighty hard on his nerves," said he, "if he comes to know how he squatted and worked for days and weeks over that diabolical trap that opens downward. he's a strong man, but he's got enough on his nerves as it is. no, i won't tell him. he is going to do the handsome thing by us, and it would be mean for me to do the unhandsome thing by him. by george! i don't believe he could sleep for two or three nights if he knew what i know! no, sir! you just keep your mouth shut until we are safe and sound in some civilized spot, with the whole business settled, and shirley and me discharged. then i will tell the captain about it, so that nobody need ever trouble his mind about coming back to look for gold rings and royal mummies. if i don't get back before my watch is called, i'll brazen it out somehow. we've got to twist discipline a little when we are all hard at work at a job like this." he left his shoes on the sand of the cove, and swam to the ship without taking time to undress. he slipped over the taffrail, and had scarcely time to get below and change his clothes before his watch was called. chapter xxxv the captain writes a letter on the afternoon of the next day, the miranda, having taken in water, set sail, and began her long voyage to rio janeiro, and thence to france. now that his labors were over, and the treasure of the incas safely stored in the hold of the brig, where it was ignominiously acting as ballast, captain horn seated himself comfortably in the shade of a sail and lighted his pipe. he was tired of working, tired of thinking, tired of planning--tired in mind, body, and even soul; and the thought that his work was done, and that he was actually sailing away with his great prize, came to him like a breeze from the sea after a burning day. he was not as happy as he should have been. he knew that he was too tired to be as happy as his circumstances demanded, but after a while he would attend better to that business. now he was content to smoke his pipe, and wait, and listen to the distant music from all the different kinds of enjoyment which, in thought, were marching toward him. it was true he was only beginning his long voyage to the land where he hoped to turn his gold into available property. it was true that he might be murdered that night, or some other night, and that when the brig, with its golden cargo, reached port, he might not be in command of her. it was true that a hundred things might happen to prevent the advancing enjoyments from ever reaching him. but ill-omened chances threaten everything that man is doing, or ever can do, and he would not let the thought of them disturb him now. everybody on board the miranda was glad to rest and be happy, according to his methods and his powers of anticipation. as to any present advantage from their success, there was none. the stones and sand they had thrown out had ballasted the brig quite as well as did the gold they now carried. this trite reflection forced itself upon the mind of burke. "captain," said he, "don't you think it would be a good idea to touch somewhere and lay in a store of fancy groceries and saloon-cabin grog? if we can afford to be as jolly as we please, i don't see why we shouldn't begin now." but the captain shook his head. "it would be a dangerous thing," he said, "to put into any port on the west coast of south america with our present cargo on board. we can't make it look like ballast, as i expected we could, for all that bagging gives it a big bulk, and if the custom-house officers came on board, it would not do any good to tell them we are sailing in ballast, if they happened to want to look below." "well, that may be so," said burke. "but what i'd like would be to meet a first-class, double-quick steamer, and buy her, put our treasure on board, and then clap on all steam for france." "all right," said the captain, "but we'll talk about that when we meet a steamer for sale." after a week had passed, and he had begun to feel the advantages of rest and relief from anxiety, captain horn regretted nothing so much as that the _miranda_ was not a steamer, ploughing her swift way over the seas. it must be a long, long time before he could reach those whom he supposed and hoped were waiting for him in france. it had already been a long, long time since they had heard from him. he did not fear that they would suffer because he did not come. he had left them money enough to prevent anything of that sort. he did not know whether or not they were longing to hear from him, but he did know that he wanted them to hear from him. he must yet sail about three thousand miles in the pacific ocean, and then about two thousand more in the atlantic, before he reached rio janeiro, the port for which he had cleared. from there it would be nearly five thousand miles to france, and he did not dare to calculate how long it would take the brig to reach her final destination. this course of thought determined him to send a letter, which would reach paris long before he could arrive there. if they should know that he was on his way home, all might be well, or, at least, better than if they knew nothing about him. it might be a hazardous thing to touch at a port on this coast, but he believed that, if he managed matters properly, he might get a letter ashore without making it necessary for any meddlesome custom-house officers to come aboard and ask questions. accordingly, he decided to stop at valparaiso. he thought it likely that if he did not meet a vessel going into port which would lay to and take his letter, he might find some merchantman, anchored in the roadstead, to which he could send a boat, and on which he was sure to find some one who would willingly post his letter. he wrote a long letter to edna--a straightforward, business-like missive, as his letters had always been, in which, in language which she could understand, but would carry no intelligible idea to any unauthorized person who might open the letter, he gave her an account of what he had done, and which was calculated to relieve all apprehensions, should it be yet a long time before he reached her. he promised to write again whenever there was an opportunity of sending her a letter, and wrote in such a friendly and encouraging manner that he felt sure there would be no reason for any disappointment or anxiety regarding him and the treasure. burke and shirley were a little surprised when they found that the captain had determined to stop at valparaiso, a plan so decidedly opposed to what he had before said on the subject. but when they found it was for the purpose of sending a letter to his wife, and that he intended, if possible, barely to touch and go, they said nothing more, nor did burke make any further allusions to improvement in their store of provisions. when, at last, the captain found himself off valparaiso, it was on a dark, cloudy evening and nothing could be done until the next morning, and they dropped anchor to wait until dawn. as soon as it was light, the captain saw that a british steamer was anchored about a mile from the _miranda_, and he immediately sent a boat, with shirley and two of the negroes, to ask the officer on duty to post his letter when he sent on shore. in a little more than an hour shirley returned, with the report that the first mate of the steamer knew captain horn and would gladly take charge of his letter. the boat was quickly hauled to the davits, and all hands were called to weigh anchor and set sail. but all hands did not respond to the call. one of the negroes, a big, good-natured fellow, who, on account of his unpronounceable african name, had been dubbed "inkspot," was not to be found. this was a very depressing thing, under the circumstances, and it, almost counterbalanced the pleasure the captain felt in having started a letter on its way to his party in france. it seemed strange that inkspot should have deserted the vessel, for it was a long way to the shore, and, besides, what possible reason could he have for leaving his fellow-africans and taking up his lot among absolute strangers? the crew had all worked together so earnestly and faithfully that the captain had come to believe in them and trust them to an extent to which he had never before trusted seamen. the officers held a consultation as to what was to be done, and they very quickly arrived at a decision. to remain at anchor, to send a boat on shore to look for the missing negro, would be dangerous and useless. inquiries about the deserter would provoke inquiries about the brig, and if inkspot really wished to run away from the vessel, it would take a long time to find him and bring him back. the right course was quite plain to every one. having finished the business which brought them there, they must up anchor and sail away as soon as possible. as for the loss of the man, they must bear that as well as they could. whether he had been drowned, eaten by a shark, or had safely reached the shore, he was certainly lost to them. at the best, their crew had been small enough, but six men had sailed a brig, and six men could do it again. so the anchor was weighed, the sails were set, and before a northeast wind the _miranda_ went out to sea as gayly as the nature of her build permitted, which is not saying much. it was a good wind, however, and when the log had been thrown, the captain remarked that the brig was making better time than she had made since they left acapulco. chapter xxxvi a horse-dealer appears on the scene when the brig _miranda_ was lying at anchor in the rackbirds' cove, and mr. george burke had silently left her in order to go on shore and pursue some investigations in which he was interested, his departure from the brig had not been, as he supposed, unnoticed. the big, good-natured african, known as inkspot, had been on watch, and, being himself so very black that he was not generally noticeable in the dark, was standing on a part of the deck from which, without being noticed himself, he saw a person get over the taffrail and slip into the water. he knew this person to be the second mate, and having a high respect and some fear of his superiors, he did not consider it his business to interfere with him. he saw a head above the water, moving toward the shore, but it soon disappeared in the darkness. toward the end of his watch, he had seen mr. burke climb up the vessel's side as silently as he had gone down it, and disappear below. when inkspot went to his hammock, which he did very shortly afterwards, he reflected to the best of his ability upon what he had seen. why did mr. burke slip away from the ship so silently, and come back in the same way? he must have gone ashore, and why did he want no one to know that he had gone? he must have gone to do something he ought not to do, and inkspot could think of nothing wrong that mr. burke would like to do, except to drink whiskey. captain horn was very particular about using spirits on board, and perhaps mr. burke liked whiskey, and could not get it. inkspot knew about the storehouse of the rackbirds, but he did not know what it had contained, or what had been left there. maka had said something about the whiskey having been poured out on the sand, but that might have been said just to keep people away from the place. if there were no whiskey there, why did mr. burke go on shore? now, it so happened that inkspot knew a good deal about whiskey. before he had gone into the service of the rackbirds, he had, at different times, been drunk, and he had the liveliest and most pleasant recollections of these experiences. it had been a long time since he had had enough whiskey to make him feel happy. this had probably been the case with mr. burke, and he had gone on shore, and most likely had had some very happy hours, and had come back without any one knowing where he had gone. the consequence of this train of thought was that inkspot determined that he would go on shore, the next night, and hunt for whiskey. he could do it quite as well as mr. burke had done it, perhaps even better. but the _miranda_ did not remain in the cove the next night, and poor inkspot looked with longing eyes upon the slowly departing spot on the sands where he knew the rackbirds' storehouse was located. the days and nights went on, and in the course of time the _miranda_ anchored in the harbor of valparaiso; and, when this happened, inkspot determined that now would be his chance to go on shore and get a good drink of whiskey--he had money enough for that. he could see the lights of el puerto, or the old town, glittering and beckoning, and they did not appear to be very far off. it would be nothing for him to swim as far as that. inkspot went off his watch at midnight, and he went into the water at fifty minutes to one. he wore nothing but a dark-gray shirt and a pair of thin trousers, and if any one had seen his head and shoulders, it is not likely, unless a good light had been turned on them, that they would have been supposed to be portions of a human form. inkspot was very much at home in the water, and he could swim like a dog or a deer. but it was a long, long swim to those glittering and beckoning lights. at last, however, he reached a pier, and having rested himself on the timbers under it, he cautiously climbed to the top. the pier was deserted, and he walked to the end of it, and entered the town. he knew nothing of valparaiso, except that it was a large city where sailors went, and he was quite sure he could find a shop where they sold whiskey. then he would have a glass--perhaps two--perhaps three--after which he would return to the brig, as mr. burke had done. of course, he would have to do much more swimming than had been necessary for the second mate, but then, he believed himself to be a better swimmer than that gentleman, and he expected to get back a great deal easier than he came, because the whiskey would make him strong and happy, and he could play with the waves. inkspot did find a shop, and a dirty one it was--but they sold whiskey inside, and that was enough for him. with the exception of maka, he was the most intelligent negro among the captain's crew, and he had picked up some words of english and some of spanish. but it was difficult for him to express an idea with these words. among these words, however, was one which he pronounced better than any of the others, and which had always been understood whenever he used it,--whether in english or spanish, no matter what the nationality might be of the person addressed,--and that word was "whiskey." inkspot had one glass, and then another, a third, and a fourth, and then his money gave out--at least, the man who kept the shop insisted, in words that any one could understand, that the silver the big negro had fished out of his dripping pockets would pay for no more drinks. but inkspot had had enough to make him happy. his heart was warm, and his clothes were getting drier. he went out into the glorious night. it was dark and windy, and the sky was cloudy, but to him all things were glorious. he sat down on the pavement in the cosey corner of two walls, and there he slept luxuriously until a policeman came along and arrested him for being drunk in the street. it was two days before inkspot got out of the hands of the police. then he was discharged because the authorities did not desire to further trouble themselves with a stupid fellow who could give no account of himself, and had probably wandered from a vessel in port. the first thing he did was to go out to the water's edge and look out over the harbor, but although he saw many ships, his sharp eyes told him that not one of them was the brig he had left. after an hour or two of wandering up and down the waterside, he became sure that there was no vessel in that harbor waiting for him to swim to her. then he became equally certain that he was very hungry. it was not long, however, before a good, strong negro like inkspot found employment. it was not necessary for him to speak very much spanish, or any other language, to get a job at carrying things up a gang-plank, and, in pay for this labor, he willingly took whatever was given him. that night, with very little money in his pocket, inkspot entered a tavern, a low place, but not so low as the one he had patronized on his arrival in valparaiso. he had had a meagre supper, and now possessed but money enough to pay for one glass of whiskey, and having procured this, he seated himself on a stool in a corner, determined to protract his enjoyment as long as possible. where he would sleep that night he knew not, but it was not yet bedtime, and he did not concern himself with the question. near by, at a table, were seated four men, drinking, smoking, and talking. two of these were sailors. another, a tall, dark man with a large nose, thin at the bridge and somewhat crooked below, was dressed in very decent shore clothes, but had a maritime air about him, notwithstanding. the fourth man, as would have been evident to any one who understood spanish, was a horse-dealer, and the conversation, when inkspot entered the place, was entirely about horses. but inkspot did not know this, as he understood so few of the words that he heard, and he would not have been interested if he had understood them. the horse-dealer was the principal spokesman, but he would have been a poor representative of the shrewdness of his class, had he been trying to sell horses to sailors. he was endeavoring to do nothing of the kind. these men were his friends, and he was speaking to them, not of the good qualities of his animals, but of the credulous natures of his customers. to illustrate this, he drew from his pocket a small object which he had received a few days before for some horses which might possibly be worth their keep, although he would not be willing to guarantee this to any one at the table. the little object which he placed on the table was a piece of gold about two inches long, and shaped like an irregular prism. this, he said, he had received in trade from a man in santiago, who had recently come down from lima. the man had bought it from a jeweller, who had others, and who said he understood they had come from california. the jeweller had owed the man money, and the latter had taken this, not as a curiosity, for it was not much of a curiosity, as they could all see, but because the jeweller told him exactly how much it was worth, and because it was safer than money to carry, and could be changed into current coin in any part of the world. the point of the horse-dealer's remarks was, however, the fact that not only had he sold his horses to the man from lima for very much more than they were worth, but he had made him believe that this lump of gold was not worth as much as he had been led to suppose, that the jeweller had cheated him, and that californian gold was not easily disposed of in chili or peru, for it was of a very inferior quality to the gold of south america. so he had made his trade, and also a profit, not only on the animals he delivered, but on the pay he received. he had had the little lump weighed and tested, and knew exactly how much it was worth. when the horse-dealer had finished this pleasant tale, he laughed loudly, and the three other men laughed also because they had keen wits and appreciated a good story of real life. but their laughter was changed to astonishment--almost fright--when a big black negro bounded out of a dark corner and stood by the table, one outstretched ebony finger pointing to the piece of gold. instantly the horse dealer snatched his treasure and thrust it into his pocket, and almost at the same moment each man sprung to his feet and put his hand on his favorite weapon. but the negro made no attempt to snatch the gold, nor did there seem to be any reason to apprehend an attack from him. he stood slapping his thighs with his hands, his mouth in a wide grin, and his eyes sparkling in apparent delight. "what is the matter with you?" shouted the horse-dealer. "what do you want?" inkspot did not understand what had been said to him, nor could he have told what he wanted, for he did not know. at that moment he knew nothing, he comprehended nothing, but he felt as a stranger in a foreign land would feel should he hear some words in his native tongue. the sight of that piece of gold had given to inkspot, by one quick flash, a view of his negro friends and companions, of captain horn and his two white men, of the brig he had left, of the hammock in which he had slept--of all, in fact, that he now cared for on earth. he had seen pieces of gold like that. before all the treasure had been carried from the caves to the _miranda_, the supply of coffee-bags had given out, and during the last days of the loading it had been necessary to tie up the gold in pieces of sail-cloth, after the fashion of a wayfarer's bundle. before these had been put on board, their fastening had been carefully examined, and some of them had been opened and retied. thus all the negroes had seen the little bars, for, as they knew the bags contained gold, there was no need of concealing from them the shape and size of the contents. so, when, sitting in his gloomy corner, his spirits slowly rising under the influence of his refreshment, which he had just finished, he saw before him an object which recalled to him the life and friends of which he had bereft himself, inkspot's nature took entire possession of him, and he bounded to the table in ecstatic recognition of the bit of metal. the men now swore at inkspot, but as they saw he was unarmed, and not inclined to violence, they were not afraid of him, but they wondered at him. the horse-dealer took the piece of gold out of his pocket and held it in his hand. "did you ever see anything like that before?" he asked. he was a shrewd man, the horse-dealer, and really wanted to know what was the matter with the negro. inkspot did not answer, but jabbered in african. "try him in english," suggested the thin-nosed man, and this the horse-dealer did. many of the english words inkspot understood. he had seen things like that. yes, yes! great heaps! heaps! bags! bags! he carried them! throwing an imaginary package over his shoulder, he staggered under it across the floor. heaps! piles! bags! days and days and days he carried many bags! then, in a state of exalted mental action, produced by his recollections and his whiskey, he suddenly conceived a scorn for a man who prized so highly just one of these lumps, and who was nearly frightened out of his wits if a person merely pointed to it. he shrugged his shoulders, he spread out the palms of his hands toward the piece of gold, he turned away his head and walked off sniffing. then he came back and pointed to it, and, saying "one!" he laughed, and then he said "one!" and laughed again. suddenly he became possessed with a new idea. his contemptuous manner dropped from him, and in eager excitement he leaned forward and exclaimed: "cap' 'or?" the four men looked at each other and at him in wonder, and asked what, in the name of his satanic majesty, the fellow was driving at. this apparent question, now repeated over and over again in turn to each of them, they did not understand at all. but they could comprehend that the negro had carried bags of lumps like that. this was very interesting. chapter xxxvii the "arato" the subject of the labors of an african hercules, mythical as these labors might be, was so interesting to the four men who had been drinking and smoking in the tavern, that they determined to pursue it as far as their ignorance of the african's language, and his ignorance of english and spanish, would permit. in the first place, they made him sit down with them, and offered him something to drink. it was not whiskey, but inkspot liked it very much, and felt all sorts of good effects from it. in fact, it gave him a power of expressing himself by gestures and single words in a manner wonderful. after a time, the men gave him something to eat, for they imagined he might be hungry, and this also helped him very much, and his heart went out to these new friends. then he had a little more to drink, but only a little, for the horse-dealer and the thin-nosed man, who superintended the entertainment, were very sagacious, and did not want him to drink too much. in the course of an hour, these four men, listening and watching keenly and earnestly, had become convinced that this black man had been on a ship which carried bags of gold similar to the rude prism possessed by the horse-dealer, that he had left that vessel for the purpose of obtaining refreshments on shore and had not been able to get back to it, thereby indicating that the vessel had not stopped long at the place where he had left it, and which place must have been, of course, valparaiso. moreover, they found out to their full satisfaction where that vessel was going to; for maka had talked a great deal about paris, which he pronounced in english fashion, where cheditafa and mok were, and the negroes had looked forward to this unknown spot as a heavenly port, and inkspot could pronounce the word "paris" almost as plainly as if it were a drink to which he was accustomed. but where the vessel was loaded with the gold, they could not find out. no grimace that inkspot could make, nor word that he could say, gave them an idea worth dwelling upon. he said some words which made them believe that the vessel had cleared from acapulco, but it was foolish to suppose that any vessel had been loaded there with bags of gold carried on men's shoulders. the ship most probably came from california, and had touched at the mexican port. and she was now bound for paris. that was natural enough. paris was a very good place to which to take gold. moreover, she had probably touched at some south american port, callao perhaps, and this was the way the little pieces of gold had been brought into the country, the californians probably having changed them for stores. the words "cap' 'or," often repeated by the negro, and always in a questioning tone, puzzled them very much. they gave up its solution, and went to work to try to make out the name of the vessel upon which the bags had been loaded. but here inkspot could not help them. they could not make him understand what it was they wanted him to say. at last, the horse-dealer proposed to the others, who, he said, knew more about such things than he did, that they should repeat the name of every sailing-vessel on that coast of which they had ever heard--for inkspot had made them understand that his ship had sails, and no steam. this they did, and presently one of the sailors mentioned the name _miranda_, which belonged to a brig he knew of which plied on the coast. at this, inkspot sprang to his feet and clapped his hands. _"miran'a! miran'a.'"_ he cried. and then followed the words, "cap' 'or! cap' 'or!" in eagerly excited tones. suddenly the thin-nosed man, whom the others called cardatas, leaned forward. "cap'n horn?" said he. inkspot clapped his hands again, and exclaimed: "ay, ay! cap' 'or! cap' 'or!" he shouted the words so loudly that the barkeeper, at the other end of the room, called out gruffly that they'd better keep quiet, or they would have somebody coming in. "there you have it!" exclaimed cardatas, in spanish. "it's cap'n horn that the fool's been trying to say. cap'n horn of the brig _miranda_. we are getting on finely." "i have heard of a cap'n horn," said one of the sailors. "he's a yankee skipper from california. he has sailed from this port, i know." "and he touched here three days ago, according to the negro," said cardatas, addressing the horse-dealer. "what do you say to that, nunez? from what we know, i don't think it will be hard to find out more." nunez agreed with him, and thought it might pay to find out more. soon after this, being informed that it was time to shut up the place, the four men went out, taking inkspot with them. they would not neglect this poor fellow. they would give him a place to sleep, and in the morning he should have something to eat. it would be very unwise to let him go from them at present. the next morning inkspot strolled about the wharves of valparaiso, in company with the two sailors, who never lost sight of him, and he had rather a pleasant time, for they gave him as much to eat and drink as was good for him, and made him understand as well as they could that it would not be long before they would help him to return to the brig _miranda_ commanded by captain horn. in the meantime, the horse-dealer, nunez, went to a newspaper office, and there procured a file of a mexican paper, for the negro had convinced them that his vessel had sailed from acapulco. turning over the back numbers week after week, and week after week, nunez searched in the maritime news for the information that the _miranda_ had cleared from a mexican port. he had gone back so far that he had begun to consider it useless to make further search, when suddenly he caught the name _miranda_. there it was. the brig _miranda_ had cleared from acapulco september , bound for rio janeiro in ballast. nunez counted the months on his fingers. "five months ago!" he said to himself. "that's not this trip, surely. but i will talk to cardatas about that." and taking from his pocket a little note-book in which he recorded his benefactions in the line of horse trades, he carefully copied the paragraph concerning the _miranda_. when nunez met cardatas in the afternoon, the latter also had news. he had discovered that the arrival of the _miranda_ had not been registered, but he had been up and down the piers, asking questions, and he had found a mate of a british steamer, then discharging her cargo, who told him that the _miranda_, commanded by captain horn, had anchored in the harbor three days back, during the night, and that early the next morning captain horn had sent him a letter which he wished posted, and that very soon afterwards the brig had put out to sea. cardatas wished to know much more, but the mate, who had had but little conversation with shirley, could only tell him that the brig was then bound from acapulco to rio janeiro in ballast, which he thought rather odd, but all he could add was that he knew captain horn, and he was a good man, and that if he were sailing in ballast, he supposed he knew what he was about. nunez then showed cardatas the note he had made, and remarked that, of course, it could not refer to the present voyage of the brig, for it could not take her five months to come from acapulco to this port. "no," said the other, musing, "it oughtn't to, but, on the other hand, it is not likely she is on her second voyage to rio, and both times in ballast. that's all stuff about ballast. no man would be such a fool as to sail pretty nigh all around this continent in ballast. he could find some cargo in mexico that he could sell when he got to port. besides, if that black fellow don't lie,--and he don't know enough to lie,--she's bound for paris. it's more likely she means to touch at rio and take over some cargo. but why, in the devil's name, should she sail from acapulco in ballast? it looks to me as if bags of gold might make very good ballast." "that's just what i was thinking," said nunez. "and what's more," said the other, "i'll bet she brought it down from california with her when she arrived at acapulco. i don't believe she originally cleared from there." "it looks that way," said nunez, "but how do you account for such a long voyage?" "i've been talking to sanchez about that _miranda_," said cardatas. "he has heard that she is an old tub, and a poor sailer, and in that case five months is not such a very slow voyage. i have known of slower voyages than that." "and now what are you going to do about it?" asked nunez. "the first thing i want to do is to pump that black fellow a little more." "a good idea," said nunez, "and we'll go and do it." poor inkspot was pumped for nearly an hour, but not much was got out of him. the only feature of his information that was worth anything was the idea that he managed to convey that ballast, consisting of stones and bags of sand, had been taken out of the brig and thrown away, and bags of gold put in their places. where this transfer had taken place, the negro could not make his questioners understand, and he was at last remanded to the care of sanchez and the other sailor. "the black fellow can't tell us much," said cardatas to nunez, as they walked away together, "but he has stuck to his story well, and there can't be any use of his lying about it. and there is another thing. what made the brig touch here just long enough to leave a letter, and that after a voyage of five months? that looks as if they were afraid some of their people would go on shore and talk." "in that case," said nunez, "i should say there is something shady about the business. perhaps this captain has slipped away from his partners up there in california, or somebody who has been up to a trick has hired him to take the gold out of the country. if he does carry treasure, it isn't a fair and square thing. if it had been fair, the gold would have been sent in the regular way, by a steamer. it's no crime to send gold from california to france, or any other place." "i agree with you," said cardatas, as he lighted his twenty-seventh cigarette. nunez did not smoke, but he mused as he walked along. "if she has gold on board," said he, presently, "it must be a good deal." "yes," said the other. "they wouldn't take so much trouble for a small lot. of course, there can't be enough of it to take the place of all the ballast, but it must weigh considerable." here the two men were joined by an acquaintance, and their special conversation ceased. that night they met again. "what are you going to do about this?" asked nunez. "we can't keep on supporting that negro." "what is to be done?" asked the other, his sharp eyes fixed upon his companion's face. "would it pay to go over to rio and meet that brig when she arrives there? if we could get on board and have a talk with her captain, he might be willing to act handsomely when he found out we know something about him and his ship. and if he won't do that, we might give information, and have his vessel held until the authorities in california can be communicated with. then i should say we ought to make something." "i don't think much of that plan," said cardatas. "i don't believe she's going to touch at rio. if she's afraid to go into port here, why shouldn't she be afraid to go into port there? no. it would be stupid for us to go to rio and sit down and wait for her." "then," answered the other, a little angrily, "what can be done?" "we can go after her," said cardatas. the other sneered. "that would be more stupid than the other," said he. "she left here four days ago, and we could never catch up with her, even if we could find such a pin-point of a vessel on the great pacific." cardatas laughed. "you don't know much about navigation," said he, "but that's not to be expected. with a good sailing-vessel i could go after her, and overhaul her somewhere in the straits of magellan. with such a cargo, i am sure she would make for the straits. that captain horn is said to be a good sailor, and the fact that he is in command of such a tub as the _miranda_ is a proof that there is something underhand about his business." "and if we should overhaul her?" said the other. "well," was the reply, "we might take along a dozen good fellows, and as the _miranda_ has only three men on board,--i don't count negroes worth anything,--i don't see why we couldn't induce the captain to talk reasonably to us. as for a vessel, there's the _arato_." "your vessel?" said the other. "yes, i own a small share in her, and she's here in port now, waiting for a cargo." "i forget what sort of a craft she is," said nunez. "she's a schooner," said the other, "and she can sail two miles to the _miranda's_ one in any kind of weather. if i had money enough, i could get the _arato_, put a good crew on board, and be at sea and on the wake of that brig in twenty-four hours." "and how much money would be needed?" asked the other. "that remains to be calculated," replied cardatas. then the two went to work to calculate, and spent an hour or two at it. when they parted, nunez had not made up his mind that the plan of cardatas was a good one, but he told him to go ahead and see what could be done about getting the _arato_ and a reliable crew, and that he would talk further to him about the matter. that night nunez took a train for santiago, and on his arrival there, the next morning, he went straight to the shop of the jeweller of whom had been obtained the piece of gold in his possession. here he made some cautious inquiries, and found the jeweller very ready to talk about the piece of gold that nunez showed him. the jeweller said that he had had four pieces of the gold in his possession, and that he had bought them in lima to use in his business. they had originally come from california, and were very fine gold. he had been a little curious about it on account of the shape of the pieces, and had been told that they had been brought into the country by an american sea-captain, who had seemed to have a good many of them. the jeweller thought it very likely that these pieces of gold passed for currency in california, for he had heard that at one time the people there had had to make their own currency, and that they often paid for merchandise in so many penny-weights and ounces of gold instead of using coin. the jeweller was himself very glad to do business in this way, for he liked the feel of a lump of gold. after explaining that his reason for making these inquiries was his fear that the piece of gold he had accepted in trade because he also liked the feel of lumps of gold, might not be worth what he had given for it, nunez thanked the jeweller, left him, and returned to valparaiso. he went straight to his friend cardatas, and said that he would furnish the capital to fit out the _arato_ for the projected trip. it was not in twenty-four hours, but in forty-eight, that the schooner _arato_ cleared from valparaiso for callao in ballast. she had a good set of sails, and a crew of ten men besides the captain. she also had on board a passenger, nunez by name, and a tall negro, who doubtless could turn his hand to some sort of work on board, and whom it would have been very indiscreet to leave behind. once outside the harbor, the _arato_ changed her mind about going to callao, and sailed southward. chapter xxxviii the coast of patagonia for about ten days after the brig _miranda_ left valparaiso she had good winds and fair weather, and her progress was satisfactory to all on board, but at the end of that time she entered upon a season of head winds and bad weather. the vessel behaved very well in the stormy days that followed, but she made very little headway. her course was now laid toward the gulf of penas, after reaching which she would sail along the protected waterways between the chain of islands which lie along the coast and the mainland, and which lead into the straits of magellan. when the weather at last changed and the sea became smoother, it was found that the working and straining of the masts during the violent weather had opened some of the seams of the brig, and that she was taking in water. she was a good vessel, but she was an old one, and she had had a rough time of it. the captain thanked his stars that she had not begun to leak before the storm. the short-handed crew went to work at the pumps, but, after two days' hard labor, it was found that the water in the hold steadily gained upon the pumps, and there was no doubt that the _miranda_ was badly strained. according to a report from burke, the water came in forward, aft, and midships. matters were now getting very serious, and the captain and his two mates consulted together, while the three negroes pumped. it was plain to all of them that if the water kept on gaining, it would not be long before the brig must go to the bottom. to keep her afloat until they reached a port would be impossible. to reach the shore in the boats was quite possible, for they were not a hundred miles from land. but to carry their treasure to land in two small boats was a thing which need not even be considered. all agreed that there was but one thing to be done. the brig must be headed to land, and if she could be kept afloat until she neared one of the great islands which lie along the patagonian coast, she might be run into some bay or protected cove, where she could be beached, or where, if she should sink, it might be in water so shallow that all hope of getting at her treasure would not have to be abandoned. in any case, the sooner they got to the shore, the better for them. so the brig's bow was turned eastward, and the pumps were worked harder than ever. there was a good wind, and, considering that the _miranda_ was steadily settling deeper and deeper, she made very fair progress, and in less than two days after she had changed her course, land was sighted. not long after, captain horn began to hope that if the wind held, and the brig could keep above water for an hour or so, he could double a small headland which now showed itself plainly a couple of miles away, and might be able to beach his vessel. what a dreary, depressing hope it was that now possessed the souls of captain horn, of burke and shirley, and of even the three negroes! after all the hardships, the labor, and the anxieties, after all the joy of success and escape from danger, after all happy chances which had come in various ways and from various directions, after the sweet delights of rest, after the super-exultation of anticipation which no one on board had been able to banish from his mind, there was nothing left to them now but the eager desire that their vessel might keep afloat until she could find some friendly sands on which she might be run, or some shallow water in which she might sink and rest there on the wild patagonian coast, leaving them far from human beings of any kind, far from help, far, perhaps, from rescue and even safety. to this one object each man gave his entire energy, his mind, and his body. steadily went the pumps, steadily the captain kept his eyes fixed upon the approaching headland, and upon the waters beyond, and steadily, little by little, the _miranda_ sunk lower and lower into the sea. at last the headland was reached, and on its ocean side the surf beat high. keeping well away to avoid shoals or a bar, the _miranda_ passed the southern point of the headland, and slowly sailed into a little bay. to the left lay the rocky ridge which formed the headland, and less than half a mile away could be seen the shining sands of the smooth beach. toward this beach the _miranda_ was now headed, every sail upon her set, and every nerve upon her strung to its tightest. they went in upon a flood-tide. if he had believed that the brig would float so long, captain horn would have waited an hour until the tide was high, so that he might run his vessel farther up upon the beach, but he could not wait, and with a strong west wind he steered straight for the sands. there was a hissing under the bows, and a shock which ran through the vessel from stem to stern, and then grinding and grinding and grinding until all motion ceased, and a gentle surf began to curl itself against the stern of the brig. every halliard was let go, and down came every sail by the run, and then the brig _miranda_ ended this voyage, and all others, upon the shore of a desolate patagonian island. between the vessel and dry land there was about a hundred feet of water, but this would be much less when the tide went out. beyond the beach was a stretch of sandy hillocks, or dunes, and back of these was a mass of scrubby thicket, with here and there a low tree, and still farther back was seen the beginning of what might be a forest. it was a different coast from the desolate shores of peru. burke came aft to the captain. "here we are, sir," said he, "and what's to happen next?" "happen!" exclaimed the captain. "we must not wait for things to happen! what we've got to do is to step around lively, and get the gold out of this brig before the wind changes and drives her out into deep water." burke put his hands into his pockets. "is there any good of it, captain?" said he. "will we be any better off with the bags on that shore than we would be if they were sunk in this bay?" "good of it!" exclaimed the captain. "don't talk that way, burke. if we can get it on shore, there is a chance for us. but if it goes to the bottom, out in deep water, there is none. there is no time to talk now. what we must do is to go to work." "yes," said burke, "whatever happens, it is always work. but i'm in for it, as long as i hold together. but we've got to look out that some of those black fellows don't drop over the bow, and give us the slip." "they'll starve if they do," said the captain, "for not a biscuit, or a drop of water, goes ashore until the gold is out of the hold." burke shook his head. "we'll do what we can, captain," said he, "but that hold's a regular fishpond, and we'll have to dive for the bags." "all right," said the captain, "dive let it be." the work of removing the gold began immediately. tackle was rigged. the negroes went below to get out the bags, which were hauled up to the deck in a tub. when a moderate boat-load had been taken out, a boat was lowered and manned, and the bags passed down to it. in the first boat the captain went ashore. he considered it wise to land the treasure as fast as it could be taken out of the hold, for no one could know at what time, whether on account of wind from shore or waves from the sea, the vessel might slip out into deep water. this was a slower method than if everybody had worked at getting the gold on deck, and then everybody had worked at getting it ashore, but it was a safer plan than the other, for if an accident should occur, if the brig should be driven off the sand, they would have whatever they had already landed. as this thought passed through the mind of the captain, he could not help a dismal smile. "have!" said he to himself. "it may be that we shall have it as that poor fellow had his bag of gold, when he lay down on his back to die there in the wild desert." but no one would have imagined that such an idea had come into the captain's mind. he worked as earnestly, and as steadily, as if he had been landing an ordinary cargo at an ordinary dock. the captain and the men in the boat carried the bags high up on the beach, out of any danger from tide or surf, and laid them in a line along the sand. the captain ordered this because it would be easier to handle them afterwards--if it should ever be necessary to handle them--than if they had been thrown into piles. if they should conclude to bury them, it would be easier and quicker to dig a trench along the line, and tumble them in, than to make the deep holes that would otherwise be necessary. until dark that day, and even after dark, they worked, stopping only for necessary eating and drinking. the line of bags upon the shore had grown into a double one, and it became necessary for the men, sometimes the white and sometimes the black, to stoop deeper and deeper into the water of the hold to reach the bags. but they worked on bravely. in the early dawn of the next morning they went to work again. not a negro had given the ship the slip, nor were there any signs that one of them had thought of such a thing. backward and forward through the low surf went the boat, and longer and wider and higher grew the mass of bags upon the beach. it was the third day after they had reached shore that the work was finished. every dripping bag had been taken out of the hold, and the captain had counted them all as they had been put ashore, and verified the number by the record in his pocket-book. when the lower tiers of bags had been reached, they had tried pumping out the water, but this was of little use. the brig had keeled over on her starboard side, and early in the morning of the third day, when the tide was running out, a hole had been cut in that side of the vessel, out of which a great portion of the water she contained had run. it would all come in again, and more of it, when the tide rose, but they were sure they could get through their work before that, and they were right. the bags now lay upon the beach in the shape of a long mound, not more than three feet high, and about four rows wide at the bottom and two at the top. the captain had superintended the arrangement of the bags, and had so shaped the mass that it somewhat resembled in form the dunes of sand which lay behind it. no matter what might be their next step, it would probably be advisable to conceal the bags, and the captain had thought that the best way to do this would be to throw sand over the long mound, in which work the prevailing western winds would be likely to assist, and thus make it look like a natural sand-hill. burke and shirley were in favor of burial, but the consideration of this matter was deferred, for there was more work to be done, which must be attended to immediately. now provisions, water, and everything else that might be of value was taken out of the brig and carried to shore. two tents were constructed out of sails and spars, and the little party established themselves upon the beach. what would be their next work they knew not, but they must first rest from their long season of heavy labor. the last days had been harder even than the days of storm and the days of pumping. they had eaten hurriedly and slept but little. regular watches and irregular watches had been kept--watches against storm, which might sweep the brig with all on board out to sea, watches against desertion, watches against they knew not what. as chief watcher, the captain had scarcely slept at all. it had been dreary work, unrelieved by hope, uncheered by prospect of success; for not one of them, from the captain down, had any definite idea as to what was to be done after they had rested enough to act. but they rested, and they went so far as to fill their pipes and stretch themselves upon the sand. when night came on, chilly and dark, they gathered driftwood and dead branches from the thicket and built a camp-fire. they sat around it, and smoked their pipes, but they did not tell stories, nor did they talk very much. they were glad to rest, they were glad to keep warm, but that was all. the only really cheerful thing upon the beach was the fire, which leaped high and blazed merrily as the dried wood was heaped upon it. chapter xxxix shirley spies a sail when the _arato_ changed her mind about going to callao, and sailed southward some five days after the _miranda_ had started on the same course, she had very good weather for the greater part of a week, and sailed finely. cardatas, who owned a share in her, had sailed upon her as first mate, but he had never before commanded her. he was a good navigator, however, and well fitted for the task he had undertaken. he was a sharp fellow, and kept his eyes on everybody, particularly upon nunez, who, although a landsman, and in no wise capable of sailing a ship, was perfectly capable of making plans regarding any vessel in which he was interested, especially when such a vessel happened to be sailing in pursuit of treasure, the value of which was merely a matter of conjecture. it was not impossible that the horse-dealer, who had embarked money in this venture, might think that one of the mariners on board might be able to sail the schooner as well as cardatas, and would not expect so large a share of the profits should the voyage be successful. but when the storms came on, nunez grew sick and unhappy, and retired below, and he troubled the mind of cardatas no more for the present. the _arato_ sailed well with a fair wind, but in many respects she was not as good a sea-boat in a storm as the _miranda_ had proved to be, and she had been obliged to lie to a great deal through the days and nights of high winds and heavy seas. having never had, until now, the responsibility of a vessel upon him, cardatas was a good deal more cautious and prudent, perhaps, than captain horn would have been had he been in command of the _arato_. among other methods of precaution which cardatas thought it wise to take, he steered well out from the coast, and thus greatly lengthened his course, and at last, when a clearing sky enabled him to take an observation, he found himself so far to the westward that he changed his course entirely and steered for the southeast. notwithstanding all these retarding circumstances, cardatas did not despair of overhauling the _miranda_. he was sure she would make for the straits, and he did not in the least doubt that, with good winds, he could overtake her before she reached them, and even if she did get out of them, he could still follow her. his belief that the _arato_ could sail two miles to the _miranda's_ one was still unshaken. the only real fear he had was that the _miranda_ might have foundered in the storm. if that should happen to be the case, their voyage would be a losing one, indeed, but he said nothing of his fears to nunez. the horse-dealer was now on deck again, in pretty fair condition, but he was beginning to be despondent. after such an awful storm, and in all that chaos of waves, what chance was there of finding a little brig such as they were after? "but vessels sail in regular courses," cardatas said to him. "they don't go meandering all over the ocean. if they are bound for any particular place, they go there on the shortest safe line they can lay down on the map. we can go on that line, too, although we may be thrown out of it by storms. but we can strike it again, and then all we have to do is to keep on it as straight as we can, and we are bound to overtake another vessel on the same course, provided we sail faster than she does. it is all plain enough, don't you see?" nunez could not help seeing, but he was a little cross, nevertheless. the map and the ocean were wonderfully different. the wind had changed, and the _arato_ did not make very good sailing on her southeastern course. high as was her captain's opinion of her, she never had sailed, nor ever could sail, two miles to the _miranda's_ one, although she was a good deal faster than the brig. but she was fairly well handled, and in due course of time she approached so near the coast that her lookout sighted land, which land cardatas, consulting his chart, concluded must be one of the patagonian islands to the north of the gulf of penas. as night came on, cardatas determined to change his course somewhat to the south, as he did not care to trust himself too near the coast, when suddenly the lookout reported a light on the port bow. cardatas had sailed down this coast before, but he had never heard of a lighthouse in the region, and with his glass he watched the light. but he could not make it out. it was a strange light, for sometimes it was bright and sometimes dull, then it would increase greatly and almost fade away again. "it looks like a fire on shore," said he, and some of the other men who took the glass agreed with him. "and what does that mean?" asked nunez. "i don't know," replied cardatas, curtly. "how should i? but one thing i do know, and that is that i shall lie to until morning, and then we can feel our way near to the coast and see what it does mean." "but what do you want to know for?" asked nunez. "i suppose somebody on shore has built a fire. is there any good stopping for that? we have lost a lot of time already." "i am going to lie to, anyway," said cardatas. "when we are on such business as ours, we should not pass anything without understanding it." cardatas had always supposed that these islands were uninhabited, and he could not see why anybody should be on one of them making a fire, unless it were a case of shipwreck. if a ship had been wrecked, it was not at all impossible that the _miranda_ might be the unfortunate vessel. in any case, it would be wise to lie to, and look into the matter by daylight. if the _miranda_ had gone down at sea, and her crew had reached land in boats, the success of the _arato's_ voyage would be very dubious. and should this misfortune have happened, he must be careful about nunez when he came to hear of it. when he turned into his hammock that night, cardatas had made up his mind that, if he should discover that the _miranda_ had gone to the bottom, it would be a very good thing if arrangements could be made for nunez to follow her. that night the crew of the miranda slept well and enjoyed the first real rest they had had since the storm. no watch was kept, for they all thought it would be an unnecessary hardship. the captain awoke at early dawn, and, as he stepped out of the tent, he glanced over sea and land. there were no signs of storm, the brig had not slipped out into deep water, their boats were still high and dry upon the beach, and there was something encouraging in the soft, early light and the pleasant morning air. he was surprised, however, to find that he was not the first man out. on a piece of higher ground, a little back from the tents, shirley was standing, a glass to his eye. "what do you see?" cried the captain. "a sail!" returned shirley. at this every man in the tents came running out. even to the negroes the words, "a sail," had the startling effect which they always have upon ship-wrecked men. the effect upon captain horn was a strange one, and he could scarcely understand it himself. it was amazing that succor, if succor it should prove to be, had arrived so quickly after their disaster. but not-withstanding the fact that he would be overjoyed to be taken off that desolate coast, he could not help a strong feeling of regret that a sail had appeared so soon. if they had had time to conceal their treasure, all might have been well. with the bags of gold buried in a trench, or covered with sand so as to look like a natural mound, he and his sailors might have been taken off merely as shipwrecked sailors, and carried to some port where he might charter another vessel and come back after his gold. but now he knew that whoever landed on this beach must know everything, for it would be impossible to conceal the contents of that long pile of bags, and what consequences might follow upon such knowledge it was impossible for him to imagine. burke had very much the same idea. "by george, captain!" said he, "it is a great pity that she came along so soon. what do you say? shall we signal her or not? we want to get away, but it would be beastly awkward for anybody to come ashore just now. i wish we had buried the bags as fast as we brought them ashore." the captain did not answer. perhaps it might be as well not to signal her. and yet, this might be their only chance of rescue! "what do you say to jumping into the boats and rowing out to meet them?" asked burke. "we'd have to leave the bags uncovered, but we might get to a port, charter some sort of a craft, and get back for the bags before any other vessel came so near the coast." "i don't see what made this one come so near," said shirley, "unless it was our fire last night. she might have thought that was a signal." "i shouldn't wonder," said the captain, who held the glass. "but we needn't trouble ourselves about going out in boats, for she is making straight for land." "that's so," said shirley, who could now see this for himself, for the light was rapidly growing stronger. "she must have seen our fire last night. shall i hoist a signal?" "no," said the captain. "wait!" they waited to see what this vessel was going to do. perhaps she was only tacking. but what fool of a skipper would run so close to the shore for the sake of tacking! they watched her eagerly, but not one of the white men would have been wholly disappointed if the schooner, which they could now easily make out, had changed her course and gone off on a long tack to the southwest. but she was not tacking. she came rapidly on before a stiff west wind. there was no need of getting out boats to go to meet her. she was south of the headland, but was steering directly toward it. they could see what sort of craft she was--a long schooner, painted green, with all sails set. very soon they could see the heads of the men on board. then she came nearer and nearer to land, until she was less than half a mile from shore. then she shot into the wind; her sails fluttered; she lay almost motionless, and her head-sails were lowered. "that's just as if they were coming into port," said burke. "yes," said shirley, "i expect they intend to drop anchor." this surmise was correct, for, as he spoke, the anchor went down with a splash. "they're very business-like," said burke. "look at them. they are lowering a boat." "a boat!" exclaimed shirley, "they're lowering two of them." the captain knit his brows. this was extraordinary action on the part of the vessel. why did she steer so straight for land? why did she so quickly drop anchor and put out two boats? could it be that this vessel had been on their track? could it be that the peruvian government--but he could not waste time in surmise as to what might be. they must act, not conjecture. it was not a minute before the captain made up his mind how they should act. five men were in each boat, and with a glass it was easy to see that some of them carried guns. "get your rifles!" cried he to shirley and burke, and he rushed for his own. the arms and ammunition had been all laid ready in the tent, and in a moment each one of the white men had a rifle and a belt of cartridges. for the blacks there were no guns, as they would not have known how to use them, but they ran about in great excitement, each with his knife drawn, blindly ready to do whatever should be ordered. the poor negroes were greatly frightened. they had but one idea about the approaching boats: they believed that the men in them were rackbirds coming to wreak vengeance upon them. the same idea had come into the mind of the captain. some of the rackbirds had gone back to the cove. they had known that there had been people there. they had made investigations, and found the cave and the empty mound, and in some way had discovered that the _miranda_ had gone off with its contents. perhaps the black fellow who had deserted the vessel at valparaiso had betrayed them. he hurriedly mentioned his suspicions to his companions. "i shouldn't wonder," said burke, "if that inkspot had done it. perhaps he could talk a good deal better than we thought. but i vow i wouldn't have supposed that he would be the man to go back on us. i thought he was the best of the lot." "get behind that wall of bags," cried the captain, "every one of you. whoever they are, we will talk to them over a breastwork." "i think we shall have to do more than talk," said burke, "for a blind man could see that there are guns in those boats." chapter xl the battle of the golden wall the five men now got behind the barrier of bags, but, before following them, captain horn, with the butt of his rifle, drew a long, deep furrow in the sand about a hundred feet from the breastwork of bags, and parallel with it. then he quickly joined the others. the three white men stationed themselves a little distance apart, and each moved a few of the top bags so as to get a good sight between them, and not expose themselves too much. as the boats came on, the negroes crouched on the sand, entirely out of sight, while shirley and burke each knelt down behind the barrier, with his rifle laid in a crevice in the top. the captain's rifle was in his hand, but he did not yet prepare for action. he stooped down, but his head was sufficiently above the barrier to observe everything. the two boats came rapidly on, and were run up on the beach, and the men jumped out and drew them up, high and safe. then, without the slightest hesitation, the ten of them, each with a gun in his hand, advanced in a body toward the line of bags. "ahoy!" shouted the captain, suddenly rising from behind the barrier. "who are you, and what do you want?" he said this in english, but immediately repeated it in spanish. "ahoy, there!" cried cardatas. "are you captain horn?" "yes, i am," said the captain, "and you must halt where you are. the first man who passes that line is shot." cardatas laughed, and so did some of the others, but they all stopped. "we'll stop here a minute to oblige you," said cardatas, "but we've got something to say to you, and you might as well listen to it." shirley and burke did not understand a word of these remarks, for they did not know spanish, but each of them kept his eye running along the line of men who still stood on the other side of the furrow the captain had made in the sand, and if one of them had raised his gun to fire at their skipper, it is probable that he would have dropped. shirley and burke had been born and bred in the country; they were hunters, and were both good shots. it was on account of their fondness for sport that they had been separated from the rest of their party on the first day of the arrival of the people from the _castor_ at the caves. "what have you to say?" said the captain. "speak quickly." cardatas did not immediately answer, for nunez was excitedly talking to him. the soul of the horse-dealer had been inflamed by the sight of the bags. he did not suppose it possible that they could all contain gold, but he knew they must be valuable, or they would not have been carried up there, and he was advising a rush for the low wall. "we will see what we can do with them, first," said cardatas to nunez. "some of us may be shot if we are in too great a hurry. they are well defended where they are, and we may have to get round into their rear. then we can settle their business very well, for the negro said there were only three white men. but first let us talk to them. we may manage them without running any risks." cardatas turned toward the captain, and at the same time burke said: "captain, hadn't you better squat down a little? you're making a very fine mark of yourself." but the captain still stood up to listen to cardatas. "i'll tell you what we've come for," said the latter. "we are not officers of the law, but we are the same thing. we know all about you and the valuable stuff you've run away with, and we've been offered a reward to bring back those bags, and to bring you back, too, dead or alive, and here we are, ready to do it. it was good luck for us that your vessel came to grief, but we should have got you, even if she hadn't. we were sure to overhaul you in the straits. we know all about you and that old hulk, but we are fair and square people, and we're sailors, and we don't want to take advantage of anybody, especially of sailors who have had misfortunes. now, the reward the californian government has offered us is not a very big one, and i think you can do better by us, so if you'll agree to come out from behind that breastwork and talk to us fair and square, your two white men and your three negroes,--you see, we know all about you,--i think we can make a bargain that'll suit all around. the government of california hasn't any claim on us, and we don't see why we should serve it any more than we should serve you, and it will be a good deal better for you to be content with half the treasure you've gone off with, or perhaps a little more than that, and let us have the rest. we will take you off on our vessel, and land you at any port you want to go to, and you can take your share of the bags ashore with you. now, that's what i call a fair offer, and i think you will say so, too." captain horn was much relieved by part of this speech. he had had a slight fear, when cardatas began, that these men might have been sent out by the peruvian government, but now he saw they were a set of thieves, whether rackbirds or not, doing business on their own account. "the californian government has nothing to do with me," cried captain horn, "and it never had anything to do with you, either. when you say that, you lie! i am not going to make any bargain with you, or have anything to do with you. my vessel is wrecked, but we can take care of ourselves. and now i'll give you five minutes to get to your boats, and the quicker you go, the better for you!" at this, nunez stepped forward, his face red with passion. "look here, you yankee thief," he cried, "we'll give you just one minute to come out from behind that pile of bags. if you don't come, we'll--" but if he said any more, captain horn did not hear it, for at that moment burke cried: "drop, captain!" and the captain dropped. stung by the insult he had received, and unable to resist the temptation of putting an end to the discussion by shooting captain horn, cardatas raised his rifle to his shoulder, and almost in the same instant that the captain's body disappeared behind the barrier, he fired. but the bullet had scarcely left his barrel when another ball, from shirley's gun, struck cardatas under his uplifted left arm, and stretched him on the sand. a shock ran through the attacking party, and instinctively they retreated several yards. so suddenly had they lost their leader that, for a few moments, they did not seem to understand the situation. but, on a shout from one of them to look out for themselves, every man dropped flat upon the beach, behind a low bank of sand scarcely a foot high. this was not much protection, but it was better than standing up as marks for the rifles behind the barrier. the men from the _arato_ were very much surprised by what had happened. they had expected to have an easy job with the crew of the _miranda_. as soon as the sailor sanchez had seen the stranded brig, he had recognized her, and cardatas, as well as the rest of them, had thought that there would be nothing to do but to go on shore with a party of well-armed men, and possess themselves of whatever treasure she had brought to this deserted coast. but to find her crew strongly intrenched and armed had very much amazed them. nunez's anger had disappeared, and his accustomed shrewdness had taken its place, for he now saw that very serious business was before them. he was not much of a soldier, but he knew enough to understand that in the plan proposed by cardatas lay their only hope of success. it would be ridiculous to lie there and waste their ammunition on that wall of bags. he was lying behind the others, and raised his head just enough to tell them what they should do. "we must get into their rear," he said. "we must creep along the sand until we reach those bushes up there, and then we can get behind them. i'll go first, and you can follow me." at, this, he began to work himself along the beach, somewhat after the fashion of an earthworm. but the men paid no attention to him. there was little discipline among them, and they had no respect for the horse-dealer as a commander, so they remained on the sands, eagerly talking among themselves. some of them were frightened, and favored a rush for the boats. but this advice brought down curses from the others. what were three men to nine, that they should run away? burke now became tired of waiting to see what would happen next, and putting his hat on a little stick, he raised it a short distance above the breastwork. instantly one of the more excitable men from the _arato_ fired at it. "very good," said burke. "they want to keep it up, do they? now, captain," he continued, "we can see the backs and legs of most of them. shall we fire at them? that will be just as good as killing them. they mean fight--that's easy to see." but the captain was not willing to follow burke's advice. "i don't want to wound or maim them," he replied. "let's give them a volley just over their heads, and let them see what we are prepared to do. now, then, when i give the word!" in a few moments three shots rang out from the intrenchment, and the bullets went whistling over the prostrate bodies of the men on the sand. but these tactics did not have the effect captain horn hoped for. they led to no waving of handkerchiefs, nor any show of an intention to treat with an armed and intrenched foe. instead of that, the man sanchez sprang to his feet and cried: "come on, boys! over the wall and at them before they can reload!" at this all the men sprang up and dashed toward the line of bags, nunez with them. somebody might get hurt in this wild charge, but he must reach the treasure as soon as the others. he must not fail in that. but sanchez made a great mistake when he supposed that captain horn and his men fought with such arms as the muzzle-loading rifles and shot-guns which the _arato's_ men had thought quite sufficient to bring with them for the work they had to do. captain horn, when he had fitted out the _miranda_, had supplied himself and his two white men with fine repeating rifles, and the _arato's_ men had scarcely crossed the line which had been drawn on the sand before there were three shots from the barrier, and three of the enemy dropped. even the captain made a good shot this time. at this the attacking party stopped, and some of them shouted, "to the boats!" nunez said nothing, for he was dead. there had been much straggling in the line, and shirley had singled him out as one of the leaders. before one of them had turned or a retreat begun, burke's rifle flashed, and another man fell over against a companion, and then down upon the sand. the distance was very short, and a bad shot was almost impossible for a good hunter. now there was no hesitation. the five men who had life and legs, turned and dashed for the boats. but the captain did not intend, now, that they should escape, and rifle after rifle cracked from the barricade, and before they reached the boats, four of the flying party had fallen. the fifth man stumbled over one of his companions, who dropped in front of him, then rose to his feet, threw down his gun, and, turning his face toward the shore, held up his hands high above his head. "i surrender!" he cried, and, still with his arms above his head, and his face whiter than the distant sands, he slowly walked toward the barrier. the captain rose. "halt!" he cried, and the man stood stock-still. "now, my men," cried the captain, turning to burke and shirley, "keep your eyes on that fellow until we reach him, and if he moves, shoot him." the three white men, followed by the negroes, ran down to the man, and when they had reached him, they carefully searched him to see if he had any concealed weapons. after glancing rapidly over the bodies which lay upon the sand, the captain turned to his men. "come on, every one of you," he shouted, "and run out that boat," pointing to the largest one that had brought the _arato's_ men ashore. shirley and burke looked at him in surprise. "we want that vessel!" he cried, in answer. "be quick!" and taking hold of the boat himself, he helped the others push it off the sand. "now, then," he continued, "shirley, you and burke get into the bow, with your rifles. tumble in, you black fellows, and each take an oar. you," he said in spanish to the prisoner, "get in and take an oar, too." the captain took the tiller. shirley and burke pushed the boat into deep water, and jumped aboard. the oars dipped, and they were off, regardless of the low surf which splashed its crest over the gunwale as the boat turned. "tell me, you rascal," said the captain to the prisoner, who was tugging at his oar as hard as the others, "how many men are aboard that schooner?" "only two, i swear to you, señor capitan; there were twelve of us in all." the men left on the schooner had evidently watched the proceedings on shore, and were taking measures accordingly. "they've slipped their anchor, and the tide is running out!" shouted the captain. "pull! pull!" "they're running up their jib!" cried burke. "lay to, you fellows, or i'll throw one of you overboard, and take his place!" the captured man was thoroughly frightened. they were great fighters, these men he had fallen among, and he pulled as though he were rowing to rescue his dearest friend. the black fellows bent to their oars like madmen. they were thoroughly excited. they did not know what they were rowing: for they only knew they were acting under the orders of their captain, who had just killed nine rackbirds, and their teeth and their eyes flashed as their oars dipped and bent. chapter xli the "arato" anchors nearer shore on went the boat, each one of the oarsmen pulling with all his force, the captain in the stern, shouting and encouraging them, and shirley and burke crouched in the bow, each with his rifle in hand. up went the jib of the _arato_. she gently turned about as she felt the influence of the wind, and then the captain believed the men on board were trying to get up the foresail. "are you sure there are only two of the crew on that schooner?" said the captain to the prisoner. "now, it isn't worth while to lie to me." "only two," said the man. "i swear to it. only two, señor capitan." the foresail did not go up, for one of the men had to run to the wheel, and as the vessel's head got slowly around, it seemed as if she might sail away from the boat, even with nothing but the jib set. but the schooner gained headway very slowly, and the boat neared her rapidly. now the man at the wheel gave up all hope of sailing away from his pursuers. he abandoned the helm, and in a few moments two heads and two guns showed over the rail, and two shots rang out. but the schooner was rolling, and the aim was bad. shirley and burke fired at the two heads as soon as they saw them, but the boat was rising and pitching, and their shots were also bad. for a minute there was no more firing, and then one of the heads and one of the guns were seen again. shirley was ready, and made his calculations, and, as the boat rose, he drew a bead upon the top of the rail where he saw the head, and had scarcely pulled his trigger when he saw a good deal more than a head, for a man sprung up high in the air and then fell backward. the captain now ordered his men to rest on their oars, for, if the other man on board should show himself, they could get a better shot at him than if they were nearer. but the man did not show himself, and, on consideration of his probable tactics, it seemed extremely dangerous to approach the vessel. even here they were in danger, but should they attempt to board her, they could not tell from what point he might fire down upon them, and some of them would surely be shot before they could get a chance at him, and the captain did not wish to sacrifice any of his men, even for a vessel, if it could be helped. there seemed to be no hope of safely gaining their object, except to wait until the man should become tired and impatient, and expose himself. suddenly, to the amazement of every one in the boat, for all heads were turned toward the schooner, a man appeared, boldly running over her deck. shirley and burke instantly raised their rifles, but dropped them again. there was a shout from maka, and an exclamation from the prisoner. then the man on deck stooped close to the rail and was lost to their sight, but almost instantly he reappeared again, holding in front of him a struggling pair of legs, feet uppermost. then, upon the rail, appeared a man's head and body; but it only remained there for an instant, for his legs were raised still higher by the person behind him, and were then propelled outward with such force that he went headlong overboard. then the man on deck sprang to the top of the rail, regardless of the rolling of the vessel in the gentle swell, and waved his hands above his head. "inkspot!" shouted the captain. "pull away, you fellows! pull!" the tall, barefooted negro sprang to the deck from his perilous position, and soon reappeared with a line ready to throw to the boat. in a few minutes they reached the vessel, and the boat was quickly made fast, and very soon they were on board. when he saw his old friends and associates upon the deck, inkspot retired a little distance and fell upon his knees. "you black rascal!" roared burke, "you brought these cut-throat scoundrels down upon us! you--" "that will do," said the captain. "there is no time for that sort of thing now. we will talk to him afterwards. mr. shirley, call all hands and get up sail. i am going to take this schooner inside the headland. we can find safe anchorage in the bay. we can sail over the same course we went on with the _miranda_, and she drew more water than this vessel." in an hour the _arato_, moored by her spare anchor, lay in the little bay, less than two hundred yards from shore. it gave the shipwrecked men a wild delight to find themselves again upon the decks of a seaworthy vessel, and everybody worked with a will, especially the prisoner and inkspot. and when the last sail had been furled, it became evident to all hands on board that they wanted their breakfast, and this need was speedily supplied by maka and inkspot from the _arato's_ stores. that afternoon the captain went on shore with the negroes and the chilian prisoner, and the bodies of the nine men who had fallen in the attack upon the wall of gold were buried where they lay. this was a very different climate from that of the peruvian coast, where the desiccating air speedily makes a mummy of any dead body upon its arid sands. when this work had been accomplished, the party returned to the _arato_, and the captain ordered inkspot and the prisoner to be brought aft to be tried by court martial. the big negro had been wildly and vociferously received by his fellow-countrymen, who, upon every possible occasion, had jabbered together in their native tongue, but captain horn had, so far, said nothing to him. the captain had been greatly excited from the moment he had seen the sail in the offing. in his dire distress, on this almost desolate shore, he had beheld what might prove to be speedy relief, and, much as he had needed it, he had hoped that it might not come so soon. he had been apprehensive and anxious when he supposed friendly aid might be approaching, and he had been utterly astounded when he was forced to believe that they were armed men who were rowing to shore, and must be enemies. he had fought a terrible fight. he had conquered the scoundrels who had come for his life and his treasure, and, best of all, he had secured a vessel which would carry him and his men and his fortune to france. he had endeavored to keep cool and think only of the work that was immediately in hand, and he had no wish to ask anybody why or how things had happened. they had happened, and that was all in all to him. but now he was ready to make all necessary inquiries, and he began with inkspot. maka being interpreter, the examination was easily carried on. the story of the negro was a very interesting one. he told of his adventures on shore, and how kind the men had been to him until they went on board the _arato_, and how then they treated him as if he had been a dog--how he had been made to do double duty in all sorts of disagreeable work, and how, after they had seen the light on the beach, he had been put into the hold and tied hand and foot. while down there in the dark he had heard the firing on shore, and, after a long while, the firing from the deck, and other shots near by. all this had so excited him that he managed to get one hand loose from his cords, and then had speedily unfastened the rest, and had quietly crept to a hatchway, where he could watch what was going on without showing himself. he had seen the two men on deck, ready to fire on the approaching boat. he had recognized captain horn and the people of the _miranda_ in the boat. and then, when there was but one man left on deck, and the boat was afraid to come nearer, he had rushed up behind him and tumbled him overboard. one thing only did inkspot omit: he did not say that it was mr. burke's example that had prompted him to go ashore for refreshments. when the story had been told, and all questions asked and answered, the captain turned to burke and shirley and asked their opinions upon the case. shirley was in favor of putting the negro in irons. he had deserted them, and had nearly cost them their lives by the stories he had told on shore. burke, to the captain's surprise,--for the second mate generally dealt severely with nautical transgressions,--was in favor of clemency. "to be sure," said he, "the black scoundrel did get us into trouble. but then, don't you see, he has got us out of it. if these beastly fellows hadn't been led by him to come after our money, we would not have had this schooner, and how we should have got those bags away without her,--to say nothing of ourselves,--is more than i can fathom. it is my belief that no craft ever comes within twenty miles of this coast, if she can help it. so i vote for letting him off. he didn't intend to do us any harm, and he didn't intend to do us any good, but it seems to me that the good he did do rises higher above the water-line than the harm. so i say, let him off. we need another hand about as much as we need anything." "and so say i," said the captain. "maka, you can tell him we forgive him, because we believe that he is really a good fellow and didn't intend any harm, and he can turn in with the rest of you on his old watch. and now bring up that chilian fellow." the prisoner, who gave his name as anton garta, was now examined in regard to the schooner _arato_, her extraordinary cruise, and the people who had devised it. garta was a fellow of moderate intelligence, and still very much frightened, and having little wit with which to concoct lies, and no reason for telling them, he answered the questions put to him as correctly as his knowledge permitted. he said that about two months before he had been one of the crew of the _arato_, and manuel cardatas was second mate, and he had been very glad to join her on this last cruise because he was out of a job. he thought she was going to callao for a cargo, and so did the rest of the crew. they did not even know there were guns on board until they were out at sea. then, when they had turned southward, their captain and señor nunez told them that they were going in pursuit of a treasure ship commanded by a yankee captain, who had run away with ever so much money from california, and that they were sure to overhaul this ship, and that they would all be rich. the guns were given to them, and they had had some practice with them, and thought that cardatas intended, should the _miranda_ be overhauled, to run alongside of her as near as was safe, and begin operations by shooting everybody that could be seen on deck. he was not sure that this was his plan, but they all had thought it was. after the storm the men had become dissatisfied, and said they did not believe it was possible to overhaul any vessel after so much delay, and when they had gone so far out of their course; and señor nunez, who had hired the vessel, was in doubt as to whether it would be of any use to continue the cruise. but when cardatas had talked to him, señor nunez had come among them and promised them good rewards, whether they sighted their prize or not, if they would work faithfully for ten days more. the men had agreed to do this, but when they had seen the light on shore, they had made an agreement among themselves that, if this should be nothing but a fire built by savages or shipwrecked people of no account, they would not work the schooner any farther south. they would put cardatas and nunez in irons, if necessary, and take the _arato_ back to valparaiso. there were men among them who could navigate. but when they got near enough to shore to see that the stranded vessel was the _miranda_, there was no more insubordination. as for himself, garta said he was a plain, common sailor, who went on board the _arato_ because he wanted a job. if he had known the errand on which she was bound, he would never have approached within a league of her. this he vowed, by all the saints. as to the ownership of the vessel garta could tell but little. he had heard that cardatas had a share in her, and thought that probably the other owners lived in valparaiso, but he could give no positive information on this subject. he said that every man of the boat's crew was in a state of wild excitement when they saw that long pile of bags, which they knew must contain treasure of some sort, and it was because of this state of mind, most likely, that cardatas lost his temper and got himself shot, and so opened the fight. cardatas was a cunning fellow, and, if he had not been upset by the sight of those bags, garta believed that he would have regularly besieged captain horn's party, and must have overcome them in the end. he was anxious to have the captain believe that, when he had said there were only two men on board, he had totally forgotten the negro, who had been left below. when garta's examination had been finished, the captain sent him forward, and then repeated his story in brief to shirley and burke, for, as the prisoner had spoken in spanish, they had understood but little of it. "i don't see that it makes much difference," said burke, "as to what his story is. we've got to get rid of him in some way. we don't want to carry him about with us. we might leave him here, with a lot of grub and a tent. that would be all he deserves." "i should put him in irons, to begin with," said shirley, "and then we can consider what to do with him when we have time." "i shall not leave him on shore," said the captain, "for that would simply be condemning him to starvation; and as for putting him in irons, that would deprive us of an able seaman. i suppose, if we took him to france, he would have to be sent to chili for trial, and that would be of no use, unless we went there as witnesses. it is a puzzling question to know what to do with him." "it is that," said burke, "and it is a great pity he wasn't shot with the others." "well," said the captain, "we've got a lot of work before us, and we want hands, so i think it will be best to let him turn in with the rest, and make him pay for his passage, wherever we take him. the worst he can do is to desert, and if he does that, he will settle his own business, and we shall have no more trouble with him." "i don't like him," said shirley. "i don't think we ought to have such a fellow going about freely on board." "i am not afraid he will hurt any of us," said the captain, "and i am sure he will not corrupt the negroes. they hate him. it is easy to see that." "yes," said burke, with a laugh. "they think he is a rackbird, and it is just as well to let them keep on thinking so." "perhaps he is," thought the captain, but he did not speak this thought aloud. chapter xlii inkspot has a dream of heaven the next day the work of loading the _arato_ with the bags of gold was begun, and it was a much slower and more difficult business than the unloading of the _miranda_, for the schooner lay much farther out from the beach. but there were two men more than on the former occasion, and the captain did not push the work. there was no need now for extraordinary haste, and although they all labored steadily, regular hours of work and rest were adhered to. the men had carried so many bags filled with hard and uneven lumps that the shoulders of some of them were tender, and they had to use cushions of canvas under their loads. but the boats went backward and forward, and the bags were hoisted on board and lowered into the hold, and the wall of gold grew smaller and smaller. "captain," said burke, one day, as they were standing by a pile of bags waiting for the boat to come ashore, "do you think it is worth it! by george! we have loaded and unloaded these blessed bags all down the western coast of south america, and if we've got to unload and load them all up the east coast, i say, let's take what we really need, and leave the rest." "i've been at the business a good deal longer than you have," said the captain, "and i'm not tired of it yet. when i took away my first cargo, you must remember that i carried each bag on my own shoulders, and it took me more than a month to do it, and even all that is only a drop in the bucket compared to what most men who call themselves rich have to do before they make their money." "all right," said burke, "i'll stop growling. but look here, captain. how much do you suppose one of these bags is worth, and how many are there in all? i don't want to be inquisitive, but it would be a sort of comfort to know." "no, it wouldn't," said the captain, quickly. "it would be anything else but a comfort. i know how many bags there are, but as to what they are worth, i don't know, and i don't want to know. i once set about calculating it, but i didn't get very far with the figures. i need all my wits to get through with this business, and i don't think anything would be more likely to scatter them than calculating what this gold is worth. it would be a good deal better for you--and for me, too--to consider, as shirley does, that these bags are all filled with good, clean, anthracite coal. that won't keep us from sleeping." "shirley be hanged!" said burke, "he and you may be able to do that, but i can't. i've got a pretty strong mind, and if you were to tell me that when we get to port, and you discharge this crew, i can walk off with all the gold eagles or twenty-franc pieces i can carry, i think i could stand it without losing my mind." "all right," said the captain, "if we get this vessel safely to france, i will give you a good chance to try your nerves." day by day the work went on, and at last the _arato_ took the place of the _miranda_ as a modern _argo_. during the reëmbarkation of the treasure, the captain, as well as shirley and burke, had kept a sharp eye on garta. the two mates were afraid he might run away, but, had he done so, the captain would not have regretted it very much. he would gladly have parted with one of the bags in order to get rid of this encumbrance. but the prisoner had no idea of running away. he knew that the bags were filled with treasure, but as he could now do nothing with any of it that he might steal, he did not try to steal any. if he had thoughts of the kind, he knew this was no time for dishonest operation. he had always been a hardworking sailor, with a good appetite, and he worked hard now, and ate well. the _miranda's_ stores had not been injured by water, and when they had been put on board, the _arato_ was well fitted out for a long voyage. leaving the _miranda_ on the beach, with nothing in her of much value, the _arato_, which had cleared for callao, and afterwards set out on a wild piratical cruise, now made a third start, and set sail for a voyage to france. they had good weather and tolerably fair winds, and before they entered the straits of magellan the captain had formulated a plan for the disposition of garta. "i don't know anything better to do with him," said he to shirley and burke, "than to put him ashore at the falkland islands. we don't want to take him to france, for we would not know what to do with him after we got him there, and, as likely as not, he would swear a lot of lies against us as soon as he got on shore. we can run within a league of stanley harbor, and then, if the weather is good enough, we can put him in a boat, with something to eat and drink, and let him row himself into port. we can give him money enough to support himself until he can procure work." "but suppose there is a man-of-war in there," said shirley, "he might say things that would send her after us. he might not know where to say we got our treasure, but he could say we had stolen a chilian vessel." "i had thought of that," said the captain, "but nothing such a vagrant as he is could say ought to give any cruiser the right to interfere with us when we are sailing under the american flag. and when i go to france, nobody shall say that i stole a vessel, for, if the owners of the _arato_ can be found, they shall be well paid for what use we have made of their schooner. i'll send her back to valparaiso and let her be claimed." "it is a ticklish business," said burke, "but i don't know what else can be done. it is a great pity i didn't know he was going to surrender when we had that fight." they had been in the straits less than a week when inkspot dreamed he was in heaven. his ecstatic visions became so strong and vivid that they awakened him, when he was not long in discovering the cause which had produced them. the dimly lighted and quiet forecastle was permeated by a delightful smell of spirituous liquor. turning his eyes from right to left, in his endeavors to understand this unusual odor of luxury, inkspot perceived the man garta standing on the other side of the forecastle, with a bottle in one hand and a cork in the other, and, as he looked, garta raised the bottle to his mouth, threw back his head, and drank. inkspot greatly disliked this man. he had been one of the fellows who had ill-treated him when the _arato_ sailed under cardatas, and he fully agreed with his fellow-blacks that the scoundrel should have been shot. but now his feelings began to undergo a change. a man with a bottle of spirits might prove to be an angel of mercy, a being of beneficence, and if he would share with a craving fellow-being his rare good fortune, why should not all feelings of disapprobation be set aside? inkspot could see no reason why they should not be, and softly slipping from his hammock, he approached garta. "give me. give me, just little," he whispered. garta turned with a half-suppressed oath, and seeing who the suppliant was, he seized the bottle in his left hand, and with his right struck poor inkspot a blow in the face. without a word the negro stepped back, and then garta put the bottle into a high, narrow opening in the side of the forecastle, and closed a little door upon it, which fastened with a snap. this little locker, just large enough to hold one bottle, had been made by one of the former crew of the _arato_ solely for the purpose of concealing spirits, and was very ingeniously contrived. its door was a portion of the side of the forecastle, and a keyhole was concealed behind a removable knot. garta had not opened the locker before, for the reason that he had been unable to find the key. he knew it had been concealed in the forecastle, but it had taken him a long time to find it. now his secret was discovered, and he was enraged. going over to the hammock, where inkspot had again ensconced himself, he leaned over the negro and whispered: "if you ever say a word of that bottle to anybody, i'll put a knife into you! no matter what they do to me, i'll settle with you." inkspot did not understand all this, but he knew it was a threat, and he well understood the language of a blow in the face. after a while he went to sleep, but, if he smelt again the odor of the contents of the bottle, he had no more heavenly dreams. the next day captain horn found himself off the convict settlement of punta arenas, belonging to the chilian government. this was the first port he had approached since he had taken command of the _arato_, but he felt no desire nor need to touch at it. in fact, the vicinity of punta arenas seemed of no importance whatever, until shirley came to him and reported that the man garta was nowhere to be found. captain horn immediately ordered a search and inquiry to be made, but no traces of the prisoner could be discovered, nor could anybody tell anything about him. burke and inkspot had been on watch with him from four to eight, but they could give no information whatever concerning him. no splash nor cries for help had been heard, so that he could not have fallen overboard, and it was generally believed that, when he knew himself to be in the vicinity of a settlement, he had quietly slipped into the water and had swum for punta arenas. burke suggested that most likely he had formerly been a resident of the place, and liked it better than being taken off to unknown regions in the schooner. and shirley considered this very probable, for he said the man had always looked like a convict to him. at all events, garta was gone, and there was no one to say how long he had been gone. so, under full sail, the _arato_ went on her way. it was a relief to get rid of the prisoner, and the only harm which could come of his disappearance was that he might report that his ship had been stolen by the men who were sailing her, and that some sort of a vessel might be sent in pursuit of the _arato_, and, if this should be the case, the situation would be awkward. but days passed on, the schooner sailed out of the straits, and no vessel was seen pursuing her. to the northeast captain horn set his course. he would not stop at rio janeiro, for the _arato_ had no papers for that port. he would not lie to off stanley harbor, for he had now nobody to send ashore. but he would sail boldly for france, where he would make no pretensions that his auriferous cargo was merely ballast. he was known at marseilles. he had business relations with bankers in paris. he was a californian and an american citizen, and he would merely be bringing to france a vessel freighted with gold, which, by the aid of his financial advisers, would be legitimately cared for and disposed of. one night, before the _arato_ reached the falkland islands, maka, who was on watch, heard a queer sound in the forecastle, and looking down the companionway, he saw, by the dim light of the swinging lantern, a man with a hatchet, endeavoring to force the blade of it into the side of the vessel. maka quickly perceived that the man was inkspot, and as he could not imagine what he was doing, he quietly watched him. inkspot worked with as little noise as possible, but he was evidently bent upon forcing off one of the boards on the side of the forecastle. at first maka thought that his fellow-african was trying to sink the ship by opening a seam, but he soon realized that this notion was absurd, and so he let inkspot go on, being very curious to know what he was doing. in a few minutes he knew. with a slight noise, not enough to waken a sound sleeper, a little door flew open, and almost immediately inkspot held a bottle in his hand. maka slipped swiftly and softly to the side of the big negro, but he was not quick enough. inkspot had the neck of the bottle in his mouth and the bottom raised high in the air. but, before maka could seize him by the arm, the bottle had come down from its elevated position, and a doleful expression crept over the face of inkspot. there had been scarcely a teaspoonful of liquor left in the bottle. inkspot looked at maka, and maka looked at him. in an african whisper, the former now ordered the disappointed negro to put the bottle back, to shut up the locker, and then to get into his hammock and go to sleep as quickly as he could, for if mr. shirley, who was on watch on deck, found out what he had been doing, inkspot would wish he had never been born. the next day, when they had an opportunity for an african conversation, inkspot assured his countryman that he had discovered the little locker by smelling the whiskey through the boards, and that, having no key, he had determined to force it open with a hatchet. maka could not help thinking that inkspot had a wonderful nose for an empty bottle, and could scarcely restrain from a shudder at the thought of what might have happened had the bottle been full. but he did not report the occurrence. inkspot was a fellow-african, and he had barely escaped punishment for his former misdeed. it would be better to keep his mouth shut, and he did. against the north winds, before the south winds, and on the winds from the east and the west, through fair weather and through foul, the _arato_ sailed up the south atlantic. it was a long, long voyage, but the schooner was skilfully navigated and sailed well. sometimes she sighted great merchant-steamers plying between europe and south america, freighted with rich cargoes, and proudly steaming away from the little schooner, whose dark-green hull could scarcely be distinguished from the color of the waves. and why should not the captain of this humble little vessel sometimes have said to himself, as he passed a big three-master or a steamer: "what would they think if they knew that, if i chose to do it, i could buy every ship, and its cargo, that i shall meet between here and gibraltar!" "captain," said shirley, one day, "what do you think about the right and wrong of this?" "what do you mean?" asked captain horn. "i mean," replied shirley, "taking away the gold we have on board. we've had pretty easy times lately, and i've been doing a good deal of thinking, and sometimes i have wondered where we got the right to clap all this treasure into bags and sail away with it." "so you have stopped thinking the bags are all filled with anthracite coal," said the captain. "yes," said the other. "we are getting on toward the end of this voyage, and it is about time to give up that fancy. i always imagine, when i am near the end of a voyage, what i am going to do when i go ashore, and if i have any real right to some of the gold down under our decks, i shall do something very different from anything i ever did before." "i hope you don't mean going on a spree," said burke, who was standing near. "that would be something entirely different." "i thought," said the captain, "that you both understood this business, but i don't mind going over it again. there is no doubt in my mind that this gold originally belonged to the incas, who then owned peru, and they put it into that mound to keep it from the spaniards, whose descendants now own peru, and who rule it without much regard to the descendants of the ancient peruvians. now, when i discovered the gold, and began to have an idea of how valuable the find was, i knew that the first thing to do was to get it out of that place and away from the country. whatever is to be done in the way of fair play and fair division must be done somewhere else, and not there. if i had informed the government of what i had found, this gold would have gone directly into the hands of the descendants of the people from whom its original owners did their very best to keep it, and nobody else would have had a dollar's worth of it. if we had stood up for our rights to a reward for finding it, ten to one we would all have been clapped into prison." "i suppose by that," said burke, "that you looked upon the stone mound in the cave as a sort of will left by those old peruvians, and you made yourself an executor to carry out the intentions of the testators, as the lawyers say." "but we can set it down as dead certain," interrupted shirley, "that the testators didn't mean us to have it." "no," said the captain, "nor do i mean that we shall have all of it. i intend to have the question of the ownership of this gold decided by people who are able and competent to decide such a question, and who will be fair and honest to all parties. but whatever is agreed upon, and whatever is done with the treasure, i intend to charge a good price--a price which shall bear a handsome proportion to the value of the gold--for my services, and all our services. some of this charge i have already taken, and i intend to have a great deal more. we have worked hard and risked much to get this treasure--" "yes," thought burke, as he remembered the trap at the bottom of the mound. "you risked a great deal more than you ever supposed you did." "and we are bound to be well paid for it," continued the captain. "no matter where this gold goes, i shall have a good share of it, and this i am going to divide among our party, according to a fair scale. how does that strike you, shirley?" "if the business is going to be conducted as you say, captain," replied the first mate, "i say it will be all fair and square, and i needn't bother my head with any more doubts about it. but there is one thing i wish you would tell me: how much do you think i will be likely to get out of this cargo, when you divide?" "mr. shirley," said the captain, "when i give you your share of this cargo, you can have about four bags of anthracite coal, weighing a little over one hundred pounds, which, at the rate of six dollars a ton, would bring you between thirty and forty cents. will that satisfy you? of course, this is only a rough guess at a division, but i want to see how it falls in with your ideas." shirley laughed. "i guess you're right, captain," said he. "it will be better for me to keep on thinking we are carrying coal. that won't bother my head." "that's so," said burke. "your brain can't stand that sort of badger. i'd hate to go ashore with you at marseilles with your pocket full and your skull empty. as for me, i can stand it first-rate. i have already built two houses on cape cod,--in my head, of course,--and i'll be hanged if i know which one i am going to live in and which one i am going to put my mother in." chapter xliii mok as a vocalist it would have been very comfortable to the mind of edna, during her waiting days in paris, had she known there was a letter to her from captain horn, in a cottage in the town of sidmouth, on the south coast of devonshire. had she known this, she would have chartered french trains, channel steamers, english trains, flies, anything and everything which would have taken her the quickest to the little town of sidmouth. had she known that he had written to her the first chance he had had, all her doubts and perplexities would have vanished in an instant. had she read the letter, she might have been pained to find that it was not such a letter as she would wish to have, and she might have grieved that it might still be a long time before she could expect to hear from him again, or to see him, but she would have waited--have waited patiently, without any doubts or perplexities. this letter, with a silver coin,--much more than enough to pay any possible postage,--had been handed by shirley to the first mate of the british steamer, in the harbor of valparaiso, and that officer had given it to a seaman, who was going on shore, with directions to take it to the post-office, and pay for the postage out of the silver coin, and whatever change there might be, he should keep it for his trouble. on the way to the post-office, this sailor stopped to refresh himself, and meeting with a fellow-mariner in the place of refreshment, he refreshed him also. and by the time the two had refreshed themselves to their satisfaction, there was not much left of the silver coin--not enough to pay the necessary postage to france. "but," said the seaman to himself, "it doesn't matter a bit. we are bound for liverpool, and i'll take the letter there myself, and then i'll send it over to paris for tuppence ha'penny, which i will have then, and haven't now. and i bet another tuppence that it will go sooner than if i posted it here, for it may be a month before a mail-steamer leaves the other side of this beastly continent. anyway, i'm doing the best i can." he put the letter in the pocket of his pea-jacket, and the bottom of that pocket being ripped, the letter went down between the outside cloth and the lining of the pea-jacket to the very bottom of the garment, where it remained until the aforesaid seaman had reached england, and had gone down to see his family, who lived in the cottage in sidmouth. and there he had hung up his pea-jacket on a nail, in a little room next to the kitchen, and there his mother had found it, and sewed on two buttons, and sewed up the rips in the bottoms of two pockets. shortly after this, the sailor, happening to pass a post-office box, remembered the letter he had brought to england. he went to his pea-jacket and searched it, but could find no letter. he must have lost it--he hoped after he had reached england, and no doubt whoever found it would put a tuppence ha'penny stamp on it and stick it into a box. anyway, he had done all he could. one pleasant spring evening, the negro mok sat behind a table in the well-known beer-shop called the "black cat." he had before him a half-emptied beer-glass, and in front of him was a pile of three small white dishes. these signified that mok had had three glasses of beer, and when he should finish the one in his hand, and should order another, the waiter would bring with it another little white plate, which he would put on the table, on the pile already there, and which would signify that the african gentleman must pay for four glasses of beer. mok was enjoying himself very much. it was not often that he had such an opportunity to sample the delights of paris. his young master, ralph, had given him strict orders never to go out at night, or in his leisure hours, unless accompanied by cheditafa. the latter was an extremely important and sedate personage. the combined dignity of a butler and a clergyman were more than ever evident in his person, and he was a painful drawback to the more volatile mok. mok had very fine clothes, which it rejoiced him to display. he had a fine appetite for everything fit to eat and drink. he had money in his pockets, and it delighted him to see people and to see things, although he might not know who they were or what they were. he knew nothing of french, and his power of expressing himself in english had not progressed very far. but on this evening, in the jolly precincts of the black cat, he did not care whether the people used language or not. he did not care what they did, so that he could sit there and enjoy himself. when he wanted more beer, the waiter understood him, and that was enough. the jet-black negro, gorgeously arrayed in the livery ralph had chosen for him, and with his teeth and eyeballs whiter than the pile of plates before him, was an object of great interest to the company in the beer-shop. they talked to him, and although he did not understand them, or answer them, they knew he was enjoying himself. and when the landlord rang a big bell, and a pale young man, wearing a high hat, and sitting at a table opposite him, threw into his face an expression of exalted melancholy, and sang a high-pitched song, mok showed how he appreciated the performance by thumping more vigorously on the table than any of the other people who applauded the singer. again and again the big bell was rung, and there were other songs and choruses, and then the company turned toward mok and called on him to sing. he did not understand them, but he laughed and pounded his fist upon the table. but when the landlord came down to his table, and rang the bell in front of him, that sent an informing idea into the african head. he had noticed that every time the bell had been rung, somebody had sung, and now he knew what was wanted of him. he had had four glasses of beer, and he was an obliging fellow, so he nodded his head violently, and everybody stopped doing what they had been doing, and prepared to listen. mok's repertoire of songs could not be expected to be large. in fact, he only knew one musical composition, and that was an african hymn which cheditafa had taught him. this he now proceeded to execute. he threw back his head, as some of the others had done, and emitted a succession of grunts, groans, yelps, barks, squeaks, yells, and rattles which utterly electrified the audience. then, as if his breath filled his whole body, and quivering and shaking like an angry squirrel when it chatters and barks, mok sang louder and more wildly, until the audience, unable to restrain themselves, burst into laughter, and applauded with canes, sticks, and fists. but mok kept on. he had never imagined he could sing so well. there was only one person in that brasserie who did not applaud the african hymn, but no one paid so much attention to it as this man, who had entered the black cat just as mok had begun. he was a person of medium size, with a heavy mustache, and a face darkened by a beard of several days' growth. he was rather roughly dressed, and wore a soft felt hat. he was a rackbird. this man had formerly belonged to the band of desperadoes which had been swept away by a sudden flood on the coast of peru. he had accompanied his comrades on the last marauding expedition previous to that remarkable accident, but he had not returned with them. he had devised a little scheme of his own, which had detained him longer than he had expected, and he was not ready to go back with them. it would have been difficult for him to reach the camp by himself, and, after what he had done, he did not very much desire to go, there as he would probably have been shot as a deserter; for captain raminez was a savage fellow, and more than willing to punish transgressions against his orders. this deserter, banker by name, was an american, who had been a gold-digger, a gambler, a rough, and a dead shot in california, and he was very well able to take care of himself in any part of the world. he had made his way up to panama, and had stayed there as long as it was safe for him to do so, and had eventually reached paris. he did not like this city half so well as he liked london, but in the latter city he happened to be wanted, and he was not wanted in paris. it was generally the case that he stayed where he was not wanted. of course, banker knew nothing of the destruction of his band, and the fact that he had not heard from them since he left them gave him not the slightest regret. but what did astonish him beyond bounds was to sit at a table in the black cat, in paris, and see before him, dressed like the valet of a spanish grandee, a coal-black negro who had once been his especial and particular slave and drudge, a fellow whom he had kicked and beaten and sworn at, and whom he no doubt would have shot had he stayed much longer with his lawless companions, the rackbirds. there was no mistaking this black man. he well remembered his face, and even the tones of his voice. he had never heard him sing, but he had heard him howl, and it seemed almost impossible that he should meet him in paris. and yet, he was sure that the man who was bellowing and bawling to the delight of the guests of the black cat was one of the african wretches who had been entrapped and enslaved by the rackbirds. but if banker had been astonished by mok, he was utterly amazed and confounded when, some five minutes later, the door of the brasserie was suddenly opened, and another of the slaves of the rackbirds, with whose face he was also perfectly familiar, hurriedly entered. cheditafa, who had been sent on an errand that evening, had missed mok on his return. ralph was away in brussels with the professor, so that his valet, having most of his time on his hands, had thought to take a holiday during cheditafa's absence, and had slipped off to the black cat, whose pleasures he had surreptitiously enjoyed before, but never to such an extent as on this occasion. cheditafa knew he had been there, and when he started out to look for him, it was to the black cat that he went first. before he had quite reached the door, cheditafa had been shocked and angered to hear his favorite hymn sung in a beer-shop by that reprobate and incompetent mok, and he had rushed in, and in a minute seized the blatant vocalist by the collar, and ordered him instantly to shut his mouth and pay his reckoning. then, in spite of the shouts of disapprobation which arose on every side, he led away the negro as if he had been a captured dog with his tail between his legs. mok could easily have thrown cheditafa across the street, but his respect and reverence for his elder and superior were so great that he obeyed his commands without a word of remonstrance. now up sprang banker, who was in such a hurry to go that he forgot to pay for his beer, and when he performed this duty, after having been abruptly reminded of it by a waiter, he was almost too late to follow the two black men, but not quite too late. he was an adept in the tracking of his fellow-beings, and it was not long before he was quietly following mok and cheditafa, keeping at some distance behind them, but never allowing them to get out of his sight. in the course of a moderate walk he saw them enter the hotel grenade. this satisfied the wandering rackbird. if the negroes went into that hotel at that time of night, they must live there, and he could suspend operations until morning. chapter xliv mr. banker's speculation that night banker was greatly disturbed by surmises and conjectures concerning the presence of the two negroes in the french capital. he knew cheditafa quite as well as he knew mok, and it was impossible that he should be mistaken. it is seldom that any one sees a native african in paris, and he was positive that the men he had seen, dressed in expensive garments, enjoying themselves like gentlemen of leisure, and living at a grand hotel, were the same negroes he had last seen in rags and shreds, lodged in a cave in the side of a precipice, toiling and shuddering under the commands of a set of desperadoes on a desert coast in south america. there was only one way in which he could explain matters, and that was that the band had had some great success, and that one or more of its members had come to paris, and had brought the two negroes with them as servants. but of one thing he had no doubts, and that was that he would follow up the case. he had met with no successes of late, but if any of his former comrades had, he wanted to meet those dear old friends. in paris he was not afraid of anything they might say about his desertion. very early in the morning banker was in front of the hotel grenade. he did not loiter there; he did not wander up and down like a vagrant, or stand about like a spy. it was part of his business to be able to be present in various places almost at the same time, and not to attract notice in any of them. it was not until after ten o'clock that he saw anything worthy of his observation, and then a carriage drove up to the front entrance, and on the seat beside the driver sat cheditafa, erect, solemn, and respectable. presently the negro got down and opened the door of the carriage. in a few moments a lady, a beautiful lady, handsomely dressed, came out of the hotel and entered the carriage. then cheditafa shut the door and got up beside the driver again. it was a fine thing to have such a footman as this one, so utterly different from the ordinary groom or footman, so extremely _distingué_! as the carriage rolled off, banker walked after it, but not in such a way as to attract attention, and then he entered a cab and told the _cocher_ to drive to the bon marché. of course, he did not know where the lady was going to, but at present she was driving in the direction of that celebrated mart, and he kept his eye upon her carriage, and if she had turned out of the boulevard and away from the seine, he would have ordered his driver to turn also and go somewhere else. he did not dare to tell the man to follow the carriage. he was shaved, and his clothes had been put in as good order as possible, but he knew that he did not look like a man respectable enough to give such an order without exciting suspicion. but the carriage did go to the bon marché, and there also went the cab, the two vehicles arriving at almost the same time. banker paid his fare with great promptness, and was on the pavement in time to see the handsomely dressed lady descend and enter the establishment. as she went in, he took one look at the back of her bonnet. it had a little green feather in it. then he turned quickly upon cheditafa, who had shut the carriage door and was going around behind it in order to get up on the other side. "look here," whispered banker, seizing the clerical butler by the shoulder, "who is that lady? quick, or i'll put a knife in you." at these words cheditafa's heart almost stopped beating, and as he quickly turned he saw that he looked into the face of a man, an awfully wicked man, who had once helped to grind the soul out of him, in that dreadful cave by the sea. the poor negro was so frightened that he scarcely knew whether he was in paris or peru. "who is she?" whispered again the dreadful rackbird. "come, come!" shouted the coachman from his seat, "we must move on." "quick! who is she?" hissed banker. "she?" replied the quaking negro. "she is the captain's wife. she is--" but he could say no more, for a policeman was ordering the carriage to move on, for it stopped the way, and the coachman was calling impatiently. banker could not afford to meet a policeman. he released his hold on cheditafa and retired unnoticed. an instant afterward he entered the bon marché. cheditafa climbed up to the side of the driver, but he missed his foothold several times, and came near falling to the ground. in all paris there was no footman on a carriage who looked less upright, less sedate, and less respectable than this poor, frightened black man. through the corridors and passageways of the vast establishment went banker. but he did not have to go far. he saw at a counter a little green feather in the back of a bonnet. quietly he approached that counter, and no sooner had the attendant turned aside to get something that had been asked for than banker stepped close to the side of the lady, and leaning forward, said in a very low but polite voice: "i am so glad to find the captain's wife. i have been looking for her." he was almost certain, from her appearance, that she was an american, and so he spoke in english. edna turned with a start. she saw beside her a man with his hat off, a rough-looking man, but a polite one, and a man who looked like a sailor. "the captain!" she stammered. "have you--do you bring me anything! a letter?" "yes, madam," said he. "i have a letter and a message for you." "give them to me quickly!" said she, her face burning. "i cannot," he said. "i cannot give them to you here. i have much to say to you, and much to tell you, and i was ordered to say it in private." edna was astounded. her heart sank. captain horn must be in trouble, else why such secrecy? but she must know everything, and quickly. where could she meet the man? he divined her thought. "the gardens of the tuileries," said he. "go there now, please. i will meet you, no matter in what part of it you are." and so saying, he slipped away unnoticed. when the salesman came to her, edna did not remember what she had asked to see, but whatever he brought she did not want, and going out, she had her carriage called, and ordered her coachman to take her to the gardens of the tuileries. she was so excited that she did not wait for cheditafa to get down, but opened the door herself, and stepped in quickly, even before the porter of the establishment could attend to her. when she reached the gardens, and cheditafa opened the carriage door for her, she thought he must have a fit of chills and fever. but she had no time to consider this, and merely told him that she was going to walk in the gardens, and the carriage must wait. it was some time before edna met the man with whom she had made this appointment. he had seen her alight, and although he did not lose sight of her, he kept away from her, and let her walk on until she was entirely out of sight of the carriage. as soon as edna perceived banker, she walked directly toward him. she had endeavored to calm herself, but he could see that she was much agitated. "how in the devil's name," he thought to himself, "did raminez ever come to marry such a woman as this? she's fit for a queen. but they say he used to be a great swell in spain before he got into trouble, and i expect he's put on his old airs again, and an american lady will marry anybody that's a foreign swell. and how neatly she played into my hand! she let me know right away that she wanted a letter, which means, of course, that raminez is not with her." "give me the letter, if you please," said edna. "madam," said banker, with a bow, "i told you i had a letter and a message. i must deliver the message first." "then be quick with it," said she. "i will," said banker. "our captain has had great success lately, you know, but he is obliged to keep a little in the background for the present, as you will see by your letter, and as it is a very particular letter, indeed, he ordered me to bring it to you." edna's heart sank. "what has happened?" said she. "why--" "oh, you will find all that in the letter," said banker. "the captain has written out everything, full and clear. he told me so himself. but i must get through with my message. it is not from him. it is from me. as i just said, he ordered me to bring you this letter, and it was a hard thing to do, and a risky thing to do. but i undertook the job of giving it to you, in private, without anybody's knowing you had received it." "what!" exclaimed edna. "nobody to know!" "oh, that is all explained," said he, hurriedly. "i can't touch on that. my affair is this: the captain sent me with the letter, and i have been to a lot of trouble to get it to you. now, he is not going to pay me for all this,--if he thanks me, it will be more than i expect,--and i am going to be perfectly open and honest with you, and say that as the captain won't pay me, i expect you to do it; or, putting it in another way, before i hand you the letter i brought you, i want you to make me a handsome present." "you rascal!" exclaimed edna. "how dare you impose on me in this way?" it humiliated and mortified her to think that the captain was obliged to resort to such a messenger as this. but all sorts of men become sailors, and although her pride revolted against the attempted imposition, the man had a letter written to her by captain horn, and she must have it. "how much do you want?" said she. "i don't mind your calling me names," said banker. "the captain has made a grand stroke, you know, and everything about you is very fine, while i haven't three francs to jingle together. i want one thousand dollars." "five thousand francs!" exclaimed edna. "absurd! i have not that much money with me. i haven't but a hundred francs, but that ought to satisfy you." "oh, no," said banker, "not at all. but don't trouble yourself. you have not the money, and i have not the letter. the letter is in my lodgings. i was not fool enough to bring it with me, and have you call a policeman to arrest me, and take it for nothing. but if you will be here in two hours, with five thousand francs, and will promise me, upon your honor, that you will bring no one with you, and will not call the police as soon as you have the letter, i will be here with it." "yes," said edna, "i promise." she felt humbled and ashamed as she said it, but there was nothing else to do. in spite of her feelings, in spite of the cost, she must have the letter. "very good," said banker, and he departed. banker had no lodgings in particular, but he went to a brasserie and procured writing materials. he had some letters in his pocket,--old, dirty letters which had been there for a long time,--and one of them was from raminez, which had been written when they were both in california, and which banker had kept because it contained an unguarded reference to raminez's family in spain, and banker had thought that the information might some day be useful to him. he was a good penman, this rackbird,--he was clever in many ways,--and he could imitate handwriting very well, and he set himself to work to address an envelope in the handwriting of raminez. for some time he debated within himself as to what title he should use in addressing the lady. should it be "señora" or "madame"? he inclined to the first appellation, but afterwards thought that as the letter was to go to her in france, and that as most likely she understood french, and not spanish, raminez would probably address her in the former language, and therefore he addressed the envelope to "madame raminez, by private hand." as to the writing of a letter he did not trouble himself at all. he simply folded up two sheets of paper and put them in the envelope, sealing it tightly. now he was prepared, and after waiting until the proper time had arrived he proceeded to the gardens. edna drove to her hotel in great agitation. she was angry, she was astounded, she was almost frightened. what could have happened to captain horn? but two things encouraged and invigorated her: he was alive, and he had written to her. that was everything, and she would banish all speculations and fears until she had read his letter, and, until she had read it, she must keep the matter a secret--she must not let anybody imagine that she had heard anything, or was about to hear anything. by good fortune, she had five thousand francs in hand, and, with these in her pocket-book, she ordered her carriage half an hour before the time appointed. when cheditafa heard the order, he was beset by a new consternation. he had been greatly troubled when his mistress had gone to the gardens the first time--not because there was anything strange in that, for any lady might like to walk in such a beautiful place, but because she was alone, and, with a rackbird in paris, his lady ought never to be alone. she had come out safely, and he had breathed again, and now, now she wanted to go back! he must tell her about that rackbird man. he had been thinking and thinking about telling her all the way back to the hotel, but he had feared to frighten her, and he had also been afraid to say that he had done what he had been ordered not to do, and had told some one that she was the captain's wife. but when he had reached the gardens, he felt that he must say something--she must not walk about alone. accordingly, as edna stepped out of the carriage, he began to speak to her, but, contrary to her usual custom, she paid no attention to him, simply telling him to wait until she came back. edna was obliged to wander about for some time before banker appeared. "now, then, madam," said he, "don't let us waste any time on this business. have you the money with you?" "i have," said she. "but before i give it to you, i tell you that i do so under protest, and that this conduct of yours shall be reported. i consider it a most shameful thing, and i do not willingly pay you for what, no doubt, you have been sufficiently paid before." "that's all very well," said banker. "i don't mind a bit what you say to me. i don't mind your being angry--in fact, i think you ought to be. in your place, i would be angry. but if you will hand me the money--" "silence!" exclaimed edna. "not another word. where is my letter?" "here it is," said banker, drawing the letter he had prepared from his pocket, and holding it in such a position that she could read the address. "you see, it is marked, 'by private hand,' and this is the private hand that has brought it to you. now, if you will count out the money, and will hand it to me, i will give you the letter. that is perfectly fair, isn't it?" edna leaned forward and looked at it. when she saw the superscription, she was astonished, and stepped back. "what do you mean?" she exclaimed, and was about to angrily assert that she was not madame raminez, when banker interrupted her. the sight of her pocket-book within two feet of his hands threw him into a state of avaricious excitement. "i want you to give me that money, and take your letter!" he said savagely. "i can't stand here fooling." [illustration: "i want you to give me that money, and take your letter!" he said savagely.] edna firmly gripped her pocket-book, and was about to scream, but there was no occasion for it. it had been simply impossible for cheditafa to remain on the carriage and let her go into the gardens alone; he had followed her, and, behind some bushes, he had witnessed the interview between her and banker. he saw that the man was speaking roughly to her and threatening her. instantly he rushed toward the two, and at the very top of his voice he yelled: "rackbird! rackbird! police!" startled out of her senses, edna stepped back, while banker turned in fury toward the negro, and clapped his hand to his hip pocket. but cheditafa's cries had been heard, and down the broad avenue banker saw two gendarmes running toward him. it would not do to wait here and meet them. "you devil!" he cried, turning to cheditafa, "i'll have your blood before you know it. as for you, madam, you have broken your word! i'll be even with you!" and, with this, he dashed away. when the gendarmes reached the spot, they waited to ask no questions, but immediately pursued the flying banker. cheditafa was about to join in the chase, but edna stopped him. "come to the carriage--quick!" she said. "i do not wish to stay here and talk to those policemen." hurrying out of the gardens, she drove away. the ex-rackbird was a very hard man to catch. he had had so much experience in avoiding arrest that his skill in that direction was generally more than equal to the skill, in the opposite direction, of the ordinary detective. a good many people and two other gendarmes joined in the chase after the man in the slouch-hat, who had disappeared like a mouse or a hare around some shrubbery. it was not long before the pursuers were joined by a man in a white cap, who asked several questions as to what they were running after, but he did not seem to take a sustained interest in the matter, and soon dropped out and went about his business. he did not take his slouch-hat out of his pocket, for he thought it would be better to continue to wear his white cap for a time. when the police were obliged to give up the pursuit, they went back to the gardens to talk to the lady and her servant who, in such strange words, had called to them, but they were not there. chapter xlv mental turmoils edna went home faint, trembling, and her head in a whirl. when she had heard cheditafa shout "rackbird," the thought flashed into her mind that the captain had been captured in the caves by some of these brigands who had not been destroyed, that this was the cause of his silence, and that he had written to her for help. but she considered that the letter could not be meant for her, for under no circumstance would he have written to her as madame raminez--a name of which she had never heard. this thought gave her a little comfort, but not much. as soon as she reached the hotel, she had a private talk with cheditafa, and what the negro told her reassured her greatly. he did not make a very consecutive tale, but he omitted nothing. he told her of his meeting with the rackbird in front of the bon marché, and he related every word of their short conversation. he accounted for this rackbird's existence by saying that he had not been at the camp when the water came down. in answer to a question from edna, he said that the captain of the band was named raminez, and that he had known him by that name when he first saw him in panama, though in the rackbirds' camp he was called nothing but "the captain." "and you only told him i was the captain's wife?" asked edna. "you didn't say i was captain horn's wife?" cheditafa tried his best to recollect, and he felt very sure that he had simply said she was the captain's wife. when his examination was finished, cheditafa burst into an earnest appeal to his mistress not to go out again alone while she stayed in paris. he said that this rackbird was an awfully wicked man, and that he would kill all of them if he could. if the police caught him, he wanted to go and tell them what a bad man he was. he did not believe the police had caught him. this man could run like a wild hare, and policemen's legs were so stiff. edna assured him that she would take good care of herself, and, after enjoining upon him not to say a word to any one of what had happened until she told him to, she sent him away. when edna sat in council with herself upon the events of the morning, she was able to make some very fair conjectures as to what had happened. the scoundrel she met had supposed her to be the wife of the rackbirds' captain. having seen and recognized cheditafa, it was natural enough for him to suppose that the negro had been brought to paris by some of the band. all this seemed to be good reasoning, and she insisted to herself over and over again that she was quite sure that captain horn had nothing to do with the letter which the man had been intending to give her. that assurance relieved her of one great trouble, but there were others left. here was a member of a band of bloody ruffians,--and perhaps he had companions,--who had sworn vengeance against her and her faithful servant, and cheditafa's account of this man convinced her that he would be ready enough to carry out such vengeance. she scarcely believed that the police had caught him. for she had seen how he could run, and he had the start of them. but even if they had, on what charge would he be held? he ought to be confined or deported, but she did not wish to institute proceedings and give evidence. she did not know what might be asked, or said, or done, if she deposed that the man was a member of the rackbird band, and brought cheditafa as a witness. in all this trouble and perplexity she had no one to whom she could turn for advice and assistance. if she told mrs. cliff there was a rackbird in paris, and that he had been making threats, she was sure that good lady would fly to her home in plainton, maine, where she would have iron bars put to all the windows, and double locks to her doors. in this great anxiety and terror--for, although edna was a brave woman, it terrified her to think that a wild and reckless villain, purple with rage, had shaken his fist at her, and vowed he would kill cheditafa--she could not think of a soul she could trust. her brother, fortunately, was still in belgium with his tutor--fortunately, she thought, because, if he knew of the affair, he would be certain to plunge himself into danger. and to whom could she apply for help without telling too much of her story? mrs. cliff felt there was something in the air. "you seem queer," said she. "you seem unusually excited and ready to laugh. it isn't natural. and cheditafa looks very ashy. i saw him just a moment ago, and it seems to me a dose of quinine would do him good. it may be that it is a sort of spring fever which is affecting people, and i am not sure but that something of the kind is the matter with me. at any rate, there is that feeling in my spine and bones which i always have when things are about to happen, or when there is malaria in the air." edna felt she must endeavor in all possible ways to prevent mrs. cliff from finding out that the curses of a wicked rackbird were in the air, but she herself shuddered when she thought that one or more of the cruel desperadoes, whose coming they had dreaded and waited for through that fearful night in the caves of peru, were now to be dreaded and feared in the metropolis of france. if edna shuddered at this, what would mrs. cliff do if she knew it? as for the man with the white cap, who had walked slowly away about his business that morning when he grew tired of following the gendarmes, he was in a terrible state of mind. he silently raged and stormed and gnashed his teeth, and swore under his breath most awfully and continuously. never had he known such cursed luck. one thousand dollars had been within two feet of his hand! he knew that the lady had that sum in her pocket-book. he was sure she spoke truthfully. her very denunciation of him was a proof that she had not meant to deceive him. she hesitated a moment, but she would have given him the money. in a few seconds more he would have made her take the letter and give him the price she promised. but in those few seconds that gehenna-born baboon had rushed in and spoiled everything. he was not enraged against the lady, but he was enraged against himself because he had not snatched the wallet before he ran, and he was infuriated to a degree which resembled intoxication when he thought of cheditafa and what he had done. the more he thought, the more convinced he became that the lady had not brought the negro with her to spy on him. if she had intended to break her word, she would have brought a gendarme, not that ape. no, the beastly blackamoor had done the business on his own account. he had sneaked after the lady, and when he saw the gendarmes coming, he had thought it a good chance to pay off old scores. "pay off!" growled banker, in a tone which made a shop-girl, who was walking in front of him carrying a band-box, jump so violently that she dropped the box. "pay off! i'll pay him!" and for a quarter of a mile he vowed that the present purpose of his life was the annihilation, the bloody annihilation, of that vile dog, whom he had trampled into the dirt of the pacific coast, and who now, decked in fine clothes, had arisen in paris to balk him of his fortune. it cut banker very deeply when he thought how neat and simple had been the plan which had almost succeeded. he had had a notion, when he went away to prepare the letter for the captain's wife, that he would write in it a brief message which would mean nothing, but would make it necessary for her to see him again and to pay him again. but he had abandoned this. he might counterfeit an address, but it was wiser not to try his hand upon a letter. the more he thought about raminez, the less he desired to run the risk of meeting him, even in paris. so he considered that if he made this one bold stroke and got five thousand francs, he would retire, joyful and satisfied. but now! well, he had a purpose: the annihilation of cheditafa was at present his chief object in life. banker seldom stayed in one place more than a day at a time, and before he went to a new lodging, that night, he threw away his slouch-hat, which he had rammed into his pocket, for he would not want it again. he had his hair cut short and his face neatly shaved, and when he went to his room, he trimmed his mustache in such a way that it greatly altered the cast of his countenance. he was not the penniless man he had represented himself to be, who had not three francs to jingle together, for he was a billiard sharper and gambler of much ability, and when he appeared in the street, the next morning, he was neatly dressed in a suit of second-hand clothes which were as quiet and respectable as any tourist of limited means could have desired. with baedeker's "paris" in his hand, and with a long knife and a slung-shot concealed in his clothes, he went forth to behold the wonders of the great city. he did not seem to care very much whether he saw the sights by day or by night, for from early morning until ten or eleven o'clock in the evening, he was an energetic and interested wayfarer, confining his observations, however, to certain quarters of the city which best suited his investigations. one night he gawkily strolled into the black cat, and one day he boldly entered the hotel grenade and made some inquiries of the porter regarding the price of accommodations, which, however, he declared were far above his means. that day he saw mok in the courtyard, and once, in passing, he saw edna come out and enter her carriage with an elderly lady, and they drove away, with cheditafa on the box. under his dark sack-coat banker wore a coarse blouse, and in the pocket of this undergarment he had a white cap. he was a wonderful man to move quietly out of people's way, and there were places in every neighborhood where, even in the daytime, he could cast off the dark coat and the derby hat without attracting attention. it was satisfactory to think, as he briskly passed on, as one who has much to see in a little time, that the incident in the tuileries gardens had not yet caused the captain's wife to change her quarters. chapter xlvi a problem it was a little more than a week after edna's adventure in the gardens, and about ten o'clock in the morning, that something happened--something which proved that mrs. cliff was entirely right when she talked about the feeling in her bones. edna received a letter from captain horn, which was dated at marseilles. as she stood with the letter in her hand, every nerve tingling, every vein throbbing, and every muscle as rigid as if it had been cast in metal, she could scarcely comprehend that it had really come--that she really held it. after all this waiting and hoping and trusting, here was news from captain horn--news by his own hand, now, here, this minute! presently she regained possession of herself, and, still standing, she tore open the letter. it was a long one of several sheets, and she read it twice. the first time, standing where she had received it, she skimmed over page after page, running her eye from top to bottom until she had reached the end and the signature, but her quick glance found not what she looked for. then the hand holding the letter dropped by her side. after all this waiting and hoping and trusting, to receive such a letter! it might have been written by a good friend, a true and generous friend, but that was all. it was like the other letters he had written. why should they not have been written to mrs. cliff? now she sat down to read it over again. she first looked at the envelope. yes, it was really directed to "mrs. philip horn." that was something, but it could not have been less. it had been brought by a messenger from wraxton, fuguet & co., and had been delivered to mrs. cliff. that lady had told the messenger to take the letter to edna's salon, and she was now lying in her own chamber, in a state of actual ague. of course, she would not intrude upon edna at such a moment as this. she would wait until she was called. whether her shivers were those of ecstasy, apprehension, or that nervous tremulousness which would come to any one who beholds an uprising from the grave, she did not know, but she surely felt as if there were a ghost in the air. the second reading of the letter was careful and exact. the captain had written a long account of what had happened after he had left valparaiso. his former letter, he wrote, had told her what had happened before that time. he condensed everything as much as possible, but the letter was a very long one. it told wonderful things--things which ought to have interested any one. but to edna it was as dry as a meal of stale crusts. it supported her in her fidelity and allegiance as such a meal would have supported a half-famished man, but that was all. her soul could not live on such nutriment as this. he had not begun the letter "my dear wife," as he had done before. it was not necessary now that his letters should be used as proof that she was his widow! he had plunged instantly into the subject-matter, and had signed it after the most friendly fashion. he was not even coming to her! there was so much to do which must be done immediately, and could not be done without him. he had telegraphed to his bankers, and one of the firm and several clerks were already with him. there were great difficulties yet before him, in which he needed the aid of financial counsellors and those who had influence with the authorities. his vessel, the _arato_, had no papers, and he believed no cargo of such value had ever entered a port of france as that contained in the little green-hulled schooner which he had sailed into the harbor of marseilles. this cargo must be landed openly. it must be shipped to various financial centres, and what was to be done required so much prudence, knowledge, and discretion that without the aid of the house of wraxton, fuguet & co., he believed his difficulties would have been greater than when he stood behind the wall of gold on the shore of the patagonian island. he did not even ask her to come to him. in a day or so, he wrote, it might be necessary for him to go to berlin, and whether or not he would travel to london from the german capital, he could not say, and for this reason he could not invite any of them to come down to him. "any of us!" exclaimed edna. for more than an hour mrs. cliff lay in the state of palpitation which pervaded her whole organization, waiting for edna to call her. and at last she could wait no longer, and rushed into the salon where edna sat alone, the letter in her hand. "what does he say?" she cried, "is he well? where is he? did he get the gold?" edna looked at her for a moment without answering. "yes," she said presently, "he is well. he is in marseilles. the gold--" and for a moment she did not remember whether or not the captain had it. "oh, do say something!" almost screamed mrs. cliff. "what is it? shall i read the letter? what does he say?" this recalled edna to herself. "no," said she, "i will read it to you." and she read it aloud, from beginning to end, carefully omitting those passages which mrs. cliff would have been sure to think should have been written in a manner in which they were not written. "well!" exclaimed mrs. cliff, who, in alternate horror, pity, and rapture, had listened, pale and open-mouthed, to the letter. "captain horn is consistent to the end! whatever happens, he keeps away from us! but that will not be for long, and--oh, edna!"--and, as she spoke, she sprang from her chair and threw her arms around the neck of her companion, "he's got the gold!" and, with this, the poor lady sank insensible upon the floor. "the gold!" exclaimed edna, before she even stooped toward her fainting friend. "of what importance is that wretched gold!" an hour afterwards mrs. cliff, having been restored to her usual condition, came again into edna's room, still pale and in a state of excitement. "now, i suppose," she exclaimed, "we can speak out plainly, and tell everybody everything. and i believe that will be to me a greater delight than any amount of money could possibly be." "speak out!" cried edna, "of course we cannot. we have no more right to speak out now than we ever had. captain horn insisted that we should not speak of these affairs until he came, and he has not yet come." "no, indeed!" said mrs. cliff, "that seems to be the one thing he cannot do. he can do everything but come here. and are we to tell nobody that he has arrived in france?--not even that much?" "i shall tell ralph," replied edna. "i shall write to him to come here as soon as possible, but that is all until the captain arrives, and we know everything that has been done, and is to be done. i don't wish any one, except you and me and ralph, even to know that i have heard from him." "not cheditafa? not the professor? nor any of your friends?" "of course not," said edna, a little impatiently. "don't you see how embarrassing, how impossible it would be for me to tell them anything, if i did not tell them everything? and what is there for me to tell them? when we have seen captain horn, we shall all know who we are, and what we are, and then we can speak out to the world, and i am sure i shall be glad enough to do it." "for my part," said mrs. cliff, "i think we all know who we are now. i don't think anybody could tell us. and i think it would have been a great deal better--" "no, it wouldn't!" exclaimed edna. "whatever you were going to say, i know it wouldn't have been better. we could have done nothing but what we have done. we had no right to speak of captain horn's affairs, and having accepted his conditions, with everything else that he has given us, we are bound to observe them until he removes them. so we shall not talk any more about that." poor mrs. cliff sighed. "so i must keep myself sealed and locked up, just the same as ever?" "yes," replied edna, "the same as ever. but it cannot be for long. as soon as the captain has made his arrangements, we shall hear from him, and then everything will be told." "made his arrangements!" repeated mrs. cliff. "that's another thing i don't like. it seems to me that if everything were just as it ought to be, there wouldn't be so many arrangements to make, and he wouldn't have to be travelling to berlin, and to london, and nobody knows where else. i wonder if people are giving him any trouble about it! we have had all sorts of troubles already, and now that the blessed end seems almost under our fingers, i hope we are not going to have more of it." "our troubles," said edna, "are nothing. it is captain horn who should talk in that way. i don't think that, since the day we left san francisco, anybody could have supposed that we were in any sort of trouble." "i don't mean outside circumstances," said mrs. cliff. "but i suppose we have all got souls and consciences inside of us, and when they don't know what to do, of course we are bound to be troubled, especially as they don't know what to tell us, and we don't know whether or not to mind them when they do speak. but you needn't be afraid of me. i shall keep quiet--that is, as long as i can. i can't promise forever." edna wrote to ralph, telling him of the captain's letter, and urging him to come to paris as soon as possible. it was scarcely necessary to speak to him of secrecy, for the boy was wise beyond his years. she did speak of it, however, but very circumspectly. she knew that her brother would never admit that there was any reason for the soul-rending anxiety with which she waited the captain's return. but whatever happened, or whatever he might think about what should happen, she wanted ralph with her. she felt herself more truly alone than she had ever been in her life. during the two days which elapsed before ralph reached paris from brussels, edna had plenty of time to think, and she did not lose any of it. what mrs. cliff had said about people giving trouble, and about her conscience, and all that, had touched her deeply. what captain horn had said about the difficulties he had encountered on reaching marseilles, and what he had said about the cargo of the _arato_ being probably more valuable than any which had ever entered that port, seemed to put an entirely new face upon the relations between her and the owner of this vast wealth, if, indeed, he were able to establish that ownership. the more she thought of this point, the more contemptible appeared her own position--that is, the position she had assumed when she and the captain stood together for the last time on the shore of peru. if that gold truly belonged to him, if he had really succeeded in his great enterprise, what right had she to insist that he should accept her as a condition of his safe arrival in a civilized land with this matchless prize, with no other right than was given her by that very indefinite contract which had been entered into, as she felt herself forced to believe, only for her benefit in case he should not reach a civilized land alive? the disposition of this great wealth was evidently an anxiety and a burden, but in her heart she believed that the greatest of his anxieties was caused by his doubt in regard to the construction she might now place upon that vague, weird ceremony on the desert coast of peru. the existence of such a doubt was the only thing that could explain the tone of his letters. he was a man of firmness and decision, and when he had reached a conclusion, she knew he would state it frankly, without hesitation. but she also knew that he was a man of a kind and tender heart, and it was easy to understand how that disposition had influenced his action. by no word or phrase, except such as were necessary to legally protect her in the rights he wished to give her in case of his death, had he written anything to indicate that he or she were not both perfectly free to plan out the rest of their lives as best suited them. in a certain way, his kindness was cruelty. it threw too much upon her. she believed that if she were to assume that a marriage ceremony performed by a black man from the wilds of africa, was as binding, at least, as a solemn engagement, he would accept her construction and all its consequences. she also believed that if she declared that ceremony to be of no value whatever, now that the occasion had passed, he would agree with that conclusion. everything depended upon her. it was too hard for her. to exist in this state of uncertainty was impossible for a woman of edna's organization. at any hour captain horn might appear. how should she receive him? what had she to say to him? for the rest of that day and the whole of the night, her mind never left this question: "what am i to say to him?" she had replied to his letter by a telegram, and simply signed herself "edna." it was easy enough to telegraph anywhere, and even to write, without assuming any particular position in regard to him. but when he came, she must know what to do and what to say. she longed for ralph's coming, but she knew he could not help her. he would say but one thing--that which he had always said. in fact, he would be no better than mrs. cliff. but he was her own flesh and blood, and she longed for him. chapter xlvii a man-chimpanzee since the affair with the rackbird, cheditafa had done his duty more earnestly than ever before. he said nothing to mok about the rackbird. he had come to look upon his fellow-african as a very low creature, not much better than a chimpanzee. during ralph's absence mok had fallen into all sorts of irregular habits, going out without leave whenever he got a chance, and disporting himself generally in a very careless and unservant-like manner. on the evening that ralph was expected from brussels, mok was missing. cheditafa could not find him in any of the places where he ought to have been, so he must be out of doors somewhere, and cheditafa went to look for him. this was the first time that cheditafa had gone into the streets alone at night since the rackbird incident in the tuileries gardens. as he was the custodian of mok, and responsible for him, he did not wish to lose sight of him, especially on this evening. it so happened that when cheditafa went out of the hotel, his appearance was noticed by mr. banker. there was nothing remarkable about this, for the evening was the time when the ex-rackbird gave the most attention to the people who came out of the hotel. when he saw cheditafa, his soul warmed within him. here was the reward of patience and steadfastness--everything comes to those who wait. a half-hour before, banker had seen mok leave the hotel and make his way toward the black cat. he did not molest the rapidly walking negro. he would not have disturbed him for anything. but his watchfulness became so eager and intense that he almost, but not quite, exposed himself to the suspicion of a passing gendarme. he now expected cheditafa, for the reason that the manner of the younger negro indicated that he was playing truant. it was likely that the elder man would go after him, and this was exactly what happened. banker allowed the old african to go his way without molestation, for the brightly lighted neighborhood of the hotel was not adapted to his projected performance. but he followed him warily, and, when they reached a quiet street, banker quickened his pace, passed cheditafa, and, suddenly turning, confronted him. then, without a word having been said, there flashed upon the mind of the african everything that had happened, not only in the tuileries gardens, but in the rackbirds' camp, and at the same time a prophetic feeling of what was about to happen. by a few quick pulls and jerks, banker had so far removed his disguise that cheditafa knew him the instant that his eyes fell upon him. his knees trembled, his eyeballs rolled so that nothing but their whites could be seen, and he gave himself up to death. then spoke out the terrible rackbird. what he said need not be recorded here, but every word of superheated vengeance, with which he wished to torture the soul of his victim before striking him to the earth, went straight to the soul of cheditafa, as if it had been a white-hot iron. his chin fell upon his breast. he had but one hope, and that was that he would be killed quickly. he had seen people killed in the horrible old camp, and the man before him he believed to be the worst rackbird of them all. when banker had finished stabbing and torturing the soul of the african, he drew a knife from under his coat, and down fell cheditafa on his knees. the evening was rainy and dark, and the little street was nearly deserted. banker, who could look behind and before him without making much show of turning his head, had made himself sure of this before he stepped in front of cheditafa. but while he had been pouring out his torrent of heart-shrivelling vituperation, he had ceased to look before and behind him, and had not noticed a man coming down the street in the opposite direction to that in which they had been going. this was mok, who was much less of a fool than cheditafa took him for. he had calculated that he would have time to go to the black cat and drink two glasses of beer before ralph was likely to appear, and he also made up his mind that two glasses were as much as he could dispose of without exciting the suspicions of the young man. therefore, he had attended to the business that had taken him out of doors on that rainy night, and was returning to the hotel with a lofty consciousness of having done wrong in a very wise and satisfactory manner. he wore india-rubber overshoes, because the pavements were wet, and also because this sort of foot-gear suited him better than hard, unyielding sole-leather. had he had his own way, he would have gone bare-footed, but that would have created comment in the streets of paris--he had sense enough to know that. when he first perceived, by the dim light of a street lamp, two persons standing together on his side of the street, his conscience, without any reason for it, suggested that he cross over and pass by without attracting attention. to wrong-doers attention is generally unwelcome. mok not only trod with the softness and swiftness of a panther, but he had eyes like that animal, and if there were any light at all, those eyes could make good use of it. as he neared the two men, he saw that one was scolding the other. then he saw the other man drop down on his knees. then, being still nearer, he perceived that the man on his knees was cheditafa. then he saw the man in front of him draw a knife from under his coat. as a rule, mok was a coward, but two glasses of beer were enough to turn his nature in precisely the opposite direction. a glass less would have left him timorous, a glass more would have made him foolhardy and silly. he saw that somebody was about to stab his old friend. in five long, noiseless steps, or leaps, he was behind that somebody, and had seized the arm which held the knife. with a movement as quick as the stroke of a rattlesnake, banker turned upon the man who had clutched his arm, and when he saw that it was mok, his fury grew tornado-like. with a great oath, and a powerful plunge backward, he endeavored to free his arm from the grasp of the negro. but he did not do it. those black fingers were fastened around his wrist as though they had been fetters forged to fit him. and in the desperate struggle the knife was dropped. in a hand-to-hand combat with a chimpanzee, a strong man would have but little chance of success, and mok, under the influence of two glasses of beer, was a man-chimpanzee. when banker swore, and when he turned so that the light of the street lamp fell upon his face, mok recognized him. he knew him for a rackbird of the rackbirds--as the cruel, black-eyed savage who had beaten him, trodden upon him, and almost crushed the soul out of him, in that far-away camp by the sea. how this man should have suddenly appeared in paris, why he came there, and what he was going to do, whether he was alone, or with his band concealed in the neighboring doorways, mok did not trouble his mind to consider. he held in his brazen grip a creature whom he considered worse than the most devilish of african devils, a villain who had been going to kill cheditafa. every nerve under his black skin, every muscle that covered his bones, and the two glasses of beer, sung out to him that the rackbird could not get away from him, and that the great hour of vengeance had arrived. banker had a pistol, but he had no chance to draw it. the arms of the wild man were around him. his feet slipped from under him, and instantly the two were rolling on the wet pavement. but only for an instant. banker was quick and light and strong to such a degree that no man but a man-chimpanzee could have overpowered him in a struggle like that. both were on their feet almost as quickly as they went down, but do what he would, banker could not get out his pistol. those long black arms, one of them now bared to the shoulder, were about him ever. he pulled, and tugged, and swerved. he half threw him one instant, half lifted the next, but never could loosen the grasp of that fierce creature, whose whole body seemed as tough and elastic as the shoes he wore. together they fell, together they rolled in the dirty slime, together they rose as if they had been shot up by a spring, and together they went down again, rolling over each other, pulling, tearing, striking, gasping, and panting. cheditafa had gone. the moment of mok's appearance, he had risen and fled. there were now people in the street. some had come out of their houses, hearing the noise of the struggle, for banker wore heavy shoes. there were also one or two pedestrians who had stopped, unwilling to pass men who were engaged in such a desperate conflict. no one interfered. it would have seemed as prudent to step between two tigers. such a bounding, whirling, tumbling, rolling, falling, and rising contest had never been seen in that street, except between cats. it seemed that the creatures would dash themselves through the windows of the houses. it was not long before cheditafa came back with two policemen, all running, and then the men who lay in the street, spinning about as if moving on pivots, were seized and pulled apart. at first the officers of the law appeared at a loss to know what had happened, and who had been attacked. what was this black creature from the jardin des plantes? but banker's coat had been torn from his back, and his pistol stood out in bold relief in his belt, and cheditafa pointed to the breathless bandit, and screamed: "bad man! bad man! try to kill me! this good mok save my life!" two more policemen now came hurrying up, for other people had given the alarm, and it was not considered necessary to debate the question as to who was the aggressor in this desperate affair. cheditafa, mok, and banker were all taken to the police station. as cheditafa was known to be in the service of the american lady at the hotel grenade, the _portier_ of that establishment was sent for, and having given his testimony to the good character of the two negroes, they were released upon his becoming surety for their appearance when wanted. as for banker, there was no one to go security. he was committed for trial. * * * * * when ralph went to his room, that night, he immediately rang for his valet. mok, who had reached the hotel from the police station but a few minutes before, answered the summons. when ralph turned about and beheld the black man, his hair plastered with mud, his face plastered with mud, and what clothes he had on muddy, torn, and awry, with one foot wearing a great overshoe and the other bare, with both black arms entirely denuded of sleeves, with eyes staring from his head, and his whole form quivering and shaking, the young man started as if some afrit of the "arabian nights" had come at this dark hour to answer his call. to the eager questions which poured upon him when his identity became apparent, mok could make no intelligible answer. he did not possess english enough for that. but cheditafa was quickly summoned, and he explained everything. he explained it once, twice, three times, and then he and mok were sent away, and told to go to bed, and under no circumstances to mention to their mistress what had happened, or to anybody who might mention it to her. and this cheditafa solemnly promised for both. the clock struck one as ralph still sat in his chair, wondering what all this meant, and what might be expected to happen next. to hear that a real, live rackbird was in paris, that this outlaw had threatened his sister, that the police had been watching for him, that he had sworn to kill cheditafa, and that night had tried to do it, amazed him beyond measure. at last he gave up trying to conjecture what it meant. it was foolish to waste his thoughts in that way. to-morrow he must find out. he could understand very well why his sister had kept him in ignorance of the affair in the gardens. she had feared danger to him. she knew that he would be after that scoundrel more hotly than any policeman. but what the poor girl must have suffered! it was terrible to think of. the first thing he would do would be to take very good care that she heard nothing of the attack on cheditafa. he would go to the police office early the next morning and look into this matter. he did not think that it would be necessary for edna to know anything about it, except that the rackbird had been arrested and she need no longer fear him. when ralph reached the police station, the next day, he found there the portier of the hotel, together with cheditafa and mok. after banker's examination, to which he gave no assistance by admissions of any sort, he was remanded for trial, and he was held merely for his affair with the negroes, no charge having been made against him for his attempt to obtain money from their mistress, or his threats in her direction. as the crime for which he had been arrested gave reason enough for condign punishment of the desperado, ralph saw, and made cheditafa see, it would be unnecessary as well as unpleasant to drag edna into the affair. that afternoon mr. banker, who had recovered his breath and had collected his ideas, sent for the police magistrate and made a confession. he said he had been a member of a band of outlaws, but having grown disgusted with their evil deeds, had left them. he had become very poor, and having heard that the leader of the band had made a fortune by a successful piece of rascality, and had married a fine lady, and was then in paris, he had come to this city to meet him, and to demand in the name of their old comradeship some assistance in his need. he had found his captain's wife. she had basely deceived him after having promised to help him, and he had been insulted and vilely treated by that old negro, who was once a slave in the rackbirds' camp in peru, and who had been brought here with the other negro by the captain. he also freely admitted that he had intended to punish the black fellow, though he had no idea whatever of killing him. if he had had such an idea, it would have been easy enough for him to put his knife into him when he met him in that quiet street. but he had not done so, but had contented himself with telling him what he thought of him, and with afterwards frightening him with his knife. and then the other fellow had come up, and there had been a fight. therefore, although he admitted that his case was a great misdemeanor, and that he had been very disorderly, he boldly asserted that he had contemplated no murder. but what he wished particularly to say to the magistrate was that the captain of the rackbirds would probably soon arrive in paris, and that he ought to be arrested. no end of important results might come from such an arrest. he was quite sure that the great stroke of fortune which had enabled the captain's family to live in paris in such fine style ought to be investigated. the captain had never made any money by simple and straightforward methods of business. all this voluntary testimony was carefully taken down, and although the magistrate did not consider it necessary to believe any of it, the arrival of captain horn was thenceforth awaited with interest by the police of paris. it was not very plain how miss markham of the hotel grenade, who was well known as a friend of a member of the american legation, could be the wife of a south american bandit. but then, there might be reasons why she wished to retain her maiden name for the present, and she might not know her husband as a bandit. chapter xlviii enter captain horn it was less than a week after the tumbling match in the street between banker and mok, and about eleven o'clock in the morning, when a brief note, written on a slip of paper and accompanied by a card, was brought to edna from mrs. cliff. on the card was written the name of captain philip horn, and the note read thus: "he is here. he sent his card to me. of course, you will see him. oh, edna! don't do anything foolish when you see him! don't go and throw away everything worth living for in this world! heaven help you!" this note was hurriedly written, but edna read it at a glance. "bring the gentleman here," she said to the man. now, with all her heart, edna blessed herself and thanked herself that, at last, she had been strong enough and brave enough to determine what she ought to do when she met the captain. that very morning, lying awake in her bed, she had determined that she would meet him in the same spirit as that in which he had written to her. she would be very strong. she would not assume anything. she would not accept the responsibility of deciding the situation, which responsibility she believed he thought it right she should assume. she would not have it. if he appeared before her as the captain horn of his letters, he should go away as the man who had written those letters. if he had come here on business, she would show him that she was a woman of business. as she stood waiting, with her eyes upon his card, which lay upon the table, and mrs. cliffs note crumpled up in one hand, she saw the captain for some minutes before it was possible for him to reach her. she saw him on board the _castor_, a tall, broad-shouldered sailor, with his hands in the pockets of his pea-jacket. she saw him by the caves in peru, his flannel shirt and his belted trousers faded by the sun and water, torn and worn, and stained by the soil on which they so often sat, with his long hair and beard, and the battered felt hat, which was the last thing she saw as his boat faded away in the distance, when she stood watching it from the sandy beach. she saw him as she had imagined him after she had received his letter, toiling barefooted along the sands, carrying heavy loads upon his shoulders, living alone night and day on a dreary desert coast, weary, perhaps haggard, but still indomitable. she saw him in storm, in shipwreck, in battle, and as she looked upon him thus with the eyes of her brain, there were footsteps outside her door. as captain horn came through the long corridors and up the stairs, following the attendant, he saw the woman he was about to meet, and saw her before he met her. he saw her only in one aspect--that of a tall, too thin, young woman, clad in a dark-blue flannel suit, unshapely, streaked, and stained, her hair bound tightly round her head and covered by an old straw hat with a faded ribbon. this picture of her as he had left her standing on the beach, at the close of that afternoon when his little boat pulled out into the pacific, was as clear and distinct as when he had last seen it. a door was opened before him, and he entered edna's salon. for a moment he stopped in the doorway. he did not see the woman he had come to meet. he saw before him a lady handsomely and richly dressed in a parisian morning costume--a lady with waving masses of dark hair above a lovely face, a lady with a beautiful white hand, which was half raised as he appeared in the doorway. she stood with her hand half raised. she had never seen the man before her. he was a tall, imposing gentleman, in a dark suit, over which he wore a light-colored overcoat. one hand was gloved, and in the other he held a hat. his slightly curling brown beard and hair were trimmed after the fashion of the day, and his face, though darkened by the sun, showed no trace of toil, or storm, or anxious danger. he was a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman, with an air of courtesy, an air of dignity, an air of forbearance, which were as utterly unknown to her as everything else about him, except his eyes--those were the same eyes she had seen on board the _castor_ and on the desert sands. had it not been for the dark eyes which looked so steadfastly at him, captain horn, would have thought that he had been shown into the wrong room. but he now knew there was no mistake, and he entered. edna raised her hand and advanced to meet him. he shook hands with her exactly as he had written to her, and she shook hands with him just as she had telegraphed to him. much of her natural color had left her face. as he had never seen this natural color, under the sun-brown of the pacific voyage, he did not miss it. instantly she began to speak. how glad she was that she had prepared herself to speak as she would have spoken to any other good friend! so she expressed her joy at seeing him again, well and successful after all these months of peril, toil, and anxiety, and they sat down near each other. he looked at her steadfastly, and asked her many things about ralph, mrs. cliff, and the negroes, and what had happened since he left san francisco. he listened with a questioning intentness as she spoke. she spoke rapidly and concisely as she answered his questions and asked him about himself. she said little about the gold. one might have supposed that he had arrived at marseilles with a cargo of coffee. at the same time, there seemed to be, on edna's part, a desire to lengthen out her recital of unimportant matters. she now saw that the captain knew she did not care to talk of these things. she knew that he was waiting for an opportunity to turn the conversation into another channel,--waiting with an earnestness that was growing more and more apparent,--and as she perceived this, and as she steadily talked to him, she assured herself, with all the vehemence of which her nature was capable, that she and this man were two people connected by business interests, and that she was ready to discuss that business in a business way as soon as he could speak. but still she did not yet give him the chance to speak. the captain sat there, with his blue eyes fixed upon her, and, as she looked at him, she knew him to be the personification of honor and magnanimity, waiting until he could see that she was ready for him to speak, ready to listen if she should speak, ready to meet her on any ground--a gentleman, she thought, above all the gentlemen in the world. and still she went on talking about mrs. cliff and ralph. suddenly the captain rose. whether or not he interrupted her in the middle of a sentence, he did not know, nor did she know. he put his hat upon a table and came toward her. he stood in front of her and looked down at her. she looked up at him, but he did not immediately speak. she could not help standing silently and looking up at him when he stood and looked down upon her in that way. then he spoke. "are you my wife?" said he. "by all that is good and blessed in heaven or earth, i am," she answered. standing there, and looking up into his eyes, there was no other answer for her to make. * * * * * seldom has a poor, worn, tired, agitated woman kept what was to her a longer or more anxious watch upon a closed door than mrs. cliff kept that day. if even ralph had appeared, she would have decoyed him into her own room, and locked him up there, if necessary. in about an hour after mrs. cliff began her watch, a tall man walked rapidly out of the salon and went down the stairs, and then a woman came running across the hall and into mrs. cliff's room, closing the door behind her. mrs. cliff scarcely recognized this woman. she had edna's hair and face, but there was a glow and a glory on her countenance such as mrs. cliff had never seen, or expected to see until, in the hereafter, she should see it on the face of an angel. "he has loved me," said edna, with her arms around her old friend's neck, "ever since we had been a week on the _castor_." mrs. cliff shivered and quivered with joy. she could not say anything, but over and over again she kissed the burning cheeks of her friend. at last they stood apart, and, when mrs. cliff was calm enough to speak, she said: "ever since we were on the _castor!_ well, edna, you must admit that captain horn is uncommonly good at keeping things to himself." "yes," said the other, "and he always kept it to himself. he never let it go away from him. he had intended to speak to me, but he wanted to wait until i knew him better, and until we were in a position where he wouldn't seem to be taking advantage of me by speaking. and when you proposed that marriage by cheditafa, he was very much troubled and annoyed. it was something so rough and jarring, and so discordant with what he had hoped, that at first he could not bear to think of it. but he afterwards saw the sense of your reasoning, and agreed simply because it would be to my advantage in case he should lose his life in his undertaking. and we will be married to-morrow at the embassy." "to-morrow!" cried mrs. cliff. "so soon?" "yes," replied edna. "the captain has to go away, and i am going with him." "that is all right," said mrs. cliff. "of course i was a little surprised at first. but how about the gold? how much was there of it? and what is he going to do with it?" "he scarcely mentioned the gold," replied edna. "we had more precious things to talk about. when he sees us all together, you and i and ralph, he will tell us what he has done, and what he is going to do, and--" "and we can say what we please?" cried mrs. cliff. "yes," said edna,--"to whomever we please." "thank the lord!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "that is almost as good as being married." * * * * * on his arrival in paris the night before, captain horn had taken lodgings at a hotel not far from the hotel grenade, and the first thing he did the next morning was to visit edna. he had supposed, of course, that she was at the same hotel in which mrs. cliff resided, which address he had got from wraxton, in marseilles, and he had expected to see the elderly lady first, and to get some idea of how matters stood before meeting edna. he was in paris alone. he had left shirley and burke, with the negroes, in marseilles. he had wished to do nothing, to make no arrangements for any one, until he had seen edna, and had found out what his future life was to be. now, as he walked back to his hotel, that future life lay before him radiant and resplendent. no avenue in paris, or in any part of the world, blazing with the lights of some grand festival, ever shone with such glowing splendor as the future life of captain horn now shone and sparkled before him, as he walked and walked, on and on, and crossed the river into the latin quarter, before he perceived that his hotel was a mile or more behind him. from the moment that the _arato_ had left the straits of magellan, and captain horn had had reason to believe that he had left his dangers behind him, the prow of his vessel had been set toward the strait of gibraltar, and every thought of his heart toward edna. burke and shirley both noticed a change in him. after he left the rackbirds' cove, until he had sailed into the south atlantic, his manner had been quiet, alert, generally anxious, and sometimes stern. but now, day by day, he appeared to be growing into a different man. he was not nervous, nor apparently impatient, but it was easy to see that within him there burned a steady purpose to get on as fast as the wind would blow them northward. day by day, as he walked the deck of his little vessel, one might have thought him undergoing a transformation from the skipper of a schooner into the master of a great ship, into the captain of a swift atlantic liner, into the commander of a man-of-war, into the commodore on board a line-of-battle ship. it was not an air of pride or assumed superiority that he wore, it was nothing assumed, it was nothing of which he was not entirely aware. it was the gradual growth within him, as health grows into a man recovering from a sickness, of the consciousness of power. the source of that consciousness lay beneath him, as he trod the deck of the _arato_. this consciousness, involuntary, and impossible to resist, had nothing definite about it. it had nothing which could wholly satisfy the soul of this man, who kept his eyes and his thoughts so steadfastly toward the north. he knew that there were but few things in the world that his power could not give him, but there was one thing upon which it might have no influence whatever, and that one thing was far more to him than all other things in this world. sometimes, as he sat smoking beneath the stars, he tried to picture to himself the person who might be waiting and watching for him in paris, and to try to look upon her as she must really be; for, after her life in san francisco and paris, she could not remain the woman she had been at the caves on the coast of peru. but, do what he would, he could make no transformation in the picture which was imprinted on the retina of his soul. there he saw a woman still young, tall, and too thin, in a suit of blue flannel faded and worn, with her hair bound tightly around her head and covered by a straw hat with a faded ribbon. but it was toward this figure that he was sailing, sailing, sailing, as fast as the winds of heaven would blow his vessel onward. chapter xlix a golden afternoon when ralph met captain horn that afternoon, there rose within him a sudden, involuntary appreciation of the captain's worthiness to possess a ship-load of gold and his sister edna. before that meeting there had been doubts in the boy's mind in regard to this worthiness. he believed that he had thoroughly weighed and judged the character and capacities of the captain of the _castor_, and he had said to himself, in his moments of reflection, that although captain horn was a good man, and a brave man, and an able man in many ways, there were other men in the world who were better fitted for the glorious double position into which this fortunate mariner had fallen. but now, as ralph sat and gazed upon his sister's lover and heard him talk, and as he turned from him to edna's glowing eyes, he acknowledged, without knowing it, the transforming power of those two great alchemists,--gold and love,--and from the bottom of his heart he approved the match. upon mrs. cliff the first sight of captain horn had been a little startling, and had she not hastened to assure herself that the compact with edna was a thing fixed and settled, she might have been possessed with the fear that perhaps this gentleman might have views for his future life very different from those upon which she had set her heart. but even if she had not known of the compact of the morning, all danger of that fear would have passed in the moment that the captain took her by the hand. to find his three companions of the wreck and desert in such high state and flourishing condition so cheered and uplifted the soul of the captain that he could talk of nothing else. and now he called for cheditafa and mok--those two good fellows whose faithfulness he should never forget. but when they entered, bending low, with eyes upturned toward the lofty presence to which they had been summoned, the captain looked inquiringly at edna. as he came in that afternoon, he had seen both the negroes in the courtyard, and, in the passing thought he had given to them, had supposed them to be attendants of some foreign potentate from barbary or morocco. cheditafa and mok! the ragged, half-clad negroes of the sea-beach--a parson-butler of sublimated respectability, a liveried lackey of rainbow and gold! it required minutes to harmonize these presentments in the mind of captain horn. when the audience of the two africans--for such it seemed to be--had lasted long enough, edna was thinking of dismissing them, when it became plain to her that there was something which cheditafa wished to say or do. she looked at him inquiringly, and he came forward. for a long time the mind of the good african had been exercised upon the subject of the great deed he had done just before the captain had sailed away from the peruvian coast. in san francisco and paris he had asked many questions quietly, and apparently without purpose, concerning the marriage ceremonies of america and other civilized countries. he had not learned enough to enable him, upon an emergency, to personate an orthodox clergyman, but he had found out this and that--little things, perhaps, but things which made a great impression upon him--which had convinced him that in the ceremony he had performed there had been much remissness--how much, he did not clearly know. but about one thing that had been wanting he had no doubts. advancing toward edna and the captain, who sat near each other, cheditafa took from his pocket a large gold ring, which he had purchased with his savings. "there was a thing we didn't do," he said, glancing from one to the other. "it was the ring part--nobody thinked of that. will captain take it now, and put it on the lady?" edna and the captain looked at each other. for a moment no one spoke. then edna said, "take it." the captain rose and took the ring from the hand of cheditafa, and edna stood beside him. then he took her hand, and reverently placed the ring upon her fourth finger. fortunately, it fitted. it had not been without avail that cheditafa had so often scanned with a measuring eye the rings upon the hands of his mistress. a light of pleasure shone in the eyes of the old negro. now he had done his full duty--now all things had been made right. as he had seen the priests stand in the churches of paris, he now stood for a moment with his hands outspread. "very good," he said, "that will do." then, followed by mok, he bowed himself out of the room. for some moments there was silence in the salon. nobody thought of laughing, or even smiling. in the eyes of mrs. cliff there were a few tears. she was the first to speak. "he is a good man," said she, "and he now believes that he has done everything that ought to be done. but you will be married to-morrow, all the same, of course." "yes," said edna. "but it will be with this ring." "yes," said the captain, "with that ring. you must always wear it." "and now," said mrs. cliff, when they had all reseated themselves, "you must really tell us your story, captain. you know i have heard nothing yet." and so he told his story--much that edna had heard before, a great deal she had not heard. about the treasure, almost everything he said was new to her. mrs. cliff was very eager on this point. she wanted every detail. "how about the ownership of it?" she said. "after all, that is the great point. what do people here think of your right to use that gold as your own?" the captain smiled. "that is not an easy question to answer, but i think we shall settle it very satisfactorily. of course, the first thing to do is to get it safely entered and stored away in the great money centres over here. a good portion of it, in fact, is to be shipped to philadelphia to be coined. of course, all that business is in the hands of my bankers. the fact that i originally sailed from california was a great help to us. to ascertain my legal rights in the case was the main object of my visit to london. there wraxton and i put the matter before three leading lawyers in that line of business, and although their opinions differed somewhat, and although we have not yet come to a final conclusion as to what should be done, the matter is pretty well straightened out as far as we are concerned. of course, the affair is greatly simplified by the fact that there is no one on the other side to be a claimant of the treasure, but we consider it as if there were a claimant, or two of them, in fact. these can be no other than the present government of peru, and that portion of the population of the country which is native to the soil, and the latter, if our suppositions are correct, are the only real heirs to the treasure which i discovered. but what are the laws of peru in regard to treasure-trove, or what may be the disposition of the government toward the native population and their rights, of course we cannot find out now. that will take time. but of one thing we are certain: i am entitled to a fair remuneration for the discovery of this treasure, just the same as if i claimed salvage for having brought a wrecked steamer into port. on this point the lawyers are all agreed. i have, therefore, made my claim, and shall stand by it with enough legal force behind me to support me in any emergency. "but it is not believed that either the peruvian government, or the natives acting as a body, if it shall be possible for them to act in that way, will give us any trouble. we have the matter entirely in our own hands. they do not know of the existence of this treasure, or that they have any rights to it, until we inform them of the fact, and without our assistance it will be almost impossible for them to claim anything or prove anything. therefore, it will be good policy and common sense for them to acknowledge that we are acting honestly, and, more than that, generously, and to agree to take what we offer them, and that we shall keep what is considered by the best legal authorities to be our rights. "as soon as possible, an agent will be sent to peru to attend to the matter. but this matter is in the hands of my lawyers, although, of course, i shall not keep out of the negotiations." "and how much percentage, captain?" asked mrs. cliff. "what part do they think you ought to keep?" "we have agreed," said he, "upon twenty per cent. of the whole. after careful consideration and advice, i made that claim. i shall retain it. indeed, it is already secured to me, no matter what may happen to the rest of the treasure." "twenty per cent.!" exclaimed mrs. cliff. "and that is all that you get?" "yes," said the captain, "it is what i get--and by that is meant what is to be divided among us all. i make the claim, but i make it for every one who was on the _castor_ when she was wrecked, and for the families of those who are not alive--for every one, in fact, who was concerned in this matter." the countenance of mrs. cliff had been falling, and now it went down, down, again. after all the waiting, after all the anxiety, it had come to this: barely twenty per cent., to be divided among ever so many people--twenty-five or thirty, for all she knew. only this, after the dreams she had had, after the castles she had built! of course, she had money now, and she would have some more, and she had a great many useful and beautiful things which she had bought, and she could go back to plainton in very good circumstances. but that was not what she had been waiting for, and hoping for, and anxiously trembling for, ever since she had found that the captain had really reached france with the treasure. "captain," she said, and her voice was as husky as if she had been sitting in a draught, "i have had so many ups and so many downs, and have been turned so often this way and that, i cannot stand this state of uncertainty any longer. it may seem childish and weak, but i must know something. can you give me any idea how much you are to have, or, at least, how much i shall have, and let me make myself satisfied with whatever it is? do you think that i shall be able to go back to plainton and take my place as a leading citizen there? i don't mind in the least asking that before you three. i thought i was justified in making that my object in life, and i have made it my object. now, if i have been mistaken all this time, i would like to know it. don't find fault with me. i have waited, and waited, and waited--" "well," interrupted the captain, "you need not wait any longer. the sum that i have retained shall be divided as soon as possible, and i shall divide it in as just a manner as i can, and i am ready to hear appeals from any one who is not satisfied. of course, i shall keep the largest share of it--that is my right. i found it, and i secured it. and this lady here," pointing to edna, "is to have the next largest share in her own right, because she was the main object which made me work so hard and brave everything to get that treasure here. and then the rest will share according to rank, as we say on board ship." "oh, dear! oh, dear!" murmured mrs. cliff, "he never comes to any point. we never know anything clear and distinct. this is not any answer at all." "the amount i claim," continued the captain, who did not notice that mrs. cliff was making remarks to herself, "is forty million dollars." everybody started, and mrs. cliff sprang up as if a torpedo had been fired beneath her. "forty million dollars!" she exclaimed. "i thought you said you would only have twenty per cent.?" "that is just what it is," remarked the captain, "as nearly as we can calculate. forty million dollars is about one fifth of the value of the cargo i brought to france in the _arato_. and as to your share, mrs. cliff, i think, if you feel like it, you will be able to buy the town of plainton; and if that doesn't make you a leading citizen in it, i don't know what else you can do." chapter l a case of recognition every one in our party at the hotel grenade rose very early the next morning. that day was to be one of activity and event. mrs. cliff, who had not slept one wink during the night, but who appeared almost rejuvenated by the ideas which had come to her during her sleeplessness, now entered a protest against the proposed marriage at the american legation. she believed that people of the position which edna and the captain should now assume ought to be married in a church, with all proper ceremony and impressiveness, and urged that the wedding be postponed for a few days, until suitable arrangements could be made. but edna would not listen to this. the captain was obliged, by appointment, to be in london on the morrow, and he could not know how long he might be detained there, and now, wherever he went, she wished to go with him. he wanted her to be with him, and she was going. moreover, she fancied a wedding at the legation. there were all sorts of regulations concerning marriage in france, and to these neither she nor the captain cared to conform, even if they had time enough for the purpose. at the american legation they would be in point of law upon american soil, and there they could be married as americans, by an american minister. after that mrs. cliff gave up. she was so happy she was ready to agree to anything, or to believe in anything, and she went to work with heart and hand to assist edna in getting ready for the great event. mrs. sylvester, the wife of the secretary, received a note from edna which brought her to the hotel as fast as horses were allowed to travel in the streets of paris, and arrangements were easily made for the ceremony to take place at four o'clock that afternoon. the marriage was to be entirely private. no one was to be present but mrs. cliff, ralph, and mrs. sylvester. nothing was said to cheditafa of the intended ceremony. after what had happened, they all felt that it would be right to respect the old negro's feelings and sensibilities. mrs. cliff undertook, after a few days had elapsed, to explain the whole matter to cheditafa, and to tell him that what he had done had not been without importance and real utility, but that it had actually united his master and mistress by a solemn promise before witnesses, which in some places, and under certain circumstances, would be as good a marriage as any that could be performed, but that a second ceremony had taken place in order that the two might be considered man and wife in all places and under all circumstances. the captain had hoped to see shirley and burke before he left paris, but that was now impossible, and, on his way to his hotel, after breakfasting at the hotel grenade, he telegraphed to them to come to him in london. he had just sent his telegram when he was touched on the arm, and, turning, saw standing by him two police officers. their manner was very civil, but they promptly informed him, the speaker using very fair english, that he must accompany them to the presence of a police magistrate. the captain was astounded. the officers could or would give him no information in regard to the charge against him, or whether it was a charge at all. they only said that he must come with them, and that everything would be explained at the police station. the captain's brow grew black. what this meant he could not imagine, but he had no time to waste in imaginations. it would be foolish to demand explanations of the officers, or to ask to see the warrant for their action. he would not understand french warrants, and the quicker he went to the magistrate and found out what this thing meant, the better. he only asked time to send a telegram to mr. wraxton, urging him to attend him instantly at the police station, and then he went with the officers. on the way, captain horn turned over matters in his mind. he could think of no cause for this detention, except it might be something which had turned up in connection with his possession of the treasure, or perhaps the entrance of the _arato_, without papers, at the french port. but anything of this kind wraxton could settle as soon as he could be made acquainted with it. the only real trouble was that he was to be married at four o'clock, and it was now nearly two. at the police station, captain horn met with a fresh annoyance. the magistrate was occupied with important business and could not attend to him at present. this made the captain very impatient, and he sent message after message to the magistrate, but to no avail. and wraxton did not come. in fact, it was too soon to expect him. the magistrate had good reason for delay. he did not wish to have anything to do with the gentleman who had been taken in custody until his accuser, banker by name, had been brought to this station from his place of confinement, where he was now held under a serious charge. ten minutes, twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes, passed, and the magistrate did not appear. wraxton did not come. the captain had never been so fiercely impatient. he did not know to whom to apply in this serious emergency. he did not wish edna to know of his trouble until he found out the nature of it, and if he sent word to the legation, he was afraid that the news would speedily reach her. wraxton was his man, whatever the charge might be. he would be his security for any amount which might be named, and the business might be settled afterwards, if, indeed, it were not all a mistake of some sort. but wraxton did not appear. suddenly the captain thought of one man who might be of service to him in this emergency. there was no time for delay. some one must come, and come quickly, who could identify him, and the only man he could think of was professor barré, ralph's tutor. he had met that gentleman the evening before. he could vouch for him, and he could certainly be trusted not to alarm edna unnecessarily. he believed the professor could be found at the hotel, and he instantly sent a messenger to him with a note. it took a good deal of time to bring the prisoner banker to the station, and professor barré arrived there before him. the professor was amazed to find captain horn under arrest, and unable to give any reason for this state of things. but it was not long before the magistrate appeared, and it so happened that he was acquainted with barré, who was a well-known man in paris, and, after glancing at the captain, he addressed himself to the professor, speaking in french. the latter immediately inquired the nature of the charges against captain horn, using the same language. "ah! you know him?" said the magistrate. "he has been accused of being the leader of a band of outlaws--a man who has committed murders and outrages without number, one who should not be suffered to go at large, one who should be confined until the authorities of peru, where his crimes were committed, have been notified." the professor stared, but could not comprehend what he had heard. "what is it?" inquired captain horn. "can you not speak english?" no, this parisian magistrate could not speak english, but the professor explained the charge. "it is the greatest absurdity!" exclaimed the captain. "ralph told me that a man, evidently once one of that band of outlaws in peru, had been arrested for assaulting cheditafa, and this charge must be part of his scheme of vengeance for that arrest. i could instantly prove everything that is necessary to know about me if my banker, mr. wraxton, were here. i have sent for him, but he has not come. i have not a moment to waste discussing this matter." the captain gazed anxiously toward the door, and for a few moments the three men stood in silence. the situation was a peculiar one. the professor thought of sending to the hotel grenade, but he hesitated. he said to himself: "the lady's testimony would be of no avail. if he is the man the bandit says he is, of course she does not know it. his conduct has been very strange, and for a long time she certainly knew very little about him. i don't see how even his banker could become surety for him if he were here, and he doesn't seem inclined to come. anybody may have a bank-account." the professor stood looking on the ground. the captain looked at him, and, by that power to read the thoughts of others which an important emergency often gives to a man, he read, or believed he did, the thoughts of barré. he did not blame the man for his doubts. any one might have such doubts. a stranger coming to france with a cargo of gold must expect suspicion, and here was more--a definite charge. at this moment there came a message from the banking house: mr. wraxton had gone to brussels that morning. fuguet did not live in paris, and the captain had never seen him. there were clerks whom he had met in marseilles, but, of course, they could only say that he was the man known as captain horn. the captain ground his teeth, and then, suddenly turning, he interrupted the conversation between the magistrate and barré. he addressed the latter and asked, "will you tell me what this officer has been saying about me?" "he says," answered barré, "that he believes you know nobody in paris except the party at the hotel grenade, and that, of course, you may have deceived them in regard to your identity--that they have been here a long time, and you have been absent, and you have not been referred to by them, which seems strange." "has he not found out that wraxton knows me?" "he says," answered barré, "that you have not visited that banking house since you came to paris, and that seems strange also. every traveller goes to his banker as soon as he arrives." "i did not need to go there," said the captain. "i was occupied with other matters. i had just met my wife after a long absence." "i don't wonder," said the professor, bowing, "that your time was occupied. it is very unfortunate that your banker cannot come to you or send." the captain did not answer. this professor doubted him, and why should he not? as the captain considered the case, it grew more and more serious. that his marriage should be delayed on account of such a preposterous and outrageous charge against him was bad enough. it would be a terrible blow to edna. for, although he knew that she would believe in him, she could not deny, if she were questioned, that in this age of mail and telegraph facilities she had not heard from him for nearly a year, and it would be hard for her to prove that he had not deceived her. but the most unfortunate thing of all was the meeting with the london lawyers the next day. these men were engaged in settling a very important question regarding the ownership of the treasure he had brought to france, and his claims upon it, and if they should hear that he had been charged with being the captain of a band of murderers and robbers, they might well have their suspicions of the truth of his story of the treasure. in fact, everything might be lost, and the affair might end by his being sent a prisoner to peru, to have the case investigated there. what might happen then was too terrible to think of. he turned abruptly to the professor. "i see that you don't believe in me," he said, "but i see that you are a man, and i believe in you. you are acquainted with this magistrate. use your influence with him to have this matter settled quickly. do as much as that for me." "what is it that you ask me to do?" said the other. "it is this," replied the captain. "i have never seen this man who says he was a member of the rackbirds' band. in fact, i never saw any of those wretches except dead ones. he has never met me. he knows nothing about me. his charge is simply a piece of revenge. the only connection he can make between me and the rackbirds is that he knew two negroes were once the servants of his band, and that they are now the servants of my wife. having never seen me, he cannot know me. please ask the magistrate to send for some other men in plain clothes to come into this room, and then let the prisoner be brought here, and asked to point out the man he charges with the crime of being the captain of the rackbirds." the professor's face brightened, and without answer he turned to the magistrate, and laid this proposition before him. the officer shook his head. this would be a very irregular method of procedure. there were formalities which should not be set aside. the deposition of banker should be taken before witnesses. but the professor was interested in captain horn's proposed plan. in an emergency of the sort, when time was so valuable, he thought it should be tried before anything else was done. he talked very earnestly to the magistrate, who at last yielded. in a few minutes three respectable men were brought in from outside, and then a policeman was sent for banker. when that individual entered the waiting-room, his eyes ran rapidly over the company assembled there. after the first glance, he believed that he had never seen one of them before. but he said nothing; he waited to hear what would be said to him. this was said quickly. banker spoke french, and the magistrate addressed him directly. "in this room," he said, "stands the man you have accused as a robber and a murderer, as the captain of the band to which you admit you once belonged. point him out immediately." banker's heart was not in the habit of sinking, but it went down a little now. could it be possible that any one there had ever led him to deeds of violence and blood? he looked again at each man in the room, very carefully this time. of course, that rascal raminez would not come to paris without disguising himself, and no disguise could be so effectual as the garb of a gentleman. but if raminez were there, he should not escape him by any such tricks. banker half shut his eyes, and again went over every countenance. suddenly he smiled. "my captain," he said presently, "is not dressed exactly as he was when i last saw him. he is in good clothes now, and that made it a little hard for me to recognize him at first. but there is no mistaking his nose and his eyebrows. i know him as well as if we had been drinking together last night. there he stands!" and, with his right arm stretched out, he pointed directly to professor barré. at these words there was a general start, and the face of the magistrate grew scarlet with anger. as for the professor himself, he knit his brows, and looked at banker in amazement. "you scoundrel! you liar! you beast!" cried the officer. "to accuse this well-known and honorable gentleman, and say that he is a leader of a band of robbers! you are an impostor, a villain, and if you had been confronted with this other gentleman alone, you would have sworn that he was a bandit chief!" banker made no answer, but still kept his eyes fixed upon the professor. now captain horn spoke: "that fellow had to say something, and he made a very wild guess of it," he said to barré. "i think the matter may now be considered settled. will you suggest as much to the magistrate? truly, i have not a moment to spare." banker listened attentively to these words, and his eyes sparkled. "you needn't try any of your tricks on me, you scoundrel raminez," he said, shaking his fist at the professor. "i know you. i know you better than i did when i first spoke. if you wanted to escape me, you ought to have shaved off your eyebrows when you trimmed your hair and your beard. but i will be after you yet. the tales you have told here won't help you." "take him away!" shouted the magistrate. "he is a fiend!" banker was hurried from the room by two policemen. to the profuse apologies of the magistrate captain horn had no time to listen; he accepted what he heard of them as a matter of course, and only remarked that, as he was not the man against whom the charges had been brought, he must hurry away to attend to a most important appointment. the professor went with him into the street. "sir," said the captain, addressing barré, "you have been of the most important service to me, and i heartily acknowledge the obligation. had it not been that you were good enough to exert your influence with the magistrate, that rascal would have sworn through thick and thin that i had been his captain." then, looking at his watch, he said, "it is twenty-five minutes to four. i shall take a cab and go directly to the legation. i was on my way to my hotel, but there is no time for that now," and, after shaking hands with the professor, he hailed a cab. captain horn reached the legation but a little while after the party from the hotel grenade had arrived, and in due time he stood up beside edna in one of the parlors of the mansion, and he and she were united in marriage by the american minister. the services were very simple, but the congratulations of the little company assembled could not have been more earnest and heartfelt. "now," said mrs. cliff, in the ear of edna, "if we knew that that gold was all to be sunk in the ocean to-morrow, we still ought to be the happiest people on earth." she was a true woman, mrs. cliff, and at that moment she meant what she said. it had been arranged that the whole party should return to the hotel grenade, and from there the newly married couple should start for the train which would take them to calais; and, as he left the legation promptly, the captain had time to send to his own hotel for his effects. the direct transition from the police station to the bridal altar had interfered with his ante-hymeneal preparations, but the captain was accustomed to interference with preparations, and had long learned to dispense with them when occasion required. "i don't believe," said the minister's wife to her husband, when the bridal party had left, "that you ever before married such a handsome couple." "the fact is," said he, "that i never before saw standing together such a fine specimen of a man and such a beautiful, glowing, radiant woman." "i don't see why you need say that," said she, quickly. "you and i stood up together." "yes," he replied, with a smile, "but i wasn't a spectator." chapter li banker does some important business when banker went back to the prison cell, he was still firmly convinced that he had been overreached by his former captain, raminez; and, although he knew it not, there were good reasons for his convictions. often had he noticed, in the rackbirds' camp, a peculiar form of the eyebrows which surmounted the slender, slightly aquiline nose of his chief. whenever raminez was anxious, or beginning to be angered, his brow would slightly knit, and the ends of his eyebrows would approach each other, curling upward and outward as they did so. this was an action of the eyebrows which was peculiar to the darcias of granada, from which family the professor's father had taken a wife, and had brought her to paris. a sister of this wife had afterwards married a spanish gentleman named blanquotè, whose second son, having fallen into disgrace in spain, had gone to america, where he changed his name to raminez, and performed a number of discreditable deeds, among which was the deception of several of his discreditable comrades in regard to his family. they could not help knowing that he came from spain, and he made them all believe that his real name was raminez. there had been three of them, besides banker, who had made it the object of their lives to wait for the opportunity to obtain blackmail from his family, by threatened declarations of his deeds. this most eminent scoundrel, whose bones now lay at the bottom of the pacific ocean, had inherited from his grandfather that same trick of the eyebrows above his thin and slightly aquiline nose which banker had observed upon the countenance of the professor in the police station, and who had inherited it from the same spanish gentleman. the next day banker received a visitor. it was professor barré. as this gentleman entered the cell, followed by two guards, who remained near the door, banker looked up in amazement. he had expected a message, but had not dreamed that he should see the man himself. "captain," he exclaimed, as he sprang to his feet, "this is truly good of you. i see you are the same old trump as ever, and do not bear malice." he spoke in spanish, for such had been the language in common use in camp. the professor paid no attention to these words. "i came here," he said, "to demand of you why you made that absurd and malicious charge against me the other day. such charges are not passed over in france, but i will give you a chance to explain yourself." banker looked at him admiringly. "he plays the part well," he said to himself. "he is a great gun. there is no use of my charging against him. i will not try it, but i shall let him see where i stand." "captain," said he, "i have nothing to explain, except that i was stirred up a good deal and lost my temper. i oughtn't to have made that charge against you. of course, it could not be of any good to me, and i am perfectly ready to meet you on level ground. i will take back everything i have already said, and, if necessary, i will prove that i made a mistake and never saw you before, and i only ask in return that you get me out of this and give me enough to make me comfortable. that won't take much, you know, and you seem to be in first-class condition these days. there! i have put it to you fair and square, and saved you the trouble of making me any offers. you stand by me, and i'll stand by you. i am ready to swear until i am black in the face that you never were in peru, and that i never saw you until the other day, when i made that mistake about you on account of the queer fashion of your eyebrows, which looked just like those of a man who really had been my captain, and that i now see you are two entirely different men. i will make a good tale of it, captain, and i will stick to it--you can rely on that. by all the saints, i hope those two fellows at the door don't understand spanish!" the professor had made himself sure that the guards who accompanied him spoke nothing but french. without referring to banker's proposed bargain, he said to him, "was the captain of the bandits under whom you served a spaniard?" "yes, you were a spaniard," said banker. "from what part of spain did he come?" "you let out several times that you once lived in granada." "what was that captain's real name?" asked the professor. "your name was raminez--unless, indeed," and here his face clouded a little, "unless, indeed, you tricked us. but i have pumped you well on that point, and, drunk or sober, it was always raminez." "raminez, then, a spaniard of my appearance," said the professor, "was your captain when you were in a band called the rackbirds, which had its rendezvous on the coast of peru?" "yes, you were all that," said banker. "very well, then," said barré. "i have nothing more to say to you at present," and he turned and left the cell. the guards followed, and the door was closed. banker remained dumb with amazement. when he had regained his power of thought and speech, he fell into a state of savage fury, which could be equalled by nothing living, except, perhaps, by a trapped wildcat, and among his objurgations, as he strode up and down his cell, the most prominent referred to the new and incomprehensible trick which this prince of human devils had just played upon him. that he had been talking to his old captain he did not doubt for a moment, and that that captain had again got the better of him he doubted no less. it may be stated here that, the evening before, the professor had had a long talk with ralph regarding the rackbirds and their camp. professor barré had heard something of the matter before, but many of the details were new to him. when ralph left him, the professor gave himself up to reflections upon what he had heard, and he gradually came to believe that there might be some reason for his identification as the bandit captain by the man banker. for five or six years there had been inquiries on foot concerning the second son of señor blanquotè of granada, whose elder brother had died without heirs, and who, if now living, would inherit blanquotè's estates. it was known that this man had led a wild and disgraceful career, and it was also ascertained that he had gone to america, and had been known on the isthmus of panama and elsewhere by the name of raminez. furthermore, professor barré had been frequently told by his mother that when he was a boy she had noticed, while on a visit to spain, that he and this cousin very much resembled each other. it is not necessary to follow out the legal steps and inquiries, based upon the information which he had had from ralph and from banker, which were now made by the professor. it is sufficient to state that he was ultimately able to prove that the rackbird chief known as raminez was, in reality, tomaso blanquotè, that he had perished on the coast of peru, and that he, the professor, was legal heir to the blanquotè estates. barré had not been able to lead his pupil to as high a place in the temple of knowledge as he had hoped, but, through his acquaintance with that pupil, he himself had become possessed of a castle in spain. chapter lii the captain takes his stand it was now july, and the captain and edna had returned to paris. the world had been very beautiful during their travels in england, and although the weather was beginning to be warm, the world was very beautiful in paris. in fact, to these two it would have been beautiful almost anywhere. even the desolate and arid coast of peru would have been to them as though it were green with herbage and bright with flowers. the captain's affairs were not yet definitely arranged, for the final settlement would depend upon negotiations which would require time, but there was never in the world a man more thoroughly satisfied than he. and whatever happened, he had enough; and he had edna. his lawyers had made a thorough investigation into the matter of his rights to the treasure he had discovered and brought to europe, and they had come to a conclusion which satisfied them. this decision was based upon equity and upon the laws and usages regarding treasure-trove. the old roman law upon the subject, still adhered to by some of the latin countries of europe, gave half of a discovered treasure to the finder, and half to the crown or state, and it was considered that a good legal stand could be taken in the present instance upon the application of this ancient law to a country now governed by the descendants of spaniards. whether or not the present government of peru, if the matter should be submitted to it, would take this view of the case, was a subject of conjecture, of course, but the captain's counsel strongly advised him to take position upon the ground that he was entitled to half the treasure. under present circumstances, when captain horn was so well prepared to maintain his rights, it was thought that the peruvian authorities might easily be made to see the advisability of accepting a great advantage freely offered, instead of endeavoring to obtain a greater advantage, in regard to which it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to legally prove anything or to claim anything. therefore, it was advised that a commission should be sent to lima to open negotiations upon the subject, with instructions to make no admissions in regard to the amount of the treasure, its present places of deposit, or other particulars, until the peruvian government should consent to a satisfactory arrangement. to this plan captain horn consented, determining, however, that, if the negotiations of his commission should succeed, he would stipulate that at least one half the sum paid to peru should be devoted to the advantage of the native inhabitants of that country, to the establishment of schools, hospitals, libraries, and benefactions of the kind. if the commission should not succeed, he would then attend to the matter in his own way. thus, no matter what happened, he would still insist upon his claim to one fifth of the total amount as his pay for the discovery of the treasure, and in this claim his lawyers assured him he could be fully secured. other matters were in a fair way of settlement. the captain had made shirley and burke his agents through whom he would distribute to the heirs of the crew of the _castor_ their share of the treasure which had been apportioned to them, and the two sailors had already gone to america upon this mission. how to dispose of the _arato_ had been a difficult question, upon which the captain had taken legal advice. that she had started out from valparaiso with a piratical crew, that those pirates had made an attack upon him and his men, and that, in self-defence, he had exterminated them, made no difference in his mind, or that of his counsellors, as to the right of the owners of the vessel to the return of their property. but a return of the vessel itself would be difficult and hazardous. whoever took it to valparaiso would be subject to legal inquiry as to the fate of the men who had hired it, and it would be, indeed, cruel and unjust to send out a crew in this vessel, knowing that they would be arrested when they arrived in port. consequently, he determined to sell the _arato_, and to add to the amount obtained what might be considered proper on account of her detention, and to send this sum to valparaiso, to be paid to the owners of the _arato_. the thoughts of all our party were now turned toward america. as time went on, the captain and edna might have homes in different parts of the world, but their first home was to be in their native land. mrs. cliff was wild to reach her house, that she might touch it with the magician's wand of which she was now the possessor, that she might touch not only it, but that she might touch and transform the whole of plainton, and, more than all, that with it she might touch and transform herself. she had bought all she wanted. paris had yielded to her everything she asked of it, and no ship could sail too fast which should carry her across the ocean. the negroes were all attached to the captain's domestic family. maka and cheditafa were not such proficient attendants as the captain might have employed, but he desired to have these two near him, and intended to keep them there as long as they would stay. although mok and the three other africans had much to learn in regard to the duties of domestic servants, there would always be plenty of people to teach them. * * * * * in his prison cell banker sat, lay down, or walked about, cursing his fate and wondering what was meant by the last dodge of that rascal raminez. he never found out precisely, but he did find out that the visit of professor barré to his cell had been of service to him. that gentleman, when he became certain that he should so greatly profit by the fact that an ex-brigand had pointed him out as an ex-captain of brigands, had determined to do what he could for the fellow who had unconsciously rendered him the service. so he employed a lawyer to attend to banker's case, and as it was not difficult to prove that the accused had not even touched cheditafa, but had only threatened to maltreat him, and that the fight which caused his arrest was really begun by mok, it was not thought necessary to inflict a very heavy punishment. in fact, it was suggested in the court that it was mok who should be put on trial. so banker went for a short term to prison, where he worked hard and earned his living, and when he came out he thought it well to leave paris, and he never found out the nature of the trick which he supposed his old chief had played upon him. the trial of banker delayed the homeward journey of captain horn and his party, for cheditafa and mok were needed as witnesses, but did not delay it long. it was early in august, when the danger from floating icebergs had almost passed, and when an ocean journey is generally most pleasant, that nine happy people sailed from havre for new york. captain horn and edna had not yet fully planned their future life, but they knew that they had enough money to allow them to select any sphere of life toward which ordinary human ambitions would be apt to point, and if they never received another bar of the unapportioned treasure, they would not only be preeminently satisfied with what fortune had done for them, but would be relieved of the great responsibilities which greater fortune must bring with it. as for mrs. cliff, her mind was so full of plans for the benefit of her native town that she could talk and think of nothing else, and could scarcely be induced to take notice of a spouting whale, which was engaging the attention of all the passengers and the crew. the negroes were perfectly content. they were accustomed to the sea, and did not mind the motion of the vessel. they had but little money in their pockets, and had no reason to expect they would ever have much more, but they knew that as long as they lived they would have everything that they wanted, that the captain thought was good for them, and to a higher earthly paradise their souls did not aspire. cheditafa would serve his mistress, maka would serve the captain, and mok would wear fine clothes and serve his young master ralph, whenever, haply, he should have the chance. as for inkspot, he doubted whether or not he should ever have all the whiskey he wanted, but he had heard that in the united states that delectable fluid was very plentiful, and he thought that perhaps in that blessed country that blessed beverage might not produce the undesirable effects which followed its unrestricted use in other lands. chapter liii a little gleam afar it was late in the autumn of that year, and upon a lonely moor in scotland, that a poor old woman stood shivering in the cold wind. she was outside of a miserable little hut, in the doorway of which stood two men. for five or six years she had lived alone in that little hut. it was a very poor place, but it kept out the wind and the rain and the snow, and it was a home to her, and for the greater part of these years in which she had lived there alone, she had received, at irregular and sometimes long intervals, sums of money, often very small and never large, from her son, who was a sailorman upon seas of which she did not even know the name. but for many months no money had come from this wandering son, and it was very little that she had been able to earn. sometimes she might have starved, had it not been for the charity of others almost as poor as she. as for rent, it had been due for a long time, and at last it had been due so long that her landlord felt that further forbearance would be not only unprofitable, but that it would serve as a bad example to his other tenants. consequently, he had given orders to eject the old woman from her hut. she was now a pauper, and there were places where paupers would be taken care of. the old woman stood sadly shivering. her poor old eyes, a little dimmed with tears, were directed southward toward the far-away vanishing-point of the rough and narrow road which meandered over the moor and lost itself among the hills. she was waiting for the arrival of a cart which a poor neighbor had promised to borrow, to take her and her few belongings to the nearest village, where there was a good road over which she might walk to a place where paupers were taken care of. a narrow stream, which roared and rushed around or over many a rock, ran at several points close to the road, and, swelled by heavy rains, had overflowed it to the depth of a foot or more. the old woman and the two men in the doorway of the hut stood and waited for the cart to come. as they waited, heavy clouds began to rise in the north, and there was already a drizzle of rain. at last they saw a little black spot upon the road, which soon proved to be a cart drawn by a rough pony. on it came, until they could almost hear it splashing through the water where the stream had passed its bounds, or rattling over the rough stones in other places. but, to their surprise, there were two persons in the cart. perhaps the boy sawney had with him a traveller who was on his way north. this was true. sawney had picked up a traveller who was glad to find a conveyance going across the moor to his destination. this man was a quick-moving person in a heavy waterproof coat with its collar turned up over his ears. as soon as the cart stopped, near the hut, he jumped down and approached the two men in the doorway. "is that the widow mcleish?" he said, pointing to the old woman. they assured him that he was correct, and he approached her. "you are mrs. margaret mcleish?" said he. she looked at him in a vague sort of way and nodded. "that's me," said she. "is it pay for the cart you're after? if that's it, i must walk." "had you a son, mrs. mcleish?" said the man. "ay," said she, and her face brightened a little. "and what was his name?" "andy," was the answer. "and his calling?" "a sailorman." "well, then," said the traveller in the waterproof, "there is no doubt that you are the person i came here to see. i was told i should find you here, and here you are. i may as well tell you at once, mrs. mcleish, that your son is dead." "that is no news," she answered. "i knew that he must be dead." "but i didn't come here only to tell you that. there is money coming to you through him--enough to make you comfortable for the rest of your life." "money!" exclaimed the old woman. "to me?" the two men who had been standing in the doorway of the hut drew near, and sawney jumped down from the cart. the announcement made by the traveller was very interesting. "yes," said the man in the waterproof, pulling his collar up a little higher, for the rain was increasing, "you are to have one hundred and four pounds a year, mrs. mcleish, and that's two pounds a week, you know, and you will have it as long as you live." "two pounds a week!" cried the old woman, her eyes shining out of her weazened old face like two grouse eggs in a nest. "from my andy?" "yes, from your son," said the traveller. and as the rain was now much more than a drizzle, and as the wind was cold, he made his tale as short as possible. he told her that her son had died far away in south america, and, from what he had gained there, one hundred and four pounds a year would be coming to her, and that she might rely on this as long as she lived. he did not state--for he was not acquainted with all the facts--that shirley and burke, when they were in san francisco hunting up the heirs of the castor's crew, had come upon traces of the a. mcleish whose body they had found in the desert, lying flat on its back, with a bag of gold clasped to its breast--that they had discovered, by means of the agent through whom mcleish had been in the habit of forwarding money to his mother, the address of the old woman, and, without saying anything to captain horn, they had determined to do something for her. the fact that they had profited by the gold her son had carried away from the cave, was the main reason for this resolution, and although, as shirley said, it might appear that the scotch sailor was a thief, it was true, after all, he had as much right to a part of the gold he had taken as captain horn could have. therefore, as they had possessed themselves of his treasure, they thought it but right that they should provide for his mother. so they bought an annuity for her in edinburgh, thinking this better than sending her the total amount which they considered to be her share, not knowing what manner of woman she might be, and they arranged that an agent should be sent to look her up, and announce to her her good fortune. it had taken a long time to attend to all these matters, and it was now late in the autumn. "you must not stand out in the rain, mrs. mcleish," said one of the men, and he urged her to come back into the hut. he said he would build a fire for her, and she and the gentleman from edinburgh could sit down and talk over matters. no doubt there would be some money in hand, he said, out of which the rent could be paid, and, even if this should not be the case, he knew the landlord would be willing to wait a little under the circumstances. "is there money in hand for me?" asked the old woman. "yes," said the traveller. "the annuity was to begin with october, and it is now the first of november, so there is eight pounds due to you." "eight pounds!" she exclaimed, after a moment's thought. "it must be more than that. there's thirty-one days in october!" "that's all right, mrs. mcleish," said the traveller. "i will pay you the right amount. but i really think you had better come into your house, for it is going to be a bad afternoon, and i must get away as soon as i can. i will go, as i came, in the cart, for you won't want it now." mrs. mcleish stood up as straight as she could, and glanced from the traveller to the two men who had put her out of her home. then, in the strongest terms her native gaelic would afford, she addressed these two men. she assured them that, sooner than enter that contemptible little hut again, she would sleep out on the bare moor. she told them to go to their master and tell him that she did not want his house, and that he could live in it himself, if he chose--that she was going in the cart to killimontrick, and she would take lodgings in the inn there until she could get a house fit for the habitation of the mother of a man like her son andy; and that if their master had anything to say about the rent that was due, they could tell him that he had satisfied himself by turning her out of her home, and if he wanted anything more, he could whistle for it, or, if he didn't choose to do that, he could send his factor to whistle for it in the main street of killimontrick. "come, sawney boy, put my two bundles in the cart, and then help me in. the gentleman will drive, and i'll sit on the seat beside him, and you can sit behind in the straw, and--you're sure it's two pounds a week, sir?" she said to the traveller, who told her that she was right, and then she continued to sawney, "i'll make your mother a present which will help the poor old thing through the winter, and i'm sure she needs it." with a heavier load than he had brought, the pony's head was turned homeward, and the cart rattled away over the rough stones, and splashed through the water on the roadway, and in the dark cloud which hung over the highest mountain beyond the moor, there came a little glint of lighter sky, as if some lustre from the incas' gold had penetrated even into this gloomy region. [illustration: "there they are!" cried ruth, clasping mr. howbridge's arm in her excitement. "the same two men!"] the corner house girls on a houseboat how they sailed away what happened on the voyage and what was discovered by grace brooks hill author of "the corner house girls," "the corner house girls snowbound," etc. _illustrated by_ _thelma gooch_ new york barse & hopkins publishers books for girls by grace brooks hill the corner house girls series mo. cloth. illustrated. the corner house girls the corner house girls at school the corner house girls under canvas the corner house girls in a play the corner house girls' odd find the corner house girls on a tour the corner house girls growing up the corner house girls snowbound the corner house girls on a houseboat barse & hopkins publishers, new york copyright, , by barse & hopkins _the corner house girls on a houseboat_ printed in u. s. a. contents i. "what's that?" ii. neale has news iii. the elevator iv. an auto ride v. the houseboat vi. more news vii. making plans viii. the robbery ix. all aboard x. a stowaway xi. overboard xii. neale wonders xiii. the trick mule xiv. at the circus xv. real news at last xvi. ruth's alarm xvii. up the river xviii. the night alarm xix. on the lake xx. drifting xxi. the storm xxii. on the island xxiii. suspicions xxiv. closing in xxv. the capture illustrations "there they are!" cried ruth, clasping mr. howbridge's arm in the excitement. "the same two men!" _frontispiece._ "get us down!" cried dot and tess in a chorus, while mrs. maccall stood beneath them holding out her apron while dot and tess clung to one another, hank managed to fish up the "alice-doll" "you shouldn't have come here, aggie!" he cried above the noise of the storm the corner house girls on a houseboat chapter i "what's that?" delicious and appetizing odors filled the kitchen of the old corner house. they were wafted even to the attic, were those whiffs and fragrant zephyrs. some of them even escaped through the open windows, causing uncle rufus to cease his slow and laborious task of picking up some papers from the newly cut lawn. "dat suah smells mighty good--mighty good!" murmured the old darkey to himself, as he straightened up by the process of putting one hand to the small of his back and pressing there, as though a spring needed adjusting. "dat suah smells mighty good! mrs. mac mus' suah be out-doin' of herse'f dish yeah mawnin'!" he turned his wrinkled face toward the corner house, again sniffing deeply. a pleased and satisfied look came over his countenance as the cooking odors emanating from the kitchen became more pronounced. "dey's suah to be some left--dey suah is, 'cause hit's miss ruth's party, an' she's always gen'rus wif de eatin's. she suah is. dey's suah to be some left." he removed his hand from the small of his back, thereby allowing himself to fall forward again in the proper position for picking up papers, and went on with his work. inside the kitchen, where the odors were even more pronounced, as one might naturally expect to find them, two girls and a pleasant-faced woman were busy; though not more so than a fresh-appearing finnish maid, who hummed an air full of minor strains as she opened the oven door now and then, thereby letting out more odors which were piled upon, mingled with, and otherwise added to those already bringing such a delicious sensation to uncle rufus. "aren't you planning too much, ruth?" asked her sister agnes, as the girl addressed carefully placed a wondrously white napkin over a plate of freshly baked macaroons. "i mean the girls will never eat all this," and she waved her hand to include a side table on which were many more plates, some empty, awaiting their burden from the oven, while others were covered with white linen like some mysterious receptacles under a stage magician's serviette. "oh, don't worry about that!" laughed ruth. "my only worry is that i shall not have enough." "well, for the land's sake! how many do you expect?" demanded agnes kenway. "six. but there will be you and me and--" "then mr. howbridge _is_ coming!" cried agnes, as if there had been some question about it, though this was the first time his name had been mentioned that morning. "he _may_ come," answered ruth quietly. "he _may_! oh my stars! as if you didn't _know_ he was coming!" retorted agnes. "is it in--er--his official capacity?" "i asked mr. howbridge to come to advise us about forming the society," ruth said. "i thought it best to start right. if we are going to be of any use as a civic betterment club in milton we must be on a firm foundation, and--" "hear! hear!" interrupted agnes, banging on the table with an agate mixing spoon, and thereby bringing from a deep pantry the form and face of mrs. maccall, the sturdy scotch housekeeper. "please don't do that!" begged ruth. "hoots! whut's meanin' wi' the rattlin' an' thumpin'?" demanded mrs. maccall. "oh, some nonsense of agnes'," answered ruth. "i was just telling her that i had asked the girls to luncheon, to talk over the new civic betterment club, and that mr. howbridge is coming to advise us how to get a charter, or incorporate, or whatever is proper and--" "i was only applauding after the fashion in the english parliament," interrupted agnes. "they always say 'hear! hear!' away down in their throats." "well, they don't bang on tables with granite spoons," retorted ruth, as she handed a pie to linda, the humming finnish maid, who popped it into the oven, quickly shutting the door, to allow none of the heat to escape. "hoot! i would not put it past 'em, i would not!" murmured mrs. maccall. "what those english law makers do--i wouldna' put it past them!" and, shaking her head, she retired into the deep pantry again. "well, you're going to have enough of sweets, i should say;" observed agnes, "even as fond as mr. howbridge is of them. for the land's sake, aren't you going to stop?" she demanded, as ruth poured into a dish the cake batter she had begun to stir as soon as the pie was completed. "this is the last. you don't need to stay and help me any longer if you don't want to, dear. run out and play," urged ruth sweetly. "run out and play! as if i were dot or tess! i like that! why, i was thinking of asking you to let me join the society!" "oh, of course you may, agnes! i didn't think you'd care for it. why, certainly you may join! we want to get as many into it as we can. do come to the meeting this afternoon. mr. howbridge is going to explain everything, and i thought we might as well make it a little social affair. it was very good of you to help me with the baking." "oh, i like that. and i believe i will come to the meeting. now shall we clean up?" "i do him," interposed linda. "i wash him all up," and a sweep of her muscular arm indicated the pots, pans, dishes and all the odds and ends left from the rather wholesale baking. "oh, i shall be so glad if you will!" exclaimed ruth. "i want to go over the parlor and library again. and i wonder what has become of dot and tess. i asked them to get me some wild flowers, but they have been gone over an hour and--" the voice of mrs. maccall from the deep pantry interrupted. "hi, tess! hi, dot!" she called. "where ha' ye been? come ye here the noo, and be for me waukrife minnie." "what in the world does she mean?" asked agnes, for sometimes, well versed as she was in the scotch of the housekeeper, there were new words and phrases that needed translating. especially as it seemed to the girls that more and more mrs. maccall was falling back into her childhood speech as she grew older--a speech she had dropped during her younger life except in moments of excitement. this time, however, it was beyond even the "ken" of ruth, who rather prided herself on her highland knowledge. but mrs. maccall herself had heard the question. out she came from the pantry, smiling broadly. "ye no ken 'waukrife minnie'?" she asked. "ah, 'tis a pretty little verse o' rabbie burns. i'll call it o'er the noo." then she gave them, with all the burring of which her tongue was capable: "whare are you gaun, my bonnie lass, whare are you gaun, my hinnie? she answered me right saucilie, an errand for my minnie." coming down to earth again, mrs. maccall shot back into the pantry and from an open window in the rear that looked out in the orchard she called: "hi, tess! hi, dot! come ye here, and be for me the lassies that'll gang to the store." "are tess and dot there?" asked ruth. "i've been wondering where they had disappeared to." "they be coming the noo," answered mrs. maccall. "laden in their arms wi' all sorts of the trash." and then she sang again: "o fare thee well, my bonnie lass, o fare thee well, my hinnie! thou art a gay an' a bonnie lass, but thou has a waukrife minnie." "what in the world is a 'waukrife minnie'?" asked agnes, but there was no chance to answer, for in the kitchen, making it more busy than ever, trooped the two younger members of the corner house girls quartette--tess and dot. their arms were filled with blossoms of the woods and fields, and without more ado they tossed them to a cleared place on the table, whence linda had removed some of the pans and dishes. "oh, what a lovely lot of flowers!" cried ruth. "it's just darling of you to get them for me. now do you want to help me put them into vases in the library?" dot shook her head. "why not?" asked ruth gently. "i promised my alice-doll to take her down by the brook, and i just have to do it," answered dot. "and tess is going to help me; aren't you, tess?" she added. "yes," was the answer. "i'm going to take almira." "then you must take her kittens, too!" insisted dot. "she'll feel bad if you don't." "i won't take 'em all--i'll take one kitten," compromised tess. "there she is, now!" and tess darted from the room to pounce on the cat, which did not seem to mind very much being mauled by the children. "will ye gang a'wa' to the store the noo?" asked mrs. maccall, with a warm smile as she came from the pantry. "there's muckle we need an'--" "i'll go if you give me a cookie," promised dot. "so'll i," chimed in tess, coming in on the tribute. "we can take almira and your alice-doll when we come back," she confided to her sister. "yes, i think they'll wait. i know alice-doll will, but i'm not so sure about almira," and dot seemed rather in doubt. "she may take a notion to carry her kittens up in the bedroom--" "don't dare suggest such a thing!" cried ruth. "i'm to have company this afternoon, and if that cat and her kittens appear on the scene--" "oh, i wasn't going to carry them in!" interrupted dot, with an air of injured innocence. "they're almira's kittens, and she can do what she likes with them, i suppose," she added as an afterthought. "only i know that every once in a while she takes a notion to plant them in a new place. once uncle rufus found them in his rubber boots, and they scratched him like anything when he put his foot inside." "well, if you have to go to the store for mrs. maccall you won't have any time to help me arrange the flowers," observed ruth, anxious to put an end to the discussion about the family cat and kittens, for she knew dot had a fund of stories concerning them. "yes, traipse along now, my bonnie bairns," advised the scotch housekeeper, and, bribed by two cookies each, a special good measure on saturday, dot and tess were soon on their way, or at least it was so supposed. linda was helping mrs. maccall clear away the baking utensils, and ruth and agnes were in the parlor and library, tastefully arranging the wild flowers that dot and tess had gathered. "isn't dot queer to cling still to her dolls?" remarked agnes, as she stepped back to get the effect of a bunch of red flowers against a dark brown background in one corner of the room. "yes, she is a strange child. and poor almira! really i don't see how that cat stands it here, the way tess and dot maul her." "they aren't as bad as sammy pinkney. actually i caught him yesterday tying the poor creature to the back of billy bumps!" "not on the goat's back!" cried ruth. "really, he was. i sent him flying, though!" "what was his idea?" "oh, he said he'd heard neale tell how, in a circus, a little dog rode on a pony's back and sammy didn't see why a cat couldn't ride on a goat." "well, if he put it that way i suppose she could," assented ruth. "but almira seems to take herself very seriously with all those kittens. we really must get rid of them. vacation will soon be here, and with tess and dot around the house all day, instead of just saturdays, i don't know what we shall do." "have you made any vacation plans at all?" "not yet, agnes. i thought i'd wait until i saw mr. howbridge at the club meeting this afternoon." "what has he to do with our vacation--unless he's going along?" "oh, no, i didn't mean that, at all! but the financial question does enter into it; and as he is our guardian and has charge of our money, i want to know just how much we can count on spending." "why, have we lost any money?" "not that i know of. i hope not! but i always have consulted him before we made any summer plans, and i don't see why we should not now." "well, i suppose it's all right," assented agnes, as she took up another bunch of flowers. "but i wonder--" she never finished that sentence. from somewhere, inside or outside the house, a resounding crash sounded. it shook the walls and floors. "oh, my! what's that?" cried ruth, dropping the blossoms from her hands and hastening to the hall. chapter ii neale has news deep, and perhaps portentous, silence had succeeded the crash. but both ruth and agnes knew enough of the goings and comings in the corner house not to take this silence for serenity. it meant something, as the crash had. "what was it?" murmured ruth again, and she fairly ran out into the hall, followed by her sister. then came a series of bumps, as if something of no small size was rolling down the porch steps. by this time it was evident that the racket came from without and not from within. then a voice cried: "hold it! hold it! don't let it roll down!" "that's dot!" declared ruth. and then a despairing voice cried: "i can't! i can't hold it! look out!" once again the rumbling, rolling, bumping sound came, and with it was mingled the warning of the scotch housekeeper and the wail of dot who cried: "oh, she's dead! she's smashed!" "something really has happened this time!" exclaimed ruth, and her face became a little pale. "if only it isn't serious," burst out agnes. "oh, dear, what those youngsters don't think of for trouble!" "they don't mean to get into trouble, agnes. it's only their thoughtlessness." "well then, they ought to think more. oh, listen to that, will you!" agnes added, as another loud bumping reached the two sisters' ears. "it's something that's sure," cried ruth, and grew paler than ever. the happening was not really as tragic as it seemed, yet it was sufficiently momentous to cause a fright to the two older girls. especially to ruth, who felt herself to be, as she literally was, a mother to the other three; though now that agnes was putting up her hair and putting down her dresses a new element had come into the household. while yet in tender years the responsibilities of life had fallen on the shoulders of ruth kenway. in their former home--a city more pretentious in many ways than picturesque milton, their present home--the kenways had lived in what, literally, was a tenement house. their father and mother were dead, and the small pension granted mr. kenway, who had been a soldier in the spanish war, was hardly sufficient for the needs of four growing girls. then, almost providentially, it seemed, the stower estate had come to ruth, agnes, dot and tess. uncle peter stower had passed away, and mr. howbridge, the administrator of the estate, had discovered the four sisters as the next of kin, to use his legal phrase. uncle peter stower had lived for years in the "corner house" as it was called. the mansion stood opposite the parade ground in milton, and there uncle rufus, the colored servant of his crabbed master, had spent so many years that he regarded himself as a fixture--as much so as the roof. at first no will could be found, though mr. howbridge recalled having drawn one; but eventually all legal tangles were straightened out, and the four sisters came to live in milton, as related in the first book of the series, entitled "the corner house girls." there was ruth, the oldest and the "little mother," though she was not so very little now. in fact she had blossomed into a young lady, a fact of which mr. howbridge became increasingly aware each day. so the four girls had come to live at the corner house, and that was only the beginning of their adventures. in successive volumes are related the happenings when they went to school, when they had a jolly time under canvas, and when they took part in a school play. the odd find made in the garret of the corner house furnished material for a book in itself and paved the way for a rather remarkable tour in an auto. in those days the corner house girls became acquainted with a brother and sister, luke and cecile shepard. luke was a college youth, and the friendship between him and ruth presently ripened into a deep regard for each other. but luke had to go back to college, so ruth saw very little of him, though the young folks corresponded freely. all this was while the corner house girls were "growing up." in fact, it became necessary to tell of that in detail, so that the reason for many things that happened in the book immediately preceding this, which is called "the corner house girls snowbound," could be understood. in that volume the corner house girls become involved in the mysterious disappearance of two small twins, and after many exciting days spent in the vicinity of a lumber camp a clue to the mystery was hit upon. but now the memory of the blizzard days spent in the old lodge were forgotten. for summer had come, bringing with it new problems, not the least of which was to find a place where vacation days might be spent. ruth proposed to speak of that when her guardian called this saturday afternoon. as she had hinted to agnes, ruth had invited a number of girl friends to luncheon. it was the plan to form a sort of young people's civic club, to take up several town matters, and ruth was the moving spirit in this, for she loved to work toward some definite end. this saturday was no exception in being a busy one at the corner house. in pursuance of her plans she had enlisted the whole household in preparing for the event, from mrs. maccall, who looked after matters in general, linda, who helped with the baking, uncle rufus, who was cleaning the lawn, down to dot and tess, who had been sent for flowers. and then had come the bribing of dot and tess to go to the store and, following that, the crash. "what can it be?" murmured ruth, as she and agnes hastened on. "some one surely must be hurt." "i hope not," half whispered agnes. from the side porch came the sound of childish anguish. "she's all flatted out, that's what she is! she's all flatted out, my alice-doll is, and it's all your fault, tess kenway! why didn't you hold the barrel?" "i couldn't, i told you! it just rolled and it rolled. it's a good thing it didn't roll on almira!" "gracious! did you hear that?" cried agnes. "what can they have been doing?" the two older sisters reached the porch together, there to find mrs. maccall holding to tess, whom she was brushing off and murmuring to in a low voice, filled with much scotch burring. dot stood at the foot of the steps holding a rather crushed doll out at arm's length, for all who would to view. and stalking off over the lawn was almira, the cat, carrying in her mouth a wee kitten. uncle rufus was hobbling toward the scene of the excitement as fast as his rheumatism would allow. scattered on the ground at the foot of the steps was a collection of odds and ends--"trash" uncle rufus called it. the trash had come from an overturned barrel, and it was this barrel rolling down the steps and off the porch that had caused the noise. "what happened?" demanded ruth, breathing more easily when she saw that the casualty list was confined to the doll. "it was tess," declared dot. "she tipped the barrel over and it rolled on my alice-doll and now look at her." dot referred to the doll, not to her sister, though tess was rather a sight, for she was covered with feathers from an old pillow that had been thrown into the barrel and had burst open during the progress of the accident. at first tess had been rather inclined to cry, but finding, to her great relief, that she was unhurt, she changed her threatened tears into laughter and said: "ain't i funny looking? just like a duck!" "what were you trying to do, children?" asked ruth, trying to speak rather severely in her capacity as "mother." "i was trying to put almira and one of her kittens into the barrel," explained tess, now that mrs. maccall had got off most of the feathers. "i leaned over to put almira in the barrel, soft and easy like, down on the other pillow, and it upset--i mean the barrel did. it began to roll, and i couldn't stop it and it rolled right off the porch and--" "right over my alice-doll it rolled, and she's all squashed!" voiced dot. "oh, be quiet! she isn't hurt a bit," cried tess. "her nose was flat, anyhow." "did the barrel roll over you?" asked agnes, smiling now. "almost," said tess. "but i got out of the way in time, and almira grabbed up her kitten and ran. where is she?" she asked. "never mind the cat," advised ruth. "she's caused enough excitement for one saturday morning. why were you putting her in the barrel, anyhow, tess?" "so i'd know where she was when i came back. i wanted her and one kitten to play with if dot is going to play with her alice-doll when we get back from the store. but i guess i leaned too far over." "i guess you did," assented ruth. "well, i'm glad it was no worse. is your doll much damaged, dot?" "maybe i can put a little more sawdust or some rags in her and stuff her out. but she's awful flat. and look at her nose!" "her nose was flat, anyhow, before the barrel rolled over her," said tess. "but i'm sorry it happened. i guess almira was scared." "we were all frightened," said ruth. "it was a terrible racket. now let the poor cat alone, and run along to the store. oh, what a mess this is," and she looked at the refuse scattered from the trash barrel. "and just when i want things to look nice for the girls. it always seems to happen that way!" uncle rufus shuffled along. "doan you-all worry now, honey," he said, speaking to all the girls as one. "i'll clean up dish yeah trash in no time. i done got de lawn like a billiard table, an' i'll pick up dish yeah trash. de ash man ought to have been along early dis mawnin' fo' to get it. i set it dar fo' him." that explained the presence on the side porch of the barrel of odds and ends collected for the ash man to remove. he had not called, and seeing the receptacle there, with an old feather pillow among the other refuse, tess thought she had her opportunity. "run along now, my bonny bairns! run along!" counseled the old scotch woman. "'tis late it's getting, and the lassies will be here to lunch before we know it." "yes, do run along," begged ruth. "and then come back to be washed and have your hair combed. i want you to look nice if, accidentally, you appear on the scene." thus bidden, and fortified with another cookie each, tess and dot hurried on to the store, dot tenderly trying to pinch into shape the flattened nose of her alice-doll. rufus got a broom and began to clean the scattered trash to put back into the barrel, and mrs. maccall hurried into her kitchen, where linda was humming a finnish song as she clattered amid the pots and pans. "oh, we must finish the parlor and library," declared ruth. "do come and help, agnes." "coming, ruth. oh, here's neale!" she added, pausing to look toward the gate through which at that moment appeared a sturdy lad of pleasant countenance. "he acts as though he had something on his mind," went on agnes, as the youth broke into a run on seeing her and her sister on the steps. "wait a moment, ruth. he may have something to tell us." "the fates forbid that it is anything more about tess and dot!" murmured ruth, for the children had some minutes before disappeared down the street. "news!" cried neale o'neil, as he swung up the steps. "i've got such news for you! oh, it's great!" and his face fairly shone. chapter iii the elevator "just a minute now, neale," said ruth, in the quiet voice she sometimes had to use when tess and dot, either or both, were engaged in one of their many startling feats. "quiet down a bit, please, before you tell us." the boy had reached the porch, panting from his run, and he had been about to burst out with the news, which he could hardly contain, when ruth addressed him. "what's the matter? don't you want to hear it?" he asked, fanning himself vigorously with his hat. "oh, yes, it isn't that," said agnes, with a smile, which caused neale's lips to part in an answering one, showing his white teeth that made a contrast to his tanned face. "but we have just passed through rather a strenuous time, neale, and if you have anything more startling to tell us about tess and dot--" "oh, it isn't about them!" laughed neale o'neil. "they're all right. i just saw them going down the street." "thank goodness!" murmured ruth. "i thought they had got into more mischief. well, go on, neale, and tell us the news. is it good?" "the best ever," he answered, sobering down a little. "the only trouble is that there isn't very much of it. only a sort of rumor, so to speak." "sit down," said agnes, and she herself suited her action to the words. "uncle rufus has the spilled trash cleaned up now." "yes'm, it's done all cleaned up now," murmured the old colored servant as he departed, having made the side porch presentable again. "but i suah does wish dat trash man'd come 'roun' yeah befo' dem two chilluns come back. dey's gwine to upsot dat barrel ag'in, if dey gets a chanst; dey suah is!" and he departed, shaking his head woefully enough. "what happened?" asked neale. "an accident?" "you might call it that," assented ruth, sitting down beside her sister. "it was a combination of tess, dot, alice-doll and almira all rolled into one." "that's enough!" laughed the boy, to whom readers of the previous volumes of the series need no introduction. neale o'neil had once been in a circus. he was known as "master jakeway" and was the son of james o'neil. neale's uncle, william sorber, was the ringmaster and lion tamer in the show billed as "twomley & sorber's herculean circus and menagerie." some time before the opening of the present story, neale had left the circus and had come to milton to live, making his home with con murphy, the town cobbler. "well, go on with your news, neale," said ruth gently, as she gazed solicitously at the boy. she was beginning to have more and more something of a feeling of responsibility toward him. this was due to the fact that ruth was growing older, as has been evidenced, and also to the fact that neale was also, and at times, she thought, he showed the lack of the care of a loving mother. "yes, i want to hear it," interposed agnes. "and then we simply must get the house in shape, if the girls aren't to find us with smudges of dust on our noses." "is there anything i can do?" asked neale eagerly. "are you going to have a party?" "some of ruth's young ladies are coming to lunch," explained agnes. "i don't suppose i may be classed with them," and she looked shyly at her sister. "i don't see why not," came the retort from the oldest kenway girl. "i'd like to have you come to the meeting, agnes." "no, thank you, civics are not much in my line. i hated 'em in school. though maybe i'll come to the eats. but let's hear neale's news. it may spoil from being kept." "not much danger of that," said the boy, with another bright smile. "but are you sure there isn't anything i can do to help?" "perfectly sure, neale," answered ruth. "the two irrepressibles brought me the flowers i wanted to decorate with, and it only remains to put them in vases. but now i'm sure we have chattered enough about ourselves. let us hear about you." "it isn't so much about me; it's about--father," and neale's voice sank when he said that. he spoke in almost a reverent tone. and then his face lighted up again as he exclaimed: "i have some news about him! that's why i ran to tell you. i knew you'd be glad." "oh, neale, that's fine!" cried agnes, clasping him by the arm. "after all these years, really to have news of him! i'm so glad!" "is he really found?" asked ruth, who was of a less excitable type than her sister, though she could get sufficiently worked up when there was need for it. "no, he isn't exactly found," went on neale. "i only wish he were. but i just heard, in a roundabout way, that he may not be so very far from here." "that is good news," declared ruth. "how did you hear it?" "well, you know my father was what is called a rover," went on the boy. "i presume i don't need to tell you that. he wouldn't have been in the circus business with uncle bill, and he wouldn't have had me in the circus--along with the trick mules--unless he had loved to travel about and see the country." "that's a safe conclusion," remarked agnes. to her sister and herself neale's circus experiences were an old story. he had often told them how, when a small boy, he had performed in the sawdust ring. "yes, father was a rover," went on neale. "at least that's the conclusion i've come to of late. i really didn't know him very well. he left the circus when i was still small and told uncle bill to look after me. well, uncle bill did, i'll say that for him. he was as kind as any boy's uncle could be." "anyhow, as you know, father left the circus, gave me in charge of uncle bill, and went off to seek his fortune. i suppose he realized that i would be better off out of a circus, but he knew he had to live, and money is needed for that. so that's why he quit the ring, i imagine. he's been seeking his fortune for quite a while now, and--" "neale, do you mean to say he has come back?" cried agnes. "not exactly," was the answer. "at least if he has come back i haven't seen him. but i just met a man--a sort of tramp he is, to tell you the truth--and he says he knew a man who saw my father in the alaskan klondike, where father had a mine. and this man--this tramp--says my father started back to the states some time ago." "with a lot of gold?" asked ruth, her eyes gleaming with hope for neale. "this the man didn't know. all he knew was that there was a rumor that my father had struck it fairly rich and had started back toward civilization. but even that news makes me feel good. i'm going to see if i can find him. i always had an idea, and so did uncle bill, that it was to alaska father had gone, and this proves it." "but who is this man who gave you the news, and why doesn't he know where your father can be found?" asked ruth. "also is there anything we can do to help you, neale?" "what a lot of questions!" exclaimed agnes. "i think i can answer them," neale said. he was calmer now, but his face still shone and his eyes sparkled under the stress of the happy excitement. "the man, as i said, is a tramp. he asked me for some money. he was driving a team of mules on the canal towpath, and i happened to look at one of the animals. it reminded me of one we had in the circus--a trick mule--but it took only a look to show me it wasn't the same sort of kicker. i got to talking to the man, and he said he was broke--only had just taken the job and the boss wouldn't advance him a cent until the end of the week. i gave him a quarter, and we got to talking. then he told me he knew men who had been in the klondike, and, naturally, i asked him if he had ever heard of a man named o'neil. he said he had, and then the story came out." "but how can you be sure it was your father?" asked ruth, wisely not wanting false hopes to be raised. "that was easily proved when i mentioned circus," said neale. "this tramp, hank dayton, he said his name was, remembered the men speaking of my father talking about circuses, and saying that he had left me in one." "that does seem to establish an identity," ruth conceded. "where is this man dayton now, neale?" "he had to go on with the canal boat. but i learned from him all i could. it seems sure that my father is either back here, after some years spent in alaska, or that he will come here soon. he must have been writing to uncle bill, and so have learned that i came here to live. uncle bill knows where i am, but i don't know where he is at this moment, though i could get in touch with him. but i'll be glad to see my father again. oh, if i could only find him!" neale seemed to gaze afar off, over the fields and woods, as if he visualized his long-lost father coming toward him. his eyes had a dreamy look. "can't we do something to help you?" asked ruth. "that's what i came over about as soon as i had learned all the mule driver could tell me," went on the boy. "i thought maybe we could ask mr. howbridge, your guardian, how to go about finding lost persons. there are ways of advertising for people who have disappeared." "there is," said agnes. "i've often seen in the paper advertisements for missing persons who are wanted to enable an estate to be cleared up, and the last time i was in mr. howbridge's office i heard him telling one of the clerks to have such an advertisement prepared." "then that's what i've got to have done!" declared neale. "i've got some money, and i can get more from uncle bill if i can get in touch with him. i'm going to see mr. howbridge and start something!" he was about to leave the porch, to hasten away, when ruth interposed. "mr. howbridge is coming here this afternoon," said the girl. "you might stay and see him, if you like, neale." "what, with a whole civic betterment club of girls coming to the corner house! no, thank you," he laughed. "i'll see him afterward. but i have more hope now than i ever had before." "i'm very glad," murmured ruth. "mr. howbridge will give you any help possible, i'm sure. shall i speak to him about it when he comes to advise us how to form our civic betterment club?" "oh, i think not, thank you," answered neale. "he'll have enough to do this afternoon without taking on my affair. i can tell him later. but i couldn't wait to tell you." "of course you couldn't!" said agnes. "that would have been a fine way to treat me!" neale, who was agnes' special chum, in a way seemed like one of the family--at least as much so as mrs. maccall, the housekeeper, uncle rufus, or sammy pinkney, the little fellow who lived across willow street, on the opposite side from the corner house. "well, i feel almost like another fellow now," went on neale, as he started down the walk. "not knowing whether your father is alive or not isn't much fun." "i should say not!" agreed agnes. "i wish i could ask you to stay to lunch, neale, but--" "oh, gee, aggie!" the boy laughed, and off down the street he hastened, his step light and his cheery whistle ringing out. "isn't it wonderful!" exclaimed agnes, as she followed her sister into the house. "yes, if only it proves true," returned the older girl, more soberly. from the kitchen came the clatter of pans and dishes as linda disposed of the clutter incidental to making cakes and dainties for a bevy of girls. mrs. maccall could be heard humming a scotch song, and as tess and dot returned from the store she raised her voice in the refrain: "thou art a gay an' bonnie lass, but thou hast a waukrife minnie." "what in the world is a waukrife minnie?" demanded agnes again, pausing in her task. "it's 'wakeful mother,'" answered ruth. "i remember now. it's in burns' poem of that name. but do hurry, please, aggie, or the girls will be here before we can change our dresses!" "the fates forbid!" cried her sister, and she hastened to good advantage. the lunch was over and the "civic betterment league" was in process of embryo formation, under the advice of mr. howbridge, and ruth was earnestly presiding over the session of her girl friends in the library of the corner house, when, from the ample yard in the rear of the old mansion, came a series of startled cries. there was but one meaning to attach to them. the cries came from dot and tess, and mingled with them were the unmistakable yells of sammy pinkney. at the same time mrs. maccall added her remonstrances to something that was going on, while uncle rufus, tottering his way along the hall, tapped at the door of the library and said: "'scuse me, miss ruth, but de chiluns done got cotched in de elevator!" "the _elevator_!" agnes screamed. "what in the world do you mean?" "yas'um, dat's whut it is," said the old colored man. "tess an' dot done got cotched in de elevator!" chapter iv an auto ride mr. howbridge had been making an address to ruth's assembled girl chums when the interruption came. he had been telling them just how to go about it to organize the kind of society ruth had in mind. in spite of her half refusal to attend the session, agnes had decided to be present, and she was sitting near the door when uncle rufus made his statement about the two smallest kenways being "cotched." "but how can they be in an elevator?" demanded agnes. "we haven't an elevator on the place--there hardly is one in milton." "i don't know no mo' 'bout it dan jest dat!" declared the old colored man. "sammy he done say dey is cotched in de elevator an'--" "oh, sammy!" cried agnes. "if sammy has anything to do with it you might know--" she was interrupted by a further series of cries, unmistakably coming from tess and dot, and, mingled with their shouts of alarm, was the voice of mrs. maccall saying: "come along, ruth! oh, agnes! oh, the poor bairns! oh, the wee ones!" and then she lapsed into her broadest scotch so that none who heard understood. "something must have happened!" declared ruth. "it is very evident," added agnes, and the two sisters hurried out, brushing past uncle rufus in the hall. "can't we do something?" asked lucy poole, one of the guests. "yes, we must help," added grace watson. "i think perhaps it will be best if you remain here," said mr. howbridge. "i don't imagine anything very much out of the ordinary has happened, from what i know of the family," he said with a smile. "i'll go and see, and if any more help is needed i shall let you young ladies know. unless it is, the fewer on the scene the better, perhaps." "especially if any one is hurt," murmured clo baker. "i never could stand the sight of a child hurt." "they don't seem to have lost their voices, at any rate," remarked lucy. "listen:" as mr. howbridge followed agnes and ruth from the room, there was borne to the ears of the assembled guests a cry of: "let me down! do you hear, sammy pinkney! let me down!" and a voice, undoubtedly that of the sammy in question, answered: "i'm not doing anything! i can't get you down! it's billy bumps. he did it!" "two boys in mischief," murmured lucy. "no, billy is a goat, so i understand," said clo. "i hope he hasn't butted one of the children down the cistern." and while the guests were vainly wondering what had happened, ruth, agnes and mr. howbridge saw suspended in a large clothes basket, which was attached to a rope that ran over the high limb of a great oak tree in the back yard, tess and dot. they were in the clothes basket, dot with her alice-doll clasped in her hands; and both girls were looking over the side of the hamper. attached to the ground end of the rope, where it was run through a pulley block, was a large goat, now contentedly chewing grass, and near the animal, with a startled look on his face, was a small boy, who, when he felt like it, answered to the name sammy pinkney. "get us down! get us down!" cried dot and tess in a chorus, while mrs. maccall stood beneath them holding out her apron as if the two little girls were ripe apples ready to fall. "how did you get up there?" demanded ruth, her face paling as she saw the danger of her little sisters, for tess and dot were too high up for safety. [illustration: "get us down!" cried dot and tess in a chorus, while mrs. maccall stood beneath them holding out her apron.] "sammy elevatored us up," explained dot. "well, you wanted to go!" replied the small boy in self justification. the goat kept on eating grass, of which there was an ample supply in the yard of the corner house. "what shall we do?" cried agnes. "run into the house and get a strong blanket or quilt," advised mr. howbridge quickly, but in a quiet, insistent voice which seemed to calm the excitement of every one. "bring the blanket here. we will hold it beneath the basket like a fire net, though i do not believe there is any immediate danger of the children falling. the rope seems to be firmly caught in the pulley block." his quick eye had taken in this detail of the "elevator." the rope really had jammed in the block, and, as long as it held, the basket could not descend suddenly. even if the rope should be unexpectedly loosened, there would still be the weight of the attached goat to act as a drag on the end of the cable, thus counterbalancing, in a measure, the weight of the girls in the clothes basket. "but i don't want to take any chances," explained the lawyer. "we'll take hold and extend the blanket under them, in case they should fall." "i have my apron ready now!" cried mrs. maccall. "oh, the puir bairns! what ever possit it ye twa gang an' reesk their lives this way, ye tapetless one?" she cried to sammy angrily, suddenly, in her excitement, using the broadest of scotch. "well, they wanted to ride in an elevator, an' i--i made one," he declared. and that is just what he had done. whether it was his idea or that of tess and dot did not then develop. what sammy had done was to take the largest clothes basket, getting it unobserved when mrs. maccall and linda were busy over ruth's party. he had fastened the basket to a long rope, which had been thrown over the high limb of the oak tree. then sammy had passed the rope through a pulley block, obtained no one knew where, and had hitched to the cable the goat, billy bumps. by walking away from the tree billy had pulled on the rope. the straightaway pull was transformed, by virtue of the pulley, into an upward motion, and the basket ascended. it had formed the "elevator" to which uncle rufus alluded. and, really, it did elevate dot and tess. they had been pulled up and had descended as sammy made the goat back, thus releasing the pull on the rope. all had gone well for several trips until the rope jammed in the pulley, thus leaving the two girls suspended in the basket at the highest point. their screams, the fright of sammy, the alarms of uncle rufus and mrs. maccall had followed in quick succession. "here's the blanket!" cried agnes speeding to the scene with a large woolen square under her arm. "have they fallen yet?" behind her came stringing the guests. it had been impossible for them to remain in the library with their minds on civic betterment ideas when they heard what had happened. "well, did you ever!" cried one of the number in astonishment. "what can it mean?" burst out a second. "looks to me like an amateur circus," giggled a third. she was a lighthearted girl and had not taken much of an interest in the rather dry meeting. "those children will be hurt," cried a nervous lady. "oh, dear, why did they let them do such an awful thing as that?" "i think they did it on their own account," said another lady. "our tommy is just like that--into mischief the minute your back is turned." "i'm glad they came!" said mr. howbridge. "they may all take hold of the edges of the blanket and extend it as firemen do the life net. you may stand aside now, mrs. maccall, if you will," he told the scotch housekeeper, and not until then did she lower her apron and move out from under the swaying basket, murmuring as she did so something about sammy being a "tapetless gowk" who needed a "crummock" or a good "flyte," by which the girls understood that the boy in question was a senseless dolt who needed a severe whipping or a good scolding. ruth, agnes and the guests took hold of the heavy blanket and held it under the basket as directed by mr. howbridge. then, seeing there would be little danger to the children in case the basket should suddenly fall, the lawyer directed sammy to loosen the goat from the rope. "he'll run if i do," objected sammy. "let him run, you ninnie!" cried mrs. maccall. "an' if ever ye fetchet him yon again i'll--i'll--" but she could not call up a sufficiently severe punishment, and had to subside. meanwhile the mischievous boy had led billy bumps off to one side, by the simple process of loosening the rope from the wagon harness to which it was fastened. mr. howbridge then took a firm hold of the cable and, after loosening it from where it had jammed in the pulley block, he braced his feet in the earth, against the downward pull of the basket, and so gently lowered tess and dot to the ground. "i'm never going to play with you again, sammy pinkney!" cried tess, climbing out of the basket and shaking her finger at the boy. "nor me, either!" added dot, smoothing out the rumpled dress of her alice-doll. "well, you asked me to make some fun and i did," sammy defended himself. "yes, and you made a lot of excitement, too," added ruth. "you had better come into the house now, children," she went on. "and, sammy, please take billy away." "yes'm," he murmured. "but they asked me to elevator 'em up, an' i did!" "to which i shall bear witness," said mr. howbridge, laughing. mrs. maccall "shooed" tess and dot into the house, murmuring her thanks to providence over the escape, and, after a while, the excitement died away and ruth went on with her meeting. the civic betterment league was formed that afternoon and eventually, perhaps, did some good. but what this story is to concern itself with is the adventure on a houseboat of the corner house girls. meanwhile about a week went by. there had been no more elevator episodes, though this does not mean that sammy did not make mischief, nor that tess and dot kept out of it. far from that. one bright afternoon, when school was out and the pre-supper appetites of dot and tess had been appeased, the two came running into the room where ruth and agnes sat. "he's here! he's come!" gasped tess. "and he's got, oh, such a dandy!" echoed dot. "who's here, and what has he?" asked agnes, flying out of her chair. "you shouldn't say anything is a 'dandy,'" corrected ruth to her youngest sister. "well it is, and you told me always to tell the truth," was the retort. "it's mr. howbridge and he's out in front with a--the--er the beautifulest automobile!" cried tess. "it's all shiny an' it's got wheels, an'--an' everything! it's newer than our car." ruth was sufficiently interested in this news to look from the window. "it _is_ mr. howbridge," she murmured, as though there had been doubts on that point. "and he must have a new auto," added agnes. "oh, he has!" she cried. a moment later they were welcoming their guardian at the door, while the smaller children formed an eager and anxious background. "what has happened?" asked agnes, while ruth, remembering her position as head of the family, asked: "won't you come in?" "i'd much rather you would come out, miss ruth," the man responded. "it is just the sort of day to be out--not in." "especially in such a car as that!" exclaimed agnes. "it's a--" "be careful," murmured ruth, with an admonishing glance from agnes to the smaller girls. "little pitchers, you know--" "it's a wonderful car!" went on agnes. "is it yours?" "well, i sometimes doubt a little, when i recall what it cost me," her guardian answered with a laugh. "but i am supposed to be the owner, and i have come to take you for a ride." "oh, can't we go?" came in a chorus from tess and dot. "yes, all of you!" laughed mr. howbridge. "that's why i waited until school was out. they may come, may they not, miss ruth?" he asked. always he was thus deferential to her when a question of family policy came up. "yes, i think so," was the low-voiced answer. "but we planned to have an early tea and--" "oh, i promise to get you back home in plenty of time," the lawyer said, with a laugh. "and after that, if you like, we might take another ride." "how wonderful!" murmured agnes. "won't you stay to tea?" asked ruth. "i was waiting for that!" exclaimed mr. howbridge. "i shall be delighted. now then, youngsters, run out and hop in, but don't touch anything, or you may be in a worse predicament than when you were in the clothes basket elevator." "we won't!" cried tess and dot, running down the walk. "you must come back and be washed!" cried ruth. it was a standing order--that, and the two little girls knew better than to disobey. but first they inspected the new car, walking all around it, and breathing in, with the odor of gasoline, the awed remarks of some neighboring children. "that's part our car," dot told these envious ones, as she and tess started back toward the house. "we're going for a ride in it, and don't you dare touch anything on it or mr. howbridge'll be awful mad!" "um, oh, whut a lubly auto," murmured alfredia blossom, who had come on an errand to her grandfather, uncle rufus. "dat's jest de beatenistest one i eber see!" "yes, it is nice," conceded tess, proudly, airily and condescendingly. a little later the two younger children and agnes sat in the rear seat, while ruth was beside mr. howbridge at the steering wheel. then the big car purred off down the street, like a contented cat after a saucer of warm milk. "it was very good of you to come and get us," said ruth, when they were bowling along. "almost the christening trip of the car, too, isn't it?" she asked. "the very first trip i have made in it," was the answer. "i wanted it properly christened, you see. there is a method in my madness, too. i have an object in view, martha." sometimes he called ruth this, fancifully, with the thought in mind that she was "cumbered with many cares." again he would apply to her the nickname of "minerva," with its suggestion of wisdom. and ruth rather liked these fanciful appellations. "you have an object?" she repeated. "yes," he answered. "as usual, i want your advice." "as if it was really worth anything to you!" she countered. "it will be in this case, i fancy," he went on with a smile. "i want your opinion about a canal boat." chapter v the houseboat ruth stole a quick glance at the face of her guardian. there was a silence between them for a moment, broken only by the purr of the powerful machine and the suction of the rubber tires on the street. agnes, dot and tess were having a gay time behind the two figures on the front seat. "a canal boat?" murmured ruth, as if she had not heard aright. "perhaps i had better qualify that statement," went on mr. howbridge in his courtroom voice, "by saying that it is, at present, minerva, on the canal. and a boat on the canal is a canal boat, is it not? i ask for a ruling," and he laughed as he slowed down to round a corner. "i don't know anything about your legal phraseology," answered ruth, entering into the bantering spirit of the occasion, "but i don't see why a boat on the canal becomes a canal boat any more than a cottage pudding becomes a house. the pudding has no cottage in it any more than a club sandwich has a club in it and--" "i am completely at your mercy," mr. howbridge broke in with. "but, speaking seriously, this boat is on the canal, though strictly it is not a canal boat. you know what they are, i dare say?" "i used to have to take tess and dot down to the towpath to let them watch them often enough when we first came here," said ruth, with a laugh. "they used to think canal boats were the most wonderful objects in the world." "are we going on a canal boat?" asked tess, overhearing some of the talk on the front seat. "oh, are we?" "oh, i hope we are!" added dot. "my alice-doll just loves canal boats. and wouldn't it be splendiferous, tess, if we could have a little one all to ourselves and scalawag or maybe billy bumps to pull it instead of a mule?" "that would be a sight on the towpath!" cried agnes. "but what is this about canal boats, mr. howbridge?" "has some one opened a soda water store on board one?" asked dot suddenly. "not exactly. you'll see, presently. but i do want your opinion," he went on, speaking directly to ruth now, "and it has to do with a boat on a canal." "i still think you are joking," she told him. "and except for the fact that we have a canal here in milton i should think you were trying to fool me." "impossible, minerva," he replied, soberly enough. as ruth had said, milton was located on both the canal and a river, the two streams, if a canal can be called a stream, joining at a certain point, so that boats could go from one to the other. gentory river, which acted as a feeder to one section of the canal, also connected with lake macopic, a large body of water. the lake contained many islands. the automobile skirted the canal by a street running parallel to it, and then mr. howbridge turned down a rather narrow street, on which were situated several stores that sold supplies to the canal boats, and brought his machine to a stop on the bank of the waterway beside the towpath, as it is called from the fact that the mules or horses towing the boats walk along that level stretch of highway bordering the canal and forming part of the canal property. at this part of the canal, the stream widened and formed a sort of harbor for boats of various kinds. it was also a refitting station; a place where a captain might secure new mules, hire helpers, buy grain for his animals and also victuals for himself and family; for the owners of the canal boats often lived aboard them. this place, known locally as "henderson's cove," was headquarters for all the canal boatmen of the vicinity. "here is where we disembark, to use a nautical term," said mr. howbridge, with a smile at the younger children. "is this where we take the boat?" asked dot eagerly. "you might call it that," said mr. howbridge, with another genial smile. "and now, martha, to show that i was in earnest, there is the craft in question," and he pointed to an old hulk of a canal boat, which had seen its best days. "that! you want my opinion on _that_?" cried the girl, turning to her guardian in some surprise. "oh, no, the one next to it. the _bluebird_." ruth changed her view, and saw a craft which brought to her lips exclamations of delight, no less than to the lips of her sisters. for it was not a "rusty canaler" they beheld, but a trim craft, a typical houseboat, with a deck covered with a green striped awning and set with willow chairs, and a cabin, the windows of which, through their draped curtains, gave hint of delights within. "oh, how lovely!" murmured agnes. "a dream!" whispered ruth. "but why do you bring us here to show us this?" she asked with much interest. "because," began mr. howbridge, "i want to know if you would like--" just then an excited voice behind the little party burst out with: "oh, mr. howbridge, i've been looking everywhere for you!" neale o'neil came hurrying along the towpath, seemingly much excited. "i hope that supreme court decision hasn't gone against me," ruth heard her guardian murmur. "if that case is lost--" and then neale began to talk excitedly. chapter vi more news "they told me at your office you had come here, mr. howbridge," said neale. "and i hurried on as fast as i could." "did they send you here to find me?" asked the lawyer. "yes, sir." "with any message?" as mr. howbridge asked this ruth noticed that her guardian seemed very anxious about something. "yes, i have a message," went on neale. "it's about--" "the jackson case?" interrupted the lawyer. "is there a decision from the court and--" "oh, no, this isn't anything about the jackson case or any other," neale hastened to say. "it's about my father. and--" ruth and agnes could not help gasping in surprise. as for the two smaller kenway children all they had eyes for was the houseboat. "oh, your father!" repeated mr. howbridge. "have you found him, neale?" there was very evident relief in the lawyer's tone. "no, sir, i haven't found him. but you know you told me to come to you as soon as i had found that tramp mule driver again, and he's back in town once more. he just arrived at the lower lock with a grain boat, and i hurried to tell you." "yes, that was right, neale," said mr. howbridge. "excuse me, miss ruth," he went on, turning to the girl, "but i happen to be this young man's legal adviser, and while i planned this for a pleasure trip, it seems that business can not be kept out of it." "oh, we don't mind!" exclaimed ruth, with a smile at neale. "of course we know about this, and we'd be so glad if you could help find mr. o'neil." "all right then, if the young ladies have no objection," said the lawyer, "we'll combine business with pleasure. suppose we go aboard the _bluebird_. i want miss ruth's opinion of her and--" "i don't see why in the world you want _my_ opinion about this boat," said the puzzled girl. "i'm almost sure there's a joke in it, somewhere." "no, martha, no joke at all, i do assure you," answered her guardian. "you'll understand presently. now, neale, you say this mule driver has come back?" "yes, sir. you know i went to you as soon as he gave me a hint that my father might have returned from alaska, and you said to keep my eyes open for this man." "i did, neale, yes. you of course know this story, don't you, miss ruth?" he asked. "yes, i believe we were the first neale told about it." "well," went on mr. howbridge, while tess and dot showed signs of impatience to get on board the boat, "i told neale we must find out more from this hank dayton, the mule driver, before we could do anything, or start to advertise for mr. o'neil. and now, it seems, he is here again. at first, neale, when i saw you hurrying along, excited, i was afraid i had lost a very important law case. i am glad you did not bring bad news." ruth stole a glance at her guardian's face. he was more than usually quiet and anxious, she thought, though he tried to be gay and jolly. "we'll have a look at this boat," said mr. howbridge, as they advanced toward it. "i'll get minerva's opinion, and then we'll try to find hank dayton." "i know where to find him," said neale. "he's going to bunk down at the lower lock for a while. i made him promise to stay there until he could have a talk with you." "very good," announced the lawyer. "now come on, youngsters!" he cried with a gayer manner, and he caught dot up in his arms and carried her aboard the boat, neale, ruth and the others following. it was a typical houseboat. that is, it was a sort of small house built on what would otherwise have been a scow. the body of the boat was broad beamed forward and aft, as a sailor would say. that is, it was very wide, whereas most boats are pointed at the bow, and only a little less narrow at the stern. "it's like a small-sized canal boat, isn't it?" remarked agnes, as they went down into the cabin. "but ever so much nicer," said ruth. "oh, look at the cute little cupboards!" cried dot. "i could keep my dolls there." "and here's a sweet place for the cats!" added tess, raising the cover of a sort of box in a corner. "it would be a crib." "that's a locker," explained mr. howbridge, with a smile. "oh, i wouldn't want to lock almira in there!" exclaimed the little girl. "she might smother, and how could she get out to play with her kittens?" "oh, i don't mean that it can be locked," explained the lawyer. "it is just called that on a boat. cupboards on the wall and the window seats on the floor are generally called lockers on board a ship." "is this a ship?" asked dot. "well, enough like one to use some of the same words," replied mr. howbridge. "now let's look through it." this they did, and each step brought forth new delights. they had gone down a flight of steps and first entered a small cabin which was evidently intended for a living room. back of that was very plainly the dining room, for it contained a table and some chairs and on the wall were two cupboards, or "lockers" as the lawyer said they must be called. "and they have real dishes in them!" cried tess, flattening her nose against one of the glass doors. "don't do that, dear," said ruth in a low voice. "but i want to see," insisted tess. "so do i!" chimed in dot, and soon the two little sisters, side by side, with noses pressed flat against the doors, were taking in the sights of the dishes. mr. howbridge silently motioned to ruth to let them do as they pleased. "oh, what a lovely dolls' party we could have here!" sighed dot, as she turned away from the dish locker. "and couldn't almira come?" asked tess, appealing to agnes. "and bring one of her kittens?" "yes, we'll even allow you two kittens, for fear one would get lonesome," laughed mr. howbridge. "but come on. you haven't seen it all yet." there was a small kitchen back of the dining room, and both ruth and agnes were interested to see how conveniently everything was arranged. "it would be ever so much easier to get meals here than in the corner house," was ruth's opinion. "do you think so?" asked the lawyer. "yes, everything is so handy. you hardly have to take a step to reach anything," added agnes. "you only have to turn from the stove to the sink, and another turn and you have everything you want, from a toasting fork to an egg beater," and she indicated the different kitchen utensils hanging in a rack over the stove. "i'm glad you like it," said mr. howbridge, and ruth found herself wondering why he said that. they passed into the sleeping quarters where small bunks, almost like those in pullman cars, were neatly arranged, even to a white counterpane and pillow shams on each one. "oh, how lovely." "and how clean and neat!" "it's just like a sleeping car on the railroad." "yes, or one of those staterooms on some steamers." "a person could sleep as soundly here as in a bed at home," was ruth's comment. "yes, unless the houseboat rocked like a ship," said agnes. "i don't think it could rock much on the canal." "no, but it might on a river, or a lake. i guess a houseboat like this can go almost anywhere." there were two sets of sleeping rooms, one on either side of a middle hall or passageway. then came a small bathroom. and back of that was something that made neale cry out in delight. "why, the boat has an engine!" exclaimed the boy. "it runs by motor!" "yes, the _bluebird_ is a motor houseboat," said mr. howbridge, with a smile. "it really belongs on lake macopic, but to get it there through the canal mules will have to be used, as this boat has such a big propeller that it would wash away the canal banks. it is not allowed to move it through the canal under its own power." "that's a dandy engine all right!" exclaimed neale, and he knew something about them for one summer he had operated a small motor craft on the gentory river, as well as running the corner house girls' automobile for them. "i wish i could run this," he went on with a sigh, "but i don't suppose there's any chance." "i don't know about that," said the lawyer, musingly. "that is what i brought minerva here to talk about. let's go back to the main cabin and sit down." "i'm going to sit on one of the lockers!" cried tess, darting off ahead of the others. "i want to sit on it, too!" exclaimed dot. "there are two lockers on the floor--one for each," laughed mr. howbridge. as the little party moved into the main cabin, ruth found herself wondering more and more what mr. howbridge wanted her opinion on. she was not long, however, in learning. "here is the situation," began the lawyer, when they were all seated facing him. his tone reminded ruth of the time he had come to talk to them about their inheritance of the corner house. "this boat, the _bluebird_, belongs to an estate. the estate is being settled up, and the boat is going to be sold. a man living at the upper end of lake macopic has offered to buy it at a fair price if it is delivered to him in good condition before the end of summer. as the legal adviser of the estate i have undertaken to get this boat to the purchaser. and what i brought you here for, to-day, minerva," he said, smiling at ruth, "is to ask your opinion about the best way of getting the boat there." "do you really mean that?" asked the girl. "i certainly do." "well, i should say the best plan would be to start it going, and steer it up the canal to the river, through the river into the lake and up the lake to the place where it is to be delivered," ruth answered, smiling. "but mr. howbridge said the boat couldn't be moved by the motor on the canal," objected agnes. "well, have mules tow it, then," advised ruth. "that is very simple." "i am glad you think so," replied the lawyer. "and the next matter on which i wish your advice is whether to start the boat off alone on her trip, or just in charge of, say, the mule driver." "oh, i wouldn't want to trust a lovely houseboat like this to only a mule driver!" exclaimed ruth. "that's what i thought," went on her guardian, with another smile. "it needs some one on board to look after it, doesn't it?" "well, yes, i should say so." "then how would you like to take charge?" came the unexpected question. "me?" cried ruth. "_me?_" "you, and all of you!" went on the lawyer. "listen. here is the situation. i have to send this houseboat to lake macopic. you dwellers of the corner house need a vacation. you always have one every summer, and i generally advise you where to go. at least you always ask me, and sometimes you take my advice. "this time i advise you to take a houseboat trip. and i make this offer. i will provide the boat and all the needful food and supplies, such as gasoline and oil when you reach the river and lake. everything else is on board, from beds to dishes. i will also hire a mule driver and engage some mules for the canal trip. now, how does that suit you?" "oh! oh!" exclaimed agnes, and it seemed to be all she could say for a moment. she just looked at mr. howbridge with parted lips and sparkling eyes. "how wonderful!" murmured ruth. "can we go?" cried tess. "the whole family, including neale," said mr. howbridge. "oo-ee!" gasped dot, wide-eyed. agnes and neale stared entranced at each other, agnes, for once, speechless. "well, now i have made the offer, think it over, and while you are doing that i'll give a little attention to neale's case," went on mr. howbridge. "now, young man, suppose we go and find this mule driver who seems to know something of your father." "oh, wait! don't go away just yet!" begged ruth. "let's talk about the trip some more! do you really think we can go?" "i want you to go. it would be doing me a favor," said the lawyer. "i must get this boat to lake macopic somehow, and i don't know a better way than to have martha and her family take it," and he bowed formally to his ward. "and did you really mean i may go, too?" asked neale. "if you can arrange it, and miss ruth agrees." "of course i will! but, oh, there will be such a lot to do to get ready. we'd have to take mrs. maccall along, too," she added. "of course," assented mr. howbridge. "by all means!" "and would you go too?" asked ruth. "would you like me to?" the lawyer countered. "of course. we'd all like it." "i might manage to make at least part of the trip," was the reply. "then you have decided to take my offer?" "oh, i think it's perfectly _wonderful_!" burst out agnes. as for tess and dot, it could be told what they thought by just looking at them. "very well then," said the guardian, "we'll consider it settled. i'll have to see about mules and a driver for the canal part of the trip and--" an exclamation from neale interrupted him. "what is it?" asked the lawyer. "why couldn't we hire hank dayton for a mule driver?" neale asked. "he's rough, but i think he's a decent man and honest, and he knows a lot about the canal and boats and mules." "it might not be a bad idea," assented mr. howbridge. "we'll find him and ask him, neale. and it would be killing two birds with one stone. he could help you in your search for your father. yes, i think that will be a good plan. girls, i'll leave you here to look over the _bluebird_ at your leisure while neale and i go to interview the mule driver." "and i hope he will be able to tell you how to find your father, neale," said agnes, in a low voice. "i hope so, too," added the boy. "you don't know, aggie, how much i've wanted to find father." "of course i do, neale. and you'll find him, too!" neale went on with mr. howbridge, somewhat cheered by agnes' sympathy. chapter vii making plans left to themselves on the _bluebird_, ruth, agnes, dot and tess went over every part of it again, from the engine room to the complete kitchen and living apartments. "neale will just love fussing around that motor," said agnes. "you speak as if we had already decided to make the trip," remarked ruth, with a bright glance at her sister. "why, yes, haven't you?" agnes countered. "i thought you and mr. howbridge had fixed it up between you when you were chatting up on the front seat of the auto." "he never said a word to me about it," declared ruth. "he must have said something," insisted her sister. "oh, of course we talked, but not about _this_," and ruth swept her hands about to indicate the _bluebird_. "i was as much surprised as you to have him ask us if we would take her up to the lake." "well, it will be delightful, don't you think?" "yes, i think it will. but of course it depends on mrs. maccall." "i don't see why!" exclaimed agnes quickly and reproachfully. "of course you do. she'll have to go along to act as chaperone and all that. we may have to tie up at night in lonely places along the canal or river and--" "we'll have neale and mr. howbridge! and how about asking luke shepard and his sister cecile?" went on agnes. ruth flushed a little. "i don't believe cecile and luke can go," she replied slowly. "cecile has got to go home to take care of her aunt lorena, who is sick, and luke wrote me that he had a position offered to him as a clerk in a summer hotel down on the coast, and it is to pay so well that he would not dream of letting the opportunity pass." "oh, that's too bad, ruth. you won't see much of him." "i am not sure i'll see anything of him." and ruth's face clouded a little. "well, anyway, as i said before, we'll have neale and mr. howbridge," continued agnes. "neale. but mr. howbridge is not sure he can go--at least all the way. however, we'll ask mrs. maccall." "i think she'll be just crazy to go!" declared agnes. "come on, let's go right away and find out." "but we must wait for mr. howbridge to come back. he told us to." "well, then we'll say we're already living on board," said agnes. "oh, won't it be fun to eat on a houseboat!" and she danced off to the dining room, took her seat at the table, and exclaimed: "i'll have a steak, rare, with french fried potatoes, plenty of gravy and a cup of tea and don't forget the pie _à la mode_." tess and dot laughed and ruth smiled. they then went all over the boat again, with the result that they grew more and more enthusiastic about the trip. and when mr. howbridge and neale came back in the automobile a little later, beaming faces met them. "well, what about it, minerva?" mr. howbridge asked ruth. "are you going to act as caretakers for the boat to help me settle the estate?" "since you put it that way, as a favor, i can not refuse," she answered, giving him a swift smile. "but, as i told the girls, it will depend on mrs. maccall." "you leave her to me," laughed the lawyer. "i'll recite one of bobby burns' poems, and if that doesn't win her over nothing will. neale, do you think you can manage that motor?" "i'm sure of it," said the boy. "it isn't the same kind i had to run before, but i can get the hang of it all right." "is there any news about your father?" asked ruth, glancing from her guardian to the boy. "nothing very definite," answered the lawyer. "we found hank dayton, and in spite of his rough and ragged clothes i discovered him to be a reliable fellow. he told us all he knew about the rumor of mr. o'neil having returned from the klondike, and i am going to start an inquiry, with newspaper advertising and all that. and i may as well tell you that i have engaged this same hank dayton to drive the mules that will draw the _bluebird_ on the canal part of the trip." "oh!" exclaimed agnes. "i thought neale said this man was a tramp!" "he is, in appearance," said mr. howbridge, with a smile. "a person can not wear an evening suit and drive canal mules. but hank seems to be a sterling chap at the bottom, and with neale and mrs. maccall to keep him straight, you will have no trouble. "it is really necessary," he went on, "to have some man who understands the canal, the mules, and the locks to look after the boat, and i think this dayton will answer. he has just finished a trip, and so neale and i hired him. it will be well for neale to keep in touch with him, too, for through hank we may get more news of mr. o'neil. and now, if you have sufficiently looked over the _bluebird_, we may as well go back." "it would be a good while before i could see enough of her!" exclaimed agnes. "i'm just in love with the craft, and i know we shall have a delightful summer on her. only the trip will be over too soon, i'm afraid." "there is no necessity for haste," the lawyer assured her. "the purchaser of the boat does not want her until fall, and you may linger as long as you like on the trip." "good!" exclaimed agnes. a family council was held the next day at which mr. howbridge laid all the facts before mrs. maccall. at first the scotch housekeeper would not listen to any proposal for the trip on the water. but when ruth and agnes had spoken of the delights of the boat, and when the housekeeper had personally inspected the _bluebird_, she changed her mind. "though i never thought, in my old age, i'd come to bein' a houseboat keeper," she chuckled. "but 'tis all in the day's work. i'll gang with ye ma lassies. a canal boat is certainly more staid than an ice-boat, and i went alang with ye on that." "hurray!" cried agnes, unable to restrain her joy. "all aboard for lake macopic!" the door opened and aunt sarah maltby came in. "i thought i heard some one calling," she said anxiously. "it was agnes," explained ruth. "she's so excited about the trip." "fish? what fish? it isn't friday, is it?" asked the old lady, who was getting rather deaf. "no, auntie dear, i didn't say _fish_--i said _trip_." and ruth spoke more loudly. "we are going to make a trip on a houseboat for our summer vacation. would you like to come along?" aunt sarah maltby shook her head, as tess pulled out a chair for her. "i'm getting too old, my dear, to go traipsing off over the country in one of those flying machines." "it's a houseboat--not a flying machine," agnes explained. "well, it's about the same, i reckon," returned the old lady. "no, i'll stay at home and look after things at the corner house. it'll need somebody." "yes, there's no doubt of that," ruth said. so it was arranged. aunt sarah maltby would stay at home with linda and uncle rufus, while mrs. maccall accompanied the corner house girls on the houseboat. there was much to be done before the trip could be undertaken, and many business details to arrange, for, as inheritors of the stower estate, ruth and her sisters received rents from a number of tenants, some of them in not very good circumstances. "and we must see that they will want nothing while we are gone," ruth had said. it was part of her self-imposed duties to play lady bountiful to some of the poorer persons who rented uncle peter stower's tenements. "well, as long as you don't go to buying 'dangly jet eawin's' for olga pederman it will be all right," said agnes, and they laughed at this remembrance of the girl who, when ill with diphtheria, had asked for these ornaments when ruth called to see what she most wanted. eventually all the many details were arranged and taken care of. a mechanic had gone over the motor of the _bluebird_ and pronounced it in perfect running order, a fact which neale verified for himself. he had made all his plans for going on the trip, and between that and eagerly waiting for any news of his missing father, his days were busy ones. mr. howbridge had closely questioned hank dayton and had learned all that rover could tell, which was not much. but it seemed certain that mr. o'neil had started from alaska for the states. that he had not, even on his arrival, written to neale, was probably due to the fact that the man did not know where his son was. his uncle bill sorber, of course, knew neale's address, but the trouble was that the circus, which was not a very large affair, traveled about so, on no well-kept scheduled route, that mr. sorber was difficult to find. letters had been addressed to him at several places where it was thought his show might be, but, so far, no answer had been received. he was asked to send a message to mr. howbridge as soon as any word came from mr. o'neil. to hank dayton was left the task of picking out some mules to tow the houseboat through the stretch of canal. about a week, or perhaps longer, would be consumed on this trip, as there was no hurry. where the voyage is kept up for any length of time, two sets of mules or horses are used in towing canal boats. when one team is wearied it is put in the stable, which is on board the canal boat, and the other team is led out over a bridge, or gangplank, specially made for the purpose, on to the towpath. but on the _bluebird_ there were no provisions for the animals, so it was planned to buy only one team of mules, drive the animals at a leisurely pace through the day and let them rest at night either in the open, along the canal towpath, or in some of the canal barns that would be come upon on the trip. at the end of the trip the animals would be sold. mr. howbridge had decided that this was the best plan to follow, though there was a towing company operating on the canal for such boat owners as did not possess their own animals. as mr. howbridge had shrewdly guessed, the rough clothes of hank dayton held a fairly good man. he had been in poor luck, but he was not dissipated, and even mrs. maccall approved of him when he had been shaved, a shave being something he had lacked when neale first saw him. then, indeed, he had looked like a veritable tramp. gradually all that was to be done was accomplished, and the day came when ruth and agnes could say: "to-morrow we start on our wonderful trip. oh, i'm so happy!" "what about your civic betterment club?" asked agnes of her sister. "that will have to keep until i come back. really no one wants to undertake any municipal reforms in the summer." "oh, my! the political airs we put on!" laughed agnes. "well, i'm glad you are going to have a good time. you need it." "yes, i think the change will be good for all of us," murmured ruth. "tess and dot seem delighted, and--" she stopped suddenly, for from the floor above came a cry of alarm followed by one of distress. "what's that?" gasped ruth. "dot or tess, i should say," was the opinion of agnes. "they must have started in to get some of their change already. oh, gee!" "agnes!" ruth took time to protest, for she very much objected to agnes' slang. a moment later dot came bursting into the room, crying: "oh, she's in! she's in! and it isn't holding her up at all! come on, quick. both of you! tess is in!" chapter viii the robbery dot kenway stood in the middle of the room, dancing up and down, fluttering her hands and crying over and over again: "she's in! she's in! and it isn't holding her up! oh, come quick!" with a bound ruth was at her sister's side. she grasped dot by the arm and held her still. "be quiet, honey, and tell me what the matter is," ruth demanded. "oh, she's in! she's in! and it isn't holding her up!" dot repeated. "we'd better go and see what it is," suggested agnes. "tess may merely have fallen out of bed." "fallen out of bed--this time of day?" cried ruth. "impossible!" but she let go of dot and sped up the stairs whence floated down a series of startled cries. agnes followed, while dot called after them: "look in the bathroom! she's in! it isn't holding her up!" to the bathroom rushed ruth and agnes, there to behold a sight which first made them gasp and then, instantly, started them into energetic action. for tess was floundering about in the tub, full of water, with part of her bathing suit on and something bulky tied around her waist. she was clinging to the edge of the tub with both hands and trying to get to her feet. the tub was filled with water, and much of it was splashing over the side. fortunately the floor of the bathroom was tiled. "oh, tess! what are you doing?" cried agnes, as she and ruth pulled the small girl to her feet. tess was gasping for breath, and had evidently swallowed some water. "i--i--er--gug--i--was--" that was all tess could say for a while. "you poor child!" exclaimed ruth, reaching for a towel, to dry the dripping face. "did you fall in? and what possessed you to put on your bathing suit?" "and what _have_ you got around your waist?" cried agnes. "that--that--that's my--my _life preserver_!" exploded tess. "if--if you'll take the towel out of my moo-oo-oo-uth i'll t-t-tell--you!" she stammered. "yes, do let's let her tell, for mercy's sake!" exclaimed ruth. "did your head go under, tessie, dear?" tess nodded. it was easier than speaking, especially as she had not yet quite got her breath back. the two older sisters dried her partly on the towel, the little girl raising her hands to keep her sisters from stuffing any more of the turkish towel into her mouth, and then dot came up the stairs. "is she--is she drowned?" was the awed whisper. "no, but she might have been," answered ruth. "what were you two doing? this is worse than the clothes basket elevator. what were you doing?" "i was making a life preserver," volunteered tess, when she had been helped out of the bathtub and was standing on a big mat that absorbed the little rivulets of water streaming from her. "a life preserver?" questioned agnes. "yes," tess nodded. "i thought maybe i might fall off the houseboat and i didn't see any life preservers on it, so i made one." "out of the hot water bag," put in dot. "she tied it around her waist and she wanted me to tie one on me and make believe we fell into the bathtub. but i wouldn't, and she got in, and it didn't hold her up." "i should say it didn't!" cried agnes. "how could you expect a rubber bag full of water to hold you up? it couldn't hold itself up." "it wasn't full of water. i blew it up full of air just as sammy pinkney blows up his football," said tess. "and that floats in water, 'cause i saw it." "a hot water bag is different," returned ruth. "yes, she has one on," she added, as she and agnes unwrapped from their sister some folds of cloth by which the partly inflated hot-water bag had been fastened around tess's waist. "don't you ever do anything like that again!" scolded dot, as tess was sent to her room to dress while linda came up to mop the floor. "well, what am i to do if i fall overboard off the _bluebird_, i'm asking you?" called tess, turning back, and holding her bath robe around her slim form. "there aren't any life preservers on it!" "we will provide some if they are needed," said ruth, laughing. just then aunt sarah maltby came in and heard the story from agnes. "just think, dot and tess, one of you might have been drowned," she said severely. "if that bag had got around your feet, and the winding strips had tangled, your feet might have been held up and your head down. you might easily have been drowned in the bathtub." "not me--i wouldn't!" declared dot. "why not?" agnes wanted to know. "'cause i wouldn't get in it! i told tess maybe it was dangerous." "well, it wouldn't have been if i'd had more air in the bag," called tess from the half-open door of her room. "that was the matter." mrs. maccall shook her head when she heard what had happened. "i ha me doots about them on the boat," she said. "if they cut up such didoes here, what'll they do then?" "oh, i think we shall manage somehow," said ruth with cheerful philosophy. "we're used to mishaps." by dint of hard work the final preparations for the houseboat trip were made. the _bluebird_ was got in shape for the first part of the trip through the canal. hank dayton had been "slicked up," and had his two sturdy mules in readiness. neale had tested the motor again. a supply of food had been put on board, together with gasoline to use as soon as the transition from the canal to the river should have taken place. mr. howbridge had arranged his plans so as to start with the girls, and mrs. maccall had her small trunk packed and in readiness. all that was possible had been done to get into communication with neale's father, and all that could be done was to await word from him, or from mr. sorber, who might be the first to hear, that the missing klondike explorer had returned. and at last the morning of the start arrived. "oh, it's going to rain!" cried tess as she arose early and ran to the window to look out. "i don't care. we can take umbrellas, and the boat has a roof on it," said dot. "my alice-doll has been wet before." "but almira doesn't like rain, and her kittens might get cold," objected tess. "we can't take almira!" said ruth in a voice that tess knew it was useless to appeal from. "the poor cat wouldn't have a good time, tessie, and she'd be in the way with her kittens." "she could catch mice," suggested tess, as a sort of last hope. "there are mice on canal boats. i heard hank dayton say so," put in dot, seeking to strengthen tess's position. "we'll get a cat later if we need it," compromised ruth. "don't think of bringing almira." "all right!" assented dot, and then tess called: "there's sammy, and he's got billy bumps. let's go down and tell them good-by!" "can't sammy come with us?" asked dot, turning to ruth. "no indeed, nor the goat either! so don't ask him and make him feel bad when i have to refuse him." "all right," sighed dot. then she and tess finished dressing and went out to greet sammy, who was paying one of his early morning calls. "want me to do any errands for you, ruth?" he politely asked when he had refused an invitation to breakfast, saying he had already eaten. "no, thank you, sammy," was the answer. "i could go quick--hitch billy to the wagon and get anything you wanted from the village," he went on. ruth shook her head, and then had to hurry away to see about one of the many last-minute details. "well, good-by, then," said sammy to the other sisters, as he prepared to depart. "i wish i was going! we could take billy bumps." "but if they wouldn't let me take a cat on the boat i don't suppose they'd want a goat," put in tess. "i don't guess so," said sammy, more meekly than he usually spoke. "well, good-by!" and down the street he went, taking billy bumps, who belonged to tess and dot, with him. "it does look like rain," said agnes, when it was almost time for mr. howbridge to call for them in his machine to take them and their baggage to the houseboat. "it may hold off until we get on board," said ruth. she gave a sudden start. "oh, agnes! our jewelry! we forgot to take it to the bank!" "that's so! i knew we'd forget something! well, haven't we time to run down with it now before mr. howbridge comes?" ruth looked at her wrist watch. "just about," was her decision. "come on. you and i can take the package down and then hurry back." "you'd best take an umbrella, ma dearies!" cautioned mrs. maccall. "'tis showery goin' to be this day!" "we'll take one," assented ruth. she and agnes had planned to leave their jewelry and some other articles of value in their safe deposit box, but had forgotten it until now. the two older girls sallied forth with a large umbrella, which agnes carried, while ruth had the package of jewelry. they were half way to the bank, no great distance from home, when suddenly a downpour began with the usual quickness of a summer shower. "hurry! raise the umbrella!" cried ruth. "i'm getting drenched!" "isn't it terrible!" gasped agnes. she and her sister stepped into the shelter of the nearest doorway for a moment. something was wrong with the catch of the umbrella. ruth was just going to help her sister raise it when suddenly two rough-looking men rushed from the hall back of the doorway in which the girls had taken shelter. one of the men rudely brushed past ruth, and, as he did so, he made a grab for the packet of jewelry, snatching it from her. "oh!" screamed the girl. "stop! oh! oh, agnes!" the other man turned and pushed agnes back as she leaned forward to help ruth. then, as the rain came down harder than ever, the men sped up the street, leaving the two horror-stricken girls breathless in the doorway. chapter ix all aboard for a moment after the robbery neither ruth nor agnes felt capable of saying anything or doing anything. ruth, it is true, had cried out as the burly ruffian had snatched the packet of jewelry from her, and then fear seemed to paralyze her. but this was only for a moment. in few seconds both she and agnes became their energetic selves, as befitted the characters of corner house girls. "oh, agnes! did you see? he has the jewelry!" cried ruth. "yes, i saw! he pushed me back or i'd have grabbed it away again! we must take after them!" the girls started to leave, having managed to get the umbrella up, but at that instant there came such a fierce blast of wind and such a blinding downpour of rain that they were fairly forced back into the doorway. and, more than this, their umbrella was turned inside out and sent flapping in their faces by the erratic wind, so that they could not see what they were doing. "this is awful!" exclaimed agnes, and she was near to crying. "we must call for help," said ruth, but they would have needed to shout very loud indeed to be heard above the racket made by the wind and rain. a momentary glimpse up and down the street, when a view of it could be had amid the sheets of rain, showed no one in sight. "what shall we do?" cried ruth, vainly trying to get the umbrella to its proper shape. at that moment the door behind them opened. the girls turned, fearing a further attack, but they saw myra stetson, whose father kept a grocery, and it was in the doorway adjoining the store that the corner house girls had taken refuge. "what is the matter?" asked myra, when she saw who it was. "i heard the door blow open and i came down to shut it." the stetson family lived up over the grocery, where there were two flats. "what has happened?" went on the grocer's daughter. she was rather more friendly with agnes than with ruth, but knew both sisters, and, indeed, ruth was planning to have myra on one of the civic betterment committees. there had been some little differences of opinion between myra and agnes, but these had been smoothed out and the girls were now good friends. "we've been robbed! at least ruth has!" exclaimed agnes. "a ruffian took our jewelry box!" "you don't mean it!" cried myra. "i only wish i didn't," said ruth brokenly. "oh, my lovely rings!" "and my pins!" added agnes. "tell me about it," begged myra, and, rather breathlessly, the corner house girls told the story of the assault of the two burly men in the doorway. "they ran off down the street with the box of jewelry we were taking to the bank," explained ruth. "then you'd better tell the police at once," advised myra. "come on up into our flat and you can telephone from there. mr. buckley is a special officer and he has a telephone. father will send for him. do come up!" "yes, i think we had better," agreed ruth. "and we must notify mr. howbridge. that is, if he hasn't left his office." "if he has we can get him at our house," said agnes. "we were just going to start on a houseboat trip when this terrible thing happened," she explained to myra. "isn't it too bad!" said the grocer's daughter. "but do come upstairs. did you say the man came out of our hallway?" "yes," answered ruth. "we stepped into the doorway to be out of the rain for a moment and to raise the umbrella, the catch of which had been caught in some way, when they both rushed past us, one of them grabbing the box from under my arm." "and one gave me a shove," added agnes. "that's the most amazing thing i ever heard of!" declared myra. "those men must have been hiding in there waiting for you." "but how did they know we were coming?" asked ruth. "we didn't think of going to the bank with the jewelry ourselves until a few minutes ago. those men couldn't have known about it." "then it's very strange," said myra. "i must tell father about it. there may be more of them hiding upstairs." "do you mean in your house?" asked agnes, for they were now ascending the stairs, the refractory umbrella having at last been subdued and turned right side out. "i mean in the vacant flat above ours," went on myra. "it's to let, you know, and two men were in to look at it yesterday. they said they were from the klondike." "from the klondike!" exclaimed ruth, and she and agnes exchanged significant glances. "yes. that's in alaska where they dig gold, you know," explained myra. "i didn't see the men. father said they came to look at the flat, and one of them remarked they had just come back from the gold regions. they didn't rent it though, as far as i know." "isn't that strange?" said agnes slowly. "very," agreed ruth, and, by a look, she warned her sister not to say any more just then. they were ushered into the stetson living apartment over the store and mr. and mrs. stetson were soon listening to the story. "the idea of any men daring to use our hallway to commit a robbery!" cried mrs. stetson. "father, you'd better see if any more of the villains are hiding. i'm sure i'll not sleep a wink this night." "i'll take a look," said the grocer. "that hall door often blows open, though. the lock needs fixing. it would be easy for any one to slip into the lower hall from the street and wait there." "that's what they probably did," said agnes. "and it was just by accident that we went up to the doorway to raise the umbrella. the men must have seen us, and, though they couldn't have known what was in the box, they took it anyhow. oh, it's too bad! our trip is spoiled now!" and she was on the verge of tears. "don't worry, my dear," advised mrs. stetson. "we'll get the police after them. father, you must telephone at once. and you must have a look in those vacant rooms upstairs." "i will," promised the grocer, and then began a period of activity. a clerk and a porter from the grocery downstairs made a careful examination of the upper premises, but, of course, discovered no more thieves. and, naturally, there were no traces of the men who had robbed ruth and agnes. the telephone soon put the police authorities of milton in possession of the facts, and special officer buckley, was soon "on the job," as he expressed it. he came, a burly figure in rubber boots and a glistening rubber coat, to the stetson apartment, there to hear the story first-hand from ruth and agnes. with him also came jimmy dale, a reporter from the milton _morning post_. jimmy had been at the police headquarters when word of the robbery was telephoned in, and he, too, "got on the job." all the description ruth and agnes could give of the men was that they were rough and burly and not very well dressed. but it had all taken place so quickly and in such obscurity amid the mist of the rain that it was difficult for either girl to be accurate. then as much as was possible was done. several other special officers were notified of the occurrence, and the regular police force of milton, no very large aggregation, was instructed to "pick up" any suspicious characters about town. mr. stetson confirmed the statement made by myra that two men who claimed to have recently returned from the klondike had been to look at the vacant flat the day before. in appearance they were rather rough, the grocer said, though he would not call them tramps by any means. there might be a possible connection between the two, it was agreed. mr. howbridge was notified by telephone, and called in his automobile for the two girls, who, after some tea, felt a little more composed. "but, oh my lovely jewelry!" exclaimed agnes. "it's gone!" "and mine," added ruth. "there were some things of dot's and tessie's in the box, too, and mother's wedding ring," and ruth sighed. "the police may recover it," said the lawyer. "i am glad neither of you was harmed," and his gaze rested anxiously on his wards. "no, they barely touched me," said the older girl. "one of them just grabbed the box and ran." "the other one gave me a shove," declared agnes. "if i had known what he was up to he wouldn't have got away so easily. i haven't been playing basket ball for nothing!" she boasted. "well, i think there is nothing more to be done," said their guardian. "while there is no great rush, i think the sooner we get started on our houseboat trip the better. so if you'll come with me, i'll take you home, we can gather up the last of the baggage and make a quick trip to the _bluebird_. i have the side curtains up and the rain is stopping, i think." "oh, are we going on the trip--_now_--after the robbery?" asked ruth doubtfully. "yes. why not?" inquired the lawyer, with a smile. "you can do nothing by staying here, and if the men should be arrested i can arrange to bring you back to identify them. i know how bad you feel, but the trip will be the best thing in the world for you, for it will take your mind from your loss." "yes, ruth, it will!" agreed agnes, for she saw that her sister was much affected. "well, we'll go back home, anyhow," assented ruth. and after they had thanked the stetson's for their hospitality the two sisters left in charge of mr. howbridge. as he had said, the rain was stopping, and when they reached the corner house the sun was out again, glistening on the green leaves of the trees. "it's a good omen," declared agnes. of course there was consternation at the corner house when the story of the robbery was told. but even aunt sarah maltby agreed with mr. howbridge that it would do ruth and agnes good to make the houseboat trip. accordingly, after the two robbed ones had calmed down a little more, the last belongings were gathered together, dot and tess, who had considerably mussed their clothes playing tag around the furniture, were straightened out, good-bys were said over and over again, and then, in mr. howbridge's automobile, the little party started for the _bluebird_. "where's neale?" asked agnes, as they neared the canal. "he'll meet us at the boat," said the lawyer. "i just received a letter from his uncle, the circus man, which contains a little information about the boy's father." "has he really returned from the klondike?" asked ruth. "i believe he has. but whether he has money or is as poor as when he started off to seek his fortune, i don't know. time will tell. but i am glad the sun is out. it would have been rather gloomy to start in the rain." "if it had not rained those men never would have gotten our jewel box!" declared agnes. "it was only because we were confused by the umbrella in the hard shower that they dared take it." "don't think about it!" advised mr. howbridge. they reached the _bluebird_, to find neale waiting for them with smiling face. "i only wish we could start under gasoline instead of mule power!" he cried gayly. "time enough for that!" said mr. howbridge, with a smile. "is hank on hand?" "he's bringing out the hee-haws now," said neale, pointing down the towpath, while dot and tess laughed at his descriptive name for the mules. the driver was leading them from the stable where they had taken shelter from the downpour, and they were soon hitched to the long towing rope. "it 'minds me of the time i came from scotland," murmured mrs. maccall as she went up the "bridge," as the gangplank of a canal boat is sometimes called. "all aboard!" cried neale, and they took their places on the _bluebird_. mr. howbridge had arranged for one of his men to come and drive back the automobile, and there was nothing further to be looked after. "shall i start?" called hank, from his station near the mules, after he had helped neale haul up the gangplank which had connected the houseboat with the towpath. "give 'em gas!" shouted the boy through his hands held in trumpet fashion. the animals leaned forward in their collars, the rope tauted, pulling with a swishing sound up from the water into which it had dropped. the _bluebird_ began slowly to move, and at last they were on their way. ruth, agnes and the others remained on deck for a while, and then the older folk, including neale, went below to get things "shipshape and bristol fashion." dot and tess remained on deck under the awning. "don't fall overboard!" cautioned mrs. maccall to the small sisters. "we won't!" they promised. it was about ten minutes later, during which time the _bluebird_ was progressing slowly through the quiet waters of the canal, that agnes heard shouts on deck. "hark!" she exclaimed, for they were all moving about, getting matters to rights in the cabins. "what is it?" asked ruth. "i thought i heard tess calling," went on agnes. there was no mistake about it. down the stairway that led from the upper deck to the cabin came the cry of: "oh, come here! come here quick! one of the mules is acting awful funny! i think he's trying to kick mr. hank into the canal!" chapter x a stowaway ruth dropped some of the garments she was unpacking from her trunk. agnes came from the dining room, where she was setting the table for the first meal on the craft. neale and mr. howbridge ran from the motor compartment in the lower hold of the boat. mrs. maccall raised her hands and began to murmur in her broadest scotch so that no one knew what she was saying. and from the upper deck of the boat, where they had been left sitting on camp stools under the green striped awning, came the chorused cries of tess and dot: "oh, come on up! come on up!" "something must have happened!" exclaimed ruth. "but the girls are all right, thank goodness!" added agnes. together all four of them, with mrs. maccall bringing up the rear, ascended to the upper deck. there they saw dot and tess pointing down the towpath. hank dayton was, indeed, having trouble with the mules. and tess had not exaggerated when she said that one of the animals was trying to kick the driver into the canal. "oh! oh!" screamed ruth and agnes, as the flying heels barely missed the man's head. "i'll go and give him a hand!" exclaimed neale, and before any one knew what his intention was he ran down the stairs, out to the lower forward deck of the craft, and leaped across the intervening water to the towpath, an easy feat for a lad as agile as neale o'neil. "what's the matter, hank?" those on the _bluebird_ could hear neale ask the driver. "oh, arabella is feeling rather frisky, i guess," was the answer. "she hasn't had much work to do lately, and she's showing off!" arabella was the name of one of the mules. neale, born in a circus, knew a good deal about animals, and it did not take him and hank dayton long to subdue the fractious arabella. after she had kicked up her heels a few more times, just to show her contempt for the authority of the whiffle-tree and the traces, she quieted down. the other mule, a more sedate animal, looked at his companion in what might have been disgust mingled with distrust. "are they all right now?" asked ruth, as neale leaped aboard the boat again. "oh, yes. hank can manage 'em all right. he just had to let arabella have her kick out. she's all right now. isn't this fun, though?" and neale breathed in deeply of the fresh air. "oh, neale, it's glorious!" and agnes' eyes sparkled. the day had turned out a lovely one after the hard shower, and everything was fresh and green. they had reached the outskirts of milton by this time, and were approaching the open country through which the canal meandered before joining the river. on either side of the towpath were farms and gardens, with a house set here and there amid the green fields or orchards. now and then other boats were passed. at such times one of the craft would have to slow up to let the tow-rope sink into the canal, so the other boat might pass over it. the mules hee-hawed to each other as they met, and hank exchanged salutations with the other drivers. "i think it's just the loveliest way to spend a vacation that ever could be thought of," said agnes to mr. howbridge. "i hope you all like it," he remarked. "oh, yes, it's going to be perfect," said the older kenway girl. "if only--" "you are thinking of your jewelry," interrupted her guardian. "please don't! it will be recovered by the police." "i don't believe so," said ruth. "i don't care so much about our things. we can buy more. but mother's wedding ring can never be replaced nor, i fear, found. i believe those klondikers will dispose of it in some way. they'll never be caught." "klondikers!" cried neale, coming into the main cabin just then. "did you say klondikers?" and it was plain to be seen that he was thinking of his father. "yes. there is a suspicion that the men who robbed ruth were two men who the day before looked at the stetson flat," explained agnes. "they said they were klondike miners." "klondike miners!" murmured neale. "i wonder if they knew my father or if he knew them. i don't mean the robbers," he added quickly. "i mean the men who came to rent the flat. i wish i had a chance to speak to them." "so do i," said mr. howbridge. "i have hardly yet had a chance to tell you, neale, but i have a letter from your uncle bill." "does he know about father?" asked the boy quickly. "no. this letter was written before he received mine asking for your father's last known address. but it may be possible for you to meet your uncle during this trip." "how?" asked neale. "he tells me in his letter the names of the places where the circus will show in the next month. and one place is not far from a town we pass on the canal." "then i'm going to see him!" cried neale joyfully. "i'll be glad to meet him again. he may know something of my father. i wonder if they have any new animals since last summer. they ought to have a pony to take scalawag's place. "he didn't say," remarked the lawyer. "but i thought you'd be glad to know that your uncle was in this vicinity." "i am," said the boy. "this trip is going to be better than i thought. now, if he only has word of my father!" "we'll find him, sooner or later," declared the guardian of the corner house girls. "but now, since the mules seem to be doing their duty, suppose we take account of stock and see if we need anything. if we do, we ought to stop and get it at one of the places through which we pass, because we may tie up at night near some small village where they don't keep hair pins and--er--whatever else you young ladies need," and he smiled quizzically at ruth. "thank you! we brought all the hairpins we need!" agnes informed him. "and i think we have enough to eat," added ruth. "at least mrs. mac is busy in the kitchen, and something smells mighty good." indeed appetizing odors were permeating the interior of the _bluebird_, and a little later the company were sitting down to a most delightful meal. dot and tess could hardly be induced to come down off the upper deck long enough to eat, so fascinated were they with the things they saw along the canal. "isn't hank going to eat, and the mules, too?" asked dot, as she finished and took her "alice-doll" up, ready to resume her station under the awning. "oh, yes. mrs. maccall will see that he gets what he needs, and hank, as you call him, will feed the mules," said mr. howbridge. "do you think we ought to call him hank?" asked tess. "it seems so familiar." "he's used to it," answered neale. "everybody along the canal calls him that. he's been a driver for years, before he went to traveling around, and met men who knew my father." "hum! that just reminds me," said the lawyer musingly, as dot and tess hurried from the table. "perhaps i ought to question hank about the two klondikers who inquired about the stetson flat. he may know of them. well, it will do to-night after we have tied up." "where is hank going to sleep?" asked ruth, who, filling the rôle of housekeeper, thought she must carry out her duties even on the _bluebird_. "he will sleep on the upper deck. i have a cot for him," said the lawyer. "the mules will be tethered on the towpath. it is warm now, and they won't need shelter. they are even used to being out in the rain." the afternoon was drawing to a close, matters aboard the houseboat had been arranged to satisfy even the critical taste of ruth, and mrs. maccall was beginning to put her mind on the preparation of supper when dot, who had come below to get a new dress for her "alice-doll," ran from the storeroom where the trunks and valises had been put. "oh! oh, ruth!" gasped the little girl. "somebody's in there!" "in where?" asked ruth, who was writing a letter at the living-room table. "in there!" and dot pointed toward the storeroom, which was at the stern of the boat under the stairs that led up on deck. "some one in there?" repeated ruth. "well, that's very possible. mrs. mac may be there, or neale or--" "no, it isn't any of them!" insisted dot. "i saw everybody that belongs to us. it's somebody else! he's in the storeroom, and he sneezed and made a noise like a goat." "you ridiculous child! what do you mean?" exclaimed agnes, who was just passing through the room and heard what dot said. "you probably heard one of hank's mules hee-hawing," said ruth, getting up from her chair. "mules don't sneeze!" declared dot with conviction. ruth had to admit the truth of this. "you come and see!" urged dot, and, clasping her sister's hand, she led her into the storeroom, agnes following. "what's up?" asked mr. howbridge, coming along just then. "oh, dot imagines she heard some unusual noise," explained ruth. "i did hear it!" insisted the younger girl. "it was a sneeze and a bleat like a goat and it smells like a goat, too. smell it!" she cried, vigorously sniffing the air as she paused on the threshold of the storeroom. "don't you smell it?" just then the silence was shattered by a vigorous sneeze, followed by the unmistakable bleating of a goat, and out of a closet came fairly tumbling--a stowaway! chapter xi overboard "there! what did i tell you!" cried dot, pointing a finger at the strange sight. "i heard a noise, and then it was a sneeze and then it was a bleat and then i _smelled_ a goat. i knew it was a goat, and it is, and it's sammy pinkney, too!" and, surely enough, it was. tousled and disheveled, dirty and with his clothes awry, there stood the urchin who was, it seemed, continually getting into mischief at or around the corner house. but if sammy was mussed up because of having been hidden in a small closet, the goat did not appear to be any the worse for his misadventure. billy bumps was as fresh as a daisy, and suddenly he lowered his head and made a dive for mr. howbridge. "oh!" cried ruth. "look out!" "hold him!" yelled agnes. neale, who had joined the wondering throng now gazing at the stowaway, caught the goat by the animal's collar just in time, and held him back from butting the lawyer. "he--he's just a little excited like," sammy explained. "well, i should think he would be!" declared ruth, taking command of the situation, as she often had to do where sammy was concerned. "and now what do you mean, hiding yourself and billy bumps on the boat?" she demanded. "why did you do it? and why, above all things, bring the goat?" "'cause i knew you wouldn't let me come any other way," sammy answered. "i wanted to go houseboating awful bad, but i didn't think you'd take me and billy. so this morning, when you was packing up, me and him came down here and we got on board. i hid us in a closet, and we was going to stay there until night and then maybe you'd be so far away you couldn't send us back. but something tickled my nose and i sneezed, and i guess billy thought i was sneezing at him, for he bleated and then he butted his head against the door and it came open and--and--" but sammy really had to stop--he was out of breath. "well, of all things!" cried agnes. "it is rather remarkable," agreed mr. howbridge. "i don't know that i ever before had to deal with a stowaway. the question that's puzzling me is, what shall we do with him?" "can't me and billy stay?" asked sammy, catching drift of an objection to his presence on board. "of course not!" voiced ruth. "what would your mother and father say?" "oh, they wouldn't care," sammy said, easily enough and brightening visibly at the question. "they let me stay when i went with you on our auto tour." "they surely did," remarked agnes dryly. "and billy's strong, too!" went on sammy eagerly. "if one of the mules got sick he could help pull the boat." "the idea!" exclaimed agnes. "oh, hello, sammy!" called tess, who had just heard of the discovery of the stowaway. "hello," sammy returned. "i'm here!" they all laughed. "well," said mr. howbridge at length, as the houseboat was slowly pulled along the canal by the mules driven by hank, "we must get sammy home somehow, though how is puzzling me." "oh, please can't i stay?" begged the boy. "you can send billy home, of course. i don't know why i brought him. but let me stay. i'm going to be a canal mule driver when i grow up, and i could begin now if you wanted me to." "aren't you going to be a pirate?" asked agnes, for such had been sammy's desire for years. "yes, of course. but i'm going to be a canal mule driver first." "it's out of the question," said ruth firmly. "it was very wrong of you to hide away on board, sammy. very wrong indeed! and it is going to be a great bother for us to send you and billy bumps back home, as we must do. twice for the same trick is too often." "aw, say, ruthie, you might turn billy bumps loose here on the bank and let me stay," pleaded sammy. "billy can take care of himself well enough." "sammy pinkney!" exclaimed tess, her eyes blazing. "turn our goat loose just because you brought him along when you know you had no business to do that! sammy pinkney, you are the very worst boy i ever heard of!" sammy looked rather frightened for the first time since being found on the boat, for, after all, he had an immense respect for the usually gentle tess, and cared more for her good opinion than he did for that of her elders. "i didn't mean to be bad," he whined. "i wanted to go along, that's all." "but you wasn't asked," tess insisted, pouting. "but i wasn't asked on that auto tour," went on sammy hopefully. "well, that was--was different," stammered tess. "anyway, you had no right to talk about turning our goat loose. why, somebody might steal him!" "what shall we do?" ruth appealed to mr. howbridge. "can a boat turn around in the canal?" "not wide enough here," volunteered neale, looking from a window. "but we can when we get to the big waters, about five miles farther along." "it will not be necessary to turn about and go back," said the lawyer. "i'll have to make arrangements for some one either to take charge of our stowaway at the next large town, and keep him there until his father can come for him, or else i may see some one going back to milton by whom we can return our interesting specimens," and he included boy and goat in his glances. "well, i was afraid you'd send us back," said sammy with a sigh. "but could i stay to supper?" he asked, as he sniffed the appetizing odors that now seemed more completely to fill the interior of the _bluebird_. "of course you may stay to supper, sammy," conceded ruth. "and then we'll see what's to be done. oh, what a boy you are!" and she had to laugh, though she did not want to. "i was hoping sammy could come," murmured dot, as she hugged her "alice-doll." "and billy bumps is fun," added tess. "we have no room here for goats, whether they are funny or not," declared agnes. "take him out in front, on the lower deck, sammy. tie him there, and then wash yourself for supper. i should think you would have smothered in that closet." "i did, almost," confessed the boy. "and billy didn't like it, either. but we wanted to come." "too bad--young ambition nipped in the bud," murmured mr. howbridge. "take billy outside, sammy." the goat was rather frisky, and it required neale and sammy to tie him to the forward rail on the lower deck. then mrs. maccall, in the kindness of her scotch heart, sent the "beastie," as she called him, some odds and ends of food, including beet tops from the kitchen, and billy, at least, was happy. "low bridge!" suddenly came the call from hank, up ahead with the two mules. "what's he saying?" asked ruth to mr. howbridge. "he's giving warning that we are approaching a low bridge, and that if we stay on deck and hold our heads too high we may get bumped. yes, there's the bridge just ahead. i wonder if we can pass beneath it. our houseboat is higher than a canal boat." the stream curved then, and gave a view of a white bridge spanning it. hank had had the first glimpse of it. it was necessary for the occupants of the upper deck either to desert it, or to crouch down below the railing, and they did the former. there was just room for the _bluebird_ to squeeze through under the bridge, and beyond it lay a good-sized town. "i think i can get some one there to take sammy home, together with billy bumps," said mr. howbridge. "we'll try after supper, and then we must see about tying up for the night." the houseboat attracted considerable attention as it was slowly drawn along the canal, which passed through the middle of the town. a stop was made while mr. howbridge instituted inquiries as to the possibility of sending sammy back to milton, and arrangements were made with a farmer who agreed to hitch up after supper and deliver the goat and the boy where they belonged. "well, anyhow, i'm glad i'm going to stay to supper," said sammy, extracting what joy he could from the situation that had turned against him. the _bluebird_ came to rest at a pleasant place in the canal just outside the town, and there supper was served by mrs. maccall. a bountiful one it was, too, and after hank had had his, apart from the others, he confided to neale, as he went back to the mules: "she's the beatenist cook i ever see!" "good, you mean?" asked neale, smiling. "the best ever! i haven't eaten victuals like 'em since i had a home and a mother, and that's years and years back. i'm glad i struck this job." in the early evening the farmer came for sammy and the goat, a small crate, that once had held a sheep, being put in the back of the wagon for billy's accommodation. "well, maybe you'll take me next time, when i've growed bigger," suggested the boy, as he waved rather a sad farewell to his friends. "maybe," said ruth, but under her breath she added: "not if i know it." "good-by, sammy!" called dot. but tess, still indignant over sammy's suggestion to turn the goat--her goat--loose to shift for himself, called merely: "good-by, billy bumps!" mr. howbridge went into the town and telephoned to milton to let sammy's father know the boy was safe and on his way back, and then matters became rather more quiet aboard the _bluebird_. the houseboat was towed to a good place in which to spend the night. lines were carried ashore and the craft moored to trees along the towpath. the mules were given their suppers and tethered, and hank announced that he was going to do some fishing before he "turned in." "oh, could i fish, too?" cried dot. "and me! i want to!" added tess. "i think they might be allowed to," said mr. howbridge. "there are really good fish in the canal, coming from lake macopic, and we could cook them for breakfast. they'd keep all right in the ice box--if any are caught." "oh, i'll catch some!" declared hank. "i've fished in the canal before." "oh, please let us!" begged the small girls. "but you have no poles, lines or anything," objected ruth. "i've got lines and hooks, and i can easy cut some poles," offered hank, and so it was arranged. a little later, while ruth, agnes and mrs. maccall were busy with such housework as was necessary aboard the _bluebird_, and while neale and mr. howbridge were getting hank's cot in readiness on the deck, the mule driver and dot and tess sat on the stern of the craft with their lines in the water. it was a still, quiet evening, restful and peaceful, and as hank had told the girls that fish liked quietness, no one of the trio was speaking above a whisper. "have you got a bite?" suddenly asked tess in a low voice of her sister. "no, not yet. i'm going to set my alice-doll up where she can watch me. she never saw anybody catch a fish--my alice-doll didn't." and dot propped her "child" up near her, on the deck of the craft. suddenly hank pulled his pole up sharply. "i got one!" he exclaimed. "oh, i wish i'd get one!" echoed tess. "let me see!" fairly shouted dot. "let me see the fish, hank!" she struggled to her feet, and the next moment a wild cry rang out. "she's fallen in! oh, she's fallen in! oh, get her out!" chapter xii neale wonders dot's startled cries roused all on board the _bluebird_. neale and mr. howbridge dropped the cot they were setting in place under the awning, and rushed to the railing of the deck. inside the boat ruth, agnes and mrs. maccall hurried to windows where they could look out toward the stern where the fishing party had seated themselves. "man overboard!" sang out neale, hardly thinking what he was doing. but, to the surprise of all the startled ones, they saw at the stern of the boat, hank, dot and tess, and from hank's line was dangling a wiggling fish. but dot was pointing to something in the water. "why!" exclaimed ruth, "no one has fallen in. what can the child mean?" "she said--" began agnes, but she was interrupted by dot who exclaimed: "it's my alice-doll! she fell in when i got up to look at hank's fish! oh, somebody please get my alice-doll!" "i will in jest a minute now, little lady!" cried the mule driver. "it's bad luck to let your first fish git away. jest a minute now, and i'll save your alice-doll!" neale and mr. howbridge hurried down to the lower deck from the top one in time to see hank take his fish from the hook and toss it into a pail of water the mule driver had placed near by for just this purpose. then as hank took off his coat and seemed about to plunge overboard into the canal, to rescue the doll, ruth said: "don't let him, mr. howbridge. dot's doll isn't worth having him risk his life for." "risking my life, miss kenway! it wouldn't be that," said hank, with a laugh. "i can swim, and i'd just like a bath." "here's a boat hook," said neale, offering one, and while dot and tess clung to one another hank managed to fish up the "alice-doll," dot's special prize, which was, fortunately, floating alongside the houseboat. [illustration: while dot and tess clung to one another, hank managed to fish up the "alice-doll."] "there you are, little lady!" exclaimed the driver, and he began to squeeze some of the water from alice. "oh, please don't!" begged dot. "don't what?" asked hank. "please don't choke her that way. all her sawdust might come out. it did once. i'll just hang her up to dry. poor alice-doll!" murmured the little girl, as she clasped her toy in her arms. "were you almost drowned?" and she cuddled her doll still closer in her arms. "don't hold her so close to you, dot," cautioned ruth. "she'll get you soaking wet." "i don't care!" muttered dot. "i've got to put dry clothes on her so she won't catch cold." "and that's just what i don't want to have to do for you--change your clothes again to-day," went on ruth. "you can love your doll even if you don't hold her so close." "well, anyhow i'm glad she didn't drown," said dot. "so'm i," remarked tess. "i'll go and help you change her. i'm glad we didn't bring almira and her kittens along, for they look so terrible when they're wet--cats do." "and i'm glad we didn't have sammy and billy bumps here to fall in!" laughed agnes. "goats are even worse in the water than cats." "well, aren't you going to help me fish any more?" asked hank, as the two little girls walked away, deserting their poles and lines. "i have to take care of my alice-doll," declared dot. "and i have to help her," said tess. "i'll take a hand at fishing, if you don't mind," said neale. "and i wouldn't mind trying myself," added the lawyer. and when hank's sleeping quarters had been arranged the three men, though perhaps neale could hardly be called that, sat together at the stern of the boat, their lines in the water. "mr. howbridge is almost like a boy himself on this trip, isn't he?" said agnes to ruth as the two sisters helped mrs. maccall make up the berths for the night. "yes, he is, and i'm glad of it. i wouldn't know what to do if some grave, tiresome old man had charge of our affairs." "well now, who is going to have first luck?" questioned mr. howbridge, jokingly, as the three sat down to try their hands at fishing. "i guess the luck will go to the first one who gets a catch," returned neale. "luck goes to the one who gits the biggest fish," put in the mule driver. after that there was silence for a few minutes. then the lawyer gave a cry of satisfaction. "got a bite?" questioned hank. "i have and he's a beauty," was the reply, and mr. howbridge drew up a fair-sized fish. a minute later neale found something on his hook. it was so large he had to play his catch. "you win!" cried the lawyer, when the fish was brought on board. and he was right, for it was the largest catch made by any of them. the fishing party had good luck, and a large enough supply was caught for a meal the next day. hank cleaned them and put them in the ice box, for a refrigerator was among the fittings on the _bluebird_. then, as night came on, dot and tess were put to bed, dot insisting on having her "alice-doll" placed near her bunk to dry. hank retired to his secluded cot on the upper deck, the mules had been tethered in a sheltered grove of trees just off the towpath, and everything was made snug for the night. "how do you like the trip so far?" asked mr. howbridge of ruth and agnes, as he sat in the main cabin, talking with them and neale. "it's just perfect!" exclaimed agnes. "and i know we're going to like it more and more each day." "yes, it is a most novel way of spending the summer vacation," agreed ruth, but there was little animation in her voice. "are you still mourning the loss of your jewelry?" asked the lawyer, noting her rather serious face. ruth nodded. "mother's wedding ring was in that box," she said softly. "you must not let it spoil your trip," her guardian continued. "i think there is a good chance of getting it back." "do you mean you think the police will catch those rough men who robbed us?" asked ruth. "yes," answered the lawyer. "i told them they must spare no effort to locate the ruffians, and they have sent an alarm to all the neighboring towns and cities. men of that type will not find it easy to dispose of the rings and pins, and they may have to carry them around with them for some time. i really believe you will get back your things." "oh, i hope so!" exclaimed ruth. "it has been an awful shock." "i would rather they had taken a much larger amount of jewelry than have harmed either you or agnes," went on the guardian. "they were ruffians of the worst type, and would not have stopped at injuring a person to get what they wanted. but don't worry, we shall hear good news from the police, i am sure." "i believe that, too," put in neale. "i wish i was as sure of hearing good news of my father." "that is going to be a little harder problem," said mr. howbridge. "however, we are doing all we can. i am hoping your uncle bill will have had definite news of your father and of where he has settled since he came back from the klondike. your father would be most likely to communicate with your uncle first." "i suppose so," agreed neale. "but when shall we see uncle bill?" "as i told you," went on the lawyer, "his circus will soon show at a town near which we shall pass in the boat. the younger children will probably want to go to the circus, and that will give me a good excuse for attending myself," the lawyer went on with a laugh, in which ruth joined. the night passed quietly, though about twelve o'clock another boat came along and had to pass the _bluebird_. as there is but one towpath along a canal, it is necessary when two boats meet, or when one passes the other, for the tow-line of one to go under or over the tow-line of the second boat. as the _bluebird_ was tied to the shore it was needful, in this case, for the tow-line of the passing boat to be lifted up over it, and when this was being done it awakened ruth and agnes. at first the girls were startled, but they settled back when the nature of the disturbance was known. dot half awakened and murmured something about some one trying to take her "alice-doll," but ruth soon quieted her. neale was awake early the next morning, and went on the upper deck for a breath of air before breakfast. he saw hank emerge from the curtained-off place that had been arranged for the sleeping quarters of the mule driver. "well, do we start soon?" asked hank, yawning and stretching. "i think so," neale answered, and then he saw hank make a sudden dart for something that had evidently slipped from a hole in his pocket. it was something that rolled across the deck, something round, and shining like gold. the mule driver made a dive for the object and caught it before it could roll off the deck, and neale had a chance to see that it was a gold ring. without a word hank picked it up and put it back in his pocket. then, without a glance at the boy, he turned aside, and, making his way to the towpath, he began carrying the mules their morning feed. neale stood staring after him, and at the memory of the ring he became possessed of strange thoughts and wonderings. chapter xiii the trick mule neale o'neil was wiser than most boys of his age. perhaps having once lived in a circus had something to do with it. at any rate, among the things he had learned was to think first and speak afterward. and he decided to put this into practice now. he was doing a deal of thinking about the ring he had seen roll over the deck to be so quickly, almost secretively, picked up by hank dayton. but of it neale said nothing to the mule driver nor to those aboard the _bluebird_. walking about on the upper deck and looking down the towpath toward hank, who was bringing the mules from their sylvan stable to feed them, neale heard ruth call: "how's the weather up there?" "glorious!" cried the boy. "it's going to be a dandy day." "that's great!" exclaimed ruth. "come on, children!" she called. "everybody up! the mules are up and we must be up too," she went on, paraphrasing a little verse in the school reader. "did any of the mules fall into the canal?" asked dot, as she made haste to look at her "alice-doll," who had dried satisfactorily during the night. "'course not! why should a mule fall into the canal?" asked tess. "well, they might. my doll did," went on the smallest corner house girl. "but, anyhow, i'm glad they didn't." "yes, so am i," remarked mr. howbridge, as they all gathered around the breakfast table, which mrs. maccall had set, singing the while some scotch song containing many new and strange words. "well, shall we travel on?" asked the lawyer, when the meal was over and hank was hitching the mules to the tow-rope, the animals and their driver having had a satisfying meal. "oh, yes, let's go on!" urged agnes. "i'm crazy to go through one of the locks." "will there be any trouble about getting the houseboat through?" asked ruth of her guardian. "she is a pretty big craft!" "but not as long as many of the canal boats, though a trifle wider, or 'of more beam,' as a sailor would say," he remarked. "no, the locks are large enough to let us through. but tell me, do you find this method of travel too slow?" he went on. "i know you young folks like rapid motion, and this may bore you," and he glanced quickly at ruth. "oh, not at all," she hastened to say. "i love it. the mules are so calm and peaceful." just then one of the animals let out a terrific hee-haw and agnes, covering her ears with her hands, laughed at her sister. "that's just as good as a honk-honk horn on an auto!" exclaimed tess. "calm and peaceful!" tittered agnes. "how do you like that, ruth?" "i don't mind it at all," was the calm answer. "it blends in well with the environment, and it's much better than the shriek of a locomotive whistle." "bravo, minerva!" cried mr. howbridge. "you should have been a lawyer. i shall call you portia for a change." "don't, please!" she begged. "you have enough nicknames for me now." "very well then, we'll stick to the old ones. and, meanwhile, if you are all ready i'll give the word to hank to start his mules. there is no hurry on this trip, as the man to whom i am to deliver this boat has no special need for it. but we may as well travel on." "i'll be glad when i can start the gasoline motor," remarked neale. "which will be as soon as we get off the canal and into the river," said the lawyer. "i'd use the motor now, only the canal company won't permit it on account of the wash of the propeller tearing away the banks." the tow-line tauted as the mules leaned forward in their collars, and once more the _bluebird_ was under way. life aboard the houseboat was simple and easy, as it was intended to be. there was little housework to do, and it was soon over, and all that remained was to sit on deck and watch the ever-changing scenery. the changes were not too rapid, either, for a boat towed on a canal does not progress very fast. "it's like a moving picture, isn't it?" remarked agnes. "it puts me in mind of some scenes in foreign countries--rural scenes, i mean." "only the moving pictures move so much faster," returned ruth, with a smile. "they show you hundreds of miles in a few minutes." "gracious, i wouldn't want to ride as fast as that," exclaimed tess. "we'd fall off or blow away sure!" it just suited the corner house girls, though, and neale extracted full enjoyment from it, though, truth to tell, he was rather worried in his mind. one matter was the finding of his father, and the other was a suspicion concerning hank and the ring. this was a suspicion which, as yet, neale hardly admitted to himself very plainly. he wanted to watch the mule driver for a time yet. "it may not have been one of ruth's rings, to begin with," reasoned neale. "and, if it is, i don't believe hank had anything to do with taking it, though he may know who did. i've got to keep on the watch!" his meditations were interrupted, as he sat on the deck of the boat, by hearing hank cry: "lock! lock!" that meant the boat was approaching one of the devices by which canal craft are taken over hills. a canal is, of course, a stream on a level. it does not run like a river. in fact, it is just like a big ditch. but as a canal winds over the country it comes to hills, and to get up or down these, two methods are employed. one is what is called an inclined plane. the canal comes to the foot of a hill and stops. there a sort of big cradle is let down into the water, the boat is floated into the cradle, and then boat, cradle and all are pulled up over the hill on a sort of railroad track, a turbine water wheel usually furnishing the power. once over the brow of the hill the cradle and boat slide down into the water again and the journey is resumed. the other means of getting a canal boat over a hill is by means of a lock. when the waterway is stopped in its level progress by reaching a hill, a square place is excavated and lined with rocks so as to form a water-tight basin, the open end being closed by big, wooden gates. the _bluebird_ was now approaching one of these locks, where it was to be raised from a low to a higher level. while hank managed the mules, neale steered the boat into the stone-lined basin. then the big gates were closed behind the craft, and the mules, being unhitched, were sent forward to begin towing again when the boat should have been lifted. "now we can watch!" said dot as she and tess took their places at the railing. going through canal locks was a novelty for them, as there were no locks near milton, though the canal ran through the town. once the _bluebird_ was locked within the small stone-lined basin, water was admitted to it through gates at the other and higher end. these gates kept the body of water on the higher level from pouring into the lower part of the canal. faster and faster the water rushed in as the lock keeper opened more valves in the big gates. the water foamed and hissed all around the boat. "oh, we're going up!" cried dot. "look, we're rising!" "just like in an elevator!" added tess. and, indeed, that is just what it was like. the water lifted the _bluebird_ up higher and higher. as soon as the water had raised it to the upper level, the other gates were opened, and the _bluebird_ moved slowly out of the lock, having been raised about fifteen feet, from a lower to a higher level. going from a higher to a lower is just the reverse of this. sometimes a hill is so high that three sets of locks are necessary to get a boat up or down. once more the mules were hitched to the tow-line, and started off. as the boat left the lock another one came in, which was to be lowered. the children watched this as long as they could, and then turned their attention to new scenes. it was toward the close of the afternoon, during which nothing exciting had happened, except that tess nearly fell overboard while leaning too far across the rail to see something in the water, that neale, looking forward toward the mules and their driver, saw a man leading a lone animal come out of a shanty along the towpath and begin to talk to hank. hank halted his team, and the _bluebird_ slowly came to a stop. mr. howbridge, who was talking to ruth and agnes, looked up from a book of accounts he was going over with them and inquired: "what's the matter?" "oh, hank has met a friend, i imagine," ventured neale. "it's a man with a lone mule." "well, he shouldn't stop just to have a friendly talk," objected the lawyer. "we aren't hiring him for that. give him a call, neale, and see what he means." but before this could be done hank turned, and, making a megaphone of his hands, called: "say, do you folks want to buy a good mule cheap?" "buy a mule," repeated the lawyer, somewhat puzzled. "yes. this man has one to sell, and it might be a good plan for us to have an extra one." "i never thought of that," said the lawyer. "it might be a good plan. let's go up and see about it, neale." "let's all go," proposed agnes. "it will rest us to walk along the towpath." the _bluebird_ was near shore and there was no difficulty in getting to the path. then all save mrs. maccall, who preferred to remain on board, walked up toward the two men and the three mules. the man who had stopped hank was a rough-looking character, but many towpath men were that, and little was thought of it at the time. "do you folks want to buy a good mule?" he asked. "i'll sell him cheap," he went on. "i had a team, but the other died on me." "i'm not much of an authority on mules," said mr. howbridge slowly. "what do you say, neale? would you advise purchasing this animal if he is a bargain?" neale did not answer. he was carefully looking at the mule, which stood near the other two. "where'd you get this mule?" asked neale quickly, looking at the stranger. "oh, i've had him a good while. he's one of a team, but i sold my boat and--" "this mule never towed a boat!" said the boy quickly. "what makes you say that?" demanded the man in an angry voice. "because i know," went on neale. "this is a trick mule, and, unless i'm greatly mistaken, he used to be in my uncle's circus!" chapter xiv at the circus all eyes were turned on neale o'neil as he said this, and it would be difficult to say who was the more astonished. as for the corner house girls, they simply stared at their friend. hank dayton looked surprised, and then he glanced from the mule in question to the man who had offered to dispose of the animal. mr. howbridge looked very much interested. as for the strange tramp--for that is what he was--he seemed very angry. "what do you mean?" he cried. "this mule isn't any trick mule!" "oh, isn't he?" asked neale quietly. "and i suppose he never was in a circus, either?" "of course not!" declared the man. "who are you, anyhow, and what do you mean by talking that way?" "i advise you to be a little more respectful in tone," said mr. howbridge in his suave, lawyer's voice. "if we do any business at all it will be on this boy's recommendation. he knows about mules. i do not. i shall hear what he and hank have to say." "well, it's all foolish saying this mule was in a circus," blustered the man. "i've had him over a year, and i want to sell him now because he hasn't any mate. i can't pull a canal boat with one mule." "especially not a trick mule that never hauled a boat in his life," put in neale. "here! you quit that! what do you mean?" demanded the man in sullen tones. "i mean just what i said," declared neale. "i believe this is a trick mule that used to be in my uncle bill's show--in twomley and sorber's herculean circus and menagerie, to be exact. of course i may be mistaken, but if not i can easily prove what i say." "huh! i'd like to see you do it!" sneered the man. "all right, i will," and neale's manner was confident. "i recognize this mule," he went on to mr. howbridge, "by that mark on his off hind hoof," and he pointed to a bulge on the mule's foot. "but of course that may be on another mule, as well as on the one that was in my uncle's circus. however, if i can make this mule do a trick i taught old josh in the show, that ought to prove what i say, oughtn't it?" "i should think so," agreed the lawyer. "you can't make this mule do any tricks," sneered the tramp. "he's a good mule for pulling canal boats, but he can't do tricks." "oh, can't he?" remarked neale. "well, we'll see. come here, josh!" he suddenly called. the mule moved his big ears forward, as though to make sure of the voice, and then, looking at neale, slowly approached him. "anybody could do that!" exclaimed the man disdainfully. "well, can anybody do this?" asked the boy. "josh--dead mule!" he suddenly cried. and, to the surprise of all, the mule dropped to the towpath, stretched out his legs stiffly and lay on his side with every appearance of having departed this life. "there!" exclaimed neale. "that's the trick i taught him in the show, before i left it." the other mules were sniffing at their prostrate companion. "oh, isn't he funny!" cried dot, as josh opened one eye and looked straight at her. "i'd rather have a mule than billy bumps for a pet!" declared tess. "did you really make him do it, neale?" asked ruth. "yes, and i can do it again!" declared the lad. "up, josh!" he commanded, and the mule scrambled to his feet. "dead mule--josh!" cried neale again, and down the animal went a second time. "well, what have you to say to that?" the boy turned to ask the tramp. but the man did not stay to answer. off he ran, down the towpath, at top speed. "shall i get him?" cried hank, throwing the reins on the back of one of his mules, while josh, in response to a command from neale, stood upright again. "no, let him go," advised mr. howbridge. "it is very evident that he had no legal claim to this mule, and he either took him away from the circus himself, or received him from some one who did. neale, i congratulate you." "thanks. i thought i recognized old uncle josh, but the trick proved it. he hasn't forgotten that or me; have you, old fellow?" he asked as he rubbed the mule's velvety nose. and the animal seemed glad to be near the boy. "pretty slick, i call that," said hank admiringly. "guess you'll have to teach my mules some trick, neale." "it takes too long!" laughed the lad. "is this our mule now?" asked dot, as she approached the new animal, which was quite gentle and allowed the children to pet him. "well, i don't know just who does own him," said mr. howbridge, not wanting to give a legal opinion which might be wrong. "but he certainly does not belong to that man," and he looked after the retreating figure, now far down the towpath. "'cause if he's our mule i'd like to give my alice-doll a ride on his back," went on dot. "i'd like a ride myself!" exclaimed tess. "oh, don't try that!" sighed ruth. "josh wouldn't mind," put in neale. "i used to ride him in the circus. look!" with a spring he reached the mule's back, and then, at the word of command, josh trotted up and down the towpath. "oh, do let me try!" begged tess. "shall i put her on?" neale asked, and, at a nod from ruth, he lifted the little girl up on the mule's back, and the delighted tess was given a ride. "oh, it's ever so much nicer'n scalawag!" she cried as she was lifted down. "try it, dot!" scalawag was the circus pony that neale's uncle had given to tess and dot. "i will if i can hold my alice-doll!" stipulated the youngest kenway. "sure!" assented neale, and the fun was continued. "i wish i dared to do it!" exclaimed agnes, with a look at ruth. but ruth shook her head, and agnes, after a moment's hesitation, yielded to ruth's sense of the fitness of things. "well, the question now arises," said mr. howbridge, "what shall we do with this mule, which seems to have been stolen?" "i say take him along with us," answered hank. "one of our critters might get hurt, and we'd have to lay up if we didn't have an extra one." "i don't believe uncle josh would pull in harness with another mule," said neale. "he has always been a trick mule, and has worked alone. he is quite valuable." "do you suppose your uncle sold him?" asked the lawyer. "i don't believe so," said the boy. "i believe he was stolen, and i know, in that case, that uncle bill would be glad to get him back." "well, then let's take him back," suggested hank. "i can drive him along with my mules for a spell until we come to the place where the circus is playing. he'll drive, i guess, if he won't pull a boat, and he'll be company for my mules." hank was fond of animals, and treated them kindly. "how does that plan appeal to you, minerva?" asked ruth's guardian. "this is your trip, as well as mine. do you want to be bothered with an extra mule?" "oh, i don't see that he would be any bother," she said. "if hank looks after him, we shan't have to. and if it's neale's uncle's mule he ought to be returned." "that settles it," said mr. howbridge. "we'll take the mule with us." "i'm sure uncle bill will be glad to get him back," declared neale. "and i'm pretty sure he never sold him." so it was arranged. once more the _bluebird_ was under way, the two harnessed mules towing her and uncle josh, the trick animal, wandering along at his own sweet will. for a time the corner house girls, with neale and mr. howbridge, walked along the towpath. then they went back to the boat as mrs. maccall, blowing on a horn, announced meal time. the trip along the canal continued in leisurely fashion. now the _bluebird_ would be lifted up at some water-foaming lock, or lowered in the same fashion. twice they were lifted over inclined planes, and the young folks, especially dot and tess, liked this very much. the weather had been all that could be desired ever since they started, except the rain storm in which the girls were robbed. but now, about four days after leaving milton, they awoke one morning to find a disagreeable drizzle. but hank and the mules did not seem to mind it. in fact they rather liked splashing through the rain and mud. of course getting out and strolling along the towpath was out of the question for the voyagers, and they found amusements enough on board the houseboat. it rained all day, but it needed more than this to take the joy out of life for the corner house girls. "fair day to-morrow!" cried neale, and so it proved. they approached a small town early the next day, and as they tied up at a tow-barn station to get some supplies dot cried: "oh, look at the elephant!" "where?" demanded tess. "i mean it's a picture of it on that barn," went on the mother of the "alice-doll," and she pointed. "oh, it's a circus!" exclaimed tess. "look, ruth--agnes!" and there, in many gay posters was the announcement that "twomley & sorber's herculean circus and menagerie" would show that day in pompey, the town they had then reached. "it's uncle bill's show!" cried neale. "maybe i'll hear some news of my father." "and shall we have to give back josh mule?" asked tess, who had taken quite a liking to the animal. "well, we'll see," said mr. howbridge. "but i think we may as well, all of us, go to the circus," he added. and, that afternoon, the trick mule having been left in the towpath barn with hank's animals, almost the whole party, including the driver, went to the circus. only mrs. maccall decided to stay on the houseboat. on the way to the circus the party passed the post-office. ruth remembered that this was a town she had mentioned in a letter to luke shepard and ran in to see if there was any mail. "ruth kenway," said the clerk, in answer to her question, and a moment later passed out a fine, fat letter, addressed in the hand she knew so well. "i'll read it to-night--i haven't time now," she told herself, and blushed happily. "dear luke--i hope everything is going well with him." chapter xv real news at last "oh, look at the toy balloons! look, alice-doll," and dot held her constant companion up in her arms. dot was in a state of great excitement, and kept repeating to tess stories of her experiences of the summer previous when dot, her older sisters and some friends, seated in a box of this very circus, scalawag, the pony, had been publicly presented to the smaller corner house girls--a scene, and a sensation, which is told of in a previous volume of this series and which, alas! tess had missed. "there's pink lemonade!" cried tess. "oh, i want some of that! please, ruth, may i have two glasses?" "not of that pink lemonade, tess," answered the older girl. "it may be colored with hat dye, for all we know. we'll see neale's uncle bill, who will take us to the best place to get something to drink." "just see the fat lady!" went on dot next. "fat lady! where? i don't see any!" exclaimed tess. "do you mean an elephant?" she asked. "no. i mean over there!" and dot pointed to a gayly painted canvas stretched along the front of the tent in which the side shows were showing. "oh, that! only a painting!" and tess showed in her voice the disappointment she felt. "well, the lady is real, and we can go inside and see her; can't we, ruth?" pursued dot. "oh, i just love a circus; don't you, alice?" and she hugged her doll in her arms. "yes, a circus is very nice," was the answer. "but now listen to me," went on ruth. "don't run away and get lost in the crowd." "you couldn't run very far in such a crowd," answered tess. "no, but you could get lost very easily." "oh, see the camels! they are going for a drink, i guess." "well, they have to have water the same as the other animals." "oh, what was that?" cried dot, as a gigantic roar rent the air. "that must have been a lion," answered ruth. "oh, do you think he'll get loose?" exclaimed tess, holding back a little. "i guess not." "it's the same old crowd," remarked neale, as he looked on the familiar scenes about the circus tent, while mr. howbridge walked along with ruth. agnes and neale were together, and dot and tess had hold of hands. hank, after the arrival at the grounds, said he would travel around by himself, as he saw some men he knew. he agreed to be back at the canal boat at five o'clock, after the show. "wait until i get you a ticket," neale said, as the mule driver was about to separate from them. going to the red and gold wagon, neale stepped to the window. the man inside was busy selling tickets and tossing the money taken in to an assistant, who sorted and counted it. "how many?" asked the man in the ticket wagon, hardly looking up. "seven--two of 'em halves," answered neale quickly. "well, where's the money--where's the cash?" asked the cashier rather snappily, and then, for the first time, he looked up. a queer change came over his face as he recognized neale. "well, for the love of alligators!" he exclaimed, thrusting forth his hand. "when'd you get on the lot?" "just arrived," answered neale with a smile. "got some friends of mine here who want to see the show." "surest thing you know!" cried the cashier. "how many'd you say? seven--two halves? here you are," and he flipped the tickets down on the wooden shelf in front of him. "are you coming back to join the outfit?" he went on. "we could bill 'master jakeway's' act very nicely now, i imagine. only," and he chuckled, "we'd have to drop the 'master.' you've got beyond that." "no, i'm not coming back," answered neale. "that isn't saying i wouldn't like to, perhaps. but i have other plans. i've heard that my father has returned from the klondike, and i want to see my uncle to find if he has any news. is he around--uncle bill, i mean?" "yes, he was talking to me a while ago. and i did hear him mention, some time back, that he had news of your father. well, well! i am glad to see you again, neale. stop in and see me after the show." "i'll try to," was the answer. hank, being given his ticket, went away by himself, and, after greeting some more of his circus friends, neale began a search for his uncle. it was not an easy matter to locate any of the circus men on the "lot" at an hour just before the performance was to begin. and tess and dot were eager to go in and see the animals, the side shows, the main performance and everything else. "i'd better take them in," ruth said finally. "you can join us later, neale, you and mr. howbridge." so this plan was agreed on, and then the two eager girls were led into the tents of childish mystery and delight, while neale and the lawyer sought the proprietor of the show. they found him talking to sully sorber, the clown, who was just going in to put on his makeup. at first uncle bill just stared at neale, as though hardly believing the evidence of his eyes. then a welcoming smile spread over his face, and he held out his hand. "well! well! this is a coincidence!" exclaimed the ringmaster. "i was just figuring with sully here if we would get any nearer milton than this, as i wanted to have a talk with you, and now here you are! how did it happen? glad to see you, sir," and he shook hands with mr. howbridge. "i've been going to answer your letters, but i've been so busy i haven't had time. one of the elephants got loose and wrecked a farmer's barn, and i've had a damage suit to settle. but i am glad to see you both." "tell me!" exclaimed neale eagerly. "have you any news from father? is he back from the klondike? where can i find him?" "my! you're as bad as ever for asking questions," chuckled mr. bill sorber. "but there! i know how it is! yes, neale, i have some real news, though there isn't much of it. i never see such a man as your father for not sending word direct. but maybe he did, and it miscarried. anyhow, i've been trying to get in touch with him ever since i got your letter, mr. howbridge," he went on speaking to the lawyer. "yes, your father has come back from the klondike," he resumed to neale. "he put in his time to good advantage there, i hear, and made some money. then he set out for the states, and, in an indirect way, i learned that he is located in trumbull." "trumbull? where's that?" asked neale eagerly. "it's a small town on lake macopic!" answered the circus man. neale and the lawyer looked at one another in surprise. "do you know the place?" went on the ringmaster. "i must confess i don't. i tried to look it up to see if it was worth moving there with the show, but i couldn't even find it on the map. so it must be pretty small." "i don't know exactly where it is," the lawyer said. "but the fact of the matter is that we are on our way to lake macopic in a houseboat, and it is quite a coincidence that neale's father should be there. can you give us any further particulars?" "well, not many," confessed mr. sorber. "mr. o'neil isn't much more on letter writing than i am, and that isn't saying much. but my information is to the effect that he had to go there to clear up some dispute he and his mining partner had. he was in with some men in the klondike, and when it came to a settlement of the gold they had dug out there was a dispute, i believe. one of the men lived in trumbull, and your father, neale, had to go there to settle the matter. but i am glad to see you!" he went on to the former circus lad. "and after the show, which is about to begin, we can have a long talk, and then--" at that moment a loud shouting arose from the neighborhood of the animal tent. mingled with the cries of the men was a peculiar sound, like that of some queer whistle, or trumpet. "there goes minnie again!" cried mr. bill sorber. "she's broken loose!" and he ran off at top speed while other circus employees followed, the shouting and trumpeting increasing in volume. chapter xvi ruth's alarm "minnie's loose!" cried neale to mr. howbridge after the flight of the circus men. "minnie is one of the worst elephants in captivity! she's always making trouble, and breaking loose. i imagine she's the one that wrecked the farmer's barn uncle bill was telling about. if she's on the rampage in the animal tent it means mischief!" "an elephant loose!" cried mr. howbridge. "and ruth and the children in the tent! come on, neale!" he cried. "hurry!" but there was no need to urge neale to action. he was off on the run, and mr. howbridge showed that he was not nearly so old and grave as he sometimes appeared, for he ran swiftly after his more youthful companion. the shouting continued, and the trumpet calls of the angry or frightened elephant mingled with them. then, as neale and mr. howbridge came within view of the animal tent, they saw bursting from it a huge elephant, followed by several men holding to ropes attached to the "ponderous pachyderm," as minnie was called on the show bills. she was pulling a score of circus hands after her, as though they were so many stuffed straw men. mr. bill sorber at this time reached the scene, and with him were several men who had hurried after him when they heard the alarm. the ringmaster seemed to know just what to do. he caught an ankus, or elephant hook, from one of his helpers, and, taking a stand directly in the path of the onrushing minnie, he raised the sharp instrument threateningly. on thundered the elephant, but mr. sorber stood his ground. men shouted a warning to him, and the screams and cries of women and children rose shrilly on the air. minnie, which was the rather peaceful name for a very wild elephant, raised her trunk in the air, and from it came the peculiar trumpet blasts. the men she was pulling along were dragged over the ground helplessly. "can he stop her, neale?" gasped mr. howbridge, as he ran beside the former circus boy. "well, i've seem him stop a wild lion that got out of its cage," was the answer. "but an elephant--" and then a strange thing happened. when within a few feet of the brave, resolute man who stood in her path, minnie began to go more slowly. her shrill cries were less insistent, and the men being dragged along after her began to hold back as they regained their feet. mr. sorber raised the ankus on high. its sharp, curved point gleamed in the sun. minnie saw it, and she knew it could cruelly hurt her sensitive trunk. more than once she had felt it before, when on one of her rampages. she did not want to suffer again. and so, when so close that she could have reached out and touched the ringmaster with her elongated nose, or, if so minded, she could have curled it around him and hurled him to death--when this close, the elephant stopped, and grew quiet. "minnie! minnie!" said the man in a soothing voice. "behave yourself, minnie! why are you acting in this way? aren't you ashamed of yourself?" and the elephant really seemed to be. she lowered her trunk, flapped her ears slowly to and fro, and then stood in her tracks and began swaying to and fro in the manner characteristic of the big beasts. mr. sorber went up to her, tossing the ankus to one of his men, and began to pat the trunk which curled up as if in anticipation of a treat. "minnie, you're a bad girl, and you oughtn't to have any; but since you stopped when i told you to i'll give you a few," said the ringmaster, and, reaching into his pocket, he took out some peanuts which the big animal munched with every appearance of satisfaction. "she's all right now," said neale's uncle, as the regular elephant men came up to take charge of the creature. "she was just a little excited, that's all. how did it happen?" "oh, the same as usual," replied minnie's keeper. "all at once she gave a trumpet, yanked her stakes loose, and set off out of the animal tent. i had some ropes on her ready to have her pull one of the wagons, and we grabbed these--as many of us as could--but we couldn't hold her." "i'm afraid we'll have to get rid of minnie, she's too uncertain. doesn't seem to know her own mind, like a lot of the women folks," and mr. sorber smiled at mr. howbridge. "you were very brave to stop her as you did," observed the lawyer. "oh, well, it's my business," said the animal man. "it wasn't such a risk as it seemed. i was all ready to jump to one side if she hadn't stopped." "i wonder if any one in the animal tent was hurt," went on the lawyer. "we must go and see, neale. ruth and the others--" "i hope none of your folks were injured," broke in mr. sorber. "minnie has done damage in the past, but i guess she only just ran away this time." with anxious hearts neale and mr. howbridge hastened to the animal tent, but their fears were groundless. minnie had carefully avoided every one in her rush, and, as a matter of fact, ruth, agnes, dot and tess were in the main tent when the elephant ran out. they heard the excitement, but ruth quieted her sisters. "well, now we'll go on with the show," said mr. sorber, when matters had settled to their normal level. "i'll see you afterward, neale, and you too, mr. howbridge, and those delightful little ladies from the old corner house." "oh, uncle bill, i almost forgot!" cried the boy. "have you that trick mule yet--uncle josh? the one i taught to play dead?" "uncle josh? no, i haven't got him, but i wish i had," said the circus owner. "one of the stablemen took him away--stole him in fact--and i'd give a hundred dollars to get him back!" neale held out his hand, smiling. "what do you mean?" asked his uncle. "pay me the hundred dollars," was the answer. "i have uncle josh!" "no! really, have you?" "i have! i thought you hadn't sold him!" exclaimed the boy, and he told the story of the man on the towpath. "well, that is good news!" exclaimed mr. sorber. "i'll send for uncle josh right away. i sure am glad to have him back. he was always good for a lot of laughs. he's almost as funny as sully, the clown." a few minutes later neale and mr. howbridge joined ruth and the others in the main tent. tess and dot especially enjoyed the performance very much. they took in everything from the "grand entry" to the races and concert at the end. they were guests of the show, in fact, neale having procured complimentary tickets. when the performance was over, they visited "uncle bill" in his own private tent, and the corner house girls had a glimpse of circus life "behind the scenes," as it were, tess's first experience of the sort. neale met many of his old friends and they all expressed the hope that he would soon find his father. uncle josh, the trick mule, was brought to the grounds by hank, and the animal seemed glad to be again among his companions. "will you be back again this evening?" asked neale's uncle, when the time came for the party to go back to the houseboat for supper. "i think not," was neale's answer. he said good-by to his uncle, arranging to write to him and hear from him as often as needful. and then they left the circus lot where the night performance would soon be given. "well, i have real news of father at last," said neale to agnes, as he went back toward the canal with his friends. "i would like to know, though, if he got rich out in the klondike." "if he wants any money he can have half mine!" offered dot. "i have eighty-seven cents in my bank, and i was going to save up to buy my alice-doll a new carriage. but you can have my money for your father, neale." "thank you," replied neale, without a smile at dot's offer. "maybe i shan't need it, but it's very kind of you." mrs. maccall had supper ready soon after they arrived at the boat, and then, as the smaller girls were tired from their day at the circus, they went to bed early, while ruth and mr. howbridge, agnes and neale sat out on the deck and talked. as they were not to go on again until morning, hank was allowed to go back to the circus again. he said seeing it twice in one day was not too much for him. "i do hope you will find your father, neale," said agnes softly, as, just before eleven o'clock, they all went to bed. but ruth, at least, did not go to sleep at once. in her bosom she carried the letter she had received from luke, and this she now read carefully, twice. luke was doing well at the summer hotel. the proprietor was sick, so he and the head clerk and a night man had their hands full. he was earning good money, and part of this he was going to spend on his education and the rest he intended to save. he was sorry he could not be with the houseboat party and hoped they would all have a good time. then he added a page or more intended only for ruth's eyes. the letter made the oldest corner house girl very happy. soon after breakfast the next morning they were under way again. the circus had left town in the night, and neale did not know when he would see his uncle again. but the lad's heart beat high with hope that he might soon find his father. the weather was propitious, and hours of sunshine were making the corner house girls as brown as indians. mr. howbridge, too, took on a coat of tan. as for neale, his light hair looked lighter than ever against his tanned skin. and hank, from walking along the towpath, became almost as dark as a negro. one morning, ruth, coming down to the kitchen to help mrs. maccall with the dinner, saw two fat, chubby legs sticking out of a barrel in one corner of the cabin. the legs were vigorously kicking, and from the depths of the barrel came muffled cries of: "let me out! help me out! pull me up!" ruth lost no time in doing the latter, and, after an effort, succeeded in pulling right side up her sister tess. "what in the world were you doing?" demanded ruth. "i was scraping down in the bottom of the barrel to get a little flour that was left," tess explained, very red in the face. "but i leaned over too far and i couldn't get up. and i couldn't call at first." "what did you want of flour?" asked ruth. "goodness, you have enough on your dress, anyhow." "i wanted some to rub on my face to make me look pale," went on tess. "to make you look pale! gracious, tess! what for?" "we're playing doctor and nurse, dot and i," tess explained. "i have to be sick, and sick people are always pale. but i'm so tanned dot said i didn't look sick at all, so i tried to scrape some flour off the bottom of the barrel to rub on my face." "well, you have enough now if you brush off what's on your clothes," laughed ruth. "and be careful about leaning over barrels," put in mrs. maccall. "you might have been hurt." "yes," agreed tess, "i might be but i wasn't. only my head felt funny and my legs felt queer, too, when i wiggled them." they were approaching the end of the stretch of the canal through which they must travel to reach gentory river. the boat would be "locked" from the canal to the larger stream, and then neale could have his wish of operating the motor come true. toward evening they arrived at the last lock of their trip. just beyond lay the river, and they would proceed up that to lake macopic. as the _bluebird_ emerged from the lock and slowly floated on the little basin into which just there the gentory broadened, the attention of ruth and agnes was directed to a small motor boat which was just leaving the vicinity. ruth, who stood nearest the rail, grasped her sister by the arm, and cried an alarm. "look! those men! in the boat!" exclaimed ruth. "what about them?" asked agnes, while mr. howbridge glanced at the two sisters. "they're the same men who robbed us!" exclaimed ruth. "the men who took our jewelry box in the rain! oh, stop them!" chapter xvii up the river neale o'neil, who had been steering the houseboat during the operation of locking it from the canal into the river, sprang away from the tiller toward the side of the craft at ruth's cries. there was no immediate need of guiding the _bluebird_ for the moment, as she was floating idly with the momentum gained when she was slowly pulled from the lock basin. "are those the men?" asked neale, pointing to two roughly dressed characters in a small motor boat. "i'm sure they are!" asserted ruth. "that one steering is the man who grabbed the box from me. look, agnes, don't you remember them?" mr. howbridge, who heard what was said, acted promptly. on the towpath, near the point where the river entered the canal through the lock, was hank dayton with the two mules, the services of which would no longer be needed. "hank! hank! stop those men!" cried the lawyer. the driver dropped his reins, and sprang to the edge of the bank. near him was a rowboat, empty at the time, and with the oars in the locks. it was the work of but a moment for hank to spring in and shove off, and then he began rowing hard. but of course he stood no chance against a motor boat. the two men in the gasoline craft turned on more power. the explosions came more rapidly and drowned the shouts of those on the houseboat. hank soon gave up his useless effort, and turned back to shore, while ruth and agnes, leaning over the side of the rail, gazed at the fast-disappearing men. "there must be some way of stopping them!" cried mr. howbridge, who was quite excited. "isn't there a motor boat around here--a police boat or something? neale, can't you get up steam and take after them?" "the _bluebird_ could never catch that small boat," answered the boy. "and there doesn't seem to be anything else around here now, except rowboats and canalers." this was true, and those on board the _bluebird_ had to suffer the disappointment of seeing the men fade away in the distance. "but something must be done!" insisted the lawyer. "an alarm must be given. the police must be notified. where's the keeper of the lock? he may know these ruffians, and where they are staying. we must do something!" "well, they're getting away for the time being," murmured neale, as he gazed up the river on which the motor boat was now hardly discernible as it was turning a bend. "but we're going the same way, and we may come across them. are you sure, ruth, that these are the same men who robbed you?" "positive!" declared the girl. "aren't you, agnes?" "no, i can't be sure," answered her sister with a shake of her head. "the men looked just as rough--and just as ugly--as the two who attacked us. but it was raining so hard, and we were in the doorway, and the umbrella was giving such trouble--no, ruth," she added, "i couldn't be _sure_." "but i am!" declared the oldest kenway girl. "i had a good look at the face of at least one of the men in the boat, and i know it was he who took my box! oh, if i could only get it back i wouldn't care what became of the men!" "it ought to be an easy matter to trace them," said the lawyer. "their motor boat must be registered and licensed, as ours must be. we can trace them through that, i think. neale, would you know the men if you saw them again?" "i might," answered the boy. "i didn't have a very good look at them, though. they both had their backs toward me, and their hats were pulled down over their faces. as ruth says, however, they looked rough and desperate." "we must take some action," declared the lawyer, with his characteristic energy. "the authorities must be notified and that motor boat traced. we shall have to stop here to register our own craft and get a license, and it will give us an opportunity to make some inquiries." "meanwhile those men will get away!" exclaimed ruth. "and we'll never get our jewelry back. if we could get mother's ring," she added, "it wouldn't be so bad." "they can't get very far away if they stick to the river," said mr. howbridge. "the river flows into lake macopic and there is no outlet from that. if we have to pursue the men all the way to the lake we'll do it." "well, then let's get busy," suggested neale. "the sooner we have our boat registered and licensed, the sooner we can start after those men. of course we can't catch them, for their boat goes so much faster than ours. but we can trace them." "i hope we can," murmured ruth, gazing up the river, on which there was now no trace of the boat containing the rough men. "we have two quests, now," she added. "looking for our jewelry box, and your father, neale. and i hope we find your father, whether i get back my things or not--anything but the ring." "let us hope we get both," said the boy. then followed a busy hour. certain formalities had to be gone through with, in order to enable the _bluebird_ to make the voyage on the river and lake. her motor was inspected and passed. neale had seen to it that the machinery was in good shape. mr. howbridge came back from the boat registry office with the necessary permit and license, and ruth asked him: "did you find out anything about the men?" "no one here knows them," he said. "they were never here before, and they came only to get some supplies. it appears they are camping on one of the islands in lake macopic." "was their boat registered?" asked neale. "yes. at least it is presumed so. but as we did not see the number on it we can give the authorities no clue. motor boats up here don't have to carry their number plates in such large size as autos do. that craft was not registered at this office, but it was, very likely, granted a permit at the office at the other end of the river or on the lake. so we can only keep on and hope either to overtake the men or to get a trace of them in some other way." "we can never overtake them if they keep going as fast as they did when they left here," said agnes. "they won't keep that speed up," declared neale. "but we had better get started. we'll be under our own power now, and can travel whenever we like, night or day." "are we going to take the mules with us--and mr. hank!" asked dot, hugging her "alice-doll." "hank is going to accompany us," said mr. howbridge. "but we'll leave the mules behind, having no place for them on the _bluebird_. i think i will dispose of them, for i probably shall not go on a vacation along the canal again." "but it was a delightful and novel one," said ruth. "i'm glad you enjoyed it," her guardian remarked. "it would have been little pleasure to me--this trip--if you young folks had not enjoyed it." "i just love it! and the best part is yet to come!" cried agnes, with sparkling eyes. "i want to see the islands in the lake." "and i want to get to trumbull and see if my father is there," added neale. "i think i'll send him a letter. i'll mail it here. it won't take but a moment." "you don't know his address," said agnes. "i'll send it just to trumbull," said the boy. "post-office people are sharks at finding people." he wrote the note while the final preparations were being made for leaving on the trip up the river. mrs. maccall had attended to the buying of food, which was all that was needed. and then, after neale had sent his letter to the post-office, he went down in the engine room of the _bluebird_. "are we all ready!" he called up to mr. howbridge, who was going to steer until neale could come up on deck after the motor had been started. "all ready!" answered ruth. neale turned the flywheel over, there was a cough and a splutter, and then a steady chug-chugging. "oh, we're going! we're going!" gayly cried tess and dot. almost anything satisfied them as long as they were in motion. "yes, we're on our way," said mr. howbridge, giving the wheel a turn and sending the houseboat out into the stream. the trip up the gentory river was no less delightful than the voyage on the canal had been, if one may call journeying on such a quiet stream a voyage. it was faster travel, of course, with the motor sending the _bluebird_ along. "the only thing is, though," said hank, who sat near the wheel with neale, "i haven't anything to do. i miss the mules." "oh, i guess there'll be enough to do. especially when we get up on the lake. you'll have to help manage the boat," remarked neale. "i hear they have pretty good storms on macopic." "they do," confirmed hank. they motored along until dusk that evening, and then, as their way led for a time through a part of the stream where many craft navigate, it was decided to tie up for the night. it passed without incident, and they were on their way again the next morning. it was calculated that the trip on the river would take three days, but an accident to the motor the second day delayed them, and they were more likely to be five than three days. however, they did not mind the wait. the break occurred on a lonely part of the stream, and after stopping the craft and tying up, neale announced, after an examination, that he and hank could make the needful repairs. "we'll start in the morning," said the boy. "then we'll just go ashore and walk about a little," suggested ruth, and soon she and her sisters and mr. howbridge were on the bank of the beautiful stream. the twilight lingered long that night, and it was light enough to see some distance ahead as ruth and the others strolled on. the river bank turned and, following it beneath the trees, the party suddenly heard voices seemingly coming from a secluded cove where the stream formed an eddy. "must be fishermen in there," said mr. howbridge. "we had better not disturb them." as they were turning away the voices became louder, and then on the still night air there came an exclamation. "i don't care what you think!" a man's voice shouted. "just because you've been in the klondike doesn't give you the right to boss me! you'll give me an even half of the swag or--" and then it sounded as though a hand had been clapped suddenly over the speaker's mouth. chapter xviii the night alarm mr. howbridge and ruth quickly looked at one another. the same thought and suspicion came in each of their minds at the same time. "who's that?" dot asked, she and tess having lingered behind the others to pick some flowers from the bank of the stream. "hush, children," cautioned ruth in a whisper. "we must not disturb the--fishermen." she added the last word after a look at her guardian. no further sound came from the cove where the voice had been uttering a protest and had been so suddenly hushed. "oh, look at those big red flowers! i'm going to get some of those!" cried dot, darting off to one side. "my alice-doll loves red flowers," she added. "i'll get some, too," said agnes. "mrs. maccall also loves red flowers, though she says there's nothing prettier than 'heeland hither' as she calls it." "oh, yes, we'll get her some, and she'll have a bouquet for the table," assented dot. "and then maybe she'll let us have a little play party for alice-doll to-morrow, and we can have things to eat." "oh, you're always thinking of your old alice-doll!" complained tess. "you'd think all the play parties and all this trip were just for her, and the things to eat, too." "we can eat the things mrs. maccall gives us--if she gives us any," corrected dot. "come on, help me get the flowers." "oh, all right, i will," said tess. "but you know, dot kenway, that ruthie will give us anything we want for a party." as the two little girls darted toward the clump of gay blossoms ruth called: "be careful. it may he swampy around here." "i'll look after them," offered agnes, "and you and mr. howbridge can go see if those men--" she did not finish her sentence, which she had begun in a whisper, but nodded in the direction of the clump of trees, around the eddy of the river. it was from there the stifled exclamation had come. "yes, i think it would be a good plan to take a look there," said mr. howbridge to ruth in a low voice. "especially if the children are out of the way. i don't suppose it could by any chance be the same men, but--" "look!" suddenly exclaimed ruth, pointing to something moving behind a screen of bushes that hung over the river near the eddy. as she spoke the bushes parted and a motor boat shoved her bow out into the stream. in another instant the boat came fully into view, and there was revealed as occupants two roughly dressed men. they gave one quick glance along the bank toward ruth and mr. howbridge, and then while one attended to the wheel the other sprang to the engine to increase the speed. there was a nervous spluttering from the motor, and the boat shot out into the river, the two men in her crouching down as though they feared being fired at. "there they are!" cried ruth, clasping mr. howbridge's arm in her excitement. "the same two men!" "are you sure?" he asked. "well, they're the same two we saw down near the canal lock, in the boat," ruth went on. "i'm sure it's the same boat, and i'm as positive as i ever was that they are the ones who robbed us." "it is the same boat we saw the other day," agreed the lawyer. "and i think the same men. whether they are the thieves is, of course, open to question. but i should very much like to question them," he added. "hold on there!" he called to the men. "i want to see you!" but the boat did not stop, rather she increased her speed, and it seemed that one of the men laughed. they did not look back. "i wish there was some way of taking after them!" exclaimed ruth's guardian. "but, as it is, it's out of the question." they were on a lonely part of the river. no houses were near and there was no other boat in sight, not even a leaky skiff, though some farmer boy might have one hidden along the shore under the bushes. but a rowing craft would not have been effective against the speedy motor boat, and finding another craft to match the one containing the two rough men was out of the question. farther and farther away the men were speeding now. agnes and the two younger girls, having heard the shouts of mr. howbridge, turned back from their flower-gathering trip. "is anything the matter?" asked agnes. "oh, no, nothing much. mr. howbridge saw two men in that boat," answered ruth, with a meaning look at her sister. "but they did not stop." and when she had a chance, after dot and tess had moved out of hearing distance, ruth added: "they're the same men, agnes!" "you mean the ones who robbed us?" "i'm pretty sure; yes!" "oh dear!" voiced agnes, and she looked around the now darkening woods. "i wish we hadn't stopped in such a lonely place," she murmured. "nonsense!" laughed mr. howbridge. "i shall begin to think you doubt my ability as guardian. my physical, not my mental," he added. "oh, no, it isn't that," agnes made haste to say. "only--" "and we have neale, and hank, too," broke in ruth. "while mrs. maccall is a tower of strength herself, even if she is getting old." "oh, yes, i know," murmured agnes. "but--well, don't let's talk about it," she finished. "and i think we'd better be going back. it will soon be quite dark." "yes," agreed the lawyer. "we had better go back." he looked up the river. the boat containing the two rough men was no longer in sight, but finally there drifted down on the night wind the soft put-put of the motor. "we thought you had deserted us," said neale when he saw, from the deck of the _bluebird_, the lawyer and the girls returning. "we went farther than we intended," answered ruth. "how's the motor?" asked the lawyer. "hank and i will have it fixed in the morning." "where is hank now?" agnes wanted to know, and it seemed as though she had begun to rely on the rugged and rough strength of the man who had driven the mules. "oh, he went off for a walk, and he said maybe he'd fish a while," neale said. "he's a bug on fishing." then, while mrs. maccall took charge of tess and dot, giving exclamations of delight at the flowers, even while comparing them with her highland heather, agnes and ruth told neale what had happened--the swift-departure of the motor boat and its two occupants. "they were evidently having a dispute when we came along," said ruth. "we heard one of them say something about the klondike." "the klondike!" exclaimed neale, and there was a queer note in his voice. "yes, they certainly said that," agreed agnes. "oh, i do wish we were away from here." and from the deck of the boat she looked at the wooded shores of the river extending on either side of the moored craft. the gentory was not very wide at this point, but the other shore was just as lonely and deserted as that where the voyagers had come to rest for the night. "don't be so nervous and fussy," said ruth to agnes. "mr. howbridge won't like it. he will think we don't care for the trip, and--" "oh, i like the trip all right," broke in agnes. "it's just the idea of staying all night in this lonely place." "we have plenty of protectors," asserted ruth. "there's neale and--" "what's that?" asked the boy, hearing his name spoken. "agnes was saying she was timid," went on ruth, for mr. howbridge had gone to the dining-room for a glass of milk mrs. maccall had suggested he take before going to bed. "i tell her with you and mr. howbridge and hank to protect us--" "aggie timid! oh, yes, we'll look after you!" he promised with a laugh. "at the same time--oh, well, i guess hank won't stay late," and he looked at his watch. "you seem worried," said agnes to her friend when they were alone for a moment. "do you think these men--those klondikers--are likely to make trouble?" "no, not exactly that," neale answered. "to tell you the truth i was thinking of hank. i may as well tell you," he went on. "i didn't see any connection between the two happenings before, but since you mentioned those men there may be." "what are you driving at?" asked agnes, in surprise. "just this--" answered neale. "but let's call ruth." ruth came and then neale continued: "hank suddenly dropped his tools when we were working over the motor and said he was going for a walk. he also mentioned fishing. i didn't think much of it at the time, for he may be odd that way when it comes to a steady job. but now i begin to think he may have gone off to meet those men." "but he didn't meet them," ruth said. "we saw them speed away in motor boat alone." "they may have met hank later," the boy said. "but what makes you suspicious of him?" ruth asked. "i'll tell you." and neale related the episode of the gold ring. "oh, do you think it could be one of ours that the men took? do you think hank is in with them, and wants his share of the 'swag' as one man called it?" questioned agnes eagerly. "i don't know, i'm sure," answered neale. "but he certainly had a ring. it rolled to the deck and he picked it up quickly enough." "say, ruthie!" exclaimed agnes impulsively, "now's a good chance while he's away. we could look through the place where he keeps what few things he has--in that curtained off corner by his cot." ruth shook her head. "i'd rather not," she remarked. "i couldn't bear to do that. i'd much rather accuse him openly. but we won't even do that now. we'll just watch and wait, and we won't even tell mr. howbridge until we are more sure of our ground." "all right," agreed neale and agnes after they had talked it over at some length. it was agreed that they should all three keep their eyes on hank, and note whether there were any further suspicious happenings. "of course you want to be careful of one thing," remarked neale, as the three talked it over. "what is that?" questioned agnes quickly. "you don't want that mule driver to suspect that you are watching him. if he did suspect it he'd be more careful to hide his doings than ever." "we won't let him suspect us, neale," declared ruth. "of course he may be as innocent as they make 'em, and on the other hand he may be as deep as----" "the deep blue sea," finished agnes. "exactly." "he certainly doesn't appear very deep," remarked ruth. "he looks rather simple minded." "but sometimes those simple looking customers are the deepest," declared the youth. "i know we had that sort join the circus sometimes. you had to watch 'em every minute." and there the talk came to an end. the mule driver came along some time later. he had a goodly string of fish. agnes was asleep, but ruth heard him putting them in the ice box. she heard neale speak to the man, and then, gradually, the _bluebird_ became quiet. "well, he got fish, at any rate," ruth reasoned as she turned over to go to sleep. "i hope he has no connection with those robbers. and yet, why should he hide a ring? oh, i wonder if we shall ever see our things and mother's wedding ring again." ruth was too much of a philosopher to let this keep her awake. there was a slight feeling of timidity, as was natural, but she made herself conquer this. finally ruth dozed off. how long she slept she did not know, but she was suddenly awakened by hearing a scream. it was the high-pitched voice of a child, and after her first start ruth knew it came from tess. "oh, don't let him get me! don't let him get me!" cried the little girl. chapter xix on the lake instantly ruth was out of bed, and while she slipped on her bath robe and while her bare feet sought her slippers under the edge of her bunk, she cried: "what is it, tessie? ruth is coming! sister is coming!" at once the interior of the _bluebird_ seemed to pulsate with life. in the corridor which ran the length of the craft, and on either side of which the sleeping apartments were laid off, a night light burned. opening her door ruth saw mrs. maccall peering forth, a flaring candle in her hand. "what is it, lass?" asked the sturdy scotch woman. "i thought i heard a wee cry in the night." "you did!" exclaimed ruth. "it was tess!" in quick succession, with kimonas or robes over their sleeping garments, neale, mr. howbridge and agnes came from their rooms. but from the apartments of tess and dot no one came, and ominous quiet reigned. "what was it?" asked mr. howbridge. "one of you girls screamed. who was it?" something gleamed in his hand, and ruth knew it to be a weapon. "it was tess who cried out!" ruth answered. "all i could hear was something about her being afraid some one would catch her." and then again from the room of tess came a low cry of: "ruthie! ruthie! come here!" "yes, dear, i am coming," was the soothing reply. "what is it? oh, my dear, what has happened?" when she opened the door she saw her sister sitting up in bed, a look of fear on her face but unharmed. and a quick look in the adjoining apartment showed dot to be peacefully slumbering, her "alice-doll" close clasped in her arms. "what was it, tessie?" asked ruth in a whisper, carefully closing dot's door so as not to awaken her. "what did you see?" "i--i don't just remember," was the answer. "i was dreaming that i was riding on that funny uncle josh mule that knows neale, and then a clown chased me and i fell off and the elephant came after me. i called to you, and--" "was it all only a dream, dear?" asked ruth with a smile. "no, it wasn't all a dream," said tess slowly. "a man looked in the window at me." "what window?" asked agnes. tess pointed to one of the two small casements in her small apartment. they opened on the bank of the river, and it would have been easy for any one passing along the bank of the stream to have looked into tess's windows, or, for that matter, into any of the openings on that side of the craft. but the windows, though open on account of the warm night, were protected by heavy screens to keep out mosquitoes and other insects. "do you really mean some one opened your window in the night, or did you just dream that, too?" asked ruth. "you have very vivid dreams sometimes." "i didn't dream about the _man_," insisted tess. "he really opened the screen and looked in. see, it's loose now!" the screens swung outward on hinges, and there, plainly enough, the screen of one of the casements in tess's room was partly open. "perhaps the wind blew it," suggested agnes, wishing she could believe this. neale stepped over and tested the screen. "it seems too stiff to have been blown open by the wind," was the comment. "but of course," mr. howbridge suggested, "the screen may not have been tightly closed when theresa went to bed." "oh, yes it was, sir!" exclaimed mrs. maccall positively. "i looked at them myself. i didn't want any of the mosquitoes to be eatin' ma pretties. the screens were tight closed!" "oh dear, i don't like it here!" said tess, on the verge of tears. "i don't want tramps looking in my room, and this man was just like a tramp." the noise of some one moving around on the upper deck of the craft attracted the attention of all. "that's hank!" exclaimed neale. "i'll go and see if he heard anything unusual or saw any one. it may be that some fellow was passing along the river road and was impudent enough to pull open a screen and look in, thinking he might pick up something off a shelf." but hank, who in his curtained-off place had been awakened by the confusion below him, declared he had seen or heard nothing. "i'm a sound sleeper," he said. "once i get to bed i don't do much else but sleep." so nothing was to be got out of him. and it was difficult to tell whether or not tess had dreamed about the man, as she had said she dreamed about the elephant and the mule. neale volunteered to look on the bank underneath the window for a sign of footprints. he did look, using his flashlight, but discovered nothing. "i guess it was all a dream," said ruth. "go to sleep, tess dear. you'll be all right now." "i'm not going to sleep alone," insisted the little girl, her lips beginning to quiver. "i'll stay with you," offered ruth, and so it was arranged. "it's an awful queer happening," remarked agnes. "lots of things seem queer on this trip," put in tess. "maybe we better give up the houseboat trip." "you won't say that in the morning," laughed neale. "how do you know that?" "oh, i know," the boy laughed. they all went back to their beds, but it was some time before several of them resumed their interrupted slumbers. tess, the innocent cause of it all, fell off to dreamland with ruth's arm around her in the rather cramped quarters, for the bunks were not intended to accommodate two. but once tess was breathing deeply and regularly, ruth slipped back to her own apartment, pausing to whisper to agnes that tess seemed all right now. ruth remained awake for some time, her mind busy with many things, and mingled with her confused thoughts were visions of the mule driver, hank dayton, signaling to some tramp confederates in the woods the fact that all on board the _bluebird_ were deep in slumber, so that robbery might be easily committed. "oh, but i'm foolish to think such things," the corner house girl told herself. "absolutely foolish!" and at last she convinced herself of that and went to sleep. the next morning neale and mr. howbridge, with hank to help, made a careful examination of the soft earth on the river bank under tess's window. they saw many footprints, and the stub of a cigarette. but the footprints might have been made by themselves when they had moored the boat the evening before. as for the cigarette stub, though hank smoked, he said he never used cigarettes. a pipe was his favorite, and neither mr. howbridge nor neale smoked. "some one passing in the daytime before we arrived may have flung the stub away," said the lawyer. "i think all we can do is to ascribe the alarm to a dream tess had." the little girl had forgotten much of the occurrence of the night when questioned about it next morning. she hardly recalled her dream, but she did insist that a man had looked in her window. "well, next time we tie up over night we'll do it in or near some city or village, and not in such a lonely place," decided mr. howbridge. neale and hank made good their promise to repair the motor, and shortly after breakfast the craft was in shape to travel on. the weather continued fine, and if it had not been for the alarm of the night before, and the shadow of the robbery hanging over ruth and agnes, and neale's anxiety about his father, the travelers would have been in a most happy mood. the trip was certainly affording them many new experiences. "it's almost as exciting as when we were snowbound," declared agnes. "but i'm glad we don't have to look for two little runaways or lost ones," put in ruth, with a glance at tess and dot as they went out to play on the upper deck. it was just before noon, when ruth was helping mrs. maccall prepare the dinner, that the oldest kenway girl heard a distressing cry from the upper deck where tess and dot had been playing all the morning. "tess, stop!" ruth heard dot exclaim. "i'm going to tell ruthie on you! you'll drown her! oh, tess!" "she can't drown! haven't i got a string on her?" demanded tess. "this is a new way of giving her a bath. she likes it." "give her to me! ruthie! ruthie! make tess stop!" pleaded dot. "i wonder what the matter is," said ruth, as she set down the dish she was holding and hastened to the upper deck. there she saw dot and tess both leaning over the rail, at rather a dangerous angle, and evidently struggling, one to get possession of and the other to retain, some object ruth could not see. "be careful! you'll fall in!" ruth cried. at the sound of her voice her sisters turned toward her, and ruth saw they each had hold of a cord. "what are you doing; fishing?" ruth asked. "don't you know hank said you couldn't catch fish when the boat was moving unless you trolled with what he called a spoon?" "we're not fishing!" said dot. "i'm just giving the alice-doll a bath," explained tess. "i tied her on the end of a string and i'm letting her swim in the water. she likes it!" "she does not! and you must stop! and you must give her to me! oh, ruthie!" cried dot, trying to pull the cord away from tess. in an instant there was a struggle between the two little girls. "children! children!" admonished ruth, in perfect amazement at such behavior on the part of the gentle and considerate tess. "i'm surprised at you! tess, dear, give dot her doll. you shouldn't have put her in water unless dot allowed you to." "well, but she needed a bath!" insisted tess. "she was dirty!" "i know it, and i was going to give her a bath; but she has a cold and i was waiting till she got over it!" explained dot. "tess, give me that string, and i'll pull my alice-doll up!" she demanded. the struggle was renewed, and ruth was hastening across the deck to stop it by the force of more authority than mere words, when neale, who was steering the craft, called out. "there's the big water! we're at lake macopic now!" hardly had the echo of his words died away than dot cried: "there! now look what you did! you let go the string and my alice-doll is gone!" chapter xx drifting dot burst into tears, and tess, startled by the sudden tragic outcome of her prank, leaned so far over the edge of the boat to see what happened to the doll that ruth cried: "be careful! you'll fall! don't you go into the lake, as well as the doll!" tess bounced back on deck. she looked ashamed when she saw dot crying. "you can have one of my dolls when we get back home," tess offered. "or you can have my half of almira the cat, and all her kittens. i'll give you my share." "i don't want 'em! i want my alice-doll!" wailed dot. "i'll have hank get her for you!" called neale, as he swung the boat around. "the string will float, even if your doll won't, and hank can fish it back aboard." neale signaled to hank by means of a bell running from the upper deck near the steering wheel to the motor room below, where the former mule driver looked after the gasoline engine. it was arranged with a clutch, so it could be thrown out of gear, thus stopping or reversing the power, if need be. "what's the matter?" called hank, coming out on the lower deck and looking up at neale. "going to make a landing?" "no. but dot lost her alice-doll overboard," neale explained. "tess had a string to it and--" "oh, is that what the string was?" exclaimed hank. "i saw a cord drop down at the stern past the motor-room window and i made a grab for it. i thought it was somebody's fish line. wait, i'll give it a haul and see what i can get on deck." leaving the wheel, which needed no attention since power was not now propelling the craft, neale hastened to the lower deck, followed by ruth, tess and agnes. they saw hank pulling in, hand over hand, the long, white cord. presently there came something slapping its way up the side of the _bluebird_, and a moment later there slumped down on the deck a very wet, and much bedraggled doll. "oh, it's my alice! it's alice!" cried dot. "i've got her back once more." "there won't be much left of her if she gets in the water again," prophesied neale. "this is the second time this trip." "she _is_ rather forlorn looking," agreed ruth, trying not to smile and hurt her little sister's feelings, for dot was very sensitive about her dolls, especially her "alice" one. "i shall have to get you a new one, dot." "i don't want anybody but my alice-doll! will you hang her up in the sun for me so she'll dry?" begged dot of neale, holding out to him the really wretched doll. "of course, dottie. and when we get back to milton we can take her to the hospital again and have her done over as we did after she was buried with the dried apples. poor alice-doll! she has had a hard life." tess had gone off by herself, thoroughly ashamed of her behavior. dot now went to her own little room, to grieve over the fate of the alice-doll. "aggie," said neale, "i think our tess must have surely gone insane. i never knew her to do a deliberately unkind thing before." "it certainly is curious. there, neale, mr. howbridge is beckoning to you." "yes," neale replied. "he wants us to start, and he's right. start her up again, hank," he added. "we're on lake macopic now, and we'll have to watch our step. there's more navigation here than there was on the river." "is this really the lake?" asked ruth, "are we really on macopic at last?" "this is where the river broadens out into the lake," said neale, indicating the sweep of waters about them. "it is really a part of the lake, though the larger and main part lies around that point," and he indicated the point of land he meant. lake macopic was a large body of water, and on its shores were many towns, villages and one or two places large enough to be dignified by the appellation "cities." quite a trade was done between some of the places, for the presence of so much water gave opportunity for power to be obtained from it, and around the lake were many mills and factories. there were a number of islands in the lake, some of them large enough for summer hotels, while others were merely clumps of trees. on some, campers spent their vacations, and on one or two, owned by fishermen, cabins were built. "yes, we are really here at last," said neale. "i must find out where we are to head for. where do you have to deliver this boat, mr. howbridge?" he asked the lawyer. "at the upper end of the lake," was the answer. "but there is no hurry about it. i intend that we shall all have a nice cruise on lake macopic before i let my client have possession of this boat. he is in no special need, and the summer is not nearly enough over to make me want to end our vacation yet. that is, unless you feel you must get back to the corner house, martha?" and he smiled at his oldest ward. "oh, no," ruth made haste to reply. "it is too lovely here to wish to leave. i'm sure we shall find it most delightful." "can we go in swimming?" asked tess, who liked the water. "yes, there are bathing beaches--several of them in fact," answered the lawyer. "we will stop at one and let you children paddle around." "i can swim!" boasted tess. "i can too," added dot, not to be outdone by her sister. lake macopic was beautiful, reflecting the sunlight, the blue sky, and the white, fleecy clouds. the houseboat once more began slowly navigating it as hank threw the clutch in and neale kept the wheel steady. they passed several other boats, and then, as their supplies were running low, it was decided to put in at the nearest town. "we'll get some cake and maybe a pie or two," said ruth, after consulting mrs. maccall. "and of course, some fresh vegetables." "can't we get some strawberries?" questioned dot. "too late i'm afraid, dot. but maybe we can get huckleberries." "oh, i know what i would like," cried tess. "i know too," declared agnes. "an ice-cream cone." "yep. strawberry." "i want chocolate," came promptly from dot. "and oh, can't we have some lollypops too?" went on tess. "sure--if the stores keep them," answered mr. howbridge promptly. "yes, i see a sign, 'ice cream and confectionery.' i guess we can get what we want over there--when we reach the place." "oh, goody," cried dot; and tess patted her stomach in satisfaction. it was early evening when they tied up at a wharf, which was operated in conjunction with a store, and while mrs. maccall and the girls were buying such things as were needed, neale and mr. howbridge made some inquiries regarding the rules for navigating the lake. they found there would be no trouble in getting the _bluebird_ from place to place. "have you seen a small motor boat run by two men around here lately?" asked the lawyer of the dock keeper, after some unimportant talk. "what sort of men?" "roughly dressed." "that isn't much of a description," was the retort. "a lot of the fishermen dress roughly, but they're all right. but we do have some fellows up here who aren't what i'd call first-class." "what do you mean?" asked mr. howbridge. "well, i mean there's a bunch camping on one of the islands here. somebody said they were returned miners from the klondike, but i don't know that i believe that." "why, those may be the very men we mean!" cried the lawyer. "one of them claims, or is said to have been, in the alaskan gold regions. in fact this young man's father is, or was, a klondike miner," went on mr. howbridge, indicating neale. "maybe these men could tell us something about him. did you ever hear any of them mention a mr. o'neil?" he asked. the dock tender shook his head. "can't say i did," he answered. "i don't have much to do with those men. they're too rough for me. they may be the ones you mean, and they may not." further questioning elicited no more information, and neale and mr. howbridge had to be content with this. "but we'll pay a visit to that island," decided the lawyer, when its location had been established. "we may get some news of your father in that way." "i hope so," sighed neale. rather than tie up at the dock that night, which would bring them too near the not very pleasant sights and sounds of a waterfront neighborhood, it was decided to anchor the _bluebird_ out some distance in the lake. accordingly, at dusk, when supper was over and a little stroll on shore had gotten the "kinks" out of their "sea legs," the _bluebird_ was headed into the lake again and moored, with riding lights to warn other craft away. in the middle of the night neale felt the need of a drink, as he had eaten some buttered popcorn the evening before and he was now thirsty. as he arose to get a glass of water from a shelf in his apartment he became aware of a strange movement. at the same time he could hear the sighing of the wind. "sounds as if a storm were coming up," mused the boy. and then, as he reached out his hand for the glass, he felt the _bluebird_ rise, fall and sway beneath him. "why, we're moving! we're drifting!" exclaimed neale. "the anchor must be dragging or the cables have been cut. we're drifting fast, and may be in danger!" chapter xxi the storm neale o'neil was a lad to whom, young as he was, emergencies came as a sort of second nature. his life in the circus had prepared him for quick and unusual action. many times, while traveling with the tented shows, accidents had happened. sometimes one of the animals would get loose, perhaps one of the "hay feeders," by which is meant the elephants, horses or camels. or, worse than this, one of the big "cats," or the meat eaters--including lions, tigers and leopards--would break from a cage. then consternation would reign. but neale had seen how the circus men had met these emergencies, always working for the safety of others. and now, as he seemed to be alone in the semi-darkness and silence of the houseboat at midnight, neale felt that the time had come for him to act. "we must have pulled our anchor, or else some one has cut us adrift," decided the lad. "and if any one has cut us loose it must be those men from the motor boat--the tramps--the thieves!" he visualized their evil countenances and thought of how they had behaved toward ruth and agnes--that is, if these were the two men in question. "and i wonder if hank stands in with them," mused neale. "i must find out. but first i've got to do something about the boat. if we're adrift, as we surely are, we may run into some other craft, or one may run into us, or--" neale paused as he felt a grating beneath the broad, flat bottom of the boat and the craft careened slightly. "we may go aground or be blown on an island," was his completed thought. "but we're safe so far," he mentally added, as he felt the _bluebird_ slip off some under-water rock or reef of mud over which she progressed. then neale galvanized himself into action. he forgot all about the drink he had been going to get, and, slipping on shoes and a rubber coat that hung in his room, he stepped out into the corridor which ran the length of the boat between the two rows of sleeping rooms. neale was going up on deck to look around and, if possible, find out what had caused the boat to break away from her moorings. as neale passed ruth's door it opened and she came out, wrapped in a heavy robe. "what is it, neale?" asked the oldest corner house girl. "has anything happened?" "nothing much yet. but it may," was the answer. "we're adrift, and it's coming on to blow. i'm going to see what the matter is." "i'll come with you," ruth offered. neale was like a brother to the kenway girls. "shall i call mr. howbridge and mrs. mac?" she asked. "not yet," he answered in a low voice. "it may be that the cable has only slipped, but i don't see how it could. in that case i'll only have to take a few turns around a cleat and we'll be all right. no use calling any one unless we have to." "i'll come and help," ruth offered, and neale knew she could be of excellent service. together they ascended the stairs in the half darkness, illuminated by the glow from a night oil lamp in the hall. but no sooner had they emerged on the open deck than they became aware of the gravity of the situation. they were almost blinded by an intense glare of lightning. this was followed by a menacing rumble of thunder, and then ruth gasped for breath as a strong wind smote her in the face, and neale, just ahead of her, turned to grasp her lest she be blown against a railing and hurt. "great guns!" exclaimed neale, "it's going to be a fierce storm." "are we really adrift?" exclaimed ruth, raising her voice to be heard above the howl of the wind. "i should say we are!" cried neale in answer. "but the boat is so big and solid she isn't going as fast as an ordinary craft would. but we're drifting all right, and it's going to be a whole lot worse before it's better. do you want to stay here?" he asked. "of course i do! i'm going to help!" declared ruth. but at that moment came another bright flash of lightning and a terrific peal of thunder. and then, as if this had split open the clouds, down came a deluge of rain. "go below and get on your waterproof and then tell the others to get up and dress," advised neale. "we may come out of it all right, and again we may not. it's best to be prepared." "are we--are we far from shore?" panted ruth, the wind almost taking the words from her mouth. "are we apt to be dashed against it, do you think?" "we can't be wrecked," neale answered her. "this is a well built boat. but we may have to go ashore in the rain, and it's best for the children to be dressed." "i'll tell them!" cried ruth, and she descended, glad to be in out of the storm that was increasing in violence every moment. that little time she was exposed to it almost drenched her. neale's rubber coat was a great protection to him. the boy gave one quick look around. the wind was blowing about over the deck a number of camp stools that had been left out, but he reasoned that they would be caught and held by the rope network about the deck. neale's chief anxiety was about the anchor. the cable to which this was bent was made fast to a cleat on the lower deck, and as the lad made his way there by an outside stairway he heard some one walking on the deck he had just quitted. "i guess that's hank," neale reasoned. the boy was pulling at the anchor rope when he heard hank's voice near him asking: "what's the matter, neale?" "we're either dragging our anchor or the cable's cut," answered the lad. and then, as the rope came dripping through his hands, offering no resistance to the pull, he realized what had happened. the anchor was gone! it had slipped the cable or been cut loose. just which did not so much matter now, as did the fact that there was nothing to hold the _bluebird_ against the fury of the gale. realizing this, neale did not pull the cable up to the end. he had found out what he wanted to know--that the anchor was off it and somewhere on the bottom of the lake. he next turned his attention to the boat. "we're drifting!" he cried to hank. "we've got to start the motor, and see if we can head up into the wind. you go to that and i'll take the wheel!" "all right," agreed the mule driver. "this is some storm!" he added, bending his head to the blast of the wind and the drive of the rain. it was growing worse every moment, neale realized. buttoned as his rubber coat was, the lower part blew open every now and then, drenching his bare legs. as the boy hurried to the upper deck again to take command of the steering wheel, he heard from within the _bluebird_ sounds which told him the corner house girls, their guardian, and mrs. maccall were getting up. the voices of tess and dot could be heard, excited and somewhat frightened. "the only real danger," thought neale to himself, "is that we may hit a rock or something, and stave a hole in us. in that case we'd sink, i guess, and this lake is deep." but he had not told ruth that danger. he grasped the spokes of the wheel firmly, and waited for the vibration that would tell him hank had started the motor. and as he waited he had to face the wind and rain, and listen to the vibrating thunder, the while he was almost blinded by the vivid lightning. it was one of those fierce summer storms, and the temperature took a sudden drop so that neale was chilled through. "why doesn't hank start that motor?" impatiently thought the lad. "we're drifting fast and that big island must be somewhere in this neighborhood. i wonder how close it is? if we hit that going like this--good-night!" a vivid flash of light split the darkness like a dagger of flame and revealed the heaving tumultuous lake all about, the waters whipped and lashed into foam by the sudden wind. storms came up quickly on lake macopic, due to the exposed situation of the body of water, and there were often fatalities caused by boats being caught unprepared. just as neale was going to take a chance and hurry below to see what was delaying hank, there came the vibration of the craft which told that the motor had been started. "now we'll get somewhere," cried neale aloud. "i think i'd better head into the wind and try to make shore. if i can get her under the shelter of that bluff we passed this afternoon, it will be the best for all of us." he swung the wheel around, noting that the _bluebird_ answered to the helm, and then he dashed the water from his face with a motion of his head, shaking back his hair. as the craft gathered speed a figure came up the stairs and emerged on deck. it fought its way across the deck to the wheel and a voice asked: "are we making progress, neale?" [illustration: "you shouldn't have come here, aggie!" he cried, above the noise of the storm.] "oh, yes! but you shouldn't have come up here, aggie!" he cried, above the noise of the storm. "you'll be drenched!" "no, i have on mr. howbridge's raincoat. i made him and ruthie let me come up here to help you. you certainly need help in this emergency." "it's an emergency all right!" declared neale. "but we may come out of it safely." "can't i help you steer?" asked agnes. "i know how." "yes, you may help. i'm trying to make--" neale never finished that sentence. a moment later there was a jar that made him and agnes stagger, and then the _bluebird_ ceased to progress under the power of her motor and was again being blown before the fury of the storm. chapter xxii on the island "what's the matter? what has happened?" cried agnes, clinging partly to neale and partly to the wheel to preserve her balance. "are we sinking?" "oh, no," he answered. "we either struck something, or the motor has gone bad and stopped. i think it's the last. i'd better go and see." "i'll take the wheel," agnes offered. "you don't need to," said her companion. "she had no steerageway on her; and you might as well keep out of the storm. the rain is fierce!" agnes decided to take this advice, since staying on deck now would do no good and neale was going below. neale raced to the motor room, where he found hank ruefully contemplating the silent engine. "what's the matter?" asked neale. "is she broken?" "busted, or something," was the answer. "if this was a mule, now, i could argue with it. but i don't know enough about motors to take any chances. all i know is she was going all right, and then she suddenly laid down on me--stopped dead." "yes, i felt it," returned neale. "well, we'll have to see what the trouble is." agnes had gone into the main cabin where she found her sisters and mr. howbridge. mrs. maccall, in a nightcap she had forgotten to remove, was sitting in one corner. "oh, the perils o' the deep! the perils o' the deep!" she murmured. "the salty seas will snatch us fra the land o' the livin'!" "nonsense!" exclaimed mr. howbridge, for he saw that dot and tess were getting frightened by the fear of the scotch housekeeper's words. "lake macopic isn't salty, and it isn't deep. we'll be all right in a little while. here's agnes back to tell us so," he added with a smile at his ward. "what of the night, watchman?" he asked in a bantering tone. "well, it isn't a very pleasant night," agnes was forced to admit. "why aren't we moving?" asked tess. "we were moving and now we have stopped." "neale has gone to see, tess. he will have things in shape before long," was agnes' not very confident reply. "well, we're nice and snug here," said ruth, guessing that something was wrong, and joining forces with agnes in keeping it from mrs. maccall and the younger children. "we are snug and dry here." "i think i'll go and give the sailors a hand," mr. howbridge said. "ruth, you tell these little teases a story," he said as he shifted dot out of his lap and to a couch where he covered her with a blanket. "i'll get this wet coat off," remarked agnes. "my, but it does rain!" she passed mr. howbridge his coat. ruth took her place as mistress of the little household of corner house girls--mother to the three parentless sisters who depended so much on her. "and now, children, for the story!" she said. "what shall it be about?" this took the attention of tess and dot off their worries, and though the wind still howled and the rain dashed against the windows of the _bluebird_, they heeded it not. meanwhile mr. howbridge had made his way to the motor room where a sound of hammering on iron told him that efforts to make repairs were under way. "what is it, boys?" he asked as he saw neale and hank busy over the motor. "a wrench was jarred loose and fell into the flywheel pit," explained neale. "it stopped the motor suddenly, and until we get it loose we can't move the machinery. we're trying to knock it out." "need any help?" asked the lawyer, who had donned an old suit of clothing. "i think we can manage," said neale. "but you might take a look outside and see what's happening. that is, besides the storm. we can hear that." "yes, it seems to insist on being heard," agreed the guardian of the girls. "you say the anchor is dragging, neale?" "no, it's gone completely. at the bottom of the lake somewhere. i didn't have a chance to examine the end of the cable to see if it was cut or not." "cut!" exclaimed the lawyer in surprise. "well, it may have been cut by--accident," went on neale, with a meaning look which mr. howbridge understood. "i'll find out," was the comment, and then the lawyer went out into the rain while neale and the mule driver resumed their labors to loosen the monkey wrench which was jammed under the flywheel, thus effectually preventing the motor from operating. mr. howbridge made his way along the lower deck until he came to where the anchor cable was made fast to the holding cleat. he pulled up the dripping rope, hand over hand, until he had the end on deck. a lightning flash served to show him that the end was partly cut and partly frayed through. "it may have chafed on a sunken rock or been partly cut on the edge of something under water," thought the lawyer. "at any rate the anchor is gone, and unless i can bend on a spare one we've got to drift until they can get the motor going. i wonder if i can find a spare anchor. captain leed said nothing about one when he turned the boat over to me." stumbling about the deck in the rain, storm and darkness, the lawyer sought for a possible spare anchor. meanwhile ruth kept up the spirits of her two smallest sisters and mrs. maccall by gayly telling stories. she was a true "little mother," and in this instance she well deserved the appellations of both "martha" and "minerva." fortunate it was for the corner house girls that the _bluebird_ was a staunch craft, broad of beam and stout in her bottom planks. otherwise she never would have weathered the storm that had her in its grip. lake macopic was subject to these sudden outbursts of the furious elements. it was surrounded by hills, and through the intervening valleys currents of air swept down, lashing the waters into big waves. sailing craft are more at the mercy of the wind and water than are power boats, but when these last have lost their ability to progress they are in worse plight than the other craft, being less substantial in build. but the _bluebird_ was not exactly of either of these types. in fact the craft on which the corner house girls were voyaging was merely a big scow with a broad, flat bottom and a superstructure made into the semblance of a house on shore--with limitations, of course. it would be practically impossible to tip over the craft. the worst that could happen, and it would be a sufficient disaster, would be that a hole might be stove in the barge-like hull which would fill, and thus sink the boat. and the lake was deep enough in many places to engulf the _bluebird_. mr. howbridge realized this as he stumbled about the lower deck, looking for something that would serve as an anchor. he soon came to the conclusion that there was not a spare one on board, for had there been it naturally would have been in plain view to be ready for use in emergencies. having made a circuit of the deck, not finding anything that could be used, mr. howbridge debated with himself what he had better do next. he stepped into a small storeroom in the stern of the craft above the motor compartment where neale and hank were working, and there the lawyer flashed the pocket electric torch he carried. it gave him a view of a heterogeneous collection of articles, and when he saw a heavy piece of iron his eyes lightened. "this may do for an anchor," he said. "i'll fasten it on the rope and heave it overboard." but when he tried to move it alone he found it was beyond his strength. he could almost manage it, but a little more strength was needed. "i'll have to get neale or hank," mused mr. howbridge. "but i hate to ask them to stop. the safety of the _bluebird_ may depend on how quickly they get the motor started. and yet--" he heard some one approaching along the lower deck and a moment later a flash of lightning revealed to him ruth. "i heard some one in here," said the corner house girl, "and i came to see who it was. i thought maybe the door had blown open and was banging." "i was looking for an anchor, and i have found one, though i can't move it alone," the lawyer said. "but why have you left your sisters?" "because mrs. mac is telling them a scotch story. she has managed to interest them, and, at the same time, she is forgetting her own troubles. so i came out. let me help move the anchor, or whatever it is." "spoken like martha!" said mr. howbridge. "well, perhaps your added strength will be just what is needed. but you must be careful not to strain yourself," he added, anxiously. "i am no baby!" exclaimed ruth. "i want to help! where is it?" flashing his light again, her guardian showed her, and then, while the wind seemed to howl in fiercer fury, if that were possible, and while the rain beat down like hail-pellets, they managed to drag out on deck the heavy piece of iron, which seemed to be some part of a machine. the storeroom opened on that side of the deck where the superstructure of the houseboat gave some shelter, and, working in this, ruth and mr. howbridge managed to get the frayed end of the anchor rope attached to the heavy iron. "now if we can heave this overboard it may save us from drifting on the rocks until neale and hank can get the engine to working again," said the lawyer. "we'll try!" exclaimed ruth. her guardian caught a glimpse of her face as the skies flashed forth into flame again. her lips were parted from her rapid breathing, revealing her white teeth, and even in the stress and fury of the storm mr. howbridge could not but admire her. though no one ever called ruth kenway pretty, there was an undeniable charm about her, and that had been greater, her guardian thought, ever since the day of luke shepard's entrance into her life. "it's our last hope, and a forlorn one," mr. howbridge said dubiously, looking at their anchor. together they managed to drag the heavy piece of iron to the edge of the deck. then, making sure the rope was fast about the cleat, they heaved the improvised anchor over the side. it fell into lake macopic with a great splash. "what was that?" cried neale, coming out on deck, followed by agnes, who had been down watching him work at the engine. "our new anchor," replied the lawyer. "it may serve to hold us if you can't get the engine to working," and he explained what he and ruth had done. "good!" exclaimed neale. "i hope it does hold, for it doesn't seem as if we were going to get that monkey wrench out in a hurry. i'm looking for a long bar of iron to see if we can use it as a lever." "there may be one in the storeroom where we found the anchor," remarked ruth. "i'll have a look." the _bluebird_ was not living up to her name. instead of skimming more or less lightly over the surface of the lake she was rolling to and fro in the trough of the waves, which were really high. now and then the crest of some comber broke over the snub bow of the craft, sending back the spray in a shower that rattled on the front windows of the cabin. anxiously the four on deck waited to see the effect of the anchor. if it held, catching on the bottom of the lake, it would mean a partial solution of their troubles. if it dragged-- neale hastened to the side and looked down at the anchor cable. it was taut, showing that the weight had not slipped off. but the drift of the boat was not checked. "why doesn't it hold?" asked ruth. "is it dragging?" came from the lawyer. "i don't believe it is touching bottom," replied neale. "i'm afraid the rope is too short. we are moving faster than before." just as he spoke there came a vivid flash of lightning. involuntarily they all shrank. it seemed as though they were about to be blasted where they stood. and then, as a great crash followed, they trembled with the vibration of its rumble. the next instant ruth and agnes cried simultaneously: "look! we're being blown ashore!" neale and mr. howbridge peered through the darkness. another lightning flash showed their peril. "we're going to hit the island!" shouted neale. a few seconds later the wind blew the _bluebird_, beams-on, upon a rocky shore. chapter xxiii suspicions the shock of the sudden stop, the tilting of the craft, which was sharply careened to one side, the howl of the wind, the rumble of the thunder, the flash of the lightning, and the dash of the rain--all these combined to make the position of those aboard the _bluebird_ anything but enviable. "are we lost! oh, are we lost?" cried mrs. maccall, rushing out of the cabin. "ha the seas engulfed us?" "no, nothing of the sort!" answered mr. howbridge. "please don't get excited, and go back to the children. we are all right!" "yes, i believe we are," added neale, as another flash showed what had happened. "at least we are in no danger of sinking now." for they had been sent before the fury of the storm straight upon the rocky shore of one of the large islands of lake macopic. and there the houseboat came to rest. as neale had said, all danger of foundering was passed, and in case of need they could easily escape to substantial land, though it was but an island. but tilted as the _bluebird_ was, forming a less comfortable abode than formerly, she offered a better place to stay than did the woods of the island, bending as they were now to the fierce wind, and drenched as they were in the pelting rain. "we're here for the night, at least," said neale, as the continued lightning revealed more fully what had happened. "we shall not drift any more, and though there's a lot of excitement going on, i guess we can keep dry." he and mr. howbridge, with ruth and agnes, stood out on the open, lower deck, but there was a shelter over their heads and the sides of the house part of the boat kept the rain from them. the storm was coming from the west, and they had been blown on the weather side of the island. the lee shore was on the other side. there they would have been sheltered, but they could not choose their situation. "we'd better take a turn with a rope around a tree or two," suggested hank, as he came up to join the little party. "no use drifting off again." "you're right," agreed neale. "and then we can turn in and wait for morning. i only hope--" "what?" asked agnes, as he hesitated. "i hope it clears," neale finished. but what he had been going to say was that he hoped no holes would be stove in the hull of the boat. it was no easy task for him and hank to get two lines ashore--from bow and stern--and fasten them to trees. but eventually it was accomplished. then, as if it had worked its worst, the storm appeared to decrease in violence and it was possible to get a little rest. however, before turning in again, mrs. maccall insisted on making a pot of tea for the older folk, while the small children were given some bread and milk. as the berths where dot and tess had been sleeping were uncomfortably tilted by the listing of the boat, the little girls were given the places occupied by ruth and agnes, who managed to make shift to get some rest in the slanting beds. "whew!" exclaimed neale as he went to his room when all that was possible had been done, "this has been some night!" as might have been expected, the morning broke clear, warm and sunny, and the only trace of the storm was in the rather high waves of the lake. before mrs. maccall served breakfast neale, mr. howbridge, agnes and ruth went ashore, an easy matter, since the _bluebird_ was stranded, and made an examination. they found their craft so firmly fixed on the rocky shore that help would be needed before she could be floated. "but how are we going to get help?" asked ruth. "oh, there may be fishermen living on this island," said mr. howbridge. "we'll make a tour and see." "and if there is none," added neale, "hank or i can row over to the next nearest island or to the mainland and bring back some men." the _bluebird_ carried on her afterdeck a small skiff to be used in making trips to and from the craft when she was at anchor out in some stream or lake. this boat would be available for the journey to the mainland or to another island. an examination showed that the houseboat was not damaged more than superficially, and after a hearty breakfast, neale and mr. howbridge held a consultation with ruth and agnes. "what we had better do is this," said the lawyer. "we had better turn our energies in two ways. one toward getting the disabled motor in shape, and the other toward seeking help to put us afloat once more." "hank can work on the motor," decided neale. "all it needs is to have the monkey wrench taken out of the pit. in fact the space is so cramped that only one can work to advantage at a time. that will leave me free to go ashore in the boat." "why not try this island first?" asked ruth. "if there are any fishermen here they could help us get afloat, and it would save time. it is quite a distance to the main shore or even to the next island." "yes, it is," agreed neale. "but i don't mind the row." "it is still rough," put in agnes, looking over the heaving lake. "then i think the best thing to do," said mr. howbridge, "is for some of us to go ashore and see if we can find any men to help us. three or four of them, with long poles, could pry the _bluebird_ off the rocks and into the water again." "oh, do let's go ashore!" cried agnes, and tess and dot, coming up just then, echoed this. mrs. maccall did not care to go, saying she would prepare dinner for them. hank took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and started to work on the motor, while the others began their island explorations. the houseboat had been blown on one of the largest bits of wooded land that studded lake macopic. in fact it was so large and wild that after half an hour's walk no sign of habitation or inhabitants had been seen. "looks to be deserted," said neale. "i guess i'll have to make the trip to the mainland after all." "perhaps," agreed the lawyer, while ruth called to tess and dot not to stray too far off in their eagerness to see all there was to be seen in the strange woods. "well, we are in no special rush, and while our position is not altogether comfortable on board the _bluebird_, the relief from the storm is grateful. i wonder--" "hark!" suddenly whispered ruth, holding up a hand to enjoin silence. "i hear voices!" they all heard them a moment later. "i guess some one lives here after all," remarked mr. howbridge. "the talk seems to come from just beyond us." "let's follow this path," suggested neale, pointing to a fairly well defined one amid the trees. it skirted the shore, swung down into a little hollow, and then emerged on the bank of a small cove which formed a natural harbor for a small motor boat. and a motor boat was at that moment in the sheltered cove. all in the party saw it, and they also saw something else. this was a view of two roughly dressed men, who, at the sound of crackling branches and rustling leaves beneath the feet of the explorers, looked up quickly. "it's them again! come on!" quickly cried one of the men, and in an instant they had jumped into the motor boat which was tied to a tree near shore. it was the work of but a moment for one of them to turn over the flywheel and start the motor. the other cast off, and in less than a minute from the time the corner house girls and their friends had glimpsed them the two ragged men were on their way in their boat out of the cove. "look! look!" cried ruth, pointing at them. "they're the same ones!" "the men we saw at the lock?" asked neale. "yes, and the men who robbed us--i am almost positive of that!" cried the oldest corner house girl. "the rascals!" exclaimed the lawyer. "they're going to escape us again! fate seems to be with them! every time we come upon them they manage to distance us!" this was what was happening now. the tramps--such they seemed to be, though the possession of a motor boat took them out of the ordinary class--with never a look behind, speeded away. "how provoking!" cried agnes. "to think they have our jewelry and we can't make them give it up." "you are not sure they have it," said mr. howbridge, as the motor craft passed out of sight beyond a tree-fringed point. "i think i am," said ruth. "if they are not guilty why do they always hurry away when they see us?" "well, minerva, that is a question i can not answer," said her guardian, with a smile. "you are a better lawyer than i when it comes to that. certainly it does look suspicious." "oh, for a motor boat!" sighed neale. "i'd like to chase those rascals!" "yes, it would be interesting to find out why they seem to fear us," agreed mr. howbridge. "but it's too late, now." "i wonder why they came to this island," mused ruth. "do you think they were fishermen?" "they didn't have any implements of the trade," said mr. howbridge. "but their presence proves that the island is not altogether uninhabited. let's go along, and we may find some one to help get the boat back into the water." they resumed their journey, new beauties of nature being revealed at every step. the trees and grass were particularly green after the effective washing of the night before, and there were many wild flowers which the two little girls gathered, with many exclamations of delight. turning with the path, the trampers suddenly came to a small clearing amid the trees. it was a little grassy glade, through which flowed a stream of water, doubtless from some hidden spring higher up among the rocks. but what most interested neale, agnes, ruth and the lawyer was a small cabin that stood in the middle of the beautiful green grass. "there's a house!" cried dot. "look!" "it's the start of one, anyhow," agreed mr. howbridge. "and somebody lives in it," went on ruth, as the door of the cabin opened and a heavily bearded man came out, followed by a dog. the dog ran, barking, toward the explorers, but a command from the man brought him back. "i hope we aren't trespassing," said mr. howbridge. "we were blown on the island last night, and we're looking for help to get our houseboat back into the lake." "oh, no, you aren't trespassing," the man replied with a smile, showing two rows of white teeth that contrasted strangely with his black beard. "i own part of the island, but not all of it. what sort of boat did you say?" "houseboat," and the lawyer explained the trouble. "are there men here we can get to help us pole her off the shore?" he asked. "well, i guess i and my two boys could give you a hand," was the slow answer. "they've gone over to the mainland with some fish to sell, but they'll be back around noon." "we'll be glad of their help," went on the lawyer. "do you live here all the while?" "mostly. i and my boys fish and guide. lots of men come here in the summer that don't know where to fish, and we take 'em out." "were those your two sons we saw in a motor boat back there in the cove?" asked neale, indicating the place where the tramps had been observed. rather anxiously the bearded man's answer was awaited. "what sort of boat was it?" he countered. neale described it sufficiently well. "no, those weren't my boys," returned the man, while the dog made friends with the visitors, much to the delight of dot and tess. "we haven't any such boat as that. i don't know who those fellows could be, though of course many people come to this island." "i wish we could find out who those men are," said mr. howbridge. "i have peculiar reasons for wanting to know," he went on. "i think they call themselves klondikers, because they have been, or claim to have been, to the alaskan klondike," said neale. "do you happen to know any klondikers around here?" somewhat to the surprise of the boy the answer came promptly: "yes, i do. a man named o'neil." "what!" exclaimed neale, starting forward. "do you know my father? where is he? tell me about him!" "well, i don't know that he's your father," went on the black-bearded man. "though, now i recollect, he did say he had a son and he hoped to see him soon. but this o'neil lives on one of the islands here in the lake. or at least he's been staying there the last week. he bought some fish of me, and he said then he'd been to the klondike after gold." "did he say he got any?" asked neale. the man of the cabin shook his head. "i wouldn't say so," he remarked. "mr. o'neil had to borrow money of one of my boys to hire a boat. i guess he's poorer than the general run. he couldn't have got any gold in the klondike." at this answer neale's heart sank, and a worried suspicion crept into his mind. if his father were poor it might explain something that had been troubling the boy of late. somehow, all the brightness seemed to go out of the day. neale's happy prospects appeared very dim now. "poor father!" he murmured to himself. suddenly, from the lake behind them came some loud shouts, at which the dog began to bark. then followed a shot, and the animal raced down the slope toward the water. chapter xxiv closing in "perhaps these are the men!" exclaimed ruth to the lawyer. "what men?" he asked. "those tramps--the ones who robbed us in the rain storm that day. if they come here--" "what's the matter?" asked the man of the cabin--aleck martin he had said his name was. "what seems to be the trouble with the young lady?" and, as he spoke, gazing at ruth, the barking of the dog and the shouting grew apace. "she is excited, thinking the rascals about whom we have been inquiring might now make their appearance," mr. howbridge answered. "mr. martin laughed so heartily that his black beard waved up and down like a bush in the wind, and dot and tess watched it in fascination. "excuse me, friend," the dweller in the cabin went on, "but i couldn't help it. those are my two boys coming back. they always cut up like that. seems like the quietness of the lake and this island gets on their nerves sometimes, and they have to raise a ruction. no harm in it, not a bit. jack, the dog, enjoys it as much as they do." this was evident a few moments later, for up the slope came two sturdy young men, one carrying a gun, and the dog was frisking about between the two, having the jolliest time imaginable. "there are my boys!" said mr. martin, and he spoke with pride. "oh, will you excuse me?" asked ruth, in some confusion. "that's all right--they do look like tramps," said their father. "but you can't wear your best clothes fussing around boats and fish and taking parties out. well, tom and henry, any luck?" he asked the newcomers. "extra fine, dad," answered one, while both of them stared curiously at the visitors. "that's good," went on mr. martin. "these folks," he added, "were blown ashore last night in their houseboat. they want help to get it off." "will you go and look at her, and then we can make a bargain?" interposed mr. howbridge. "oh, shucks now, friend, we aren't always out for money, though we make a living by working for summer folks like you," said mr. martin, smiling. "is that your boat over there?" asked one of the young men whose name, they learned later, was tom. "yes," assented neale, for the fisherman pointed in the direction of the stranded _bluebird_, which, however, could not be seen from the cabin. "we saw her as we came around," went on henry. "i wondered what she was doing up on shore, and we intended to have a look after we tied up our craft." "will you be able to help us get her afloat?" asked ruth, for she rather liked the healthful, manly appearance of the two young men. "sure!" assented their father. "this is that o'neil man's son," he went on, speaking to his boys. "what, o'neil; the klondiker?" asked tom quickly. "yes," assented neale. "can you tell me about him? where is he? how did he make out in alaska?" "well, he's on an island about ten miles from here," was the answer of henry. "as for making out, i don't believe he did very well in the gold business, to tell you the truth. he doesn't say much about it, but i guess the other men got most of it." "what other men?" asked neale, and again his heart sank and that terrible suspicion came back to him. "oh, a bunch he is in with," answered henry martin. "they all live together in a shack on cedar island. your father hired a boat of us. i trusted him for it, as he said he had no ready cash. but i reckon it's all right." this only served to make neale more uneasy. he had been hoping against hope that his father would have found at least a competence in the klondike. now it seemed he had not, and, driven by poverty, he might have adopted desperate measures. nor did neale like the remarks about his father being in with a "bunch" of men. true, mr. o'neil had been in the circus at one time, and they, of necessity, are a class of rough and ready men. but they are honest, neale reflected. these other men--if the two who had escaped in the motor boat were any samples--were not to be trusted. so it was with falling spirits that the boy waited for what was to happen next. agnes' quick mind and ready sympathy guessed neale's thoughts. "it will be all right, neale o'neil. you know it will. your father couldn't go wrong." "you're a pal worth having, aggie," he whispered to the girl. "i would like to see my father," he said to the lawyer. "do you think we could go to cedar island in the houseboat?" "of course we can!" exclaimed mr. howbridge. "we'll go as soon as we can get her afloat." "and that won't take long; she didn't seem to be in a bad position," said tom. "come on, we'll go over now," he went on, nodding to his father and his brother. "i have an alice-doll on the boat," said dot, taking a sudden liking to henry. "you have?" he exclaimed, taking hold of her hand which she thrust confidingly into his. "well, that's fine! i wish i had a doll!" "do you?" asked dot, all smiles now. "well, i have a lot of 'em at home. there's muriel and bonnie betty and a sailor boy doll, and nosmo king kenway, and then i have twins--ann eliza and eliza ann, and--" "eliza ann isn't a twin any more--anyway not a good twin," put in tess. "both her legs are off!" "oh, that's too bad!" exclaimed henry sympathetically. "and if you want a doll, i can give you one of mine," proceeded dot. "only i don't want to give you alice-doll 'cause she's all i have with me. but if you want muriel--" "muriel has only one eye," said tess quickly. "i think i should love a one-eyed doll!" said the young man, who seemed to know just how to talk to children. "then i'll send her to you!" delightedly offered dot. "and i'll send you one of almira's kittens!" said tess, who did not seem to want her sister to do all the giving. "hold on there! don't i get anything?" asked tom, in mock distress. "almira's got a lot of kittens," said dot. "would you like one of them?" "well i should say so! if henry's going to have a kitten and a doll, i think i ought at least to have a kitten," he said. "well, i'll send you one," promised tess. and then, with the two children, one in charge of henry and the other holding tom's hand, the trip was made back to where the _bluebird_ was stranded. "it won't be much of a job to get her off," declared mr. martin, when he and his sons had made an expert examination. "get some long poles, boys, and some blocks, and i think half an hour's work will do the trick." "oh, shall we be able to move soon?" asked mrs. maccall, coming out on deck. "we hope so," answered ruth, as she went on board and told of the visit to the cabin, while neale hurried to the engine room to see what success hank had met with. the mule driver had succeeded in getting the monkey wrench out from under the flywheel, and the craft could move under her own power once she was afloat. "what's the matter with neale?" asked mrs. maccall, while the men were in the woods getting the poles. "he looks as if all the joy had departed from life." "i'm afraid it has, for him," said ruth soberly. "it seems that his father is located near here--on cedar island--and is poor." "nothing in that to take the joy out of life!" and mrs. maccall strode away. "well, being poor isn't anything," declared agnes. "lots of people are poor. we were, before uncle peter stower left us the corner house." "i think neale fears his father may have had something to do with-- oh, agnes, i hate to say it, but i think neale believes his father either robbed us, or knows something about the men who took the jewelry box!" "but we know it isn't true!" exclaimed agnes. "anyway, the klondike trip was a failure." "yes, and i'm so sorry!" exclaimed agnes. "couldn't we help--" "i think we shall just have to wait," advised her sister. "we can talk to mr. howbridge about it after we find out more. i think they are going to move the boat now." this task was undertaken, and to such good advantage did mr. martin and his sons work, aided, of course, by neale, mr. howbridge and hank, that the _bluebird_ was soon afloat again. "now we can go on, and when i get back home i'll send you a doll and a pussy cat!" offered dot to henry. "and i'll send you two pussy cats!" tess said to tom. the young men laughed, their father joining in. "how much do i owe you?" asked the lawyer, when it was certain that the houseboat was afloat, undamaged, and could proceed on her way. "not a cent!" was the hearty answer of mr. martin. "we always help our neighbors up here, and you were neighbors for a while," he added with a laugh. "well, i'm a thousand times obliged to you," said the guardian of the corner house girls. "our trip might have been spoiled if we couldn't have gone on, though i must say you have a delightful resting spot in this island." "we like it here," admitted the fisherman, while his sons were looking over the houseboat, which they pronounced "slick." neale seemed to have lost heart and spirit. dot and tess, of course, did not notice it so much, as there was plenty to occupy them. but to ruth and agnes, as well as to mr. howbridge, neale's dejection was very evident. "is the motor all right?" asked the lawyer of neale, when the martins had departed with their dog. "yes, she runs all right now." "then we might as well head for cedar island," suggested the lawyer. "the sooner you find your father the better." "yes--i suppose so," and neale turned away to hide his sudden emotion. once more the _bluebird_ was under way, moving slowly over the sparkling waters of lake macopic. all traces of the storm had vanished. "mrs. mac wants to know if we are going to pass any stores," said agnes, coming up on deck when the island on which they had been stranded had been left behind. "we can run over to the mainland if she wants us to," the lawyer said. "is it anything important, agnes?" "only some things to eat." "well, that's important enough!" he laughed. "we'll stop at that point over there," and he indicated one. "from there we can make a straight run to cedar island. you won't mind the delay, will you?" he asked neale, who was steering. "oh, no," was the indifferent answer. "i guess there's no hurry." they all felt sorry for the lad, but decided nothing could be done. mr. howbridge admitted, after ruth had spoken to him, that matters looked black for mr. o'neil, but with his legal wisdom the lawyer said: "don't bring in a verdict of guilty until you have heard all the evidence. it is only fair to suspend judgment. it would be cruel to raise neale's hopes, only to dash them again, but i am hoping for the best." this comforted ruth and agnes a little; though of course agnes, in her loyalty to neale, did not allow doubt to enter her mind. the point for which the boat was headed was a little settlement on the lake shore. it was also the center of a summer colony, and was a lively place just at present, this being the height of the season. at the point were a number of stores, and it was there the supplies for the scotch housekeeper could be purchased. ruth and agnes had made their selections and the things were being put on board when a number of men were observed coming down the long dock. one of them wore a nickel badge on the outside of his coat, and seemed to have an air of authority. neale, who had been below helping hank store away some supplies of oil and gasoline that had been purchased, came out on deck, and, with the girls and mr. howbridge, watched the approach of the men. "looks like a constable or sheriff's officer with a posse," commented ruth. "it reminds me of a scene i saw in the movies." "it is an officer--i know him," said mr. howbridge in a low voice. "he once worked on a case for me several years ago. that's bob newcomb--quite a character in his way. i wonder if he remembers me." this point was settled a moment later, for the officer--he with the nickel badge of authority--looked up and his face lightened when he saw the lawyer. "well, if it ain't mr. howbridge!" exclaimed mr. newcomb. "well now, sufferin' caterpillers, this is providential! is that your boat?" he asked, halting his force by a wave of his hand. "i may say i control it," was the answer. "why do you ask?" "'cause then there won't be no unfriendly feelin' if i act in the performance of my duty," went on the constable, for such he was. "i'll have to take possession of your craft in the name of the law." "what do you mean?" asked mr. howbridge, rather sharply. "is this craft libeled? all bills are paid, and i am in legal possession. i have a bill of sale and this boat is to be delivered to a client of mine--" "there you go! there you go! ready to fight at the drop of the hat!" chuckled the constable. "just like you did before when i worked on that timber land case with you. but there's no occasion to get roiled up, mr. howbridge. i only want to take temporary possession of your boat in the name of the law. all i want to have is a ride for me and my posse. we're on the business of the law, and you, being a lawyer, know what that means. i call on you, as a good citizen, to aid, as i've got a right to do." "i recognize that," said the lawyer, now smiling, and glancing at ruth and the others to show everything was all right. "but what's the game?" "robbery's the game!" came the stern answer. "we're going to round up and close in on a band of tramps, robbers and other criminals! they have a camp on an island, and they've been robbin' hen roosts and doin' other things in this community until this community has got good and sick of it. then they called in the law--that's me and my posse," he added, waving his hand toward the men back of him. "the citizens called in the law, represented by me, and i am going to chase the rascals out!" "very good," assented mr. howbridge. "i'm willing to help, as all good citizens should. but what am i to do? where do i come in?" "you're going to lend us that boat," said constable newcomb. "it's the only large one handy just now, and we don't want to lose any time. as soon as i saw you put into the dock i made up my mind i'd commandeer the craft. that's the proper term, ain't it?" he asked. "yes," assented the lawyer, smiling, "i believe it is. so you want to commandeer the _bluebird_." "to take me and my posse over to cedar island, and there to close in on a bunch of klondikers!" went on the constable, and neale, hearing it, gave a startled cry. "anybody on board that's afraid to come may stay at home," said the constable quickly. "i mean they can get off the boat. but we've got to have the craft to get to the island. now then, mr. howbridge, will you help?" "certainly. as a matter of law i have to," answered the lawyer slowly. "and will you help, and you?" went on the constable, looking in turn at neale and hank, who were on deck. "i call upon you in the name of the law." "yes, they'll help," said mr. howbridge quickly. "don't object or say anything," he added to neale in a low voice. "leave everything to me!" "fall in! get on board! we'll close in on the rascals!" cried the constable, very well pleased that he could issue orders. neale's heart was torn with doubts. chapter xxv the capture constable newcomb and his posse disposed themselves comfortably aboard the _bluebird_, and, at a nod from mr. howbridge, neale rang the bell to tell hank to throw in the gear clutch and start the boat. the girls, much to agnes' dissatisfaction, had been left ashore, since there was likely to be rough work arresting the "klondikers," as the constable called the tramps on cedar island. mrs. maccall stayed with them. they had disembarked at the point dock and when the boat pulled off went to the hotel there to await the return of their friends. "now, mr. newcomb, perhaps you can explain what it's all about," suggested the lawyer to the constable, when they sat on deck together, near neale at the steering wheel. the lawyer made the boy a signal to say nothing, but to listen. "well, this is what it's about," was the answer. "as i told you, a parcel of tramps--klondikers they call themselves because, i understand, some of 'em have been in alaska. anyhow a parcel of tramps are living on cedar island. they've been robbing right and left, and the folks around here are tired of it. so a complaint was made and i've got a lot of warrants to arrest the men." "do you know any of their names?" asked the lawyer. "no, all the warrants are made out in the name of john doe. that's legal, you know." "yes, i know," assented mr. howbridge. "and how many do you expect to arrest?" "oh, about half a dozen. two of 'em have a motor boat, i understand, but they had an accident in the storm last night and can't navigate. that's the reason we're going over there now--they can't get away!" "good!" exclaimed mr. howbridge. "i fancy, mr. newcomb, i may be able to add another complaint to the ones you already have, if two of the men turn out to be the characters we suspect." "why, have they been robbing your hen roost, too?" asked the constable. "no, but two of my wards, ruth and agnes kenway, were robbed of a box of jewelry just before we started on this trip," said the lawyer. "two rough men held them up in a hallway on a rainy morning and snatched a jewel box. the men were tramps--and the day before that two men who called themselves klondikers had looked at vacant rooms in the house where the robbery occurred. since then the girls think they have seen the same tramps several times. i hope you can round them up." "we'll get 'em if they're on cedar island!" the constable declared. "got your guns, boys?" he asked the members of his posse. each one had, it seemed, and the nervous tension grew as the island was neared. hank drove the _bluebird_ at her best speed, which, of course, was not saying much, for she was not a fast craft. but gradually the objective point came into view. "it's just as well not to have too fast a boat," the constable said. "if the klondikers saw it coming they might jump in the lake and swim away. they won't be so suspicious of this." "perhaps not," the lawyer assented. but he could not help thinking how tragic it would be if it should happen that neale's father was among those captured. neale himself guided the houseboat on her way. "put her around into that cove," constable newcomb directed the youth at the wheel, when the island was reached. silently the _bluebird_ floated into a little natural harbor and was made fast to the bank. "all ashore now, and don't make any noise," ordered the officer. "they haven't spotted us yet, i guess. we may surround 'em and capture 'em without any trouble." "let us hope so," said mr. howbridge. "have they some sort of house or headquarters?" "they live in a shack or two," the constable replied. "it's in the middle of the island. i'd better lead the way," he went on, and he placed himself at the head of his men. "don't make any outcry or any explanation if your father is among these men," said mr. howbridge to neale, as the two walked on behind the posse. this was the first direct reference to the matter the lawyer had made. "i'll do whatever you say," assented neale listlessly. "it may all be a mistake," went on the lawyer sympathetically. "we will not jump at conclusions." hank had been sworn in as a special deputy, and was with the other men who pressed on through the woods after constable newcomb. suddenly the leader halted, and his men did likewise. "something's up!" called mr. howbridge to neale. they went on a little farther and saw, in a clearing, a small cabin. there was no sign of life about it. "i guess they're in there," said the constable in a low tone to his men. "the motor boat's at the dock, and so is the rowboat, so they're on the island. close in, men!" he suddenly cried. there was a rush toward the cabin, and mr. howbridge and neale followed. the door was burst in and the constable and his posse entered. three men were asleep in rude bunks, and they sat up bleary-eyed and bewildered at the unexpected rush. "wot's matter?" asked one, thickly. "you're under arrest!" exclaimed the constable. "in the name of the law i arrest you! i'm the law!" he went on, tapping his nickel shield. one of the men made a dart for a window, as though to get out, but he was knocked back by a deputy, and in a few seconds all three men were secured. neale, who had pressed into the cabin as soon as possible, looked with fast-beating heart into the faces of the three tramps. to his great relief none was his father. "now, what's all this about?" growled one of the men. "what's the game?" "you'll find out soon enough," declared the constable. "are either of these the men you spoke of?" he asked the lawyer. "yes, those two are the ones that several times went off in a hurry in the motor boat," said mr. howbridge. "but i can not identify them as the ones who took the jewelry. ruth and agnes kenway will have to do that." as he spoke the two men looked at him. one shook his head and the other exclaimed: "it's all up. they got us right!" "come on now lively, men!" cried constable newcomb. "search this place, gather up what evidence you can, and we'll take 'em to jail." "are there any others?" asked neale, hoping against hope as the men were taken outside the shack and the search was begun. "i guess we have the main ones, anyhow," answered mr. newcomb. "oh, look at this bunch of stuff!" he cried, as he threw back the dirty blankets of one of the bunks. "they've been robbing right and left." it was a heterogeneous collection of articles, and at the sight of one box mr. howbridge exclaimed: "there it is! the jewelry case i gave miss ruth! these men were either the thieves or they know something about the robbery. see if anything is left in the box." it was quickly opened, and seen to contain a number of rings, pins, and trinkets. "well, there's a good part of it," the lawyer remarked. "it will need ruth and agnes to tell just what is missing." mr. howbridge and neale were watching the constable and his men finish the search of the cabin, while others of the posse had taken the prisoners to the boat, when suddenly into the shack came another man, whose well-worn clothing would seem to proclaim him as one of the "klondikers." but at the sight of this man neale sprang forward, and held out his hands. "father!" cried the boy. "don't you know me?" "it's neale--my son!" was the gasping exclamation. "how in the world did you get here? i was just about to start for milton to look you up." "well, i guess, before you do, we'll look you up a bit, and maybe lock you up, also," said the constable dryly. "do you belong to the klondike bunch?" he asked. "well, yes, i might say that i do; or rather that i did." said neale's father, and though the boy gasped in dismay, mr. o'neil smiled. "i understand the crowd has been captured," he added. "yes. and you may consider yourself captured also!" snapped out the officer. "jim, a pair of handcuffs here!" "one moment!" interposed mr. howbridge, with a glance at neale. "i represent this man, officer. i'll supply bail for him--" mr. o'neil laughed. "thank you," he said. "your offer is kind, and i appreciate it. but i shan't need bail. i believe you received a letter telling you to make this raid, did you not?" he asked the constable. "i did," was the answer. "it was that letter which gave us the clue to the robbers. i'd like to meet the man who wrote it. he said he would give evidence against the rascals." "who signed that letter?" asked neale's father. "i have it here. i can show you," offered mr. newcomb. "it was signed by a man named o'neil," he added as he produced the document. "he said he'd meet us here, but--" "well, he has met you. i'm o'neil," broke in the other. "and it was i who gave you the information." "oh, father!" cried neale, "then you're not one of the--" "i'm not one of the thieves; though i admit my living here among them made it look so," said mr. o'neil. "it is easily explained. one of the men made a fraudulent claim to part of a mine i own in alaska, and i had to remain in his company until i could disprove his statements. this i have done. the matter is all cleared up, and i concluded it was time to hand the rascals over to the law. so i sent the letter to the authorities, and i'm glad it is all ended." "so am i!" cried neale. "then you did strike it rich after all?" "no, not exactly rich, son. i was pretty lucky, though, and i struck pay dirt in the klondike. i wrote your uncle bill about it, but probably the letters miscarried. i never was much of a letter writer, anyhow. and i never knew until the other day that you were so anxious to find me. i couldn't have left here anyhow, though, for i had to straighten out my affairs. now everything is all right. do you still want to arrest me?" he asked the constable. "no," replied mr. newcomb. "i reckon you're a friend of the law and, in consequence, you're my friend. now come on, boys, we'll lock up the other birds." neale walked by the side of his father and it was difficult to say who talked the most. mr. howbridge accompanied the constable and from him learned how the raid had been planned through information sent by mr. o'neil. when the party reached the houseboat, whither some of the deputies had preceded with the prisoners, the sight of a figure on the upper deck attracted the attention of neale and the lawyer. "agnes!" gasped her guardian. "how did you get here?" "on the _bluebird_. i just couldn't bear to be left behind, and so i slipped on board again after you said good-by on the dock. there wasn't any shooting after all," she added, as if disappointed. "no, it was easier than i expected," admitted the lawyer. "and, while you should not have come, this may interest you!" "our jewelry!" cried agnes as she took the extended box. quickly she looked over the contents. "only two little pins are missing!" she reported. "we shan't mind the loss of them. oh, how glad i am to get my things! and mother's wedding ring, too! how did it happen?" "i think you have neale's father to thank," answered mr. howbridge. "oh, i am so glad!" cried agnes, and she was happy in more ways than one. "what did i tell you, neale o'neil?" the _bluebird_ made a quick trip back to the point and the rascals were locked up. two of them proved to be the thieves who had robbed ruth and agnes, though their ill-gotten gains did them little good, as they dared not dispose of them. the third prisoner was not involved in that robbery, though he was implicated in others around the lake. eventually, all three went to prison for long terms. neale's father, of course, was not involved. as he explained, he had located a mine in alaska and it made him moderately well off. but he had a rascally partner, and it was necessary for mr. o'neil to stay with this man until a settlement was made. it was this partner who had dealings with the thieves; and that had made it look bad for neale's father. this man was arrested later. as soon as he saw how matters were on cedar island mr. o'neil decided to give the evil men over to the law, and he carried out his plan as quickly as possible. the two "klondikers" who had inquired about rooms from the stetson family were part of the thieving gang, and they were also later arrested. they were planning a bank robbery in town, and the two men who took the jewelry from ruth and agnes were part of the same crowd. the robbery of the girls, of course, was done on the spur of the moment. the two ragged men had merely taken shelter in the doorway, after having called at the stetson house to get the "lay of the land." and as such characters are always on the watch to commit some crime they hope may profit them, these two acted on the impulse. for some reason the bank robbery plans miscarried, and the two jewelry robbers started back for lake macopic, where they had left some confederates, including mr. o'neil's partner. the rascals imagined the corner house girls were following them, hence the several quick departures in the motor boat. whether one of these men looked in the window of tess was never learned. "i'm so glad our suspicions of hank were unfounded," said ruth, when later the events of the day were being talked over in the _bluebird_ cabin. "yes, that ring was his mother's," said neale. "he told me about it after i had hinted that we had been watching him. and, oh, father, i'm so glad i found you!" he added. "you're through with the klondike; aren't you?" "yes, i'm going to sell out my mine and go into some other business." "do you mean back to the circus?" asked mr. howbridge. "no. though i want to see bill and the others." "why don't you stay with us and finish the trip on the houseboat, mr. o'neil?" ruth asked. "thank you, i will," he answered, after the others had added their urgings to ruth's invitation. and so, after the somewhat exciting adventures the trip was resumed, and eventually the craft was delivered to her owner. before this, however, happy days were spent cruising about lake macopic, the children and mrs. maccall enjoying life to the utmost. there were days of fishing and days of bathing and splashing in the limpid waters near sandy beaches. tess and dot were taught to swim by neale, and his father made the children laugh by imitating seals he had seen in alaska. hank, too, seemed to enjoy the vacation days, and he proved a valuable helper, forming a great friendship with mr. o'neil. during those days ruth received two more letters from luke and one from his sister. luke was still working hard at the summer hotel, and cecile reported that the sick aunt was now much better. luke congratulated neale on finding his father. and then, as was usual, he added a page or two intended only for ruth's eyes,--words that made her eyes shine with rare happiness. "oh, we had a lovely time!" said agnes when they disembarked for the last time. "the nicest summer vacation we ever spent." "indeed it was," agreed ruth. "and when i get home i'm going to send mr. henry my doll and a kitten so he won't be lonesome on that island in winter," observed dot. "and i'm going to send mr. tom something," declared tess. "he likes me, and maybe when i grow up i'll marry him!" "oh, what a child!" laughed ruth. "i'm glad you liked the trip," said the lawyer. "and i think we can agree that it accomplished something," he added as he looked at neale and his father. "it made my alice-doll a lot better!" piped up dot, and they all laughed. and so, in this jolly mood, we will take leave of the corner house girls. the end charming stories for girls (from eight to twelve years old) the corner house girls series by grace brooks hill four girls from eight to fourteen years of age receive word that a rich bachelor uncle has died, leaving them the old corner house he occupied. they move into it and then the fun begins. what they find and do will provoke many a hearty laugh. later, they enter school and make many friends. one of these invites the girls to spend a few weeks at a bungalow owned by her parents; and the adventures they meet with make very interesting reading. clean, wholesome stories of humor and adventure, sure to appeal to all young girls. corner house girls. corner house girls at school. corner house girls under canvas. corner house girls in a play. corner house girls' odd find. corner house girls on a tour. corner house girls growing up. corner house girls snowbound. corner house girls on a houseboat. corner house girls among the gypsies. corner house girls on palm island. barse & hopkins, publishers newark n.j.--new york, n.y. the polly pendleton series by dorothy whitehill polly pendleton is a resourceful, wide-awake american girl who goes to a boarding school on the hudson river some miles above new york. by her pluck and resourcefulness, she soon makes a place for herself and this she holds right through the course. the account of boarding school life is faithful and pleasing and will attract every girl in her teens. polly's first year at boarding school polly's summer vacation polly's senior year at boarding school polly sees the world at war polly and lois polly and bob cloth, large mo., illustrated. barse & hopkins, publishers newark n.j.--new york, n.y. chicken little jane series by lily munsell ritchie chicken little jane is a western prairie girl who lives a happy, outdoor life in a country where there is plenty of room to turn around. she is a wide-awake, resourceful girl who will instantly win her way into the hearts of other girls. and what good times she has!--with her pets, her friends, and her many interests. "chicken little" is the affectionate nickname given to her when she is very, very good, but when she misbehaves it is "jane"--just jane! adventures of chicken little jane chicken little jane on the "big john" chicken little jane comes to town with numerous illustrations in pen and ink by charles d. hubbard barse & hopkins, publishers newark, n. j.--new york, n. y. dorothy whitehill series for girls here is a sparkling new series of stories for girls--just what they will like, and ask for more of the same kind. it is all about twin sisters, who for the first few years in their lives grow up in ignorance of each other's existence. then they are at last brought together and things begin to happen. janet is an independent go-ahead sort of girl; while her sister phyllis is--but meet the twins for yourself and be entertained. titles, cloth, large mo., covers in color. . janet, a twin . phyllis, a twin . the twins in the west . the twins in the south . the twins' summer vacation . the twins and tommy jr. barse & hopkins, publishers newark, n. j.--new york, n. y. the mary jane series by clara ingram judson cloth, mo. illustrated. with picture inlay and wrapper. mary jane is the typical american little girl who bubbles over with fun and the good things in life. we meet her here on a visit to her grandfather's farm where she becomes acquainted with farm life and farm animals and thoroughly enjoys the experience. we next see her going to kindergarten and then on a visit to florida, and then--but read the stories for yourselves. exquisitely and charmingly written are these books which every little girl from five to nine years old will want from the first book to the last. mary jane--her book mary jane--her visit mary jane's kindergarten mary jane down south mary jane's city home mary jane in new england mary jane's county home barse & hopkins, publishers newark, n. j.--new york, n. y. this ebook was produced by bryan sherman and david widger paul clifford, volume . by edward bulwer-lytton chapter xxxiv. o fortuna, viris invida fortibus quam non aqua bonis praemia dividis. seneca. . . . . . . . . . . . . and as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, pants to the place from whence at first he flew. . . . . . . . . . . . . here, to the houseless child of want, my door is open still. goldsmith. slowly for lucy waned the weeks of a winter which to her was the most dreary portion of life she had ever passed. it became the time for the judge to attend one of those periodical visitations so fraught with dread and dismay to the miserable inmates of the dark abodes which the complex laws of this country so bounteously supply,--those times of great hilarity and eating to the legal gentry,-- "who feed on crimes and fatten on distress, and wring vile mirth from suffering's last excess." ah! excellent order of the world, which it is so wicked to disturb! how miraculously beautiful must be that system which makes wine out of the scorching tears of guilt; and from the suffocating suspense, the agonized fear, the compelled and self-mocking bravery, the awful sentence, the despairing death-pang of one man, furnishes the smirking expectation of fees, the jovial meeting, and the mercenary holiday to another! "of law, nothing less can be said than that her seat is the bosom of god."-- [hooker's ecclesiastical polity.]--to be sure not; richard hooker, you are perfectly right. the divinity of a sessions and the inspiration of the old bailey are undeniable! the care of sir william brandon had effectually kept from lucy's ear the knowledge of her lover's ignominious situation. indeed, in her delicate health even the hard eye of brandon and the thoughtless glance of mauleverer perceived the danger of such a discovery. the earl, now waiting the main attack on lucy till the curtain had forever dropped on clifford, proceeded with great caution and delicacy in his suit to his purposed bride. he waited with the more patience inasmuch as he had drawn in advance on his friend sir william for some portion of the heiress's fortune; and he readily allowed that he could not in the mean while have a better advocate than he found in brandon. so persuasive, indeed, and so subtle was the eloquence of this able sophist, that often in his artful conversations with his niece he left even on the unvitiated and strong though simple mind of lucy an uneasy and restless impression, which time might have ripened into an inclination towards the worldly advantages of the marriage at her command. brandon was no bungling mediator or violent persecutor. he seemed to acquiesce in her rejection of mauleverer. he scarcely recurred to the event. he rarely praised the earl himself, save for the obvious qualities of liveliness and good- nature. but he spoke, with all the vivid colours he could infuse at will into his words, of the pleasures and the duties of rank and wealth. well could he appeal alike to all the prejudices and all the foibles of the human breast, and govern virtue through its weaknesses. lucy had been brought up, like the daughters of most country gentlemen of ancient family, in an undue and idle consciousness of superior birth; and she was far from inaccessible to the warmth and even feeling (for here brandon was sincere) with which her uncle spoke of the duty of raising a gallant name sunk into disrepute, and sacrificing our own inclination for the redecorating the mouldered splendour of those who have gone before us. if the confusion of idea occasioned by a vague pomposity of phrase, or the infant inculcation of a sentiment that is mistaken for a, virtue, so often makes fools of the wise on the subject of ancestry; if it clouded even the sarcastic and keen sense of brandon himself, we may forgive its influence over a girl so little versed in the arts of sound reasoning as poor lucy, who, it may be said, had never learned to think until she had learned to love. however, the impression made by brandon, in his happiest moments of persuasion, was as yet only transient; it vanished before the first thought of clifford, and never suggested to her even a doubt as to the suit of mauleverer. when the day arrived for sir william brandon to set out on the circuit, he called barlow, and enjoined on that acute and intelligent servant the strictest caution with respect to lucy. he bade him deny her to every one, of whatever rank, and carefully to look into every newspaper that was brought to her, as well as to withhold every letter, save such as were addressed to her in the judge's own handwriting. lucy's maid brandon had already won over to silence; and the uncle now pleased himself with thinking that he had put an effectual guard to every chance of discovery. the identity of lovett with clifford had not yet even been rumoured; and mauleverer had rightly judged of clifford, when he believed the prisoner would himself take every precaution against the detection of that fact. clifford answered the earl's note, and promised, in a letter couched in so affecting yet so manly a tone of gratitude that even brandon was touched when he read it. and since his confinement and partial recovery of health, the prisoner had kept himself closely secluded, and refused all visitors. encouraged by this reflection, and the belief in the safety of his precautions, brandon took leave of lucy. "farewell!" said he, as he embraced her affectionately. "be sure that you write to me, and forgive me if i do not answer you punctually. take care of yourself, my sweet niece, and let me see a fresher colour on that soft cheek when i return!" "take care of yourself rather, my dear, dear uncle," said lucy, clinging to him and weeping, as of late her weakened nerves caused her to do at the least agitation. "why may i not go with you? you have seemed to me paler than usual the last three or four days, and you complained yesterday. do let me go with you. i will be no trouble, none at all; but i am sure you require a nurse." "you want to frighten me, my pretty lucy," said brandon, shaking his head with a smile. "i am well, very well. i felt a strange rush of blood towards the head yesterday, it is true; but i feel to-day stronger and lighter than i have done for years. once more, god bless you, my child!" and brandon tore himself away, and commenced his journey. the wandering and dramatic course of our story now conducts us to an obscure lane in the metropolis, leading to the thames, and makes us spectators of an affecting farewell between two persons, whom the injustice of fate and the persecutions of men were about perhaps forever to divide. "adieu, my friend!" said augustus tomlinson, as he stood looking full on that segment of the face of edward pepper which was left unconcealed by a huge hat and a red belcher handkerchief. tomlinson himself was attired in the full costume of a dignified clergyman. "adieu, my friend, since you will remain in england,--adieu! i am, i exult to say, no less sincere a patriot than you. heaven be my witness, how long i looked repugnantly on poor lovett's proposal to quit my beloved country. but all hope of life here is now over; and really, during the last ten days i have been so hunted from corner to corner, so plagued with polite invitations, similar to those given by a farmer's wife to her ducks, 'dilly, dilly, dilly, come and be killed!' that my patriotism has been prodigiously cooled, and i no longer recoil from thoughts of self- banishment. 'the earth,' my dear ned, as a greek sage has very well observed,--'the earth is the same everywhere!' and if i am asked for my home, i can point, like anaxagoras, to heaven!" "'pon my soul, you affect me!" said ned, speaking thick, either from grief or the pressure of the belcher handkerchief on his mouth; "it is quite beautiful to hear you talk!" "bear up, my dear friend," continued tomlinson; "bear up against your present afflictions. what, to a man who fortifies himself by reason and by reflection on the shortness of life, are the little calamities of the body? what is imprisonment or persecution or cold or hunger? by the by, you did not forget to put the sandwiches into my coat-pocket!" "hush!" whispered ned, and he moved on involuntarily; "i see a man at the other end of the street." "let us quicken our pace," said tomlinson; and the pair proceeded towards the river. "and now," began ned, who thought he might as well say something about himself; for hitherto augustus, in the ardour of his friendship, had been only discussing his own plans,--"and now,--that is to say, when i leave you,--i shall hasten to dive for shelter, until the storm blows over. i don't much like living in a cellar and wearing a smock frock; but those concealments have something interesting in them, after all! the safest and snuggest place i know of is the pays bas, about thames court; so i think of hiring an apartment underground, and taking my meals at poor lovett's old quarters, the mug,--the police will never dream of looking in these vulgar haunts for a man of my fashion." "you cannot then tear yourself from england?" said tomlinson. "no, hang it! the fellows are so cursed unmanly on the other side of the water. i hate their wine and their parley woo. besides, there is no fun there." tomlinson, who was absorbed in his own thoughts, made no comment on his friend's excellent reasons against travel; and the pair now approached the brink of the river. a boat was in waiting to receive and conduct to the vessel in which he had taken his place for calais the illustrious emigrant. but as tomlinson's eye fell suddenly on the rude boatmen and the little boat which were to bear him away from his native land; as he glanced, too, across the blue waters, which a brisk wind wildly agitated, and thought how much rougher it would be at sea, where "his soul" invariably "sickened at the heaving wave,"--a whole tide of deep and sorrowful emotions rushed upon him. he turned away. the spot on which he stood was a piece of ground to be let (as a board proclaimed) upon a building lease; below, descended the steps which were to conduct him to the boat; around, the desolate space allowed him to see in far and broad extent the spires and domes and chimneys of the great city whose inhabitants he might never plunder more. as he looked and looked, the tears started to his eyes, and with a gust of enthusiasm, little consonant with his temperate and philosophical character, he lifted his right hand from his black breeches-pocket, and burst into the following farewell to the metropolis of his native shores:-- "farewell, my beloved london, farewell! where shall i ever find a city like you? never, till now, did i feel how inexpressibly dear you were to me. you have been my father and my brother and my mistress and my tailor and my shoemaker and my hatter and my cook and my wine-merchant! you and i never misunderstood each other. i did not grumble when i saw what fine houses and good strong boxes you gave to other men. no! i rejoiced at their prosperity. i delighted to see a rich man,--my only disappointment was in stumbling on a poor one. you gave riches to my neighbours; but, o generous london, you gave those neighbours to me! magnificent streets, all christian virtues abide within you! charity is as common as smoke! where, in what corner of the habitable world, shall i find human beings with so many superfluities? where shall i so easily decoy, from benevolent credulity, those superfluities to myself? heaven only knows, my dear, dear, darling london, what i lose in you! o public charities! o public institutions! o banks that belie mathematical axioms and make lots out of nothing! o ancient constitution always to be questioned! o modern improvements that never answer! o speculations! o companies! o usury laws which guard against usurers, by making as many as possible! o churches in which no one profits, save the parson, and the old women that let pews of an evening! o superb theatres, too small for parks, too enormous for houses, which exclude comedy and comfort, and have a monopoly for performing nonsense gigantically! o houses of plaster, built in a day! o palaces four yards high, with a dome in the middle, meant to be invisible! [we must not suppose this apostrophe to be an anachronism. tomlinson, of course, refers to some palace of his day; one of the boxes--christmas boxes--given to the king by his economical nation of shopkeepers. we suppose it is either pulled down or blown down long ago; it is doubtless forgotten by this time, except by antiquaries. nothing is so ephemeral as great houses built by the people. your kings play the deuce with their playthings!] "o shops worth thousands, and o shopkeepers not worth a shilling! o system of credit by which beggars are princes, and princes are beggars! o imprisonment for debt, which lets the mare be stolen, and then locks up the bridle! o sharpers, bubbles, senators, beaux, taverns, brothels, clubs, houses private and public!---o london, in a word, receive my last adieu! long may you flourish in peace and plenteousness! may your knaves be witty, and your fools be rich! may you alter only two things, --your damnable tricks of transportation and hanging! those are your sole faults; but for those i would never desert you. adieu!" here tomlinson averted his head, and then hastily shaking the hand of long ned with a tremulous and warm grasp, he hurried down the stairs and entered the boat. ned remained motionless for some moments, following him with his eyes as he sat at the end of the boat, waving a white pocket-handkerchief. at length a line of barges snatched him from the sight of the lingerer; and ned, slowly turning away, muttered,--"yes, i have always heard that dame lobkins's was the safest asylum for misfortune like mine. i will go forthwith in search of a lodging, and to-morrow i will make my breakfast at the mug!" be it our pleasing task, dear reader, to forestall the good robber, and return, at the hour of sunrise on the day following tomlinson's departure, to the scene at which our story commenced. we are now once more at the house of mrs. margery lobkins. the room which served so many purposes was still the same as when paul turned it into the arena of his mischievous pranks. the dresser, with its shelves of mingled delf and pewter, occupied its ancient and important station. only it might be noticed that the pewter was more dull than of yore, and that sundry cracks made their erratic wanderings over the yellow surface of the delf. the eye of the mistress had become less keen than heretofore, and the care of the hand maid had, of necessity, relaxed. the tall clock still ticked in monotonous warning; the blanket-screen, haply innocent of soap since we last described it, many-storied and polyballaded, still unfolded its ample leaves "rich with the spoils of time;" the spit and the musket yet hung from the wall in amicable proximation. and the long, smooth form, "with many a holy text thereon bestrewn," still afforded rest to the weary traveller, and an object to the vacant stare of mrs. margery lobkins, as she lolled in her opposite seat and forgot the world. but poor piggy lob!---there was the alteration! the soul of the woman was gone; the spirit had evaporated from the human bottle! she sat, with open mouth and glassy eye, in her chair, sidling herself to and fro, with the low, peevish sound of fretful age and bodily pain; sometimes this querulous murmur sharpened into a shrill but unmeaning scold: "there now, you gallows-bird! you has taken the swipes without chalking; you wants to cheat the poor widow; but i sees you, i does! providence protects the aged and the innocent--oh, oh! these twinges will be the death o' me. where's martha? you jade, you! you wiperous hussy, bring the tape; does n't you see how i suffers? has you no bowels, to let a poor christian cretur perish for want o' help! that's with 'em, that's the way! no one cares for i now,--no one has respect for the gray 'airs of the old!" and then the voice dwindled into the whimpering "tenor of its way." martha, a strapping wench with red hair streaming over her "hills of snow," was not, however, inattentive to the wants of her mistress. "who knows," said she to a man who sat by the hearth, drinking tea out of a blue mug, and toasting with great care two or three huge rounds of bread for his own private and especial nutriment,--"who knows," said she, "what we may come to ourselves?" and, so saying, she placed a glowing tumbler by her mistress's elbow. but in the sunken prostration of her intellect, the old woman was insensible even to her consolation. she sipped and drank, it is true; but as if the stream warmed not the benumbed region through which it passed, she continued muttering in a crazed and groaning key,-- "is this your gratitude, you sarpent! why does not you bring the tape, i tells you? am i of a age to drink water like a 'oss, you nasty thing! oh, to think as ever i should live to be desarted!" inattentive to these murmurs, which she felt unreasonable, the bouncing martha now quitted the room to repair to her "upper household" avocations. the man at the hearth was the only companion left to the widow. gazing at her for a moment, as she sat whining, with a rude compassion in his eye, and slowly munching his toast, which he had now buttered and placed in a delf plate on the hob, this person thus soothingly began:-- "ah, dame lobkins, if so be as 'ow little paul vas a vith you, it would be a gallows comfort to you in your latter hend!" the name of paul made the good woman incline her bead towards the speaker; a ray of consciousness shot through her bedulled brain. "little paul,--eh, sirs! where is paul? paul, i say, my ben cull. alack! he's gone,--left his poor old nurse to die like a cat in a cellar. oh, dummie, never live to be old, man! they leaves us to oursel's, and then takes away all the lush with 'em! i has not a drop o' comfort in the 'varsal world!" dummie, who at this moment had his own reasons for soothing the dame, and was anxious to make the most of the opportunity of a conversation as unwitnessed as the present, replied tenderly, and with a cunning likely to promote his end, reproached paul bitterly for never having informed the dame of his whereabout and his proceedings. "but come, dame," he wound up, "come, i guess as how he is better nor all that, and that you need not beat your hold brains to think where he lies, or vot he's a doing. blow me tight, mother lob,--i ax pardon, mrs. margery, i should say,--if i vould not give five bob, ay, and five to the tail o' that, to know what the poor lad is about; i takes a mortal hinterest in that 'ere chap!" "oh! oh!" groaned the old woman, on whose palsied sense the astute inquiries of dummie dunnaker fell harmless; "my poor sinful carcass! what a way it be in!" artfully again did dummie dunnaker, nothing defeated, renew his attack; but fortune does not always favour the wise, and it failed dummie now, for a twofold reason,--first, because it was not possible for the dame to comprehend him; secondly, because even if it had been, she had nothing to reveal. some of clifford's pecuniary gifts had been conveyed anonymously, all without direction or date; and for the most part they had been appropriated by the sage martha, into whose hands they fell, to her own private uses. nor did the dame require clifford's grateful charity; for she was a woman tolerably well off in this world, considering how near she was waxing to another. longer, however, might dummie have tried his unavailing way, had not the door of the inn creaked on its hinges, and the bulky form of a tall man in a smockfrock, but with a remarkably fine head of hair, darkened the threshold. he honoured the dame, who cast on him a lacklustre eye, with a sulky yet ambrosial nod, seized a bottle of spirits and a tumbler, lighted a candle, drew a small german pipe and a tobacco-box from his pouch, placed these several luxuries on a small table, wheeled it to a far corner of the room, and throwing himself into one chair, and his legs into another, he enjoyed the result of his pains in a moody and supercilious silence. long and earnestly did the meek dummie gaze on the face of the gentleman before him. it had been some years since he had last beheld it; but it was one which did not easily escape the memory; and although its proprietor was a man who had risen in the world, and had gained the height of his profession (a station far beyond the diurnal sphere of dummie dunnaker), and the humble purloiner was therefore astonished to encounter him in these lower regions, yet dummie's recollection carried him back to a day when they had gone shares together without respect of persons, and been right jolly partners in the practical game of beggar my neighbour. while, however, dummie dunnaker, who was a little inclined to be shy, deliberated as to the propriety of claiming acquaintanceship, a dirty boy, with a face which betokened the frost, as dummie himself said, like a plum dying of the scarlet fever, entered the room, with a newspaper in his dexter paw. "great news! great news!" cried the urchin, imitating his vociferous originals in the street; "all about the famous captain lovett, as large as life!" "'old your blarney, you blattergowl!" said dummie, rebukingly, and seizing the journal. "master says as how he must have it to send to clapham, and can't spare it for more than a 'our!" said the boy, as he withdrew. "i 'members the day," said dummie, with the zeal of a clansman, "when the mug took a paper all to itsel' instead o' 'iring it by the job like!" thereon he opened the paper with a fillip, and gave himself tip to the lecture. but the tall stranger, half rising with a start, exclaimed,-- "can't you have the manners to be communicative? do you think nobody cares about captain lovett but yourself?" on this, dummie turned round on his chair, and, with a "blow me tight, you're velcome, i'm sure," began as follows (we copy the paper, not the diction of the reader):-- "the trial of the notorious lovett commences this day. great exertions have been made by people of all classes to procure seats in the town hall, which will be full to a degree never before known in this peaceful province. no less than seven indictments are said to await the prisoner; it has been agreed that the robbery of lord mauleverer should be the first to come on. the principal witness in this case against the prisoner is understood to be the king's evidence, macgrawler. no news as yet have been circulated concerning the suspected accomplices, augustus tomlinson and edward pepper. it is believed that the former has left the country, and that the latter is lurking among the low refuges of guilt with which the heart of the metropolis abounds. report speaks highly of the person and manners of lovett. he is also supposed to be a man of some talent, and was formerly engaged in an obscure periodical edited by macgrawler, and termed the 'althenaeum,' or 'asinaeum.' nevertheless, we apprehend that his origin is remarkably low, and suitable to the nature of his pursuits. the prisoner will be most fortunate in a judge. never did any one holding the same high office as sir william brandon earn an equal reputation in so short a time. the whigs are accustomed to sneer at us, when we insist on the private virtues of our public men. let them look to sir william brandon, and confess that the austerest morals maybe linked with the soundest knowledge and the most brilliant genius. the opening address of the learned judge to the jury at-------is perhaps the most impressive and solemn piece of eloquence in the english language!" a cause for this eulogium might haply be found in another part of the paper, in which it was said,-- "among the higher circles, we understand, the rumour has gone forth that sir william brandon is to be recalled to his old parliamentary career in a more elevated scene. so highly are this gentleman's talents respected by his majesty and the ministers, that they are, it is reported, anxious to secure his assistance in the house of lords!" when dummie had spelt his "toilsome march" through the first of the above extracts he turned round to the tall stranger, and, eying him with a sort of winking significance, said,-- "so macgrawler peaches,--blows the gaff on his pals, eh! vel, now, i always suspected that 'ere son of a gun! do you know, he used to be at the mug many 's a day, a teaching our little paul, and says i to piggy lob, says i, 'blow me tight, but that cove is a queer one! and if he does not come to be scragged,' says i, 'it vill only be because he'll turn a rusty, and scrag one of his pals!' so you sees" (here dummie looked round, and his voice sank into a whisper),--"so you sees, meester pepper, i vas no fool there!" long ned dropped his pipe, and said sourly and with a suspicious frown, "what! you know me?" "to be sure and sartin i does," answered little dummie, walking to the table where the robber sat. "does not you know i?" ned regarded the interrogator with a sullen glance, which gradually brightened into knowledge. "ah!" said he, with the air of a brummel, "mr. bummie, or dummie, i think, eh! shake a paw,--i'm glad to see you. recollect the last time i saw you, you rather affronted me. never mind. i dare say you did not mean it." encouraged by this affable reception from the highwayman, though a little embarrassed by ned's allusion to former conduct on his part, which he felt was just, dummie grinned, pushed a stool near ned, sat himself down, and carefully avoiding any immediate answer to ned's complaints, rejoined,-- "do you know, meester pepper, you struck i all of a heap? i could not have s'posed as how you'd condescend nowadays to come to the mug, vhere i never seed you but once afore. lord love ye, they says as 'ow you go to all the fine places in ruffles, with a pair of silver pops in your vaistcoat pocket! vy, the boys hereabout say that you and meester tomlinson, and this 'ere poor devil in quod, vere the finest gemmen in town; and, lord, for to think of your ciwility to a pitiful ragmerchant, like i!" "ah!" said ned, gravely, "there are sad principles afloat now. they want to do away with all distinctions in ranks,--to make a duke no better than his valet, and a gentleman highwayman class with a filcher of fogles.' but, damme, if i don't think misfortune levels us all quite enough; and misfortune brings me here, little dummie." "ah! you vants to keep out of the vay of the bulkies!" "right. since poor lovett was laid by the heels, which i must say was the fault of his own deuced gentlemanlike behaviour to me and augustus (you've heard of guz, you say), the knot of us seems quite broken. one's own friends look inclined to play one false; and really, the queer cuffins hover so sharply upon us that i thought it safe to duck for a time. so i have taken a lodging in a cellar, and i intend for the next three months to board at the mug. i have heard that i may be sure of lying snug here. dummie, your health! give us the baccy." "i say, meester pepper," said dummie, clearing his throat, when he had obeyed the request, "can you tell i, if so be you 'as met in your travels our little paul? poor chap! you knows as 'ow and vy he was sent to quod by justice burnflat. vel, ven he got out, he vent to the devil, or summut like it, and ve have not 'card a vord of him since. you 'members the lad,--a 'nation fine cull, tall and straight as a harrow!" "why, you fool," said ned, "don't you know"--then checking himself suddenly, "ah! by the by, that rigmarole oath! i was not to tell; though now it's past caring for, i fear! it is no use looking after the seal when the letter's burned." "blow me," cried dunnaker, with unaffected vehemence, "i sees as how you know vot's come of he! many's the good turn i'll do you, if you vill but tell i." "why, does he owe you a dozen bobs; or what, dummie?" said ned. "not he,--not he," cried dummie. "what then, you want to do him a mischief of some sort?" "do little paul a mischief!" ejaculated dummie; "vy, i've known the cull ever since he was that high! no, but i vants to do him a great sarvice, meester pepper, and myself too,--and you to boot, for aught that i know, meester pepper." "humph!" said ned,--"humph! what do you mean? i do, it is true, know where paul is; but you must tell me first why you wish to know, otherwise you may ask your grandfather for me." a long, sharp, wistful survey did mr. dummie dunnaker cast around him before he rejoined. all seemed safe and convenient for confidential communication. the supine features of mrs. lobkins were hushed in a drowsy stupor; even the gray cat that lay by the fire was curled in the embrace of morpheus. nevertheless, it was in a close whisper that dummie spoke. "i dares be bound, meester pepper, that you 'members vell ven harry cook, the great highvayman,--poor fellow! he's gone vhere ve must all go,-- brought you, then quite a gossoon,' for the first time to the little back parlour at the cock and hen, dewereux court?" ned nodded assent. "and you 'members as how i met harry and you there, and i vas all afeard at you,--'cause vy? i had never seen you afore, and ve vas a going to crack a swell's crib. and harry spoke up for you, and said as 'ow though you had just gone on the town, you was already prime up to gammon. you 'members, eh?" "ay, i remember all," said ned; "it was the first and only house i ever had a hand in breaking into. harry was a fellow of low habits; so i dropped his acquaintance, and took solely to the road, or a chance ingenuity now and then. i have no idea of a gentleman turning cracksman." "vel, so you vent vith us, and ve slipped you through a pane in the kitchen-vindow. you vas the least of us, big as you be now; and you vent round and opened the door for us; and ven you had opened the door, you saw a voman had joined us, and you were a funked then, and stayed vithout the crib, to keep vatch vhile ve vent in." "well, well," cried ned, "what the devil has all this rigmarole got to do with paul?" "now don't be glimflashy, but let me go on smack right about. vell, ven ve came out, you minds as 'ow the voman had a bundle in her arms, and you spake to her; and she answered you roughly, and left us all, and vent straight home; and ve vent and fenced the swag' that wery night and afterwards napped the regulars. and sure you made us laugh 'artily, meester pepper, when you said, says you, 'that 'ere voman is a rum blo" en.' so she vas, meester pepper!" [the reader has probably observed the use made by dummie and mrs. lobkins of irish phraseology or pronunciation, this is a remarkable trait in the dialect of the lowest orders in london, owing, we suppose, to their constant association with emigrants from "the first flower of the earth." perhaps it is a modish affectation among the gentry of st. giles's, just as we eke out our mother- tongue with french at mayfair.] "oh, spare me," said ned, affectedly, "and make haste; you keep me all in the dark. by the way, i remember that you joked me about the bundle; and when i asked what the woman had wrapped in it, you swore it was a child. rather more likely that the girl, whoever she was, would have left a child behind her than carried one off!" the face of dummie waxed big with conscious importance. "vell, now, you would not believe us; but it vas all true. that 'ere bundle vas the voman's child,--i s'pose an unnatural von by the gemman; she let us into the 'ouse on condition we helped her off vith it. and, blow me tight, but ve paid ourselves vel for our trouble. that 'ere voman vas a strange cretur; they say she had been a lord's blowen; but howsomever, she was as 'ot-'eaded and hodd as if she had been. there vas old nick's hown row made on the matter, and the revard for our [de]tection vas so great, that as you vas not much tried yet, harry thought it best for to take you vith 'im down to the country, and told you as 'ow it vas all a flam about the child in the bundle!" "faith," said ned, "i believed him readily enough; and poor harry was twisted shortly after, and i went into ireland for safety, where i stayed two years,--and deuced good claret i got there!" "so, vhiles you vas there," continued dummie, "poor judy, the voman, died,--she died in this very 'ouse, and left the horphan to the [af]fection of piggy lob, who was 'nation fond of it surely! oh! but i 'members vot a night it vas ven poor judy died; the vind vistled like mad, and the rain tumbled about as if it had got a holiday; and there the poor creature lay raving just over 'ed of this room we sits in! laus-a- me, vat a sight it vas!" here dummie paused, and seemed to recall in imagination the scene he had witnessed; but over the mind of long ned a ray of light broke slowly. "whew!" said he, lifting up his forefinger, "whew! i smell a rat; this stolen child, then, was no other than paul. but, pray, to whom did the house belong? for that fact harry never communicated to me. i only heard the owner was a lawyer, or parson, or some such thing." "vy now, i'll tell you, but don't be glimflashy. so, you see, ven judy died, and harry was scragged, i vas the only von living who vas up to the secret; and vhen mother lob vas a taking a drop to comfort her vhen judy vent off, i hopens a great box in which poor judy kept her duds and rattletraps, and surely i finds at the bottom of the box hever so many letters and sick like,--for i knew as 'ow they vas there; so i vhips these off and carries 'em 'ome with me, and soon arter, mother lob sold me the box o' duds for two quids--'cause vy? i vas a rag-merchant. so now i 'solved, since the secret vas all in my hown keeping, to keep it as tight as vinkey; for first, you sees as 'ow i vas afeard i should be hanged if i vent for to tell,--'cause vy? i stole a vatch, and lots more, as vell as the hurchin; and next i vas afeard as 'ow the mother might come back and haunt me the same as sall haunted villy, for it vas a 'orrid night ven her soul took ving. and hover and above this, meester pepper, i thought summut might turn hup by and by, in vhich it vould be best for i to keep my hown counsel and nab the revard, if i hever durst make myself known." here dummie proceeded to narrate how frightened he had been lest ned should discover all, when (as it may be remembered, pepper informed paul at the beginning of this history) he encountered that worthy at dame lobkins's house; how this fear had induced him to testify to pepper that coldness and rudeness which had so enraged the haughty highwayman; and how great had been his relief and delight at finding that ned returned to the mug no more. he next proceeded to inform his new confidant of his meeting with the father (the sagacious reader knows where and when), and of what took place at that event. he said how, in his first negotiation with the father, prudently resolving to communicate drop by drop such information as he possessed, he merely, besides confessing to a share in the robbery, stated that he thought he knew the house, etc., to which the infant had been consigned,--and that, if so, it was still alive; but that he would inquire. he then related how the sanguine father, who saw that hanging dummie for the robbery of his house might not be half so likely a method to recover his son as bribery and conciliation, not only forgave him his former outrage, but whetted his appetite to the search by rewarding him for his disclosure. he then proceeded to state how, unable anywhere to find paul, or any trace of him, he amused the sire from time to time with forged excuses; how, at first, the sums he received made him by no means desirous to expedite a discovery that would terminate such satisfactory receipts; how at length the magnitude of the proffered reward, joined to the threats of the sire, had made him become seriously anxious to learn the real fate and present "whereabout" of paul; how, the last time he had seen the father, he had, by way of propitiation and first fruit, taken to him all the papers left by the unhappy mother and secreted by himself; and how he was now delighted to find that ned was acquainted with paul's address. since he despaired of finding paul by his own exertions alone, he became less tenacious of his secret; and he now proffered ned, on discovery of paul, a third of that reward the whole of which he had once hoped to engross. ned's eyes and mouth opened at this proposition. "but the name,--the name of the father? you have not told me that yet!" cried he, impatiently. "noa, noa!" said dummie, archly, "i does n't tell you all, till you tells i summut. vhere's little paul, i say; and vhere be us to get at him?" ned heaved a sigh. "as for the oath," said he, musingly, "it would be a sin to keep it, now that to break it can do him no harm, and may do him good, especially as, in case of imprisonment or death, the oath is not held to be binding; yet i fear it is too late for the reward. the father will scarcely thank you for finding his son!---know, dummie, that paul is in jail, and that he is one and the same person as captain lovett!" astonishment never wrote in more legible characters than she now displayed on the rough features of dummie dunnaker. so strong are the sympathies of a profession compared with all others, that dummie's first confused thought was that of pride. "the great captain lovett!" he faltered. "little paul at the top of the profession! lord, lord! i always said as how he'd the hambition to rise!" "well, well, but the father's name?" at this question the expression of dummie's face fell; a sudden horror struggled to his eyes-- chapter xxxv. why is it that at moments there creeps over us an awe, a terror, overpowering but undefined? why is it that we shudder without a cause, and feel the warm life-blood stand still in its courses? are the dead too near? falkland ha! sayest thou! hideous thought, i feel it twine o'er my iced heart, as curls around his prey the sure and deadly serpent! . . . . . . . . . . . . what! in the hush and in the solitude passed that dread soul away? love and hatred. the evening prior to that morning in which the above conversation occurred, brandon passed alone in his lodging at --------. he had felt himself too unwell to attend the customary wassail, and he sat indolently musing in the solitude of the old-fashioned chamber to which he was consigned. there, two wax-candles on the smooth, quaint table dimly struggled against the gloom of heavy panels, which were relieved at unfrequent intervals by portraits in oaken frames, dingy, harsh, and important with the pomp of laced garments and flowing wigs. the predilection of the landlady for modern tastes had, indeed, on each side of the huge fireplace suspended more novel masterpieces of the fine arts. in emblematic gorgeousness hung the pictures of the four seasons, buxom wenches all, save winter, who was deformedly bodied forth in the likeness of an aged carle. these were interspersed by an engraving of lord mauleverer, the lieutenant of the neighbouring county, looking extremely majestical in his peer's robes; and by three typifications of faith, hope, and charity,--ladies with whom it may be doubted if the gay earl ever before cultivated so close an intimacy. curtains, of that antique chintz in which fasces of stripes are alternated by rows of flowers, filled the interstices of three windows; a heavy sideboard occupied the greater portion of one side of the room; and on the opposite side, in the rear of brandon, a vast screen stretched its slow length along, and relieved the unpopulated and as it were desolate comfort of the apartment. pale and imperfectly streamed the light upon brandon's face, as he sat in his large chair, leaning his cheek on one hand, and gazing with the unconscious earnestness of abstraction on the clear fire. at that moment a whole phalanx of gloomy thought was sweeping in successive array across his mind. his early ambition, his ill-omened marriage, the causes of his after-rise in the wrong-judging world, the first dawn of his reputation, his rapid and flattering successes, his present elevation, his aspiring hope of far higher office, and more patrician honours,--all these phantoms passed before him in checkered shadow and light; but ever with each stalked one disquieting and dark remembrance,--the loss of his only son. weaving his ambition with the wish to revive the pride of his hereditary name, every acquisition of fortune or of fame rendered him yet more anxious to find the only one who could perpetuate these hollow distinctions to his race. "i shall recover him yet!" he broke out suddenly and aloud. as he spoke, a quick, darting, spasmodic pain ran shivering through his whole frame, and then fixed for one instant on his heart with a gripe like the talons of a bird; it passed away, and was followed by a deadly sickness. brandon rose, and filling himself a large tumbler of water, drank with avidity. the sickness passed off like the preceding pain; but the sensation had of late been often felt by brandon, and disregarded,--for few persons were less afflicted with the self-torture of hypochondria; but now, that night, whether it was more keen than usual, or whether his thought had touched on the string that jars naturally on the most startling of human anticipations, we know not, but, as he resumed his seat, the idea of his approaching dissolution shot like an ice-bolt through his breast. so intent was this scheming man upon the living objects of the world, and so little were his thoughts accustomed to turn toward the ultimate goal of all things, that this idea obtruding itself abruptly upon him, startled him with a ghastly awe. he felt the colour rush from his cheek, and a tingling and involuntary pain ran wandering through the channels of his blood, even from the roots of the hair to the soles of his feet. but the stern soul of brandon was not one which shadows could long affright. he nerved himself to meet the grim thought thus forced upon his mental eye, and he gazed on it with a steady and enduring look. "well," thought he, "is my hour coming, or have i yet the ordinary term of mortal nature to expect? it is true, i have lately suffered these strange revulsions of the frame with somewhat of an alarming frequency; perhaps this medicine, which healed the anguish of one infirmity, has produced another more immediately deadly. yet why should i think this? my sleep is sound and calm, my habits temperate, my mind active and clear as in its best days. in my youth i never played the traitor with my constitution; why should it desert me at the very threshold of my age? nay, nay, these are but passing twitches, chills of the blood that begins to wax thin. shall i learn to be less rigorous in my diet? perhaps wine may reward my abstinence in avoiding it for my luxuries, by becoming a cordial to my necessities! ay, i will consult,--i will consult, i must not die yet. i have--let me see, three--four grades to gain before the ladder is scaled. and, above all, i must regain my child! lucy married to mauleverer, myself a peer, my son wedded to-whom? pray god he be not married already! my nephews and my children nobles! the house of brandon restored, my power high in the upward gaze of men, my fame set on a more lasting basis than a skill in the quirks of law,--these are yet to come; these i will not die till i have enjoyed! men die not till their destinies are fulfilled. the spirit that swells and soars within me says that the destiny of william brandon is but half begun!" with this conclusion, brandon sought his pillow. what were the reflections of the prisoner whom he was to judge? need we ask? let us picture to ourselves his shattered health, the languor of sickness heightening the gloom which makes the very air of a jail; his certainty of the doom to be passed against him; his knowledge that the uncle of lucy brandon was to be his judge, that mauleverer was to be his accuser, and that in all human probability the only woman he had ever loved must sooner or later learn the criminality of his life and the ignominy of his death; let us but glance at the above blackness of circumstances that surrounded him, and it would seem that there is but little doubt as to the complexion of his thoughts! perhaps, indeed, even in that terrible and desolate hour one sweet face shone on him, "and dashed the darkness all away." perhaps, too, whatever might be the stings of his conscience, one thought, one remembrance of a temptation mastered and a sin escaped, brought to his eyes tears that were sweet and healing in their source. but the heart of a man in clifford's awful situation is dark and inscrutable; and often when the wildest and gloomiest external circumstances surround us, their reflection sleeps like a shadow, calm and still upon the mind. the next morning, the whole town of (a town in which, we regret to say, an accident once detained ourself for three wretched days, and which we can, speaking therefore from profound experience, assert to be in ordinary times the most melancholy and peopleless-looking congregation of houses that a sober imagination can conceive) exhibited a scene of such bustle, animation, and jovial anxiety as the trial for life or death to a fellow-creature can alone excite in the phlegmatic breasts of the english. around the court the crowd thickened with every moment, until the whole marketplace in which the townhall was situated became one living mass. the windows of the houses were filled with women, some of whom had taken that opportunity to make parties to breakfast; and little round tables, with tea and toast on them, caught the eyes of the grinning mobists as they gaped impatiently upwards. "ben," said a stout yeoman, tossing up a halfpenny, and catching the said coin in his right hand, which he immediately covered with the left,-- "ben, heads or tails that lovett is hanged; heads hanged, tails not, for a crown." "petticoats, to be sure," quoth ben, eating an apple; and it was heads! "damme, you've lost!" cried the yeoman, rubbing his rough hands with glee. it would have been a fine sight for asmodeus, could he have perched on one of the house tops of the market-place of --------, and looked on the murmuring and heaving sea of mortality below. oh! the sight of a crowd round a court of law or a gibbet ought to make the devil split himself with laughter. while the mob was fretting, and pushing, and swearing, and grinning, and betting, and picking pockets, and trampling feet, and tearing gowns, and scrambling nearer and nearer to the doors and windows of the court, brandon was slowly concluding his abstemious repast, preparatory to attendance on his judicial duties. his footman entered with a letter. sir william glanced rapidly over the seal (one of those immense sacrifices of wax used at that day), adorned with a huge coat-of-arms, surmounted with an earl's coronet, and decorated on either side with those supporters so dear to heraldic taste. he then tore open the letter, and read as follows:-- my dear sir william,--you know that in the last conversation i had the honour to hold with you i alluded, though perhaps somewhat distantly, to the esteem which his majesty had personally expressed for your principles and talents, and his wish to testify it at the earliest opportunity. there will be, as you are doubtless aware, an immediate creation of four peerages. your name stands second on the list. the choice of title his majesty graciously leaves to you; but he has hinted that the respectable antiquity of your family would make him best pleased were you to select the name of your own family-seat, which, if i mistake not, is warlock. you will instruct me at your leisure as to the manner in which the patent should be made out, touching the succession, etc. perhaps (excuse the license of an old friend) this event may induce you to forsake your long- cherished celibacy. i need not add that this accession of rank will be accompanied by professional elevation. you will see by the papers that the death of --------leaves vacant the dignity of chief baron; and i am at length empowered to offer you a station proportioned to your character and talents. with great consideration, believe me, my dear sir, very truly yours, private and confidential. brandon's dark eye glanced quickly from the signature of the premier, affixed to this communication, towards the mirror opposite him. he strode to it, and examined his own countenance with a long and wistful gaze. never, we think, did youthful gallant about to repair to the trysting-spot, in which fair looks make the greatest of earthly advantages, gaze more anxiously on the impartial glass than now did the ascetic and scornful judge; and never, we ween, did the eye of the said gallant retire with a more satisfied and triumphant expression. "yes, yes!" muttered the judge, "no sign of infirmity is yet written here; the blood flows clear and warm enough; the cheek looks firm too, and passing full, for one who was always of the lean kine. aha! this letter is a cordial, an elixir vitro. i feel as if a new lease were granted to the reluctant tenant. lord warlock, the first baron of warlock, lord chief baron,--what next?" as he spoke, he strode unconsciously away, folding his arms with that sort of joyous and complacent gesture which implies the idea of a man hugging himself in a silent delight. assuredly had the most skilful physician then looked upon the ardent and all-lighted face, the firm step, the elastic and muscular frame, the vigorous air of brandon, as he mentally continued his soliloquy, he would have predicted for him as fair a grasp on longevity as the chances of mortal life will allow. he was interrupted by the servant entering. "it is twenty-five minutes after nine, sir," said he, respectfully. "sir,--sir!" repeated brandon. "ah, well! so late!" "yes, sir, and the sheriff's carriage is almost at the door." "humph! minister,--peer,--warlock,--succession. my son, my son! would to god that i could find thee!" such were brandon's last thoughts as he left the room. it was with great difficulty, so dense was the crowd, that the judge drove up to the court. as the carriage slowly passed, the spectators pressed to the windows of the vehicle, and stood on tiptoe to catch a view of the celebrated lawyer. brandon's face, never long indicative of his feelings, had now settled into its usual gravity; and the severe loftiness of his look chilled, while it satisfied, the curiosity of the vulgar. it had been ordered that no person should be admitted until the judge had taken his seat on the bench; and this order occasioned so much delay, owing to the accumulated pressure of the vast and miscellaneous group, that it was more than half an hour before the court was able to obtain that decent order suiting the solemnity of the occasion. at five minutes before ten a universal and indescribable movement announced that the prisoner was put to the bar. we read in one of the journals of that day, that "on being put to the bar, the prisoner looked round with a long and anxious gaze, which at length settled on the judge, and then dropped, while the prisoner was observed to change countenance slightly. lovett was dressed in a plain dark suit; he seemed to be about six feet high; and though thin and worn, probably from the effect of his wound and imprisonment, he is remarkably well made, and exhibits the outward appearance of that great personal strength which he is said to possess, and which is not unfrequently the characteristic of daring criminals. his face is handsome and prepossessing, his eyes and hair dark, and his complexion pale, possibly from the effects of his confinement; there was a certain sternness in his countenance during the greater part of the trial. his behaviour was remarkably collected and composed. the prisoner listened with the greatest attention to the indictment, which the reader will find in another part of our paper, charging him with the highway robbery of lord mauleverer, on the night of the of last. he occasionally inclined his body forward, and turned his ear towards the court; and he was observed, as the jury were sworn, to look steadily in the face of each. he breathed thick and hard when the various aliases he had assumed-- howard, cavendish, jackson, etc.,--were read; but smiled with an unaccountable expression when the list was completed, as if exulting at the varieties of his ingenuity. at twenty-five minutes past ten mr. dyebright, the counsel for the crown, stated the case to the jury." mr. dyebright was a lawyer of great eminence; he had been a whig all his life, but had latterly become remarkable for his insincerity, and subservience to the wishes of the higher powers. his talents were peculiar and effective. if he had little eloquence, he had much power; and his legal knowledge, was sound and extensive. many of his brethren excelled him in display; but no one, like him, possessed the secret of addressing a jury. winningly familiar; seemingly candid to a degree that scarcely did justice to his cause, as if he were in an agony lest he should persuade you to lean a hair-breadth more on his side of the case than justice would allow; apparently all made up of good, homely, virtuous feeling, a disinterested regard for truth, a blunt yet tender honesty, seasoned with a few amiable fireside prejudices, which always come home to the hearts of your fathers of families and thorough-bred britons; versed in all the niceties of language, and the magic of names; if he were defending crime, carefully calling it misfortune; if attacking misfortune, constantly calling it crime,--mr. dyebright was exactly the man born to pervert justice, to tickle jurors, to cozen truth with a friendly smile, and to obtain a vast reputation as an excellent advocate. he began with a long preliminary flourish on the importance of the case. he said that he should with the most scrupulous delicacy avoid every remark calculated to raise unnecessary prejudice against the prisoner. he should not allude to his unhappy notoriety, his associations with the lowest dregs. (here up jumped the counsel for the prisoner, and mr. dyebright was called to order.) "god knows," resumed the learned gentleman, looking wistfully at the jury, "that my learned friend might have spared himself this warning. god knows that i would rather fifty of the wretched inmates of this county jail were to escape unharmed than that a hair of the prisoner you behold at the bar should be unjustly touched. the life of a human being is at stake; we should be guilty ourselves of a crime which on our deathbeds we should tremble to recall, were we to suffer any consideration, whether of interest or of prejudice, or of undue fear for our own properties and lives, to bias us even to the turning of a straw against the unfortunate prisoner. gentlemen, if you find me travelling a single inch from my case,--if you find me saying a single word calculated to harm the prisoner in your eyes, and unsupported by the evidence i shall call,--then i implore you not to depend upon the vigilance of my learned friend, but to treasure these my errors in your recollection, and to consider them as so many arguments in favour of the prisoner. if, gentlemen, i could by any possibility imagine that your verdict would be favourable to the prisoner, i can, unaffectedly and from the bottom of my heart, declare to you that i should rejoice; a case might be lost, but a fellow-creature would be saved! callous as we of the legal profession are believed, we have feelings like you; and i ask any one of you, gentlemen of the jury, any one who has ever felt the pleasures of social intercourse, the joy of charity, the heart's reward of benevolence,--i ask any one of you, whether, if he were placed in the arduous situation i now hold, all the persuasions of vanity would not vanish at once from his mind, and whether his defeat as an advocate would not be rendered dear to him by the common and fleshly sympathies of a man. but, gentlemen" (mr. dyebright's voice at once deepened and faltered), "there is a duty, a painful duty, we owe to our country; and never, in the long course of my professional experience, do i remember an instance in which it was more called forth than in the present. mercy, gentlemen, is dear, very dear to us all; but it is the deadliest injury we can inflict on mankind when it is bought at the expense of justice." the learned gentleman then, after a few further prefatory observations, proceeded to state how, on the night of ------- last, lord mauleverer was stopped and robbed by three men masked, of a sum of money amounting to above l , a diamond snuff-box, rings, watch, and a case of most valuable jewels,--how lord mauleverer, in endeavouring to defend himself, had passed a bullet through the clothes of one of the robbers,--how it would be proved that the garments of the prisoner, found in a cave in oxfordshire, and positively sworn to by a witness he should produce, exhibited a rent similar to such a one as a bullet would produce,--how, moreover, it would be positively sworn to by the same witness, that the prisoner lovett had come to the cavern with two accomplices not since taken up, since their rescue by the prisoner, and boasted of the robbery he had just committed; that in the clothes and sleeping apartment of the robber the articles stolen from lord mauleverer were found; and that the purse containing the notes for l , the only thing the prisoner could probably have obtained time to carry off with him, on the morning on which the cave was entered by the policemen, was found on his person on the day on which be had attempted the rescue of his comrades, and had been apprehended in that attempt. he stated, moreover, that the dress found in the cavern, and sworn to by one witness he should produce as belonging to the prisoner, answered exactly to the description of the clothes worn by the principal robber, and sworn to by lord mauleverer, his servant, and the postilions. in like manner the colour of one of the horses found in the cavern corresponded with that rode by the highwayman. on these circumstantial proofs, aided by the immediate testimony of the king's evidence (that witness whom he should produce) he rested a case which could, he averred, leave no doubt on the minds of an impartial jury. such, briefly and plainly alleged, made the substance of the details entered into by the learned counsel, who then proceeded to call his witnesses. the evidence of lord mauleverer (who was staying at mauleverer park, which was within a few miles of--) was short and clear (it was noticed as a singular circumstance, that at the end of the evidence the prisoner bowed respectfully to his lordship). the witness of the postilions and of the valet was no less concise; nor could all the ingenuity of clifford's counsel shake any part of their evidence in his cross-examination. the main witness depended on by the crown was now summoned, and the solemn countenance of peter macgrawler rose on the eyes of the jury. one look of cold and blighting contempt fell on him from the eye of the prisoner, who did not again deign to regard him during the whole of his examination. the witness of macgrawler was delivered with a pomposity worthy of the ex-editor of the "asinaeum." nevertheless, by the skill of mr. dyebright, it was rendered sufficiently clear a story to leave an impression on the jury damnatory to the interests of the prisoner. the counsel on the opposite side was not slow in perceiving the ground acquired by the adverse party; so, clearing his throat, he rose with a sneering air to the cross-examination. "so, so," began mr. botheram, putting on a pair of remarkably large spectacles, wherewith he truculently regarded the witness,--"so, so, mr. macgrawler,--is that your name, eh, eh? ah, it is, is it? a very respectable name it is too, i warrant. well, sir, look at me. now, on your oath, remember, were you ever the editor of a certain thing published every wednesday, and called the 'athenaeum,' or the 'asinaeum,' or some such name?" commencing with this insidious and self-damnatory question, the learned counsel then proceeded, as artfully as he was able, through a series of interrogatories calculated to injure the character, the respectable character, of macgrawler, and weaken his testimony in the eyes of the jury. he succeeded in exciting in the audience that feeling of merriment wherewith the vulgar are always so delighted to intersperse the dull seriousness of hanging a human being. but though the jury themselves grinned, they were not convinced. the scotsman retired from the witness- box "scotched," perhaps, in reputation, but not "killed" as to testimony. it was just before this witness concluded, that lord mauleverer caused to be handed to the judge a small slip of paper, containing merely these words in pencil:-- dear brandon,--a dinner waits you at mauleverer park, only three miles hence. lord--and the bishop of--meet you. plenty of news from london, and a letter about you, which i will show to no one till we meet. make haste and hang this poor fellow, that i may see you the sooner; and it is bad for both of us to wait long for a regular meal like dinner. i can't stay longer, it is so hot, and my nerves were always susceptible. yours, mauleverer. if you will come, give me a nod. you know my hour,--it is always the same. the judge, glancing over the note, inclined his head gravely to the earl, who withdrew; and in one minute afterwards, a heavy and breathless silence fell over the whole court. the prisoner was called upon for his defence: it was singular what a different sensation to that existing in their breasts the moment before crept thrillingly through the audience. hushed was every whisper, vanished was every smile that the late cross- examination had excited; a sudden and chilling sense of the dread importance of the tribunal made itself abruptly felt in the minds of every one present. perhaps, as in the gloomy satire of hogarth (the moral mephistopheles of painters), the close neighbourhood of pain to mirth made the former come with the homelier shock to the heart; be that as it may, a freezing anxiety, numbing the pulse and stirring through the air, made every man in that various crowd feel a sympathy of awe with his neighbour, excepting only the hardened judge and the hackneyed lawyers, and one spectator,--an idiot who had thrust himself in with the general press, and stood, within a few paces of the prisoner, grinning unconsciously, and every now and then winking with a glassy eye at some one at a distance, whose vigilance he had probably eluded. the face and aspect, even the attitude, of the prisoner were well fitted to heighten the effect which would naturally have been created by any man under the same fearful doom. he stood at the very front of the bar, and his tall and noble figure was drawn up to its full height; a glow of excitement spread itself gradually over features at all times striking, and lighted an eye naturally eloquent, and to which various emotions at that time gave a more than commonly deep and impressive expression. he began thus:-- "my lord, i have little to say, and i may at once relieve the anxiety of my counsel, who now looks wistfully upon me, and add that that little will scarcely embrace the object of defence. why should i defend myself? why should i endeavour to protract a life that a few days, more or less, will terminate, according to the ordinary calculations of chance? such as it is and has been, my life is vowed to the law, and the law will have the offering. could i escape from this indictment, i know that seven others await me, and that by one or the other of these my conviction and my sentence must come. life may be sweet to all of us, my lord; and were it possible that mine could be spared yet a while, that continued life might make a better atonement for past actions than a death which, abrupt and premature, calls for repentance while it forbids redress. "but when the dark side of things is our only choice, it is useless to regard the bright; idle to fix our eyes upon life, when death is at hand; useless to speak of contrition, when we are denied its proof. it is the usual policy of prisoners in my situation to address the feelings and flatter the prejudices of the jury; to descant on the excellence of our laws, while they endeavour to disarm them; to praise justice, yet demand mercy; to talk of expecting acquittal, yet boast of submitting without a murmur to condemnation. for me, to whom all earthly interests are dead, this policy is idle and superfluous. i hesitate not to tell you, my lord judge,--to proclaim to you, gentlemen of the jury,--that the laws which i have broken through my life i despise in death! your laws are but of two classes; the one makes criminals, the other punishes them. i have suffered by the one; i am about to perish by the other. "my lord, it was the turn of a straw which made me what i am. seven years ago i was sent to the house of correction for an offence which i did not commit. i went thither, a boy who had never infringed a single law; i came forth, in a few weeks, a man who was prepared to break all laws! whence was this change? was it my fault, or that of my condemners? you had first wronged me by a punishment which i did not deserve; you wronged me yet more deeply when (even had i been guilty of the first offence) i was sentenced to herd with hardened offenders, and graduates in vice and vice's methods of support. the laws themselves caused me to break the laws: first, by implanting within me the goading sense of injustice; secondly, by submitting me to the corruption of example. thus, i repeat,--and i trust my words will sink solemnly into the hearts of all present,--your legislation made me what i am; and it now destroys me, as it has destroyed thousands, for being what it made me! but for this, the first aggression on me, i might have been what the world terms honest,--i might have advanced to old age and a peaceful grave through the harmless cheateries of trade or the honoured falsehoods of a profession. nay, i might have supported the laws which i have now braved; like the counsel opposed to me, i might have grown sleek on the vices of others, and advanced to honour by my ingenuity in hanging my fellow-creatures! the canting and prejudging part of the press has affected to set before you the merits of 'honest ability,' or 'laborious trade,' in opposition to my offences. what, i beseech you, are the props of your 'honest' exertion,--the profits of 'trade'? are there no bribes to menials? is there no adulteration of goods? are the rich never duped in the price they pay? are the poor never wronged in the quality they receive? is there honesty in the bread you eat, in a single necessity which clothes or feeds or warms you? let those whom the law protects consider it a protector: when did it ever protect me? when did it ever protect the poor man? the government of a state, the institutions of law, profess to provide for all those who 'obey.' mark! a man hungers,-- do you feed him? he is naked,--do you clothe him? if not, you break your covenant, you drive him back to the first law of nature, and you hang him, not because he is guilty, but because you have left him naked and starving! [a murmur among the mob below, with great difficulty silenced.] one thing only i will add, and that not to move your mercy,-- no, nor to invest my fate with an idle and momentary interest,--but because there are some persons in this world who have not known me as the criminal who stands before you, and whom the tidings of my fate may hereafter reach; and i would not have those persons view me in blacker colours than i deserve. among all the rumours, gentlemen, that have reached you, through all the tales and fables kindled from my unhappy notoriety and my approaching doom, i put it to you, if you have heard that i have committed one sanguinary action or one ruinous and deliberate fraud. you have heard that i have lived by the plunder of the rich,--i do not deny the charge. from the grinding of the poor, the habitual overreaching, or the systematic pilfering of my neighbours, my conscience is as free as it is from the charge of cruelty and bloodshed. those errors i leave to honest mediocrity or virtuous exertion! you may perhaps find, too, that my life has not passed through a career of outrage without scattering some few benefits on the road. in destroying me, it is true that you will have the consolation to think that among the benefits you derive from my sentence will be the salutary encouragement you give to other offenders to offend to the last, degree, and to divest outrage of no single aggravation! but if this does not seem to you any very powerful inducement, you may pause before you cut off from all amendment a man who seems neither wholly hardened nor utterly beyond atonement. my lord, my counsel would have wished to summon witnesses,-- some to bear testimony to redeeming points in my own character, others to invalidate the oath of the witness against me,--a man whom i saved from destruction in order that he might destroy me. i do not think either necessary. the public press has already said of me what little good does not shock the truth; and had i not possessed something of those qualities which society does not disesteem, you would not have beheld me here at this hour! if i had saved myself as well as my companions, i should have left this country, perhaps forever, and commenced a very different career abroad. i committed offences; i eluded you; i committed what, in my case, was an act of duty: i am seized, and i perish. but the weakness of my body destroys me, not the strength of your malice. had i" (and as the prisoner spake, the haughty and rapid motion, the enlarging of the form, produced by the passion of the moment, made impressively conspicuous to all the remarkable power of his frame),--"had i but my wonted health, my wonted command over these limbs and these veins, i would have asked no friend, no ally, to favour my escape. i tell you, engines and guardians of the law, that i would have mocked your chains and defied your walls, as ye know that i have mocked and defied them before. but my blood creeps now only in drops through its courses; and the heart that i had of old stirs feebly and heavily within me." the prisoner paused a moment, and resumed in an altered tone: "leaving, then, my own character to the ordeal of report, i cannot perhaps do better than leave to the same criterion that of the witness against me. i will candidly own that under other circumstances it might have been otherwise. i will candidly avow that i might have then used such means as your law awards me to procure an acquittal and to prolong my existence,--though in a new scene; as it is, what matters the cause in which i receive my sentence? nay, it is even better to suffer by the first than to linger to the last. it is some consolation not again to stand where i now stand; to go through the humbling solemnities which i have this day endured; to see the smile of some, and retort the frown of others; to wrestle with the anxiety of the heart, and to depend on the caprice of the excited nerves. it is something to feel one part of the drama of disgrace is over, and that i may wait unmolested in my den until, for one time only, i am again the butt of the unthinking and the monster of the crowd. my lord, i have now done! to you, whom the law deems the prisoner's counsel,--to you, gentlemen of the jury, to whom it has delegated his fate,--i leave the chances of my life." the prisoner ceased; but the same heavy silence which, save when broken by one solitary murmur, had lain over the court during his speech, still continued even for several moments after that deep and firm voice had died on the ear. so different had been the defence of the prisoner from that which had been expected; so assuredly did the more hackneyed part of the audience, even as he had proceeded, imagine that by some artful turn he would at length wind into the usual courses of defence,--that when his unfaltering and almost stern accents paused, men were not prepared to feel that his speech was finished, and the pause involuntarily jarred on them as untimeous and abrupt. at length, when each of the audience slowly awoke to the conviction that the prisoner had indeed concluded his harangue, a movement, eloquent of feelings released from a suspense, which had been perhaps the more earnest and the more blended with awe, from the boldness and novelty of the words on which it hung, circled round the court. the jurors looked confusedly at each other, but not one of them spoke, even by a whisper; their feelings, which had been aroused by the speech of the prisoner, had not from its shortness, its singularity, and the haughty impolicy of its tone, been so far guided by its course as to settle into any state of mind clearly favourable to him, or the reverse; so that each man waited for his neighbour to speak first, in order that he might find, as it were, in another, a kind of clew to the indistinct and excited feelings which wanted utterance in himself. the judge, who had been from the first attracted by the air and aspect of the prisoner, had perhaps, notwithstanding the hardness of his mind, more approvingly than any one present listened to the defence; for in the scorn of the hollow institutions and the mock honesty of social life, so defyingly manifested by the prisoner, brandon recognized elements of mind remarkably congenial to his own; and this sympathy was heightened by the hardihood of physical nerve and moral intrepidity displayed by the prisoner,--qualities which among men of a similar mould often form the strongest motive of esteem, and sometimes (as we read of in the imperial corsican and his chiefs) the only point of attraction! brandon was, however, soon recalled to his cold self by a murmur of vague applause circling throughout the common crowd, among whom the general impulse always manifests itself first, and to whom the opinions of the prisoner, though but imperfectly understood, came more immediately home than they did to the better and richer classes of the audience. ever alive to the decorums of form, brandon instantly ordered silence in the court; and when it was again restored, and it was fully understood that the prisoner's defence had closed, the judge proceeded to sum up. it is worthy of remark that many of the qualities of mind which seem most unamiable in private life often conduce with a singular felicity to the ends of public; and thus the stony firmness characteristic of brandon was a main cause which made him admirable as a judge,--for men in office err no less from their feelings than their interests. glancing over his notes, the judge inclined himself to the jury, and began with that silver ringing voice which particularly distinguished brandon's eloquence, and carried with it in high stations so majestic and candid a tone of persuasion. he pointed out, with a clear brevity, the various points of the evidence; he dwelt for a moment on the attempt to cast disrepute upon the testimony of macgrawler, but called a proper attention to the fact that the attempt had been unsupported by witnesses or proof. as he proceeded, the impression made by the prisoner on the minds of the jury slowly melted away; and perhaps, so much do men soften when they behold clearly the face of a fellow-man dependent on them for life, it acted disadvantageously on the interests of clifford, that during the summing up he leaned back in the dock, and prevented his countenance from being seen. when the evidence had been gone through, the judge concluded thus:-- "the prisoner, who in his defence (on the principles and opinions of which i now forbear to comment) certainly exhibited the signs of a superior education, and a high though perverted ability, has alluded to the reports circulated by the public press, and leaned some little stress on the various anecdotes tending to his advantage, which he supposes have reached your ears. i am by no means willing that the prisoner should be deprived of whatever benefit may be derivable from such a source; but it is not in this place, nor at this moment, that it can avail him. all you have to consider is the evidence before you. all on which you have to decide is, whether the prisoner be or be not guilty of the robbery of which he is charged. you must not waste a thought on what redeems or heightens a supposed crime,--you must only decide on the crime itself. put away from your minds, i beseech you, all that interferes with the main case. put away also from your motives of decision all forethought of other possible indictments to which the prisoner has alluded, but with which you are necessarily unacquainted. if you doubt the evidence, whether of one witness or of all, the prisoner must receive from you the benefit of that doubt. if not, you are sworn to a solemn oath, which ordains you to forego all minor considerations,--which compels you to watch narrowly that you be not influenced by the infirmities natural to us all, but criminal in you, to lean towards the side of a mercy that would be rendered by your oath a perjury to god, and by your duty as impartial citizens a treason to your country. i dismiss you to the grave consideration of the important case you have heard; and i trust that he to whom all hearts are open and all secrets are known, will grant you the temper and the judgment to form a right decision!" there was in the majestic aspect and thrilling voice of brandon something which made the commonest form of words solemn and impressive; and the hypocrite, aware of this felicity of manner, generally, as now, added weight to his concluding words by a religious allusion or a scriptural phraseology. he ceased; and the jury, recovering the effect of his adjuration, consulted for a moment among themselves. the foreman then, addressing the court on behalf of his fellow-jurors, requested leave to retire for deliberation. an attendant bailiff being sworn in, we read in the journals of the day, which noted the divisions of time with that customary scrupulosity rendered terrible by the reflection how soon all time and seasons may perish for the hero of the scene, that "it was at twenty-five minutes to two that the jury withdrew." perhaps in the whole course of a criminal trial there is no period more awful than that occupied by the deliberation of the jury. in the present case the prisoner, as if acutely sensible of his situation, remained in the rear of the dock, and buried his face in his hands. they who stood near him observed, however, that his breast did not seem to swell with the convulsive emotion customary to persons in his state, and that not even a sigh or agitated movement escaped him. the jury had been absent about twenty minutes, when a confused noise was heard in the court. the face of the judge turned in commanding severity towards the quarter whence it proceeded. he perceived a man of a coarse garb and mean appearance endeavouring rudely and violently to push his way through the crowd towards the bench, and at the same instant he saw one of the officers of the court approaching the disturber of its tranquillity with no friendly intent. the man, aware of the purpose of the constable, exclaimed with great vehemence, "i vill give this to my lord the judge, blow me if i von't!" and as he spoke he raised high above his head a soiled scrap of paper folded awkwardly in the shape of a letter. the instant brandon's eye caught the rugged features of the intrusive stranger, he motioned with rather less than his usual slowness of gesture to one of his official satellites. "bring me that paper instantly!" he whispered. the officer bowed and obeyed. the man, who seemed a little intoxicated, gave it with a look of ludicrous triumph and self-importance. "stand avay, man!" he added to the constable, who now laid hand on his collar. "you'll see vot the judge says to that 'ere bit of paper; and so vill the prisoner, poor fellow!" this scene, so unworthy the dignity of the court, attracted the notice and (immediately around the intruder) the merriment of the crowd; and many an eye was directed towards brandon, as with calm gravity he opened the note and glanced over the contents. in a large school-boy hand-it was the hand of long ned--were written these few words: my lord judge,--i make bold to beg you will do all you can for the prisoner at the barre, as he is no other than the "paul" i spoke to your worship about. you know what i mean. dummie dunnaker. as he read this note, the judge's head was observed to droop suddenly, as if by a sickness or a spasm; but he recovered himself instantly, and whispering the officer who brought him the note, said, "see that that madman be immediately removed from the court, and lock him up alone. he is so deranged as to be dangerous!" the officer lost not a moment in seeing the order executed. three stout constables dragged the astounded dummie from the court in an instant, yet the more ruthlessly for his ejaculating,-- "eh, sirs, what's this? i tells you i have saved the judge's hown flesh and blood! vy, now, gently, there; you'll smart for this, my fine fellow! never you mind, paul, my 'arty; i 'se done you a pure good--" "silence!" proclaimed the voice of the judge; and that voice came forth with so commanding a tone of power that it awed dummie, despite his intoxication. in a moment more, and ere he had time to recover, he was without the court. during this strange hubbub, which nevertheless scarcely lasted above two or three minutes, the prisoner had not once lifted his head, nor appeared aroused in any manner from his revery; and scarcely had the intruder been withdrawn before the jury returned. the verdict was, as all had foreseen, "guilty;" but it was coupled with a strong recommendation to mercy. the prisoner was then asked, in the usual form, whether he had to say anything why sentence of death should not be passed against him. as these dread words struck upon his ear, slowly the prisoner rose. he directed first towards the jury a brief and keen glance, and his eyes then rested full, and with a stern significance, on the face of his judge. "my lord," he began, "i have but one reason to advance against the sentence of the law. if you have interest to prevent or mitigate it, that reason will, i think, suffice to enlist you on my behalf. i said that the first cause of those offences against the law which brings me to this bar was the committing me to prison on a charge of which i was wholly innocent! my lord judge, you were the man who accused me of that charge, and subjected me to that imprisonment! look at me well, my lord, and you may trace in the countenance of the hardened felon you are about to adjudge to death the features of a boy whom, some seven years ago, you accused before a london magistrate of the theft of your watch. on the oath of a man who has one step on the threshold of death, the accusation was unjust. and, fit minister of the laws you represent! you, who will now pass my doom,--you were the cause of my crimes! my lord, i have done. i am ready to add another to the long and dark list of victims who are first polluted and then sacrificed by the blindness and the injustice of human codes!" while clifford spoke, every eye turned from him to the judge, and every one was appalled by the ghastly and fearful change which had fallen over brandon's face. men said, afterwards, that they saw written there, in terrible distinctness, the characters of death; and there certainly seemed something awful and preternatural in the bloodless and haggard calmness of his proud features. yet his eye did not quail, nor the muscles of his lip quiver; and with even more than his wonted loftiness, he met the regard of the prisoner. but, as alone conspicuous throughout the motionless and breathless crowd the judge and criminal gazed upon each other, and as the eyes of the spectators wandered on each, a thrilling and electric impression of a powerful likeness between the doomed and the doomer, for the first time in the trial, struck upon the audience, and increased, though they scarcely knew why, the sensation of pain and dread which the prisoner's last words excited. perhaps it might have chiefly arisen from a common expression of fierce emotion conquered by an iron and stern character of mind; or perhaps, now that the ashy paleness of exhaustion had succeeded the excited flush on the prisoner's face, the similarity of complexion thus obtained made the likeness more obvious than before; or perhaps the spectators had not hitherto fixed so searching, or, if we may so speak, so alternating a gaze upon the two. however that be, the resemblance between the men, placed as they were in such widely different circumstances,--that resemblance which, as we have hinted, had at certain moments occurred startlingly to lucy,--was plain and unavoidably striking: the same the dark hue of their complexions; the same the haughty and roman outline of their faces; the same the height of the forehead; the same even a displeasing and sarcastic rigidity of mouth, which made the most conspicuous feature in brandon, and which was the only point that deteriorated from the singular beauty of clifford. but, above all, the same inflexible, defying, stubborn spirit, though in brandon it assumed the stately cast of majesty, and in clifford it seemed the desperate sternness of the bravo, stamped itself in both. though clifford ceased, he did not resume his seat, but stood in the same attitude as that in which he had reversed the order of things, and merged the petitioner in the accuser; and brandon himself, without speaking or moving, continued still to survey him; so, with erect fronts and marble countenances, in which what was defying and resolute did not altogether quell the mortal leaven of pain and dread, they looked as might have looked the two men in the eastern story who had the power of gazing each other unto death. what at that moment was raging in brandon's heart, it is in vain to guess. he doubted not for a moment that he beheld before him his long lost, his anxiously demanded son! every fibre, every corner of his complex and gloomy soul, that certainly reached, and blasted with a hideous and irresistible glare. the earliest, perhaps the strongest, though often the least acknowledged principle of his mind was the desire to rebuild the fallen honours of his house; its last scion he now beheld before him, covered with the darkest ignominies of the law! he had coveted worldly honours; he beheld their legitimate successor in a convicted felon! he had garnered the few affections he had spared from the objects of pride and ambition, in his son. that son he was about to adjudge to the gibbet and the hangman! of late he had increased the hopes of regaining his lost treasure, even to an exultant certainty. lo! the hopes were accomplished! how? with these thoughts warring, in what manner we dare not even by an epithet express, within him, we may cast one hasty glance on the horror of aggravation they endured, when he heard the prisoner accuse him as the cause of his present doom, and felt himself at once the murderer and the judge of his son! minutes had elapsed since the voice of the prisoner ceased; and brandon now drew forth the black cap. as he placed it slowly over his brows, the increasing and corpse-like whiteness of his face became more glaringly visible, by the contrast which this dread head-gear presented. twice as he essayed to speak his voice failed him, and an indistinct murmur came forth from his hueless lips, and died away like a fitful and feeble wind. but with the third effort the resolution and long self-tyranny of the man conquered, and his voice went clear and unfaltering through the crowd, although the severe sweetness of its wonted tones was gone, and it sounded strange and hollow on the ears that drank it. "prisoner at the bar! it has become my duty to announce to you the close of your mortal career. you have been accused of a daring robbery, and after an impartial trial a jury of your countrymen and the laws of your country have decided against you. the recommendation to mercy" (here, only throughout his speech, brandon gasped convulsively for breath) "so humanely added by the jury, shall be forwarded to the supreme power; but i cannot flatter you with much hope of its success." (the lawyers looked with some surprise at each other; they had expected a far more unqualified mandate, to abjure all hope from the jury's recommendation.) "prisoner, for the opinions you have expressed, you are now only answerable to your god; i forbear to arraign them. for the charge you have made against me, whether true or false, and for the anguish it has given me, may you find pardon at another tribunal! it remains for me only--under a reserve too slight, as i have said, to afford you a fair promise of hope--only to--to" (all eyes were on brandon; he felt it, exerted himself for a last effort, and proceeded)--"to pronounce on you the sharp sentence of the law! it is, that you be taken back to the prison whence you came, and thence (when the supreme authority shall appoint) to the place of execution, to be there hanged by the neck till you are dead; and the lord god almighty have mercy on your soul!" with this address concluded that eventful trial; and while the crowd, in rushing and noisy tumult, bore towards the door, brandon, concealing to the last with a spartan bravery the anguish which was gnawing at his entrails, retired from the awful pageant. for the next half-hour he was locked up with the strange intruder on the proceedings of the court. at the end of that time the stranger was dismissed; and in about double the same period brandon's servant re-admitted him, accompanied by another man, with a slouched hat and in a carman's frock. the reader need not be told that the new comer was the friendly ned, whose testimony was indeed a valuable corroborative to dummie's, and whose regard for clifford, aided by an appetite for rewards, had induced him to venture to the town of -----, although he tarried concealed in a safe suburb, until reassured by a written promise from brandon of safety to his person, and a sum for which we might almost doubt whether he would not have consented (so long had he been mistaking means for an end) to be hanged himself. brandon listened to the details of these confederates; and when they had finished, he addressed them thus: "i have heard you, and am convinced you are liars and impostors. there is the money i promised you" (throwing down a pocket-book),--"take it; and, hark you, if ever you dare whisper, ay, but a breath of the atrocious lie you have now forged, be sure i will have you dragged from the recess or nook of infamy in which you may hide your heads, and hanged for the crimes you have already committed. i am not the man to break my word. begone! quit this town instantly! if in two hours hence you are found here, your blood be on your own heads! begone, i say!" these words, aided by a countenance well adapted at all times to expressions of a menacing and ruthless character, at once astounded and appalled the accomplices. they left the room in hasty confusion; and brandon, now alone, walked with uneven steps (the alarming weakness and vacillation of which he did not himself feel) to and fro the apartment. the hell of his breast was stamped upon his features, but he uttered only one thought aloud,-- "i may,--yes, yes,--i may yet conceal this disgrace to my name!" his servant tapped at the door to say that the carriage was ready, and that lord mauleverer had bid him remind his master that they dined punctually at the hour appointed. "i am coming!" said brandon, with a slow and startling emphasis on each word. but he first sat down and wrote a letter to the official quarter, strongly aiding the recommendation of the jury; and we may conceive how pride clung to him to the last, when he urged the substitution for death of transportation for life! as soon as he had sealed this letter, he summoned an express, gave his orders coolly and distinctly, and attempted with his usual stateliness of step to walk through a long passage which led to the outer door. he found himself fail. "come hither," he said to his servant, "give me your arm!" all brandon's domestics, save the one left with lucy, stood in awe of him; and it was with some hesitation that his servant ventured to inquire if his master felt well. brandon looked at him, but made no reply. he entered his carriage with slight difficulty, and telling the coachman to drive as fast as possible, pulled down (a general custom with him) all the blinds of the windows. meanwhile lord mauleverer, with six friends, was impatiently awaiting the arrival of the seventh guest. "our august friend tarries!" quoth the bishop of -------, with his hands folded across his capacious stomach. "i fear the turbot your lordship spoke of may not be the better for the length of the trial." "poor fellow!" said the earl of --------, slightly yawning. "whom do you mean?" asked lord mauleverer, with a smile,--"the bishop, the judge, or the turbot?" "not one of the three, mauleverer,--i spoke of the prisoner." "ah, the fine dog! i forgot him," said mauleverer. "really, now you mention him, i must confess that he inspires me with great compassion; but, indeed, it is very wrong in him to keep the judge so long!" "those hardened wretches have such a great deal to say," mumbled the bishop, sourly. "true!" said mauleverer; "a religious rogue would have had some bowels for the state of the church esurient." "is it really true, mauleverer," asked the earl of ------, "that brandon is to succeed?" "so i hear," said mauleverer. "heavens, how hungry i am!" a groan from the bishop echoed the complaint. "i suppose it would be against all decorum to sit down to dinner without him?" said lord --------. "why, really, i fear so," returned mauleverer. "but our health--our health is at stake; we will only wait five minutes more. by jove, there's the carriage! i beg your pardon for my heathen oath, my lord bishop." "i forgive you!" said the good bishop, smiling. the party thus engaged in colloquy were stationed at a window opening on the gravel road, along which the judge's carriage was now seen rapidly approaching; this window was but a few yards from the porch, and had been partially opened for the better reconnoitring the approach of the expected guest. "he keeps the blinds down still! absence of mind, or shame at unpunctuality,--which is the cause, mauleverer?" said one of the party. "not shame, i fear!" answered mauleverer. "even the indecent immorality of delaying our dinner could scarcely bring a blush to the parchment skin of my learned friend." here the carriage stopped at the porch; the carriage door was opened. "there seems a strange delay," said mauleverer, peevishly. "why does not he get out?" as he spoke, a murmur among the attendants, who appeared somewhat strangely to crowd around the carriage, smote the ears of the party. "what do they say,--what?" said mauleverer, putting his hand to his ear. the bishop answered hastily; and mauleverer, as he heard the reply, forgot for once his susceptibility to cold, and hurried out to the carriage door. his guests followed. they found brandon leaning against the farther corner of the carriage,--a corpse. one hand held the check-string, as if he had endeavoured involuntarily but ineffectually to pull it. the right side of his face was partially distorted, as by convulsion or paralysis; but not sufficiently so to destroy that remarkable expression of loftiness and severity which had characterized the features in life. at the same time the distortion which had drawn up on one side the muscles of the mouth had deepened into a startling broadness the half sneer of derision that usually lurked around the lower part of his face. thus unwitnessed and abrupt had been the disunion of the clay and spirit of a man who, if he passed through life a bold, scheming, stubborn, unwavering hypocrite, was not without something high even amidst his baseness, his selfishness, and his vices; who seemed less to have loved sin than by some strange perversion of reason to have disdained virtue, and who, by a solemn and awful suddenness of fate (for who shall venture to indicate the judgment of the arch and unseen providence, even when it appears to mortal eye the least obscured?), won the dreams, the objects, the triumphs of hope, to be blasted by them at the moment of acquisition! chapter xxxvi. and last. subtle, surly,--mammon, dol, hot ananias, dapper, dragger,--all with whom i traded. the alchemist. as when some rural citizen-retired for a fleeting holiday, far from the cares of the world _strepitumque romae_,--[" and the roar of rome."]-- to the sweet shades of pentonville or the remoter plains of clapham-- conducts some delighted visitor over the intricacies of that daedalian masterpiece which he is pleased to call his labyrinth or maze,--now smiling furtively at his guest's perplexity, now listening with calm superiority to his futile and erring conjectures, now maliciously accompanying him through a flattering path in which the baffled adventurer is suddenly checked by the blank features of a thoroughfareless hedge, now trembling as he sees the guest stumbling unawares into the right track, and now relieved as he beholds him after a pause of deliberation wind into the wrong,--even so, o pleasant reader! doth the sage novelist conduct thee through the labyrinth of his tale, amusing himself with thy self-deceits, and spinning forth, in prolix pleasure, the quiet yarn of his entertainment from the involutions which occasion thy fretting eagerness and perplexity. but as when, thanks to the host's good-nature or fatigue, the mystery is once unravelled, and the guest permitted to penetrate even into the concealed end of the leafy maze, the honest cit, satisfied with the pleasant pains he has already bestowed upon his visitor, puts him not to the labour of retracing the steps he hath so erratically trod, but leads him in three strides, and through a simpler path, at once to the mouth of the maze, and dismisseth him elsewhere for entertainment; even so will the prudent narrator, when the intricacies of his plot are once unfolded, occasion no stale and profitless delays to his wearied reader, but conduct him, with as much brevity as convenient, without the labyrinth which has ceased to retain the interest of a secret. we shall therefore, in pursuance of the tit's policy, relate as rapidly as possible that part of our narrative which yet remains untold. on brandon's person was found the paper which had contained so fatal an intelligence of his son; and when brought to lord mauleverer, the words struck that person (who knew brandon had been in search of his lost son, whom we have seen that he had been taught however to suppose illegitimate, though it is probable that many doubts whether he had not been deceived must have occurred to his natural sagacity) as sufficiently important to be worth an inquiry after the writer. dummie was easily found, for he had not yet turned his back on the town when the news of the judge's sudden death was brought back to it; and taking advantage of that circumstance, the friendly dunnaker remained altogether in the town (albeit his long companion deserted it as hastily as might be), and whiled the time by presenting himself at the jail, and after some ineffectual efforts winning his way to clifford. easily tracked by the name he had given to the governor of the jail, he was conducted the same day to lord mauleverer; and his narrative, confused as it was, and proceeding even from so suspicious a quarter, thrilled those digestive organs, which in mauleverer stood proxy for a heart, with feelings as much resembling awe and horror as our good peer was capable of experiencing. already shocked from his worldly philosophy of indifference by the death of brandon, he was more susceptible to a remorseful and salutary impression at this moment than he might have been at any other; and he could not, without some twinges of conscience, think of the ruin he had brought on the mother of the being he had but just prosecuted to the death. he dismissed dummie, and after a little consideration he ordered his carriage, and leaving the funeral preparations for his friend to the care of his man of business, he set off for london, and the house, in particular, of the secretary of the home department. we would not willingly wrong the noble penitent; but we venture a suspicion that he might not have preferred a personal application for mercy to the prisoner to a written one, had he not felt certain unpleasant qualms in remaining in a country-house overshadowed by ceremonies so gloomy as those of death. the letter of brandon and the application of mauleverer obtained for clifford a relaxation of his sentence. he was left for perpetual transportation. a ship was already about to sail; and mauleverer, content with having saved his life, was by no means anxious that his departure from the country should be saddled with any superfluous delay. meanwhile the first rumour that reached london respecting brandon's fate was that he had been found in a fit, and was lying dangerously ill at mauleverer's; and before the second and more fatally sure report arrived, lucy had gathered from the visible dismay of barlow, whom she anxiously cross-questioned, and who, really loving his master, was easily affected into communication, the first and more flattering intelligence. to barlow's secret delight, she insisted instantly on setting off to the supposed sick man; and accompanied by barlow and her woman, the affectionate girl hastened to mauleverer's house on the evening after the day the earl left it. lucy had not proceeded far before barlow learned, from the gossip of the road, the real state of the case. indeed, it was at the first stage that with a mournful countenance he approached the door of the carriage, and announcing the inutility of proceeding farther, begged of lucy to turn back. so soon as miss brandon had overcome the first shock which this intelligence gave her, she said with calmness,-- "well, barlow, if it be so, we have still a duty to perform. tell the postboys to drive on!" "indeed, madam, i cannot see what use it can be fretting yourself,--and you so poorly. if you will let me go, i will see every attention paid to the remains of my poor master." "when my father lay dead," said lucy, with a grave and sad sternness in her manner, "he who is now no more sent no proxy to perform the last duties of a brother; neither will i send one to discharge those of a niece, and prove that i have forgotten the gratitude of a daughter. drive on!" we have said that there were times when a spirit was stricken from lucy little common to her in general; and now the command of her uncle sat upon her brow. on sped the horses, and for several minutes lucy remained silent. her woman did not dare to speak. at length miss brandon turned, and, covering her face with her hands, burst into tears so violent that they alarmed her attendant even more than her previous stillness. "my poor, poor uncle!" she sobbed; and those were all her words. we must pass over lucy's arrival at lord mauleverer's house; we must pass over the weary days which elapsed till that unconscious body was consigned to dust with which, could it have retained yet one spark of its haughty spirit, it would have refused to blend its atoms. she had loved the deceased incomparably beyond his merits, and resisting all remonstrance to the contrary and all the forms of ordinary custom, she witnessed herself the dreary ceremony which bequeathed the human remains of william brandon to repose and to the worm. on that same day clifford received the mitigation of his sentence, and on that day another trial awaited lucy. we think briefly to convey to the reader what that scene was; we need only observe that dummie dunnaker, decoyed by his great love for little paul, whom he delightedly said he found not the least "stuck up by his great fame and helewation," still lingered in the town, and was not only aware of the relationship of the cousins, but had gleaned from long ned, as they journeyed down to ------, the affection entertained by clifford for lucy. of the manner in which the communication reached lucy, we need not speak; suffice it to say, that on the day in which she had performed the last duty to her uncle, she learned for the first time her lover's situation. on that evening, in the convict's cell, the cousins met. their conference was low, for the jailer stood within hearing; and it was broken by lucy's convulsive sobs. but the voice of one whose iron nerves were not unworthy of the offspring of william brandon, was clear and audible to her ear, even though uttered in a whisper that scarcely stirred his lips. it seemed as if lucy, smitten to the inmost heart by the generosity with which her lover had torn himself from her at the time that her wealth might have raised him in any other country far above the perils and the crimes of his career in this; perceiving now, for the first time, and in all their force, the causes of his mysterious conduct; melted by their relationship, and forgetting herself utterly in the desolation and dark situation in which she beheld one who, whatever his crimes, had not been criminal towards her;--it seemed as if, carried away by these emotions, she had yielded altogether to the fondness and devotion of her nature,--that she had wished to leave home and friends and fortune, and share with him his punishment and his shame. "why," she faltered,--"why--why not? we are all that is left to each other in the world! your father and mine were brothers; let me be to you as a sister. what is there left for me here? not one being whom i love, or who cares for me,--not one!" it was then that clifford summoned all his courage, as he answered. perhaps, now that he felt (though here his knowledge was necessarily confused and imperfect) his birth was not unequal to hers; now that he read, or believed he read, in her wan cheek and attenuated frame that desertion to her was death, and that generosity and self-sacrifice had become too late,--perhaps these thoughts, concurring with a love in himself beyond all words, and a love in her which it was above humanity to resist, altogether conquered and subdued him. yet, as we have said, his voice breathed calmly in her ear; and his eye only, which brightened with a steady and resolute hope, betrayed his mind. "live, then!" said he, as he concluded. "my sister, my mistress, my bride, live! in one year from this day--i repeat--i promise it thee!" the interview was over, and lucy returned home with a firm step. she was on foot. the rain fell in torrents, yet even in her precarious state her health suffered not; and when within a week from that time she read that clifford had departed to the bourne of his punishment, she read the news with a steady eye and a lip that, if it grew paler, did not quiver. shortly after that time miss brandon departed to an obscure town by the seaside; and there, refusing all society, she continued to reside. as the birth of clifford was known but to few, and his legitimacy was unsuspected by all except, perhaps, by mauleverer, lucy succeeded to the great wealth of her uncle; and this circumstance made her more than ever an object of attraction in the eyes of her noble adorer. finding himself unable to see her, he wrote to her more than one moving epistle; but as lucy continued inflexible, he at length, disgusted by her want of taste, ceased his pursuit, and resigned himself to the continued sterility of unwedded life. as the months waned, miss brandon seemed to grow weary of her retreat; and immediately on attaining her majority, which she did about eight months after brandon's death, she transferred the bulk of her wealth to france, where it was understood (for it was impossible that rumour should sleep upon an heiress and a beauty) that she intended in future to reside. even warlock (that spell to the proud heart of her uncle) she ceased to retain. it was offered to the nearest relation of the family at a sum which he did not hesitate to close with; and by the common vicissitudes of fortune, the estate of the ancient brandons has now, we perceive by a weekly journal, just passed into the hands of a wealthy alderman. it was nearly a year since brandon's death when a letter bearing a foreign postmark came to lucy. from that time her spirits--which before, though subject to fits of abstraction, had been even and subdued, not sad--rose into all the cheerfulness and vivacity of her earliest youth. she busied herself actively in preparations for her departure from this country; and at length the day was fixed, and the vessel was engaged. every day till that one, did lucy walk to the seaside, and ascending the highest cliff, spend hours, till the evening closed, in watching, with seemingly idle gaze, the vessels that interspersed the sea; and with every day her health seemed to strengthen, and the soft and lucid colour she had once worn, to rebloom upon her cheek. previous to her departure miss brandon dismissed her servants, and only engaged one female, a foreigner, to accompany her. a certain tone of quiet command, formerly unknown to her, characterized these measures, so daringly independent for one of her sex and age. the day arrived,--it was the anniversary of her last interview with clifford. on entering the vessel it was observed that she trembled violently, and that her face was as pale as death. a stranger, who had stood aloof wrapped in his cloak, darted forward to assist her; that was the last which her discarded and weeping servants beheld of her from the pier where they stood to gaze. nothing more in this country was ever known of the fate of lucy brandon; and as her circle of acquaintances was narrow, and interest in her fate existed vividly in none save a few humble breasts, conjecture was never keenly awakened, and soon cooled into forgetfulness. if it favoured, after the lapse of years, any one notion more than another, it was that she had perished among the victims of the french revolution. meanwhile let us glance over the destinies of our more subordinate acquaintances. augustus tomlinson, on parting from long ned, had succeeded in reaching calais; and after a rapid tour through the continent, he ultimately betook himself to a certain literary city in germany, where he became distinguished for his metaphysical acumen, and opened a school of morals on the grecian model, taught in the french tongue. he managed, by the patronage he received and the pupils he enlightened, to obtain a very decent income; and as he wrote a folio against locke, proved that men had innate feelings, and affirmed that we should refer everything not to reason, but to the sentiments of the soul, he became greatly respected for his extraordinary virtue. some little discoveries were made after his death, which perhaps would have somewhat diminished the general odour of his sanctity, had not the admirers of his school carefully hushed up the matter, probably out of respect for the "sentiments of the soul!" pepper, whom the police did not so anxiously desire to destroy as they did his two companions, might have managed, perhaps many years longer, to graze upon the public commons, had not a letter, written somewhat imprudently, fallen into wrong hands. this, though after creating a certain stir it apparently died away, lived in the memory of the police, and finally conspired, with various peccadilloes, to produce his downfall. he was seized, tried, and sentenced to seven years' transportation. he so advantageously employed his time at botany bay, and arranged things there so comfortably to himself, that at the expiration of his sentence he refused to return home. he made an excellent match, built himself an excellent house, and remained in "the land of the blest" to the end of his days, noted to the last for the redundance of his hair and a certain ferocious coxcombry of aspect. as for fighting attie and gentleman george, for scarlet jem and for old bags, we confess ourselves destitute of any certain information of their latter ends. we can only add, with regard to fighting attie, "good luck be with him wherever he goes!" and for mine host of the jolly angler, that, though we have not the physical constitution to quaff "a bumper of blue ruin," we shall be very happy, over any tolerable wine and in company with any agreeable convivialist, to bear our part in the polished chorus of-- "here's to gentleman george, god bless him!" mrs. lobkins departed this life like a lamb; and dummie dunnaker obtained a license to carry on the business at thames court. he boasted, to the last, of his acquaintance with the great captain lovett, and of the affability with which that distinguished personage treated him. stories he had, too, about judge brandon, but no one believed a syllable of them; and dummie, indignant at the disbelief, increased, out of vehemence, the marvel of the stories, so that, at length, what was added almost swallowed up what was original, and dummie himself might have been puzzled to satisfy his own conscience as to what was false and what was true. the erudite peter macgrawler, returning to scotland, disappeared by the road. a person singularly resembling the sage was afterward seen at carlisle, where he discharged the useful and praiseworthy duties of jack ketch. but whether or not this respectable functionary was our identical simon pure, our ex-editor of "the asinaeum," we will not take upon ourselves to assert. lord mauleverer, finally resolving on a single life, passed the remainder of his years in indolent tranquillity. when he died, the newspapers asserted that his majesty was deeply affected by the loss of so old and valued a friend. his furniture and wines sold remarkably high; and a great man, his particular intimate, who purchased his books, startled to find, by pencil marks, that the noble deceased had read some of them, exclaimed, not altogether without truth, "ah! mauleverer might have been a deuced clever fellow--if he had liked it!" the earl was accustomed to show as a curiosity a ring of great value, which he had received in rather a singular manner. one morning a packet was brought him which he found to contain a sum of money, the ring mentioned, and a letter from the notorious lovett, in which that person in begging to return his lordship the sums of which he had twice assisted to rob him, thanked him, with earnest warmth, for the consideration testified towards him in not revealing his identity with captain clifford; and ventured, as a slight testimony of respect, to inclose the aforesaid ring with the sum returned. about the time mauleverer received this curious packet, several anecdotes of a similar nature appeared in the public journals; and it seemed that lovett had acted upon a general principle of restitution,--not always, it must be allowed, the offspring of a robber's repentance. while the idle were marvelling at these anecdotes, came the tardy news that lovett, after a single month's sojourn at his place of condemnation, had, in the most daring and singular manner, effected his escape. whether, in his progress up the country, he had been starved or slain by the natives, or whether, more fortunate, he had ultimately found the means of crossing seas, was as yet unknown. there ended the adventures of the gallant robber; and thus, by a strange coincidence, the same mystery which wrapped the fate of lucy involved also that of her lover. and here, kind reader, might we drop the curtain on our closing scene, did we not think it might please thee to hold it up yet one moment, and give thee another view of the world behind. in a certain town of that great country where shoes are imperfectly polished--[see captain hall's late work on america]--and opinions are not prosecuted, there resided, twenty years after the date of lucy brandon's departure from england, a man held in high and universal respect, not only for the rectitude of his conduct, but for the energies of his mind, and the purposes to which they were directed. if you asked who cultivated that waste, the answer was, "clifford!" who procured the establishment of that hospital, "clifford!" who obtained the redress of such a public grievance, "clifford!" who struggled for and won such a popular benefit, "clifford!" in the gentler part of his projects and his undertakings--in that part, above all, which concerned the sick or the necessitous--this useful citizen was seconded, or rather excelled, by a being over whose surpassing loveliness time seemed to have flown with a gentle and charming wing. there was something remarkable and touching in the love which this couple (for the woman we refer to was clifford's wife) bore to each other; like the plant on the plains of hebron, the time which brought to that love an additional strength brought to it also a softer and a fresher verdure. although their present neighbours were unacquainted with the events of their earlier life previous to their settlement at ----------, it was known that they had been wealthy at the time they first came to reside there, and that, by a series of fatalities, they had lost all. but clifford had borne up manfully against fortune; and in a new country, where men who prefer labour to dependence cannot easily starve, he had been enabled to toil upward through the severe stages of poverty and hardship with an honesty and vigour of character which won him, perhaps, a more hearty esteem for every successive effort than the display of his lost riches might ever have acquired him. his labours and his abilities obtained gradual but sure success; and he now enjoyed the blessings of a competence earned with the most scrupulous integrity, and spent with the most kindly benevolence. a trace of the trials they had passed through was discernible in each; those trials had stolen the rose from the wife's cheek, and had sown untimely wrinkles in the broad brow of clifford. there were moments, too, but they were only moments, when the latter sank from his wonted elastic and healthful cheerfulness of mind into a gloomy and abstracted revery; but these moments the wife watched with a jealous and fond anxiety, and one sound of her sweet voice had the power to dispel their influence; and when clifford raised his eyes, and glanced from her tender smile around his happy home and his growing children, or beheld through the very windows of his room the public benefits he had created, something of pride and gladness glowed on his countenance, and he said, though with glistening eyes and subdued voice, as his looks returned once more to his wife, "i owe these to thee!" one trait of mind especially characterized clifford,--indulgence to the faults of others. "circumstances make guilt," he was wont to say; "let us endeavour to correct the circumstances, before we rail against the guilt!" his children promised to tread in the same useful and honourable path that he trod himself. happy was considered that family which had the hope to ally itself with his. such was the after-fate of clifford and lucy. who will condemn us for preferring the moral of that fate to the moral which is extorted from the gibbet and the hulks,--which makes scarecrows, not beacons; terrifies our weakness, not warms our reason. who does not allow that it is better to repair than to perish,--better, too, to atone as the citizen than to repent as the hermit? oh, john wilkes, alderman of london, and drawcansir of liberty, your life was not an iota too perfect,--your patriotism might have been infinitely purer, your morals would have admitted indefinite amendment, you are no great favourite with us or with the rest of the world,--but you said one excellent thing, for which we look on you with benevolence, nay, almost with respect. we scarcely know whether to smile at its wit or to sigh at its wisdom. mark this truth, all ye gentlemen of england who would make law as the romans made fasces,--a bundle of rods with an axe in the middle,--mark it, and remember! long may it live, allied with hope in ourselves, but with gratitude in our children,--long after the book which it now "adorns" and "points" has gone to its dusty slumber,--long, long after the feverish hand which now writes it down can defend or enforce it no more: "the very worst use to which you can put a man is to hang him!" note. in the second edition of this novel there were here inserted two "characters" of "fighting attie" and "gentleman george," omitted in the subsequent edition published by mr. bentley in the "standard novels." at the request of some admirers of those eminent personages, who considered the biographical sketches referred to impartial in themselves, and contributing to the completeness of the design for which men so illustrious were introduced, they are here retained, though in the more honourable form of a separate and supplementary notice. fighting attie. when be dies, the road will have lost a great man, whose foot was rarely out of his stirrup, and whose clear head guided a bold hand. he carried common-sense to its perfection, and he made the straight path the sublimest. his words were few, his actions were many. he was the spartan of tobymen, and laconism was the short soul of his professional legislation! whatever way you view him, you see those properties of mind which command fortune; few thoughts not confusing each other,--simple elements, and bold. his character in action maybe summed in two phrases,--"a fact seized, and a stroke made." had his intellect been more luxurious, his resolution might have been less hardy; and his hardiness made his greatness. he was one of those who shine but in action,--chimneys (to adapt the simile of sir thomas more) that seem useless till you light your fire. so in calm moments you dreamed not of his utility, and only on the road you were struck dumb with the outbreaking of his genius. whatever situation he was called to, you found in hire what you looked for in vain in others; for his strong sense gave to attie what long experience ought, but often fails, to give to its possessors. his energy triumphed over the sense of novel circumstance, and be broke in a moment through the cobwebs which entangled lesser natures for years. his eye saw a final result, and disregarded the detail. he robbed his man. without chicanery; and took his purse by applying for it rather than scheming. if his enemies wish to detract from his merit,--a merit great, dazzling, and yet solid,--they may, perhaps, say that his genius fitted him better to continue exploits than to devise them; and thus that, besides the renown which he may justly claim, he often wholly engrossed that fame which should have been shared by others: he took up the enterprise where it ceased at labour, and carried it onwards, where it was rewarded with glory. even this charge proves a new merit of address, and lessens not the merit less complicated the have allowed him before. the fame he has acquired may excite our emulation; the envy he has not appeased may console us for obscurity. a stanza of greek poetry--thus, not too vigorously, translated by mr. west,-- "but wrapped in error is the human mind, and human bliss is ever insecure-- know we what fortune shall remain behind? know we how long the present shall endure?" gentleman george. for thee, gentleman george, for thee, what conclusive valediction remains? alas! since we began the strange and mumming scene wherein first thou went introduced, the grim foe hath knocked thrice at thy gates; and now, as we write,--[in ]--thou art departed thence,--thou art no more! a new lord presides to thine easy-chair, a new voice rings from thy merry board,--thou art forgotten! thou art already, like these pages, a tale that is told to a memory that retaineth not! where are thy quips and cranks; where thy stately coxcombries and thy regal gauds? thine house and thy pagoda, thy gothic chimney and thy chinese sign- post,--these yet ask the concluding hand. thy hand is cold; their completion, and the enjoyment the completion yields, are for another! thou sowest, and thy follower reaps; thou buildest, thy successor holds; thou plantest, and thine heir sits beneath the shadow of thy trees,-- "neque harum, quas colis, arborum te, praeter invisas cupressos, ulla brevem dominum sequetur!" ["nor will any of these trees thou didst cultivate follow thee, the shortlived lord, save the hateful cyprus."] at this moment thy life,--for thou veert a great man to thine order, and they have added thy biography to that of abershaw and sheppard,--thy life is before us. what a homily in its events! gayly didst thou laugh into thy youth, and run through the courses of thy manhood. wit sat at thy table, and genius was thy comrade. beauty was thy handmaid; and frivolity played around thee,--a buffoon that thou didst ridicule, and ridiculing enjoy! who among us can look back to thy brilliant era, and not sigh to think that the wonderful men who surrounded thee, and amidst whom thou wert a centre and a nucleus, are for him but the things of history, and the phantoms of a bodiless tradition? those brilliant. suppers, glittering with beauty, the memory of which makes one spot (yet inherited by bachelor bill) a haunted and a fairy ground; all who gathered to that armida's circle,--the grammonts and the beauvilliers and the rochefoucaulds of england and the road,--who does not feel that to have seen these, though but as gil blas saw the festivities of his actors, from the sideboard and behind the chair, would have been a triumph for the earthlier feelings of his old age to recall? what, then, must it have been to have seen them as thou didst see,--thou, the deceased and the forgotten!---seen them from the height of thy youth and power and rank (for early wert thou keeper to a public), and reckless spirits, and lusty capacities of joy? what pleasures where sense lavished its uncounted varieties? what revellings where wine was the least excitement? let the scene shift. how stirring is the change! triumph and glitter and conquest! for thy public was a public of renown; thither came the warriors of the ring,--the heroes of the cross,--and thou, their patron, wert elevated on their fame! "principes pro victoria pugnant, comites pro principe."--[chiefs for the victory fight,--for chiefs the soldiers] --what visions sweep across us! what glories didst thou witness! over what conquests didst thou preside! the mightiest epoch, the most wonderful events which the world, _thy_ world, ever knew,--of these was it not indeed, and dazzlingly thine,-- "to share the triumph and partake the gale"? let the scene shift. manhood is touched by age; but lust is "heeled" by luxury, and pomp is the heir of pleasure; gewgaws and gaud, instead of glory, surround, rejoice, and flatter thee to the last. there rise thy buildings; there lie, secret but gorgeous, the tabernacles of thine ease; and the earnings of thy friends, and the riches of the people whom they plunder, are waters to thine imperial whirlpool. thou art lapped in ease, as is a silkworm; and profusion flows from thy high and unseen asylum as the rain poureth from a cloud.--much didst thou do to beautify chimney-tops, much to adorn the snuggeries where thou didst dwell. thieving with thee took a substantial shape; and the robberies of the public passed into a metempsychosis of mortar, and became public-houses. so there and thus, building and planning, didst thou spin out thy latter yarn, till death came upon thee; and when we looked around, lo! thy brother was on thy hearth. and thy parasites and thy comrades and thine ancient pals and thy portly blowens, they made a murmur, and they packed up their goods; but they turned ere they departed, and they would have worshipped thy brother as they worshipped thee,--but he would not! and thy sign-post is gone and mouldered already; and to the jolly angler has succeeded the jolly tar! and thy picture is disappearing fast from the print-shops, and thy name from the mouths of men! and thy brother, whom no one praised while thou didst live, is on a steeple of panegyric built above the churchyard that contains thy grave. o shifting and volatile hearts of men! who would be keeper of a public? who dispense the wine and the juices that gladden, when the moment the pulse of the band ceases, the wine and the juices are forgotten? to history,--for thy name will be preserved in that record which, whether it be the calendar of newgate or of nations, telleth its alike how men suffer and sin and perish,--to history we leave the sum and balance of thy merits and thy faults. the sins that were thine were those of the man to whom pleasure is all in all: thou wert, from root to branch, sap and in heart, what moralists term the libertine; hence the light wooing, the quick desertion, the broken faith, the organized perfidy, that manifested thy bearing to those gentler creatures who called thee 'gentleman george.' never to one solitary woman, until the last dull flame of thy dotage, didst thou so behave as to give no foundation to complaint and no voice to wrong. but who shall say be honest to one, but laugh at perfidy to another? who shall wholly confine treachery to one sex, if to that sex he hold treachery no offence? so in thee, as in all thy tribe, there was a laxness of principle, an insincerity of faith, even unto men: thy friends, when occasion suited, thou couldst forsake; and thy luxuries were dearer to thee than justice to those who supplied them. men who love and live for pleasure as thou, are usually good- natured; for their devotion to pleasure arises from the strength of their constitution, and the strength of their constitution preserves them from the irritations of weaker nerves. so went thou good-natured and often generous; and often with thy generosity didst thou unite a delicacy that showed thou hadst an original and a tender sympathy with men. but as those who pursue pleasure are above all others impatient of interruption, so to such as interfered with thy main pursuit thou didst testify a deep, a lasting, and a revengeful anger. yet let not such vices of temperament be too severely judged! for to thee were given man's two most persuasive tempters, physical and moral,--health and power! thy talents, such as they were,--and they were the talents of a man of the world,--misled rather than guided thee, for they gave thy mind that demi-philosophy, that indifference to exalted motives, which is generally found in a clever rake. thy education was wretched; thou hadst a smattering of horace, but thou couldst not write english, and thy letters betray that thou went wofully ignorant of logic. the fineness of thy taste has been exaggerated; thou wert unacquainted with the nobleness of simplicity; thy idea of a whole was grotesque and overloaded, and thy fancy in details was gaudy and meretricious. but thou hadst thy hand constantly in the public purse, and thou hadst plans and advisers forever before thee; more than all, thou didst find the houses in that neighbourbood wherein thou didst build, so preternaturally hideous that thou didst require but little science to be less frightful in thy creations. if thou didst not improve thy native village and thy various homes with a solid, a lofty, and a noble taste, thou didst nevertheless very singularly improve. and thy posterity, in avoiding the faults of thy masonry, will be grateful for the effects of thy ambition. the same demi-philosophy which influenced thee in private life exercised a far benigner and happier power over thee in public. thou wert not idly vexatious in vestries, nor ordinarily tyrannic in thy parish; if thou wert ever arbitrary it was only when thy pleasure was checked, or thy vanity wounded. at other times thou didst leave events to their legitimate course, so that in thy latter years thou wert justly popular in thy parish; and in the grave thy great good fortune will outshine thy few bad qualities, and men will say of thee with a kindly, not an erring judgment, "in private life he was not worse than the rufers who came to this bar; in public life he was better than those who kept a public before him." hark! those huzzas! what is the burden of that chorus? oh, grateful and never time-serving britons, have ye modified already for another the song ye made so solely in honour of gentleman george: and must we, lest we lose the custom of the public and the good things of the tap-room,--roust we roar with throats yet hoarse with our fervour for the old words, our ardour for the new-- "here's to mariner bill, god bless him! god bless him! god bless him! here 's to mariner bill, god bless him!" haines. jack harkaway and his son's escape from the brigands of greece. being the continuation of "jack harkaway and his son's adventures in greece." by bracebridge hemyng [illustration: bother the beggars"--said mr mole"--adv in greece, vol ii--_frontispiece_] chapter i. the contessa's letter to mr. mole--on pleasure bent--the mendicant friar--midnight marauders--house breaking. when mrs. harkaway's maid returned to the villa, she got scolded for being so long upon an errand of some importance with which she had been entrusted. thereupon, she was prepared with twenty excuses, all of which were any thing but the truth. the words of warning which the brigand had called after her had not been without their due effect. "she had been detained," she said, "by the contessa maraviglia for the letter which she brought back to mr. mole." the letter was an invitation to a grand ball which was to be given by the contessa at the palazzo maraviglia, and to which the harkaways were going. dick harvey had been at work in this business, and had made the contessa believe indirectly that mr. mole was a most graceful dancer, and that it would be an eternal shame for a _bal masqué_ to take place in the neighbourhood without being graced by his--mole's--presence. the result was that during lunch mr. mole received from the maid the following singular effusion. "al illustrissimo signor mole," which, being translated, means, "to the illustrious mr. mole." "hullo!" said the tutor, looking around him and dropping his eye on dick, "who is this from?" "from the contessa maraviglia," replied the girl. mr. mole gave her a piercing glance. the contessa's letter was a sort of puzzle to poor old mole. "the contessa maraviglia begs the honour of the signor mole's company on the th instant. she can accept no refusal, as the _fête_ is especially organised in honour of signor mole, whose rare excellence in the poetry of motion has elevated dancing into an art." isaac mole read and re-read this singular letter, until he grew more and more fogged. he thought that the contessa had failed to express herself clearly in english on account of her imperfect knowledge of our language; but he was soon corrected in this impression. the lady in question, it transpired, was english. so poor mole did what he thought best under the circumstances, and that was to consult with dick harvey. "dear me!" echoed dick, innocently; "why, you have made an impression here, mr. mole." "do you think so?" said mole, doubtfully. "beyond question. this contessa is smitten, sir, with your attractions; but i can assist you here." "you can?" "of course." "thank you, my dear harvey, thank you," replied mr. mole eagerly. "yes; i can let the contessa know that there is no hope for her." isaac mole's vanity was tickled at this. "don't you think it would be cruel to undeceive her?" "cruel, sir!" said dick, with severe air, "no, sir; i don't. it is my duty to tell her all." mr. mole looked alarmed. "what do you mean?" "that you are a married man." "i say, i say--" "yes, sir, very much married," pursued dick, relentlessly; "that you have had three wives, and were nearly taking a fourth." "don't, dick." "all more or less black." "dick, dick!" "however, there is no help for it; you will have to go to this ball." "never." "you will, though. the contessa has heard of your fame in the ball room--" "what!" "in bygone years, no doubt--and she does not know of the little matters which have happened since to spoil your activity, if not your grace." as he alluded to the "little matters," he glanced at mr. mole's wooden legs. mr. mole thought it over, and then he read through the letter again. "you are right, harvey," he said with an air of determination; "and my mind's made up." "is it?" "yes." "so much the better, for your absence would be sadly missed at the ball." "you misunderstand me, harvey; i shall not go." dick looked frightened. "don't say that, mr. mole, i beg, don't; it would be dangerous." "what on earth do you mean?" "i mean that this lady is english by birth, but she has lived in the land of the borgias, where they yet know how to use poison." "harvey!" "and if her love were slighted, she might recollect it." mr. mole looked precious uncomfortable. "it is really very embarrassing, harvey," said he; "my personal attractions are likely to get me into trouble." and yet, in spite of his embarrassment, mr. mole was not altogether displeased at the fancy. he strutted up and down, showing the fall in his back to the best advantage, and was very evidently conscious that he was rather a fine man. "yes, sir," said harvey, with great gravity; "your fatal beauty is likely to lead you into a mess." at the words "fatal beauty," mr. mole made a grimace. it was rather a strong dose for even him to swallow. "draw it mild, harvey," said he, "pray draw it mild." dick shook his head with great seriousness. "don't you be deceived, mr. mole," said he; "use the greatest care, for this poor countess is to be pitied. her love is likely to turn to violent hate if she finds herself slighted--the poignard or the poisoned chalice may yet be called to play a part in your career." mr. mole turned pale. yet he tried to laugh. a hollow ghastly laugh it was too, that told how he felt more plainly than words could have done. "don't, harvey; don't, i beg!" he said in faltering tones; "it sounds like some dreadful thing one sees upon the stage." "in all these southern countries you know, mr. mole, a man's life is not worth much." "harvey!" "a hired assassin or bravo will cut a throat or stab a man in the back for a few francs." "oh!" "i should advise you not to keep out after dark--and avoid dark corners. these people can poison you, too, with a bouquet or a jewel. accept a flower or a nosegay, but don't smell it." "harvey." "sir?" "is it your wish to make me uncomfortable?" "how can you think it?" "do you wish me to dream all night, and disturb mrs. mole, and not to get a wink of sleep?" "certainly not; that's why i am giving you advice; but pray understand the contessa thinks you are a single man." "good gracious me; it is very unpleasant to have a contessa in love with one." "i don't know that; most men wouldn't say so. there are, i'll be bound, forty men within a mile of this house who would give their ears to have received such a letter." mr. mole smiled--a self-satisfied, complacent smile, "do you think so?" "i know it." mole lifted his collar and shot his cuffs over his hands, as he stomped across the room, and looked into a glass. "well, well, harvey, i suppose i must go to the ball; but you will bear me witness that i only go for reasons of prudence, and that i am not going to be led away by any little silly reasons of vanity?" "of course," returned dick, gravely. "besides, i go disguised." "certainly" "and what disguise would you recommend?" "why that is a matter for reflection," said dick. "i should think that you ought almost to keep up the character." "the character!" said mole. "what character?" "a terpsichorean personage," replied dick, with the air of one discussing a grave problem. "say, for instance, a ballet girl." mr. mole gasped. "no, no; not a ballet girl." "a fairy queen, then." "don't, dick; don't, i beg." "or, if you object to the costume of the gentler sex, what do you say to the spangles and wand of a harlequin?" "do you really think that such a costume would become me?" "do i think?" iterated dick. "do i _know!_ of course it would become you. you will look the part to the life: it wants a figure to show off such a dress and to be shown off by it." "but what about my--my wooden legs, dick?" "oh, i'll provide you with cork ones, and here they are," said harvey, producing a pair. and so it was settled. mr. mole was to go to the ball, and his disguise was to be well-known spangles and colours of a harlequin. harvey himself chose a clown's costume and carried over his shoulder mole's wooden legs, in case any thing happened to the cork ones he was walking on for the first time. harkaway was to go as a knight of old. magog brand selected the character of quasimodo, the hunchback of nôtre dame. jefferson selected the character of julius caesar, a costume which his fine, stalwart form set off to considerable advantage. mrs. harkaway was to go as diana, the huntress, and mrs. harvey made marie stuart her choice. little emily and paquita went in dresses of the charles the second period. these young ladies were escorted by young jack and harry girdwood, who were richly habited as young venetian nobles of the sixteenth century. as they passed through the garden door a man stood in their path. he wore a long serge gown, with a cowl, like a mendicant monk, and as they approached he put out his open hand for alms. "bother the beggars!" said mr. mole, tartly. the monk shrank back into his cowl, and stood aside while the party went by. the garden door was held by the maid servant while they passed on, and when they were out of hearing, she dropped a small silver coin into the mendicant friar's hand. "there," she said, "i can spare you something, father, although those rich english cannot or will not, the heretics and pagans!" the friar, who was seemingly an aged man, muttered his thanks, and the girl retired and closed the door, locking it behind her. no sooner was the door closed than the mendicant monk whistled a low but very distinct note, and lo! two men appeared upon the scene. it looked as though they had just come up trap-doors in the earth, so suddenly did they show in sight. "captain mathias," said the disguised monk to the first who came up, "i have learnt all we wish to know." "you have?" ejaculated, not the man addressed by the mendicant monk, but the other. "out with it, then." "still your impatience, toro, if you can.--" "bah!" "well, then, learn that mole goes as--" "bother mole!" interrupted toro, harshly. "how does our great foe go?" "harkaway?" "yes." "an english knight of old." "it shall be my task," said toro, "to keep up his character, and give it a realistic look by a hand-to-hand fight." "don't be rash," said the mendicant friar, "or you may chance to be beaten." "i can risk my life on it." "you have--you do; every hour that you live here imperils it. did you see the party go?" "i did," said mathias. the latter was no other than the captain of the brigands. already they were upon a footing of equality, for the two adventurers had had opportunities, which they had not failed to seize. they had courage, ready wit, presence of mind, boldness daring, and cunning, and so it fell out that they who had made the acquaintance of the brigand's gang under such very unpleasant auspices, became two of the principal members of it within a few days. but to resume. "tell me, hunston," said toro, "does jefferson go to the ball?" "yes." "how disguised?" "julius caesar." the italian said nothing, but his lips moved, and his lowering brow was as expressive as words could be to his old comrade. it boded ill for jefferson. they had met in fair fight, and he, toro, had been defeated. that defeat was as bitter as gall to him. he would be avenged. and if he could not cope with the doughty anglo-american, then let him look to it. what strength and skill failed to achieve, the assassin's knife would accomplish. "did you see the girl that attended him to the gate?" demanded the mendicant friar, or hunston, as it would be better to call him, since there is no further need of concealment. "i did." "and recognised her, mathias?" he asked of the brigand captain. "yes; it is the pretty girl we stopped with her lover, the coy marietta." "now that they are well off, we may as well set to work," said hunston. "good." hunston threw back his friar's cowl and produced a key. "they have had many a good hunt for this," he said, with his old sinister laugh. "i dare say." "it was a lucky thing that the dainty little marietta dropped it." "yes, it makes matters much easier for us to begin with." the door yielded to the touch of the sham mendicant friar, and the three worthies entered the grounds. silently they stepped across a grassplot, keeping a thick shrubbery between them and the house as far as they could, when just as they gained the shelter of a trellissed verandah, a dog within set up a most alarming noise. the three robbers exchanged uneasy glances. "curse the beast!" muttered mathias the captain; "he will ruin us." toro got ready his long hunting-knife and looked about. but the dog was out of sight. a lucky thing it was too for our old friend little mike, for a touch with that ugly instrument would soon have stopped his singing. now, just above the verandah was a half-opened window, and into this mathias peered anxiously. no signs of mike. a voice was heard now calling to the faithful guardian of the house to be silent, but mike refused emphatically to be comforted; thereupon, the person very imprudently called the dog to her and tied him up. this did not quiet him. so the person in question tripped down the garden to see if there was really any reason for the dog's singular behaviour. in passing down the path she went so close to the verandah, that the skirts of her dress actually brushed aside the creeping plants which garnished the trellis work. "snarling, barking little beast!" quoth marietta to herself, "and all about nothing; i wish they would lose him." but when she got to the bottom of the garden and discovered the garden door open, she altered her tone. "how very silly of me to leave the door unlocked," she said to herself. "poor little fellow, poor mike, i'm coming, good dog. heard someone, i suppose. good gracious, what's that? i thought i saw something move there. i'm getting as nervous as a cat ever since those men stopped us and made me kiss them, the beasts. ugh i how i loathe them, although there was one of them that was really not very bad-looking. i wonder where that poor old friar went to. what was that? oh, how nervous i feel. i wish they had left me some one in the house besides that old deaf constantino; he's nice company truly for a girl. bother the dog, what a noise he is kicking up." and chatting thus, marietta re-entered the house. meanwhile mathias had clambered up the iron balcony and pushing open the glass door, or rather window, he entered the room. it was the dining-room, and the remnants of a very sumptuous repast were yet upon the table. "i'll just take a glass of wine." he did, too. he took several glasses of wine, and then, as the fumes of the good liquor mounted to his brain, he grew generous, and he lowered a bottle out of the window to his two comrades beneath. toro grasped it, and sucked down a good half of it before it left his lips. then hunston finished it off at a draught. when mathias had regaled himself, he made a move to the door. there was no one about. not a sound. now was his time. his object was to explore the house, and ascertain in what particular part of it the cash, the jewels, and the plate were kept. when they had secured these, they could content themselves for the present at least. firstly, therefore, he tied up the silver spoons and knives and forks from the dinner table in a napkin, and dropped the bundle into toro's hat below. then he crept back through the room into the passage. this done, he waited for a while to listen, and assuring himself that the coast was clear, he crept up. on the next landing there were seven doors. six were shut, so he peeped into the seventh room, and just then he heard a noise below. someone coming up stairs. what could he do? he stole back to the stairs and listened. it was marietta. it was really a most embarrassing job now, for there was no retreat, so he crept upon tip-toe into the room, of which the door stood ajar. it was a bedroom, dimly lighted by an oil lamp. a cursory glance showed him that this room had only been lately vacated, and that one or more of the ladies had been dressing here for the ball. within a few feet of the door was a looking-glass let into the wall as a panel, and reaching from floor to ceiling. mathias listened in great anxiety for the footsteps on the stairs, and every moment they sounded nearer and nearer. "i hope she will not come in here," thought the robber, "else i shall have to make her sure." he showed how he meant to "make her sure" by toying with the hilt of his dagger. mathias crouched down, and crept under the bed, just in time, as the pert young lady skipped into the room. her first care was to turn up the lamp, and by its light she looked about her. "i think they might have taken me to the ball with them," she said, saucily shaking her curls off her face. "i should have looked better than some of them, i'll be bound. i'm dead beat with fatigue. i've had all the work dressing them, and they are to get all the fun." she was silent for some few minutes, and mathias grew anxious. what could be going forward? he would vastly like to know. unable to control his curiosity, he peeped out, and then he saw pretty marietta's portrait in the long looking-glass panel. she looked prettier than ever now, for, shocking to relate, the young lady was undressing. mathias was not to say a bashful man, so he did not draw back. on the contrary, he stared with all his eyes. pretty marietta little thought, as she stood before the glass, that such a desperate villain was watching every movement. marietta, wholly unconscious that she was watched by the vile brigand chief, walked up and down before the glass, shooting admiring glances at herself over her white and well rounded shoulders. "dress, and rank, and money do wonders," she said. "why are we not all about equal? i'm as good as the best of them, i'm sure, and very much better looking." with this mixture of feminine vanity and republican sentiments, she bustled about, putting the room a bit in order. now her first job was to put away several dresses. the first of these was a short spanish skirt of pink satin, with deep black lace flounces. "i wonder how i should look in this?" she murmured. she held up the dress beside her to test the colour against her complexion. "beautiful!" beautiful; yes, this was her frank opinion, and, really, we are by no means sure but that her own estimate was very near the mark. on went the dress. she strutted up and down, and then, when she had feasted her eyes enough upon her own loveliness, she plaited her hair, and, twisting it up into a rich knot behind, she stuck a high comb into it, and fastened the thick lace veil about her. mathias watched it all. he gloated over that pretty little picture, and, shameless rascal! chuckled to think how little she suspected his presence. "there," she said, folding the veil about her head with the most coquettish manner, "if i don't look the prettiest señorita alive, why, call me--call me anything odious--yes, even an englishwoman--ha, ha, ha! how that would please my mistress!" and then she figured about before the glass, and capered through a spanish bolero with considerable grace and dexterity, while she sang an impromptu verse to an old air. the verse was naturally doggerel, and maybe given in english as follows-- "sweet marietta, rarely has been a sweeter or better face or form seen; my chestnut tresses, and my spanish fall, would eclipse all the dresses at the masked ball. then why, marietta. dally?--ah, no! pluck up, you'd better, your courage and go!" and as she came to the last line, this impudent little maid whirled round, spinning her skirts about her like a top. mathias was enraptured. with difficulty he kept himself from applauding. "she'd make her fortune upon the stage," he said to himself. marietta had made quite a conquest; a double conquest, it might almost be said. the hidden robber was enraptured, and she was scarcely less pleased with herself. "i'll go," she said to herself, "why should i not? they'll never find it out; i can do just as cenerentola (cinderella) did, and who knows but that some prince might fall over head and ears in love with me? i can get back long before they do." out she skipped too, and tripped down the stairs. she was off to the ball. little dreamt she that for the last half hour her life hung upon the most slender thread. and now, the coast being clear, the three brigands prepared to carry out their plans. chapter ii. at the contessa's fete--a romantic adventure between certain old friends. the most brilliant fête of the year was that given by the rich contessa maraviglia at her palazzo. all the rank and fashion of the land were there. the palazzo itself was a building of great beauty, and stood in grounds of great extent. the contessa, who was a widow, had a princely fortune, and she spent it lavishly too. upon the night of the masquerade the gardens were brilliantly lighted. upon the miniature lake there was a fairy gondola, with a coloured lantern dangling at the prow, and hung with curtains of pale blue silk gauze. in this gondola a lady was seated. she had taken to the gondola, not alone for the sake of the freshness of the breeze upon the water, but to read without interruption a letter she had received from a mysterious man who professed to be deeply smitten with her charms, and who, the messenger of love let fall, was a prince. she wore a black domino, but was not masked, for as she threw back its folds to breathe more freely, you could see that her only veil was a thick fall of black lace, fastened to a high comb in the back of her head. "i hope he will not be long," said she to herself, while her heart beat high with expectation. "his note says clearly enough on the lake in the fairy gondola. well, it will certainly be nice to be a princess, but i do hope that his highness may prove to be a dashing, handsome youth, such as a cinderella might sigh for. hush, boatman!" "lady?" "do you hear?" "someone singing on the bank yonder? yes! i hear, lady." "row that way." a voice was heard carolling gently the serenade--"fair shines the moon to-night." the voice meant well, evidently, but something rather spoilt the effect. it was not altogether in tune, nor had the singer the best idea in the world of time. perhaps his singing was spoilt by excess of love. perhaps by liquor. the latter idea was suggested by a certain unsteadiness that would appear to indicate both love and liquor. be that as it may, the singer was not at all aware of the disadvantages under which he laboured. on the contrary, he had the greatest belief in himself. "boatman," exclaimed the lady, impatiently, "row me ashore." "yes, lady." he obeyed, as he spoke, and as the boat grounded, the hidden minstrel stepped forward. the gallant was rather a tall man, masked and habited in a long cloak, which almost concealed a glittering and gorgeous costume beneath. this cavalier hastened to tender the lady his hand and to assist her to disembark. as soon as she was fairly upon _terra firma_ the gentleman led her away to a more secluded part of the garden, and then ensued a brief but highly interesting conversation. it took place in the italian language. that beautiful tongue was not to say elegantly spoken upon either side. the gentleman spoke as a foreigner, but imperfectly acquainted with the idiom. "sir," said the lady, after an embarrassing silence upon his part, "i scarcely know if i ought to be here." "nor i either, my dear lady," began the gallant. but then, aware that this was not exactly what might have been expected of him, he stammered and broke down. "poor prince," thought the lady, with a very unladylike chuckle to herself. "how embarrassed he is." the cavalier stared at her through the great eyes in his mask, as he muttered to himself-- "she is evidently in love with me very badly; i am curious to learn how a princess makes love. i am anxious only of course to study it as a matter of curiosity." "i ought not to have come here, prince," said the lady, in a nervous tone. prince! the word made the masked gentleman stare. "prince! i suppose that she can't know i am a married man, and goes straight to the question. this is popping the question sharply." he had never been made love to before by a lady of any degree, much less by a princess, so he was exceedingly anxious to see how she would begin upon this occasion. but after they had got to a quiet and remote part of the garden, they came to a dead lock. not a word was spoken upon either side. "i wish he would say something to me," thought the lady. she was not used to such bashful suitors. "i have kept your appointment, sir," she said, "although i fear i am very wrong." "my appointment," muttered the cavalier in english, "come, i like that." however, he added in the softest tones he could assume-- "fear nothing, princess, i am not a dangerous man." she thought he was, though, for as he said this he chuckled. the lady dropped her eyes before his bold glance and looked as timid as you could wish. now this appeared only to encourage the gentleman, for he seized her round the waist and pressed a kiss upon the only part of her cheek which was left uncovered by her veil. she struggled feebly, oh, very feebly to release herself; but that libertine masker held her firmly; that is, as firmly as possible, for he was not very strong upon his pins. "sir, you must not take advantage of my unprotected situation," she faltered. "i should be very sorry to, my coy princess," said the gallant. these words set her heart beating like clockwork. "he means well," she thought, growing quite easy in her mind. meanwhile the ardent young lover, growing bolder by encouragement, wanted to remove her veil. "grant me one favour, my princess," he said. "let me bask in the sunshine of your eyes; let me feast my vision upon your rare beauty." the lady was enraptured at such poetical imagery. "it sounds like a lovely book," she murmured in ecstasy. but she would not accede to his request. she was so filled with joy, so supremely happy, that she feared to break the enchanting spell by any accident. "desist, prince," she said, struggling gently in his embrace, "i must gaze on that angelic face," said the passionate adonis. "why," exclaimed the lady, "since you know it so well?" "know it!" exclaimed the gallant in surprise. "yes." "i have never seen it." "yet your letter praises each feature to the skies." "my letter!" he was staggered evidently. "undoubtedly." "i sent no letter." the lady was amazed "if you sent no letter, why are you here?" she demanded. "in obedience to yours," responded the gallant. "my what?" "your note--your ever-to-be-treasured missive," gushed the swain. now what would have followed in the way of explanations it is impossible to say, for at the momentous crisis, a voice close by was heard repeating softly a couplet heard before-- "dear marietta, never had been a sweeter or neater face or form seen." the lady started and screamed, and would have fallen had not the protecting arm of the gentleman been there to catch her. but her veil fell aside. when the lover saw her face, he was staggered, and he nearly let her fall. "marietta!" he exclaimed, "marietta! mrs. harkaway's maid, by all that's wonderful." "oho," screamed the lady, "you're standing on my toe!" saying which she jerked herself back, and dragging his foot away too, down he went. "it's mr. mole," shrieked the lady; and catching up her pink skirt and black lace flounces, she fled precipitately along the path, leaving her admirer scrambling in the most undignified manner upon the gravel walk. poor mr. mole. but oh, poor marietta; how sadly was she disappointed with her prince. chapter iii. mr. mole--the three devils and their devilment--the contessa's jewels--an alarm. "mr. mole--mr. mole!" it was harvey's voice. now mr. mole was convinced at once that dick was at the bottom of this comical conspiracy in which he had been made to look so ridiculous. so he resolved at first not to make any reply. but harvey was guided to the spot by information which had been furnished him concerning mr. mole, and soon he appeared in sight. "mr. mole--mr. mole!" exclaimed dick, in grave reproof. "help me up, harvey," said mole, "and don't be a fool." "well, that's polite." "quite as polite as you can expect." "what do you mean?" "oh, you know what i mean well enough." "i'm hanged if i do!" protested harvey, stoutly. his manner caught mr. mole immediately. so this led the old gentleman to reflect. if dick did not know, it would be as well to keep the adventure to himself. "is it possible, harvey, that you don't know what has occurred?" "no." "you don't know about marietta?" "no." this decided mole. "marietta is here." "never!" said dick, in accents of deep mystery. "a fact." "never! and who the dickens is marietta when she is at home?" "mrs. harkaway's maid, to be sure." dick burst out laughing at this. "why, mr. mole," he cried, "what a sly old fox you are." mr. mole stared again. "i don't quite understand what you are driving at, mr. harvey," said he. "don't you, though?--well, i do, old slyboots." "harvey!" "oh, don't you try to come the old soldier over me." "sir!" said mr. mole, rearing himself up to his full height upon his timbers, "i don't understand your slangy allusions to the ancient military." "why, it is clear enough that you brought her." "i what?" almost shrieked mr. mole, indignantly. "brought her, and your poor wife ought to know of it." "sir?" said mole, "if you are bent on insulting me, i shall leave your company." "go it, mole," said dick, laughing until the tears came into his eyes; "go it. the fact is, you have been sneaking about after that little girl for a long while past; there can be no doubt about it." "harvey, i repudiate your vile insinuations with scorn, the fact is, that in your anxiety to fix some wickedness never contemplated upon me, you forget all the most important part of the tale." "what?" "why, that girl has left the villa unprotected." "nonsense! there's old constantino there." "useless." "and mike." "he barks, but don't bite." "besides; you may be mistaken," urged dick. "not i. i knew her at once, and what's more, she recognised me." "the deuce!" "and she bolted directly i pronounced her name." "how was she dressed?" mr. mole gave a hurried description of marietta's dress, and they want off in search through the house and grounds after the flighty marietta. * * * * * in another part of the grounds three men met. "hunston." "toro." "captain." "here." "all safe?" "yes." "good!" "what have you learnt, toro?" "not much." "and you, captain?" "nothing, or next to nothing," was the reply. "and you, hunston?" "i have gained knowledge," answered the latter; "good, useful knowledge." the other two laughed heartily at this reply. "you were always of a studious turn of mind, hunston." "ha, ha, ha!" [illustration: "'what have you discovered?' asked the captain"--adv in greece, vol ii, page ] it may be as well to mention that they had sought a secluded part of the contessa's gardens, and met now by appointment. they were all three arrayed in that peculiar style of costume which the prince of darkness is popularly supposed to don when he makes his appearance to german students, in certain weird and wild works of fiction, or in the supernatural drama. it sounded really remarkable to hear these three men, disguised as devils, discussing matters generally in such an offhand manner. the dresses of all three were alike nearly in every particular. the only mark of distinction between them was a small straight feather they wore in their caps. one wore a yellow feather. another had a feather of brilliant red. the third one's feather was of a bright emerald green. now these feathers were small, but yet, by reason of the conspicuous colours, could be seen at a considerable distance. "what is it you have discovered?" asked the captain. "out with it, hunston," said toro, in his old impatient way. "well, in the first place," was hunston's reply, "our letters to old mole and to the girl marietta were perfectly successful." "of course." "the vanity of the one, and the conceit of the other, made it an easy matter." "it did." "i saw the interview from a snug place of concealment, and took care to let her know it." "how?" "by humming her song which you heard her sing up at the villa." the latter looked somewhat alarmed at this. "was that prudent?" "of course she did not see me, only we must get a thorough hold over this girl, so as to have her as an accomplice in the enemy's camp always." "good." "now let us get back to the ball-room, and see what is to be picked up there." back they went, and arrived in the large ball-room just as a dance was being got up. the three diabolical companions deemed it prudent now to separate, that no undue attention might be drawn upon their movements. and they went sauntering about the rooms, each upon the look-out for any slice of luck which might turn up. hunston had added a long red cloak to his costume, so as to envelope his figure and cover his arm, for fear of accidentally running across harkaway or harvey, or in fact, any of the party. in this cloak he was wrapped, and silently watching two young and lovely girls, whose grace and elegance were commanding universal admiration. one was fair as a lily, with light, golden, wavy hair, and full blue eyes. this beautiful girl it was who excited hunston's curiosity "who can she be? perhaps harvey's daughter," he thought now these two were equally lovely to gaze upon, the beauty of each being of a totally different character. "if we can but spirit little emily away to the mountains," said hunston to himself, "i shall be able to repay them for all i have suffered. nay, more, i shall be able to satisfy the greed of mathias and the band, by making the accursed harkaway disgorge some of his enormous wealth." a hand was placed upon his shoulder. "hah!" "it is i," said a voice in his ear. and looking up, he beheld the devil in the red feather. "mathias." "hush! i have to rejoin a lady now, to whom i am engaged for the dance." "the dance!" mathias nodded. "she accepted at once a dance with the devil; i'll lead her a devil of a dance." and the brigand captain laughed hugely at his own conceit. but hunston was not in laughing humour. "i'm glad to find you so merry, captain." the greek did not observe his gloomy manner; he only replied--"you will be merry, too, when i tell you the cause." "i have no thought for the pleasures of these fools," said hunston, gruffly; "i only think of business." "i too." "and yet you are going to dance, captain mathias." "for business reasons, solely," said the greek. "ho ho!" "my partner is positively bristling with diamonds," said the brigand, significantly. hunston was interested immediately. "diamonds?" "aye! diamonds; and such diamonds, too. there is one as big as a nut, i swear." "i must see this lady." "you shall." "where is she to be seen?" "come with me," said the captain. away they went, squeezing through the crowds of dancers and maskers, until they came to the smaller ball-room, where a lady stood in conversation with a big man, admirably got up as a knight of the olden time. the lady hunston recognised at a glance, from the description which mathias had given of her jewels. her finely-rounded arms were encircled by bracelets, set with the richest diamonds, that matched a necklet of priceless worth apparently. she wore a tiara, too, of the same costly making and setting. the dance began. it was a waltz. now the gallant mathias acquitted himself to perfection in the dance, carrying his fair and richly-attired partner through the crowded room without getting at all jostled by the dancers. hunston followed their movements with the greatest possible interest, and as they shot past him for the third time round the room, he contrived to take from the greek captain's hand one of the lady's bracelets which he had with some dexterity removed. the next round he was less successful. as they shot past, the brigand's hand was outstretched, but hunston missed it, and a glittering object dropped to the floor. hunston stooped to recover it, when-- "the lady has dropped something," said a voice in his ear. "what lady?" he demanded, recovering himself quickly, "the contessa." "ah! i see. but was it the contessa?" he asked. "yes." "are you sure?" "yes. it is the lady dancing with your half-brother." "eh!" hunston started a little after these words. they sounded very unpleasantly in his ear. he had evidently been associated with mathias by the speaker. now the latter was a strange-looking little being. a stunted man, with broad, square shoulders, and got up to represent the description which victor hugo has given us of his creation of quasimodo. "that is the contessa?" said hunston, recovering his presence of mind. "yes." "i am very glad of it, for i shall be able to restore this to its proper owner." "of course." hunston arose, and with a slight inclination of the head, crossed the room, as if in search of the contessa. the dwarf regarded him eagerly as he went. "that's a rum one," he said to himself. "he means to pocket the contessa's bracelet. what a swindle! i thought there was something more devilish about him than his dress." * * * * * hunston fled precipitately to the gardens. close by the spot where he had previously met his companions in crime, there was a man awaiting him with a big bundle. "matteo, is it you?" "yes, sir." "good; give me the other dress out. quick! i must change, and be back before my absence can be noticed." as he spoke, he had already torn from the hands of the man matteo a pair of trunks of blue cloth slashed with amber silk, and quick as an eye could wink, he was into them. and then he fastened on a similarly coloured mantle. "tell me, matteo, does that change me?" "yes, perfectly." "good! take this." "what, jewels?" "hush! hear all, see all, and say nothing. away with you, now." "yes. where to?" "back to the mountains, where we can always guard what we ourselves have made." "true." just then there was a commotion in the ball-room, and a voice was heard to cry out-- "the contessa has lost her richest diamonds and other precious stones. there are robbers here. no one must leave the grounds." "by heaven!" ejaculated hunston; "we are lost." chapter iv. hunston's adventure--mole in a maze--he meets an evil spirit--gross outrage on his wooden legs--mathias in trouble-the assassin's knife. quasimodo, who had detected one of the devils, was magog brand. the audacity of the fearless greek had carried him through so far, but quasimodo had spoilt him at last. a number of gentlemen in the company began to inquire very minutely into the affair. prominent amongst them was harkaway. he and jefferson, prompt to act as ever, inquired into the circumstances of this gross outrage, and then it was elicited that the depredator was seen last in diabolical costume. "a devil!" ejaculated one of the company. "of course, i saw the man myself." "i too," said another. "yes, he wore a red feather in his high-crowned hat." "no," said another; "a feather, it is true, but the feather was green, i am sure." upon this, magog brand came forward. "i saw it all done," he said. "i saw the man who did it" "what, rob the contessa?" "yes, and as soon as i saw what it meant, i gave the alarm; but the devil disappeared like greased lightning." "there!" exclaimed half a dozen at once, "i said it was the devil." "yes," added one of the guests, eagerly. "what coloured feather had he?" "red," ejaculated another, immediately. "green," retorted the opposite faction, loudly, but magog brand said-- "it was neither red nor green," said he, "but a bright yellow." now, while this inquiry was being proceeded with, nobody happened to observe one singular circumstance. that was the presence, the whole of the time, in the motley-coloured crowd, of one of the diabolical trio in question. this very devil no sooner heard the question raised about the coloured feathers in their head gear, than he doffed his hat unperceived and pulled out the feather. and then, as the controversy grew warmer, he sneaked off. he made all possible haste for the garden gate. once here he was about to rush through, when he was accosted by two men, whose uniform gave him an unpleasant twinge. they were gendarmes. "you cannot leave the ground yet, sir," said one of them sharply. "i don't wish to," replied the devil, promptly. "i come to bring you orders." "i beg your pardon," said the gendarme. "a robbery has been committed." "yes, sir." "that is the reason you have had your orders to guard the gate. oh, you know it. well, what you don't know is that the robbery is supposed to have been committed by a masker dressed as i am. take particular note of my dress." "yes, sir." the gendarme grinned as he said this. "keep your eyes open. these are the contessa's particular orders." "trust me, sir." "there is a reward if you capture the thief." the gendarme laughed at this, and said, with an air of self-confidence--"i think i shall get him." the merry devil slapped the gendarme upon the back heartily. "you are the sort of man for my money." saying which, he turned and left the spot. making his way to a place in the grounds previously agreed upon, he ran across the brigand matteo armed with a change of dress for him. the spot selected was up one of the narrowest alleys in the grounds, at the end of which was a species of hampton court maze in miniature. just as the diabolical one was about to divest himself of half of his skin, matteo gave the alarm. "the devil!" ejaculated the masker, which was, perhaps, the most natural exclamation he could make, all things considered. "what can this be? somebody watched me here." he waited a minute or so in anxiety. an unsteady footfall was heard upon the gravel walk, and a man in a cloak came staggering along. "they may call this a grand _fête_ if they like," he mumbled. "i call it a shabby affair. why, there's not a respectable drink in the place. the lucky thing is that i have provided my own." he had a bottle with him, and he sucked at it from time to time as he staggered on, until all of a sudden he ran on to the alarmed masker, who was growing impatient to change his garments. the staggering one looked up, and seeing such an alarming figure towering over him, he gave a wild howl and fled. "the devil! the devil!" he shouted wildly. "help! help!" "stop that fool, matteo, or he will bring the whole house down about our ears." matteo seized the merrymaker, and was about to make short work with him, when his superior held his hand. "put by your knife," he said; "not that. hold him tight and threaten him; but no knife." but for this timely interference, it would have gone hard with the unfortunate new-comer, who was our old friend mole. mole, it should be noted, had been compelled to change his cork legs, on which he could scarcely stand, for his old, familiar stumps, which harvey had brought with him in case any accident should occur. "forgive me, mr. devil," he implored, in drunken tones, "oh, forgive me." "mole!" exclaimed the devil, in a thrilling voice, "your evil deeds are known to me." "oh, oh, oh!" groaned the wretched isaac, piteously. "your time has come." "mercy, mercy!" gasped mole. "never." "give me a little time, mr. devil." "no." "oh, do, do, for the sake of my twins," said mole, in his most persuasive manner, "and i'll stand any thing you like to--hic--to name. don't take me away, but come and liquor up with me." "silence!" thundered the irritable devil "i'm dumb." "away with you, and repent." mole staggered off. as soon as he was gone, matteo assisted his master to change his garments, and in the space of five minutes at the outside, the devil disappeared, and was replaced by a gay cavalier, habited in a rich costume of blue slashed with amber, and a broad-brimmed sombrero. the excitement occasioned by the impudent robbery of the contessa maraviglia's jewels had not by any means subsided, so the confusion prevailing in consequence was highly favourable to hunston's new villany for trapping little emily. nearing the entrance to the ball-room, he came to a conservatory, into which mr. mole had strolled, or let us say staggered, and then dropped into a seat. hunston glided in unperceived by mole, and concealed himself behind some thick shrubs close to him. mole was bent upon making himself comfortable. the irrepressible bottle was out again. "i feel," mumbled mole, little thinking there was a listener near, "i feel that i am a devil of a fellow. all the ladies love me, and all the men fear me. i'm too much for anyone of them, ha, ha, ha! i've taken a rise out of the devil himself." here he had a suck at the bottle. "i'm getting quite familiar with evil spirits to-night," he said grinning; "i don't think he will see me again in a hurry--he, he!" he raised the bottle again to his lips, when a ghostly voice sounded in his ear-- "beware!" he turned pale, and then got very red in the face. "who's there?" said mole, looking nervously round; "come in, don't knock; what a fool i am." "remember!" said the same hollow voice as before. "oh, lor', oh, lor'!" cried mole; "i'm gone; he's there again." "beware!" "i'm gone, i'm going," cried mole; "oh, lor', oh, lor'!" and off he ran, hunston following closely behind him. now hunston got near enough to him to see that he was really trying to get little emily and paquita to take care of him for a time, and walk with him in the grounds. "there will be two of them to take care of," said hunston, following them up as closely as was prudent; "that complicates matters. i hope matteo has taken his measures carefully." matteo had. they drew near to the entrance of the maze, and then hunston began to look anxiously about him for matteo and the rest of their accomplices. "i think we had better return," he heard little emily say. suddenly a whistle was blown, and five or six men sprang out from the maze. in less time than it takes to record the outrage, the two girls were seized and borne off in stout, relentless arms, their cries being stifled by thick wraps thrown over their heads. "to the small gate," exclaimed hunston. mole recognised the familiar voice of hunston, and the whole danger flashed into his mind at once, sobering him most effectually. "hunston, you villain, i know you!" he cried. "and i will lose my life rather than harm should come to these dear girls." hunston turned and faced him savagely. "if you know me, mole," he said meaningly, "then beware of me." mole's only reply was to grapple with him with all his strength. but the foolish old man was hurled to the ground, and then one of the brigands fell upon him, brandishing a huge knife. hunston here interfered, and gave a command which made the men laugh very heartily. a fresh outrage was perpetrated, and in the space of two minutes, mr. mole found himself alone, and on his back. "hunston, you black-hearted thief," he cried, "i'll follow you if--" he tried to rise, but down he went again. he was lop-sided. and why? the brigands had amputated one of his wooden legs. * * * * * leaving them for a moment, let us return to mathias. that daring scoundrel was not satisfied with having escaped a great danger scot free, and made a very rich prize, but he must needs return to the palazzo maraviglia in another dress, in quest of fresh plunder. the fact was that he was flushed with wine. else he would have thought twice of returning. mingling with the crowd in the large ball-room, he came to a group discussing the late robbery in great excitement, and as he was pressing forward to learn what he could, he became entangled in a lady's lace flounces. he turned sharply to apologise, and recognised the figure at once. "the lovely marietta," mathias exclaimed. she heard him, and made off to the other end of the room, closely followed by mathias, who had conceived a violent fancy for her. "stay, senorita," he exclaimed, seizing her hand. "what do you want with me?" said marietta. "only to plead--" "nonsense," she exclaimed, interrupting him abruptly; "you don't know me." "let me plead--" "bother!" "nay," said the persistent robber, "if you will not hear me speak, hear me sing." and then, being an admirable mimic, he imitated her strut before the looking-glass, and general coquettish behaviour in the dressing-room at the villa, while he sang in a falsetto voice-- "sweet marietta, rarely has been a sweeter or better face or form seen. dear marietta!" "hah!" cried the girl, starting back as if she had been shot. her first impulse was to faint. but as soon as she gained the cooler air without, she recovered, and collecting her senses a little, she gave a pretty shrewd guess at the truth. she was silly, yet not a bad-natured girl. she saw her duty plainly enough. she must make herself known at once to her master. harkaway was close at hand, discussing the robbery still with jefferson. the whole of this party were of course known to marietta; so she made straight up to harkaway, and said hurriedly-- "have that man seized, sir--see, that one who is following me. i am marietta. he has just said something to me which convinces me that he was hiding in the villa to-night." "hullo!" exclaimed harkaway, not a little startled at this sudden address; "why, what in heaven's name--" "lose no time," interrupted marietta eagerly, "or he will go--see, he has taken the alarm." "the girl's right," said jefferson, striding off after mathias. the latter now began to perceive that he had made a false step, and he hurried through the crowded room towards the door, and was just passing out, when a dwarfed and ugly figure leaped upon him. so sudden was the attack that mathias was capsized, and together they rolled upon the floor. "let go!" said the greek fiercely, "or i'll--" "not me!" exclaimed magog brand--for he was the greek's assailant. "i know you, my yellow-feathered devil, even though you have shed your skin!" "let go," hissed the greek brigand, with compressed lips, "or i'll have your life!" "i'll not let go," cried the brave little brand. "i have got you, villain, and will hold you. ah!" mathias scrambled up, and tried to fly, but he was met with a blow from jefferson's fist which might have felled an ox in the shambles. he dropped lifeless on the ground beside magog, and then a sudden outcry arose, for it was found that in that brief struggle poor magog brand had been cruelly used. a long-bladed poignard was buried up to the hilt in his side. poor brand. death must have been almost instantaneous. they tore the mask from mathias' face, and thereupon an agent of the secret police stepped forward and made known who it was. "this is the notorious mathias," he said. "one of the most daring of the brigands hereabouts; we have been wanting him badly for some time past." "you have got him," said harkaway, "but oh!" he added, glancing at the lifeless form of magog brand, "at what a price for us!" at this juncture harvey reached the spot, and taking in the whole scene at a glance, he dropped on his knees beside the body of magog brand, where jefferson was already kneeling, seemingly half stupefied by the catastrophe. "he has fainted," said he to harvey. harvey shook his head mournfully. "he'll never faint again, jefferson." "what?" "never." "you surely--no, no, brand, dear old boy, look up." he faltered and broke down. "yes, jefferson," said harvey in deep emotion. "poor magog brand is at the end of his troubles and pleasures alike--he is dead!" [illustration: "'murder! abduction! shouted mole hunston is here"--adv in greece vol ii page .] chapter v. the pursuit of the brigands--the battle--varying fortunes--how hunston and toro were laid by the heels. consternation was upon every face. the catastrophe was so sudden and unlocked for, that the people about were half stupefied with fear. on one side lay poor magog brand, lately so full of life and animation. on the other was his assassin, felled by the dead man's best friend, the doughty jefferson, and with scarcely more life in him than his victim. and while the people were staring hopelessly at each other thus, a voice was heard giving the alarm hard by. "poor brand, your murderer shall not escape," said jefferson bitterly. the noise continued, and presently the voice was recognised. "it is mole," cried harkaway. he was right. just then the poor old gentleman appeared upon the scene. "harkaway, jefferson, harvey!" he cried. "what's the matter?" "murder!" returned mole. "hunston is here." "by heaven! i thought it," ejaculated jefferson. "he has carried off emily and paquita." "what?" "i interfered, but they were too many for me. see how they have used me." "was he with the brigands?" demanded harkaway. "i suppose so. a whole mob of ruffians." "where are they gone?" "by the small gate." a hurried explanation ensued with the agent of the secret police, who gave them a few words of comfort. "he'll never be able to pass my men at the gate," said the officer, with great confidence. this was doubtful. they knew too well hunston's boldness and audacity. but they lost no time in getting up a pursuit. the contessa's stables were well furnished, and two horses were speedily saddled for harkaway and jefferson. harvey, too impatient to wait for a mount, had rushed wildly away in the direction of the small gate, followed by mr. mole. here he saw to his dismay that a scramble had taken place, in which the gendarmes had got decidedly the worst of it. the two who had been on guard at the gate had got very roughly handled, one having a broken crown and the other showing an ugly wound in the side. "they have gone this way, then?" exclaimed harvey, eagerly. "yes." "which way?" "they made for the right," faltered one of the wounded men. "is it long?" "no; a few moments." "they can not get far," said the gendarme with the broken pate; "the two girls were struggling hard with him." "hurrah!" cried harvey. "i'll save my child yet." "you are not the first in the hunt," said the other gendarme, speaking with evident pain; "there are two black men after them." "that must be sunday and monday," exclaimed harvey. and off he ran. he bounded over the ground like a deer, and when he got about half a mile further on, he came suddenly upon two men struggling. one of them was a negro. who, in fact, but our old friend the prince of limbi, the faithful monday? the other was one of the greeks, a face unknown to harvey, but one who has already figured in these pages. matteo! and lying on the ground near him was a brigand struck down dead by brave monday. as harvey came up, it was nearing the end of what had been a precious tough fight. monday was uppermost, and matteo, who had gradually succumbed to the wiry negro, was by this time in a very queer way indeed. monday held him by the throat, and in spite of his desperate efforts to set himself free, matteo had lost his breath. and there he lay completely at the negro's mercy. "there, you dam tief!" exclaimed the prince of limbi, "take dat, an' dat, an' dat, an' now, be golly, have dis for a little bit in." at every word he pressed harder and harder and jerked his adversary back. the "little bit in" settled matteo completely. something seemed to crack in the wretched greek's throat, and he dropped back. "monday, monday!" said harvey, eagerly, "where are they?" "hullo, massa dick!" said faithful monday; "i'se gwine to give this fellar toko an' den i'll jine yar." "he's done for," said dick, hastily. "come now." "he might come too," said monday, in some doubt. "no fear." "perhaps." "why, he'll never trouble anyone more," returned harvey; "tell me, where have they gone?" "they went straight on." "this road?" "yes." "good. come or stay. i'll go," exclaimed harvey. and off he ran. monday gave his silent enemy a shake to see if it was all over. "he's a gone coon," he said to himself. "i'll bolt off after massa dick." away he ran at a good swinging trot. in about ten minutes more he came up with him. and this was under the most alarming circumstances. not very long after this a horseman dashed up to the spot, and only drew rein to give a glance at the lifeless form of the wretched matteo. "he's dead," said the horseman, who was none other than jack harkaway. "this looks like some of dick's handiwork. dick or some of our party. i hope dick is safe." saying which, he whipped up his horse, and tore on at a mad gallop. a very few moments after this he came up with the brigands with their captives. just in the nick of time. hunston and toro were there both with their hands full, while the greeks had all their work to do to take care of the two captive girls. little emily and paquita, having now recovered from their surprise, were lending assistance to the cause by keeping all the greeks fully occupied in looking after them. and while they were thus occupied, sunday and dick harvey were engaged with toro and hunston. dick had rushed so violently upon hunston that the latter was toppled over, and it looked as though harvey was about to make short work with their old enemy. but alas for sunday! the poor negro was overmatched. his heart was good, but the weight and enormous strength of the italian were too much for him to vanquish. that he had not as yet succumbed to toro, was due only to his vastly superior agility and activity. it was all in vain for the italian ruffian to try and close with him. sunday would not have this. he knew that his chance lay in keeping toro at a respectful distance. and so he danced round him, dropping in an occasional smart rap which goaded the italian to fury. "help!" cried hunston. "cut him down! cut him down!" one of the brigands rushed at harvey knife in hand, and thus created a momentary diversion in his favour. had not harkaway just then appeared upon the scene it might have gone hard with his comrade dick. prompt, however, to act at this critical juncture, harkaway spurred his horse into the group and rode them down. then reining up, he flung himself from his horse, and went into the melee. "i'm in it, dick, old boy," cried jack; "here's one for harkaway." "hurrah!" shouted dick, in great excitement. "a harkaway! a harkaway to the rescue!" toro turned to harkaway with a cry of rage. "curse you!" he exclaimed; "i'll have your life now, or you shall have mine." "by all means," said old jack, cheerfully. "cur!" "come, now," said harkaway, with subdued rage, "i can't stand that; take this!" and before toro knew where he was, he got it. it was not as pleasant as he could have wished when he did get it. a devil of a thud it came upon his nose, a fair blow with harkaway's fist, and being delivered straight from the shoulder, it seemed to the italian like the kick of a donkey. toro shook all over. his eyes flashed fireworks, and he was half stunned for the moment. harkaway's triumph was but temporary. one of the greeks, who was watching the conflict between these giants of the combat in great interest, had by now crept up behind jack, and seizing him suddenly round the middle, hurled him to the ground. "ha, ha!" yelled toro. and bounding forward, he fell upon harkaway, knife in hand. "at last, at last, your life is in my hands," he cried in fiend-like joy. the knife gleamed in the air. a piercing shriek from little emily was heard. a cry of fear from paquita, and suddenly the latter, disengaging herself from her captors, bounded forward and seized toro by the hair. she dragged him back with all her strength, and little as it was, it saved the life of jack harkaway. jack put forth all his strength at this most critical juncture, and succeeded in grappling once more with his herculean opponent. toro lost his balance. a moment more and he was rolling upon the ground in deadly battle with brave jack harkaway. so fierce a strife could not last long. in the heat of the combat cries were heard encouraging harkaway and harvey to fresh exertions, and up dashed the bold monday, closely followed by jefferson and several gentlemen from the contessa's fête. the greeks now began to lose heart. the odds were veering round to the wrong side. greeks can fight moderately well when they are three or four to one englishman, but when the numbers are equal, they do not care to provoke hostilities. and so they blew upon their whistles for assistance, and soon the answering calls came in every direction, causing the gravest fears to the harkaway faction. "hah!" ejaculated jefferson; "they are coming to help you. but at least i'll make sure of you, master toro." the italian did not shirk the encounter. toro, to do him justice, was, with all his faults, no coward. he had felt the weight of jefferson's arm, and he had reason to remember it. yet he met his old adversary boldly. jefferson fell upon the huge italian with tiger-like fury, and in spite of his prodigious size and weight, he lifted him in his arms, swung him round, and hurled him to the ground. the greeks now, seeing their leaders in such dire peril, thought of avenging themselves by the most dastardly o| expedients. "kill the girls!" cried one of them. the hint was caught up with avidity. a savage yell responded to the bloodthirsty suggestion, and the lives of the two innocent girls were in real peril. "look to the girls!" shouted dick harvey, who was fully occupied with two of the greek brigands who were pressing him closely. there was a cheer in response to this appeal, and over went two of the greeks. jefferson too lent a hand at this juncture. finding himself free from toro's attentions, for the huge italian had received such a desperate shaking with his fall that he was not fit for much now, he rushed into the _mêlée_, and dealt out such slogging blows that there were at least a dozen bleeding noses and black eyes distributed amongst the bandits in rather less time than it takes to note the fact. the greeks were thoroughly discouraged. this unpleasant british mode of attack was not at all to their liking. they could do pretty well with knives or swords, or even with firearms, but they could only regard men who used their fists in the lights of savages. gradually they retreated before the fierce onslaught of the britishers and their gallant yankee ally. this was no small triumph. the brigands mustered at least twenty men. their enemies were five. the five were harkaway, harvey, jefferson, and the two negroes sunday and monday. the chicken-hearted greeks, however, did not altogether turn tail, for ere they could get fairly off this hardly-contested field, they received considerable reinforcements. about ten more greeks put in an appearance. a ragged, ruffianly crew, and ill armed. the harkaway party were not armed at all. the greeks fell back and made attempts to re-form in something like good order. but jefferson saw the danger, and he followed them up closely. jack and dick harvey were at his heels. neither of our old friends were inferior to the bold jefferson in courage; but they did not possess his great advantages of size and strength. jefferson's right arm went out like a battering ram, and each time he struck out, down dropped his man. at all events, the brigands did not give any particular signs of coming up for a repetition dose. the huge american dashed into the thick of the enemy. the assassination of poor little magog brand had fired his fury, and his charge was something terrific. he dashed into the midst of the half cowed bandits, and swinging his arms around him like the sails of a windmill, he "grassed" a man at every stroke. but this could not last for long. as the greeks grew stronger in numbers, they stood upon the defensive. they were reassured. they had seven-and-twenty men against the five. the five, too, large-hearted though they were, had the two girls to look after. amongst the latest comers upon the bandits' side was one man who was a petty officer of the brigands, and he gave a few hurried commands, which had the effect of putting harkaway and his friends into a very awkward predicament. "load and fire," said the brigand, "shoot them all down." if they could but succeed in getting a shot or two at the bold jefferson, or at any of the party, it would speedily be all over with them. but now, when individual bravery could no longer avail them, they had a rare slice of luck. suddenly a rattling volley of musketry was heard, and three of the greeks bit the dust, while a number of cries told that several were hit. and then a detachment of gendarmes dashed up into the open at a swinging trot. and who headed this very welcome party? who but two youths that have been heard of before in these pages? who indeed but young jack harkaway and his friend harry girdwood? chapter vi. sunday rubs off an old score--the brigands--what happened at the porter's lodge--a strange blind beggar. "hurrah!" "give them another." "load again." "another volley." a rapid, irregular discharge followed, and the greeks, with cries of fear and rage, dropped their arms and fled precipitately, panic-stricken. the gendarmes followed them up, and several were knocked over and secured; and behind them the brigands had left no less than seven of their number who had not been able to get off. amongst those seven were two men that it was no small gratification to the harkaway party to see once more in their power. these two men were hunston and toro the italian. sunday stood over the latter, leathering into his half insensible carcase in a way that threatened to cover it with bruises; and at every blow he had something fresh to say. "take dat!" he exclaimed, punching into toro's ribs, "you dam nigger." toro, dazed with what he had suffered in his shaking, could offer no resistance. "and dere's another, you ugly tief!" said the virtuous sunday. "i'll gib you what for; you shall hab what paddy gib the drum, you 'fernal black skunk; i show yar what john up the orchard is, you--you italian organ-grinding sweep--you chestnut-munching beast!" sunday had never forgotten his first acquaintance with toro. the reader will doubtless bear it in mind, since with it is connected one of the most startling episodes of jack harkaway's history, in his voyage round the world with young jack. it was at the hotel in new york that the harkaways first met with sunday, too, for here they were the means of rescuing him from the brutal violence of the ruffian toro. it was, in fact, this which led up to that scene of terror--the firing of the hotel by hunston and toro. sunday had suffered at toro's hands, but had never had his whack back. but now the darkey showed the half insensible italian the full signification of "john up de orchard," and likewise of "what for," and "what paddy gave the drum." * * * * * hunston and toro were thrown into prison, with the few brigands captured and their discomfited chieftain mathias. such was the end of their exploit. when once they were in prison, however, it required some exertion on the part of the authorities to keep them there. the gang were unceasing in their endeavours to release them. artifices of every kind were tried to accomplish it, but the harkaways had foreseen that no stone would be left unturned by the murderous friends of the captured robbers; and they knew the good old-fashioned saying--"forewarned, forearmed.'" the prison in which they we re confined was situated at the waterside, and it was approachable by boat, where the entrance was beneath a low, vaulted archway. the day after the capture of the notorious robbers, a poor cripple hobbled up to the porter's lodge, dragging himself painfully along by the aid of a stick in one hand and a crutch under his other arm. "move off," said the porter gruffly; "we have nothing to give away here." "i don't ask your charity," replied the cripple humbly; "accept this, good sir, as a peace offering." and then, to the porter's surprise, he dropped a coin into his hand. the porter looked hard at the coin in his hand, and then at the cripple. he was a man of no sentiment, this porter, and so he asked the generous donor bluntly what he wanted for the money. "i only want you to show some consideration and kindness, if possible, to some of the unfortunate inmates of this place," was the reply. "prisoners?" "yes." "if you expect that," said the porter "you had better take back your money, for i have nothing to do with the prisoners." the cripple looked grave, and he muttered to himself-- "this fool is beastly conscientious. if he had only proved a bit of a rogue, there was a chance--the ass!" but he did not mean to yield the point yet. "you are a very good man," he said to the porter, "a worthy honest fellow, and you will know that i don't mean to offer you any thing like a bribe." the porter started. "a bribe!" he said, with an expletive. "you had better not." "ahem!" coughed the cripple. "my friend, i have confined in this prison my son, a poor misguided boy--" "they are mostly that," said the porter shortly. "but he is innocent." "they are all innocent," said the porter. "all?" "according to their own showing." "but my boy is." "no doubt" "and i only want to beg you to do what you can to soften his lot--a hard lot it is, too." "i can do nothing, i tell you," said the porter; "i never see the prisoners." "i thought--" "at least, when i say never, i mean only when they are allowed to walk in the prison yard." "that is here?" "yes." "when is that?" "once a day; sometimes more than that, if the doctor orders it." "the doctor must order it, then?" said the cripple to himself. "what is your son in for?" asked the porter. "for an unfortunate resemblance he bears to a notorious brigand." "bah!" exclaimed the porter. "they don't imprison a man for being like another." "yes, they do; my unlucky son has been taken for mathias the brigand." "what," ejaculated the doorkeeper, "do you mean that mathias is not mathias?" "i mean that my son has been taken for mathias, to whom, indeed, he is so like that nothing but the capture of the real culprit can save my son." the doorkeeper eyed the cripple sharply. but the latter stood it coolly enough. "well," said the door porter, "if that is the case, it is certainly a very hard job for your son. what do you want me to do for him? i can't let him out." "my friend," exclaimed the cripple, "think you i would suggest such a thing? no, all i would ask of you is to soothe him with a kind word." "i'll tell him when next he comes out." "at what time did you say?" asked the cripple, looking on the ground as though he only put the question casually. "at twelve." the cripple's eyes glistened as he heard this. "well, well," he said, pressing some more money into the door porter's hand, "i'll call again, and perhaps you may have seen my boy, and comforted him with the assurance that i'll save him, in spite of all the ill these accursed english people can work by the aid of their money." "oh, that's it, is it?" said the porter. "the english are at work in it, eh?" "yes. they owe him some spite, and money, you know, can buy any thing--any thing." and blessing the gatekeeper, he hobbled off. * * * * * near the prison he overtook a blind man begging by the roadside, and while stopping to drop a coin in his hat, the cripple contrived to whisper a few hurried words to this effect-- "i have made a step--almost made a breach in the fortress." "you have!" and the blind man turned his head to the right and to the left, almost as though looking out to see if they were unwatched. "yes; the prison yard is only the other side of the gate. now that gate is kept by a porter who is already in our interest." "good, good, tomaso!" quoth the blind man. "now, listen." "go on," returned the blind man, in an eager tone. "at noon the prisoners are in the yard. if we could but get that gate open for an instant, and have our men ready hereabouts for a rush--" "yes, yes." "who can tell what may happen?" "good again--good again! ha, ha, ha! that's brave, that is. why, the mob of idle sightseers who crowd about the prison gates at noon to watch the prisoners might all be poor blind wretches or helpless cripples like you and i." "of course." "and if the gate is left open but one instant--a single inch, no more--why, worlds might be done." "a horse ready saddled near at hand might be worth thinking of." "true." "and a small keg of gunpowder blown up under the archway by the waterside entrance would divert attention." "tomaso," ejaculated the blind man, "you're born to be a captain of brigands some day!" chapter vii. how tomaso helped his friends in trouble--the skirmish in the prison--mathias the brigand. tomaso, before the day was over, changed his garments and abandoned crutch and stick, and when he turned out with flaxen-dyed hair and spectacles, and presented himself at the other great entrance of the prison, as a german traveller who desired to go over the place, no one could possibly have imagined it to be the old cripple whose paternal lamentation had so touched the doorkeeper's heart. "you have got here a notorious brigand, as i have heard tell," said the visitor. "we have, sir," was the governor's reply; "a very remarkable man he is, too." "ah, so i have heard," said the visitor. "he is called demetrius, i believe?" "nay; his name is mathias." the visitor looked surprised at this information. "mathias--mathias!" he repeated to himself. "i was misinformed, then. i certainly thought that his name was demetrius." the governor smiled. "you may be right, all the same," said he. "how so?" "why, mathias is but his avowed name; he may be known by a dozen different _aliases_." "is it possible?" ejaculated the sham german traveller. "indeed it is. these robbers are mostly adepts at disguise. would you like to see this mathias?" demanded the governor, courteously. "vastly." "well, sir, i'll only warn you of one thing." "indeed! what is it?" "a disappointment awaits you in this." "how so?" "instead of seeing a ferocious fellow, such as you might expect, mathias is really a very pleasant and innocent-looking man." the governor of the prison then led the visitors through the long stone corridors of the place where mathias was confined. they stopped before a door of great thickness, heavily barred, and studded with iron bolts and nails. the governor tapped at a small grated trap in the door, and it was pulled aside. at the grating a broad-shouldered fellow appeared, who touched his cap at the visitors. "so that is mathias," said the german gentleman. "no, no," said the governor; "that is the gaoler who is shut up with him." "what for?" "so that he might be watched night and day; the authorities have doomed him to--" "to what?" "to death," replied the governor, in a low but impressive voice. "he is young." "in years, yes," answered the governor, "but old in crime. this man has been guilty of nearly every crime under the sun--brigandage is one of his least offences. his last exploit, however, is the worst." "what is that?" "murder." "murder!" and the german traveller looked inexpressibly shocked. "murder is a capital crime in every land." "and rightly too," said the visitor, "rightly, too. but, sir, excuse my curiosity--" "ask all you will," returned the governor. "this man had, i was told, a bold, dashing fellow to second him in all his exploits." "an italian?" "no." "an englishman?" "no, no, sir, you mistake; i mean a greek--a handsome, dashing fellow--a great favourite with the ladies--brave and daring." "and how is this apollo called?" "tomaso." the governor burst into a loud fit of laughter at this, "you are altogether mistaken about that brigand--that tomaso. he is a scrubby and ill-favoured scamp--a sneaking, crawling rascal, capable of all the villany of his master, but not possessed of his courage." had the governor been looking at the visitor's face just then, he might have had his suspicions aroused. the sham german philanthropist glared ferociously as this description was given. the prisoner, who was seated at a rough deal table at the further end of the cell, here arose at the gaoler's order, and came to the window. a single glance sufficed to show that a very noticeable change had taken place in the appearance of mathias. his face was pale and haggard, and the whole of one side of it, the eye, cheek bone, and forehead were bruised. this was the mark that jefferson had set upon him. this was the bold american's only vengeance for the deathblow which the brigand had dealt upon his faithful friend and companion magog brand. jefferson's right arm came down like a steam hammer, and any man who had felt its full force as the scoundrel mathias had did not forget it very readily. such a desperate shaking had it given mathias that he had not yet recovered. the bold, defiant bearing of the man was gone, and he looked ten years older than when tomaso and he had last met. it struck the visitor at once. "dear, dear me," exclaimed the latter, "is it possible that this can be the redoubtable mathias?" "it is he," said the governor, "yet scarcely so gay as is his wont, eh, mathias?" the prisoner shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "laugh on, your excellency," he said, rather bitterly, "it is your turn now." "now!" "aye, now. it may not always be." "why, surely you never think of getting out of this?" "indeed, i think of nothing else morning, noon, and night." the governor gave a sharp glance about. he looked toward the gaoler. now the gaoler was a huge fellow, over six feet high and broad in proportion, one who could have tackled toro himself, as far as weight and sheer brute strength went. "your excellency," replied mathias, "when i leave this place, my exit will be due to no violence. bad as i am, i am not altogether what they would make out." "poor mathias!" said the governor ironically, "one would almost think that murder was not his line of business." "your excellency," said the prison, drawing near to the grated window, "i repent sincerely of that poor little gentleman's death; it was no assassin's stab in the dark, but a most unfortunate blow in a fight, remember." "bravo! mathias! bravo!" ejaculated the visitor. the prisoner looked up. a strange expression flitted across his face. mathias was an adept in the art of dissimulation, and his face was schooled to tell neither more nor less than he wished. "now, your excellency," said the visitor, "this rascal appears strangely self-possessed." "he does." "what does it mean?" "brag." "humph!" "ah, you do not know him, sir, as well as i do." "perhaps not; but it might just be possible that he is in league with some of his comrades outside." the governor smiled incredulously. "impossible." "what if that scoundrel, tomaso, of whom we were speaking, should be at work?" the prisoner's eyes glistened at this word. a slight flash of intelligence passed between the prisoner and the visitor. it was but momentary, and so slight as to be utterly unobserved by either the gaoler or the governor. "and if such could be the case, sir, what could he possibly do, eh? what on earth, that's what i ask." "there's no saying." "indeed you're right." "only he ought to be well guarded when you change him from one prison to another, or--" "stop, stop, my dear sir, why change him? he will never leave this place alive," said the governor. "never?" "never!" "but surely you don't keep your prisoners all confined in these stifling places?" "we do, though." "and never let them breathe the air? why, it is torture." "they do breathe the air. at noon every day they are allowed to walk for an hour in the prison yard." "at noon?" "at noon." the visitor fixed his eyes strangely upon the prisoner. "very good; if i may be allowed to trespass again, i should like to see how this fellow bears himself in the yard amongst his fellow-criminals." "by all means." "i'll come, then, at noon." * * * * * at noon next day the german traveller was as good as his word. the governor, full of his wonted courtesy, accompanied him to the yard, where all the prisoners were walking round two and two. some of the more desperate men were fastened by a single handcuff to the wrist of another man--a warder. of this category was the brigand mathias. his companion was a huge fellow, who topped him by a head and shoulders, and their wrists were linked securely together by a strong--if slender--pair of handcuffs. the visitor's countenance fell when he observed this. it upset all his plans at one fell swoop. however, he did not utterly despair, but made an effort to get over the difficulty. "your excellency," said he, "this is indeed cruel." "what," demanded the governor, "fastening them to the gaoler?" "yes." "i only order it in special cases, such as that of mathias." "he is then very dangerous?" "well, i scarcely believe that, only such precautions are the established rules." "i regret that." "why?" "partly on the score of humanity," was the reply. "ah, you would be too tender-hearted," said the governor. "no. but i also regret it because i hoped to see the brigand more like he appears when not under restraint. i suppose you would not like to set him free?" the governor shook his head. "that is against custom, and i should really not like to do it." the visitor reflected a moment as they walked on. he could not abandon his scheme now that he had gone so far. the effort should be made all the same. they walked up to the porter's lodge beside the gates, where an eager crowd had assembled for a glimpse of the prisoners. "and do you open those gates to admit the prisoners?" asked the visitor innocently. "no, sir," replied the governor; "this little side door is all we open. now watch how it is done. this bar, which is like a lever, stops the door, and renders it immovable, now--hah!" the fallacy of his words was shown ere they were fairly uttered. the visitor whistled in a very peculiar way. and there was a sudden silent rush at the door in question. the bar, immovable as it was, fell before that desperate onslaught, and the door was carried off its hinges. the ragged and miserable-looking mob turned like magic into a crowd of armed desperadoes. and in they pressed. on they came, tearing down the gates and dashing every thing before them. the poor gatekeeper was trampled under foot, and the warders and governor got hustled and cruelly handled. the mob of armed invaders made for mathias and his companion, and bore them bodily outside the gates. the brigands then wrenched off the handcuffs. once outside the gates, a horse was found waiting. suddenly there was a loud cry heard. "the soldiers--the soldiers!" the whole of the guard-room had turned out. a charge was made, and it looked as though the rescue of mathias were likely to cost them dear. cries of defiance and rage were heard. just when matters were at the worst for the robber band, a deafening explosion was heard, that shook the solid building to its base. the soldiers turned back and re-formed at their officer's command. then it was that the brigands, headed by the sham visitor, tomaso, found their chance. up till now, the retreat had been cut off by the unpleasant appearance of the military. "there goes the powder keg under the water gate," cried tomaso. "lose not a moment. follow me." a desperate rush was made, and the brigands got clear of the prison. the soldiers were divided into two lots, one party being sent in pursuit, the other remaining to guard the prison. the roll-call of the prisoners made this discovery. "how many prisoners have escaped?" inquired the governor. "three absentees, your excellency," said the head man of the prison. "one is an italian, calling himself toro; another an englishman, calling himself hunston; and the third, the brigand chief mathias." chapter viii. a deep-laid plot. the news of the escape, or rescue--call it what you will--of the three desperadoes soon became known. emily and mrs. harvey were much alarmed. the dogged obstinacy with which attempt after attempt was made by the villains made them imagine they were unsafe in such a lonely place. accordingly, a grand consultation was held, the result of which was that the prince of limbi was sent into the town to take rooms for the whole party at one of the two hotels the place could boast of. and the next day they all quitted the villa. the hotel in which our friends had secured apartments was a large straggling building, right at the extremity of the ill-built street which formed the chief part of the town. mr. mole had been very particular when they went there in his inquiries about the brigands. would the party be quite safe from molestation? the urbane proprietor, with many low bows, assured his excellency the englishman that there was not the slightest possibility of their being molested. the other male members of the party really troubled themselves very little about the brigands. by ten o'clock, the day after the masquerade, hardly a person was stirring in the town. a casual observer would have said there was literally no one to be seen. but hush! soft, cautious footsteps may be heard, and anyone whose eyes are accustomed to the gloom might have seen three figures creeping quietly down the street on the side opposite the hotel. right over against that building they paused. "that is the place" said one of the three, a giant almost in size. "curse them! they always manage to get comfortable quarters, while i am an outcast," said another, who spoke like an englishman. "death, gentlemen! what better quarters can you desire than my cave, in which you have spent several pleasant evenings?" "bah! captain mathias, you have never tasted the sweets of civilisation." "and, signor hunstani, how much the better are you through having tasted those sweets?" "peace, peace!" growled the giant. "let us unite in thought and action, and to-night obtain our long-sought revenge." "well, toro, i am sure i don't want to quarrel with anyone, except harkaway." "curse him! and especially that american." "hush! let your curses be not loud but deep; you'll awake the town if you swear so." "have i not good cause to? has he not beaten and put me to shame?" "and have i not suffered equal pain and shame? yet i am content to bide my time; you should have patience, toro." "come, come to business, my friends," said captain mathias; "there is the house where our foe resides. how are we to proceed?" "quietly; hush!" said hunston. "confound it, how still the air is; the whole street seems to echo back the lightest whisper." "let me get once inside, and i care not if all the street hears," muttered toro. "which proves you care not if you are unsuccessful," said the greek. "how so?" "if we are heard, we shall have the whole street in arms against us, and i fancy these inglesi, with their boys and the blacks, are quite sufficient for the three of us." "bah!" exclaimed toro. "seriously, though, let us consider how to get into this place," said hunston. "there's the door facing us." "but have you the key?" "no, but i could send my foot through that plank as easily as anything," growled toro. "certainly, and you would undoubtedly alarm the whole household by doing so, whereas we wish to catch them sleeping." "well, then, how about the windows?" "too high to reach," said hunston, "unless we had a ladder." "and i doubt if such a thing can be found in the town," interposed captain mathias. "well, then, let us see what there is at the back of the house. captain, you have eyes like a cat or an owl; just glance up and down the street to see if there is anyone about." the greek looked in all directions. "not even a mouse is stirring," said he. so the three villains, drawing their cloaks closely round them, stole silently away from the shelter of the friendly doorway, where the foregoing conversation had taken place, and proceeded round to the back of the hotel. to reach the point desired, they had, of course, to cross the road, which was tolerably wide, and then skirt a kind of paddock. there were few stars to be seen, and the moon--a new one, and perhaps not yet fully acquainted with her business--was partly hidden behind some clouds, though not so entirely obscured but that the forms of the three brigands cast deep shadows on the ground. but surely that is not a shadow, which as they move, moves also from an adjoining doorway, and follows them. like them, it is wrapped in a cloak; like them, it stalks along slowly and erect, but unlike them, it makes no noise. its footfall is silent as that of the panther lurking in the jungle. its very breath, if it has any, seems hushed. the three villains go slowly, and the shadow, or substance, whatever it may be, keeps the same pace, till they reach the open field at the back of the hotel. hunston, toro, and the greek then stand side by side looking towards the hotel, but the shadow sinks down out of sight by the side of the fence. another hasty look round, and then the greek brigand pronounced that they were safe. "no fear of being interrupted here." "well now let us settle," said toro; "i am anxious to be at them." "but see," said hunston, "there are lights moving; it is not safe yet." "not till half-an-hour after midnight." "and now----" "it is half-past ten o'clock." "two hours," groaned toro. "better wait four than fail," said hunston. "cold-blooded englishman, what know you of the furious rate at which my blood boils in my veins? in that house is the man who struck me to the earth." "wait two hours, then you may have a good chance of paying off the score." "and i will, too, with greater interest than even usurer charged his hapless client. i wonder which room the cursed americano sleeps in." "the third room on the right-hand side of the first corridor, where you ascend the great staircase." captain mathias said this as promptly and positively as though he himself had shown our friends to bed. after a pause he continued-- "mr. and mrs. harkaway have the first room; mr. and mrs. harvey the second; the third is a double-bedded apartment, one couch being occupied by the american, the other by the two boys." "you seem to have pretty exact information, captain," said hunston. "yes, there is little going on there that does not come to my ears. one of the porters is a spy in my employ." "why did you not get a key from him?" "i have one; it opens the back door." toro had, during the last bit of conversation, been growling to himself a choice vocabulary of italian oaths, occasionally shaking his fist at the building which contained the objects of his hatred. he now turned to his companions. "and where do you propose to pass the two hours that must elapse?" "at the bottom of yonder field is a thicket, where we shall be free from observation. we can smoke our pipes there. by-the-bye, the patrol goes round about midnight." "we must be cautious," said hunston. "come along, then." the three villains then walked off in the direction of the thicket where they were to hide. a minute afterwards a shadow rose from the ditch where he had been crouching, and stood looking after them long after they had been lost in the gloom. "just in time," muttered the so-called shadow, who was in good truth as substantial flesh and blood as any in greece. "if i had not wandered hither in search of my daughter, probably half-a-dozen murders would have been committed. however, i'll thwart the rascals, as sure as my name is petrus." for petrus it was, from magic island, who had been playing spy on the movements of the three conspirators. he stood there in deep thought for a few minutes. "i must warn some of the people in the hotel, but i should like to get this business over without alarming mrs. harkaway or the other lady. the question is, how?" he reached the front door of the hotel, and pulled at the bell handle. after an interval of two or three minutes, a light shone through the keyhole, and a voice asked-- "who is there?" "a traveller, in search of food and bed." "are you alone?" "yes." then the door was unbolted, and the traveller entered. "is the proprietor of the hotel in bed yet?" he asked. "i don't know, sir." "he must be roused at once. i have important news for him from a distant land." the porter stared, but did not seem inclined to call the proprietor, noticing which, petrus said-- "i shall be sorry to alarm all the house, when i only want one person; but if you don't quickly bring him, i'll ring half a dozen of these bells at such a rate that he'll think the house is on fire." seeing the stranger was in earnest, the porter went to the proprietor's room, and soon returned with him to the hall where petrus was waiting. "i should like to have a few words with you _in private_, sir," said the traveller, with a strong emphasis on the words we have italicised. "certainly. you may go to bed, theodorus." the porter somewhat sulkily retired to a kind of pantry, where he slept, and the proprietor of the hotel, softly following, turned the key upon him. "i have my doubts about that fellow," he said as he returned. "but now, sir, what is your pleasure with me?" petrus at once told him what he had heard, and great was the alarm of the hotel-keeper. "what shall we do? send for the police?" petrus, after a short silence, said-- "no." "what then? i cannot allow my guests to be murdered. why, these scoundrels have already made one attempt on mr. harkaway and his friends at a masquerade." just at that moment a guttural voice was heard singing-- "ole ikey mole was a lushy ole soul, and a lushy ole soul was he." "now den, you nigger, be quiet," said another voice. "who are these people?" asked petrus. "two black men in attendance on the harkaway party," said the proprietor of the hotel. "just the men. i know a little of them. i have fought side by side with them. now i have a proposal to make, which is that we put these brigands to flight in a ludicrous manner, which will annoy them more than being beaten in fight. myself and the black men will do it with your assistance and permission." "anything, so that there is no bloodshed." "that i will guarantee. please call the two worthy dark-skins." sunday and monday, who had been keeping it up in the kitchen, were called and acquainted with the state of affairs. "what, massa petrus," said sunday in surprise, "what you do here? am you got dat black rascal pirate with you?" "no; the pirate chief is dead. you will find his bones on the island--magic island, as young jack harkaway named it. yes, my revenge is complete. the pirate died as my slave; but now to explain to you my plan to punish the three brigands." sunday rolled his eyes fearfully, as he listened to the details of the plot. "gorra, massa, i'd like to tar and feather dat big rascal." "tar!" said petrus. "ha, ha, ha! that is a good idea. listen--but first show me the place where the gentlemen sleep." the hotel-keeper led the way to the corridor, and pointed out the sleeping apartments of the harkaway party. petrus then held another short consultation with the two black men and the hotel-keeper, the result of which was that the latter retired, leaving sunday, monday, and petrus to work their will with the invaders when they appeared. and then, as there was but little time to spare, they set to work with a will to make all the necessary preparations. over each door they screwed into the wall an iron hook, to which was attached a pulley and a cord. then they went into the lower regions and hunted through the store rooms. the first place they lighted upon was a kind of paint shop, full of paints, oils and such-like things. "dis is jes de shop for to cook de goose ob dem willins," said sunday. "and here's de pots to cook 'em in," said monday, pointing to some iron vessels resembling pails, but made so that the bottoms could be removed. the pails, as we will call them, were something like sugar loaves, with the tops cut off and turned base upwards. when full, the weight of the liquid kept the bottom in its place, but it was evident that if the bottom was removed, as it easily could be, the contents would escape. petrus, after an inspection, pronounced them "just the thing," adding-- "now we must fill them with tar." "no, no," said monday. "put tar in one, wery hot; in nodder put dis here paint, also werry hot; and in de oder put water, bilin' hot." "good." then the three sat down by the large fireplace in the kitchen, and deliberately began their cooking. monday devoted his attention to the heating of several pounds of mixed paint. sunday boiled a barrel of tar, while petrus attended to a large cauldron of water. ten minutes before the hands of the clock pointed to half-past twelve, all the cooks had completed their work. the paint, tar, and water, all at boiling heat, had been placed in the iron pails with the movable bottoms, and one of these had been hung over each bedroom door. the hot water over harkaway's door, the paint over harvey's, and the tar over that in which the two boys and jefferson reposed. a string was attached to each pail, and passed over a pulley, the end being conveyed to a recess where the three watchers were concealed. they were armed. sunday, monday, and petrus each had a six-chambered revolver, loaded. then came the clang of the old-fashioned clock as it proclaimed half-past twelve. breathless silence prevailed both inside the house and out. "lights out," whispered petrus, when, after a short pause, a slight grating noise was heard at the back door. in an instant all was darkness, except that the moon shone through a narrow window at the extreme end of the corridor. a few minutes afterwards petrus, who was watching, saw three dark figures come gliding into the long passage. the first was a tall, bulky figure--toro. the second the greek, and the third was evidently hunston. a plan of operations had been agreed upon--that was quite certain; for toro, without the least hesitation, proceeded to jefferson's door, the greek placing himself outside harvey's apartment, while hunston stationed himself at the room occupied by harkaway. then they waited for a signal, evidently intending to rush in simultaneously. "now!" said hunston, in a loud whisper. "now!" echoed petrus. before the brigands could rush into the rooms occupied by those they sought to destroy, petrus pulled the three strings he held in his hand, and, good heaven! what a spluttering and swearing at once commenced. hunston was drenched and scalded. "a million curses!" he roared. "help! look here, toro." but toro could not look. a deluge of hot tar had streamed over his head, filling eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, saturating his hair and running down inside his clothing. "furies!" he screamed, "i'll have the life of the villain who has done this! mathias, out with your knife, man." but the poor greek was utterly cowed; the paint had destroyed all his senses save that of feeling, which was fully exercised. hunston, although severely scalded, managed to keep a certain proportion of his wits about him. "come, lads--quick, as you value your lives!" he exclaimed. "away! we must not risk capture." he endeavoured to drag them away. at that moment, however, another actor appeared on the scene. this was nero. that wide-awake member of the monkey tribe had been doomed to share sunday's apartments, where a neat bed had been made for him in one corner. hearing a noise, and, perhaps missing his companion (brother, jefferson said), he came down, carrying in his dexter paw a well-filled pillow. he seemed to recognise toro at once. the valorous ape leaped forward, and gave his italian foe such a bolstering as toro had never before heard of, while the three spectators laughed and applauded loudly. crack! the ticking of the pillow gave way, and a shower of feathers enveloped the unhappy son of italy, whose oaths and execrations were literally smothered. "golly! an't he a downy cove?" said monday. at this juncture, hunston managed to grasp his companions by the hand, and dragged them downstairs and out at the back door. only just in time, however, for jefferson, hearing the noise, rushed out, in scanty costume, it is true, but fully armed with pistol and bowie knife, and eager for the fray. "what is the matter?" he demanded. petrus explained briefly. jefferson rushed to the door and fired two shots after the fugitives, who, however, managed to get away. then the door was securely bolted, and after the affair had been explained to all the alarmed inmates of the house, they retired to bed, but not before harkaway and his friends had shaken petrus warmly by the hand, with a promise that he should see his beloved daughter in the morning. chapter ix. the brigand's conspiracy--the arab astrologer--harvey's first appearance as a mesmerist. "they are making fresh efforts to get mathias out," said dick harvey to his friend harkaway. this was the beginning of a conversation which took place at the residence of the harkaway party just three days after the daring and audacious attack on the hotel. mathias had been captured by the patrol while endeavouring to escape, and thrown in gaol again. "hang their impudence!" said jefferson. "will nothing daunt them? i wish one of them had entered my room the other night; i would have held him faster than it seems the prisons here can." "these two restless vagabonds are up to their games again," exclaimed dick. "you mean toro?" "aye, and hunston." "what have they done now?" demanded jefferson. "they have been trying to tamper with the gaolers." "how was it discovered?" "the traitor, whoever he may be, let fall a letter that he was carrying to mathias." "that's lucky. well, did they discover any thing?" "no; it was written in cypher." "the cunning rascals!" "now, i've got more news for you," dick went on to say. "out with it, then." "you have heard of the arab who tells fortunes in the town?" "mehemed sadan, the great necromancer?" "yes. would you be surprised to learn that he is one of mathias' band?" "why, those scoundrels have a finger in every pie." "true," said harvey. "now, i have a notion to offer you. i propose that we go there and test the truth of what i say." "how?" "i'll tell you that as we go. are you agreed?" "i'm willing," said harkaway; "any thing for a little excitement." off they went. mehemed sadan, the arabian magician, carried on his occult practices in a house in the best part of the town, and all his surroundings tended to show that the "black art" had proved a most profitable commerce to him. when harkaway, jefferson, and harvey arrived there, they were ushered into the presence of the magician by a negro fancifully attired, wearing silver bands round his wrists and ankles, from which dangled chains with small bells attached. mehemed sadan was seated on a high-backed chair, close by a long table, on which was a long cloth of black velvet, covered with mystic signs and letters, which were all so much greek to the visitors. the room was filled with all kinds of things calculated to impress the vulgar with superstitious awe. the effect was altogether lost upon dick harvey, for he made a point of nodding at the arab astrologer in the most familiar manner. "morning to you, old fellow," he said, cheerfully. "salaam, sahib," responded the necromancer, gravely. "hullo!" said jefferson, opening his eyes, "why, this arab talks hindustani." "leave it to me," said dick harvey, in an undertone. the arab then said some few words to the company generally, which the company generally could make rather less of than if they had been addressed in chinese. "he's talking no known language under the sun," said harkaway. "it's my opinion he has got the cheek to talk regular right-down gibberish to us." it was true. the words, or sounds, let us say, which the necromancer was uttering, only sounded but too much like "hokey-pokey kickeraboo abracadabra," and the rest of the mysterious sounds with which the conjurer at juvenile parties seeks to invest his performance with additional wonder, for the benefit of his youthful audience. dick was in a rage. "confound his impudence," he exclaimed; "i'll give him one." so he let out in this wise-- "chi ki hi-u-thundrinold umbuggo--canardly keep my thievinirons off your wool--i should like to land you just one on the smeller and tap your claret." at which, to the surprise of the magician, the visitors burst out laughing. the arab necromancer now asked them, in very good greek, the object of their visit. "we shall not understand much if we are addressed in greek," said harkaway; "try him in italian." and then they found that the conjurer spoke italian as well, or better, than any of the party. "can you tell me," said jack harkaway, by way of beginning business, "if i shall succeed in the present object of my desires or not?" the magician bowed his head gravely. then he opened a large volume covered with mystic characters. for a minute or two he appeared to be lost in deep study, and then he gave his reply. "your desires tend to the downfall of some lawless men, i find," he said, watching them keenly, as if he expected to see them jump up in surprise at his words. "they do." "and you will not succeed." "does your art tell you where i shall fail?" asked jack. "no; i only see disappointment and trouble for you and yours." "dear, dear, how very shocking," exclaimed harkaway, winking at harvey. "dreadful!" added dick, with a terrified look, and putting his tongue out at the magician. "what else does your art tell you?" demanded jefferson, who was anxious to know how far the necromancer would venture to try and humbug them. "i see here," said the conjurer, drawing his finger along a line of something on an open "book of fate," that looked like arabic, "i see here that your lives are menaced, one and all, through the keeping of a wretched man under restraint." the visitors looked at each other and exchanged a smile. "your art is at fault," said jefferson; "we have no one under restraint." "you are in some way connected with it." "wrong again." the wizard looked uncomfortable at this. "strange," he said, "and yet i read it here as clearly as you might yourself if it were written in a book." "you are mistaken," said jefferson; "we are in no way concerned in any thing of the kind." the wizard pored over the mystic tome again. "i can say no more then," he said, "for here you are clearly indicated. you especially are mentioned as being the immediate cause of his downfall." "how am i indicated?" demanded jefferson. "by the letter j." "which you take for?" "your initial." "humph! not far out. what an audacious humbug the fellow is," said jefferson to jack. now, during the foregoing scene, young jack and harry girdwood had joined the party, and dick harvey was observed to be in close conversation with them. at this point harvey turned from the two lads towards jefferson. "the astrologer is right," he said, gravely. "what the devil do you mean?" exclaimed jefferson. "you are right, sir," added dick to the magician himself. the latter bowed. "i doubt it not," he said; "the stars do not speak falsely." "no, no." "and so you may convince your friend that i say no more nor less than the truth." "i can," said dick, in a voice as solemn as that of the necromancer himself, "for i am a mesmerist, and i have here with me a clairvoyant of great power." the conjurer started. "where?" "here." he held out his hand to young jack and led him forward. harkaway and jefferson stared again. "hullo!" ejaculated old jack; "what the deuce is madcap dick up to now?" "can't hazard a guess," said jefferson. "mesmerism can not read the future as my art does," said the necromancer. "it can," said dick; "it corroborates all you have said. i'll give you a proof of it before our friends here." and then, before he could object, dick made a mesmeric pass or two across young jack's face, and immediately it appeared to take effect. young jack's eyes were closed, and for a moment there played about his mouth a merry smile of mischief, and then he appeared to be in a state of coma. never was mesmerism effected with such little trouble. "now tell me," said dick, with all the tricks of manner of the professional mesmerist, "tell me to what this person alludes?" "he speaks of mathias, the brigand chief." "true," said dick; "and will mathias escape?" "no." "you hear," said dick, turning towards the necromancer. "i do." "and therefore it is useless to try and effect the liberation of this mathias?" "quite," returned young jack. "the wizard here is trying all he can himself, but he will be discovered by the police and thrown into prison." "hah!" exclaimed dick, "do you hear that?" "i do," returned the necromancer, "but it is false." "it is true," said dick. "so beware." [illustration: 'speak,' said dick, making mesmeric passes across jack's face"--adv. in greece, vol. ii page .] "ask him more," said the wizard, eagerly. "ask him more." "what shall i ask?" demanded dick. "ask him--yet, mark me, i don't believe a word of it--ask him, for curiosity, what follows." "follows what?" "what he said last." "you mean what follows being thrown into prison?" he said, deliberately. "yes." "do you hear?" said dick. "yes, master," responded young jack. "speak, then." by this time harkaway the elder and jefferson began of course to see what they were driving at, and they became just as much interested as the wizard himself in what young jack was going to say. "what follows," said young jack, "is too dreadful to look at." "speak," said dick, with a furious pass across the lad's face. "speak, i command you. what follows?" "i see the wizard hanging by the neck--there," and young jack pointed straight before him. the necromancer looked as unhappy as possible when he heard young jack's words. "do you know enough," asked dick harvey, "or would you learn more yet?" the wizard essayed to smile, but it was a sickly attempt, and it died away in a ghastly manner. "i can not believe a word of what you say, but still let him speak on." dick frowned. "if you are a scoffer," he said, sternly, "my clairvoyant will not speak." "i am no scoffer," returned the necromancer; "speak on." "what would you know?" "when is my danger to begin? let him say that." "speak," said dick, making mesmeric passes across jack's face. "he need fear nothing at present," said young jack. the wizard drew a long breath of relief. "the police are below," continued young jack, "but for ten minutes there is no danger." "ten minutes!" "yes." "and after?" gasped the wizard, breathlessly. "then he is doomed," said young jack, in sepulchral tones. "the wizard will be numbered with the dead." thereupon, the necromancer was taken suddenly queer, and he retreated with a few confused words of excuse. "he's gone," said dick, laughing. they pushed aside the curtains where the magician had disappeared, and found that there was a back staircase. "there he goes, there he goes!" cried harry girdwood, excitedly. "yes, and he has left his skin," said young jack. upon the stairs was the long black velvet robe covered with tin-foil ornaments, with which the necromancer was wont to frighten the ignorant and superstitious peasants who came to consult him out of their wits. "i'll frighten old mole with this," said young jack. "i don't suppose that they'll try to frighten us again into helping mathias, the brigand chief, out of prison," said harkaway, laughing. "he shall hang as high as haman," said jefferson, sternly. "of that i am so determined, that if there were no one else, i would willingly fix the noose myself. but hang he shall for murdering my poor and noble friend brand." chapter x. the condemned cell--mathias escaped--where has he gone?--the blood on the hearth--a tale of terror. the schemes set on foot by the friends of mathias for his release were so many and so unceasing that the greatest precautions had to be taken to keep him in safety. rules were made, and for awhile most rigidly enforced, that not a soul was to be permitted to visit the prisoner; but the exception proves the rule, and there was an exception made in favour of a lady who came and pleaded so earnestly to the governor of the prison that he could not find the courage to refuse her. the lady was shown into the cell which mathias had lately occupied. lately? yes. the bird had flown. but how had he got free? where had he gone? not a soul in the prison had the vaguest notion. the gaoler stared and gaped like one in a dream. "where is mathias?" demanded the woman. "that's more than i can guess," responded the gaoler, rubbing his eyes as though he could not believe their evidence. "have you mistaken the cell?" "not i." "has he been removed?" "no." she stared him straight in the face for a moment or two, and then she burst out into a fit of laughter. "ha, ha, ha! why, he has escaped. he has escaped. he has beaten your vigilance--baffled you all in spite of locks, bolts and bars, and all your watching." the gaoler scratched his head. "let us look." "look! why, you can see everything here at a glance--everything. there are four walls. there is the bedstead; you can see under it. there is not room for a man to creep under there. there is the fireplace, and there is the window." "ha!" ejaculated the gaoler, "the window." "what then?" "there is no other way; he must have escaped that way, undoubtedly." "nonsense," said the woman; "don't you see that is too high up from the ground." "he has found a way to climb up there, then." "but the iron bars are all in their places still." "true," said the gaoler, thoroughly puzzled, "true. where can he have got to?" "it is simple enough." "how so?" "he never attempted the window. he has walked out through the door being left open." "never!" "money can do more than that, and i rejoice at his freedom." she moved to the door. but the gaoler held her back rather roughly. "stop you here," he said, rudely; "i shall have to report this to the governor, and you had better remain until the job has been investigated." and before the startled woman could divine his intention, he swung to the door and shot the bolt. then pushing back the trap in the door, he added a few words through the grating. "you'll be safer there," said he, "unless you can manage to get out as mathias did. but the devil himself must have a compact with mathias!" "at least leave me the light," she said, imploringly. "against orders," was all the answer vouchsafed. the trap was shut. the woman was left a prisoner, in total darkness. * * * * * there is always something unpleasant in darkness, and this woman was by no means iron-nerved. no sooner was she alone, than a painful sensation of uneasiness stole over her. "they can not keep me long here," she kept murmuring to herself; "i have done nothing; i am accused of no offence. the governor will set me at liberty as soon as he knows. could any thing be more unfortunate? mathias was a prisoner, and i was at liberty. now mathias is free, and i am a prisoner. cruel fate to separate us. we are destined to be parted." the gloom grew oppressive now. she stood still, listening in painful silence for five minutes together--five minutes that appeared to be as many hours. a silence so solemn, so death-like, that she could hear the very beating of her heart. this grew unbearable. she groped her way around the cell to find the bed, and approaching the fireplace, she was suddenly startled by a sound. a very faint noise, as of something dripping on the flagstones by her feet. in the tomb-like silence then reigning, the faintest sound caused her to feel uncomfortable. she listened awhile intently, asking herself what it could mean. drip, drip, drip. it was strange. when the light was there, she had not noticed it at all. what could it be then, that was only to be heard in the dark? was it fancy? no. it was too real. there was no mistaking it. if the oppressive gloom of the cell started strange sounds or strange fancies in her head, why should it take such a shape as that? why, indeed? "would to heaven they were back with the light," she said. "will they never come?" just then, as though her earnest wish were heard and answered, a faint thin streak of light was shot into the cell through the grated window above. this was reflected from a chamber in the prison whose window was close by the window of this cell, and where a lamp had just been lighted. the welcome ray shot straight across the cell where she stood by the fireplace, and she remarked that the dripping did not cease. drip, drip, drip! she looked down. "i see, i see," she shudderingly exclaimed, "it is raining, and the rain is falling down the chimney. how foolish of me to get alarmed about nothing." now the light, we have said, shot across the hearth, and here it was that the drip, drip, drip, fell. "same as i thought." as she muttered this to herself, she stretched forth her hand under the chimney, and the next drop fell upon it. it was not water. no, imperfect as was the light then, it sufficed to show her that upon her hand was a curiously dark stain. raising it nearer to her eyes, she examined it eagerly. then she shuddered, and exclaimed in a voice of terror--"blood!" yes, it was blood. pen can not describe the terror of that wretched woman upon making this alarming discovery. "blood! whose? hah! whose blood? whose but his--whose but the blood of my darling--my own mathias?" for a moment the thought completely unnerved her, and it was little short of a miracle that she kept from fainting. but she fought bravely with the deathly horror stealing over her. and kneeling on the hearth, she called up, yet in gentle voice, lest she should give the alarm-- "mathias! mathias, my own! do you not know me? mathias, i say!" she listened--listened eagerly for a reply. and presently it came--a dull, hollow moan, a cry of anguish that chilled the blood in her heart, that froze the very marrow in her bones. "mathias, darling mathias! answer me for the love of mercy; i shall die else." another moan was heard. fainter and fainter even than the first. yet full of pent-up suffering. a sound that told a whole tale of anguish. "mathias, come to me," she called again. "oh-h-h!" a fearfully prolonged groan came down to her, louder than before, as if the sufferer had put all his remaining strength into the effort. then all was silent. eagerly she listened, straining forward to catch the faintest breath. but the voice above was stilled for ever. and yet the drip, drip, drip continued, and as she stretched forward beneath the chimney, she caught the drops upon her face. then she could no longer thrust back conviction. with a wild cry of terror she drew back, and groped her way round the room towards the door. her hand rested upon the grated trap, and she pushed it back with all her force, crying aloud for help as she did so. "help, help!" she shouted with the energy of despair; "mathias is dying." but that wretched man would not trouble the authorities more--his last breath had been drawn as she stood there listening to those awesome sounds. what could be the solution of this mystery! this would be known soon now, for the sounds of footsteps were distinctly heard now in the long stone corridors of the prison. the gaolers had given the alarm at once of the prisoner's escape, and the outlets of the prison were guarded in all directions, while a party was sent to the cell to investigate the matter thoroughly. at the head of this party was the governor himself. the time had appeared ten times as long to the unhappy woman as it was in reality. "help, help! oh, help!" she cried. at each effort she grew weaker and weaker. her voice died away, and when they reached the door of the cell, they found her hanging by the bars of the grated window or trap more dead than alive. "show the light," ejaculated the governor. and then, as the rays fell upon that face, pallid as the flesh of a corpse, save where the dark blood stains had settled, there was an involuntary exclamation of horror from all the beholders. "father of mercy," cried one of the men; "she has destroyed herself." such was the general idea. she had committed suicide. in this, however, they were speedily undeceived. to burst open the door and rush into the cell was but the work of a moment. at this the woman rallied a little and recovered herself. "what is the matter?" asked the governor. "the chimney!" gasped the woman faintly. "the chimney! speak--explain." "his blood--mathias's," she said; "see the chimney. i dare not look." two of the men by now had approached the chimney, and lowering the light they carried, one of them discovered a dark ominous pool upon the hearth. "call the doctor; there is something more than meets the eye in this." this order was promptly obeyed, and a surgeon was speedily in attendance. a mere cursory glance convinced the man of skill that the blood upon the woman's face was not her own, and just as he arrived at the decision, drip, drip, drip it began again upon the hearth. the men looked at each other half scared, and the governor himself was scarcely more self-possessed. the surgeon alone retained his presence of mind. snatching a lamp from one of the men, he thrust it as far as his arm could reach up the chimney and looked earnestly up. "as i thought!" he exclaimed. "what?" demanded the governor, eagerly. "he is there." "who?" "who but the prisoner? mathias is there--hopelessly stuck--wedged in. he has been trying to escape and has hurt himself." the woman looked up at these words. "is it no worse?" she asked. "is he badly hurt?" "i can not say yet," said the surgeon; "we must get him down first." this proved a very difficult matter indeed. the flue was so narrow that it was sheer madness to attempt climbing it. eagerly mathias had pushed on, and finally got himself wedged inextricably. he could neither move up nor down. it was when he made this alarming discovery that his struggles became desperate, and in his wild efforts to free himself from his self-set trap, he tore and mutilated his flesh most cruelly. the wounds and the want of air had done their work. an hour's hard work succeeded in setting the prisoner free--or rather his body, for it was found that life had been extinct, according to the surgeon's report, before they had entered the cell. and when they came to examine the clothes, they made a discovery which threw a light upon the whole affair. a small scrap of paper, dirty and crumpled was found in his pocket, upon which was some writing that was with great difficulty construed in this wise-- "the only hope is from the waterside. if you can but reach the roof, and have the courage to make the plunge, freedom will be your reward." how this note came there was never discovered. with this dire catastrophe ended the efforts of the brigands to free their unhappy leader. chapter xi. mr. mole visits the wizard--the magic mirror and the life-like vision--the incantation--the charmed wig. "in point of fact, sir," said young jack to his tutor one morning, "it is about the only thing worth seeing here." "what is, jack?" "the wizard." mr. mole looked very straight at his pupil upon this. "what wizard, sir?" he said, severely. "what do you mean?" "i mean the conjuror that mr. jefferson, and dad, and uncle dick went to see." "when?" "the other day. didn't they tell you about it?" "no, sir." when mr. mole addressed his pupil as "sir," young jack knew pretty well that he thought he was being humbugged. there is an old saying--"jack was as good as his master." putting on a look of injured innocence, he called his comrade harry to corroborate what he had said. "that's quite true, mr. mole." "that mr. jefferson went with mr. harkaway and harvey to see a necromancer?" "yes." "preposterous!" quoth mr. mole. "why, whatever is the world coming to next? we shall have them spirit-rapping and table-turning and such-like muck, i suppose." jack looked serious. "then you don't believe in necromancy--that they can tell the past and the future by the aid of astrology?" "pickles!" it would have astonished messieurs crosse and blackwell themselves, could they have heard what a deal that one word could convey when uttered by an isaac mole. "well, sir," said harry girdwood, seriously, "the wizard told us some very remarkable things indeed." "what did he tell you?" "many things, many very wonderful things; but one of the most wonderful was about you, sir." mr. mole started. "don't you try to come the old soldier over me," said mole. harry girdwood protested that he held mr. mole in far too much respect to essay any thing like coming the ancient military, or indeed anything else which might be construed into want of proper feeling. mr. mole looked hard at him. "and what did he say about me?" "he said that all the intelligence of our party was centred in one person." "well?" "and that the initials of the person in question were i. m." "now, jack." "sir." "you two boys are conspiring against me." "you are rather hard upon us, sir," said harry girdwood, with an injured look. "was i? dear me, i didn't mean that," said poor mole. "but i'll go and see this wizard, as you call him." "it might startle you, sir." "stuff and nonsense, harry; my nerves are iron--iron, i tell you." "they had need be of steel, if you really mean to go." "i'll go, and you shall go with me, harry," said mr. mole; "and i'll unmask this wretched impostor before you." and down came his clenched fist upon the table, with a fierceness and energy which made all the things leap up. * * * * * the chamber of mystery was arranged with a keen eye to effect. the present possessors of the place had preserved all the adjuncts which had looked so effective during the career of the necromancer, who had fled ignominiously. a huge stuffed alligator swung from the ceiling, and the lighting of the room was effected by means of two or three swinging lamps, that burnt dimly blue, and made the place look sepulchral enough to satisfy the most morbid cravings for the horrible. at the further end of the room was a "charmed circle," drawn with chalk, and set around it was a row of hideous grinning skulls, which suggested that a hint had been borrowed from zamiel, in "der freyschutz." besides these matters, there were several skeletons stuck up in the most alarming attitudes. beside the chair was a large oval frame. upon the other side of the necromancer's chair was a heavy curtain, or _portière_ of cloth, covered with fantastic figures, and this was drawn aside a minute or so after mr. mole and harry girdwood appeared. then, through the dark aperture thus disclosed, the wizard hobbled in. not the wizard that we have seen before, but a little old man bent half double with age, and of whom little was to be seen save a long white beard and an appropriate robe. he leant heavily upon a staff, and sank into his chair with evident pain and difficulty. "what would ye with me?" said the necromancer, in feeble, querulous tones. "if ye have come to scoff again, begone ere i summon an evil spirit to blight ye." mr. mole said nothing. but when harry girdwood placed his hand nervously upon the old gentleman's arm, as if for protection, he felt that he was trembling slightly. "he knows that we are english, you see," whispered harry. "ye-es--ahem!--ye-es." "do you hear me?" said the wizard. "ye-es, oh, yes, sir," said mr. mole, who could not, for the life of him, get his voice above a whisper. "then answer." "by all means! decidedly--quite so, i assure you." "what? beware! do you mean to doubt and mock?" "oh, dear; yes." "hah!" "that is, no. i really don't know what i am saying." "silence, or the fiends will have your ber-lud ber-lud--do you hear me?" shrieked the old wizard. "quite so. dear, dear me, harry," said mr. mole in an undertone, "what a very remarkable person, and i don't want to lose my ber-lud." "what do you say now, sir? do you feel sure that he is a humbug?" "of course not, but--" at this juncture their conversation was cut short by a low, rumbling noise, that sounded like distant thunder. as it continued, it increased in strength, until it became absolutely deafening. then suddenly upon a sign from the necromancer, it ceased, and the man of mystery arose and pointed menacingly with his wand at mole. "ye have thought well to neglect my warning," he said, in a voice which thrilled poor mole strangely; "the secrets of your inmost heart are known to me as to my familiar, and the penalty must be enacted." mole bounced up. "goodness me!" harry girdwood laid a trembling hand upon the unhappy old gentleman, and played the part of job's comforter once again with considerable effect. "we are lost." "don't, harry, don't! pray consider mrs. mole and the two babes." "try and melt him with a very humble apology." "i will, i do!" exclaimed mr. mole in great excitement. "i really did not mean it, mr. conjuror; 'pon my soul, i did not; and pray do not let your vampires take my her-lud." "enough," said the wizard, sternly; "for once your ignorance shall excuse you. now say what you would have with me and begone." "i think i should like to go," mole whispered to harry, "what for?" "we have been a long while here," said mr. mole in the same tone; "mrs. m, will be looking for me." "perhaps you don't feel quite comfortable here." "comfortable," said mr. mole with a sickly smile; "oh, dear me, yes, i never was jollier." "a little nervous perhaps, sir." "my dear boy," said mole, positively, "i have nerves of iron, literally iron. ha! what noise is that?" "only the magician's evil spirit, or his familiar, as he calls it." "strange," said mole; "but sheer humbug of course." "humbug?" "hush!" exclaimed mr. mole, very anxiously. bang went that deafening thunder again, and mr. mole hopped towards the door. harry girdwood followed him closely up. "you are uncomfortable, mr. mole." "not at all; nerves of adamant, harry." the latter laughed. never was there such an audacious humbug as isaac mole. "you see that frame, sir, beside the wizard's chair?" said girdwood. "yes," replied mr. mole; "what of it?" "he showed us some marvels there last time." "what is it?" "a magic mirror." "you must have been thoroughly well cheated; now, what could he have shown you there?" "wonders," replied harry impressively; "you, amongst other marvels." "me?" "yes." "what do you mean?" "i mean, sir, that you appeared before us as plainly as i see you now." mr. mole certainly looked serious at this. "he can show you anyone you may want to see," said harry. "never!" "try him." "i will," said mr. mole, with a show of determination, but shaking all over. "now, o sceptic, what proof of my lore would ye have? would ye know something of yourself?" "no." "yes," said harry girdwood for him promptly. the wizard inclined his head gravely, and opened a large volume before him upon the table. after poring over this for a time, he said the following doggrel in a deep bass voice-- "the doom of mole is understood, for ever more to walk on wood; though upon macadam or stone yet he shall walk on wood alone. "let him march out on asphalte--tile, in orange groves his thoughts beguile; where'er he be, the fate of mole's to scud through life upon bare poles" this peculiar incantation had its effect somewhat increased by soft music. "ahem!" said mr. mole, "it didn't want a wizard to tell me that." "what, sir?" demanded harry, innocently. "about my wooden legs; my infirmity is visible to every body." "but how could he know?" "by looking." "still sceptical," said the wizard, who had very sharp ears; "shall i consult my book again?" "no, no," said mr. mole, uneasily. but harry girdwood said "yes." he did not want to end the scene yet. "what would you?" demanded the magician sternly. harry commenced to whisper to mr. mole. "come, sir, pluck up your courage, and find out something about yourself. you know the past--why not ask him about the future?" "he might be rude enough to say something unpleasant, harry. however, i'll try him." then, with a very polite bow, mr. mole asked-- "can you tell me, mr. magician, what my ultimate fate is?" the necromancer took two steps forward and seized mr. mole's hand. "i find that the line of life is tinged with the hue of blood," said he, in solemn tones, after a lengthened inspection of the palm. "dear me, how unpleasant--i washed my hands not long ago." "man! do you think you can wash away the decrees of fate or sponge out the solemn words written by the stars? you are an englishman?" "certainly." "already six englishman have sought me, and each of the six died a terrible death. what says the book?-- "a terrible death on this green earth, with never the slightest chance of heaven; let him curse the day--the hour of his birth, the english victim numbered seven." "and you are _number seven,_ mr. mole. may all the powers of heaven and earth preserve me from such a terrible doom as yours." mr. mole almost fainted when the magician uttered such fearful words respecting his (mole's) fate. harry girdwood, however, handed him a rum flask, and a good pull at that restored his nerves. "pooh!" said he, "i don't believe a word he uttered." "still sceptical?" said the magician. "but to convince you of my power, i will show you any thing you like in my magic mirror." "very well, then, i should like to see harkaway and harvey at this present moment--just to ascertain what they are doing--that will be a test." he chuckled as he said this. but as he spoke the magic mirror grew light, and two figures were seen, set, as it were, in a frame. jack harkaway the elder, was seated in an arm-chair reading; beside him stood his constant companion, dick harvey. the latter's figure was the more remarkable of the two, and the attitude was not merely characteristic, but it was startlingly like life. one hand was in his pocket; the other was at his face, the thumb pointing at his nose, the fingers outstretched towards the audience. "what do you think of that?" asked harry girdwood, in low tones. "marvellous!" cried mole; "that is harkaway and harvey, sure enough. harvey has got something the matter with his nose." "no," whispered harry, "he's taking a sight at you." "so he is. just like harvey. harvey!" he called out. the mirror darkened, and the figures faded away from the sight upon the instant. "do you desire still another proof of my skill?" asked the wizard. "well you can, if you like, tell me something more about myself; but don't put yourself to any trouble." the wizard leant over his book earnestly for a consider able time. "i see here," said he, "that you have contrived to keep one important matter secret from your friends." "what?" "the hairs of your head are numbered," continued the wizard. mr. mole changed colour. "how--what?" "by the barber; you wear a wig." "oh, no--no!" exclaimed harry girdwood, positively, "you are wrong there, sir, i assure you. is he not, mr. mole?" "of course he is." "will you see for yourself, unbelieving boy?" "yes," said harry. "where--say, where shall my familiar take it?" "up to the ceiling." mr. mole groaned. at the self-same instant out went the lights; a heavy hand was placed upon mr. mole's head, and hey, presto! his wig was seen dancing about at the ceiling, glittering with a phosphorescent light upon it. mr. mole looked up, gave one awful yell, then made for the door, and flew away as fast as his wooden legs would carry him. and his yells continued, for all along his route young jack had sprinkled a plentiful supply of crackers, which exploded as he ran. an unearthly chorus, sounding like the discordant laughter of invisible fiends greeted his retreat, and he never stopped until he had got home, panting and gasping for breath. as soon as he was out of the room harry girdwood locked the door. "come forth, my merry devils!" he shouted. "old mole's gone." the curtain was drawn back, and in came dick harvey and jack harkaway, carrying lights. the wizard threw back his head dress and long horsehair wig, and showed the grinning face of young jack himself. "bravo, jack," said his comrade, harry; "you did it ever so much better than the other conjuror did." "was he frightened?" inquired young jack. "poor old mole! i never saw him so alarmed before." harvey and old jack enjoyed the fun every bit as much as the boys. "my opinion is," said the elder harkaway, laughing, "that the triumph of the whole job was in the dancing wig." "it was beautifully done," said harvey. "i nearly missed it," said harry girdwood laughing, "for you put out the lights so suddenly that i couldn't find the string, and then i nearly dug the hook into his head as well as his wig; and as for the phosphorus, i gave him a dab with it upon the nose." "ha, ha, ha!" every thing had been carefully arranged beforehand, it need hardly be said, and a cord, with a fish-hook at the end of it, was run over a small wheel fixed in the ceiling. harry held the other end of the cord, and as soon as the darkness and confusion came, he drove the hook into poor old mole's wig, while he rubbed it dexterously with phosphorus, and then with a jerk he hauled it up to the ceiling, where he set it dancing about, to the indescribable horror of mole. chapter xii. wherein mr. mole is cruelly used--the garden fete--sunday and monday give an entertainment--another look into the magic mirror--studies of natural history--an involuntary performer. when isaac mole had time to reflect coolly upon what had occurred, doubts arose in his mind. in spite of the seemingly inexplicable nature of the phenomena which he had witnessed, he felt that harkaway, father or son, must know something of it. dick harvey, he was morally sure, was in it. if any thing fell, harkaway would start up, on which harvey or young jack would immediately inquire anxiously if he were startled, solely for the purpose of leading up to mole's words at the wizard's house. "startled--nervous! never; iron nerves, sir--adamant!" upon these occasions, mr. mole would glide away from harkaway's room without a word, leaving his tormentors to have their grin out all to themselves. all they could do they could not make him drop a word of allusion to the events just narrated. on that topic he was utterly dumb. day and night the worthy isaac mole brooded over one solitary topic. revenge. "i'll teach 'em," he said; "i'll let them know what it is to play practical jokes with a man like me." the last straw breaks the camel's back. the last indignity on his wig proved too much for isaac mole, for he had until that fatal day at the magician's, been fondly hugging himself in the delusion that the secret was all his own. the talk was tortured and twisted about so as to make it bear upon the sorest subject for the poor old gentleman. "dash my wig, mr. mole!" harvey would say; "let's take a short country excursion. you know the advantages of change of _hair."_ if a suggestion were wanting for the dinner of the day, a voice was ready to advocate "jugged hare." "that's very well," said harkaway, "but where can you get one in these parts?" "that's it," chimed in harvey; "as mrs. glasse says, first catch your _hair,_ eh, mr. mole?" mole winced. "it's not always easy to catch it, is it, mr. mole?" said harry girdwood, slyly. "not if it flies too high," said young jack. this chaff goaded poor old mole to fury, coming as it did from the boys. "really," he said, with a lofty sneer, "i don't see what you have to laugh at in the idle nonsense of these children." this made them grin more than ever. "the wit of the rising generation," sneered mole. "mr. mole would like the young generation never to rise, i think," said harry girdwood. "that's it," laughed harkaway; "mr. mole was always so conservative in his ideas." "let me see, dad," said young jack, looking puzzled; "conservative, why, that means a tory." "yes." "but, mr. mole, i thought that you always were a whig." such a storm of laughter greeted this sally, that mr. mole could not stand up against it. looking daggers at every body, he trudged out of the room, digging his walking stick fiercely as he went. now at the door, who should he meet but sunday, grinning from ear to ear? "i'm not going to be fooled by you, you infernal black pudding," cried mole, exasperated beyond measure. "yah, yah," grinned the mirthful caesar augustus, holding his sides. "take that," cried mole. sunday did take it. it was not a pleasant dose, for "that," in this instance, meant a severe crack across the head with old mole's walking stick. sunday rubbed his poll. happily the thick wool with which it was garnished saved the skull from much danger, and a nigger's head is proverbially tough. but yet sunday did not relish the indignity. "you dam wooden-legged ole tief," he shouted out; "i'll gib it to yar for dis hyar." and so, full of revengeful thoughts, the darkey sought his friend monday. and they set to work plotting, with what result the next day showed--much to the old gentleman's disgust. * * * * * they mustered a good round dinner-party upon the following day. in front of the summer house was an object which excited mr. mole's curiosity considerably. one of the ladies asked what it was there for. "i don't know exactly what it is," replied harkaway; "something of monday's, i think, dick." "i believe so," replied harvey, carelessly. "they are going to give us an entertainment of some kind," said young jack. the cloth having been cleared, monday came forward, and bowing gravely, addressed the company. "ladies and gentlemen--" "hear, hear!" from mole, who, thinking himself free from attack, determined to try a bit of chaff upon his own account. "thank you, sar," said monday, bowing gracefully to mole. "ladies and gentlemen--" "bravo, bravo!" shouted mole; "exceedingly bravo." "folks generally--sane and insane"--here he bowed in a very marked manner at mr. mole. "hear, hear!" cried dick. "my entertainment is just a-gwine to begin, and as it is of a scientific natur dat asks for all your attention, i must ax them to go at once who don't wish to stay and see it all through, so as not to interrupt me." "no one wishes to go." the most eager person to remain was mr. mole. poor old mole. monday went on-- "the first that i'se gwine to show you, ladies and gentlemen, is some speciminks of what is known as the occult art, that is, the black art, or magic." mole winced. "go on." "hear, hear!" said dick. "bravo, monday," from jack harkaway. mole was silent. he had not another "bravo" in him, so to speak. monday bowed in acknowledgment of the plaudits. "in the first place, den, ladies and gentlemen," he went on to say, "i mean to show you my magic mirror." mole glanced nervously at dick, and from him to jack harkaway. but both looked as stolid as dutchmen. monday drew back the curtain from the easel, disclosing a frame, on which was fitted a plain black board. "in this frame," said the professor of the black art, "i can show you any persons you may ask for, dat is, persons who are known to you." mr. mole had heard enough to convince him that he was in danger of being once more sacrificed to the insatiable passion of his two old pupils for chaffing and practical joking. "well, sar," said monday, "just you try um." "we will," said dick. "well, then, sar, who shall be the first person i must bring before you?" no reply. "well, mr. mole, name somebody," said monday, in his most insinuating manner. mole's only reply was a dissenting growl. "no." "will you, mr. harkaway, sar?" he said. "well, i will if you like--suppose that we call upon your friend, sunday?" "very good, sar." and then he set to work. a walking stick served him as a wand, and this he waved three times slowly and majestically, while he repeated in solemn tones this singular legend-- "hokus-pokus, popalorum, stickstun, stickstun, cockalorum jig." thereupon the curtain went back, and lo! sunday appeared sitting upon a throne of state, robed in a long crimson mantle, which made him look like an emperor. it was a most dignified tableau, or it would have been, but for the long clay pipe the darkey held in his mouth and the pewter pot he carried in his hand. "ladies and gemmen," said monday, "dat is our ole friend, dressed as de empyroar charleymane." "bravo, bravo!" even mr. mole laughed. the curtain closed over this dignified and historical representation. "now," said dick harvey, "let us see some of our live stock." "yes, yes," said young jack; "show us nero." "and mike." monday bowed. then back went the curtain, and there sat nero, the monkey, on the throne just vacated by the emperor "charleymane," and at his feet stood the bold poodle mike wagging his tail. nero appeared to understand what was required of him, and he sat motionless as a statue for a while, but before long the peculiar nervous irritation to which monkeys appear to be subject attacked him, and he began a series of spasmodic researches in natural history all over his ribs. "nero's making up for lost time," said young jack; "look how he is getting to work." nero was indeed scratching away furiously. "there's diligence," laughed young jack; "now he's busy." and then he broke off into the following appropriate snatch-- "he'll catch the flee--he'll catch the flee-- he'll catch the fleeting hour." down went the curtain. there was a general laugh at this. "when we asked you to show us the live stock," said dick harvey, "you took us too literally, monday." "yah, yah!" "you must learn to draw the line somewhere." monday here rapped the ground with his wand to secure attention. silence having been gained, he addressed them thus-- "before we leave dis part of de entertainment," he said, "i conclude de exhibition of one more animal. for reasons dat i need not mention, i shall leave you to guess at de name of dis animal. it is a small animal dat lives on wums." "wums?" "yes." "what are they?" "on wums, scriggley wums and insects, and burrows in the earth." "why, dear me," said young jack, innocently, "that must be a mole." before a word could be said, back went the curtain, and nero was discovered walking upon a pair of wooden stilts. he staggered about like a man in liquor, and made everyone yell again at the quaint manner in which he had hit off mr. mole's movements. "whatever has he got on his head?" said someone. mole shivered. he guessed. guessed; alas, he was but too sure. nero put all his doubts at rest by making a graceful bow and removing his wig instead of a hat. the wig! yea; the identical wig which mr. mole had left behind him in his precipitate flight from the conjuror's. this was too much. losing his dignity completely, mr. mole jumped up and burst through the group of spectators, dashing out of the place in a perfect fury, young jack's voice ringing in his ears as he shouted-- "a wig! a wig! my kingdom for a wig!" chapter xiii. the brigands' camp--a mountain bivouac--an alarm--the soldiers--a challenge--the brigands' widow--fatal news. we change the scene. and now we find ourselves in a mountain pass, where a number of rough-looking men are grouped about a camp fire. a short distance from this group stands a tall man, leaning moodily upon the muzzle of his musket, while he watches the zig-zag paths up the mountain side. upon this man one can see the whole safety of the party depends. he is on sentry. a prolonged silence was suddenly broken by the sentinel looking up and grasping his musket nervously, while he turned a warning gesture to the camp. "what is it?" exclaimed one of the party, jumping up. "hush!" the sentry turned with his finger on his lips, and motioned him to silence. at a sign from one of the men--evidently a superior--the whole party sprang to their feet. a hurried examination of their musket-locks and arms generally showed that they expected danger, and only waited a word from the sentinel to be "up and doing." the leader stepped up to the sentry, drawn sword in hand. "what is it?" "the patrol." "soldiers?" the sentry nodded. "the carbonari?" "yes." the leader grasped his sword nervously, and made a step forward as though he would have dashed through the ravine and charge the military alone and unaided. but if such were his intentions, he speedily altered his mind. "perish them!" he muttered; "and curse their spying!" "we could pick them all off from here," said one of the men--a huge, burly fellow, who had climbed up to a projecting rock commanding an extensive view. "all down to the last man." and as he spoke, he brought his gun up to his shoulder with an ominous gesture. "hold, toro!" ejaculated an english voice. "your hasty imprudence will spoil us." "bah!" said toro, replying in the same tongue. "you are over prudent, hunston. why should we not destroy them while they are in our power?" "what if one escapes?" "one should not," retorted the italian savagely; "no, nor half a one." "and where is the good if we succeeded, as you say?" "good!" reiterated toro, passionately. "are they not our sworn foes? are they not here in pursuit of us? good!--why, will it not lessen the number of our enemies by their number at least?" "yes, perhaps," replied hunston. "and if successful, it would so thoroughly alarm the country, that it would cause a whole army to be sent after us, and make the end a mere question of time. let one escape to tell the tale and it would bring them down to this spot, our safest place in the mountains, and hitherto undiscovered by our enemies." toro grumbled. yet there was so much truth in what hunston said that he could urge nothing further in favour of violent measures. the sentry, who was still on the watch at the fissure in the rocks, here turned round and motioned them to silence. "not so loud," he exclaimed, in a whisper; "they can hear something; they are looking our way." "hah!" in fact, the military were so near, that they could be heard plainly enough giving their words of command. "halt! ground arms!" the rattle of their rifles was heard distinctly. the officer then could be seen taking observations through a short telescope which he carried suspended by a strap to his side. he glanced all about the place and fixed for some little time upon the fissures and rocky passes, resting longer below the very one at which the sentry was posted than elsewhere. but although it would seem to have aroused his suspicions, it was evident that he could see nothing, for, after a few minutes, he lowered his glass and shut it up. the reason of this was, that where the sentry stood was completely shadowed by the overhanging rocks, so that he was invisible to them, although they could be distinctly seen by the sentry. the scrutiny appeared to satisfy the officer. "shoulder arms! left wheel! march!" the measured tramp of the soldiers was distinctly heard. fainter and fainter it grew until it died away. the sentry watched them in silence for several minutes before he spoke. presently he turned round to his comrades and nodded. "safe," he said. "they have turned by the crossroads; the last man is out of sight." "that's prime," said our old friend tomaso. "then now to dinner." the sentry was not lost sight of--indeed, he was not the man to allow himself to be forgotten, for before the meal had been long in progress he reminded them that he had such a thing as an appetite about him by a very rough address. "gluttons," he said to the party generally, "do you think only of yourselves? am i to mount guard for ever?" they only laughed at this. "right, ymeniz," said toro; "turn and turn about is but fair. matteo." "present," returned one of the men, jumping up and saluting with a stiff military action, which told that he had once served in the army. "relieve guard, and let ymeniz take your place here." matteo picked up his musket and marched up to the rocky pass, while the late sentry joined the feast. now while the guard was changed, without any particular demonstration of reluctance upon the part of the new sentry himself, tomaso made a very wry face. "our comrade toro gives his commands as naturally as though he were our leader." toro flushed up at this. "and why not?" he said, almost fiercely. "why not?" echoed tomaso, with a sneer. "oh, i could give several reasons." "give them." "nay, one will suffice." "well." "our only chieftain is the gallant mathias." "and he is in prison." "true; but that doesn't prove you to be our leader while poor mathias is in the hands of the philistines." "bah!" replied toro, impatiently. "someone must command while mathias is away." "then there are others who should command here in his absence in preference to those who are new comers." "who are they?" "you haven't far to look," returned tomaso, drawing himself up haughtily; "myself, for instance." toro burst into a loud and derisive laugh. "you?" he said, contemptuously. "yes, i." "why, i have led a band of gallant fellows years ago--a band of thrice our strength; aye, and what is more, i have led them to victory again and again--to victory and fortune." "your lucky star has not been in the ascendant since you have deigned to honour us with your company," said tomaso. the covert sneer conveyed in this speech made the peppery italian fire up. "what do you mean by that?" he demanded, fiercely. "i mean that your gallant followers must have missed so distinguished a leader; pity you could not return to lead them to fresh triumphs, greatly as we should deplore your loss." toro boiled over at this. "do you want to fix a quarrel on me?" he asked, in a voice of suppressed passion. "no," replied tomaso, insolently. "when i want to quarrel, i go straight to my point; i don't beat about the bush. i only want to remind you of your proper place here so fall back, signor italiano, and learn to be more respectful in your bearing." stung to the quick by this, toro plucked out his sword, and would have rushed upon the other, had not several of the men interposed. "come, come," they said, "none of that. we have plenty of enemies; we can cut their throats, not our own, when we want to spill blood." "besides," said an old man, "it is profitless quarrelling about the leadership--we have a leader. poor mathias!" "right," echoed several voices together, "right. sit down; no quarrelling." "here," exclaimed an old brigand, "let us drink to mathias." "and his speedy return," added another. "aye, aye, his speedy release." horn goblets were handed round and filled with ruddy wine from a skin, which the old brigand himself produced from his own mysterious larder. "to mathias!" "to mathias!" a ringing cheer was heard, and the goblets were drained to the very dregs. * * * * * "who goes there?" "a friend." "the word." "mathias." "advance, friend, and give the countersign." this challenge was replied to, and a woman appeared at the narrow entrance to the mountain pass. slowly she walked through, her head drooping and her eyes fixed upon the ground. they recognised her now. it was the wife of their chieftain, the bold mathias. "i scarcely knew you," said the sentry, apologetically. she looked up and smiled in a strangely vacant manner. the other said nothing. her manner impressed them with ugly feelings. instinctively they felt that some fresh calamity had happened to them. in fear and trembling they anticipated the evil tidings which she brought, although, of course, they could not guess at its exact nature. "did you succeed!" demanded the old man. she nodded gravely. "you saw mathias?" "yes." her answer was given in the same vacant manner, and staring fixedly into the very midst of them, she appeared to see nothing. "did you tell our brave captain how eagerly we look forward to his release--how anxiously we long for the moment when he shall be again here amongst us--at our head?" it was the old brigand who spoke. she gave him a strange look, from which they could gather absolutely nothing, and her eyes dropped again to the ground. the heavy, unpleasant feeling deepened. scarcely one of them had the courage to address her again. an oppressive silence fell upon them all. they looked at each other in silent, awkward expectation, all, bold desperadoes as they were, cowed into silence by her manner. "you succeeded in seeing him?" said hunston. "yes," she said, quietly. "and you bade him be of good heart?--you told him that we were making a plan in his behalf--a plan which could not fail of success? you said--" the woman looked up. "nothing!" "what!" "nothing," she slowly repeated, "nothing. i saw him, but it was too late to speak those words of comfort." "too late?" iterated hunston, eagerly, "too late?" "ah, too late for words of comfort, for menaces, or for any thing." "surely you do not mean--" he could not complete the sentence, but she helped him out-- "i do," she said, in a hollow voice, and nodding her head gravely, "i do mean that he, mathias, the brigand chief is dead!" the brigands, one and all, leaped to their feet, snatching up their carbines, while from their throats issued a deep cry of revenge. dead! the word thrilled them one and all with horror. the bold mathias dead! prepared as they had been by her manner for some dire calamity, it came upon them like a thunderclap. the awful calm manner of the chieftain's widow impressed them more than if she had thrown up her hands in wild despair and given way to the noisiest demonstrations of woe. after some few minutes, one ventured to break the awesome silence. "how did he die?" the brigand's wife turned from her questioner with a shudder. "ask me nothing yet. i am not able to speak of that at present; give me time to conquer this weakness." "if i ask, it is that i may seek vengeance upon his destroyer," said tomaso, the speaker. her eyes sparkled, and the colour rushed into her pale cheek at the word. "vengeance--aye, vengeance. well spoken, my bold tomaso; vengeance is something to live for, after all; vengeance we'll have too. we'll glut ourselves with it; a feast of vengeance we'll have." "we will, we will!" shouted the brigands, as though with one single voice. "these english and these americans shall die." "they shall!" "we'll exterminate them, root and branch." "aye, aye." "firstly, these harkaways shall fall, then--" "they die." "does mathias owe his death to harkaway's band?" demanded hunston. "was not this harkaway the prime mover in all our disasters?" "curse him!" "aye, curse him!" toro here stepped forward in the centre of the circle which the brigands had formed. "if harkaway is to be dealt with," he said, "i will undertake to lead you to triumph within three days." cheers greeted this speech until tomaso stepped forward. "if we want a leader," said he, "we can elect one; we are not in need of any man to elect himself." "stand back," said toro angrily. "fall back yourself," retorted tomaso, "and obey your superior." "my superior? ha, ha! he does not live here," ejaculated toro fiercely. the old brigand here once more stepped between the disputants and interfered. "why quarrel over a dead man's shoes while his widow is still in sight?" tomaso fell back at the rebuke, but toro, less thin-skinned, stuck boldly to his text. "if i offer to lead you against the enemy," he said, "it is solely for our interest generally, not for mine alone." "oho!" "aye, and i can prove it." "do so." "i will." "hear him," said tomaso derisively: "hear our general benefactor speak up for us all." toro turned upon the speaker savagely. "i can speak to you presently," he said significantly, tapping his sword hilt. "you'll find me ready to answer you in any way," retorted tomaso boldly, also tapping his sword. "i doubt not; meanwhile, i offer myself as the leader, for several reasons: firstly, i know these harkaways well, and am more fit to cope with them than those who have never met them." tomaso laughed. "i doubt that," he said; "why, by your own showing, you have never gained any signal successes with them." "no, but i start where you would have to begin; i am armed by experience, which you lack." "true, true," exclaimed several of the brigands. "that sounds fairly enough," replied tomaso, "but you have ever met with such signal discomfiture that i, for one, should have small confidence in your leadership. i don't speak to uphold myself; let any other leader be chosen--let one of ourselves to wit, not an italian, or any other foreigner. why should not a greek lead greeks?" "hurrah!" a general cheer greeted this speech. "tomaso! tomaso!" they cried; "tomaso for leader!" toro's face flushed blood red. "hearken to me," he exclaimed, in a voice now hoarse with passion; "mathias was a great leader, and i felt it no shame to serve under him, but i have been in command of as bold and brave a band as this, one far stronger in point of numbers, and if i am not elected for the command i shall withdraw altogether. have me or not, you have the choice; only this is my determination; i will accept orders from no man here." "go, then," said tomaso; "leave us. you came unbidden, and you may depart when you please." a general silence succeeded this speech. toro's aid was not to be despised. his huge body and his muscular arm had gained him the consideration of most of those lawless men, who literally revered brute strength. "wait, wait," said a brigand, stepping forward. "let us not be too hasty. some are for toro, and some are for tomaso." "well?" "say on." "let us put it to the vote, and let each of the disputants pledge himself to abide by the decision." "good." "what says toro?" "agreed." "and so am i," returned tomaso, promptly. "hands up, then, for toro." half the hands were uplifted and counted over. "now for tomaso." up went the hands of the other side, and when they came to tell them off, it was discovered that the brigands were equally divided in their choice. "we cannot have two leaders," said the brigand ymeniz. "no, no." "then we must have neither, as the matter stands." "unless one gives way." "no," ejaculated the italian, fiercely, "unless tomaso likes to decide by the sword which of us shall have the lead." "i'm agreed to that," retorted tomaso, promptly. "let us fight for it, and may the best man win." "agreed." "hurrah, hurrah!" a ring was formed, and preparations made for the deadly encounter. as they were not agreed about the choice of weapons, a coin was thrown up, and toro won. tomaso would have chosen pistols, for he was an excellent shot, and it gave him the superiority; whereas, although not altogether unskilled in fence, toro's superior weight and size gave him a great advantage with the sword. however, there was nothing for it now but to fight. the combatants stripped to the waist, and each received his weapon from his second. they were long, heavy swords, cut and thrust, like the heavy cavalry carry, and with these there could be but one result. death! there were no half measures with these weapons. "now, then," exclaimed the italian, impatiently, "why this dallying? on guard." "i am ready," cried tomaso, gripping his sword firmly. the swords met with a clash which sent forth a shower of sparks, and both men recoiled with the force of the shock. recovering themselves quickly, however, they went to work in real savage style, and chopped away at each other with vicious earnestness. now tomaso, it was clear, could not hold his own in a battle wherein mere brute force was to have the best of it, and feeling himself at a disadvantage in this respect, he dodged about his adversary as nimbly as harlequin himself. being very quick-sighted, he saw what sort of a blow was coming ere it was fairly dealt, and so he shaped his defence. if it was a desperate stroke, he jumped out of its reach. if a light one, he turned it off upon the edge of his own weapon. in this way he worked upon toro to such an extent that the italian's temper got the mastery of him. tomaso was attacking him so closely that the italian looked like losing the battle. toro was bleeding from a dozen small flesh wounds. tomaso was, up to this moment, almost unscathed. presently he grew over bold, and incautiously trusting himself within reach, toro lunged so sharply out that it was only by the merest shave he escaped being spitted on the italian's long sword like a lark on a skewer. as it was the sword pierced the waistband of his nether garments. tomaso stumbled, and so nearly lost his balance that it took him all his time to parry the next stroke, which was put in with equal smartness and vigour. one blow, that might have brought down an elephant, sent tomaso on to his knees. the same stroke made a notch in the greek's weapon half an inch deep. had he caught the blow upon the flat of his sword, it would have been shivered to atoms beyond all doubt. toro saw his chance. nor was he at all slow to avail himself of it. quick as thought, another blow fell, and out of his grasp flew the greek's blade. he lay prostrate at the mercy of his adversary. "beg your life," cried toro, planting his heavy foot firmly upon his adversary's chest. "never," "then die!" he raised his sword. but he paused. was it the action of a brave man to take the life of a defenceless foe? well, it was not the thought of such romantic notions which troubled toro; it was simply because there were spectators. these spectators, he knew, would judge it harshly. he thirsted for tomaso's blood. yet he dared not indulge in his brutal passion. therefore, making a virtue of the necessity, he lowered his sword, and spurning his beaten adversary with his foot, bade him rise. "then take your life unasked," he said coarsely, "and in future learn to know and to respect your superiors." toro's speech was received with cheers by the brigands. chapter xiv. the new captain--hunston's trouble--the arm and its legend--how emmerson's vengeance works stealthily on. "what do you say, men, now?" demanded the huge italian, as he wiped his sword. "huzza for toro!" "have i fairly earned my right to take the lead here?" "yes, yes." "i want you to be unanimous," he persisted. "we are." toro fixed his eyes upon one or two of the disappointed supporters of tomaso, who had not uttered a word since the discomfiture of their champion, and said to them especially-- "if any of you object to me as a leader, let them come forward now and speak up." there were one or two murmuring voices. "look," cried the giant toro, "men all, if any here still denies my power, let them step forward, and this sword shall prove my right." this was final. after the manner in which toro had just dealt with their friend tomaso, they were not encouraged to provoke a quarrel. and so, by his daring audacity and brute strength, toro the italian raised himself to the leadership of the greek brigands. none dared to dispute his sway from that moment. some had a difficulty to swallow the bitter pill, but the alternative was so very unpleasant that they got over it. * * * * * and harkaway's enemy hunston? why has he fallen so into the background of late? his sole thoughts have been engrossed by the fearful sufferings to which he is subject. that dreadful arm--the legacy of vengeance of the murdered emmerson. where the evil was it baffled all his skill to discover. slowly yet surely this horrible piece of mechanism was eating away its wearer's life. "it seems almost as though some subtle poison were slowly injected into my body through this arm," thought hunston, "and yet i can not work without it." never was vengeance more terrible than that of the dead robert emmerson. the wonder was that hunston lived through it. his constitution must have been of iron. the arm was removed, but only with infinite trouble and suffering; and then, after some considerable time, hunston began to experience a faint sense of relief. the sufferings slowly diminished. this convinced hunston that he had been correct in supposing that the poison was concealed in the mechanical arm. he laid bare as much of it as he could without permanently damaging it, and pored over it for hours at a stretch. to what good? none. now this limb was the work of no common artificer. it was the work of a hand of rare cunning. a master spirit had invented it, and its mystery was far too deep to be penetrated by a common bungler. hunston was at last so tortured that, disguising himself, he one day left the mountains, and sought the advice of a surgeon. "the man who planned this arm," said the surgeon to whom hunston submitted it for examination, "must have devoted a lifetime to the manufacture and perfecting of this mechanical limb." hunston smiled. he knew too well how little time the wretched man emmerson gave to any thing like industrial pursuits. "what is this?" asked this same surgeon, pointing to the flat of the arm, where the engraved legend was almost obscured with a dark stain. hunston changed colour and fidgeted about. "i don't know." "there is something written." "yes, yes, so i believe, but it is obscured by that stain--a stain--" he peered closer into the arm yet, and looked serious, as turning to hunston, he said-- "why, it is a blood-stain." "no, no!" replied hunston, hurriedly; "impossible. it can not be." "impossible or not," said the surgeon, "blood it is, and nothing but blood. yet i see that, in spite of this stain, the reading is clear enough." "scarcely," said hunston. "it is, though, and it is in english, i should say, too." "yes." "can't you read it?" "no." "strange. yet you are english." "yes." "well, i have some english friends here to whom i will show it, and--" hunston broke in impatiently at this. "english here!" he exclaimed. "where do they live?" "at the villa--" "what, the harkaway family, do you mean?" "yes." "and you would take it there?" "why not? mr. harkaway is a clever man. he is surrounded also by clever people; there is a curious old gentleman there, too, an old gentleman of great learning, and he might be enabled to throw some light upon the secret, which even the closest scrutiny can not penetrate." hunston listened to the end, but not without having to exercise a certain amount of self-control. "how is this old gentleman called--this clever, learned old gentleman?" "you seem to say that with a sneer, sir," said the surgeon; "but you may rely upon it he is a very great _savant_--a man of great accomplishments--and a warrior who has--" "who has lost two legs!" "yes. you know him?" "slightly; his name is mole." "it is." "and you would take my arm to these people for them to stare and gape at. no, sir; i am foolish enough to seek to conceal my affliction from the world, and by the aid of this wonderful arm i have been hitherto successful." the doctor bowed. "so i beg you will keep my secret." "rely upon it." hunston showed all his old cunning in this speech. yet all his inquiries, all his researches, availed him nothing. the work of the dead robert emmerson remained as before, an inscrutable mystery. it remained the silent executor of its creator's vengeance. slowly, yet surely fulfilling the blood-stained legend on the steel arm. chapter xv. hunston again at work-the dancing garden--marietta and her gossip-great news--the arrest--what charge?--murder. hunston's infirmity had told in many ways. he had sunk to be a mere nonentity in the band. now he was but too pleased to be left at peace when in his great suffering; yet no sooner did he recover health and spirits a little than his old interest revived, and with his interest all the old jealousies. he bitterly resented toro's assumption of the command. "let the blustering bully fool impose upon them if he will," he said to himself again and again; "he never could take me in. it shall be my task to show them who can render the most real service to the band." their programme suited hunston well. what could better have accorded with his humour than the devotion of all their time, thought, and energies to the persecution--perhaps to the entire destruction, of the harkaway family? it was all gone on with avowedly to avenge the death of mathias. little cared hunston about the dead brigand chief. indeed, but for the presence of his widow in their midst, and the occasional mention of his name, hunston would, in all probability, have forgotten that he had ever existed. as it was, he made it his especial task to hang about the parts of the town where the harkaways were most likely to be met. and never did he appear twice in the same dress. one evening, strolling into a dancing garden, he chanced to come upon a smart young lady, whose appearance attracted his attention at once. "i know her well," he said to himself, "though where i have seen her is a puzzle to me for a moment." the merry antics of one of the dancers caused her to laugh, and then he recognised the sound of her voice immediately. "marietta!" surely he should not so soon have forgotten her. was it not upon the occasion of her memorable exploits at the gardens of the contessa maraviglia that he had last seen her--that night when poor magog brand met his fate? as soon as he recognised her, he made up his mind to escort her. so first (to assure himself of the excellence of his disguise) catching a cursory glance of his shadow in a mirror, he crossed the garden, and stepping up to her side, he addressed her. "do you not join the dance, signorina?" he said. the waiting maid in reply only cocked her chin haughtily and moved away. "you are proud, marietta, to-night," said hunston. she turned upon hearing her name mentioned. "i do not know you, sir." "but you see i know you, marietta, and what is more, if you were to ask your master mr. harkaway or mrs. harkaway about their friend saville, i dare say they would not say any thing very bad about him." marietta curtseyed in some confusion. "i don't remember seeing you at the villa, signor," she said, "so pray excuse me." "no excuses, pretty marietta; i am not a very constant visitor, yet i have seen you, and yours is a face once seen not easily forgotten." marietta, like a true daughter of eve, did not object to this sort of thing. and so she fell into the trap which he set for her with so little pains. that is, she grew gossipy and communicative. "and does master jack come here sometimes?" asked the sham mr. saville. she shook her head. "never." "mamma would object, of course," he said lightly; "this is such a wicked place for her good, mild, innocent boy to come to." marietta laughed a good deal at hearing young jack spoken of thus. "neither of the young gentlemen are too innocent," she said; "but yet they don't come here." "possibly they have no taste for this sort of thing," suggested hunston. marietta shrugged her shoulders. "they are forbidden to go about alone." "why?" "i don't know--some fancy of the ladies. they think that the brigands are always lurking about, ready to drop upon their boys." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed hunston; "a very good joke." "is it not? although i must tell you that there is some reason for fear, for i have twice come across the--" "across who?" "the brigands." "impossible." "it is true." "the miscreants. did they steal any thing?" "well, only a few--a few kisses." "hum!" said hunston, "that was excusable. it is a sort of pilfering which i would willingly indulge in myself." "i dare say," answered marietta saucily, "but i have discovered how to use my weapons in self-defence." "what weapons?" "these." she held up her ten pretty little claws. a tiny hand they were mounted on, too. hunston surveyed it with the eye of a connoisseur, and looked the admiration he wished to convey quite extravagantly enough for a vain woman to understand his meaning. "exquisite," he said. "it would be flattery even to be scratched by such models." she laughed. he resumed. "and so they never go forth for fear of the brigands?" "never." "their lives must be wretched, so confined to the house." "aye, but they go out to sea." "to sea?" "yes, in their sailing boat; the two boys are always out fishing, sailing, and what not." hunston pricked up his ears at these tidings. "yes, on the water they are allowed full liberty, for brigands and cats, according to signor harvey, are the two animals that fear the water most." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed hunston, "very good indeed, but i never knew that brigands so feared the water." "so signor harvey says," replied marietta. "indeed he says that a bar of soap and a bowl of water would frighten a brigand more than a whole armoury of firearms." this was true. brigands may look picturesque when seen from a distance. at close quarters they are, to put it mildly, objectionable. if they do not hold soap and water in absolute fear, as dick harvey said, they at least look upon them as vanities and effeminacies unworthy of desperadoes. * * * * * "so, so," muttered hunston, as he walked away, "i shall secure them yet. for through the boys i can get at the father and at harvey. hah!" at this precise moment a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder. there was a professional touch in it, which once felt could never be forgotten. hunston had felt such a clutch once in england, and the recollection was likely to last him as long as he lived. he forgot where he was, every thing, and instinctively he faltered this inquiry-- "on what charge?" "murder!" he knew the voice. he had no need to look round; the voice was not one easily forgotten. it was our old friend pike, the english detective. "yes, hunston," replied the officer coolly. "you have been giving me a lot of trouble, but it was only a question of time and patience, i knew. come along; you are my prisoner." chapter xvi. a great danger--off and away!--poor pike. hunston quailed. he was lost. so suddenly--so unexpectedly had this come, that he was utterly powerless to help himself. had he been wearing the mechanical arm, he might have able to tackle the wiry officer pike. bitterly did he curse his unlucky fate. recovering himself, however, in some slight degree, he endeavoured to shake off the detective's hold. "quiet, now, quiet, master hunston," said pike, "or i shall have to try means for tranquilising you which you won't find agree with you." "show me your warrant for this outrage," said hunston. "outrage! hoity, toity! that's a good word." "i shall call the police to my assistance if you attempt to molest me," said hunston, putting on a lofty air. this tickled pike mightily. "call the police, will you?" he said. "well, i shan't, for i flatter myself that i don't want much assistance to walk off with such a man as you--even if you were not lopsided." hunston turned savagely upon the detective at this allusion to his crippled state and made an attempt at using his one arm upon him. but pike was--to put it vulgarly--all there. he dexterously dodged the blow, and whirling round secured a hold upon hunston's collar--that peculiar grip which is the specialty of men who have been in the force. hunston struggled desperately to get free. in vain. do what he would, he found himself being trotted along to save himself from strangulation. not only was it physically painful. hunston had an overweening sense of his own importance and dignity, and this being run in just like some paltry pickpocket in a crowd, was galling to his vanity beyond all description. what could he do? he was powerless. the wondering people stared at this singular exhibition, but they parted their ranks as pike and his prisoner came along, and never offered to interfere. now, during this brief but painful business, hunston's thoughts ran right ahead of the present dilemma. he endeavoured to realise some of the possible consequences of it. the arrest was, he felt assured, illegal. what then? what could result from such a proceeding? would they detain him? could they?--that was the question. the british ambassador might be influenced by people of the rank and position of the harkaways. this granted, it was easy enough for his excellency to waive legal forms and ceremonies there, and get hunston transferred to the safe keeping of the english authorities. at this point hunston could not repress a shudder. and why? he thought of what must necessarily follow. his fevered fancy flew ahead, and he saw himself in the dock, faced by the stony-faced judge, and put through the torture of cross-examination which laid bare the innermost recesses of his black heart in spite of himself. he saw further on yet. he shut his eyes as he went on and heard the tramp of the twelve jurors re-entering the court in the midst of a profound and awesome silence. he heard the solemn formula; he heard the hollow voice of the foreman give the verdict-- "guilty!" all that he heard and saw in his mind's eye, in that brief but unpleasant hustling he had to go through at the hands of the ungenerous and indefatigable officer daniel pike. and hunston now, being half cowed by his captor, was being driven through the streets like a lamb to the slaughter, when a sudden and startling incident changed the whole spirit of the scene, even in the twinkling of an eye. a musket, grasped in a strong hand by the barrel, was swung over their heads, and down it came with an awful crack upon poor pike's head. down he dropped like a bullock under the butcher's pole-axe. and hunston was free. for a few seconds he could not realise his release, so sudden and unexpected it had been. "come along," said a voice in his ear; "away with you, or we shall get into trouble here." this aroused him. he recognised the voice of tomaso the brigand, and it brought him to his presence of mind. off he started at a good brisk run in the direction that his preserver had taken. and soon was out of danger. but tomaso was not so fortunate. following hunston at a more leisurely pace, he had not gone many yards, when a firm grip was placed upon his shoulder. "halt!" said a voice. the brigand turned hastily, and found himself in the firm clutch of the detective. "i have caught you at last, villain!" exclaimed pike the detective, as he twisted his hand into the collar of the garment tomaso wore instead of a shirt. then, before the astonished brigand had time either to remonstrate or resist, the englishman exhibited to him that particular form of wrestling known as the "cross buttock," and stretched him at full length on the ground. another moment and a pair of real bow street handcuffs snapped on tomaso's wrists. "neatly done; don't you think so?" said pike. tomaso's answer was a tremendous greek oath. "you're swearing, i believe. now that is a bad habit at all times, and very foolish just now, because you see it don't hurt me, inasmuch as i don't understand it," said pike, who, after a brief, stern survey of his captive, added-- "if you cursed me in english, though, i don't know but what i might be tempted to punch your ugly head." tomaso remained silent, and pike, after pausing some seconds, helped him to his feet. "now you are all right, and will come back quietly with me. but how do the bracelets fit? i've got another pair in my pocket." "you had better release me," observed tomaso. "now that is very ridiculous, my friend. why should i take the trouble of capturing you, if i let you run again directly?" "it will be much to your disadvantage to imprison me, signor englishman. an injured greek is always avenged in some way." "just so; however, i'll risk that" pike's coolness added to the rage of the brigand, whose passion fairly boiled over. "may all the infernal gods my forefathers worshipped--may the fiend i--" "serve," suggested pike. "the fiend i would willingly serve, or sell my soul to, for vengeance, visit you with his direst displeasure, and may all the plagues of egypt blight you!" "thank ye, that's a very pleasant speech; something like what i used to hear at the theatre. but, old friend, you made one little blunder." "you will see if i have blundered." "one little blunder, when you spoke of selling your soul. lor' bless you, old scratch isn't such a fool as to buy nowadays, whatever he may have done years ago." another angry exclamation from tomaso. "you see, the old gentleman has gained some experience as a trader, and he knows well enough that if he waits a little time, he'll get you all free-gratis for nothing at all." "you are a devil, englishman." "and you are not exactly an angel. however, if i am a devil, you may consider you are regularly sold to me. so now come along; keep your hands under your cloak, and no one will notice the little decorations on your wrists." "you are a devil, signor englishman; but you will die for this." "pshaw! i've collared scores of desperate villains, and they all said something of the same kind, yet here i am." "you will die," repeated tomaso. "some clay, of course; but we have a proverb in england; would you like to hear it?" tomaso tossed his head with lofty indifference. "the proverb," continued pike, "is that 'threatened men live long.'" he then took tomaso by the arm, and led him on. "but stop," said he, "those pistols in your girdle are very heavy. i'll carry them for you, and the knife as well." chapter xvii. the decoy--a throw of the dice--the execution. before pike and his captive had gone far on their return journey, harkaway and harvey, with two or three of the gendarmes, and a minute after jefferson, came up. "you have caught him then. hurrah!" said dick harvey. "but this is not hunston," said harkaway. "no, sir; he managed to get clean away. but we'll have him yet." an old goatherd, who had scrambled down near to the place where the captor and prisoner stood, might have been seen to indulge in a contemptuous smile. we say might, because the fact is that all were so much elated at the capture of tomaso that the very presence of the old stranger had hitherto remained unnoticed. nor did he seem to court attention, but remained behind a bush, in a spot, however, where he could hear all that passed. "well, we must take this fellow back to the town, and hand him over to the authorities," said harvey. "and then hunt down master hunston," remarked old jack. "i wish we knew where to look for him." "he took this direction," remarked pike. "true." "and, therefore, it is in this direction that we must look for him." "right again," remarked dick harvey. "but as he is associated with some desperate fellows, it would be as well to place this gentleman in the hands of the authorities before we seek him. it is not good to go into action with prisoners on our hands." as all agreed on this point, they walked back with the prisoner, and had the pleasure of seeing him put into a cell from which, apparently, there was no way of escape, even the fire-place having been bricked up since the attempt of mathias to gain freedom that way. by the time that was done it was too late to think of starting that day, so our friends retired to hold a council of war. pike, however, took no part in the consultation. that astute detective had formed in his own mind a resolution that, if it were possible, he would capture hunston single-handed, thus covering himself with glory, and at the same time keeping the harkaways and harvey out of danger. pike knew that it was a difficult thing to keep them out of danger, and that if they heard any thing about the brigands, they would be the very ones to lead an attack. pike walked up and down, smoking and reflecting on the difficulties which surrounded his task. he had not thoroughly matured his plans when the sun went down and the moon rose. few people were abroad. the audacity the brigands had recently displayed had convinced most people that they were safer indoors than out. as pike walked up and down the quiet street, he noticed an old man crouched up in a corner, wrapped in a tattered cloak, and apparently intending to pass the night there. "hilloa, my friend, what are you? are you one of the brigands?" pike uttered the words in a jocular manner, but the old man felt deeply offended. "sir englishman, you insult me." "i apologise. i had no intention of doing so." "a brigand! signor, i am here--houseless and penniless in my old age through those accursed villains! may sathanas fly away with their souls." "well, old man, perchance you will be avenged before long." "it is what i pray for. they burnt my hut, cut down my two fine olive trees, and drove off my little flock of goats." the old man covered his face, and appeared to sob violently. "when was this?" asked pike. "scarce three hours since." "was there with them a foreigner--one of my country?" "i know not what country they were of, but besides the greeks, there were two men who seemed leaders; one was called signor toro, the other was named hunston." "how many were there in all?" "three greeks besides the two foreigners." "do you know any thing of the haunts of these brigands, friend goatherd?" "aye, well. but till now i have never dreamt of betraying them, for they never before molested me." "lead me to their den." "you, signer? why, they are at least five in number, and you are but--" "but an englishman! that makes all the difference, friend goatherd, so pray lead on. here, take a drink from my flask first." the old man accepted the proffered drink, and then said-- "well, signor, it is a desperate and dangerous undertaking; but i know you english can do almost any thing, so i will show you the way. and if it comes to a fight, i shall be at your elbow, signor." "true." without mentioning his intentions, or saying a word to any of his friends, the detective passed his arm through that of the goatherd and walked away. little conversation passed. the detective was full of hopeful anxiety about the capture of hunston; and as for the goatherd, it may be presumed that the loss of his goats afforded him plenty of food for silent reflection. they passed the place where tomaso was captured, and then turned aside out of the road into a dense wood which covered the side of a rocky hill. it appeared as though the old goatherd was "out of condition," as the athletes say; at all events, the scramble up the rough path brought on a loud and distressing cough. "be quiet," said pike; "you will alarm them." "no fear of that, signor; we are more than a mile from the den of the villains." so they scrambled and climbed away, till at length they reached a place where pike found it necessary to use hands as well as feet to make progress. he had just put up both hands to grasp a boulder over which it was necessary to climb, when, to his intense astonishment, each wrist was grasped by a couple of strong hands, and in another moment he was forcibly dragged up. "the tables are turned now, mr. pike," said a voices "you will remain our prisoner till tomaso is released." it was so dark that pike could not see the speaker, but he had no doubt that it was hunston. the impression was confirmed in an instant by the goatherd, who said in a jeering manner-- "ha, ha, ha! why don't you capture him? you were so very brave to talk, yet you do nothing." pike, by a sudden jerk, wrenched himself from his captors, and dealt the mocking brigand--for he was nothing more--a blow that doubled him up among the rocks. but before the detective could escape, he was thrown down himself, and bound hand and foot. half-a-dozen greek brigands then raised him and bore him away. how far he could not tell, but it seemed, as far as he could guess, five or six miles. at length they reached a little open glade in the forest where at least a score of brigands were assembled. "you have him, then?" said a huge fellow, who spoke with an italian accent. "yes." "tie him to that tree." it was done. "now listen," said toro--for he it was who had given the command. "if tomaso is not at liberty and here among us at noon, you shall die." "i can not set him at liberty." "you can do a great deal towards it. unfasten one of his arms--his right arm." pike's right arm was then released, and, in obedience to toro's command, a small table was placed close to him. on this table were pens, ink and paper. "now write to your friend harkaway, and tell him that unless tomaso is released by noon, as i have told you, death is your doom." so pike wrote-- "i am in the hands of the brigands, and unless tomaso is released by noon, i shall be killed. but i am not afraid to die; hold your captive fast." having signed it, he held it out to toro, who read it, and then called a messenger, to whom he entrusted it for delivery. then the brigands sat down to breakfast, and pike was left to his contemplations. these, as may be imagined, were not of the most pleasant kind. hour after hour passed. the brigands were some sleeping, some playing cards, and all enjoying themselves in some way, but no one took any notice of the prisoner. the sun rode high in the heavens, and it was evidently approaching noon, when the messenger returned from the town with a letter. it was addressed to pike, but toro opened it. it was not from harkaway, but from the chief of the police, informing the unfortunate detective that the greek government declined to make any terms or drive any bargain with brigands, but that any ill usage mr. pike might suffer would be most effectually avenged. "you hear this?" said toro. "i do." "then say what prayers you remember, and make your peace with heaven, for at noon you die." "let me be the executioner," said a brigand who stood by. "not so," exclaimed another; "the task is mine by right." "peace!" said toro. "the dice shall decide his fate. the highest thrower shall have the pleasure of shooting him." the brigands, in obedience to a signal from the chief, gathered round him, a short distance from the prisoner. dice were produced and the game began. "double four," cried the first thrower. "that man stands a good chance of being my executioner," thought pike. "to fancy that i, who have been the terror of evil-doers in england, should be the sport of these dirty brigands. why, i could well thrash half-a-dozen of them in a fair stand-up fight." at this moment a loud peal of laughter greeted the second dicer. "ace--two." "my chance is worthless," said the man. "worthless!" muttered pike to himself. "aye, you are indeed worthless, compared with some of the english villains i have hunted down and fought for life or death. i could die like a man if i only had to die in a fair hand-to-hand fight with such a man as birmingham bill, the very first murderer i ever coped with; but i'll show them how an englishman can die." "double six!" shouted one of the brigands, as he threw the dice. the man was the smallest and ugliest of the lot, but it seemed very probable that he would be pike's executioner. at all events, he carefully loaded his carbine. "to be shot by such a villain as that!" thought pike. "it would have been better if one of the shots fired by that burglar fellow they call the 'whitechapel, devil' had taken effect; six times he fired, and then we had a good ten minutes' tussle before i could secure him." at length all the brigands had thrown with the exception of toro. "double six again!" as it was a tie between the two, each had another throw. the little ugly brigand threw. "two--three." toro then took up the dice, shook them well in the box and made his cast. "five--four!" and toro was hailed the winner. "prisoner, i give you two minutes to prepare." "brigand, i am prepared. such sins as i have committed, i have repented of, so do your worst; but rest assured that vengeance will some day overtake you. to heaven i commend my soul!" with as much composure as if he had been practising at an inanimate target, toro raised his gun, and counted-- "one!" "two!" "three!" at the word three, he pulled the trigger. the report echoed from rock to rock, and the head and body of poor pike fell forward, as far as the ropes that secured him to the tree would permit. he was dead, the bullet having penetrated the brain. * * * * * that evening, as harkaway, harvey, and jefferson returned from an unsuccessful attempt to rouse the authorities, they found that two men had left a heavy package at the house. on opening it, they were horrified to find it a section of a hollow tree, nearly every portion of the wood having crumbled away, leaving the bark intact. and in the hollow was the body of the poor detective and a brief note. "the fate of all brigand hunters. beware!--toro." "vengeance for this, at all events," exclaimed harkaway. "poor pike! we should be unworthy of the name of englishmen did we not punish thy murderers." he wrote a note to the mayor. "sir,--in the huge package that accompanies this note, you will find the body of an englishman, who has this day been murdered by brigands; i call upon you, in the name of heaven, to rout these murderers out of their dens, and bring them to justice. should you show any backwardness in so doing, i shall deem it necessary to appeal to the english ambassador. "your obedient servant, "j. harkaway." having despatched a couple of messengers with the body and letter, they sat down with sorrowful hearts and small appetites to their evening meal. chapter xviii. hunston in the camp again--retrospection--a devilish plot--dark clouds gather over the harkaways. "who goes there?" "a friend." "the word?" "mathias." "stand; advance a step, and i fire. ha! i see you now. i did not recognise your voice, hunston." "i thought not; but why all this precaution?" "fear has induced us to change the countersign. we believe there is mischief abroad, and so extra precautions are needed." "right, ymeniz," said hunston, who had been out scouting for a few hours after the execution of pike, "although it is to be feared that the blindness which prevents your recognition of a friend and comrade may mislead you as to the real character of an enemy, should one dare to penetrate thus far." the sentry laughed. "fear nothing on that score, hunston," he said. "indeed i do." "my carefulness may turn even friends into enemies, but fear, or over carefulness--" "it is much the same thing," suggested hunston. "right; but it is not likely to make me take foes for friends." "i doubt it." "you have a cunning tongue, friend hunston," said the sentry, who was just a little bit nettled, "but i don't believe that you could prove that to my satisfaction." "i might do it to the one or the other," returned hunston, caustically; "but certainly not to both, the two are so opposed." this was just a dash too subtle for the sentry, and so hunston passed on without further remark. a few steps further on he came to a group formed of the brigands, gathered around pedro, a brigand who had been of some little assistance in the rescue of hunston, but who unlike tomaso, had managed to escape. he was recounting the late adventures--from his own episode in the tale--of hunston. hunston walked up to the centre of the group. "pedro," he said, "you rescued me, and perhaps saved my life; accept my hand, and with it my eternal gratitude." pedro stepped back. he winced instead of taking the proffered hand, and his countenance fell. "pardon me hunston," he said; "i'm very glad to have been of service to you, to have been able to save a comrade, but--" he paused. hunston frowned. "but what?" "don't be too grateful." the tone, no less than the nature of the request, sounded just a little bit comical, and it made the bystanders, hunston included, smile. "what do you mean by that, my preserver? why should i not be grateful?" "because i have heard it said that your gratitude brought bad luck to anyone who had really befriended you." hunston started. he thought of robert emmerson. that arm did its inventor's work well, indeed. not a day passed but hunston realised the truth of the legend inscribed on the mechanical arm. not a day passed, but that he saw how fearfully was the legacy of vengeance bequeathed by the murdered protean bob being carried out. dropping his glance in some confusion for a moment, he turned sharply upon the brigand after a little reflection. pedro could know nothing of the death of emmerson. nay, it was more than probable that the very name was utterly unknown to these men. "you wish to insult me, pedro," he said, "and so cancel the obligation i am under to you. but beware of going too far, for you may leave a balance upon the wrong side, and i am as quick to avenge an insult as to--" pedro interrupted him with a laugh. "what did i say? i have only just rendered you a great service--at least, so you say--" "and mean." "and mean, perhaps; and yet you are already threatening me. when i said that your gratitude is said to bring bad luck to anyone, i was only repeating an idle saying--as i thought--but it seems like the truth, after all." hunston was moving thoughtfully away, when the brigand's words stopped him. "forgive me, pedro," he said, turning round; "i am a bad, ungrateful man, but i'm not utterly wanting in decent feeling. you touch me on a very sore spot." so saying he walked on, leaving pedro staring after him. "that's a queer lot," muttered the brigand to himself, "a very queer lot. i think i would sooner have the murder of a priest on my conscience than be weighted with the deeds that he'll have to answer for." pedro was no fool. his observations were pretty well to the point. hunston felt the pangs of remorse. daily, hourly, in fact, he looked back and thought of what he was, and what he might have been had not his vicious propensities got the upper hand of him at the critical turn in his career. and so the demon remorse played havoc with him already. the mechanical arm was responsible for all. its mysterious disorganisation had been the direct cause of his forced inactivity. what gives ugly thoughts such power over one as bodily inactivity? nothing. robert emmerson, your vengeance is as terrible as it is unceasing in its action. * * * * * hunston sought the widow of mathias. "i have made good progress, diana," he said, "for i have learnt enough about the enemy to make sure of getting some of them at least into our power." the listener's eyes glistened at the words. "are you sure?" "yes." "what do you propose to do, then? tell me." "harkaway has a son--a mere youth." "i know it." "well, this boy is a dare-devil, bold and fearless lad; nothing can daunt him. he is, in fact, what his hated father was when first i knew him, years and years ago." a faint and half-suppressed sigh escaped him as he uttered this. "what of this boy?" "this boy has a companion called harry girdwood." "well." "well, these two boys are to be trapped, if it be gone about carefully--very carefully, mark you." "that can be done, of course." "it can--by you." diana stared again at this. "by me?" "yes." "how?" "listen. they pay a certain respect to us--hold us in some fear, in fact--and the boys, who are regular rovers, like their parents and friends, have only permission to cruise about in their little yacht." "how did you learn this?" "from marietta, the servant of the harkaways." "hah!" "now, with care, the boys might be lured, perhaps, away from the part of the coast which they know, and let them once touch the shore out of sight and hearing of their friends--" "i see, i see," ejaculated the widow of mathias. "i can entrap them, i believe. but tell me first, what is the object of securing these two boys?" "the object!" ejaculated hunston. "why, surely that is clear enough. let us once get hold of them, and we can make any terms we like with the father and friends. we shall have to dictate the conditions, and harkaway will have no choice but to accept them." "i see, i see," cried diana, excitedly. "leave the rest to me; i'll undertake to get them into our power." "how?" "no matter how; you have done your share of the business. be mine the task to secure the rest." "when?" "to-morrow." "good!" said hunston, gleefully, "good! i feel a presentiment of luck. i'm not superstitious, but i feel as certain now that we shall succeed--as certain as if the boys were already in our power." "they shall be," returned the woman, solemnly, "they shall be. i swear it!" chapter xix. jack and harry girdwood afloat--the squall--the shipwrecked boy--deeds of heroism--their reward--a deadly peril. "down with sail, jack; we shall be over if we are not sprightly," said harry. young jack laughed. the thought of danger actually made him merry, and so proved that he was every inch a harkaway--a thorough chip of the old block. "there's no fear, old fellow," he said. a sudden gust of wind caught the sail, and caused the boat to give such a lurch at this very moment that both the boys were sent flying. they got some hard knocks. but neither was afraid of a little rough usage, and so they only scrambled to their feet, laughing boisterously, as if there was great fun in barked shins and bruised arms. "i told you so, jack," said harry girdwood. "no harm done," retorted jack, rubbing a damaged part and grinning. "no, but don't let us be too foolish; we might get into trouble." young jack roared at this. "soho-ho!" he cried. "shipped another passenger, harry, have you?" "what do you mean?" "why, you've got captain funk aboard." "not i," returned harry, "only if we get into any foolish scrape, they won't let us come out for a sail again, and as this is the only jaunt left us, we may as well keep ourselves quiet." "there's something in that," said young jack, so saying, he set about reefing the sail with all possible despatch. now it was barely accomplished when a violent gust of wind drove the little craft along at a furious rate. it was only just in time. a moment more and the sail would have been shredded, or, what was still worse, the boat would have been capsized for a certainty. harry girdwood lowered the oars and pulled sharply along before the fury of the gale, while young jack baled out a little water that had been shipped in the first heavy lurch, before the youthful mariners had been fully prepared for such violent treatment, and steered at the same time. in this way they contrived to elude the violence of the gale for the present, at least. but the danger was by no means overcome. they had not got through the worst of their trouble as yet, little as they anticipated any serious danger. the gale had come on with strange suddenness, and the truth was that they could hardly realize the extent of their danger. it was great. there was, perhaps, a special providence in their ignorance of their real peril, for their coolness alone gave them any chance in the present emergency. they were brave boys both--never were there braver--yet it is no disparagement of them to say that there was very great probability of their losing their _sang froid_ if they had known how very critical their position actually was. as it happened, they did the very best thing to do under the circumstances. they kept their boat before the wind, and by vigorous rowing, they contrived to drive along at a rate which was literally tremendous. and so on they scudded for about ten miles, when the wind dropped a little, and the pace began to tell upon them both. "keep her off shore, jack," cried harry girdwood. "right." the wind and rain had half blinded young jack, and although he had said "right," he steered decidedly wrong. he could not see where they were going. "look out!" harry girdwood only just spoke in time for young jack to take heed of the warning, for a minute later and they shot past some sharp, jagged rocks, into which they would inevitably have dashed but for a lucky tug at the rudder at the very last moment. now the roar of the wind and waters had just begun to lull a little, when a loud cry for help was heard. and then, for the first time, they perceived that a boat had just been launched by a boy at not more than thirty yards along the beach, and being carried out to sea by a huge receding wave, had become unmanageable. they could see with half an eye that the boy had no skill in handling a boat. "help, help!" cried the strange lad, waving his hand in distress towards their boat. "all right," shouted young jack. "we're there." harry girdwood pulled vigorously towards the venturesome youth. a few strokes brought them within twenty feet of the imperilled youth, and he would have been got away in safety but for his own folly and imprudence. "sit still," shouted young jack. "sit still." "he'll be overboard," ejaculated harry, glancing over his shoulder. the words of the latter proved but too prophetic a cry from young jack--a piercing shriek from the other boat. when harry girdwood glanced over his shoulder again, he saw the other boat, keel upwards, floating away. the unfortunate youth, its late occupant, was nowhere to be seen. "he's gone!" "he has," cried young jack, starting up, "and by all that's unlucky, he can't swim. pull on, pull hard. pull for mercy's sake." and young jack stood up in the boat, tearing off his jacket and waistcoat. "what are you after?" "i'm in after him." "jack, jack, you'll never live in this heavy sea." "never fear, old boy, i'll try." "you shall not, i say. you--" "here goes," cried young jack. and before harry girdwood could interfere, over he went, head first, into the boiling waves. harry girdwood held his breath in sheer fright. he shipped his oars and peered over the boat's side. where was he? would he never come up? oh, heaven! what a fearful time it seemed that the intrepid boy was under water. it seemed an age. in reality it was but a minute, no more, before young jack struck up to the surface. he struck out with one hand--the other grasped something. "harry." "yes, jack." "i've got him." "hold tight." "i mean to," responded young jack, with great coolness, all things considered. and now harry could see that jack's left hand was twined in the black flowing hair of the half senseless boy. the latter had no sooner reached the air and gulped down a breath or two greedily, than consciousness came partly back, and he threw his arms about his preserver and struggled desperately. "leave go," cried young jack. "let go, or we shall both go down together." but it is not easy to reason with a drowning man. young jack found himself now in a desperate strait indeed. the frantic efforts of the rescued boy impeded his movements, entirely baffling the heroic jack's best efforts. harry girdwood saw it all, and his terror increased every moment. well it might. the mad struggles of the stranger imperilled both. "dive, jack, dive," cried harry girdwood, frantically; "dive with him, or it is all up with both of you." jack heard him. twisting like an eel in the embrace of the boy he would save, he dived down, dragging the stranger with him. in the space of a few seconds he reappeared again upon the surface, observing his former tactics. striking out with his right arm, while with his left hand he grasped the stranger's long black hair. "catch hold of him," gasped young jack; "never mind me." harry girdwood leant over the boat's side and caught at the stranger by the collar. "there; hold on like that," said young jack. the weight coming all upon one side of the boat, however, threatened to capsize it, and so they had to act with the greatest precaution. young jack, however, struck out and swam round the boat, so that his weight, clinging upon the further side of the boat, served to steady it while harry girdwood completed the rescue of the stranger. "bravo!" cried young jack. "it was a tough job," said harry. "and a narrow squeak for all of us." "right; but let's look after this poor fellow. he's alive." "yes." "i'm glad of that; it would have been precious hard after all the work, not to mention the risk run, to have let him slip his cable in spite of us." "well, it is not his fault that he's alive now." "alive." quoth young jack, "by george! he looks more dead than alive as it is." "don't fear for him, jack; he's as good as twenty dead men so far, but how are you getting on?" "hearty. rather damp outside, nothing more." "and inside?" "damp too. why, i shipped a bellyful of salt water last drop down; enough to salt a barrel of junk." harry turned his attention to the stranger. "he keeps insensible a very long time," he said to young jack; "it begins to look serious." "move the scat," said young jack, "and let us lay him flat down upon his back at the bottom of the boat. i have always heard that that is the proper thing to do." no sooner said than done. presently they were rewarded for their pains by detecting a faint breathing. "how white his neck is," said harry girdwood. "and how small and delicate his hands," said young jack. "one would almost take him for a woman." "he'd pass very well for one if he wore petticoats." "i'm almost inclined as it is to think that--" "ha! he's coming round." the youth opened his eyes and stared about him. he looked half scared at first one and then the other. "you are better now," said young jack, taking his hand. he stared. jack had spoken in english in his anxiety. he put the same sentiment into the best greek he could muster. "yes, yes," replied the stranger, "better, better," and then he appeared to grow more and more confused; "but what is this? have i been ill?" "yes." "ah!" "not very; it is all well now. don't you remember--" the rocking of the boat furnished the missing link in the chain of memory, and the rescued boy showed, by a ray of intelligence in his bright face, that it had all come back to him. a smile of grateful acknowledgment of their services shot over his countenance. then suddenly his expression changed. "where are we going?" he demanded, with the most extraordinary eagerness. "ashore." "oh, no, no, no!" he exclaimed; "not ashore here." "why not?" "you must not go ashore here," said the youth, eagerly, "not for worlds." "why?" jack was questioning the stranger while harry girdwood shot the boat into a favourable creek. harry jumped out. "come along," he said cheerfully. "safe on shore." "and precious glad of it," added young jack. the stranger looked upon him in anxious expectation, and finding they were alone, he turned eagerly to his young preservers. "put off again," he said; "put out to sea, i tell you." "why?" "you have disarmed me; you have saved my life and shown me tenderness and care--aye, brotherly love. oh," he added earnestly, "pray go now; at once, while you are free." "well," quoth young jack, with a long whistle, "this is a rum go." before another word could be spoken, there was heard a whistle, which sounded like the echo of young jack's note; an answer came from another direction, and half-a-dozen men sprang forward from no one could see where, and pounced upon our two bold boys, jack and harry girdwood. "bravo, theodora!" cried a familiar voice in english, "you play the part of decoy to perfection. we have got them at last." young jack started. he turned pale and haggard, looking in a moment to harry. "do you know that voice?" "i do," replied harry girdwood. "we are sold, undone. it is the villain hunston." * * * * * it was but a little while after young jack and harry girdwood had been entrapped, when a strange scene took place. evening was coming on. brigand sentinels had been posted at each path by which their haunt could be approached, and one was perched high above on a flat rock, which overlooked everything, without having seen himself except by the very sharpest of eyes. hunston, after visiting the outposts and seeing that everything was safe for the night, climbed up to this spot, and seated himself on a large stone. he felt feverish, and at that elevation he might feel something of the breeze, a thing unknown down below at the bivouac, which was closely surrounded by thick bushes. strange dreads and doubts filled hunston's mind, dread of the future, dread of a lingering illness through his arm, which daily grew worse, dread of death, which he felt convinced must be the end, and doubts whether eventually his enemy harkaway would not triumph. for hunston's hatred of harkaway knew no abatement; living or dying, the same fierce, unquenchable thirst after vengeance would fill his soul. but what troubled him most now was his health. the shoulder to which the mechanical arm was attached was so painful, it could scarcely bear the pressure of the clothing he wore; the blood in his veins, after flowing through that part of the system, seemed to return to his heart heated almost to boiling point, but that heat did not stimulate him to exertion. on the contrary, he felt languid and scarcely able to do the duties that devolved upon him as toro's lieutenant. nor was his brain so clear as in former days. ideas he had in plenty, but they seemed to jostle and confuse each other in their endeavours to settle down into a connected train of thought. emmerson's vengeance was working. as he sat there, the sentinel remained motionless, leaning on his carbine and peering over the edge of the precipice. presently diana, the widow of mathias, came up the rock, and hunston rose to greet her. "your husband is to a certain extent avenged," said he. "how?" "harkaway's boy is in our power," "that is something, at all events. that girl theodora, the niece of tomaso, has done her work well. vengeance has commenced." "yes, but--" "but what?" "there is a hitch in the proceedings. the girl is softhearted, and begged hard for their lives." "she is a fool! by heaven, i am half inclined to do the deed myself with this dagger." "in which case toro would probably do for you." "what, is he turned craven?" "no; but he is sweet on theodora, and for her sake is inclined to spare them." hunston knew well enough that all this was false, as, unless certain conditions were promptly complied with, toro would certainly kill both of them without the slightest hesitation or compunction. but he did not tell diana. "but," he continued, "what is your idea of vengeance?" "i would wring other hearts as mine has been wrung. i would cause blinding tears to dim the brightness of other eyes besides mine. i would cause the stern judge death to pass a decree of divorce upon others besides myself and mathias. when harkaway is a widower, or his wife a widow, then i shall consider my vengeance partly accomplished." "humph! for a woman you are tolerably moderate. i shall not be satisfied till the harkaways and the harveys are destroyed root and branch-till the other accursed detective, nabley, his american friend jefferson, the negroes, the wooden-legged ass mole, till every one of the party is swept away out of my path. harkaway taught me to hate, and i swear by all the eternal powers of earth, heaven, and hell, he shall see how i have profited by the lesson." diana was silent for a few moments; then, with something like a sneer, said-- "you are a brave man--in words, signor hunston." "my acts speak for themselves." "and little have they said for some time past. but listen; i have sworn a deep and deadly revenge." "well." "this evening i depart." "good." "when i return again, you may expect to hear that harkaway is dead or his wife." the excited woman glided away, and hunston, after smoking a cigarette, followed her. "good?" chuckled hunston to himself, "i could not have a better ally than that woman; for she can go where i dare not show myself, and will find opportunities for carrying out her plans unsuspected. beware, harkaway! for though i have waited years for revenge, it is now within my grasp." chapter xx. the harkaways learn all--mr. mole explains and gets into trouble in consequence. words cannot describe the trouble of the harkaway family at the loss of young jack and his stout-hearted comrade, harry girdwood. at first their indignation had been so great, that their first impulse was to use violent means to effect the recovery of the boys. but the first person to oppose this was jack harkaway himself. "if we were to attack them in force," he said, "it would be imprudent upon every hand. in the first place they would have the advantage of us, of course, in a mountain skirmish." "i don't know that they would get the best of it," said harvey. "nor i," said jefferson. "we can do nothing at present as far as i can see," said harkaway. "only wait." "to what end?" "their object must be plunder--money--ransom." "supposing that they demand a sum?" "i shall pay it as soon as ever i can rake it up. if it is more than i possess in the world," said jack harkaway, seriously, "then i shall borrow of my friends to make it up." the poor fellow turned away to hide his emotion. "what guarantee have you that they would give up the boys for the ransom?" "none. but i should not send the money first. they would have to send the boys here first." "they might doubt you." "why, yes. but hunston and toro are with them, and they know that jack harkaway's word is his bond, no matter with whom he is dealing, let them be the veriest scum on the face of the earth." "which they are." "which they are, as you say." "very good," said jefferson. "now i don't want to play the part of the wet blanket, and to dash your hopes to the ground before they are half formed, but i wish to guard against running away upon a false track." "in what way?" "all your hopes of ransoming the boys rest now upon the fact of hunston and toro being with the brigands." "yes." "well," added jefferson, "how do you know that hunston and toro are really in the band? you only suppose that." "i can answer positively for that," said a voice at the door. they turned. there stood nabley, the detective. "nabley!" "nabley here!" "himself," said the indefatigable officer, coming forward. "hunston is with the brigands, very much with them, in fact." "that we know," said harkaway, who then related the death of pike, and the supposed abduction of young jack. "i have been very ill," said nabley. "i fainted in the street, and, in falling, severely injured my head. but do you know how that hunston finds out all about you and your doings?" "no." "well, it is through one of your own household." "explain," said harkaway. "what do you mean?" asked harvey. "i can't talk much; mr. mole will tell you perhaps better. here, mr. mole." mr. mole stepped forward, looking just a little sheepish. "mr. mole!" "mr. mole!" exclaimed a dozen voices in chorus. "yes, my friends," said the old gentleman, stepping forward with his well-known modesty, "it is even so; your much-wronged mole." "tell us how it occurred," said harkaway. "i was down in the dancing garden, seated in a species of small summer house, taking a glass of--i mean a cup of tea--ahem!--when i fell asleep--i dozed, in fact." "you would," said harvey. "i've often noticed that you doze after a glass of--i mean a cup of tea." mole glared at the speaker. "the heat of the day quite overcame me." "it would," said dick, in the same compassionate manner. "when i woke up, i heard two persons conversing close by the green arbour where i sat." "yes." "two familiar voices." "ha!" exclaimed harkaway, eagerly. "now guess," said mole, "who the two familiar voices belonged to?" "can't." "out with it." "one of the voices," said mr. mole, "was hunston's, the other was--" "toro's?" "no." "no! whose then?" "marietta's." "marietta--what, the maid here?" "yes." "impossible." "was it, egad? i thought so, but i am not easily mistaken." "unless you dreamt." "bah!" exclaimed mr. mole, with ineffable contempt; "fiddlesticks!" "but did you suppose she was in league with hunston?" demanded emily with great eagerness. "no." "what then?" "he was bamboozling her, twisting her round his finger, as one might say. he had got up a casual chat, persuading her that he was a private friend of yours, so he pumped and pumped her about the boys, where they went, and so forth." "and did she say any thing that could serve him in his vile purpose?" asked mrs. harkaway. "plenty to help them, the miscreants, i suppose." "the girl must be a downright idiot to get into conversation with a strange man after all that has taken place, and after all the danger which she knows they ran." "not far short of it," said jefferson. "he spoke particularly about the boys not venturing out to the mountains, that they were permitted only to sail about in their boat, and--" harkaway broke in here with an exclamation that startled them all. "that explains all," he said. "all, all, i see it now." "do you? explain." "they have put out to sea and taken the boys, perhaps by stealth, perhaps by violence." "likely enough." "poor boys, poor boys!" "and where did all this take place?" demanded jefferson; "in one of the public promenades, did you say?" "mr. jefferson," replied old mole saucily, "you want your nose filed. i said in the dancing garden." "oh, de dancing garden, was it, massa ikey?" said a voice in his ear, which caused him to palpitate nervously. it was mrs. mole. when he had spoken of the dancing garden, he had not noticed his better half's presence. "yes, my dear," he said timidly, trying to look dignified the while before the company. "and what was you--doing in such a place as a dancing garding, mister mole, sar?" demanded his dusky rib, in a voice which sounded dangerous. "i went, my dear, to study character," said mr. mole timidly.... "what?" thundered mrs. mole. he trembled, and faltered something almost inaudibly. "studyin' character," said the lady with great contempt; "losing your character, you silly old pump--" "my dear," remonstrated the old gentleman. "don't 'my dear' me," said mrs. mole; "you're gwine off your silly old cokernut, you bald-headed old coon." "mrs. mole!" "you go to dat dancin' garding for to see dem gals jump about and dance and make fools ob demselves, ignorant critters." "no such thing, i tell you," said mole, indignantly. "oh, yes, it is," said his better half, "and you's a bushel more indelicate dan dey is, you silly old possum." this started the company off generally in a noisy fit of laughter, before which poor mole was forced to beat a retreat, followed by his irate partner. "poor mole," said jefferson, laughing heartily, "it is an unlucky admission for him. chloe will give it to him sorely for this, i'm afraid." * * * * * they went deeply into the question of ransoming the boys, for they were convinced that they had really fallen into the hands of the brigands. but do what they would, say what they would, they could only come back to one result. they must wait. patience was difficult under the circumstances, but there was no help for it. "wait till to-morrow," said jefferson; "it is a hard job, i know, but i feel certain that if the boys are with the brigands, to-morrow morning will bring a message from them." "but can nothing be done meanwhile?" said emily. "no." "nothing." "stay; you may get some papers printed and circulated everywhere, offering a heavy reward for the recovery of the boys." "to what end?" "it can do no harm, and may do good. at any rate, it will show the brigands that we are ready to pay the piper for our boys' sake." "that's true," said jefferson. "let's do it," said harkaway, who was pacing up and down impatiently; "at any rate, any thing is better than remaining inactive." chapter xxi. a house of mourning--the letter from the enemy--a strange correspondence--the incident at the open window--hunston's revenge--despair. it was as jefferson had predicted. the notices were printed and circulated everywhere by well-chosen and energetic agents. early next morning, a letter was found fastened to the garden gate. it was brought to harkaway, who was already up and busy. he tore it eagerly open, and found the following written in a disguised handwriting and in english-- "to mr. john harkaway: "if you would save the lives of your son and your _protégé_, his companion, the only way to do it is to bring the sum of five hundred pounds sterling to the stone cross by the old well at two o'clock this afternoon. those who have the two boys in their keeping will be on the watch. come along, as you value your happiness and their safety." "not very likely," said jack harkaway. instead of complying with this very shallow request, he wrote an answer in these terms: "to hunston and his fellow-villains: "send the lads back here. within half-an-hour of their return, the money shall be sent to where you will and when you will. this i promise, and swear upon my honour. none knows better than yourself that this may be implicitly relied upon. "harkaway." this letter he sent by a trusty messenger to the spot appointed for the meeting place, and they waited impatiently for the further result. it was not long coming. before two o'clock, marietta discovered another letter tied to the garden gate, but how it came there they were unable to decide. be that as it may, it was soon discovered to be of the highest importance to them in the present state of affairs. it was brief and startling, and ran as follows-- "we do not bandy words with you. we offer our conditions. you refuse. well and good. the consequences be upon your own head. if the money be not paid by four to-day, at six the boys will lose an ear each." "the villains!" cried poor harkaway. "oh, villains!" but he was powerless to help them. he knew well enough that, do what he would, he could not hope to get the boys back without paying, and paying through the nose too. nor indeed did he desire to try to achieve this. the only question was, would they deliver up their prisoners, once they had received the five hundred pounds? perhaps. perhaps not. if not, they would be in as much peril as they were already. nay, more. he guessed shrewdly enough that once they had received such a handsome sum as five hundred pounds, they would think that they had drained him dry, or as nearly so as it was possible to arrive at, and so might make short work of young jack and harry girdwood. what was to be done? he could not say. he would gladly have risked all that he possessed in the world for the chance of having his boys back. aye, his boys, for harry girdwood was second only in harkaway's affection to young jack. but he did not wish to reward the miscreants for ill-treating the unfortunate lads. at length he came to the conclusion that he would persist in his resolve to have the boys back before he parted with any money at all. accordingly he wrote another note to the brigands. this he dispatched by the same means as the former note. "release the two lads. restore them to us, and the ransom of a king shall be yours. fix upon any sum, however great, provided that it be within my means to pay it, and you shall not ask twice. moreover, i shall do nothing more to molest you or interfere with you in any way. play false, or harm a hair of my boys' heads, and beware. you may know that jack harkaway is not the man to make an enemy of." the answer to this was not long in coming. an ugly scrawl upon a dirty piece of paper, and with it was a small parcel. "we despise your threats, and laugh you to scorn. that you may know how little we are to be trifled with, we send you their ears in proof that we have kept our word. by this hour to-morrow the two boys die, unless you pay down the sum as fixed upon by us, both in manner and in amount." jack harkaway turned faint and sick. he dared nor open the parcel which accompanied the letter. he sent for jefferson and harvey, and unable to trust himself to speak, he placed the letter in the latter's hands. "read, read," he said, with a horror-stricken look. harvey glanced down the letter, and his countenance fell as he passed it on to jefferson. "what is to be done?" "i don't know," replied jefferson; "i am at a loss. this is too horrible." "what do you say, dick?" harvey hung his head. "speak, dick. tell me, old, friend, what i ought to do," said harkaway, imploringly. "i am bewildered--dazed--at my wits' end. what ought i to do?" "pay the money." accordingly the money, all in gold, was placed in a bag in the spot which they had indicated in the first note addressed by the brigands to jack harkaway. this done, they awaited the result. it soon came. too soon for the latter's peace of mind. as the family and their friends were seated in moody silence and in sorrow around the dinner-table, so strong was the sense of oppression upon everyone that they only conversed in whispers. "the heat is really overpowering," said mrs. harkaway. "shall i open the window?" "if you please." he hastened to comply with her request, when at that very instant something shot past him into the room. it fell with a clatter upon the table, and cannoned off a dish on to jack harkaway, striking him a rather sharp blow in the chest. "what's that?" "hullo!" "a stone." "yes, a stone with a paper wrapped round it." "so it is." "a letter, i should think," suggested dick. "if so," said harkaway, smiling sadly, "it is evidently meant for me." "you have a striking proof of that," said dick. harkaway undid the paper and scanned it through. his countenance fell as he read on. his pale face grew pallid, and rising from his seat, he ran, or rather staggered, to the window. "gone!" "what is the matter?" demanded dick, jumping up. "see after the man who threw this letter in," exclaimed harkaway. "come with me--come, come immediately!" and with this somewhat wild exhortation, he tottered out of the room, followed by dick. everybody arose from the table in confusion. dismay, alarm, was depicted in every face. "what can it be?" ejaculated mrs. harkaway. "oh, mr. jefferson, go and see, and bring me the news." "i will. calm yourself, my dear mrs. harkaway; it is very likely to be good news which thus agitates poor jack." away he went. "i fear it is the reverse," said emily, shaking her head. jefferson overtook harkaway and dick harvey in the gardens, where an active search was going forward after the man, or individual of either sex, who could have thrown the stone with its strange letter. "let me see the letter, jack." the latter placed it in his hand, and then, to jefferson's horror and dismay, he found it contained the following words-- "to hated harkaway. "i have had years and years of patience, and my turn has come at last. as your eyes glance at these lines, your boy is vainly supplicating for mercy. before you reach the signature at foot, your accursed brat will be dead--mark that--dead! no power on earth can save him. had you sent the money demanded as his ransom more promptly, you could have saved him. may the knowledge of this wring your heart as you have wrung mine in bygone years. "hunston." chapter xxii. a house of mourning--harvey's resolve--a time of trouble. "horrible!" cried jefferson; "horrible!" dismay and terror were on every face. the dreadful news paralysed their movements, and rendered them momentarily helpless. dick harvey was the first to break the silence. he sprang to his feet, and made for the grounds, motioning the others to follow him. "let us try and catch the postman," he exclaimed; "if we get hold of him, we may learn something worth knowing." "bravo!" responded jefferson; "a capital idea." they were flying all over the grounds immediately. but the result may be guessed in advance. not a sign was there of the bearer of this alarming letter. they gave up the search only when there was not the faintest vestige of a hope left, and crestfallen and disappointed, they returned to the house. "come," said dick to the bold american; "we must move; we must be stirring." "what for?" "for several reasons," replied dick, "but firstly for the purpose of giving jack something to do. it will never do to let a man in his condition brood." they sought poor harkaway again, and led him off to hold a consultation. "jack," said harvey, brusquely, "you must not give way to despondency. i say positively, must not. you will certainly undermine your health." "do not fear for me, dick," returned harkaway, "i shall be better for a little quiet." "indeed you'll not. besides, it is not just to the boys." harkaway's lips quivered, and a big lump rose in his throat. he swallowed it with considerable difficulty, and silently wrung dick's hand. "don't, don't, old friend," he faltered, in a broken-hearted voice. "i can't bear the mention of their names. poor boys! poor boys!" "but you must," insisted harvey. "i don't mean to leave them in the lurch." "what do you mean?" "what i say. we must not give up the search." "ah, dick, you would persuade me, if you can't persuade yourself." "you are wrong," replied harvey. "i have the deepest conviction on the point." "to what effect?" "that they live--both live." jack harkaway looked positively frightened at this reply. "dick, dick," he exclaimed, mournfully, "what are you saying, old friend?" "what i mean. they yet live," returned harvey boldly. "no, no." "but i say, yes, yes." "i should rather say that they were murdered long before we received their last message." "come, come, jack," he said; "rouse yourself, man. whatever can make you believe this to be true?" "the letter." dick laughed at this. "that is the very first thing to raise my doubts," replied dick. "why, we have known hunston all his life, and never found him any thing but the most notorious liar." "true; but--" "he told lies as a boy--lies as a youth--lies as a man. his life has been one long lie, and yet you choose to make yourself wretched and all of us too upon the strength of such a vagabond's word. bah!" harkaway hung his head and sighed. "that is not all, dick," he said; "i have the direst presentiment upon me--" "presentiment!" ejaculated dick, interrupting him. "well, jack, i will not quarrel with you about presentiments, since i am urged on to what i am about to say and do by presentiments--only my presentiments are of the most hopeful description." "dick," said harkaway, looking him straight in the face, "you are trying to deceive me." "i swear i am not," retorted harvey, with warmth. "and you shall soon see whether or not i am in earnest." "what do you mean?" "i mean that i am going to fetch the boys." "what wildness are you talking, dick? what is this?" "simply that to-morrow at daybreak i shall start off on the search." "whither?" "to the mountains." harkaway looked frightened at this. "not to trust yourself in the brigands' clutches?" "i mean to beard the tigers in their lair," echoed dick firmly; "not a word, jack," he added, as he saw harkaway about to interrupt him, "not a word; the worthy richard harvey will not go, but his spirit in another skin will go." "you are never going to trust yourself in a disguise." "i am." "why, dick, old friend, were you that unhappy man protean bob himself, hunston would penetrate your disguise; the eye of hate--" "nonsense. if i were protean bob, hunston would be too glad not to recognise me." "perhaps." "now, jack, you must listen to me, and not give advice. my determination is taken; nothing can shake it. hilda and the family generally must suppose that i have gone to the port to arrange about our departure, since they all appear to be so thoroughly bent upon leaving here." "but they will never believe a word about it." "that i can not help, but at all events i leave here to-morrow, at daybreak, and may the shade of one of their victims aid me to throw dust in the eyes of hunston and the italian villain toro." "amen," said harkaway, seriously. * * * * * surely enough, at daybreak, someone set forth from the villa, but although we who are behind the scenes can give a shrewd guess at who it was, the early wanderer looked about as unlike dick as you could well imagine. was it indeed dick? chapter xxii. the silk dress--murder! the morning after the interview between hunston and the widow of mathias, that woman was missing from the camp. no one doubted that she had gone on her errand of vengeance, for hunston had told toro and one or two others of her threats against the harkaways; but the question was how and when she did so? no one knew. the sentinels who all night long had guarded each known path leading to or from the bivouac were questioned, but neither of them had seen her depart. toro was rather annoyed at this; not that he had any great objection to her slaughtering the whole of the harkaway family, although he certainly would prefer to perform that task himself. but he could not help thinking that a secret path might admit foes, as well as permit the exit of friends. however, we must leave toro to his reflections, and follow the brigand's widow. it was between one and two in the morning when she quitted the bivouac without being observed, and walked slowly towards the town where the harkaways were located. there was no occasion for hurry. at that hour of the morning she could not hope to gain admittance to the house where her foes were located. a day must pass, and evening come again, before any thing could be done. diana's brain was in a whirl. deep-seated, poignant grief for the loss of one whom she had loved with all the passion her impetuous nature was capable of, made the thought and hope of revenge grow stronger and stronger. vengeance! aye, and a terrible one was what her soul craved. let once the deadly blow be stricken, and what matter then even if she fell into the hands of the authorities? what matter even if her life was pronounced a forfeit to the law? for life now had little charm for her. as the sun rose, she sat down a little way out of the road and tried to form some connected plan for carrying out her purpose. but no! her brain was too confused for deep thought, and after a brief interval she resolved to act upon no plan whatever, but simply do as the course of events might dictate. at about the hour when she thought the inhabitants of the town would begin to stir, diana walked into the place. she knew the residence of the harkaways well, but scarcely glanced at it as she passed and proceeded to a little house not far from it, where, according to an inscription over the door, one might obtain food, drink and lodging. entering this place, diana made a slender meal, and then, telling the ancient dame who kept the house that she was fatigued, demanded to be shown where she could repose for an hour or two. the old woman ushered her into a small, meanly-furnished apartment at the front of the house. "do not disturb me. i will rest till noon if not later," said diana. "you shall not be interrupted," was the response, and diana was left alone. she tried to sleep, so that she might be stronger and cooler for the business she had in hand; but the excitement under which she laboured effectually chased away drowsiness. a little after noon the woman of the house looked in, and finding her lodger awake, entered into conversation, commencing by suggesting some refreshment. diana shook her head. "ah, my food is very plain and humble," said the old woman. "i can't give you such dainties as the people over yonder eat." she jerked her thumb in the direction of the harkaway residence. "what people are they?" asked diana, with an assumed indifference she was far from feeling. "some english." "do they, then, eat and drink the best?" "the very best; oh, they are rich." "what do they want here?" "they have come to destroy the brigands; is it not droll?" "ha! have they succeeded?" "no; but if they are not careful, the brigands will destroy them. they are so careless." diana was afraid to exhibit too much interest in the doings of the harkaways, lest she should arouse suspicion. so she simply nodded, and listened most anxiously to what the garrulous old woman would say next. "so very careless; anyone might get into their house by the side door," said the ancient dame. "well, it is their own fault if they are robbed." "true. but it would be little credit to the robber; they think the brigands are afraid to enter the town, so they don't take many precautions." diana treasured up every word of this. presently the old woman, finding her guest was not conversationally inclined, went out again, and diana was left alone. the sun set, and darkness began to gather rapidly when she went out, and after going a little way down the street, returned, and sought the side door of harkaway's house. she turned the handle softly and entered. there was no one in the kitchen where she found herself, but the subdued noise of knives and forks in another apartment convinced her that they were at dinner or some other meal. diana, as soon as she had ascertained that fact, glided like a spectre up the stairs, and noiselessly examined various bedchambers. at length she decided on hiding herself in one which seemed better furnished than the others. "this must be it," she thought. and she was right. it was the apartment of mrs. harkaway. on the dressing-table was a folded paper. diana opened it, and found that it was a milliner's bill against mrs. harkaway. "for making a pearl-grey silk dress, etc., etc." to hide herself was diana's next move. clutching her sharp dagger firmly in her hand, the vengeful woman concealed herself behind some tapestry and waited. nor had she long to wait. a light foot was heard without. the door was opened, and a second afterwards, a graceful female form was seated before the mirror, with its back towards diana. and a female voice said-- "this pearl-grey silk suits my complexion far better than i thought it would. but it fits me badly. these greek milliners are not to be compared with those of london or paris." then the wearer of the pearl-grey silk heaved a deep sigh, and diana softly moved the curtain aside a little to get a view of the person who had spoken. the face was not visible, but from the figure generally, diana had not the slightest doubt it was mrs. harkaway. "i want some new jewellery sadly," continued "pearl-grey silk;" "but yet, after all, it would be scarcely safe to wear it here, while the brigands are in the neighbourhood. but they will soon be done for." the widow glided out from her hiding-place as the wearer of the silk dress continued-- "we have one villain safe enough, and another, mathias, was smothered in a chimney--ha, ha, ha, ha--oh!" the laugh ended in a deep groan, and never more came the slightest sound from those lips that a moment before had been so merry. diana had struck so hard and surely that no second blow was needed, for the first pierced a human heart. "that laugh was an insult to the memory of my dead husband," she said. "let none dare scoff at mathias." like a shadow, she glided away, leaving the wearer of the pearl-grey silk sitting motionless before the mirror. dead! the silk dress soaked with her heart's blood. a few minutes later, some one entered mrs. harkaway's apartment, and then arose the fearful cry-- "help! murder!" chapter xxiii. young jack in trouble--the council--doom of the boys--a soldier's grave at daybreak. young jack and harry girdwood, who by their friends are supposed to have been grievously ill-treated, found themselves dragged by rough and brutal hands to a considerable distance from the shore where they had unfortunately landed. the boy whom young jack had rescued, and who decoyed them to their ruin, disappeared at once. "jack," said harry girdwood, when recovered from the first shock, "we are done for." "no mistake about that," returned young jack, gloomily. "well, well, it is no fault of ours; that is some consolation." "a precious poor consolation, since here we are." "yes." here they were interrupted by their captors. "move on!" the voice was hunston's, and that sufficed for young jack to show signs of opposition. vain obstacle. the ruffians were only glad of the slightest pretext for further brutality. "we are quite comfortable where we are," said young jack. "insolent brat!" said hunston contemptuously. "you shall be birched well for that." the colour mounted to the boy's face in spite of himself. "you can threaten in safety, fellow," said young harkaway, turning and facing their old enemy, "since you have so many backers to protect you." hunston grew livid. "you wretched spawn of a hated race," he ejaculated between his teeth, "do you dare speak to me?" "there is not much daring required," retorted jack, boldly. the words were barely uttered when hunston dealt the boy a buffet which nearly sent him to the earth; but young jack was pretty prompt in returning it. this was a kind of debt which the harkaways were not long in acquitting. quick as lightning recovering himself, he turned and leapt upon hunston, and taking him unexpectedly, he toppled him over and fell upon him, clutching him by the throat. "now i'll show you what it is to lay your dirty ringers on a harkaway," exclaimed the boy, glaring into the other's face. "let go, or--" "my father trounced you before he was my age" cried the boy excitedly, "and now i'll finish you that you--" but he was not allowed to complete his threat. rough and muscular hands dragged him off. else had hunston fared badly. it was all momentary, but no sooner had the brigands perceived their comrade to be in danger than they seized hold of the young prisoner and dragged him off. hunston sprang to his feet, and knife in hand rushed upon the boy, but the others interfered and placed themselves between the boy and the man. "come, hunston," said one of the men, "let him alone." "but he has struck me." "you provoked it." "what then? shall i take a blow from such as he?" "you were wrong to strike a child--a child too that is unarmed." hunston hung his head at this way of putting it. "no matter; he shall die for this." "perhaps so; but meanwhile, there is possibility of ransom. the interests of the band can not be allowed to suffer for you." hunston was silent. he sheathed his knife, but his silent resolves were not less murderous for being unuttered. "lead the way, simon," said the brigand who appeared to be chief spokesman. simon stepped onward, and behind him young jack and harry were forced to march. they were walking into captivity, but they could not help themselves; and so they wisely obeyed, so as not to give their captors fresh excuse for further barbarity. the road which simon led them was a gloomy and narrow defile that wound precipitously up among the hills. sometimes the rocks overhung the road, so that the sky was barely visible, and here and there heaven was altogether obscured, for they had to walk through tunnels in the solid rock--too solid apparently to have been worked by the hand of man. on they walked upon the gloomy track, the silence only broken by the echo of their own footfalls. any thing so desolate our boys had never beheld. a dull settled feeling of loneliness and despair fell upon the two boy prisoners. after journeying in this way for about two miles they came unexpectedly (to them--for of course simon the guide knew where he was leading the party) upon a circular opening among the hills, beneath which was what appeared to be a table land of dark earth or peat. "a swamp," said harry girdwood. "it looks like a bog," said young jack, "but yet i can see something moving." "it is water." "a lake." "yes." "how black--how dismal it looks." it did, indeed. silent and gloomy, like a table of metal, spread the darkling waters of this strange lake. wild and desolate was it in the extreme. on every side it was enclosed by towering heights, bare, treeless and solemn. both boys were plainly impressed with the dull solemnity of the scene. "what does that look like?" said young jack, in a low voice to his companion. "i don't know--lerna, the famous marsh, near argos." "no; it was there that hercules killed the hydra, wasn't it?" "yes." "i should like to think that it was like that," he said, glancing around at the brigands about them. "and that you or we might emulate the example of hercules." "ah, yes." "but our enemies are more than hydra-headed." the other glanced eagerly about him before he spoke. "it is a question; i should almost sooner run a good deal of risk than be marched quietly off." now at this present juncture there was a signal from the topmost hills, and upon a trumpet note being blown in answer by one of the brigands, dark, dusky forms appeared upon every side. men sprang up in the rocky hills all round the dark waters of the lake, as promptly as the kilted savages responded to the summons of their chieftain, rob roy macgregor campbell. whatever wild fancies the two boy prisoners might have had in their minds, this startling phenomenon effectually drove them away. and fortunate it was, too, for them. hunston called a halt. the men were nothing loth. the road they had traversed was steep and rugged, and it had perhaps told less upon the two boy prisoners than upon any of the party. the brigands sat and refreshed. they made a hearty meal of cold meat and coarse bread and herbs, and they drank of their wine from the skins until their swarthy faces flushed purple; and whilst they feasted and made merry, the captives were constrained to look on--in envy perhaps--but not to share the banquet. hunger fell upon them. but the boys guessed that their sufferings would only give pleasure to their captors, and so they kept their troubles in this particular to themselves. "tighten your belt," said harry girdwood; "squeeze your stomach, jack, and don't let these wolves see that we are peckish." "not me." taking the hint, jack drew in a reef. the two young comrades were, in reality, not much improved by this movement; but they thought they were, and imagination goes a great way. but hunger is an intruder whose importunities there is no denying for any length of time, and so it fell out that, in spite of their brave and manful efforts at keeping up each other's pluck and spirit, he gnawed at their vitals in a way which reduced not only their stamina, but their spirits. "this is to be our prison," said harry girdwood gloomily; "i feared it would be." "it is rather like the lethe than anything else," said young jack, pointing to the silent water below. "if we remain here long, we shall forget all that has gone before, you may be sure. this is the place to drive us out of our wits more than any spot we could imagine." "rather the styx than the lethe," said harry; "banish all hope who enter here." it was indeed a spot to evoke gloomy reflections, and the boys were in a frame of mind to indulge in such. this place, they found, was fixed upon as the camp of the brigands, who had felt it imperative to change their headquarters, since they had positive proof that their old stronghold was known to their enemies. here they were not in danger of surprise, for their men commanded every outlet, and it must be a rare chance to take them by surprise. within a couple of hours of the arrival there of the two boy prisoners and their captors, the whole of the band sauntered down in twos and threes, until the vast host that they formed fairly amazed young jack and his companion. "let us fix a sum on them," said toro, "so that their parents and friends may release them if they wish." this was approved of by one and all of his hearers. there was only a single dissentient voice. this was hunston's. "if you attempt to temporise," he said, "you will be beaten, for sure." "why?" "beaten by whom?" "harkaway." "bah!" "such is my experience of him," returned hunston. "nonsense; why shouldn't we make sure of the money if we can?" "why not?" said hunston; "if we can, which i doubt." "harkaway is a most affectionate parent, i know well," said ymeniz; "i have heard it from a dozen different sources. once let him know that his son and the other boy are in danger, and he will pay any money for their release." "well." said toro, "let us say five hundred pounds." "five hundred?" "yes." "not enough." "how much is five hundred pounds?" demanded ymeniz. "twelve thousand, five hundred francs," replied toro. "very good, very good; a fair sum." "is it not?" "how shall we claim it?" this question was put to the assembled council generally, and answered eagerly by hunston. "let me do that?" "very good, hunston; be yours that task." "but remember our old friend tomaso is still in the power of these cursed english." toro paused, and from all the band arose the unanimous cry-- "tomaso must be rescued or be avenged!" hunston addressed himself to the business with considerable interest. it is not necessary for me to go through the correspondence which took place, nor to dilate upon the ingenious manner in which the letters were delivered by hunston or his emissaries. with his wonted shrewdness, he watched for the result of his last threatening letter himself, and after making the most careful observations, he descended to the appointed spot and fetched the letter containing the money. the five hundred pounds were there, in five bank of england notes of one hundred each. "five hundred pounds," he said, his vicious eyes glistening as he touched the crisp new notes, "five hundred pounds! heaven, what a sum!" he looked about him. he was alone. not a soul in sight. "why should i share it?" he said; "why should it not all be mine?" why indeed? because he feared his lawless companions. nothing more. "i'll take up a hundred, one hundred," he muttered, half aloud, "and this shall serve a double purpose. the four hundred shall remain mine, and the one hundred theirs, but seeing that they can get nothing out of harkaway, they will be the more easily worked upon, and i shall achieve all i want at one stroke; a noble notion." back he went, and then began a comedy which hunston went through like a veteran actor, a comedy that was destined to have a tragic finale. "toro," said hunston to the italian, "to you i may speak as the leader of these brave fellows; also to you, comrades in general, i may talk without fear of my motives being in any way misconstrued." "speak on." "here is the reply of the cold-blooded englishman harkaway to my demand for ransom, and you are all my witness that i did not exact a very unreasonable sum." "no, no." "what says he?" "he sends this," returned hunston, holding up a single hundred pound note: "one hundred pounds--two thousand, five hundred francs--in a word, one-fifth of the sum we demanded, and with it a letter." a murmur of indignation followed. "what does the letter say?" they demanded. "he defies us; he offers this sum, but says that if the boys are not released before sunrise, he will come and fetch them." "let him come." "so say i; but what shall be done with the boys meanwhile?" a momentary silence followed; then came the deep stern words-- "let them die." this speaker was toro. the italian's words were eagerly caught up. "aye, let them die; but when?" "when you will," said hunston; "i care not, so that we are lid of them. we see clearly that there is no counting upon these harkaway people for the ransom set down by us, however reasonable our demands may be." "true." "then, i say, let them die to-day." "impossible," said one of the brigands, stepping forth. "why?" "because the traitor, lirico, is to die at daybreak; we can't have two executions so near to each other. let them all die together." "lirico," said hunston, "and why has he to die? i haven't heard in what he has offended." "a hateful thing," was the reply of his informant; "lirico has offended against the foundation rule of the band." "how?" "he has kept to himself the booty he has gained, and our law is that any member of the band who shall conceal his booty, or any part or fragment of the same, to the prejudice of his comrades and fellows shall die the death of a traitor." hunston was silent. but had anybody been watching him closely then, they would have noticed that he changed colour. it was an unpleasant topic to tackle the english ruffian upon, after all that had just taken place. "why so silent, comrade?" said an old brigand named boulgaris, staring hunston full in the face; "do you not approve?" "of what?" "of the law." "i--of course." "of course you do," said boulgaris boldly; "why, you would be the first to approve. who could approve more of such a law than you, honest hunston?" "who, indeed?" hunston winced under the cool scrutiny of the greek. did he know aught about what had taken place? the idea was utterly absurd. he (hunston) had taken too much care that he was not observed for any vulgar pryer like boulgaris to find a corner from which to spy upon his movements. still it gave him a qualm. "quite right," said hunston, boldly; "quite right and just; any man who can play false to his fellows deserves to die the death." "hear, hear! let him die." "and the two boys shall die with him?" asked boulgaris. "they shall, at daybreak." this was put to the assembled throng, and agreed to by all, when suddenly a single dissentient voice was heard. "they shall not die." the brigands looked up, and a boy appeared upon the scene, the boy who had lured the luckless lads to their present unlucky pitch. "theodora." "aye, theodora," responded the boy--or rather girl--for a girl it was, as you have long since discovered, although in male attire. "and why shall they not die, theodora?" asked hunston. "ask rather why they should die?" she said sadly. "what have they done to merit death?" "hullo, hullo!" ejaculated toro. "why, whatever is the meaning of this change of tone? i thought that you, like all others, were most eager for revenge." "why?" "why? need i already remind you of the ample cause for vengeance which we all have?" "no," returned theodora, calmly. "but those boys are innocent of harm." "then why did you lure them to their destruction?" the woman sighed. "ah, why indeed?" "yes, why?" "i was wicked, cruel, base, deceptive," she replied; "words cannot paint my wickedness. but i was punished for my badness by peril such as i have never yet known; and when really running a danger which i thought but to affect the better to lure our destined victims to their doom, i was rescued from the grave by them, by the very boys--brave, brave boys--whom i sought to destroy. now," she added, turning bodily to the assembled brigands, "can you ask me why i have changed my tone?" a dozen voices were heard at once, and all uttered different sentiments. "these prisoners are mine by right," said theodora, "for i have taken them, i have brought them here; it is for me to dispose of them." some few of the brigands agreed to this; but the majority, overruled by toro and hunston, denied her jurisdiction altogether in the matter. the girl made a passionate appeal to the assembled brigands. but all in vain. they were resolved. it was put to the vote, and the result was easily foreseen. death. death by a majority of voices as of ten to one. "death at the gibbet," exclaimed hunston, triumphantly. "aye, aye." "nay," cried the girl, with superhuman energy, "these two poor boys have shown themselves better men than most here present. see how they bear their fate. be men, then, and if they must die, let them die like soldiers." an animated discussion ensued on this, and finally it was agreed that the hapless boys should die next morning with the traitor lirico. chapter xxiv. qualms--the eve of the end--a sad vigil hunston did not close his eyes throughout the night. the words of boulgaris rang in his ear like a knell. lirico was to die for concealing a part of the spoil which he had made. what of the four hundred pounds which he, hunston, had kept back out of the sum fixed upon for the ransom of the two boys, and which harkaway had deposited in the spot agreed upon? he knew the desperate men he had cast his lot with far too well to suppose for a moment that there could be any hope for him did they chance to discover his secret. would they? the bare possibility of it made him shudder. his hand nervously sought the hidden notes, which were concealed in his chest, and the faintest rustle of the crisp new paper caused his cheek to pale. once he dozed off, but barely were his eyes closed ere he was troubled by dreams that caused him to toss about and moan as if in great bodily pain, and when he awoke, he, dared not try to sleep again, so he arose and went to look at prisoners. the two unfortunate boys were awake, and talking to the now disconsolate author of all their troubles, the disguised girl whom they had lost themselves in saving. "hullo, madam," exclaimed hunston, brutally, "what do you do here, talking with the condemned brats." "i am seeking to comfort them," replied the girl; "to prepare them for the butchers." "butchers? humph!" "i mean you and those who are persuaded by you." "no matter; you had better leave them now to themselves." "at whose command?" demanded the woman, drawing herself up proudly. "at mine," returned hunston, who was fast losing his temper. "what, you dare!" ejaculated the girl, with flashing eyes. "dare!" laughed hunston. "will you go away and leave the boys alone, or must i carry you away?" the girl's colour forsook her cheek, and she drew nearer to hunston, and the latter, startled at her expression, drew back. "these unhappy boys are doomed to die at daybreak," she said, "but if you stay a moment longer to molest me or annoy them, i will summon the men and tell them that you would insult me and murder them." "it is false." "i know it," replied the woman, fiercely, "but do you suppose i would hesitate at that? and what would your life be worth?--what, i ask? why, they would wait for no explanation; your presence here would be sufficient; they would tear you asunder. begone, craven blackheart. go." hunston muttered something indistinctly, but he bent his head before the storm of this fierce woman's wrath and slunk away. she turned to the boys. "my poor fellows," she said, tenderly, her manner changing as if by magic, "my unfortunate, brave lads, what can i do for you?" "you have earned our gratitude," returned harry girdwood, "by the whipping you gave that cur." "indeed you have," chimed in young jack, with warmth. "how like a beaten hound he looked," said the woman. "but how can i ever hope to be forgiven by you?" "we have nothing to forgive." "aye, but you have; you have saved my life and i take yours." "not you." "i am the cause of it indirectly." "perhaps; but at any rate the innocent cause." the girl's distress at this was painful to witness. she had conceived a great affection for the two boys, her youthful preservers, and she could not tell them how far she was guilty. she dare not avow that she had started out upon that risky trip to sea with the intention of simulating the peril which afterwards became too real, and so decoying the two boys as she had done. no; she dare not avow this. she had soon repented of her share in that black business. soon--aye, but that soon was all too late. too late! the thought wrung her heart, and she bent her head and wept. "this is very painful," said young jack. "it is, jack," said his comrade, in a broken voice. "i don't like to see a boy crying." they were still ignorant of their friend's real sex. * * * * * "what is that?" "what?" "don't you hear?" "i do; it sounds like some heavy instrument beating the earth close at hand." "yes, like digging." the three started at the word. no sooner was it uttered than the meaning of it struck them all three, and sent a chill to their very hearts. digging at that fatal hour, so short a time before daybreak, could have but one significance. grave-making; and if the two hapless boys quailed at that awful sound, can we accuse them of cowardice? no. assuredly not. who amongst the bravest could listen to such a sound unmoved? to have been callous to such a thing would have shown them mere senseless logs, nothing more. "you know what that is?" she said, in a faint voice. "we do," responded harry girdwood. "and you?" this was to young jack. "yes." the reply of both was given in a grave voice, befitting such a solemn occasion. yet their voices never trembled, never faltered. she understood them well, and her expression showed clearly as words the admiration she felt for their courage. "i am glad that you know the worst," she said, in a low but impressive tone, "for the unpleasant task of telling you is not left for me. have you any thing to say before--" "no." "all that i would say," remarked young jack, "that since they mean assassinating us, i hope that they will do their work cleanly, and not put us to the torture." "at the worst," added his companion, "we shall not give them the satisfaction of seeing us beg and pray for mercy." "it would be useless." "we know it." "and so shall not give them the chance of saying that two englishmen showed the white feather." "bravely spoken," said the girl, "but the night is growing old, and so listen to what i have to say." and then she made a communication which considerably startled them. at first they listened as though in a dream, for they could not believe in the reality of what she said, but they were not sorry to believe in its truth. the nature of this communication will appear later on. "and now," she said solemnly, "the time is short. i must insist upon your sleeping. rest, and i will watch by your side. a friendly voice at least shall call you for the last dreadful trial of all." chapter xxv. the triple execution--a soldier's grave--toro's luck. morning dawned. the eastern sky was only just tinged with the light of the rising sun when the bugle call summoned the firing party. the party in question was composed of six men commanded by hunston. he had insisted upon having this post, one that none of the brigands envied him--so that he might gloat over his victims at the last hour. the two boys were aroused with some difficulty, for strange though it may appear, they were sleeping soundly when the fatal moment approached. "come," said the girl, in a hollow voice. "lirico is already on the ground." "we mustn't be behindhand then." "no," added harry girdwood; "they must see how englishmen can face death." and then, led by the girl who had, to her sorrow, brought them to this dire pass, they came to the spot where the tragedy was to take place. lirico, the traitor, was already pinioned, and he stood with his eyes bandaged upon the edge of the grave which was shortly to receive his lifeless body. upon either side of this was a newly-dug trench or grave. one of these was for young jack. the other was for his stout-hearted comrade. they needed no telling what to do now; but each went through his part in the horrible ceremony as though it had been previously rehearsed. not a word was spoken. the only signs of emotion which the boys exhibited were when they silently wrung each other's hands before taking their places before their graves. the girl passed before each of the unhappy victims and shook them by the hand one after the other. "courage," she said, in a low but firm voice, "courage, brave hearts." "bandage their eyes," said hunston. "no; let us look upon our fate," said young jack. "the old harkaway brag to the very last," said hunston, with a sneer. "you don't like to look a harkaway in the face, assassin!" retorted the boy. "fool!" exclaimed hunston, "since you want it, you shall have it. fire at the middle first. they can have an opportunity of seeing a real man die before their eyes. it may give them a relish for their own share to follow." the word was given. "ready! present! fire!" the six rifles flashed simultaneously. then, as the wounded lirico was struck, he bounded into the air and fell back into the grave--stone dead! hunston stood smiling grimly, even while the very men turned sick at the butchery they were forced to enact. he, with fiend-like satisfaction, noticed the sickly pallor of the two boys' faces, and it gladdened his black heart. "they aren't quite so happy now," he muttered. "now it is they suffer. oh, if harkaway were here too. it would make me drunk with joy." the girl turned to young jack. "courage," she whispered, "courage; be bold." and then turning to the firing party, she said-- "come, do not delay. it is needless to prolong the sufferings which these poor boys feel already." "silence, and begone!" exclaimed hunston fiercely. "you have no right to speak to the men." "i have every right," returned the woman, boldly. "silence yourself, i say, and know your place!" her voice and manner half-awed hunston, who fell back a pace or two. "my poor comrades," she went on, addressing the firing party, "this work is not to your taste. i'll load for you." so saying, she set to work to reload the rifles, which were piled now. and she observed the very greatest care in this task. "not a shot must miss," she said to the men of the firing party, earnestly. "every bullet must have its billet. we have to murder, but even then not to torture, these unhappy boys." hunston smiled sardonically. "how very tender-hearted you have become," he said, with a sneer of contempt. "silence!" said the girl, turning fiercely upon him, so that he actually quailed before her indignant gaze. "silence, i tell you, bully--butcher--villain--silence!" hunston would have retorted at this, but prudence bade him be silent. for the girl was a great favourite with all the men, and he feared that they might take up the cudgels for her in a way which might be unpleasant for him. "so, young harkaway," he said, jeeringly, "you wish to see it all go before you. it prolongs your pleasure, and so i can't complain. this one next." he pointed with his sword to harry girdwood. the latter looked deadly pale but resolute. "ready! present! fire!" young jack turned half round, and saw his brave comrade clap his hand to his breast, totter and fall. a cry rose to his lips. but he stifled it ere hunston should have this small gratification. hunston looked round at young jack, and he positively bit his lips with sheer vexation to find that he was unable to make the boy betray the least sign of fear. "you keep it up well, boy," said hunston, "but i know well that you are ready to sink through the ground with fear, nevertheless." "liar!" hunston flushed purple. but he kept down his rage. "as you are going to die, boy, i may let you off the birching which your impertinence merits. you have all the old brag of your father." jack was silent. "all his deceit; all his sham and falseness--" the boy said nothing. "all his craven-hearted, black-hearted villany." but young jack saw through the other's game clearly enough. he held his peace. he knew well enough that the real way to enrage the ruffian was to appear unmoved at his taunts. so when hunston had exhausted his expletives and was about to give the word to the firing party, young jack spoke. "one moment." hunston made the men a sign to ground arms. the boy was about to beg for mercy. here, then, there was one chance of wreaking his spite upon the lad. now he should be able to feast his ears with the unhappy boy's piteous appeals, for he well judged that, once he began to plead for pity, all his fortitude would go. "before they fire," said young jack, pale but resolute, as his comrade harry had just shown himself, "one word." "go on." "i can speak as one on the brink of the grave," said the boy, "and so my words may be prophetic. before many weeks are over, you shall kneel and sue for mercy to my father, and it will be denied you. you will grovel in the dirt, and crawl and cringe in abject misery; but it will be hopeless, and in the bitterness of your despair you will think of this moment, and curse the hour you ever molested one of my race, or anyone in whom we are interested." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed hunston, in a boisterous and forced manner; "quite a sermon. preaching is a new quality in the harkaways. it is unfortunate that you are to be cut off in your early youth. you would soon bloom into an odd mixture of puritan and bully." but he could not provoke his victim. having said all he had to say, young jack coolly folded his arms and waited the end of the tragedy, apparently not hearing what hunston was saying. * * * * * "make ready! present! fire!" as the word was spoken, the volley was fired. the unhappy boy--the last of the three victims--threw up his arms, and fell back into the new-made grave yawning to receive him. poor young jack! the body did not even quiver after it had fallen into the grave. apparently death had been instantaneous. "fill in the graves and cover up the carrion," said hunston; "and then let us get away and make merry." the girl stepped up and interposed herself. "begone and leave the rest to me," "to you?" "aye." "what for?" "it was so agreed," said one of the men. "let us pray for them now," said the girl. "surely, having destroyed their bodies, you do not wish them any further harm." she waited for no reply, but falling upon her knees, was soon lost in holy meditation, her hands clasped fervently, her head bent upon her breast. the men doffed their hats reverently and glided noiselessly away. hunston feared to shock their superstitious susceptibilities, and so he followed them in silence. * * * * * for several hours she was left to her meditations. and when, some hours later in the day, hunston returned to the spot, the three graves were filled in. over those of the two unhappy lads some pious hands had raised a rough wooden cross. "the first to taste our vengeance," muttered hunston. "may the others soon follow," said a voice at his elbow. he started. it was toro. "this is the turn of our luck," said the italian, exultingly. "i hope so." "i feel it so. the rest of the hated race will soon follow, if we have the least good fortune." chapter xxvi. the brigand's recruit--hunston's peril--delicate ground. "who is it?" "where?" "below; down that crevasse. look again." "i see; it is ymeniz." "it is, it is." the speakers were two of the brigands who were plying their lawless trade; and passing along a mountain ridge, a short time after the execution, they suddenly espied the body of a man lying flat upon his back. upon his breast was something white, which they could not quite distinguish. the form and features, however, they had no particular difficulty in recognising. it was their comrade ymeniz, they could see well. "he has fallen down there," said one to the other. "it looks so." now, strange to relate, that although they said this to each other, they both had misgivings. the body lay in such a strange attitude. however, they soon proceeded to solve the problem, and set all doubts at rest. passing down to a lower ridge by a circuitous path well known to them both, they reached the bottom of the crevasse. "he is dead--murdered!" "hah!" "and here, by all the powers of evil!" exclaimed the brigand, "here is the confession of the murderer." "a confession!" exclaimed the brigand. "yes. take it," said the other, lifting the paper from the blood-stained breast of the slain ymeniz, "take it and read for yourself." "nay, you know i am no scholar; do you read it out to me." in a sonorous voice the brigand read the following document-- "i, jack harkaway, proclaim war to the knife against the murderers of my boys. the villains hunston and toro will tell you all that i never threatened in vain. one of your number shall die daily until i have exterminated you root and branch. no amount of precaution upon your part can avert your doom. you claimed a ransom of five hundred pounds for my son. i have paid the sum demanded, and you have played me false; therefore, you die. to the last man you shall perish. you shall learn to look forward to your fate in fear and trembling; and day by day the survivors, anticipating their turn, shall learn to curse the hour that they were led to murder my two innocent boys. beware!" the two brigands looked at each other half scared. "what of that, do you think?" the other looked nervously around him before replying. "it is grave." "very." "poor ymeniz! he has been stabbed in the back." "no; here is the death wound below the heart." "then he has not been taken by surprise." "evidently." the two men made their way with all despatch to their camp, carrying the paper with them. the sensation it caused is indescribable when boulgaris read it aloud to the assembled brigands. "death to the englishman harkaway!" exclaimed one of the brigands, impetuously. the cry was caught eagerly up by all--save one. this one was hunston. it was not that he hated harkaway less intensely than his comrades that he remained silent. it was simply that in his fierce denunciation of the brigands, harkaway had told about the money. lirico was barely cold in his grave for an offence which, beside that of hunston's, was a mere paltry pilfering. the secret was in great danger now. if they should believe harkaway, then his (hunston's) position was indeed critical. what should he do? what would be better than to cast doubt and derision upon harkaway's dark menaces. "the man is a charlatan, a humbug," he said, curling his lip; "and his purpose is more than accomplished could he but know it, which he does not, i am glad to say. he would laugh rarely could he but know what an alarm you have taken at this message." but they would not let this pass unchallenged. "it is no joke, hunston," said boulgaris, seriously. "how do you know?" demanded hunston, quickly. "the death of ymeniz is proof enough. that is no joke." "true!" "moreover, i for one feel sure that this englishman harkaway speaks truly." "how?" "in saying that he gave the ransom." "in full?" "in full." "why, where, then, do you think it is?" demanded hunston, with an assumption of boldness, yet trembling as he waited the reply. boulgaris answered with a single word-- "stolen." a murmur ran round the assembled throng. "what!" cried one of the brigands, stepping forward; "is it possible that we have more thieves and traitors amongst us?" "never!" "death to all traitors, say i!" "and i." "and i." and so the cry went round from mouth to mouth. hunston trembled for his very life. "who can have stolen the money?" demanded one of the men, fiercely. "who but he who was charged to fetch the money from the old well, the spot appointed--who but the comrade that fetched the money?" "why," exclaimed toro, turning to hunston, "then it was--" he paused. hunston turned heartsick as every eye was directed towards him. "never!" exclaimed hunston, fiercely. this was a critical moment for the latter. for awhile his life hung upon a very slender thread. hunston, to begin with, was no favourite. but he was a lucky villain. at the very moment that matters were looking so very unpleasant, their attention was called off in another direction. "do you hear that? the sentry is giving the alarm." they were all accustomed to danger, and were on the qui vive ere the alarm was fairly sounded. pistols, knives, and blunderbusses were called into requisition. and all was ready to give an intruder a warm reception. toro climbed up a crag and peered over. then turning to the men, he motioned them to silence. "hush! he comes this way. back!" and then, at a sign from him, every man glided quickly, silently off, and concealed himself behind a rock, or bush, or wherever a favourable place was to be discovered. then a stumbling noise was heard, and a man crept through a gap and hobbled on to the scene. he was a strange, wild-looking fellow, with long fair hair and eyebrows almost as light as an albino's. his cheeks were fair, but much sunburnt, and almost destitute of beard. he progressed with difficulty, and leant heavily upon a staff cut roughly from a tree, and from its green bark and slovenly-stripped branches only recently cut, too. he was apparently a young man, and if he progressed with so much difficulty, the natural inference was that fatigue and perhaps illness was the cause of it. he was dressed in a very tattered outlandish costume. he carried a long knife stuck in his waistband, but he had no arms beyond this. his arms were bare to the elbow, and the left one was bleeding from a flesh wound that did not look many hours' old. evidently he was no milksop, for although the wound was pretty severe, the only care he had taken was to tie it loosely up with a strip of white rag. perhaps he had lost blood and began to feel it, for, as he drew into the open, he dropped heavily down upon a rocky seat and gave a sigh or grunt of relief. "i'm not sorry to come to an anchor." he spoke in english. but if he thought to rest here in peace, he was destined to be disappointed. barely had he stretched out his legs, when he was startled by a sound at his side, and glancing up, he found a huge, black-muzzled fellow towering above him and covering him with a long-barrelled horse pistol. "hullo!" out came his long knife instanter. "move or speak, and i pull the trigger," said the brigand. "thank you for nothing," said the stranger. "who are you?" demanded the brigand. "just what i was about to ask you," returned the stranger, lightly. "whence come you?" "precisely the question i was going to put." the brigand's colour came and he grew vicious. "if you are wise, you'll not try to fool me," he said. "if you have any wit," retorted the new-comer, "you'll not come pestering me with questions; i'm not in the humour, and when i am put out, i'm dangerous. good-morning." the brigand, finding he could get nothing out of the eccentric stranger, fell back a pace or two, and the latter thought that he was to be molested no further. he was mistaken. nor was he long in making this discovery. the withdrawal of the brigand was a signal for a regular mob of the lawless men to make their appearance. every nook and cranny about the opening was guarded by armed men; and now, when the cool stranger glanced up-wards, he found a dozen rifles, pistols or blunderbusses pointed at him. still he did not appear disconcerted. he only glanced about him with a coolness that was remarkable, and muttered-- "dear, dear, how very attentive these dear boys are." before he could speak to them, however, they stepped out from their hiding places, and with their firearms still making him their target, they advanced to close in upon him. when he saw the object of this manoeuvre, he jumped up and plucked out his knife. "so, so," he cried, "sold, eh? come on, all of you." "what does he say?" demanded one of the greeks, turning to toro. "he challenges us all at once to fight him." "why, the fellow's mad or an englishman." "yes," said hunston, "an englishman. that makes him feel he is a match for a mob of greeks, and i don't know that it is all madness." suddenly the stranger appeared to liven up. "what, you are not the police, then?" he ejaculated. "police!" said hunston, contemptuously turning round to the speaker. "what do you mean by that?" "why, i took you for the police in pursuit of me." "what have you been doing?" "am i among friends?" "we are brigands, but you can speak freely." "well, then, i am an unlucky wretch who has been forced to bolt away from his master and his living--and all for nothing." "what do you call nothing?" said toro. "a trifling peccadillo, sir; nothing more, i assure you--merely a few pounds and a paltry bit of jewellery belonging to an englishwoman of the name of harkaway." they all pricked up their ears at this name. "hullo, hullo!" exclaimed toro; "what is this? stand forward, man. do you know harkaway?" "i do--to my sorrow," replied the man; "he was my master." the brigands all pricked up their ears at this. "harkaway's servant, were you?" said hunston, eagerly. "i was, sir." "and what may be your object in coming here?" "to join you." "do you know--" "who you are? yes, of course; at least i can guess it--i'm uncommon good at guessing." and he chuckled again. "the fellow's an idiot," said hunston. "do you bring any information to us?" this question was put by the italian bully and brigand, and to him the stranger turned with an elaborate bow. "what do you want?" "to get hold of harkaway himself," cried toro. "then i can help you to do this." "you can--then money shall be yours," said toro. "i hope so; why, i've got that already from them." "you have!--much?" "a pretty lump. look." it was a bag of money composed of pieces of copper, silver and gold. it was a good round sum, and it looked considerably more than it was. "is that all?" "i have these few nicknacks," added the stranger, producing a bundle tied in his pocket-handkerchief. they tore open the bundle eagerly and it was found to contain various articles of plate, a silver candlestick, and some jewels. "those," he said, pointing to the latter, "belonged to mrs. harkaway, and i believe she set some store by them--they were wedding presents." "so much the better," exclaimed toro, exultingly. "so say i," added hunston. "is all this a fair amount for a fellow to bring as his entrance fee?" demanded the stranger. "what say you, comrades?" demanded toro of the bystanders. "you are the best judges. shall we admit this man in as a brother and a comrade?" "we will," shouted the brigands. "agreed on all hands?" said the italian chief. "agreed." it was answered as if with a single voice. "good," said toro; "do you, boulgaris, prescribe the oath." the oath, which was administered in greek, was not at all understood by the novice, but he subscribed to it cheerfully. "you swear to devote your life to the destruction of your enemies," said hunston. "i do," responded the new brigand, with fervour. "enough. what is your name?" "geoffrey martin." "geoffrey martin," repeated toro; "the name has a ring about it that i like. now understand, the end of the harkaways draws near; one has already paid the forfeit." "who?" cried the stranger. "two!" said a voice. the brigands turned and beheld diana, the widow of mathias. "two have already fallen, for i myself struck the wife of this hated harkaway to the heart with my dagger," cried the fierce woman. and she then recounted (as we have done in a previous chapter) how she gained admittance to the harkaway mansion, concealed herself in mrs. harkaway's chamber, and dealt her the fatal blow. to all this the brigands' new recruit listened calmly enough. when, with an air of triumph, diana concluded her narration, the brigands cheered loudly. "another of our hated foes dead. three cheers for the brave diana!" "certainly," said geoffrey martin politely. and his voice was heard in the general shout. "now, gentlemen," said he, when silence was once more restored, "allow me to correct one very slight error in the statement of this good and valorous lady." "what is that?" demanded toro. "her narrative is quite correct, with this little exception--it was not mrs. harkaway who was killed." diana turned pale, and uttering a wail of disappointment, sat down. hunston, after venting a few fearful imprecations, said-- "then i hope and trust it may have been the wife of that confounded harvey." "it was not, and to tell you the truth, i am rather glad of it, for, do you know i have almost fallen in love with her?" "cheek!" muttered hunston. "well, who was it, then?" "you must know i was waiting on them at the dinner table, when mrs. harkaway expressed a wish that her fan, which she had forgotten, might be brought. "i was going to call some of the female servants, but harkaway himself went and before he had been gone a minute, we heard him scream out-- "help! murder!" away rushed harvey and that long american fellow, jefferson, while mrs. harkaway fainted. but in a few minutes the three came back with the news that mrs. harkaway's maid--marietta by name--had been killed. "no fault of yours, madam, for the girl had been dressing herself in some of mrs. harkaway's clothes, and no doubt she looked as much a lady as her mistress." "what then?" demanded diana. "the police took the matter in hand, and are now searching everywhere for the murderer." "let them search," said diana, with a scornful laugh. there was silence for a time; then diana asked-- "did you hear anything of tomaso?" "yes. he is condemned to die." "when?" demanded toro. "the date is kept secret, so that you may have less chance of rescuing him." toro growled an oath and departed. chapter xxvii. the recruit works bravely--harkaway's vengeance--"he never forgets a debt." the brigands soon found that they had made an invaluable acquisition in their new recruit. the day following his admission into their honorable fraternity, he brought in an addition to his already handsome booty. this was in the shape of a lady's reticule, containing a rich prize in money, and more jewels. "i came across my late mistress," said geoffery martin in explanation; "she had ventured out of the town with her new maid, and so i fleeced them royally. i did not leave them a stiver; moreover i secured this." so saying, he spread out before them a newly-printed placard, which, translated, ran as nearly as possible in this wise-- "five thousand francs reward "will be paid to the police or to any private person, who will secure, or give such information as may lead to the capture of, one geoffrey martin, lately a valet in the service of mr. john harkaway." then followed a description of his person, walk, and mode of speech. "the said geoffrey martin having absconded with a large sum of money, besides property of great value, it is the duty of every man to aid in bringing him to justice." he chose a good moment for bringing this paper in. there was a large muster of the brigands in camp. "five thousand francs reward," he said to his newly-made comrades generally; "you have only to turn me over to the harkaways, and you can make a small fortune." "you'll only find good men and true here," said hunston. geoffrey martin turned upon the latter. "all?" there was a hidden significance in his tone which thrilled hunston. "i am glad that they are all safe, friend; by the way, what is your name? i haven't heard it yet." "my name is hunston, and i'm not ashamed of it." "no, of course you wouldn't be; so you are hunston?" he added reflectively. "did you know my name?" "yes." "indeed. heard your master speak of me, i suppose?" "yes; harkaway and his friend harvey." "harvey," cried hunston contemptuously; "a paltry, frivolous fool." "yes; wasn't he? you should hear him speak of you." "there was never any love lost between us," said hunston moodily; "we hated each other most cordially from boyhood." "known him so long?" said martin. "we were at school together, and at college together," said hunston. "college--phew! then you must have been a swell." "well," he said haughtily, "and what of that?" "oh, nothing; i was only thinking." "what were you thinking?" "why, if i had half your chance of getting on in life, you would never have found me here." "what do you mean? are you ashamed of your comrades?" "no, no, not me," said martin; "but i should be if i was you. you're a swell, and it's an awful drop for you. i'm only a poor devil--a nobody, and it's a rise in life for me to join your honorable company; give us your hand." and then, before he could say yea or nay, the new recruit seized hunston by the hand and wrung it with real or affected warmth. hunston strode moodily away, hanging his head. this singular individual, geoffrey martin, appeared greatly interested in the fate of the unfortunate boys, young jack and harry girdwood, and he got boulgaris to take him to the spot where the crosses had been erected over the graves by the pious hand of theodora, the girl who had unwittingly lured them to the fatal trap. "so here you have buried them?" said geoffrey martin. "yes, poor boys," said boulgaris. "poor boys," echoed martin in surprise, "poor boys." "yes, i see no reason for butchering two children, for they were little more." the new brigand eyed the speaker rather curiously. "have you any pity to spare for harkaway's boy?" "and why not?" said boulgaris. "true, harkaway's our enemy, and i hate him; i'd like to get the upper hand of him; but we don't want to fight boys. besides, harkaway is a good sort of enemy; a bold, daring fellow, not a sneak." "no, that he isn't," said geoffrey martin, with warmth. "i am sure he'd never murder a boy because the boy's father had wronged him." "true." "besides, there is something in this hunston i don't like. we are bad enough in all conscience, but this brutal butchery will, perhaps be the ruin of our band." "why?" "well, we were not loved before; but this brutal deed will make us execrated by the whole country. the government scarcely dare to molest us; they are satisfied at keeping up a show of doing something. but harkaway is rich and powerful, i am told; english money and english influence will force the government to pursue us, and all for what? why, for murdering two helpless children, who had done us no wrong; who fell into a trap while saving the life of one of us." geoffrey martin opened his eyes in astonishment. "is that true?" "yes. didn't you know the story?" "no." "it was the daughter of one of our old comrades, that the boys saved while sailing. poor girl! if prayers and tears could move men's hearts, hers should have saved the boys." geoffrey martin coughed and blew his nose loudly. "ahem!" he said, staring at boulgaris. "you are a soft-hearted fellow for a brigand." "not exactly that either," replied boulgaris, grinning. "i feel incensed at this deed for its brutality, and for exposing all the band to risks and dangers for the sole purpose of gratifying their revenge." "theirs; you mean hunston's?" "no; for toro was interested also in it." "toro, toro," muttered martin; "why, the name sounds, familiar to me. of course. they knew this toro in italy, i remember. he was one of a band that harkaway and his friend harvey exterminated." "it is true, then, about that band?" said boulgaris, his eyes flashing eagerly. "of course." "you see, then, from that, what cause we have to dread arousing the enmity of such a man as this harkaway." "he is an awkward customer, and that's the fact of it; and i have heard, my brave boulgaris, that if harkaway once says he will have revenge, he never fails. now, let's return." back they went together, and as they neared the brigands' camp, they perceived signs of some great commotion. "what is the matter now?" asked boulgaris. "come with us," replied the first man, "and i will show you." they silently followed. down one of the slopes and then through a narrow pass, and within five minutes' run of the brigands' stronghold, they came upon a number of their men gathered around a long figure stretched upon the ground and covered with a cloak. the brigand who had brought them there silently drew back the cloak, and showed that the figure was the corpse of one of their comrades who had been on guard there. "look, another of our men killed. his death, like the first, has been sudden." a sure, swift hand had pinned him through the body with a long dagger. it had pierced his heart, and the point of the blade actually protruded near his shoulder-blade. "look there," cried one of the brigands, "where?" "at the handle." fastened to the haft of the dagger was a slip of paper, upon which were these words-- "_remember harkaway never forgets an injury._" chapter xxviii. the villa again--a message from the enemy's camp--how a snare was laid. harvey carried his project into execution, and went off, leaving mrs. harvey and mrs. harkaway under the impression that he was going about the vessel, and making preparations generally for their departure. they were one and all anxious to be gone from the place, which was for evermore associated in their minds with the mishaps of the last few days. when harvey had been absent forty-eight hours, they grew anxious. but on the morning of the third day, nabley the detective came with a message from dick. he had met him by appointment and brought news. there was something in nabley's face which made harkaway anxious to see him alone. "now tell me, nabley," he said, eagerly, "tell me all. how is harvey? what does he say of the boys? what is he doing? has he any plan of action decided?" "gently, mr. harkaway, gently," said the detective; "you overpower me." "oh, nabley, i say--" "there, there! don't be impatient. i'll give it all out as fast as ever i can." "i don't want all," interrupted jack harkaway, passionately. "how are my boys? answer that. are they safe? no, no! i read it in your face." and then he dropped heavily into a chair, looking the picture of misery and despair. nabley had scarcely a word to say for himself. the sight of the brave harkaway so utterly collapsed was more than he could endure. jack rallied a little and turned again to nabley. "well, quick, tell me the news." and then, as nabley still stammered, he went on-- "i know; save your breath. i knew it; poor boys! poor harry and my poor brave boy jack." "dirk harvey bids you keep your courage up," said nabley; "not to be downcast. it is quite time enough to be down upon our luck when we find out that the worst is true. the boys may yet live." "no, no," cried jack; "i fear my poor boys are no more." "let us hope they still live, but meanwhile, mr. harvey has treated the brigands as though the worst was true." "how?" nabley made a significant gesture with his right arm as though stabbing violently at some unseen enemy. "what, the brave dick seeking and taking revenge?" exclaimed jack. "yes. two of the greek brigands have fallen by his hand. the rest will follow, be sure of that; and, moreover, they never suspect whose hand has dealt the blow." "not suspect!" "no, his game has been and will continue to be picking them off in single file. he meets one of them alone, and harvey makes sure of him by his own strong right arm." "oh, brave harvey," said jack. "yes," said nabley, "it is revenge. an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth; and i for one should like to see the whole gang food for kites and wolves." "you have suffered in losing your old comrade," said harkaway; "judge, then, if you so keenly feel the loss of a friend, what must i feel for my boy--my own flesh and blood." "yes," said nabley; "i have suffered, but i will yet have a bitter revenge on my poor pal's murderers. he was to me a brave and true friend. poor pike! he was foully assassinated." "yes, nabley; he was cowardly shot by the villain toro. but do the brigands know who is now taking revenge on them?" "yes; it is told them in black and white. a paper fixed to each carrion carcase tells that this is another proof of harkaway's vengeance." jack's face flushed crimson at these words. "well done, dick; well done, brave old boy," he muttered; "well done!". "and he tells me that they are in a rare state about it in the camp. it has thrown all the lot of them into the greatest consternation. hunston has grown very unpopular. it needs very little upon harvey's part to make sure of him." "that's brave." "now he's growing ambitious. one at a time no longer satisfies him, so he has a scheme for bagging half-a-dozen of the brigands at once." "how?" "you know the spot that the boys christened the fig-tree grove." "i do." "he pretends to have intercepted a letter (when he "stole" the money and jewels i took him by way of keeping up appearances), which informs him that one of your party--a mr. hardy, or harpy, he pretended--would be passing through the fig-tree grove this evening, with money, on a journey of some importance. as this hardy or harpy is a dangerous person, the brigands, on harvey's advice, are to send six of their best men on the business." harkaway's eyes twinkled again at this. "now," said nabley, "we must bait the trap well. i'll be the bait." "you?" "yes." "but why should you have so dangerous a post?" "i prefer it," said nabley, quietly; "besides, although alone, i shall have some staunch and valuable friends with me." "you speak in paradoxes, mr. nabley." the detective's reply to this was to draw his two hands from his coat-pockets, and in each hand there was a six-shooter. "here are twelve lives," said the detective, "and i've six more in here," tapping his breast. "you're a regular arsenal," said harkaway, smiling. "but supposing, when you raise your hands, they close upon you and ransack your pockets." "i have no need to withdraw my hands to use them. i fire through the pockets." they must have been made with something of this intention, for they were cut in the side seams of the coat which were exceedingly roomy. "well, well," said harkaway, jumping up, "when do we get to work?" "now." "now?" "there are no preparations to make, let mr. jefferson be sent for. both of you get your arms ready, and follow me." "good. what arms?" "short axe, in case of close work, and rifle each. you'll be more than a match for six greeks. besides," he added, with a significant smile, "i shall not be idle." "well, well; away with you," cried jack; "i am all eagerness to be at work. i shall be quite another man when i have had a brush with these beasts." "right, sir," cried the detective; "they will find a powerful foe in you." "yes, nabley," cried jack, "my arm is nerved for this fight, and it shall go hard with me, but i will have my revenge on those greek devils for the murder of my poor boys." the door opened and jefferson entered. "the very man!" exclaimed harkaway. "what, nabley!" said jefferson. "what news of harvey?" "mr. harkaway will tell you all," answered the detective; "my time's up. follow me as quickly as you can." "off with you," said harkaway, growing quite excited at the prospect of a brush with the enemy. "the fig-tree grove," said nabley. "understood." and off went the detective. "jefferson," said jack, "i am now about seeking my foes, and fear not but i will render a good account of my actions, for against the brigands i feel the strength of a giant." chapter xxix. wherein mr. mole philosophises and has an adventure--the scent of battle--mole the terror of the brigands--isaac the annihilator--mole's prisoner. it must not be supposed that isaac mole was idle all this time. he heard of the bold doings of his friends harkaway, harvey and jefferson, not to speak of the valuable aid of nabley the detective, and, figuratively speaking, his very soul panted for glory. "i feel i could conquer by my single hand half-a-dozen brigands," said mole to himself; "but still i should prefer to come across a sleeping brigand. but ah, me!" there he sighed deeply, "brigands are as rarely caught asleep as weasels." poor old mole's desire to distinguish himself in this matter was very great. the plain truth was that poor isaac was at times badly henpecked. on these occasions he would assume his most dignified deportment and point to his wooden legs. "there are proofs, mrs. mole," he would say, "that isaac mole never shunned the foe in his life." "yah, yah!" his spouse would gracefully smile in reply, "dat no fault ob yours, ikey mole; de ignorant critters took off your legs because you so often lost your legs before." "lost them before?" "yes." "before they were amputated, do you mean?" "yes." "why, mrs. mole," and he would draw himself up to his full height, "you have been surely indulging in strong waters." "no, sar; no, ikey mole, not dis gal, sar. you lose your legs continual and your head too, sar, with strong waters--sperrits, sar, sperrits." poor mole, he was no match for her, and could only turn for consolation to where he had ever thought to drown dull care. the bottle. mrs. mole one day surprised him at a sly tipple in the grounds of the villa, and he knew it to his sorrow. suddenly popping round the corner, chloe emptied the contents of a pail over his luckless head. "thar, you teetottler! you banderhoper, you good templar! take a leetle tiddy drop of water with your rum; makes lubly grog well mixed, yah, yah!" and then the amiable partner of his joys and sorrows bore off her empty pail, leaving her husband to dry and shiver. "philosophy, my dear mole," said the worthy isaac to himself, "philosophy is your physic; think of socrates and be at ease--ugh! it's precious damp--too much water. i must have an extra drop to keep the cold out." and up went that inexhaustible bottle again. "ha! massa ikey!" said a terrible voice close at hand, "you want some more water to mix with it, do you?" mole clutched his bottle, jumped up, and rushed wildly to the house, with his loving spouse after him with another pail of water. * * * * * from that time mole scarcely dared have a suck at his bottle within half a mile of the house. one afternoon, having dined early, mole went for a walk in the suburbs of the town, and selecting a favourable spot, he reclined gracefully and dropped off into a gentle slumber. how long he slept he never knew until this hour. all he knew was that he dreamt that he was the hero of some gallant adventures, wherein the greek brigands fell before his sword like corn before the reaper's sickle; yea, as the phantom miscreants succumbed to the onslaught of don quixote. now, while he slept, a man crawled out of the thicket upon all fours and looked eagerly about him. the singular part of this incident was that, although the sleeping mole was within six feet of the spot, he did not perceive him. mole was partly hidden by the thickly-grown bushes. the man dragged himself painfully on; he was badly hurt. one of his legs was broken, and he carried no less than three pistol bullets in his body; in short, it was little less than marvellous that he was able to crawl at all. the history of this miserable wretch is soon told. he had been shot down by the unerring aim of nabley the detective, and feeling himself badly hurt, he had sought safety in flight while there was yet time. dragging his wounded body into the thickly-grown copse, he had lain hidden from sight, baffling the keenest search; and here he had presently lost consciousness. loss of blood and anguish had rendered the hapless wretch powerless to help himself, and knowing well what little mercy he had to expect from the englishmen did they come upon him, had lain there in fear and trembling at every sound until hunger was added to his other torments. he was nearly blinded with a blow he had received on the face, and now his only hope was to be able to crawl along until he came up with some of his comrades, who would help him to regain their stronghold in the mountains. "oh!" he groaned, "a blight upon the hand that struck me down. oh!" and the violence of his pains made him give a deep groan. mole moved. then opened his eyes; and waking, his glance fell upon a ghastly looking object, pale and bloody, dragging itself along. coming towards him. mole gasped. this was real, he knew at once; there was no doubt about that. it was one of the greek brigands, who had seen him asleep, no doubt, and was about to do for him. poor mole. cold beads of perspiration stood upon his brow. a channel of sweat trickled down the small of his back. his very wig stood up on his scalp with terror. what should he do? alas! it would soon be all over with him. the ghastly object crawled on. a minute more and the wretched man would be up with him. now, poor old mole had on occasions been what is called pot-valiant. he sought his black bottle for dutch courage; but before he could raise it to his bloodless lips, the wounded man perceived him, and he gave a cry of terror. "keep off!" cried mole, his teeth rattling like a box of dominoes. the wounded man, half blind as he was and frightened out of what little sense remained to him, took the black bottle for another revolver such as nabley had carried; and having a wholesome dread of that terrible weapon, he cowered down, hiding his face on the ground. "don't be violent," exclaimed the wretched mole. "mercy, mercy!" implored the brigand. "have pity on me," said mole, in abject terror. "do as you please with me," whined the brigand, "only for mercy's sake don't fire again at such a poor wretch as i am." "think of my helpless condition," said mole. "i am done to death," said the brigand. "i have two wooden legs," gasped mole. "do what you will with me," cried the brigand, in despair, "only give me water--a drop for mercy's sake." and he prostrated himself in abject submission before the half dead mole. now the latter could not well misunderstand this attitude; but yet he could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses. "what's his game?" thought mole; "he is trying the artful dodge on; and he's going to jump up and give me one for myself--not for isaac. by jingo! what a topper i could give him as he lays there, what a--" he stopped short. "my eye! what a hole he has got in his head already." and then by degrees, in spite of his fears, he was forced to see that this piteous object was not dangerous. as mole rose up to look at the brigand, the latter made still more signs of submission, and now he could no longer misunderstand. it is difficult to say which feeling filled mole most completely, surprise or satisfaction. "oh, oh," cried mole; "i feel that my heart tells me i have great courage. yes, i will capture this desperate brigand with my own brave hands." here was a slice of luck. "i'll just drive him home," said the crafty isaac to himself, "and then see if chloe will dare to cheek me as she has done of late. i rather flatter myself i shall take it out of harkaway and jefferson themselves." first, though, he meant to have one more suck at the black bottle. but now again, to his intense surprise, at the sight of the bottle, the wounded man cowered and shrank back in terror. "mercy, mercy, great captain," he implored; "as you are strong, be merciful." "what does he mean?" muttered the astonished mole. "don't fire again," cried the wounded man feebly; "i never hurt one of your friends. i am not responsible for the two boys' death. it was done without my will, for i don't war with boys or women; ah, how i suffer." "don't fire! why, what--ah, i see it; he takes the bottle for a pistol. "march on then," he said in a terrible voice; "on with you, or i'll fire." "don't, don't! mercy!" "march on then, or i'll blow you to atoms," and he presented the black bottle again. the greek held up his hands in supplication and moved on. "go on!" thundered mole. "i'll be your slave, your abject slave," groaned the brigand; "but oh, great warrior, captain, spare my life." "i'll eat you alive," hissed the cannibal mole in his ear, "if you don't walk faster." "i will, i will." "faster still, or you die." "pity, pity." "bah!" said the fierce isaac, contemptuously, "why should i have pity on you after killing a score of your fellows with my own hand? answer me that." the other was silent. in this way, the valiant mole drove the miserable wretch to the villa. when, after a long and wearisome journey, they got within a stone's throw of the grounds of the house, mr. mole was suddenly startled to hear a loud, shrill cry of alarm, and who should appear before them but mrs. mole herself? "whateber hab you there, ikey?" she demanded. "a prisoner, my dear," responded mole. "a what?" she exclaimed; "whose prisoner?" "mine." "yourn?" "pardon me, my dear--yours, not yourn. yes, my prisoner," he added modestly; "i have captured him." "where?" "in the wood." "what you doing there, ikey?" "i was on the hunt. i came across them--five, and a little warm work went forward. the other four," he added significantly, "i have left on their backs, with a pretty decent sign of my handiwork upon all of them." chloe gasped. "you're a drefful man," said chloe; "and i'll run for massa harkaway." and she dashed down the garden, crying out for harkaway and jefferson, and goodness knows who besides. they were ever upon the _qui vive_ for danger, so down they came with a rush. "why, mr. mole," exclaimed jefferson, "you have indeed got a prize." "however did you manage it?" asked harkaway, not a whit less startled. mole coughed. "i felt that something was required of me," he answered, with touching dignity and modesty combined, "and so i went on the hunt myself, and i fell foul of a few of the greek vampires." "a few," echoed jefferson, elevating his eyebrows; "a few, you said." "yes," replied mr. mole, "only five." "not more?" said jefferson, laughing; "then you must have felt rather bad in the inside." "never, sir," said mole, getting more and more dignified; "but i left the enemy rather unhappy, in the inside and the outside." "indeed!" "this is the only survivor out of five; question him closely." mole had carefully ascertained that the wounded greek didn't speak a solitary word of english. "ask him, i say, what i did for his comrades; how i larded them--how i peppered them, and made them cry peccavi. damme, jefferson, old boy, you should have seen me in action; gad, sir, i'm like an old war-horse at the first sniff of powder. down they went, first one, then the other. hang me! if i didn't play at skittles with' em, and i was in that humour, harkaway, when you can't miss. i'd just cheek the corner pin and make a royal every go. what do you think of that, harkaway?" old jack smiled. "i'm not proficient enough in skittles to appreciate the feat," he answered. "and so you tackled all this lot single-handed?" "yes." "how many?" "ten." "i thought you said five." "ten, sir, ten in all; five came up at first, but in as many moments they were all on their backs; and then up came another five of them, each heavily armed. i never forget; hang it! i couldn't forget such a job as that very easily. five of the second lot fell at my first fire; i toppled over three more, and the other one--" what mr. mole might in his ardour have been tempted to draw for upon his glowing fancy, it is impossible to say, for just as he reached this point in his fanciful narration, up came nabley. "hullo!" he said, as he caught sight of the wounded brigand; "here's the missing man." "this," cried the rest of the people present as if with one voice. "yes, this is the man i shot down at my first fire; he must have crawled away to hide; why, where is mr. mole running to?" the imaginative old gentleman suddenly vanished from the scene. he did not relish the presence of such a witness as this. "this is mr. mole's prisoner," said jefferson, laughing; "you see he has brought in one, after all." "i bring you something better even then prisoners," said the detective. "what is that?" "good news." "speak; what is it?" "the brigands have given up hunston." harkaway started at the words. "that is news, indeed," he said; "and now justice demands that the villain shall speedily hang." chapter xxx the fig-tree grove--a double ambuscade--the leech-fisher--how the trap was baited, and how it took--something like the old form--triumphant march of harkaway and co. within an hour--nay, less--of the foregoing conversation you might have seen an aged man wending his weary way along the high road from athens towards the mountains. thickly-grown fig trees leant over the road, and their well-garnished branches formed a roof of foliage through which no ray of sunlight could penetrate. he seemed an aged man. his steps tottered. it was strange that he did not seek the aid of a stout staff, or walking stick at least. but no, he preferred to keep his hands in his coat pockets. now the coat he wore was a full-skirted frock, much resembling in shape the garment which was worn by our grandfathers, or their fathers, when george the third was king, with huge pockets in the skirts and lappets. and into these big pockets the old wanderer's arms were buried up to the elbows. perhaps it was because he felt somewhat chilly. there was a gentle breeze blowing through the trees. as he went along, he shot sly glances from time to time about him, almost as if he were expecting someone; but he had got nearly over a third of the distance down the fig-tree grove before there were the faintest signs of life about him, and there, apparently overcome by the fatigue of his walk, he dropped down upon a moss-grown bank to rest. he looked up at the leafy canopy overhead, and sniffed down the sweet odours that floated along on the gentlest of zephyrs. "not such bad quarters," he muttered to himself (it was in english that he spoke); "not at all bad. there is only one thing required to make this the happiest day of my life; only one thing, and that is, success in my present undertaking--" he paused. "hark!" what was it? he heard a faint rustling in the foliage hard by. this part of the country was reported to be infested with thieves, the regular hunting grounds of the brigands. a faint smile lurked round the corners of the old man's mouth, and there was a twinkle in his eye. "at last," he muttered to himself, "at last!" just then there was a noise as of branches being pushed aside and dry twigs being crushed; and forth stepped a stalwart peasant, all in rags and tatters, and placed himself, hat in hand, before the old man. "hullo!" exclaimed the latter, "why, where did you come from?" and yet his surprise looked more assumed than real. "charity!" replied the beggar. "charity!" echoed the old man, fumbling in his pockets, "by all means; take this, my honest fellow." so saying, he dropped a piece of money into his open palm. "gold! yes, a golden piece, by all the saints in the calendar." the beggar's eyes glistened greedily at the piece. "heaven bless you!" he exclaimed; "may you live for ever." "don't wish me that," responded the old man; "that is no blessing." "not with your riches?" said the mendicant "no." "you are not easily satisfied then." and then came forth from the beggar a strange sound. was it a signal? it almost appeared to be the result of a preconcerted arrangement, for while the sound of his laughter echoed down the leafy grove, there was a crashing of branches and general breaking of the dried twigs and undergrowth, and out swarmed a group of men numbering perhaps ten or a dozen. a villanous-looking mob they were too. they surrounded the old man and were about to attack him, when the first man who had already profited by the old man's charity warned them off. "there is no need for violence here," said he, hurriedly, and speaking in their native language; "he will give us up all he has got without so much as dirtying a knife over him." the old man laughed. a dry, cynical laugh it was too, and almost calculated to make one believe that he had understood what they said. "who are these people?" he asked of the first beggar. "poor men worthy of your pious charity, like myself," was the reply. "then they shall have it," replied the old man; "more than they expect." he looked around him rather anxiously, as if expecting some more people to arrive. now that glance was observed by more than one of the men, and it was no very difficult matter to excite suspicion in their minds. "he expects someone," said the foremost man of the party; "he is a spy." "see how he's looking about him," observed another. "what shall we do?" "kill him at once." "yes, kill him." "on to him." and the speaker himself was the first to act upon his own counsel. he stepped forward to catch the old man by the coat, but the latter, retreating a couple of paces, appeared startled. "keep your distance, my masters," he said; "keep your distance, because i am a very dangerous fellow." they laughed at this. "dangerous, you are?" cried one of them, "oh, oh! what is your name?" "why, they call me the leech-fisher." "the leech-fisher!" "yes." "what for?" "because i am my own trap and bait and all," they looked puzzled. "he's mad." "daft as he can be." "poor old fool. but let us get his money if he has any, without killing him." "money!" echoed the self-styled leech-fisher. "here's plenty." and with these words he threw a pile of gold pieces upon the ground, making all the lawless ruffians' eyes glisten greedily. "you don't seem yet to understand the parable of the leech-fisher," said the singular old man. "you are dense blockheads." "ha, ha, ha! hear him," cried the first beggar. "he is quite a treat." "what i meant was that i am a trap for you. i have set myself to catch you; i am the bait; the leech fishers are their own bait, i am my own. so now come on, my merry men, my unbelieving pagans." one of the men here laid a rough hand upon his shoulder, when there was a loud explosion. a flash and smoke issued from the old man's square coat pocket, and the brigand staggered back. the rest of the party looked utterly amazed. what was it? "an ambuscade," ejaculated one of them. "no, no; it came from the old man's coat skirt. see, it is smoking." there was a small round hole in the cloth, and it was singed and smelt of gunpowder. "death to the spy!" cried the greeks. two of the brigands fell upon him, one on each side, when lo! there was a double explosion, and with loud cries of pain, each fell back dead. the rest of the brigands now began to recover from the state of stupefaction into which this sudden and unexpected attack had thrown them, and accustomed to rapid action upon emergencies such as the present, they prepared to fall simultaneously upon this ancient tartar. "oh, oh! what, you think to capture me, do you?" he cried. in an instant all his feebleness had dropped, and lo! he appeared a very nimble man. springing back about six feet, he drew both hands from those capacious pockets to which we recently drew the reader's attention, and then the mystery was revealed. each had held a six-barrelled revolver. "how like you my music, you ruffians?" cried the strange man. "oh, what would i give if my poor friend pike was with me now!" bang! another shot, and another _hors de combat._ the foremost of the brigands rolled over, stone dead. this was warm work. but as if it had not grown hot enough, there suddenly appeared upon the scene two men armed with rifles and revolvers. these two men were crack shots, unluckily for the brigands, and they speedily gave proof of their skill. two of the mountaineers bit the dust before they could dream of helping themselves. not three minutes had elapsed since the firing of the first shot, and already six men were down. "surrender!" said one of the new-comers, in a loud, authoritative voice. but instead of responding, one of the greeks drew a pistol and levelled it at the towering figure of harkaway, for of course he was one of the marksmen, but before he could pull the trigger, bang went another chamber of the old man's revolver, and the pistol fell to the ground. the hand which had held it was helpless, the arm shattered at the elbow. there was in truth something dreadful in this carnage. but neither harkaway nor jefferson thought any thing of this. indeed, horrible as it may sound, they killed a brigand with as little compunction as they would have slaughtered a wolf. "surrender!" cried harkaway, for the second time. "yield now, or by heaven, you shall all die on the field." the greeks looked around for assistance. they were five. the enemy only three. as a rule, these ruffians were not deficient in bulldog courage and ferocity, but this desperate fighting had surprised and frightened them. "yield, ruffians, to better men than yourselves." they paused. "to pause is death," cried jack harkaway, in a loud voice. as the last word was spoken, up went the two rifles. "nabley," cried the american. "all right," answered the disguised old man. "look after that outside brigand on your left." "i will, and his neighbour, too?" "if you can." "i am thinking of my murdered friend, pike, and i feel i can take twenty such vagabonds!" echoed the detective, fiercely. "i'll take that big fellow, jeff," said harkaway. "you pot the other." "good." "now, then, you villains, when i count three, look out," said the detective, with a mild expletive. not mild enough for repetition here, by the way. "one, two--" the brigands, having held a hurried consultation, here threw down their arms. just in the very nick of time. two seconds more and they would have had no chance. "now," cried harkaway, still with the gun ready for use, "forward! march!" the brigands looked mischievous for a moment. so did the rifles. so did the revolver. these two weapons were great persuaders. with slow, unwilling steps the five men marched onward into captivity. "i'll see to the wounded," said the detective. four of the brigands had been killed outright. others were writhing on the ground and using bad language. "two and four make six," muttered mr. nabley; "six and four are ten. why, i could have sworn that there were eleven. yes, certainly there was another. where the deuce could he have got to?" the most diligent search, that is, the most diligent search possible under the circumstances, failed to find the faintest trace of the missing man. "that's the one i gave that smack in the face," said nabley to himself. "well, i know i gave it to him pretty warm besides that. he hasn't got far. he has crawled somewhere to die, i suppose. well, well, i can't deny him that little luxury." and then, by dint of threatening the wounded with instant death, he persuaded them to crawl after the rest. * * * * * and when our three adventurers marched into the town with their prisoners between them, there was a loud outcry. cheers, bravos, huzzahs, at every step of the way. "that's the englishman harkaway," said one of the bystanders, as they marched onward towards the prison, "and that is the american jefferson." "dreadful men those to make enemies of. i have heard that harkaway has destroyed hundreds of brigands and pirates." "yes, i have heard so," answered the other. "it was an evil moment for those villains of brigands when they shot the poor young harkaways. they will lose many a life for those two." "ah, that they will." "who is that driving the two wounded men before him?" "that is an english secret police officer. he is even more dangerous than the others. he has killed four men with his own hands in this skirmish. i believe an old friend of his has been murdered by the brigands, and he has sworn to have revenge." "it is taking the law into their own hands with a vengeance." "all honour to them for their bravery." "three cheers for harkaway!" chapter xxxi. the secret work goes on--who is the traitor?--the fall of a favourite--the recruit's musings--a strange revelation. it was true. hunston had been given up by the brigands. they knew but little of harkaway, but that little told them that he was not the man to make a false assertion. they felt sure that hunston had received more money for the ransom of the boys than he had acknowledged, and so they voted his doom. under ordinary circumstances he would have been shot. as it was, they had learnt so terribly to respect harkaway that they gave up his enemy in preference to taking the law in their own hands. not a day passed but one or more of the brigands suffered at the hands of the enemy whose revenge they had so unwisely provoked. let them go armed, with a support of armed men within easy call and on the watch, it could not avail them. they were picked off, slowly, surely, quietly, mysteriously. and this was the chief reason that they sought to negotiate with the harkaway party by giving up their enemy hunston. but still the work went on. there was only one man in the whole band who had the courage to lay the facts before them. "we must move away from this part of the country," he said. "once let us see how matters turn out with our comrades who have fallen into the hands of these english people, and then we must be gone." but while they waited more fell. several got taken prisoners, and the band presented a very thin appearance. the day of trial approached for the brigands, of whom hunston was one. and the verdict was universally foreseen. they were condemned to death for the murder of the two boys, harry girdwood and young jack. in five days they were to be executed. in the court there was one person who heard the sentence with the greatest possible terror. this was theodora. why should it so affect her? it was surely not that she could have any sympathy with such rogues and murdering villains. justice was swift in the execution of its decrees here, and the condemned brigands were doomed to death within five days. "five days!" theodora repeated to herself again and again, as she left the court. "five days! so short. well, then i must my do duty come what may. to-morrow may yet be in time--or the next day." still she was sorely perplexed. "if i avow all, i shall incur the undying enmity of the band," she reasoned; "and if i keep silent, i shall be the murderess of those men--men with whom i have grown up and been taught to look upon as brothers." she had some strange secret upon her mind which troubled her sorely. in her dire perplexity she went to the camp, and did her best to excite the men to an effort on behalf of their imperilled comrades. pedro listened to all she had to say. then he gave his opinion. "we are clearly bound to make an effort to save our friends," he said; "we can not let our comrades perish without attempting to save them." "no, no!" answered the brigands, with one voice. but perhaps the most demonstrative of all was the last recruit who had joined the brigands--the englishman, known amongst his new comrades as geoffrey, the discharged servant of harkaway. "when shall the attempt be made?" said pedro; "that is the next question." "at once," said toro. he looked around for some supporters; but he looked in vain. toro was no longer in good odour. his connection with hunston had rendered him exceedingly unpopular. he was too daring a spirit for them to break out into open murmurs, but quietly he was deposed; and then pedro was admitted as leader. when the question of giving up hunston to the enemy was first mooted, toro had violently opposed it; but his was the one solitary voice that was lifted for his old comrade. "the only chance of success," suggested pedro, "is to wait and attack the procession on the way to execution. the prison itself is too well defended for us to hope for success." "that's true," said geoffrey; "and failure would ruin them." "surely." it was arranged consequently that the attempt should be made upon the day appointed for the execution. the utmost secrecy should be kept as to their plans. "let not a word be breathed of our resolves anywhere," said pedro, "unless we are all together in council assembled, for i fear that we have had a traitor in our camp." "a traitor!" "aye." "one or more?" "one, at least, would not surprise me after all that has occurred." "nor me either," said geoffrey. saying which, he glanced significantly over his shoulder in the direction of toro. the latter, on the rejection of his plan, had stalked moodily away, and was walking up and down buried in bitter reflections. "hah!" "if i could believe that possible," exclaimed one of the brigands, "it would be a speedy end of his rule here." saying which he drew his long dagger significantly. "well, well," said geoffrey, who acted cautiously, and was satisfied at having unsettled their minds with regard to the italian bravo, "let us seek the traitor, and when found--." he left the rest unsaid; but they knew well what was meant. the only person quitting the camp was lerna. so that no traitor could well carry the news to the enemy this time. "let no precaution be neglected," said pedro; "we must choose trusty sentinels. i'll take the watch at the gap myself." "good." "geoffrey." "present, captain." toro gave a start at that reply, which clearly gave the death-knell to his own command. "do you mount guard at the cross roads below." "leading to the fountain avenue, do you mean, captain?" "yes." "good." and shouldering his musket, he gave a stiff salute and marched off. "perhaps you would not have far to look for traitors," said toro, as geoffrey disappeared, "did not your prejudices blind you." "do you allude to geoffrey?" asked pedro, coldly. "judge for yourself." "speak out boldly." "i have been bold enough for you," said toro, passionately, "speak in the presence of him you would accuse." "i fear no man here" cried toro. "nor does any man fear you." "then by thunder, he shall!" and out came his sword. at this unmistakable demonstration several of the brigands made signs of cutting in, and the italian saw that it was a desperate game he was venturing on. he saw it just in time, for the brigands were ready, one and all, to fall upon him with dagger and sword. gradually he fell back and left them, but the seed was sown. the few words which geoffrey had spoken had done their duty well. "so, so" muttered geoffrey, as he went; "hunston is done for, and toro shall soon follow. thirty-two men have been 'dropped' for our dear boys--thirty-two. gad! but it is a goodly number. they will learn to respect the name of jack harkaway in this miserable land--and to rue the day that they molested anyone of us. thirty-two--aye, and the rest shall follow, as sure as my name is--who goes there! speak! by heaven, stop! nabley--just in time, but silence." chapter xxxii. theodora's errand--fatal news--the mystery deepens--her resolve--to the villa--interview with harkaway--the voice from the grave--a heart of gold. theodora now made her way with all speed to the waterside prison, to which allusion has been previously made. the head gaoler of this prison had a daughter of the same age as theodora. his wife had nursed them both as babes, and theodora looked upon them as her parents, and on the girl as her sister. to them she was wont to appeal at any time of trouble, and now she came to tell them her cares. she asked for her foster sister, and called her aside. "what is it now, theodora dear?" asked the gaoler's daughter, anxiously. "you look quite pale and haggard." theodora shook her head sadly. "i have got involved in a matter in which i am responsible." "but the evil is over?" "no." "as far as you are concerned, is it, dear?" "no; i say no. are not our men to be executed for the murder of the two boys?" "and richly they deserve it," exclaimed mariana. "no, no. they can not deserve it for what they are innocent of." "it is no fault of theirs," retorted the gaoler's daughter; "they are guilty in intention, at least." "well, well, mariana. i am not so base that i could see them suffer death, knowing what i know--what we know, in fact." "but you would not betray me?" exclaimed the gaoler's daughter, anxiously. "no, darling. the necessity for danger to you--to us, i may say--is entirely done away with." "what do you mean?" "the gallant men will rescue their comrades on thursday on the way to the execution." "what!" said mariana; "thursday!" "yes." "then you don't know," she exclaimed, with a wild scared look. "know what?" "that it has been changed. they are to be executed in the morning." theodora gave a cry of terror and staggered back. "no, no, mariana," she said, wildly; "it is impossible." "it is true" "when was this made known?" "just now." "why was it altered?" "because they have discovered that an attack was meditated by the brigands upon the way to execution on thursday." "impossible!" cried theodora, starting up. "why, it was only just agreed upon. i have left them not two hours ago, and it was then that they came to this resolution." "it is already known here. a messenger from the great mr. harkaway sought the governor with the news, and as mr. harkaway is all-powerful here, the execution takes place to-morrow morning at daybreak. it is said that he has his own spies in the camp of the brigands." theodora clapped her hands to her head, and paced wildly up and down. "there is no way out of it, dear mariana," she cried. "no way, no way, but one." "what is that?" "i will see this mr. harkaway, and tell him all." "but you will ruin us all." "no. he will be overjoyed with the news i bring, and will do as i wish--all i ask to repay me for the words of comfort which i have for him." "i doubt it." "i know him well," retorted theodora. "i know his boys too well to believe the father so bad and merciless as you suppose him. all his enmity would be forgotten could he but believe the glad tidings which i have for him." "then the knowledge of this will risk all our lives." "no; i am convinced that all will be well." "theodora!" "delay me not. my duty points clearly to that." and before she could offer to interfere further with her resolve, theodora was gone. she fled like a deer. nor did she pause for breath until she was at the villa. * * * * * "mr. harkaway will not see anyone," said the servant. she eyed the panting girl with suspicion, as theodora leant for support by the door, while her left hand clasped her beating heart. the tragic events of the past few weeks, and the murder of marietta in mrs. harkaway's bedchamber, had led them to distrust every body and every thing. "i must see him," gasped theodora. "impossible," returned the girl curtly; "call to-morrow in the afternoon." "afternoon," returned theodora. "after six in the morning will be too late. it is life and death, i tell you. go and tell him." "obstinate girl, i tell you mr. harkaway has serious business on at daybreak, and has gone to rest, giving the strictest orders that he is not to be disturbed." "call him," returned theodora, with forced calmness, "and he will have no need to go on this business at daybreak." "hah!" "do you hear?" the girl retreated backwards, never moving her eyes from theodora. "this is some hired assassin." she thought. "they can't tackle my master, and knowing how wary he is, they have hired a girl to do the deed." she was about to thrust to the door, when theodora, in sheer despair, burst in, and cried at the top of her voice to harkaway-- "mr. harkaway! mr. harkaway; come, come and hear news of your poor boys, i say." at this wild outcry in the middle of his house, jack stepped out of his room. "keep back, sir; keep back," screamed the servant "she's an assassin." at these words harkaway slipped back into his room, and reappeared armed with a pair of pistols. "now, what is it you require, my girl?" he demanded of theodora. "a few words with you." "don't trust her," shrieked the servant; "i saw a knife in her girdle. don't trust her." theodora smiled faintly. "i am alone, unarmed," she said; "the great mr. harkaway, the hero of the day here, is surely not afraid of me." "i am afraid of no one," returned jack; "but i warn you, my girl, that if any treachery be meditated, each of these pistols carries a man's life." "it can not affect me," returned theodora, calmly. "i come to bring you news which will gladden your heart, and have no fear of your enmity." her words and her manner thrilled harkaway strangely. he lowered the pistols. he had her shown into a room, and followed her in. "sit down there, my girl, and tell me all," he said, trying to appear composed, while he was in reality singularly moved. "i come, mr. harkaway," said theodora, who had now regained all her calmness, "to bring you the most welcome news that ever gladdened your ear--that ever sent balm and comfort to your bruised heart." jack turned pale; he thought he had heard her speak of his boys before leaving his room. "speak on," he said, his voice faltering. "tell me, sir, what could i say that would restore happiness to you--to your wife--to your friends and home? what could i say to lift the veil of mourning from your house and hearts?--to restore the former gaiety to this tomb-like place." jack harkaway listened as one in a dream. "girl," he said, in a voice that was almost inaudible, "you know not what you say." "i am perfectly cognisant of all," she replied. "then your errand here is to torture me?" "you wrong me." harkaway looked her sternly in the face. and theodora bore his glance without flinching. "your manner tells me," he said, "that you know better than any one what alone could restore happiness here." "you are right." and she gravely inclined her head as she answered. "and you know it is impossible," he said. "it is not." "not impossible!" ejaculated harkaway. "know you what you say?" "perfectly." "girl, girl," cried harkaway, passionately, "the grave can not give back its dead." "it does--it has." harkaway gasped for breath. she was about to speak on, when the ghastly pallor of his countenance and its wild, haggard expression frightened her. "girl, go on, tell me," he cried excitedly; "do not play with me." "calm yourself, mr. harkaway, pray--" "go on, go on." "you alarm me." "speak, in mercy's sake," implored harkaway; "this suspense is ten thousand times worse than all the good or bad news which you could bring me--are you fooling me?" he added springing up and seizing his pistols. "no." "speak on then." "your son jack--" "yes, yes; my boy--my own darling brave lad--what of him?" the girl suddenly turned pale. "hark," she said, "i think i hear footsteps outside; quick! to the window; i think we are watched," and the girl sank in terror at jack's feet. harkaway, with one bound, sprang to the window, pistol in hand, ready for use. but it was a false alarm; and, having satisfied himself that there were no eavesdroppers, harkaway returned to his seat, and the girl resumed-- "are you able to bear good news?" "yes," he said, with a sickly smile; "the novelty would perhaps affect me--speak then--you said my boy--" "lives," answered the girl. "impossible," he faltered; "why, harvey saw their grave." "and i too saw them in their grave." "in their grave!" echoed harkaway; "and yet you say they live." "yes." "where are they?" "close at hand; but i wish to ask you in return--" "all you will--anything, everything--only bring me back my boys." "i only ask to save the lives of the men unjustly accused of the murder, and who have been doomed to die to-morrow." "granted--why, it was granted unasked," said harkaway. "enough," said the girl; "i see that i may count upon you. will you come with me to your son and his friend?" "yes." he sprang up with the greatest alacrity, but a sudden fancy crossed him, and he seized the girl by the shoulder. "you are not playing me false?" said jack. "look in my face and be assured." he gazed long and earnestly at her, and she bore his fixed look unflinchingly. "yes, yes," he said, more to himself than to her; "you are truthful--i am sure of that--but i'll not neglect any precaution; for my head is so sorely perplexed by all you have told me that i scarcely know if i am asleep or waking." he pressed his brow with his open hands, and then looking carefully to the priming of his revolvers, he started out with the girl; and as they issued from the grounds of the villa, he spoke his last words of mistrust before giving her his whole confidence. "you see, theodora," he said, for she had told him her name, "i don't hang back. i freely confide in you." "you do well." "i believe so--see that my confidence is not misplaced, and you shall have no cause to repent it." "your words would imply a promise of reward for me; but i seek none." "i am willing to believe it, but still my fixed resolve--" "your fixed resolve could not make me take it," said the girl, proudly. "i have told you my object in my present mission; i have no other." harkaway was greatly surprised at this, but as he stole a sidelong glance at her, surprise was not the only expression in his face. admiration was strongly mixed with it. "tell me where we are going?" he asked presently, as they got clear of the town. "to the prison by the water." "what for?" "they are there." "but in prison--how came they there? in prison! why, then, without knowing it, i have been probably twenty times within earshot of both." "yes." "how came they there?--no half measures now. surely this is the time for revealing all?" "and now, mr. harkaway, i will tell you all as we walk on. the seeming mystery shall remain so no longer." so saying, theodora began the brief but startling narrative which follows--and which may fairly be entitled-- the dead alive. "your dear son jack and his friend harry girdwood saved my life when i was in danger of drowning at sea. they brought me safely ashore, only to fall into the hands of my remorseless companions, the mountaineers. ah, i see you would call them by something less gentle in sound. well, it was a planned thing. i was the decoy, but alas! i thought but little then how soon i was to repent of my share in that evil work." "go on." "i will, to the end, even though you should learn to loathe me. well, a price was put on their heads." "which i paid." "you paid one-fifth." "no, no; i paid all, as demanded." "hunston returned to the camp with only one hundred pounds, and they voted the death of the two boys. poor boys! both brave boys. the bravest veteran on the battlefield never faced death with the heroic calmness of those two young heroes, sir." "bless you for those words, my girl," exclaimed the gratified harkaway. "i am proud of my dear boy." "i demanded their release--i implored--i begged--i prayed in the most abject terms. but they had felt the weight of your hand too often. they and theirs had suffered so much that i was powerless. i could only obtain one small concession." "say on, say on!" exclaimed harkaway. "what was that? i burn with eagerness to know more of my dear boys." "i was to do the last sad honours to the noble dead. three were to be executed; one of themselves, a traitor called lirico. by dissimulating to hunston--the viper! how i tremble with horror at the very name--i obtained one concession--lirico was the first to suffer, the boys were to follow." "oh, hunston! villain!" groaned harkaway, "villain!" "the execution took place at daybreak. i waited on the firing party. when the wretched lirico was dealt upon, i passed round and gave the men to drink from a spirit keg which i had specially provided. then, while they feasted upon the drugged spirit, i passed round and reloaded the muskets for what they thought the final butchery." "well, well, do not torture me, girl. quick, tell me the end." "can you not guess?" "no, no. quick, tell me all." "in loading the muskets i forgot the bullets." "ha, ha, ha!" laughed old jack, half-hysterically. "i see it all now, brave girl." "the rest was no easy task. as the men fired, they fell back in the grave and simulated death, as i had instructed them overnight; and now you can understand how i saw them in the grave and yet can prove that they live." "i do. girl, you are brave and good; i know not how to thank you for the lives of my poor boys." "the night before their great trial, i exacted a solemn promise from them that they would follow me to a hiding place without the least offer of resistance." "i begin to see. but how did you contrive--" "to get them secreted in the great prison?" "yes." "you shall hear. my foster-sister is the daughter of the head gaoler. her lover is completely at her mercy, and he holds a superior post in the prison. it was the only condition upon which i could spare the brave boys' lives, and so they were forced to yield." "and all this time we might have been spared the bitterest agony." she hung her head. "i know it, but i dared not speak sooner, for i feared to betray my friends." "you may trust me," said jack. "i know it, for i have saved your boys." * * * * * they reached the prison. "sebastian," said theodora, presenting harkaway to her foster-sister and the latter's lover, "this is mr. harkaway." the greek official bowed with an air of constraint. "theodora has told you all, sir?" "yes, you have risked much to save my boys' lives." "since i can count upon your forbearance," said sebastian, "i will say no more. follow me to the presence of the boys." so saying, sebastian led the way through the stone-paved passages to the tower overhanging the sea, in which the cell of the two boys was situated. at the base of the tower were jagged, sea-beaten rocks. beside the tower, at about half the height of the tower, reckoning from the level of the sea, was a gravel terrace, covered with a waterproof canopy, so as to form a sort of shed. and looking out of the tower windows as they passed up its steep inner staircase, harkaway inquired what this place was. "that is used as the prison mortuary." "those black, ugly outlines there are--" "bodies." "ugh!" "they are put into those black bags in lieu of winding sheets, then placed into those rough wooden shells, which are lowered to the prison cemetery below by that crane you see to the right." "a very poor look-out." but away with such dull thoughts. here he was on the threshold of new joy--new life. "your boys are here," said sebastian, pausing before a huge barred door. he undid the fastenings, and pushing open the door, made way for harkaway to pass in. "enter, sir," he said. harkaway's heart beat high. he pushed open the door--entered. "where are they?" "there." a momentary pause. "there's no one there," said harkaway, in a tone indicative of powerfully-suppressed emotion. dire apprehensions of evil stole over both sebastian and theodora as they followed harkaway into the cell. "theodora," gasped sebastian, staggering back, "they are gone." "where? how?" "they must have escaped." "liar!" yelled harkaway, suddenly springing back and drawing his six-shooter; "this is some plot. thieves! murderers! you think to fool me; but you shall pay the penalty for your villainy. you are in an injured father's grasp. die, brigands!" chapter xxxiii. young jack and his comrade harry girdwood--dead or alive--the riddle unravelled--the plan in cypher--a relic of the past--eureka!--the cypher unravelled. now for young jack. once more let us see the bold young harkaway and harry, his brave comrade. too long have we been absent from them. too long have we been forced by the exigencies of our history to leave, not only the harkaway family and party generally, under the cruel impression that the two boys had been foully murdered, but the reader likewise. they lived. aye, it was every word true that theodora had said. sebastian was not a wit less truthful. when he opened the door of the cell in the tower, he fully expected to find the two boys there. where were they? by what jugglery had they contrived to get out of such a formidable fortress as that place? this the present chapter is to relate. to give it clearly, however briefly, we must go back to the day of their entrance into their gloomy prison home. jack and harry were alone. "this is a rum go, jack," said harry girdwood. "what do you think of it?" "precious dull, old boy," grumbled young harkaway. "better than a grave on the mountain side." "it is just that," said young jack. "but it wouldn't be quite so good if this sort of thing was meant to be permanent." "growler, growler," said harry girdwood. "why, i call these famous diggings, after that hole they meant us to rest in while the worms made meat of us. besides, we must get away." "how?" "escape." young jack looked up at the word, and his heart beat a little quicker. but he said nothing. frowning walls on every side. the cell was fully eighteen feet high, and the window was close up by the ceiling. "if we want to get out of this," said young jack, "we must begin operations from this moment." "good." "do you know, harry, what is to be the first step?" "no." "to get at that window." "but it is about eighteen feet high." "well, we must reach it," said young jack. both boys were expert gymnasts. the greasiest of greasy poles were vanquished by either with the greatest of ease. in the stormiest weather they could mount into the topmost parts of the rigging on board ship. and the consequence was that the morning after their entrance into their prison found young jack perched up at the window, looking down at his comrade and fellow-prisoner, and giving graphic descriptions of all he saw there. "what's on the other side, jack?" "the sea, the open sea, old fellow," cried jack. "and below?" "the sea, again, old fellow." "to the right?" "the sea, the sea--the open sea, old fellow. water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink. at least it would be an awful _drop_ to get at it." "can you see any thing to the right?" "water only." "is that all?" "yes--hallo!" some thing fell. a roll of some thing white and soft dropped at harry girdwood's feet, and he hastened to pick it up. some thing white, we said. well, it had once been white, but now it had got very considerably discoloured with age and dust, which seemed to indicate that it had been a long while up on the shelf in its hiding place. yes, its hiding place. they opened the bundle, and found it to be composed of three slips of cotton, upon which were written, in red ink, curious things which they could not make much of. upon one of these pieces of cotton were certain cabalistic signs, such as figures, algebraical marks, and geometrical figures. upon another was traced a plan of some building. a third was a sectional view, drawn roughly, but upon architectural principles, and marked with initial letters of reference. "this is a rum go," said harry girdwood, laughing. young jack had dropped from his perch and joined his fellow-prisoner on _terra firma,_ and together they poured over these singular rags. now young harkaway soon lost patience, and speaking contemptuously of their find, he proposed pitching it through the grated window into the sea. "not i," said harry; "there's some thing here which it will amuse me to puzzle out." "if you like to kill time that way, harry," answered young jack, laughing, "no harm; there's plenty of time to kill in this dreadful dungeon." and puzzle over this precious treasure harry did. the cloth upon which were the cabalistic signs was headed with certain words, which were all but illegible, and this he managed to construe. "simple cypher, left in hopes that it may yet serve some unfortunate englishman to escape from the tender mercies of this hole." below this were the following figures and signs-- . . . . .-- . . . .-- . . . . . .-- . .-- . . . .-- . . . . . .-- . . .-- . . . .-- . . . .-- . .-- . . . neath) . . . .-- > c.-- . press) it. . . .-- . -- revealed. now when harry girdwood had got through the above puzzle once or twice, he was in a regular fog. the only result was to get himself heartily laughed at by his fellow-prisoner. so harry girdwood kept what he knew of the matter to himself. upon that same day towards sundown, when sebastian came round to bring their food, harry girdwood said-- "we are not the first englishmen who have been here, my friend." sebastian gave him a sharp glance, as he answered-- "how do you know that?" "there is no mystery in it," replied harry girdwood; "i saw some words written in pencil upon the wall." "where?" the eagerness of his manner aroused the curiosity of both the boys. "somewhere here," replied harry, pretending to seek for the marks upon the wall. but of course he found nothing. "it is strange," he said, still looking about; "for i made sure it was hereabouts somewhere. i saw some words which made me sure that it was occupied by an englishman once." "you are right," replied sebastian; "quite right. an englishman named terence dougherty--" "that englishman was irish," said young jack. "possibly; but he was a priest. he was confined here for a long while. so long that he went mad." "mad, did you say?" "yes, and raving at last; his madness appeared to have so much method in it that it quite deceived our head doctor." "how did he deceive the head doctor?" "by his apparent sanity. he was mad as a march hare, and he used to rave about having discovered the way out of the prison." the two boys pricked up their ears at this speech. "what was more natural?" said sebastian. "a prisoner is always thinking how he can get away." "of course." "and yet," said sebastian, "the old priest was sure he had discovered the way to elude our vigilance when he chose to put his plan into execution; and his dying words startled us." "how?" "he said to the doctor within twenty minutes of drawing his last breath--'doctor, you think i am mad. not a bit of it, and i tell you that i have given my life to the study of prison breaking--getting out of this particular cell--and, doctor, i should have got out if the great commander death had not ordered me off by another route. as it is, i leave my work for the benefit of the first briton who shall fall into your claws and drop into my cell, and then--mark me well--he'll profit by my work, unless he be a greater fool than you have taken me to be, and get away." "he was very mad," said young harkaway. "very." harry girdwood said nothing. * * * * * they were alone. young jack was full of deep and serious thought. harry girdwood arose suddenly from his puzzle. "eureka!" he cried; "i have discovered it." "what?" demanded the startled jack. "the cypher. it is alphabetical. listen here." young jack approached. "it is clear as daylight," said harry; "these figures correspond with the letters of the alphabet." _"'count four stones up from ground. two from side of chimney. press underneath. see what is revealed under it.'"_ "hurrah!" cried young jack. "hurrah!" yelled harry girdwood; "but stop. let us see if there is any thing in it, for we may yet escape." chapter xxxiv. what the cypher did for them--the end of the passage--nearly saved--back again--lost--the dead-house on the terrace. four stones up. two across. "do you understand it now, harry?" the latter scratched his head and looked about. "i understand it well enough," he replied; "but there is one difficulty." "what?" "a tool." "let us try with our hands first," said jack. and so saying, he set to work himself to try as he suggested. "one, two, three, four, and two up. good! now, harry, lend a hand here. come." harry girdwood dropped on one knee beside his companion and together they pressed the stone indicated in the singular cypher. for a moment they felt no effect, but after a minute's effort they found that they had made an impression. the discovery set them all aglow. "once more." "harder yet." "of course; only mind, jack, no jerking." "all right" "we must work without making any noise; a jerk might bring down one of the stones with a clatter, which would alarm the guards. "caution is our watchword." soon they had the satisfaction of seeing the stone revolve and drop out into their arms. then they saw that beyond the hole thus left there was an open space. it was pitch dark. now, the hole in the wall was only just big enough for one of them to squeeze through, and harry girdwood pushed in eagerly, and then he perceived that beyond was a sort of tunnel on a small scale, with a roughly-hewn flight of steps at the end of it. "i can see some steps," said he. "go on," said jack, with feverish eagerness. "i will; but you go to the door, jack, and listen." jack stood eagerly watching at the dungeon door. young jack was full of eagerness. harry had disappeared, and he could not see or hear him. "all right." the answer came in a hollow, echoing sound, which indicated that harry girdwood had made some considerable progress. this increased his eagerness greatly. * * * * * "harry." no answer. he was too far for young jack's voice to reach him. quitting his post at the door, young jack ran back to the hole in the wall, and called out eagerly to his exploring comrade-- "harry, harry!" "hullo!" "come back, quick! i can hear someone coming." "the deuce you can." back he scrambled as fast as the narrow space would allow of, and he was soon in the cell again. "what is it?" "i heard the bell go and the iron door along the passage outside. sebastian is coming." "confound it! look what a precious mess." the displacing of the stone had left traces of the work. but having seen their danger, they were prepared to provide against it. quick as thought they swept up the dirt, mortar, and rubbish, and threw it into the hole. then, joining hands, they raised the stone and lifted it into its place. at that moment the key turned in the massive and half rusty lock. sebastian entered the cell, tray in hand. he had not the faintest suspicion that any thing was wrong. "will you leave the tray, sebastian?" "why?" "for us to work up our appetites; we have none to speak of now." "very good," returned the man; "there can be no harm in that." "of course not." sebastian then left the room. "thank goodness he's gone!" said young jack, who was all impatience to see what harry was to do next. harry girdwood watched until the door was fairly closed, and then turned again to the hole in the wall. "come along. follow me, jack." "trot on," said young harkaway. "i'm after you." they both scrambled through the hole, and when they were upon the other side, they replaced the stone. and this done, the cell wore its original aspect. their way now lay down a rugged flight of steps, roughly cut in the solid earth. the greatest care was necessary to avoid stumbling. at length harry girdwood came to a standstill. "jack," he said, in a whisper, "here." "keep close now." "right." "nearer. lend me a hand here. that's it. now help me to raise the stone here." "are you sure you are right?" "certain." "why?" "this is exactly the position of the stone we have to lift away that old dougherty describes in his plan." young jack said no more, but lent his aid, and together they shifted the stone from its place. then daylight peeped into their dark hiding-place. there was something leaning against the opening. they pushed it aside, and stepping over a pile of sacks, found themselves in a covered shed overlooking the sea. a place of curious aspect, with no sign of life in it all was as still and gloomy-looking as if it were a huge mausoleum. "i know what this place is," said harry girdwood. "what?" "it must be the dead-house on the terrace that i see noted down in old dougherty's plans." * * * * * while they were in the dead-house upon the terrace, a stirring scene was being enacted in the cell in the tower above, which they had only lately vacated. in fact, jack harkaway the elder had only just entered the cell with sebastian as they found themselves upon the terrace. "where are we now?" there were several ugly-looking long boxes, whose shape was uniform and suggestive, standing upon tressels. besides these, there were no objects in the room or shed beyond a few badly-filled sacks which rested against the wall. they looked anxiously about them. nearly facing the place where they had made their entrance was a door, and this they tried without a moment's loss of time. fast. immovable. "the window, then," said harry girdwood. back they ran on tip-toe to the window, and pushing open the casement, they looked out. the sea. between thirty and forty feet below, and lashing the very base of the prison. they turned to each other simultaneously. "ugh!" "no chance here." "this is a funny go." "well, jack," said harry, ruefully, "i'm glad you find it funny; for my part, i don't see the joke." "your friend, old dougherty, did, no doubt." "don't be hard on poor old dougherty," said harry, laughingly. "it is very likely that his plan is complete, if we could only find it out." "where is it?" "in our cell," said harry; "i'll go back and get it." and putting aside the sack, he pressed his way into the opening. young jack glanced around him at the boxes on the tressels. an unpleasant feeling stole over him. he did not relish being left alone with the dead. he felt convinced that those ugly boxes did contain the bodies of dead prisoners. "i'm with you, harry," he said. after him he pressed, and up the long, narrow tunnel made by old dougherty they passed. sometimes on all fours; sometimes standing nearly upright. "a few steps more, and we are there," said harry. "hah!" "what now?" "listen!" "i can hear voices," said harry, in a whisper. "this is the stone which is all we have to displace to get back to the cell." "then the voices are there?" "yes." "by jingo!" exclaimed young jack, "then they must have discovered our absence already." "of course." "how i should like to yell out something! wouldn't it startle them just a little?" "don't be foolish, jack," said his companion, uneasily. "you would ruin us." "they'd never discover where we were. shall i startle them?" "no. our only chance of safety depends upon keeping snug." "all right." they could hear noisy tones of anger, which denoted that something unusual had occurred. "there are several people there," said harry, listening intently at the stone. "by jove! how i should like to give them a cheer." "keep quiet," exclaimed harry. "you will ruin us." but, by a mere chance, he was wrong there. had young jack really indulged in his propensity of devilment on this occasion, it would have saved them many hours of mental anguish and of bodily suffering, for the angry words uttered in the cell but lately tenanted by the two boys were spoken by jack harkaway the elder? yes. cruel fate was playing them a sad trick. they were now actually fleeing from their father and protector. the voice raised in anger, and whose echo came but feebly to them in their hiding-place, was his. harkaway's. and thus were these loving hearts parted by a few inches of stone wall. the boys, on the one hand, taking the confused sounds for the murmur of their enemy's voice. and at that very moment harkaway was nearly distracted to have all his hopes dashed rudely to the ground. and in his anger, two lives were sorely endangered. sebastian and theodora were both menaced--aye, both. harkaway could only believe that they had been fooling him, and that he had been trapped there with a view to further treachery. his rage, in consequence, knew no bounds. but we must now follow the two brave boys. "back we go, or we shall be captured," said harry girdwood. young jack led the way back as fast as the narrow space would permit. and soon they were in the dead-house again, and groping about here, they presently came upon a cupboard in which they discovered a number of tools. "luck at last," ejaculated harry. "here, let's make sure of these two knives," said young jack. they were long-bladed weapons, something similar in shape to the american bowie. they took one each and placed them in their waist belts. they little thought then of the singular yet immense service these were to be to them. now barely were these knives secreted when they were startled by the sound of heavy foot-falls upon the stone-paved passage beyond the dead-house door. "what shall we do now?" young jack stepped up to the door, and listened intently for awhile. "there are only two people," he said to his comrade, harry, in a whisper. "only two. well, that's quite enough, i should say." "let us hide behind the door," said young jack, eagerly, "and then fall upon them, and make a dash for liberty." the steps drew nearer and nearer. "let us hide here," said harry, pushing the lid off one of the long coffins or shells. but even as he did so, both boys started back with looks of horror. and why? the removal of the coffin lid revealed a ghastly corpse, the face showing the last agonies which the dead man had suffered, and they, to judge by the distorted face and twisted mouth, must have been horrible indeed. they pushed back the lid. "ugh!" "horrible, horrible!" gasped young jack. the footsteps sounded nearer. they were coming to this place, whoever it was. the boys looked about them in despair. at the last moment young jack's eye lighted upon an empty sack upon the ground, lying beside the full ones to which we have previously alluded. "let's get in that." "good." harry girdwood jumped at the proposition. now the sacks were very large, and made of coarse canvas, thick enough to avoid falling into folds, which would reveal the contents to any one at a glance. so, quick as thought, young jack held it open while harry got in, and then harry, holding up the sides of it with both hands, stood erect while young jack joined him. "this is a novel way of jumping in sack," said the irrepressible jack. "hush!" "they come." a key was heard grating in the rusty lock, and as the boys inclined against the other sacks so as to look as much like one of the pile as possible, the heavy door ground suddenly ajar, and two ugly-looking, black-visaged men entered the shed. chapter xxxv. the black trade--a traffic in death--a place of horror--can it be true?--two boys in one shroud--a fight with a shark--giving him the sack--deep-sea fishing on a novel plan. the two black-looking ruffians looked about them stealthily as though they were on no good errand there. then one of them listened at the door awhile. "you had better lock the door, fleon," said one of the men. "what we have to do mustn't be overlooked." "true." the boys heard the door closed and locked, and the sound seemed to lock out another hope for them. "now, fleon, come here." "well, what now?" "we must come to terms." "of course, barthes, but there is no need to go far into that matter; the terms are simple enough." "you are allowed forty-five francs for each burial, that is, for cost of the shell and sheet." "no, forty only." "well, forty; and if i sign the register in my quality of head gravedigger, you can go and get your money at once. besides, you will have my sacks." "you drive a bargain like a jew. keep your sacks." "and drop the bodies out into the water?" "of course." "impossible." "why?" "they would float." "no matter, the sharks below would soon take care of the few that floated." "are we agreed," cried fleon, "for halves?" the other made some grumbling rejoinder, but grumbling he closed with the proposition. "very good, very good," said fleon, rubbing his hands. "now let us cast them up." "one, two, four, six, eight, eleven, thirteen," said barthes. now they were standing so close to the pile of sacks that the boys in their novel place of concealment could not only hear every word, but they actually felt the speakers brushing against them. but they dared not speak. they even held their breath. they heard, and partly understood, yet could not believe that they guessed aright. what could it mean? surely not-- no, no, no! the thought maddened the boys. it was too horrible. yet what did the rest of the sacks contain? besides, there were no other sacks in the shed but these. both the boys heard the conversation. yet so fearful a notion was it that each felt that he had not heard aright. they dared not speak. and their worst fears were indeed correct. * * * * * "hullo!" "what now?" "thirteen." "yes." "you are wrong," said fleon; "count them again." the man obeyed. "thirteen; i was sure of it." "well, that's a rum go," said fleon. "i am positive that there were only twelve." "there's a baker's dozen now," said barthes, with his brutal laugh; "the more the merrier." "right." "what are you staring at?" "i can't make out that thirteenth one." "well, i don't see that that's any thing to weep over. thirteen at dinner is an awkward number, they say; but i dare say that the sharks won't object to it; they're nor so weak-minded as to be superstitious. ha, ha, ha!" but still fleon could not get over this last sack. "i've got it." "what, where the last sack came from?" "yes." "well, then, out with it, and ease your mind--not that i care much, so long as we land the money." "why, they have brought the last one in from the hospital fever-ward; i heard the bell tolling at midnight, and i remember now that they said another was all but gone." "why, of course," said barthes; "and see how the lazy beggars haven't even taken the trouble to tie the neck of the sack round." "that's easily done." before the boys could guess what was next to take place, the sack was jerked over, and a rope was twisted around the neck of the sack, thus excluding nearly all the air. but young jack had already grown desperate, and he held his knife in his hand ready for an emergency. the jerk had sent the knife through the sack about two inches, and it prodded barthes in the hand. "hullo!" he yelled and drew back his hand "what now?" "i've cut myself." "why, how on earth did you manage that?" "there's a knife sticking out of the sack. let's open it and get it out." "what for?" "it's a pity to throw such a thing into the sea." the boys shivered. this time there could be no mistaking the words. "jack," whispered harry girdwood, "do you hear?" "yes; let us show ourselves, and go back to prison, or--" but before he could complete his proposition, they were jerked in the sack up on to their feet. "come, let's do it quick" "good!" "phew!" grunted barthes; "it's precious heavy." "heavy enough for two," said fleon. "over with it. now, then, both together at the word three." "one." "two." "three." they raised the sack on to the window ledge and-- "oh, murder!" cried barthes, his cheek blanching with terror. "i felt something move in the sack." "so did i," faltered fleon. "it's alive," cried the man barthes, turning pale. "over with it, then; sharp." it was poised for an instant, no more, over the dizzy height. then down it went. as it fell, a wild, despairing shriek went up to heaven. a piteous cry. it was cut short by the sharp flight through the air. a splash. then all was still. * * * * * the two ruffians stood staring at each other, their eyes half starting from their sockets. the perspiration stood out in big beads upon their foreheads, and they shook like ague-stricken wretches. "look over," said fleon in a hoarse whisper. "what do you see?" "i see," responded the other, in the same constrained tone, "there's a shark! i see his fin." "there's plenty more in the neighbourhood." "no; he's all alone, and, my eye! what a feast he'll have!" "i see him! he strikes for the bottom. he's got him, whether he's dead or alive." chapter xxxvi. a watery grave--the bed of the ocean--a bold stroke for life--the race with a shark--a narrow squeak--how to give a shark the sack--the boat--"free, free as air!"--a strange encounter with a gentleman on two wooden legs. poor boys! unhappy jack. luckless harry girdwood. the fall from such a height to the water would render death almost a certainty. hand and foot bound, they could not move. yet stay. could it be possible that these noble boys were to fall victims to the villainy of such ruffians? no. as they reached the bottom, the two boys, momentarily deprived of their senses by the fall, were partially restored by the shock. instinctively the knives go to work. young jack here rendered the most signal service. he held his knife in a tight grip even as they fell. and barely did they come in contact with the bed of the ocean, when young jack stabbed upwards, and, at a single stroke, cut his way out of the sack. at the self-same instant his left hand grappled his friend and trusty comrade harry. to kick the earth fiercely with his feet was to jack a natural impulse, and striking upwards, he made for the surface. will he reach it? doubtful. it seemed a weary, weary way to get. but now the water grows lighter and less dense. jack and harry can see about them. both are experienced swimmers and divers, and they always keep their eyes open under water. and now this habit serves them in good stead, for looking up, jack perceives a huge floating mass bearing down upon him through the water. jack and harry have fleon's words, and the cruel jokes of barthes, still ringing in their ears, and they know, alas too well what it means. a shark. with the energy of despair, both boys strike out, diving lower. and now for a moment their fate seems sealed. they discover that their rapid movements are stopped by the sack, which they have not got quite clear of, and which, puffed, follows them up through the water in their progress to the air and light. and this, by a miracle, saves them. the voracious monster of the deep strikes for the two boys, but its unwieldy body not answering its helm with the swiftness of an ordinary fish, it shoots fairly into the ripped-up sack, in which it gets its huge maws entangled. a strange trap for a shark. a shark trapped by no more cunning contrivance than a canvas sack, ripped up on one side. and while the fierce beast wallows about in this novel trap, lashing the water furiously with its fins, the two boys gain the surface of the water, marvelling at their escape. together they turn over on their backs, and gulp down big draughts of the welcome air. presently they get their breath again. "jack, old boy, are you safe?" was harry's question. "for the present, harry, old chum. how do you feel?" "saved, thank heaven!" "god bless you, old man." thus the two boys, rescued from such a complication of perils, pass their first moments in getting a gasp of heaven's fresh air. each is full of thankfulness for the other's escape, and for the moment thinks but little of himself. suddenly young jack reverts to their last danger. "where is he, the monster?" he asks, with great eagerness. "the shark?" "yes." "don't know." "doesn't relish us." "fancies we shan't be tender after getting out of prison so recently." young jack and harry were only just out of the jaws of death, and already they were joking. "have you got your wind yet, harry?" "then follow me. i can see a sort of archway in the prison wall, and a boat, i think." "hah!" cried harry, "i remember." and turning easily over, he shot out for the prison wall. a few strokes brought them in sight of a flight of stone steps under the archway. and as they catch sight of the steps on ahead, they become conscious that they are being pursued by another of those ravenous beasts of which barthes and fleon were talking in such cruel levity. "quicker, harry, quicker, old lad!" gasps young jack. "right; i see." three vigorous strokes, and harry grasps a chain fastened to a staple in the wall to which a boat is moored. he is on the steps. then grappling with young jack, he helps him up with a desperate jerk. just in time. hardly are they landed when the hideous monster shoots past him. "ugh! you beast!" growled young jack. and he shook his fist at the shark, while the latter, after shooting past, turned round and paddled leisurely back, making sure of them yet. but they were not left long at liberty to enjoy the shark's disappointment, for they were startled by a great noise and commotion going forward in the prison. young jack looked inquiringly at his companion. "our absence discovered?" "i suppose so. let us make tracks as soon as we can." with this they set to work to loosen the boat. it took them some little time to force the padlock which held the chain to the staple, but together they accomplished it. then, lowering their sculls, they pushed out to sea. "free," murmured young jack, exultantly; "free at last." "don't be too fast" now each took a scull, and with long, deep strokes they pulled for their own safe part of the coast. wind and tide were in their favour, and they shot through the water at racing pace. "pull round; here's our place. now for it." "both together," said harry girdwood, excitedly. three long, vigorous strokes, and the boat ground far up high and dry upon the shingle. they ran on wildly. and now the villa was in sight, which fact made them increase their speed. ah, how their young hearts beat at the sight of it. "won't they be surprised?" "and pleased." "and shan't we? ah, me! hello! who's this coming here? why, blow me, harry, do you see who it is?" "of course; it's old king mole." "mr. mole, mr. mole, mr. mole!" they both yelled out. "here we are safe back!" the old gentleman staggered back in sheer amazement. "is it possible?" he exclaimed. "surely--yet, no; it can't be." "can't it though?" and to put all doubt at rest, they each seized hold of a hand and nearly dragged him off his frail supports. chapter xxxvii. restored--general rejoicings--how mr. mole was cruelly maligned--father and son--the death knell and the reprieve--"soon we weigh anchor"--goodbye to greece. "mrs. harkaway?" "who's there?" "me; your obsequious humble to command." "good gracious!" and then upon the other side of the door mrs. harkaway was heard to whisper-- "it's mr. mole. i declare he is quite tipsy." "you are right there, my dear mrs. harkaway," responded the gallant isaac; "more than tipsy--obfuscated, groggy--excuse the slangy phrase--tight--not with liquor, but yet full of spirits--figuratively speaking." "whatever is he talking about?" muttered mrs. harkaway. "about introducing a young gentleman to you," replied mole, who overheard every word, but who was too overjoyed with recent events to take umbrage at any thing now. "excuse me just now, mr. mole," replied the lady, "i--i am dressing." "humph!" young jack was bursting with impatience to push him aside and rush into his mother's arms. but mr. mole restrained him. "the young gentleman i would introduce, my dear mrs. harkaway, brings us news of our young jack." "hah!" a cry of joy, delight, anxiety, fear, hope, all commingled, burst from the mother of our young hero. the door was opened, and mrs. harkaway stood upon the threshold. she stared confusedly at the two boys. "mother!" "jack!" no more. in a moment they were locked in each other's arms. "oh, jack, jack!" exclaimed the astonished mother. "where have you been? now that you are come back, i may tell you i feared i should never see you again." jack's eyes filled with tears. he kissed her tenderly and held out his hand to harry. "here, mother dear," he said; "there is a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft to keep watch over the life of poor jack--and harry is the cherub." "hush! jack." "i shan't hush, harry; you know that it's true. you are the cherub, and you know it. why, mother, now that it's all over, and i am here, i must tell you that i never should have been here if it hadn't been for harry." "bless you, harry," said mrs. harkaway, squeezing his hand. just then, mr. mole, who had felt a tingling sensation at the nose, and fearing that he was about to disgrace his manly reputation by a tear, had retired, came stumping back with some news. "here comes jack--old jack, i mean. here's luck for us." a well-known footstep was heard, and jack harkaway entered the room. as his eye fell upon harry girdwood, he started back, and the colour forsook his cheek. then he caught sight of his boy, and he gave a cry of delight as he held open his arms. young jack flew to him "come here, harry," cried harkaway; "here, my boy--for you are a second son to me." and the two boys were soon locked in his arms. for some minutes not a word was spoken. his heart was too full for speech, but whilst they were thus engaged--engrossed by their own happiness--a deep sound was heard. a dismal, moaning sound. a bell that sounded like a distant funeral knell. what was it? harkaway started up at the mournful sound. "hark!" he exclaimed. "do you hear that?" "yes." "what is it?" "an execution." "where?" "at the prison." "of whom?" "the brigands." "the villains have earned their fates right well." "yes, yes," exclaimed jack harkaway, hurriedly; "but this execution must not take place, though tomaso was shot yesterday." "tomaso, the brigand," cried young jack, "then why not the rest of the brigands." "why? because it is unjust, for the men condemned to suffer death have been sentenced for murdering you, my own boys." as the word was uttered, there was a loud commotion, and theodora burst into the room. she gave a cry on seeing the two boys, and rushed up joyfully to harry girdwood. "thank heaven you are safe," she said hysterically; "but my own brave boy, do you hear? do you know that that bell sounds the death-knell of men who, bad and wicked as they are, have been wrongfully condemned?" "i know." "yes, my girl," said harkaway; "we know--but there is yet time to save them. come on, to the prison." they all left precipitately, and in a very brief space of time they were at the prison and the brigands respited. as young jack said, they had earned the full penalty of the law. but they would not have it upon their consciences that these lawless ruffians should suffer for a crime which they had not committed. "there is one strange fact about this," said the governor of the prison to harkaway, "and that is, that one of the prisoners has taken the liberty of respiting himself." "which one?" "the englishman hunston." "what, hunston escaped!" "impossible." "indeed it is not." "but how?--when? why hunston any more than the others?" "we can only give a guess," said the governor, "but it is a good one. his gaoler has disappeared with him; the rest is not a difficult matter to guess." it was quite true. hunston, harkaway's old schoolfellow and bitter foe, had once more contrived to elude justice. both had disappeared--prisoner and gaoler with him. "i'm sorry for that," said harkaway, "for it would have been a good thing to take care of that double-dyed traitor, but no matter, we shall have nothing to fear from him now; we have had enough of this place." "are we, then, to leave greece, dad?" "yes, all our preparations are made, and in a few days, we will weigh anchor and get away from romantic greece, and its precious scoundrels and brigands." chapter xxxviii. the last of the brigand band--hunston's peril--his wanderings--starvation in the midst of plenty--on the landing stage at night--an adventure. and what of the band? where was it? the fear-stricken few remaining of this once formidable host hid themselves in the recesses of the mountains, lurking, like thieves and miscreants as they were, in retired nooks and crannies. and so their lives grew wretched. their famous recruit, geoffrey, who was such a famous hand at bringing in plunder every day, disappeared. and with him disappeared all the booty he had brought them. altogether, therefore, this geoffrey was not so much of an advantage to them as they had at first supposed. and with the disappearance of geoffrey, the sham brigand, we have to chronicle the sudden return of our old friend, dick harvey, to his beloved harkaways. and what of toro, the giant brigand? he was completely lost sight of for awhile. no one knew what had become of him. hunston's first care on getting free from the prison was to get into the mountain fastnesses, in search of his old comrade, toro. but he could not discover the least trace of his old comrade. he skulked about at night and fled to sleep in the mountains by day, shrinking at the echo of his own footfalls--starting at his own shadow. "my curses light upon the harkaways one and all," was the speech ever upon his tongue; "they have been my bane--my curse through life." he resolved to get away from this place. yes; he would fly. but how? here was he well-nigh starving in the midst of plenty, possessed of a sum of money which was a small fortune in that land, and yet he dare not change or part with it. this life grew unendurable, and he resolved at all hazards to change it. yes; he would get away from this place at once. soon after dusk, he ventured, well disguised, into the town and down to the water side, and lolling about, he soon chanced to hear something which greatly interested him. a group of french sailors were smoking, and gossiping upon a subject which caught his attention as soon as he heard a name mentioned. harkaway. "yes; mr. harkaway and friends are going away tomorrow," said one of the sailors, who appeared to be a petty officer. "i shall come down and see the ladies go on board," said one of the sailors. "no, you won't," laughed the former speaker. "why not?" "you're too late." "they're not on board already, surely?" "indeed, they are." "they start early." "they weigh anchor at daybreak, i hear." "ah, well," said the other sailor, joining in; "they'll miss monsieur harkaway here, for he's as rich as croesus." "or monte christo," said another, laughingly. "aye, that he is," said another sailor. "i was here when the ladies went on board, and i was lucky enough to be able to render some little service to madam harkaway." "what was it?" "it is not worth repeating," replied this modest gallic tar. "all i know is, that monsieur harkaway made such a fuss about it that he would insist upon my going on board with him to drink their health." "and you went?" "yes; and we swam in good wine. and when i came away, it was with pockets full of cigars and money to stand treat to you all round." "what a splendid fellow this monsieur harkaway is." "aye, that he is." and amidst these words of praise hunston slunk away, gnashing his teeth in rage and bitterness. "hang him!" he muttered; "his old brag and ostentation have caught these fools! i wonder where his vessel is? if i could fire a torpedo under it and send them all where young jack and the other boy have gone to, i shouldn't have a dull moment for the rest of my life." and the ruffian chuckled to himself maliciously. "ah, but i was one with them," he muttered, "when i had their precious boy and that harry girdwood shot like dogs that they were. ah! that was grand. those were crumbs of comfort." and rubbing his hands and chuckling, he rambled on. he paused presently upon coming to a long, wooden landing stage, jutting out a long way to sea. arrived at the head of the jetty, he looked out earnestly seaward, in the endeavour to trace out which of the many ships in the offing could be the harkaways' vessel. "well, well," he murmured to himself, "i don't care much, for i don't see what i could do if i knew it. i could only send my blessing straight after it--hah, hah! but with harkaway's departure, i can breathe more freely. i have only to get over a few weeks quietly, and then all the dust which he has kicked up will blow over, and i can live quietly upon his money like a gentleman, until i decide upon the next step." while he sat thus looking out to sea, his attention was suddenly attracted shorewards. "confusion!" he ejaculated, starting up; "there's someone coming along the jetty." it was true. two sailors and a woman came sauntering along the landing stage, chatting as they came. there was barely room for four abreast upon the narrow wooden pier, and consequently they might recognize him, providing they had heard the description of him. "what an ass i was to come here," muttered hunston; "to drive myself into a corner." he looked round. they did not appear to notice him. not yet at least. so he crouched down, and lowered himself into a boat, which was moored to one of the end piles. beneath the end of the jetty was a series of crossbars and beams, resting upon the low range of piles, which indeed served as the main foundation for the whole structure. so hunston clambered nimbly out of the boat into this species of scaffolding. here he lay at full length, listening for the approach of these three people. * * * * * "you had better come ashore now, miss," said one of the sailors. "no, no," replied mrs. harkaway's new maid. "but you'll never be up in time if you go to bed at all." "oh, yes, mistaire saileur, i get up at the hour which i like; i shall go on board at three o'clock," said the wilful girl. "i shall get the seasickness quite early enough, i know. besides, i don't like the water when it so dark." "the moon will be up directly." jack tiller was right. the moon just then burst through a thick cloud, and shot a ray of silvery light just upon the spot where the girl was kneeling. it fell across a living face just below the flooring of the jetty. a face rendered ghastly white by the action of the moonlight, with eyes upturned in eagerness and expectation. a startling sight. a weird and ghastly object to come suddenly before the strongest nerve. she started back, and sprang to her feet. then, with a piercing shriek, she fled. the sailors looked aghast, staring at each other for explanations. "let's after her, jack!" cried one; "she'll be overboard double quick if she fouls agin them blessed bulwarks. it's as rotten as tinder." off they ran, and they tried all they could to bring the girl back. but she had had such a scare that she would not hear of it. she had seen a man hiding there. "bah!" cried jack tiller, "why should a man hide away from us?" "yes, that's it, miss, why?" "i don't care, i know it was a man. i knew the face. i have seen it in madame's book of photographs." "the dooce you did." "who was it?" "one of the brigands. the likeness was taken in prison." this made the gallant tars laugh again. "that's the natural bogey hereabouts," said joe basalt; "damme if i believe half their yarns about the brigands." "nor i neither." and so, failing to persuade the girl to go on board then, they went back up the jetty, dropped into their boat, and, unlocking it, rowed out to sea. chapter xxxix. a trip by water--boat, ahoy!--a compact for money--the stowaway on board the "westward ho!"--his vision--in the hands of the philistines. hunston had overheard every word uttered. the full sense of his danger flashed across him. he was watched, he felt sure. "not yet," said hunston to himself, "not yet. sooner than let them get hold of me, i'd lay my bones at the bottom of the sea." with which intention he dropped into the water. but he did not even touch the bottom, for before he had got far under, he struck out, and after taking a dozen strokes; under water, he came to the surface. "that's another narrow squeak," he said to himself, as he took in a deep draught of air. "the last time i had to swim for it was in cuba, and a narrow squeak it was too." he had been rescued on that memorable occasion by his enemy, jack harkaway himself. "well, this squares that old account," he said, turning over on his back to float. "he saved me last time. he's the cause this time of my having to take this risk." he began to look anxiously about him. there was a boat at no great distance being rowed by two men, so hunston thought of signalling them. "suppose they are some of those wretched greeks, and recognise me?" he gave it up. but he could hardly keep himself afloat now. what if they did recognise him? would they give him up? perhaps. well, at the worst they could only take his life for his misdeeds, and his life was in sore jeopardy now. so he resolved to hail the men in the boat. * * * * * "boat ahoy!" "hullo!" "man overboard!" the signal of the sinking man caught the quick ears of the two men in the boat, and they pulled towards him double quick. hunston caught hold of the side of the boat. "this arm. catch under my armpit. there; thanks. i've hurt the other." barely rescued from the jaws of death, and yet all his coolness and presence of mind had come back to him. in a trice he was lying at the bottom of the boat, panting and waiting to recover his breath to renew his thanks for their service. "why, mounseer, you speak english," said one of the sailors. hunston nodded. "i am english." "so are we." "i guessed as much," retorted hunston, "by the way you pulled to help a poor devil. it was nearly all over with me." "just in time. well, that's one to us, messmate." "yes, and you'll find that i'm able to reward you with something more solid than thanks." "get along; me and my mate here don't save lives at so much an 'ed." "i believe you," said hunston, "but i should be a villain if i did not do something handsome for you if i could." "i tell you what, mate, you shall lug me and my mate out of the water." "when you get the chance," laughed the other. "jes' so." "how came you there, though?" demanded the former sailor, suddenly. "it's a long story," said hunston, taking breath, and thinking up a good plausible "whacker"; "so i'll tell you without all the details." "do." "there's a very rich and powerful man in this place, who has a very lovely wife. well, this lady--" "casts sheep's eyes at you." "ha, ha!" "well, that is about it," returned hunston, laughingly. "it's no fault of mine. i'm sure i never encouraged her. but her husband is precious jealous, and the consequence is that he had got me out to sea in a boat with a gang of murderers--" "the swabs!" "marlinspikes and grampuses!" cried the other. "they were going to practise a curious trick upon me. it is an institution of their neighbours and masters, the turks, and they call it the bowstring." "d--n their fiddling," ejaculated one of the sailors; "i'd like to have 'em here just awhile. i'd bowstring 'em and show 'em what black eyes, and good old english fisticuffs mean." "i don't think that they would care to be instructed in that," said hunston. "i'd, i'd--" "let the gentleman go on," said the other. "well, the fact is, i got out, jumped overboard and capsized the boat in my struggling, and some of them, i dare say, have gone to the bottom." "hurrah!" shouted one of the sailors. "hurrah!" "i hope you finished off the lot of the swabs." "i don't think that. but anyhow, i'd give a trifle if i could get clear out of this place." "i can tell you how to do it" "you can?" "yes." "that's jolly." "easily done." and then the sailor suggested bringing him aboard their ship and introducing him to the skipper. hunston listened and then shook his head. "what," exclaimed the sailor, "won't do?" "no." "why?" "i'll tell you; a blessed outcry would be raised, and the skipper would be forced to give me up to be tried." "well, they would not dare to play false." "not while there was a british man-o'-war in the harbour; but nothing short of that would prevent the villains doing any thing they liked with me. they would go through the mockery of a trial with me, and i should be condemned to death beforehand." "the wampires." "wuss wuss, nor wampires, joe," said the other sailor, wagging his head gravely. "there is only one way to get out of this scrape," said hunston. "out with it then." "why, earn forty pounds apiece and stow me away on board in the hold, anywhere, until you are out at sea," said the fugitive. the two sailors looked hard at each other. "can't do it." "no." "why not?" "unpossible." "i'll tell you why not. our skipper is the best commander afloat, on'y he won't have no nonsense. we daresn't do it, we daresn't." "right, joe." "now, harkye, messmates," said hunston. "i'm not the man to get any man to fail in his duty; i wouldn't insult you by mentioning it. but mark my words, your skipper would be the first man to approve of such an act." they shook their heads. "not he." "i know he would, if what you say of him is right; only, d'ye see, he'd think it his duty to give me up for a fair trial. well, and what would be the result of that? why, as soon as you had set sail, they'd just do what they liked with me, and you'd never hear of me again in this world, whereas if i was concealed unknown to the skipper, he'd only be too glad afterwards to have such a good action done on board his ship without his having failed in his duty." they listened to this, and listening they were lost. that night hunston slept in the hold of a ship, the two sailors having contrived to smuggle him on board with the greatest secrecy. it had been a difficult task for them, and indeed the sailors well earned the money which he gave them. not a soul on board the ship, with the exception of the two sailors, had the least idea of his presence there. they contrived to make him up a very snug hiding-place behind some barrels of sugar and salt pork. and here they brought him food turn and turn about. and so he chuckled to himself by day and night at the way in which he had defeated his enemies, and escaped from greek justice. * * * * * for three days and three nights he lay snug and quiet. this was the most prudent course. but long before the third night was over, hunston had grown weary and heartsick of this close confinement. he had a sharp attack of the blues. he got drink from the sailors and drank heavily to kill dull care, and this defeated its own end. he fell off into a heavy sleep and dreamt all sorts of terrible things. he thought that without knowing it he had fallen into the power of the harkaways again; that in flying from them he had suddenly, when he thought himself miles away from them and from imminent danger, fallen into their arms. and so went his alarming dream, when his worst enemies were assembled in judgment over him. jack harkaway, harvey, and jefferson, together, being his judges, the latter places were suddenly taken by three visitors from the other world. these were harry girdwood, young jack, and oh, horror! robert emmerson, his murdered friend. his three visitors. and these three threatened and put him to tortures unimaginable, until he raved, stormed, and wept by turns; and then, broken in body and in spirit, he prostrated himself before them and begged them to kill him, and in this horrible phase of his vision he groaned so loudly that he awoke, to find the perspiration pouring off him in a regular bath. he was quivering like one suddenly stricken with ague. not an inch of his body was free from this fearful palsy. "oh, what would i give for the light now!" he thought; "will they never come?" yes. what was that? merciful powers! his prayer seemed to be answered. he saw the faint glimmering of a light yes, it was coming this way. what a relief! he drew a long, long sigh. the light stopped suddenly. then it was shaded from the part of the hold in which he was hiding. what could it mean? silence was around him. he stretched forward to ascertain the cause of the light, and there he saw that which froze the very marrow in his bones with fright. the light was all reflected upon a young, handsome face which he knew but too well--so real, so vivid, so lifelike. the face, too, with the deathly hue of the grave upon it. it was young jack's face, but looking to hunston's frightened eyes pale as death. hunston stared; his optics dilated and appeared ready to start from their sockets. he gasped, made an effort to articulate, and then his senses forsook him, and he became unconscious. chapter xl. hunston's peril--black visions--a dream of vengeance--an unknown danger to the "westward ho!" an explanation of the foregoing is scarcely necessary, we believe. you bear in mind, of course, that hunston was utterly ignorant of the miraculous escape of his destined victims--young jack and harry girdwood. you must bear in mind, too, that although you, friend reader, may give a shrewd guess at the truth, hunston had not the remotest notion of where he was. this said, you may perhaps understand the fearful effect of this waking vision upon the guilty wretch. bear in mind that he had been lurking in a close and stifling hold, into which no single ray of sunlight penetrated, for three whole days--three long nights. unwelcome conscience tapped and would not be deceived. a man with the guilt of hunston upon his mind could not afford to be alone--nay, nor in the dark either. * * * * * when he recovered consciousness, his first sensations were of burning in the throat, and opening his eyes, he found himself being cared tenderly for by one of the sailors who had brought him there. "come, come, i say, mister," said the honest tar, who had had a bit of a fright on finding hunston's condition, "this won't do, you know." "i am better now," murmured hunston, faintly. "you are a little, precious little. you will have to come on deck now, and chance what the skipper says about the job." "yes, yes; i will," said hunston, waking up. "he can't kill us." "nor eat me," said the stowaway, with a sickly smile. "not he." "any thing is better than remaining longer here. i believe i should die if i did." "then up you come at once, as sure as my name's jack tiller." "tell me, my friend," hunston said; "whither are we bound?" "for the red sea." "pheugh! a long cruise?" "well, yes." "and then we are going further yet, and to travel on until we touch the coast of australy." "the deuce!" "that's it, sir." "what's the name of the vessel?" the sailor laughed. "what makes you grin?" "why, i was wondering, messmate, why you never asked that before." "my thoughts were too full of getting away." "ah, of course." "what is her name?" "the 'westward ho!' she was formerly the 'seamew,' and the owner rechristened her." "what's his name?" "the skipper's? why, captain john willoughby." "the owner's?" "mr. jack harkaway." had a thunderbolt dropped down in the hold between them, hunston could not have been more astonished. "what?" his tone startled the sailor. he saw it, and he did his utmost to calm himself. "who did you say?" "who?" echoed the sailor. "why, who but mr. jack harkaway? he's well known enough. surely you don't mean for to go for to say as you never heard of him?" "i--i think i have heard the name," muttered hunston. "think! well, so do i, unless you've been shut up in solitary confinement for the last fifteen years. blow me tight, but the man that hadn't heard of mr. jack harkaway, would be a living curiosity." "jack harkaway the owner of this ship!" hunston murmured, like one in a dream, and relapsed into silence once more. no wonder that he had seen that vision. no wonder that the spirit of the murdered boy, young jack, should hover about the vessel where his destroyer was hiding--in which his father, mother, and all that he held dear in life were journeying. the situation grew graver than ever. it was truly an alarming plight, and the more he thought it over, the more desperate did he become. "jack tiller," said he. "your honour." "i'll stay where i am." "oh, very good," replied the tar; "mum's the word. i thought your berth wasn't over cheerful." jack tiller gave a hoist at his slacks, and with something between a sigh and a grunt, he wheeled round and went on deck. * * * * * "if i could only see my way out of this, i should like better than any thing to fire the ship," said hunston, to himself; "fire it and watch it close by, chuckling at them while they roasted. what a glorious return it would be for them. by the powers, it is about the only thing i could do to wipe them all off at once, all, all! jack, harvey, emily, that yankee braggart--curse him!" and hunston sat brooding in the black and evil-smelling hold day after day. the only companion of his solitude being his own dark thoughts, his vicious resolves for vengeance. "it is my own cursed ill-luck," he would say to himself again and again, "to be beholden to this harkaway for my life. why, even now, he has saved me again, saved me in spite of himself. that's the merry side of the question." merry as it was, it never made him smile. one dreadful thought filled his poor mind. one fearful fancy took such complete possession of him, that day and night he was brooding on it. "once let me see a clear landing," he would mutter to himself, "once let me see my way straight to get ashore in a safe place, and then i'll make the 'westward ho!' too hot to hold them. too hot--ah, yes, a precious deal too hot to hold them, that i would; for i would make up such a blaze as they would never be able to extinguish." and so he began devoting himself to the arrangements for this villainous purpose. what is more, he got all his plans mapped out, all ready for the execution of this most diabolical deed. little did the happy passengers in the "westward ho!" dream of the fatal danger threatening them. they would not have enjoyed so many sweet slumbers, could they have had the faintest inkling of the truth--if they had suspected that near them was the villain hunston, following them with a deadly purpose of revenge, which seemed to have increased year by year ever since the schooldays of jack harkaway. chapter xli. young jack's confidences--how two innocent conspirators repented--a chance shot strikes home. "harry," said young jack, as they walked up and down the deck arm in arm, "i must tell you something that has been upon my mind for days past." harry girdwood turned round. young jack's serious manner impressed him. "what is it, jack?" "i know you'll laugh," began jack. "do you, jack?" returned harry girdwood, promptly; "that being the case, tell me at once. i like to laugh, as you know." "well, harry, it hasn't made me laugh. i was lolling half drowsily over the hatchway there, the other evening, when i suppose i dropped off asleep, and i dreamt of hunston. i dreamt that i was going through all that ugly scene again, and while in the thick of the dream, something woke me." "yes." "what do you think it was?" "can't say." "hunston's voice, moaning, groaning with pain apparently." harry girdwood opened his eyes in wonder at this singular speech. "what are you talking about?" "nonsense, rubbish; is it not? so i thought since. but you know that sort of dream when you wake up with the vivid effect of your vision so strongly upon you, that the dream-drama appears to continue after you're awake?" "yes." "well, that is exactly what happened to me. i heard hunston when i was awake." there was something strangely impressive in his manner as he said this, which caught harry girdwood's attention in spite of himself. "fancy," he said, with an assumption of indifference which he was far from feeling; "fancy, my dear jack." "of course," answered young jack; "but very strange." "not exactly strange, either, every thing considered, after all we have gone through. why, jack, you will hardly believe me when i tell you that i scarcely sleep without dreaming of hunston. and what is there wonderful in that, after all that has taken place? it was enough to shake the strongest nerves, to startle the bravest man that ever lived." "you allude to the attempted execution of ourselves?" said young jack. "yes; and in spite of that brave brigand girl's assurances, there was great danger when we stood upon the brink of our grave with a firing party aiming at us." "i felt a good deal of confidence in her," said jack, "but i couldn't help thinking that an accident in her calculations might happen very easily." "that's true. supposing one of the bullets had been left in?" "why, then one of us would have been food for worms by now, unless the wolves or bears had rooted us up out of our graves and made dinner off us; but i haven't told you all about my vision yet, harry." "did you dream again?" "no." "what more have you, then, to tell? out with it. what else was it?" "the moans i heard grew more distinct while i listened, and i followed the sounds--" "in your sleep?" "no, awake. i followed the sounds to the hold." "well?" "they were plainer heard there. i pushed my way over the barrels and boxes, and nosed down in all the corners with my bull's eye lantern, when suddenly i heard a half-suppressed cry, a violent gasp rather, as if someone had too suddenly found himself on the edge of a precipice, or had seen a ghost." "well, well." "well, at that very moment a hand was placed upon my arm." "yes." "i started back and drew my dirk, and then i found my self attacking--" "mole?" "no. joe basalt." harry girdwood burst out laughing at this. "so it was joe basalt that was hiding and having a lark with you all the while?" "i didn't say so," replied young jack, thoughtfully. "why, then, what, in the name of all that's wonderful, do you think it could have been?" "i don't know, but joe basalt chaffed me. he swore i was walking in my sleep; but i have come back upon my old opinion since i have thought the job over." "you mean that you actually believe there is someone concealed in the hold?" "is--or was. now, you watch joe basalt, harry, and see if there is not some thing very strange in his manner." "i will, if you like, but--good-morning, tiller." this was to jack tiller, who came up to them touching his forelock. "good-morning, master jack--morning, master harry. we've got a fishing party on, gentlemen, and thought as you might like to jine us." "who's going?" "me and sam mason, tommy shipwright and bill adams, joe basalt and old higgy--only that lot among the common folk," added he, with a grin. "and who among the superior class?" asked young jack, laughingly. "mr. mole." "what, mr. mole! why, what on earth is he going for?" "that's exactly the p'int of it, young gentlemen," "how so?" "we're going a-fishing with something new-fangled which mr. mole has inwented." the two boys looked at each other and grinned. "larks are on, jack," said harry girdwood. "i'm in it, for one." "and i too." "that's your sort," cried joe basalt. "mr. harvey's going, too, and mr. jefferson; now i go to mr. harkaway and ask his consent." and joe left them singing-- "avast!" cries jack, "do you suppose i ain't a man my dooty knows? for liberty afore we goes to ax the skipper i propose." and the well-disciplined sailor went to harkaway's cabin and broached the question. "all right, basalt," said harkaway; "only look sharp after the young gentlemen; you know what boys they are to get into mischief." "all right, your honour; trust me." "i do, joe basalt," responded harkaway; "i do, for i know that there was never a straighter or truer man ever trod a deck than you are." "come, i say, your honour," remonstrated joe basalt, modestly, "draw it mild." "no deceit about you, i know it; nothing underhand about joe basalt." a sudden thought flashed through the sailor's head, and it brought up a very unpleasant reminder. with it came a flush to his bronzed face. he touched his forelock respectfully to harkaway and ran up stairs. as he went he muttered to himself-- "i felt like a miserable swab!" he muttered; "a d--d, deceitful son of a sea-cook--that's what you are, joe basalt, i wish i'd never had nothing to do with that precious stowaway." chapter xlii. shark-fishing--billy longbow's yarns--tell that to the marines--a novel bait--how mr. mole had the laugh his own way. the fishing expedition consisted of two boat-loads. to wit, the pinnace and the cutter. in the former were jefferson, dick harvey and four sailors. in the cutter were young jack, harry girdwood, mr. mole, joe basalt, sam mason, and jack tiller. "now jack," said mr. mole, settling himself comfortably at the rudder lines; "and you too, my dear harry, you know, of course, we are going shark-fishing. you understand what that is?" "i know what a shark is, if you mean that," answered young jack. "rather," said harry, with a shudder at old recollections "we had a white one after us once." "a white shark!" said mr. mole, beaming upon the boat's crew generally. "_squalus carcharias,_ the worst of the family." "they aren't got no families, axing your pardon, mr. mole, sir," said joe basalt, "for they eats their own mothers and fathers and children likewise." "why, bill longbow told me a yarn once, your honour," said sam mason, "about a white shark. i mean," he added, nodding at mr. mole respectfully, "a squally cockylorium--a blessed rum name for a shark--as devoured all his family for dinner, supped off a sunday school out for a pleasure-trip in a steamboat, and was a-goin' to wind up with a meal off his own blessed self, when his dexter fin stuck in his swaller, and he brought hisself up ag'in." a general laugh greeted this sally. so boisterous was their mirth, that it caught the occupants of the other boat. "that's sam mason at one of his billy longbow's yarns," cried a sailor in the pinnace. "so you had a white shark after you in the water," said mr. mole. "rather unpleasant that." "it was indeed unpleasant at such close quarters," said harry girdwood. "very close?" demanded mr. mole. "not further off than--" "than that squally cockylorium is from you now, your honour," cried sam mason, pointing behind mole. the old gentleman looked quickly behind them, and there, paddling about the stern, was a monstrous white shark. mr. mole slid off his seat to the bottom of the boat with wonderful celerity. "don't like the look of him?" said young jack. "ho! i'll tackle him presently, but i--i slipped down," said mr. mole. "so i see, sir." "and i mean to show you some novel sport in the way of shark-fishing," said the old gentleman. "you?" "yes." he had brought a large hamper with him, which he now proceeded to unpack, the occupants of the boat looking on with great interest in the business. "billy longbow told me a yarn once," said the irrepressible sam mason, "about a wooden-legged nigger." mr. mole looked up. "what?" "a wooden-legged nigger," said sam mason, touching his forelock respectfully at mole. "no offence, your honour, to your legs." "oh, no." "go on, sam," said young jack, laughing; "out with billy longbow's yarn." "this nigger was stumping along the banks of the nile one day, when who should he meet but a blessed big crockydile about a hundred feet long." "oh!" "draw it mild, sam." "well, that's what billy longbow said--a hundred feet long." "oh, damme!" cried joe basalt, "make it ninety-nine, sam, for decency sake." "i won't give in half a foot," persisted sam. "well, when snowball sees muster crockydile so near as there was no getting out of the way, he says--'you jist wait a bit, massa crock, i'll gib yar suffin to sniff at.' an' so, without more ado, he unscrews one of his wooden legs, and walks into the animal's jaws." "oh, oh, oh!" a general groan of incredulity. "absurd," said mr. mole, without looking up from his task of watching, in case the shark should again show itself. "a fact, sir," said sam mason. "well, he holds up his wooden leg perpendicular and the greedy crock comes on with a snap, but the wooden leg was a trifle more than he could get over; there it stuck and propped his great ugly maws wide open; out crawls snowball, a kind of sorter modern jonah, none the worse for it." "bravo, sam!" "ho! it is quite true, for it's billy longbow's version of it," said the modest sam. "and is that all?" "not quite. he squatted down upon his stump, and prodded the crock in the eye with the other wooden leg until he caved in." "oh, oh, oh! sam, sam!" they cried in a chorus. by the time the laugh had subsided, mr. mole was ready with his novel fishing-apparatus. novel, indeed. he took a soda water bottle, filled with gunpowder and tightly corked, and through the cork was a twisted wire that was attached to the line. the other end of the line was a small square box, which was furnished with four handles, similar to that of a barrel organ. one of these handles was to pay out line, another was for winding in. "and the other two?" demanded harry girdwood. "simple enough," said mr. mole; "this box is a battery, and in my line is a conductor that goes through the cork into the powder. when i feel a tug, a turn or two of my handle here sends a spark into the powder, and our friend the _squalus carcharias_ gets a good deal more than he has time to digest." "i begin to see." "really, it is a very great plan, mr. mole." "now for the pork." "pork!" "yes." he had provided himself with a large morsel of fat in a flat strip, and this he proceeded to tie round the soda water bottle with twine. when this was done, he put out about thirty feet of his telegraphic line, and then hurled his novel bait out to sea. they looked eagerly out in the direction, and saw the great sea-monster dive swiftly after it. then its huge carcase was clearly perceived in the limpid water turning over. mole waited a moment. the line tightened. "now for it." he gave two of his handles several vicious twists. there was a shock, and a kind of water spout not far off. mole chuckled quietly, and wound in his line. "do you think it has succeeded?" demanded young jack, anxiously. "do i think, do i know? of course it has." they watched the place eagerly, and in the space of a few minutes the carcase of the huge white shark, completely rent asunder, rose to the surface of the water, and floated about. "damme!" ejaculated joe basalt, "if that ain't the queerest fishing i ever come nigh." "and ain't mr. mole the best fisherman you ever see?" "that he is." "let's give him a cheer; hip, hip, hip!" "hurrah!" and they towed the vanquished shark alongside the "westward ho!" while isaac mole became the hero of the day. chapter xliii. more deeds of daring--how jefferson showed up in an emergency--single combat and its result--mr. mole to the fore with a fresh feat on the longbow. "they've got a bite in the cutter," said parry. they had, and it seemed to be a strong one. they had got a tartar. a big fish was hooked, and dragging their boat through the water at a furious rate. "we must go and lend them a hand," said young jack. they laid down to their work, and were soon upon the scene of the strife. aye, strife is the correct expression. strife it was. a steam tug could not have dragged them along at a better pace, or have made resistance more hopeless. "pull hard." "aye, aye, sir!" "lay down to it, my lads," cried old mole, excitedly; "look how they are flying through the water." "aye, aye, sir!" "i remember billy longbow once," began mason. "hang billy longbow now!" said joe basalt. "yes, let's bag this fish first and then--" "ain't mr. mole got another of his soda water bottles?" "lots of bait," replied mr. mole; "but the tackle isn't up to the mark." "now he's slackening." "yes--he's getting blown." "now he rises." so he did. as they spoke, the flight of the cutter was checked, and a huge shark rose to the surface of the water for air. a couple of fowling pieces gave him a warm greeting, but without appearing to damage him much. the pinnace now pulled sharply round, and young jack, standing up on the head of the boat, held the harpoon ready for use when they should be within reach. the moment was soon found. the harpoon flew from his grasp whizzing through the air, and struck the quarry. tough as his hide was, the harpoon would not be denied admission. the shark snorted as it was struck, and dived down, down, until the line grew taut. had there been but a single line to hold the voracious monster in check, it would have been but little use, so violent was the struggle, and so desperately sudden was the strain. but the two lines worked well together now. much as the shark objected to their company, he had no choice but to cruise about within the comparatively narrow limits of his tether. "beast!" said dick harvey, snapping a pistol as it rose once more to the surface. "you take a thundering lot of killing." "this must be settled," said jefferson. "how?" "i'll show you," returned the yankee, promptly. he drew his bowie, and watching the shark intently for a moment, he sprang over the boat's side into the sea. a cry of horror arose from one and all. what could this mean? suicide--the maddest suicide that ever man had contemplated. nothing could save him now. nothing. "jefferson!" ejaculated harvey. "hush!" cried one of the sailors, with suppressed excitement; "don't worrit. let him have the same chance as the shark at any rate." it wanted a bold fellow to do such a deed as this, but jefferson was a bold fellow, few bolder. he was no braggart; but his self-confidence was amazing, and it brought him through many and many a desperate strait. would it bring him through this present affair? doubtful--sadly doubtful, indeed. the wounded shark caught sight of the intrepid american, and all heedless of its hurts, dived after him. the spectators held their breaths. jefferson rose to the surface in an instant, drew a long breath, and then down he plunged again. barely was he under when up came the shark snorting, puffing, and blowing. there was a momentary pause just then. then its huge tail lashed the water into foam and it rolled over, the water surrounding it being crimsoned with its life blood. "that's another gone coon," said sam mason exultingly. as he spoke, jefferson shot up to the boat's side, where half a dozen eager hands dragged him in. "phew!" he said, shaking the water from his face and head, "that beast has cost me my knife and my cutlass." he had sheathed them both in the shark before the ugly beast was done with. the spectators gave him a cheer. "that's sharp work, jack," said harry girdwood. "sharp, indeed." "it wants a quick hand and a sharp eye." "and it has got it, too, there," said isaac mole, enthusiastically; "the smartest performance i've seen for many a long day." jefferson nodded and smiled at the speaker. "thank'ee, mr. mole," said he; "such praise is indeed gratifying coming from you, the real hero of the day." mr. mole was radiant with smiles at this. "jefferson," said the old gentleman, in his most condescending and patronising manner, "you remind me of myself in my best days." the boat's crew generally laughed at this. but mr. mole was not at all abashed. "really, mr. mole," said jefferson, "you flatter." "not i," protested mr. mole; "i rarely remember doing a neater thing myself." "indeed!" "truly." "is it possible?" "what magnanimity!" "humility itself," ejaculated another. the exaggeration of their expressions of wonderment as well as admiration did not at all upset mr. mole's moral equilibrium. he had a very large swallow for admiration, and he pleased to take it all as his legitimate due. "the only thing which can at all compare to mr. jefferson's gallant deed was an adventure that i will tell you of," said he, modestly. "i was on a whaling expedition up north----" "whaling?" "you!" "yes, yes, i, jack. what is there surprising in that?" "nothing, sir," responded young jack; "only i was not aware you had ever done any thing in that line." "now, how can you expect to know all my past career, my dear boy?" "of course, sir." "whaling, i repeat. we were chasing an enormous spermaceti whale. i was carrying the harpoon and tackle, and as we got within range i let fly at him with all my force. now, perhaps i ought not to say it, but there were not many men who could approach me in handling the harpoon. i spitted the animal clean through the middle." "dear me!" "no sooner did he feel himself struck than he sounded. out went the line, but hang me if i could pay out fast enough, for he jerked me clean off my perch into the water." "dreadful!" "shocking!" mr. mole smiled grimly. "not so bad as it sounds, after all," he said. "it startled me a bit, as you may suppose." "it would, of course," said dick, tipping the wink to jefferson. "but i had got back my presence of mind in half a crack, so i hauled in my line until i found myself on the whale's back. there i stuck on like grim death, jobbing and stabbing away with one hand, while i held on to the hilt of the harpoon with the other. i had only a dirk or short sword with me, but it was quite long enough for the whale." "no doubt, no doubt," exclaimed dick. "in a few minutes i had jobbed all the go out of him, and he floated on the top of the water dead as a bloater, with me on the top, rather blown with being so long under water, but with that excepted, not much the worse for it." "wonderful!" "marvellous!" "a miracle!" such were the mildest tributes of admiration which mr. mole's fanciful reminiscence drew forth. "you must have shipped a good lot of water, your honour," said jack tiller. "that i did." "more water than your honour has ever took since." mr. mole half smelt a lurking sarcasm in this, but the honest tar's face showed no signs of slyness. the only evidence of it being a dig at mr. mole's well-known weakness for strong waters was to be found in the merry twinkling of the listeners' eyes. "i remember something that happened to billy longbow--" began sam mason. "avast, sam!" interrupted jack tiller; "billy longbow ain't in it with mr. mole at a yarn." chapter xliv. hunston's trials in the hold of the "westward ho!"--the shine with his protectors--a strange revelation--troubles. hunston was, meanwhile, getting into a very bad state of mind. the mechanical arm was resuming its invidious advance--its mysterious yet none the less terrible attack. "i feel that i am going off the hooks," he would mutter to himself, grimly, from time to time. "i shall put my old enemy jack harkaway to the trouble of burying me after all. "well, one good turn deserves another. i buried his brat, he shall bury me. only he won't get as much for doing for me as i did for his son." he little dreamt that both young jack and harry girdwood were upon that ship. he had seen young jack once, and then his fears were so excited that they obtained a complete mastery over his cooler judgment. he took him for his own apparition. * * * * * joe basalt and jack tiller felt unhappy. they had long learnt to repent of their slyness in concealing the stowaway on board the "westward ho!" honest joe basalt and rough-and-ready jack tiller consulted daily over the dilemma into which they had fallen. "hark ye, jack," said his pal basalt, "we've bin an' made hasses of ourselves in getting that chap aboard, but our dooty is clear now." "what's that?" "to go and make a clean breast of it to the skipper." "but the cove himself seemed so particular avarse to that." "cos why? ain't he bin telling lies by the pint measure? he's been humbugging of us," persisted basalt. "let's go and talk reasonable to him, then," said tiller, "for this must come to an end. damme, if i don't feel as if i'd been an' done a hanging job at the very least." they went to the hold and found hunston. the appearance of the wretched stowaway was by this time something dreadful. "we have come to the conclusion, mister," said joe basalt, "that there is nothing for it but to let the skipper know all." hunston pricked up his ears at this. "do what?" he exclaimed, violently. "split upon me, would ye?" "that's a rum word to use," said joe basalt. "you are precious feverish, and if you only was to see our skipper and let him know what you told us when we picked you out of the water, he would help you--" "to a halter," muttered the castaway. "did you speak?" "no, tiller, not i: i was only saying that he wouldn't care to see me, so drop it." "we can't" "can't," repeated joe basalt. "then listen to me," exclaimed hunston, starting up with new energy; "if you tell a word about me to anyone it will be a breach of faith and i shall resent it." "resent! how?" "easily." "well, if you means threatening me. i may as well tell you i ain't afeared of no man, and when you gets round and pulls up your strength again, i shall be happy to have half an hour with you quiet and comfortable, and my pal, jack tiller, shall stand by and see fair play." and honest joe rolled up his shirt sleeves showing to the villain hunston a pair of powerful and brawny arms. "i don't mean that," said hunston. "but i do." "and so do i," added jack tiller. "i mean to say that if you betray me to harkaway or to any of the party, i shall make a point of letting them know that you kept me snug here so long because you were well paid for it, and it may not please your master, perhaps, to learn that you are doing a little passenger traffic upon your own account; and what's better, sticking to the money you make over it." this staggered the two sailors not a little. "you lying, black-hearted swab," ejaculated tiller, when he had got his breath. "would you dare?" hunston curled his lip contemptuously. "dare!" "why, you sneaking, lying judas," cried basalt. "lying!" echoed hunston; "is it not true?" "no." "not true that i paid you for saving me and bringing me here?" "yes; but--" "but--but--but pickles. the tale i shall tell will speak for itself." "then, damme, you shall try it on now," ejaculated the exasperated joe basalt, moving towards the companion ladder. but before he could get any further, hunston sprang before him, knife in hand. "hold!" "stand aside," cried joe. "when you have sworn not to utter a word; but not till then--not till then." the two sailors stared at each other in surprise at this outburst. "well, joe," exclaimed his comrade, "did you ever see such a black-hearted villain?" "not i. but put of the way with you, swab, or, damme, i'll make small biscuit of you." so saying, he ran at hunston, and knocked the knife out of his hand. hunston endeavoured to close with him. but the temporary strength with which his fury had invested him vanished suddenly, and he fell to the ground, a dull, heavy load. they ran to raise him. to their dismay they discovered that he was breathless--lifeless. "he's dead!" "is he? then, by the lord harry, we must go and fetch the doctor, or we shall get into an awful mess. stay here, joe, awhile. i'll go up and see for the doctor." "stop a bit," said joe basalt, feeling the stowaway's chest. "he's not dead yet. i can feel something moving here. yes, it's beating." "he's only fainting, then." "yes." "quite enough, top. i'll go up and let them know, before he can go on again about it." up he ran. joe basalt used his best exertions to bring the swooning man round. * * * * * tiller found harkaway on deck. "might i have half a word with your honour?" "a dozen, if you like, tiller," said old jack, turning from the party of daring fishermen, who had been relating their deeds of daring with the sharks, and was quite elated with the narrations which they had been giving. jack tiller hummed and ha'd, and looked uneasy, and so he pulled his forelock and spluttered out-- "please, sir, i've been and gone on like a darned bad lot, your honour." "tiller!" "yes, your honour, i have. i've been and let a berth here on board, and stuck to the money--leastways, that's what the passenger himself says, though, the lord help me, i hadn't the least idea of doing such a thing; not i. i took a poor drowning wretch in, and i put him below in the hold to keep him snug, and--" here harkaway interrupted him with a cry of wonder and astonishment. "what, tiller, you mean to say you have a stowaway on board the 'westward ho?'" "yes, your honour," responded the frightened mariner. "you have done very wrong, jack tiller," said harkaway, "very wrong indeed." "i know i have, though lord help me if i thought of wronging any man. the poor devil in gratitude, offered me money, and i took it; and now i feel as if i had been robbing your honour, that's all. but i'll be glad to hand over the money, and so will my pal, joe basalt." "joe!" "yes." "is he in it?" "yes, sir." "you surprise me." "devil a bit do i wonder at that, sir. we're a thieving, dishonest lot, sir, little as i thought it, sir." old jack smiled at this. "well, well," he said, after a moment's reflection, "we'll go deeper into that question when we have seen your stowaway." "this way, sir," said the worthy tiller. old jack followed him down below. on reaching the hold, he found joe basalt kneeling up in a corner over the wretched stowaway, who was still in a deep swoon. "how is he?" asked tiller. "any better yet?" "no." "fainted again?" "yes--hush! don't make a row." "here's the governor, joe," said jack tiller. joe basalt turned round with a start, and hung his head abashed. "it's all right, joe," said harkaway, "don't worry any more about it; only you were wrong to conceal it from me, that's all. and now let us look at the patient. he is ill, jack tiller tells me." "yes, your honour." "turn your lantern upon his face." the sailor opened his bull's-eye. as its glare flashed upon the half swooning man, he opened his eyes. the recognition was mutual--yes, and instantaneous. the stowaway glared fiercely upwards, and uttered but one word-- "harkaway!" "hunston!" chapter xlv. good for evil--an unexpected stroke of luck for hunston. harkaway, the noble and generous, and hunston, the villain from boyhood to manhood, together--face to face! after all these changes and trials and vicissitudes. after all these acts of villainy, treachery, and cruelty upon the part of the miserable wretch hunston. after so many acts of daring upon the part of our dashing hero, jack harkaway. not a word was spoken for some moments. this strange encounter literally deprived them of the power of utterance. it was unexpected to both of them. startling--appalling was it to hunston upon regaining consciousness, to find himself face to face with the man of all others he dreaded and hated most. need we say why? no. the reader has not, of course, forgotten that hunston was ignorant of the two boys' preservation. little did he dream that those two destined victims had, by little less than a miracle, escaped his vengeance. bitter, indeed, therefore, were his feelings now, for he fully believed that young jack was in his grave in the greek mountains. under any ordinary circumstances he would have felt tolerably easy, for well as he knew what an ugly customer was jack harkaway in a tussle, he was also aware that jack would not take advantage of an enemy's powerless condition, no matter how deep were the wrongs inflicted. the murder of harkaway's boy, hunston knew well, was a crime which harkaway would never look over. his fate was sealed. so deeply was he convinced of this that he would have laid violent hands upon himself if he had had the power. but the crowning crime of self-murder he was powerless to commit. "so, hunston," said harkaway, sternly, "we meet face to face once more." hunston was silent. what could he say? "what new villainy brought you here?" said harkaway. "what fresh act of devilry had you in contemplation when you got on board my vessel?" hunston gave him a sickly and scornful smile. "do you suppose that i knew where i was?" "yes." hunston stared. "then all i have to say is, that you haven't improved in wit or wisdom with increasing years. why, the merest chance brought me here. i am not guilty of gratitude as a rule, you will say." "true." "you haven't the satisfaction of saying it," retorted hunston, quickly; "i have said it for you. but the two men who hid me here had no idea who i was. being hard pressed on shore--where you made it too hot to hold me--i took to the water, and when i was nearly sinking, i hailed their boat. they took me in and--" "and you returned the compliment." "how?" "by taking them in," said harkaway. "they hid me away here to do me a service. i made my tale good to them. as my time, i feel, is nearly up in this world, i don't want to do them any wrong." harkaway listened in some astonishment. the wretch's allusion to his approaching end thrilled harkaway strangely. "do you feel so ill?" he asked. hunston smiled sardonically at this. "nearly all over," was his reply. "laugh away--laugh away!" "hush, miserable man, hush!" exclaimed harkaway. "you have known me nearly all my life; you knew me as a schoolboy and as a man." "yes." "and no one has better reason than you to know that jack harkaway does not fight with helpless enemies, still less does he rejoice over the sufferings of the worst foe he ever had." hunston looked up. a faint gleam of hope appeared in this. but no; it was impossible. too well he knew that his life was forfeited. but while he was ruminating thus, harkaway had sent one of the men up on deck to fetch the doctor. in the course of two or three minutes the man returned, accompanied by the ship's surgeon. "a stowaway on board the 'westward ho!'" said the doctor, as he entered the hold; "i should sooner have expected to find one on board a man-of-war." "examine him, please, doctor," said harkaway anxiously, "and let us know how he is." the doctor made no reply, but proceeded without any fuss or demonstration to feel the sick man's pulse. "very low," he said; "in a bad way. we must get him up out of this place, for it is enough to choke a black." he was tended as carefully as if he had been one of their best friends, instead of the bitterest, the most treacherous of their enemies; and, strange to relate, jack harkaway appeared not a little concerned about the villain's welfare. "do you think that there is any danger?" he asked. "immediate, do you mean, sir?" said the doctor. "yes." "humph! i can scarcely say. not exactly immediate, perhaps, if care be taken." "you think he will live?" "unless the fever which has set in should take an unfavourable turn. he is constitutionally strong." "i know that." the doctor looked at harkaway in some surprise. "you are a bit of a doctor, mr. harkaway?" jack smiled. "a very small bit," he answered; "only i have known this man nearly all my life." "indeed!" the doctor's manner invited confidence, and it was quite clear that his curiosity had been awakened. harkaway thought it over quickly and quietly, and he came to the conclusion that he could not do better than let the doctor participate in the secret. "you are surprised that an old acquaintance of mine should be here on board my ship, lurking and skulking as a stowaway?" "well," answered doctor anderson, in a constrained manner, "if i confess the honest plain truth, i am." "it is simple enough; the man did not know that he was on my vessel, or it would be about the last vessel in the world he would have chosen for refuge." "refuge?" "yes; refuge is the word. now i am the worst man in the world at half confidences. tell me, are you a good man to keep a secret, doctor?" "i am." "then i may tell you something that will rather startle you." "you will?" "yes. that poor wretch you have the charge of is the worst enemy that i have. it is my old schoolfellow, hunston." "hunston!" "yes. you remember the name, i perceive." "i do. but is it possible that the villain has the audacity to venture here?" "no; that is just what he would not do. he took to the water, being hardly pressed by his enemies." "why, if your men knew who it was, they would tear him piecemeal." "exactly; and that's what i wanted to speak of to you, doctor. we must take every care not to let them know." "really, you are as careful of him as though he were a cherished friend." "not quite," answered harkaway; "only i don't care to drop on a helpless enemy, even such a viper as this hunston." "but he is such an utterly bad lot." "true; and i should not feel the slightest compunction at taking his life in a tussle, in a fair stand-up fight; but what i can't do, is taking a man's life when he is helpless at my mercy." the doctor saw that harkaway did not wish to discuss it further, and so he contented himself with obeying orders; and so hunston got restored to health in the ship of his old schoolfellow, the man whom he had injured most deeply. care and skill of the first description were lavished upon him. but for this, hunston would probably have languished and died wretchedly upon the coast of greece, unless an accident had thrown him into the power of the authorities. in that case, his destiny would have been speedily accomplished. his end--the scaffold. chapter xlvi. hunston's progress--misgivings--the warnings from the grave. "mr. harkaway." "doctor." "a word with you, if convenient, sir." "certainly, doctor," returned old jack. and they walked on deck together. "it is only concerning the patient." "what of him?" "there is something concerning that mechanical arm which completely baffles me. it is poisoned, i fear." "you astonish me," said harkaway. while they were talking this over, young jack dropped into the cabin. now, the boy knew better than anybody the history of the mechanical arm. it will not be forgotten by the reader that the death of robert emmerson occurred on board the pirate vessel during the captivity of young jack harkaway and harry girdwood. although so many adventures have been gone through since then, you can not have forgotten that during their captivity hunston and toro had striven might and main to compass the poor boy's destruction. it is needless to recall to the reader's recollection that it was during that time that this wondrous work was perfected by robert emmerson, and that during that time his work was the indirect cause of his death. the legend of the steel arm was not forgotten by the boys. * * * * * "this arm was made by the notorious protean bob," said young jack to his father. "you remember protean bob?" "yes." "he was a highly-skilled mechanician, it appears, and that he gave himself thoroughly up to the manufacture of this arm." "it is certainly a marvellous piece of work," said doctor anderson. "the strangest part of the story is," said young jack, "that only the inventor knows the exact working of it, and that there is concealed in the springs something deadly to avenge the inventor should the wearer of the arm ever prove wanting in gratitude. and hunston, as you know--" "never troubled anyone with gratitude." "no, indeed," said doctor anderson, reflectively; "the strangest part of that is, he never misses an opportunity of railing against you." "against me!" said harkaway. "ungrateful ruffian!" exclaimed harvey, who entered just as this was spoken. "he thinks when he gets well, you will take his life, for he is still ignorant of the boys being here, or of their lives being saved," said the doctor. "i see, i see," said young jack; "he doesn't know that we escaped the death which he fancied so sure. he ought to suffer for that." "hush!" said old jack: "he is punished enough already." "not quite. i don't think he could be punished enough," said harry girdwood. "nor i." "stop, stop," said harkaway, seriously; "i have suffered more than all of you, at the hands of this man, and if i can forgive him, surely you can." * * * * * now, as hunston gained strength, his old evil passions returned in their full force. the nurses appointed to attend his bedside, were the two sailors who had rescued him from a watery grave, honest joe basalt and his friend jack tiller. these two bluff tars had been appointed to the post for reasons which the reader will readily comprehend. they had received a long lesson from old jack and from the doctor too. they were forbidden to mention certain matters, and although hunston would wheedle and cross-examine with the skill of an old bailey lawyer, he quite failed to get any information from them. "at any rate," exclaimed the patient, in utter despair, "you don't mind telling me whither we are bound." "oh, yes, i do," returned joe basalt, who was on duty for the time being. "why?" "can't tell." "you don't think that harkaway means to--" "mister harkaway, if you please," interrupted joe basalt, surlily. "well then, mr. harkaway," said hunston, impatiently. "that's better." "you don't think that he means to hand me over to the authorities at the nearest port, do you?" joe was mum. "eh?" not a word. hunston still remained in ignorance of the presence of the boys--aye, even of their very existence. * * * * * "massa jack," said sunday to our youthful hero, one morning, "we often gib poor old daddy mole a teasing, sir, a frightening." young jack grinned. "we have." "ought he not to get off easier dan dat dam skunk, dat hunston fellar?" "yes, but you wouldn't recommend joking with him as we do with mr. mole?" "no. i'd let it be no joke, massa jack; i'd just frighten him out of his darned skin, dat's all." harry girdwood was taken into their confidence, and a fine plot was agreed upon. the only difficulty was the sailor nurse. joe basalt was on guard again. they gave joe basalt a good stiff tumbler of grog--and where is the sailor who could resist that?--and oh, wickedness! the grog was hocussed. in plainer language, that means drugged. not very long after drinking their healths in a bumper, old joe felt drowsy, and he fell asleep. the patient slept, and would not have awakened probably for two hours had not the two negroes sunday and monday set up a most unearthly, moaning noise. the pitch was low but thrilling, and not the pleasantest thing for a man to hear with a conscience laden with guilt as was the wretched man hunston's. the sick man was for some time oblivious of the sounds which were going on for his special ear. but after a certain delay it began to tell. he moaned. then moved. then turned upon his back. "hunston! hunston! oh, hunston!" sunday groaned. "awake." and then the two darkeys would groan together. a responsive moan from hunston was heard. he opened his eyes, moaned and groaned, and awoke wakeful at once. and when he awoke! his startled eyes fell upon two awful and awesome figures. the two boys, young jack and harry girdwood, standing hand in hand, their faces bearing the ghastly pallor of the grave and their brows smeared with blood. in the darkened cabin a flickering, phosphorescent light played upon them, a hint which had perhaps been borrowed from the practical joking in the chamber of the sham necromancer in greece. the two victims glared upon the sick man, while he could only stare in fearful silence. he stared. then he closed his eyes and rubbed them, and opened them again, as if to assure himself that it was real. but they never moved. never spoke. he essayed to speak. but his tongue refused to wag. it stuck to the roof of his mouth. the perspiration stood out upon his brow in thick beads. presently, when a sound came from him, it was a dull, hollow moan of anguish, that sounded like the echo of some "yawning grave." a sound which seemed to contain the pent-up agony of a whole lifetime of suffering. but his tormentors were merciless. they did not budge. "away, horrible creatures!" gasped the miserable wretch, in tones scarcely louder than a whisper. "away, and hide yourselves!" and he strove to drag the coverlet over his head. but there was a fearful fascination in it which forced him in spite of himself to look again. "i know you are unreal," he faltered. "i know my mind is wandering--that i fancy it all--all. begone! away!" as well might he have invited them to shake him by the hand or to embrace him affectionately. no. there they stuck glaring upon him with eyes full of hideous menace. "what brings you here?" he said again. "why do you come to torment me now? rest in your graves. away, i say, away!" his manner grew more violent as he went on speaking. "you had no mercy upon us," said young jack; "and now remember when last we were upon earth." a groan from hunston was the only response. "beware!" said harry girdwood, in sepulchral tones. "beware, i say!" "beware!" chimed in the others, as in one voice. "i warned you that the time would come when you would beg for mercy of my father," pursued young jack. "i told you that you should grovel in abject terror, and plead in vain--aye, in vain." "never!" retorted hunston. "to-morrow will show you." "what?" cried hunston, in feverish eagerness, while he dreaded to hear. "your fate." "it is false." "the rope is ready--the noose is run. you shall die a dog's death." "and you shall die hard," added harry girdwood. a groan, more fearful than any which had preceded, burst from the guilty wretch. "but harkaway will be merciful." "as you were." "no, no, no; he is full of forgiveness, i know." "but not for crimes like yours." "he could not pardon you, even if he would." "why not?" demanded hunston, quickly. "because the crew would drag you piecemeal. no, no, no, hunston; your fate is sealed. the rope is ready--the noose is waiting for you. in torment and in suffering you shall die the death of a rabid cur, the death of a loathsome reptile, of a poisonous thing of which it is true humanity to rid the earth." he could hear no more. with a moan of incalculable terror he dived under the bedclothes to shut out the fearful vision. when he ventured forth again, they were gone. vanished! they had returned as noiselessly as they had come. * * * * * "basalt." "hullo!" the drugged sailor fought with the opiate which had been administered to him and opened his eyes. "there's no one here, is there, basalt? tell me." "what are you muttering about now?" demanded joe basalt, in his surliest tones. "are we alone?" "of course." "i have had such an awful dream, my good friend," said hunston, still on the shiver. "then keep it to yourself," retorted joe. "i don't care the value of a ship's biscuit for your dream--yours nor anybody else's--so stow your gaff. close your peepers, and let me get a few winks, if i can, always providing as i'm not troubling your honourable self." not even honest old joe's withering irony could affect the patient, so profoundly pleased was he to find the supernatural visitors gone--melted, as it were, into thin air. hunston turned on his side, muttering-- "if i had but the giant strength of toro, i would soon take my revenge upon all this ship contains--yes, a deep and deadly revenge." after a moment, he again muttered-- "i wonder if the brigand toro is alive or dead, or if i shall ever have his help to destroy my old and hated enemy harkaway." chapter xlvii wherein hunston's evil propensities catch him in a trap--danger--another shark--mr. mole suffers. "i have had such horrible dreams, doctor," said hunston the next morning. "i don't much wonder at your dreams being ugly ones," replied the doctor, significantly. hunston coughed. there was no mistaking the doctor's meaning. the conversation hung fire for a moment. "i can quite understand that you may dream of many things which would scarcely bear repetition." "that's not the case," angrily retorted the patient. "indeed." the end of it was the doctor treated the patient for the feverish symptoms which the tricks of the night had created, and as the day wore on, he got calmer and better. time wore on. days grew into weeks. the mysterious ravages of the secret poisoning still baffled doctor anderson and prevented the complete restoration of the patient. "there's something very extraordinary in this," the doctor would say to hunston, "something which is quite beyond me. if we were not in the nineteenth century, i should almost be inclined to believe in a spell having been cast upon you." hunston winced. "upon me?" "yes; or rather upon that wonderful mechanical arm. i should almost think that the wearer was under a ban." the doctor's words thrilled the listener strangely. little did he know that doctor anderson was well acquainted with the history of the mechanical arm, and of its ill-fated inventor, robert emmerson. little did he think that the doctor's words were meant to produce the exact effect which they had. the doctor's speech sank deeply into hunston's mind, and he brooded day and night. but although it did not affect his health, it certainly had a most unwholesome effect upon his mind, and the result of this soon made itself manifest. * * * * * that same afternoon the two boys and their tutor were on deck. there was scarcely a breath of wind on the ocean, the sails were hanging loosely from the spars as the vessel rose and fell upon the swelling waves. "what a country this is for sharks!" exclaimed mr. mole, who was seated on the low bulwarks of the weather quarter, enjoying what little air there was, and carefully unloading his pocket pistol. "beg pardon, mr. mole," said harry, "but what is the name of _this particular country?"_ mole frowned horribly. "you are a very impudent boy." "no, sir, only a youth of an inquiring turn of mind. what is the chief city of this country?" "i never answer absurd questions." mr. mole took another suck at the pistol (_i.e._ flask), and then his countenance relaxed. "it is a place for sharks, though," he said; "only look at that great fellow down here." harry looked, and so did young jack. there was a monster of the deep moving slowly to and fro, occasionally coming up nearly to the surface and then sinking apparently without an effort almost out of sight. the fish was of greater size than those they had already killed. he came up and looked at old mole and then turned away, evidently thinking the worthy tutor much too old, lean and tough for his dainty stomach; but when he caught sight of jack and harry, he showed more animation. evidently they were more to his taste. "i mean to have a try for him," said jack. "do so, my boy. i shall make a sportsman of you yet, i see," observed mole. "you have certainly put us up to a wrinkle or two lately, sir." "bah! your father is considered a clever man in all that pertains to sporting, but what is he in comparison with me?" young jack did not hear the conclusion of this speech, for he had gone away to get his fishing tackle, a large hook attached to a chain. he quickly returned, and baited the hook with about ten pounds of beef, that had gone a little queer in the bottom of the tub. "now, mr. sharkey, let us see if you can digest that," exclaimed jack, as he dropped the hook overboard. the shark looked at it closely, and then looked up at jack, as though he would much prefer the fisher to the bait. "it is no use, jack," said harry; "he is not hungry." "strikes me it is unskilfulness in angling, rather than want of appetite on the shark's part," remarked mr. mole. "would you like to have a try, sir?" "hem! well, i don't mind showing you how to do it," responded the professor. jack began to haul in the line, coiling it down just at mole's feet, or rather where his feet should have been. but sharkey, finding himself in danger of losing his dinner, made a dart at the meat before it left the water, then discovering that the barb of the hook had stuck in his mouth, she darted off at a great rate, but sad to relate, the rope as it flew out over the bulwark, got twisted round one of mr. mole's stumps, and the worthy professor flew into the ocean for a wooden-legged man to swim well, or even to keep himself afloat by treading water, is a somewhat difficult task and so mr. mole would have found it, had not harry girdwood promptly followed the advice given by a celebrated american-- "when you see a drowning man, throw a rail at him." harry threw a plank, and mr. mole being fortunate enough to clutch it, was thereby enabled to keep himself afloat. but he was exposed to another danger. the shark being irritated by the rusty iron in his throat, was rushing hither and thither in a most furious manner, snapping his jaws in a way that made the spectators thankful they were on deck. and then, turning on its back, it bit at mole. "help, help!" shouted mole. "oh! the brute has taken my leg off." the shark resumed its natural position, and held mole's stump above water, puzzled to know what to do with it. "this is my fault," said young jack, and seizing a cutlass, he leaped overboard. "lower away the boat," shouted dick harvey, who had just come on deck. he and jefferson had also armed themselves, and were about to leap in to young jack's assistance, when harkaway senior appeared. "hold, let no man here risk his life," he said. "but--" "but the excitement will do me good, i want a good fight to keep my spirits up." while speaking he had thrown off his coat and shoes, and cutlass in hand, leaped to the rescue of his son and old mole. by this time, however, the boat had been lowered and was pulling rapidly towards mr. mole, who still clung to his plank about thirty yards from the stern of the vessel. old jack with a few powerful strokes reached him. "hold on, mr. mole; the boat is coming. you youngster, swim out of the way at once." "i'm going to fight the fish, dad." "you are not. away with you at once." during this brief conversation the shark had been down out of sight. he now rose to the surface, and perceiving three enemies, seemed undecided which to attack first. and while the fish was hesitating, harkaway resolved to open the campaign. accordingly he dived, with the intention of coming up beneath the fish and administering a stab. old jack tiller and joe basalt were just at that moment engaged in hauling mr. mole into the boat; they had him half way over the gunwale, when the shark made a snap and away went the professor's other leg. "mercy, help! the beast is devouring me by inches," screamed mole, as he rolled headlong into the boat. joe basalt seeing that young jack was still itching to have a go at the shark, seized him by the collar and dragged him in. they then rested on their oars and prepared to give the elder harkaway any assistance they could. "i lay five to three against the monster of the deep," said harvey. "i accept the wager on those terms," said mole, who having discovered that he was unhurt, was reviving. he took another swig at the pistol and then sat up to watch the conflict. the shark, finding he had now only one opponent to deal with, turned towards harkaway, who dived again, and getting this time fairly beneath the fish, thrust his cutlass up to the hilt in its stomach. startled by this sudden attack, and smarting from the pain caused by the wound, the shark leaped up half out of the water, and then fell with a loud splash close by jack. everyone on board was by this time on deck, watching the unequal struggle. while the shark was twisting and turning to get at its adversary, jack managed to give a second stab; but it was rather hot work, though, for jack was obliged to dive so frequently that he had little time to recover his breath. he was just endeavouring to do so, when the shark made another rush at him. old jack dived again, and young jack would have been over to his father's assistance had not joe basalt forcibly restrained him. a third stab made the shark feel very queer indeed. in fact, harkaway thought the fish was done for, and had struck out for the ship, but just as he grasped a rope and permitted himself to be drawn up, the shark recovered and made another most vicious dart at him. our hero, who had, in his time, vanquished so many foes, felt hardly inclined to let a shark get the best of him. he dropped from the rope and sank beneath the waves just as the head of the brute emerged therefrom. then up again like a shot; and the keen cutlass tore its way through the vitals of the fish. then a fin was lopped off, and a few seconds afterwards the huge carcase was seen floating on the waves. harkaway seized the rope and fastened it round the head and tail of his vanquished foe, which was then hauled on deck. "bravo, old man," exclaimed harvey, shaking his schoolfellow by the hand. "you did that well." "though you were certainly a long time about it," observed mole. "i could have--" "you could have paid me three sovs. by this time," replied harvey, "so just out with the dust." mole made no reply. jefferson then added his congratulations. "pshaw!" said jack. "mr. mole did it all." "how?" "why, he poisoned the poor shark with his wooden legs. it's enough to make a fish disgusted with life." a loud laugh followed. "meanwhile," said mole, "will some-one be good enough to give me a lift?" the professor was hoisted up on deck, and when they had all changed their clothes, and the great shark-killer had shipped two new wooden pins, he grew quite as bounceable as ever. especially as the death of the last shark was still jocularly attributed to him. chapter xlviii old joe plots with hunston--what came of the plot. the harkaway family and their guests were all assembled at dinner, after the shark-fishing, when the conversation turned upon their old enemy. "i wish we were fairly rid of him," said mrs. harkaway, "for all the while he is on board, i feel as if some misfortune were hanging over us." jack smiled. "have you had any dreams, emily?" he asked, slily, "don't learn to mock, sir," retorted the lady, with mock asperity, "you have been influenced by dreams yourself before now." jack looked serious. "that's true." "and we owe this wretched man nothing--" "but hate." "we do that," said jefferson; "but he is a miserable wretch, and we can afford to let him off cheaply, without paying old scores." "what do you wish to do, then?" demanded harkaway. "i am willing to abide by the decision you may come to." "well," said mr. mole, "i propose that he shall be put ashore." "when?" there was the rub. they were many weary miles away from the sight of land. "put him ashore the first time that we come within reach of land," suggested harvey. "we will," said harkaway, "if that is the general wish." "it is." it was put to the vote and found that everybody, without a single exception, was desirous of seeing the back of hunston. who can wonder? none. "well, well," said old jack, "that is agreed upon. and now, emily, my dear, i hope that your mind is at rest." "almost." "what! doesn't that satisfy you yet?" "for the present; but i shall be all the more satisfied when he is really out of the place altogether, for he is a regular nightmare to me." "you are fanciful, my dear," said old jack. "perhaps; but there have been times when you have not made so light of my presentiments," said emily. as these words were spoken, the saloon door was opened and who should enter but joe basalt. now old joe wore a face as long as a fiddle, and addressing harkaway he requested a few words in private. "presently, joe," said harkaway. the old tar twisted his hat round and waited. "what, won't presently do for you?" "i'd sooner out with it at once," said joe. "well, out with it," said harkaway. "before everyone, your honour?" joe demanded. "yes." he looked shyly about him, and cast a furtive glance at the ladies before he ventured to speak out. "i want to break it to your honour as gently as possible, and i want to know what your honour thinks of me?" old jack stared. "why, really, joe--" "i think joe wants to know if you think he's handsome," suggested dick harvey. "do you admire the cut of his figurehead?" chimed in young jack. but joe basalt was evidently too much upset and preoccupied by something on his mind to heed this chaff. "no, your honour," he said, fiercely, "what i want to know is--do you consider me a d--d mutineering swab?" "joe, joe," exclaimed harkaway, laughing in spite of himself, "moderate your language; remember that there are ladies present." joe reddened to the roots of his hair. "i ax their pardon, every mother's son of them," he said, tugging at his forelock; "but my feelin's carries me away." "tell us what it is, then," said jefferson, "and perhaps we can offer advice." "well, then, sir, i've been insulted." "i see, i see," said jefferson; "you have been having a row with one of your messmates." "and you have punched his head?" suggested young jack. "serve him right, too, joe," said harry girdwood. "no, no, young gentlemen," said joe, "i ain't done that, or else i should be quite happy--that's just it--because i wanted his honour's permission." "what?" "to give him a good licking," urged joe basalt; "you see, i couldn't well do it without, as it's the stowaway." the interest of the whole of the company redoubled at this. "he's been at his tricks again," said joe. "i thought so." "and d--d dirty tricks they are, too. the swab can't do nothing fair and square and above board. he allers cruises about in a nasty, sly, piratical way." "what is it? tell us at once." "yes, sir, i will. why, you see, the fact is, he has been a-sounding me about trying if the crew is satisfied with your honour." a low murmur went from mouth to mouth around the table. "he's never trying to undermine you, old fidelity!" ejaculated harkaway. joe nodded. "that's it, your honour." "villain!" "and what's more, he's been trying it on with jack tiller." "he has?" harkaway's brow darkened, and the expression of his face grew ominous. "how did jack tiller meet his advances?" asked harvey. "why, jack ain't got no command over himself, and so he--" joe paused. "so what?" "why, jack gave him one for himself; but he ain't damaged him much," joe hastened to add apologetically, "for jack tiller knows his dooty better than that, your honour. no, he's only put one of his toplights into mourning." this sent the two boys into ecstasies. "and so you see, your honour, when he opened fire on to me, i could hardly believe it possible, until he put it plainer, and then i was so staggered that i did not know what to do, so i thought i would come and let you know." harkaway, looking up, caught his wife's glance fixed upon him. "you see, it doesn't do to scoff at secret apprehensions," she said, quietly. "no, no. this shall be seen to at once," he answered, rising from his seat. "come with me, dick, and you, jefferson." they left the cabin, followed by old joe basalt. now, when they got on deck, jack harkaway led the way to a part where they were alone, and not likely to be disturbed. "now, joe," said he, "i have been thinking this matter over. i know you have only spoken the truth, without a word of exaggeration. but we must catch the villain in his own snare." "how, your honour?" "i'll tell you. you must go back to this traitor, and you must play the part of a willing listener." "a what?" "a willing listener. you must let him think you are ready to join in his villainy, do you see?" "i do, your honour, but damme if i like it." "you will have to like it in this instance, joe, for the good of us all. this man is the worst villain alive. i have forgiven him more wrongs than you would think it possible to forgive; but now the safety of all is concerned, and it must be done." joe scratched his head, and looked troubled. "if that's orders, your honour, i've nothing but to obey." "right, joe." * * * * * having primed joe basalt up in his lesson, they marched off to hunston's cabin, and joe entered, while harkaway, dick harvey, and jefferson took up a position near where they could overhear what was going on within. "well, shipmate," said basalt, "how goes it?" hunston was lying on his side, holding a damp towel to his damaged eye. he only turned round, and grunted some few ungracious words. "i've brought you some news," said joe, repeating his lesson; "there is a regular shine on deck." hunston turned quickly round at this. "what's wrong?" he asked, anxiously. "you haven't been saying any thing, because i'm sure you were mistaken, as--" "as jack tiller was." "yes." and hunston fondled the blackened eye, mentally cursing tiller and his hard, horny fist. "not i," said joe basalt, "not i. there's a row aloft, i told you. three men have been put into irons, and i have got into trouble as well." "what for?" "nothing," answered joe basalt, with a surly imitation of anger. "that's just it, for nothing, and aren't they up in the stirrups neither?" "they are!" exclaimed hunston. "rather." "and what do they say?" "say!" exclaimed basalt. "why, they'd as lief draw a cutlass over his weasand, as they'd smash a ship's biscuit." hunston's pale face grew crimson at these words. "that's good," he said; "they're men of spirit." "that they are." "and the rest of the crew; what do they say of it?" "why, they are all up about it; all to a man. so if you have a good thing to offer, i'll undertake to say as they'll volunteer to a man." "good." "and leave them harkaway folks in the lurch here, as they deserve, the mean beasts." "mean, indeed," echoed hunston, secretly chuckling. "why, they're worse than mean." "so you'd say if you only knew what a palaver they've made about having you here, pretending as it's all charity and the like, when, of course, we know--" "that it's all your goodness, and that of your hot-headed comrade." "don't speak of jack tiller, my friend," said joe, who was working into his part capitally by this time; "he sees now what a fool he has made of himself." "did he say so?" "yes." "why did he go on so?" "he quite misunderstood your meaning." "the deuce he did. why, however could that be? i was pretty explicit." "he thought that it was to sell him. in fact, he made sure as you had overheard us grumbling together about the skipper, and that you was a-trying it on only to tell mr. harkaway all about it." "did he say so?" "yes." "then undeceive him immediately." "i have done so." "as for this," added hunston, pointing to his discoloured eye and cheek, "i think nothing of it. all i'll ask of him is that he shall do as much for harkaway." "that he will," said joe, with sham heartiness. "and now how soon shall the ship be ours?" hunston glanced anxiously towards the door. "there's no fear," said joe, answering his look; "they are all too busy for'ard, talking about them poor devils in irons." "brutes!" "aye, that they are. but when shall we get them free from their floating prison, cos that's what it seems a-coming to?" "i'll tell you," answered hunston, sinking his voice, "we'll serve the harkaway party as he served your messmates." "how?" "put them in irons." joe basalt gave a start at this. "and if they would not go?" "chuck them overboard, all, everyone of them, except the women." "i should hardly like doing that," said joe. "then that shall be _my task_," exclaimed hunston, warming up as he unfolded his diabolical scheme. "i should like to do that part of it myself. i swore to finish them all off," he added, more to himself than to joe, "and i shall keep my oath after all, i begin to think. i'll throw them all overboard--harkaway, jefferson, harvey, all." he looked up suddenly at the door. three big forms stood upon the threshold of the cabin. the three whose names hunston had just uttered. harkaway, jefferson, and dick harvey. "i thought i heard you call us," said the latter. hunston's colour fled from his cheek. he looked from one to the other. then he glanced at joe basalt. harkaway was the first to break the silence. "hunston." the sound echoed dismally, as though uttered in some bare-walled cavern. "yes," he faltered, struggling to appear at his ease. "come." "where to?" harkaway pointed silently to the door. "what do you want with me?" "can't you guess?" the words were simple ones, yet they sounded like a death-knell to him. "we have heard all; every word. this crowning act of villany and ingratitude, baser than ever entered the mind of man, has doomed you. follow me." appalled, half stunned with fear, the miserable wretch tottered after harkaway. close upon his heels came jefferson and dick, while joe basalt brought up the rear. chapter xlix. the trial--hunston's punishment. "pipe all hands on deck!" "aye, aye, sir." the crew came tumbling up. and when they were all assembled, jefferson and dick harvey ranged them round in position, while harkaway, with hunston close by his side, stood forward to address them. "my men," said he, "i have had you called together upon no pleasant errand. but it is a question of duty, and, therefore, pleasant or unpleasant, must be done. what we have to do is an act of justice, and i don't wish that anyone should be able to impugn my motives. i would not leave it in the power of any man to say that i ever behaved unjustly to my worst enemy." "hurrah!" a ringing cheer greeted harkaway. "now, my men, what i have to say to you concerns my own and my family history, perhaps, more than it does you. you have all heard my poor boy's adventures when he fell into the hands of the greek brigands?" "aye, aye, sir." "you know who it was that was instrumental in getting him condemned to death." "it was that sneaking lubber, hunston," cried several voices at once. "it was. i need not enlarge upon all he has done to merit the worst punishment it is in our power to bestow, if ever he should fall into our hands--the worst i say, eh?" "yes,--him!" said a voice, with a very strong expletive. the approval of the crew was perfectly unanimous. in vain did hunston look about him for one of those disaffected men of whom joe basalt had spoken. not a vestige of any thing like opposition to the general sentiments did he trace in any of those weather-beaten, honest countenances. "well," resumed harkaway, "and what would you say if, after that i have forgiven him, taken him in hand and had him carefully tended and nursed, what would you say if even then he tried to wrong me--to ensnare innocent, well-meaning men, into a murderous plot against my life?" "why, i should say as he's the blackest-hearted lubber ashore or afloat," said one. "one word more," said harkaway. "what should we do to this wretch if we had him here in our power?" "give him a round dozen, to begin with," suggested sam mason. "and then string him up." a cheer came from a score of throats. "men," said harkaway, "this is the villain, hunston." a pause. the men were so thoroughly taken by surprise at this that they had not a word to say for themselves. "i was anxious to spare him," said harkaway, in conclusion, "for although he has always been false, treacherous, and cruel, i could not forget that he was a fellow-countryman, and that we were boys together. i would have returned good for evil, he refused it; i now mean to try evil for evil." the men applauded this to the echo. joe basalt and his comrade jack tiller passed the word forward from mouth to mouth. they told their shipmates what had taken place, and so thoroughly incensed them against him that his life would not have been worth five minutes' purchase had harkaway, jefferson, and dick harvey absented themselves. "come," said jefferson, "it is growing late; let us settle it off-hand." "what is the verdict?" said harvey, "let the men decide." their decision did not take long at arriving at. as if with a single voice, the men responded-- "death!" a sickening sensation stole over hunston. there was enough in that to appal the stoutest heart, it is true, and he now felt that it was all over. "very good," said harkaway, "his fate is with you." "string him up to the yardarm at once, then," suggested sam mason. "tie him up by the heels and let's shoot at him." "let him walk the plank." "no; hanging is better fun. it's a dog's death that he has earned, so let him have his deserts." a rope was got and the end of it was flung over the yardarm, and a running noose made in it. then rough hands were laid upon the doomed man. this aroused him into lifting his voice in his own behalf. "harkaway," he said, "do you know that this is murder--cold-blooded murder?" "so is every execution, even if sanctioned by law." "but it is done upon ample proof." "we have proof enough." "you haven't a single witness against me," said hunston, eagerly. "plenty." "where's one? let go, i tell you," he cried frantically, at the men who were dragging him towards the rope. "this is murder; you'll hang for it, harkaway; you'll--cowards! all of you upon one." but they did not pay much heed to his ravings. "do you hear, harkaway?" he cried, "this is murder, whatever you call it. it will hang you yet; at the least, it will transport you for life." harkaway smiled. "i shall not soil my fingers in the matter." "it is your work!" now yelled hunston, struggling with mad desperation. "then we'll all have a hand in it," said harkaway; "we'll all pull together, so that no one can fix it upon his fellow--" "you'll not escape," yelled the miserable wretch. "you'll swing for it yourself; you will, i swear. you have no witnesses; these two sailors are notorious liars." "take that, you swab," cried joe basalt, dashing his fist in his face. "they are greater curs than yourself," yelled hunston; "such witnesses would swear away your own life for a glass of grog--witnesses indeed--" he stopped short. his glance fell upon two forms standing close by--young jack and harry girdwood. both were dressed as he had last seen them in the mountain haunt of the brigands. hunston was still in ignorance of the rescue of the boys. for all he knew, their bodies were rotting in their mountain grave in greece. they bent upon him the same sad and stern look which had been so efficacious before, and he cowered before them. appalled at the horrible phantoms come to mock him at his last moments, he clapped his hand to his eyes in the vain endeavour to shut out the sight. vain, indeed, for the sight possessed a horrible fascination for him, which no pen can describe. "down, and beg for mercy," said young jack, solemnly. "on your knees, wretch!" added harry girdwood. "hah!" the two boys pointed together to the feet of harkaway senior. the condemned man caught at their meaning at once. a wild cry of hope came from his lips, and he burst from the sailors who held him and threw himself at harkaway's feet. "mercy, mercy, harkaway!" he cried, piteously. "have mercy, for the love of heaven, as you hope for mercy yourself hereafter." harkaway gazed on him in silence. "look there," cried hunston, wildly, pointing to where the two boys stood still in contemplation of the scene, "look there; see, they are begging for mercy for me." "who? where?" demanded harkaway, in considerable astonishment "your own son, your own boy; don't you see him?" pursued hunston, wildly. "look. no--it is my own fancy, my fear-stricken mind, which conjures up these horrible visions. ugh!" and he cowered down at harkaway's feet with averted glance, endeavouring to shut out the fearsome sight. "take him away," said harkaway to the men. they advanced and laid hands upon him, but hunston fought madly with them and clung to harkaway's knees in desperation. it was his last chance, he felt positive. "think, harkaway, think," he cried again and again. "remember our boyhood's days; remember our youth, passed at school together. we were college chums, and--" "no; not quite," interrupted dick harvey in disgust. "we were at oxford together, but never chums." "you were never the sort of man that one would care to chum with," added harkaway. "never!" "take him away." hunston gave a loud yell of despair, and gazed around him. again his glance was riveted by the sight of the two boys standing in the same attitude, and then horror-stricken, appalled, he sank upon the ground all of a heap and half fainting. a miserable, a piteous object indeed. * * * * * "hunston," said harkaway, after a few minutes' pause, "you bade me think. it is my turn to bid you think. if your white-livered fears had not blinded your judgment, you would have known that your life is safe here." hunston raised his head slowly. he gazed about him with the same vacant look, utterly unable to realise the meaning of harkaway's words. "you jest," he faltered. "we are not butchers," said jefferson, sternly. humbled, degraded, though he was, these words of hope sent the blood coursing through his veins wildly. saved! was it possible? young jack stepped out of the circle and approached the miserable wretch. "when we last stood face to face, and when you ordered the greek brigands to fire on us, hunston, i told you that this would come about." hunston shrank affrightedly before the lad. "i told you, hunston," continued young jack, "that the time would come when you would grovel in the dirt and beg your life from my father. that time has come, you see. like the miserable cur that you are, you grovel and beg and pray in a way that i would never condescend to do to you. you have tasted all the horrors of anticipation, and that is worse than death itself. now, perhaps, you know what i and my comrade harry felt when you condemned us to death." "we told you," added harry girdwood quietly, "that it would come home to you; it has." during the foregoing, hunston began to realise the truth. they lived. "get up," said jefferson; "it is time to end this sickening scene." hunston slowly rose to his feet "excuse me," said the captain, stepping forward, "but as captain of this ship--under your orders, mr. harkaway, of course--i can't see how it is possible to allow his offence to go unpunished. you are of course at liberty to forgive him for any wrong he may have done you all, but with all due deference i must set my face against winking at such offences as he has committed on board this ship." "listen to the skipper," added another of the crew. "to let him off scot free would be to encourage insubordination and mutiny, in fact." "then i leave it to you, captain," said harkaway; "i shall not interfere in your management of the ship." hunston's heart sank. "get rid of him at once," suggested harvey. "how?" "lower him in a boat; provision it for a month and set him adrift." "good." "do that," said hunston, "and you consign me to a living death, worse than any tortures that savages could inflict." he remembered too well how he and toro the italian had been cast adrift from the "flowery land." he had not forgotten the horrors of that cruise. it was, in truth, as he said, ten times more horrible than death at their hands could be. "my own opinion is," said the captain, "that his crime should be punished at once; such a crime should not be allowed to pass on board ship." "what would you do?" "tie him up to a grating and give him four dozen lashes." a wild storm of cheering greeted this proposal. there was some feeble attempt at opposition upon the part of the harkaway party, but this was overruled by the captain and crew. "i'm not a cruel man, gentlemen," said the captain, "but i must side with the crew in this. now, we'll give him every chance. i propose to let him off if there is a single voice raised in his favour." not a word was spoken. "if any of you think, my men, that he should not be punished, he shall escape. let any man stand forth and it shall settle it. i will allow him to escape and not question the motives of whosoever speaks for him." hunston looked anxiously around him. not a voice. not so much as a glance of pity did he encounter there. his only hope was in the man that he had most wronged of all there present, and so in despair he turned to harkaway. but the latter moved away from the spot in silence. despair. rough, horny hands were laid upon him, and his coat and shirt were torn in shreds from his back until he stood stripped to the waist. the grating was rigged for punishment, and the culprit was lashed securely to it. "barclay." "yes, sir." "stand forward." "here, sir." "take the cat." "yes, sir." this was the youngest boy in the ship. the lad took the whip and poised it in his hand eager to begin operations. "joe basalt." "yes, your honour." "time the strokes." "aye, aye, sir." the boy barclay now received his instructions, and noted the same most diligently. "strike well up, not too low. you understand, well across the shoulders." "yes, cap'n," "and don't be too eager or too quick. let each stroke tell its own tale." what were the miserable man's feelings when he heard his torture prepared thus, with such coolness and deliberation, we leave you to imagine. a momentary pause then occurred, during which every one present looked on with mixed sensations of eagerness and dread. "one!" a whizzing noise. then a dull, heavy thud, as the thongs came in contact with the culprit's back and shoulders. a gasp came from the spectators, a convulsive shudder from the suffering wretch himself. and then his shoulders showed a series of livid ridges of bruised flesh. "two." down came the lash. the blood shot forth from the right shoulder, where there was more flesh to encounter the cruel whip. "three." a moan of utter anguish burst from the victim, whose blood streamed down his back. a sickening, horrible sight to contemplate. "four." "hah!" "come away," exclaimed harkaway; "come away from this. it makes me sick and faint." "yes," said jefferson; "it is not to my taste." "nor mine." "nor mine," said dick. "this may be justice, my friend," said jack harkaway "but it isn't english--it is not humanity." "five." a cry came from the prisoner. "cast him loose!" cried harkaway, "no more--no more!" but the sailors did not appear to hear. "six." "have done, i say!" thundered jefferson. "enough of this!" "excuse me, sir," said the captain, "we have a duty to perform. i can understand that it is not pleasant to you, but--" "seven," sang out joe basalt, drowning every voice. down came the whip again. and as the thongs struck the lacerated flesh of the wretched man he gave a piercing shriek. it sounded more like the cry of some wild animal than the utterance of a human being. "eight." "fetch the doctor," exclaimed harkaway. young jack, who was secretly glad of an excuse to begone, ran off and brought the doctor up from below. "doctor anderson," said harkaway hurriedly, "i believe sincerely that this man has earned all he has had and a great deal more." "indeed he has," said doctor anderson. "but i can't endure the lash. it is savage, it is unworthy of a civilised people--it must not go on. stop it." "how many has he had?" the answer to this came at that identical moment from joe basalt's lips. "twelve." as the lash came down, the body shook slightly, and then was quite still. "say that he can bear no more," said harkaway. "they'll heed your report as the doctor." "i shall only say the truth," said the doctor. "you think so?" "of course. he has fainted. you'll kill him if you go on. cast him loose, carry him to his berth." chapter l. mr. mole's troubles again--an adventure with nero--land ho!--the first view of australia. let us draw the curtain. the particulars given in the preceding chapter must be as unpleasant to the readers as they were to harkaway, to jefferson, to dick harvey, and beyond all to harry girdwood and young jack. they are not agreeable matters to relate, and we gladly draw the veil upon such a scene. once in the care of doctor anderson, the prisoner was tended carefully, and the doctor's best skill was employed in bringing him back to health. but his convalescence was a long time in being brought about, for not only was he cruelly maimed, but, to use the doctor's own expression-- "the scourge had knocked him to bits in health generally." * * * * * "what a capital sailor old nero makes, harry." "splendid." "he only wants to know how to chew." "and take grog like old mole." "true, and then he'd be an out-and-out sailor." these words were part of a conversation which our two young comrades were indulging in one afternoon towards sun-down as they walked to and fro on deck. they had rigged nero out in full nautical costume, and taught him several sailor tricks of manner. he hitched up his inexpressibles with a jerk that the late t. p. cooke might have made studies from. and his bow and scrape, although more like a stage sailor than the real thing itself, were ticked off so admirably, that you expected him to start off into a rattling hornpipe. but perhaps the greatest treat of all was to see him pretending to take observations through a telescope. "nero," cried young jack. the monkey ran up at the word. "give us your arm, nero." and so drawing a paw under each of their arms, they promenaded the deck, these three young monkeys together, to the great amusement and delight of the sailors generally. "why, joe!" said sam mason, "he looks as great a swell as the port admiral." "port admiral! as the first lord himself." "do you know, joe, that billy longbow had a monkey once as would--" "now for a yarn." "no, this is a born fact," persisted sam mason, stoutly. "billy longbow had a monkey on board ship as used to mock the bos'en, and one day when he see the bos'en take out his rattan to larrup one of the powder monkeys, jocko went for to give the bos'en one for hisself." "by way of protecting one of his own species, i s'pose," suggested joe. "perhaps. well, he felt in all his pockets for a rattan, and he happened to get hold of the tip of his tail. now he seed the bos'en lugging hard to get the rattan out of his pocket, for it had got entangled with the lanyard of his jack-knife, and so jocko tugs precious hard at his tail, presuming it to be a rattan likewise, i s'pose, and, by jove, if he doesn't pull it right out." "come, now," cried joe basalt, with a grunt, "i ain't agoing to swaller that tale." "it's a fact. billy longbow was the most truthful pal i ever had--out came his nether rattan." "well, what next?" "nothing next," answered sam mason, with a sly look. "that was the end of jocko's tail, and it's the end of mine too." now while they were engaged in listening to sam mason's billy longbow anecdote, they saw mr. mole come out of the deck saloon, where he had been dozing. he walked up the deck with a certain apparent unsteadiness of gait. "old mole is half seas over," said harry girdwood. "i'll tell you what. wouldn't it be a lark if we could get him to strut up and down with nero, without knowing it?" "that's more easily said than done, i imagine." "wait and see." they crept back out of sight as mr. mole passed along. then, having made a hurried whispered consultation, young jack stepped forth alone and tackled mr. mole. "taking the air, sir?" "yes, jack--hiccup--yes, my dear boy, and i have come to look out for land." "land?" "yes." "are we near?" "sho--sho--i mean so--i shpose--s'pose--" mr. mole was conscious of his speech being a little bit thick, and he hastened to add that he was suffering from toothache. "my mouth ish sho shwollen--swollen, i mean--that i can hardly sp--speak plainly," he said. "dear me! how shocking!" exclaimed young jack. slipping his arm under mr. mole's they walked up and down talking. meanwhile, young jack tipped the wink to harry girdwood, who slipped out of his hiding-place with nero, and followed mole and jack along the deck. young jack chose his opportunity well, and drawing his arm out of mr. mole's he pushed nero's in its place. mr. mole, all unconscious of the change in his companion, strutted along, chattering away, secretly pleased at having such an excellent listener by his side. "it'sh really pleasure to talk to you, my dear boy," he said. "you un--stand with half a word--and i enjoy--a conservation--conserva--singular thing--i can't say conservashun. i enjoy--a talk--an intellectshul chat more with you than sitting down to wine with jeffershon and harvey, and your dear father. good fellarsh--jolly good fellarsh--only too fond of sitting over wine. shocking habit--shpending hours in getting tipshy--hiccup!" * * * * * now, while mr. mole poured out his philosophical reflections into nero's ear, harry gridwood went and fetched harvey; old jack and jefferson. young jack stepped back to the door of the deck saloon, and sat down while mole turned round and hobbled up the deck again, with nero still leaning upon his arm. as the old gentleman came up to where they all stood, they could hear him still laying down the law to nero. "yesh, jack, my dear boy," he was saying, "wine'sh a jolly good thing--to be ushed and not abushed. blow my toothache--toothache--so very dericulous--don't know what i'm shaying." mr. mole winked and blinked like an owl in daylight. "jack." "sir." "whash the devil--jack!" he started in utter amazement. "yes, sir." "why, mr. mole," said harvey, suddenly popping out of the cabin, followed by jefferson and old jack, "what on earth are you walking up and down with him for?" "who?" before another word could be spoken, nero, on a secret sign from his young master, took off his tarpaulin hat, and dabbed it on mr. mole's head. mole turned suddenly round upon his companion. "nero--the devil fly away with you, you beast!" he made a dash at the monkey; but the latter was up in the shrouds and out of danger in the twingling of an eye. * * * * * "land ho!" "which way?" "due south." harkaway had a glass up in a crack. "that's right," he said. "gentlemen all, allow me to introduce you to australia." chapter li. hunston is disposed of. yes, there was the continent of australia. the ladies came running up on deck at the news, for the first sight of land after a long voyage is a thing to make your heart beat, however much you like the sea. "i can't see anything yet," said little emily, after peering vainly through a telescope for five minutes. "because you don't get the proper focus," explained young jack. "then you fix it for me, since you are so clever," retorted the young lady. "that's an irish remedy," laughed young jack. however, he helped her to fix upon the focus, and then she had the gratification of seeing the land. it was a beautiful verdure-clad range of hills that they had first perceived from the distance, which were half a mile or more inland. so that they found themselves presently much nearer land than they had supposed. it was covered with wild luxuriant vegetation, but it was altogether uncultivated. "harkaway," said jefferson, as they stood together contemplating the scene, "this is where hunston must be dropped ashore." harkaway thought it over for a few moments. "yes, jefferson," he said, presently, "i think you are right, this will do. he can't well starve here, and it will be better than dropping him amongst the civilised people." a boat was manned, and provisioned, and lowered. then hunston was brought up from below. his face had never changed since the first moment that he had recovered from the great shock of the flogging he had received. apparently there was some fixed purpose in his mind now that it would take much to uproot. he never said a word when they came to fetch him. he was not a little anxious to know all about it, but such was his pride that he would have perished sooner than breathe a word. as he was lowered into the boat, harkaway just gave him to understand what he was going to do in a few hurriedly-chosen words. "we are going to put you ashore here, hunston; not that you have any right to expect the least consideration at our hands, but we do not wish to have it on our consciences that you have been badly treated by us. you will be left here, far away from any human habitation, where you can do no harm, at least, for some time to come. we shall leave you these provisions, but we have no arms or ammunition to give you." hunston listened silently--impassively to these words. not the slightest change in the expression of his countenance indicated that he heard the words which been addressed to him. "you are going, and our ways through the rest of our lives may be widely separated. we may never meet again. it will be some gratification to you to know that you have once more most keenly disappointed me--that i would have given much to see the least signs of repentance in you--that the greatest delight would have been for me to say to myself 'at least i have conquered the evil in that man's nature by showing him a good return for his vicious acts, and turned a bitter enemy into a friend,' but that was a forlorn hope. may you live to repent your evil courses." hunston turned. not a word escaped him. the boat pulled off from the vessel, and in the same sullen silence he was landed with his rations. there were forty pounds of hard biscuits, a good twenty pounds of salt beef, besides rice, flour, a jar of water, and other matters which might be necessary, should he fail to fall in with the means of getting food and drink for some considerable time. but when that was gone he might starve. the end. the missing tin box or the stolen railroad bonds. by _arthur m. winfield_ _author of "schooldays of fred harley," "poor but plucky," "by pluck, not luck," etc., etc._ chicago: m. a. donohue & co. copyright, . w. l. allison co. contents. i. the missing tin box ii. a brave youth's reward iii. a serious charge iv. hal stands up for himself v. hal determines to act vi. a blow in the dark vii. hal determines to investigate viii. felix hardwick is astonished ix. the plot against hal x. hal is accused xi. for and against xii. hal in a fearful situation xiii. hal shows his mettle xiv. hal expressed his opinion xv. hal defends a girl xvi. hal on the watch xvii. near to death xviii. hal in a tight situation xix. a narrow escape xx. following allen xxi. in a dangerous place xxii. hal meets laura sumner xxiii. hal's bold scheme xxiv. hal in a new role xxv. hal's escape from hardwick xxvi. hal obtains another situation xxvii. hal plays a daring part xxviii. hal is exposed xxix. hal makes a lively move xxx. the missing tin box xxxi. hardwick's dash for liberty xxxii. a surprising revelation the missing tin box. chapter i. an interesting conversation. "what are the bonds worth, allen?" "close on to eighty thousand dollars, hardwick." "phew! as much as that?" "yes. the market has been going up since the first of december." "how did he happen to get hold of them?" "i don't know the particulars. mr. mason was an old friend of the family, and i presume he thought he could leave them in no better hands." "and where are they now?" "in his private safe." "humph!" the conversation recorded above took place one evening on a pennsylvania railroad ferry-boat while the craft was making the trip from jersey city to new york. it was carried on between two men, both well dressed. he, called allen, was a tall, sharp-nosed individual, probably fifty years of age. the other was a short, heavy-set fellow, wearing a black mustache, and having a peculiar scowl on his face. they sat in the forward part of the gentlemen's cabin, which was but partly filled with passengers. two seats on one side of them were vacant. on the other side sat a shabbily-dressed boy of sixteen, his hands clasped on his lap and his eyes closed. "the safe is often left open during the day," resumed allen, after a brief pause, during which hardwick had offered his companion a cigar and lit one himself. "that won't do," replied hardwick, shortly. "why not?" "because it won't." "but we can make it appear----" "hush!" the heavy-set man, who sat next to the vacant seats, nudged his companion in the side. "that boy may hear you," he continued, in a whisper. the man addressed glanced sharply at the youth. "no, he won't," he returned. "why not?" "he's fast asleep." "don't be too sure." the heavy-set man arose. "let us go out on the forward deck, and talk it over." "it's too cold, and, besides, it's beginning to--" "wrap yourself up in that overcoat of yours, and you will be all right. we don't want to run any chances, allen." "some one may hear us out there just as well as in here," growled the elderly man. nevertheless, he pulled up his coat collar and followed his companion through the heavy swinging doors. as the two walked outside, the eyes of the boy opened, and he glanced sharply after the pair. "that was a queer conversation they held," he muttered to himself. "i am half of the opinion that they are up to no good. if i were a policeman i believe i would follow them and find out who they are." hal carson hesitated for a moment, and then arose and walked to the doors. stepping outside, he saw the two men, standing in the gangway for horses, in deep conversation. "they are hatching out some scheme," thought hal, as he watched the pair. but it was bitter cold outside for one without an overcoat, and the youth soon returned to his seat in the cabin, leaving the two men to themselves. hal was a poor-house boy, having lived at the fairham poor-house ever since he could remember. who his parents were he did not know, nor could joel daggett, the keeper of the institution, give him any definite information on the subject. "you were picked up in front of onders' carpenter shop on one fourth o' july night," daggett had said more than once. "they found out some strange man was responsible, but who he was, nobuddy knows, or leastwise they won't tell, and that amounts to the same thing." there had been a peculiar golden locket about hal's neck when he was found, but this had never led to the establishing of his identity, and after the boy was at the poor-house a year the facts concerning his being found were almost forgotten. but hal had clung fast to that locket as a sort of birthright, and it was at this moment safe in his trousers pocket. two days before the opening of this story the trustees of the fairham poor-house had decided to bind hal out to daniel scrogg, one of the most miserly farmers in the county. hal had protested, stating he could make more in the town, where a lawyer named gibson was willing to take the youth into his office on a salary of three dollars a week and found. the trustees were obdurate, and the upshot of the matter was that the youth quietly packed his clothing into a bundle and ran away. he left a note behind for joel daggett, telling what he had done, and stating that as soon as he was in position to do so he would reimburse the trustees for all they had paid out for his keep for the past fifteen years; a big undertaking for any boy, but hal was plucky, and meant what he said. hal's destination was new york. once in the great metropolis, he felt certain he would find something to do. to be sure, his capital was less than a dollar, but he was used to being without any money, and consequently this did not bother him. it was about eight o'clock in the evening, and as the man allen had said, it was just beginning to snow, the first fall of the season. hal looked out of the window as the flakes glittered in the electric light and fell into the waters of the river. presently there came a bump, and the ferry-boat veered to one side. the slip had been reached, and, pulling shut the rather thin jacket he wore, and bringing his cap further down over his forehead, hal mingled with the crowd outside, and a minute later went ashore. once on west street, hal stood still, undecided what to do next. he did not know a soul in new york, did not know one street from another, but understood very well that it would be next to useless to try to obtain employment at this late hour. as hal stood meditating, the two men mentioned above brushed past him. the boy noticed them, and then almost mechanically followed the pair. the men passed up cortlandt street until they came to the sixth avenue elevated railroad. hal saw them mount the stairs on the opposite side of the street, and a minute after knew they had taken an uptown train. "i suppose i'll never see them again," thought the youth. but hal was mistaken. the two men were to play a most important part in the youth's future life in the great metropolis. hal walked along under the elevated road until he came to barclay street. he passed several fruit stands and a queer little booth where coffee and cakes were sold. the sight of the latter made him remember how hungry he was. he had not had anything to eat since early morning, and although he was accustomed to a very scanty fare at the poor-house, his stomach rebelled at this unusually long fast. he counted up his money, and resolved to invest fifteen cents of it in a plate of pork and beans and some buttered cakes. he entered a restaurant near the corner, and was soon served. while hal was eating he became interested in the conversation of several young men who stood near the counter, smoking. "you say nathan wants more help?" he heard one of the young men say. "yes." "thought he took on two new hands yesterday." "so he did, but the holiday trade is very heavy this year." "then i'll send billy around to see him. i suppose he could do the work." "anybody could who is strong and willing," was the reply. "nathan wants three young fellows." at these words hal's eyes brightened. he arose and touched the speaker on the arm. "excuse me, sir," he began. "what is it?" asked the man, rather abruptly. "i heard you telling your friend that somebody wanted help. i am looking for work." the man looked hal over, and gave a short laugh. "i'm afraid you ain't strong enough, my boy," he said. "i was brought up to hard work," replied hal, earnestly. "well, that makes a difference." "if you will tell me where that place is----" "certainly. it is the first warehouse this side----" the man got no further. there was a commotion on the street, and two or three rushed outside. "brady's place just below here is on fire!" shouted some one. "brady's place?" ejaculated the man. "by george! i wonder how that happened?" he seemed to forget all about hal, and making a rush for the door, disappeared down the street. the youth started after him. he had eaten and paid for his meal, and he did not wish to miss the opportunity of questioning the fellow further. on the street all was commotion. wagons were scattering right and left to make way for the steam engines, hose carts and hook and ladder trucks which came dashing up to the spot. hal soon found himself surrounded by a crowd. the man had disappeared, apparently for good, and with a sigh the youth walked away, there being no signs of a fire, so far as he could see. the youth started to cross the street. he was directly behind an elderly gentleman, and was about to pass the man when there came a warning cry: "get out of the way there! here comes another engine!" hal looked up and saw that the engine, pulled by three fiery horses, was close at hand. he started to return to the curb. as he did so the elderly gentleman slipped and went down flat on his back. "he'll be killed!" cried half a dozen, who saw the accident. hal's heart seemed to leap into his throat. the horses were not over ten feet away. a moment more and the elderly gentleman would be crushed to death. the youth leaped forward, and caught the man by the arm. then he gave a sudden jerk backward, and both he and the gentleman went rolling into the gutter, while the engine went thundering by. chapter ii. a brave youth's reward. a cheer arose from the by-standers. "good for the boy!" "that's what i call a genuine hero!" "he deserves a medal." paying no attention to what was said, hal assisted the elderly gentleman to his feet. "are you hurt, sir?" he asked kindly. "i--i think not," was the labored reply. "that was a narrow escape, young man." the last with a gasp. "you are right, sir. how did you happen to go down?" "the snow made a slippery spot on the ice, i believe. my wind is almost gone." "wait till i brush you off," said hal, and taking off his cap he commenced to strike off the snow and dirt from the gentleman's clothing. "oh, never mind that," was the comment. "come along with me. i don't like crowds." the gentleman caught the youth by the arm, and walked him toward broadway. "you did me a great service," he went on, as the two stood on the corner, opposite the post-office. "i didn't do much," replied hal, modestly. "don't you call saving my life much?" asked the man, with a smile. "oh, i don't mean that, sir. but any one would have done what i did." "i'm not so sure about that. in new york it is every one for himself. what is your name?" "hal carson." "you live here, i suppose?" "no, sir." "where then, if i may ask?" "i just came to new york not over half an hour ago. i intend to stay here." the elderly gentleman looked puzzled. "i don't quite understand you," he said. "i came from a small place in pennsylvania, sir, and i intend to try my luck here." "ah! are you alone?" "yes, sir." "any friends here?" "no, sir." "yes, you have." "i have?" "yes--myself." the elderly gentleman laughed at his little joke. "no one shall say he saved my life and i didn't appreciate it. so your name is hal carson. parents living?" "i don't know, sir." hal blushed in spite of himself. "i was brought up at the poor-house." "humph! well, you are a manly looking chap and a brave one. have you any idea where you are going to obtain employment?" "no, sir. i intend to hunt around until i strike something." "you'll find that rather up-hill work, i fancy." "i didn't expect any snap, mr.----" "my name is horace sumner. i am a broker, and have an office on wall street, near broad. i am just returning from a visit to my sister, who lives in morristown. have you any sort of an education?" "i can read and write, and figure pretty well, and i've read all the books i could get hold of." "the reason i ask is because i think i may be able to help you to obtain employment. i won't offer you money as a reward--i don't believe in such things." "i would not accept your money. but i would like work." horace sumner meditated for a moment. "supposing you stop at my office to-morrow morning," he said. "i will, sir. what time?" "ten o'clock." "and what number, please?" "here is my card." horace sumner handed it to him. "do you know where you are going to stop over night?" "i shall hunt up some cheap hotel." mr. sumner was about to say something to the effect that hal could accompany him to his house and sleep in one of the rooms over the barn, but he changed his mind. "let the boy hoe his own row. it will do him good," he thought to himself. horace sumner was a self-made man, and he knew that self reliance is one of the best traits a boy can cultivate. "i am going over to the third avenue elevated now," he said. "remember, i expect to see you at ten sharp." "i will be on hand, sir," returned hal. "then good-night." "good-night, mr. sumner, and much obliged." hal watched the gentleman cross city hall park, and then started up broadway. the brilliant holiday display in the show windows charmed him, and he spent fully two hours in looking at all that was to be seen. "who knows but what i may go to work to-morrow, and then i won't get much chance to look around," he reasoned to himself. he was accustomed to work at the poor-house from six in the morning until eight or nine at night, and he did not know but what he would have to do more in such a bustling city as new york. by ten o'clock hal found himself tired out. the snow was now six inches deep and was still coming down. he turned from broadway through grand street and presently found himself well over on the east side. "good beds for cents per night." this was the announcement on a banner strung over the sidewalk, and after reading it, hal glanced at the building. it was rather a dingy affair, but to the youth direct from the fairham poor-house it appeared quite comfortable. he entered the office, and approached the clerk at the desk. "i would like a room for to-night," he said. "a room or a bed?" asked the clerk. "i mean a twenty-five cent place." "oh, all right. pay in advance." hal handed out a quarter. then he was conducted to a long, narrow apartment on the third floor. there were eight beds in the room, six of which were already occupied. to a person used to good accommodations this apartment would have almost disgusted him. but quarters at the poor-house had been but little better, and hal did not complain. he managed to get a bed in one corner, and, as the window was slightly open, he slept very well. he was up and dressed at six o'clock and out on the street. the snow was now all of a foot deep, and hal was much interested in the snow-plows on the car tracks. as he passed down the street a snow-ball whizzed past the youth's ear. another followed, striking him in the head. he turned, and saw a boy slightly taller than himself standing close at hand and laughing heartily. instead of getting angry, hal laughed in return. then he picked up some snow, made it into a hard ball, and let fly. the snow-ball took the other boy in the chest, and in his effort to dodge he went over head first into a drift near the gutter. hal burst out laughing, and then ran back and helped the stranger up. "say, wot did yer do dat fer?" demanded the other boy, as soon as he was once more on his feet. "tit for tat, you know," returned hal. "i guess you're not hurt, are you?" the stranger stared at hal. he had never met with such a kindly answer before. "hurt! o' course i ain't hurt," he returned, slowly. "you threw at me first, didn't you?" "wot if i did?" "nothing, only that's why i threw back." the stranger stared at hal for a moment. "who are you?" he asked, abruptly. "my name is hal carson. what's yours?" "jack mccabe." hal held out his hand. "i'm glad to know you. i just came to new york, and i only know one person here." "git out! is dat so?" jack mccabe shook hands rather gingerly. "den yer ain't one o' der boys, is yer?" "what boys?" "der fellers around town." "hardly." "got work here?" "i expect to get work from a man in wall street." "goin' ter be a broker, hey?" grinned jack. "here, get to work there, you lazy dog!" shouted a man from the inside of a near-by store, and jack dropped his conversation and began to clean off the sidewalk with vigor. hal walked on. he did not know under what exciting circumstances he was to meet jack mccabe again. promptly at ten o'clock hal presented himself at the number given him on wall street. the sign over the door read sumner, allen & co., brokers. he opened the door and entered. there was a small place in the front partitioned from the rear office by a counter and a brass grating. a man sat writing at a desk in the rear. he glanced at hal, and seeing it was only a boy, went on with his work. five minutes passed. then the man swung around leisurely, got down from his stool, and came forward. as soon as hal caught sight of the man's face he was astonished. it was hardwick, the fellow whose conversation he had overheard on the ferry boat the evening before. chapter iii. a serious charge. "what do you want?" asked hardwick abruptly. "is mr. sumner in?" returned hal. "no." "then i'll wait till he comes." hardwick stared at hal. "won't i do?" he asked sharply. "i'm afraid not, sir." "what do you want to see him about?" "he asked me to call," replied the youth. he was not particularly pleased with hardwick's manner. "i am the book-keeper here, and i generally transact business during mr. sumner's absence." "mr. sumner asked me to meet him here at ten o'clock." "oh! you know him, then?" "not very well." "i thought not." hardwick glanced at hal's shabby clothes. "well, you had better wait outside until he comes. we don't allow loungers about the office." "i will," said hal, and he turned to leave. it was bitter cold outside, but he would have preferred being on the sidewalk than being in the way, especially when such a man as felix hardwick was around. but, as he turned to leave, a coach drove up to the door, and mr. sumner alighted. his face lit up with a smile when he caught sight of hal. "well, my young friend, i see you are on time," he said, catching hal by the shoulder, and turning him back into the office. "yes, sir." "that's right." mr. sumner turned to hardwick. "where is dick?" he asked. "i don't know, sir," returned the book-keeper. "hasn't he been here this morning?" "i think not." "the sidewalk ought to be cleaned. that boy evidently doesn't want work." "i will clean the walk, if you wish me to," put in hal. "i have an office boy who is expected to do such things," replied mr. sumner. "that is, when the janitor of the building doesn't get at it in time. but he is getting more negligent every day. yes, you might as well do the job, and then come into the back office and have a talk with me." "yes, sir." "mr. hardwick, just show carson where the shovel and broom are." the book-keeper scowled. "this way," he said, and led the boy to a small closet under a stairs. just as hal was about to leave the office with the broom and the shovel, a tall, well dressed boy entered. he was whistling at a lively rate, but stopped short on seeing mr. sumner. "well, ferris, this is a pretty time to come around," said the broker, sharply. "i couldn't help it," returned the boy, who was considerably older than hal, and had coarse features and fiery red hair. "why not?" "my aunt forgot to call me." "that is a poor excuse." dick ferris began to drum on the railing with his flat hands. "didn't i tell you to be here every morning at nine o'clock?" went on the broker. "i am sure that is not very early for any one." "'tain't my fault when it snows like this," returned the boy. "my aunt ought to call me." "did you arrange that file of papers yesterday afternoon after i left?" continued mr. sumner. "i was going to do that this morning." "i told you to do it yesterday. you had plenty of time." "i ain't got nothing to do this morning." "there are a great number of things to do, ferris, but evidently you are not the boy who cares to do them. i warned you only a week ago that you must mend your ways. i think hereafter we will dispense with your service. mr. hardwick, please pay him his wages in full for the week. we will get some one else to fill his position." mr. sumner turned to the rear office. "i don't care," muttered ferris. "hand over the stuff," he said to hardwick. having received his money, he calmly lit a cigarette, puffed away upon it for a minute, and then went out slamming the door as hard as possible after him. hal was already at work, clearing away the snow at a lively rate. ferris approached him. "say, are you the fellow that did me out of my job?" he asked, savagely. "i haven't done any one out of a job," returned hal. "do you work here?" "i did, but i don't any more." "why not?" "because old sumner expects the earth from me and he can't get it; see?" ferris winked one eye. "i'm too smart to allow myself to be stepped onto, i am. you had better quit working; he won't pay you much for your trouble." "i'll risk it," replied hal. "if i find you played me foul, i'll break you all up," went on ferris. and with this threat he hurried off. hal looked after the boy for an instant and then continued his work. the sidewalk was soon cleaned, and he returned to the office. hardwick let him in behind the railing, giving him a sharp look as he passed. "i've seen him somewhere before," he muttered to himself, as he continued at his books. "but where i can't remember." "what! done already?" exclaimed mr. sumner to hal. "yes, sir." "it didn't take long." "it wasn't much of a job, sir." "ferris would have taken all of the morning." "was that the boy who just left?" "yes." "he said he would whip me if i played him foul." "humph! he is a bad boy. you must be careful, and not get into any trouble." "i will, sir. but i am not afraid of him." "no; you look as if you could take care of yourself." mr. sumner rubbed his chin. "so you say you have no prospects ahead?" "no, sir, but i am not afraid----" "let me see your handwriting." the broker shoved a pad toward hal, and handed him a pen filled with ink. hal put down a sentence or two, and added his own name. "that will do very well. you say you can figure fairly?" "i have been through the common school arithmetic." "what would my commission be on six thousand dollars' worth of bonds, sold at one hundred and fifteen, commission one-quarter of one per cent?" hal figured for a moment. "seventeen dollars and twenty-five cents," he said. mr. sumner gave him several other sums. the youth answered all of them quickly and correctly. "that will do first-class," said the broker. "now to come to business. would you mind telling me why you left fairham?" "not at all, mr. sumner," replied hal. and, sitting down, he told how the trustees had intended to use him, and of his determination to do for himself. "and i will not go back, no matter what happens," he concluded, decidedly. "well, i cannot say as i blame you," was the slow reply. "of course, you owe them something, but perhaps you can pay them back quicker in the way you have undertaken. have you any idea in regard to salary?" "i intended to take what i could get, and then look around for something better." "how would you like to work for me?" "first-rate, sir." "i need an office boy to take ferris' place, and also somebody to help copy contracts and make out bills and statements. if you could combine the two i would give you seven dollars a week at the start, and increase the amount as you become more valuable." hal's heart beat fast. seven dollars a week! it was more than twice what he could have earned at lawyer gibson's office in fairham. "oh, thank you!" he cried. "i did not expect so much." "i expect you to earn the money," replied the broker. he made this remark, but, nevertheless, he had not forgotten that hal had saved his life. "have you any money with you?" "fifty cents, sir." "then let me advance you a month's salary. half of it i would advise you to invest in an overcoat and a stout pair of shoes. the remainder you will probably have to pay out for your board. mr. hardwick." the book-keeper came forward. "just give carson twenty-eight dollars for four weeks' salary in advance. he will take ferris' place, and also help you on the copying." "yes, sir." hardwick gave hal a contemptuous look, and then going to a large safe in the forward part of the main office, brought out the cash and handed it over. "you may go to work at once," said mr. sumner. "i would advise you to hunt up a boarding-house after business hours, three o'clock." "yes, sir." and so hal was installed at sumner, allen & co.'s place of business. he cleaned up the place, and then started in on the copying hardwick brought him. mr. sumner was well pleased with the boy's work for the day, and so expressed himself. after business hours hal bought the overcoat and the pair of shoes. then he started out for a boarding-house, and at last found one on tenth street, kept by mrs. amanda ricket, where he obtained a room on the top floor, with breakfast and supper, for five dollars a week. on the second day at the office hal was astonished to learn that the mr. allen of the firm was the man he had seen in company with mr. hardwick on the pennsylvania ferry-boat. mr. allen did not recognize him, and the youth thought it just as well not to mention the meeting. during the afternoon mr. sumner and mr. allen went out together. they were hardly gone when hardwick put on his hat and coat and followed, leaving the youth in sole charge. five minutes later a stranger entered and asked for mr. allen. finding the broker out, he said he would wait, and sat down inside the railing, near the stove. he had hardly seated himself, when a snow-ball crashed against the plate-glass window. fearful that the glass might be broken, hal hurried out. two boys had been snow-balling each other, and both ran away as fast as they could. hardly had hal returned to the office than hardwick came in. he had been paying a visit to a near-by wine-room, and his face was slightly flushed. he nodded to the man who was waiting. "anything i can do for you?" he asked. "i want to see mr. allen." "gone away for the day, sir." the stranger at once arose and left. hardwick saw him to the door, and then sat down near a desk in the rear. hal bent over the writing he was doing. he proceeded with great care, as it was new work to him and he did not wish to make any errors. just before three o'clock mr. sumner returned. he walked to the rear office, gave a turn to the knob of the door of his private safe, and then addressed hardwick: "anything new?" "no, sir." "then we might as well close up." five minutes later the main safe was locked up, the rolled-top desks closed, and work was over for the day. hal spent the evening at his room in the boarding-house, writing to lawyer gibson, his only friend in fairham. the letter finished, he walked to the corner and posted it, and then returned and went to bed. the next morning he was the first at the office. he was engaged in cleaning up when hardwick entered. the book-keeper had been out the greater part of the night, and his face plainly showed the effects of his dissipation. "come, get at the books!" he growled. "the place is clean enough." "i will just as soon as i have dusted the rear office," replied hal. "do as i told you!" stormed hardwick. at that moment mr. sumner entered, and with a hasty good-morning passed to the back. hal heard him at his safe, and then came a sharp cry. "the safe has been robbed!" "what's that?" asked hardwick, walking to the rear, while hal followed. "the safe has been robbed!" gasped mr. sumner. "there are seventy-nine thousand dollars' worth of bonds missing." "you are sure?" asked the book-keeper, while hal's heart seemed to fairly stop beating. "yes, they are gone." "when did you leave them?" "yesterday before i went out with mr. allen." mr. sumner gave a groan. "this will ruin me! who could have robbed the safe?" "was it broken open?" "no. look for yourself." hardwick glanced toward the iron box. then he turned and faced hal. "you were here alone yesterday afternoon," he said, sternly. "did you leave him here alone?" cried mr. sumner. "i am sorry to say i did, but it was only for a few minutes," replied the book-keeper. "i called around to mack & heath's for that rock island circular." hal grew red in the face. "mr. sumner," he began, "i hope you do not think----" "i think that boy robbed the safe," interrupted hardwick, pointing to hal. "i thought it was a mistake to take such a stranger into the place." at these words hal's eyes flashed fire. "that is a falsehood!" he cried, indignantly. "i never went near the safe, excepting to dust the outside." mr. sumner clasped and unclasped his hands nervously. the ring in the youth's voice made him hesitate as to how to proceed. "you robbed the safe," went on hardwick. "you know you are guilty." "i know no such thing," returned hal, in a peculiar, strained tone of voice. "but there is one thing i do know." "and what is that?" asked mr. sumner, eagerly. "i know mr. hardwick contemplated robbing that safe, and i feel certain in my mind that he is the one who did it." hal had hardly spoken before the book-keeper sprang upon him, forcing him over backward against the safe door. "i'm the thief, am i?" he cried in hal's ear. "take that back, or i'll make you!" chapter iv. hal stands up for himself. hal now found himself in a tight situation. felix hardwick had him by the throat, and was slowly but surely choking him. "don't! don't!" cried mr. sumner, in great alarm. "the miserable tramp!" cried hardwick. "i'll teach him to call a gentleman a thief." he continued his choking process, paying no attention to his employer's efforts to haul him away. but by this time hal began to realize that hardwick was in earnest. he began to kick, and presently landed a blow in the book-keeper's stomach that completely winded the man. hardwick relaxed his hold, and hal sprang away. "stop! stop!" ordered mr. sumner. "i will not have such disgraceful scenes in this office." "but he intimated i was a thief," said hardwick, trying to catch his wind. "and he said the same of me," retorted hal. "so you are!" "i never stole a thing in my life, mr. sumner." hal turned to the broker. "and i am not a tramp." "then supposing we make it a poor-house beggar," returned hardwick, with a short laugh. hal turned red. the shot was a cruel one. "hush! hardwick," cried mr. sumner. "there is no necessity for such language." the broker turned to hal. "you just made a strange statement, carson," he said. "how do you know mr. hardwick contemplated robbing the safe?" "because i do." "that is no answer." "i overheard him and mr. allen talking about the bonds being in the safe." "when?" "the evening i came to new york." "what was said?" "i can't repeat the words, but they said the bonds were worth nearly eighty thousand dollars, and that the safe was often left open during the day." "it's an infamous story!" put in hardwick, his face growing red. "mr. sumner, don't you believe the beggar." "i am telling the truth," said hal, as calmly as he could. "hush, hardwick!" "but, sir----" began the book-keeper. "one story at a time. i will hear what you have to say later." "do you mean to say you would take that boy's word against mine?" demanded hardwick, haughtily. "i intend to listen to his story without further interruption from you," responded the broker, sternly. "so please keep silent until your turn comes." hardwick pulled at the ends of his mustache, but he did not dare to reply after this. "now go on, carson," said mr. sumner to hal. "i haven't much to tell, sir," replied the youth. and he related all he could remember of the fragment of a conversation which he had overheard. the broker listened attentively, but his face fell when hal had finished. "and is that all?" "yes, sir." mr. sumner shook his head, and then turned to hardwick. "is his story true?" he asked. "it is true we spoke of the bonds," replied the book-keeper. "but nothing was said about stealing them. why, mr. sumner--why should your own partner and trusted book-keeper conspire to rob you? it is preposterous! i have an idea." "what is this?" "that he heard us speaking of your careless habit, and endeavored to form some scheme to get into the office and get hold of the bonds." "hardly. it was i told him to come here; he did not come of himself." "then he formed his plan after he got here." "i know nothing of railroad bonds," put in hal. "i wouldn't know what to do with them, if i had them." at that moment mr. allen arrived. he saw that something unusual had taken place. "what's up?" he asked. "the tin box containing the mason railroad bonds is missing," replied mr. sumner. "missing!" ejaculated mr. allen. "exactly." "and all the bonds?" "yes." "phew!" mr. allen gave a low whistle. "how did it happen?" mr. sumner related the particulars. "and this boy means to say we concocted a scheme to steal them," added hardwick, pointing to hal. "we steal them!" ejaculated mr. allen. "yes, sir." mr. allen turned and caught hal by the arm. "boy, are you crazy?" he demanded. "that's what i would like to know," said hardwick. "no, i am not crazy," replied the youth, stoutly. "he overheard part of our conversation on the ferry-boat the other night," went on the book-keeper, hastily, "and from that he judged we must be plotting to rob mr. sumner." "well, that's rich!" mr. allen broke into a laugh. "excuse me, sumner, but i can't help it. of course, you don't think any such thing." "no, i can't say that i do," replied the elderly broker, slowly. "but"--he turned to the safe--"the tin box is gone and i would like to know what has become of it." "better call in the police," suggested hardwick. "and in the meantime keep an eye on this boy." "and also on that man," added hal, pointing to the book-keeper. mr. sumner was in deep perplexity. he ran his hand through his hair. "let us talk this matter over first," he said. "you say, hardwick, you left carson alone in the office yesterday afternoon?" "yes, sir." "how long?" "not more than ten minutes." "when was this?" "a few minutes after you and mr. allen went out." "when you came back what was carson doing?" "he was at the desk, pretending to write." "was there anybody else here?" "by jove! yes," exclaimed hardwick, suddenly. "ah! who?" "i don't know, sir." "a man?" "yes. rather a common-looking fellow, about thirty-five years of age." "what did he want?" "he asked for mr. allen, and when i said he wouldn't be back during the rest of the day he went off." mr. sumner turned to hal. the youth stood staring at the wall. "what have you to say about this stranger?" "he came in directly after mr. hardwick went out," returned the youth. "what was his business?" "he wished to see mr. allen." "did he go back to the safe?" "i--i don't think so." "you are not sure?" "not positive, sir. i was busy writing, and did not notice him closely." "did the man give any name?" "no, sir." "i suppose you didn't know him?" hal shook his head. he was beginning to believe he had made a big mistake by not watching the stranger during the time he was in the office back of the railing. "i believe i saw the man wink at this boy as he went out," put in hardwick. "i am pretty certain the two knew each other." "that is not true," burst out hal. for some reason, this insinuation made him think more than ever that the book-keeper was guilty. "which way did the man go?" went on the elderly broker. "toward broadway," replied hal. "did he have anything under his arm?" "he had a small bundle, but he had that when he came in." "about how large?" hal illustrated with his hands. "probably that was an empty box, or something of that sort," ventured mr. allen. "he placed the tin box into it." "quite likely," returned mr. sumner. "and the only question in my mind," went on his partner, "is whether or not this boy here was in with the fellow. if you will take my advice, sumner, you will have him arrested without delay." chapter v. hal determines to act. as mr. allen spoke he caught hal by the shoulder. "you had better own up, carson," he said, harshly. "let go of me!" retorted hal, trying to break away. "not much! do you think i am going to give you the chance to slide out of the door?" "i have nothing to own up to, and i don't intend to run away," panted the youth. he broke away, and placed himself beside mr. sumner, who looked at him earnestly. "i believe the boy speaks the truth," he said, firmly. "you do?" cried hardwick and allen, in concert. "i mean in so far as he says he is innocent," added the elderly broker, hastily. "of course, i believe he is mistaken in supposing that either of you had anything to do with this robbery." "oh!" returned mr. allen. "that's different," said hardwick. both of them looked relieved. "i wish he had watched this stranger." "i wish that myself, mr. sumner," cried hal. "if he stole the tin box, then i am mostly responsible, although i supposed the man was some business man around here, and was to be trusted." "i don't understand one thing," said the elderly broker. "i am almost sure i locked the safe when i went away yesterday afternoon." "so you did," said mr. allen. "i saw you do it." "then, how could the stranger have opened it?" "didn't carson know the combination?" asked hardwick, who seemed determined to convict hal. "i think not." "indeed i did not!" cried the youth. "i never worked a safe combination in my life." "i saw him watching you open the door yesterday morning," went on the book-keeper. "do you dare deny it?" he continued, turning to hal. "i certainly do deny it," retorted hal. "i might have been looking that way, but i did not watch him, and i do not know how it was done." "you did not notice if the door was open after i was gone, did you?" said mr. sumner, turning to the book-keeper. "it was closed," replied hardwick, promptly. "you are certain?" "yes, sir. when i left carson here alone i saw to it that both safes and the main desks were closed." "why did you do that?" put in mr. allen, knowing well what the answer would be. "i saw no necessity for trusting carson, who was totally unknown to us." "that was right, hardwick." mr. allen turned to his partner. "i believe, sumner, you took in carson without recommendations." "i admit i did, allen, but his face----" "faces are very deceitful, very. it was poor business policy, sumner. it would never have happened while i was around." "well, i am the loser, not you," replied mr. sumner, rather sharply. he did not like the way mr. allen criticised his action. "yes, but still, it might have been----" "but it was not," interrupted mr. sumner, dryly. "and as we are to separate on the first of the year, allen, the least said on that score the better." "well, just as you say," returned mr. allen, stiffly. "i hope you get your bonds back, that's all." "so do i," added hardwick. "i don't want the least shadow hanging over my name." mr. sumner began to walk up and down the office uneasily. he was in a terrible state of mind. the loss of the bonds might mean utter ruin. he hesitated and looked at hal. the youth noticed it, and springing forward, caught him by the arm. "mr. sumner, tell me you do not believe me guilty," he cried, with a curious lump rising in his throat. "hal, i believe you innocent," returned the elderly broker. in after years the man looked back at those words. what had led him to utter them? let the reader wait, and perhaps he will be able to reason the matter out. mr. allen sneered at the words, and hardwick's lip curled. the youth noticed neither of them. the tears stood in his eyes, as he replied: "thank you for saying that, mr. sumner," he returned, in a low voice. "i may be nothing but a poor-house boy, but i am honest, and will help you get back your bonds, and prove my innocence to the world." again mr. allen's sneer was heard, and hardwick's lip curled, even more than before. neither mr. sumner nor hal paid any attention to either of them. the broker stepped to the telephone. "who are you going to summon?" asked mr. allen. "the chief of the police department." "that's right." the proper connection was obtained, and a long conversation ensued over the wires. at length mr. sumner closed the instrument. "a couple of detectives will be here in ten minutes," he said. "the chief says they are now with him and have nothing on hand to do." hal listened to this statement with interest. he had often heard of detectives, but had never seen such a personage. mr. sumner continued to walk up and down. hal watched him, the youth's heart beating rapidly. the clock hands moved slowly, but at last twelve minutes had passed. then two young men entered. they were very ordinary looking individuals, and hal was somewhat disappointed in their appearance. "we were sent here by the chief," explained one as he entered. "my name is harry parker. this is ralph hamington." "i am glad to see you," replied mr. sumner. "you have been robbed?" questioned harry parker, coming at once to the point. "yes. a tin box, containing seventy-nine thousand dollars' worth of railroad bonds, has been stolen from that safe." both detectives elevated their eyebrows at this statement. "was the safe broken open?" continued parker. "no." "door left open?" "i think not." "when did you see the box last?" "yesterday afternoon." "what time?" "a little before two." "you locked it up at that time?" "i am under that impression." "i see. when did you discover your loss?" "not over half an hour ago." "did any one beside yourself have the combination of the safe?" "not to my knowledge." "no one in the office?" "i know nothing of it," replied allen. "who are you?" "caleb allen, mr. sumner's partner." "oh!" "neither do i," added hardwick. "i am the book-keeper," he explained. "who is this boy?" "he belongs in the office," replied mr. sumner. "i know nothing about the safe," said hal, speaking up for himself. he began to believe detectives were very much like other men. "please give me a list of the people who might have got at the safe during your absence," continued parker, while his companion prepared to write down the names. "these gentlemen," began the elderly broker. "yes." "the janitor of the building." "what is his name?" "daniel mccabe." hal started and wondered if the janitor could be any relation to jack mccabe, his acquaintance of the previous day. "go on," continued the detective. "a strange man was in yesterday." "ah! tell us of him." mr. sumner told what he knew. parker turned to hal. "would you know this fellow again, if you saw him?" he asked. "i believe i would." "please describe him as closely as you can." the youth started and gave a pretty accurate description of his visitor. both detectives listened attentively. "perhaps it was larkett," suggested hamington, in an undertone. "did the fellow have a cast in his eye?" asked parker. "how would the boy know that?" asked hardwick, nervously. "he says he hardly glanced at the man." "answer me," said parker, paying no attention to the interruption. hal was doing his best to think. had that fellow really had something the matter with his left eye? "i--i can't really say," he returned, slowly. "was it the left eye?" "yes." "he might have had. it runs in my mind so, but i am not positive." parker exchanged glances with his companion. "more than likely he was the guilty party," he said to mr. sumner. "if he is the man we imagine, he is an old offender, and it will not be a very difficult matter to run him down." "if you recover the bonds i will give you five thousand dollars as a reward," said the elderly broker. "we will do what we can, mr. sumner." "the quicker you get to work the better it will suit me." "we shall start on our hunt at once, eh, hamington?" "certainly. but let us take a look around the office first. and, mr. sumner?" "well?" "it might be just as well to keep this matter a secret for a few days. of course, information will be sent out from headquarters, but the general public need not know of it." "that will suit me," returned the elderly broker, with a groan. "if the word gets out it will all but ruin me. i only held the bonds in trust, and will be expected to make the loss good in case they are not recovered." "you will give us a list of the paper?" "certainly." mr. sumner took out a memorandum book. "here you are. anything else?" "we will take a look around the premises." and the two detectives started on a tour of investigation, in which hal took a lively interest. the door to the safe was carefully examined. not a mark was found upon it. "either left open or opened by some one who had the combination," said parker. he got down on his knees and examined the carpet. "anything?" asked hamington, briefly. parker shook his head. in the rear of the office was a window opening upon a narrow court. the two detectives glanced at the fastening of the window. suddenly parker gave a cry. "this fastening was forced not long ago." "how do you know?" asked mr. sumner, while hal pricked up his ears. "here are the marks made by a knife blade. they are quite fresh." "here are the marks of foot-prints upon the window-sill," added hamington. "see, they lead toward that door yonder. where does that door lead to?" "an alley-way," replied mr. allen. "opening on the next street?" "yes." "then these marks add a new feature to the case," said parker. "has anybody been through the window to your knowledge?" every one shook his head. "queer," said mr. sumner. "if the thief came through the window how did he know the combination of the safe?" "i have it," said hamington. "you often opened the safe during the daytime, did you not?" "yes." "then the would-be thief watched you from the window. by looking from the left side he could easily see you work the combination without being seen himself. he watched you until he was sure he had the combination down fine, and last night he opened the window, stepped inside, opened the safe and took out the tin box, closed the door again, and escaped as he had come." chapter vi. a blow in the dark. was hamington's explanation the correct one? "by jove! i believe that's the straight of it!" exclaimed hardwick. "so do i," said mr. allen. "it is the only way to account for the marks on the window-frame and the sash." mr. sumner said nothing. indeed, to tell the truth, his loss had set his mind in a whirl. parker turned to hal. "did you open the office this morning?" he asked. "yes, sir." "you opened the window when you cleaned up?" "yes." "was it locked?" hal tried to think. "i believe it was." "you are not sure?" "no, sir." "he ought to be," broke in mr. allen. "i would know, if i was in his place." "see, if you cannot think, hal," said mr. sumner. "if anything, i think the window was locked," said the youth, candidly. "you do?" said parker. "yes, for i believe i had some trouble to unfasten it." the two detectives looked at each other. "if that is so, it alters the case," said hamington. "but i believe the boy is mistaken." "so do i," added hardwick, promptly. parker opened the window again, and leaping out, made his way to the alley. hamington went after him. then several customers came in, and mr. allen and hardwick went forward to wait upon them. it was a quarter of an hour before the detectives came back, and then they had very little to say, excepting that they would report the particulars at headquarters and endeavor to run down the criminal. mr. sumner was broken down by his loss. he sat in his private office nearly all of the remainder of the day, his head resting in his hands. mr. allen went off on business, and hardwick stuck to his books as if his life depended on it. hal resumed his duties with a heavy weight on his heart. for some reason he had expected to be discharged, but nothing was said about his leaving. hardwick scowled at the youth every time their eyes met, and kept piling the work upon hal. the book-keeper was nervous, and the youth did not fail to notice this, and it set him to thinking. if only he had listened more attentively to what had been said on the ferry-boat that night! hal was sure if he had done this he would have known if hardwick and allen were guilty or not. then hal began to speculate on the foot-marks on the window-sill. if the thief had entered the office that way, why were not some of the same marks visible on the carpet in front of the safe? when hardwick went out to lunch, hal watched him from the office window. at the corner he saw the book-keeper joined by dick ferris, and the two seemed to be in earnest conversation as they walked along. when hardwick came back hal was given a half hour. the boy put on his hat and coat and went out. he did not feel like eating, and he walked up to the corner and around to the back street, intending to pay a visit to the alley through which the robber was supposed to have escaped. just as he was about to turn into the narrow place, now piled high with snow, somebody caught him by the shoulder. turning, he found himself confronted by dick ferris. "hullo, there!" said the tall boy. "how are you?" returned hal coldly. "i hear you've got my place," went on ferris. "what if i have?" asked hal, abruptly. "i thought you were hanging around trying to do me out of it." "i didn't try to do you out of it. mr. sumner asked me to call at his office and i went. then he offered me the place and i took it." "did he know you?" "may i ask what business that is of yours?" "shut up, you little street tramp, you!" retorted ferris. "do you know what i've a good mind to do?" "i must admit i do not." "give you a mighty good thrashing." "two can play at that game," replied hal, with a nervous little laugh. "what, do you mean to say you can stand up against me?" demanded ferris. "maybe you don't know i am an athlete." "and perhaps you are not aware that i am perfectly able to take care of myself," returned hal. "take that!" cried ferris. he hauled off and aimed a wicked blow at the youth's nose. had it struck hal it would have injured him considerably. but the youth dodged; and the next instant dick ferris received a crack fairly between the eyes that made him see stars, and caused him to stagger up against the side of a building. "what--what----" he gasped. "that for attacking me," replied hal. "don't you try any such game again." "i'll fix you!" roared ferris. he was boiling with rage. "you miserable street cur!" he sprang at hal and caught him by both arms, intending to trip the youth up. but hal stood his ground, and by a sudden twist freed himself. "let me alone, ferris," he commanded. "oh, of course i will!" replied the tall boy, sarcastically. "if you don't, you'll regret it." "will i? take that, and that!" ferris struck out twice. hal parried the first blow, but the second just grazed his lip, causing that member to bleed slightly. "told you i'd fix you!" roared ferris. he had hardly spoken the words before hal pulled himself together and went at him. the youth's arms shot out right and left, and before he was aware of what was taking place, ferris received a stinging blow on the forehead, and then came one on the chin that sent him rolling over in the snow. "dat's right, give it ter him!" shouted a newsboy who stood by, grinning from ear to ear. "do him up in one round!" ferris got upon his feet slowly. his head felt dizzy from the shock he had received. "want any more?" demanded hal, facing him with clenched fists. "cheese it! here comes der cops!" put in the newsboy. hal looked up, and saw a policeman bearing toward the spot. ferris also gave a glance, and he muttered something under his breath. "what did you say?" demanded hal. "i'll settle with you another time," replied ferris. and picking up his hat, which had landed in a near-by drift, he placed it on his head, and sneaked down the street at a rapid gait. in a minute the policeman arrived at the spot. "what is the trouble here?" he demanded. "a fellow attacked me," replied hal. "i see your lip's cut. why did he do it?" "i got a job he used to have, and he's angry over it." "oh!" the policeman tossed his head. "did you hit back?" "i defended myself," replied hal, briefly. he was half afraid he might be called on to make some sort of a charge, a thing he did not wish to do now the encounter was over. "he did der feller fer keeps!" put in the newsboy. "go on with you!" cried the policeman, and the newsboy ran off, while hal started on his way back to the office. "what's the matter with your lip?" inquired hardwick, as the youth entered. "i cut it," replied hal. the book-keeper turned and smiled to himself. "i guess ferris kept his word," he muttered. "he said he was going to fix the boy. i wish he had killed the tramp." that afternoon dragged heavily, but at last it was time to close up. mr. sumner hardly spoke to either when they bade him good-evening. hardwick walked up wall street, and then turned into nassau, instead of continuing to broadway. suddenly an idea entered hal's head to follow hardwick. despite all the evidence pointing in other directions, the youth thought hardwick either guilty of the robbery or else that the book-keeper knew much concerning it. hardwick continued up nassau street until he reached park row. hal kept out of sight behind the man, and presently hardwick continued up park row until he came to one of the side streets just beyond the entrance to the brooklyn bridge. he turned into this street, piled high on either side with dirty snow, and then entered one of the worst thoroughfares in new york city. by this time it was quite dark, and hal had to keep close, for fear of losing sight of his man. he was now thoroughly interested, for he knew hardwick boarded somewhere uptown, and it must be some special business that would bring the book-keeper to this part of the city on such a disagreeable evening. at length hardwick paused and glanced behind him. as soon as he saw the movement the boy stepped behind a bill-board out of sight. presently hardwick continued on his way, walking faster than ever. the youth increased his speed. "hi! look sharp there!" hal was just about to cross a street when he almost ran into a heavy truck. he stepped back, and allowed the truck to pass. when he reached the opposite curb hardwick had disappeared. "he must have gone on straight ahead," thought the youth. "i will soon catch up to him again." but though he continued onward for more than a block, he saw nothing of the book-keeper. he looked up and down the side streets, and tried to peep into the curtained windows of several saloons that were close at hand. "he must have gone in somewhere, that's certain," said hal to himself. "i wonder if he discovered that i was following him?" this last thought disturbed the youth not a little. his experience with hardwick in the office had convinced him that the book-keeper was an evil man when aroused. slowly he retraced his steps, not certain if he could find his way back to park row, a spot he had got to know fairly well since his coming to the metropolis. he was just passing a place where a new building was in the course of construction when a peculiar noise to one side of him attracted his attention. by instinct he jumped toward the gutter. the next instant a mass of bricks came tumbling down. one struck him on the head, and this knocked him insensible. chapter vii. hal determines to investigate. when hal came to his senses he found himself in the arms of a boy slightly taller than himself, who was doing all in his power to restore consciousness by the application of snow to hal's forehead. "what--what----" he began. "good! yer come around at last, have yer?" cried the boy. "blessed if i didn't think yer was a goner." hal put his hand up to his head. "where am i?" he asked, faintly. "yer all right; don't worry," replied the tall boy. "don't yer remember me?" hal pulled himself together, and looked at the speaker. "jack mccabe!" he cried. "yer struck it fust clip. say, wot was der matter wid yer? yer couldn't have been froze, coz it wasn't cold enough." "i was struck on the head." "gee crickety! who struck yer?" "i--i--nobody, i think. it was some bricks from that building." "oh, dat's it. how do yer feel now?" "awfully light-headed," responded hal, telling the exact truth. "kin yer walk about a block? i only live jest around dat corner." hal started at these words. "you do?" "yes." "tell me, is your father janitor of a building down in wall street?" "o' course not. didn't i tell yer we lived here?" hal looked relieved. "what has that got to do with it?" he asked, curiously. "why, dem janitors all lives in der buildin's da takes care of," explained jack. "the reason i ask is because there is a daniel mccabe janitor of the building i work in." "i t'ink dat's me uncle. better now?" hal took a deep breath and straightened up. "yes, a good deal better." "yer got a lump on yer forehead as big as an egg." "it feels twice that size to me," laughed hal. "jack, you have done me a good turn i won't forget in a hurry." the street boy blushed. "ah! go on, dat wasn't nuthin'," he replied. "i kinder like you, tell der truth." "and i like you, jack," replied hal, giving his hand a tight squeeze. "did yer git dat job?" "yes." "how much?" "what do you mean?" "wot do da pay yer!" "seven dollars a week." jack mccabe's eyes opened like saucers. "yer foolin'." "it's true, jack." "gee crickety! but yer struck a snap. say, if dere's enny more o' dem jobs layin' around put in a word fer me, will yer." "i certainly shall," replied hal. "i only git t'ree dollars where i am, an' have ter work like a horse. i've jest been home ter grub, an' now i've got ter go back an' work till nine o'clock." "then don't let me keep you," returned hal, "or you may be late." "i've got ten minutes yet." "by the way, how long were you with me before i came to?" "about ten minutes. i dragged yer inter der buildin', an' i was jest gittin' ready ter call der cop an' have yer tuk to der hospital when yer give a gulp an' opened yer eyes." "while you were sitting here did you notice anybody leave the building?" jack scratched his head. "i t'ink i did." "what kind of a person was it?" "a man." "heavy sort of a chap?" "i t'ink he was. i didn't pay much attention ter him on account o' havin' you on my hands." "where did the man come from?" "der back o' der building." "you didn't notice which way he went?" "up toward der east river." "that way?" "yes." "thank you. don't let me keep you any longer. maybe i'll be up to see you soon." "glad ter have yer, 'specially if ye git dat seven dollar job fer me." and with a broad laugh jack mccabe hurried on. hal turned into the building, and walked toward the rear. a ladder stood lashed to the back wall. the youth hesitated, and then mounted to the floor above. a near-by electric light cast its rays full into the open front. over the beams were placed a number of loose boards, and on these the snow, which had been swept in by the wind, lay to the depth of several inches. taking care that he should not slip through an opening, hal examined the surface of the snow with great care. it was not long before he came to a number of foot-prints leading to a pile of bricks close to the front. the foot-prints was fresh, and looked as if they had been made by a man's boot. the last of them were at a spot that commanded a good view of the sidewalk below. hal looked down, and then shuddered. was it possible that hardwick had pushed those bricks down upon him? "it looked so," murmured hal to himself. "i must be more cautious in the future. he must have seen me when i started to hide behind the bill-board." hal descended the ladder, and was soon upon the street once more. he thought over the situation, and then started for his boarding-house, satisfied that it would do no good to search farther for the book-keeper that night. as has been mentioned, the boarding-house was up in tenth street. hal soon walked the distance, and, getting out his night-key, he let himself in. he was about to ascend to his room, and wash up a bit before going to supper, when the sounds of voices broke upon his ear, coming from the parlor. "and he has your place, dick?" he heard mrs. ricket, the boarding mistress say. "yes, he has, aunt amanda," returned the voice of dick ferris. "it's too bad." "how did you come to allow the tramp in the house?" "he paid in advance, dick, and he appeared to be a very nice young fellow." "nice!" "yes. what is wrong about him?" "he was brought up in a poor-house." "who said so?" "never mind, i know it for a fact." "well, even that wouldn't make him a bad boy." "but you don't want any tramps around here, do you?" "he isn't a tramp so long as he works and pays his board." "you say he paid in advance?" "yes, for one week. he said he would pay two, if i wished it." "then you can make sure there is something wrong about him. better look out for your silverware." mrs. ricket laughed. "a robber would never make much out of what little i possess, dick," she replied. "still, you wouldn't want to lose it." "i'll trust carson." "well, have your own way. he's a tramp, and i don't want anything to do with him." "what makes you so down on him?" "didn't i tell you he took my place away from me?" "how could he do that? i am sure mr. sumner would have kept you at work, if you had done right." "didn't i do right?" blustered dick ferris. "hardly." "what was wrong?" "you wouldn't get up the day before yesterday, although i called you twice." "well, i was to a sparring match the night before, and i was tired out." "you should have stayed at home, dick." "huh! you don't want a fellow to have any fun!" growled the boy. "oh, yes i do, but not the kind that is going to lose you your place. what do you intend to do, now?" "oh, i'll find something else to do," replied ferris, in a careless fashion. "i cannot support you in idleness, even if you are my dead sister's son," went on mrs. ricket. "you haven't paid me any board now in eight weeks." "only six, aunt amanda." "no, it is eight. i have it on my account book. i don't see why you let it run, it is so little, only three dollars a week. that carson pays me five, and he has not so good a room." "there goes that carson again," stormed dick ferris. "i don't want to hear a word more. he's a tramp and a thief and you'll be sorry you took him in before a great while." with this speech on his lips, dick ferris walked across the parlor, threw open the door--and confronted hal. chapter viii. felix hardwick is astonished. dick ferris started back on catching sight of hal, who stood on the bottom step of the stairs. "you!" "yes, dick ferris," returned hal, coolly. "and let me say that i overheard your conversation with mrs. ricket, your aunt." ferris changed color. "been playing the spy, eh?" he sneered. "no; i just came in and overheard you speaking about me, and stopped to learn what you would have to say." "it's the same thing----" "i hope you will excuse me, mr. carson," broke in mrs. ricket, who was blushing furiously. "i--i don't approve of what dick said." "i know you do not, mrs. ricket. if i thought you did i would pack up and leave at once." "it would be a good job done," put in ferris. "stop, dick. i will not have you insult one of my boarders," cried the woman, sharply. "all right, have your own way," returned ferris, insolently. "if you want to take in any tramp that comes along, why, go ahead and do it." he had on his hat and coat, and now he started for the door. hal caught him by the arm. "stop!" he cried. "i am not a tramp, and i won't be called one by you or anybody else!" "really?" "yes, really." "what are you going to do about it?" "if you insist in indulging in such language in the future i will give you even a worse whipping than i gave you this noon." "what, did you fight?" cried mrs. ricket. "he attacked me and i defended myself," replied hal. "he is down on me for taking the situation from which he was discharged." "i know that." "if i had known he was boarding here i would not have applied to you----" "you bet he wouldn't," put in ferris. "not that i am afraid of your nephew," went on hal. "but i do not wish to cause any trouble." "you have caused no trouble, mr. carson," returned mrs. ricket. "that's what i call cool," exclaimed her nephew. "it is dick is the cause of it all. you know you are, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself," she added, turning to the boy. "that's right, go right against me; you always do," howled dick ferris, "there ain't no use for me to stay here any longer." and he marched out of the front door, and down the street to his favorite hanging-out place, the corner pool-room. mrs. ricket was profuse in her apologies to hal after ferris had gone. "he's a good enough boy," she said. "but he has got into bad company, and i can't do anything with him." "aren't his parents living?" asked hal. "only his father, and he is a sea captain and ain't home more than three or four times a year. i wish he would take dick along with him some time, it might do him good." "so it might," replied hal. "by the way, mrs. ricket, do you know a man by the name of hardwick?" "the book-keeper for the firm where dick used to work?" "yes." "i saw him once, when he was here to see dick." "oh, did he come here?" "yes, about a week ago." "he came to see your nephew, did he?" "yes. dick took him up to his room, and the gentleman stayed about an hour or more." "do you know where he lives?" "on east twenty-third street, near third avenue." "the third avenue elevated runs close to it, then?" "yes. why do you want to know?" "i may have to go up on business sometime. i didn't care to ask your nephew for the directions." "i see." mrs. ricket passed to the rear of the hall, and hal continued on his to his room. "so the two are friends," he said to himself, as he was washing himself and combing his hair. "and both of them are my enemies. this is getting interesting, to say the least." he paused for a second. "i have half a mind to do it. it won't do any harm. i will." he hurried down to supper, which was being served in the basement, and as soon as it was over, donned his coat and cap once more and made his way over to third avenue. an elevated train was just entering the station, and, paying his nickel, he dropped his ticket in the box, and rushed aboard. the fourteenth and eighteenth street stations were soon passed. then came twenty-third street, and here hal alighted. it had begun to snow again, and the youth was compelled to pull his coat-collar well up around his ears, and his cap far down over his eyes, to protect himself from the elements. he walked down east twenty-third street slowly, scanning the buildings closely as he passed. it was now about half-past eight o'clock, and he knew it would probably be some time before hardwick would make his appearance. having walked several blocks, hal retraced his steps, and then took up a position in a sheltering door-way. he had hardly done so before a well-known form passed by. "dick ferris!" cried hal to himself. "what can he be doing here?" there could be but one answer to that question. ferris must have come to see hardwick. he kept his eye on the tall boy, and as soon as ferris was a short distance ahead hal left the door-way and followed him. ferris walked along for the space of two blocks. then he came to an elegant brown-stone front mansion, the parlor of which was brilliantly illuminated. ascending the steps, he rang the bell, and the door was opened almost immediately. hal, who stood near the area-way below, heard him ask for hardwick. "yes, sir, he just came in." "may i see him?" "yes, sir. please step into the parlor." ferris stepped inside, and the door was immediately closed. hal drew a deep breath. if only he could find out ferris' mission. he felt certain the meeting between the book-keeper and the former office-boy was to be an important one. he looked at the windows. every one of them were tightly closed. "too bad it isn't summer time," muttered hal to himself. on either side of the mansion were others, so there was no way to get to the rear, excepting through the door below, and this was tightly barred. "i would like to know what a detective would do in a case of this kind," thought hal. "i suppose he would find some way to effect an entrance." he was just about to give up trying to form some plan, when the door opened and hardwick and ferris came out. hal crouched near the foot of the steps, and the pair passed within three feet of him. "it isn't safe to talk over private matters in a house like that," remarked hardwick. "i know a place where we will be far more at liberty to discuss the thing i have in mind." "where is it?" asked ferris. "a private club-room just up the avenue." "that will just suit me," replied ferris. the two passed on. hal raised himself from his cramped position, and made after them. once around the corner of sixth avenue, hardwick led the way into an open hall-way, lit up with a single gas-jet. the pair commenced to ascend the stairs, which had several sharp turns. hal was not far behind. "i'll find out what they are up to, if i die for it," he said, and clenched his hands. several sentences were spoken which the youth did not catch, and then came a cry from hardwick. "what is that you say?" he demanded. "you saw this carson just before you left your aunt's house?" "yes." "impossible!" "why should it be!" asked ferris. hardwick did not reply. "i was right," thought hal, with a shudder. "he threw those bricks on me, and thought i was either dead or next door to it. he is a thorough villain, and no mistake." "why shouldn't i see carson at the house?" went on ferris. "why--i thought he wasn't going home till late," stammered hardwick. "did he say so?" "i believe he said something about it. i didn't pay much attention." hardwick was beginning to recover from his shock. "so you saw him?" "yes." "you two don't get along very well, do you?" "i'd like to thrash him," growled ferris. "why?" hal did not hear the reply. the two passed into a room on the third floor, and the door was closed behind them. for an instant the youth hesitated. then he mounted to the door and applied his eye to the key-hole. there was a brilliant light inside, but no one appeared to be present. having satisfied himself on this point, hal tried the knob of the door. it turned, and he pushed the door open cautiously. he knew he was treading on dangerous ground and was running a great risk. yet a strange courage seemed to have come over him, and he was not one bit nervous. once inside the room, he saw that it was a club apartment. papers were scattered over the table, and cards and other games rested on a side stand. to the left was another door, having a curtain strung over it. from beyond the curtain came the voices of hardwick and ferris, and hal knew they had seated themselves and were taking it easy. approaching the outer door he locked it. "now i cannot be surprised in that direction," he thought. "and if hardwick or ferris try to leave i can hide in the closet." having made these preparations against being discovered, hal approached the curtain to listen to whatever might be said. "you say you wish you could fix carson?" he heard hardwick say. "i do," returned ferris. "i hate him, and i would do almost anything to get square." "then i'll tell you of a little plan that you can work, dick. i don't like the fellow myself, and it will delight me to see you get the best of him." "how does the beggar do the office work?" "i must say first class." "humph! it didn't suit me, hardwick. if there hadn't been other money----" "hush!" cried the book-keeper, in alarm. "that matter must remain a secret, never to be mentioned." chapter ix. the plot against hal. hal carson was sure that he had just missed a most important statement. "i wish ferris had finished what he intended to say," he thought. he waited breathlessly for the two to go on. "what makes you so scared?" asked ferris. "can anybody hear us here?" "i think not. still we want to be careful." "yes, but----" "not another word on that point, dick." hardwick's voice grew stern. "i am a man, while you are a boy, and i know what is best for both of us." "well, have your own way." "i think it will be a wise plan for you to get carson out of the way. he is altogether too smart a fellow to have around," continued the book-keeper. "i don't think he looks very smart," sneered ferris, who could not stand hearing hal praised. "he's smarter than you or most people think. that yarn about his being brought up in the poor-house may be true, but i have my doubts." "why?" asked ferris, in high curiosity. "i can't explain now." there was a brief pause. "here, take a cigar. those nasty cigarettes make me sick." there was the striking of matches, and then another pause. "are you going to continue as book-keeper when allen leaves?" asked ferris. "certainly." "i thought you were to go with allen in his new venture." "i will--later on." "has he made any definite plans yet?" "no." "the reason i asked is because i want you to put in a word for me." hardwick laughed. "dick, you are getting to be a pretty big boy." "didn't i do what you wished of me?" demanded ferris. "i must say you did." "then you ought to be willing----" "all right, it shall be as you say." at this instant came a heavy hand on the door-knob outside. "who's that?" cried ferris. "must be churchley or wister," replied hardwick. as the door was locked, the person outside began to knock. "i must have locked the door," added the book-keeper. "wait till i open it." as soon as the noise outside reached his ears, hal made for the closet, which stood in one corner of the room. he found the door unlocked, and the interior empty, save for a broom and a duster and several similar things. he entered the closet, transferring the key to the inside as he did so, and locked the door behind him. a second later hardwick entered from the inner room, and opened the door leading to the hall. "hullo, churchley!" hal heard him exclaim. "how are you, hardwick?" returned the new-comer. "locked me out, did you?" "i must have turned the key without thinking," replied the book-keeper. "all alone?" "no, there is a young fellow with me." "who?" "ferris." "don't know him." "i just brought him around to show him the place, and have a quiet smoke. he is in the other room." "then don't let me disturb you," replied churchley. "i just want to look over the news-papers and find out how that prize-fight over in hoboken came off." hal heard the man drop into a seat by the table, and after a few more words concerning the prize-fight churchley had mentioned, hardwick rejoined ferris in the other apartment. "who is it?" asked ferris. "a man named churchley," replied hardwick, in a low tone, so that he might not be overheard. "one of the club members?" "yes." "will he overhear us?" "i guess not. he is reading about the prize-fight, and when churchley gets on to anything of that kind he gets completely absorbed." "then we can go on with our talk?" "yes, but not too loud." "i want to know about this plan against carson," said ferris, in a whisper. "are you willing to go in against him?" "didn't i say i was?" "but i mean seriously?" ferris changed color. "of course i don't want to kill him," he faltered. "i understand. but you are willing to get him into serious trouble." "i am." "then listen to me. can you get into his room at your aunt's house?" "i think i can." "i mean without being seen." "i have the whole run of the place." "then supposing somethings belonging to the others were found in carson's trunk----" "he has no trunk," interrupted ferris. "so much the better, for you can merely hide the stuff in among his things." "do you mean for me to take them?" "some of them." "some of them?" questioned ferris. "yes, those from your aunt's boarders. at the same time i will give you several articles belonging to the office that you can place with the others. is there any one of the boarders you know well?" "i know saunders pretty well." "then let saunders lose most of the stuff, and put a flea in his ear to the effect that you think carson is the guilty party. this will cause the fellow's room to be searched and the stuff will be found. you must be on hand to identify the office stuff; see?" "i do." "carson will be arrested, and you will have your revenge." "that's a boss plan!" exclaimed ferris. "when will you furnish me with stuff from the office?" "to-morrow noon, if you will meet me at the corner of wall and nassau." "i'll be on hand. it made me sick the way my aunt stuck up for carson. of course, i wouldn't go into the thing, only i know the tramp's a bad egg," returned ferris, trying to excuse his willingness to enter into such an outrageous plot. "of course he is a bad egg, and it is our duty to get him out of the way," replied hardwick. "you will be on hand sure to-morrow?" "yes." "and when will you put the things in his room?" "sometime during the afternoon. that will bring matters to a head as soon as saunders and the others get home." "you must expose carson while he is in his room, if possible." "oh, he'll be home with the rest." "then that's all right. of course, there is no necessity to caution you to be careful." "wasn't i careful before?" "hush!" "then don't talk that way. say, do you know these cigars are mighty strong?" hardwick laughed. "that's because you are not used to them, dick. now, i generally smoke them twice as strong." just at this instant, the two heard churchley jump to his feet. "who's there?" he demanded. "what's the matter with churchley?" said hardwick. "he's talking to somebody," replied ferris. "hullo! the door's locked," they heard churchley continue. "what's up, churchley?" called out hardwick, walking toward the other room. "there is somebody in this closet," was the startling reply. "i heard a noise half a dozen times." chapter x. hal is accused. when hal carson locked himself into the closet of the club-room, he realized that he was in a perilous position. supposing somebody undertook to open the door? they might suppose it very strange to find the door locked, and think it necessary to open it, in which case he would be discovered in short order. he remained perfectly quiet for a long while and heard churchley admitted, and heard the man seat himself at the center table, and rustle the paper he was perusing. of the conversation carried on by ferris and hardwick, he heard nothing further, and he was, consequently, totally in the dark concerning the nefarious plot that had been formed to get him into serious trouble. ten minutes passed, and the youth began to wonder how long he would have to remain a self-made prisoner. then all became quiet in the room beyond, and he wondered if churchley had not joined the two in the adjoining apartment. he peered through the key-hole, but could see nothing but a portion of the wall opposite. growing bolder, he turned the key in the lock, and cautiously opened the door for the space of several inches. looking out, he saw that churchley still sat at the table, which was but a few feet away. at that instant the man moved and gave a deep breath. hal thought he intended to look around, and hastily closed the door once more. the youth's movement was so quick that the door made a sharp sound as the catch clicked. this was followed by the sound made by the key in the lock as hal once more imprisoned himself. hal almost held his breath as he heard churchley jump up. "who's there?" called the man. hal made no reply. then churchley came and tried the door. "hullo! the door's locked!" at that moment hardwick entered, followed by ferris. "somebody in the closet?" cried hardwick. "there seems to be." "open the door." "i can't. it's locked." "who is in there?" called the book-keeper. of course, hal did not answer. "perhaps it was a rat," suggested ferris. "might have been," grumbled churchley. "i know there are plenty of them in the building, because i once ran across one in the hall-way." "where is the key?" asked hardwick. "we'll soon find out." "i don't know." "it ought to be in the lock." "perhaps jackson carted it off. he's an odd sort of a coon." hardwick looked around on the mantel and in several other places. "it's gone." he came over and shook the door. "see if the key is on the inside of the lock," suggested ferris. at these words hal put down his hand and felt to make sure that the key was turned to one side. "i can't see anything," said hardwick, after an examination. "then jackson must have put it in his pocket," said churchley. "perhaps it was nothing but a rat after all," said ferris. "i have half a mind to run up and ask jackson," said hardwick. "he lives right on the floor above." "oh, don't bother!" returned churchley. "if it's a rat you may be sure he has gone back to his hole long ago." a little more conversation followed, to which hal listened intently, and then the youth heard hardwick and ferris go out. churchley continued to read the papers, and during that time the youth hardly dared to move for fear the man might re-commence his investigation. but at the end of the hour churchley gave a yawn and arose. then two more men entered the room, and the trio adjourned to the other apartment. making sure that the coast was clear this time, hal unlocked the door and let himself out. then he locked the door again, and threw the key under the table. "that will tend to stop suspicion," he reasoned. "and i must be sharp in dealing with these rascals." he tiptoed his way to the door leading to the hall-way, and was soon outside. hardwick and ferris had gone long before, and below all looked deserted. it was still snowing heavily, and hal made up his mind that the best thing he could do would be to return to his boarding-house. he was soon on the elevated train and riding downtown. happening to glance toward the other end of the car in which he was seated, he saw dick ferris sitting in the corner, apparently absorbed in thought. "i'm glad i spotted him," thought hal. "i must take care he does not see me." east tenth street was soon reached. in making for the house hal crossed over the street, and ran ahead. by this means he managed to get inside and up to his room before dick ferris put his key in the door. to tell the truth, hal did not sleep much that night. his mind seemed to be in a whirl. what was the plot hardwick and dick ferris had hatched out against him? he was up early on the following morning. at the breakfast table he had a pleasant word with saunders, who was a clerk in a dry-goods store, and a pretty good sort of a fellow. ferris did not appear, but this was not strange, as he had not been down early since his discharge from sumner, allen & co.'s establishment. hal was the first to appear at the office in wall street. he opened up as usual, and after cleaning and dusting, began copying from the point at which he had left off on the previous day. at quarter past nine hardwick hurried in. the book-keeper's face was very red, but whether from the cold or from drink it was hard to determine. mr. allen soon followed hardwick, and the two entered into a low and earnest conversation in the rear. hal did not dare to approach them, but he strained his ears to their utmost, and caught the words "he must be watched," and "the detectives will learn nothing," and these set him to thinking deeply. presently mr. sumner arrived. the elderly broker's face showed deep lines of care and anxiety. he had been up to the police headquarters to see if the detectives could give him any words of encouragement, but he had been disappointed. "we shall have every one about your establishment watched, mr. sumner," the superintendent had said. "and i would advise you to go on with business as if nothing had happened." and to this the elderly broker had agreed. hal watched hardwick narrowly, and the book-keeper showed plainly that he did not appreciate the attention. once he put his hand on hal's arm and glared at him. "what are you looking at me for?" he demanded, in a low tone, so that mr. sumner might not hear. "was i looking at you?" asked hal, innocently. "yes, you were, and i don't like it." hal bowed, and turned away. nevertheless, he still kept watch on the sly. presently, just before the time that hardwick usually went out for lunch, he saw something which he thought rather odd, although of no great importance. on a small shelf over one of the desks rested two new inkstands and several boxes of pens. going to the desk, hardwick pretended to be busy examining some papers. while thus engaged, hal saw the book-keeper transfer the inkstands and the boxes of pens to his overcoat pocket. "now, what is he up to?" thought the youth. having transferred the articles to his clothes, hardwick put down the papers and walked to where mr. sumner sat, busily engaged over his correspondence. "shall i go to lunch now, mr. sumner?" he asked. the elderly broker glanced at the clock. "yes." hardwick at once went out, and presently mr. allen followed. mr. sumner continued to write for a minute, and then called hal. "you may mail these letters, and then get your lunch also," he said. "yes, sir," replied the youth. then he hesitated as he took up the letters. "well, what is it, hal?" asked the broker. "nothing much, mr. sumner. i wished to ask you about those inkstands and the pens that were on the shelf over there." "what of them? you may use whatever you find necessary." "it isn't that, sir. i just saw mr. hardwick slip the things into his pocket." "indeed!" mr. sumner looked surprised. "did he say what he intended to do with them?" "no, sir." "i will ask him when he comes in." hal hesitated. "i wish you would not, mr. sumner," he said. the elderly broker looked surprised. "why not?" "because i think mr. hardwick is hatching up some plot against me, and i wish to find out what it is." "a plot?" "yes, sir. he is on friendly terms with dick ferris, your former office-boy, and both of them hate me." "this is certainly news. i knew hardwick did not like you because you suspected him, but i thought that had passed over." "no, sir. he is down on me worse than ever, and i feel certain he is up to something to get me into trouble." "and you think the inkstands and pens have something to do with the matter?" "yes, sir. perhaps he'll say i stole them." "i can't think hardwick so bad," mused mr. sumner. "why, if he would do that, he would steal the tin box." hal said nothing to this. he preferred to discover more than he had before making any revelation. "you saw them this morning, didn't you?" went on the youth. "yes, i got a pen only ten minutes ago." "then you know i didn't take them." "yes." "and you will keep silent--that is, for the present?" "if you wish it, hal." and mr. sumner turned away and heaved a sigh. it is terrible to have around you somebody you cannot trust. five minutes later hal went out to lunch--a light affair, as the youth had spent ten cents more than intended in following hardwick the previous evening, and he knew he must be sparing of his capital. he was just about returning to the office, when, chancing to glance up the street, he saw hardwick and ferris just separating at the corner. he entered the office, and a minute later hardwick followed. neither spoke, and but little was said all the afternoon, excepting such as pertained to the business on hand. although his thoughts were busy on other matters, hal paid strict attention to his work, and mr. sumner was well pleased with all the youth did. "a good, manly fellow," he muttered to himself. "he could never have had anything to do with the robbery of the bonds. i would rather suspect my own son were he still alive. but poor howard is gone." sudden tears sprang into the broker's eyes, which he as suddenly brushed away, afraid that some customer might drop in and see his weakness. hal did not leave the office until after four o'clock, there being a number of things to be written up before he could go. hardwick had gone an hour before, and hal did not know in what direction. there being nothing else to do, hal proceeded leisurely up to his boarding-house, never dreaming of the surprise in store for him. the streets were filled with snow, and he enjoyed the jingle of the sleigh-bells and the bustle of metropolitan life around him. several times he was strongly tempted to follow the newsboys and bootblacks into the street and catch a ride. when he entered mrs. ricket's house he found saunders and several others already there. dick ferris was in the group in the front parlor, and at a glance hal saw that something unusual was going on. he nodded pleasantly, and was about to pass up the stairs when mrs. ricket called him back. "what is it?" he asked. "mr. saunders' room has been robbed!" burst out the woman. "what!" exclaimed hal. "was there much taken?" "a pair of cuff-buttons, a gold watch-chain and my pocket-book with fourteen dollars in it," replied saunders. "it's too bad," sobbed mrs. ricket. "i would not have had that happen in my house for a hundred dollars. i wonder who could have done it?" suddenly dick ferris pulled saunders aside, and whispered something into his ear. the dry-goods clerk looked astonished. "you don't mean it!" he gasped. "i do," replied ferris. saunders advanced toward hal. "were you in my room this morning after i left?" he asked, sharply. "me?" returned hal, with a start. "no." "dick says you were, and he thinks you are the thief," continued saunders. chapter xi. for and against. saunders was excited or he would not have spoken so hastily or so bluntly. hal grew very pale, and clenched his hands. "you say i entered mr. saunders' room?" he demanded, turning to ferris. "i do," replied the tall boy. he had hardly spoken, when hal strode over with such a determined air that ferris was forced to beat a retreat until he backed up against a side table. "you know you are saying what isn't so," said hal, in a low voice. "and i want you to take it back." "i--i am telling the truth," stammered ferris. "it is false. it is more likely that you entered mr. saunders' room yourself." "when did you see carson enter my room?" put in the dry-goods clerk. "just as i was getting ready to come down." "why didn't you speak of it before?" asked mrs. ricket. "i thought he had gone in to see tom." "there is not a word of truth in what he says, and he knows it," said hal, calmly. "it is merely a scheme to get me into trouble because he does not like me." "no scheme about it," blustered ferris. "if i were you i'd search his room." "if the stolen things are there, ferris put them there," added hal, quickly. "mean to say i'm a thief?" roared ferris, turning red in the face. "i do." "take care, or i'll give you a sound thrashing." "similar to the one you gave me the other day, i presume," replied hal. "i am ready for you at any time." "we don't want any fighting in the house," cried mrs. ricket. "this affair is bad enough without making it worse. mr. carson, do you object to me and mr. saunders going up to your room?" "not at all. come on." hal led the way, followed by the others. dick ferris smiled darkly to himself as he came on behind. "he'll find out he can't insult me for nothing," he muttered to himself. the room reached, hal threw open the door, and allowed mrs. ricket to pass him. "you had better make the search," he said. "that will be fair all around." "i will. oh, what a trouble all this is." and crying softly to herself, the landlady began her investigation. nothing was found in the closet nor in the drawer of the table. then hal's meager possessions were hauled over, and still nothing came to light. "look in the bureau drawer," suggested saunders, anxiously. mrs. ricket did so. from the rear the woman brought forth a large flat box, rolled up in a newspaper. the newspaper was cast aside, and the box opened. out came a pair of cuff-buttons, a gold watch-chain, a flat pocket-book, two inkstands, and several boxes of pens. the instant hal saw the articles he understood the trick that had been practiced upon him. saunders gave a cry. "those are mine! let me see if the money is safe." he opened the pocket-book. "gone, every dollar of it!" he turned upon hal. "give me that fourteen dollars, or i will have you locked up at once!" "mr. saunders, i never took these things," replied hal, as calmly as he could. "yes, but----" the dry-goods clerk was so angry he could hardly speak. "i know it looks black against me, but perhaps i can clear myself," went on the youth. "yes, you can," sneered ferris. "look here," he pointed to the inkstands and the pens. "aunt amanda, do you know who those things belong to?" "who?" "they belong to sumner, allen & co.," replied ferris, triumphantly. "you are sure?" asked saunders. "i am, unless carson will stick out for it that the firm gave them to him," returned ferris. "is that so?" questioned mrs. ricket. "they were not given to me," replied hal, promptly. "but i know who brought them into the house." "who?" "your nephew, mrs. ricket. i am sorry for you, but i am telling the truth." "dick a thief!" "see here, do you know what you are saying?" blustered ferris, taken aback by this statement. "i do." "i won't have you talking to me in this fashion." "then you had better own up to what you have done," replied hal, calmly. "how could i get the things?" demanded ferris. "the firm knows they were there after i left." "i know they do," returned hal, significantly. "and they know more than that." dick ferris grew almost white at these last words. he seemed about to say something in return, but suddenly changed his mind. "carson, this is a serious matter," said saunders. "i hate to say much about it, but the stuff has been found here, and i don't see how i can do otherwise than look to you for that fourteen dollars." "mr. saunders, i didn't take the things, and i don't know anything about your money." "easy enough to say, but----" and saunders finished with a shrug of his shoulders. "of course, i can't prove what i say, but i can give you my word of honor that i am telling the truth." "that's all very well, but it doesn't restore my money, which i can't afford to lose," replied saunders, sharply. hal looked around in perplexity. what was he to do? "i can't believe you guilty," said mrs. ricket. "but if you have the money you had better return it." "of course, he's got the money," put in ferris, who had somewhat recovered from the effects of hal's last words to him. hal picked up the newspaper which had been around the box and crumpled it nervously. suddenly a peculiar look lit up his features. "i guess i had better send for a policeman," said saunders, after a moment of silence. "just wait a moment," said hal. "what for?" "i wish to ask a few questions." "better see that he doesn't escape," suggested ferris. "let that remark apply to ferris as well as myself," said hal. saunders walked to the door, and locked it, putting the key in his pocket. "when did you miss your things?" asked hal. "about an hour ago." "at five o'clock?" "a little before. i got off early to visit my uncle in nyack. but i can't go without my money." "were you home to dinner?" "yes." "did dick ferris come home?" "no." "when did your nephew come home?" asked hal, turning to mrs. ricket. "don't answer him, aunt," cried ferris. he was beginning to get alarmed again. "what harm will it do?" questioned the woman. "if you are innocent, dick, it won't matter." "he wants to get me into trouble." "please answer my question," said hal, decidedly. "dick came home about two o'clock." "has he been home ever since?" "i believe so." "now, mrs. ricket, where were you all the afternoon?" "me?" "yes." "i hope you don't suspect me!" cried the landlady, in alarm. "no, i do not. but please answer me." "after dinner i cleaned all the halls from top to bottom, and then saw to it that katie cleaned the front stoop and the windows." "then you were in the halls and around the front door most of the time?" "i was." "did i come in at any time during the afternoon?" "i didn't see you?" "wouldn't you have seen me if i had?" "i suppose i would," admitted the woman. "what does all this talk amount to?" put in ferris. "shut up!" cried hal, sharply. "i am not addressing you." he turned to saunders. "you hear what mrs. ricket says. i was not here to steal your things." "humph! they might have been stolen this morning!" exclaimed ferris. "or last night," added saunders. "the last i saw of the cuff-buttons was last night, and the pocket-book yesterday noon." "i don't see how that can be possible," replied hal, quietly. "it's easy enough," exclaimed ferris. "just because i was home during the afternoon, and you were not, doesn't prove that you didn't take the things." "no, that doesn't, but something else does," replied hal. "what?" "this newspaper, which was wrapped around the box." at these words ferris grew white, and trembled from head to foot. "what about the paper?" asked saunders, curiously. "it is an afternoon paper, dated to-day. it could not possibly have been put around the box before one o'clock this afternoon." chapter xii. hal in a fearful situation. every one in the room was surprised at hal carson's unexpected statement. "let me see the paper!" cried saunders. hal handed it over, and the dry-goods clerk scanned it eagerly. "you are right," he muttered, and shook his head. "that can't be the same paper that was around the box," put in dick ferris, very red in the face. "it certainly is," replied hal. "yes, i saw carson pick it up from the spot where i threw it," returned saunders. "this puts a new face on the matter," he added, with a sharp look at ferris. mrs. ricket also looked at her nephew. "dick, come here," she commanded. "what do you want?" he demanded, doggedly. "i want you to return mr. saunders' fourteen dollars." "i haven't got it." "i know better." "what, aunt amanda, are you going back on me, too?" cried ferris, in a pretended reproachful tone. "i tried to believe all along against my better judgment that you were innocent," said the landlady. "but i can't believe it any longer, and when you try to throw the blame on somebody who is innocent, i've got to speak my mind." mrs. ricket's voice began to grow stern. "give up the money, and ask mr. saunders to forgive you before he sends for a policeman and has you arrested." this was a long speech for mrs. ricket, and she almost gasped for breath after she had finished. dick ferris' face grew black as he listened to the words. "you're a nice aunt to me!" he stormed. "just wait till i tell dad about it when he comes home next time." but now saunders had the fellow by the collar. "which is it, the money or the station-house?" he asked, shortly. dick ferris looked into the determined black eyes, and then his courage oozed away. "will you promise not to do anything, if i give you fourteen dollars?" he asked. "yes." "then here you are." he brought forth his pocket-book, and took out a roll of bills. "i didn't take your money, but it's no fun to be hauled up." "why, dick, where did you get so much money?" cried mrs. ricket, in amazement. "i earned it," replied the fellow, coolly. "here you are, saunders. now, unlock the door and let me out." saunders took the fourteen dollars, counted them over, and then did as requested. without another word ferris hurried out and down the stairs. "i hope you are satisfied," said hal, to the dry-goods clerk. "i am sorry i suspected you," returned saunders. "what a mean dog ferris is." "he is down on me because i am filling the position he was discharged from," explained hal. "unless he takes a turn for the better i shall tell him to leave the house," cried mrs. ricket, trying to dry away her tears. "ever since he came, two years ago, he has been a torment to me. i only keep him for my poor dead sister's sake." "how about this stuff?" questioned saunders, pointing to the inkstands and the boxes of pens. "i shall return them to sumner, allen & co." "queer how that boy got hold of those things," said mrs. ricket. hal pretended not to hear the remark, and a moment later saunders and the landlady left the room. "so that was the plot against me," muttered hal, as he fixed up to go to supper. "i wonder what hardwick will say when he hears how it turned out?" the youth was compelled to smile to himself. the book-keeper would, no doubt, be very angry. "it was lucky i looked at the newspaper," hal went on. "it was that saved me, and nothing else. ferris overreached himself. i wish i could gain such an important point in that bond matter. it would be a great feather in my cap to recover the tin box and its contents." a little later hal went down to supper. ferris did not appear, and nothing was said about the recent happening upstairs. "please keep it quiet," whispered mrs. ricket to him, as he was about to leave the room. "it will only hurt my reputation to say anything." the next morning, when hal arrived at the office, he found mr. sumner already there. this was most unusual, and the youth could not help but show his surprise. the elderly broker was pouring over the books, but as soon as hal appeared he put them away. hal had the inkstands and the pens in his overcoat pocket, and he at once handed them over, much to mr. sumner's astonishment. "where did they come from?" he asked. "i will explain later," replied hal. "please put them out of sight now, for mr. hardwick is coming, and i wish he wouldn't see them." mr. sumner promptly swept the things into his desk, and began to write a letter. when the book-keeper entered he was astonished to see hal at work cleaning up. he had fully expected that the youth would be arrested for the robbery at mrs. ricket's, and that hal was now in jail. then he looked back and saw mr. sumner at his desk, and his astonishment increased. "why, really, mr. sumner----" he began. "i'm early this morning, eh?" returned the broker. "well, i wanted to get this correspondence off my hands, and i seem to be able to do better work early in the morning." "you are a hard worker," commented hardwick, and that was all he said. when hal was dusting near the rear mr. sumner looked up to see that the book-keeper was not noticing, and then motioned to the youth. "don't say anything about my being at the books," whispered the broker, in a low tone. hal nodded; and then he went on as if nothing had been said. but the words set him to thinking deeply. at the end of an hour mr. sumner arose. "i am going out for a couple of hours," he said. "if mr. allen comes in tell him to let that wabash matter rest until to-morrow." "i will," replied hardwick. "you may continue on that copying, carson," went on the broker. "mr. hardwick will direct you." "yes, sir," replied the youth. mr. sumner quitted the place, and hurried up the street. dick ferris stood on the opposite side near the corner. he then waved his hand to hardwick. the book-keeper at once put on his hat and coat, and went out. hal did not see the man join ferris. hal did his best to concentrate his thoughts upon his work, but found it almost impossible to do so. a half-hour dragged by slowly. then the door burst open, and hardwick rushed in. he was pale and terribly excited. rushing up to hal he caught the youth roughly by the arm. "see here, i want to have a talk with you!" he cried. "what about?" asked hal, as coolly as he could. "you know well enough, you miserable sneak!" hissed hardwick. "tell me at once all you know." "know about what?" asked hal, trying to stand his ground. hardwick glared at him for an instant. he seemed to be in a fearful rage. suddenly he caught hal by the throat with one hand, and picked up a heavy brass-bound ruler with the other. "now, carson, are you going to speak up or not?" he demanded. chapter xiii. hal shows his mettle. hal understood perfectly well that a crisis had come. hardwick had him by the throat, and unless he acceded to the book-keeper's demand he would be in immediate danger of being choked to death. "let--let go of me," he gasped. "not until you do as i say," replied hardwick. "i want you to understand that you can't get the best of me." hal tried to push hardwick away, but the book-keeper made a pass at him with the heavy ruler. "keep quiet, if you value your head!" roared hardwick. "let me go!" "not until you have told me what you mean by your doings." "what doings?" "your doings up to mrs. ricket's." "who told you about what happened up there?" "never mind; i know all about it." "then ferris saw you last night." "no, he didn't." "or this morning." "shut up. you implicated me." "did dick ferris say i did?" asked hal. "never mind who said so. i want to know what you mean by such work?" hal did not reply. he was trying to think. what was ferris' object in telling hardwick he had been mentioned in connection with the matter? clearly there could be but one reason. ferris knew hardwick already disliked hal, and he wished to put the book-keeper against the youth, so as to get hal into more difficulties. "do you hear me?" demanded hardwick, giving hal an extra squeeze on the throat. "i do," gulped hal. "let--go--of me." "not until you have answered." hal commenced to struggle. seeing this, hardwick tried to strike him with the ruler, which, on account of its brass-bound edge, was an ugly weapon. the ruler came down twice, the second time cutting a gash on the youth's neck, from which the blood flowed copiously. this last blow aroused all the lion in hal's nature. as the reader knows, he was a well-built boy, and strong for his age. he gave a sudden wrench and broke away. "stand back!" he cried. "don't you dare to touch me again!" hardwick glanced toward the door, to see that no one was coming. "i'll show you!" he hissed, passionately. he rushed at hal again. the youth saw him coming, and, drawing back his arm, he planted a blow on hardwick's nose that sent the blood spurting in all directions. hardwick was more surprised than hurt. had that poor house chap dared to hit him? he turned first red and then white. "i'll fix you!" he cried. "stand back, i tell you!" commanded hal; he was getting excited himself. but hardwick would not stand back, and, as a consequence, he received a blow on the forehead that almost stunned him. "you beggar, you've got muscle, haven't you?" he cried. "we'll try a different method with you." he ran toward his desk, and opened it. an instant later hal saw a revolver in his hand. "now we will see who is on top here," said hardwick. it would be useless to deny that hal was frightened at the sight of the shining barrel. he backed several feet. "i thought that would bring you to terms," said hardwick. "now, will you answer my question?" "you will not dare to shoot me," returned the youth, as calmly as he could. "don't be too sure. i intend that you shall answer me." hal looked about him. he had backed toward the rear of the office. the window was unlocked. could he leap through it? hardwick followed the youth's look and understood it. "no, you don't," he said, and, moving toward the window, he locked it. the only way that now remained to escape was by the street door. hardwick placed himself in front of this. "give me the key to this door," he demanded. the key hung on a nail close to where hal was standing. instead of complying, hal took down the key, and placed it in his pocket. "did you hear me?" went on the book-keeper. "i did." "you are playing with fire, young man." "am i?" "you are. you think i haven't nerve enough to go ahead, but you'll find out your mistake. i'll give you just ten seconds in which to hand me that key." hal made no reply. "did you hear?" "i did." "are you going to mind?" "no." hardwick aimed the pistol at hal's head. whether or not he would have fired cannot be told, for at that instant the door opened, and mr. sumner stepped in. "i forgot my----" he began, and then stopped short in amazement. "mr. sumner!" cried hal. "i am glad you have come." "what is the meaning of this?" gasped the elderly broker. he looked at hardwick and then at the pistol. the book-keeper dropped back, unable for the moment to say a word. "he intended to shoot me," said hal. "that is a falsehood!" exclaimed hardwick. "it's the truth," retorted the youth. "no such thing! the young tramp pulled this pistol, and i just snatched it away from him." hal was amazed at this deliberate falsehood. mr. sumner turned to him. "did you have that pistol first?" he asked. "no, sir." "i say he did," put in hardwick. "i never owned a pistol," added hal. "then he must have stolen it," sneered hardwick. "i tell you, mr. sumner, he is a bad egg, and he ought to be discharged." "perhaps," responded the elderly broker, dryly. "just hand the weapon to me." hardwick did so, and mr. sumner examined it. "do you carry such a weapon?" he asked, shortly. "no, sir." "don't own one, i presume?" "i must say i do not." "humph! so you say carson drew it on you?" "he did." "mr. sumner----" began hal. "stop, carson, until i get through with mr. hardwick. what was the cause of this quarrel?" "the boy got impudent, and i threatened to report him and have him discharged." "is that all?" "yes. he is an unmannerly dog." "i didn't think so when i hired him." "he is, mr. sumner." the elderly broker examined the pistol again. "i wish you would explain one thing to me, mr. hardwick," he said slowly. "what is that, sir?" "it is this: if you do not own a pistol how does it happen that i saw this very weapon in your desk over a week ago?" the book-keeper started back and changed color. "what--what do you mean?" he faltered. "just what i say. about a week ago i had occasion to go to your desk for a certain paper, and i saw this very weapon lying in one corner." "there--there must be some mistake." "none, sir. this is your pistol, and i believe you pulled it upon this boy." hal's face beamed. the cloud that had gathered so suddenly seemed to be breaking away. "why should i draw it on the young cub?" growled hardwick, not knowing exactly what to say. "because you have a spite against carson, and you wish to get him into trouble. i used to think you a fair and square man, hardwick, but i find i am mistaken." chapter xiv. hal expressed his opinion. the perspiration was standing out upon mr. sumner's forehead. he took out his handkerchief and mopped himself. hardwick shot an angry glance at him. "i don't see what you find so interesting in the boy," he muttered. "i am interested in him because he saved my life." "saved your life?" "exactly. it is true that he came from the poor-house, but he is a young hero, and i will not have him imposed on, especially when he is doing his best to get along." "well, every one to his taste," returned hardwick. "i want none of your impudence," cried the broker. "you were not as much of a man as this boy when i took you in, eight years ago." "thanks," returned hardwick, coolly. "perhaps you would just as soon i would quit your service?" "i would." "then i will quit on the first of the year." "you will quit to-day, and without recommendations." "without recommendations!" "yes. let me tell you something. all last evening and this morning early i spent the time examining your books. i find you have made false entries, how many i do not know, and that you are a defaulter in the sum of several thousands of dollars." hal was almost as much surprised at mr. sumner's statement as hardwick. "you--have--examined--the--books?" said the book-keeper, slowly. "i have." hardwick breathed hard. it was a terrible blow mr. sumner had dealt him. he had supposed his little crooked actions in the office well hidden from prying eyes. "you may have to prove what you say," he exclaimed, haughtily. "i can easily do so," returned mr. sumner, coolly. "shall i send for an officer to take charge of you in the meanwhile?" at the mention of an officer, hardwick grew white, and his lips trembled. "n-no!" he cried. "there must be some mistake." "there is no mistake whatever. do you deny that you have appropriated the bank funds of the firm----" "mr. allen gave me the right to----" "mr. allen had no rights, as you are aware. our partnership is a limited one, and i shall settle with mr. allen later." "you can't hold me accountable for that money." "i can, but i won't, for i imagine the greater part of it has been spent. how much have you in your pocket now?" "sir!" "you heard my question; answer me." "i will not! i'm no fool!" "very well. hal, will you call a policeman?" hal started for the door. hardwick caught him by the arm, and shoved him back. "stay here! there is my pocket-book." "hal, you may remain." mr. sumner took the pocket-book and counted the money in it. "a hundred and eighty dollars," he went on. "have you any more with you?" "no." "is that a genuine diamond you are wearing?" "yes." "what is it worth?" "it cost seventy-five dollars." "then listen to me; i have found out that you are a pretty high liver, hardwick, and you have probably squandered nearly all of what you have stolen----" "look here, i----" "stop, or hal shall go at once for the officer. now, what i propose to do is this: i will keep this money and that pin and the one hundred and twenty-five dollars of salary coming to you and let the matter drop, so far as that crookedness in the books is concerned." "and if i refuse?" "then hal shall go for an officer, and you can stand trial." hardwick muttered something under his breath, not at all complimentary to his employer. he felt that he was in a tight place. "there is no alternative?" he asked. "none." "and you will let this matter rest?" "yes. i wish to give you a chance to turn over a new leaf, if there is any turn over in you." hardwick hesitated for a moment. "i accept," he said, doggedly. "very well, hand over the pin." the diamond scarf pin was transferred to the broker's hand. "here is your pocket-book and ten dollars. i don't wish to see you go away without a cent." "keep the money; you might as well rob me of all of it," exclaimed hardwick. he reached for his hat and coat. "you will rue this day, horace sumner; mark my word for it. and you, you young tramp!"--hardwick turned to hal--"i will get square, and don't you forget it." he went out, slamming the door behind him. hal watched him from the window, and saw him turn down broad street. mr. sumner gave a long sigh. "i am glad i am rid of that man," he said. "so am i," responded hal. "he is a worse villain than you think, mr. sumner." the elderly broker smiled faintly. "you still think him connected with the disappearance of the tin box, i suppose." "i do." "the police are almost certain they are on the right track of the criminal. i cannot give you the details, but the party is not hardwick." "the police don't know everything. hardwick is thoroughly bad, and he is in league with dick ferris and mr. allen." "you speak very positively, hal." "because i know what i am speaking about, sir." "you say hardwick is in with dick ferris?" "yes, sir." "how do you know?" "because they formed a plot to have me arrested. but that is not the worst of it. hardwick made an attempt on my life because i followed him." "is it possible?" mr. sumner was now thoroughly interested. "why did you not tell me of this before?" "because i wished to follow out the matter on my own hook, and, besides, i am almost a stranger to you, and you might think i was making up a yarn." "no, hal, i trust you thoroughly. i don't know why, but you have something about you that seems perfectly honest." "thank you." the youth was blushing. "i will never deceive you, mr. sumner, and you may depend on it." "tell me about this attempt on your life?" said the broker. standing by mr. sumner's desk, hal related very nearly all that had occurred since his first appearance at the office. the broker listened with eager attention. "you are right," he said, when hal had concluded. "and apparently ferris is as bad a villain as hardwick. but how do you account for mr. allen being in with them?" "on account of that conversation i overheard on the ferry-boat that night. they may try to explain it away as they please, i am convinced that they were talking of robbing your private safe." "but mr. allen comes of very fine connections----" began the broker. "that may be, but didn't you just say he didn't do just right?" "so i did, and it is true. but that might be put down to a mere matter of sharp business practice, legally right if not morally so. but this other----" and the elderly broker shook his head. "if a man will cheat legally, i don't think he will stop at cheating any other way," replied hal. "he may for a while, but his conscience soon gets blunted, and that's the end of it. you say the police think somebody else is guilty?" "yes." "do they think the thief came through the window?" "yes." "that the man who came in while i was here had nothing to do with it?" "that is their theory." "but that doesn't explain one point." "and what is that?" "why the marks on the window-sill, which are very plain and made by dirt and ashes, did not extend to the safe." "didn't they?" "no." "humph! who discovered that?" "i did." "when?" "the day the two detectives were here." "did you say anything about it?" "no, sir." "why not?" "because, as i said before, i wished to sift the matter myself, if i could. i know i am nothing but a boy, but i intend to do all i can toward getting back your bonds." "well, you are smart, hal, there is no denying that. what is your opinion of the marks?" "i think they were only a blind." "put there to form a wrong impression?" "exactly, sir. that robbery was committed by somebody who came in through the office, and who knew the combination of the safe." "possibly. but that doesn't fasten the crime on hardwick." "it does not. but i look at it in this light. as one of the detectives said, it is possible that somebody stood outside of the rear window and saw you work the combination, but i doubt very much if they could learn the process in that way. there is a glare of light on the window that renders it very difficult to see at all." "yes, but----" "now wait a moment, please," hal was growing enthusiastic. "do you keep the combination written down anywhere?" "i do not. i gave it to my daughter, laura, in case something happened to me, and i suppose she has it down, but i do not know." "then it isn't likely any one could get the combination unless they watched you?" "i suppose not." "very well. now, the only persons employed in the office were you, mr. allen, hardwick, ferris and myself. i know you and i are innocent. now, who knew of the bonds being in the tin box?" mr. sumner started. "by jove! i never thought of that!" "please answer me." "we all knew of it." "did any outsider know?" "i think not." "was the tin box locked?" "yes." "after you placed the bonds in it no outsider heard of their being there?" "not unless the others told them." "which they would not likely do. now, tell me, was anything else taken?" "not a thing." "not even placed out of position?" "as far as i could see, no." "was there any trace of the tin box having been opened?" mr. sumner shook his head. "doesn't it seem probable that if the thieves had not been certain of what was in the box they would have opened it, and if they were ordinary fellows that they would have taken something else of value?" "hal, you ought to be a detective!" cried the broker, in admiration of the body's logical reasoning. "i tell you that robbery was committed by somebody who knew all about your private affairs, and was here to obtain the combination of your safe, and _that_ somebody was either hardwick, mr. allen, ferris, or else the three of them." chapter xv. hal defends a girl. hal carson's face glowed with earnestness as he spoke. it was easy to see that he was fully convinced of the truth of what he had just said. "it would seem as if you must be right," replied mr. sumner, after rather a long pause. "you may depend on it i am, sir." "but to think that of allen!" "many a man in a high position has fallen before now. did you ever inquire into his financial standing--that is, outside of your business relationships?" "no." "then he may not be as well fixed as you think. could he use the bonds, if he had them?" "yes. they were not registered, and there are several ways in which they might have been worked off." "you are to dissolve partnership on new year's day, i believe?" "yes. i am not satisfied with the way matters are running, and i intend to run the place alone as i used to." "perhaps the dissolution may bring other matters to light, sir." "ha! i never thought of that." "that is, if mr. allen doesn't wipe them out in the meantime." mr. sumner jumped to his feet, and began to walk up and down nervously. "i understand what you are driving at, hal," he cried. "where do you get such keen wit? i never saw your equal in a boy." "i don't know, sir, unless it may be because i take such a strong personal interest in the matter--a thing that most detectives do not." "it must be that i must have the books investigated by an expert; i am too old to go over them myself and do the work as it ought to be done." "i think that would be best, but i would not let mr. allen know of it." "i will not." "not even if you find he has been robbing you." "what!" "no." "but he ought to be arrested----" "not until you have your bonds back, mr. sumner." "i see." "if you arrest him that won't bring your bonds back. i have a plan to propose, if you will let me carry it out." "what is it?" "that while i nominally remain here as clerk and office-boy you allow me to watch him, as well as hardwick and dick ferris." "you may get into trouble. see how hardwick threatened you and attacked you in the dark." "i am not afraid, sir." "i would not have you go on such a mission for me and get hurt for all the bonds on the street." "i would be very careful, sir." "well, supposing i let you do that, what would you do first?" "that will depend on circumstances. where is mr. allen now?" "gone to philadelphia on business." "for the firm?" "no, for himself." "then you are not sure if he has gone there or not?" "i only know what he said." "when do you expect him back?" "not until to-morrow." "will you tell me where he lives?" "on fifty-third street. the number is on the card over there." hal took it down. "is there anything special to do just now?" "i must have those papers written up that hardwick was at work on. the books i can write up myself." "then, with your permission, i'll write up the papers and then begin my hunt." "very well. but mind and keep out of trouble." hal smiled, and turned at once to the desk. a strange feeling filled his breast. he was really going to turn detective--he, a country boy, and that, too, in new york. "it sounds like the wildest kind of a romance," he thought to himself. "but it isn't; it's sober truth, and i may find it a mighty hard truth before i get through." he fairly flew at the work, and by two o'clock it was finished. he handed it to mr. sumner. "that is excellent," said the broker, glancing over the written pages. "and now i suppose you are ready to go?" "if you are willing, sir." "there is nothing more to be done to-day. to-morrow i shall get a first-class book-keeper whom i happen to know, to take hardwick's place." in a minute more hal was off. he knew not exactly in what direction to go, but thought he would cross broadway and take the sixth avenue elevated cars to fifty-third street. as he stepped on the sidewalk in front of trinity church, which stands at the beginning of wall street, he happened to glance up, and not far away saw hardwick. the ex-book-keeper was smoking a cigar and scowling. he did not see hal, and the youth soon put himself where he was not likely to be seen. five minutes passed. then hardwick began to move slowly up broadway, casting sharp glances to his right and left. hal slowly followed, keeping several people between himself and the man he was shadowing. at length hardwick stopped at the corner of cedar street. here he was joined by dick ferris, and the two at once began an animated conversation, which hal managed to overhear. "got the bounce?" were the first words he heard. "well, that's rich, hardwick." "i don't see the point," growled the ex-book-keeper. "i wish i had fixed the young tramp!" "he seems to be worrying us pretty bad," said ferris. "but, say, how about that money i was to have?" "i can't give it to you now." "why not?" "i haven't got it." "tell that to your grandmother!" "it's a fact. old sumner made me fork over every cent i had about me." "what for?" "he claims i have been getting in on him." "i'll bet he's right, too." "well, he isn't." "no, of course not," returned ferris, sarcastically. "a fellow who would----" "shut up, you monkey!" cried hardwick, getting angry. "you know too much." "well, when am i to have that money?" "to-morrow." "sure?" "yes. i'll get it for you." "what will you do--bleed old allen?" "never mind, i'll get it, and that's enough. by the way, i want you to do something for me." "what is it?" "deliver a letter to tommy macklin. i have got an engagement to-night, and i want tommy to get the letter before morning." "all right. hand it over. where are you going now?" "home to get shaved and fixed up and have a nap. i was up all night, and i feel it." "you're going it pretty strong." "don't preach, dicky, my boy. for your age, i think you go it pretty well yourself." ferris laughed and stuffed the letter hardwick handed him into his pocket. then the two separated. hal pondered for a moment, and then concluded to follow dick ferris. hardwick was going home, "i wish i knew what was in that letter," thought hal, as he shadowed ferris up broadway to park row. "it may be something that has to do with the missing tin box." ferris passed the entrance to the brooklyn bridge, and then turned into a side street. "i'll wager he's going to the same place hardwick visited the other night," exclaimed hal to himself. with increased interest he followed ferris, until the latter came to a narrow and dirty alley-way, piled high on one side with empty boxes and barrels. here a number of children were playing, some making snow-men and others coasting on home-made "bread-shovel" sleds. ferris tried to walk between them, and in doing so got directly in the way of a small sled upon which was seated a ragged girl not over ten years of age. the sled brushed against ferris' leg and angered him. "what do you mean by doing that, you dirty thing?" he exclaimed. "take that, and learn better manners." he hauled off and struck the girl in the face. it was a heavy blow, and it caused her nose to bleed and her cheek to swell. "you--you brute!" sobbed the girl. "what's that?" howled ferris. "a brute, am i? there's another for you!" he stepped back to hit the girl again. but now there was a rush from the rear, and on the instant the bully found himself in the strong grasp of hal carson. chapter xvi. hal on the watch. "let up there, you brute!" dick ferris looked around with a startled air. when he caught sight of hal his face fell, and he released the girl. "what, you!" he exclaimed. "exactly. what do you mean by treating this girl so rudely?" "you are following me," went on ferris, ignoring the question which had been put to him. "what if i am?" "you think you're smart, don't you?" sneered ferris. "he's a mean, ugly thing!" put in the girl, between her sobs. "i wish he was arrested." "shut up!" roared ferris, turning to her. "you ran into me on purpose." "i didn't. we've got a right to coast in this alley; mamma said so." "you ought to be arrested for striking the little girl," said hal. "i am awfully glad i arrived in the nick of time to save her from more punishment." "good fer you, mister!" cried a small youth standing near. "give him one in der eye!" "yes, do him up, mister," cried several others. ferris turned upon them like a savage animal. "get out of here, every one of you," he howled, "unless you want to be hammered to death." "don't you move," said hal. "you evidently have more right here than he has." "indeed!" said ferris, turning to hal. "i wish you would keep your nose out of my affairs." "don't let him sass you, mister," put in one of the urchins. "he didn't have no cause ter hit katie." ferris pounced upon the boy at once, and cuffed him right and left. in the midst of the castication, however, hal caught the bully by the arm, and a second later dick ferris measured his length in the gutter. a shout went up from the boys and girls. "dat's der way ter do it!" "ain't der gent got muckle, dough?" then somebody threw a snow-ball, and in a trice the entire crowd were snow-balling ferris as furiously as they could. hal looked on, and he was compelled to laugh. then a sudden idea struck him. like a flash he darted out of sight behind the pile of empty boxes and barrels. muttering something under his breath, dick ferris struggled to his feet. as soon as he did this the street children took to their legs, dragging their sleds after them. ferris made after one or two of them, but was unable to effect a capture. "run off wid yerself!" "we ain't got no use fer bullies!" spat! a snow-ball took ferris right in the ear, and caused him to utter a sharp cry of pain. then another took him in the face, and in trying to dodge he slipped and went into a snow-drift. he was quickly on his feet, and this time ran after the crowd so fast that he caught one of the boys. "lemme go!" howled the youngster. "not much, you rat! take that!" ferris struck the boy in the mouth, and the little fellow let out a yell. hal was just about to dart to his assistance when a policeman came along and touched ferris on the shoulder. "what's the trouble here?" he demanded. ferris turned savagely, but his manner changed when he beheld the officer of the law. "this chap is a rascal," he explained. "in what way?" "he fired a snow-ball at me and hit me in the ear." "i didn't," howled the urchin. "it was anudder fellow wot fired dat snow-ball." and he began to cry bitterly. "it was only done in fun, i suppose," said the officer. "fun!" fumed ferris. "look at my clothes!" the officer did so. ferris was covered with snow and dirt, principally the latter. "the snow-ball couldn't have done that," said the policeman. he was in sympathy with the small boy, whom he knew as the son of one of his friends. "i know. but this boy and a lot of his chums got to throwing at me, and in trying to dodge i went down." the policeman paused for a moment, and then turned to the urchin. "see here, bubby, if i let you go will you promise not to throw any more snow-balls?" "yes, sir," came in one breath, and very eagerly. "then run." "what! ain't you going to arrest him?" cried dick ferris, in some excitement. "i think not." "but he ought to be." "i fancy i know my own business best," was the short reply. "but he is a little imp, and----" "better let it go. i dare say you throw snow-balls yourself once in a while." and with this remark the policeman moved on. "well, that's a fine way to treat a fellow," muttered ferris to himself. "i suppose that policeman would let the whole ward pounce on me without doing anything toward helping me. i wonder where that hal carson is?" the tall youth brushed off his clothing hastily, and returned to the entrance to the alley. he looked around carefully, but hal kept well hidden. dick ferris was undecided what to do. should he deliver the letter intrusted to him by hardwick? he hesitated and then continued up the alley-way, upon which a number of dirty, dingy tenement houses were situated. arriving at the very last of these, he ascended the front stoop and knocked loudly upon the door. there was no reply, and while he was waiting for some one to answer his summons, hal managed to skulk up behind the other buildings and approach within hearing distance. at last ferris got tired of waiting, and he tried the door. it was unlocked, and, pushing it open, the tall boy entered. hal waited for a moment, and then, mounting the stoop, peered in at the door, which ferris had left partly open. as the youth had surmised, the hall-way was quite dark. he heard ferris mounting the rickety stairs, and like a shadow he followed, fairly holding his breath, lest some sound might betray his presence. ferris mounted almost to the top of the tenement, and then hammered on a door in the rear. "come!" cried a voice from inside, and ferris entered. no sooner was the door closed than hal approached it and applied his eye to the key-hole. he saw a small apartment, scantily furnished with a small cook-stove, a table, three chairs, and some kitchen utensils. a man sat before the stove, smoking a short briar pipe. he was unshaved, but his face bore evidence of former gentility and manhood, in spite of the fact that it was now dissipated. "hullo, ferris!" he exclaimed. "how are you, macklin?" returned the tall boy. "not very well, i can tell you," returned macklin, removing his pipe and spitting into the stove. "i've got rheumatism, yer know." "rheumatism!" laughed ferris. "more likely it's rumatism, tommy." "don't give me any o' yer jokes, ferris. wot brings yer?" "i've got a letter for you." "from hardwick?" ferris nodded. "i thought i would hear from him before long. hand it over." ferris did so. macklin tore open the epistle and began to peruse it hastily. as he did so ferris tried to glance over his shoulder. "here! none o' dat!" cried macklin, savagely. "wot's my business is my business." he finished reading the letter and put it in his coat pocket. then he pulled away on his pipe for a moment. "well?" said ferris, by way of inquiry. "tell him it's all right if he doubles the figger." "makes the amount twice as large?" "dat's it. it's a ticklish piece o' business." "what is the work, macklin?" questioned ferris, sitting down on the opposite side of the stove. the man closed one eye. "hardwick knows," he replied, shortly. "i know that," replied ferris. "and i know something about this new deal, too." "wot do yer know?" "never mind. i know." "dat's all put on, ferris; yer don't know a t'ing, see?" cried macklin, with a laugh that sounded more like a croak. dick ferris colored slightly. "hardwick said there was something new on," he explained, lamely. "yes, but he didn't tell yer wot it was." ferris arose, thinking that further attempts at pumping would be useless. "say, don't be in no hurry," went on macklin. "sit down an' git warmed up." "i ain't cold." ferris started for the door, but the man pulled him back. "how did yer make out wid hardwick on dat last deal?" he asked. "all right," responded the tall boy, hurriedly. "wot do you call all right?" "that's my affair, tommy." "don't git on yer high horse, ferris." "i can keep as mum as you can, tommy, and don't you forget it." "did he give you more dan a hundred?" "is that what you got out of it?" "naw! i didn't git half o' dat." "hardwick is a close one." "dat's so. but some day he'll have ter pony up, yer see if he don't." "i suppose it will be you who will squeeze him," said ferris, with another laugh. "you bet." "he ought to be squeezed a little," said ferris, reflectively. "he makes a small fortune alongside of what we get out of it." "yes, but der trouble is, yer can't corner him," responded macklin. "if yer try, yer git yerself in trouble. but before long----" he did not finish in words, but bobbed his head vigorously. "where's your wife?" asked ferris, glancing around. "der old woman's gone to der market." "ain't any one else here, is there?" ferris glanced around suspiciously. "no." "then supposing we come to an understanding?" went on ferris, in a low tone. "we both do work for hardwick, and we ought to get more money for it." "well?" "unless we get together we can't do anything. but when he finds we are both of a mind he may listen to us, and both of us will make by it." hal listened to every word of this conversation with deep interest. from it he discovered that macklin was a tool of hardwick as well as ferris and both were in the habit of doing underhand work for the ex-book-keeper. "if either of them would only mention something definite," he thought. "the tin box robbery for instance. then i would be certain i was on the right track." "that's an idea, ferris," replied macklin. "it ain't fair fer hardwick ter be rollin' in money an' me livin' here." "that's it." "i uster be jest as fine a liver as him, ferris, in the flush days. an' when old sumner took hardwick in an' bounced me----" macklin did not finish. there was a racket in the hall-way, and then came the tones of an excited irishwoman. "phot's this? phot be yez doin' here, young mon, sn'akin' along like a thafe? tommy macklin, cum here!" chapter xvii. near to death. the irishwoman had come up behind hal so softly--she wore rubbers--that the youth did not hear her, and he was, therefore, thoroughly startled when she made the exclamation quoted at the end of the preceding chapter. ferris and macklin jumped to their feet and both rushed out in the hall. "what's the row, mary?" cried the latter. "sure an' that's phot oi want to know," replied the woman. "oi found this fellow pakin' in the kay-hole of your dure, so oi did." "it's hal carson!" exclaimed ferris. "so this is the way you followed me, eh?" he continued. "who is hal carson?" asked macklin, grasping the youth by the arm. "old sumner's new clerk and office boy," replied ferris. "don't let him get away." macklin gave a whistle. "dat's kinder serious, if he follered yer here. wot have yer got ter say fer yerself?" he demanded, turning to hal. "let go of my arm," returned hal. "are you the only one who lives in this building?" "no." "then i presume i have a right to enter the hall-way, haven't i?" "that won't wash, carson!" exclaimed ferris. "you are doing nothing but following me, and you know it." "just you step inside, do you hear?" commanded macklin. "that's all right, mary, i'll take care o' him," he added to the woman. "oi wondher if he was up in me apartment," she said, suspiciously. "oi'll go up an' see if there is anything missing." the woman departed, and macklin tried to shove hal into the room. "stop that!" ordered the youth. "don't pay no attention to him," cried ferris. "he's a regular spy, and he's trying his best to get us all into trouble." macklin caught hal by the arm. the next instant hal received a terrible blow behind the right ear that almost stunned him. "now i think yer will come in an' mind," howled macklin. "take hold o' him, ferris." the tall boy came out, and before hal could recover he was dragged into the apartment and the door was closed and locked. when he came to realize what had happened he found himself confronted by the angry pair. "that's what you get for spying on us," said ferris. "tain't no healthy business fer a feller ter be in around here," added macklin, with a coarse laugh. "i want you to open the door," returned hal, as calmly as he could. "that's right!" laughed ferris. "i suppose you think you can command us to do anything, don't you?" hal walked toward the door and shook it. it was strongly built, and to break it down was out of the question. "give me the key," he said. another laugh followed this speech. hal glanced out of the window. it was tightly closed, and the distance to the court below was fully twenty feet. the youth looked at macklin, who had resumed his smoking. "what do you propose to do with me?" he asked. "that is hard ter tell," replied the tough. "it all depends on wot ferris is got ter say." "you have the key of the door?" "i kinder think it's in my pocket." "give it to me." macklin chuckled. "don't waste yer breath; yer may need it." he had hardly spoken when hal sprang upon him. the youth was thoroughly aroused, and a well directed blow sent macklin sprawling in one corner, while his pipe went flying in another. the tough uttered a howl as he went down, and ferris gave a cry of consternation. "now will you give me the key?" demanded hal. "git orf of me!" spluttered macklin. "let up there," put in ferris. "stand back, ferris," cried hal. "i am not to be trifled with." "pull him orf!" roared macklin. ferris advanced, but rather gingerly. he knew hal's strength, and he had a great horror of being struck. macklin tried to rise, but hal hit once more and he went down a second time. then hal sat down on his body. "hand over the key." hal had an idea the key was in macklin's outer pocket, and into this he inserted his hand. it soon came in contact with what he was searching for. he tried to withdraw the key, but now macklin began to squirm worse than ever, and he had hard work to master the fellow. "help me, ferris!" howled the tough. "don't you dare come near," said hal. "don't mind him--help me," said macklin again. ferris hesitated, but at last approached and caught hal by the arm. "let macklin up," he said. instead of replying hal sprang to his feet. in one hand he held the key, and with the other he shoved ferris up against the wall. "now let me pass!" "don't do it!" howled macklin. "i won't," replied ferris. he caught hal by the coat tail. this compelled the youth to turn once more. he aimed a blow at ferris' head, and the fellow went down over the table. hal now thought he saw his way clear to escape. he bounded toward the door, and was just inserting the key into the lock when macklin sprang up. beside the stove lay a heavy billet of wood, which the man had intended to split up for kindlings. macklin caught up the stick, and jumping behind hal, hit the youth a fearful blow directly on the top of the head. with a low cry, hal sank down in a heap. macklin gave a sudden gasp, and ferris straightened up. "have you--killed him?" asked ferris in a tone, of horror. "i don't know," replied the tough. "dat was a kinder heavy crack, wasn't it?" ferris shuddered. a thin stream of blood was issuing from hal's head, and this made the tall boy sick. he approached and gazed at hal's pallid face and motionless form. "i'm afraid you have killed him, macklin," he said. "me killed him?" cried the tough. "i kinder think you had as much ter do wid it as me." ferris had a sudden chill dart down his back-bone at these words. if anything was wrong it was certain macklin did not intend to shoulder the blame. "what made you hit him so hard?" he asked. "i couldn't help it. let's see how bad he is." macklin approached hal and turned over the limp body. then he placed his hand over the youth's heart. "he ain't dead yet. dat was a hard crack, but he's got a strong constitution, dat feller has. say?" "well?" macklin came up close to dick ferris, who was now as white as a sheet. "we is good friends, ferris, ain't we?" "ye-as." "den let me do sum'thin' fer yer." "what is it?" "i'll tell yer. yer see der feller ain't----" macklin broke off short, as a footstep sounded in the hall-way. "it's der old woman comin' back," he muttered. "your wife?" "yes." "oh, what shall we do with the--the body?" cried ferris, in alarm. as he spoke the door-knob was turned, and then came the tones of a woman's voice: "let me in, tommy!" chapter xviii. hal in a tight situation. before dick ferris could say a word or move, macklin clapped his hand over the tall boy's mouth. "hush!" he muttered. "i'll fix it all right." a square table stood in one corner of the room, and under it was a quantity of old bagging. macklin seized hold of hal's body and dragged it toward the table. then he shoved the motionless form under the piece of furniture and covered it with the loose bagging. the key to the door lay on the floor, and picking it up, macklin inserted it in the lock and gave it a turn. in a second the door was opened and a stout and harsh-looking woman appeared. it was tommy macklin's wife. she was a heavy drinker, but she was not a really bad woman at heart. had she been as unscrupulous as macklin himself, the tough would never have pursued the course he did. before the woman could enter the room he met her and cut her short. "i want you to go upstairs," he said, taking the market basket she carried from her. she looked surprised. "what for?" "there was a sneak-thief around, and i want you to see if mary lost anything." "a thief? did he get----" "no, i didn't give him the chance." the woman at once turned and went up the flight of stairs leading to the top floor. she had not seen ferris, and the tall boy breathed a sigh of relief as he turned to listen to what macklin had to say. "we've got a good chance ter git him out o' der way." "out of the way?" whispered ferris. "dat's wot i said." "you don't mean----" ferris stopped short. "yes, i do. you say he's an enemy ter you an' hardwick?" "he is that." "den i'd git him outer der way." ferris' lip twitched. "what would you do with him?" "i'll show yer." macklin scratched his matted hair. "give me dat potato bag in der closet." ferris hesitated, and then, opening the closet in the corner, brought forth an unusually long potato sack. raising up the top part of hal's body, macklin slipped the sack over head and shoulders. then he tied the string of the sack fast around hal's waist. the tough opened the door and passed out into the hall way. no one was in sight. macklin returned to the room. "quick, catch him by der legs," he said to ferris. "i'll take him by der shoulders, an' we'll have him outer sight in a jiffy." "where--where will you take him?" faltered ferris. his teeth were chattering, and his face was as pale as death. "i'll show yer. catch hold." macklin's tones were angry ones, and ferris complied. with the body of hal between them, the pair passed down one flight of stairs, and then to a narrow stairway in the rear leading to a dirty wash-shed. "wait here wid him till i come back," said macklin, and he darted out of the wash-shed door. ferris stood beside hal's body. presently he thought he heard a low moan, and he imagined that hal moved one arm. his teeth chattered worse than ever, and it was all he could do to keep from rushing away. at length, after what seemed to be an age, but which was really less than five minutes, macklin reappeared. "we've got der boss chance!" he exclaimed, in a low tone. "chuck dat piece of rag carpet over him. dat's it. now pick him up ag'in." once more the two took up hal's body. their course was now through the court and into a narrow lane. here the snow was piled high, but neither seemed to mind it. "here we are." it was macklin who spoke. he stood at the basement door of an old stone structure which in years gone by had been a vinegar and pickle factory. pushing open the door, he motioned to ferris, and hal's body was taken inside and the door once more closed. "wait till i strike a light," said macklin. "what is this place?" asked ferris. "it's a factory wot ain't in use," was the reply. "his body won't be found here for two or t'ree months, if da finds it at all." macklin struck a match and lit a bit of dirty tallow candle which he carried. "see dat big hole in der floor over dare?" he asked. "yes, what is it?" "sum kind of a vat, i t'ink. dat's der place. hold der glim, will yer?" ferris took the candle. his hand shook so that the tallow dropped all over it. "wot's der matter wid yer nerves?" asked macklin, sarcastically. "nothing," returned the tall boy, briefly. "yer shakin' like a leaf." "i am cold." and for once ferris told the truth. an icy chill seemed to have struck his heart. catching hold of hal's body, macklin dragged it to the edge of the vat. there was a slight scraping sound as the body was pushed over the edge of the hole, and then all became quiet. "dat settles it," said macklin. "come on back." and hal was left to his fate. chapter xix. a narrow escape. hal came to himself with a shiver. where was he, and what had happened? for a moment he could not collect his scattered senses. then the cold water in the vat reached his mouth and nose, and he gave a gulp. he put out his hands. they were tight in the sack. with a struggle he stood up. the water in the vat reached his waist, and it was icy cold. presently the string of the sack gave way, and he pulled the article off of him. then he realized what had happened up in the tenement, and felt the blood trickling over his forehead. "they have put me here thinking i was dead," he thought. "i wonder what sort of a place this is?" he stepped around in the water, and applied some of it to his head. this stopped the flow of blood, and appeared to clear his brain. it was semi-dark in the vat, but presently his eyes grew accustomed to this, and he saw where he was. he gave a shiver. the top of the vat was fully three feet above his reach. what if he could not get out? he would soon perish from the extreme cold. the vat was some ten or twelve feet in diameter, and hal walked around the bottom in hopes of finding some spot higher than that upon which he was standing. in this he was disappointed. the bottom of the vat was perfectly level. by the time he had discovered this fact, he was shivering so he could hardly stand upright. he jumped up several times in hopes of getting out by that means. but though his hands once touched the upper edge of the vat, he could gain no hold, and immediately slipped back again. "help! help!" he cried. then he listened. there was no reply. macklin and ferris had returned to the tenement. "i'm all alone," he muttered to himself. "i will die here, and no one will ever know what became of me." this thought filled hal with despair, and he again cried out, louder than before. the cry went echoing through the vast and gloomy building, but there was no response. "this will never do," thought the youth. "must i die like a rat in a trap?" the very thought was maddening, and again he essayed to reach the top of the vat. it was utterly useless. "the building must be deserted," he said to himself. "and i suppose it is too far to the street for any one to hear my call." five minutes passed. hal was getting weaker fast. oh, how his head ached! filled with something akin to desperation, hal cried out again, this time at the very top of his lungs. a deep and profound silence followed. "it's no use," he thought. "this is some old building that no one will visit all winter. i suppose ferris and that macklin think----" he held his breath. what was that sound overhead? he strained his ears. yes, it was footsteps! "help! help! come down in the cellar!" he cried. again and again his voice rang out, and the footsteps came closer. then his heart seemed to stop beating. supposing it should be ferris or macklin returning? "what's the trouble?" suddenly cried a voice from the stairs in the corner. "help me out of the vat!" replied hal. "quick! i am freezing to death!" "wall, i swan!" ejaculated the voice. then came more footsteps, and an elderly man, carrying a lantern, appeared at the edge of the vat. "give me your hand," he said, setting down the lantern. "this is a nice fix ter git into." he leaned down, and hal held up his hand. the new-comer grasped the youth's wrist, and in a moment hal was upon the cellar floor. "oh, thank you!" chattered hal. "i--i--couldn't have stood it another minute." "'most froze, be you?" returned the man. "here, strip off that coat of yourn and put on mine. that's a most all-fired cold bath. how did you git in?" "i was pushed in," replied hal. he tried to pull off his coat, but had not the strength. "will you help me?" "of course." in a twinkle the man had the coat off, and his own on hal's shivering form. "belong around here?" "no." "then come with me. i live right across the way, and i'll soon warm you up. it's lucky i came over to see if everything was all right. i'm looking after the place till spring." the man took up his lantern once more and led the way up stairs and across the street. the two entered a neat-looking tenement, and the man took hal to a set of rooms on the second floor. a hot fire was blazing in the kitchen, and drawing up a chair the man motioned for hal to sit down. "maybe the old woman kin lend you some clothes," said the man. "but i allow as how you may be better off, if you let the wet ones dry onto you. it may save you from a spell of sickness." "i am doing very nicely now," replied hal. "i am used to some pretty tough knocks," he added, and he spoke the truth, for life at the fairham poor-house had been anything but easy. at that moment, the door opened, and a girl rushed in. she looked at hal, and then gave a cry of surprise. "hullo! what brings you here?" she asked. "what's that?" put in the man. "he saved me from getting a beating," said the girl. "didn't you?" hal turned and looked at the girl. it was the same that ferris had attacked at the entrance to the alley. he smiled and nodded. "it was awful good of you," she went on. "he's a brave man, pop." "who was going to beat you?" the girl gave her version of the affair. the man listened attentively, and then turned to hal. "i'm doubly glad i did you that service," he said. "katie is my only girl, and i don't want her abused. may i ask your name?" "hal carson." "mine is mccabe." "mccabe!" cried hal. "are you jack mccabe's father?" "i am. do you know my boy?" "do i? he saved my life only the other night." "so it was you he saved?" exclaimed mccabe. "yes." "he told me about it. it seems you have enemies." "yes." "and they are the ones who pushed you into the vat?" "one of them did, aided by a chum." "you have been struck on the head. here, let me bind it up. i suppose you are in no hurry to go?" "no, sir." mccabe brought out a handkerchief and a strip of cloth, and bound up the wound, which was but a slight one. "you ought to have the pair of them arrested," he said. "i have my reasons for not doing so," replied hal. "but you may rest assured their time will come." "they must be villains." "they are. but, mr. mccabe, let me thank you for what you have done." "oh, don't say a word!" "i shall never forget it. but for you i might at this moment be dead." "i only hope you down the rascals, every one of them. now, i must go and finish looking after the place. come along, katie. we'll be back in quarter of an hour. you had better take off your shoes and warm your feet in the oven." "thank you." mccabe and his daughter departed. after they were gone, hal locked the door and took off part of his clothing, and also did as the man had advised. the roaring fire soon dried the clothing and warmed hal through and through. as soon as he heard mccabe's footsteps on the stairs he rearranged his toilet. "katie says she saw the fellow that wanted to hit her down in the street just now," said mccabe. hal jumped up. "which way did he go?" "over toward park row." the youth thought for a moment. "mr. mccabe." "what is it, mr. carson?" "will you do me a great favor?" "let's hear what it is." "please keep the fact that you saved me a secret." "a secret?" cried the old watchman, in considerable astonishment. "yes, sir." "what for?" "i have my reasons for it." "the villains that attacked you ought to be punished. they ought to be in the hands of the police this blessed minute." "you are right, ordinarily speaking, but i have work to do before i have them locked up." "well, i'll do as you say." "you see, i want to have them believe that i am really done for." "i see." "if they think that, i can follow them up wherever they go quite easily." "i don't see how. if they see yer----" "i will be disguised." "oh! goin' ter play a kind of detective part, be you?" "that is what it amounts to, i suppose." "it's a great plan, mr. carson. you have a long head on yer shoulders." and the old man chuckled. "thank you. then i can depend or you to----" "i won't say a blessed word." "and please caution katie." "all right. i will, sir." "thank you." "but when you get through i'll expect to learn how you come out," said mccabe, hastily. "you can rest assured that i will let you know the full particulars. and i am not going to forget what you have done for me, either." "shoo! that's all right. and say----" at that moment katie came flying into the apartment, her tangled hair floating in all directions. "he's downstairs and coming up!" she cried, shrilly. "who?" questioned her father, while hal stood still in wonder. "the tall boy who hit me." "dick ferris!" muttered hal under his breath. "what can he want here?" chapter xx. following allen. hal was astonished to learn from katie mccabe that dick ferris was coming up the tenement stairs. "he can't be coming here!" exclaimed the youth. "what shall we do if he does?" asked mccabe. "i don't know. perhaps i had better hide. he may----" at that instant came a knock on the door. "it's him!" whispered katie. andy mccabe, the father, pointed to a closet. hal tiptoed his way to it, and motioned for katie to follow. the door was closed, and then andy mccabe answered the summons. ferris stood at the door, his hair disheveled and his lips trembling. "may i ask who lives here?" he asked. "my name is mccabe." "isn't there a man by the name of macklin living here?" went on ferris. "macklin?" repeated mccabe, slowly. "yes, tommy macklin." "not as i know on. what does he do?" "i don't know. i have a letter to deliver to him. so you don't know where he lives?" "no, sir." "it's too bad. will you please tell me what time it is?" andy mccabe glanced at the alarm clock that stood on the mantel-shelf. "quarter to six." "as late as that!" cried ferris. "i must hurry and catch him before six. only quarter of an hour. good-day, sir." "good-day." in a moment ferris was gone. mccabe closed the door, and hal came out of the closet followed by katie. "what does he mean?" questioned the man. "i'll tell you what it means," said hal. "he is trying to prove an alibi, in case a body was found in the vat. he thinks you can remember he was here looking for macklin at quarter to six. if that was true, how could he have helped macklin at five o'clock?" "well, well! he's a smart villain, so he is!" exclaimed andy mccabe. "i wonder what he would have done if you had stepped out of the closet?" "i was strongly tempted to do that," laughed hal. "but now i must be off, mr. mccabe. please keep quiet, as i told you." "i will, mr. carson. but where be you going?" "to follow ferris. say, have you an old slouch hat you will exchange for this cap of mine?" "here is one of jack's." "that will do first-rate." hal put on the hat and drew it down over his brow. "going to turn spy, be you?" remarked andy mccabe. "yes." "well, i wish you luck." hal was soon out of the house. once in the street, he looked up and down. ferris was not in view, but he soon caught sight of the fellow coming out of a tenement across the way. he crossed over and followed ferris toward park row, and then to the boarding house. here hal heard the youth say something to his aunt about changing his clothing, and the boy slipped into the house unobserved by anyone, and did likewise. ferris then left again, followed by hal. "i suppose he thinks he has laid good ground-work for his alibi," thought hal. "well, let him think so, he will be surprised before long to learn the truth." at fourteenth street dick ferris turned and walked toward broadway. hal followed close behind, but in the crowd at the corner he lost track of the fellow he was after. he looked this way and that, and into the restaurants, but ferris had disappeared. what was to do next? it was past supper-time, but hal was in no humor for eating. suddenly somebody brushed him rudely. it was a man wearing a heavy cape coat. hal glanced at the individual sharply, and was astonished to see it was mr. caleb allen. allen had not seen hal, and the boy at once placed himself where he was not likely to be noticed. "i wonder if he and ferris met?" thought hal. "it isn't likely, but yet it may be so. the three of them are into this, and so is that fellow macklin. i must be careful, and keep my eyes wide open." allen passed up union square on the west side, and hal made it a point to follow close behind. arriving at seventeenth street, allen turned down toward the north river. he passed over several blocks, and finally ascended the steps of a small mansion on the left. the front of the mansion was totally dark, but when the door was opened hal saw that the interior was brilliantly illuminated. as soon as allen passed in the door was closed, and all became as dark as before, hal hesitated, and then ascending the steps, looked for a door-plate. there was the number in bright silver numerals, but nothing was to be seen of any name. "most of them have a name," he said to himself. "i wonder who lives here?" hal descended again to the street, and walked on to the end of the block. here was a small stand with a flaring gasoline torch, at which an old german was selling apples and other fruit. hal entered into conversation with the proprietor of the stand, and at length asked if he knew who lived at the place, mentioning the number. "dot blace?" the man gave a low laugh. "i dinks me nopody vos lif dere." "nobody?" "nein." "but there must be somebody," urged hal. "i saw a man go in." "dot's so, too." the german laughed again. "but da don't vos lif dere." "well, what are they doing there, then?" the apple man put his long finger up beside his nose. "dot vos a blace ver dere rich fool vos plow in his money; see?" "a gambling-place?" "oxactly." "who runs it?" "dot i don't vos know. i dinks me a fellow named ditson." "do many men go there?" "yah. somedimes so many as two dozen by von night." "and they do nothing there but gamble?" the german nodded. "of you got some money you don't vont to kept dot's der blace to lose it." "thank you, but i need all i have," laughed hal. "den you don't better keep away, ain't it?" "i think that would be best." "dake mine vort it vos." "did you see many men go in to-night?" "vot you ask dot for, hey?" "i'm looking for a man i know." "i seen nine or ten men go in by dere front door. i don't vos know how many go py der pack." "then there is a back door?" "yah, on der next street." "i see. well, i guess i won't wait for the man." hal walked back slowly, and passed the house. what should he do next? would it be worth while to track allen farther at present? suddenly an idea popped into his mind. farther up the street he had passed a costumers' establishment, where everything in the shape of a make-up for detective or actor was to be had. he walked back to the place, and entered it. back of the counter stood a young who came up and asked what was wished. "can i get a small, black mustache cheap?" asked hal. "we have them for twenty-five cents." "will they stay on?" "yes, if you adjust them properly." "then let me have one." the clerk brought forth the false mustache, and helped hal to put it on. the youth looked in a mirror at the effect. "changes me completely," he said. "it does, sir. makes you look five years older, too." "here is your money." the clerk took hal's quarter, and the boy walked forth from the place without taking the trouble to remove the mustache. once outside he could not help but laugh. "i am certainly going into the detective business, and no mistake," he thought. "i trust i am successful in what i undertake to do." hal walked back toward the gambling-house, and after some hesitation ascended the stone steps and rang the bell. a negro answered his summons. "is mr. arnold here?" asked the lad, as coolly as he could. "mr. arnold?" the negro shook his head. "but he must be," persisted hal. "he said he was coming here." "don't t'ink i see him, sah. what kind ob a lookin' gen'men he is?" "about medium built, with a dark mustache," replied hal. "i have important news for him. he said he was going to try his luck here to-night." "i see, sah. den you knows dis place, sah." "oh, yes!" "come in, sah." hal entered, and the door was closed and locked behind him. "now you kin go upstairs an' see if de gen'men am here," said the negro. "he might be, yo' know, an' i not know his name, sah." "all right; i'll take a look around," replied hal. chapter xxi. in a dangerous place. hal felt that his situation was a delicate one, and that he must go slow. were it discovered that he had entered the den of vice merely for the purpose of spying, it might go hard with him. the negro waved his hand toward the thickly carpeted stairway, and hal ascended to the second floor of the mansion. he looked behind to see if the negro had followed, but that burly individual had disappeared. the upper hall-way was as dark as below, but from under several doors a bright light was streaming. hal approached the first one he came to, and, removing his hat, tried the handle. the door came open, and hal peered into the apartment. no one was present, but a young man asleep in an arm-chair, and hal stepped inside. the room was gorgeously furnished, costly rugs covering the floor, and heavy curtains hanging over the doors. on the walls were beautiful paintings, and on a stand to one side of the room rested a remarkable piece of statuary representing three jolly gamblers at the gaming-table. "it must be some sort of a waiting-room," thought hal. "i wonder who the fellow asleep in the chair is?" he gave a slight cough, and the young man slowly opened his eyes. "did anybody call me?" he asked, in a heavy tone. "where is the playing-room, please?" asked hal. "eh? playing-room?" repeated the young man. "go right in the next room." he pointed with his finger, and bowing, hal did as directed. the sight that met hal's eyes as he opened the door filled the youth with wonder. he had often heard of such places, but he had never dreamed of them being as they are. he saw a long hall, brilliantly lighted. crowded about the table, some standing and some sitting, were young men and old, all intent on the games that were going on. the table was piled with money, which seemed to change hands rapidly, for the resort was a well-known one among club men. "what do you make it?" "a twenty, charley." hal recognized the last voice. it was that of mr. caleb allen! the boy looked at the man. there was an excited appearance upon the broker's features. "he looks as if he has been losing," thought hal. "i wonder how much he has staked?" no one appeared to notice his coming, and he stood just back of the crowd, taking in everything so far as it concerned allen. the game went on, and allen lost. then the broker played once more, and lost again. "a hundred this time," he said. the broker played with extreme caution, as indeed did all of the others. in consequence the game lasted fully quarter of an hour. hal saw by the broker's actions that the game was going against the man, and he was not surprised, when the play ended, to hear that allen had lost. allen turned away from the table. as he did so he came face to face with hal. he started back, and gave the youth a keen look. "where have i met that fellow before?" he muttered to himself. he had not recognized hal with the false mustache. the game went on, but allen took no more interest, and soon disappeared from the room. hal was about to follow, when a tall man stepped up to him, and tapped him on the shoulder. "i want to have a talk with you, my friend," he said, in a low tone. "come this way, please." somewhat astonished, the youth followed the man into a side apartment. "what is it?" he asked. "i want to know what your game is," was the cool response. "you haven't put up a cent, and that mustache of yours is false. i have an idea you are a spy." chapter xxii. hal meets laura sumner. hal was somewhat taken aback by the statement made to him by one of the proprietors of the resort he had entered, but he quickly recovered. "it is true the mustache is false, but it is not true that i am spying upon you," he said. and this was true, for he cared nothing as to what took place in the resort so long as it did not appertain to mr. allen or hardwick. "that's easy enough to say, but how can you prove it?" was the short reply. "is it necessary to prove it?" returned hal, just as quickly. "well, the case is just here, we don't want spies around here." hal could not help but smile. "do you know how i learned of this resort?" he asked. "one of the dudes who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut told you, i suppose." "no. an old apple-stand fellow told me." "is that true?" "it is. so if the police wanted to stop you they could easily do so." the proprietor muttered something under his breath. "well, you are sure you don't intend to give us away, then?" "i do not." "what brought you?" "curiosity concerning a fellow who played here." "what fellow?" "mr. caleb allen." "what! the man who just left?" "yes." "are you spotting him?" "excuse me, but that's my business. he has gone, and with your permission i will follow him." the man looked at hal for a second in silence. "i'll trust you, for you have the right kind of eyes. you are following allen for a purpose, but that's none of my affair. when you go just forget all about this place, unless you want to come in some time and try a hand." "thank you, i don't gamble," and without another word hal left the room and hurried down stairs. a hasty look into the various rooms convinced him that allen had left the building, and then hal lost no time in doing likewise. what he had seen disgusted him beyond measure. "how men can stay up all night and gamble in a place like that i can't understand," he murmured to himself. "i would rather be in bed and asleep. and it stands to reason the proprietors have the best of it, otherwise how could they run such a gorgeous house?" hal was soon on the snow-covered pavement. he looked up and down, but allen was nowhere in sight. "it is no use to try to follow him any farther to-night," thought the youth. "i may as well get home and get some sleep--but, no, i can't do that. i must find a new boarding house, and go under a different name for the present. one thing is sure. mr. allen can't gamble in that fashion with what he makes honestly. he and hardwick are a couple of deep rogues, and that's all there is to it, and dick ferris and that macklin are their tools." it was now too late to hunt up a regular boarding place, and upon second thought hal resolved for the present to put up at one of the cheap hotels. this he did, and slept soundly until morning. when he slouched into the office at ten o'clock, still wearing the false mustache and jack mccabe's hat, mr. sumner did not at first recognize him. "what do you want?" he asked, from the book-keeper's desk, where he was busy instructing the new man in his work. "i wish to see you in private, sir," was hal's reply, and he winked. for a second mr. sumner was puzzled. then he smiled and led the way to his private office. "hal, i hardly knew you!" he burst out, the instant the door was closed. "i hardly know myself, mr. sumner," was the youth's reply. "the mustache is almost a complete disguise." "i have news for you. mr. allen was not in philadelphia yesterday." "no? where, then?" "he spent a great part of the time in the evening in a gambling-house uptown." "you are certain?" "yes, sir. i followed him into the place and watched him play." "humph! did he win?" "no, sir, he lost heavily." horace sumner gave something like a groan. "i am being deceived on all sides," he said. "if a man is a gambler he is often something worse. how about hardwick?" "i have reason to believe he went home last night. he gave a note to dick ferris and i followed ferris. it nearly cost me my life." and hal related the particulars. horace sumner listened with keen interest. when he learned how hal had been struck down, and afterward found himself in the icy vat, he shuddered. "that will never do," he cried. "hal, you must give up running such risks. i would not have you lose your life for all the bonds in new york. we will call in one of the regular detectives and----" "no, mr. sumner, i started on my theory and i wish to finish the work. i did not know how desperate the men were with whom i have to deal, but in the future i shall be prepared for them. and i wish to ask a favor." "what is it?" "will you advance me a little money? i may need it in traveling around, and my disguises may cost----" "you shall have what you please, hal. you are the only one i have in the office to depend on, and you are doing a remarkable work for one so young." "if you will let me have, say ten or fifteen dollars----" "here are fifty," returned mr. sumner, handing over five crisp ten-dollar bills. "when you need more let me know." "but--but i won't want this much!" gasped hal. "yes, you will, if you are determined to go ahead. don't let dollars stand in the way. why, i have already spent one hundred and fifty dollars on the detectives, and they have done absolutely nothing." without another word hal pocketed the bills. as he did so there was a knock on the door, then it was flung open and a girl rushed in. she was apparently a year or two younger than hal, and had blue eyes, light hair, and a remarkably pretty face. she rushed up to mr. sumner and kissed him. "oh, papa, why didn't you tell me?" she burst out, with something like a sob in her voice. "tell you what, pet?" asked mr. sumner with a shadow on his face. "about all those bonds being gone. lucy cavaler mentioned it to me this morning when i called on her to go shopping. have you got them back?" "not yet, pet." "and who stole them?" "i don't know. this young man and i have just been trying to find out." the girl turned to hal, who took off his hat, bowed, and then blushed furiously. "this is mr. hal carson, one of my employees," went on mr. sumner. "hal, this is my daughter, laura." laura sumner extended her hand, and hal took it. their eyes met, and from that instant the two were friends. "you are trying to help papa find the stolen bonds?" she said. "yes, miss sumner." "he has done some excellent work on the case," said mr. sumner. "he is disguised now, as you can see," he added, with a faint smile, which made poor hal blush again. "oh, i trust you get the bonds back for papa," cried laura. "if you do, i'll be friends with you for life." "it's a whack--i mean a bargain," returned hal, and then both laughed. "but you haven't told me why you did not mention the matter to me, papa," went on laura, turning to horace sumner. "i did not wish to worry you, pet. since your mother died you have had enough on your shoulders running the household." "and haven't you had more than your share, papa, with troubles in the office, and trying to find a trace of baby howard?" "i have given up all hopes of ever learning of the fate of my little boy," sighed mr. sumner, and as he spoke a tear stole down his cheek, which he hastily brushed away. chapter xxiii. hal's bold scheme. hal could not help but feel a keen interest in the conversation between mr. sumner and his daughter. evidently there was some deep family sorrow behind the words that had been uttered. he stood respectfully by until laura turned to him suddenly. "excuse me, but i suppose i interrupted you when i came in." "no, i had about finished," replied hal. "you have no further instructions?" he continued, turning to mr. sumner. "no, save that you must keep from trouble, hal." "i will keep my eyes open, sir." "then that is all." "for the present, you will get along without me in the office, i hope." "yes. the new book-keeper is a very rapid man, and we shall not attempt to do anything more until mr. allen and i dissolve partnership." "then i will go. good-day, miss sumner," and with a deep bow hal withdrew. "what a nice young man!" murmured laura, as the outer door closed. "he is little more than a boy, pet," said her father. "that mustache he wears is a false one." "why, papa?" "he is playing a part. he is a very smart young man." "i am glad to hear it. where did you meet him?" "it was he who saved my life the night i told you of." "indeed! that was grand of him. but, papa," laura's voice grew serious, "these missing bonds--are they going--going to ruin you?" horace sumner turned away. "if they are not recovered, yes," he answered, in a low tone. "my poor papa!" "they are worth seventy-nine thousand dollars, and that, coupled with some bad investments made through allen, will send me to the wall." "can nothing be done to get the bonds back?" "i am doing everything i can. besides carson, there are two regular detectives from the department on the case, and a private man from the agency." "then all together ought to bring in a good result." "we will hope for the best, laura," said the old broker, bravely. "if you do not recover the bonds, cannot you get outside help to tide over the crisis?" "i could have done so years ago. but i find that i made a big mistake in going into partnership with caleb allen. while many are willing to help me individually, they do not trust allen, and therefore will not now assist me." "is mr. allen, then, such a bad man?" "i don't know how bad he is. he is in with hardwick, so carson says, and hardwick is a villain." at the mention of the ex-book-keeper's name, laura drew herself up. "i never liked him, papa, and i am glad to find that you have discovered his true character." horace sumner looked in surprise at his daughter. "why, pet, i do not understand you." "then let me tell you something. for the past two months mr. hardwick has been paying his addresses to me, and--" "laura!" "yes, it's so. i did not mention it to you, because i did not wish to humiliate him. i told him there was no hope for him, and asked him to drop the matter." "and has the villain done so?" "partly, but he frequently follows me about when he gets the chance, and i do not like it." "if he does so in the future i'll cowhide him," cried horace sumner. "but i have discovered his true character, and sent him off, and in the future i imagine he will not dare approach you." "if he does not, i will be thankful, papa." horace sumner passed his hand over his brow, and heaved a deep sigh. "everything seems to go wrong of late years," he said. "the disappearance of little howard has undermined my whole prosperity." "and you have given up looking for him?" questioned laura. "yes. what is the use? i have had detectives on the case for years, and it has cost me thousands of dollars." "and they have learned nothing?" "nothing further than that a man took the child to philadelphia." "they could not trace him in that city?" "no. the half-decomposed body of a man was found, a month later, in the schuylkill river, and the detectives thought it must be his remains." "but there was no child with him?" "no, nor had the police seen anything of the little one." "howard must be dead," said laura, softly, and her blue eyes filled with tears. "i am afraid so," returned the father; and then the subject changed. meanwhile hal had left the outer office and hurried up nassau street in the direction of park row. on a previous visit to this vicinity he had noticed a first-class costumer's establishment, where everything in the shape of a disguise could be bought. at the door he hesitated for a moment, and then entered with a brisk step. a fat, pleasant-looking man came to wait on him. "i wish to obtain a perfect disguise," hal explained. "something for my face, besides some clothing." "yes, sir. what sort of a character?" "a young business man." "please step this way." hal stepped to the rear of the establishment. here fully half an hour was spent in selecting this thing and that, and trying the effect before the mirror. at last the business was finished, and hal came forth looking for all the world like a spruce clerk of twenty or twenty-two. he wore a silken mustache and small mutton-chop whiskers, and the color of his skin was several shades paler than was natural. the cheap suit and overcoat he had worn were cast aside, and a nobby check outfit took their place. "gracious! i hardly know myself!" he murmured. "this ought to deceive almost anybody." hal had only rented the things. he was to pay two dollars a day for them, besides leaving a deposit of forty dollars for their safe return. when this transaction was finished the youth visited a hardware store, and there bought a pistol and some cartridges. "now, i imagine i am ready for them," he said to himself. "although i sincerely hope i will not have occasion to draw the pistol." once out on the sidewalk hal did not know exactly how to proceed. he was about to take an elevated train to allen's house uptown, when looking toward the entrance to the brooklyn bridge, he caught sight of dick ferris standing at the foot of the elevated railroad stairs, smoking his usual cigarette. hal approached him, and then passed by. ferris looked at him, but not the faintest gleam of recognition passed over his features. "he is deceived, at any rate," thought hal. "i wonder if he is waiting for somebody, or merely hanging around? i think i will remain for a while and find out." hal crossed park row, and took up a stand by the railing to city hall park. a gang of men were clearing off the snow, and the street-cars and wagons were running in all directions, making the scene a lively one. presently an elevated train rolled in at the station, and in a moment a stream of people came down the stairs on both sides of the street. hal saw ferris straighten up, and keep his eyes on the crowd. "that settles it; he is looking for somebody," was hal's mental conclusion. "now, i'll wait and see if it isn't hardwick." the crowd passed by. ferris had met no one, and he resumed his old stand, and puffed away as before. presently another train rolled in. again ferris watched out. in a moment he had halted a man wrapped up in an immense ulster, and with his hat pulled far down over his eyes. hal once more crossed the street. he passed ferris, and saw that the man the tall boy had stopped was caleb allen. hal was surprised at this. he was under the impression that allen used the sixth avenue elevated to come down from his home. had the broker spent the night away from home, instead of going to that place after leaving the gambling den? standing not over fifteen feet away, hal saw ferris talk earnestly to allen for fully five minutes. then the broker put his hand in his vest pocket, and passed over several bank bills. this was followed by a small package from his overcoat pocket, which the tall boy quickly placed in his breast. "i wonder what that package contains?" mused hal, as the two separated. allen continued on the way downtown, calling a cab for that purpose. hal felt certain the broker was going to the office, so there was no use of following him for the present. he turned to ferris and saw the tall youth stride up park row, and then turn into a side street. "is it possible he is going to see macklin again?" was hal's comment. such seemed to be ferris' purpose, and it left hal in perplexity as to whether he should follow or not. then he thought of his mission, and a bold plan came into his mind. "i will follow," he said to himself. "the only way to get at the bottom of the tin box mystery is to learn of all the plans this band of evil-doers form." chapter xxiv. hal in a new role. instead of continuing toward the east river, dick ferris soon turned northward and presently reached grand street. this neighborhood was entirely new to hal, and he was at once satisfied that the tall boy was not going to pay a visit to tommy macklin. passing down grand street, ferris presently came to a tall, white building, with a large open hall-way, the entrance to which was covered on either side with signs. entering the hall-way, ferris mounted the stairs to the third floor, and then passed to a small office in the rear. hal was not far behind, and he had no difficulty in locating the apartment ferris entered. the upper part of the office door contained a ground-glass panel, upon which was painted in black letters: robert e. hamilton, fine law and blank printing. for a second hal studied how to get into the place, but soon an idea struck him, and he lost no time in entering. he saw ferris in earnest conversation at a small counter, which ran across the office, which was narrow but quite deep. hal edged up and listened to what passed between the tall youth and a man in charge. ferris had a number of slips in his hand, and these the proprietor was examining with great care. "you wish all of them duplicated?" he asked. "yes," replied dick ferris. "it's a nice piece of work." "i suppose it is, but the firm is willing to pay for it." "who are the blanks for?" "mr. albert schwartz. but i am to call for them." "i do not know the gentleman." "i will leave a deposit on the work," replied ferris, promptly. "oh, all right! and how many of each of these blanks do you want?" "twenty of each." "what! no more?" "no. next year we are going to have an entirely new set. if you do these right, mr. schwartz says he may give you the new work." "i'll do them in the best style. how soon do you want them?" "as soon as possible. we are in a great hurry for them." "in two days do?" "oh, yes!" "very well. they will cost thirty-six dollars." "as much as that?" "yes. i will have to take my workmen from another job, and we always charge a little more for a rush." "how much of a deposit shall i leave?" "five dollars will do." "then here you are." dick ferris pulled a five-dollar bill from his pocket, and, after receiving his receipt, walked out of the office. he glanced at hal as he passed, but our hero's back was turned to him, and hal seemed to be interested in some prints which hung upon the wall. "now, sir, what can i do for you?" questioned the proprietor, turning to hal. he left the slips ferris had brought lying upon the counter. "i would like to know how much you charge for printing wedding invitations," replied hal, approaching the counter where the slips lay. "wedding invitations, eh?" the proprietor smiled. "here is a young man about to get married," he thought. "by his looks, i think, he wants something rather nice." "yes, sir," said hal. "with an engraved plate, i suppose?" "of course." "i'll show you our book of specimens." the man turned away to where a number of books were lying upon a side desk. as he did so, hal carelessly picked up the slips ferris had left and examined them. he could make nothing of them, excepting that one had the words: "bonds of the second class, receivable," printed across its face, and another, "sumner, allen & co. transfer slip of limited calls, december." "here you are," said the man, coming up with one of the books, and he gathered up the slips and put them away with a memorandum. hal looked over the book, and noted down the prices of several styles of invitations. "i do not want to order," he said. "i merely wanted the prices." "very well. glad to see you at any time," returned the man. once down in the street again, hal looked up and down, but could see nothing of ferris. but when the youth reached grand street he beheld ferris making for downtown as rapidly as his long legs would carry him. "i suppose he is going to stand outside and meet mr. allen when he comes out," thought hal. "i will follow him, and see what turns up next." dick ferris walked up grand street until he came to broadway. here he stood upon the corner, and presently waved his hand toward a passing horse-car. immediately a man descended from the car, and came toward the tall youth. it was hardwick. "hullo! this can't be a chance meeting," said hal to himself. "no wonder ferris hurried to the corner. he almost missed his man." as hardwick stepped from the street to the sidewalk, he glanced toward where hal was standing, gazing into a shop window. then he turned to ferris, and the two began an earnest conversation. hal passed the pair, but did not catch a word of what was said. nor did the young watcher notice dick ferris' quick, nervous look in his direction. a few minutes later, hardwick and ferris walked back down grand street. reaching chrystie, they turned into it, and walked along several blocks until they came to a narrow alley leading to a lumber-yard. both passed into the lumber-yard and out of hal's sight. wondering what had become of them, the boy passed the place. no one was in sight. "that's queer. i wonder if they entered that building in the rear?" for fully ten minutes hal hung around, but neither hardwick nor ferris put in an appearance. a wagon was leading up on one side of the yard, but presently this drove off, and then all became quiet. watching his chance, when he thought no one was observing him, hal entered the gate of the lumber-yard and hurried down to the building in the rear. there was a window beside the door to the place, and hal gazed inside. an elderly man was present. he was seated beside a hot stove, toasting his shins and reading a morning paper. "they didn't enter the office, that's certain," said hal to himself. "now, where did they go?" suddenly he stopped short. was it possible that hardwick and ferris had discovered that they were being followed, and had slipped through the lumber-yard merely to throw him off the scent? "it certainly looks like it," thought hal. "i'll sneak around the back way, and see what i can discover." back of the office were great piles of lumber, all thickly covered with snow. among them could plainly be seen the footsteps of two people. the marks were fresh, and led along the back fence and then to the right. hal followed the marks among the piles of lumber until he came to a spot where all became mixed, as if some one had retraced his steps. as he paused, examining the tracks, he heard a noise behind him, and, turning, he found himself confronted by hardwick. "i want to know what you are following me about for?" demanded the man, savagely. chapter xxv. hal's escape from hardwick. hal could not help but shrink back as hardwick advanced. "did you hear what i said?" demanded the man, after a second of silence. "i did," replied hal, in a disguised voice. he did not know whether or not hardwick had discovered his real identity, and he intended to run no risk in the matter. "then answer me." "supposing i refuse to do so?" "it won't help you," fumed hardwick. "i know perfectly well who you are." "you do?" cried hal, and he was taken aback by the ex-book-keeper's words. "exactly. you are one of those mighty smart detectives old sumner has employed to shadow me." hal could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. his identity was still a secret. "ain't i right?" went on hardwick, seeing the youth did not reply. "i decline to answer," replied hal, firmly. "oh, you do?" sneered hardwick. "i do." "then you understand i've got you in a corner." "i understand nothing of the sort." "supposing i should pull out my pistol?" "you won't dare to do so." "and pray why? how do i know but what you are not a footpad?" cried hardwick, getting angry at hal's apparent coolness. "because a shot might bring others to the spot," said the youth, bravely. "no one is around." "you forget that in new york detectives often travel in pairs." it was a random remark, but it told. hardwick turned pale, and shifted uneasily. "you're a cool customer," he said, eyeing hal sharply. "detectives have to be cool." "you won't gain anything by following me." "i haven't said that i was following you." "but you have admitted that you are a detective, and that amounts to the same thing." "perhaps it does and perhaps it doesn't." as hal spoke, he looked around for dick ferris. the tall youth was nowhere to be seen. "what are you looking for?" "that's my business." "come, don't get cheeky." "then don't question me." hardwick's eyes flashed fire. a dark look of hatred came into his face, and he made a spring forward. "i'll teach you a lesson," he hissed. "stand back!" cried hal. "stand back, or take the consequence!" hardly had hal spoken the words when a sudden shadow caused him to glance upward. it was well that he did so. on a large pile of lumber stood dick ferris, and in his hands he held a heavy beam, which he was just on the point of letting fall upon hal's head. the boy had barely time enough to spring to one side when with a boom the beam came down and buried itself in the snow. "you mean coward!" cried the youth. "wait till i catch you!" he made a dash to the side of the pile, which was arranged like steps, intending to mount to where ferris stood. as he did so, hardwick shouted something to the tall boy, and then leaped the fence of the lumber-yard, and ran out on the side street. ferris could not see hal now, but he understood what hardwick said, and as hal mounted to the top of the pile the tall boy got down and let himself drop off the edge. he landed in the deep snow, and was not hurt in the least. before hal could discover his flight, he was over the fence and on his way to join hardwick. it took hal but a minute to learn of the direction the two escaping evil-doers had taken, and then he made after them with all possible speed. but the pursuit was a useless one, and at the end of several blocks hal gave it up, and dropped into a walk. what was best to do next? hal revolved the question in his mind a number of times, and then, without wasting time, made his way back to the costumer's establishment. "i wish my disguise changed," he said. "what, already?" said the proprietor, in astonishment. "yes, something has happened since i was here, and now i wish you to fix me up differently." "but the same sort of a character?" "yes." "then supposing i give you a different colored mustache and a beard for those side whiskers?" "that will do, if you will also change this suit and overcoat." "certainly." the exchange was quickly made, and, looking like an entirely different person, hal left the costumer's and hurried down to wall street. making sure that no one but the new book-keeper and mr. sumner were about the place, he entered. "that's a splendid disguise," said the old broker, when the two were alone. "it's the second i've had to-day," said hal. "the second?" "yes. since i saw you last i've had quite a few adventures." "of what nature, hal? i trust you had no more trouble?" "it didn't amount to much." and, sitting down, hal related all that had occurred. "dick ferris must be a very wicked boy," remarked the broker, when hal had finished. "but about these slips that he is going to have printed. are you positive mr. allen gave them to him?" "no, sir. but i think he did. he gave ferris something and some money, and ferris lost no time in getting to the printing establishment." "humph!" mr. sumner mused for a moment. "i can hardly believe it, even though the evidence seems plain enough." "what are the slips?" asked hal, with considerable curiosity. "they are of the kind which we use in our daily business. since mr. allen and myself agreed to end our limited partnership, i have kept the regular slips in my safe. formerly they were in hardwick's charge, where both of us could have easy access to them, but now--well, to be plain, i allow no business to be conducted unless under my supervision." "and that is right, mr. sumner." "now, if mr. allen is really having these extra slips printed, it would seem as if he--he----" "intended to make use of them without consulting you," finished hal, bluntly. "yes." "he is none too good for that, sir. but wasn't he here this morning?" "yes. we had a very stormy interview. he is angry because i discharged hardwick, and would not believe me when i said hardwick was a defaulter." "that's part of his plan." "you may be right, hal. you are a wonderful boy. as i was saying, we had a stormy interview, and i doubt if he spends a great deal of time here during the remaining days of our partnership." "the partnership ends on new year's day, doesn't it?" "that was the day set, but by mutual agreement we have made the date the twentieth of december." "why, that is day after to-morrow." "yes." "the day the slips are to be finished." "so it is." "no wonder ferris wished them as soon as possible." horace sumner arose, and walked up and down the office. "if there is to be any crooked work in the matter of the slips, i will take good care to head it off. i might be swindled out of thousands of dollars in that way." "you will look over the genuine slips, i suppose?" "i will, in the presence of the new book-keeper and another witness. there shall be no under-handed work in the matter. i believe you are altogether right, hal. i have been surrounded by villains, and they would pluck me to the end if i but gave them the chance." chapter xxvi. hal obtains another situation. for a moment there was silence, and then horace sumner stopped short before hal. "there is another matter i might mention," he said. "caleb allen is going, or rather, has gone, into business for himself." "what kind of business?" asked the youth, in surprise. "a brokerage and loan office." "near here?" "yes, right around the corner of broad street, not five minutes, walk. he hired the place from the first, and i understand he and another man are already doing business there." "who is the other man?" "a fellow named parsons." "has he a good reputation?" "far from it. he was arrested for forgery five years ago, but his friends hushed the matter up." "have you the number of the place?" "yes, here it is. what do you intend to do?" "i don't know. i'll take a look at the place. that will do no harm. perhaps hardwick will call on mr. allen." after a few words more hal left the private office, and passed out on wall street. he soon turned the corner into broad street, the second great money center of new york, and presently came to the building in which was situated the offices now occupied by the firm of allen & parsons. the offices were down three steps, and as hal passed on the pavement above, a small sign pasted in the corner of the window attracted his attention: young man wanted. rapid writer. stopping short, hal descended the steps, and peered into the window. a middle-aged man stood at the front desk, smoking a cigar and writing. "that must be either mr. parsons or a book-keeper," thought hal. then a sudden determination sprang up in his mind. without a second thought he entered the office and walked up to the desk. the man looked up, and laid down his cigar. "well, sir, what is it?" he asked, in a pleasant voice. "is this one of the proprietors?" "yes, i am mr. parsons." "i see you want a young man, sir." "we do." most of the pleasantness vanished, and a sharp look came to the man's face. "you are looking for a situation?" "yes, sir." "are you a good writer?" "i will show you my hand, sir?" "all right. here is paper and ink. write a sheetful as rapidly as you can do so in good style." hal took up the pen. he was really a rapid writer, and in five minutes the job was done. parsons looked at the work. "that might do. have you any recommendations?" "no, sir. i am a stranger in new york." "ah, a stranger." a certain pleased look came into the broker's eyes. "what's your idea of salary?" "i hardly know. i must support myself." "all alone?" "yes, sir." parsons appeared better pleased than ever. "just the kind of a fellow allen and i want," he muttered to himself. "i will give you a trial on seven dollars a week, and, if you suit, i will raise you to eight." "thank you, sir." "what is your name?" "frank hallen," replied hal, using the cognomen of one of his poor-house associates. "very well, hallen. are you ready to go to work at once?" "yes, sir." "then come inside." hal walked behind the railing, and parsons showed him where to place his coat and hat. "here is a copy of a letter i wish duplicated ten times. you can go to work at this second desk. at one o'clock you can take half an hour for lunch." "yes, sir." hal gathered his material about him, and went to work as if his very life depended on it. "he seems to be an awfully shrewd man," he thought, meaning parsons. "i wonder what he would say if he knew i had taken the job merely as a blind?" he could not help but smile to himself, and parsons saw the smile, but misinterpreted it. "he feels good over dropping into a situation, i suppose," he muttered. "well, if he's a stranger in new york and alone, he is probably just the fellow for allen's work. it won't do to have a chap around who is too well acquainted." hal had made four copies of the letter when the front door opened, and caleb allen entered. the broker looked rather surprised when he saw hal, but he did not recognize the youth, and hal drew a deep sigh of relief. "got a clerk, eh?" said allen, to his new partner. "yes," replied parsons. "hallen, this is mr. allen, your other employer." hal bowed. then allen turned to an office in the rear, and parsons immediately followed him. the door, which was partly of ground glass, was tightly closed. hal waited for an instant, and then, leaving the desk, tiptoed his way to the rear. by listening intently, he could just catch what was said. "you say he is a stranger in new york?" were the first words he heard, coming from allen. "yes." "humph! he will have a job finding his way around, i'm thinking." "he looks bright enough. i thought it would be better than to hire somebody who knew too much about financial matters here," returned parsons. "that's so!" cried allen. "a good idea. has samuels called yet?" "no." "he ought to be here by this time." "samuels is always slow. but tell me, how did you make out over at the old place?" "we had a deuce of a racket," exclaimed allen, savagely. "since hardwick was found out sumner has watched me like a cat." "of course, you didn't give him any satisfaction." "not much! but i can tell you i had to talk mighty smooth to keep things down." "how about dissolving?" "the affair comes off on the twentieth." "what! can you get ready by that time?" "luckily, yes." "are you going to do as i suggested about those slips?" "yes. i was just after the boy who ordered them for me, and he says they are to be done in two days, sure. it won't take an hour to fix them up after i get them." "nothing like being a slick penman, caleb." and parsons chuckled. "hush! that new man might hear you." "that's so. but i fancy he's rather green, in spite of the fact that he wants to appear like a new yorker." "if he's green, so much the better. now, about this business with samuels. do you think he can be trusted?" "yes. i know samuels thoroughly, and, besides, i have a hold on him." "a good hold?" "i could send him to prison if i wished." "and he will undertake to work off the bonds in chicago?" "i believe so. but he wants big pay." "how much?" "twenty per cent." "twenty per cent.!" cried allen. "is he crazy?" "he says he will run a big risk." "any more than hardwick and i ran in obtaining them?" "no, indeed. perhaps you can make him come down." "i certainly shall. hardwick hasn't shown up, has he?" "no. do you expect him?" "yes." "is it prudent? old sumner may have his detectives around." "i thought of that, and wrote to hardwick about it. hereafter he will disguise himself, and----" hal heard no more. the front door opened, and a stranger hurried in. chapter xxvii. hal plays a daring part. hal lost no time in confronting the new-comer. "is mr. parsons in?" asked the stranger. "yes, sir." "tell him mr. samuels is here." "i will, sir." hal walked back, and knocked on the rear office door. "come!" said allen. "a mr. samuels to see mr. parsons," said the youth. "show him in." mr. samuels was conducted to the rear office, and once more the door was tightly closed. hal was slightly disturbed. had the new-comer caught him listening in the back, or had he taken no notice? the only way to learn was to remain where he had been before, and this the youth did. "well, samuels, on hand i see," said parsons. "mr. allen just came in." "then we can come to business without delay," replied samuels. he was a small-faced jew, with eyes that appeared to be more than half closed. as he spoke, he drew up a chair close to where the other two were sitting. "say," he went on. "who is the young fellow outside?" "our new clerk." "can you trust him?" "i think so. why?" "he might overhear what was said." "he won't if you don't talk too loud." "very well." "hold on," put in allen. "parsons, send him off to mail some letters." the junior partner at once walked outside, and, taking up a bunch of letters, handed them to hal. "mail these," he said. "and then you can go to lunch." "yes, sir." hal at once put on his overcoat and hat, and walked out with the letters. he wished he could have remained in the office, for he felt certain the conversation about to ensue would be a most important one. he dropped the letters into the nearest box, and then stood undecided what to do next. "mr. allen has those bonds, that's certain," he said to himself. "i wonder if it would do any good to notify the police?" but this plan did not appear to be just the right one. if arrested, allen would, of course, deny any knowledge of the stolen property and all the proof hal had was his own word, and that might not go very far in a court of law. "no, the only thing to do is to find those bonds and get them back myself," he muttered. "perhaps allen only has part of them, and hardwick the other part. besides, i have not yet learned what macklin and ferris have to do with the case." he knew there was a window in the back of the rear office; this was tightly closed, so it would be of no use to attempt to hear anything from that direction. at last hal took his stand opposite the entrance to the office. he had hardly done so when parsons and samuels came out, and hurried up the street at the top of their walking powers. "something is up," thought hal. "shall i follow them, or remain behind with allen?" he knew if he wished to keep his place as clerk, he ought to go back soon. he hesitated, and then decided to remain. so, procuring a sandwich and an apple, he munched them down, and then walked in. caleb allen looked at him darkly as he entered, but said nothing, and, hanging up his coat and hat, hal resumed the copying of the letter. half an hour later, a tall man came in. he was well dressed, and wore a heavy black mustache and beard. he glanced at hal, and then walked over to where allen sat at a desk, writing a letter. "i want to see you in private," he said, in a low tone. the voice of the stranger sounded strangely familiar to hal. where had he heard it before? allen looked perplexed for an instant, and then seemed to comprehend the situation. he at once led the way to the office in the rear. the stranger entered, and the door was once more tightly closed. our young hero at once left off writing, and tiptoed his way back. an idea had struck him concerning the stranger's identity, and the first words from behind the thin partition proved that he was correct. "so you have donned the disguise, hardwick," were allen's words. "yes, deuce take the luck, i was forced to do it." "you got my letter advising it?" "i did. but that wasn't what brought me to it. i was followed by one of old sumner's detectives." "ha! did he discover anything?" "not from me. but i'm afraid he did in another direction." allen turned pale, and shifted uneasily. "what way?" he exclaimed, hoarsely. "i am pretty well satisfied the same fellow followed ferris to the establishment where you are having those bogus bills printed." "and what did he learn?" "i am not sure he really followed, and, of course, i don't know how much he learned." "too bad! did you come face to face with the man?" "i did, but he got away from us." "who do you mean--was ferris with you?" "yes. he thought he recognized the man as one who followed him to the printing office." "i see. we must be careful, hardwick, very careful." "if it hadn't been for that carson it would be all right," growled the ex-book-keeper. "i would like to wring that boy's neck." "so would i. but what has become of him? he was not at the office this morning when i was there." "i don't know. he boarded with ferris' aunt, but he has left there, too." "that's queer." "i have an idea he isn't so much of a boy as we think," said hardwick, with a shake of his head. "what do you mean?" "i believe if he isn't a regular detective, he is next door to it, and was hired by sumner to spot me. that scene in the office when i accused him was a put-up job on his part and sumner's. see how easily sumner sided with him in every instance." "by jove! you may be right," cried allen. "we must be more than careful, or----" hal did not catch the words that followed, for the door of the office opened and a slouching figure entered. it was tommy macklin. veiling his astonishment as best he could, hal approached the tough. "what is it?" he asked, briefly. "is der boss in?" asked macklin. "do you mean mr. allen or mr. parsons?" asked hal, although he knew very well. "mr. allen." "i will see. what name?" "wot's dat?" "what is your name?" "me name ain't got nothin' ter do wid it. tell him a gent from der east side wants ter talk ter him a few minits." "i will." hal rapped on the door. it was quickly opened by mr. allen. "here is a man wants to see you, sir," said hal. "he says he's from the east side, and won't give any name." allen looked out toward macklin. he looked disturbed when he recognized the tough. "step this way," he called out, and macklin entered the office. "now, what brings you?" demanded allen, as soon as the door was shut. instead of replying, macklin looked at hardwick, who had taken off part of his disguise. "wot! you here?" he faltered. "yes, tommy, you didn't expect it, did you?" returned hardwick, with a short laugh. "no, i didn't." "what brought you?" "i want money," said the tough, coming forward and putting on a bold front. "i want money from both of yer; see?" "how much?" asked allen. "a t'ousand dollars." "you are crazy!" cried the broker. "no i ain't. i mean just wot i say, allen. i want five hundred from you, an' der udder from hardwick." "supposing we won't pay it?" "den i'll tell der police wot i know; i ain't doin' yer work fer nothin'." and the tough poked his nose close to that of caleb allen. "nonsense, tommy!" put in hardwick. "i agreed to give you a hundred dollars for keeping quiet about what you know, and that's all you'll get." "den i'll--wot's dat?" a loud noise in the outer office startled macklin. hal, listening at the door, suddenly found himself in the hands of parsons and samuels. "a spy, as i thought," cried samuels. "hardwick! allen!" the two called, rushed out, and hal was surrounded. "a spy, is he?" cried allen. "who can----" "that beard is false!" exclaimed hardwick, tearing it as well as the mustache from our hero's face. "hal carson! boys, lock the front door! if he escapes, we shall be ruined!" chapter xxviii. hal is exposed. the moment that hardwick made his announcement, parsons sprang to the front door and locked it. "carson!" muttered allen. "hardwick, you were right, he is nothing more nor less than a spy." when tommy macklin saw the face of hal he grew pale as death. "carson!" he gasped, falling back. "what's the matter with you?" demanded hardwick. "dat's der chap wot followed ferris ter my house." "followed ferris. when?" "der night he brung me dat letter from you about dat bus'ness over to der--you know." "you are sure?" "sure," repeated macklin, in deep disgust. "i t'ink i am." "how did you happen to catch him?" "he was spyin' at der door, same as here. we collared him, and knocked him down. i t'ought he was dead, an' me an' ferris chucked him in a vat in der cellar of der old pickle factory." "ferris said nothing of this to me," said hardwick. "he was most scared stiff, dat feller was," replied macklin, disdainfully. "i guess he t'ought he would not say nuthin' ter nobody." during this time hal had not said a word, but now he spoke up. "what do you intend to do with me?" he asked. "you'll see fast enough," replied hardwick. "we have got you fast this time. do you know what i think? i think you are the same fellow that i met in the lumber-yard." "and if i am, hardwick, what of it?" "it will go so much the harder with you." "let us bind him so he cannot escape," said allen. "he is a dangerous young man to have loose." "there is a rope in the closet," said parsons. "bind him with that, if you want to." the rope was speedily brought forth, and hal was bound hands and feet. there was no use trying to escape, and consequently he did not undertake to do so. "put him in the closet," ordered the broker, when the job of binding hal was completed. "gag him first," cautioned hardwick. "we don't want him to raise the roof, if he's left alone. we'll fix him later." the gag was inserted in hal's mouth, and then he was lifted up by macklin and the others and dumped into the corner of the closet, and the door was closed and locked upon him. from the closet, which was damp and cold, he could hear the confused murmur of voices, but could not make out a word of what was being said. the murmur continued fully half an hour, and then all became as silent as the grave. hal was all but suffocated by the rude gag which had been forced into his mouth. all was dark, and his position was a painful one, not only mentally, but bodily as well. what the rogues intended to do with him he did not know. if only he could free himself and get away! with might and main he tugged at the rope which bound his hands. at first it remained tight, but at last it loosened sufficiently to allow him to slip out his right hand. the left soon followed; and hal's next work was to remove the gag from his mouth. what a relief it was to once more close his mouth! his feet freed, the boy looked about for some means by which to escape from the closet. the door was locked, as has been mentioned, but it was a poor affair, and hal knew he could easily force it open with his shoulder. before proceeding to this extremity, he listened intently. it must be near three o'clock, and he wondered if all the others had left. suddenly voices broke upon his ear, and he heard hardwick and macklin enter the rear office. by applying his ear to the key-hole hal heard what was said. if they opened the closet door, he determined to make a bold dash for liberty. "how much is der in dis new ob?" macklin asked. "two hundred dollars, if he never comes back." "den pass over der cash." "i'll pay you after the job is done, tommy." "no yer don't. dis is a cash-in-advance job." "can't you trust me?" "i kin, but i ain't goin' ter." "it's to your interest as much as ours to have him out of the way." "dat's all right, too, but its pay or no job, hardwick." "if i pay you now you may make a balk as you did before." "no, dis will be a sure t'ing, i'll give yer me word." "then here you are." a silence followed. "is that right?" asked hardwick. "yes. but, remember, dis ain't part of dat t'ousand i'm ter have fer dat udder work." "i understand. now, go for the coach, and i'll stay till you come back. it's getting dark, and the street is almost deserted." "i will. better lock der door, and don't unlock it again till yer hear four knocks; see?" "yes." macklin at once went off, and hal heard hardwick lock the door after him as agreed, but the key was left in the lock. by the conversation hal knew it must be later than he had supposed. under cover of the darkness macklin was going to bring a coach to the place. for what purpose? in spite of his naturally brave spirit, hal shivered. he was in the power of a desperate set of men, and he had learned enough of their secrets to convict every one of them. they would not hesitate to do anything to escape their just deserts. "i must fight for it," he muttered to himself, "and now is the best time to do it." he opened the closet door cautiously, and peeped out. hardwick sat in an easy-chair, smoking savagely, as if he were out of humor. no one else was in the place. the office was heavily carpeted, so hal made no noise as he stepped out of the closet. he had to pass within five feet of hardwick, who sat with his back half turned to the boy. hardly daring to breathe, hal tiptoed his way past hardwick and into the outer office, the door to which stood wide open. here it was quite dark, and the boy saw through the window that it was again snowing heavily. at last the door was reached, and his hand was upon the key, ready to turn it in the lock. suddenly, as if struck by an idea, hardwick jumped to his feet and came out. his intention was to examine something on one of the outer desks, and when he beheld hal he stared at the youth in blank amazement. "where--where--" he began. without saying a word, hal turned the key and caught hold of the latch of the door. then, with something that sounded like the growl of a wild animal, hardwick pounced upon him. "no, you don't!" he hissed. "you sha'n't escape this time. come back here!" he caught hal by the coat collar. the youth struggled, and then struck out with all force. the blow landed on hardwick's chin, and knocked his head back with such force that for the instant he let slip his grasp and hal was free. but before the plucky youth could open the door the man had him fast again, and was punching him with all his might. "i'll teach you a lesson!" he cried. "take that! and that! you are smart, but you are not smart enough for me!" "let go!" cried hal. but hardwick continued to pound him. then, in sheer desperation, hal closed in and fought tooth and nail, as if his very life depended on it. hardwick was a heavy-built man, but he was no match for the youth, who all his life had been used to hard labor, and whose muscles, consequently, were like steel. he struck hal many times, but the youth squirmed and twisted, and suddenly hit him a crack between the eyes that made him see stars. "oh!" he howled, and dropped back, while hal, taking advantage of this stroke of good luck, made another dash for the front door. he opened the door, and was half-way out when hardwick, realizing what escape meant, leaped forward and caught him by the coat. "let go!" cried hal, and with a jerk he tore away and started up the steps leading to the street. he had scarcely taken half a dozen steps when he ran full tilt into macklin, who had just driven up on the box of a closed coach. "wot's dis?" cried the tough. "carson! no yer don't!" he carried his whip in his hand, and as he spoke he brought the butt down on hal's head with full force. there was a strange flash of fire through hal's brain, and then all became a dark blank. chapter xxix. hal makes a lively move. when hal came to his senses he found himself bound and gagged as before, but instead of being in a closet he was now in a coach that was whirling along as fast as the deep snow would permit. the curtains of the vehicle were tightly drawn, so the youth had no chance of seeing where he was being taken. his head ached fearfully from the blow tommy macklin had administered, and for several minutes he could hardly collect himself. "missed it!" he groaned to himself. "and now those villains have me completely in their power." it was not a pleasant thought, and therefore hal did not allow his mind to dwell upon it. he wondered if he could get open one of the doors of the coach, and leap, or rather tumble, to the ground. it would be a dangerous experiment, considering how he was tied up, but hal was willing to assume desperate risks just now. he fumbled around with his bound hands for fully five minutes, and at last succeeded in turning the handle to one of the coach doors, which immediately swung open. hal looked out. they were on an almost deserted road. it was quite dark, and still snowing. "if i drop out here i may be frozen to death before i can free myself," he thought. "i will wait until we pass a house of some sort." hal had hardly reached this conclusion before the coach rolled past an elegant road-house, brilliantly illuminated from top to bottom. "now is my chance," he thought. "there ought to be somebody around to pick me up." losing no time, for they had now passed several rods beyond the road-house, the plucky boy wriggled his body toward the open door of the coach. watching for what he thought a favorable opportunity, hal gave himself a lurch forward and tumbled out into the snow. but as he did so one of the rear wheels of the coach struck him on the side of the head, and the blow rendered him unconscious. his body lay where it had fallen for several minutes. then two young men in a cutter came driving from the road-house. "hullo, ike, what's that?" cried one of them, pulling up. "looks like a tramp in the snow," replied the other. "let's drive out of the way." "we can't leave him here. he'll be frozen to death." "by jove, will, you're right. wait, i'll jump out and investigate." the speaker leaped out into the snow, and bent over the motionless form. "by jove! it isn't a tramp at all!" he burst out. "it's a well-dressed young man. go back and get help. he's hurt on the head." the young fellow remaining in the cutter at once did as directed, and returned with a negro and a white man. hal's body was lifted up, and he was carried to the road-house and placed on a lounge in the waiting-room. restoratives were applied, and presently hal gave a gasp and sat up, the cords with which he had been bound having been cut. "where--where am i?" he asked, in bewilderment. "you're safe indoors," was the reply. "what was the matter. how came you to be bound?" "i was trapped, and a man was carrying me off in a coach." "what! a regular abduction, eh?" "yes, sir." "what's the matter? did the fellow want to get your money?" "no. i know too much, and he, or rather the men who employ him, want to get me out of the way." "humph! they ought to be locked up! we don't want any such work as that around new york city." "where am i?" asked hal, again. "you are at the half-way house on the jerome avenue road." "how far is that from downtown?" "quite a few miles, young man." "which is the nearest way down?" "there is a station on the new york central & hudson river railroad not far from here. but there won't be a train down until half-past ten." "and what time is it now?" "quarter past nine." "then i think i'll wait." "you had better. that crack on the head is an ugly one." "i must have gotten it when i jumped from the coach." "it was a desperate leap. who was the fellow who was carrying you off?" "a tough from the east side." "maybe he'll be coming back looking for you." "that's so," cried hal. "is there a police officer around?" "i'll find out." "macy is down by the stable," put in a man present. "call him, please," said hal. the policeman was summoned, and to him and the proprietor of the place the youth told his story, omitting all details that were not necessary. "we might follow him in one of the rigs here," said the policeman. "but it's more than likely he'll be back." "will you arrest him for me?" "sure." a few minutes passed. then the door opened, and the negro who had helped to pick hal up came in. "a feller wid an empty coach jess drove up," he said, somewhat excitedly. "it must be macklin!" exclaimed hal. "where is he?" "jess gitting ready ter cum in, i reckon, sah." "we'll go down and meet him," said the policeman, and he led the way. the door leading to the bar-room was partly of glass. beaching it, the policeman pointed to a man standing at the bar, gulping down a glass of liquor. "is that the chap?" he asked. hal gave a look. "yes, that's macklin. don't let him get away!" "no fear. i've dealt with many a tough customer, and i know how to handle them." "i will step in first, and give him a surprise," said the youth, and he opened the door. macklin's back was turned at the time, and he did not see our hero until hal tapped him on the shoulder. "well, macklin, were you looking for me?" the tough turned quickly. then he grew pale, and the glass almost dropped from his hand. "wot--where----" he stammered. "you didn't expect to meet me here, did you?" went on hal, pleasantly. "no--dat is--where did yer cum from?" "from your coach, macklin. i got tired of riding in such a cramped fashion." the tough shifted uneasily. hal beckoned to the policeman. "here, officer, is the rascal." macklin wheeled about, and gave the policeman a single glance, when, muttering something, he made a dash for the door. but both hal and the policeman were after him, and our hero caught him by the arm, and held him until the officer had slipped a pair of hand-cuffs onto him. "i'll fix yer fer dis!" hissed macklin in hal's ear. "your days for fixing people are about over, macklin," replied the youth. "you and the others have overreached yourselves for once." "i didn't do nuthin'." "we will see about that later. where are hardwick and allen?" "i don't know dem," replied the tough, sullenly. "all right; then you want to take the whole responsibility of this matter on your own shoulders!" at this the tough winced. it was putting the matter in a different light. "say, supposin' i put you on to dere game, will yer be easy wid me?" "that depends on how much you have to tell," said hal. "i knows more dan da t'inks i do." "about what?" "about dem--never mind. i know wot you are after, an' don't fergit it!" "the tin box?" macklin nodded "who has it, hardwick or allen?" "i ain't sayin' anyt'ing." "all right, officer, take him to the station-house, and i will go along and make a charge." "no, no!" cried macklin. "i wasn't goin ter do yer, i was only goin' ter take yer to an old house up der river, an' hardwick and allen was goin' ter settle wid yer in der mornin'." "where is the old house?" "der flack mansion." "i know the place," said the policeman. "it has been unoccupied for years." "what time were they coming up?" "hardwick said at eight o'clock sharp," replied macklin. he seemed anxious now to inform on his companions in villainy. "very well, we will see what happens at that time," returned hal, briefly. his words meant a good deal. chapter xxx. the missing tin box. less than an hour later macklin was taken to the police station in his own coach and locked up. as soon as this was accomplished hal lost no time in making his way to horace sumner's elegant mansion. it was now quite late, and only a single light gleamed out from the mansion, and that from the library, where the old broker sat, busy with his accounts. his face was furrowed with care, and just before hal rang the bell he heaved a deep sigh. "unless the tin box containing the stolen bonds is recovered i will be a ruined man!" he groaned. "it is impossible to cover the loss. allen has ruined me, and even though he tries to use those slips, and i have him arrested, it will do no good." the ring at the bell aroused him, and, as the servants had retired, he answered the summons himself. "what, hal!" he cried. "you must have important news, or you would not come at this hour of the night." "i have important news, mr. sumner," replied the youth. "and i came because i want your assistance the first thing in the morning." "you shall have it, hal. but what news do you bring? come into the library and tell me." the two passed into the sumptuously-furnished apartment, and, seated by the open grate fire, the youth told of all that had occurred since he had obtained employment at allen & parsons'. "you have had several narrow escapes, my boy," cried the old broker, shuddering. "you must be more careful, really you must." "i think we have about reached the end of the matter," returned hal. "why, what do you mean? the tin box----" "i have an idea hardwick, allen, and the others intend to come to some sort of a settlement to-morrow, either at the old house, or at the office in broad street. this samuels is about to take some of the bonds to chicago, and we must be on hand to stop the scheme." "you are right, hal, and mighty smart. what do you propose? you have done so well thus far i must really allow you to go on." "i propose we go to the old house, accompanied by a couple of officers, and lay low for hardwick and allen. when they come i can appear before them with my hands and feet bound, and accuse them of the crime. they will not know that macklin has been arrested--i have taken care of that--and they may give themselves away." "a good plan. what rogues they are, and how blind i have been! hal, i shall not forget all you have done for me." a little more conversation ensued, and then the youth arose. "where are you going, now?" "to the hotel to get some sleep." "no need of going to the hotel. i will call up one of the servants, and she can show you to a room." "you are very kind, mr. sumner----" "it is nothing, hal, in comparison to what you have done for me. i shall reward you well if the missing box is recovered." quarter of an hour later hal was shown to a bedroom on the second floor. it was quite the finest apartment of the kind he had ever entered. the servant opened the bed and drew the curtains, and then retired. "gracious, this is style!" murmured the youth, as he began to disrobe. "i wonder if i will ever own anything as nice?" on the walls were a number of steel engravings and etchings, and on the mantel rested a large photograph of a handsome, middle-aged lady. hal gazed at the portrait for fully five minutes. the features were so motherly they appealed to his heart. "it must be a picture of the late mrs. sumner," he thought. "what a good woman she must have been! no wonder mr. sumner and miss laura miss her." and then, as he thought of his own condition--that of a mere poor-house foundling--his eyes grew moist. "how i wish i had known a mother, and that she was like her," was his soliloquy. "or that i had a father like kind mr. sumner--and such a girl like miss laura for a sister," he added, suddenly, and then he blushed. his mind presently turned back to the missing tin box, and thinking over this, he soon fell asleep. he was up bright and early. when he went down to the library he found laura sumner there, and the old broker soon joined them. a hasty breakfast was had, livened by the bright conversation of laura, who was of a vivacious turn of mind, and then mr. sumner and hal hurried off to police headquarters. their quest was soon explained to the officer in charge, and two men were detailed to accompany them to the old mansion up on the jerome avenue road. it had stopped snowing, and the early morning sun made everything glisten. a large sleigh was procured, and one of the policemen and hal mounted the box and off they drove. it was twenty minutes to eight when the vicinity of the old flack mansion was reached. the sleigh was driven around a bend and into a clump of trees, and then the party dismounted. "i'll go ahead, and see if anybody is around," said hal. "if it's all right i'll wave a handkerchief from one of the windows." the youth was somewhat excited. supposing macklin had made up the story of the meeting between hardwick and allen? such a thing was possible. "but no, he wouldn't dare," thought hal. "he is thoroughly scared, and wants to gain our good graces by giving the others away." the deserted mansion was in a dilapidated condition. more than half the shutters were gone, and the front door stood wide open. sneaking up along an old hedge, hal gained the half-tumbled-down piazza and glided swiftly into the hall, now more than quarter filled with snow, which the sharp wind had driven in. "certainly a cheerless place," he thought. "but i suppose they thought no one would come here, and so they would be free from interruption." he entered the parlor of the house, and then walked through to the dining-room, the library, and then the kitchen. nothing was disturbed, and the smooth snow, wherever it had drifted in, did not show the first sign of a footstep. "good! i am in plenty of time," said hal to himself. "i must tramp around a bit, and then bind myself up as best i can." he waved his handkerchief out of one of the windows and then proceeded to tie his feet together. he had just finished the work, when horace sumner and two officers rushed in. "they are coming!" exclaimed the old broker. "there are allen, hardwick, and two strangers." "the strangers must be parsons and samuels," said hal. "here, bind my hands, and shove me into the closet, and then hide." this was done, and less than a minute later a stamping was heard, and allen, hardwick, parsons, and samuels entered the parlor. "hullo, macklin, where are you?" cried hardwick. of course, there was no reply. "must have gone off to get his breakfast," said allen. "wonder what he did with the boy?" "boy!" cried hardwick. "better say man. carson is altogether too smart to be called a boy." "we must get him out of the way, and then finish this bond matter," went on allen. "yes, and hurry up," put in samuels. "i want to catch, the twelve o'clock train to chicago, and you might as well give me the bonds to take along. the sooner they are worked off the better." "that's an easy matter to settle," said hardwick. "i have the tin box right here with me. i didn't dare leave it behind, for fear old sumner might get a search warrant and go through my house." as the ex-book-keeper spoke, he unbuttoned his great coat, and brought forth the missing tin box for which hal and the others had been so long searching. chapter xxxi. hardwick's dash for liberty. hal and the others listened with keen interest to hardwick's words. the ex-book-keeper had the missing railroad bonds with him, and he intended to transfer them to samuels, to be disposed of to the best advantage. "now is the time to capture the gang," thought hal. "i wish my hands were free." "let us see what has become of carson first," said allen, nervously. "somehow i don't feel safe as long as that boy is within possible hearing." "don't get afraid," replied parsons. "tommy macklin has probably done him up, or you would hear something from him." "macklin tried to remove him once before," returned allen, with a shake of his head. "that boy beats all for shrewdness." "i would like to settle him myself," growled hardwick. "we would never have had the least bit of trouble if it hadn't been for him. like as not i would still have been sumner's head and confidential clerk," he added, with a sarcastic laugh. "yes, and i could have made life bitterness itself for horace sumner," cried allen. "i wanted to do more than ruin him." "what makes you so bitter against sumner?" asked parsons. "that's my affair," replied allen, shortly. "it's because sumner married the girl allen wanted," put in samuels. "allen was clean gone on her, and when she married sumner it broke him all up." "shut up, samuels!" exclaimed allen, evidently angry at having the matter mentioned. "there are but few know of it, and i don't want it to reach horace sumner's ears, or----" "it won't reach him through me, allen, and he will never suspect that you had anything to do with his son's----" "will you shut up!" roared allen, turning white with rage. "one would think, by the way your tongue rattles, that you had been drinking." "only had a couple of glasses," returned samuels, coolly. "so don't get worked up, allen." hal listened to this conversation with deep interest. it revealed why allen was so bitter against horace sumner, and so willing to cheat his partner. "but i don't understand about that child business yet," muttered hal to himself. while the others were talking hardwick had been examining the closets, and he now came to the one in which the others had placed hal. "hullo! here he is!" he shouted. "well, how do you feel, you beggar?" the last to the boy. "not very well," replied hal coolly. his hands were now loose, but he kept them behind him. "you'll feel a sight worse before we are done with you," returned hardwick, grimly. "what do you intend to do with me?" "you'll see soon enough," said the ex-book-keeper. he turned to the others, and as he did so hal bent down and freed his feet. "by jove! he's loose!" cried parsons, glancing around. "yes, and i intend to stay so," cried hal, stepping into the room. "hardwick, i want that tin box." "ho! ho! hear him talk!" exclaimed hardwick. "jump on him, boys!" "stand back, every one of you!" cried hal. "i am not alone here. there is plenty of help!" he uttered the last word loudly, and on the instant the doors leading to the dining-room, and the one from the library opened, and horace sumner stepped into the parlor, followed by the two officers. "trapped!" howled allen. "macklin has either been outwitted or he has played us false!" the two officers held pistols in their hands, and they lost no time in coming to the front. "surrender, all of you!" cried one of them. "never!" cried allen. "do you think i am to be caught like a rat in a trap?" he made a dash for the hall-way, and was quickly followed by samuels. but the two policemen were too quick for the pair, and they were speedily overtaken, and then a desperate struggle ensued. in the meantime parsons tried to jump through the door-way leading to the library. in order to do this he had to pass horace sumner, and putting out his foot the old broker sent the man sprawling to the floor, and then ended his struggles by sitting down on him so suddenly that parsons' wind was knocked completely out of him. hal still confronted hardwick, whose eyes were fairly blazing with passion. "give me the box!" commanded hal. "quick! i mean what i say." instead of complying hardwick made a vicious blow for hal's head. the boy dodged, but in doing so slipped and went down on his back. before he could recover, hardwick sprang for one of the open windows, and leaped through, carrying part of the long sash with him. he had hardly disappeared when hal was on his feet again. without hesitation the youth followed through the broken window. hardwick was making for the road, where stood a team of horses attached to a fine sleigh. "if he gets away in that he and the tin box are goners!" was hal's rapid conclusion. "i must stop him at all hazards." hardwick had a good start, but hal made quick time after him, and when the ex-book-keeper reached the sleigh the boy was not a dozen yards behind. "stop, hardwick!" he cried. "not much, carson! take that!" hardwick pulled out his weapon. there were two reports in rapid succession. hal was struck in the side, and hardwick stumbled down. hal was quite badly hurt, but he braced up and staggered to where hardwick lay. "now give up the tin box," he ordered, in as steady a voice as he could. "never to you!" roared hardwick. "you have been the cause of all my trouble. take that!" he fired. one bullet grazed hal's shoulder, the others flew wide of their mark. then the boy took the butt of his own weapon and with one blow on hardwick's head knocked the villain unconscious. the mist was swimming before his eyes as he gathered up the tin box and its precious contents, and staggered toward the house. the policemen had made prisoners of the gang, and horace sumner ran out to meet the youth. "you are shot, hal?" he cried, in quick alarm. "yes, mr. sumner--i--i am shot," was the low reply. "but here is the tin box and--the--bonds--safe." and with these words hal pitched over insensible into the broker's arms. chapter xxxii. a surprising revelation. horace sumner was terribly alarmed. paying no attention to the tin box, he knelt down and raised hal up on his knee. "shot in the shoulder and in the side," he murmured after a brief examination. "oh, i trust it be not serious!" all of the prisoners had been handcuffed, and one of the officers followed mr. sumner out. "hullo! is he shot?" he cried. "yes." "where is the fellow with the tin box?" "the box is here, safe. there lies the fellow. arrest him, and fix it so he cannot get away." the policeman at once hurried to hardwick's side, and before the ex-book-keeper had fully recovered consciousness he was handcuffed and then placed in a room with the other prisoners. "what are you going to do with us?" he demanded of the policeman who stood guard at the door, pistol in hand. "you will see later. not another word now." and hardwick was forced to keep silent, as were also the others. there was another house not far distant, and getting the sleigh, mr. sumner placed hal's form into it, and drove him around to the door. matters were quickly explained, and as the broker showed that he was a wealthy man, and well able to pay for accommodations, hal was at once lifted into the house and placed on a comfortable bed in one of the upper rooms. "send for the nearest doctor, please," said horace sumner. "and tell him he must come at once, no matter what the expense. tell him i am horace sumner, the broker, of wall street." the man about the place at once hurried off, and placing the tin box, which he had picked up out of the snow, on the table, horace sumner bent over hal's motionless form, and sought by every means in his power to restore him to consciousness. in working over hal's clothing the golden locket the youth considered his birthright came to light. for the moment horace sumner paid no attention to it, but placed it on top of the tin box. at last hal opened his eyes and stared around him. "hal, how do you feel?" questioned the old broker, with real anxiety in his tones. "mr. sumner! the box--did you----" "it is safe, hal." "i am so glad," and a smile came over the pallid face. "but, my poor boy, you are hurt--hardwick shot you. can't you feel it?" "yes, in my side and my shoulder, but i don't think it's very bad, and i'll soon----" before hal could finish he fainted away. less than ten minutes later the man about the place returned with an experienced physician. "not dangerously wounded," was his opinion, after a thorough examination. "he will be as sound as a dollar in a couple of months. but he ought not to be moved for several weeks." "he shall not be," said horace sumner. and he at once made arrangements with the owner of the house to have the use of that room and the next for the entire time mentioned with board and care for a nurse and hal. an hour later hal was resting easier, and then horace sumner arose to leave and find out what the officers had done with the captured criminals. as he turned to pick up the tin box he noticed the golden locket. he took it up rather carelessly, but suddenly a peculiar look stole into his eyes, and dropping the tin box he hurriedly opened the locket. "my heavens!" he ejaculated. the exclamation was so pronounced that it awoke hal, and the youth opened his eyes wide, and stared at the man. "where--where did you get this locket?" demanded horace sumner, in a voice husky with emotion. "it is my birthright--or at least all i have of one," replied the youth. "your birthright?" "that's what i call it, sir. it was around my neck when i was found on the streets of fairham." "can this be true? when was this?" "about sixteen years ago. but what--what--" "stop! what part of the year, hal? answer me quickly." "it was one fourth of july night." horace sumner staggered back. "fourth of july," he muttered to himself. "and little howard disappeared on the twenty-seventh of june. can it be----" "you say you do not know anything about yourself?" he asked of hal. "no, sir. the people at fairham tried to find out, but they didn't make a very great effort, i'm thinking, and so i--i--well, you can see how it is." "you are not to blame, hal. a better or more noble boy never lived--and--and i thank god that is so, for it--i will explain later. i must see caleb allen without delay." and with his tin box under his arm, horace sumner rushed from the house, taking the golden locket with him. when he appeared at the station-house he seemed almost like a crazy man, so eager was he to interview allen. a private meeting between the two was speedily arranged. "allen, i have come on an important mission," began horace sumner. "have you? i thought you had your bonds," returned the swindler, as cooly as he could. "i am not referring to the bonds. this matter is far more important." "indeed!" "when you and the others were at the old flack mansion samuels mentioned a subject that lies close to my heart." "samuels didn't know what he was saying," growled allen, turning pale. "he did, allen. i have been blind, but my eyes are now wide open. caleb allen, years ago you stole my son, my little baby boy." "it's not true!" almost shouted allen, but he trembled from head to foot. "it is true. i have the evidence to prove it. do you deny that you took the little one first to philadelphia and then to the village of fairham, and on the night of the fourth of july----" caleb allen jumped up as if shot. "so tommy macklin has been blabbing, had he?" he screamed. "but it won't do you any good, horace sumner. the boy is lost to you--you will never hear of him again." "so?" the old broker pulled the golden locket from his pocket. "look at this. it was around his neck when he was stolen, and it has been the connecting link to prove his identity. he is found, and my little boy howard is--hal carson, the youth who helped to bring you to justice." here we must bring our tale to a close. what horace sumner had said was true. hal carson was really his son, who had been stolen by caleb allen and tommy macklin, the latter having, even in those days, been a ready tool of the swindler. even after having robbed sumner of his only son, allen's hatred was not satisfied, and he entered into the limited partnership only for the purpose of ruining the man. allen had fallen in with hardwick at a gambling house uptown, and the two soon became firm friends. at that time dick ferris was a great admirer of hardwick, who found the tall boy a fellow without scruples of any kind. hal was amazed when he learned the truth concerning himself. at first he could not believe it, but when it came home to him he was overjoyed. he speedily recovered from the wounds hardwick had inflicted, and one fine day in the early part of the following year horace sumner and laura took him to the elegant mansion which was in future to be his home as well as theirs. hardwick, allen, macklin, and samuels were all tried, and sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. parsons escaped, and went to england. when the police started to find dick ferris they found that the tall boy had shipped on a three years, whaling voyage. to this day he has not returned to new york. the recovery of the tin box containing the railroad bonds saved horace sumner from ruin. he and his son are now in partnership on wall street, and trusty jack mccabe is their office boy. hal, or howard, as he is now called, is rich, and is surrounded by friends, but it is not likely that he will ever forget the time he came to new york a poor boy, and solved the mystery of the missing tin box. the end on the irrawaddy: a story of the first burmese war by g. a. henty illustrated by w. h. overend. contents preface. chapter : a new career. chapter : the outbreak of war. chapter : a prisoner. chapter : a ruined temple. chapter : with brigands. chapter : among friends. chapter : on the staff. chapter : the pagoda. chapter : victories. chapter : the advance. chapter : donabew. chapter : harry carried off. chapter : preparing a rescue. chapter : in the temple. chapter : the attack. chapter : rejoining. chapter : the pride of burma humbled. chapter : in business again. illustrations stanley is brought before bandoola, the burmese general. stanley gave a sudden spring, and buried his knife in the leopard. they forced the canoe behind bushes, so as to be entirely concealed. the burmese make a great effort to capture pagoda hill. stanley cut down the man who was about to fire the hut. the great snake moved his head higher and higher, hissing angrily. in vain the burmese tried to force their way into the chamber. the old burmese general was carried from point to point in a litter. preface. with the exception of the terrible retreat from afghanistan, none of england's many little wars have been so fatal--in proportion to the number of those engaged--as our first expedition to burma. it was undertaken without any due comprehension of the difficulties to be encountered, from the effects of climate and the deficiency of transport; the power, and still more the obstinacy and arrogance of the court of ava were altogether underrated; and it was considered that our possession of her ports would assuredly bring the enemy, who had wantonly forced the struggle upon us, to submission. events, however, proved the completeness of the error. the burman policy of carrying off every boat on the river, laying waste the whole country, and driving away the inhabitants and the herds, maintained our army as prisoners in rangoon through the first wet season; and caused the loss of half the white officers and men first sent there. the subsequent campaign was no less fatal and, although large reinforcements had been sent, fifty percent of the whole died; so that less than two thousand fighting men remained in the ranks, when the expedition arrived within a short distance of ava. not until the last burmese army had been scattered did the court of ava submit to the by no means onerous terms we imposed. great, indeed, was the contrast presented by this first invasion of the country with the last war in , which brought about the final annexation of burma. then a fleet of steamers conveyed the troops up the noble river; while in a solitary steamer was all that india could furnish, to aid the flotilla of rowboats. no worse government has ever existed than that of burma when, with the boast that she intended to drive the british out of india, she began the war. no people were ever kept down by a more grinding tyranny, and the occupation of the country by the british has been an even greater blessing to the population than has that of india. several works, some by eyewitnesses, others compiled from official documents, appeared after the war. they differ remarkably in the relation of details, and still more in the spelling of the names both of persons and places. i have chiefly followed those given in the narratives of mr. h. h. wilson, and of major snodgrass, the military secretary to the commander of the expedition. chapter : a new career. a party was assembled in a room of an hotel in calcutta, at the end of the year . it consisted of a gentleman, a lady in deep mourning, a boy of between fourteen and fifteen, and two girls of thirteen and twelve. "i think you had better accept my offer, nellie," the gentleman was saying. "you will find it hard work enough to make both ends meet, with these two girls; and stanley would be a heavy drain on you. the girls cost nothing but their clothes; but he must go to a decent school, and then there would be the trouble of thinking what to do with him, afterwards. if i could have allowed you a couple of hundred a year, it would have been altogether different; but you see i am fighting an uphill fight, myself, and need every penny that i can scrape together. i am getting on; and i can see well enough that, unless something occurs to upset the whole thing, i shall be doing a big trade, one of these days; but every half penny of profit has to go into the business. so, as you know, i cannot help you at present though, by the time the girls grow up, i hope i shall be able to do so, and that to a good extent. "i feel sure that it would not be a bad thing for stanley. he will soon get to be useful to me, and in three or four years will be a valuable assistant. speaking hindustani as well as he does, he won't be very long in picking up enough of the various dialects in kathee and chittagong for our purpose and, by twenty, he will have a share of the business, and be on the highway towards making his fortune. it will be infinitely better than anything he is likely to find in england, and he will be doing a man's work at the age when he would still be a schoolboy in england. "i have spoken to him about it. of course, he does not like leaving you, but he says that he should like it a thousand times better than, perhaps, having to go into some humdrum office in england." "thank you, tom," mrs. brooke said with a sigh. "it will be very hard to part with him--terribly hard--but i see that it is by far the best thing for him and, as you say, in a monetary way it will be a relief to me. i think i can manage very comfortably on the pension, in some quiet place at home, with the two girls; but stanley's schooling would be a heavy drain. i might even manage that, for i might earn a little money by painting; but there would be the question of what to do with him when he left school and, without friends or influence, it will be hopeless to get him into any good situation. "you see, herbert's parents have both died since he came out here and, though he was distantly related to the earl of netherly, he was only a second cousin, or something of that kind, and knew nothing about the family; and of course i could not apply to them." "certainly not, nellie," her brother agreed. "there is nothing so hateful as posing as a poor relation--and that is a connection rather than a relationship. then you will leave the boy in my hands?" "i am sure that it will be best," she said, with a tremor in her voice, "and at any rate, i shall have the comfort of knowing that he will be well looked after." mrs. brooke was the widow of a captain in one of the native regiments of the east india company. he had, six weeks before this, been carried off suddenly by an outbreak of cholera; and she had been waiting at calcutta, in order to see her brother, before sailing for england. she was the daughter of an english clergyman, who had died some seventeen years before. nellie, who was then eighteen, being motherless as well as fatherless, had determined to sail for india. a great friend of hers had married and gone out, a year before. nellie's father was at that time in bad health; and her friend had said to her, at parting: "now mind, nellie, i have your promise that, if you should find yourself alone here, you will come out to me in india. i shall be very glad to have you with me, and i don't suppose you will be on my hands very long; pretty girls don't remain single many months, in india." so, seeing nothing better to do, nellie had, shortly after her father's death, sailed for calcutta. lieutenant brooke was also a passenger on board the ava, and during the long voyage he and nellie pearson became engaged; and were married, from her friend's house, a fortnight after their arrival. nellie was told that she was a foolish girl, for that she ought to have done better; but she was perfectly happy. the pay and allowances of her husband were sufficient for them to live upon in comfort; and though, when the children came, there was little to spare, the addition of pay when he gained the rank of captain was ample for their wants. they had been, in fact, a perfectly happy couple--both had bright and sunny dispositions, and made the best of everything; and she had never had a serious care, until he was suddenly taken away from her. stanley had inherited his parents' disposition and, as his sisters, coming so soon after him, occupied the greater portion of his mother's care, he was left a good deal to his own devices; and became a general pet in the regiment, and was equally at home in the men's lines and in the officers' bungalows. the native language came as readily to him as english and, by the time he was ten, he could talk in their own tongue with the men from the three or four different districts from which the regiment had been recruited. his father devoted a couple of hours a day to his studies. he did not attempt to teach him latin--which would, he thought, be altogether useless to him--but gave him a thorough grounding in english and indian history, and arithmetic, and insisted upon his spending a certain time each day in reading standard english authors. tom pearson, who was five years younger than his sister, had come out to india four years after her. he was a lad full of life and energy. as soon as he left school, finding himself the master of a hundred pounds--the last remains of the small sum that his father had left behind him--he took a second-class passage to calcutta. as soon as he had landed, he went round to the various merchants and offices and, finding that he could not, owing to a want of references, obtain a clerkship, he took a place in the store of a parsee merchant who dealt in english goods. here he remained for five years, by which time he had mastered two or three native languages, and had obtained a good knowledge of business. he now determined to start on his own account. he had lived hardly, saving up every rupee not needed for actual necessaries and, at the end of the five years he had, in all, a hundred and fifty pounds. he had, long before this, determined that the best opening for trade was among the tribes on the eastern borders of the british territory; and had specially devoted himself to the study of the languages of kathee and chittagong. investing the greater portion of his money in goods suitable for the trade, he embarked at calcutta in a vessel bound for chittagong. there he took passage in a native craft going up the great river to sylhet, where he established his headquarters; and thence--leaving the greater portion of his goods in the care of a native merchant, with whom his late employer had had dealings--started with a native, and four donkeys on which his goods were packed, to trade among the wild tribes. his success fully equalled his anticipations and, gradually, he extended his operations; going as far east as manipur, and south almost as far as chittagong. the firm in calcutta from whom he had, in the first place, purchased his goods, sent him up fresh stores as he required them; and soon, seeing the energy with which he was pushing his business, gave him considerable credit, and he was able to carry on his operations on an increasingly larger scale. sylhet remained his headquarters; but he had a branch at chittagong, whither goods could be sent direct from calcutta, and from this he drew his supplies for his trade in that province. much of his business was carried on by means of the waterways, and the very numerous streams that covered the whole country, and enabled him to carry his goods at a far cheaper rate than he could transport them by land; and for this purpose he had a boat specially fitted up with a comfortable cabin. he determined, from the first, to sell none but the best goods in the market; and thus he speedily gained the confidence of the natives, and the arrival of his boats was eagerly hailed by the villagers on the banks of the rivers. he soon found that money was scarce; and that, to do a good business, he must take native products in barter for his goods; and that in this way he not only did a much larger trade, but obtained a very much better price for his wares than if he had sold only for money; and he soon consigned considerable quantities to the firm in calcutta and, by so doing, obtained a profit both ways. he himself paid a visit to calcutta, every six months or so, to choose fresh fashions of goods; and to visit the firm, with whom his dealings, every year, became more extensive. but, though laying the foundations for an extensive business, he was not, as he told his sister, at present in a position to help her; for his increasing trade continually demanded more and more capital, and the whole of his profits were swallowed up by the larger stocks that had to be held at his depots at sylhet, chittagong, and at the mouths of the larger rivers. twice since he had been out he had met his sister at calcutta, and when she came down after her husband's death, and heard from tom's agents that he would probably arrive there in the course of a fortnight, she decided to wait there and meet him. he was greatly grieved at her loss, and especially so as he was unable to offer her a home; for as his whole time was spent in travelling, it was impossible for him to do so; nor indeed, would she have accepted it. now that her husband was gone, she yearned to be back in england again. it was, too, far better for the girls that she should take them home. but when he now offered to take the boy she felt that, hard as it would be to leave stanley behind, the offer was a most advantageous one for him. the boy's knowledge of indian languages, which would be of immense advantage to him in such a life, would be absolutely useless in england and, from what tom told her of his business, there could be little doubt that the prospects were excellent. stanley himself, who now saw his uncle for the first time, was attracted to him by the energy and cheeriness of manner that had rendered him so successful in business; and he was stirred by the enterprise and adventure of the life he proposed for him. more than once, in the little-frequented rivers that stretched into kathee, his boats had been attacked by wild tribesmen; and he had to fight hard to keep them off. petty chiefs had, at times, endeavoured to obstruct his trading and, when at manipur, he had twice been witness of desperate fights between rival claimants for the throne. all this was, to a boy brought up among soldiers, irresistibly fascinating; especially as the alternative seemed to be a seat in a dull counting house in england. he was, then, delighted when his mother gave her consent to his remaining with his uncle; grieved as he was at being parted from her and his sisters. the thought that he should, in time, be able to be of assistance to her was a pleasant one; and aided him to support the pain of parting when, a week later, she sailed with the girls for england. "i suppose you have not done any shooting, stanley?" his uncle asked. "not with a gun, but i have practised sometimes with pistols. father thought that it would be useful." "very useful; and you must learn to shoot well with them, and with fowling-piece and rifle. what with river thieves, and dacoits, and wild tribes--to say nothing of wild beasts--a man who travels about, as i do, wants to be able to shoot straight. the straighter you shoot, the less likely you are to have to do so. i have come to be a good shot myself and, whenever we row up a river, i constantly practise--either at floating objects in the water, or at birds or other marks in the trees. i have the best weapons that money can buy. it is my one extravagance, and the result is that, to my boatmen and the men about me, my shooting seems to be marvellous; they tell others of it, and the result is that i am regarded with great respect. i have no doubt, whatever, that it has saved me from much trouble; for the natives have almost got to believe that i only have to point my gun, and the man i wish to kill falls dead, however far distant." two days after the departure of mrs. brooke, her brother and stanley started down the hoogly in a native trader. "she is a curious-looking craft, uncle." "yes; she would not be called handsome in home waters, but she is uncommonly fast; and i find her much more convenient, in many ways, than a british merchantman." "is she yours, uncle?" "no, she is not mine, and i do not exactly charter her; but she works principally for me. you see, the wages are so low that they can work a craft like this for next to nothing. why, the captain and his eight men, together, don't get higher pay than the boatswain of an english trader. "the captain owns the vessel. he is quite content if he gets a few rupees a month, in addition to what he considers his own rate of pay. his wife and his two children live on board. if the craft can earn twenty rupees a week, he considers that he is doing splendidly. at the outside, he would not pay his men more than four rupees a month, each, and i suppose that he would put down his services at eight; so that would leave him forty rupees a month as the profit earned by the ship. "in point of fact, i keep him going pretty steadily. he makes trips backwards and forwards between the different depots; carries me up the rivers for a considerable distance; does a little trade on his own account--not in goods such as i sell, you know, but purely native stores--takes a little freight when he can get it, and generally a few native passengers. i pay him fifteen rupees a week, and i suppose he earns from five to ten in addition; so that the arrangement suits us both, admirably. "i keep the stern cabin for myself. as you see, she has four little brass guns, which i picked up for a song at calcutta; and there are twenty-four muskets aft. it is an arrangement that the crew are to practise shooting once a week, so they have all come to be pretty fair shots; and the captain, himself, can send a two-pound shot from those little guns uncommonly straight. "you will be amused when you see us practising for action. the captain's wife and the two boys load the guns, and do it very quickly, too. he runs round from gun to gun, takes aim, and fires. the crew shout, and yell, and bang away with their muskets. i take the command, and give a few pice among them, if the firing has been accurate. "we have been attacked, once or twice, in the upper waters; but have always managed to beat the robbers off, without much difficulty. the captain fires away, till they get pretty close; and i pepper them with my rifles--i have three of them. when they get within fifty yards, the crew open fire and, as they have three muskets each, they can make it very hot for the pirates. i have a store of hand grenades and, if they push on, i throw two or three on board when they get within ten yards; and that has always finished the matter. they don't understand the things bursting in the middle of them. i don't mean to say that my armament would be of much use, if we were trading along the coast of the malay peninsula or among the islands, but it is quite enough to deal with the petty robbers of these rivers." "but i thought that you had a boat that you went up the rivers in, uncle?" "yes; we tow a rowboat and a store boat up, behind this craft, as far as she can go; that is, as long as she has wind enough to make against the sluggish stream. when she can go no further, i take to the rowboat. it has eight rowers, carries a gun--it is a twelve-pounder howitzer--that i have had cut short, so that it is only about a foot long. of course it won't carry far, but that is not necessary. its charge is a pound of powder and a ten-pound bag of bullets and, at a couple of hundred yards, the balls scatter enough to sweep two or three canoes coming abreast and, as we can charge and fire the little thing three times in a minute, it is all that we require, for practical purposes. "it is only on a few of the rivers we go up that there is any fear of trouble. on the river from sylhet to the east and its branches in kathee or, as it is sometimes called, kasi, the country is comparatively settled. the goomtee beyond oudypore is well enough, until it gets into kaayn, which is what they call independent. that is to say, it owns no authority; and some villages are peaceable and well disposed, while others are savage. the same may be said of the munnoo and fenny rivers. "for the last two years i have done a good deal of trade in assam, up the brahmaputra river. as far as rungpoor there are a great many villages on the banks, and the people are quiet and peaceable." "then you don't go further south than chittagong, uncle?" "no. the burmese hold aracan on the south and, indeed, for some distance north of it there is no very clearly-defined border. you see, the great river runs from rangoon very nearly due north, though with a little east in it; and extends along at the back of the districts i trade with; so that the burmese are not very far from manipur which, indeed, stands on a branch of the irrawaddy, of which another branch runs nearly up to rungpoor. "we shall have big trouble with them, one of these days; indeed, we have had troubles already. you see, the burmese are a great and increasing power, and have so easily conquered all their neighbours that they regard themselves as invincible. until the beginning of the eighteenth century, the burmese were masters of pegu; then the people of that country, with the help of the dutch and portuguese, threw off their yoke. but the burmese were not long kept down for, in , alompra--a hunter--gathered a force round him and, after keeping up an irregular warfare for some time, was joined by so many of his countrymen that he attacked and captured ava, conquered the whole of pegu and, in , the english trading colony at negrais were massacred. "this, however, was not the act of alompra, but of the treachery of a frenchman named levine, and of an armenian; who incited the burmese of the district to exterminate the english--hoping, no doubt, thus to retrieve, in a new quarter, the fortunes of france, which in india were being extinguished by the genius of clive. the english were, at the time, far too occupied with the desperate struggle they were having, in india, to attempt to revenge the massacre of their countrymen at negrais. "very rapidly the burman power spread. they captured the valuable tenasserim coast, from siam; repulsed a formidable invasion from china; annexed aracan, and dominated manipur, and thus became masters of the whole tract of country lying between china and hindustan. as they now bordered upon our territory, a mission was sent in to them from india, with a proposal for the settlement of boundaries, and for the arrangement of trade between the two countries. nothing came of it, for the burmese had already proposed, to themselves, the conquest of india; and considered the mission as a proof of the terror that their advance had inspired among us. "after the conquest by them of aracan, in , there had been a constant irritation felt against us by the burmese; owing to the fact that a great number of fugitives from that country had taken refuge in the swamps and islands of chittagong; from which they, from time to time, issued and made raids against the burmese. in these fugitives, in alliance with some predatory chiefs, invaded aracan in force and, being joined by the subject population there, expelled the burmese. these, however, soon reconquered the province. the affair was, nevertheless, unfortunate, since the burmese naturally considered that, as the insurrection had begun with an invasion by the fugitives in chittagong, it had been fomented by us. "this was in no way the fact. we had no force there capable of keeping the masses of fugitives in order; but we did our best, and arrested many of the leaders, when they returned after their defeat. this, however, was far from satisfying the burmese. a mission was sent, to ava, to assure them of our friendly intentions; and that we had had nothing whatever to do with the invasion, and would do all we could to prevent its recurrence. the burmese government declined to receive the mission. "we, ourselves, had much trouble with the insurgents for, fearful of re-entering burma after their defeat, they now carried on a series of raids in our territory; and it was not until that these were finally suppressed. nevertheless, the court of ava remained dissatisfied; and a fresh demand was raised for the surrender of the chiefs who had been captured, and of the whole of the fugitives living in the government of chittagong. the marquis of hastings replied that the british government could not, without a violation of the principles of justice, deliver up those who had sought its protection; that tranquillity now existed, and there was no probability of a renewal of the disturbances; but that the greatest vigilance should be used, to prevent and punish the authors of any raid that might be attempted against aracan. "a year later a second letter was received, demanding on the part of the king the cession of ramoo, chittagong, moorshedabad, and dacca; that is to say, of the whole british possessions east of the ganges. lord hastings simply replied that if it was possible to suppose that the demand had been dictated by the king of ava, the british government would be justified in regarding it as a declaration of war. to this the burmese made no reply. doubtless they had heard of the successes we had gained in central india, and had learned that our whole force was disposable against them. "three years ago the old king died, and a more warlike monarch succeeded him. since they have been mixed up in the troubles that have been going on in assam, where a civil war had been raging. one party or other has sought their assistance, and fighting has been going on there nearly incessantly and, two months ago, the burmese settled the question by themselves taking possession of the whole country. "this has, of course, been a serious blow to me. although disorder has reigned, it has not interfered with my trading along the banks of the river; but now that the burmese have set up their authority, i shall, for a time anyhow, be obliged to give up my operations there; for they have evinced considerable hostility to us--have made raids near rungpoor, on our side of the river, and have pulled down a british flag on an island in the brahmaputra. we have taken, in consequence, the principality of cachar under our protection--indeed its two princes, seeing that the burmese were beginning to invade their country, invited us to take this step--and we thus occupy the passes from manipur into the low country of sylhet." "i wonder that you have been able to trade in manipur, uncle, as the burmese have been masters there." "i am not trading with the capital itself, and the burmese have been too occupied with their affairs in assam to exercise much authority in the country. besides, you see, there has not been war between the two countries. our merchants at rangoon still carry on their trade up the irrawaddy; and in assam, this spring, the only trouble i had was that i had to pay somewhat higher tolls than i had done before. however, now that cachar is under our protection, i hope that i shall make up for my loss of trade, in assam, by doing better than before in that province." "i thought you called it kathee, uncle?" "so it is generally named but, as it is spoken of as cachar in the proclamation assuming the protectorate, i suppose it will be called so in future; but all these names, out here, are spelt pretty much according to fancy." while this conversation had been going on, the boat had been running fast down the river, passing several european vessels almost as if they had been standing still. "i should not have thought that a boat like this would pass these large ships," stanley said. "we have a good deal to learn in the art of sailing, yet," his uncle replied. "a great many of these indian dhows can run away from a square-rigged ship, in light weather. i don't know whether it is the lines of their hulls or the cut of the sails, but there is no doubt about their speed. they seem to skim over the water, while our bluff-bowed craft shove their way through it. i suppose, some day, we shall adopt these long sharp bows; when we do, it will make a wonderful difference in our rate of sailing. then, too, these craft have a very light draft of water but, on the other hand, they have a deep keel, which helps them to lie close to the wind; and that long, overhanging bow renders them capital craft in heavy weather for, as they meet the sea, they rise over it gradually; instead of its hitting them full on the bow, as it does our ships. we have much to learn, yet, in the way of ship building." the trader had his own servant with him, and the man now came up and said that a meal was ready, and they at once entered the cabin. it was roomy and comfortable, and was, like the rest of the boat, of varnished teak. there were large windows in the stern; it had a table, with two fixed benches; and there were broad, low sofas on each side. above these the muskets were disposed, in racks; while at the end by the door were tom pearson's own rifles, four brace of pistols, and a couple of swords. ten long spears were suspended from the roof of the cabin, in leather slings. the floor, like the rest of the cabin, was varnished. "it looks very comfortable, uncle." "yes; you see, i live quite half my time on board, the rest being spent in the boat. my man is a capital cook. he comes from chittagong, and is a mug." "what are mugs, uncle?" "they are the original inhabitants of aracan. he was one of those who remained there, after the burmese had conquered it, and speaks their language as well as his own. i recommend you to begin it with him, at once. if things settle down in assam, it will be very useful for you in arranging with the burmese officials. you won't find it very easy, though of course your knowledge of three or four indian tongues will help you. it is said to be a mixture of the old tali, sanscrit, tartar, and chinese. the tartar and chinese words will, of course, be quite new to you; the other two elements will resemble those that you are familiar with. "i talk to the man in hindustani. he picked up a little of it at chittagong, and has learned a good deal more, during the two years that he has been with me; and through that you will be able to learn burmese." a week later the dhow entered the harbour. stanley had passed most of his time in conversation with khyen, tom's servant. the facility his tongue had acquired in the indian languages was of great benefit to him, and he speedily picked up a good many burmese sentences. for the next six months he continued, with his uncle, the work the latter had carried on; and enjoyed it much. they sailed up the sluggish rivers, with their low, flat shores, in the dhow; towing the rowboat and the store boat behind them. the crews of these boats lived on board the dhow until their services were required, helping in its navigation and aiding the crew when the wind dropped and sweeps were got out. the villages along the banks were for the most part small, but were very numerous. at each of these the dhow brought up. there was, in almost all cases, sufficient water to allow of her being moored alongside the banks and, as soon as she did so, the natives came on board to make their purchases and dispose of their produce. in addition to the european and indian goods carried, the dhow was laden with rice, for which there was a considerable demand at most of the villages. as soon as he had learned the price of the various goods, and their equivalent in the products of the country, stanley did much of the bartering; while his uncle went ashore and talked with the head men of the village, with all of whom he made a point of keeping on good terms, and so securing a great portion of the trade that might, otherwise, have been carried by native craft. three times during the six months the dhow had gone back to calcutta, to fetch fresh supplies of goods and to take in another cargo of rice; while the trader proceeded higher up the river, in his own boats. while on the voyage, stanley always had the rifle and fowling piece that his uncle had handed over, for his special use, leaning against the bulwark, close at hand; and frequently shot waterfowl, which were so abundant that he was able to keep not only their own table supplied, but to furnish the crew and boatmen with a considerable quantity of food. they had had no trouble with river pirates, for these had suffered so heavily, in previous attacks upon the dhow, that they shunned any repetition of their loss. at the same time every precaution was taken, for, owing to the intestine troubles in cachar and assam, fugitives belonging to the party that happened, for the time, to be worsted, were driven to take refuge in the jungles near the rivers; and to subsist largely on plunder, the local authorities being too feeble to root them out. the boats, therefore, were always anchored in the middle of the stream at night and two men were kept on watch. to the south as well as in the north, the trading operations were more restricted; for the burmese became more and more aggressive. elephant hunters, in the hills that formed the boundary of the british territory to the east, were seized and carried off; twenty-three in one place being captured, and six in another--all being ill treated and imprisoned, and the remonstrances of the indian government treated with contempt by the rajah of aracan. it was evident that the object of the burmese was to possess themselves of this hill country in order that they might, if they chose, pour down at any time into the cultivated country round the town of ramoo. "there is no doubt, stanley," said his uncle one day, "we shall very shortly have a big war with the burmese. the fact that these constant acts of aggression are met only by remonstrances, on our part, increases their arrogance; and they are convinced that we are in mortal terror of them. they say that in assam their leaders are openly boasting that, ere long, they will drive us completely from india; and one of their generals has confidently declared that, after taking india, they intend to conquer england. with such ignorant people, there is but one argument understood--namely, force; and sooner or later we shall have to give them such a hearty thrashing that they will be quiet for some time. "still, i grant that the difficulties are great. their country is a tremendous size, the beggars are brave, and the climate, at any rate near the sea coast, is horribly unhealthy. altogether it will be a big job; but it will have to be done, or in a very short time we shall see them marching against calcutta." chapter : the outbreak of war. on the last day of september, --just a year after stanley had joined his uncle--the dhow sailed into chittagong; which had now taken the place of sylhet as the traders' chief depot, the latter place being too near the burmese, in assam, for him to care about keeping a large stock of his goods there. he went ashore as soon as the dhow cast anchor, stanley remaining on board. "the fat is all in the fire, stanley," tom pearson said, when he returned. "the burmese have attacked and killed some of our troops, and it is certain that the government cannot put up with that." "where was it, uncle?" "down at the mouth of the naaf. as you know, that is the southern boundary of the province, and there was a row there in january. one of our native boats laden with rice was coming up the river, on our side of the channel, when an armed burmese boat came across and demanded duty. of course, our fellows said they were in their own waters, whereupon the burmese fired upon them and killed the steersman. there were reports, then, that bodies of burmese troops were moving about on their side of the river, and that it was feared they would cross over and burn some of our villages. accordingly, our guard at the mouth of the river was increased to fifty men, and a few of these were posted on the island of shapuree. "this island lies close to our shore and, indeed, the channel between can be forded at low water. it has always formed part of the province of chittagong, and there has never been any question raised by the burmese as to this. however, the viceroy of aracan called upon our resident here to withdraw the guard, asserting the right of the king of ava to the island. "since then letters have passed to and fro, but i hear that the burmese have settled the question by landing on shapuree. one night last week they attacked our post there, killed and wounded four of the sepoys, and drove the rest off the island. the indian government have put up with a great deal, rather than engage in so costly and difficult an operation as a war with burma, but it is impossible that we can stand this." the indian government, however, used every endeavour to avert the necessity for war; although the rajah of aracan lost no time in writing a letter to the government of calcutta, stating that he had occupied the island of shapuree, and that unless they submitted quietly to this act of justice, the cities of dacca and moorshedabad would be forcibly seized. in order, however, to postpone, at any rate, the outbreak of war, the government of bengal resolved to give the court of ava an opportunity to withdraw from the position taken up. they therefore acted as if the attack on the guard at shapuree had been the action of the viceroy of aracan alone, and addressed a declaration to the burmese government, recapitulating the facts of the case, pointing out that shapuree had always been acknowledged by burma as forming part of the province of chittagong, and calling upon the government to disavow the action of the local authorities. the burmese considered this, as it was in fact, a proof that the government of india was reluctant to enter upon a contest with them; and confirmed burma in its confident expectation of annexing the eastern portions of bengal, if not of expelling the english altogether. in the meantime, shapuree had been reoccupied by us. the burmese--after driving out the little garrison--had retired and, two months after the attack, two companies of the th native infantry arrived by sea, from calcutta, and landed there. a stockade was built, and two six-pounders placed in position. another company was stationed on the mainland, and the planet and three gunboats, each carrying a twelve-pounder, were stationed in the river. the burmese at once collected large bodies of troops, both in aracan and assam. the government of bengal made preparations to defend our frontier, and especially the position in the north, as an advance of the burmese in this direction would not only threaten the important towns of dacca and moorshedabad, but would place the invaders in dangerous proximity to calcutta. accordingly, a portion of the th and rd native infantry, and four companies of the rungpoor local force, were marched to sylhet; and outposts thrown forward to the frontier. seeing that the burmese operations would probably commence in the north, tom pearson had, after completing his arrangements at chittagong, sailed north to remove his depots from sylhet, and other places that would be exposed to an attack from that direction. they reached sylhet the first week in january. by this time stanley, from his constant conversation with his uncle's servant, had come to speak burmese as fluently as the indian languages. he was now nearly sixteen, tall for his age, and active but, owing to the hot climate and the absence of vigorous exercise, he was less broad and muscular than most english lads of his age. they found on landing that news had arrived, two days before, that a powerful army of burmese had entered cachar, from manipur, and had defeated the troops of jambhir sing; that burmese and assamese had advanced from assam into cachar, and had begun to stockade themselves at bickrampore, at the foot of the bhortoka pass; and that the third division was crossing into the district of jyntea, immediately to the north of sylhet. there was a complete panic in the town, and the ryots were flocking in from all the surrounding country, with their families and belongings; and were making their way down the country, in boats, to dacca. "i am afraid, stanley, there is an end of trade, for the present. what we see here is, doubtless, taking place all over cachar; and it would be just as bad down at chittagong. it is a heavy blow, for i have done remarkably well this year, and was building up the foundations for a good business. no doubt, when this trouble is over. i shall be able to take it up again; and it may be, if we thrash the burmese heartily, which we are sure to do in the long run, it may even prove a benefit. still, there is no doubt that it is a very bad business for me. however as, just at present, there is nothing whatever to be done, i propose, as soon as the goods are all on board, to take a holiday, and go out and have a look at the fighting." "you will take me with you, uncle?" stanley asked eagerly. "certainly, lad. we don't mean to do any fighting ourselves, but only to look on; and it may be that, after it is over, you may be able to make yourself useful, if they want to ask questions of any burmese prisoners." "you think that there is no chance of their beating us?" "i should think not, though of course there is no saying; still, i don't think these fellows will be able to stand against our troops. of course, they have no idea, whatever, of our style of fighting, and have never met any really formidable foes; so that i imagine we shall make pretty short work of them. however, as we shall be mounted--for i will hire a couple of horses, there have been plenty of them driven into the town--we shall be able to make a bolt of it, if necessary. of course, we will take our rifles and pistols with us." the goods were not placed on board the dhow, but in what was called the store boat; as the trader had determined to take up his abode in his rowboat, which could move about much faster than the dhow; and to allow the captain of that craft to make a good thing of it, by taking down to dacca as many of the fugitives as she would hold. finding that the burmese division that had entered jyntea was intrenching itself, at a few miles' distance, major newton, the officer commanding on the sylhet frontier, concentrated his force at jatrapur, a village five miles beyond the sylhet boundary. tom pearson had introduced himself to major newton, and asked permission to accompany his force; saying that his nephew would be able, if necessary, to communicate with the burmese either before or after the action, and that both would willingly act as aides-de-camp. the offer was accepted with thanks, and they rode out with him, on the evening of the th of january, , to jatrapur. at one o'clock in the morning the troops were roused, and marched an hour later. at daybreak they came in sight of the stockade, and a few shots were at once fired upon the advanced guard by the burmese. a portion of their force was lying in a village hard by. major newton at once divided his command into two bodies. one of these was led by captain johnston against the front of the stockade. the other, under captain rowe, attacked the village adjoining. the burmese stationed there gave way, after a very faint resistance. they were accustomed to rely always on stockades; and this attack upon them, when not so protected, shook them at once. those in the stockade, however, made a resolute resistance. captain rowe, after gaining possession of the village, and seeing the occupants in full flight, moved his force to aid the other division; and the burmese, dispirited by the defeat of their countrymen, and finding themselves attacked on two sides, gave way and fled, leaving a hundred dead behind them; while on the british side but six sepoys were killed. the burmese fled to the hills, at a speed that rendered pursuit hopeless by the more heavily-armed troops; and the fugitives soon rallied, and effected their junction with the division advancing from manipur. after the action major newton returned to sylhet, and a few days later mr. scott, who had been appointed commissioner, arrived there and, advancing to bhadrapur, opened communications with the burmese. as, however, it became evident that the latter were only negotiating in order to gain time to intrench themselves near jatrapur, to which they had returned, he again placed the matter in the hands of the military commanders. the burmese force amounted to about six thousand men. they had erected strong stockades on each bank of the river surma, and had thrown a bridge across to connect them. captain johnston advanced with a wing of the th native infantry, a company of the rd native infantry, and a small party of men of a local corps. small as was this force, he divided it into two parties. one of these, under captain rowe, crossed the river; and then both moved against the enemy. the burmese opened fire as they advanced, but the sepoys marched gallantly forward, and drove the enemy out of their unfinished intrenchments at the point of the bayonet. the assam division retreated hastily to the bhortoka pass, while the manipur force stockaded itself at doodpatnee. the assam division was first attacked, and the stockade carried at the point of the bayonet. lieutenant colonel bowen, who now commanded, then moved against the position at doodpatnee. this was very strong. steep hills covered the rear; while the other faces of the intrenchments were defended by a deep ditch, fourteen feet wide, with a chevaux de frise of pointed bamboos on its outer edge. although the position was attacked with great gallantry, it was too strong to be captured by so small a force; and they were obliged to withdraw to jatrapur, with the loss of one officer killed and four wounded, and about one hundred and fifty sepoys killed and wounded. however, their bravery had not been without effect, for the burmese evacuated their stockade and retreated to manipur, leaving cachar free from its invaders. thus, in less than three weeks, the burmese invasion of the northern provinces had been hurled back by a british force of less than a tenth of that of the invaders. stanley and his uncle had been present at all these engagements and, in the absence of any cavalry, had done good service in conveying messages and despatches; and the lad had several times acted as interpreter between the officers and burmese prisoners. both received letters from the commissioner, thanking them for the assistance that they had rendered. "that last affair was unfortunate, stanley; and it is evident that these stockades of theirs are nasty places to attack, and that they ought to be breached by guns before the men are sent forward to storm them. however, as the burmese have gone, our repulse does not matter much. "well, i felt sure that we should thrash them, but i certainly gave them credit for having a great deal more pluck than they have shown. as it is, if there is nothing fresh takes place here, the natives and little traders will soon be coming back from dacca, and business will be better than before; for the burmese have been talking so big, for the last three years, that no one has bought more than would just carry him on; while now they will be more inclined to lay in good stocks of goods. "tomorrow we will start for chittagong. you see, i have a considerable store there; and there is a chance of much more serious fighting, in that quarter, than this little affair we have seen. the governor of aracan has, all along, been the source of troubles; and we may expect that he will cross into the province at the head of a large force, and may do an immense deal of damage, before we can get enough troops there to oppose him." descending the river they coasted along until they arrived, early in march, at chittagong. they found that great alarm reigned there. in january, bandoola, the greatest military leader of the burmese, who was known to have been one of the most strenuous supporters of the war policy at the court of ava, had arrived at aracan and taken the command of the troops collected there, and had brought with him considerable reinforcements. a wanton outrage that had been committed by the burmese showed how intent they were upon hostilities. owing to the unhealthiness of the islet of shapuree, the sepoys stationed there had been withdrawn; and the company's pilot vessel, sophia, was ordered to join the gunboats off that island. four deputies from the burmese court arrived at mungdoo, on the opposite shore; and these invited the commander of the sophia to come on shore, in order that they might talk over with him, in a friendly way, the situation of affairs. he unsuspectingly accepted their invitation and landed, accompanied by an officer and some native seamen. the party were at once seized and sent prisoners to aracan, where they were detained for a month, and then sent back to mungdoo. this wanton insult was followed by a formal declaration of war, by the government of india; and a similar document was issued by the court of ava. the force at sylhet was reinforced, and that in chittagong increased. it consisted of a wing of the th and of the th native regiments, and a battalion of the rd, with a local levy, amounting in all to some men. of these a wing of the rd, with two guns, and a portion of the native levies were posted at ramoo, which was the point most threatened by an invasion from aracan. it was in the north that hostilities first commenced, a force moving into assam and driving the burmese before them. several sharp blows were dealt the enemy and, had it not been for the setting in of the wet season, they would have been driven entirely out of assam. "i think, stanley," his uncle said, after he had been a short time at chittagong, "you had better go up to ramoo, and see about matters there. of course, until the burmese move we cannot say what their game is likely to be; but it will be as well to get the stores ready for embarkation, in case they should advance in that direction. if they do so, get everything on board at once; and you can then be guided by circumstances. as the dhow came in yesterday, i can spare both our boats; and shall, of course, ship the goods here on board the big craft. even if the burmese come this way, i have no fear of their taking the town; and shall, of course, lend a hand in the defence, if they attempt it. you can do the same at ramoo, if you like. "i was chatting with colonel shatland yesterday. he tells me that a large fleet has been collected, and that an expedition will be sent to capture rangoon so, in that case, it is likely that bandoola and his force will march off in that direction. "i think government are wrong. it will be impossible for the troops to move, when the wet season once sets in; and they will lose a tremendous lot of men from sickness, if they are cooped up in rangoon. they had very much better have sent a few thousand men down here, to act on the defensive and repel any attempted invasion, until the rains are over; when they could have been shipped again, and join the expedition against rangoon. it seems to me a mad-headed thing, to begin at the present time of the year. we have put up with the insults of the burmese for so long that we might just as well have waited for the favourable season, before we began our operations in earnest." accordingly, on the following day stanley started south for ramoo and, on arriving there, took charge of the trading operations. shortly after, meeting captain noton--who commanded there--in the street, he recognized him as an officer who had been stationed at the same cantonment as his father; and whom he had, four years previously, known well. "you don't recognize me, captain noton," he said. "i am the son of captain brooke, of the rd." "i certainly did not recognize you," the officer said, "but i am glad to meet you again. let me think; yes, your name is stanley, and a regular young pickle you used to be. what on earth are you doing here? of course, i heard of your poor father's death, and was grieved, indeed, at his loss. where is your mother? she is well, i hope." "she went back to england with my sisters, two months after my father's death. i joined my uncle, her brother. he is a trader, and carries on business in the district between here and sylhet, trading principally on the rivers; but of course the war has put a stop to that, for the present. we saw the fighting up in the north, and then came down to this district. he has remained at chittagong, and i am in charge of goods here. i speak burmese fairly now and, if i can be of any use to you, i shall be very glad to be so. there is not much business here; and the parsee clerk, who is generally in charge, can look after it very well. i acted as interpreter with the troops in the north, and have a letter from mr. scott, the commissioner, thanking me for my services." "i remember you used to be able to talk four or five of the native languages, but how did you come to pick up burmese?" "from a servant of my uncle's. we thought that there would be sure to be war, sooner or later; and that, after it was over, there would be a good chance of profitable trade on the burmese rivers. i had no great difficulty in learning it from my uncle's man, who was a native of aracan." "i have no doubt you will find it very useful. what a big fellow you have grown, stanley; at least, as far as height is concerned. let me see. how old are you, now?" "i am past sixteen," stanley replied. "i have had several touches of fever--caught, i suppose, from the damp on the rivers--but i think that i am pretty well acclimatized, now. i know i don't look very strong, but i have not had much active exercise and, of course, the climate is against me." "very much so. i wonder that you have kept your health as well as you have, in this steamy climate. "i am going to the mess room, now. you had better come and lunch with me, and i will introduce you to the other officers. we are very strong in comparison to the force for, counting the assistant surgeon, there are ten of us." "i shall be very glad, sir," stanley said. "i have certainly been feeling rather lonely here; for i know no one, and there is very little to do. during the last year, i have often gone up one of the rivers by myself; but there has always been occupation while, at present, things are at a standstill." "i tell you what, brooke, if you would like it, i can appoint you interpreter. there is not one of us who speaks this mug language--which is, you know, almost the same as burmese--and the officers in charge of the native levy would be delighted to have some one with them who could make the fellows understand. i can appoint you a first-class interpreter. the pay is not very high, you know; but you might just as well be earning it as doing nothing, and it would give you a sort of official position and, as the son of a british officer, and my friend, you would be one of us." "thank you very much, captain noton. i should like it immensely. should i have to get a uniform?" "there will be no absolute necessity for it; but if you get a white patrol jacket, like this, and a white cap cover, it will establish you in the eyes of the natives as an officer, and give you more authority. oh, by the way, you need not get them, for one of our lieutenants died, the other day, of fever. his effects have not been sold, yet; but you may as well have his patrol jackets and belts. we can settle what you are to pay for them, afterwards. it will only be a matter of a few rupees, anyhow." they now arrived at the house that had been taken for the use of the officers. on entering, captain noton introduced him to the others and, as several of these had at various times met his father, in cantonments or on service, he was heartily welcomed by them and, at luncheon, they listened with great interest to his accounts of the fighting, in cachar, with the burmese. "i fancy we shall find them more formidable, here, if they come," captain noton said. "bandoola has a great reputation, and is immensely popular with them. from what you say, a considerable proportion of the fellows you met up there were assamese levies, raised by the burmese. i grant that the burmese, themselves, do not seem to have done much better; but they would never have conquered all the peoples they have come across, and built up a great empire, if there had not been good fighting stuff in them. i have no doubt that we shall thrash them, but i don't think we shall do it as easily as our troops did in the north." the time now passed pleasantly with stanley. he had, after thinking it over, declined to accept payment for his services; for this would have hindered his freedom of action, and prevented his obeying any instructions that his uncle might send him. he therefore joined as a volunteer interpreter, and was made a member of the officers' mess. he was specially attached to the native levy and, soon acquiring their words of command, assisted its officers in drilling it into something like order. early in may a burmese division, strong, crossed the naaf and established itself at rutnapullung, fourteen miles south of ramoo. as soon as captain noton learned that the burmese had crossed the river, he sent news of the fact to chittagong, with a request that reinforcements should be at once sent to him; and then moved out with his force from ramoo, to ascertain the strength of the enemy. the burmese were seen upon some hills, where they were constructing stockades. the small british force advanced against them, drove them off the hills and, following them, prepared to attack them in the plain beyond. the guns, however, had not come up; partly owing to the cowardice of the elephant drivers, and partly to the fact that it was found that several of the essential parts of the guns had been left behind. without their assistance to clear the way, captain noton felt that it would be imprudent to attack so great a force; and therefore fell back to ramoo. here he was joined by three companies of the th native infantry, bringing up his force to close upon a thousand; of whom about half were sepoys, and the rest native levies. had any energy, whatever, been shown by the officer in command of chittagong, in sending up reinforcements--which he could well have spared, now that the point of attack by the burmese had been made clear--captain noton might have taken the offensive, in which case serious disaster would have been avoided, and the burmese would have been driven back across the naaf. none, however, came and, on the morning of the th of may, the enemy appeared on the hill east of ramoo, being separated from the british force by the river of the same name. there was some difference of opinion, among the officers, as to whether it would be better to maintain a position outside the town, or to retreat at once; but the belief that reinforcements might arrive, at any hour, caused captain noton to determine to keep in the open, and so to cover the town as long as possible. on the evening of the th, the burmese came down to the river as if to cross it; but retired when the two six-pounder guns opened fire upon them. that two small guns should produce such an effect confirmed the british officers in their opinion that the burmese, although they might defend stockades well, were of little use in the open. the next morning, however, the enemy effected the passage of the river farther away and then, advancing, took possession of a large tank surrounded by a high embankment. captain noton placed his force in an enclosure, with a bank three feet high. his right flank was protected by the river; and a small tank, some sixty paces in front, was occupied by a strong picket. on his left, somewhat to the rear, was another tank, and at this the native levies were placed. the main position was held by the sepoys, with the two six-pounders. as the burmese advanced, a sharp fire was opened upon them; but they availed themselves of every irregularity of the ground, and of cover of all kinds, and threw up shelter banks with such rapidity that the fire was, by no means, so effective as had been expected. during the day news came that the left wing of the rd native infantry had left chittagong on the th and, as it should arrive the next day, captain noton determined to hold his ground; though the burmese continued to press forward, and a good many men, as well as two or three officers, had been wounded by their fire. at nightfall, a consultation was held. the reinforcements were expected in the morning and, although the native levies had shown signs of insubordination, and evidently could not be relied upon to make a stand, if the burmese attacked in earnest, it was resolved to retain the position. during the night, the burmese pushed forward their trenches. a heavy fire was maintained on both sides during the day, but it was with considerable difficulty that the officers in command of the levies kept the men from bolting. "things look very black," captain pringle said to stanley, when the firing died away, at nightfall. "reinforcements should have been here, today. it is scandalous that they should not have been pushed forward, at once, when we asked for them. still more so that, when they once started, they should not have come on with the greatest possible speed. i doubt whether we shall be able to hold these cowardly curs together till tomorrow. if they bolt, the sepoys will be sure to do so, too; in fact, their position would be altogether untenable, for the burmese could march round this flank and take them in rear. "i wish to heaven we had two or three companies of white troops, to cover a retreat. there would be no fear of the sepoys yielding to a panic, if they had british troops with them; but when they are outnumbered, as they are now, one can hardly blame them if they lose heart, when the enemy are ten times their strength, and will be twenty to one against them, if our fellows here bolt." the next morning, the burmese had pushed up their trenches to within twelve paces of the british lines, and a tremendous fire was opened. at nine o' clock, in spite of the efforts of their officers to keep them steady, the native levies bolted; and the officers with them dashed across the intervening ground towards the main body. one of them fell dead, and two others were wounded. stanley was running, when he fell headlong, without a moment's thought or consciousness. the burmese occupied the tank as soon as the levies had abandoned it, and their fire at once took the defenders of the main position in flank. a retreat was now necessary, and the sepoys drew off in good order but, as the exulting burmans pressed hotly upon them, and their cavalry cut off and killed every man who fell wounded from their ranks, they became seized with a panic. in vain their officers exhorted them to keep steady. reaching a rivulet, the men threw down their rifles and accoutrements as they crossed it, and took to headlong flight. the little group of officers gathered together, and fought to the end. captains noton, truman, and pringle; lieutenant grigg, ensign bennet, and maismore the doctor were killed. three officers, only, made their escape; of these, two were wounded. the fugitives, both natives and sepoys, continued their flight; and when, two or three days later, they straggled into chittagong, it was found that the total loss in killed and missing amounted to about two hundred and fifty. those taken prisoners numbered only about twenty. all these were more or less severely wounded, for no quarter had been given. they had, in the pursuit, been passed over as dead; and when, after this was over, they were found to be alive, they were spared from no feeling of humanity, but that they might be sent to ava, as proofs of the victory obtained over the british. the number actually found alive was greater, but only those were spared that were capable of travelling. among these was stanley brooke. he had remained insensible, until the pursuit had been discontinued. a violent kick roused him to consciousness and, sitting up, he found that half a dozen burmese were standing round him. his first action, on recovering his senses, was to discover where he was wounded. seeing no signs of blood on his white clothes, he took off his cap and passed his hand over his head; and found that the blood was flowing from a wound just on the top, where a bullet had cut away the hair and scalp, and made a wound nearly three inches long, at the bottom of which he could feel the bone. looking up at the burmese, he said, in their own language: "that was a pretty close shave, wasn't it?" two or three of them laughed, and all looked amused. two of them then helped him to his feet; and the group, among whom there were some officers, then took him some distance to the rear, where he was ordered to sit down with three wounded sepoys who had been brought in. chapter : a prisoner. the little group of prisoners received several additions, until the number mounted up to twenty. the spot where they were placed was close to the bank of the river and, as all were suffering severely from thirst, stanley asked and obtained permission from the guard to fetch some water. he first knelt down and took a long drink; then he bathed his head and, soaking his handkerchief with water, made it into a pad, placed it on the wound, and put his cap on over it. then he filled a flask that he carried, and joined his companions. these were permitted to go down, one by one, to the river to drink and bathe their wounds. stanley had already learned, from them, all they knew of what had happened after he had been stunned by the bullet. two of them had crossed the rivulet, before being wounded; and these said that they believed all the white officers had been killed, but that they thought most of the troops had got away. "it is more than they deserved," stanley said indignantly. "i don't say much about the mugs. they had very little drill or discipline and, naturally, were afraid of the burmese, who had long been their masters; but if the sepoys had kept together under their officers, they might all have escaped, for the burmese would never have been able to break their ranks." "some of the officers had been killed, and most of them wounded, before the retreat began, sahib," one of the sepoys said apologetically, "and they were ten to one against us." "yes, i know that; but you who had fought before should have known well enough that, as long as you kept together, you could have beaten them off; and they would have been glad enough to have given up the pursuit, at last. no doubt they all wanted to have a share in the plunder of ramoo." "what do you think that they are going to do with us, sahib?" "from what they said as they brought me here, i think that we shall be sent to ava, or amarapura. they lie close together, and the court is sometimes at one place and sometimes at the other. what they will do with us when we get there, i don't know. they may cut off our heads, they may put us in prison; anyhow, you may be sure that we shall not have a pleasant time of it. "all we have to hope for is that the capture of rangoon, by our fleet, may lower their pride and bring them to treat for terms. it sailed nearly six weeks ago from calcutta, and was to have been joined by one from madras and, allowing for delays, it ought to have been at rangoon a fortnight since, and would certainly capture the place without any difficulty. so possibly by the time we reach ava we shall find that peace has been made. "still, the burmese may not consider the loss of rangoon to be important, and may even try to recapture it--which you may be sure they won't do, for i heard at chittagong that there were some twenty thousand troops coming; which would be quite enough, if there were but good roads and plenty of transport for them, to march through burma from end to end." in the evening food was brought to the prisoners and, talking with some of the burmese who came up to look at them, stanley learned that bandoola himself had not accompanied the force across the naaf, and that it was commanded by the rajahs who ruled the four provinces of aracan. upon the following morning the prisoners were marched away, under a strong guard. six days later they reached the camp of bandoola. they were drawn up at a distance from the great man's tent. he came down, accompanied by a party of officers, to look at them. he beckoned to stanley. stanley is brought before bandoola, the burmese general. "ask him if he is an officer," he said to an interpreter, standing by his side. the man put the question in hindustani. stanley replied, in burmese: "i am an officer, your lordship, but a temporary one, only. i served in the mug levy, and was appointed for my knowledge of their tongue." "how is it that you come to speak our language?" bandoola asked, in surprise. "i am a trader, your lordship, but when our trade was put an end to, by the outbreak of the war, i entered the army to serve until peace was made. i learned the language from a servant in the service of my uncle, whose assistant i was." the burmese general was capable of acts of great cruelty, when he considered it necessary; but at other times was kindly and good natured. "he is but a lad," he said to one of his officers, "and he seems a bold young fellow. he would be useful as an interpreter to me, for we shall want to question his countrymen when we make them all prisoners. however, we must send him with the others to ava, as he is the only officer that we have taken; but i will send a message to some of my friends, at the court, asking them to represent that i consider he will be useful to me; and praying that he may be kept for a time and treated well, and may be forwarded to me, again, when i make my next move against the english." the following day the prisoners started under the escort of twenty soldiers, commanded by an officer of some rank, who was specially charged to take them safely to ava. it was a fortnight's march to the irrawaddy. until they neared the river the country was very thinly populated but, when they approached its banks, the villages were comparatively thick, standing for the most part in clearings in a great forest. on the march the burmese officer frequently talked with stanley, asked many questions about england and india; and was evidently surprised, and somewhat sceptical, as to the account the lad gave him of the fighting strength of the country. he treated him with considerable indulgence, and sent him dishes from his own table. when not talking with him, stanley marched at the head of the little party of prisoners--all of whom were sepoys, no quarter having been given to the native levies. of an evening, stanley endeavoured to keep up the sepoys' spirits by telling them that probably, by this time, the british expedition had arrived at rangoon, and captured it; and that peace would most likely follow, and they might be exchanged for any burmese who fell into the hands of the english. when they reached a village on the banks of the river the population, on seeing them, came round and would have maltreated them; had not the officer interfered, and said he had bandoola's orders to carry them safely to the court, and that anyone interfering with them would be severely punished. the head man of the village bent low, on hearing the general's name. "i ask your pardon, my lord. the prisoners shall not be touched. but have you heard the news?" "i have heard no news," the officer said. "it arrived here yesterday, my lord. the barbarians have had the audacity to sail up, with a great fleet of ships, to rangoon. they had vessels of war with them and, though our forts fired upon them, they had so many cannon that we could not resist them, and they have captured the town. this happened a fortnight since." the officer stood thunderstruck at what appeared, to him, to be an act of audacious insolence. however, after a moment's pause, he said wrathfully: "it is of little matter. the town was weak, and in no position for defence; but a force will soon go down to sweep these barbarians away. now, get ready your war galley, as soon as possible." each village on the river was compelled, by law, to furnish a war galley for the king's service whenever it might be required. these carried from fifty to a hundred men, and some three hundred of these boats were always available for service, and constituted one of the strongest divisions of the fighting force of the burman empire. the village was a large one, and in half an hour the crew of the galley were on board and, rowing forty oars, started up the river. "what think you of this news?" the officer said, beckoning to stanley to take his place in front of him. "these men must be mad, to tempt the anger of the lord of the golden stool, the mighty emperor. had you heard aught of this?" "i heard but a vague rumour that a fleet had been collected, but i heard nothing for certain as to its destination." "it is madness," the officer repeated. "we shall sweep them into the sea. how many of them are there, do you think?" "as to that i can say little, my lord. i only heard a report that some ships and troops were to sail--some from madras and some from calcutta--but of the number of the men and ships, i know nothing for certain." "they have taken evil council," the officer said, gravely. "i have heard that they gained some slight advantage, in cachar; but there they had but irregular troops to meet, largely assamese, who are but poor cowards. this little success must have turned their heads. they will now have our regular forces to deal with, and these will number a hundred thousand--or twice as many, if necessary. think you that the handful that would be transported in ships can stand against such a host?" "there may be more than you think, my lord. many of the ships will be very big, much bigger than those that trade with rangoon; and some of them will carry as many as five hundred men." "even so," the officer said scornfully; "if there were twenty-five such ships, or even fifty, the force would be as nothing to us. they will have to take to their vessels, as soon as our army approaches." "it may be so, sir; but i think that they will scarce go without fighting. i would represent to you that, although much fewer in numbers than your army which attacked us, at ramoo, the troops made a stout fight of it; and that they fought steadily, until the mugs ran away. after that, from what i hear, i admit that they fled shamefully. but the troops that come to rangoon will be better than those were, for there will be white regiments among them; and though these may, as you say, be overpowered with numbers and destroyed, i do not think that you will see them running away." "and you think that they will really venture to withstand us? "i think that they will endeavour to do so." "why, there will scarce be an occasion for fighting," the officer said, disdainfully. "they were mad to come; they are madder, still, to come now. the rainy season is just at hand. in another week it will be upon us. the rivers will spread, the flat country will be a marsh. even we, who are accustomed to it, suffer. in places like rangoon fever and disease will sweep them away and, when the dry season comes and our troops assemble to fight them, there will be none left. they will die off like flies. we shall scarce capture enough to send as prisoners to the emperor." stanley felt that, in this respect, the burman's prophecies were but too likely to be fulfilled. he knew how deadly were the swamp fevers to white men; and that in spite of his comfortable home on board the dhow and boat, he had himself suffered although, during the wet season, his uncle made a point of sailing along the coast, and of ascending only rivers that flowed between high banks and through a country free from swamps. he remembered that his uncle had spoken, very strongly, of the folly of the expedition being timed to arrive on the coast of burma at the beginning of the wet season; and had said that they would suffer terribly from fever before they could advance up the country, unless it was intended to confine the operations to the coast towns, until the dry season set in. it would indeed have been impossible to have chosen a worse time for the expedition but, doubtless, the government of india thought chiefly of the necessity for forcing the burmese to stand on the defensive, and of so preventing the invasion of india by a vast army. unquestionably, too, they believed that the occupation of rangoon, and the stoppage of all trade, would show the court of ava that they had embarked in a struggle with no contemptible foe; and would be glad to abate their pretensions, and to agree to fair terms of peace. the bengal force that had been embarked consisted of two british regiments--the th and th--a battalion of native infantry, and two batteries of european artillery, amounting in all to men. the madras force--of which one division was sent on at once, the other was to follow shortly--consisted of the st and th regiments, the madras european regiment, seven battalions of native infantry, and four batteries of artillery, amounting to men; making a total of fighting men, of whom nearly five thousand were europeans. in addition to the transports, the bengal force was accompanied by a flotilla of twenty gun-brigs and as many row-boats, each armed with an eighteen-pounder; the larne and sophia sloop, belonging to the royal navy; several of the company's cruisers; and the steamboat diana. general sir a. campbell was appointed to the chief command, and colonel m'bean, with the rank of brigadier general, commanded the madras force. the bengal squadron sailed from saugur in the middle of april; and reached the rendezvous, port cornwallis, in the andaman islands, at the end of the month. the madras first division sailed at the same time, and joined them a few days later; and the whole force, under the escort of h. m. frigate liffey and the slaney, sloop of war, left port cornwallis on the th of may, and arrived on the th at the mouth of the irrawaddy. forces were detached for the capture of the islands of chuduba and negrais. on the th the fleet entered the river and anchored within the bar and, on the following morning, proceeded with the flood tide up to rangoon, the liffey and the larne leading the way. a few shots were fired as they went up the river; but the burmese were taken wholly by surprise, the idea that the english would venture to invade them never having entered their minds. there was considerable disappointment on board the fleet, when rangoon came into sight. it was situated on the north bank of the main branch of the river, thirty miles from the sea. it extended about nine hundred yards along the bank, and was six or seven hundred yards wide, at its broadest part. beyond the town were some suburbs, outside the palisade that inclosed it. the palisades were ten or twelve feet high, strengthened by embankments of earth thrown up against them, on the inner side. one face of the defences ran along the river bank, while the others were protected by a shallow creek communicating with the river. the town itself consisted, for the most part, of miserable and dirty hovels; and of a few official buildings of larger size. at twelve o'clock the liffey anchored abreast of the principal battery, close to the water gate; the transports being ranged in a line in rear of her. a proclamation had been sent on shore, on the previous day, giving assurances of protection to the people at large, and to all who should offer no resistance. when the guns of the fleet were loaded, a pause ensued. the town was evidently incapable of offering resistance, and it was hoped that it would capitulate. the burmese were seen standing at their guns, but they also remained inactive, apparently paralysed at the appearance of this great fleet of vessels--of a size hitherto undreamt of by them--and the threatening guns pointed towards them. however, they were at last goaded, by the orders and threats of their officers, to open fire upon the ships. the frigate at once replied with a broadside. in a very few minutes, every gun on shore was silenced, and the burmese fled in confusion from their works. as soon as they did so, the signal for disembarkation was made. the troops crowded into the boats, which rowed for the shore; and the soldiers entered the town without resistance, and found it completely deserted. the whole of the population had been driven out by the governor on the previous day and, according to burmese custom, the men had all been formed into a levy, while the women and children were held under guard, as hostages for their husbands and fathers--their lives being forfeited in case of desertion, or cowardice, by their male relations. the foreigners in the town had all been seized. they were few in number, consisting of some eight or ten british traders and american missionaries. these, after being fettered, were taken to the custom house prison. they were brought up and tried, early on the morning of the attack, and were accused of having arranged the assault on the town. they naturally urged that, if they had had the least knowledge that it was going to be made, they would have left the place in time. but the burmese at once condemned them to death, and they were taken back to the prison to be executed. the sentence was not carried out. the burmese had intended to execute them on the walls, in sight of their countrymen; and the authorities had all assembled at the prison for the purpose when, fortunately, a shot from the first broadside fired passed through the building, causing an instant stampede. the chiefs at once left the city; and the prisoners, heavily chained, were marched some distance into the country. a party of british troops were, however, pushed forward in advance of the town, as soon as it was occupied; and the guard, in alarm for their own safety, placed the prisoners in a house and made off; and a patrol found them there, on the following morning, and brought them into the town. the great pagoda, standing two miles and a half from the town, was at once occupied as an advanced position by the british. it stood upon a conical hill, rising seventy-five feet above the plain. the area on the top was somewhat over two acres; and in the centre rose the pagoda, three hundred and thirty-eight feet high. every boat on the river was found to have been removed. in spite of proclamations promising good treatment, none of the inhabitants returned to the town, being prevented from doing so by the burmese authorities and troops. no stores whatever had been found and, till the end of the wet season, the army had to depend entirely upon the fleet for provisions; and remained cooped up in the wretched and unhealthy town, suffering severely from fever and malaria. the boat in which stanley and the other prisoners were conveyed was changed at every village going up the river, as the officer was carrying the despatches from bandoola to the court. a flag was hoisted as the boat came in sight of a village. this was the signal that another was required and, within two or three minutes of their arrival, the prisoners, their guard and officer were on their way again. thus they proceeded, night and day and, in four days, arrived at ava. leaving the prisoners in charge of the guard, the officer at once proceeded to the palace. in an hour guns were fired, drums beat, and the bells of the pagodas rung, to give notice to the population that a great victory had been won over the english, and their army annihilated, by bandoola and his valiant troops. this obliterated the impression produced by the news that had arrived, a few days previously, of the landing at rangoon; and there were great rejoicings among the population. an officer from the palace presently came down to the boat, and the prisoners were marched through the streets to a jail, amid the jeers of the mob. stanley was surprised at the meanness of the town; the great majority of the houses being built of bamboo, and thatched with grass, and having a very poor appearance. the public buildings and the houses of the great officers were constructed of planks, and tiled; but were heavy and tasteless, and it was only upon the innumerable pagodas, in and around the town, that any care seemed to have been bestowed. he had wondered much at the numerous pagodas that they had seen, near every town and village, as they passed up; but the officer had informed him that these were all private property, and that it was considered the most meritorious of actions to erect one; consequently every man who had means to do so built a pagoda, large or small in proportion to the sum that he could bestow upon it. on stanley's remarking upon the great number that were in ruins, the officer replied that it was considered so much more meritorious an action to build a pagoda than to repair one that, after the death of the founder, they were generally suffered to fall into decay. for some days the prisoners were taken out, every day, and marched about the town for some time, so as to afford the population ocular proof of the victory gained by bandoola. the place in which they were confined was small and filthy but, at the end of a week, stanley was taken out and placed in a room by himself; and here the officer who had had charge of him paid him a visit, an hour or two later. "i have expressed to the court," he said, "the wishes of the general, and have had permission accorded for you to receive different treatment from the others; partly because you are an officer, but principally because the general thinks that you may be made useful to him. i have informed the officer of the prison that you are to be at liberty to walk about in the city, when you please; but that to protect you from violence, an officer and two soldiers are to accompany you, so long as you may think such a precaution necessary. i have ordered a dress of our fashion to be brought to you as, otherwise, you could not go into the streets without being mobbed." stanley expressed his gratitude to the officer for obtaining these indulgences, and the latter replied: "i acted upon the orders of the general, but it has been a pleasure to me; for i see that you are a young man of merit, and i have learned much from you about your people during the journey; and have seen that, foolish as they have been to undertake to match themselves against us, there are yet some things that might be learned from them; and that, if they had remained in their island, many months' journey away from here, they might have been worthy of our friendship." a short time after the officer had left, a soldier brought up some food of a very much better nature than that with which stanley had been hitherto supplied. half an hour later, the dress arrived. it was that of a burmese officer of inferior grade; and consisted of a tunic of thick cloth, coming down to the knees; leathern sword belt; a sort of tippet resembling that of an english coachman, with three layers of cloth thickly quilted; and a leathern helmet going up to a point in the centre, with a flap to protect the neck and ears. with it were worn tight-fitting stockings of cloth, and low shoes. presently an officer came in. "i am ordered to go out with you, once a day, at whatever hour you may desire. i am a relative of the officer who brought you here, and he has requested me to look after your safety." "i am much obliged to you, sir," stanley said, "and shall be glad, indeed, to go out to see the city. your kinsman has kindly sent me a dress; but if i am not to be noticed, it will be necessary for me to stain my face and hands, somewhat." "that i have thought of," the officer said, "and have brought with me some dye which will darken your skin. it would be worse than useless for you to dress as a burman, unless you did so; for it would seem even more singular, to the people in the streets, that a white man should be seen walking about dressed as an officer, than that a white prisoner should be taken through the streets under a guard. "i am ready to go out with you now, if you wish it." "i shall be ready in a few minutes," stanley replied and, on being left alone, at once changed his attire and stained his face and hands. he had just finished when the officer returned. he smiled and said: "there is no fear of your being suspected, now; and you might really go about safely without a guard, unless you were to enter into conversation with anyone. you speak the language very well, but your accent is not quite the same as ours, here, though in aracan it would pass unremarked." as they went out from the prison, the officer told two soldiers who were waiting there to follow, at a distance. "do not approach us," he said, "unless i call you up." the houses were not constructed in continuous rows, but were very scattered, each house having its inclosure or garden. the population was very small, in comparison to the area occupied by the town. this was divided into two parts--the inner and outer town. the whole was surrounded by a brick wall, five miles and a half in circumference, some sixteen feet high and ten feet in thickness, strengthened on the inside by a great bank of earth. the inner town was inclosed by a separate wall, with a deep ditch on two sides, the river irrawaddy on the third, and a tributary river on the fourth. a considerable portion of the inclosed area was occupied by the royal quarter; containing the palace, the court of justice, the council chamber, arsenal, and the houses of the ministers and chief officials. this was cut off from the rest by a strong and well-built wall, twenty feet high, outside which was a stockade of the same height. the total population of ava was but , . the officer did not take stanley to the royal quarter, observing that it was better not to go there as, although he had leave to walk in the town, it might give offence were he to show himself near the palace; but after going through the wall, they visited two or three of the markets, of which there were eleven in the town. the markets consisted of thatched huts and sheds, and were well supplied with the products of the country. here were rice, maize, wheat, and various other grains; sticks of sugar cane, tobacco, cotton, and indigo; mangoes, oranges, pineapples, custard apples, and plantains were in abundance; also peacocks, jungle fowl, pigeons, partridges, geese, ducks, and snipes--but little meat was on sale, as the burman religion forbids the killing of animals for food. venison was the only meat allowed to be sold in the markets; but there were lizards, iguanas, and snakes, which were exposed freely for sale; and there were large quantities of turtle and tortoise eggs, which had been brought up from the delta. stanley saw that there had really been no great occasion for him to stain his skin, as the people were, for the most part, lighter in colour than the hindoos. many of the men had, however, stained their faces to a darker colour; and all were tattooed, more or less. men, women, and children were all smoking; and frequently, when both hands were required for any purpose, thrust their cigars into the large holes bored in the lobes of their ears. both men and women were somewhat short in stature, but squarely built and muscular and, in the majority of cases, inclined to be fat. the men wore a sort of kilt, consisting of a double piece of cloth, wrapped round the body and falling to the knee. over this was a loose tunic, with sleeves open in front. the headdress was a scanty white turban. the dress of the women was somewhat similar to that of the hindoos, consisting of a single garment like a sheet wrapped round the body, fastening under the arms and falling to the ankles. those of the upper classes were more elaborate. the rank among the women was distinguished, so stanley's guide pointed out to him, by the manner in which the hair was plaited and twisted, and by the ornaments in it. the men, like the women, wore their hair long but, while the men wore theirs in a knot at the top of the head, the women gathered it in at the back. their faces were broad at the cheekbones, but narrowed in sharply, both at the forehead and chin. the narrow and oblique eyes showed the relationship between the burmese and their chinese neighbours. they seemed to stanley a light-hearted, merry people, going about their business with much chatter and laughter; and the sound of musical instruments could often be heard, inside the houses. several men, in bright yellow garments, mingled with the crowds in the market. these were priests, the officer told him; and it would be a mortal act of sacrilege, were anyone else to wear that colour. stanley remarked upon seeing so few soldiers, and the officer told him that there was no regular army in burma. every man capable of carrying arms was obliged to serve in case of war but, with the exception of the king's bodyguard, and a very small body of men who were police, rather than soldiers, there was no force permanently kept up. every man was expected to know something of military duty, and all were able to build stockades. from the fact that the flesh of wild fowl formed one of the principal articles of food, the peasantry throughout the country were all accustomed to the use of the gun, and were fair marksmen. "but you yourself are an officer," stanley said. "at present, yes; but tomorrow i may return to my land. it is the same with the highest minister. one day he may be a trader but, if recommended to the king as one possessing ability, straightway he is chosen to be a high official. if he does not please the king, or fails in his duties, then the next day he may be selling cloth in the bazaar again. "everything is at the will of the king. nobody is born with fortune or rank, for everything belongs to the king and, at a man's death, all goes back to him. thus everyone in the land has an equal chance. in war the bravest becomes a general, in peace the cleverest is chosen as a councillor." walking about, stanley soon found that there were a great variety of dialects talked in the streets, and that the language of the burmese of the coast, of the natives of pegu and the central province, and of those from districts bordering on the shan states or the frontiers of china, differed as widely as those of the most remote parts of great britain did from each other. this being so, he was convinced that there would be no difficulty, whatever, in passing as a native, without attracting any observation or inquiry, so far as the language went. his features and, still more, the shape of his face might, however, be noticed by the first comer, in the daytime. he thought, indeed, that a little tinge of colour in the corner of the eyes, so as to lengthen their appearance and give an oblique cast to them, would make a difference. the general shape of the head was unalterable, but the burmese nose and mouth did not differ very greatly from the european; except that the nostrils were smaller and, in shape, were round rather than oval. for three weeks he continued the same life, and then the burmese officer, with whom he had now become very friendly, said when he entered one morning: "you must not go out today. there is news that your people have made two forward marches. the first was against a stockade, which they took, and killed many of our men; the other time they marched out four or five miles, had a fight with our troops, and again killed many. these things have angered the king and the people. of course it is nothing, for our troops are only beginning to assemble; but it is considered insolent in the extreme, and the king's face is darkened against your countrymen. four of the prisoners have been taken out this morning and publicly executed and, if the news of another defeat comes, i fear that it will be very dangerous, even for you." "what had i best do, my friend?" "i would fain save you, for we have come to know each other; and i see that there is much good in your ways, though they differ greatly from ours. were i to take you out, as usual, you might be killed in the streets; were you to slip away and escape, i should assuredly be put to death; but if in any way i can help you, i would fain do so. my relation who brought you up here left, a fortnight since, to rejoin bandoola; so his influence cannot serve you. "i do not say that you might not escape from this prison--since you are not, like the others, confined in a dungeon--but i see not what you could do, or where you could go. were you to disappear, orders would be sent down the river to every village, and every passing craft would be examined, and you would be sure to be detected; while it would be well-nigh impossible to travel the country on foot, for it is but thinly inhabited. there are often very long distances between the villages, and much of the country is swamp and forest, without paths; for the village trade goes by the river, and they have little communication with each other. "i know that, from what you say, you think that your troops will beat ours, even when we assemble in large numbers. were this so, i fear that there would be little chance of your life being spared. were it not for that, i should say that, bandoola having recommended you, you would be in no danger here, and had better remain until peace is made. "what think you, yourself?" "it is very difficult to reply, at once," stanley said, "but i thank you greatly for your offer to befriend me, in any way you can. i do not say that i had not thought of escape, for i have of course done so. but it seemed to me a thing in the distance; and that, at any rate until the rains were over and the rivers had sunk, it would be useless to attempt it. i see, now, that it will be safest for me to try without delay. if you will come in again, this afternoon, i will tell you what i have thought of." "i will do so; and i, myself, will try to think how best the matter can be managed. we must remember that the great thing is for you to find concealment, for the present. after the search for you has been made for some time, it will die away; and it will then be the easiest plan for you to make your way down the river." chapter : a ruined temple. after the officer left him, stanley sat thinking for a long time. he himself inclined strongly towards the river; but he saw that, at present, the difficulties would be very great. the war boats were passing up and down, and bodies of troops were being carried down in large craft. in every village the men, he knew, were assembling and drilling. even in ava he could see the difference in the population, the proportion of men to women having markedly decreased since his arrival. as to the journey by land, it appeared to him impossible. he was, too, altogether without money and, whether by water or land, it would be necessary to go into the villages to buy provisions. indeed, money would have been almost useless, for there was no coined money in burma; payments being made in lead, for small amounts, or in silver for large ones--the quantity necessary being cut off from small sticks or bars, or paid in filings. it seemed to him that the best thing would be to take to the forest, for a time; and endeavour to subsist upon wild fruits or, if these were not to be found there, to go out into the fields and orchards at night, and so manage to hold on for a few weeks. his friend told him that, in the forests along the principal lines of route to the capital, were many bad characters--persons who had committed crime and fled from justice. some were cultivators who, having been unable to pay their taxes, had deserted their land and taken to the woods. all committed depredations, and traders coming into the town from the shan states, or from the country where rubies and emeralds were found, always travelled in caravans for mutual protection. at times levies were called out, and many of these marauders were killed. stanley, then, had hit upon nothing definite when the officer returned in the afternoon and, in reply to the latter's question, he acknowledged at once that the only thing he could see was to take to the forest, until the active search for him had ceased. "you would find it difficult to maintain yourself. i have thought of a better way than that. i am acquainted with a phongee, who lives in a temple in a lonely spot, four miles away. he is a good man, though somewhat strange in his habits; and i feel sure that, on my recommendation, he would take you in. there would be little chance of your being discovered there. you could not go dressed as you are, but must disguise yourself as a peasant; though it might be well to retain your present attire, which may be useful to you, afterwards. i fear that you will fare badly with him, in the way of food; there will be enough to eat, but it will be of the simplest." "so that there is enough to keep life together, it matters little what it is." "then that is settled. "now, about making your escape from here. your door is closely barred, at night; and there is no window save those four little holes, high up in the wall, which scarce a bird could get through." "i could cut through the thatch above," stanley said, "if i had but something that i could stand upon to do so. there are some bamboos lying just at the bottom of the steps. with these and some cord i might make a sort of ladder, and should then be able to get at the thatch." "i will bring you some cord, tomorrow, for that and to let yourself down to the ground. then i will arrange where to meet you, and will guide you out of the town and take you to the priest. i will bring a disguise for you, and some stain for your body and arms for, as a peasant, you would be naked to the waist. i can think of nothing better." "i thank you most heartily," stanley said, "and trust that you may get into no trouble for the kindness that you have shown me." "there is no fear of that, my friend. no one will know that i have been away from the town. i am greatly afraid that this will be all that i shall be able to do for you; for i am told that i am to go down the river with the next batch of troops, which will start in three days. i have only been informed of it since i saw you this morning. had it not been for you i should have been glad; for it is in war time, only, that one can obtain honour and promotion." "i am sorry that you are going, sir. i shall miss your kindness, sorely; but i can understand your desire to go to the front. it is the same with us; when there is a war, every officer and soldier hopes that his regiment will be sent there. however, i shall see you again. "has bandoola's army moved yet?" "no; nor do i think that it will do so. it is a long march down to rangoon from ramoo; and i believe that he will remain where he is, until he sees how matters go at rangoon. as soon as your people are driven out, he will be joined by a great army, and will march to dacca. there our troops from the north will join him; and then he will go to india, we think." "i fancy," stanley said with a smile, "if he waits until we are turned out from rangoon, his stay at ramoo will be a long one." the next day the officer brought several yards of strong cloth, such as was worn by the peasants; a piece of muslin to make the circular band that was worn by the lower class, instead of a complete turban; and a lot of horse hair to be worn on the top of the head. "now," he said, "strip to the waist, and i will dye your body. i have dyes of two colours here; one for the skin, and the other to draw lines on the face, so as to make you look older; and with this i can also imitate tattoo marks on your chest and shoulders. here is a long knife, such as everyone wears, and here is the cord. "as soon as it is getting dark you must carry up two of the bamboo poles, taking care that no one observes you do so. there is seldom anyone in the courtyard. i have had the knife sharpened, and it will cut through the thatch, easily enough. when you get away, walk straight to the market that lies nearest to us. i will be at its entrance. it will take you, i suppose, two hours to make your ladder and get out. you cannot begin until the guard closes your door. you tell me he never comes in." "no, he brings the last meal an hour before sunset. i generally sit on the top of the steps, till he comes up to lock the door, which is about nine o'clock; and i do not see him again until he unbars the door in the morning. i should not think that it will take as long as two hours to make the ladder, and cut the thatch; at any rate, by eleven i ought to join you. "i suppose the gates are open." "oh, yes! they are never closed, though of course they would be, if an enemy were near. there is no guard anywhere." after staining stanley's skin, the officer waited a quarter of an hour for it to dry thoroughly; and then proceeded to draw lines on his face, across the forehead, and from the corners of his eyes; and then spent nearly an hour in executing rough tattoo marks on his body and arms. "this dye is very good, and will last for weeks before it begins to fade. i will bring with me another bottle, tonight, so that you can at least re-dye your skin. "here is some wax. you must turn your hair up from the neck, and plaster it in its place with it. the turban will prevent anyone seeing how short the hair is. here is a little bottle of black dye, with which you had better colour it, before fixing it with the wax." stanley's hair had not been cut for some time before he had been captured by the burmese and, in the two months that had since elapsed, it had grown very long; and could therefore be turned up as the officer suggested. putting on his usual garments, he sat at his place, at the door of the cell, until the guard brought up his evening meal. having eaten this, he dyed his hair and, half an hour later, turned it up, plastering it with wax, and tied a bit of fibre round where the turban would come. by this time it was getting dusk. he sat at the door at the top of the steps, until he saw that the courtyard was deserted; the guard at the gate having gone outside, to enjoy the coolness of the air. then he ran down the steps, took two bamboo poles about ten feet in length, and two short pieces of the same wood no thicker than his finger and, hurrying up the steps with them, laid them down against the side of the room. then he went to the steps again, and sat there until he saw the guard coming across to fasten his door; when he went in and, as soon as he heard the bars put up, began his preparations. first he lashed the short pieces across the ends of the two bamboos, so as to keep them a foot apart; then he put ratlines across, and soon had the ladder completed. he made up his clothes into a bundle, wrapped the rough cloth round his waist, adjusted the knot of horse hair on the top of his head, and fastened it there with wax. he wound the turban round below, and his disguise was complete. fixing the ladder against the wall he climbed it, and it was not long before he cut a hole through the thatch of sufficient size to pass out. the work had taken him longer than he had expected, for it had to be done in absolute darkness; however, he was sure that he was well within his time. fastening the end of the rope to one of the bamboo rafters, he descended the ladder and picked up his bundle; then climbed up again, got halfway out of the hole, and listened intently. everything was quiet in the street and, in another minute, he stood on the ground. when he turned into the principal street, there were still many people about. sounds of music and singing came from the windows, for the burmese are very fond of music, and often pass the whole night in playing and singing. there was no risk whatever of detection now, and he stepped briskly along until he came to the open space, with its rows of little thatched huts. here he paused for a minute, and the officer stepped out from behind a house and joined him. "i was not sure at first that it was you," he said. "your disguise is excellent. you had better follow me, now, until we get beyond the busy streets." keeping some twenty yards behind his guide, stanley went on until, after nearly half an hour's walking, they passed through a gate in the city walls. he now closed up to the officer and, after another half-hour's walk across a cultivated country, they entered a forest. the ground now rose steadily and, after keeping on for two miles, they emerged from the trees at the top of a hill. the space had been cleared of timber, but it was nearly covered with bushes and young trees. in the centre were the ruins of a temple, that had evidently existed long before the burmese dynasty occupied the country, and had been erected by some older race. it was roofless; the walls had, in places, fallen; and the ruins were covered with vegetation. the burman ascended some broken steps, entered the temple, and crossed to one of the opposite corners. a dim light was burning in a small apartment, which had been roofed with thatch. a man was lying, dressed, on a heap of leaves at one side. he started up as the officer entered. "who is it who comes here at this hour?" he asked. "thekyn," the officer answered. "i am glad to see you," the phongee said, "whatever may bring you here. you have not fallen into trouble, i hope?" "in no way, good priest. i am starting, in two days, down the river to fight the barbarians; but before i go, i want you to do me a favour." the phongee smiled. "beyond naming you in my prayers, thekyn, there is but little that a hermit can do for any man." "not so, in this case," the officer said. "i have one here with me who needs rest, and concealment. i would rather that you did not ask who he is. he has done no crime, and yet he is in danger; and for a month, maybe, he needs a shelter. will you give it him, for my sake?" "assuredly i will," the priest said. "your father was one of my dearest friends, in the days when i dwelt in the city. i would gladly do all in my power for his son, and this is but a small thing that you ask. let him enter." stanley went in. the priest took down the little lamp, from a shelf on which it stood, and held it near the lad's face. then he turned, with a smile, to thekyn: "the painting is but clumsily done," he said, "though maybe it would pass without close examination. he is a stranger, and comes of a race unknown to me but, as you said, it matters not to me who he is; suffice that he is a friend of yours. he is welcome to a share of my shelter, and my food; though the shelter is rough, and the food somewhat scanty. of late few, indeed, have sought me for, as i hear, most of the men have gone down to the war." "i have brought you some food," the officer said; for stanley had observed that he also carried a bundle, a larger one than his own. "here is a supply of rice, that will last for some time; and this, with your offerings, will suffice to keep things going. my friend is not, like you, bound by his religion not to take life; and i know that snakes are very plentiful round here." snakes had formed a frequent article of his diet, since he had been captured; and stanley had lost the repugnance to them that he at first felt, so the prospect of their forming the staple of his food was not disagreeable to him. it would also afford him some employment to search for and kill them. "i shall be well content," he said, "with anything that i can get, and trust that i shall be no burden upon you." "you will assuredly be none," the priest replied. "here must be at least thirty pounds of rice which, alone, would keep two men alive for a month. as regards the snakes, though i may not kill them, i may eat them when killed; and indeed, there are few things better. in truth, i should not be sorry to have some of the creatures out of the way; for they swarm round here so thickly that i have to pay great heed, when i walk, lest i step upon them." "have you been troubled with robbers, of late, father?" thekyn asked. "they trouble me not at all," the priest said. "men come, sometimes. they may be robbers, or they may not. i ask no questions. they sometimes bring fruit and other offerings, and i know that i need not fear them. i have nought to lose, save my life; and he would be indeed an evil man who would dare to lift his finger against a priest--one who harms not anyone, and is ready to share what food he has with any man who comes to him hungry." "well, father, i will say goodbye. i must be back to the city before men are about, as i would not that my absence should be discovered." "peace be with you, my son. may you come back safe from the wars. my prayers will be said for you, night and morning. "be in no uneasiness as to your friend. if any should ask me about my companion, i shall reply that he is one who has undertaken to rid me of some of the snakes, who dispute the possession of this place with me." thekyn motioned to stanley to come outside the hut with him and, when he did so, handed to him a small but heavy bag. "this is lead," he said. "you will need it, when you start on your journey down the country. there are eight pounds of it and, from what you have seen in the market, you will know how much food can be got for a small amount of lead. i would that i could do more for you, and assist your flight." "you have done much indeed, very much and, should i regain my friends, i will endeavour to do as much by one of your countrymen, for your sake. i hope that, when this war is over, i may meet you again." "i hope so," the burman said warmly. "i cannot but think that you will succeed in getting away." "my son," the old priest said, when stanley returned to his cell, "i am going to my prayers. i always rise at this hour, and pray till morning; therefore you may as well lay yourself down on these leaves. there is another cell, like this, in the opposite corner of the temple. in the morning you can cut boughs, and roof it like this; and make your bed there. there is no room for another, here; and it will doubtless be more pleasant for you to have a place to yourself, where you can go and come as you like; for in the day women come up to consult me, and ask for my prayers--but mind how you enter it for the first time as, like as not, there will be snakes sheltering there." stanley lay awake for a time, listening to the monotonous voice of the priest as he repeated his prayers; but his senses soon wandered, and he slept soundly till daybreak. his first step was to cut a stout stick, and he then proceeded to the other cell, which was partially blocked up with stone from the fallen roof. it took him two hours to carry this stuff out, and he killed no less than nine snakes that he disturbed in his work. the prospect of sleeping in a place so frequented was not a pleasant one, especially as the cell had no door to it; and he resolved at once to erect some sort of bed place, where he might be beyond their reach. for this purpose he cut two poles, each three or four inches longer than the cell. one end of each he sharpened, and drove in between the interstices of the stone, at a distance of some two feet and a half apart and four feet from the ground. the other ends he hammered with a heavy stone against the opposite wall, until they would go down no farther. then he split up some more wood and lashed strips, almost touching each other, underneath the two poles, by the aid of some strong creepers. then he filled up the bed place, between the poles, with dry leaves. one end of the bed was some inches higher than the other. this was immaterial, and he felt satisfied that even the craftiest snake could not reach him. as to the roof, he was by no means particular about it. in this part of burma the rainfall is very small, the inundations being the effect of heavy rains in the distant hill country which, as they come down, raise the level of the rivers, in some cases, as much as eighteen feet, and overflow the low-lying country. before beginning to construct the bed, he had carried the snakes into the phongee; after first cutting off their heads which, as he knew, the burmans never touch. "this is good, indeed, my son," the priest said. "here we have our breakfast and dinner. i will boil some rice, and fry four of them for breakfast." the bed was but half completed, when he heard the priest sound a bell. it was doubtless used as a call to prayer. however, stanley rightly conjectured that, in this case, it was a summons to a meal; and was soon seated on the ground by the side of the priest. little was said at breakfast, which stanley enjoyed heartily. "so my friend thekyn is starting for the wars. what think you of it, my son? shall we easily overpower these barbarians? we have never met them in war before and, doubtless, their methods of fighting are different from ours." "quite different. their men are trained as soldiers. they act as one man, while the burmese fight each for himself. then they have cannon with them, which they can drag about quickly, and use with great effect. although they are few, in comparison with the armies going down to attack them, the latter will find it very difficult work to turn them out of rangoon." "do you think that they will beat us, then?" "that i cannot say, but i should not be surprised if it were to prove so." "the burmese have never been beaten yet," the priest said. "they have been victorious over all their enemies." "the burmese are very brave," stanley agreed, "but, hitherto, they have only fought against people less warlike than themselves. now they have to deal with a nation that has made war a study, and which always keeps up a large army of men who are trained to fight, and who spend all their time in military exercises. it is not that they are stronger than the burmese, for the burmese are very strong men; but only that men who are trained to act together must, necessarily, possess a great advantage over those who have had no such training--who simply take up arms for the occasion and, when the trouble is over, return to their homes and lay them by, until called out to fight again. "besides, their weapons are better than yours; and they have many cannon which, by practice, they can load and fire very quickly; and each of which, when the armies are near each other, can fire fifty or sixty bullets at once." "i have heard a strange story that the barbarians have a ship without sails, with a great chimney that pours out quantities of black smoke, and a wheel on each side and, as the wheels move round, the vessel can go straight up the river against the tide, even if the wind is blowing strongly down." "it is true, father, there are many such ships; but only two or three that have made the long voyage across stormy seas to india." "it is wonderful how these men can force fire to be their servant, and how it can make the wheels of the ship to move round." "that i cannot tell you, father. i have never seen one of these vessels, though i have heard of them." the priest said no more, but evidently fell into a profound meditation; and stanley, getting quietly up, returned to his work. the priest came in, just as he had completed his bed. "that is well," he said, looking at it approvingly. "i myself, although i know that, until my time has come, no creature can harm me, cannot resist a shudder when i hear one rustling amid the leaves of my bed; for they come in, although some of my friends have had a door placed to exclude their entry at night. i wander but little from my cell, and always close the door after me; but they enter, sometimes, when i am meditating, and forgetful of earthly matters, and the first i know of their presence is the rustling of the leaves in the bed, at night. were i as strong in faith as i should be, i would heed it not. i tell myself so; but my fear is stronger than my will, and i am forced to rise, turn up the leaves with a stick until i find them, and then i open the door and eject them, with as much gentleness as may be." "i should get no sleep at all," stanley said. "i don't think that even a door would make me feel any safer, for i might forget to shut it, sometimes. tomorrow, father, i will wage war with them, and see if i cannot decrease their numbers considerably." stanley's first task was to clear the bushes away from the court of the temple; and this, after several days' hard work, he carried out; although he soon saw that by so doing he would not diminish the number of the snakes, for the greater portion of the area was covered with blocks of fallen stone, among which the reptiles found an impenetrable shelter. the clearance effected, however, was so far useful that, while the creatures were before altogether hidden from sight by the bushes, they could now be killed when they came out to bask in the sun on the uncovered stones; and he could, every day, destroy a dozen or more without the slightest difficulty. ten days after he had finished the work, he heard the sound of men's voices and, peeping out, saw a burmese officer with a party of eight armed men going to the phongee's cell. it was possible that they might have come on other business, but it was more probable they had come in search of him. some of the women who had come up to the hermit had seen him at work; and might have mentioned, on their return, that the priest had a man at work clearing away the bushes. the matter might have come to the ears of some officer anxious to distinguish himself, and the idea that this was the prisoner for whom a search was being made occurred to him. stanley shrank back into his cell, took up the bundle of clothes that served as his pillow, got on to the bed and, standing on it, was able to get his fingers on to the top of the wall. he hoisted himself up, made his way through the boughs of the roof, and dropped on to the ground outside. then he went round by the back of the temple, until he stood outside the priest's cell, and could hear the voices within without difficulty. "then you know nothing whatever of this man?" "nothing whatever," he replied. "as i have told you, he came to me and asked for shelter. i gave him such poor assistance as i could, as i should give it to anyone who asked me. he has been no burden upon me, for he has killed enough snakes for my food and his own." "you know not of what part he is a native?" "not at all; i asked him no questions. it was no business of mine." "could you form any idea from his speech?" "his speech was ours. it seemed to me that it was that of a native of the lower provinces." "where is he now?" "i know not." "you say that, at present, he is away." "not seeing him in front, i thought he had gone out; for he comes and goes as he pleases. he is not a hired servant, but a guest. he cut down the bushes here, in order that he might more easily kill the snakes; for which, indeed, i am thankful to him, not only for the food that they afford, but because they were in such abundance, and so fearless, that they often came in here, knowing that they had naught to fear from me." "then you think that he will return soon?" "as he told me not of his intention of going out at all, i cannot say. he is away, sometimes, for hours in the forest." "well, in any case, we shall watch here until his return. it may be that he is some idle fellow, who prefers killing snakes to honest work; but it may also be that he is the escaped prisoner of whom we are in search." "i hear little of what passes in the town," the priest said, quietly. "news would disturb my meditations, and i never question those who come here to ask for my prayers. i have heard of the escape of no prisoner." "it was a young english officer who got away. there has been a great stir about it. every house in the town has been searched, and every guard boat on the river has been warned to allow no boat to pass, without assuring themselves that he is not on board." "this was a brown man, like ourselves, clad only in a petticoat of rough cloth, like other peasants." "he may have dyed his skin," the officer said. "at any rate, we will stay until he returns, and question him. two of my men shall take their places just inside the entrance, and seize him as he enters. has he arms?" "none, save his knife and the stick with which he kills the snakes. it may be that he has seen you coming hither and, if he has committed any crime, he would flee, and not return here at all." "if he does not come back before it is the hour when i must return to the town, i shall leave four men to watch for him; and they will wait here, if it is for a week, until he comes back again." "you can do as you please," the priest said, "only i pray you withdraw your men from the neighbourhood of this cell. i would not that my meditations were disturbed by their talk. i have come hither for peace and quietness, and to be apart from the world and its distractions." "you shall not be disturbed," the officer said respectfully, and stanley heard a movement of feet, and then the closing of the door. thinking it probable that the officer might make a search round the temple, he at once made off into the wood behind the temple. as soon as he was well among the trees, he exchanged his cloth for the disguise he had worn in the town and, folding it up to be used as a blanket at night, he went further into the wood, sat down, and proceeded to think what his next step had best be. it was evident that he could not return to the temple for the present; and it was clear, also, that the search for him was still maintained, and that it would not be safe to attempt to descend the river. he regretted that he had been obliged to leave the place without saying goodbye to the priest, and again thanking him for the shelter that he had given him; but he was sure that, when he did not return, the old man would guess that he had caught sight of the officer and his party entering the temple, and had at once fled. had he not known that the guard would remain there, he would have waited until they returned to the town, and would then have gone in and seen the priest; but as they would remain there for some days, he thought it was as well to abandon all idea of returning, as the suspicions that he might be the man sought for would be heightened by his continued absence, and the watch might be continued for a long time, on the chance of his coming back. he concluded that, at any rate, his best course would be to endeavour to make his way for a considerable distance down the country; and then to try and get a boat. he knew that the country near the river was comparatively thickly populated, and that the distances between the villages were not great, so that he would find no great difficulty in purchasing provisions. the dress he had brought with him was not altogether unfavourable for such a purpose, as he could easily pass as a sub-officer, whose duty it was to inquire whether the villages had each sent all their able-bodied men to the war. the only drawback to it would be that, if instructions for his arrest had been sent down to the villages along the road, as well as those by the river, they would have probably been directed to specially look for one clad in such attire. however, it would be open to him, at any moment, to take to his peasant's disguise again. he at last determined to make a start and, by nightfall, had traversed several miles through the great forest stretching along by the side of the panlaung river. he had asked many questions of his friend the officer, as they went up to the temple, as to the roads. he was told that there was one running almost due south to ramuthayn, by which he could travel down to rangoon, by way of tannoo. this, however, would take him a long distance from the main river, and he decided that he would presently strike the road that ran about halfway between the hills and the irrawaddy. he would follow that for a time, and would try and strike the river somewhere between meloun and keow-uan. below this point there was a network of rivers, and but few villages, and the country was swampy and unhealthy. he infinitely preferred the risks of the descent by the river to those by road; and it seemed to him that, if he could but obtain possession of one of the small native fishing boats, he could drop down at night, unnoticed, as the width of the river at ava was upwards of a thousand yards and, below that town, often considerably exceeded that breadth. when it became too dark to proceed further, he sat down at the foot of a tree. he regretted that he had no means of lighting a fire; and determined that, at any risk, he would obtain the means of doing so at the first village that he came to--for he knew that there were both tigers and leopards in the jungles. he thought, however, that they were not likely to be numerous, so near the capital; and the old priest had never alluded to them as a source of danger though, indeed, it had never occurred to him to ask. in the morning he continued his way. he had gone but a mile when he heard a sudden scream in the wood, a short distance to his left. feeling sure that it was a human being, in great fear or pain, he drew his knife and ran, at the top of his speed, in the direction of the cry; thinking that it might be some man, or woman, attacked by the robbers of the forest. suddenly he came upon a small open space, some twenty yards in diameter. he hesitated, when his eyes fell on a group in the centre. two men were lying on the ground, and a leopard stood with a paw on each of them. they had guns lying beside them, and a fire was burning close by. he guessed that the animal had sprung from a tree, one of whose boughs extended almost as far as the centre of the opening. probably it had killed one of the men in its spring for, at the moment when he saw the animal, it was licking the blood from the shoulder of the man on whom its right paw rested. the other was, as far as stanley could see, unhurt. illustration: stanley gave a sudden spring, and buried his knife in the leopard. his tread in the light burmese shoes had been almost noiseless; and the leopard, which was keeping up a low growling, and whose back was towards him, had apparently not noticed it. he hesitated for a moment, and then decided to endeavour to save the man who was still alive. creeping up stealthily, he gave a sudden spring upon the leopard, and buried his knife to the hilt in its body, just behind the shoulder. with a terrible roar, it rolled over for a moment, and then struggled to its feet. the time had been sufficient for stanley to pick up and cock one of the guns and, as the leopard turned to spring at him, he aimed between its eyes and fired. again the beast rolled over, and stanley caught up the other gun, thrust the muzzle within a foot of its head, and fired. the leopard gave a convulsive quiver, and lay dead. chapter : with brigands. stanley uttered an involuntary hurrah as the leopard expired; and at the sound the burman, who had been lying motionless, leapt to his feet. he looked at the leopard, and then at his rescuer, and exclaimed in a tone of astonishment: "you have slain the beast alone, and with no weapon but your knife!" "no," stanley replied; "i began the fight with my knife, only; but caught up one of those guns when i wounded him, and fired as he charged me. then i finished him with the other." "comrade," the burman said, "you have done a great deed, with courage. i, who am esteemed no coward, would never even have thought of attacking that great leopard with but a knife, and that to save the life of a stranger." "i saw the guns lying on the ground. had it not been for that, i should not have dared to attack the leopard, for it would have been certain death." "certain death, indeed. but tell me, first, how you did it. it seems to me well nigh a miracle." "i was passing along, not far distant, when i heard your cry," stanley said. "thinking that it was some person in distress, i ran hither, and saw you both lying, with the leopard's forepaws upon you. the beast's back was turned to me and, as it was growling, it had not heard my approach. seeing the guns lying there--and having no doubt that they were loaded--i stole up, sprang suddenly on the leopard, and drove my knife into it behind the shoulder. the blow rolled it over, and gave me time to pick up the gun. the rest was easy." the man, without a word, examined the body of the leopard. "it is as you say," he said. "it was well struck, and would probably have been fatal; but the animal would have torn you in pieces before he died, but for the guns. "well, comrade, you have saved my life; and i am your servant, so long as i live. i thought all was over with me. the leopard, as it sprang, threw its full weight on my comrade, here. we had just risen to our feet; and the blow struck me, also, to the ground. i raised that cry as i fell. i lay there, immovable. i felt the leopard's paw between my shoulders, and heard its angry growlings; and i held my breath, expecting every moment to feel its teeth in my neck. "i had but one hope, namely, that the beast would carry off my comrade--who, i was well assured, was dead--to the jungle to devour him, and would then come back to fetch me. i managed to breathe once, very quietly, when i felt a movement of the leopard and, hearing a low sound, guessed that he was licking my comrade's blood; but slightly as i moved, the leopard noticed it, and stood straight up again over me. i dared not breathe again, but the time had come when i felt that i must do so, though i was sure that it would be the signal for my death. "then i knew not what had happened. there was a sharp pain as the leopard's claws contracted, and then there was a loud roar, and its weight was removed from me. then i heard it snarl, as if about to spring. then came the sound of a gun, a fall, and a struggle; and then the sound of another gun. then i heard your shout, and knew the beast was dead. "now, sir, what can i do for you? shall i first skin the leopard?" "i care not for the skin," stanley said. "it would be of no use to me." "then, with your permission, i will take it off, and keep it as long as i live, as a remembrance of the narrowest escape that i ever had." "is your comrade dead?" "yes," the man replied. "the leopard struck him between the shoulders as you see; and the force of the blow, and the weight of the spring, must have killed him instantaneously." "then i will take his sword, gun, and cartridges." so stanley undid the sword belt, and buckled it round him; put the bandolier of cartridges over his shoulders; and took up the gun and reloaded it, while the man was at work skinning the leopard. this operation the man performed with great speed. it was evidently one that he had done before. as soon as the beast was flayed, he rolled up the skin and placed it on his shoulder. "you are an officer, sir?" he asked. "no; i am a fugitive." while he had been watching the man, stanley had debated over whether he should confide in him; and thought that, after the service he had rendered him, he could do so with safety. "i am an englishman--i was captured by bandoola, at ramoo, and sent a prisoner to ava. i have escaped, and want to make my way down to rangoon; but i heard that orders had been sent along the river to arrest me, and i do not, at present, know how to make my way down." "come with me," the man said. "i have friends in the forest, some distance from here. they will receive you gladly, when i tell them what you have done for me; and you will be safe until you choose to go. we are outlaws but, at present, we are masters of the forest. the government has its hands full, and there is no fear of their disturbing us." stanley thought over the matter, for a minute or two. doubtless it was a robber band that he was asked to join, but the offer seemed to promise safety, for a time. "i agree," he said, "so that you do not ask me to take part in any deeds of violence." "about that, you shall do as you like," the man said; "but i can tell you that we make good hauls, sometimes. our difficulty is not to capture booty, but to dispose of it. "have you a turban? for that helmet of yours is out of place, in the woods. the rest of your dress has nothing peculiar about it, and would attract no attention." "i have a turban. i have been, lately, in the dress of a peasant. the cloth i wore lies fifty yards away; i dropped it as i ran. it will be useful to cover me at night, if for nothing else." stanley exchanged the helmet for the turban that he had before worn, and fetched the cloth. "will you bury your companion?" he said. "it would be useless. he will sleep above ground, as well as below and, if we are to reach my comrades tonight, it is time for us to be moving." they at once set out. after five hours' walking, they came upon the river myitnge, the tributary that falls into the irrawaddy at ava. it was some four hundred yards across. the burman walked along its banks for a short distance, and then pulled from a clump of bushes a small boat, that was just capable of carrying two. he put it in the water. they took their seats, and paddled across to the other side; where he carefully concealed it, as before. "that is our ferry boat," he said. "it is not often used, for our headquarters are in the great forest we shall presently come to; but it is as well when, occasionally, parties are sent out to hunt us, to have the means of crossing to the other side." another two hours' walking, through cultivated fields, brought them to the edge of the forest. "here you are as safe as if you were in rangoon," the burman said. "in another hour we shall reach my comrades. as a rule, we change our headquarters frequently. at present there is no question of our being disturbed; so we have settled ourselves, for a time." "why were you and your comrade on the other side of the river? "his village lies five miles beyond that forest," the man said. "at ordinary times, he dared not venture there; but he thought that, at present, most of the able men would be away, and so he could pay a visit to his friends. he asked me to accompany him and, as i had nothing better to do, i agreed to go. a convoy of traders, too strong to be attacked, had passed down from the hill country the morning before we started. there was not much probability that anyone would come again, for a few days." "they bring down rubies from there, do they not?" "the mines are the property of the emperor," the man said, "and the gems are sent down, once every two months, under a strong guard; but for all that, many of the traders bring rubies down from there--of course, secretly. the men who work the mines often conceal stones that they come upon, and sell them for a small sum to the traders; besides, sometimes the peasants pick them up elsewhere--and these, too, make haste to sell them for anything that they can get. we do not care for them much, for it is a risky business going down to ava to sell them; and the traders there, knowing that, at a word from them, we should be arrested and most likely executed, will give us next to nothing for them. we prefer silver and lead for money; and garments, arms, and set jewels. "each man takes his share of what is captured and, when we have enough, we go home to our villages. a pound of silver, or two or three pounds of lead, are generally quite enough to buy the goodwill of the head man of the village. we give out that we have been working on the river, or in ava, since we left; and everyone knows better than to ask questions." in another hour, they reached the encampment. it was now dusk, and some five-and-twenty men were sitting round a great fire. a number of leafy arbours had been constructed in a circle beyond them. "what, returned so soon!" one of the men said, as stanley's guide came near enough for the firelight to fall on his face; "but where is ranji, and whom have you brought here--a new recruit?" "not exactly, parnik, but one to whom i have promised shelter, for a while. ranji is dead. i should have been dead, too, and eaten; had it not been for my comrade, here. here is the skin of the beast who slew ranji and, when i tell you that the leopard stood with one paw on me, you may guess that my escape was a narrow one." "the brute was a large one," one of the other men said, as meinik--for such was the name of stanley's companion--unrolled and held the skin up. "i see it had a bullet between the eyes, and another just behind the ear; and there is a knife cut behind the shoulder. it must have been hot work, when it came to knives, with a beast of that size." "give us some food, and cocoa; we have eaten nothing today, and have walked far. when we have fed, i will tell you my story." the burman's recital of the adventure with the leopard excited great applause, and admiration, from his comrades. "'tis wonderful," one said, "not so much that our new comrade should have killed the leopard, though that was a great feat; but that, armed only with a knife, he should attack a beast like this, to save the life of a stranger. truly i never heard of such a thing. has he all his senses?" meinik nodded. he had received permission from stanley to say who he was. stanley had consented with some reluctance, but the man assured him that he could trust his companions, as well as himself; and that it was much better to tell the truth, as it would soon be seen that his features differed altogether from their own and that, therefore, he was some strange person in disguise. "he is in his senses," he said, "but he does not see things as we do. he is one of those english barbarians who have taken rangoon, and against whom our armies are marching. he was captured at ramoo; and sent by bandoola, as a prisoner, to ava. he has made his escape and will, in a short time, go down the river; but at present the search is too hot for him. so you see that he is, like ourselves, a fugitive." "what is his age?" one of the men asked, after a silence, during which they all gazed at the newcomer. "he is but a lad, being as he tells me between sixteen and seventeen; but you see his skin is stained, and his face marked, so as to give him the appearance of age." "if the men of his race are as brave as he is, meinik, our troops will truly have harder work than they think to drive them into the sea. does he speak our tongue?" "yes," stanley answered for himself. "i have been more than two years in the province of chittagong, and learned it from one who was in our service." "and would many of your people risk their lives in the way you did, for a stranger?" "certainly. many men constantly run risks as great to save others." "one life is all a man has," the burman said. "why should he give it for a stranger?" "i don't think that we stop to think of that," stanley said. "it seems to us natural that if we see another in danger of his life, we should try to save it; whether it is a man or woman, whether it be from fire or from any other fate." "you must be a strange people," the burman said gravely, "and i should scarce have credited it, had i not heard that you had done it, yourself. but it is wonderful; and you, too, a lad who has not yet come to his full strength. "we should be glad to have such a man for our comrade, my friends. whether he be burman or english matters little. he has risked his life for one of us; and he is our brother as long as he likes to stay with us." there was a warm exclamation of assent, round the circle; and stanley felt that he had no cause for uneasiness, as long as he remained with them. in the evening the men sang many songs and, at their request, stanley sang some english ones, choosing some with lively airs. the burmese were much pleased and surprised at these, and joined merrily in the chorus. half a dozen of them then set to work with their knives, cut down some saplings and boughs, and constructed for stanley an arbour similar to the others; and he lay down well satisfied with the results of his adventure, and feeling that he could remain with these merry fellows, criminals though they might be, until it would be safe to make his way down the river. in the morning the men started early, leaving him in charge of the fire. they went off in parties of four or five, to watch the various roads leading to the capital; two or three of them, dressed as peasants, going to towns where travellers would halt, so as to gain information as to any party coming down. when they gathered again, at dusk, one party only had had any success. they had met six merchants coming down with horses laden with spices, indigo, and cotton. these had offered no resistance, and they had taken as much as they could carry, and then allowed them to go on with the rest of their goods. there was a general feeling of regret that the party had not been more numerous; and some expressions of anger, at the spies on the road by which the traders had come, for not letting them know beforehand, so that they could have placed their whole force there and carried away all the goods. "these are the things that suit us best," meinik said to stanley. "you see, one can go down with a parcel of cinnamon or pepper, or a bag of dyes, or fifty pounds of cotton into the town; and sell it in the market, at a fair and proper price. of course, one dresses one's self as a small cultivator; and there is no suspicion, whatever, that all is not right. "we shall keep a sharp lookout for the men, as they come back again, and relieve them of the silver or goods they may have taken in exchange; that is, if they come by the same road--but it is more likely that, after their adventure today, they will choose some other, or take a guide and travel by village tracks. no doubt they think that they have got off easily, for they have not lost more than a quarter of their goods. it is war time now, and there is no fear of a force being sent against us; but usually we do not take so much as a quarter of the merchandise. were they to lose everything, they would make complaints; and then we should have a force sent up against us, and be obliged to move away, for a time. but as it is, they are so pleased with getting the greater part of their goods safe to market that they do not care to make a fuss about it; for they might have to pay the court officials, and others, more than the value of the goods lost." "they do not often resist, then?" "not often. if a man loses his goods, he can gather more again; but when his life has gone, everything has gone. besides, as a rule we take care that we are so strong that they see, at once, that resistance would be hopeless. sometimes they bring armed guards with them. these are men who make it their business to convoy traders down, when the times are troubled. sometimes we have fights with these but, as a rule, we seldom attack them unless we are so strong that they do not dare to oppose us. still, we do have fights sometimes, for these shan guards are brave fellows. their convoys are generally rich ones, for it would not pay small traders to hire men to protect them. "in times of peace, we seldom stop long in one neighbourhood for, when it once becomes known what road we are lying near, they come along in parties too strong to be attacked and, as it matters little to us where we live, we move away perhaps a hundred miles, and then settle on another line of traffic. we have not been here long; we were last down by tannoo, and did well for a long time there; until at last the governor raised all the villagers, and hunted the woods, and we found that we had to leave. i expect we shall stay here some time, now. there is no fear of troops being sent out, and we can afford not to press too hardly on travellers; for we have done so well, of late, that we could separate and return to our homes, each with a good store of booty. half our number did leave, when we came up from the south; and more of us would go, if it were not for this order that everyone shall join the army. it is much pleasanter to live here, free to do as we like, than to be driven down like a herd of beasts, to fight. besides, we have no quarrel with your people. it was the officials at aracan who began it; let them fight, if they like." stanley remained a fortnight with the band. at the end of that time, they heard that a party of thirty traders were coming down together, and that they had with them ten armed guards. this, they no doubt supposed, was ample protection for, as the band generally worked in such small parties, it was believed that there were but a few outlaws in the forest. all the band went out, and returned in the evening, laden with spoil. two or three of them were wounded, but not severely. "so you had resistance today, meinik." "it lasted only for a minute," the man said. "as soon as they saw how strong we were, the guard were glad enough to put up their swords and let us bind them hand and foot, while we searched the merchants. as you see, we have made a good capture, though we have not seized more than a fifth of what they brought down with them; but it will take them some time to pack their bales again, for we searched everything thoroughly, and made all the merchants strip, and searched their clothes and their hair." "what did you do that for?" "well, it was this way. i said to my comrades, as we went along this morning: "'the englishman is going to leave us, in a day or two. i have not forgotten what i owe him, and should like to make him a present. i propose that we search all the party thoroughly, today. from what we heard, some of them come from the ruby country, and are pretty sure to have gems concealed about them, or in their baggage. i propose that all the stones we find we will give to our friend.' "they all agreed at once for, as you know, they all like you; and rubies, as i told you, are of little use to us, for we cannot dispose of them without great risk. so they did as i proposed, and had good fortune. twelve out of the number had gems hidden about them, and some of them a good lot. you need not hesitate to take them, for you may be sure that they bought them, for next to nothing, from poor fellows who had risked their lives to hide them. "there they are. we have not looked at them, but just emptied the parcels into this bag, as we found them. of course, they are all rough stones. you must take them as a present, from all of us; and as a proof that a burman, even if he is but a robber, is grateful for such a service as that you rendered him." stanley felt that he could not refuse a gift so offered, even though the goods were stolen. as meinik said, the gems were of little use to the robbers, since they were afraid to try and dispose of them; and their owners had themselves broken the law in having purchased them, and had doubtless given sums bearing no proportion to their real value. therefore he thanked meinik very heartily; and also, after they had had their meal, the rest of the band, who made very light of the matter. the things were useless to them, they said. if it had been silver, or even lead, it would have been different; but to endeavour to sell rubies they had to risk their lives. the goods that they had got that day would fetch them far more money than the rubies, and could be sold without difficulty and, as soon as the war was over and they could go down to their villages, the band would break up. they had enough silver and lead hidden away to keep them for years, even if they never did any work, whatever. "what do you do with it, when you get back?" "we hide it. it would never do to enter a village with ten or twelve pounds' weight of silver, and three or four times as much lead, for the headman might take it into his head to have us searched. so we generally dig a hole at the foot of a tree, in some quiet spot; and take, perhaps, a pound of silver and two or three of lead with us. a gift of half that silver is enough to convince the headman that we are honest fellows, who have been working hard since we went away; and from time to time we can go to our store and get what we want from it, and can build a house and marry, and take up a field or two, and perhaps become headmen ourselves, before very long." "well, i am sure i wish you all well," stanley said. "you have all been very kind to me, since i joined you; and i shall be glad to think of you all as settled quietly down in your villages, rather than as remaining here when, some day or other, you might all be captured and harm come to you." the next morning stanley started with meinik, who was a native of a small village on the river, some forty miles below ava, and who had resolved to accompany him down to rangoon. "i shall be able to get a boat and some nets, for a pound or two of lead. if we are hailed, i can do the talking; and can land and buy provisions, if wanted. i have arranged with my comrades to take my share of the silver and lead we have stored up, at once; for it is likely that they will also have gone to their homes before i shall have returned, and we have changed everything into money, except what we took yesterday." before starting stanley was again dyed, and the tattoo marks imitated--far more carefully than before, three or four of the men operating upon him, at once. his face was almost entirely covered with these marks. some liquid was applied that extracted the colour from his eyebrows, and left them snow white. some of his hair was similarly treated and, looking at himself in a pool of water, stanley did not in the slightest degree recognize himself; and felt certain that no one would suspect him of being the young english captive. resuming his peasant's cloth, he took a hearty farewell of the band and started with meinik. the latter carried a bundle, slung on his gun. it contained some clothes, and did not look heavy; but in the centre were two parcels that weighed some forty pounds. stanley carried a bundle with his other clothes, and several pounds of rice. two days' walking took them to meinik's village. once out of the forest they travelled at night, and reached the village just as the people were astir. the place consisted of ten or twelve huts, and meinik created quite an excitement among the few people who inhabited it. these consisted of two or three old men, some women, and children. "where have you been for the last year and half, meinik, if i may ask?" "working near ava," he said; "but as i should have to go to war if i had remained there, i thought that i would come back, and see how you all were. i have saved a little money, and may settle down; but whether here or elsewhere i have not yet made up my mind." "you will have to go to the war," one of the old men said. "there is scarce a day that one of the war canoes does not stop here, to see if there are any able-bodied men. they have taken eight, and they will assuredly take you." "then i shall get a boat," he said, "and take to fishing. the war cannot last long, and i shall do my best to keep out of the way of the war canoes, until it is over. if any of you have a boat to sell, i will buy it." "i will sell you mine," the old man said. "both of my sons have been taken to the war, and i am too old to work it myself. it is a good one; my sons made it only last year. "whom have you with you?" stanley had remained a short distance off, while meinik was talking to his friends. "he is an old man i joined along the road," he said. "he is a skilful fisherman; and he has agreed to go with me, if i can get a boat. "is there an empty hut?" "yes, six of them. of course, when the men were taken they carried off the wives and children, as usual, as hostages for their conduct." meinik nodded. he felt no surprise, as it was the custom in burma to hold the women and children of all the men going to the war, as guarantees that their husbands would not desert or show cowardice in battle. in either event their relatives would be, at once, put to death. "my companion is tired," he said. "we walked all night, so we will cook some food and he will sleep." they at once took possession of one of the empty huts, which was just as it was left by its proprietor. one of the women brought a brand or two from her hearth. an earthen cooking pot was filled with water and placed above it, and a few handfuls of rice dropped in. two or three snakes, cut up into small pieces, and some pepper pods were added; and then meinik went out, talked to his acquaintances, and arranged for the purchase of the boat. stanley watched the fire. in an hour, meinik returned. "the boat is a good one," he said, "and the nets in fair order. i have bought them for two pounds of lead; and have promised that, when the war is over and the man's sons return, it is to be free to them to buy it back, at the same price." after eating their meal, they both lay down and slept until late in the afternoon. then meinik bought an earthenware pot, and a flat slab of the same material for making a fire on; some peppers and capsicums, and a little cinnamon and nutmeg; a basket of mangoes, and some tobacco. as soon as it became dusk, they took their places in the boat, meinik carrying down two or three faggots of wood. the boat was a canoe, hewn out of a pine log. it would have carried four people comfortably, and there was plenty of room for them both to lie down at full length. it was very light, the wood having been cut away until it was little thicker than cardboard. this was the almost universal method of construction: even the war canoes, that would carry sixty paddlers--sitting two by two on a bench--and thirty soldiers, being hewn from great single logs of teak. the nets were stowed one, at each end. in the middle was the fireplace, on which the brands of the fire had already been laid. near it were the faggots and stores. meinik and stanley sat on the nets, each with a paddle. the former had hidden the greater portion of his store of money in the ground, before entering the village. as soon as they had fairly started, stanley said: "had we not better get rid of the fire, meinik? its light would draw attention to us." "that matters little," the burman replied. "there are not likely to be war canoes about at night, and i expect that most of them will have gone down the river. people fish either by night or by day and, even if a war canoe came along, they would not trouble about it for, of course, many men too old to go to the war remain here, and go on fishing. people cannot starve because there is fighting. the old men and women must cultivate the fields and fish, or both they and the people of the towns would starve. "many even of the young men do not go. they keep away from their villages during the day, and work in the fields; and the headmen shut their eyes, for they know that if the fields are not cultivated, the people cannot pay their share of the taxes. "still, it is as well to be on the safe side. when the fire has burnt low we will lay a cloth over the top of the boat, so that the glow of the embers will not be seen." they kept their course near the middle of the river; partly because the current there was stronger, partly because any war canoes that might be coming up would keep close to one bank or the other. they kept on their way until there was a faint gleam of light in the sky; and then paddled into the shore, chose a spot where some bushes drooped down into the water and, forcing the canoe in behind these, so as to be entirely concealed from the sight of any passing boat, cooked some food and, having eaten their breakfast, lay down and slept until evening. illustration: they forced the canoe behind bushes, so as to be entirely concealed. night after night the journey was continued. their supply of food was ample to last them; and there was, therefore, no occasion to stop at any village to purchase more. the river, at the point where they started, was about two miles wide; but at some points it was double that width, while at others it contracted to little over a mile. its level was much lower, now, than it had been when stanley ascended it, two months before. sometimes at night they towed one of their nets behind them, and obtained an ample supply of fish for their wants. each night they made, as stanley calculated, about forty miles and, after ten days' travel, they came to the point where the great river divided, one small arm running down to rangoon; another descending to bassein, and then falling into the sea at cape negrais; while a large proportion of the water found its way down by innumerable branches between the rangoon and bassein rivers. for the last two or three days they had been obliged to observe great caution for, below prome, there were numbers of boats all going down the river laden with men and stores. these, however, only travelled by day; and the canoe was always, at that time, either floating in the shelter of bushes, or hauled up on the bank at spots where it could be concealed from view by thick growths of rushes. "we shall never be able to get down to rangoon by water," said meinik. "the river will be crowded with rowboats near the town; and there will be no chance, whatever, of making our way through them. at the next village we come to, i will go in and learn the news. your countrymen may have been driven out by this time and, in that case, there will be nothing to do but to travel north on foot, until we reach chittagong." "i have no fear that we shall be driven out, meinik." this conversation had occurred on the night when they had passed the point of division of the two arms of the river. they had caught a larger supply of fish than usual and, as soon as the boat was laid up, meinik started along the bank, with a number of them, for the nearest village. he returned in two hours. "it is well i landed," he said, "for the point where the greater portion of our people are gathered is henzawaddy, only some fifteen miles further on. "you were right; your people have not been driven out. a large number of our troops are down near rangoon but, in the fighting that has taken place, we have gained no advantage. your people marched out at the end of may, carried a stockade; and advanced to joazoang, and attacked some villages defended by stockades and carried them, after having killed a hundred of our men. then a great stockade on a hill near the river, three miles from rangoon--which our people thought could not be taken, so strongly was it protected--was attacked. the guns of your people made a great gap in a stockade a mile in front of it. two hundred men were killed, and also the commander. "then your people marched on to the great stockade at kemmendine. your troops, when they got there, saw how strong it was and were afraid to attack it. they lay down all night, close to it; and we thought we should destroy them, all when they attacked in the morning; but their ships that had come up with them opened fire, at daybreak. as the stockades were hidden from the sight of those on the river, we had thought that the ships could do nothing; but they shot great balls up into the air, and they came down inside the stockade, where they burst with an explosion like the noise of a big gun; and killed so many that the troops could not remain under so terrible a fire, and went away, leaving it to your people to enter the stockade, without fighting." chapter : among friends. "it certainly seems to me," stanley said, when he heard the burman's account of the state of things below, "that it will not be possible for us to go any further, by water." "it would be very dangerous," meinik said. "it is certain that all the men in this part of the country have been obliged to go with the army and, even were we both natives, and had no special reason for avoiding being questioned, we should be liable to be seized and executed at once, for having disregarded the orders to join the army. assuredly we cannot pass down farther in our boat, but must take to the land. i should say that we had best get spears and shields, and join some newly-arrived party." "but you forget that, though my disguise as a native is good enough to mislead anyone passing us on the road, or in the dusk after sunset, i should certainly attract attention if travelling with them, by day." "i forgot that. i have grown so accustomed to seeing you that i forget that, to other people, your face would seem strange; as it at first did to me, in the forest. indeed you look to me now like one of ourselves; but were we to join a band, someone would be sure to ask questions concerning you, ere long. what, then, do you think we had best do?" "from what i heard of the country from one of your comrades, who is a native of this province, it would be impossible for us, after crossing the river, to make our way down on the opposite side, since the whole country is swampy and cut up by branches of the irrawaddy. on this side there are few obstacles of that kind but, on the other hand, we shall find the country full of troops going down towards rangoon. your comrade told me that the hills that we saw to the east, from the forest at ava, extended right down into tenasserim; and were very high, and could not be traversed, for that no food could be obtained, and that tigers and wild animals and other beasts abounded. but he said that the smaller hills that we crossed on the way to your village--which he called the pegu yoma hills--some of whose swells come down to the bank, extend all the way down to the sea between the irrawaddy and the sittang rivers; and that, from them, streams flowed to one river or the other. therefore, if we could gain that range, we should avoid the swamp country, altogether. "a few miles back we passed a river coming in from the east and, if we follow that up as far as there is water, we shall be among the hills. he said that there were no mountains at all, there; but just rounded hills, with many villages and much cultivated ground, so there ought to be no difficulty in making our way along. we shall be able to gather food in the fields; or can go into villages and purchase some, for the men will all be away. besides, we can get spears and shields, and can say that having been away from home on a journey--when the men were all ordered to war, we returned too late to go with the rest of the villagers, and are making our way down to join them. many others must be doing the same, and the story will be likely enough. "in that way we can get down till we are close to the troops round rangoon, and must then take our chance of getting through them." "that seems better than the other way," meinik said. "there is such a river as you speak of, above sarawa. we can paddle back tonight, and hide near the town; then i can go there in the morning, and buy a couple of spears and shields, and get some more rice and other things. we have plenty of ammunition for our guns; which we may want, if we meet any wild beasts." "you don't think that there will be any danger in your going in there, meinik? of course, there is no absolute occasion for us to have spears and shields, as we have guns." "we ought to have shields," meinik replied, "and it were better to have spears too, and also for us to carry axes--everyone carries an axe in war time, for we always erect stockades and, though a very poor man may only have his knife, everyone who can afford it takes an axe. most people have such a thing, for it is wanted for cutting firewood, for clearing the ground, for building houses, and for many other things; and a burman must be poor, indeed, who does not own one." "by all means, then, get them for us, meinik; besides, we may find them useful for ourselves." they now lay down and slept until evening; and then started up the river again, keeping close in under shadow of the bank and, two hours before daylight, concealed the canoe as usual, at a spot two miles above sarawa. meinik started at daybreak, and returned three hours later with two axes, spears, and shields. that night they turned into the river running to the east and, for four nights, paddled up it. the country was now assuming a different character, and the stream was running in a valley with rising ground--from a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet high--on each side, and was narrowing very fast. towards morning on the fifth day the river had become a small stream, of but two or three feet deep; and they decided to leave the boat, as it was evident that they would be able to go but a short distance further. "we may as well hide her carefully," stanley said. "it is certainly not likely that we shall want her again, but there is never any saying and, at any rate, there is no great trouble in doing it." they cooked a meal and then started at once, so as to do a few hours' walking before the sun became high. they determined to keep on eastward, until they reached the highest point of the dividing ridge between the two main rivers, and then to follow it southward. the country was now well cultivated, and they had some trouble in avoiding the small villages dotted thickly about, as the course they were following was not the one they would take if making straight to join the army. they slept for three or four hours in the heat of the day; and then, pushing on, found themselves before sunset on what seemed to them the highest point of the divide. to the right they could see the flat country stretching towards the irrawaddy, to the left the ground was more sharply undulating. two miles away was a stream of fair size, which they judged to be the river that runs down to pegu, and afterwards joins the rangoon river below the town. stanley thought that the hill on which they stood was some five hundred feet above the low country they had left. a great part of the hills was covered with trees although, at the point where they had made their way up, the hillside was bare. they went on until they entered the forest, and there set to work to chop firewood. meinik carried a tinderbox, and soon had a fire blazing, and by its side they piled a great stock of wood. "i do not know that there are any leopards so far south as this," he said, "but at any rate it will be safer to keep a big fire blazing. i never used to think much about leopards but, ever since i had that great beast's foot upon my back, i have had a horror of them." the next morning they continued their journey south, going along boldly and passing through several villages. "you are late for the war," an old man said, as they went through one of them. "i know we are," meinik replied, "but we were away with a caravan of traders when the order came; and so, instead of going down the river, we have had to journey on foot. but we shall be there in time. from what we have heard, there has not been much fighting, yet." "no; the white barbarians are all shut up in rangoon. we have not attacked them in earnest, but we shall soon do so and, moreover, they will soon be all starved, for the country has been swept clear of all cattle for twenty miles round, the villages deserted, and everything laid waste; and we hear that half their number are laid up with sickness, and that a great number have died. i wish that i were younger, that i, too, could help to destroy the insolent foes who have dared to set foot on our sacred soil." there was no need for haste, now, and they travelled by easy stages until, by the smoke rising from different parts of the forest, they knew that they were approaching the spot where the burmese forces lay around rangoon and, indeed, could see the great pagoda rising above the surrounding country. they had heard, at the last villages through which they had passed, that there had been an attack made upon the pagoda on the st of july. on that day the burmese, in great force, had moved down in a line parallel to the road between the pagoda and the town, along which a considerable number of our troops were encamped. they had advanced until within half a mile of rangoon, then had changed front and attacked the british position near the town. they occupied a hill near our line, and opened fire from there with jingals and small cannon; but two british guns firing grape soon silenced their guns, and a madras regiment charged the hill and recaptured it. this entirely upset the plan of the wongee in command of the burmese. the signal for the whole of the army to attack was to have been given, as soon as their left had broken through the british line, and had thus cut off all the troops on the road leading to the pagoda from the town. seeing that this movement had failed, the general did not give the signal for the general attack, but ordered the troops to fall back. he had been recalled in disgrace to ava; and a senior officer, who arrived just after the battle, assumed the command. he at once set to work to make a very strong stockade at kummeroot, five miles from the great pagoda; and also fortified a point on the river above kemmendine--the stockade that had been captured by the british--and intended from this point to send down fire rafts to destroy the british shipping and, at the same time, made continuous attacks at night on the british lines. the rains at this time were falling incessantly, and the burmese did not think that the british would be able to move out against them. the position on the river was connected with that at kummeroot by strong stockades; and the burmese general was convinced that, if an attack was made, it could be easily defeated. however, eight days after the repulse of the burmese first attack, the vessels came up the river, while a land column moved against kummeroot. the position was a strong one. the river was here divided into two branches and, on the point of land between these, the principal stockade was erected and was well provided with artillery; while on the opposite banks of both rivers other stockades with guns were erected, so that any attack by water would be met by the direct fire from the great stockade, and a cross fire from those on the banks. four ships came up, and the burmese guns opened upon them, but the heavy fire from the men-of-war was not long in silencing them; and then a number of boats full of troops had landed, and stormed the stockade, and driven out the burmese. the land column had been unable to take guns with them, owing to the impossibility of dragging them along the rain-sodden paths; and the burmese chiefs, confident in the strength of their principal post--which was defended by three lines of strong stockades, one above another--and in their immensely superior force, treated with absolute contempt the advance of the little british column--of which they were informed, as soon as it started, by their scouts thickly scattered through the woods. the general, soomba wongee, was just sitting down to dinner when he was told that the column had nearly reached the first stockade. he directed his chiefs to proceed to their posts and "drive the audacious strangers away," and continued his meal until the heavy and rapid musketry of the assailants convinced him that the matter was more serious than he had expected. as a rule, the burmese generals do not take any active part in their battles; but soomba wongee left his tent and at once went towards the point attacked. he found his troops already retreating, and that the two outer stockades had been carried by the enemy. he rallied his men, and himself led the way to the attack; but the steady and continuous fire of the british rendered it impossible for him to restore order, and the burmese remained crowded together, in hopeless confusion. however, he managed to gather together a body of officers and troops and, with them, charged desperately upon the british soldiers. he, with several other leaders of rank, was killed; and the burmese were scattered through the jungle, leaving eight hundred dead behind them. the fact that ten stockades, provided with thirty pieces of artillery, should have been captured in one day by the british, had created a deep impression among the villagers of the neighbourhood--from whom the truth could not be concealed--and indeed, all the villages, for many miles round the scene of action, were crowded with wounded. they told meinik that the army was, for a time, profoundly depressed. many had deserted, and the fact that stockades they had thought impregnable were of no avail, whatever, against the enemy, whose regular and combined action was irresistible, as against their own isolated and individual method of fighting, had shaken their hitherto profound belief in their own superiority to any people with whom they might come in contact. since that time no serious fighting had taken place. occasional night attacks had been made, and all efforts on the part of the invaders to obtain food, by foraging parties, had proved unsuccessful. the boats of the fleet had gone up the puzendown river, that joined the rangoon river some distance below the town, and had captured a large number of boats that had been lying there, waiting until rangoon was taken before going up the river with their cargoes of rice and salt fish; but they had gained no other advantage for, although the villages were crowded with fugitives from the town, these were driven into the jungle by the troops stationed there for the purpose, as soon as the boats were seen coming up the river. in some cases, however, the boats had arrived so suddenly that there had not been time to do this; and the fugitives had been taken to rangoon, where it was said they had been very well treated. great reinforcements had now come down from the upper provinces. two of the king's brothers had arrived, to take command of the army; one had established himself at donabew, the other at pegu. they had brought with them numbers of astrologers, to fix upon a propitious time for an attack; and the king's invulnerables, several thousands strong--a special corps, whom neither shot nor steel could injure--were with them. about the th of august a strong position that had been taken up, by a force sent by the prince at pegu, in the old portuguese fort of syriam had been attacked; with orders that the channel of the rangoon river should be blocked, so that none of the strangers should escape the fate that awaited them. the position was a very strong one. the trees and brushwood round the fort had been cleared away; wherever there were gaps in the old wall stockades had been erected; and great beams suspended from the parapet in order that, if an attack was made, the ropes could be cut and the beams fall upon the heads of the assailants. the british had, however, thrown a bridge across a deep creek, pushed on against the place, and carried it in a few minutes; the garrison flying, as soon as the assailants gained the ramparts, to a pagoda standing on a very steep hill, defended by guns, and assailable only by a very steep flight of steps. the troops, however, pressed up these fearlessly; and the garrison, discouraged and shaken by the reports of the fugitives from the lower fort, had fled as soon as the british arrived at the top of the steps. notwithstanding this and other, as successful, attacks upon their stockades, the burmese troops now felt confident that, with their numerous forces, they would be victorious whenever the astrologers decided that the favourable moment had arrived. meinik had ascertained, from the villagers, the name of the leader and the locality to which the corps belonged that was posted nearest to rangoon. as soon as it was dark, he and stanley entered the forest. the smoke had served as a guide, to them, as to the position of the different corps; and they were able to make their way between these without being questioned. presently, however, they came upon a strong picket. "where are you going?" the officer in command asked. "to join the corps of the woondock snodee," meinik replied. "we were away at bhanno when the order came, and the rest had gone down the river before we got to mew; so we came on by ourselves, not wishing to fail in our duty." "you are just in time," the officer said. "the woondock is a quarter of a mile away, on the left." they moved off in that direction; but soon left the track and, avoiding the camp, kept away until they reached the edge of the forest. then they crept forward through the jungle and brushwood, pausing to listen from time to time and, three times, changing their course to avoid parties of the burmese acting as outposts. on issuing from the jungle they crawled forward for three or four hundred yards, so as to be beyond musket shot of the outposts; and then remained quiet until morning broke. then they could perceive red coats moving about, in a small village before which a breastwork had been thrown up, some four hundred yards away from them and, getting up to their feet, ran towards it. several shots were fired at them, from the jungle behind; and some soldiers at once appeared at the breastwork. supposing that the two figures approaching were burmese deserters, they did not fire; and stanley and his companion were soon among them. they were soldiers of one of the bengal regiments; and stanley, to their surprise, addressed them in their own language. "i am an englishman," he said. "i am one of the prisoners whom they took, at ramoo, and have escaped from their hands. are there any of your officers in the village?" "i will take you to them," a native sub-officer said; and stanley, in a minute or two, entered a cottage in which four english officers were just taking their early breakfast, preparatory to turning out on duty. "whom have you got here, jemadar?" one of them asked, in bengalee. stanley answered for himself. "i am an englishman, sir, and have just escaped from ava." the officer uttered an exclamation of surprise. "well, sir," the senior of them said, as he held out his hand to stanley, "i congratulate you on having got away, whoever you are; but i am bound to say that, if it were not for your speech, i should not have believed you; for i have never seen anyone look less like an englishman than you do." "my name is stanley brooke, sir. i am the son of the late captain brooke, of the th native regiment." "then i should know you," one of the other officers said, "for i knew your father; and i remember seeing your name in the list of officers killed, at ramoo, and wondered if it could be the lad i knew five or six years ago." "i recollect you, captain cooke," stanley said. "your regiment was at agra, when we were there." "right you are; and i am heartily glad that the news of your death was false," and he shook hands cordially with stanley. "and who is your companion?" the major asked. "is he an englishman, also?" "no, sir; he is a native. he is a most faithful fellow. he has acted as my guide, all the way down from the point we started from, twenty miles from ava. i could never have accomplished it without his aid for, although i speak burmese well enough to pass anywhere, my face is so different in shape from theirs that, if i were looked at closely in the daylight, i should be suspected at once. i could never have got here without his aid." "how was it that he came to help you, sir?" major pemberton asked. "as far as we can see, the burmese hate us like poison. even when they are wounded to death, they will take a last shot at any soldiers marching past them." "i happened to save his life from a leopard," stanley said, "and, truly, he has shown his gratitude." "jemadar," the major said, "take that man away with you. see that he is well treated. give him some food, of course. he will presently go with this officer to the general." stanley said a few words in burmese to meinik, telling him that he was to have food, and would afterwards go with him to the general; and he then, at the invitation of the officers, sat down with them to breakfast. while eating it, stanley told them something of his adventures. after the meal was over, the major said: "you had better go with mr. brooke to the general, captain cooke. i cannot well leave the regiment. "we can let you have an outfit, mr. brooke; though we are, most of us, reduced pretty well to our last garments. what with the jungle and what with the damp, we have nearly all arrived at the last state of dilapidation; but i am sure the general would like to see you in your present disguise." "it makes no difference to me, sir," stanley said, with a laugh. "i am so accustomed to this black petticoat, now, that i should almost feel strange in anything else. i am afraid this dye will be a long time before it wears itself out. it is nearly three weeks since i was dyed last, and it has faded very little, yet." "you need not take your arms, anyhow," captain cooke said. "you will attract less attention going without them, for it will only be supposed that you are one of the natives who have been brought in by the boats." meinik was sitting on the ground, contentedly, outside the cottage, the jemadar standing beside him. "have you had any food, meinik?" stanley asked. the man nodded. "good food," he said. "that is all right. now, come along with us. you can leave your weapons here--they won't be wanted." meinik rose and followed stanley and captain cooke. there were houses scattered all along the roadside. these were now all occupied by officers and troops, and there were so many of them that it had not been necessary to place any of the men under canvas--an important consideration, during the almost continuous rain of the last three months. "why, cooke, i did not know that you talked burmese," an officer standing at one of the doors remarked, as the officer came along, chatting with stanley. "you don't know all my accomplishments, phillipson," the captain laughed, for the idea that there existed such a thing as a burmese peasant who could talk english had not occurred to the other. "i am taking him to the chief, to show off my powers;" and passed on, leaving the officer looking after him, with a puzzled expression on his face. on their arrival at sir archibald campbell's headquarters, captain cooke sent in his name and, as the general was not at the moment engaged, he was at once shown in; followed by stanley, meinik remaining without. "good morning, sir. i see you have brought in a deserter," the general said. "he is not a deserter, sir. he is an escaped prisoner, who has made his way down from ava through the enemy's lines. "this is mr. brooke. he was serving as an officer with the native levy, at ramoo, and was reported as killed. however, he was fortunately only stunned and, being the only officer found alive, was sent by bandoola as a prisoner to ava. i may say that he is a son of the late captain brooke, of the th native infantry." "you are certainly wonderfully disguised," the general said; "and i congratulate you heartily on your escape. i should have passed you by as a native without a second glance though, now that i am told that you are an englishman, i can see that you have not the wide cheekbones and flat face of a burman. how did you manage to make your way down?" "i travelled almost entirely by night, sir; and i had with me a faithful guide. he is outside. i don't think that i should ever have got down without him, though i speak burmese well enough to pass--especially as the language differs so much, in the different districts." "is he a burman?" "yes, general." "have you arranged with him for any particular sum for his services? if so, it will of course be paid." "no, sir; he came down simply in gratitude for a service i rendered him. i do not know whether he intends to go back; but i hope that he will remain here, with me." "i have brought mr. brooke here, sir," captain cooke said, "at the request of the major; thinking that you might like to ask him some questions as to the state of things in the interior." "i should like to have a long talk with mr. brooke," the general said; "but unless he has any certain news of the date they intend to attack us, i will not detain him now. the first thing will be for him to get into civilized clothes again. "by the way, poor young hitchcock's effects are to be sold this morning. i should think that they would fit mr. brooke very well. "let me see. of course, your pay has been running on, since you were taken prisoner, mr. brooke." "i am afraid, sir, that there is no pay due," stanley said. "i happened to be at ramoo at the time, looking after some goods of my uncle, who carries on a considerable trade on the coast; and as i talk the language, and there were very few who did so, i volunteered to act as an officer with the native levy. i preferred to act as a volunteer, in order that i might be free to leave, at any time, if i received an order from my uncle to join him at chittagong. "i could give an order on him, but i do not know where he is to be found. i have with me some uncut rubies; though i have no idea what they are worth, for i have not even looked at them yet; but they should certainly be good security for pounds." "we can settle that presently, mr. brooke. i will write an order on the paymaster for rupees; and we can talk the matter over, afterwards. i am afraid that you will have to pay rather high for the clothes, for almost everyone here has worn out his kit; and mr. hitchcock only joined us a fortnight before his death, so that his are in very good condition. of course, they are all uniform--he was on my staff--but that will not matter. you could hardly be going about in civilian clothes, here. "i shall be very glad if you will dine with me, at six o'clock this evening. have a talk with your man before that, and see what he wants to do. if he is a sharp fellow, he might be very useful to us." the general wrote the order on the paymaster, and captain cooke took stanley across to the office and obtained the cash for it. making inquiry, he found that the sale was to come off in a quarter of an hour. "i will do the bidding for you, if you like, brooke," captain cooke said. "i dare say you would rather not be introduced, generally, in your present rig." "much rather not, and i shall be much obliged by your doing it." "all right. i will make your money go as far as i can. of course, the poor fellow brought no full-dress uniform with him, or anything of that sort." "you will find me here with my burman," stanley said. "we will stroll round the place for half an hour, and then come back here again." there was very little to see in the town. meinik was astonished, when they mounted the river bank and had a view of the ships lying at anchor. for a time he was too surprised to speak, never having seen anything larger than the clumsy cargo boats which made a voyage, once a year, up the river. "it is wonderful!" he said at last. "who would have thought of such great ships? if the emperor could but see them, i think that he would make peace. it is easy to see that you know many things more than we do. could one go on board of them?" "not as i am, at present, meinik; but when i get english clothes on again, and rid myself from some of this stain, i have no doubt i shall be able to take you on board one of the ships-of-war. "and now, will you let me know what you are thinking of doing? i told the general what service you had rendered me, and he asked me what you were going to do. i told him that, as yet, i did not know whether you were going to stay here, or go back again." "are you going to stay here?" "i think so--at any rate, for a time. i do not know where the uncle i have told you about is, at present. at any rate, while this war is going on he can do very little trade, and can manage very well without me." "as long as you stay here, i shall stay," the burman said. "if i went back, i should have to fight against your people; and i don't want to do that. i have no quarrel with them and, from what i see, i am not so sure as i was that we shall drive you into the sea. you have beaten us, whenever you have fought; and i would rather stay with you, than be obliged to fight against you. "not many men want to fight. we heard that in the villages, and that those who have not got wives and children held, as hostages for them, get away from the army and hide in the woods. "you will be a great man now and, if you will let me stop, i will be your servant." "i will gladly keep you with me, meinik, if you are willing to stay; and i am sure that you will be better off, here, than out in the woods, and a good deal safer. at any rate, stay until after your people make their next attack. you will see then how useless it is for them to fight against us. when we can attack them in their stockades, although they are ten to one against us, and drive them out after a quarter of an hour's fighting; you may be sure that in the open ground, without defences, they will have no chance whatever. "i hope they will soon get tired of fighting, and that the court will make peace. we did not want to fight with them--it was they who attacked us but, now that we have had all the expense of coming here, we shall go on fighting till the emperor agrees to make peace; but i don't think that we shall ever go out of rangoon, again, and believe that we shall also hold the ports in tenasserim that we have captured." "the emperor will never agree to that," meinik said, shaking his head positively. "then if he does not, he will see that we shall go up the river to ava and, in the end, if he goes on fighting we shall capture the whole country; and rule over it, just as we have done the greater part of india." "i think that would be good for us," the man said philosophically. "it would not matter much to us to whom we paid our taxes--and you would not tax us more heavily than we are now--for as we came down you saw many villages deserted, and the land uncultivated, because the people could not pay the heavy exactions. it is not the king--he does not get much of it--but he gives a province, or a district, or a dozen villages to someone at court; and says, 'you must pay me so much, and all that you can get out of it, besides, is for yourself;' so they heap on the taxes, and the people are always in great poverty and, when they find that they cannot pay what is demanded and live, then they all go away to some other place, where the lord is not so harsh." "i am sure that it would be a good thing for them, meinik. the people of india are a great deal better off, under us, than they were under their native rulers. there is a fixed tax, and no one is allowed to charge more, or to oppress the people in any way. "but now we must be going. i said that i would be back at the place we started from, in half an hour." chapter : on the staff. captain cooke had done his best, previous to the beginning of the auction, to disarm opposition; by going about among the officers who dropped in, with the intention of bidding, telling them something of stanley's capture, adventures, and escape; and saying that the general had, himself, advised him to obtain an outfit by buying a considerable portion of the young officer's kit. "i have no doubt that he will put him on his staff," he said. "from his knowledge of the country, and the fact that he speaks the language well, he would be very useful and, as he has gone through all this from serving as a volunteer, without pay, i hope you fellows won't run up the prices, except for things that you really want." his story had the desired effect; and when captain cooke met stanley, he was able to tell him that he had bought for him the greater portion of the kit, including everything that was absolutely necessary. "are there any plain clothes?" stanley asked, after thanking him warmly for the trouble he had taken. "no. of course, he left everything of that sort at calcutta. no one in his senses would think of bringing mufti out with him, especially to such a country as this." "then i shall have to go in uniform to the general's," stanley said, in a tone of consternation. "it seems to me that it would be an awfully impudent thing, to go in staff uniform to dine with the general, when i have no right whatever to wear it." "well, as the general advised you himself to buy the things, he cannot blame you for wearing them; and i have not the least doubt that he is going to offer you a staff appointment of some sort." "i should like it very much, as long as the war lasted, captain cooke; but i don't think that i should care about staying in the army, permanently. you see, my uncle is working up a very good business. he has been at it, now, seven or eight years; and he was saying the last time that i was with him that, as soon as these troubles were over, and trade began again, he should give me a fourth share of it; and make it a third share, when i got to twenty-one." "then you would be a great fool to give it up," captain cooke said, heartily. "a man who has got a good business, out here, would have an income as much as all the officers of a regiment, together. he is his own master, and can retire when he likes, and enjoy his money in england. "still, as trade is at a standstill at present, i think that it would be wise of you to accept any offer that the general might make to you. it might even be to your advantage, afterwards. to have served on campbell's staff will be an introduction to every officers' mess in the country; and you may be sure that, not only shall we hold rangoon in future, but there will be a good many more british stations between assam and here than there now are; and it would be a pull for you, even in the way of trade, to stand on a good footing everywhere." "i quite see that," stanley agreed, "and if the general is good enough to offer me an appointment, i shall certainly take it." "you have almost a right to one, brooke. in the peninsula lots of men got their commissions by serving for a time as volunteers; and having been wounded at ramoo, and being one of the few survivors of that fight; and having gone through a captivity, at no small risk of being put to death the first time that the king was out of temper, your claim is a very strong one, indeed. besides, there is hardly a man here who speaks burmese, and your services will be very valuable. "here are fifty rupees," he went on, handing the money to stanley. "it is not much change out of five hundred; but i can assure you that you have got the things at a bargain, for you would have had to pay more than that for them, in england; and i fancy most of the things are in very good condition, for hitchcock only came out about four months ago. of course the clothes are nothing like new but, at any rate, they are in a very much better state than those of anyone who came here three months ago. "i have ordered them all to be sent to my quarters where, of course, you will take up your abode till something is settled about you; which will probably be this evening. in that case, you will have quarters allotted to you, tomorrow." "thank you very much. i shall devote the best portion of this afternoon to trying to get rid of as much of this stain as i can, at least off my face and hands. the rest does not matter, one way or the other, and will wear off gradually; but i should like to get my face decent." "well, you are rather an object, stanley," he said. "it would not matter so much about the colour, but all those tattoo marks are, to say the least of it, singular. of course they don't look so rum, now, in that native undress; but when you get your uniform on, the effect will be startling. "we will have a chat with the doctor. he may have something in his medicine chest that will at least soften them down a bit. of course, if they were real tattoo marks there would be nothing for it; but as they are only dye, or paint of some sort, they must wear themselves out before very long." "i will try anything that he will give me. i don't care if it takes the skin off." on returning to the quarters of captain cooke, stanley was introduced to the other officers of the regiment; among them the doctor, to whom he at once applied for some means of taking off the dye. "have you asked the man you brought down with you?" the surgeon said. "you say that he put it on, and he may know of something that will take it off again." "no; i have asked him, and he knows of nothing. he used some of the dye stuffs of the country, but he said he never heard of anyone wanting to take the dye out of things that had been coloured." "if it were only cotton or cloth," the doctor said, "i have no doubt a very strong solution of soda would take out the greater portion of the dye; but the human skin won't stand boiling water. however, i should say that if you have water as hot as you can bear it, with plenty of soda and soap, it will do something for you. no doubt, if you were to take a handful or two of very fine sand, it would help a great deal; but if you use that, i should not put any soda with the water, or you will practically take all the skin off, and leave your face like a raw beef steak; which will be worse than the stain and, indeed, in so hot a sun as we have, might be dangerous, and bring on erysipelas. so you must be very careful; and it will be far better for you to put up with being somewhat singular in your appearance, for a bit, than to lay yourself up by taking any strong measures to get rid of it." after an hour spent in vigorous washing, and aided by several rubs with very fine sand, stanley succeeded, to his great satisfaction, in almost getting rid of the tattoo marks on his face. the general dye had faded a little, though not much; but that with which the marks had been made was evidently of a less stable character, and yielded to soap and friction. before he had concluded the work two trunks arrived and, finding that his face was now beginning to smart a good deal, he abstained for the time from further efforts; and turned to inspect his purchases, with a good deal of interest. the uniforms consisted of two undress suits; one with trousers, the other with breeches and high boots, for riding. there was also a suit of mess jacket, waistcoat, and trousers; three suits of white drill; half a dozen white shirts for mess, and as many of thin flannel; and a good stock of general underclothes, a pair of thick boots, and a light pair for mess. there was also the sword, belt, and other equipments; in fact, all the necessaries he would require for a campaign. before beginning to dress, he began to free his hair from the wax with which it had been plastered up. he had obtained from the doctor some spirits of turpentine and, with the aid of this, he found the task a less difficult one than he had expected and, the regimental barber being sent for by captain cooke, his hair was soon shortened to the ordinary length. "you will do very well, now," the major said, as he went down into the general room. "you have certainly succeeded a great deal better than i thought you would. of course you look very brown, but there are a good many others nearly as dark as you are; for between the rain showers the sun has tremendous power, and some of the men's faces are almost skinned, while others have browned wonderfully. i am sure that many of them are quite as dark as yours. so you will pass muster very well." before beginning to wash and change, stanley had given meinik the clothes he had carried down with him; and when he went out to take a short look round before tiffin--for which the servants were already laying the cloth--he found the man, now looking like a respectable burman, standing near the door. he walked slowly past him, but the man did not move--not recognizing him, in the slightest degree, in his present attire. then stanley turned and faced him. "so you don't know me, meinik." the burman gave a start of surprise. "certainly i did not know you, my lord," he said. "who could have known you? before you were a poor burmese peasant, now you are an english lord." "not a lord at all, meinik. i am simply an english officer, and dressed very much the same as i was when your people knocked me on the head, at ramoo." "i know your voice," meinik said; "but even now that i know it is you, i hardly recognize your face. of course, the tattoo marks made a great difference, but that is not all." "i think it is the hair that has made most difference, meinik. you see, it was all pulled off the brow and neck, before; and it will be some time before it will grow naturally again. i had great trouble to get it to lie down, even when it was wet; and it will certainly have a tendency to stick up, for a long time. "the dress has made a good deal of alteration in you, too." "they are very good clothes," meinik said. "i have never had such good ones on before. i have had money enough to buy them; but people would have asked where i got it from, and it never does to make a show of being better off than one's neighbour. a man is sure to be fleeced, if he does. "what can i do for my lord?" "nothing, at present, meinik. i am going to lunch with the officers here, and to dine with the general, and sleep here. tomorrow i daresay i shall move into quarters of my own. "you had better buy what you want, for today, in the market. i don't know whether it is well supplied but, as we saw some of your people about, there must be food to be obtained." "they gave me plenty to eat when i came in," he said, "but i will buy something for supper. "no, i do not want money, i have plenty of lead left." "you had better take a couple of rupees, anyhow. there are sure to be some traders from india who have opened shops here, and they won't care to take lead in payment. you must get some fresh muslin for your turban; and you had better close it up at the top, this time. it will go better with your clothes." meinik grinned. "i shall look quite like a person of importance. i shall be taken for, at least, the headman of a large village." he took the two rupees and walked off towards the town, while stanley went in to luncheon. there were a good many remarks as to his altered appearance. "do you know, brooke," one of the young lieutenants said, "i did not feel at all sure that cooke was not humbugging us, when he introduced you to us, and that you were not really a burman who had travelled, and had somehow learned to speak english extraordinarily well." "clothes and soap and water make a wonderful difference," stanley laughed, "but i shall be a good many shades lighter, when the rest of the dye wears off. at any rate, i can go about, now, without anyone staring at me." after tiffin, stanley had to tell his story again, at a very much greater length than before. "you certainly have gone through some queer adventures," the major said, when he had finished his relation; "and there is no doubt that you have had wonderful luck. in the first place, if that bullet had gone half an inch lower, you would not have been one of the four white survivors of that ugly business at ramoo; then you were lucky that they did not chop off your head, either when they first took you, or when they got you to ava. then again, it was lucky that bandoola sent a special message that he wanted you kept as an interpreter for himself, and that the official in charge of you turned out a decent fellow, and aided you to make your escape. "as to your obtaining the services of the man you brought down with you, i do not regard that as a question of luck. you saved the man's life, by an act of the greatest bravery--one that not one man in ten would perform, or try to perform, for the life of a total stranger. i hope that i should have made the effort, had i been in your place; but i say frankly that i am by no means sure that i should have done so. "the betting was a good twenty to one against its being done successfully. if the brute had heard your footstep, it would have been certain death and, even when you reached him, the chances were strongly against your being able to strike a blow at the animal that would, for a moment, disable him; and so give you time to snatch up one of the guns--which might not, after all, have been loaded. "it was a wonderfully gallant action, lad. you did not tell us very much about it yourself but, while you were getting the dye off, i got hold of one of the traders here, who happened to be passing, and who understood their language; and with his assistance i questioned your fellow, and got all the particulars from him. i say again, it was as plucky a thing as i have ever heard of." a few minutes later an orderly came in with a note from the general, asking the major and captain cooke also to dine with him that evening. stanley was very pleased that the two officers were going with him, as it took away the feeling of shyness he felt, at the thought of presenting himself in staff uniform at the general's. sir archibald campbell put him at ease, at once, by the kindness with which he received him. stanley began to apologize for his dress, but the general stopped him, at once. "i intended, of course, that you should wear it, mr. brooke. i am sure that you would not find a dress suit in the camp. however, we will make matters all right, tomorrow. judging from what you said that, as you cannot join your uncle at present, you would be willing to remain here, your name will appear in orders, tomorrow morning, as being granted a commission in the th, pending the arrival of confirmation from home; which of course, in such a case, is a mere form. you will also appear in the orders as being appointed my aide-de-camp, in place of mr. hitchcock, with extra pay as interpreter. "no, do not thank me. having served as a volunteer, taken part in a severe action, and having been wounded and imprisoned, you had almost a right to a commission. after dinner, i hope that you will give us all a full account of your adventures; it was but a very slight sketch that i heard from you, this morning." the general then introduced stanley to the other members of his staff. "if you had seen him as i saw him, this morning," he said, with a smile, "you certainly would not recognize him now. he was naked to the waist, and had nothing on but the usual peasant attire of a piece of black cloth, reaching to his knees. i knew, of course, that the question of costume would soon be got over; but i own that i did not think that i should be able to employ him, for some little time. not only was his stain a great deal darker than it is now, but he was thickly tattooed up to the eyes, and one could hardly be sending messages by an aide-de-camp so singular in appearance; but i see that, somehow, he has entirely got rid of the tattoo marks; and his skin is now very little, if at all, darker than that of many of us, so that i shall be able to put him in harness at once." after dinner was over and cigars lighted, stanley told his story as before, passing over lightly the manner in which he had gained the friendship of the burman. when he had finished, however, major pemberton said: "with your permission, general, i will supplement the story a little. mr. brooke has told me somewhat more than he has told you, but i gained the whole facts from his guide's own lips." "no, major, please," stanley said colouring, even under his dye. "the matter is not worth telling." "you must permit us to be a judge of that, mr. brooke," the general said, with a smile at the young fellow's interruption of his superior officer. "i beg your pardon, major pemberton," stanley stammered in some confusion. "only--" "only you would rather that i did not tell about your struggle with the leopard. i think it ought to be told, and i am pretty sure sir archibald campbell will agree with me," and major pemberton then gave a full account of the adventure in the forest. "thank you, major. you were certainly quite right in telling the story, for it is one that ought to be told and, if mr. brooke will forgive my saying so, is one of those cases in which it is a mistake for a man to try to hide his light under a bushel. "you see, it cannot but make a difference in the estimation in which we hold you. most young fellows would, as you did, have joined their countrymen when threatened by a greatly superior enemy and, again, most would, if prisoners, have taken any opportunity that offered to effect their escape. therefore, in the brief account that you gave me, this morning, it appeared to me that you had behaved pluckily and shrewdly, and had well earned a commission, especially as you have a knowledge of the language. you simply told me that you had been able to render some service to the burman who travelled down with you, but such service might have been merely that you assisted him when he was in want, bound up a wound, or any other small matter. "now we find that you performed an act of singular courage, an act that even the oldest shikaree would have reason to be proud of. such an act--performed, too, for a stranger, and that stranger an enemy--would, of itself, give any man a title to the esteem and regard of any among whom he might be thrown, and would lead them to regard him in an entirely different light to that in which they would otherwise have held him. "i think that you will all agree with me, gentlemen." "certainly." there was a chorus of assent from the circle of officers. his narrative had, as the general said, shown that the young fellow was possessed of coolness, steadiness, and pluck; but this feat was altogether out of the common and, as performed by a mere lad, seemed little short of marvellous. "you will, of course, have hitchcock's quarters," the quartermaster general said to stanley, as the party broke up. "it is a small room, but it has the advantage of being water tight, which is more than one can say of most of our quarters. it is a room in the upper storey of the next house. i fancy the poor fellow's card is on the door still. the commissariat offices are in the lower part of the house, and they occupy all the other rooms upstairs; but we kept this for one of the aides-de-camp, so that the general could send a message at once, night or day." "of course i shall want a horse, sir." "yes, you must have a horse. i will think over what we can do for you, in that way. there is no buying one here, unless a field officer is killed, or dies. "by the way, hitchcock's horses are not sold, yet. they were not put up, yesterday. i have no doubt that some arrangement can be made about them, and the saddlery." "that would be excellent, sir. as i told the general this morning, i have some rubies and other stones. i have no idea what they are worth. they were given me by those men i was with, in the forest. they said that they were very difficult to dispose of, as the mines are monopolies of government so, when my man meinik proposed it, they acceded at once to his request, and handed a number of them over to me. "i have not even looked at them. there may be someone, here, who could tell me what they are worth." "yes, i have no doubt some of those parsee merchants, who have lately set up stores, could tell you. i should only take down two or three stones to them, if i were you. if they are really valuable, you might be robbed of them; but i am rather afraid that you will not find that they are so. brigand fellows will hardly have been likely to give you anything very valuable." "i don't think that they looked at them, themselves; they were the proceeds of one day's attack on a number of merchants. they found them concealed on them, and they were so well satisfied with the loot they got, in merchandise that they could dispose of, that i doubt whether they even opened the little packages of what they considered the most dangerous goods to keep; for if they were captured, and gems found upon them, it would be sufficient to condemn them, at once." "do you speak hindustani? if not, i will send one of the clerks with you." "yes, sir; and three or four other of the indian languages." "ah! then you can manage for yourself. "when you have seen one of these parsees, come round to my office. i shall have seen the paymaster by that time, and have talked over with him how we can arrange about the horses. i should think that the best way would be to have a committee of three officers to value them, and the saddlery; and then you might authorize him to receive your extra pay as interpreter, and to place it to hitchcock's account. you will find your own staff pay more than ample, here; as there are no expenses, whatever, except your share of the mess." "thank you very much, indeed, colonel." in the morning, stanley took one of the little parcels from the bag and opened it. it contained thirty stones, of which twenty were rubies, six sapphires, and four emeralds. they seemed to him of a good size but, as they were in the rough state, he had no idea what size they would be, when cut. there were three of the parsee merchants. the first he went to said, at once, that he did not deal in gems. the next he called on examined the stones carefully. "it is impossible to say, for certain," he said, "how much they are worth until they are cut, for there may be flaws in them that cannot be detected. now, if i were to buy them like this, i could not give more than a hundred rupees each. if they are all flawless, they would be worth much more; but it would be a pure speculation, and i will not go beyond that sum." stanley then visited the third store. the trader here inspected them a little more carefully than the last had done, examined them with a magnifying glass, held them up to the light; then he weighed each stone and jotted down some figures. at last, he said: "the stones are worth five thousand rupees. if they are flawless, they would be worth double that. i will give you five thousand myself or, if you like, i will send them to a friend of mine, at madras. he is one of the best judges of gems in india. he shall say what he will give for them, and you shall pay me five percent commission. he is an honest trader; you can ask any of the officers from madras." "i will accept that offer, if you will make me an advance of fifteen hundred rupees upon them; and will pay you, at the rate of ten percent per annum, interest till you receive the money for them." the parsee again took the gems, and examined them carefully. "do you agree to take the jeweller's offer, whatever it is?" "yes; that is to say, if it is over the five thousand. if it is under the five thousand, i will sell them to you at that sum." "i agree to that," the man said. "but do not fear; if the two largest stones are without a flaw, they alone are worth five thousand." "let us draw up the agreement, at once," stanley said. and, accordingly, the terms were drawn up, in hindustani, and were signed by both parties. the parsee then went to a safe, unlocked it, and counted out the rupees, to the value of pounds. these he placed in a bag, and handed them to stanley who, delighted at the sum that he had obtained for but a small portion of the gems, went to the quartermaster general's office. "we have just finished your business," colonel adair said, as he entered. "major moultrie, the paymaster, colonel watt, and myself have examined the horses. i know that hitchcock paid sixty pounds apiece for them, at calcutta. they are both arabs, and good ones, and were not dear at the money. our opinion is that, if they were put up to auction here, they would fetch pounds apiece; and that the saddle and bridle, holsters, and accoutrements would fetch another pounds. there are also a pair of well-finished pistols in the holsters. they were overlooked, or they would have been put up in the sale yesterday. they value them at pounds the brace; in all, pounds. "will that suit you? the major will, as i proposed, stop the money from your pay as a first-class interpreter--that is, two hundred and fifty rupees a month--so that, in four months and a half, you will have cleared it off." "i am very much obliged to you, colonel; but i have just received an advance of fifteen hundred rupees, on some of my gems which the parsee is going to send to a jeweller, of the name of burragee, at madras." "i congratulate you, for i hardly hoped that they would turn out to be worth so much. burragee is a first-rate man, and you can rely upon getting a fair price from him. well, that obviates all difficulty. "by the way, i should recommend you to get a light bedstead and bed, and a couple of blankets, at one of the parsee stores. of course, you did not think of it, yesterday, or you might have bought hitchcock's. however, i noticed in one of the parsees' shops a number of light bamboo bedsteads; which are the coolest and best in a climate like this. if you lay a couple of blankets on the bamboos, you will find that you don't want a mattress." "i don't know what my duties are, sir, or whether the general will be wanting me." "he will not want you, today. anyhow, he will know that you will be making your arrangements, and moving into your quarters. "by the way, hitchcock brought a syce with him. you must have a man for your horses, and i have no doubt he will be glad to stay on with you." two hours later stanley was installed in his quarters--a room some twelve feet long by eight wide. a bed stood in one corner. there was a table for writing on, two light bamboo chairs, and an indian lounging chair. in the corner was a small bamboo table, on which was a large brass basin; while a great earthenware jar for water stood beside it, and a piece of indian matting covered the floor. he learned that the staff messed together, in a large room in the next house; and that he would there get a cup of coffee and a biscuit, at six in the morning, breakfast at half-past eight, lunch and dinner; so that he would not have to do any cooking, whatever, for himself. he had given meinik a small sum to lay out in cooking pots and necessaries for his own use. the syce had gladly entered his employ. stanley had inspected the horses which, although light to the eye, would be well capable of bearing his weight through a long day's work. they were picketed, with those of the general and staff, in a line behind the house devoted to the headquarters. after lunch he went into the general's, and reported himself as ready for duty. "i shall not want you this afternoon, mr. brooke. here is a plan showing the position of the different corps. you had better get it by heart. when it gets cooler, this afternoon, i should advise you to ride out and examine the position and the roads; so that even at night you can, if necessary, carry a message to any of the regiments. the burmese are constantly creeping up and stabbing our sentries, and sometimes they attack in considerable force. when anything like heavy firing begins, it will be your duty to find out at once what is going on; and bring me word, as it may be necessary to send up reinforcements. "in the morning it will be your duty to examine any prisoners who have been taken during the night, and also natives who have made their way into the town; in order to ascertain whether any date has been fixed for their next attack, and what forces are likely to take part in it. you can make your man useful at this work. "by the way, i will tell colonel adair to put him down on the list of the quartermaster's native followers. he need not do anything else but this. but it is likely that the natives will speak more freely to him than they would to a white officer, and he may as well be earning thirty rupees a month, and drawing rations, as hanging about all day, doing nothing." thanking the general, stanley took the plan and, going back to his quarters, studied it attentively. he told meinik of the arrangement that had been made for him, with which the burman was much pleased. thirty rupees a month seemed a large sum to him, and he was glad that he should not be costing stanley money for his food. three hours later one of his horses was brought round, and he started on his ride through the camp. there were two roads leading through the town to the great pagoda. both were thickly bordered by religious houses and pagodas--the latter, for the most part, being in a state of dilapidation. houses and pagodas alike had been turned into quarters for the troops, and had been invaluable during the wet season. the terrace of the great pagoda was occupied by the th regiment and the madras artillery. this was the most advanced position, and was the key of the defence. leaving his horse in charge of his syce, at the foot of the pagoda hill, stanley went up to the terrace and soon entered into conversation with some of the british officers; who at once recognized him as having been, that morning, put in orders as the general's aide-de-camp. as he was unknown to everyone, and no ship had come in for some days, there was naturally much curiosity felt as to who the stranger was who had been appointed to a commission, and to the coveted post of aide-de-camp, in one day. after chatting for two or three minutes, they conducted stanley to the colonel's quarters, a small building at the foot of the pagoda. "this is mr. brooke, colonel, the gentleman who was gazetted to us, this morning." "i am glad to see you, mr. brooke; but i should be more glad, still, if you had been coming to join, for we have lost several officers from sickness, and there are others unfit for duty. when did you arrive?" "i arrived only yesterday morning, sir. i came here in disguise, having made my way down from ava." "oh, indeed! we heard a report that a white man had arrived, in disguise, at the lines of the th native infantry; but we have had no particulars, beyond that." "i was captured at ramoo, sir, while i was acting as an officer of the native levy. fortunately i was stunned by the graze of a musket ball and, being supposed dead, was not killed; as were all the other officers who fell into the hands of the burmese. their fury had abated by the time i came to myself, and i was carried up to ava with some twenty sepoy prisoners. after a time i made my escape from prison, and took to the forest; where i remained some weeks, till the search for me had abated somewhat. then i made my way down the country, for the most part in a fishing boat, journeying only at night, and so succeeded in getting in here. fortunately i speak the mug dialect, which is very closely akin to the burmese." "well," the colonel said, "i hope that you will consider the regiment your home; though i suppose that, until the campaign is at an end, you will only be able to pay us an occasional visit. you are lucky in getting the staff appointment. no doubt your being able to talk burmese has a great deal to do with it." "everything, i think, sir. the general had no one on his staff who could speak the language and, unless he happened to have with him one of the very few men here who can do so, often had to wait some time before a prisoner could be questioned." he remained chatting for half an hour, and then rode back to the town; taking the other road to that which he had before traversed. chapter : the pagoda. two days later a prisoner was captured, when endeavouring to crawl up the pagoda hill--having slipped past the outposts--and was sent into headquarters. stanley questioned him closely; but could obtain no information, whatever, from him. telling him to sit down by the house, he placed a british sentry over him. "keep your eye," he said, "on the door of the next house. you will see a burman come out. you are to let him talk with the prisoner, but let no one else speak to him. don't look as if you had any orders about him, but stand carelessly by. the fellow will tell us nothing, but it is likely enough that he will speak to one of his own countrymen." "i understand, sir." stanley went into his house and told meinik what he was wanted to do. "i will find out," meinik said confidently and, a minute or two later, went out and strolled along past the prisoner. as he did so he gave him a little nod and, returning again shortly, saluted him in burmese. the third time he passed he looked inquiringly at the sentry, as if to ask whether he might speak to the prisoner. the soldier, however, appeared to pay no attention to him; but stood with grounded musket, leaning against the wall, and meinik went up to the man. "you are in bad luck," he said. "how did you manage to fall into the hands of these people?" "it matters not to you," the burman said indignantly, "since you have gone over to them." "not at all, not at all," meinik replied. "do you not know that there are many here who, like myself, have come in as fugitives, with instructions what to do when our people attack? i am expecting news as to when the soothsayers declare the day to be a fortunate one. then we shall all be in readiness to do our share, as soon as the firing begins." "it will be on the fourth day from this," the burman said. "we do not know whether it will be the night before, or the night after. the soothsayers say both will be fortunate nights; and the invulnerables will then assault the pagoda, and sweep the barbarians away. the princes and woongees will celebrate the great annual festival there, two days later." "that is good!" meinik said. "we shall be on the lookout, never fear." "what are they going to do to me. will they cut off my head?" "no, you need not be afraid of that. these white men never kill prisoners. after they are once taken, they are safe. you will be kept for a time and, when our countrymen have destroyed the barbarians and taken the town, they will free you from prison. "there are some of the white officers coming. i must get away, or they will be asking questions." as he walked away, the sentry put his musket to his shoulder and began to march briskly up and down. a moment later the general stepped up to him. "what are you doing, my man? who put you on guard over that prisoner?" "i don't know his name, sir," the sentry said, standing at attention. "he was a young staff officer. he came to the guard tent and called for a sentry and, as i was next on duty, the sergeant sent me with him. he put me to watch this man." "all right; keep a sharp lookout over him. "i wonder what brooke left the fellow here for, instead of sending him to prison," the general said to colonel adair. "we examined him, but could get nothing out of him, even when i threatened to hang him." "i will just run up to his quarters and ask him, sir." just as he entered the house, stanley was coming down the stairs. "the general wants to know, mr. brooke, why you placed a prisoner under a guard by his house; instead of sending him to the prison, as usual?" "i was just coming to tell him, sir." "ah, well, he is outside; so you can tell us both together." "well, mr. brooke, what made you put a sentry over the man, and leave him here? the men are hard enough worked, without having unnecessary sentry duty." "yes, sir; i only left him for a few minutes. i was convinced the man knew something, by his demeanour when i questioned him; and i thought i might as well try if my man could not get more out of him than i could. so i put a sentry over him, and gave him instructions that he was to let a burman, who would come out of this house, speak to the prisoner; but that no one else was to approach him. "then i instructed my man as to the part that he was to play. he passed two or three times, making a sign of friendship to the prisoner. then, as the sentry had apparently no objection to his speaking to him, he came up. at first the man would say nothing to him, but meinik told him that he was one of those who had been sent to rangoon to aid, when the assault took place; and that he was anxiously waiting for news when the favourable day would be declared by the astrologers, so that he and those with him would be ready to begin their work, as soon as the attack commenced. the prisoner fell into the snare, and told him that it would be made either on the night before or on the night of the fourth day from this; when the invulnerables had undertaken to storm the pagoda. it seems that the date was fixed partly because it was a fortunate one, and also in order that the princes and head officials might properly celebrate the great annual festival of the pagoda; which falls, it seems, on the sixth day from now." "excellent indeed, mr. brooke. it is a great relief to me to know when the assault is going to take place, and from what point it will be delivered. but what made you think of the story that the burman was one of a party that had come in to do something?" "it was what colonel adair mentioned at dinner, last evening, sir. he was saying how awkward it would be if some of these natives who have come in were to fire the town, just as a strong attack was going on, and most of the troops engaged with the enemy. it was not unlikely that, if such a plan had been formed, the prisoner would know of it; and that he might very well believe what my man said, that some men had been sent into the town, with that or some similar intention." "true enough. the idea was a capital one, mr. brooke; and we shall be ready for them, whichever night they come. "will you please go across to the guard tent, and tell the sergeant to send a corporal across to the man on sentry, with orders to take the prisoner to the jail, and hand him over to the officer in command there? when you have done that, will you ride out to the pagoda and inform your colonel what you have discovered? it will be a relief to him, and to the men for, as the date of the attack has been uncertain, he has been obliged to largely increase his patrols, and to keep a portion of his force, all night, under arms. he will be able to decrease the number, and let the men have as much sleep as they can, for the next two nights. "the clouds are banking up, and i am very much afraid that the rain is going to set in again. they say that we shall have another two months of it." after seeing the prisoner marched away, stanley rode to the pagoda and, saying that he had come with a message from the general, was at once shown into the colonel's quarters. "any news, mr. brooke?" "yes, colonel; the general has requested me to inform you, at once, of the news that i have obtained from a prisoner; namely that, either on the night of the th or st, your position will be attacked, by the men who are called the invulnerables." "we will give them a chance of proving whether their title is justified," the colonel said, cheerfully. "that is very good news. the men are getting thoroughly worn out with the extra night duty caused by this uncertainty. you think that there is no doubt that the news is correct?" "none whatever, sir. i could do nothing with the prisoner; but my burman pretended to have a mission here, to kick up a row in the town when the attack began; and the man, believing his story, at once told him that the attack will be made on the pagoda, by the invulnerables, on the early morning of the fourth day from this--or on the next night--the astrologers having declared that the time would be propitious, and also because they were very anxious to have the pagoda in their hands, in order that the princes might celebrate the great annual festival that is held, it seems, two days after." the colonel laughed. "i am afraid that they will have to put it off for another year. the general gave no special orders, i suppose?" "no, sir; he had only just received the news, and ordered me to ride over at once to you, as he was sure that you would be glad to know that it would not be necessary to keep so many men on night duty, for the next two days." "thank you, mr. brooke. will you kindly tell the general that i am very pleased at the news? no doubt he will be up here, himself, this afternoon or tomorrow." stanley rode back fast, and was just in time to escape a tremendous downpour of rain, which began a few minutes after he returned. he went in at once to the general's, but was told that he was engaged with the quartermaster and adjutant generals. he therefore went into the anteroom where tollemache, his fellow aide-de-camp, was standing at the window, looking out at the rain. "this is a beastly climate," he grumbled. "it is awful to think that we are likely to get another two months of it; and shall then have to wait at least another, before the country is dry enough to make a move. you were lucky in getting in, just now, before it began." "i was indeed," stanley agreed, "for i had ridden off without my cloak, and should have been drenched, had it begun two minutes earlier." "i saw you gallop past, and wondered what you were in such a hurry about. was it like this when you were out in the woods?" "not in the least. there is very little rain near ava; though the country is a good deal flooded, where it is flat, from the rivers being swollen by the rains in the hills. we had lovely weather, all the time." "i should like to see a little lovely weather here. the last week has been almost worse than the rain--the steamy heat is like being in a vapour bath. if it were not that i am on duty, i should like to strip, and go out and enjoy a shower bath for half an hour." stanley laughed. "it really would be pleasant," he said. "i don't think that i gained much by hurrying back, for the gallop has thrown me into such a perspiration that i might almost as well be drenched by the rain, except that my clothes won't suffer so much." "ah, it is all very well for you," the other grumbled. "of course, after once having wandered about in the forest, painted up like a nigger, you feel cheerful under almost any circumstances; but for us who have been cooped up, doing nothing, in this beastly place, it is impossible to look at things cheerfully." "have you heard that the enemy are going to attack, on tuesday or wednesday night?" "no!" the other exclaimed, with a sudden animation. "the general only came in a quarter of an hour ago and, as he had the two bigwigs with him, of course i did not speak to him. is it certain? how did you hear it?" "it is quite certain--that is, unless the burmese change their mind, which is not likely. the princes want to celebrate the great annual festival at the pagoda, on friday; and so the invulnerables are going, as they think, to capture it either on tuesday or wednesday night. i have just been up there to tell the colonel. "as to your other question--how did i learn it--i got it, or rather my burman did, from that prisoner we were questioning this morning. he would not say anything then; but my man got round him and, believing that he was a spy, or something of that kind, the prisoner told him all about it." "are they only going to attack at the pagoda?" "that i cannot say; that is the only point that the man mentioned. i should say that it would only be there." "why should it only be there?" "because i should imagine that even the burmese must be beginning to doubt whether they could defeat our whole force and, as they particularly wish to occupy the pagoda on friday, they would hardly risk an attack on other points, which might end in disaster while, what with the propitious nature of the day, and the fact that the invulnerables have undertaken to capture the pagoda, no doubt they look upon that as certain." "i suppose that you are right, brooke. well, i do hope that the general will let us go up to see the fun." "what, even if it is raining?" "of course," the other said, indignantly. "what does one care for rain, when there is something to do? why, i believe that, if it was coming down in a sheet, and the men had to wade through the swamps waist deep, they would all march in the highest spirits, if there was the chance of a fight with the burmans at the end of the day. "however, i am afraid that there is no chance of our getting off, unless the chief goes, himself. there may be attacks in other places. as you say, it is not likely; but it is possible. therefore, of course, we should have to be at hand, to carry orders. of course, if he takes his post at the pagoda it will be all right; though the betting is that we shall have to gallop off, just at the most interesting moment." presently the two officers left the general. the latter's bell rang, and stanley went in. "you saw the colonel, mr. brooke?" "yes, sir; and he begged me to say that he was extremely glad to get the news, and much obliged to you for sending it so promptly." "there is no occasion for you and mr. tollemache to stay here any longer, now; but at five o'clock i shall ride out to the pagoda. at any rate, should i want you before then, i shall know where to send for you." this was the general order, for in the afternoon there was, when things were quiet, a hush for two or three hours. the work of the aides-de-camp was, indeed, generally very light for, as there were no movements of troops, no useless parades, and very few military orders to be carried, they had a great deal of time on their hands; and usually took it by turns to be on duty for the day, the one off duty being free to pay visits to acquaintances in the various camps, or on board ship. during the rainy season, however, very few officers or men went beyond shelter, unless obliged to do so and, from two till four or five, no small proportion passed the time in sleep. stanley had intended to pay a visit to the larne; as captain marryat, who had dined at the staff mess on the previous evening, had invited him to go on board, whenever it might be convenient to him. the larne had performed good service, in the operations against the stockades; and her boats had been particularly active and successful. her captain was one of the most popular, as well as one of the most energetic officers in the service; and was to become as popular, with future generations, as the brightest of all writers of sea stories. however, the day was not favourable for an excursion on the water. stanley therefore went back to his room where, divesting himself of his jacket, he sat down at the open window, and read up a batch of the last newspapers, from england, that had been lent him by colonel adair. at five o'clock meinik came in, to say that his horse was at the general's door. stanley hastily put on his jacket and cloak, and sallied out. the general came down in a few minutes, followed by tollemache and, mounting, they rode to the pagoda. here sir archibald had a talk with the colonel of the th, and the officer commanding the battery of the madras artillery. both were of opinion that their force was amply sufficient to resist any attack. the only approach to it from the forest was a long road between two swamps which, a short distance away, had become lakes since the wet weather set in. "had they taken us by surprise," the colonel said, "some of them might have got across, before we were quite ready for them, and might have given us some trouble but, as we shall be prepared, i don't think that any of them will reach the foot of this hill and, if they did, none of them would reach this terrace. if an attack were made from the other side, it would of course be a good deal more serious, as the ground is firm and they could attack all along the foot of the hill; but as they cannot get there, until they have defeated the rest of the army, i consider that, even without the assistance of the guns, we could hold the hill with musket and bayonet against any force that they are likely to bring against us." "very well, then; i shall not reinforce you, colonel. of course, we shall keep a considerable number of troops under arms, in case they should attack all along the line, at the same time that they make their principal effort here. "i rather hope that the rain will keep on, until this affair is over." the colonel looked surprised. "i am much more afraid," the general went on, "of fire in the town, than i am of an attack without. the number of natives there is constantly increasing. no doubt the greater number of those who come in are natives of the place, who have managed, since we cleared out their war galleys from some of the creeks and channels, to escape from the authorities and to make their way in, either on foot or in fishermen's boats; but some of them may be sent in as spies, or to do us harm. i have been having a long talk over it with colonel adair, this afternoon, and he quite agrees with me that we must reckon on the probability of an attempt to fire the town. it would be a terrible blow to us if they succeeded, for the loss of our stores would completely cripple us. they would naturally choose the occasion of an attack upon our lines for the attempt for, in the first place, most of the troops will be under arms and drawn up outside the town; and in the second place the sight of the place on fire would cause much confusion, would inspirit our assailants, and necessitate a considerable force being withdrawn from the field, to fight the fire. "if the rains continue we need feel no uneasiness, whatever, for there would be no getting anything to burn; whereas in dry weather, a man with a torch might light the thatch as fast as he could run along, and a whole street would be in a blaze in two or three minutes and, if a wind happened to be blowing, it might make a sweep of the whole place, in spite of all our efforts." "i see that, sir. i own that i had never given it a thought, before." "i shall come up here, colonel, unless we obtain sure news, before the time arrives, that the attack is going to be a general one; indeed, it is in any case the best place to post myself, for i can see over the whole country, and send orders to any point where the enemy may be making progress, or where our men can advance with advantage. the line of fire flashes will be as good a guide, at night, as the smoke by day." "i will get a cot rigged up for you, general, as we don't know which night it is to be." "thank you. yes, i may just as well turn in, all standing, as the sailors say, and get a few hours' sleep; for in this climate one cannot keep at it, night and day, as we had to do in spain." the two aides-de-camp were kept in suspense as to what the general's intentions were, and it was not until the morning of tuesday that he said to them: "i am going up to the pagoda this evening, mr. tollemache; and you had better, therefore, put some provisions and a bottle of brandy into your holsters." at nine in the evening they rode off. the rain had ceased; the moon was shining through the clouds. "it will be down by twelve o'clock," tollemache said. "i should think, most likely, they will wait for that. they will think that we shall not be able to take aim at them, in the darkness; and that they will manage to get to the foot of the hill, without loss." when they reached the platform in front of the pagoda, their syces took their horses. meinik had begged stanley to let him take his groom's place on this occasion and, laying aside the dress he ordinarily wore, assumed the light attire of an indian syce, and had run behind the horses with the others. he had a strong desire to see the fighting, but his principal motive in asking to be allowed to accompany stanley was that, although greatly impressed with what he had seen of the drill and discipline of the white and native regiments, he could not shake off his faith in the invulnerables; and had a conviction that the pagoda would be captured, and therefore wished to be at hand, to bring up stanley's horse at the critical moment, and to aid him to escape from the assailants. fires were burning, as usual, at several points on the terrace. two companies were under arms, and were standing well back from the edge of the platform, so as to be out of sight of those in the forest. the rest of the men were sitting round the fires. their muskets were piled in lines hard by. when he alighted, the general proceeded to the battery. "have you everything in readiness, major?" he asked the officer in command. "yes, sir. the guns are all loaded with grape and, as it will be very dark when the moon has set, i have pegged a white tape along, just under each gun; so that they can be trained upon the causeway, however dark it may be." "that is a very good idea," the general said. "there is nothing more difficult than laying guns accurately in the dark." the colonel now arrived, a soldier having brought the news to him, as soon as the general reached the platform. "i see that you are well prepared to give them a hot reception, colonel." "i hope so, sir. i have a strong patrol out beyond the causeway. my orders are that they are to resist strongly, for a minute or two, so as to give us time to have the whole of our force in readiness here. then they are to retreat at the double to the foot of the hill; and then to open fire again, so that we may know that they are out of the way, and that we can begin when we like. we have been making some port fires this afternoon, and i have a dozen men halfway down the hill and, directly the outposts are safely across, they are to light the port fires, which will enable us to take aim. these white tapes will be guide enough for the artillery; but my men would make very poor shooting, if they could not make out the muzzles of their guns. anyhow, i don't think that it is likely that the enemy will get across the causeway, however numerous they may be." "i don't think they will, colonel. certainly, so far, they have shown themselves contemptible in attack; and have never made a successful stand, even for a minute, when we once entered their stockades, though they defend them pluckily enough until we have once got a footing inside. "still, these fellows ought to fight well tonight for, if they are beaten, it will be a death blow to their reputation among their countrymen. besides, many of them do believe in the power they claim and, as we have found before now, in india, fanatics are always formidable." after taking a look round with the colonel, the general accompanied him to his quarters; while the two aides-de-camp remained on the terrace, chatting with the officers; and then, after a time, went with some of them to the mess tent, where they sat smoking and talking until midnight, when all went out. the troops were formed up under arms, and all listened impatiently for something that would show that the long-delayed assault would take place that night. at half-past twelve there was the sound of a shot, which sent an electrical thrill through the troops. it was followed almost immediately by others. the troops were at once marched forward to the edge of the platform. a babel of wild shouts went up at the sound of the first shots, followed by a burst of firing. the two aides-de-camp had taken their places close to the general, who was standing in the gap between the infantry and the guns; and was looking intently, through his night glasses, at the forest. "they are in a dense mass," he said. "i cannot see whether they are in any regular order, but they are certainly packed a great deal closer than i have ever before seen them. those in front have got lanterns. they are coming along fast." as yet the enemy were half a mile away, but the lanterns and the flash of their guns showed their exact position, while the fire of the outposts was kept up steadily. as the latter fell back along the causeway, the interval between the two forces decreased; and then the fire of the outposts ceased as, in accordance with their orders, they broke into the double. illustration: the burmese make a great effort to capture pagoda hill. the uproar of the advancing crowd was prodigious. every man was yelling, at the top of his voice, imprecations upon the defenders of the pagoda; who were standing in absolute silence, waiting eagerly for the word of command. suddenly the firing broke out again at the foot of the hill and, immediately, a bright light shot up from its face. the edge of the dense mass of burmese was now but some fifty yards from the wall that surrounded the foot of the hill, and the causeway behind was occupied by a solid mass of men. then came the sharp order to the artillerymen, and gun after gun poured its charge of grape into the crowd while, at the same moment, the infantry began to fire, by companies, in steady volleys. for an instant the din of the assailants was silenced, then their shouts rose again and, after a moment's hesitation, they continued their advance. but not for long. none but the most disciplined soldiers could have advanced under that storm of grape and bullets and, in ten minutes, they fled in wild confusion, leaving the causeway thickly covered with the dead. again and again the british cheers rose, loud and triumphant; then the infantry were told to fall out, but the guns continued their fire, until the fugitives were well in the forest. between the shots the general listened attentively, and examined the country towards the town through his glasses. "everything is quiet," he said. "it is probable that, if those fellows had carried the hill, they would have made a signal, and there might have been a general attack. as it is, the affair is over for the night; and the invulnerables will have some difficulty in accounting for their failure, and loss. "now, gentlemen, we may as well have up the horses, and ride back. we hardly expected to get away as soon as this." "well, meinik, what do you think of your invulnerables, now?" stanley said, as the burman, after picketing his horse, came up to his room to see if he wanted anything, before lying down on his bed in the passage. "i don't know," the burman replied, gravely. "they may be holy men; and proof, perhaps, against native weapons; but they are no good against your cannon and muskets. i understand, now, how it is that you beat us so easily. your men all stood quiet, and in order; one only heard the voices of the officers, and the crash as they fired together. "then, your guns are terrible. i have seen ours firing but, though our pieces are smaller than yours, your men fire five shots to our one. i stood by while they were loading. it was wonderful. nobody talked, and nobody gave orders. each man knew what he had to do--one did something and, directly, another did something and, almost before the smoke of the last shot was out of the gun, it was ready to be fired again. "it is clear to me that we have not learnt how to fight, and that your way of having only a few men, well taught and knowing exactly what they have to do, is better than ours of having great numbers, and letting everyone fight as he pleases. it is bad, every way. the brave men get to the front, and are killed; and then the others run away. "you were right. we shall never turn you out of rangoon, till bandoola comes. he has all our best troops with him, and he has never been beaten. all the troops know him, and will fight for him as they will not fight for these princes--who know nothing of war, and are chosen only because they are the king's brothers. when he comes, you will see." "no doubt we shall, meinik; and you will see that, although they may make a better fight of it than they have done tonight, it will be just the same, in the end." for the next two months the time passed slowly. no attacks were made by the enemy, after the defeat of the assault upon the pagoda. peasants and deserters who came in reported that there was profound depression among the burmese troops. great numbers had left the colours, and there was no talk of another attack. the troops being, therefore, relieved of much of their arduous night duty, the english took the offensive. the stockades on the dalla river, and those upon the panlang branch--the principal passage into the main stream of the irrawaddy--were attacked and carried, the enemy suffering heavily, and many pieces of artillery being captured. the rains continued almost unceasingly, and the troops suffered terribly in health. scarce three thousand remained fit for duty, and the greater portion of these were so emaciated and exhausted, by the effects of the climate, that they were altogether unfit for active operations. three weeks after the fight at the pagoda a vessel came up the river, with a letter from the officer in command of the troops assembled to bar the advance of bandoola against chittagong, saying that the burmese army had mysteriously disappeared. it had gone off at night, so quietly and silently that our outposts, which were but a short distance from it, heard no sign or movement, whatever. the burmese had taken with them their sick, tents, and stores; and nothing but a large quantity of grain had been found in their deserted stockades. the news was received with satisfaction by the troops. there was little doubt that the court of ava--finding that their generals had all failed in making the slightest impression upon our lines, and had lost vast numbers of men--had at last turned to the leader who had conquered province after province for it, and had sent him orders to march, with his whole army, to bring the struggle to a close. the soldiers rejoiced at the thought that they were at last to meet a real burmese army. hitherto they had generally stood on the defensive, and had to fight the climate rather than the foe; and it seemed to them that the campaign was likely to be interminable. the march of the burmese from ramoo to sembeughewn, the nearest point of the river to the former town, must have been a terrible one. the distance was over two hundred miles, the rains were ceaseless, and the country covered with jungles and marshes, and intersected by rivers. no other army could have accomplished such a feat. the burmans, however, accustomed to the unhealthy climate, lightly clad, and carrying no weight save their arms and sixteen days' supply of rice, passed rapidly over it. every man was accustomed to the use of an axe and to the formation of rafts and, in an incredibly short time, rivers were crossed, deep swamps traversed on roads made by closely-packed faggots and, but a few days after hearing that bandoola had started, the general learned, from peasants, that the news had come down that he and a portion of his army had arrived at sembeughewn. almost at the same time, other parties who travelled down along the coast reached donabew, a town on the irrawaddy, some forty miles in direct line from rangoon. this had been named as the rendezvous of the new army, and to this a considerable proportion of bandoola's force made their way direct from ramoo; it being the custom of the burmese to move, when on a march through a country where no opposition was to be looked for, in separate detachments, each under its own leader, choosing its own way, and making for a general rendezvous. travelling in this manner, they performed the journey far more rapidly than they could have done moving in one body, and could better find shelter and food. other forces from prome, tannoo, and other quarters were known to be marching towards donabew. it was soon reported that the dejected forces around rangoon had gained courage and confidence, at the news that bandoola and his army were coming to their aid, and that the deserters were returning in large numbers from their villages. the british sick were sent away in the shipping to mergy and tavoy, two coast towns of which we had taken possession, and both of which were healthily situated. the change had a marvellous effect, and men who would have speedily succumbed to the poisonous exhalations of the swamps round rangoon rapidly regained their strength, in their new quarters. chapter : victories. in the meantime, negotiations had been going on with siam, between which state and burma there was the bitterest enmity. it had been thought that siam would have willingly grasped the opportunity to revenge itself for the many losses of territory that it had suffered at the hands of burma. this there was no doubt that it would have been glad to do, but our occupation of several points on the coast of tenasserim roused the fears of siam, and inclined it to the belief that we might prove an even more dangerous neighbour than burma. the court of ava had, on its part, also sent urgent messages to the king of siam--when misfortunes had, to some extent, lowered its pride--calling upon him to make common cause with burma, and to join it in repelling an enemy who would doubtless be as dangerous to him as to burma. siam, however, determined to steer a middle course. an army was assembled, in readiness for any contingency; but siam believed as little as burma, itself, that the british could possibly be victorious over that power; and feared its vengeance, if she were to ally herself with us while, upon the other hand, siam had a long sea coast, and feared the injury our fleet might inflict upon it, were it to join burma. the king, therefore, gave both powers an assurance of his friendship; and marched his army down to the frontier of the province of martaban, which bordered on the great salween river on the tenasserim coast, and lay some two hundred miles from rangoon, across the gulf of martaban. the intentions of the king being so doubtful, the advance of the siamese army in this direction could not be regarded with indifference by the british. the town of martaban was the centre of the burmese military power in tenasserim, and the advance towards it of the siamese army would place it in direct communication with that of burma. on the th of october, therefore, a force, consisting of a wing of the st regiment and the rd madras infantry, sailed from rangoon against the town. the expedition was delayed by light winds and, when it arrived at the mouth of the river, found that every preparation had been made for an obstinate defence. they learned, from a peasant, that strong works had been erected on every eminence round the town; and that the road from the coast had been cut, and stockaded. approach by this route was impossible, for there were twenty miles of country to be traversed; and much of this was under water from the inundations. it was, therefore, determined to go up the river, although this was so shallow and full of shoals that the navigation was extremely difficult. at last, after great labour--incurred by the ships constantly getting ashore--they succeeded in making their way up to martaban, and anchored off the town. a heavy cannonade was carried on, for some time, between the ships and the enemy's works. then the troops were embarked in boats, which rowed for the shore under a very heavy fire from the enemy. as soon as they landed, and advanced to attack the stockades, the burmese lost heart and hastily retreated; while the inhabitants received the troops as they entered with the warmest welcome--for they were, for the most part, natives of pegu, and still entertained a deep hatred for the burmese, because of the long oppression that they had suffered at their hands. throughout the rest of tenasserim, however; and indeed, throughout the whole country traversed by the troops later on, the inhabitants appeared to have entirely forgotten their ancient nationality, and the conquest of their country by the burmans; and to have become completely absorbed by them. throughout the whole time that we occupied martaban, the people gave no trouble whatever and, indeed, offered to raise a force for service with us, if we wished it. at the end of october the rain ceased--to the intense delight of the troops--and the cold season set in. november was, however, an exceptionally deadly month--the occasional days of fine weather drawing up the exhalations from the swamps--and the number of deaths was greater than they had been at any previous time. there was, too, no prospect of a forward movement, at present. the expedition had come unprovided with boats or other means of transport, making sure that an abundant supply would be obtained, in a country where the whole trade was carried on by the rivers. the promptness with which the native authorities had, on the first appearance of the fleet, sent every boat away, had disappointed this anticipation and, although the opening of some of the other rivers had enabled the local fishermen to bring their boats to rangoon, where fish were eagerly purchased, the british troops were still, up to the end of november, without the means of sending a hundred men up the river, save in the boats of the fleet. the indian authorities--believing that, when the burmese found themselves impotent to turn us out of rangoon, the court of ava would be glad to negotiate--had not, until the autumn was drawing to a close, thought of making any preparations to supply the army with water carriage. they now, however, began to bestir themselves. five hundred boatmen were sent from chittagong, bringing many boats down with them, and building others at rangoon. transports with draft cattle sailed from bengal, and a considerable reinforcement of troops was on its way to join, at the end of december--for all the natives agreed that no movement could be made, by land, until the end of january. in november, even bandoola's army was obliged to make its approach by water. early in that month it was learned that the burmese general had given orders for the advance, and preparations were at once begun to meet what none doubted would be a very serious attack. the reinforcements had not yet arrived, and the greatly diminished force was far too small for the length of the line that had to be defended. redoubts were therefore thrown up, pagodas and other buildings were fortified; and two complete lines of works constructed, from the great pagoda to the city, one facing east and the other west. the post at kemmendine was strengthened, and was supported by h. m. sloop sophie, a company's cruiser, and a strong division of gunboats. the retention of this post was of great importance, as it barred the river approach to rangoon, and prevented the enemy sending down a huge fleet of war galleys and fire rafts to attack the town, and set fire to the merchant shipping lying off it. in the last week of november, smoke was seen to rise from many points in the forest. many fugitives came in from their villages, and reported that bandoola's army were all on their way down the river; and by the end of the month some sixty thousand men, with a large train of artillery and a body of cavalry, were assembled round our position. of this force, thirty thousand were armed with muskets. they had with them, too, a great number of jingals. these little guns carried ball of from six to twelve ounces, and were mounted on a light carriage, which two men could wheel with ease. the cannon were carried to the scene of action on elephants. the cavalry were seven hundred strong, drawn from the borders of manipur. the rest of the army were armed with swords and spears, and carried implements for stockading and entrenching. the force was accompanied by a number of astrologers; and by the invulnerables--who had, doubtless, satisfactorily explained their failure to capture the pagoda. a great semicircle of light smoke, rising from the trees, showed that the position taken up by bandoola extended from the river above kemmendine to the neighbourhood of rangoon. on the night of the st, the troops at the pagoda heard a loud and continuous stir in the forest. it gradually approached and, by morning, great masses of troops had gathered at the edge of the jungle, within musket shot of the post. the garrison there were drawn up in readiness to repel a sudden rush but, just as the sun rose, a din made by thousands of men engaged in cutting down the trees began, and it was evident that the burmese were going to adopt their usual plan of entrenching themselves behind stockades. during the time that had elapsed between the repulse of the invulnerables and the arrival of bandoola's army, stanley's work was light, and the life dull and monotonous. an hour was spent, every morning, in examining the fugitives who had, by the retreat of the burmese, been enabled to make their way back to the town; and of women who had escaped from the vigilance of the burmese police, and had come in from the villages where they had been held as hostages for their husbands. once or twice a week, he went off with the general to the hospital ship, to inquire into the state of the sick and to pay a visit to the long line of cots along the main and lower deck. almost every day he rode, in spite of the weather, to one or other of the regimental camps; and soon came to know most of the officers of the force. his previous experience on the rivers had done much to acclimatise him, and his health continued good. on the evening of the th he had, at the general's order, ridden up to the pagoda. it was considered likely that the attack would be delivered there in the first place and, at three o'clock in the morning, when it became evident that a large body of men were approaching through the forest, he galloped back to rangoon with the news and, at five, rode out again with sir a. campbell. among the garrison there was much disappointment when the sound of wood chopping announced that the burmese did not intend to attack; but the general, who had been watching the edge of the jungle through his glasses, lowered them and put them into their case with an expression of satisfaction. "i don't want them to attack, colonel," he said. "if they do, and we beat them off, we are no nearer the end than before. that sort of thing might be carried on for months; as long, in fact, as there remains a man to bring up. what we want is to inflict such a heavy blow upon them, that even the court at ava may become convinced that they cannot hope to drive us out of rangoon; in which case they may consent to negotiate, and we may bring the war to an end. "heaven knows that we have suffered enough loss, at present; and i don't want to have to undertake such a difficult operation as an advance against ava. i am glad to see that they have begun to construct stockades. i do not intend to interfere until they have completely finished their work, and gained sufficient confidence to make a general attack on us. then we shall be able to give them a heavy lesson. "ah, there they are, at work!" as he spoke, a roar of musketry and artillery broke out suddenly from kemmendine, and all eyes were turned in that direction. the spot was two miles distant, but the forest shut out, alike, the view of the river and of the works held by us. the exact position, however, was indicated by the masts of the two war vessels, rising above the trees. soon great wreaths of heavy white smoke rose above the forest, in and around kemmendine, shutting out all view. the fire continued without abatement, and it was evident that the attack was a hot and determined one. confident as all felt that the little fort would be able to defend itself successfully, the great smoke clouds were watched with some feeling of anxiety; for the garrison was, after all, but a handful. in momentary intervals of the firing, the yells and shouts of the natives could be distinctly heard and, once or twice, after a heavy broadside from the ships of war, the cheers of the british sailors could be plainly recognized. after two hours' fighting the din gradually ceased. the clouds of smoke rolled away, and the masts of the ships became visible, and the garrison of the pagoda raised three hearty cheers, to tell the defenders that their successful defence had been watched and welcomed. presently some heavy columns of the enemy issued from the forest, on the other side of the river; and marched across the plain to dalla, which faced rangoon. they moved with great regularity and order, led by their chiefs on horseback, their gilded umbrellas glittering in the rays of the sun. on reaching the bank of the river opposite rangoon, they began entrenching themselves and throwing up stockades and batteries; with the evident intention of opening fire on the shipping. soon afterwards large bodies of men issued from the forest facing the pagoda and, marching along a slight ridge, that extended from that point to the creek below rangoon, took up their position there, and began entrenching themselves all along the line. thus the british position was now completely surrounded; there was, however, no doubt that the main body of the enemy was still facing the pagoda. "we must see what they are doing," the general said. "this is too important a point for us to allow them to erect a strongly fortified position, close at hand." accordingly, tollemache was sent down with an order to the th madras infantry--supported by a detachment of the th regiment, under major sale--to advance against the enemy in the jungle. the movements of this force were eagerly watched from the terrace of the pagoda. at a rapid pace they crossed the intervening ground, and a rattle of musketry broke out from the jungle as they approached. the british made no response; but charged, with a cheer, and were soon lost to sight in the trees. their regular volleys could be heard, at short intervals, above the scattered rattle of the burmese musketeers; and their cheers frequently rose, loud and triumphant. in half an hour the red line emerged again from the jungle, having destroyed the stockades the burmese had erected; captured several guns, a quantity of muskets, and entrenching tools thrown away by the burmese; and killed a large number of the enemy. during the day the enemy made repeated efforts to send fire rafts down the river from above kemmendine. these rafts were constructed of bamboos, upon which were placed great numbers of earthenware pots, filled with petroleum. these rafts were skilfully constructed, and made in sections so that, when they drifted against an anchor chain, they would divide--those on each side swinging round, so as to envelop the ship on both sides with fire. the sailors from the sloops and gunboats rowed up to meet the rafts and, although a heavy fire was kept up by the enemy, from the jungles lining the banks, they succeeded in towing most of them safely to shore; while the rest grounded on a projecting spit, off kemmendine. so diligently did the burmese work at all points throughout the day that, by the afternoon, their whole line of circumvallation was covered with earthworks; behind which they lay, entirely hidden from sight. "if they could fight as well as they dig, and build stockades," sir a. campbell remarked, "they would be one of the most formidable enemies in the world. no european army ever accomplished the work of entrenching themselves so speedily as they have done. their arrangements have been admirable. everything has been done without confusion, and each body has taken up the position allotted to it; as is evident by the fact that there is no gap in their lines. "as to bandoola's tactics, i cannot say so much for them. in the first place, he has divided his force into two parts, separated by a river, and incapable of helping each other. in the next place, great as are his numbers, his lines are far too extended. "well, we will let them go on for a time; and then show them the mistake that they have committed." major sale's reports of the entrenchments were that they consisted of a long line of holes, each capable of containing two men. the earth was dug out on one side so as to form a sort of cave. in this was a bed of straw or brushwood, on which one man could sleep, while the other watched. each hole contained a sufficient supply of rice, water, and even fuel for its inmates. one line of these holes had been completed, and another was being dug a short distance in advance. the burmese do not relieve their men in the trenches. those who occupy the line first made remain there. fresh men dig and occupy the next line, and so the advance is continued, until close to the work to be attacked. the system has the great advantage that a shell falling into one of these holes only kills its two occupants; instead of destroying many, as it might do if it fell in a continuous trench. in the afternoon the general returned to rangoon, leaving stanley at the pagoda, with orders to ride down should there be any change of importance. in the evening a considerable force of burmese issued from the jungle, and prepared to entrench themselves near the northeast angle of the pagoda hill. major piper therefore took two companies of the th and, descending the hill, drove the burmese, in confusion, back to the jungle. in the morning it was found that the enemy had entrenched themselves upon some high and open ground, within musket shot of the north gate of the pagoda. it was separated from the gate by a large tank; but as their jingals and musketry were able, from the point they occupied, to sweep the plateau and the huts occupied by the troops, a party of the th and the th madras infantry went out, and drove them off. as soon, however, as our troops fell back the burmese reoccupied the position and, for the next few days, a constant skirmishing went on at this point; while an artillery fire was maintained, by the assailants and defenders, along the whole line down to rangoon, and the enemy's batteries at dalla kept up an incessant fire on the shipping. kemmendine was attacked time after time, and many attempts made to launch fire rafts down the river. the work was very harassing for the troops. night and day they were expecting an attack in force; and there was a general feeling of delight when, on the evening of the th, orders were issued for a general movement against the enemy. the latter had, by this time, brought the greater portion of their guns up from the jungle, and placed them in their entrenchments; and it was therefore in the power of the british to strike a heavy blow. a division of the flotilla of gunboats was ordered up the creek by the town. these opened a heavy fire upon the enemy's flank, thus attracting their attention to that point and, after the cannonade had continued for some little time, the two columns of attack--the one eight hundred strong, under major sale; the other five hundred, under major walker of the madras army--issued out. the latter was to attack the enemy facing the town, the former to force his way through the centre of their position. he had with him a troop of horse, that had landed only the previous day. major walker's force was the first to encounter the enemy. their resistance was, for a time, obstinate. major walker and several other officers fell, in the attack on the first line of entrenchments; but the soldiers carried it at the point of the bayonet and, as the enemy broke and retreated, followed them so hotly that the works in the rear fell into their hands with but slight opposition. major sale's column now began its attack on the enemy's centre. here the resistance was more feeble and, bursting through the enemy's lines, the british drove them before them in headlong flight. then, turning, they swept along the line of entrenchments; carrying all before them until they effected a junction with the other column, which was advancing to meet them. they then drove the burmese from every part of their works into the jungle, leaving the ground behind them covered with dead and wounded. except at the point first attacked by major walker, the resistance of the burmese was very feeble, and the british loss inconsiderable; and a large number of guns, entrenching tools, and muskets fell into the hands of the victors. the next day bandoola rallied the troops that had been driven from the plain, and gathered the greatest part of his force in the forest round the pagoda, where they continued to push forward their works with unabated energy. the british had a day of rest given them and, on the th, prepared to attack the enemy at this point. four columns of attack were formed, composed of detachments drawn from all the corps of the army. in the morning a heavy cannonade was opened upon the jungle; the artillery being assisted by several heavy guns which had, with great labour, been brought up by the sailors from the ships to the pagoda. the enemy returned it with a steady fire of light artillery, jingals, and musketry. while the firing was still going on, the four columns were already in motion. one had entered the jungle on the enemy's left, and another on the right. one of the central columns advanced from the foot of the pagoda hill, while the th regiment descended the stairs from the north gate and advanced, one wing on each side of the tank, against the enemy's entrenchments on the high ground. as the four columns approached the enemy, our artillery fire ceased. the burmese appeared, for a moment, bewildered at the sight of their foes advancing against them from so many directions, but they soon opened a very heavy fire upon the assailants; and kept it up with undiminished steadiness until our troops, advancing at the charge, dashed into their entrenchments and drove them headlong before them into the thick forest behind--where pursuit, which would at any time have been difficult, was now impossible; the troops, exhausted by their seven days' and nights' watching, being wholly incapable of following their active and lightly-armed enemies. there now remained but the force at dalla to cope with and, in the evening, a force composed of the th and rd madras infantry, under colonel parlby, embarked in boats. the night was dark, and the troops crossed unobserved. the alarm was not given until the british actually entered the entrenchments, and opened fire upon the enemy; who were sitting, unsuspicious of danger, round their fires. scarcely any opposition was encountered, and the whole of the works, with the guns and the stores, were soon in our hands; while the enemy were flying towards the forest. in the actions during these three days, the burmese lost some men, pieces of artillery of every kind, and a great number of muskets and vast supplies of ammunition; while the british had but killed and wounded. great numbers of bandoola's men never rejoined the army, and the whole force was dispersed through the country. bandoola himself was retiring towards donabew, with but a remnant of his army, when he met considerable reinforcements on their way to join him. during his operations he had left a reserve corps at the village of kokein, four miles from the pagoda; and these had been busily entrenching the position, which commanded the road leading from rangoon to donabew. the ground was elevated and, on his arrival there, bandoola set his troops--now some , in number--to aid in the work. in a marvellously short time the heights were completely stockaded with trunks of trees; and with a broad, deep ditch in front. beyond this were lines of felled trees, their heads pointing outwards and each branch sharpened--forming a very formidable abattis--and, believing this to be impregnable, bandoola awaited the attack of the british. as soon as his army had been dispersed, great numbers of deserters, and of the inhabitants of the villages, poured into rangoon. with the deserters were mingled a good many of the troops sent in by bandoola, himself, with instructions to fire the town. in order to lull the suspicions of the british, he caused a report to be spread that an imperial commissioner from the court of ava would arrive, in the course of a few days, to treat for terms of peace. the general, however, determined to attack bandoola before the commissioner could arrive; as it was evident that better terms could be obtained, after the total dispersion of the burmese, than if their famous general remained, with , men, in a formidable position close at hand. he was uneasy at the presence of so large a number of natives in the town, and the precautions that had been taken against fire, some time before, were now redoubled. were one to break out, not only might the whole of the stores collected for the advance of the army be destroyed but, if bandoola had his force gathered in readiness at the edge of the jungle, he might take advantage of the confusion that would be caused by the fire, and rush forward to the attack of the town. numbers of troops, and of sailors from the fleet, patrolled the streets in every direction at night but, in spite of their efforts, a week after the retreat of bandoola the dreaded cry of fire was raised. at a dozen points, on the windward side of the town, fires had been lighted by incendiaries and, as there was a brisk wind blowing, the danger was extreme. the drums beat to arms along the whole of the british lines. orders had already been issued as to what was to be done in such an emergency and, while a portion of the troops lined the trenches, the rest were marched at once to the town, and formed up between it and the jungle, to repel any attack that might be made there; leaving the troops quartered in the town, and the sailors of the fleet to battle with the flames. for a time it seemed as if the whole place would be swept away but, by levelling lines of huts, and beating out the flames at the barrier so formed, their progress was at length checked; but not until more than half the town had been destroyed. fortunately this was the half farthest from the river and--with the exception of the commissariat stores for the supply of the troops of the madras presidency--the buildings containing the food, ammunition, and necessaries for the army escaped unharmed. what had happened once might, however, happen again, in spite of all precautions. the general therefore determined to attack bandoola at once as, were his force once scattered, the motive for these incendiary fires would cease to operate. the difficulties were formidable. one or two light field pieces could, at the most, be taken with the column. they would have to march by a narrow and winding footpath, through a thick forest, exposed at any moment to a desperate attack by the enemy. moreover, it would be necessary to leave a strong force for the defence of rangoon, as bandoola would be sure to learn, from his spies, of the intended movement and, having with him men intimately acquainted with every forest track, could make a rush down upon the town during the absence of so many of its defenders. the general felt it imperative, however, to attack without delay and, early on the morning of the th, he moved out with a force of men against kokein. they marched without molestation through the forest and, on reaching its confines, could see the truly formidable nature of the works that they were to attack. the moment they issued from the forest, a dropping fire was opened upon them by parties of the enemy, in flank and rear; and no time was lost in preparing for the assault. the th light infantry and the th madras, with cavalry, under brigadier general cotton, were ordered to move round the stockade and assault it on the left rear; while the rest of the troops, some strong, with cavalry under the general himself, were to attack in front. the enemy's works consisted of a central entrenchment, connected with two large entrenched stockades on its flank, but somewhat advanced in front of it. as soon as the force under general cotton had gained its position in the rear of the enemy, a gun was fired, and the whole force moved forward to the assault.. the burmans regarded the attack by so insignificant a force upon their works with such contempt that they did not, for some time, fire a shot; but continued chanting a war song, swaying themselves to its cadence, stamping and beating time with their hands on their breasts. this delay proved fatal to them. when they opened fire, their assailants were already close to the ditch and, leaping down into this, were sheltered from the fire of the defenders. scaling ladders were speedily placed and the troops, running up them, leaped down into the entrenchment. astounded at this sudden entry into the works they had deemed impregnable, the burmese hesitated; and the assailants, being joined by their comrades from behind, rushed impetuously upon the enemy. the column in the rear had greater difficulty--for they had several strong stockades to carry before they reached the central work--and lost four officers and eight men killed, and forty-nine officers and men wounded, in the th regiment alone. fifteen minutes after the first shot was fired, the whole of the works were in our possession and the burmese, who gathered in a confused mass, had been decimated by our volleys. they were now in full flight, many being cut down by the cavalry before they reached the shelter of the woods. the british troops marched back to rangoon; while the burmese retreated to donabew, leaving strong posts on the two rivers leading in that direction. their retirement left it free to the country people to return to rangoon, and very large numbers came in, including very many of the villagers who had been forced to fight against us. all had alike suffered from famine and hardship. even the women had been compelled to labour in the work of stockading, and the sufferings of all had been terrible. the work of rebuilding the town began at once, and the wooden huts sprang up with great rapidity; markets were opened and, in a short time, supplies of fish, fruit, game, and vegetables poured in; sufficient not only for the native population, but to effect a most welcome change in the diet of the troops. as most of the natives were accustomed to the construction and management of boats, the work of preparing the flotilla by which the troops were to proceed up the rivers went on rapidly; and numbers of men were hired as servants and drivers for the commissariat--with which the force was very insufficiently supplied, as the natives of india of that class for the most part refused, on account of their caste prejudices, to engage themselves for service across the sea. reinforcements arrived; and rangoon, which but six weeks before presented a miserable and deserted appearance was, towards the beginning of january, a cheerful and bustling town. preparations were being made in other quarters to assume the offensive. some men were driving the burmese out of assam; and a force strong was marching from sylhet, to expel them from cachar and capture manipur; while , men were assembled at chittagong, and were advancing into aracan with the intention of driving the burmese from that province--and they meant, if possible, to cross the mountains and effect a junction with sir archibald campbell's force. the first part of the operations were conducted with complete success, and aracan wrested from burma; but it was found impossible to perform the terrible journey across mountain and swamp, or to afford any aid to the main expedition. chapter : the advance. but while the preparations for the advance were being made, the general's aides-de-camp had been kept at work from morning until night. there were constant communications between the military and naval authorities, for the expedition was to be a mixed one. transports were daily arriving with troops and stores; innumerable matters connected with the organization, both of the land and water transport, required to be arranged; and the general himself was indefatigable in superintending every detail of the work. it had been settled that the advance could not take place until the second week in february, as the roads would be impassable until that time, and the th was fixed for the commencement of operations. upon the day after his arrival at rangoon, stanley had written a letter to his uncle; giving him a brief account of his adventures, and stating that he had been appointed one of the general's aides-de-camp. he said that he should, of course, be guided by his uncle's wishes; but that now that he had entered on the campaign as an officer, he should certainly like to remain till the end, when he would at once resign his commission and rejoin him. he sent this to his uncle's agent at calcutta, but received no answer until the end of december. after expressing his delight at hearing that stanley had not, as he had supposed, been killed at ramoo, but was now safe and well in the british camp, he went on: "i only received your letter this morning, for i have been moving about from point to point and, owing to the falling off of trade, had no occasion to go to calcutta, until now; and was, indeed, astounded at finding your letter lying for me here, as they had not forwarded it, having no idea where i was, and knowing that the chance of any letter sent on reaching me was extremely small. "by all means, lad, stop where you are. trade is improving again for, now that bandoola's army has marched away from ramoo, the scare among the natives has pretty well subsided. still, i can manage very well without you, and it will certainly be a great advantage to you to serve for a year in the army; and to have been one of campbell's aides-de-camp will be a feather in your cap, and will give you a good position at all the military stations. "i am very glad, now, that i abstained from writing to your mother after the battle at ramoo. i thought it over and over, and concluded that it was just as well to leave the matter alone for a time; not that i had the slightest idea, or even a hope, that you were alive, but because i thought that the cessation of letters from you would, to some extent, prepare her mind for the blow, when it came. it would be very improbable that she would see the gazette, with the list of killed and wounded at ramoo and, even if she did so, she would not associate the death of ensign brooke in any way with you. when we have been trading up country, there have been, once or twice, no means of sending off a letter for a couple of months and, therefore, she could not have begun to feel seriously anxious about you before she received your letter from rangoon. "everyone says that you will not be able to advance until february; so that, no doubt, this letter will reach you long before you leave. i hear the losses have been very heavy, from fever; but i am not anxious about you on that score, for i think that you are thoroughly acclimatised. i am trying to get a contract for the supply of a couple of thousand bullocks, for the use of the army; and as i know all the country so well, from chittagong to sylhet, and can buy below indian prices, i think that i shall not only get the contract, but make a very good thing of it, and it may lead to other matters." after this, stanley was hardly surprised when, in the last week of january, his uncle walked into his quarters. after the first pleasure of meeting was over, stanley said: "i suppose you have got the contract, uncle?" "i have, lad. i have come down from ramgur with six dhows, packed full. i have brought a thousand head down and, directly i land them, am going back for the remainder; which will be ready for me by the time i get there. "i have got hold of an uncommonly good fellow. he was established as a small trader at chittagong. his business was ruined there, and he was glad to accept my offer of a berth; and he has turned out a very energetic and pushing fellow. he will come down with the next consignment. "i myself am going to work my way up along the edge of the tipperah forest; and shall pick up another thousand head, by the time that i get to the goomtee, and shall send them by water up to sylhet; and then go up by land, picking up more on the way. i have a contract for five thousand to be sent in, a thousand a month, for the force that is to move against manipur; while johnson is to send another two thousand down here. so you see, for the present the store business can wait. it is a good line that i have got into. i shall make a big profit out of it, and have hopes that it will be, to some extent, permanent; for i can get the cattle so cheap in the interior, on the rivers we know, that i can ship them to calcutta at lower terms than they can buy them in india; and i was as much as told that, if i carried out my present contracts satisfactorily, i should get the supply of the troops there. of course, that would not be a very great thing of itself but, as i could work it without trouble in connection with my own business, it would make a handsome addition to the profits." "but how about money, uncle?" "that is all right, lad. i had no difficulty, whatever, in getting an advance at calcutta, on the strength of my contract and upon the guarantee of my agents; so that i am all right, in that respect." "i asked, uncle, because i can let you have eighteen hundred pounds, if you want them." tom pearson looked at him in astonishment. "why, what on earth have you been doing--robbing the treasury of the king of ava?" "no, uncle. i had a bag of gems given me, by some burmese bandits. when i got down here, i took a few of them to a merchant. he advanced fifteen hundred rupees on them, and sent them to burragee, the jeweller at madras and, six weeks afterwards, he paid me another three thousand five hundred. i sent up another batch and, last week, i got an order from the jewellers for fifteen hundred pounds; so that i have more than eighteen hundred in hand now, and i don't think that i have sent more than a third of the gems away." "well, that is a piece of luck, stanley! why on earth did the brigands give you the gems?" "well, uncle, they are things that, from what they told me, there is great difficulty and risk in trying to dispose of. they are a royal monopoly, and nobody dare buy them or, if they do, will give next to nothing for them; because of the risk of the transaction, and because they know that the vendors are in a fix, and must sell. besides, there is a strong chance of their handing over anyone who offers such things to the authorities. that was one reason why they gave them to me. then, too, they had made a good haul of merchandise which was, to them, a great deal more valuable, as there was no difficulty in disposing of it. lastly, they had taken a fancy to me, because i saved one of their comrade's lives--the man who showed you up here." "well, lad, you shall tell me all about it, this evening. i must be going down to the commissariat yard, to arrange the landing of my beasts. i came straight to see you, directly i landed. we dropped anchor here at daybreak." "i will go with you, uncle. i will run in and see the chief, first, and get leave off for the day. i have earned a holiday, for i have been at work pretty well morning, noon, and night for the last two months. you see, i have not only the duties of aide-de-camp, but of interpreter; and have helped both the quartermaster's department and the commissariat in making their arrangements with the natives. i daresay i shall be able to help to hurry your business on, quicker than you would be able to get it done, alone." the general at once granted stanley leave, and he went with his uncle down to the commissariat office, and introduced him to the senior officer. "we shall be glad to do all in our power to help you, mr. pearson," the officer said. "we have been expecting your arrival for the last week. of course, we heard from calcutta that you had the contract for two thousand head; at least half of these were to be delivered by the tenth of february. we were getting rather anxious about it. the force will probably want to start, before that time; and we shall have to victual both the land and water columns. of course, i did not know that you were a relation of mr. brooke, or i should have mentioned to him that you were likely to come." "i should like to get off as soon as possible," tom pearson said; "for by the time that i get back to ramgur, the rest of the cattle will be in readiness for me." "i will write you an order for four large boats, at once. if you had come three weeks sooner, you might have been kept waiting some days; but such a number of native craft have, of late, come down the rivers that we are enabled to get sufficient for our work." the officer gave him a note to the one in charge of the landing arrangements. "it is lucky that you have come just at this moment," the latter said. "we have just made our last trip with the baggage of the th, and i have six boats disengaged. you may as well take them all." the craft in question were some of those that had been captured--unwieldy craft, that took fish and salt up the river. they were almost as large as the dhows in which the cattle had been brought down, but drew very much less water. they were towed off to the dhows, one by one, by two captured war canoes, each having thirty rowers. one was taken to each dhow, and the work of transhipping the cattle began at once. these were in good condition for, although closely packed, they had been well supplied with food and water on the way down; and a herdsman with four men under him had been sent, in each boat, to take care of them, as tom pearson was very anxious that his first consignment should be reported upon favourably. the animals were all landed in the course of the afternoon and, with the acknowledgment of their receipt, in excellent order, in his pocket, the contractor went off again, with stanley, to his own dhow. "i have told them to have everything in readiness to drop down the river with the tide, tomorrow morning. it will turn just about sunrise. that is a rare bit of business, stanley; and i doubt if a contractor ever got his work through so quickly, before. of course, it is principally due to you. they would never have pushed things through so quickly, had you not gone with me. i thought that very likely i might be detained here a week, before i could get all the cattle on shore--and by that time, if all goes well, i shall be at ramgur again. "now we can have a comfortable evening's talk, which is very much better than my going to dine with you at mess; for there is a great deal to hear about, and i daresay that i can give you as good a dinner as we should have had, on shore." "a good deal better," stanley said. "things have improved immensely, during the last month; still our mess cook is certainly not so good as your man and, at any rate, the quiet of your cabin makes a very pleasant change, after always sitting down with a large party." after dinner was over, stanley gave a full account of his adventures, from the time that he was taken prisoner. "you have done wonderfully well for yourself, lad; wonderfully well. certainly when you picked up burmese from my man, we had no idea that it was ever likely to turn out so useful. i thought that it would have been an assistance among the mugs on the coast; and i had, too, some idea that the war might lead to the opening of a trade up the irrawaddy; but it has turned out infinitely more useful than that. if you could not have spoken burmese, bandoola would never have thought of asking for you to be spared as an interpreter and, if he had not done so, you would have had your head chopped off, at ava. "of course that leopard business was the turning point of your fortunes but, though it has turned out so well, i must say that i hardly think that you were justified in risking your life in such a desperate act for a native; who might, for aught you know, be already dead. of course, it was a most gallant action; but the betting was ten to one against your succeeding. however, as it turned out, it was a fortunate business, altogether. i don't say that you might not have made your way down to rangoon, unaided; but the odds would have been very heavily against it. however, these rubies were a windfall, indeed." "will you take the rest of them, uncle, and sell them at calcutta--or shall i send them to madras, or home to england?" "i will take them with me to calcutta, if you like, stanley. i don't say that there are better men there than the one you sent to, at madras; but i think some of them do a larger business up-country with the native princes, who don't care what they give for good gems. at any rate, i will take them there and get them valued by an expert; and then try two or three of the leading firms, and get their offers. if these are as high as the value put on them by the expert, i would send them to england, through my agents, who would do the best they could for you." "for us, uncle. of course, it is all in the partnership business. you have just got some contracts that will pay well and, while you have been doing that, i have been getting hold of these rubies." "i don't think that that is fair, stanley," his uncle said, gravely. "it seems to me perfectly fair; and besides, the money put into the business will make a lot of difference, and will certainly pay me a great deal better than it would in any other way. i sent home pounds for my mother, directly the money came from calcutta; and told her that i hoped to be able to send home at least as much, every year." "a good deal more, lad, if you like. i calculate these contracts that i have got will bring in a pound a head so that, by the time that the war is over, i hope to have cleared pounds, which will be about what you will make by your rubies; and when trade begins again, we shall be in a position to do it on a big scale. but i still think that it will not be fair to take that money." "well, uncle, if you won't take it, i certainly won't have anything to do with the money that you make, while i am away; so please don't let us say anything more about it. shall i give you that eighteen hundred now; or will you have an order upon the paymaster, in calcutta?" "that would be the best way, if you will have it so, lad. i have left money with johnson, at ramgur, for the next herd that is to come down here; and have orders from my agent on their agents, at dalla, for those that i am going to buy for the manipur column. so i don't want the money now and, suppose the dhow were to be lost going up, the cash might go with it. so, do you get the order. you had better send it straight to bothron; and tell him to collect it, and credit it to my account. "how long do you think that this business is going to last?" "it depends how far we have to go before the burmese decide that they have had enough of it. at present, the general hope is that, as soon as we arrive at prome, they will give in. if they don't we may have to go up to ava and, in that case, we may not finish it until this time next year; for i suppose operations will have to come to a stop, when the wet season begins again, and we could hardly reach ava before that." "i expect, some day, we shall have to take the whole country, stanley. you may frighten the court into submission, when you approach the capital; but i fancy they will never keep to the terms that we shall insist upon, and that there will have to be another expedition. that is generally our way--it was so at mysore, it has been so in a dozen other places. when we have done all the work, and have got them at our mercy, we give them comparatively easy terms. as soon as they recover from the effects of their defeat, they set to work again to prepare for another tussle; and then we have all the expense and loss of life to incur, again, and then end by annexing their territory, which we might just as well have done in the first place. it may be all very well to be lenient, when one is dealing with a european enemy; but magnanimity does not pay when you have to do with orientals, who don't care a rap for treaty engagements, and who always regard concessions as being simply a proof of weakness. "there would not be half the difficulty in annexing burma that there would be, in the case of a large province in india; for all the towns, and most even of their villages, lie on rivers, and a couple of dozen gunboats would suffice to keep the whole country in order. you will see that that is what we shall have to do, some day; but it will cost us two or three expeditions to do what might just as well be done, now." "well, uncle, it is nearly twelve o'clock and, as i shall be on duty at six, i think i had better be going. i wish that you could have stayed for another two or three days, and paid a visit to the pagoda and camps. i am very glad that i have had a sight of you again, though it's a very short one." "i should be glad to stay another day or two, stanley; but it is really of importance for me to get down to ramgur, as soon as i can, and send johnson off with the cattle; for i want to set about buying the herds for the other column, as quickly as possible. i think i have left myself a fair margin of time, but there is nothing like promptitude in delivery, and i want to get a good name, for future business; and if this affair here is going to last another twelve-month, regular supplies must be sent up for, as beef is forbidden by the burmese religion, they keep no cattle except for draught purposes, and the army must get their bullocks by sea." five minutes later stanley was rowed ashore. the next morning he accompanied the general, and went down to inspect the newly-arrived cattle. "they are a capital lot," he said to stanley, "decidedly the best that we have had, yet. you see, it is a good deal shorter voyage, from ramgur, than from either calcutta or madras; and the animals probably had a much shorter land journey before they were shipped. then, too, as your uncle came down himself they were, no doubt, much better looked after than usual on the voyage. however, i will take care to mention, when i write next to calcutta, that the cattle are far above the average; and i shall be glad if they will arrange for such further supplies as we may require from the same source." "thank you, sir; that will be a great help to my uncle. hitherto he has had very uphill work of it; though he was beginning to get on very well, when the war put a stop to trade. he knows the whole country so thoroughly that he can certainly buy up cattle at many places where no european trader, save himself, has ever penetrated." "no doubt, brooke; and i hope, for your sake, that he will succeed well in this contracting business. he has certainly made an excellent start and, as he is first in the field in the country between assam and ramgur, he ought to make a good thing of this opportunity that has fallen in his way. i know that it takes a long time to build up a business but, when the foundation is laid, and a man is quick in taking advantage of an opportunity, he can do as much in a year as he might do in twenty, without it. "now, i am going over to the lines of the th, to see how they have shaken down into them." this regiment had brought out tents for, as every building was already occupied, it was necessary that they should be put under canvas. the general found that everything was arranged in order, and the encampment certainly presented a pleasing contrast to the irregular, and often crowded quarters of the troops who had passed the wet season there. the colonel and three of his officers dined with the general, that evening; the party being made up of the military staff, including the two aides-de-camp. two days later stanley, with some of the other members of the staff, dined at the th mess. stanley was introduced to several of the officers; and these were specially desirous of making his acquaintance, as they had learned that he had been a prisoner at ava, and could therefore tell them much more than they had hitherto learned of the country into which they were about to advance. among them was a young lieutenant, also of the name of brooke. stanley had, three weeks before, attained the same rank. at the time that he was appointed to the rd, there were already several death vacancies in the regiment, and disease and fighting had carried off six more officers. the whole of the ensigns had consequently obtained their step. at dinner he found himself placed next to his namesake. "it is curious, our having the same name," the other remarked, as he sat down. "it is not a very common one." "no, i have not met anyone of the same name, before," stanley said. "indeed, until the affair at ramoo i was nearly three years trading with an uncle of mine, up the rivers; and was not much in the way of falling in with white men. but, before that, i had been with my father in a good many stations in india; but i do not, as far as i can remember, recollect meeting anyone of the same name." "then your father was in the service, too?" "yes. he was a captain in the th native infantry." "indeed," the other said in surprise, "then we are connections. but i had no idea that captain brooke was ever married." "he was married just after he came out to india," stanley said; "so it is likely enough that you would never have heard of it. he died three years ago, and my mother and sisters are now in england. what is the connection between us? i have never heard my father speak much of his family." "your father was a cousin of mine--second cousin, i think. i fancy there was some row between your grandfather and the rest of the family. i don't know anything about the right or wrongs of it; for it was, of course, many years before we were born; and i never heard of your father's existence, until a fortnight before i left england. then there were some inquiries made about the family, owing to various deaths that took place in it. do you know that your father was related--distantly of course--to the earl of netherly?" "i do remember his mentioning it, once. i know he said that it was a distant connection; and that he knew nothing, whatever, about the earl or his family." "well, curiously enough, it is not so distant, now," the other said. "i was a pretty distant connection of his. he was childless; and the family, generally, don't seem to have been prolific. a good many of them died; and the result was that, the year before i left england, an uncle of mine succeeded to the title. he has no son, and my father was his next brother. my father died, two years ago; and the result is that, to my astonishment, i found that i was next heir to the title. they wanted me to leave the army, when my regiment was ordered out to india; but of course i was not going to do that, for my aunt may die, and my uncle marry again and have children. besides, i was not going to leave, anyhow, just as the regiment was ordered abroad, and might see service. "however, there was a great hunting by the lawyers in the genealogical tree; and i know it was decided that, in case anything happened to me, your father would have been the next heir, had he been alive. i don't know whether any further inquiries were made, or whether they ever ascertained that he had married. i don't suppose there were for, of course, as long as i live the matter is of no importance. "so that, as things stand now, if a burmese bullet puts an end to my career, you are the next heir to the title." "you surprise me, indeed," stanley said. "from the way my father spoke of the matter, i am sure that he had not the slightest idea there was any likelihood, whatever, that he would have any chance of succeeding to the title." "that i can well imagine, for it was not until a few years ago, when the deaths of several who stood between him and the succession occurred, that my uncle regarded his coming into it as a matter worth thinking about; and of course all our family stood between it and your father. however, as you see we have dwindled away and, if i do not get safely through this business, you are the next heir." "it is curious news to hear, at a dinner in burma," stanley said, thoughtfully. "at any rate, i can assure you honestly that the news gives me no particular satisfaction. i suppose it would be a nice thing, to come in for a peerage; but my prospects out here are good. i have no intention of staying in the army, after the end of the war; and am really in partnership with my uncle, with whom i have been for the last three years in business, which is turning out very well. i like the life, and have every chance of making enough to retire on, with ample means. certainly, i should not like to come into the title by the death of anyone that i knew." "that is the fortune of war," the other said, smiling. "we get our steps by death vacancies. we are sorry for the deaths, but the steps are not unwelcome. "by the way, my name is harry. i know that yours is stanley. i vote that we call each other by them. we are cousins, you know, and i suppose that as you are my heir, you must be my nearest male relation, at present; so i vote that we call each other by our christian names, instead of brookeing each other, always." "i shall be very glad to do so," stanley said, cordially. "i hope that we shall be close friends, as well as distant relations." then, as there was a momentary lull in the conversation, harry raised his voice and said to the colonel: "a very curious thing has just happened, colonel. brooke and myself have just discovered that we are cousins and, what is still more curious, that if anything happens to me, he takes my place as next heir to my uncle, a fact of which he was entirely ignorant." "that is certainly a very curious coincidence, brooke; very singular. then you have not met before?" "i did not even know of his existence, colonel; and had, indeed, no idea that captain brooke, his father, had been married. the cousinship is a distant one; but there is no question, whatever, as to his being next in succession to myself to the peerage." the discovery excited general interest; and quite turned the conversation, for the time, from the subject of the war and of their approaching advance. after dinner was finished, many of the officers gathered round stanley, asking him questions about the nature of the country, and his experiences as a captive in the hands of the burmese. presently colonel adair, who had also dined at the mess, joined the group. "i suppose, mr. brooke," he said, "your newly-found cousin has told you about his adventure with the leopard?" "no, colonel, he has not said anything about a leopard." "he is grievously afflicted with modesty," the colonel went on; "and so i will tell it for him, for i think you ought to know that he is not only able to speak half a dozen languages, but that he is capable of doing deeds of exceptional gallantry. "you can go and chat with the colonel, brooke. he is anxious to hear your report as to the country, and i will be your trumpeter here." stanley gladly moved away, and entered into conversation with the colonel of the th; while colonel adair related his adventures with the leopard to his cousin, and the officers standing round. "by jove, that was a plucky thing!" harry brooke said, admiringly. "it was, indeed!" the colonel agreed, as similar exclamations went round the circle. "i don't think one man in a hundred would have attacked a leopard with no weapon but a knife, except to save the life of a comrade; even then, it would be a most desperate action. i have done a good deal of big-game shooting, in india; but i am certain that nothing but a strong affection, for a comrade in the grasp of a leopard, would induce me to risk almost certain death in the way your cousin did. we should never have heard of it, if we had not got the details from the man he saved, and who has since attached himself to him as a servant; and is the man who, as i daresay he did tell you, served as his companion and guide in making his way down here. at any rate you see, brooke, your cousin is an uncommonly fine young fellow, and you have reason to be proud of the relationship." "i feel so, colonel; and it is really a pleasure to know that, if one does go down, a thoroughly good fellow will benefit by it, instead of some unknown person who might be a very objectionable representative of the family." for the next three or four days, the bustle of preparations went on and, on the fifth, a detachment was sent up, with a sloop and gunboats, to attack an advanced position of the enemy on the lyne river. although the burmese, who were posted in a strong stockade, were supported by thirty-six guns; the works were carried by storm, with little loss. the two branches of the pellang (or rangoon) river, by which the force were to advance against donabew were, on the following day, reconnoitred for some distance. a number of fire rafts were destroyed, but the burmese were too disheartened to offer any resistance. to the disappointment of the troops, the general was able to take with him only a limited force; for the difficulties of carriage were enormous and, as experience had shown that the country was likely to be deserted, and devastated, on their approach; it was, therefore, impossible for the bulk of the army to be taken on, by land. there were other points, however, where the troops left behind could be profitably employed. the capture of the important town of bassein, on the main branch of the irrawaddy, would open the river to the passage of our ships, and put an entire stop to the trade of ava. the force told off for the advance against donabew was divided into two columns. the first, strong--consisting of the th, st, and th regiments, three native battalions, the troop of bodyguard; a battery of bengal horse artillery, and part of the rocket company--was to march by land. the second column, which was to proceed by water, was strong; and it consisted of the th regiment, the th madras europeans, and of the th native infantry; a body of dismounted artillery, and the rest of the rocket company. this force was commanded by brigadier general cotton. it was to be carried in a flotilla of sixty-two boats, each armed with one or two guns; and the boats of all the ships of war at rangoon, under the command of captain alexander, r. n. major sale was, at the same time, to advance against bassein; with men of the th regiment, and the th madras native infantry, with some artillery. after occupying the town, he was to cross the country lying between the two main arms of the irrawaddy, and to join the general's force near donabew. the rest of the force--nearly men, chiefly native regiments and europeans who had not, as yet, recovered sufficient strength to take part in field operations--was to remain at rangoon, under brigadier general m'creigh; who was to form a reserve column, in readiness to move as directed, as soon as sufficient transport was collected. it was to the water force that the capture of donabew was intrusted, as it lay upon the opposite bank of the irrawaddy; while the general's force was directed against tharawa, at the junction of the two main branches of the river. here they were to be joined by general cotton's force, after the capture of donabew; then, unless the court of ava sued for peace, a united advance was to be made on the important town of prome. chapter : donabew. stanley brooke did not accompany the land column, as the general said to him, two days before: "i have been speaking with general cotton, and he said that he should be glad if i would attach you to his staff, until the force unites again. not one of his staff officers speaks burmese and, although he has two or three interpreters with him, it will be better, if bandoola sends in an officer offering to surrender, that he should be met by a british officer. "in the next place, it may be necessary for him to communicate with me and, assuredly, with your experience of the country, you would be able to get through better than anyone else. i do not apprehend that there would be any great danger, for we know that every available fighting man has been impressed, by bandoola; and the passage of our column will completely cow the villagers lying between us and the river. "i suppose," he said, with a smile, "that you have no objection, since it will save you a long and, i have no doubt, a very unpleasant march; and you will also obtain a view of the affairs at the stockades at pellang and donabew." the land column started on the th of february, the water column on the th, and the detachment for bassein sailed on the following day. stanley was delighted at being appointed to accompany the boat column. the march through the country would present no novelty to him, and it was probable that the land column would encounter no serious resistance until, after being joined by general cotton's force, it advanced against prome. his horses went, with those of general cotton and his staff, under charge of the syce and meinik. the one steamboat kept, at the start, in rear of the great flotilla of boats so that, in case of any of them striking on a sandbank, it could at once move to her assistance, and pull her off. the scene was a very bright one as, in all, upwards of a hundred craft, of various sizes, proceeded together. in front were half a dozen gunboats; next to these came the two sloops of war; followed by the rest of the boats, proceeding in irregular order. there was very little stream, for the rivers were now quite low and, although the flat country was still little more than a swamp, the rains in the hills that supplied the main body of water to them had long since ceased. the ships' boats were, of course, rowed by the blue-jackets. the other craft were, for the most part, manned by natives; though the soldiers on board occasionally lent a hand. two days after starting, the boats destroyed three newly-erected stockades, that were found unoccupied; and on the th reached pellang, where three very strong stockades had been erected. a battery was thrown up next day from which, as well as from the steamboat and sloops of war, shells were thrown into the stockade; with such effect that two of the enemy's works were evacuated, as soon as the troops took the offensive, and the main pellang stockade was also abandoned, without resistance. the two smaller works were destroyed, and a portion of the th madras infantry was left here, to maintain communication with rangoon. on the th the flotilla entered the main stream and, the next day, the advance came in sight of donabew. it was another five days before the whole force was in position, for several of the most heavily laden craft stuck fast on the sandbanks at the fork of the river. the next day donabew was summoned to surrender. bandoola, who was at the head of , men, returned a refusal; which was given in courteous terms, differing very widely from the haughty and peremptory language in which all previous communications had been couched. the next day a party of the th landed on the low-lying ground between the main stockade and the river and, in spite of the heavy fire, succeeded in ascertaining the strength and nature of the defences. the main work was in the form of a parallelogram, about a mile long, and stood on ground rising above the general level; and fifty pieces of cannon, of various sizes, were in position on the river face. two outworks, constructed of square beams of timber, with an outer ditch and a thick abbatis, defended the southern face against an attack from an enemy landing below it. it was necessary to leave a strong guard on board the flotilla, lest an attack should be made by war canoes and fire rafts. the general, therefore, had not more than men available for the assault. as the enemy's guns completely commanded the river, it was necessary to land below it; and on the morning of the th the troops were disembarked, with two six-pounder guns and a rocket detachment. forming in two columns, they advanced against the lower of the two covering stockades and, after an exchange of fire with the enemy, rushed forward and forced an entrance into it; although the enemy resisted with more resolution than they had, for some time, shown. prisoners were taken, and the rest of the defenders fled to the second work. two more guns and four mortars were landed and placed in position and, after the stockades had been shelled for a short time, a storming party--under captain rose--advanced to the assault. so heavy a fire was opened upon them that the little column was brought to a standstill, and forced to fall back; with the loss of its commander, and of captain cannon of the th, while most of the seamen with the storming party were either killed or wounded. this want of success, against a mere outwork, showed general cotton that--with the small force at his disposal--it would be worse than useless to renew the attack for, were the outwork carried, the loss would be so great that it would be hopeless to think of attacking bandoola's main position. he therefore determined to abstain from further attack, until reinforced. "now, mr. brooke," he said, as soon as the troops had been taken on board the boats again, "i must bring your services into requisition. this is just the contingency that we thought might possibly occur. i cannot advance up the river until donabew is taken, and i cannot attack the place with the force at my command. therefore i will at once write a despatch to general campbell, for you to carry. you will be accompanied by the two men of the bodyguard, who have come with me as orderlies. i shall have no use for them, here; and three of you, together, need not fear any molestation from the few people remaining in their villages, and may be able to cut your way through any of the bands of deserters, or beaten troops, dispersed over the country." "very well, general. i shall also take my burman, on my second charger. he may be useful in getting news as to roads from the natives; who will, as likely as not, fly into the jungle when they see us approaching. however, there is not much fear of our losing our way, as it will be along the river, as far as tharawa." a boat was at once sent off to the craft carrying the two orderlies and the horses of the staff. as soon as the despatch was written, stanley, after shaking hands with his companions, was also rowed to the horse barge. this was, at a signal of the general, taken in tow by the steamer, and piloted to the opposite bank. a boat, sounding ahead, presently found a spot where there was enough water for the barge to get alongside the bank. the horses were led ashore; and stanley, the two troopers, and meinik mounted. the burmese are poor riders but, during the wet season, stanley had often taken meinik, on his spare horse, when riding about in the camp; partly because he could trust him to look after the horses carefully, and in the second place to accustom him to ride on horseback so as to act, if required, as an orderly. meinik was quite of opinion that there would be no risk, whatever, in passing through villages; but thought it probable that they might fall in with disbanded troops, as it was known that the land column had, soon after starting, captured the fort of mophi; and that its garrison, between two and three thousand strong, had taken to the jungle and dispersed. "still, master," he said, "i don't think it likely that they will attack us. they will be expecting no one, and we shall come upon them by surprise; then they will run into the bushes, thinking that you must have many more troops behind you. no, it is not likely that they will have many guns; they would throw them away when they fled, partly to run faster through the forest, partly because most of them will be making off to the villages, hoping to lie concealed until the war is over; while if they had guns in their hands, it would be known that they were deserters, and they might be seized and sent across the river to bandoola, or up to prome." they rode some fifteen miles before dark, and then took up their quarters in a village. the few old men, women, and children inhabiting it fled, at their approach; but when meinik went to the edge of the jungle, and shouted out loudly that they need not fear, for that no harm would be done to any of them, and good prices would be given for food, two or three returned and, finding the statements to be true, one of them went into the jungle again, and brought the others back. fowls and eggs were brought into the hut that stanley occupied, and a good supply of grain for the horses was also purchased. thus, stanley was able to avoid breaking into the small stock of provisions they had brought with them. the inhabitants of this part of burma were a tribe known as carians. they were the tillers of the soil, and were an industrious and hardy race. the country was so rich that they not only raised sufficient for their own wants, but sent large supplies of grain and rice to ava. they were very heavily taxed but, as a rule, were exempt from conscription. nevertheless they had, on the present occasion, been forced to labour at the stockades, and in transporting food for the troops. their forest villages were small. they consisted of little huts, erected either in trees shorn of their branches, or upon very strong poles. these abodes were only accessible by rough ladders, formed by nailing pieces of wood across the trees or poles. this was absolutely necessary, on account of the number of tigers that infested the forest. the village where they had halted was, however, built upon the ground; but was surrounded by a strong stockade. the people assured stanley that none of the fugitives from mophi had come that way. there had, they said, been many, after bandoola's defeat; but they had seen none, of late. they declared that they had far greater fear of these than they had of the english; for that they plundered wherever they went and, if they could not obtain enough to satisfy their expectations, burnt the houses, and often killed many of the inhabitants. the villagers volunteered to keep watch all night, at the gate of the stockade; although they said that there was no fear of anyone approaching, as strangers could not find their way through the forest, in the dark and, even could they do so, the fear of tigers would prevent them from making the attempt. stanley agreed to pay some of them to watch, but also stationed one of his own men as sentry, relieving him every three hours. an hour after they reached the village, they saw one of the war boats rowing rapidly up the stream; and had no doubt that it was bearing a message from bandoola, saying that he had repulsed the attack of the british. beyond hearing the howling of tigers in the forest, stanley passed the night undisturbed, except when he went to change the sentry. meinik took his share of watching; and stanley, himself, relieved him an hour before daybreak. by the time the sun rose, the horses had been fed and breakfast taken. after riding some miles, the country became more open. cultivated fields succeeded the dense forest. the ground was higher, and little groups of huts could be seen, wherever a small elevation rose above the general level. the change was very welcome, for they were able to travel faster, and there was less chance of their coming suddenly upon a party of the disbanded troops. presently, just as they reached a larger village than usual, by the river bank, a thick smoke arose from one of the houses, and they could hear female screams. "come on!" stanley shouted, to the three men riding behind him. "see that your pistols are ready to hand, and draw your swords." illustration: stanley cut down the man who was about to fire the hut. this village was not, like the last, stockaded; being some miles away from the forest. as they dashed into it, they saw some twenty burmese. two women lay dead, in front of one house; and one of the men, with a torch, was about to fire another. absorbed in their own doings, the burmese did not notice the coming of the horsemen until the latter were close to them. then, with a cry of consternation, they turned to fly; but it was too late. stanley cut down the man who was about to fire the hut, and he and the others then fell upon the burmans, with sword and pistol. six of them were killed. the rest were pursued but, dashing down to the river, they plunged in, pistol shots being sent after them. stanley remained on the bank, until he saw that they had fairly started to cross the river, then he re-entered the village. two or three frightened people came out from their hiding places, when meinik shouted to them that all was safe. "they have all gone," he said, "you need not fear being disturbed by them again. see, there are six guns lying in the road; and you will find plenty of ammunition on those fellows that have fallen. there are some spears and swords, too. of course, you can do nothing if a number of these fellows come; but if there are only two or three, you and the women ought to be able to dispose of them. now we must ride on." on the third day they arrived at tharawa, and found that sir a. campbell, who had been assured by the natives that bandoola had retreated, had continued his march the day before. the place was so large that stanley thought it unsafe for them to sleep there, and they rode on to a little village, two miles away. here they were received with great deference, the passage of the troops the day before having profoundly impressed the villagers. after waiting three hours to rest the horses, they again mounted and, riding all night, arrived in the morning at yuadit--a village twenty-six miles from tharawa--and found the force on the point of starting. "no bad news, i hope, mr. brooke?" the general said, as he rode up to him. "i am sorry to say, sir, that my news is not good. here is the brigadier's despatch." "this is unfortunate, indeed," the general said, when he had run his eye over the document. "mr. tollemache, please to ride along the line, and say that the column is not to get into motion until further orders." colonel adair and the other officers of the staff had been on the point of mounting, when stanley rode up. the general called two or three of the senior officers to him. "cotton can neither take donabew, nor get past it," he said. "here is his despatch. you see, he has lost several officers and a good many men; and that in the assault on an outlying work, only. i am afraid that there is nothing for us to do, but go back to his assistance." "i am afraid not, sir," colonel adair said. "our supplies are running short already and, you see, we decided upon filling up all the carts at tharawa, where we made sure that we should be met by the boats. the country round here has been completely stripped, and it would be a very serious matter to endeavour to advance to prome, without supplies. moreover, we might expect a much more serious resistance than we have bargained for. the news that bandoola has repulsed his assailants--and you may be sure that this has been exaggerated into a great victory--will restore the spirit of the burmese. it is evident that we must turn back, and finish off with bandoola before we advance further." orders were accordingly sent, to the officers commanding the various corps, that the column was to retrace its steps and, while they passed through the village, stanley related, in much greater detail than had been given in the despatch, the events of the attack, and the nature of the defences at donabew. the troops marched along with a cheerful mien. it was, of course, an annoyance to have to plod back along the road they had before traversed but, upon the other hand, there was a general satisfaction that they were, after all, to take part in the capture of bandoola's last stronghold. colonel adair rode on with the little troop of cavalry. he was to push forward to tharawa, and was to offer rewards to the natives there for every boat brought in. there was little doubt that many of the fishermen had hauled up their craft into clumps of bushes and brush wood, to prevent their being requisitioned by bandoola and, although it was not likely that a large number would now be obtained, yet even if but a dozen were found, it would be of assistance. the rest of the force reached tharawa on the following evening, with the exception of a party left to protect the slow-moving waggons. they found that nine canoes had been obtained, and that a considerable portion of the scanty population had been, all day, employed in cutting bamboos and timber for rafts. the next morning the troops were all engaged on the same work, and in the construction of rafts; and at nightfall three hundred men of the th were taken across the river to the town of henzada, in case bandoola, on hearing of the preparations for crossing, should send a force to oppose the passage. it took four days' continuous labour to get the little army across, as it was necessary to make large timber rafts to carry the carts, horses and bullocks, guns and stores. hearing that a force was posted, some fifteen miles away, to intercept the detachment that was marching from bassein; colonel godwin, with a party, was sent off that night to endeavour to surprise it. the burmese, however, took the alarm before they were attacked; and scattered in all directions, without firing a shot. the army marched along the right bank, and arrived before donabew on the th of march. communications were opened with general cotton's force, below the town; and both divisions set to work to erect batteries. the burmese made several sorties to interrupt the work, and one of these was accompanied by bandoola's seventeen elephants. the troop of cavalry, horse artillery, and the rocket company charged close up to the elephants; and opened fire upon the howdahs, filled with troops, that they carried. in a short time most of these and the drivers were killed; and the elephants--many of which also had received wounds--dashed off into the jungle, while the infantry fled back into the stockade, into which a discharge of shells and rockets was maintained, all day. the next morning--the st of april--the mortar batteries were completed; and these, and others armed with light guns, kept up a continuous fire into the enemy's camp. at daybreak on the nd, the heavy guns of the breaching batteries also opened fire and, in a very short time, the enemy were seen pouring out in the rear of their works, and making their way into the jungle. as there had been no idea that they would so speedily evacuate the stockade, no preparations had been made for cutting them off; and the garrison, therefore, effected their escape with but little loss. the troops at once occupied the work, and found large stores of grain and ammunition there, as well as a great number of guns. from some of the wounded burmans, it was ascertained that the evacuation of the fort was due to the death of bandoola; who had been killed, by the explosion of a shell, while watching the operations from a lookout that had been erected for him, at the top of a lofty tree. his death had caused the most profound depression among the garrison. their leaders in vain endeavoured to reanimate their courage. the opening of the fire with the heavy guns completed their discomfiture, and they fled without thought of resistance. indeed, the greater part had stolen away during the night. a portion of the fleet had already passed up beyond the fort, under a heavy fire; and the rest now came up. the supplies of grain were renewed and, a guard being left to hold the works, which would now serve as a base, the army again started up the river--the water column proceeding to tharawa, the land force marching back to henzada, whence they were carried across the river in the boats. here the force was joined by the reserve column from rangoon, consisting of several companies of the royals and the th native infantry, with a supply of elephants and carriage cattle which had arrived from calcutta. on the th, yuadit was again reached. no opposition, whatever, was encountered; indeed, the whole country was deserted, the inhabitants having been ordered away by the burmese authorities, as soon as the fall of donabew was known. when within four days' march of prome, two native officials came in, with a communication to the effect that the burmese were ready to treat for peace. as it was known, however, that reinforcements were on their way down from ava, it was evident that this was merely a pretext to gain time; and the general sent word that, when he arrived at prome, he would be ready to open negotiations for peace. the country through which the army was now passing was very beautiful. in the far distance on the left, the mountains of aracan could be seen; while on the right the country was undulating, richly cultivated, and broken by clumps of timber, with a background of the range of hills running along near the pegu river. on the th the heights of prome, eight miles away, were visible; and the flotilla could be seen, lying at anchor a short distance below the town. messengers came out that afternoon, to endeavour to induce the general not to enter it; but a reply was sent that this was out of the question, that no harm would befall the inhabitants, and that--as soon as he entered--the general would be ready to receive any persons qualified to treat for peace. some hours before daybreak the army marched forward and, by sunrise, were close to the town. the position was found to be extremely strong. every hill commanding the place had been fortified, to the very summit. strong stockades ran in every direction, and it was evident that a great number of men must have been engaged, for a long time, in attempting to render the place impregnable. not a soldier, however, was to be found. a native of the place presently met them, with the news that the governor and troops had evacuated it, with the exception of a small party who were firing the town. this story was corroborated by wreaths of smoke, rising at various points. the troops pressed forward at the top of their speed. on entering the town, they found that the native population had all been forced to leave and, piling their arms, they set to work to extinguish the flames; which they did not, however, succeed in doing until nearly half the town was destroyed. fortunately the fire was checked before it reached the great magazines of grain, and other stores, for the army. the belief that the negotiations had been only pretexts to arrest the advance of the troops against the town, until the expected reinforcements arrived, was confirmed by the natives; who presently came in from hiding places where they had taken refuge, until their army retired. they said that, as soon as the news came of the fall of donabew, fresh levies were ordered to be collected in every part of upper burma; while the whole population of the province had been employed in adding to the defences of the town, which had been already very strongly stockaded. it was a disappointment to the force, which had hoped that the occupation of prome would bring about the submission of the court of ava; and enable them to be taken down the river in boats, and embark, before the rainy season again set in. nevertheless, the prospect of passing that season at prome was vastly more pleasant than if it had to be spent at rangoon. they were now inland, beyond the point where the rains were continuous. the town was situated on high ground, and the country round was open and healthy. although for some little distance round the cattle had been driven off, and the villages destroyed; it was certain that flying columns would be able to bring in any amount of cattle, before the wet season began. for a short time, it was thought that the occupation of prome would show the king and court that it was useless to continue the struggle, any longer; but these hopes were dissipated when it was known that a further levy of , men had been called out. the court, however, was apparently conscious that its commands would no longer be obeyed with the alacrity before manifested. the early levies had obeyed the call with cheerfulness; believing in their invincibility, and confident that they would return home laden with spoil after driving, without difficulty, the audacious strangers into the sea. things, however, had not turned out so. the troops that had left ava in high spirits had been routed, with very heavy losses. their great general, bandoola, had been killed; and fugitives from the army were scattered over the land, bearing with them reports of the extraordinary fighting powers of these white enemies, and of the hopelessness of attempting to resist them. the consequence was that in issuing the order for the new levy a bounty of twenty pounds, which to the burmans was a very large sum, was offered to each man who obeyed the call. the first step, on the part of the british general, was to send proclamations through the country; guaranteeing protection to all, and inviting the population to return to their towns and villages. the troops were employed in erecting, with the assistance of as much native labour as could be procured, comfortable huts outside the town; so that the natives, on returning should find their homes unoccupied and untouched. it was not long before this excellent policy had its due effect. as soon as those who first returned sent the news to their friends, the fugitives came out from their hiding places in the forests, in great numbers, and returned to the city. those whose homes were still standing settled down in them and resumed their ordinary avocations, just as if their native rulers were still in authority; while those whose houses had been burned set to work, with a cheerfulness characteristic of their race, to re-erect their light wooden dwellings. so favourable were the reports spread through the country of our conduct that, in a short time, the population of prome was considerably larger than it had been before the advance of our army. similar results were speedily manifest throughout the whole district below the town. from the great forest that covered more than half of it, the villagers poured out, driving before them herds of cattle and, in two or three months, the country that had appeared a desert became filled with an industrious population. order was established. the local civil officers were again appointed to their former posts, but their powers of oppression and intimidation were abrogated, by the order that no punishment beyond a short term of imprisonment was to be inflicted on any person, whatever, until the case had been brought before the british authorities; and soon the only fear entertained by the people of the rich district of the lower irrawaddy was that the british troops would march away, and leave them again to the oppression and tyranny of their former masters. the markets of prome were abundantly supplied with food of all sorts and, as everything was liberally paid for, any number of bullocks were obtainable for, although the burmese are forbidden by their religion to kill cattle, and therefore keep them only for draught purposes, they had no objection to our killing them; or indeed, to eat the meat, when they could obtain it. labour of all kinds was abundant, and great numbers of canoes were constructed for the purpose of bringing up supplies from the villages on the river, and for the advance of the force at the end of the wet season. until this set in in earnest, small bodies of troops marched through the forests; driving out the bands that infested them, and plundered and killed the country people without mercy. the general's aides-de-camp had a busy time of it, being constantly employed in carrying orders to the towns and villages, in hearing complaints and, in stanley's case, entering into agreements for the purchase of cattle and grain. when in prome, he spent a good deal of his spare time with his cousin who, having bought a horse, frequently obtained leave to accompany him on his excursions on duty. a warm friendship had sprung up between them. harry was two years older than stanley, and had been at eton up to the time that he entered the army. he was, however, in manner no older than his cousin; whose work, for the three years previous to the outbreak of the war, had rendered him graver and more manly than a life spent among lads of his own age could have done. meinik always accompanied stanley, wherever he went. he had now, to the latter's quiet amusement, modified his burmese costume; making it look like that of some of the whites and, indeed, he would have passed without notice as one of the goa-portuguese mess waiters, in his suit of white nankeen. when riding, or on any service away from the headquarter camp, he was dressed in a suit of tough brown khaki which he had obtained from one of the traders at rangoon. the coat differed but little from that of the suit stanley had handed over to him; except that it was somewhat shorter and without the small shoulder cape and, in fact, resembled closely the modern regimental tunic. below he wore knee breeches of the same material; with putties, or long bands of cloth, wound round and round the leg, and which possessed many advantages over gaiters. he still clung to the turban but, instead of being white, it was of the same colour as his clothes, and was much larger than the burmese turban. "burmese are great fools," he often said to stanley. "they think they know a great deal; they know nothing at all. they think they are great fighters; they are no good at fighting, for one englishman beats ten of them. their government is no good--it keeps everyone very poor and miserable. you come here; you know nothing of the country, and yet you make everyone comfortable. we ride through the villages; we see everyone rejoicing that they are governed by the english, and hoping that the english will never go away again. "what do you think, sir--will you stay here always? you have had much trouble to take the country. a great many people have been ill; a great many died. now you have got it, why should you go away again?" "it is quite certain that we shall not give it all up, meinik. it has been, as you say, a troublesome and very expensive business; and the farther the king obliges us to go up, before he makes peace, the more he will have to pay, either in money or territory. of course, i cannot say what the terms of peace will be; but i should think that, very likely, we shall hold the country from the sea up to here, with aracan and a strip along the sea coast of tenasserim." "that will be good," meinik said. "i shall never go outside the english land, again. there will be plenty to do, and a great trade on the river; everyone will be happy and contented. i should be a fool to go back to upper burma; where they would chop off my head, if they knew that i had been down to rangoon when the english were there." chapter : harry carried off. early in september, stanley was sent to purchase cattle from some of the villages near the foot of the hills and, at the same time, to make inquiries as to the movements of a large band of marauders who had been making raids in that neighbourhood. he had with him four troopers of the bodyguard. harry brooke accompanied him. although from the healthier situation of prome, the amount of illness during the wet season did not approach that which had been suffered at rangoon, a great many men were in hospital, and there were many deaths. harry had had a sharp attack of fever and, as he had now recovered, to a certain extent, the medical officer of his regiment strongly recommended that he should have a change; and he therefore, without difficulty, obtained his colonel's leave to accompany stanley, as the ground would be much higher than that on the river, and the mere fact of getting away from a camp where so many deaths took place every day would, in itself, be of great value. stanley's daily journeys were not likely to be long ones, as he had instructions to stop at all villages; and to see how things were going on, and whether the people had any complaints to make of oppression and exaction by their local authorities. "it is a tremendous pull, your being able to speak the language, stanley," harry said. "if it hadn't been for that, you would have been stuck at prome, like the rest of us. instead of that, you are always about; and you look as fresh and healthy as if you were at a hill station, in india." "yes, it has been an immense advantage to me, in all ways. of course, i should never have got my staff appointment if it had not been for that. "by the way, i have not told you that, while you were down with the fever, the gazette containing the confirmation of my appointment by the general, and the notice of my commission, dated on the day of my appointment, came out. i had quite a lump sum to draw for although, i have been paid as interpreter all along, the paymaster made a difficulty about my pay as a subaltern, until i was gazetted regularly; so i have quite a large sum coming to me, on my pay and allowances. i don't know how you stand for cash but, if you are short at all, i can let you have anything that you want." "i have got really more than i know what to do with, stanley. i bought an uncommonly good native horse, as you know, six weeks ago; and i am going to ride him for the first time now but, really, that is almost the first penny that i have spent since we left rangoon. there is nothing to buy here except food and, of course, that is a mess business. i had an idea that this was a rich country but, so far, one has seen nothing in the way of rich dress materials, or shawls, or carpets, or jewelry that one could send home as presents. why, in india i was always being tempted; but here it is certainly the useful, rather than the ornamental, that meets the eye." "i saw some nice things at ava but, of course, all the upper classes bolted as we came up the country; and the traders in rich goods did the same. are you going to take a servant with you, harry? i don't think that there is any occasion to do so, for meinik can look after us both, well enough." "yes, i am thinking of taking my native, the man i hired just after i got here. he is a very good fellow, and made himself very useful, while i was ill. i picked up a tat for him, yesterday, for a few rupees. i know that your man would do very well for us both but, sometimes, when you make a village your headquarters and ride to visit others from it, i may not feel well enough to go with you; and then he would come in very handy, for he has picked up a good many words of english. your man is getting on very well, that way." "yes; he was some time before he began for, of course, he had no occasion for it; but now that he has taken to what he considers an english costume, and has made up his mind that he will never settle down again under a burmese government, he has been trying hard to pick up the language. i found that it was rather a nuisance at first when, instead of telling him what was wanted in his own language, i had to tell him in english, and then translate it for him. however, he does understand a good deal now and, whenever he has nothing else to do, he is talking with the soldiers. of course, from his riding about so much with me, he is pretty well known, now; and as he is a good-tempered, merry fellow, he makes himself at home with them and, if the campaign lasts another six months, i think he will speak very fair english." "i fancy that you will have to make up your mind that he is a permanency, stanley. i am sure he intends to follow you, wherever you go; whether it is to england, india, or anywhere else." "i sha'n't be sorry for that, harry; certainly not as long as i am out here. in the first place, he is really a very handy fellow, and ready to make himself useful, in any way; then there is no doubt that he is greatly attached to me, and would go through fire and water for me. a man of that sort is invaluable to anyone knocking about as i shall be, when the war is over and i take up trading again. his only fault is that he is really too anxious to do things for me. of course, when i am on duty there is nothing much he can do; but if i am sitting in a room, he will squat for hours in the corner and watch me. if my cheroot gets low, there he is with a fresh one and a light, in a moment. if i drop my handkerchief, or a pen, there he is with it, before i have time to stoop. sometimes i have really to invent errands to send him on, so as to give him something to do for me. i own that i have not contemplated what position he would occupy, if i go trading; but i quite recognize that he will go with me, and that he would become a portion of my establishment, even if that establishment consisted only of himself. "will you be ready to start at four in the morning? the sun is tremendously hot now, on the days between the rain; at any rate, it will be much better for you, till you get your strength, to travel in the cool of the morning, or in the evening." "i shall be ready. i will be round here, with my servant, by that hour. by the way, what shall i bring with me?" "nothing at all. i shall take a couple of chickens, and some bread and coffee and sugar, and a bottle of brandy for emergencies; but we shall have no difficulty in getting food in the villages. the troopers will only carry their day's rations with them. after that i always act as mess caterer, and charge expenses when i get back here." accordingly, the next morning they started at four o'clock. stanley insisted that harry should ride his second horse, for the present; as his own, having been six weeks without exercise, and fed very much better than it had been accustomed to, was in much too high spirits to be pleasant for an invalid. meinik, therefore, took harry's; and the latter rode beside his cousin, whose horse had had abundant exercise, and was well content to canter quietly along by the side of his companion. by the end of ten days, harry had picked up some of his strength. they now reached a village which stanley decided to use as his headquarters, for a few days, while he made excursions to other places within a day's ride. it was a good place for a halt; standing as it did at some height on the hills, where the air was much cooler at night than in the flat country. it was surrounded by a clearing of about a hundred acres in extent; planted with cacao trees, pepper, and many kinds of vegetables. "this is delightful!" harry said, as they sat in front of the hut that had been cleared for them, and looked over the plain. "it must be twenty degrees cooler, here, than it was at prome. i think i shall do nothing tomorrow, stanley, but just sit here and enjoy myself. i know it is very lazy, for i am feeling quite myself again; still, after ten days' riding, i do think that it will be pleasant to have a day's rest." "do, by all means," stanley said. "i think you had better stay here for the three days that we shall remain. your man is a very good cook, and there is no lack of food. those chickens we had just now were excellent, and the people have promised to bring in some game, tomorrow. there are plenty of snakes, too; and you lose a good deal, i can assure you, by turning up your nose at them. they are just as good as eels, as meinik cooks them--stewed with a blade of cinnamon, and some hot peppers. i cannot see that they can be a bit more objectionable to eat than eels; indeed, for anything one knows, the eel may have been feasting on a drowned man, the day before he was caught; while the snakes only take a meal once a week or so, and then only a small bird of some kind." "i dare say that you are quite right, stanley, and i own that the dishes your man turns out look tempting; but i cannot bring myself to try, at any rate as long as i can get anything else to eat. if i knew that it was a case of snake, or nothing, i would try it; but till then, i prefer sticking to birds and beasts." the next morning stanley rode off, with two of his escort and meinik, who declined altogether to be left behind. "no, master," he said, "there is never any saying when you may want me; and what should i ever say to myself if misfortune were to come to you, and i were not to be there?" stanley had a long day's work. as a rule, the villagers had few complaints to make but, at the place he went to on this occasion, the headman had been behaving as in the old times; and stanley had to listen to a long series of complaints on behalf of the villagers. the case was fully proved, both as to extortion and ill treatment. stanley at once deprived the man of his office, and called upon the villagers to assemble and elect another in his place. "if you are not satisfied," he said to the fellow, "you can go to prome, and appeal to the general there; but i warn you that, if you do, you must give notice to the villagers of your intention so that they may, if they choose, send two or three of their number to repeat the evidence that they have given me. i have noted this fully down, and i can tell you that the general, when he reads it, will be much more likely to order you a sound flogging, than to reinstate you in your office." it was dusk when stanley arrived within two miles of the village where he had left harry. meinik, who was riding just behind him, brought his horse up alongside. "do you see that, sir? there is a light in the sky. it is just over where the village is. i am afraid there is a fire there." "you are right, meinik. i hope nothing has gone wrong." he touched his horse with his heel, and rode on at a gallop. he became more and more anxious, as he approached the village. no flames could be seen leaping up, but there was a dull glow in the sky. as he rode into the clearing, he reined up his horse in dismay. a number of glowing embers, alone, marked the place where the village had stood; and no figures were to be seen moving about. "there has been foul play, meinik. "get ready for action, men," he said to the two troopers, and they dashed forward at a gallop. two or three little groups of people were sitting, in an attitude of deep dejection, by the remains of their houses. "what has happened?" stanley shouted, as he rode up. "the robbers have been here, and have slain many, and burned the village." "where is my friend?" "they have carried him off, my lord; or at least, we cannot find his body. his servant and one of the soldiers are lying dead; but of the other soldier, and the officer, there are no signs." "this is terrible!" stanley exclaimed. "tell me exactly how it happened." "it was four hours ago, my lord. the robbers came suddenly out from the plantation, and fell upon the people. many they killed at once; but many also have escaped as we did, by running in among the plantations, and so into the forest. we heard the firing of guns, for a little time; then everything was silent, and we knew that the robbers were searching the houses. half an hour later, smoke rose in many places, and then flames; then after a time, all was quiet. a boy crept up among the bushes, and came back with the news that they had all gone. "then we came out again. twenty-three of our people had been killed, and eight carried off; at least, we cannot find the bodies. the white officer and one of his soldiers have gone, also." "which way did they go?" "the tracks show that they went up the hill. most likely they will have gone to toungoo, if they have gone to any town at all; but indeed, we think they have taken the prisoners to get a reward for them." stanley had thrown himself off his horse, as he rode up; and he stood for some time, silently leaning against it. then he said to meinik: "picket the horses, and then come and have a talk with me." then he turned to the two troopers: "there is nothing to be done now," he said. "you had better look about, and see what you can find in the way of food; and then get a grave dug for your comrade, and another for mr. brooke's servant." the two mahommedan troopers saluted, and led their horses away. meinik, after picketing the animals, returned to stanley but, seeing that the latter was pacing up and down, and evidently not disposed to speak, he went away. there were a good many fowls walking about, in a bewildered way, near the huts. they had been away, as usual, searching for food in the plantations and fields when the robber band arrived and, on their return home at dusk, had found everything changed. a boy at once caught and killed two of these, plucked them and brought them to meinik who, getting some embers from the fires, cut the fowls in two and put them on to roast. a few minutes sufficed to cook them. as soon as they were ready, meinik took them to stanley. "you must eat, master," he said. "you have had nothing since we started, this morning; and sorrow, alone, makes a poor supper. you will want to do something, i know; and will need all your strength." "you are right, meinik. yes, give me one of them, and take the other one yourself and, while we eat, we can talk. of course, i must make an effort to rescue my cousin from the hands of this band." "yes, master, i knew that you would do that." "did you ask how many there were of them, meinik?" "some say forty, some say sixty." "if we knew where they are now, and could come up to them, we might manage to get them off while the robbers were asleep." meinik shook his head. "they are sure to keep a strict guard, over a white officer," he said; "but if we rushed in and shouted, and fired pistols, they might all run away." "i am afraid not, meinik. there might be a scare for a minute but, directly they saw that there were only two of us, they would turn and kill us. your people are brave enough. they may feel that they cannot stand against our troops, owing to our discipline; but they fight bravely hand-to-hand. however, we don't know exactly which way they have gone; and it would be hopeless to search for them in the forest, during the darkness. "what should they go to toungoo for?" "i have been thinking it over, master; and it seems to me that many of them may belong there, or to the villages near. they may not dare return to their homes, because they are afraid that they would be punished for having left the army, and would certainly be sent off again to it. now they may think that, if they go back with a white officer and soldier, and tell some story of having beaten a great many english, they will be rewarded; and may even be able to remain some time in their homes, before they are sent off; or they may be ordered to march with their prisoners to ava, where they would get still more reward. i can see no other reason for their carrying off the officer." "i think very likely that is so, meinik. anyhow, we are more likely to rescue my cousin, at toungoo, than we should be while on the road. it would be next to impossible to find them among all the hills and trees and, even if we did come upon them at night, and could creep into the midst of them, we might find that my cousin is too severely wounded to travel for, as there was a fight, it is almost certain he must have been wounded before he was captured. therefore, i think it is best to make straight for toungoo. "how many miles is it from here, do you think?" meinik went over to the natives and asked the question. "about forty-five miles, they say; very bad travelling; all mountains, but ten miles to the north is a road that runs straight there." "then we had better follow that, meinik. in this broken country, and forest, we should be losing our way continually." "how will you go, master? on horse or foot?" "we will go on horseback, as far as we can; we are not likely to meet people travelling along the road, at present. another thing is that, if we can get the horses as near the town as possible, they would be very useful for, if mr. brooke has been wounded badly, he may not be able to walk far. "you do not know whether the country near the town is open, or whether the forests approach it closely?" the natives were again applied to. "it is a rich country there, they say; and well cultivated, for five or six miles round the town." "i will go and have a talk with them, presently. it will, of course, be necessary for me to disguise myself again." meinik nodded. "yes, you must do that, master." "do you think that we can get two or three men to go with us, from here?" "if you will pay them, master, no doubt they will be ready to go. they are well content with the white rulers. they find that they are not oppressed, and everything is paid for; and that the white officers treat them kindly and well. they have lost many things, in this affair today, and would be glad to earn a little money. "how many would you like to have?" "four or five, meinik. i don't exactly know, at present, what there would be for them to do; but they could help to make fires, and keep watch, while we are doing something. at any rate, they may be useful. "of course, i shall get the trooper out, too, if i can. very likely they will be confined together and, if we rescue one, we can of course rescue the other. "now i must do some writing. get me a torch of some sort, and i will do it while you are speaking to the natives." stanley always carried a notebook and pen and ink, to take down statements and complaints, as he rode about. he now sat down and wrote an account of what had taken place during his absence. "we had no previous news of the existence of the band," he went on, "and the natives, themselves, had certainly no fear of any attack being imminent. had i thought that there was the slightest risk, i should not have made the village my headquarters; or have left mr. brooke there, with only his servant and two troopers. i regret the matter, most deeply; and am about to set off to toungoo, with my man. i shall, of course, go in disguise; and shall make every endeavour to free my cousin. "i trust, general, that you will grant me leave for this purpose. i am, of course, unable to say how long it may take me but, however long, i shall persevere until i learn that my cousin is dead, or until i am, myself, killed. i trust that in starting at once, on the assumption that you will grant me leave, i am not committing a breach of duty. but if so, and you feel that you cannot, under the circumstances in which you are placed, grant leave to an officer to be absent on private business, i inclose a formal resignation of my commission, stating why i feel myself constrained, even in the presence of the enemy, to endeavour to rescue my cousin from the band that has carried him off. at any rate, it could not be said that i resigned in order to shirk danger. "i sent off two days ago, by one of the natives here, a report of my proceedings up to that date; and have now the honour to inclose the notes i took of my investigations, today, into the conduct of the headman of pilboora, and my reasons for depriving him of his office. i shall leave the two troopers of my escort here, with orders to remain until either i return, or they receive instructions from prome. i am taking a few of the villagers with me. should anything occur to me, at toungoo, they will bring back the news to the troopers; and i shall leave instructions with them to carry it, at once, to you. if i find that mr. brooke has been sent on to ava i shall, of course, follow and endeavour to effect his rescue on the road. "as it is possible, general, that i may not have another opportunity of thanking you for the many kindnesses that you have shown me, allow me to do so, most heartily, now." when stanley had concluded the letter, and written the paper offering his resignation, and giving his reasons for so doing, he called meinik to him. "well, meinik, have you found men willing to go with us?" "yes, master, i have got five men; two of them know toungoo well. all are stout fellows. i offered them the terms that you mentioned--fifty ounces of silver, to each man, if you succeeded by their aid in rescuing the officer. they were delighted at the offer, which would enable them to replace everything that they have lost. "i told them, of course, that if it were necessary to fight, they would have to do so; and that, as many of their countrymen were enlisted, as gun lascars and in other occupations, with the english; and are, of course, exposed to the attacks of their countrymen, they would only be doing what others have been willing to do. "they said that they were ready enough to fight. you were the government, now; and you were a good government, and they would fight for you and, besides, as the officer was carried off from their village, it was their duty to help to get him back. "one of them said, 'these men who attacked us are burmese soldiers. as they attack us, there is no reason why we should not attack them.' "so i think, master, that you can count upon them. the burmese have always been fond of fighting, because fighting means booty. the troops don't want to fight any more, because they get no booty, and a number of them are killed. but, now that the villagers have been forced to go to the war against their will; and have been plundered, and many killed, by burmese soldiers, they are quite ready to take sides with you. three of them have had wives or children killed, today; and that makes them full of fight." "well, you had better tell them to cook, at once, food for two or three days. at four o'clock they are to start, through the forest, to the road you spoke of. we will set out at the same time, on horseback; but we shall have to make a detour, so they will be on the road before we are. tell them when they get there to stop, until we come up." "yes, master. it is a good thing that i rode your second horse, yesterday, instead of mr. brooke's animal." "yes, he is worth a good deal more than the other, meinik, and i should certainly have been sorry to lose him." "one of the men who is going with us says that he knows of the ruins of an old temple, eight or nine miles this side of toungoo; and that this would be a good place for us to leave our horses. it is very, very old; one of those built by the people who lived in the land before we came to it, and the burmans do not like to go near it; so that there would be no fear of our being disturbed, there. even these men do not much like going there; but i told them that no evil spirits would come, where white men were." "it is rather far off, meinik; but as you say the country is cultivated, for some distance round the town, we shall certainly have to leave our horses some six or seven miles away; and two or three miles will not make much difference. we can put on our disguises there. "you had better take a couple of boys to look after the horses, while we are away." "they would not sleep there, at night," meinik said, doubtfully. "i don't think the men would, either, if you were not there." "that would not matter, meinik, if as you say, there is no fear of anyone else going there." "certainly, no one else will go there at night, master." "at any rate, if you can get two boys to go, we may as well take them. they might go there in the day, and feed and water the horses; and sleep some distance away, at night." meinik found two boys, sixteen years old, who said that they would go with them and, at the hour agreed on, stanley and meinik started on horseback. they descended the hill to the plain at its foot and, turning to the right, rode for some ten or twelve miles; when they struck into the road and, following this at an easy pace they came, in the course of another hour, upon the party of villagers sitting by the roadside. the sun was just rising, and they travelled for three hours without meeting anyone; then they drew off into the wood, at a point where a small stream crossed the road and, after eating a meal, and giving a good feed to the horses, lay down to sleep till the heat of the day abated--the natives, who were all armed with spears and swords, keeping watch by turns. at four o'clock they started again and, at ten, approached the spot where, in the depth of the wood, lay the temple. the man who knew its position declared, however, that he could not find it, at night. stanley had no doubt that he was really afraid to go there but, as he did not wish to press them against their will, he said carelessly that it made no difference if they halted there, or close by the road, and a fire being speedily lit, they bivouacked round it. meinik had procured the necessary dyes from a village, and stanley was again stained, and covered with tattoo marks, as before. "what am i to do about your hair, master?" he asked. "it will never do for you to go, like this." stanley had not thought of this point and, for a time, was completely at a loss. his own hair was now short, and could not possibly be turned up. "the only thing that i can see," he said, after a long pause, "is for you and the men each to cut off a lock of hair from the top of your heads, where it will not show. the six locks would be ample; but i don't see how you are to fasten it, below the turban." "there are berries we can get wax from," meinik said. "we boil them in water, and the wax floats at the top. with that, master, we could fasten the hair in among yours, so that it would look all right." the men had all laughed at the proposal, but willingly consented to part with a portion of their hair. meinik therefore proceeded to stain stanley's close crop black and, the first thing in the morning, the boys went out, soon returning with a quantity of berries. some water was poured over them, in an earthenware pot, and placed over the fire and, in half an hour, a thick scum of oil gathered on the surface. meinik skimmed it off, as fast as it formed and, as it cooled, it solidified into a tenacious mass, somewhat resembling cobblers' wax. the six locks of hair had already been cut off, and the ends were smeared with the wax, and worked in among stanley's own hair; then a little of the hot wax was rubbed in, and the men all declared that no one would notice anything peculiar in his appearance. the long tresses were curled round, at the top of the head, and a ring of muslin tied round. the burmans were immensely amused at the transformation that had been wrought in stanley's appearance; and followed him through the wood, to the temple, without any signs of nervousness. the ruins were extensive. a considerable portion of the building had been hewn out of the face of a precipitous rock, in the manner of some hindoo temples; and it was evident that it had been the work of a people more closely allied to the indian race than to the tartar or chinese people, from whom the burmese sprung. uncouth figures were sculptured on the walls. at these the burmese looked with some awe but, as stanley laughed and joked over them, they soon recovered their usual demeanour. "i am a great deal more afraid of tigers than of ghosts," stanley said; "a deserted place like this is just the sort of spot they would be likely to be in. at any rate, if these caves do not go any further into the hill--and there are no signs of their doing so--it may be hoped that the tigers have their superstitions about it, too. at any rate, it will be a good thing to pile a great quantity of firewood at the entrance; and i think one of you had better stay here, with the boys. they and the horses would be a great deal safer here, with a fire burning; than they would be in the woods, where a tiger might pounce upon them, at any moment. as to this folly about spirits, it is only old women's chatter." the burmese talked among themselves, and one of the men finally agreed to stay with the boys. an hour was spent in gathering a pile of brushwood and logs, and the man said that he and the two boys would gather plenty more, during the day. they were, at four o'clock, to take the horses down to the river, a mile distant, and let them drink their fill. they had brought with them a large bag of grain--which had been carried by the men--a quantity of plantains, and some fowls. therefore, the party that were to remain would be well provided. moreover, in collecting the wood a score of snakes had been killed. some of these and a chicken had been cooking while they were at work and, as soon as this was eaten, they started for the town. when they came within a mile of it, stanley entered a plantation of fruit trees, and meinik and the four men went on. they returned, in two hours, with the news that a party of ten men had arrived in the town, on the previous day, with two prisoners. one, a coloured man, had been able to walk. the other, a white man, had been carried in on a litter. they had both been lodged in the jail. by this time, the conduct of the english towards the natives, at rangoon and the territory they occupied, had had one good effect. signally as they had been defeated by them, the burmese had lost their individual hatred of the strangers. they knew that their wounded and prisoners always received kind treatment at their hands and, although the court of ava remained as arrogant and bigoted as ever, the people in lower burma had learned to respect their invaders, and the few prisoners they had taken received much better treatment than those who had been captured at the commencement of the war. as soon as it was dusk, stanley went with meinik into the town. it was a place of considerable size, with buildings at least equal to those at prome. toungoo had formed part of the kingdom of pegu, before it had been subdued by the burmese. the peculiar and characteristic facial outline of the latter was, here, much less strongly marked and, in many cases, entirely absent; so stanley felt that, even in daylight, he would pass without attracting any attention. the prison was surrounded by a strong and high bamboo fence, and in the space inclosed by this were eight or ten dwellings of the usual wooden construction. a dozen armed men were seated by a fire in the yard, and two sentries were carelessly leaning against the gate. "there should be no difficulty in getting in there with two rope ladders--one to climb up with, and one to drop on the other side," stanley said. "you may be sure that most of the guard go to sleep, at night. the first thing to ascertain is which house the prisoners are kept in and, in the second place, how my cousin is going on. we can do nothing until he is able to walk for a short distance. "let us move round to the other side of the inclosure. it may be that a sentry is posted at their door." on getting to the other side, and looking through the crevices between the bamboos, they could make out two figures squatted by the door of one of the houses; and had no doubt that this was the one in which harry brooke was confined. "now, meinik, the first thing is for you to go and buy a rope. when the place gets quite quiet, we will make a loop and throw it over the top of the palisade, behind that hut; then i will climb up and let myself down, inside, and then crawl up to the hut and see what is going on there. if my cousin is alone, i will endeavour to speak to him; but of course there may be a guard inside, as well as at the door. if he is very ill, there will probably be a light." "let me go, master!" "no, meinik, i would rather go myself. i shall be able to judge how he is, if i can catch a sight of him." chapter : preparing a rescue. stanley remained where he was until meinik returned, in half an hour, with the rope. stanley made a loop at one end; and then knotted it, at distances of about a foot apart, to enable him to climb it more easily. then they waited until the guard fire burnt down low, and most of the men went off into a hut a few yards distant, three only remaining talking before the fire. then stanley moved round to the other side of the palisade and, choosing a spot immediately behind the hut where the sentries were posted, threw up the rope. it needed many attempts before the loop caught at the top of one of the bamboos. as soon as it did so, he climbed up. he found that the position was an exceedingly unpleasant one. the bamboos were all so cut that each of them terminated in three spikes, and so impossible was it to cross this that he had to slip down the rope again. on telling meinik what was the matter, the latter at once took off his garment and folded it up into a roll, two feet long. "if you lay that on the top, master, you will be able to cross." this time stanley had little difficulty. on reaching the top, he laid the roll on the bamboo spikes; and was able to raise himself on to it and sit there, while he pulled up the rope and dropped it on the inside. descending, he at once began to crawl towards the hut. as he had seen before climbing, a light was burning within, and the window was at the back of the house. this was but some twenty yards from the palisade and, when he reached it, he stood up and cautiously looked in. the indian trooper was seated in a chair, asleep, without his tunic. one arm was bandaged, and a blood-stained cloth was wrapped round his head. on a bamboo pallet, with a dark rug thrown over it, was another figure. the lamp on the wall gave too feeble a light for stanley to be able to make out whether the figure lying there was harry, but he had no doubt that it was so. in a low tone he said, in hindustani, "wake up, man!" the soldier moved a little. stanley repeated the words in a somewhat louder tone, and the trooper sprang to his feet, and looked round in a bewildered way. "come to the window," stanley said. "it is i, your officer." the man's glance turned to the window but, surprised at seeing a burmese peasant--as he supposed--instead of the officer, he stood hesitating. "come on," stanley said. "i am lieutenant brooke." the soldier recognized the voice, drew himself up, made the military salute, and then stepped to the window. "i have come," stanley said, "to try and rescue lieutenant brooke, and yourself. i have some friends without. how is he?" "he is very ill, sir. he is badly wounded, and is unconscious. sometimes he lies for hours without moving; sometimes he talks to himself but, as i cannot understand the language, i know not what he says; but sometimes he certainly calls upon you. he uses your name often. "i do what i can for him, but it is very little. i bathe his forehead with water, and pour it between his lips. of course he can eat nothing, but i keep the water my rice is boiled in and, when it is cool, give it him to drink. there is some strength in it." "then nothing can be done, at present," stanley said. "tomorrow night i will bring some fruit. you can squeeze the juice of some limes into a little water, and give it to him. there is nothing better for fever. as soon as he is well enough for us to get him through the palisades, we will have a litter ready for him, and carry him off; but nothing can be done until then. "how are you treated?" "they give me plenty of rice, sahib, and i am at liberty to go out into the courtyard in the daytime and, now that i know that you are near, i shall have no fear. i have been expecting that they would send me to ava where, no doubt, they would kill me; but i have thought most that, if they were to send me away from here, and there was no one to look after the sahib, he would surely die." at this moment stanley felt a hand roughly placed on his shoulder. turning round, he struck out with all his strength, full in a man's face, and he fell like a log. "if they ask you who was here," he said hastily to the trooper, "say that you know not who it was. a burmese came and spoke to you, but of course you thought that he was one of the guard." then he ran to the rope, climbed up and, as he got over, pulled it up and threw it down to meinik--as he thought that there might be some difficulty in shaking it off from the bamboo--then he dropped to the ground, bringing down the pad with him. "did you kill him, master?" meinik asked, as they hurried away. "i was watching the window, and saw you talking to someone inside; then i saw a man suddenly come into the light and put his hand upon you, and saw you turn round, and he fell without a sound being heard." "there is no fear of his being killed, meinik. i simply hit him hard; and he went down, i have no doubt, stunned. it is unfortunate but, though they may set extra guards for a time, i think they will not believe the man's story; or at any rate, will suppose that it was only one of the guard who, not being able to sleep, wandered round there and looked into the hut from behind. the worst of it is that i am afraid that there is no chance of my being able to take my cousin some limes and other fruit, tomorrow night, as i said i would. he is very ill, and quite unconscious." "that is very bad, master. i will try and take him in some fruit, tomorrow. if they won't let me in, i will watch outside the gates and, when one of the guard comes out, will take him aside; and i have no doubt that, for a small bribe, he will carry in the fruit and give it to the trooper. i wonder that they put them into that hut with the window at the back." "i don't suppose they would have done so, if my cousin had not been so ill that it was evident that he could not, for some time, attempt to escape." they joined the villagers outside the town and, telling them that there was nothing to do that night, returned to the temple. they found the man and the two boys, sitting by a great fire, but shivering with terror. "what is the matter?" stanley asked. "the spirits have been making all sorts of noises outside, and there are other noises at the end of the cave, close to the horses." stanley took a brand and went over to them. they were both munching their grain quietly. "well, you see the horses are not frightened; so you may be sure that whatever were the noises you heard, there was nothing unnatural about them. what were they like?" the question was not answered for, at that moment, a sound like a loud deep sigh was heard overhead. the natives started back; and even stanley felt, for a moment, uncomfortable. "it is only the wind," he said. "there must be some opening above there; and the wind makes a noise in it, just as it does in a chimney. we will see all about it, in the morning. "now, as to the noises outside." "they were wailing cries," the man said. "pooh! they must have been tigers or leopards, or perhaps only wild cats. no doubt they smelt you and the horses, but were too much afraid of the fire to come any nearer. why, you must have heard tigers often enough to know their cries." "i thought myself that they were tigers," the man said, rather shamefacedly, "but the boys said they were certain that they were not; and i was not sure, myself, one way or the other." sitting down by the fire, stanley told the men the exact position of the prisoners; and said that he feared it would be altogether impossible to get harry out, for the present. "i would give anything to have him here," he said; "but it would be impossible to get him over the palisade." "we might cut through it, master," meinik said. "with a sharp saw we could cut a hole big enough, in an hour, to carry his litter out. the only thing is, we could not get his bed through that window." "we might get over that, by making a narrow litter," stanley said, "and lifting him from the bed on to it. the difficulty would be, what to do with him when we got him out? as to carrying him any distance, in his present state it would be out of the question; besides, the guard are sure to be vigilant, for some considerable time. i think that the best plan would be for you all to go back to your village, tomorrow, taking the horses with you; and for one of you to come over, every other day, for orders. then there would be no occasion for anyone to watch the horses. they certainly will be of no use to us, at present, for it will be weeks before my cousin is strong enough to ride. "meinik and i will take up our abode close to the edge of the forest, for that will save us some four or five miles' walk, each day. the first thing in the morning, you shall go with me and choose a spot; so that you may both know where to find us. two of you have got axes, and we will make a shelter in a tree; so as to be able to sleep without fear of tigers when we go out there, though i dare say that we shall generally sleep near the town. however, one or other of us will always be at the spot, at midday, on the days when you are to meet us. "now that i think of it, two of you may as well stay at the shelter, for the present, while the other three and the two boys go home. then there will be no occasion to take the long journey so often. when we do get my cousin out, we shall have to take up our abode, for a time, either here or in the forest, until he is well enough to bear the journey." in the morning stanley closely examined the roof of the cave, but could see no opening to account for the noise that he had heard. he had, however, no doubt that one existed somewhere. he left a man with the two boys in charge of the horses, and went with the others until they approached the edge of the forest. they kept along within the trees for half a mile, so that any fire they might light would be unseen by people travelling along the road. the men considered this precaution needless, as they declared that no one would venture to pass along it after nightfall; partly owing to the fear of tigers, and partly to the vicinity of the temple. a suitable tree was soon fixed on; and the burmese, now in their element, ascended it by driving in pegs at distances of two feet apart. once among the high branches, they lopped off all small boughs that would be in the way and then, descending, cut a number of poles, and many lengths of tough creeper and, with these, they constructed a platform among the higher branches; and on it erected a sort of arbour, amply sufficient to hold four or five people, lying down. this arbour would hardly be noticed, even by persons searching; as it was, to a great extent, hidden by the foliage beneath it. stanley told meinik that they had better buy some rope for a ladder, and take out the pegs; as these might catch the eye of a passer-by, and cause him to make a close search above. as soon as the work was finished, two of the men went back to the temple, to start at once for home with their companion, the boys, and the horses. stanley had brought with him his pistols, the two horse blankets, and other things that might be useful and, when these were stored above he, with meinik and the two men, went towards the town. he stopped, as before, a short distance outside. just as it was dusk, the men returned carrying the rope that meinik had bought, and a store of food. with these they were sent to the shelter, and stanley entered the town, where he met meinik. "i have sent in the fruit," the latter said. "i had no difficulty about it. i told the first soldier who came out, after i had bought it, that i came from the village where the white officer had been captured by the bandits. he had been very kind to us all and, as we knew that he had been carried off badly wounded, i had come over to get some fruit for him; but i found that they would not let me in at the gate. i said i would give an ounce of silver to him, if he would hand the things to the prisoner for me. "he said, at once, that he would do so. he had heard that the whites always treated their wounded prisoners very well; and that there would be no difficulty about it, for that there was a window at the back of the hut where he was lying, and he could easily pass things in there without anyone noticing it. if the prisoner was, as i said, a good man, it was only right that he should be helped. "i told him that i should look out for him, and might want him to do the same, another day. i think that he was an honest fellow, and might have passed the fruit in, even without a reward. still, everyone is glad to earn a little money. "he told me that a strange thing had happened, last night. one of his comrades had declared that he had found a giant, standing at the window where the prisoner was. he put his hand upon him, when he was struck down by lightning. no one would have believed his tale at all, if it had not been that his nose was broken. the other prisoner had been questioned but, as he did not understand burmese, they could learn nothing from him. two guards were, in future, to be placed at the back of the house, as well as in the front." "that part of the business is bad, meinik." "i dare say we shall be able to bribe them, master. you may be sure that most of them are eager to get back to their own villages and, for a few ounces of silver, they would be glad enough to help us, and then to make their escape and go off to their homes. the man i saw today might find one among them ready to do so, with him; especially if their homes happened to be on the other side of the hills, and there would then be no chance of their being seized, and sent back again, by their headman. the sentry would only have to let us know what night he would arrange for them both to be on guard, together, behind the hut; then we should be able to manage it well." "it would be a capital plan that, meinik, if it could be arranged. "well, it is a great comfort to know that the fruit has got in safely. the limes, especially, will be a great help to my cousin. next time you see the man, you must try and get him to find out how he is going on." for a fortnight, stanley remained in the forest. meinik met the soldier every other day, and sent in fruit and, at the end of the ten days, he heard that the prisoner had recovered his senses. it was said that, as soon as he was well enough to move, he was to be sent to ava. "now you had better begin to sound the man, as to his willingness to aid him to escape." "i have very little doubt about it, master, for i have already learned that his home is on the other side of the hills. he went down with bandoola; and returned after his defeat, with a number of others, travelling up the bank of the pegu river. if they had not had their military chief with them, they would have started straight for home. but they were marched here, and have been kept on duty in the town, ever since. he has heard how well off the people are on the other side of the hills, under english rule; so i feel sure that he will be glad to escape, if he sees a chance of getting off." "that is good. in the first place, let him know that the other english officer, who was at the village with the one they captured, had said that he would be ready to pay well anyone who would aid in his escape. if he says that he would willingly do so, if he also could get away, tell him that one man would be of no use but that, if he could get another to join him, so that they could both go on guard together behind the house, it could be managed. "but say that, in the first place, i must myself speak to the white officer, and learn exactly how he is, and whether he can endure a journey as far as this tree, or the temple--whichever we may decide upon as best. when i have seen him, i will send for the other men from the village. i am in no hurry to get him away, for the longer he stays quiet, the better. but at any moment the governor may decide that he is sufficiently recovered to be carried, and may send him off to ava, under a strong escort. therefore, although we will put off moving him as long as possible, we must not run the risk of his being sent away." four days later, meinik said that the man had arranged with another to join him, and that both would be on duty behind the hut, that evening, between nine and midnight. accordingly, at ten o'clock stanley arrived, with meinik and the two villagers, at the palisade. meinik had insisted upon accompanying him to the hut. "i believe that the man is to be trusted, master; indeed i am sure he is, but i do not know the second man. he may have pretended to accept the offer, only on purpose to betray his comrade, and to obtain honour and reward for preventing the escape of the white man. therefore, i must be with you, in case you are attacked. our other two men may be useful, to give the alarm, if a party is sent round to cut us off." stanley, who had brought a horse blanket with him to lay on the top of the palisade, was the first to drop into the inclosure. meinik followed him closely. nothing had been said to the guard as to the white officer, of whom meinik had spoken, being himself of the party; and stanley had purposely left his pistols behind him, lest he should be tempted to use them. in case he was attacked, he carried a spear and a long burmese knife. meinik had begged to be allowed to go forward first, while stanley remained by the rope. he pointed out that some change might possibly have been made, and that other men might have been placed on sentry. "i know you, master," he said; "if you got there, and found two strangers, and they attacked you, you would fight; then they would give the alarm, and others would come up before you could cross the palisade. i shall steal up. when i am close, i shall make a noise like the hiss of a snake. if my men are both there, they will repeat the sound. if they are not, and one comes forward to look for and kill the snake, i shall slay him before he has time to utter a sound. if the other runs forward at the sound of his fall, i shall kill him, also. "if no alarm is given, you can come forward and speak to your cousin. if there is an alarm, you must climb the rope. they will not know which way i have run, and i shall have plenty of time to get over the palisade and pull up the rope; then they will think that the guards have been killed by some of their comrades." "i hope no such misfortune will happen," stanley said, gravely, "for there would then be no chance, whatever, of our getting him away. he would probably be moved to some other place, and our one hope would be that we might rescue him on the road; which would be a difficult matter, indeed, if he were sent, as he certainly would be, under a strong escort. however, your plan is no doubt the best for, if i were killed or captured, there would be an end of any chance of his being rescued." meinik crawled forward and, in a minute or two, stanley heard a low hissing sound, followed by two others. he walked forward a step or two to meet meinik, as he came back. "it is all right, master; you can go on fearlessly." meinik returned with him to the window, and posted himself outside, standing in the shadow; while stanley stepped in through the open casement which, indeed, was provided only with a shutter outside. this would ordinarily have been closed but, owing to the illness of the prisoner, and the strong desire of the governor that he should live to be sent to ava, it had been opened to allow a free passage of air. the trooper sprung from his couch, as stanley made a slight sound before attempting to enter; but stanley said, in hindustani: "silence! it is i, mr. brooke." the trooper stared doubtfully at the dark, tattooed, half-naked figure. "it is i, runkoor, but i am disguised. i was like this when i spoke to you through the window a fortnight since, but you could not then see my figure. "are you awake, harry?" he asked in english, as he approached the pallet. "yes, i am awake; at least i think so. is it really you, stanley?" "it is i, sure enough, man," stanley replied, as he pressed the thin hands of the invalid. "did not runkoor tell you that i had been here before?" but harry had broken down, altogether. the surprise and delight was too much for him, in his weak state. "of course," stanley went on quietly, "i knew that he could not speak english, but i thought that he might make signs." "he did make a sign. each time he gave me fruit, he said 'sahib brooke,' pointed outside, and waved his arms about; but i could not make head or tail of what he meant. why he should keep on repeating my name, each time he gave me the fruit, was a complete puzzle for me. as to the signs that he made, it seemed to me that he had gone off his head. i have been too weak to think it over, so i gave up worrying about it; and it never once struck me that it was you who sent me the fruit. "what an awful figure you are!" "never mind about that, harry. i have come in to see how strong you are. i have bribed the two guards stationed behind." "i can just sit up in bed to take my food, stanley, that is all. i could not walk a step to save my life." "i did not expect you to walk. what i want to know is whether you are strong enough to be carried a few miles, on a litter. i have five men from the village where we were, and they can cut through the palisading behind the hut. i want to give you as long a time as possible; but i am afraid that, any day, the governor may have you taken out and sent in a litter to ava, under a strong escort." "i could bear being carried out, no doubt; but if i could not, i should think it would do me no harm, so long as my wounds do not break out afresh. i suppose the worst that could happen to me would be that i should faint, before i got to the end of the journey. "are you sure, old man, that this is not a dream?" "quite certain; if you were well enough, i would give you a sharp pinch. if you are willing to venture, i will make my preparations at once. i have to send to the village; but in three days i shall be ready and, the first night after that the men manage to be on guard together behind, we shall be here. it may be a week, it may be more but, at any rate, don't worry about it if they take you away suddenly. i shall try to get you out of their hands, somehow." "my dear stanley," harry said, with a feeble laugh, "do you know that you are spoiling your chance of an earldom?" "you may take it that if you don't succeed to the title, old fellow, i sha'n't; for if you go under, i shall, too. "now goodbye; it would be fatal were i to be caught here. try to get yourself as strong as you can, but don't let them notice that you are doing so." without giving harry time to reply, stanley pressed his hand and left his bedside. he paused for a minute, to inform the trooper of the plans for the escape, and then he got through the window. meinik joined him at once and, without a word being spoken, they crossed the palisade, threw down the rope and blankets, and dropped after them to the ground. on their way back to their tree, stanley told the two men that the officer was better; and that the next morning, at daybreak, one of them must start for the village to fetch their three comrades. the boys were also to come back with him, as they were big fellows and carried spears; and might, as stanley thought, be useful either in a fight or in assisting to carry harry. on the following morning, after the man had started, stanley went with meinik to examine the temple more closely than he had done before. he thought that it would be a far better hiding place than their hut in the tree. there would certainly be a hot pursuit, and the next day they might be discovered, whether in the temple or in the tree; but in the latter they would be powerless to defend themselves, for the burmese, with their axes, would be able to fell it in a few minutes; whereas in the temple a stout defence might be made for a time. moreover, the rock chambers would be far cooler, in the middle of the day, than the hut. his chief object in visiting the temple was to find a chamber with a narrow entrance, that could be held by half a dozen men against a number of foes; and it was desirable, if possible, to find one so situated that they might, in case of necessity, retreat into another chamber, or into the open air. meinik was so confident, in the white man's power to combat even evil spirits, that he approached the temple with stanley without betraying any nervousness. they had provided themselves with some torches of resinous wood, and meinik carried a couple of brands from their fire. the chamber they had before been in was apparently the largest in the temple, but there were several other openings in the rock. "that is the entrance we will try first," stanley said, pointing to one some ten feet from the ground. "you see there were once some steps leading up to it. no doubt, where we are standing there was a temple built against the face of that rock; and probably that doorway led into one of the priests' chambers." it was necessary to pile three or four blocks of stone on the top of the two steps that alone remained intact, in order to enable them to reach the entrance. "let me light the torches before you go in," meinik said. "there may be snakes." "that is hardly likely, meinik. you see, the face of the rock has been chiselled flat, and i don't think any snake could climb up to that entrance." "perhaps not, master, but it is best to be ready for them." they lighted two torches, and passed through the doorway. there was an angry hiss, some distance away. "that is a snake, sure enough, meinik. i wonder how it got here." holding their torches above their heads, they saw that the chamber was some fourteen feet wide and twenty long. in the corner to the left something was lying and, above it, a dark object was moving backwards and forwards. "it is a big boa," meinik said. "now, master, do you take the two torches in one hand, and have your knife ready in the other. if it coils round you, cut through it at once. this is a good place for fighting it, for there is nothing here for it to get its tail round; and a boa cannot squeeze very hard, unless he does that." stanley, feeling that in a combat of this sort the burman would be perfectly at home, while he himself knew nothing about it, did as he was told; determining to rush in, should it attack his follower. "you can advance straight towards him, master. i will steal round. he will be watching you, and i may get a cut at him, before he notices me." illustration: the great snake moved his head higher and higher, hissing angrily. stanley moved slowly forward. as he did so, the great snake moved its head higher and higher, hissing angrily, with its eyes fixed on the torches. stanley did not take his gaze from it; but advanced, grasping his knife. he knew that the boa's bite was harmless, and that it was only its embrace that was to be feared. he was within some eight feet of the reptile, when there was a spring. the snake's head disappeared and, in a moment, it was writhing, twisting, and lashing its tail so quickly that his eyes could hardly follow its contortions. "stand back, master," meinik shouted. "if its tail strikes you, it might do you an injury. it is harmless, otherwise. i have cut its head off." stanley stepped back a pace or two, and stood gazing in awe at the tremendous writhing of the headless snake. "it is a monster, meinik," he said. "it is a big snake, master. indeed, i should say that it must be about forty feet long, and it is as thick as my body. it would be more than a match for a tiger." "well, i hope there are not many more of them about, meinik." "that depends, master. it may have its mate, but it is more likely there will be no other. it would eat any smaller ones of its own kind, of course; but there may be some small poisonous ones about." as the writhing of the snake ceased, stanley looked round and saw a narrow doorway, in the corner opposite that in which it had been lying. "here is a passage, meinik. let us see where it goes to." meinik had, by this time, lighted two more torches. "the more light the better," he said, "when you are looking for snakes," and, holding them in one hand and his knife in the other, he passed through the doorway, which was about four feet high. stanley followed him. the apartment was similar to the last, but narrower; and was lighted by an opening not more than a foot square. "see, meinik, there is a staircase, in the corner facing us." the steps were very narrow, but in perfect preservation. without staying to examine the room, meinik led the way up; examining every step carefully, and holding the knife in readiness to strike. they mounted some forty steps, and then entered a room about ten feet square. except a window, some eighteen inches by three feet, there was no apparent exit from the chamber. "i should think that there must be some way out of this place, meinik. why should they have taken the trouble to cut that long flight of steps through the rock, just to reach this miserable little chamber?" meinik shook his head. the ways of these ancient builders were beyond him. "there must be an outlet somewhere, if we could but find it. besides, we have not found where the snake came in, yet." "he could have come in at the door, master. a small snake could not have climbed up, but that big fellow could rear his head up and come in, quite easily. we have found no little snakes at all." "well, that may be so, but i still think that there must be some way out from here. why should men go to the labour of cutting this long stair, and excavating this chamber here, without any reason whatever? let us look through the window, meinik." it was a passage, rather than a window; for the rock face had been left four feet in thickness. crawling out, stanley saw that he was fifty feet above the foot of the cliff. a yard below him was a ledge of rock, some two feet wide. it was level, and had deep grooves cut, at regular intervals, across it. he had no doubt that the roof of the outside temple had started from this point; and that the grooves were made for the ends of massive rafters, of teak or stone. at that time the passage to the chamber that he had left was, doubtless, used for an exit on to the flat roof. stepping on to the ledge, he called meinik to him. "now, meinik," he said, "we will follow this ledge. there may be some way up from it." walking with a good deal of care, stanley made his way along to a point where the ledge stopped, abruptly. looking down, he saw the remains of a wall of solid masonry, and perceived that he had been correct in his surmise as to the purpose of the ledge. then they turned, and went back to the other end of the ledge. a few feet before they reached this, meinik--who was now leading the way--stopped. "here is a passage, master." the entrance was about the same size as that through which they had stepped out on to the ledge but, instead of going straight in, it started upwards. "another flight of steps, meinik. i am beginning to hope that we shall find some way out, at the top. if we can do so, it will make us safe. we could defend those stairs and the entrance for a long time and, when we wanted to get away, we could make quietly off, without anyone knowing that we had left." chapter : in the temple. they went up the flight of steps for a considerable distance, then they found the passage blocked by a number of great stones. stanley uttered an exclamation of disgust. "it has fallen in," he said. "no doubt we are near the top of the rock. either the staircase was roofed in, or there was a building erected over the entrance; and either the roof or building, whichever it was, has fallen in. that is very unlucky. when we go down, we will climb up the hill and see if we can discover anything about it. "with plenty of food and water," he went on, as they descended into the lowest chamber, "one could hold this place for any time." "yes, master, one could store away the food; but where should we store the water? we might bring skins in that would last us for a week, perhaps two weeks, but after that?" "after that we should make our way off, somehow, meinik," stanley said, confidently. "well, there is no doubt that this is the place to shelter in. they are less likely to find us here than anywhere and, if they do find us, we can defend ourselves stoutly. i should say, too, that if we think it over, we ought to be able to hit upon some plan for making noises that would frighten them. you know how scared the man and the two boys were, at that sighing sound in the other chamber. we certainly could make more alarming noises than that." meinik nodded. "that we could, master. with some reeds of different sizes i could make noises, some as deep as the roar of a tiger, and others like the singing of a bird." "then we will certainly bring some reeds in here with us, meinik. i don't suppose they will mind, in the daytime, what sounds they hear; but at night i don't think even their officers would care to move about here, if we can but make a few noises they do not understand. "well, for the present we have done our work here; and you had best go off with the burman to buy food, to serve in case of a siege. you had better go to some of the cultivators' houses, near the edge of the wood, for rice and fruit. if you can get the food there, you will be able to make two or three journeys a day, instead of one. "but, before we start back, we will climb round to the top of the hill, and see what has happened to shut up the staircase." it took them a quarter of an hour's climbing, through the forest and undergrowth, before they reached the upper edge of the rock wall in which the chambers had been excavated. it had evidently, in the first place, been a natural cliff for, when on the ledge, stanley had noticed that while below that point the rock was as smooth as a built wall, above it was rough, and evidently untouched by the hand of man. following the edge of the cliff, until standing as nearly as they could guess above the entrance to the steps, they walked back among the trees. at a distance of some thirty yards, they came upon a ruin. it was built of massive stones, like those which strewed the ground where the temple had stood. a great tree rose on one side, and it was evident that its growth had, in the first place, overthrown the wall at this point. climbers and shrubs had thrust their roots in between the blocks that had been but slightly moved, by the growth of the tree; and had, in time, forced them asunder; and so, gradually, the whole building had collapsed. "this tree must be a very old one," stanley said, looking up at it, "for it is evident that this wall was thrown down a great many years ago." "very old, master. it is one of our hardest woods, and such trees live, they say, five or six hundred years. there are some which are known to be even older than that." "well, it is clear that the staircase came up here; but we have no means of knowing how far the point we reached is below this. i should say that the stones we saw are the remains of the pavement and roof, for you see these great blocks that formed the walls don't go as far as the middle, where there is a great depression. still, of course, the steps may have come up on one side or the other, and not just in the middle of this little temple--for, no doubt, it was a temple. "now, you see, the reason for the steps up to that little square room are explained. probably those three chambers were the apartments of the principal priests, and from them they could either go out on to the roof of the temple; or could, by taking the upper staircase to this point, leave or enter without observation. "now, let us be off." on arriving at their tree shelter, they found that the burman had got a meal ready and, after partaking of this, meinik, with the man, started to buy provisions. it was fortunate that stanley had, before starting from prome, drawn some twenty pounds' worth of silver from the paymaster. he had expected to be away for three or four weeks and, during that time, would have had to buy provisions for himself, harry, and the four troopers; and might possibly have occasion for money for other matters. he had not paid the men from the village, for he knew that one of these would willingly accompany him to prome, to receive payment for them all. a very small amount of silver sufficed for the purchase of a considerable quantity of food in burma. fruit, of which many kinds grew wild in the woods, was extremely cheap; as was rice and grain. therefore as yet, with the exception of the small sum expended in toungoo, his money was virtually untouched. the two burmans made three journeys before nightfall and returned, each time, with large baskets of fruit, grain, and rice. on the following morning, they went into the town and bought six of the largest sized water skins--such as are carried for the use of the troops in india, one on each side of a bullock. as soon as they returned with these, they started for the temple. at a stream about a hundred yards from the entrance they partially filled one of the skins and, placing a strong bamboo through the straps sewn on it for the purpose, meinik and the burmans carried it to the temple and, with stanley's assistance, lifted it into the lower chamber. the others were, one by one, placed beside it; then water was carried in the smaller skins and poured in, until they were all as full as they could hold. "there is water enough to last us for a month, if needs be," stanley said as, after securely tying up the mouths, they laid the skins down, side by side. the smaller mussucks were then filled and placed with the large skins; and then, having done a long day's work, they returned to their tree just as the sun was setting. the four men and two boys were already there, they having done the sixty miles from the village without a halt. they had already cooked some rice and some slices of venison--which meinik had brought, with the water skins, from the town that morning--and were now lying smoking their cigars with placid contentment. for the next six days meinik went to the town every afternoon. on his return on the last evening, he said that the guard had told him that the governor had paid a visit to the prison, that day, and had seen the white captive; and had decided that he was now well enough to travel, and that in two days' time he was to start for ava, the court having sent down an urgent order that he should be carried there as soon as he was well enough to bear the fatigue. "then tomorrow we must get him out," stanley said. "will our two men be on duty?" "yes, master, they have not been on since the last night we were there. they will form the second watch, and will go on guard at midnight. i have bought two very sharp saws, and have cut two strong bamboos for the litter." this was constructed the next day. it was very simple, being formed by sewing a blanket strongly to the two bamboos. two slighter bamboos, each four feet long, were tied loosely to the main poles. these were to be lashed across, as soon as they had got beyond the palisade, so as to keep the poles three feet apart--which, as the blanket was four feet, from pole to pole, would allow it to bag comfortably. the cross pieces could not be attached until they were beyond the palisade; for the window was but two feet wide, and it was therefore proposed to make the gap through the palisade the same width, only. late in the evening they entered the town, and sat down in a deserted corner until the time came for them to begin their work. at last meinik said that, by the stars, it was already past midnight; and they then proceeded to the spot where they had before climbed the palisade. here they at once set to work. the saws were well oiled and, in a very few minutes, five bamboos were cut away, at the level of the ground and six feet above it. as the stockade was bound together by cross pieces, behind, the other portions of the bamboos remained in their places. meinik and stanley went first, followed by three of the burmans, one of whom carried the litter. the other two burmans with the boys, remained on guard at the opening. all were barefooted, except that stanley wore a pair of the lightest leather sandals. they went noiselessly up to the window; the guard, as before, responding to meinik's hiss. without a word, one after another entered the chamber. the trooper had been sitting at the table, evidently anxiously expecting their arrival. stanley went up to the bed. "are you better, harry?" he asked, in a whisper. "better, but still weak." everything had been arranged beforehand. the litter was laid down on the ground, with the poles as far apart as possible. then stanley made a sign, to the trooper, to take one end of the rug on which harry was lying; while he took the other. the burmans ranged themselves on each side; and the blanket was lifted up, with the occupant and the pillow composed of his clothes, and laid quietly on to the blanket of the litter. then two burmans went outside, while the other four men lifted the poles and carried one end to the window. the burmans outside held the ends well above their heads, stanley and the trooper raising their hands similarly. the other burmans then crawled, under it, out of the window. as the litter was moved forward through the window, they took the places of stanley and the trooper at the poles, and silently moved on towards the palisade. stanley and meinik followed, joined by the two burmese guards. not the slightest sound was made, as the eight men crossed the short distance to the palisade and passed through the opening where the others, spear in hand, were awaiting them; ready to rush in and take part in the fray, should an alarm be given. stanley breathed a great sigh of relief, as they passed out. a few paces further they halted, and the cross pieces were lashed to the poles. "thank god that you are out, harry!" stanley said, as soon as they did this. "has it hurt you much?" "nothing to speak of," harry replied. "you managed it marvellously. am i really outside the place altogether?" "yes, fairly out. you will be more comfortable when we have lashed these cross pieces. you will not be lying, then, at the bottom of a bag; as you are now." when the work was completed, they proceeded at a rapid pace; for harry's weight, reduced by fever as he had been, was a trifle to his bearers. the others followed close behind and, in a quarter of an hour, they were well beyond the town. stanley spoke to harry once or twice, but received no answer; so he had no doubt that his cousin had dozed quietly off to sleep. the gentle motion of the litter would be likely to have that effect; especially as harry had probably been lying awake, for the last night or two, listening for the friends who might arrive at any time. when they reached the confines of the forest the torches, which had been carried by the boys, were all lit; and each carried two--with the exception of the bearers, who had but one each--while all kept close together round the litter. they waved their torches as they went and, although they heard the cries of several tigers in the forest, they had no fear of being attacked; as so many waving lights would deter the most hungry beast from venturing near. once in the chamber at the temple, the litter was laid down on a pile of reeds and leaves that had been gathered the day before, together with a great store of brushwood and logs. harry still sleeping quietly. in a short time a bright fire was blazing and, with this and the light of the torches, the chamber assumed quite a cheerful appearance. on the way, stanley had spoken to the two guards, thanked them for their service, and assured them that they would receive the reward promised by meinik. "i am the british officer," he said, "who was at the village with my friend, though i was absent when he was carried off. as you see, i am disguised." both had shown signs of uneasiness, when they approached the temple; but meinik had assured them that the spirits would not venture to approach a party having a white man with them, and that a night had already been passed in the temple, without any harm coming of it. a meal, consisting of slices of venison, was at once prepared and, when this was eaten, and the whole party had lighted cigars, their spirits rose at the success of the enterprise. the soldiers, however, had been disappointed at hearing that there was going to be a stay for some little time there, to enable the wounded man to gain strength. "we may not stop long," stanley said; "but, you see, with the litter we could not travel fast; and you may be sure by this time the alarm has been given for, when they came to relieve you at the end of three hours, it would be found that you were missing; and then they would, at once, discover that the captives had gone, too. by daybreak the whole garrison will be out. how many are there of them?" "there are three thousand men, in the town," the guard said. "after a party of your soldiers came within a short distance of it, two months ago, fifteen hundred men were added to the garrison." "well, you see, with three thousand men they could scour all the woods and, if they overtook us, we should be unable to make any defence. here, we may hope that they will not discover us; but if they do we can make a desperate resistance for, as only one man can enter that door at a time, it would be next to impossible for them to force their way in. you have your guns, and i have a brace of pistols and, as all the others have spears, it will be as much as the three thousand men could do, to get in through that door. if they did, there is a still narrower door in the corner to defend; and beyond that there is a long, narrow, steep flight of stairs, that one man could hold against a host. "the first thing in the morning, we will carry our stores to the upper chamber. we have water and rice enough to last us for a month, if we are careful; so that, although i hope they won't find us, i shall not be at all afraid of our beating them off, if they do so." as soon as it was daylight, the stones that had been added to the steps at the doorway were flung down; and then, by their united efforts, the two remaining steps were removed. then they helped each other up, the last man being aided by two of his comrades, above. "there," stanley said; "if they do come to search for us, they are not likely to suspect that we have got a badly wounded man up here. they may search the big chamber that we were in, before, and any others there may be on the same level; but this narrow entrance, ten feet above them, is scarcely likely to attract their attention. if it does, as i said, we must fight it out; but it will be a wonderfully hard nut for them to crack." he then ordered the men to carry all the stores to the upper chamber. just as they began the work, there was a slight movement on the bed. stanley at once went up to it. harry was looking round, in a bewildered way. "well, harry, how are you feeling? you have had a capital sleep." "oh, is it you, stanley? i was not quite sure but that i was dreaming. where am i? i must have gone off to sleep, directly we started; for i don't remember anything, after you spoke to me when they were making the hammock more comfortable." "you are in a temple--some four or five thousand years old, i should say--and this is a rock chamber. the temple itself is in ruins. we are ten miles from toungoo, and shall wait here till the pursuit for you has slackened. in another week, you will be more fit to move than you are, at present. i should not like to carry you far, as you are now. besides, if we had pushed on, they would have been sure to overtake us; for these fellows can run like hares." "but why should not they find us here, stanley?" "well, of course they may do so, but the entrance to this chamber is ten feet above the ground; and another thing is, they have all sorts of superstitions about the place. nothing would induce them to approach it, after nightfall; and even in the daytime, they don't like coming near it. lastly, if they do find us, it will take them all their time to force their way in. i have five men, and two young fellows quite capable of fighting; then there are your two guards, meinik, the trooper, and myself. so you see, we muster twelve. we have two guns, and a brace of pistols, and spears for us all; and if we cannot defend that narrow passage, against any number of burmans, we shall deserve our fate. "besides, there is another, and even narrower door, in the corner behind you. they would have to force that; and in the chamber beyond there is a narrow, straight staircase, some forty feet high, which a man with an axe ought to be able to hold against an army. they are taking the stores up there, now. we have got provisions and water for a month. when everything is straight, there we shall carry you up and, unless they sit down in front of this place and regularly starve us out, we are as safe as if we were in prome." "i wish to goodness you had that hideous dye off you, stanley. i know it is you by your voice but, what with the colour, and all that tattooing, and your extraordinary hair, i don't know you in the least." "i am in just the same disguise as that in which i made my way down from ava," stanley laughed. "i felt very uncomfortable, at first, with nothing on but this short petticoat thing; but i have got accustomed to it, now, and i am bound to say that it is cool and comfortable. "now, tell me about your wounds." "they are not very serious, stanley. i had a lick across the head with a sword--that was the one that brought me down--and a slice taken out of my arm from the elbow, nearly up to the shoulder. also a spear-wound in the side; but that was a trifle, as it glanced off the ribs. if i had been left as i fell, and somebody had bound up my wounds at once, i should have been all right by this time. the fellows did bandage them up, to some extent; but the movement of the litter set them off bleeding again, and i fancy that i lost pretty nearly all the blood in my body. i think that it was pure weakness, rather than fever, that kept me unconscious so long; for i gather, from the pantomime of the trooper, that i must have been nearly a fortnight unconscious." "yes, you were certainly so when i came the first time, harry; but i think, perhaps, on the whole, it is lucky that you were. you would probably have had a great deal more fever, if you had not been so very weak; and if you had escaped that, and had gone on well, you might have been sent off to ava before i could get all the arrangements made for your escape." "tell me all about it," harry said. "it seems to me wonderful how you managed it." stanley told him the whole story. by the time that he had finished, the stores had all been taken upstairs; and the fire most carefully extinguished, as the smoke would at once have betrayed them. the cross pieces of the litter had been taken off, to allow harry to be carried in through the door, and he was now lifted. two of the men took off their cloths, and wrapped the materials of the bed into these, carrying them up at once. as soon as they had gone on, harry was slowly and carefully taken to the upper chamber, and laid down again on the bed. stanley took his place beside him, and the rest of the party went down to the lower room; having received the strictest orders not to show themselves near the entrance, and not to smoke until well assured that their pursuers must have passed on ahead. the bamboos of the litter were converted into a rough ladder and, on this, meinik took his post at the little window in the second of the lower rooms. owing to the immense thickness of the rock wall, he did not get an extensive view, but he could see the path by which anyone coming up through the forest would approach the temple. it was now about half-past seven and, by this time, the pursuers might be at hand; in ten minutes, indeed, distant shouts could be heard, and stanley at once went down and joined the men below. he placed himself in the line of the doorway. as the wall here was four feet thick, the room was in semi-darkness and, standing well back, he was certain that his figure could not be perceived by anyone standing in the glare of sunshine outside. the sounds grew louder and louder; and in a minute or two an officer, followed by some twenty men, emerged from the trees. all paused, when they saw the temple. the men would have drawn back at once; but the officer shouted to them to advance, although showing small inclination to do so, himself. they were still standing, irresolute, when a superior officer on horseback, followed by some fifty footmen, came up the path. he shouted orders for them to search the temple and, as the fear of him was even greater than their dread of the spirits, the whole of the men made their way over the fallen stones, and up to the face of the rock. they first entered the chamber where the horses had been stabled. the officer who had first arrived went in with his men and, coming out, reported to his senior that there had been a fire made, and that some horses had also been there; but that three weeks, or a month, must have passed since then. "are you sure of that?" "quite certain, my lord. it is extraordinary that anyone should have dared to enter there, still less to stable horses when, as everyone knows, the temple is haunted by evil spirits." "i care nothing for spirits," the officer said. "it is men we are in search of. go and look into any other chambers there may be." at this moment a deep, mournful sound was heard. louder and louder it rose, and then gradually died away. the soldiers stood as if paralysed. even the high official--who had been obliged to leave his horse, and make his way across the fallen blocks on foot--stepped back a pace, with an expression of awe. he soon recovered himself, and shouted angrily to the men to go on. but again the dirge-like noise rose, louder and louder. it swelled, and then as gradually died away; but this time with a quavering modulation. the men looked up, and round. some gazed at the upper part of the rock, some straight ahead, while others turned round and faced the forest. "search!" the officer shouted, furiously. "evil spirits or no evil spirits, not a man shall stir from here, until the place is searched." then rose a shrill, vibrating sound, as if of eerie laughter. not even the officer's authority, or the fear of punishment, could restrain the soldiers. with cries of alarm, they rushed across the ruins and plunged into the forest; followed, at a rate which he tried in vain to make dignified, by the officer who, as soon as he reached his horse, leapt upon it and galloped away. the burmese keenly appreciate a joke and, as soon as the troops had fled, the villagers and guards inside the temple threw themselves down on the ground, and roared with laughter. stanley at once made his way into the upper room. "splendidly done, meinik! it was like the note of an organ. although i knew what you were going to do, i felt almost startled, myself, when that deep note rose. no wonder they were frightened." "well, at any rate, master, we are safe for the present." "for the present, no doubt, meinik; but i question if we sha'n't hear of them, again. that officer was a determined-looking fellow and, though he was scared, too, he stuck to it like a man." "that is the governor of the town, master. i saw him carried through the streets in his chair. everyone was bending to the ground, as he passed. he was a famous general, at one time; and they say that he is likely to command a part of the army, again, when fighting begins." "well, i think that we shall hear of them again, meinik. i don't suppose that he really thought that we were here for, certainly, no burman would take up his abode in this place, even to save his life. they will push on the chase through the woods all day and, by that time, they will feel sure that they would have overtaken us, had we gone straight on. then i should not be at all surprised if he tries here, again." "perhaps he will, master. like enough, he will chop off the heads of some of the men that ran away, and pick out some of his best troops for the search. still, i hope he won't think of it." stanley shook his head. "i hope so, too, meinik. there is one thing about which i feel certain--if he does find us here, he will stay here or, at any rate, leave some troops here, until he gets us. he would know that he would get into trouble, at ava, for letting the prisoners escape; and it would be all important for him to recapture them. "now we are up here, meinik, we will go and have a look at that upper staircase, again. if we are besieged, that is our only hope of safety." they again went along the ledge, and up the staircase. stanley examined the stones that blocked the passage, for some time, and at last exclaimed: "there, meinik, look along by the side of this stone. i can see a ray of light. yes, and some leaves. i don't think they are more than thirty feet above us!" meinik applied his eye to the crevice. "i see them, master. yes, i don't think those leaves are more than that distance away." "that is what i came to look for," stanley said. "it was evident that this rubbish could only be the stones of the root, and pavement over the depression in the middle of the ruin; and that these could not block up this staircase very far. the question is, will it be possible to clear them away? evidently it will be frightfully dangerous work. one might manage to get one stone out, at a time, in safety. but at any moment, the loosening of one stone might bring a number of others down, with a run; and anyone on this narrow staircase would be swept away like a straw." meinik agreed as to the danger. "well, we need not think it over now, meinik; but if we are really besieged, it is by this way that we must escape, if at all. we must hope that we sha'n't be beset; but if we are, we must try here. i would rather be killed, at once, by the fall of a stone on my head, than tortured to death." meinik nodded, and they descended the stairs, put out the torches that they had used there, and returned along the ledge to the chamber where harry was lying. "so meinik scared them away," the latter said, as stanley sat down beside him. "i could not think what he was going to do when he came up here with that long reed, as thick as my leg. he showed it to me, and i saw that it had a sort of mouthpiece fixed into it; and he made signs that he was going to blow down it. when he did, it was tremendous and, as it got louder and louder, i put my hands to my ears. everything seemed to quiver. the other row--that diabolical laughing noise--he made with a smaller one. it was frightful; but the big note was more like a trombone, only twenty times louder. "well, do you think that we have done with them?" "i hope so, harry. at any rate, you can be assured that they will never fight their way up here and, long before our provisions are finished, i have no doubt that i shall be able to hit on some plan of escape." the day passed quietly. the woods were as silent as usual. the burmans were all in high spirits at the success of meinik's horn. when it became dark, they hung a blanket before the entrance, placed one of the lads on watch just outside it, and then lighted a fire. stanley took a couple of torches and went up to harry, taking the precaution to hang a cloth before the window. "i have not said much about thanking you, old fellow," harry said, "but you must know how i feel." "you had better say nothing about it, harry. i have only done what you would have done, had you been in my place. had you been in charge of that party, and i had been carried off, i know you would have done all in your power to rescue me. you might not have succeeded quite so well, because you do not know their language; but i know that you would have tried. after all, i have not run anything like so much risk as i did when i rescued meinik from the leopard. and he, of course, was an absolute stranger to me. "besides, you are not rescued, yet; and we won't holloa until we are out of the wood." "it is very cool and pleasant here," harry said, after lying without speaking for a few minutes. "it was dreadfully hot in that hut, in the middle of the day; and i used to feel that i lost almost as much strength, in the day, as i picked up at night. i am wonderfully better this evening. of course, that long sleep had something to do with it, and the pleasure of being free and with you had still more; but certainly the coolness, and the air blowing through that opening, have counted for something." "well, we shall feed you up as long as you are here, harry; and i hope, in a fortnight, to see you pretty firm on your legs again; and then, if there is nothing to prevent it, we will carry you off triumphantly." meinik here came in, with two bowls of broth; for they had bought a few earthenware utensils on one of the visits to toungoo. "that is first rate!" harry said, as he finished his first one. "what is it made of?" "i never ask questions," stanley replied--who tried, successfully, to keep down a smile. "meinik is a capital cook, and turns out all sorts of nice little dishes. here comes his step again. "what have you there, meinik?" he asked, as the burman entered, with two plates. "a slice of mutton done on sticks over the fire, master, and some rice with it." "that is first rate!" harry said heartily, when he had finished. "they did not give me meat, in prison. i suppose they thought that i was not strong enough for it." "they eat very little meat themselves, harry. now i fancy your dinner is done, except some fruit. we have got plenty of that." there were, however, some fried bananas, and harry declared that he had feasted like a king. "if this goes on, stanley, i will wager that i shall be about in a week; and shall be offering to run a race with you, in a fortnight." "you will be a good deal longer than that, before you are fit to walk any distance. still, with a good appetite--which you are sure to have, after your illness--plenty of food, and the cool air in these caves, i do expect that you will pick up fast." the next day passed quietly. "i shall be glad when tomorrow is over," stanley said to meinik, the last thing before going up to harry's cell. "today i expect they are all marching back again and, if they pay us another visit, it will be early tomorrow morning. be sure that two men are on watch. they can relieve each other, every hour; and i shall come down myself, occasionally, to see that all is right; but i don't think that even the governor could get his men to come near this place, after dark." "we will keep good watch, master, but i have no fear of their coming." chapter : the attack. stanley got up several times during the night, and went below to the watches; as he felt sure they would be nervous for, though they had now, to a large extent, got over their superstitious fears, they would still be timid at night. they reported that everything was still round the temple, but that they had heard distant sounds in the woods; and on the first of these occasions he had, after returning to the room above, gone out on to the ledge; and from that height could see the reflection, in the sky, of a number of fires extending in a semicircle, at a distance of a mile or so from the temple. from this he felt convinced that the governor was determined to have a thorough search made in the morning. as soon as it was daylight, the sound of the blowing of horns and the beating of drums was heard in the forest and, half an hour later, a large body of men poured out from the trees, headed by the governor, himself. "now," he shouted, "this place is to be searched, in every hole and corner. "as to the evil spirits, there is no fear of them, either by day or night. did you ever hear of their attacking a large body of men? they may strangle a single traveller, who ventures into their haunts; but no one ever heard of a burmese army being attacked by them. now, every man has to do his duty; and the first who wavers, his head is to be struck off, at once. "forward!" the troops rushed impetuously across the ruins, penetrated into the various chambers in the rock and, in a few minutes, all these were reported to be empty. "there are chambers higher up," the governor said. "we will search them, and--look at that door up there, it must lead to somewhere. bring stones, and make a stair up to it." it was evident now that there was no longer any hope of concealment, and stanley stepped to the entrance. "my lord governor," he shouted, "there is a strong force here, and all your army could not gain an entrance. we do not wish to take the lives of brave men; but if we are attacked we must defend ourselves, and i pray you to withdraw with them, and not to throw away life." this address from an apparent peasant excited the wrath of the governor, who shouted: "shoot him, men!" but before the order could be obeyed, stanley had stepped back into the chamber, where he had already ordered the men to stand out of the line of the door. a number of muskets were fired, and several bullets struck the back wall of the chamber. the firing continued, and stanley said: "keep where you are, men, until they have finished; then approach the door for, directly they begin the attack, the men behind must stop firing. they will be some minutes, yet." he ran quickly up to harry's room. "they are attacking us," harry exclaimed; "oh, how i wish i could come down and help!" "they can never get in, harry. british soldiers might do it, but not these fellows. they can only enter two abreast and, with a dozen spear points facing them, what can they do? i thought that i would just come up and tell you it was all right. it will take them five minutes, at least, to pile up stones level with the doorway." stanley again joined those below. meinik, the trooper, and one of the burmese were to form the first line; the four other burmese were to stand behind, with their spears, between the men in front; the two guards with their muskets, and the boys were to act as a reserve. stanley had armed himself with one of the axes, and was to stand by the side of the entrance so that, if the spearmen were pressed back, and any of the assailants succeeded in passing the entrance, he would strike them down. presently, there was a silence outside. "keep well back," he said. "they have laid their stones, and we shall have a rush, directly; but they will most likely pour in a volley, first." the pause lasted for a minute or two. then a drum was beaten, and a hundred muskets were fired. a rain of bullets flew into the cave. "now," stanley shouted, "form up." illustration: in vain the burmese tried to force their way into the chamber. a wild yell was raised by the burmese. now they knew that they were fighting human foes, their courage returned, and there was a rush of men up the pile of stones to the entrance; but in vain they tried to force their way into the chamber. those in front fell pierced by the spears and, while the defenders could see their figures against the light, the assailants, coming out from the sunshine, could see nothing in the chamber, which was now darkened by their filling up the entrance. not once was it necessary for stanley to strike. the burmans' spears did their work thoroughly and, in two or three minutes, the entrance was nigh choked up with dead bodies, adding to the difficulty of the assailants. pressed on by those behind, the foremost fell over these obstacles, and were instantly pierced by the spears; until it was no longer possible to get through the outer entrance, much less make their way into the chamber. again and again the attack was repeated and, as often, repulsed. before advancing the burmese, each time, endeavoured to clear the passage by drawing out the bodies of their comrades; but the two guards now posted themselves in front, and shot man after man who made the attempt. at last the burmese drew off, but not till some fifty or sixty had been killed. the governor was seen gesticulating furiously to a party of officers and, presently, a final attack was made, led by several officers of rank. this was as unsuccessful as the others. the bodies, indeed, of the killed now forming a well-nigh impassable barrier and, after several of the officers and many of the bravest men had fallen, the remainder withdrew suddenly. the governor appeared to recognize that the task was an impossible one; and two or three hundred men were at once set to work felling trees and, by nightfall, a high stockade had been erected round the open ground in front of the temple. "they are going to try to starve us out," stanley said. "there is no more chance of fighting, tonight." as soon as the stockade was finished, musketeers took their place behind it and opened a dropping fire at the entrance, while the woodcutters continued to fell trees. "we must get rid of these dead bodies, if we can," stanley said, "or the place will be uninhabitable, in a day or two. "get those two bamboos we had for the litter, meinik. we will push the bodies out, one by one, beginning with those on the top of the heap. we can keep down behind the shelter of the pile, till we have got most of them out. after that, we must take our chance of a shot." it took them some hours' work but, at last, the passage was cleared, and the bodies all thrown outside. the fire was lighted in the next room; and stanley, bidding two men listen attentively for any movement, went up again to harry--to whom he had paid a flying visit, as soon as the burmese drew off. "we cannot risk having a light here, harry," he said. "i don't want them to have any idea that this chamber, which is nearly fifty feet above the entrance, is in any way connected with the rooms below. if such an idea struck them, they might lower men from above by ropes, and so take us in the rear." "did you say that we are regularly shut up, in front, by that stockade?" "yes; there is certainly no getting out, that way. behind, you know, it is a sheer wall of rock; and the only possibility, that i can see, is that we may clear a staircase which runs up through the rock, from a ledge on the level of this room, to the ruins of a building above. at present, the upper part is entirely choked up with blocks of stone and rubbish, and it will be a very awkward job to get through it; but so far, it seems to me, it is that or nothing." "what are they going on chopping down trees for?" "i believe their general is doing it to bring large numbers of his troops close up to the stockade; partly perhaps to keep up the spirits of the front line, by their company; partly to render impossible any attempt, on our part, to make our way out by a sudden rush. of course, they don't know what our strength is; but they have had so sharp a lesson, today, that they will take every precaution, in future. "well, what is it, meinik?" "we have been talking together, master; and we think that, if we were to call out that they might take the bodies away, without any interference by us, they would do so. several officers of rank have fallen there, and it is our custom always to carry off the dead, when it is possible." "it would be worth trying the experiment, anyhow, meinik. but we must all stand to arms, while they are doing it; as they might make a sudden rush. however, we would risk that, for those bodies have been worrying me very much, and i would give anything to have them taken away. i will go down with you." meinik accordingly went down to the entrance, and shouted out: "peace, peace! i am ordered, by the english officer, to say that he would wish those who have fought so bravely to be honoured, after death; and that no shot shall be fired, and no interference made, with those who come to carry away the dead." there was silence for two or three minutes, and then a voice called back: "it is well; for two hours there shall be peace between us." "i have no doubt the governor is as glad to do this as we are. it is considered a disgrace, if the dead are not carried off the ground to burial; and if he sends despatches to ava, he will be glad to be able to put in that the brave men who fell have all been buried, with due honours. besides, meinik, it would not be encouraging to his troops for them to have that pile of dead bodies before them and, indeed, would be enough to cause a pestilence, in a few days." the men were formed up again, round the entrance. the burmese did their work silently. occasionally a slight movement was heard, but no one could have imagined that a hundred men were busy outside. a number of them carried torches, and all worked steadily and in good order, under the direction of two or three officers. one of the posts of the stockade had been pulled up and through this the bodies were carried. it was less than two hours before a horn sounded, and there was a loud call of: "the peace is over; all is done." beyond the stockade great fires blazed among the trees. the work of chopping down the forest continued, and by the morning the ground had been cleared for a distance of thirty or forty yards from the paling. then the burmese raised another stockade forty feet behind the first, so that, if by carelessness or treachery the besieged should manage to pass through the first line, there would yet be another in front of them. "i expect, master," meinik said as, standing well back, he watched the men at work, "the general is building this second line, not because he thinks that there is a chance of our getting through the first, but to keep the men at work, so as to prevent them from thinking anything about the spirits. now that they have passed one night there, they will have got somewhat over their fear and, of course, every day that passes, without ill befalling them, they will think less and less about the evil ones." "do you believe in them, meinik?" meinik hesitated. "everyone knows, master, that evil spirits guard the treasures of the people that lived in the land long, long ago. no one can doubt that people who have rashly sought the treasures have been found dead, with staring eyes and swollen bodies; but as, at present, they must know well that neither we nor those outside are searching for treasure, they may not interfere." "then you think that there are treasures buried here, somewhere?" "i cannot say, master; everyone says so. the story has been handed down that this was once the greatest of the temples of the old people; and that, when they were defeated by tribes from the east--i know not whether it was us, or some people before us--the priests from all the other temples came here. the remains of their army came here, too, and fought outside the temple until all were killed. "when the conquerors entered, they found the priests all lying, in regular lines, on the pavements. all were dead. one story is that they had stabbed themselves; another, that they had taken poison. at any rate, no treasures were found; although it was known that the riches of the temple were great, and that all the other priests that had come here had brought the treasures from their temples with them. that was the beginning of the destruction of the place; for the pavement was torn up, and the walls in some places levelled, and the images of the gods broken up in search for the treasures. "the work of the guardian spirits had already begun. they say that all who took part in the search died, of a terrible pestilence that broke out. since that time, the place has been accursed. once or twice, kings have sent bodies of troops to search; and they say that some could never find the temple, but wandered about the forest for days, searching in vain for it. others found so thick a darkness, like the blackest of smoke, filling the forest, that even the bravest dare not enter. i say not that those things were so; i only say that these are the stories that have come down to us." "well, meinik, we are not going to search for the treasure; and it is evident that the spirits bear us no ill will; indeed, i feel obliged to them, for it is likely enough that the soldiers will put down their misfortune to their influence, and that even the governor may feel that it would be useless to try to get them to renew the assault. this evening we will go up, and have another look at the stairs; and see how we can best set to work to clear them. there is no great hurry about it, but the sooner we set to work, the better." all day long a dropping fire was maintained on the entrance, by the troops behind the first stockade; but as, with the exception of three men kept always on watch, the defenders were stationed in the next chamber, the bullets pattered harmlessly against the wall. during the night the accumulated dust of ages had been swept up from the floor; and this had been strewn, three inches deep, in the passage between the outer air and the chamber, so as to cover the blood that had been shed there. as soon as it was quite dark, stanley, meinik, and three of the villagers went out on to the ledge in front of the upper opening, made their way along it to the entrance of the stairs, and mounted. they carried with them two or three glowing brands from the fire, in one of the earthenware cooking pots, which was covered with a cloth to prevent the slightest glow being noticed by the enemy. the men, by stanley's order, brought with them the bamboos of the litter, the saw they had used at the stockade, a hatchet, and some blocks of firewood. when they got to the point where the steps were choked up, they lighted the two torches--the men who brought up the rear of the party holding up a rug, to prevent any reflection from the torches being seen outside. when stanley and meinik had again examined the obstacle, the latter retired; and the burmans, one by one, came up and looked at it. "what do you think of it?" stanley asked them. "it would be dangerous to touch it, my lord," one of them said. "if only one stone moved out from its place, it would be death to us all. they are firm now, quite firm; but if two or three were disturbed, the whole might come down at once." "i quite see that," stanley said. "can any of you suggest a plan by which we could get out, without much risk of setting them in motion?" the burmese were silent, "i will tell you my scheme then. i propose to cut the bamboos into lengths that will just reach across the passage. it is the lower stones that one is most afraid of. so long as these remain fixed, there is no fear of any general movement but, if they went, the whole mass might come down. this passage is less than three feet wide, and the bamboos are twelve feet long; so that each would make four, the width of the passage. i propose to drive them tightly in, and fix them firmly with wedges. they must be put in so that they will actually touch the stones, so as to prevent their making the slightest downward movement. if they began to slide, no doubt they would carry away the bamboos; but if these were fixed firmly, by wedges, they ought to be sufficient to prevent any movement from taking place--especially as there would be enough of them almost to touch each other, extending from this lowest step, on which the rocks rest, some five feet upwards--that is, to within some two feet of the roof, which would be sufficient for us to crawl through, and the bamboos would serve as a ladder. then i propose that we should work our way along the top, passing the small stones and rubbish backwards, after filling up all the cracks and crevices below us. "i see, of course, that we should meet with many obstacles. great stones may be sticking up, perhaps jammed against the roof; these would have to be broken off, or chipped in pieces. no doubt the work will take time but, at any rate, there is plenty of food for three weeks and, working by turns night and day, we ought to be able to burrow our way out. as we get on, we may not find the stones so tightly pressed together as they are, here. at any rate, as we saw the light above us, only some thirty feet up, there ought not to be above twenty feet of closely-packed stuff to get through. "no doubt the work will be dangerous, as well as hard but, as we know that if we do not succeed all our lives are forfeited, we can face the danger. everyone of us will take his share in turn; i shall do so, myself, and shall direct the work in general. what do you think of the plan?" "i think that it is possible, master," meinik said. "at any rate, we must try it; since it is the only way that offers us any chance of life." the burmese all agreed, and they at once set to work. the bamboos were first cut into lengths; and then, by means of the axe and wedges, were jammed so firmly, from side to side, that it would have required great force to dislodge them. these supports were somewhat irregularly placed, as it was necessary that they should absolutely touch the stones. as they proceeded with the work, the spaces behind the bamboos were filled tightly up with rubble, so as to solidify the whole. when the last support was in its place, stanley said: "now, meinik, do you with these three work, tonight; four others will take your place, before dawn. mind, at first i don't want you to attempt to move any fixed stones; but simply to clear away all small stones, and rubble. you can stow a good deal behind the two upper bamboos. the rest you must put on the stairs. i will see, tonight, what we can manage in the way of tools for chipping away the big stones that cannot be moved. you had better relieve each other very often. the three who are not at work should sit down on the ledge, outside, so that any stone accidentally dislodged will not fall on anyone. every ten minutes, one will come up to take the place of the man at work. be sure that each, as he passes up or down, replaces the blanket carefully." they had, indeed, before beginning to saw up the bamboos, fastened the blanket to one of the cross pieces of the stretcher and, cutting this to the width of the passage, had jammed it close up to the roof; so that the curtain, hanging down, effectually shut off the light. stanley then descended the steps, and rejoined harry below. before going down further, stanley, who had during the day informed harry of his plan, told him of the start that they had made. "of course, it all depends upon what stones you meet with," harry said. "if you come to a big solid block, i don't see how you are going to get through it." "we have the hatchets, and can whittle it away; and perhaps we can make some chisels, from the ramrods of your guards' guns. a lot can be done, with patience and plenty of hands." stanley then went down below, and explained to the others the plan proposed. the news gave them great satisfaction; for although meinik had told them there was a staircase above blocked with stones, it had seemed so impossible, to him, to clear it that he had placed no stress upon the fact; and the preparations made by the enemy to cut off any possible retreat had greatly depressed them. stanley took one of the iron ramrods and, raking some of the embers from the fire, placed it in them, about a foot from one end; then he directed the others to fan the embers, until they raised them almost to white heat. taking the ramrod out, he laid the edge of one of their knives upon it and, striking its back with a stone, soon cut through the glowing rod. he repeated the operation and had, then, three short rods of equal length. he now heated one end of each and, laying it on an axe on the ground, hammered it into chisel shape with the back of a light hatchet; repeating this several times, until it had the required shape and sharpness; then he plunged this into a pot of water. he did the same with the other two; and had, now, three chisels with which he hoped to be able to chip away the stones. the other ramrod he left intact, except that he sharpened one end. then, going up to harry's room, he lay down and slept for some hours; putting the two boys on watch, and bidding the trooper look after them. the two burmans, with one of the guards, were to go to work with him. several times he woke. the last time, on looking out, he thought that there was a faint light in the sky and, going down, called up the three men and, bidding them bring up the two heavy axes, a light hatchet, and the three short chisels, he led them up the steps to the working party. "how have you got on, meinik?" "we have cleared four feet, master; but there is a big stone sticking up, now, and we can do nothing with it." "we will have a try, and do you all go down, at once. "take off your cloth, one of you, and fill it with this rubbish on the steps. do it as quickly as you can. the day will be breaking, in a few minutes." stanley now climbed up, and investigated the passage. the bottom was level. every crack and crevice between the stones being filled up with rubbish. the obstacle meinik had spoken of evidently formed part of a flat slab. it reached within an inch of the roof and, at one side, touched the rock wall; at the other there was an interval, of some four or five inches, and the earth and rubbish had already been scraped out from behind it. putting his hand in, he found that the block was some four inches in thickness. he thought that if he could but get a fair blow at it, with the back of one of the heavy axes, he might break it off; but this was impossible. the total width of the passage did not exceed three feet; and as the men had, as they went, worked down somewhat, there was now about thirty inches between the bed of earth and rubbish, on which he was lying, and the roof. taking the handle of the axe in both hands, he used the head as a battering ram; but without any success. he then called up the slightest of the three men, and told him to crawl in beside him and, with their united strength, they pounded the stone for some time. finding that nothing could be done this way, stanley sent the man back again; and then, taking one of the three chisels and a small hatchet, he proceeded to mark a line along the bottom of the stone; and then, for ten minutes, worked away on it with the chisel and hammer. then he called up one of the others, and showed him what he was to do. all day they worked by turns and, though progress was very slow, by nightfall the groove was half an inch deep. stanley and the strongest burman then went in together and, lying on their backs again, tried the effect of the heavy axe; but still without success. then stanley told the man to get down and take out the wedge, at the top of the axe; and to cut away the wood below the head, so that the latter would slip down, four or five inches; then to take off the head of the other heavy axe and put it on above it, and replace the wedge. in a few minutes, the man rejoined him. "we must strike it as near the roof as we can," stanley said. both grasped the handle firmly. "we will sway it backwards and forwards three times and, the third time, strike. "one, two, three--hooray!" as the two-headed axe, driven with their united force, struck the stone, there was a sharp crack. "that has done it," stanley said, turning over. there was a dark line along the groove, and the top of the stone inclined back, two inches from the perpendicular; being kept in its place by the rubbish behind it. stanley put his hand into the hole, and got his fingers behind the stone; while the burmese put the chisel into the crack, and used it as a lever. in two or three minutes the stone was moved out of its position, taken out of the hole, and laid down on the steps. half an hour later meinik came up, with a trooper, another guard, and one of the boys; and was delighted to find that the obstacle, which had seemed to him fatal to their hopes, had been removed. stanley showed how they had carried out the work; and then, with his party, went down into the rock chambers. "it was pretty tiring work, harry," he said, "though we were only at it about a quarter of an hour, at a time. my wrists and arms and shoulders are aching, as if i had been beaten with sticks. tomorrow i will take up a good supply of firewood. the chisels got blunted before we had worked an hour; and we should get on a deal faster, if we could sharpen them frequently." "is the stone hard?" "no; it is a sort of marble, i think. we had the underpart of the slab on our side, and i did not think of looking when we took it down. anyhow, it was not very hard and, with a good strong chisel and a short, heavy hammer, i am sure we could have done it in an hour. "anyhow, it is a comfort that nothing came down on top of us. i examined the pile carefully, and there had not been the slightest movement among the lower stones; so that part of the difficulty seems to have been got over. "now, i must go down and get something to eat, and then i will go in for a good sleep. you are feeling all right, i hope?" "could not be doing better, stanley. i have eaten three solid meals, today; and have been sitting up on the edge of my bed, for some time. i tried standing, but it was no go; still, i do think that, in a day or two, i shall manage it." for six days the work continued. one party watched, another slept, and the third worked, by turns. some of the stones gave much greater trouble than the first they had met with; but having the fire close by proved a great assistance, as the chisels could be frequently sharpened. the men became more accustomed to the work, and the steady progress they made greatly excited their hopes. at the end of the week, but one stone barred the way. this, however, was much the most formidable that they had encountered. it seemed to have been a pillar, or a huge gate post; and was square, measuring some twenty inches on each face. the obstacle was all the more formidable, as the upper end was inclined towards them, greatly increasing the difficulty in using the chisel. beyond this, as far as they could see, there was merely a mass of smaller stones. the party who had been working upon this block were much disheartened, when stanley went up to relieve them. owing to the inclination of the stone, their chisels could get but little bite and, though they had been working for six hours at it, they had scarcely made any impression; indeed, at only one point had they so far broken the face that the chisel would cut. meinik had come down two hours before, to report to stanley the nature of the obstacle and, when he went up, he took with him the second ramrod, which had not hitherto been used. he saw at once that, as meinik had told him, it would be impossible to get through this block by the same means as before for, as the groove deepened, the labour would become greater and greater and, from the inclination of the stone, they would in time arrive at a point where the axe could no longer be used to strike the chisel. the point at which the slight indentation had been made was nearly at the corner of the stone. this was gradually enlarged, by hammering upon it with the head of the axe and, after an hour's work, the surface had been so far pounded that the chisel could get a flat hold upon it. then stanley and one of the burmans lay down, and placed the cutting end of the long ramrod against it; and the others, by turns, struck the end with the back of a light hatchet, those holding the rod turning it, slightly, after each blow. every half hour the edge of the chisel was resharpened and, by the time the next party relieved them, a hole of half an inch in diameter, and two inches deep, had been drilled in the stone. stanley remained with the newcomers for half an hour, instructing them in the work, and then went below. "well, stanley, what are you going to do with this monstrous stone meinik tells me of?" "there is only one thing to do with it, harry; that is, to blast it. the block is so inclined that one can do nothing with the chisels, and we are now drilling a hole. i don't know that i shall succeed but, at any rate, i am going to have a try. if it fails, i must hit on some other way. the provisions are holding out all right; and meinik calculates that, with a little stinginess, we could manage for another three weeks. we have drilled the hole in two inches today and, as we get more accustomed to the work, i dare say we could do three inches in each shift. the block is twenty inches through on the straight, and may be two feet on the line that we follow; so that in four days we shall be nearly through it. "in three weeks we shall have made five holes, which will weaken it so that we may be able to break it off. however, i hope we shall find one hole sufficient. i shall make it fifteen inches deep, and then charge it with the contents of a dozen cartridges. i think that ought to do it." in two days and a half, the hole was of the required depth. harry had progressed so rapidly that he was able, that morning, to walk across his room. "we must try the shot, at once," stanley said, "because if it fails, we must go on working. if it succeeds we can, if we like, wait for another week before we make off. by that time you will be strong enough to be got through that low passage, and walk for a little distance; when we can cut some poles, and rig up that hammock again. "do you know anything about mining, for i know nothing? i only had an idea how to drill the hole from seeing some engineers at work at agra, years ago; but i am sure i don't know how they fired the shot, or prepared it." "i can tell you a little about it, stanley; for i have been down a coal mine once or twice, and watched the men doing it. they first of all put in the charge; then they put in a wooden rod, just the thickness of the fuse they use; then they dropped in a little dry dust round it, which they pressed down very carefully, with a small wooden rod; then they damped some dust, and hammered that down hard. after putting in about half an inch of this, they used dust slightly moistened, beating it down as before. when it was quite full, they pulled out the centre stick, and put the fuse into the hole that it left." "we have not got any fuse," stanley said, "but i think that if we take a narrow strip of cloth, moisten it, and rub gunpowder into it; let it dry, and then roll it up, it would be all right. then we could lay a train of damp powder to it, set the end alight, and bolt." "i should think that that would do," harry agreed, "but you would have to bolt very sharp for, if it went off before you got to the bottom of the steps, it might be very awkward." "i don't think the effect of the shock will be as great as that, harry. it may crack the stone, but i should hardly think it would send anything flying out of the hole." chapter : rejoining. every day, since the siege had begun, the defenders had fired an occasional shot at the stockade; not with any idea of doing any damage, but in order that the assailants should know that they were still in the cavern. that evening, when the hole had got to the proper depth, stanley, having prepared his fuse, went up with twenty cartridges in his pocket, accompanied by meinik. the hole was charged and tamped, and the fuse inserted. this took a considerable time. the fuse had been cut so that an inch of it projected outside the hole. the other eight cartridges were then broken up, and the powder moistened; and a train some two feet long laid, from the fuse towards the entrance of the hole. then a piece of rag was wrapped round one end of the ramrod; and this, again, was tied to a long rod that had, the night before, been cut by one of the boys, who had slipped out noiselessly from the entrance. the rag had been moistened, and rubbed with gunpowder. "now, meinik," stanley said, "everything is ready. this rod is sixteen feet long, so that, lying down, my feet will be just at the edge of the hole; and i shall be able to drop down, as soon as i have lighted the train, and bolt. i shall fix a torch, a foot or so from the train; then i shall only have to lift the rod to it, light the rag, set fire to the train, and then slide down and bolt. "now, you must go down first." "no, master," meinik said firmly; "i will light the train. i do not think that there is any danger but, whether there is or not, i shall undertake it. if i am killed, it does not matter; while if you were killed all would be lost for, if the explosion did not burst the stone, i am sure that we should never be able to get through it, without you to direct us. no, master, if you stay, i stay; and that would only lessen our chances of running down the steps in time." stanley argued, and even ordered, but meinik was obstinate and, seeing that the faithful burman was not to be moved, he reluctantly left the matter in his hands, and went downstairs. he moved a short distance along the ledge, and waited. the time seemed an age to him, so that he gave an exclamation of delight when meinik suddenly came into sight, and took his place beside him. "i have lit the train, master. the powder fizzed up, but did not seem to burn very fast." it was, indeed, another two minutes before a deep muffled roar was heard. there was no further noise, but they heard shouts from the burmans, behind the stockades. "they will be wondering what the sound is," stanley said, "but they will not be able to tell from what direction it came; for i expect they were pretty nearly all sound asleep. now, let us go up and see the result." they made their way up the steps, which were now in entire darkness. the curtain still hung in its place, some ten feet below the obstacle. they lit a torch, from the embers in the pan; and then stanley climbed up into the passage, and hastily crawled along. he gave a cry of satisfaction, as he approached the end. the explosion had been completely successful--the end of the block lay on the ground. whether the whole of it had been blown off, or not, he could not see; but he felt sure that the greater portion must have split off. it was evident that it would take a considerable amount of time, and would require the strength of several men, to get the block out. they therefore descended, at once, to gladden the hearts of those below; with the news that the way out was now available to them, whenever they chose to leave. harry manifested no surprise, whatever, at the news. "i made sure that you would succeed, stanley. after getting me off, as you did; and making your own escape, before, it seems to me that you have got hold of the 'open sesame' of ali baba, and have only to use the cabalistic words to walk in and out, wherever you want to go." "i don't feel, by any means, so certain of my own powers as you seem to be, harry; and i can assure you i was very doubtful whether that shot would succeed. i hoped, at any rate, that it would blow a good bit of the stone out and, in that case, we could have got the chisels to work again. it was the slanting position of the block that beat us. however, thank goodness, the work is done now; and you have only to get a bit stronger, and we will be off." "i am quite ready to start now, stanley. i think it is absurd waiting any longer, for there is never any saying what might take place. that burmese general, who seems to be an obstinate beggar, might take it into his head to place a guard on the top of the hill; and then all your labour will have been thrown away." "that is true enough, harry; and as i really don't think that travelling now would be likely to do you any serious harm, i will decide on tomorrow. at any rate, i will take some men up, at once, and get that stone out." the task was a difficult one. the block of stone was so nearly the size of the passage that they could not get a rope round behind it and, after trying for two hours, in vain, they determined that the only course was to push it before them. they soon found, however, that this was impossible; and that a part, at least, of the stone was remaining in its place. finally, they succeeded in pushing a loop in the rope over the top of the block; and then, by main force, eight of them pulled it out of the hole, and lowered it on to the top step. by the time that they had done this, dawn was approaching; and they therefore returned, at once, to the chambers below. the men were all much pleased, when stanley told them that they would leave that night. confident as they felt that the burmese could not force their way in, a new feeling of nervousness seized them, now that the way was open, lest some unforeseen circumstances might occur to prevent their going. the rice that remained was made up into three or four packages. the meat had long before been finished. stanley had a discussion, with meinik, as to how harry had best be taken through the passage. he could, they agreed, walk along the ledge, with one before and one behind to steady him; and could then be carried up the steps, in a blanket, by four men. he must, of course, be lifted into the passage, and dragged through it to the end; after that, it would be easy enough. six men could carry him, in a blanket, until far enough away for them to chop poles, without the sound of the axes being heard by the burmese. from the time they began their work, every pains had been taken to deaden sounds. the blanket hung across the passage had acted as a muffler, to some extent; but a piece of cloth had always been tied over the hammer heads of the axes, to prevent the sharp clinking sounds of the blows on the chisels, or stone, being heard. as soon as it was dark enough for them to pass along the ledge, meinik went with stanley to examine the ground. fortunately, the portion of stone that remained above the level, and prevented the rock from being rolled back, was but small; and they were able to break it up in half an hour, with the axes. then, making their way along without difficulty for another four feet, they found themselves standing upright in the depression in the centre of the ruin. mounting six more steps, they were among the bushes that covered the site of the temple. they now carefully cleared away every fragment of stone from the floor of the passage and, returning, stanley gave orders for the start to be made. two or three shots were fired, from the lower entrance, to show the enemy that they were there and on the watch; and then all went up to harry's room. he had been dressed, for the first time, and was ready for the start. two of the strongest of the burmans went on first. "now, harry, you are to put your hands on my shoulders. meinik will follow close behind you, and will keep his arms round you, in case you need help. of course, we shall go along very slowly." "i don't think that all these precautions are necessary," harry said. "i am sure that i can walk that distance, easily enough. why, you say the stair is only about forty feet." "i dare say you could, harry; but we don't want to run any risks. your head is not very strong, at present; and you might turn giddy, or you might stumble. so, at present, you will have just to do as you are told. "let us start." harry did not find it as easy as he had expected, getting out through the lower opening; and he was by no means sorry to have the support of stanley and meinik, as he proceeded along the ledge. they moved very carefully, and slowly; and all were greatly relieved when he sat down, on a blanket laid on the steps. "now lie back, harry. we shall have no difficulty in getting you up here." two burmans took the upper end of the blanket, stanley and meinik the lower, and they were soon at the top of the steps. "you are not very heavy now, harry; but you are a good deal heavier than you were, when we brought you in below. "now, the next is the most difficult part of the work--once we get you through this passage, it will be plain sailing. you see, you will have to be dragged. the place is only two feet high, so that it would be impossible to lift you at all. we have made the floor as smooth as we can, but i am afraid that there are a good many projecting corners, that will try you a good deal." "it cannot be helped, stanley. fire away, as soon as you like." the rest of the party were now all gathered, on the steps below; and meinik and stanley, getting up first into the hole, received harry as the others lifted him and, with the aid of two of the burmans, laid him on his blanket in the passage. "now," stanley said, to the two men who took the other end of the blanket, "keep it as tight as you can and, when i say 'lift,' we will all lift together, and move him forward a few inches. do not hurry over it--we have plenty of time before us." they were packed so closely that they had each but one arm available. little by little they moved him along, gaining some six inches, each time; then all had to move, so as to place themselves for the next effort. however, in five or six minutes they had him through, and carried him up into the open air. the rest of the party at once joined them and, with three of the natives on each side of the blanket, they were soon beyond the circle of ruins, and making at a brisk pace through the forest. after going for a quarter of a mile they stopped, cut some poles for the hammock and, in a short time, were on their way again; having placed in it one of the bags of rice, as a pillow for harry. they travelled for some hours, and then halted to cook some rice. all had slept a good deal during the day so that, after resting for an hour, they proceeded on their way again. they had no fear, whatever, of pursuit; and the only danger that they could incur was from meeting with a band, similar to that which had carried harry off. when they rigged up the hammock, they had cut wood for torches, to protect themselves from tigers. these were thrown away, as soon as daylight broke. at midday they halted again, for another hour; and then, continuing their journey, arrived at the village before nightfall. they were received with great joy, the villagers setting up a shout of welcome--the friends of the men and boys being especially exuberant in their joy, for they had become extremely anxious at their long absence. the two troopers were still there; and these saluted stanley, with less than the usual stiff formality of the mohammedan soldier. he himself laughed. "i don't look much like a british officer, at present," he said, in their language. "well, has everything been quiet here?" "yes, sahib. a sowar brought us orders, from the general, to remain here; and to send at once, if we heard any news of you. we sent off one of the villagers, when the man came back to fetch the others, and said that you had good hopes of getting lieutenant brooke sahib out of the hands of the burmese." "i will write a note," stanley said. "get your horse saddled, at once. directly we have made mr. brooke comfortable, i will give you the letter." during the time that stanley had been absent, the houses had been re-erected, and the village had assumed its general appearance. a hut was at once handed over to them, and harry laid on a bamboo pallet. he had not slept, most of the way down. "you see i was quite right, stanley. i told you that the journey would be nothing." "fortunately, it has turned out so. meinik has already killed a chicken, and will make it into broth for you. it will be a change, for you, after your diet of rice. the cooking was excellent, for the first three or four days; but it fell off sadly. that was one of the reasons why i gave way to your wish to start at once. you have done wonderfully well, but a constant diet of rice is not quite the thing for building up a sick man. "now, i am going to write a few lines to the general to say that you have got safely down, but will need at least another week before you are able to sit on a horse. of course, you can be carried on; but i think that the air here is a great deal more healthy, and bracing, than it is at prome and, the longer you stay here, the better." stanley's note was a short one. it merely said that he had succeeded in getting his cousin, and the trooper who was carried off at the same time, from the hands of the burmese, but that harry was still very weak; and that, if he himself could be spared, he would stay with him at the village for another week or ten days, at the end of which time he would ride, by easy stages, to prome. three days later, the trooper returned with a note from the general. "i congratulate you most heartily on having rescued your cousin," he wrote. "by all means, stay where you are until he is quite strong again. this place is not at all healthy, at present. we shall not be moving forward for another three weeks." stanley remained at the village for another fortnight and, at the end of that time, harry had so far recovered that he was quite capable of making a short day's journey on horseback. two of the men who had aided in the rescue had gone to prome, with an order from stanley on the staff paymaster, for the rewards that had been promised to the villagers and the two burmese soldiers. they returned with the money, and the men were all highly delighted at the result of the expedition. stanley retained the services of the two soldiers, as long as he remained in the village. he had no fear, whatever, of the same band returning that had, before, visited the village; and he learned that no others had been heard of in the neighbourhood but, at the same time, he thought it as well that a man should be on guard, night and day, at each end of the village. the peasants agreed to watch at one end, while the two burmese soldiers and the troopers took charge of the other end. the bulk of the villagers were engaged in forming a strong stockade round, it to defend themselves in case of further attack; and stanley promised to send them down twenty muskets, and a supply of ammunition, as soon as he got to prome. there was real regret, on the part of the burmese, when the time came for the party to start. it had been something altogether new to them to have officials among them who paid for everything. these englishmen had treated them kindly, and were pleased and contented with everything. the money that the five men and two boys had earned had enriched the village, and had enabled them to more than replace their losses by the recent raid and, if stanley had accepted all the presents of fruit, fowls, and eggs they would have given him, he would have needed a couple of extra horses to convey them. a strong pony had been purchased for meinik and, after taking a hearty leave of the villagers, the party rode off. "i wish we had such a good cook as your man is, stanley," harry said, as they journeyed along at a walk. "i never tasted better soup than he serves up. i must really get him to teach our mess cook how to make it." "do you know what it is, harry?" "i have not the least idea; it might be anything. i think that it tasted, to me, more like stewed eels than anything else." "you are not very far out. it is made of the creatures you turned up your nose at--snakes." "nonsense, stanley!" "it is, i can assure you. i would not tell you before, because it might have set you against it. that soup you had in the cave was made from snake flesh. the recesses in parts of the caves swarmed with them, and the men laid in quite a store of them, before we were besieged. unfortunately they would not keep well, even in these cool chambers, so we had to fall back on rice. you liked it so much that, though there was no occasion to have gone on with snake soup, after we got to the village, i continued to give it to you; for it is very nourishing." "well, i am glad you did not tell me, at the time; but i must own that it was excellent, and i think that, in future, i shall have no objection to snake in that form." "they are just as good, in other ways," stanley replied. "the burmans are no fools, and i consider that snake and lizards are very much better eating than their mutton; which is tasteless stuff, at the best." "we shall have to have a big settlement, when we get back, stanley. of course, all those men you paid, and the guards you bribed, are entirely my account; to say nothing of my share of the general expenditure." "the general expenses are practically nothing, harry. i invited you to come with me and, of course, you were my guest. as to the other matter, that also is my business. i would not say so, if i had not plenty of funds, but what with my pay as interpreter, and the year of back pay that i got when the gazette came out, i have plenty out of my income to pay for it, without breaking in upon the amount i told you i had got for those rubies." "i should pay you, stanley, if you were rolling in money. not that i should mind taking money from you, if i wanted it, but my expenses since i landed here have not been anything approaching my pay and allowances; and i have besides, as i told you, an income of pounds a year of my own. you have risked your life for me, and i am not going to let you pay the piper, as well." "all right, if it pleases you, harry. i am delighted at having been able to save you and, just at present, money does not seem an important matter one way or the other; so if it really would be a satisfaction to you to pay, i will certainly not deprive you of it." although they only travelled ten miles the first day, harry acknowledged that he was as tired as a dog when he dismounted; and was so stiff, the next morning, that he had to be helped on to his horse. however, this gradually wore off and, on the evening of the fourth day, they arrived at prome. leaving harry at his regimental camp, stanley rode to the headquarters, and there dismounted. meinik had led the second horse, after harry dismounted; and now took them both across to the lines, with the air of a man who has only been away a few hours. stanley at once went up to the general. "welcome back, lad!" sir archibald said. "you have been longer away than we expected, when you started. i am glad, indeed, that you succeeded in rescuing your cousin; and we are all burning to hear about it. i wrote that note to you in a hurry, for i was on the point of going on a round of inspection of the camp, when your sowar arrived. i intended to question him concerning you, on my return; for i had no idea that, after making such a long journey, he would start back at once, but i found that he had ridden straight off, directly the note was handed to him. you must dine with me, today, and tell me all the story. i see, from the colour of your skin, that you have been in disguise again." "yes, sir. there were materials for dyeing the skin in the village, but nothing that availed to take it off. it is gradually going and, as i shall be now able to get some strong alkali, from the doctor, i hope i shall be presentable by tomorrow." "they are honourable marks," the general said, with a smile. "i don't think any of us would mind being so coloured, for a bit, if we had done such good work as you have; but i won't detain you now, for dinner will be ready in half an hour." stanley hurried to his room, took a bath, donned his mess uniform, and was ready by the time the bugle sounded. three or four of the staff were, as usual, members of the party. after the meal was over, he was requested to narrate his adventures, at full length. the story was necessarily a long one and, when he concluded, all joined the general in hearty commendation for the manner in which he had carried out the adventure. "your last story was a stirring one, mr. brooke," the general said; "but this is even more so. when i received your first note, i thought it next door to madness for you to try to get your cousin, badly wounded as you knew him to be, from the hands of the burmese. it is not an easy thing to get any man out of prison but, when the man was unable to help himself, it seemed well-nigh impossible; and i was greatly afraid that, instead of saving his life, you would lose your own. of course, the fact that you had successfully traversed the country before was strongly in your favour; but then you were unencumbered, and the two things were, therefore, not to be compared with each other. i shall, of course, put you in orders tomorrow as having performed a singularly gallant action, in rescuing lieutenant brooke of the th and a sowar from their captivity, by the burmese, in a prison at toungoo. "you have arrived just in time for, after endeavouring to fool us for the past three months, by negotiations never meant to come to anything, the enemy are now advancing in great force, and are within a few miles of the town. so we are likely to have hot work of it for from all accounts, they have got nearly as large an army together as bandoola had. i don't know whether they have learned anything from his misfortunes, but i am bound to say that the court does not seem to have taken the lesson, in the slightest degree, to heart; and their arrogance is just as insufferable as it was before a shot was fired." stanley learnt that there had already been one fight. the enemy were advancing in three columns. their right--consisting of , men, commanded by sudda woon--had crossed the irrawaddy, and was marching down the other bank; with the apparent object of recrossing, below prome, and cutting the british line of communication. the centre--from , to , strong, commanded by the kee wongee--was coming down the left bank of the river, accompanied by a great fleet of war boats. the left division-- , strong, led by an old and experienced general, maha nemiow--was moving parallel with the others, about ten miles distant from the centre, but separated from it by a thick and impenetrable forest. a reserve of , men, commanded by the king's half-brother, occupied a strongly fortified post at melloon. in addition to these, a large force was gathered near pegu, and threatened an attack upon rangoon. on the th of november, a fortnight before stanley's return, two brigades of native infantry--under colonel m'dowall--had marched out to dislodge maha nemiow; whose division threatened to turn the british right, and to move round to its rear. the force was divided into three columns; one moving directly towards the enemy's position, the others--marching by circuitous routes, so arranged as to arrive at the point of attack at the same time--were to attack in flank and rear, while the main body assailed the enemy in front. the burmese had, however, obtained information from spies of the intended movement and, advancing boldly, met the british columns half way; skirmishing with them hotly in the woods, and threatening an attack by large bodies of horse. the centre drove the burmese before them, and reached their stockaded position. colonel m'dowall, while reconnoitring it, was killed by a ball from a musket and, as the two flanking columns did not arrive as expected, the force was compelled to fall back. the retreat was conducted in good order, but the loss was heavy, as the burmese pressed hotly upon them for several miles. since this unfortunate affair, the enemy had steadily advanced. maha nemiow had moved directly upon prome; advancing slowly, and constantly stockading himself. the centre had also advanced; and was now fortifying some heights above the river five miles away, within sight of prome. sudda woon was intrenching himself on the opposite bank. all these divisions were working, day and night; advancing steadily but slowly, and erecting formidable lines of intrenchments as they went; and it seemed to be the intention of the burmese general to proceed in that manner, until the whole of his troops were gathered within a very short distance of the town, and then to rush upon it from all sides. in the morning, stanley went to the lines of the th. harry had, of course, told his story on his arrival; and the tale had circulated generally through the regiment and, as he rode in, the men ran out from their huts and cheered him heartily. no less warm a greeting did he receive from the officers, in spite of his protest that there had really been no great difficulty or danger in the affair. "what i specially admire," one of the officers said, laughing, "is that any man should have run all this risk, on purpose, to prevent himself from coming into an earldom. you had only to leave the matter alone, and there you were--heir to title and estates." "i should have been haunted by harry's ghost," stanley laughed. "it would have been as bad as banquo and macbeth; he would have sat at my table, and stood at the head of my bed. no, no; that would have been a much more serious affair, to face, than a party of burmese. the title and estates would have been too dear, at the price." "well, you behaved like a brick, anyhow," the colonel said, "and there is not a man in the regiment who would not have been proud, indeed, if he had accomplished such a feat. half my subalterns were talking, at dinner last night, of learning the language so that, if the chance fell in their way, they might emulate your doings." "it is rather a tough language to master," stanley replied. "it gave me more trouble than the four or five indian languages i speak. i am afraid the campaign will be over, a long time, before any of your officers learn to talk burmese well enough to pass as natives." after the failure of the expedition of the th, no further effort had been made against the enemy. indeed, the troops had been withdrawn from their outlying positions; and there had even been a feint made of embarking stores, as if with the intention of retiring down the river, in hopes of tempting the burmese to make an attack. the season had now come when operations could again be carried on, and the general was anxious to strike a decisive blow at the enemy, and then to set forward on the march towards ava. as to the result of the fight, no one entertained the slightest doubt; although the disparity in numbers was very great for, while the burmese commander had nearly , men at his disposal, sir archibald campbell had no more than , , of whom about one half were british. it was determined that the main attack should be made on the division of maha nemiow. this was now some six or seven miles away and, beyond the fact that it was very strongly intrenched in the jungle, no information whatever could be gained; for the most vigilant watch was kept up by them, and all efforts to pass native spies into their lines failed. but it was known that among his division were , shans, from upper burma and, as these men had not hitherto come in contact with us, it was expected that they would fight with more courage and resolution than those who had become acquainted with our power. a large number of princes and nobles were with the force; and great reliance was placed, by the burmese, upon three young ladies of high rank; who were believed by them to be endowed with supernatural gifts, and to have the power of rendering the missiles of the english innocuous. these young women, dressed in warlike costume, constantly rode among the troops; animating them by their presence, and exhorting them to deeds of courage. the english had received vague rumours of the doings of these burmese joans of arc, and thought it probable that the enemy would fight better than usual. on november th, arrangements were made for attacking the enemy on the following morning. the flotilla were to open a furious cannonade upon their works, on both sides of the river. a body of native infantry were to drive in the advance posts of the centre; while the main force was to attack their left in two columns, one moving directly against it, while the other was to attack on the right flank--thus preventing the enemy from retreating in the direction of the centre. four regiments of native infantry were left in prome. general cotton commanded the main attack and, soon after the column moved out from the camp, a tremendous cannonade showed that the flotilla was engaged with the burmese, on both sides of the river. the column, which was composed of the st and th regiments, with two battalions of native infantry, proceeded some distance before becoming engaged with the enemy's outposts; as the burmese had been deceived by the cannonade, and believed that the attack was entirely upon the centre. the troops therefore reached their main position, around two native villages, without serious opposition. illustration: the old burmese general was carried from point to point in a litter. as they issued from the jungle into the cleared space in front of the stockade they rapidly formed up, under a tremendous fire, and rushed forward to the attack. the old burmese general--who was too infirm to walk--could be seen, carried from point to point in a litter, cheering on his men, while the three amazons exposed themselves fearlessly to the fire. the ladder parties, however, rushed forward unchecked and, in spite of the opposition of the enemy, scaled the stockade at one point, and won a footing on the rampart of earth behind it. others pressed after them and, soon, a destructive fire was opened upon the crowded mass, pent up between the outer stockade and the next. the burmese method of forming stockade behind stockade was useful, against a foe of no greater dash and energy than themselves; but was absolutely fatal when opposed to english troops, who gave them no time to fall back through the narrow openings in the palings. these were soon blocked by the dying and dead. some of the shans, led by their chiefs, fought with desperate courage; but were unable to stand the advance of the british, whose steady volleys, poured in at distances of a few yards, swept them away. wounded horses, rushing wildly about in the throng, added to the terrible confusion. groups of men endeavoured to cut a way through the stockades behind, others strove to climb over. maha nemiow was killed, while bravely exhorting his men to stand their ground, and one of the heroic amazons was shot. as soon as the troops reached the spot where she fell, and saw that she was a woman, she was carried into a cottage; and there died, a few hours afterwards. stockade after stockade was carried, until the whole position fell into our hands. in the meantime the other column, commanded by general campbell himself, and consisting of the th, th, th, and th regiments, and the th madras infantry, had moved down on the other side of the nawine river; and taken up a position to command the ford there, by which the fugitives from the stockade must cross, on their way to join the centre. as the crowd of frightened men issued from the jungle, and poured across the ford, the artillery opened upon them with shrapnel, and completed their discomfiture. all thought of joining the centre was abandoned and, re-entering the jungle, they scattered; and the greater portion of them started for their homes, intent only on avoiding another contest with their foes. another of the burmese heroines was killed, at the ford. three hundred men had been killed, at the storming of the stockade; but a far greater loss took place in the retreat--very few of the shans ever regaining their country; the greater portion perishing from starvation, in the great forests through which they travelled in order to escape the burmese authorities, who would have forced them to rejoin the army. chapter : the pride of burma humbled. as soon as the victory was completed, the troops piled arms; and were allowed two hours' rest. then they marched back, to the point where general campbell's division had forded the nawine river in the morning. from this point, a path led towards the enemy's centre; this it was determined to attack, at daybreak on the following morning, before the news of the defeat of its left could reach it. the day had been a long and fatiguing one, and it was late before the troops all reached their halting place. a meal was served out, and then all lay down to rest. a messenger was sent to prome, to announce the success that had been gained; and to request the commander of the flotilla to open fire, in the morning, as soon as the foe was seen to issue from the jungle in front of the wongee's main position at napadee. long before daylight, the troops were in motion. general campbell's division led the way, along the narrow track leading towards the river; while general cotton, who followed, was ordered to break off at any path which led towards the burmese division, to make his way through the forest, and to attack the stockades directly he reached them. the main division would attack, as soon as they heard his guns. after a two hours' march, the first division came out on open ground by the river side, signalled their arrival to the flotilla, and formed up in front of the stockaded heights of napadee. the position was an extremely strong one. the enemy occupied three ranges of hills, rising one behind the other, and each commanding the one in front of it. one flank of these hills was protected by the river, the other by the almost impenetrable forest. the hills were all covered with stockades and, as they moved forward, the troops were exposed to so heavy a fire from an enemy entrenched at the edge of the jungle on the right that, before they could advance further, it was necessary to first drive them from this position. six companies of the th were sent back into the forest and, making their way through this, came down in the rear of the stockades, speedily cleared them of their defenders, and compelled the advance force of the enemy to join their main body. the troops then moved forward to the foot of the first hill, where two strong redoubts had been erected by the enemy. the fleet opened fire; but the column was halted, for a time, awaiting the sound of firing that should tell them general cotton's column was engaged. no sound, however, was heard, for this force had been unable to make its way through the dense forest; and general campbell, at last, gave the order for the attack. it was commenced by the th and th native infantry, under colonel elvington; who pushed through the jungle and forest, until they reached some of the flanking outworks on the hill. these they attacked with such dash and determination that they speedily obtained possession of them, and thus produced a favourable diversion for the main attack. this, consisting of the th, th, and th regiments, advanced steadily, without returning a shot to the incessant fire from the enemy's various entrenchments; captured the two redoubts at the bottom of the hill; and then pressed upwards, carrying position after position at the point of the bayonet, till they arrived at the summit of the first hill. the burmese fugitives, as they fled to the next line of defence, shook the courage of the troops there; and the british, pushing forward hotly on the rear of the flying crowd, carried work after work until, in the course of an hour, the whole position, nearly three miles in extent, was entirely in their possession. between forty and fifty guns were captured, and the enemy's loss in killed and wounded was very great while, by desertion alone, the wongee lost a third of his army. while the attack had been going on, the flotilla had passed the works protecting the river face of the hills, and had captured all the boats and stores, filled with supplies for the use of the burmese army. thus, two of the three burmese divisions had now been completely routed; and there remained only that of sudda woon, on the other side of the river. the troops were allowed two days' rest and, on the morning of the th, a force advanced on board the flotilla. their passage across the river was covered by the fire of a rocket brigade and a mortar battery--which had on the previous night been established on an island--and they landed at some distance above the enemy's stockades. they then marched round and attacked these in flank and rear, while the batteries and boats of the flotilla cannonaded them in front. the enemy's troops were already disheartened, by the defeat they had seen inflicted upon the wongee's army and, after a feeble resistance, fled to a second line of stockades in the jungle to their rear. the troops, however, pressed so hotly upon them that they were unable to make any effectual opposition here. numbers fell, while endeavouring to pass through the narrow entrances of the work; and the rest fled, in terror, into the woods. these extensive operations had been carried out with the loss of six officers, and some seventy or eighty men, only. it was known that the enemy had very strongly fortified several positions, in and around meaday; and it was determined to push forward, at once, on the long march of three hundred miles to ava, before the enemy could rally from their defeat, and gather for the defence of these positions. on the th the first division, under general campbell himself, started from prome. the roads were extremely bad, and they were able to move but slowly. their course was first directed inland; as it was intended to turn the enemy's position at meaday, by following a road several miles from the river, and thus forcing them to fall back as we advanced. on the next day the force reached the spot where colonel m'dowall had been killed, in the unsuccessful attack upon maha nemiow; and it then turned north, and followed the road parallel to the river. on the th tremendous rains, for some hours, converted the road into a morass and, although the march was but five miles long, the greater portion of the column failed to reach its destination. this, however, was not the worst. cholera broke out at once, and carried off a large number of victims--two of the british regiments being rendered almost unfit for service by its ravages. on the th the division encamped on dry ground, on a ridge of wooded hills, and waited for a couple of days to allow the baggage train to come up. the change greatly benefited the health of the troops, and amusement was afforded by the partridges, jungle fowl, and deer which abounded in the neighbourhood of the camp. up to this point, no single native had been seen. the villages were all destroyed, and the country was completely deserted. on the th a strong burmese fortification was taken, it being unoccupied save by a small picket, which retired on our advance. this had evidently been erected for the purpose of preventing the river fortifications from being turned, and its abandonment proved that the object of the land march had been gained; and that the enemy had abandoned the positions they had, with so much care, prepared for the defence of the river. on the th they joined general cotton's column and, the next day, entered meaday. here a terrible spectacle was met with. the town and the ground within the stockades was strewn with dead and dying; some from wounds, others from cholera--for the ravages of this plague had been as great, among the burmese, as in the british force. a number of men were found crucified on gibbets, doubtless as a punishment for attempting to desert. the air was pestilent; and the force was glad, indeed, to march on the next morning from the locality. they gained something, but not much, from the change. for the next fifty miles, dead bodies were met with at very short intervals and, each day before camping, many corpses had to be removed before the tents could be fixed. it was now known that the burmese army, in its retreat, had been concentrated at melloon, where the reserve of , men had been posted. on the th, the division encamped within four miles of that town. they had now marched a hundred and forty miles, from prome, without meeting a single inhabitant of the country, or being enabled to obtain any cattle, whatever, for the supply of the troops, so effectually had the enemy wasted the country as they retired. melloon stood on the opposite bank of the irrawaddy; and letters had arrived from that town saying that a commissioner had arrived, from ava, with full powers from the king to conclude a treaty of peace. colonel adair and stanley, accordingly, were sent off the next morning to melloon, to arrange for an immediate meeting for the commissioners. however, they could come to no arrangement, the burmese leaders insisting that so important a business could only be carried on when a favourable day arrived; and that no time could, at present, be stated. seeing that the principal object of the burmese was to gain time, the colonel informed them through stanley that, as no arrangements had been made, the troops would recommence their advance as soon as he returned to the camp and, accordingly, the next morning the division moved forward to a town immediately opposite melloon. that place stood on the face of a sloping hill and, as the irrawaddy was here but yards broad, a good view was obtained of the fortifications. the principal stockade was in the form of a square, about a mile on each face, mounting a considerable number of guns--especially on the side facing the river; and a succession of stockades extended for a mile farther along the banks. the great work was crowded with men. in front of the town lay a large fleet of war boats, and larger craft with stores. a short time after the troops reached the spot, a great noise of gongs, drums, and other warlike instruments arose on the other side, and crowds of boatmen were seen running down to the vessels. these were soon manned, and oars got out, and they began to row up the river. as, owing to the intricacy of the channel, the steamboat and flotilla had not yet arrived, a few shots were fired at the boats by the field guns. this had the desired effect, many of the boatmen jumping overboard, leaving their craft to drift down the river; while the great bulk hastily turned their vessels about, and anchored in their former position. as soon as the steamer with the flotilla came up, two war boats pushed off from shore, saluted the steamer, and rowed alongside of her until she and the flotilla were safely anchored above the town. this was so evidently a mark of a real desire for the suspension of hostilities that the two officers were again sent across the river. a truce was agreed upon, and an arrangement made for the meeting of the negotiators, upon the following day. four meetings were held, between the two commissioners and those appointed by the british general, the meetings taking place on boats moored in the centre of the river. at length the treaty was accepted and signed, by the burmese, and fifteen days' truce allowed for the ratification of the treaty by the king. as the end of that period approached, the burmese protested that they had not yet received an answer, and asked for further time; which was refused, unless on the condition that melloon was evacuated, and the burmese army fell back until the ratification of the treaty reached them. as had been for some time strongly suspected, the negotiations were simply a device to arrest our advance; and the treaty was afterwards found in the burmese camp, it never having been forwarded to ava. at midnight on the th, when the armistice came to a conclusion, the troops began throwing up earthworks, the heavy guns were landed from the flotilla and, at ten o'clock the next morning, twenty-eight guns were in position ready to open fire. in spite of remonstrances that had been made, the burmese had, night after night during the armistice, continued to work surreptitiously at their entrenchments. it was hoped for a moment that, when they saw the speed with which our batteries had been thrown up and armed, they would offer no farther resistance. as, however, they were evidently preparing for action, our guns opened fire at eleven o'clock. this was kept up for two hours. while it was going on, the troops intended for the assault were embarked in boats, some distance up the river, so as to ensure their not being carried by the force of the stream across the face of the burmese works, and exposed to the concentrated fire of the enemy. they were divided into four brigades; the first of which--consisting of the th and th regiments, under lieutenant colonel sale--were to land below the stockade, and to attack its south-western angle; while the other three brigades were to land above it, to carry some outworks there, and to attack the northern face. a strong northerly wind, and the violent current, prevented the assaults being made simultaneously. the first brigade was carried too far across and, as it passed the stockade, was exposed to the fire of the guns and musketry of the river defences; while the three other brigades were unable, for some time, to reach their intended landing places. colonel sale was among those wounded by the burmese fire but, directly the first brigade reached the shore, they formed up under the partial cover of a shelving bank and, led by lieutenant colonel frith, moved forward to the assault in admirable order. when within a short distance there was a forward rush, in spite of the storm of shot. the ladder party gained the foot of the stockade and, placing the ladders, climbed up, and leapt down among the surging crowd of the enemy. others followed and, soon, a firm footing was obtained in the works. then the men of the two regiments--whose total strength did not exceed five hundred--advanced steadily, drove before them some , armed men, and expelled them from the works that the burmese had deemed impregnable. while this was going on, the other three brigades had landed above the stockade and, now falling upon the enemy as they poured out from their works, completed their defeat. all the stockades were carried, and the whole of the artillery and stores fell into our possession. four days later, the army again began its advance. they were met by four englishmen, who had been taken prisoners; and an american, who had also been held in confinement. these had been sent to assure the english general that the king was in earnest in his desire for peace. it was but too evident, however, that no confidence could be placed in burmese negotiations; and it was, moreover, known that another army was being assembled, in the greatest haste, to bar the advance. on the th of february the british reached pakang-yay, having passed sembeughewn on the opposite shore. this was the point where the road from aracan reached the irrawaddy, and it had been arranged that the force that had been operating in aracan should, if possible, effect a junction with sir archibald campbell here. a message brought down by a native was, however, received; stating that the force had suffered very severely from fever and cholera, and that the natural obstacles were found to be too great to be overcome by troops debilitated by disease--that the attempt had, therefore, been abandoned. fortunately, the english general was well able to do without this addition to his strength. he had already proved that his command was perfectly capable of defeating any burmese force that could be brought against him, and an addition would only have increased the difficulty of transport. on the th of march the british force which, owing to the necessity for leaving strong bodies to hold melloon and other points that had been captured, now mustered less than , fighting men, advanced to attack the enemy, whose numbers were estimated at , . the new commander of the burmese adopted other tactics than his predecessors. his stockaded position was in front of the town of pagahn, but he occupied the jungle in great force, and attacked our advance guard, five miles from the town. as the enemy occupied the hills on both sides of the main road, sir a. campbell divided his force and led half of it through the jungle on the right, while general cotton led the other half through the woods on the left. the burmese fought with considerable obstinacy. general campbell and his staff, with thirty-eight troopers and fifty men of the th, were somewhat in advance of the column; when the enemy closed in on both flanks, and even got in their rear. these were, however, dispersed by the rest of the th and, driving back the burmese on the flanks, the advance was continued. presently, however, as the british issued from the jungle, a mass of the enemy's horse charged down, drove back the skirmishers and, for a time, the position of the general and his staff was one of great peril. his little body of troopers, however, dashed boldly at the assailants and held them in check, until the guns that had followed the staff were brought forward from the jungle. then the troopers divided and rode right and left; and the guns, opening fire, checked the assailants until the infantry came up. the burmese army was now seen, drawn up in the form of a semicircle, in the open. the two british columns were united and, together, moved forward to attack the centre of the crescent, disregarding the fire from its wings. when within charging distance, they went forward with a rush and, cheering lustily, fell upon the burmese; and broke their centre, thus isolating the two wings. the burmese at once retreated, with the greatest haste, to the stockaded position in their rear. as usual, the narrow entrances to the stockades caused great delay; and the british were upon them before they were, in any way, prepared to resist the assault. heralding their advance by sweeping volleys, they fell upon the burmese with the bayonet, and drove them out of their works. the enemy made an attempt to rally, behind the walls and in the pagodas of the town, but the effort was vain. they were driven out with great slaughter, hundreds were drowned in endeavouring to swim the river, and the army was finally dispersed in all directions. the effect of this victory was at once apparent. the country people--who had, on the advance of the british force from prome, been cleared out from the villages along the whole line of route--being now freed from the restraint of their troops, came flocking back in great numbers--some by the roads and some in boats--and it was evident that they regarded the struggle as definitely terminated. there was, indeed, no possibility of further resistance; as the armies of burma, raised with immense difficulty and by heavy bounties and the promises of great reward, were hopelessly scattered, and ava lay open to the british advance. in other directions their position was equally desperate. aracan had been wholly rescued from their grasp. a british force in pegu had marched up the river sitang and, after the repulse of a party of a hundred and fifty men, imprudently sent to attack sitang itself, captured the place after a sharp fight and, receiving reinforcements from rangoon, continued their way up the river and captured toungoo; while the northern force had driven the burmese out of manipur, and had reached the river ningti by the nd of february, and were in a position to advance direct upon ava. after a halt of two days, general campbell advanced on the th of february. mr. price, the american who had been sent down after the capture of melloon, went forward to ava with the treaty that had been drawn up before the capture of that place; and the king had no longer any hesitation in complying with its terms--and was, indeed, delighted to find that the recent victory of the invaders had not increased their demands. he at once sent down to accept them but, as no official ratification was sent, the march continued; while mr. price again returned to ava. when the force was within four days' march of the capital, the latter returned with the burmese commissioners and other high functionaries, with the ratified treaty, and the first instalment of the money that was to be paid. it was a disappointment to the army that, after their long march and many sufferings, they were not to be allowed to enter the enemy's capital in triumph. undoubtedly, however, the course taken was the wisest. ava was regarded as a sacred city, and it was to save it from the humiliation of being occupied by the invaders that the king had brought himself to accept the terms of the treaty. had the english general insisted upon entering the capital, and signing the treaty there, he would have found no one to meet him. the population would have been driven out, the king and court would have retired farther up the country, and the war might have continued for an indefinite time. already its cost had been enormous, exceeding , , pounds sterling. during the first eleven months after landing at rangoon, nearly half of the europeans died and, from the time they advanced from that town with fresh reinforcements from india, to the arrival near ava, a similarly heavy loss was sustained. four percent of the number engaged was killed in action. the climate of aracan was still more deadly, as three-fourths of the white troops employed there died, and very few of the survivors were ever fit for service afterwards. the sepoys suffered less in aracan, losing only ten percent of their number, though nearly half the force were in hospital for some time. according to agreement the burmese, as soon as peace was concluded, sent down a large number of boats for the conveyance of the troops down the river. as they descended it, the garrisons left at melloon and other places were withdrawn. one of the native regiments, with some elephants and guns, left the force at sembeughewn; and marched thence to aracan, for the purpose of investigating the country, and proving whether it was practicable for the passage of troops in case another advance upon ava should ever be necessary. they found the road unexpectedly good, and met with no resistance whatever, except in the passage of some passes over the mountains. at melloon, stanley was very glad to meet his cousin again, for the th had been left in garrison there. harry had been down again, with a sharp attack of fever, but was now recovering. "so it is all over, stanley, and your chances of an earldom have nearly slipped through your fingers." "i am glad, indeed, that it is so," stanley laughed, "in the first place, because i could only have succeeded to it at your death; and in the second place, because i have no ambition, whatever, for a title. i am not nineteen yet, and should greatly prefer to make my own way, than to find myself with nothing whatever to do, except to spend money as it dropped into my lap. "now that everything is settled, and that aracan has become english, and we have the seaports on the tenasserim coast, trade will increase tremendously. you may be sure that the burmese will be only too glad to flock into our provinces, and to live under a fair rule, to escape the tyranny of their own officials; and my uncle is just the man to take advantage of the new openings. i don't say that i want to live out here all my life. at any rate, i hope by the time that i am thirty, to be able to come home for a year's holiday; and it is just possible that, by then, we may have grown into such a big firm that we may establish headquarters in london, instead of getting all our goods from calcutta. "there is certain to be a very big trade here, in teak alone. the price in pegu is a great deal below that in india and, if we had a house in london, we should avoid having to pay commissions, and perhaps get better prices for our wood. of course, my uncle may by that time think of retiring himself and, in that case, i might have to stay somewhat longer out here; but i know that he likes the climate, and i have heard him say that, as he has very few acquaintances in england, he thinks that he should prefer a life in calcutta to one in london." "i should not wonder if i go home, very shortly," harry said. "my last letter told me that my uncle was in failing health, and that he would like to have me at home with him. if the next letter confirms that, i am afraid i shall have either to resign my commission, or exchange into a regiment at home. of course, at his death i should have to leave the army, anyhow. it would be ridiculous for a subaltern to be an earl; besides, there are things one would have to do. i suppose there are estates to be looked after, and all sorts of nuisances. "anyhow, i shall always be glad i have had my share in this expedition. i have learned what campaigning is; and i must say that, under such circumstances as we have gone through, it is not quite so pleasurable as i had expected. half one's friends are dead or invalided home; and one never knows, when one wakes in the morning, whether one may not be down with cholera before night. the fighting is all well enough but, after all, that takes up but a very small portion of one's time; and marching and, i may say, living generally in this hot, sweltering climate, with its six months of rain, is not enviable work. however, i have gone through one regular campaign, and that as severe a one as british troops have ever performed; and above all, old man, i have met you, and we have come to be great friends, and i have learned what one fellow will do for another." "i am sure i am very glad to have gone through it, too. i have been fortunate, indeed, in never having been laid up for a single day; and there is no doubt that having served on the staff will be of great advantage to me, even as a trader. i own that i should like to have retired a captain. of course, promotion has been tremendously fast, owing to the death vacancies, but i have still two lieutenants over me." "you are sure to get the step, stanley. you have been in general orders twice, besides that notice you got for my rescue. also, the doctors say that a number of the men who have been sent down to the coast are not likely to live many weeks and, as five of your seniors have been invalided, you may get your step, in the natural course of things, at any moment. "if i were you, i should ask for three months' leave before rejoining your regiment. there will be no difficulty about that, after you have been upwards of two years in constant work; and the general will certainly not refuse. before the end of that time you will have seen your uncle, and talked matters over. then, if you choose to resign your commission, you can of course do so but, as you are pretty sure to get your step, by death, before the end of the three months; and as the general's despatches strongly recommend your services, you may get your brevet majority before your resignation reaches england. a man who has been mentioned two or three times in despatches, and is specially recommended for honours, is sure to get his brevet majority directly he gets his company." on reaching rangoon, stanley learned that two of the invalids had died, either on the way down or before they could be put on board a ship; and that one of the majors, who had been sent to india for change, four months before, had also succumbed; so that he had already obtained his company--a promotion which would have been, at any other time, extraordinary; but which, in a campaign where half those engaged were carried off, was nothing remarkable. being still on the headquarter staff, he embarked with sir archibald campbell. "you still hold firm to your determination to leave the service, captain brooke?" the general said, in the course of the passage to calcutta. "yes, sir. i am sure that it is best for me." "i think it is, brooke. of course, you have been exceptionally fortunate in getting such rapid promotion. still, a good business is a great deal better than soldiering. i wrote very strongly in your favour, when i sent off my despatches the day we came down to the coast; and you are certain of your brevet. still, it is just as well that the news of your resignation should not get home before the gazette comes out, with your name in it. i think the best thing that i can do is to give you leave, for a time, as soon as we get to calcutta. i am sure that you deserve a rest, for your work has been terribly heavy." "thank you, sir; that was just the favour that i was going to ask you. i shall find out, as soon as i get there, where my uncle is; and join him. my own mind is quite made up, but he has certainly a right to be consulted, before i take any final step." "quite right. i feel no doubt that his opinion will agree with yours; and i think that you are showing a good deal more wisdom than most fellows would do, to give up the service when you have distinguished yourself, and have a much better chance than falls to the lot of one man in a hundred. still, there can be no real doubt that a man in a good business, out here, can retire early and go home with a fortune; while in the army you are liable at any time, after you get to the rank of colonel, to be laid on the shelf for years. "besides, you will be your own master, which is more than anyone in the army can say. you can go home when you like, either for a stay or for a permanency; and you are not liable to have to run the risk of another campaign such as this has been." "if one was sure of campaigns, i don't think that i could possibly bring myself to leave the service; but it is the probability of being kept, for three or four years at a time, doing nothing at calcutta or madras that decided me." the general nodded. "you are quite right, brooke; on active service a soldier's life is, indeed, a stirring one; but there is nothing more dull and monotonous than garrison life, in peace time." accordingly, as soon as they landed in calcutta, stanley was put in orders for absence on leave, for three months. he learned, from his uncle's agent, that they had heard from him only a few days before, at chittagong; and that he was then on the point of leaving for aracan, whither he had ordered a large consignment of goods to be forwarded to him, by the next ship. three days later, stanley started to join him, leaving his address at aracan with sir archibald campbell, in case there should be need to recall him before the three months' leave expired. the vessel in which he was sailing carried the consignment of goods to his uncle; and he had, therefore, no fear of finding that the latter had left aracan before his arrival. meinik was still with him. he had left the army after the last battle had been fought, and had travelled to the spot where he had buried his money before embarking with stanley in the canoe and, after an absence of three days, rejoined the force. on the way down to rangoon, stanley had a long talk with him as to his future plans. "i have only one plan, master, and that is to stay with you, as long as i live." "but you will have plenty to live comfortably upon now, meinik. for, after all that you have done for me, of course i shall arrange for you to have a sum that will keep you in comfort." meinik shook his head. "burma is a bad country, master. after living with the english, i would not go back to live under the king's officers, in any case. any money that i had would be squeezed out of me, before long. no, master, i will go with you, unless you drive me from you; if you do, i will go to chittagong, and live there, but i do not think that you will do that." "certainly not, meinik. as long as you are willing to remain with me, i shall be very glad, indeed, to have you; but if, at any time, you wish to marry and settle down on land of your own, i shall give you five hundred pounds--which is only a small portion of the sum those rubies, which you got your band to give me, brought me in." "i daresay i shall marry," meinik said, "but that will make no difference. as long as i live, i shall stay with you." meinik had been astounded at calcutta; which presented a strong contrast, indeed, to the city which, as a burman, he had regarded as the most important place in the world. "the burmese are fools, master. they should have sent two or three men here, before they made up their minds to go to war. if they had been truly told what calcutta was like, they would never have ventured to make war with the english." chapter : in business again. when the vessel arrived at the mouth of the aracan river, a canoe was seen coming out from akyah--a town situated at the entrance to the principal of the several channels by which the river makes its way, through a number of sand banks and islands, into the sea. as it approached, stanley recognized his uncle sitting in the stern. "well, uncle, how are you?" he called out, as the boat approached the side. "what, is it you, stanley? i am glad, indeed, to see you. i have watched the papers anxiously, to see if your name appeared among those who have been killed or have died; not seeing it, i hoped that you were all right. of course we heard, from the madras regiment that came across from sembeughewn, that it was all over; and that all the troops would be shipped off, as soon as they went down to rangoon; but i have not seen any papers lately, and so have not had a chance of learning any news of you. i fancied, though, that you would be back at calcutta by this time; and thought that i might get a letter from you, by this ship." by this time he was on deck, and after a hearty shaking of hands, stanley asked what he was doing here. "i did not expect to see you until we got to aracan." "i have been up there, lad. it is a decaying old place, and the stream is in many places shallow; so that it would be very difficult to take up a ship of any size. i foresee, therefore, that this is going to be the chief port of the province--timber will be floated down here, and rice brought down in native boats--so i shall make my headquarters here, as far as this district is concerned, and put johnson in charge. i doubt whether, for a time, we shall do as much trade as we shall higher up the coast; but everyone expects a great burmese immigration, and a large trade is likely to spring up, in time. "i have not quite determined on my next move, and it is not improbable that i shall go down in this ship and establish myself, for a time, at martaban; and open a trade in tenasserim. if i decide on that, i shall only get on shore a portion of my goods, and take the rest on with me there. "now, what are you going to do, stanley?" "just what you think best, uncle. i should have thought that, as i speak the language, it would be better for me to go on to martaban; and for you to work chittagong, and the district up to assam." "then you are going to stay with me, lad!" his uncle exclaimed, in a tone of much satisfaction. "i was afraid that you would have got so fond of soldiering that you would have thrown this over, altogether." "not a bit of it, uncle. i am on three months' leave at present and, at the end of that time, i shall resign. you know i am a captain, now--that is to say, that i have got my rank by death vacancies, though until the gazette comes out from england, i can hardly be said to be a pucka captain; and, what is more, the general himself assured me that, after being mentioned in despatches two or three times, and at his strong commendation of my services, i was sure of the brevet rank of major." his uncle took off his hat, gravely. "i must apologize to you," he said, "for addressing you as 'lad.' i had no idea that you were a full-grown captain, still less that you might soon be a major." "i don't care a snap for the title, uncle," stanley said, laughing, "except that it may be an advantage to me, in places where there are garrisons; and indeed, generally where there are white officials." "a very great advantage, stanley. "well, lad, i have been coining money, since i saw you at rangoon. i have been sending a consignment of bullocks down there, every week; and have done almost as much with the manipur force. i have also got the contract regularly, now, for the supply of the troops at calcutta. other trade has, of course, been at a standstill. now that everything has quieted down, there will be a perfect rush; and i have been sorely troubled, in my mind, whether it would be best to stay up here and take advantage of it, or to be one of the first to open trade at these new ports. of course, if you are ready to take martaban, that will decide me; and i shall take passage in the first ship going up to chittagong. my own boat and the dhow are both there, and i shall at once work up all the rivers, and set things going again. "i have a capital fellow, a native, who is carrying on the cattle business for me and, at chittagong, i shall try and get hold of three or four more trustworthy fellows, to take charge of depots. i see a big future before us, and that before long. i did well with those gems of yours--they fetched pounds, which i used, besides what you handed over to me--for there was no buying up the cattle without cash and, as i generally have to wait two months after they are shipped, before i get paid, ready money was invaluable and, indeed, i could not have gone into the thing on anything like the same scale, if it had not been for your money. the calcutta people would have helped me, to a certain point; but they would never have ventured upon such advances as i required. your pounds has doubled itself since i met you at rangoon. i calculate that our stores at the different depots are worth pounds so that, at the present moment, the firm of pearson & brooke have at their command a capital of , pounds." a portion of the cargo was landed at akyah. stanley went down with the rest to martaban, and his uncle sailed for chittagong. a few months later, a store was opened at rangoon. parsee store-keepers were sent from calcutta, by tom pearson; and these were placed in control of the stores there, and at martaban--stanley being in charge of these two stations, and akyah; and having a native craft of his own, and a boat for river work similar to that of his uncle. a year later he received a letter from harry, saying that his uncle had died, a month after his return to england; and that he was now established as one of the pillars of the state. "as i went through london, on my arrival," he said, "i looked up your mother at the address you gave me, at dulwich. i found her very well, and very comfortable. she was full of your praises and, as i was equally so, your ears ought to have tingled while we were together. of course they wanted to hear all about you, and most of it was new to them; for you had said nothing of your adventure with that leopard, and only a few lines about the rescue of your humble servant; though you had told them that i stood in your way of the earldom. your mother said that she was prouder of you than if you were an earl, only that she would have liked to have you at home. i told her that you and your uncle were shaking the pagoda tree, and that you would come home as yellow as a guinea and as rich as a nabob, in the course of a few years. "your sisters are older than i expected to find them. of course, you always spoke of them as when you saw them last. they are both growing into very pretty girls, the elder especially. i made your mother promise to bring them down to stay with me, for a bit, when i came into the title; which i knew could not be long, for i had called that morning on my uncle's solicitors, and they told me that he was not expected to live many weeks. as it is only a month since he died, i suppose i ought not to have visitors, just yet; but in a few weeks i shall go up to town, and bring them down with me. i cannot help thinking that it is a little selfish for, when they see this place, they would not be human if they did not feel that it would have been yours, if it had not been for your getting me out of the hands of those burmese. "i see that you are gazetted captain, this week. i suppose, long before this, you have settled down to your old work of going up sluggish streams; and trying to stir up the equally sluggish native to a sense of the advantages of british goods. at present, i am quite content to do nothing particular--to ride and drive about, return calls, and so on--but i expect, before very long, i shall get restless, and want to be doing something. however, there is the continent open to one, and decent hotels to stop at. no fevers there, and no burmese brigands." a month later he had a letter from his mother, which had been written before that of harry, but had been sent to calcutta and thence to akyah; and had there lain until his return, two months later, from a boat journey up to pegu. she said how kind it was of his cousin to come in, to give them news of him, the very day he arrived in london. "of course, we were delighted with all that he told us about you; but it made us anxious to think of your running into so many dangers. we like him very much. we could not help laughing, because he seemed quite concerned that you should not have the peerage, instead of him. he seems likely to come into it soon, for he tells us that the earl is very ill. he says that we must come down and pay him a visit, as soon as he is master there; but i don't know whether that can be. of course it would be a nice change, and i believe that it is a very fine place. i said that it would seem strange our going there, when there are no ladies, and that bachelors did not generally entertain; but he said that, in the first place he should have his sisters there, who were about the same age as my girls; and that as we were his nearest relations, and you were at present his heir, it would be quite the right and proper thing for us to come down. he seemed quite in earnest about it, and i should not be surprised if we go." three months later, stanley heard that the visit had been paid, and that they had stayed a fortnight there. "it feels quite funny, settling down here again after being in that big house, with all those servants and grandeur; not that there is any grandeur about harry. he insists, being relations, that we shall call him by his christian name. everything was delightful. every afternoon we used to go driving and, of a morning, he generally rode with the girls. he had a very pretty, gentle horse for agnes; and a gray pony, a beauty, for kate. i have a strong suspicion that he had bought them both, on purpose. i should not be surprised--but no, i won't say anything about it." stanley puzzled over this sentence, which was followed by: "his sisters are very nice girls." "it is evidently something about harry," he said to himself; "possibly she has taken the idea into her head that he may fall in love with agnes. that, certainly, would be a very nice thing; but i don't suppose it is anything more than an idea of mother's." however, four months later he received a letter from harry, announcing his engagement. "i told your mother that she must let me write by the mail, before she did; as it was only right that i should have the pleasure of telling you the news, myself. it is splendid, old man; upon my word, i don't know which i ought to feel most grateful to you--for saving my life, or for getting me to know your sister. it seems to me a regular dispensation of providence. you did everything you could to prevent yourself from coming into a title; and now your sister is going to take it, and me. it is quite right that we should come to be brothers-in-law, for we are quite like brothers, already. "we are to be married in the spring. how i wish you could be with us. your absence will be the only thing wanting, to make everything perfect. i do hope you don't mean to stay, grilling out there, many years. it seems to me monstrous that i should be having estates and a big income, and all that sort of thing, when i have done nothing to deserve it; and that you should be toiling in that beastly climate. if i thought that there was the least chance of your rushing home, when you get this letter, i declare that i would put off the marriage for a month or so, so that you should be here in time; but as i feel sure that you won't do anything of the sort, it will be of no use for me to make such a noble sacrifice." stanley had received the news that he was gazetted brevet-major, a month after he was promoted to the rank of captain, and two months before his name appeared as having retired from the army. he derived, as he expected, much benefit from his connection with the army in his position at his three receiving ports, as it placed him on a very pleasant footing with the military and civil officials; and it rendered his occasional visits to calcutta and madras exceedingly pleasant, for in both towns he found many officers whose acquaintance he had made, during the expedition. he was always made an honorary member of the messes and clubs, during his stays there. the business grew rapidly. the work of the earlier years had so well paved the way for larger operations that they were able to more than hold their own against other traders who, after the troubles were at an end, sought to establish themselves at various points on the western coast of the peninsula; and after six more years of hard and continuous work, the business came to be a very large and important one. "i think it more than probable," stanley wrote to his mother, "that before very long i shall be returning home. my uncle spoke about it, the last time that i saw him; and said that we were outgrowing calcutta, and ought to establish ourselves in london. "'we can hold on a bit longer,' he said, 'but we must come to that, sooner or later and, when it does, you must be the one to go to england and take charge. i may go home before that for a few months, but i have no wish or desire to stop there. we have now got a good staff; and i shall probably fix myself, permanently, at calcutta.'" two years later tom pearson, on his return from england, brought back a wife with him, and established himself at calcutta. stanley joined him there, three weeks after his return. they had a long talk together, that evening. "i see, stanley," his uncle said, "that things have gone on improving, since i have been away; and that our turnover last year was , pounds, and the profits close upon , pounds. i think, now, that it is high time we opened a place in london. we have almost a monopoly of the teak trade, in burma; and it would be much more advantageous for us to make our purchases in england, instead of here. we should save in carriage and in trans-shipment, besides the profits that the people here make out of their sales to us. i have made a great many inquiries, at home, as to the prices for cash in manchester and birmingham; and find that we should get goods there some fifteen percent cheaper than we pay at calcutta, even after putting on the freights. so you see, it is an important matter. besides, there would be a better choice of goods, and you know exactly the sort of thing that we require, and the quantities that we can get rid of; and would be able, therefore, to send consignments each month, without waiting for advices from me; and so we should get the things just as readily as we do now, from here. "i will give you the names of some of the firms that i have visited, and with whom i have already paved the way for opening extensive transactions. during the eighteen months that i have been away, you have learned all about the banking business; and will find no more difficulty in managing, in london, than here. your brother-in-law netherly went with me to the bank of england, and introduced me to one of the directors. i told him that we intended to open a house in london, and that as soon as we did so, we should open an account with them by paying in , pounds; and that we should, of course, require some facilities, but probably not to a large extent, as our payments for teak there would fairly balance our exports from england; and that i reckoned our trade to be, as a minimum, , pounds, each way. "the matter was made extremely easy by netherly saying, to my astonishment: "'you can let them draw what they like, mr. townshend, for i will give my personal guarantee, up to , pounds.' "i remonstrated, but he would not hear anything said. "'ridiculous,' he exclaimed, hotly; 'stanley is my brother-in-law. he risked his life for me, and you don't suppose that i should mind risking , pounds for him. "'not,' he went on, turning to the director, 'that there is any risk in the matter. i know all about the business they do in india, and that there is not a shadow of risk in it. i know that my guarantee will be a mere form but, as it may put them on a better footing with you, to begin with, i shall be very pleased to do it.' "of course, we know that there will be no risk in it. the greater portion of our business is a ready-money one and although, of late, we have been dealing more with native local firms instead of selling direct from our own stores, the amounts are never large and, so far, we have never lost a penny. of course, i shall let you know, by every mail, how things are going on at all our depots; and you will then be able to form an estimate as to the amount of goods you will have to despatch to each--sending them direct, of course, if there happens to be a ship going. "but all these things, of course, we shall go into, at length, before you start for england." "did you go down to harry's place?" "yes, i stopped there a week. your sister seems perfectly happy, and plays the part of queen of the county admirably. the four youngsters are jolly little things. as to your mother, you will find very little change in her. i really don't think that she looks a day older than when we saw her off, at calcutta, something like ten years ago. of course, then she was cut up with her loss; but quiet and comfort have agreed with her, and the climate is a good deal less trying than it is out here. at any rate, i should not take her for a day over forty, and she is something like five years older than that." three months later, stanley sailed for england. there was the same argument between him and meinik that there had been when stanley first left rangoon, but this time it terminated differently. "you would be out of your element in england, meinik. of course, my life there will be very different from what it is here. i shall go away from home to business, every morning, and not get back until perhaps seven o' clock in the evening. as a consequence, there would be nothing for you to do for me, and we should see very little of each other. you know i should like to have you with me, and would do all that i could to make you comfortable; but i am sure that you would not like the life. here you have always been on the move, and there is always something for you to do, and think of. "i have spoken to my uncle about you, and he will be glad to appoint you to the position of purchaser, for our house, of teak and other native products in these provinces. besides being buyer, you would go up the country, and see to the felling and getting the timber down to the coast, as you have often done before. he knows how absolutely i trust you, and how much you have done for me, and he said that he should be very glad to have you in charge of the buying side of the work, here. besides, you know you have now a wife and children and, even if you could make yourself comfortable in england, they would never be able to do so; and the bitter cold that we sometimes have, in winter, would try them terribly, and might even carry them all off." to these arguments meinik had reluctantly yielded. he was somewhat proud of the position that he occupied, as one of some authority in the establishment of the principal merchants on the coast. he was fond of his wife and little children; and felt that to be established among strangers, of different habits and race, would be very terrible for them. stanley bought him a nice house at rangoon and, as his rate of pay, which had been gradually increased, was now sufficient to cause him to rank high among the native population, he himself came to feel that he had done wisely in accepting stanley's advice. the voyage to england was an uneventful one; and to stanley, after the active life he had had for ten years, the five months spent at sea seemed almost interminable. "i should not have known you, in the least," his mother said, after the first joyful greetings were over. "how much you have gone through, since we parted at calcutta." "i had a pretty rough time of it for two years, mother, during the war but, with that exception, my life has been a very pleasant one; and i have had nothing, whatever, to grumble about. "this is a pretty house that you have chosen, mother, and the garden is charming. how i have longed, sometimes, for the sight of an english garden. of course i have never seen one before, but i have heard you talk of them, and thought how delightful the green grass must be. of course we had flowers in burma--plenty of them--and shrubs; but it was not green, like this. it is charming." "yes, it is a pretty house, stanley. we moved in here five years ago--thanks to you, dear boy--and it has been a very quiet, happy time. we have a good many friends now, among our neighbours; and have quite as much society as i care for. "i suppose you have not yet decided whether you will live here, with us," she said, a little anxiously, "or set up an establishment of your own." "of course i shall stay here, mother. i never thought of anything else. i see that you have some stables. i shall get a couple of horses, and drive into town, in the mornings. i have got out of the way of walking, altogether. "and where is kate?" "you will see her presently. she will be here to dinner, with agnes and harry. i sent her off, because i wanted to have you all to myself, for the first hour. the others came up to town, three days ago, on purpose to be here when you arrived. of course, we heard when your ship called at plymouth. we had been looking for her, for your last letter told us the name of the vessel that you were coming by; so i wrote to them, and they came up at once. they wanted us to go and dine with them, but i would not hear of it. i was sure that you would much rather dine quietly, here, than in state in portman square, with three or four footmen behind our chairs." "ever so much better, mother. i suppose i shall hardly know agnes, but harry cannot have altered much; besides, i have seen him four years later than her." harry's greeting was of the heartiest kind. stanley's sisters felt, at first, a little strange with this brother of whom they had but a faint remembrance. "it does not seem to me, harry, that your dignities have tamed you down much." "no, indeed," harry laughed. "i find it, sometimes, very difficult to act up to my position. i never quite feel that i am an earl, except on the rare occasions when i go to the house of lords--which i only do when my vote is wanted, on an important division. "the gloom of that place is enough to sober anyone. i can assure you that, when i heard of the fire, i felt absolutely pleased. of course, they will build another one, perhaps grander than the last, and as gloomy but, thank goodness, it must be years before it can be finished and, until then, we shall have to put up with temporary premises. "your chances of an earldom are getting more and more remote, stanley. there are three boys barring the way, already. i had proposed to myself not to marry--in which case you or a son of yours would have followed me--but your sister overpersuaded me." agnes tossed her head, as she said: "at any rate, harry, if you made that resolution, it was not worth much, as you gave it up at the first opportunity. i was the first girl you met, when you arrived in england; and i doubt whether you had seen another, before we came down to stay at netherly. i had not been there two days before you began to make love to me." "the temptation would excuse anything, my dear," harry laughed. "besides, you see, i saw at once that it was but fair and right to stanley that, if he could not get the peerage himself, he might some day have the satisfaction of being uncle to an earl. "and so you are home for good, old fellow?" "yes, and just at present i feel very much at sea as to how to get to work, as tom pearson arranged nothing except as to the banking account. everything else he has left to me. i know nothing of london, and have no idea of the situation where i should look for offices." "i will put you up to all that, stanley. i don't know anything about it myself, as you may suppose; but if you will go with me to my solicitors, tomorrow, they will be able to tell you. but i do know that leadenhall street is the centre of the indian trade, and it's somewhere about there that you will have to fix yourself. "of course, when you have taken a place, you will have to get hold of some clerks. if you put an advertisement in the paper, you will get any number of applicants; or possibly my men may, through their connection with merchants, be able to hear of some to suit you. anyhow, i am sure that you will find no difficulty." thanks to harry's introductions, stanley was established in a handsome suite of offices, with three clerks, with much greater ease than he had anticipated. being thoroughly versed in business, he was not long before he was at home in his new life. three years after his return, he married harry's youngest sister. the firm flourished greatly, and became one of the leading houses in the eastern trade. at the age of sixty, stanley retired from business with a large fortune. he could do this comfortably, as his eldest son and a nephew had become active partners in the firm. he still lives, at the age of eighty-six, in a noble mansion near staines; and retains all the faculties, even at advanced age. n o É m i by s. baring-gould author of eve, red spider, little tu'penny, gabrielle andrÉ, etc. [illustration] new york d. appleton and company copyright, , by d. appleton and company. contents. chapter page i.--the stair perilous ii.--who is the fool now? iii.--the wolves out iv.--in nomine beelzebub v.--raising the ransom vi.--the jew vii.--the new companion viii.--in the devil's cups ix.--a singed glove x.--by fire xi.--the ten crosses xii.--three crosses xiii.--the end of l'eglise guillem xiv.--the battle of the beune xv.--a threatened horror xvi.--vade in pace xvii.--in the raven's nest xviii.--in the depths xix.--a night ride xx.--the ring xxi.--a disappearance xxii.--the castellan xxiii.--in the hail xxiv.--the fourth time xxv.--a helebore wreath xxvi.--the eleventh cross noÉmi. chapter i. the stair perilous. jean del' peyra was standing scraping a staff to form a lance-shaft. the sun shone hot upon him, and at his feet lay his shadow as a blot. he was too much engrossed in his work to look about him, till he heard a voice call from somewhere above his head-- "out of the way, clown!" then there crashed down by him a log of wood that rolled to his feet and was followed by another piece. now only did jean look up, and what he saw made him drop his half-finished shaft and forget it. what jean saw was this: a girl at some distance above him on the face of the rock, swaying a long-handled hammer, with which she was striking at, and dislodging, the steps by which she had ascended, and by means of which alone could she return. the cliff was of white limestone, or rather chalk, not such as dover headlands are composed of, and which have given their name to albion, but infinitely more compact and hard, though scarcely less white. the appearance of the stone was that of fine-grained white limestone. a modern geologist peering among its fossils would say it was chalk. but the period of this tale far antedates the hatching out of the first geologist. the cliff was that of la roque gageac, that shoots up from the dordogne to the height of four hundred and sixty feet above the river. the lower portion is, however, not perpendicular; it consists of a series of ledges and rapid inclines, on which stands clustered, clinging to the rock, the town of gageac. but two thirds of the height is not merely a sheer precipice, it overhangs. half-way up this sheer precipice the weather has gnawed into the rock, where was a bed of softer stone, forming a horizontal cavern, open to the wind and rain, with a roof extending some forty feet, unsupported, above the hard bed that served as floor. at some time unknown a stair had been contrived in the face of the rock, to reach this terrace a hundred feet above the roofs of the houses below; and then a castle had been built in the cave, consisting of towers and guard-rooms, halls and kitchens; a well had been sunk in the heart of the mountain, and this impregnable fastness had been made into a habitation for man. it could be reached in but one way, by the stair from below. it could not be reached from above, for the rock overhung the castle walls. but the stair itself was a perilous path, and its construction a work of ingenuity. to make the position--the eagle nest in the rock--absolutely inaccessible to an enemy, the stair had been contrived so that it could be wrecked by those flying up it, with facility, and that thereby they might cut off possibility of pursuit. the method adopted was this. holes had been bored into the rock-face in gradual ascent from the platform at the foot of the rock to the gate-tower of the castle, nestled on the platform in the precipice. in each such hole a balk or billet of wood was planted, sliced away below where it entered, and this end was then made fast by a wedge driven in under it. from each step, when once secured, that above it could next be made firm. to release the steps a tap from underneath sufficed to loosen the wedge and send it and the balk it supported clattering down. and now the girl was striking away these steps. what was her purpose? had she considered what she was doing? to destroy the means of ascent was easy enough; to replace it a labour exacting time and patience. was she a fool? was she mad? there was some method in her madness, for she had not knocked away a succession of steps, but two only, with one left in position between. "'ware, fool!" and down the face of the rock and clattering to his feet fell a third. this was too much. jean ran to the foot of the stair and hastened up it till he reached the gap. further he could not proceed--a step had been dislodged; the next remained intact. then came another break, a second step in place, and then the third break. above that stood the girl, swinging the long-handled mallet with which she had loosened the wedges and struck down the steps they held up. she was a handsome girl with dusky skin, but warm with blood under it, dark loose hair, and large deep brown eyes. she stood, athletic, graceful, poised on her stage, swaying the hammer, looking defiantly, insolently, at the youth, with lips half open and pouting. "do you know what you are about, madcap?" said he. "perfectly. making you keep your distance, fool." "keep distance!" said the youth. "i had no thought of you. i was not pursuing you--i did not know you were here!" "and now i have woke you to see me." "what of that? you had acted like a mad thing. i cannot help you, i cannot leap to you. nothing would make me do so." "nothing? not if i said, 'come, assist me down'?" "i could not leap the space. see you--if one step only were thrown down i might venture, but not when every alternate one between us is missing. to leap up were to ensure my fall at the next gap." "i do not need your help. i can descend. i can spring from one step to the next over the gaps." "and risk a fall and a broken neck?" "then there is one madcap the less in this world." "for what have you done this?" "a prank." "a prank! yes; but to replace the steps takes time and pains." "i shall expend neither on them." "it will give trouble to others." "if it amuses me, what care i?" the young man looked at the strange girl with perplexity. "if every peg of wood were away," said she, "i could yet descend." "how? are you a bird--can you fly? not a cat, not a squirrel could run up or down this rock." "fool! i should slip down by the rope. do you not know that there is a windlass? do you suppose they take their kegs of wine, their meat, their bread, their fuel up this spider stair? i tell you that there is a rope, and at the end of it a bar of wood. they let this down and bring up what they want affixed to the bar. at pleasure, any man may go up or down that way. do you not see? it must be so. if they were fast and all the ladders were gone, how should they ever descend? why, they could not mend the stairs from aloft. it must be done step by step from below. do you see that, fool?" "i see that perfectly." "very well; i have but to run up, make love to the custodian, and he would swing me down. there; it is easy done!" "you had best cast down the hammer and let me replace the steps." "i'll come down without them and without a rope. i can leap. if i cannot creep up as a cat, i can spring down like one--aye! and like a squirrel, too, from one lodging place to another. stand back and see me." "stay!" said jean. "why run the risk when not needed?" "because i like the risk--it is pepper and mustard to my meat of life. stand back, clown, or i will spring and strike you over--and down you go and crack your foolish pate." "if i go--you go also--do you not see that?" "look aloft!" said the girl. "up in that nest--whenever the english are about, up goes into it the bishop of sarlat, and he takes with him all his treasure, his gold cups and patens, his shrines for holy bones all set with gems, and his bags of coin. there he sits like an old grey owl, towhit! towhoo--towhit! towhoo! and he looks out this way, that--to see where houses are burning and smoke rises, and when at night the whole world is besprent with red fires--as the sky is with stars, where farms and homesteads are burning. and he says 'towhit! towhoo! i have my cups and my patens and my coin-bags, and my dear little holy bones, all safe here. towhit! towhoo! and best of all--i am safe--my unholy old bones also, whoo! whoo! whoo! nobody can touch me--whoo! whoo! whoo!'" "is he there now?" "no, he is not. there is no immediate danger. only a few as guard, that is all. if i were a man, i'd take the place and smoke the old owl out, and rob him of his plunder. i'd keep the shrines, and throw the holy rubbish away!" "how would you do that?" "i have been considering. i'd be let down over the edge of the cliff and throw in fireballs, till i had set the castle blazing." "and then?" "then i'd have grappling-irons and crook them to the walls, and swing in under the ledge, and leap on the top of the battlements, and the place would fall. i'd cast the old bishop out if he would not go, and carry off all his cups and shrines and coin." "it would be sacrilege!" "bah! what care i?" then, after enjoying the astonishment of the lad, she said: "with two or three bold spirits it might be done. will you join me? be my mate, and we will divide the plunder." she burst into a merry laugh. "it would be sport to smoke out the old owl and send him flying down through the air, blinking and towhooing, to break his wings, or his neck, or his crown there--on those stones below." "i'm not english--i'm no brigand!" answered the young man vehemently. "i'm english!" said the girl. "what? an english woman or devil?" "i'm english--i'm gascon. i'm anything where there is diversion to be got and plunder to be obtained. oh, but we live in good times! deliver me from others where there is nothing doing, no sport, no _chevauchée_[ ] no spoil, no fighting." [ ] a _chevauchée_ was an expedition to ravage a tract of country. originally it signified a feudal service due from a vassal to his seigneur in private wars. then suddenly she threw away the hammer and spread her arms as might a bird preparing to fly, bent her lithe form as might a cricket to leap. "stand aside! go back! 'ware, i am coming!" the lad hastily beat a retreat down the steps. he could do no other. each step was but two feet in length from the rock. there was no handrail; no two persons could pass on it. moreover, the impetus of the girl, if she leaped from one foothold to the next, and the next, and then again to the stair where undamaged, would be prodigious; she would require the way clear that she might descend bounding, swinging down the steep flight, two stages at a leap, till she reached the bottom. an obstruction would be fatal to her, and fatal to him who stood in her way. no word of caution, no dissuasion was of avail. in her attitude, in the flash of her eyes, in the tone of her voice, in the thrill that went through her agile frame, jean saw that the leap was inevitable. he therefore hastened to descend, and when he reached the bottom, turned to see her bound. he held his breath. the blood in his arteries stood still. he set his teeth, and all the muscles of his body contracted as with the cramp. he saw her leap. once started, nothing could arrest her. on her left hand was the smooth face of the rock, without even a blade of grass, a harebell, a tuft of juniper growing out of it. on her right was void. if she tripped, if she missed her perch, if she miscalculated her weight, if she lost confidence for one instant, if her nerve gave way in the slightest, if she was not true of eye, nimble of foot, certain in judging distance, then she would shoot down just as had the logs she had cast below. as certainly as he saw her fall would jean spring forward in the vain hope of breaking her fall, as certainly to be struck down and perish with her. one--a whirl before his eyes. as well calculate her leaps as count the spokes in a wheel as it revolves on the road. one--two--three--thirty--a thousand--nothing! "there, clown!" she was at the bottom, her hands extended, her face flushed with excitement and pleasure. "you see--what i can dare and do." chapter ii. who is the fool now? there boiled up in the youth's heart a feeling of wrath and indignation against the girl who in sheer wantonness had imperiled her life and had given to him a moment of spasm of apprehension. looking full into her glittering brown eyes, he said-- "you have cast at me ill names. i have been to you but clown and fool; i have done nothing to merit such titles; i should never have thrown a thought away on you, but have gone on scraping my shaft, had not you done a silly thing--a silly thing. acted like a fool, and a fool only!" "you dare not do what i have done." "if there be a need i will do it. if i do it for a purpose there is no folly in it. that is folly where there is recklessness for no purpose." "i had a purpose!" "a purpose?--what? to call my attention to you, to make me admire your daring, all to no end. or was it in mere inconsiderate prank? a man is not brave merely because he is so stupid that he does not see the consequences before him. a blind man may walk where i should shrink from treading. and stupidity blinds some eyes that they run into danger and neither see nor care for the danger or for the consequences that will ensue on their rashness." the girl flushed with anger. "i am not accustomed to be spoken to thus," she said, and stamped her foot on the pavement of the platform. "all the better for you that it is spoken at last." "and who are you that dare say it?" "i--i am jean del' peyra." the girl laughed contemptuously. "i never heard the name." "i have told you my name, what is yours?" asked the boy, and he picked up his staff and began once more to point it. there was indifference in his tone, indifference in the act, that exasperated the girl. "you do not care--i will not say." "no," he answered, scraping leisurely at the wood. "i do not greatly care. why should i? you have shown me to-day that you do not value yourself, and you do not suppose, then, that i can esteem one who does not esteem herself." "you dare say that!" the girl flared into fury. she stooped to pick up the hammer. jean put his foot on it. "no," said he. "you would use that, i suppose, to knock out my brains, because i show you no homage, because i say that you have acted as a fool, that your bravery is that of a fool, that your thoughts--aye, your thoughts of plunder and murder against the bishop of sarlat, your old owl--towhit, towhoo! are the thoughts of a fool. no--i do not care for the name of a fool." "why did you run up the steps? why did you cry to me to desist from knocking out the posts? why concern yourself a mite about me, if you so despise me?" gasped the girl, and it seemed as though the words shot like flames from her lips. "because we are of like blood--that is all!" answered jean, coolly. "like blood! hear him--hear him! he and i--_he_--he and i of like blood, and he a del' peyra! and i--i am a noémi!" "so--noémi! that is your name?" "and i," continued the girl in her raging wrath, "i--learn this--i am the child of le gros guillem. have you ever heard of the gros guillem?" she asked in a tone of triumph, like the blast of a victor's trumpet. jean lowered his staff, and looked steadily at her. his brows were contracted, his lips were set firm. "so!" he said, after a pause. "the daughter of gros guillem?" "aye--have you heard of him?" "of course i have heard of him." "and of the del' peyras who ever heard?" asked the girl with mockery and scorn, and snapped her fingers. "no--god be thanked!--of the del' peyras you have never heard as of the gros guillem." "the grapes--the grapes are sour!" scoffed the girl. "i wonder at nothing you have done," said the boy sternly, "since you have told me whence you come. of the thorn--thorns; of the nettle--stings; of the thistle--thistles--all after their kind. no! god be praised!" the boy took off his cap and looked up. "the gros guillem and my father, ogier del' peyra, are not to be spoken of in one sentence here, nor will be from the white throne on the day of doom." looking steadily at the girl seething with anger, with mortified pride, and with desire to exasperate him, he said-- "i should never have thought that you sprang from the gros guillem. the likeness must be in the heart, it is not in the face." "have you seen my father?" asked the girl. "i have never seen him, but i have heard of him." "what have you heard?" "that he is very tall and spider-like in build; they call him 'le gros' in jest, for he is not stout, but very meagre. he has long hands and feet, and a long head with red hair, and pale face with sunspots, and very faint blue eyes, under thick red brows. that is what i am told le gros guillem is like. but you----" "describe me--go on!" "no!" answered jean. "there is no need. you see yourself every day in the glass. when there is no glass you look at yourself in the water; when no water, you look at yourself in your nails." "when there is no water, i look at myself in your eyes, and see a little brown creature there--that is me. _allons!_" she began to laugh. much of her bad temper had flown; she was a girl of rapidly changing moods. it was true that she was mirrored in jean del' peyra's eyes. he was observing her attentively. never before had he seen so handsome a girl, with olive, transparent skin, through which the flush of colour ran like summer lightning in a summer cloud--such red lips, such rounded cheek and chin; such an easy, graceful figure! the magnificent burnished black hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders; and her eyes!--they had the fire of ten thousand flints lurking in them and flashing out at a word. "how come you here?" asked jean, in a voice less hard and in a tone less indifferent than before. "this place, la roque gageac, is not one for a daughter of le gros guillem. here we are french. at domme they are english, and that is the place for your father." "ah!" said the girl in reply, "among us women french or english are all the same. we are both and we are neither. i suppose you are french?" "yes, i am french." "and a bishop's man?" "i live on our own land--del peyraland, at ste. soure." "and i am with my aunt here. my father considers domme a little too rough a place for a girl. he has sent me hither. at the gates they did not ask me if i were french or english. they let me through, but not my father's men. they had to ride back to domme." "he cannot come and see you here?" the girl laughed. "if he were to venture here, they would hang him--not give him half an hour to make his peace with heaven!--hang him--hang him as a dog!" "so!--and you are even proud of such a father!" "so!--and even i am proud to belong to one whose name is known. i thank my good star i do not belong to a nobody of whom none talk, even as an ogier del' peyra." "you are proud of your father--of le gros guillem!" exclaimed jean; and now his brow flushed with anger, and his eye sparkled. "proud of that _routier_ and _rouffien_,[ ] who is the scourge, the curse of the country round! proud of the man that has desolated our land, has made happy wives into wailing widows, and glad children into despairing orphans; who has wrecked churches, and drunk--blaspheming god at the time--out of the gold chalices; who has driven his sword into the bowels of his own mother country, and has scorched her beautiful face with his firebrands! i know of le gros guillem--who does not?--know of him by the curses that are raised by his ill deeds, the hatred he has sown, the vows of vengeance that are registered----" [ ] a _routier_, a brigand who harassed the roads; a _rouffien_, a dweller in the rocks, _rouffes_. "which he laughs at," interrupted noémi. "which he laughs at now," pursued the boy angrily, and anger gave fluency to his tongue. "but do you not suppose that a day of reckoning will arrive? is heaven deaf to the cries of the sufferers? is humanity all-enduring, and never likely to revolt--and, when she does, to exact a terrible revenge? the labourer asks for naught but to plough his land in peace, the merchant nothing but to be allowed to go on his journey unmolested, the priest has no higher desire than to say his mass in tranquillity. and all this might be but for le gros guillem and the like of him. let the english keep their cities and their provinces; they belong to them by right. but is le gros guillem english? was perducat d'albret english? what of le petit mesquin? of the archpriest? of cervolle? were they english? are those real english faces that we fear and hate? are they not the faces of our own countrymen, who call themselves english, that they may plunder and murder their fellow-countrymen and soak with blood and blast with fire the soil that reared them?" noémi was somewhat awed by his vehemence, but she said-- "rather something to be talked about than a nothing at all." "wrong, utterly wrong!" said jean. "rather be the storm that bursts and wrecks all things than be still beneficent nature in her order which brings to perfection? any fool can destroy; it takes a wise man to build up. you--you fair and gay young spirit, tell me have you ever seen that of which you speak so lightly, of which you jest as if it were a matter of pastime? have you gone tripping after your father, treading in his bloody footprints, holding up your skirts lest they should touch the festering carcases on either side the path he has trod?" "no," answered the girl, and some of the colour went out of her face, leaving it the finest, purest olive in tint. "then say no more about your wish to have a name as a _routier_ and to be the terror of the countryside, till you have experienced what it is that terrorises the land." "one must live," said noémi. "one may live by helping others to live--as does the peasant, and the artisan, as the merchant; or by destroying the life of others--as does the _routier_ and the vulgar robber," answered jean. then noémi caught his wrist and drew him aside under an archway. her quick eye had seen the castellan coming that way; he had not been in the castle in the face of the rock, but in the town; and he was now on his way back. he would find the means of ascent broken, and must repair it before reaching his eyrie. "who is the fool now?" said jean del' peyra. "you, who were knocking away the steps below you, calculating that if you destroyed that stair, you could still descend by the custodian's rope and windlass. see--he was not there. you would have been fast as a prisoner till the ladder was restored; and small bones would have been made of you, gros guillem's daughter, for playing such a prank as that!" unseen they watched the man storming, swearing, angrily gathering up the pegs and wedges and the hammer, and ascending the riskful flight of steps to replace the missing pieces of wood in their sockets, and peg them firmly and sustainingly with their wedges. "what you did in your thoughtlessness, that your father and the like of him do in their viciousness, and do on a grander scale," said jean. "they are knocking away the pegs in the great human ladder, destroying the sower with his harvest, the merchant with his trade, the mason, the carpenter, the weaver with their crafts, the scholar with his learning, the man of god with his lessons of peace and goodwill. and at last le gros guillem and such as he will be left alone, above a ruined world on the wreckage of which he has mounted, to starve, when there is nothing more to be got, because the honest getters have all been struck down. who is the fool now?" "have done!" said the girl impatiently. "you have moralised enough--you should be a clerk!" "we are all made moralists when we see honesty trampled under foot. well for you, noémi, with your light head and bad heart----" "my bad heart!" "aye, your bad heart. well for you that you are a harmless girl and not a boy, or you would have followed quick in your father's steps and built yourself up as hateful a name." "i, a harmless girl?" "yes, a harmless girl. your hands are feeble, and however malicious your heart, you can do none a mischief, save your own self." "you are sure of that?" "mercifully it is so. the will to hurt and ruin may be present, but you are weak and powerless to do the harm you would." "is a woman so powerless?" "certainly." she ran up a couple of steps, caught him by the shoulders, stooped, and kissed him on the lips, before he was aware what she was about to do. "say that again! a woman is weak! a woman cannot ravage and burn, and madden and wound--not with a sword and a firebrand, but----" she stooped. the boy was bewildered--his pulses leaping, his eye on fire, his head reeling. she kissed him again. "these are her weapons!" said noémi. "who is the fool now?" chapter iii. the wolves out. jean del' peyra was riding home, a distance of some fifteen miles from la roque gageac. his way led through forests of oak clothing the slopes and plateau of chalk. the road was bad--to be more exact, there was no road; there was but a track. in times of civil broil, when the roads were beset by brigands, travellers formed or found ways for themselves through the bush, over the waste land, away from the old and neglected arteries of traffic. the highways were no longer kept up--there was no one to maintain them in repair, and if they were sound no one would travel on them who could avoid them by a détour, when exposed to be waylaid, plundered, carried off to a dungeon, and put to ransom. to understand the condition of affairs, a brief sketch of the english domination in guyenne is necessary. by the marriage of eleanor, daughter and heiress of william x., earl of poitou and duke of aquitaine, with henry of anjou, afterwards henry ii. of england, in , the vast possessions of her family were united to those of the angevin house, which claimed the english crown. by this union the house of anjou suddenly rose to be a power, superior to that of the french crown on the gaulish soil, which it cut off entirely from the mouths of the seine and the loire, and nipped between its norman and aquitanian fingers. the natives of the south--speaking their own language, of different race, aspirations, character, from those in the north--had no traditional attachment to the french throne, and no ideal of national concentration about it into one great unity. here and there, dotted about as islets in the midst of the english possessions in the south, were feudal or ecclesiastical baronies, or townships, that were subject immediately to the french crown, and exempt from allegiance to the english king; and these acted as germs, fermenting in the country, and gradually but surely influencing the minds of all, and drawing all to the thought that for the good of the land it were better that it should belong to france than to england. such was the diocese and county of sarlat. this had belonged to a monastic church founded in the eighth century, but it had been raised to an episcopal see in , and had never wavered in its adherence to the french interest. sarlat was not on the dordogne, but lay buried, concealed in the depths of oak-woods, accessible only along narrow defiles commanded at every point by rocky headlands; and the key to the episcopal city was la roque gageac, the impregnable fortress and town on the pellucid, rippling dordogne--the town cramped to the steep slope, the castle nestling into an excavation in the face of the abrupt scarp. nearly opposite la roque stood an insulated block of chalk, with precipices on all sides, and to secure this, in , philip iii. of france built on it a free town, exempt from all taxes save a trifling house-charge due to himself; which town he hoped would become a great commercial centre, and a focus whence french influence might radiate to the south of the dordogne. unhappily the importance of domme made it a prize to be coveted by the english, and in they took it. they were expelled in , but john chandos laid siege to it in and took it again, and from that date it remained uninterruptedly in their hands till the end of the english power in aquitaine. for three hundred years had guyenne pertained to the english crown, many of the towns and most of the nobility had no aspirations beyond serving the leopards. the common people were supremely indifferent whether the fleur-de-lys or the leopards waved above them, so long as they were left undisturbed. it was precisely because they had not the boon of tranquillity afforded them by subjection to the english that they turned at last with a sigh of despair to the french. but it was to the leopards, the hereditary coat of guyenne, that they looked first, and it was only when the leopard devoured them that they inclined to the lilies. the reason for this general dissatisfaction and alienation was the violence of the nobility, and the freebooters, who professed to act for the crown of england, and to have patents warranting them to act licentiously. these men, caring only for their own interests, doing nothing to advance the prosperity of the land, used their position, their power, to undermine and ruin it. they attacked the towns whether under the english or french allegiance--that mattered nothing--and forced the corporations to enter into compacts with them, whereby they undertook to pay them an annual subvention, not to ensure protection, but merely to escape pillage. but even these _patis_, as they were called, were precarious, and did not cover a multitude of excuses for infringement of the peace. if, for instance, a merchant of sarlat was in debt to a man of domme, the latter appealed to his feudal master, who, in spite of any _patis_ granted, swooped down on such members of the community of sarlat as he could lay hold of, and held them in durance till not only was the debt paid, but he was himself indemnified for the trouble he had taken in obtaining its discharge. if these things were done in the green tree, what in the dry? in addition to the feudal seigneurs in their castles, ruling over their seigneuries, and nominally amenable to the english crown, there were the _routiers_, captains of free companies, younger sons of noble houses, bastards, runaway prisoners: any idle and vicious rascal who could collect thirty men of like kidney constituted himself a captain, made for himself and his men a habitation by boring into the limestone or chalk rock, in an inaccessible position, whence he came down at pleasure and ravaged and robbed, burned and murdered indiscriminately, the lands and houses and persons of those, whether french or english, who had anything to attract his greed, or who had incurred his resentment. when arnaud amanieu, sire d'albret, transferred his allegiance from the english king to the king of france, he was seen by froissart in paris, sad of countenance, and he gave this as his reason: "thank god! i am well in health, but my purse was fuller when i warred on behalf of the king of england. then when we rode on adventures, there were always some rich merchants of toulouse, of condom, of la réole, or bergerac for us to squeeze. every day we got some spoil to stuff our superfluities and jollities--alack! now all is dead and dull." that was the saying of a great prince, whom the king of france delighted to honour. now hear the words of a common _routier_: "how rejoiced were we when we rode abroad and captured many a rich prior or merchant, or a train of mules laden with brussels cloths, or furs from the fair of landit, or spices from bruges, or silks from damascus! all was ours, and we ransomed men at our good pleasure. every day fresh spoil. the villages purveyed to us, and the rustics brought us corn, flour, bread, litter, wines, meat, and fowl; we were waited on as kings, we were clothed as princes, and when we rode abroad the earth quaked before us." in this terrible time agriculture languished, trade was at a standstill. bells were forbidden to be rung in churches from vespers till full day, lest they should direct the freebooters to villages that they might ravage. the towns fortified themselves, the villagers converted their churches into castles, and surrounded them with moats. children were planted on all high points to keep watch, and give warning at the flash of a helmet. wretched peasants spent their nights in islands in mid-river or in caves underground. no one who has not visited the country swept and re-swept by these marauders can have any conception of the agony through which the country passed. it is furrowed, torn, to the present day by the picks of the ruffians who sought for themselves nests whence they might survey the land and swoop down on it, but above all by the efforts of the tortured to hide themselves--here burrowing underground like moles in mid-field, there boring out chambers in clefts of the rock, there constructing for themselves cabins in the midst of mosquito-haunted marshes, and there, again, ensconcing themselves in profound depths of trackless forests. as jean del' peyra rode along, he shook his head and passed his hand over his face, as though to free it from cobwebs that had gathered about his eyes and were irritating him. but these were no spider-threads: what teased and confused him were other fibres, spun by that brown witch, noémi. he was angry, indignant with her, but his anger and indignation were, as it were, trowel and prong that dug and forked the thoughts of her deep into his mind. he thought of her standing before him, quivering with wrath, the fire flashing and changing hue in her opalescent brown eyes, and the hectic flame running through her veins and tinging cheek and brow. he thought of her voice, so full of tone, so flexible, as opalescent in melodious change as her eyes iridescent of light. that she--she with such a smooth face, such slim fingers--should talk of crime as a joke, exult over the misery of her fellows! a very leopard in litheness and in beauty, and a very leopard in heart. jean del' peyra's way led down the head stream of the lesser beune. the valley was broad--one level marsh--and, in the evening, herons were quivering in it, stooping to pick up an eft or a young roach. "ah! you vile creature!" sang forth jean, as a black hare rose on his left and darted past him into the wood. "prophet of evil! but what else in these untoward times and in this evil world can one expect but omens of ill?" the track by which jean descended emerged from the dense woods upon open ground. as the beune slid to a lower level, it passed under precipices of rock, about a hundred or a hundred and fifty feet high; and these cliffs, composed of beds of various softness, were horizontally channelled, constituting terraces, each terrace unsupported below, or rather thrown forward over a vault. moreover, there was not one of these platforms of rock that was not tenanted. in the evening, peasants returning from their work were ascending to their quarters by scrambling up the rocks where vertical, by means of notches cut in the stone, into which they thrust their hands and feet. where the ledges overhung, the men were drawn up by ropes to the platforms above. but not only was this the case with men, but with their oxen. jean passed and saluted a farmer who was in process of placing his beasts in a position of security for the night. his wife was above, in the rock, and was working a windlass by means of which an ox was being gradually lifted from the ground by broad bands passed under its belly, and so was raised to the height of some thirty feet, where the beast, accustomed to this proceeding, quickly stepped on to a narrow path cut in the rock, and walked to its stable, also rock-hewn in the face of the cliff. in another place was a woman with her children closing up the opening of a grotto that was level with the soil. this was effected by a board which fitted into a rebate in the rock, and then the woman, after putting her children within, heaped stones and sods against the board to disguise it; and when this had been done to her satisfaction, she crawled in by a hole that had been left for the purpose, and by a cord pulled after her a bunch of brambles that served to plug and disguise this hole. bitterness welled up in the heart of jean as he noticed all these efforts made by the poor creatures to place themselves in security during the hours of darkness. "ah, fontaineya!" called jean to the farmer who was superintending the elevation of his second ox. "how goes the world with you?" "bad, but might be worse--even as with you." "with me things are not ill." "whence come you, then?" "from la roque." "aha! not from ste. soure?" "no, i have been from home these fourteen days." "then do not say things are not ill with you till you have been home," remarked the peasant dryly. "what has happened?" asked jean, his blood standing still with alarm. "the wolves have been hunting!" "what wolves?" "the red. le gros guillem." "he has been to ste. soure?" "he has been to where ste. soure _was_." chapter iv. in nomine beelzebub. it was strange. the first recoil wave of the shock caused by this tidings broke into foam and fury against noémi. jean del' peyra did not think of his loss, of the ruin of his home, of the sufferings of his people, but of noémi laughing, making light of these things. it was strange. instead of striking spurs into his steed's flank and galloping forward to the scene of desolation, involuntarily, unconsciously, he turned his horse's head round, so that he faced the far-off gageac, and with set teeth and flashing eye and lowering brow, wiped his lips with the sleeve of his right arm--wiped them not once nor twice, but many times as to wipe off and wipe away for ever the sensation, the taint, the fire that had been kindled there by the kisses he had received. then only did he wheel his horse about and gallop--where galloping was possible--down the valley of the beune. the beune is a stream rather than a river, that flows into the vézère. it has a singular quality: so charged are the waters with lime that they petrify, or rather encrust, the roots of all plants growing in the morass through which they flow, by this means forming dams for itself, which it gradually surmounts to form others. the original bottom of the ravine must be at a considerable depth under the flat marsh of living and dead waterweed, of active and paralysed marsh plants, of growing and petrified moss that encumbers it, and extends to the very faces of the rocks. at the present day a road laboriously constructed, and where it crossed the valley perpetually sinking and perpetually renovated, gives access to the springs of the beune. it was not so in the fifteenth century. then a track lay along the sides where the ground was solid--that is to say, where it consisted of rubble from the hill-sides; but where the marsh reached the abrupt walls of cliff, there the track clambered up the side of the valley, and surmounted the escarpments. consequently progress in former ages in that part was not as facile as it is at present. jean was constrained speedily to relax the pace at which he was proceeding. as long as he was in forest and rough place he was secure: the brigands did not care to penetrate, at all events at nightfall, into out-of-the-way places, and where they might fall into ambuscades. it was otherwise when he came to where the beune distilled from its sponge of moss into the rapidly flowing vézère. here was a great amphitheatre of scarped sides of rock, all more or less honeycombed with habitations and refuges. here, on his left-hand side, looking north, scowling over the pleasant and smiling basin of the vézère, was the castle of the great guillem. it consisted of a range of caves or overhanging ledges of rock, the faces of which had been built up with walls, windows, and crenelations, and a gate-house had been constructed to command the only thread of a path by which the stronghold could be reached. from this castle watch was kept, and no one could ascend or descend the valley unobserved. jean was on the same bank as the fortress of guillem, though considerably above it. he must cross the river, and to do this, ascend it to the ford. he moved along carefully and watchfully. the dusk of evening concealed his movements, and he was able, unnoticed, or at all events unmolested, to traverse the vézère and pass on the further side of the river down stream, in face of the strong place of le gros guillem. a couple of leagues further down was a hamlet, or rather village, called le peuch ste. soure, clustered at the foot of a cliff or series of cliffs that rose out of a steep incline of rubble. the houses were gathered about a little church dedicated to ste. soure. the white crags above were perforated with habitations. a scent of fire was in the air, and in the gloaming jean could see the twinkle of sparks running, dying out, reappearing where something had been consumed by flames, but was still glowing in places, and sparks were wandering among its ashes. as he drew nearer he heard wailing, and with the wailing voices raised in cursing. a sickness came on the lad's heart; he knew but too well what this all signified--desolation to many homes, ruin to many families. "hold! who goes?" "it is i--jean del' peyra." "well--pass. you will find your father. he is with the rossignols." jean rode on. there were tokens of confusion on all sides. here a rick was smouldering, and there a house was wrecked, the door broken, and the contents of the dwelling thrown out in the way before it. pigs that had escaped from their styes ran about rooting after food, and dogs snarled and carried off fragments of meat. a few peasants were creeping about timidly, but, alarmed at the appearance in their midst of a man on horseback, and unable in the dusk to distinguish who he was, they fled to conceal themselves. jean leaped from his horse, hitched it up, and strode on, with beating heart and bounding pulse, to a house which he knew was that of the rossignols. he entered the door. a light shone through the low window. it was characteristic of the times that in every village and hamlet the windows--the only windows--were so turned inwards on a street or yard that they revealed no light at night when a candle was kindled or a fire burned brightly on the hearth, lest the light should betray to a passing marauder the presence of a house which might be looted. jean bowed his head and entered at the low door. the fire was flashing in the large open chimney. a bundle of vine faggots had been thrown on, and the light filled the chamber with its orange glare. by this light jean saw a bed with a man lying on it; and a woman crying, beating her head and uttering wild words--her children clinging to her, sobbing, frightened, imploring her to desist. erect, with a staff in his hand, stood a grey-headed, thick-bearded man, with dark eyes shadowed under heavy brows. he turned sharply as the lad entered. "hah! jean, you are back. it is well. it is well you were not here this day earlier. if they had taken you, there would have been a heavy ransom to pay, by the holy napkin of cadouin! and how to redeem those already taken i know not." "what has been done to rossignol, father?" asked jean, going to the bed. "what will be done to the rest unless the ransom be forthcoming in fourteen days. they have left him thus, to show us what will be the fate of the seven others." "seven others, father?" "aye; they have taken off seven of the men of ste. soure. we must find the ransom, or they will send them back to us, even after the fashion of this poor man." "is he dead, father?" the man lying on the bed moved, and, raising himself on his elbow, said-- "young master, i am worse than dead. dead, i would be no burden. living, i shall drag my darlings underground with me." then the woman, frantic with grief, turned on her knees, threw up her hands, and uttered a stream of mingled prayer and imprecation--prayer to heaven and prayer to hell; to heaven to blast and torture the destroyers of her house, to hell to hear her cry if heaven were deaf. it was not possible for jean to learn details from her in this fury and paroxysm. he drew his father outside the door and shut it. "father," said he, "tell me what has taken place. it was le gros guillem, was it not?" "aye, le gros guillem. we did not know he was in his church, we thought he was in domme, and would be occupied there, and we gave less heed and kept less close watch. you see there were, we knew or supposed, but three men in the church, and so long as they were supplied with food and wine, we had little fear. but we had not reckoned right on guillem. he came back in the night with a score of men, and they rushed down on us; they crossed the river during the day, when the men were in the fields and about their work, and the women and children alone in the houses. when it was seen that the _routiers_ were coming, then the church bell was rung, but we had little or no time to prepare; they were on us and in every house, breaking up the coffers, sacking the closets." "did they get into le peuch, father?" "no; when we heard the bell, then we shut the gates and barricaded; but there were not four men in the castle, myself included. what could we do? we could only look on and witness the destruction; and one of the men in the castle was limping gaston, who was no good at all; and another was blind bartholomew, who could not see an enemy and distinguish him from a friend. when the men in the fields heard the bell, they came running home, to save what might be saved; but it was too late. the ruffians were there robbing, maltreating, and they took them as they came on--seven of them--and bound their hands behind them, and these they have carried off. they have burned the stack of corn of jean grano. the wife of mussidan was baking. they have carried off all her loaves, and when she entreated them to spare some they swore at another word they would throw one of her babes into the oven. they have ransacked every house, and spoiled what they could not carry away. and the rest of the men, when they saw how those who came near ste. soure were taken, fled and hid themselves. some of the women, carrying their children, came up the steep slope before the _routiers_ arrived, and we received them into the castle; but others remained, hoping to save some of their stuff, and not thinking that the enemy was so nigh. so they were beaten to tell where any money was hidden. the wife of drax--she has had her soles so cut with vine-rods that she cannot walk; but she was clever--she told where some old roman coins were hid in a pot, and not where were her silver livres of french money." "how long were they here?" "i cannot tell, jean. it seemed a century. it may have been an hour." "they have carried off seven men." "yes, to domme, or to the church. i cannot say where. and we must send the ransom in fourteen days, or le gros guillem swears he will return them all to us tied on the backs of mules, treated as he has treated rossignol. he said he left us rossignol as a refresher." "but what has he done to rossignol?" "hamstrung him. he can never walk again. from his thighs down he is powerless--helpless as a babe in arms." jean uttered an exclamation of horror. "father, there must be an end put to these things! we must rouse the country." "we must pay the ransom first, or all those poor fellows will be sent back to us like as is rossignol." "let us go into the house," said jean, and threw open the door. "we must do something for these unhappy creatures." "aye," said his father, "and something must be done to save seven other houses from being put in the same condition. where shall we get the money?" "we will consider that presently--first to this man." a strange spectacle met their eyes when they re-entered the house of the rossignols. the woman had suspended something dark to a crook in the ceiling, had brought glowing ashes from the hearth, and had placed them in a circle on the floor below this dark object, and had spilled tallow over the red cinders, and the tallow having melted, had become ignited, so that a flicker of blue flame shot about the ring, and now and then sent up a jet of yellow flame like a long tongue that licked the suspended object. the woman held back her children, and in one hand she had a long steel pin or skewer, with a silver head to it, wherewith she had been wont to fasten up her hair. she had withdrawn this from her head, and all her black hair was flowing about her face and shoulders. "see!" yelled she, and the glitter of her eyes was terrible. "see! it is the heart of le gros guillem. i will punish him for all he has done to me. this for my man's nerves that he has cut." she made a stab with her pin at the suspended object, which jean and his father now saw was a bullock's heart. "this for all the woe he has brought on me!" she stabbed again. "see, see, my children, how he twists and tosses! ha! ha! gros guillem, am i paining you? do you turn to escape me? do i strike spasms of terror into your heart? ha! ha! the rossignol is a song-bird, but her beak is sharp." jean caught the woman's hand. "stand back!" he cried, "this is devilry. this will bring you to the stake." "what care i--so long as i torture and stab and burn le gros guillem! and who will denounce me for harming him? will the church--which he has pillaged? will you--whom he has robbed? let me alone--see--see how the flames burn him! ha! ha! le gros guillem! am i swinging you! dance, dance in fire! swing, swing in anguish! for my children this!" and she stabbed at the heart again. the woman was mad with despair and hate and terror. jean stood back, put his hand to his mouth, and said with a groan-- "my god! would noémi were here!" "in nomine beelzebub!" shrieked the woman, and struck the heart down into the melted flaming fat on the floor. chapter v. raising the ransom. a heavy sum of money had to be raised, and that within a fortnight. the del' peyra family was far from wealthy. it owned a little seigneurie, ste. soure, little else. it took its name from the rocks among which it had its habitation, from the rocks among which its land lay in brown patches, and from which a scanty harvest was reaped. only in the valley where there was alluvial soil were there pastures for cattle, and on the slopes vineyards whence wine could be expressed. the arable land on the plateaus above the valley of the vézère was thin and poor enough. a little grain could be grown among the flints and chips of chalk, but it was scanty and poor in quality. if the territories owned by the del' peyras had been extensive, then vastness of domain might have compensated for its poor quality. but such was not the case. the castle of le peuch above ste. soure was but small; it consisted of a cluster of buildings leaning against the upright cliff at the summit of a steep incline. this natural glacis of rubble, at an inclination so rapid that the ascent was a matter of difficulty, was in itself a considerable protection to it. the castle could not be captured at a rush, for no rush could be made up a slope which was surmountable only with loss of wind. but supposing the main buildings were stormed, still the inhabitants were sure of escape, for from the roof of the castle they could escalade the precipices to a series of chambers scooped out of the rock, at several successive elevations, each stage being defendable, and only to be surmounted by a ladder. the castle itself was hardly so big as a modern farmhouse. it consisted of but three or four small chambers, one of which served as kitchen and hall. le peuch was not a place to stand much of a siege; it was rather what was called in those times a _place-forte_, a stronghold in which people could take temporary refuge from the freebooters who swept the open country, and had no engines for the destruction of walls, nor time to expend in a regular siege. to the poor at that period, the church-tower was the one hold of security, where they put their chests in which were all their little treasures; and it was one of the bitterest complaints against a rapacious bishop of rodez, that he levied a fee for his own pocket on all these cypress and ashen boxes confided to the sanctuary of the parish church. when the signal was given that an enemy was in sight, then men and women crowded to the church and barred its doors. a visitor to the périgord will this day see many a village church which bears tokens of having been a fortress. the lowest storey is church; the floors above are so contrived as to serve as places of refuge, with all appliances for a residence in them. when louis vii. was ravaging the territories of his indocile vassal, the count of champagne, he set fire to the church of the little town of vitry, in which all the citizens, their wives and children, had taken refuge, and thirteen hundred persons perished in the flames. such was war in the middle ages. when henry v. of england was entreated not to burn the towns and villages through which he passed, "bah!" said he, "would you have me eat my meat without mustard?" at ste. soure there was no church-tower, the place of refuge of the villagers was le peuch; but the attack of the marauders had been too sudden and unexpected for them to reach it. what was to be done? the ransom demanded for the seven men was a hundred livres of bergerac--that is to say, a sum equivalent at the present time to about one thousand nine hundred pounds. unless the men were redeemed, the sieur of le peuch would be ruined. no men would remain under his protection when he could neither protect nor deliver them. if he raised the sum, it must be at a ruinous rate, that would impoverish him for years. he was stunned with the magnitude of the disaster. there was but a fortnight in which not only must he resolve what to do, but have the money forthcoming. after the first stupefaction was over, the old man's heart was full of wrath. ogier del' peyra had been a peaceable man, a good landlord, never oppressing his men, rather dull in head and slow of thought, but right-minded and straightforward. no little seigneur in all the district was so respected. perhaps it was for this reason that his lands had hitherto been spared by the ravagers. he was not one who had been a hot partisan of the french and a fiery opponent of the english, or rather of those who called themselves english. he had wished for nothing so much as to remain neutral. but now le gros guillem, who respected nothing and nobody, had suddenly dealt him a staggering blow from which he could hardly recover. the effect when the first numbness was passed was such as is often the case with dull men, slow to move. once roused and thoroughly exasperated, he became implacable and resolute. "we will recover our men," said ogier to his son, "and then repay guillem in his own coin." "how shall we get the money?" asked jean. "you must go to sarlat, and see if any can be procured there. see the bishop; he may help." accordingly jean del' peyra rode back a good part of the way he had traced the previous day, but half-way turned left to sarlat instead of right to la roque. the little city of sarlat occupies a basin at the juncture of some insignificant streams, and was chosen by the first settlers--monks--as being in an almost inaccessible position, when périgord was covered with forest. it was to be reached only through difficult and tortuous glens. a flourishing town it never was, and never could be, as it had no fertile country round to feed it. it was a town that struggled on--and drew its main importance from the fact of its serving as a centre of french influence against the all-pervading english power. it had another source of life in that, being under the pastoral staff instead of under the sword, it had better chance of peace than had a town owing duty, military and pecuniary, to a lay lord. the baron, if not on the defensive, was not happy unless levying war, whereas the ecclesiastical chief acted solely in the defensive. the protection of the district ruled by the bishop of sarlat was no easy or inexpensive matter, hemmed in as it was by insolent seigneurs, who pretended to serve the english when wronging their french neighbours. moreover the strong town of domme, on the dordogne, facing la roque, was in the hands of the english, and was garrisoned for them under the command of the notorious captain, le gros guillem. this man had his own fastness above the vézère, on the left bank, below the juncture of the beune with the river, a place called by the people "l'eglise de guillem," in bitterness of heart and loathing, because there, according to the popular belief, he had his sanctuary in which he worshipped the devil. few, if any, of the peasants had been suffered to enter this fortress, half-natural, half-artificial. such as had gained a closer view than could be obtained from two hundred feet below by the river bank said that it consisted of a series of chambers, partly natural, scooped in the rock, and of a cavern of unknown depth with winding entrance, that led, it was rumoured, into the place of torment; and at the entrance, excavated in a projecting piece of rock, was a holy-water stoup such as is seen in churches. this, however, it was whispered, was filled with blood, and le gros guillem, when he entered the cave to adore the fiend, dipped his finger therein, and signed himself with some cabalistic figure, of which none save he knew the significance. between his own stronghold of l'eglise and the walled town of domme, guillem was often on the move. without much difficulty, jean del' peyra obtained access to the bishop, an amiable, frightened, and feeble man, little suited to cope with the difficulties of his situation. jean told him the reason why he had come. "but," said the bishop, "you are not my vassal. i am not bound to sustain you." and he put his hands to his head and pressed it. "i know that, monseigneur; but you are french, and so is my father; and we french must hold together and help each other." "you must go to the french governor of guyenne." "where is he! what can he do? there is no time to be lost to save the men." the bishop squeezed his head. "i am unable to do anything. a hundred livres of bergerac--that is a large sum. if it had been livres of tours, it would have been better. here!"--he signed to his treasurer--"how much have i? is there anything in my store?" "nothing," answered the official. "monseigneur has had to pay the garrison of la roque, and all the money is out." "you hear what he says," said the bishop dispiritedly. "i have nothing!" "then the seven men must be mutilated." "it is too horrible! and the poor wives and children! ah! we are in terrible times. i pray the lord daily to take me out of it into the rest there remains for the people of god; or, better still, to translate me to another see." "yes, monseigneur; but whilst we are here we must do what we can for our fellows, and to save them from further miseries." "that is true, boy, very true. i wish i had money. but it comes in in trickles and goes out in floods. i will tell you what to do. go to the saint suaire at cadouin and pray that the holy napkin may help." "i am afraid the help may come too late! the napkin, i hear, is slow in answering prayer." "not if you threaten it with the saint suaire at cahors. those two holy napkins are so near that they are as jealous of each other as two handsome girls; and if they met would tear each other as cats. tell the saint suaire at cadouin that if you are not helped at once you will apply to her sister at cahors." "i have been told that it costs money to make the saint suaire listen to one's addresses, and i want to receive and not to pay." "not much, not much!" protested the bishop. "besides, monseigneur," said the youth, "there might be delay while the two holy napkins were fighting out the question which was to help us. and then--to have such a squabble might not be conducive to religion." "there is something in that," said the bishop. "oh, my head! my poor head!" he considered a while, and then with a sigh said--"i'll indulge butter. i will!" "i do not understand, my lord." "i'll allow the faithful to eat butter in lent, if they will pay a few _sols_ for the privilege. that will raise a good sum." "yes, but lent is six months hence, and the men will be mutilated in twelve days." "besides, i want the butter money for the cathedral, which is a shabby building! what a world of woe we live in!" "monseigneur, can you not help me? must seven homes be rendered desolate for lack of a hundred livres?" "oh, my head! it will burst! i have no money, but i will do all in my power to assist you. ogier del' peyra is a good man, and good men are few. go to levi in the market place. he is the only man in sarlat who grows rich in the general impoverishment. he must help you. tell him that i will guarantee the sum. if he will give you the money, then he shall make me pay a denier every time i light my fire and warm my old bones at it. he can see my chimney from his house, and whenever he notices smoke rise from it, let him come in and demand his denier." "it will take a hundred years like that to clear off the principal and meet the interest." the bishop raised his hands and clasped them despairingly. "i have done my utmost!" "then i am to carry the tidings to seven wives that the church cannot help them?" "no--no! try levi with the butter-money. i did desire to have a beautiful tower to my cathedral, but seven poor homes is better than fine carving, and i will promise him the butter-money. try him with that--if that fails, then i am helpless. my head! my head! it will never rest till laid in the grave. o sacred napkins of cadouin and cahors! take care of yourselves and be more indulgent to us miserable creatures, or i will publish a mandment recommending the napkin of compiègne, or that of besançon, and then where will you be?" chapter vi. the jew. jean del' peyra left the bishop's castle, which stood on rising ground above the town, and was well fortified against attack, and entered the city to find levi. the jew lived in the little square before the cathedral. the bishop might well say that his episcopal seat was shabby, for the minster was small and rude in structure, a building of the romanesque period such as delighted the monks to erect, and of which many superb examples exist in guyenne. the monastic body at sarlat had not been rich enough or sufficiently skilled in building to give themselves as stately a church as souillac, moissac, or cadouin. it consisted, like nearly every other sacred dwelling of the period, of an oblong domed building, consisting of three squares raised on arches surmounted by oriental cupolas, with an unfinished tower at the west end. the visitor to sarlat at the present day will see a cathedral erected a century and more after the date of our story, in a debased but not unpicturesque style. the jew was not at home. his wife informed jean that he had gone to la roque to gather in a few _sols_ that were owing to him there for money advanced to needy personages, and that she did not expect him home till the morrow. christians were ready enough to come to her husband for loans, but were very reluctant to pay interest, and it cost levi much pains and vexation to extract what was his due from those whom he had obliged. accordingly jean remounted his horse, and rode over the hills due south, in the direction of the dordogne. about halfway between sarlat and la roque, at the highest point of the road, where the soil is too thin even to sustain a growth of oak coppice, and produces only juniper, jean passed a singular congeries of stones; it consisted of several blocks set on end, forming an oblong chamber, and covered by an immense slab, in which were numerous cup-like holes, formed by the weather, or whence lumps of flint had been extracted. it was a prehistoric tomb--a dolmen, and went by the name of the devil's table. to the present day, the women coming to the market at sarlat from la roque rest on it, and if they put their fish which they have to sell into the cups on the table, are sure of selling them at a good price. yet such action is not thought to bring a blessing with it, and the money got by the sale of the fish thus placed in the devil's cups rarely does good to those who receive it. the monument is now in almost total ruin: the supports have been removed or are fallen, but at the time of this tale it was intact. jean did not pay it any attention, but rode forwards as hastily as he could on his somewhat fatigued horse. on reaching the little town of la roque, jean was constrained to put up his horse outside the gates. there was not a street in the place along which a horse could go. the inhabitants partook of the nature of goats, they scrambled from one house to another when visiting their neighbours. only by the river-side was there a level space, and this was occupied by strong walls as a protection against assault from the water. jean inquired whether the jew had been seen, and where, and was told that he had been to several houses, and was now in that of the tardes. the family of tarde was one of some consequence in the little place, and had its scutcheon over the door. it was noble--about three other families in the place had the same pretensions, or, to be more exact, right. jean, without scruple, went to the house of the tardes and asked for admission, and was at once ushered into the little hall. the jew was there along with jean and jacques tarde, and they were counting money. to del' peyra's surprise, noémi was also present and looking on. jean del' peyra gave his name, and asked leave to have a word with the jew. he stated the circumstances openly. there was no need for concealment. le gros guillem had fallen on ste. soure, and after committing the usual depredations, had carried off seven men, and held them to ransom. the sum demanded was a hundred bergerac livres. unless that sum was produced immediately, the men would be mutilated--hamstrung. as jean spoke, with bitterness welling up in his heart, he looked straight in the eyes of noémi. she winced, changed colour, but resolved not to show that she felt what was said, and returned jean's look with equal steadiness. "and you want the money?" said the jew. "on what security?" "the bishop will grant an indulgence to eat butter in lent at a fee. that will raise more than is required." "the bishop!" levi shook his head. "you christians are not men of your word. you will promise it--and never pay." "you lie, jewish dog!" said jacques tarde. "have i not paid you what was owing?" "ah, you--but the bishop!" "is he false?" "he may think it righteous to cheat the jew." "he will give you what security you require that the money be forthcoming," said jean. "will not the christians eat butter without paying for the dispensation?" asked the jew. "if they think that the butter-money is coming to me they will not scruple. i do not like the security. the bishop is old; he may die before lent; and then what chance shall i have of getting my money? the next bishop will not allow butter, or, if he does, will pocket the money it brings in. he will not be tied by this bishop's engagement. i will not have the butter-money." "will you take a mortgage on ste. soure?" asked jean. "i don't know. it is not on the bishop's lands. it is face to face with the stronghold of the big guillem. if i wanted to sell and realise, who would buy in such proximity? whom are you under? the king of france? he is a long way off and his arm is weak. no, i will not have a mortgage on ste. soure. besides, i am poor; i have no money." "you lying cur!" exclaimed jacques tarde; "we have paid you up all the capital lent us. we would no longer have our blood sucked at twenty-eight per cent, and we have sold the little land at vézac to pay you." "that was easy land to sell," said the jew. "with beynac castle on one side and la roque on the other! but ste. soure"--he shook his head. "it is under the claw of guillem. he has but to put down his hand from the church and he scratches through the roofs, and picks out all that he desires." "and you refuse the bishop's guarantee?" the jew looked furtively at the two tardes and at jean and said--"who is to guarantee the bishop? on his lands he sees that i draw in my little _sols_, but then i pay him for that, i pay heavily, and for that heavy price he allows me to lend moneys and pick up interests. but i do not pay the king of france to ensure me against the bishop. that is why i will not let him be in debt to me." "our land is devoured by two evils," said jacques tarde. "the _routier_ and jew, and i do not know which is worst! we shake ourselves, and kick out, and for a moment are free, and then they settle on us again. the carrion crow and the worm--and so we die." "ah, monsoo tarde!" answered levi. "why do you speak like this? you wished to build you a grand house and paint it and carve and gild--and for that must have moneys. did i come and force you to borrow of me my poor pennies? did you not come and beg me to furnish what you needed? i did not say to you, 'your old house is not worthy of a tarde. it is mean and not half fine enough for a fine man like you!' it was your own pride and vanity sent you to me. and now, if i could find the moneys would not this young gentleman bless me, and the seven families i might be the saving of, call down the benediction of the skies on me and mine? here has he come all the way from ste. soure to seek me, and he is in despair because i am so poor." "you poor! levi! you thief!" "i am poor. i lay by grain on grain; and such as you scatter and destroy. why should i spend my painfully gathered pennies to save some of your villains, young sir? what if there was a riot in sarlat as there was fifteen years ago--and the mob fell on the jews? how was it then? did you not fire our houses, and throw our children into the flames, and run your pikes into the hearts of our mothers and wives? you think we care for you after that! let your own christian thieves hamstring their own brothers. why do you come to poor levi to help you--to levi who is helpless among you, and is only suffered to live because he is necessary to you? you cannot do without him, as now--now, amidst the violences of le gros guillem!" "and you will not help me," said jean, despairingly. he had no thought for the wrongs endured by the jews, no thought for what made them a necessity, no thought of the incongruity that while the church denounced usury, the usurers were only able to carry on their trade by the pope and the prelates extending their protection to them--for a consideration in hard cash, paid annually. again jean's eyes met those of noémi; he was pale, his brow clouded, his lips trembled, as though about to address some words to her. "what would you say?" she asked. "speak out. i am not afraid to hear. levi has been making my father responsible for his bloodsucking." "i would," said jean sullenly, "i would to heaven you could come with me and see the work wrought at ste. soure; and if after that you were able to laugh and lightly talk of your father as a great man and one to be proud of because he is in every mouth--then, god help you!" "i will come!" answered the girl impulsively. "when? at once?" jean looked at her incredulously. "aye!" said she. "jacques tarde has nothing to engage him now that he has shaken off the horse-leech. he will ride with me, and we will take another, though i reckon my presence would suffice as a protection. none will lay hands on the daughter of le gros guillem." she reared her head in pride. "be not so sure of that," said jean. "at ste. soure they would tear you to pieces if they knew who you were." "and you--would look on and let it be?" "no; on my lands, whilst under my protection, you are safe." "under your protection!" jeered the girl! "bah! if i stood among a thousand, and shouted, 'ware! le gros guillem is on you!' they would fly on all sides as minnows when i throw a stone into the water." she altered her tone and said: "there, i go to do good. i will see my father if he is at his church, and i will whisper good thoughts unto him, and get him to reduce the ransom. now, will you take me with you?" "you will trust yourself with me?" "jacques tarde shall come also. let anyone dare to touch noémi! i will come. when shall we start?" "at once," answered jean. "so be it; at once." chapter vii. the new companion. one of the strangest features of a strange time was the manner in which families were broken up and neighbours were at feud. the same individuals shifted sides and were one day boozing together at table and the next meeting in deadly conflict. discord was in families. in the house of limeuil the father was french, the son english; and the son was english merely because he desired to turn his father out of the ancestral heritage and lord it in his room. limeuil was stormed by the son, then retaken by the father; now sacked by english troops, and then sacked again by french troops, who cared nothing for the national causes of france or england. prevost de la force and perducat d'albret had castles facing each other on opposite sides of the dordogne. each desired to draw some money out of the commercial town of bergerac on the plea that he was empowered to protect it from the other. accordingly, one called himself french, the other english; and perducat, when it suited his convenience, after having been english, became french. domestic broils determined the policy of the turbulent seigneurs. if they coveted a bit of land, or a village, or a castle that belonged to a brother or a cousin of one persuasion, they went over to the opposed to supply them with an excuse for falling on their kinsmen. the seigneur de pons, because his marriage settlement with his wife did not allow him sufficient liberty to handle her means, turned french, and his wife threw open her gates to the duke of lancaster. whereupon the seigneur fought the english, to whom he had formerly been devoted, retook his town, and chastised his wife. the man who was french to-day was english to-morrow, and french again the day after. some were very weathercocks, turning with every wind, always with an eye to their own advantage. consequently, families were much mixed up with both parties. unless a seigneur was out on a raid, he would associate on terms of friendliness with the very men whom he would hang on the next occasion. kinsfolk were in every camp. the seigneurs had allies everywhere; but their kinsfolk were not always their allies--were often their deadliest enemies. the mother of noémi was akin to the family of tarde. indeed, her aunt was the mother of jean and jacques, who were, accordingly, her first cousins. the tarde family were french; no one in gageac was english. by interest, by tradition, the place was true to the lilies. a little way up the river, on the further side, was domme, which was held by the english. noémi passed from the english to the french town, and nothing was thought of it that she was as much at home with her cousins in la roque gageac as among her mother's attendants at domme. even the young tardes might have gone to the market in the english town and have returned unmolested. the bullies of guillem in like manner swaggered where they listed, penetrated to gageac, when there was a dance or a drinking bout; and, so long as they came unarmed, were allowed admittance. no one could say whether there was peace or war. there was a little of one and a little of the other. whenever a roysterer was weary of doing nothing, he gathered his men together and made a raid; whenever a captain wanted to pay his men, he plundered a village. otherwise, all went on tolerably quietly. there was no marching across the country of great bodies of armed men, no protracted sieges, no battles in which whole hosts were engaged. but there was incessant fear, there were small violences, there was no certainty of safety. there was no central power to control the wrong-doers, no justice to mete out to them the reward of their deeds. when the lion and the wolf and the bear are hungry, then they raven for food; when glutted, they lie down and sleep. the barons and free captains and little seigneurs were the lions, wolves, and bears that infested guyenne and périgord. they were now on the alert and rending, then ensued a period of quietude. little passed between jean del' peyra and noémi on the way. she was mounted on a fresh horse, and attended by two serving-men of the tardes, as jacques and jean could not accompany her, having duties connected with the little town to discharge that day which required their presence. jean del' peyra was on his fagged steed, and could not keep up with the rest. jean was not sanguine that the girl would prevail with her father, but he was grateful that she should make the attempt. on reaching the point at the junction of the beune with the vézère where the roads or tracks diverged, the one to the church of guillem, the other to the ford at tayac, noémi halted till jean came up. "i am going to see my father," she said. "i will come on to ste. soure when i have his answer--but i trust i shall bring to you your men." "i thank you," answered the lad. "come, jean," said the girl; "you will not think so ill of me as you have done. give me your hand." "i cannot think ill now of one who is doing her best to relieve my father and me in a case of pressing necessity, and of saving seven families from worse than death." he put out his hand and pressed hers, but without cordiality. the hand he took was that of the daughter of the scourge of the country. he could not forget that; he touched the hand of the child of the man who had brought desolation into the home of the rossignols. noémi left the attendants with her horse at the foot of the steep ascent that led to the church of guillem. the ascent was up a slope of crumbled chalk and flints hardly held together by a little wiry grass, some straggling pinks, and bushes of box and juniper. the incline was as rapid as that of a gothic house-roof. of path there was none, for every man who scrambled up mounted his own way, and his footprints sent shale and dust over the footprints of his predecessor. the plateau through which the river has sawn its way is some four hundred feet at the highest point above the bed of the stream; in some places the cliffs are not only perpendicular, they overhang. they rise at once from the river that washes their bases and undermines them, or from the alluvial flats that have been formed by floods. this was not the case at l'eglise guillem. the stronghold of guillem occupied a terrace in the abrupt scarp where it rose out of an immense slope of rubble, very much as at ste. soure, a little below it on the further bank. here, as there, the rubble slope was a protection as great as a precipice. it was not as difficult to climb, but it could not be climbed without those in the stronghold being able to roll down rocks, discharge weapons at such as were laboriously endeavouring to mount. noémi reached a spring that issued from the side of the cliff in a dribble, was received in a basin, and the overflow nourished a dense growth of maidenhair-fern and moss. it was thence that the occupants of the castle derived their drinking-water. hard by was the gateway. here she was challenged, gave her name, and was admitted. l'eglise guillem was oddly constructed. the depth of the caves or concave shelters was not great, not above twelve to fifteen feet, consequently would not admit of chambers and halls in which many men could move about. to gain space, beams had been driven into the natural wall of rock at the back of the caves, and brought forward to project some eight feet over the edge of the cliff. on these projecting rafters walls of timber filled in with stone had been erected, and lean-to roofs added to cover them, socketed into the cliff above the opening mouth of the cave or series of caves. this is still a method of construction in the country, with this exception--that such modern dwellings are not pendulous in mid-air, as were those of the free captains, but are now on solid floors, and consist of rooms, one half of which are caves, and the other half artificial excrescences. by means of this overhanging portion of the castle, by a ladder a chamber could be reached, cut out in the face of the cliff immediately above the mouth of the natural cavern, a chamber at the present day visible, but absolutely inaccessible, since the wooden excrescence has disappeared by which it was reached. this upper chamber was the treasury of the castle. to the present day not two miles up the valley of the beune is a hamlet, a cluster of houses, called grioteaux, built in a huge cave, but with the fronts somewhat beyond the upper lip of the cave; and in the face of the precipice above is precisely such a treasure-chamber, only to be reached by means of a ladder from the roof of the house below it. "what--you here!" exclaimed the great guillem in surprise, when he saw the girl enter the one room in which were himself and his men, about a table, on which were scattered chalices from churches, women's jewellery, silken dresses, even sabots plucked off the feet of peasants. the captain was dividing spoil. the great guillem was much as jean del' peyra had described him--tall, gaunt, with a high head, and baldness from his forehead to the crown, his hair sandy and turning grey, dense bushy red eyebrows, the palest of blue eyes, and a profusion of red hair about his jaws. the mouth was large, with thin lips, and teeth wide apart and pointed, as though they had been filed sharp. men said he had a double row in his jaw. it was the mouth of a shark. "come here, little cat!" shouted the freebooter. "here are we dogs of war dividing the plunder." "what plunder, father? did you get all these silks and trinkets from ste. soure?" "from ste. soure indeed! not that; nothing thence but wine-casks and grain; and a fine matter we have had hauling the barrels up into our kennel. what do you want with us, child?" the girl looked at the men; there were a dozen, and her father the thirteenth. they were in rough and coarse clothing, each with a red cross on his left arm--a badge of allegiance to the cross of st. george. some of the companies wore a white or blue cross when serving no political party, but the great guillem was ostensibly in the english service, and as such had been given the commandantship of domme. the men had been drinking, and were flushed, partly with wine, partly with excitement, as the division of the plunder was made by lot, the lot being a knucklebone in a bassinet. a lawless, insolent company, and one difficult to treat with. noémi was puzzled what to do. but she was a bold, spirited girl, and she said: "this is the first time i have been here. i claim largesse." "largesse!" laughed one of the men; "i say--the first time anyone enters he pays footing." "_he_, yes," said the girl; "but with a woman it is other. i claim largesse." "what do you mean? a share of the loot?" "a large share," answered noémi. "i have two lots to one; i will surrender one to you," said guillem. "of all the spoil?" "of all for which we are raffling." "and the men--the seven men you took?" "they are not in the game. we wait till the ransom comes, and that will be divided not by lot but by shares. money is so divided, not----" her father tossed over some odds and ends with which the table was cumbered. "i want the seven men," said noémi. a roar of laughter greeted this demand. "a hundred livres! that is a fine largesse," said one. "it cannot be," said guillem. "they belong to us all." "little one," shouted one half-drunken fellow, "we only divide among ourselves--merry companions. we take from those who are outside the band." "but i am the captain's daughter." "that matters not; you are not a companion." "father, give me a lot." "i will--my lot." "and grant me a request." "if you draw the highest lot, you shall have what you will--save a share in the loot, and to that you can have no right. we have our laws and are bound to abide by them." "let us draw, then." the bassinet was passed round, and each drew. there were fourteen knucklebones in it. noémi put in her hand first and drew, then each in succession. "hands open," shouted guillem, and each fist was thrust forward on the table and opened flat, exposing the bone. the knuckles were numbered up to fourteen. "fourteen!" exclaimed guillem, as he looked at the rude die in his daughter's palm. "best of three," said a man. "again!" called the captain, after the bones had been thrown into the bassinet and shaken. the same proceeding was gone through. again each hand was exposed on the table. "fourteen again!" "a woman and the devil have luck!" shouted one of the men. "there is no beating that!" "aye! but there is. if next time she draws one," retorted another. "she is a woman; i wish her well." "ah! you roger; always honour the petticoat." "again!" thundered the captain. once more hands were plunged into the iron cap, withdrawn, and placed clenched on the table. "reveal!" cried guillem, and immediately the hands were turned up with the knuckle-bones. "fourteen!" again he shouted, as he held up the piece his daughter had exposed. "was ever luck like this!" stormed one man. "and i--i never draw above five." "well; what is your request?" asked guillem. "you have sworn to grant it me." "yes; if not against rule." "then make me one of the company!" a pause, then a shout: "the red cross! the red cross! vive the new companion!" in an instant a piece of crimson silk brocade, an ecclesiastical vestment, was torn to shreds, and the rough hands of the freebooters were fastening two strips crosswise to noémi's arm. chapter viii. in the devil's cups. "a new companion must justify his election," said the sullen man, who had throughout shown ill disposition towards noémi. "the new companion shall do so," answered noémi. a deep colour flushed her olive skin. "for that i ask you to follow me, as well as that other comrade who was as inclined to be civil as you to be insolent. first, send down below and bid the two servants of the tardes go on to ste. soure and tarry there till i go for them." "you--to ste. soure?" said her father. "not now. but i do not desire to have the tardes' men with me. they are not of the company." "what do you mean?" "that i will justify my election," said noémi. "and for that i take these two mates--and no others." "it is not well that i go," said the sulky man. "but, if go i must, it is unwillingly." "and i go with all my heart," said he whose name was roger. "what do you intend to do, child?" asked her father, puzzled and uneasy. "this is a farce. take off the cross." "no, it is no farce. i will not remove the cross till i have shown that i am worthy to be enrolled in your band." "then what will you do?" "that is my secret." "and you demand two of the companions?" "yes; two of the companions--he named roger, and----" "amanieu?" "roger and amanieu. i ask that they may accompany me and serve me and do my bidding--on my first _chevauchée_." "la pucelle! another joan! to the english! to the english! vive la pucelle de domme! we will pit her against the pucelle de domrémi." the men shouted, hammered the table, and tossed the knucklebones about. they treated the matter as a joke. amanieu, the sulky man, was very angry at being fixed upon to make one of a party that would incur ridicule and expose him to the jeers of his fellows. le gros guillem now interfered. "if my daughter has said you are to attend, and i consent, you go. guard her well." amanieu murmured no more. there was no insubordination in a company. the serving-men of the tarde brothers were dismissed, and then noémi prepared to depart along with her new attendants. her father asked no further questions. the horses were brought from a stable cut in the rocks. they were nimble and sure of footing. access to the stable was only to be had by a drawbridge let fall over a chasm, and from the further side of the gap a narrow track descended rapidly to the bottom of the valley. at noémi's request the men had drawn on jackets that concealed their red crosses, and no one seeing the little party would have conjectured that the girl was attended by some of the greatest ruffians and cut-throats in the country. she knew the character of the men, but was not afraid. the fear of her father entertained by all the band, and the discipline maintained in the company, would prevent them from doing her harm. guillem was a man of few words, but of decision in action. the look of his pale eyes was enough, as he sent the men with noémi, to take from them any spirit of insolence or rebellion had they entertained it. they knew without more words than the three uttered by guillem, that if she came to harm through them, by their neglect, in any way, he was the man to put them to death by slow and horrible torture. they had seen that done once on a comrade who had disregarded a half-expressed order. he had been roasted over a slow fire. the two men asked no questions when noémi took the road to sarlat, and along the road she did not speak with them. at sarlat she bade them hold back while she went on alone and on foot to make an inquiry. apparently satisfied at what she had learnt, she returned to the men, remounted her horse, and said, "forward!" she rode along the way to la roque, a little ahead of the two men. the day was closing in. it would be dark by the time they reached her home. presently they came to a long and tedious ascent. the way had been at one time paved, but had not been repaired for a century. it ran up a hog's back or hill, through coppice that was cut every fourteen years for the making of charcoal, direct to the point where was the devil's table. she halted, and turned to her followers; and they drew rein. "listen to me," she said. "you do not know whither i am leading you, for what purpose you follow me, or what is to be gained thereby. but one thing you do know, that you are placed under my command by le gros guillem, and that you disobey at your peril. i will tell you wherefore you are following me; it is for your own advantage. you have carried away seven men from the del' peyras, and you have put them to ransom at a hundred livres. that is a large sum. it is to be divided among you into fourteen equal shares. but let me tell you that if this sum be not found--you will get nothing. the seven men will be no gain to you when cast away mutilated. jean del' peyra has been this day to sarlat, he has been to the bishop, he has been to the jew levi, he has been to the tardes at gageac, i cannot say where he has not been, to whom he has not applied--but nowhere can he raise the sum. it was too large. but that is no concern of mine. the money must be found, or you get nothing. i can tell you where the sum is to be found, whence it can be taken. but understand this--no more shall be exacted than the hundred livres. i will not have a denier more, nor a denier less. you agree to this?" "yes, we shall be glad of the money; we do not want to hurt the men of ste. soure, and their wounds are no pay to us." "very well. then we understand each other. you would never receive any ransom but for me. it is i who bring you where it shall be paid." "and where is that?" asked amanieu. "on the devil's table," answered noémi. the men shrank back. their superstitious fears were aroused. "do not be alarmed. we shall not conjure up the foul fiend; but we shall squeeze one of his servants. let us ride on and await him at the table." then she turned towards la roque, and in silence they continued to ascend the hill. when they had nearly reached the summit she drew up again, and said to the men-- "i will explain it all. the jew levi comes this way. he has been gathering in money at la roque, and my cousins have paid him a large sum. he has been engaged there all day, and he made my cousins, the tardes, promise to send servants with him to see him safe on his way back to sarlat. they agreed to send him on his way as far as the devil's table; and he named the time at which he would be ready to start. i know, if he has started on his way as he proposed, that he will be approaching now. from the table onward to sarlat he would be alone, but alone he could not convey all the money. what he purposes doing i cannot say. we will wait and see. he desired that he might be attended all the way to sarlat, but that the tardes would not allow. the distance was too great, the men were needed, they would not be home till too late. he was forced to accept half of what he had asked. understand, no more is to be taken from the jew than the ransom money. it were better that a jew should lose than that seven christian households should be ruined." the men laughed. they were easy in their minds now that they understood they were to play a familiar game--only they grudged that they were to half accomplish it. if they caught a jew let them squeeze and wring him out till not a drop of the golden syrup were left in him. noémi had, however, her own ideas in the matter. she justified her act to her conscience as a deed of necessity. it was a marvel that her conscience felt any scruple in the matter, as in the middle ages none hesitated to defraud a jew, none considered that a son of israel had any right to have meted out to him the like justice as to a christian. before the cathedral gates at toulouse every good friday a jew had to present himself to have his ears boxed by the bishop, and to acknowledge in his person on behalf of his race its guilt in having crucified the messiah. "here!" said the girl, "tie up your horses and mine and lie in the scrub." before them, on the left hand of the track, rose the devil's table; a mound of earth had anciently covered it, but rain had washed away the earth from the capstone and showed the points of those blocks which upheld it. the slab was a singularly uncouth stone, with its flat old bed underneath, the upper surface uneven and dinted with cup-holes. the _routiers_ had not been long in hiding before the voice of levi was heard, and the tramp of his ass. "i thank you, good fellows. it was gracious of your master to lend me your escort, for, heaven knows! i am too poor to need one. my ass is laden with lentils. you eat them in your fasting times, and when not fasting, eat pig. i cannot touch the unclean meat, and so eat lentils all the year. all my little moneys i carried with me have been expended in lentils for my wife rachel and me. ah! this must last us a long time. we are so poor, and lentils are so dear." "you will give us something to drink your health, levi," asked one of tardes' men. "oh! certainly. open both your hands and i will fill them with lentils. when daniel, shadrach, meshach, and abednego were in the palace of king darius, they refused the meats from the king's table that they might eat lentils. and they grew fat! oh! father abraham, so sleek that their faces shone, and all the young ladies ran after them. open your hands and i will give you lentils, and all the fair maids of la roque will admire you." the men laughed. "come, come, jew, keep the pulse for yourself, and give us something more solid--money--and we will drink your health." "money!" exclaimed levi; "as if i had money! oh, fathers of the covenant! poor levi with money!--that is a comical idea. you are jesting with me, and i like a jest." those lying in wait listened to the altercation that ensued--the men murmured, then there ensued an outcry from the jew and a burst of laughter from the men--they had raised and thrown down on the ground the sack which the ass was carrying. the jew shouted and entreated and swore, but to no avail. the two serving-men ran off on their way back to la roque gageac, full of glee, rejoicing that they had served the man such a trick, for they well knew that he would hardly be able to replace the sack on his ass. after levi had convinced himself that his appeals were in vain, he returned to the fallen sack, and vainly endeavoured to lift it upon the ass. he could raise it at one end, but not bear the entire weight. he became very angry, and grumbled and cursed, and prayed to heaven for assistance. then, as his sole chance, he endeavoured to roll the sack up the sepulchral mound, and so to tilt it on to the devil's table. by that means, if he drew up his ass by the mouth of the burial-chamber, where treasure-seekers had grubbed and made a hollow, he hoped to be able to replace the burden on the back that was to bear it. "oh, fathers abraham, isaac, and mother sarah!" lamented the jew, "come to me in my necessity and help me." "we are here!" hands were laid on his shoulder. with a scream of fear he sprang back, and saw two male and a female figure before him. dusk had set in, and he could not distinguish who they were. "jew!" said noémi, "we want a hundred livres." "a hundred lentils! let me go! help me with my sack, and they are yours." "jew!" said the girl; "do not delay us and yourself. we will escort you within sight of the lights of the town--when you have paid us the hundred livres." "hear her, father abraham!" cried the unhappy man. "she thinks that i have money, who have only a few lentils on which to feed my wife and me." "i know what you have," said noémi. "you have all the money paid you by the tardes." "it is a lie--i have been paid no money; i have been given a sack of lentils instead." "levi--i was present when it was paid." "you--you are a tarde! and the tardes are thieves!" "i am not a tarde." "you are a tarde--and these are tardes' servants, and you will cheat and rob me. i shall appeal to the bishop!" "strike a light," said the girl. "let the man see who we are." with a flint and steel amanieu produced sparks, and presently held a wisp of dry grass blazing over his head. "look here," said noémi. "do you know this?" she showed the red cross on her arm. "look at the shoulders of my mates. do you know who they are? do you know me? i am le gros guillem's daughter. open your sack." "oh, pity me! pity me!" sobbed the terrified jew. "one hundred livres--not a denier under, not a denier over," answered the girl. "see, in the devil's table are ten saucers; put ten livres into each, and you, amanieu, and you, roger, count. jew, when the last coin is paid, you shall go on with the rest. you do not stir till the sum is paid that i require." the jew faltered, trembled, stuttered some unintelligible words. "levi!" said noémi, "you know how guillem's men deal with the refractory. ho! a string here for his thumbs." the ten cups were filled. chapter ix. a singed glove. a commotion, suppressed in outward manifestation, agitated ste. soure. very little work was being done in the fields and vineyards. what work was done had little reference to agriculture. men hurried about, but were cautious not to allow it to be seen by anyone at a distance what their occupation was. in a place like ste. soure, in a valley between precipices, nothing was easier than for a spy to observe all that was going on in a village. if on this occasion one commissioned by the captain of the free company that occupied l'eglise guillem had stationed himself at a suitable point, he would have seen that ste. soure was alive, but would not have been able to distinguish what engaged the inhabitants. he would, indeed, have noticed the peasants bringing together their faggots of vine-prunings, have heard the bleating of sheep that were being killed, and later, had the wind blown his way, have noticed that the air was impregnated with the odour of melted tallow. that the people of ste. soure should be in a condition of more liveliness than usual would not have surprised him, after the event of the rush made on the place by the free companions, and the capture of some of the householders. but no spy was sent to observe the doings of the villagers. the usual watch was kept from the eyrie of the church of guillem, but from it the village of ste. soure and the castle of le peuch were not visible. the sudden raid had so quelled the inhabitants that no danger was anticipated from that quarter. what was ogier del' peyra but a little seigneur? so little that it was not worth while for any of the big men in the neighbourhood to sustain his cause. in those rough times the small men were pinched out. only the great ones held their own. there was no security for any man who stood in independence, unless he were very great indeed. in an earlier age the soil had belonged to many hundreds and thousands of free landholders, who owed no man anything except a slight tax in money or kind to the duke of aquitaine or to the count of périgord. but that condition of affairs was past. the little freemen had been broken in pieces by the violence of the marauders, of the barons, by their own mutual quarrels, and nearly all had surrendered their independence into the hands of great seigneurs in their neighbourhood; they had given up their freedom in return for assurance of protection. ogier del' peyra, however, represented one of the few families which had not thus passed into vassalage. for that very reason he was viewed askance by the barons of the neighbourhood, to whichever faction they belonged; and as none of them were bound to sustain his cause, not one of them, as ogier well knew, would draw sword in his behalf against so redoubtable an adversary as le gros guillem, and would be still less inclined to advance him money. not only did ogier know this, but the free captain knew it also; and, knowing it, thought it not worth the pains to observe the movements of the man he had plundered, and whom he despised. one thing did guillem regret--that he had not taken le peuch, the refuge and stronghold of the del' peyras; but just as ogier knew his weakness and insulation, so had he accumulated precautions against attack. his fortress, or castle, was situated in a similar position to that of guillem, at the head of a steep rubble slope, but it was stronger immeasurably than that of the "church," for the cliff above it was vastly more lofty, and it was literally honeycombed with chambers. it was precisely due to the fact that the habitation of the family was in the rock, and of the rock, as already intimated, that they had received their name of del' peyra. had not the villagers been completely taken by surprise when the companions fell on ste. soure, they would have carried off their valuables, and taken refuge themselves in inaccessible places, and left only their empty houses to be ransacked by the freebooters. long exemption from molestation had made them careless. it was customary with the robber bands not to devastate the hamlets and villages and farms in their immediate neighbourhood. they needed the daily supplies of food that the peasants could furnish, and they bought these, and maintained a good understanding with the peasantry. when they foraged it was at a distance. it was precisely because "l'eglise" was so near to ste. soure that the villagers had not anticipated an onslaught. now, although the peasants on the opposite side of the river, who were under the shadow of the crags occupied by the _routiers_ knew themselves to be safe, and found a market for their produce, yet they had no love for their tyrannisers. they were sufficiently shrewd to be aware that they were exposed to be plundered, their houses wasted, their wives and daughters carried off by other freebooters, or even by ordinary companions-in-arms, such as claimed to serve the french. the counts of périgord--who should have been their protectors--were leaders in violence, at the head of several lawless bands, and usually marched under the leopards, so that the ban of the french king had been launched against one count after another, and he only returned to allegiance for a moment, to break faith at the first occasion. the castle of montignac, the headquarters of these countly scoundrels, lay high up the same valley of the vézère; and the ruffians of the count passed up and down it, traversing the fields and villages continually. it was to them a matter of supreme indifference which crown was supposed to exercise authority and afford protection where they went, for neither possessed any real authority, neither afforded the smallest protection. ogier del' peyra sat in the porch of the church issuing orders, and his son was by him. all at once a child on the roof of the church cried out-- "i see--i see--seven men coming, and a lady riding; and i think one is our petiton." "what! our men!" exclaimed ogier; and jean ran to the roof of the church to look. he was down directly after. "father, there is no doubt of it. gros guillem's daughter is bringing them here." "as a gift? does he restore them free of ransom?" exclaimed ogier. "if so we cannot proceed." "i will run and meet them," said jean. the tidings spread like wildfire that the men who had been carried off were on their way home. jean hastened to the river side and was ferried over. "i have brought them!" said noémi when she saw him. her eye was flashing with pleasure. "see--they are all here." "did your father surrender them?" she laughed. "i bought them. i paid the ransom." "you! where did you get the money?" "see." she exposed her arm with the red cross. "i won my spurs. i robbed the jew. now you do not think so ill of me, say that." she leaned from her horse to look into his eyes. he averted his face. "i thank you for the men. i hate the deed." "the man was but a jew!" pleaded noémi. "and a robbery is but a robbery," answered jean. the girl bit her lips and frowned. "this is what i get by that i have done, and i have ridden all night to gratify you. i asked my father. i entreated that the men might be let go free. he would not hearken. then i did this. i could not get the men discharged in any other way. let them go back," said the girl sullenly; "back into bonds and be served as was threatened. you are content so long as the jew has his moneys." "not so. the men are free--they cannot go back. i had rather they had been freed by any other means." "and by any other person--say it all!" "i will not say that. there, noémi," said the young man, laying his hand on the horse's neck, "i know you meant kindly and right by us. it is not your fault; it is the fault of your blood; it is the fault of the times that you have gone about it in a wrong way." "there was no other way." "i do not say that. i was going to bergerac to raise the money there." "and pawn your inheritance to a christian usurer who is worse than a jew. you have your men, you have your land--be content. if wrong is done, i did it." noémi abandoned her horse and entered the ferry-boat with the men and jean. the joy, the tears, the passionate affection with which the recovered men were welcomed, clung to by their wives and children and friends, moved the girl, and her cheek grew pale and her eyes filled. jean observed the emotion and said nothing to her, but to himself he breathed: "she is not heartless! the good is not all dead in her." some of the women, supposing rightly that the men owed their release to noémi, but not knowing who she was, came to her, took her hand, kissed it, knelt and put to their lips the hem of her skirt. she was abashed, and shrank back. "you shall see," said jean. "i will show you from what you have saved these poor fellows!" he led her into the cottage of the rossignols, and she remained silent, apparently cold, looking at the crippled man. "can you sit up?" she asked, after a long pause. "sit up--yes," he said, and moved his elbow and heaved himself up; "but it opens the wounds again." "and--can you put your feet down?" "feet; i'll never do that more." "nor stand?" "god help me! never stand before man, never kneel before god. i'm a young man; i'm five-and-twenty, and have got three children. i'll never do aught but lie as a log all the years i have to live!" "there is a trifle for you," said noémi, putting money into his hand. "i would i had more. hush! i cannot bear that!" the poor woman, still half distraught, now worked to further excitement by the return of the seven men safe and sound, while her own husband lay in irrecoverable wretchedness, broke into a storm of curses against le gros guillem, and of blasphemy against god. it was more horrible to hear her than to see the man, who bore his lot not so much with patience as with stolidity. then in came ogier del' peyra. "so," said he, "you have released my men! did le gros guillem let them pass out of his hands for nothing?" "i paid him the hundred livres," said noémi, speaking with difficulty. something was in her throat choking her. "then," said ogier, "we owe him no debt?" "none at all." "and you are returning there--i mean to him--to the church?" "i go to see him again." "what debt of gratitude we owe is to you--not to him?" noémi nodded. "then, let me say this: do not stay at the church." "i am not going to stay there. i shall but say farewell to----" the girl hesitated, looked at the crippled rossignol, at his crazy wife, and concluded her sentence in an undertone--"to him, and then away to domme." "it is well. mark my words. do not stay there--not a night--not a night." "why so?" "why so? do you ask that? is not the wrath of god hanging as a thundercloud over that rock? is it not full charged with lightnings? when it bursts will it spare the innocent? will it not involve all in one sudden destruction? mark my words: do not tarry there--no, not an hour. your men who came with you are here. they are at le peuch, and ready to attend you on your return. do not tarry. take counsel. l'eglise de guillem is no place for innocent maidens. it is no church where are holy thoughts and devout prayers--it is the church of the foul fiend, and the mouth of the bottomless pit yawns there." "i thank you," said noémi. "i know what it is. i am not going to tarry there." "there is one favour i ask of you," said the old man. "it is to take a message from me to--to the big guillem." "i will take it." "tell him that when one gentleman is about to do the other the favour of a visit he sends a notice that he is coming. that is true courtesy. he forgot to do that to me. i was not ready to receive him with hospitality. now, render me the grace to hand him this." ogier extended to the girl a leather glove singed by fire and the ends of the fingers burnt off. noémi hesitated to take it. "do not fear," said the old man; "it will not hurt you. it is but a token. your fa--i mean le gros guillem, will accept the courtesy. take it, and go." an hour later noémi was in the church of guillem and before her father. somewhat hesitatingly she held out to him the singed glove. "the sieur del' peyra sends you this," she said. le gros guillem took the glove, threw it on the table, and burst out laughing. "the mouse defies the lion! good! this is good! i thank you, noémi, for bringing me this; it is a right merry jest. i drink to his visit! may he come speedily." chapter x. by fire. a strange stillness came over the vézère valley that evening at sundown. hardly a man was about, not a sound was heard save the barking of a dog in a farm on one side of the river, and the answer of another dog in one on the further side. there was, however, a mysterious hiss in the air about every dwelling and cluster of habitations. now and then a woman was seen, but it was to call in her children who had run out, and, forgetful of all that had passed, had begun to play. the sun went down in the west, painting the rocks on the left bank of the vézère a daffodil yellow, and then slowly a cold, death-like grey stole over the landscape. with the sun the life had gone; and yet, strange to say, no sooner had this dead glaze come over the face of nature than the human beings woke to activity and began to issue from their houses, cautiously at first, then with greater boldness as the shadows thickened. the men bore their reaping-hooks, their pruning-knives strapped to the end of poles, converting them into formidable weapons. others had their bills thrust through their leather belts; and every bill and knife was fresh sharpened, explaining the significance of the strange hiss which had been in the air. it had been caused by the grindstones and the files in every house. presently the men who had been standing in knots were marshalled into two distinct parties or bands. one, armed with their extemporised halberds and lances, remained in ste. soure under ogier, whereas the other division, laden with sacks, with casks, with loads of faggots, passed over the river, were joined by a contingent from the left bank of the vézère, and proceeded to ascend the hills. behind this party, borne by four men, was rossignol, lying on his bed. his wife desired to follow, and was with difficulty restrained and sent back to take care of her children. silently, patiently, the men ascended the steep flanks of the hillside, each bearing his burden; even the wounded rossignol endured the inevitable jerking without a murmur. a word must here be given to explain the salient character of the country. originally a vast region in périgord--the black périgord, as it was called from its sombre woods and deep cleft ravines, was one plateau of hard chalk, raised from six hundred and fifty to nine hundred feet above the sea. at some geologic period difficult to define an immense rush of water passed over the plain and tore every rent formed by the upheaval of the chalk into gorge and gully, down which the furious waters poured, scooping out the sides and tearing themselves away. the course taken by the flood is easily recognisable by this fact--that it has left its wash on the tops of the plateau, where to the present day lies a film of caoline, that is to say of feldspathic clay, the produce of the granite ranges to the north and north-east; and this caoline lies in some places in considerable pockets, white as chalk, and only distinguishable from chalk by the experienced eye, and lies in sufficiently important beds to be worked and exported to porcelain factories. nay, more than this: on the top of these great plateaux of chalk are strewn boulders and pebbles of volcanic production, that were derived unmistakably from the far away auvergne mountains. the flood that swirled over the chalk plains not only tore them into islets, and ate out paths through every chink, but also left the surfaces undulating, having washed away what beds were soft and left those which were hard. these plateaux are more or less untenanted by human beings, because more or less soilless. they are given over to forest or to baldness. the ravines, the river-valleys, are walled in by precipices with gulfs here and there in their sides where the rock has crumbled away, or caverns have collapsed, and which allow, as lateral combes, access to the riverside. up such a combe did the peasants now toil, zigzagging, corkscrewing their way, far to the rear of the headland of l'eglise guillem, and wholly invisible from it. the captain had so far paid attention to the challenge conveyed by the scorched glove as to give the sentinel on the gate-tower warning to be on the alert, but he had neglected to post anyone on the top of the cliff that overhung his eagle nest. he anticipated no danger from that quarter, for his castle was inaccessible thence, unless, what was inconceivable, assailants should descend on him like spiders from above, at the end of ropes. "bah!" scoffed the chieftain; "a boor! what is del' peyra but a country clown? i will teach him such a lesson in a day or two as will make him skip. there is not a seigneur in the land will lend him half-a-dozen horsemen." there was, however, an incident in the past that had entirely escaped the memory of guillem, even if he had heard of it. at the end of the twelfth century, a carpenter, durand by name, had roused the peasants to free themselves of their oppressors. what the king could not, what the nobles would not do, that they had done. they had assembled in great multitudes, assumed a white linen hood, called themselves "the brotherhood of peace," and hoped to initiate an era of tranquillity by massacring without mercy every _routier_ in the land. they had butchered many thousands, had defeated them in pitched battles, but had themselves been quelled by a combination of the nobles when they attempted to interfere with their turbulence. that was a matter of two centuries ago, and was not likely to be repeated. two hundred years of the scourge had whipped every vestige of independence out of the peasants. the free companion of the fourteenth and fifteenth century no more feared a combination against him among the peasants than the latter anticipated a revolt in his henroost whence he gathered his eggs. but something had occurred in the north of the land--in france proper--the rumour of which had travelled throughout the country, and which, dimly, feebly, had brought out the idea of national feeling in the south--that was the great success of the french under the maid of orleans. heaven had interfered; the saints had interested themselves for the afflicted people, for the humbled crown. the spirit of god, as in the days of old, had raised up a deliverer--and that deliverer a woman. the advent of the maid of domrémi was of the past, but not forgotten. there was something in the story of joan to rouse the imagination of a lively and excitable people, and to make them believe that the time was come when heaven would interfere to assist their feeble arms. the outrage committed at ste. soure on rossignol, the threat hanging over seven others, had served to rouse the peasantry of the neighbourhood, and as one man they placed themselves under the direction of ogier, a seigneur indeed, but in so small a way, as to be but a step removed from the peasant; a man whom they could almost consider as one of themselves, and yet sufficiently raised above them to be able to command obedience, and not incur their jealousy. as the train of laden men toiled up the ascent, they were joined by charcoal-burners from the coppice with their forks, who fell in, relieved some of the most heavily burdened and said no word. one resolution, one hate, animated the whole mass, combined to make one effort to shake off the detested incubus. it was marvellous how rapidly and how quietly the conjuration had been formed. when the body of men had reached the top of the hill and were on the plain, they found men there awaiting them from villages beyond, animated by the same spirit, ready to move in the same direction, and to carry out the warfare in the same way, for they also were laden like those from ste. soure. the whole troop now advanced through the brushwood to the bare space above the precipice where trees were scanty. the night had become very obscure. it was hard to distinguish where the foot could be placed in safety. the very dearth of trees, moreover, warned the men to advance with extreme caution. jean del' peyra had drawn a white sleeve over his right arm, and this was visible in the murkiness of ever-deepening darkness. with this white arm he gave the signals. orders were communicated in whispers. behind, under the coppice, at no great distance, was a charcoal-burner's heap. the men who attended to the steaming pile stood by it with their spades and prongs. jean raised his white arm. at once those behind him in a chain did the same. at the signal a charcoal-burner drove his fork into the fuming mass, made an opening, and a flame shot up. next moment a sod was cast on the gap and the flame extinguished. one, two, three, four--to twenty-five, counted jean. again he lifted his white arm. again the signal was telegraphed back to the charcoal-burners, and again was an opening made and a tongue of fire shot up, to be again instantly extinguished. one, two, three, four--to twenty-five. a third time jean raised his arm, and a third time the gleam of flame mounted and was blotted out. a pause of expectation. then from the valley--from the further side of the vézère--a flash. one, two, three, four--to twenty-five. a second flare. one, two, three, four--to twenty-five. a third gleam. "my father is ready," whispered jean. "now we must find the exact spot." it is one thing to know where is a cave or, indeed, any object marking the face of a cliff when seen from below and quite another to discover that same cave, to find out when and where you are immediately above it as you walk on the summit of the precipice. every feature that marks a site as seen from below fails when you stand above. if this be the case in broad daylight what must it be by night? there was but one way in which jean del' peyra could discover the exact position of the church of guillem, and that was by being held by the feet and extending himself, lying prostrate, over the edge of the cliff. leaning over the abyss he looked below and to the right and left in the darkness, then signed to be withdrawn. "too much to the left!" he said. he walked cautiously along the edge till he came to what he believed to be the right spot. again he was extended over the brink, and was again out in his reckoning. a third attempt was more successful. with a rapid wave of his hand he signed, and was drawn back. "i have looked down their chimney," he said, "and heard their laughter come up with the reek, and seen the glow of their hearth. here! build it here!" at once a hundred hands were engaged in piling up faggots, heaping casks on them and emptying the sacks over the wood. these sacks had been filled with mutton fat. stones also were planted on the extreme edge. the process was slow. caution had to be used lest any of the combustible matter should fall over before set alight, and, dropping on the projecting roof or galleries, give the alarm. the wall of stones erected outside the faggots served a double purpose. in the first place it contained the masses of pine-wood and other combustibles, and preserved them from lapse, but the main object aimed at was, when overthrown, to break in the tiles of the roof so as to allow the molten pitch from the barrels and the flaming tallow to run in among the woodwork and set it on fire. but for this, there would be no assurance of success. considerable time was allowed to pass. it was thought advisable not to precipitate action, but to allow the freebooters to retire to rest. the men seated themselves in perfect stillness on the grass and on stones. on the inner face of the enormous pile of combustibles lay rossignol on his bed. the night was without wind. not a leaf stirred--there was not even a whisper among the short grass--only the continuous twitter of the crickets and, now and then from far below, yet audible at that height, the croak of a bullfrog in a backwater of the vézère. the sky had been overspread with clouds, which had rendered the night one of pitch blackness; but these dissolved. whither they went was inexplicable--they were not rolled away by the wind, but appeared to evaporate, and let the stars shine through. then, in the starlight, the valley below became visible, and the river gleamed up, reflecting the feeble light in the sky. a low-lying fog formed in the valley of the beune, and lay upon the spongy level, like a fall of sleet. jean made a sign; he was again thrust forward over the edge of the cliff, and remained for some minutes looking down and listening. then slowly, with upraised hand, he made the requisite signal. he was hastily drawn back. "all is still," he said. "the fire is nearly out." "then the other fire shall be kindled!" said one of the men. "nicole!" said jean. "a brand." the man addressed went to the charcoal-burner's heap. a thrill ran through the throng. all rose to their feet; even the mutilated man on the mattress lifted himself to a sitting posture. silently the men moved between the faggots and the wall of loose stones they had raised, each armed with a stout pole. jean put a cow-horn to his mouth and blew a blast that rang into the night as the blast of judgment. instantly the rocks and stones were levered over the edge, and instantly the brand, spluttering and blazing, was put into the hand of rossignol. it was fitting that he should light the pyre--he who had most suffered. that was why he had been borne to the head of the cliff. rossignol drove the flaming torch into the mass of vine-faggots, and instantly up leaped the flame. it ran aloft in the mass, licked and lighted the tallow, it caressed, then exploded the casks of tar, and the whole pyre roared as a beast ravening for its prey. and its prey was given it. with their forks, with staves, the whole flaming, raging mass was cast over the edge after the avalanche of stones had been discharged.[ ] [ ] the rock castles on the vézère and the dordogne all bear traces of having been burnt. history is silent, but tradition among the peasantry is very precise. they state that it was they who, at the close of the hundred years' war, ridded themselves of the free companies, and that they did it by the means described in this chapter. chapter xi. the ten crosses. ogier del' peyra, with a much larger body of men, murderously, if not well, equipped, had left ste. soure an hour after the departure of jean. the vézère makes a great sweep to meet the beune, but, as though disgusted at the insignificance of its tributary, after having received its waters, it at once turns and flows in an almost directly opposite direction, leaving a broad, flat tongue of land round which it curls, a tongue of rich alluvial soil, interspersed with gravel that is purple in autumn with crocus, and in summer blue with salvia. here the party, headed by ogier, waited in patience till the signal flashed thrice from the heights opposite, when it was immediately answered by three corresponding flares of dry grass. then ogier and his men, under cover of the darkness, moved up the river to the ford, waded across the water, and cautiously crept along the river bank among the osiers in straggling line, till they had reached a suitable point below the "church." from this point they could see the lights from the windows of that unhallowed edifice shining before them, half-way up the sky like stars, but stars of lurid hue. then they sat down in the dewy grass and waited. hour passed after hour. the stars before them waxed faint and went out. then, suddenly, bringing all to their feet, came the peal of the horn, echoed and re-echoed from every cliff, and followed by a crash and a flare. the scene that ensued was one such as none who witnessed it had ever had a chance of beholding before, or were likely to see again. the immense pile of brushwood and fat and other fuel caught with rapidity and rose in a burst of flame high up, as it were in mid-heaven, followed immediately by its being poured over the lip of the precipice, the molten, blazing tar, the incandescent fat, streaked the cliff as with rivers of light, fell on the projecting roof, ran in through the interstices created by the fall of stones that had shivered the covering tiles, and set fire to the rafters they had protected. dense volumes of swirling red smoke, in which danced ghostly jets of blue flame, rolled about the habitation of the robber band, and penetrated to its interior. it broke out of the windows in long spirals and tongues, forked as those of adders. the rocks up the vézère were visible, glaring orange, every tree was lit up, and its trunk turned to gold. the vézère glowed a river of flame; clouds that had vanished gathered, crowding to see the spectacle, and palpitated above it. "forward!" yelled ogier, and the whole party rushed up the steep ascent. for one reason it would have been better had they crept up the steep slope before the horn was blown, so as to be ready at once to burst the gates and occupy every avenue. but ogier had considered this course, and had deemed the risk greater than the advantage. to climb the rubble slope without displacing the shale was impossible; to do so without making sufficient noise to alarm the sentinel was hardly feasible in such a still night. this might have been done in blustering wind and lashing rain, not on such a night as that when the bullfrog's call rang down the valley and was answered by another frog a mile distant. the ascent was arduous; it could not have been made easily in pitch darkness; now it was effected rapidly by the glare of the cataract of falling fire and of blazing rafters. in ten minutes, with faces streaming, with lungs blowing, the peasants reached the gate-house. they beat at it with stones, with their fists; they drove their pikes at it, but could not open it. then a man--it was one of those who had been taken and confined in the castle--bid all stand back. he buckled on to his feet a sort of spiked shoe, with three prongs in each sole, and held a crooked axe in his hand. "i have not been in there for nothing," laughed he. "i saw what they had for climbing walls, and i've made the like at my forge." then he went to the wall, drove in the end of his pick, and in a moment, like a cat, went up from stone course to stone course, till he reached the summit of the wall, when he threw aside his foot-grapnels and leaped within. in the panic caused by the sudden avalanche of stones and fire the sentinel had deserted the gate. the oak doors were cast open, and the whole body of armed men burst in. they found the small garrison huddled together, paralysed with fear, all their daring, their insolence, their readiness on an occasion gone. they stood like sheep, unable to defend themselves, and were taken without offering any resistance. the surprise was so complete, the awfulness of the manner in which they were visited was so overwhelming, that the ruffians did not know whether they were not called to their final account, and whether their assailants were not fiends from the flaming abyss. it had come on them in the midst of sleep when stupefied with drink. "follow me!" ordered ogier, and he led the way through fallen flakes of fire, smouldering beams, and smoking embers, to a portion of the castle that was intact. it consisted wholly of a cavern faced up with stone, and the cataract of fire had not reached it, or had not injured it. "bring the prisoners to me," said ogier. "where is the captain? where is le gros guillem?" the head of the band was not taken. "disperse--seek him everywhere!" ordered del' peyra. the men ran in every possible direction. they searched every cranny. "he has escaped up the ladder to the last refuge!" shouted one. the last refuge was the chamber excavated above the projecting roof of the castle, cut in the solid rock. "he cannot," said another, "the ladder was the first thing to burn. see, it is in pieces now." "if he be there," scoffed a third, "let him there abide. he can neither get up nor down." "i do not think he is there. he is in hell's mouth." this hell's mouth was the tortuous cavern opening upon the ledge of rock occupied by the castle. "if he is there, who will follow him?" asked one. "aye! who--when the foul fiend will hide him." "i do not believe it," said one of the men who had been confined in the "church." he indicated with his finger. "there is a _mal-pas_ yonder; he has escaped along that." a _mal-pas_, in fact, exists in many of these rock castles. it consists of a track sometimes natural, often artificially cut in the face of the cliff, so narrow that only a man with an unusually steady head can tread it; often is the _mal-pas_ so formed that it cannot be walked along upright, but in a bent posture. often also it is cut through abruptly and purposely to be crossed by a board which he who has fled over it can kick down and so intercept pursuit. "bring up the men for me to judge them," said ogier, "and you, mathieu, give me your sharp-pointed pick." the man addressed handed the implement to his seigneur, who seated himself on the floor of rock with his legs apart and extended. "giraud!" said ogier, "and you, roland, run out a beam through one of the windows--through yonder, and one of you find rope--abundance. how many are here?" "there are twelve," was the answer. "that is well; twelve--enough rope to hang twelve men, one after another from the window." sufficiency of rope was not to be found. "it matters not," said ogier. "there are other ways into another world than along a rope. they shall walk the beam. thrust it through the window and rope the end of it." "which end?" "this one in the room, to hold it down." a large beam, fallen from the roof in the adjoining chamber, and still smoking and glowing at one end, was dragged in, and the burning end thrust out through a window. the driving it through the opening, together with the inrush of air to the heated apartments, caused the red and charred wood to burst into light; it projected some ten feet beyond the wall, fizzing, spurting forth jets of blue flame over the abyss. "number one!" shouted ogier. "make him walk the rafter. drive him forward with your pikes if he shrinks back." one of the ruffians of the band, his face as parchment, speechless in the stupefaction of his fear, was made to mount the beam, and then the peasants round shouted, drove at him with their knives and pruning-hooks, and made him pass through the window. there were three men seated on the end of the beam, which rested on a bench in the chamber. the moment the unhappy wretch had disappeared through the window, ogier began to hew with his pick into the floor. "forward! he is hanging back! he clings to the wall! coward! he is endeavouring to scramble in again!" was yelled by the peasants, crowding round the window to watch the man on the charred and glowing beam end. "drive him off with a pike! make him dance on the embers!" called one within, and a reaping-hook, bound to a pole, was thrust forth. a scream, horrible in its agony, in its intensity; and those seated on the beam felt there was no longer a counterpoise. chip, chip, went ogier. presently he looked up. he had cut a greek cross in the chalk floor. "number two!" he ordered. then the wretch who was seized burst from his captors, rushed up to ogier, threw himself on his knees, and implored to be spared. he would do anything. he would forswear the english. he would never plunder again. old del' peyra looked at him coldly. "did you ever spare one who fell into your hands? did you spare rossignol? make him walk the beam." the shrieking wretch was lifted by strong arms on to the rafter; he refused to stand, he threw himself on his knees, he struggled, bit, prayed, sobbed--all the manhood was gone out of him. "thrust him through the window," said one. "if he will not walk the beam he shall cling to it." the brigand's efforts were in vain. he was driven through the opening. in his frantic efforts to save himself he gripped the rafter, hanging from it, his legs swinging in space. "cut off his fingers," said one. then the man, to escape a blow from an axe, ran his hands along, put them on glowing red charcoal, and dropped. chip, chip! went ogier. he had cut a second cross. "number three!" he said. the man whose turn came thrust aside those who held him, leaped on the beam, and walked deliberately through the window and bounded into the darkness. chip, chip! went ogier. he worked on till he had incised a third cross in the floor. thus one by one was sent to his death out of the chamber reeking with wood-smoke, illumined by the puffs of flame from the still burning buildings that adjoined. ten crosses had been cut in the floor. "number eleven!" said ogier; and at that same moment his son jean entered at the head of those who had ignited and sent down the cataract of fire that had consumed the nest. "what are you doing, father?" "sending them before their judge," answered ogier. "see these ten crosses. there are ten have been dismissed." then the man who had been brought forward to be sent along the same road as the rest said-- "i do not cry for life; but this i say; it was i, aye, i and my fellow here, amanieu, who provided the hundred livres, without which the seven would not have been set free." "you provided it?" "aye, under the captain's daughter. it was we who did it. if that goes to abate our sentence--well." "father, spare these two," pleaded jean. "as you will, jean; but there is space for two more crosses. would--would i could cut an eleventh, and that a big one, for the gros guillem." then murmurs arose. the peasants, their love of revenge, their lust for slaughter whetted, clamoured for the death of the last two of the band. but jean was firm. "my father surrenders them to me," he said. "then let them run on the _mal-pas_," shouted one of the peasants. "good!" said the brigand roger; "give me a plank and i will run on it, so will amanieu." ogier looked ruefully at the crosses. "'tis a pity," said he. "i intended to cut a dozen." if the visitor to the eglise de guillem will look, to this day, rudely hacked in the floor, he will see the ten crosses: he will see further--but we will leave the rest to the sequel. chapter xii. three crosses. no sooner had noémi left _l'église_ than with her teeth she tore the red cross off her left shoulder in an ebullition of wrathful resentment. she rode, attended by the two servants of the tardes, to la roque gageac without speaking. her mind was busy. it was clear to her that she could not remain with her aunt after that affair at the devil's table. the bishop of sarlat was not an energetic ruler; he might demur to making an expedition against domme, doubt the expediency of attempting reprisals against so terrible a man as le gros guillem, and all for the sake of a jew, but he could hardly allow her, who had been the mover in the robbery, to remain in one of his towns. it would not be well for her to compromise the tarde family. she must go to her mother at domme. on arriving at la roque, she told jacques and jean tarde what she had done. jacques burst out laughing. "well done, cousin noémi! i am glad our money has gone to some good purpose." she flushed to her temples. jean del' peyra had not welcomed her with commendation. he had received what she had done in an ungracious manner. she resented this. she was bitter at heart against him. that was the last time she would move a finger to help a del' peyra. noémi remained the night and part of next day at la roque. though young and strong, she was greatly tired by the exertion she had gone through, and by the mental excitement even more than the bodily exertion. the distance to domme was not great. she had but to cross the dordogne a couple of leagues higher in a ferry-boat and she would be at the foot of the rock of domme. this rock may be described as an oval snuffbox with precipitous sides, flat, or nearly so, above, with, however, one end somewhat elevated above the other. on this superior elevation stood the castle or citadel. on the lower was the town, uniformly built, with a quadrangular market-place in the midst surrounded by arcades, and every street cutting another at right angles, and every house an exact counterpart of its fellow. the garrison kept guard on the walls, but their headquarters were in the castle, where also resided their captain, guillem. access to the town was to be had by one way only, and the gate was strongly defended by salient drums of towers. the castle had a triple defence of river, wall and half towers, and possessed a great donjon, square and machicolated. in it had stood a siege by the english for fifteen days, and had repelled sir john chandos and all his force. since then it had fallen into the hands of the english through the neglect of the french crown to provide the necessary garrison. noémi was attended as far as domme by her cousins' servant. on reaching the town it was at once manifest that something unusual had occurred which was occupying the minds and tongues of the townspeople. the men were gathered in knots; the arcaded market-place was full of them. the girl entered the castle and proceeded to her mother's room. this lady was past the middle age, finely framed and delicately featured, still beautiful, but languid and desponding. she greeted her daughter without impulsive affection. "noémi," she said, "something has happened to discompose your father. i do not know what it is, the whole place is in commotion." "i will go see," answered the girl. "i do not think he wishes to be disturbed," said the lady, and sighing, leaned back in her seat. noémi at once proceeded to the chamber usually occupied by guillem, and she saw him there, seated at a table, gnawing his nails. the insolent, dauntless freebooter was much altered. he sat with his elbows on the table, his fingers to his teeth, his hair ragged, his tall, smooth head, usually polished, without its wonted gloss, his eyes staring stonily before him. the captain was mortified rather than hurt. he had been driven like a wolf athwart the woods by the peasants; smoked out of his lair by jacques bonhomme, like a fox. he had escaped from the "church" by the skin of his teeth. roused by the crashing in of the roof, then by the flood of fire, he had sprung from his bed, half-clothed, without his jerkin and boots, had seized his sword and had fled. in an instant he had realised the impossibility of resistance, and had run along the _mal-pas_, and, selfish in his fear, had kicked down the plank over the chasm to secure himself from pursuit, though at the sacrifice of his men. he had lurked at a distance, watching his blazing castle and then had run on. occasionally he had all but rushed into the arms of peasants flocking from the neighbourhood. once, in the grey morning light, he had been recognised and pursued, and had only saved himself by cowering under an overhanging stone till the men had gone by. bootless, running over rocks and stones, and these latter in many cases flints that were broken and cut like razors, his feet had been gashed, and he had at length been hardly able to limp along. prickles of briar, spines of juniper, had aggravated the wounds, and it was with extreme difficulty that he had reached the dordogne, seized a boat, and rowed himself across into territory nominally english. even then he had not been safe. he knew it. he must reach domme before the tidings of the disaster arrived, or all the subjugated country would be roused. he broke into a farmer's stable, took his horse, and galloped with it up the valley, nor halted till he reached the gates of domme, where his warder opened to him in amaze to see the governor of the town, the captain of the garrison, arrive in such a deplorable condition. since his arrival, after he had bathed his feet and had them bound up, he had been seated at his table, gnawing his nails, glaring into space, his heart eaten out with rage, humiliation, and raven for revenge. to have been defied by a del' peyra! to have been warned by his adversary and not to have profited by the warning! guillem's bald forehead smoked, so hot were his thoughts within him. noémi stood looking at the captain, amazed at the change that had come over him--at his haggardness, at his stoniness of eye. "father, what has happened?" "go away! i want no women here." "but, father, something has taken place. all domme is in commotion. the streets are full." "full!" in a scream; "talking of me--of my disgrace! call my lieutenant; i will send the pikemen through the streets to clear them--to silence the chattering rogues." "but what does this all mean, father?" "come here, child." he waved his arm without looking at her. she obeyed. she stepped to his side and stood by the table. "father, your fingers are bleeding; you have gnawed them." "have i? it matters not. my feet are bleeding, my brain is bleeding, my honour is bled to death." "what has happened?" he took her hand. the only soft part in this terrible man was his love for noémi, and that was rarely shown. "what are the del' peyras to you?" he asked roughly. "nothing, father." he looked round, caught her steady eye, winced, and turned his away. "so--nothing. why did you then ransom these men?" "because, father, i had pity for the men themselves." "why?" he could not understand this simple, natural, elementary feeling. she did not answer him, but loosened her hand from his; she took the torn strips of red silk that had formed her cross and put them on the table before him. "i renounce my companionship," she said. he did not regard her words or her action. "i am glad the del' peyras are nothing to you. i swear----" he sprang up but sank again. he could not bear to stand on his mangled feet. "i swear to you, i swear to all périgord i will root them out; i will not leave a fibre of them anywhere. i will let all the world know what it is to oppose me." "what has been done, father?" again he turned his face, but could not endure her clear eyes. "i cannot tell you. ask others." steps were audible in the anteroom, and roger and amanieu entered. they saluted. "captain," said roger, "we only are come." "and the others?" "ten of them--made to leap the beam." "yes, captain, and the seigneur del' peyra sent his compliments to you, and was sorry your legs were so long. you'll excuse me, captain, they were his own words; he made me swear to repeat them. he was very sorry your legs were so long. he cut ten crosses in the stone, one for each of the comrades, and, said he, there was room for another, and he'll do you the honour of making its legs long also, if he has the chance of catching you." guillem gnashed his teeth; the blood rushed into his eyes. he glared at the messenger. "i think, captain, you might have left us the plank," said amanieu. "as it was, we had to borrow one from the peasants." "send me the lieutenant. this can only be wiped out in blood!" roared the gros guillem, in spite of his wounded feet, leaping into an upright position. "i care not that i am lamed--i care not--i shall be lifted into my saddle. i will not eat, i will not sleep till i have revenged myself and the murdered ten, and my burnt castle and this outrage on my honour." "i am here, captain," said the lieutenant, stepping forward. he had entered along with the returned companions. in the blindness of his agony of mind and rage guillem had not noticed him. the filibuster turned his face to the lieutenant. it was terrible. his red but grizzled hair, uncombed, shaggy with sweat, electrified and bristling with the fury that was in him, his pale eyes and red suffused balls, his great mouth with pointed fangs, the lower jaw quivering with excitement, made his appearance terrible. "lieutenant!" shouted guillem; "call out all the men available--all but such as must remain to guard the castle and this cursed disloyal town, in which every citizen is a traitor. muster them outside the castle; bring forth as many horses as we have. if i am carried, i will go. at once, before these peasants have recovered their astonishment, because they surprised us when we were asleep: at once, as swiftly as possible, to chastise them. cut down every peasant in arms: give no quarter, but above all, take me ogier del' peyra. i will pay fifty livres for him--to any man--to have him taken alive. i do not desire him dead; i must have him alive. do you mark me? first of all, del' peyra. at once, before they expect reprisals--at once." his hand was on the table. in his fury he shook it as if it had been his enemy he was grappling. "to horse, roger and amanieu, and revenge your wrongs, as i will revenge mine." "pardon me, captain," said roger. "what is this i see? the red silk cross--what? has she taken this off and renounced companionship? so do i. i cannot serve against the father del' peyra or the son who spared my life." he plucked at the cross on his shoulder, then with his dagger unripped it, tore it, and threw it on the table. "nor i," said amanieu surlily, "not because they spared me, but because you kicked down the plank." and he also tore off his cross and flung it on the table. chapter xiii. the end of l'eglise guillem. the exultation of the peasants at having taken "the church of guillem" would have resulted in a sack and insubordination but for two causes: one, that the spoil of the robbers had not been recovered; and the other, the great firmness of jean del' peyra and his father. the pillaged goods must be found. none had much hesitation in saying where they were. everything worth preserving had been stowed away in the rock-hewn chamber above the castle, in the face of the cliff, and this was now very difficult of access. the roof of the castle from which it was reached was broken in, portions had been consumed, other portions were so charred as to be dangerous. the peasants had begun to throw down the walls, to demolish every portion of the structure that was artificial, but jean stayed them. "if you do this," said he, "how shall we reach the treasury above?" the day had broken but the sun had not yet risen. the slope below the church and the church itself presented a strange spectacle. the incline was strewn with smouldering fragments of wood, of faggots, the bind of which had been burst by the flames, and had released sticks that had not been ignited, of rafters from the castle blackened by the fire, of long streams of pitch that had fallen and run and had ceased to flame. in the midst of the road by the river-brim stood a cask on its bottom, emitting volumes of black smoke. amid the wreckage lay the corpses of the men who had been made to leap to their death. when daylight came, it was perceived that one alone had not died instantly. he had been seen to stir an arm and raise his head, and a peasant had run down and dispatched him. the face of the cliff, wherever reached by the flames, had become decomposed. chalk will not endure the touch of fire, and the white, scaly surface had flaked off and exposed yellow patches like sandstone. scales, moreover, were continually falling from the blistered scar. a portion of the floor of the main chamber of the castle that projected beyond the face of the cliff remained unconsumed, and sustained the beams of the wall that formed the screen in front. many of the stones that had been inserted between the rafters had fallen out; nevertheless, sufficient remained to make it possible for an agile man to reach the charred and ruinous roof. "let some go to the cliff-edge overhead," said jean, "and tie the end of a rope to a tree, and let it down in front of the chamber in the rock. then i can, i believe, climb to it, and see! i will thrust this piece of torn red silk through the roof at the end of a pike, as a token where to lower the cord." an hour elapsed before the rope end with a heavy stone attached to it came down through the shattered roof. this was now left hanging, and jean del' peyra began to climb. he bade the men undo the stone as soon as he was aloft, and in its place attach a large basket to the cord, which he would draw up and fill with whatever he found in the chamber. knowing, however, how little the peasants could be trusted, he required his father to keep guard, and take possession of what he lowered, the whole to be retained undisturbed till each could claim his own goods, and of those unclaimed a distribution would be made later among such as had assisted in taking the stronghold. nimbly as a cat jean ascended among the beams. he had to use extreme caution, as some of them were smoking, and he had to beware of putting his hand on fire that was unobservable by daylight, and of resting his foot on cross pieces that had been reduced to charcoal. the stones shaken by him as he mounted, and loosely compacted among half-burnt beams, and themselves split and powdered with heat, came down in volleys; but as this portion of the castle overhung the precipice from seven to ten feet, they did not jeopardise those who were in the cavernous part of the chamber. jean rapidly swung himself to the rafters of the roof, and, after testing which would bear his weight, crept along one till he touched the cord. then, by this aid, he was able to creep up the face of the rock, that, however, came down on him in dust where crumbled by the heat; and in a couple of minutes he was in the cave. a rapid glance round assured him that it was untenanted, and that it contained all the booty that had been accumulated by the _routiers_ in many excursions. in lockers cut in the native rock, and furnished with wooden shelves, were gold chalices and reliquaries of limoges enamel, silver-tipped drinking-horns, and a richly bound volume of poetry, the interminable metrical romance of guerin de montglane. in chests were silks and velvets; in boxes the jewellery of ladies. besides these costly articles were many of inferior value, garments, boots, gloves, caps, of every sort and quality. of money there was not much, save one bag that contained a hundred livres--it was the ransom of the seven men, the plunder of the jew levi. as soon as jean had passed everything down to the men below by means of his basket, that travelled frequently up and down, he took hold of the rope and easily swung himself to the rafters, and let himself down into the chamber of the castle. here his father had disposed of the booty in parcels, and had arranged that all was to be carried down the hill and deposited in the church of ste. soure, where division would be made in three days' time. then every claimant should be satisfied. those sacred vessels which had come from churches would be restored to the churches, and notice would be issued to all sufferers in the country round to come and retake whatsoever they could show was legitimately their own. "and now, father," said jean, "it seems to me that we are but at the beginning of our troubles. we have taken this outpost and destroyed a handful of our oppressors. but behind this stands domme, and in it is a garrison. the captain has slipped through our fingers. he will never consent to abide without an attempt to recover what is lost and to revenge his humiliation. it is my advice that we utterly destroy this castle, so that it can never be occupied again. then, that we should send out spies to observe the movements of the enemy, and report if he be on his way to make reprisals. lastly, that we hold ourselves in readiness to encounter him when he sets forth. let us choose our own ground, and that is half-way to success." "you are right, jean," said the old man. "we will take council at noon and prepare. now, lads! down with the walls, rip up the floors, down with everything! remember this--a first advantage is a sure prelude to a final disaster unless followed up. do you know why we have taken and destroyed this 'church'? because the ruffians had surprised us and made easy spoil at ste. soure. they sat down here to eat and drink and lay down to sleep in full confidence that we were overawed. now we have surprised them. take care lest what chanced to them chance also to us. at noon meet in the ste. soure church. now to work. down with the rest of the twigs of this vultures' nest!" with a cheer the men set to work to demolish the castle that had so long menaced the country. there were many willing hands employed, and the work was already half done; it needed little more than some shaking to throw the entire structure to pieces. only here and there was there solid wall; that here and there was where there was solid shelf on which to build. elsewhere all was wooden framework filled with stones. thus was l'eglise guillem destroyed. at the same time some great thing was won. the people, spasmodically, had exerted its power, and had acquired consciousness of its strength; it held up for a moment the head that had been for so many centuries bowed under the feet of its tyrants. it had looked military power in the face, and had not winced. chapter xiv. the battle of the beune. le gros guillem, at the head of fifty men, was on his way to chastise the peasants of the vézère valley. the number he had with him was not large, but he was unable to spare more for this expedition. a sufficient garrison must be left in domme. besides, to deal with peasants, a handful of soldiers with steel caps and swords was certain to suffice; hitherto it had sufficed, and that at all times. what was del' peyra? he had never distinguished himself in feats of arms; no one had ever heard that he had taken them up at any time. the dung-fork and the ox-goad befitted him. it was said he had more than once ploughed his own land. the men were mounted so as to make the _chevauchée_ as rapidly and effectively as possible, without allowing those whom they were resolved to attack time to bestir themselves and assemble to offer resistance. if these ste. soure peasants did learn that the _ribauds_ were coming they would flee to the rocks and hide themselves there. that they should attempt resistance was not to be anticipated. guillem had determined to burn every house in the village, to devastate the fields, cut down all the fruit-trees, and try whether fire and an escalade would enable him to capture le peuch, the stronghold of the del' peyras, so that he might be able to punish the chief offender, the seigneur ogier, as well as all his retainers and vassals. the captain alone was silent and immersed in gloomy thoughts. the rest of the company were merry and indulged in banter. they were bound on an expedition of all others best to their liking. as they descended the valley of the little beune they passed under the rock of cazelles, and looked up with a laugh at the peasants who were peering out of the holes of the cliff, much like jackdaws. not a bullock, not a sheep was left in the valley. the houses were deserted, and probably everything that could be carried away had been transmitted to the cave refuges. "look!" mocked one of the riders. "the fellows had such a scare the other day at ste. soure that these villains at cazelles have not yet recovered confidence." where the little beune unites with the great beune the blended calcareous waters ooze through bog in a dreamlike, purposeless manner round a shoulder of rock that is precipitous, but which has a sufficiency of solid ground at its feet to allow of a practicable way being carried over this deposit. the beune and the vézère are like two different types of character. the latter never deviates from the direction it has resolved on taking except when opposed by obstacles impossible to overleap, and these it circumvents. it saws down every barrier it can; it never halts for a moment; if it turns back in the direction it has been pursuing it is solely that it may seek out a channel more direct and less tortuous. it is so with men and women who have a clear conception of an object at which they are aiming, some purpose in their lives. with the beune it is otherwise. it has no perceptible current; it does not run; it has no flow; it slips down. it finds itself in a channel and drifts along from one stagnation to another; it has had nothing whatever to do with the formation of its channel. it does not even lie in a bed of its own making. it is a bog and not a river--here and there spreading into pools that wait for an impulse to be given them by the wind, by the whisk of a heron's wing, to form the ripple that will carry some of its water over the calcareous bar it has itself raised by its own inertness. no one could say, looking at the beune, in which direction it was tending, and it does not seem to have any idea itself. its sluggishness accumulates obstacles; marsh grass is given time to throw out its fibrous roots, and reeds to build up hurdles across the stream, and the cretaceous particles settle at leisure into walls obstructing it; consequently diverting it. it lurches stupidly from side to side and then listlessly gives up every effort of advance. we stoop to drink of the vézère. we turn in disgust from the beune. on each side of the vézère as it swings along is alluvial soil--beds of the utmost richness that laugh with verdure, where the hay harvest is gathered thrice in the year. in the equally broad valley of the beune is no pasture at all, nothing good, nothing but profitless morass. where the waters touch good soil they corrupt it. the crystal waters of the vézère nourish every herb they reach; the turbid ooze of the beune kills, petrifies all life that approaches it. is not this also a picture of certain characters? characters!--save the mark! characterless individuals that we have seen, perhaps have to do with, whom we avoid when possible.[ ] [ ] within the last five years a determined effort has been made to reclaim the valley of the beune. to do this, a channel has been cut for the river, that has to be incessantly cleared. hardly had the band of _routiers_ turned into the main valley, and the foremost men had reached the cliff, before a horn was blown, and at once a shower of stones was hurled from above the horsemen. at the same moment they saw that the road before them was barricaded. trees had been felled and thrown across the track, and from behind this barricade scowled black faces and flashed weapons. some of the horses reared, struck by the stones; some of the riders were thrown to the ground. the horses, frightened, bounded from the road. they could not turn, being pressed on by those behind; they rushed away from the shower of stones into the level track of valley-bed on their right, and at once foundered in the morass. there they plunged, endeavoured to extricate themselves, and sank deeper. the semi-petrified fibres through which their hoofs sank, held to their legs, and prevented the beasts from withdrawing them. after a few frantic and fruitless efforts they sank to their bellies and remained motionless, with that singular stolidity that comes over a beast when it resigns itself to circumstances which it recognises it has not the power to overcome. the men who had been carried into the marsh threw themselves off. the _routiers_ were wiser than were the knights at agincourt. they did not overburden themselves with defensive armour which would weigh them down and render them incapable of movement. most of their clothing was of leather, with but a little steel over their breasts and shoulders. with agility they threw themselves from their sinking horses, and waded to the hard ground. at times they floundered deep, but were able to throw themselves forward and where the surface was most precarious, advanced like lizards, till they reached ground where the rushes showed that it was sufficiently compact to sustain them upright. meanwhile, those in the rear who had halted when the first ranks were broken and dispersed hesitated what to do. to push forward was to incur the same fate, and their pride would not suffer them to retreat. the captain was behind. he was suffering greatly. his wounded feet had begun to inflame; they were swollen and tortured by the compression of his boots. he could not bear to rest his soles on the stirrup-irons. to rise in his stirrups and hew with his great sword, as he had purposed, was impossible. the pain he endured fevered his blood, churned his anger to frenzy, which this unexpected check did not serve to moderate. he had his wits about him, however, and he saw that those who held the rock must be dislodged or no advance could be made. accordingly, he ordered a party of his men to dismount, peg their horses, and ascend to where the peasants were threatening them with their piles of stones. this could be done--at all events attempted--from the lateral valley, where the slope was moderate and densely overgrown with coppice. bitterly now did the leader regret that for a second time he had underrated the spirit and the sagacity of his opponents. he ought to have marched at the head of a larger contingent or have postponed his attempt till a more suitable opportunity presented itself. with his usual effrontery, guillem had ridden across country by the shortest way, through the lands of the bishop of sarlat, instead of descending the dordogne to the junction of the vézère, and then ascending the latter river to ste. soure. he had not done this for two reasons--one was that the formidable castle of beynac, in french hands, blocked the passage down the dordogne; the other was that he had measured and properly appreciated the incapacity of the prelate: he knew the bishop had not the men at his disposal to send to contest his passage. at this time his real danger lay, as he very well knew, in tidings of his ride reaching the castle of commarques, hardly an hour's distance up the valley of the great beune. this was a dependence of beynac, and was held for the french king.[ ] what garrison was there he knew not, but it was certain to be small. nevertheless, even a small band of troopers or experienced men-at-arms assailing him in rear while engaged in bursting through this barrier of peasants before him might be more than dangerous, it might prove disastrous. [ ] this splendid ruin--one of the finest in périgord--has been recently purchased by the prince de croye, who is engaged in cutting and constructing roads to it, with the purpose of restoring the castle as a residence. a charming residence it is likely to prove to such as are mosquito-proof. resolved at all hazards to dislodge those on the height, he sent his lieutenant up the steep hillside at the head of his trustiest men, or, rather, as many of these as he could spare without breaking the ranks directly opposed to those who watched and menaced from behind the barricade. but the task of storming the height was one that was difficult. not only was the party sent up it inadequate in numbers, not only were the assailants inconvenienced by the steepness of the ascent, but their weapons were not calculated to be effective in a tangle of chestnut, rowan, and sloe laced about with ropes of bramble and clematis. they carried swords; they were unprovided with pikes; whereas those who held the height were armed with knives fastened to long poles, which they could thrust with excellent effect at the men who were attacking. time was expended in the scramble; and the assailants were exhausted before they came within sight of the eyes of those they were sent to dislodge. in the brushwood the _routiers_ could not keep together; the many sprays shooting up from stumps of felled chestnut separated them. they had to hack their way through the tough chains of clematis, and they were lacerated by the thorns of the sloe-bushes and the teeth of the wild rose and blackberry-briar. they could not come to a hand-to-hand fight. their enemies calmly waited, watching them in their struggle, and drove at them with their blades through the bushes, forcing them to spring back to avoid death. it took some time for the lieutenant in command to realise that he had been dispatched on a task which he was incompetent to achieve. but when he had determined this, he bade his men desist and retreat to the valley below. they had not retreated far on their way down before they saw that the aspect of affairs below was greatly changed since they had started on their scramble. behind the barricade had been ranged the charcoal-burners with their forks, under the command of ogier del' peyra. these had remained covered by their breastwork, expecting the enemy to make a second attempt to advance along the road. when, however, this was not done, and they saw them drawn up motionless, and shortly after heard the shouts and cries from the height, then ogier recognised that the line of men before him was covering an attack on his son, who held the rock. he at once gave the signal to advance at a rush. with a shout of joy the charcoal-burners burst over the barricade and charged along the road, led by the seigneur, and fell upon the double line of troopers. a furious hand-to-hand mêlée ensued. the horses were alarmed by the sable figures with black faces and hands who sprang at them, and recoiled, not only from the sight, but also at their smell, producing disorder. the struggle that ensued was hand to hand. no quarter was asked and none was given. the _routiers_ were borne back, several had fallen, but also many colliers rolled on the ground. at this juncture, down from the hill, out from among the coppice leaped the contingent that had failed to capture the height. it arrived at the most critical moment, just as the horsemen were struggling to disengage themselves and fly. they came upon the colliers in rear, they stopped accessions to their ranks from behind. now their blades served them well, and the rout that had begun was arrested. the arrival of this body of men startled the peasants. they did not understand whence they had sprung; and they retreated. "turn! back to domme!" yelled the captain. the men recovered their horses, remounted, and still fighting, began the retreat. as they came under cazelles a shower of projectiles was launched upon them from above. the peasants gave over the pursuit. they were incapable of keeping pace with the horses. and now, as they fell back, down from the height came jean del' peyra with his men. "where is my father?" he asked eagerly, and looked round. old ogier was nowhere to be seen. "search among the fallen!" ordered jean in great alarm. every dead and dying man was examined. then came back a charcoal-burner, hot, for he had been running, and the sweat streaming over his face had washed it into streaks, like those that stain the face of the chalk cliffs. "what--the seigneur?" asked the man. "he is taken." "taken!" "aye, taken and carried away by the _rouffiens_." chapter xv. a threatened horror. when gros guillem returned to the castle of domme, his feet were so swollen that the boots had to be cut off, and his feet swathed in linen. by his orders, ogier del' peyra was thrown into a dungeon for the night. the old seigneur had been surrounded, disarmed, and captured by some of the _routiers_ while recovering their horses, which ogier was endeavouring to prevent by cutting their reins. as soon as he was taken he knew that his doom was sealed, and he bore the knowledge with his usual stolidity, amounting to indifference. a quiet, plodding, heavy man he had ever been, only notable for his rectitude in the midst of a tortuous generation; he had been roused to energy and almost savagery by circumstances, and, thus roused, had manifested a power and prevision which no one had expected to find in him. now that all was done that he could do, he slid back into his ordinary quietude. he slept soundly in his prison, for he had greatly excited and tired himself during the day. "man can die but once," he said; and the saying was characteristic of the man--it was commonplace. this was, perhaps, less the case when he added, "an honest conscience can look death in the face without blushing." consequently, when thrust into his dungeon, he took the blanket ungraciously afforded him, and wrapped it round him, ate his portion of bread, drank a draught of water, signed himself--said the peasant's prayer, common in quercy and périgord as in england-- al let you mé coutsi cinq antsels y trobi: doux al capt, trés as pès, et la mayré de diou al met.[ ] [ ] equivalent to our "four corners to my bed; two angels at my head; two to bottom; two to pray; two to bear my soul away." then he threw up his feet on the board that was given him for bed, and in five minutes slept and snored. it was otherwise with le gros guillem. he would tolerate no one near him but his wife and daughter, and they came in for explosions of wrath. the fever caused by pain had inflamed his head: he talked, swore, raged against everyone and all things, and boasted of the example he would make on the morrow of the man who was in his power. noémi knew that some expedition had been undertaken, and that it had failed, but she knew no particulars, certainly had no idea that it had resulted in the capture of jean del' peyra's father. she bathed and bound up her father's feet, and applied cold water as often as they began to burn. this gradually eased him, especially as he lay with his feet raised. the wounds he had received were of no great depth, but they were painful, because the soles of the feet are especially sensitive; and as all the grit and thorns had been removed by the surgeon before he left domme, there was no fear but that with rest he would be well again in a week or ten days; well enough at least to walk a little. the wife of gros guillem was a dreamy, desponding woman, who paid no attention to what he said, interested herself in no way in his affairs; neither stirring him to deeds of violence nor interfering to mitigate the miseries wrought by him. she accepted her position placidly. she was fond of guillem in her fashion without being demonstrative, and it was a marvel to everyone how it was that he was so attached to her, and that she had maintained her hold on him through so many years. it was reported, and the report was true, that the lady had been carried off by guillem from the castle of fénelon. guillem had retained her, in defiance of the excommunication launched at him by the bishop of cahors, and in defiance of the more trenchant and material weapons wielded against him by the fénelon family, which was powerful in quercy, and had a fortress on the dordogne above domme, and a house and rock castle above la roque gageac, side by side with that belonging to the bishop of sarlat. in an affray with guillem's company the husband had been killed; the widow accepted this fact as she had accepted the fact that she had been carried off by violence. she sighed, lamented, pitied herself as a veritable martyr, and acquiesced in being the wife of the man who, though he had not killed her husband with his own hand, had caused his death. with morning guillem was easier and his head cooler, but there was no alteration in his resolve with regard to del' peyra. he would deal with him in such a signal manner as would from henceforth deter any man from lifting a finger against himself. in his fever he had racked his brain to consider in what manner he would treat him. he sent for his lieutenant and ordered that he should himself be carried into the keep. "and," said he, "bring up the prisoner--and call up the men, into the lower dungeon." noémi was walking on the terrace of the castle that same morning; she had been up late, had attended to the fevered man, her father, and now was sauntering in the cool under the shade of the lime-trees, clipped _en berceau_, that occupied the walk on the walls--a walk that commanded the glorious valley of the dordogne, that wondrous river which flows through some of the most beautiful and wild scenery in europe, and is also the most neglected by the traveller in quest of beauty and novelty. at this time she knew something of the events of the previous day. she knew also of the taking and the destruction of l'eglise guillem. twice had the del' peyras measured their strength against the redoubted captain, and twice had they forced him to fly. at the head of raw peasants without rudimentary discipline they had defied and beaten the troopers of a hundred skirmishes. she was not surprised. she had seen rossignol. great wrongs wake corresponding forces that must expend themselves on the wrong-doers. it is but a matter of time before the thunder-cloud bursts. every crime committed sends up its steam to swell the vaporous masses and carries with it the lightning. nursed though noémi had been in an atmosphere of violence, hearing of it as matter for exultation, the ruin of households and homesteads spoken of as a matter of course, she had never been brought face to face with the wreckage till she was shown it at ste. soure. and did she feel anger against the del' peyras for having taken up arms to revenge their wrongs? nothing was more natural: nothing more just where the crown and law were powerless, than that men should right themselves. she would have despised the del' peyras had they sat down under their wrong without any attempt to repay it. noémi's nature was a good one, but it was undisciplined. her mother had allowed her to go her own way. her father treated her with indulgence, and that precisely where she should have been checked. in a lawless society she had learned to fear neither god nor the king. both were too far off. the one in heaven, the other in england; too distant to rule effectively. a certain perfunctory homage was claimed by both, neither was regarded as exercising any control over men. a feudal service was all that a bandit in those days, or indeed any baron or seigneur, thought of rendering to the almighty. he would fight in a crusade for him, he would do knightly homage in church, but he would no more obey the laws of the christian religion than he would those of the realm of france. noémi had seen but little of jean del' peyra, and yet that little had surprised her, and had awoke in her thoughts that were to her strange, and yet, though strange, consonant with her instinctive sense of what was right and wrong. jean del' peyra not only surprised her, but occupied her thoughts: she saw, almost for the first time, in him one of a different order from the men with whom she had been thrown. even her cousins, the tardes, were akin in mind and consciencelessness to the _routiers._what they did that was right was done rather out of blind obedience to instinct, or allegiance to their feudal lord, the bishop of sarlat. they were noble, for they had escutcheons over their doors, but all their nobility was external. they were boastful, empty roysterers. on the other hand, the del' peyras were quiet, made no pretence to being more than they were, and were inspired with a moral sense and a regard for their fellow-men. she saw how far greater was the influence exerted by the old man and his son than was exercised by that remorseless man of war, guillem, or the braggart jacques tarde. her father controlled men by fear; ogier del' peyra moved men by respect. the captain was a destructive, and only a destructive element. solely by means of men like the del' peyras could human happiness and well-being be built up. noémi was a thoughtful girl. at first, somewhat contemptuously, she had set down jean del' peyra as a milksop; from what she had heard, his father was but a country clown. but the country clown and the milksop had revealed in themselves a force, an energy quite unexpected. noémi laughed as her busy mind worked. she laughed to think of the discomfiture of professional fighting men, accustomed to arms from their youth, by a parcel of inexperienced peasants and charcoal-burners. she was glad that these oppressed beings had risen. it showed that there was in them a nature above that of rabbits. she had seen a thousand times the holes into which they ran at the glint of a spearhead, at the jangle of a spur. but now they had issued from their holes and had hunted like wolves. but these poor, ignorant timid peasants would never have done this had they not been led. it was the moral character, the true nobility of the del' peyras that had rallied the people around them, given them courage, and directed their blind impulse of revenge into proper forms of retaliation. was the execution of those ten men of her father's band to be accounted a wanton act of cruelty? noémi could not admit this. some such rude administration of justice was rendered necessary by the times. the men who had suffered had merited their death by a hundred deeds of barbarity. it was as though a spell had fallen on the girl. she was exultant, her heart was bounding with pride, and that because her father and his ruffians had been put to rout by their adversaries. the girl was unable to explain to herself the reason of this, but, indeed, she did not admit to herself that it was as has been described. yet she was sensible that some spell was on her. she had proposed to cast one on jean. that kiss she had given him had been intended to work the charm. but, alack! there are dangerous spells which a witch may weave that affect herself as much as her victim, and of such was even this. as noémi paced the terrace, her mind in a ferment, she was accosted by roger, the good-natured, somewhat impudent fellow who had attended her on her expedition to the devil's table. he had torn off his red cross, but he had not left domme, nor, indeed, the castle. he would no longer share in an expedition against ste. soure, but he was not unwilling to do any other service for the captain. he could now exult over his comrades who had returned from such an expedition with diminished numbers, defeated. he approached the girl and accosted her. noémi answered curtly that she did not desire to speak to him. she disliked the forwardness of the man. "but," said he, "i would save his life--he saved mine." "save whom?" "the seigneur del' peyra." "what of him?" "he was taken yesterday." "the seigneur--taken!" "and the captain is now with him--in the dungeon under the keep." "doing what?" asked noémi in breathless alarm. "there is none in the world can save him but yourself; the captain would listen to no one else." "save him--from what?" "the _oubliette_." chapter xvi. vade in pace. the thought of undefined horror conveyed by that word "_oubliette_" for a moment held noémi as though it had paralysed her. but this was for a moment only, and then she bounded in the direction of the keep. a word must be said as to what an _oubliette_ was. in almost every mediæval castle in france and germany the visitor is shown holes, usually in the floor, that descend to a considerable depth, and which are said to be _oubliettes_--that is to say, places down which prisoners were dropped when it was to the interest of the lord of the castle to sink them in oblivion. sometimes these places communicate with a river or a lake, as at chillon, and this passage is set with irons, presumably to cut in pieces the body of the man cast down it. in the vast majority of cases these so-called _oubliettes_ are nothing but openings connected with the drainage of the castle or else are the well-mouths of cisterns in which the rain-water from the roofs was collected and stored. nevertheless, the fact that skeletons have been found in some of the closed subterranean vaults, and that a percentage of them cannot be explained as having been anything else but receptacles for prisoners thrown in, to die a languishing death, and lastly, the historic certainty that some poor wretches have so perished, shows that popular belief is not wholly unfounded. the writer has himself been let down by ropes into one in which four skeletons were entombed, and it is well known that in one of the counts of armagnac so disposed of his cousin, who lingered on thus immured for eight days. the son would have shared his father's fate but that out of horror at the notion of being flung down the well on the corpse of his father, the poor lad dropped dead on the brink. moreover, under the title of _vade in pace_, the _oubliette_ was used, not in castles only, but in convents as well, and was there introduced by matthew, prior of st. martin des prés, in languedoc, in the middle of the fourteenth century, when the archbishop of toulouse interfered to forbid the employment of this inhuman mode of execution. a prelate might step in to check the barbarity of a prior, but who was there to hold the hand of a noble? noémi saw a cluster of men outside the door that led into the dungeon, and forced her way through them. the dungeon was not large, it would not admit more than a dozen men. it opened on to a platform of rock on the outside of the castle, not into the inner court. access to it was obtained by a doorway in the basement of the keep, where the wall was ten feet thick. the chamber was vaulted, and only near the middle sufficiently lofty to admit of anyone standing upright in it. there was no window by which light and air could penetrate. when the door was shut, both were excluded. the walls, the floor, the vault were of square-cut limestone. at the further end, immediately opposite the door was a recess, conchoidal, and in this recess what seemed to be a well. there was a stone step in the floor, and above that a circular coped wall, precisely such as may be seen where there is a well; with this difference, that the orifice was not two feet in diameter, a very inconvenient size for a bucket to pass up or down. in the dungeon sat le gros guillem on a pallet, with his feet raised and bandaged. before him, bound, with his hands behind his back, was ogier del' peyra, between two jailers. the old man had concluded that his head would be struck off, at the worst that he would be hanged. the sight of the _vade in pace_, and the knowledge that he was to be cast down alive and left to a lingering agony, had blanched his cheek, but did not make him tremble. ogier did not know, he could not guess, the depth of the _oubliette_. but he was aware that such were sometimes not so profound but that he who was flung in broke some of his bones, and thus died of a combination of miseries. happy he who, falling on his head, was reduced at once to unconsciousness. "well, del' peyra," cried guillem, in his harsh tones, rendered harsher by the feverishness and weariness of the past night, "will you not stoop to beg of me your life?" "it is of no use," answered ogier. "hold the lights, that i may see him!" ordered the captain. two of his men brought torches that emitted as much smoke as light. in the dungeon, darkened by the men crowding the door, artificial illumination was necessary. "you are right there!" shouted guillem, in response to the words of ogier. "i shall not spare your life. but what think you of the mode of death? come, kneel, kiss my foot--wounded through you; and i may consent to have you hanged instead of thrown down yonder!" he indicated the well-like opening. the glare of the torches was on guillem's face as much as on that of his prisoner. he was haggard with pain and mortified pride. he was but half-dressed, was in his shirt, and his shirt was open over his red, hairy breast. his tall, polished head shone like copper in the lurid flicker of the links. his great mouth, half open with a grim laugh, revealed the teeth, pointed as though to bite and tear. he was very thin, but muscular, and his limbs were long. as already said, it was but in jest that he was entitled "le gros." it may be questioned whether in the heart of a single ruffian present there stirred the smallest emotion of pity for the man who was to be sent to so horrible a fate, for all had been humbled by ogier, and all angrily resented their humiliation. moreover, all desired to avenge their ten companions. "hold up the light, that i may see how he relishes it!" ordered guillem, brutally. then he said: "pull off his boots, strip him to his shirt." but immediately he countermanded the order. "nay," said he, "leave him his leather belt and boots; he may satisfy his cravings on them. and, sieur ogier, when you want more leather, call for my boots. they have been cut to pieces, and are useless to me. they may make a meal for you." the captain looked steadily at his victim from under his lowering eyebrows. "how came you to think of resisting me?" he asked. ogier shrugged his shoulders. "this execution will be noised everywhere," continued guillem. "i shall take care of that. and then every man will have a wholesome dread of me, and a fear of resisting me." "not my son jean," retorted ogier. "your son jean comes next," said the captain. "i shall deal with him presently." "you must catch him first," said ogier. "take the prisoner to the hold!" shouted guillem. then the two jailers laid their hands on the shoulders of ogier del' peyra. "you need not drag me. i can walk," said the old man. those crowding the close and narrow dungeon fell back, as well as they were able, to make a passage for the condemned man. he was taken to the well-mouth and seated on it, with his face towards the door, through which glimpses of sunlight were visible athwart the heads that filled the opening. ogier had been divested of his jerkin. he was in his shirt and breeches and boots. as the captain had bidden that his belt should be left him, this had been refastened about his waist, after that his coat had been removed. in order to divest him of his outer garments it had been necessary for the jailers to remove the handcuffs that had fastened his arms behind his back. "cursed smoke!" said guillem. "we are smothered in the fume. stand aside all of you and let the fresh air enter, that we may breathe. hearken, ogier! will you yet ask life of me?" at guillem's command the men had stepped forth and completely cleared the entrance, so that the brilliant sunlight flowed in as well as the pure air. and this light fell directly on the man who was soon to be excluded for ever from it. he was seated on the well-mouth in his white shirt. his face was as grey as the thick hair of his beard. he was conscious that he was looking for the last time at the light. he could see intense blue sky, and one fleecy cloud in it. he could see the green turf, and some yellow tansies standing against a bit of wall in shade, the tansies in full sunlight; and he could see a red admiral butterfly hovering about them. it was marvellous how, with death before him, he could yet distinguish so much. but he looked at everything with a sort of greed, because he saw all these things for the last time. for the first and only moment in his life he saw that a red admiral was beautiful, that the sky was beautiful, the grass beautiful. "you have not answered me," said le gros guillem, sneering. "messire ogier, will you yet ask life of me?" "if you were in my hands, as i am in yours, would you ask that question?" le gros guillem paused one moment. then with an oath-- "no!" "nor i of you," said ogier gravely. guillem raised his hands. the fingers were inordinately long and thin. he made a sign to the jailers, one of whom stood back, on each side of ogier, by the well-mouth, with his hand on the shoulder of the prisoner. each man, as was customary, had his face covered--that is to say, a black sack was drawn over his head, in which were two holes cut, through which peered the eyes. "throw him down!" at that moment, taking advantage of the avenue made for the admission of air, noémi rushed in. a couple of men stepped forward to intercept her, but she was too nimble for them; she was within almost as soon as they thought of throwing themselves in her way, and had cast herself upon ogier and clasped him with her arms. "father! father! it cannot, it shall not be!" the door was filled again; the men crowded in to see what new turn events would take, whether this intervention would avail. the jailers desisted as they were raising the old man; they felt that the sight of the execution of the sentence could not be permitted to a young girl. moreover, she held del' peyra fast, and he could not be extricated from her arms without the exercise of force. "noémi!" exclaimed le gros guillem, throwing his feet off the pallet, "what is the meaning of this? why are you here? at once away! do you hear me?" "i will not let go! he shall not die! father, it cannot--it shall not be!" "unloose her arms," ordered guillem, and signed to the men. firmly they obeyed. it was in vain that the girl clung, writhed, endeavoured to disengage her arms from their grasp, and clung to the condemned man. they held her like a vice and drew her back from the pit-mouth and interposed their persons between her and the man she was endeavouring to save. then, in a paroxysm of horror and pity, noémi threw herself on her knees before her father and implored him to yield. "what is del' peyra to you?" he asked sternly. "nothing--nothing," she gasped. "oh, father, let him go! let him go!" "twice have you interfered between me and him. why is that?" she could not answer his question; she did not attempt to do so. she persisted in her entreaties. in her anguish she caught hold of one of his injured feet and made him cry out with pain. "father! if i have ever done anything for you! if you have any love for me--any thought to do what i wish--grant me this. spare him! spare him!" "never!" answered le gros guillem. then he waved his long hand and said, "remove this silly girl." but when noémi felt hands laid on her, she leaped to her feet, shook herself free, and said, panting-- "let be! do not touch me! i ask his life, no more." "you do well, child," sneered the captain. "you then run no more risk of disappointment." "yet--if that be denied me, there is one thing i do ask," gasped noémi. her breath came as though she had been running up hill. she put her hands to her head, and held it, till she had recovered sufficiently to proceed. "there is one thing i do ask," she repeated. "do not cast him down--let him down gently." a harsh laugh from le gros guillem. "you are a silly child, a fool, who know not what you ask. you will prolong his torture, not shorten it--but you shall have your wish. be it so." he waved to the jailers. "go, child, go!" said he to his daughter. "i will stay and see it done," she said. "i will not ask another thing." she stood erect and looked at the old man; her mouth quivered, and her eyes were as though fixed hard in their sockets like stones in a setting. and the sight was one to freeze the blood. the jailers raised ogier, who offered no resistance, but fixed his eyes strainingly on a spot of light above a man's head in the doorway. he was lifted till his feet were above the well, and then he was let down by ropes passed under his arms, slowly, deliberately. those holding the torches raised them, and the smoke described cabalistic devices on the roof. the glare was on the sinking man. he went down below his knees, then his waist disappeared. involuntarily he put forth his arms to arrest his descent, by gripping the well-breast, but recollected that resistance was in vain, and lowered his arms to his sides. then his breast was hidden, then his shoulders went under. for a moment all visible was the ghastly grey face with the glittering eyes, and then--that also was gone. he uttered no cry, no groan, he went down like a dead man, into profound darkness, into his living tomb. all was still in the dungeon, save for the labouring breath of those who looked on. the jailers lowered till the ropes became slack. then they knew the poor wretch was on the floor of the vault below. each man threw down one end of his rope and drew at the other, even as at a funeral the ropes are withdrawn when the dead has been lowered. in the stillness, guillem laughed--silently--showing all his fangs, and waving his arms in the direction of the _oubliette_ mouth, and extending his lean fingers said-- "_vade in pace!_" chapter xvii. in the raven's nest. when le gros guillem was carried back to his room, he said to his wife, "where is noémi?" "i believe--that is, i suppose she is going to her aunt tarde at la roque. she said something about it. something has occurred and she is not herself. i don't know what it is." "i dare say!" laughed the captain. "noémi has witnessed this day what has been seen by few girls. she stood it manfully--at the last." "i dare say. i know nothing about it," said his wife. "if she is going to la roque, then roger and amanieu shall accompany her. i have a letter to transmit to ste. soure." he sent for writing materials, and wrote in a scrawling hand: "dear and most valiant friend, seigneur jean del' peyra at le peuch ste. soure.--please you to know that your father is let down into oblivion. dear and well-loved sir, god have you ever in guard. "written at domme, wednesday, and sent by the hands of roger and amanieu." that was the fashion of epistolary correspondence as conducted in those times. "dear friend" was the salutation to a deadly foe, "god have you ever in guard," when the writer would like to cut the throat of him he addressed. such was the letter received by jean del' peyra. it was not explicit. he had been in the greatest anxiety relative to his father. that he would be put to ransom was his hope, but not his expectation. he looked to the bearer of the epistle for explanation, and then for the first time saw noémi, her face rigid and ghastly, as though she had seen a ghost, and could not shake off the impression. "jean," she said, "let them go back. i will tell you all, between you and myself. no, not back. step aside." when noémi saw that she and jean were alone she said-- "do you not understand? your father--he has been let down into an _oubliette_." jean started back as though he had been struck in the face by a mailed hand. "and now," proceeded noémi, "there is but one chance for him, one way open to you." "where--where is it?" gasped the lad. "at domme. no, you cannot storm that castle. it has held out against french and english, and it would hold out against your peasants." jean looked at her in silence. what other way was open? "you must go yourself to domme," she said. "and entreat for my father? we will sell all--land, castle, seigneury--all!" "that will not suffice. the captain would take you and cast you in where lies your unhappy father." "then what do you mean?" "you must take me." "along with me--to domme?" "no, take and confine me here." "i do not understand." "i can--i saw it. i saw it at once when i was in that horrible place, when my father refused to listen to me and i pleaded for him. then i saw clearly there was no other chance for his life." "and that is----?" "that you put me into the same position." "what, in an _oubliette_?" "put me in a dungeon, and threaten unless your father be restored, and back here safe by sunrise to-morow, that you will cast me down as he has been cast down." "we have no _oubliettes_ here." "you have precipices." jean looked in astonishment at the girl. "see, jean!" she said, and a dark spot came in each cheek, "by no other way can you rescue your father than by going before _him_--i mean my father, and threatening that unless your father be released immediately, you will have me put to the same horrible end." "never!" "it must be." "it would never be done--never." "listen to me, jean. you must have me imprisoned here. place guards over me and go to my father fearlessly. say to him that the instant the first spark of the sun lifts over yon hill"--she pointed to the heights opposite--"if the seigneur and you are not here to stay their hands, you have told your guards to throw me down." "if i were to threaten it, it would not be done." "yes, it would. do you suppose that your peasants here and your armed men would spare me if they knew that their seigneur and his son had both been sacrificed by le gros guillem? they would tear me to pieces. the women would stab me with their bodkins. i had rather be dashed down the cliffs than that." the young man remained silent, considering. the girl's proposal did give him a hope of recovering his father; the threat, which he did not for a moment entertain the thought of executing, might, perhaps, force the _routier_ captain to surrender his prey. noémi plucked a ring from her finger and extended it to jean. "i see," said she, "you will yield. take this as token to my father that i am here, as sign that your menace is not an idle one. now lead me away." in the congeries of precipitous cliffs, like teeth, that rise above ste. soure and go by the name of le peuch, one possesses a rock-refuge of a peculiar character. to reach it a steep ascent has to be effected up an almost vertical piece of rock, in which places have been cut for the feet. this climb gives access to a grassy ledge. if this ledge be pursued, a buttress of crag is reached that completely blocks the terrace. but this has been scooped out, like a carious tooth, into a chamber or guard-room. it is entered by a door artificially cut, and he who explores the place there finds himself in an apartment with a window dug through the face looking south, and with sheer precipice below it. at the back are seats cut in the stone. immediately opposite the entrance is another door, communicating with another ledge, which, however, does not extend more than ten feet, and ends in steep cliff. along the face of this cliff holes have been scooped for the reception of the feet, so that a man can walk along the front of the rock till he reaches a projecting mass like that he has traversed, and this mass is excavated into a series of chambers. this rock-refuge is one that could not be taken, if only moderate precautions were observed. the man who passed in the socket-holes for his feet to the door of the first chamber scooped out in the scar must traverse in front of a window, through which it would suffice for a child to thrust his hand to touch him to upset his balance and send him headlong below to certain death. there was no place better calculated to serve as a prison than this raven's nest, as it was called. jean was by no means sure that what noémi said might not come true; if the peasants learned who she was, they might take advantage of his absence literally to tear her to pieces, for they were greatly exasperated at the loss of their master, the old seigneur. if he were to leave the girl for some hours at le peuch, she must not only be protected against an attempt at recapture, but against the resentment of his own people, who might lose their heads when they found that he as well as his father was lost to them. a woman like rossignol's wife was a firebrand inflamed with unslaked lust for revenge. a few words from her might set all in movement. the southern gauls are an impulsive, excitable, and, when excited, an unreasoning people. the _routiers_ had not spared their wives and daughters, why should they scruple about reprisals on the daughter of their deadliest oppressor? distressed as jean was at his father's fate, the fear of what might happen to noémi if left alone at le peuch for a moment overbore his filial distress. "you must follow me," he said; and he beckoned to the two men who had attended her to accompany him as well. without further words he led them up the ascent, along the ledge, and into the guard-room. there he said to amanieu and roger-- "your captain's daughter is going to remain yonder." he pointed across the gulf to the rock chambers in the projecting mass of cliff. "i shall not be at ste. soure to protect her. you know what these people are. even you are not safe, though my father granted you both your lives. as i see, you no longer bear the brand of lawlessness. do not concern yourself about what takes me away. i leave you here in guard of her. let no one approach. yonder, in those retreats, there is always a supply of food, in case of emergency. there is water also. you need not enter for that. she will pass to you what you require through the window. keep guard here for her sake and for your own, till i return." then to noémi he said, "dare you follow me?" "i!" she said, and almost laughed. "have you forgotten the stair to the bishop's castle?" jean stepped off the platform, and walked along the face of the rock and was immediately followed by the girl, without the least misgiving or giddiness. on reaching the door cut in the crag on the further side, jean stepped in. these rock chambers are cool in summer and warm in winter. there was no well here dug in the heart of the rock. probably owing to its height above the level of the vézère--some feet--it had not been thought likely that a vein of water would be tapped; so the atmospheric moisture was caught by little runnels scored in the rock, and all these runnels led into a receiver, in which there was generally to be found a supply of water, though not a great quantity. each window was provided with shutters, and doors fitted into the entrances, and could be fastened. beds were scooped in the rock, arched above, and these couches were strewn with heather and fern. in cupboards cut in the walls were stores, to be used in case of necessity. when jean had shown the girl everything, he held out his hand. "noémi!" he said, and his voice shook, "good-bye! we may never meet again. but do not think that harm would be done you by me--even if the worst were to happen!" "jean!" she answered gravely, and went to the doorway, and looked down. "do you think that anyone who fell here, who tripped coming along these steps, who stumbled at the threshold, would not be dashed to pieces in an instant?" "i am sure he would. that is what affords you protection here." "i do not mean that, jean." she refrained from speaking for a moment. he put out his hand to her, and she took his. both their hands trembled. "jean, i shall watch for the sunrise from the little window. if you and your father have not returned----" "then we shall both perish together in the _oubliette_." "yes--and the moment the sun comes up----" "noémi--what then?" "the moment i see the first fire-spark----" "noémi!" he feared to hear what she was going to say. "yes, jean, i shall throw myself down--here." chapter xviii. in the depths. before that jean del' peyra ventured to cross the dordogne and approach domme, he fastened a white kerchief to his cap, as token that he came on peaceful errand, as bearer of a message. as such he was received within the walls, and was conducted to the castle, and given admission to the vaulted hall in which lay le gros guillem on his pallet with his feet up. the long, lean, pale-faced man looked hard at him when admitted, and said-- "who are you?" "i am jean del' peyra," answered the lad, and cast his cap with its white appendage on the table. "jean del' peyra! and you venture here!" roared the captain. "you must in verity be a fool!" "i came--trusting to that," said the youth with composure, pointing to the white token. "then you came trusting in vain. i regard it not." "perhaps you will regard this," said jean, extending the ring, which he plucked from his little finger. the captain looked at the signet, started, and brayed forth-- "that belongs to noémi! how came you by that? you have murdered her." "i have not murdered her. if she dies it will be through you. she is my captive." "i do not understand." le gros guillem slipped his feet from the pallet to the floor. he could not walk, he could not even stand, as his feet were swathed in rags. "it is not difficult to enlighten your understanding," said jean. "you sent away your daughter with two men as her guard. they are all in my power. they are at le peuch. their fate--that is to say, _hers_--depends on you." "so--you war against girls!" "if we do violence to the young and feeble, from whom have we learned the lesson but from you and your ruffians?" "you know what i have done to your father," said the freebooter, malignantly. "i will do the same to you." "and the same fate will befall your daughter--at once," said jean, decidedly. the captain was staggered. he was uneasy. he said sullenly: "for what purpose have you come here?" "for this," answered jean. "with your own hand you have let me know where my father is. unless he be released, and allowed to return with me to le peuch, your daughter will perish miserably." jean went to the window. the captain looked suspiciously after him. "the sun is setting," said the young man. "in an hour it will be gone. unless before he reappears in the east, unless, to the moment of his rising, my father and i are not returned to le peuch safe and sound, it will be too late. your daughter saw what was done to the old man--what think you of a like fate for her?" "i do not believe she is in your hands. she is at la roque." "send to la roque, if you will, and inquire--only remember that will take time, and time is precious. we must be back at le peuch before the first spark of the sun reappears, or the deed will be done. your daughter will be dead." le gros guillem's face became ashy grey with alarm and rage, commingled with embarrassment. "besides," said jean with composure, "look at the ring. you know that it is taken from her finger." the captain turned the ring about in his hand. then he struck the table with his clenched fist and screamed-- "outwitted! outwitted again! the devil is fighting for you!" "rather is he deserting you to whom you sold yourself," retorted jean. the chief remained sullen, with knitted brow and clenched teeth, brooding. "the sun is set," said jean, and pointed through the window. the yellow flame had disappeared that had flushed the hills on the further side of the dordogne, the wooded slopes and the tall rock of vitrac, itself a natural fortress. the captain moved uneasily on his pallet, and looked furtively at his guards near the door. jean read his thought. "nothing you can do is of any avail, save the release of my father. the first ray of sun that lights the sky sees the spark of life die out in your noémi's heart." "what guarantee have i that you will not play me false, and refuse to give her up?" "my word, my honour, and that of my father. send men with me if you will. only remember now that time is winged and is flying." with a horrible oath, le gros guillem again struck the table and called to the guards. they approached. "take him"--he indicated jean--"take him to the _oubliette_ chamber," said he; "let cords down, release the man, and let both go as they will." he flung noémi's ring on the table, and cast his maimed feet on the pallet once more, and clenched his teeth and knitted his red brows. jean took up the ring and said: "i will return this to her." the guards now conducted him to the keep. lights were provided, also cords; the door into the cell was opened; and with a shudder jean entered. snatching a torch from one of the men, he went to the breastwork of the well, and leaning over it, let the torch flare down the abyss. "father!" he cried; "my father!" then he paused for an answer. there was none. with the link he endeavoured to illumine the depths below, but found that this was not possible. he could see nothing save an awful blackness, in which the rays of the torch lost themselves, without illumining any object. "father!" again he cried. this time he heard a sound--an inarticulate groan. "let me down. i must go to him," said jean. "you cannot take a light with you," said one of the men. "you can carry one down unlighted, and kindle it when you are below," said a second. jean saw that it was as the men said. the orifice and throat of the well were so narrow that he must descend without holding a burning light. he nodded, and slipped his arms through the loops in the cords. "give me a candle," said he, and one was immediately handed to him. then he seated himself on the well-breast, with his feet hanging down inside; and when the men were ready, thrust himself off. jean was lowered gradually down the bottle-throat, till all at once the sides fell away, and he was swinging in space.[ ] the effect of being suddenly plunged in absolute blackness of darkness is not so startling as some might suppose. the retina of the eye carries with it an impression of light; and as jean was let down through void space of absolutely rayless gloom, it seemed to him as though a rosy halo attended him; he could, indeed, discern nothing--no object whatever--but he could not suppose that he did not. all at once his feet touched ground. then he released his arms, and struck a light with steel and flint. some time elapsed before the tinder kindled, and from the tinder he was able to ignite the candle. jean's hand shook. he was nervous lest he should see his father dead or dying. it seemed inexplicable to him that he was not answered readily when he called. finally, the yellow flame flickered. then the lad raised the candle above his head and looked about him. he was in a dungeon some thirteen feet square, built of hewn stones in large blocks, laid together with the finest joints, that did not show mortar. the sides were perfectly smooth. the chamber was arched overhead; there was in it no door, no window, no hole of any sort save that in the midst of the vault overhead, through which he had descended. [ ] the description of the interior of the _oubliette_ is in accordance with that into which the author was lowered at castelnau le bretenoux. the ruin of the castle at domme is so complete that the _oubliettes_ there, if they existed, are buried. against the wall, lying with his head raised, his eyes open, looking at the light, not at jean, was his father, his legs extended on the cold floor, and about him were strewn the bones of dead men, skulls and skeletons, more or less disturbed by the blind groping of the last victim. jean at once went to the old man. "father! dear father!" he said. "eh?" "it is i--jean." "eh?" "i have come to release you." "eh?" the old man's senses seemed lost. jean at once knelt, and drawing a phial from his breast, poured into ogier's mouth a spirit distilled from the juniper berries that grow on the causse. his father drew a deep inspiration. "it is a long night, and a bad dream," he said. "where are the tansy and the butterfly?" "father, no time is to be lost. can you rise?" the old man scrambled to his feet. he was as one in a trance. jean led him to the cords, and thrust his father's arms through the loops. "mind and hold your hands down," he said. "father, you will see the light of day! the light of day! be quick! you will see it before it is gone." "the light--the sun?" asked ogier, eagerly. "the sun is set, father; but you will see the evening sky and the stars." "the light! o my god! the light, do you say?" "draw him up!" ordered jean, and watched with great anxiety as the ropes were strained and the old seigneur's feet left the ground. then ogier was carried up, and passed with head, then shoulders through the orifice in the vault. it seemed to jean as though half an hour elapsed before the ropes descended again. when he saw them fall, then he eagerly blew out the candle, and committed himself to the cords. in three minutes he was above ground. he saw his father standing in the doorway, looking out over the terrace at the clear evening sky, drawing in long breaths of the sweet pure air of evening into his lungs. jean turned to the two men. "i thank you," he said. "here is gold. if i can do aught to repay you, in the many troubles and changes of affairs that occur, it shall be done. your name?" "i am peyrot le fort." "and i, heliot prebost." "enough! i shall not forget. we must away. lead me once more to the captain." jean took his father under the arm. the old man walked along with tolerable steadiness, but said nothing. he was as one stupefied. he did not seem to realise that he had been released, but to be labouring under uncertainty whether he were dreaming that he was at liberty or not, and was oppressed with the dread of waking to find himself in the abyss. jean and his father were introduced into the hall where lay le gros guillem. the captain had not allowed lights to be introduced, as his eyes were somewhat inflamed by the irritation which pervaded him. "captain," said jean. "you must remember that this is not all. the day is spent. we must travel all night, and i have a horse awaiting my father. but you have despoiled him of his coat. he cannot leave in his shirt." "i have not his coat," said guillem, roughly. "i restore the man, that suffices." "it does not suffice. give him back his jerkin." "the executioner--the jailer has it. it is his perquisite." "i cannot go after him. send for it yourself. consider what you are apt to forget, that time is all-important." "here!" ordered the captain. "bring the old fellow one of mine--any worn one will suffice." a moment later a leather coat was given to jean, brought by a serving-man. it was dark in the hall. le gros guillem did not concern himself to look at what was produced. probably the serving-man himself had taken the garment in a hurry without regarding it. as jean threw the jerkin over his father's shoulders, he felt that it was lined throughout with metal rings, and was impervious to a sword-blow or a pike-thrust. as ogier, invested in this garment, prepared to depart, the captain, with brutal insolence, shouted-- "seigneur! was it cold and black below?" the old man did not reply. "we two have met thrice," pursued le gros guillem. "once i fell on you at ste. soure and made _you_ run," he laughed harshly; "secondly, you fell on me unawares, and _i_ came off the worst. the third time we met on the beune. it might be esteemed a drawn battle, but as i had captured you, i had got what i wanted. however, i have been over-reached; i am outwitted once more this time. take care how we encounter for the fourth time. do you mark me, ogier del' peyra? the fourth time--that will be the fatal meeting for one or other of us. the fourth time, ogier." "the fourth time. i shall remember," said the old man dreamily, and touched his forehead. "lead him away. peyrot and heliot, you shall ride with the sieur and his son to le peuch. stay a moment! a word before you go." he waited till del' peyra and his son had left the hall and were descending to the courtyard. then he said-- "attend them till you are at le peuch, get my daughter safely into your hands, and then cut them down--these cursed del' peyras--and bring me their heads at your saddle-bows. you shall be paid what you choose to ask." chapter xix. a night ride. when jean del' peyra with his father and escort arrived at the point opposite the house of the ferryman on the dordogne he shouted for the boat. night had set in, but the moon would rise in an hour; in the meanwhile some light lingered over the sunken sun, and the stars were shining faintly. the river gliding on in rapid descent, but without rush and coil, reflected the light above. it was as though a heaven of sparks seen through tears lay at the feet of jean as he stood and waited in vain for the ferry. he was vexed at the delay. time was speeding along. his father's condition made him uneasy. the old man was singularly reticent and stolid; he expressed no satisfaction at his release. after waiting and renewing his shouts to no purpose, one of the men said-- "there is a wedding in this ferryman's wife's family. i have a notion that he may have gone to the merrymaking. it is not often that there are passengers at night that need his punting-pole." "we must try the ford," said the other. "where is that?" asked jean, impatiently. "further down." "then lead to it immediately. we have already squandered too much valuable time." the party now descended the river-bank till the spot was reached where the dordogne could be traversed without danger by the horsemen. the beasts went in. there had not been much rain of late, consequently the ford was passable. the water, however, surged up the leg when the horses had entered to their girths. then, all at once, ogier del' peyra laughed. "what is it, father?" asked jean, startled. "it is not a vision. i am not asleep!" the old man had been oppressed with fear, lest what he went through was a phantasm of the brain, and lest he should wake to the hideous reality of a living entombment. the swash of the cold water over his foot, up his calf, above his knee, was the first thing that roused him to the certainty that he was really free. without difficulty and danger the little party crossed the river; they ascended the flanks of the great plateau and passed at once into oak woods. thence, after a while, they emerged upon a bald track, where there was hardly any soil at all, and the whole region seemed to be struck with perpetual hoar-frost. the hoe, even the foot turned up chalk-flakes. nothing could grow on so barren a surface. the moon rose and made the waste look colder, deader than under the starlight. suddenly shouts were heard, and at the same moment before the little party rushed an old grey wolf. as he passed he turned to them with a snarl that showed his fangs gleaming as ivory in the moonlight. he did not stop--he fled precipitately; and next moment from out of a dell rushed a troop of men armed with pikes, pitchforks, and cudgels, attended by a legion of farm-dogs yelping vigorously. the little party drew up. the moon gleamed on the morions and the steel plates sewn on the buff jerkins, and black to westward on the white causse[ ] lay the shadows of horses and men. [ ] the causse, from calx, is the chalk or limestone plateau. a portion of those pursuing the wolf halted. "haro! haro!" shouted one man. "here are human wolves, the worst of all! let us kill them before we run the other down." in the clear moonlight they had seen the crosses of the _routiers_ on the arms of the two men sent from domme. in a moment the party was surrounded, and the two freebooters to protect themselves drew their swords. jean pushed forward. "my friends, do you not know me? we are the del' peyras, and my father is but just released from bondage. i am taking him home." "we will not hurt you, messire jean," said a peasant. "but these fellows with you--they are beasts of prey. they have killed our men. stand aside, that we may knock them off their horses and then beat out their brains." "you shall not do this." "why not? they are brigands, and not fit to live." "they are under my protection." the peasants were ill satisfied; having felt their power they had become impatient of all restraint on it. "look here," said jean, "my honour and my father's are engaged for these men. do not force us to draw our swords on their behalf." "how do you know but that they will fall on you?" "they dare not," answered jean. "i would trust a wolf rather than one of these. come on!" the last address was to his fellows. then those who had halted turned and ran in the track of such as were pursuing the wolf. what jean del' peyra had said was true enough. the two men attending him would not dare to commit an act of treachery on the way to ste. soure. he and his father were safe till noémi was restored. jean spoke to his father. the old man was silent as he rode; now he roused himself as from a trance to answer jean. "what did you say, my son?" "father, we must push on at a quicker pace." "i cannot push on--i want to go to sleep." "to sleep, father?" "i am falling from my horse with fatigue. i must get off. i must lie down. i have not had my proper rest." jean was dismayed; time was slipping along, the moon describing her arch in heaven; he must reach le peuch before daybreak, and now his father asked for a halt. it was true that he had allowed time for resting the horses on the way, but how long would the old man require for his repose? the strain on his nerves, the horror of the darkness and expectation of a lingering death in the vault, had been so great that a reaction had set in, and he was unable to keep his eyes open. "father," said the young man, "you cannot tarry here on the open _causse_, we must get on, into the coppice, to a charcoal-burner's lodge. there is one at no great distance." a few minutes later jean looked at his father. the old man had let fall his bridle, his head was sunk on his breast; in another moment he would have dropped from his saddle. the youth called to him, and ogier started and said: "i am coming--directly." in another second he was again asleep. it was needful to dismount and make ogier walk. so alone could he be kept awake. half a mile distant was the charcoal-burner's heap, and a rude cabin of branches beside it. one of the _routiers_ led ogier's horse. the old man became angry and irritable at being forced to walk. he scolded his son, he complained that he was badly treated; in vain did jean explain that he desired him to go on but a little way. the seigneur stood still, and said he must sit down--he could not, he would not proceed. then jean poured the rest of his flask of spirit down ogier's throat, and said peremptorily, "you shall come on, whether you will or no." the old seigneur obeyed, grumbled, and in a few minutes was at the charcoal-burning station, and had flung himself on a bed of fern in the hut, and was asleep almost as soon as he had cast himself on the bracken. the charcoal-burner recognised jean del' peyra and saluted him respectfully, but looked askance at the two _routiers_. "have you seen or heard anything of the hunt?" asked the collier. "my mate has gone with the rest after the wolf. you see that grey beast has already carried off three children. yesterday it was mascot's babe--and now all the country is up; and they are going to run the wolf down. there is a ring formed round the _causse._they lured him with a dead sheep. it is to be trusted they will kill him." jean said a word or two in reply. he was very uneasy. the heaviness with which his father slept showed him that he was in no condition to be roused at the end of the hour and made to remount. ogier's strength was exhausted, and this was not to be wondered at, considering what he had gone through. jean spoke to the collier, and explained to him that he proposed letting the old man remain where he was and sleep his full. he himself must ride on with his companions, and he would return in the morning for his father. meanwhile the _routiers_ had drawn aside and were conversing in a low tone. "what say you, heliot? the old fellow will not ride on." "then one of us must stay, peyrot," answered the other, "and the other proceed with the young one." "why not finish them at once?" "you fool! we cannot--we must recover the demoiselle first." "that is true--i will stay--you ride forward." "it is one to me which i dispatch," said heliot. "you can remain, peyrot, and it is well for us that the seigneur has broken down." "why so?" "because we should have found it difficult to lay hands on them at ste. soure or at le peuch, among their own people." "there will be amanieu and roger." "yes--amanieu and roger; but all depends--if there be only women about the thing will be easy enough, but if men be there in arms, i do not see how we could do it." "but now----" "exactly--now all is coming smooth to our hands," said heliot. "for the young seigneur must return hither to fetch his father--and on the causse, here among the coppice, away from all habitations, we can dispatch them easily." "i will kill the old man at once--as soon as you have ridden on," said peyrot. "as you like--but you cannot reckon on the collier. he is a big man. if you kill him first, well and good; but if he be on the alert, and you note how suspiciously he looks at us, then he may escape and run and give the alarm, so my sword will be prevented taking the fresher blood of the young del' peyra." "then what would you have me do?" "remain here. disarm the suspicions of the charcoal-burner. keep near the seigneur, especially in the morning. if he be awake, be at his side; if asleep, watch by his bed. the collier must attend to his charcoal. when i draw near with the demoiselle and amanieu and roger, and the young man, then cut him down and take his head. i will do the same to the youth." presently the voice of jean was heard summoning them to mount. his impatience would not endure a longer delay. peyrot le fort came up and said: "i am not going further." "not coming on? you must." "i cannot; my horse is lame." "lame! i did not observe that as we rode along." "you had no eyes save for your father." "if lame, of course you must stay. we cannot--we dare not linger here longer. tarry with my father till we return." then jean went into the booth of the charcoal-burner and looked at his sleeping father. within was dark, and accidentally he touched the old man's foot. at once ogier started into a sitting posture, and cried out, "yes, yes, guillem! the fourth time--i shall not forget!" then he threw himself back, and was sound asleep again. chapter xx. the ring. noÉmi could not sleep that night. she sat in her rocky prison looking out over the valley of the vézère at the distant landscape bathed in glorious moonlight. opposite le peuch the rocks are not precipitous; there is a falling away of the plateau into soft undulations and stages, rounded in the wood and sombre in their mantle of trees. the moon was full--so bright that it eclipsed every star save its attendant venus; the whole sky was infused with light, the darkness of the deep blue turned to grey. the vézère gleamed as a plate of molten silver below. the river passed with a sigh rather than a murmur. how white, dazzling white, those cliffs must seem facing the moon, standing up like gigantic horse-teeth! the moon smote in at the window where sat noémi. it bathed her face, her arm that was raised to sustain her chin. how glorious was the world! how peaceful! how happy! only man, with his lust of rapine, his love of violence, transformed it into a place of torment. what if there were no parties--one english, the other french--but all this fair land reposed under a single sceptre! and what if that one sceptre controlled evildoers, put down lawlessness, and, extended over the land, bid it rest! what if all evildoers were rooted out, and first among these le gros guillem! below in ste. soure was the sound of a human voice, of a woman singing to her child that wept and would not sleep. noémi could not hear the words, but she knew the air, and with her lips murmured-- b'aqui la luno sé y'n abio dios, t'en dounarioy uno! "moon, moon! gloriously bright! if there were two i would give thee one! i would give thee one--thee! thee!" to whom would she give the moon if there were two, and one were at her disposal? the mother would give it to her babe because her whole heart was for that child. and she--noémi--to whom would she give the moon--to whom? was she not going to give something better than the moon--even her precious life? yes; not for a moment did she waver in her resolution. if jean del' peyra did not return on the morrow by first sun-peep she would cast herself down--and what matter? would life be worth a rush to her when she knew that jean was dead? dead he would be, if he did not return--dead, along with his father-- b'aqui lo vito! sé y'n abio dios, t'en dounarioy lu doui! "life! life! precious life! if i had two i would give thee both!" the night passed slowly, and still noémi sat at the opening in the rock. the moon had mounted high in heaven and sailed down the western sky. it no longer peered into the rock-chamber, no longer flooded her form as she sat motionless at the opening. her brain had no rest. thoughts turned and twisted in her head. again and ever again she asked whether for her sake her father would yield up his prey--sacrifice the opportunity offered him of putting his foot down at once on and crushing the del' peyra family in the persons of father and son together. she knew the implacability of his temper, the ruthlessness with which when offended he pursued his revenge to the end. dear she might be to him, but was she dearer than vengeance on such as had humiliated him as he had never been humiliated before? the air became raw and chill, with that rawness and chill which precede dawn. noémi rose and went to the door and looked across the chasm to the guard-room, which, it will be remembered, was an excavation in a rocky buttress. holding the jambs she looked and listened. she could hear no sound. amanieu and roger were asleep. they had not been disturbed during the day, and in confidence that no danger menaced, they had cast themselves on the bed and slept. still holding the jambs, she leaned forward and looked down. below all was dark. the moon was behind the hill, and its shadow lay black along the slope. there was so much light in the sky that she was able to distinguish in the depths masses of white rock, lying about faintly discernible like high up vaporous white cloud in a summer sky--rocks there on which her head would dash and her limbs be broken within a few hours, unless jean and his father appeared--white rocks there that would be splashed with her blood. if le gros guillem would not yield up his victims this would be the end of her young life. to him she would, she could not return. her honour--her word was engaged--here she would perish. the night was chill, she drew a mantle about her, and resting her head against the stone jamb of the window, looked out dreamily--and slipped into unconsciousness, to start to full life and activity of thought at a sound, the whistle of roger or amanieu in the guard-room rock. these men were awake. day was broken. in the east the sky was white. the church-bell began to toll for mass. from her window she could see the village. the hills opposite were black, hard as cast-iron against the whitening sky. a halo already stood over the place where the sun would mount, and a cloud high up was shot with gold. noémi was shivering with cold. she rose and paced the chamber, but ever and anon returned to the window to look out. the white light was changing to amber, the sun was at hand. roger was carolling merrily, and smoke issued from the guard-chamber. the men were lighting a fire whereat to warm themselves, and perhaps do some cooking for their morning meal. in the cold meadow by the water-side, where lay a whiteness like a snow, a peasant was visible, turning the glebe with his plough fastened to the horns of a pair of oxen. she paced her chamber faster. she could not overcome the shivering that pervaded her. the cold had entered the marrow of her bones, and with it her heart turned sick. where was jean? was he in the oubliette? had he been cast down on the body of his dying father? suddenly noémi stood still. painted on the rock opposite the window was a saffron spot of light. the sun was risen. "it is all over!" she said, and went to the door. there she uttered a cry--a cry of joy and release. along the surface of the rock ran jean towards her. he leaped on the threshold, and she caught and drew him in with both hands. the chill had gone from her. a rush of glowing life swept through her arteries and suffused her cheeks. "saved!" she gasped. "oh, jean, is it well?" "i am but just in time!" he answered. "all is well. i came on--my father is behind, too tired to proceed at my pace. oh, noémi, noémi----" they held hands, they could neither speak more words. her eyes filled with tears, and then she sobbed. jean was moved. "noémi," he said, "i shall never, never forget what you have done for us." the girl speedily recovered herself. "i must back to domme," she said. "my task is done. you did not say that i had surrendered myself?" "no. i let le gros guillem think that we had captured you. but it is with me as with you. i must be back to my father. there is a fellow come with me--called heliot, and with my father is peyrot le fort." "the worst--the most treacherous ruffians there are!" "they can do no hurt. at all events, till you are restored." "from that moment their hands are free." jean became grave for a moment. but his was an honest nature, not prone to mistrust, even in the midst of the lawlessness and falsehood of the times. "ah, bah!" said he. "i can defend myself!" "then let us start immediately," said noémi. "i would that you had not to come back with me. i would your father had not been left with peyrot le fort." jean went into his father's castle. he ordered two men-at-arms to attend him. roger and amanieu were as well to accompany the captain's daughter. in less than an hour all were ready to start. a breakfast was hastily snatched, and jean's horse, as well as that of the _routier_, was given water and corn. the band of men that left ste. soure consisted now of jean del' peyra, with his two men mounted, also of noémi, attended by three of her father's _routiers._the men whom jean had taken with him as attendants were not accustomed to riding; they could handle a pike, but had not been called to service on horseback, and this became speedily evident, for on descending a hill which was rough with chalk nodules and flints, one of them let his horse fall, and himself rolled some way down. the beast was injured and the man bruised. to jean's annoyance he was not only detained, but obliged to leave the fellow behind. he was engaged for some minutes examining the horse's knees and satisfying himself that the brute was not in a condition to go further. when he rejoined noémi she said to him in a low tone-- "let the men ride on; i have a word to say to you." jean slackened pace and waited till a sufficient distance separated them from their attendants. then she said: "treachery is intended. heliot has been working amanieu and roger. amanieu says he will do nothing; observe him now. he has thrust his hands into his belt; that means that he will neither serve le gros guillem nor del' peyra, but let the others do as they list. as for roger, he has pretended to agree, and he has cautioned me. he does not know particulars. heliot would not trust him--he only sounded roger." "the fellow shall at once be disarmed," said jean, and rode forward. the routier was summoned to deliver up his sword, and seeing that he could obtain no assistance from his former comrades, sullenly surrendered. he was then allowed to ride on with the rest, but with his hands bound. in the meanwhile the other routier had been spending the remainder of the night by the charcoal-burner's pile. he found the peasant churlish and indisposed for conversation, wary, and watchful of all his movements. now and again, when the collier was engaged on his heap, peyrot stole into the hut to look at the sleeping seigneur, but immediately was followed by the burner with his pronged fork. "why do you always run after me?" he asked churlishly. "because i know that such as you purpose no good." in the morning the old seigneur awoke, and came forth. he said nothing, but as he looked at the collier, who was eating brown bread, the man concluded he was hungry, and readily shared his breakfast with him, but absolutely refused to break bread with the rover. peyrot was hungry, and irritated because he was not given the opportunity of executing his intention. he would have attacked the collier but that he feared him; the man was tall, muscular, and on the alert. his black face disguised his feelings, but his eyes flashed with a saturnine light at every suspicious movement of the man-at-arms. "they come! they come!" shouted the charcoal-burner, starting forward. "they come!" echoed peyrot, and at once he had his sword out, and had struck at ogier from behind. the blow would have been fatal had not the old man worn le gros guillem's jerkin lined with ring mail. in a moment peyrot was caught by the fork of the collier, round the throat, under chin and ears, was flung backwards and pinned to the ground. "haro! help all! i have the wolf!" yelled the man, and from out of the scrub poured the peasants returning from the chase. they had been so far successful that they had killed the male wolf and the cubs, but the dam had escaped them. they were exultant, excited by the hunt; they carried the beasts they had killed slung across poles. "see here!" cried the collier. "here is the worst wolf of all--he tried to murder the sieur del' peyra!" "we will drive him into your charcoal and burn him!" cried a peasant. "that will spoil my charcoal. he is not worth it," answered the collier. "we will hack him to pieces!" "we will cudgel out his brains!" "we will flay him alive!" as many voices, so many opinions. at the same time arrived the party from le peuch. "here are others! see! another red cross! burn--hang--brain them both! here are other two! kill them all--all!" the peasants seethed and swirled round heliot, whose hands were bound, and about amanieu and roger. "my friends," said jean del' peyra, "you are mistaken. this is my prisoner. the others are my very good friends." "you would not let us kill them before, and now this fellow tried to murder your father. he struck at him from behind like a coward." "if he has done that," said jean, "his life is forfeit. who says he did that?" "i do," answered the collier. "i saw him. he has been looking out for an opportunity all morning. i saved the seigneur." "very well," said jean. "then i speak no word in his behalf. let him be taken to the next tree and hanged." "hang him! hang him! who has a rope? that which fastens the old wolf will do! no--it is too short, make a band of hazel." then a voice shouted: "there is before you le gros guillem's daughter. why should we kill the wolf's cubs and let run guillem's whelps?" "kill her! kill the whelp!" yelled the men, and crowded round noémi. "she is a tarde! hands off!" called another. "take the men, do not touch a woman!" then the crowd precipitated itself on the bound _routier_; amanieu and roger drew their swords and kept the peasants at bay. "she is a cub of gros guillem, i swear it!" called a man. "kill the whole breed, or she will mother _loups-garoug_!" (were-wolves.) "messire jean! we have no cause against you," said an immense man, a farmer, coming up and laying hold of jean's horse's bridle. "but we will not spare any of that domme race. they are accursed--have they not been excommunicated by the pope--by the bishop? we do not spare a wolf-cub however piteously it whine, however young it be, to whatever sex it may belong; and if this be a cub of the were-wolf guillem, shall we be squeamish? swear to us she is not of the race, and she shall pass untouched. if not, we will kill her." densely packed round him, brandishing forks and clubs and axes were the men, rendered savage by oppression, and now reckless by success. none were the retainers of the del' peyras. jean knew not to what master they belonged. the men roared-- "swear she is not guillem's daughter, or we will kill her!" the moment was one of supreme danger. "noémi!" said he hastily. "hold out thy hand!" she obeyed, extending her fingers straight before her. "swear! swear!" yelled the men. then jean plucked open his purse, drew out the ring she had sent by him to her father, and said, as he held it aloft-- "see all; i put it on her finger. do you want to know who she is? know all that she is the betrothed of jean del' peyra, son of the sieur del peuch de ste. soure." a shriek--a shriek of horror and agony. the attention of those crowding in on noémi and jean was diverted. some men had taken up peyrot le fort, and had rammed him with their pitchforks into the fuming pyre of the charcoal-burner, then had massed on sods and clay, and had beat it down over him with their spades. "ride! away! ride!" shouted jean. chapter xxi. a disappearance. the old seigneur del' peyra was not exactly a changed man since his descent into and release from the oubliette; he was rather the man he had been of old with his dullness, inertness intensified. he spoke very little, never referred to his adventures--it might almost be thought that he had forgotten them, but that on the smallest allusion to le gros guillem his eye would fire, all the muscles of his face quiver, and he would abruptly leave the society of such as spoke of the man who had so ill-treated him. except for the sudden agitations into which he was thrown by such allusions, he was almost torpid. he took no interest in his land, in his people, in his castle. he sat much on a stone in the sun when the sun shone, looking at the ground before him. when the cold and rainy weather set in, then he sat in the fire-corner with his eyes riveted on the flames. one thing he could not endure, and that was darkness. the coming on of night filled him with unrest. he could not abide in a room where did not burn a light. he would start from sleep during the night several times to make sure that the lamp was still burning. at first jean had spoken to his father relative to the incidents of his capture, and had asked him particulars about his treatment, but desisted from doing so as he saw how profoundly it affected the old man, and how slow he was of recovering his equanimity after such an attempt to extract his recollections from him. nor could he consult him about the affairs of the seigneurie. the old man seemed incapable of fixing his mind on any such matters. not that his brain had ceased to act, but that it was preoccupied with one absorbing idea, from which it resented diversion. jean made an attempt to sound his father's thoughts, but in vain, and he satisfied himself that the only course open to him was to leave the old man alone, and to trust to the restorative forces of nature to recover him. he had received a shock which had shaken his powers but had not destroyed them. if left alone he would in time be himself again. there was much to occupy the mind and take up the time of jean del' peyra. the winter had set in. the leaves had been shed from the trees. there had set in a week of rain, and the river vézère had swelled to a flood red-brown in colour, sweeping away the soil rich in phosphates that overlay the chalk, and which alone sustained vegetation. if the vézère were in flood, so also was the dordogne, and both rivers being impassable, the little seigneurie of le peuch ste. soure was safe. it was divided from its foe at domme by these swollen dykes. but floods would subside in time, the weather would clear, and although it was not probable that le gros guillem would attempt reprisals during the winter, yet it would be injudicious not to maintain watch and be prepared against an attack. the peasant, impulsive and inconsiderate, was not to be trusted without direction, and required to be watched so as to be kept to the ungrateful task of semi-military service. he was easily stirred to acts of furious violence, and as easily allowed himself to lapse into blind security. having taken and destroyed l'eglise and beaten back the _routiers_ on the beune, the peasants considered that they had done all that could be required of them; they hastily reconverted their swords into the ploughshares that they had been, and dismounted their spears to employ them for their proper use as pruning-hooks. at the same time that they thus turned their implements of husbandry to peaceful ends, so did they dismantle themselves of all military ambition, and revert to the condition of the boor, whose thoughts are in the soil he turns and returns, whose produce he reaps and mows. the peasant mind is not flexible, and it is very limited in its range. it can think of but one thing at a time, and it is wholly void of that nimbleness which is acquired by association with men of many avocations and of intellectual culture. for a moment, stirred by intolerable wrongs, his passions had flared into an all-consuming flame. now he was again the plodding ploughman, happy to handle the muckfork and the goad. jean found it impossible to rouse the men to understand the necessity of being ever on the alert against the foe. gros guillem, said they, had pillaged ste. soure; he had done his worst; now he would go and plunder elsewhere. he had tried conclusions with them and had been worsted; in future he would test his strength against weaker men. _allons!_ we have had enough of fighting--there is much to be done on the farm. jean del' peyra foresaw danger, and would not relax his efforts to be prepared to meet it. he established sentinels to keep watch night and day, and he marshalled the peasants and drilled them. they grumbled, and endeavoured to shirk, and he had hard matter to enforce discipline. he received tidings from domme, and ascertained that the feet of the captain were completely restored; and that he was about the town and citadel as usual. he had matter to occupy him and divert his attention from le peuch. for some time the great stress of war between the french and the english had been in the north; there the maid of orleans had led to victory, and there she had been basely deserted and allowed to fall into the hands of the english. no sooner, however, had these latter burnt "the sorceress" than they turned their attention to guyenne. there matters had not been favourable to the three leopards. bergerac, on the dordogne, an important mercantile centre devoted to the french cause, and which had been long held by the english, had been freed, and had the lilies waving from its citadel. then suddenly the english forces from bordeaux had appeared under the walls, and the garrison, unable to defend itself unassisted, had fled, and once more the lilies were thrown down and the leopards unfurled. but recently, owing to some outrage committed in the town by some of the soldiers of the castle, the whole of the inhabitants had risen in a mass, had surprised the garrison, and had butchered them to a man. bergerac was again french. for the last time it had borne the english yoke. during three hundred years, with the exception of a few intervals, it had been under english dominion ( - ), many a time had french and english fought under its walls for the possession of such a strong point, which by its position commanded the course of the dordogne. tradition even says that in one day the town passed thrice into english and thrice into french hands. the recovery of bergerac by the count of penthièvre, the lieutenant of the king of france in guyenne, and the treatment of the garrison by the citizens, alarmed le gros guillem. he was keenly alive to the disaffection of the town of domme. he was in a less satisfactory position than the commandant of bergerac. for this latter place was surrounded by strongholds of barons attached to the english cause, not on principle, but for their own interest; the nearest town up the river, le linde, was a _bastide_ in english hands. the heights bristled with castles, all held by men strongly opposed to the crown of france, all ready to harass in every way the citizens who had dared to free themselves. the situation at domme was other. nearly in face of it was a town almost as important in population, quite as securely defended by nature, and dominated by a castle of exceptional inexpugnability. the governor of this place was the brother of the bishop of sarlat, and could not be bribed to betray his charge. from his eyrie every movement of guillem was watched. la roque was a stronghold with the whole county of sarlat at its back, and thence it could be filled with men unseen from domme, to organise a sudden attack on the enemy's position. that alone might be repelled, but that aided by treachery within the walls might succeed. consequently guillem was engaged in filling his ranks and accumulating material of war. desire as he might, and did, to chastise those at ste. soure, he could not do so at the moment. never did he ride by la roque without casting on it a covetous gaze. it was the key to the whole of the black périgord--the county of sarlat. jean del' peyra's mind reverted often to noémi. he had not seen her since that incident of the ring. then, attended by amanieu and roger, she had ridden away at full gallop and had escaped. at the same time he had succeeded in cutting the bands that held the arms of heliot, and had suffered him to ride away as well. jean was naturally adverse to deeds of bloodshed; and though the fellow justly merited death, he had no desire that the peasantry should constitute themselves at once accusers, judges, and executioners. jean thought repeatedly of that strange scene--his engagement by ring to noémi, forced on him to save her from the violence of the angry peasants--the only means available to him at the moment for evading the question as to her parentage. but though he had quickly proclaimed her to be his affianced bride, he did not seriously purpose to make her his. though he loved her, though his heart eagerly recognised her generosity of feeling, the real goodness that was in her, he could not forget to what stock she belonged. it would not be possible for him to consider her as one who would be his--when he was at deadly enmity with the father. it would not be decent, natural, to take to his side the child of the ruffian who had treated his own father in a manner of refined barbarity. it was known throughout the country what guillem had done--and the whole country would point the finger of scorn at him if he so condoned the outrage as to marry the daughter of the perpetrator of it. but, more than that, he was certain to be engaged in hand-to-hand fight with guillem. he did not for a moment doubt that this man would seize the first opportunity of attacking and probably of overwhelming him with numbers. when next they met the meeting would be final, and fatal to one or the other. either he or le gros guillem would issue from the struggle with his hands wet with the blood of the other. it mattered not which turn matters took, what the result was--either precluded union with noémi. he would have liked to have seen her, to have parted from her with words of gratitude for what she had done for him and his father. he would have liked to come to an understanding with her. she was not a child, surely she did not hold those words spoken by him, that ring put on her finger, as binding them together? he was thinking over this, scheming how he could meet her, when one of his men came to him and said-- "monsieur jean, have you seen your father?" "when? just now?" "yes," said the man, "recently." "no, antoine, not for several hours." "nor has anyone else." "not seen my father?" "no, monsieur jean, we have been looking for him in every direction, and cannot find him." "he is in the castle." "no, monsieur jean, there he is not." "he is in the field." "no, monsieur jean, he is nowhere." "that is not possible." "he is nowhere that we can find, and no one has seen him leave--no one knows whether he has been carried off again, and if so, how, when, or by whom?" it was so--ogier del' peyra had vanished, not leaving a trace behind him. chapter xxii. the castellan. le gros guillem was pacing the stone-vaulted hall of the castle of domme. it was a hall that ran the whole depth of the castle, from one face to the other, and was lighted solely by large windows to the north, commanding the valley of the dordogne. the room was vaulted, not ribbed; cradled with white stone, the walls were of stone, and the hall was paved with stone--all of one whiteness. no tapestry covered the naked sides, nor carpets clothed the floors, only some panelling of oak to man's height took off some of the chill of the walls, and straw was littered on the floor. of ornament there was none in the hall, unless weapons and defensive armour might be so regarded. even antlers and boars' heads were absent. the occupants of the castle had other amusements than the chase. "i must have thirty men more," said the captain. "let heliot ride into the bretenoux country; he will get them there; and let that sulky amanieu, who is neither one of us nor against us, go to gramat, on the bald and barren causse, where nothing grows save lank and hungry men, there is always a supply of daredevils to be had for the asking. offer what you will--we must make an attempt on bergerac--and have the looting of its fat merchants' houses. we will make a raid into sarlat and put the oily canons into the olive-press. there is plenty to be had for the taking. i want men. i must have more men. i dare not leave domme without a thumb on it to hold it down; and there is that accursed eye of la roque watching unwinkingly. fine times are coming. i hear that the english are sending an army under the great talbot. let us do something--pick over the vineyard before he comes or the englishmen will have the biggest bunches." one of the attendants came up to the captain and informed him that there was an old man desired to speak with him. "what does he want? where does he come from? i want no old men. the young are those who can serve me. i have not here an almshouse for bedemen, but a training school for soldiers." "he will not say what he wants--except only that he comes on matters of extreme importance." "importance! importance!" repeated le gros guillem irritably. "importance to him and not to me. what is he? a farmer? some of my boys have lifted an ox or carried off a daughter. i will not see him." "captain, he comes from la roque." "then i will have nothing to do with him. i have no dealings with the people of la roque. run your pikes into his calves and make him skip down the hill." the attendant retired but returned shortly with a slip of paper, which he put into the captain's hand. guillem would have thrust it aside. "a scribbling petitioner--worst of all! does he look as if he had money? can he be made to pay? if so we will put him in the mortar and pound him." with careless indifference guillem opened the paper and read the lines-- messire le gros,--if you want a lodging in la roque now is your opportunity. from one who has charge of the keys. "eh! eh!" exclaimed the captain, flushing over his bald head, and his long fingers crushed the paper in excitement. "what! a chance of that? show him in--and you, guard, stand at a distance at the door." in another moment an old man with short-cut grey hair was introduced. he walked with the aid of a stick, and kept his eyes on the ground. he was habited in a shabby dark suit, out at elbows, somewhat clerical in cut, and he was shaved like a priest. his face was singularly mottled, in places yellow with sunburn, elsewhere white. he had bushy eyebrows that contrasted singularly with his close-clipped head and his smooth jaws. "so!" said guillem, striding up to him, "you have the keys--and who are you?" "messire captain, i am your very humble servant." "to the point! what are you at la roque, and what do you want with me?" "messire, i am now caretaker of the fortress in the cliff. i hold the keys and am responsible for its custody." "and what brings you here?" "messire, i am willing to let you in." "ah! on what terms?" "messire--i trust to your generosity." "that is not a usual mode of doing business. why do you come to me? why betray your trust? there is a reason--is it money? i will pay. what do you demand?" "i ask no money." "then in heaven's name what do you want?" "revenge!" answered the old man, and bowed his head lower over his staff. "revenge! hah! i can understand that. revenge on someone in la roque?" "on someone who is not there now, but who will be there on the night that i admit you." "and you ask me to revenge your wrong." "i will do that for myself, messire--only i can do nothing now. i am prepared to admit you within the walls of the town. i can do better than that--i will give you access to the castle--the town without the castle is nothing. the castle in itself is nothing. but the castle commands the town." "hah! let us in, within the walls of la roque, and we will soon have the castle." "you think that, messire? you are mistaken. the castle is victualled for three months. there is a well in it that never runs dry. there is a garrison under the sieur françois de bonaldi, brother of the bishop. if you took the town with my help, it would be cracking the nut and not getting the kernel. from the castle they could rain down rocks on you, and if you attempted to hold the town they would dislodge you, though it might ruin the houses. no--the town without the castle is an eyeball without the iris. take the castle and the town is yours." "you may be right," said le gros guillem, after a pause. "i am positive i am right," said the old man, looking up and dropping his eyes again. "what, then, do you propose?" "on a night--let us say to-morrow before midnight, i will admit you and five men----" "why not more?" "harken, messire, i have thought the plan out." "go on!--i am impatient to hear." "it is you, messire le gros, who have interrupted me." "go on with your plan! if i do not approve, i will none of it. i am not going to run into a trap." "a trap! oh, messire, how can you think of that?" "tell me your plan at once." "it is this, messire. i will let you in through the postern gate on the upper--the vitrac--sarlat road, you and five men--no more. as many as you will need can be admitted later; they shall remain without till the castle is in your hands, and then two of your men who will tarry by the gate will unbar to them and let them all enter. but consider, messire, it will not do to allow access to more than five at the outset--there are sentinels on the walls. i have no understanding with them, and they might see and give the alarm. if the alarm were given before you had obtained possession of the castle, then the whole expedition would be in vain. if you hold the castle you have the heart of la roque gageac in your hands." "and you will admit us into the fortress?" "i will admit you and three men." "it is not enough." "it suffices. there are but six men in the castle--and no guard is kept at night, for none is needed, as you will see when you get there. that on the town walls suffices; one of these men is in agreement with me. him you must pay, but not me. i shall be well indemnified if i get my revenge." "so then--you will first open the gate to me and five men. then, two are to be left in charge of the gate, i and three others are next to be given admittance to the castle, where we are to overpower the garrison. you say there are but six men. that is very few." "messire, the bishop says he can afford no more, and his brother, the sieur françois, has written to urge him to supply him with more, but he says that his treasury is exhausted and his land impoverished, and that there are no more men to be got. besides, what they reckon on is for the whole garrison of the town to fly to the castle should the walls of the town fall into the enemy's power. it has never entered into their heads that the citadel should be first grasped, and the citadel commands all--it commands the town, it commands the road to sarlat, it commands the whole country." "and the bishop says there is nothing to be got--no money?" "so he says; that is the reason he gives. he told the sieur françois to do his best with the handful he has; he was unable to assist further." "we will speedily prove if his words be true. we shall soon make him beat his head to think that he was so parsimonious that he had scruples about melting up his church plate. that only is an exhausted land which yields naught when it has passed through my sieve." guillem halted in his walk, laid one hand on the shoulder of the old man, and said, in a tone in which was some suspicion, "so you will turn traitor, betray a trust for nothing!" "pardon, messire; i said that i did it to satisfy my revenge." "by the holy caul of cahors!"[ ] laughed le gros guillem, "revenge is sweet, especially to the old. when the kisses of women and the clink of spurs and the fingering of gold no longer charm, revenge is still palatable. what makes you so lust for vengeance, old man?" [ ] _la sainte coiffe_--a caul in which it was fabled that the infant christ was born--was one of the choice relics preserved at cahors. it fell into the hands of the huguenots at the memorable capture of cahors by henry of navarre, but was recovered. it happily disappeared at the revolution. "ah, messire! what do the small troubles of a nobody like me concern you?" guillem let go his hold and recommenced his pacing: "the holy caul to my aid! but i, too, have my grievance, and my mouth waters for the same dainty as does yours. let me but be established at la roque, and they may expect me at le peuch." "who is at le peuch, messire?" "old man, one who has injured my honour; one to whom i will show no mercy if i but get him in my grip. from la roque i can command all the sarladais, and i can swoop down at my leisure on le peuch. i shall get gold at sarlat and blood at le peuch. by heaven, i do not know which will best please me!" "you accept my offer, messire le gros?" "aye--to-morrow, at an hour to midnight. are you an ecclesiastic?" "no, messire." "you have a clerical aspect; but i suppose all who serve the bishop assume something of that. very well. i shall be there--i and my men. will you eat? will you drink?" "thank you, messire. i have not come from far--only across the water. the ferryman put me over. i made some excuse that i had a married daughter to visit, and none suspect evil; but i must make speed and return before mistrust breeds. mistrust will spoil all, messire." "very well. go! so we meet to-morrow. if you fail--if you prove false, old man--terrible will be your lot." "i shall not fail. fear not. i shall not eat, i shall not sleep; i shall count the hours till you come." le gros guillem mused a moment. then he said: "what shall be the sign by which you will know we are there--at the gate?" "you will come," answered the old man, "to the little postern at the sarlat gate. it lays on the right--twenty strides up the slope; you pass by a vineyard to it. i will tarry there till i hear you scratch like a cat." "very well--and the word?" "the word--for a merry jest--as you said it, le peuch." "le peuch--so be it," said the captain. "further--the main body of men will be posted outside, and they are not to be admitted till the castle is ours. how shall i communicate with them?" "nothing is easier," replied the castellan. "when messire is above, and has got the men of the garrison bound, let him ring the alarm-bell. it is in the tower of the castle gate, and at once your men below will admit their fellows, and the townsfolk will awake to discover themselves betrayed, and in the hands of the illustrious and very generous captain guillem." "it is good!" said the _routier._"you have thought this plan well out, old man." "oh, i have thought it well out. i have been long about it. i took much consideration before all was fitted together. so--there--all is agreed. i wish you well till we meet." the castellan made for the door, but before he reached it, he rested on his staff, and burst into a convulsive fit of laughter. "what is that?" asked the captain, coming towards him. "what makes you laugh?" "excuse me, messire. i am old, and my nerves are shaken. i have had much to agitate them--and these convulsive fits come on me--when i think i am on the eve of a great pleasure--and it will be a great pleasure," he turned and bowed, and made a salutation with his cap, and with extended hands--"ah! messire a great pleasure, to open the gate, and let you in!" he bowed profoundly, and went out backwards laughing and saluting. chapter xxiii. in the hail. le gros guillem was jubilant. he kept his secret. not to one of his men--not even to his lieutenant did he confide his purpose of surprising the castle and town of la roque gageac, for he well knew that no secret is safe when once it has slipped over the lips. he was in excellent spirits, in buoyant, boisterous humour. he laughed and joked with his men, and guillem was too grim a man to be often given to jest. he bade his men look to their arms, and he detailed those who were to follow him on an expedition. whither he was going he did not say--but with him that was usual--he let no breath of rumour escape as to his destination whenever he made a raid, and on this account he was almost always successful; he came down like a bolt out of the sky on some spot, totally unprepared to resist him, and none could betray his scheme, and prepare those fallen upon, for none knew his destination till he started. "heliot!" called guillem, suddenly arresting himself as he was drawing a long sword from the scabbard to examine if it were free of rust. "did you observe that old man who was here last evening?" "i saw him come in, captain." "but--there is something in his face familiar to me--i fancy i have seen him before--and yet--i am not sure." "he said that he came from gageac and had relatives in this town." "that may be it. to be sure--he told me, a married daughter--i have seen him here at some fair, may be. it will not out of my head, i have seen him--and cannot say where. he looks like a broken priest." "as he walked he was bowed, and i could not see his face, captain," answered heliot. "it matters not. is there any moon to-night, heliot?" "there is a new moon, captain; you can see her in the sky, she does not set till early morning, just before daybreak. but we shall see little of her tonight; there are thick clouds coming up against the wind--piled up as though full of thunder." "so much the better. heliot, i will tell you now what is to be done--we must cross the dordogne." more than that he would not say. the city of sarlat lies at a distance of several miles from the river, and is accessible by two valleys, one of which opens on to the dordogne under the rock of vitrac, a sheer limestone cliff, the top of which is occupied by a village and castle, the foot bathed by the river, and the defile up which the road runs commanded not only by the castle of vitrac, but by another, a tower on the further side, and these two were designed to completely bar the way to the town. the other way is more tortuous, and was also defended both by the great castle and rock of beynac and also by a low hill in the midst of the open valley that was likewise fortified. the situation may be best understood if we imagine a great triangular plateau with sarlat at the apex and the dordogne flowing at the base; midway on that base stands la roque. with the river thus watched and every road guarded jealously, it was important for le gros guillem to cross in the dark, unperceived, lest a warning should be sent to la roque, and the garrison be set on the alert so that the castellan would be unable to fulfil his engagement. as the evening closed in the clouds that had been noticed by heliot covered the whole heavens. there was no wind below; at the same time one must have been blowing aloft, for the vapours parted and disclosed the moon and then drifted over its face again, and through them it peered dimly, like an eye with cataract over it, or else became totally obscured. the men detailed for the expedition were assembled in the courtyard of the castle. they were not mounted--horses were unnecessary and inconvenient. the tramp might be heard and cause alarm. the _routiers_ remained in their ranks motionless till the word was given, and then silently they defiled out of the castle, through the street of domme, and the town portcullis was raised to allow them to pass forth. le gros guillem had boats on the river at his command. and the passage of the dordogne was effected in the darkness successfully without attention being attracted on the opposite bank. the companions issued from the boats and drew up on the bank till the captain gave the command to march, when they proceeded down the right bank of the river without speaking and without making any noise. owing to the rainfall the way was muddy and the mud prevented their tramp from being audible. shortly before the hour named by the castellan the entire party was near the sarlat gate, concealed behind vineyard walls and bushes. the town that was menaced seemed to be buried in slumber and security. the only light discernible was the faint glow through the church window of s. donat, where the sanctuary lamp burned. there was not even a light in the castle--which in the general darkness was indiscernible--only the mighty cliff into which it was built stood high overhead like a gigantic wave ready to fall and bury everything beneath it. the captain picked out the men he had fixed on to accompany him and gave his instructions to the others in a whisper. as soon as the alarm-bell sounded in the castle they were to draw rapidly to the gate. their comrades within would open, "and," said guillem, "the town is yours--to do as you please therein." then he advanced cautiously with his five men to the postern at the side and not to the main gate. this postern was small, it would admit but one man at a time. on reaching it guillem scratched with the point of his sword, and the signal was answered at once--cautiously the door was unbarred and unlocked and the castellan appeared in it. the clouds had momentarily parted and the new moon gleamed forth and was reflected by the river. guillem could perceive that this was the same man who had visited him at domme. "the word?" "le peuch." "it is well, le peuch. how many?" he asked under his breath. "myself and five," answered guillem. "it is well--let two men remain here. the others follow me." he led the way up a steep stair of stone steps, past houses built into the rock, past the little church, one wall of which was the rock itself, and the roadway lay almost level with the eave. there was a clock in the tower, it throbbed like the pulse of a living being--the pulse of the whole town, but it beat evenly, as if the town was without fear. the road lay beneath some houses; for, in order to penetrate from one portion of the town to another, to reach from one ledge of rock with the buildings occupying it where every foot of ground was precious, the path was conducted beneath chambers, in which, overhead, the citizens were peacefully sleeping, unsuspicious of what was proceeding below. in another moment the platform had been reached below the sheer cliff that rose without so much as a shelf on which a shrub could root itself, even of a cranny in which a pink or harebell might cling. all was now so dark that guillem could not see his guide or his men. not a sound had been heard in the town--and here there was nothing audible save a cat that was mewing. it had been shut out of a house and feared that a storm was coming on. the time was winter, the little creature was cold, and it craved for the warmth and the dryness of the kitchen hearth. the foolish cat came up to le gros guillem and rubbed herself against his legs and pleaded for attention. irritated at her persistence and cries, the captain dealt her a kick which sent her flying and squealing. then he regretted that he had done this, lest her shrill cry should reach the mistress and induce her to open the door and show a light. but no token followed and showed that the cat had been heard. again the creature came near, mewing. the darkness was so dense that nothing could be seen, not even the rock in front, only the buildings round loomed black against the sky that was but a shade lighter than the rock. then hail rushed down, hissing, leaping, and with the hail a flash of lightning revealing the blank wall of rock in front and the floor over which the hailstones ran and spun. "where is the stair?" asked le gros guillem of the castellan, who kept at his side. "stair--what stair?" "the way by which we are to mount into the castle?" the old man chuckled. "wait a while," said he in a whisper. "when next the lightning flashes look ahead of you--a little to the right, and you will see a cobweb path up the face of the rock." "lead us to the path--cobweb or not we will mount it. we are accustomed to that, and this is tedious--tarrying here. curse that cat! here she is again!" "ah, messire--you do not comprehend. have you never been in la roque?" "i? never! do you suppose they would suffer me within the walls?" "then, messire, you cannot understand how it is that of the garrison none are awake, how it comes that there is no need for watchfulness. wait a while, the lightning--there--did you see?" the old man pointed in the direction of the stair. the construction of this path of ascent has been already described. it consisted of a ladder of pegs driven into the rock, each peg sustained by a wedge underneath it. nothing was easier than by a blow to loosen the wedge and to throw the steps down, and when down no passage could be effected to or from the castle along the face of the rock. "did you observe?" asked the old man. "i observed nothing save a stair." "look at the base of the stair. ah! the hail! how it whitens the ground, how it lights up the landscape. one can see a little now, and presently, if you will have patience, messire, i will explain it all." "i want no explanation, i want to mount the stair and enter the castle." "you cannot mount the stair. it is not possible. there--another flash--now do you see? all the lower portion is removed, so that, till put together again in the morning, no one can ascend. moreover, there aloft is a landing place, and between that landing place and the gate there is a gap--and over that a draw-plank is lowered. now, at night, all the lowest rungs of the stair are taken away and above the plank is lifted. there is no possibility of anyone mounting by that means." "then, in the devil's name, why have you brought us here? i tell you, old man, i will drive my poignard down your throat if you have dared to deceive me." "i deceive you! oh, messire! there is a second way of entering the castle." "and that is----?" "see!" again the lightning flickered, and now the clouds parting allowed the moon to flash over the whitened earth and show the great wall of chalk rock in front mounting into the sky and white as the ghostly clouds touched by moonlight that moved above it. the freebooter saw something hanging down the face of the cliff. it was a rope, and at the end was a bar of wood some two feet long which it held in a horizontal position by a knot in the middle. "my good friend, whom you will have to reward, is above at the windlass. you can mount, messire. i have but to shake the cord and put my fingers into my mouth and hoot as an owl and he will begin to wind up. it is by this means that provisions are carried up, and by this one can go up or down when the passage of the stair is cut off. will you please to mount first--or shall i, most honoured captain?" the castellan took off his hat and bowed. le gros guillem looked up a sheer height of a hundred feet; in the uncertain light it appeared as though this cord was let down out of the sky. he was a man who rarely knew fear--in the heat of conflict he never knew it at all. he was dauntless in every daring feat; but this was a venture sufficient to make even him hesitate. he knew not who was the man at the capstan above. he was not sure that the rope would endure his weight. "oh," said the castellan, "if you are afraid to trust yourself to this cord, you must e'en return by the way you came. i thought other of le gros guillem, of the famous captain. i did not think he would quail as a girl from such a trifle as this. i will ascend first, and then you may pluck up heart to follow an old man." the castellan went to the rope and shook it twice, then imitated the scream of an owl, and instantly planted himself on the pole and held the cord with both hands. he began at once to ascend. the sky cleared of thunder-cloud and the wan new moon illumined the scene. the rock was white, and against it mounted a dark figure with a darker shadow. the windlass moved noiselessly; le gros guillem and his men below heard no sound. the dark figure slid up the rock and became smaller, ever smaller, and then disappeared. in the uncertain light, at the great elevation they could not see, but supposed the castellan had passed through a window into the castle. then rapidly down came rope and pole, and the latter hung swaying at a couple of feet above the hail-strewn platform. "in the devil's name, i will try it!" said guillem, and committed himself to the bar. he grasped the rope and hooted. at the same moment the cat leaped and lighted on his shoulder. he would have thrust it off, but could not. the rope had tightened, was straining, and he was carried upwards off his feet. chapter xxiv. the fourth time. the rock of gageac somewhat overhung, so that as le gros guillem ascended he swung clear in space. only occasionally was there a projection against which he could apply his foot, but he avoided doing this lest he should set the cord in oscillation. the rope was so stout and the piece of wood on which he was seated so strong, that the momentary qualm that had come over his heart left it, and he felt naught save impatience to reach the castle and creep in at the window. then his comrades would be drawn up and all four would fall on the sleeping garrison, kill every man, ring the tocsin, and the place would be in his possession, the houses given up to pillage and the inhabitants to outrage and murder. to win la roque--a place that through the hundred years' war had not been taken, that for three centuries had defied the english--would indeed be an achievement, and one for which he could obtain any terms he liked to ask from the earl of shrewsbury on his arrival in guyenne. the clouds were dispersing, guillem looked up, the floor of heaven was as it were spilt over with curds; he looked down, every platform, roof, garden, was white with hail. on the horizon lightning was still fluttering. he had heard no thunder when below--he heard none now. the dordogne flowed black through a white world. it did not reflect the sky to one rising so high in the air above it; it was black as acheron and seemed to have lost all flow--to be stilled in its course. the moon was still shining on the wall of rock, guillem's shadow passed with him, as substantial apparently as himself, undergoing strange, monkey-like contortions against the rocky inequalities. a curse on that cat! it was wailing in his ear. he turned his chin to endeavour to force the brute from his shoulder. the cat clung with its thorn-like claws that pierced his jerkin. he disengaged a hand, and laid hold of the cat, but it bit and tore at his hand, it drove its claws into his neck, and he could not shake it off without tearing away ribbons of his flesh as well. his efforts to rid himself of the cat set the cord spinning, and the stick revolved, with him on it, and then spun back again; it began to swing, and in swinging jammed him against the rock. he must make up his mind to endure the cat. it was but for a minute or two longer, and then he would be free, and would grasp the accursed brute and fling it down on to the houses beneath. a cat has nine lives. a cat will always fall on his feet. this puss must have more than nine lives if it escaped being dashed to pieces by such a fall. all was hushed below. guillem, looking down, could see the black spots that he knew represented his three men who were to follow him. something brushed his face--it was a sprig of juniper--he knew it by the scent; and now he saw that he had reached that point where rock and wall were blended, the rock running up into ragged points, the gaps filled in with masonry, and finally courses of ashlar lying evenly above the rock. he was nearing the window. in another minute he would be inside. he could hear the creak of the windlass. his progress upwards seemed to him to be extraordinarily slow. one line of wallstone, then another, then a third, then a halt. he expected to be able to grasp the threshold of the window and to assist those within in drawing him through. but the window sill was some feet above his head; it was beyond his reach. why had those working the capstan ceased to turn the levers? were they exhausted? had they galled their hands? half a dozen turns and he would be aloft. at that moment, one of those inexplicable, unreasonable sensations that do occasionally seize the imagination swept over the mind of guillem. looking at the limestone before him, he all at once thought it resembled the flesh of old ogier del' peyra's face as he was lowered into the oubliette, with the light from the dungeon door sitting on it. there was absolutely no similarity save that the rock was grey, and that it was illumined by the new moon with some such a colourless cadaverous light as that which had lighted the face of the man sentenced to a living tomb. le gros guillem shook his head and closed his eyes to free himself from the impression. immediately the cat, driving its claws into his neck under the right ear, sprang on his head, ran up the rope and leaped in at the window above. it was perhaps due to the fact that those working the capstan were frightened by the apparition of the beast; but suddenly the rope was run out and guillem dropped through space, to be brought up by a jerk as those above mastered the spokes and arrested the flight of the rope. as the falling man was stopped in his descent, the strands of the cord were strained and some snapped. the jerk would have thrown him from his seat had he not grappled the rope with desperation. he had not, however, dropped very far, and now to his great satisfaction he felt that the men above were again turning the levers, and that he was again being steadily hauled upwards. when aloft he would chastise them sharply for their scare about a cat, risking thereby his valuable life. again the juniper bush brushed his face, it was as an elfin hand which was thrust forth out of the rock to lay hold of him, or at least to warn him against further progress. not a plant had been passed springing out of the sheer cliff. this juniper grew at the summit of the rock, and at its junction with the masonry of the castle. much time had elapsed, surely more than an hour, since he had passed through the postern gate. his men, concealed in the vineyards, must be impatient for the signal to enter the town and plunder it. then he heard a harsh, jarring sound like an angry growl, followed by the strokes of a bell. one--two--three--he reckoned till twelve. it was midnight. again he was ascending past the courses of ashlar, and again he was brought to a halt at some distance below the window. then, from above, through the window a face protruded that looked down on him. the moon was on the face; it was the colour of the grey rock; it was blotched like the rock, it was furrowed with age like the rock. unlike the rock, two eyes gleamed out of it, with the moon glinting in them. "gros guillem!" said the man who peered on the freebooter from above. "draw me up!" gasped the captain, "or by----" "do you threaten--you--situated as you are?" "i pray you give the windlass another turn." "ah, you pray now, gros guillem!" the captain looked above his head at the face that overhung him. there was in it something that sent the blood back to his heart. there was in it that likeness to a someone, uncertain, recalled but unidentified, that came out now with terrible distinctness, and insisted on his straining his powers for recognition. "gros guillem! do you remember me? this is our final meeting--the fourth and the last!" at that moment the tocsin pealed forth its summons from the tower. this tower, planted under a concave opening in the rock, sent out the ring of the alarm-bell multiplied thirtyfold below; it flung it forth in volumes, it sent it up and down the dordogne valley--across it--over the level land, far, far away, wave on wave of sound through the still night. at the first note it was as though a magic wand had touched every house in la roque. each window was illumined. every door was opened, and forth burst men with torches, all fully armed. in a moment the three companions of the captain on the platform and the two by the postern were surrounded, disarmed, bound or cut down. in a moment, also, from orchards, vineyards, from out of barns, from behind hedgerows, rose a multitude of men, peasants, fishermen, soldiers of the bishop, serving-men, all with what weapons they could most readily handle, and closed in on the men of guillem who had come forward at the note of the bell with purpose to enter by the postern. then ensued on all sides a wild hubbub of cries, shrieks, shouts of triumph, curses, prayers for mercy. le gros guillem, hanging in mid-air, heard the uproar, saw the upward glow of light, and knew that he and his had been drawn into a cleverly contrived trap, and that he was lost irretrievably. he writhed, he turned, he looked above--there he saw but the face of ogier remorseless as fate. he looked below--there he saw his men, making desperate battle for life, and falling one by one. he could not distinguish each individual, but he saw knots of men forming whence issued cries and the clash of steel, then the knot broke up and its members dispersed seeking other clusters which they swelled, and whence issued the same cries and din of strife. presently a great flare of fire rose from below and illumined the whole rock of gageac. a torch had been applied to a bonfire of faggots ready stacked on the platform. by that glare those below saw the suspended captain, and uttered a roar of hate and savage delight. in guillem's ears was a singing, and the growl of voices came in throbs like waves beating on his brain. from those below rose cries of, "cut the rope! cast him down! we will receive him on our pikes. he shall fall into the fire!" slowly the cable was let out, and guillem felt himself descending. he was glad that it was so. he desired to be in the midst of men, though these were his enemies; for he had his sword at his side and he would die fighting, wounding others, killing those who sought his life. so to perish were a death befitting a soldier--this such a death as he would hail. he put his hand to his sword and grasped the hilt. his blood that had curdled in his arteries began to pulsate, the film that had formed over his eyes was dissipated, and a flash of eager anticipation came into them. but again the rope ceased to be let out. he was suspended just half-way between the castle and the platform below, in full view of the townsmen who had gathered there, standing at a sufficient distance not to be struck by his falling body; he was in view also of the little garrison of the castle who had clambered to the battlements and were looking over at him. then he heard a hammering, and saw below men employed driving the pegs into the sockets in the rock, and fastening the wedges that held them firm. no sooner was the full connection made than up the stair ran men and even women, and boys who had scrambled out of bed, and these stood in a line against the rock up the lengthy ladder-stair gazing at the suspended man. then also from above the draw-bridge was lowered, and the men-at-arms who had been in the castle ran out of the gate and ran down the stair to have a better sight thence of the swinging, helpless man than they could from the battlements. a terrible spectacle it was that they witnessed--such a one as could not be looked on by christian people unmoved save in such an evil age as that, when men were rendered ferocious as wild indians and callous to the sufferings of their brethren; a spectacle such as could not be looked on without pity save in such a place as that where all had suffered in some degree from the exactions or the barbarities of this wretched man. the flames danced and curled as if they also frolicked at the sight of the agony of the man who had so often fed them with hard-won harvests of the peasantry, and the humble goods of the cottager too worthless to be carried away. in the glare of the leaping bonfire le gros guillem was distinctly visible, looking like a monstrous yellow spider at the end of his line. he thrust out now one long leg, then another, next he extended his lengthy arms each armed with lean and bony fingers. he endeavoured to scramble into a standing position upon his bar, but failed--one side would descend before the other, and he nearly fell in attempting this impossible feat. he gripped the rope with hands and knees and endeavoured to swarm up it, but the cable was rendered slippery by its passage over a roller in the window. rage was in his heart, rage at being there a sight to men, women, and children, without power of spreading destruction about him before he died. then he swung himself laterally, hoping to be able to reach a projection of rock whence possibly he might creep up or down, or even laterally from jutting point to point, holding by his fingers till he attained the stair. as he came swinging like a pendulum he was carried close to the stairway, and those upon it held their breath and drew back against the rock, thinking he would make a leap in attempt to light on the steps. were he to do this, then to arrest himself from falling backwards, with his long fingers he would inevitably clutch at them, and so precipitate them along with himself below. those persons standing on that portion of the steps within range sidled upwards or else downwards, to be out of the risk of such a danger. they could see in the upward flash of the firelight the sparkle in his great eyes as he glared at the steps, calculating his distance, making resolve to leap, and his heart failing him or his judgment assuring him that to do so were certainly fatal. a tinkle of a little bell. the priest of s. donat had hastily donned his surplice, and run and taken the holy sacrament, and was coming--he alone with a thought of mercy for the agonised, to obtain for him release, or to administer consolation in death. before him went a boy with a lantern, ringing the bell. then a loud voice from below cried: "cut the cable!" and then: "it is i--francis bonaldi--i, the governor, say it. enough! cut the cable!" a gasp from all that multitude. the cord had been chopped through before the priest arrived. chapter xxv. a helebore wreath. the destruction of le gros guillem's body of men at la roque gageac was the prelude to the surrender of the citadel of domme. the small garrison left in charge of that stronghold was panic-stricken when it heard the tidings from la roque. the whole country was in arms. the citizens had marshalled in the square, and the soldiers, deserting the town, had taken refuge in the castle. without head, without prospect of relief, hemmed in by the bishop's troops that arrived from sarlat and la roque on one side, menaced from beynac, where was a royal garrison, on another, and from fénelon on a third, where the baron was loyal to the french crown as well as a personal enemy of guillem, the remnant of the company that had acknowledged guillem as captain was fain to capitulate; and the confederate troops under the governor of la roque were content to accord terms, knowing the danger of driving these freebooters to desperation. they were suffered to march forth with their arms. they retreated up the dordogne to autoire, an impregnable stronghold, at that time in the power of a chief of companies, who they knew would welcome them, and afford them fresh opportunities of ravage and of gaining spoil. the history of france presents but one period of greater horror than that of the free companies--namely, the epoch of the wars of religion. but practically these latter wars were the outcome of the former. for three hundred years the barons and the great seigneurs of aquitaine had been free to act in accordance with their passions, uncontrolled by any hand. they had made war against each other on no provocation; they had made the cities and commercial towns their common prey. the only possible way in which a community of peaceful citizens or of villagers could struggle on was by contracting patis or compacts with the barons, whereby they undertook to pay them an annual sum, and on this agreement were freed from vexation by his armed men. the younger sons of the barons, and bastards, collected about them the scum of society, runaway serfs, escaped felons, adventurers from spain, from brabant, from italy, but chiefly gascons, drilled them, armed them, maintained them in strict discipline, captured such castles as seemed to them most advisable centres as dominating fertile districts, or else constructed others wherever was a rock that lent itself to defence; and thence they carried their arms in all directions. they came in torrents down from the causses and the cevennes upon languedoc. they ravaged auvergne, they carried their incursions into berry and the limousin. the king of france, the estates of the several provinces, were powerless to rid the country of them. again and again vast sums of money were collected and poured into their bottomless purses, and the companions promised on receipt of these sums to surrender their castles and quit the country. but very generally they only half-fulfilled their undertaking. they yielded up a fortress or two; they drifted off over the pyrenees into spain, or over the alps into italy, and not finding there the spoil they wanted, or meeting there with reverses, they turned their faces again toward france and reoccupied their old nests or constructed fresh ones, and all the old evils returned in aggravated form. the mediæval historian villani, who died in , gives an account of the formation of one of these terrible bands, which may serve as an example of the constitution of all. he says that in a knight of st. john of jerusalem, wearied of his order and its discipline, renounced his vows and formed a company of free companions in the marches of ancona. "brother moriale called together by letter and message a great number of soldiers out of employ. he bade them come to him, and promised to defray their expenses and to pay them for their services. this succeeded admirably; he gathered about him fifteen hundred bassinets and more than two thousand comrades, all men greedy to live at the cost of others." very speedily this company began its ravages. "they rode about the country and pillaged on all sides. they attacked feltramo, took it by storm and killed five hundred men. as the country round was rich they remained in feltramo a month, ravaging it. during the period of these incursions the terror inspired by the company made every castle in the neighbourhood surrender. crowds of mercenaries who had finished their term of service flocked to moriale, hearing exaggerated rumours of the great spoil gained by the company, and many soldiers refused all engagements, saying that they would serve under this freebooter only." moriale observed the greatest exactitude in the distribution of the booty. objects that had been stolen were sold by his orders, and he gave free passes to purchasers, so that by this means men who had been plundered might come to the fair he held and recover by payment the goods of which they had been despoiled. he instituted a treasurer, and had regular accounts kept of what was taken, and what prices were paid for things sold. he exacted as strict obedience as any feudal lord. he administered justice, and his judgments were invariably executed. it was not till long after the english domination had ceased, and which had furnished these ruffians with an excuse for their violence, that the plague of the free companies was put down. one of the very worst of all was that of the "ecorcheurs," or flayers, and had nothing whatever to do with the english. it was headed by alexander de bourbon, a mere boy, who had been given minor orders to enable him to hold a fat canonry. the flayers professed "that all the horrors hitherto committed from the beginning of the war would be but as child's play compared to their exploits." a great council of captains of companies was held at monde, in the gevaudan, in , when the soil of france, of aquitaine, of languedoc, of provence was parcelled up among them, each having his region allotted him in which to plunder and work havoc. so long as the english held aquitaine it was impossible for the crown of france to control this terrible plague. every baron, every little noble, as well as every great prince who found his liberty in the least touched, his misdeeds reproved, at once transferred his allegiance to the english crown, and the english king was too far off, and too greatly in need of assistance, to be nice in choosing his partisans, and not to wink at their misdoings. the money that had been taken from levi was restored by jean del' peyra, but not without murmurs from those who had assisted in the capture of l'eglise guillem. the peasants could see the justice in surrendering every article recovered to the claimants who could establish their rights and show that they had been plundered of these objects. even the book of the chanson de geste of guerin de montglane had found an owner. most of the ecclesiastical goods had been restored to churches. articles of clothing had been divided among those who had helped to take and destroy the vulture's nest. this all seemed to them reasonable enough, but that so large a sum as a hundred livres should be surrendered to a dog of a jew, solely because he had been despoiled of it--that was what they could not understand. if he had been robbed of the money it was well--jews were made to be plundered. equal justice was not due to those who had crucified the christ. jean, had however, been firm, and had held to his intention. rather than irritate the peasants to rebellion against his decision, he surrendered to them his entire share in the spoil of the robber's stronghold. the gratitude of the jew at the unexpected recovery of his money was profuse. jean paid little regard to his demonstration. a year later and he had reason to congratulate himself on having done an act of justice, for levi assisted him in the purchase of the seigneurie of les eyzies with it feudal stronghold and the flourishing village at its feet. but this is an event of the future. we are concerned now only with what took place in the memorable winter that saw the destruction of the band of le gros guillem, and that preceded the great battle of castillon and the ruin of the english cause in guyenne. jean had become exceedingly anxious to obtain tidings of noémi. after the terrible death of her father, the butchering of his followers, the surrender of domme, and the dispersion of the remainder of his band, he knew not what had become of her. she had relatives at la roque--the tardes--that he knew, and he was therefore satisfied that she was not homeless and destitute. but that anything out of the wreck of le gros guillem's accumulations had been preserved for her, he was doubtful. who guillem was, whence sprung, of what parents, no one knew. whether he had any surname no one could say. like many another captain of the period he had escaped from the common mass of adventurers by the force of his abilities, by his superior power, by his daring courage. it had been so with that redoubted soldier of fortune, "le petit meschin,"[ ] who from a scullion had risen to be the scourge of whole provinces, and to defeat and well-nigh exterminate a royal army under a prince of the blood. even renegade priests had headed bands of brigands and distinguished themselves by their outrages of all laws human and divine. [ ] "picciolo servo fuggito, di oscura lugo nato."--villani. the "eglise guillem" in the rocks of the left bank of the vézère was no inheritance of the robber chief, but had been taken by him and occupied as a stronghold of his own, and none had dared to reclaim it and attempt to dislodge him, till the attack by the peasants that has been recorded. jean felt that a painful obligation lay on him to see noémi. her father had met with a terrible death at the hands of his father, who had played with the wretched man as a cat with a mouse before he had cut the cord and precipitated him to his death. le gros guillem had forfeited every right to command sympathy by his treatment of ogier--in casting him down the _oubliette_ and then by his treacherous attempt to have him murdered by his two men-at-arms. nevertheless, he was noémi's father, and his mangled corpse lay between jean and her, and across that and the terrible wrongs committed by the dead man and the revengeful execution the hands of jean and noémi could never meet. but the word of affiance had been spoken, and spoken solemnly, before many witnesses, and it had been sealed with the giving of a ring. such a word could not be broken. in popular superstition it bound even beyond the grave. release could be had only by mutual consent and the restoration of the pledge. jean rode to la roque, full of trouble at heart. he loved noémi, he greatly esteemed her. he saw in her a noble soul struggling to its birth with aspirations after something better than what she had known--gladly would he have taken her to be his, and helped this uncertain, restless, eager spirit to unfold its wings, to break out of its shell, to look up and to soar into a pure atmosphere--but it might not be. the terrible shadow of le gros guillem, the awful story of the past made this impossible. as he was nearing la roque, he suddenly drew rein--he saw noémi. she was seated on a mass of brown fallen leaves, and was plucking helebore flowers. even that act struck jean to the heart. "she plays with poison--seeks out the noxious, the deadly," he said. he leaped to the ground, and holding the rein of his horse came to her. "noémi, what are you doing?" "i am making a chaplet for the grave of my father." "of helebore?" "what else suits? would you have it of the innocent flower of the field? on such he trampled. they call this the wolf's flower--enfin! it is a flower!" "noémi, do you know why i have come?" she stood up, holding the half-finished wreath in her hands and looking down. she did not answer, tears filled her eyes and trickled over her cheeks. "noémi," said he gravely, "you recall that incident by the charcoal-burner's lodge, that moment of terrible danger when the peasants, mad with revenge and success and the blood of the wolves they had killed, would have torn you----" she did not answer. as she raised her hand with the helebore wreath, he saw that the ring was on her finger where he had placed it. "i said what i did then, and i placed on your finger that ring, which is indeed your own--as you had entrusted it to me to show to your father--and i declared before all present that you were affianced to me. it was so." she bowed her head. "but, noémi, you know that this can never, never be." she looked up quickly, sadly at him. her eyes were full of tears. jean was deeply agitated. "you must return me the ring--if only for the form's sake, so as to undo the pledge and dissolve the engagement--i will give it back to you as a surrender of a loan--as nothing else." she put her fingers to the ring and drew it off, and without a word offered it to him. he took the ring and looked at it, doubtful what more to say. "noémi," he asked, "whose arms are these engraved on it? they seem to me to belong to the fénelon family." "yes--they are the fénelon arms." "was the ring----" he was about to ask if it had been stolen, but checked himself. "it was my father's ring," she said in a low tone. "your father's! was le gros guillem a fénelon?" "le gros guillem! oh, no! do you not know and understand?" "know, understand what?" "le gros guillem was not really my father; he carried off my mother from fénelon, along with me when i was an infant in arms. le gros guillem killed my father, who was the baron de fénelon. but i was a child and i was brought up at domme. i knew nothing of that. le gros guillem always treated me as his child and loved me as such, and i--i always called him and looked up to him as father." "noémi--is this true?" she gazed at him full in the face. "i am no liar, jean." "noémi, throw aside that helebore, open your arms. to my heart! to my heart! take back the ring, all is well, is well. mine for ever!" chapter xxvi. the eleventh cross. ogier del' peyra had returned to le peuch ste. soure. his appearance greatly astonished the people, as his beard and moustachio had been shaved, and his hair, usually worn very thick and long, had been clipped close. so transformed was he in appearance that they could hardly recognise him. it was not till the story of the exploit of la roque had reached them in its entirety that this transformation was understood. ogier would say nothing about what he had done. he relapsed into indifference and silence, and appeared morose and inaccessible. he took no interest in anything connected with his lands, none whatever in the great political events that ensued. on september th, , john talbot, earl of shrewsbury, disembarked on the coast of medoc and entered bordeaux on the d. several small towns and fortresses surrendered. then a large french army descended into guyenne. on july th, , the main body, under the command of the count of penthièvre and the admiral jean de bueil, encamped at la mothe-montravel, and prepared to lay siege to castillon that was held by the english. talbot at once quitted bordeaux, accompanied by between eight hundred and a thousand horsemen, and followed by from four to five thousand foot soldiers. he arrived before castillon on the th of july. at the approach of the english the french withdrew to their camp, and were followed by talbot, who arrived breathless, his troops exhausted with a long march. misinformed as to their numbers, believing that the french were retreating in alarm, without waiting to recruit his troops, the earl of shrewsbury resolved on storming the french camp. the mistake was fatal. not only did the french army vastly outnumber his own, not only was it fresh, whilst his troops were fagged, but their camp was well chosen and well defended with artillery that played upon the english from every side with disastrous effect. the defeat was complete. talbot and his gallant son fell, and their death has been immortalised by shakespeare. nor has the great dramatist failed to point out the cause of the failure--the disunion among the english leaders. this memorable battle prepared the way for the final deliverance of guyenne and of france, not from english arms only, but from the plague of the free companies, which had grown and spread under the shadow of the english domination. at length the south--which as yet had not been in name even french--was absorbed into the kingdom, and partook of the benefits of union, and began to tingle with the lifeblood of the nation. ogier del' peyra resigned all concern relative to his estates into the hands of his son, or rather the management was taken from him by jean, because the old man could or would attend to nothing himself. whether his mind had been affected by his imprisonment in the _oubliette_, or whether the inactivity was constitutional, and when the necessity for exertion and the motive for revenge were passed he could no longer rouse himself to action, remained uncertain. he had expressed no surprise when jean brought noémi to le peuch as its mistress. he accepted whatever happened as a matter of course. for long he did absolutely nothing but sit in the sun and bite pieces of twig and straw. if addressed, he replied only with a "yes" or "no," and gave tokens of annoyance if anyone was persistent in forcing a conversation. whether he was thinking of the past, or thinking of nothing at all, none could say. most certainly he gave no thought to the future, for he made no provision for the morrow and left everything to jean. at last he became feeble, and when feeble suddenly took it into his head to absent himself for a good part of the day. on inquiry, jean learned that he crossed the river taking with him a hammer and chisel; and he was informed that the old man had been seen scrambling up the slope to the ruins of l'eglise guillem. one day, accordingly, jean went after him, and on reaching the cave-habitation found his father seated on the floor engaged in chipping with his tools. "what are you doing, father?" asked jean. the old man did not answer with words, but pointed to the floor. he had been trimming into shapeliness the crosses that marked the lives taken at the storming of l'eglise. "but there are eleven, father," said jean, pointing to one larger than the rest, fresh cut. the old man nodded. "for le gros guillem," he said. "i killed him." the end. appletons' town and country library. published semimonthly. * * * * * . _the steel hammer._by louis ulbach. . _eve._a novel. by s. baring-gould. . _for fifteen years._a sequel to the steel hammer. by louis ulbach. . _a counsel of perfection._a novel. by lucas malet. . _the deemster._a romance. by hall caine. . _a virginia inheritance._by edmund pendleton. . _ninette: an idyll of provence._by the author of véra. . 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"a new departure by this author. unlike his previous works, this little tale is almost wholly humorous, with, however, a current of pathos underneath. it is not always that an author can succeed equally well in tragedy and in comedy, but it looks as though mr. hall caine would be one of the exceptions."--_london literary world._ "it is pleasant to meet the author of 'the deemster' in a brightly humorous little story like this.... it shows the same observation of manx character, and much of the same artistic skill."--_philadelphia times._ new york: d. appleton & co., fifth avenue. transcriber notes: passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. small caps were replaced with all caps. throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. those words were retained as-is. errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected unless otherwise noted. on page , "weecked" was replaced with "wrecked". on page , "knuckle-bones" was replaced with "knucklebones". on page , "spang" was replaced with "sprang". on page , "zigzaging" was replaced with "zigzagging". on page , "charcoal burner's" was replaced with "charcoal-burner's". on page , "guillen" was replaced with "guillem". on page , a single quotation mark was replaced with a double quotation mark. on page , "ogier del peyra" was replaced with "ogier del' peyra". on page , "stoure" was replaced with "soure". on page , "conple" was replaced with "couple". on page , "frollicked" was replaced with "frolicked". on last page, the quotation mark after the dash was moved before the dash tom tufton's travels; by evelyn everett-green. chapter i. an only son. chapter ii. out into the world. chapter iii. in gay london town. chapter iv. the folly. chapter v. with lord claud. chapter vi. barns elms. chapter vii. master gale's daughter. chapter viii. the great duke. chapter ix. fare well to home. chapter x. in peril. chapter xi. the pious monks of st. bernard. chapter xii. back in london. chapter xiii. on the king's highway. chapter xiv. the sword of damocles. chapter xv. away to the forest. chapter i. an only son. good squire tufton of gablehurst lay dying. he had been ailing for many months, knowing his end to be near; and yet, as is so often the case in lingering declines, death was long in coming, so that those about him had grown used to the sight of the strong figure wasted to a shadow, and the face shadowed by the wings of the hovering messenger. some members of the household, indeed, had begun to cherish the hope that the master might yet recover, and be seen amongst them once more; but that hope was not shared by the patient himself, nor by the two devoted women who nursed him with tender love. his wife and daughter were always with him, relieving each other in turn, and occasionally both yielding place to one of the many faithful servants, who were all eager to do what they could for the master they loved; but in his waking hours the squire seldom missed the best-loved faces about him. rachel and her mother seemed to live their lives about his sick bed, soothing his weariness and pain, and striving with patient resignation to school themselves to submission to the will of god, who was about to take their loved one from them. and yet they had kept him with them longer than once seemed possible. the bright days of summer were doubtless favourable to the patient. when he could lie with open windows, breathing the pure soft air from woodland and field, he seemed able to make a stand against the grim enemy of human nature. but the summer was now upon the wane; the golden sunshine was obscured by the first driving rains of the approaching equinox; and it seemed to those who watched at the sufferer's bedside that his life was ebbing away as slowly and as steadily as the hours of sunshine in the shortening day. today there was a look upon his face which caused rachel many times to turn anxious and beseeching eyes upon her mother, and yet what she read in the expression of that worn and gentle countenance only confirmed her own impressions. the squire lay very still and quiet, dozing as it seemed, whilst the fire crackled cheerfully up the wide chimney, and the rain dashed ceaselessly against the windows. he had not spoken for many hours. there had come into rachel's heart a terrible fear lest he should never speak again. the shadow on his face looked so gray; the features had taken so strange and pinched a look. rachel had seen death before in many humble homes, although it had, so far, not touched any of her own nearest and dearest. she had watched that creeping shadow before now, for her heart always went out to the sick and the suffering, and her feet led her to the homes of those who stood in need of tender sympathy and womanly aid. but when the shadow gathered upon the face of her own loved father, the pressure upon her heart seemed almost more than she could bear. the tears stole down her cheeks, and her eyes sought those of her mother with a glance of almost pitiful appeal. the leech had stolen into the room, had stood beside the patient, had shaken his head, and stolen away. he knew that his skill, such as it was, could avail nothing now; it was but the question of a few hours. all day that stupor had continued. rachel had feared they would never hear his voice, or see the loving glance of his eyes again. she had passed the time between a study of that wasted face, and an eager and restless looking forth from the casement, as though in search of something or somebody who came not. often she saw servants and messengers hastening this way and that, exchanging words with each other, and starting off afresh; but the one stalwart figure, for which she gazed with aching eyes, appeared not, and often a sigh would break from her lips, whilst from time to time a tear forced its way to her eyes. dusk was falling now. she could no longer see across the expanse of park land which surrounded gablehurst. she drew the curtains at last with gentle hands, and piled up the logs upon the hearth. there was a glint of something in her eyes not altogether accounted for by the tears in them. it was a sparkle which bespoke wounded sensibility--something approaching to anger. "o brother, brother," she whispered, with dry lips, "how can you treat him so? have you a heart? how terrible a judgment you seem to be seeking to draw down upon yourself! what will the end be like, if this is the beginning?" the flames leapt up with a sudden ruddy glow. the room had been dark before; now it was suddenly flooded with a brilliant palpitating light. as rachel turned back to the bed, she saw that her father's eyes had opened. the mists of weakness no longer seemed to cloud his sight. he was looking round him with comprehension and observation. "where is tom?" it was the question they had been expecting all day. it was in anticipation of this that messengers had been scouring the neighbourhood in search of that young ne'er-do-well, tom tufton, the good squire's unworthy son. and yet, unworthy as he was--idle, reckless, dissipated, a source of pain and anxiety to father, mother, and sister--young tom was beloved by the people in and about his home, albeit they all shook their heads over his follies and wildness, and wondered with bated breath what would befall gablehurst when the young master should be lord of all. "where is tom?" asked the squire, in a firmer voice than they had thought to hear again. "dear father, we have sent for him," answered rachel soothingly; "he will be here anon." "i would speak with tom," said the squire. "there are things i needs must say to him ere i close my eyes for ever. perchance i have already delayed too long. yet i have waited and waited, hoping for signs of seriousness in one so soon to lose a parent. but seriousness and tom have no dealings together, it would seem. god forgive us if it be any lack on our part that has made our son the wild young blade that he seems like to be!" a little sob broke from the mother's lips. it was the bitterest thought of all to the parents; and yet they could not see wherein they had erred. they had striven to bring up the boy well. he had had the same training as his father before him. there had been no lack of firmness, and no lack of love, but the result, as at present seen, was terrible to the father and mother. the squire heard the stifled sound of grief, and put out his hand to clasp that of his wife. "remember he is the child of many prayers," he said. "we must believe that those prayers will be answered. we must have faith in god." "i will try--i will try," answered the poor mother; "but oh, my husband, how shall i hope to cope with that wild spirit when you are gone?" it was a hard question to answer, for the squire himself had found his son more than a match for him many a time. it was true that he had done all that man can do to protect wife and daughter from the reckless extravagance of an ungoverned nature; but he knew well that tom was not one to see himself tamely set aside. there were difficulties ahead for these two women, and the future of his son lay like a load upon his spirit. "i would speak with tom," he said, after a brief pause, during which rachel administered a draught of the cordial which did most to support the failing strength of the dying man. just at this moment the lamp of life seemed to be glowing with fresh strength. it was but the last flicker before extinction, and the wife knew it, but rachel experienced a glow of hope that perhaps it might mean a temporary improvement. "i will go and see if he has come," she said. "perchance they have found and brought him by now." she glided from the room, just giving one backward glance in so doing, when the expression on her mother's face brought a quick spasm of pain to her heart. there was a strange conflict of feeling going on within her, as she trod the corridor with swift steps, and passed rapidly down into the hall beneath. this hall was a great square place, with a glowing fire illuminating it, the dancing shadows falling grotesquely upon the pictured tuftons that lined the walls, and upon the weapons which hung, together with trophies of game, between them. in the centre of the hall was an oak table, heavily carved about the legs, and at this table stood a tall, broad-shouldered young man, clad in the stout leathern breeches and full coat of the period, tossing off a steaming tankard of some spirituous liquor, although the flush on his face, and the slightly unsteady way in which he held the vessel, seemed to indicate that he stood in no further need of strong drink. rachel came swiftly down the staircase, her footfall making scarcely any sound upon the shallow polished steps. "tom!" she exclaimed, in a voice full of repressed feeling, "how can you delay drinking here, when your father upstairs is dying, and is asking for you?" "dying, quotha!" returned the young man, with a foolish laugh; "methinks i have heard that tale somewhat too often to be scared by it now, sweet sister!" and he patted her shoulder with a gesture from which she instinctively recoiled. "tom, have you no heart? he will not last the night through. got you not our messages, sent hours ago? how can you show yourself so careless--so cruel? but tarry no longer now you are here. he has asked for you twice. take care lest you dally too long!" something in rachel's face and in her manner of speaking seemed to make an impression upon the young roisterer. tom was not drunk, although he had been spending the day with comrades who seasoned every sentence with an oath, and flavoured every pastime with strong drink. a man with a weaker head might have been overcome by the libations in which he had indulged, but tom was a seasoned vessel by that time, and he could stand a good deal. he was in a noisy and reckless mood, but he had the command of his faculties. he saw that his sister was speaking with conviction, and he prepared to do her bidding. at the same time, tom was not seriously alarmed about his father. the squire's long illness had bred in him a sort of disbelief in any fatal termination. he had made up his mind that women and doctors were all fools together, and frightened themselves for nothing. he had resolved against letting himself be scared by their long faces and doleful prognostications, and had gone on in his wonted courses with reckless bravado. he was not altogether an undutiful son. he had some affection for both father and mother. but his affection was not strong enough to keep him from following out his own wishes. he had long been a sort of leader amongst the young men of the place and neighbourhood, and he enjoyed the reputation he held of being a daring young blade, not far inferior in prowess and recklessness to those young bloods about town, reports of whose doings sometimes reached the wilds of essex, stirring up tom tufton's ambition to follow in their wake. he always declared that he meant no harm, and did no harm, to any. the natives of the place were certainly proud of him, even if they sometimes fell to rating and crying shame upon him. he knew his popularity; he knew that he had a fine figure and a handsome face; he knew that he had the sort of address which carried him through his scrapes and adventures with flying colours. he found the world a pleasant place, and saw no reason why he should not enjoy himself in his own way whilst he was young. some day he would marry and sober down, and live as his fathers had done before him; but, meantime, he meant to have his fling. there were other tuftons who had done the like before him, as his father knew to his cost. several times had the estate been sadly impoverished by the demands made upon it by some of the wild younger brothers, who had bequeathed (as it seemed) their characteristics to this young scion, tom. the squire himself had been living with great economy, that he might pay off a mortgage which had been contracted by his own father, in order to save the honour of the family, which had been imperilled by the extravagance of his brother. tom never troubled himself about these things. he cared little how his father scraped and saved, if he had but money in his pockets sufficient for the needs of the day. extravagance in money was less tom's foible than recklessness in his exploits, and a daring disregard of authority. no doubt he would have made away with money had he possessed it; but as everybody knew that he did not possess a long purse, and that the squire would not be likely to pay his son's debts of honour, he was saved from the temptation of plunging deeply into debt. people did not care to trust him too far. so, as he climbed the shallow stairs three at once, he told himself that his father had no need to speak severely to him. he had only been as other young men, and had not got into serious debt or trouble. tom had almost persuaded himself, in fact, that he had been on the whole a very estimable sort of youth, and he entered the sick room with something of a swaggering air, as much as to say that he had no cause for shame. but at the sight which greeted his eyes, as they met those of the sick man, a sobering change came over him. he had seen death sometimes, and the sight of it had always painfully affected him. he hated to be brought up short, as it were, and forced to see the serious, the solemn, the awe inspiring in life. he wanted to live in the present; he did not want to be forced to face the inevitable future. "tom," said his father's voice, in weak but distinct accents, "you have come, and it is well. i have things to say to you which may not longer be delayed. take that chair beside me. i would see your face once again." tom would far rather have lingered in the shadows of the background; but his mother had risen and motioned him to take her place. he sat down rather awkwardly; and mother and daughter, without leaving the room, retired to the background, and sat together upon a distant settle, holding each other by the hand. "tom," said the dying man, "i have sent for you because there are things which i would rather you should hear from my lips than learn from others after my death." "oh, you will not die yet, father; you will be better soon," said tom uneasily, letting his glance wander restlessly round the room to avoid the searching gaze of those luminous eyes. "life and death are in god's hands, boy; and i think my summons has come. tom, have you been counting upon being master here when i am gone?" "i don't know that i ever thought much about it," answered tom, rather taken aback; "but i suppose i come after you." "yes, tom, you come after me; but not immediately. i have so settled my affairs that your mother remains here and administers the estate until you are five and twenty--that will be three years hence. by that time the burdens will be cleared away--and i fear you would never clear them off were you in power. by that time it will be possible for you to come and live here (i trust a wiser and a better man), whilst the estate can bear the charge upon it of a sufficient income to be paid to your mother and sister to live in comfort at little gables, which has been willed absolutely to your mother and to rachel after her. at present the estate could not bear that drain--unless only to get into fresh difficulties; but three more years will put things right. during those three years, tom, you will not be master of gablehurst. you will have no more power than you have had in my lifetime. but i hope and trust you will be a dutiful son to your mother, and will cause her no heart-breaking anxieties, and oppose no vexatious obstacles to her management of the estate." it cannot be denied that tom was taken aback at this. he had naturally supposed that he would succeed to his father's position as squire of gablehurst without let or hindrance; and it was a decided blow to him to feel that he was still to occupy a subordinate position, squire only in name. it was all very well when his father lived--that was right and natural enough--but to see his mother ruling, and himself submitting to her rule!--that was a thing he had not bargained for. he felt as though he would be the laughing-stock of all his friends. the father saw the look upon his face, and it pained him. "you do not like the arrangement, tom; and yet i know it is the best which can be made." "oh yes, in a way. i see what you mean. i don't understand scraping and paring myself; yet, of course, it will be best to get the mortgage paid off once and for all. i can see that well enough. but i confess it will be poor fun living at gablehurst as a little boy tied to his mother's apron strings. i would rather go away altogether, and see the world for myself." "well, tom," answered the father in the same low, even tones, "your mother and i have sometimes asked ourselves seriously whether you might not do better away from home; whether it might not be the best thing we could do for you to sever you from your present companions, and see if you could not find better ones elsewhere." "i have no fault to find with my friends," said tom quickly. "no, my son, i fear not. but we have much to complain of." "i don't see what!" cried young tom rather hotly. "that is the worst of it. did you see greater harm, our anxieties would be less. but what are we to think of these cruel sports in which you indulge, these scenes of vice and drunkenness where you are constantly found? even the sabbath is not sacred to you. what is this story we hear of you--that no girl may even go to church without paying 'tom tufton's toll' at the lych gate?" tom broke into a sudden laugh. "they like that toll well enough, father, i can tell you; else they could go round the other way. why, you yourself salute the farmers' little wenches on the cheek sometimes--i have seen you do it; and why not i the older ones?" the squire looked at his son with mournful intensity of gaze. "tom, tom, i think sometimes that thou dost err more from thoughtlessness than from wickedness; but, my son, thoughtlessness, if carried to excess, may become wickedness, and may breed vice. i verily believe that in half thy pranks thou dost mean no great harm; but thou art growing to man's estate, tom. it is time that thou didst put away childish things. what is pardoned to youth, may not so easily be pardoned to manhood. have a care, tom, have a care! oh, my son, remember that the day will come when thou too must lie face to face with death, even as i do tonight. let not the record upon which thou wilt then look be one of vice and profligacy. it needs must be that in such a moment our lives seem deeply stained by sin; but strive so to live that thou mayest at least be able to say, 'i have striven to do my duty--the lord pardon all my imperfections!' for, tom, if thou dost persevere in careless and evil courses, it may be that the power to ask the lord's forgiveness may pass from thee; and if it comes to such a pass, may the lord have mercy upon thy wretched soul!" the dying man stopped short, a spasm of suffering passing over his face. the thought had been a terrible one to him. yet he had been bred up in the somewhat stern puritan tenets, and it was not in his creed to speak so much of the everlasting mercy as the everlasting judgment. tom put the cup of cordial to his father's lips, himself somewhat sobered by the words heard and the visions called up. he was neither callous nor hard-hearted; and his father was dying. in that moment he really longed to turn over a new leaf, and cut adrift from former temptations. "then, father, let me go," he said; "let me try afresh in a new place. i could not do it here perhaps; but i think i could elsewhere." "if that be so, my son, then thou hadst better go," said the dying man. "i would that thou couldst have remained to be the stay and support of thy mother; but if not, then it may be thou wilt be better elsewhere. i have thought often of this. i and thy mother have talked it over many times. i have even made provision for it, as she will tell thee and show thee. but, tom, if thou go hence, linger not in london, where, i fear me, thou wouldst soon be ruined body and soul. there be stirring things passing in the great world beyond the seas. take ship, and go and see some of these things. linger not in idleness in the haunts of vice. the world is a bigger place than thou canst know. go forth and see it, and learn and find thy manhood's strength." tom's eyes glistened at the thought. it had never occurred to him as possible to leave his native place. now it suddenly seemed as though a new life were opening out before him. "where shall i go, father?" he asked. the squire was silent for a while. he had exhausted himself by the energy with which he had spoken hitherto. when next he opened his lips his words came more slowly and languidly. "if i were in your place, boy, i should go forth and see what is doing at the seat of war. i love not war for its own sake. it is a cruel and terrible thing. yet there be times when it becomes a righteous thing; and methinks england is doing right to ally herself with the foes of france to crush the tyranny of that proud nation, whose king would fain be monarch of all europe if he could. i know not whether men untrained to arms may enlist themselves in the ranks of the great duke of marlborough, whose genius is winning renown for england's sons. but were i young, methinks i would go forth and see some of the great things that are doing in the world; and it might well be that a fine grown young fellow, with stalwart limbs, a firm seat on a horse, and a knowledge of sword play and the use of firearms, might even find a place in the ranks of the great general. whether or not, he would see life as he had never seen it before, and learn lessons which might make a man of him all his life." the prospect was attractive and exciting for tom, who loved a fight as he loved nothing else, and who had a very exalted idea of his own prowess and skill in arms. he could wrestle and throw better than any antagonist he had ever met, and was no novice with pistol or sword. he had the good opinion of his powers which naturally came to one who had seldom or never found his match in his native place; and already in imagination he saw himself riding at the head of a troop of soldiers, and winning laurels on all sides by his bravery and address. the squire's voice had sunk into the silence of exhaustion. he had closed his eyes, and only opened them again after a long interval. their glance met that of young tom, and the father seemed to read something of what was passing in his mind. "tom, lad," he said feebly, reaching forth his hand and trying to grasp the great horny fist of his son, "strive to be humble. think not too well of thyself. seek counsel from god in all things. be not wise in thine own eyes. if thou art self willed, vain, and headstrong, grief and pain will be thy lot. seek first the kingdom of heaven and its righteousness--" but here the voice failed; and tom, his quick nature touched and sobered, rose hastily, and, with a muttered promise of quick return, threw himself out of the room, as though afraid to trust himself there longer. he was such a stranger to keen emotion, that he fled from before it with a sense of dread. the wife came back to her husband's bedside. he looked into her face and said, faintly: "the lad hath yet a warm heart." "i have always felt that," she answered quickly. "but oh, my husband, why send him forth to the perils of war?" "in the hope that the stern discipline of a soldier's life may fit him for the duties which will be his at home. the lad needs above all things to learn to obey. till he has mastered the lesson of submission, he can never be fit to hold the reins of government. that lesson he will learn most quickly in the life of the camp. there he will be no great man, but an overgrown boy to be taught and drilled. young tom needs to find his own level. that is what he never will do at home. he has lorded it over the neighbourhood too long already." "but if he leaves us and goes forth into the world, who will care for his immortal soul?" asked the mother, with tears in her eyes. "has he listened to our words of admonition and warning at home?" asked the squire, with a strange look in his glazing eyes. "nay, wife, i feel as i lie here dying, that the life of the soul is something we poor frail human creatures must not try too much to touch. the spirit of god will work in his own time. we may pray and weep and plead before god for an erring son, and we believe our prayers will be answered; but it will be in his time, not in our own. and time and place are no barriers with him. he will do for tom, i will not doubt it, what we have failed to do with all our pains and care." the mother wept silently--for the husband whose life was ebbing away; for the son over whose heart she seemed to have so little control; for herself, soon to be left alone in the world, with only her daughter for her prop and stay. she was not a weak or helpless creature. she had been in her husband's confidence, and had been his helpmeet throughout their married life. she was well able to carry on single-handed the course of action he had pursued through his long rule at gablehurst; yet not the less for this did she feel the desolation of her approaching widowhood; and it seemed an additional sorrow (although she recognized its necessity) that tom was also to be taken from her. a mother's love for her only son is a very sacred and compelling thing. tom had not been a comfort or support to his parents; he was likely, if he remained, to be a source of endless trouble to his mother during her reign at the old house; yet none the less did it seem to her a heart-breaking thing to have to part from him. the light about them grew more dim as the fire burned with a steady glow instead of with dancing flames. rachel had lighted a lamp, yet it did little to illumine the great room. the sick man lay as though asleep. presently the mother spoke in a whisper to her daughter. "fetch tom," she said. rachel knew what that meant, and her heart beat to suffocation. she crept from the room, and returned with her brother, and they stood side by side at one side of the bed, whilst their mother knelt at the other. once the dying man opened his eyes, and looked from one to another of those about him, though whether he saw them they did not know. then his eyes closed, he gave a sigh, and turned upon his pillows. the squire of gablehurst had passed to his last account. chapter ii. out into the world. "you had better let me go, mother. i shall do no good here." tom stood before his mother with a flush upon his handsome face--a flush that was one partly of shame, partly of anger, with a dash of excitement and eagerness thrown in. his mother was in tears. she had been uttering words of reproach and sorrow; for after a period of wonderful steadiness immediately succeeding his father's death, young tom had broken out into his wild ways again, and her fond hopes of seeing him grow into her comfort and stay were dashed ruthlessly to the ground again. the impression made upon him by the death of the squire was growing dim now. his old companions were tempting him back to their ranks, and he had neither strength of purpose nor the resolute desire to resist their overtures. "you had better let me go. you know my father said it. i have never done any good here, and i never shall. i want to see the world, and i see nothing here. gablehurst and gablethorpe are too narrow for me. i will go to foreign lands, and come back to you with a better record to show. i think i could make a fine soldier, but in this miserable little place a man has no scope." "a man has scope to become a good landlord, a kind master, a god-fearing head of his household," said the mother, with a sigh in her voice. but tom interrupted impatiently: "that is all very well when one is the master. perhaps when i come back i can be all that myself; but now i am a dummy--a nobody, and they all make game of me for being a mock squire! my father himself knew that no man of spirit would stand such a humiliating arrangement. if he could not trust me to succeed him, he did well to arrange for me to go elsewhere. he said you would tell me what provision he had made for me to do so." the moment had come that the mother had so long dreaded. she had to face the separation from her son, and to send him forth into the world alone. but the experiences of the past weeks had taught her that perhaps this was the best thing that could happen to young tom. in gablethorpe he had no chance of getting away from evil associates. in a different place he might find friends of a different stamp. she rose and silently unlocked a great oaken press, clamped with iron, a place where the squire kept all his valuable papers, and some of the heirlooms which had come down to him from his forefathers. tom looked on with curious eyes. he had always experienced, from childhood upwards, a certain sense of awe when that press was unlocked and thrown open. he now observed his mother's actions with great curiosity. "come, tom, and lift down that box, for it is heavy," she said; and tom came forward and carefully lifted down a small iron-bound chest, which, for its size, was in truth remarkably heavy. this box was placed upon the table, whilst the mother locked up the safe once more. then she selected a small key from a number in a bag at her girdle, and offered it to her son. "there, tom, the box and its contents are yours. you will find within five hundred golden pieces--guineas every one of them, bright and new from the mint. your father saved them up for you for many long years, in case it should ever become needful that you should leave home to see the world. always it was his hope that you would remain at home to be his comfort and stay; but if that could not be, then would he wish to send forth his only son in such a manner as beseemed his condition in life." tom's eyes sparkled. a flush mounted to his cheek, and his hand shook a little as he put the key into the lock. it was all true. there lay, in neat rolls, more money than he had ever seen in all his life--a fortune for a prince, as it seemed to him in his youthful inexperience. the admonitions and counsel of his mother fell on deaf ears. tom's busy brain was planning a thousand ways in which his wealth might be expended. he would go forth. he would see the world. he would win fame and fortune. he would never return to gablehurst until he brought with him a name which should cause the ears of those who knew him to tingle by reason of the fame he had won! "nay, but boast not of the future, my son," pleaded the mother, with a note of anxiety in her voice; "and be not over confident. the times are perilous, and you are but an untried youth. boasting is not well." but tom could not listen. he laughingly repeated his boast, and was off to the stables forthwith, to pick for himself the best horses for his ride to london. for, of course, he must first go there, to fit himself out for his journey beyond seas, and find out where the army of the duke was at present to be found. vague rumours of the great victory had penetrated to the wilds of essex; but where blenheim was, and what the victory was all about, the rustics knew as little as "old kaspar" of the immortal ballad of later days. the squires were little less vague in their ideas as to the scope and purpose of the war. it was to abase the power of france--so much they knew, and was unpopular with the tories of jacobite leanings, for the reason that the french king was sheltering the dethroned monarch of the stuart line. but then the great duke who was winning all these victories was said to be a stanch tory himself; so that it was all rather confusing, and tom was just as ignorant and ill-informed on all these topics as the hinds who tilled his fields. he had never cared to inform himself of what was passing in the world, and the newspapers had always seemed to him very dull reading. now, however, he wished he knew a little more; but he told himself that he should quickly pick up everything in london. his heart beat at the thought of seeing that wonderful city; and although he carelessly promised his mother not to linger there long, he was by no means sure that he would not make a good stay, and learn the fashions of the gay world before he crossed the sea. he was quite of the opinion that, clad in a new suit of fashionable make, he could ruffle it with the best of the young bloods about town. he was now all in a fever to be off. he selected for his attendant a young groom, with whom he had long been more intimate than his father approved. his mother in vain besought him to take faithful old john, or at least peter, whom they had known from boyhood; but tom would have nobody but young robin, and declared that he and robin, mounted upon wildfire and wildgoose--two of the best and fleetest horses ever reared in the meadows round gablehurst--could distance any highwaymen who might try to stop them, or shoot them down if they could not shake them off. for these were days when travelling was none too safe, and the transit of the heavy bag of golden guineas made an additional source of danger. for there were highway robbers and footpads, who seemed to have a seventh sense for the scenting of gold. it was probable that they had spies and confederates in all sorts of places, and that they were warned beforehand when travellers rode with money and valuables upon their persons. it was, therefore, small wonder that mother and sister looked with somewhat sinking hearts at the handsome young fellow, in his workman-like, if rustic, riding dress, as he sat upon his horse at the hall door, giving a last look round him at the little crowd gathered to see him ride away. "you will write and tell us of your safe arrival in london; and be very careful how you cross epping forest," said the mother. and young tom answered gaily,--"oh, never fear for me. wildfire and i can ride through and ride down anything! i will send a letter from london, but after that you must not look for anything but silence. when men cross the seas, and live amid battles and marches, letters can scarce be written, still less safely carried." he stooped from his saddle, and once more kissed both mother and sister. then the servants and tenants crowded round, full of good wishes for a prosperous journey and a happy return; and tom answered them with gay words of promise. he would come back again, covered with fame and glory. they would hear of his doings before they saw him again, and when he came back he would "take toll again of all his old playmates;" and so saying, he looked laughingly round upon the blushing girls, who had paid tom tufton's toll many a time, between jest and earnest, by the lych gate. they all admired and liked the handsome lad, even though his ways were more wild and reckless than the elders could approve. but all declared that it would do him all the good in the world to go out and see life in other places. it would cool his hot blood, and teach him wisdom; and, after all, lads always would be lads till manhood's cares and lessons had tamed them. so tom rode away in high spirits, robin following on wildgoose, with the saddlebags strapped in front of him. they did not take much with them, as tom meant to equip himself in town, and was wearing his finest home-made suit upon the journey. he had his precious guineas carefully secured about his person. they were heavy, it is true, but he liked to feel the weight of them, and to know that they were safe. for many miles he was constantly receiving hails from friends and comrades; sometimes a band of young men would ride with him for a few miles, and then, wishing him good luck, return home again. at some houses which he passed, bright eyes would look out from the windows, and kerchiefs would be waved in greeting and farewell. tom may perhaps be forgiven for regarding himself somewhat in the light of a young prince riding forth to see the world. everything in his past life had combined to give him a good opinion of himself, and make him fancy himself irresistible alike with men and women. for he was undoubtedly the strongest and handsomest youth in his own small world. he sang and whistled as he rode along in the crisp morning air. october had dashed the trees with vivid tints of red and gold. a crisp touch of frost was in the air, and though the noonday sun was bright and hot, there were indications of approaching winter plain to be seen. they baited their horses for an hour at a little inn where tom was slightly known; but when he spoke of pressing on, and asked where the next halting place was, mine host advised his remaining where he was till morning, as he was now close to the forest boundaries, and not only were the paths somewhat intricate, but there were always footpads, if not worse, lurking in the recesses of the wood, ready to pounce upon unwary travellers, especially after sundown. "and the light goes quickly beneath the trees. for my part, i would rather travel by the waxing light of early morn than by the fading glow of an autumn evening." tom had meant to arrive at this inn full two hours before he did; for he had allowed his friends to hinder him on his way, and had stopped all too often to exchange a word with some maiden watching from a window or by a gate. he had intended reaching a little village known to robin, situated in the forest itself, before night fell; and even as it was, he was by no means prepared to abandon the hope of getting there. robin was not afraid of darkness or of footpads. he had a very good knowledge of the forest, and was eager to press on. it was still quite light, and tom was in all the fervour of his first impetuosity. so, as soon as the horses were baited and themselves refreshed, they mounted once more, and pushed gaily along, feeling themselves quite equal to repel any wretched footpads who might try to assault them. as for the regular highway robbers, well armed and well mounted, they favoured better-frequented routes than this. open heaths were their favourite hunting grounds, though they liked well enough to lie in hiding in the forests when they had brought too much notoriety upon themselves. these unfrequented forest paths did not offer them sufficient hope of booty to attract them in large numbers, and tom had no fear of meeting an enemy too strong for him. but security is not always safety, as tom was destined to find to his cost. in spite of their best efforts, and the gallant response made by their good horses, dusk fell whilst they were still threading the tortuous forest paths, and robin was fain to admit that he would be puzzled to find the way in the dark; indeed, he was not certain that he was on the right track now. it was impossible to ride fast in the gathering darkness, and upon so rough a way; and tom had more than once suggested that they should make their bed in some hollow tree, and wait for daylight before pursuing their journey. they had halted in an open place, and were just discussing the matter, when--whiz!--a bullet grazed the flank of wildgoose, and the mettlesome creature reared straight into the air, threatening to fall backwards over his rider. "mark ho!" cried a loud voice, and there was a crackling of the underwood all round. "it is the footpads!" cried robin. "i have beard that call before;" and in a moment the travellers had their pistols out, and were warily awaiting the first sign of attack. it was not long in coming. three men with blackened faces sprang out from different places, and the crackling of the underwood showed that more were lurking out of sight. tom took steady aim, and brought down the foremost villain at the first shot; but robin was not so lucky. he winged his man, but did not drop him, and the next moment four stalwart figures had sprung out to the aid of their comrades, and the travellers were surrounded. tom set his teeth hard, a great fury in his heart. he took aim again, and another of his assailants dropped as he pulled the trigger; then, setting spurs to wildfire, who was well-nigh distracted with terror at the noise and the flash in the darkness, he rode clean over the man who had sprung at his bridle rein, and calling to robin to follow him, he sped away in the darkness at a pace which was risk to life and limb. the footpads seemed taken aback by this move, for they had reckoned that a headlong flight into the recesses of the forest would be too great a peril to be risked; and indeed it was a headstrong course to take. but tom was in a headstrong mood, and his horse was beside himself with fear. both man and beast were well used to reckless riding, and tom had eyes like a cat, whilst wildfire had both the wonderful sight and wonderful instinct of his race. tom lay along the horse's back, now on this side, now on that, dodging, swaying, manoeuvring, in a fashion which showed marvellous horsemanship, and all the while listening eagerly for the sound of wildgoose's following steps. but he heard nothing. the silence of the forest was unbroken save for the noise he made himself. it became plain at last that he was alone. robin and wildgoose had either lost his track, or had not followed him. and a sudden doubt surged into tom's brain as to whether or not robin had betrayed him to the footpads. was it not robin who had connived at all the halts upon the way in the morning, robin who had advised pushing on, and had undertaken to find the way by day or night? robin was a son of the forest himself. might he not have friends amongst these very outlaws? had not his father warned him before this that he did not trust robin, and did not like his son's intimacy with the young man? all these thoughts came surging into tom's brain as he rode on through the dark forest. he was loath to harbour doubts of his servant and friend; but he could not lay them to rest, do what he would. but for these doubts he would have ridden back in search of his comrade. as it was, he set his teeth somewhat grimly, and rode onwards. robin had no money about him. he would escape with the loss of his horse, and could follow his master on foot to london if he chose. it was not worth while to risk life and fortune in attempting the rescue of a fellow who might be a villain and a traitor. it seemed a heartless thing to do to leave robin to his fate, but for all that tom could not make up his mind to turn back and search for him; for he felt it was quite probable he would only fall into a cunningly-devised ambush. but he could not ride all night through the forest. he might fetch a circuit all unknowingly, and find himself in the midst of the footpads again. the moon had now risen, and was giving a faint light. by its aid tom was able to examine the nature of the ground about him, and presently saw at a short distance a dark, arched cavity in the face of a mass of gravelly rock which rose up on his left hand. it had the appearance of a cave, and tom got off and carefully examined the loose shale round the mouth of it for the trace of recent footsteps. he did not want to fall into the hands of a band of marauders. but he could not see any trace of footmarks, either of man or beast; and the cave was tempting to one who had ridden since early morning. there was a pool of water close at hand, where his horse eagerly stooped to quench his thirst; and tom loosed the girths, and left the creature to browse at will; for wildfire was as tame as a dog, and knew his master's voice well. he could be trusted not to wander far away, and to come back at the sound of whistle or call. indeed, it was probable that he would presently find his way into the cave, and lie by his master's side. tom found that he could make himself comfortable enough in the little cavern. it was not very deep, but it afforded protection from the cold night wind; and a great heap of leaves at the end bespoke the fact that other travellers had utilized the place before. tom had a little food in his wallet, which he munched in silence, feeling his spirits somewhat damped by the events of the last hour, and yet he was as fully resolved as ever to see life and taste of adventure before he returned home again. his adventures had begun rather before he had bargained; but, after all, that was the way of life. he would learn in future to trust nobody and to believe in nobody. all men were liars--did not the scriptures say as much? it was as well to learn that lesson soon as late. he would not waste a regret upon robin. his horse was the one friend in whom he would trust. he at least would never betray or desert him. presently wildfire, having eaten his fill of herbage, came and snuffed at the cave's mouth with a whinny of inquiry. on hearing tom's voice, he stepped lightly in, and after standing for a while beside his master, lay down between him and the opening to the cave, so that tom was well shielded from the keen night air, and could sleep as snugly as in his bed at home. sleep he did, and soundly too; for the day's ride had wearied him, and he was of the age and temperament when slumber is seldom wooed in vain. how long he slept he knew not; but he was aroused at length by a movement of wildfire. the horse had lifted his head, and was snorting slightly as if in anxiety or fear. tom looked out. the gray of dawn was in the sky, and between him and the light stood a tall, motionless figure, outlined clearly in the cave's mouth by the coming glow in the east. it was the figure of a man. he held in his hand a great horse pistol, and was evidently studying with some curiosity the sleeping figures whose slumbers he had disturbed. tom would have sprung to his feet, but the man called out in a clear, sharp voice: "keep where you are, or i fire!" the hot blood surged into tom's cheeks; but for once prudence took the upper hand of valour, and he remained sitting upright behind the still recumbent figure of wildfire. he had restrained the horse from rising by the pressure of his hand. he knew by hearsay that robbers seldom fired upon a good horse if there were a chance of making a capture of so valuable an acquisition. he might find shelter behind the body of the good steed yet. "what do you want with me?" he asked, speaking as calmly as he could, but bitterly regretting the carelessness which had omitted to load again his pistol after the brush with the footpads of the previous night. he had meant to do it before falling asleep, but drowsiness had come quickly upon him, and he was now practically at the mercy of the man who stood in the cave's mouth, for there was no way of escape save past him. "i only want your money, my young friend," answered the man, whose face was becoming more visible every moment in the growing light. "i doubt not you have a bag of gold pieces somewhere upon your person. give them up to me, and you shall go your way in peace." the veins on tom's forehead swelled with rage and impotent fury. he set his teeth, and his voice sounded hoarse and choked. "you will have to take my life first," he said. "nay, but that is folly," remonstrated the elder man, who had a rather fine face, and much of the air and manner of a gentleman, as tom was quick to perceive. "i desire no man's death; i only ask for his gold, which is, after all, but the dross of the earth; and life for a fine young fellow like yourself is full of joyous promise, even though he carry no purse with him." "i tell you," answered tom, in the same stubborn way, "that if you take my money, you will have first to take my life. here have i been leading the life of a dog or of a boor all these years--squire's son though men call me. i have seen nothing, i have learned nothing; i have consorted with low hinds; i have been no better than the swine in the fields. now at last i have my liberty and a bag of gold given to me. i am sent out to see the world, and to enjoy life. take my gold from me, and i must perforce go back to the old life. i would choose death sooner. therefore, sir, let us fight like men for this same bag of gold; for i will defend it with every drop of my blood!" and in spite of the peril of so doing, tom sprang to his feet and stood facing his antagonist with the air of a man whose blood is up, and who will prove no mean adversary. "come now, i like that spirit," said the other. "in these days of dandies and ruffled courtiers, stuffed with fine-sounding words but puling cowards at heart, it refreshes the spirit to meet a youngster of your sort. tell me your name, young master, and let us talk this matter over together. i have ever sought to mingle mercy and discretion with the need for making a livelihood out of my fellowmen." tom was surprised into a short laugh at this unexpected address. "i am tom tufton of gablehurst," he began, but was quickly interrupted. "what! the son of the good squire of gablehurst! lad, is this the truth?" "ay, verily," answered tom, somewhat taken aback. "did you know my father? alas! he is dead." "dead! what! is that so? then the world is the poorer by one good man. and you are his son, and called by his name! what are you doing away from home? are you not master there?" "no," answered tom, with a flush on his cheek. "i am to see the world first. my mother will rule for me till i be five and twenty. i have money given me, and i am to seek fame and fortune afar. that is what i said to you. take my money from me, and i must needs return to the life i have left--and i would sooner die!" "tut, tut, boy. speak not so wildly; nor think that i will touch a penny of your good father's gold. i am not sunk so low as that. did he ever speak to you of captain jack, whom he once saved from the gallows?" tom shook his head. his father had not been a talking man. "it was years ago now," said the man thoughtfully, "and i did try for long after that to lead a different life; but in the end i came back to the one i love the best--the free life of the road. but believe me, tom tufton, your father's act of clemency has never been forgotten. i too have shown mercy many a time and oft. i have my own code of honour and chivalry. i want money badly enough; but i will touch none of yours. i want a good horse; but i will lay no finger on yours. go your way in peace, and drink your fill of the world's pleasures; but remember that if the time should come when you want a friend and a place of refuge, ask at the three ravens tavern on the skirts of this forest for news of captain jack, and whensoever you may come to me, i will share my last penny and my last crust with you, for love of the good man your father, who saved my unworthy life." the man spoke with visible emotion and tom was moved also, he scarce knew why. a sudden sense of liking--almost of love--sprang up in his heart towards this freebooter. he laid a hand upon his arm. "take me clear of this forest," he said, "and i will leave wildfire in your hands as a token of gratitude. i have bethought me often that in london town he would pine his heart away. he loves the green glades of the woodland, and the free air of the fields and forests. methinks you would be a kind master; and he is a loving and faithful creature. i might even lose him in london, where, they tell me, rogues abound. i would sooner leave him in your hands; and if i want him back some day, i will ask him of captain jack." the bargain was struck. captain jack accompanied tom to the farthest limits of the forest, giving him meantime much information about life in london, and astonishing him by the intimate knowledge he possessed of life in every grade of society. tom listened in wonder and amaze; but captain jack answered his questions in such a way as to leave him little the wiser. he managed, however, to make friends with wildfire almost as quickly as with his master; for the two men rode by turns, and captain jack's horsemanship was of that finished kind which every horse understands and responds to. "you are right not to take such a creature into london," said captain jack, after trying the paces of wildfire over a stretch of springy turf. "some sharper would soon make away with him; but it will be a clever man who filches him from me! i will guard him as my greatest treasure, and he will be worth more to me than the guineas you carry in your bag." "and his brother is somewhere in the forest," said tom; and he told the story of robin and wildgoose, to which captain jack listened with a look of amusement. "clever fellow! clever fellow!" he muttered, "he will make one of the brotherhood one of these days!" tom began to realize, with a grim sense of humour, that he was aiding and abetting the mischievous schemes of some notorious highwayman, and that his father's two favourite young horses, by which he set such store, were destined to become the property of the gentlemen of the road! at the limits of the forest tom and his companion parted. he had been put upon the highroad, and given careful instructions as to the way he must take. moreover, captain jack had given him a password, which, he said, would protect him from molestation; although a traveller on foot was not in the same danger as one who rode a fine horse. it cost tom a pang to turn his back on wildfire; but he felt so certain that the horse would pine in london, or be stolen away, that he preferred to leave him in the hands of a kind master who would treat him well. "take your fill of life. keep open eyes, and believe every man to be a rogue till he prove himself an honest fellow," was the parting advice of his companion, for whom he had already taken rather a strong liking; "and if ever town becomes too hot, come and join captain jack; and if ever you should chance to knock up against lord claud, tell him that his old master sends him greeting and felicitations, and is watching his career with admiration and delight." with that the captain turned and galloped away; and tom was left looking after him, wondering what the meaning of this last charge could be. chapter iii. in gay london town. tom tufton walked through bishopsgate, and along the crowded dirty thoroughfare towards the poultry, with a jaunty air of unconcern that did credit to his powers of dissimulation. it was captain jack's parting word to him to dissemble all outward signs of astonishment at what he might see when he entered the city; to walk on without stopping to stare or gape, to look as though such sights were of everyday occurrence in his life, and to bear himself with a bold and self-sufficient air, as much as to tell the world at large that he was very well able to take care of himself, and that roisterers and bullies had better let him alone. tom acted his part with considerable acumen; but within he was consumed by astonished bewilderment, which increased as he turned westward towards cheapside, and approached the still fashionable regions of holborn and its environments. the streets appeared to the country-bred youth to teem with life. everything he set eyes on was strange and wonderful. the shops with their wares displayed, and noisy apprentices crying out to buyers, or exchanging fisticuffs with each other by way of interlude; the coaches carrying fine ladies hither and thither, tightly laced, swelled out with hoops, their hair so towering in its lace and powder as to provoke the query as to how it had ever attained such gigantic proportions; the gay gallants in their enormous perukes of powdered hair, and their wonderful flowered vests and gold-laced coats--all these things provoked the keenest wonder and amazement in tom's breast; albeit he walked on without pausing to examine one more than another, or to exchange a word with any save some honest-looking shopman, of whom he would ask the way to master cale's shop just off holborn. if tom had lost on the way to london his servant and both his horses, he had at least gained some information which might be of more value to him than all the rest of his possessions; for captain jack had told him to go to master cale's and lodge with him, telling him who had sent him, and had added that he would put him in the way of becoming a proper gentleman of fashion, without fleecing him and rooking him, as would inevitably be the case if he fell into the clutches of those birds of prey always on the lookout for young squires from the country coming up to learn the ways of the world, with a plentiful supply of guineas and inexperience. master cale seemed to be well known, and he was directed to his house in almost the same words by each person he asked. master cale was a perruquier of no small popularity, who had risen through honesty and ingenuity to be one of the most fashionable tradesmen of the day. he also sold vests or waistcoats, lace-edged neck cloths, gloves, sword scarfs and girdles, generally of his own design; yet though his shop was regularly crowded with gallants and courtiers, the man himself managed to preserve much of the honesty and simplicity which had been his making in the days gone by. everybody liked and trusted master cale, and he was said to be the best-informed man in london town on matters connected with the court and its fashionable throng of hangers on. as tom walked onwards he realized for the first time in his life what a rustic-looking fellow he must appear. he had felt himself smart enough at home in his leather breeches, brown frieze double-breasted coat, scarlet vest, and riding boots, his hair tied behind with a scarlet riband to match the vest. but as he beheld the fine gentlemen lounging arm in arm along the streets in their huge curled wigs, gorgeous waistcoats reaching sometimes to the knees, gold embroidered coats, with huge cuffs turned back almost to the elbows, and scarfs of every hue of the rainbow supporting their swords, he felt himself a mere boor and bumpkin, and wondered much whether master cale would ever be able to turn him out a fine gentleman, fit to associate with those he saw in the streets. as he pursued his way westward, he met parties of young rakes and roisterers setting out for the theatres, the play being then an earlier function than it has become of late years. these men were swaggering along arm in arm, exchanging ribald jests with each other, and insulting the inoffensive passers by with coarse remarks interlarded with oaths, and, whenever occasion offered, tripping them up with their swords or canes and landing them in the gutter. some of these worthies wore cockades or badges, and later on tom learned to know them as darby captains, tash captains, or cock-and-bottle captains, according to the special sort of marauding which they favoured. he met one party of the dreaded mohocks, or mohawks, reeling along half intoxicated already, and ripe for any offensive mischief, which later in the day they were certain to perpetrate. they eyed the young rustic askance as it was, and tom heard a whisper go through their ranks: "pity 'tis so early i' the day, or we'd sweat him rarely." but he held his head high, and swaggered along as though he felt himself a match for all and any who might attack him. yet inwardly he felt that he would never go abroad in town without a sword at his girdle. what the "sweating" might be, he knew not; but he was assured that it was some sort of assault upon his person. at length he reached his destination, which was a shop of fine appearance in drury lane, just off the main thoroughfare of holborn. it was then a street of some pretensions, albeit a narrow one, and tom's eyes soon espied the name he was in search of over the door of a shop round which a score or more of gallants were lounging. in the doorway itself stood a very fine youth, at least he was fine as to his raiment, although he wore no wig and was but an apprentice of better figure and deportment than most. he was displaying to the admiring crowd a mighty fine waistcoat of embroidered satin, worked in gold and colours very cunningly, and trimmed with a frosted-gold cord of new design and workmanship. it was this waistcoat, which the young man called the blenheim vest, that had attracted the crowd, and tom could not at first get near the door, so much chaffering and laughing and rough play was going on round it. so he filled up the time by seeking to understand the extraordinary jargon which was spoken by the young dandies, in which he was not particularly successful (for in addition to a marvellous assortment of oaths, they talked a mixture of bad english, worse french, and vilest latin), and in examining the signboard which hung out over the doorway of master cale's abode. this sign had been painted to the perruquier's own design, at a time when there threatened to be a reaction in favour of natural hair in place of the monstrous perukes so long worn. the picture represented a young man clad in all the finery of a fop of charles the second's court, save only the peruke, hanging by his hair from the limb of a giant oak, with three javelins in his heart, whilst below sat weeping a man in royal crown and robes; and below this picture there ran the following legend: "o absalom! o absalom! o absalom! my son, if thou hadst worn a periwig thou hadst not been undone." in the window of the shop was set out an array of the most wonderfully curled wigs, perfect marvels of the perruquier's art; and, indeed, the size of the young dandies' heads was a study in extravagance quite as wonderful in its way as the towers upon the heads of the ladies. when presently the group had moved away, and the apprentice in the fine vest had a moment's leisure, tom came forward and asked if master cale were within. the youth regarded him with some insolence of manner, but as he might be addressing a future customer from the country, he replied with a show of civility that master cale was in the room behind the shop, curling the perukes of some gentlemen, but that tom could go inside and wait if he liked. this he accordingly did, and soon the apprentice was surrounded by another crowd, and was taking orders thick and fast for the blenheim vest. the talk bewildered tom, who, however, needs must listen, and presently he was attracted towards the inner room, where half a dozen young men, with heads almost as bald as those of infants, were arguing and laughing about the curl and fashion and set of their wigs, which were all standing in a row upon the blocks, and being cleverly and carefully manipulated by the deft hands of a small and dapper man, in a neat but not inelegant suit of brown cloth, ornamented by rather large silver buttons, whom tom saw at a glance must be master cale the perruquier, although all his customers called him "curley." heads were turned upon tom's entrance, but the gentlemen only vouchsafed him a haughty stare, whilst the perruquier bid him be seated till he had leisure to attend to him. he then adjusted upon each head its own wig, amid much jesting and gossiping that was all greek to tom; after which the gallants filed out with much noise and laughter, and the little man turned to his unknown customer. "what can i do for you, young sir?" and his eyes instinctively sought the head of the rustic youth, which was crowned with his own fairly abundant locks of dark brown. "i come to you, master cale, with a few words in writing from one calling himself captain jack, whom i met in epping forest, and who told me i should be fleeced and beggared in a week if i fell into the hands of the sharpers of london town; but that if i sought lodging and counsel from you, i might learn my lesson without being ruined thereby. here is the note he sent to you." the shrewd face of the little perruquier had taken an almost eager look as the name of captain jack passed tom's lips. his eyes scanned the youth from head to foot, and when tom took out and handed him the note which had been given him, he seized it and read it eagerly, after which he turned to his new client, and said: "this billet, young sir, would be enough to secure you a welcome from me. tell me of my good friend captain jack. ah! if he could have but stuck to honest trade, he and i might have made our fortunes together ere now. never was such a figure for showing off coat or vest or sash, or a head upon which a peruke sat with a daintier grace. but come, let us sit down together and quaff a cup of wine, and you shall tell me all your history." dusk was falling between the high walls of the houses, and business was over for the day. cale led his guest into a room on the basement floor, where a simple but substantial refection had been laid out. he called out to his apprentice to get his supper in the kitchen; and when the door was shut upon the pair, he listened with interest whilst tom gave a very fairly accurate history of his own life up till the present moment. then the little man shook his head with an air of wisdom. "the best advice i could give you, my young friend, is that you should go home to your mother and your friends in essex, and seek to learn no more of the wickedness of the world than you know already. but i suppose no words of mine would induce you to take that course." "certes no," answered tom with a short laugh. "i am sick of the country. i have come forth to see the world, and see it i will, or know the reason why." "ah yes, so says every moth that flutters round the candle, till his wings be burnt away, and he left the shattered remnant of what he erstwhile was," responded cale, with a wise shake of the head. "but no man ever yet was found wise enough to take experience at second hand. so if you are bent on seeing the world--which, let me tell you, is an evil thing at best--i will try, for the love i bear to captain jack, and indeed to all honest youths, to put you in the way of seeing it with as little hurt to yourself as may be. and so you are thinking of foreign travel?" "i was, till i saw what london was like," answered tom; "but, i' faith, i am in no haste to quit it till i have seen its sights and tasted of its pleasures. methinks i might go far, and spend much good gold, and not find the half of the diversion which the streets of london afford." "oh, if it be diversion you seek--" "it is," answered tom frankly; "diversion, and the game of life as it is played elsewhere than in the lanes of essex. i have seen enough in one afternoon to excite a thirst which can only be allayed by drinking from the same fountain. so no more talk of essex, or even of lands beyond the seas. i will e'en get you to write a letter to my mother, telling her that i am safely arrived in london town; and knowing that, she must make herself easy, for i was never one who could easily wield a pen. i was always readier with the sword or the quarterstaff." "there will be fine doings in london town, too," remarked cale, rubbing his nose reflectively, "when the duke lands, and is welcomed by all the town as the great victor of blenheim. yes, certainly, you should stay to witness that sight. afterwards we can talk of what you had better do. they are always wanting fine-grown young fellows for the army. perhaps when your store of guineas is gone, london will not hold you so fast." "my store will last a long while," answered tom, confidently slapping his inner pocket where the bag of gold rested. "i have five hundred golden guineas, the legacy of my father; and to that my mother added another hundred, to fit me out with all things needful for my travels, which things could not well be purchased in essex. now captain jack bid me at once hand over to you my money, which, he said, would melt in my pocket like snow, if it were not filched away by thieves and rogues. he bid me place one hundred guineas with you for my board and outfit, and trust that you would do honestly by me; and the rest was to be put into your keeping, to be doled out to me as i should have need. it seems a strange thing to be taking the counsel of a highway robber in such matters. but i like you, master cale; and i am just wise enough to know that my guineas would not long remain mine were i to walk the streets with them. so here i give them into your keeping; i trust you with my all." "i will give you a receipt for the amount, my friend. many men have made me their banker before now, and have not regretted it. you shall have a comfortable room above stairs, and you can either be served with your meals there, or take them with me, or at some coffee house, as best pleases you; and as for the outfit--why, it will be a pleasure to clothe a pretty fellow of your inches in fitting raiment. but be advised by me; seek not to be too fine. quiet elegance will better befit your figure. i would have you avoid equally the foppery of the court beaux and the swaggering self-importance of those they call the bully beaux, with whom you are certain to make acquaintance ere long." tom was willing to listen to advice in these matters, and the little perruquier soon threw himself almost with enthusiasm into the subject of the young man's outfit. they spent above two hours looking over cloths and satins and scarfs, trying effects, and fitting on perukes. tom had never before imagined how important and engrossing a matter dress could be, nor how many articles of attire were necessary to a man who wished to cut a good figure. but at last he grew weary of the subject, and said he would fain take a stroll in the streets, and breathe the outer air again. he felt the stifling presence of encircling walls, and longed to get out into the starlit night. "the streets are none too safe at night for peaceful citizens," remarked master cale, with a shake of the head. "but i have a peruke to take to a client who lives hard by snowe hill. if you needs must go, let us go together; and gird on yonder sword ere you start. for if men walk unarmed in the streets of a night, they are thought fair game for all the rogues and bullies who prowl from tavern to tavern seeking for diversion. they do not often attack an armed man; but a quiet citizen who has left his sword behind him seldom escapes without a sweating, if nothing worse befall him." "and what is this sweating?" asked tom, as the pair sallied forth into the darkness of the streets. here and there an oil lamp shed a sickly glow for a short distance; but, for the most part, the streets were very dim and dark. lights gleamed in a good many upper windows still; but below--where the shutters were all up--darkness and silence reigned. "sweating," answered cale, "is a favourite pastime with the bullies of london streets. a dozen or more with drawn swords surround a hapless and unarmed passer by. they will close upon him in a circle, the points of their swords towards him, and then one will prick him in the rear, causing him to turn quickly round, whereupon another will give him a dig in the same region, and again he will jump and face about; and so they will keep the poor fellow spinning round and round, like a cockchafer on a pin, until the sweat pours off him, and they themselves are weary of the sport. but, hist! i hear a band of them coming. slip we into this archway, and let them pass by. i would not have my wig box snatched away; and there is no limit to the audacity of those bully beaux when they have drunk enough to give them dutch courage. discretion is sometimes better than valour." so saying, he pulled tom into a dark recess, and in a few minutes more there swaggered past about six or eight young roisterers-- singing, swearing, joking, threatening--more or less intoxicated every one of them, and boasting themselves loudly of the valiant deeds they could and would do. they did not see the two figures in the archway. indeed, the greatest safety of the belated citizen was that these bullies were generally too drunk to be very observant, and that a person in hiding could generally escape notice. after they had passed by, cale continued his way quietly enough, following the noisy party at a safe distance, as they too seemed bound towards snowe hill. they were approaching the top of the hill when a sudden sound of shrieking met their ears, mixed with the loud laughter and half-drunken shouts of the roisterers. tom caught his companion's arm and pulled him along. "that is a woman's voice!" he cried quickly. "she is crying for help. come!" "beshrew me if i ever again walk abroad with a peruke at night!" grumbled cale, as he let himself be hurried along by the eager tom. "i am not a watchman. why should i risk my goods for every silly wench who should know better than to be abroad of a night alone? come, come, my young friend, my legs are not as long as yours; i shall have no wind for fighting if you drag me along at this pace!" it was the urgency of the cries that spurred tom to the top of his speed. the laughter was loud and ceaseless, but the shrieks were becoming faint and stifled. tom's blood was boiling. he pictured to himself a foul murder done. a few seconds before they reached the spot a new sound greeted their ears--a sort of rattling, bounding noise--which provoked another peal of uncontrollable laughter. then a voice was heard shouting: "the watch! the watch! or some fellows with swords!" immediately the whole band broke up and rushed helter-skelter in all directions. not that the bullies feared the watch one whit. the watchmen were mostly poor, old, worn-out men, who could do little or nothing to impose order upon these young braggarts. indeed, they were so often maltreated themselves, that they just as often as not kept carefully away when cries were raised for help. but, having had their fun, the roisterers were ready to disperse themselves; for some of the citizens would rise in a white heat of rage, and take law into their own hands, in which case it happened that the disturbers of the peace came off second best. one of them had seen tom's tall figure and the sword in his hand as he ran beneath a lamp, and had fancied that some more determined rescue than that afforded by the watch was to be given. so the band dispersed shouting and hooting; and tom and cale found them scattered ere they came up to them. "but where is the woman?" asked tom, looking round; "they have not surely carried her off?" "oh no--only sent her rolling down the hill in a barrel!" panted cale; "it is a favourite pastime with the youths of london town. one party will put a barrel ready in yon doorway on purpose, and if it be not removed, it will like enough be used ere morning. we had best go in search of the poor creature; for ofttimes they are sore put to it to get free from the cask--if they be stout in person at least." and, indeed, as they neared the foot of the hill, they heard a groaning and stifled crying for help; and, sure enough, they found a buxom woman, the wife of a respectable citizen, tightly wedged into the cask, and much shaken and bruised by her rapid transit down the hill, although, when released with some difficulty, she was able to walk home, escorted by her rescuers, and bitterly inveighing against the wickedness of the world in general and london's young bullies in particular. "the best thing, good dame, is not to be abroad at such an hour alone," advised cale. "yes, truly; and yet it was but the matter of a few streets; and it seems hard a woman may not sit beside a sick neighbour for a while without being served so on her way back. my husband was to have come for me; but must have been detained. pray heaven he has not fallen in with a band of mohocks, and had the nose of him split open--to say nothing of worse!" "are men really served so bad as that?" asked tom, as the two turned back from the citizen's house whither they had escorted their grateful protegee. "worse sometimes," answered cale, with a shake of the head. "those mohocks should be wiped out without mercy by the arm of the law; for mercy they show none. they have read of the horrid cruelties practised by the indians whose name they bear, and they seek to do the like to the hapless victims whom ill-fortune casts in their way. there be men whose eyes they have gouged out, and whose noses have been cut off, whose brains have been turned by the terror and agony they have been through. and yet these men go free; and law-abiding citizens are allowed to quake in their beds at the sound of their voices in the street, or the sight of their badges even in broad daylight. i call it a sin and a shame that such things can be. well, well, well, let us hope that, when the great duke comes home, he may be able to put a stop to these things. even in warfare, men say, he is merciful, and will permit no extortion and no cruelty. we citizens of london will give him a right royal welcome; perchance we may be able to crave a boon of him in return. he--or, rather, his wife--is all-powerful with our good queen anne; and she would not wish a hair of a man's head hurt could she but have her way." "by the duke you mean the great duke of marlborough, who has done such great things in the war? but what is the war about? can you tell me that, for i have never rightly understood?" cale was a great politician in his own eyes, and was well versed in the politics of the day. he strove hard to make tom understand the intricacies of the spanish succession, the danger of allowing spain to be ruled by one of the bourbons, and the fear of the all-powerful french king, who seemed like to rule europe, if the allied powers could not make head against him. tom did his best to understand, and got a rather clearer view of the situation than he had before; but what interested him most was the information that the duke would come over to england shortly, and that a magnificent reception was to be given to him. whigs and tories had alike grown proud of the victorious general, and the war had become popular from success, though the drain on the country was great. the queen was personally liked, although she was but a small power in the kingdom; and for the time being jacobite plots were in abeyance. so long as she lived, nobody was likely seriously to desire the return of the banished stuarts; but, of course, there was the future to think for. anne had no child to succeed her; and the thought of the hanoverian succession was by no means universally approved. still for the moment the jacobite agitation was in abeyance, and all england rejoiced in the humiliation of so dangerous a foe as the great monarch of france. cale was full of stories of court gossip respecting the queen and the duchess of marlborough, whose affection for one another was a byword throughout the realm. the duke and duchess were also most tenderly attached; and the private lives of anne and her prince george, and of the duke and duchess of marlborough, presented a bright contrast to the general laxity of morals prevailing at the time. the rather austere rule of william and mary had not really purged the court of vicious habits, though such had been steadily discouraged. anne had not the force of character to impose her will upon her subjects; and extravagance, frivolity, and foppery flourished amazingly. tom felt his head in a perfect whirl as cale chatted on of this thing and that, passing from politics to court life, and then to the doings of the wealthy classes, of which he had an intimate knowledge. "by my faith, london must be a marvellous place to live in!" quoth tom, when at last he had been shown to the chamber prepared for his reception. "i feel as though i had been a year away from gablehurst. prithee, bestir to get my clothes ready, good master cale; for i shall know no rest till i have been abroad myself, and have seen these gay doings with mine own eyes!" chapter iv. the folly. a very fine fellow did tom tufton feel a few days later, when, arrayed in all his new finery, he surveyed himself from head to foot in master cale's long mirror, kept in the best light afforded by the back room, for the benefit of the fops and dandies who desired to see the effect of the finery purchased from the fashionable perruquier. cale had used discretion, and urged the same upon tom, in the selection and fashion of his garments, and had sternly discountenanced anything like undue extravagance and foppery. tom had insisted upon the blenheim vest, with its rich flowering on the white satin ground, and its trimming of golden cord; but for the rest he had permitted cale to select what he would, and was perfectly satisfied with the long coat of claret-coloured cloth, with a modest trimming of gold cord, and turned-back cuffs (showing the white lawn full shirt sleeve beneath), which set off his tall and well-made figure to advantage. the breeches were of the same cloth, but showed little, as silk stockings were drawn high up over them, almost meeting the vest or waistcoat, which was always long. he had shoes with high though not extravagant heels, and gilt buckles; a gold cord with tassels adorned his jaunty three-cornered hat; and his girdle and sword belt were of gold silk and cord. but perhaps tom was most proud of his periwig--an addition to his outfit which he had insisted upon rather against the advice of cale, who had offered to curl and powder his own hair in an imitation of the prevailing mode. but tom would not be denied the fashionable peruke. he had spent the best part of each day seated behind a screen in cale's inner shop, listening in a species of fascination and amaze to the talk of the young dandies who daily resorted thither. cale told him that he would thus best learn something of the language and gossip of the day, and be better able to hold his own when he went abroad; and tom already felt that he possessed command of a thousand new epithets and words, to say nothing of the meaningless oaths and blasphemies, which made a part of the stock in trade of every fashionable man's vocabulary. and now he stood regarding himself with complaisant satisfaction, feeling that he could ruffle it with the best of them. he had heard too much talk of periwigs not to feel resolved to wear one himself. unless he did so, he felt he should never take his place in the world of fashion. his natural hair had therefore been cut close to his head, the peruke was fitted on, and fell in bushy curls to his shoulders. tom could not forbear a smile as he turned his head this way and that to judge of the effect. he felt indeed a pretty fellow, prepared to take his share in the drama of life going on about him. "harry gay shall be your companion," said cale, who had assisted at the toilet with the interest of a connoisseur, and who did not attempt to disguise his satisfaction at the result. "harry is as gay as his name, but he is a well-meaning youth, and will neither rob you himself, nor suffer others to do so without warning you. he knows london well, and the life has hurt him less than it hurts most. he is brave without being a bully; he can play, and knows when to stop. he is afraid of no man, and so he is left alone. he has a good heart, and is to be trusted; and here he comes in good time to take you under his care." the young man who now lounged in with a smiling face and a nod of recognition to cale, was not unknown to tom. he had seen him several times, and had taken a liking for him, which the other reciprocated. harry gay was the son of a leading merchant citizen, a man of some importance and mark, who was able to give his son every advantage that money could purchase, and the means to enter almost any circle short of that of the court itself. but he had also transmitted to his son a certain hard-headed shrewdness, which stood him in good stead in the gay life he was now leading. harry had the sense not to try to push himself amongst the high-born dames and gallants, where he would be regarded as an interloper, and only admitted to be fleeced of his gold; but contented himself with a more modest sphere, where he was a man of some little mark, and could lead as well as follow, if he had the mind. entering the back shop, harry cast an approving glance at tom, and nodded his head towards cale, at the same time taking a pinch of snuff from his box, and handing it to the perruquier. "does you credit, curley, does you great credit. a chaste and simple costume, but elegant withal--uncommon elegant, i' faith. shouldn't mind a suit of the same myself, if i had our young friend's inches. "well, friend tom, and how do you feel? learned to take snuff yet? no! ah, well, 'twill come by degrees. "put some more scent upon his person, curley; he must smell like a perfumer's shop; and so--give him his gold-tasselled cane, and the gloves with the golden fringe. a muff? no! well, perchance those great fists would look something strange in one, and the day is fine and mild. "so, if you are ready, friend tom, we will sally forth. to the coffee house first, and afterwards, an it please you, to the play. "farewell, curley; i will bring you back your nursling safe and sound. he shall not be rooked or robbed today. but how long i shall be able to hold the cub in leading strings remains yet to be proved!" tom was in far too good spirits to take umbrage at this name. he felt anything but a cub as he walked down the street beside his scented and curled and daintily-arrayed companion, unconsciously striving to copy his jaunty step, and the little airs and graces of his manner. "we will to the folly," said harry, as they stepped out into holborn and turned their faces westward. "you have not yet seen the river, and the folly is a floating structure moored in the water on the farther shore opposite to somerset house, of which you may have heard. it is not the most fashionable resort; but, for my part, i like it well. there is always good company to be had there, and we are not interrupted every moment by the incursions of drunken roisterers, who spend their day in reeling from tavern to tavern, or coffee house to coffee house, in search of some new story to tell, or some fresh encounter to provoke." tom listened eagerly to all his friend told him as they went their way towards the river. so far he had not cared to show himself in the streets till after dusk, as he had become foolishly ashamed of his rustic garb. he was immensely interested in all that he beheld, and in the stories his companion told him about the places they passed, the persons they met, and the occupants of the coaches which were now rolling to and fro through the streets, taking ladies and their fine gentlemen friends either to the park, or some fashionable rendezvous. great indeed was his interest and amazement as they reached the steps beside the river, and harry signalled to a waterman to bring up a wherry alongside to take them to the folly. he had never imagined anything so wide and grand as this great flowing river, lined with its stately buildings, and bearing on its bosom more vessels than he imagined that the world held! had it not been for his fear of betraying undue ignorance, he would have broken into a torrent of questions; as it was, he sat in wide-eyed silence, gazing about him like a savage suddenly transported into the world of civilization--not a little to the amusement of his cicerone. the folly was a floating structure not unlike a large houseboat of the present day. its guests could walk to and fro upon the roof, or find warmth and entertainment within its walls, as did harry and his friend; for although the sun shone, the wind blew cold upon the water, and it was pleasanter within the warmed interior, where already a sprinkling of guests had assembled. the place was divided into two rooms for the public accommodation. the first of these was a bar and gaming room. a buxom and rosy-cheeked damsel was presiding at the bar, and several young dandies leaned their elbows upon it, and strove to engage her in conversation. some others were already seated at a table, and were throwing the dice, laughing and swearing ceaselessly over their game. the second room was quieter at present, and upon the table there lay strewn about the various newspapers and pamphlets of the day. two or three men were reading them, and discussing the news of the hour as they sipped their coffee or chocolate. harry led the way into this place, ordered coffee for himself and his friend, and, whilst nodding familiarly to the occupants of the room, possessed himself of a few papers, and pushed some of them across to tom. "a new pamphlet by jonathan swift, i see," he remarked carelessly, with a wink at his pupil. "you know his tale of a tub, tom? monstrous clever thing that! it tickles one to death reading it. so do his pamphlets--sharpest things out. some talk of defoe as his rival; but, for my part, i never read anything that rivals swift's writings! pity he has such a sharp edge to his temper. they say he will never get promotion." tom took up the pamphlet, and tried to look as though he were reading it with appreciation; but he had never been much of a student, and the comings and goings of a constant stream of visitors engrossed him far more than the printed words, the meaning of which he understood no whit. it was much more interesting to him to listen to what the frequenters of the coffee house were saying amongst themselves; and greatly did he admire the ease and readiness with which harry took his share in the conversation. "has my lord godolphin found a worthy pen to sing the praise of the victor of blenheim yet?" he asked of a man who appeared to be a referee on matters literary. "the last i heard was that he was scouring london, tearing his periwig in pieces in despair that the race of poets was extinct, and he could only find the most wretched doggerel mongers, whose productions were too vile to be tolerated. has the noble lord found a better rhymster? or will the victory of the great duke have to go unsung by the muse?" "what! have you not heard the end of that matter? why, my lord halifax declared that he knew the man worthy of the occasion; but he would not reveal the name unless it was promised that he should be excellently well treated. and this man is none other than joseph addison, a fellow of the university of oxford, and a man well thought of and pensioned, too, by the late king william. but since the death of his majesty, the poet has been living in poverty and obscurity in a humble lodging hard by the haymarket. there it was that he received a visit one day from the two noble lords; and it hath since been whispered that a poem is a-preparing so fine in quality and so finished in style, that my lord godolphin is now fit to dance a hornpipe for joy, and has promised a bountiful reward to the genius whose brain has devised and whose hand has penned the lines. they say that the poem is to be called 'the campaign,' and that it is one of the finest the world has ever seen." whilst this sort of talk was going on in one corner, there were counter-conversations, more interesting to tom, being carried on in other parts of the room. one band of bully beaux, somewhat the worse for drink already, were telling stories of scandal and duelling, to which tom could not but listen with ill-concealed interest. others were discussing the last new play, or the last new toast. a few fine dandies sat combing their periwigs as they talked of the latest fashions, taking snuff freely, and sprinkling themselves with perfume from a small pocket flask, if they were ever too nearly approached by some commoner person. as time passed by the quieter men, who had come early to read and talk politics and literature, withdrew themselves and took their departure. harry gay was claimed by a party of dashing-looking young rakes, who insisted that he should come and play a game of tic-tac with them in the outer room; and as tom made no move to accompany him, he left him in his seat in the corner to look on and learn all he could. tom, indeed, was quite fascinated by the scene around him, and had no desire to tear himself away. presently one of the men from the group of bully beaux (as tom had dubbed them, not by any means incorrectly) moved nearer to him, and took the chair vacated by harry; and gradually the group reformed, with tom as one of its members. the others addressed him, asking his name and his history. tom was reserved as to this last, but spoke in a frank and easy way which seemed to win upon his comrades. there were four of them, and whatever might be their real names, tom found out that they were known amongst themselves, and by the world of the tavern, by the following cognomens: "slippery seal," "bully bullen," "thirsty thring," and "dicing dick." tom was not sure that he liked or approved these new comrades, but at least their conversation interested and excited him. they told of duels fought in the ring at hyde park, or at the back of montague house; of the exploits of highwaymen, and the executions at newgate, which were plainly favourite spectacles with them. they told of the doings of themselves and other marauders in the streets of london, and roared with laughter over their exploits. tom, ashamed of his real disgust, strove to laugh too, for he dreaded above everything to be thought a man lacking in spirit; but perhaps his face betrayed more than he meant, for his comrades began to gibe him in a fashion which made his hot blood rise; and he might have got into trouble before harry could come to the rescue, had it not been that a sudden hush fell upon the room, whilst the word went round, spoken in every intonation of curiosity, respect, and admiration: "'tis lord claud himself! hither he comes! certes, but he is a fine figure of a man! so he has not grown too fine for his old haunts, though men did say that he was the pet and the favourite of all the court ladies!" at that name, heard once before from the lips of captain jack, tom looked round in great curiosity and eagerness. immediately he was gratified by the sight of the entrance into the inner room of the person who was the cause of all this subdued commotion. the newcomer was a very handsome man, of slender and graceful proportions, tall and elegant, and dressed in the extreme of fashion, yet with a taste that robbed foppery itself of any appearance of absurdity in his case. he looked quite young at the first glance; but a keen and practised eye could detect lines in that gay and handsome face which only time could trace. probably he was past thirty by some years, yet many men of five and twenty looked older. the only thing in which he differed materially from his brother dandies was that he wore his own hair in lieu of the wig; but so abundant and beautiful was it, lying upon his shoulders in large curls of tawny golden hue, and clustering with a grace about his temples that no wig ever yet attained, that not the most ardent upholder of the peruke could wish him to change the fashion of his coiffure, which, in fact, gave to his outer man a touch of distinction which was well borne out by the elegance of his deportment and costume. tom stared his fill at the newcomer, who was attended by several of the habitues of the coffee house, and received their welcome with a languid grace and indifferent goodwill. he was speedily accommodated with the best seat in the room. conversation was hushed to listen to his words; the most fragrant cup of coffee was brought to him by the beauty of the bar herself, and his orders were dispatched with a celerity which was lacking to any other customer. small wonder was it that tom, gazing and marvelling, asked in a whisper of the man next him: "who is it?" "lord claud, of course, you rustic cub," was the scornful reply, for politeness did not distinguish tom's new friends. "any fool about town could tell you that much." "i know it is lord claud," answered tom, somewhat nettled; "but who is lord claud? that is what i meant by my question." another laugh, not a whit less scornful, was the reply to this second query. "he'll be a clever fellow who tells you that, young greengoose from the country!" was the answer, only that the words used were more offensive, and were followed by the usual garnishing of oaths and by blasphemous allusions to melchisedec, from which tom gathered that nothing was known to the world at large as to the parentage or descent of the man they called lord claud, and that this title had been bestowed upon him rather as a nickname than because it was his by right. the babble of talk, hushed at the entrance of the newcomer, began to rise again when he took up one of the journals, and appeared disposed for reading rather than conversation. tom, unable to take his eyes off the elegant figure, still continued to ask questions respecting him, but was more puzzled than enlightened by the nature of the replies. "there had been other clauds before him," one of the men remarked. another added that it was easy to be rich when the king was made to pay toll. slippery seal wished, with a laugh and an oath, that he were half as slippery as the great lord claud; and bully bullen remarked that if he could but get such a reputation for duelling, he would play the bully to better purpose than he did now. this band of four were getting noisy and quarrelsome. they had been drinking steadily ever since they came in, and their cups of coffee had been tinctured by something much stronger. they were getting up their energies for their nightly prowls about the city, and thought it no bad start to bait young tom first. of course he had betrayed his ignorance and rusticity in a hundred little ways. although he began to understand a little of what passed around him in the interlarded speech of the day, he could not frame his tongue to any adequate imitation of it yet. he had learnt, alas, to swear in his old life; but there is a fashion even in oaths, and his were too rustic in form to pass muster here. as the bully beaux got deeper in their cups, so did their baiting of young tom increase in offensiveness and coarseness. the hot flush of anger kept rising in the young man's face, and there were moments when a fight was imminent, which was perhaps what the aggressors desired. harry was still in the outer room, or he would have interposed, for it was not a nice thing to be the butt of a set of braggarts and bullies, and this fashion of drawing a young man into their clutches was by no means unusual. suddenly, as matters seemed to be getting ripe for some outbreak of fury on tom's part, which might well lead to disastrous results, a sudden clear, resonant voice rose above the hubbub, and dominated all other tones by a peculiar property impossible to describe. "let that lad alone, you cowards!" spoke the voice, in tones of unmistakable authority. "get out of this place, you swaggering bullies! are we to have no peace even in this inner room, for your filibustering ways? go and bluster out yonder, if bluster you must. speak a single word of insolence to me--" and here the blue eyes seemed to flash fire--"and i will have every one of you ducked in the thames three times ere you take a step from hence! now, will you go quietly?" it was strange to see the change which came over these young rakes the moment that the clear, cold tones of lord claud's voice fell upon their ears. they stopped, they cringed, they looked one at the other, and then back at him, as a whipped dog looks at the master who rates him. thirsty thring, who had drunk the most deeply, and who was in consequence most filled with dutch courage, ventured once to look as though he were about to resist, or to dispute the mandate of lord claud; but no sooner had he provoked that flash of the eyes, than he too was cringing more humbly than his fellows. to the great amazement of tom, they took up their hats, and slunk from the room like so many whipped curs. he heard them the next minute chartering a wherry to take them to the shore once more. lord claud had taken up his paper again, but meeting tom's bashful glance of mingled gratitude and admiration, he remarked to him with a quiet smile: "you are a stranger to london and its sons, lad; take this bit of advice from one who knows both well: never let any man badger and insult you. take no word from any; but return it with a blow or a sword thrust. make your name feared--it is the surest road to success. tavern and street brawls are taken little note of by the administrators of the law; but better a few weeks' discipline in newgate, than to be the butt and victim of a set of vulgar street swaggerers and swashbucklers such as those worthies we have just seen depart." tom had risen and had slowly approached lord claud. now that the hour for the play had all but come, the room was thinning of its guests. he felt more courage to speak to this strange being, who seemed so great a personage. "i thank you, sir, for sending them away. i will seek to follow your good counsel in the future." and then, after a moment's hesitation, he added, "sir, are there more than one lord claud in this great city of london?" "not that i am aware of," answered the other, with a lighting of the eyes. "some would tell you that one was enough even for so vast a city and realm as this!" "because," continued tom, "i was charged with a message for one lord claud, and i marvel that it can be your worshipful self, for he that sent it was a strange man to speak of himself as your master." a laugh shone in the dark blue eyes of the other. "in sooth i call no man my master," he answered lightly; "but tell me the name of him who sent this message, and i shall know if it be for me or not." "he called himself captain jack," answered tom, "and i met with him betwixt my home in essex and this city. he was dwelling in the heart of the great forest of epping." upon lord claud's face there had come a look of vivid interest and pleasure; yet he laid a finger upon his lips, as though to caution tom, who, indeed, had spoken in a tone too low to be heard by any one else. "any news of or from captain jack is right welcome in mine ears," he said; "but this is not the time or place in which to speak of such things. come tomorrow morning early to my lodgings in the mall--any man will direct you to them--and there we will speak at ease. forget not--tomorrow morning by ten o' the clock, ere my levee has begun. i shall expect you. farewell, good youth, and keep your distance with those gentlemen you have just left. they would like to spit you as a goose is spitted, but i would see you again ere that consummation be achieved!" he nodded to tom, and took up his paper again; and tom, turning round, encountered the amazed glance of harry, who had come in to find him, and discovered him in friendly converse with the greatest man of all the company. "how now, tom! but you have a mettlesome spirit after all, if you can scrape acquaintance with lord claud. i have been in his company many a time, but never a word has he vouchsafed to me. and are you invited to his lodgings? surely my ears must have deceived me!" "in sooth he asked me, but it is only to hear a message i chance to bear from an old friend of his. harry, tell me who is this lord claud? men seem to worship the ground he treads upon, and yet to fear him, too, more than a little." it was after they had reached the streets again that tom put this question, and harry answered it by a knowing shake of the head. "i should have the makings of a fortune in me," he answered, "if i could tell who lord claud was. there be many fine ladies, and curled darlings of fashion, who would give much to know that secret." "but if he be a lord--" "ah, indeed--a wise 'if'! he is no more a lord than i am! that much i can tell you. but the name fits, and he wears it with a grace. there be ladies in high places, too, who would not be averse to share it with him, and be my lady claud, even though no other name might be hers." "but he is very rich; and rich men--" "rich!--ay, verily; and so should i be rich, if every time my purse was empty i helped myself to her majesty's gold, as it traversed the road from place to place!" tom stopped short as though he had been shot. "a highwayman!" he gasped. harry bestowed upon him a sage glance and a mocking laugh. "that is your word, not mine, my friend. breathe it not before his lordship! but there be many who swear that he is none other than a grandson of the famous claud duval of olden days, and that he rolls in the wealth he has filched from royalty itself." "and yet he lives like a prince, and all the world pays him court!" "oh yes--it is the way of the world; a successful villain is as much an idol as a successful general. the tide may turn. all high positions have their dangers. remember nothing has ever been proved against him; but men think and whisper, though not in his presence. town talk may or may not be true; and the ladies like him none the less for the tales that circulate about him. but come now, no more questions, or we shall be late for the play!" chapter v. with lord claud. cale shook his head; but tom was resolute. he had fallen under the spell of the so-called lord claud's personality--like many another before him--and whatever the upshot of the matter might be, he was going to accept the invitation accorded him, and visit that personage in his lodgings. "have a care, lad, have a care," advised the little perruquier. "all is not gold that glitters; and many a fine lad has been led to his ruin ere now by following some headlong fancy of his own." "i will be careful," answered tom, with the careless confidence of inexperience. "did i not come back last night with nothing spent save the price of the theatre and my coffee and supper? you said yourself i had done well. so give me now ten guineas, and i will be gone; for i was told to be early." tom had no difficulty, once he had reached the mall, in finding lord claud's rooms; for everybody knew where they were situated, and looked with some respect upon tom for inquiring. he was received at the door by a very fine lackey, and taken up a wide staircase, so richly carpeted that the footfall could not be heard upon it. everywhere his eyes rested upon strange and costly products of foreign lands, such as he had never dreamed of heretofore. later on he learned that lord claud had won this sumptuous suite of rooms from a rich young nobleman at the gaming table, and had stepped into its luxury and collected treasures with never an effort on his part. it was the fashion of the day to stake house and lands, wealth, and even honour, upon the cast of the dice or the fall of the cards; but that tom did not yet know. he followed the servant into a large and lofty bedchamber, the like of which he had never seen before. he could have spent an hour in examining all the rich and curious things it contained; but a voice hailed him from the bed, and there lay lord claud, in a nest of snowy pillows, his golden head and fair complexion giving him an almost girlish aspect, albeit the square set of the jaw and the peculiarly penetrating glance of the dark-blue eyes robbed the face of any charge of effeminacy. he was clad in a sort of dressing jacket of silk and lace, fine enough for any lady; and the bed was draped in silk from the indies, worked in a fashion that set tom agape. a few volumes of poetry, half a dozen letters, scented and delicately twisted, and a silver salver bearing an empty cup stood beside him. his servant removed this latter, and at a sign from his master withdrew; and tom was motioned to take the lounging chair which stood beside the bed, and from the recesses of which he could watch lord claud, as he did, with a sense of fascination. "early afoot, in sooth, my young spark from the country! ah, it is a fine habit, that of early rising. i practised it once myself, so i speak with authority. but what would you in this babylon? and, i' faith, what is there to do before the afternoon to tempt a man from his couch? i have scarce had four hours' sleep as it is. there was no getting away from my lady betty's reception last night. egad, i believe that fair votary of the graces ruins more young bloods than any sharper in the town! have a care of your guineas, my young friend, if ever you find yourself sitting down to the card table with her!" "that is not likely," answered tom modestly. "i am but the son of a country squire. i have come to london to see somewhat of the life there; but i look not to consort with the fashionable ones of the earth." "we shall see, we shall see. a golden key opens all doors--at least, nearly all. and you have not come empty-handed from home, i warrant. and that reminds me of your words of yesterday. you bring me a message from my quondam friend, captain jack. i would hear news of him; so tell me all the tale." tom told the tale simply enough, and lord claud listened with unaffected interest, nodding his head once or twice at hearing the terms of the message delivered for himself. "ah, good captain jack! so he is still in the free forest! well, well, well, perhaps he has chosen the better part. there be times when i look back at the old free life of peril and adventure, and my soul sickens at the weary round i see day by day. who knows but the time may come when i will break these gossamer bonds! ah, i might do worse--i might do worse--ere my youth and courage are fooled and squandered away." he seemed almost to have forgotten that he had a listener, and to be musing aloud; but, catching the wondering glance of tom's eyes, he recollected himself with a smile, and stretching out a white yet muscular hand, he said, with an air of winning grace: "my young friend, i have taken a liking to you. i like you because you bring to my jaded senses a whiff of the free air of field and forest, as well as a message from one to whom i owe much. i am sick to death of the inanities of the dandies and fops of the town. shall we be friends and comrades, good tom? i trow you might do worse than make your mentor of me--little though i look the part of the preceptor of telemachus!" tom could scarce believe his ears at this proposition; he blushed and stammered almost as though it were some fair lady wooing him to friendship. lord claud laughed at his embarrassment, and presently, taking up one of the notes beside him, threw it across to tom, saying: "read that, my young friend; i have a reason just at this moment why i would fain have a trusty friend beside me. what! thou canst not make sense of the jargon! well, it is jargon; in that thou art right, honest tom. men talk in a fashion which fools might gibe at. but 'tis the fashion, the fashion, and what would you? be i' the fashion--or perish! that is the choice before us." "but how can i serve you, my lord?" asked tom eagerly. "hast ever taken part in a duel, good fellow?" asked lord claud, with a keen glance at the stalwart youth. "i have fought many a battle in play and in earnest," answered tom, "with my fists, with the sword, and with the quarterstaff. i have no knowledge of the ways of town fights, such as i heard talk of in the folly yesterday; but--" "but you have a stout arm, an honest heart, and a tongue that will not wag when it is bidden to be silent? is that so, honest friend tom?" "my lord, i would not speak a word to living soul if you bid me be silent; and i would stand by you to the death!" "'tis a sudden liking you have taken for my unworthy self." "prove me, my lord, if it be not as sound as it be sudden." lord claud stretched out his hand, and tom's great fist met it. "this liking on sight is a strange matter; yet i seldom mistake my man. tom, i am going to trust you to act as my second in a little affair i have with another gentleman tomorrow morning, in a certain spot of which i have knowledge. another man was to have acted for me--he has, indeed, made all the arrangements; but, as yon note informs me, he was mixed up in a brawl last evening at the gaming house, and lies abed with a broken arm. 'tis not a matter i would have get wind, else there be a dozen men who would serve my turn. i had rather one silent, steady comrade than a score of chattering jays. so you shall be my friend, tom, and see what duelling is like." "you are not in danger of death, my lord, or grievous bodily hurt? else i fear i should break the rules of the game and dash to your succour!" "tush, boy!" answered the other, with a gleam in his eyes, "i have yet to find my match with the rapier; i shall get off without a scratch, you will see. whether or not i kill my man will depend upon his behaviour. i love not slaughter for its own sake, but there be those whose jaunty insolence rouses the devil within me; and then i strike and spare not." "and for what cause do men fight duels?" asked tom. "the question is a wide one, and smacks of innocence on your part, tom. generally a woman is the cause; but there be other matters too--wounded self-esteem or vanity, revenge, envy, evil passions of all sorts. but, egad, in these days it takes little to provoke the combat! why, it is but a few months ago that two young sparks met in mortal conflict because, forsooth, one of them had declared that venus was the goddess of love and beauty, whilst the other affirmed that it was aphrodite!" and lord claud leaned back upon his pillows and laughed aloud; laughing still more when he found that he had to explain to tom the nature of the confusion which had prompted the duel. time was fast flying as the two oddly-assorted comrades talked, and soon the valet appeared at the door with the perruquier in his wake, informing his master that several gentlemen waited below, and that all was in readiness for the morning toilet. "heigh-ho!" sighed the young exquisite. "why can we not rise from our couches like the beast of the field, give ourselves a shake, and be ready for the day's work? these levees are the bane of my life. but fashion, fashion, fashion! she is the goddess of the hour. tom, sit over yonder, and watch the follies of thy kind. keep a quiet tongue, and i'll see you are not baited. "and now, let in the popinjays and chattering monkeys; for the sooner we begin, the sooner comes the end!" the next two hours presented a marvellous spectacle to tom. there were perhaps some eight to twelve young sparks about town coming and going during that time, some remaining the whole toilet through, others roving off to other similar scenes. whilst the perruquier plied his skilful hands in the curling, powdering, and arranging of lord claud's abundant golden hair, which some days was powdered and some days left as nature had ordered, they sat beside him in a row upon the bed and chattered of all the latest bits of scandal, the wittiest retorts of this or that sprightly dame, the on dit of the town, the quarrels of the gaming houses, and the doings of the court. when lord claud left his bed and began arraying himself in the soft and costly array provided by his valet, his friends amused themselves by joining with him in the perfuming of his person; borrowing his essences to sprinkle upon their own fine clothes, washing their hands in milk and perfume to make them white and delicate; and calling to his valet to re-tie and arrange their lace-edged cravats in imitation of the style affected by lord claud. some of them removed their wigs, and asked the perruquier to give them an extra powdering; others got at the cosmetic boxes upon the toilet table, and gave a touch of carmine to cheeks which the night's revel had left wan. some gave infinite pains to the arrangement of a patch to resemble a dimple; and all desired to dip their handkerchiefs in the silver bowl of rare scent which was offered almost the last thing to the master of all these luxuries. tom sat in his corner and looked on in amaze. he had felt himself a very pretty dandy whilst being arrayed in his new clothes in cale's shop, but he felt like a raven amongst peacocks in this company; and it would have taken nothing short of the testimony of his own eyes to convince him that these were men and not women engaged in all this pranking and personal adornment. many curious glances had been thrown in his direction at the first; and a few of the guests sauntered up from time to time, and entered into conversation with him. tom observed, with some satisfaction, that there was respect, if not admiration, in their manner, and he wondered what had caused this; for yesterday he had received mockery and taunts as his portion from men of much less distinction than lord claud's friends. he had not heard the words lord claud had spoken to his guests on their arrival--or, rather, he had not understood them, since they were spoken in the french tongue. "a friend of mine--a fine young fellow--a son of the forest--best let alone, gentlemen, by those who value a sound skin," lord claud had said, with a careless laugh. his friends drew their own conclusions, and looked at tom with respect. lord claud knew exactly what they were thinking, and laughed in his sleeve. the valet was now perfuming the gloves, and giving just the jaunty cock to his master's hat which best suited its shape. "now, gentlemen, i will bid you farewell for the present," said lord claud. "i and my friend have business of our own. we may meet again at the play ere long. off with you each to his own favourite tavern. for my part, i have other fish to fry today." with that he swept them a fine bow, and the room cleared as if by magic. it was one of this man's arts that he could rid himself of the buzzing crowd by one look or gesture when he had the mind. valet and perruquier followed the retreating guests, and lord claud drew a breath of relief. "there, honest tom; we are well rid of the chattering magpies--screaming peacocks were the better word, or painted popinjays. now to business; for i must keep a steady head and quiet hours today. are you anything of a swordsman, my friend?" "i was accounted a good enough fighter in my own village," answered tom; "but everything here is so different. my methods may be useless against the skill of men trained in a different school." "we will put that to the test, and that quickly," said lord claud; and forthwith he led his companion out of the house and through several unfamiliar streets, till he reached a building rather larger than its surrounding neighbours, into which he walked with the air of one well used to the place. first they passed through a large hall, the floor of which was thickly sprinkled with sawdust; but, without pausing, lord claud mounted a staircase in the corner, and led tom into a large upper room, the walls of which were adorned by rapiers with buttons at the end, where a man was sitting polishing the foils and humming a tune to himself. he rose instantly upon seeing lord claud, and made a deep bow. "i have come to try a bout at sword play with a friend of mine," explained the latter, stripping off his coat, and signing to tom to do the same. "give us two well-matched weapons; for we have none too much time to spare measuring and comparing." tom's blood quickened at the feel of the rapier in his hand. he had always loved these encounters with the sword, whether in play or earnest. he had not lacked training of a certain rude sort, and his wrist was strong and supple, his eye wary and keen; moreover, he had length of reach and strength of muscle. after the first bout lord claud gave him an approving nod, and, looking at the man who stood by, remarked: "there is the making of a fine swordsman in the lad, is there not, when he has learnt more finesse and quickness?" "the gentleman does well," answered the man, with a shrewd glance at tom's tall and well-knit frame. "he may be worsted in a sham fight, but, methinks, in sober earnest he would be an ugly customer to meet." in the next bout lord claud showed his antagonist some of the dexterous feats of rapid sword play, with the result that tom was rather hard pressed; but for all that he did not lose his head, and soon began to master the tricks of attack and defence, the quick lunge and the quick recovery which perplexed him at first; and in the next bout he showed so much skill and address that his opponent and the onlooker alike applauded. "very good, tom, very good," said lord claud. "you will make a notable swordsman one of these days. now i shall leave you here for an hour with worthy captain raikes, and he will give you a lesson in fencing which you will not fail to profit by. after that i will come back for you, and take you elsewhere. "captain raikes, i have a little affair on hand tomorrow morning. i would fain try a pass with you, to see that my hand has lost nothing of its cunning." "not much fear of that, my lord," answered the master of the place, as he took the rapier from tom; and the next minute the youth from the country stood in silent admiration and amaze, whilst the two blades crossed and flashed, and twined and clashed, with a precision and masterly deftness which aroused his keen delight and envy. to become a proficient like that would be something worth living for; and his quick eyes studied the movements and methods of the two adversaries, till he felt he had begun to have some little notion of the tricks by which such results were attained. when lord claud came back to fetch him, at the end of the stipulated hour, it was to find young tom without coat, vest, or peruke, and bathed in perspiration; but so keenly interested in the new science, that it was all his comrade could do to drag him away. "egad, tom, but you will make a pretty swordsman one of these days! captain raikes says he has never had a more promising pupil. you have winded him as well as yourself. but all that exertion must have given you an appetite. we will to pontac's and refresh ourselves; and when you have cooled down, i will take you to see a man as great in his way as captain raikes with the foils. oh yes, you can come again at your leisure for another lesson. but i have no fears for you, tomorrow, even now. whatever may betide, you are no child with the sword." the coffee house to which lord claud now conducted him was a much finer and more select place than the folly, and tom was much interested in the fine company there, all of whom welcomed lord claud heartily, and seemed to desire to draw him into talk. although dressed in the height of the fashion, and not without their fopperies and extravagances, the company here interested itself less with private scandal than with public affairs, and there was much talk of the war abroad, and of the return of the duke of marlborough, which it was now thought would take place before long. "but he has first to go to berlin, to cajole the king of prussia to send help to italy, to the duke of savoy," cried one of the company, who seemed best informed on military matters. "it will take a good one to wring eight thousand soldiers out of his majesty of prussia, but if any man can do it, it will be johnny churchill! i remember him even when we were boys together. he had a tongue that would flatter the nose off your face, if you did but listen to him! a voice of silver, and a hand of iron--those are the gifts which have made the fortunes of my lord of marlborough." "ay, an iron hand for keeping money when once the fingers have closed upon it!" laughed one. "and a wife who rules the queen, and is bent upon making her husband the greatest man in the kingdom--though she will always keep the upper hand of her lord, you will see. marlborough, whom no combination of military prowess can daunt, trembles and turns pale before the frown of his wife!" "yet it is not fear but love which makes him tremble," said another. "although their children are grown to adolescence, he loves her yet as dotingly as ever youthful swain loves the phyllis of his boyhood's amours!" "that is nothing to sneer at," remarked lord claud, speaking for the first time. "rather should we thank heaven, in these days of profligacy and vice, that we have a queen upon the throne who loves her husband faithfully and well, and a general, victorious in arms, who would gladly lay down his victor's laurels for the joy of living in peaceful obscurity at the side of his wife!" nobody laughed at lord claud's speech, though it would have provoked mirth if another had given utterance to the sentiment. the talk went on, however, in the same vein, and tom listened in silence, trying to digest as much as he could of the news of the day. lord claud did not remain long; and when they were in the street together, tom asked him of the great duke, and what had been said of him. was he really treacherous and false, loving money above all else, and careless of the good of the realm, so long as he built up his own fortunes securely? "the duke's career is not without its black spots," answered lord claud. "it is known by all that he deserted the late king james the second; but there were reasons solid and sound for that. the darkest passage in his life is his intrigues against his majesty king william, for which he was disgraced for some time. but for all that his genius is marvellous, and i am very sure he is loyal to the core to good queen anne; albeit a man who will not openly ally himself with either whig or tory faction must expect to make enemies in many quarters." "and does he indeed love money so well?" "second to his wife, or men do him great injustice. but though they laugh and sneer at him, i misdoubt me if he loves wealth better than his traducers; only he keeps a firmer grip upon it, having indeed no taste for vulgar dissipation. why, even as a youth he was mighty prudent." here lord claud began to laugh, as though tickled by some memory; and on being questioned further, he told tom the tale. "you must know that john churchill was a marvellous pretty fellow, with just the same languid grace of bearing that he has kept all his life; and of which you may judge the effect yourself, good tom, ere many weeks be passed. he was a youth about the court of charles the second, and the duchess of cleveland took notice of the handsome, witty lad, and sometimes had him in her rooms to amuse her. once they so chanced to be there together, when the steps of the king were heard approaching; and as his majesty was like to think evil of a matter where no evil was, the duchess was sore put to it, and looked so affrighted, that young churchill gallantly sprang from the window, at the risk of breaking his leg if not his neck. the duchess sent him a present of five thousand pounds the next day; and what does the lad do? most of his sort would have squandered it at play in a week; but johnny churchill was of a different kidney. he goes and purchases with it an annuity; so that come what may, he may never be left quite destitute in his old age!" and lord claud again burst into a hearty laugh, in which tom now joined. they were now approaching a narrow street hard by the haymarket, and his companion knocked at a lowly door, which was opened by a sombre-looking man in a shabby suit of clothes. "is your master within?" asked lord claud, who seemed known to all the world; and the next minute he was striding up the stairs, two steps at a time; tom following, and marvelling much at the darkness of the humble abode, and at lord claud's purpose in coming. a door on the second floor was thrown open, and lord claud stepped gaily in. "ha, master addison," he cried, "i have come to offer to you my tardy congratulations for that yet more tardy recognition of merit which has been your portion at last! and so the great ones of the land have been forced to come beseeching in person? ha! ha! that is very good. and may my friend here--young esquire tufton, of gablethorpe, in the county of essex--have the privilege of hearing some of those wonderful lines which are to take the country by storm? come, master addison, you know that i am a lover of good metre and fine sentiment. the words must needs be tingling in your ears, and lying hot upon your tongue. let us hear the roll of them, and i warrant that all london town shall soon be in a ferment to hear them, too!" the man of letters was attired in a neat but poor suit of clothes, and his surroundings were humble and even sordid; but his face was neither peevish nor careworn, but wore an expression of dignified contentment and scholarly repose. the walls of his lodging were lined with bookcases, upon which many a volume was stacked. poor he had been for long, but he had not been in the straits that many men of letters were reduced to in those days. on his desk were strewn pages of manuscript verse which caught the eyes of the visitors at once. "by my halidome! if that be not the poem itself!" "the rough copy alone, the rough copy," said addison, who was walking up and down the narrow room, his eyes aglow, his face a little flushed. "the fair one is in the hands of the printers. my lord godolphin came himself to hear it read but a few short days ago, and took it off with him then and there." "delighted with it, and vowing that you should be the first poet of the times, if report be true!" cried lord claud. "he did express his satisfaction," answered the poet quietly. "and i doubt not i shall receive some mark of favour at no distant date. but not all the favour of queen or courtier can give me the title to poet. that lies in a sphere which not the most powerful potentate can aspire to touch. the voice of posterity alone can make or mar that title!" "but let us hear something of this great poem," cried lord claud. "as i say, it must be burning upon your tongue. prithee do us the grace to recite us portions of it." it was a request palatable to the eager soul of the poet, all on fire with the work which had occupied his thoughts and pen for so many long weeks. he still kept up his pacing to and fro; but as he walked he gave utterance to the well-conned passages of his work, throwing into the words a fire and a spirit which kindled the spark in lord claud's eyes, and even made young tom's heart glow with admiration and wonder, albeit he had never been the votary of letters. if high-flown, the language of the day kept it in countenance. nothing simple would have found favour at that date. and no one called the sentiments forced, even though there seemed to be slight confusion sometimes between marlborough and the deity. the well-known lines upon the battle of blenheim itself were given with a wonderful fire and force: "'twas then great marlbro's mighty soul was proved, that in the shock of charging hosts, unmoved amidst confusion, horror, and despair, examined all the dreadful scenes of war, in peaceful thought the field of death surveyed, to fainting squadrons sent the timely aid, inspired repulsed battalions to engage, and taught the doubtful battle where to rage. so, when an angel by divine command with rising tempest shakes a guilty land-- such as of late o'er pale britannia passed-- calm and serene he drives the furious blast, and, pleased the almighty's orders to perform, rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm." "excellent! excellent!" cried lord claud, when the poet at last flung himself into his chair, exhausted by his own flow of eloquence. "that will take them! that will hit them! my good friend, your fortune is made. "capital, was it not, tom? why, it has raised a sparkle in your calm bucolic eyes! "'tis a fine poem i' sooth, master addison; as fine a piece of work as any man of this day ever produced. you might have seen it all yourself. you have had information, one can see, from high quarters. now tell me, i pray, something in detail of this great battle;" and forthwith poet and gallant fell to discussing the campaign in such a fashion as filled tom with wonder at his companion, such as he was always feeling. lord claud seemed to have such a masterly knowledge of military detail, that it was hard to believe he had not at some time been a soldier himself; and his knowledge of public affairs, and of the intricacies of foreign and home politics, struck the country-bred youth as something little short of marvellous. for hard upon two hours did the two men sit talking, with papers and diagrams before them; and when at last lord claud rose, addison gripped him hard by the hand, and declared he was the best company he had seen for many a long day. "we are too late for the play, tom, my lad," said lord claud, as they reached the street. "but, for my part, i have been better entertained; and if i have wearied you, i crave pardon." "i am no whit wearied," answered tom promptly; "but i marvel much at your knowledge of men and things." lord claud laughed slightly and lightly. "keep open eyes and ears as you go along in life, tom, and you will learn many things in your turn. and now, methinks, we will take horse to earns, and lie there tonight. it will be better for us than the long ride in the cold of the early morning." chapter vi. barns elms. "you can ride, tom?" lord claud had said, as they sauntered homewards from the poet's lodgings. tom replied that whatever else he was lacking in, he might certainly lay claim to horsemanship; and the pair walked on together, lord claud sunk in thoughtful silence, his companion always ready to give his attention to the sights of the streets, which had lost none of the attraction of novelty as yet. "ho! ho! ho!" laughed a voice behind them; "master tom the greengoose has found fine company!" "a fine comrade, truly, will he find he has got! what becomes of all the strapping young fellows whom my lord claud takes pains to notice and befriend?" "they are like the butterflies--flutter for a season and are no more seen after!" "or like the buzzing fly who is lured within the spider's web! 'tis easy fluttering in, but there is no getting out!" "ay, ay, the gallows noose must feel mightily like the strand of the spider's web to the silly fly. and as the spider pounces upon his victim ere it be dead, and sucks away its life blood, so does the hangman cut down his victim alive and cut out his living heart! oh, 'tis a fine sight! a fine sight! young tom must e'en go and see the next execution at tyburn!" these words were spoken with caution, and yet every one of them fell full upon tom's ears. these ears, be it noted, were very keen ones, as is often the case with those who have tracked game and hunted the fallow deer in the free forest. moreover, tom had not yet grown callous to the sounds of talk and laughter in the streets. he must needs listen to all he heard, and these phrases were plainly meant to meet his ear. he glanced at lord claud to see if he had heard, but there was no change in the thoughtful face. his companion appeared lost in his own reflections, and tom, dropping a pace behind, looked back to see who had spoken. as he had surmised, it was the four bully beaux whom he had met at the folly the previous day. so much had happened in the interim, that tom could have believed it a week ago. at his look they all burst into jeering laughter, but it did not appear as though they desired speech of him, or any sort of encounter, for they plunged hastily down a side street, and tom saw that lord claud had just turned his head to see what hindered his companion. "pay no heed to drunken roisterers i' the streets, tom," advised his mentor; "a quarrel is quicker provoked than mended, except at the sword's point, and unseemly is brawling at street corners. yon fellows bear you some ill will for my threat yesterday. they will do you a bad turn if the chance offers. they are an evil crew, and my lord mayor has been warned against them ere now; but it is difficult in these days to give every man his deserts. london would be depopulated if all who merited it were transported to the plantations of virginia." a little later they met harry gay sauntering from one playhouse to another. he looked with a sort of amused surprise at tom, who paused to send a message to master cale, to tell him that he would not be at home that night, and was not to be troubled after in any wise. "do you lodge with lord claud?" asked harry, with a curious glance towards the elegant figure sauntering on, and exchanging bows with the fine ladies in the coaches. "i know not; but i ride forth with him ere long on some errand i wot not of. have no fears for me, good harry, i can take care of myself well enow." "you have good confidence, my young friend. i trust it is not the pride which goes before a fall. it savours of peril to steer one's bark over unknown waters, or to follow a road which leads no man knows whither;" and harry nodded his head in the direction of lord claud, with a gesture that was as eloquent as any words could be. "tush!" answered tom, with something of the careless indifference he had caught from lord claud and his associates; "i have come to see the world, and see it i will. if there be peril, why, so much the better. i am sick to death of sitting at ease in the safe shelter of home. a man can die but once, and he had better live first." "just so, just so," answered harry with some emphasis; "that is exactly the sentiment i would most impress upon your inexperience. a man should live to drink the cup of life, ere it be snatched from his grasp." tom nodded and passed on, not pausing to ponder upon the meaning of the words he had heard. indeed, he had small time to ponder, for his comrade was quickening his steps, and he had to hasten to reach his side. "my stables lie this way. we will go and look at the hackneys, and make choice of one fit to carry those great limbs of yours, my worthy friend. as for me, a light-made barb will suffice; but it takes bone and muscle to carry all that bone," and he clapped his hand upon tom's shoulder with a little laugh. the stables were neither very bright nor savoury according to modern ideas, but for the times they were thought a marvel of perfection. tom's eyes soon got used to the dimness, and he was quickly in a high state of rapture at the evidences of breeding and pace in the horses stabled there. that they knew their master well was plain, for all heads were turned at the sound of his voice, and each animal gave a low whinny of pleasure at the approach of lord claud. he took carrots from a basket and dispensed them with impartiality to his stud; and, meantime, he and his head groom talked together in low tones, and presently tom was called to the conclave. "nell gwynne will carry you best, tom. but she may give you a little trouble. it is not every rider she will brook upon her back; yet if you can master her, she will bear you to the world's end faithfully." tom approached the mare indicated, who looked at him, laying back her ears and showing the whites of her eyes, sidling a little over in her stall with the evident intention of trying to get a kick at the stranger. but tom coolly walked up to her head, and began caressing her with a perfect fearlessness which presently disarmed her suspicion. she was accustomed to see men flinch and quail before her, and despised the race accordingly. but the few who bad no fear of her she recognized as her masters, and she gave them the love of her heart and the best of her powers. "that will do, tom," said lord claud's voice from behind; "you have won my lady's capricious fancy. "bring up the mare and lucifer in an hour's time, saddled and bridled, and fed for the evening," he added, speaking to the servant; "you will probably have them back some time tomorrow, but of that i cannot speak with certainty." he took tom's arm as he left the yard, saying in his nonchalant fashion: "sometimes after one of these affairs of honour it is well to take oneself off for a while. her majesty is as much against the settlement of private quarrels by the appeal to the sword as ever king william was. however, fashion is too strong even for good queen anne. but it is better not to do more than wing your man. if you kill him, you run a risk of getting into trouble. but i have no intention of doing so, unless he provokes me beyond endurance." "is he a man of note?" asked tom, with pardonable curiosity. "in his way he is; you probably would not know the name; but he has friends in high places: he and i have never loved each other. he has balked me more than once, and i have had my revenge at the gaming table and in other places, which he is not likely to forgive or forget. the other day he sought to provoke me by almost open insult. it was not a woman, tom. i have enough on my hands without embroiling myself in affairs of gallantry. there are women, doubtless, who are worth the championship of honest men; but in our world of london town they are few and far between. let them and their quarrels alone, tom, if you would keep out of trouble." lord claud was speaking now with a sarcastic intonation rather unusual with him. he was more thoughtful and grave than tom had ever seen him, but the youth did not dare to ask the cause. indeed, it seemed to him that a man who had a duel to fight upon the morrow with a dangerous adversary had reason enough for gravity and thought. "tom," said lord claud suddenly, breaking a rather long silence, "i feel sometimes that i have had enough for once of the trammels of town life. i am weary of the slavery of levee, and gaming table, and playhouse. there are better things in life than foppery and idle dissipation. what do you think of it all, my honest tom?" "i find it vastly entertaining," answered tom truthfully; "but i feel me something out of place amongst all the fine fops i meet everywhere." "you would like to travel and see the world? there is another world besides that of london town." "i would see more of london town ere i leave it," answered tom frankly; "but i would fain see other things and places, too." "wilt come farther afield with me, if i go?" asked lord claud, with a quick sidelong glance at the tall figure of his companion. "a man of thews and sinews, who knows not fear, is the comrade in whom my heart delights; but there be so few of them amid yon crowd of painted popinjays." the compliment tickled tom's vanity, just as the preference shown him from the first by so great a man as lord claud touched his naturally quick affections. "let me but see this wonderful city first, my lord, and i will follow you to the world's end!" he cried impulsively. "you shall have your wish, trusty tom," answered lord claud, his face clearing and his brilliant smile shining forth. "in sooth, i have no desire to quit it just yet. i would fain be one of those to welcome back the great duke, who will be here ere the year closes; and you should not miss seeing the pageant which will greet the victor of blenheim. it may even be that the duke himself will find employment for his poor servants. "hast ever heard of the secret service, tom? no? well, there be openings enow for men of courage and resource. it may be that you and i may find work for us to do. when all europe is at war, country with country, and kingdom with kingdom, there is work and to spare for trusty messengers, stout of heart and strong of arm. who knows but that such luck as that may come in our way?" tom listened agape, feeling as though his horizon were growing wider every hour. he had been scarce more than a week in town, and, behold, all life seemed changed about him. already he had been plunged into an adventure which would probably end in the spilling of blood; and now the prospect was opening out before him of travel and adventure of a kind of which he had never dreamed. it seemed impossible that he could be the same raw rustic youth who, a few short months ago, was accounted the greatest roisterer of his own county. his doings in the past seemed just the outcome of boyish spirits. he had been nothing but a great boy in those days; now he felt that his manhood was coming upon him by leaps and bounds. at lord claud's lodging a repast was awaiting them which was in itself a further revelation to tom. he was mightily hungry, too, and fell upon the good cheer with an appetite that entertained his host. the food he found most excellent, though seasoned something too strongly for his palate. but the wines were less to his taste, and he presently made bold to ask for a tankard of homely ale, which was brought to him from the servants' quarters; lord claud leaning back with his glass in his hand, and smiling to see the relish with which tom enjoyed the simple beverage. "ah, the time was when i could quaff a tankard of ale with any man, and it may well be that i will do the same again in the future. but now, tom, we must come and don riding gear, for the horses will be round ere long. oh, have no concern as to that. my man will have ready all that you will need. but those silken hose and that broidered vest are little suited to the saddle." and, in very sooth, tom found himself quickly fitted with a pair of stout leathern breeches, a cloth waistcoat, and a pair of riding boots adorned with silver spurs. a riding switch was put in his hand, and he stood flicking his boots at the top of the staircase till lord claud joined him, dressed in a quiet and most irreproachable riding suit, which became the elegance of his figure almost better than the frippery of the first toilet. the horses stood at the door. tom walked up to the great mare and renewed acquaintance with her before swinging himself lightly to the saddle. she made an instinctive dart with her head, as though to seek to bite his foot; but he patted her neck, touched her lightly with the spur, and sat like a centaur as she made a quick curvet that had unseated riders before now. the next minute the pair had started forth in the murky twilight of the autumn evening; but the moon was rising and the mists were dispersing. before they had left the houses behind they could see the road clear before them, and were able to give their impatient steeds their heads, and travel at a steady hand gallop. tom had approached london from the north, so that all this country was new to him. he delighted in the feel of a horse betwixt his knees again; and the vagaries of the high-bred mare, who shied and danced at every flickering shadow, kept his pulses tingling and his heart aglow during the whole of that moonlight ride. lord claud said little. he too had need of some horsemanship, for the black barb he rode was full of fire and spirit. both riders kept a sharp lookout as they rode along, for there was never any security from footpads and highway robbers once they were clear of the houses. however, there was no indication that any such light-heeled gentry were abroad that night, and the travellers reached the little hostelry whither they were bound without any adventure. here they were evidently expected. the host came out with an air of great respect, and took their horses. within, a plentiful supper was prepared for them, to which tom was ready to do justice after his ride, though lord claud ate little and drank less. upstairs a commodious chamber with two beds had been prepared. a fire of logs burnt cheerily on the hearth; and it was plain that some valet had been there earlier in the day, for night clothes and toilet accessories lay about in profusion, to say nothing of a pair of shining rapiers carefully laid upon the mantel shelf. lord claud took these down and examined them with care. then he handed one to tom. "just a few passes, trusty tom, as is my habit ere sleeping the night before a duel. i like to make test of the weapon with which i shall meet my antagonist in the morning." tom was delighted to show off his newly-learned skill, and was complimented by lord claud on his progress. "my adversary's second may desire to cross swords with you, tom," remarked lord claud as he began to undress. "'tis a foolish habit; but you must not seem to shrink. show him that you care nothing for his sword, and i will then interpose to stop the second fight. it may not be offered; but, again, it may." and, as the pair prepared for bed, the elder man instructed his companion in all the details of duelling, that he might be prepared to play his part on the morrow with confidence and aplomb. "i have a few excellent rules of my own, tom, and i have never been worsted once, and only once wounded. i neither drink, nor dice, nor dance, nor weary myself the previous day. i go overnight to the place of meeting, and i retire to bed early and sleep sound. i take a modest breakfast, without wine or spirit, an hour before the meeting; and i come to the ground with a head as cool and a hand as steady as though no such thing as danger or death existed in the world. some men pride themselves on sitting up and dicing and drinking away the night, to show their own courage and their contempt for their adversary. i prefer to show mine by leaving him prostrate on the field!" it certainly seemed as though lord claud's methods were good, for he slept like a child all night, better than tom did, who had been greatly excited by the events of the day and the prospect of the morrow; and when he was dressed upon the following morning, still in his sober riding suit that became him so well, tom thought he had never seen anybody looking so thoroughly master of himself and his circumstances. the very glance of the eye seemed to bespeak victory, as did the quiet resolution of the grave mouth. breakfast over--an early meal taken by the light of candles, yet excellent of its kind--and the pair went forth together, tom carrying the two rapiers, as it was his duty to do. the sun was just about to rise, and the mists lying over the river and fields were growing silver in the light, as they came in sight of the group of elms which had seen so many foolish and bloody contests between angry men, some of whom scarce knew why they fought at all, save that it was the fashion. from the opposite direction three other figures were approaching--two tall men and one little one. "they bring a surgeon," quoth lord claud, with a smile on his face; "perchance they are wise. for myself, i never trouble to do so. i count a leech a needless encumbrance." tom looked curiously at the two foremost men as they drew near. one of them struck him in particular. he was very tall and very strongly made, though clumsy in figure and swarthy in face. he had the look almost of a foreigner, tom thought, with black eyes that twinkled with an evil and sinister expression, and never showed more than as a slit between half-shut lids. he was marked with smallpox, and had taken no pains, today at any rate, to disguise the ravages of that malady. he walked a little in advance of his companions, and when he got near to lord claud he stopped and made a sweeping bow, his eyes the while scanning tom's face and figure most closely. "this is not the gentleman who waited on me," he said in a rasping voice. "no; that gentleman is laid up in his bed, and cannot keep his appointment; but this one will do the business equally well. "mr. tufton of gablehurst; let me present him to you, sir james." the swarthy man looked tom over from head to foot with an insolent stare. "a fine young cub," he said at length, "and well grown for his years. one of the gang, i suppose?" and there was an ugly sneer upon his thick lips. tom looked at lord claud, wondering what the meaning of those words could be; but the quiet face looked as if carved in marble, save only that the eyes glowed like fire in their sockets. he signed to tom to produce the rapiers; and the second man came forward and examined and tested them, selecting that which his principal should use. then the ground was stepped, the most level place selected, and the two combatants stripped off coat and waistcoat, and prepared for the fray. tom drew his breath hard as he watched the commencement of the fight, and his face was full of anxiety, as he felt that the man addressed as sir james had weight and length of reach beyond anything that lord claud could command. but for a while both the men fought warily and without attempting to get to close quarters, and tom began to lose his first breathless excitement, and to watch the play of shining blades with more coolness and observation. two rounds had been fought, and neither man was wounded. but whilst lord claud looked just as cool and steady as at the start, the dark adversary was flushed and inclined to pant, and the beads of sweat stood upon his forehead notwithstanding the briskness of the morning air. then tom began to understand where lord claud's advantage lay. if he could tire out his adversary by keeping on the defensive, then at the last he might get his chance, and lunge at him when he would scarce be able to parry the thrust. it was easy to see that his weak point was slowness of recovery. his thrusts were quick and well planted, he had an excellent guard and mastery of the weapon; but he was slow in recovering after making a lunge, and the longer the fight continued the more evident did this defect become. and it was plain that he was aware of it, for though he pressed upon his antagonist with great determination and with much dexterity of sword play, he was afraid to take advantage of his longer reach and lunge at him boldly; for he knew that if lord claud avoided the thrust, he would almost certainly have at him with a counter lunge before he had time to parry. and, in fact, that was what did at the last happen, after the fight had lasted so long that tom thought half an hour must surely have gone by. both antagonists showed signs of weariness. it had even been suggested that enough had been done to satisfy the claims of honour; but to that suggestion neither principal would listen. sir james was much distressed. sweat poured from his brow, his breath came in deep gasps, his face was growing purple. lord claud looked white, but otherwise had not changed in aspect, and the deadly battle light in his eyes was growing brighter and keener. his heavy antagonist now saw that nothing could serve his purpose but an exercise of sheer weight and brute force, and he pressed on and on with such fury that tom almost cried aloud in his fear. but lord claud was wary and watchful; he gave way for a while, only parrying the thrusts, and that with not so much force as before; then suddenly sir james made a furious lunge, and calling out in a strangled voice, "have at you now!" he all but buried his rapier in his adversary's body. all but--yet not quite; for just at the moment when it seemed impossible to parry the furious stroke, lord claud made a curious upward twist of the wrist, caught his adversary's blade and turned it so that it glanced aside and passed him, whilst he sprang towards him at the same instant, and saying quite coolly, "sir, methinks your physician would recommend blood letting in your heated condition," he thrust straight and true at his burly adversary, running the shining blade into his shoulder in such a fashion that the tip of the rapier reappeared red with blood behind him, and he fell forwards with a smothered bellow like that of a bull who is ringed, so that lord claud had need of all his quickness to withdraw his rapier in time. second and surgeon sprang to the side of the wounded man; but lord claud said quite quietly: "'tis no mortal wound. he has not got his deserts this time. are you satisfied, gentlemen, or do you want more with us?" the second looked up at tom's stalwart figure, hesitated a moment, and then professed that he desired to carry matters no further. lord claud handed the rapiers to tom, coolly resumed his discarded garments, took off his hat with a courtly bow, and walked off with his customary air of easy grace. "come, tom," he said, "we have managed that well. the brute will not die, but will only keep his bed a while, and doubtless rise to trouble us again in days to come. they say he has never felt a wound before, and boasts himself invulnerable. he will little relish the lesson he has had today. but he will never forget or forgive; so have a caution when he is your neighbour in any company. he will rail at his second for not pinking you; but 'twas his own words that daunted the man. he thought he saw in you a veritable son of the forest, terrible in wrath, invincible in skill--" and lord claud suddenly threw back his head and began to laugh unrestrainedly. "i did not understand him," quoth tom. "marry, no--and no need you should! you had better not understand too much of the things you see and hear in the world, honest tom. and now let us to a more hearty breakfast, and back again to town. i must show myself today with a lordly grace, and prove to all the world that i need shrink from no man's gaze. as for yon black bull, be sure he will breathe no word of this thing. it would ill mate with his pride for the world to know that he had been spitted like a capon by one whom he has dared to gibe at as the white hind of the forest!" lord claud's mood had completely changed. he was gay and merry, and eager after pleasure. he took tom hither and thither to half a dozen fine houses, where the ladies gazed with a certain awestruck admiration at this "untamed son of the woods," as it pleased lord claud to call him, whilst they loaded with favours the brilliant young spark, who seemed, when in the mood, to have power to win all hearts. he was a "dear tormenting devil," or a "mad fellow, but withal a true prince charming;" and just as he talked sound sense and politics with the poet yesterday, so now he beat even the finest of the ladies and their beaux at high-flown nonsense about goddesses and heroes, and the arcadian bowers where they made a pretence of living and moving. at the play, to which they went later, he moved from box to box, from tier to tier, taking snuff with the men, saying charming nothings to the ladies; the centre always of a laughing throng, whose proximity must surely have been distressful to any persons so unfashionable as to desire to listen to what the actors were saying. he even went behind and upon the stage, as spectators were still permitted to do, although there was less of this confusion than a few years before; and he was eagerly welcomed wherever he appeared. from the play they repaired to more gay houses, where tom speedily lost his ten guineas at basset, but was too excited to care, and paid over his stakes with a lordly indifference that did credit to his powers of observation and imitation. it was long past midnight ere they bent their steps homewards, and then, as it was far too late to seek the shelter of master cale's abode, tom betook himself once more to lord claud's lodgings, and was speedily sound asleep in the most soft and sumptuous bed it had ever been his lot to lie upon. chapter vii. master gale's daughter. it was sunday morning, and tom was making his way, towards the hour of noon, to the house of the perruquier, which he had quitted some four days past, with no intention of so long an absence. the streets were unwontedly quiet, and the cries of the apprentices at the doors of the shops were pleasantly missed. the shops were most of them shuttered up, and the apprentices, clad in their best, were all away to some sport of their own selection in byways and alleys, or lingering about the parks with a knot of footmen and lackeys, watching the fine folk walk in and out. for the common sort were not admitted as yet within the precincts of the parks, and even the gentlefolks had to leave their servants behind; so that it may well be guessed there was plenty of gossiping and hustling to be had at the gates, if any had a taste for it. tom was a far finer figure coming home than he had been in going out. he wore a coat of azure velvet, and his vest was a perfect cataract of fine point de venise. his shoes were of white leather with red heels, and his stockings of the finest white silk. he had felt ashamed of his plain claret cloth, which had seemed so fine at first, when taken to the houses of the fine hooped and powdered ladies; and lord claud had had him fitted with this suit at his own costumiers, bidding tom regard it as a small token of friendship and gratitude. tom had delighted in his fine appearance as he was taken the round of the fashionable houses; but now, as he neared his former lodgings, he found himself wishing he had put on the more sober suit. he felt that master cale's eyes would rest upon him with a grave disapproval, and he had not yet grown indifferent to the opinion of the man who had so befriended him. the perruquier's shop was close shut up, the sign swinging idly overhead. but the door in the rear stood ajar, and tom softly pushed it open and entered. he paused on the threshold, surprised by an unfamiliar sound--the sound of a fresh young voice singing a gay little snatch of song in some upper chamber. he mounted the stairs softly, the sound of the voice growing clearer, and at last he knew that the singer must be in the upper parlour, where, when the day's work was all finished, the perruquier and any lodger he might chance to have spent the evening hours if they did not go abroad. this parlour was free to tom, who, however, had not so far troubled it much with his presence; but now he pushed open the door with pardonable curiosity, and beheld at once the singer of the quaint little refrain. a slim young maiden was standing at the window, looking down into the street below. she wore the simple dress of the citizen class, a rather full skirt of cloth--of a finer texture perhaps than some, and of a dark crimson colour which well became her--and the laced bodice and full sleeves of the day. round her throat she had a fine white muslin kerchief edged with lace, and her apron was of the same. she had plainly been wearing a hood of cloth like her dress, but this was now lying on the table; and her pretty dark brown hair, rather ruffled, was bound by nothing save a snood of crimson riband. her profile was turned to tom, and he saw a sweet, little, merry face, with a nose a trifle tip-tilted, and a cheek the colour of a damask rose. it seemed as though the opening of the door had been heard, for the maid exclaimed in a merry voice: "o father dear, i do love your picture of absalom and david! i think the king's great periwig is most beautifully depicted. but i would like a companion picture on the other side--the mule running away with absalom, and the periwig left hanging on the tree!" then turning full round a laughing rosy face and a pair of roguish hazel eyes, the maid suddenly found herself face to face with this very fine young gentleman, and in a moment the smile died away, although there was no displeasure in the glance of curiosity and admiration which she bestowed upon him. tom made his best bow, and the maiden dropped him a pretty courtesy, saying with frank fearlessness: "you are surely my father's lodger, of whom he spoke to me. i crave your pardon for not sooner seeing you. but i knew not that you were in the house, and thought it must needs be my father at the door." tom advanced and stood beside her in the window. the pair regarded each other with a frank and friendly curiosity. "are you master cale's daughter, pretty maiden?" asked tom. she nodded her head archly, whilst tom hastened to ask: "but how comes it then that i have never seen you before? i thought he lived alone, with only his housekeeper, shopman, and apprentice in the house." "and so he does," answered the maid. "he will not have me to dwell here. as soon as my mother died, when i was but eight years old, he sent me away to my aunt in highgate, with whom i have remained ever since. fain would i come back and keep house for him, but he will none of it. he says that his house is no place for me, and he will never let me visit him even of a week day. but upon most sundays he either comes forth to fetch me, or my aunt brings me hither to him. last sunday the rain poured down so lustily that we were e'en forced to bide at home; but whenever it is possible we spend the day together, and i love to come into the town and walk abroad with him there, and see such sights as may be seen upon the sabbath day." "and is your aunt with you today?" asked tom. "she brought me hither after we had attended service at st. paul's, which i love to do. but now she has gone to visit some gossip of her own. father and i will have the afternoon together and alone, and this we love best of all. he always gives holiday to apprentice and shopman, so that we can have the house to ourselves, and enjoy ourselves after our own fashion." "i trust i shall not mar your happiness if i ask to share your noontide meal," said tom humbly. "oh no, sir, we shall be proud of your company," answered the girl; "if you are not too fine a gentleman to sit at board with humble citizens. "ah, there is my father's step! doubtless he comes to say that dinner is ready. he will not let me soil my fingers with cooking when i come; but i can cook right well for all that--" and there she stopped short, for cale was already entering, and he gave quite a start as his glance fell upon the resplendent figure standing beside his daughter, though his face cleared and put on a slightly quizzical look as he recognized who the young spark was. "ho! ho! my young friend, so i see you back at last! it is plain that you have been with mighty fine company since you left my humble roof. i almost marvel that curley cale's lodging is accounted fine enough to hold your worshipful self longer!" tom suddenly felt a qualm of shame and disgust at his finery. it was all very well for men like lord claud, but he felt that it made him ridiculous to be tricked out like a peacock, in lieu of wearing the more sober and becoming raiment chosen for him with such care by master cale himself. his cheek glowed as he made reply: "it is but a suit that was given me to appear at the house of some fine lady last evening. i would gladly be rid of it now, and, with your leave, will don more sober raiment. i love not to be pranked out like this; but what would you, when all the world does the like?" cale smiled his shrewd little smile, the maiden's eyes expressed open admiration for the costly frippery, but tom hastened away and chose for himself one of the seemly but well-cut and fashionable suits that had been left for him since he quitted the house a few days before; and when he descended to join the party of two at the board, as he had been invited, he felt much more like himself, and looked much more suited to his surroundings, than he had done when he first appeared there. father and daughter received him kindly, and rosamund's eyes were full of eagerness as she turned them upon him. he had learned by this time that her name was rosamund, though her father generally called her rosy. "i pray you, fair sir," she said, with a pretty imperiousness of manner, "tell us some of the things that you have seen and heard these last days. my father says you have been keeping fine company, and i would learn what that is like; for i am but a humble citizen's daughter, and i live my life away in the country, so all i know of the gay doings in the town i must needs hear from my father, who tells me as little as ever he can!" and she looked towards him with a charming pout upon her lips, though her eyes were full of love beneath their merry sparkle. "i am but a country-bred youth myself, mistress rosamund," answered tom, who had laid aside all his fine gentleman airs, and felt a deal more comfortable in consequence, "and this town and its gay doings are as strange to me as they can be to you. i am all agape at what i see and hear; but a man must needs keep his astonishment to himself, else he becomes the butt and the gibe of all the company." and forthwith, by no means reluctantly, master tom began to give account of his doings of the past days, only keeping quite silent on the subject of the duel, for he had learned that that was a matter which lord claud wished to remain secret. rosamund listened as desdemona might have done to othello, and cale himself was considerably interested, though he shook his head when he heard that already tom had lost all the money he had about him, and was even in debt to lord claud for losses he had been unable to meet at the moment, and which his patron had settled for him. "keep away from the gaming tables, tom; keep away from the gaming tables," he said. "did i not warn you that you would be fleeced and rooked if you tried that sort of thing on?" tom laughed a little, and said he knew beforehand he should lose, as though that were an excuse. but cale only shook his head; and rosamund asked eagerly: "but who is this great lord claud, fair sir? he seems a wonderful person, and fain would i see him with mine own eyes. he seems a kind and generous man, and wondrous clever and beautiful. pray tell me who he is?" tom looked across at cale, and made answer: "i' sooth, mistress rosamund, i know not. perchance your father may be better instructed." cale shook his head. his face was very grave. "that is a question which i doubt if any man in london town can answer. every man knows lord claud by name and fame, but none can tell who he is, nor whence come his wealth and power. mark me, tom, it behoves you to have a care how you fall beneath the spell of his beauty and his kindliness. he has made friends before this of handsome, powerful lads, not long from the country, and amongst these many have disappeared and never been heard of more, whilst others have fallen into crime, and have languished in newgate, or paid the forfeit of their lives upon the gallows." rosamund shrank and grew pale; whilst tom looked the perruquier full in the face, and said: "truly i can believe that many men who plunge into dissipation and vice may come in time to a bad end. but why charge that upon lord claud? he can only be held responsible for his own life, and he lives and thrives in favour with all." "like a green bay tree," answered the perruquier thoughtfully. "i have often seen the wicked in great prosperity; but their downfall comes at last." "do you call lord claud wicked?" asked tom rather hotly. "no," was the quiet reply; "i judge no man; but i do say that worldly prosperity is no test of true merit. the wicked may be fat and flourishing for long; but the lord will avenge at the last." "but, father," cried pretty rosamund eagerly, "for what crimes were the poor young men hanged of whom you spoke just now?" "most of them suffered for the crime of robbery on the king's highway." tom again flushed rather deeply. he had heard hints and innuendoes before this, and his wits were beginning now to piece things together. he was angry, yet he scarce knew why. "do you mean to say, master cale," he asked, "that men accuse lord claud of being the accomplice of highwaymen and footpads?" and then he himself remembered the words of the message with which captain jack had entrusted him, and a strange thrill seemed to run down his spine. "men say nought of him openly," answered cale, "but they whisper among themselves. for my part, i know nothing of lord claud and his doings. but i know that there have been marvellous clever and daring deeds done upon the road; that the king's money chests have been rifled again and again of gold, transmitted by the treasury for the pay of the soldiers in foreign lands, and that none of the gold has ever been recovered. now and again an obscure person has been captured, and has suffered death for complicity in such a crime; and it has been told me that several of such have been stalwart and stanch youths, who had at one time been seen frequenting lord claud's lodgings, much noticed and petted by him. what truth there be in such talk i know not. nor have i any desire to know. a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing; and the voice of rumour is but little to be trusted." "very little, i should think," answered tom quickly; for he had already conceived a great attachment towards lord claud, and it irked him to think that men should speak of him as one who was a false friend, and the accomplice in crimes for which others suffered whilst he reaped the spoil. a man, especially in his hot-headed youth, seldom believes what he has no mind to; and tom certainly had no disposition to believe any harm of lord claud. so the talk drifted to other channels, and when presently rosamund declared with pretty insistence that she must not be cheated of her walk abroad in the streets. tom asked if he might make one of the party without intruding; and the bright eyes of the girl gave eloquent answer. so they sallied forth together, and master cale played cicerone, and showed tom many strange and wonderful things, telling him absorbing stories the while. he showed him the limits of the ravages of the great fire, which he could remember well, as he was ten years old at the time. he took them into many of the churches afterwards built by wren, and tom stood lost in amaze at the magnificent proportions of the great st. paul's, the inside of which he had not seen till today. he was shown also the site of one of the great plague pits; and rosamund clung trembling, yet fascinated, to her father's arm whilst he spoke of the things that had happened in those gruesome days. he himself had been sent away into the country during the terrible visitation; but his father had remained and had survived, and from him he had learned all manner of strange tales, which rosamund loved to hear him tell, though they always blanched her cheek, and brought a look of terror into her pretty eyes. tom thought this was a pleasanter way of spending the afternoon than listening to the braggings of the coffee house bullies, or watching the mummery of the play, when scarce a word could be heard from the actors, owing to the laughter and talk that buzzed all round the house. the clamour from the footmen's gallery alone almost sufficed to drown the sound from the stage; and, indeed, a short time later on, the disgraceful behaviour of the servants who attended their masters and mistresses to the play became so intolerable that the free gallery was closed to them, causing regular riots every night, till military aid had to be summoned. but rosamund thought it must be delightful to see a play, and wanted to hear all he could tell her about it; and so well pleased were the pair with their conversation, that master cale, bethinking him of an old friend hard by, with whom he liked to exchange a friendly word from time to time, bid them walk up and down the street together for a brief time, until he should pay his visit and join them again. this suited the young people very well, and they exchanged a good many confidences together. tom told her of his home at gablehurst, and of his mother and sister, and the father who was gone; and she told him of her quiet life in her aunt's house, and how she would so greatly like to remain always with her father, and watch the life of this wonderful city. but tom could well understand how the perruquier would shrink from permitting his innocent and pretty daughter to dwell beneath his roof. his trade brought thither all manner of fine dandies and young bloods, and if it were known that there was a pretty maiden within doors, there would be no end to their attempts to get sight of or speech with her; and any girl's head might be turned by the flowery nonsense that would be spoken and written to her. "believe me, you are better where you are, mistress rosy," answered tom. "i would not have my sister rachel here, now that i have seen what london is like. it is a place for men to see at least once in their lives; but women are better away from it. i looked about at the painted faces, the towering heads, and the huge hoops the other night, and i said to myself, that if my mother or sister were to make of themselves such objects as that, i should be ready to sink into the ground for shame--to say nothing of the ogling, and fan tapping, and silly jargon of talk which would put a chattering monkey to shame!" if tom was quoting lord claud's moralizings, he quoted them in all good faith; for he had been honestly disgusted by the glimpses he had had of the goings on of fine ladies in their houses, and could better appreciate the simplicity and true affection of his own womankind than he had ever done before. at this moment there smote upon his ears the unwelcome sound of mocking laughter that seemed familiar to him. "ho, ho, ho! so the country bumpkin has found a mistress already! so he has had to leave the fine ladies, and mate with one of his own sort after all! ho, ho, ho! she has a neat foot and ankle, at any rate! let us see what sort of a face there is under the crimson hood!" tom felt the girl's hand clutch fast hold of his arm, and his blood began to tingle in his veins. he was mightily glad that he had buckled on his sword before coming out; although, as he had put on a heavy cloak, it was possible the bullies were not aware of that. "which house did your father enter, mistress rosamund?" he asked quickly. "i did not note," she answered, looking round with frightened eyes; "but methinks it was the one with the steps and the little recess." tom, making a few rapid strides, whisked her quickly within the shelter of the doorway, saying, as coolly as might be: "knock, and ask to join your father, if he be within. i will soon settle these impudent fellows behind." then he faced about quickly, just as the four bullies he had met before came swaggering up, ready for any mischief and fighting that might be afoot. "come, master greengoose, let's see what sort of taste you have in faces! you are a fine hand at making friends! let's see how you fare with the ladies! "nay, mistress, do not turn so coyly away and draw your hood over those bright eyes--" but the speaker got no further, for tom's sword bad come flashing from its sheath, and with a quick turn of the wrist he hit the fellow full on the mouth with the hilt, so that he fell back spluttering and swearing, the blood starting from his lips. "is that enough," said tom sternly, "or will you have more?" it was thirsty thring who had received the buffet, and he was the least disposed of all that worthy quartette to show fight to a resolute adversary; but bully bullen came swaggering up, drawing his sword with a great air of assurance. he had been the hero of many a tavern brawl before, and reckoned his skill as something to be feared. "so, young rooster! wouldst crow so lustily on your dung heap? d'ye think you're to be cock o' the walk in all london town? are honest citizens to be set upon, and their teeth knocked out, to please your lusty humours? take that, you young cub, and learn manners to your betters!" he made a fierce and sudden lunge at tom as he spoke, expecting that he had an untrained and inexperienced adversary to deal with. but tom had had three lessons already from captain raikes, as well as bouts with lord claud by way of amusement; and with hardly a perceptible effort he parried the thrust, and making his keen blade twine round the clumsier one of his opponent, he jerked the weapon clean out of his hand, and sent it flying half across the road. "a fig for your boasting!" he cried contemptuously. "you had best get out of my sight, lest i run you through for your impudence!" slippery seal, seeing how matters were going, now raised a cry for help. "help! help! watchmen, to the rescue! here is a desperate young ruffian seeking to murder the queen's subjects in broad daylight! help, i say, and take the young braggart before the magistrates! cannot peaceable citizens walk the streets without being set upon by such bullies as that yonder?" two watchmen at that moment came hastening up, and looked at the combatants with questioning eyes. tom was flushed, and his sword was still in his hand; but rosamund had been admitted to the house, and was going hot-foot in search of her father, to come and put a stop to the fight; for she bad perfect faith in his power to do anything he had a mind to. "we four can testify," said slippery seal, with a voice of great unction, "that as we were peaceably passing down the street, this young fellow, of whom we know no good, made a sudden and unprovoked attack upon honest master thring there, whose mouth is still bleeding from the blow. thereupon master bullen drew his sword to protect him; but he was set upon so furiously, that had he not been a notable swordsman he must needs have been killed. as it was, his sword was dashed from his band, and there it lies in the roadway before your eyes. i say, how long are pious and peaceable citizens to be treated thus? do your duty, my good fellows, and take this young man into custody. a taste of the stocks will do him a vast deal of good, and we will bear testimony against him with right good will. 'in the mouth of two or three witnesses--' you know what says the scripture." "ay, you blasphemer and liar, we know well what says the scripture: 'thou shalt not bear false witness;' and again, 'the mouth that speaketh lies shall be stopped.'" looking round quickly, tom saw master cale, with his daughter clinging to his arm, standing in the doorway of the house, and sternly regarding the scene. "watchmen," he said, "if you make any prisoners today, take you those four bullies, who are but too well known in these streets already. it is they who delight to set upon strangers, and insult and frighten innocent maidens. take you them, and i will bear witness against them; for i saw the scene with my own eyes. would to heaven that honest citizens could rid their streets of such spawn! "but i tell you, you mischievous scum, the day will come when we will no longer stand this swaggering and bullying. we are a patient people; but you can provoke us too far. i know you four right well. i would sit you in the stocks in a row, or have you whipped at the cart's tail from newgate to tyburn; and perchance the day may come when--" but the miscreants did not wait to hear the end of this harangue. they well knew that no tale of theirs could stand for a moment before the witness of a man respected as master cale the perruquier. fearful lest the watch, who had let go their hold of tom, should in turn lay hands on them, they fled helter-skelter, but as they went they breathed out threats of being even with tom another time, and he knew well that this encounter had changed them from the merely jeering enemies they had shown themselves at first into real antagonists full of bitter animosity and hatred. the watch were never too eager to take up evildoers who were possessed of swords and were strong of body. they were glad enough that master cale had vouched for tom's honesty, and that the other four had betaken themselves away. hard knocks and sometimes fatal injury were often the portion of these old men, so incapable of keeping order in the streets; and thankful were they when any fray ended in the manner of this one. but cale's face was rather grave as he turned homewards, his daughter clinging to his arm, and tom marching upon her other side with his head high in the air. "i thank you, my good lad, for being so stout a champion to my little girl," he said; "and yet i would it had not happened; for it is ill work making enemies in these days of lawlessness and duelling." but tom gave a little laugh. he had no desire to make boast of his prowess; yet he felt that he could settle a score of quarrels with such besotted creatures as the four he had put to rout so lately, and be no manner the worse for it himself. he was not at all sorry for the adventure. he felt a flutter of pride and pleasure in the shy glances shot at him from the dark eyes beneath the crimson hood. he had made of himself a hero in the eyes of pretty rosamund, and he liked that experience well enough. "fear not for me, my good friend," he answered, in a tone that had caught a little of the lofty ring of lord claud's. "a man cannot go through life without making enemies as well as friends. but as for such creatures as we have just quitted, why, they are not worth a thought! i heed them no more than the wasp that buzzes round my head. they are the scum and off scouring of the earth--all brag and boast, but ready to run at the first hint of danger!" rosamund's eyes shot forth another look of admiration; but cale said quietly: "yet it is this very scum and off scouring of the earth who have before now kidnapped and shipped off to the plantations of virginia honest men of stout heart and stalwart frame; for there is great demand for able-bodied men there, and good prices are paid for bone and muscle. so again i say, have a care, tom, have a care. i would not have you entertain one coward fear, yet i would have you careful not to provoke needless animosity; for we live in perilous and evil days." the colour had faded from rosamund's cheeks at these words, and she timidly laid a hand upon tom's arm as he marched beside her. "fair sir, you will be careful," she said, in a soft and pleading voice. "if hurt were to come to you for having so gallantly befriended me, i should know no peace or happiness again!" tom looked with a smile into the face of the speaker; and cale heard the words, and saw the look. he gave a little sigh, and walked on in deep thought. it was tom and rosamund who did the greater part of the talking, even after they got home and partook of the dish of tea. this then costly beverage was reckoned by rosamund as a sunday treat, and sipped with great relish; and tom took it for the first time, saying he would e'en make shift to like it, since mistress rose vouched that it was good, although he had hitherto refused it when offered at the houses of the fine folks he had visited. so in talk and tea drinking an hour slipped away; and then the perruquier rose and bid rosamund get her hood and come; for it was high time to fetch her aunt, and go back to highgate. tom would have liked to accompany them once more, but some instinct restrained him from making the offer. he bade adieu to rosamund at her own door, and went back to sit by the fire and muse of all the things that had happened to him during this momentous week. chapter viii. the great duke. "now, tom, keep your eyes well open. he is about to appear!" tom was standing, tall and silent, feeling singularly out of place in that gorgeous company, in a magnificent reception room, brilliantly lighted, and crowded from one end to the other with a throng of highly-born and fashionable persons. he had been introduced by lord claud into this gay assembly, and was already half disposed to wish himself away. tom had been several weeks in town now; and after his first encounter with lord claud, which had led to such close intimacy for a few days, he had seen nothing of that remarkable personage for the space of two or three weeks. although perhaps a little piqued that his patron had not sent him so much as a line of invitation, or seemed to remember his existence, tom was not sure that he regretted his lack of memory. lord claud had certainly fascinated his imagination, and won his affections; but he seemed to be a mysterious character, whose friendship might not prove too desirable a possession. it was not his place, he thought, with the simple pride of the countryman, to seek to thrust himself upon a man so much greater than himself. so he had gone about seeing the sights of the town with harry gay, spending his money with some freedom, and indulging in a little play and dicing at various houses of entertainment. but he kept within moderate bounds in his pleasures, both because he desired to eke out his funds as far as possible, and because he did not wish to fall under the displeasure of his kind host, master cale, the father of pretty rosamund. tom thought a good deal about rosamund during the week, and regarded sunday as the red-letter day of his calendar. master cale did not forbid him to be of their company upon the afternoons when they walked abroad, and he and the maid were excellent friends by this time, and exchanged many gay quips and sallies together. rosamund always made him tell the story of his past week in some detail; and tom had therefore another motive for keeping free from scenes and company which would have made his story unfit hearing for her pretty ears. already he had begun to think that when he had travelled and seen the world, and was ready to go home and take up the duties which at five and twenty would devolve upon him, he would return with far greater contentment and pleasure if he could take back rosamund as his wife. he could not fancy that any life would be dull and monotonous shared with her, nor any home dreary that was lightened by the sunshine of her presence. the image of rosamund had begun almost to obliterate that of lord claud in his imagination, when suddenly one day he found himself again in company of that gentleman at the coffee house he generally frequented. lord claud laid a friendly hand upon his shoulder, saying, with a light laugh: "o tom, tom, whom i called so trusty, i fear me you are as fickle as any maid! but what does the prophet when the mountain will not come to him? he even puts his pride in his pocket and goes to the mountain. you are a solid mountain in your way, good tom; and here is the prophet come after you!" tom looked up, half ashamed, half flattered, the charm of lord claud's presence beginning at once to make itself felt. "my lord, i could not think you wanted such a humble person as myself! and you had but to send me a line to master cale's if you did," he stammered. lord claud dropped into the seat next him, laughing a light, low-toned laugh. "i like your simplicity, my honest tom. keep it as long as you can; for it is a quality rarely met with in these days, and smells as sweet as lavender in country gardens. i have not been wont to need to ask my friends to visit me. they swarm about my rooms like bees round honey, so long as there be honey to gather from my hive. how do you think you are going to live, my young friend, when your store of guineas is melted, if you have not learned that noble art of picking and stealing, which our young blades of fashion practise with such success and grace?" so the acquaintance was renewed, tom quickly falling again beneath the spell of the strong personality of lord claud. he had not entirely ceased his sword practice with captain raikes during the past weeks, and now was to be found at his hall almost every day. lord claud himself would sometimes come and watch and applaud; and more than once, as the two had walked away together, linked arm in arm, his patron had said: "good swordsmanship is an art to be greatly prized. it makes a man respected and feared. it gives him distinction with his fellows. besides, one never knows when it may be useful for the saving of one's skin. a man who can wield the rapier with skill, master his horse as you can, honest tom, and shoot fair and true with pistol and musket, may go through life to a merry tune, and even die at last in his bed, if he has a mind for so respectable an end!" the days were shortening to their darkest by now. snow fell in the streets, and made walking disagreeable. tom found it pleasant to ride along beside lord claud, mounted upon the mettlesome mare, nell gwynne, who appeared kept just now for his especial use and behoof. he still spent his sundays at his lodgings; but pretty rosamund was not always able to come across when the snow lay deep along the country roads. tom began to think less of her again, and more of his patron and friend; being, as may have already been gleaned, a youth of impressionable nature, easily moulded by the character of his associates, although not without a latent firmness of will which might develop into sterling metal in time, though, perhaps, not until the admixture of dross had been purged away by the action of the furnace of trial. all london was now agog over the return of the victor of blenheim. the great duke of marlborough had been upon his way home for some time. in the middle of december he reached london, and took his seat in the house of lords; and it was said that early in the next year there would be a monstrous fine procession from the tower to westminster, in which all the trophies of war would be solemnly paraded. tom was as excited as anybody over all this, and as eager to obtain sight of the great duke. lord claud had promised that he should not only see him, but be one of the same company at some fine house where he would show himself. tom had often been to grand enough houses already with his friend; but it seemed to him overmuch to suppose that he could be introduced into any company of which the duke of marlborough was to be a member. lord claud, however, was not given to vain boasting. the open-house festivities of christmas were approaching. he himself had won the entree to an extraordinary number of fashionable houses; and this evening here was tom, come with his patron to a nobleman's dwelling, standing in the crowd of fashionable grandees, all in a flutter of excitement to see the hero of the hour at close quarters. "keep your eyes open, tom; you cannot fail to see him as he passes through the room. you are lucky in being able to look over the heads of all the crowd. no tiptoeing lady can intercept your view even with her towering headdress!" this was hardly true; for there were ladies whose headdresses were of such monstrous proportions that the dame of five feet stood seven feet high, taking the heels of her shoes and the tower on her head into consideration! but luckily these extravagant follies were confined only to the few, the majority of the ladies being content with a headdress of more moderate dimensions. there was a great buzz of talk going on as it became known that the duke was approaching--some eager to know if the duchess would be with him; others laughing at the name, and vowing that mrs. morley could never bear to part with her dear mrs. freeman even for an hour! the doors at the end of the room were thrown suddenly open. the master of the house appeared, leading with great distinction of manner a little knot of guests, who passed through the crowded outer reception room at a slow pace, returning the many salutations of the company with great show of goodwill, disappearing presently behind the curtains which shut off the innermost room where the lady of the house was awaiting them, with some of the more select and high-born guests. "that is the duke," said lord claud to tom, indicating a tall and elegant man, who looked to him hardly old enough for the general of so many victorious battles. he was singularly handsome, with a languid grace of bearing that seemed strange in a soldier. he spoke in a peculiarly modulated and refined voice, and plainly possessed the art of saying the right thing to the right person, and that at the right moment. his silver tongue had done as much good service in keeping the allies in harmony, as his military genius in forming combinations and defeating the ends of the enemy. at his side was the duchess, a fine-looking woman of commanding presence, not beautiful, but with a very elegant figure and remarkably abundant hair, which she wore in a more tasteful way than most of the company. a few paces behind came another notable figure, that of marshal tallard, the french general whom marlborough had taken prisoner at blenheim, and whom he had brought with him to england; but whom he treated with every courtesy, and with whom he bad formed something very like a real friendship. lord claud whispered to tom that marshal tallard had been the one french general whose genius was in the least able to cope with that of marlborough; and to have him in safe keeping in this country was a most excellent thing for the grand alliance. as soon as the distinguished guests had disappeared, the buzz of talk rose louder than before. tom asked, in puzzled tones, what all this chatter about mrs. morley and mrs. freeman meant; and lord claud laughed, as he replied: "have you never heard of the whim of the queen to call herself mrs. morley in her letters to the duchess, who in her turn is mrs. freeman? and very well is she so named, for never was subject more free with sovereign than is duchess sarah with good queen anne. indeed, there be not those lacking who say that such freedom cannot go on for ever. however fondly the queen may love the duchess now, she cannot for ever submit to be the subject of her subject. some day there will be a storm, and then it will behove mrs. freeman to sing to a different tune! for the queen has a will of her own when once it is roused, and can show a stubborn front when she chooses--as some of her ministers have already found to their discomfiture!" lord claud strolled away presently, leaving tom to look about him and listen to the idle chatter of the shifting throng. he made out that though the duke of marlborough was in great popular esteem, his duchess was little liked; and spiteful things were circulated to her disfavour all round the room. it was plain that she had a very overbearing temper, and made many enemies; but her affection for her husband and children was never disputed, nor his for her, though there were many who marvelled what a man of his parts could see in such a shrew to be so devoted to her as had always been the case. "for she belabours him sorely with her tongue times and again, and ofttimes writes him fiery letters, which discompose him more than a reverse in arms. when she smiles, he is filled with an extraordinary joy; and when she frowns, he knows no peace till he has conciliated her. 'tis the strangest thing in a man such as he; and the queen is just as bad. in old days the woman would have been burned as a witch, for she has certainly bewitched that pair, though no one else can see wherein her wondrous charm lies." later on in the evening, when the company had somewhat thinned, and when the card rooms had drawn off a number of those who yet remained, the duke was seen strolling by himself through the suite of rooms, exchanging friendly nods and words with the many eager acquaintances he met there. marlborough had that recollection of faces which is so often the prerogative of royalty; and he had none of the pride which hinders a man from greeting an old friend, even though his station in life was humble. the duke had been but the son of a country gentleman, when he came to court as plain john churchill. he had climbed the ladder of fame and fortune fast; but he remembered his former friends, and never forgot to salute them in company. his charm of manner was felt by all who came in contact with him. however worried or hard pressed, he never let his irritation be seen, and he never appeared in haste. he was as suave and gentle in manner amongst the humbler sort of company as in the presence of royalty itself; and his clear glance passed quickly from face to face as he talked, as though he were secretly taking the measure of men, although his languor of manner never varied. more than once, as he walked hither and thither through the rooms, had tom's glance crossed his. possibly it was the young man's great height which took the eye of the soldier in the midst of this crowd, where smirking fops and bending courtiers predominated. tom could not be accused of bowing or smirking. he remained the whole time leaning back against the wall in the same place; his face grave; his eyes following the movements of this or that person; his lips silent, because he could not frame them to the jargon of tongues and the stilted phrases of the day, and besides he had no acquaintances in this gay throng, save only lord claud himself. tom was looking in some curiosity to see if lord claud was acquainted with the duke. he had never said so; but then lord claud was not given to boasting, and had already surprised tom by the number of his notable acquaintances. the duke was walking along, skirting the wall of the room. everybody gave way for him to pass. he was now very near to lord claud, and not far from tom himself, for his patron had been strolling idly in his direction. tom saw the eyes of the two men cross, and lord claud make his courtly bow, to which the duke responded gracefully. lord claud took one step forward, and said in a low tone, every syllable of which, however, was audible to tom: "i have never before had the honour of speaking with your grace; but there is one word that i crave to speak in your ear. if there be some secret mission of danger which the duke of marlborough desires to intrust to two men, stout of heart, cool of head, and skilled in the use of the sword, then i can promise that the services of myself and my trusty comrade here are at your grace's disposal; and i think i can promise that, whether we succeed or not, we can be true to the death." and lord claud, as he spoke, laid a hand upon the arm of the astonished tom, who had certainly not understood his words of former days to mean anything quite so definite as this. at the same time the heart of the youth leaped within him as he heard, and he felt a thrill run through his veins. as the soft yet searching gaze of the duke fell upon him, he felt himself flush to the temples like a girl; and yet at that moment he felt that he could willingly lay down his life to serve so great a man as this. "and who may have told you, sir, that i have need of trusty men for the secret service?" asked marlborough, in his even tone. "my knowledge of men and of warfare have told me," answered lord claud, with his accustomed serenity of manner. "true men are not to be plucked from every tree, as i have found to mine own cost. a man may prove but a treacherous reed, upon whom if one leans it goes into his hand. therefore, your grace, have i made bold to tell you of two trusty servants, something wearied with the hollow life of this great city, who are willing and ready to travel farther afield, and to whom peril or danger adds but zest to any quest." marlborough stood thoughtfully regarding the two men before him. lord claud returned his gaze by one full and calm; tom's eyes glowed and kindled by reason of the keenness of the surging thoughts within. "you are he whom men call lord claud," said the duke thoughtfully. "you know that there are strange whispers afloat about you, my lord?" "i know it well." "and you have never denied those whispers?" lord claud smiled slightly. "my sword has answered a few taunts. for the rest, i heed them not overmuch. if we began to take cognizance of the chatterings of this world of magpies, we might have a duel to fight every day of our lives." marlborough smiled slightly at the nonchalance of the reply. "that is all you have to say to me, lord claud?" "that is all, your grace." for a moment there was silence, whilst the duke bent his eyes upon the ground; then he looked straight at tom. "and who are you, young sir?" tom glanced at lord claud, but seeing that he was to answer for himself, he did so frankly and candidly. he was not ashamed of his humble birth, and made no secret of it; nor did he deny that he should never have found himself in such fine company save for the introduction and good offices of lord claud. "and you desire to see foreign parts?" "i was sent from home that i might do so. my father thought i might find room in your grace's army to fight for my country. i was smitten so with the wonders of london that i have lingered here long. but i begin to weary of the life. i would gladly go forth and see new lands, the more so if i could travel with a comrade who knew to frame his tongue to foreign speech;" and here he glanced at lord claud, who seemed to him a notable linguist. "you know no tongue but your own, mr. tufton?" "never a word; and even that i cannot speak as men speak it in london town, so that i am fain to keep silence in a crowd like this, lest men laugh me to scorn, and anger me till i say or do something unseemly;" and the lad's face flushed, for he had been sorely provoked before this, and had need of all his patience to quell the tempest of his soul. the duke smiled at this boyish frankness of speech; but then his face grew grave again, and he stood a while in thought. then he looked at lord claud, and said with some significance: "i will think more of this matter, sir. i have used strange tools before this, and ofttimes with success. the secret service has its secrets and its surprises; and i have my own methods of winning the fidelity of the messengers i employ." "so i have heard, your grace." the two men looked full at each other, and the glance was neither unfriendly nor suspicious. it appeared to tom as though there were mutual liking, and a disposition to confidence; but this was neither the time nor the place to indulge it. "till all this feasting and pageantry be over, i am not mine own master, and i can scarce find time for the needful business of the hour," said marlborough; "but later on i hope to be free to spend a short spell of well-earned rest in mine own house of holywell, hard by st. albans. if you should receive a summons to visit me there, come privately, and bring your friend with you. it may be i shall make use of your services ere long." with a slight bow, which was respectfully returned by tom, and more gracefully by lord claud, the duke moved away; and tom's eyes were alight with excitement as he asked eagerly: "what does it mean? what have you offered? what will he use us for?" lord claud led his pupil away through the crowded rooms, out into the cold night air; but neither of them felt the cold. a keen excitement filled their veins as with molten fire. "he rose to it!" quoth lord claud exultantly; "i saw it ever growing in favour as he turned it over. i have heard of his methods in the secret service. he spends more money, and gets greater results than any general has ever yet done. he says truth when he speaks of employing strange tools. well, let him employ this strange tool--and it shall not play him false! "my coffers are almost bare, tom. and i am sick of crowds and foppery and the follies of the city. i would fain away on the back of my good steed, and feel what freedom is like once more. gold i must have; and the king's gold is my fancy. let me win it this time by my services, which shall be true and faithful; but if not--well, let them not say the fault is mine!" "the queen's, you mean," said tom. "we serve our queen now." lord claud gave a short laugh. "you speak sooth, honest tom; we have a queen now, and i would not do despite to our good queen anne! i was thinking of the last time i had won royal gold--then it was the king's money that replenished my empty exchequer!" he laughed again, and tom looked at him half uneasily; which perceiving, he changed his tone, and in a short time the youth had forgotten everything save the glorious prospect of adventure and peril, and the handling thereafter of golden treasure; for if the duke was accounted a lover of money, no man ever accused him of showing meanness in rewarding the services of others. the next weeks flew by almost like a dream for tom; and truly he felt he must surely be dreaming when he watched the gorgeous pageant of the third of january, and witnessed from a commanding situation the grand procession of the trophies of war as it wound its way from the tower to westminster hall. companies of horse and foot made a brave and gallant show; row after row of pikemen with the captured standards; a goodly number of the nobles of the land; and the great duke himself, at whose' appearance the populace shouted till they were hoarse, ladies waved handkerchiefs, and the city seemed to go mad with joy and applause. almost grander still was the pageant three days later, when the victor of blenheim went in state to the goldsmiths' hall, to a banquet given in his honour by the lord mayor and town council. he was conveyed there in one of the royal carriages; the greatest men in the kingdom, and some princely guests, accompanied him; and again the whole city turned out to give him welcome. at temple bar the city marshals received him in state, garlands were flung, and trumpets proclaimed the idol of the hour. the commons were petitioning the queen to suggest some fitting tribute for the services of so great a man; and the gift of the royal manor of woodstock, and the erection by royal bounty of the palace of blenheim (although after his fall and disgrace marlborough had to finish the palace at his own cost) were the results of this appeal. tom witnessed all these brave sights, and had his head well-nigh turned by all the rejoicings in which the city took part. even master cale scarcely chid him for the way in which his guineas were flying; although he warned tom that they would not last long at such a pace. but tom laughed now, and said he had the prospect of earning more when these were gone; and lord claud laughed lightly when the subject came up, and told tom that the pleasantest way with money was to spend it freely whilst it lasted, and then turn to and get more. there were a hundred ways of doing this, he assured him; and torn half believed him, and found it mighty pleasant to throw about his gold as the young bloods of fashion did, and have a pretty costly trinket to offer to rosamund whenever they chanced to meet. master cale would rather the child had not had these gay gewgaws forced upon her; but he could not chide overmuch when he saw the brightness of her eyes and the eagerness upon her face. besides, tom had already spoken of his speedy departure for foreign lands; and although rosamund pouted, and professed that it was very unkind of him to go just when they had grown to be friends, her father saw no indications of deeper feeling. and, indeed, the maid had as yet no real love for any but her father. tom had taken her fancy, as being the finest and handsomest youth she had ever come across, but she regarded him as a being quite out of her sphere; and though her heart fluttered a little at first sight of him, she could look forward to the thought of his absence with great equanimity. "you will come back and tell us all your adventures," she said, as though that would make up for much; and tom faithfully promised, although he fancied there might be many reservations in the tale he would tell. one day before the month of january had fled tom received a summons to lord claud's lodging. there he found everything in confusion, servants hurrying hither and thither, and the valet packing up some sober clothing in a small valise that could be strapped across a saddle. when tom came face to face with lord claud he saw a new expression in the eyes of his patron. all the languor and indifference had fled. his whole aspect was of a man bound upon some stern errand. "tom," he said briefly, "the time has come. go home and don your stoutest riding dress. take a second with you in saddlebag or valise; and hide such money as you have left somewhere upon your person. then come back hither, and we will dine together. we are to start upon our journey this very day; and our first stage is holywell house, near st. albans." chapter ix. fare well to home. "my lord," said tom, "i am but a country squire's son. i am no fit guest for the house of a duke. i pray you let me turn aside, and go visit mine own home, and say farewell to mine own people. if, as you say, we shall speedily be sent forth upon some errand of peril, i would fain kiss my mother once again before parting. i have not been to her as good a son as i should wish. let me ask her pardon, and show her that i have not forgotten her, ere we fare forth on our mission." tom and his companion were drawing near to the duke's property of holywell, when tom suddenly burst out with these words. he had begun to feel a sort of proud, shy shrinking from thrusting himself, even as invited guest, into the house of the great marlborough. moreover, the sight of the familiar country--for he had been wont to pay visits afore times to st. albans--had awakened in him memories of the life which now seemed so very far distant, together with more tender thoughts of mother and sister than he had ever felt towards them in the days of old. "i would meet you in three days' time wherever you would appoint me," he added, as lord claud remained silent and thoughtful; and there was a note of pleading in his voice which showed how much bent he was upon this visit of farewell. "you have said you do not look to be less than three days at holywell. i pray you spare me for this last farewell." lord claud's face softened, as though he felt sympathy for tom's eager desire. he spoke kindly and thoughtfully. "in sooth, i see no objection," he replied. "it is to me that the duke must impart his wishes, as you know nought of foreign lands or tongues. a stout and trusty comrade i need to take with me; but it is not necessary, so far as i see, for us both to wait upon the duke. belike, too, he may be busy, and it may be i shall have to wait his leisure; or he may himself have to wait for despatches from abroad ere he can give me mine. so do you take your ease at your home of gablehurst; and when i have received instruction, i will, by your leave, join you there. we shall certainly cross the sea to holland; for we must not adventure ourselves in the hostile ports of france. so 'twill all be in my way for the coast; and perchance your good mother will afford me the shelter of her friendly roof for one night." tom's face lighted up as though a sunbeam had touched it. "for a dozen, my lord, if you will thus far favour us! in sooth, i thank you heartily for this grace. the village of gablethorpe is well known to some persons even in these parts; and gablehurst is the largest house in the place. a hearty welcome will be yours, my lord, whenever you arrive there." "thanks, good tom. i doubt it not if thy folks are of thine own trusting kidney. and hark ye, look well to the mare nell gwynne; let her be well fed and well tended, for it may well be that she has hard times before her. if we have to cross the sea on urgent business, i shall do my best to take our good steeds with us. dutch nags may be strong, but i would sooner feel the english blood stirring beneath me. besides, in matters where despatch and caution are needed, it is half the battle to have a horse who has been trained under one's own eye. they have ways with them that can be of vast use in moments of peril, and will brook no strange riders on their backs. see to the mare, tom, and do well by her; for it may be that thy very life may hang one day upon her speed and strength!" tom felt the blood tingling in his veins. "i will not forget your charge, my lord." "and now, what will you do, tom? will you sleep one night at holywell? for i would not have you adventure yourself alone in the forest at dark; and you must needs pass through a part of it to reach your destination." "no, my lord, nor i either, after what i experienced there before. but hard by here is the house of a friend. i would gladly turn in thither; and tomorrow he will certainly ride with me through the forest and homewards. doubtless, too, when you have to pass that way, the duke will give you escort till you near our friendly village." so the matter was thus arranged to the satisfaction of tom; and almost immediately the two companions parted company, the country here being safe and fairly populated. before long tom found himself knocking at the gate of an old friend of his, who gave him hearty and boisterous welcome. it was with strange feelings next day that he found himself riding along the familiar track which led straight to the village of gablethorpe! it was only three months since he had left the place, but he felt as though full as many years had passed over his head. he was not very finely dressed; but there was a style about his london-made riding suit which his country clothes had lacked, and the peruke upon his head gave him the air of a fine gentleman. he noted with amusement that some of the rustics who gaped at him as he passed did not recognize him, although he knew them well. if he had been riding wildfire they would have known the horse; but now both steed and rider seemed strange to them. then as he rode at a foot pace through the village, smiling at sight of the familiar places and faces (his friend had turned back when they had passed the limits of the forest, and had ridden home with his servant, not to be belated), one of the women at the cottage doors smote her hands together and cried: "bless us all! if it bean't master tom hisself!" "golly! and so it be!" cried her husband, who was just coming in from the fields; and the next minute tom was surrounded by a gaping, admiring crowd, all eager to give him welcome, and wonder at the fine figure he cut amongst them. the restiveness of the mare shortened the greetings of the rustics; for nell gwynne was not accustomed to being so surrounded, and showed a disposition to lay about her with her heels, or to rear and strike out with her forefeet. these manoeuvres soon scattered the crowd, and tom rode on, laughing and waving his hand; whilst the fleet-footed of the village urchins started in a beeline across the meadows for gablehurst, knowing that the lady there would certainly bestow a silver groat upon him who first brought the news that master tom was at hand! so when tom rode up the avenue towards the fine old gabled house, which had never looked so pleasant to him as in the evening glow of this january afternoon, mother and sister were out upon the steps waiting for him; and the servants were assembling from within and without to give him a hearty cheer, and receive his kindly smile and greeting in reply. his mother folded him in her arms, with the tears running down her cheeks. she had only heard once from him all these months; for the letter he had sent at christmas time had never found its way through the snow drifts of the forest. tom kissed mother and sister with real feeling, and then turned aside to give minute instructions and warnings with regard to the mare, who was put into the care of the old servant who had most experience in the matter of horse flesh, and felt no uneasiness at the vagaries and tantrums of her ladyship. then tom turned to enter the familiar hall, his hand upon his mother's shoulder, rachel clinging to his other arm. "o tom!" she cried, "have you come back to us for good? have you had enough of gay london town?" there was already a traveller's meal set out in the warm south parlour, and the servants were hurrying to and fro with eager zeal and excitement. tom was pushed into a seat by his sister, and helped with no unsparing hand; whilst the mother hung over him, eager not to lose a single word. "yes, truly, for the time being i have had enough of london town," answered tom; "although it is a monstrous fine city, and i should well like to see it again, as indeed i may. but for the moment i am on my way to foreign lands, as my father wished. i am like to have work to do there for my lord of marlborough, whose coming to this country has set all the town in a commotion, as perchance you have heard." they had heard something of it even at gablehurst; and rachel eagerly asked tom if he had seen the great duke. "oh, many times," answered tom, with the complacency of one who feels himself a great man in his present surroundings. "i witnessed many pageants in which he took part; and i was of the same company at the house of my lord craven, and was presented to him, and had speech with him!" mother and sister were impressed and surprised; but yet tom was so great a personage in their estimation that perhaps they took this piece of news more quietly than more enlightened dames would have done. they made him tell his story from end to end, sitting with his feet towards the hearth, the cheery glow of the fire warming his limbs and imparting a sense of well-being and homelike comfort. "and who is this lord claud, who has shown you so much kindness?" asked the mother, when the outlines of the story at least had become known to them. "that i cannot rightly tell you," answered tom; "there is some mystery about his birth and name. he goes everywhere, and is received by the best and finest people of the town, short of the court circle. and even my lord of marlborough exchanged civilities with him, and let him present me as his friend. but more than that i cannot tell you, nor can any man in town. if it be a secret, it is mightily well kept. all have heard of lord claud; but none know more of him than his name." "that seems a strange thing," said rachel. "not more strange than half the things one sees and hears in the world," answered tom, with the air of a man of vast experiences, as indeed he felt himself to be in this company. nor did the pleasant feeling wear off with the rapid flight of days. he was courted, and feted, and made much of by rich and poor alike. all the gentry of the neighbourhood came flocking to see him; and his old companions, hanging about the stable yard, not daring to present themselves at the house, would beg for a word with master tom, and feel themselves quite uplifted and glorified when he came out to them, and stood in their midst, smiling and jovial, but with a something now in his appearance and bearing which seemed to put a great gulf betwixt him and them. all this was mighty pleasant for master tom, though perhaps not the most salutary experience for him. he had felt qualms of penitence and remorse as he rode homewards, thinking of his follies and weaknesses in the past, ashamed of the class of comrades he had affected then, ashamed of the fashion in which he had spent his days, and of the indifference he had shown to his parents. but the reception accorded him had dimmed these healthy sentiments, and given him the idea that he was a mighty fine fellow and a great man in his way. he no longer craved the rule at gablehurst; he had ambitions of another sort. he must see the world first, and drink the cup of pleasure to the dregs. gablehurst was all very well as a resting place for him when he had had enough of travel, of adventure, of the gay and rollicking life of the town; but for the present let his mother reign there undisturbed. he had no wish to do so. therefore he found it easy to be loving and gentle and kindly towards her and rachel. indeed, rachel seemed to him a more attractive maiden than she had ever been before. she had smiles for him, where once she had only grave looks of disapproval; and she delighted in his stories almost as much as rosamund cale had done. altogether, this visit was a mighty pleasant one for tom; and it lasted for ten whole days before the news was brought to him that a strange gentleman had ridden up and was asking for him, and he knew that lord claud had come to fetch him. tom had had the prudence to say very little about their purpose in going abroad. his mother and sister knew that it had some connection with the war, and that the duke of marlborough was going to send some despatches by them; but he told them not to name even this fact to the neighbours, and he had not mentioned to them the mysterious words "secret service." when he reached the hall door, there was lord claud mounted upon the black horse lucifer, who looked in tip-top condition. mrs. tufton and rachel had come out to welcome tom's friend, and the rider was sitting bare headed in the afternoon sunlight, looking mightily handsome and gallant. "ah, good tom, so you are e'en at hand when wanted. i have been detained somewhat longer than i thought; but all is in readiness now for a start for the port of harwich. have you got yourself and nell into first-class condition? for we have work before us, my lad." "but, sir, you will not surely start today, with the shades of evening drawing on so fast?" pleaded mrs. tufton, who felt a sinking at heart in the thought of parting from her son again. "you will lie here for one night at least, and start forth with the day before instead of behind you?" "if you will favour me with so much hospitality, gracious madam, i should be glad to do so," answered lord claud with a courtly bow; and in another minute his horse was being led away to the stables, and he was following the ladies into the house, speaking so many words of well-chosen admiration for the quaint old manor and the fine meadowland and timber trees about it, that tom was prouder of his home than he had ever been before, and even of the mother and sister who dwelt there. for lord claud paid them as much attention, and gave them as courtly treatment, as though they had been the highest ladies in the land; and it seemed as though their native refinement and tact enabled them to make fitting reply to him, and to show a certain simple dignity of mien which tom had never troubled himself to observe in them before. he observed now that rachel was a very handsome girl, rather like himself in feature, but with more refinement of aspect and more thoughtfulness of disposition. this thoughtfulness gave a depth to her eyes and a piquancy to her talk which tom noted with surprise and admiration; and he was well pleased that both his home and his womenfolk pleased his friend so well. mrs. tufton would fain have learned something of the nature of the errand upon which her son was to start upon the morrow; but lord claud fenced cleverly with her questions, and, whilst seeming to reply to them, left her little the wiser. they were going to take ship for holland, and thence make their way with despatches to one of the allies of the duke; so much he let them freely know. and when she asked if there were peril to face, he laughed lightly as he replied: "madam, there is always peril to be faced whether we bide at home or travel beyond seas. your son tom met more peril in the forest only a few short miles from home, than he has encountered in that great babylon of london. it is so with us all. ofttimes those that stay snug and safe at home meet with some mishap, whilst the rovers come back safe and sound. no life can be without its perils; but i have come through so many unscathed, that i have learned not to fear them beforehand." "and tom at least will be serving his country," said rachel; "and that is a thousand times better than receiving hurt when in search after idle pleasures." lord claud bowed to her across the table as he replied: "you speak a great truth, fair lady. we do indeed go forth upon the service of our country, and of the great duke, who is a master to be trusted and obeyed. he is never reckless. he never throws away lives needlessly. never was general in battle so tender for the wounded as he. his first thought after a fight is for his injured soldiers; and he looks personally after the arrangements for their comfort. this fact should be enough to show you that he is careful of human life, and would not intrust men with missions that are too perilous to be successfully carried out." mother and sister took heart at this, and trusted to see tom return safe and sound from his present journey. this farewell was more easily gone through than the last, although tom felt a keener sense of affection for his relatives than he had done on the first occasion, and a greater affection for his home. but he had made trial of a new life now, and was full of hopeful confidence; and both mother and sister had begun to believe in him, and had shown pride and satisfaction in his career. so they rode forth in the first sunshine of a bright february morning, with three stout serving men from gablehurst to attend them as far as harwich. lord claude was willing to accept the escort, as the road was unfamiliar to him, and he wanted no needless delays along the route. rachel brought the stirrup cup, and the household assembled to cheer the travellers as they rode away. there were tears in the mother's eyes, but she smiled and waved her hand bravely. the horses were in first-rate condition, and full of life and spirit. they were delighted to find themselves travelling side by side again; and the riders were pretty well occupied for the first few miles of the road in curbing their gay spirits. they had plenty of time to get to harwich before the light failed them, and the servants knew the road and the best inns to bait at. the journey was performed without misadventure; and tom dismissed his retainers when he and his companion were safely installed in a good inn upon the quay, as the servants intended making one or two stages on the homeward road before stopping for the night. lord claud had gone straight down to the harbour so soon as they arrived, leaving tom to make arrangements for the night. so far he had said almost nothing as to the errand upon which they were bent, and tom had asked no questions, knowing he should be told what was needful in due time. so when he had ordered a plentiful supper, he strolled out upon the quay, and presently saw his comrade returning with a satisfied look upon his face. "well, tom, we are in luck's way. there is a skipper in harbour who has unshipped his cargo, and is going back almost empty by the morning's tide. he is glad enough to take us and our good horses safely across to rotterdam; and, with the light, favouring breeze that has been blowing steadily these last three days, he declares we ought to make the anchorage there before nightfall. with the sea as smooth as this, too, i am not afraid to adventure the horses; which i should be were a gale to blow." "do they suffer from seasickness?" asked tom. "ay, from the nausea of it," answered lord claud; "but the relief that we can gain by sickness is impossible to them, and therefore they must needs die if things be too bad with them. but if the weather change not--and there looks no fear of that--we shall have a swift and prosperous voyage; so now let us to supper, and i will tell you more of what lies before us." but as it turned out, there were too many other guests at the table for private talk to be possible; and only when on board the good sloop marlborough did tom hear anything of the details of the projected expedition. it was a clear, promising morning, a light breeze blowing from the west, but the sea still and smooth, only dimpling with the puffs of wind. tom stood on board beside the horses, soothing their fears at the strange sights and sounds about them, his own heart beating somewhat high with excitement at the thought of putting to sea for the first time. the sailors were busy hauling in ropes, singing and shouting. the vessel gave a little start and shiver, there was a rattle of canvas overhead, and a gentle lurching movement. then the shore seemed suddenly to be slipping away; and tom knew, with a start of surprise and exhilaration, that they were off upon their voyage to unknown lands. presently the horses grew calm and quiet, used to their strange surroundings, and willing to nibble at the heap of fragrant hay put down at their feet. tom was able to leave them with a clear conscience, and came over to where lord claud was standing in the fore part of the vessel, watching the sheets of green water that fell away from the prow as the sloop cut her way through the waves. "well, friend tom, so we are off at last." "yes, my lord; but i have not heard yet whither." "no; and, like a wise and prudent fellow, have not desired to know too much. you are a model of patience, tom--an excellent companion to have. but the time has come when i can safely enlighten you as far as you need be enlightened. i shall not tell you all i know; for, in truth, you would not understand it." "that may very well be," answered tom humbly. "but i will tell you this much, tom; we are bound upon an errand of peril. we have some difficult journeyings to make, and there will be certain persons lying in wait for messengers from marlborough; and we may be sore beset to avoid them. tom, do you remember the tall dark man with whom my duel was fought?" "sir james?" "that is the name by which he goes in england. he passes there as one sir james montacute, a man of bravery and wealth. but there is another side to the picture. that man, tom, is a spy, and in the pay of the king of france. if i had known as much that day as i have since learned from his grace the duke, methinks i should not have left him alive upon the field. tom, we shall probably have to measure our wits against his in a duel of another sort ere long." tom threw back his head with a defiant gesture. "well, my lord; and i am ready!" he said. "very good, tom; i thought as much. you did not love our dark-skinned friend much better than i did. i think we shall find him lurking in wait for us somewhere amid the snows of the st. bernard pass. hast ever heard of the st. bernard, tom, and the good monks there?" "i think i have," answered tom, who had heard so many new things of late that he could not be expected to keep them all in mind together. "well, it may be we shall have to seek their hospitality yet; although our way lies across the little st. bernard, as it is called, that ancient pass which hannibal and his host crossed when they marched through the snows of switzerland to pour themselves upon the fertile plains of italy. it is to this very day the only route by which those snowy alps may be crossed; and we must find our way thither, tom, and go down to the fair city of turin." "is that where we are going?" "ay; hast heard of victor amadeus, duke of savoy?" "is he not one of the allies?" "yes; albeit for a while he sided with the french king, who did much to hold his fidelity. but now he is one of the allies, and he is sore beset by the armies of louis. the king of prussia is about to send relief; but his majesty is tardy, and the snows of winter lie thick in his land, hindering rapid action. it is our part to take the duke news of the welcome aid, and of other matters i need not be particular to name; and we shall need all our wits about us to carry this matter to a successful issue." "you mean that the pass will be watched?" "yes; we shall be certain to fall in with spies of the french king, perhaps with sir james himself. he has left england, so much is known; and though he may be at the court of france, yet it may be our hap to light upon him at any time. he is a man of cunning and resource and ferocity. we shall want our best wits and our best swordsmanship if we are to cope with him." tom's eyes sparkled with excitement and joy. "and is the mountain pass the only way of getting into italy, for i have heard that savoy lies in that land?" said tom. "ay; italy has had its strange vicissitudes of fortune, and has been divided and redivided into duchies and kingdoms, till it needs a clever scholar to tell her history aright. but it is enough for our purpose that savoy lies just beneath those grim mountains which we must scale; and that for the present no other entrance is possible." "but there are other ways then?" "why, yes, we could at other times go by sea; but now that the spaniards are seeking to win back the rock of gibraltar, which we have lately reft from them, and which marlborough says must never be yielded up again, we cannot safely try that way; for we might well fall into the hands of some spanish vessel, and languish, unknown and uncared for, in spanish dungeons. we cannot travel through france, and reach it from the shores of genoa; because it were too great peril for englishmen to ride through the dominions of the french monarch. so we must needs land at some friendly dutch port, and ride through their country, and so into westphalia, and thence to these mountain regions which cut us off from our destination. "have you ever seen snow mountains, tom, towering to the very skies in virgin whiteness, with the rivers of ice, miles in width, flowing silently down their rocky sides? it is a strange and marvellous sight when viewed for the first time. i could find it in my heart to wish i stood in your shoes, that all these new things might be seen and heard for the first time!" "and i would that i knew more of these strange lands, and the ways of the people there," answered tom; "for i fear me lest mine ignorance may lead us into peril. but if such a thing as that were to befall, i would lay down my life to save yours, my lord." "i believe you, tom," answered the other very gravely. he was silent a while, and then he said slowly, "tom, i am going to say a strange thing to yon--at least it would sound strange to some; and, indeed, i should not dare to say it to every companion in peril. but i believe you to be stanch and true." "i trust you will ever find me so, my lord." "well, tom, this is the word that i would say to you. it may chance that things come to this pass with us, that one of us twain must needs fall into the hands of the enemy, and die; for there is little hope of any other end when that befalls. and if we know and can so arrange matters, it must be you and not i who will fall into that peril." tom looked back without flinching. "you speak well, my lord," he said. "it must be my lot to die. you will not find me hold back when the moment comes." lord claud took his hand and held it in both of his. "it must be you, tom; and yet i would rather it were myself. but i have that intrusted to me which i must speak in the duke's ear. the despatches are as little compared with what i have had from marlborough's own lips--what may not be trusted upon paper. moreover, i could find my way through the countries, where you would be lost for lack of words to ask your way. if one of us has to be delivered over to death, it must be you." "it must. i see it well." "yet we may both succeed in getting through, or we may both leave our bones lying amid the eternal snows. perhaps in years to come it will matter little enough. just now it seems a matter of more importance. but i have told you this to show my trust in you, tom. there are not many comrades to whom i could have thus unburdened myself. i should have had to use subtlety where now i use truth and openness." "you shall not find me fail you, my lord," answered tom. chapter x. in peril. "halt! and declare yourselves!" cried a hoarse voice speaking in the french tongue. "now for it, tom," said lord claud quietly, speaking between his shut teeth. "remember what i have told you. be wary, be ready. we shall get through all right. there are but two or three score, and none of them mounted." the travellers were passing now through the narrow territory of the margrave of baden, with the rhine upon their right, the only protection from the frontier of france with all its hostile hosts. the slow and inactive policy of the margrave of baden naturally encouraged the enemy to send small parties of soldiers across to harry his country; and already tom and his master had had to dodge and hide, or go out of their way, to avoid meeting with these bands of inimical marauders. they were not the class of opponents whom lord claud most dreaded, still they might well fall upon and make prisoner the two english travellers; and if despatches were found upon the person of either, they would almost certainly be shot as spies. indeed, so bitter was the feeling on the part of the french after their defeat at blenheim, that any travellers belonging to the hated english nation went in danger of their lives. for some time now tom had been wearing the garb of a serving man. his peruke had disappeared, and he wore a little dark wig that looked like his natural hair. it excited less comment for master and servant to travel from town to town together than for two english gentlemen to be riding unattended through such a disturbed country; and as they pursued their way, lord claud would give minute and precise directions to tom how to act in the event of their falling in with one of these scouting or marauding parties, showing such a wonderful knowledge of the tactics of forest warfare that tom was often astonished at him, and would have liked to ask where he had obtained his experience. and now, for the first time, tom was face to face with a real foe--no mere antagonist of the hour, with whom he had exchanged some angry word, and was ready to follow it up with blows, but with armed foes of a hostile race, whose blood was stirred by the hatred bred of long-continued warfare, and who would think as little of taking the lives of two englishmen as tom would of shooting a fat buck in his native woodlands. again came the word of command in the hoarse voice. "halt! and declare yourselves, or--" but the threat remained unspoken, for lord claud had drawn rein, and was looking at the speaker with eyes of mild inquiry. "what is your will, monsieur?" he asked, in his easy and excellent french. at this seeming show of submission the face of the officer relaxed, and the men in his company lowered their carbines and stood more at ease pending the result of the dialogue. "monsieur is not a frenchman?" questioned the officer, with a look from one face to the other. tom sat gazing before him with a stolid expression of countenance, which greatly belied the tingling which he felt through every vein in his body. it seemed as though this tingling sensation was in some way communicated to the mare he rode, for she began fidgeting in a fashion which plainly told tom that she was ready to do her part when the tussle should come. "how know you that, sir?" asked lord claud with a smile. "if you can tell me my nationality i shall be grateful, for i am ignorant upon the point myself." the man's face clouded a little; he felt a certain suspicion of the handsome stranger, and yet he must not do despite to one of his majesty's subjects, and lord claud had the air of a man of no mean status. "your servant is english," he said with a touch of sullenness, "and i take it your horses are, too. the army of his majesty of france is badly in need of strong horses. if you are good subjects of his you will be willing to part with them. my horse was killed but a little way back; that one of yours would suit me right well," and he made a step forward as though to lay a hand on lucifer's rein. "now, tom, my boy!" said lord claud in a clear, low tone. in a moment he had whipped out his pistols and fired straight at the officer, who fell face downwards almost without a groan. tom had meanwhile marked his man--the foremost in the rank behind; and he rolled over like a log. with a yell of rage and amaze the men were upon them; but lucifer and nell gwynne had already reared almost upright, and now were fighting so wildly with their iron-shod hoofs that in fear and dismay the assailants fell back, whilst a second report from each pistol dropped another man dead upon the field. "forward! before they can take aim!" cried lord claud in a voice of thunder; and the horses obeyed the word without any touch of spur from their riders. they bounded forward with an impetus which must have unseated any but an experienced horseman, and then laying themselves along the ground, they fled onwards at a gallop which astonished even tom by its wild velocity. a shower of bullets fell round them, but none touched either steeds or riders; the yells of the infuriated soldiers died away on their ears; the horses sped on and on as though they had wings to their feet, and only after some few miles had been traversed did the riders draw rein. "that is always the best plan of action," said lord claud, as though such an occurrence as this was a matter of everyday experience with him. "always appear ready to pause and parley. it invariably disarms suspicion. at the first every pistol or musket is levelled at your head; but if you stop to talk, these are lowered. then, when you have put the enemy a little off guard, make a dash for it; take them by surprise, drop a few, and confuse the rest, and you almost invariably escape with a sound skin." then lord claud coolly proceeded to wipe and recharge his pistols, as though the escape of half an hour back had been a mere detail hardly worth discussion. but tom knew well that both his master and the horses they rode must have been through many such perils before this, or they could never (at any rate the horses) have shown such aptitude in playing their parts. he had felt that the mare he rode was prepared to fight furiously with hoofs and teeth; and, as it was, she had struck down two men who had been preparing to spring at her. "ah, my lady had always a temper of her own," replied lord claud with a smile, as tom said something of this. "yes; i have taken some pains with my horses to teach them to help in a fight. travelling even in one's own land is none too safe, as you found to your cost, honest tom. nell gwynne comes of a fighting stock, and showed an early aptitude for the fray. trust to her, tom, if ever you are hard pressed; she will bring you safely through, if it can be achieved at any price." and, indeed, as the travellers pursued their long ride through a disturbed and often half-hostile country, they had frequently to depend as much upon the fleetness, fidelity, and strength of their horses as upon the strength of their own right arms. well did tom now understand why lord claud had made such a point of having their own horses with them. had they been jogging along upon some beast hired or purchased in the country, they would never have got through the divers perils of the way. once tom was aroused from slumber in a little, ill-smelling inn by the sound of kicking and stamping proceeding from the stable; and when he had aroused his companion, and they had hastily dressed themselves and descended, it was to find that a desperate fight was going on between the two horses and a handful of french soldiers, who had followed after the fine animals, and were seeking to steal them whilst the travellers slept. they had paid dearly for their temerity, however, for nell gwynne was stamping the life out of one wretched fellow; whilst lucifer had broken the leg of a second, and had pinned his companion by the arm, so that he was yelling aloud in his agony. lord claud sprang in, and at the sound of his voice the horse loosened his grip, and the man reeled hack against the wall, white and bleeding, and cursing beneath his breath. tom was too late to save the life of the victim of the mare's anger, but he was in time to strike up the pistol which another of the soldiers had pointed at her, in the trembling hope of saving his comrade. "if you fire you will drive her to madness, and she will kill every man of you," said lord claud coolly. "she has a devil in her, and is bullet proof; you had better leave meddling with both the beasts." the men crossed themselves in pious horror, and were glad enough to back out of the place, carrying their dead and maimed companions with them. tom and lord claud did not linger longer than the time needful for saddling the horses. they knew that the people of the inn must be in collusion with the soldiers, and the sooner they quitted the place the better. they had long since left behind them the level plains, and were now in a country that became increasingly mountainous and difficult. after the long, flat plains of holland, tom had thought the baden territory sufficiently mountainous; but now he was to make acquaintance with the snow-topped peaks and ranges of switzerland, and his eyes dilated with awe and wonder when first he beheld the dazzling white peaks standing out clear against a sunny sky. he was not a youth of much imagination or poetry, but he did feel a strange thrilling of the pulses as he looked upon this wonderful sight. but lord claud's face was cool and impassive as usual, and his remark was: "very fine to look at, good tom, but ugly customers to tackle. a snowstorm up amongst those mountain peaks may well be the death of either or both of us, and the snow will be our winding sheet." "have we to cross those snows, my lord? to scale those lofty peaks?" "we shall have plenty of snow, tom, without scaling the peaks. at this season the passes will be deep in snow. we shall have to trust to a guide to take us safely over; and the very guide may be a spy and a traitor himself." "but, my lord, i thought you knew the way? i thought you had crossed the pass once?" "so i have, tom; but these snow fields are treacherous places, and the track shifts and changes with every winter's snow. you will see, when you get amongst them, what a savage scene they present. in summer it is none so bad; but we are yet in the grip of winter, and though the foothold is harder and better on the ice slopes, the cold is keen and cruel, and the snowfalls frequent and dangerous." "and the horses, my lord?" "those we must needs leave behind us for a while, tom. i do not say that we could not get them over, for, methinks, hannibal must needs have brought his horsemen across in days of yore, and where any other horse has been, there could lucifer and nell gwynne travel. but i fear the poor beasts would suffer sorely; and i misdoubt me if they would not be more care than use to us. they have done their work gallantly, so far; and they will take us back as gallantly, i doubt not, when our task is done. meantime, i know a pleasant and sheltered valley, where dwell some honest folk with whom i tarried in bygone days, to heal me of a fever i had caught in the hot italian plains. there we will leave them; and there, tom, if we lose sight of each other, will we meet when our appointed tasks be done. "there are two places where we may find a safe asylum in this wild land. one is the valley to which we are now bending our steps, which nestles not far from the foot of the great mountain men call the st. bernard; the other is at the hospice upon the great st. bernard itself, where is a colony of devout and kindly monks, who give their succour to travellers of every nationality and creed, and where a safe shelter may always be found. moreover, the monks have a certain intercourse with the inhabitants of the valleys round and about, and we could thus have news of each other were one of us there and the other here below. "but we will not part company save for urgent need; yet 'tis well always to be prepared." travelling was becoming increasingly difficult and trying as they mounted into higher regions, and the roads became mere bridle paths, often encumbered with snow drifts, and difficult to traverse. fortunately it was fine overhead, and the season was a favourable one. the sun had already attained some height in the sky, and could shine with power at midday, for february was well advanced by this time. but the cold at nights was intense, and the state of the roads often made travelling difficult for the horses. the mountain torrents were swelled to brawling rivers, and the ordinary bridges broken down, so that the travellers had much ado to get across them. it seemed a savage country to tom, although the excitement and peril made travelling a delight. moreover, the people were kind and friendly, although they spoke such a barbarous patois that it was difficult to hold communication with them. at last they reached the sheltered little valley of which tom had heard, and here they found friends of a kind; for at the little inn lord claud was remembered and hailed with joy. he had plainly won the affections of the simple folks whilst lying there sick, and they were ready and willing to give the travellers of their best, and furnish them with guides for the passage of the mountain range, which seemed now to tower above their heads into the clouds. travellers and horses were alike pretty well worn out by this time, and the thought of spending a few days in this hospitable valley was grateful even to tom's stalwart frame. as for the horses, they testified their satisfaction in many ways. they even made friends with the goatherd who was told off to attend to them, and attempted none of their tricks upon him; which was a source of considerable satisfaction to tom, who had been afraid the people might decline to be left alone with such charges. after seeing them safely stabled, bedded, and fed, tom was glad enough of a good meal himself; after which he retired to bed, and slept for hard upon thirty-six hours, as he found to his amaze upon awakening. and, indeed, it was small wonder that he did so; for he had not been used to such strenuous exercise so constantly continued, nor to the clear, bracing air of the mountains. he woke as hungry as a hunter; and it was only after he had satisfied the cravings of nature that he had time to observe the thoughtful shadow which had gathered upon the face of his comrade. "is aught amiss?" he asked presently, leaning his elbows on the table, and heaving a sigh of satisfaction. "well, tom, that is as you like to think it; but what i feared might be the case has come to pass. we shall not reach the plains of italy without being sore beset by danger." tom's eyes flashed keenly under their dark brows. "what have you learned, my lord?" "that the pass is being closely watched, tom, by spies, or whatever you choose to call them, from the french army. the duke of savoy is, as i have told you before, completely hemmed in by the armies of the great vendome, one of the ablest generals france possesses. his capital is in danger, and it is of the first importance that he should receive the despatches and messages with which i am charged by marlborough, and which will give him heart and courage to prolong the contest till the promised help, which is now on its way, shall reach him. doubtless it is equally the policy of the enemy to keep him in ignorance of what they themselves now know or fear, so that he may surrender to the french arms before he hears what is being done for his succour. "that, in brief, is the situation we have to grapple with. i suspect that sir james is one of those who are watching for messengers from england, and that we shall have to measure our wits against his. tom, i must get through the pass. i must carry my despatches into turin. i am not one whit afraid of the french lines. i can disguise myself, and pass through them if needs be without a qualm of fear. i can speak french against any frenchman living, for i was cradled in that land. but the first problem we have to face is this--how can we cross the pass unseen? how can we put the spies on a false scent?" tom drew his brows together and scratched his head in the effort to think matters out. "do they know that strangers are here in this valley? are we watched?" "i suspect so," answered lord claud. "it is not easy to be certain, because the people here are friendly to us, and distrust the french, who have given them small cause to love them. but i am convinced that so astute a man as sir james montacute would cause a close watch to be kept upon this valley. most likely our presence here is known, and we are being watched for." "and is there no other way of crossing the mountains into italy?" "yes, there is one other route; for historians disagree as to the one taken by hannibal, albeit most believe that it was this of the little st. bernard. there is another way, which doubtless could be found; but if we were to strike aside after it, the spies would be upon our heels at once." "i was thinking," said tom slowly, "that we might perchance part company, one take one route and the other the other, and so arrange matters that the spies should follow hot-foot upon the scent of the wrong man." a gleam came into lord claud's eyes. he spoke very quietly. "in truth, tom, some such thought has come into mine own head; but it is not easy to make up one's mind to act upon it, for i fear it means certain death to the wrong man who must be followed." tom's face set itself in grim lines. there was a vein of reckless bravery and hardihood about him which imparted to the situation a species of stern delight, and sent the blood tingling once more through his veins. "i will take the risk of that," he said; "i shall take some killing, i think. and killing is a game that more than one can play at! if i have to sell my life, i will make it cost the french king dear." "right, tom; but that will not give back a gallant servant to her majesty of england!" "i am not dead yet," answered tom, with a grim laugh. "tell me the plan which you have worked out in your head, my lord; for your wits are seven-fold keener than mine." then lord claud unfolded the plan which had been working in his busy brain during the day that tom had been sleeping, after he had heard news which made him sure that his mission was suspected, and that he would be stopped and robbed if possible. higher up the mountain side, just where the snow line lay, above which there was everlasting ice and snow, was a little rough hostel, where travellers rested and slept before they tried the pass itself. an old half-witted man and his goitred wife kept the place, and provided rough food and bedding for travellers, though interesting themselves in no wise with their concerns. in that rude place several men were now stopping, and had been stopping for some days. that fact in itself was almost sufficient for lord claud; but somebody had found a scrap of torn paper with some french words upon it, and this had made assurance doubly sure. moreover, lord claud believed it to be the writing of the man he had duelled with beneath barns elms. to this inn (if such it could be called) he and tom must journey, with a peasant for a guide to take them across the pass. upon reaching the place, his idea now was that he should appear sorely smitten by the cold, as some travellers were; so ill and unfit for further journeying, that he should have perforce to send tom on alone with the guide, whilst he returned to the valley. all this they should discuss in their room at night, assured that they would be overlooked and overheard; and when quite certain that eyes were watching them, lord claud was to unrip his doublet and take thence a packet of papers, sealed with the signet of the duke of marlborough, and sew this same packet firmly into tom's coat. in reality this tempting-looking packet with the duke's seal contained nothing but a sheet of blank parchment. the real missive for the duke victor amadeus was written on a thin paper, and was concealed between the soles of lord claud's boots--though even tom did not know that. the packet was arranged as a blind, if need should be; and now it seemed as though the need had come. then on the following morning tom and the guide would start forth across the pass; whilst lord claud should creep feebly down to the valley, watched, perhaps, but probably unmolested. the majority of the men, at any rate, would most certainly follow tom. "there are but four," said lord claud; "and if one be montacute himself, i doubt if he will stir from the inn. he will try to keep an eye upon both, being a man full of cunning himself. i reckon that he will send two men after you, tom, and one after me. i shall, after a while, pause, lie in wait, and kill that man. then i shall flee to the valley, get a guide who can show me the other pass, and make such way from the seat of peril that i shall be well-nigh across the frontier before sir james knows that one of his quarry has escaped him. "as for you, my boy, you may like enough escape with a sound skin, unless montacute himself pursues, making three to one--for one cannot trust these peasants to show fight. but be the issue what it may, that is the plan i have thought out which gives the best chance of winning through. if you escape, flee either back here, or perhaps, better still, to the protection of the monks. for here these unwarlike peasants could perhaps give you little aid if hard pressed; but the church will afford you sanctuary, and not even the wrath of sir james himself will avail to wrest you from the hands of the monks, if you claim their protection." "it seems to me," said tom, throwing back his head, "that the peril is, after all, not so great--not so great, indeed, as what we have faced many times before. let us carry out the plan, and whether good or evil follow, we shall have done our best--and no man can do more!" the two men gripped hands upon it, and the compact was sealed. tom rather exulted in the post of peril that was accorded to himself. perhaps in days to come the duke would hear of it, and might reward him by some words of praise or thanks. that same afternoon tom felt his veins tingling again as they neared the lone little hut amid the whiteness of the low-lying winter snow. he was about to launch forth upon the first solitary adventure of his life, and one which might be fraught with dire perils; but his heart quailed not. almost at once he was lost in admiration and amaze at the power displayed by lord claud in acting a part. he began to draw his breath with apparent difficulty; his face looked drawn and ghastly; he clung to tom's arm as if for support; and it was difficult indeed to believe that he was not feeling really terribly ill. they reached the hut and knocked. the door was instantly opened, and tom was certain he saw a gleam of malicious satisfaction upon the faces of the men, who welcomed them in with a show of rude cordiality. there were but two rooms that could be called sleeping apartments, they said, and one was already occupied; but they would give up the other to the use of the sick traveller. lord claud was speedily assisted thither, and the fire in the stove replenished. he lay down upon the bed with a groan, and looked as if nigh to death. the peasant chattered with the old couple, and it was plain that this sort of seizure was not very uncommon in those altitudes. the men tried to make tom understand that his companion should go back to the valley; but that could not be done till the morrow, and presently the pair were left alone in their room. this room was only separated from the next by some rude split pine trunks. tom had seen upon entering that a light had been quickly extinguished, otherwise he would have seen clearly through the chinks who the occupant was. he knew perfectly that every word they spoke could be overheard, and every action they performed duly watched; and he entered into the game of play acting with a zeal that gave him greater aptitude than he had thought to possess. he strove to get his master to take the broth that one of the men brought up; he entreated him not to give way; and finally he agreed that it would be impossible for the sick man to attempt further travel, and offered himself to bear the packet of letters into italy. then came the projected piece of play acting--the ripping up of the doublet, the sewing of the sealed packet into tom's clothes, promises, directions, warnings, all given with apparent feeble energy, and received with faithful eagerness. and all the while tom was aware that close to them, just behind the thin partition, other eyes were watching, other ears listening to all that passed. he could even hear the short breathings of repressed excitement, and almost feel the keen gaze which he knew was constantly bent upon him. when all was done to the satisfaction of the sick man, tom extinguished the light, and lay down beside him on the rude bed. after his long sleep of the previous day, he cared little whether he slumbered or not--indeed, it seemed better that he should keep awake. his head was full of the adventure which lay before him, and he was almost certain that he heard whispering voices either in the next room or below; by which he guessed that their enemies, having discovered all they wanted to know, were now laying their plans how best they might carry out their own designs. chapter xi. the pious monks of st. bernard. tom knew quite well that he was being followed. he had been aware of it almost from the first. he felt an exultant triumph in the thought that they had outwitted the astute sir james, and that his emissaries were following the wrong man, falling into the trap which had been laid for them. tom's business was to lead them as long a dance as possible. he had no other object in view. he had no intention of pushing onwards into italy. in a strange country, surrounded by people of a strange tongue, he would be perfectly helpless. he had picked up just a few words of french, and of the patois of these mountain regions, enough to enable him to obtain the necessaries of life on this side the alps. and on this side he meant to remain, doubling back, if possible, and eluding his pursuers; hoping to find shelter at the monastery of the great st. bernard, and await there the return of lord claud. he had watched, before starting himself, the start made by lord claud upon the arm of the landlord. he had again admired the marvellous powers of his master in simulating sickness. it was difficult even for him to believe that he was not the victim of some grave malady; and he had noted with satisfaction the covert eagerness with which the other travellers in the hut urged upon him the descent into the valley as the only chance of recovery. plainly they desired that the two should part company; nor could tom trace that any of their number went after lord claud. but on that point he could not be certain, as he himself had to take his departure almost immediately. the other travellers professed to be waiting for the recovery of one of their number from a strain to the ankle before proceeding in an opposite direction. this they explained to lord claud, regretting they could not accompany him to the valley, as they had to wait for their own master. they professed to have crossed recently from the italian side, and gave tom some hints and instructions as to his route; which he heeded no whit, being in fact only able to understand a word here and there. he trusted to his guide to take him safely through the pass, though he reckoned upon having to give him the slip, too, if he could not explain to him that he was going to make his way to the monastery. for it was not safe for lord claud to explain this to the guide beforehand. although to all appearances an honest and simple fellow, there was never any knowing how the enemy might seek to tamper with him; and a bribe might be sufficient to open the fellow's lips if he had anything to tell. now tom was on his way upwards amid the snow, stepping out boldly, and rather urging on his guide than detaining him by lagging; and all the while he was conscious that he was being followed and watched, although it was only from time to time that he was successful in catching sight of the forms of his pursuers, who at present kept a good way behind. tom guessed for one thing that his own rapid pace gave him the advantage, and he also suspected that they would prefer to wait until his first energy had abated before trying conclusions with him. he was in splendid condition from his long journey, which had braced all his muscles, and had given him back all that vigour which his london life had slightly impaired. so he stepped along gaily in the clear morning air, calculating as well as he could what lord claud's movements would be, and how far he would have progressed upon his way with the real despatches. lord claud never let grass grow under his feet. if he once obtained a fair start, he would not easily lose it. the route by which he was going was a little longer and more circuitous; but let him have a day's clear start, and it would be odd if any pursuer caught him after that. so tom walked on in high spirits, feeling well equipped for the coming struggle, and fearing little the peril which might lie before him. in the pride of his manhood's strength, he laughed at the thought of danger. he had faced too many perils of late to begin to turn coward now. so long as he felt that he was leading these followers away from the other pass to be taken by his comrade, he cared for nothing else--not even for the discovery he once made that they were three in number, though lord claud had calculated that they would only be two. sometimes tom noted that his guide would look back, and more than once he fancied that he detected him signalling to those below. this aroused in his mind a doubt of the fellow's fidelity; but there was nothing to be done now. they were in the midst of trackless snow plains, ice slopes, and precipices. he must perforce trust to the leading of the guide, albeit, if he had been tampered with by those in pursuit, things might look ugly when it came to the moment of attack. as the hours wore away, tom began to wish that the situation might declare itself. the drear wildness of the mountain height oppressed him with a sense of personal insignificance which was rather overwhelming. the great white mountains seemed to stare down upon him as though pitilessly indifferent to his fate. how could they care what became of one solitary son of earth? did they not stand fast for ever more, from century to century? it was a thought that he found oppressive and rather terrible. at one point the guide insisted upon leaving what looked like the better track, and led him round a sort of shoulder of piled up snow and rock, where walking was very laborious. tom began to feel the need of food, and would have stopped and opened his wallet; but the man shook his head and gesticulated, and seemed to urge him onwards at some speed. tom supposed he must obey, as the man pointed warningly to the rocks above, as though to hint that danger might be expected from them. so on they trudged, tom feeling a slight unaccustomed giddiness in the head, as many persons do who first try walking for some hours in the glare of sun and snow and at a high altitude. then the path suddenly turned again under the frowning wall of rock, which rose black and stern through the covering of snow. the guide disappeared round the angle of the path; tom followed with quick steps, and the next moment was almost felled to the earth by the terrific blow of a cudgel upon his head. almost, but not quite. he had been on his guard. he felt that the crisis was coming, and he was certain that the guide had betrayed him at this pre-arranged spot into the hands of his enemies. in one second tom's rapier was out (he had carried that in spite of the hindrance it had sometimes been to him), and although he was half-blinded and half-stunned by the force of the blow received, he lunged fiercely forward, and heard a yell of pain which told him that his blade had found its billet. but the blade could not at once be disentangled. for two seconds, perhaps, was tom struggling with it; and in those two seconds one of his adversaries sprang behind him, and seized him round the waist with the hug of a bear. in a second tom had whipped out his pistols, and fired full at a dark figure in front of him; but his eyes were full of blood, and a taunting laugh told him that his shot had missed its mark. with a quick movement of his strong arm backwards he dealt the man who was holding him a terrific blow with the butt of the pistol, and discharged the other full at another dark figure looming in front. this time there was an answering yell; but the odds were still tremendous, and tom felt himself growing faint and giddy, and though he hit out lustily on all sides, he had no confidence that his blows told. every moment he expected to hear the sound of a report, and to know that his quietus had come; but at last he was aware that it was his captors' wish to take him prisoner, and not to kill him. they had closed in upon him now that he was disarmed, and were using every artifice to overpower him without further injury. tom felt his own struggles becoming weaker each moment, and at last he was conscious that somebody had crawled towards his feet and was passing a cord about them. in vain he sought to kick out and release himself; the next minute the cord was pulled tight. his feet were jerked from beneath him, he fell backwards heavily, and for some time he knew no more. when he opened his eyes once again, he found himself sitting propped up against the rocks, his arms tightly pinioned to his sides, and his feet still encumbered by cords; whilst at a little distance sat his assailants in a ring, eating and drinking, and making merry together. one had a bandaged head, and another had his arm in a rude sling. but the guide had come in for the worst of tom's blows, and lay all his length along the ground, stiff and dead. tom smiled a grim sort of smile. he suspected that the same fate would shortly be his, but nevertheless he did not pity the unfaithful peasant. if he had acted loyally by the man he professed to serve, this ill would scarcely have befallen him. he had met his punishment somewhat more swiftly than is usual. the men talked in french, and too fast for tom to catch a word of their meaning; but when they saw that his eyes were open, and that he was watching them, they laughed and nodded at him, and by-and-by one brought him food and a cup of wine, and tom felt mightily refreshed thereby. then they looked up at the sky, and at the sun which had some time since passed its meridian, and began to make ready to depart. tom was half afraid at first that they, having robbed him of his despatches, were going to leave him helplessly bound here amongst the snow, to perish of cold and starvation. but when they were all in readiness they unbound his feet, and bid him rise and come with them. indeed, he had no option in this matter, for one of them held the end of the cord which bound his arms, and drove him on in front as men drive unruly cattle. tom felt giddy and stiff, but he scorned to show weakness; and it was less trying to descend the pass than to ascend it, although the rough walking with tightly-bound arms was more difficult than he had fancied, and several times he tripped and fell heavily, unable to save himself. he was, therefore, very bruised and sore and weary when at last he found that they were approaching the little hut he had left early that same morning. but amid all his weariness and pain, and the peril of his position, he felt, with a thrill of proud satisfaction, that he had at least played the part which had been allotted to him, and had drawn off the forces of the enemy whilst lord claud made good his escape with the real despatches. whatever vials of fury might quickly be poured upon his head, he would always know that he had done his duty--and who can do more than that? a light was twinkling in the hut. tom was pushed and hustled within. a voice, that he remembered as having heard once before, called out from above: "bring the prisoner up here to me." the next minute tom entered the very room where he and lord claud had slept the previous night; but it was now tenanted by a new occupant--a dark-skinned man of huge frame and malignant aspect--who regarded tom from beneath the penthouse of his frowning brows, and plainly remembered him as well as he was himself remembered. "so we meet again, my young buck of the forest! you seem to serve a master who takes pleasure in bringing you into peril and doubtful adventure! so you are the bearer of despatches to the duke of savoy? i fear, my good friend, victor amadeus will be disappointed of his news for once. and i say in good sooth, that if his grace of marlborough chooses to intrust the matters of the secret service to unfledged lads, he deserves to find himself outwitted." tom compressed his lips to hide the smile that might have told too much. he preserved a stolid appearance, and remained mute. sir james gave a quick order in french, and at once some of the cords about tom's person were cut, and the packet sewed up in his coat was duly brought forth. as it was handed to sir james and he saw the signet of the duke, a sardonic smile played over his features, and tom's eyes gleamed in their sockets. the dark-browed man eagerly undid the packet, and drew forth the parchment sheet. he scanned it over and over; he turned it this way and that. his face betrayed nothing, but tom saw that his fingers trembled slightly as with ill-veiled excitement or anger. he gave one fierce, searching look at tom, who preserved an air of indifference, and then he took the paper across to the stove, and held it in the heat of the glow which stole thence. back he came with it to the table; but there was nothing revealed by the application of heat. he called sharply for something to one of his men, and a small phial was brought to him. he applied a drop of the liquid it contained to the parchment; and eagerly awaited the result; but no lettering was revealed upon it, and his face grew dark and stern. how many tests he applied tom scarcely knew; but he saw that this man was master of all the arts of secret penmanship, and that no matter would have been kept from him had it been intrusted to the paper. at last sir james became satisfied of this himself. the veins on his forehead swelled with anger. he saw that he had been tricked, and his fury was hotly aroused. smiting his great hand upon the table, he cried in a voice of thunder: "this despatch is a trick and a fraud. there is nothing but a sheet of blank paper. men do not risk their lives in carrying dummy packets. "where is the true despatch, knave? out with it, or 'twill he the worse for you!" "that is all i have," answered tom quietly; "i know nothing of any other. search me if you will. you will find naught else." "search him! search him well!" said sir james to his servants, almost panting in his ire. "the knave was never sent to the duke with nothing hut this in his keeping. find it instantly! i love not these delays!" instantly tom was laid on his back upon the floor, and such a search was made of his dress and person as was a matter of curiosity and amaze to himself. even his nose and ears and mouth were explored by rough fingers, in a fashion none too gentle; whilst his clothing was well-nigh ripped to pieces, and he wondered how he should ever make it fit for wear again. certainly if he had had any missive to carry it would not have escaped the scrutiny of his captors, and their oaths and kicks bespoke their baffled disappointment. "then he has messages intrusted to him," said montacute, first in french, and then in english. "set the fellow upon his feet, and bind fast his hands to yon rafter. if he will not speak the truth, it shall he flogged out of him!" the swarthy man was growing very angry at his failure. he may have begun to suspect that he had been duped by a wit keener than his own, and the thought raised within him the demon of cruelty and lust of blood. he hated lord claud with a deadly hatred, having been worsted by him in encounters of many kinds. if unable to wreak his vengeance upon the man himself, to do so upon his follower was the next best thing. "tell me with what messages to the duke of savoy you are charged!" he cried, standing before tom with flaming eyes. "you are not sent upon this quest with neither letter nor word. speak, or you shall be made to find your tongue!" "i will speak as much as you like," answered tom, with haughty disdain in his tone, though his flesh crept at the sight of the men knotting the ends of rope in their hands; "but i am charged with no message. i know nothing of what you would wish to know. you can flog till you are weary, but you can't get out of me what i do not know. that at least is one satisfaction." montacute waved his hand. the next moment the ropes descended upon tom's bare back. he set his teeth, and made no cry, though the blood came surging to his head, and the room seemed to swim in blood. again and again they descended; but the keen pain awoke within tom that ferocity of strength which comes to men in their extremity, so that, like samson, they can turn the tables upon their foes. the hut was but a rude affair, somewhat loosely put together. the beam to which tom's arms had been bound was not too strongly jointed to its fellow. a sudden madness seemed to come upon this man of thews and sinews. he gave a sudden bound and wrench; he felt the beam give, and redoubled his efforts; the next moment the whole rafter came bodily down upon their heads. tom ducked, and escaped its fall; but it pinned one of his foes to the ground, and his own hands were immediately free. with a bound like that of a tiger, and a roar like that of a wounded lion, he sprang, or rather flew, at montacute, flung him over backwards upon the floor, and pinned him by the throat, uttering all the while a savage sort of growling sound, like a wild beast in its fury. the light was thrown over in this strange melee; the room was plunged in darkness. the two men upon the floor lay struggling together in a terrible silence, only broken by tom's fierce snarlings, that seemed scarce human. so terrified were the remaining two men, that they could do nothing for the assistance of their master; indeed, they hardly knew what was happening to him. they set up a shouting for aid, half afraid to stir lest the whole house should come falling about their ears. there were steps in the room below. footsteps mounted the stairs. the door was thrown open, a shaft of light streamed in, and a calm, full voice demanded in the french tongue: "what, in the name of all the saints, is this?" "holy father, he is murdering our master!" suddenly cried one of the men, recovering from his stupor of terror, and seeing now how tom's great hands were gripping the throat of sir james. montacute's face was purple. his eyes seemed to be starting from their sockets. it was hard to say which was the more terrible face, his or that of tom, which was perfectly white, and set in lines of ferocity and hatred as though petrified into stone. in the doorway stood the figure of a tall monk, clad in the long white robe and black cloak of his order. behind him was another, similarly attired, holding the light above his head. the first stepped quietly forward, and laid a hand upon tom's shoulder; and something in the touch made the young man turn his head to meet the calm, authoritative glance bent upon him. "enough, my son, enough," he said, in quiet tones, that brooked, however, no contradiction. "let the man go." had the followers of montacute sought to loose his clasp by force, tom would have crushed the life from his victim without a qualm; but at this gentle word of command he instantly loosed his hold, and stood upright before the monk. "he drove me to it--his blood be upon his own head! he would have scourged me to death, i verily believe, had it not been that the rafter gave way." tom spoke english, for he had been addressed in that language, and so knew that he should be understood. the monk bent his head, as though he grasped the entire situation. "i would we had come in time to spare you what you have already suffered, my son. but we did only enter the doors as the fall of the rafter announced that some catastrophe had happened. i feared to find you already a corpse." "you came after me, good father?" asked tom in amaze. "yes, truly. your companion, who is safe over the other pass by this time, caused the message to reach us that you were like to fall into the hands of montacute, and be hanged or shot. he begged that if we could we would save you; and as our work lies in succouring those who are in peril upon these heights, be that peril what it may, we have been seeking you ever since. i would we had arrived a few minutes earlier." tom's eyes gleamed; it seemed to him as though the madness was not yet out of his blood. "i can scarce echo that wish, reverend father," he said; "for i have had my taste of joy! if my back be torn and scored, i have had my fingers on yon miscreant's throat. i think he will carry the marks of them as long as i shall carry my scars. i have had my recompense!" "peace, my son," said the monk, lifting his hand. "the heart of the natural man lusts after vengeance; but these passions are terrible, and contrary to the will of god. especially in these savage solitudes, with the strange and awful handiwork of the almighty creator about us, should we bow in humblest adoration of his infinite power, and draw near and close, in bonds of brotherhood, to our fellow men. but i know that the sin was not yours. you were sinned against sorely first. nevertheless, we must needs learn to forgive our enemies, and do good to those that persecute us. so alone can we follow in the steps of him who is set as the light of the world." tom hung his head. he was a little abashed at the fury he had shown, and yet the savage joy of it was still tingling in his veins. he looked at the other monk, who was kneeling upon the floor beside montacute, and he perceived that the latter was slowly recovering, and was able to sit up, propped against the wall. as soon as he was able to understand what was said to him, the elder monk addressed him in stern tones. "montacute--thou man of blood--be warned by the fate which thy cruelty well-nigh drew down upon thy head this day! if god in his mercy had not sent us, in the very nick of time, to save this youth out of thy murderous hands, thou wouldst have passed ere now to the scathing fires of purgatory, whence there be few to offer prayers for thy release. be warned by this escape. repent of thy bloodthirstiness and cruelty. seek to make atonement. go and sin no more, lest a worse thing happen unto thee." then turning from him with a slight gesture of repulsion, he said to tom: "my son, we would take you to the safe shelter of our monastery home, till your comrade comes for you. the way is something hard and long, but the moon and frost will help us. have you the strength to walk with us?--for we would not leave you here, and it would be safer for all to travel without delay; albeit there be few so vile as to seek to do hurt to those who wear the habit of the servants of the lord." the fire yet burned in tom's veins. he felt no abatement of his powers. he declared himself well able for the march, and was soon helped into his torn garments, with wet rags to protect his bleeding back from rough contact. the monks gave him to drink from a flask that contained some cordial, which was marvellous in subduing his natural fatigue; and there was a mess of broth awaiting him below, of which both he and the monks partook, ere setting forth upon their moonlight march. as for montacute and his followers, they remained in the room above, and made no effort to delay the travellers. they had been worsted at every point, and seemed to be aware of it. it was a strange experience for tom, this trudge over the hard, frozen snow, with his two cowled and gowned companions. it seemed to him afterwards like a vision of the night, full of a strange oppression and pain. he started forth with undiminished strength, as he thought; but ere long he felt as though leaden weights were fastened to his feet, as though some strange, uncanny beast were seated upon his chest, impeding his breathing, and paralyzing his heart. the smart of his raw back became more and more intolerable with every mile, and the awful whiteness of the moon upon the limitless plains of snow seemed to make the whole expanse reel and dance before his giddy eyes. how the last part of the journey was performed, and what befell him when he reached the monastery, he never afterwards remembered. as a matter of fact, he was already in the grip of a burning fever; and for weeks he lay sick upon his pallet bed, tended by the kindly monks. indeed, the spring had penetrated even to those rugged heights ere he had recovered strength enough to think of travelling once more; and lord claud had come to seek him, and bring him word of his own successful journey with the despatches of the duke. when lord claud had gone stumbling down the hillside, in affected illness, he soon found, rather to his dismay, that montacute himself was following him. he therefore abandoned his intention of seeking battle with his foe, knowing that in brute strength and weight and muscle his adversary was his superior; and he had gone to the inn and put himself to bed, letting all around him believe thoroughly in his illness. montacute had remained on the watch for a time; but finding, as he supposed, that there was no feigning in the matter, he had gone back to his appointed meeting place with the men sent after tom. he had paid a fellow to keep watch upon lord claud, and send immediate word if he recovered and left his bed; but this man was one of those whose hearts had been won by lord claud's pleasant manners, and he at once reported the matter to him, and asked what he should do. between them it was arranged that they should change clothing, and, with the connivance of the landlord, should exchange identities. the young peasant should lie in bed, and be tended as the sick stranger; and claud, in peasant's dress, should flee over the other pass, leave word with the monks as to the peril of his friend, and make his way to savoy with all the speed he could. this had been done with wonderful ease and celerity. and now, having accomplished all with unlooked-for success, he had returned to find tom not only alive, but in good condition; for the latter, having once got rid of the persistent fever which had brought him so low, was getting back his strength and vigour every day. the mountain air was now acting like a tonic upon him, and the kindly ministrations of the brothers of the monastery gave him every help his condition needed. even the scars upon his back had ceased to smart, and he was all but fit for the road and the saddle ere lord claud joined him again. his lordship had heard good tidings of the horses in the valley below. and when rested from his rapid journey in search of tom, he went to visit them, and reported them abundantly fit for the road. but the war had now been resumed, and the countries were all in commotion. travelling was a risky thing, save in numbers; and the good monks warned them that they might easily lose their lives by falling in with some bands of hostile soldiers, who were sure to fall upon travellers in ferocious fashion, and rob them of arms and horses, if not of life itself. soon, however, some of the monks themselves were to take a journey into france, and if the travellers would habit themselves in the cowl and gown, and travel with them, they could do so in almost certain safety. tom's shaven head lent itself excellently to the tonsure; and though lord claud objected to part with his golden tresses, he quickly manufactured himself a tonsured wig which almost defied detection. as the monks, too, were to travel on horseback for greater speed, they had but to teach their steeds to amble along at a gentle pace, and none would be likely to suspect them. so the day came when the parting was made, the travellers leaving behind their earnest thanks for kindness received, and taking with them the blessings of their hosts, who had come to love the two gallant young men right well. they turned their backs upon the monastery, and wound their way down into the green valley, where horses were awaiting all the party; and then they turned their backs upon the ice and snow, and set their faces towards sunny england and home. chapter xii. back in london. "why, tom, my lad! now this is a welcome sight in sooth! verily it is you yourself, else should i think i must sure be dreaming! come in, come in, lad, and a hearty welcome to you! faith, we had almost begun to give you up for lost! there be so many who go to foreign parts, but return thence no more, and of whom nothing more is ever heard. the lord be praised that that has not been your fate!" cale had taken tom by both hands, and was drawing him eagerly into the house. the young man had entered the doorway just as the shutters were being put up at dusk. the light lasted long now that may had come, and cale was about to step forth to take the air for a while himself, when he beheld the tall figure darkening the doorway, and saw that it was indeed tom who was entering. "why, methinks you are taller than ever! and have gotten the air of a man of travel! this will be news for my little rosy tomorrow. why, it was but last sunday, as we sat and talked of you, that the tears came into her eyes, and she said she feared we should never see you more! how she will laugh and skip tomorrow when she sees you in your accustomed place!" "it was kind of mistress rosamund to spare a thought for me," said tom, feeling that it was good to be welcomed home again so warmly. other home welcome had he not yet received, for they had not returned by holland and the port of harwich. the good monks had taken them the shorter way through france, and had seen them safe upon a vessel bound for southampton, where they had safely disembarked a few days ago. they had spent their last money in getting themselves clothing other than a monkish habit, and had then ridden merrily to london in quick time. tom had left his good mare in lord claud's stable, and had marched off forthwith to master cale's shop; whilst his companion had declared his intention of making speedy application for the payment due to them for their recent enterprise, which had now been successfully carried through. "i would i could have seen the duke himself," said lord claud; "but he is gone back to the hague, men say, and may be anywhere now. but i shall lay my case before some of the ministers of the realm, and claim our reward. the duke of savoy knows the value of the news i brought him, and the labourer is worthy of his hire. you shall have your share, tom, when i get the gold; for you took your share of peril boldly, and were a stanch comrade in all moments of danger. you suffered more than i, and that shall not be forgotten." so tom felt light and happy of heart. he was back again in the old country, hearing his native tongue once more around him, the satisfaction of success in his heart, the experiences of a man of travel giving him added dignity in his own eyes. if his purse was light, he would soon replenish it; and in the welcome accorded to him by the honest perruquier he felt the earnest of other welcomes in store for him. as they sat at table together the traveller told his adventures to his host, cale listening with eager attention, and rubbing his hands softly together as he heard how montacute had been outwitted, and how he had been well-nigh throttled by tom, as well as rebuked by the pious monks. "i have seen the fellow," he said thoughtfully--"he came here once for a peruke--and a more evil countenance i have seldom seen. they say he is half an italian, though he passes here for an englishman; and that he is in the pay of the king of france is a thing commonly reported. he has an evil face, and i hope we shall see it no more in this land. you must have a care, tom, if ever he crosses your path again. he will not forget that grip on his throat in a hurry!" "nor i those lashes upon my back!" answered tom between his shut teeth. "he will find me ready for him whenever he wants! i am sometimes fain to regret that i did not squeeze the life out of him as he lay in my grasp, even as--well, others i know have regretted that they did not run him through the heart in a duelling bout." "it is not many who get that chance, if report speaks truth," said cale; "sir james montacute is reckoned a notable swordsman." "he is no mean antagonist, truly," answered tom, with a slight smile; "yet i have seen a better." the day following was sunday, and eagerly did tom await the arrival of rosamund, whom her father had set out betimes to fetch. but he had promised to keep the secret of tom's return for a surprise to meet her on her arrival; and so, when she turned the corner of the street upon her father's arm, laughing and chattering to him in her brightest fashion, there was tom standing in the doorway, clad in one of his finest suits (left behind in the care of cale), smiling bravely, hat in hand, and looking altogether so grand and finished a gentleman that at the first moment rosamund could scarce make sure if it was he himself. but when convinced of this, her pleasure was pretty to see. she made him stand by the window where she could see him; she looked him all over, clapping her hands, and declaring that he had grown so grand and handsome that she was quite afraid of him. but her dancing eyes and laughing lips belied her words, and soon she was chattering away in the old free style; and tom sat looking at her, thinking how pretty she was, and what a pleasant thing it was to be home again after such a period of peril and adventure. of course he had to tell his story over again, whilst rosamund's face turned red and pale by turns, and her breath came fitfully between her lips. she clung to her father's hand in a tremor of sympathetic fear as she heard of the doings of that memorable night in the rude hut amid the snows of the little st. bernard; but that tom was a greater hero than ever in her eyes, after she had heard all, could not for a moment be doubted, and perhaps that was why she felt that in him she could safely confide a secret fear which was troubling her own mind. she waited till her father had gone down to set the dinner upon the table; but when once she and tom were alone together she was not long in opening her trouble. "do you remember those four ill men who set upon you in the street that day when first you walked abroad with us?" "yes, i know them well--a set of cowardly braggarts and bullies! sure, mistress rose, they are not troubling you yet?" "i fear me they are," she answered, with a shadow of fear in her eyes. "i saw nought of them through the dark winter months. indeed, i had well-nigh forgotten that any such creatures lived. then when the spring days began to come, and the streets of the city became gayer, i thought once or twice that i saw them in the throngs as we walked hither and thither; but they never accosted us, and i gave the matter little heed." "until when?" "until one evening in march, towards the end of the month, when the daylight lasts till seven of the clock, and my father let me remain later than usual with him, and then took me back as was his custom. the roads were quiet, and there were few abroad as we neared highgate; yet i could not help thinking that i always heard steps behind us, and ever and anon i looked over my shoulder. i did not always see men following, but sometimes i did, and it seemed always as though there were four of them together. once i heard a laugh that i seemed to remember, and i felt a qualm of fear, i scarce knew why." "you spoke no word to your father?" "no; i thought myself the victim of some foolish fear, and i wanted not to trouble him. he bade me goodbye at the gate, and saw me run up to the house and let myself in. i went up straight to my window to wave my hand to him as was my wont, and just at that moment four men lounged by arm-in-arm with swaggering mien." "and you think it was those same men?" "i was almost sure of it, and hastily withdrew, glad that they did not follow my father down the hill, but walked slowly on in the opposite direction, and then turned and paced slowly back two or three times. for though i did not show myself, i peeped out and watched to see what they did." tom's face was very black. he had a keen personal hatred for the four bullies, and a very strong interest and affection for rosamund herself. he saw she had still something more to say, and she drew a little nearer as she added: "and since then i have caught sight of them several times in our lanes, walking up and down rather near the house, or hanging about round the tavern at the crossroads where our lane branches from the wider road. once i am sure i heard their steps coming after me; but i fled so fast they could not overtake me, and i dared not look behind lest i should trip over a stone. i am almost afraid now to leave the house alone, save in the early morning hours; and until this happened i came and went freely, and my aunt is used to sending me visiting to the neighbours. i like not to alarm her by talking of these men, nor do i wish to cause anxiety to my father. i have often wished i could tell you the tale, that i might ask you what i should do." the childlike appeal in the maiden's face stirred tom to a chivalrous desire to help her at all costs. "zounds!" he exclaimed, "but we will teach those curs a lesson they richly need. as it is, they are becoming a byword even in london streets. hark you, pretty rosamund, have no fears. i will get harry gay to join with me, and together we will come to highgate, and hang about your house in concealment until these bold swaggerers show themselves; and then we will set upon them, and give them such a trouncing as they shall not quickly forget. and we will make them understand that if ever they are seen there again they will receive a like chastisement. after that i think you need feel no fear. they are as cowardly as they are blustering, and love not the feel of hard blows upon their backs, as we have good reason to know. two of us would be equal to vanquishing the four." "and there is a strapping young farmer, william long by name, who would gladly lend you the strength of his right arm," cried rosamund, kindling into excitement. "he was lately wedded to my best friend, mary baker, and they live not far from our cottage. i had thought to speak to him if things went on so; but four to one is long odds, and moreover he is something stolid in the head, and might mistake his men, and so get himself into trouble." the thought of a battle on behalf of his good friend's daughter was congenial enough to tom, who had always felt a strong personal antagonism to these bullies; an antagonism warmly shared by harry gay, who eagerly entered into the plan for freeing rose of their unwelcome presence in her neighbourhood. he was also an admirer of pretty rosamund, whom he had known from childhood, although they did not meet very regularly, as harry did not often intrude upon cale on the sunday, when he knew he liked to have rosamund to himself. however, he knew very well the haunts most frequented by the four bullies who had taken it into their heads to persecute the perruquier's daughter. they probably bore cale a grudge for his action towards them upon the sunday when there had been the fight in the street; and certainly if he had had any idea that they were seeking to touch him through his child, he would have been exceedingly uneasy, and his business must have suffered. "i will keep a watch upon them," said harry gay, who was quite pleased to join with so great a man as tom tufton had become in some affair of this sort; "i will have an eye to them, and if i think they are starting off for the north of the town, i will run at once and fetch you; and we will follow and outstrip them, for they must needs stop at every tavern as they go, and we can slip by and be ready for them at highgate." so tom remained for the most part in and about his lodging for the next day or two, pleased enough to watch the busy life of the streets, and hear the gossip of the young dandies in cale's shop. no word of any kind came to him from lord claud during this time of waiting; but tom had no anxieties as to the money he was to receive for his services, and master cale had still a few guineas in hand from the sum left to pay for his lodging chamber in his absence, which tom had desired to continue to rent, that he might leave there his worldly possessions. it was on the forenoon of wednesday that harry came to seek him, all eagerness and speed. "they have started forth towards the north," he said, "and i heard a few scraps of talk, and am certain that they are bound for highgate. we shall quickly overtake and pass them; and, with the help of honest william, we will give them such a lesson as shall make them avoid the locality for the rest of their lives, i hope. so, if you are ready, let us be off." tom was ready in a trice, and very soon they found themselves following in the track of the four young rakes, who were swaggering along the sunny streets in their usual rolling way, accosting and insulting the passers by, knocking citizens' hats into the gutter, singing scraps of ribald songs, and ready to come to blows with any other bullies who might run up against them. but it was not long before they swaggered into an alehouse; and then tom and harry went swiftly by, and, taking the straight route up to highgate, arrived there long before the others could be expected. rosamund was tending her flowers in the garden when they came up to the gate, and looked up with a smile and a blush. she was alone in the house that day, she said, save for the servant woman, who was very deaf. this suited very well for the present purpose, as they did not desire that the aunt should be alarmed. they bade rose remain in the garden for the next few hours, and they would hide in a clump of bushes at the corner and watch what betided. harry strode off to fetch william long, who had promised the help of his sturdy staff right willingly. in a short time the three men were in their hiding place, whilst rose went on with her tasks amid the flowers, her heart beating a little with excitement, although she felt no fear. presently the sound of lurching steps and foolish laughter approached along the lane. rose never looked round, but the colour in her cheeks went and came. the steps presently stopped at the gate, and those in hiding could see the four bullies, who were already somewhat the worse for drink, leaning upon it and eyeing the maiden at work with silly leers and nudgings. "pretty mistress rosamund," said slippery seal, in his most wheedling voice, "will you favour a thirsty traveller with a cup of water from your well?" rose faced round at that, her face flushed, but her manner quite calm. "if you are thirsty, sir, there is water to be had in the brook yonder. my father would not have me speak with strangers on the road." "but, fair maid," said another, "we cannot sure be called strangers. we have seen your rosy cheeks and bright eyes many times before, we--" but before he had finished speaking, rose had turned her back and was walking up the path towards the house. "no, no, no!" cried dicing dick; "you do not run away like that, pretty rosamund!" the next moment he had flung the gate wide, and the whole four were making a dash up the path in pursuit of the girl. they had probably learned from the servant at the inn that her aunt was out, and had thought they could terrify her into doing their pleasure, and setting food and drink before them. but they did not get far. with a sound like a growl and a yell--such as he had given when he sprang at montacute's throat--tom dashed out from the thicket, and seized bully bullen in a bear-like clasp. the other two were not many yards behind, and immediately there was a wholesale scrimmage in the little garden; the sound of blows and oaths resounded, and many a yell of pain and rage told that one or another of the bullies had got a well-merited chastisement. it was not tom's wish to use his sword, but he applied his good cudgel freely to the back of the bully, who was more his own height and make than any of the others. bully bullen swore, and raved, and threatened, and made ineffectual efforts to draw his rapier and run his antagonist through the body. but he had been drinking, and neither hand nor eye were steady; whilst tom's clutch upon his coat collar, as he kept swinging him half off his feet, and laying his stout staff to his back, almost throttled him, and rendered his efforts abortive. once slippery seal showed himself worthy of his name, by slipping through the clutches of harry, and dashing to get a good blow at tom, for whom these four worthies had conceived a powerful hatred; but tom saw the advance, and cleverly swerved round, so that the blow descended upon the luckless bullen, who roared anew with rage and pain. "let them go now! let them go!" cried rosamund at last, half frightened at the scrimmage, and almost ready to pity the ruffians, who were getting so much the worst of it. lusty william had quickly laid dicing dick prostrate on mother earth, and was giving a drubbing to thirsty thring, who was helpless in his stout grasp. this attack, so unexpected and so resolute, had quite taken the wind out of the sails of the blustering four; and when, at rosamund's cry, their antagonists paused and gave to each a parting kick, they had no desire to do anything but slink away with bruised shoulders--black rage in their hearts. "if ever you come prowling here again, i'll have my men and my dogs out at you!" bawled william, whose blood was well up. "i live handily, just behind yon clump of trees. rosamund has but to lift up her voice in a good screech, and i'll loose every dog in the place upon you! you'll not forget the feel of their fangs so soon as you'll forget the feel of my cudgel!" that threat was quite enough for the bullies, they almost began to run; but so soon as they had put the fence between themselves and their antagonists, they paused and looked back, shaking their fists in vindictive fury. they seemed to divine that tom was in some sort the originator of this plan, and towards him was their chief malevolence directed. "we will have our revenge for this, tom tufton!" they cried. "it's your turn today, but it will be ours another. you shall rue the day you made enemies of us!" "do your worst!" cried tom scornfully. "do you think i fear any such ruffians as you?" "strike me purple!" raged bully bullen, using an oath which had come into vogue since the terrible days of the plague, "if i do not make you bitterly repent this day's work, you insolent young coxcomb!" "get off with you, or i call my dogs!" cried william, who saw that rosamund's cheeks were growing pale; and at this hint the bullies made the best of their way out of sight, never to be seen again in the neighbourhood where so many perils awaited them. rose was rid of her tormentors, but she cast apprehensive glances in the direction of tom. "can they hurt him?" she asked of harry. and he replied, with a light laugh: "he looks a child that can stand up for himself!" nevertheless, after william had taken rose to his house to pass the rest of the time of her aunt's absence, and tom and harry were walking southwards again, the latter said to his friend: "all the same, tom, i would have you take care of yon braggarts. they are as evil a set of fellows as walk the streets of this city, and if they could chance to do you an ill turn, be sure they would not let it pass." but tom only laughed. he had passed through many perils of late, and he felt that in the heart of this great city he could take care of himself. a sort of careless self confidence had been his chief peril through life, and his association with lord claud had not tended to diminish it. in the presence of his patron, indeed, he often felt of little account; but elsewhere he fancied himself something of a hero, and was by no means disposed to tremble before the malevolence of a set of swaggering bullies. the town was very gay this bright springtide, and tom was more than ready to plunge into the vortex of such amusements as were open to him. his lack of funds did not embarrass him, as harry was ready to lend him money, and he had some success at the dicing tables in those coffee houses which he frequented. gambling had not any great attractions for him, but a little excitement did not come amiss, and the fascination of winning was powerful. sometimes he was persuaded to try his luck at basset or ombre, and here his lack of knowledge of the games often caused him to lose. but he cared little, telling himself that he should soon have his share of the reward offered by the duke to his secret messengers; and he plunged more and more deeply into debt, rather by way of passing the time than for any particular delight in play. he had not yet acquired strength enough to decline to share the amusements of those about him. he kept up his sword practice in the mornings, and took long walks with harry gay to visit different places of interest in and about the city; but the afternoon and evening were usually spent in some place of amusement, and little by little tom became impatient for his money. he had borrowed several times from harry; but he thought he ought to be hearing something from lord claud. at last he called at his rooms, and asked for him. he was asked to wait, as lord claud was expected home shortly, and tom's face was well known to the valet. he went up to the familiar room, but noted with surprise how many pictures and curios were missing from their places. the rooms were comfortable, even luxurious, but they lacked the costly elegance which had characterized them before. it seemed to tom as though lord claud must have been in need of money, too, and have been selling his valuables to keep himself in funds. that seemed a strange shift for one to whom the state owed so heavy a debt. tom had perhaps sat still waiting for half an hour before the door opened to admit lord claud, who came in with a dark look upon his face, and threw down his hat and gloves upon the table with a smothered oath. then he saw tom, and the cloud lightened, although it did not disappear. he shook the young man warmly by the hand. "tom, you are come in a good hour, and an evil one! i was just wishing i had you to stand by me. what think you is the reply of those to whom i have proffered my claim on our behalf? they will have nothing of it. they will scarce give me a hearing. i may go to the duke of marlborough with my tale, they tell me in some scorn, as though incredulous of my words, but they will have nought to do with it. and will not even make an advance, whilst they know that to reach the duke one must run many a peril and risk much money. it is a shameful trick! i know they would not have dared treat all men so, but they think they may put their despite upon me!" he ground his teeth, and then broke out into strange wild talk which tom did not understand, though it inspired him with a sense of great anger against those in high places. moreover, he was not a little disturbed on his own account by the failure of lord claud. how should he pay his debts? how should he live himself? had he not risked his life for the sake of his country? had he not suffered scourging and sickness on her behalf? it took very little of lord claud's fire to kindle an answering flame in his own heart. his anger was always readily stirred, and his appreciation of his own merit caused him to feel the more hot and aggrieved. "tom," said lord claud suddenly, "there is one other way. if you have a clear head, a strong arm, and a stout heart, there is yet a hope that we may gain our ends." tom looked up eagerly. he saw something in lord claud's face which seemed to him strange, and which inspired him with a sense of keen, quick curiosity and excitement. he felt as though he were on the verge of some new discovery. his breath came thick and fast, but it was with eagerness, not fear. he had been so worked upon and played upon by a master hand, that the thought of fear found no place within his breast. what was this other way of which his master spoke? "the gold is ours, tom. we have won it with the best that is in us--with our heart's blood, as men say. it is ours. we have the right to it. if they withhold it in injustice, have we not the right to lay hands on it ourselves?" "ay, verily!" answered tom in a whisper, his eyes fixed upon the burning eyes of lord claud, which seemed to fascinate and hold him as the snake does the bird. then lord claud approached and laid a hand upon tom's shoulder, and standing over him, talked long and earnestly in a low, quiet voice, which nevertheless sounded trumpet-like in his ears. tom sat perfectly still, gazing at him and uttering no word, but within his heart the fire seemed to glow and kindle; and when lord claud paused and searched his face with his keen glance, he saw no faltering there. "then we are brothers once again, tom! brothers now and always!" "now and always!" echoed tom, in a voice almost the echo of lord claud's. "now and always!" chapter xiii. on the king's highway. a handsome and remarkably elegant vehicle stood at the door of lord claud's lodgings, with two fine horses harnessed to it. tom had never seen any conveyance at once so light and handsome, the cumbrous coaches of the times being little to his liking. he had always travelled afoot or on horseback hitherto, and he had expected to do the same now, when he received his summons from lord claud. that gentleman stood at the door, leisurely drawing on a pair of strong gloves. he nodded to tom as he came up. "it begins to get hot for saddle work," he remarked in his negligent tones; "besides, i want to make trial of this new-fashioned carriage. i won it from my lord of gratton three days since; and he boasts that it has been copied from one in the possession of the king of france, who is said to be a monarch of a very excellent taste. at least it will carry us to st. albans, and bring us safely back three days hence;" and turning to the valet who was holding his snuff box and cane, he added: "if any call and ask for me, tell them i have driven into the country, but look to be home in three days' time. "now, tom, get up, and we will see if we can reach st. albans ere the dusk fall upon us." lord claud was dressed in one of his finest suits; all white and silver, with here and there a dash of azure blue. his hat was set jauntily upon his golden curls, innocent today of any touch of powder. his blue eyes were dreamy and soft in expression. he looked like one who goes forth a-wooing, in all the gay frippery supposed to be pleasing in a maiden's eyes. he had even discarded his sword, and only wore a short jewelled rapier, such as he sometimes put on rather for ornament than use. he saluted passers by with an air of negligent grace, replying with a smile to those friends who paused and bandied jests with him, asking him where the fair lady was with whom he was going to visit. tom was also dressed in his best, and looked a fitting comrade for the young exquisite now leisurely mounting to the seat beside him. there was no place for a servant upon the carriage, and tom had learned by this time that lord claud was no more really dependent than he was himself upon the attentions of a valet. he was rather in a fog as to what all this was about, whither they were bound, and what they were to accomplish; but he was willing to be led by the strong will of his companion, and to follow him wherever he went. tom's irritation and perplexity had not decreased during the past days. he was at his wits' end for money; and it seemed to him that if he could not obtain the payment due, he must either trust to his luck at gambling for funds, or else go home and settle down at gablehurst once again. for the latter course he was not yet ready. his soul revolted from the thought of the life of the country squire. he had tasted of the cup of excitement and pleasure, and was not in the least prepared to relinquish it. he would rather face almost any alternative than go back to the life of the essex village, and sink down into the old routine. so he had been gaming somewhat recklessly these past days, and with varying success. there had been moments when he was plunged into despair; and then again the luck would shift, and he would feel that fortune was almost at his feet. yet at the end of the time matters were with him very much as they had been at the beginning; save that tom himself had grown more reckless an defiant, most lustful of gold, and less scrupulous how he obtained it, as is always the way with the true gambler, whether he is aware of it at the outset or not. now they were rolling along together through the gay streets of london, the hot summer sunshine making everything bright and joyous, filling tom with a great longing after the good things of this life, and a sense of bitter indignation at being defrauded of his due. lord claud handled the reins and drove his pair of fine horses with a skill which awoke the youth's admiration, and which attracted the notice also of the passers by. lord claud appeared rather to court observation than to shun it, and often paused to exchange a word with friends upon the footpath; always telling the same story of being on his way to st. albans; always smiling and evading a reply when asked to what particular house he was bound. nobody who saw the light and remarkable-looking carriage speeding on its way would be likely to forget it, and tom could not help rather wondering at the public fashion in which they took their journey forth. he had one encounter which he thought little of at the time, and certainly made no effort to evade. lord claud had pulled up the carriage to exchange a few words with a knot of dandies who had hailed him from the footway, and tom was sitting and looking about him at the passing throng. presently he was aware of the fixed stare of several pairs of eyes at an adjacent tavern window; and looking fixedly through the rather dull glass, he made out for certain that his friends, the four swaggering bullies, were the owners of these eyes. a minute or two later bully bullen stepped forth from the door, and accosted him with swaggering insolence of demeanour. "so, master tom, you make fine friends! and whither away so fast in that fine carriage? egad, there be truth in the old adage, 'set a beggar on horseback, and he will ride to the devil.' fine company, fine company for a country bumpkin to keep! but you'll find it finer than you think for one of these days! ho! ho! ho!" lord claud did not appear to hear or heed this newcomer's talk; but he showed that he had taken all in by just quietly shifting the long whip into tom's hands, whilst himself drawing tighter the reins. tom understood him in a moment. he took the whip, and the next moment it had whistled through the air, and caught the bully a stinging lash right across the face. at the sound of the crack of the lash the horses started forward, and in a moment the carriage was spinning away over the dusty road, followed by roars of laughter from lord claud's friends, and by roars of a different character from the indignant and outraged bully. "you will have to shoot those fellows one of these days," remarked lord claud coolly. "they are becoming a nuisance. men who are a nuisance ought to be put out of the way. london would be well rid of them." "they have been mine enemies from the very outset," said tom, "from the day when first we met, and you came to my rescue when they were baiting me. they have owed me a grudge ever since; but hitherto i have had the best of our encounters." "drunken sots have no chance against sober fellows with thews and sinews like yours, good tom; yet they can give trouble in other ways, and are better under ground than above it. i marvel they have all escaped so long; for they are well known for a set of ruffianly vagabonds, and well deserve the hangman's noose." the carriage spun fast over the ground, and the westering sun threw long shadows over their path as they rolled farther and farther through the country lanes, leaving the racket of the streets far behind. the country was familiar to tom, who had ridden over the same ground early in the year; but how different it all looked in the vivid green of early summer, instead of draped in a mantle of frost and snow! he felt a little elation of spirit as they drove through the old town, the observed of all observers. some friends of his own hailed him with eager nods of recognition, looking with a great admiration and respect at himself and his companion. tom felt his heart swell with pride, knowing that in time it would reach gablethorpe how he had been seen sitting in such state. he returned the salutations of old friends with easy good nature, but felt as though he belonged now to a quite different world; and his heart swelled with that sort of pride which is apt to be the forerunner of a disastrous fall. they did not stop at st. albans itself, but at a hostelry a little to the north of it, standing by itself in a pleasant leafy lane. lord claud appeared known to mine host, who made them welcome to the best his house had at disposal; and promised all care for the horses, which, as lord claud explained, had to make the return journey upon the third day. it was now somewhat late, so the travellers took their supper, and then went to bed; tom still in a state of subdued excitement and expectation, scenting coming adventure, but as yet only very imperfectly acquainted with the nature of it. he had suspicions of his own, which caused him alternations of dread and excitement; but he knew he should be told all in lord claud's time, and in the meanwhile silence was the best policy. the following day they spent in amusement in the town of st. albans. never were two men more active in the pursuit of pleasure than they. lord claud presented himself at the door of many a fine house, never failing to obtain an eager welcome both for himself and his friend. they spent the whole day in a round of amusement, making themselves mightily popular with their companions. they remained until hard upon ten o'clock in one house, and from thence returned straight to their inn, which was already shut up and dark, although the door had been left open for their return. up to their room they went, and there lord claud's manner suddenly changed. he seemed to throw off his careless gaiety as if it had been a garment, and at once the lines of his face began to change and harden. his eyes gleamed with a steady fire, and his voice lost all its soft indolence of tone. he went to a cupboard, which he unlocked, and there tom saw two bundles which appeared to contain clothes, and two saddles and bridles, which he knew had come from lord claud's stables. he looked from them to lord claud in questioning wonder. "how got they there?" "we brought them with us--secreted in the carriage. now, tom, we must no longer delay. we have stern and quick work to do this night; and then back to london with the reward that is ours by right, though they force us to take it by violence. the people here will swear that we slept this night within doors. you saw the landlord look out of his window as we entered to make sure who we were. he will be in bed now, sleeping the sleep of the just. you may be sure he will wake no more till five of the clock; and long ere that we shall be back--our work accomplished. "off with those fine trappings, and put on these clothes. then to saddle the nags, and so steal forth. i know all the tricks of the locks; we shall have nought to stay us." whilst he was speaking lord claud was unrolling one of the bundles, and quickly transforming himself into such a creature as tom had never seen before, though he had heard such described many times. his fine clothes were exchanged for a strong shabby riding suit of common cut and texture, that presented no distinct features, and would be most difficult either to describe or identify. he had a great pair of horse pistols stuck in his belt, and also wore a dangerous-looking weapon--something between a sword and a cutlass. his golden hair was tucked away beneath the collar of his coat, and his head was covered by a frowzy dark wig, that looked like untrimmed natural hair. he quickly blackened his face with soot from the chimney, and put on a black crape mask. a more villainous-looking creature, and one more utterly unlike lord claud, the exquisite, it would be hard to imagine. it appeared to tom as though even his figure had shrunk and become smaller. if he had not seen the metamorphosis with his own eyes, he would not have believed that it was his comrade who now stood before him. but the voice was the same, as lord claud quickly assisted him to change his garments, to assume wig and mask, and soot his forehead over. tom had not been unprepared for this denouement, and yet when he saw himself in the habiliments of a highway robber, his heart throbbed with a painful sense of wonderment at how it had all come about. yet the fascination exercised over him by his companion, and his own love of adventure and excitement, were so strong, that he did not know whether he dreaded or desired the coming struggle. "what are we going to do?" he asked in a low voice. "to take our due that they will not give us," was the stern reply. "they had their choice, and must abide by their blindness and obstinacy. i am not going to be treated with contempt; no one who has ever tried to do so has done it with impunity. every man has a right to his own--is it not so, honest tom?" "yes, truly," answered tom, with a note of indignation in his voice. "those who withhold our due must suffer for it." "they shall suffer in pocket; and if what we shall obtain this night be more than our due, the fault is theirs, not ours. tom, you are to taste a new experience this night--one which is full of joy to those who have drunk often of the cup. there be times when i say that i am happiest dressed as tonight, a good horse beneath me, a bright moon above, and a booty worth having well in view. it is so full of rare surprises and delight; and, if a man but have his wits about him, it is so monstrous easy, too!" tom seemed to catch the spirit of his comrade. those were days when crime was lightly thought of, though so heavily punished. a strain of recklessness in tom's blood made the notion of even robbery on the king's highway fascinating rather than terrible--at least when he could say to himself that he was but "taking his own." it was plain enough now that this was the secret of lord claud's life--hinted at more or less plainly by many before, but never altogether understood by tom. yet lord claud was received, feted, made much of in the society of the gay city, even by those who more than suspected where his influx of wealth came from. he had even received instructions, and been intrusted with an important commission, by one so high in office as the great duke of marlborough. surely there could be no great stigma resting upon one who was thus employed in the service of his country. it seemed to tom (as it has seemed to others before and since) that if only success crowned these efforts, there was no disgrace attached to them. but it was a significant if--and he knew it! "and suppose we are taken?" he said tentatively. "we should be hanged," answered lord claud coolly. "but we shall not be taken. make your mind quite clear on that point. do just as i tell you, and have no fears. the rest will follow of itself." tom had come to have that sort of implicit trust in his companion which some men have the power to inspire. it makes them dangerous to foes, because they appear to bear charmed lives; and their companions trust implicitly in their luck, and know no fear. tom felt that if lord claud told him to ride through fire or water, he would do it without hesitation, knowing that the thing was possible, and believing he would accomplish it. "come," said lord claud, "take your saddle and bridle and walk softly. it is time we were off now." they stole through the silent house, and round to the stable, where the horses were lying on beds of clean straw. they got up at the sound of their master's voice, but were so quiet in all their movements that it seemed as though they knew what was in the air. in five minutes they were free from the buildings, and the travellers mounted. the road lay before them in dappled lights and shadows from the brilliant moon overhead. it was as easy to see the way as though the sun had been up. once clear of the inn, and lord claud sprang forward at a steady, swinging hand gallop, a pace to which the horses settled down as though well habituated to it. then he began to speak to tom of the project on which they were bent. "there is gold on its way from the bank to the coast. it is guarded by four soldiers. they have been instructed to travel fast to catch a certain sloop. today they will have met with many hindrances upon the way. all that has been arranged for. so they will profit by this clear moonlight night to prosecute their journey, which will not lie through what is thought to be dangerous country. forest land and wild heath make men very careful, but quiet country roads where villages are frequent give them confidence. and yet it is just as easy to fall upon the prey in the latter as in the former locality. in sooth, i think it is easier. the men in charge rush back for help, thinking the more easily to track and follow us;" and then lord claud broke into a soft laugh, and began to whistle cheerily as they galloped forward. these horses were wonderfully strong and fleet. tom could not but remark it as they galloped mile after mile with unwearied energy. lord claud smiled in the moonlight as he replied: "oh yes, that is necessary. it is well to prove an alibi, if you know what that is, good tom. the honest folks where we come from will swear that we and our steeds were abed all night over yonder; but even if that should not be enough, there will be many who will declare that if we did not leave st. albans till past ten, we could never be at the spot i am aiming for and back again before break of day; and i shall take care to call mine host up betimes, so that there will be plenty of evidence that i have not been abroad this night." tom had heard often enough of the good understanding existing between innkeepers and the highway robbers who infested the roads, and now he began to see the workings of it, and to understand how easy it made some of these excursions, and how difficult it must afterwards be to obtain evidence against the freebooters. lord claud's handsome person, his freedom of speech, and his lavishly-spent gold, made him a favourite everywhere; and now he seemed about to employ his fascinations of mind and body for other purposes. tom was to see how they served him in a different sort of life. the rapid pace at which they were travelling hindered conversation. tom would not easily have believed it possible to travel so fast by night, but he trusted himself implicitly to the guidance of his comrade; and the strong, mettlesome, sure-footed horse he rode seemed to make nothing either of his solid weight, or of the distance they had to go. presently lord claud drew rein. they were passing through a little copse, where the light was but misty and indistinct, and where the road made a sudden sharp turn almost at right angles, affording complete shelter to any person or persons lying in ambush. "now, tom," said lord claud, "this is the spot i have chosen. there is a village not half a mile distant. the road is not a dangerous or lonely one--this is the only little bit of wood for some distance, and it is very small. no special precautions will probably be observed. there are two horses laden with gold, under the escort of two soldiers each. they had a larger guard to pass through the wilder forest country, but some of the men were to turn back when the perilous transit was made. most likely one horse and the two troopers will be a little in advance of the other. the moment the leading horse rounds this corner we shoot down the men. you need not kill your trooper, tom--indeed, i never kill unless there is need--it is enough to disable him. in a moment i shall have possession of the horse and shall gallop off. but i shall only possess myself of the treasure, and let the beast go. i have no wish to be tracked by him. now, if i am right in what i expect, the second troopers, hearing the shots and their comrades' cries, will believe themselves in peril of attack from a much larger gang, and will instantly fly to save their skins. this is what happens in five cases out of seven. it is seldom that a couple of men will stay to face what they believe to be a desperate gang of highwaymen. if this is so, dash you out upon the second horse. seize him, and follow me. i know every inch of the country, and those fellows know nothing but the roads. they will never catch us, even if they pursue. if, however, the second pair should prove fellows of a stouter kidney, and instead of fleeing should show fight, then leave the second prize and follow hard after me. we will not risk too much, and one load will suffice for present necessities, albeit i should like well enough to obtain the two. i would make our ministers smart for their scurvy treatment of me!" tom grasped the situation in a moment, and set his teeth hard, whilst the light of battle leaped into his eyes. the adventure suited the reckless self-confidence which his recent life had quickened. why should he not in time become a second lord claud, a man half feared, half admired by all london town, petted, made much of, observed and copied wherever he went? that his calling was suspected, if not actually known, tom had abundant reason to know. but it seemed rather to give a lustre to his reputation than to cover him with shame. why should he not attain in time to a like pinnacle of fame and fortune? thus he mused, standing there in the softened moonlight, the fierce and lawless strain in his nature for the moment in the ascendant, the influence of his strange comrade dominant in his heart. there was a sound at last. the horses heard it first and pricked their ears. next minute the riders heard it, too. it was the tramp, tramp of horses' feet upon the road, coming on at a leisurely pace, together with the jingling of arms and the sound of voices. tom's heart beat thick and fast, but his hand did not tremble as he followed lord claud's example and got ready his pistol. like two figures carved in stone sat the two liers-in-wait, their well-trained horses as motionless as themselves. crack! crack! the silence of the night was broken by the ominous sound. a yell of pain and fury arose. two horses turned back rearing, and dashed away, but the third was gripped by a strong hand; and before the party behind could see a vestige of what was happening, two riderless horses had galloped past them, throwing them into a panic of confusion and terror. lord claud had judged right in part. thrown into confusion, the men turned as if to flee, thinking themselves fallen amongst a large band of robbers. tom made a quick rush round the corner, seized the second pack horse by the bridle, and dashed off in pursuit of lord claud; but even as he did so he became aware that there were more than the two troopers in the party, and in a moment the sound of yells and cries behind him told him that he was pursued. but he had proved the pace of the horse beneath him, and if he could but possess himself of the bags upon the pack horse, and let the slower-paced beast go free, he knew he could distance pursuit. with a mighty effort he lifted the heavy bags and swung them over his shoulders; but even at that moment he heard the crack of firearms in the rear, and his good horse reared up perfectly erect, and tom had but time to slip off his back before the creature fell over backwards, and lay still and dead. tom had another pistol, and even as he reached the ground he turned round and fired full at the foremost pursuer. a cry of pain told him his shot had found a billet in horse or man. but he could stay for no more. already his mask and wig had fallen off. the moonlight struck full upon his face and the fine proportions of his figure. he saw that there were half a dozen men spurring onwards in pursuit; but he was full of that fury which gives to men an almost superhuman strength. leaping upon the back of the pack horse, he spurred the maddened and terrified animal to the wildest gallop, a gallop which he could never keep up, but which for the time being distanced all pursuit. then when he had winded his own beast, and knew that the pursuing horses must themselves be pretty well blown, he slipped from its back and began running like a hare across country in the direction taken by lord claud, knowing that however cleverly he might conceal himself, he would not be far away, and that he would keep an eye upon tom's line of flight, and come up with him as soon as it was safe to do so. the sounds of pursuit died away. tom looked back, and found himself alone in the fields and copses. his quick turnings and doublings, and the choice of ground difficult for horses, had served his purpose well. he was safe, and he had his prize with him. his heart swelled with pride at the success of his achievement. in a short while up rode lord claud, cool and smiling. "well done, tom; that was gallantly done. but we have lost one of our good steeds, and you have lost your mask. i trust that none saw your face?" "it came off when the horse plunged and reared, and i was cumbered with the moneybags," answered tom. "yet i doubt if any who saw me would know my face again; the soot upon my forehead at least would make it hard to be sure of the face. and none were very nigh at hand." "give me the bags, and take you my stirrup, and we will wend our way back as fast as may be. you can run like a hare, tom, as i have seen well. can you run step for step with a trotting horse for some few miles?" "try me and see," answered tom, who was not a little proud of his powers in this respect; and side by side through the misty summer's night stepped man and horse, both unwearied and full of courage. once lord claud insisted upon dismounting and letting tom ride for a few miles; but for the most part it was tom who trotted along step for step with the horse, thinking over the events of the night, and exulting in the triumph they had achieved. they reached the inn outside st. albans just as the dawn was breaking in the east. not a creature was stirring as they stabled the horse and made their way into the house. nor did they do this until saddle and bridle and moneybags had been safely locked away in the body of the carriage, which contained a cavity with a secret door, the trick of which seemed known only to lord claud. then they went to their room, removed all traces of travel from their faces--as tom had removed them from the horse in the stable just before--tied up their clothes in small compass, and got into bed just as the first sound of life began to be heard in the house. almost immediately then lord claud called loudly for the host, and bade him bring him instantly a hot posset, as he had had a touch of ague in the night. there was a good deal of bustling to and fro then, and servants passed in and out of the room, seeing both travellers lying peacefully in their beds, as though they had slept there all night. lord claud wrote a short note at once, and handed it to the host with a few whispered directions, to which the man replied with a nod and a wink; and then he took his posset, turned round and slept a while, and rose at the usual hour as though he had no reason for desiring longer rest. this day was spent as the previous one had been, in paying visits and joining in fashionable amusements. the news that there had been a robbery on the highway of some gold about to be shipped to holland for the troops excited a little commotion in the place, and once or twice tom fancied that he saw curious glances levelled at himself and his companion. lord claud talked upon the subject with his usual airy negligence, but without the faintest hint of personal interest in the matter. nor did he even "turn a hair" when rumour reported that there was a very decided clue as to the identity of one of the band, who had been recognized by some travellers on the road, who were going in the same direction as the troopers, and had assisted them in pursuing one of the robbers. the man had escaped; but it was asserted that he was known and could be sworn to at any time. this was not pleasant hearing for tom, but he showed a cool enough front at the time. it was only when alone with lord claud that he asked rather anxiously if he thought it could be true. "i doubt it," was the reply; "it is a common thing for men to make the boast, but it seldom proves correct. was it true that there were others besides the troopers on the road? i thought i saw more figures than i looked for, but knew not whether all were soldiers or not." "there were others," answered tom; "but i had no time to see what manner of men they were. there was much shouting and cursing, and i heard one man give an exultant laugh when i turned and fired; but more than that i know not." lord claud looked thoughtful. "well, tom, it boots little to meet danger half way. 'tis always best to put on a bold front and set it at defiance. but this remember, that nell gwynne shall be kept in readiness for you by night and day. and if ever you have reason to seek to save yourself by flight, the horse is yours; there will be money and a few necessaries strapped to the saddle. make your way incontinently to captain jack, who may always be heard of at the three ravens; and i will visit you there, and we will talk over the state of affairs." tom nodded, and looked a little relieved in mind; but he felt as though a cloud hung over his spirit despite his attempts at defying fate. next morning they started off in the carriage once more, and, to tom's astonishment, with (apparently) the same two horses. he looked at his comrade for a moment in mingled surprise and admiration. lord claud gave an odd little smile as he replied: "it is always well to be provided against accident, good tom. half the clever deeds of this world are rendered null and void because men forget to look ahead. we shall see the same persons driving back as we saw driving out. we must have the same steeds too, else would that dead horse lying in the fields tell a tale we would rather keep to ourselves." chapter xiv. the sword of damocles. back in london, his pockets full of money, fine clothes upon his back, and fine houses open to him when he went there in company with lord claud, it was small wonder if tom forgot his fears after a few days of such a life, and was only rendered uneasy when whispers reached him from time to time to the effect that the authorities were hot upon the track of the daring highway robber who had succeeded in making away with the queen's gold. a reward had been offered for the discovery and apprehension of the miscreants concerned in the affair, and at first tom had felt half afraid to show his face in the streets by daylight. but after a few days had passed by, and nothing had happened to arouse his anxieties, he had taken heart of grace. lord claud's example of nonchalance gave him coolness and courage; whilst the language and behaviour of the fine folks with whom he came in contact helped to dull and deaden any pangs of conscience which the wickedness of the midnight raid might otherwise have occasioned him. he saw perfectly well, from the glances of admiration and arch reproof levelled at lord claud by the ladies in the gay company which he kept, that his patron was suspected in many quarters of being concerned in this recent robbery. fine dames would tap him with their fans, and ask him what he had been doing at st. albans on such and such days; and when he replied as to his whereabouts with that easy grace of bearing which always characterized his dealings with men and women alike, they would shake their heads, flirt their fans, and call him by whimsical names incomprehensible to tom, but which he knew implied that he was suspected of being concerned in very wild and lawless deeds. yet these suspicions on the part of the ladies raised this handsome golden-haired adonis to a higher pinnacle of favour than ever. it seemed to tom that so long as a crime was carried out with dash, and verve, and success, it only brought a man fame and honour. he shivered sometimes when he thought of his mother and sister, and what they would think if they suspected that he had been led into an open act of law breaking and robbery. but he felt a little flattered in the society of these fine dames, when he saw that they looked at him with interest and curiosity, and wondered if he had played the part of lieutenant to their hero in the recent exploit. he had been growing used to the strange ways of that portion of the london world in which lord claud had his sphere, but even yet it did seem strange, when he began to think about it, that a man believed to be a notorious but exceedingly clever criminal, should be received, courted, flattered, and made much of, as was lord claud, just because of his handsome presence and dashing grace of bearing, and because he had never been caught. tom wondered sometimes how these same faces would look at them, were they to be carried in irons to newgate; and he fancied that under such circumstances they would wear a totally different aspect. but for the most part he sought to drown thought and reflection by plunging into a vortex of gaiety. he was no longer laughed at as a country bumpkin. he had been quick to pick up the airs of a man about town. he dressed excellently, having toned down his first fopperies; and finding that a rich and sober style best suited his fine proportions, he adopted that, made his mark, and was treated with respect and courtesy. he had not learned the jargon of the day, and was a silent man in company; but that was considered rather a distinguishing trait in one who could handle the sword and lose his money at the gaming tables with the aplomb that tom had acquired. and a fine sum did he lose, too, during the days that followed upon the escapade; for he felt a sort of recklessness upon him, and as he had a sense of being hunted down and tracked, he thought he might make the most of freedom and wealth so long as they were his. he was lord claud's guest for those days, feeling safer in his company than elsewhere; and that worthy appeared not to know fear. indeed, he had succeeded in covering his tracks so well, that tom did not see how anything could be brought home to his door. it made him think of words he had heard dropped before, to the effect that to be lord claud's confederate was to be also his victim. he wondered if there had been any truth in these insinuations, and whether he was trusting in a man who was ready to save himself at the risk of his friend. it was difficult to believe this when in the company of his patron. it was when alone that the doubts would at times assail him, and therefore he was happier in the company of lord claud than in any other. he had not been to his old lodgings since his escapade. he felt an odd sort of reluctance to facing honest master cale, and parrying the questions which might be addressed to him. but he resolved not to let a second sunday pass without a visit; and upon the saturday he returned thither, dressed in his sober riding suit, and striving to meet the welcome of his host with an air of unconcerned and natural gaiety. "good tom, you are welcome indeed!" exclaimed the perruquier eagerly, taking him by the hand and drawing him within. "i have been suffering no small anxiety upon your account, my lad. i trust and hope without any cause." tom forced a smile, and hoped it was a natural one, as he asked gaily: "and wherefore this fear for me, good mine host?" "there have been ugly whispers in the air ever since the robbery of the gold on its way to holland. men will talk and wonder, and it was known to all that lord claud had driven forth the day previous northward from london, and that you were his companion. men's tongues have wagged for less than that, tom, and for less weighty matters." the little man was scanning his guest's face somewhat earnestly. tom felt a most unwelcome qualm of shame and pain, such as he had only experienced before when thinking of his mother and sister. "why, master cale, lord claud was but visiting his friends at st. albans, far enough away from where they say the robbery took place. he will have no trouble in proving that he was never two miles from st. albans upon that night; and i was with him the whole time, sharing his room and his company." "well, well, well," answered cale, with a look of some relief, "i would never willingly believe harm of any man. but there are more strange tales flying about with regard to yon lord claud than about almost any other man in town; and folks say that many a likely lad, dashing and brave, has become confederate for a time with him, and has then vanished no man knows whither. i would not that such a fate should befall you, tom." a slight shiver ran through tom's frame. he felt that there was an ugly suggestion in these words. how easily might some disastrous turn of fortune's wheel that other night have left him a victim upon those fields instead of the gallant horse who carried him! how skilfully and easily had lord claud played upon him, prompting him to an act which a few months ago he would have shrunk from in the greatest horror! there was something almost diabolic in the beauty, the fascination, the cleverness, of the man. tom made a resolution, as these things flashed through his mind, that he would have no more dealings with him, if this was what they led to. he even began to doubt now whether it was true that he had applied in vain for the reward promised them for their secret service expedition. it might all be a part of a preconcerted plan, in order to cajole tom into thinking he had some sort of right to act as they had done with regard to this money. he began to feel doubts of everything now, and above all of himself. had he been made a tool of and a dupe? and was he walking blindfold into a net ready for his feet? he slept but restlessly upon his bed that night, revolving many things in his mind, and almost resolving to see lord claud no more, but to adopt a new method of life in this wonderful city, albeit he scarcely knew what that life should be. tom's hot blood had been fired by the adventures of the past months; his vanity had been flattered by the success which he had met with; his self confidence (always rather too strong) had grown and increased with great rapidity. he felt that without adventure and peril of some sort life would be tame and flat. to live as master cale lived, a quiet uneventful life of honest toil, seemed repugnant to him. even to do as harry gay did, and pass the time in wandering between coffee houses and the play, or taking a wherry and rowing hither and thither on the great river, or walking or riding into the country--all this now seemed to him tame and tiresome. he turned and tossed upon his bed, wondering what had come to him, and what life held in store for him. he thirsted for adventure, for the excitements and perils which he had experienced of late. his blood tingled at the memories he conjured up of those things he had passed through--the strife of arms, the fierce joy of battle, the breathless gallops from pursuing foes, and the hairbreadth perils they had come through. that was life! that was what he longed after! he cared little for the gay resorts of town, save as an interlude. the life of the streets soon palled upon him. but there was no attraction in the thought of home and the peaceful existence there. he must see more of the world, he must enjoy more of life, before he could ever dream of going back to gablehurst to live. but what could he do? he fell asleep pondering upon this problem, and when he awoke it was the first thought in his head. but, as is so often the case when one has gone to sleep pondering upon a problem, the solution had come to him during the hours of unconsciousness, and he awoke with a new inspiration. "why not offer for the secret service?" tom pondered this question all the while that he was dressing. there were difficulties in the way, of course. the duke of marlborough--the only man to whom he could apply with any hope of success--was out of the country; tom knew not where he would be found just now, though that could easily be ascertained. he himself was ignorant of foreign tongues, although he had picked up a little understanding of french, and could speak a few simple phrases. but he had plenty of confidence in his strength and courage. he felt that his energies demanded now a wider field of exercise; and if he could but get his chance, he had full assurance that he would make a brilliant name for himself in some way or another. this idea brought back all his high spirits. he saw that it would be necessary once more to consult lord claud, who would probably be able to give him excellent advice. but after that, tom told himself, he would have no more dealings with that mysterious personage, but would throw himself into the service of the great duke with such zealous goodwill as should lead him to fame and fortune at last. he had a feeling, also, that he should be happier out of london and out of the country just at this juncture. lord claud's careless indifference to consequences had had its effect upon him; but he was not quite comfortable yet, and the feeling of being watched and hunted for was an exceedingly unpleasant one. he felt a distinct qualm of uneasiness that very morning as he and his host sat at breakfast together. "i am going to fetch rosamund," said the perruquier, as the meal drew to its close; "but if you will take my advice, good tom, you will not sally forth into the streets today." "and wherefore not?" asked tom. "i misdoubt me that you are watched for here, tom. it may be my fancy, but several times during these past days i have seen ill-looking fellows prowling nigh at hand--one or another of those four bullies, of whose discomfiture rosy has told me, and young harry also. once the fellow they call slippery seal came boldly to the shop asking news of you from the apprentice; but the lad had the wit to reply that he thought you had ceased to lodge here. nevertheless i have seen one or another of them skulking about since then, and it may be they will suspect that you may choose today for a visit to us." "and what do they watch me for?" asked tom, with heightened colour, but looking at cale with an air of something almost like defiance, though his heart misgave him the while. "nay, tom, that is a question you should be able to answer better than i. if there be no cause of offence against you, why, then, do as you will, and go where you will. yet men have ere now been haled to prison and to the gallows for sins that have been less theirs than those who set them on." tom's face was very grave. he was not afraid of adventure and peril; but the thought of prison and disgrace--to say nothing of a felon's death--seemed to paralyze the beating of his heart with a numb sense of horror. truly, if this sort of danger dogged his steps, the sooner he was out of the country the better for himself! but he would see rosamund once more, and spend one happy day in her company. if he went out into the streets, it had better be after the summer dusk had fallen, when cale took his daughter home. he agreed, therefore, to remain within doors all that day; and he was not sorry he had done so when presently he observed two of his enemies slowly prowling past the house, scanning the windows furtively, and talking together in very earnest tones. could it be possible that these men had been of the company travelling with the troopers that night? could they have got wind in some mysterious way of what was afoot, and have followed to seek his ruin? tom had reason to know that these men bore him a grudge, and had threatened revenge, and that they hated lord claud equally with himself. harry gay had warned him that they were dangerous fellows; and tom had not lived all this while in london without being well aware that there were ways and means of obtaining information, and that every man had his price. if they suspected him to be concerned in the robbery, they would take every possible means to hunt him down. tom set his teeth as this thought came to him. to be the victim of the spite of a party of low villains, who were only fit themselves for the hangman's halter! the thought was not to be borne. better, far better, the life of the forest with captain jack! there at least he would be free of this persecution; and perhaps the day would come when he should find his foes at his mercy, and take his revenge upon them! a very little brooding of this sort sufficed to set tom's hot blood boiling. he had no wish to join himself with freebooters and law breakers; but if they hunted him beyond a certain point, he would not hesitate to fly to those who would give him safety and a welcome. he had heard plenty of tales by this time of impoverished gentlemen, disbanded soldiers, falsely-accused persons of all sorts, who had been forced to fly to the freedom of the forest, and live as they could. since the days of bold robin hood there had always been outlaws of the better, as well as the worse, sort. tom had no wish to throw aside his code of morality and honour; but if men would not let him live as a peaceable citizen, they should suffer for it! to be cooped up in dusty streets amid hot brick walls during these long beautiful summer days, was a thing not to be endured. go he would and must; and if he could not find work for himself in the secret service, why not enter a secret service of another kind, and teach the authorities not to hound a man too far? this was tom's method of reasoning--evading the question of his own guilt by the excuse that he only took what was his by right. it is easy to believe what one wishes to believe, and tom had never found it hard to persuade himself that what he desired was the best course of action to pursue. how cool and fresh the green glades of the forest would look in the glancing june sunbeams! a good horse beneath him, the free skies above, a trusty comrade at his side--what could be more pleasant? tom drew a deep breath and fell into musing thought. one thing was very certain: he was in danger from those enemies of his. he would take care not to be caught like a rat in a trap. he knew a better way than that! in musings such as these time swiftly fled away, and soon he heard the voices of rosamund and her father in the house below. rosamund greeted him with shining eyes, and a glance of keen curiosity and soft admiration, which he found mighty pleasant. she at least had not harboured unkind thoughts of him, and it was very plain that he had become the hero of her girlish dreams. she wanted him to tell her all that had befallen him since their last meeting. she listened with eager, breathless attention to what he had to say; and although he spoke nothing of the one event which was always in his thoughts, it seemed as though she half suspected that he had been the witness of, or the partaker in, some strange and fearsome adventure, for the colour went and came in her cheeks, and she seemed always waiting for more each time that he paused. she asked in a low voice if he had heard anything of the bold act of robbery; and tom answered that he had heard a good deal. coming a pace or two nearer him, she looked wistfully into his face and asked: "have they told you that there was one man of very goodly height, strong of arm and stout of heart, who dropped his mask in the heat of the fray, so that the moonbeams smote full upon his face, which was only blacked above and below? did you hear that news spoken by any?" "i think i heard that something of that sort had befallen," answered tom as carelessly as his beating heart would allow. "but oh, sir," she asked yet more earnestly, "did any tell you that the tall bold robber was said to favour yourself? indeed, some say that it must surely be you--even though you were so far away!" tom looked as he felt, a little startled at that. "how heard you that, mistress rose?" "harry gay heard it in the taverns. it is the talk in some of them. and he heard these four bad men, who were sworn to vengeance, as that they have a halter about your neck already, and they only wait till they have you safe to pull it tight. "o tom, tom, do not let them do you this despite! have a care, oh, have a care how you fall into their hands, for they are without mercy, and full of evil passions, and greedy for the promised gold. they would swear any man's life away to obtain the reward; and how much sooner yours, whom they hate!" tom felt a strange tremor run through him, half rage, with a dash of fear, and some emotion sweeter than he had ever experienced before, and therefore more strange. he suddenly found himself clasping rosamund's hands in his, and saying: "sweet rose, would you care if hurt were to befall me?" her brimming eyes and quivering lips gave eloquent answer. he stood very still, holding her hands clasped between his; and when he released them, he answered with a new note in his voice: "have no fears, sweetheart. they shall not have me. i have plans that will foil them yet. but think not too well of me, rosamund. i am not the hero you would make me out. i am a mad fellow, and have played the fool once too often; but for all that they shall not get me." "keep out of their clutches, and i care for nothing else!" cried rosamund, her eyes alight with excitement. but they could exchange no more confidences, for cale's voice was heard summoning them to dinner; and after that meal they sat together in the cool parlour, and passed the time in talk, having no fear of being disturbed, for none knew of their being within. generally in summer weather cale took his daughter for a long ramble, and sometimes did not return to the house till after he had left her at her aunt's house in highgate. the light slowly waned and faded. in the open country the day would be bright for some while longer, but in narrow streets it went faster. down in the basement, where they had taken their supper, it was growing quite dark, although no lamp had yet been lit. cale was just saying that he must take rosamund home, and was debating within himself whether it would be wise for tom to accompany them, when there was a sharp, determined knocking at the door, which made rosamund jump quickly up with blanching cheeks, whilst cale threw a startled look at tom, whose face had grown suddenly set and pale. "open in the queen's name!" cried a loud and authoritative voice from without. and cale rose at that summons, for it was not one he might dare to disobey. the moment he was gone rosamund sprang to her feet. "quick, quick! this way! there is a window at the back. i will let you out, and bar it after you, and throw the key away. come, i will show you where!" tom sprang after her into a little back kitchen, the door of which the girl promptly locked and barred behind them. the only other outlet was a narrow window, fastened by a bar that could be locked across it with a padlock. this she flung open, and disclosed to view a narrow court beneath. "jump out," she cried; "run across, and you can easily scramble upon the roof of yon low outbuilding. from thence you can creep along into the lane at the back; and, if no one be watching, drop down there and fly for your life. but if there be a spy set, then climb up by the gutterings upon the roof--harry gay has done it many a time--and you will find a hundred ways of outwitting them and escaping down some back alley. "o tom, make haste! i hear angry voices in parley with my father. he will detain them as long as may be. but be thou gone quickly. oh, do not delay!" "i will not," answered tom, with his hands upon the windowsill; "and i thank you from my heart for your goodwill to me this night. give me one kiss, sweetheart, and bid me good speed. pray heaven you have a welcome for me when you see me next!" she kissed him with the tears standing in her eyes. "i shall always have a welcome for you, tom," she answered; "i shall think of you always till i see you again. but oh, go! go now! and heaven prosper and be with you! oh, they are coming! delay no longer!" tom was already outside the window, and now sped forth to do her bidding. she saw him scramble up the rough wall of the building opposite, and make his rapid way along, as she had said. she craned out to see what he would do when he reached the corner, and watched as he made a careful survey, and then dropped into the lane at the back. she listened with all her ears, but there was no sound of pursuit or struggle. it had been as she hoped. no one had thought of that possible way of escape. no doubt the back door of the yard was watched; but she would never have sent him out by that. instantly she closed and barred the window, throwing the little key away into the court below. then she softly unlocked the door and set it ajar, and began washing her dishes in the dim twilight of the scullery, singing a little song to herself the while. in the house above there was the sound of tramping feet and loud voices. she heard her father say quietly: "her majesty's warrant must be obeyed. seek what you will, and take what you will. i know nothing of any criminal. i have none such in hiding here. i am an honest citizen, and have nothing to fear. do your will. i hinder you not." the next minute cale had come softly into the back kitchen, and was exchanging a silent but meaning glance with his daughter. he saw in a moment by her face that all was well. tom had made good his escape. the longer the search continued in the upper rooms, so much the longer would the fugitive have to put distance between him and his pursuers. at last the feet came downstairs, and a lantern was flashed all round the basement rooms. "here is a window!" cried one. "if the bar were down a man could squeeze himself out. when was this window last opened?" rosamund looked up and said quietly: "the key is lost. we cannot open it. what are you wanting in this house, gentlemen?" she spoke in a soft voice, and the rough fellows answered with more gentleness. "we are looking for one thomas tufton, your father's lodger, for whose apprehension we hold a warrant. he was seen to enter this house last night, and has not left it since." "he left it a short time ago, in the dusk," answered rosamund indifferently. "but wherefore is he arrested?" "we have sworn information that he was seen to be one of the men concerned in the recent robbery of the queen's gold. we have testimony enough to hang him, if we can but lay hold upon him. did he say where he was going, mistress?" "i think he spoke of rotherhithe," answered rosamund, after a moment's reflection; "but i paid no special heed." at this moment an impatient voice from the open door above cried out: "why do you not bring him forth? he must be there still! what means the delay? he can be an ugly customer, truly, but sure you have mastered him by this!" in a few minutes more rosamund saw the ugly, shifty face of slippery seal drawing near to them, and he was followed by another of the same crew, peering eagerly this way and that, as though they looked to see tom pinioned in the midst of the group. "where is he?" they cried. "flown!" answered the others, with a touch of sullenness in their voices. "you have led us a fine chase, truly; first to be made fools of by that dashing young spark, whom it is not good to meddle with, and then disturbing this honest citizen and his daughter! zounds! you drunken fellows, if you lead us this sort of dance we shall believe no word you say again. i trow well that you were all of you more than half drunk upon the night you professed to see this thing done. how are we to know you are to be trusted in swearing it was this young man at all? master cale speaks well of him, and his word is worth twenty oaths from the likes of you. "goodnight, master; goodnight, mistress. i am sorry we disturbed you on the testimony of these ill-living fellows." rosamund's heart beat high with joy and triumph. she felt she could have kissed the burly officer of the law. but her bright colour paled again as she heard the exclamation of slippery seal, prefaced by a string of horrid oaths. "he has escaped! these cales are hiding him! but he shall not escape us! we will not lose the reward. after him, i say, after him, all of us! i know the tracks the fellow will make. it will go hard if we get not up with him ere he has shaken the dust of london from his feet!" chapter xv. away to the forest. tom found no trouble in escaping from the house of the perruquier by the way suggested by rosamund; and once in the dusky streets, he made good use of his long legs to carry him out of the vicinity of danger. he knew now that there must be a warrant out against him, and that london was no place for him--that he must fly somewhere beyond the reach of pursuit. he remembered lord claud's promise about the trusty mare, nell gwynne. well, he would go once more to this strange friend of his, and see how he would stand by him in danger's hour. tom's blood was up. he felt like a man goaded into recklessness and crime by the action of others. if they would not let him live as a peaceable citizen--well, he would give them something to remember him by! quickly he made his way along, running like a hare when the street was empty, but always observing caution, and only striding along like a man in haste when there were passers by to note him. he felt sure that rosamund's quick wits would do much to gain time and give him a start; and, sure enough, he reached the stable yard where lord claud's horses were kept without a sign or sound of pursuit. as luck would have it, there was the master himself standing in the yard talking to his headman. tom strode straight up to him with a strange gleam in his eyes, for he knew not even now whether this man were friend or foe. "i am come for the mare," he said briefly; "you remember your promise?" lord claud gave him a swift, keen glance, as though he heard a new note in tom's voice. "i do. i will not fail you," he said very quietly. then to the man standing by, "bring out nell gwynne. you have your instructions. see that nothing is forgotten." the man vanished into the dark stable. lord claud turned to tom. "what has befallen?" "there is a warrant out against me. they would have taken me in master cale's house half an hour back, but for the shrewdness and quick wit of his daughter. this is no place for me. my head is in danger. i must forth with all speed; but whither?" "i should take to the forest, tom. captain jack will welcome you gladly," said lord claud, as calmly as though discussing some indifferent project. "it is just the life for you. you will make a great name there. and that you will never do, my friend, in the gay world of london." "i have thought of that," said tom between his shut teeth; "but it means the life of an outlaw--and a death on the gallows, perchance, to end it!" "pooh, nonsense! not for a fine strapping young fellow of your thews and your wits! it means a few gay years of excitement and peril, a little influence in high places, which can always be bought with gold, and a free pardon and a return home. leave that part of the business to me. i have played the game often enough to understand the moves. meantime, you will be free and safe there. elsewhere, the gates of a prison may yawn for you at any moment." tom shivered in spite of the warm night air. "death rather than that! but is it the only way? i had thought the secret service might find me some task." lord claud shook his head slightly. "in time, perhaps, in time; but you are too sorely beset at this moment for that. we will talk of that later. now you must away with all speed. my house will be watched next. indeed, i have had some ill-looking fellows asking questions and hanging round already. to the forest with you, good tom, to the forest. that is the only safe place for you now. if you fled to gablehurst, you would only bring sorrow and shame on all who love you. lucky for you your mother still reigns there. leave it to me to set her mind, and that of your sister, at rest concerning you. but you must to the forest, my good comrade, and to the free and merry life there. egad! i could wish that i were going with you myself! indeed, i may perchance join you there ere long. but we must not vanish together, tom. we must use caution and circumspection." tom set his teeth, and a fierce wave swept over him, half of rage, yet half of joy. the longing for freedom, struggle, adventure, was strong upon him. the restraint of the city, the bare thought of captivity, put wild thoughts into heart and brain; but the sense of having been betrayed--made a tool of--befooled by this handsome, imperious man beside him, set his blood boiling in his veins. at that moment nell gwynne was led out, making sparks fly from her feet as she plunged in passing beneath the doorway. she looked in perfect condition--sleek, mettlesome, strong, and beautiful. tom's heart leaped at the sight of the splendid creature, who turned a responsive head at the sound of his voice, and dropped her velvet nose into his hand. "she is yours, tom, from this moment," said lord claud, signing away the servant, and himself holding her head; "take her as the gift of one who is neither so indifferent nor so callous as you may think. here is a purse of gold, too, tom--all your own, my lad, so shrink not from taking it. tom, whatever be the end of this friendship betwixt us, believe that i have loved you. it is my luckless lot to bring misfortune at times to those who consort with me; yet methinks they have their fierce tastes of joy, too. tom, i shall not forget you. i shall hear of you. i shall sometimes see you; and i shall be your friend, whether or not you believe it now. you shall not always need to dwell in the forest. you shall return thence with fame and fortune secure. "but, for the present, farewell. captain jack will give you welcome. he will be looking to see you. he will welcome you gladly. you will find it no such bad life, believe me. but delay not longer. be off!" tom was in the saddle, and the mare reared beneath him with a snort of glad anticipation. she had done no work this many a day, being kept in readiness for tom's use, with only the needful modicum of exercise up and down within hail of her stable. lord claud stretched out his hand, and tom put his within it. after all, he loved this man in spite of all his faults and follies, and the strange reputation which clave to him. he might be false, but tom had trusted him, and he desired to trust him to the end. then he rode forth in the soft summer darkness, turning the mare's head westward at first, to get clear of the streets and houses, and only heading her north and then east as he made a wide circuit of the city. to ride through it would have been to court capture; and even as it was, as he sprang forward upon the better road which lay straight for the forest to the northeast, he had a suspicion of being followed, although he could see nothing as he looked back. the mare bounded beneath him with great, elastic strides. he could afford to laugh pursuit to scorn. perhaps this confidence made him careless, for he noted not two motionless figures, lying as it were in ambush, one on either side of the road in front, just where a clump of great trees threw a deep shadow across the road. he had thought of foes following behind; but he had not thought of their forestalling his movements and waiting for him in advance. the mare saw them first, and swerved violently. that swerve most likely saved her life, if not tom's, for at that identical moment two shots rang out, and bully bullen with a shout of triumph sprang forward, certain that his bullet had found its billet, and that tom was in his power at last. the fire long smouldering in tom's breast burst out now into a fierce flame. his eyes blazed. a smothered imprecation broke from his lips. he drew the pistol from his belt, and fired full at the fellow who had sought to seize the mare's rein. he might almost have spared his fire, for nell gwynne would have dashed out his brains with her forefeet had he not fallen with a groan, a lifeless corpse. the other man, who had seemed about to rush forward, too, now started back in terror and dismay. sheltering himself behind a tree, he yelled out in a voice of trembling fury: "you shall swing for this, tom tufton! you shall feel the halter about your neck right soon! the highway robber who is a murderer to boot will never escape the arm of the law! i will bring you to the gallows ere i have done with you!" tom knew the voice, and turned the mare's head towards the fellow, who, however, decamped so quickly amongst the trees that it was hopeless to try and follow on horseback. moreover, tom did not know that he was not also pursued from behind; and if so, he must gain the friendly shelter of the forest ere his enemies came up. true, he had but slain this fellow in self-defence. he had been well-nigh the victim himself. but the crime thus forced upon him seemed to cut the last cable which bound him to the life of the past. they might not be able to prove upon him the robbery of the gold, but at least one witness had seen him shoot down bully bullen, and would doubtless swear that there had been no provocation beyond that of seeking to take into custody a man upon whose head a reward had been set. he touched the mare with the spurs, and set her head straight for the forest. the late moon was beginning to silver the world about him; tom saw the ground gliding ghostlike beneath him as the noble creature sprang forward. "away to the forest! away to the forest!" seemed the tune beaten out by the rhythm of her flying feet. no fear from pursuit now! tom sang and shouted in the strange tumult of his feelings, as he galloped through the soft, scented night. lord claud had been right. the forest was the place for him. he had tried the life of the rustic, the life of the town exquisite; and both had palled upon him. the clash of arms, the peril of the road, adventure, battle, pursuit, victory--these things held him in thrall. these things meant life to him. better that he should not see mother or sister again at present. better that lord claud should tell them some smooth tale, which would set their minds at rest for a while. later, perhaps, when the hue and cry for him was over, he would seek the shore, would find his way to other lands, and by the power of his good right arm would win himself a name amidst the din of battle. the future seemed to unfold itself before him in glowing colours. life held so many golden possibilities even yet. what might not a man accomplish who had a purse of gold in his belt, a noble horse beneath him, a trusty sword at his side? visions rose before his eyes of the things he would accomplish, the fame he would acquire, the return home he would finally make with laurels round his brow! even here in the forest he would be no common freebooter. he would show himself merciful to the poor and oppressed; he would only take toll of the sleek and the fat, whose wealth was doubtless as ill-gotten as that of those whose lives he had watched of late. "men shall pay toll to tom tufton!" he cried, waving his sword above his head in a fierce gesture of triumph; "but the poor and the needy shall bless his name, and the oppressed shall find a haven of refuge with him!" by which it may be seen that master tom's self confidence was in no way diminished by the vicissitudes through which he had passed, and that he was looking forward once again to playing a leading part in some new drama of life. the border of the great forest loomed up before him. it looked dark and solemn beneath the shade of the trees. tom drew rein, and looked keenly to right and left, for he knew that the three ravens inn could not be far away. "who goes there?" asked a voice which tom's quick ear recognized instantly; and he cried out in tones of eager welcome: "it is i, tom tufton--and you are captain jack!" there was a movement of the brushwood, and a horseman stepped out, the horse having given an eager whinny at the sound of tom's voice. "it is wildfire!" cried tom, bending over to pat the sleek neck of his old favourite. "well, good fellow, have you had a luckier career than your old master? and yet i scarce can say i wish it undone. i have tasted life; i have had my glorious days. "captain jack, i am come to you for shelter. there is a price on my head. i am outlawed in effect if not in reality." "i have heard it. i expected you," answered captain jack in the friendly fashion in which he had spoken before to tom. "i have had news from lord claud. it is not the first time he has sent his pupils to me." "have i been his pupil?" asked tom with a half laugh; "in sooth, methinks i have been rather his dupe!" "a little of both," was the answer. "but we must all pay the penalty of friendship with great men. yet i think the price is worth the paying. and now, tom, if that grand horse of yours is as little weary as she looks, let us forth together to some place where none may follow us. and let me tell you that it is not to every one lord claud would present his favourite mare, trained like a human creature for her trade." "you know her?" asked tom eagerly. "nell gwynne and i have been acquainted this many a day. there be some of her fierce tricks that have been learned from my hand. i have been teaching the same to wildfire and wildgoose. we shall not be taken or overcome through lack of good beasts to bear us, tom." "you have wildgoose, too?" "yes, i sent after him shortly. he was too grand a beast to be wasted upon a varlet of a serving man. if you have more of the same stock at home, tom, we might make shift to get at them anon; but for the present we are well enough mounted." they rode side by side through the forest tracks, nell gwynne and wildfire making acquaintance with apparent mutual satisfaction as they stepped pace for pace together, their riders talking in quiet fashion over their heads. tom told the whole story of his adventures since arriving in london in october; and hard indeed was it to believe that months and not years had rolled over his head during that time. "not bad, not bad! well done for a young cockerel! ah, we shall make a man of you, tom! it is in your blood, i can see well!" such were the comments of captain jack as he heard the tale; and tom spoke with an unconscious pride in his own daring, which plainly betokened an undaunted spirit and a thirst after more adventure and distinction. angry and hot against those who had "driven him forth," as he called it, reckless of consequences, with boundless self confidence, he was just the tool fit for the hand of captain jack, who patted him upon the back in a friendly fashion, and said: "yes, yes, tom, you shall learn how to take toll. we will have another story of tom tufton's toll ere we part company. there are good men enough amid the bands that infest these forest glades--men suffering unjustly, men falsely accused, men who have broken from those noisome prisons, which breed disease and death, and who would sooner put a bullet through their head than return to the filth and degradation of such a life. ah, it is the hardness of the laws which drives men to be freebooters on the road! the rich may fatten and batten, rob, cheat, bleed their fellows to death; but let one of us lesser men dare to lay hands upon their fat purses, full of other men's gold, and we are branded as felons, and pay the ransom with our lives! that is not justice. that is not to be borne patiently. i tell you, tom, that i have seen enough of the injustice of the law to turn my heart to molten metal and my blood to gall. we want fellows of your mould to wage the war and win the victory. the day may come when you will win for yourself a great name, and shine forth upon the world admired, courted, feared--even like lord claud!" a thrill of gratified vanity ran through tom's frame. he threw to the winds the last scruple of conscience. he flung back his head and set his teeth. "ride on--i follow!" he cried, in a strange, hoarse voice; "i follow unto the world's end!" so side by side the two men vanished into the deep gloom of the forest; and captain jack led his companion to one of those secret haunts of his own, where no pursuing foot had ever yet penetrated. tom drew a long breath as of relief, feeling that here at least he was safe. and yet, when he sought to compose himself to rest after all the excitements of the past four-and-twenty hours, he found himself unable to sleep. the face of his mother, loving, wistful, reproachful, seemed ever rising before him. was it not due to her that he should see her once again, even though he might be afterwards obliged to fly back to the forest? was there not a chance--just a chance--that his enemies might not follow him to his own home?--might not even know where that home lay? at least, might he not see whether he was followed before he abandoned the idea of seeing once more the mother and sister who loved him so well? with the first light of dawn he woke up captain jack, and put the case to him; and the elder man sat cogitating deeply, as tom moved about making ready the morning meal. "tom, lad," he said, "you are safer here; but i understand your feelings. a man's first duty is to his mother if he have no wife. and your mother is a good woman. squire tufton would never have married her else. "listen to me, my lad. i like you. i would fain have you for a comrade and friend; and i fear that you will not long be left in peace at home. but you shall do this thing. you shall go to your mother--" "ah, that is a good word!" cried tom, now all eagerness. "i shall at least see her once again!" "yes, you shall see her again; you shall make glad her heart. but, tom, tell her nothing of all this that has befallen you, nor of the peril in which you stand. let her never know, come what will, that you may be driven to take to the forest, for fear of the unjust rigour of the law and the machinations of unscrupulous foes." "i would gladly be spared paining her by such a tale," said tom quickly; "but how--" he paused, and captain jack took up the word. "i know what you would say. how if you have suddenly to fly again? how if aught should come to her ears? now listen, tom, and i will tell you what i will do. i loved your father. i vowed in my heart that if ever the day should come that i could serve him, i would do so; and therefore i will do what i can for his son. hear me, tom. i have means of knowing many things. i can set my scouts to work. therefore, go you home to your mother. i will meantime set my men to the task. i will communicate with lord claud. if peril threaten, you shall have warning. tell your mother that the duke of marlborough may have need of you again for the secret service, and that at any moment you may be forced to quit the house suddenly and secretly. having made her understand that, enjoy your stay at home with a free heart. i will undertake that you have four hours' start of any pursuing foe. if you receive message or token from me--or from lord claud--you will know what to do. take your horse, set spurs in her flanks, and draw not rein till you find yourself here once more. note the road as you fare forth, and return by it again. you will find safety here--and a friend. this do, and you shall meantime be safe." captain jack had some of lord claud's power of commanding confidence; and, indeed, in this case tom felt a greater sense of security in the promise of this highway robber than in that of his mysterious friend and leader in london. "i will go," he said. "i believe you. i take you at your word. i will return home to my mother and sister, and rejoice their hearts. and there will i abide till i receive your message; after which i will fly back to the forest. captain jack, i have that within me which tells me that i shall come back--that my adventures are not ended yet. but let me once more go home to those i love, and i ask nothing more." "you shall go, tom tufton, you shall go. a mother's happiness and her blessing are not things to be lightly thrown away. go, and i will keep watch. till you hear from me, you are safe." so tom rode away in the gray light of dawn, and quickly finding himself in familiar haunts, put spurs to his good steed, and before noon found himself close beside the village which had been his home all his life till this past adventurous year of travel. as he went clattering up the long avenue to the house, it seemed to him as though the birds of the air must have been at work; for there was his mother standing upon the steps to receive him, whilst rachel was running towards him with flying feet. "o tom, tom, tom! we knew it could be no one but you! o dearest tom, so you have come home at last!" he swung himself from the saddle, and put his arm about his sister. "yes, i have come home," he said a little huskily, "come home to see you all once more. the old place never changes--nor you and my mother!" "why should we?" asked rachel softly. and he kissed her again, with a strange feeling of the unreality of everything human. the servants were flocking out by this time. his mother's arms were outstretched in welcome. there was something like a sob in tom's throat as he felt them clasped about his neck. "my dear, dear boy--my only son! thank god that you have come safely through all threatened perils, and have come home to us again!" tom held her close in his arms. he would not speak a word to dash from her those fond hopes which she so plainly cherished. he would not speak of the peril overshadowing him, which might at any moment become imminent. "it is good to be home, mother!" he said, and kissed her many times. the servants raised a cheer for the young squire. tom turned and smiled at them, and spoke a few words of thanks. how familiar it all was! how had he ever despised the love of the people round him, and of those two faithful women who loved him so truly and so well? "dear mother," he said tenderly, "you are so much better to me than ever i deserve; i will try to live to be a comfort to you some day. i have given you little but sorrow and pain as yet." "nay, tom, you have served your country, and that should satisfy a mother's pride. come in, my son, and tell us your adventures. you have seen foreign lands and fine folks since last we met. come and tell us all about it, as you rest and refresh yourself from your journey." so tom gave one last look round at the eager faces grouped about the door, and turned into the great hall with a smile and a sigh. it was very like a dream, this eager welcome, and these familiar sights and sounds. the sense of insecurity which hung over him made everything seem unreal, and yet in one way dearer to him than ever before. "yes, this is home!" he said to himself, as be turned to follow his mother; "my travels are ended. i have come home. whatever may betide in the future, i am safe at home now!" if any reader desire to know the sequel to tom tufton's story, and how he took toll on the king's highway, that story shall be told another day. for the present his travels had terminated, and he was beneath his own roof tree--a sadder and a wiser man than he had sallied forth. the end. aunt jane's nieces and uncle john by edith van dyne author of "aunt jane's nieces," "aunt jane's nieces abroad," "aunt jane's nieces at millville," "aunt jane's nieces at work." "aunt jane's nieces in society," etc. contents chapter i introducing "mumbles" ii uncle john's idea iii myrtle dean iv an interesting protÉgÉ v a wonder on wheels vi wampus speeds vii the chauffeur improves viii among the indians ix nature's masterpiece x a coyote serenade xi a real adventure at last xii captured xiii the fiddler xiv the escape xv the romance of dan'l xvi the lodging at spotville xvii yellow poppies xviii the silent man xix "three times" xx on point loma xxi a tale of woe xxii the confession chapter i introducing "mumbles" major gregory doyle paced nervously up and down the floor of the cosy sitting room. "something's surely happened to our patsy!" he exclaimed. a little man with a calm face and a bald head, who was seated near the fire, continued to read his newspaper and paid no attention to the outburst. "something has happened to patsy!" repeated the major, "patsy" meaning his own and only daughter patricia. "something is always happening to everyone," said the little man, turning his paper indifferently. "something is happening to me, for i can't find the rest of this article. something is happening to you, for you're losing your temper." "i'm not, sir! i deny it." "as for patsy," continued the other, "she is sixteen years old and knows new york like a book. the girl is safe enough." "then where is she? tell me that, sir. here it is, seven o'clock, dark as pitch and raining hard, and patsy is never out after six. can you, john merrick, sit there like a lump o' putty and do nothing, when your niece and my own darlin' patsy is lost--or strayed or stolen?" "what would you propose doing?" asked uncle john, looking up with a smile. "we ought to get out the police department. it's raining and cold, and--" "then we ought to get out the fire department. call mary to put on more coal and let's have it warm and cheerful when patsy comes in." "but, sir--" "the trouble with you, major, is that dinner is half an hour late. one can imagine all sorts of horrible things on an empty stomach. now, then--" he paused, for a pass-key rattled in the hall door and a moment later patsy doyle, rosy and animated, fresh from the cold and wet outside, smilingly greeted them. she had an umbrella, but her cloak was dripping with moisture and in its ample folds was something huddled and bundled up like a baby, which she carefully protected. "so, then," exclaimed the major, coming forward for a kiss, "you're back at last, safe and sound. whatever kept ye out 'til this time o' night, patsy darlin'?" he added, letting the brogue creep into his tone, as he did when stirred by any emotion. uncle john started to take off her wet cloak. "look out!" cried patsy; "you'll disturb mumbles." the two men looked at her bundle curiously. "who's mumbles?" asked one. "what on earth is mumbles?" inquired the other. the bundle squirmed and wriggled. patsy sat down on the floor and carefully unwound the folds of the cloak. a tiny dog, black and shaggy, put his head out, blinked sleepily at the lights, pulled his fat, shapeless body away from the bandages and trotted solemnly over to the fireplace. he didn't travel straight ahead, as dogs ought to walk, but "cornerwise," as patsy described it; and when he got to the hearth he rolled himself into a ball, lay down and went to sleep. during this performance a tense silence had pervaded the room. the major looked at the dog rather gloomily; uncle john with critical eyes that held a smile in them; patsy with ecstatic delight. "isn't he a dear!" she exclaimed. "it occurs to me," said the major stiffly, "that this needs an explanation. do you mean to say, patsy doyle, that you've worried the hearts out of us this past hour, and kept the dinner waiting, all because of a scurvy bit of an animal?" "pshaw!" said uncle john. "speak for yourself, major. i wasn't worried a bit." "you see," explained patsy, rising to take off her things and put them away, "i was coming home early when i first met mumbles. a little boy had him, with a string tied around his neck, and when mumbles tried to run up to me the boy jerked him back cruelly--and afterward kicked him. that made me mad." "of course," said uncle john, nodding wisely. "i cuffed the boy, and he said he'd take it out on mumbles, as soon as i'd gone away. i didn't like that. i offered to buy the dog, but the boy didn't dare sell him. he said it belonged to his father, who'd kill him and kick up a row besides if he didn't bring mumbles home. so i found out where they lived and as it wasn't far away i went home with him." "crazy patsy!" smiled uncle john. "and the dinner waiting!" groaned the major, reproachfully. "well, i had a time, you can believe!" continued patsy, with animation. "the man was a big brute, and half drunk. he grabbed up the little doggie and threw it into a box, and then told me to go home and mind my business." "which of course you refused to do." "of course. i'd made up my mind to have that dog." "dogs," said the major, "invariably are nuisances." "not invariably," declared patsy. "mumbles is different. mumbles is a good doggie, and wise and knowing, although he's only a baby dog yet. and i just couldn't leave him to be cuffed and kicked and thrown around by those brutes. when the man found i was determined to have mumbles he demanded twenty-five dollars." "twenty-five dollars!" it startled uncle john. "for that bit of rags and meat?" asked the major, looking at the puppy with disfavor. "twenty-five cents would be exorbitant." "the man misjudged me," observed patsy, with a merry laugh that matched her twinkling blue eyes. "in the end he got just two dollars for mumbles, and when i came away he bade me good-bye very respectfully. the boy howled. he hasn't any dog to kick and is broken-hearted. as for mumbles, he's going to lead a respectable life and be treated like a dog." "do you mean to keep him?" inquired the major. "why not?" said patsy. "don't you like him, daddy?" her father turned mumbles over with his toe. the puppy lay upon its back, lazily, with all four paws in the air, and cast a comical glance from one beady bright eye at the man who had disturbed him. the major sighed. "he can't hunt, patsy; he's not even a mouser." "we haven't a mouse in the house." "he's neither useful nor ornamental. from the looks o' the beast he's only good to sleep and eat." "what's the odds?" laughed patsy, coddling mumbles up in her arms. "we don't expect use or ornamentation from mumbles. all we ask is his companionship." mary called them to dinner just then, and the girl hurried to her room to make a hasty toilet while the men sat down at the table and eyed their soup reflectively. "this addition to the family," remarked uncle john, "need not make you at all unhappy, my dear major. don't get jealous of mumbles, for heaven's sake, for the little brute may add a bit to patsy's bliss." "it's the first time i've ever allowed a dog in the house." "you are not running this present establishment. it belongs exclusively to patsy." "i've always hated the sight of a woman coddling a dog," added the major, frowning. "i know. i feel the same way myself. but it isn't the dog's fault. it's the woman's. and patsy won't make a fool of herself over that frowsy puppy, i assure you. on the contrary, she's likely to get a lot of joy out of her new plaything, and if you really want to make her happy, major, don't discourage this new whim, absurd as it seems. let patsy alone. and let mumbles alone." the girl came in just then, bringing sunshine with her. patsy doyle was not very big for her years, and some people unkindly described her form as "chubby." she had glorious red hair--really-truly red--and her blue eyes were the merriest, sweetest eyes any girl could possess. you seldom noticed her freckles, her saucy chin or her turned-up nose; you only saw the laughing eyes and crown of golden red, and seeing them you liked patsy doyle at once and imagined she was very good to look at, if not strictly beautiful. no one had friends more loyal, and these two old men--the stately major and round little uncle john--fairly worshiped patsy. no one might suspect, from the simple life of this household, which occupied the second corner flat at willing square, that miss doyle was an heiress. not only that, but perhaps one of the very richest girls in new york. and the reason is readily explained when i state the fact that patsy's uncle john merrick, the round little bald-headed man who sat contentedly eating his soup, was a man of many millions, and this girl his favorite niece. an old bachelor who had acquired an immense fortune in the far northwest, mr. merrick had lately retired from active business and come east to seek any relatives that might remain to him after forty years' absence. his sister jane had gathered around her three nieces--louise merrick, elizabeth de graf and patricia doyle--and when aunt jane died uncle john adopted these three girls and made their happiness the one care of his jolly, unselfish life. at that time major doyle, patsy's only surviving parent, was a poor bookkeeper; but uncle john gave him charge of his vast property interests, and loving patsy almost as devotedly as did her father, made his home with the doyles and began to enjoy himself for the first time in his life. at the period when this story opens the eldest niece, louise merrick, had just been married to arthur weldon, a prosperous young business man, and the remaining two nieces, as well as uncle john, were feeling rather lonely and depressed. the bride had been gone on her honeymoon three days, and during the last two days it had rained persistently; so, until patsy came home from a visit to beth and brought the tiny dog with her, the two old gentlemen had been feeling dreary enough. patsy always livened things up. nothing could really depress this spirited girl for long, and she was always doing some interesting thing to create a little excitement. "if she hadn't bought a twenty-five cent pup for two dollars," remarked the major, "she might have brought home an orphan from the gutters, or a litter of tomcats, or one of the goats that eat the tin cans at harlem. perhaps, after all, we should be thankful it's only--what's his name?" "mumbles," said patsy, merrily. "the boy said they called him that because he mumbled in his sleep. listen!" indeed, the small waif by the fire was emitting a series of noises that seemed a queer mixture of low growls and whines--evidence unimpeachable that he had been correctly named. at patsy's shout of laughter, supplemented by uncle john's chuckles and a reproachful cough from the major, mumbles awakened and lifted his head. it may be an eye discovered the dining-table in the next room, or an intuitive sense of smell directed him, for presently the small animal came trotting in--still traveling "cornerwise"--and sat up on his hind legs just beside patsy's chair. "that settles it," said the major, as his daughter began feeding the dog. "our happy home is broken up." "perhaps not," suggested uncle john, reaching out to pat the soft head of mumbles. "it may be the little beggar will liven us all up a bit." chapter ii uncle john's idea two hours later uncle john, who had been dozing in his big chair by the fire while patsy drummed on the piano, sat up abruptly and looked around him with a suddenly acquired air of decision. "i have an idea," he announced. "did you find it in your dreams, then?" asked the major, sharply. "why, daddy, how cross you are!" cried patsy. "can't uncle john have an idea if he wants to?" "i'm afraid of his ideas," admitted the major, suspiciously. "every time he goes to sleep and catches a thought, it means trouble." patsy laughed, looking at her uncle curiously, and the little man smiled at her genially in return. "it takes me a long time to figure a thing out," he said; "and when i've a problem to solve a bit of a snooze helps wonderfully. patsy, dear, it occurs to me we're lonely." "we surely are, uncle!" she exclaimed. "and in the dumps." "our spirits are at the bottom of the bottomless pit." "so what we need is--a change." "there it goes!" said the major ruefully. "i knew very well any idea of john merrick's would cause us misery. but understand this, you miserable home-wrecker, sir, my daughter patsy steps not one foot out of new york this winter." "why not?" mildly inquired uncle john. "because you've spirited her away from me times enough, and deprived her only parent of her society. first you gallivanted off to europe, and then to millville, and next to elmhurst; so now, egad, i'm going to keep the girl with me if i have to throttle every idea in your wicked old head!" "but i'm planning to take you along, this time. major," observed uncle john reflectively. "oh. hum! well, i can't go. there's too much business to be attended to--looking after your horrible money." "take a vacation. you know i don't care anything about the business. it can't go very wrong, anyhow. what does it matter if my income isn't invested properly, or the bond coupons cut when they're due? drat the money!" "that's what i say," added patsy eagerly. "be a man, major doyle, and put the business out of your mind. let's go somewhere and have a good romp. it will cheer us up." the major stared first at one and then at the other. "what's the programme, john?" he asked stiffly. "it's going to be a cold winter," remarked the little man, bobbing his head up and down slowly. "it is!" cried patsy, clasping her hands fervently. "i can feel it in my bones." "so we're going," said uncle john, impressively, "to california--where they grow sunshine and roses to offset our blizzards and icicles." "hurray!" shouted patsy. "i've always wanted to go to california." "california!" said the major, amazed; "why, it's farther away than europe. it takes a month to get there." "nonsense." retorted uncle john. "it's only four days from coast to coast. i have a time-table, somewhere," and he began searching in his pockets. there was a silence, oppressive on the major's part, ecstatic as far as patsy was concerned. uncle john found the railway folder, put on his spectacles, and began to examine it. "at my time of life," remarked major doyle, who was hale and hearty as a boy, "such a trip is a great undertaking." "twenty-four hours to chicago," muttered uncle john; "and then three days to los angeles or san francisco. that's all there is to it." "four days and four nights of dreary riding. we'd be dead by that time," prophesied the major. uncle john looked thoughtful. then he lay back in his chair and spread his handkerchief over his face again. "no, no!" cried the major, in alarm. "for mercy's sake, john, don't go to sleep and catch any more of those terrible ideas. no one knows where the next one might carry us--to timbuktu or yucatan, probably. let's stick to california and settle the question before your hothouse brain grows any more weeds." "yucatan," remarked mr. merrick, composedly, his voice muffled by the handkerchief, "isn't a bad suggestion." "i knew it!" wailed the major. "how would ethiopia or hindustan strike you?" patsy laughed at him. she knew something good was in store for her and like all girls was enraptured at the thought of visiting new and interesting scenes. "don't bother uncle john, daddy," she said. "you know very well he will carry out any whim that seizes him; especially if you oppose the plan, which you usually do." "he's the most erratic and irresponsible man that ever lived," announced her father, staring moodily at the spread handkerchief which covered uncle john's cherub-like features. "new york is good enough for anybody, even in winter; and now that you're in society, patsy--" "oh, bother society! i hate it." "true," he agreed; "it's a regular treadmill when it has enslaved one, and keeps you going on and on without progressing a bit. the object of society is to tire you out and keep you from indulging in any other occupation." "you know nothing about it," observed patsy, demurely, "and that is why you love to rail at society. the things you know, daddy dear, are the things you never remark upon." "huh!" grunted the major, and relapsed into silence. mumbles had finished his after-dinner nap and was now awakening to activity. this dog's size, according to the major, was "about x ; but you can't tell which is the and which the ." he was distressingly shaggy. patsy could find the stump of his tail only by careful search. seldom were both eyes uncovered by hair at the same time. but, as his new mistress had said, he was a wise little dog for one who had only known the world for a few months, and his brain was exceedingly alert. after yawning at the fire he rubbed his back against the major's legs, sat up beside patsy and looked at her from one eye pleadingly. next he trotted over to uncle john. the big white handkerchief attracted him and one corner hung down from the edge of the reclining chair. mumbles sat up and reached for it, but could not quite get it in his teeth. so he sat down and thought it over, and presently made a leap so unexpectedly agile that patsy roared with merriment and even the major grinned. uncle john, aroused, sat up and found the puppy rolling on the floor and fighting the handkerchief as if it had been some deadly foe. "thank goodness," sighed the major. "the little black rascal has providently prevented you from evolving another idea." "not so," responded mr. merrick amiably. "i've thought the thing all out, and completed our programme." "is it still to be california?" anxiously inquired patsy. "of course. i can't give up the sunshine and roses, you know. but we won't bore the major by four solid days of railway travel. we'll break the journey, and take two or three weeks to it--perhaps a month." "conquering caesar! a month!" ejaculated the old soldier, a desperate look on his face. "yes. listen, both of you. we'll get to chicago in a night and a day. we will stop off there and visit the stockyards, and collect a few squeals for souvenirs." "no, we won't!" declared patsy, positively. "we might sell mumbles to some chicago sausage factory," remarked the major, "but not for two whole dollars. he wouldn't make more than half a pound at twenty cents the pound." "there are other sights to be seen in chicago," continued uncle john. "anyhow, we'll stop off long enough to get rested. then on to denver and pike's peak." "that sounds good," said patsy. "at denver," said uncle john, "we will take a touring car and cross the mountains in it. there are good roads all the way from there to california." "who told you so?" demanded the major. "no one. it's a logical conclusion, for i've lived in the west and know the prairie roads are smoother than boulevards. however, haggerty told me the other day that he has made the trip from denver to los angeles by automobile, and what others can do, we can do." "it will be glorious!" prophesied patsy, delightedly. the major looked grave, but could find no plausible objection to offer. he really knew nothing about the west and had never had occasion to consider such a proposition before. "we'll talk to haggerty," he said. "but you must remember he's a desperate liar, john, and can't be trusted as a guidepost. when do you intend to start?" "why not to-morrow?" asked uncle john mildly. even patsy demurred at this. "why, we've got to get ready, uncle," she said. "and who's going? just we three?" "we will take beth along, of course." beth was elizabeth de graf, another niece. "but beth is fortunately the sort of girl who can pull up stakes and move on at an hour's notice." "beth is always ready for anything," agreed patsy. "but if we are going to a warm climate we will need summer clothes." "you can't lug many clothes in a motor car," observed the major. "no; but we can ship them on ahead." "haggerty says," remarked uncle john, "that you won't need thin clothes until you get out to california. in fact, the mountain trip is rather cool. but it's perpetual sunshine, you know, even there, with brisk, keen air; and the whole journey, haggerty says, is one of absolute delight." "who is haggerty?" asked patsy. "a liar," answered the major, positively. "he's a very good fellow whom we sometimes meet in the city," said uncle john. "haggerty is on the board, and director in a bank or two, and quite respectable. but the major--" "the major's going to california just to prove that haggerty can't speak the truth," observed that gentleman, tersely heading off any threatened criticism. "i see there is no opposing your preposterous scheme, john, so we will go with you and make the best of it. but i'm sure it's all a sad mistake. what else did haggerty tell you?" "he says it's best to pick up a motor car and a chauffeur in denver, rather than ship them on from here. there are plenty of cars to be had, and men who know every inch of the road." "that seems sensible," declared patsy, "and we won't lose time waiting for our own car to follow by freight. i think, uncle john, i can be ready by next tuesday." "why, to-morrow's saturday!" gasped the major. "the business--" "cut the business off short," suggested his brother-in-law. "you've to cut it somewhere, you know, or you'll never get away; and, as it's my business, i hereby authorize you to neglect it from this moment until the day of our return. when we get back you can pick up the details again and worry over it as much as you please." "will we ever get back?" asked the major, doubtingly. "if we don't, the business won't matter." "that's the idea," cried patsy, approvingly. "daddy has worked hard all summer, uncle john, looking after that annoying money of yours, and a vacation will do him oodles of good." major doyle sighed. "i misdoubt the wisdom of the trip," said he, "but i'll go, of course, if you all insist. over the rocky mountains and across the great american desert in an automobile doesn't sound very enticing, but--" "haggerty says--" "never mind haggerty. we'll find out for ourselves." "and, after all," said patsy, "there are the sunshine and roses at the end of the journey, and they ought to make up for any amount of bother in getting there." "girl, you're attempting to deceive me--to deceive your old daddy," said the major, shaking his head at her. "you wouldn't have any fun riding to california in a palace car; even the sunshine and roses couldn't excite you under such circumstances; but if there's a chance for adventure--a chance to slide into trouble and make a mighty struggle to get out again--both you and that wicked old uncle of yours will jump at it. i know ye both. and that's the real reason we're going to travel in an automobile instead of progressing comfortably as all respectable people do." "you're a humbug," retorted mr. merrick. "you wouldn't go by train if i'd let you." "no," admitted the major; "i must be on hand to rescue you when you and patsy go fighting windmills." chapter iii myrtle dean "we were due in denver three hours ago, and it's an hour's run or more yet," remarked beth de graf, walking briskly up and down the platform of a way station where the train had stopped for orders. "and it's beginning to snow," observed patricia doyle, beside her. "i'm afraid this weather isn't very propitious for an automobile trip." "uncle john doesn't worry," said beth. "he believes there is perpetual sunshine west of denver." "yes; a man named haggerty told him. but you'll notice that daddy doesn't seem to believe the tale. anyhow, we shall soon know the truth, beth, and the trip is somewhat on the order of a voyage of discovery, which renders it fascinating to look forward to. there is such fun in not knowing just what is going to happen next." "when one travels with uncle john," returned beth, smiling, "she knows exactly--nothing. that is why i am always eager to accept if he invites me to go anywhere with him." the passengers thronging the platform--"stretching their legs" after the confinement of the tedious railway journey--eyed these two girls admiringly. beth was admitted a beauty, and one of the society journals had lately announced that she had few peers in all the great metropolis. chestnut brown hair; dark, serious and steady eyes; an exquisite complexion and rarely regular features all conspired to render the young girl wonderfully attractive. her stride was athletic, free and graceful; her slender form well poised and dignified. patsy, the "plug-ugly," as she called herself, was so bright and animated and her blue eyes sparkled so constantly with fun and good humor, that she attracted fully as much attention as her more sedate and more beautiful cousin, and wherever she went was sure to make a host of friends. "see!" she cried, clasping beth's arm; "there is that lovely girl at the window again. i've noticed her ever since the train left chicago, and she is always in the same seat in that tourist coach. i wonder why she doesn't get out for a bit of fresh air now and then." beth looked up at the fair, girlish face that gazed wistfully from the window. the unknown seemed very young--not more than fourteen or fifteen years of age. she wore a blue serge suit of rather coarse weave, but it was neat and becoming. around the modest, sweet eyes were deep circles, denoting physical suffering or prolonged worry; yet the lips smiled, wanly but persistently. she had evidently noticed uncle john's two nieces, for her eyes followed them as they marched up and down the platform and when patsy looked up and nodded, a soft flush suffused her features and she bowed her head in return. at the cry of "all aboard!" a scramble was made for the coaches and beth and patsy, re-entering their staterooms, found their uncle and the major still intent upon their interminable game of cribbage. "let's go back and talk to the girl," suggested patsy. "somehow, the poor thing seems lonely, and her smile was more pathetic than cheerful." so they made their way through the long train to the tourist coach, and there found the girl they were seeking. the surrounding seats were occupied by groups of passengers of rather coarse caliber, many being foreign laborers accompanied by their wives and children. the air in the car was close and "stuffy" and the passengers seemed none too neat in their habits and appearance. so the solitary girl appeared like a rose blooming in a barnyard and her two visitors were instantly sorry for her. she sat in her corner, leaning wearily against the back of the cane seat, with a blanket spread over her lap. strangely enough the consideration of her fellow passengers left the girl in undisturbed possession of a double seat. "perhaps she is ill," thought patsy, as she and beth sat down opposite and entered into conversation with the child. she was frankly communicative and they soon learned that her name was myrtle dean, and that she was an orphan. although scarcely fifteen years of age she had for more than two years gained a livelihood by working in a skirt factory in chicago, paying her board regularly to a cross old aunt who was her only relative in the big city. three months ago, however, she had met with an accident, having been knocked down by an automobile while going to her work and seriously injured. "the doctors say," she confided to her new friends, "that i shall always be lame, although not quite helpless. indeed, i can creep around a little now, when i am obliged to move, and i shall get better every day. one of my hips was so badly injured that it will never be quite right again, and my aunt martha was dreadfully worried for fear i would become a tax upon her. i cannot blame her, for she has really but little money to pay for her own support. so, when the man who ran over me paid us a hundred dollars for damages--" "only a hundred dollars!" cried beth, amazed. "wasn't that enough?" inquired myrtle innocently. "by no means," said patsy, with prompt indignation. "he should have given you five thousand, at least. don't you realize, my dear, that this accident has probably deprived you of the means of earning a livelihood?" "i can still sew," returned the girl, courageously, "although of course i cannot get about easily to search for employment." "but why did you leave chicago?" asked beth. "i was coming to that part of my story. when i got the hundred dollars aunt martha decided i must use it to go to leadville, to my uncle anson, who is my mother's only brother. he is a miner out there, and aunt martha says he is quite able to take care of me. so she bought my ticket and put me on the train and i'm now on my way to leadville to find uncle anson." "to _find_ him!" exclaimed patsy. "don't you know his address?" "no; we haven't had a letter from him for two years. but aunt martha says he must be a prominent man, and everybody in leadville will know him, as it's a small place." "does he know you are coming?" asked beth, thoughtfully. "my aunt wrote him a letter two days before i started, so he ought to receive it two days before i get there," replied myrtle, a little uneasily. "of course i can't help worrying some, because if i failed to find uncle anson i don't know what might happen to me." "have you money?" asked beth. "a little. about three dollars. aunt gave me a basket of food to last until i get to leadville, and after paying for my ticket and taking what i owed her for board there wasn't much left from the hundred dollars." "what a cruel old woman!" cried patsy, wrathfully. "she ought to be horsewhipped!" "i am sure it was wrong for her to cast you off in this heartless way," added beth, more conservatively. "she is not really bad," returned myrtle, the tears starting to her eyes. "but aunt martha has grown selfish, and does not care for me very much. i hope uncle anson will be different. he is my mother's brother, you know, while aunt martha is only my father's sister, and an old maid who has had rather a hard life. perhaps," she added, wistfully, "uncle anson will love me--although i'm not strong or well." both patsy and beth felt desperately sorry for the girl. "what is uncle anson's other name?" asked the latter, for beth was the more practical of uncle john's nieces and noted for her clear thinking. "jones. mr. anson jones." "rather a common name, if you have to hunt for him," observed the questioner, musingly. "has he been in leadville long?" "i do not know," replied myrtle. "his last letter proved that he was in leadville two years ago, and he said he had been very successful and made money; but he has been in other mining camps, i know, and has wandered for years all over the west." "suppose he should be wandering now?" suggested patsy; but at the look of alarm on myrtle's face she quickly changed the subject, saying: "you must come in to dinner with us, my dear, for you have had nothing but cold truck to eat since you left chicago. they say we shall be in denver in another hour, but i'm afraid to believe it. anyhow, there is plenty of time for dinner." "oh, i can't go, really!" cried the girl. "it's--it's so hard for me to walk when the train is moving; and--and--i wouldn't feel happy in that gay, luxurious dining car." "well, we must go, anyway, or the major will be very disagreeable," said patsy. "good-bye, myrtle; we shall see you again before we leave the train." as the two girls went forward to their coach beth said to patsy: "i'm afraid that poor thing will be greatly disappointed when she gets to leadville. imagine anyone sending a child on such a wild goose chase--and an injured and almost helpless child, at that!" "i shudder to think what would become of her, with no uncle to care for her and only three dollars to her name," added patsy. "i have never heard of such an inhuman creature as that aunt martha, beth. i hope there are not many like her in the world." at dinner they arranged with the head waiter of the dining car to send in a substantial meal, smoking hot, to myrtle dean, and patsy herself inspected the tray before it went to make sure everything was there that was ordered. they had to satisfy uncle john's curiosity at this proceeding by relating to him myrtle dean's story, and the kindly little man became very thoughtful and agreed with them that it was a cruel act to send the poor girl into a strange country in search of an uncle who had not been heard of in two years. when the train pulled into the station at denver the first care of john merrick's party was to look after the welfare of the lame girl. they got a porter to assist her into the depot waiting room and then uncle john inquired about the next train for leadville, and found it would not start until the following morning, the late overland train having missed that day's connections. this was a serious discovery for poor myrtle, but she smiled bravely and said: "i can pass the night in this seat very comfortably, so please don't worry about me. it is warm here, you know, and i won't mind a bit the sitting up. thank you all very much for your kindness, and good-bye. i'll be all right, never fear." uncle john stood looking down at her thoughtfully. "did you engage a carriage, major?" he asked. "yes; there's one now waiting," was the reply. "all right. now, then, my dear, let's wrap this blanket around you tight and snug." "what are you going to do?" asked myrtle with a startled look. "carry you outside. it's pretty cold and snowy, so we must wrap you up. now, major, take hold on the other side. here we go!" patsy smiled--rather pitifully--at the expression of bewilderment on myrtle's face. uncle john and the major carried her tenderly to a carriage and put her in the back seat. patsy sprang in next, with mumbles clasped tightly in her arms, the small dog having been forced to make the journey thus far in the baggage car. beth and the major entered the carriage next, while uncle john mounted beside the driver and directed him to the crown palace hotel. it was growing dark when they reached the dingy hostelry, which might have been palatial when it was named but was now sadly faded and tawdry. it proved to be fairly comfortable, however, and the first care of the party was to see myrtle dean safely established in a cosy room, with a grate fire to cheer her. patsy and beth had adjoining rooms and kept running in for a word with their protégé, who was so astonished and confused by her sudden good fortune that she was incapable of speech and more inclined to cry than to laugh. during the evening uncle john was busy at the telegraph booth. he sent several messages to leadville, to anson jones, to the chief of police and to the various hotels; but long before midnight, when the last replies were received, he knew that anson jones had left leadville five months ago, and his present whereabouts were unknown. having learned these facts the little man went to bed and slept peacefully until morning. myrtle had begged them to see that she was called at five o'clock, that she might have ample time to get to the depot for her train, but no one called her and the poor child was so weary and worn with her trip that the soft bed enthralled her for many hours after daybreak. patsy finally aroused her, opening the blinds to let in the sunshine and then sitting beside myrtle's bed to stroke her fair hair and tell her it was nearly noon. "but my train!" wailed the girl, greatly distressed. "oh, the train has gone hours ago. but never mind that, dear. uncle john has telegraphed to leadville and found that anson jones is not there. he left months ago, and is now wandering; in fields and pastures unknown." myrtle sat up in bed and glared at patsy wild-eyed. "gone!" she said. "gone! then what am i to do?" "i can't imagine, dear," said patsy, soothingly. "what do you think you will do?" the girl seemed dazed and for a time could not reply. "you must have thought of this thing," suggested her new friend, "for it was quite possible anson jones would not be in leadville when you arrived there." "i did not dare think of it," returned myrtle in a low, frightened tone. "i once asked aunt martha what i could do in case uncle anson wasn't to be found, and she said he _must_ be found, for otherwise i would be obliged to earn my own living." "and she knew you to be so helpless!" "she knows i can sew, if only i can get work to do," said the girl, simply. "i'm not really a cripple, and i'm getting better of my hurt every day. aunt martha said i would be just as well off in denver or leadville as in chicago, and made me promise, if the worst came, not to let any charitable organization send me back to her." "in other words," exclaimed patsy, indignantly, "she wanted to get rid of you, and did not care what became of you." "she was afraid i would cost her money," admitted the poor child, with shamed, downcast eyes. patsy went to the window and stood looking out for a time. myrtle began to dress herself. as she said, she was not utterly helpless, moving the upper part of her body freely and being able to walk slowly about a room by holding on to chairs or other furniture. "i'm afraid i'm causing you a lot of worry over me," said she, smiling sadly as patsy turned toward her; "and that is ungrateful when i remember how kind you have all been. why, these hours since i met you have seemed like fairyland. i shall treasure them as long as i live. there must be another train to leadville soon, and i'll take that. as soon as i am ready i will go to the depot and wait there." patsy looked at her reflectively. the poor child was called upon to solve a queer problem--one which might well have bewildered the brain of a more experienced person. "tell me," she said; "why should you go to leadville at all, now that you have no friend or relative there to care for you?" "my ticket is to leadville, you know," replied myrtle. "if i did not go i would waste the money it cost." patsy laughed at this. "you're a wonderfully impractical child," she said, deftly assisting myrtle to finish dressing. "what you really need is some one to order you around and tell you what to do. so you must stop thinking about yourself, for a time, and let _us_ do the thinking. here--sit in this chair by the window. do you want mumbles in your lap? all right. now gaze upon the scenery until i come back. there's a man washing windows across the street; watch and see if he does his work properly." then she went away to join a conference in uncle john's sitting room. major doyle was speaking when she entered and his voice was coldly ironical. "the temperature outside is six degrees above freezing," he observed. "the clerk downstairs says the snow is nine feet deep over the mountain trails and the wind would cut an iron beam in two. if you take an automobile to california, john, you must put it on snowshoes and connect it with a steam heating-plant." uncle john, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, paced thoughtfully up and down the room. "haggerty said--" "didn't i give you haggerty's record, then?" asked the major. "if you want the exact truth it's safe to go directly opposite to what haggerty says." "he's a very decent fellow," protested mr. merrick, "and is considered in the city to be strictly honest." "but after this?" "you can't blame him for the weather conditions here. i've been talking with denver people myself, this morning, and they all say it's unusual to have such cold weather at this time of year. the thermometer hasn't been so low in the past twenty-six years, the natives say." "are they all named haggerty?" asked the major, scornfully. "if you will kindly allow me to speak, and tell you what haggerty said," remarked uncle john tersely, "i shall be able to add to your information." "go ahead, then." "haggerty said that in case we ran into cold weather in denver, which was possible--" "quite possible!" "then we had best go south to santa fe and take the route of the old santa fe trail as far as albuquerque, or even to el paso. either way we will be sure to find fine weather, and good roads into california." "so haggerty says." "it stands to reason," continued mr. merrick, "that on the southern route we will escape the severe weather. so i have decided to adopt that plan." "i think you are quite wise in that," broke in patsy, before her father could object. "all those queer spanish names sound interesting," said beth. "when do we start, uncle?" "in a day or two. i have some things here to attend to that may delay us that long. but when once we are started southward we shall bowl along right merrily." "unless we run into more snowstorms." of course it was the major who said that, and pointedly ignoring the remark uncle john turned to patsy and said: "how did you find myrtle dean this morning?" "she is rested, and seems very bright and cheerful, uncle; but of course she is much distressed by the news that her uncle anson has vanished from leadville. yet she thinks she will continue her journey by the next train, as she has paid for her ticket and can't afford to waste the money." "it would be absurd for the child to go to leadville on that account. a mining camp is no place for such a frail thing," returned mr. merrick. "what would you suggest, patsy?" "really, uncle john, i don't know what to suggest." "she can never earn her living by sewing," declared beth. "what she ought to have is a trained nurse and careful attention." "i'll have a doctor up to look her over," said uncle john, in his decisive way. he was a mild little man generally, but when he made up his mind to do a thing it was useless to argue with him. even major doyle knew that; but the old soldier was so fond of arguing for the sake of argument, and so accustomed to oppose his wealthy brother-in-law--whom he loved dearly just the same--that he was willing to accept defeat rather than permit mr. merrick to act without protest. chapter iv an interesting protÉgÉ a young physician was appointed by the management to attend any guest who might require his services, and uncle john had a talk with him and sent him to myrtle's room to give her a thorough examination. this he did, and reported that the girl's present condition was due largely to mismanagement of her case at the time she was injured. with care she would get better and stronger rapidly, but the hip joint was out of its socket and only a skillful operation would serve to permanently relieve her of lameness. "what she needs just now," continued the doctor, "is a pair of crutches, so she can get around better and be in the fresh air and sunshine as much as possible. she is a very frail little woman at present and must build up her health and strength before submitting to the operation i have mentioned. then, if it is properly done, she ought to recover completely and be as good as new." "i must inform you," said uncle john, "that myrtle dean is just a little waif whom my nieces picked up on the train. i believe she is without friends or money. such being the circumstances, what would you advise?" the doctor shook his head gravely. "poor thing!" he said. "she ought to be rich, at this juncture, instead of poor, for the conditions facing her are serious. the operation i speak of is always an expensive one, and meantime the child must go to some charitable institution or wear out her feeble strength in trying to earn enough to keep the soul in her body. she seems to have a brave and beautiful nature, sir, and were she educated and cared for would some day make a splendid woman. but the world is full of these sad cases. i'm poor myself, mr. merrick, but this child interests me, and after you have gone i shall do all in my power to assist her." "thank you," said uncle john, thoughtfully nodding his bald head. "i'll think it over and see you again, doctor, before i leave." an hour later myrtle was fitted with crutches of the best sort obtainable, and was overjoyed to find how greatly they assisted her. the major, a kindly man, decided to take myrtle out for a drive, and while they were gone uncle john had a long conversation with beth and patsy. "here is a case," said he, "where my dreadful money can do some good. i am anxious to help myrtle dean, for i believe she is deserving of my best offices. but i don't exactly know what to do. she is really _your_ protégé, my dears, and i am going to put the affair in your hands for settlement. just tell me what to do, and i'll do it. spend my money as freely upon myrtle as you please." the girls faced the problem with enthusiasm. "she's a dear little thing," remarked patsy, "and seems very grateful for the least kindness shown her. i am sure she has never been treated very nicely by that stony-hearted old aunt of hers." "in all my experience," said beth, speaking as if her years were doubled, "i have never known anyone so utterly helpless. she is very young and inexperienced, with no friends, no money, and scarcely recovered from an accident. it is clearly our duty to do something for myrtle, and aside from the humane obligation i feel that already i love the child, having known her only a day." "admitting all this, beth," returned her uncle, "you are not answering my question. what shall we do for myrtle? how can we best assist her?" "why not take her to california with us?" inquired patsy, with sudden inspiration. "the sunshine and roses would make a new girl of her in a few weeks." "could she ride so far in an automobile?" asked beth, doubtfully. "why not? the fresh air would be just the thing for her. you'll get a big touring car, won't you, uncle john?" "i've bought one already--a seven-seated 'autocrat'--and there will be plenty of room in it for myrtle," he said. "good gracious! where did you find the thing so suddenly?" cried patsy. "i made the purchase this morning, bright and early, before you were up," replied mr. merrick, smilingly. "it is a fine new car, and as soon as i saw it i knew it was what i wanted. it is now being fitted up for our use." "fitted up?" "yes. i've an idea in my head to make it a movable hotel. if we're going to cross the plains and the mountains and the deserts, and all that sort of thing, we must be prepared for any emergencies. i've also sent for a chauffeur who is highly recommended. he knows the route we're going to take; can make all repairs necessary in case of accident, and is an experienced driver. i expect him here any minute. his name is wampus." "but about myrtle,"' said beth. "can we make her comfortable on a long ride?" "certainly," asserted uncle john. "we are not going to travel day and night, my dear, for as soon as we get away from this frozen country we can take our time and journey by short stages. my notion is that we will have more fun on the way than we will in california." "myrtle hasn't any proper clothes," observed patsy, reflectively. "we'll have to shop for her, beth, while uncle is getting the car ready." "are you sure to leave to-morrow, uncle john?" inquired beth. "to-morrow or the next day. there's no use leaving before the 'autocrat' is ready to ship." "oh; we're not going to ride in it, then?" "not just yet. we shall take the train south to santa fe, and perhaps to albuquerque. i'll talk to wampus about that. when we reach a good climate we'll begin the journey overland--and not before." "then," said patsy, "i'm sure we shall have time to fit out myrtle very nicely." mr. wampus was announced just then, and while uncle john conferred with the chauffeur his two nieces went to their room to talk over myrtle dean's outfit and await the return of the girl from her ride. "they tell me," said mr. merrick, "that you are an experienced chauffeur." "i am celebrate," replied wampus. "not as chauffeur, but as expert automobilist." he was a little man and quite thin. his legs were short and his arms long. he had expressionless light gray eyes and sandy hair cropped close to his scalp. his mouth was wide and good-humored, his chin long and broad, his ears enormous in size and set at right angles with his head. his cheek bones were as high and prominent as those of an indian, and after a critical examination of the man uncle john was impelled to ask his nationality. "i am born in canada, at quebec province," he answered. "my father he trapper; my mother squaw. for me, i american, sir, and my name celebrate over all the world for knowing automobile like father knows his son." he paused, and added impressively: "i am wampus!" "have you ever driven an 'autocrat' car?" asked mr. merrick. "'autocrat?' i can take him apart blindfold, an' put him together again." "have you ever been overland to california?" "three time." "then you know the country?" "in the dark. i am wampus." "very good, wampus. you seem to be the man i want, for i am going to california in an 'autocrat' car, by way of the santa fe trail and--and--" "no matter. we find way. i am--" "i know. now tell me, wampus: if i employ you will you be faithful and careful? i have two girls in my party--three girls, in fact--and from the moment you enter my service i shall expect you to watch over our welfare and guide us with skill and intelligence. will you do this?" the man seemed somewhat offended by the question. "when you have wampus, what more you want?" he inquired. "maybe you not know wampus. you come from far east. all right. you go out and ask automobile man about wampus. ask ever'body. when you have inquire you feel more happy. i come again." he started to go, but mr. merrick restrained him. "you have been highly recommended already," said he. "but you cannot expect me to have as high an opinion of you as you have of yourself; at least, until i know you better. would you like to undertake this engagement?" "yes. just now i free. my business is expert automobilist. i am wampus. but perhaps you want cheap man. my price high." "what is your price?" "fifty dollar week. you eat me an' sleep me." "i do not object to your price. come out with me to the garage and i will show you my car and explain what is being done to it." although all the automobile men seemed to defer most respectfully to wampus, mr. merrick did not neglect to make proper inquiries in regard to the man. locally he really was "celebrate" and uncle john was assured on all sides that he was fortunate to get so intelligent and experienced a chauffeur as this same wampus. "he seems to have instinctive knowledge of all machinery," said one informant, "and can handle perfectly any car that is made. the only trouble with the fellow is that he is conceited." "i've noticed that," returned mr. merrick. "another thing," said the gentleman; "don't believe implicitly all that wampus tells you. he has a habit of imagining things. but he is a faithful, honest fellow, for all that, and will handle your car better than any other man you could get in denver--or anywhere in the west, i imagine." so wampus was engaged, and putting the man's references and indorsements all together mr. merrick felt that he had gained a prize. when the big major, returning from his drive, escorted myrtle dean to the elevator, the girl was joyously using her new crutches. patsy and beth met her and said they had important news to communicate. not until she was in her own room, seated in a comfortable chair and gazing at them anxiously, did they tell the poor waif of the good fortune in store for her. "uncle john," announced patsy, "has invited you to join our party and go to california with us." myrtle stared a moment, as if trying to realize what that meant. the tiny mumbles, sitting beside the chair with his head cocked to one side, suddenly made a prodigious leap and landed in myrtle's lap, where he began licking her chin and wagging his stumpy tail as if seconding the invitation. as the girl stroked his soft hair her eyes filled with tears. "oh, you are all so kind to me!" she sobbed, losing her composure. "but i can't go! of course i can't go." "why not?" asked beth, smiling. "it would be an--impersition!" poor myrtle sometimes stumbled over big words. "i know that. i can't let you burden your happy party with a poor cripple, just because your hearts are kind and you pity me!" "nonsense!" said beth. "you're not a cripple, dear; you're just an invalid, and will soon be as strong as any of us. we have invited you, myrtle, because we all like you, and shall soon learn to love you. we are selfish enough to want your companionship. it isn't pity, at all, you see." "i'm mighty glad," added patsy, "your uncle anson ran away from leadville. if he hadn't done that we should have had to give you up; but now we may keep you as long as we wish, for you haven't any particular engagement to interfere with our plans." all this was said so frankly and unaffectedly that little myrtle was led to abandon her suspicion and grew radiant with delight. indeed, she hugged and squeezed the squirming mumbles until he resented such strenuous fondling and escaped to patsy's more moderate embraces. myrtle had never yet ridden in an automobile, and the prospect of a long journey across the country in a big touring car, with california's roses and sunshine at the end of it, was certainly alluring enough to intoxicate one far more accustomed to pleasure than this friendless, impoverished girl. after the cousins had explained all their plans to myrtle and assured her she was to be their cherished guest for a long time--until she was well and strong again, at the least--they broached the subject of her outfit. the poor child flushed painfully while admitting the meagerness of her wardrobe. all her possessions were contained in one small canvas "hold-all," and she lacked many necessities which her callous aunt had suggested that uncle anson might be induced to buy for her once she had joined him in leadville. uncle john's nieces grew more and more indignant as they discovered the details of this selfish woman's crime--for patsy declared it was nothing less than a crime to send a helpless child far into the west to search for an unknown uncle whose whereabouts were only conjectural. that very afternoon beth and patsy began shopping for myrtle, and presently all sorts of parcels, big and little, began to arrive for their new protégé. myrtle was amazed and awed by the splendor of her new apparel, and could scarcely believe her good fortune. it seemed like a fairy tale to her, and she imagined herself a cinderella with two fairy godmothers who were young and pretty girls possessing the purse of fortunatus and the generosity of glinda the good. at night, when she was supposed to be asleep, myrtle crept from her bed, turned on the electric light and gloated over her treasures, which she had almost feared might vanish into thin air and leave her as desolate as before. next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, the girls took myrtle out with them to some of the shops, fitting her to shoes and gloves and having her try on some ready-made gowns so that they might be quickly altered for her use. patsy also bought her a set of soft and pretty furs, thinking she might need them on the journey if the weather continued cool, and this seemed to cap the climax of myrtle's happiness. "what 'stonishes me most," gasped the child, trying to get her breath between the surprises she experienced, "is how you can think of so many things to do for me. of course i know you are rich; but i've never before heard of rich people being so very generous to poor ones." "once," said beth, gravely, "we were poor ourselves, patsy and i, and had to work hard for our living. that was before our uncle john came and gave us a share of his money, together with his love and sympathy. isn't it natural, my dear, that we should now be eager to share our good fortune with you, since we have more money than we can use otherwise, and you are to be our little friend and companion?" "perhaps so," replied myrtle, smiling gaily and much comforted by the explanation. "but, oh dear! i'm so glad you found me!" "we are glad, too," said patsy. "but here it is, time for luncheon, and we've wasted the whole morning in shopping. i'm sure the major will be cross if we do not hurry back to the hotel." chapter v a wonder on wheels but the major was not cross when they met him in uncle john's sitting room. he beamed upon the three girls most genially, for he liked myrtle and fully approved all that was being done for her. "of course it's like patsy," he had said to mr. merrick that morning. "she couldn't help being a sweet ministering angel if she tried; and beth is growing more and more like her. it will do those girls good, john, to have some human being to coddle and care for. if patsy could have a fault, it would be wasting so much affection on that bunch o' rags mumbles, who audaciously chewed up one of my pet slippers while i was at dinner last evening. no dog is a fit thing to occupy a girl's time, and this imp o' mischief mumbles must take a back seat from now on." uncle john laughed, for he knew his brother-in-law had never conquered his antipathy for poor mumbles, and realized why. "take care that you do not get jealous of myrtle," he replied. "you're a selfish old beast, and don't wish patsy to love anyone but yourself." "and why should she?" was the inquiry. "any dutiful daughter ought to be satisfied with loving such a father as i am." "and in that," remarked uncle john, whimsically, "you remind me of wampus. you should strut around and say: 'behold me! i am patsy's father!'" the major was full of news at luncheon time. "what do you think, my dears?" he said, addressing the girls. "your crazy uncle must have had another snooze, unbeknown to us, for he's got the wildest idea into his head that human brains--or lack of them--ever conceived." "you are not very respectful, sir," retorted mr. merrick stiffly, as he ate his salad. "but we must not expect too much of a disabled soldier--and an irishman to boot--who has not been accustomed to good society." major doyle looked at his brother-in-law with an approving smile. "very well put, john," he said. "you're improving in repartee. presently you'll add that i'm unlettered and uncivilized, and no fit associate for a person who has made an egregious fortune out of tin cans in the wilds of oregon." "but what's the news?" asked patsy impatiently. "what new idea has uncle john conceived?" "first," replied the major, "he has bought an automobile as big as a baggage car. next he has engaged a chauffeur who is a wild canadian indian with a trace of erratic french blood in his veins--a combination liable to result in anything. mr. wampus, the half-breed calls himself, and from the looks of him he's murdered many a one in his day." "oh, major!" "show me an automobile driver that hasn't. myrtle knows. it's no trick to knock over a peaceful pedestrian or so, to say nothing of chickens, cats and dogs mangled by the roadside. i confidently expect he'll make a pancake of dear little mumbles before he's five miles on the road. eh, patsy?" "be sensible, daddy." "it's my strong point. if i'm any judge of character this wampus is a speed fiend." "he is recommended as a very careful driver," said mr. merrick; "and moreover he has signed a contract to obey my orders." "very good," said beth. "i'm not afraid of mr. wampus. what next, major?" "next," continued patsy's father, with a solemn wink at the row of curious faces, "your inventive relative has ordered the automobile rebuilt, thinking he's wiser than the makers. he's having a furnace put in it, for one thing--it's a limousine, you know, and all enclosed in glass. also it's as big as a barn, as i said." "you said a freight car," observed patsy. "true. a small barn or a big freight car. the seats are to be made convertible into sleeping berths, so if we get caught out overnight we have all the comforts of a hotel except the bell boys." "i'll be the bell boy," promised patsy. "also we're to take a portable kitchen along, like they use in the army, with a gasoline stove all complete. the thing fits under the back seat, i believe." "all this," said beth, "strikes me as being very sensible and a credit to uncle john's genius. i'm a good cook, as you know, and the kitchen outfit appeals to me. but how about provisions?" "provisions are being provided," replied her uncle, genially smiling at her praise. however scornfully the major might view his preparations he was himself mightily proud of them. "tinned stuff, i presume," remarked his brother-in-law. "john merrick has a weakness for tin cans, having got his money out of them." "you're wrong," protested uncle john. "i merely made my money from the tin the cans were made of. but we won't get money out of these cans when they're opened; it will be something better, such as sardines and hominy, preserved cream and caviar, beans and boned chicken." "sounds fine!" cried patsy with enthusiasm. "but how can you arrange to carry so much, uncle?" "the limousine body is pretty big, as the major says, and high enough to allow me to put in a false bottom. in the space beneath it i shall stow all the bedding, the eatables and kitchen utensils, and a small tent. then we shall be prepared for whatever happens." "i doubt it," objected the major. "there's gasoline to be reckoned with. it's well enough to feed ourselves, but what if we ran short of the precious feed for the engines?" "the two tanks will hold sixty gallons. that ought to carry us any reasonable distance," replied mr. merrick. "you see, daddy, our uncle john is an experienced traveler, while you are not," declared patsy. "in all our journeys together i've found him full of resources and very farsighted. this trip doesn't worry me at all." "nor me," added beth. "we are sure to have a delightful time under uncle's auspices." "wampus," said uncle john, "is so pleased with my preparations that he wants us to start in the car from here." "can you put it on runners, like a sledge?" asked the major. "that's the only way it could travel through this snow. or perhaps you'll hire a snowplow to go ahead of it." "no; i told wampus it was impracticable," was the reply. "we shall load our machine on a flat car and ship it to albuquerque, which is in new mexico and almost directly south of denver. we shall then be over the worst grades of the rocky mountains." "and which way do we go then?" inquired beth. "i have not yet decided. we can go still farther south, into texas, or make our way down into phoenix and across the prairies to imperial valley, or follow the santa fe route by way of the grand canyon." "oh, let's go that way!" exclaimed patsy. "and freeze to death?" asked the major. "it's the northernmost route." "when we get to albuquerque we will be below the line of frosts and snow," explained mr. merrick. "the climate is genial all through that section during winter. haggerty says--" "i guessed it!" groaned the major. "if haggerty recommends this trip we'll surely be in trouble." "aside from haggerty, wampus knows that country thoroughly," said uncle john stoutly. "tell me: did haggerty recommend wampus?" "no." "then there's hopes of the fellow. as you say, john, there is no need to decide until we get to albuquerque. when do we make the start?" "day after to-morrow. the car will be shipped to-morrow night, but our party will follow by daylight, so as to see colorado springs, pike's peak and pueblo as we pass by them." chapter vi wampus speeds "so this is albuquerque," observed patsy doyle, as they alighted from the train. "is it a big town playing peek-a-boo among those hills, uncle john, or is this really all there is to the place?" "it's a pretty big town, my dear. most of the houses are back on the prairie, but fortunately our hold is just here at the depot." it was a quaint, attractive building, made of adobe cement, in the ancient mission style; but it proved roomy and extremely comfortable. "seems to me," whispered myrtle to beth, "we're high up on the mountains, even yet." "so we are," was the reply. "we're just between glorietta pass and the great continental divide. but the steepest of the rockies are behind us, and now the slopes are more gradual all the way to california. how do you like it, dear?" "oh, the mountains are grand!" exclaimed myrtle. "i had never imagined anything so big and stately and beautiful." the other girls had seen mountains before, but this was their friend's first experience, and they took much pleasure in myrtle's enthusiastic delight over all she saw. adjoining the hotel was a bazaar, in front of which sat squatted upon the ground two rows of mojave indians, mostly squaws, with their curious wares spread out for sale upon blankets. there must have been a score of them, and they exhibited odd pottery ornaments of indistinguishable shapes, strings of glass beads and beadwork bags, and a few really fine jardinieres and baskets. after the girls had been to their rooms and established themselves in the hotel they hurried out to interview the indians, myrtle dean supporting herself by her crutches while patsy and beth walked beside her. the lame girl seemed to attract the squaws at once, and one gave her a bead necklace while another pressed upon her a small brown earthenware fowl with white spots all over it. this latter might have been meant to represent a goose, an ostrich or a guinea hen; but myrtle was delighted with it and thanked the generous squaw, who responded merely with a grunt, not understanding english. a man in a wide sombrero who stood lazily by observed the incident and said: "don't thank the hag. she's selfish. the mojaven think it brings luck to have a gift accepted by a cripple." myrtle flushed painfully. "i suppose my crutches make me look more helpless than i really am," she whispered to her friends as they moved away. "but they're such a help in getting around that i'm very grateful to have them, and as i get stronger i can lay them aside and not be taken for a cripple any more." the air was delightfully invigorating here in the mountains, yet it was not at all cold. the snow, as uncle john had predicted, had all been left behind them. after dinner they took a walk through the pretty town and were caught in the dark before they could get back. the twilights are very brief in albuquerque. "this is a very old town," remarked uncle john. "it was founded by a spanish adventurer named cabrillo in the seventeenth century, long before the united states came into existence. but of course it never amounted to anything until the railroad was built." next day they were sitting in a group before the hotel when a man was seen approaching them with shuffling steps. uncle john looked at him closely and mumbles leaped from patsy's lap and rushed at the stranger with excited barks. "why, it's wampus," said mr. merrick. "the car must have arrived." wampus caught up the baby dog and held it under his arm while he took his cap off and bowed respectfully to his employer. "he an' me, we here," he announced. "who is 'he,' wampus?" "aut'mob'l'." "when did you arrive?" "half hour ago. he on side track." "very good. you have made capital time, for a freight train. let us go at once and get the car unloaded." wampus hesitated, looking sheepish. "i been arrest," he said. "arrested! for what?" "i make speed. they not like it. they arrest me--_me_--wampus!" he straightened his slim little form with an assumption of dignity. "i knew it," sighed the major. "i decided he was a speed fiend the first time i saw him." "but--dear me!" said uncle john; "how could you be arrested for speeding when the automobile was on a fiat car?" wampus glanced over his shoulder. two railroad men had followed him and were now lounging against the porch railing. one had his right eye bandaged while the other carried one arm in a sling. both scowled as they eyed the canadian fixedly. "freight train make pretty slow time," began the chauffeur. "i know you in hurry, so freight train he make me nervous. i say polite to conductor i like to go faster. he laugh. i say polite to brakeman we must go faster. he make abusing speech. i climb into engine an' say polite to engineer to turn on steam. he insult me. so i put my foot on him an' run engine myself. i am wampus. i understan' engine--all kinds. brakeman he swear; he swear so bad i put him off train. conductor must have lump of coal in eye to keep quiet. fireman he jus' smile an' whistle soft an' say nothing; so we friends. when i say 'shovel in coal,' he shovel. when we pass stations quick like, he whistle with engine loud. so now we here an' i been arrest." patsy tittered and stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth. uncle john first chuckled and then looked grave. the major advanced to wampus and soberly shook his hand. "you're a brave man, sir, for a chauffeur," he said. "i congratulate you," wampus still looked uneasy. "i been arrest," he repeated. uncle john beckoned the railroad men to come forward. "is this story true?" he asked. "most of it, sir," answered the conductor. "it's only by the mercy of providence we're here alive. this scoundrel held up the whole crew and ran away with the engine. we might have had a dozen collisions or smash-ups, for he went around curves at sixty miles an hour. we'd cut our train in two, so as to pull half of it at a time up the grade at lamy, and so there were only six cars on this end of it. the other half is seventy miles back, and part of what we have here ought to have been left at the way stations. i can't make out, sir, whether it's burglary, or highway robbery or arson an' murder he's guilty of, or all of 'em; but i've telegraphed for instructions and i'll hold him a prisoner until the superintendent tells me what to do with him." mr. merrick was very sober now. "the matter is serious," he said. "this man is in my employ, but i did not hire him to steal a railway train or fight its crew. not badly hurt, i hope, sir?" "my eye's pretty bad," growled the conductor. "tom, here, thought his arm was broken, at first; but i guess it's only sprained." "how about the brakeman he threw off the train?" "why, we were not going fast, just then, and it didn't hurt him. we saw him get up and shake his fist at the robber. if he ever meets mr. wampus again he'll murder him." "come with me to the telegraph office and i'll see what i can do to straighten this out," said mr. merrick briskly. on the way he remarked to the conductor: "i'm sorry i let wampus travel alone. he's just a little bit affected in his mind, you know, and at times isn't responsible for what he does." the conductor scratched his head doubtfully. "i suspected he was crazy," he replied, "and that's why i didn't hurt him. but if he's crazy he's the most deliberate loonatic i ever run acrost." the superintendent had just wired instructions to put the outlaw in jail when mr. merrick reached the telegraph office, but after an hour spent in sending messages back and forth a compromise was affected and the little millionaire had agreed to pay a goodly sum to the company by way of damages and to satisfy the crew of the freight train--which he succeeded in doing by a further outlay of money. "you're not worth all this bother," said mr. merrick to the humbled wampus, when the final settlement had been made, "but chauffeurs are scarce in albuquerque and i can't be delayed. never, sir, while you are in my employ, must you allow yourself to be guilty of such an act again!" wampus sighed. "never," he promised, "will i ride by freight train again. send car by express. i am wampus. freight train he make me nervous." the automobile was quickly unloaded and at once wampus set to work to get it in running order. he drove it to the hotel at about sundown and mr. merrick told the girls to be ready to start after an early breakfast the next morning. "which way do we go?" asked the major. "we'll have a talk with wampus this evening and decide," said uncle john. "don't leave out the grand canyon!" begged patsy. "nor the petrified forests." added beth. "and couldn't we visit the moki indian reservation?" "those things may be well enough in their way," observed the major, "but is their way our way? that's the question. the one thing we must take into consideration is the matter of roads. we must discover which road is the best and then take it. we're not out of the mountains yet, and we shall have left the railroad, the last vestige of civilization, behind us." but the conference evolved the fact, according to wampus, that the best and safest roads were for a time along the line of the santa fe, directly west; and this would enable them to visit most of the scenes the girls were eager to see. "no boulevard in mountain anywhere," remarked wampus; "but road he good enough to ride on. go slow an' go safe. i drive 'autocrat' from here to los angeles blindfold." with this assurance they were obliged to be content, and an eager and joyful party assembled next morning to begin the journey so long looked forward to. the landlord of the hotel, a man with a careworn face, shook his head dismally and predicted their return to albuquerque within twenty-four hours. "of course people _do_ make the trip from here to the coast," he said; "but it's mighty seldom, and they all swear they'll never do it again. it's uncomfortable, and it's dangerous." "why?" asked uncle john. "you're headed through a wild country, settled only by mexicans, indians, and gangs of cowboys still worse. the roads are something awful. that man wampus is an optimist, and will tackle anything and then be sorry for it afterward. the towns are scattered from here on, and you won't strike a decent meal except at the railway stations. taking all these things into consideration, i advise you to make your headquarters here for the winter." "thank you," returned mr. merrick pleasantly. "it's too late for us to back out now, even if we felt nervous and afraid, which i assure you we do not." "we are not looking for excessive comfort on this journey, you know," remarked patsy. "but thank you for your warning, sir. it has given us great pleasure; for if there were no chance of adventure before us we should all be greatly disappointed." again the landlord shook his head. "right?" asked wampus, at the wheel. "go ahead," said mr. merrick, and slowly the big car started upon its journey into the golden west. the air was keen and bracing, but not chilly. the sunshine flooded the landscape on every side. all the windows of the limousine had been lowered. myrtle dean had been established in one corner of the broad back seat, where she nestled comfortably among the cushions. uncle john sat beside her, with beth and the major on the seat on front. there were two folding chairs that could be used on occasion, and the back seat easily accommodated three, the "autocrat" being a seven passenger car; but patsy was perched in front beside wampus, which was really the choicest seat of all, so there was ample room inside to "swing a cat," as the major stated--if anyone had cared to attempt such a feat. of course the wee mumbles was in patsy's lap, and he seemed to have overcome his first aversion of wampus and accepted the little chauffeur into the circle of his favored acquaintances. indeed, they soon became fast friends. on leaving the town wampus turned into a smooth, hard wagon road that ran in zigzag fashion near the railroad grade. the car bowled along right merrily for some twenty miles, when the driver turned to the right and skimmed along a high plateau. it was green and seemed fertile, but scarcely a farmhouse could they see, although the clear air permitted a broad view. "he up hill now all way to continental divide," said wampus to patsy; "then he go down hill long time." "it doesn't seem to be much uphill," returned the girl, "and the road is very good." "we make time here," observed the driver. "by'm-by we find rock an' bad road. then we go slow." the major was watching the new chauffeur carefully, and despite his dismal forebodings the man seemed not at all reckless but handled his car with rare skill. so the critic turned to his brother-in-law and asked: "is it fully decided which way we shall go?" "i've left it to wampus and the girls," was the reply. "on account of our little invalid here we shall take the most direct route to california. it isn't a short route, at that. on beth's account we shall visit the moki and navajo reservations, and on patsy's account we're going by way of the grand canyon of arizona. wampus says he knows every inch of the road, so for my part i'm content to be just a passenger." "which remark," said the major, "indicates that i'm to be just a passenger also. very well, john; i'm willing. there may be trouble ahead of us, but to-day is so magnificent that it's wise to forget everything but the present." chapter vii the chauffeur improves they all enjoyed that first day's ride. wampus did not drive fast, for there were places where he couldn't; yet by one o'clock they had reached laguna, sixty miles from their starting point. there was an excellent railway hotel here, so they decided to spend the rest of the day and the night at laguna and proceed early the next morning. the big car was an object of much curiosity to the natives, and during the afternoon wampus was the center of attraction. myrtle had stood the ride remarkably well, and uncle john noticed that her eyes were brighter and a shade of color had already crept into her pale cheeks. having risen early all three of the girls took a nap during the afternoon, as did mr. merrick. the major gossiped with the station agent, the most important individual in town, and gleaned sundry information that made him look rather glum. "i don't say the road's exactly dangerous, mind you," added the man, "but these greasers and injuns get mischievous, at times, harmless as they look. all i'm advisin' is that you keep a sharp eye on 'em." finding wampus cleaning his car, while a circle of silent, attentive inhabitants looked on, the major said to him in a low voice: "have you a revolver?" wampus shook his head. "never carry him," he replied. "all gun he make trouble. sometime he shoot wrong man. don't like gun. why should i? i am wampus!" the major entered the hotel frowning. "that fellow," he muttered, "is a natural-born coward, and we needn't expect help from him if trouble comes." no trouble came that night, however, and in the early morning, while the sky was still reddened by the rising sun, they were off again, following more closely now the railroad, as rocky defiles began to loom up before them. by the zigzag course they were obliged to take it was ninety miles to gallup, and this they easily made, despite the growing steepness of the mountain road. here was the famous continental divide, and the state of arizona lay just beyond. the continental divide is the ridge that separates the streams tributary to the atlantic ocean from those tributary to the pacific, so that after crossing it one might well feel that at last the east was left behind and the great west with its romance now faced him. they came to the little town in time to see the gorgeous sunset from this, the highest point of the rockies, and especially to myrtle, who had traveled so little, was the sight impressive and awe inspiring. there was a small but fairly good hotel in the place, and after supper patsy and beth went out for a stroll, being much interested in the dark-skinned mexicans and still darker indians who constituted far the larger part of the population. the party had everywhere met with respect from these people, who, although curious, were silent and well-behaved; so uncle john and the major, deep in a political argument on the hotel porch, had no thought of danger when they saw the two girls start away arm in arm. the sky was still aglow, although the sun had set, and in the subdued light the coarse adobe huts and rickety frame dwellings were endowed with a picturesque appearance they did not really possess. beth and patsy came to the end of the main street rather suddenly, and stood a moment looking at the shadows cast by the rocky cliffs near by. some of the peaks had snow upon them, and there was a chill in the air, now that the sun had withdrawn its warmth. the girls turned presently and took another route that might bring them quicker to the hotel, but had only proceeded a short way when in passing a rather solitary adobe structure a man stepped from the shadow of the wall and confronted them. he wore a red flannel shirt and a broad sombrero, the latter scarcely covering his dark, evil features. the cousins stopped short. then beth whispered: "let's go the other way." but as they were about to turn the mexican drew a revolver and said in harsh, uneven english: "you halt. keep a-still, or i shoot." "what do you want?" asked beth, quietly. "money. all you got. jew'lry--all you got. give 'm quick, or i shoot!" as they stood hesitating a sound of footsteps was heard and someone approached quickly from behind them. patsy looked hurriedly around and saw wampus. he was walking with his thin little form bent and his hands deep in his trousers pockets. incidentally wampus was smoking the stub of a cigar, as was his custom when off duty. the mexican saw him, but marking his small size and mild manner did not flinch from his position. with one revolver still leveled at the girls he drew another from a hip pocket and turned it upon wampus. "you stop--halt!" he exclaimed fiercely. wampus did not halt. his eyes fixed upon the bandit's ugly features, still puffing his cigar and with hands in his pockets he walked deliberately past patsy and beth and straight up to the muzzles of the revolvers. "stop!" cried the mexican; and again: "stop!" wampus stopped when one revolver nearly touched his nose and another covered his body. slowly he drew one hand from his pocket and grasped the barrel of the nearest weapon. "let him go," he said, not raising his voice. the man stared into the little chauffeur's eyes and released his hold of the revolver. wampus looked at it, grunted, and put it in his pocket. "now the other gun," he said. the fellow drew back and half turned, as if to escape. "no, no!" said wampus, as if annoyed. "you give me gun. see--i am wampus!" sheepishly enough the mexican surrendered the other weapon. "now turn aroun' an' go to hotel," commanded the chauffeur. the man obeyed. wampus turned to the girls, who were now not only relieved but on the verge of laughter and said deprecatingly: "do not be scare, for poor man he make no harm. he jus' try a goozle--no dare shoot here in town. then come; i go back with you." silently they accompanied him along the lane, the mexican keeping in front and looking around from time to time to see if they followed. a short distance from the hotel wampus gave a queer whistle which brought the bandit cringing to his side. without ado he handed the fellow his two revolvers and said calmly: "go 'long." the mexican "went along" briskly and the dusk soon swallowed him up. "thank you, wampus," said patsy, gratefully; "you've saved us from a dreadful experience." "oh, that!" snapping his fingers scornfully. "he not a good bad-man, for he too much afraid. i have no gun, for i do not like gun. still, if i not come, he make you give him money an' trinkets." "you were very kind," replied beth, "and i thank you as much as patsy does. if you had not arrived just when you did i might have killed the man." "you?" inquired wampus, doubtingly. "yes." she showed him a small pearl-handled revolver which she carried in the pocket of her jacket. "i can shoot, wampus." the little chauffeur grinned; then looked grave and shook his head. "it make funny world, these day," said he. "one time girl from city would scream to see a gun; now she carry him in pocket an' can shoot! ver' fine; ver' fine. but i like me old style girl who make scream. then a man not feel foolish when he try protect her." patsy laughed merrily; but beth saw he was offended and hastened to say: "i am very grateful to you, wampus, and i know you are a brave and true man. i shall expect you to protect me at all times, for i really don't wish to shoot anyone, although i think it best to carry a revolver. always after this, before i am tempted to fire, i shall look to see if you are not near me." "all right," he said more cheerfully. "i am wampus. i will be there, miss 'lizbeth." chapter viii among the indians little myrtle grew brighter day by day. she even grew merry and developed a fine sense of humor, showing new traits in her hitherto undeveloped character. the girl never mentioned her injury nor admitted that she suffered any pain, even when directly questioned. indeed she was not uncomfortable during that splendid automobile ride over mountain and plain into the paradise of the glowing west. never before in her life had myrtle enjoyed an outing, except for an hour or two in a city park; never before had she known a friend to care for her and sympathize honestly with her griefs. therefore this experience was so exquisitely delightful that her responsive heart nearly burst with gratitude. pretty thoughts came to her that she had never had before; her luxurious surroundings led her to acquire dainty ways and a composed and self-poised demeanor. "our rosebud is unfolding, petal by petal, and beginning to bloom gloriously," said patsy to sympathetic uncle john. "could anyone be more sweet or lovely?" perhaps almost any girl, situated as myrtle dean was, would have blossomed under similar influences. certain it was that uncle john came to have a tender affection for the poor child, while the major's big heart had warmed from the first toward the injured girl. beth and patsy were devoted to their new friend and even mumbles was never so happy as when myrtle would hold and caress him. naturally the former waif responded freely to all this wealth of affection and strove to be companionable and cheery, that they might forget as much as possible her physical helplessness. mumbles was not the least important member of the party, but proved a constant source of amusement to all. in the novel domains they now traversed the small dog's excitable nature led him to investigate everything that seemed suspicious, but he was so cowardly, in spite of this, that once when patsy let him down to chase a gopher or prairie dog--they were not sure which--the animal turned at bay and sent mumbles retreating with his stubby tail between his legs. his comradeship for wampus surprised them all. the canadian would talk seriously to the dog and tell it long stories as if the creature could understand every word--which perhaps he did. mumbles would sit up between the driver and patsy and listen attentively, which encouraged wampus to talk until patsy in self-defense turned and tossed the fuzzy animal in to myrtle, who was always glad to receive him. but patsy did not always sit on the front seat. that honor was divided among them all, by turns, except the major, who did not care for the place. yet i think patsy rode there oftener than anyone else, and it came to be considered her special privilege because she had first claimed it. the major, after the incident at gallup, did not scorn wampus so openly as before; but he still reserved a suspicion that the fellow was at heart a coward and a blusterer. the chauffeur's sole demerit in the eyes of the others was his tremendous egotism. the proud remark: "i am wampus!" was constantly on his lips and he had wonderful tales to tell to all who would listen of his past experiences, in every one of which he unblushingly figured as the hero. but he really handled the big touring car in an admirable manner, and when one afternoon a tire was punctured by a cactus spine by the roadside--their first accident--they could not fail to admire the dexterous manner in which he changed the tube for a new one. from gallup they took a wagon road to fort defiance, in the navajo indian reservation; but the navajos proved uninteresting people, not even occupying themselves in weaving the famous navajo blankets, which are now mostly made in philadelphia. even patsy, who had longed to "see the indians in their native haunts," was disgusted by their filth and laziness, and the party expected no better results when they came to the adjoining moki reservation. here, however, they were happily disappointed, for they arrived at the pueblo of oraibi, one of the prettiest villages on the mesa, on the eve of one of their characteristic snake dances, and decided to remain over night and see the performance. now i am not sure but the "snake dance" was so opportune because uncle john had a private interview with the native chieftain, at which the head snake priest and the head antelope priest of the tribe were present. these indians spoke excellent english and the chief loved the white man's money, so a ceremony that has been held during the month of august for many centuries--long before the spanish conquistadors found this interesting tribe--was found to be on tap for that very evening. the girls were tremendously excited at the prospect and wampus was ordered to prepare camp for the night--the first they had spent in their automobile and away from a hotel. not only was the interior of the roomy limousine converted into sleeping quarters for the three girls, but a tent was spread, one side fastened to the car while the other was staked to the ground. three wire folding cots came from some hidden place beneath the false bottom of the car, with bedding enough to supply them, and these were for the use of the men in the tent. the two "bedrooms" having been thus prepared, wampus lighted the tiny gasoline stove, over which patsy and beth enthusiastically cooked the supper. beth wanted to "newburg" the tinned lobster, and succeeded in creaming it very nicely. they had potato chips, coffee and toasted holland rusks, as well, and all thoroughly enjoyed the improvised meal. their camp had been pitched just at the outskirts of the indian village, but the snake dance was to take place in a rocky glen some distance away from the pueblo and so uncle john instructed wampus to remain and guard their outfit, as the moki are notorious thieves. they left the lean little chauffeur perched upon the driver's seat, smoking one of his "stogie" cigars and with mumbles sitting gravely beside him. myrtle hobbled on her crutches between beth and patsy, who carried little tin lanterns made with lamp chimneys that had candles inside them. they first visited the chief, who announced that the ceremonies were about to begin. at a word from this imposing leader a big indian caught up myrtle and easily carried her on his shoulder, as if she were light as a feather, leading the way to the rocky amphitheatre. here were assembled all the inhabitants of the village, forming a wide circle around the performers. the snakes were in a pit dug in the center of the space, over which a few branches had been placed. this is called the "kisi." these unique and horrifying snake dances of the moki have been described so often that i need not speak of this performance in detail. before it was half over the girls wished they were back in their automobile; but the major whispered that for them to leave would cause great offense to the indians and might result in trouble. the dance is supposedly a religious one, in honor of the rain god, and at first the snakes were not used, but as the dancers became wrought up and excited by their antics one by one they reached within the kisi and drew out a snake, allowing the reptiles to coil around their almost naked bodies and handling them with seeming impunity. a few were harmless species, as bull snakes and arrow snakes; but mostly the moki used rattlesnakes, which are native to the mesa and its rocky cliffs. some travelers have claimed that the fangs of the rattlers are secretly withdrawn before the creatures are handled, but this has been proved to be untrue. the most accepted theory is that the snakes are never permitted to coil, and cannot strike unless coiled, while the weird chanting and graceful undulating motions of the dancers in some manner "charms" or intoxicates the serpents, which are not aroused to antagonism. occasionally, however, one of the moki priests is bitten, in which case nothing is done to aid him and he is permitted to die, it being considered a judgment of the rain god for some sin he has committed. the barbaric rites seemed more picturesque, as well as more revolting, in that they took place by the flickering light of torches and bonfires in a rock strewn plain usually claimed by nature. when the dancers were more frenzied they held the squirming serpents in their mouths by the middle and allowed them to coil around their necks, dancing wildly the while. the whole affair was so nauseating and offensive that as soon as it was possible the visitors withdrew and retired to their "camp." it was now almost midnight, but the path was lighted by the little lanterns they carried. as they approached the automobile uncle john was disturbed not to see wampus at his post. a light showed from the front of the car, but the chauffeur seemed to be missing. coming nearer, however, they soon were greeted by a joyous barking from mumbles and discovered wampus squatting upon the ground, puffing at the small end of the cigar and seeming quite composed and tranquil. "what are you doing there?" demanded the major, raising his lantern the better to light the scene. "i play jailer," grunted wampus, without moving. "him want to steal; mumble he make bark noise; for me, i steal too--i steal injun." a dusky form, prone upon the ground, began to squirm under wampus, who was then discovered to be sitting upon a big indian and holding him prisoner. the chauffeur, partly an indian himself, knew well how to manage his captive and quieted the fellow by squeezing his throat with his broad stubby fingers. "how long have you had him there?" inquired uncle john, looking at the discomfited "brave" curiously. "about an hour," was the reply. "let him go, then. we have no prison handy, and the man has perhaps been punished enough." "i have wait to ask permission to kill him," said wampus solemnly. "he know english talk, an' i have told him he is to die. i have describe, sir, several torture we make on injun who steal, which make him think he die several time. so he is now prepare for the worst." the indiam squirmed again, and with a sigh wampus arose and set him free. "see," he said; "you are save only by mercy of great white chief. you ver' lucky injun. but great white chief will leave only one eye here when he go away. if you try to steal again the eye will see, an' then the torture i have describe will be yours. i am wampus. i have spoke." the indian listened intently and then slunk away into the darkness without reply. the night had no further event and in spite of their unusual experiences all slept excellently and awoke in the morning refreshed and ready for new adventures. chapter ix nature's masterpiece from the reservation to the grand canyon of the colorado was not far, but there was no "crosscut" and so they were obliged to make a wide detour nearly to williams before striking the road that wound upward to the world's greatest wonder. slowly and tediously the big car climbed the miserable trail to the rim of the grand canyon. it was night when they arrived, for they had timed it that way, having been told of the marvelous beauty of the canyon by moonlight. but unfortunately the sky filled with clouds toward evening, and they came to bright angel, their destination, in a drizzling rain and total darkness. the major was fearful wampus might run them into the canyon, but the machine's powerful searchlights showed the way clearly and by sticking to the road they finally drew up before an imposing hotel such as you might wonder to find in so remote a spot. eagerly enough they escaped from the automobile where they had been shut in and entered the spacious lobby of the hotel, where a merry throng of tourists had gathered. "dinner and bed," said patsy, decidedly. "i'm all tired out, and poor myrtle is worn to a frazzle. there's no chance of seeing the canyon to-night, and as for the dancing, card playing and promiscuous gaiety, it doesn't appeal much to a weary traveler." the girls were shown to a big room at the front of the hotel, having two beds in it. a smaller connecting-room was given to myrtle, while patsy and beth shared the larger apartment. it seems the hotel, big as it was, was fairly filled with guests, the railway running three trains a day to the wonderful canyon; but uncle john's nieces did not mind occupying the same room, which was comfortably and even luxuriously furnished. a noise of footsteps along the corridor disturbed patsy at an early hour. she opened her eyes to find the room dimly lighted, as by the first streaks of dawn, and sleepily arose to raise the window shade and see if day was breaking. her hand still upraised to guide the shade the girl stood as motionless as if turned to stone. with a long drawn, gasping breath she cried: "oh, beth!" and then stood staring at what is undoubtedly the most entrancing, the most awe inspiring and at the same time the most magnificent spectacle that mortal eye has ever beheld--sunrise above the grand canyon of arizona. the master painters of the world have gathered in this spot in a vain attempt to transfer the wondrous coloring of the canyon to canvas. authors famed for their eloquent command of language have striven as vainly to tell to others what their own eyes have seen; how their senses have been thrilled and their souls uplifted by the marvel that god's hand has wrought. it can never be pictured. it can never be described. only those who have stood as patricia doyle stood that morning and viewed the sublime masterpiece of nature can realize what those homely words, "the grand canyon" mean. grand? it is well named. since no other adjective can better describe it, that much abused one may well be accepted to incompletely serve its purpose. beth joined her cousin at the window and was instantly as awed and absorbed as patsy. neither remembered myrtle just then, but fortunately their friend had left the connecting door of their rooms ajar and hearing them stirring came in to see if anything had happened. she found the two cousins staring intently from the window and went to the second window herself, thus witnessing the spectacle in all its glory. even after the magnificent coloring of sunrise had faded the sight was one to rivet the attention. the hotel seemed built at the very edge of the canyon, and at their feet the ground appeared to fall away and a great gulf yawned that was tinted on all its diverse sides with hues that rivaled those of the rainbow. across the chasm they could clearly see the trees and hills; yet these were fully thirteen miles distant, for here is one of the widest portions of the great abyss. "i'm going to dress," said beth, breaking the silence at last. "it seems a sin to stay cooped up in here when such a glorious panorama is at one's feet." the others did not reply in words, but they all began to dress together with nervous haste, and then made their way down to the canyon's brink. others were before them, standing upon the ample porches in interested groups; but such idleness would not content our girls, who trooped away for a more intimate acquaintance with the wonderful gorge. "oh, how small--how terribly small--i am!" cried patsy, lost in the immensity of the canyon's extent; but this is a common cry of travelers visiting bright angel. you might place a baker's dozen of the huge falls of niagara in the grand canyon and scarcely notice they were there. all the vast cathedrals of europe set upon its plateau would seem like pebbles when viewed from the brink. the thing is simply incomprehensible to those who have not seen it. presently uncle john and the major came out to join them and they all wandered along the edge until they came to a huge rock that jutted out far over the monster gulf. on the furthermost point of this rock, standing with his feet at the very brink, was a tall, thin man, his back toward them. it seemed a fearful thing to do--to stand where the slightest slip would send him reeling into the abyss. "it's like tempting fate," whispered patsy, a safe distance away. "i wish he would step back a little." as if he had overheard her the man half turned and calmly examined the group. his eyes were an almost colorless blue, his features destitute of any expression. by his dress he seemed well-to-do, if not prosperous, yet there was a hint of melancholy in his poise and about him a definite atmosphere of loneliness. after that one deliberate look he turned again and faced the canyon, paying no attention to the interested little party that hovered far enough from the edge to avoid any possible danger. "oh, dear!" whispered myrtle, clinging to beth's arm with trembling fingers, "i'm afraid he's going to--to commit suicide!" "nonsense!" answered beth, turning pale nevertheless. the figure was motionless as before. uncle john and the major started along the path but as beth attempted to follow them myrtle broke away from her and hobbled eagerly on her crutches toward the stranger. she did not go quite to the end of the jutting rock, but stopped some feet away and called in a low, intense voice: "don't!" the man turned again, with no more expression in his eyes or face than before. he looked at myrtle steadily a moment, then turned and slowly left the edge, walking to firm ground and back toward the hotel without another glance at the girl. "i'm so ashamed," said myrtle, tears of vexation in her eyes as she rejoined her friends. "but somehow i felt i must warn him--it was an impulse i just couldn't resist." "why, no harm resulted, in any event, my dear," returned beth. "i wouldn't think of it again." they took so long a walk that all were nearly famished when they returned to the hotel for breakfast. of course patsy and beth wanted to go down bright angel trail into the depths of the canyon, for that is the thing all adventurous spirits love to do. "i'm too fat for such foolishness," said uncle john, "so i'll stay up here and amuse myrtle." the major decided to go, to "look after our patsy;" so the three joined the long line of daring tourists and being mounted on docile, sure-footed burros, followed the guide down the trail. myrtle and uncle john spent the morning on the porch of the hotel. at breakfast the girl had noticed the tall man they had encountered at the canyon's edge quietly engaged in eating at a small table in a far corner of the great dining room. during the forenoon he came from the hotel to the porch and for a time stood looking far away over the canyon. aroused to sympathy by the loneliness of this silent person, uncle john left his chair and stood beside him at the railing. "it's a wonderful sight, sir," he remarked in his brisk, sociable way; "wonderful indeed!" for a moment there was no reply. "it seems to call one," said the man at length, as if to himself. "it calls one." "it's a wonder to me it doesn't call more people to see it," observed mr. merrick, cheerfully. "think of this magnificent thing--greater and grander than anything the old world can show, being here right in the heart of america, almost--and so few rush to see it! why, in time to come, sir," he added enthusiastically, "not to have seen the grand canyon of arizona will be an admission of inferiority. it's--it's the biggest thing in all the world!" the stranger made no reply. he had not even glanced at uncle john. now he slowly turned and stared fixedly at myrtle for a moment, till she cast down her eyes, blushing. then he re-entered the hotel; nor was he again seen by them. the little man was indignant at the snub. rejoining myrtle he said to her: "that fellow wasn't worth saving--if you really saved him, my dear. he says the canyon calls one, and for all i care he may go to the bottom by any route he pleases." which speech showed that gentle, kindly mr. merrick was really annoyed. but a moment later he was all smiles again and myrtle found him a delightful companion because he knew so well how to read people's thoughts, and if they were sad had a tactful way of cheering them. the girls and the major returned from their trip to the plateau full of rapture at their unique experiences. "i wouldn't have missed it for a million dollars!" cried the major; but he added: "and you couldn't hire me to go again for two million!" "it was great," said patsy; "but i'm tuckered out." "i had nineteen narrow escapes from sudden death," began beth, but her cousin interrupted her by saying: "so had everyone in the party; and if the canyon had caved in we'd all be dead long ago. stop your chattering now and get ready for dinner. i'm nearly starved." next morning they took a farewell view of the beautiful scene and then climbed into their automobile to continue their journey. many of the tourists had wondered at their temerity in making such a long trip through a poorly settled country in a motor car and had plied them with questions and warnings. but they were thoroughly enjoying this outing and nothing very disagreeable had happened to them so far. i am sure that on this bright, glorious morning you could not have hired any one of the party to abandon the automobile and finish the trip by train. chapter x a coyote serenade the roads were bad enough. they were especially bad west of williams. just now an association of automobile tourists has been formed to create a boulevard route through from the atlantic to the pacific coast, but at the time of this story no attention had been given the roads of the far west and only the paths of the rancheros from town to town served as guides. on leaving williams they turned south so as to avoid the more severe mountain roads, and a fine run through a rather uninteresting country brought them to prescott on the eve of the second day after leaving the canyon. here they decided to take a day's rest, as it was sunday and the hotel was comfortable; but monday morning they renewed their journey and headed southwesterly across the alkali plains--called "mesa"--for parker, on the boundary line between arizona and california. towns of any sort were very scarce in this section and the country was wild and often barren of vegetation for long stretches. there were some extensive ranches, however, as this is the section favored for settlement by a class of englishmen called "remittance men." these are mostly the "black sheep" or outcasts of titled families, who having got into trouble of some sort at home, are sent to america to isolate themselves on western ranches, where they receive monthly or quarterly remittances of money to support them. the remittance men are poor farmers, as a rule. they are idle and lazy except when it comes to riding, hunting and similar sports. their greatest industry is cattle raising, yet these foreign born "cowboys" constitute an entirely different class from those of american extraction, found in texas and on the plains of the central west. they are educated and to an extent cultured, being "gentlemen born" but sad backsliders in the practise of the profession. because other ranchers hesitate to associate with them they congregate in settlements of their own, and here in arizona, on the banks of the bill williams branch of the colorado river, they form almost the total population. our friends had hoped to make the little town of gerton for the night, but the road was so bad that wampus was obliged to drive slowly and carefully, and so could not make very good time. accidents began to happen, too, doubtless clue to the hard usage the machine had received. first a spring broke, and wampus was obliged to halt long enough to clamp it together with stout steel braces. an hour later the front tire was punctured by cactus spines, which were thick upon the road. such delays seriously interfered with their day's mileage. toward sunset uncle john figured, from the information he had received at prescott, that they were yet thirty miles from gerton, and so he decided to halt and make camp while there was yet sufficient daylight remaining to do so conveniently. "we might hunt for a ranch house and beg for shelter," said he, "but from the stories i've heard of the remittance men i am sure we will enjoy ourselves better if we rely entirely upon our own resources." the girls were, of course, delighted at the prospect of such an experience, for the silent, solitary mesa made them feel they were indeed "in the wilds of the great american desert." the afternoon had been hot and the ride dusty, but there was now a cooler feeling in the air since the sun had fallen low in the horizon. they carried their own drinking water, kept ice-cold in thermos bottles, and uncle john also had a thermos tub filled with small squares of ice. this luxury, in connection with their ample supply of provisions, enabled the young women to prepare a supper not to be surpassed in any modern hotel. the soup came from one can, the curried chicken from another, while artichokes, peas, asparagus and plum pudding shed their tin coverings to complete the meal. fruits, cheese and biscuits they had in abundance, so there was no hardship in camping out on a deserted arizona table-land, as far as food was concerned. the interior of the limousine, when made into berths for the three girls, was as safe and cosy as a pullman sleeping coach. only the men's quarters, the "lean-to" tent, was in any way open to invasion. after the meal was ended and the things washed and put away they all sat on folding camp chairs outside the little tent and enjoyed the intense silence surrounding them. the twilight gradually deepened into darkness. wampus kept one of the searchlights lit to add an element of cheerfulness to the scene, and myrtle was prevailed upon to sing one or two of her simple songs. she had a clear, sweet voice, although not a strong one, and they all--especially uncle john--loved to hear her sing. afterward they talked over their trip and the anticipated change from this arid region to the verdure of california, until suddenly a long, bloodcurdling howl broke the stillness and caused them one and all to start from their seats. that is, all but wampus. the chauffeur, sitting apart with his black cigar in his mouth, merely nodded and said: "coyote." the major coughed and resumed his seat. uncle john stood looking into the darkness as if trying to discern the creature. "are coyotes considered dangerous?" he asked the canadian. "not to us," replied wampus. "sometime, if one man be out on mesa alone, an' plenty coyote come, he have hard fight for life. coyote is wild dog. he is big coward unless pretty hungry. if i leave light burn he never come near us." "then let it burn--all night," said mr. merrick. "there he goes again--and another with him! what a horrible wail it is." "i rather like it," said patsy, with her accustomed calmness. "it is certainly an added experience to be surrounded by coyotes. probably our trip wouldn't have been complete without it." "a little of that serenade will suffice me," admitted beth, as the howls grew nearer and redoubled in volume. myrtle's eyes were big and earnest. she was not afraid, but there was something uncanny in being surrounded by such savage creatures. nearer and nearer sounded the howls, until it was easy to see a dozen fierce eyes gleaming in the darkness, not a stone's throw away from the camp. "i guess you girls had better go to bed," remarked uncle john, a bit nervously. "there's no danger, you know--none at all. let the brutes howl, if they want to--especially as we can't stop them. but you are tired, my dears, and i'd like to see you settled for the night." somewhat reluctantly they entered the limousine, drew the curtains and prepared for bed. certainly they were having a novel experience, and if uncle john would feel easier to have them listen to the howling coyotes from inside the limousine instead of outside, they could not well object to his request. presently wampus asked the major for his revolver, and on obtaining the weapon he walked a few paces toward the coyotes and fired a shot into their group. they instantly scattered and made off, only to return in a few moments to their former position. "will they continue this grand opera chorus all night?" asked uncle john. "perhap," said wampus. "they hungry, an' smell food. coyote can no reason. if he could, he know ver' well we never feed him." "the next time we come this way let us fetch along a ton or so of coyote feed," suggested the major. "i wonder what the poor brutes would think if they were stuffed full for once in their lives?" "it have never happen, sir," observed wampus, shaking his head gravely. "coyote all born hungry; he live hungry; he die hungry. if ever coyote was not hungry he would not be coyote." "in that case, major," said uncle john, "let us go to bed and try to sleep. perhaps in slumber we may forget these howling fiends." "very well," agreed major doyle, rising to enter the little tent. wampus unexpectedly interposed. "wait," called the little chauffeur. "jus' a minute, if you please." while the major and mr. merrick stood wondering at the request, the canadian, who was still holding the revolver in one hand, picked a steel rod from the rumble of the automobile and pushing aside the flap of the little tent entered. the tail-lamp of the car burned inside, dimly lighting the place. the major was about to follow wampus when a revolver shot arrested him. this sound was followed by a quick thumping against the ground of the steel bar, and then wampus emerged from the tent holding a dark, squirming object on the end of the rod extended before him. "what is it?" asked mr. merrick, somewhat startled. "rattlesnake," said wampus, tossing the thing into the sagebrush. "i see him crawl in tent while you eat supper." "why did you not tell us?" cried the major excitedly. "i thought him perhaps crawl out again. him sometime do that. but no. mister snake he go sleep in tent which is reserve for his superior. i say nothing, for i do not wish to alarm the young ladies. that is why i hold the dog mumble so tight, for he small eye see snake too, an' fool dog wish to go fight him. rattlesnake soon eat mumble up--eh? but never mind; there is no worry. i am wampus, an' i am here. you go to bed now, an' sleep an' be safe." he said this rather ostentatiously, and for that reason neither of the others praised his watchful care or his really brave act. that wampus was proving himself a capable and faithful servant even the major was forced to admit, yet the man's bombast and self-praise robbed him of any word of commendation he justly earned. "i think," said uncle john, "i'll bunk on the front seat to-night. i'm short, you see, and will just about curl up in the space. i believe snakes do not climb up wheels. make my bed on the front seat, wampus." the man grinned but readily obeyed. the major watched him thoughtfully. "for my part," he said, "i'll have a bed made on top the roof." "pshaw!" said uncle john; "you'll scratch the paint." "that is a matter of indifference to me," returned the major. "you'll roll off, in your sleep, and hurt yourself." "i'll risk that, sir." "are you afraid, major?" "afraid! me? not when i'm awake, john. but what's to prevent more of those vermin from crawling into the tent during the night?" "such thing very unusual." remarked wampus, placing the last blanket on mr. merrick's improvised bed. "perhaps you sleep in tent a week an' never see another rattler." "just the same," concluded the major, "i'll have my bed on top the limousine." he did, wampus placing blankets and a pillow for him without a word of protest. the major climbed over uncle john and mounted to the roof of the car, which sloped to either side but was broad and long enough to accommodate more than one sleeper. being an old campaigner and a shrewd tactician, major doyle made two blankets into rolls, which he placed on either side of him, to "anchor" his body in position. then he settled himself to rest beneath the brilliant stars while the coyotes maintained their dismal howling. but a tired man soon becomes insensible to even such annoyances. the girls, having entered the limousine from the door opposite the tent, were all unaware of the rattlesnake episode and supposed the shot had been directed against the coyotes. they heard the major climbing upon the roof, but did not demand any explanation, being deep in those bedtime confidences so dear to all girls. even they came to disregard the persistent howls of the coyotes, and in time fell asleep. wampus did not seem afraid of snakes. the little chauffeur went to bed in the tent and slept soundly upon his cot until daybreak, when the coyotes withdrew and the canadian got up to make the coffee. the major peered over the edge of the roof to watch him. he had a sleepy look about his eyes, as if he had not rested well. uncle john was snoring with gentle regularity and the girls were still asleep. "wampus," said the major, "do you know the proper definition of a fool?" wampus reflected, stirring the coffee carefully. "i am not--what you call him?--a dictionairre; no. but i am wampus. i have live much in very few year. i would say a fool is man who think he is wise. for what is wise? nothing!" the major felt comforted. "it occurred to me," he said, beginning to climb down from the roof, "that a fool was a man who left a good home for this uncomfortable life on a barren desert. this country wasn't made for humans; it belongs to the coyotes and the rattlesnakes. what right have we to intrude upon them, then?" wampus did not reply. it was not his business to criticise his employers. chapter xi a real adventure at last uncle john woke up when the major inadvertently placed a heel upon his round stomach on the way to the ground. the chubby little millionaire had slept excellently and was in a genial humor this morning. he helped wampus fry the bacon and scramble the eggs, while the major called the girls. it proved a glorious sunrise and the air was full of pure ozone. they had suffered little from cold during the trip, although it was in the dead of winter and the altitude considerable. just now they were getting closer to california every hour, and when they descended from the mesa it would gradually grow warmer. they were all becoming expert at "breaking camp," and preparing for the road. beth and patsy put away the bedding and "made up" the interior of the limousine for traveling. the major and uncle john folded the tent and packed it away, while wampus attended to the dishes and tinware and then looked over his car. in a surprisingly short time they were all aboard and the big machine was gliding over the faint trail. the mesa was not a flat or level country, for they were still near to the mountain ranges. the way was up hill and down, in gentle slopes, and soon after starting they breasted the brow of a hill and were confronted by half a dozen mounted men, who seemed as much astonished at the encounter as they were. it being an event to meet anyone in this desolate place wampus involuntarily brought the car to a halt, while the riders lined up beside it and stared rather rudely at the party. they were dressed as cowboys usually are, with flannel shirts, chapelets and sombrero hats; but their faces were not rugged nor healthy, as is the case with most western cowboys, but bore marks of dissipation and hard living. "remittance men," whispered wampus. uncle john nodded. he had heard of this curious class. especially were the men staring at the three pretty, feminine faces that peered from the interior of the limousine. they had remained silent thus far, but now one of them, a fellow with dark eyes and a sallow complexion, reined his horse nearer the car and removed his hat with a sweeping gesture that was not ungraceful. "a merry morning to you, fair ladies--or angels--i much misdoubt which we have chanced upon. anyhow, welcome to hades!" uncle john frowned. he did not like the bantering, impudent tone. beth flushed and turned aside her head; myrtle shrank back in her corner out of sight; but patsy glared fixedly at the speaker with an expression that was far from gracious. the remittance man did not seem daunted by this decided aversion. a sneering laugh broke from his companions, and one of them cried: "back up, algy, and give your betters a chance. you're out of it, old man." "i have no betters," he retorted. then, turning to the girls again and ignoring the presence of the men accompanying them, he continued: "beauteous visions, since you have wilfully invaded the territory of hades ranch, of which diabolical domain i, algernon tobey, am by grace of his satanic majesty the master, i invite you to become my guests and participate in a grand ball which i shall give this evening in your honor." his comrades laughed again, and one of them shouted: "good for you, algy. a dance--that's the thing!" "why, we haven't had the chance of a dance for ages," said another approvingly. "because we have had no ladies to dance with," explained algy. "but here are three come to our rescue--perhaps more, if i could see inside that barricade--and they cannot refuse us the pleasure of their society." "sir," said major doyle, stiffly, "you are pleased to be impertinent. ride on, you rascals, and spare us further sight of you." the man turned upon him a scowling face. "don't interfere," he said warningly. "this isn't your party, you old duffer!" "drive ahead, wampus," commanded uncle john. wampus had to get out and crank the engines, which he calmly proceeded to do. the man who had called himself algernon tobey perceived his intention and urged his pony to the front of the car. "let that thing alone. keep your hands off!" he said. wampus paid no attention. the fellow brought his riding whip down sharply on the chauffeur's shoulders, inflicting a stinging blow. instantly little wampus straightened up, grasped tobey by the leg and with a swift, skillful motion jerked him from his horse. the man started to draw his revolver, but in an instant he and wampus were rolling together upon the ground and the canadian presently came uppermost and held his antagonist firmly between his knees. then with deliberation he raised his clinched fist and thrust it forcibly against mr. tobey's eye, repeating the impact upon his nose, his chin and his cheek in a succession of jarring thumps that were delivered with scientific precision. algy fairly howled, kicking and struggling to be free. none of his comrades offered to interfere and it seemed they were grimly enjoying the punishment that was being; inflicted upon their leader. when wampus had quite finished his work he arose, adjusted his disarranged collar and tie and proceeded to crank the engines. then he climbed into his seat and started the car with a sudden bound. as he did so a revolver shot rang out and one of the front tires, pierced by the bullet, ripped itself nearly in two as it crumpled up. a shout of derisive laughter came from the cowboys. algy was astride his pony again, and as wampus brought the damaged car to a stop the remittance men dashed by and along the path, taking the same direction uncle john's party was following". tobey held back a little, calling out: "au revoir! i shall expect you all at my party. i'm going now to get the fiddler." he rejoined his comrades then, and they all clattered away until a roll of the mesa hid them from sight. uncle john got down from his seat to assist his chauffeur. "thank you, wampus," he said. "perhaps you should have killed him while you had the opportunity; but you did very well." wampus was wrestling with the tire. "i have never start a private graveyard," he replied, "for reason i am afraid to hurt anyone. but i am wampus. if mister algy he dance to-night, somebody mus' lead him, for he will be blind." "i never met such a lawless brood in my life," prowled the major, indignantly. "if they were in new york they'd be put behind the bars in two minutes." "but they are in arizona--in the wilderness," said uncle john gravely. "if there are laws here such people do not respect them." it took a long time to set the new tire and inflate it, for the outer tube was torn so badly that an extra one had to be substituted. but finally the task was accomplished and once more they renewed their journey. now that they were alone with their friends the girls were excitedly gossiping over the encounter. "do you really suppose we are on that man's ground--his ranch, as he calls it?" asked myrtle, half fearfully. "why, i suppose someone owns all this ground, barren as it is," replied patsy. "but we are following a regular road--not a very good one, nor much traveled; but a road, nevertheless--and any road is public property and open for the use of travelers." "perhaps we shall pass by their ranch house," suggested beth. "if we do," uncle john answered, "i'll have wampus put on full speed. even their wild ponies can't follow us then, and if they try shooting up the tires again they are quite likely to miss as we spin by." "isn't there any other road?" the major asked. wampus shook his head. "i have never come jus' this same route before," he admitted; "but i make good friend in prescott, who know all arizona blindfold. him say this is nice, easy road and we cannot get lost for a good reason--the reason there is no other road at all--only this one." "did your friend say anything about hades ranch?" continued the questioner. "he say remittance man make much mischief if he can; but he one foreign coward, drunk most time an' when sober weak like my aunt's tea. he say don't let remittance man make bluff. no matter how many come, if you hit one they all run." "h-m," murmured uncle john, "i'm not so sure of that, wampus. there seems to be a good many of those insolent rascals, and i hope we shall not meet them again. they may give us trouble yet." "never be afraid," advised the chauffeur. "i am wampus, an' i am here!" admitting that evident truth, our tourists were not greatly reassured. wampus could not tell where the road might lead them, for he did not know, save that it led by devious winds to parker, on the border between arizona and california; but what lay between them and that destination was a sealed book to them all. the car was heavy and the road soft; so in spite of their powerful engines the car was not making more than fifteen miles an hour. a short ride brought them to a ridge, from the top of which they saw a huddle of buildings not far distant, with a near-by paddock containing a number of ponies and cattle. the buildings were not palatial, being composed mostly of adobe and slab wood; but the central one, probably the dwelling or ranch house, was a low, rambling pile covering considerable ground. the road led directly toward this group of buildings, which our travelers at once guessed to be "hades ranch." wampus slowed down and cast a sharp glance around, but the land on either side of the trail was thick with cactus and sagebrush and to leave the beaten path meant a puncture almost instantly. there was but one thing to be done. "pretty good road here," said wampus. "hold tight an' don't get scare. we make a race of it." "go ahead," returned uncle john, grimly. "if any of those scoundrels get in your way, run them down." "i never like to hurt peoples; but if that is your command, sir, i will obey," said wampus, setting his jaws tightly together. the car gathered speed and shot over the road at the rate of twenty miles an hour; then twenty-five--then thirty--and finally forty. the girls sat straight and looked eagerly ahead. forms were darting here and there among the buildings of the ranch, quickly congregating in groups on either side of the roadway. a red flag fluttered in the center of the road, some four feet from the ground. "look out!" shouted uncle john. "stop, wampus; stop her, i say!" wampus saw why, and applied his brakes. the big car trembled, slowed down, and came to a stop less than a foot away from three ugly bars of barbed wire which had been placed across the road. they were now just beside the buildings, and a triumphant shout greeted them from their captors, the remittance men. chapter xii captured "welcome to hades!" cried a stout little man in a red blouse, sticking his leering countenance through the door of the limousine. "shut up, stubby," commanded a hoarse voice from the group. "haven't you any manners? you haven't been introduced yet." "i've engaged the dark eyed one for the first dance," persisted stubby, as a dozen hands dragged him away from the door. the major sprang out and confronted the band. "what are we to understand by this outrage?" he demanded fiercely. "it means you are all invited to a party, and we won't accept any regrets," replied a laughing voice. patsy put her head out of the window and looked at the speaker. it was mr. algernon tobey. he had two strips of sticking plaster over his nose. one of his eyes was swollen shut and the other was almost closed. yet he spoke in a voice more cheerful than it was when they first met him. "don't be afraid," he added. "no one has the slightest intention of injuring any of you in any way, i assure you." "we have not the same intention in regard to you, sir," replied major doyle, fuming with rage, for his "irish was up," as he afterward admitted. "unless you at once remove that barricade and allow us to proceed we will not be responsible for what happens. you are warned, sir!" uncle john, by this time standing beside the major upon the ground, had been quietly "sizing up the situation," as he would have expressed it. he found they had been captured by a party of fourteen men, most of whom were young, although three or four, including tobey, were of middle age. the atmosphere of the place, with its disorderly surroundings and ill kept buildings, indicated that hades ranch was bachelor quarters exclusively. half a dozen mexicans and one or two chinamen were in the background, curious onlookers. mr. merrick noted the fact that the remittance men were an unkempt, dissipated looking crew, but that their faces betokened reckless good humor rather than desperate evil. there was no doubt but most of them were considering this episode in the light of a joke, and were determined to enjoy the experience at the expense of their enforced guests. uncle john had lived many years in the west and knew something of these peculiar english exiles. therefore he was neither frightened nor unduly angry, but rather annoyed by the provoking audacity of the fellows. he had three young girls to protect and knew these men could not be fit acquaintances for them. but he adopted a tone different from the major's and addressed himself to tobey as the apparent leader of the band. "sir," he said calmly but with pointed emphasis, "i believe you were born a gentleman, as were your comrades here." "you are right," answered tobey. "and each and every one you see before you has fallen from his former high estate--through no fault of his own." this may have been a sarcasm, for the others laughed in boisterous approval. "in some respects we are still gentlemen," tobey went on, "but in others we are not to be trusted. be reasonable, sir--i haven't the faintest idea who you are or what your name is--and consider calmly our proposition. here we are, a number of young fellows who have seen better and happier days, living alone in the midst of an alkali desert. most of us haven't seen a female for months, nor a lady for years. why, last fall stubby there rode eighty miles to buxton, just to stand on a corner and see a lot of greasy mexican women go by. we tire of exclusive male society, you see. we get to bore one another terribly. so here, like a visitation from heaven, three attractive young ladies descend upon us, traveling through our domain, and having discovered their presence we instantly decided to take advantage of the opportunity and invite them to an impromptu ball. there's no use refusing us, for we insist on carrying out our plan. if you men, perhaps the fathers of the young ladies, behave reasonably, we will entertain you royally and send you on your way rejoicing. won't we, boys?" they shouted approval. "but if you oppose us and act ugly about this fête, gentlemen, we shall be obliged to put a few bullets into you, and decide afterward what disposition to make of the girls. about the best stunt we do is shooting. we can't work; we're too poor to gamble much; but we hunt a good bit and we can shoot straight. i assure you we wouldn't mind losing and taking a few lives if a scrimmage is necessary. eh, boys?" "that's right, algy," said one, answering for the others; "we'll have that dance if we die for it--ev'ry man jack of us." myrtle was trembling in her corner of the limousine. beth sat still with a curl on her lips. but patsy was much interested in the proceedings and had listened attentively to the above conversation. now the girl suddenly swung open the door and sprang out beside her father, facing the group of cowboys. "i am patricia doyle," she said in a clear voice, "and these gentlemen," indicating the major and mr. merrick, "are my father and my uncle. you understand perfectly why they object to the arrangement you suggest, as any one of you would object, had you a daughter in a like position. but you are arbitrary and not inclined to respect womanhood. therefore but one course is open to us--to submit under protest to the unwelcome attentions you desire to thrust upon us." they listened silently to this frank speech, and some of their faces wore crestfallen expressions by the time she had finished. indeed, one of the older men turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing among the buildings. after a brief hesitation a delicate young fellow--almost a boy--followed this man, his face flaming red with shame. but the others stood their ground. "very good, miss doyle," remarked tobey, with forced cheerfulness. "you are quite sensible to submit to the inevitable. bring out your friends and introduce them, and then we'll all go in to luncheon and prepare for the dance." "i won't submit to this!" cried the major, stamping his foot angrily. "yes, you will," said uncle john, with a motion preventing his irate brother-in-law from drawing a revolver, "patsy is quite right, and we will submit with as much dignity as we can muster, being overpowered by numbers." he beckoned to beth, who stepped out of the car and assisted myrtle to follow her. a little cheer of bravado had arisen from the group, inspired by their apparent victory; but when myrtle's crutches appeared and they saw the fair, innocent face of the young girl who rested upon them, the shout died away in a hush of surprise. "this is my cousin, elizabeth de graf," announced patsy, with cold deliberation, determined that the proprieties should be observed in all intercourse with these people. "and i present our friend, myrtle dean. under ordinary circumstances i believe myrtle would be excused from dancing, but i suppose no brute in the form of a man would have consideration for her infirmity." this time even tobey flushed. "you've a sharp tongue, miss doyle, and it's liable to lead you into trouble," he retorted, losing for the moment his suave demeanor. "we may be brutes--and i imagine we are--but we're not dangerous unless provoked." it was savagely said, and uncle john took warning and motioned patsy to be silent. "lead the way, sir," he said. "our chauffeur will of course remain with the car." wampus had kept his seat, motionless and silent. he only nodded in answer to mr. merrick's instructions and was entirely disregarded by the remittance men. the man called "stubby," who had a round, good-humored face, stepped eagerly to myrtle's side and exclaimed: "let me assist you, please." "no," she said, shaking her head with a wan smile; "i am quite able to walk alone." he followed her, though, full of interest and with an air of deep respect that belied his former actions. tobey, content with his present success, walked beside mr. merrick and led the procession toward the ranch house. the major followed, his tall form upright, his manner bellicose and resentful, with beth and patsy on either side of him. the remittance men followed in a straggling crowd, laughing and boisterously talking among themselves. just as they reached the house a horseman came clattering down the road and all paused involuntarily to mark the new arrival. the rider was a handsome, slim young fellow, dressed as were the other cowboys present, and he came on at a breakneck speed that seemed only warranted by an errand of life and death. in front of him, tied to the saddle, appeared a huge bundle, and as the horse dashed up to the group standing by the ranch house the rider gracefully threw himself off and removed his hat with a sweeping gesture as he observed the young ladies. "i've got him, algy!" he cried merrily. "dan'l?" asked tobey. "dan'l himself." he pointed to the bundle, which heaved and wriggled to show it was alive. "he refused to come willingly, of course; so i brought him anyhow. never yet was there a fiddler willing to be accommodating." "good for you, tim!" shouted a dozen voices. and stubby added in his earnest way; "dan'l was never more needed in his life." tobey was busy unwinding a long lariat that bent the captive nearly double and secured him firmly to the panting horse. when the bonds were removed dan'l would have tumbled prone to the ground had not willing hands caught him and supported him upon his feet. our friends then observed that he was an aged man with a face thickly furrowed with wrinkles. he had but one eye, small and gray and very shrewd in expression, which he turned contemptuously upon the crowd surrounding him. numb and trembling from his cramped position upon the horse and the terrible jouncing he had endured, the fiddler could scarcely stand at first and shook as with a palsy; but he made a brave effort to control his weakness and turned smilingly at the murmur of pity and indignation that came from the lips of the girls. "where's the fiddle?" demanded tobey, and tim unhooked a calico bag from the saddlebow and held it out. a laugh greeted the gesture. "dan'l said he be hanged if he'd come," announced tim, with a grim appreciation of the humorous side of the situation; "so i hung him and brought him along--and his fiddle to boot. but don't boot it until after the dance." "what do you mean, sir, by this rebellious attitude?" questioned tobey, sticking his damaged face close to that of the fiddler. dan'l blinked with his one eye but refused to answer. "i've a good mind to skin you alive," continued the leader, in a savage tone. "you'll either obey my orders or i'll throw you into the snake pit." "let him alone, algy," said tim, carelessly. "the old scoundrel has been tortured enough already. but i see we have partners for the dance," looking critically at the girls, "and i claim first choice because i've brought the fiddler." at this a roar of protest arose and tobey turned and said sullenly: "come in, all of you. we'll settle the order of dancing later on." the interior of the ranch house was certainly picturesque. a great living room ran all across the front, with an immense fireplace built of irregular adobe bricks. the floor was strewn with skins of animals--mostly coyotes, a few deer and one or two mountain lions--and the walls were thickly hung with weapons and trophies of the chase. a big table in one corner was loaded with bottles and glasses, indicating the intemperate habits of the inmates, while on the chimney shelf were rows of pipes and jars of tobacco. an odor similar to that of a barroom hung over the place which the air from the open windows seemed unable to dissipate. there were plenty of benches and chairs, with a long mess table occupying the center of the room. in a corner was an old square piano, which a mexican was trying to dust as the party entered. "welcome to hades!" exclaimed tobey, with an absurd gesture. "be good enough to make yourselves at home and i'll see if those devils of chinamen are getting luncheon ready." silently the prisoners sat down. the crowd poured in after them and disposed themselves in various attitudes about the big room, all staring with more or less boldness at the three girls. dan'l the fiddler was pushed in with the others and given a seat, while two or three of the imitation cowboys kept guard over him to prevent any possible escape. so far the old man had not addressed a word to anyone. with the absence of the leader the feeling of restraint seemed to relax. the cowboys began whispering among themselves and chuckling with glee, as if they were enjoying some huge joke. stubby had placed himself near the three young ladies, whom he eyed with adoring glances, and somehow none of the prisoners regarded this childish young fellow in exactly the same light as they did his comrades. tim, his attitude full of grace as he lounged against a settle, was also near the group. he seemed a bit thoughtful since his dramatic arrival and had little to say to anyone. mr. merrick engaged stubby in conversation. "does mr. tobey own this place?" he asked. "by proxy, yes," was the reply. "it isn't in his name, you know, although that doesn't matter, for he couldn't sell his desert ranch if he had a title to it. i suppose that is what his folks were afraid of. algy is the fourth son of old lord featherbone, and got into a disgraceful mess in london some years ago. so featherbone shipped him over here, in charge of a family solicitor who hunted out this sequestered spot, bought a couple of thousand acres and built this hut. then he went home and left algy here to keep up the place on a paltry ten pounds--fifty dollars--a month." "can he manage to do that?" asked uncle john. "why, he has to, you see. he's got together a few cattle, mostly stolen i imagine; but he doesn't try to work the land. moreover he's established this community, composed of his suffering fellow exiles, the secret of which lies in the fact that we work the cooperative plan, and all chip in our remittances to boil the common pot. we can keep more servants and buy more food and drink, that way, than if each one of us lived separately." "up in oregon," said mr. merrick, "i've known of some very successful and prosperous ranchmen among the remittance men." "oh, we're all kinds, i suppose, good and bad," admitted stubby. "this crew's mostly bad, and they're moderately proud of it. it's a devil of a life, sir, and hades ranch is well named. i've only been here a month. had a little property up north; but the sheriff took it for debt, and that forced me to algy, whom i detest. i think i'll move on, before long. but you see i'm limited. can't leave arizona or i'll get my remittance cut off." "why were you sent here into exile?" asked myrtle artlessly. he turned red and refused to meet her eyes. "went wrong, miss," he said, "and my folks wouldn't stand for it. we're all in the same boat," sweeping his arm around, "doing punishment for our misdeeds." "do none of you ever reform?" inquired patsy. "what's the use? we're so far away from home no one there would ever believe in our reformation. once we become outcasts, that's the end of our careers. we're buried in these western wilds and allowed just enough to keep alive." "i would think," said uncle john musingly, "that the manly way would be to cut yourself off entirely from your people at home and go to some city in the united states where honesty and industry would win a new name for you. then you could be respected and happy and become of use to the world." stubby laughed. "that has been tried," he replied; "but few ever made a success of it. we're generally the kind that prefers idleness to work. my family is wealthy, and i don't mind taking from them what little they give me willingly and all that i can screw out of them besides. i'm in for life, as the saying is, and i've no especial ambition except to drink myself to death as soon as possible." patsy shuddered. it seemed a horrible thing to be so utterly hopeless. could this young fellow have really merited his fate? chapter xiii the fiddler tim had listened carelessly to the conversation until now, when he said listlessly: "don't think us all criminals, for we're not. in my own case i did nothing to deserve exile except that i annoyed my elder brother by becoming more popular with our social set than he was. he had all the property and i was penniless, so he got rid of me by threatening to cut off my allowance unless i went to america and stayed there." "and you accepted such a condition?" cried patsy, scornfully. "why were you not independent enough to earn your own living?" he shrugged his shoulders, yet seemed amused. "i simply couldn't," said he. "i was not educated to work, you know, and to do so at home would be to disgrace my noble family. i've too much respect for my lineage to labor with my hands or head." "but here in america no one would know you," suggested beth. "i would only humiliate myself by undertaking such a task. and why should i do so? while i am in america my affectionate brother, the head of the family, supports me, as is his duty. your philosophy is pretty enough, but it is not practical. the whole fault lies in our old-fashioned system of inheritance, the elder male of a family getting all the estate and the younger ones nothing at all. here, in this crude and plebeian country, i believe it is the custom to provide for all one's children, and a father is at liberty to do so because his estate is not entailed." "and he earns it himself and can do what he likes with it," added uncle john, impatiently. "your system of inheritance and entail may be somewhat to blame, but your worst fault is in rearing a class of mollycoddles and social drones who are never of benefit to themselves or the world at large. you, sir, i consider something less than a man." "i agree with you," replied tim, readily. "i'm only good to cumber the earth, and if i get little pleasure out of life i must admit that it's all i'm entitled to." "and you can't break your bonds and escape?" asked patsy. "i don't care to. people who are ambitious to do things merely bore me. i don't admire them or care to imitate them." from that moment they took no further interest in the handsome outcast. his world was not their world. and now tobey came in, driving before him a lot of mexicans bearing trays of food. the long table was laid in a moment, for everything was dumped upon it without any attempt at order. each of the cowboys seized a plate from a pile at one end and helped himself to whatever he wanted. two or three of the men, however, were courteous enough to attend to their unwilling guests and see they were served as well as conditions would permit the food was plentiful and of good quality, but although none of uncle john's party was squeamish or a stickler for form, all more or less revolted from the utter disregard of all the proprieties. "i'm sorry we have no wine; but there's plenty of whiskey, if you like it," remarked tobey. the girls were silent and ate little, although they could not help being interested in observing the bohemianism of these gently reared but decadent sons of respectable english families. as soon as they could they left the table, and tobey, observing their uneasiness in spite of his damaged and nearly useless optics, decided to send them to another room where they could pass the afternoon without further annoyance. stubby escorted the party and ushered them into a good sized room which he said was "algy's study," although no one ever studied there. "algy's afraid you'll balk at the dance; so he wants to please you however he can," remarked the round faced youth. "you won't mind being left alone, will you?" "we prefer it, sir," answered the major, stiffly. "you see, we're going to have a rare lark this afternoon," continued stubby, confidentially. "usually it's pretty dull here, and all we can do is ride and hunt--play cards and quarrel. but your coming has created no end of excitement and this dance will be our red-letter day for a long time to come. the deuce of if is, however, that there are only two girls to dance with thirteen men. we limit our community to fifteen, you know; but little ford and old rutledge have backed down and won't have anything to do with this enterprise. i don't know why," he continued, thoughtfully. "perhaps they still have some gentlemanly instincts," suggested patsy. "that must be it," he replied in a relieved tone. "well, anyhow, to avoid quarrels and bloodshed we've agreed to throw dice for the dances. every one is to have an equal chance, you see, and when you young ladies open the dance the entire programme will be arranged for you." "are we to have no choice in the matter of partners?" inquired beth curiously. "none whatever. there would surely be a row, in that case, and we intend to have everything; pass off pleasantly if we have to kill a few to keep the peace." with this stubby bowed low and retreated toward the door, which suddenly opened to admit old dan'l the fiddler, who was thrust in so violently that his body collided with that of stubby and nearly knocked him over. "that's all right," laughed the remittance man, recovering from the shock. "you mustn't escape, you know, dan'l, for we depend on you for the music." he closed the door as he went out and they all heard a bolt shoot into place. yet the broad window, scarcely six feet from the ground, stood wide open to admit the air. dan'l stood in the middle of the room, motionless for a moment. then he raised his wrinkled face and clinched his fists, shaking them in the direction of the living-room. "me!" he muttered; "me play for dese monkeys to dance--me! a maestro--a composer--a artiste! no; i vill nod! i vill die before i condescention to such badness, such mockery!" they were the first words he had spoken since his arrival, and they seemed to hold all his pentup indignation. the girls pitied the old man and, recognizing in him a fellow prisoner, sought to comfort him. "if the dance depends upon us, there will be no dance," said patsy, firmly. "i thought you advised submitting to the whim of these ruffians," said uncle john in surprise. "only to gain time, uncle. and the scheme has succeeded. now is our time to plot and plan how to outwit our enemies." "goot!" cried dan'l approvingly. "i help you. dey are vermin--pah! i vould kill dem all mitout mercifulness, unt be glad!" "it won't be necessary to kill them, i hope," said beth, smiling. "all we wish is to secure our escape." "vot a time dey make me!" said dan'l, more calmly. "you see, i am living peacefulness in mine bungalow by der river--ten mile away. dot brute tim, he come unt ask me to fiddle for a dance. i--fiddle! ven i refuse me to do it, he tie me up unt by forcibleness elope mit me. iss id nod a crime--a vickedness--eh?" "it certainly is, sir," said uncle john. "but do not worry. these girls have some plan in their heads, i'm sure, and if we manage to escape we will carry you home in safety. now, my dears, what is it?" "oh, we've only begun to think yet," said patsy, and walked to the window. all but myrtle and dan'l followed her. below the window was a jungle of cactus, with hundreds of spines as slender and sharp as stilettos sticking in every direction. "h-m; this room is burglar proof," muttered uncle john, with marked disappointment. "it also makes an excellent prison," added patsy. "but i suspected something of this sort when i saw they had left the window open. we can't figure on getting out that way, you see." "id vould be suiciding," dan'l said, mournfully shaking his head. "if dese fiends were as goot as dey are clefer, dey vould be angels." "no argument seems to prevail with them," remarked beth. "they are lawless and merciless, and in this far-away country believe they may do as they please." "they're as bad as the bandits of taormina," observed patsy, smiling at the recollection of an adventure they had abroad; "but we must find some way to evade them." dan'l had gone over to myrtle's corner and stood staring at her with his one shrewd eye. uncle john looked thoughtfully out of the window and saw wampus busy in the road before the house. he had his coat off and was cutting the bars of barbed wire and rolling them out of the way, while mumbles, who had been left with him, ran here and there at his heels as if desiring to assist him. from the big hall, or living room, at the right came a dull roar of voices, subdued shouts and laughter, mingled with the clinking of glasses. all the remittance men were gathered there deep in the game of dice which was to determine the order in which they were to dance with beth and patsy. the servants were out of sight. wampus had the field to himself. "come here," said uncle john to the girls, and when they stood beside him pointed to the car. "wampus is making ready for the escape," he continued. "he has cleared the road and the way is now open if we can manage to get to the machine. has your plan matured yet?" patsy shook her head. "not yet, uncle," she replied. "couldn't wampus throw us a rope?" inquired the major. "he could," said uncle john; "but we would be unable to use it. those terrible cactus spines are near enough to spear anyone who dared try to slide down a rope. think of something else." they all tried to do that, but no practical idea seemed forthcoming. "oh, no," dan'l was saying to myrtle; "dey are nod afraid to shoot; bud dey vill nod shoot ladies, belief me. always dey carry refolfers in deir belts--or deir holsterses. dey eat mit refolfers; dey schleep mit refolfers; dey hunt, dey quarrel, unt sometimes dey shoot each odder--de best enactionment vot dey do. bud dey do nod shoot at ladies--nefer." "will they wear their revolvers at the dance?" asked beth, overhearing this speech. "i belief id," said dan'l, wagging his ancient head. "dey like to be ready to draw quick like, if anybody shteps on anybody's toes. yes; of course." "what a horrible idea!" exclaimed patsy. "they're quite liable to dance and murder in the same breath," the major observed, gloomily. "i don't like it," said beth. "it's something awful just to think of. haven't they any gallantry?" "no," answered patsy. "but i wouldn't dance with a lot of half drunken men wearing revolvers, if they burned me at the stake for refusing." "ah! shtick to dat fine expressionment," cried dan'l, eagerly. "shtick to id! say you won't dance if dey wear de refolfers--unt den we win de schweepstakes!" patsy looked at him critically, in the instant catching a part of his idea. "what do you mean?" she asked. dan'l explained, while they all listened carefully, absorbed in following in thought his unique suggestions. "let's do it!" exclaimed beth. "i'm sure the plan will succeed." "it's leaving a good deal to chance," objected uncle john, with a touch of nervousness. "there is an element of chance in everything," declared patsy. "but i'm sure we shall escape, uncle. why it's a regular coup!" "we take them by surprise, you know," explained the major, who heartily favored the idea. they talked it over for a time, perfecting the details, and then became as calm and composed as a group of prisoners might. uncle john waved his handkerchief to attract the attention of wampus, who stole softly around the corner of the house and approached the window, taking care to keep at a respectful distance from the dangerous cactus. "is everything ready?" inquired uncle john in a subdued voice. "to be sure all is ready. why not? i am wampus!" was the reply, in cautious tones. "go back to the machine and guard it carefully, wampus," commanded mr. merrick. "we expect to escape soon after dark, so have the headlights going, for we shall make a rush for it and there mustn't be a moment's delay." "all right," said the chauffeur. "you may depend on me. i am wampus, an' not 'fraid of a hundred coward like these. is not mister algy his eye mos' beautiful blacked?" "it is," agreed uncle john. "go back to the car now, and wait for us. don't get impatient. we don't know just when we will join you, but it will be as soon as we can manage it. what is mumbles doing?" "mumble he learn to be good automobilist. jus' now he sit on seat an' watch wheel to see nobody touch. if anybody touch, mumble he eat him up." they all laughed at this whimsical notion and it served to relieve the strain of waiting. wampus, grinning at the success of his joke, went back to the limousine to inspect it carefully and adjust it in every part until it was in perfect order. now that a definite plan of action had been decided upon their spirits rose considerably, and they passed the afternoon in eager anticipation of the crisis. rather earlier than expected stubby and tim came to say "they had been appointed a committee to escort their guests to the banquet hall, where dinner would at once be served." "we shall have to clear away for the dance," added stubby, "so we want to get the feast over with as quickly as possible. i hope you are all hungry, for algy has spread himself on this dinner and we are to have every delicacy the ranch affords, regardless of expense. we can economize afterward to make up for it." elaborate preparations were not greatly in evidence, however. the mexican servants had washed themselves and the floor of the big room had been swept and cleared of some of its rubbish; but that was all. the remittance men were in their usual rough costumes and the air was redolent with the fumes of liquor. chapter xiv the escape as the prisoners quietly took their places at the table tobey, who had been drinking hard, decided to make a speech. his face was badly swollen and he could only see through a slit in one eye, so severe had been the beating administered by wampus earlier in the day; but the fellow had grit, in spite of his other unmanly qualities, and his imperturbable good humor had scarcely been disturbed by the punishment the canadian had inflicted upon him. "ladies," said he, "and gentlemen--which of course includes our respected male guests--i am happy to inform you that the programme for the first annual hades ranch ball has finally been arranged, and the dances apportioned in a fair and impartial manner. the grand march will take place promptly at seven o'clock, led by miss doyle and knuckles, who has won the privilege by throwing four sixes. i am to follow with miss de graf, and the rest will troop on behind with the privilege of looking at the ladies. if anyone dares to create disorder his dances with the young ladies will be forfeited. dan'l will play the latest dance music on his fiddle, and if it isn't spirited and up-to-date we'll shoot his toes off. we insist upon plenty of two-steps and waltzes and will wind up with a monney-musk in the gray light of dawn. this being fully understood, i beg you, my good friends, to fall to and eat and be merry; but don't linger unduly over the dainties, for we are all anxious, like good soldiers, to get into action." the remittance men applauded this oratory, and incidentally attacked the eatables with evident determination to obey their leader's injunction. "we can eat any time," remarked stubby, with his mouth full; "but his satanic majesty only knows when hades ranch will see another dance--with real ladies for partners." the chinese cooks and the mexican servants had a lively time during this meal, for the demands made upon them were incessant. uncle john, whose even disposition was seldom ruffled, ate with a good appetite, while even the major, glum and scowling, did not disdain the numerous well-prepared dishes. as for dan'l, he took full advantage of the occasion and was the last one to leave the table. our girls, however, were too excited to eat much and little myrtle, especially, was pallid and uneasy and had a startled look in her eyes whenever anyone made a sudden motion. as soon as the repast was concluded the servants cleared the long table in a twinkling and pushed it back against the wall at one end of the long room. a chair was placed for dan'l on top of this expansive board, which thus became a stage from whence he could overlook the room and the dancers, and then two of the remittance men tossed the old fiddler to his elevated place and commanded him to make ready. dan'l said nothing and offered no resistance. he sat plaintively sawing upon his ancient but rich-toned violin while the floor was brushed, the chairs and benches pushed against the wall and the room prepared for action. behind the violinist was a low, broad window facing a grass plot that was free from the terrifying cactus, and the old man noted with satisfaction that it stood wide open. uncle john's party had pressed close to the table and stood watching the proceedings. "ready now!" called tobey; "the grand march is about to begin. take your partners, boys. look sharp, there, dan'l, and give us a martial tune that will lift our feet." dan'l meekly set the violin underneath his chin and raised the bow as if in readiness. "knuckles," a brawny fellow with a florid face and a peculiar squint, approached patsy and bowed. "you're to lead with me, miss," he said. "are you ready?" "not quite," she returned with dignified composure; "for i perceive you are not quite ready yourself." "eh? why not?" he inquired, surprised. "you are still wearing your firearms," she replied. "i cannot and will not dance with a man who carries a revolver." "that's nothing," he retorted. "we always do." "always?" "of course. and if i shed my gun what's to prevent some one else getting the drop on me?" "that's it," said patsy, firmly. "the weapons must all be surrendered before we begin. we positively refuse to dance if rioting and shooting are likely to occur." a murmur of protest arose at this speech, for all the remittance men had gathered around to listen to the argument. "that's all tommy-rot," observed handsome tim, in a sulky tone. "we're not spoiling for a row; it's the dance we're after." "then give up the revolvers," said beth, coming to her cousin's assistance. "if this is to be a peaceful entertainment you will not need to be armed, and it is absurd to suppose a lady will dance with a gentleman who is a walking arsenal." they looked into one another's faces uncertainly. dan'l sat softly tuning his violin, as if uninterested in the controversy. uncle john and the major looked on with seeming indifference. "you must decide which you prefer--the revolvers or the dance," remarked patsy, staring coolly into the ring of faces. "would your english ladies at home consent to dance with armed men?" asked beth. "they're quite right, boys," said stubby, nodding his bullethead. "let's agree to deposit all the shooting irons 'til the dance is over." "i won't!" cried knuckles, his scowl deepening. "by jove, you will!" shouted tobey, with unexpected vehemence. "you're delaying the programme, old man, and it's a nuisance to dance in this armor, anyway. here--pile all your guns in this corner; every one of you, mind. then we shall all stand on an equal footing." "put them on the table there, by the old fiddler," said patsy; "then we will know we are perfectly safe." rather unwillingly they complied, each man walking up to the table and placing his revolver at dan'l's feet. the girls watched them intently. "that man over there is still armed," called beth, pointing to a swarthy mexican who squatted near the door. "that's all right," said tobey, easily. "he's our guard, pedro. i've stationed him there so you won't attempt to escape till we get ready to let you go." patsy laughed. "there's little danger of that," she said. "all ready, now!" exclaimed knuckles, impatiently. "we're all as harmless as doves. let 'er go, dan'l!" the old man was just then assisting uncle john to lift myrtle to the top of the table, where the major had placed a chair for her. knuckles growled, but waited until the girl was seated near the window. then dan'l drew his bow and struck up a spirited march. patsy took the arm of knuckles and paraded down the long room. beth followed with tobey, and behind them tramped the remittance men in files of two. at the far end were grouped the servants, looking curiously upon the scene, which was lighted by lamps swung from the ceiling and a row of candles upon the edge of the mantelshelf. to carry out the idea of a grand march patsy drew her escort here and there by sharp turns and half circles, the others trailing behind like a huge snake until she had passed down the length of the room and started to return up the other side to the starting point. so engrossed had been the cowboys that they did not observe the major and uncle john clamber upon the table and stand beside myrtle. the procession was half way up the hall on its return when patsy said abruptly: "now, beth!" and darted away from her partner's side and toward the table. beth followed like a streak, being an excellent runner, and for a moment knuckles and tobey, thus deserted by their partners, stopped to watch them in amazement. then their comrades bumped into them and recalled them to their senses. by that time the two girls had reached the table and leaped upon it. uncle john was waving his handkerchief from the window as a signal to wampus; dan'l had laid aside his fiddle and seized a revolver in either hand, and the major had caught up two more of the discarded weapons. as beth and patsy turned, panting, and from their elevation looked up the room, the cowboys gave a bellow of rage and rushed forward. "keep back!" shouted the major, in stentorian tones, "i'll shoot the first man that interferes." noting the grim determination in the old soldier's eye, they hesitated and came to a halt. "what do you mean by this infernal nonsense?" cried tobey, in disgust. "why, it's just checkmate, and the game is up," replied uncle john amiably. "we've decided not to hold the proposed dance, but to take our departure at once." he turned and passed myrtle out of the window where wampus took her in his arms, crutches and all, and carried her to the automobile. the remittance men, unarmed and confronted by their own revolvers, stood gaping open-mouthed and seemingly dazed. "let's rush 'em, boys!" shouted handsome tim, defiantly. "rush 'em alone, if you like," growled knuckles. "i'm not ready for the graveyard yet." "you are vot iss called cowardices," said dan'l, flourishing the revolvers he held. "come on mit der courage, somebotty, so i can shoot holes in you." "you're building your own coffin just now, dan'l," retorted tobey, in baffled rage. "we know where to get you, old boy, and we'll have revenge for this night's work." "i vill take some popguns home mit me," was the composed reply. "den, ven you come, i vill make a receptioning for you. eh?" uncle john, patsy and beth had followed myrtle through the window and disappeared. "now, sir," said the major to the old fiddler, "make your escape while i hold them at bay." "nod yet," replied dan'l. "ve must gif ourselves de most protectionment ve can." with this he gathered up the firearms, one by one, and tossed them through the window. then he straightened up and a shot flashed down the hall and tumbled the big mexican guard to the floor just as he was about to glide through the doorway. "dit ve say shtand still, or dit ve nod say shtand still?" asked dan'l, sternly. "if somebody gets hurt, it iss because he don'd obey de orderations." "go, sir!" commanded the major. "i vill; bud i go last," declared the old man. "i follow you--see? bud you take my violin, please--unt be very tender of id, like id vas your sveetheardt." the major took the violin and climbed through the window, proceeding to join the others, who were by now seated in the car. when he had gone dan'l prepared to follow, first backing toward the window and then turning to make an agile leap to the ground below. and now with a shout the cowboys made their rush, only to halt as dan'l reappeared at the window, covering them again with his revolvers. "so, you defils--make a listen to me," he called. "i am experiencing a goot-bye to you, who are jackals unt imitation men unt haf no goot right to be alive. also if i see any of you de next time, i vill shoot first unt apologise at der funeral. i haf no more monkey business mit you voteffer; so keep vere you are until i am gone, unt you vill be safeness." he slowly backed away from the window, and so thoroughly cowed was the group of ruffians that the old fiddler had been lifted hastily into the automobile before the cowboys mustered courage to leap through the window and search in the darkness for their revolvers, which lay scattered widely upon the ground. wampus, chuckling gleefully, jerked the hoods off his glaring searchlights, sprang to his seat and started the machine down the road before the crack of a single revolver was heard in protest. the shots came thicker after that, but now the automobile was bowling merrily along the road and soon was out of range. "de road iss exceptionalment goot," remarked dan'l. "dere iss no dangerousness from here to der rifer." "danger?" said the chauffeur, scornfully. "who cares for danger? i am wampus, an' i am here!" "we are all here," said patsy, contentedly nestling against the cushions; "and i'm free to confess that i'm mighty glad of it!" chapter xv the romance of dan'l it did not take them very long to reach the river, a muddy little stream set below high banks. by dan'l's direction they turned to the left and followed the wind of the river for a mile or so until suddenly out of the darkness loomed a quaint little bungalow which the old german claimed to be his home. "i haf architectured it mineself, unt make it built as i like it. you vill come in unt shtop der night mit me," he said, as wampus halted the machine before the door. there was a little murmur of protest at this, for the house appeared to be scarcely bigger than the automobile. but uncle john pointed out, sensibly enough, that they ought not to undertake an unknown road at nighttime, and that spotville, the town for which they were headed, was still a long way off. the major, moreover, had a vivid recollection of his last night's bed upon the roof of the limousine, where he had crept to escape rattlesnakes, and was in no mood to again camp out in the open while they traveled in arizona. so he advocated accepting dan'l's invitation. the girls, curious to know how so many could be accommodated in the bungalow, withdrew all further objections and stood upon the low, pergola-roofed porch while their host went inside to light the lamps. they were really surprised at the cosy aspect of the place. half the one-story dwelling was devoted to a living room, furnished simply but with modest taste. a big square table was littered with music, much being in manuscript--thus proving dan'l's assertion that he was a composer. benches were as numerous as chairs, and all were well-cushioned with tanned skins as coverings. a few good prints were on the walls and the aspect of the place was entirely agreeable to the old man's guests. as the room was somewhat chilly he made a fire in the ample fireplace and then with an air of pride exhibited to his visitors his tiny kitchen, his own bedroom and a storeroom, which occupied the remainder of the space in the bungalow. he told them he would prepare beds in the living room for the girls, give his own room to mr. merrick and major doyle, while he and wampus would bunk in the storeroom. "i haf much blankets," he said; "dere vill be no troubles to keep varm." afterward they sat before the fire and by the dim lights of the kerosene lamps chatted together of the day's adventures. uncle john asked dan'l what had brought him to this deserted, out-of-the-way spot, and the old man told his story in a manner that amused them all greatly. "i haf been," said he, "much famous in my time, unt had a individualness pointed out whereeffer i went. i vas orchestra leader at the theater royal in stuttgart, unt our king haf complimented me many times. but i vas foolish. i vas foolish enough to think that ven a man iss great he can stay great. i married me to a clefer prima donna, unt composed a great opera, which vas finer as anything herr wagner has efer done. eh? but dere vas jealousness at work to opposition me. von day ven my fine opera vas all complete i vent to the theater to lead mine orchestra. to my surprisement der herr director tells me i can retire on a pension; i am too old unt he has hired a younger man, who iss herr gabert. i go home bewildered unt mishappy, to find that herr gabert has stole the score of mine opera unt run avay mit mine vife. vot i can do? nothing. herr gabert he lead my orchestra tint all der people applauds him. i am forgot. one day i see our king compliment herr gabert. he produces my opera unt say he compositioned it. eferybody iss crazy aboud id, unt crown herr gabert mit flowers. my vife sings in der opera. the people cheer her unt she rides avay mit herr gabert in his carriage to a grand supper mit der nobility unt der herr director. "i go home unt say: 'who am i?' i answer: 'nobody!' am i now great? no; i am a speck. vot can i do? veil, i go avay. i haf some money--a leedle. i come to america. i do not like crowds any more. i like to be alone mit my violin. i find dis place; i build dis house; i lif here unt make happiness. my only neighbors are de remittance men, who iss more mischiefing as wicked. dey vill nod bother me much. so after a time i die here. vy nod? i am forgot in stuttgart." there was pathos in the tale and his way of telling it. the old man spoke cheerfully, but they could see before them the tragedy depicted by his simple words. his hearers were all silent when he had concluded, feeling they could say nothing to console him or lighten his burden. only wampus, sitting in the background, looked scornfully upon the man who had once been the idol of his townspeople. dan'l took a violin from a shelf and began to play, softly but with masterly execution. he caught their mood instantly. the harmony was restful and contented. patsy turned down the lamps, to let the flicker of the firelight dominate the room, and dan'l understood and blended the flickering light into his melody. for a long time he continued to improvise, in a way that fairly captivated his hearers, despite their varied temperaments, and made them wonder at his skill. then without warning he changed to a stirring, martial air that filled the room with its rich, resonant tones. there was a fugue, a wonderful finale, and while the concluding notes rang in their ears the old man laid his violin in his lap, leaned back against his cushions and heaved a deep sigh. they forebore disturbing him for a while. how strange it seemed that this really talented musician should be banished to a wilderness while still possessing power to stir the souls of men with his marvelous execution. truly he was a "maestro," as he had said; a genius whose star had risen, flashed across the sky and suddenly faded, leaving his future a blank. wampus moved uneasily in his chair. "i like to know something," he remarked. dan'l roused himself and turned to look at the speaker. "you have one bad eye," continued wampus, reflectively. "what make him so? you stick violin bow in eye some day?" "no," grunted dan'l. "bad eye he no make himself," persisted the little chauffeur. "what make him, then?" for a moment there was an awkward silence. the girls considered this personal inquiry offensive and regretted admitting wampus to the room. but after a time the old german answered the question, quietly and in a half amused tone. "can you nod guess?" he said. "herr gabert hurt mine eye." "oh!" exclaimed wampus, nodding approvingly "you fight duel with him? of course. it mus' be." "i haf one goot eye left, howefer," continued dan'l. "it vill do me fery well. dere iss nod much to see out here." "i know," said wampus. "but herr gabert. what happen to him?" again there was a pause. then the german said slowly: "i am nod rich; but efery year i send a leetle money to stuttgart to put some flowers on herr gabert's grave." the chauffeur's face brightened. he got up from his chair and solemnly shook dan'l's hand. "you are great musician," he announced. "you can believe it, for it is true. an' you have shake the hand of great chauffeur. i am wampus." dan'l did not answer. he had covered his good eye with his hand. chapter xvi the lodging at spotville "wake up, patsy: i smell coffee!" called beth, and soon the two girls were dressed and assisting myrtle to complete her toilet. through the open windows came the cool, fragrant breath of morning; the sky was beginning to blush at the coming of the sun. "to think of our getting up at such unearthly hours!" cried patsy cheerfully. "but i don't mind it in the least, beth; do you?" "i love the daybreak," returned beth, softly. "we've wasted the best hours of morning abed, patsy, these many years." "but there's a difference," said myrtle, earnestly. "i know the daybreak in the city very well, for nearly all my life i have had to rise in the dark in order to get my breakfast and be at work on time. it is different from this, i assure you; especially in winter, when the chill strikes through to your bones. even in summer time the air of the city is overheated and close, and the early mornings cheerless and uncomfortable. then i think it is best to stay in bed as long as you can--if you have nothing else to do. but here, out in the open, it seems a shame not to be up with the birds to breathe the scent of the fields and watch the sun send his heralds ahead of him to proclaim his coming and then climb from the bottomless pit into the sky and take possession of it." "why, myrtle!" exclaimed patsy, wonderingly; "what a poetic notion. how did it get into your head, little one?" myrtle's sweet face rivaled the sunrise for a moment. she made no reply but only smiled pathetically. uncle john's knock upon the door found them ready for breakfast, which old dan'l had skilfully prepared in the tiny kitchen and now placed upon a round table set out upon the porch. by the time they had finished the simple meal wampus had had his coffee and prepared the automobile for the day's journey. a few minutes later they said good-bye to the aged musician and took the trail that led through spotville. the day's trip was without event. they encountered one or two indians on the way, jogging slowly along on their shaggy ponies; but the creatures were mild and inoffensive. the road was fairly good and they made excellent time, so that long before twilight spotville was reached and the party had taken possession of the one small and primitive "hotel" the place afforded. it was a two-story, clapboarded building, the lower floor being devoted to the bar and dining room, while the second story was divided into box-like bedrooms none too clean and very cheaply furnished. "i imagine we shall find this place 'the limit'," remarked uncle john ruefully. "but surely we shall be able to stand it for one night," he added, with a philosophic sigh. "want meat fer supper?" asked the landlord, a tall, gaunt man who considered himself dressed when he was in his shirt sleeves. "what kind of meat?" inquired uncle john, cautiously. "kin give yeh fried pork er jerked beef. ham 'a all out an' the chickens is beginnin' to lay." "eggs?" "of course, stranger. thet's the on'y thing spotville chickens lay, nowadays. i s'pose whar yeh come from they lay biscuits 'n' pork chops." "no. door knobs, sometimes," said mr. merrick, "but seldom pork chops. let's have eggs, and perhaps a little fried pork to go with them. any milk?" "canned er fresh?" "fresh preferred." the landlord looked at him steadily. "yeh've come a long-way, stranger," he said, "an' yeh must 'a' spent a lot of money, here 'n' there. air yeh prepared to pay fer thet order in solid cash?" uncle john seemed startled, and looked at the major, who smiled delightedly. "are such things expensive, sir?" the latter asked the landlord. "why, we don't eat 'em ourselves, 'n' thet's a cold fact. eggs is eggs, an' brings forty cents a dozen to ship. there's seven cows in town, 'n' forty-one babies, so yeh kin figger what fresh milk's worth." "perhaps," said uncle john mildly, "we can stand the expense--if we won't rob the babies." "don't worry 'bout thet. the last autymobble folks as come this way got hot because i charged 'em market prices fer the truck they et. so i'm jest inquirin' beforehand, to save hard feelin's. i've found out one thing 'bout autymobble folks sense i've ben runnin' this hoe-tel, an' thet is thet a good many is ownin' machines thet oughter be payin' their bills instid o' buyin' gasoline." the major took him aside. he did not tell the cautious landlord that mr. merrick was one of the wealthiest men in america, but he exhibited a roll of bills that satisfied the man his demands would be paid in full. the touring; party feasted upon eggs and fresh milk, both very delicious but accompanied by odds and ends of food not so palatable. the landlord's two daughters, sallow, sunken cheeked girls, waited on the guests and the landlord's wife did the cooking. beth, patsy and myrtle retired early, as did uncle john. the major, smoking his "bedtime cigar," as he called it, strolled out into the yard and saw wampus seated in the automobile, also smoking. "we get an early start to-morrow, wampus," said the major. "better get to bed." "here is my bed," returned the chauffeur, quietly. "but there's a room reserved for you in the hotel." "i know. don't want him. i sleep me here." the major looked at him reflectively. "ever been in this town before, wampus?" he asked. "no, sir. but i been in other towns like him, an' know this kind of hotel. then why do i sleep in front seat of motor car?" "because you are foolish, i suppose, being born that way and unable to escape your heritage. for my part, i shall sleep in a bed; like a christian," said the major rather testily. "even christian cannot sleep sometime," returned wampus, leaning back in his seat and puffing a cloud of smoke into the clear night air. "for me, i am good christian; but i am not martyr." "what do you mean by that?" demanded the major. "do you sometime gamble?" inquired wampus softly. "not often, sir." "but sometime? ah! then i make you a bet. i bet you ten dollar to one cent you not sleep in your bed to-night." the major coughed. then he frowned. "is it so bad as that?" he asked. "i think he is." "i'll not believe it!" exclaimed major doyle. "this hotel isn't what you might call first-class, and can't rank with the waldorf-astoria; but i imagine the beds will be very comfortable." "once," said wampus, "i have imagination, too. now i have experience; so i sleep in automobile." the major walked away with an exclamation of impatience. he had never possessed much confidence in the canadian's judgment and on this occasion he considered the fellow little wiser than a fool. wampus rolled himself in a rug and was about to stretch his moderate length upon the broad double seat when a pattering of footsteps was heard and beth came up to the car. she was wrapped in a dark cloak and carried a bundle of clothing under one arm and her satchel in the unoccupied hand. there was a new moon which dimly lighted the scene, but as all the townspeople were now in bed and the hotel yard deserted there was no one to remark upon the girl's appearance. "wampus," she said, "let me into the limousine, please. the night is so perfect i've decided to sleep here in the car." the chauffeur jumped down and opened the door. "one moment an' i make up the beds for all," he said. "never mind that," beth answered. "the others are all asleep, i'm sure." wampus shook his head. "they all be here pretty soon," he predicted, and proceeded to deftly prepare the interior of the limousine for the expected party. when beth had entered the car wampus pitched the lean-to tent and arranged the cots as he was accustomed to do when they "camped out." scarcely had he completed this task when patsy and myrtle appeared. they began to explain their presence, but wampus interrupted them, saying: "all right, miss patsy an' miss myrtle. your beds he made up an' miss 'lizbeth already asleep in him." so they crept inside with sighs of relief, and wampus had just mounted to the front seat again and disposed himself to rest when uncle john trotted up, clad in his trousers and shirt, with the balance of his apparel clasped in his arms. he looked at the tent with pleased approval. "good boy, wampus!" he exclaimed. "that room they gave me is an inferno. i'm afraid our young ladies won't sleep a wink." "oh, yes," returned wampus with a nod; "all three now inside car, safe an' happy." "i'm glad of it. how was your own room, wampus?" "i have not seen him, sir. but i have suspect him; so i sleep here." "you are a wise chauffeur--a rare genus, in other words. good night, wampus. where's the major?" wampus chuckled. "in hotel. sir, do the major swear sometime?" uncle john crept under the tent. "if he does," he responded, "he's swearing this blessed minute. anyhow, i'll guarantee he's not asleep." wampus again mounted to his perch. "no use my try to sleep 'til major he come," he muttered, and settled himself to wait. it was not long. presently some one approached on a run, and a broad grin overspread the chauffeur's features. the major had not delayed his escape long enough to don his trousers even; he had grabbed his belongings in both arms and fled in his blue and white striped undergarments. wampus leaped down and lifted the flap of the tent. the major paused long enough in the moonlight to stare at the chauffeur and say sternly: "if you utter one syllable, you rascal, i'll punch your head!" wampus was discreet. he said not a word. chapter xvii yellow poppies "so this is california!" exclaimed patsy gleefully, as the automobile left parker and crossed the arizona line. "but it doesn't look any different," said myrtle, peering out of the window. "of course not," observed uncle john. "a state boundary is a man-made thing, and doesn't affect the country a bit. we've just climbed a miniature mountain back in arizona, and now we must climb a mate to it in california. but the fact is, we've entered at last the land of enchantment, and every mile now will bring us nearer and nearer to the roses and sunshine." "there's sunshine here now," declared the major. "we've had it right along. but i haven't seen the roses yet, and a pair of ear muffs wouldn't be uncomfortable in this cutting breeze." "the air _is_ rather crisp," admitted uncle john. "but we're still in the mountainous district, and haggerty says--" the major coughed derisively and mumbles barked and looked at uncle john sagaciously. "haggerty says--" "is that a rabbit or a squirrel? something has caught the eye of our mumbles," interrupted the major, pointing vaguely across the mesa. "haggerty says--" "i wonder if mumbles could catch 'em," remarked the major, with complacence. "he says that every mile we travel brings us nearer the scent of the orange blossoms and the glare of the yellow poppies," persisted uncle john. "you see, we've taken the southern route, after all, for soon we shall be on the imperial road, which leads to san diego--in the heart of the gorgeous southland." "what is the imperial road?" inquired beth. "the turnpike through imperial valley, said to be the richest bit of land in all the world, not excepting the famous nile banks of egypt. there is no railway there yet, but the valley is settling very fast, and haggerty says--" "how remarkable!" exclaimed the major, gazing straight ahead. and again mumbles, curled in patsy's lap, lifted his shaggy head and gave a wailing bark. uncle john frowned, but was loyal to haggerty. "he says that if america was now unknown to all the countries of the world, imperial would soon make it famous. they grow wonderful crops there--strawberries and melons the year around, as well as all the tropical and semi-tropical fruits and grains, flowers and vines known to any country yet discovered." "do we go to imperial?" asked myrtle, eagerly. "i think not, my dear; we just skirt the edge of the valley. it's rather wild and primitive there yet; for although many settlers are flocking to that favored district imperial is large enough to be an empire by itself. however, we shall find an ideal climate at coronado, by the edge of the blue pacific, and there and at los angeles we shall rest from our journey and get acquainted with the wonders of the golden state. has the trip tired you, girls?" "not me," answered beth, promptly. "i've enjoyed every mile of the way." "and so have i," added patsy; "except perhaps the adventure with the remittance men. but i wouldn't care to have missed even that, for it led to our acquaintance with old dan'l." "for my part," said myrtle softly, "i've been in a real fairyland. it has seemed like a dream to me, all this glorious journey, and i shall hate to wake up, as i must in time." "don't worry just yet about the awakening, dear," returned patsy, leaning over to kiss her little friend. "just enjoy it while you can. if fairylands exist, they were made for just such as you, myrtle." "one of the greatest marvels of our trip," said the major, with a smile, "is the improvement in our dear little invalid. it isn't the same myrtle who started out with us, believe me. can't you all see the change?" "i can _feel_ it," returned myrtle, happily. "and don't you notice how well i walk, and how little use i have now for the crutches?" "and can you feel the rosy cheeks and bright eyes, too?" asked uncle john, regarding her with much satisfaction. "the trip was just the thing for myrtle," added patsy. "she has grown stronger every day; but she is not quite well yet, you know, and i depend a good deal upon the genial climate of california to insure her complete recovery." uncle john did not reply. he remembered the doctor's assertion that a painful operation would be necessary to finally restore myrtle to a normal condition, and his kindly heart disliked to reflect upon the ordeal before the poor girl. haggerty proved a prophet, after all. each mile they covered opened new vistas of delight to the eager travelers. the air grew more balmy as they left the high altitudes and came upon the level country to the north, of the san bernardino range of mountains, nor was it long before they sighted imperial and sped through miles of country carpeted with the splendid yellow poppies which the state has adopted as the emblems of california. and behind this golden robe loomed the cotton fields of imperial, one of the most fascinating sights the traveler may encounter. they made a curve to the right here, and headed northerly until they came to salton. skirting the edge of the curious salton sea they now headed directly west toward escondido, finding the roads remarkably good and for long stretches as smooth and hard as an asphalt boulevard. the three days it took them to cross the state were days of wonder and delight. it was not long before they encountered the roses and carnations growing on every side, which the major had persistently declared to be mythical. "it seems all wrong," asserted patsy's father, moodily, "for such delicate flowers to be growing out of doors in midwinter. and look at the grass! why, the seasons are changed about. it's springtime just now in california." "the man at the last stop we made told me his roses bloomed the year round," said patsy, "and just smell the orange blossoms, will you! aren't they sweet, and don't they remind you of brides?" from escondido it was a short run to the sea and their first glimpse of the majestic pacific was from a high bluff overhanging the water. from this point the road ran south to san diego, skirting the coast along a mountain trail that is admitted to be one of the most picturesque rides in america. descending the hills as they neared san diego they passed through fields of splendid wild flowers so extensive and beautiful that our girls fairly gasped in wonder. the yellow and orange poppies predominated, but there were acres of wild mustard throwing countless numbers of gorgeous saffron spikes skyward, and vistas of blue carconnes, white daisies and blood-red delandres. the yucca was in bloom, too, and added its mammoth flower to the display. they did not halt at san diego, the southernmost city of california, from whence the mexican line is in plain sight, but drove to the bay, where wampus guided the limousine on to the big ferryboat bound for coronado. they all left the car during the brief voyage and watched the porpoises sporting in the clear water of the bay and gazed abstractedly at the waving palms on the opposite shore, where lies nestled "the crown of the pacific"--coronado. chapter xviii the silent man even the major smiled benignantly when he reached his appointed room in the magnificent hotel del coronado, which is famed throughout the world. "this," said he, "reminds me of new york; and it's the first thing that has, since i left home." "why, daddy, it isn't like new york at all," protested patsy, standing beside him at the broad window overlooking the ocean. "did you ever see a palm tree waving in new york; or daisy bushes as tall as a man; or such masses of roses and flowering vines? and then just notice the mountains over there--they're in mexico, i'm told--and this great headland in the other direction; it's called point loma. oh, i never imagined any place could be so beautiful!" the others were equally excited, and uncle john said, smiling broadly: "well, we're here at last, my dears, and i'm sure we are already well paid for our trip across the continent. what pleasant rooms these are. if the hotel table is at all to be compared with the house itself we shall have a happy time here, which means we will stay as long as possible." but the table was another surprise, for the meals were equal to any served in the great eastern metropolis. uncle john complimented the landlord, a cheery faced, fat little man who had at one time managed a famous new york hotel and had brought his talents and experience to far california. "i'm sorry," said this gentle boniface, "that i could not reserve better rooms for you--for there are some choice views from some locations. i had a corner suite saved for your party, a suite i consider the most desirable in the hotel; but an eccentric individual arrived yesterday who demanded the entire suite, and i had to let him have it. he will not stay long, and as soon as he goes you shall have the rooms." "who is he?" asked uncle john. "a rich miner; a most melancholy and peculiar person, by the way," replied landlord ross. "i believe his name is jones." mr. merrick started. "jones, and a miner?" he said. "what's his other name--anson?" "we'll look and see," replied mr. ross, turning to the hotel register. "no; not anson. he is registered as c.b. jones, of boston." "oh; that's not the jones at all," said uncle john, disappointed. "it's the jones who is our guest," replied the landlord, smiling. meantime the three girls had gone for a walk along the coast. the beach is beautiful at coronado. there is a high sea wall of rock, and the path runs along its edge almost the length of the promontory. the rocks are sloping, however, and it is not very difficult to climb down them to where the waves break against the wall. near the hotel they met straggling groups, strolling in either direction, but half a mile away the promenade was practically deserted. it was beginning to grow dark, and beth said, regretfully: "we must get back, girls, and dress for dinner--an unusual luxury, isn't it? our trunks arrived at the hotel two weeks ago, and are now in our rooms, doubtless, awaiting us to unpack them." "don't let's return just yet," begged myrtle. "i want to see the sun set." "it will be gorgeous," said patsy, glancing at the sky; "but we can see it from our windows, and as we're a long way from the hotel now i believe beth's suggestion is wise." so they began to retrace their steps. myrtle still walked with some difficulty, and they had not proceeded far when beth exclaimed: "look at that man down there!" her companions followed her direction and saw standing upon a huge pile of rocks at the water's edge a slight, solitary figure. something in the poise, as he leaned forward staring at the darkened waves--for the sun was low and cast shadows aslant the water--struck myrtle as familiar. "oh, girls!" she exclaimed; "it's the grand canyon man." "why, i believe it is," agreed patsy. "what is he doing?" "nothing," said beth, briefly. "but he is going to do something, i think." while they stared at him from their elevation the man straightened an instant and cast a hasty glance to either side. the place seemed to him deserted, for he failed to observe the group of three intently watching his motions from the high bank overhead. next moment he turned back to the water and leaned over the edge of rock again. "don't!" cried myrtle, her clear voice ringing over the lap of the waves; "please don't!" he swung around and turned his gaunt features upward to where the young girl leaned upon her crutches, with clasped hands and a look of distress upon her sweet face. "don't!" she repeated, pleadingly. he passed his hand over his eyes with a very weary gesture and looked at myrtle again--this time quite steadily. she was trembling in every limb and her cheeks were white with fear. slowly--very slowly--the man turned and began to climb the rocks; not directly upward to where the girls stood, but diagonally, so as to reach the walk some distance ahead of them. they did not move until he had gained the path and turned toward the hotel. then they followed and kept him in sight until he reached the entrance to the court and disappeared within. "i wonder," said patsy, as they made their way to their rooms, "whether he really was thinking of plunging into the ocean; or whether that time at the grand canyon he had a notion of jumping into the chasm." "if so," added beth, "myrtle has saved his life twice. but she can't be always near to watch the man, and if he has suicidal intentions, he'll make an end of himself, sooner or later, without a doubt." "perhaps," said myrtle, hesitatingly, "i am quite wrong, and the strange man had no intention of doing himself an injury. but each time i obeyed an impulse that compelled me to cry out; and afterward i have been much ashamed of my forwardness." they did not see the melancholy man at dinner; but afterward, in the spacious lobby, they discovered him sitting in a far corner reading a magazine. he seemed intent on this occupation and paid no attention to the life around him. the girls called uncle john's attention to him, and mr. merrick at once recognized him as the same individual they had met at the grand canyon. "but i am not especially pleased to encounter him again," he said with a slight frown; "for, if i remember aright, he acted very rudely to myrtle and proved unsociable when i made overtures and spoke to him." "i wonder who he is?" mused patsy, watching the weary, haggard features as his eyes slowly followed the lines of his magazine. "i'll inquire and find out," replied her uncle. the cherubic landlord was just then pacing up and down the lobby, pausing here and there to interchange a word with his guests. uncle john approached him and said: "can you tell me, mr. ross, who the gentleman is in the corner?" the landlord looked around at the corner and smiled. "that," said he, "is the gentleman we spoke of this afternoon--mr. c.b. jones--the man who usurped the rooms intended for you." "rooms?" repeated uncle john. "has he a large party, then?" "he is alone; that is the queer part of it," returned the landlord. "nor has he much baggage. but he liked the suite--a parlor with five rooms opening out of it--and insisted upon having them all, despite the fact that it is one of the most expensive suites in the hotel. i said he was eccentric, did i not?" "you were justified," said mr. merrick, thought fully. "thank you, sir, for the information." even as he rejoined the girls, who were seated together upon a broad divan, the man arose, laid down his magazine and came slowly down the room, evidently headed for the elevator. but with a start he recognized the girl who had accosted him on the beach, and the others with her, and for an instant came to a full stop before the group, his sad eyes fixed intently upon myrtle's face. the situation was a bit awkward, and to relieve it uncle john remarked in his cheery voice: "well, mr. jones, we meet again, you see." the man turned slowly and faced him; then bowed in a mechanical way and proceeded to the elevator, into which he disappeared. naturally uncle john was indignant. "confound the fellow!" he exclaimed. "he's worse than a boor. but perhaps his early education was neglected." "did you call him mr. jones, sir?" asked myrtle in a voice that trembled with excitement. "yes, my dear; but it is not your uncle anson. i've inquired about him. the joneses are pretty thick, wherever you go; but i hope not many are like this fellow." "something's wrong with him," declared patsy. "he's had some sad bereavement--a great blow of some sort--and it has made him somber and melancholy. he doesn't seem to know he acts rudely. you can tell by the man's eyes that he is unhappy." "his eyes have neither color nor expression," remarked beth. "at his best, this mr. jones must have been an undesirable acquaintance." "you can't be sure of that," returned patsy; "and i'm positive my theory is correct. more and more am i inclined to agree with myrtle that he is disgusted with life, and longs to end it." "let him, then," retorted uncle john. "i'm sure such a person is of no use to the world, and if he doesn't like himself he's better out of it." that kindly mr. merrick should give vent to such a heartless speech proved how much annoyed he had been by mr. jones' discourtesy. "he might be reclaimed, and--and comforted," said myrtle, softly. "when i think of the happiness you have brought into my life, sir, i long to express my gratitude by making some one else happy." "you're doing it, little one," he answered, pinching her cheek. "if we've brought a bit of sunshine into your life we've reaped an ample reward in your companionship. but if you can find a way to comfort that man jones, and fetch him out of his dumps, you are certainly a more wonderful fairy than i've given you credit for." myrtle did not reply to this, although it pleased her. she presently pleaded weariness and asked permission to return to her room. beth and patsy wanted to go into the great domed ballroom and watch the dancing; so myrtle bade them good night and ascended by the elevator to her floor. chapter xix "three times" softly stepping over the thick carpets, which deadened the sound of the crutches--now becoming scarcely necessary to her--the young girl passed along the corridor, passing angles and turns innumerable on her way to her room. some erratic architect certainly concocted the plan of the hotel del coronado. it is a very labyrinth of passages connecting; its nine hundred rooms, and one has to have a good bump of location to avoid getting lost in its mazes. near one of the abrupt turns a door stood ajar, and in passing myrtle glanced in, and then paused involuntarily. it was a small parlor, prettily furnished, and in a big chair reclined a man whose hands were both pressed tight against his face, thus covering it completely. but myrtle knew him. the thin frame, as well as the despairing attitude, marked him as the man who had come so strangely into her life and whose personality affected her so strangely. she now stood in the dimly lighted corridor looking in upon him with infinite pity, and as she looked her glance fell upon the table beside him, where something bright glittered beneath the electric lamps. her heart gave a sudden thump of mingled fear and dismay. she knew intuitively what that "something" was. "let him," uncle john had said; but myrtle instantly determined _not_ to let him. she hesitated a moment; but seeing that the man remained motionless, his eyes still covered, as if lost to all his surroundings, she softly crept forward and entered the room. she held the crutches under her arms, but dared not use them for fear of making a noise. step by step she stole forward until the table was within reach. then she stretched out her hand, seized the revolver, and hid it in the folds of her blouse. turning for a final glance at the man she was startled to find he had removed his hands and was steadfastly regarding her. myrtle leaned heavily on her crutches. she felt faint and miserable, like a criminal caught in the act. as her eyes fell before the intent gaze her face turned scarlet with humiliation and chagrin. still, she did not attempt to escape, the idea not occurring to her; so for a time the tableau was picturesque--the lame girl standing motionless with downcast eyes and the man fixedly staring at her. "three times!" he slowly said, in a voice finally stirred by a trace of emotion. "three times. my child, why are you so persistent?" myrtle tried to be brave and meet his gaze. it was not quite so difficult now the silent man had spoken. "why do you force me to be persistent?" she asked, a tremor in her voice. "why are you determined to--to--" words failed her, but he nodded to show he understood. "because," said he, "i am tired; very tired, my child. it's a big world; too big, in fact; but there's nothing in it for me any more." there was expression enough in his voice now; expression of utter despondency. "why?" asked myrtle, somewhat frightened to find herself so bold. he did not answer for a long time, but sat reading her mobile face until a gentler look came into his hard blue eyes. "it is a story too sad for young ears," he finally replied. "perhaps, too, you would not understand it, not knowing or understanding me. i'm an odd sort of man, well along in years, and i've lived an odd sort of life. but my story, such as it is, has ended, and i'm too weary to begin another volume." "oh, no!" exclaimed myrtle, earnestly. "surely this cannot be the fulfillment and end of your life. if it were, why should _i_ come into your life just now?" he stared at her with a surprised--an even startled--look. "have you come into my life?" he inquired, in a low, curious tone. "haven't i?" she returned. "at the grand canyon--" "i know," he interrupted hastily. "that was your mistake; and mine. you should not have interfered. i should not have let you interfere." "but i did," said myrtle. "yes. somehow your voice sounded like a command, and i obeyed it; perhaps because no living person has a right to command me. you--you took me by surprise." he passed his hand over his eyes with that weary gesture peculiar to him, and then fell silent. myrtle had remained standing. she did not know what to do in this emergency, or what more to say. the conversation could not be ended in this summary fashion. the hopeless man needed her in some way; how, she did not know. feeling weak and very incompetent to meet the important crisis properly, the girl crept to a chair opposite the man and sank into it. then she leaned her chin upon her hand and looked pleadingly at her strange acquaintance. he met her eyes frankly. the hard look in his own seemed to have disappeared, dispelled by a sympathy that was new to him. and so they sat, regarding one another silently yet musingly, for a long time. "i wish," said myrtle once, in her softest, sweetest tones, "i could help you. some one helped me when i was in great trouble, so i want to help you." he did not reply, and another period of silence ensued. but his next speech showed he had been considering her words. "because you have suffered," he said, "you have compassion for others who suffer. but your trouble is over now?" "almost," she said, smiling brightly. he sighed, but questioned her no farther. "a while ago," she volunteered, "i had neither friends nor relatives." he gave her a queer look, then. "i had no money. i had been hurt in an accident and was almost helpless. but i did not despair, sir--and i am only an inexperienced girl. "in my darkest hour i found friends--kind, loving friends--who showed me a new world that i had not suspected was in existence. i think the world is like a great mirror," she continued, meditatively, "and reflects our lives just as we ourselves look upon it. those who turn sad faces toward the world find only sadness reflected. but a smile is reflected in the same way, and cheers and brightens our hearts. you think there is no pleasure to be had in life. that is because you are heartsick and--and tired, as you say. with one sad story ended you are afraid to begin another--a sequel--feeling it would be equally sad. but why should it be? isn't the joy or sorrow equally divided in life?" "no," he replied. "a few days ago," she continued earnestly, "we were crossing the arizona deserts. it was not pleasant, but we did not despair, for we knew the world is not all desert and that the land of roses and sunshine lay just beyond. now that we're in california we've forgotten the dreary desert. but you--why, sir, you've just crossed your desert, and you believe all the world is bitter and cruel and holds no joy for you! why don't you step out bravely into the roses and sunshine of life, and find the joy that has been denied you?" he looked into her eyes almost fearfully, but it seemed to her that his own held a first glimmer of hope. "do you believe there can be joy for me anywhere in the world?" he asked. "of course. i tell you there's just as much sweet as there is bitter in life. don't i know it? haven't i proved it? but happiness doesn't chase people who try to hide from it. it will meet you halfway, but you've got to do your share to deserve it. i'm not preaching; i've lived this all out, in my own experience, and know what i'm talking about. now as for you, sir, i can see very plainly you haven't been doing your duty. you've met sorrow and let it conquer you. you've taken melancholy by the hand and won't let go of it. you haven't tried to fight for your rights--the rights god gave to every man and expects him to hold fast to and take advantage of. no, indeed!" "but what is the use?" he asked, timidly, yet with an eager look in his face. "you are young, my child; i am nearly old enough to have been your father. there are things you have not yet learned; things i hope you will never learn. an oak may stand alone in a field, and be lonely because it cannot touch boughs with another. a flower may bloom alone in a garden, and wither and die for want of companionship. god's wisdom grouped every living thing. he gave adam a comrade. he created no solitary thing. but see, my child: although this world contains countless thousands, there is not one among them i may call my friend." "oh, yes; just one!" said myrtle quickly. "i am your friend. not because you want me, but because you need me. and that's a beginning, isn't it? i can find other friends for you, among _my_ friends, and you will be sure to like them because i like them." this naive suggestion did not affect him as much as the fact that this fair young girl had confessed herself his friend. he did not look at myrtle now; he stared straight ahead, at the wall paper, and his brow was furrowed as if he was thinking deeply. perhaps any other man would have thanked the girl for her sympathy and her proffered friendship, or at the least have acknowledged it. but not so this queer mr. jones; eccentric, indeed, as the shrewd landlord had described him. nor did myrtle seem to expect an acknowledgment. it was enough for her that her speech had set him thinking along new lines. he sat musing for so long that she finally remembered it was growing late, and began to fear patsy and beth would seek their rooms, which connected with her own, and find her absent. that would worry them. so at last she rose softly, took her crutches and turned to go. "good night, my--friend," she said. "good night, my child," he answered in a mechanical tone, without rousing from his abstraction. myrtle went to her room and found it was not so late as she had feared. she opened a drawer and placed the revolver in it, not without a little shudder. "at any rate," she murmured, with satisfaction, "he will not use this to-night." chapter xx on point loma next morning a beautiful bunch of roses was brought to myrtle's room--roses so magnificent that it seemed impossible they could be grown out of doors. but there are few hothouses in california, and the boy who brought the flowers confided to her the information that they were selected from more than five hundred blooms. she ran to show them to patsy and beth, who were amazed not only by the roses but by the fact that the queer mr. jones had sent them to myrtle. there was no card or note accompanying the gift, but after the younger girl had related her conversation with mr. jones the previous evening, they could not doubt but he had sent the flowers. "perhaps," reflected patsy, "we've been misjudging him. i never beheld such a stolid, unimpressive countenance in my life; but the man must have a soul of some sort, or he would not think of sending flowers to his new friend." "it's a pretty idea," said beth. "he wanted to assure myrtle that he appreciated her kindness." "i'm sure he likes me," declared myrtle, simply. "he wasn't a bit cross when i ran in and took away his pistol, or when i preached to him. i really gave him a good talking to, and he didn't object a bit." "what he needs," commented beth, "is to get away from himself, and mingle with people more. i wonder if we could coax him to join us in our ride to point loma." "would we care to ask him?" said patsy. "he's as sour and crabbed in looks as he is in disposition, and has treated uncle john's advances shamefully. i'd like to help myrtle bring the old fellow back to life; but perhaps we can find an easier way than to shut him up with us in an automobile." "he wouldn't go, i'm sure," declared myrtle. "he has mellowed a little--a very little--as these roses prove. but he treated me last night just as he does mr. merrick, even after our conversation. when i said 'good night' i had to wait a long time for his answer. but i'd like you to meet him and help cheer him up; so please let me introduce him, if there's a chance, and do be nice to him." "i declare," cried patsy, laughing, "myrtle has assumed an air of proprietorship over the sad one already." "she has a right to, for she saved his life," said beth. "three times," myrtle added proudly. "he told me so himself." uncle john heard the story of myrtle's adventure with considerable surprise, and he too expressed a wish to aid her in winning mr. jones from his melancholy mood. "every man is queer in one way or another," said he, "and i'd say the women were, too, if you females were not listening. i also imagine a very rich man has the right to be eccentric, if it pleases him." "is mr. jones rich, then?" inquired beth. "according to the landlord he's rich as croesus. made his money in mining--manipulating stocks, i suppose. but evidently his wealth hasn't been a comfort to him, or he wouldn't want to shuffle off his mortal coil and leave it behind" they did not see the object of this conversation before leaving for the trip to point loma--a promontory that juts out far into the pacific. it is reached by a superb macadamized boulevard, which passes down the north edge of the promontory, rounds the corner where stands the lighthouse, and comes back along the southern edge, all the time a hundred feet or more in elevation above the ocean. the view from the point is unsurpassed. wampus stopped his car beside a handsomely appointed automobile that was just then deserted. "some one is here before us," remarked patsy. "but that is not strange. the wonder is that crowds are not here perpetually." "it is said," related the major, who had really begun to enjoy california, "that the view from this point includes more varied scenery than any other that is known in the world. here we see the grand san bernardino range of mountains; the spanish bight on the mexican shore; the pretty city of san diego climbing its hills, with the placid bay in front, where float the warships of the pacific squadron; the broad stretch of orange and lemon groves, hedged with towering palm trees; santa catalina and the coronado islands; the blue pacific rolling in front and rugged loma with its rocky cliffs behind. what more could we ask to see from any one viewpoint?" "don't forget the monster hotel, with its hundred towers and gables, dominating the strip of land between the bay and the ocean," added beth. "how near it seems, and yet it is many miles away." some one had told them that moonstones were to be found on the beach at the base of the cliff; so they all climbed down the steep path, followed by mumbles, who had not perceptibly grown in size during the trip but had acquired an adventurous disposition which, coupled with his native inquisitiveness, frequently led him into trouble. now, when they had reached the narrow beach, mumbles ran ahead, passed around the corner of a cliff that almost touched the water, and was presently heard barking furiously. "sounds as if he scented game," said patsy. "a turtle, perhaps, or a big fish washed ashore," suggested the major. but now the small dog's voice changed suddenly and became a succession of yelps expressing mingled pain and terror. "oh, he's hurt!" cried myrtle; and they all hurried forward, uncle john leading them on a run, and passed around the big rock to rescue their pet. some one was before them, however. the foolish dog had found a huge crab in the sand and, barking loudly, had pushed his muzzle against the creature, with the result that the crab seized his black nose in a gripping claw and pinched as hard as it was able. mumbles tried to back away, madly howling the while; but the crab, although the smaller antagonist, gripped a rock with its other claw and held on, anchoring the terrified dog to the spot. but help was at hand. a tall, thin man hurried to the rescue, and just as uncle john came in sight, leading his procession, a knife severed the crab's claw and mumbles was free. seeing his mistress, the puppy, still whining with pain, hurried to her for comfort, while uncle john turned to the man and said: "thank you, mr. jones, for assisting our poor beast. mumbles is an eastern dog, you know, and inexperienced in dealing with crabs." mr. jones was examining the claw, the despoiled owner of which had quickly slid into the water. "it is a species of crawfish," he observed, meditatively. then, seeing the girls approach, he straightened up and rather awkwardly lifted his hat. the gesture surprised them all. heretofore, when they had met, the man had merely stared and turned away, now his attempt at courtesy was startling because unexpected. myrtle came close to his side. "how nice to find you here, mr. jones," she said brightly. "and oh, i must thank you for my lovely roses." he watched her face with evident interest and it seemed that his own countenance had become less haggard and sad than formerly. "let me introduce my friends," said the girl, with sudden recollection of her duty. "this is mr. merrick, my good friend and benefactor; and this is major doyle and his daughter miss patricia doyle, both of whom have the kindest hearts in the world; miss beth de graf, mr. merrick's niece, has watched over and cared for me like a sister, and--oh, i forgot; miss patsy is mr. merrick's niece, too. so now you know them all." the man nodded briefly his acknowledgment. "you--you are mr. jones, i believe, of--of boston?" "once of boston," he repeated mechanically. then he looked at her and added: "go on." "why--what--i don't understand," she faltered. "have i overlooked anyone?" "only yourself," he said. "oh; but i--i met you last night." "you did not tell me your name," he reminded her. "i'm myrtle," she replied, smiling in her relief. "myrtle dean." "myrtle dean!" his voice was harsh; almost a shout. "myrtle dean. and i--i'm from chicago; but i don't live there any more." he stood motionless, looking at the girl with a fixed expression that embarrassed her and caused her to glance appealingly at patsy. her friend understood and came to her rescue with some inconsequent remark about poor mumbles, who was still moaning and rubbing; his pinched nose against patsy's chin to ease the pain. mr. jones paid little heed to miss doyle's observation, but as myrtle tried to hide behind beth mr. merrick took the situation in hand by drawing the man's attention to the scenery, and afterward inquiring if he was searching for moonstones. the conversation now became general, except that mr. jones remained practically silent he seemed to try to interest himself in the chatter around him, but always his eyes would stray to myrtle's face and hold her until she found an opportunity to turn away. "we've luncheon in the car," announced uncle john, after a time. "won't you join us, mr. jones?" "yes," was the unconventional reply. the man was undoubtedly abstracted and did not know he was rude. he quietly followed them up the rocks and when they reached the automobile remained by myrtle's side while wampus brought out the lunch basket and beth and patsy spread the cloth upon the grass and unpacked the hamper. mr. jones ate merely a mouthful, but he evidently endeavored to follow the conversation and take an interest in what was said. he finally became conscious that his continuous gaze distressed myrtle, and thereafter strove to keep his eyes from her face. they would creep back to it, from time to time; but beth, who was watching him curiously, concluded he was making a serious effort to deport himself agreeably and credited him with a decided improvement in manners as their acquaintance with him progressed. after luncheon, when their return by way of old town and the spanish mission was proposed, mr. jones said, pointing to the car that stood beside their own: "this is my automobile. i drive it myself. i would like myrtle dean to ride back with me." the girl hesitated, but quickly deciding she must not retreat, now she had practically begun the misanthrope's reformation, she replied: "i will be very glad to. but won't you take one of my friends, also? that will divide the party more evenly." he looked down at his feet, thoughtfully considering the proposition. "i'll go with you," said beth, promptly. "get into the front seat with mr. jones, myrtle, and i'll ride behind." the man made no protest. he merely lifted myrtle in his arms and gently placed her in the front seat. beth, much amused, took the seat behind, unassisted save that the major opened the door for her. mr. jones evidently understood his car. starting the engines without effort he took his place at the wheel and with a nod to mr. merrick said: "lead on, sir; i will follow." wampus started away. he was displeased with the other car. it did not suit him at all. and aside from the fact that the sour-faced individual who owned it had taken away two of wampus' own passengers, the small shaggy mumbles, who had been the established companion of uncle john's chauffeur throughout all the long journey, suddenly deserted him. he whined to go with the other car, and when patsy lifted him aboard he curled down beside the stranger as if thoroughly satisfied. patsy knew why, and was amused that mumbles showed his gratitude to mr. jones for rescuing him from the crab; but wampus scowled and was distinctly unhappy all the way to old town. "him mebbe fine gentleman," muttered the canadian to the major; "but if so he make a disguise of it. once i knew a dog thief who resemble him; but perhaps mumble he safe as long as miss myrtle an' miss beth they with him." "don't worry," said the major, consolingly. "i'll keep my eye on the rascal. but he's a fine driver, isn't he?" "oh, _that_!" retorted wampus, scornfully. "such little cheap car like that he drive himself." at old town mr. jones left them, saying he had been to the mission and did not care for it. but as he drove his car away there was a gentler and more kindly expression upon his features than any of them had ever seen there before, and myrtle suspected her charm was working and the regeneration really begun. chapter xxi a tale of woe that evening after dinner, as mr. merrick sat alone in the hotel lobby, the girls having gone to watch the major bowl tenpins, mr. jones approached and sat down in the chair beside him. uncle john greeted the man with an attempt at cordiality. he could not yet bring himself to like his personality, but on myrtle's account and because he was himself generous enough to wish to be of service to anyone so forlorn and unhappy, he treated mr. jones with more respect than he really thought he deserved. "tell me, mr. merrick," was the abrupt request, "where you found myrtle dean." uncle john told him willingly. there was no doubt but myrtle had interested the man. "my girls found her on the train between chicago and denver," he began. "she was on her way to join her uncle in leadville." "what is her uncle's name?" "anson jones. but the child was almost helpless, ill and without friends or money. she was not at all sure her uncle was still in leadville, in which case she would be at the mercy of a cold world. so i telegraphed and found that anson jones had been gone from the mining camp for several months. do you know, sir, i at first suspected you might be the missing uncle? for i heard you were a miner and found that your name is jones. but i soon discovered you are not anson jones, but c.b. jones--which alters the case considerably." mr. jones nodded absently. "tell me the rest," he said. uncle john complied. he related the manner in which beth and patsy had adopted myrtle, the physician's examination and report upon her condition, and then told the main points of their long but delightful journey from albuquerque to san diego in the limousine. "it was one of the most fortunate experiments we have ever tried," he concluded; "for the child has been the sweetest and most agreeable companion imaginable, and her affection and gratitude have amply repaid us for anything we have done for her. i am determined she shall not leave us, sir. when we return to new york i shall consult the best specialist to be had, and i am confident she can be fully cured and made as good as new." the other man had listened intently, and when the story was finished he sat silent for a time, as if considering and pondering over what he had heard. then, without warning, he announced quietly: "i am anson jones." uncle john fairly gasped for breath. "_you_ anson jones!" he exclaimed. then, with plausible suspicion he added: "i myself saw that you are registered as c.b. jones." "it is the same thing," was the reply. "my name is collanson--but my family always called me 'anson', when i had a family--and by that name i was best known in the mining camps. that is what deceived you." "but--dear me!--i don't believe myrtle knows her uncle's name is collanson." "probably not. her mother, sir, my sister, was my only remaining relative, the only person on earth who cared for me--although i foolishly believed another did. i worked for success as much on kitty's account--kitty was myrtle's mother--as for my own sake. i intended some day to make her comfortable and happy, for i knew her husband's death had left her poor and friendless. i did not see her for years, nor write to her often; it was not my way. but kitty always knew i loved her." he paused and sat silent a moment. then he resumed, in his quiet, even tones: "there is another part of my story that you must know to understand me fully; to know why i am now a hopeless, desperate man; or was until--until last night, perhaps. some years ago, when in boston, i fell in love with a beautiful girl. i am nearly fifty, and she was not quite thirty, but it never occurred to me that i was too old to win her love, and she frankly confessed she cared for me. but she said she could not marry a poor man and would therefore wait for me to make a fortune. then i might be sure she would marry me. i believed her. i do not know why men believe women. it is an absurd thing to do. i did it; but other men have been guilty of a like folly. ah, how i worked and planned! one cannot always make a fortune in a short time. it took me years, and all the time she renewed her promises and kept my hopes and my ambitions alive. "at last i won the game, as i knew i should do in time. it was a big strike. i discovered the 'blue bonnet' mine, and sold a half interest in it for a million. then i hurried to boston to claim my bride.... she had been married just three months, after waiting, or pretending to wait, for me for nearly ten years! she married a poor lawyer, too, after persistently refusing me because _i_ was poor. she laughed at my despair and coldly advised me to find some one else to share my fortune." he paused again and wearily passed his hand over his eyes--a familiar gesture, as myrtle knew. his voice had grown more and more dismal as he proceeded, and just now he seemed as desolate and unhappy as when first they saw him at the grand canyon. "i lived through it somehow," he continued; "but the blow stunned me. it stuns me yet. like a wounded beast i slunk away to find my sister, knowing she would try to comfort me. she was dead. her daughter myrtle, whom i had never seen, had been killed in an automobile accident. that is what her aunt, a terrible woman named martha dean, told me, although now i know it was a lie, told to cover her own baseness in sending an unprotected child to the far west to seek an unknown uncle. i paid martha dean back the money she claimed she had spent for myrtle's funeral; that was mere robbery, i suppose, but not to be compared with the crime of her false report. i found myself bereft of sweetheart, sister--even an unknown niece. despair claimed me. i took the first train for the west, dazed and utterly despondent. some impulse led me to stop off at the grand canyon, and there i saw the means of ending all my misery. but myrtle interfered." uncle john, now thoroughly interested and sympathetic, leaned over and said solemnly: "the hand of god was in that!" mr. jones nodded. "i am beginning to believe it," he replied. "the girl's face won me even in that despairing mood. she has kitty's eyes." "they are beautiful eyes," said uncle john, earnestly. "sir, you have found in your niece one of the sweetest and most lovely girls that ever lived. i congratulate you!" mr. jones nodded again. his mood had changed again since they began to speak of myrtle. his eyes now glowed with pleasure and pride. he clasped mr. merrick's hand in his own as he said with feeling: "she has saved me, sir. even before i knew she was my niece i began to wonder if it would not pay me to live for her sake. and now--" "and now you are sure of it," cried uncle john, emphatically. "but who is to break the news to myrtle?" "no one, just yet," was the reply. "allow me, sir, if you please, to keep her in ignorance of the truth a little longer. i only made the discovery myself today, you see, and i need time to think it all out and determine how best to take advantage of my good fortune." "i shall respect your wish, sir," said mr. merrick. the girls came trooping back then, and instead of running away anson jones remained to talk with them. beth and patsy were really surprised to find the "sad one" chatting pleasantly with uncle john. the major looked at the man curiously, not understanding the change in him. but myrtle was quite proud of the progress he was making and his improved spirits rendered the girl very happy indeed. why she should take such an interest in this man she could not have explained, except that he had been discouraged and hopeless and she had succeeded in preventing him from destroying his life and given him courage to face the world anew. but surely that was enough, quite sufficient to give her a feeling of "proprietorship," as patsy had expressed it, in this queer personage. aside from all this, she was growing to like the man who owed so much to her. neither patsy nor beth could yet see much to interest them or to admire in his gloomy character; but myrtle's intuition led her to see beneath the surface, and she knew there were lovable traits in mr. jones' nature if he could only be induced to display them. chapter xxii the confession after that evening the man attached himself to the party on every possible occasion. sometimes in their trips around coronado he rode in their automobile, at other times he took myrtle, and perhaps one other, in his own car. every day he seemed brighter and more cheerful, until even major doyle admitted he was not a bad companion. three weeks later they moved up to los angeles, taking two days for the trip and stopping at riverside and redlands on the way. they established their headquarters at one of the handsome los angeles hotels and from there made little journeys through the surrounding country, the garden spot of southern california. one day they went to pasadena, which boasts more splendid residences than any city of its size in the world; at another time they visited hollywood, famed as "the paradise of flowers." both mountains and sea were within easy reach, and there was so much to do that the time passed all too swiftly. it was on their return from such a day's outing that myrtle met with her life's greatest surprise. indeed, the surprise was shared by all but uncle john, who had religiously kept the secret of mr. jones' identity. as they reached the hotel this eventful evening mr. merrick said to the girls: "after you have dressed for dinner meet us on the parlor floor. we dine privately to-night." they were mildly astonished at the request, but as uncle john was always doing some unusual thing they gave the matter little thought. however, on reaching the parlor floor an hour later they found mr. merrick, the major and mr. jones in a group awaiting them, and all were garbed in their dress suits, with rare flowers in their buttonholes. "what is it, then?" asked patsy. "a treat?" "i think so," said uncle john, smiling. "your arm, please, miss doyle." the major escorted beth and mr. jones walked solemnly beside myrtle, who still used crutches, but more as a matter of convenience than because they were necessary. at the end of a corridor a waiter threw open the door of a small but beautiful banquet room, where a round table, glistening with cut glass and silver, was set for six. in the center of the table was a handsome centerpiece decorated with vines of myrtle, while the entire room was filled with sprays of the dainty vines, alive with their pretty blue flowers. "goodness me!" exclaimed patsy, laughing gleefully. "this seems to be our little myrtle's especial spread. who is the host, uncle john?" "mr. jones, of course," announced beth, promptly. myrtle blushed and glanced shyly at mr. jones. his face was fairly illumined with pleasure. he placed her in the seat of honor and said gravely: "this is indeed myrtle's entertainment, for she has found something. it is also partly my own thanksgiving banquet, my friends; for i, too, have found something." his tone was so serious that all remained silent as they took their seats, and during the many courses served the conversation was less lively than on former occasions when there had been no ceremony. myrtle tried hard to eat, but there was a question in her eyes--a question that occupied her all through the meal. when, finally, the dessert was served and the servants had withdrawn and left them to themselves, the girl could restrain her curiosity no longer. "tell me, mr. jones," she said, turning to him as he sat beside her; "what have you found?" he was deliberate as ever in answering. "you must not call me 'mr. jones,' hereafter," said he. "why not? then, what _shall_ i call you?" she returned, greatly perplexed. "i think it would be more appropriate for you to call me 'uncle anson.'" "uncle anson! why, uncle anson is--is--" she paused, utterly bewildered, but with a sudden suspicion that made her head whirl. "it strikes me, myrtle," said uncle john, cheerfully, "that you have never been properly introduced to mr. jones. if i remember aright you scraped acquaintance with him and had no regular introduction. so i will now perform that agreeable office. miss myrtle dean, allow me to present your uncle, mr. collanson b. jones." "collanson!" repeated all the girls, in an astonished chorus. "that is my name," said mr. jones, the first smile they had seen radiating his grim countenance. "all the folks at home, among them my sister kitty--your mother, my dear--called me 'anson'; and that is why, i suppose, old martha dean knew me only as your 'uncle anson.' had she told you my name was collanson you might have suspected earlier that 'c.b. jones' was your lost uncle. lost only because he was unable to find you, myrtle. while you were journeying west in search of him he was journeying east. but i'm glad, for many reasons, that you did not know me. it gave me an opportunity to learn the sweetness of your character. now i sincerely thank god that he led you to me, to reclaim me and give me something to live for. if you will permit me, my dear niece, i will hereafter devote my whole life to you, and earnestly try to promote your happiness." during this long speech myrtle had sat wide eyed and white, watching his face and marveling at the strangeness of her fate. but she was very, very glad, and young enough to quickly recover from the shock. there was a round of applause from patsy, beth, the major and uncle john, which served admirably to cover their little friend's embarrassment and give her time to partially collect herself. then she turned to mr. jones and with eyes swimming with tears tenderly kissed his furrowed cheek. "oh, uncle anson; i'm _so_ happy!" she said. of course myrtle's story is told, now. but it may be well to add that uncle anson did for her all that uncle john had intended doing, and even more. the consultation with a famous new york specialist, on their return a month later, assured the girl that no painful operation was necessary. the splendid outing she had enjoyed, with the fine air of the far west, had built up her health to such an extent that nature remedied the ill she had suffered. myrtle took no crutches back to new york--a city now visited for the first time in her life--nor did she ever need them again. the slight limp she now has will disappear in time, the doctors say, and the child is so radiantly happy that neither she nor her friends notice the limp at all. patsy doyle, as owner of the pretty flat building on willing square, has rented to uncle anson the apartment just opposite that of the doyles, and mr. jones has furnished it cosily to make a home for his niece, to whom he is so devoted that patsy declares her own doting and adoring father is fairly outclassed. the major asserts this is absurd; but he has acquired a genuine friendship for anson jones, who is no longer sad but has grown lovable under myrtle's beneficent influence. book was produced from images made available by the hathitrust digital library.) the last of the bushrangers [illustration: ned kelly.] the last of the bushrangers _an account of the capture of the kelly gang_ by francis augustus hare, p.m. late superintendent of victorian police illustrated _fourth edition._ london: hurst and blackett, limited, , great marlborough street. . _all rights reserved._ richard clay & sons, limited, london & bungay. contents. chapter i. introductory remarks--birth--early days at the diggings--unlicensed diggers--attacked by fever--keeping a store chapter ii. lieutenant in victorian police--gold-escort duty--catching a burglar--all that was left of him--brooks the murderer--at the buckland river station--"billy the puntman"--in charge of new rushes--border difficulties on the murray chapter iii. power the bushranger--his escape--the squatter's gold watch--£ blood-money--a peacock as a sentinel--caught by the heels--some of power's adventures--his sentence--gamekeeper to sir william clarke chapter iv. a sporting party on the murray--"winkle"--how to take aim--after the ducks--a night with the snakes--kangarooing--a runaway bed chapter v. the kelly gang--ned and dan kelly--steve hart--joe byrne--the origin of the bushranging outbreak--search party organized--murder of kennedy--m'intyre's escape--arming the police--tracking the gang--close on them chapter vi. euroa bank robbery--euroa--"sticking up" mr. younghusband's station--mr. macauley "bailed up"--the hawker gloster--cheap outfits--the raid on the bank--the manager and family made prisoners--the return to mr. younghusband's--the retreat of the gang and liberation of the prisoners--explanatory statement of the author chapter vii. the police at euroa--aaron sherritt--jerilderie--capture of the police station and constables--amateur policemen--the royal hotel stuck up--raid on the bank of new south wales--£ taken--kelly's autobiography--his account of the fitzpatrick affair--departure of the gang--return to their haunts chapter viii. aaron sherritt--a disappointment--at mrs. byrne's--a twenty-five-day watch--manufacturing brands--sherritt's revenge--a letter from joe byrne--whorouly races--on watch at mrs. sherritt's--mrs. byrne's discovery--break-up of the camp--arrest of kelly sympathizers--a dynamite scare--aaron jilted chapter ix. mrs. skillian's hoax--a false alarm--searching the warby ranges--among the kelly sympathizers--ill and dispirited--the tenant of the haystack--relieved after eight months' camping duty chapter x. black trackers--again in charge with _carte blanche_--aaron sherritt's doom--the beginning of the end--glenrowan--sticking up the hotel--bracken's escape--the police on the alert--a dangerous journey--mr. curnow's adventure chapter xi. the attack on the hotel--wounded chapter xii. from _the age_ newspaper, th june, --the start--the journey--a timely warning--the gang surprised--death of byrne--capture of ned kelly--his statement--the prisoners released--renewal of the fight chapter xiii. from _the age_ (continued). mrs. skillian comes on the scene--the hotel fired--rescue of sherry--fate of dan kelly and hart--statement of various prisoners made by the gang--the incident of the cannon chapter xiv. the outlaws' plans--execution of ned kelly--habits and customs of the gang--katie kelly's behaviour--kelly's distrust of hart--the cost of the destruction of the gang list of illustrations. ned kelly _frontispiece_ dan kelly _to face page_ aaron sherritt " joe byrne " steve hart " night attack on the glenrowan hotel " ned kelly in his armour " group taken during the fight " the last of the bushrangers. chapter i. introductory remarks--birth--early days at the diggings--unlicensed diggers--attacked by fever--keeping a store. when narrating to friendly audiences my experiences in the early days of the colony of victoria in what may be termed the "gold era," and some of the various incidents which occurred during my connection with the victorian police, i have often been asked to give the records of them a more permanent form. after hesitating long, i have listened to those promptings, and, greatly daring, have ventured to address a wider range of hearers. i claim no more than to tell a plain, unvarnished tale, recalling from the reminiscences stored within my mind, events and incidents of by-gone days. perhaps had i written down the facts while the events were still fresh, i might have been able to put more spirit into my narrative, but my aim has been to keep within the record, to extenuate nothing, nor to set down aught in malice. i have endeavoured to refrain from mentioning names of private persons as much as possible, but, where i have found myself compelled to do so, i trust my references will raise no unkindly feelings. unfortunately, after the destruction of the kelly gang, unpleasant feelings and jealousies sprang up between different officers engaged in the search, and interested persons kept adding fuel to the fire. in writing this account of the capture and destruction of the last of the victorian bushrangers, i have endeavoured to avoid locating the blame for the various unsuccessful attempts. we had a difficult task before us, and i feel sure each of us spared no effort to do his duty, though in thus acting all of us, no doubt, committed errors of judgment. in a matter of this kind every one has a right to his own opinion, and none but those who underwent the hardships we did can have any idea of our sufferings during the months we were in pursuit of the outlaws. it seems hardly possible to imagine that ten years ago a field-gun was being dragged up collins street, melbourne, to blow down an hotel, which practically was little more than a wooden hut, within two hundred yards of one of the principal stations on the main line of railway between melbourne and sydney, as the last resource for the capture of four men, who for the previous two years had set law, order, the government, and police at absolute defiance. nor is it much more easy of credence that the capture of this gang should have cost the state, from first to last, over £ , . and yet these are facts which cannot be controverted. the first feeling that will arise in the minds of english people on reading this, will be one of wonder. how came it that four men should have been able for two years to carry on their career of crime unchecked? and what were the police doing? the police, and i speak from actual knowledge, were doing their "level best." a reward of £ , was offered for the capture of the men, dead or alive, and there was _kudos_ and promotion to be gained. but there were peculiar difficulties connected with this undertaking, difficulties which could arise in no other country. firstly, it must be remembered that these men were natives of, and were brought up in, the district in which they carried on their depredations; they knew every inch of the ground, bushes, and mountains; they had hiding-places and retreats known to few, if any, but themselves, and they were acquainted with every track and by-path. secondly, the sparseness of the population outside the towns must be taken into consideration. these men might commit an act of violence in a town, and disappear into the bush, where they might, with the knowledge of the locality at their command, ride hundreds of miles without coming near a dwelling-house, or meeting a human being, and thus obliterate all traces of themselves for the time being; and lastly--what aided them more than anything else--they commanded an enormous amount of sympathy among the lower orders. it was a well-known fact that they had friends and adherents, either open or semi-veiled, all over the colony. the families of the kellys, hart, and byrne were large ones, and members of them were to be found scattered over all the district ever ready to provide asylum, or furnish information as to the movements of the police. and outside their own families the sympathy they obtained was almost as great, though it was of a more meretricious order. the gang was lavish with its money. they subsidized largely, instituting a body of spies known by the name of "bush telegraphs," who kept them fully informed of every movement of the authorities, and aided them on every possible occasion to elude capture. and apart from this money consideration there was a further one, which appealed quite as effectively to their humble admirers. the gang never behaved badly to, or assaulted, a woman, but always treated them with consideration and respect, although frequently compelled by the exigencies of the situation to put them to considerable inconvenience. in like manner they seldom, if ever, made a victim of a poor man. and thus they weaved a certain halo of romance and rough chivalry around themselves, which was worth a good deal to them, much in the same way as did the british highwayman during the last century. and now, with these few necessary words of explanation and introduction, let me get at once to my story, and the events which led to my being connected with the capture of the last of the bushrangers. i was born at the cape of good hope, at a small village called wynberg, about eight miles from cape town, and near the celebrated vineyards of constantia. i was the youngest son of a family of seventeen! my father was a captain in the st dragoons. the whole of his regiment was disbanded at the cape; all the officers settled down amongst the dutch inhabitants, and nearly all of us were born at wynberg. when i left school i joined a brother who had a sheep farm, with which he combined horse-breeding and agriculture. after i had been on the station four or five years, i disliked the life so much that i was persuaded to emigrate to australia. i arrived in melbourne on th april, , about six months after gold had been discovered. i did not know a soul out there then, and after a short time went on to sydney, where i found a few people to whom i had letters of introduction. after staying in sydney a few months i returned to melbourne with two mates whom i had picked up there, one a fellow-passenger i met going to sydney. the voyage lasted seventeen days. my other mate was a runaway convict from norfolk island. he had been employed as workman and gardener in my other mate's family, and was a very hard-working old scoundrel. melbourne at this time was a place to be remembered; the scenes that occurred in the streets and in the hotels would hardly be credited. the principal objects throughout the day to be seen in collins and bourke streets were wedding-parties. diggers used to come from the diggings with pounds' weight of gold, for the purpose, as they called it, of "knocking it down," and they managed to do this in a marvellously short space of time. you would hear of a man calling for two or three dozen of champagne (£ per bottle), throwing it into a tub, and having a bath in it. again, men would call for two slices of bread, put a ten-pound note between them, and eat the note and bread as a sandwich. hardly a day passed without seeing six or seven wedding-parties driving up and down collins street, dressed in most gorgeous attire. it was said the same women were married to different men over and over again. when the man had spent all his money he would go back to the diggings to make another "pile," and when he had made it he would return to melbourne. in those days there were no hotels, theatres, or places of amusement on the diggings, and any one who wanted any enjoyment had to run down to melbourne. gold was easily got--a man had only to sink a hole from four to twenty feet deep, and if he was on the "lead," the probabilities were he would get some pounds' weight of gold. at this time it was most difficult to secure any accommodation in melbourne. you might offer any sum of money you thought fit, and yet not procure a corner to sleep in. i happened to get a bed at hockin's hotel, at the corner of lonsdale and elizabeth streets. i was awakened in the night hearing some one who was being garroted calling out for help; but help there was none. the colony was infested with convicts from the other colonies, and the most daring robberies in the streets of melbourne were of nightly occurrence. my two mates and i started with our swags on our backs from melbourne to bendigo, and camped out all the way up. the roads were very bad, and it was impossible to get a conveyance, so we humped our swags. as we went we joined in with large parties of men, all bound in the same direction as we were, for the purpose of our mutual safety. all along the road we heard of gangs of bushrangers sticking up parties of men. the dreaded spot on the road was the black forest, between gisborne and woodend. having passed that we were tolerably safe. it took us eight days to reach bendigo, and we pitched our tents on golden gully. our first duty was to take out a licence to dig for gold, which cost us s. each, and then to sink a hole, which we bottomed, and took two or three ounces of gold. we then sank another, but were not so successful. about this time a new rush broke out at a place not far from golden gully, called kangaroo flat. we left our tent pitched in the same place, and went off to peg out a piece of ground, and set to work to sink a hole. this we bottomed, but it was also a "shicer." we sank another, and found it a little better, and got a few ounces out of it. all the diggers were very unsettled. it was the general belief that a mountain of gold would be discovered, and every one was anxious to be first in the rush, so as to mark out a portion of the mountain. rumours of new finds frequently reached us, but those that were far off always appeared the most attractive somehow. i must give some idea of the life on the diggings in those days. the parties consisted of from three to six men. one had to cook for the week, turn about. the leads of gold were always found in the gullies, and on each side of these gullies the diggers pitched their tents. every party was provided with fire-arms, and at night it was the custom to fire off and reload them after dark. it was a peculiar sight to see the fires lighted all round each tent, and the diggers sitting about, and many of them having lighted candles as well. bendigo in those days consisted of an irregular number of stores and tents erected where sandhurst is now built. my ex-convict mate turned out to be an excellent workman, and would do anything for me. he always volunteered to undertake my part of the cooking, and was famous for his "damper," which was baked in the ashes. as there were no bakers in those days we had to bake our own bread. there was a quartz reef in ironbark gully, at the back of bendigo. on sundays we went there with a hammer and broke off a handkerchief full of specimens, which were quartz covered with gold. this reef belonged to no one, and any one might have taken possession of it. quartz-crushing was unknown in those days, and i believe since then this same reef has yielded several hundred thousand pounds' worth of gold. after staying at bendigo for a month or so we heard of a new rush at the ovens. so off we started to try our luck. the distance was great, but that only lent all the greater charm to our prospects. we had engaged a dray to carry up our swags, and were to have started off on a certain day, but owing to some reason we were delayed; so, being of an active disposition, i started off to a little gully by myself to prospect it. i took with me my pick, shovel, and tin dish; it was not yards from my tent. in the evening i returned to my mates with ten ounces of gold. we held a consultation as to whether we should remain or go to the ovens, and, i regret to say, we decided to leave bendigo and the new claim i had discovered, and go to the ovens. accordingly off we started, early next morning. it took us ten days to get to beechworth, but being a large party we had a jolly trip. we arrived at read's creek--a few miles below spring creek, as it was called in those days, but now known as beechworth--a few days before christmas, . the first thing, we set to work to make our christmas dinner--i remember it as though it were yesterday. i bought the materials for a plum pudding; for a dozen of eggs i gave £ . i forget the prices of the raisins, &c., but i shall never forget the pudding! we boiled it for twenty-four hours!--it took us a week to digest--it was as hard as a cannon-ball!--it lasted a long time, and was something to remember! when we arrived at read's creek we found it in a most excited state. the diggers were up in arms against the government officials, and whenever a policeman or any other government servant was seen they raised a cry of "joe-joe." i never heard the origin of the word. the cause of this excitement was in consequence of a digger having been accidentally shot by a policeman, as he was obeying some order of a warden who was settling a dispute. it appeared that the warden had directed an armed policeman to eject a man from a claim, and in stepping down he slipped, and his carbine accidentally went off, killing a digger who was standing on the bank of the claim. there was a general muster of the diggers immediately, and they hunted the warden and policeman off the ground, pelting them with stones, and for some weeks no official was to be seen on these diggings. my party happened to arrive at read's creek a few days after the accident had happened. the diggings at spring creek were quite different to bendigo. the ground was very wet, and we sank what we called paddocks. the sinking was not more than twelve to fifteen feet deep, and the paddocks generally twelve feet by twelve feet. not only did we find gold there, but large quantities of tin, in the shape of black sand, which was allowed to run down the creek. eventually this black sand was collected, and as it was very valuable, large quantities were sent to melbourne. after working about a month at read's creek, a new rush was started at the head of spring creek, which was called "madman's gully." we started off there. by this time we had learned enough to know the best place to mark out a claim, and certainly found the richest hole we had yet had. the sinking was about fifteen or twenty feet, but gold was seen in a vein running through the wash-dirt. i used to pick out a match-box full of nuggets every day. i forget the exact quantity of gold we got out of it, but my own share came to more than £ after the gold was sold. we got very tired of paying thirty shillings a month for our licences, and only took out one licence between the three of us, trusting to chance to avoid the police when they were out digger-hunting. i remember on one occasion having great difficulty in doing so, and giving them a great chase after me. we had only the one licence, and suddenly found ourselves surrounded by a large body of police. i saw them observing us. i had the licence in my pocket. my mates had none. so off i started across the diggings to a hill on the side of the lead. my two mates stood where they were. the police, seeing me endeavouring to hide from them behind some rocks, tried to follow me; but their horses were unable to face the rocks. they all came after me, and in about ten minutes i was overtaken. the man who caught me demanded my licence, and i quietly produced it from my pocket. they asked me why i had run away. i answered, i was always afraid when i saw a policeman. in the meantime, my two mates, who had no licences, escaped, and we got off that month. the next month i was walking into spring creek with one of my mates, having left the other man with the licence behind. suddenly the police were on us, before we could make an escape; they immediately demanded our licences. we made some excuse about not being able to pay for them, so we were handcuffed, and made to march back, whilst other non-licensed diggers were searched for. none were found, and when about four miles from the spring creek camp our captors asked us if we would promise to take out our licences if they let us go. we said yes. the handcuffs were taken off, and we were allowed to go free. i could give many instances of the iniquitous law of arresting diggers because they had not taken out a licence; but i have given two instances of my personal experience. our clothes were washed in a very simple manner. a flannel shirt lasted a week, and when washing-day arrived was tied to a root of a tree in the creek and left there for three or four days, then hung out to dry. we remained at these diggings for about three months. i was then attacked by a low fever and was gradually becoming weaker and weaker every day, until the doctor at last suggested i should leave the diggings and go to sydney. i was terribly weak, not being able to walk more than a yard, so my mates found a dray bound for wangaratta, and put me on top of the load that was going to town. the shaking of the dray was fearful. however, we arrived that night at a place called tarrawingee, about ten miles from spring creek. the weather was very warm, and we camped under a fine tree. the draymen on the roads in those days had great difficulty to prevent their horses being stolen, and the unfortunate men, after driving all day, had to watch half the night to protect their horses. at daybreak the drayman got up and made some tea. he offered me some, but i could neither eat nor drink, so he left me to get his horses, not returning till late in the afternoon. whilst under that tree a circumstance occurred i shall never forget. after the drayman left me a crow took up a position on a branch near me. and as the day wore on closer and closer he approached me, calling out unceasingly, "caw, caw," as i thought to encourage other crows to come to a feast. as he became bolder i got in a terrible fright that my eyes would be eaten out before i died. so i exerted myself to drive him away, but he seemed to know i was too weak to do him any harm. at last i worked myself up to such a state that i forgot my illness and only thought of "going for" the crow, and i kept him off until the drayman returned. from that hour i improved. the next day we reached wangaratta, where i remained a few days, until i was strong enough to bear a journey in the two-wheeled dog-cart, or mail cart, the only conveyance running in those days. i fastened a strap round my waist, sat with my back to the horses, and so went down to sydney. my two mates soon afterwards dissolved partnership, and i never saw the escaped convict again. after remaining in sydney some three or four months, i met a cousin of mine, a colonel butterworth, who was the governor of singapore. he had come from singapore, and advised me to get some settled employment, and as i knew no one in melbourne, he promised to do his best for me. if i came with him to melbourne, he thought he might be able to get me into the government service. i said i would prefer a cadetship in the victorian police, as i was anxious to go in pursuit of bushrangers who were overrunning the colony. i accompanied my cousin to melbourne, but when he reached queenscliff, he found a steamer going to hobart town, where he had left his wife, so he gave me letters to mr. mitchell and mr. latrobe. however, i got no satisfaction from either of them, so i went off to the warranga diggings again, falling in with a mr. g.d. m'cormick, a native of canada, and we agreed to be mates and work together. i must mention an extraordinary coincidence with regard to m'cormick. he was born in canada; i at the cape of good hope. he was born on the th october, ; so was i. we parted from each other for many years, and in we were both appointed police magistrates for the colony of victoria. i met a man from the cape there who had opened a store, a mr. barn (my father used to buy his snuff from his father at the cape), and we used to sleep in the store for his protection. at that time i got an insight as to how grog was brought to the diggings (it was prohibited in those days). flour was imported from america in barrels; and when it reached melbourne a two-gallon keg of spirits was put in the centre of the flour, and the barrel with its double load was sent off to the diggings. the fine for having spirits in your possession was £ , and all the liquor confiscated. my cape friend, wishing to pay a visit to melbourne, asked me to take charge of the store during his absence. i did so, and served out tea and sugar to his customers, bought gold, and carried on the business for over a fortnight. my mate and i barely got enough gold to pay our expenses. i found the store-keeping a much pleasanter occupation. about three months after i had been at warranga i received a letter from my cousin, telling me he had seen mr. mitchell, the chief commissioner of police, and he had given me a commission in the mounted police. i lost no time, and called on mr. mitchell (afterwards sir william h.f. mitchell), and he appointed me lieutenant in the victorian police, st january, . chapter ii. lieutenant in victorian police--gold-escort duty--catching a burglar--all that was left of him--brooks the murderer--at the buckland river station--"billy the puntman"--in charge of new rushes--border difficulties on the murray. i joined the police force on the st january, , as a lieutenant. i was sent off at once to the ovens district, and my first duty was to take charge of the gold escort from beechworth to the buckland. in those days there were few roads and no bridges, and the creeks had to be crossed the best way we could manage. the gold was carried down on pack-horses and mules, each horse carrying from to ounces in saddle-bags. frequently we had to swim the rivers. some of the streams were very rapid, and when flooded were most dangerous to cross. on one occasion i lost two pack-horses; they were washed over a log below the crossing place of the buckland river, and we never saw them again, although we searched for them for some days. fortunately there was no gold on their backs. the gold used to be placed in saddle-bags, and sealed up, and we generally had four pack-horses or mules to carry it. on one occasion, on our return journey, we found one of the creeks so flooded that it was quite impossible to cross without the danger of losing some of the men and gold. i took the men half a mile higher up the creek than the usual crossing place, and opening the saddle-bags containing the gold (the gold was always put in small chamois leather bags inside the saddle-bags), gave a few bags to each of the men to put inside their valises, telling them i expected each man to do his best to cross the stream, which was about fifty or eighty yards wide. i gave instructions that they should unbuckle their swords, and carry them under their arms, so that, in case they were washed down the stream, they could get rid of them. i had with me a mr. morphy, one of the wardens of the gold-fields, whom i had picked up on the road, between two rivers. he put himself under my charge. i told him to follow me, but to keep at a respectable distance, so that if my horse came to grief he might avoid the difficulty. neither of us could swim, so we were a pretty pair to cross a river fifty yards wide. i started into the water first, telling my sergeant to remain where he was till all the men had got safely over. i had not gone ten yards when my horse, which was a very small one, got his fore legs across a log, and was unable to get his hind ones over. it was no enviable position for me, on a horse playing a kind of see-saw in a roaring torrent. morphy followed close on my heels, and his horse whilst swimming put his fore leg on my shoulder, as nearly as possible pulling me into the water. i leant forward, and in getting clear of me, the horse's foot caught the hilt of my sword, which tipped up the scabbard. it fell into the river, and there lay for more than a month before i recovered it. the men got across safely. one of them struck a log in the same way i did, and, the horse falling over, he swam ashore. the pack-horses, having no weight on their backs, were washed down a considerable distance, but all landed safely on the other side. the gold being replaced in the saddle-bags, we started off for beechworth. later on, one of the pack mules got away from the man who was leading him, and bolted off with oz. of gold on his back! we halted, and i sent two men off in pursuit, but after half an hour's chase, one of the men returned, and said it was impossible to follow the mule, which had got into an impassable place in the mountains. he wanted to know what he was to do. i told him if he could not catch the mule he must shoot it, and secure the gold. the trooper galloped back to the place he had left, the other man watching the mule, and in less than twenty minutes i heard a shot in the mountains, and shortly afterwards the two men returned with the pack-saddle and gold on one of their horses, they having shot the mule, and i was obliged again to divide the gold amongst the men. about four hours after the usual time of arriving we reached our destination, beechworth, and i never was more glad to get rid of the responsibility of anything placed under my charge than i was of that gold! in i was staying for the night at a station owned by dr. mackay, on the ovens river. mrs. mackay was very ill, and the doctor, who was a tall, slight man, was by no means strong. the doctor had sold a number of horses, and had received cash for them. he had this money, some £ , in his house, and in some way this fact had become known to, amongst others, a most notorious burglar named meakin. there were other visitors staying in the house on this night, a mrs. h. and a miss d., the latter a niece of dr. mackay. i had a bed made up on the sofa in the dining-room. the front rooms opened with french windows on to the verandah. my room was between dr. mackay's and that occupied by the two ladies before mentioned. the house was away from the road, and no other building within miles of it. at about two o'clock in the morning the two ladies came to the door of my room and awoke me, calling out there was a man outside in the verandah examining his revolver. they said they saw him put a large knife belonging to the doctor, which was lying in the verandah, into his pocket. at first i thought the ladies had been dreaming, and i told them to return to their rooms, and i would go outside and see who was there. i hastily put on some clothes, and opening the french windows went outside on to the verandah, but could not see or hear any one. i went back to my room, telling the ladies i could see no one, and i thought they must be dreaming, and i begged them to return to their room, promising to keep watch, and listen if i could hear any footsteps. the ladies impressed me with the fact that on no account was dr. mackay to be disturbed, because mrs. mackay was so ill that any fright might cause her death. the ladies retired, and i lay down attired as i was. five minutes afterwards i heard the dogs bark. i began to think that some one must be about. then i heard one of the ladies calling out, "who is that at the window?" i sprang out of bed, opened the window leading on to the verandah, and saw the figure of a man running across the garden. i called on him to stop, at the same time following him through the garden. he fell; i did so also. in another moment we were up again; he ran through some vines, the branches entangling him. i pursued him, and again fell. at last he made for a gap in the garden fence. taking a short cut i overtook him and laid hold of him, and down we both fell on the top of a heap of rose cuttings and other rubbish, i coming on top of him. he had his revolver in his hand. i had no weapon of any sort. my first thought was to secure his revolver. i laid hold of the barrel, whilst he held the stock, trying to cock the pistol. it was a colt's revolver, and i knew my only chance was to keep the barrels away from my body. i struck him with my fist; with all my might i hit him with my left hand, blow after blow, between the eyes. the struggle was for life, and notwithstanding it was on the top of a heap of rubbish, principally rose cuttings, men never fought harder. once i rolled over, and the ruffian was on top of me, but with almost superhuman exertion i got on top once more. he endeavoured to throttle me by putting his hand in the collar of my shirt. fortunately, it gave way. in many other ways he tried to disable me, but always failed. the struggle appeared to me to last for half an hour, but, i suppose, could not have been more than six or eight minutes. i did not call out for help, thinking the burglar would have associates, and that they would come to his assistance. mackay, having been told by the ladies that i had the burglar, called out to me. i answered. the man, hearing this, immediately gave up the struggle, and i took his revolver from him. whilst he was on the ground i several times felt him trying to get something out of his coat pocket, but prevented his doing so. when dr. mackay arrived i put my hand in and found a long dissecting knife which he had taken from the verandah, also a couple of straps. we took him to the house. i was completely exhausted, and left the ruffian sitting in the kitchen, and asked dr. mackay to look after him while i got my coat, as i had nothing on but my pants. hardly had i got outside the door when the prisoner made a bolt. dr. mackay called out to me, and i caught him getting over the paling fence which ran between the kitchen and the house. i pulled him down and dashed him to the ground, and seizing a huge stone--the only weapon i could find--threatened to smash his brains out if he moved. dr. mackay then got some saddle-straps. we fastened his legs and arms, and sent to beechworth for a constable. on being informed of this, the man, who proved to be meakin, a notorious criminal, remained quite still until morning, when he was sent to beechworth. meakin told me he had heard that dr. mackay had sold a number of horses a few days before, having been paid £ in cash for them, and it was his intention to have robbed him and tied his feet and hands so that he could not move till the morning, nor give information to the police--by that time he would have retired to the mountains. he said:--"i brought these straps you have bound _me_ up with to tie dr. mackay's legs." we found his boots in the garden, with a large stock of provisions to which he had helped himself out of the store. he told me his intention was to have robbed dr. mackay, and if he had resisted he would have shot him; and he might, with the provisions he had secured, have remained in the mountains for weeks before he need have appeared again. the prisoner was taken to beechworth, and committed for trial on a charge of burglary; there being many other charges of a similar nature against him, he was remanded to kilmore. on his way there he made several determined efforts to escape. i was at this time stationed at wangaratta, the first stage from beechworth to kilmore, and he stayed the night there. in those days the watch-houses were of a very primitive character--a slab hut with earthen floor. meakin had leg-irons riveted on his ankles, and it was only natural to suppose no man could escape with these on, but he was not to be daunted. he was locked up in a building like the one i have described, and a sentry placed at the door, with orders to watch the prisoner during the night. there was a lamp inside the cell, and several times during the night i visited the place, found the sentry vigilant, and observed the prisoner rolled up in his blanket against the wall. next morning we discovered that all through the night he had been working--trying to effect his escape. underneath where he was lying there was a large hole in the ground. he put all the earth into his blankets, and as his body was proceeding through the hole this filled up the space in the blankets. unfortunately for him, the night was not long enough, or else he would have escaped. i was glad to get rid of him, and sent him on next day to benalla. in those days there was no train, and the journey, which now takes four hours, then took six or seven days. it took five or six days to get him to kilmore, and each night he made some effort to escape. at kilmore the lock-up was considered especially safe, and it was thought quite impossible for him to make his escape. by night a sentry was placed over him, but not in the day-time. one fine afternoon the watchman went to the cell to give the prisoner some food, when, to his horror and surprise, he found the cell empty, the man having escaped through the roof, leg-irons and all, and to this day he has never been traced or heard of. he must have got some friendly blacksmith to knock off the irons, and got clear into another colony. after the capture of meakin, dr. mackay presented me with a handsome gold watch, which i have worn to this day, with the following inscription upon it:-- presented to lieutenant francis hare for his gallant capture of an armed bushranger at tarrawingee, the rd of june, . about the year a store was burnt to the ground not three miles from dunolly. some of the property had been dragged out and was in possession of the police, and the outhouses connected with the store had also been saved. the owner of the store was addicted to drink, and as he was missing it was generally believed that he had been burnt, as his body was nowhere to be found. the coroner of the district was communicated with; he came to the spot, and pointed out to the police some calcined bones amongst the _débris_. he ordered a box to be brought, and he and the constable set to work to collect the bones, and taking them to the nearest hotel, called a jury and held an inquest. the coroner declared them to be the bones of a human being, and the inference was drawn that they were all that remained of the missing owner of the store. a verdict of accidental death was recorded, the friends of the deceased procured a coffin, and jemmy being a favourite in the district, a great number of sorrowing and sympathetic persons followed the remains to the grave. a few days afterwards the police were ordered to sell all the effects of the deceased. a public auction was held, and the rescued property was disposed of. at the auction it was rumoured that the deceased was known to have some underground place where he kept his money, and on the strength of this report a large sum was given for the ruins. a day or two after the sale the purchaser made the discovery of an underground passage beneath the store, and found the body of the deceased lying there! he had evidently, on perceiving the fire, gone down to secure his money hidden there, and got suffocated by the smoke, the whole burning mass having fallen in and prevented his escape. it was then found out that, in the store that was burnt, a number of hams had hung from a beam, and it was from underneath this beam the bones had been collected, upon which the coroner and jury had held the inquest, and which the sorrowing friends had followed to the grave. the purchasers of the ruins found a considerable sum of money in the underground passage. a second inquest was held on the real body, and the mourners again dropped the sympathetic tear. the coroner was at once called upon to resign, which he did! about the year i was stationed at maryborough. i had under my charge a large district, comprising a place called the "white hills," which was about five miles distant from maryborough. it was famous for the number of murders committed there. hardly a week passed but two or three men were killed in the most cold-blooded manner. i recollect, one morning about four o'clock, being called up, and informed that a store-keeper named lopez and my sergeant, named barnett, had been shot during the night at white hills. i immediately got up, and off i started to the spot. it did not take me long to ride the five miles. the police station consisted of a portable building of one room fourteen feet square, a door in front, and two windows at the back. i found, lying on the floor in this building, the dead sergeant and store-keeper, and a wounded man named brooks, suffering the most excruciating agony from a stab in the chest, about two inches in width. from a constable named m'cormack, who was also stationed there, i got an account of the affair in the presence of brooks. he said lopez, the dead man, kept a store yards from the camp. about one o'clock brooks attempted to break into the store. he managed to get in, but was confronted by lopez, who demanded who he was. without replying, brooks presented his pistol, and shot him through the heart. lopez, after he was shot, sprang forward and thrust a large dagger, about two inches in width and twelve inches in length, into the man's body and left it there. brooks ran away, and immediately a cry was raised, brooks running across the diggings and passing within a few yards of the police station. barnett, on hearing the cry, jumped up, and on seeing a man running away, he pursued and overtook him, when brooks turned round, levelled his revolver at him, and shot him dead on the spot. a second constable (m'cormack) followed brooks, who again turned round and snapped his pistol in his face; fortunately it did not go off, and constable m'cormack knocked him down, took the pistol from him, and brought him to the police station, when he found he was mortally wounded. after m'cormack had made this statement, i asked brooks if it was true. he said, "quite true." i asked him what had become of the dagger which lopez had plunged into him. he said, "as i was crossing the diggings i drew it out and threw it away." i sent a man to the spot indicated by brooks, and he brought back the dagger covered with blood. it had no bone or wooden handle to it. i asked brooks whether it was in that state when he pulled it out of the wound. he said "yes!" i made a search for the handle, but without success. about daybreak a great crowd of diggers came round the police station, and begged me to allow them to lynch brooks before he died. i told them i could not possibly allow such a thing. they became most excited, and demanded that i should hand over the wounded man to them. i saw a long rope in the hand of a man, so i closed up the door of the building, with myself and the constable inside. the diggers then threatened to break in the door and windows, but i remained firm, telling them the unfortunate man could only live a few hours. the diggers then had a meeting, and decided to burn down and destroy all the tents where the thieves and murderers resorted on the diggings. during the time the diggers were trying to get hold of brooks, he was calling out from the agony he was suffering, and they kept mocking him. his thirst was most intense, and he implored us to keep giving him water, which, of course, we did, and did everything we could to relieve his sufferings. about ten o'clock i was told that several tents and grog shanties had been set on fire. i looked out and saw men tearing up mattresses, and feathers being thrown into the fire, and all the furniture being broken up and burnt. about this time a large force of police had been sent to my assistance, and i was in some measure able to restore order. brooks lingered on till about three o'clock in the afternoon, when he died in the most terrible agony. lopez was an italian, and lived in his store by himself, and was known to be a most determined man. the doctors held the _post mortem_, and said death must have been almost instantaneous, as the bullet had gone through his heart. the missing handle of the dagger was found by the medical man in lopez' clenched hand. a tragic occurrence took place at the inquest. it was held by the coroner in a place used as a theatre, the jury sitting below the foot-lights. three inquests had to be held, one on lopez, the second on barnett, and the third on brooks. the inquest on the latter was not closed until nine o'clock at night, but while the coroner was taking the depositions the head of brooks, which had been removed from the body, and put on the back of the stage, came rolling down, and fell on the ground among the jury. the coroner was anxious to keep the murderer's head, and the doctor, who held the _post mortem_, had placed the head at the back of the stage, forgetting that all stages slope towards the front. this skull was kept as a memento by the coroner until his death, when his widow sent it to me; and i now have it in my den. i was sent in charge to the buckland river station, about april, , shortly after the new diggings were discovered there, and one of my first duties was to see that the diggers were all provided with licences. having been a digger myself, i thought i would be able to circumvent the men who had no licences. the commissioner (as these officers were called in those days), named mr. hood, told me a few days after i arrived that he had been informed a number of men were working at the head of the river, and he proposed that we should take a party of police and explore the river some distance from the camp--at this time very little was known about the head of the river--so we arranged to take four mounted police, and go in search of diggers who were mining without licences. we followed them up to the junction of the two arms of the river. i took one side and the commissioner the other, each of us having two mounted constables with us. i was on the left side, and the commissioner with two men on the right. after going half a mile beyond the junction, i got on to a narrow track, the two men following close behind me. suddenly i found the track getting more narrow and steep; my horse went faster and faster, until he could scarcely find ground to stand on, when away went his hind legs. i felt he was going over, and slipped my feet out of the stirrups, and as he reared or fell over, i saw a clump of grass on the edge of the precipice, and laid hold of and hung on to it. the horse rolled over and over a distance of yards, until he fell into the river. he was terribly cut about, but with much difficulty we got him out, and led him home; the saddle was smashed to pieces. the commissioner on the other side of the river was amazed to see me walking down the hill. after hearing the clatter of horse, stirrup-irons, and stones, the two men, who were behind me, seeing the position i was getting into, pulled up their horses, and so avoided my misfortune. the commissioner suggested that we had better return to the camp, as we saw no diggers working on the river, so we went back, considering we had run a great risk to no purpose. another story occurs to my mind, whilst i was stationed at the buckland. we had a most highly esteemed and worthy police magistrate, whose name i will not mention. his tent was fixed alongside of mine. it was the habit in those days for the police to be always on the alert for persons bringing liquor to the diggings, as no public-houses were then allowed except in townships. my men had made a large seizure, and the persons driving the drays were brought before the p.m., charged with carrying liquor for illegal sale. the whole seizure was confiscated, and in those days, instead of selling it, the magistrate directed that the liquor was to be destroyed. this order was made with regard to this seizure. on the following day i was about to carry out the order of the court, when the official came to me, and said, "kaffir" (he used to call me "kaffir" because i came from the cape), "don't you think it would be advisable to keep the cask of port-wine that has been confiscated, for the poor frozen women about the diggings?" the place at that time was snowed up half the winter. i replied, "i have no objection, but where shall we keep it?" he replied, "between our tents." i agreed to his proposal, and we fixed up the quarter-cask accordingly, and put a tap in it. from time to time the old women, and sometimes the young ones, came for a jug of port-wine, but one night i heard a trickle as if some one was drawing off a jug from the cask, and thinking that the sentry was having a pull at it (there was always a sentry over the gold-office, which was within a short distance of our tents), i got up as quietly as i could, opened the tent, and saw our worthy official drawing off a jug of port. i called out to him, "are you drawing off a jug for some old woman at this hour of the night?" he looked up surprised, and it was a sore subject for a long time. some years afterwards i met him, and related to some friends in his presence the story of the port-wine, and, strange to say, he had quite forgotten all about it, and tried to make me believe he could not have been the official that i referred to. the cold at the buckland was intense on those days. the men were occupied half a dozen times during the night scraping the snow off the tents and off the police stables, which had merely a covering of calico, and there was great danger of the snow carrying away both tents and stables. i was stationed at wangaratta in the year , before the bridge over the ovens had been built. the only way of crossing the river then was by a punt, which was worked by a man named billy. he used to be called "billy the puntman." this man was well known to be a confederate of the horse and cattle stealers in the district, but he always escaped detection. a bridge having been erected over the river, billy's occupation was gone; and whilst i was travelling by coach to melbourne in the latter part of the year, the mail-man, riding one horse and leading another with the mails, passed the coach some short distance from greta, formerly called "fifteen mile creek." the driver of the coach had hardly gone a quarter of a mile, when we found the mail-man standing on the side of the road without his horses. he told us that he had been suddenly stopped on the road by "billy the puntman," who presented a double-barrelled gun at him, and he had ridden off as hard as he could go when he heard the coach approaching. in those days i never went anywhere without a revolver. i asked the driver of the coach if any of his horses were broken to saddle. he replied, "yes, the near-side leader is a saddle-horse." i told him to take the horse out of harness at once, leaving the bridle on him. i made a pair of reins of a piece of rope, jumped on him barebacked, and rode in pursuit, as fast as i could go, in the direction billy had gone. for some distance i easily followed the tracks of the two horses, but they led into stony ground, and not having much time to spare i lost the track altogether, and as i had to overtake the coach, being summoned to attend the supreme court, melbourne, i galloped round the locality for some time, and then made my way into benalla without seeing anything of billy. i gave information to the police there, and got a fresh horse and saddle, and overtook the coach during the night near euroa, reaching melbourne in time for the court. billy was subsequently arrested at albury, and a quantity of the stolen property, the proceeds of the robbery, was found on him. he was tried at beechworth before judge forbes, and sentenced to ten years' imprisonment. he gave a good deal of trouble whilst being escorted to melbourne, making several attempts to escape, but without success, and when he reached the last stage, donnybrook, he tied a piece of blanket round his throat, and was found hung the next morning in the cell. a good story used to be told in the early days of the ballarat diggings, about a pair of boot-trees having saved the life of a police-officer. he was very ill with an abscess on his liver, and the doctors had all given him up. a police magistrate had shown him great attention both day and night during his illness, and when the dying man had abandoned all hope of recovery, he said to his friend, "my dear fellow, you have been very good to me during my illness, and i want to leave you something. i believe i am the only person in camp that has a pair of boot-trees, and when i die you may have them." the p.m. was very grateful. next day he came quietly into the sick-room, thinking his friend was dying or dead. he picked up the boot-trees and was in the act of taking them away, when the supposed defunct, who had been watching him, made a sudden start up, and called out, "come, come, mr. p.m., you just leave those trees alone. i am not dead yet." the sudden start burst the abscess on his liver, and he recovered. years afterwards the boot-trees used to be shown as the "life-preservers." for four or five years i spent my time in taking charge of "new rushes." in these days many people do not even know what a "new rush" means, so i will try to describe one. back creek, now called "talbot," is seven or eight miles from maryborough. i was stationed there shortly after it opened. diggers were prospecting for gold all over the country, and when they discovered a rich deposit, would at once apply to the warden for an extended prospecting claim, the holders of which were allowed a considerable-sized piece of ground, much larger than the ordinary miner who followed after him. most wonderful accounts would immediately be spread all over the district that some very rich ground had been discovered, and at once people would flock to the spot and mark out a piece the size allowed by the regulation, each one driving in pegs in the direction they thought the lead would run. the fabulous accounts of the great finds would be published in every paper in the colony, and people would flock in from all parts. stores would be erected, theatres built--besides numerous hotels--streets formed, and within three weeks or a month there would be about , inhabitants on a spot where, perhaps, a month previous there was not a living soul besides the prospectors. this is exactly what took place at back creek. a police camp was formed and several constables sent out, and i was sent in charge of them. when a rush took place, the miners from all parts of the colony would make for it. back creek was not wanting in notorious villains of all sorts! i had been in charge of the police at many large rushes, but never in my life had i seen so many rogues and villains together as were collected there! the police were at work day and night, and found it impossible to keep down the crime that was being committed. murders were of the most frequent occurrence. people were found murdered in their stores, and were shot on the highway. i never went out without my revolver, and when i retired for the night kept it always beside my bed. i will give an instance of the kind of crimes that were constantly taking place. i was in my office, about three o'clock, and a messenger arrived, saying there was a terrible fight going on a mile away, and that a man had been killed. i mounted my horse, and on my way met a dr. c.; i asked him to accompany me, and left orders for two constables to follow. arriving at the place i found a crowd collected, and saw a man apparently dead, and beside him a piece of his skull about the size of a man's hand, with brains in it. i ordered the body to be removed into a tent. some one said, "we are waiting until he dies before we remove him." i asked the doctor to examine him, and he said that he was still alive. the culprit who had committed the offence was sitting on a log close by, perfectly indifferent about the matter. i asked some of the bystanders how the man had been murdered, and was informed that the prisoner and the wounded man had had a drunken quarrel; the prisoner getting the worst of it, knocked his opponent down, and with an american axe chopped the piece i have described off his skull. i ordered his arrest and sent him to the camp, where he was charged and locked up. i remained half an hour waiting for the man to die, but, finding he did not do so, i gave orders that he should be removed at once into the tent, leaving a constable, and giving him instructions to remain there till he died. the doctor would not do anything to the wound. he said it was useless, as the man could not live. next morning i went to see why the constable had not returned, and, to my surprise, i found the patient still alive and conscious, and gradually he got better. the skin grew over the wound, and some months afterwards he gave evidence against the offender at the castlemaine assizes, who was convicted and sentenced. another case i can remember. one night i was called about one o'clock, a man informing me he had shot two men whilst they were in the act of robbing his store. his story was that he had closed his place of business before going to bed, having made everything safe; but he was awakened during the night, and through the canvas partition saw two men with a light helping themselves to his money behind the counter. he took his revolver and, without moving, fired at one of the men, who dropped, and then fired at the other, who walked a few steps and also fell. he at once came to report the matter. i accompanied the man to his store, and there found the two men lying as described by the store-keeper, with the money beside them. the coroner was informed of the matter, a jury was summoned, a verdict of justifiable homicide was returned, and so the matter ended. another incident took place at back creek, which is most forcibly impressed upon my mind. one night the lock-up was crowded with prisoners. the lock-up consisted of two small rooms with a boarded-up space between them; within this space was the body of a dead man who had been found murdered on the road, and the supposed murderer was in the adjoining cell. my quarters not being more than twenty yards off, i could hear the sentry pacing up and down guarding the prisoners. i awoke during the night, looked out of my door, which i always kept open, but could see no sign of the sentry. i walked down to the watch-house, attired as i was--still i could see nothing of him. thinking perhaps he had sat down and fallen asleep in the small apartment where the dead man was lying, i walked in quietly and listened, but could see or hear nothing. the sentry, who had happened to be behind the lock-up, hearing a noise, suddenly came round the corner, and on seeing me, in a moment cocked his rifle and presented it at me. i called out, telling him who i was. he dropped his rifle, exclaiming, "oh! sir, i thought you were the ghost of the dead man, and i was going to shoot him!" from that time i was more careful how i visited the sentry. it was my duty to attend the court daily and conduct the prosecutions of all persons charged with offences. i was in regular attendance, generally from ten o'clock till five or six in the evening. a great part of the night i spent instructing the men in difficult cases, and giving general directions as to how they should be managed. in those days we were not bound down by red-tape regulations, and there were no newspaper reporters inquiring into every act. we had a very limited number of men, and they were worked to death, but there were no complaints even when working for sixteen hours a day! the life was exciting; gold was obtained by the ounce, and there were hundreds of thieves preying on the hard-working miner. theatres, concerts, dancing saloons, were open till twelve o'clock at night, and the scenes i have witnessed in them are beyond belief. during my whole career in the police force, i have never had a hand laid on me. whether my height and size protected me, i know not. i have been present when fights and every imaginable disturbance have been going on, but no one has ever touched me. i have been stopped at the door of dancing saloons, and implored by my men not to enter--bottles were being thrown right and left--still not a soul has interfered with me, and i have managed to quell the disturbance. it was a common occurrence my being called up at night, and frightful outrages reported to me. my first question was, "have you arrested the offender?" when the reply was "yes," i would then turn round in my bed and fall asleep; the next morning i probably would have forgotten the circumstance until reminded by some one. the camp life was very pleasant on the diggings, each man had a separate tent to sleep in, and a large one was used as a mess-room, where all the officers in the government service used to mess together, and spend most sociable evenings, but this state of things only existed at the head-quarters of the district, where there were a number of officers stationed. writing of mess-rooms recalls to my memory an occurrence which took place at maryborough where there was an old waiter named tom, who was very fond of liquor, and generally, before dinner was over, was so drunk he could not bring the coffee in. one of the officers undertook to find out where he got his liquor from, and he soon ascertained that when any officer called for a bottle of wine, tom used to decant it and leave a third of the wine in the bottom of the bottle, so he devised a cure for this state of things. one night, just as tom had decanted the wine, i ordered him to go quickly and get something from the kitchen, and whilst he was away, i jumped up and put a good strong emetic in the bottle, having previously mixed the emetic in some wine; i gave the bottle a shake and put it down. the next minute tom returned to the mess-tent, took up the bottle, and marched off with it. he was watched when he left the tent, and was seen with the neck of the bottle to his mouth, drinking the contents; not long after we heard tom roaring at the top of his voice, very ill. of course we had quarrels amongst the officers, and some ludicrous scenes took place. one night i had been dining out, and returned about ten o'clock. on seeing a light, i went into the warden's tent. the warden was not in, but the gold-receiver was sitting on the bed. i said-- "what is the matter? you are as white as a sheet." he replied, "i have sent to the police magistrate to ask him to fight a duel with me in the morning." i said, "why, what has he been doing to you?" "he has insulted me," he said, "in the most gross manner." "well," i said, "you need not look so frightened over it." the owner of the tent soon afterwards entered, looking very serious, and said, "i conveyed your message to h., and he says he will see you d--d first before he fights you!" he jumped from the bed, and became most courageous, and said, "i knew he was a coward, and i would have given anything to have had a shot at him." nothing more came of the matter! on another occasion a row took place over some cards, and a duel was to be fought early next morning between a police officer and a warder, the p.m. acting as second to the police officer. it was arranged that the duel should take place at daylight, next morning, but before going to bed the police officer called the sergeant-major to bring him twelve rounds of ball cartridge. he did so, and the pistol and cartridges were left on his table. next morning the p.m., who was a very diminutive little fellow, went to the tent of the police officer, and awoke him from his sleep, and told him it was time to get up to fight the duel. the police officer had forgotten all about the arrangement made on the previous night, and jumping out of bed, caught the p.m. by the back of the neck, and pitched him out of the tent; the p.m. went to the warden and told him he declined to act as second to the police officer, and so that matter ended. notwithstanding all these larks, we had no end of work to get through, and we all took a great interest in our different duties. another anecdote recurs to my memory at maryborough. there was a very large rush to a place called chinaman's flat, where a fearful amount of crime went on. only two constables were stationed there, and they were kept at work both night and day. one night i was walking about seeing how everything was going on, when i met two detectives. they told me that they knew a notorious convict who had escaped from tasmania, and that he was in a tent on the diggings, living amongst the worst characters. we decided to arrest him directly the moon went down, which would be about two o'clock in the morning. i arranged that one of the detectives and myself were to go to the front of the tent whilst the other detective kept at the back, in case of an attempt being made to escape. directly we approached the front of the tent a shot was fired. we lit a candle, threw ourselves on the convict, and dragged him from his tent. there were two other men with him, but the detectives knew the man they wanted. no sooner had we taken the prisoner away than we heard of a rescue being arranged, and in a few minutes a crowd followed us. i felt sure we had a blood-thirsty set of villains to deal with, and i blew out the light in our lantern. we doubled back and sat behind a high bank of earth, at the same time putting a revolver to the convict's ear, and telling him if he gave the alarm we would blow his brains out. the mob followed in the direction they had last seen the light, and passed within a few yards of us. we then went in the opposite direction with our prisoner and took him safely into the camp. the police magistrate remanded him next day back to tasmania, at the same time telling us we had carried out the most risky undertaking he had ever heard of. in the course of three years i had the management of five new rushes. it was the most exciting time of my life, and i was not willing to leave it, but was persuaded to do so. when the echuca railway was being built the new south wales government claimed the river murray, and issued a proclamation that after a certain day all boats and dutiable articles found on the river would be seized and confiscated unless duly registered. one morning i was prosecuting in the police court in melbourne, and the acting chief commissioner, captain mair, sent for me. i went to his office, and he told me sir james m'culloch wished me to start at once for echuca with twenty armed policemen, and go as far as sandhurst that afternoon. the instructions i received were but scanty, beyond that i was to protect all boats on the victorian side of the river and dutiable articles that might be landed on the victorian shore. i had a proclamation, signed by sir james m'culloch, to the effect that i would be responsible for all boats on the victorian bank, provided they were given over into my charge. i started for sandhurst, by the three o'clock train, and a ballast engine was provided for me, to convey me from sandhurst to echuca, where i arrived at four o'clock in the morning. at echuca the town was in a great state of excitement, fearing their boats would be seized. i had the proclamation printed at once, and posted on the trees, and at nine o'clock in the morning got introduced to the new south wales customs officer, who was dressed up in gold lace and buttons from head to foot. i had a conversation with him, and he told me his orders were to seize all boats that were found on the murray. i told him my orders were to protect these boats against seizure. i said, "then i think we had better bring this matter to an issue this afternoon. i will start a boat down the river from opposite moama to echuca, on the victorian side, with a load of dutiable articles; you come and seize them if you can." i asked him what he would do if he were prevented seizing the goods. he replied, "i would have to shoot any one who interfered with me." i said, "all right; i will get a buggy; you accompany me up the river, previously arranging to have a boat there, and i will send up some tea and tobacco, put them in the boat, and start them down the river." i ordered my sergeant to take up a box of tea and a case of tobacco, and at three o'clock mr. g., the customs officer of new south wales, and i drove up the river. i told him, whatever happened, we need not quarrel. he concurred, and away we started. when we got opposite moama i found a boat ready for me. i ordered the sergeant to put the goods in the boat, and jumped in myself. mr. g. walked down with a broad-arrow branding-iron, and said--"i seize this boat in the name of the queen." i said, "i would strongly advise your not putting your foot in this boat. if you do i will throw you overboard." he said, "do you mean it?" i replied, "i do." i then landed, telling the sergeant to take the boat down to echuca and to keep away from the new south wales shore. he did so, and was in no way molested, and landed the goods at echuca. i then said to mr. g., "i suppose now you intend telegraphing for orders to your government." he said, "yes, i do." i replied, "let us do everything fair and above board; you show me the message you intend sending, and i will do the same." he agreed to this, and we each showed our respective telegrams, and in half an hour i received a reply from sir james m'culloch to the following effect:--"so far all right; if customs officer interferes further put him in the lock-up." needless to say i did not show this to my quondam friend! mr. g. did not receive any reply to his message. i remained at echuca for a month, but nothing further transpired. i had a sentry day and night on the boats placed under my charge, but there was no further interference from the new south wales government, nor do i even know what arrangement was afterwards made between the two governments. on my return to melbourne sir james m'culloch, the chief secretary, sent for me and paid me the highest compliment on the manner in which i had conducted the business. chapter iii. power the bushranger--his escape--the squatter's gold watch--£ blood-money--a peacock as a sentinel--caught by the heels--some of power's adventures--his sentence--gamekeeper to sir william clarke. power was a desperate ruffian. he had been convicted several times of different offences. he was under sentence when he escaped from pentridge, previous to his turning bushranger. he managed his escape in a most extraordinary manner. the prisoners were carting rubbish in a small go-cart from the stockade outside the walls. power was one of the men drawing the cart. there was a large heap where they were tipping up the cart. power got under the rubbish unobserved by the sentries. the other prisoners, taking no notice of him, drew the cart back, while power remained in his hiding-place until evening. when the prisoners were mustered he was missing. search was immediately made for him, and the spot where he had secreted himself was discovered, but he had disappeared. information was given to the police, and every effort was made to find him, but without success. power at once commenced his bushranging career. he told me afterwards his first idea was to get a change of clothing, as he had nothing but his prison dress. this difficulty was overcome by stealing a suit of clothes from a farm-house. his next trouble was to procure arms. he found a blade of an old sheep-shears, fastened it on the end of a long stick, and made a kind of a lance. with this weapon he started bushranging. before long he came across an old gentleman riding along the roads, and he took a revolver and some money from him. thus armed he began his career, which lasted over eighteen months. he was the most fortunate bushranger (so he considered himself) we ever had in victoria, and he boasted of having stuck up thirty men in one day. the plan he adopted was as follows:--he chose a suitable position along a main road, where he could be quite unobserved by passers-by. he would probably take a coach road, wait until the coach came within ten or fifteen yards of him, then call out to the driver to surrender--"bail up, or i will blow your brains out," at the same moment pointing a double-barrelled gun at him. the driver in every instance obeyed his orders. the bushranger would then order all the passengers to throw up their hands, and one by one to get out of the coach, and stand on the road, and turn their pockets inside out, letting the contents fall on the ground; power himself keeping them all at a distance of twenty yards. he then made them march into the bush and sit down on a log about thirty or forty yards distant from the road. he was careful to select a suitable position in which to place his victims, commanding a view of the road as well as of those he had already captured. on one occasion he stopped the coach with six male passengers, and two females, and he remained on the road three or four hours sticking up every man who passed by, till he had thirty under his control; he then mounted his horse, which was hidden in the bush, and told his victims they might go home, he taking all the cash and jewellery they had in their possession. power used to take most wonderfully long rides, frequently covering sixty and seventy miles a day. he had hiding-places in the mountains where he kept spare horses, and if hard pressed would make for one of these. he informed me the secret of his success was that he had no companions and never spoke to a woman. when captured, he was full of anecdotes. he was a very vain man, and had in his possession extracts from papers referring to his exploits, and had not the least hesitation in telling of his different robberies, and how he had escaped the police. he was a thorough bushman, and knew every gap and hiding-place in the mountains. the police were out after him day and night for eighteen months, and no money nor trouble was spared to effect his capture, many of the best bushmen amongst the police being selected from all parts of the colony, and sent into the district he frequented to try and capture him. captain standish sent for me one day, and told me that sir james m'culloch (the chief secretary) had directed him to instruct me to proceed at once to the north-east district, and gave me _carte blanche_ to do anything i chose, and incur any expense i thought advisable. i at once wired to my clerk, who had a thorough knowledge of the district, and whom i had previously sent up to make some inquiries, to meet me at a certain spot in the bush on the following sunday. i, accompanied by one of my brother officers, left melbourne on friday at six a.m., and reached the meeting-place arranged on sunday evening. we had also secured the services of a black tracker, and we all remained that night at a squatter's station, some miles from benalla, who had himself been stuck up by power whilst engaged with his sheep on the run. power had stolen the squatter's gold watch, which was an heirloom, and very much valued by the gentleman. he knew power very well, and had been very kind to him, and as he naturally felt very much hurt at being robbed in this way, we could not have stayed at a house where we were more welcome. power had sent a message to this gentleman (the squatter) that if he was anxious to get his watch he would return it to him if he sent £ . the difficulty we had to contend with was to get some trusty person, who had power's confidence, to take the money to him and bring back the watch. after a day or two we were introduced to a man whom i must call l----. it was a very delicate matter we had on hand, but my brother officer, who was used to dealing with men of this kind, undertook the task. the government had offered a reward of £ for the capture of power, and my brother officer offered this tempting bait to l----. the man threw all kinds of difficulties in the way, but we both stuck to him, till at last he gave way and consented to undertake the task. we had no end of obstacles to overcome, but we were determined to succeed. the first thing we had to do was to find a route in the mountains where we could travel unseen, as power had so many spies--"bush telegraphs," as they were called--throughout the district, that had we been seen by any one, our chances of success would have been small. the next thing was, to get the £ from the squatter to send to power. i put my initials on the coins, and we started away on thursday morning, the party consisting of l---- as guide, my brother officer, myself, my clerk, and a black-fellow. we left the station early in the morning, unobserved by any of the station hands, with one day's rations, as we expected to be in the vicinity of power's whereabouts some time next day. we found our guide was a very bad bushman and was constantly losing himself, but my clerk had a good idea of the country, and we got on tolerably well. we travelled in a most inaccessible country, on the tops of mountains very thickly timbered, and with great difficulty managed to get through creeks, gullies, and sidlings. the first night we came upon a deserted house, which was locked up, but we put the black-fellow down the chimney and made him open the door. the only food we found was some tea and sugar, so we camped there that night, my brother officer and myself lying on an old bedstead with a sheep skin as covering, the clerk and black-fellow before the fire on the floor. next morning we caught our horses, which were hobbled, and while the black-fellow was catching them i saw a fowl on the roof of the hut, and with some difficulty i managed to secure it. not wishing the black-fellow to see i had taken the fowl, i wrung its neck, tied it up in a bag, and fastened it in the front of the saddle used by the black guide. we had not been mounted ten minutes when i turned round and saw the darkie laughing very heartily. i said, "donald, what makes you laugh?" he replied, "i 'mell him, i 'mell him!" i said, "what you 'mell?" he said, "chicken, ha ha!" i asked, "where?" "in my swag," he replied. i was very much astonished at his smartness. this was the only food we had besides a bone of a shoulder of mutton. as i said before, we expected to have been near power on the friday morning. we rode all day, and about sunset arrived at a deep gully, where the party were to remain whilst l---- went to a farm-house to endeavour to ascertain whether it was safe to approach power. the farm-house was occupied by a notorious family, two or three brothers, all of whom were convicted thieves and bushrangers. l----, on leaving, led us to believe that he would return early the next morning, as he had only to ride about ten miles. we made a meal off the fowl, but it was the poorest creature four men ever dined off. we had great difficulty with our horses, they were tired, cold, and hungry, as they had travelled two days with very little food, so we merely sat on a log all night waiting for daylight to appear, holding the horses. no tents or covering of any kind, except one rug amongst us! saturday morning came, and there we remained all day, without food. it was raining in torrents, and the cold was intense, and no fire. we sat waiting all saturday, the water pouring down the sides of the mountain like rivers, but l---- did not return, and we began to think we had been made fools of, when about four o'clock in the afternoon we heard the sound of horse's hoofs, and to our great joy found it was l----. our first greeting was, "what luck have you had?" he made no reply, dismounted, took a handkerchief out of his pocket, untied it, and there displayed the squatter's watch and chain. we saw at once that l---- must have had an interview with power, and we made him relate all that had happened during the time. he told us the quinns doubted his honesty in wishing to see power, and he was obliged to remain there for a day before he could even broach the subject of an interview with him, but after a good deal of caution quinn consented to one of his associates taking l---- to power's hiding-place in the mountains. these quinns were the only people in the colony who knew where power was hidden. l---- used to be a great companion of power, and used to be paid well, both in horses and money, for any information concerning the movements of the police, but the temptation of getting the reward of £ was too much for him, so he consented to sell his friend for the blood-money. we then took counsel with l---- as to the best course to adopt in order to reach power's place of concealment. l---- suggested waiting till sunday night, forgetting that our party had had scarcely any food for two days. he threw every obstacle in the way of our starting that evening, telling us that if we were seen about the quinns' house that night he would be shot, and that it was quite impossible to pass the house, which we should have been obliged to do to get into the mountains where power was, as the rivers were all flooded, and the house watched by dogs, so that neither man nor beast could pass without being observed, and if we were on foot we should certainly be torn to pieces. besides this, he said there was a peacock which always roosted on top of the quinns' house, and no stranger could approach without the bird giving notice by uttering a shrill cry. however, we were all determined to start that night, and we did so. we arranged our plans so as to pass quinn's house about two o'clock in the morning, thinking as it was saturday night that they might have been up late, and would be asleep by that time. just as we were starting a terrific storm of rain came on, and our horses refused to face it. l----, being superstitious, took it for a bad omen, but we made a fresh start after the rain had stopped. we had a difficult gap in the mountains to cross, and l---- was in a terribly frightened state, and would have given anything to have retracted his agreement, and bolted from us, but we were firm and severe, and threatened to shoot him if he attempted to escape. we got through the pass much quicker than we anticipated, thanks to my clerk, and found ourselves within five miles of quinn's house at about nine o'clock at night. here we resolved to remain till twelve o'clock, and then make a fresh start. my brother officer and myself spent most of the time in walking up and down endeavouring to get warm, leaving my clerk, donald, and l----, with the horses. we were greatly excited at the prospect of securing power, as he had baffled so many officers and men for the last eighteen months. at twelve o'clock we mounted our horses, and l---- was to lead the way to the place arranged, within sight of the quinns' house. when there, we could decide on what was best to be done after seeing the surroundings of the house. we started away and got entangled amongst high ferns, logs, and creeks. we kept on riding for miles, and at last found--whether designedly or otherwise--that l---- had lost himself utterly. we were in despair! i asked the black-fellow whether he could find his way back to the point from which we started. he replied, "yes, you have been going round and round all night." he then took the lead, and in half an hour showed us the log we had started from. we again set out, my clerk leading the way, as he alone besides l---- knew anything about the country, and in an hour's time we arrived in sight of the long-looked-for house. we decided to leave our horses in charge of donald, about yards from the quinns' house, while the four of us endeavoured to pass the house unobserved. no sooner had we dismounted than a terrific fall of rain commenced again, which was very much in our favour, as the dogs no doubt would seek shelter, and the peacock put his head beneath his wing. it was a most exciting moment. strange to say, we passed the door in safety, having to keep within a few feet of the house, where some of the biggest ruffians in the colony were sheltered. very much relieved at having succeeded, we began the ascent of the mountain behind the house. l---- had given us a good description of the locality where power was camped. he told us it was a most difficult place to find. he had followed a track for some time, and had dropped pieces of bark and leaves of trees, so that we might know it again. he also described a hollow tree along the track, with a few old rags in it, within or yards of the spot where power had his gunyah. we searched and searched for this track, but could find no trace of it. our excitement was growing intense. it was just getting daylight, and it was more necessary that we should reach power if possible before he awoke, as, in addition to being well armed, the country was so rugged that if he saw or heard us approach he could escape, and it would be next to impossible to find him. in despair we held a council of war, and i suggested that the black-fellow should be sent for to endeavour to find the tracks of l---- and his friend on the previous day. my clerk opposed the idea of leaving our horses without protection, as they were sure to be stolen or let loose. but both my brother officer and i agreed that the black-fellow should be given a trial; so we sent the clerk back alone to get the black-fellow, and strange to say, they managed to pass unmolested or observed by the house, without either rousing the dogs' or peacock's attention. all this time my brother officer and self had our work to do, endeavouring to look after and quiet l----, who did nothing but cry, and try to escape from us. i never saw a man in such a terrible fright! we thought the black man could be of little use after such a heavy rain. however, he appeared to get on a track of some sort, and followed it till he came upon the hollow tree described by l----, with a bed inside it. my brother officer, who was with the black tracker, beckoned me and pointed out the tree. i then said to donald, "can you see any smoke?" for we imagined power by this time would have been up and had his fire alight. donald replied, "yes, fire up there along mountain." we started off at once in the direction the black-fellow pointed, and came upon a track, leaving l---- at the hollow tree. we ran up a steep hill and saw the smoke ourselves. we continued running, my brother officer leading the way, till we saw the fire and a kind of shelter under some gum trees, and as we approached i saw a pair of legs sticking out beyond the shelter. i went straight up to the legs, revolver in hand, and, in less time than i can write this, seized hold of the ankles, and pulled the man from under the shelter and away out of reach of his fire-arms. he was fast asleep, and uttered a tremendous howl, like a man in a nightmare, but there he was lying helpless at our feet. the first words he said were, "what police are you, and how did you get up here?" i replied, "we came from melbourne, and passed the quinns' house;" he said, "no fear, you could not have passed without the dogs and peacock giving the alarm." i replied, "we did pass there." the clerk put a pair of handcuffs on power, then went to look after the horse. power, meanwhile, dressed himself, and told us he had a presentiment that night, somehow, that something would happen to him, and hardly closed his eyes all night. at daylight, he got up and lighted his fire, and put on a "billy" of water to boil, and while waiting had lain down and fallen asleep. we then searched his tent, and found his six-chambered colt's revolver, loaded; and from the ridge-pole of his tent hung his double-barrelled shot gun, fastened by two strings, commanding a view of the path we had come up. it was loaded with slugs, and doubtless had he been awake, we should have had the contents in our bodies; but it was not to be. the first thing we did was to ask power to give us something to eat, as we were starving. he said, "if you go to that tree," pointing to it, "you will find some fine corned beef;" and so it turned out. we also found some tea, sugar, and bread in his tent. we threw away the water that was boiling, for fear it might have been poisoned, refilled the "billy," and made some tea. when the black-fellow saw the bread and meat he exclaimed, "oh, golly, what a feed we shall have!" and so we did. power tried to eat some breakfast, but complained that we had taken his appetite away. the only money we found in his tent or gunyah consisted of the three five-pound notes with my initials on them. the spot on which the gunyah was situated was a most commanding position, and it would have been almost impossible to approach it without observation, had power been awake. it was within half a mile of quinn's house. i found out afterwards that the signal given by the quinns when danger was near was the crack of a stock-whip, which meant, "be on the look-out." the dogs and peacock were also signals, but, as luck would have it, appeared to be off their guard that night. the place where power was captured was about fifty miles from the nearest watch-house, and after breakfast we started on our journey. the first difficulty we had to contend with was how the two of us, viz., my brother officer and myself, were to pass these desperadoes at quinn's house without an attempt at a rescue. the clerk had aroused the quinns when he had passed to secure the horses, and when we were within sight of the house, we saw six or eight men standing at the door, and the dogs were barking at a great rate, and the peacock shrieking. my brother officer went in advance with power, revolver in hand, while i remained some distance in the rear armed with power's double-barrelled gun, so as to protect them if an attempt at a rescue had been made, but no attempt was made, not even a remark while he passed. of l---- we saw nothing more; after we found the hollow tree he returned to greta as fast as he could, without, as far as we know, being seen by any one. we mounted power on the black-fellow's horse until we were able to secure another for him, and at seven o'clock on sunday night we had him in the wangaratta lock-up, safe and secure. during the journey he related many of his exploits, and seemed quite proud of his doings. many of his stories were most amusing, and whenever we met any one on the road he called out, "they have got poor power at last, but they caught him asleep." on arriving at wangaratta, we found the inhabitants were all going to church; in some way it became known that power was captured, and in a few moments the churches were emptied, and every one flocked to see the notorious bushranger who had kept the whole colony in such a state of excitement for so many months. it would take me too long to relate one tenth of his anecdotes, nor had i any guarantee as to the truth of them, but i may give one or two for a sample. he stated that he had robbed a number of stores and draymen, at bright. the morning before he committed the robbery he changed his clothes, putting on very old ones, and mounted a miserable old roan horse which he had picked up for the occasion, leaving his own horse and clothes in some secure place in the bush. after committing the robberies, he started off to his retreat in the mountains, riding in the most unfrequented passes. about sunset in the evening, he met three young men who appeared to him like office lads, or bank clerks; each of them had a revolver round his waist. they came up to him, and said, "have you seen a man riding a roan horse?" at the same time describing the dress power had worn in the morning. he replied, "no; who is he?" the young men replied, "we are looking for power the bushranger, who has stuck up a number of drays and stores near bright this morning." power then told them he had seen no one answering the description they gave. power asked them where they intended spending the night; they said they were going towards myrtleford; he said he was going in that direction also, and would accompany them in their search for power. they rode along talking about the robberies, the three young fellows never dreaming they were talking to power. after they had gone some distance, power got them in a certain position, and ordered them to hold up their hands on pain of being shot, at the same time pointing his revolver at them and informing them he was power the bushranger. he made them all dismount from their horses, undo the belts of their revolvers, let them drop on the road, and move away from them. he then ordered them all to undress and place their clothes on a log, even down to their shirts, and ordering them away from the log, lit a fire and burnt every article! he let their horses go, and then told them they might return to bright, and inform their employers they had seen power! i never could ascertain whether this story was true, beyond the fact of his having stuck up the stores and draymen on that road. another story power told me is worth recording. he said he had stuck up a number of draymen on the road between avenel and seymour, and after stopping some eight or nine of them and seeing another approach him, he stepped from behind a tree, and ordered the driver to "bail up," calling out, "i am power, the bushranger," at the same time covering him with his double-barrelled gun. the drayman pulled up his horses, and power demanded his money, but the driver, who proved himself to be a scotchman, most positively declined to hand it over. he said, "i have worked hard for my money, and have only £ upon me, and nothing in the world will induce me to give it up." power replied, "you see all these gentlemen here," pointing to the drivers of the other waggons, "have given me up all their money, and you will have to do the same." the drayman still remained obdurate, and power then said to him, "look here my good man, you see the position i am in; if i allow you to pass without giving me your money, my occupation will be gone. i am a bushranger, and make my living as a highwayman. suppose i let you pass, the next person i stick up will also refuse to hand over his money, and the public will say i am afraid to shoot a man. i will therefore give you five minutes to think over the matter, and if after that time you still refuse, i will have to shoot you." power said to me, "i did not want to shoot the poor fellow, so i left him and went behind a tree and prayed to god to soften his heart, and the lord answered my prayer. at the end of the appointed time, i again called on the drayman to hand over his cash, and he handed it to me without a murmur." power was a most careful man in his dress. no one would have thought he was a bushranger, his clothes were always so clean and neat, and he always rode splendid horses (of course, stolen property). after his capture i was a good deal with him. i drove him to beechworth in my buggy, and he talked all the way; and subsequently i was asked by captain standish to bring him from beechworth to melbourne by coach, and all the way down he related his adventures and experiences since his escape from pentridge. on his arrival in melbourne by the coach, which carried the mails, we stopped at the post-office, where a large crowd awaited his arrival. he put his head out of the coach window and took off his hat to the people, and then, when the coach arrived at cobb's office, he wanted to make a speech to the crowd, but i prevented his doing so. on the way from beechworth after the sentence was passed, he thanked me for all my kindness towards him, and told me he would like to make me a present of a magnificent black mare he had in the mountains (telling me where she was). i asked him how she came into his possession, but he replied, "you must not ask me that question." i said, "did you get her on the square?" his reply was "no." "then i can have nothing to do with her," i replied. he afterwards offered me his pipe, but as i was not a smoker i declined the offer. power was put on his trial at beechworth, charged with highway robbery under arms, which meant sticking up the myrtleford coach and robbing the passengers. he pleaded guilty to one charge, and was sentenced to fifteen years in pentridge; he served over fourteen years of this sentence, and was then released. he was afterwards employed as gamekeeper to sir william clarke, at bald hill station. i had a conversation with him whilst there. he appeared very dissatisfied at the unexciting life he was leading. he was a hale, strong man even then, very fond of telling his experiences to any one who would listen to him. our guide, l----, i never saw again after leaving him at the hollow tree the morning of power's capture. i had letters from him, and paid the £ reward promised to him, to a gentleman he named, who paid him portions of the sum as he required it, but he made no good use of the money. he squandered it, and it became known in the district that he had informed against power, in consequence of his having so much money at his disposal. he was galloping his horse one sunday after he had drawn the last instalment, and in riding home from the hotel, where he had been drinking heavily, he fell from his horse and broke his neck. power himself never suspected l----, but thought the quinns had given information, or, as it is termed, "put him away;" he thought it quite impossible for our party to have passed quinn's house unobserved. i might add that afterwards the squatter who had given us £ to obtain his watch, and through whose instrumentality the capture was made, sent in an application to the government to refund the amount, but the chief secretary point blank refused the request. chapter iv. a sporting party on the murray--"winkle"--how to take aim--after the ducks--a night with the snakes--kangarooing--a runaway bed. perhaps as a change from the somewhat lurid record of crime, which from the very nature of things must constitute the principal portion of a police officer's reminiscences, i may be allowed to turn to the lighter incidents of a sportsman's recreations. sport was a very different thing years ago, before the progress of settlement had driven the game away from the more readily accessible regions. i can recall many happy days spent on the murray plains in the exciting chase after the bounding kangaroo, or in dealing devastation among the feathered fowl, which then abounded on the lagoons and swamps along the river's course. for the amusement of my readers i will recall one occasion, which was not without a spice of humorous incident. a party of four, we started from melbourne for a week's shooting on the murray river. three of us were well accustomed to this branch of sport, but the fourth member of the band, a very good fellow, and a valued friend to us all, was better acquainted with legal sharpshooting than with modern arms of precision. still, he had been seized with a sudden desire to distinguish himself in a new line, and, like mr. winkle, was prepared to uphold his reputation. not owning, and never having owned, a gun, he deputed me to select a weapon, the best breech-loader that money could buy, determined that the birds should not escape, at any rate through any fault of the weapon. i fulfilled the commission accordingly. intending to camp out most of the time, we laid in a stock of provisions and other necessaries, and, proceeding to echuca by train, started off to our destination lower down the murray. we camped the first night at a water-hole near gunbower, and next morning after breakfast the new gun was brought out to be inspected. i should state that in all shooting parties it is usual to appoint one of the number as captain. he decides what is to be done each day, and his instructions are law. i was appointed on this occasion. winkle highly approved of my purchase, eyeing the gun, nevertheless, as if it were a doubtful point of law, of whose possible consequences he was exceedingly dubious. another member of the party, who dearly loves a practical joke, suggested that the new weapon ought to be tried without delay, and turning to me, with a twinkle in his eye, said--"make him fire off the gun at the black shag sitting on that log in the water." winkle trembled at the suggestion, never having fired off a double-barrelled gun in his life, but with legal acumen he objected, on the ground that such a weapon should not be desecrated by being turned against an ignoble object like a shag, and said with dignity he would prefer commencing his shooting when he got amongst the game. this plea, however, availed him not. i told him he must obey orders; and accordingly, having put a couple of cartridges into the gun, i handed the weapon to its owner, who received the gift with manifest consternation. still he obeyed. first he fixed his eyes steadfastly on the shag, then firmly closed them, and, without taking aim, levelled his weapon, and pulled the trigger. as might have been expected under such conditions, the shot struck the water thirty or forty yards from the bird, which soared away with contemptuous deliberation. "what on earth do you mean by shooting in that way?" called out our humorous friend. "what do i mean?" repeated the sporting novice with astonishment. "why, you never took aim at the bird," was the reply. "no," responded winkle, with virtuous surprise. "why should i? i have often heard hare say, and also many other sportsmen, that they never aimed at a bird; they merely looked at it, and pulled the trigger." the retort was evidently considered a crushing negative, though any sportsman will understand the difference between firing off the gun without covering the bird, and pulling the trigger, and not letting the gun follow the eye. we went on our journey for some distance. we had two buggies, our waggish friend driving with me, and the novice with the remaining member of the party in the second buggy. i was driving about a quarter of a mile ahead, when we saw a huge snake lying in the road. i drove over it, and broke its back, preventing it from moving. we pulled up our buggy and waited till the others came up. then, for another bit of fun, i ordered winkle to get out his gun, put it together himself, and shoot the snake. the order, given with the utmost seriousness of countenance, was received with horror. he objected most strongly, pleading that i knew his antipathy to snakes; besides, he had always heard that where there was one snake there was sure to be another close by, and as the grass was long he begged not to be compelled to get out of the buggy. he was quite unaware that the back of the snake was broken, and that the reptile could not move, though it kept raising its head viciously, and wriggling about in a manner quite sufficient to alarm the uninitiated. my companion, alive to the joke, urged me to insist. at last, with the utmost reluctance, he slowly and with unwilling step reached the ground. i told him to aim at the snake. with trembling caution he raised the gun to his shoulder, keeping the while at a respectful distance from the disabled snake, and then pulled both triggers. belying on the sporting doctrine that it is quite unnecessary to take aim, he fired at random, and i need hardly say that neither shot went anywhere near the snake. then he got into the buggy as quickly as he could, afraid apparently that the snake was in eager pursuit. we laughed, and told him that the snake could do him no harm, as its back was broken. he took the joke good-humouredly, but with more seriousness repeated that he had a horror of snakes, and he begged us not to play any practical jokes of this kind upon him. that night we reached our destination, and met the then manager of the station, who gave us a good account of the game we were likely to see. my companion and i used to have a shooting trip every year to this station, and the manager was accustomed to reserve all the unmanageable horses he met with during the year for us to break in. turkey shooting in those days required a good deal of skill in getting near the birds, and we often had a pair of horses which would take a considerable time to yoke up, but would return in the evening tired out and quite broken in. the manager began to tell us what a pair of devils he had for us next morning. we were not dismayed, thinking the more spirit the horses had the better, but our verdant friend did not at all coincide with this view. when he went out shooting, he said, he wanted to shoot, and did not like his attention distracted by the antics of wild, untamed animals. the manager, all hospitality, agreed that he should have a quiet, steady pair. after a good night's rest, off we started in the direction where the game was to be found. at first winkle declined to repeat his shooting experiences. he preferred holding the horses, and it was not until the afternoon that we could prevail on him to take his gun and creep along a gully where some ducks were hiding in the reed-beds. he was not used to country life, nor to stalking game, and when we called on him to keep as close to the ground as possible, he put down his head and raised another part of his body to such a height, that we could scarcely wonder the ducks rose in affright over such an extraordinary figure, long before he got within range. he, however, was no whit disappointed. having been directed to fire he obeyed orders, and though more than yards away he discharged both barrels, and came back much satisfied with himself. he explained that we must have started the ducks, but when we showed him the figure he presented when stalking them, he was not surprised at the birds flying off. we had a good day's sport, and made up our minds to stay at a deserted hut on the run that night. in those days the snakes were very plentiful on the murray flats. this was long before selection took place, and the huts deserted during the winter months were taken possession of by those reptiles. on being made acquainted with this strange fact in natural history, our friend was strongly averse to anything which would savour of the nature of trespass, and disclaimed any desire to serve a writ of ejectment. the manager, who was with us, said that it would be safer to take refuge in the hut than to camp out, as at that season snakes always travelled by night. when we arrived there we found three old bunks, consisting of four posts driven into the ground with bars across them, and an old bag fastened over them. as old campaigners, my companion, myself, and the overseer took possession of the bunks, leaving the less astute members of the party to lie on the floor. our friend put on his glasses and took a good survey of the position. "ah!" he said, "i see what it is, the three old birds have taken possession of the bunks, and we," turning to his companion, "have to lie on the floor." as night came on we made ourselves as comfortable as we could under the circumstances, and turned in early. in the night friend number two called out to the snake-hating winkle, "lie quiet, a snake has just crawled over me!" at once a light was struck, but the snake could not be found, but the alarmist, who was a very old bushman, declared he distinctly felt a snake crawl over him. next day we had another good day's sport, and saw no end of snakes, and again we started our friend off to stalk another lot of ducks. he positively refused to crawl along on his hands and knees, as he did not care about the snakes pecking at his nose and face, so the same exhibition occurred as the day before, he presenting a figure that i feel sure the game in the district had never before seen. there was the same result, the ducks flew away unharmed. on this occasion he did not fire at them, but coming back to the buggy his gun went off of its own accord. on his return we asked him what he fired at, and he candidly admitted that the gun was responsible and not himself. he stated positively he would never again attempt to fire off a gun, for, said he, "i don't quite know which hammer i am to put my finger on when i put the gun on half-cock." it then appeared he put his thumb on the left hammer, whilst his finger was on the right trigger; consequently, the gun went off. we all recognized that there was a great risk in shooting with our friend, and were glad that he decided to put away his gun, and so avoid bagging bigger game than we had any intention of securing. we decided to cross the murray and stay the night at a station on the opposite bank. we arrived late in the evening, and were disappointed to find the owner absent from home. however, bush fashion, we went up to the house and told the housekeeper we intended staying there for the night. our friend at once asked the housekeeper whether there were any snakes about. she replied, "i don't think there are many. one was seen on the verandah this morning, and he got under the floor of the house, but a good many were seen some time ago." he did not at all relish the idea of sleeping there that night. after a good dinner we went to bed early, our friend, with due regard to his personal comfort, being given the owner's bed. two of us were sleeping in the next room, and during the night my friend awoke me and said that he heard groaning in the next apartment, and asked me to see what was the matter. i lighted a candle and went into the room. such a sight i never witnessed before or since. there was our snake-haunted friend sitting doubled up on the bed, fully dressed, with gaiters on, and bandages round his wrists and neck. he was groaning as if in great pain. "what on earth is the matter with you?" said i. "oh, hare! such a night i never spent before in my life. the snakes have been running up and down the wall after the mice, and i have been afraid that the mice would run up my legs or arms, and the snakes would follow, so i got up, dressed, and put on my gaiters, and tied handkerchiefs round my wrists." i could scarcely stand for laughing, and went next door and called in my companion, who, appreciating the humour of the situation, exploded with laughter. never before having slept in a wooden room with a paper partition, our frightened friend did not know that mice invariably amused themselves running races all night within the paper lining. we explained matters to him, and he undressed and got into bed again. next day we intended changing our sport, and having a day's kangaroo hunting--the owner of the station being known all over the district as having the best kangaroo dogs on the murray. the manager warned our friend against getting into a buggy with me driving, saying that i did not know the danger i ran, galloping across the plains as hard as the horses could go, following the dogs. under this influence he came to me and said, "hare, i don't think i care about kangarooing; i won't go out to-day." i told him it was his duty to obey orders, and as i had decided we were all to go out kangarooing, he must come with us. i drove the buggy; the horses played up when starting, and he begged to be allowed to stay at home, but we would not hear of his staying by himself, and at last we made a start. the hounds were sent out in a cart, and at an appointed place we all met. the kangaroos were in hundreds, and a pair of dogs were slipped by a man on horse-back when at full gallop. the two buggies and half a dozen station hands and blacks, perfectly naked, went in full gallop across the plains, the kangaroos running in every direction, one hound following one kangaroo, and the other another; such a helter-skelter was never before seen. our friend was perfectly quiet and resigned to his fate. the game took to a clump of timber, and i saw my way to dash through it. the manager, who galloped past us, called out that it was perfect madness to allow me to drive as i was doing. however, i got through all right, but was pulled up on the other side by a deep ravine. then my friend begged me to stop, and said he did not see anything in kangaroo hunting, and he preferred shooting ducks. we had another run, but he still declared that as far as he was concerned he could see no sport in kangarooing, and he had seen enough to last him his life. we stayed another night at the station, and the next night crossed the murray, and went back to victoria. we had another good day's turkey and duck shooting, and that night we camped on a sandhill near a shepherd's hut. after selecting a spot whereon to camp, our friend strolled about, and met the wife of the shepherd. he at once entered into conversation with her, and said, "my good woman, are there any snakes about here?" she replied, "law, sir, the place is stiff with them. they have been carting in a supply of wood for the winter, and in every hollow log there appears to be a snake." he returned to us downcast and dejected, and taking me aside, said, "hare, i cannot sleep on the ground to-night; you must let me sleep in the waggon." i consulted with the others, and we agreed, after the miserable nights he had passed, he should be allowed to clear out the waggon, and put his 'possum rug in it. i must describe the position we selected for our camp. it was a steep hill on the side we were on, with a wide creek at the foot of it. his attention was drawn to the position, and we pointed out the possibility of the waggon running down the hill; but he took the precaution of putting chocks under the wheels, so as to prevent such an accident. i had no idea at the time of the reason why my waggish friend took so much trouble to point out the position of the waggon. however, i plainly saw the reason afterwards! we had our tea, which consisted of kangaroos' tails boiled in water, with some pepper and salt, which were not by any means palatable, but after a hard day's shooting anything goes down! having selected our sleeping places round the fire, we all turned in, and our friend getting into the waggon, coiled up in his rug, began to chaff us, and ask us if there were any snakes knocking about. he little thought what was going to take place during the night. we all fell asleep, and later on i was awakened by dreadful screams from the waggon, calling out, "hare, hare, the waggon is off down the hill, and i will be drowned." i jumped up, and there saw the wag of the party at the pole of the waggon, pulling it down the hill. i could scarcely stand for laughing. the frightened occupant jumped out, and not seeing the joker at the pole, called out, "good heavens, what a narrow escape i've had." next morning there was a discussion whether we should go back to melbourne, or continue shooting. one of the party was for having another day's sport, but the amateur sportsman turned upon him and told him he knew nothing about shooting, and begged us take no notice of what he said, but to make back to the station at once and endeavour to reach echuca next day. finally we agreed to do so. on the road back one of the blacks who was with us started off in a gallop and rescued our little dog from being picked up by a huge eagle-hawk that was pouncing down upon the spaniel running ahead of us. these eagles, when hungry, generally hunt together, and have often been seen following a large kangaroo until it could scarcely stand; then they would attack it, and tear it to pieces and eat it. we got back to echuca that night in time to catch the train. our bag consisted of thirty-five turkeys, couple of ducks, fifty geese, and no end of kangaroo tails. our friend gave me his gun to sell, and i believe he has never since fired off a shot, and never intends to do so again. he got back to the bosom of his family, and registered a vow that he would never again go for a shooting trip as long as he lived, as he found he was not a sportsman, although highly thought of in his profession. chapter v. the kelly gang--ned and dan kelly--steve hart--joe byrne--the origin of the bushranging outbreak--search party organized--murder of kennedy--m'intyre's escape--arming the police--tracking the gang--close on them. the events in connection with the outbreak of the kelly gang, from the murder of the ill-fated party of police in the wombat ranges, in october , until the capture and death of the bushrangers at glenrowan, in june , are still too fresh in the minds of the public to need more than the briefest recapitulation as an introduction to my own experiences in their pursuit. perhaps there was no one who had a better opportunity of obtaining information concerning their career than myself. not that i wish to take any special credit, but i am merely mentioning facts that came to my knowledge and experiences during the search for the outlaws. for nearly ten months i was engaged searching for them, and both before i went to the north-eastern district and after i was relieved, captain standish, the chief commissioner of police, consulted me concerning all the information that came to hand. ned kelly, the leader of the gang, was born in , at wallan wallan. at an early age he took to criminal courses, and was regarded as a horse and cattle stealer from his earliest boyhood. he was known to steal carriers' horses at night, "plant" them in the bush until a reward was offered for their recovery, and then in the most innocent manner claim the reward. afterwards he took to stealing and selling any horses he found straying about. when he was sixteen years of age he joined power, although he never assisted in any of his sticking-up cases; still, he was with him on two or three occasions when power committed some of his depredations. he merely took charge of power's horses at a distance, but he could not be recognized by any of the victims, and consequently he was never tried for any offence in connection with him; but he served two or three sentences for horse and cattle stealing. when with power, ned kelly was a flash, ill-looking young blackguard. he told me the reason he left him was because power had such an ungovernable temper that he thought power would shoot him. he told me that when they were riding in the mountains, power swore at him to such an extent, without his giving him any provocation, that he put spurs to his horse and galloped away home. it was generally supposed by the public that ned kelly gave the police some information which led to power's arrest; but this is entirely untrue. power would not at that time have trusted kelly with the knowledge of his whereabouts. power had a very poor opinion of kelly's courage, and told me that once or twice ned kelly suggested that they should surrender, more especially when kelly and he were trying to steal some of dr. rowe's horses at mount battery station, mansfield, and dr. rowe fired on them with a long distance rifle. power said kelly turned deadly white, and wished to surrender. he had the greatest difficulty in getting him off the ground, he was in such a fright. between the interval of his exploits with power, and the time of the outbreak of the gang of which he was the leader, ned kelly had grown into a man, and had become so hardened in crime as to be perfectly reckless. [illustration: dan kelly.] ned kelly had two brothers and four sisters, dan, jim, mrs. gunn, mrs. skillian, kate and grace. his father, who died in , was a notorious criminal, having been transported from ireland. he married a miss quinn, and all her people were thieves. the mother (mrs. kelly) is still alive, but was in gaol during most of the time her sons were outlaws, having been convicted of aiding in the shooting of constable fitzpatrick. dan kelly was born in , and was a good deal mixed up with ned in his criminal pursuits. they were the terror of all persons who travelled with stock in that part of the district, and many drovers were accustomed to go miles out of their way to avoid greta, for fear of their cattle being stolen. dan was always known to be a cunning low little sneak, he would be prowling about half the night seeing what he could pick up; of course he knew every road, lane, and mountain gully in the district, and could ride about the darkest night and find his way as if in his own garden. steve hart was born in , near wangaratta, he also was a horse-stealer, and was frequently prowling about of a night to pick up a stray drayman's horse, or any other animal that did not belong to him. joe byrne was born in at woolshed, near beechworth. he was a fine strapping young fellow, but he took early in life to evil courses, and received a sentence of six months in beechworth for cattle-stealing. he was educated at the eldorado school, where he and aaron sherritt were most intimate friends. aaron sherritt, who figures conspicuously throughout this narrative, was born near beechworth. his parents and sisters were respectable and well-conducted people, his father having been in the police force in the old country. he was a strapping, tall, well-made young fellow, and associated himself with the kellys and byrne in their horse-stealing raids, giving himself up entirely to a disreputable life. it will be observed that as the kelly family lived near greta, the hart family near wangaratta, with the warby ranges behind them, and joe byrne's family resided at woolshed, they had miles of ranges to retreat into with which they were well acquainted, and to this fact i attribute in a great measure their successful evasion from arrest. if, for instance, the police made up their minds to search the interminable ranges at the back of greta, extending for over one hundred miles, the outlaws would, through their sisters, get the information furnished to them that the police were in that district, and they would shift their position during the night to the warby ranges, at the back of hart's place; if parties of police were sent there, they would move over to byrne's friends. in this manner they could find retreats over hundreds of miles of impenetrable mountains, amongst which they had been brought up all their lives, and where they knew every road, gully, and hiding-place. the origin of the bushranging outbreak was the shooting at a young constable named fitzpatrick in april . he had been sent to arrest dan kelly at his mother's house near greta. he was invited into mrs. kelly's hut and there set on by a number of people, and in the scuffle ned kelly shot him in the wrist. mrs. kelly, the mother of ned and dan, with two or three others, was subsequently arrested, tried, and convicted for aiding in the shooting of fitzpatrick, and received long sentences. warrants were then issued, and a reward of £ offered for the arrest of ned and dan kelly. for some months nothing was heard of them; they were doubtless in the district, but the police could not lay their hands on them, although every effort was made to capture them. in october , search parties were organized of three or four men, and were sent to search the mountains. the party in charge of sergeant kennedy, one of the best men in the force, comprised also constables lonergan, scanlan, and m'intyre. they had orders to scour the wombat ranges. they left mansfield on the th of october, , with pack-horses and provisions to last them some days. sergeant kennedy was a shrewd, intelligent man, and there is every reason to believe he had received information of a most positive nature as to where the kellys were to be found, the information being supplied by a man whom i must call p----, a well-educated fellow, who had held various responsible positions in the district, on the promise from kennedy that if he arrested the offenders, the reward offered by the government for their apprehension should be paid to him. it is also stated, that no sooner had p---- given this information to kennedy and seen the police started in search of the bushrangers, than he went straight to the kellys and told them that kennedy was to camp in a certain spot in the wombat ranges. kennedy never for a moment thought the kellys would attack him; such an idea never entered his head, and he camped for the night in a spot he had selected in the stringy bark ranges, about twenty miles from mansfield; the country was almost impassable from the impenetrable scrub. the following morning kennedy and scanlan got their horses and started off to search the ranges, leaving m'intyre and lonergan in the camp; the former was acting as cook for the day. the camp consisted of a tent, which the men slept in. about two o'clock that day the two men left in camp were suddenly called on to "bail up and throw up their hands" by four armed men, who were presenting rifles at them. m'intyre, being unarmed, immediately obeyed and threw up his hands, his revolver being inside the tent. lonergan, instead of following the example, ran to get behind the shelter of a tree, at the same time drawing his revolver out of the case, but before he got to the tree he was shot in the forehead, and dropped down dead. the armed men were found to be ned and dan kelly, joe byrne, and steve hart; they at once took possession of lonergan's arms and all the other arms lying about the camp. m'intyre was made to sit on a log, and he had a good opportunity of seeing the faces of the four men. either ned or dan kelly shot lonergan, and m'intyre states that byrne and hart were dreadfully cut up at the turn things had taken, especially byrne, who was nervous and downcast. the bushrangers were evidently aware that kennedy and scanlan were away, and would shortly be returning. they arranged that m'intyre would sit in some conspicuous place where he could be seen by his comrades, and they themselves laid down in some sheltered spot where they could not be seen, and they advised m'intyre to induce kennedy and scanlan to surrender, saying that if they consented they would not be shot. m'intyre told kelly that he would induce his comrades to surrender, if he promised to keep his word. kennedy and scanlan rode into the camp. m'intyre went forward and said, "sergeant, i think you had better dismount and surrender, as we have been captured." kelly at the same time called out, "put up your hands." they both appear to have grasped the situation in a moment, for scanlan threw himself from his horse to get behind a tree, but was shot before he reached the ground. kennedy jumped from his horse, and getting the animal between him and the bushrangers, opened fire upon them. the horse bolted and passed close by m'intyre, who vaulted on it and galloped off, throwing himself on the horse's neck. several shots were fired, but, fortunately, none hit him, and he rode off as hard as he could. kennedy was left then to fight these four scoundrels. what happened no one knows, beyond what ned kelly stated himself. he said that kennedy was a brave man, and fought the four of them until he had fired all the shots in his revolver. his body was afterwards found a quarter of a mile from where m'intyre last saw him, with several bullet wounds and fearfully mutilated. ned kelly said that after kennedy was wounded and fell, they all ran up to him, and kennedy begged them to spare his life for the sake of his wife and children, but the inhuman brute said that he did not like to leave him in the bush in such a state, and so out of compassion he blew his brains out. an inquest was held on the bodies of the murdered men. lonergan had received seven bullet wounds, one of them through the eye-ball. scanlan's body had four shot marks on it, the fatal bullet had gone through his lungs. kennedy's body was fearfully mutilated, he had three bullets through his head, and several in his body. aaron sherritt afterwards gave me another version of this matter. he said ned kelly told him that he made both joe byrne and steve hart fire into kennedy whilst he was lying wounded, as neither of them had shot either scanlan or lonergan, and he made them kill kennedy so as to prevent their turning informers against him and his brother. in support of this theory, it may be noted that when kennedy's body was found, it was apparent that the bullets which put an end to his life must have been fired by men standing close over him, as the skin was burnt by the powder. m'intyre after his escape rode off as fast as the nature of the country would permit, until his horse fell and threw him across a log, on his loins, and then bolted off. m'intyre felt sure he was being followed by one of the gang, and no doubt they did endeavour to overtake him, but the country was so dense with scrub that they were unable to follow on his tracks. after being thrown from his horse, he ran as far as he could, until through exhaustion he fell down, and close by he found a wombat hole, into which he crept, hoping to evade his pursuers. whilst he was in this hole in the earth, he tore a sheet out of his pocket-book and wrote as concise an account as he could, thinking if the kellys did overtake him, he would leave the slip of paper in the hole, in the hope that it might be found some day. fortunately darkness came on, and m'intyre got out of the hole and travelled all night on foot. towards morning he found himself near mr. tolmie's station, between mansfield and benalla. at first he was rejoiced at seeing some habitation, but to his horror he fancied he saw the police horses which had been ridden by kennedy's party feeding near the house, and he thought the bushrangers had come down and taken possession of the place. acting on this idea, he made off as fast as he could. he found his way into mansfield some time during the afternoon. i afterwards spoke to m'intyre concerning these horses, and he told me he felt perfectly convinced in his own mind that he saw the horse he had been riding, together with the three others, but it turned out that they were only the station horses. m'intyre was much blamed for the way he had acted in the affair, but my own idea is, that unless he had been a brave man, he could not have seized the opportunity in the way he did in vaulting on kennedy's horse as it passed him. he was of no use to kennedy, he had no arms in his possession, and the fact of his bolting off as he did, gave kennedy a better opportunity of shooting one or two of the bushrangers if they attempted to pursue him. he had seen his two companions shot dead and the third fired at; clearly his best course was to escape and give the alarm. there can be no question that if m'intyre had also been shot (which he would have been, had he not escaped), the world would never have known the fate of the four men. the bush near the spot where the tragedy took place is so dense that, if the bodies had been burned and the ashes covered up, no sign of the bodies could have been discovered. to show how difficult it was to find anything in the locality, it may be mentioned that poor kennedy's body, although only a quarter of a mile away from the others, was not found for two or three days, although dozens of people were searching. when found, it was covered with a coat, although lonergan's and scanlan's bodies were lying in the camp uncovered. afterwards i asked sherritt the cause of kennedy's body being covered, and he said ned kelly told him he was the bravest man he had ever heard of, and out of respect he went all the way to the camp, got a cloak, and threw it over the body, and i have not the least doubt that was the case. m'intyre having given the alarm at mansfield, a party of police were sent out at once to the wombat, and after much difficulty they reached the spot described by m'intyre, and found the two bodies, and some days afterwards the remains of kennedy were found as stated. the bodies had to be tied on horse-back to be brought out of the forest, and they were buried at mansfield, where a monument has been erected to the memory of the murdered men. kennedy was a great favourite with every one. he left a wife and children at mansfield. the government behaved liberally, allowing the widow to draw her husband's full pay to support herself and children ever since. the news of these murders was very soon sent to all parts of the colonies, and caused great consternation. captain standish at once despatched the inspecting superintendent to the district, and mounted constables from all parts of the colony were sent in pursuit of the offenders. the police were blamed for being unprepared for such an outbreak, but, to my certain knowledge, for years captain standish had been asking for authority to arm his men with proper carbines, but his request was refused, the men not even being supplied with ammunition to practise with, because of the expense. yet when this outbreak took place, blame was heaped upon the head of the department for being in such a state of unpreparedness. authority was then given to purchase arms that were thought suitable for the purpose, but rifles of the description required could not be obtained. the military sent some old-fashioned rifles, but they were not to be depended on. captain standish then obtained authority to purchase from a gun-maker in melbourne a large number of shot-guns, breech-loaders, and these were sent to the north-eastern district, and were well adapted for the purpose, and the men felt great confidence in using them. each of these breech-loading shot-guns cost the government about £ . however, we had to purchase some reliable weapons, and these shot-guns were considered the best, especially for inexperienced men. the inspecting superintendent, and the officer in charge of the district, at once set to work to organize search parties to go in pursuit of the gang. the whole district at this time was in an intense state of excitement, and reports came from all parts of the district that suspicious persons answering the description of the bushrangers had been seen. there were several hundred square miles of country which the murderers knew every inch of, and it was difficult to say in which direction they would fly. one of the parties organized to search for the offenders found, within a few miles of the spot where the murders were committed, a very strong stockade, built of logs laid one on top of the other, with loop-holes all round, through which shots could be fired, and the person firing remain quite unseen, the trees within one hundred and fifty yards being full of bullet marks, where evidently considerable practice had taken place. it is believed that the bushrangers were living in this stockade when they attacked kennedy's party, and from all appearances had been living there for some considerable time. aaron sherritt told me it was quite by accident that joe byrne and hart happened to be with the kellys when they attacked the police. they were always great friends and companions in their horse-stealing raids, and sherritt said they had no idea of shooting the police the morning they started to attack the camp. their chief aim was to secure some good fire-arms and horses, and they were under the impression that all they would have to do was to cover them with their rifles, and the police would surrender. instead of this they had to shoot the police to save their own lives. of course the bushrangers took away everything belonging to the murdered men. the police had good webley revolvers, a spencer carbine, and two shot-guns, the latter borrowed from some one at mansfield. the police horses were also taken away by the gang. the government immediately offered a reward of £ for information that would lead to the apprehension of the offenders, they were outlawed, and every inducement was given to people to inform against them. after the murders the first information that was received concerning them was from the murray river, below wodonga, about ninety miles from the scene of the murder. they called at the house of a german, who knew them. they were riding the police horses belonging to kennedy's party, and had their arms in their possession, and were seen going towards the murray. they evidently meant to cross the river, but it was flooded, and they got on some of the islands and were very nearly drowned. the police had information of this, but they either disbelieved it, or failed to take action. at all events, a day or two afterwards the outlaws were seen making their way back riding through the water, and obliged to swim their horses to get out. when they reached the shore they had to make a fire to dry their arms, and they remained there some hours. the next thing heard of them was their going through wangaratta about daylight, crossing the bridge through the town, the whole country being flooded to such an extent that they were compelled to come through the town. four men were seen crossing under a culvert on the railway, and it was known that no one but persons who had resided in wangaratta could have known how to cross the creek in the swollen state it was in, as there was great risk in doing so. information was given to the police at wangaratta, but they doubted the truth of the report. after a day or two convincing proof was given that the four men seen passing under the railway were the bushrangers. an effort was then made to follow their tracks. this could be done by the men in full gallop, as the country was so boggy the tracks were plainly visible. the police tracked the foot-prints of the outlaws' horses to a well-known sympathizer's house, where it was afterwards ascertained the outlaws had breakfasted. then the tracks were followed up still further into the warby ranges, and the police found kennedy's horse, which the outlaws had abandoned. the animal was knocked up and its feet were bleeding from travelling over stones without shoes. this i consider the best opportunity thrown away of capturing the offenders throughout the whole of the search. but unfortunately there was an officer at that time stationed at wangaratta who was from physical and other disqualifications quite unfit to be sent on duty of this kind. instead of following up the tracks when he found the lame and bleeding horse with signs of having recently been ridden, he threw up the search and made all his men return back to wangaratta to show he had found the horse. it was afterwards discovered that the outlaws at this time were completely done up; their horses had been some days without feed, and they themselves were wet and tired out. there would have been no difficulty in capturing them. unfortunately the inspecting superintendent was engaged in some other part of the district, and so also was the officer in charge of the district. the outlaws had got back to near where their relations lived. they had the kellys' house on one side of them, and the harts' on the other, and they could go to their own blood relations for any food and help they required. search parties were kept up all over the district, men sleeping out, or i should say staying out without fire or shelter; badly-fed horses knocked up, reports coming in from every direction hundreds of miles off, that the kellys had been seen here, there, and everywhere. many of these reports were circulated for the purpose of deceiving the police. the inspecting superintendent had had a great deal of experience in the detective force, and was able to obtain information from persons that no one else would think of getting it from. he set to work to endeavour to organize men of this class and get information as to the whereabouts of the outlaws, but there was the greatest difficulty in doing this. the murders committed by the outlaws had created such a scare in the district, that any person who did know anything of their movements was afraid to say anything about it; besides which, they had such a crowd of relations in the district, that it was impossible to find a person who was not in some way or other interested or connected with the gang. no one but the police themselves knew the hardships they went through all that winter whilst searching for the outlaws. they did it most cheerfully, one and all. their whole aim and object was to fall in with the kellys. the officers had a most trying time. they had to decide between false and deceiving reports, and those that were true. they were constantly on the move themselves, meeting persons in the bush quite alone, and obtaining information concerning the outlaws, some purposely misleading with a view of favouring the outlaws and getting payment for their services. chapter vi. euroa bank robbery--euroa--"sticking up" mr. younghusband's station--mr. macauley "bailed up"--the hawker gloster--cheap outfits--the raid on the bank--the manager and family made prisoners--the return to mr. younghusband's--the retreat of the gang and liberation of the prisoners--explanatory statement of the author. the next exploit of the gang was the euroa bank robbery, on the th dec. . euroa is situated on the main railway line between melbourne and sydney, about one hundred miles from the former. the town at that time had about three hundred inhabitants; there was a police station, where one mounted man was stationed, and it had two hotels and some substantially built buildings in it. a court was held there once a month, and the town was built close by the railway line. the bank that was stuck up was within fifty or sixty yards of the railway station, and trains are constantly passing throughout the day; the nearest townships on each side of euroa are lowground on the melbourne side, about nine miles distant, and violet town on the north side, about eleven miles. a considerable amount of business is, however, done in this place. it is the outlet for a large agricultural district, reaching down the valley of the goulbourne river; at the back of it, and but a short distance away, are the strathbogie ranges, which are covered with thick scrub, and heavily timbered for thirty or forty miles, reaching to near mansfield, giving excellent cover for any persons trying to escape justice. about noon on monday, the th of december , an _employé_ named fitzgerald, on mr. younghusband's station, was sitting in the hut eating his dinner, when a man who looked like an ordinary bushman quietly sauntered up to the door, and taking his pipe out of his mouth inquired if the manager, mr. macauley, was about. fitzgerald replied, "no, but he will be back towards evening. is it anything in particular? perhaps i will do as well." the bushman said, "no, never mind; it is of no consequence," and then walked away from the hut. fitzgerald continued eating his dinner without taking any further notice of the man; but he happened to look up, and saw the bushman beckoning to some person in the distance. about five minutes afterwards, two more rough-looking characters joined the bushman; they were leading four very fine horses, in splendid condition, they were three bays and a gray. the three men went to the homestead, which was close to the hut, and walked in. they met mrs. fitzgerald, the wife of the _employé_ already mentioned, who was engaged in some household duties. the old dame was considerably surprised at the strangers walking in without an invitation, and asked them who they were, and what they wanted. one replied, "i am ned kelly, but you have nothing to fear from us, we shall do you no harm; but you will have to give us some refreshment, and also food for our horses. that is all we want." the old lady was naturally very much surprised, and called out to her husband to come to her. fitzgerald left his dinner at the hut, and walked over to the house, when his wife introduced him to the strangers, saying, "there is mr. kelly, he wants some refreshments, and food for his horses." by this time kelly had drawn his revolver, evidently to show them there was no joking on his part; and fitzgerald, no doubt thinking discretion the better part of valour, accepted the inevitable, and resignedly said, "well, if the gentlemen want any refreshment, they must have it." shortly after this conversation had taken place, the station hands began to drop in for their dinner. joe byrne took up his position outside, keeping watch over the place, and dan kelly found the horse-feed, and was attending to the horses. ned kelly and hart, as the men approached the homestead, made prisoners of all of them; ned took possession of a detached building, which had been used as a store-room, into which he put fitzgerald, and each man that came up to the station was served in the same manner, and the door locked. the women on the station were in no way interfered with, and they were all assured that no harm was intended to anybody; as each man walked up for his dinner, they were very quietly ordered to "bail up," and were unresistingly marched into the storehouse, no violence being used towards any of them, as they went quietly. ned kelly put several questions to each of the workmen, making inquiries about every one on the station, so as to test the credibility of each of them; their answers appeared to satisfy him, he was very quiet in his manner, and kept telling the men they had nothing to fear, provided they did not interfere with him or his companions. about five o'clock in the afternoon mr. macauley, the manager of the station, rode up to the homestead (he had been to one of the out-stations), and when crossing the creek which led up to the station he noticed, with some surprise, the quietness which reigned about the place, and the absence of the station hands about the huts. however, he did not give it a second thought, and proceeded on his way, until nearing the storehouse, when he suddenly reined up. this was in consequence of fitzgerald calling out to him from the building, "the kellys are here, you will have to bail up." he could not believe this at first, but almost at that instant ned kelly came out of the house, and covering him with his revolvers, ordered him to "bail up." macauley without dismounting said, "what is the good of your sticking up the station? we have got no better horses than those you have." ned kelly replied, "we are not going to take anything, we only want some food, and rest for our horses, and sleep for ourselves." macauley, seeing it was no use offering any resistance, at once dismounted, and surrendered. they did not treat him as they did the others, but allowed him to remain at liberty for some time, but always keeping a watchful eye upon him. even then macauley did not believe they were the kelly gang, but when dan kelly came out of the house, he recognized, as he said, "his ugly face" from the photos he had seen of him. macauley said, "well, as we are to remain here, we may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible, and have our tea." the outlaws however were too cautious, and only two of them sat down together, whilst the others kept a look-out, and then they relieved each other. they also took great care that some of their prisoners should taste the food first, being apparently afraid of poison being put in. about this time a hawker named gloster, who had a shop at seymour, but was in the habit of travelling about the country with a general assortment of clothing and fancy goods, drove his waggon up to the entrance of the station, and according to his usual custom unharnessed his horses, and made preparations for camping out for the night; and having made all in readiness, he walked up to the station to get some water to make his tea with. when he reached the hut, he was told "the kellys" were there, and that he would have to "bail up." macauley, knowing gloster to be a plucky fellow, was afraid that he might draw his revolver and there would be blood shed; however, gloster got his water from the kitchen, and was going back to his cart, when ned kelly called out to him to stop. gloster turned round and looked at him, but thinking it was all a lark, went on his way towards his cart. dan kelly immediately raised his gun, and was about to fire, when ned kelly ordered him not to do so. macauley called out to him to "bail up," in order to prevent bloodshed. gloster, who appeared a very obstinate fellow, took no notice of the threats of the kellys, or the entreaties of macauley, but steadily continued on his way and got up into his cart. ned kelly appeared to be losing his temper, and went down to the cart followed by his brother dan. ned then put his revolver to gloster's cheek, and ordered him to come out of his cart, or he would blow his brains out. many angry words passed between them, and it was only by the endeavours of macauley that ned kelly was prevented shooting gloster. kelly then said he would let him off this time, at the same time praising his own leniency, by saying not one man in a hundred would have dealt so leniently with him, after the manner in which he had behaved. dan kelly was evidently eager for blood, as he expressed a strong wish to put a bullet through "the wretch." gloster was then marched up to the store-room, and locked up with the other prisoners. the four ruffians then proceeded to ransack the hawker's cart, and provide themselves with a new fit out; they made regular bush-dandies of themselves, and helped themselves pretty freely to the contents of the scent-bottles which they found amongst the stock. they also took what fire-arms he had. before going to bed for the night, the kellys opened the door of the store-room, and let the prisoners out for a little while to get some fresh air, but at the same time holding their revolvers in their hands and keeping a sharp look-out after them all. the kellys had frequent conversations with their prisoners in a most friendly manner, and conversed freely on any subject. all night long two of the outlaws kept guard, whilst the others slept. tuesday morning they were up early; they appeared to keep a good watch on the approaches to the homestead, so that no information would reach euroa that would interfere with the successful carrying out of their plans of robbing the national bank. about two o'clock on tuesday afternoon a party of four men, named mr. mcdougal, mr. dudley, mr. casement, and mr. jennant, who were returning from the strathbogie ranges, were "bailed up," and made prisoners. mr. mcdougal's account of what took place is as follows:--"we had just reached the railway gates where there is a crossing to mr. younghusband's station, three of us driving in a spring-cart, and mr. jennant on horse-back. the gates were closed, and nothing was farther from our thoughts than the idea of the kelly gang being close to us; we were laughingly speculating with each other on the chances of the gates, which are on private property, leading into the run, being locked. mr. jennant got down from his horse, and finding them unlocked, was opening them, when two men suddenly made their appearance, one coming from behind us on horse-back, and the other advancing on foot in front. both presented revolvers, and called on us to 'bail up.' "the one on horse-back, who, i afterwards learned, was ned kelly, cried out, 'surrender, or you will be shot.' as both men looked like mounted policemen in plain clothes, and held up handcuffs and accused us of stealing the trap we were driving, we at first thought they were troopers, and mr. dudley called out, 'what right have you to arrest us?' and appeared as if he was not going to take any notice of their summons. ned kelly then rode close up to him, shouted in a violent manner, at the same time presenting a revolver at his head, and said, 'i'll shoot you dead on the spot if you give me any cheek.' fearing kelly was going to carry out his threat, i interposed and asked dudley to surrender quietly, as it was no use resisting, and said to kelly, 'you would not shoot an old man!' kelly replied, 'i won't harm the old man if he surrenders quietly.' a tall young man (byrne) told us to drive up to the homestead. as we approached the gate leading to the station, one of the station hands opened it, and said in a laughing manner, pointing to ned kelly and addressing us, 'gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to mr. edward kelly.' this was the first intimation who our captors were, and the information was by no means a pleasant one, and did not tend to re-assure us; in fact we were all greatly frightened, and for myself i may say my heart was in my mouth. when we got to the store-room we found dan kelly and hart there guarding the place, in which the manager mr. macauley and about twenty others had been imprisoned for twenty-six hours. "the store-room was a wooden building about twenty yards away from the house; it only had one door and window, near each other, and was easily guarded. our party of four were put into the room with the others, and, there being no ventilation, we soon found the atmosphere very hot and close. in the meantime the gang had thrown everything out of our cart, they took possession of a rifle and double-barrelled gun, eighty bullets, and some powder and caps. "our imprisonment lasted eight hours, during which time, however, several of us were permitted to go out occasionally to get some fresh air, but we were never allowed out of sight. only the men were put in confinement, the women being allowed to walk about, and they were in no way molested, but from some remark i heard dropped by dan kelly (who appeared the greatest ruffian of the lot and a thorough type of a larrakin), he did not desire to leave them alone; he said something about having a lark with the women, but was apparently restrained by his brother. during the time we were in the store-room four trains passed, two each way, and when any of these were heard approaching, we were kept close and told not to make any noise." this statement of mr. mcdougal, almost verbatim as related, was given by him to the reporter of the _melbourne argus_ on the evening of the day after the occurrence. the next step taken by the gang, after capturing these men, and openly stating their intention of robbing the bank at euroa, was, about half-past two o'clock, to destroy the telegraph line, leaving their prisoners guarded by joe byrne. they got tomahawks, and cut down one of the telegraph posts, tearing away all the wire for a considerable length, so that it could not be repaired by the usual quantity of wire carried by a line repairer; they cut down the posts on both sides of the line, and scattered the wire in every direction. whilst doing this, a further capture of four men who were working on the line as gangers, and who saw them cutting down the wires, was made. these men walked towards the bushrangers to ask them what they meant by cutting down the wires, when ned kelly called on them to "bail up." they did so, when told who their captors were, without making any resistance, and were at once marched up to the store-room, into which they were put with the rest of the prisoners. at half-past three o'clock ned and dan kelly, with steve hart, started for euroa, all dressed in new clothes stolen from gloster the hawker's cart. they plainly stated they were going to rob the national bank, but before leaving they got a cheque on this bank signed by the manager mr. macauley for a small amount, about three pounds. ned kelly drove gloster's cart, with a hood over it. dan kelly took mcdougal's, and hart rode one of the horses. they turned their own horses into the paddock before leaving. joe byrne, left in charge of the prisoners, was heavily armed, having two revolvers in his belt, a double-barrelled gun in his hand, and two rifles placed within easy reach. he marched round the building whilst all the prisoners were locked in, and was evidently most watchful. whilst the three were away from the station a train stopped in front of the door; a man, who proved to be a line repairer, named watts, jumped down from the train, coming from the north; he had been sent to repair the line, and he evidently saw that it had not been injured by accident. he walked towards the station for assistance, and to ascertain who had caused the break in the line, when he was suddenly pulled up by byrne and ordered to approach him, and he also was put into the store-room, having been first searched for fire-arms. byrne asked him several questions as to the movements of the police and their numbers at the adjoining townships. nothing else of note transpired during the absence of ned and his companions from the station. the proceedings of the three outlaws after leaving the station were as follows. it will be remembered the bank was three miles from younghusband's station, and they left it at half-past three o'clock. these banks as a rule close about this hour, and when the outlaws reached the township the bank door was closed. it was then five minutes to four as ned kelly drew up the hawker's cart in front of the bank, sending his brother and steve hart to the back of the premises. ned then knocked at the front-door; one of the clerks asked who was there. kelly replied, "i have a cheque of mr. macauley's to change; will you please cash it?" the clerk answered, "it is after hours; and we cannot open the door now;" but kelly begged so hard, saying it would be a great inconvenience not to get the cash that night, that the clerk opened the door and admitted him. ned closed the door after him, and at once presented a revolver at his head, and ordered him to "bail up." at the same time steve hart, with a revolver in each hand, entered the back-door, and they took possession of the fire-arms that were in the bank. ned kelly went in search of mr. scott the manager, and found him in an office adjoining the bank. he stood at the end of the table, at the same time covering scott with a revolver, and said, "i am ned kelly; bail up." mr. scott's revolver was lying at the other end of the table, and had he picked it up, he would have been shot dead on the spot. scott did not at first throw up his arms, but they pretty soon made him do so. ned kelly then went back to the bank, and left hart in charge of scott, and ransacked the place, and took possession of all the cash that had been in use during the day, which amounted to between £ and £ in notes, gold, and silver. kelly next went over the private apartments where mr. scott's family and servants were, and scott cautioned him concerning his behaviour towards them, thereupon hart at once pointed his revolver at his head, and told him to be careful how he addressed kelly. mrs. scott was not the least alarmed when she found out who her visitors were, and began chaffing kelly, and telling him he was a much better-looking man than she fancied he would be; but he was most polite towards her, and told her he wanted her with all the family to get ready to take a drive to mr. younghusband's station, three miles off. mrs. scott at once obeyed his commands, and told all the children and servants to put on their hats, as they were all obliged to go for a drive. kelly went back into the bank, and told scott he knew there was more money in the bank, and he insisted upon having it. the accountant opened the safe, and kelly took £ in notes, sovereigns, £ in silver, and thirty ounces of gold-dust. he then went into the strong-room, but left the bills and securities undisturbed. kelly often said whilst in the bank, that it was no use resisting them, as he had eight armed men outside the bank, and he could call them to his assistance; but this was only "blow." mrs. scott afterwards told me that when kelly spoke to her, she could hardly believe he could be the person he represented himself to be; he was a tall, handsome man, well dressed (with the hawker's clothes on), and spoke so kindly to her. she once or twice said, "oh, nonsense, you are not that blood-thirsty villain you have been represented to be." i might here state, that after the murders at the wombat, the description of the outlaws was circulated all over the colony, and special measures were taken to protect the banks, and all kinds of weapons were supplied to their officers. it was feared that they would stick up one of these institutions, and euroa was one of the most likely to be attacked; and yet the ease with which the whole affair was conducted appears to an outsider almost ridiculous. the gang, having secured all the cash and arms in the bank, commenced to make preparations for their departure, and return to mr. younghusband's station. provision had to be made for the carting away of the whole household, which consisted of mr. and mrs. scott, two bank clerks, mrs. scott's mother, and seven children and two servants. kelly went to scott, and said, "you have such a large household, i must have your buggy; go and put your horse in it." scott refused to do this, saying his groom was out, and told kelly he had better do it himself. kelly replied, "well, i will do it myself." he accordingly harnessed the horse, and put mrs. scott and family into the buggy, she driving it; and before starting away ned kelly, seeing that mrs. scott was so little scared at their presence, said to her, "now, none of your larks." he then told mr. scott he would have to go with him in the hawker's waggon; but before leaving the bank, mr. scott invited the bushrangers to have a drink of whisky with him, which they accepted, making mr. scott drink first, for fear of the liquor being drugged. they all drank each other's health. the remainder of the party were divided, and put equally in the three conveyances. the hawker's waggon came first, with dan kelly driving, next came mrs. scott with her own buggy, and ned kelly drove the other cart, with steve hart bringing up the rear on horse-back. when driving along, mr. scott and ned kelly had a long conversation, and he told the bank manager all about the shooting the police at the wombat, and showed him the gold presentation watch he had taken from sergeant kennedy's body, and said, "it was i who shot constable lonergan." scott asked kelly what hart would have done to him when he threatened to strike him in the bank; his reply was, "he would have shot you dead on the spot." whilst travelling along to the station, and when about a quarter of a mile from euroa, they had to pass the cemetery; they observed a large party of people returning from a funeral, and these people were walking towards the cavalcade. ned kelly took his revolvers from his belt and looked at mrs. scott, with a peculiar expression on his face, as much as to say, the first person who gives the alarm will be the first to die. the return funeral party passed them without taking the least notice of them, and so they continued their journey. mr. scott asked kelly which road he intended taking. kelly replied, "oh, the country belongs to us, we can go any road we like." scott asked kelly to drive, as he knew the road, but he refused this request. the road was very bad, and the cart going up a steep bank upset. scott ran to the horse's head, and kelly lifted out one of the servants; they got the cart up and made a fresh start. the money stolen from the bank was lying in the cart which kelly drove. on arriving at the station, all the males were put in the store-room, and the females and children were allowed to go into the house. it was then half-past five o'clock. the gang began to make preparations for starting off, when a train was seen approaching from euroa. it pulled up opposite the station, with the intention of picking up the line repairer watts, who had been left at this spot an hour or so before. ned kelly called out, "here comes a special train with bobbies, but we are ready for them, we don't care how many there are, we can fight them." the train after waiting a short time moved on; the driver, not seeing watts anywhere, started for benalla. during the absence of the gang at euroa mr. mcdougal suggested to some of the prisoners to make an effort to escape, as there were fifteen or sixteen axes hanging up in the store; "and," he added, "if each of us takes one, and commences chopping our way out, we can easily manage it." but the whole party declined to assist in their escape, for, said they, "some of us must be shot in the attempt." besides, it was generally urged that they had nothing to gain by the attempt which would compensate for the great risk, and they were pretty sure to be released when the bushrangers returned from euroa. tea was got ready for the women and children, and mrs. scott appeared almost to enjoy the situation in which she found herself. the kellys had their tea also, and then, much to the relief of those in confinement, they saw evident signs of the gang departing. the money taken from the bank was distributed amongst the gang; so also the arms taken from the prisoners and bank officials. ned kelly came to the store-room, and announced that they were about leaving, and warned his prisoners they were not to stir for three hours (it was then about half-past eight); he said, "if one of you leaves this spot within three hours i will shoot that man dead. you cannot any of you escape me in this country, i can track you anywhere, and i can assure you i will keep my word." he then called upon mr. macauley to come to the front, and he said to him, "i will hold you responsible for the escape of any of these prisoners until the period i have named has expired. mind! if you let one of them go, i will meet you some time or other, and then you may consider yourself a dead man!" before leaving, ned kelly came to the door of the store-room, and asked mr. mcdougal for his watch. he handed it to him and told him it was a keepsake from his dead mother. kelly apparently whispered and said, "no, i will never take that from you," and returned it to him, taking, instead, a watch from mr. macauley; and byrne took mr. scott's watch from him. the outlaws then mounted their horses, which were all splendid animals; it was then half-past eight o'clock and quite dark. hart and dan kelly began to ride about, and show off on their horses, and brag about what they were going to do when they met the police. it was noticed by some of the prisoners that, when the gang returned from euroa with their prisoners, before they came to the house, signals passed between them and byrne, who was on guard; this was evidently pre-arranged, so as to denote all was well. after the gang left, they rode off in the direction of the strathbogie ranges, and nothing more was seen of them. the prisoners then began to discuss what had best be done; some were for starting off at once, others thought they would only be risking their lives, and it was feared the outlaws might have left one of their party to watch; so the majority decided it was safer to wait until the three hours were up. the station hands during their confinement took the matter very easily; they were well fed, and passed away the time chiefly in playing cards, knowing nothing serious was likely to happen to them. most of them looked upon the affair as a capital joke, which had cost them nothing but their confinement. at half-past ten o'clock they all agreed it was time to get out, which they had no difficulty in doing. mr. and mrs. scott and party returned at once to euroa, which they reached at midnight; the rest of the people stopped at the station that night, except mr. casement and mcdougal, who went to the house of the former, who lived not far from euroa. it was noticed by all the prisoners, that during their imprisonment, although they were domineering in giving their orders, no attempt at violence or roughness was used towards any of them. ned kelly was the most communicative of the gang, and conversed freely with many of the prisoners during the day, asking questions as to the movements of the police, and talking of the kick-up which they had caused in the force. when mr. scott got back to euroa at midnight, the bank was just in the same state as when he had left it--the doors all locked, and the inhabitants of the township perfectly unconscious of what had happened in the midst of them during the afternoon. some of my readers in england may possibly not be able to grasp the matter in its true light. a few remarks in explanation of the doings of the outlaws may therefore not be out of place. it was evident the gang knew perfectly well the ways and doings of the bank, the hour of closing, and who the occupants were. they wanted a base of operations, where they could confine any one who happened to see them, so that no information might be given concerning them. they selected younghusband's station, which from its position was well adapted for their purpose. they wanted food for their horses, and rest for themselves, as they would probably have to ride day and night before they reached their mountain retreat. they knew the police would endeavour to follow their tracks, and they had to keep on the alert. but every pass and track in the mountains was known, and every hiding-place familiar to the gang. after an exploit of this kind they seldom rode together. each man took his own line to the first of several appointed meeting-places. if something occurred to prevent any one of them from putting in an appearance there, they made for the second, and so on until they met. when robbing the bank, they fixed on a time when they knew it would be closed, and they could remain inside without raising any suspicion. fortune favoured them in a marvellous manner. the hawker, coming to younghusband's, gave them an opportunity of dressing themselves so respectably, that no one meeting them would take them to be bushrangers; the carts also were of great use to them, and they could scarcely have carried out their plans without them. no doubt all the prisoners who were put into the store-room will be looked upon as cowards, but it should be remembered that it was a well-known fact that, after the wombat murders, the gang were only too anxious to shed blood, especially dan kelly, who was the most blood-thirsty of the lot, and on the least provocation would have done so, his brother frequently having to restrain him from shooting any one he met in the bush. the prisoners were all taken by surprise. although they may have had fire-arms near them, the moment they attempted to touch them they would have been shot dead on the spot. besides, in the store-room the gang had several of their sympathizers who were put amongst the prisoners, so that they could give intelligence by signs to the outlaws, should a rush have been contemplated; the sympathizers were not known to the others in confinement. people in the bush, or on stations, seldom or never carry fire-arms; they have no money about them to lose, and know the bushrangers will not harm them. they do not suspect every one they meet to be a bushranger, especially fine, good-looking, and well-dressed men, as ned kelly and joe byrne were. there is no doubt the gang had great luck all that day. their plans were well laid, and carried out splendidly. they never molested the working men or farmers, and in that way gained great sympathy amongst all classes of people, and information concerning the outlaws was withheld from the police. i have often spoken to respectable farmers, and pointed out to them that it was their duty to assist the police, and their reply was, "i want to stand aloof from everything connected with the kellys; if they hear the police have been to my place, my stacks will be burnt down, my fences broken, and probably all my cattle and horses will be stolen." the only policeman in euroa on the day of the robbery was absent from his station on some other duty, but had he been in barracks, he would probably not have heard of the matter until twelve o'clock at night. at daylight the police attempted to pick up the tracks of the outlaws. there were foot-prints of horses leading in every direction. the sympathizers who had been in confinement up to eleven o'clock that night, had mounted their horses, and kept riding round the station in every direction, together with the scouts who had been watching all day, one starting off in one direction and another in an opposite one, under the pretence of looking for the tracks of the offenders, whereas it was for the sole purpose of baffling the trackers when daylight came. chapter vii. the police at euroa--aaron sherritt--jerilderie--capture of the police station and constables--amateur policemen--the royal hotel stuck up--raid on the bank of new south wales--£ taken--kelly's autobiography--his account of the fitzpatrick affair--departure of the gang--return to their haunts. very shortly before the euroa bank robbery, news came to hand that the outlaws were about to make an attempt to leave victoria, and cross the murray into new south wales. the description of the place of crossing and other details were given in such a circumstantial manner, that it convinced both the inspecting superintendent and the officer in charge of the district that the kellys were to cross the murray on the night of the th december . the inspecting superintendent went to albury, and he had hardly arrived there when he received a telegram, stating that the bank at euroa had been stuck up by the outlaws. he immediately took a special train to euroa. before the arrival of the inspecting superintendent a party of police were on the ground, and were waiting for daylight in order to find which direction the outlaws had taken. the police had some black trackers with them, but these were of little use, being victorian blacks, whose sense of sight and sagacity had been destroyed by drink. all day long search was made, but no trace of the outlaws could be obtained. the police were sent in every direction, trying to find out some tidings of the outlaws, but without effect. some of the men were so knocked up from want of sleep, and the heat, that it was thought many of them would have to go into hospital. the inspecting superintendent was also exhausted with the hardships he had gone through, and was suffering from bad eyes to such an extent, that captain standish had to relieve him. the day after the bank robbery took place captain standish started for euroa. when he got there he found the inspecting superintendent so ill that he telegraphed for me to come up and take his place, ordering me to report myself at euroa that evening. i did so. on my arrival i heard the statements concerning the robbery, and endeavoured to obtain all the information about the outlaws i could possibly gather. the whole community were perfectly scared at what had taken place, and rumours were coming in from all quarters concerning persons being seen answering the descriptions of the outlaws. when the bushrangers appeared at euroa they were riding three bay horses and one grey. every report that came to hand had to be inquired into and reported on, otherwise complaints were made that the police took no notice of information furnished to them. the most absurd statements were made, too ridiculous to be noticed. for instance, a squatter sent in word to benalla that the kelly gang were shooting parrots near his garden. the messenger who conveyed the information was told to go and inform the police as fast as his horse could carry him. the officer in charge of the district sent the messenger back, and told him to tell his master that he must be mad to send in such an absurd message. the officer sent a constable to inquire who the people were that were shooting birds, and found them to be a survey party. the squatter was under the impression that no inquiries were made concerning his report, and afterwards wished to bring a charge against the officer for not capturing the kellys when he had sent word to him where they were to be found, and to this day he believes that if steps had been taken on that occasion the outlaws would then have been arrested. on another occasion a message was wired one sunday morning to melbourne to the late chief justice, that the gang had been in mrs. rowe's garden cutting cabbages, near euroa, and similar reports were daily being made, all of which had to be inquired into. at the same time information would be sent in that the kellys were to be found at the head of some of the rivers, in a country quite unoccupied, and that they were living on wild cattle, away from all their friends, some miles from benalla. from time to time reliable information was obtained that they were seen in different parts, and the spies and agents employed were hearing of them. [illustration: aaron sherritt.] the first active step i took, after i had been round the district and had obtained all the information i could, was to go to beechworth to meet a well-known friend and bush telegraph of the gang, named aaron sherritt. he was a splendid man, tall, strong, hardy, but a most outrageous scoundrel. it was well known that he and joe byrne and ned kelly had been connected with each other in no end of horse-stealing cases, and that after the murders he had befriended the gang before they went to the murray, as before stated. he had supplied them with food, and guarded them against surprise. i had never seen sherritt until that evening, and somehow or other i made a most wonderful impression upon him. i had some drink with him, and saw that my influence over him was very great. after being in his company a couple of hours, and undertaking to give him the £ reward that had been offered for the apprehension of the outlaws, i got him to promise he would show me where they were to be found. he told me joe byrne and dan kelly had called at his house two days before, and wanted him to accompany them to new south wales, where they intended to rob another bank; but he was not certain which place it would be, he thought they were going to goulburn, at least they told him so. he said he declined going with them, and they pressed him very hard, but he refused; they told him they wanted him to do the scouting for them. we doubted the truth of this statement, but at once made inquiries, and found that joe byrne and dan kelly had been seen by others going in the direction of the murray a couple of days before, and they had called for supplies at a shanty where byrne was well known. this information was furnished to the police on the new south wales side of the murray, and they were told that goulburn was the probable place they would make for, as the kellys had a number of relations there. about a week after this, news was telegraphed that the outlaws had stuck up the township of jerilderie, and robbed the bank, on the th february . jerilderie is a town about sixty miles from the murray river on the new south wales side of the border. it had a population at that time of about inhabitants; there were three or four hotels, one bank, a police station with two mounted constables named devine and richards, and a telegraph station. the police station is situated some little distance outside the township. about midnight on saturday the th of february, ned kelly, joe byrne, steve hart, and dan kelly surrounded the police station, which was all in darkness, the constables having retired to their beds, when they were awoke by some one calling out--"constable devine, there is a drunken man at davidson's hotel in the township who has committed a murder. get up at once all of you." constable richards, who was up first, came outside, followed immediately afterwards by devine, both being undressed and unarmed. ned kelly began to tell these men there was a great row in the township, and after conversing with them for some time, to make sure there were no other constables inside, he suddenly presented two revolvers at devine's head, joe byrne doing the same to constable richards. the outlaws immediately procured the keys of the lock-up, took the two policemen and lodged them in their own watch-house, and locked the door. having secured the constables, they attended to their horses, which had been left outside the station; they put them in the police stables, fed them well, and left them secure for the night. whilst this was going on ned kelly went into the police station, secured all the arms belonging to the police, made the constable's wife and family go into one room, and placed steve hart as sentry over them, telling them if they gave the slightest alarm, that the two constables who were in the lock-up would be the first persons to be shot, and they themselves would also suffer the same death. the outlaws then made themselves as comfortable as they could, leaving one of their number on sentry until daylight on sunday morning. during all that day mrs. devine was allowed to go about the station as usual, so as not to raise any suspicion that anything unusual was going on. ned kelly ascertained from her, that it was her custom to clean out the church and prepare the place for service, and joe byrne was sent to this place of worship with mrs. devine, whilst she carried out her usual duties there. this took about half an hour, and they both returned to the station. no one called at the station during the day; had they done so, they would have been pounced upon and secured in the lock-up so as to prevent an alarm being given. the people attended service as usual, but no one came near the station. dan kelly and steve hart had dressed themselves up in the police uniform, and walked about the station in a most conspicuous manner, and without attracting any attention. in the afternoon joe byrne dressed himself in police uniform, and with steve hart also in that dress, took constable richards out of the lock-up to accompany them round the town, in order that they might be made aware of the positions of hotels, bank, &c. they ordered the constable, in case any one came up and spoke to him, to introduce them as new constables about to be stationed there. their walk lasted about an hour, and they again returned to the police barracks. nothing of any note took place during the evening and sunday night. monday morning joe byrne, in uniform, took two of their horses to be shod by the police farrier in the township; he waited until they were shod, and then took them back to the police station. about eleven o'clock, after locking up the policeman's wife and children with constable devine, they took out constable richards. ned kelly and dan kelly dressed in uniform, and walked to the township, followed by hart and byrne on horse-back. they first went to the royal hotel, owned by a mr. cox, when constable richards introduced ned kelly to mr. cox as ned kelly, who told the landlord he wanted to secure some rooms in the hotel, and that he also intended robbing the bank, but he did not want to injure any one. ned kelly placed the other three in certain positions, and gave each of them their instructions. hart was placed inside the large dining-room, which was used as a room of detention, and every person who came near the hotel throughout the day was placed in this room, and all prisoners captured were taken over and kept in safety in this apartment. byrne went to the back part of the establishment and collected all the servants, and made prisoners of them. after this was done, they devoted their attentions to the bank of new south wales, in which there were three officers--mr. jarleton, manager, mr. living, accountant, and mr. mackin, sub-accountant. mr. living was the only one in the bank. he heard some footsteps approaching from the back-yard, and turned round thinking it was mr. jarleton, when he saw a man close to him. he immediately asked this man, who had already levelled his revolver at him, who he was. his reply was "the kelly gang," and he at once called on him to "bail up." this man afterwards turned out to be joe byrne. byrne then ordered him to deliver up what fire-arms he had. mackin, who was standing outside the bank in the street, hearing voices, went inside, and byrne immediately ordered him to jump over the counter, at the same time pointing two revolvers at him; this order he obeyed at once. byrne then told the two bank officials they must accompany him to cox's hotel, remarking at the same time they had all the police stuck up. the three then went to the hotel, where they met ned kelly, who asked for mr. jarleton, and was told he was in his dressing-room. ned kelly and byrne went back to the bank, but could not find him. ned kelly returned to cox's and brought back mr. living, telling him he had better find him. living found him in his bath, and said, "mr. jarleton, we are stuck up, the kellys are here, and the police are also stuck up." byrne then brought over dan kelly, and left him in the bath-room in charge of the manager. ned then took charge of living, led him into the bank, and asked him what money they had in their keeping. living replied, "there is between six and seven hundred pounds." kelly replied, "you must have at least £ , here." living then handed him the teller's cash, amounting to £ . at this time a mr. elliot, the local school-master, entered the bank, quite unconscious of what was going on within, when ned kelly covered him with two revolvers and ordered him to get over the counter. mr. elliot replied he was unable to get over, but kelly pretty soon made him do so. kelly then tried to put the money into a bag, but it not being large enough to hold it, he got a bag of his own at the hotel and put the money in that. kelly asked living if they had any more money, and was told they had not. kelly then went to the safe and asked what was in it, and living said nothing of any value. kelly insisted upon it being opened, and living gave him one of the keys. byrne wished to smash the safe, but ned kelly brought in the manager, who had been taken over to the hotel, and compelled him to give up the second key. the safe was then opened, when the sum of £ was taken out and placed in the bag. kelly then took down a large tin box from the shelf; he was told it was full of documents which were of no use. he replied, "then i will burn them;" but mr. jarleton begged of him not to do so. kelly took out one bundle of papers and put them in his pocket. he then told mr. jarleton he intended burning all the books in the office; however, he left the documents in the tin box, saying, "i will return directly and examine them all." they all then went to the hotel. dan kelly was in the bar, and ned took him and another of the party to the back of the premises, made a fire, and burned four of the bank-books. i might mention here that ned kelly always posed as a friend of the working-man, and all they wanted was bank money, and not that of private individuals; and in all their exploits, if any of the gang had taken a watch, or stolen anything from a private individual, when complained of ned had made them return it to the person from whom it was stolen. in this manner he was looked upon as a great hero, and gained a number of sympathizers, so in burning the books of the bank he thought he was protecting the poor man, as against the bank. about this time a mr. rankin and a mr. gill, seeing the bank door open, went in, and they were immediately followed by ned kelly, who ordered them to "bail up." they at once grasped the situation, rankin running into the hotel followed by kelly, while gill made off in another direction. the latter was the local newspaper proprietor, the former a well-to-do merchant, and a justice of the peace. when kelly got up to rankin he asked him why he had run away when he had ordered him to stand; he caught rankin very roughly by the collar of his coat, and ordered him into the passage away from the other prisoners, telling him to straighten himself up, as he intended to shoot him, and levelled his revolver at him. several of the prisoners called out to ned kelly not to fire, and he did not do so. he then called hart by the name of "revenge," and ordered him to shoot the first man who showed any signs of resistance, then addressing rankin said, "if you attempt to move, you will be the first man to be shot." mr. rankin was a splendid able-bodied man, but without fire-arms in his possession he was powerless, and had to submit to be thus treated. kelly then went and directed his attention to mr. gill, and in company with mr. richards and mr. living went to look for him. the policeman had his revolver with him, but kelly had previously drawn the cartridges. they sent to gill's house, and saw his wife; kelly said to her, "where is your husband?" she replied, "he has run away." kelly then said, "i have a statement here which contains a little part of my life, and i want it published by mr. gill, will you take it?" she declined to do so. mr. living then took the paper from kelly, promising to have it published. the bushrangers then turned their attention to the telegraph office; they removed all the clerks from the office, and took them over to the hotel and put them amongst the other prisoners. byrne remained in the office and overhauled all the messages that had been despatched that day. kelly then returned and found byrne in charge; he had cut all the wires, and ned kelly broke the insulators with his revolver. ned kelly told the telegraph master, mr. jefferson, that if he attempted to mend the wires before next day, or offer any resistance to himself or companions, he would shoot him; he also told him that he intended to take him a few miles into the bush when he left, and then liberate him but this he did not do. kelly informed the company who were in the hotel, that he intended sticking up the urana coach that night, and he would shoot any one who would warn the driver, but mr. jarleton succeeded in dispatching a messenger to urana directly the outlaws left, to warn the banks against surprise. but this was only a ruse on their part, they never stuck up the coach, nor went near urana. when mr. jarleton was found in his bath he had just returned from a long ride of forty miles. he stated, when living told him they were stuck up, he thought it was a hoax they were playing on him, but when he saw kelly and byrne with revolvers in each hand, he saw the mistake he had made. mr. jarleton made some inquiries of hart as to the movements of the gang, but after answering one or two, he pointed his revolver at him, and in an angry tone replied, "you had better stop asking such questions." hart and dan kelly stood sentry a greater part of the day with a revolver in each hand, and the former evinced a great desire to shoot somebody in the room. throughout the day every one who came near the hotel for any purpose was captured and detained. occasionally one of the gang would take a walk up the street. ned kelly went into another hotel kept by a mr. mcdougall, entered into conversation with several people there, and said, "any one can shoot me, but they would have to abide the consequences, as every inhabitant in the town would be shot." hart, who always was a thief and sneak, took a new saddle from a saddler's shop, and he also relieved several men of their watches, but when the owners complained to ned kelly and byrne he was ordered to return them. ned kelly and his lieutenant joe byrne showed great judgment in the manner they carried out the whole affair. ned kelly took from mcdougall's stable a blood mare, and promised to return it in three weeks, which of course he never did. he also took a saddle and bridle and pair of spurs belonging to mr. jarleton from the bank, also a pair of riding-trousers, gold watch and chain. this saddle was put on the blood mare, and dan kelly mounted it and rode away to try it, and returned shortly afterwards. about six o'clock in the evening the gang began to make preparations for a start, but before doing so, ned kelly made a speech to those who had been confined in the hotel, with the evident intention of exciting pity. he said that on the occasion when constable fitzpatrick was wounded, he was not within miles of his mother's place; he said he had stolen horses from a squatter's run, named mr. whilty, at various times, and had sold them, but beyond this, up to the time he shot the police at the wombat, he had not been guilty of any other crime. kelly showed those present his revolvers, and pointed out one which he said was the property of constable lonergan, and further stated, that the musket with which he shot lonergan was an old, worn-out, crooked thing. kelly then took constable richards from amongst the prisoners and walked to the police station. at about seven o'clock byrne mounted his horse and started off alone in the direction of the murray river, leading a pack-horse with the treasure strapped across the saddle. this was one of the policeman's horses, which they took with them. shortly afterwards ned kelly mounted, leading another police horse, returned to cox's hotel, and told all the prisoners they might go home, and he now released them. he left constables devine and richards in the lock-up, with orders they were not to be released for some hours. dan kelly and hart, before they left, rode up and down the chief street of the town flourishing their revolvers over their heads, and singing at the top of their voices, and then started in the same direction as the other bushrangers had done. they must have all met at some appointed place, for they called at a station some twenty miles distant from jerilderie, and threatened to shoot the owner for something he had done against them. when mr. gill bolted from the bank, he went to the creek close by, and remained hidden there all day, and until the gang left the town. both kellys left the township wearing the police clothing. with regard to the documents ned kelly left with mr. living for mr. gill to publish, it was sent to the government of victoria, and i read it. it was a tissue of lies from beginning to end, a wandering narrative full of insinuations and complaints against the police, and of the type familiar to all who have had experience of tales which men of the criminal stamp are in the habit of telling; it is as impossible to prevent these men from lying as it is from stealing. according to ned kelly, his criminal career commenced when he was fourteen years old, and received a sentence of three months' imprisonment for using a neighbour's horse without his consent, as he put it. after this, convictions were frequent, and, says kelly, "the police became a nuisance to the family." at one period of his life kelly described himself as a "wandering gamester." he states in this document, "when the affray with fitzpatrick took place, the constable came to apprehend my innocent brother dan. my mother asked him if he had a warrant, he replied he had a telegram. my mother said to fitzpatrick, 'if my son ned was here he would chuck you out of the house.' dan looked out of the window and said, 'here he comes.' the constable turned suddenly round to look out of the window, when dan jumped up and seized the constable, and in the scuffle fitzpatrick was shot through his wrist." i quote this fully because certain newspapers in the colony published statements to the effect that fitzpatrick had acted improperly towards kate kelly, and that had caused dan kelly to shoot fitzpatrick, and that ned kelly took up his sister's cause. by this means they obtained no end of sympathy from the general public, whereas there was not one word of truth in the accusation. and ned kelly, not only in the statement that he gave to mr. living, in which he said this was a pure invention, but also after his capture, stated distinctly there was not one word of truth in the accusation made against fitzpatrick; "for," said ned kelly, "if there had been, i would not have been a man had i not shot him on the spot." but from ned kelly's own narrative it is apparent that these charges were pure inventions, made solely for the purpose of raising sympathy for these murderers. it was admitted that fitzpatrick was resisted and assaulted while in the execution of his duty. an account is given in this statement of ned kelly's of the terrible tragedy at mansfield, but it is obviously a string of falsehoods, and it would be quite improper to have it published, but he admitted that the police were not in any way the aggressors at the wombat, but were surprised and shot down in cold blood. the outlaws, after the jerilderie bank robbery, evidently returned back to their mountain retreats in victoria. no end of bank of new south wales notes were in circulation shortly afterwards, but the numbers of the stolen notes were not known, beyond the fact, that the head office at sydney had sent these identical notes to jerilderie for circulation, but no account was kept of the notes that were paid out of the bank. hence no prosecution could be instituted, as the bank officials could not swear the notes found in the possession of the friends of the outlaws had not been paid over the counter. notwithstanding that all the wires of the telegraph lines were cut at jerilderie, and the outlaws departed from there at seven o'clock, at nine o'clock that night i received a wire at benalla from jerilderie informing me of all the facts of the matter. i at once took steps to give instructions to all crossing-places on the murray river to keep a sharp look out, and sent men during the night to every known crossing-place, to endeavour to effect their capture, but all to no effect. the distance between jerilderie and benalla, where i was stationed, was over miles, and the first tidings we heard of their return was that dan kelly was seen two or three days after the bank robbery making back to the mountains in this colony, some fifteen miles from beechworth. i have written fully on the subject of this bank robbery, because the plans were well laid, and everything carried out in such an able manner. i am indebted to the newspapers of the day for refreshing my recollection of the facts that took place after the bank robbery, as i did not like to trust to my memory as to the numerous incidents that occurred during that exciting time. the government of new south wales, together with the banks of that colony, offered an additional reward of £ for the apprehension of each of the outlaws, making the sum offered by the two colonies £ . sherritt told me, at my first interview with him, that he was the principal agent of the outlaws in that part of the district, and everything that was known about them by their friends would be communicated to him. besides which he was at this time engaged to be married to joe byrne's sister, and she lived with her mother at woolshed. he also told me that if they did rob a bank, they were sure to call at mrs. byrne's on their way back, and leave her some of the money. he said, "now if you want really to take them, i will lay you on them." i told him i would place myself unreservedly in his hands and do whatever he suggested, and i arranged to meet him again. when he left, i told the detective who introduced him to me what he had said. the detective ridiculed the affair and said, "he is only deceiving you, sir, please don't trust him; he would not sell his friend joe byrne for all the money in the world." i felt convinced my opinion of the man was correct, and he meant to work for us honestly. sherritt said "you have a most difficult and dangerous job before you, but i will do all i can to assist you." sherritt had a most exalted opinion of ned kelly, and said he did not believe there was another man like him in the colony. he said, "he is about the only man i ever was afraid of in my life, and i certainly give him best in everything." when i found out that the information he had given me about the two outlaws having called at his house was correct, i felt very confident that before long we should fall across them. chapter viii. aaron sherritt--a disappointment--at mrs. byrne's--a twenty-five-day watch--manufacturing brands--sherritt's revenge--a letter from joe byrne--whorouly races--on watch at mrs. sherritt's--mrs. byrne's discovery--break-up of the camp--arrest of kelly sympathizers--a dynamite scare--aaron jilted. directly the bank was stuck up at jerilderie i started off to beechworth, and sent for aaron sherritt. his first words to me were, "did i not tell you they would stick up a bank in new south wales?" i replied, "yes, but you told me they were going to goulbourn." i said, "well, what is to be done now?" he replied, "they will be back probably to-night, to woolshed." he told me to meet him that night at a place indicated by him in the ranges (known to the detective); he would then show me where they tied up their horses, whilst they went into mrs. byrne's house for supper. i agreed to his suggestion, and told the detective what i had done. his reply was, "i have known sherritt for years, and if he likes he can put you in the position to capture the kellys, but i doubt his doing so." i told him aaron felt sure they would return from jerilderie that night, and i had arranged to go with him, and meet him at eight o'clock that night at a certain spot in the ranges, which i described, a party of police accompanying us. having no men at beechworth, i drove the detective to eldorado, which was beyond woolshed, where i had a party of police stationed. as the detective was well known in the locality, and i was not, i put him in the boot of the buggy under the seat, and he remained in that position nearly all the way. i merely state this to show how cautious we had to be in all our movements. had he been recognized driving in a buggy, the friends of the outlaws would soon have heard of it. i had to take him because he had to direct the party where to meet us that night, and i had not been in the district for very many years, and knew little of it. at eight o'clock that night the detective and i met aaron at the appointed spot in the ranges. we waited anxiously for the men from eldorado to turn up. after waiting for an hour, aaron said to me, "you will be late, mr. hare. we should have been nearly three miles from this by this time." i was very much annoyed at the men not keeping their appointment; and i turned to the detective and said to him: "will you stick to me, as it will never do to lose this chance of getting the outlaws?" his reply was: "yes, mr. hare, i will stick to you and do whatever you tell me to do." i turned to aaron and said: "all right; we are ready to go with you now." he turned towards me to see if i meant it. i said, "come on." we mounted our horses. i followed aaron, the detective following me. the night was terribly dark, and aaron took us at a good pace. the country was rugged and broken, but he rode ahead just as if he was in his own garden. he appeared to trust to his horse, and i trusted to him. we rode along without a word being spoken by any of us. he might have taken me over a precipice, as i could see nothing before me. suddenly aaron stopped, and in a whisper said to me, "this is the bushrangers' country; no one ever comes in here but them." we were then about ten miles from beechworth on the ranges at the back of woolshed, and so we rode along, winding round a drain one minute, and over logs and rocks the next, trusting entirely to our horses. suddenly aaron pulled up, and i went up beside him, the detective doing likewise. aaron said, "they are back from jerilderie. do you see that fire in the distance?" i replied, "yes." he said, "the bushrangers are there; i have never before seen a fire in this place, and for some reason they have lighted one, and there they are." we all three dismounted from our horses and sat down on the ground to decide what was to be done. aaron said, "what do you wish me to do? i will do whatever you like." i thought "nothing venture nothing have," so i questioned him as to the fire being made by the outlaws, but he was perfectly convinced of it. i then told him the first thing i wanted to be sure of was whether the bushrangers were sitting or sleeping near the fire, and he had better take off his boots, leave his horse with me, and crawl along the ground as close to the fire as he could get, and see if he could recognize the voices if he could hear any, if not, to get as close up as he could and find out whether the outlaws were there. he never hesitated for a moment, and did exactly what i told him to do, and the detective and myself were left alone. we both were fully convinced we should have to "do or die" that night, and we were quite prepared to take the risk. we stayed in the same spot for about ten minutes, deciding how we were to make the attack, when we heard footsteps coming towards us at a quick pace. the detective said, "he has sold us; who is this coming towards us?" i said, "keep quiet." we both, with revolvers in our hands, remained perfectly still until the footsteps came within a yard of us, and a voice we recognized as aaron's said, "mr. hare, we have been deceived, that fire is on the opposite range and some miles away." my first thought was that aaron had gone up to the fire and started the bushrangers off, or else had given them notice he would bring us up to them. i questioned him and he appeared perfectly honest, and said, "if you will come with me i will convince you that what i am saying is the truth." we mounted our horses and found that what he had stated was perfectly correct. aaron then said, "we are awfully late, we must hurry on to mrs. byrne's house," and we again followed him in the same order as before. he commenced to go down a fearfully steep range. i said not a word but followed him, until he pulled up and said, "i am afraid to go down here to-night, it is so very dark." i said, "is there no other way you can get down?" he replied, "only by going a mile round." he said, "be careful not to move from your saddle, for this is a terribly steep range, and if you attempt to get off you will roll down some hundreds of feet." he told me to get off the horse on the off side, he doing the same himself, and the detective also. we then led our horses round and got down another gap in the mountains. after riding about a mile aaron told us that we had better dismount and tie our horses to a tree, and walk down to the spot he would take us to. we did so, and we followed him down the ranges until we came to a house, which turned out to be mrs. byrne's, the mother of the outlaw joe byrne. here also, as in power's case, we met some watch-dogs in the shape of a flock of geese, and they did give the alarm, and no mistake. however, after a short time, aaron crawled up to the house, so as to ascertain if there was any one talking inside. everything was quiet, there was a candle burning. he returned and said, "they expect them to-night. you see, they have left the candle burning, and some supper ready on the table." he then said, "let us go up to a clump of trees at the back of the house, where they generally tie up their horses." i had previously been told by another agent of this clump of trees, where marks of horses having been tied up were to be seen. aaron said to me, "go into that clump. they often tie up their horses there, and lay down beside them and have a sleep, after having their supper at mrs. byrne's." i walked into the clump, but found no horses there, and returned to aaron. aaron then said, "we must now wait in this stock-yard, which leads up to the clump. if they come they will come through here." it was then about two o'clock in the morning. we sat down and waited until daylight, and then, nothing happening, we started back to our horses, reaching beechworth at eight o'clock. aaron suggested to me that i should bring a party of men and come and live in the mountains at the back of mrs. byrne's house. he told me he could put me in a spot which was unknown to any one except the bushrangers, and the only danger of my being discovered was by them. he said i could stay in the mountains by day, and take up my position in the stock-yard behind mrs. byrne's at night, and that if i had patience i was certain to get them. i complied with his suggestion, and that evening i brought a party to the spot indicated by him. we brought our blankets and some provisions, intending to stay there until we caught the kellys, watching by night, and laying in our camp all day. in camp i arranged that no two men should be together throughout the day, whether sleeping or at meals, so that if we were attacked by the outlaws, and some of us were shot, the others could fight. the life was extremely monotonous, for me especially; but the excitement kept us up, and we always expected that sooner or later we should come across the outlaws. our daily life was as follows:--at dusk in the evening, one at a time, we used to leave our camp and make down to the stock-yard, i always leading the way, and the other men following. we had to be most careful where we trod, for fear of our tracks being seen on the following day. we each took up positions behind trees outside the stock-yard, i taking the opening into the yard myself. i had given orders to the men not to move from their positions until i called to them, no matter what happened. we were all lying about ten or fifteen yards apart. the nights were bitterly cold. aaron used to spend his evenings at mrs. byrne's with his young woman, and he obtained all the information they were possessed of, and when he left their house between twelve and one o'clock he used to lie down and watch with us. he always took up his position beside me, and used to relate all kinds of encouraging reports that he had obtained during the day as to the prospect of the kellys turning up. hardly a night that we took up our positions but we thought we should have some luck. as day broke in the morning we used to make back to our camp in the mountains in a very disappointed mood, walking singly, and avoiding the paths or soft places, so as not to leave any tracks behind us. the great danger i felt was a surprise when getting into the camp of a morning and taking up our positions in the evening. i felt sure that some morning or evening when we took up our post the kellys would find out our camps and take possession of them, so therefore i always went into camp first in the morning and left it first in the evening, and felt a relief when we all got into our places without being fired on. we dared not make a fire for fear of the smoke being noticed, so we had to live on water, preserved beef, and bread. i stayed in this camp for twenty-five days, and during that time, although we used to see some members of the byrne family passing to and fro, they never discovered our whereabouts. i always kept a sentry by day over the camp, and the sentry's position was behind a rock near the spot i had made my resting-place, which was the highest, above all the men. night after night aaron used to go and see his young woman, and bring back hopes of success. this used to keep up the spirits of the men, and we all felt sure if we could keep watching without our whereabouts being discovered we would eventually be successful. i should have stated before this, that when i went with my party into the mountains, i also placed four men in a spot pointed out to me by sherritt, which was one of the camps used by the kellys. it was here they stayed for two days after the murders, while aaron supplied them with food. it was a wonderfully romantic spot, on the edge of a precipice, and only approachable on one side. two men could keep off a dozen. this camp was placed under senior constable mayes, a bold, trustworthy, well-tried man, in whom i had the utmost confidence. he had a difficulty in getting water for his men, and had to send two miles for it. sometimes the men were sent by day, but generally by night, and through an indiscretion on the part of one of these men, our whereabouts was discovered. old mrs. byrne was a most active old party. she was constantly looking about for the tracks of police, horses, and men. she was walking along the bank of a creek where the men at the upper camp were in the habit of getting their water, when she discovered a spot where a man had been sitting and amusing himself with a stick--as it is called, "whittling" it. she immediately came to the conclusion that some police were camped close by, and that night she confided her fears to aaron, and told him he must have a good look in the ranges next day. he promised to make every effort to find out if her surmise was correct, and he came straight to the stock-yard where i was watching, and informed me of the discovery the old woman had made. aaron next day got his horse and pretended to make a search, returning next night and telling mrs. byrne he could find no trace of anybody. the old lady was convinced there must have been some police about, because she said the foot-marks were evidently those of a policeman. these people appear to know the difference between the foot-prints of police and other persons. however, the old woman could not be convinced she was wrong, and up to that time had perfect faith in aaron, and so also had his young woman, her daughter. generally when we left the stock-yard in the morning, sherritt would leave us and go to his own hut on the ranges, or else to his father's place, which was between our camp and beechworth; but sometimes he would come into our camp and get his breakfast, and perhaps stop a part of the day. very often he had to carry provisions for us from beechworth during the night. he was always ready to do anything for me, and yet many of the men distrusted him. i never did from the first moment i took up with him, and his end showed i was right in my opinion of him. of a night, whilst i was watching with him, he would sit beside me and tell me the adventures of his life, and give me information of many things that were formerly unexplained. he told me how he, joe byrne, and ned kelly used to steal horses wholesale, and how they used to dispose of them, and the way they changed the brands of the horses so that the most experienced hand would not discover the trick. it was as follows:--supposing a horse was branded h on the near shoulder, they would turn the h into h b (conjoined) by getting a pair of tweezers, pulling out the hairs to make a b, and then prick the skin with a needle dipped in iodine. this burns up the skin, and for about a month afterwards it looks like an old brand; new brands were also put on in this fashion, and they never could be detected. after branding the horses they had collected, they would make for some squatter's station where they were unknown, ask permission to put their horses into his stock-yard, on the pretence that they had met a stranger who wanted to purchase the mob of horses, this stranger being one of their own party. generally speaking, the squatter or some one belonging to the station would walk down to look at the horses, and he would hear them making bargains about the price of each animal, so as to lead the people of the station to believe that it was a genuine sale. at last they would agree to a price, and then would ask the squatter to allow them to go into his office to draw up a receipt, in which all the brands would be entered, both old and manufactured ones. after the receipt had been drawn up the squatter would be asked to witness it, and the supposed buyers would start off towards melbourne, and the seller appear to return back to new south wales. if by chance any of the horses were claimed by their owners, the receipt would be produced, and they would so avoid being arrested. aaron used to tell me they made raids on horses from about wagga to albury, took them a back track to melbourne, and on their return would pick up a number of horses in victoria and take them over to wagga or albury for sale. one of the party used to act as the master, and the others as his servants; the master always going ahead and making arrangements where the horses were to be paddocked for the night. for hours did aaron relate anecdotes to me of the same description as the above, and he enlightened me greatly into the ways and the life of horse-stealers. i cannot refrain from telling another of his stories. i was sitting beside him one night, when he had brought us some very hopeful information, and we were all very elated at our prospect of success. i said, "well, aaron, i feel sure you will get the reward offered for the kellys." (i had promised him he should have the whole sum of £ if it was upon his information that the kellys were captured.) at this time his young woman was getting rather suspicious that he was working for the police, although she used to meet him of an evening very near our camp and walk with him. i asked him how he would like the reward disposed of, supposing he got it? he said, "i should like to have a few mares and an entire horse, and get a nice farm." i told him he should get a respectable girl, marry her, leave all his old associates, and begin life again amongst new people. he agreed with all i said, and turned round and said to me, "mr. hare, do you think, if you got me the best mares you could buy, and got me the best entire horse you could purchase, that i could withstand the temptation of taking my neighbour's horses and selling them? no, i could not, no more than fly." on another occasion we were expecting the outlaws to bring some money they had stolen from the bank to mrs. byrne's. amongst my men i had one who was a thorough larrakin, and aaron took a great fancy to him. i sent him to beechworth for some supplies, and aaron met him on the way, and they both rode into beechworth together. my man was taken for one of the kelly spies, especially as he was in aaron's company. the people of beechworth at once became alarmed, seeing aaron and his companion riding about the streets--no one knowing the companion was a policeman. numbers of people went at once to the police station and reported that aaron and another suspicious person, riding good horses, were seen in the outskirts of the town. the constable was delighted to have a chance of being seen with aaron, and made the most of his opportunity. on the way back to my camp aaron took the constable into his confidence; he told him that he felt certain that the bushrangers would return from jerilderie after they had stuck up the bank there, and the first place they would come to was mrs. byrne's. aaron said to him, "i want you to join me in a scheme, and if it comes off we shall have the best of the arrangement." the constable said, "what is it?" he replied, "i feel sure the kelly gang will return from jerilderie either to-night or during the course of this week. joe byrne will be leading a pack-horse, with the gold and notes fastened up in a brown cloth coat. directly mr. hare opens fire on the men, the pack-horse will, in all probability, break away with the treasure. you and i can go after the horse, catch him, and take his pack off in the bush, hide it, and let the horse go; and next day, in the excitement, we can slip away and divide the cash. it can do no harm to any one, because some one will get it, and we might just as well have it as anybody else." the constable appeared to agree to aaron's suggestion, and told me what had passed between them. i told him not to tell any one else in camp about the arrangement, and to lead aaron to believe that he would assist him in the matter. unfortunately the kellys did not put in an appearance, and so the matter fell through. i must give one more narrative about aaron, just to show the peculiar kind of man he was, even on the chance of being thought tedious. he came to me one morning and said, "mr. hare, i want to go away for a couple of days to look after some cattle of mine. i will be back within two days." i questioned him closely, what cattle he was going after, and asked him if he wanted any money. i had not engaged him at any fixed salary, but whilst he was watching with me he used to ask me for a pound or two, and i gave it to him. he often refused to take money from me, as he thought i was paying him out of my own pocket, whereas the government refunded me all i paid him, and he only took sufficient to pay his expenses. before he started off after his cattle, i said to him, "are you sure you have got enough money to pay your way?" he replied, "i have a pound of the money you gave me last time;" and away he started, and returned according to his promise. some few days after this, mrs. byrne went to the police station, and reported that a valuable horse of hers had been stolen from woolshed, and, after inquiry by the police, it was found in the possession of mrs. skillian, ned kelly's sister. she produced a receipt for it, as having purchased it from aaron, and signed by him, for the small sum of £ or £ . mrs. byrne obtained a warrant for aaron's arrest, for they all suspected he was then a spy of mine. i spoke to aaron on the subject, and he admitted that he had taken the horse and sold it to mrs. skillian. he said, "i could not help doing this. i did not want the horse, but i felt i must do something to old mrs. byrne. she has not behaved well to me lately, and her conduct towards me is so cool that i could not resist the temptation of stealing her horse." all the time aaron was with me, only the police who were actually in my party were aware he was working for me, and most of the others were delighted to hear there was a warrant out for his arrest. they made every effort to capture him, but could not find him. i was greatly annoyed with him, because it crippled his usefulness immensely. however, he kept out of the way of the police, and when i was relieved from the district i left it to my successor to get him out of his difficulty. i don't quite know how this was managed, but i was told he was directed to be at a certain spot one day, and a constable was ordered to go there and apprehend him. the constable afterwards took great credit for his capture, not knowing that his arrest was an arranged matter. he was brought before the police-court, but the evidence was not sufficient for the magistrates to commit him for trial, as the horse was not forthcoming, and aaron was acquitted. i am not quite sure i am right in all the details of what occurred with reference to his arrest, but i was told that this was how the matter was managed. a number of letters fell into our hands written by the outlaws, most of them by joe byrne. he was, for a bushman, rather clever with his pen, but i do not intend to disclose how we became possessed of them. however, i got one addressed to aaron sherritt, sheepwash creek, near beechworth. this was the address of his father. i opened it and could not understand a word of it, as it was written in bush slang. i at once went for my boy tommy, as i christened him, for aaron was too uncommon a name to be constantly using. in sending telegrams concerning him to the members of the force who knew him, i always called him tommy, for had i used his name, every one would have guessed who aaron was. as i said, i sent for tommy, and met him on a large granite rock at the back of beechworth. i showed the letter to him. he looked at me and said, "how did you get this into your possession?" i said, "never mind, read it to me; and who is it from?" he said, "why, from joe byrne, of course." he sat down and read the letter without the least difficulty. i could not make head nor tail of it. i had the original, but i don't know what became of it. the purport of the letter was to the following effect. the writer told aaron to be at the whorouly races, which were to take place within a week, and where to meet him, at the back of the course, ordering him not to say a word about their going to the course. he also said that he had the black mare which aaron had ridden in a steeplechase previously, and that the mare was in good order and sure to win. i asked aaron what he thought best to be done? he said, "you must give me a good horse to ride to the races, and i will assist in every way possible." i consulted with my brother officer as to what was best to be done, and we decided to send the usual mounted constables in uniform, and we then selected three good riders amongst the men, who were unknown in the district, and sent them separately to the races. they were all splendid riders and magnificently mounted. the men and horses could have been backed against the kelly gang, man for man, at anything. we also arranged that i should ride out myself and appear to take great interest in the races. i did go out, and saw the three constables in plain clothes. one had a table and was playing the three-card trick; another had erected an aunt sally, and was bawling out at the top of his voice, and the third kept on his horse riding about. i was more afraid of the third man than any of the others, because he was a most excitable fellow and bold, and as good a rider as ever sat on a horse, but with no discretion. he would have faced the four outlaws if he had had the chance, and shot them one after another if it were possible. i may as well give the names of these men. they were the most dashing of all my party. the first was tommy lawless; the second, faulkner; the third, johnstone; three pluckier fellows never trod the earth. my fear was that the mounted police on duty would arrest some of my men for gambling, as they were not known to each other; but they were not interfered with. after lawless had been playing his three-card trick for some time, he thought he would enter his horse for the steeplechase that aaron was supposed to ride in, thinking he would thus have a better opportunity of seeing everything all round the course. at the time appointed for this race to come off, we were all looking very anxiously for aaron to turn up on the black mare, but alas, we were disappointed. i saw him anxiously looking out in the direction he thought the mare would appear from, but there were no signs of it. joe byrne's brother (paddy) was a good deal with aaron all that day, but the subject of joe was not mentioned by either of them to each other. lawless rode in the steeplechase and won it, and that was the only bit of excitement during the day. an incident occurred during the steeplechase that i must state, although it is against the discipline of my men. just before the steeplechase started, johnstone saw three men riding outside the course; he took it for granted they were the outlaws. without a moment's consideration, he galloped off alone towards them. i saw him do this, as i was wondering who the men were, and at a glance saw they could not be the kellys. faulkner was at the time on his horse close beside me, in the middle of a crush. he looked at me. i shook my head, and he remained where he was. i walked quietly out of the crowd, and faulkner followed me, and we saw johnstone returning terribly ashamed of himself. he could give me no explanation of his conduct beyond saying he could not help himself. he thought the three men were the outlaws, and he made straight for them. aaron sherritt was noticed by every one riding a magnificent horse which i had purchased a few days before. he was pointed out to me by several people as kelly and byrne's greatest friend. i was asked why i did not have him arrested for stealing the horse he was riding, as he never could afford to come honestly by such an animal. i pleaded ignorance about either man or horse. at night a ball was to take place at a public-house near the racecourse. we thought probably some of the gang might put in an appearance there; but there was no sign of them again, and we had to return disappointed. in writing this narrative i have not kept exactly to the order in which the things occurred. as i have no paper to refer to, i am simply trusting to memory. after a time all the men, both in my camp and the upper, came to believe most thoroughly in aaron's honesty of purpose, as i had done from the beginning. he often told me that i had a kind of influence over him that no other man had ever had before, and he could not tell me a lie. we kept watching as from the first. old mrs. byrne began to be very doubtful of aaron, and treated him very coolly; still the daughter believed in him, and he continued his visits to the house. the old woman was constantly abusing him, and telling him that she thought he had thrown his old friend overboard and was working for the police. yet, notwithstanding this, the whole of kelly's friends used to confide in him, and tell him all the movements of the police in the district, which he would repeat to me. one night he returned, as was his custom, to where i was watching. he appeared rather anxious, and said, "is there any news of the kellys?" i said, "no; why do you ask?" he replied, "what is the meaning of all the activity that has taken place among the police to-day in different parts of the district?" i said, "what do you mean?" he replied, "this morning at four o'clock two men left beechworth, and went in the direction of woolshed. three other men started early in the morning from eldorado, going in the direction of woolshed, and some three or four men started in the direction of wangaratta." i was perfectly amazed at the organization of the sympathizers thus to have ascertained the movements of the police. i said, "tommy, tell me how you get all this information." he replied, "i could not do that, but you would be perfectly astounded if you knew how much we know of the movements of the police." to test whether his information was correct, i inquired, and found every word he said was true; but i never was able to find out how he obtained his information. i asked him if all the agents in the district knew as much as he did. his reply was, "oh, yes, but i am the head over all of them." i was in the habit, whilst with my cave party, of getting all information of everything that was going on throughout the district concerning the kellys. one evening detective ward came to my camp and told me that dan kelly had been seen near myrtleford, riding in the direction of beechworth. half an hour afterwards aaron, on his way to mrs. byrne's, called in at my camp. i told him that dan kelly had been seen that day. he started up at once, and said, "then he will call at my mother's place to-night, or else at my hut, which is about two miles from my mother's;" and added, "i wish, mr. hare, you would bring a couple of men with you, and come with me to my mother's place; some of the gang are sure to call there if they are passing by. let the remainder of the party go to the usual place at the stock-yard and watch mrs. byrne's. you come with a couple of men to my mother's place, and get two men from the upper camp and put them in my house." i consented to this suggestion, and he accompanied me. i left two men at his house, one of whom knew the outlaws, and i went with two men to his mother's. i had a conversation with his mother, and she asked me to be careful and not to shoot any of her sons. she had two besides aaron, jack and willie. i went inside their barn--a large open building, within a few yards of their dwelling-house. it was filled with straw, and the two nights i spent in that building with my two men beggars description. the pigs slept in the straw, and the fleas beat anything i ever felt in all my life; the mice, also, were running over me, and i really believe that a snake went over me also; but there was a chance of the kellys coming there, and that was enough for us. i had arranged with mrs. sherritt that if she heard footsteps, or any one coming to the place during the night, she would call out, as a signal, "is that you, jack, or willie?" and i could hear their reply. aaron stayed all night in his mother's house, in case the outlaws called to see him. once or twice during the night i heard footsteps approaching the house, and, of course, my heart was in my mouth, expecting it might be the welcome visitors; but, alas! mrs. sherritt came to the door when the dogs barked, and called out, "is that you, jack?" and the answer was, "yes." i stayed there a second night, but at daylight next morning i got up and left with my two men. the horrors of that place frequently come before me, and i shudder when i think of the hours i spent in that barn. on my way to my camp i called at aaron's hut, picked up the two men i had left there two nights previously, and took up my position under the rock, feeling as if i had got home again; the bare rock was paradise compared with the abominable place i had just left. i must now come to the closing act of my stay at the camp in the mountains. we had been about twenty-three nights watching there. our breakfast consisted of bread and sardines, and a drink of water; dinner and supper the same, varied with tinned beef. in the midst of our camp was a large stone, which was used as a table. we never could have a fire. the food, whatever there was, was placed on the stone. each man would get up from his position, take what he wanted, and go back to where his rifle lay, and eat the food there; no two men went to the so-called table at the same time. on the last morning of my stay there, aaron, who had been watching with us all the night, came into the camp with us. it was a sunday morning. after we had our meal, each of us lay down in the spots we had selected and fell asleep. i was the highest up the hill, and could look down upon all the others; near me sat the sentry, and aaron had lain down the furthest down the hill, in a hollow below a large rock. at about eight o'clock in the morning the sentry, without moving from his post, called me, and said the old woman, meaning mrs. byrne, was in the camp. i sat up in my cave and looked out, and saw her stealing up. she stood for a moment, saw articles lying about the camp, then came a few steps further on, looked down in the direction of where one of the men was lying, then halted for a moment, and retreated. the camp was so situated that unless a person got within a yard or two of it, he could not be seen. i watched her, and did not even let her know that we had seen her. directly she left i jumped up and went to see who it was she had seen, and to my horror i found it to be poor aaron. i called him up. he was lying partly on his side, and i was not certain she could have recognized who it was. i told aaron what had happened, and he turned deadly pale, and huge drops of perspiration broke out on his face. he could scarcely speak, and gasped, "now i am a dead man." i told him the best thing he could do now was to be off as hard as he could, and go and show himself to some of his friends, so that if mrs. byrne had recognized him he could prove an _alibi_, and convince her she was mistaken. aaron always wore a peculiar dress, and would have been known by any one at any distance. his dress consisted of a white shirt, a pair of trousers and long boots, with his trousers tucked inside. the first thing i did before i let him leave the camp was to send a sentry over the hill to see if anything could be seen of the old woman. he returned in a few minutes and pointed her out on a hill opposite to us. i should here describe the formation of the country we were hidden in, to make myself understood. we were on the one side of a deep gully, with high hills, quite impassable to horsemen, in front and behind us. a road or track ran at the foot of the gully, and on one side of the track, about yards from the bottom of this gully, was our watching-place, about half a mile from mrs. byrne's house. we remained quite quiet, and watched her go up the opposite hill to something white that was on a rock. this was her shawl, which she had left behind. it afterwards turned out that she was searching for the police in the mountains, and when she got to the spot where we saw her pick up her shawl, she had noticed a sardine-tin on the rock in our camp shining in the sun. this had been inadvertently left there after breakfast. when she saw this shining thing, she left her shawl and went to see what it was, and after being in our camp she returned and picked up her shawl (this she afterwards told aaron). i put a watch over her, and saw her come down the hill again. when she was out of sight i put my hat and great-coat on aaron, and started him off over the back of our camp, so that if the old woman had seen him walking away she could not have recognized him. when he was gone, we set ourselves to watch the old woman closely, as she was bent on finding out how many men we had there. she was evidently under the impression that she had not been seen by any one in the camp. she descended the hill and commenced ascending the one behind us. we could see her crawling down the hill upon her hands and knees, evidently with the object of looking into our camp to see what she could. i told senior-constable mills to go up the hill and give her a good fright and drive her off. he ascended the hill in the direction he saw her coming down, unobserved by her, and lay behind a rock with his rifle in his hand. the old woman came down to the very rock he had taken shelter behind, and just as she was going to take a good observation of our camp, the senior-constable sprang upon her and roared out. she almost died of fright. she had not the slightest idea any one was near her. for a moment she shook from head to foot, but soon recovered herself and began to slang the senior-constable, and tell him she would get her son with the kellys to shoot the lot of us, as they did kennedy's party. after some conversation she left and went back to her home. nothing transpired that day until dusk, when aaron reappeared as usual. i asked him what he had done with himself after leaving me that morning. he said he had gone to an intimate friend of his and shown himself, and some time afterwards had drawn attention to the early hour at which he had called. i asked him what he intended doing, if he meant to go that evening to see his young woman. he said, "oh, yes, i must go and see if the old woman recognized me this morning." i said, "don't you funk it?" he replied artfully, "but i must find out if she knows it was me." he went on, "i have brought a penny whistle, and i will commence playing it within a hundred yards of the house, and perhaps my girl may come out to meet me, and i can find out from her whether the old woman has said anything about me." he left us just as we were going to the watching-place, and about twelve o'clock came as usual and sat down beside me. he told me he went with his whistle straight to the door of the house, but his young woman did not come out to meet him. he walked inside and continued playing. when he got inside, there was a strange man (a neighbour) in the room. the old woman said nothing to him, but he said, "i watched her countenance, and i felt sure she had not recognized me." after a little while, the old woman went outside, and he followed her. she said, "a nice trick you have been playing on me." he said, "what do you mean?" she said, "who could have put the police into that camp in the mountains but you?" he replied, "i don't know what you mean." she told him how she had discovered our camp, and said there were thirty men in it. he pleaded ignorance, but she said she felt certain he knew all about it. she asked him how it was that she could find us out and he could not. he replied he could not tell. she said, "well, you go there to-morrow and see for yourself." from that time i thought it was useless my remaining there any longer, but all my men begged me to stay, and so did aaron. i stayed for two nights longer, but two old women discovered our watching-place. my men and aaron pleaded that mrs. byrne had no means of communicating with the outlaws, as she did not know where they were to be found, and they were sure to seek aaron out before going to her place. however, i could not see the use of staying any longer, so i left, though the men remained for two or three weeks longer. i was not sorry to leave the spot. it was a most uncomfortable place to sleep in. the days were terribly hot and the nights bitterly cold. one circumstance occurred whilst watching which i think worthy of relating. about ten o'clock at night we were all in our positions, i at the opening of the stock-yard, lying under a post-and-rail fence with an old log fence at the bottom, as close to it as i could get, the men lying behind trees. there were six of us in all. i heard the footsteps of a man coming down the track from the hills. the footsteps came closer and closer, until i saw the figure of a man step on to the rails just above me. at the moment i thought it was most likely to be joe byrne coming down to see his mother, and i was just in the act of springing up as he jumped down, when i remembered that aaron was down at the house, and if it was one of the outlaws he would be able to give us notice. so i decided to let him pass me. he walked right through the midst of my men. not one of them moved, because i had not moved. he went straight to the house. about two hours afterwards aaron came to us. i waited to see if he would say if there was any one there or not. he did not. i asked him if there were any strangers at mrs. byrne's. he said, "yes, a man named scotty, who lives up on the hills, came there." somehow or other i fancy the man was joe byrne. i have no real reason for thinking so, but i do, and we let him slip past us. aaron vowed it was not, but at the time aaron was very partial towards his old school-fellow, joe byrne, and frequently he used to ask me to give joe a chance of his life if they came into the stock-yard, but he used to say, "of course if he fights and shoots at you, you must do the same to him." [illustration: joe byrne.] about this time it was deemed desirable to arrest a number of the sympathizers who were setting the police at open defiance. they were galloping round the search parties, watching the movements of the police and insulting the men. with the sanction of the government, we decided to get together all the members of the force in charge of stations and allow them to submit the names of persons whom they knew to be kelly sympathizers, aiding the gang by giving them information of our movements, and in other ways. the arrest was ordered of about twenty relatives and friends, and the arrests were made all over the district on the same day. they were charged with aiding and abetting the kelly gang, and were brought before the court and remanded for a week. no evidence was given beyond the fact that they were known to be kelly sympathizers, but upon this statement the magistrates remanded them from time to time for seven days. they were in confinement for some two or three months, but still the kellys were able to find ways and means of supporting themselves and keeping out of the clutches of the police. at last the police magistrate, mr. foster, refused to remand them any longer, and discharged the whole of them. it was my painful duty, week after week, to go up to beechworth every friday and apply for a further remand for seven days, without being able to adduce a tittle of evidence against them. this move was a very unfortunate one. it did no good, and evoked sympathy for the men in custody. the police, i found out, had no evidence against these persons beyond the fact that they were known to be associates, relatives, and friends of the outlaws. had the women been arrested, such as kelly's sisters, the act might have done some good, but it was thought advisable not to interfere with the women. during the time i and several of the police were going up every friday night to beechworth to apply for the remand of the prisoners next morning, i had to take the constables who knew these sympathizers every week to beechworth with me, for i never knew when the magistrates might call for some evidence, in default of which they might discharge the prisoners. as these men had been arrested we were determined to keep them as long as we could, in the hopes that the outlaws might get infuriated at all their friends being locked up on their account, but they took not the slightest notice of it. a few weeks before those arrested were discharged, some of our spies, or, as we used to call them, "agents," gave me information that the kellys had procured some dynamite and intended blowing up the train out of revenge for our locking up these persons. i took no notice of the report. on one monday night the telegraph operator at benalla informed me that for some reason the wires would not act between beechworth and benalla. the break was somewhere between wangaratta and beechworth, and the stoppage occurred about nine o'clock. the following morning the lines were found to be working all right again. the same thing occurred on tuesday, and on wednesday night telegraph repairers from melbourne were sent along the line, but could find nothing wrong. still, each evening, exactly at nine o'clock, no messages could be sent, and sometimes the line stopped working in the middle of a message. thursday night the same thing occurred, and yet the line was not broken. one of the operators told me he believed the break was due to some one putting a piece of wire over the telegraph line and so making a ground connection. however, the cause was not discovered. friday night came, and we were just starting for beechworth by the passenger train at about eight o'clock, when the operator at benalla sent a message to me at the platform, telling me that the wire had stopped at about seven-thirty o'clock that night. i remembered then the information i had received about the line being blown up with dynamite. the officer in charge of the district and myself held a short consultation as to whether we should stop the train and inform the passengers of the danger impending. we, however, decided to get into the train and say nothing until we got to wangaratta, when we could decide on the best course to adopt. we got into a carriage with two roman catholic priests who were chaffing us all the way up about not catching the kellys. still we said nothing about the information we received. at wangaratta we decided to go on to tarrawingee, as it was between that station and beechworth the break in the line was known to be. when i got to tarrawingee i went to the station-master and told him to stop the train until i gave him permission to start. he said he had no authority to stop the train. i then took a constable to the engine-driver and told the driver he was on no account to start without my permission, telling him at the same time of my suspicions. the officer in charge of the district and myself then called the telegraph operator whom we had in the carriage, and asked him if he could tell in any way whether the line was open between that station and beechworth, as there was no telegraph office at tarrawingee. the operator said if he could get up the pole and take the wire between his teeth he could tell. the difficulty was to get him up the pole, but we got a long spar and shoved him up, and he discovered connection was open again to beechworth. the officer in charge of the district and myself then decided that we would let the train go on and say nothing at all to the passengers, who, during the detention at tarrawingee, were calling out and grumbling at our keeping the train all that time. we got into the train and arrived safely at beechworth, without the passengers knowing anything about the danger they had been in. the feeling of alarm over the kelly gang was so strong at this time, that had we raised an alarm the passenger traffic on the line would have been entirely stopped. i have often thought what a terrible thing it would have been if that train had been blown up, especially going over some of the steep embankments on the line to beechworth. for months afterwards the government placed men on watch to prevent the line being interfered with by the kellys. i remember distinctly saying to my brother officers, "well, whatever happens, we shall be in the thick of it, so they cannot blame us." i also remember the feeling of relief we both experienced when the train arrived safely at beechworth. it was a terrible responsibility on our shoulders, and we had very little time to decide the best course to adopt, but fortunately the course we adopted turned out all right. a few days after this occurrence i was told by one of our "agents" that arrangements had been made that night to blow up the train with dynamite, but the outlaws did not know how to use the cartridges that they had been supplied with, and they were afraid to make the attempt and fail, and so resolved to defer the dynamite business to some future occasion. after leaving the cave party, as it was called, i went to benalla and organized several search parties, took charge of one of them myself, and had no end of adventures. my principal place of searching was the warby ranges, and many a hard day have i spent in them. we were trying to keep a constant watch over the relatives of the outlaws, more especially over kelly's sister, whose place was near greta, within four or five miles of glenrowan. the warby ranges run just to the back of glenrowan. the constables used to watch the house to see if any one arrived or left during the night. mrs. skillian and katie were aware they were being watched, and nearly every night before they went to bed they would take their dogs and hunt round the bush within several hundred yards of their house. very often the dogs discovered the police lying on the ground, and then commenced barking at them until the women came up. it appeared as if the dogs knew the police were their natural enemies. at first i used to make one of my men in the search party carry a lot of poisoned baits, and every now and then drop a bait in a likely place, but afterwards all the dogs went about day and night with muzzles on, which were only taken off when they were being fed. this puts me in mind of another incident in our search. information came that the kellys were expected on the following day, sunday, to visit a cousin of theirs, tom lloyd, a man who was a notorious sympathizer, and who made no secret of it. katie kelly had been seen riding from her place to her cousin's with a large bundle in front of her saddle, which was supposed to be clean clothes, &c. for her brothers. i was not at benalla when the news came in, but aaron sherritt happened to be there waiting for me, and captain standish sent out three men with aaron to watch the place. they left benalla in a wagon, and were driven out to within three miles of the spot where they intended watching. lloyd lived in a house at the foot of a very high hill, in fact the mountains surrounded the house on three sides. aaron and the three men kept off the road, and did not go within yards of lloyd's house. they took up their position in a thick clump of trees, and got there before daylight in the morning. they had a good view of lloyd's house and the surrounding country. shortly after daylight they saw a boy come out of the house and unfasten the dogs. they at first thought he was going to fetch the cows in to milk, but in a very short time they discovered that the boy had been sent out with the dogs to see if any one had been about the place during the night. to their horror they saw the dogs coming on their trail straight towards them, and they actually followed their footsteps into the clump of trees. one of the men jumped up, as they did not wish aaron to be seen, and immediately the dogs began to bark. the boy ran back to the hut, and shortly afterwards the inmates came out and looked in the direction where the men had been hiding. several shots were fired from the house, presumably as a signal, and lloyd got an axe and struck a log of wood, which was so placed that when it was hit the sound was heard all round the hills. this also was supposed to be a signal of alarm in case the outlaws were anywhere in the neighbourhood. the men had to remain where they were all day, as it would never have done to have allowed aaron to be seen with the police. shortly after the cave party was broken up. miss byrne broke off her engagement with aaron, and he was free to look out for some other girl. he suggested to me that he might try katie kelly, and see if she would engage herself to him. he went there, but mrs. skillian objected to his being about the place. katie and he got on very well, but she never mentioned her brother's name to him, nor he to her. they became very great friends. one night, when mrs. skillian went to see a friend, she left katie and aaron in the house together. aaron induced katie to come out for a walk with him, and when mrs. skillian returned she found them both away. she was most indignant, and went to the nearest police station, oxley, and laid some charge against aaron. the police constable went to the kellys' house, and when aaron saw him coming up to the door he bolted out the back way. the constable followed him, and fired a couple of shots, but could not overtake him. i received a report next day from the constable, who stated that to stop aaron he had fired a shot at him. aaron made his way to a school-master's house that night, a place where the kelly gang used to frequent. he borrowed a horse and rode into beechworth, where he went straight to detective ward and reported the circumstance to him, asking the detective to wire to me to come up to see him at beechworth, as he was afraid of being arrested by the police. this occurrence, strange to relate, never got into the press, and the constable at oxley was very much surprised at the leniency shown towards aaron. on one occasion aaron came down to benalla to see me. he was unobserved, arriving by train. i met him in the bush, on the banks of the broken river. at dusk he went to the railway platform to await the train to beechworth. when he was seen there, there was great excitement, as he was known to be aaron sherritt, the principal agent of the kelly gang. a messenger was immediately sent to me in breathless haste to come quickly to the railway station. i pretended to be very much surprised, but, of course, aaron did not recognize me nor i him, and i saw him leave by the train. chapter ix. mrs. skillian's hoax--a false alarm--searching the warby ranges--among the kelly sympathizers--ill and dispirited--the tenant of the haystack--relieved after eight months' camping duty. it was perfectly wonderful how all the trains were watched by kelly sympathizers. you could tell them in a moment, they were to be seen on every railway station. it is not to be understood that all these men could communicate with the outlaws; my opinion is they trusted no one but their own blood relations, but the information concerning the police was sent to persons like aaron sherritt, there being perhaps three or four men in the whole district who could communicate to the outlaws' sisters any information that was obtained concerning the movements of the police. hart had a brother and sister, and they were always on the move. byrne had a brother and two or three sisters; the former was always riding about. reports came in that mrs. skillian used to be seen at all hours of the night riding about the bush, sometimes with large packs on her saddle. a curious incident occurred one morning about daylight. some policemen had got to mrs. skillian's house about two o'clock in the morning, and were within a short distance of her place, and in some way she must have become aware of their presence there. she went into the paddock about three or four o'clock, caught her horse, saddled it and tied a large bundle on the saddle, mounted the horse, and started off towards the mountains, the three policemen following her, but without the slightest idea that she was aware of their presence. she made for a very steep gap in the mountains, the men following on foot, thinking they had a good thing on hand. the sun was nearly up when they reached the top of the gap, and the first thing they saw was mrs. skillian sitting on a log facing them, and her two hands extended from her nose, and taking what is called a "lunar" at them, with a grin of satisfaction on her face. they went up to examine the pack on the saddle, and found it to be an old table-cloth wrapped up evidently to take a rise out of the police, who had been watching her. after i left the cave party, i was constantly on the move. my object was to harass the outlaws as much as possible. i had parties of men out in every direction, going all day, and watching for fires at night. i remember on one occasion i had been out in the bush for about ten days with a party, and having consumed our provisions, we came back to benalla. the evening i returned captain standish got a letter evidently from a well-to-do farmer, who stated that he had on the previous evening seen four men walking in the direction of a certain man's house, giving a description of the place, and how to find it out. he gave his reasons for thinking they were the kellys, and altogether it appeared a very good opportunity of falling across them. captain standish was in great glee about the information, and i remember sitting up half the night with him talking about it. at twelve o'clock i went round to my men, awoke them, and told them to be ready to start with me at four o'clock next morning. we were up again about three, got our horses and provisions ready, and away we started at daylight, and went through the town of benalla before any one was up. as it was sunday morning, and it was an unusual thing for us to start away on that day, instead of going in the direction indicated in the letter, i went directly in the opposite one. when i got into the bush, about five miles from benalla, i dismounted the men and read the letter to them. i was afraid to do so before, in case the information we were going on might leak out. they were all in great spirits at the probabilities of success, and thought our chances very good. we camped and let our horses feed in the middle of the day, and so we travelled along until after sunset, when we doubled back, and made in the direction of the farm described in the letter. about four o'clock in the afternoon we passed a hut. of course every one, knowing we were in search of the kellys, came out to see us. one of my men drew my attention to a man standing watching us, and told me he was one of the principal spies of the kellys. i replied, "well, he can never guess where we are going, for we have the warby ranges between us and the spot we are making for." we passed on, and thought nothing more of him. we got into camp about eight o'clock, tied our horses up, and after having some water, bread, and beef, laid down until one o'clock in the morning. as the men got out of their hammocks, lawless cried out, "i say, mr. hare, i think some of these hammocks will be for sale to-night." he meant by that that some of us would be shot, as all felt convinced we were going to meet the outlaws that morning. the men were all in great spirits. we had to cross the railway gates at glenrowan. we often found great difficulty in crossing the railway, for many of the gate-keepers were in league with the friends of the kelly gang. the keeper required a lot of calling before he got up. we then struck across the bush until we were compelled to get on to the roads; when amongst the farm-houses we had to travel very quietly to avoid alarming the occupants, for we looked upon every one as a sympathizer of the outlaws. after travelling about four hours, the constable who undertook to take us to the farm referred to, said he thought we were near the place, so we all dismounted and left our horses on the road in charge of one of the party. the remainder approached the house carefully, and we got in front of it just half an hour before daybreak. i told my sergeant, with three of the men, to take up his position at the back of the house, and that i would, when it was clear daylight, put my hat on my rifle as a sign for him to approach. i remained on the spot with three men for about half an hour. they were strung up to such a pitch that i thought i should hardly be able to restrain them from rushing ahead of me. at the appointed time i gave the signal, and we started for the house. we had to pass a window before getting to the door, and in doing so one of the men stepped in front of me. he told me afterwards that he thought a shot would have been fired out of the window, and he wanted to get between me and it. we went to the door and listened, but all was silent within. i knocked, and a man inside called out, "who's there?" i replied, "police; open the door." after a few seconds he did so. i said, "have you any strangers in your house?" he said, "i have." i suppose our appearance there frightened the life out of him, for he turned deadly pale; but the moment he said there were strangers inside we all rushed into the house and into every room in the building. i said to the farmer, "let me see the strangers," and out came the individual whom we had passed the previous evening, the greatest sympathizer kelly had. i asked him what brought him there. he said he came over to see his friend and spend the night with him. we saw at once our chance was gone. i never could learn whether this man, upon seeing us pass the previous evening, had gone over to warn the kellys to be on the look-out. we searched the haystack, outbuilding, and every place that we could think of, but all to no purpose. there was nothing to be done but to return to the camp a disappointed crew. i don't think i ever saw the men so down-hearted. whilst returning, i thought i would try to raise their spirits, and so i took them across country. we got in amongst the fences, and there was a good deal of jumping to do to get back to camp. one of the men had a narrow escape of falling off, his horse blundering over a fence. he landed on its ears, and had the greatest difficulty in getting back to his saddle. this little incident put the men in good humour again. we had our breakfast, turned the horses loose, and got into our hammocks, where we remained all that day, both men and horses requiring rest. next day we took a turn in the warby ranges, and made back to benalla. i had a great many trips with my party in the warby ranges. i was told by a sergeant of police, who ought to have known better, that i could search these ranges thoroughly in a couple of days. however, after a month's experience, i found every day new hiding-places where the outlaws could conceal themselves. i had a splendid lot of fellows in my party. my right-hand man was mayes, who acted as my sergeant; next to him was mills, and the others were lawless, faulkner, barry, o'loughlin, and kirkham. they were all men who belonged to my own district, and had served under me for years. there was not a weak spot in any of them. i felt that i could at any moment have said, "i think the outlaws are in that cave, go and pull them out," and they would have been proud to have been selected for the purpose. no work was too much for them, day or night, and i never heard a grumble. lawless and faulkner were equal to any bush-riders in the world, and i often wished that they might have a chance of showing whether they or the kellys were the best men on horse-back. johnstone was another of my men, but he was not always with me. he also was a magnificent rider, but he required some restraint, being both wild and reckless, and inclined to lose his head. generally speaking, we had two pack-horses to carry our provisions and rugs, enough to last us eight or ten days; after that the men required a spell in barracks, for our life was a very hard one, sleeping in the open without tent or fire, living on potted beef, and biscuit, and sardines. bushmen think nothing of camping out for months, but ask any of them in the winter months to camp out without a fire, and see how long they will stand it. i remember once, when i was searching the mountains at the head of the broken river, the weather was terribly cold, and the men were getting very down-hearted at not having any luck. mayes came to me and asked me to let the men have a fire for one night, as they were very low-spirited, and were feeling the cold terribly. he said, "i am sure if we could get to some quiet spot in the mountains you could let us have one good warm, and we shall be all right to-morrow." i agreed, and took them to a most retired gully, and told them they might light a fire that night. they were so surprised, it acted like magic on them. they selected a large hollow tree, set fire to it, and there was a grand blaze. they heaped up wood all round, and sat all night enjoying themselves. after i had had a good warm i took my hammock and went about a hundred yards from them, and kept, as it were, watch over them, because i never knew when the kellys might have crept on us, and without any difficulty they might have shot the whole of the men standing round the fire; so i thought if they were attacked i could have assisted them. first of all they made bets as to how long it would be before the tree would fall; one said two hours, another three, and so on. then they began to bet how many native bears there would be in the tree when it fell, then who would catch the first opossum, and so they went on all night, like a lot of school-boys out for a holiday. the next day they were quite different men, and we had several adventures, such as one of the pack-horses rolling down a precipice. i was riding ahead, and hearing a terrible noise, looked round and saw that one of the pack-horses had slipped and fallen over the cliff. it was rolling down, turning over and over like a barrel, the stones and rattling of the pack on his back making such a noise that i thought half the men were over. the track was too narrow to turn my horse round, but i jumped off and looked over the embankment, and there i saw the poor old horse lying on his side eating grass. i expected to see him smashed to pieces. we had to work our way down to the bottom, take off the pack, and lead the horse a mile or two round before we got him to where the rest were. strange to say, with the exception of a few cuts, the horse was all right, but this accident caused a delay of two hours. the tracks in the mountains are made by the wild cattle, and i am sure i often thought it a marvel that we did not roll down the sidlings we crossed. one night we spent a terrible time. we had arrived at the foot of a steep mountain, and i told the men to camp there, and fixed the spot where my hammock was to be slung. i then took three men with me and ascended the mountain. it was a fearfully wild place. i went up to see if i could observe any signs of fire in the distance. we stayed on the top of the mountain for an hour or two, and then descended; but we had a terrible job to get back with our rifles in our hands. it was pitch dark, and the difficulty of our position caused much amusement. every now and then one of us would come bump up against a rock, and we would be calling to each other to ascertain whether we were keeping together, and we were very doubtful whether we should find the spot where the other men were camped. however, i had taken particular notice of the hills as i went up, and if there is one thing i am proud of being able to do more than another, it is being able to find my way about the bush. i have been thirty years knocking about the country, and i only once lost myself, and had to stay out all night, and that was under very exceptional circumstances. we got to the camp, had some tucker, and i jumped into my hammock, which had been slung between two saplings, when two or three native bears began to sing out in a most piteous manner, like children crying. i stood this for a short time, and then called out to one of the men to cut the tree down, so as to get rid of the bears. he did so, and i fastened my hammock to the stump of the tree, and fell asleep. when i awoke in the morning my rug was frozen, the country round was perfectly white with frost, and the men told me the running water in the creek close by was frozen. one night in the warby ranges is forcibly fixed in my mind. we were in one of the most favourite resorts of the outlaws, and were searching a side of the mountain. the men were stationed at equal distances from one another. i was very anxious to search all the gullies leading up the mountain, so i took the lower position myself, the men being all above me. they searched every nook and corner, behind all the rocks, the scrub, and any place in which a man could hide. as i was riding along i saw a newspaper a day or two old folded up and stuck between two rocks. it had a long article abusing the police for not capturing the kellys, and had evidently been put there for the outlaws' perusal. not far from this i found a track leading up a gully in the mountains. i looked up, and saw lawless about yards above me, and beckoned to him to come to me, which he did. i showed him the track into the gully. he said, "what shall we do?" i told him we had better search it. we got off our horses, tied them to a tree, and walked up the gully. i took one side and lawless the other. we were not more than eighty yards apart. shortly afterwards i saw lawless trying to attract my attention; he beckoned to me to come to him; i did so. when i got near he pointed downwards, as if there was something beneath the rock he was standing on. he had his rifle in position to fire at a moment's notice. i could not understand what he meant or what he had seen. he remained where he was, and i went round to the front of the rock he was standing on. he said when he jumped on the rock he felt something move it, and heard a noise as if some one was running underneath it. i went close up to the opening, and there i saw a large wombat in the hole. i told him what was there, and his countenance changed in a moment. when i first came up to him his eyes were starting out of his head with excitement, and he said, "i thought we had them at last." we continued our search, but as usual, there was nothing to be seen. we got on our horses and rode about the place until about five o'clock, when we came across a nice paddock, and decided upon turning our horses into it and camping for the night. we had fixed the different spots for our hammocks, and were just going to our meal, when one of the men called me, and pointed out the tracks of fresh horse foot-prints going into the mountains from the direction of the lowlands. the tracks appeared to be an hour or two old. we were considering what we should do, and sat down in the usual manner away from each other with our rifles beside us, when all of a sudden every man jumped to his feet and called out, "look out, sir, they are coming straight for us." i stood up and saw four men riding towards us as hard as their horses could go. it was the habit of the kellys to ride like demons through the country. my whole party rushed to a brush fence and got behind it; i followed them, and the men came straight for us. when they were within a few yards we all jumped up and confronted them. they were not the outlaws, but were well-known spies of theirs. directly we stopped them they began to slang and chaff us. sergeant mayes turned upon them in the most indignant manner, and asked if they knew who they were speaking to. mayes asked me if he might arrest them, as he felt sure the outlaws were close by. i consented, and told him the better plan would be for him to take three of our men to the house from whence these men had come, and put the four sympathizers in it, and allow no person to leave the place that night. i and the three other men would watch the pass leading into the mountains. mayes, lawless, faulkner, and o'loughlin went off, leaving three men with me. they proceeded towards the house, which was the same place where the outlaws had their breakfast after riding through wangaratta, shortly after the murders. as the party approached, all the occupants came to the door, evidently thinking the four strangers were the kelly gang, and there appeared to be great rejoicing over the prospect of their calling there, but as the party got closer, and were recognized as policemen, they all beat a retreat into the house. lawless, who was a small man, not at all unlike steve hart in figure and appearance, saw a person walking in the garden, and directly he caught sight of him the man appeared to vanish out of his sight. lawless followed him, and when he got near, the man called out, "is that you, steve?" lawless replied, "no." he said, "then it must be his brother." lawless replied, "it is neither." the man then took a good look at lawless and said, "i beg your pardon, i thought you were some one else." lawless said, "who did you take me for?" he replied, "some one we expected to-night." lawless at once reported this conversation to mayes, who sent him to where they had left me, and lawless informed me of all that had passed between him and the stranger. i at once decided to watch the place with my three men. about a mile from the house there was a good stable, with abundance of feed in it, which was evidently left there for the outlaws. mayes had told the inmates of the house they were not to come out during the night, as he and his men intended keeping watch over the place, and they might be mistaken for some one else, and shot. when i reached the house they appeared to be very happy inside; they kept dancing half the night, and i believe this was a sign for the outlaws, if they were about, to keep away. there we remained without covering of any kind until daylight. the night was bitterly cold, and i, being in the most exposed place, became nearly frozen. about two o'clock in the morning i had a consultation with mayes, and we decided to send a man into wangaratta to bring out four additional constables to keep watch, whilst my party tried to pick up the tracks we had seen the evening before, leading into the mountains. i sent faulkner with another man to wangaratta, at about four o'clock in the morning; he returned with the four men. on his arrival, i met him near the house, and directly i approached him he sheered off from me, and said, "who are you?" i said, "don't you know me?" when he heard my voice, he replied, "is that you, mr. hare? you are so white with the frost i did not know you." i gave orders to sergeant kelly, who was in charge of the fresh men, to guard the house, and to allow no person to leave until i communicated with him. i told him on no account to allow any signals to be put out, especially any sheet to be thrown over a bush in the garden, this being a well-known sign of the kellys as a warning not to approach the house. sergeant kelly afterwards told me, directly the people of the house had finished breakfast, one of the girls brought out a table-cloth, shook it on the verandah, and then threw it over a bush in the garden. he removed it at once. at daybreak i and my party went to the pass in the mountains, where we had left all our packs and provisions. we had some breakfast, and started off immediately to follow the tracks. i had no black tracker with me, but i had an excellent man named bellis; he was one of the special men engaged by the police, who knew the country. he was a capital bushman, a good shot, a fair tracker, and a thoroughly trustworthy man. we took our horses with us. bellis and several of the men picked up the tracks, whilst the others followed with the horses. for a mile or so the tracks were very distinct, but after some distance they appeared to separate, going in different directions. some of the men fancied they heard voices ahead, and asked me to allow them to run over, as they felt certain the outlaws were quite near. i could hear no voices, but two or three of the men said they did. there was a thick clump of scrub in the direction where the men thought they heard the voices, so i beckoned to them to join together, and we rushed towards the scrub and surrounded it. we searched it thoroughly, but could find no trace of anybody being there. the men were much excited from want of sleep, and they appeared hardly to know what they were doing, so i made them have a rest. afterwards we went back to pick up the tracks again, but were unable to do so. we searched the mountains until evening, and then made back to the spot where we had left our packs. next day we started off into the hills. i sent a man from the house to senior-constable kelly, and told him to withdraw his men into the mountains, so as to keep watch over the house, and to remain as long as his provisions would last. we searched all the day without finding any signs of the outlaws. we camped that night at the foot of a steep mountain, and were starting off next morning when bellis drew my attention to what we all thought were the heads of four men looking over the hill at us. without a moment's consideration, the whole party started to get up the hill as fast as they could. it was a difficult job for the horses, but we urged them on. the only things we could see were four goats feeding quietly. we looked for traces of men, but could find none, and so came to the conclusion that we must have mistaken the goats for four men looking down on us. i myself had grave doubts, and still think they were men. there was a high point of the mountain in front of us, which we next proceeded to search. as my horse was carrying twenty stone, when i got on the top of the hill i dismounted and walked over to some shelving rocks. there i found the foot-marks of a man on the green moss, as if done that morning. i went back to meet my men, and showed the foot-marks to them, and after we had followed the tracks for some distance we came across a lot of stones recently moved, the earth being quite fresh. the stones were up on end, all pointing in one direction, and that was to another high hill three or four miles off. we lost the tracks in the rocky ground, so decided to try our luck on the other hill. we kept some distance apart from each other, making for the steep ground in front of us. after a most tedious ascent we reached the top, at least four of us did, and, strange to relate, here we found the stones stuck up on end just as we had found them on the other hill. we were greatly puzzled at this, and while we were talking over the matter one of the men saw a person at the foot of the hill on horse-back, riding along at a good pace. i sent a man after him to see who he was, and he overtook him as he was making for the mountain. the man i had sent immediately beckoned to me to come down, and appeared to be very excited. we all made down the hill as fast as we could. this person was a well-known squatter living close by, who had often aided the police when in want of assistance. he told me that when he was in the mountains the previous day looking for some sheep, he saw a tent erected in a retired spot, and it must only recently have been put there. i asked him if he would take us to it. he said "certainly." i collected all my men, and off we started, following our leader. after riding some four or five miles the tent was pointed out. we dismounted and surrounded it, and rushed down on it, only to meet with another disappointment. the tent was quite empty. we searched all round the place, and found tracks of shod horses where the animals had been feeding. we retired from the tent and slept that night near the squatter's homestead, and i dined with him, but slept with my men. next morning at daylight we saddled our horses and made back to the tent we had searched the previous evening. we again crept down, thinking the occupants, if any, might be asleep; but it was still empty. some time afterwards i heard the tent belonged to a party of men engaged collecting honey, who are known as "bee men." many of them were sympathizers of the outlaws, and used to leave horse-feed and provisions in their tents for them. we continued searching for three or four days after this, but nothing of any interest transpired. we were constantly receiving information that the outlaws were likely to be hiding amongst their friends on the low land below euroa, where they were known to have several cousins who did not bear very good characters. captain standish suggested that i should again take a trip down there. i had made several trips in those parts before, but some fresh information supplied to us was to the effect that they were hiding in the flat country. i started off with my party and a black-fellow called moses. he was a queensland man, and a capital tracker. he had been with me on several occasions before. we searched about the country, but could hear nothing of the outlaws. one morning we made an early start to search a place belonging to a connection of the kellys. we left our pack-horses behind us, and also our bedding and provisions, intending to go across country, getting over the fences the best way we could. after riding two or three hours we came across a stiff fence, and there was no way of getting over except to jump it. the men went over it with the greatest ease, but when i brought my horse up he baulked. i turned him round and put him at it again, and he made a tremendous spring and got over. something gave way in my back, just above my right hip, and the agony i went through that day was beyond anything i ever experienced. a most amusing incident occurred on this day. we had received information that the outlaws were amongst their relations, and during the day they occupied a very large haystack, near the house of one of their relatives. i was in great agony when i reached this place; still the description we had received of the premises was so accurate that we made straight for the stack, and much to my astonishment found a chamber or passage leading into it. we all dismounted from our horses, and i called for a volunteer to creep inside and see what was in it. every man begged to be allowed to explore it, and i selected johnstone. he disappeared in a moment, but very soon reappeared, coming out a good deal faster than he went in. he said, "i heard some noise in the stack, and i came back to tell you to keep a sharp look-out all round." i started him back, and told him to turn the fellows out, and in he went again; but he had hardly been away twenty seconds when out he came again like a flash of lightning. i said, "what is the matter?" he replied, "lor, sir, there is an old sow in there with a lot of young ones, and she _did_ go for me; it was as much as i could do to keep clear of her." the old pig came out shortly afterwards, and we all had a good laugh. we had information about another place further on, but i was unable to proceed. i lay down in the bush in great pain, and sent the men to search the locality; and on their return they picked me up, and we returned to where we had left the camp in the morning, a distance of about twenty-five miles. next morning i was better, and the men got a buggy for me, and i drove myself into euroa. i do not to this day know what was the matter with me, or the cause of the pain i suffered. the party i left behind in charge of senior-constable johnstone remained out for five or six days, and then returned to benalla. on my arrival at benalla i told captain standish that the hardships i had gone through had affected my constitution, and i was not fit to go out with the search party again, and i wished him to relieve me, as i had then been camping out for eight or nine months. he promised to do so, and ordered the inspecting superintendent to come up and take over charge of the business. i got a week's leave, and remained quietly at benalla. chapter x. black trackers--again in charge with _carte blanche_--aaron sherritt's doom--the beginning of the end--glenrowan--sticking up the hotel--bracken's escape--the police on the alert--a dangerous journey--mr. curnow's adventure. before i close this part of my narrative i wish to say that i have not given a hundredth part of what actually took place during the time i was searching for the outlaws. i felt sure, sooner or later, one of the different parties who were out in search of them would drop across them, as the outlaws had always to be on the alert, never knowing when a party would be on them. ned kelly said after his capture, the hardest part of their life was the constantly keeping guard for fear of surprise. they were dreadfully afraid of the black trackers--i mean the men that came from queensland--i was told it was marvellous how these men could follow a track across the bush. i was out on two occasions with them, but i did not see anything particularly striking about them, but other victorian officers spoke in the highest terms of their wonderful skill in tracking. when moses was with me i saw him do a fine piece of tracking. we were on a flat at the back of warby's ranges, and after lunch started to search a range in the mountains, leaving our packs at the camp, and a man in charge. we had been searching several hills, and about half an hour before sunset one of the men drew my attention to some tracks of horses coming from the wangaratta side of the range. i called moses and showed them to him. he dismounted, looked about, and said they were from horse tracks about four days old, three big horses and one small one; he pointed in the direction they were going. it was exactly in the opposite direction to where our camp was. he said, "shall i follow them?" i replied, "yes." he took some cartridges out of his belt and put one in his rifle, and without saying another word, off he galloped as hard as he could go across country, we all following him. we went for about five or six miles. suddenly moses pulled up, and we found ourselves on the cross road running from wangaratta to yarrawonga. moses said, "the tracks have gone into this dusty road, and i can't follow them any further." i replied, "surely you have not been on the tracks all the while." he said, "oh, yes; i will show you." he got off his horse and showed me the four tracks--three large horses and one small one. he then galloped up one side of the cross road and back the other, to see if the tracks crossed either the one side or the other, but without any result. we then returned to our camp. we were without coats, it was bitterly cold, and we had nine or ten miles to ride. next morning we started to try and pick up the tracks again, and i suggested we should work back to see where they came from. we did so, and found they were coming from the direction of a sympathizer's house which we had surrounded a few nights before. we rode on for about a mile, and suddenly moses pulled up, and said, "they have been camping here." i could see no signs of anything. i said, "how do you know?" he replied, "one saddle been there," pointing to a spot, "another there, and there." i dismounted and could see no signs of anything. we searched about and found where a small fire had been made. searching further he found under some rocks, where the black fellow had noticed the stones had been removed, the identical tins which we had given sergeant kelly when i directed him to take up his position in the mountain overlooking the house. i afterwards ascertained that it was just four days before we were there, that sergeant kelly had left this camp and gone the road moses had followed the previous evening. i have given this story just to show the wonderful powers these blacks have in following tracks. in addition to going out in search parties, i had a number of agents always working for me, but i felt the information they gave was of little use. they would tell us the outlaws were seen at some distant place, and what they intended doing, but all this information was of little service to us, beyond letting us know they were in the country. this we had no doubt of, and i often asked sherritt if there was any chance of them leaving the district, and he scorned the idea. he said, "most decidedly they can never leave, and the day they attempt to do so they will be captured." i never could understand why they did not separate and make for queensland as swagmen; but sherritt was quite right; they never did leave, beyond going across the murray, where they had many friends, and they were always within a day or two's ride of their own relations. they never had horses with them, except when they went on some raid; otherwise we must some time or other have come across their tracks. they could not have kept their horses out of sight. i was told that on two or three occasions i and my party nearly surprised them, and that once they had to take refuge in the head of a fallen tree to escape us. when the inspecting superintendent relieved me he adopted a different system to mine. he did away with all search parties, and depended entirely on agents, thinking he might lead the outlaws to believe that he was under the impression they had left the colony, and thus beget a feeling of security which might lead them to become careless about their movements. he had some reliable agents, who were giving him information of all the movements of the outlaws. our two systems were entirely different. i thought mine was the best, the inspecting superintendent thought otherwise, and he begged to be allowed to continue carrying out his plans. the press throughout the colony was calling out about the disgraceful conduct of the police in not capturing the offenders. a change of ministry having taken place about this time, the government were determined to try some other measures to effect the arrest of the bushrangers. one morning captain standish told me that mr. ramsay, the chief secretary, had decided i was to relieve the inspecting superintendent, and take charge of affairs again at benalla. i protested, and told him i had already tried my hand and failed, and that there were many officers in the force senior to me who should have a trial. he replied: "the government have decided upon your going, and you must go." i saw the chief secretary on the subject, and his reply was, "mr. hare, the cabinet have decided that you are to take charge of affairs at benalla. they have the utmost confidence in your discretion, we give you _carte blanche_ to do whatever you think desirable, you are to consider yourself independent of all control, and anything you do the government will bear you out in." i told mr. ramsay that i felt very much flattered at the confidence reposed in me, and that i was ready to start at once. in the meantime the inspecting superintendent, having received orders to hand over the charge of affairs to me, came at once to melbourne, and saw mr. ramsay. he told the chief secretary he felt sure if left in the district a short time longer, he would without doubt capture the outlaws. he begged to be allowed to remain a little while, and mr. ramsay gave him another month. he went back to benalla, and did everything in his power to effect a capture, but all to no purpose--and i was compelled to go back to benalla, very much against my inclination, on st june . i first began to find out what had been going on during my absence from the district. i saw some of the agents who had been employed by the inspecting superintendent, and got them to remain in my employ. i then took steps to remove the trackers, as i had informed mr. ramsay, it was said that as long as they were in the district the outlaws would not show out, and i was anxious they should do something, as it would give us a better opportunity of falling across them. besides, the queensland authorities wanted their trackers back, as they belonged to their force of native police, and the officer in charge was anxious to return also. i arranged with captain standish they should leave as soon as they could conveniently do so. after i had found out all i could concerning the movements of the outlaws at benalla, i started off to beechworth and saw aaron sherritt. i found he had married during my absence, and his family and his wife's relations did not get on together, as she was a roman catholic and he a protestant, and his family were vexed with him for marrying. aaron had taken a cottage on the road from beechworth to eldorado near woolshed, where he and his wife resided. i had a long interview with him, finding out all that had taken place during my absence, and the different interviews he had had with the outlaws whilst i was away from the district. he expressed himself very pleased at my return, and told me he did not get on as well with the inspecting superintendent as he did with me, and he would set to work with fresh zeal and endeavour to find out where the outlaws were to be found. he told me that a fortnight ago they were at his mother's house looking for his brother jack, whom they wanted to join them, and four constables had been sent to his house in hopes that they might call on him; but when the inspecting superintendent was leaving the district, these men had been removed, and he was of opinion that it would be as well to send them back. i ordered them back, and directed that they should stay indoors all day and watch mrs. byrne's house by night, as aaron lived about three-quarters of a mile from her. i also made arrangements to have the harts' house watched from wangaratta, and for a party to watch kelly's house from glenrowan. the orders to the men were, that after dark every night they were to leave their abode singly, and walk away to the watching-place, so that if any of them should be met, no notice would be taken of a man walking alone. they were to take up their positions within view of the houses, but not near enough for the inmates to discover their whereabouts. i kept moving about and working hard. rumours were coming in from all directions that the sympathizers were very active, that something was about to happen. old mrs. byrne was very jubilant, and she told a person--who repeated it to me--that the gang was about to do something that would astonish not only the colony, but the whole world. horses were reported as being stolen in several directions, all supposed to be by the gang. constable bracken, who was in charge at glenrowan, reported that the four men who had been watching kelly's house were completely knocked up, being out night after night in the wet, and asked me to let them be sent to benalla to recruit themselves for a few days. i consented, but i had no other men to replace them. i paid another visit to beechworth, saw detective ward, and told him i was not at all satisfied with the way the men were conducting things at aaron's house. two or three reports came to hand, informing me that paddy byrne had saddled his horse at his mother's place at two o'clock in the morning, and started off into the ranges, and instead of the men accompanying aaron to endeavour to follow him, they let him go alone. i decided to go down that night to visit the party at woolshed. ward and i started away from beechworth about eight o'clock, and reached aaron's house about . . i stood in the road whilst ward went to the house to find out from aaron's wife where the men were to be found, as they should have been out watching. we found one of the men at the hut, and he told us the others were away with aaron watching mrs. byrne's house. i left ward at the hut, and got this constable to show me where the men were watching. he purposely lost his way, and kept me fully an hour going one mile. i believe he kept me all this while in the bush to gain time for the men to take up their positions, as it turned out that none of the men were watching mrs. byrne's house but aaron. when i got to the watching-place i met the constable who was in charge of the party. i asked him why he had left one constable behind at aaron's house? his reply was, "that man has deceived you, mr. hare; we were all of us at aaron's house when you called with ward," he said. "i was collecting wood on the hills--aaron alone was watching." i severely reprimanded the constable for misleading me. i then spoke to the constable in charge about matters in general. he appeared to be a smart, intelligent man. i asked if he had made up his mind what he would do if the outlaws came to mrs. byrne's. he said: "i would shoot the lot of them if aaron said they were the men." i told him to be careful not to make a mistake and shoot any one else. i left them, and aaron walked back with me to his house to pilot me across the diggings. no sooner did he get within sight of his house than he said, "you can't go wrong; there is the house. i will return, as i don't like leaving the men there alone." i saw he was just as zealous as ever. i thought all this zeal might have been put on to deceive me, but i listened to his footsteps making back as fast as he could. i thought after he had let me go he would probably return to his hut for a cup of tea, as the night was bitterly cold, and he was dressed as usual, with a white shirt, trousers, and boots. i sat there fully half an hour, but i heard no sign of his returning. i went to the hut, picked up ward and my horse, and rode back to beechworth, telling ward i was convinced that the men at sherritt's house were not working as they should, and that i had decided i would remove them and send others in their place as soon as i could arrange to do so. exactly at that time on the following saturday aaron was shot, and two of the outlaws were guarding his place for some hours afterwards. on saturday evening, the th june, about nine o'clock, a man named antone wicks, a german, who lived about a quarter of a mile from aaron sherritt's house, was stuck up by joe byrne and dan kelly. he was handcuffed by the outlaws, and made to accompany them to sherritt's house. he was told to call aaron out, and say he had lost his way, and ask him to put him on the road, as it was quite dark. when the three arrived at aaron's house wicks knocked at the door; aaron said, "who is there?" the german replied, "it is antone wicks, he has lost his way." aaron opened the door, and wicks said, "come and show me the way." aaron said, "who is that?" at the same moment stepping out of his door. joe byrne jumped forward and fired at him. he retreated to the middle of the room, and byrne stood in the doorway and fired a second shot, and aaron dropped down dead without saying a word. it is commonly believed that ned kelly was present at the shooting of sherritt, but wicks stated that only byrne and dan kelly were there; they kept him handcuffed all the while they remained at sherritt's house. it might be as well to explain why they took wicks up to aaron's house to call him out. the outlaws may have heard voices in aaron's house, and thought that if they called him outside his door their voices would have been recognized by him, and he would have been on his guard, so they got wicks, who lived close by aaron, to call him. whilst all this was going on at woolshed, ned kelly and hart were busy elsewhere. about . o'clock on sunday morning th june, a railway line repairer, named reardon, was awakened by ned kelly and hart at glenrowan, and told to get up and dress himself. kelly presented a revolver at his head, and told him he wanted him and a man named sullivan, also a line repairer, to go and pull up the rails. he said, "we were at beechworth last night, and killed several people. i expect a special train will be sent from benalla with a number of police and black trackers, and i am going to kill the lot." reardon begged kelly not to take him, as he had a wife and large family. kelly replied, "you must come, or i will shoot you." kelly told him to pick up the tools he required. kelly, hart, reardon, and some other workmen walked along the line to a place about half a mile away from glenrowan, where there was a steep embankment with a fall on each side of about twenty or thirty feet. hart pointed out the rails to be taken up, and reardon and the others took up two rails. they were a considerable time about it, and kelly found fault with them for not being quicker, and threatened to tickle some of them with his revolver if they did not hurry up. when this was done they all walked back to glenrowan, and were marched into mrs. jones's hotel, and were kept prisoners there. [illustration: steve hart.] it is not positively known at what hour joe byrne and steve hart appeared on the scene, but it was some time in the morning. throughout the day the four outlaws took possession of the township. they kept watching for persons passing mrs. jones's hotel, and they would call upon them to "bail up," and march them off to the hotel, which for the time being was converted into a prison-house by the outlaws. by the evening they had captured sixty-two people. amongst those thus detained was constable bracken, an excellent ex-constable, who rejoined the force for the express purpose of assisting in the capture of the kelly gang. he was a clever, shrewd, careful, quiet man. young reynolds, the son of a neighbour, came to the police station about eight or nine o'clock on sunday night, and called bracken to come outside to his father, who wanted him. the object in getting reynolds to call bracken, was to prevent the constable from recognizing the outlaw's voice, so the boy, who lived near the police station, was made to call him. it was the habit of constables, when called by any one during the night, not to show themselves unless they had their revolvers in their hands. bracken, hearing young reynolds' voice, got up without taking this precaution; being unwell, he had gone to bed early. the moment he opened his door, which led into the yard, ned kelly, who was standing beside the boy, covered him with his revolver, and ordered him back into the house. one of the other outlaws was also present. kelly at the time had his armour on, with a waterproof coat over all. they made bracken dress himself, he being the only constable at the station, and told his wife that she was to remain in the barracks, and, if she gave information to any one, or answered any call during the night, they would shoot her husband. mrs. bracken said she looked out of her window two or three times during the night, and saw men watching her house. this may have been fancy or fear on her part. bracken was marched off to jones's hotel, and found sixty-two prisoners there. dancing was going on, and everybody appeared in great spirits. of course, amongst these sixty-two prisoners there were several of the kellys' sympathizers, who, if a rush had been contemplated, would have given the gang warning. when bracken was admitted into the room the doors were locked, so that nobody could leave. dan kelly had charge of the key which opened the front door, and bracken kept watching him. about ten or eleven o'clock at night dan kelly commenced to dance, and before doing so he put the key on a mantel-piece. bracken sidled towards the fire-place, and taking the key, slipped it down his boot unobserved by any one. the dancing was kept up with great spirit until some one called out, "the train is approaching!" the outlaws at once went into an adjoining room and began to put on their armour, but no one knew what they were doing. about ten minutes afterwards the train stopped, and there was great excitement. bracken saw his chance of escape. he took the key from his boot, opened the front door, and ran towards the railway station. the first thing the kellys did when they came out of the side room was to look for bracken, but they could not find him, and appeared very much annoyed. about one o'clock on sunday afternoon, th june, a messenger was sent to my hotel in benalla, who told me that there was an important message for me at the telegraph office. i went there, and found that intelligence had come that aaron sherritt had been shot at his own house at nine o'clock the previous night by the outlaws. i at once sent a wire to captain standish, telling him of the circumstances, and requesting him to send the black trackers back to benalla at once, as they had left for melbourne on the previous friday. captain standish was out of town when the telegram arrived, and it did not reach him till about five in the afternoon. he then at once placed himself in communication with mr. ramsay, the chief secretary, and, strange to say, sent me a wire that he would send the trackers up by an early train next morning. i replied, "if they are not sent up by a special train to-night, they need not come at all." in the meantime mr. ramsay called on the minister of railways, and arranged to have a "special" ready to take the trackers back to benalla, and they left town about eight or nine o'clock that night, and were to reach benalla about . a.m. the officer in charge of the district and myself remained all the afternoon at the telegraph office, and i can never forget the assistance rendered me during that trying afternoon by that officer. unfortunately, it being sunday, many of the operators were away from their offices. we called as many as we could, and had to engage private individuals to convey on horse-back the intelligence to others, directing them to be ready for any emergency that might happen. we felt sure that something of importance would follow such a deed, but had no idea when or where it would take place, so that every possible precaution had to be taken. we sent to the railway station and ordered a special train to be ready in case the trackers were not coming up that night, and i arranged to take a party of men from benalla to beechworth. unfortunately, none of my old men were there, but still i had a very good lot. i had also two of our own black trackers, "moses" and "spider," both queensland men, but they did not come specially to victoria as trackers. i kept them, and would have taken them had the others not been sent back to me; and we also arranged, in the event of anything happening during my absence, to have a party of men ready to start off at a moment's notice. we got a wire that the trackers would leave melbourne that night, and so we decided to keep the special engine that was ready for us to act as a pilot to our train. everything was in order to start off directly the men arrived. my plans were as follows:--the train with my own men, horses, and trackers would reach beechworth about four o'clock in the morning (monday); we would get our horses out directly we arrived, and start off to sherritt's house, put the trackers on the outlaws' tracks, and endeavour to follow them. we had made no other plans beyond these. in my own mind i felt convinced we should never reach beechworth, but i told no one of my convictions. about ten o'clock i lay down to get an hour's sleep, and at midnight had all the horses and baggage put in the train, so that we could start off directly the trackers arrived. they reached benalla a little after one, having had some delay on the road in consequence of having run through some gates, which flew up and broke the brakes. it was decided by the railway authorities at benalla that the engine that came from melbourne should act as pilot. i had a consultation with the two engine-drivers before we started, telling them to be on the alert and keep a good look-out, as i felt sure either the rails would be pulled up, or something would happen before we got to beechworth. the driver of the benalla engine asked me to let a constable stand on the side-plate in front so as to keep a good look-out. i selected constable barry for this post. he was to fasten a strap round the brass rod which runs along the engine, and to put his arm through that to hold on by. it was afterwards stated that i had made him sit on the buffers. however, the driver of the pilot engine dispensed with his services, so barry was not put in this dangerous position. i told the driver of my train on no account to let the pilot get more than a hundred yards away from him, and consulted the two drivers as to the most probable place for the rails to be interfered with. they fixed on the very spot where the rails were taken up. i told them to be very careful in going down the hill indicated. it was arranged we were not to stop between benalla and wangaratta, there being no occasion for doing so. we left benalla a little before two o'clock. the train from melbourne had brought up the officer in charge of the five trackers, and five reporters connected with the melbourne papers. the officer in charge of the trackers having recently been married, we allowed his wife and sister to accompany him in the train, intending that they should remain at beechworth while he followed the tracks of the outlaws. i got into the compartment with the officer and the ladies, the reporters having a compartment to themselves, and the constables another. i had put my rifle on the rack of the carriage, and was just arranging to lie down and have a sleep, when the engine gave a whistle, and stopped. i jumped up, put my head out of the window, and saw the three red lights of the pilot just ahead of us. i loaded my rifle, jumped out of the train, and met the guard of the pilot coming towards me. we were then about a mile from glenrowan. he told me that they had seen a red light on the line, and pulling up to ascertain what it was, found a man, who said he was the school-master, and stated that the kelly gang had pulled up the line of rails, and he told the driver he must be very careful. this person then ran away, notwithstanding that the driver begged him to see me before he left. they told him i was in the train behind; but he said no, he had to return to his wife, and ran off. it afterwards turned out the man was mr. curnow, the local school-master, who, having no lamp by which to stop the train, got a red scarf and held a candle behind it when he heard the train approaching, but, having left his wife alone, he hurried back for fear some of the gang might see him. after the guard of the pilot had related this story to me, i called four of my men, and putting two on each side of the line, we walked towards the engine. the driver told me the same story as the guard. i considered for a moment what was best to be done, consulting with my men, and thinking that the information given by the person representing himself as a school-master was a ruse, especially as glenrowan was only about three miles from kelly's house, i returned to my train (they were about yards apart), and told those who were in the train to be prepared for any emergency, as i could not say what might happen. i put my senior constable with three men on the tender belonging to the train engine, and went myself with the three remaining men on the pilot engine, both being coupled together. in that way we went slowly along, half the men facing one side of the line, half the other, i myself standing beside the driver of the pilot engine. in that way we approached glenrowan station, which was all in darkness. when about fifty yards from the station the driver would insist that there was a man standing on the platform, but it was only his imagination. we pulled up, but not seeing or hearing any one about, we proceeded slowly into the station. i ordered the men to jump on to the platform, and keep a sharp look-out. in order that the reader may have a clear idea of the events happening at glenrowan, i break off here my own personal narrative to insert the account given before the police commissioner afterwards, by mr. curnow, one of the sixty-two prisoners confined in the hotel by the gang. "on sunday morning, th june, , i determined to take my wife, sister, and child out for a drive along the road from glenrowan to greta. we left the school in a buggy at about eleven o'clock in the morning, accompanied by david mortimer, my brother-in-law, who rode on horse-back. when we got in sight of mrs. jones's hotel, and opposite the railway crossing, through which we intended to pass, we noticed a number of people about the hotel, and at the crossing. i said, 'mrs. jones must be dead; she has been very ill.' as we got near the hotel, a man ran out of it towards mrs. jones's stable, distant about twenty yards from the hotel. i drove past the hotel to the crossing, and, seeing mr. stanistreet, asked him, 'what's the matter?' he replied, 'the kellys are here; you can't go through.' i thought he was joking, and made a motion to drive through the gates, when a man on horse-back, who blocked up the crossing, and was talking to a young man whom i knew to be named delaney, wheeled round his horse and said to me, 'who are you?' i then saw that he had revolvers in his belt, and was convinced of the truth of mr. stanistreet's statement that the kellys were there. i replied that i was the teacher at glenrowan. he said, 'oh! you are the school-master here, are you? and who are those?' pointing to my wife, sister, and brother-in-law. i told him. he then said, 'where are you going?' i answered, 'out for a drive.' he then said, 'i am sorry, but i must detain you,' and directed us to get out of the buggy, which we did. he then turned again to delaney and resumed his conversation with him. i afterwards found that the man who had addressed me was ned kelly, the outlaw. i noticed another armed man near ned kelly, and i afterwards found out that he was byrne. "when we got out of the buggy, i led the horse off the crossing, and tied him to the railway fence alongside, directing mrs. and miss curnow to go into mr. stanistreet's house, which they did. as soon as i had fastened the horse, i joined mr. and mrs. stanistreet and others, who i was told had been taken prisoners by the gang, and was informed by them that glenrowan had been stuck up since three o'clock that morning, and that the gang had forced reardon and others to tear up part of the railway line beyond the station, for the purpose of wrecking a special train of police and black trackers, which the outlaws said would pass through glenrowan. some person--i believe it was one of the boys who had been bailed up by the gang--then told me that the kellys had been at beechworth during the previous night, and had shot several policemen. "after some further conversation, we all listened to what ned kelly was saying to delaney. the outlaw was accusing delaney of having, some short time previously, ridden a horse from near greta into wangaratta to oblige a policeman, and of having sought admission into the police force. he threatened to shoot delaney for this, and pointed a revolver at him several times. ned kelly declared to all of us who were listening to him, that he would have the life of any one who aided the police in any way, or who even showed a friendly feeling for them, and declared that he could and would find them out. he said that a law was made rendering it a crime for any one to help them (the outlaws), and that he would make it a crime for any one to aid the police against the kelly gang. the women, who were listening to what kelly was saying, asked him to let delaney off. after keeping delaney in a state of extreme terror for about half an hour, the outlaw made him promise never again to seek admission into the police force, and finally said, 'i forgive you this time; but, mind you, be careful for the future.' byrne then produced a bottle of brandy, and offered some in a tumbler to all adults there. some accepted it. byrne drank some himself, and gave delaney two-thirds of a tumbler, which he drank. ned kelly refused to take any, and directed some of his boy prisoners to take my horse and buggy into mrs. jones's yard, which they did. "ned kelly and byrne then went from the railway crossing to mrs. jones's hotel, preceded by the majority of their male prisoners, and i was with them. when we reached mrs. jones's there were, including those who had just been taken over, about fifty persons in and about the hotel, all of whom appeared to be prisoners of the gang. we were allowed to go about in the hotel, except into one room, which the outlaws used, and of which they kept the key, and we were allowed outside, but were forbidden to leave the premises. dan kelly, a short time after i entered the hotel, asked me to have a drink, and i drank with him at the bar. i said to him that i had been told they had been at beechworth during the previous night, and had shot several police. i asked him whether it was true. he replied that they had been near beechworth last night, and had done 'some shooting,' and that they had burned the 'devils out,' alluding to police. byrne came in the bar, and, looking at dan kelly's glass, said, 'be careful, old man.' dan kelly replied, 'all right,' and poured water into his brandy. while talking with byrne and dan kelly, i expressed surprise at glenrowan being stuck up by them, and they said that they had come to glenrowan in order to wreck a special train of inspectors, police, and black trackers, which would pass through glenrowan for beechworth, to take up their trail from there. they said that they had ridden hard across country, often being up to the saddle-girths in water, to get to glenrowan, and that they had had the line torn up at a dangerous part, and were going to send the train and its occupants to h--l. "about one o'clock i was standing in the yard of jones's hotel, thinking of the intentions of the gang, and i keenly felt that it was my duty to do anything that i could to prevent the outrage, which the outlaws had planned, from being accomplished, and i determined that i would try to do so. while standing in the yard, dan kelly came out of the hotel and asked me to go inside and have a dance. i said that i could not dance in the boots which i had on. ned kelly then came out of the hotel, and hearing me object to dance because of my boots, said, 'come on; never mind your boots.' i said to him that it was awkward to me to dance in those boots, as i was lame, but that i would dance with pleasure if he would go to the school with me to get a pair of dancing boots. it flashed across my mind that, in passing the glenrowan police barracks to reach my house, bracken, the trooper stationed there, might see us, and would be able to give an alarm. i knew that bracken had been stationed at greta, and felt sure that he would recognize ned kelly. he (ned kelly) said that he would go, and we were getting ready, when dan kelly interfered, and said that ned had better stay behind, and let him or byrne go with me. some one else also urged ned kelly not to go away, and said that my house was near the police barracks. ned kelly turned to me, and asked if it was. i said, 'yes, we shall have to pass the barracks. i had forgotten that.' he then said that he would not go, and i went into the hotel, and danced with dan kelly. "after we had finished dancing, ned kelly said that he would go down to the police barracks and bring bracken, and reynolds, the postmaster, up to jones's. i laughed and said to him that i would rather he did it than i, and asked to be allowed to accompany him when he went, and to take home my wife, sister, and child. he gave me no reply. the intention to do something to baffle the murderous designs of the gang grew on me, and i resolved to do my utmost to gain the confidence of the outlaws, and to make them believe me to be a sympathizer with them. i saw clearly that unless i succeeded in doing this, i should not be able to get their permission to go home with my wife, child, and sister, and consequently should not be able to do anything to prevent the destruction of the special train and its occupants, by giving information to the police in benalla, which i purposed doing if i could induce the outlaws to allow me and mine to go home. the outlaws kept a very sharp watch on their prisoners without seeming to do so. "about three o'clock in the afternoon ned and dan kelly caused several of their prisoners to engage in jumping, and in the hop, step, and jump. ned kelly joined with them, and used a revolver in each hand as weights. after the jumping was concluded, i left jones's and went to mrs. stanistreet's house to see my wife and sister. they came out to meet me, and noticing the red llama scarf wrapped round my sister caused me to think, 'what a splendid danger signal that would make.' the idea of stopping the train by means of it then entered my mind, and made me still more anxious for liberty. i went with my wife and sister into mr. stanistreet's house, and saw hart lying down on a sofa. he had three loaded guns by his side. he complained to me of having swollen and painful feet, caused, he said, by not having had his boots off for several days and nights. i advised him to bathe them in hot water, and asked for some for him. it was brought, and he followed my advice. "shortly after, mr. stanistreet and i were walking about at the back of his house, and mr. stanistreet expressed a wish that an alarm could be given. mrs. stanistreet came out to us, and i asked them if they thought it would be wrong to break a promise given to the outlaws. they said it would not. i then asked mr. stanistreet if the outlaws had taken his revolver from him. he said they had not. i saw what use this fact could be made of by me in my efforts to gain the confidence of the outlaws, and to make them believe that they could safely allow me to go home. i said to mr. and mrs. stanistreet that we had better go inside, for i was afraid of being suspected by the gang if they saw us in private conversation, and we did so. i do not know whether mr. and mrs. stanistreet suspected the use i intended making of my liberty if i got it; but afterwards i heard mrs. stanistreet saying to ned kelly that he ought to allow me to take home my sister, who was in delicate health. "i was sitting in mr. stanistreet's when dan kelly came in, inquiring for a parcel in a small bag, which he had lost. he seemed very anxious about it, and examined the house throughout in search of it. he could not find it, and went to mcdonald's hotel to see if it was there. he came back unsuccessful, and i went to jones's with him, and he searched there, but failed to find it. when he gave up searching for it, i requested him to tell ned that i wanted to speak to him. i was near the door of jones's kitchen then. he went into the hotel and brought ned kelly out, and i told him that mr. stanistreet possessed a loaded revolver from the railway department, and advised them for their safety to obtain it, as some one might get it and do them an injury. they thanked me, and i perceived that i had in a great measure obtained their confidence by telling them this. "about dusk i heard ned kelly saying to mrs. jones (they were standing between the hotel and the kitchen, which was a detached building) that he was going down soon to the police barracks to capture bracken, and that he was going to take her daughter down to call him out. mrs. jones asked him not to take her. ned kelly said that he did not intend to shoot bracken, and that her daughter must go. i advanced to them, and said to ned kelly that i thought it would be better for him to take dave mortimer, my brother-in-law, to call bracken out, because bracken knew his voice well, and by hearing it would suspect nothing. ned kelly, after a pause, said that he would do so. he then went to mrs. jones's stable, and i followed him, and asked if he would allow me to take my party home when he went down for bracken; and i assured him that he had no cause for fearing me, as i was with him heart and soul. he replied, 'i know that, and can see it,' and he acceded to my request. i went over to mrs. stanistreet's and brought my wife and sister to mrs. jones's, and took them into the kitchen. ned kelly said that we must wait till he was ready to go. i found, on going back to jones's, that a log fire had been made on the wangaratta side of the hotel yard, and that many of the prisoners of the gang were standing around it. "it was then dark. other prisoners were in the hotel, and the outlaws encouraged them to amuse themselves by playing cards. i waited with my wife and sister in jones's kitchen for, i believe, two or three hours, before ned kelly directed me to put my horse into the buggy. he and byrne then went into the room which they had reserved for their own use. i drove to the front of jones's hotel, and put my wife and sister and alec reynolds, the son of the postmaster at glenrowan, who was about seven years of age, into the buggy. ned kelly directed me to take the little boy with us. we were kept waiting in front of the hotel about an hour. ned kelly then came to us on horse-back, and told me to drive on. "it was then, i believe, about ten o'clock. as we got into the road, i found that we were accompanied by ned kelly, byrne, and my brother-in-law, each on horse-back, and by a mr. e. reynolds and r. gibbins on foot, both of whom resided with mr. reynolds, the glenrowan postmaster. on the road down, ned kelly said that he was going to fill the ruts around with the fat carcases of the police. the outlaws each had a light-coloured overcoat on, and i was amazed at the bulky appearance which they presented. i had then no knowledge that the outlaws possessed iron armour. each one carried a bundle in front of him, and in one hand a gun or a rifle. "we reached the barracks, and were directed by ned kelly to halt about twenty yards distant from the front door of the building. ned kelly got off his horse, and fastened him to a fence near, ordering my brother-in-law to do the same, and he did so. kelly then ordered him to advance to the barracks' door and knock, which he did. ned kelly got behind an angle of the walls, and levelled his rifle either at dave mortimer, or at the door. no reply came to the knocking or calling, though they were often and loudly repeated at ned kelly's whispered command. when i saw kelly level his rifle, i told my party to get out of the buggy, which they did, and i advanced to my horse's head, for i thought kelly might fire. i was then about seven or eight yards from kelly. no result being produced by either knocking or calling, ned kelly left his position and advanced to byrne, directing me, in an undertone, to call mortimer away, which i did, and he came. byrne, who had remained near us, and ned kelly, then spoke to one another, and kelly took alec reynolds, the postmaster's son, and mr. e. reynolds, and passed with them into reynolds's yard. "we neither saw nor heard anything for, i think, more than an hour, when ned kelly appeared, having bracken, e. reynolds, and bracken's horse with him. kelly stopped when he reached us, and ordered bracken to mount the horse brought round, and bracken did so. ned kelly put a halter on the horse, which he kept hold of, saying, 'i can't trust you with the bridle, bracken.' bracken said to ned kelly that had he not been ill in bed all day he (kelly) would not have taken him easily, and that if the horse he was on was what it used to be, it would take more than ned kelly to keep him a prisoner. ned kelly and byrne mounted their horses, and i and my party got into the buggy. "it was then, i believe, between eleven and twelve o'clock. ned kelly then said i could go home and take my party with me. he directed us to 'go quietly to bed, and not to dream too loud,' and intimated that if i acted otherwise we would get shot, as one of them would be down at our place during the night to see that we were all right. i then left them and drove home, distant from the barracks one or two hundred yards, leaving the outlaws and their captives ready to start back to the railway station. as soon as we were out of hearing of the outlaws, i announced to my wife and sister my intention to go to benalla and give information as to the intentions and whereabouts of the outlaws. they both anxiously and earnestly opposed my purpose, saying that it was not at all likely that we should be allowed to come home unless some of the agents of the gang were watching; that i should not be able to reach benalla, as i should be shot on the road by spies, and that, even if i succeeded, we should be hunted out and shot. "while the discussion was going on, and supper was being got ready, i quietly prepared everything, including the red llama scarf, candle, and matches, to go to benalla, intending to keep as close to the railway line as i could, in case of the special coming before i could reach there. i declared to my wife that i did not intend to go by the road--that i meant to keep as close to the line as possible in order to be safer. at last my sister gave way, but my wife worked herself into such an excited and hysterical state, that she declared that she would not leave the house--that if i would go, she would stay there, and she, baby, and my sister would be murdered. i wanted to take them to my mother-in-law's farm, about one-third of a mile from our place, for safety, while i was away. at length mrs. curnow consented to go to her mother's to obtain advice, and, as we were momentarily expecting the promised visit from one of the gang, i left the doors unlocked, and wrote a note, leaving it on the table, stating that we were gone to mrs. mortimer's to obtain medicine, as miss curnow was taken ill. my sister wore her red llama scarf, at my request. when we got there mrs. curnow was exceedingly anxious to get home again, and would not stay there, and we went back. i succeeded in persuading mrs. curnow to go to bed; and my sister and i told her i had given up my project. "my sister engaged my wife's attention while i went out to harness my horse to go, for i could not rest, and felt that i must perform what was clearly my duty. i heard the train coming in the distance as i was harnessing the horse, and i immediately caught up the candle, scarf, and matches, and ran down the line to meet the train. i ran on until i got to where i could see straight before me some distance along the line, and where those in the train would be able to see the danger signal. i then lit the candle and held it behind the red scarf. "as the guard's van got opposite me i caught sight of the guard, who shouted, 'what's the matter?' i yelled, 'the kellys,' and the pilot engine then stopped a little past me, and the guard jumped down. i told the guard of the line being torn up just beyond the station, and of the kelly gang lying in wait at the station for the special train of police. he said a special train was behind him, and he would go on to the station and then pull up. i cried, 'no, no! don't you do that, or you will get shot.' he then said that he would go back and stop the special which was coming on. he asked me who i was, and i told him i was the school teacher there, and requested him not to divulge who it was that stopped and warned him, as i was doing it at the risk of my life. he promised to keep my name secret. he asked me to jump in the van, but i declined, as my wife and sister were without protection. the pilot engine whistled several times while i was talking with the guard. "the pilot went back, and i hastened home, and found mrs. curnow had been almost insane while i was stopping the train, and had been made worse by the whistling of the pilot engine. she would not leave the house after i had stopped the train, and we blew out the lights to seem to be in bed. my sister hid the red scarf and my wet clothes, and we were going to deny that it was i who had stopped the train, if one of the outlaws came down to us. "after the first volleys had been fired, i, with an old man who lived opposite me, went up to jones's to ascertain who were victorious, but we were ordered back by the police, and we returned home. while i was away my sister and wife had a terrible fright through mr. rawlings, who had accompanied the police, coming down to the school. they thought that he was ned kelly when he asked for the door to be opened. when i reached home i found mr. rawlings there. he asked me to draw a plan of mrs. jones's house, which i partly did; but, on hearing the train returning from benalla, he hurried out, and stopping it, he got into it. during the sunday afternoon i had heard mr. stanistreet ask ned kelly to allow the rails torn up to be replaced, and he pointed out to ned kelly the sacrifice of innocent lives which would ensue if the monday morning's passenger train was wrecked. the outlaw refused to allow it to be done. in speaking of and to one another the outlaws had assumed names. "in the _argus_ report (may th) of james reardon's evidence, given before the police commission at glenrowan, it is stated that james reardon said he told me that 'the line was broken,' and that he also told me 'how the train could be stopped.' mr. reardon is labouring under a wrong impression. i am positive that he did not tell me how the train could be stopped. stopping the train, nor how to stop it, was not mentioned to me by any one. of this i am absolutely certain. i have been informed that an impression prevails that it was in my power, before the outlaws stuck up glenrowan, to have furnished information to the authorities relating to the kelly gang or their friends. others assert that i was employed by the authorities to obtain information. i desire to emphatically state that this impression and assertion are both false. "the outlaws were perfectly sober. one of them, i think byrne, lay down on the bed about twelve o'clock in the day, and had a sleep, but the others were quite sober." chapter xi. the attack on the hotel--wounded. i must now return to my own share in the undertaking. when we arrived at glenrowan the station was in total darkness. i saw a light in the window of the station-master's house, which was about yards from the platform. i asked a gentleman, mr. rawlings, who had come with me from benalla in our special, to accompany me to the station-master's house, leaving all the men on the platform, telling them to keep a sharp look-out during my absence. i knocked at the window, and a woman, who was crying, opened it. i said to her, "where is your husband?" she would not answer me. i asked her two or three times and could get no reply. at last i said, "my good woman, do calm yourself and answer me. i will see no harm come to you." she said nothing, but pointed in the direction of the warby ranges, and also in the direction of the hotel. i took her to mean that he was taken into the ranges. i said, "who took him away?" she replied, "the kellys." i said, "how long ago?" she replied, "ten minutes." i must here state that hart guarded the station-master in his own house, and was with him the greater part of the night, and when he heard my train stop about a mile away he took stanistreet, the station-master, up to jones's hotel, and reported the matter to ned kelly. stanistreet was put in with the remainder of the prisoners. their object in doing this was, that they thought when the special arrived at glenrowan the train might require some signal before it would pass, and that they would compel the station-master to give this while they covered him with their pistols. i left mrs. stanistreet, and returned to the platform with rawlings. i told my men that the kellys had been there ten minutes ago and had taken away the station-master, and ordered our horses to be taken out of the train as quickly as possible. i had hardly given these orders, when i heard the sentry placed at the back of the platform call out, "who goes there?" the reply was "police." i saw a man getting over the back of the platform, and heard him calling out my name. i said, "who is it?" he replied, "bracken. go quickly over to mrs. jones's, the outlaws are all there, and if you don't go this moment they will be gone." i called on the men to follow me. a voice cried out, "what shall i do with the horses?" i said, "let them go." the men, when taking out the horses, had put down their arms and ammunition on the platform, and in the hurry had a difficulty in finding them. i called out, "come on, men, or they will be gone." i saw two men standing beside me ready to start, and off i hurried, accompanied by these two. by the path we took, the hotel would be about yards from the platform. i looked round whilst running, and saw several of the men following me. the hotel, which was in total darkness, was a weather-board house with a verandah in front; not a sound came from it. the moon was setting behind the house; our approach could be seen distinctly by any one standing under the verandah, which to us was in total darkness. when i was within sixteen yards of the verandah i saw a flash, and heard a report from a rifle, fired from about a yard in front of the verandah, and my left hand dropped beside me. three flashes came from under the verandah. the man who fired the first shot stepped back under the verandah, and began firing upon us. he called out, "fire away, you beggars, you can do us no harm." one of the men beside me said, "that is ned kelly's voice." the four outlaws continued firing some minutes; i suppose they must have fired thirty or forty shots at us, as they had repeating rifles and revolvers. my men returned the fire very briskly; i fancy we must have fired at least fifty or sixty shots, for there were not only my men, but the trackers also, who were blazing away as hard as they could fire. we could only fire in the direction from which the flashes came, as the figures of the men were invisible in the darkness. when we commenced firing, we were unaware there was any one in the house, until we heard the most fearful shrieks coming from inside the hotel from men, women, and children. we discovered afterwards that the front of the building, which the outlaws were standing against, was composed of thin weather-boards, and the martini-henry bullets were going through the building amongst the occupants. two or three children were shot. there was a general cry to lie down, bracken, with great forethought, before he left the house, having told them to do so. by this means most of them escaped without injury. eventually the outlaws retreated inside the hotel, which was still in total darkness. there must have been a terrible scene inside. [illustration: night attack on the glenrowan hotel.] the moment the outlaws retreated into the house i ordered my men to cease firing, and told them to surround the hotel and see that no one escaped, whilst i went to the railway platform to have my arm bandaged. it was bleeding fearfully; a bullet had entered one side of my wrist and gone out at the other. i went to the platform, where i found some of the reporters, one of whom kindly bandaged my wrist up. i made arrangements for a train to be sent to benalla to inform the officer in charge of what had occurred, and to send a few more men up, as i had no notion what effect the firing had taken upon the outlaws. at this time i had no idea how serious my wound was, as i had not felt very much pain in it. i then returned to the hotel. i tried to get through the fence, but was unable either to get over it or through it, in consequence of my hand being useless. i could see that the men had taken up their positions surrounding the house, and sat down in a position where i also had good command over the house. having remained there about a quarter of an hour i began to feel very faint and dizzy; the wound was bleeding copiously. i attempted to stand up, but had great difficulty in doing so. i managed, however, to get back to the platform, but fell down in a faint from loss of blood. some restoratives were given me and i recovered consciousness. i was put on the second engine that was at the platform, and sent to benalla, the blood still running fast from the wound. on my arrival there it was five o'clock. i found a gentleman on the platform, and i asked him to accompany me to the doctor's house, and then to the telegraph station. before i left glenrowan i told them all i would be back immediately. i called at the doctor's, told him i had been wounded by kelly, and requested him to follow me to the telegraph station, as i wanted to communicate with the other stations, and get them to send some assistance. when i got to the telegraph office i was much exhausted, and terribly excited. i could not write, but got the telegraph master to write to my dictation. i sent messages to all surrounding stations, and just as i had finished, the doctor came in. he took the handkerchief off my arm and said that i was bleeding from the artery. i asked him to attend to it at once, as i wished to return to glenrowan. the officer in charge also came into the office and i said, "don't go without me, i shall be all right in a few minutes." his answer was, "don't be such a glutton, you have got one bullet in you, and you want more." i said i was determined to go back. i remember their pulling a mattress on to the floor of the telegraph office, and my lying on it, and then i fainted away and continued unconscious for some time. when i recovered consciousness i felt terribly weak, and could scarcely stand. i was assisted to my hotel and went to bed. i have hitherto merely given my personal experiences with reference to the capture of the kelly gang, but i think the history would hardly be complete without a full account of all that transpired at glenrowan during the capture. i have, therefore, taken the following narrative from _the age_ newspaper of the th of june, --they had their own correspondent on the ground during the fight. a few errors have crept in, and these i have corrected in brackets; but on the whole it is a very fair account of what took place. chapter xii. from _the age_ newspaper, th june, --the start--the journey--a timely warning--the gang surprised--death of byrne--capture of ned kelly--his statement--the prisoners released--renewal of the fight. benalla, _monday night_. immediately on the receipt of the news by captain standish on sunday night that the kellys had at last broken cover, and committed another diabolical outrage near beechworth, he ordered a special train at once to start from spencer street. he was induced to do so because of the fact that sub-inspector o'connor had, with his black trackers, been withdrawn from the kelly country. they were on the eve of their departure for queensland, and were staying at essendon. captain standish ordered the special train to convey the blacks to the scene of the outrage, so that they might there pick up the tracks of the dreaded gang; but no one at that time imagined that the expedition would have such a speedy and sensational termination; that, in fact, it would end in the annihilation of the band in a manner that must strike terror into the hearts of all sympathizers and men inclined to imitate the doings of the gang. when the news arrived at the station that a special train was required, all the engines were cold, and it was not till a quarter past ten o'clock that a start was made; and the small party of press gentlemen, who in good spirits took their seats in the carriage, little thought that the journey they were undertaking was of such a perilous nature. only one gentleman was armed. at essendon inspector o'connor and his five black trackers were picked up, together with mrs. o'connor and her sister, miss smith. [those ladies intended to proceed to beechworth and remain there whilst we went in pursuit of the gang.] the men were evidently in excellent spirits at the prospect of an encounter. the train proceeded rapidly on its way. at craigieburn it ran through a gate, which carried away the brake of the engine, and necessitated a stoppage of about twenty minutes. after that, fair progress was made to benalla, where superintendent hare, who was in waiting with eight men and seventeen horses, joined the party. mr. chas. c. rawlings also became one of the number. the night was a splendid one, the moon shining with unusual brightness, whilst the sharp frosty air caused the slightest noise in the forest beyond to be distinctly heard. it was thought that the kellys or some of their friends might place an obstruction on the line, and in order that danger in this direction should be avoided as much as possible, it was determined to lash one of the police to the front of the engine, so that he might there keep a good look-out. at the last moment this plan was abandoned, and it is a merciful intervention of providence that it was so. time certainly was lost by the change of tactics, but the loss was gain. there was a spare engine in the station, and it was determined to use this as a pilot. [the pilot was arranged for early in the afternoon.] accordingly, it started about half a mile ahead of the special [only yards], which it was intended to run through to beechworth. glenrowan is the next station to benalla, being about fourteen miles distant. however, when within a mile and a quarter of glenrowan, just opposite playford's and de soir's paddocks, the special came to a sudden halt. danger signals from the pilot engine were the cause, and in a very few seconds the pilot came back with an intimation that a man, in a state of great excitement, had stopped the engine, and had stated that glenrowan was stuck up by the kellys, who had torn up the lines just beyond the station in order to destroy the party which they knew would pass along the line in the special. the news and the stated intentions of the gang had not a cheering effect, but the police displayed an eagerness for action. the members of the press barricaded their windows with the cushions upon which they had previously sat, and in response to the request which some of the number made, the lights in the train were extinguished. it was then ten minutes to three o'clock, and superintendent hare was not long in determining what to do. the man who gave the information disappeared in the forest as soon as he had imparted his news, and his story was accepted with caution; but it was soon made apparent that he had saved the lives of those in the train, which to a certainty would, along with the pilot engine, have been hurled into a deep gully just below the glenrowan station, and behind a curve in the line which would have prevented the conductors from seeing the pilot go over the embankment where the rails had been torn up. mr. hare, with one or two of the police, proceeded in the pilot engine to the railway station, closely followed by the special. on arriving at the station the horses were quickly got out of the trucks by the men, whilst mr. hare, with one or two men and mr. rawlings, proceeded towards the glenrowan hotel to seek information. mr. rawlings, when he left benalla, jocularly made a boast that they would bring back the remains of the outlaws. he little thought at that time that his prediction would prove to be absolutely correct. the township of glenrowan consists of about half a dozen houses, inclusive of two bush hotels, jones's glenrowan hotel being about yards from the station, on the west side of the line, whilst m'donald's hotel is about the same distance on the other side of the line. in an instant the men on the platform were convinced, by the report of a shot fired from jones's hotel, that they were in the presence of the desperate outlaws. [this is an error; no shot was fired until we were within sixteen yards of the hotel.] the next few minutes were productive of painful excitement. the police abandoned the horses and rushed to their arms. the black trackers sprang forward with their leader, and soon took up a good position in front of the house. mr. hare could be plainly seen by the light of the moon. he walked towards the hotel, and when within about twenty-five yards of the verandah, the tall figure of a man came round the corner, and fired. the shot took effect on mr. hare's wrist. senior-constable kelly and rawlings were close to him, and the former promptly returned the fire, which was taken up by hare, although wounded, and mr. rawlings followed his example. just before superintendent hare was wounded, constable bracken, the local policeman, who had been made prisoner in the hotel, courageously made his escape, and running towards the railway station, quickly spread the information that the kellys, with about forty prisoners, were inmates of the hotel, which was a weather-board building, containing about six rooms, inclusive of the bar. behind the building there was a kitchen, the walls of which were constructed of slabs. into this the police fired. when about sixty shots had been sent into the walls of the building, the clear voice of hare was distinguished above the screams of the terrified women and children who were in the hotel, giving the order to stop firing. this was now repeated by senior-constable kelly to the men who, under cover, were surrounding the house at the back, but the kellys fired three or four more shots, after which one of them gave vent to coarse and brutal language, calling to the police, "come on, you ---- wretches, and you can fire away; you can never harm us." a few straggling shots were then fired, the sharp sounds of the rifle being echoed from the mount called morgan's look-out, at the foot of which the fight took place. then all was silent again, and after the lapse of about a quarter of an hour superintendent hare approached the station and stated that he had been wounded in the wrist. the wound was a very bad one, and was bleeding very much. there was no doctor present, but the representatives of the press succeeded in stopping the rapid loss of blood. during the trying ordeal, mrs. o'connor and miss smith remained unwilling witnesses of the terrible scene. they retained their seats in the railway carriage, and the courage which they displayed, notwithstanding that the bullets from the outlaws whistled past the train, surely ought to have had a good effect on the men who were facing death in the execution of their duty. seeing the wound, the ladies implored mr. hare not to return to the fight, but he did so. his re-appearance in the trenches was the signal for renewed firing, and the valley was soon filled with smoke. mr. hare then became faint from loss of blood, and was compelled to leave the field. he went back to benalla on an engine in order to have his injury attended to, and to send more men to the front. a long and tedious interval followed, during which time mr. stanistreet, the station-master, suddenly left the hotel, where he had been kept prisoner with the other residents of glenrowan. he walked boldly away, and had a narrow escape of being shot by the police, but he saved himself by proclaiming he was the station-master. he reported that the gang were still in the house, and that the shots of the police had struck the daughter of mrs. jones, a girl fourteen years of age, on the head, whilst the son, john jones, a boy of nine years, was wounded in the hip. very soon after this, painful, hysterical screams of terror were heard from mrs. jones and a mrs. reardon, both of whom were walking about the place, disregarding the danger to be feared from the volleys which the police, at short intervals, poured into the hotel. mrs. jones's grief occasionally took the form of vindictiveness towards the police, whom she called murderers. the police frequently called upon the women to come away, but they hesitated, and mrs. reardon and her son were afraid to accompany mr. reardon to the station. the poor woman was carrying a baby only a few months old in her arms, and she eventually ran to the station, where she received every kindness from the persons there assembled. she was then in a very terrified condition, and told the following story, which serves to show the manner in which the gang took possession of glenrowan. she said: "my husband is a plate-layer, employed on the railway, and we live about a mile from the station, on the benalla side. at three o'clock on sunday morning we were all in bed. we were aroused by ned kelly, who knocked at the door, and told my husband, when he opened it, to surrender. he advised us to dress, and i did so. they had also made a prisoner of sullivan, another plate-layer, and kelly brought us to the station, where i was kept for some hours. kelly took my husband and sullivan down the line, in order to tear up the line and destroy the train with the police. he was afterwards taken to the hotel. there are a lot of innocent people in there now, and they are frightened to come out for fear the police will kill them. amongst the people who are in there are:--james and michael reardon, my husband and son, catherine and william rennison, john and patrick delaney (who are here coursing), w.s. cooke (a labourer), martin sherry (a plate-layer), john larkins (a farmer), edward reynolds (the brother of the postmaster), robert gibbons, the brothers meanliffe, and other strangers i do not know." when the poor woman had completed her story, the firing of the police became very brisk, and it was replied to by the desperadoes in the hotel. senior-constable kelly at that juncture found a rifle stained with blood lying on the side of the hill, and this led to the supposition that one of the gang had been wounded, and had escaped through the forest towards morgan's look-out. just then nine police with superintendent sadleir and dr. hutchinson came from benalla. almost immediately after, seven policemen under sergeant steele arrived on horse-back from wangaratta. the alarm had been given there by trooper bracken, who caught a horse and rode the ten miles in a surprisingly short space of time. the conduct of bracken, and the promptitude of the wangaratta police, is to be highly commended. just before their arrival a heavy volley was poured into the hotel by the police. according to the statement of some of the prisoners, afterwards made, that volley proved fatal to joe byrne, who was standing close to young delaney, drinking a nobbler of whisky at the bar, when he was shot in the groin. he was then carried to the back of the building, where he gradually sank and died a painful death. this fact at the time was unknown to the police. the morning broke beautiful and clear. the police were disposed all round the hotel, when they were beset by a danger from the rear. ned kelly was the cause. it appears he was the man who shot mr. hare, and he himself was wounded in the arm by the fire which was returned. he could not without danger get into the hotel, so he sprang upon his horse, and during the excitement which followed, he got away towards morgan's look-out, but it was not the intention of the bold ruffian to desert his comrades, and he returned to fight his way to them. [this is quite wrong. kelly being wounded, tried to escape on foot, but being shot in the foot was unable to walk. no man left the hotel on horse-back, but, to make a hero of himself, he told this story.] [illustration: ned kelly in his armour.] it was nearly eight o'clock when his tall figure was seen close behind the line of police. at first it was thought he was a black fellow. he carried a grey coat over his arm, [he wore the coat over his armour], and walked coolly and slowly among the police. his head, chest, back, and sides were all protected with heavy plates of quarter-inch iron. when within easy distance of senior-constable kelly, who was watching him, he fired. the police then knew who he was, and sergeant steele, senior-constable kelly, with mr. dowsett (a railway guard), fired on the ruffian. the contest became one which, from its remarkable nature, almost baffles description. nine police joined in the conflict and fired point blank at kelly; but although, in consequence of the way in which he staggered, it was apparent that many of the shots hit him, yet he always recovered himself, and tapping his breast, laughed derisively at his opponents, as he coolly returned the fire, fighting only with a revolver. it appeared as if he was a fiend with a charmed life. for half an hour this strange contest was carried on, and then sergeant steele rapidly closed in on him, and when within only about ten yards of him, fired two shots into his legs which brought the outlaw down. he was only wounded, and appeared still determined to carry on the desperate conflict, but steele bravely rushed him and seized the hand in which he held his revolver, the only weapon with which he was armed. he fired one shot after this, but without effect. when on the ground he roared with savage ferocity, cursing the police vehemently. he was stripped of his armour, and then became quite submissive, and was borne to the railway station by sergeant steele, constable dwyer, and two representatives of the melbourne press. great praise is due to guard dowsett for the plucky manner in which he assisted the police. he was armed with a revolver, and got very close to the outlaw. at the railway station kelly appeared to be very weak from the loss of blood, and some brandy was given him. he was examined in the guard's van by dr. nicholson and dr. hutchinson, who found that he was suffering from two bullet wounds in the left arm, a bullet in the right foot near the right toe, and two wounds in the right leg, those inflicted by sergeant steele. the outlaw was quite composed, and in answer to inquiries he made the following statement:--"what i intended to do, and in fact was just about doing, was to go down with some of my mates and meet the special train and rake it with shot. the train, however, came before i expected, and i had to return to the hotel. i thought the train would go on, and on that account i had the rails pulled up, so that these ---- black trackers might be settled. it does not much matter what brought me to glenrowan. i do not know, or i do not say. it does not seem much, any way. if i liked, i could have got away last night. i got into the bush with my grey mare, and laid there all night. i had a good chance, but i wanted to see the thing end. "when the police fired the first round i got wounded in the foot. it was the left one. shortly afterwards i was shot through the left arm. it was in the front of the house where i received these injuries. i don't care what people say about sergeant kennedy's death. i have made my statement as to it, and if they don't believe me i can't help it. at all events, i am satisfied scanlan was not shot kneeling. that is not true. he never got off his horse. at the commencement of the affair this morning i fired three or four shots from the front of jones's hotel, but i do not know who i was firing at. i only fired when i saw flashes. i then cleared for the bush, but remained there near the hotel all night. two constables passed close by me talking, and i could have shot them before i had time to shout, if i liked. i could have shot several constables at one time. i was a good distance away, but i came back again. i have got a charge of duck-shot in my leg. why don't the police use bullets instead of duck-shot? "one of the policemen that was firing at me was a splendid shot. i don't know his name. perhaps i would have done better if i had cleared away on my grey mare. [he never had a chance.] it was just like blows from a man's fist receiving the bullets on my armour. i wanted to fire into the carriages, only the police started on us too quickly. i knew the police would come, and i expected them." inspector sadleir here remarked, "you wanted then to kill the people in the train?" kelly replied, "yes; of course i did. god help them, they would have got shot all the same. would they not have tried to kill me?" every kindness was shown to kelly by the police, and his two sisters were permitted to remain with him during the afternoon. he was also seen by father tierney, to whom it is understood he made a confession, but the reverend gentleman courteously declined to state the nature of it. at various times during the morning more police arrived, but the bushrangers could not be dislodged; and what was more perplexing still, the prisoners inside could not be persuaded to leave, although the police repeatedly called upon them to come out. at twelve o'clock, however, the people inside, consisting of about thirty men and youths, suddenly rushed out of the front door, carrying their hands aloft. the police told them to advance towards where they were located, but many of the unfortunate people were so terror-stricken that they ran hither and thither screaming for mercy. they then approached the police and threw themselves upon their faces. one by one they were called on, and having been minutely searched, were despatched to the station. when the turn of two youths named m'auliffe came. superintendent sadleir directed constable bracken to arrest them as kelly sympathizers. they were accordingly handcuffed, and taken with the others to the railway-station. young reardon, who with his father had been confined in the hotel, was severely wounded in the shoulder by a bullet fired from a rifle in the hands of one of the police. the unfortunate youth was at once attended to by the doctors already named. although the wound was a serious one, it was not considered such as would prove fatal. the police after this kept up a constant fire on the place, dwyer and armstrong in front of the house, andrew clarke, sen., and constable kelly getting very close in at various quarters of attack. it was noticed that the fire from the besieged bushrangers was not returned after one o'clock, but it was believed that dan kelly and hart intended to lie quiet until night, and under cover of the darkness make their escape. the police for a time also ceased firing. a consultation was held amongst the officers as to what was to be done next. during the cessation of hostilities i visited the locality where the line had been torn up; it is about three-quarters of a mile on the wangaratta side of glenrowan. several lengths of rails had been wrenched from their places at a curve terminating at a rapid decline, and had not timely warning been given, the pilot-engine, followed closely by the special, would have inevitably toppled over an embankment into a defile over thirty feet in depth. i arrived back at the station in time to witness the most tragic and exciting scene of the day. the police had telegraphed for a field-gun from melbourne, but fearing it would not arrive in time to be of any use, it was determined to adopt another mode of dislodging the remaining outlaws. chapter xiii. from _the age_ (continued). mrs. skillian comes on the scene--the hotel fired--rescue of sherry--fate of dan kelly and hart--statement of various prisoners made by the gang--the incident of the cannon. just as they were about to put this newly-conceived plan into operation, mrs. skillian, sister of the kellys, dressed in a dark riding-habit trimmed with scarlet, and wearing a jaunty hat adorned with a conspicuous white feather, appeared on the scene. father tierney earnestly requested her to go to the hotel and ask her brother and hart to surrender. she said she would like to see her brother before he died, but she would sooner see him burned in the house than ask him to surrender. this, in fact, was the procedure which the police had decided upon in order to bring the outlaws from their cover. some people by this time had arrived on the platform. the police opened up a heavy fire on the hotel from the front and rear. this was done in order to cover the operations of senior-constable johnstone, who rapidly approached the house on the north side with a bundle of straw, which he placed against the weather-boards and set fire to. it was known that martin sherry, an old man, was still in the house, and when the last prisoners had escaped he was alive, though badly wounded. the thought that the unfortunate man would be sacrificed, and perish in the flames with the determined bushrangers who had made so long a stand, caused a feeling of horror to pervade the crowd. kate kelly at this juncture came upon the scene, but the only expression which escaped her lips was the one uttered in heart-broken accents, "my poor, poor brother." mrs. skillian exclaimed, "i will see my brother before he dies," and then sped towards the hotel, from the roof of which by this time tongues of flame were beginning to ascend. the police ordered her to go back, and she hesitated. father tierney emerged from the crowd, saying he would save sherry. the brave clergyman was encouraged on his mission by a cheer from the spectators. he walked boldly to the front door, was lost to view amongst the smoke, and directly afterwards a mass of flames burst from the walls and roof of the dwelling at the same instant. a shout of terror from the crowd announced the fear that was felt for the safety of the courageous priest. constable armstrong, with some other policemen, rushed into the building from the rear, and a few seconds afterwards their forms, with that of father tierney, were seen to emerge, carrying with them sherry, who was in a dying state, and the dead body of the outlaw byrne. on reaching a place of safety they stated that dan kelly and hart were lying upon the floor apparently dead. nothing, however, could be done to rescue their remains from the fire. soon afterwards the building was completely demolished, and on a search being made amongst the ruins, two charred skeletons were raked out from the smouldering _débris_. wild, wright, hart (the brother of steve), and other well-known friends were witnesses of this terrible scene. all the bushrangers were clad in the same kind of armour as that worn by ned kelly, which weighed as much as ninety-seven pounds, and had evidently been constructed by some country blacksmith out of ploughshares. the marks on kelly's armour showed that he had been hit seventeen times with bullets. the unfortunate man sherry died soon after being rescued from the burning building. ned kelly was brought on to benalla by the evening train, and lodged in the lock-up, to await the inquest to be held in the morning. the statement of constable bracken is to the effect that the first intimation of the presence of the gang at glenrowan was on sunday night at eleven o'clock, when he was bailed up by ned kelly. he had been confined to bed through illness. whilst a prisoner in the hotel he courageously managed to steal the key of the front door, which enabled him to escape in time to warn the police that the outlaws were in the house. mr. john stanistreet, station-master at glenrowan, states--"about three o'clock on sunday morning a knock came to my door, at the gatehouse, within one hundred yards of the station, on the melbourne side. i jumped up, and thinking it was some one wanting to get through the gates in a hurry, i commenced to dress as soon as possible. i half dressed, and went to the door. just when i got there it was burst in, but previous to that there was some impatient talk, which caused me to dress quickly. when the door was burst in i asked, 'what is that for?' or 'who are you?' the answer was, 'i am ned kelly.' i then saw a man, clad in an overcoat, standing in the doorway. he pushed me into my bedroom, where my wife and some of the children were in bed. there were two girls and one infant besides my wife. then he said to me, 'you have to come with me and take up the rails.' 'wait,' said i, 'until i dress.' he said, 'yes,' and i completed my dressing and followed him out of the house. "on the line there were seven or eight men standing at the gate which crosses the line to mrs. jones's hotel, the glenrowan inn. he said, 'you direct those men how to raise some of the rails, as we expect a special train very soon.' i objected, saying, 'i know nothing about lifting rails off the line; the only persons who understand it are the repairers; they live outside and along the line.' ned kelly then went into reardon the plate-layer's house. reardon lives outside the line on the greta side, about a quarter of a mile away. steve hart was present, and kelly left us in his charge. when kelly went away hart gave me a prod with his rifle in the side, saying, 'you get the tools out that are necessary to raise those rails.' i said, 'i have not the key of the chest;' and he said, 'break the lock.' he told one of the men to do so, and on arriving at the station he got one of the men to do it. this was in the little back shed used as a store-room, between the station and the gatehouse. the tools were thrown out, and in the meantime reardon and sullivan, the line-repairers, arrived with ned kelly. these two men and ned proceeded down the line towards wangaratta to lift the rails. we were still under steve hart, and we remained where we were over two hours, and then ned kelly and the repairers returned. ned then inquired about the signalling of trains, as to how i stopped a train with the signal-lights. i said, '"white is right, red is wrong, and green is gently, come along."' he said, 'there is a special train coming; you give no signals.' speaking to hart he said, 'watch his countenance, and if he gives any signal, shoot him.' he then marched us into my residence, and left us there under steve hart. there were there then about seventeen altogether, other persons subsequently being placed in my house also. there were present reardon's family, the ryan family, cameron (son of the gatekeeper on the other line), sullivan, line-repairer, and others whom i do not remember. we were locked up all day on sunday, and were only allowed out under surveillance. the women were permitted to go to jones's hotel about five o'clock, and shortly afterwards all the men but me and my family went away. steve hart stopped with us, and during the night dan kelly relieved hart, and he was afterwards relieved by byrne. "just before the special train arrived i was ordered to the hotel by hart, who was on and off duty all the time, to follow him to jones's, and not signal the train. i went into the back kitchen, where mrs. jones and daughter, aged about fourteen, and two younger children were. there was also a man there named neil m'kew. by this time the train had arrived, and firing was going on furiously. i did not see ned kelly in the room. i with others stood in the chimney. i did not hear any remark passed by any of the gang, and they disappeared. a ball passed through the hut, and grazed miss jane jones, fourteen years of age, on the forehead. the girl said, 'i'm shot,' and turned to me. i saw the blood and told her it was nothing. the mother commenced to cry, and soon afterwards i left the kitchen, and went into the back-yard. i then saw three of the gang there standing behind the chimney. they had their rifles in their hands. one of them said, i don't know which, 'if you go out you'll be shot.' i walked straight down the path towards the house. the firing was then going on all round me, but i was uninjured. one of the police very nearly shot me, but i said 'station-master' when he challenged me. i forgot to mention that during sunday afternoon steve hart demanded and received my revolver." robert gibbons states--"i am a farmer, and have recently been stopping at glenrowan with mr. reynolds. i came to the railway-station about eight o'clock on sunday night with mr. reynolds to ask about his little boy, who had not been home. when we knocked at the door, mrs. stanistreet told us that mr. hart was inside, and that they had been stuck up ever since three o'clock on sunday morning. we followed her in, and saw steve hart. she told him who we were, and he then put his fire-arms down, giving us to understand that we were not to go out. we remained there about two hours, when ned kelly came, and hart ordered us to come out of the room. ned kelly then told us that we would all have to go down to the police-barracks with him. he kept us waiting there for about two hours, he having gone for bracken. he returned to us with bracken. he kept us waiting there about an hour and a half. byrne at that time was with us. there he told me and mr. reynolds we would have to go to jones's hotel. we went to the hotel, and he told us to get into the bar parlour. it was then about ten o'clock on sunday night, and we remained there until the train came. during that time the kellys were going about the place making themselves quite jolly. byrne was in charge of the back-door, the other door being locked. a little after three o'clock the train came. prior to that the gang drank quite freely with the others. when the train arrived, ned came and said, 'you are not to whisper a word that has been said here about me. if i hear of any one doing so i will shoot you.' he went to the door of the room and said, 'here she comes,' and then the gang busied themselves in making preparations, but for what i did not know. they came back and said the first man who left the room in which we were would be shot. two of them then mounted their horses, and rode away, but i could not tell which two. they came back in about ten minutes' time. when they came back, i saw that dan was one of the two who had gone away. dan went into a back room. all four in turn went into the same room. very soon afterwards a hurried move was made, and firing commenced. there must have been about forty men, women, and children in the house then. the women and children commenced to shriek, and mrs. jones's eldest daughter was wounded on the side of the head, and the eldest boy shot in the thigh. the bullets rattled through the side of the house, and we laid down. we were packed so close that we had to lie on our sides. it was those who laid next the door who prompted us to come out, and we did so because we feared that the bullets would come through faster than ever. we also feared a cannon would be used; and about ten o'clock we ran out. i heard some of them say that byrne, or one of the gang, was lying dead in the back. i know that dan was alive when i left." arthur loftus mauld steele states--"i am a sergeant of police at wangaratta. i arrived here with five men about five a.m. we were at once challenged by police, and answered, 'wangaratta police.' my men were then distributed around the hut, and i got to the tree near the back door of the hut. there was no firing then. a woman and child came to the back-door screaming, and i told the woman if she ran in quick she would not be molested. a man then came to the back-door, and i asked him to throw up his arms or i would fire on him. he was only about twenty-five yards distant. the man stooped and ran towards the stables and i fired. he then turned and ran back to the house, and i fired again. i am certain i hit him with the second shot, as he screamed and fell against the door. there was then some hot firing, and the bullets whistled all around me. the firing was kept up for some time, and some of the men behind me called out. it was then breaking day. i looked round, and saw a man stalking down. i thought he was a black-fellow, and called on the others to be careful. i then saw him present a revolver and fire at the police. i could see the bullets hitting him, and staggering him for a moment, with no further effect. i therefore thought he had armour on, and determined to have a close shot at him. i ran towards him, and when within ten yards of him he saw me, and turned round to fire at me. i then aimed at his legs, and he staggered, but he still tried to aim at me. i then fired the second barrel on the legs. we were then in the open. he fell, and cried, 'i'm done, i'm done.' i ran up to him then, and he again tried to shoot me, but i caught the revolver and pushed it down. i was behind him, and he could not turn on me quick enough to shoot me. whilst i held the revolver away from me he fired the revolver. senior-constable kelly then came up and assisted me to secure him. so did o'dwyer, and a host of others at once followed. we only found one revolver on him, and a bag of ammunition. we divested him of his armour. i was strained after the scuffle which ensued." senior-constable kelly states--"when we started from the platform we ran down towards the railway-gates, hearing that the gang were in jones's public-house. the men at that time had not sufficient time to scatter, and all made towards the hotel. as we approached, some one came out on the verandah and fired on us. mr. superintendent hare, with mr. rawlings, a volunteer from benalla, was close to me. mr. hare said, 'i am shot in the wrist,' but he continued to fire. we sought cover, and hare said to me, 'for god's sake, surround the house, and don't let them escape.' he then fired again, and gave the gun to rawlings. he then left, saying, 'kelly, place the men under cover,' and i placed the men around the house. mr. o'connor and his trackers took up a position in front of the hotel. i then went round towards the back of the premises. constable arthur was with me, and we crawled about yards. in this way we got to within about fifty yards of the house, at the back of a tree. in the scrub i found a revolving rifle covered with blood, and a padded skull-cap." [this was ned kelly's. being wounded in the thumb, he could not use his rifle.] "we kept strict watch, and fired upon any one who attempted to leave the hut. there were four horses saddled and tied up to the back-door. these we shot in order to prevent the sudden escape of the gang. when we left the station we met constable bracken, who told us that the gang were at jones's. he, i believe, jumped on one of our horses, and rode off to benalla to get further assistance, and at half-past six o'clock he returned with the wangaratta police, sergeant steele being at their head. we continued to fire, and at about eight o'clock, so far as i can remember, ned kelly made his appearance under the brow of the hill, yards from the hut. he deliberately fired at me. i returned the fire, and my men closed around him, sergeant steele being behind him, myself on one side, and dowsett, the railway-guard, on the other. about ten rifles were brought to bear on him, and we hit him several times. his heavy armour, however, protected him, and he walked boldly to and fro. near a fallen tree he fell, and we rushed forward. i caught him by the head as steele grasped his hand, in which he still held his revolver. he fired it, but did no damage. his armour was taken off, and he was carried to the railway-station, where he was searched, but only threepence was found on him, a silver geneva watch, and a lot of ammunition. i asked him to tell me where sergeant kennedy's watch was, and he said, 'i cannot tell you; i would not like to tell you about it.' he also said, 'i had to shoot sergeant kennedy and scanlan for my own safety. i cannot tell you any more.' we then gave him over to the medical gentleman and mr. sadleir." during the forenoon colonel anderson received information from captain standish that in order to dislodge the two remaining members of the gang without endangering any further life, the hotel would have to be blown down, and as the best means for accomplishing that object, a small cannon would probably be required. the commandant, telegraphing for further particulars in order to guide him in the selection of a gun, received from superintendent sadleir the following reply--"glenrowan.--weather-board, brick chimneys, slab kitchen. the difficulty we feel is that our shots have no effect on the corner, and there are so many windows that we should be under fire all the day. we must get the gun before night, or rush the place." immediately upon the receipt of this message, colonel anderson arranged for the supply of a twelve-pound armstrong gun, which was quickly placed upon a truck at the spencer-street station. a special train was soon in readiness, and at twenty minutes past two it departed, carrying the formidable-looking weapon, a detachment of the garrison artillery under lieutenant nicholson, and the commandant himself. the train, in order to land the gun at the scene of action while it was yet daylight, started at a pre-arranged rate of forty miles per hour. seymour was reached in due average time, but before the soldiers had time to step upon the platform, came the not altogether unexpected, though disappointing, news that the gun was no longer required, as the whole of the outlaws had been taken. the train proceeded no further, and the gun, officers, and men returned by the first passenger goods-train to melbourne. on saturday night, at six o'clock, the chief secretary was informed by telegram of the murder at sebastopol, and he at once communicated with captain standish, chief commissioner of police, with whom he consulted. seeing the gravity of the situation, and remembering how previously the gang had always managed to obtain a good start of the police after the commission of their outrages, it was decided to despatch a special train to beechworth at once. the minister of railways was informed of that determination, and without delay a train was got in readiness. superintendent hare, who was at benalla, was telegraphed to, and instructed to proceed to beechworth, and the black trackers, under lieutenant o'connor, who were at essendon, where they were staying previously to their return to queensland, were also apprised of the fact that they were required. as their engagement to the victorian government had expired, captain standish telegraphed to the commissioner of police at brisbane, and requested that they might be allowed to remain, but that permission was refused. mr. ramsay, however, would not allow the government to be so curtly treated, and he communicated with mr. palmer, chief secretary of queensland, and at two o'clock on sunday morning he obtained the required permit. in the meantime--at about a quarter to ten--the train left spencer street with the tracking party. at a later period of the day--about nine a.m.--when the news of the commencement of the fight at glenrowan was received, the commissioner and the chief secretary again consulted, and it was then arranged that a reinforcement of police should be despatched, and an ample supply of ammunition was ordered to be sent up with it. as it would be almost impossible for any firing to take place without some of the men being injured, it was considered necessary that an experienced surgeon should also be sent to the scene, and accordingly dr. charles ryan, who, it is well known, was attached to the medical staff at plevna during the russo-turkish war and the bombardment of that town, was requested to place his services at the disposal of the authorities. he consented, and at about ten o'clock another special, taking captain standish, dr. ryan, senior-constable walsh and five other constables, and a quantity of ammunition, left for glenrowan. the circumstances of the wounding of superintendent hare, and the commencement of the attack; that ned kelly had been wounded and captured; that he had been discovered to be wearing a breastplate of iron, a mask, and helmet; that his wounds were not considered to be mortal, were all duly telegraphed. [illustration: group taken during the fight.] at twenty minutes to eleven a.m., it was officially intimated that the civilians had been liberated from the hotel; that byrne had been shot; and that dan kelly and hart maintained possession, and were firing in reply to the incessant firing by the police. as there appeared to be every likelihood that, if the fight was continued, some of the police might be seriously injured, the chief secretary instructed captain standish, if possible, to blow the house up, but before doing so to see that none but members of the gang were in it. colonel anderson was summoned to a consultation with a view to steps being taken to effect that object, and the result was that at twenty minutes past two p.m. a third special, conveying that officer and a detachment of artillery, with a -pounder field-piece, left for glenrowan, but as the termination of the conflict before the arrival of the train at benalla rendered it unnecessary that it should proceed further, it was detained at that place. the chief secretary also advised by telegram that a wooden bullet-proof shield should be constructed to be fitted on a dray or wagon, under cover of which the attacking party might approach the house and effect its ruin, always assuming that the gang were the sole occupants. it was also feared by mr. ramsay that the fight would not be concluded before nightfall, and that if that was so, the outlaws might escape in the dark. he therefore consulted with mr. ellery, the government astronomer, and asked his advice as to the practicability of sending up an electric-light apparatus, but that gentleman expressed the opinion that it would be of little utility adopting such a course, as it would take quite twenty-four hours after the apparatus arrived on the ground to get it fairly at work. to carry out the same idea, however, mr. ramsay telegraphed suggesting that large bonfires should be burnt round the house so as to give the required light and prevent the bushrangers escaping. but all these precautions were not required to be put in practice, as before sundown the final scene in the tragedy had been enacted. his excellency the governor telegraphed about noon to superintendent hare, congratulating him on the bravery displayed by himself and his men, and encouraging them in the struggle in which they were engaged. the chief secretary, on behalf of the government, also telegraphed to mr. hare to the same effect; and at twenty minutes past one p.m., sir henry parkes, premier of the government of new south wales, telegraphed to the victorian government, expressing the great satisfaction which was experienced in sydney at the prospect of a speedy destruction of the gang, and congratulating the government. the change which had been lately made in the control of the police in the kelly district gave rise at the time it was decided upon to some comment. mr. ramsay states that on assuming office he made the determination that, if possible, the kellys should be discovered without delay. he accordingly summoned assistant-commissioner nicholson, who was in charge of the police in the district, and told him of the dissatisfaction which was experienced at the absence of results from the presence of the force there. he reminded him that he had been there for ten months, but that nothing had been done, and said that unless within a reasonable time something definite was effected or ascertained, an alteration of the arrangements would be made. mr. nicholson requested to be allowed a month longer, but he eventually returned to his position as assistant-commissioner at melbourne. mr. hare, who had been engaged in the capture of power, the notorious bushranger, was spoken to as to his filling the vacancy. in mr. ramsay's opinion he had been very badly treated, inasmuch as he had not received any recognition of the services he had rendered to the colony on that occasion. he had had his salary increased by £ a year at the time that superintendent winch's was also added to, but under the _régime_ of the late government his salary had been reduced by parliament, whilst mr. winch's was continued. he was regarded as being specially qualified for the duty which he was required to perform, and he was instructed to choose the best men and officers in the force with whom to act. he was further assured that he would be untrammelled by any official rules and regulations. the chief secretary received a later telegram from the chief secretary of queensland in the forenoon, which stated that from what had been reported officially, and had been communicated by residents of queensland who had visited victoria, it appeared that a considerable amount of jealousy was evinced by the victorian police with respect to the trackers, and that unless they were allowed to go to the front at once, it was little use their being required to do so, because if the white police preceded them and effaced the tracks, they could not do their work. the outlaws were disposed of in time to give the police a claim to the reward of £ offered by the governments of victoria and new south wales. for it was notified on the th of april that the reward would be withdrawn on the th of july. at the inquest on the body of aaron sherritt, held at the vine hotel, beechworth, before mr. w.h. foster, p.m., the jury having been empanelled, the following evidence was heard:-- john sherritt, father of deceased, deposed that he had seen the body of the deceased, and identified it as that of his son aaron, aged twenty-five years. he did not know from his personal knowledge how his son came by his death. william sherritt, brother of the deceased, identified the body as that of his brother, but did not know from personal knowledge how he came by his death. ellen barry stated--"i am deceased's mother-in-law, and identify the body as that of my late son-in-law. i was at aaron sherritt's house on saturday last, and was present at his death. i was at the house between six and seven o'clock, half an hour before the outlaws arrived. there were also my daughter and the deceased present. i was sitting at the fire when we heard a knock at the door. the deceased and his wife were having tea. there was a candle alight in the room in which i was sitting. an ordinary knock was given at the back-door, that being the first sign we got of any one being about. aaron answered the knock, and said, 'who's there?' and he heard antone wicks reply, 'i have lost my road, sherritt; come and put me on the road.' i heard no other noise at the time. the deceased then opened the door and put his head out. i heard something said outside, but could not say what. the deceased appeared to be inclined to step back into the room, but before he could retreat a shot was fired from outside--by whom i do not know. the shot was fired very close to the door, and as soon as deceased was struck he stepped backwards into the centre of the room. after the first shot, joe byrne stepped up to the door and fired a second shot at the deceased, who was still standing in the centre of the room. deceased then fell back to the ground. byrne remained at the door for a short time. my daughter then asked, 'joe, why did you shoot aaron?' and byrne replied, 'if i did not, he would shoot me.' byrne, who had a gun in his hand, was in sight during the whole of the conversation. byrne then told me to open the door opposite the one at which he stood. i did so, and saw dan kelly outside with a gun in his hand. i was then allowed to go outside. when outside byrne asked me, 'is there a window in front of the house?' i said, 'yes,' and byrne called out, 'look out, dan; there is a window in the front of the house.' dan kelly then joined me and byrne, and i recognized him. he afterwards returned to the front of the house. about five or ten minutes elapsed from the time i heard the knock until i saw dan kelly. two shots had been fired by byrne before i went outside, and he afterwards fired two shots at the bedroom. byrne was directly in front of the house when he fired at the bedroom." chapter xiv. the outlaws' plans--execution of ned kelly--habits and customs of the gang--katie kelly's behaviour--kelly's distrust of hart--the cost of the destruction of the gang. it was noticed by the constables who surrounded the hotel that a number of horses, saddled and bridled, were ready to be used by the outlaws; some of them were horses recently reported as stolen, and others were those which we had frequently seen ridden by kelly's sisters. the constables shot some of them so as to prevent the escape of the outlaws. the prisoners were allowed out soon after daylight, and when the last of them came away, only steve hart and dan kelly were alive in the hotel. the police say hart and dan kelly kept firing out of the windows up to one or two o'clock in the day, but having the armour on they were unable to take accurate aim. i have no hesitation in saying that had they been without armour when we first attacked them at the hotel, and could have taken proper aim at us, not one of us could have escaped being shot. they were obliged to hold the rifle at arm's-length to get anything of a sight. when i was hit i had my arm under my gun and was running towards them; they were on my right front, the butt of my gun was under my elbow with the left hand under the barrels, ready to be used in a moment. had it been an inch higher or lower it would have missed me. the outlaws had provided themselves with another set of horses on the opposite side of the railway, so that had they been obliged to cross the line in a hurry, they would have been able to mount their horses and get off in a moment. the plan they arranged was as follows:-- joe byrne and dan kelly went to woolshed to shoot aaron sherritt on saturday night, whilst ned and steve hart were to go to glenrowan and pull up the rails. they knew it was our habit, whenever they showed themselves in any part of the district, immediately to get a special train and go to the spot and start on their tracks. they knew, therefore, directly the news reached benalla that sherritt was shot, i should start off with a party of police and black trackers to pick up their trail. no trains ran on that line on sundays; therefore, the only one likely to come along would be a "special," with a party of police. there was no telegraph station at glenrowan, and the special would not stop there. they thought that the train would get up great speed going down the incline after passing glenrowan, and it would be smashed up and most of the party killed. they were then to jump on to their horses and go to the spot, and finish off those who had escaped. the line was taken up about half a mile from glenrowan. they would then have started off to benalla, robbed all the banks, and probably secured £ or £ . if they had worn their armour with overcoats they might have been shot at fifty times without being injured. they had arranged to have placed one of their number on the bridge in benalla, so as to prevent any person giving information concerning them. the police were all on the opposite side of the river, and it was their intention to blow up the railway bridge at benalla, so as to stop the traffic on the line. i believe they had a keg of gunpowder and fuse ready for the purpose at glenrowan. this was what mrs. byrne alluded to when she said they were about "to do something that would astonish not only all the colonies, but the whole world." had they succeeded in wrecking our train that morning, there would have been fearful carnage afterwards. there is no question of doubt that at glenrowan they had parties of scouts, both in the hotel and outside of it; most of them, no doubt, were their own relations, and their name was legion. the kellys were very short of cash when they stuck up glenrowan. their sisters were in debt everywhere, and they were compelled to make a raid in order to get money. about a fortnight before they were captured, i was speaking to the owner of a hotel not far from glenrowan. he told me the outlaws were in debt to him to the amount of £ . i asked him how he ever expected to be paid. he replied--"oh, they will get another bank some of these days." i said to him, "i suppose you will be very sorry when they are captured?" "no," he said, "i won't. i am getting tired of them. they give us a lot of trouble--destroy our fences and injure our property, and we dare not say a word about it. if we did we would only get the worst of it." notwithstanding all kelly's boasted pluck and bounce, how game he would die, &c., he was the only one who in any way showed the white feather. when the constables ran up to him after steele had hold of him, he begged for mercy, and asked them to spare his life. there is no doubt that, had he been able to walk, he would have gone off, leaving his comrades behind him in the hotel. it was always said that dan kelly was the most blood-thirsty wretch of the whole gang, and that ned had the greatest difficulty in restraining him from shooting every person he came across. after the building was burnt, the charred remains of dan kelly and steve hart were pulled out of the fire and were given over to their relatives; joe byrne's remains were taken to benalla, and an inquest held on them. ned kelly was taken to benalla, and next day he was forwarded to the melbourne gaol, where he was for some weeks under the care of dr. shields. subsequently he was sent up to beechworth, where he was committed for trial, and then sent back to melbourne, where he was tried and sentenced to be hanged. he had quite recovered from his wounds before he was executed. he was allowed to see his mother, who was an inmate in the melbourne gaol, the day before his execution, and say good-bye to her. her last words to him were, "mind you die like a kelly." the coroner who held the inquest on ned kelly told me he seldom saw a man show so little pluck, and if it had not been for his priest, who kept him up, he would not have been able to walk to the gallows. as for myself, i was sent to melbourne the day after the fight, under the care of dr. ryan, who bestowed the greatest attention on me for some months. my wound was more serious than i thought. to use the words of the police commission--"in the very first volley superintendent hare received a bullet wound in the left wrist which rendered his arm useless. the ball passed through the limb, shattering the bone and severing the artery." i should like to add a few remarks as to the origin of this outbreak and the disordered state of the district. for years this part of the colony had been infested with horse and cattle-stealers. the number of relations which the kelly family possessed all over the colony was surprising. there was hardly a district in victoria, and also in some parts of new south wales, that they could not have found a blood-relation to have assisted in harbouring them. joe byrne was better educated than any of his companions. he was very fond of writing, and was a bit of a poet. a great deal of his writings fell into our hands. they were chiefly directed against the police. aaron sherritt told me that when they contemplated committing a robbery, such as sticking up a bank, byrne wrote down the contemplated plan, and then the party decided what part each of them was to take in the affair. they were most particular about where they camped not to leave any marks behind them. on one occasion, when talking to aaron, i inadvertently broke a twig off a tree and began breaking up the leaves. he immediately stopped me, and said, "you would never do for a bushranger." i said, "why not?" he replied, "if ned kelly saw any of his men break a twig off a tree when he was camped, he would have an awful row with them." when the outlaws travelled on horse-back they never carried anything beyond one overcoat. this had to cover them day and night, and it seemed to me wonderful that men could exist in this manner. sherritt quite astonished me by the way in which he used to dress in the coldest weather. i asked him if the kellys were as hardy as he was, and could do without sleep as he could. he said that ned kelly was ten times as hardy. under the altered conditions which now exist, and the progress of settlement, there is no likelihood of another kelly episode in the history of the colony. i hardly think any one out of australia could possibly conceive the hardships that men of this stamp can endure. they have an extraordinary way of sleeping; they coil themselves up like dogs. i remember one night finding aaron on my door-mat, about one o'clock in the morning. he came to my quarters, and not finding me, he lay down and fell asleep; his head appeared between his knees, and he said, when camping out he always slept in that position. he could go without sleep for a longer period than any other man i ever met, and he said that the kellys could do the same. it was doubtless a most fortunate occurrence that aaron was shot by the outlaws; it was impossible to reclaim him, and the government of the colony would not have assisted him in any way, and he would have gone back to his old course of life, and probably spent his days in gaol, or he might have turned bushranger himself, when he would have been quite as dangerous a man as edward kelly. the government gave his widow a comfortable allowance, and she was much better off without him. katie kelly, no doubt, was a most loyal sister to her brothers, and must have sacrificed a great deal for them; day and night she was always on the alert, and assisting them in every possible way. of course she was very flash, and liked being noticed. when appearing in any of the townships, she always rode a good horse and wore a lot of jewellery; but it was noticed that if there was a long interval between the bank robberies, the jewellery disappeared. katie behaved in a most disgusting manner after ned was hanged; the evening of his execution in melbourne she appeared on the stage of a music-hall with a bunch of flowers in her hand, together with her brother jim, and exhibited herself to the public on payment of a shilling entrance-fee. when the curtain rose, she smiled and bowed to the audience, and felt proud of having so much notice taken of her. the government put a stop to these exhibitions, and she afterwards went to sydney, but she was not allowed to exhibit herself there either. the notes stolen from euroa by the outlaws were very soon afterwards circulated amongst their friends. they were aware the numbers of the notes were not known, and persons passing them could not be convicted of receiving stolen property; and all debts incurred by their relations were at once paid with national bank notes, which were, without doubt, the proceeds of the robbery. subsequently the bank authorities took the numbers of all notes sent to their country branches, so as to endeavour, if possible, should another robbery take place, to be able to trace them. but in this case there was a further point in which the officials failed, for they neglected to take the numbers of the notes they paid over the counter, and when the stolen notes got into circulation, they found they bore the same numbers as those sent from sydney to jerilderie, but they could not swear they had not been paid over the counter. it was currently reported that steve hart, who was a very undersized man, was in the habit of riding about the country dressed as a woman. i never believed it, and i feel sure ned kelly would not have trusted him away from himself, for fear of his surrendering and turning informer against his companions. wherever ned kelly was seen, hart was always with him, and byrne and dan kelly went together. the horses stolen from the police at jerilderie were some months afterwards found in the mountains at the head of the king river in victoria, which the gang were known to frequent. it was a strange coincidence that none of the rifles stolen by the outlaws from the police at jerilderie or the wombat ranges were used by them at glenrowan, but they had most inferior and obsolete repeating-rifles which had been cut short, and no proper aim could be taken with them, as they were not sighted. jerilderie is about miles from benalla and the outlaws, with a change of horses, could have been back in their hiding-places in thirty-six hours after they left jerilderie. possibly they would ride by night only, and lie in the thick scrub during the day. parties of police were sent out to watch the different crossing-places directly we received information of the robbery; but at that season of the year, the murray being low, there were dozens of places where they could cross, and no one knew the river better than they did, and in consequence they were able to return without being interfered with. i need hardly say that the cost of the search for, and the subsequent destruction of, the kelly gang came to a very large sum. mounted constables were brought from all parts of victoria and stationed in the kelly country; besides, special men were engaged, and many incidental expenses incurred. after the destruction of the gang a return was asked for in the legislative assembly showing the cost of effecting the capture of the outlaws, and it was then stated that a sum of thirty or forty thousand pounds had been spent; whereas if the salaries and wages of those engaged in the search had been included in this estimate, the cost would have been over £ , --a large price to pay for the capture of four desperadoes and the destruction of a gang of malefactors. however, this apparently excessive expenditure on a series of thief-catching expeditions has had results which reach further, and are of much greater value to the colony of victoria; for the habitual criminal in australia has been taught that, however romantic and exciting the career of the bushranger may appear, as a trade bushranging "does not pay"; while the criminal classes have been shown that the government of the colony is not to be played with, that crime will be followed up and put down with a determined hand, and that no considerations of economy, no saving of trouble, no sacrifice of time, energy, or even life will be allowed to stand in the way when the law has to be upheld by the executive. to the wisdom of such a policy let this fact bear witness--the execution of the last of the kelly gang destroyed the "last of the bushrangers." the end. * * * * * _richard clay & sons, limited, london & bungay._ made available by the hathitrust digital library.) the flying girl series the flying girl and her chum [illustration: "well, i declare!" exclaimed orissa, sitting up.] the flying girl and her chum by edith van dyne author of the flying girl; aunt jane's nieces series etc. illustrated by joseph pierre nuyttens [illustration] the reilly & britton co. chicago copyright, by the reilly & britton co. _the flying girl and her chum_ contents chapter page i the girl with the yacht ii the girl with the aËroplane iii a prodigy in aeronautics iv the aluminum chest v the last drop of gasoline vi castaways vii two girls and one island viii an owl concert ix miss columbus and miss crusoe x madeline dentry's proposition xi a game of checkers xii the quest of the "salvador" xiii capricious fate xiv on the bluff xv boat ahoy! xvi an island kingdom xvii don miguel del borgitis xviii the mask off xix an exciting race xx besieged xxi capturing an aËroplane xxii ramon ganza xxiii a desperate alternative xxiv the diplomacy of chesty todd xxv scuttled xxvi orissa returns xxvii facing the crisis xxviii the prisoner xxix orissa decides list of illustrations "well, i declare!" exclaimed orissa, sitting up. _frontispiece_ "it--it has run away with 'em, steve. it's gone wrong, man; there's danger ahead!" _page_ suddenly a huge form filled the doorway, inspecting the newcomers with a quick, comprehensive glance. _page_ madeline, seated at the table, studied the faces before her curiously, while an amused smile played around her lips. "we cannot accept our enemy's proposition," she announced. _page_ the flying girl and her chum chapter i the girl with the yacht perhaps they call them "parlor" cars because they bear so little resemblance to the traditional parlor--a word and a room now sadly out of style. in reality they are ordinary cars with two rows of swivel seats down the center; seats supposed to pivot in every direction unless their action is impeded by the passenger's hand baggage, which the porter promptly piles around the chairs, leaving one barely room to place his feet and no chance at all to swing the seat. thus imprisoned, you ride thoughtfully on your way, wondering if the exclusive "parlor car" is really worth the extra fee. however, those going to san diego, in the southland of california, are obliged to choose between plebeian coaches and the so-called "parlor" outfit, and on a mild, sunny morning in february the san diego train rolled out of the los angeles depot with every swivel seat in the car de luxe occupied by a passenger. they were a mixed assemblage, mostly tourists bound for colorado, yet quite unknown to one another; or, at least, not on speaking terms. there was a spanish-looking gentleman in white; two prim, elderly damsels in black; a mamma with three subdued children and a maid, and a fat man who read a book and scowled at every neighbor who ventured a remark louder than a whisper. forward in the car the first three seats were taken by a party from new york, and this little group of travelers attracted more than one curious glance. "that," murmured one of the prim ladies to the other, "is madeline dentry, the famous heiress. no one knows how many millions she has just inherited, but she is said to be one of the richest girls in america. the stout lady is her chaperon; i believe--she's a distant relative--an aunt, or something--and the thin, nervous man, the stout lady's husband, is madeline dentry's financial manager." "i know," replied the other, nodding; "he used to be her guardian before she came of legal age, a month or so ago. his name is tupper--martin j. tupper--and i'm told he is well connected." "he is, indeed, to have the handling of madeline's millions." "i mean in a family way. the dentrys were nobodies, you know, until madeline's father cornered the mica mines of the world and made his millions; but the tuppers were a grand old baltimore family in the days of washington, always poor as poverty and eminently aristocratic." "do you know the tuppers?" "i have never met them. i strongly disapprove of their close association with miss dentry--a fly-away miss who kept bryn mawr in a turmoil while she was a student there, and is now making an absurd use of her money." "in what way?" "haven't you heard? she has purchased lord tweedmonk's magnificent yacht, and has had it taken to san diego harbor. i was told by the bell boy at the los angeles hotel--bell boys are singularly well-informed, i have observed--that madeline dentry is to take her new yacht on a cruise to hawaii and japan. she is probably now on her way to see her extravagant and foolish plaything." "dreadful!" said the other, with a shudder. "i wonder how anyone can squander a fortune on a yacht when all those poor heathens are starving in china. what a pity the girl has no mother to guide her!" "tell me about the beautiful girl seated next to madeline." "i do not know who she is. some stranger to the rich young lady, i imagine. they're not speaking. yes, she is really beautiful, that girl. her eyes are wonderful, and her coloring perfect." "and she seems so modest and diffident." "evidence of good breeding, whoever she may be; quite the opposite of madeline dentry, whose people have always been rapid and rude." the fat gentleman was now glaring at the old ladies so ferociously that they became awed and relapsed into silence. the others in the car seemed moodily reserved. mr. martin j. tupper read a newspaper. his stolid wife, seated beside him, closed her eyes and napped. madeline dentry, abandoning a book that was not interesting, turned a casual glance upon her neighbor in the next chair--the beautiful girl who had won the approval of the two old maids. madeline herself had a piquant, attractive countenance, but her neighbor was gazing dreamily out of the window and seemed not to have noticed her. in this listless attitude she might be inspected at leisure, and madeline was astonished at the perfect profile, the sheen of her magnificent hair, the rich warm tintings of a skin innocent of powders or cosmetics. critically the rich young lady glanced at the girl's attire. it was exceedingly simple but of costly material. she wore no jewels or ornaments, nor did she need them to enhance her attractiveness. perhaps feeling herself under observation, the girl slowly turned her head until her eyes met those of madeline. they were gloriously blue eyes, calm and intelligent, wide open and fearless. yet with a faint smile she quickly withdrew them before madeline's earnest gaze. "will you have a chocolate?" "thank you." the strong hand with its well-shaped fingers did not fumble in madeline's box of bonbons. she took a chocolate, smiled again, and with a half shy glance into her neighbor's face proceeded to nibble the confection. madeline was charmed. "are you traveling alone?" she asked. "yes. i am to meet my brother and--some friends--in san diego." "i am miss dentry--madeline dentry. my home is in new york." "and mine is in los angeles. i am not straying very far away, you see." madeline was piqued that her hint was disregarded. "and your name!" she asked sweetly. the girl hesitated an instant. then she said: "i am miss kane." mr. tupper looked up from his newspaper. "kane?" he repeated. "bless me! that's the name of the flying girl." "so it is," admitted miss kane, with a little laugh. "but flying is not in your line, i imagine," said madeline, admiring anew the dainty personality of her chance acquaintance. "at present our train is dragging, rather than flying," was the merry response. mr. tupper was interested. he carefully folded his paper and joined in the conversation. "the idea of any girl attempting to do stunts in the air!" he remarked disdainfully. "your namesake, miss kane, deserves to break her venturesome, unmaidenly neck--as she probably will, in the near future." "nonsense, uncle!" cried madeline; "orissa kane, so far as i've read of her--and i've read everything i could find--is not at all unmaidenly. she's venturesome, if you like, and manages an aëroplane better than many of the bird-men can; but i see nothing more unwomanly in flying than in running an automobile, and you know _i_ do that to perfection. this flying girl, as she is called, is famous all over america for her daring, her coolness in emergencies and her exceptional skill. i want to see her fly, while i'm out here, for i understand there's to be an aviation meet of some sort in san diego next week, and that orissa kane is engaged to take part in it." "flying is good sport, i admit," said mr. tupper, "but it would give me the shivers to see a girl attempt it. and, once a machine is in the air, you can't tell whether a man or woman is flying it; they all look alike to the watcher below. don't go to this aviation meet, madeline; you've seen girls fly. there was miss moissant, at garden city----" "she barely got off the ground," said miss dentry. "and there was blanche scott----" "they're all imitators of orissa kane!" declared madeline impatiently. "there's only one real flying girl, uncle, and if she's on the program at the san diego meet i'm going to see her." "you'll be disappointed," averred the gentleman. "she's a native of these parts, they say; i presume some big-boned, masculine, orange-picking female----" "wrong again, sir! the reporters all rave about her. they say she has a charming personality, is lovely and sweet and modest and--and----" she paused, her eyes dilating a little as she marked the red flush creeping over miss kane's neck and face. then madeline drew in her breath sharply and cast a warning glance at her uncle. mr. tupper, however, was obtuse. he knew nothing of madeline's suspicions. "have you ever seen this dare-devil namesake of yours, miss kane?" he asked indifferently. "yes, sir," she answered in a quiet tone. "and what did you think of her?" madeline was powerless to stop him. miss kane, however, looked at her questioner with candid eyes, a frank smile upon her beautiful face. "she has a fine aëroplane," was her reply. "her brother invented it, you know. it's the kane aircraft, the safest and speediest yet made, and stephen kane has taught his sister how to handle it. that she flies his aircraft successfully is due, i am sure, to her brother's genius; not to any especial merit of her own." mr. tupper was staring now, and beginning to think. he remembered reading a similar assertion attributed to orissa kane, the flying girl, who always insisted on crediting her brother with whatever success she achieved. perhaps this girl had read it, too; or, perhaps---- he began to "put two and two together." southern california was the favorite haunt of the flying girl; there was to be an aviation meet presently at san diego; and on this train, bound for san diego, was riding a certain miss kane who answered to madeline's description of the aërial heroine--a description he now remembered to have often read himself. uncertain what to say, he asked haltingly: "do you call it 'aviatrix' or 'aviatrice'? the feminine of 'aviator,' you know." "i should say 'aviatress,' now that you appeal to me," was the laughing reply. "some of the newspaper men, who love to coin new words, have tried to saddle 'aviatrice' on the girl aviator, and the french have dubbed her 'aviatrix' without rhyme or reason. it seems to me that if 'seamstress,' 'governess' or 'hostess' is proper, 'aviatress' is also correct and, moreover, it is thoroughly american. but in--in the profession--on the aviation field--they call themselves 'aviators,' whether men or women, just as an author is always an 'author,' regardless of sex." mr. tupper had made up his mind, by this time. he reasoned that a girl who talked so professionally of aviation terms must be something more than a novice, and straggled to remember if he had inadvertently said anything to annoy or humiliate miss kane. for, if the little maid so demurely seated before him was indeed the famous flying girl, the gentleman admitted he had good reason to admire her. madeline was watching his embarrassment with an expression of amusement, but would not help him out of his dilemma. so mr. tupper went straight to the heart of the misunderstanding, as perhaps was best under the circumstances. "your first name is orissa?" he inquired, gently. "it is, sir." "won't you have another chocolate!" asked madeline. orissa took another chocolate, reflecting how impossible it seemed to hide her identity, even from utter strangers. not that she regretted, in any way, the celebrity she had gained by flying her brother stephen's aircraft, but it would have been so nice to have ridden to-day with these pleasant people without listening to the perfunctory words of praise and adulation so persistently lavished upon her since she had acquired fame. "i knew cumberford some years ago," continued mr. tupper, rather aimlessly. "cumberford's your manager, i believe!" "yes, sir; and my brother's partner." "good chap, cumberford. had a queer daughter, i remember; an impossible child, with the airs of a princess and the eyes of a sorceress. she's grown up, by this time, i suppose." miss kane smiled. "sybil cumberford is my best chum," she replied. "the description still applies, so far as the airs and eyes are concerned; but the child is a young lady now, and a very lovable young lady, her friends think." "doubtless, doubtless," mr. tupper said hastily. "if cumberford is in san diego i shall be glad to renew our acquaintance." "you are bound for coronado, i suppose," remarked orissa, to change the subject. "only for a few days' stay," madeline answered. "then we expect to make a sea voyage to honolulu." "that will be delightful," said the girl. "i've lived many years on the shores of the pacific, but have never made a voyage farther to sea than catalina. i'm told honolulu is a fascinating place; but it needs be to draw one away from coronado." "you like coronado, then?" "all this south country is a real paradise," declared orissa. "i have had opportunity to compare it with other parts of america, and love it better after each comparison. but i am ignorant of foreign countries, and can only say that if they excel southern california they are too good for humans to live in and ought to be sacred to the fairies." madeline laughed gayly. "i know you now!" she exclaimed; "you are what is called out here a 'booster.' but from my limited experience in your earthly paradise i cannot blame you." "yes, we are all 'boosters,'" asserted the younger girl, "and i'm positive you will join our ranks presently. i love this country especially because one can fly here winter and summer." "you are fond of flying?" "yes. at first i didn't care very much for it, but it grows on one until its fascinations are irresistible. i have the most glorious sense of freedom when i'm in the air--way up, where i love best to be--but during my recent exhibitions in the east i nearly froze making the high flights. it is a little cold even here when you are half a mile up, but it is by no means unbearable." "they call you a 'dare-devil,' in the newspapers," remarked mr. tupper, eyeing her reflectively; "but i can scarcely believe one so--so young and--and--girlish has ventured to do all the foolish aërial tricks you are credited with." mrs. tupper had by this time opened her eyes and was now listening in amazement. "yes," she added, reprovingly, "all those spiral dips and volplaning and--and--figure-eights are more suited to a circus performer than to a young girl, it seems to me." this lady's face persistently wore a bland and unmeaning smile, which had been so carefully cultivated in her youth that it had become habitual and wreathed her chubby features even when she was asleep, giving one the impression that she wore a mask. now her stern eyes belied the smirk of her face, but orissa merely smiled. "i am not a 'dare-devil,' i assure you," she said, addressing mr. tupper rather than his wife. "i know the newspapers call me that, and compare me with the witch on a broomstick; but in truth i am as calculating and cold as any aviator in america. everything i do is figured out with mathematical precision and i never take a single chance that i can foresee. i know the air currents, and all their whims and peculiarities, and how to counteract them. what may seem to the spectators to be daring, and even desperate, is often the safest mode of flying, provided you understand your machine and the conditions of the air. to volplane from a height of five or ten thousand feet, for example, is safer than from a slight elevation, for the further you drop the better air-cushion is formed under your planes, and you ride as gently as when suspended from a parachute." madeline was listening eagerly. "are you afraid?" she asked. "afraid? why should i be, with my brother's wonderful engine at my back and perfect control of every part of my machine?" "suppose the engine should some time fail you?" "then i would volplane to the ground." "and if the planes, or braces, or fastenings break?" "no fear of that. the kane aircraft is strong enough for any aërial purpose and i examine every brace and strut before i start my fight--merely to satisfy myself they have not been maliciously tampered with." then madeline sprung her important question: "do you ever take a passenger?" orissa regarded miss dentry with a whimsical smile. "sometimes," she said. "do you imagine you would like to fly?" "no--no, indeed!" cried mr. tupper in a horrified voice, and mrs. tupper echoed; "how absurd!" but madeline answered quietly: "if you could manage to take me i am sure i would enjoy the experience." "i will consider it and let you know later," said the flying girl, thoughtfully. "my chum, sybil cumberford, has made several short flights with me; but sybil's head is perfectly balanced and no altitude affects it. often those who believe they would enjoy flying become terrified once they are in the air." "nothing could terrify madeline, i am sure," asserted mrs. tupper, in a rasping voice; "but she is too important a personage to risk her life foolishly. i shall insist that she at once abandon the preposterous idea. abandon it, madeline! i thought your new yacht a venturesome thing to indulge in, but flying is far, far worse." "oh; have you a yacht?" inquired orissa, turning eagerly to the other girl. "yes; the _salvador_. it is now lying in san diego harbor. i've not seen my new craft as yet, but intend it shall take us to honolulu and perhaps to japan." "how delightful," cried orissa, with enthusiasm. "would you like to join our party?" "oh, thank you; i couldn't," quite regretfully; "i am too busy just now advancing the fortunes of my brother stephen, who is really the most clever inventor of aëroplanes in the world. don't smile, please; he is, indeed! the world may not admit it as yet, but it soon will. have you heard of his latest contrivance? it is a hydro-aircraft, and its engines propel it equally as well on water as on land." "then it beats my yacht," said madeline, smiling. "it is more adaptable--more versatile--to be sure," said orissa. "stephen has just completed his first hydro-aircraft, and while i am in san diego i shall test it and make a long trip over the pacific ocean to exploit its powers. such a machine would not take the place of a yacht, you know, and the motor boat attachment is merely a safety device to allow one to fly over water as well as over land. then, if you are obliged to descend, your aircraft becomes a motor boat and the engines propel it to the shore." "does your brother use the gnome engines?" inquired mr. tupper. "no; stephen makes his own engines, which i think are better than any others," answered miss kane. by the time the train drew into the station at san diego, madeline dentry and her companions, the tuppers, knew considerably more of aëroplanes than the average layman, for orissa kane enjoyed explaining the various machines and, young and unassuming as she appeared, understood every minute detail of their manufacture. she had been her brother's assistant and companion from the time of his first experiments and intelligently followed the creation and development of the now famous kane aircraft. at the depot a large crowd was in waiting, not gathered to meet the great heiress, madeline dentry, but the quiet slip of a girl whose name was on every tongue and whose marvelous skill as a bird-maid had aroused the admiration of every person interested in aërial sports. on the billboards were glaring posters of "the flying girl," the chief attraction of the coming aviation meet, and the news of her expected arrival had drawn many curious inhabitants of the sunshine city to the depot, as well as the friends congregated to greet her. first of all a tall, fine looking fellow, who limped slightly, sprang forward to meet orissa at the car steps and gave her a kiss and a hug. this was stephen kane, the airship inventor, and close behind him stood a grizzled gentleman in a long gray coat and jaunty scotch cap. it was mr. cumberford, the "angel" and manager of the youthful kanes, the man whose vast wealth had financed the kane aircraft and enabled the boy and girl to carry out their ambitious plans. this strange man had neither ambition to acquire more money nor to secure fame by undertaking to pilot the aircraft to success; as he stood here, his bored expression, in sharp contrast to the shrewd gray eyes that twinkled behind his spectacles, clearly indicated this fact; but a little kindness had won him to befriend the young people and he had rendered them staunch support. on mr. cumberford's arm was a slender girl dressed all in black, the nodding sable plumes of whose broad hat nearly hid orissa from view as the two girls exchanged a kiss. sybil cumberford had no claim to beauty except for her dark eyes--so fathomless and mysterious that they awed all but her most intimate friends, and puzzled even them. and now an awkward young fellow--six feet three and built like an athlete--slouched bashfully forward and gripped orissa kane's outstretched hand. here was the press agent of the kane-cumberford alliance, mr. h. chesterton radley-todd; a most astonishing youth who impressed strangers as being a dummy and his friends as the possessor of a rarely keen intellect. orissa smiled at him; there was something humorous about radley-todd's loose-jointed, unwieldy personality. then she took her brother's arm and passed through the eager, admiring throng to the automobile in waiting. beside mr. cumberford's car stood a handsome equipage that had been sent for miss dentry's party, and as orissa nodded to her recent acquaintances sybil cumberford inquired: "who is that girl?" "a miss dentry, of new york, with whom i exchanged some remarks on the train. she has a yacht in the bay here." "oh, yes; i've heard all about her," returned sybil, indifferently. "she's dreadfully rich; rather snubbed new york society, which was eager to idolize her--says she's too young for the weary, heart-breaking grind--and indulges in such remarkable fancies that she's getting herself talked about. i hope you didn't encourage her advances, orissa?" "i fear i did," was the laughing reply; "but she seemed very nice and agreeable--for a rich girl. tell me, steve," she added, turning to her brother, "what news of the hydro-aircraft?" "it's great, orissa! i put the finishing touches on it night before last, and yesterday mr. cumberford and i took a trial spin in it. it carries two beautifully," he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "did you go over the water?" asked orissa. "nearly half a mile. then we dropped and let the engine paddle us home. of all the hydro-aëroplanes yet invented, ris, mine will do the most stunts and do them with greater ease." they were rolling swiftly toward the ferry now, bound for the hotel del coronado, a rambling pile of spanish architecture that dominates the farther side of san diego bay. presently the car took its place in the line of vehicles on the ferry and mr. cumberford, who was driving, shut off the power and turned to orissa. "you are advertised to exhibit the new hydro-aircraft the first day of the meet--that's monday," he announced. "do you think you can master the mechanism by that time?" "is it the same old engine, steve?" she inquired. "exactly the same, except that i've altered the controlling levers, to make them handy both in the air and on water, and balanced the weight a little differently, to allow for the boat attachment." "how did you do that?" "placed the gasoline tanks in the rear. that makes the engine feed from the back, instead of from directly overhead, you see." orissa nodded. "i think i can manage it, mr. cumberford," she decided. "will steve go with me on monday?" "why--no," returned the manager, a trifle embarrassed. "our fool press agent had an idea the event would be more interesting if two girls made the flight out to sea, and the trip back by boat. sybil has been crazy to go, and so i let chesty todd have his own way." "you see, miss kane," added mr. h. chesterton radley-todd, who was seated beside mr. cumberford, while stephen and the two girls rode behind, "the management of the meet couldn't get another aviatress to take part, because you had been engaged to fly. the other air-maids are all jealous of your reputation and popularity, i guess, so the management was in despair. the dear public is daffy, just now, to watch a female risk her precious life; it's more thrilling than when a male ventures it. so, as they're paying us pretty big money, and miss cumberford was anxious to go, i--er--er--i----" "it is quite satisfactory to me," announced orissa quietly. "i shall enjoy having sybil with me." "i knew you wouldn't object," said sybil. "the only thing i don't like about it," observed stephen, reflectively, "is the fact that you have never yet seen my hydro-aircraft. it's safe enough, either on land or water; but if the thing balks--as new inventions sometimes do--there will be no one aboard to help you remedy the fault, and the invention is likely to get a black eye." "give me a tool bag and i'll do as well as any mechanician," responded orissa, confidently. "and your hy is not going to balk, steve, for i shall know as much about it as you do by monday." chapter ii the girl with the aËroplane the morning following orissa kane's arrival, which was the saturday preceding the meet, she went with her brother stephen to his hangar, which was located near the glenn curtiss aviation camp on a low bluff overlooking the pacific. there the two spent the entire forenoon in a careful inspection of the new hydro-aircraft. as she had told madeline dentry, the flying girl never wittingly took chances in the dangerous profession she followed. the remarkable success of her aërial performances was due to an exact knowledge of every part of her aëroplane. she knew what each bolt and brace was for and how much strain it would stand; she knew to a feather's weight the opposition of the planes to the air, the number of revolutions to drive the engine under all conditions and the freaks of the unreliable atmospheric currents. and aside from this knowledge she had that prime quality known as "the aviator's instinct"--the intuition what to do in emergencies, and the coolness to do it promptly. stephen kane, who adored his pretty little sister, had not the slightest fear for her. as she had stood at his side during the construction of his first successful aëroplane and learned such mechanical principles of flying as he himself knew, he had no doubt she could readily comprehend the adaptation he had made to convert his aircraft into the amphibious thing that could navigate air and water alike. "it seems to me quite perfect, steve," was orissa's final verdict. "there is no question but the hydro-aircraft will prove more useful to the world than any simple aëroplane. if we could carry gasoline enough, i would venture across the pacific in this contrivance. by the way, what am i to do on monday? must i carry sybil in any certain direction, or for any given distance?" "i'll let chesty explain that," said steve, turning to the youthful press agent, who had just then entered the hangar in company with mr. cumberford and sybil. "why, er--er--a certain program has been announced, you know," explained chesty todd; "but that doesn't count, of course. we'll say that owing to high winds, contrary air currents, or some other excuse, you had to alter your plans. that'll satisfy the dear public, all right." orissa frowned slightly. "you mustn't compromise me in such ways, mr. todd," she exclaimed. "the kane-cumberford camp has the reputation of fulfilling its engagements to the letter; but if you promise impossible things of course we cannot do them." the young man flushed. in the presence of orissa kane this big fellow was as diffident as a schoolboy. "i--i didn't think i promised too much," he stammered. "there are two or three islands off this coast, known as the coronado islands. the big one--you can see it plainly from here--is named sealskin. no one knows why. there are seals there, and they have skins. perhaps that's the reason. or they may all be related, and the seals' kin play together on the rocks." "be sensible, chesty!" this from mr. cumberford, rather impatiently. "i'm quite sensible of miss kane's annoyance," resumed mr. radley-todd, "but i hope she will find her task easy. she has merely to fly to sealskin island, a dozen or fifteen miles--perhaps twenty--and alight on the bosom of the blue pacific. mighty poetical in the advertisements, eh? then she'll ride back in motor boat fashion. when she approaches the shore she is to mount into the air again, circle around the hotel and land on the aviation field before the grand stand. if any part of this program seems difficult, we can cut it out and tell the reporters----" "steve," interrupted orissa, "can i rise from the water into the air?" "of course. that's my pet invention. while skimming along the water you lift this lever, free the propeller, then point your elevator and--up you go!" "run out the machine. we will make a trial and you shall show me how it is done. the rest of chesty's program seems easy enough, and if i master this little trick of rising from the water we will carry out our contract to the letter." "all right. your costume is in that little dressing room in the corner, ris." while his sister donned her short skirt, leggings and helmet, stephen kane called his mechanicians and had the hydro-aircraft rolled out of the hangar and headed toward the ocean. for himself, he merely put on a sweater and his cap and visor, being ready long before orissa appeared. the inventor seldom flew his own craft, for an accidental fall had lamed him so that he was not as expert an aviator as his sister had proved to be. he was recovering from his hurt, however, and hoped the injured leg would soon be good as new. meantime orissa was doing more to render the kane aircraft famous than any man might have done. a wire fence encircled the kane-cumberford camp for some distance, except on the ocean side, where the bluff protected it from invasion. there was an entrance gate adjoining the beach road, and while the assembled party awaited orissa's appearance steve noticed that a motor car stopped at the gateway and a man and woman alighted and entered the enclosure, leisurely approaching the spot where the hydro-aircraft stood. "oh!" exclaimed sybil, whose dark eyes were far-seeing; "it's that girl who owns the yacht, madeline what's-her-name." "dentry," said steve. "i wonder if orissa invited her here. go and meet them, chesty, and find out." mr. radley-todd promptly unlimbered his long legs and advanced to meet madeline and mr. tupper. the press agent had an unlimited command of language when driving his pen over paper, but was notably awkward in expressing himself conversationally. he now stopped short before the visitors, removed his hat and said: "i--er--pardon me, but--er--was your appointment for this hour?" "is miss kane here, sir?" asked madeline, unabashed. "she is, miss--er--er----" "dentry." "oh; thank you." "then i will see her," and she took a step forward. but chesty todd did not move his huge bulk out of the way. so many curious and bold people were prone to intrude on all aviators, and especially on miss kane, that it was really necessary to deny them in a positive manner in order to secure any privacy at all. the press agent, in his halting way, tried to explain. "we--er--miss kane--is about to--er--test the powers of our new hydro-aircraft, and i regret to say that--er--er--the test is private, you know." "how fortunate that we came just now!" cried madeline, eagerly, as she flashed her most winning smile on the young man. "please lead us directly to miss kane, sir." "yes; of course; please lead us to miss kane," echoed mr. tupper pompously. chesty succumbed and led them to the group surrounding the machine, just as orissa emerged from the hangar. recognizing her recent traveling companion, the flying girl ran up and greeted her cordially, introducing her and mr. tupper to the others present. "i'm going to try out our new hy," she said, with a laugh. "'hy,' you must know, is my abbreviation of the hydro-aircraft--too long a word altogether. if you will promise not to criticize us, in case we foozle, you are welcome to watch our performance." "that will be glorious," returned madeline. "we have been to the bay to inspect the _salvador_, my new yacht, but being anxious to see your new aircraft and hoping to find you here, we ventured to stop for a few minutes. forgive us if we intruded." she spoke so frankly and was so evidently unconscious of being unwelcome that the entire group accepted her presence and that of her uncle without murmur. steve took his place in the "hy" and orissa sat beside him. the motor boat attachment, which took the place of the ordinary running gear, was of sheet aluminum, as light and yet as strongly built as was possible for a thing intended to be practical. adjustable wheels, which could be folded back when the boat was in the water, were placed on either side, to give the craft a land start. the huge engine was beautiful in appearance, while the planes--a crossed arrangement peculiar to the kane aircraft--were immaculately white in their graceful spread. "this upper plane," said steve, proud to explain the marvels of his latest mechanical pet, "is so arranged that its position may be altered by means of a lever. if you're on the water and want to save gasoline you adjust the plane as a sail and let the wind drive you." "clever! very clever, indeed," observed mr. tupper. "i had no idea these flying machines had been improved so much since i last saw an aviation meet, some six months ago." "the art of flying is still in its infancy, sir," replied mr. cumberford. "it is progressing with wonderful strides, however, and young kane is one of those remarkable geniuses who keep a pace ahead of the procession." even as he spoke steve started the engine, and as the first low rumble of the propeller increased to a roar the machine darted forward, passed the edge of the bluff and, rising slightly, sped over the placid waters of the pacific, straight out from shore. he did not rise very high, but half a mile or so out the aviator described a half-circle and then, as gracefully as a swan, sank to the surface of the ocean. instantly a white wake of foam appeared at the rear of the boat, showing that the propeller was now churning the water. and now, with speed that to the observers appeared almost incredible, the hydro-aircraft approached the shore. a few yards from the bluff it abruptly rose from the water, sailed above the heads of the spectators, and after a circle of the field, came to a halt at almost the exact spot from which it had started. this remarkable performance had taken place in so brief a space of time that those on the bluff had scarcely moved during the entire period. they now hastened forward to congratulate the inventor. mr. cumberford's grim features were for once wreathed in smiles; chesty todd capered like a schoolboy and flung his hat into the air as he yelled "hooray!" while sybil impulsively grasped steve's hand in both of her own. as for madeline dentry, she eyed the young man wonderingly, asking herself if the marvel she seemed to have witnessed had actually occurred. "do you know," said mr. tupper, his voice trembling with excitement, "i wouldn't much mind a ride like that myself!" orissa was much pleased with this successful test of the new machine's powers. as the men wheeled the hydro-aircraft back to its hangar she turned to chesty and said: "i forgive you, sir. really, you were too modest in your promises. sybil and i will carry out your program to the entire satisfaction of the management and the public, i am positive." "i can hardly wait for monday, ris," exclaimed sybil. "if father wasn't so afraid, i would learn to navigate the hy myself." "ah, you interest me, my dear," returned her father, blandly; "you do, really. but as your talents will never enable you to rival orissa it will be well for you to curb your ambitions. i've conceded a lot, to allow you to go with her on that long jaunt monday." "you have, indeed," laughed orissa. "but sybil and i will have a real joy ride, and be perfectly safe in the bargain. how long a time will the trip take us, steve?" "oh, a couple of hours, or so; it will depend on whether the current is favorable to your paddling back. in the air you can do forty miles an hour, easily." "we will take some lunch with us," said sybil. "don't forget to order it, daddy." mr. cumberford nodded. unimpressionable as this strange man seemed, his daughter was verily the "apple of his eye" and he was not likely to forget anything that might add to her comfort. sybil's desire to aviate had been a constant source of disturbance to her father. he had worried a good deal over orissa, during her first attempts to fly, but was now convinced of the girl's capability and, although he exhibited nervousness every time she gave one of her exhibitions, he had by degrees acquired supreme confidence in her skill. still, being thoroughly experienced in all aviation matters, through his connection with the kane aircraft, mr. cumberford realized that flying is always accompanied by danger, and whenever an aviator met with an accident on the field he was wont to inform sybil that on no account could she ever accompany orissa again in a flight. he would even urge orissa to abandon the dangerous work; but she answered him gravely: "this accident, as well as all others i ever heard of, was the result of carelessness and inexperience. the more flights i make the less liable am i to encounter accident. perhaps i realize better than you do, mr. cumberford, the elements of danger, and that is the reason i am so careful to avoid every hazard." flying was an intoxication to sybil. she never had enough of it and always complained to orissa that their flights were of too short duration. each time she was obliged to plead and argue with her father for days, before obtaining his consent to let her go, and even now, when he had given his reluctant permission to chesty todd to advertise sybil as the companion of the flying girl, he was frequently impelled to forbid the adventure. his only consolation was that the new invention seemed very safe and practical, and with orissa's guiding hands at the levers his beloved daughter would be as well guarded as possible under such conditions. as a matter of fact, protests from mr. cumberford had little value, as sybil possessed a knack of getting her own way under any and all circumstances. she had really no great desire to operate an aëroplane herself, being quite content to remain a passenger and enjoy the freedom of riding, untrammeled by the necessity of being alert every instant to control the machine. orissa, excusing herself, retired to the hangar to change her costume, and the young inventor was left to listen to the enthusiastic comments of his friends. "when will your hydro-aircraft be on the market, mr. kane?" asked madeline. "in the course of the next three months we expect to complete two other machines," he replied. "i want one of them," she said quickly. "will you teach me how to operate it?" "of course," he answered. "that is part of the bargain. but you have not asked the price, and for all business transactions i must refer you to mr. cumberford." "madeline, my dear! my dear madeline!" protested mr. tupper; "what in the world are you thinking of?" "that i would give mr. cumberford a check at once," she calmly answered. "but i--we--that is, i can't permit it; i--i really can't allow it, my dear!" asserted the gentleman, evidently alarmed by her positive attitude. madeline's slight form stiffened and her eyes flashed defiantly. "mr. tupper," said she to her uncle, "do i employ you to advise me, or to manage my business affairs?" that he was greatly humiliated by this attack was evident. his face grew red and he half turned away, hesitating to make reply. then mr. cumberford came to mr. tupper's assistance. "your--eh--friend--is quite right, miss dentry; quite right to oppose your--eh--reckless impulse, if i may put it that way. your enthusiasm interests me; it--eh--interests me greatly; but for your own welfare and the comfort of mind of your friends, i should advise you to--eh--curb your adventurous spirit, for the present. you have what is known as the 'flying fever,' which attacks the most conservative people when on the aviation field. let it alone and it will dissipate, in time; but if you nurse it you--eh--buy a flying machine and become a slave. we have machines to sell, you know; we are anxious to dispose of all we can; but kindly keep your check for three months, and if at the end of that time you are still disposed to purchase, i will deliver the machine to you promptly." "how can you do that? the demand will be greater than your ability to build the hydro-aircraft, after the exhibition of next monday," she affirmed. mr. cumberford regarded her thoughtfully. "i believe you are right," said he. "anyhow, i hope you are right. but i'll promise to reserve a machine, pending your decision. young ladies who are seriously determined to become aviators and who--eh--have the means to indulge the fad to any extent, are rare; very rare. therefore, my dear miss dentry, you--eh--interest me, and i'll keep my promise." madeline could not refuse to admit the fairness of mr. cumberford's proposition, and mr. tupper was grateful to him for his efficient support, so harmony was once more restored. sybil, indeed, smiled derisively as she exchanged a meaning glance with madeline--a glance that said as intelligently as words: "how clever these men think themselves, and how helpless they really are to oppose us!" then miss dentry invited them all, including chesty todd, to dine on board her yacht the next day, which was sunday, and the invitation being promptly accepted they all motored back to the hotel. chapter iii a prodigy in aeronautics san diego bay is always interesting, with its shipping from all ports of the world, but on this gorgeous sunday afternoon there was no prettier sight among the scattered craft than the trim yacht _salvador_, lying at anchor just north of the ferry path. the kane-cumberford party found a small launch awaiting them at the pier, which quickly took them aboard the big white yacht, where madeline, attired in appropriate sailor costume, cordially welcomed them. "this affair is fully as great a novelty to me as it must be to you," she explained, as they cast admiring glances over the decks. "i bought the boat of an englishman several months ago, with the understanding it should be delivered to me here; but i only arrived to claim it the day before yesterday. it has a crew of seven, besides the chef, who, i must admit, is my own selection, as i feared to trust the english taste in cookery. the english crew, however, seems capable and every man jack wants to stay with the boat; so i've agreed to keep them. i'll introduce you to the skipper presently. he rejoices in the title of 'captain' and has quite awed me with his superior manner and splendid uniform. but i'll introduce you to the creations of my chef, first, for dinner is waiting. forgive monsieur champetre, if he falls down occasionally; he is as unused to the kitchen--or is it scullery? oh, i know; the 'galley'--as i am to the cabin." really the chef needed no excuses, and after the meal they made a thorough inspection of the beautiful craft, peeping into the state-rooms, the men's quarters and even into the sacred galley. everyone aboard, including the big, bluff skipper, was so proud of the boat that he delighted to have it exhibited, and when it was understood that the slim, beautiful young lady guest was the famous flying girl the deference shown orissa was amusing. "i had intended to test the _salvador_ to-morrow and make a short run to sea in it," said madeline; "but i am so eager to witness the aërial exhibitions that i shall postpone the voyage until later. my yacht is permanent, but this aviation meet is temporary." the visitors returned to their hotel early in the afternoon, for orissa and sybil had still a few preparations to make for the morrow's trip, while steve and mr. cumberford decided to pay a visit to the aviation field, to which both the kane aircraft and the kane hydro-aircraft had been removed by the mechanicians in charge of them. chesty todd's labors that sunday evening were perhaps more onerous than those of the others of his party, for he had to meet an aggressive band of newspaper reporters and load each one to the brim with material for a double-header next morning. having served as a journalist--and an able one--himself, mr. radley-todd understood exactly the sort of priming these publicity guns required. the home of the kanes was a delightful orange ranch near los angeles, where the blind mother of stephen and orissa--their only parent--lived surrounded by every comfort and devoted attendants, while her boy and girl were engaged in the novel and somewhat hazardous exhibitions of the new kane aircraft. orissa had remained at home with her mother while stephen was perfecting his latest machine at san diego, and had not left there until it was necessary to prepare for the meet, in which she had engaged to take part. mrs. kane, perhaps because of her blindness, seemed to have little anxiety on account of her daughter's ventures, although at the time of orissa's first flights her nervousness had been poignant. assured of her girl's skill and coolness, the mother had come to accept these occasions philosophically, as far as the danger was concerned, and she was naturally interested in steve's inventions and overjoyed at the financial success which mr. cumberford's business ability had already insured the firm. this sunday evening orissa wrote a long letter to her mother, telling how perfectly her brother's new machine worked, and assuring mrs. kane of her confidence in winning new laurels for stephen on the morrow. "the latest engine, made for the hy, is more powerful than were the others," she added, "but its operation is practically the same and while the combination of boat and aircraft necessitated a more complicated arrangement of the control, i have easily mastered all the details and could take the whole thing apart and put it together again, if obliged to do so." the girl slept peacefully that night and neither she nor sybil were in the least nervous when they went to the aviation field, overlooking the sea, after an early luncheon on monday. they found the kane hydro-aircraft reposing majestically in its hangar, in perfect order and constantly surrounded by a group of admiring and interested spectators. the little band of professional aviators present at the meet welcomed orissa very cordially, for every one of them knew and admired the brave girl who had so often proved her ability to manage her brother's machines. the grand stand was packed with spectators, and long rows of automobiles lined the edge of the enclosure reserved for the exhibitors. the "kane event," as it was called, was early on the program of the day, for it was understood that the flight over the ocean and the voyage back would consume much of the afternoon. many had brought binoculars and other powerful glasses to watch the flying girl and her chum during their progress. sealskin island lay a little to the south of the aviation field and was one of a group of barren rocks jutting out of the sea and plainly visible from the mainland. the coronado islands, which have little or no value, belong to mexico, as the mexican boundary is only twelve miles south of san diego, and this group, although not appearing to be so far south, is below the line claimed by the united states. therefore orissa's flight would be in a southwesterly direction and most of her journey made in plain view of every spectator. as the "hy" was run out to the center of the field steve said to orissa: "i've anchored an aluminum chest just back of your seats, at the suggestion of mr. cumberford. in it are all the tools you could possibly need in case of emergency, a couple of warm blankets to use if your return trip proves chilly, and enough 'lunch'--which i think sybil pleaded for--to last you both a week. the chest enables you to carry all this safely and comfortably, and it won't be at all in your way. personally, i think such a precaution wholly unnecessary, but mr. cumberford is a good deal of an old woman where sybil is concerned and it is easier to give up to him than to try to argue him out of an idea. take the trip easy, ris; we don't need to make time. what we want to demonstrate is the practicability of the machine, and we ourselves already know that it is thoroughly practical, and we therefore ought to be able to convince the world of the fact." orissa nodded. "how about gasoline?" she asked. "both tanks are filled. there's enough to run you a hundred miles in air and fifty miles in water, which is far more than you will require. be gentle with the steering gear; it is such a long connection that it doesn't respond as readily as the old one, and i guess i've made the rods a trifle too light. i mean to rig up a more substantial device as soon as i get time, but this will do you all right if you don't jerk it. put a little more strength to the wheel and turn it gradually, that's all." "i understand," she replied. "are you ready, sybil?" "waiting on you, ris." "and i think the crowd is waiting on us." the band was at this moment playing its loudest and most stirring tune and as the two venturesome girls, dressed in appropriate aërial costume, appeared on the field, wildly enthusiastic shouts rose from ten thousand spectators. chesty todd had decorated the braces of the machine with bunches of fresh violets and the aluminum and nickeled parts shone gloriously in the sun. "be good, sybil," said mr. cumberford. "take care of her, orissa." the girls laughed, for this was the old gentleman's customary parting warning. "all right, ris," said steve. she applied the power and one of the mechanicians gave the propeller a preliminary whirl. then orissa threw in the automatic clutch that started the machine and it ran forward a few feet and promptly rose into the air. a moment later it was speeding straight out to sea, at an altitude of a hundred feet, and the wonderful voyage of stephen kane's new hydro-aircraft was begun--a voyage destined to vary considerably from the program mapped out for it. chapter iv the aluminum chest orissa realized quite perfectly that sealskin island was much farther away from the mainland than it appeared, so on leaving the shore she pursued a direction straight west for several miles, intending to make a turn and proceed south to the island which was the terminus of her flight. that prolonged the trip somewhat, but she figured it would prove more interesting to the spectators, since for a part of the journey she would be flying parallel with the coast. on the return she planned to run straight back from the island. when she decided they had reached a point about as far out as was the island, she attempted to make the turn--a mere segment of a circle--but in spite of steve's warning orissa was surprised at the stiffness of the steering gear. the engines were working beautifully and developing excellent speed, but the girl found she must apply all her strength to the wheel to make the turn. she succeeded, and brought the head to bear directly upon the island, but the gear grated and stuck so persistently that orissa's effort sent the entire craft careening at a steep angle. sybil gave a gasp and clung to the supporting rods and both girls heard a loud "chug" that indicated something was wrong; but the kane balancing device was so perfect that almost immediately the machine righted itself and regained its equilibrium, darting swiftly and in a straight line in the direction of the island. "what was it?" asked sybil, putting her head close to orissa's to be heard above the whir of the motors behind them. "the steering gear binds; that's all," was the quiet response. "i think it will work better when we are in the water." "but what made that noise? didn't something give way?" persisted sybil. "glance behind us, dear, and see." sybil carefully turned so as to examine the parts of the aëroplane. "oh!" she exclaimed. "well?" said orissa. "that chest that steve loaded us with. it has broken away from its fastenings and is jammed edge downward against your gear." orissa thought about it. "that's unfortunate," said she. "i suppose the bolts broke when we tipped so badly. but it hasn't interfered with our engines any." "no," answered sybil, still examining the conditions; "but it has interfered seriously with your control, i fear. both your levers are thrown out of position and even the front elevator bars are badly bent." for the first time a worried expression appeared on orissa's face. "if that is true," she said, "our best plan is to return at once." "do," urged sybil, her dark eyes very serious. orissa tried to turn the wheel. it resisted. she applied more strength. something snapped and the released wheel whirled so freely that the girl nearly lost her seat. recovering instantly she turned a pale face to her companion and said: "we're wrecked, sybil. but don't worry. with the boat under us and in this quiet sea we shall be quite safe." "i'm not worrying--especially--ris," was the reply; "but it occurs to me to wonder how you're going to get down to the ocean." "why?" "you can't stop the engines, unless one of us crawls back over the planes." "i can cut off the spark." she tried it, but the engines chugged as merrily as before. "guess there must be a short circuit," gasped orissa. "and you can't depress your elevator, i'm sure." "i'll try it," announced orissa, grimly. but the fatal chest balked her attempt. the elevator was steadfastly wedged into its present position; the engines were entirely beyond control and the two helpless girls faced one of the most curious conditions ever known in the history of aviation. at an altitude of perhaps a hundred and fifty feet from the water the aëroplane sped swiftly on its way, headed a trifle to the west of south. it passed sealskin island even while the girls were discussing their dilemma, and stubbornly maintained its unfaltering course. the air conditions were perfect for flying; scarcely a breath of wind was felt; the sky above was blue as azure. suddenly sybil laughed. "what now?" demanded orissa. "i was thinking of the consternation on shore at about this moment," explained miss cumberford. "won't they be amazed to see us continue this course, beyond the island? not understanding our trouble, daddy will think we're running away." "so we are," replied orissa. "i wish i knew where we are running to." "i suppose we can't stop till the gasoline gives out," said sybil. orissa shook her head. "that's what scares me," she admitted. "even now the mexican shore is a mere line at the left. we're gradually diverging to a point farther out at sea, and when at last we alight, drained of the last drop of gasoline, how are we to run the boat back?" "we can't. steve's wonderful hy will become a mere floating buoy on the bosom of the rolling blue," responded sybil lightly. "oh, i'm so glad i came, ris! i'd no idea we were going to have such fun." orissa did not return her chum's smile. "sit still and balance her, sybil," she said. "i'm going to make an investigation." exercising the necessary caution she turned and knelt upon the foot bar, clinging to the seat rail and in this position facing the aircraft so she could examine its mechanism. sybil had described the condition of things quite accurately. the engine control was cut off and as the gasoline tanks fed from the rear orissa had no way of stopping the flow. the steering gear was broken and the front elevator firmly wedged in position by the chest. "i wonder if we could manage to move this thing," she said, and getting a hand on one corner of the aluminum chest she gave a tug and tried to raise it. it proved solid and unyielding. not heavy in itself, or perhaps in its contents, the thing was caught between the rods in such a manner that no strength of the girls, limited in movement as they were, could budge it a particle. realizing this, and the folly of leaving the seats to get at the gasoline feed, orissa resumed her place and faced the inevitable as bravely as she could. "steve told me," she said to sybil, "that the gasoline would last a hundred miles in air and fifty in water; that's at least two hundred miles in an air line. have you any idea where we shall be by that time?" "not the slightest," responded her companion, cheerfully. "ocean, of course; but latitude and longitude a mystery--and not important, anyhow." sybil cumberford was a reserved and silent girl on most occasions. few were attracted toward her, on this account. her dark eyes seemed to regard the world with critical toleration and she gave one the impression of considering herself quite independent of her fellows. moreover, sybil was eccentric in character and prone to do and say things that invoked the grave displeasure of her associates, seeming to delight in confusing and annoying them. but there was a brighter side to this queer girl's nature, which developed only in the society of her trusted friends. on any occasion that demanded courage and resourcefulness she came to the front nobly, and at such times sybil cumberford became vivacious, helpful and inspiriting. here was such an occasion. danger was the joy of sybil's heart and the "breath of her nostrils." indifferent to the ordinary details of life, any adventure that promised tribulation or disaster was fervently welcomed. then the girl's spirits rose, her intellect fairly bristled and she developed an animation and joyous exhilaration entirely at variance with her usual demeanor. so now, as orissa kane, a girl of proved courage and undaunted spirit, grew solemn and anxious at the perilous condition that confronted them, sybil cumberford became gay and animated. "it's such an unusual thing, and so wholly unexpected!" she said blithely. "i'm sure, ris, that no two girls who ever lived--in this world or any other--ever found themselves in a like dilemma. we're as helpless as babes, chummie dear; only no babes were ever forced to fly, willy-nilly, for hundreds of miles through the air to some forlorn spot in the dank, moist ocean." orissa let her chatter. she was trying to realize what it might mean to them and how and when, if ever, they might be rescued from their difficulties. "our great mistake," continued sybil, as they swept along, "was in not rigging the machine with a wireless outfit. to be sure, neither of us could operate it; but a wireless, in such a case--if we understood its mysteries--would solve our problem." "how?" asked orissa. "we could call up the shore at san diego and tell them what's happened, and give them the direction in which we are flying; then they could send a fast steamer for us, or perhaps madeline dentry would loan her yacht." "they may follow us with a steamer, anyhow," said orissa, thoughtfully. "if we manage to land safely, sybil--which means if we drop to the water right-side-up--we could float for some days, until we were found and rescued." "thirst is a terrible thing, at sea; and hunger is almost as bad." "but in that dreadful chest, which has caused all our trouble, steve told me he had packed provisions. probably there is water there, too," asserted orissa, hopefully. "yes, dad said there was lunch for two. well, that's one good feed we shall have, anyhow, provided the chest doesn't get away from us entirely, and we can manage to open it. in its present position, neither event is at all probable." she seemed to love to discover and point out the gloomy side of their adventure, that she might exult in the dangers that menaced them. meantime, swift and straight as an arrow the aircraft continued on its course. not a skip to the engines, not an indication of any sort that the flight would be interrupted as long as a drop of gasoline remained in the tanks. they could only be patient and await the finale as bravely as possible. chapter v the last drop of gasoline hour after hour they flew, while each hour seemed, to orissa, at least, a month in duration. sybil chatted and laughed, refusing to take their misfortune seriously. "but," said she, "i'm getting famished. an air-trip always stimulates the appetite and that lunch of steve's is so very near to us--and yet so far! i how did he expect us to get at the repast, anyhow?" "why, in water," replied orissa, "the chest and its contents would be handy enough. i do not think it would be safe for us to creep into the boat underneath us now, for we must maintain the aërial balance; but, even if we could get below, we couldn't open the chest while it is wedged crosswise among the braces and levers." "all true, milady," commented sybil, her usually pale cheeks now flushed with excitement. "our present stunt is to 'sit still and take our medicine,' as the saying goes." by this time the mexican coast had vanished entirely and only the placid blue waters of the pacific remained visible, even from the altitude of the aircraft. once or twice they sighted a small island, bleak and bare, for this part of the ocean is filled with tiny islets, most of which are unfertile and uninhabited. farther along, in the south pacific, such islands have verdure and inhabitants. at about four o'clock a change occurred in the atmospheric conditions. a brisk wind arose, blowing steadily for a time from the southwest and then suddenly developing puffs and eddies that caused the aircraft to wobble dangerously. one powerful gust seized the helpless flying-machine and whirled it around like a toy balloon, but failed to destroy its equilibrium because the girls balanced it with their bodies as well as they might. when their craft was released, however, it pointed in a new direction--this time straight west. an hour later a similar gust swept its head to the southward, and in this direction it was still flying when the red sun dipped into the water and twilight fell. "i don't like this, syb," said orissa, anxiously. "if the gasoline holds out much longer it will be dark, and when we drop our danger will be doubled." "what will be the fashion of our dropping, anyhow?" asked sybil. "we can't volplane, with no control of the rudder. chances are, dear, the thing will just tip over and spill us in the damp." "hold fast, if it does that," cautioned orissa. "if we become separated from the boat we will drown like rats. the engine may swamp the boat, in any event, but it has air compartments which will keep it afloat under any favorable conditions, and we must trust to luck, sybil--and to our own coolness." "all right, ris. a watery grave doesn't appeal to me just now," was the reply. "i'm too hungry to drown comfortably, and that's a fact. on a full stomach i imagine one could face perpetual soaking with more complacency." "huh!" cried orissa. "listen!" sybil was already listening, fully as alert as her chum. the speed of the engine was diminishing. gradually the huge propeller slackened its rapid revolutions, while its former roar subsided to a mere moan. "thank goodness," said sybil, fervently, "the gasoline is gone at last!" "look out, then," warned orissa. with a final, reluctant "chug-chug!" the engine stopped short. like a huge gull the frail craft remained poised in the air a moment and then a sudden light breeze swept it on. it was falling, however, impelled by its own weight, and singularly enough it reversed its position and proceeded before the wind with the stem foremost. splash! it wasn't so bad, after all. not a volplane, to be sure, but a gentle drop, the weight of the heavy engine sustained by the "air-cushions" formed beneath the planes. orissa wiped the spray from her eyes. "that would have been a regular bump, on land," sybil was saying affably, "but the old ocean has received us with gracious tenderness. are we sinking, ris, or do we float?" how suddenly the darkness was falling! orissa leaned from her seat and found the water had turned to a color nearly as black as ink. beneath her the bow of the aluminum motor boat was so depressed that it was almost even with the water and as it bobbed up and down with the waves it was shipping the inky fluid by the dipperful. she scrambled out of the seat, then, to step gingerly over the unlucky chest and crouch upon a narrow seat of the little boat, near the stern. "come, sybil," she called; "and be very careful." sybil promptly descended to the boat, which now rode evenly upon the waves. in this position the propeller was just under water and the engine rested over the center of the light but strong little craft. but propeller and engine were alike useless to them now. overhead the planes spread like huge awnings, but they carried so little weight that they did not affect the balance of the boat. "steve planned well," murmured orissa, with a sigh. "if only he had never thought of that dreadful chest, we would not be in this fix." as she spoke she kicked the chest a little resentfully with her foot, and it seemed to move. sybil leaned forward to eye it as closely as the gathering darkness would allow. "why, ris," she exclaimed, "the thing has come loose. help me to tip it up." between them they easily raised the chest to its former position, where it rested just before them. steve had bolted it at either end, but one of the bolts had broken away and the other had bent at almost a right angle. perhaps this last bolt would have broken, too, had not the chest, in falling, become wedged against the braces. "this horrid box has heretofore been our dire enemy," remarked sybil; "but let us be forgiving and encourage it to make amends--for it holds eatables. how does the cover open, ris?" stephen had shown orissa how to work the sliding catch and in a moment the girl had the lid open and held it upright while sybil searched within. "hooray! we've discovered a regular cafeteria," said the latter, jubilantly, as she drew out a number of parcels. "i was afraid we'd have to nibble, orissa, so as not to gorge ourselves to-night and starve to-morrow; but i reckon there's enough to last two delicate girls like us a week. what shall we tackle first?" "let us plan a little, dear," suggested orissa, restraining her own eagerness, for she was hungry, too. "we cannot possibly tell to-night what this precious chest contains or how much food there really is. we must wait for daylight to take an inventory. but here are some tins, we know, which will keep, and that package of sandwiches on your lap is perishable; so i propose we confine our feast to those for to-night." "perishable it is, cap'n," answered sybil, consuming half a sandwich at a single bite. "if there's only a pickle to go with these breadspreads i shall be content. it's not only luncheon that we're indulging in, you know; it's our regular dinner, as well, and there ought to be two courses--pickles and sandwiches--at the least." "you must feel for the pickles, then," returned orissa, intent upon her own sandwich, "for it's too dark to use eyes just now." sybil found the pickles--who ever put up a lunch for two girls without including pickles?--and declared she was quite content. "if we hadn't discovered the eats, my dear cap'n," she remarked with cheery satisfaction, "i think i could have dined on my own shoes. that's a happy thought; we'll keep the shoes in reserve. i'd no idea one's appetite could get such an edge, after being tantalized for a few hours." "do you realize, sybil," asked orissa in a grave tone, as she took her second sandwich, "that we must pass the night in this wiggly, insecure boat?" "what's insecure about it?" demanded sybil. "it won't stand much of a sea, i fear. this attachment to the aircraft was intended for pleasant weather." "all right; the weather's delightful. those long, gentle rolls will merely rock us to sleep. and--oh, ris!--we'll have rolls for breakfast." "do be serious, syb! suppose a storm catches us before morning?" "then please wake me up. where do you suppose we are, anyhow?" "i've no idea," answered orissa, soberly. "we must have traveled a couple of hundred miles, but it wasn't in a straight line, by any means. let's see. perhaps a hundred miles on our first course--over sealskin island and nearly south--then forty or fifty miles north----" "oh, no; west." "yes; so it was. then twenty-odd miles south, ten miles or so east, a couple or three miles west again, and then--and then----" "dear me! don't bother your head with it, orissa. we zigzagged like a drunken man. the only fact we can positively nail is that we were getting farther away from home--or our friends, rather--every minute. that's a bad thing, come to think of it. they'll never know where to search for us." "true," responded orissa. "but i am sure they will search, and search diligently, so we must manage to keep afloat until they find us. what shall we do now, sybil?" "sleep," was the prompt reply. "if we lift this seat off--it seems to be removable--i think there is room enough for us both to cuddle down in the bottom of the boat." "oh, sybil!" this from orissa, rather reproachfully. "well, i can't imagine anything more sensible to do," asserted her chum, with a yawn. "these air-rides not only encourage hunger, but sleep. did you cork that bottle of water? i want another drink." "i--i think we'd better economize on the water," suggested orissa, "at least until morning, when we can find out if there's any more in the chest." "all right. help me bail out this overflow and then we'll cuddle down." "steve said there were two blankets in the chest," said orissa, presently, when the bottom of the boat was dry. "i'll search for them." she found the blankets easily, by feeling through the contents of the chest. offering no further objection to sybil's plan, she prepared their bed for the night. neither of these girls had ever "roughed it" to any extent, but in spite of the peril of their situation and the liability of unforeseen dangers overtaking them, they were resourceful enough and courageous enough to face the conditions with a degree of intrepid interest. afloat on an unknown part of the broad pacific, with merely a tiny aluminum boat for protection, with final escape from death uncertain and chances of rescue remote, these two carefully nurtured young girls, who had enjoyed loving protection all their lives, were so little influenced by fear that they actually exchanged pleasantries as they spread their blankets and rolled themselves in the coverings for the night. "the lack of a pillow bothers me most," remarked sybil. "i think i shall rest my head on one of those cans of baked beans." "i advise you not to; you might eat them in your sleep," was orissa's comment. "may i rest my head upon you, chummie dear?" "you may not. try the engine." "that's hard. and there are enough wheels in my head already, without pounding my ear with them. suggest something else." "your own elbow, then." "thanks, dear. where's that slab of aluminum that used to be a seat?" it was a happy thought and furnished them both with a headrest. the seat was not an ideal pillow, but it answered the purpose because there was nothing better. chapter vi castaways "well, i declare!" exclaimed orissa, sitting up. after a moment sybil said, sleepily: "go ahead and declare it, ris. only, if we're drowned, please break the news to me gently!" "how strange!" muttered orissa, still staring. sybil stirred, threw off the blanket and also rose to a sitting position. "if it's a secret," she began, "then--oh, goodness me!" during the night the boat with its great overhead planes had gently floated into a little bay, where the water was peaceful as a millpond. two points of black rock projected on either side of them, outlining the bay. between these points appeared an island--a mass of tumbled rocks guiltless of greenery. there was a broad strip of clean, smooth sand on the shore, barely covering the slaty ledge, but back of that the jumble of rocks began, forming irregular hillocks, and beyond these hillocks, which extended for some distance inland, there seemed to be a great dip in the landscape--or rockscape--far back of which arose a low mountain formed of the same unlovely material as all else. "it's an island!" gasped sybil, rubbing her eyes to make sure they were working properly. "now, see here, cap'n ris, i want it understood right now which one of us is to be robinson crusoe and which the man friday. seems to me, i being the passenger and you the charioteer, the prestige is on my side; so i claim the crusoe part. i can't grow whiskers, and i'm not likely to find a parrot to perch on my shoulder, but i'll promise to enact the part as well as circumstances will permit." "i can't see a sign of life," announced orissa, regretfully. "there isn't even a bird hovering over the place." "lizards and snakes among the rocks, though, i'll bet," responded sybil, with a grimace. "all these rocky pacific islands are snaky, they say. i wonder if i can learn to charm 'em. you don't object to my being crusoe, do you?" orissa sighed; then she turned to her cheery comrade with a smile. "not at all," said she. "but i'll be columbus, the discoverer, for i've discovered a desert island while you were peacefully dreaming." "there's no desert about your island," stated sybil. "a desert would be a relief. what you've discovered, miss ris columbus--or what's discovered us, rather--is a rock heap." "desert or not, it's deserted, all right," maintained orissa. "and you may not have discovered it, after all," said sybil, musingly examining the place. "these seas have been pretty well explored, i guess, and although no nation would particularly care to pin a flag to this bunch of rocks, the maps may indicate it clearly." "ah, if we only had a map!" cried orissa eagerly. "what good would it do us?" asked sybil. "it couldn't help us to find ourselves, for we don't know what especial dot on the map we've arrived at. with muggins' complete atlas in hand, and a geography teacher thrown in, we wouldn't be able to pick out this island from the ones that litter these seas." "that is, unfortunately, quite true," sighed orissa; "and anyhow it's not worth an argument because we have no map. but we must be up and doing, sybil. if we are to keep ourselves alive, we must take advantage of every favorable circumstance." "what time is it?" yawned sybil. orissa looked at her watch. "a little after six." "call me at eight. i can't get up at six o'clock; it's too early, entirely." "but you went to bed at about seven." "did i? well, how about breakfast?" "we must inspect our stores and take inventory. then we must plan to make the provisions last as long as possible." "how dreadful! why, this is a real adventure, ris--threatened famine, and all that. we're regular castaways, like we read about in the fifteen-cent story magazines, and i wouldn't be surprised if we had to endure many inconveniences; would you?" "sybil," said orissa earnestly, "we are face to face with privation, danger, and perhaps death. i'm glad you can be cheerful, but we must understand our terrible position and endeavor to survive as long as possible. we know very well that our friends will have a hard time finding us, for they cannot guess what part of the ocean we descended in. it may take days--perhaps weeks--for them to discover us in this dreary place, and meantime we must guard our safety to the best of our ability." "naturally," agreed sybil, duly impressed by this speech. "your head is clearer and better than mine, orissa; so you shall take command, and i'll gladly follow your instructions. you mean to land, don't you? i'm tired of this cramped little boat and even a rocky island is better than no refuge at all." "of course we must land," replied orissa; "and that, i think, must be our first task. the shore is only a stone's throw from here, but we're fast on a sand bar, and how to get off is a problem." sybil began to take off her leggings, then her shoes and stockings. "we'll wade," she said. orissa peered over the side. "it's very shallow. i think we can wade to shore, syb, and pull the hy in after us. we must get the whole thing high and dry on the beach, if possible." sybil plumbed the water by tying a can of sardines to a cord from around one of the parcels. "i guess we can make it all right, cap'n," she said. "it's not very deep." "it may be a lot deeper closer in. but i guess we'll have to take a chance on it. and if the worst comes to the worst we _can_ dry our clothes on the beach." the sun was showing brilliantly above the horizon as the two girls stepped into the water. both could swim fairly well, but where the boat was grounded on the sand bar the water was scarcely knee-deep. they dragged steve's invention over the bar with little difficulty, the wheels materially assisting their efforts. beyond the bar the water deepened in spots, and once, as they drew the wrecked hy after them, the waves reached perilously high. then they struck the shelving beach and found hard sand under their feet. by pushing and hauling energetically they managed to run the boat, with its attached planes, to the shore, where the wheels on either side enabled them to roll it up the slope until, as orissa said, it was "high and dry." "seems to me," remarked sybil, panting, "we ought to have breakfasted first, for all this exercise has made me ravenous. that'll diminish our precious store of eatables considerably, i fear." with the machine safely landed they proceeded to dress themselves, after which orissa arranged upon the sand the entire contents of the aluminum chest. a kit of tools, adapted for use on the aircraft, together with some extra bolts, a strut or two and a coil of steel wire were first placed carefully on one side. "with these," said the girl, "i can easily repair the damage to our machine." "but what's the use, without gasoline?" asked sybil. orissa had no reply to this. she proceeded to inspect the provisions. mr. cumberford had a way of always providing enough for a regiment when he intended to feed a few, so in ordering lunch for two girls on an aërial voyage his usual prodigality had been in evidence. perhaps with an intuition that a delay or even an accident might occur to sybil and orissa, the old gentleman had even exceeded his record, in this instance. a big box of dainty sandwiches had been supplemented by three cartons of biscuits, a whole edam cheese, a bottle of pickles, two huge packages of cakes and eighteen tins of provisions, provided with keys for opening them. these consisted of sardines, potted ham and chicken, baked beans, chipped beef and the like. in another parcel was a whole roasted duck, in still another an apple pie, while two jars of jam completed the list of edibles. for the voyagers to drink mr. cumberford had added two half-gallon jars of distilled water, a bottle of grape juice, two of ginger ale and one of lemonade. the girls examined this stock with profound gravity. "i wish," said orissa, "there had been more bread and biscuits, for we are going to need the substantials rather more than the delicacies." "thank goodness we have anything!" exclaimed sybil. "i suppose we must breakfast on the cakes and jam, and save the other truck until later." "that's the idea," approved orissa. "the cakes won't keep for long; even the sandwiches will outlast them, i think." "true, if i eat all the cake i want," added sybil. "cakes and jam make a queer breakfast, orissa. in new england the pie would be appropriate." "let's save the pie--for lunch." "agreed. breakfast isn't usually my strong point, you know." as they ate, seated together upon the sands, they cast many curious glances at the interior of the island--a prospect forbidding enough. "do you know," said orissa, "the scarcity of food doesn't worry me so much as the scarcity of water. grape juice and ginger ale are well enough in their way, but they don't take the place of water." "we may possibly find water on this island," replied sybil, after a little thought. "i don't believe it. i've an idea that, hunt as we may, we shall find nothing more than rocks, and rocks, and rocks--anywhere and everywhere." "that's merely a hunch, and i distrust hunches. it will be better to explore," suggested sybil. "yes; i think we ought to do that. but--the snakes." "ah, the exclusive rock theory is already exploded," said sybil, with a laugh. "yet even snakes can't exist without water, can they? just the thought of the wrigglers makes me shudder, but if they are really our co-inhabitants here we won't be safe from them even on this shore. have we anything in the way of clubs?" orissa considered the question. then she went to the machine and with a wrench unfastened the foot-bar, which was long enough to extend across both seats and was made of solid steel. she also took the bolts out of one of the levers, which when released became an effective weapon of defense. thus armed, and feeling somewhat more secure, the girls prepared to move inland to explore their new habitation. they found the climb over the loose rocks adjoining the shore to be quite arduous, and aside from the difficulties of the way they had to exercise constant caution for fear of snakes. they saw none of these dreaded reptiles, however, and when they came to the hillocks they selected a path between the two most promising and began the ascent, keeping close together. so jagged were the tumbled masses of rock and so irregular in their formation that it was not a question of walking so much as crawling, but with their leggings, stout shoes and thick cloth skirts they were fairly protected from injury. the silence throughout the island was intense. the girls spoke in hushed tones, awed by their uncanny surroundings. from a clear sky the sun beat down upon their heads and was refracted from the rocks until the heat was oppressive. added to this a pungent, unrecognized odor saluted their nostrils as they progressed inland. "reminds me of the smell of a drug store," asserted sybil; but orissa replied: "it's more like the smell of a garage, i think." after a long and weary climb they reached the brow of the rock hills and were able to look down into the "dip" or valley which lay between them and the mountain. the center of the depression, which was three or four miles across, appeared to be quite free from rocks except in a few places where one cropped up in the form of a hummock. elsewhere the surface seemed smooth and moist, for it was covered with an oozy, stagnant slime which was decidedly repulsive in appearance. looking beyond this forbidding valley they discovered the first interesting thing they had yet observed. at the right base of the far-away mountain, lying between it and the sea, was a patch of vivid green, crowning an elevation that distinctly separated it from the central depression of the island. it might be grass or underbrush, this alluring greenery, but in any event it proved a grateful sight to eyes wearied by the dull waste of rocks. from the point where the girls stood they could also see the top of a palm tree which grew around the edge of the mountain. "well!" said orissa, drawing a long breath, "there is the first sign of life--animal or vegetable--we have found in this wilderness. that tree must indicate water, sybil." "whatever it indicates," was the reply, "yonder bluff is a better place for our camp than the bay where we floated ashore. how shall we get to it, though? it will be a heart-breaking climb cross-lots over these interminable rocks." "an impossible climb," orissa agreed. "i think our best plan will be to go around the island, following the sandy beach. it seems from here as if that bluff drops sheer down to the sea, but it will be much easier for us to climb a bluff than to navigate these rocks. let's go back and try it." cautiously and laboriously they made their way back to the beach, feeling considerably cheered by what they had seen and reassured by the total absence of the dreaded "wigglers." after resting a little from their exertions they prepared for the more important journey of discovery. sybil carried some food and the bottle of lemonade, while orissa secured two straps from the aëroplane and the coil of wire. then, still armed with their steel bars, they set out along the beach. their first task was to climb the rocks of the point which formed the bay, where it jutted out from the shore. this being accomplished they encountered another stretch of smooth beach, which gradually circled around the north end of the island. here it was easy walking and they made good progress, but the coast line was so irregular that it wound in and out continually, and in places huge boulders interrupted their passage and obliged them either to climb or wade, whichever seemed the most desirable. "already," sighed sybil, "we have tramped a thousand miles. did you mark that place, orissa, so we will know when we come to it?" "yes; i can tell it by the position of the sun. that side of the island faces the northwest." "and we haven't passed it?" "no; but we must be drawing near to it. i've been looking for the bluff the last half hour. the green place was quite elevated, you remember, and must be well above the sea level. look ahead; you'll notice the rocks are gradually rising, from here on." sybil nodded and again they trudged on. as the rocks grew higher at their left, the girls kept to the narrow strip of beach, which was beginning to be washed by an occasional wave. "the tide is rising," announced orissa; "but we shall be at the bluff very soon, and can then climb above this moisture. feet wet, syb?" "pickled in brine. wet feet signify a cold; cold signifies la grippe; la grippe signifies a doctor; the doctor signifies a depleted bank account. science of deduction, ris. it's only a step from wet feet to poverty." "i prefer a doctor to an undertaker," said orissa, "but as neither profession is represented here i advise you to forego the pleasure of taking cold." "right you are, cap'n columbus. no doctor, no cold. banish the thought! we can't afford the luxury of illness, can we? oh, here's the bluff." there it was, indeed; but absolutely unclimbable. it was sixty feet high, at least, and overhanging the sea like a shelf, the waves having cut it away at the base. "now, then," said orissa, after a careful inspection, "we must either go back or go on, in order to find a way up. as we haven't passed any steps or easy inclines, i propose we advance farther and see what the west end looks like." "i'll follow the leader; but the waves are already covering the beach," asserted sybil, with a grimace. "then let us wade; and don't lose any precious time, for the tide will come in faster every minute. shoes off, crusoe!" "aye, aye, columbus." with shoes, leggings and stockings in hand they began the advance, hugging the wall of rock and proceeding as swiftly as they could. at times one or the other would cry out as she stepped on a sharp bit of rock, but this was no time to shrink from petty trials and they bore up with admirable fortitude. chapter vii two girls and one island plodding along the narrow ledge of beach and constantly soused by the waves, the girls began to fear, as afterward proved to be fact--that the bluff covered the entire west end of the island. the water beneath their feet grew deeper and the undertow stronger with every step they advanced, but fortunately for their safety they finally came to a crevasse that split the bluff in twain, and down this rift trickled a rill of pure water. they both exclaimed with delight as they crept into the shelter of the crevasse. the fissure was not level, but extended upward at an acute angle, yet there was room enough at its mouth for the girls to creep above the wash of the waves. examining the place carefully, orissa thought they might be able to follow the rift up to the top of the bluff, and so at once they began the ascent. the two walls were so close together that they could touch both by extending their arms, and there was room, by stepping occasionally into the shallow brook, for them to climb from shelf to shelf without much difficulty. at the very top, however, they were brought to an abrupt halt. a waterfall leaped from the edge of the bluff, dropping a good ten feet to the point they had now reached, from whence there seemed no way of gaining the top. orissa and sybil looked at each other and laughed, the spray from the waterfall wetting their cheeks, which were now rosy from exercise. "trapped, cap'n!" cried sybil, merrily. "what next?" "we can't go back, you know." "not unless we prefer davy jones' locker to this stronghold--which i, for one, don't. therefore, let's eat." "that seems your resource in every emergency, sybil." "naturally. feasting stimulates thought; thought develops wit; wit finds a way." orissa raised herself to a seat upon a projecting crag and then, swinging her feet, proceeded to think while sybil brought out the food. "could you climb a wire, syb?" "not without years of practice. have you positively decided to establish a circus in these wilds, ris?" orissa stood upon the crag, examined the face of the rock and then drove the end of the bar she carried into a small fissure that was nearly on a level with her head. sybil observed the horizontal bar and laughed gleefully. "have a sandwich, chummie, and curb your imagination," said she. "i catch your idea, but respectfully decline to accept the hazard." orissa ate her sandwich and drank from the bottle of lemonade. then she rinsed her fingers in the brook, dried them on her handkerchief and again mounted the crag. "listen, crusoe: i'm going to make an attempt to break out of jail," she said impressively. "if i can reach to the top i'll find some way to get you up. as soon as i get my feet on that bar, you are to come up on this crag and hand me your lever. if i can find a pocket to stick that into, the deed is done." "bravo, ris! what a pity you haven't any spangles on your skirt. if you fall, fall gradually, for i'll be afraid to catch you." orissa's fingers clutched at the rough projections of rock and with some difficulty she gained a footing on the bar. then, still clinging to the face of the rift, she made a further examination. there seemed a small hole at the right, about breast high, and she called for the lever. this sybil promptly passed up. orissa thrust in the lever and the next instant nearly lost her footing, for with a bewildering hoot a white owl of monstrous size fluttered out and tumbled almost at sybil's feet, who uttered a shriek like an indian war whoop. the creature was blinded by the glare of day and went whirling down the incline of the crevasse until it was lost to sight. "first sign of life," called sybil. "don't look so scared, ris; there's nothing more harmless than an owl." "did you yell because _i_ was scared?" inquired orissa. "no, i was reproving the owl, who has a voice like a steam calliope. it would take more than a blind bird to scare either of us; wouldn't it, cap'n?" "i--i wish it hadn't been so--so unexpected," muttered orissa, feeling her way up to the second projection. with her feet on the lever she found her head well above the edge of the precipice and the first glance showed her a good hold for her hands. orissa kane was no skilled athlete, but her experience in steve's workshop, together with her aërial exercises and constant outdoor life, had given her well developed muscles which now stood her in good stead. she drew herself up, got her knee on the edge of the rock, and a moment later was on level ground at the top of the bluff. then she leaned over and called to sybil: "can you manage it?" "what a question!" retorted sybil, indignantly. "i stood below to catch you in case you slipped; but who is there to catch _me_, i beg to inquire?" "the owl," said orissa. "will you try it?" "is it worth while? tell me what you've found up there." orissa turned and examined the scene now spread before her. "better come up, syb," she said. "but wait a moment and i'll help you." she attached one of the straps to the coil of steel wire and passed the end down to her chum. "buckle the strap around you--just under your arms," she called. "i'll hold fast the wire at this end. you can't fall, then; but be careful, just the same." with this support sybil gained confidence. exercising extreme caution she followed orissa's example in scaling the cliff and as fast as she mounted her companion took up the slack in the wire and kept it taut. as soon as sybil stood on the upper bar orissa grasped her arms and drew her up beside her in safety. "there!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "where there's a will, there's a way. it wasn't such a difficult feat, after all." "there isn't enough money in the world to hire me to do it again," panted sybil, trembling a little from the giddy experience. "that may be true, but if our safety requires it we may repeat the performance more than once," declared orissa. "unfortunately, we have lost our weapons of defense." "can't we recover the bars?" "not without going down for them. if you think you could lower me over the edge----" "i just couldn't, ris. don't mention it." "very well; then we will proceed unarmed. look, sybil! isn't it a glorious prospect?" "in point of comparison, yes," admitted sybil, speaking slowly as she gazed around her. they were standing on a level table-land which lay between the base of the mountain and the sea. the "mountain" was really a great hill of rock, rising only a hundred and fifty feet or so from the table-land. the level space before them was clothed with a queer sort of verdure. it was not grass, but plants with broad and rather crinkly leaves, so tender that wherever the girls stepped the leaves were broken and crushed. nor was the color an emerald green; it was rather a pale pea-green and the plants grew not in soil but sprang from tiny cracks and fissures in a sort of shale, or crushed slate, which was constantly kept moist by the seepage of the little stream. the island here made an abrupt curve to the west and a little farther along the girls saw patches of bushes and several small groups of tall, tropical trees, resembling plantains, or palms. there were vines, too, which grew in rank profusion among the rocks and helped relieve the dismal landscape by their greenery. but nowhere appeared any earth, or natural soil; whatever grew, grew among the crushed rock, or shale, which seemed to possess a certain fertility where moisture reached it. "this part of the island seems by far the best," asserted sybil. "let us explore it thoroughly." they set out to skirt the edge of the bluff and on reaching the first group of trees found they were bananas. several bunches of plump fruit hung far up among the branches, quite out of reach. "we'll find a way to get at them if we are detained here long enough to need them," said orissa. a half mile beyond the place where they had so laboriously climbed the bluff they came upon a broad ravine which led directly down to the water's edge. it appeared as if a huge mass of rock had at some time become detached from the mountain and, sliding downward, had cut away the bluff and hurled itself into the sea, where it now lay a few rods from the water's edge and formed a sort of breakwater. the swirl of the waves around this mass of rock had made a small indentation in the shore, creating a tiny bay with a sandy beach. "ah," said orissa, examining this place, "here is where we must establish our camp; there is room enough to float our boat into the bay, where the water is calm, and on that smooth beach i can repair the hy at my leisure." "also, from this elevation," added sybil, "we can fly a flag of distress, which would be seen by any ship approaching the island." orissa nodded approval. "here is also water and food," said she. "if we can manage to navigate the hy to this place we have little to fear from a temporary imprisonment." "we must wait for low tide before we start back," observed sybil. "meantime, let's run down to the beach and see how it looks." the descent to the water's edge was easy, and they found the little bay ideal for their purpose. but they could hear the waves breaking with some force against the face of the cliff, just outside their retreat, and it would be hours before they might venture to return to the other side of the island. so again they ascended the bluff and selected a place for their camp, beneath the spreading foliage of the tall bananas. afterward they sought the source of the little brook, which was high up on the mountain and required a difficult climb to reach it. a spring seemed to well up, clear and refreshing, from a cleft in the rock, but even at its source there was no more water than would run from an ordinary house faucet. "isn't it astonishing," said orissa, "how much moisture is dispersed from this tiny stream? i think it never rains here and this spring of water supplies all the island." "this part of it, anyhow. it's mighty lucky for us the babbling brook is here," declared sybil, drinking deeply of the cool water and then bathing her heated brow with it. "but what stumps me, ris, is the lack of any life on the island. with water and green stuff both animals and birds might thrive here--to say nothing of bugs and lizards and serpents galore--yet aside from that great white owl we've not seen a living thing." "it really _is_ curious," admitted orissa. then, turning her gaze seaward, she exclaimed: "see there, sybil! isn't that another island?" "it surely is," was the reply; "and only a few miles away. it's a big island, too, ris--far bigger than this. did you bring along your glasses?" "no; they are in the boat." "when we get them we can inspect that island better. perhaps we could manage to get to it, ris." "we'll see," was the doubting answer. "i imagine, if that island is so much larger, and proves to be more fertile than this, that we have discovered the reason why the live things, such as birds and animals, prefer it as a place of residence." they made their way back to the bluff and waited patiently for the tide to ebb. according to orissa's watch it was quite four o'clock before they deemed it safe to venture on the sands, and even then they went barefooted, as an occasional wave still crossed their narrow path. by the time they reached the bay and their boat the two girls were very tired with their long tramp and as it was nearly sundown they decided to spend the night in this location and make the attempt to shift camp next day. chapter viii an owl concert while daylight lasted orissa was busy examining the injury to the aircraft and attempting a few preliminary repairs. her long mechanical experience in the workshop with her brother enabled her to determine accurately what was required to put the machine into proper working order, and she thought she could accomplish the task. "i can't see that it matters, anyhow," said sybil, watching her chum from a seat upon the sands. "we can't fly, and the boat is our only refuge. even that we must manage to row or sail in some way." "all very true," returned orissa, "but i can see no object in neglecting these repairs when i am able to make them. i can take off the bent elevator rods and straighten them, after which the elevator and rudder may assist us in sailing, as we can oppose them to the wind. the engine control is a more serious matter, for the wheel connection was broken off short. but i shall take a rod from a support and fit it in place and then replace the support with our steel wire. that is a sort of makeshift and will require time and nice adjustment, but i can do it, all right. the tools steve supplied were quite complete; there's even a box marked 'soldering outfit.'" "is there?" asked sybil, eagerly. "see if any matches are in it, ris." "matches?" "yes. the lack of matches has disturbed me considerably." "why, syb?" "we can't cook without them." "cook! why, i never thought of such a thing," said orissa, truly astonished. "what is there to cook, in this place?" "fish," answered sybil. "and what would you use for fuel?" "fuel?" "yes; what is there to make a fire with?" "never mind that. just see about the matches." orissa opened the soldering case and found an alcohol torch, a flask of alcohol, solder, acid and a box of matches. "good!" cried sybil, joyfully. "don't you dare do any wasteful soldering, orissa kane. save every drop of that alcohol to cook with." orissa laughed. "i have nothing to solder, just yet," said she. "and you've nothing to fry." "i soon shall have, though," was the confident reply. "we've assured ourselves of one thing, miss columbus, and that is that we can sustain life, in case of necessity, on bananas and spring water. so i propose we have one good, luxuriant square meal this evening by way of variety. we've done nothing but lunch for two whole days and i want something hot." "i'm willing, sybil. can you catch a fish?" "if there's one in our neighborhood. i'll try it while you are tinkering." among the tools was a ball of stout cord, and for hook sybil cut a short length of wire and bent it into shape with a pair of nippers, filing a sharp point to it. then she opened a can of chipped beef and secured a couple of slices for bait. going to the point of rock she found a place on the ocean side where a projecting shelf afforded her a seat above fairly deep water, and here she dropped her line. mr. cumberford was an enthusiastic fisherman and while sybil had never cared particularly for the sport she had accompanied her father on many a piscatorial expedition. a tug. the girl hauled in, hand over hand, and found she had captured a large crab, which dropped from the hook to the rocks and with prodigious speed made for the water and disappeared. "good riddance, old ugly!" laughed sybil. scarcely had she thrown her line when another tug came. a second crab floundered upon the rocks, but fell upon his back and lay struggling to turn himself. sybil ruefully contemplated the empty hook. "i can't feed all our good beef to horrid crabs," she exclaimed; "but the beef seems a good bait and i'll try again." another crab. orissa came clambering over the rocks to her friend's side. the sun was sinking. "what luck, syb?" "only three crabs. i'm afraid it's too shallow here for fish." orissa leaned over the still struggling crab--the only one that had not escaped. "why, we pay big money in los angeles for these things," said she. "they're delicious eating; but they have to be boiled, i think, and then cracked and newburged or creamed." "keep an eye on the rascal, then," said sybil. "can't he be eaten just boiled?" "yes; with mayonnaise." "there's none handy. let the high-brow go, and we'll fish for something that doesn't require royal condiments." but orissa weighted the crab with a heavy stone, to hold him down. then she sat beside sybil and watched her. "i'm afraid our fish dinner must be postponed," began miss cumberford, sorrowfully; but at that moment the line jerked so fiercely that she would have been pulled from her seat had not orissa made a grab and rescued her. then they both clung to the line, managing to draw it in by degrees until there leaped from the water a great silvery fish which promptly dove again, exhibiting a strength that nearly won for him his freedom. "hold fast!" gasped sybil, exerting all her strength. "we mustn't let him escape." the fish, a twelve-pound rockcod, made a desperate fight; but unfortunately for him he had swallowed the entire hook and so his conquest was certain if the girls could hold on to the line. at last he lay flopping upon the rocks, and seeing he was unable to disgorge the hook, they dragged him to the beach, where orissa shut her eyes and beheaded him with a hatchet from the tool chest. in the outfit of the chest, which had evidently been intended by steve and mr. cumberford for regular use in connection with the hydro-aircraft, they had found two aluminum plates, as well as knives and forks and spoons. sybil cut two generous slices from the big fish and laid them upon one of the metal plates. then they opened a can of pork and beans and secured a lump of fat to use in frying. orissa lighted the alcohol torch and sybil arranged some loose rocks so that they would support the plate suspended above the flame of the torch. the intense heat melted the fat and the fish was soon fried to a lovely brown. they ate it with biscuits and washed it down with ginger ale, confiding the while to one another that never had they eaten a meal so delicious. they let the torch flicker during the repast, for night had fallen, but when from motives of economy orissa had extinguished the flame they found a dim light suffused from a myriad of stars. later a slender crescent moon arose, so they were able to distinguish near-by objects, even with the shadow of the bleak mountain behind them. they had arranged their blankets in the boat and were sitting upon them, talking together in the starlight, when suddenly an unearthly cry smote their ears, followed by an answering shriek--then another, and another--until the whole island seemed echoing with a thousand terrifying whoops. "ku-whoo-woo-oo-oo! ku-whoo! ku-whoo-oo!" the two girls clung together tremblingly as the great chorus burst upon them; but after a moment sybil pushed her companion away with a nervous little laugh. "owls!" she exclaimed. "oh!" said orissa, relieved as the truth dawned upon her. "i--i thought it was savages." "so it is. i challenge any beings to yell more savagely than those fearful hoot owls. something must have happened to them, ris, for they've never made a mutter all day long." "because they have been asleep," answered orissa. they had to speak loudly to be heard above the turmoil of shrieks, although the owls seemed mainly congregated upon the distant mountain. the rocks everywhere were full of them, however, and hoots and answering hoots resounded from every part of the island. it was fairly deafening, as well as annoying and uncanny. they waited in vain for the noise to subside. "there must be thousands of them," observed sybil. "what's the row about, do you suppose!" "perhaps it's their nature to, syb. i wonder why we didn't hear the pests last night. when we wakened this morning all was silent as the grave." "i think we floated into the bay about daylight, when all the big-eyes had ducked into their holes. do you know, ris, the owls must be responsible for the absence of all other life on the island? they dote on snakes and lizards and beetles and such, and they'd rob the nests of any other birds, who couldn't protect themselves in the nighttime. so i suppose they've either eaten up all the other creatures or scared them to death." "that must be so. but, oh, sybil! if this racket keeps up every night how are we going to be able to sleep?" "ah. just inquire, cap'n, and if you find out, let me know," replied sybil, yawning. "i got up so early this morning that i'm dead for sleep this blessed minute." "lie down; i'll keep watch." "thank you. this lullaby is too entrancing to miss." the air grew cool presently, as it often does at night in the semi-tropics, and the two girls crouched down and covered themselves to their ears with the blankets. that deadened the pandemonium somewhat and as the owls showed no tendency to abate their shrieks, an hour or two of resigned submission to the inevitable resulted in drowsiness, and finally in sleep. as sybil said next morning, no one would have believed that mortal girl could have slumbered under the affliction of such ear-splitting yells; but sleep they did, and when they wakened at daybreak profound silence reigned. chapter ix miss columbus and miss crusoe sybil cooked more fish for their breakfast, although orissa objected to the extravagant waste of alcohol. but her chum argued that they must waste either the alcohol or the fish and as they had a strenuous day before them a substantial breakfast was eminently desirable. they now packed the aluminum chest and made arrangements for the voyage, for the sea in the bay was smooth as glass and the ocean seemed nearly as quiet outside. orissa had straightened and repaired the elevator rods and firmly bolted the chest in its original position, but the control must be a matter of future tinkering, the rod needed for its repair being at present stuck in the side of the bluff. it was easy to roll the machine down the beach into the water and set it afloat, but the difficult matter was to propel their queer, top-heavy craft through the water. a quiet sea meant no wind, nor could they feel the slightest breath of air stirring. oars they had none, nor any substitute for such things; nor could they find anything to pole the boat along with. "there's just one thing to be done," announced orissa, gravely, "and that is for us to take turns wading behind the thing and pushing it along. by keeping close to the shore we ought to be able to accomplish our journey in that way." "suppose we strike deep water?" suggested sybil. "we'll stay close to shore. there seems to be a beach all the way." "i'm game to try," declared sybil, in a brisk tone, "but it seems at first sight like an impossible task. i'm glad, miss columbus, that under these circumstances your island is uninhabited--except by owls who can't see in the daytime." "were there other inhabitants," returned orissa, "we would not be undertaking such a thing. the natives would either eat us or assist us." "true for you, cap'n. i'm going to keep my stockings on. they'll be some protection against those sharp rocks which we're liable to tread on." "i shall do the same," said orissa. "take your seat in the boat, syb, and i'll do the first stunt shoving. after we get around the point i will give you a chance to wade." "unanimously carried," said sybil. this undertaking did not appear nearly so preposterous to the two castaways as it may to the reader sitting quietly at home. except that circumstances had made orissa and sybil aëronauts at a time when few girls have undertaken to fly through the air--as many will do in the future--they were quite like ordinary girls in all respects. a capricious fate had driven them into a far-away, unknown sea and cast them upon an uninviting island, but in such unusual circumstances they did what any girls would do, if they're the right sort; kept their courage and exercised every resource to make the most of their discouraging surroundings and keep alive until succor arrived. so far, these two castaways had shown admirable stamina. had either one been placed in such a position alone, the chances are she might have despaired and succumbed to girlish terrors, but being together their native pride forbade their admitting or even showing a trace of fear. in this manner they encouraged and supported one another, outwardly calm, whatever their inward tremors might be. orissa kane was habitually dainty and feminine in both appearance and deportment, yet possessed a temperament cool and self-reliant. her natural cleverness and quickness of comprehension had been fostered by constant association with her mechanical, inventive brother, and it seemed to her quite proper to help herself when no one was by to render her aid. to wade in the warm, limpid water of the pacific, at a place far removed from the haunts of humanity, in order to propel the precious craft on which her life and that of her companion might depend, to a better location, seemed to this girl quite the natural thing to do. sybil's acute sense of humor led her to recognize the laughable side of this queer undertaking; yet even sybil, much more frail and dependent than her beloved chum, had no thought of refusing her assistance. the aluminum boat rode lightly upon the surface of the sea, the broad, overhanging planes scarcely interfering with its balance. indeed, the planes probably assisted in keeping the boat upright. orissa, knee-deep in the water, was not called upon to exert herself more than to wade; but this was a slow and tedious process and required frequent rests. at such times she would sit in the back of the boat and let her feet dangle in the warm water. gradually the hy was propelled around the point of rock into the open sea, and by keeping close to shore the girl seldom found herself out of her depth, and then only temporarily. sybil kept up a constant chatter, inducing orissa frequently to laugh with her, and that made the task seem more an amusement than hard labor. they took turns at the wading, as had been agreed upon, but because orissa was much the stronger her periods of playing mermaid were longer than those of her chum. in this manner they made good progress, and though sybil made a great deal of fun of what she called her "patent propeller," she took her turn at wading very seriously and pushed the strange craft through the water at a good rate of speed. by midday they reached the point where the bluff began to rise and here they sat together in the boat, shaded by the planes, and ate their luncheon with hearty appetites. they found it high tide, yet the water was more quiet than on the preceding day, and when they resumed their journey their progress was much more rapid than before. by two o'clock they had cautiously propelled the boat around the huge boulder that marked the ravine they had found and soon after had rolled it upon the sandy beach and anchored it securely beyond the reach of the tide. "if it would fly," said orissa, "i think we could push it to the top of the bluff; but if we use it at all, before our friends arrive, it must be as a boat, and not an aëroplane." "then," returned sybil, "let's remove the canvas from the lower plane and make a tent of it." "i've been thinking of that," said orissa, "and i'm sure it is a wise thing to do. i know how to take the clips off, and it won't injure the cloth in the least." "then get busy, and i'll help you." so, after a good rest on the beach in the sun they resumed their clothing. the wet stockings were thoroughly dried by the sun by the time they were ready for them, and presently they set to work removing the cloth from the lower plane. the task was almost completed when sybil suddenly exclaimed: "how about a frame for our tent?" orissa looked puzzled. "come up on the bluff," she proposed. the incline was not at all difficult and they soon stood on top the bluff. a thorough examination of the place disclosed no means of erecting the tent. a few dead branches that had fallen from the banana trees lay scattered about and there was a quantity of anæmic shrubbery growing here and there, but there was nothing to furnish poles for the tent or to support it in any way. "stumped, columbus!" laughed sybil, as they squatted together in the shade of the trees. "we shall have to drag up the aëroplane, after all, and use the plane-frame for our ridge-pole." orissa demurred at this. "there is always a way to do a thing, if one can think how," she said. "in this case, chummie dear, magic or legerdemain seems the only modus operandi," maintained sybil. but orissa was thinking, and as she thought she glanced at the trees. "why, of course!" she exclaimed. sybil's eyes questioned her gravely. "come on!" cried orissa, jumping up. "not a step, miss columbus, until i'm enlightened." "oh, crusoe, can't you see? it is so extremely simple that i'm ashamed of our stupidity. we've but to stretch our coil of wire between these two trees, throw the canvas over it and weight the bottom with rocks to hold it in place." sybil sighed. "it was _too_ easy," she admitted. "i never _could_ guess an easy conundrum; but give me a hard nut to crack and i'm a regular squirrel." they returned to the beach for the canvas and wire and orissa took several of the clips, with which to fasten together the ends of their tent. ascending once more, this time heavily loaded, to the group of bananas on the bluff, they proceeded to attach the wire to two of the trees. the plane-cover was large enough to afford a broad spread to their "a" tent and when the lower edges were secured by means of heavy stones, and the scattered rocks cleared away from the interior, their new domicile seemed roomy and inviting. their next task was to fetch the aluminum chest from the beach, and after they had lightened its weight by leaving in the boat all the tools except the hatchet and a small hack saw, they were able to carry the chest between them, although forced to make frequent stops to rest. "the lack of a bedstead worries me most," remarked sybil. "i don't like the idea of sleeping on the bare ground. how would it do, ris, to build a stone bed--something like an altar, you know, with a hollow center which we could fill with sand?" "that is a capital idea, crusoe, and will help clear our front yard of some of those flat stones. they are mostly slate, i think, instead of rock formation. heave-ho, my hearty, and we'll do the job in a jiffy." the girls lugged into the tent a number of stones of such size as they could comfortably move, and then orissa, who could put her hand to almost any sort of work, planned and built the extraordinary bedstead. it was laid solid, at first, but when about a foot from the ground she began to extend the sides of the pile and leave a hollow in the middle. this hollow they afterward filled with sand, carrying it in their dress-skirts from the beach. when finally the "altar to morpheus"--as sybil persisted in calling it--was completed, they spread their blankets upon it and it made a very comfortable place to sleep. they also erected a small rock stove, for there was enough firewood to be gathered, in the way of fallen branches, dead leaves and "peelings" from the tree-trunks, to last them for several days. the hatchet and hack saw helped prepare these scraps to fit the stove and by sundown the girls felt quite settled in their new residence. "we ought to fly a flag of distress from some place high up on those trees," observed orissa; "but we've no flag and no way to shin up the tree." "couldn't any ship see our white tent from the ocean?" asked sybil. "yes; i think so." "as for climbing the tree," continued sybil, "i wish your creative brain would evolve some way to do it. those fat, yellow bananas look mighty tempting and they would serve to eke out our larder. supplies are beginning to diminish with alarming rapidity, ris. only a box and a half of those biscuits left." "i know," said orissa, soberly. "to-morrow we will see what may be done to capture the bananas." after a time sybil said, softly: "by to-morrow we may begin to look for daddy and steve. of course it will take them some time to find us, but----don't you think, orissa, they're quite certain to find us, in the end?" orissa looked at her companion with a gleam of pity in her deep blue eyes; but she had no desire to disturb sybil's confidence in their rescue, whatever misgivings oppressed her own heart. "i believe they will find us," she affirmed. "it may not be to-morrow, you know, nor in a week, nor--perhaps--in a month----" "oh, orissa!" "but they'll cover the entire pacific in their search, i am positive, and sooner or later they'll come to this island and--take us away." "alive or dead," added sybil, gloomily. "oh, as for that, we are perfectly safe, and healthy--so far--and i imagine we could live for a long time on this island, if obliged to." again they sat silently thinking, while twilight gave way to darkness and darkness was relieved by the pale moonlight. suddenly a shriek sounded in their ears. a great white bird swooped down from the mountain and passed directly between their two heads, disappearing into the night with another appalling cry. this shriek was answered by another and another, until the whole island resounded with the distracting "ku-whoo-oo!" "the owls are awake," said orissa, rising resignedly. "come into the tent, sybil. i'm not sure they wouldn't attack us if we remained in the open." chapter x madeline dentry's proposition at the aviation field the crowd had watched the departure of the two girls, flying the famous kane hydro-aircraft, with eager interest but assured confidence in their making a successful trip. the flying girl never indulged in accidents, and her skill was universally admitted. to be sure, there was an added risk in flying over the water, but with a motor boat to sustain them when they alighted, the danger was reduced to a minimum and, in the minds of nearly all the spectators, a triumphant return was unquestioned. hundreds of glasses followed the flight and although the management sent several bird-men into the air to amuse the throng the real interest remained centered on the dim speck that marked the course of the flying girl. no sooner had orissa and sybil started on their voyage than stephen kane and mr. cumberford ran to the bluff overlooking the sea, where with powerful binoculars they could obtain an unobstructed view of the entire trip to the island and back again. presently madeline dentry joined them, in company with mr. and mrs. tupper, all standing silently with leveled glasses. "she's working beautifully," muttered steve, referring to his invention with boyish delight. "i'm sorry ris didn't make a straight line of it, but she always likes to give the dear public the worth of their money.... ah-h!" "by jove! that was an awkward turn," cried mr. cumberford, as they saw the aircraft keel at a dangerous angle and then slowly right itself. "i'm surprised at orissa. she usually makes her turns so neatly." "i've an idea that blamed steering gear stuck," said steve, ruefully. "i've been a little afraid of it, all along. but the girls are all right now. they're headed dead for the island and if orissa makes a neat drop to the water the rest is easy." no one spoke again for a time, all being intent upon the flying-machine. when it had seemed to reach the island, and even to pass over it, without a halt, there was an excited hum of amazement from the grand stand. madeline glanced at stephen kane's face and found it as white as a sheet. he was staring with dilated eyes toward the aircraft. "what in the mischief is orissa up to now?" questioned mr. cumberford, uneasily. "wasn't she to alight this side of the island?" "yes," answered steve hoarsely. "then----she can't be joking, or playing pranks. it isn't like her. why, they haven't swerved a hair's breadth from the course, or even slackened speed. they--they----" "they're in trouble, i'm afraid," said steve in trembling tones. "the control has failed them and they can't stop." "can't stop!" the little line of observers on the bluff echoed the thrilling words. from the grand stand came a roar of voices filled with tense excitement. some thought the flying girl was attempting a reckless performance, with the idea of shocking the crowd; but stephen kane knew better, and so did mr. cumberford. as the two men held their glasses to their eyes with shaking hands, straining to discover a sign that orissa had altered her course and was coming back, madeline dentry turned to look earnestly at the brother and father of the girls, knowing she could read the facts more truly from their faces than by focusing her own glasses on that tiny speck in the sky. the moments dragged slowly, yet laden with tragic import. the powerful lenses lost the speck, now found it again--lost it for good--yet the men most affected by this strange occurrence still glared at the sky, hoping against hope that their fears were unfounded and that the aircraft would come back. some one plucked steve's sleeve. it was chesty todd, his big body shaken like an aspen. "it--it has run away with 'em, steve. it's gone wrong, man; there's danger ahead!" "eh?" said steve, dully. "wake up and do something!" steve lowered his glasses and looked helplessly at mr. cumberford. cumberford returned the stare, glowering upon the inventor. "that's right; it's up to you, kane. what are you going to do?" he asked coldly. "there's no other hydro-aëroplane on the grounds," said the boy brokenly. "then get an aëroplane," commanded cumberford, sharply. "it would mean death to anyone who ventured to follow our girls in an aëroplane--not rescue for them." cumberford moaned, as if in pain; then stamped his foot impatiently, as if ashamed of his weakness. "well--well! what then, stephen kane?" he demanded. [illustration: "it--it has run away with 'em steve. it's gone wrong, man; there's danger ahead!"] steve wrung his hands, realizing his helplessness. "gentlemen," said madeline dentry, laying a gentle hand on mr. cumberford's arm, "let me help you. there is no reason for despair just yet; the condition of those girls is far from desperate, it seems to me. did i understand you to say, mr. kane, that your sister is unable to stop the engine, or to turn the machine?" steve nodded. "that's it," he said. "something has broken. i can't imagine what it is, but there's no other way to explain the thing." "very well," rejoined madeline, coolly, "let us, then, try to consider intelligently what will happen to them. will they presently descend and alight upon the surface of the water?" "i'm--i'm afraid not," steve answered. "if that were possible, orissa would have done it long ago. i think something has happened to affect the control, and therefore my sister is helpless." "in that case, how long will they continue flying?" persisted madeline. "as long as the gasoline lasts--three or four hours." "and how fast are they traveling, mr. kane?" "i think at the rate of about forty-five miles an hour." miss dentry made a mental calculation. "then they will descend about a hundred and fifty miles from here, in a straight line over that island," said she. "having a boat under them, i suppose they will float indefinitely?" again steve nodded, looking at the girl curiously and wondering at her logic. "if--if they manage to alight upon the water in good shape," he replied more hopefully, "they'll be safe enough--for a time. and they have food and water with them. the only danger i fear for them, at present, is that when the gasoline is exhausted the machine will be wrecked." "don't you aviators often shut off your engine and volplane to the ground?" asked madeline. "yes, with the elevator and rudder in full control. but that isn't the case with orissa. i'm certain her elevator control has bound in some way. were it broken, and free, the aircraft would have wobbled, and perhaps tumbled while we were looking at it. the elevator is wedged, you see, and my sister can't move it at all. so, when the gasoline gives out, i--i'm not sure how the machine will act." "anyway," exclaimed madeline, with sudden determination, "we are wasting valuable time in useless talk. follow me at once." "where to?" asked steve, in surprise. "to my yacht. i'm going after the girls. please come with us, mr. cumberford--and you, too, mr. todd. aunty," turning to mrs. tupper, "if you require anything from the hotel for the journey i will send you there in the car; but you must hurry, for every moment is precious." mr. cumberford straightened up, animated and alert, while his face brightened with a ray of hope. "we will take my car to the bay," said he, eagerly, "and mr. and mrs. tupper can use your own car to visit the hotel. will you accompany us, or ride with your aunt?" "with you," decided madeline. "i must have the captain get up steam and prepare to sail. it won't take long; i've ordered them to keep a little steam all the time, in case i wish to take a party out for a ride." even as they were speaking all walked rapidly toward the long line of motor cars. mrs. tupper, who had not ventured a remark or made any protest--quite contrary to her usual custom--now astonished her niece by saying: "never mind the hotel; let us all go directly to the yacht. with those two poor girls in danger i couldn't bear to think i had caused a moment's delay. it is very comfortable on the yacht and--we'll get along all right for a day." "to be sure; to be sure," agreed mr. tupper, nervously. "i shall be seasick; i'm bound to be seasick; i always am; but in this emergency my place is by madeline's side." of course no protest would have affected madeline's determination, and the worthy couple recognized that fact perfectly; hence they diplomatically abetted her plan. captain krell had attended the exhibitions at the aviation field, but while there he kept one eye on miss dentry. during the panic caused by the runaway aëroplane he saw miss dentry in earnest conversation with cumberford and kane and marked their hurried departure from the field. so the gallant captain scuttled back to the yacht at his best speed, to find miss dentry already aboard and the engineer shoveling in coal. both mr. cumberford and steve knew that the _salvador_ was by odds the fastest ship in the bay, and madeline's prompt offer to go to the rescue of their imperilled daughter and sister awakened hope in their breasts and aroused their lively gratitude. after all it did not take the yacht long to get under way. it was so perfectly manned and in such complete readiness that steam was the only requisite to begin a trip instantly. madeline could scarcely wait while with aggravating deliberation they hoisted anchor, but she became more composed as the yacht slowly headed out of the bay, the crew alert and the big captain as eager as any of them to rescue the daring bird-maids. by the time the _salvador_ reached the open sea the shore was lined with thousands of spectators, and the sight of the graceful yacht headed in chase of the two girls raised a cheer so lusty and heartfelt that it reached madeline's ears and caused her to flush with pleasure and renewed determination. chapter xi a game of checkers "nine o'clock!" cried orissa, giving sybil a nudge. "are you going to sleep all day, crusoe, like those dreadful owls?" "i'd like to," muttered miss cumberford, regretfully opening her eyes. "my, what a blessed relief from that night of torture! don't you think, ris, that those feathered fiends only stopped the concert because they'd howled until their throats were sore?" "i fear we made a mistake in changing our camp," returned orissa, busy with her toilet. "the shrieks sounded much louder than they did the night before." "question is," said sybil, rolling off the improvised bed, "how long we are to endure this imprisonment. if it's to be a mere day or so, don't let's move again. however, if you think we're here for life, i propose we murder every owl and have done with them." "we can't read the future, of course," remarked orissa thoughtfully, as she stroked her beautiful hair with her back-comb--the only toilet article she possessed. "steve may get to us any day, or he may have a hard time finding us. he will never give up, though, nor will your father, until our retreat is located and--and--our fate determined." "poor daddy!" sighed sybil; "he'll be worried to death. i've led him a dog's life, i know; but he's just as fond and faithful as if i'd been a dutiful daughter." "i hope they won't tell mother," said orissa. "the anxiety would be so hard for her to bear. _we_ know we're fairly comfortable, syb; but they can't know that, nor have any clear idea what's become of us." they fell quiet, after this, and exchanged few words until they were outside the tent and had made a fire of twigs and leaves in the rock stove. sybil warmed the last of the baked beans, adding a little water to moisten them. with these they each ate a biscuit and finished their breakfast with a draught of cool water from the spring. after the meal they wandered among the queer greenery they had before observed and sybil called attention to the fact that many of the broad, tender leaves had been nibbled at the edges. "the owls did that, of course," said orissa, "and if it is good food for owls i'm sure it wouldn't hurt us." "doesn't it look something like lettuce?" asked sybil. "yes; perhaps that is what it is--wild lettuce." she plucked a leaf and tasted it. the flavor was agreeable and not unlike that of lettuce. "well," said sybil, after tasting the green, "here's an item to add to our bill-of-fare. if only we had dressing for it a salad would be mighty appetizing." "there's the vinegar in the bottle of pickles," proposed orissa. "it won't go very far, but it will help. let us try the new dish for luncheon." "and how about the bananas?" asked miss cumberford. "i'll proceed to get them right now," promised orissa, walking back to the group of trees. the bare, smooth trunks extended twenty feet in the air before a branch appeared. the branches were broad, stout leaves, among which hung the bunches of fruit. "i hate to ruin a perfectly good tree," declared orissa, picking up the hatchet, "but self-preservation is the first law of nature." "goodness me! you're not thinking of chopping it down, i hope," exclaimed sybil. "no; that would be too great a task to undertake. i've a better way, i think." she selected a tree that had three large bunches of bananas on it. one bunch was quite ripe, the next just showing color and the third yet an emerald green. each bunch consisted of from sixty to eighty bananas. first orissa chopped notches on either side of the trunk, at such distances as would afford support for her feet. when these notches rose as high as she could reach, she brought two broad straps from the aircraft, buckled them together around the tree-trunk, and then passed the slack around her body and beneath her arms. thus supported she began the ascent, placing her feet in the notches she had already cut and chopping more notches as she advanced. in this manner the girl reached the lower branches and after climbing into them removed the strap and crept along until she reached the first bunch of bananas. "stand from under!" she cried to sybil and began chopping at the stem. presently the huge bunch fell with a thud and sybil gleefully applauded by clapping her hands. "the lower ones are a bit mushy, i fear," she called to her chum, "but that can't be helped." "we will eat those first," said orissa, creeping to the second bunch. she managed to cut it loose, and the third, after which she replaced the strap around her body and cautiously descended to the ground. the two girls then rolled over the ripest bunch and found the damage confined to a couple of dozen bananas, the skins of which had burst from the force of the heavy fall. a moment later they were feasting on the fruit, which they found delicious. "i've read somewhere," said sybil, "that bananas alone will sustain life for an indefinite period. they are filling and satisfying, and they're wholesome. we needn't worry any longer for fear of starvation, ris." "i imagine we'd get deadly tired of the things, in time," replied orissa; "but, as you say, they'll sustain life, and just at present they taste mighty good." they drew the ripest bunch into the tent, but left the others lying in the bright sunshine. "now," announced orissa, "we must make an expedition to that crevasse and rescue the bar and the lever, which we left sticking in the rocks. the tide is low, so we may go around by way of the shore." a leisurely walk of fifteen minutes brought them to the crevasse, down which tumbled the tiny brook. orissa, as the most venturesome, climbed to the bar, from whence she managed to pull the lever out of the owl's nest into which she had formerly thrust it. if the owl was hidden there now it failed to disclose its presence and on descending to the rocks orissa easily released the bar. so now, armed once more with their primitive weapons, the girls returned to their camp. "i can attach these to our machine at any time," said the air-maid, "so i think it may be best to keep them beside us, to use in case of emergency. i haven't felt entirely safe since we lost them." "nor i," returned sybil. "we haven't encountered anything dangerous, so far, but i like to feel i've something to pound with, should occasion arise." that afternoon orissa worked on the aircraft, repairing the damage caused by the sliding chest. she also took apart the steering gear, filed the bearings carefully, and afterward replaced the parts, fitting them nicely together and greasing them thoroughly. as a result of this labor the gear now worked easily and its parts were not likely again to bind. "steve made it altogether too light for its purpose," said the girl. "on the next machine i must see that he remedies that fault." sybil had been lying half asleep on the sands, shaded by the spreading plane of the aircraft. she now aroused herself and looked at her companion with a whimsical expression while the other girl carefully gathered up the tools and put them away. "all ready to run, ris?" she asked. "all ready." "i suppose with the gasoline tanks filled we could go home?" "yes; i think so. with the wind in our favor, as it was when we came, we ought to cover the same distance easily." "very good. i hope you are now satisfied, having worked like a nailer for half a day, getting a machine in order that can't be utilized. gasoline doesn't grow on this island, i imagine--unless it could be made from bananas." "no; it doesn't grow here." "and none of the department stores keep it." "true." "but we've got a flying-machine, in apple-pie order, except that we're using one of the plane coverings for a tent and a lever for a weapon of defense." "absolutely correct, crusoe." "hooray. let's go to sleep again, dear. those screechers will keep us awake all night, you know." she closed her eyes drowsily and orissa sat beside her and looked thoughtfully over the expanse of blue ocean. there was nothing in sight; nothing save the big island at the west, which seemed from this distance to be much more desirable than the bleak rocks on which the adventurers had stranded. orissa got her binoculars and made a careful inspection of the place. through the powerful glasses she could discover forests, green meadowland and the gleam of a small river. it was a flat island, yet somewhat elevated above the surface of the sea. she judged it to be at least four times bigger than the island they were now on. the distance rendered it impossible to discover whether the place was inhabited or not. no houses showed themselves, but of course she could see only one side of the island from where she sat. orissa did not feel sleepy, in spite of her wakeful night, so she took sybil's fishline and baited the hook with a scrap of beef. going to the top of the bluff she began to fish, and as she fished she reviewed in mind all the conditions of their misfortune and strove to find a way of relief. being unsuccessful in both occupations she finally came back to the little bay and waded out to the big rock that guarded the mouth of the inlet. on the ocean side there was good depth of water and in the course of the next half hour she landed a huge crawfish, two crabs and a two-pound flat fish resembling a sole. this last is known as "chicken-halibut" and is delicious eating. she aroused sybil, and the two girls built a fire, using dry twigs from the brushwood, a supply of which they had gathered and placed near their tent. in the fat taken from the crawfish they fried the halibut for supper. then among the coals and hot stones they buried the crabs, keeping a little fire above them until they were sure the creatures were thoroughly roasted. next day they cracked the shells and picked out the meat, deciding they might live luxuriously even on an island of rocks, provided they exercised their wits and took advantage of all conditions nature afforded them. at dark thousands of great owls came from their retreats among the rocks and flew ceaselessly about the island, uttering their distracting cries. nor was there a moment's peace again until daybreak. the birds were evidently in search of food, and found it; but what it consisted of the girls could not imagine. singularly enough, the castaways were growing accustomed to the deafening clamor and as they felt quite safe within their enclosed tent they were able to sleep--in a fitful, restless way--a good part of the night. the following day they began to find the hours dragging tediously, for the first time since their captivity. arm in arm the two girls wandered around the elevated end of their island, exploring it thoroughly but making no new discoveries of importance. the barren, slimy hollow that lay inland had no temptations to lure them near it and so there remained little else to do but watch the ocean and prepare their meals. "this is our fourth day of isolation," announced sybil, in a tone more irritable than she was wont to use. "i wonder how long this thing will last." "we must be patient," said orissa, gently. "our dear ones are making every effort to find us, i'm sure, and of course they will succeed in time. we are at some distance from the usual route of ships; that is evident; and for this reason it will be more difficult for our friends to locate us. i suppose that a few days more may easily pass by before we catch sight of a boat coming to get us. but they'll come, syb," she repeated, confidently, "and meantime we--we must be--patient." sybil stared across the water. "do you play checkers?" she asked abruptly. "steve and i used to play, long ago. i suppose i could remember the game, and it might amuse us; but we have no checkerboard, nor men for it." "pah! and you the sister of an inventor!" cried sybil scornfully. "i'm astonished at you, miss kane. haven't you enough reflected ingenuity to manufacture a checkerboard?" "why, i think so," said orissa. "the idea hadn't occurred to me. i'll see what i can do." "you make the board, and i'll find the men," proposed sybil, and springing to her feet she ran down to the beach, glad to have anything to occupy her and relieve the dreary dragging of the hours. orissa looked around her, pondering the problem. material for a checkerboard seemed hopelessly lacking, yet after a little thought she solved the problem fairly well. first she ripped the flounce from her black silk petticoat and with the jackknife from the tool kit she cut out thirty-two black squares, each two inches in diameter. then she took a tube of prepared glue that was in the outfit and walked up the incline to their tent, in the center of which stood the aluminum chest. this chest, being of a dull silvery color, and quite smooth on all its sides, was to be the groundwork of the checkerboard squares, as well as the board itself and the elevated table to play on. orissa glued the squares of black silk to the cover of the chest, leaving a similar square space on the aluminum surface between each one. when this was accomplished she pasted a narrow edge of black around the entire sixty-four squares, thus marking their boundary. she was very proud of this work and was regarding it admiringly when sybil entered. "how clever!" cried her chum, genuinely enthusiastic. "really, miss columbus, you have done better than i. but here are the checker-men, and they'll do very nicely." as she spoke she dumped from her handkerchief upon the board twenty-four shells which she had carefully selected from those that littered the beach. twelve were dark in color and twelve pearly white and being of uniform size they made very practical checkers. "now, then," said she, squatting beside the chest and arranging her shells in order, "i'll play you a series of games for a box of bonbons, to be purchased when we return to civilization." "how many games?" asked orissa, seating herself opposite. "let us say--the best three in five. if that's too rapid we will make the next bet the best six in ten, or twelve in twenty. agreeable, columbus?" "entirely so, crusoe." it was really a capital diversion. sybil played very well and it required all orissa's cleverness to oppose her. at times they tired of the play and went for a stroll on the bluff; and always, no matter how intent they were upon the game, they kept watchful eyes on the ocean. and in this manner the days dragged on their weary lengths and the nights resounded to the shrill cries of the owls. one morning sybil asked: "isn't to-day tuesday, orissa?" "yes," was the quiet reply. "we've inhabited this wilderness just a week." chapter xii the quest of the salvador on the roomy forward deck of the _salvador_ an earnest conference was held. "how fast are we going?" asked steve. "the captain says about fifteen miles an hour. that's our best clip, it seems," replied madeline. "and very good speed," added captain krell, proudly. "so it is, for an english yacht," agreed mr. cumberford. "in that case," said steve, "we are moving one-third as fast as the aircraft did, and we were about two hours later in starting. provided the girls exhaust their gasoline in flying, they will make a hundred and fifty to two hundred miles, requiring five or six hours' time. then they will alight, bobbing upon the water and helpless to move in any direction except where the current carries them. it will take us eighteen hours to reach that same spot, and we will therefore be twelve hours behind them. do you all follow me?" they nodded, listening intently. "now, the girls left at about one thirty this afternoon. if my calculations are correct, they'll take to the water anywhere from six thirty to seven thirty this evening. we shall overtake them at about the same hour to-morrow morning. unless they drift considerably out of their course we shall see the white planes at daybreak and have no trouble in running alongside. but there's always the chance that through some cause they may manage to drop to water sooner, and perhaps run the boat toward home. orissa is a very clever girl, as you all know; calm and resourceful; quick-witted and brave. she will do all that anyone could do to bring the aircraft under control. so the one danger, it appears to me, is that we may pass them during the night." "that danger, sir," said captain krell, "may be reduced to a minimum. we carry a very powerful searchlight, which shall be worked by my men all night, illuminating not only the course ahead, but the sea for miles on every side. as you say, mr. kane, the white planes may be easily seen against the blue water, and we positively cannot miss them during the night." "you--er--interest me," said mr. cumberford, looking more cheerful. "we seem to have everything in our favor, thanks to miss dentry's generosity." "i'm _so_ glad i bought this yacht!" exclaimed madeline, fervently, "for it enabled me to go to the assistance of those poor girls. i'm sure it was all providential." "let us hope," said mr. tupper pompously, "the young women will survive until we reach them. however, we shall learn their fate, in any event, which will afford us a certain degree of satisfaction." that speech was like a douche of cold water, but although the gentleman received various indignant and reproachful looks he had "sized up the situation" with fair accuracy. mr. cumberford, however, since those first despairing moments on the aviation field, had recovered command of his feelings and seemed hopeful, if not confident, of his daughter's ultimate escape from serious mishap. he was exceedingly fond of orissa, too, and even had not sybil been with her it is certain that he would have been much worried and eager to go to her assistance. stephen kane, on the contrary, grew more nervous as time passed. better than the others he knew the dangers that threatened the girls if, as he suspected, the steering gear had broken and the elevator and engine control been rendered useless. he racked his brain to think what could have caused the trouble, but never a hint of the truth dawned upon him. the third member of the kane-cumberford party, mr. h. chesterton radley-todd, had maintained a discreet silence ever since miss dentry had invited him to join the rescue party. this she had been led to do by the look of abject misery on the boy's face, and he had merely pressed her hand to indicate his thanks. chesty todd was never much of a conversationalist and his appreciation of his own awkwardness rendered him diffident unless occasion demanded prompt and aggressive action, when he usually came to the front in an efficient if unexpected manner. madeline dentry, seeing chesty todd merely as he appeared, wondered in a casual way why such a blundering, incompetent booby had been employed by the kane-cumberford firm, but as the big boy was a part of the "camp" and was so evidently disturbed by the accident, she was glad to relieve him to the extent of adding him to the party. very soon after the _salvador_ started, however, nearly every one on board began to feel the presence of the youthful press agent. it was chesty todd who discovered the searchlight aboard and long before the conference on the deck he had primed the captain to use it during the coming night. it was chesty todd who sat on a coal-bunker in the hold, swinging his long legs and inspiring the engineer, by dark insinuations concerning the _salvador's_ ability to speed, to give her engines every pound of steam she could carry. it was chesty who pumped the steward to learn how well the boat was provisioned and supplied the deck hands with choice cigars until they were ready to swear he was a trump and imagined him quite the most important personage aboard, after miss dentry. the chef served an excellent dinner in the cabin, to which no one did full justice except mr. tupper. all were loth to leave the deck long enough to eat, although they knew a watch was stationed in the "crow's nest" with powerful glasses. when night fell the searchlight came into play and the entire party sat huddled forward, eagerly following the sweep of light across the waters. it was ten o'clock when mr. and mrs. tupper retired, and midnight when madeline went to her room, leaving orders to call her if the aircraft was sighted. stephen kane, mr. cumberford and chesty todd sat by the rail all night, wide-eyed and alert. once the searchlight caught the sails of a ship and they all leaped up, thinking it was the aircraft. again, something dark--a tangled mass of wreckage--swept by them and set their hearts throbbing until they held the light steadily upon it and discovered it to be a jumble of kelp and driftwood. daylight came and found them wan but still wakeful, for now they were getting close to the limit of flight possible to the aircraft. captain krell was a skillful navigator and, having taken his course in a direct line from sealskin island, following the flight of orissa's hydro-aircraft, had not swerved a hair's breadth from it the entire voyage. "you see," said steve, peering ahead in the strengthening daylight, "the _salvador_ hasn't dodged a bit, and the aircraft couldn't. so we're bound to strike our quarry soon." "wind," suggested chesty. "yes; the wind might carry them a little out of their course, to be sure," admitted steve; "but i think--i hope--not far enough to escape our range of vision." at about seven o'clock, at chesty todd's suggestion, the engines were slowed down somewhat, that the lookout aloft might have better opportunity to examine the sea on all sides of the ship. the yacht still maintained fair speed, however, and the call to breakfast finding no one willing to respond, madeline ordered coffee and rolls served on deck, where they could all watch while refreshing themselves. "what's your run, captain?" asked steve, nervously. "hundred and forty miles, sir." "indeed! go a little slower, please." the captain rang the bell to slow down. presently the _salvador_ was creeping along at the rate of ten miles an hour. "the gasoline," said steve, "may have carried them farther than i figured on. it's a new machine and i haven't had a chance to test the exact capacity of the tanks." the moments dragged tediously. every person aboard was laboring under tense excitement. "what's the run, captain?" "one fifty-two, sir." "ah." nothing was in sight; only an uninterrupted stretch of blue sea. hour after hour passed. at noon the run was two hundred and twenty miles and the aëroplane had not been sighted. steve turned and faced those assembled. "it's no use going farther in this direction," he said, the words trembling on his lips. "i'm very sure they couldn't have made this distance." "evidently their course has been altered by the wind," added mr. cumberford. "gusty, at times, last night," asserted chesty. steve nodded. "a strong wind might do what the girls couldn't," said he. "that is, it might alter the direction of their flight. how did it blow?" "at four o'clock, from the north; at five fifteen, from the west; at six, due south," said chesty. there was silence for a few minutes. the engines had been shut down and the boat lay drifting upon the water. "i think it will be well to examine the charts," suggested mr. todd, "and find out where we are." "i know where we are," said captain krell. "wait a moment; i'll get the chart, so you may all study it." he brought it from his cabin and spread it upon a folding table on the deck. a penciled line ran directly from the port of san diego to a point south by southwest. "a few more hours on the same course and we'd sight the little island of guadaloup, off the mexican coast," explained captain krell. "but the aëroplane couldn't go so far; therefore we must search on either side the course we've come." they all bent their heads over the map. "what are those unmarked dots which are scattered around?" inquired mr. cumberford. "islands, sir. mostly bits of rock jutting out of the sea. they're not important enough to name, nor do they appear on an ordinary map; but a seaman's chart indicates them, for unless we had knowledge of their whereabouts we might bump into them." "they're mostly to the south of us, i see," remarked mr. tupper. "yes, sir." "and it's south we must go, i think," said steve, looking at chesty todd for the youth to confirm his judgment. "there was no wind to take them to the west of this course, i believe." "that's my idea," declared the press agent. "i would suggest our doubling back and forth, on the return trip, covering forty or fifty miles at each leg. seems like we couldn't miss 'em, that way." after much consultation this plan was finally agreed upon. the captain outlined his course and followed it, so that during the next four days not a square yard of ocean escaped their search. but it was all in vain and at the end of the fourth day, with the california coast again in sight, there was scarcely a person aboard who entertained the slightest hope of finding the missing girls. chapter xiii capricious fate a wireless was sent to the shore, reporting the failure of the _salvador_ to locate the runaway aëroplane and asking if any tidings had been received of orissa kane and sybil cumberford. there was no news. madeline called her passengers together again for a further consultation. "what shall we do?" she asked. neither steve nor mr. cumberford could well reply. miss dentry had generously placed her splendid yacht at their disposal and in person had conducted the search, neglecting no detail that might contribute to their success. but failure had resulted and they could not ask her to continue what appeared to be a hopeless undertaking. steve, who had had ample time to consider this finale, tried to answer her question. "we are very grateful to you, miss dentry," he said, "and both mr. cumberford and i fully appreciate the sacrifice you have made in so promptly trying to rescue our girls. that we face failure is no fault of yours, nor of your crew, and i realize that you have already done all that humanity or friendship might require. of course you understand that we cannot give up until my sister's fate, and that of miss cumberford, is positively determined. therefore, as soon as we reach shore we shall organize another expedition to continue the quest." "you are doing me an injustice, sir," returned the girl gravely. "whatever my former plans may have been i am now determined not to abandon this voyage until we have found your sister and her companion. i was greatly attracted by orissa kane, and grieve over her sad fate sincerely. moreover, i do not like to put my hand to the plow without completing the furrow. unless you believe you can charter a better boat for your purpose than the _salvador_, or can find a crew more devoted to your interests, i shall order captain krell to turn about and renew the search." that, of course, settled the matter. the _salvador_ put about and returned to a point where the see-sawing must be renewed and extended to cover more expanse of ocean. chesty todd, coming to where madeline stood beside the rail, looked into her piquant face with frank admiration. "excuse me, miss dentry," said he, "but you're what i'd call a brick. i knew, of course, you'd stick it out, but there's no harm in congratulating a girl on being true blue. i'm awfully glad you--you had the grit to tackle it again. i'll never be myself again until those girls are found." she looked up at him reflectively. "which of the young ladies are you engaged to?" she asked. "me?" blushing like a schoolboy; "neither one, if you please. they--they're only kids, you know." "then which one do you love?" "both!" said chesty todd, earnestly. "they're splendid girls, miss dentry; _your_ sort, you know." she smiled. "then it's the 'sort' you love?" she asked. "yes, if you'll allow me. not the individual--as yet. when i love the individual i hope it'll be the right sort, but i'm so humbly unlucky i'll probably make a mistake." for the first time since their acquaintance madeline found the big boy interesting. she knew very little of the history of the kanes and cumberfords, but found chesty eager to speak of them and of his past relations with them, being loud in his praise for the entire "combination." cumberford was an eccentric fellow, according to mr. radley-todd, but "straight as a die." steve was chock full of ability and talent, but not very practical in business ways. mrs. kane, orissa's blind mother, was the sweetest and gentlest lady in the world, sybil cumberford a delightful mystery that defied fathoming but constantly allured one to the attempt, while orissa---- "orissa kane is a girl you'll have to read yourself, miss dentry, and the more you study her the better you'll love her. she's girl all over, and the kind of girl one always hopes to meet but seldom does. old-fashioned in her gentleness, simplicity, truth and candor; up-to-the-minute in the world's latest discovery--the art of flying. modest as tennyson's dairymaid; brave as a trooper; a maid with a true maid's heart and a thorough sport when you give her an aëroplane to manage. excuse me. i don't often talk this way; usually i can only express myself in writing. but a fellow who wouldn't enthuse over orissa kane could only have one excuse--total dumbness." "i see," said madeline, slyly. "miss kane is the type of the 'sort' of girl you love." "exactly. but tell me, since you've started on such an indefinite cruise, is the _salvador_ well provisioned?" "from the sublime to the ridiculous! we have stores to last our party six weeks, without scrimping." "good. and coal?" "enough for a month's continuous run. i had intended a trip to honolulu--perhaps as far as japan--and had prepared for it even before i was privileged to lay eyes on my yacht." "how fortunate that was, for all of us! somehow, i've a feeling we shall find those girls, this time. before, i had a sort of hunch we were destined to fail. can you explain that?" "i shall not try." "we didn't allow enough for the wind. a sudden gust might have whirled the aircraft in any direction, and it would jog along on that route until the next blow." "do you believe they are still alive?" she asked softly. "yes; i've never been able to think of them as--as--otherwise. they are wonderfully clever girls, and orissa knows aëroplanes backwards and forwards. she's as much at home in the air as a bird; and why shouldn't the machine fall gently to the water, when the gasoline gave out? if it did, they can float any length of time, and the pacific has been like a mill pond ever since they started. according to mr. cumberford, they have enough food with them to last for several days. i've an idea we shall run across them bobbing up and down on the water, as happy and contented as two babes in the wood." the big fellow sighed as he said this, and madeline understood he was trying to encourage himself, as well as her. in spite of chesty todd's prediction, day followed day in weary search and the lost aëroplane was not sighted. captain and crew had now abandoned hope and performed their duties in a perfunctory way. stephen kane had grown thin and pale and deep lines of grief marked his boyish face. mr. cumberford was silent and stern. he paced the deck constantly but avoided conversation with steve. madeline, however, kept up bravely, and so did chesty todd. they were much together, these trying days, and did much to cheer one another's spirits. had a vote been taken, on that tenth dreary day, none but these two would have declared in favor of prolonging what now appeared to be a hopeless quest. "you see," said chesty to madeline, yet loud enough to be heard by both cumberford and steve, "there's every chance of the girls having drifted to some island, where of course they'd find food in plenty; or they may have been picked up by some ship on a long voyage, and we'll hear of 'em from some foreign port. there are lots of ways, even on this trackless waste, of their being rescued." this suggestion was made to counteract the grim certainty that the castaways had by now succumbed to starvation, if they still remained afloat. several small islands had already been encountered and closely scanned, with the idea that the girls might have sought refuge on one of them. the main thing that kept alive the spark of hope was the fact that no vestige of the aircraft had been seen. it would float indefinitely, whether wrecked or not, for the boat had enough air-tight compartments to sustain it even in a high sea. on the evening of this tenth day the _salvador_ experienced the first rough weather of the trip. the day had been sultry and oppressive and toward sundown the sky suddenly darkened and a stiff breeze caught them. by midnight it was blowing a hurricane and even the sturdy captain began to have fears for the safety of the yacht. there was little danger to the stout craft from wind or waves, but the sea in this neighborhood was treacherous and full of those rocky islets so much dreaded by mariners. captain krell studied his chart constantly and kept a sharp lookout ahead; but in such a night, on a practically unknown sea, there was bound to be a certain degree of peril. there was as little sleep for the passengers as for the crew on this eventful night. the women had been warned not to venture on deck, where it was dangerous even for the men; but madeline dentry would not stay below. she seemed to delight in defying the rage of the elements. clinging to the arm of chesty todd, the huge bulk of whose six-feet-three stood solid as a monument, she peered through the night and followed the glare of the searchlight, now doubly useful, for it showed the pilot a clear sea ahead. mr. tupper bumped into them, embraced chesty for support and then bounded to the rail, to which he clung desperately. "why are you on deck?" asked madeline, sternly. "go below at once!" just then a roll of the yacht slid him across the deck, tumbled him against the poop and then carried him sprawling into the scuppers. when he recovered his breath mr. tupper crawled cautiously to the companionway and disappeared into the cabin. steve and mr. cumberford had lashed themselves to the rail and in spite of the drenching spray continued to peer into the wild night with fearful intensity. both were sick at heart, for they knew if the girls had managed to survive till now, their tiny boat would be unable to weather the storm. every shriek of the wind, which often resembled a human cry, set them shivering with terror. it was toward morning when the glare of the searchlight suddenly revealed a dark peak just ahead. stephen kane and mr. cumberford saw it, even as the warning scream of the lookout rang in their ears. captain krell saw it, and marveling at its nearness, sprang to the wheel. madeline and chesty saw it, too, and instinctively the big fellow put his arms around her as if to shield her. wild cries resounded from the deck; the bells rang frantically; the engines stopped short and then reversed just as a huge wave came from behind, caught the _salvador_ on its crest and swept her forward in its onward rush. two men threw their weight upon the wheel without effect: the propeller was raised by the wave above the water line and whirred and raced madly in the air, while beneath the gleam of the searchlight a monstrous mass of rock seemed swiftly advancing to meet the fated ship. past the port side, where madeline and her escort clung, swept a jagged point of rock; the yacht bumped with a force that sent everyone aboard reeling forward in a struggling heap; then it trembled, moaned despairingly and lay still, while the wave that had carried it to its doom flooded the decks with tons of water and receded to gloat over the mischief it had caused. the searchlight was out; blackness surrounded the bruised and bewildered men and women who struggled to regain their feet, while in their ears echoed a chorus of terrifying shrieks not of the wind, but so evidently emanating from living creatures that they added materially to the panic of the moment. chesty todd released madeline, gasping and half drowned, from the tangle of humanity in the bow, and succeeded in getting her to the rail. the bow of the yacht was high and it lay over on one side, so that the deck was at a difficult angle. "are--are we sinking?" asked the girl, confused and unnerved by the calamity. "no, indeed," replied chesty, his mouth to her ear. "we can't sink, now, for we're on solid ground and lying as still as a stuffed giraffe." "oh, what shall we do?" she cried, wringing her hands. "if we are wrecked we can't save orissa--perhaps we can't save ourselves! oh, what shall we do?--what shall we do?" the boy saw that the shock had destroyed her usual poise and he could feel her trembling as she clung to him. "my advice," he said quietly, "is that we all get to bed and have a wink of sleep. it has been a long and exciting day for us, hasn't it?" chapter xiv on the bluff sybil clapped her hands gleefully and looked at orissa in triumph. "the rubber is mine!" she cried. "you now owe me sixteen boxes of chocolates, nine of caramels and twelve of mixed bonbons--enough to stock a candy store. tell you what i'll do, commodore columbus; i'll pit my desert island and my man friday against your fleet of galleys and the favor of queen isabella, and it shall be the best three out of five games. are _you_ game, my dear discoverer?" orissa laughed. "you ought to give me odds, crusoe, for you are the more skillful checker player," she replied. "but i won't play any more to-day. this heat is dreadfully oppressive and from the looks of the sky i'm afraid a storm is brewing." "what? a rain storm?" asked sybil, jumping up to go outside the tent and examine the sky. "rain, hail, thunder, lightning and tornadoes; anything is likely to follow a storm in this latitude," declared orissa, following her. "i think, sybil, we ought to make all as safe and secure as possible, in case of emergency, while we have the time." "what can we do?" asked sybil. "i won't mind the storm very much, if it doesn't have lightning. that's the only thing i'm afraid of." orissa examined the sky critically. "i predict high winds," she presently said, "and high winds might endanger our property. let us get to the beach, first, and see what may be done to protect the aircraft." they found the flying-machine fairly well protected by the walls of the ravine in which it lay, but as the big upper plane offered a tempting surface to the wind orissa set to work and removed it, a task that consumed two full hours. then she wired the framework to a big rock, for additional security, and carrying the canvas from the plane between them, the girls returned to their tent. "will our house stand much of a wind?" asked sybil. "it is rather exposed, on this bluff," replied orissa, doubtfully. "i think it will be wise for us to pile more rocks upon the edges. the wire will hold, i'm sure, for it is nickel-steel, and if we close the ends of the tents securely we may escape damage." "all right; i'm glad to have something to do," cried sybil, picking up a rock. "we'll build a regular parapet, if you say so." this was exactly what they did. in spite of the oppressive heat the two girls worked faithfully piling the rocks around the tent, until they had raised a parapet nearly half its height. they were inspired to take this precaution by the glowering aspect of the sky, which grew more threatening as the afternoon waned. finally orissa wiped the perspiration from her brow and exclaimed: "that'll do, i'm sure, syb. and now i'm ready for dinner. what's to eat?" sybil made a grimace. "bananas and jelly," she replied. "could you conceive a more horrible combination?" "meat all gone?" "we've part of a baked crab; that's all." "and the lettuce. i shall have crab salad, with bananas for dessert." "a salad without lemon or vinegar is the limit," declared sybil. "i shall stick to bananas and jelly." their appetites were still good and orissa really enjoyed her salad, which she seasoned with salt which they had obtained by evaporating seawater. the bananas were getting to be a trifle irksome to the palate, but as food they were nourishing and satisfying. neither of the castaways grumbled much at the lack of ordinary food, being grateful at heart that they were able to escape starvation. the storm burst upon them just after dark and its violence increased hour by hour. there was little rain, and no lightning at all, but the wind held high revel and fluttered the canvas of the tent so powerfully that the girls, huddled anxiously in bed, feared the frail shelter would be torn to shreds. but the plane-cloth used by stephen kane was wonderfully strong and had been sized with a composition that prevented the wind from penetrating it. therefore it resisted the gale nobly, and after a time the fears of the two girls subsided to such a degree that they dozed at times and toward morning, when the wind subsided, sank into deep sleep. the hooting of the owls no longer had power to keep them awake, and on this night the owls were less in evidence than usual, perhaps deterred from leaving their nests by the storm. weather changes are abrupt in the semi-tropics. the morning dawned cool and delightful and the sun shone brilliantly. there was a slight breeze remaining, but not more than enough to flutter orissa's locks as she unfastened the flap of the tent and walked out upon the bluff to discover if the aircraft was still safe. it lay at the bottom of the ravine, in plain sight from where she stood, and seemed quite undisturbed. orissa turned her eyes toward the distant island, let them sweep the tumbling waves of the ocean and finally allowed them to rest upon the bay at the east, where they had first landed. then she uttered an involuntary cry that echoed shrilly among the crags. a ship lay stranded upon the shelving beach--fully half its length upon dry land! the cry aroused sybil, who came running from the tent rubbing her eyes and with an anxious face. "what's up, ris?" she demanded. orissa pointed a trembling finger across the rock-strewn plain to the bay, and sybil looked and gave a gasp of delight. "oh, orissa, we're saved--we're saved!" she murmured. then, sinking upon the sand, she covered her face with her hands and began to cry. but the air-maid was too interested to weep; she was looking hard at the boat. "isn't it madeline dentry's yacht?" she asked. "yes; i'm sure it is. then they've been searching for us and the storm has wrecked them. sybil, your father and steve may be on that ship, alive or--or----" sybil sprang up. "do you see anyone?" she asked eagerly. "no; it's too far away, and the sun interferes. i'll get the glasses." she was quite composed now and her quiet demeanor did much to restore sybil's self-possession. orissa brought the binoculars, looked through them for a time and then handed the glasses to her chum. "not a soul in sight, that i can see," she remarked. "try it yourself." sybil had no better luck. "can they all be drowned?" she inquired in horrified tones. "i think not. they may have abandoned the wreck, during the storm, or they may be hidden from us by the side of the boat, which lies keeled over in the opposite direction from us." "can't we go there, orissa, and find out?" "yes, dear; at once. the tide is out, and although there is quite a sea left from last night's hurricane i think we can manage the trip, by way of the sands, with perfect safety." each tore a couple of bananas from the bunch and then they ran down the incline to the beach. knowing every turn in the coast and every difficult place, they were able to scorn the waves that occasionally swept over their feet, as if longing to draw them into their moist embraces. chapter xv boat ahoy! the first indication of dawn found anxious faces peering over the side of the _salvador_. passengers and crew gathered at the lower angle and inspected the position of the boat with absolute amazement. "never, in all my experience," said captain krell, "have i heard of so remarkable a wreck. we struck the only channel that would have floated us; a few yards to either side and we would have been crushed to kindling wood. as it is, we lie high and dry on this shelf--a natural dry dock--and not a timber is cracked." "are you sure of that?" asked madeline. "quite sure, miss dentry. we have made a thorough investigation. but i do not wish to create any false hopes. our condition is nearly as desperate as if we were a total wreck." "you mean we can't get the yacht off again?" "i fear not. even a duplicate of that gigantic wave which hurled us here would be unable to float us off, for our tremendous headway carried us beyond the reach of any tide. this island is of rock formation. i know at a glance that a solid bed of rock is under us. therefore we cannot dig a channel to relaunch the _salvador_." "couldn't we blast a channel?" asked mr. tupper. the captain merely gave him a reproachful glance. "to be sure," replied chesty todd, seriously. "we'll have kane invent a sort of dynamite that will blast the rocks and won't hurt the ship. good idea, mr. tupper. clever, sir; very clever." mr. tupper glared at the boy resentfully, but his wife said in a mild tone of rebuke: "really, martin, my dear, the suggestion was idiotic." the steward came crawling toward them with a coffeepot, followed by a man juggling a tray of cups. it was quite an acrobatic feat to navigate the incline, but they succeeded and everyone accepted the coffee gratefully. "this place is nothing but a rock; an extinct volcano, probably," remarked madeline, gazing thoughtfully over the island. chesty, having finished his coffee, climbed to the elevated side opposite. "here's a far better view of the place," he called. "it's quite a----" he stopped short, staring fixedly at a white speck far up on the bluff beside the low mountain. they waited breathlessly for him to continue. then steve, reading the expression on chesty's face, quickly clambered to a place beside him. as he looked he began to tremble and his face grew red and then pallid. "mr. cumberford," called the press agent, "bring your glasses, please." "what is it?" pleaded madeline. "why, something--just--curious, miss dentry. we can't say what it is, as yet, but----" they were all scrambling up the incline by this time and soon all eyes were directed upon the white speck. mr. cumberford focused his glasses upon the spot. "ah," said he presently; "this interests me; it does, indeed!" "is it a--a--tent?" inquired steve, a catch in his voice. "looks like it," was the reply; "but not a regulation tent. seems more like--like----here, see for yourself, steve." steve seized the binoculars. "i think--it's--the--plane-cloth!" he gasped. mr. tupper lost his balance and slid down the deck, landing with a thud against the opposite rail. that relieved the tension and a laugh--the first heard on the _salvador_ since she left port--greeted the gentleman's mishap. "why--if it's the plane-cloth, the girls are alive!" cried madeline. "to be sure," added chesty, with joyful intonation, "and doubtless enjoying their outing." the discovery changed the current of all thoughts and led them to forget their own calamity. the _salvador_ carried a small gasoline launch and two life-boats, all of which were in good condition. "may we take the launch, miss dentry?" pleaded steve. "i was about to order it lowered," she said. "can you run it, mr. kane?" "certainly," he replied. "then i shall go with you. it will carry six comfortably, and more uncomfortably; but as we may have passengers on our return trip only four had better go." steve ran to assist in lowering the launch. it had to be unlashed from its rack, first of all, and the tank filled with gasoline, the engine oiled and the boat prepared for action. the men worked with a will, however, and within half an hour the launch was lowered to the rocks and slid safely into the water. the landing-steps being impracticable, a rope ladder was lowered and by this means madeline easily descended to the launch. mr. cumberford followed, as a matter of course, but chesty todd modestly waited to be invited to make the fourth voyager. "come along, sir," said miss dentry, and he eagerly obeyed. "how about food?" he suggested. the chef, a fat little frenchman who was much interested in the fate of the flying girl and her chum, had foreseen this demand and now lowered a hamper. "any water in it?" asked chesty. "certainmente, monsieur." "all right. let 'er go." steve started the engine and the little craft quickly shot out of the bay into the open sea and took the long swells beautifully. bounding the point, kane kept as close to the shore as he dared, making for the place where the bluff began to rise. "boat ahoy!" cried a clear voice, so suddenly that they nearly capsized the launch in their first surprise. and there were the two lost damsels prancing and dancing up and down the beach, waving their handkerchiefs and laughing and crying with joy at beholding their friends. chapter xvi an island kingdom it was a merry reunion, in spite of the dangers that were past and the tribulations that threatened. because the yacht's deck afforded precarious footing they all landed on the flat rocky shore, where the breakfast, hastily prepared by the chef, was served to the united company. "my greatest suffering," said sybil, nestling close to her father, "was for want of coffee. i've dreamed of coffee night after night, and hoped i would be privileged to taste it again before i was called to the happy hunting grounds." "ah; that interests me; it does, really," said mr. cumberford, filling her cup anew. "but--who knows, dear?--you might have reached the happy coffee-grounds." they laughed at any absurd remark just now, and when orissa related how they had subsisted of late on bananas and jelly you may be sure the castaways were plied with all the delicacies the ship's larder afforded. most of the day was spent in exchanging stories of the adventures both parties had encountered since the hydro-aircraft ran away. everyone wanted to add an incident or tell some personal experience, and it was all so interesting that no one was denied the privilege of talking. but afterward, when an elaborate dinner was served in the cabin--the table having been propped level to hold the plates--they began to canvass the future and to speculate upon the possibility of getting to civilization again. "our situation is far from hopeless," remarked steve, who was now bright and cheery as of old. "we have the launch and the life-boats, and orissa says the aircraft is in fine condition again. all the trouble was caused by that unlucky aluminum chest--and the fact that my steering gear was too frail." "i wouldn't call the aluminum chest unlucky," said sybil. "without it we should have suffered many privations, for it carried our blankets and provisions as well as our tools." "but it was unfortunate that you didn't bolt it securely," added orissa. "could we venture some two hundred and eighty miles in open boats?" inquired madeline. "we could if obliged to," asserted young kane. "of course, after we got into the track of coastwise ships, we might be picked up. but i do not like to abandon this beautiful yacht, which must be worth a fortune and is not damaged to any extent. i believe the best plan will be for me to fly home in my machine and secure a boat to come here and pull the yacht off the beach. there is a whole barrel of gasoline aboard, intended to supply the launch, so there is no longer any lack of fuel for our aircraft." they canvassed this plan very seriously and to all it seemed an excellent idea. but the engineer, an irishman named o'reilly, respectfully suggested the possibility of getting the yacht launched by means of a tackle, using her own engines for power. steve caught at this idea and said they would try it the following morning. everyone retired early, for one and all were exhausted by the trying experiences they had passed through. the girls, however, warned them that the owls would interfere seriously with their sleep. it was not an easy matter to rest, even in the comfortable berths, on account of the slanting position of the ship. those berths on the right side tipped downward and the mattresses had to be bolstered up on the edges to prevent the occupants from rolling out. on the opposite side the sleeper was pushed to the wall and the mattress had to be padded in the corner where the wall and bunk met. but they managed it, after a fashion, and sybil and orissa, at least, slept soundly and peacefully, the luxury of a bed being so great a relief from their former inconvenient rock "altar." the hoots of the owls proved very distracting to the newcomers, and mrs. tupper declared she would go mad, or die painfully, if obliged to endure such a screeching for many nights. even the crew grumbled and there were many tired eyes next morning. as soon as breakfast was over they set to work to right the yacht, steve overseeing the work because of his mechanical experience. a pulley was attached, by means of a chain, to a peak of rock on the point opposite the high side of the yacht, and then a strong cable was run through the pulley, one end being fastened to the mainmast and the other to the anchor-windlass, which was operated by the engine. the stoker got up steam and then o'reilly started the engines very slowly. lying as it did on a shelf of solid rock, which had been washed smooth by centuries of waves, there was only the resistance of the yacht's weight to overcome; and, although it required all the power the cable would stand, the boat gradually came upright until it stood upon a level keel. then the men braced it securely with rocks, on either side the bow, to hold it in position, after which steve declared that part of the task had been accomplished to his entire satisfaction. it was indeed a relief to all on board to be able to tread a level deck again, for, although there still remained a decided slant from bow to stern it did not materially interfere with walking, as had the sharp side slant. the next task was to arrange the tackle so that the engines would pull the yacht off the beach into deep water. but in spite of every effort this plan failed entirely. the boat would not budge an inch and after breaking the wire cable again and again, until it was practically useless, the undertaking had to be abandoned. "it's up to the airship to rescue the party, i guess," sighed steve, as they sat at dinner after the energetic and discouraging day's work was over. "do you know, there's a big island just west of here," said orissa, thoughtfully. "through our glasses we could see that it is green and fertile, and i've an idea it is inhabited. wouldn't it be a good idea to run the launch over there before steve undertakes his journey, and see if we can't secure help to get the yacht off the beach?" they all became interested in the proposition at once. "how far is the island?" asked mr. cumberford. "only a few miles; perhaps an hour's run in the launch." "then let us try it, by all means," proposed the captain. "we will run over there the first thing in the morning, with miss dentry's consent," decided steve. madeline heartily agreed and as the sea was enticingly calm the next morning a party was made up to visit the larger island in the launch. at first captain krell suggested he should go with part of his crew, saying that no one could tell what sort of people might inhabit the island, if indeed any inhabitants were to be found there; but steve scorned the notion of danger. "we are too near the american coast to run against cannibals or hostile tribes," he argued; "and, in any event, our mission is a decidedly peaceful one. i'll take my revolver, of course, but it won't be needed. what do you say, mr. cumberford?" "i quite agree with you," replied that gentleman. "i'm going along, if only for the ride." "so am i," said madeline. "really, my dear!" began mr. tupper; but she silenced him with a single look. "that means i must go as chaperon," sighed mrs. tupper. "i'll be chaperon," laughed sybil; "but as we shall go and return in a couple of hours i don't believe madeline will really need one." "you shall stay comfortably on the yacht, aunt anna," said madeline. "who else wants to go? we can carry six, you know." it was soon arranged to add mr. radley-todd and orissa to the four, thus completing the complement of the launch. just before they set off monsieur rissette, the alert chef, appeared with his hamper of lunch, for he had an established idea that no one should depart, even on an hour's journey, without a proper supply of food. then, merrily waving adieus to those on board, the explorers glided out of the bay into the open sea. rounding the north end of their islet they saw clearly the large island ahead, and steve headed the launch directly toward it. the trip consumed rather more than the hour orissa had figured on, but it was a light-hearted, joyous party, and they beguiled the way with conversation and laughter. "i am quite sure," said madeline, "that i am enjoying this experience far more than i would a trip to hawaii. think of it! a chase, a rescue and a wreck, all included in one adventure. i'm rather sorry it's about over and we are to return to civilization." "sybil and i have had a glorious time," added orissa. "barring the fact that we were a bit worried over our fate, those days when we played crusoe and columbus on a forsaken island were full of interest and excitement. i know now that i enjoyed it thoroughly." "i quite envy you that delightful experience," asserted madeline. "don't," said sybil. "the adventure wasn't all pleasant, by any means. the hoots of those dreadful birds will ring in my ears for years to come; the food was far from satisfying and i piled rocks and tramped and sweated until i was worn to a frazzle. if we had not invented our checker set i believe we would have become raving maniacs by the time you found us." as they drew near to the island they found it even more green and beautiful than they had suspected. "it's queer," said steve, eyeing the place thoughtfully, "how very imperfect those seamen's charts are. the one captain krell has indicates nothing but barren rocks in these seas. not one is deemed important enough to name; yet here is a good-sized island that is really inviting enough to attract inhabitants." "and, by jove, it has 'em!" cried chesty todd, pointing eagerly to a thin streak leading skyward. "see that smoke? that means human beings, or i'm a lobster." "good!" exclaimed mr. cumberford. "that interests me; it does, really. head around to the right, steve; that's where we'll find the natives." steve obeyed. skirting the shore of the island he rounded the northern point and found before him a peculiar inlet. the shore was rocky and rather high, but in one place two great pillars of rock rose some fifty feet in the air, while between them lay a pretty bay which extended far inland. they afterward found this was the mouth of a small river, which broadened into a bay at its outlet. as the launch turned into this stretch of water, moving at reduced speed, their eyes were gladdened by one of the loveliest natural vistas they had ever beheld. the slope from the table-land above to the inlet was covered upon both sides with palms, flowering shrubs and fruit trees, all of which showed evidence of care. a quarter of a mile up the little bay was a little dock to which were moored several boats. the largest of these was a sixty-foot launch, which made madeline's little craft look like a baby. two sailboats and a trio of rowboats, all rather crude in design, completed the flotilla. on the end of the dock two men stood, motionless, as if awaiting them. "why, they're not natives at all," exclaimed sybil, in a low voice. "they--they're clothed!" so they were, but in quite a remarkable fashion. their feet were bare, their trousers ragged and soiled; but they wore blue vests highly embroidered in yellow silk, with velvet jackets and red sashes tied around their waists. add to this outfit, peaked panama hats with broad, curling brims, and a revolver and knife stuck in each sash, and you will not wonder that our friends viewed this odd couple with unfeigned amazement. one was a tall, thin man with but one good eye, which, however, was black and of piercing character. his face was sullen and reserved. the second man was short and fat, with profuse whiskers of fiery red and a perfectly bald head--a combination that gave him the appearance of a stage comedian. the skin of both was of that peculiar dingy brown color peculiar to mexicans and some spaniards. the little one, with hat in hand, was bowing with exaggerated courtesy; the taller one stood frowning and immovable. when steve steered the launch alongside the dock a broad roadway came into sight, leading through the trees to the higher elevation beyond, where stood a white house of fair size which had a veranda in front. the architecture was of spanish order and in its setting of vines and trees it looked very picturesque. there were climbing roses in profusion and gorgeous beds of flowers could be seen in the foreground. despite the appearance of the two men, who might easily be taken for brigands, the place was so pretty and peaceful and bore such undoubted evidences of civilization that the visitors had no hesitation in landing. chesty leaped to the dock first and assisted the three girls to alight beside him. mr. cumberford followed and steve tied up to an iron ring in the dock and also stepped ashore. the tall man had not moved, so far, except that his one dark eye roved from one member of the party to another, but the little fat man continued to bow low as each one stepped ashore, and they accepted it as a sort of welcome. neither had uttered a word, however, so mr. cumberford stepped forward and said: "do you speak english?" they shook their heads. "ah! that is unfortunate. can you tell me, then, the name of this island, and who inhabits it?" "of course not, daddy," cried sybil. "try 'em in spanish, steve." but before stephen, who could speak a little spanish, had time to advance, the men turned abruptly, beckoned the strangers to follow, and deliberately walked up the broad pathway toward the dwelling. "well?" inquired steve, doubtfully. "let's follow," said chesty. "i've an idea these are hired men, and they're taking us to be welcomed by their master." "interesting, isn't it?" muttered mr. cumberford, but with one accord they moved forward in the wake of their guides. chapter xvii don miguel, del borgitis halfway up the road they noticed on the left a large clearing, in which stood a group of thatched huts. some women and children--all with dark skins and poorly dressed--were lounging around the doorways. these stood silently as the strangers passed by. a little farther along three men, attired in exactly the same manner as the two who were escorting them, were cultivating a garden patch. they gave no indication they were aware of the presence of strangers. there was something uncanny--wholly unnatural--about the manner of their reception and even about the place itself, that caused some of them to harbor forebodings that all was not right. yet they had experienced no opposition, so far--no unfriendliness whatsoever. up to the broad veranda they were led, and this, now viewed closely, showed signs of considerable neglect. the house, built of rough boards, needed whitewashing again; the elaborate stained-glass windows were thick with dust; the furnishings of the wide veranda, which were somewhat prodigal, seemed weather-stained and unkempt. on a small wicker table was a dirty siphon bottle and some soiled glasses with bugs and flies crawling over them. beside these stood a tray of roughly made cheroots. the fat man at once disappeared through the open doorway of the dwelling, but the tall man faced the strangers and, spreading out his arms as if to forbid their entrance, pointed to the chairs and benches scattered in profusion about the veranda. "invited to sit," interpreted mr. cumberford. "interesting--very." suddenly a huge form filled the doorway, inspecting the newcomers with a quick, comprehensive glance. the man was nearly as tall as chesty todd, but not so well built. instead of being athletic, he possessed a superabundance of avoirdupois, evidently the result of high living. he was clothed all in white flannel, but wore a blue linen shirt with a soiled collar and a glaring red necktie in which glittered a big diamond. jewels were on his fingers, too, and even on his thumbs, and a gold chain passed around his neck fell in folds across his breast and finally ended in his watch-pocket. on his feet were red slippers and on his head a sombrero such as the others had worn. a man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, rather handsome with his large eyes and carefully curled mustache, but so wholly unconventional as to excite wonder rather than admiration. [illustration: suddenly a huge form filled the doorway, inspecting the newcomers with a quick, comprehensive glance.] he had merely paused in the doorway for that one rapid glance. immediately he advanced with a brisk step, exclaiming: "welcome, señors and señoritas--americaños all--most joyous welcome. you the spanish speak? no! it cannot matter, for i speak the english. i am so pleasured that my humble home is now honored by your presence. you make me glad--happy--in rapture. you do not know to where--to whom--you have come? imagine! i am don miguel del borgitis, and this"--extending his arms with a proud gesture--"my own island of borgitis--a kingdom--of individual property, however small, for it owes allegiance to no other nation on earth!" this was spoken very impressively, while the shrewd eyes read their faces to determine the degree of awe created. "yes," he went on, giving them no chance to reply, "i am really king--king of borgitis--but with modesty i call myself don miguel del borgitis. as such i welcome you. as such i take you to my arms in friendship. observe, then, all my kingdom is yours; you shall reign in my place; you shall command me; for does not don miguel ever place his friends above himself?" this seemed cordial enough, certainly, but it was rather embarrassing to find an answer to such effusiveness. don miguel, however, did not seem to expect an answer. with merely an impressive pause, as if to drive the words home, he continued: "may i, then, be honored by a recital of your names and station?" "to be sure," said mr. cumberford. "you--er--interest me, don miguel; you do, really. quite a relief, you see, to find a gentleman, a civilized gentleman, in these wilds, and----" "my island kingdom is very grand--very important--señor americaño," interrupted don miguel, evidently piqued at the use of the term "wilds." "in effect have i reign over three islands--the one from which you now come, the one to the west of here, and--the grand island borgitis! three islands and one owner--one king--with privilege to decree life and death to his devoted subjects. but you have more to say." they were a bit startled to hear that he knew they came from the island of the owls. but they reflected that some of his people might have watched the progress of their launch. mr. cumberford introduced his party to don miguel, one by one, afterward briefly relating the aërial trip of the two girls, the search for them by the yacht and the unfortunate beaching of the _salvador_ on the island during the recent storm, ending with the surprising reunion of the party and their desire to secure help to get the launch into deep water again, that they might return home. to all this don miguel listened intently, his head a little to one side, his eyes turning critically to each person mentioned during the recital. then said he, more soberly than before: "how unfortunate that your ship is wreck!" "oh, it is not wrecked," returned madeline. "it is merely stuck on those rocks--'beached' is, i think, the proper word." "then, alas! it is wreck." "it is not injured in the least, sir," declared steve. don miguel's face brightened at this statement, but he controlled his elation and responded sadly: "but it is no longer a ship, for you cannot get it off the land." "not without your kind assistance, i fear," said miss dentry. "make me obliged by resuming your seats," requested don miguel. then he clapped his hands, and the red-bearded man appeared. "refreshments, pietro!" he offered the cheroots to the men, and when they refused selected one for himself and lighted it. then, leaning back in his arm-chair, he regarded his guests musingly and said: "it is laughable. really, it amuses one! but under the spanish grant by which i hold my islands--my kingdom--i am exclusively owner of all wrecks on my shores. in fact, were you not my dear friends, i could take your yacht, which i now own because it lies wreck on my coast." "but it is _not_ wrecked!" asserted steve, frowning, for he was beginning to suspect don miguel. "perhaps not, since you tell me so; but i will see. i will see for myself. ah, the poor refreshments--the offering of hospitality to a king's friends. partake, is my earnest implore, and so honor your humble host--don miguel del borgitis." the tall man and the short man brought wines, liquors and glasses, with a fresh siphon of clear water. following them came a sour-faced woman of middle age and a pretty young girl of perhaps sixteen years--pretty in the spanish fashion, with plump cheeks, languid dark eyes and raven hair. these last carried trays of fruits and cake, which they passed to the company. the woman's face was expressionless; that of the girl evinced eager curiosity and interest; but neither spoke nor seemed to receive the notice of the royal don miguel. when they had all positively refused to accept any of the strong drink, the don helped himself liberally to a milky liquor diluted with water, which he called pulque. as he sipped this he said to them: "the life here on borgitis is grand--magnificent--entrancing--as you will easily conceive. but it is also lonely. i have here no equals with whom i may freely associate. so it delights me to receive you as guests. may you long enjoy my hospitality--it is a toast which i drink with fervency." "we return to the yacht at once," said steve, stiffly. "my mansion is roomy and comforting," continued the other, as if he had not heard, "and here are no owls to annoy one. some day i will take you to visit the third island of my kingdom. it is called chica--after my daughter, here." he glanced at the young girl, as he spoke, and she cast down her eyes, seeming frightened. mr. cumberford arose. "sir," said he, "we thank you for your hospitality, which we regret we are unable to further accept. let us come to the point of our errand. we need your assistance and are willing to pay for it--liberally, if need be. you have plenty of men here, i observe, and a large launch. send a crew with us to our island----" "my island, señor, if you please." "very well. send a crew of men to help us, and come along yourself, if you like. but whatever you do, kindly do it at once, as we have no time to waste." he spoke positively, in a way that required an answer; but don miguel merely took a cake from the tray, and as he munched it said casually in spanish, as if addressing the air: "prepare my launch; have the men in readiness; lock the little boat securely." without a glance at his master, the one-eyed man deliberately left the veranda and walked down the path. steve pricked up his ears. he understood the carefully veiled command, and it nettled him. "what little boat do you refer to, sir?" he pointedly asked. don miguel gave a start, but tossed off the contents of his glass, and rose. "i shall prepare to go at once to visit your yacht, with my own men and in my own launch," said he. "you will be good enough to amuse yourselves here until i send you the word that i am ready to depart." with this he lazily stretched his big body, yawned, and turned his back on his "beloved guests," to leave the veranda and proceed leisurely down the path to the inlet. chapter xviii the mask off "come!" cried steve, impatiently. "the don is either a fool or a rascal, and in either event i propose to keep an eye on him." "quite right," said chesty todd, nodding approval. as with one accord they rose and started to leave the veranda the fat little man with the red whiskers barred their way, removing his hat to indulge in his absurd bow. "my noble master has desire that you remain his guests," said he in bad english. "some time will he send word he is ready for you to depart." "out of the way, fellow," said chesty, pushing him aside. "my noble master has desire that you remain his guests," repeated the man, moodily, and there was a defiant twinkle in his pig-like eyes that indicated he had received positive orders to detain the strangers. but mr. radley-todd's ire was aroused. "stand back!" he cried threateningly. "your master is not our master." "very true, chesty," said mr. cumberford; and then they all hurried down the path toward the inlet. they were not three minutes behind don miguel, yet as they reached the dock the big launch left it, filled with dark-skinned men. in the stern stood don miguel, smoking his cheroot, and he made them an elaborate bow. "have patience, dear guests," said he. "i will satisfy myself if your boat is wreck or is not wreck, and soon will i return to consult with you. kindly excuse until i have investigation made. oblige me to use my island as if it were your own." "the rascal!" cried mr. cumberford, as the boat of don miguel swept down the inlet. "tumble into the launch, girls, quick! i believe we can get to the yacht before he does." but the girls hesitated to obey, for steve and chesty todd were bending over the bow of the launch, where the rope hawser had been replaced by a heavy chain, which was fastened by a huge padlock. steve picked up an iron bar, twisted it in the chain and endeavored to wrench the iron ring from its socket; but it was firmly embedded in the dock, being held by a powerful cement. then he tried breaking away the launch, but the fastenings held firmly. "no use, steve," said chesty, squatting down on the dock. "we must have the key. question is, who's got it? that pirate, or--or----" "he's a pirate, all right," said sybil, angrily. "what do you think he intends to do?" madeline quietly asked. "take the folks on the yacht by surprise, capture the ship and then claim it is his, because it is beached upon his island," replied steve. "how absurd!" exclaimed orissa. "yes; but the scoundrel knows no law," declared mr. cumberford. "in this lost and forgotten island he has played the tyrant with a high hand; i can see that by the humble subjection of his people; and so he thinks he can rob us with impunity." "he is mistaken, though," asserted madeline greatly annoyed. "if this is really an independent island, i shall send an armed ship here to demand reparation--and force it. if the don lies, and he is under the domain of any recognized nation, then our government shall take the matter up." "to be sure," said mr. cumberford. "interesting; very. provided, of course, we--we----" "go on, sir." "er--er--it is really a pretty island, and--interesting," he mumbled. "daddy means," said sybil, "that don miguel has no intention of letting us get back to civilization again, provided the yacht proves to be worth taking--and keeping." "that's it, exactly," said chesty; "only mr. cumberford did not like to disturb your equanimity. but he sized up the situation, as we all did. eh, steve?" steve nodded, looking gloomily at the three girls. "how many men did he take with him?" asked madeline. "about fifteen. i tried to count 'em," said mr. todd. "but they did not seem to be armed." "there are seven on the yacht, besides mr. tupper, who doesn't count; and they have no arms, either, that i know of." "they won't be expecting to defend themselves, anyhow," observed chesty. "therefore the yacht is as good as captured." "and with the noble don in possession," added sybil, "our plans for a homeward voyage are knocked sky-high." "the yacht will be a great find for him," remarked mr. cumberford; "so i imagine he will condemn it as 'wreck' on his shores and keep it for himself." "with certainty, señor," said a soft voice beside him. they all turned to find that the spanish girl had quietly joined their group. behind her came limping the red-beard, sullen and muttering at his rebuff. the girl faced pietro and uttered a sharp command in spanish. he hesitated, mumbled a reply and retreated up the path. "so you think don miguel will keep my yacht?" asked madeline, approaching the pretty child and speaking in a kindly tone. "i do, señorita. but his name is not don miguel del borgitis, as he said. he is ramon ganza, a fugitive from mexico, where he robbed a bank of much money and escaped. he came here in his launch with ten men, and has been hiding for many years in this island, where no people lived before he came." "dear me!" exclaimed madeline; "a criminal and a refugee! and you are his daughter?" "no, señorita. he said so, but he lied. he lies always, when he speaks. he coaxed me away from my people in mazatlan, when he came there to buy provisions, saying i would become a princess. but i am merely a housemaid, in truth." "how many years has he lived on this island?" inquired mr. cumberford. "i do not know, señor. but it is many. he has built the house, yonder, or rather he has forced his poor men to build it. ramon loves to pose as a royal don, but i do not think he is of noble birth. once every year he goes to mexico or the united states for supplies, and sometimes he coaxes others to come back with him, and be his slaves." "and do the people love their master?" asked madeline. "no. they hate him, but they fear him. not one who has ever come here has gone away again, for he dares not let them return to tell where he is hiding. now there are seventeen men and nine women here. with you, and those he will fetch from your yacht, there will be many more; but none of you will ever leave here with ramon's consent," declared the girl. "then we will leave without it," remarked mr. todd, easily. she gave him a quick, eager look. "will you dare to oppose ramon, then?" she asked. "on occasion we are rather daring," said chesty, smiling at her simplicity. "the fellow ought to be arrested and given up to justice." "oh, if you would do that, we could all go away!" said the child, clasping her hands ecstatically. "please arrest him, sir; i beg you to." "we'll see about it, little one. meantime, how can we get the key to unlock this chain?" "would you follow ramon?" she asked. "that is our greatest ambition, just now." "then i'll get you the key. pietro has it." "the red-beard?" "yes. pietro is my friend. he is not so bad as some of the other men." "they must be a sorry lot," decided chesty. "come on, then, chica; i'll help you to interview pietro." the man was sitting on a rock nursing his grievances. "the key, pietro," said chica. "no," he answered surlily. "i want it, pietro." "he'll whip me. but then, he'll whip me anyhow, for not to stop his 'guests.' take the key, chica. pah! a few lashes. who care?" he tossed the key upon the ground at her feet and chesty promptly picked it up. the girl looked hard at red-beard. "you will not be whipped," she said softly. "it is all right, pietro. the americaños will arrest ramon ganza and deliver him up to justice; they have promised it; so you will be safe. come with me. our new friends need guns." "what!" the man fairly gasped in his amazement at her temerity. "our new friends shall take all they need of ramon's store of guns. they are not like the others who come here; the americaños are not cowards. you will see them conquer ramon very nicely, and with no trouble at all. come, pietro--the guns!" the man slowly rose and led the way to the house, while chesty called for steve and then followed. in ten minutes chesty and steve returned to the dock where the others awaited them, and both were loaded with rifles, revolvers and ammunition, ruthlessly abstracted from the private stores of the island magnate. when these were distributed, the launch unlocked and they were ready to start, madeline turned to chica. "get in, dear," said she. "i think it will be best for you to come with us. provided we ourselves manage to escape, i promise to take you to mazatlan and restore you to your own people." the child hesitated, looking at the little fat red-beard. "i--i'm afraid pietro will suffer for helping us," she said. "ah; 'tis true," agreed red-beard. "unless you please will arrest ramon, ramon will whip me until i faint. i know; it is his habit when he is opposed." "get aboard, then," said steve, impatiently. "there's room enough, and your service may come handy to us." somewhat to their surprise the man came aboard without an instant's hesitation, and at once steve started the engine. "are any other men left upon this island?" asked mr. cumberford, as the launch gathered way and darted down the inlet. "two," said chica. "but they have no orders to interfere with you, so they will be blind. fourteen have gone with ramon." "are they armed?" asked orissa. "i do not know, señorita. francisco may be, and perhaps tomas; but ramon is afraid to trust many of his men with guns." heading out of the inlet they rounded the pillar of rock and skirted the shore until the open sea lay between them and owl island. now they were able to see plainly the big launch of ramon ganza plodding along in advance. it had fully half an hour's start of them, yet from the distance it had gone steve awoke to the fact that it was not nearly so speedy as madeline's little boat. although the big launch had gasoline engines of comparatively modern pattern, the lines of the boat were broad and "tubby," in strong contrast with the slender, graceful waist of the _salvador's_ launch. moreover, ramon had neglected his machinery, as he had everything else on the island, and the engines did not work as well as they should. "i've an idea that i can beat the pirate to the _salvador_," said steve. "by jove!" cried chesty; "if you could do that, old man, you'd save the day." "what difference would it make?" inquired madeline. "their plan is to take our crew by surprise, board the yacht and make prisoners of every man jack--also of mrs. tupper," explained chesty. "then, when we arrive, our capture could be easily accomplished. but if we manage to get there first, warning our men and taking them these weapons, we stand a good chance of beating off the rascally potentate and holding possession." "they are not really pirates, i suppose," remarked sybil. "according to this child's story," declared mr. cumberford, "the man is a fugitive from justice and so has no respect for the rights or property of anyone. mexico, his own country, has outlawed him and doubtless if the authorities could put their hands on the fellow they'd clap him in jail and keep him there." they considered this statement gravely. "for which reason," remarked chesty todd, "ramon ganza is desperate. he can't afford to let us get away and carry the news of where his island retreat may be located. therefore, good people, this is going to be a lively little scrap, so let's grit our teeth and do our level best." chapter xix an exciting race steve was giving the engine all his attention and coaxing it to develop all the speed of which it was capable. even with eight people aboard--two more than its regular complement--it was beginning to gain on the big boat ahead. orissa, at the steering wheel, was also intent upon her task. mr. cumberford turned to chica. "how did ramon manage to build that house, and make such a big settlement on the island, all in secret?" he asked. "pietro knows," said she. "in mexico," stated red-beard, halting at times in his english, "ramon rob bank of much money. then he escape in boat an' find islan'. he think it fine place for hide. so he go to unite' state--to san pedro--an' buy much thing with his money--much lumber--much food in tin can--many thing he will need. he hire ship to take all to his islan'. it big sail-ship, but it old an' not ver' good. in san pedro ramon find some mexicans who do bad things an' so are afraid to go back to mexico. he say he make them rich, so they go with him on ship. i go, too. "storm come an' make ship leak, but we get to islan' an' unload ever'thing. captain start to go back, but ship leak so bad he run on rocks at west islan'. ship go wreck an' men drown. by'mby ramon go out to wreck, take all thing he want an' let wreck go. it now on rocks at west islan'. no good, now." this terse recital was listened to with astonishment. "interesting--very," was mr. cumberford's comment, and they all supported his verdict. "then ramon make us build house an' make garden," continued red-beard. "when we get mad an' not mind ramon, he whip some of us with his own hand, an' then others scare an' work hard. two, three time, ramon go in launch to mexico. he land secret, in night time, and get more men to come back with him to islan'. nobody know him in the places he goes. one time he coax chica from her nice home, that way, an' bring her to islan', to make her help the women work in his house." chica nodded. "but now i go home," she said, confidently. "when kind americaños arrest ramon, i go free." but arresting ramon was not so much in the thoughts of the americaños just then as the result of the race to reach the _salvador_. madeline's launch was gaining steadily, but both boats were gradually drawing nearer to their destination and the problem was which could arrive first? already the little boat had been seen and its purpose understood by the wily mexican. he could not know how it was that the americans had managed to secure their boat and were able to follow him so soon, but the fact that they were in his wake and quickly closing the gap between the two launches was sufficient information for the time being, and it did not particularly disturb him. ramon ganza reasoned that in order to beat him to the yacht the little launch must pass near him, but in doing so he would intercept it and by grappling it with boat-hooks take it and its occupants along with him. if the americans kept out of range and gave his boat a wide berth, he would be able, in spite of their superior speed, to beat them to the yacht by maintaining his course in a straight line. this danger was soon appreciated by the pursuers; for, whenever they altered their course, ganza altered his, to head them off by getting directly in their way. "ah," said mr. cumberford, grimly, "this interests me." "it interests us all," observed steve, dryly. "the big boat is like a rock in our path." orissa looked at her brother inquiringly. "how shall i steer?" she asked. "we shall have to circle around them, to keep out of their way. they think that they will beat us, and they may; but i'm not sure of it--as yet." "is it best to argue the point, steve?" asked chesty. "i really think our salvation depends on our getting to the yacht first," was the reply. for some time after this no one spoke. the engine, under steve's skillful handling, was doing its utmost, with never a skip or protest of any sort. the man who was running the larger boat was also crowding his engines, urged thereto by his domineering master. the sea was ideal for the race and favored both boats alike. they continued the dodging tactics some time longer, the smaller boat being forced to the outside and unable to cut in ahead. "confound it!" cried steve, much chagrined, "here's the island, and they've got the inside track." "yes; but something's wrong with them," remarked mr. cumberford. "they're slowing down." "by jove, that's a fact!" cried chesty, elated. steve stood up and shaded his eyes with his hand. "their engines have stopped," he said. "that's a streak of luck i hadn't banked on. head in, orissa. we're all right now, if they don't start again promptly." there was evident excitement on board the larger motor boat. ramon kicked the new engineer away and himself took his place. the engine revolved, made a brief spurt--and stopped dead. ramon made another attempt, while his boat bobbed placidly up and down on the waves. meantime the launch, still keeping to its wide circle, rounded the point of rock and headed into the bay, where the _salvador_ lay with her trim white sides glistening in the sunshine. "quick!" cried steve, as soon as he could be heard by those at the rail, "let down the ladder. they're after us!" "who is it?" demanded mr. tupper, curiously; but captain krell marked the panic on the faces of those on board the launch and issued prompt orders. the aft davits were run down in a jiffy and steve and chesty hooked them to the launch, which was quickly raised with all on board and swung over the rail to the deck. there were a few tumbles and some scrambling to get out of the boat, but at that moment ramon ganza's big launch swept into the bay, and the mexican, assured by one sharp glance that his clever plan to surprise the yacht was thwarted, shut down the engines and halted his craft while he examined the situation at his leisure. madeline dentry's superb yacht was indeed a prize worth winning. it was even worth running some risks to acquire. ramon reflected that the _salvador_ and her helpless crew were really at his mercy, for they were unable to float the ship and were at present securely imprisoned. he laughed rather maliciously at their vain opposition, and said to his lieutenant, the one-eyed man: "very good, francisco. everything comes my way, you see. a little patience and the beautiful ship is ours, for it surely is wreck, and i justly claim all wrecks on my islands. there will be rum aboard, or at least plenty of liquors and wines. champagne, perhaps. you shall have all the spirits for your drink if you back me up firmly in my demands." "what will you do, señor?" "insist on taking possession of the ship, which, according to my law, is mine," he answered, with grim humor. "perhaps they may object, in which case you will stand by your chief. but understand: you must use no knives or pistols; i can't afford to have murder added to the charges against me. if diplomacy fails, we will fight with our bare fists, in american fashion, and our numbers will suffice to conquer those insolent strangers who come here uninvited and then refuse to abide by my laws." he took from his pocket a note-book and with a fountain pen wrote upon one of the leaves as follows: "to my beloved friends, the americaños: alas, your ship is hopeless wreck. i, the lord and ruler of these islands, behold the sad condition and with grief, for i must condemn the ship as wreck, which i do by right of spanish grant to me, from which is no appeal. with pain for your loss, i am obligated to confiscate the ship that before was yours, with all it contains, and to declare it is now mine. i demand that you deliver my property into my hands at once, in the name of law and justice, and i believe you will do so, because otherwise you will become the enemies of the kingdom of don miguel del borgitis, rex." he tore out this leaf, folded it neatly and then boldly ran his launch to the side of the yacht. francisco stuck the paper on the point of a boat-hook and standing on a seat thrust the epistle so far up the side that captain krell was able to lean over and grasp it. then the launch returned to its former position, while the captain carried the note to madeline. she read it aloud and their anxiety did not prevent the americans from laughing heartily at the preposterous claim of this audacious mexican refugee. "at the same time," said miss dentry, resuming her gravity, "our case appears to be somewhat serious. the man has unmasked and shown us clearly his intentions. he believes we can expect no succor from outside, and in that he is quite correct. only by our own efforts and the exercise of our wits may we hope to circumvent his intentions and retain our freedom and our property." chapter xx besieged disregarding the lordly disposal of the yacht and its contents so coolly outlined by señor ramon ganza, those aboard the _salvador_ began to face the probability of a siege. they all gathered aft, where, shielded by the bulwarks from the view of the mexicans, they could converse at leisure and with safety. at madeline's suggestion, every member of the crew, seven in number, was present while the details of their visit to the larger island were related by his principals. the character of the lordly islander, and his history as gleaned from pietro and chica, were likewise canvassed, and his evident intention to add the strangers to his band of cowed subjects was impressed upon the entire company in a most forcible manner. "it would have been serious, indeed," continued madeline, "had ganza arrived here before us and found you unwarned and unarmed, for you could not have resisted his invasion. but his clever scheme was frustrated by an accident to the engines of his launch, and now we must bend our every energy to driving him away and making our escape from this dreadful island." "we don't know yet, of course, how that can be done," added mr. radley-todd, reflectively; "but there's no hurry about deciding it. we are pretty well provisioned for a siege, and steve and i captured from the enemy and brought with us nine rifles, half a dozen revolvers, and some ammunition." "we have also a small supply of arms and ammunition in the storeroom of the yacht," said captain krell. "the former owner was something of a sportsman, and i think you will find the guns to be shotguns." "all the better," said chesty. "these fellows may decide to board us, in which case the shotguns, at short range, will scatter their loads and do fearful execution. get 'em up, captain. let's have on deck, where it's handy, every offensive and defensive weapon aboard." "i don't want any shooting," protested madeline; "i'd rather give them the yacht." "we won't need to shoot," returned steve. "a big bluff is all that is necessary." the entire company now understood the importance of a successful resistance, and aside from the fact that mrs. tupper had violent hysterics, which lasted several hours and nearly caused her devoted husband to jump overboard, the situation was accepted by all with philosophical composure. a definite plan to guard the deck and prevent the foe from scaling the sides was adopted and each man given his position and instructed what to do. as they were dealing with a desperate and unscrupulous man, a self-constituted autocrat in this practically unknown group of islands, they realized the wisdom of being constantly alert; so all the men, passengers and crew alike, were divided into watches during every hour of day and night, and those not on duty slept in their clothing that they might respond instantly to any call to action. the mexican, however, proceeded very deliberately with the siege, believing his victims were trapped and unable to escape him. he withdrew for a time around the rocky point, where he disembarked ten of his fourteen men. with the other four he ran the launch to the mouth of the bay again and dropped anchor, evidently intending to block any egress by the boats of the yacht. that night, under cover of the darkness, for the moon was often obscured by shifting clouds, ramon's men deployed among the rocks on both sides of the narrow channel, where they erected two miniature forts, or lookouts, by piling up the loose rocks. behind each rock barrier some of the men were stationed, with instructions to watch every movement on the deck of the _salvador_ and report to their master. the mexicans were well protected by the rocks from the firearms of those on board, if the defenders resorted to their use, and because of the slant of the deck from fore to aft ramon could himself command almost the entire deck as he sat in his launch. realizing this disadvantage, radley-todd and o'reilly, the engineer, crept down to the stern and by pushing the ends of their rifles through the hawser-holes were able to bring the launch under such direct fire that the outlaw decided that discretion was the better part of valor and withdrew his boat to a safer anchorage around the point, where he might still intercept the passage of any boat that ventured to come out. the next morning francisco of the one eye and a comrade took the launch back to the other island for a store of provisions. when they returned, at noon, they brought the two men who had been left behind when the first expedition set out, and also one of the rowboats, which was allowed to trail behind the launch. with the americans surrounded and on the defensive ramon felt that he could safely remove his entire force from his home island and leave the place to the keeping of the women. if it came to a fight he would need every man he had. on that first day those on the yacht were alert and excited, but the marked composure on the part of their besiegers gradually quieted their fears of immediate violence. the decks were not really dangerous, although constantly under the observation of the men in the rock fortresses, so they ventured to use them freely. at one time, when chesty todd made a feint of landing on the shore, a group of mexicans quickly gathered to prevent his leaving the ship, thus demonstrating their open enmity. "this won't do!" declared steve, savagely, as he faced the company assembled around the cabin table that evening. "those infernal bandits mean to keep us here till doomsday--or until we go crazy and surrender. they'll make our lives miserable unless we dislodge them from those rocks." "i prefer them there to having them attempt to scale the sides of our ship," returned chesty. "a hand-to-hand fight would be far more serious." "interesting, isn't it?" said mr. cumberford. "i don't think they care for a hand-to-hand fight," observed the captain. "such fellows as this ramon ganza are always cowards." "i don't know about that," said madeline. "he has faced all the men he brought here and in spite of their numbers and their hatred of him has cowed them, every one, single-handed." "ramon is not a coward," the child chica declared very positively. "he is bad; yes. but not a coward." "he has sixteen men--with himself, seventeen--and we have but eleven," said steve. "however, the advantage is with us, because the yacht is a fort." "you spoke a moment ago of dislodging them," remarked radley-todd. "can't we manage to do that, steve?" "how?" "if we could make some bombs," suggested the press-agent, slowly, "and hurl them among those rocks, i've an idea we could drive them away." steve was thoughtful a moment. "we'd need nitro-glycerine for that," said he. "i suppose there's none aboard, captain krell?" the captain shook his head. "plenty nitro-glycerine at big islan'," announced pietro. "ramon use it to blast rock." "ah, but that's a good way off," declared steve. chesty drummed on the table, musingly. "if pietro will go with me," he said presently, "i'll get you the nitro-glycerine." "you're crazy, man!" "not quite," said chesty, with a smile. "every man belonging to ramon's band is now here. i'm not afraid of the women he has left back there." "but how will you get there--swim?" "we'll take the launch, pietro and i, and run the blockade at dead of night." "no," said madeline, with decision, "i can't allow that. it would be too dangerous an undertaking. you might be captured." "i don't think so. if we are discovered, your launch can outrun theirs and i'll lead them a merry chase and come back again. what do you say, pietro?" "who? me, señor? why, ramon my enemy now. so i go with you." "you needn't fear ramon, pietro," said madeline, gently. "we shall manage in some way to get you safely back to mexico." the man's expression was stolid and unbelieving. "perhaps he doesn't dare go back to mexico," said sybil. "oh, yes;" replied pietro. "i not 'fraid of mexico. i smuggle, sometimes, before ramon get me; but they forget all that by now. it is ramon i fear. he is very bad man, as little chica say. always he wins, never he loses, in what he tries to do. for me, i have disobey an' defy him, so ramon he whip me sure, when he catch me, an' when ramon whip it is as bad as to die." it was impossible to overcome this stubborn belief in ramon's omnipotence and they did not argue with the man further. but orissa, who had been thoughtfully listening to the conversation, now said: "i do not like the plan of bringing nitro-glycerine here, even if chesty could succeed in getting it. the stuff would be dangerous to us and to our enemies, for a slight accident would explode it or careless handling might blow us all to eternity. but, admitting you made the bombs, without accident to any of our party, what would be the result of exploding them among those little rock forts yonder? wouldn't the rocks scatter in every direction and bombard us and the ship, perhaps causing damage that would be fatal to our hopes of escape?" "orissa is quite right," said mr. cumberford, decisively. "we must abandon the idea at once." "i know it appears a desperate measure," admitted radley-todd, "but something must be done, both to drive away our enemies and get the _salvador_ afloat again. cut the explosives, and what remains for us to do?" "make a sortie and drive them away from here," replied cumberford. "i'm a little old for a pitched battle or guerrilla warfare, but this extraordinary mexican--er--er--interests me. i'm willing to have it out with him here and now." "one white man is worth six mexicans," declared captain krell, belligerently. "won't do at all," asserted steve. "we can't afford to take the chances of defeat, gentlemen, while we have these girls in our care. the ship is a fort that is almost impregnable, and we mustn't leave it for an instant--under any circumstances." chapter xxi capturing an aËroplane as they sat with downcast countenances, reflecting upon their uncomfortable position, orissa said quietly: "i've thought of something to relieve us. the idea came to me when chesty insisted our launch could run the blockade." "speak out, ris," exclaimed steve. "your ideas are pretty good ones, as a rule. what's the proposition?" "why, we all seem to have forgotten the hy." "the hydro-aircraft?" "yes. it is lying quite safe, and in apple-pie order, in the little ravine at the foot of the bluff where we camped." "but it is minus its plane-cloths," added sybil. "our tent is still standing, for i saw it from deck only an hour ago." "it won't take long to attach the plane-cloths," said steve, "provided those brigands will let us do it. it's rather odd they haven't taken the trouble to capture the aircraft already. it would be easy for ramon to declare it 'wreck.'" "what would be the use?" asked madeline. "they could not fly it, even if they knew how to put it in order; and, as they imagine we cannot get to it, they are not worrying about the thing. of course they are able to see that tent on the bluff as easily as we can, and by and by they will go there and capture whatever the girls left." "true. that is why we must lose no unnecessary time," observed orissa. "i do not yet see what the proposition is," asserted chesty, in a puzzled tone. "i know what orissa means," returned steve quickly. "there's plenty of gasoline on board--i think nearly a barrel--intended for the use of the launch. if i could get to the aircraft and fill its tanks with gasoline no one could prevent my flying home, where i could get a ship and men to come to our rescue." "that interests me; it does, really!" said mr. cumberford. "it's so easy and practical i wonder none of us thought of it before." "i've had the possibilities in mind for some time," declared orissa, "but i had no idea we could get to the aircraft until chesty proposed running the blockade in our launch." "it's a fine idea," said chesty, with enthusiasm. "i mean both our ideas--the combination, orissa." "i believe it will solve all our difficulties," added madeline, confidently. "but will not this journey be a hazardous one for mr. kane to undertake?" "i think not," replied orissa. "the same amount of gasoline that brought sybil and me to this place will carry the machine back again, and steve can go more directly than we came, for he knows exactly how to head." "then!" said chesty todd, "the plan is this: we'll put enough gasoline in cans to fill the tanks of the aëroplane, load 'em into the launch, and to-night steve and i will sneak out of this inlet, slip past the mexican's launch and hie us to that ravine of yours. is there room enough for our boat to enter the bay you described, or is that big rock too close to shore to let us pass?" "there will be just about room for you to pass in, i think," answered orissa. "but the big launch couldn't do it?" "ramon's? no, indeed." "very good." "who will fly with me to san diego?" asked steve. "the aircraft carries two, you know. one of the women ought to go. i wish we could carry them all away from this dangerous place." "let them draw cuts for it," suggested chesty. "you can let me out," said sybil; "i won't leave daddy." "nonsense!" cried her father. "then i'm nonsensical," laughed sybil, "for i won't budge an inch without you. that wicked mexican might capture you in a jiffy if i wasn't here to look after you. not a word, sir; the thing is settled, as far as i am concerned." "i cannot go, of course," said madeline. "this is my yacht and i must stand by it, and by my men, to the last. nor could i with courtesy escape and leave my guests in danger." "then it shall be mrs. tupper," proposed orissa. "me? me? goodness sakes, child," cried mrs. tupper, in great alarm, "do you think i'd risk my life in that dreadful airship?" "you'll risk it by staying," suggested her husband. "but there's a chance of salvation here," asserted the lady, with nervous haste. "i'd get light-headed and tumble out of that aëroplane in two minutes. and they'd hear me yell from japan to san francisco, i'd be so scared. i can stand death, mr. tupper, with christian fortitude; but not torture!" "orissa?" said steve, inquiringly. "yes; i'll go. i may be of more assistance to you all by going than by staying. and i will run the machine, steve, and take you as a passenger. i've tinkered that steering-gear until i know just how to manage it." steve nodded. "as i understand it, miss dentry," said he, "my mission will be to charter a fast steamship, for which mr. cumberford and i will pay, and bring it here to drag the _salvador_ off this beach. the crew, which i will see is well armed, will work in conjunction with yours and when we outnumber ramon ganza's band of rascals he will probably run away to his den without attempting to fight." "ramon never run," protested pietro, shaking his head. "you cannot scare ramon. the more men you bring, the more he has to fight; that is all." this gloomy prophecy made them look grave for a time. "our pietro is a pessimist," said chesty, with assumed cheerfulness. "but some day the mexican government will find this invincible hero and send a warship to blow his island out of the water." "why--yes!" exclaimed madeline, with sudden inspiration; "the mexican government is interested in this affair. why not fly to the nearest point on the mexican coast, mr. kane, and from there telegraph president madero? i believe he would send a warship at once, both to capture ramon ganza and to rescue us from his clutches." "um-m. madero has his hands full, just now, putting down revolutions at home," mr. cumberford reminded her. "and maybe he isn't interested in ganza, who was convicted of a felony under the régime of diaz." "i can try him, anyhow," said steve. "the mexican coast is about fifty miles nearer than san diego." "madero has offer one thousan' dollar--mexican--for capture of ramon," said pietro, proudly. "so much money shows ramon is great man." "in that case you'd better give madero a chance at him, steve," decided mr. cumberford. "a man-o'-war would be more effective here than a trading ship, and in the interests of humanity we should put an end to this fellow's cruel tyranny for good and all. he's far better off in jail." after some further discussion this plan was finally decided on and preparations were begun for the adventure. during the afternoon the cans of gasoline were placed in the launch and steve went over the machinery of the little boat with great care, to assure himself it was in perfect order. the nights were never really dark until toward morning, when the stars seemed to dim and the moon dipped below the horizon. sometimes there were a few drifting clouds, but they never obscured the sky long enough to be utilized as a mask. so steve decided to make his attempt at the dark hour preceding dawn and made orissa go to bed and get what sleep she could. she said her good-byes to the others then, so it would not be necessary to disturb them at the time of departure. at three o'clock her brother called her and told her to get ready. chesty and steve were seated in the launch when the girl arrived on deck, and she quickly took her place. while it was much darker than it had been earlier in the night, orissa found she could see near-by objects quite distinctly. four of the crew, headed by captain krell, were standing by to lower the launch over the side, and as the owls were hooting their most dismal chorus their screams drowned any noise made by the windlass. no sooner had the launch touched the surface than chesty dipped his scull in the water and with a dexterous motion sent the little craft forward toward the mouth of the inlet. they might have been seen from the shore had the mexicans been alert, but at this hour many who were supposed to be watching had fallen asleep, and if any remained awake their eyes were not turned upon the waters of the tiny bay. quite noiselessly the launch moved on and presently turned the point of rock at the right. orissa stifled a cry and steve's heart gave a bound as the bow of the launch pointed straight at the big boat of ramon, scarcely ten feet distant; but chesty saw the danger, too, and a sharp swing of the scull sent the light craft spinning around so that it just grazed the side of the mexican's boat, in which all the occupants were fast asleep. next moment they had passed it, and still chesty continued sculling, as it was not safe as yet to start the engines. but when they had skirted the shore for such a distance that the screeching of the owls would be likely to drown the noise of their motor, steve started the machinery and the launch darted away at full speed. half an hour later they crept between the big rock and the bluff and were safe in the deep hollow at the foot of the ravine, having accomplished the adventure so easily that they marvelled at their own success. "strikes me as a good omen," remarked orissa, cheerfully, as they disembarked and drew the launch upon the sands. "i hope the luck will follow you on your return, chesty." "me?" replied the big boy. "why, nothing ever happens to me. let us hope the good luck will follow you and steve, on whom the safety of the entire party now depends. what first, steve? "the tent. we must get that down before daybreak, so they won't see us working on it from the bay, and interfere with our proposed flight." orissa led the way to the bluff and at once steve and chesty began tumbling the rocks from the edges of the canvas. this was no light task, for the girls had erected a solid parapet in order to defy the wind; but just as the first streaks of dawn appeared the tent came down and they hastily seized the canvas, added it to the covering of the upper plane, which had been inside the tent, and lugged it all down the incline to where the frame of the aircraft lay. "very good," said steve. "we'll need the daylight now, in order to attach the cloth." they had not long to wait, and while steve, assisted by radley-todd, fastened the cloth in place with the clips provided for that purpose, which orissa had carefully saved, the girl herself inspected the machinery and all the framework, even to the last brace, to be sure it was in condition for the long trip. she also oiled the steering gear and thoroughly tested it to see that it worked freely. by nine o'clock the planes were tautly spread and the tanks had been filled with gasoline. "i think we are all ready for the start," said steve. "but how about you, chesty? as soon as we roll the aircraft to the top of the bluff the mexicans will see us and start for this place to try to intercept us. orissa and i will be gone, when they arrive; but they may find you, unless you make tracks." "how do you expect to regain the ship?" asked orissa, who had not considered this matter before. "don't worry about me, i beg of you," retorted the boy, hastily. "i shall be all right. all ready, steve?" steve looked at him thoughtfully. "i think that when they see us fly away they may give up the idea of coming here," said he; "and, in that case, you'd better lie here in the ravine until night, when you can try to steal back in the same way we came." "all right, old man; never mind me." "but we _do_ mind you, chesty," said orissa, earnestly. "you've been a faithful friend ever since we got into this difficulty--and before, too--so we can't have anything happen to you." he blushed like a girl, but declared he would be perfectly safe. "don't take any foolish chances," urged orissa. "i won't." they rolled the aircraft up to the top of the bluff and set it with the head facing the sea. then steve and orissa took their places and chesty, giving them each a hearty handclasp, spun the propeller blade as steve started the engine. at once the aëroplane darted forward, rose as it passed the bluff, and sailed gracefully into the air. chesty hid his six-feet-three behind a boulder, to shield himself from observation, while he watched the splendid machine turn upon its course and speed away over the pacific on its errand of rescue. then, with a sigh of relief and elation, the boy crept into the ravine and descended to where his boat lay. seated in the launch, calmly awaiting him, were three of the mexicans, headed by the one-eyed francisco. chapter xxii ramon ganza when madeline came on deck, soon after daybreak, captain krell reported the successful departure of the launch. "are you sure they were not seen?" she asked. "quite sure, miss dentry, for we heard not a sound, either from our party or from the besiegers, although we listened intently." long before steve could have prepared the aëroplane for the journey those on board the yacht were gazing expectantly at the bluff. the tent had disappeared, which was proof that the undertaking had so far been successful. at this time there seemed to be a little stir among the mexicans and mr. cumberford suggested, rather nervously, that they also had noticed the absence of the tent, without understanding what could have become of it. at half-past eight they heard the sound of the engines of ramon's big launch, and that made them worry more than ever until sybil suddenly cried: "there they are!" upon the distant bluff appeared the aircraft. a little cheer, which none could restrain, went up from the deck of the yacht. there was no delay. scarcely was the machine in position when it mounted into the air and headed directly toward the east. every eye watched it eagerly until it had become a dim speck against the blue sky and finally disappeared from view altogether, flying steadily and with a speed that raised their hopes to the highest pitch. then, with one accord, they returned to the cabin to discuss the chances of radley-todd's getting back to them safely with the launch. "i don't worry much about that young man," said cumberford. "he's as full of resources as a pincushion is of sawdust, and i'll bet my hat we shall soon see him again, safe and sound." the captain now entered with an anxious face. "that confounded mexican king is signaling us with a flag of truce," he reported. "what, ramon?" exclaimed madeline. "yes. what shall we do?" "stay here, miss dentry," said cumberford, rising. "i'll go and see what the fellow wants." "i will go with you," returned madeline, quietly. "i wish you would not." "why?" she asked. "if he bears a flag of truce there is no danger." "i do not believe he would respect a flag of truce--nor anything else," asserted mr. cumberford. "do you, captain?" "no, sir. he's tricky and unreliable. don't trust him for a moment." but madeline would not be denied. she accompanied the captain and mr. cumberford to the deck. just beside the yacht floated the little rowboat which had been brought from ramon's island, and in it sat ramon himself, all alone, holding aloft a handkerchief attached as a flag to a boat-hook. as they peered over the side at him he bowed profoundly and removed his hat to miss dentry. he was still clothed in his white flannels and his fingers glittered with jewels. "what do you want?" demanded mr. cumberford sharply. "the pleasure of conversing with you, señor," was the confident reply. "if you will kindly let down your ladder i will come on board. you see, myself i place in your power. we have, i much regret, some slight misunderstanding between us, which a few words will assuredly correct." "don't let him up, sir," advised captain krell, in a low voice. "but he is unarmed," said madeline. "i think it will be best to confer with him." "then do it from a distance," grumbled the captain. "sir," called mr. cumberford, "if you have any apologies to make, you may speak from where you are." "then, alas, my overtures of peace are refused?" said ramon, not defiantly, but in a tone of deep regret. "no; we don't refuse any sincere overtures of peace; but you have treated us in a scoundrelly manner, and we don't trust you." "such a terrible mistake, señor; so sad! but i cannot explain it from here. with utmost trust in your honor i offer to come to you alone, and--see!--unarmed. will not you, for the sake of the ladies who are with you, encourage my friendliness?" "let him come up," said madeline again. there seemed a veiled threat in ramon's appeal. "very well. but tell your men to watch his every movement, captain, and if he makes a treacherous move shoot him down without hesitation." the rope ladder was cast over the side and ramon promptly seized it and climbed to the deck. "follow us below," commanded mr. cumberford, turning toward the cabin. the man hesitated, casting a shrewd, quick glance around. then he bowed again and said: "i thank the señor for his courtesy." in the cabin were assembled mr. and mrs. tupper and sybil cumberford. chica and pietro discreetly kept out of view. mr. cumberford entered first, followed by madeline. then came ramon ganza and behind him the captain and little o'reilly, the irish engineer. this last personage was virtually "armed to the teeth," for he carried one of ramon's own rifles and a brace of revolvers. "be seated," said mr. cumberford, pointing to a chair. "and now, sir, state your errand." ganza's comprehensive glance had taken in every member of the party, as well as the luxurious furnishings of the _salvador's_ cabin, which seemed to please his aesthetic taste. "i ask to be inform, being in ignorance, if three people may ride in one flying-machine," he blandly announced, looking from one face to another as if uncertain whom to address. "three?" asked cumberford, as if puzzled. "yes. i see that one young lady and two men are missing from your party." "i suppose three can ride, if need be," muttered cumberford. "is your mission here to gain information concerning aëroplanes?" "only in part, señor." the mexican's features had hitherto been composed and smiling, despite the stern and mistrustful looks he encountered on all sides. but now, perhaps understanding that these americans were not easily to be cajoled, his own face grew somber and lowering and he said in a sharp, incisive manner: "you prefer to discuss business only?" "we do, sir," was the reply, mr. cumberford continuing to act as spokesman. "very nice. i have a wish to invite you all to my island, where you shall be my respected guests. my mansion shall be at your service; my servants shall obey your commands; you shall delight in the grand scenery and enjoy yourselves as you will." "thank you; we decline your hospitality." "but i fear in that you make bad mistake, señor," continued ramon ganza, unabashed by the rebuff. "my island is a pleasant place, and where else can you find so much happiness when my ship, which you now inhabit, is destroyed?" "oh; that's the idea, is it?" exclaimed mr. cumberford. "you interest me, sir; you do, really. perhaps you will state how you intend to destroy our ship, which is not, permit me to say, your ship as yet." "is it necessary to say more?" asked the mexican, spreading out his jewelled hands with a deprecating gesture. "i think it will enable us to understand you better." as if in deep thought, ganza drummed upon the cabin table with his fingers. "i am very sad at your refusal to be my guests," he said after a time. "this, my ship, is in a most dangerous position. it is half out of water, on an island that is a bleak rock. i come here from the island where i reside to befriend you--to offer you my humble hospitality--when i have taken possession of the wreck--and in your blindness--do you call it fatuity?--you receive me as an enemy. some of your people chase my boat, as if i have no right to sail the seas of my own islands! yet i am not resentful; not at all. i enjoy some humor and i am good man, with much respectability. when your ship catches on fire, as it will probably do very soon, you must escape to these bare rocks, where you can find no assistance, no food to keep you alive. then perhaps you will feel more kindly toward poor don miguel del borgitis--your humble servant--and find willingness to accept his beautiful home as your own. but why wait for fire to drive you to death most terrible or to my great hospitality? is it not the best to accept my offer, and so save yourselves from--inconvenience?" beneath the smooth words the ugly threat was so visible that even brave madeline paled, and mr. tupper shuddered vigorously. but mr. cumberford, gazing critically into the man's face, replied: "i see. interesting; very. you want to save this yacht. you would like to drag it afloat and carry it away to your own island, where we, accepting your hospitality, would become your prisoners. but if we refuse to surrender the ship, you say you will set fire to it, in which case you would burn us up or force us to land. if we land, you will capture us and force us to become your unwilling subjects. is that a clear understanding of your statement, ramon ganza?" the outlaw gave a start as he heard his true name mentioned, but quickly recovered his assurance. "the señor is very intelligent," he said. "at any rate, the señor is not demented," retorted cumberford, grimly. "why did you venture to place yourself in our power, ramon ganza, and then threaten us as you have done?" "i came under flag of truce." "and you think, on that account, we will let you go again, to carry out your cowardly designs?" "i am certain of that. before i came i took care to protect myself." "in what way?" he looked at his watch, a huge jewelled affair. "underneath your ship," said he quietly, "is anchored a mine of very much power. it lies under that part which is in the water--i think just below the place where we now sit. if i do not depart from here in safety within fifty minutes from now, my men will kindly explode this mine and blow us all to--well, where we go. the poor ship, alas, will be destroyed with us." "would your men execute such an absurd order?" asked cumberford sneeringly. "with much satisfaction. you see, it would make them free. they do not love me very much. if i die, they will have my beloved island and all my possessions--so they think." "and you would be willing to forfeit your life as the alternative of not getting control of this yacht? do you expect us to believe that?" the outlaw's glittering fingers drummed upon the table again. "the señor is not so wholly intelligent as i believed," said he. "i do not contradict his statement that he is not--eh--what you call it?--demented, or a fool; but the statement seems open to suspicion." "ah; that interests me." "it ought to. you seem to know my name, señor; therefore you doubtless know my history. pietro will have told you, or chica, for both are now with you. my safety has depended on my keeping hidden upon my island. i must not let any who has seen me there, and recognized ramon ganza, depart to carry the tale to the mainland. in mexico a price is set upon my head and they have condemned me to years in prison. but--there! i assure you all that i am good man, and honest; but my enemies have conspired to destroy me. "as don miguel del borgitis i have lived very respectable until, unfortunately for us all, you came here. i knew two girls had been wreck on this island in a flying-machine--a very strange and exciting invention, is it not?--but i did not disturb them nor allow them to become aware of my existence. why? all i wish is safety. when some of you people, after this yacht is driven ashore in storm, intrude on me by coming to my hiding-place, i was obliged to protect myself. i started to come here to get every one on board and invite them to my island--where i meant to keep you all indefinitely, for i did not dare allow you to return to america and say where you had found ramon ganza. this yacht i could use to advantage, i admit; but i would be better pleased had i never seen it--nor you. "almost at once you are my enemies, and defy my laws. that did not change my plans except to make them harder. in this unknown island i am really king. i must conquer you, which i thought with good reason i could easily accomplish in time. so i make siege to your boat, laughing to think you cannot escape me. but one man cannot comprehend all things, señor, and i failed to consider that devilish contrivance, your flying-machine. i thought it was wreck, and no good any more. some time last night three of your party get away and go to flying-machine, and this morning some of them--one, two, three; it does not matter--have fly away in it. of course they will go to the mainland. that means they send assistance to you. they float your ship, take you back to america and you all have knowledge where ramon ganza may be found by those that seek his capture. now you understand me, do you not? you have make it very unpleasant for me. if i escape from my island in little boat, where can i got? if i stay i will be arrest and carried to mexico to be put in prison. very well; i must escape. but not in my launch, which is old and not very good. i must have this yacht, which will carry me to any far part of the world, where mexico is not known. perhaps in it i could be privateer, if that seemed best way to protect my liberty--which is dearer to me than life. with this yacht i could defy all enemies; without it--i face death, or at least ruin. you have driven me to this desperation, so i come to make you my proposition. now that i have explained all with much frankness, you will understand i mean what i say, for i am talking for my liberty--the liberty of a man who would soon die in confinement, for i am used to the open and could not exist as a convicted felon, in chains and abused by dogs of jailers. for your party i have no especial enmity; neither do i care for you the snap of my fingers. but believe this: either i will save myself in this yacht, as i have proposed, or i will die in your company." chapter xxiii a desperate alternative ramon ganza had spoken slowly and with deliberation, choosing his words with care. his story seemed plausible, except where it referred to the planting of the mine, which he claimed to be the last resort of a man so desperately situated. some of his hearers were quite convinced of his sincerity in making this statement, but mr. cumberford was not among them. he remembered chica's artless statement: "ramon lies; he always lies," and it confirmed his skepticism. "as i understand you," he made answer, after a little thought, "you consider your retreat no longer safe because we have discovered it. therefore, on obtaining possession of this yacht, you propose to sail to parts unknown, leaving us stranded on this rocky island." "from whence you will soon be rescued," added the outlaw, with a bow. "the siege which you had planned, in order to force us to surrender through starvation, is no longer practical; for time presses and if you delay you will be surprised by the ship sent to rescue us--perhaps a mexican man-o'-war." the man nodded, watching the speaker's face with an eagerness he could not dissemble. "for which reason," continued mr. cumberford, "you decided to force a climax by coming on board and threatening us--as you have done. well, we intend to force your alternative, ramon ganza. you are our prisoner, and if your men blow up this yacht you shall go to eternity with us!" the mexican's face grew rigid a moment. then he smiled in a sardonic way and shrugged his shoulders. but mr. tupper, white and trembling as with an ague, leaped to his feet and cried: "in heaven's name, cumberford, what do you mean? would you destroy us all in this heartless fashion?" "no. there is no mine; or, if there is, it will not explode." "i--i differ with you. this--er--person--is desperate. he--he knows what he's talking about. i refuse to ta-ta-take the chances, sir! i must consider the safety of my wife and myself, and of our niece, miss dentry. this is our yacht, cumberford, not yours, i beg to remind you, and we shall decide this important question ourselves." even before he ceased speaking mrs. tupper, whose eyes had been wild and staring, uttered a piercing shriek and tumbled to the floor of the cabin in violent hysterics. sybil and madeline rushed to her assistance and this confusion further unnerved mr. tupper. with sudden energy he pounded his fist upon the table and cried: "i won't allow it! i won't allow this sacrifice. madeline is rich; what does she care for this miserable yacht? take it, you mexican thief, if you want it! our lives are far too precious to be put in peril." ramon ganza's face showed his satisfaction but his eyes expressed nothing but contempt for the terrified mr. tupper. mr. cumberford sat calmly regarding the contortions of the afflicted lady, as if wondering how much was involuntary and how much pure perversity. the captain twirled his thumbs and seemed absolutely unconcerned, while little o'reilly's attention was fixed, in keen amusement, on the scene before him, as if it were a vaudeville act performed for his especial edification. as mrs. tupper continued to pound the floor with her heels madeline first emptied the water pitcher over her aunt and then slyly pinched her, which torture may have been responsible for some of the frantic screams. mr. tupper bowed his head despairingly on the cabin table, in an attitude so pitiable that it should have aroused the sympathy of all beholders, as he intended it to do. but meanwhile his good wife gradually recovered; her screams subsided to heart-rending wails and then to moans, after which she became quiet except for a series of nervous sobs. madeline and sybil now raised the poor woman and supported her to her stateroom, where she fell exhausted upon the berth. it was not until the girls returned to the cabin that the discussion of ramon ganza's proposition was renewed. miss dentry gave him a searching look as she entered and noted the outlaw's smirk of satisfaction and the triumphant glitter of the dark eyes beneath their half closed lids. then her own expression hardened and she turned to mr. cumberford, as if inviting him to proceed. "madeline," implored mr. tupper, "be good enough to assure this man--mr.--mr.--eh--ganza--that the yacht, which is your property, is at his disposal in return for our--safety." "the yacht is really miss dentry's property," added mr. cumberford coolly. "she will dispose of it as she thinks fit." [illustration: madeline, seated at the table, studied the faces before her curiously, while an amused smile played around her lips. "we cannot accept our enemy's proposition," she announced.] madeline, seated at the table, studied the faces before her curiously, while an amused smile played around her lips. she knew she was enjoying the scene, and also knew the moment was critical, but no fear of consequences caused her courageous heart to falter an instant. "we cannot accept our enemy's proposition," she announced. "ramon ganza is not the man to abide by any promises he makes, and if once we left the protection of this yacht we would probably be treated with little mercy. it would not save a single life, uncle martin, to agree to ganza's proposal. threatening and browbeating those weaker than himself seems to be the man's pet recreation and before he left the island he would leave us to our fate, virtual prisoners. it might be years before any ship chanced to sail this way." "i give you my pledge of honor to send word to your friends where you are," protested ganza, eagerly. "as you have no honor, sir, your word has no value. but i have a counter-proposition to suggest which will, i think, satisfy all concerned. order your men, ramon ganza, to lay down their arms and surrender themselves to our keeping and to obey us unreservedly. then, under command of captain krell, all hands must attempt to get the yacht afloat in deep water. when that is accomplished we will take you with us back to the united states and secretly land you in any port you select. afterward we will not betray you nor attempt to hunt you down. if you need money, i will even supply you with a small sum that will enable you to flee to europe or south america. that is fair. it is more fair than you deserve. but, if you accept our terms, we will abide by them faithfully." the mexican was intensely annoyed. "no!" he exclaimed, abruptly. "if you cannot trust me, why should i trust you?" "because my plan is by far the better way," she rejoined. "if you seek liberty, if you desire to avoid arrest, this plan will surely accomplish your purpose. you cannot prefer prison to assured freedom, and the alternative, if you reject my plan, is simply to explode your mine." he drummed on the table again, rather nervously. "pardon me, miss dentry," said cumberford, "but you are proposing to aid and abet the escape of a condemned criminal. you will render yourself, and us, liable to punishment." "i know," she answered. "i despise myself for treating with this scoundrel, but do it to relieve the fears of the tuppers and perhaps others aboard who have not yet protested. if i dared follow my own counsel i would defy him, as you have done." "my dear sir," said mr. tupper, looking at the mexican beseechingly, "accept miss dentry's terms, i implore you. she will do exactly as she agrees; she always does!" "puh!" muttered ganza, uneasily shifting in his chair; "perhaps we can arrange. but the trust shall not be all on one side. if i trust you, you must trust me--to an extent--a few more details. instead of giving you my men, you must give me yours, and place all weapons in my control. also i will take command of this yacht, for i am good sailor. in an hour's time i will float the ship; then, with my men, i will sail it back to united states, to land your party on the coast near to some city which you can reach easily by walking. after that i will sail away in this yacht, which you will present to me in return for my services to you. you see, in this way you assure absolute safety to yourselves. as this wise and agreeable gentleman," indicating mr. tupper, "has with cleverness stated, the young lady is rich enough to afford the loss of her boat, so you can have no objection to my generous proposition." "none whatever!" exclaimed mr. tupper. "agree, madeline, agree!" "no," she said, shaking her head, "i will not. the man is not sincere, or he would not require us to place ourselves in his power." "but i insist, my dear. he--he seems quite honest. i--i----" "be quiet, confound you!" roared cumberford, losing patience. "you're a doddering old idiot, tupper, and if you don't shut up i'll gag you." he turned to ganza. "miss dentry's proposition still stands, and it's the final word. you'll either accept it--right now, on the spot--or take the consequences." "already i have refuse," said the outlaw calmly. "very well. o'reilly, march this fellow to the cage, for'ard, and lock him in. then stand guard before the door and shoot him if he bothers you." "thank 'e, sor; it's proud i am to do that same," answered the engineer, gleefully. "one moment, please," said ganza. "you make doubt of my saying that you all face a most horrible death. you are stupid americans, and must be convinced. come with me on deck and i will prove to you your danger." "no harm in that," replied cumberford. "it's on your way to the cage." with one accord they all accompanied o'reilly and his prisoner to the deck. "now," said ramon, standing by the rail, "i have some men hid in those rocks yonder. their names are paschal, mateo, gabrielle, gomez, francisco, pedro, gonzales, juan and tomas. tell me which one i shall call--i care not which, myself--and the man will assure you my orders are positive to them, and that they will carry out the explosion of the mine as i have arranged, provided i do not return in safety." cumberford was curious to learn the extent of the rogue's bravado. "call mateo," he suggested. the mexican did so, raising his voice to utter the summons. from behind a pile of rocks nearly opposite them sprang a thin, gaunt man. he ran down to the water's edge, saluted his chief and stood at attention. "come here, mateo," commanded ganza. without hesitation the man waded into the inlet and swam to the rope ladder which dangled over the side. this he seized and climbed on deck, where, dripping with water, he again faced his master and saluted him. "tell me, mateo," said ramon ganza, "where is it, beneath this boat, that the mine has been planted?" "fourteen feet from the stern, capitan." "and is it powerful enough to destroy the ship?" "to make it in small pieces, capitan--an' ten ship like it, if ten ship were here." "very nice. you know what time the mine is to explode?" "at eleven o'clock, capitan, unless you come ashore to countermand the order." "ah yes; so it is. you may go back to your post, mateo." the man, looking neither to right nor left, descended the ladder, swam to shore and retreated behind the rocks again. ramon turned to mr. cumberford, showing the open face of his watch. "in five minutes it will be eleven o'clock," he quietly announced. "take him to the cage, o'reilly!" two other armed men had joined the engineer on deck and the three now surrounded ganza and started forward with him. "mercy, cumberford! save us--save us!" howled mr. tupper, frantic with fear. "i can't die now--we ought none of us to die! give him the launch. give him the----" a cry interrupted him. mason, the man nearest the rail, dropped his gun and staggered back with his hands clasped to his side, from which a stream of blood gushed forth. at the same moment the huge form of ramon ganza leaped the rail and dove headforemost into the water. but everyone else was more interested in the wounded man, who seemed to be badly hurt. ramon ganza was forgotten as the girls bent over the poor fellow with anxious looks. "have mason brought to my own cabin, at once," said madeline to captain krell. they carried the wounded man below, to be placed in madeline's roomy cabin. mr. cumberford was not a surgeon, but there was no one aboard who knew more of surgery than he and so he went to mason's side at once. ganza had struck the man with a knife of the stiletto type, the narrow blade of which had penetrated his side just above the hip joint. mr. cumberford's "first aid" outfit, which the captain was able to supply, enabled him to stop the bleeding, but he was unable to tell how serious the injury might prove. the man was in considerable pain, which cumberford partially relieved with a hypodermic injection of morphine. during this interesting period no one gave a thought to the escaped mexican, but when nothing more could be done for his patient cumberford left the girls to watch over him and walked into the cabin, where he found mrs. tupper sobbing as if in great grief while her husband sat in his favorite despairing attitude, his head bowed on his arms. "what's wrong?" demanded cumberford, in surprise. "wrong!" cried tupper, lifting his head; "why, at any moment may come the crash of the explosion that will send us all to eternity. we--we can't escape it. it's inevitable!" cumberford looked at his watch. "it's a quarter to twelve," he said. "the explosion was due at eleven." "but the mexican brigand--the pirate chief--the----" "he has escaped, so there'll be no explosion at all. i believe he threatened to fire the ship; but he won't do that. ganza's sole ambition is to capture this boat, so he can sail away from his countrymen, escape imprisonment, and perhaps become a really-truly pirate. interesting, isn't it? forget the explosion, tupper; if you must worry, worry about our real danger." "what is that, sir? what is our real danger?" cried madeline's uncle, springing to his feet in a new access of terror. "there'll be fighting, presently," predicted mr. cumberford. "having failed in all else, the mexican will find a way to board us--in the night, probably--and will try to slice us to goulash or pepper us with bullets, as opportunity decides." "great heavens!" "to be sure. to avoid getting to those great heavens, where you don't belong, i advise you to arm yourself properly and be ready to repel the attack." then cumberford went on deck and found the captain. "how about ramon ganza?" he asked. "i think ganza kept swimming and reached the shore, where his men dragged him to cover. the fellow seems to bear a charmed life." "that's bad," observed cumberford, shaking his head regretfully. "i've an idea, captain krell, that unless we manage to capture ramon ganza during the next twenty-four hours, he will manage to capture us." "so soon?" asked the captain. "he won't dare to wait longer. there's help coming." "well, sir, in that case----" the captain hesitated. "in that case it will be pleasanter and more satisfactory for us to capture ganza," said mr. cumberford. "interesting; isn't it?" "how can we do it?" asked captain krell. "i don't know," replied cumberford. chapter xxiv the diplomacy of chesty todd when mr. h. chesterton radley-todd discovered the one-eyed francisco and his two comrades calmly seated in the _salvador's_ launch, engaged in nonchalantly smoking their brown-paper cigarettes, he merely raised his eyebrows and continued down the slope. they had seen him as soon as he saw them and, confident in their superior numbers, awaited his advance with serenity. chesty knew there was little chance of escape, and he knew the men knew he knew it. the launch was his sole resource, and the enemy had captured it. he might, perhaps, dodge behind the rocks on the mountain for an indefinite period, but they'd get him in the end, so such an undertaking was scarcely worth the exertion it required. therefore, on he came, walking leisurely and picking his way deliberately down the incline until he stood beside the launch, which was still beached upon the shore of the little pocket-like bay. then he drew out a silver case and, choosing a cigarette with solicitous care, turned to francisco and said: "will the señor favor me with a light?" the men grinned. they enjoyed the humor of the situation. francisco, with a bow of mock deference, furnished the required light from his own cigarette. chesty climbed into the launch, took a seat facing francisco and remarked: "fine day, señors." "good to fly in air," nodded one of the men, with a laugh and a glance skyward. "oh; did you see the machine fly? pretty sight, wasn't it? and you boys saw it for nothing. in the united states we charge fifty cents to tickle the vision like that." francisco looked at him, meditating. "where they go?" he asked. "to mexico, to ask president madero for a battleship." the men exchanged significant glances. "for why, señor?" inquired one of them. "to come and get ramon ganza and clap him in prison. perhaps hang him to one of those banana trees, on the bluff up there." the mexicans looked their consternation. "if that is true," said francisco, slowly, "then i may be capture an' put in prison, too." "i suppose so; because you belong to ganza's gang and have probably broken the laws more than once." "i not murder," protested the man. "ramon do that, i know; but not me. i very hones' an' good. but come," he added, throwing away his cigarette and rising. "we mus' go back. you are our prisoner, señor." chesty did not move. he took the silver case from his pocket and offered it to the mexicans. "help yourselves, boys," he said. "there's no hurry. let us sit here and have a little talk. when you get back to ramon he'll be sure to keep you busy enough. this is a good time to rest." they hesitated a little, but took the cigarettes and lighted them. "i suppose," remarked mr. todd, leaning back with his arms clasped around his knees, "if i asked the warship to take ganza, and let my friends--you are my friends, i suppose?" they all nodded, watching his face eagerly. "and let my friends escape--with me, in our yacht, the _salvador_--they would do so without question. madero knows me, and he usually does what i ask." "you know madero?" asked francisco, his back against the boat and his elbows resting on the gunwale, in a lounging attitude. "we are like twin brothers," asserted chesty. "that is why he will send a warship to take ramon ganza and all his gang--except those who are my friends." they smoked a while in silence and chesty noted that they now forbore meeting one another's eyes. "ramon great man," said one, presently, as if to himself. "ramon bad master; his people are dogs; but ramon have his own way, an' nobody dare stop him." "wrong, my friend," rejoined mr. todd. "ramon is stopped right now. his time is up; his days are numbered. he has run the length of his rope. presently he'll be confined in a dungeon, on bread-and-water, or breaking stone on the roads--in chains and very miserable. poor ramon. what a fool he was to break the law--which leads to breaking stones!" "ramon very clever," suggested another man, but in a doubtful tone. "cleverness has failed him this time," said chesty. "your leader is caught like a rat in a trap. if he could get hold of our yacht he'd skip out and save himself; but he can't do that in a thousand years." "an' why not, señor?" "we're too strong for him." they pondered this. "ramon have sixteen men," said francisco, presently. "you had 'leven; but one fly away, an' one--that is you, señor--is now capture. that make you nine. nine to sixteen--an' ramon to lead those sixteen!" "you didn't remain in school long enough to complete your education, francisco," declared the prisoner, calmly. "in other words, you can't figure. here's the real situation, and it's worth your while to study it: the yacht has a crew of seven--all splendid warriors. then there's general cumberford, a terrible fighter, and major-general tupper, who cries every night if he can't kill a man before he goes to bed--it makes him sleep better, you know--and the invincible captain krell, who once cut down a whole regiment with his own saber--chopped them into mince-meat by the hundreds, and was given a gold medal with his monogram engraved on it, to commemorate the event. that's an even ten defenders. and then there's myself. i won't say much about myself, but you might look me over carefully. it is possible that if i was aroused i might crush you three in my arms until your bones cracked like walnuts." they did look at him, and it seemed as if the big fellow might do it, exactly as he said. but chesty continued, reassuringly: "however, i never injure my friends. i'm noted for that. let's see; ten in our party, so far, wasn't it? then there's that red-beard--pietro--who has been given a charm by one of our witch-women which will not only preserve his life but enable him to defeat all his enemies. pietro desires to return to civilization, a free man, and we will allow him to do so." they were much impressed by this statement. chesty's idea of the "witch-woman" was destined to prove his most forceful argument. "pietro makes eleven," he continued, "and you three bring the number up to fourteen, which leaves ramon but thirteen followers to be arrested with him--unlucky number, thirteen. haven't you noticed it?" "you think we join you, then?" asked francisco, curiously. "i'm sure of it. you are no longer afraid of ramon, for his jig is up. you don't want to go to prison with him, because it is very disagreeable to break stone on the roads, i'm told, and in prison they deprive a man of even his cigarettes. i know you have been bad boys, all three of you, and until now the law has threatened you. but you have reformed. remember, señors, you have reformed, and are now honest men. i will tell madero, my friend the president, what honest men you are, and how you have helped to defy ramon, the outlaw, and give him up to justice. madero will then reward you, and you will live happy ever after." it was an enticing picture. the men looked grave and undecided. in their hearts they hated ramon; but they also feared him. for years they had lived in daily terror of the tyrant who ruled them with an iron hand, who whipped a man brutally if he incurred his anger, who dominated them so utterly that they grovelled at his feet like the curs they were. if they could be sure of ramon's downfall; if they could believe this big american boy, who was fully as powerful of frame as ramon himself, then they would gladly desert the tyrant and save themselves by joining his enemies. it was only their inbred fear of ramon and their confidence in his cleverness in defying justice, that made them hesitate. chesty saw this. he racked his brain to find other arguments. "you have witch-women?" asked one of the men, in an awed tone. "three of them, all very bewitching." "one has fly away." "yes; to cast a spell over the captain of the mexican battleship, and make him hurry. the two most powerful are still here on this island." "then why they not use their witchcraft to push your ship into deep water!" inquired francisco, his one eye flashing triumphantly. "why the witch-women let ramon make trouble for you? eh? tell me, señor." chesty looked at the man reproachfully. "how stupid you are, francisco. must we not keep ramon busy, to hold him here until the warship comes? why do you suppose we came to this island at all, and ran our ship high on the beach, without hurting it in any way! did we lay a trap for ramon? did we coax him to come and try to capture us, that we might prove he is a wicked law-breaker? we do not seem much afraid of your ramon, do we? am i frightened? do i grow pale, and tremble? here--feel my pulse--does my blood beat faster in my veins because ramon ganza, the trapped criminal, is waiting here to be captured, and thinks he is making us worry?" the two men exchanged a few sentences in spanish. francisco listened to them and nodded approvingly. "the case is this, señor," he announced, addressing mr. todd. "we would like to leave ramon. we would like to join your ship an' go back to mexico, an' have pardon. but ramon is not trap yet. ramon great man. many time he escape. if we leave him, an' he then capture your ship, ramon flog us with whip, which make great pain in us." "true, that might be the result if ramon captures the ship; but he can't do that--not in a century of sundays, which is a long time. and if you stay with ramon you will surely be made prisoners when the warship comes, which will be in another day or two. you must make up your minds which is the most powerful--we and our witch-women, with the mexican government and its warships to back us, or poor ramon, who is caught in a trap. i like you, all three--but not too much. you are fine men--unless i am lying--and i would grieve to see you imprisoned with ramon. but otherwise i do not care what you decide to do. come with me and i will save you, just as i intend to save myself, from ramon's anger. but if you stick to your old master i cannot say one good word for you when you face the mexican authorities. now i am tired talking. make up your minds and let me know." he carelessly rose, lighted another cigarette and strolled down to the water's edge, where he stood with his back to them. the three rascals took advantage of the opportunity and argued among themselves for half an hour. "señor!" called francisco, who, as a trusted lieutenant of ramon ganza, was the more important of the three. mr. radley-todd came back to the launch. "it is this way," explained francisco. "we desire to be save, señor, but we have caution. we believe you speak true, but not yet have you conquer ramon; not yet has the warship come to take him to prison. so we think of a way to be safe if ramon win, an' safe if you win. it is but just to us, as honest men, that we do that way." chesty smiled, really amused. "how childlike and bland you naughty, naughty men are!" he exclaimed. "but let me hear your clever plan to play both sides and win hands down." "when we find you escape from ship," began francisco, "then ramon think you have come here, for the tent is gone from the top of the bluff. so ramon tell us to come here in big launch, to see what you do, an' he say capture you an' bring you back to him. when we get here we find this boat; but two fly away in air-machine, an' only one is left to capture. but ramon not know if we come before the two fly away or not; he not know if we three, who come to capture, get capture ourselves. so that is what we mus' do. we get capture. you tie up our arms an' our legs an' put gag in our mouth. then you put us in boat an' take us away to your ship. if ramon stop us, we say we have been capture. if ramon see you take us on your ship, he think we have fight hard an' been capture, an' he sorry but not mad. then, if he take your ship, he set us free; if warship come an' capture ramon, we safe on your ship an' be hones' men, like you say, an' get reward from madero. is it not good way, señor?" chesty's sentiments wavered between indignation and admiration. such a combination of low cunning, cowardice and absence of all shame he had never encountered in any being of human origin. but his cue was not to quarrel with the men at this time. it was enough to realize that instead of becoming a prisoner he was to carry his three captors, bound, to the ship, and so deprive ramon of that many assistants. in the outlaw's big launch, which was anchored just outside the tiny bay in the open sea, were plenty of stout ropes. francisco waded out and got a supply, and then he proceeded deftly to bind his two comrades, trussing their arms to their bodies and their legs together, so that they were helpless. the fellows grinned with delight at this experience, thinking how cleverly they were fooling ramon ganza, and when they were laid side by side on the beach chesty stuck a lighted cigarette in the mouth of each, to afford them comfort and render them patient. then francisco bound his own legs and turned to mr. radley-todd, who at once completed the operation and fastened francisco's arms to his body--not too tightly, but in a very secure manner. when this was done the big boy breathed a sigh of contentment and set himself down beside his captives. "now," said francisco, "you mus' put us in big boat an' go back to ship with us." chesty shook his head. "not yet, old man," said he. "not yet?" "no; i shall wait for night. it will be safe in the darkness." "then you are 'fraid of ramon?" "not much. just a little." the prisoners wriggled uneasily. "listen, then, señor american," observed francisco. "if we not go before night, then release our bonds--make loose the ropes--so we will rest more easy. when night come you will again tie us up." mr. todd was unresponsive. "too much trouble, francisco," he remarked, with a yawn. "why do the work twice?" "but--to lie here all day? san sebastian, it is too horrible!" "fortunes of war, my dear boy. ramon might appear unexpectedly, you know. we made a bargain, to ensure your safety, and we're going to keep it." all three turned their heads to regard him with interest. there were sparks of glowering resentment in their dark eyes. presently one of them said in humble tones: "with your kind permission, señor americaño, i think i will change my mind." "certainly," replied chesty; "do anything you please with your mind. it's yours, you know." "i think, then, señor, i will not be your prisoner--until night." "don't think any such thing. it's wicked of you. try to guide your thoughts into right channels. make up your mind to be true to your bargain, because--you have to be." francisco groaned. "all masters are cruel," he muttered. "this americaño is as bad as ramon!" "but he's going to preserve your liberty and keep you out of jail," chesty reminded him. "and now, boys, try to sleep, for i'm going to take a little walk and stretch my legs." chapter xxv scuttled a modicum of truth had been included in ramon ganza's recital of falsehoods during his interview with those on board the yacht. the outlaw was really in a tight place and only by forcing, in some way, the capture of the yacht could he hope to escape in a manner at all agreeable to his requirements. by this time he was fully aware of the situation that confronted him. the flying-machine, if it encountered no accident, would reach the mainland and secure assistance for the stranded americans. perhaps it was true that president madero would send a warship to capture him. like most fugitive criminals, he had an exaggerated idea of his own importance. in any event he must abandon his island kingdom and seek another hiding place. his first intention--to make everyone of these intruders prisoners and subjects, so they could not betray him--was frustrated by the escape of the two in the aëroplane. it would be useless to capture the others when these two had already carried the news to the authorities who were seeking him. two courses of procedure were, open to ganza. one was hastily to outfit his sixty-foot launch and run it to the south pacific in search of some other island that was uninhabited, taking with him enough men and women to start a new colony. the other was to capture the yacht, put his most cherished possessions on board and then make off in it before any help could arrive from the mainland. the first was by far the most sensible course, but the beauties of the _salvador_ had so enraptured him and he was so well aware of the value a yacht would prove to him that he could not bring himself to abandon the idea of securing it until the last moment of grace had arrived. this led him to consider how much time remained to him in which to carry out his intentions. he figured that at least thirty-six hours must elapse before any ship could possibly arrive. it was unlikely that the messengers would find a ship prepared to sail at a moment's notice, and therefore three or four days might pass before he would be disturbed by any outside foe. ramon had hoped to frighten the americans into surrender and therefore had arranged the little drama so lately enacted; but the finale had disappointed him. there was no mine planted beneath the yacht, but he had instructed one of his men to answer to his call, no matter what name he cried out, and to make the statement to the americans which he had so cleverly invented. he made a mistake in thinking the flag of truce would protect him, for these strangers were not so simple as he had believed; so he had been forced to attempt a desperate escape, which succeeded because it was so bold and unexpected. recovering his breath as his white flannels dried upon the rocks, ramon ganza carefully considered his next move in the game. the yacht was a glorious prize. he must certainly have it for his own. the people on board seemed unequal to a successful defense. there might be half a dozen determined men among them, but the rest were women and cowards. he laughed as he recalled mr. tupper's terror at his threats. the outlaw decided to carry the ship by assault. a night attack would be best. as soon as francisco returned with the launch he would call his men together and instruct them what to do. being informed of every movement on the part of the besieged, ganza was aware that three people had escaped in the small launch to the bluff where the flying-machine lay. as soon as he discovered that the tent was gone he had dispatched francisco with two men to capture the three, or as many as he could find. when the aëroplane ascended ganza watched it carefully and decided it contained but two people; therefore francisco would find the other and presently return. but francisco failed to put in an appearance, to his master's great annoyance. that old tub of a launch was precious to him, for if all else failed he must use it to make good his escape. also he needed the three men to assist in boarding the yacht in the night attack. his men were unarmed, while the yacht's crew seemed well provided with weapons of defense. as the day wore on he considered sending the rowboat to search for francisco's party, but decided not to risk it. of course francisco would come, in time; doubtless he was delayed because he experienced difficulty in capturing his man. evening came, but no francisco. ramon ganza was perplexed; he was even somewhat troubled. he must defer the attack until the launch arrived, for he intended to use it to carry his men to the side of the yacht. his plan was to have the launch run up to one side and make a noisy attack, to create a diversion and concentrate the attention of those on board, while he and a party of picked men stole silently to the other side in the rowboat, climbed to the deck and overcame all who opposed them. the bow was too high to scale, where it rested on the beach; the attack must be made near the stern, which sat low in the water. therefore the launch was quite necessary, as were the three men who were absent with it, so ramon was angry with francisco for not returning more promptly. the outlaw paced up and down the rocks in the starlight and cursed his dilatory lieutenant most heartily. but the launch was coming. in fact, two launches were coming to the bay. as soon as night had really settled down, mr. radley-todd quit loafing and suddenly became active. he carried his trussed and helpless prisoners, one by one, to the small launch and laid them gently along the bottom. he had already, during the afternoon, waded out to the larger launch of ganza, bored a large hole in its bottom and then stopped the inrushing water with a plug. he chuckled while doing this, being greatly pleased by what he called his "foxy plan to fool the pirate." with his prisoners aboard, the boy shoved the _salvador's_ launch into the water and cautiously paddled it between the rocks and to the side of the big launch, to which he attached it by means of a rope. "i think i shall gag you boys, as you suggested," he said to the prisoners, who by this time had become sullen and decidedly unfriendly. "no!" cried francisco, partly in anger and partly in fear; "it is not necessary. we know what to do." "will you promise not to cry out and attract ramon's attention?" "we swear it!" they all cried eagerly. "then i think i shall gag you. not because i doubt your word but because i've whittled out three lovely gags and i'm anxious to see how they work." they began to protest vigorously at such unkind treatment, but chesty gagged them, by turns, and they were effectually silenced. "you boys are splendid actors," he told them, admiringly, "and you are performing your parts with great credit to us all. no one would guess this was your plan, would he? ramon least of all. if we are not captured, you will make an important addition to our party on the yacht. if we are, you will lie gloriously to ramon and say i sneaked up behind you and sandbagged all three before you saw me. eh? never mind answering, for you can't." as he spoke, chesty climbed into the big launch and started the engines. they grumbled and refused to act, at first, but finally overcame their reluctance and the boat chug-chugged on its way to the south bay, making such a racket that the owls thought it was defying them and redoubled their frantic screeches. "ramon will be certain to hear me coming," reflected the boy as the boat swept on. "he's a clever scoundrel, that mexican; exceptionally clever; but if he guesses this riddle he's a wizard." he kept the launch well out from the shore and as it approached the points of rock behind which the yacht lay hidden he set the steering wheel to carry the boat a couple of hundred yards past the entrance to the bay, lashing it firmly in place. then, while the engines continued their monotonous "chug-chug," he pried the plug out of the bottom of the boat, crept aboard the _salvador's_ launch and unfastened the rope, cutting the two craft apart. the big launch quickly forged ahead and chesty sat down and let the smaller boat drift peacefully where it lay. ramon ganza had heard his boat coming, as chesty had intended he should. greatly relieved, but still angry with francisco, he ran as far out upon the point as the rocks would permit and peered through the starlight to catch sight of the approaching launch. presently it appeared, making good time, the old engines working steadily and doing their full duty. but it did not turn into the bay, for some extraordinary reason; instead, it kept straight on and headed for some indefinite point out at sea. "francisco!" shouted ganza, in a rage; "francisco--villain--fool! what are you doing? wake up, francisco! the idiot is asleep." as the precious launch did not halt, the outlaw ran along the shore, following its track and shaking his fist at the perverse francisco with vengeful energy. most of his men, attracted by their chief's excitement, left their posts to join him on the shore; the others gazed wonderingly in the direction of the disappearing launch. meantime, chesty todd cautiously paddled his little boat into the bay, crept to the side of the yacht and uttered a low whistle--the signal agreed upon. those on board, who had been interested in ramon's shouts and suspected something was about to happen, lost no time in lowering the davits and chesty promptly attached the grappling hooks. a few moments later the launch and its occupants were safely on deck and the boy stepped out to be greeted by hearty handshakes and congratulations on his safe return. "you'll find three prisoners in the launch, captain krell," he said. "when you remove their gags they'll protest they are our friends; but i wouldn't trust 'em. better lock 'em in the cage until this cruel war is over." "what has become of the mexican's launch?" asked mr. cumberford. "the pirates seem to be having some trouble over it." "it won't bother 'em for long," replied mr. todd, complacently. "the boat is headed out to sea, all by its lonesome; but there's a hole in the bottom and it's fast filling with salt water. i imagine that within the next fifteen minutes it will go to davy jones's locker, and be out of commission." chapter xxvi orissa returns if ever man was thoroughly perplexed it was ramon ganza the outlaw. he heard his launch proceed for a distance out to sea, then listened while the engines hesitated and stopped, and saw the boat on which his liberty might depend whirl slowly around and disappear beneath the waves. what could it mean? were his men on board, and had they met with some astonishing accident, or had they deliberately committed suicide? the curses died on his lips; the affair was too startling and too serious for mere raving; he must try to think of a logical solution of the problem. the loss of the launch, his last refuge from captivity and imprisonment, left him caught like a wolf in a trap--in case he failed to get possession of the yacht. all night long he sat on a rock by the sea, smoking his black cheroots and thinking--thinking--thinking. neither he nor his men knew that chesty todd had returned to the yacht; but if ramon had known it he would not have attached especial importance to the fact. it would merely mean one more person to capture during the assault. morning found ganza still deep in thought. he glanced rather uneasily at the ocean and at times swept the horizon with his glasses, which were slung by a strap to his shoulder. his men brought him food and a cup of hot coffee, but dared not speak to him in his present mood. they suspected his case was growing desperate, yet they still retained confidence in their resourceful, clever master, who had never yet failed to accomplish whatever he undertook. in this crisis of his career the fugitive, usually irritable and quick to act, proved his strength of mind by taking time to consider his position from all points and to weigh carefully the merits of the different plans that suggested themselves. he realized that an error at this time would prove fatal. the hours wore on until, at about the middle of the afternoon, as ganza made one of his periodic inspections of the horizon, his glasses caught a speck in the sky--a speck that moved and grew larger. at first he thought it a gull or an eagle; later he changed his mind, for the speck rapidly increased in size and took form, and the form was that of an aëroplane. those on the yacht saw it now and great was the wonder and excitement it caused. here was a messenger from the great world, bringing them hope of succor or black disappointment. presently the broad spreading planes bore down upon the island and circled gracefully over the ship. "it's orissa!" they cried in chorus and chesty todd added: "she wants to land on deck. clear a space--quick!" they did the best they could. it seemed like a tiny place for that great sweeping thing to land on and even sybil exclaimed: "she'll never make it in the world!" but orissa, hovering above them in her aircraft, observed carefully the conditions below and shutting off her engine began to volplane. the huge machine settled quietly down and alighted fairly upon the deck. one rail caught the lower plane and tipped it, but the girl leaped lightly from her seat and was caught by mr. cumberford, whose gray eyes sparkled with joy from behind their spectacles. you may be sure the brave girl received a glad welcome, but as soon as her safety was assured she was deluged with questions. the ping of a rifle ball warned them to scuttle below to the cabin, where orissa tried to explain. "why on earth did you venture to come back?" demanded madeline. "we had told ourselves that you, at least, were safe from the dangers that menace us, and it pleased us to know that. but where is your brother?" "did you get to land?" cried half a dozen voices, eagerly. "what did you do? tell us!" orissa laughed and held up both hands, imploring silence. "i came to bring you good news," she began. "and now that you are assured of that, please let me tell the story my own way, or i shall bungle it." "go ahead," they answered and settled themselves to listen. "we followed the route captain krell had mapped out for us," said orissa, "and in four hours after leaving here we sighted the mexican coast. fifteen minutes' run to the north brought us to the village of san blas, where there is a telegraph office. we landed and had some difficulty in satisfying the authorities that we were harmless americans, but finally they agreed to escort us to the telegraph office under guard. we wired our story direct to president madero, putting it as briefly as possible and asking him for a warship to rescue our friends and capture ramon ganza. there was no answer until evening, when we received a message from the secretary of the navy saying he had conferred with the president and secretary of state and would be glad to accede to our request. in eight or ten days he thought he could spare a warship to go to the island for ganza. unfortunately, the entire navy was in use at the present time. "that dashed our hopes, you may be sure, for we feared you couldn't hold ganza at bay for so long; so steve and i determined to fly to san diego and secure help there. the secretary of the navy had wired the authorities of san blas to afford us every consideration and hospitality, so we filled our tanks with gasoline and slept at a little inn until daybreak. then we were off for the north, and in two hours met the united states torpedo fleet, on its way to magdalena bay for target practice. we made out the flagship and dropped to the water beside it. commodore davis at once laid to and sent a boat to us. steve went aboard and explained fully to the commodore our story and the need for immediate help. as a result the _mermaid_ was signaled and its captain presently came aboard and received his orders. he was to take us directly to this island, drive off ganza or fight him, as circumstances might require, and then assist in getting the _salvador_ afloat again. if he captures ganza he is to carry him away a prisoner and turn him and his men over to the mexican authorities at magdalena. "captain swanson undertook the adventure gladly and is now on his way here with the _mermaid_, with steve to guide him. my brother and i thought it best for me to come on ahead and tell you the good news, for we have worried about you and knew that with rescue at hand you would have courage to hold out, no matter how desperate your condition. so here i am, and the _mermaid_ will arrive either to-night or early in the morning." they were indeed delighted with this assurance and it put new heart into the most timorous of those aboard. "however," said chesty todd, "we seem to be in no danger, just now, and since our clever enemy has failed to scare us into surrender he has remained quiet and behaved himself as well as could be expected." they told orissa all that had transpired in her absence and the conversation continued all during the dinner--on which the chef exercised his best talents, in honor of orissa's return--and even until bedtime, there was so much to say. chesty went on watch at eleven o'clock, and as he leaned silently over the rail at a point near the bow of the launch he detected a series of queer sounds coming from below. this part of the yacht was high on the shelving beach and it was here that they had arranged huge piles of rock, on either side, to hold the keel level. it sounded to mr. todd as if some one was at work near these rocks, for on account of the swell of the boat's side it was impossible to see, from the deck, anyone below, in case he kept close to the keel. so chesty crept aft, held a whispered conversation with captain krell, and quickly divested himself of his clothing. at the stern, which was settled quite close to the surface of the water, the boy let himself down by means of a rope, descending hand under hand, and silently dropped into the dark water. swimming was one of radley-todd's principal accomplishments and he scarcely made a ripple as he crept alongside the boat until the bow came into full view. the night was somewhat darker than usual, but the american had sharp eyes and it did not take him long to discover that the besiegers were employed in removing the rocks from the right hand side of the keel. instantly comprehending their purpose in this, chesty turned and quickly regained the stern, climbing to the deck. his report to captain krell seemed so serious, because it meant a desperate attack presently, that it was promptly decided to arouse the entire party and warn them that a crisis was at hand. chapter xxvii facing the crisis consternation reigned in the cabin when the principals assembled there with white and startled faces. on deck captain krell was instructing his men how to act in the threatened emergency. pietro was among them, accepting his rifle and his instructions willingly, but shaking his head at what he considered a vain attempt to resist ramon ganza. "ramon great man!" he said to captain krell. "ramon always win; nobody can conquer him. i knew ramon would win this time, an' when he does he will capture me an' whip me hard. all right; i know i am to be whipped at the time chica tell me to leave ramon. never min'. pietro can stand it, for others have been whipped by ramon an' lived--with marks like a zebra's on their skins." in the cabin chesty was trying to explain the situation. "it's this way," he said; "when the rocks are all removed the yacht will fall over on her side, as she was at first, with the rail quite near to the water. you remember how she lay before we propped her up. well, that means we have no secure footing on deck and that the pirates can easily climb aboard and have the best of the argument. if we slip, we fall into their arms; if we stick to the deck--like flies to a ceiling, they'll rush and get us." "we can't fight from the deck," declared cumberford. "tell captain krell to come here." the captain arrived and after a consultation it was decided to gather all hands in the cabin and fortify it as strongly as possible. the roof projected a few feet above the deck and there was a row of small windows on either side, but these were supplied with heavy shutters designed for use in case of storms, when the shutters were readily fixed in place. the stairway might be well guarded by one man, and above the windows were small ventilators through which several rifles could be pointed. by standing upon the cabin table the defenders could command the deck in this way. they were instructed not to shoot, however, unless absolutely obliged to. all the hatches were battened down, so that if ganza gained the deck he could not get below and was welcome to remain aboard until the rescuers arrived. orissa, who had listened silently, now approached mr. cumberford and said: "when the yacht tips, our aircraft will be ruined, for the chances are it will slide overboard. even if it doesn't, those scoundrels will wreck it completely, for it will be quite at their mercy. so i've decided, while there is yet time, to fly it across to the bluff, where i can remain until you are rescued." "can you manage to get away from the deck?" "easily." "then i think it best for you to go." "may i take sybil with me?" he hesitated a moment; then replied: "yes. it will be a good thing to have you girls away from here when the attack is made. here you could be of no service whatever, and your absence will--eh--give us more room to defend the cabin." "you will have to act quickly, miss kane," suggested chesty. "i know. come, sybil." they drew on their jackets as they went on deck, both girls realizing that no time must be lost if they hoped to get away. once the yacht tipped on her side it would be impossible to fly the machine. as they took their places mr. radley-todd inquired: "plenty of gasoline?" "i think so," said orissa. "i'm not sure how much is left in the tanks, but it ought to be enough to get us to the bluff. whirl the propeller, chesty." he did so, and the engine started with a roar. cumberford and chesty steadied the aircraft until the motor had acquired full speed and then orissa threw in the clutch and the big aëroplane rose as easily as a bird takes flight and ascended into the starlit sky at a steep angle. this feat is what is called "cloud climbing" and orissa understood it perfectly. it seemed a bold thing to undertake such a flight in the nighttime, but the flying girl's friends had so much confidence in her skill that they never considered the danger of the undertaking. across the barren island to the bluff was so unimportant a flight to one of orissa's experience that when she was once away they believed her quite safe. while the men stood watching the aircraft mount into the dim sky the yacht suddenly trembled and keeled over, throwing them all flat upon the deck. with one accord they scrambled up and dashed into the cabin, which they reached just as ramon ganza and his men swarmed over the rail. chapter xxviii the prisoner "what's wrong, ris?" asked sybil, as the engine skipped and wavered. "gasoline," was the brief answer. "oh. can you get to the bluff?" "i--don't--know. there!" as the propeller ceased to whirl; "now i'll volplane. it's a long reach, syb; but we'll land somewhere--right side up." the dim mountain seemed far ahead of them; below was the "dip," or valley, which lay between the rock ridges and the mountain. as they had casually glanced toward it in former times, it seemed a forbidding place, slimy and moist, devoid alike of any green thing or living creature. even the owls shunned the "dip." to-night, when everything was obscure, they seemed gliding into a black pit. orissa had to manipulate her levers cautiously, for she could not tell just when they would reach the ground. as it was they bumped, bounded forward, bumped again and brought up suddenly between two boulders that topped a rugged knoll. "any damage?" asked sybil, catching her breath. "not much, i'm sure," replied her chum. "but here we are; and here we'll stay until some one comes with gasoline. can you see anything, syb?" "the mountain, over there against the sky. it seems so near i could almost touch it. it wouldn't have taken but a few drops more to have landed us on the bluff, drat the luck!" "see anything else?" "where?" "around us." "no; but i can smell something. smells like spoiled gasoline. does gasoline ever spoil, ris?" "not to my knowledge. but come; let's crawl into the boat and get the blankets out. wherever we are, it's our hotel, and we must make the best of it." skyward, there could be distinguished the mountain at the west and the rock hills at the east; but the pocket in which they lay was black as ink. from the boat orissa managed to open the aluminum chest and take out the blankets. they then arranged a temporary bed in the bottom of the boat and covered themselves up. "anyhow, i managed to save the aircraft," sighed orissa, contentedly. then she sat bolt upright and cried: "listen!" "the battle's on," answered sybil, as a succession of wild shouts reached their ears. it was very aggravating to be so ignorant of what was happening to their friends. the shouts continued, at intervals, but there was no sound of firearms. evidently the mexicans had gained the deck but had found it a barren victory. on the mountain the owls were hooting and flying about as usual, but the shouts that had come from the bay were of such a different nature that the shrieks of the night-birds did not drown them. suddenly a broad streak of light shot over them, rested a moment on the mountain, swayed to right and left and then sank below the ridges of rock. above the bay where the _salvador_ was beached thin shafts of white light radiated, illuminating the sky like an aurora borealis. "a searchlight!" "the torpedo boat!" the girls cried in one breath; and then they sat trembling and straining their ears to listen. a dull, angry "boom!" rent the air and echoed from the mountain. it was a warning gun from the _mermaid_. the shouts became screams of fear. then silence followed, complete and enduring. orissa breathed heavily. "it's all over, sybil!" she gasped. "i--i wonder if--anyone was--hurt." "any of our people?" "of course." "i think not. that gun was merely a signal and i imagine the mexicans ran like rats. how fortunate it was that captain swanson arrived with the _mermaid_ so soon!" "how unfortunate he didn't come sooner. we wouldn't have been in this awkward predicament. it will take them hours to get to us over those sharp rocks." orissa did not reply. she was trying to understand the events transpiring around the _salvador_. had there been a tragedy? or had the torpedo boat merely frightened the outlaws, as she had imagined, and driven them away? there was no sleep for the isolated girls during the brief hours preceding the dawn. as it gradually lightened they peered about them to see where they were, and by degrees made out their surroundings. there were fewer rocks in this cup-shaped hollow than in other parts of the island. on the knoll where the aircraft rested were the two big rocks which had arrested its progress, and between these the body of the aluminum boat was tightly wedged. at intervals throughout the valley were similar rocky hummocks, but all the space between consisted of an oozy, damp soil of a greenish-brown color, with glints of red where the sun caught it prismatically. looking at this ooze critically, as the light strengthened, it seemed to the girls to shift somewhat, showing here and there a thick bubble which slowly formed and disappeared. orissa put her hand over the side of the boat and withdrew it again. "look, sybil," she exclaimed. "it's oil." "hair or salad oil, ris?" orissa sniffed at her dipped finger. "petroleum. this is the crude article, and seeps up from some store of oil far down in the earth. there would be a fortune in this find, syb, if it happened to be in america. out here it is, of course, valueless." "don't they make kerosene and gasoline of it?" "yes; of course." "then make some gasoline and let's fly away." orissa laughed. "if you will furnish the distillery, syb, i'll make the gasoline," she said; "but i believe it's a long, slow process, and----" "look!" cried sybil, with a start, as she pointed a slim finger toward the east. from a far distant ridge a man came bounding over the rocks, leaping from one to another with little hesitation in picking his way. he was a big man, but as the light was still dim they could see no more than his huge form. presently he paused to look behind him; then on he dashed again. he had come from the direction of the bay and was at first headed toward the mountain, but in one of his pauses, whether to regain his breath or look behind, he caught sight of the aëroplane and at once turned directly toward it. "do you think," asked sybil, uneasily, "it is one of our people come to look for us?" "no," returned orissa, positively. "that man is a fugitive. he has escaped over the rock hills and is trying to find some hiding place." "then i wonder he dares come in our direction." "it is _strange_," agreed orissa, with a shudder as she remembered how helpless they were. then, with fascinated gaze, the two girls fell silent and watched the approaching fugitive. as he neared that part of the valley where the oil seeped up he proceeded more cautiously, leaping from one point of rock--or hummock--to another. once, when forced to step on the level ground, the oil tripped him. he slipped and fell, but was instantly up again and bounding on his way. it seemed no easy task to make speed over such a rough and trackless way, yet here it was easier to proceed than back in those almost impassable hills. it was wonderful that he had succeeded in crossing them at all. "i think," said orissa, as she sat cold and staring, "it is ramon ganza." "the outlaw? but he wears white flannels." "not now. he probably changed them for the night attack; but i can see the rings glitter on his fingers, and--none of the other mexicans is so big." sybil nestled a little closer to her friend. "have you a revolver, ris?" orissa shook her head. "no arms at all--not even a hatpin?" "nothing whatever to use for defense." the man was quite near now. yes; it was ramon ganza. his clothes were torn by the rocks and hung around him in rags, and where he had fallen the thick, slimy oil clung to them. his face was smeared with dust and grime and the whole aspect of the outlaw was ghastly and repulsive--perhaps rendered more acute by the jewelled rings that loaded his fingers. he was obliged to step with more care as he neared the aëroplane, in which crouched the two girls, and finally he came to a halt on a hummock a few paces away. the oil lay more thickly around the aircraft than elsewhere, and ramon ganza eyed it suspiciously. then he spoke, resting his hands on his hips and leering insolently at sybil and orissa. "so, i have caught you, then," he cried. "why did you try to escape?" "for the same reason you are trying to escape, perhaps," retorted orissa, summoning what courage she could command. "but i warn you that our friends will presently come for us, and--you may not care to meet them." he uttered an angry snarl and cast a quick glance around the valley. in all its broad stretch not a person other than themselves was visible. ramon sat down on his knoll, breathing heavily from his long run. "yes, i have run away," he admitted, bitterness and hate in his tone. "i can fight ten--or twenty, perhaps--with my single hand; but not fifty. they have come to put me in prison, those fiends over there," jerking his thumb toward the bay, "and seeing they were too strong for me to oppose, i came away. it is what you call discreet--eh?--which is more safe, if less noble, than valor. but they have the island and they will hunt me down. and once more i shall laugh at them--once more ramon ganza will defy them all!" "how?" asked orissa, curiously. "have you not the flying-machine--the airship?" he asked, simply. "and are you not here alone, and in my power? it carries but two, i see, so one of you shall stay here. the other must fly with me to my own island, where i will take a sailboat and--vanish from the dogs who are hounding me." "that," said orissa, with forced calmness, for her heart was beating wildly, "is impossible." he uttered a fierce growl. "it is _not_ impossible," he cried. "i have seen your machine fly, and know it can fly when you want it to. it must fly now, or by san filippe i will tumble you both out and fly it myself. it is best that you not arouse my anger, for ramon ganza is desperate and will not be denied. get ready, girl! we will fly to my island, or----" he laughed harshly. "or you will both ruin your beautiful toilets, and--the mire is dangerous," he added. "we have no gasoline," pleaded orissa. "pah! a trick to deceive me." "no; it is true," cried sybil, who grew more quiet as fear possessed her. he hesitated, a look of despair flashing across his features. then he said with grim determination: "i will see for myself," and stepped recklessly into the pool of oil that lay between him and the hummock where the aëroplane perched. the slime reached to his ankle, but he kept doggedly on. the second step sent him knee-deep into the ooze and he had to struggle to wade farther in. but now he sank nearly to his waist and the sticky soil held him fast. then suddenly the man seemed to realize his peril and uttered a shrill cry of terror. "help, young ladies! for the love of humanity--help! will you see me die like this?" he screamed. orissa and sybil, both horrified, had risen to their feet. the sinking outlaw was fully five yards distant and there seemed no possible way to aid him. but it was terrible to allow a human being to perish in such a way, even when it was a confessed enemy who stood in peril. orissa caught up a blanket and hurled it toward him, and he seized it eagerly and spread it around him for support. next moment sybil had hastily folded the second blanket and cast it with all her strength toward ganza. one corner he caught and in a moment had added it to the first, now becoming saturated with oil. yet the blankets would not have availed much had not ramon's feet now rested upon a rock far beneath the surface, effectually preventing him from sinking any lower. almost waist-deep in the putty-like mire he stood a fast prisoner, for no effort of his own could enable him to free himself. he realized, presently, that he was not fated to be entombed in the mire, so part of his old assurance returned to him. as he stared at the girls and they returned his gaze with horrified looks, he remarked: "well, i am caught, as you see; but it was no officer of the law that did it. ramon ganza can defy mankind, as he has often proved, but he bows to nature. also, young ladies, i beg to point out that--if you have spoken truly--you are likewise caught, and alas! we cannot assist one another. what, then, shall we do for amusement?" "i think," said sybil gravely, "you ought to pray." "i? i have forgotten how. what then? shall we sing songs? if you will accompany the chorus i will delight your ears with my excellent tenor voice." this bravado, coming from a man stuck fast in the mire, was so gruesome that it made the girls shudder with aversion. but sybil, happening to glance up, cried with sudden animation: "look, orissa!" and pointed with a trembling finger. in the distance a group of men had appeared over the edge of the rock hills. they saw the stalled aëroplane and waved their arms encouragingly. ganza screwed his head around with some difficulty and also observed the rescue party. "it cannot matter," he said coolly. "as well one prison as another, and no mexican dungeon could hug me tighter than this." he fell silent, however, and no further remarks were exchanged as the distant party drew nearer. they were forced by the treacherous nature of the valley to move cautiously and when they entered the area of oil seepage more than one slipped in the slimy pools. but gradually they approached the spot where the aëroplane rested and now orissa and sybil could make out stephen kane, mr. cumberford, captain krell, chesty todd and an unknown man in uniform, who were accompanied by several seamen. the girls stood up and waved their handkerchiefs and then cried out warnings to beware the mire. not until the rescuers were quite near to the place did they perceive the upper half of ramon ganza protruding from the imprisoning slime. "dear me," cried mr. cumberford; "this is interesting; very! how are you, girls? all right?" through the bombardment of eager questions they assured their friends that they had suffered no serious discomfort because of the accident to the aircraft. "but," added sybil, "we had a good fright when ramon ganza threatened us, unless we assisted him to escape in our aëroplane. fortunately the mire came to our assistance, for he stepped into a soft place and it held him fast--as you see." all eyes turned upon the helpless outlaw, who nodded his head with astonishing nonchalance. "i bid you good morning, señors," said he. "when you are sufficiently rested from your walk, be kind enough to pull me out of this loving embrace; but gently, or you may dislocate my bones." "who is this?" asked the officer in uniform, a fine featured young man. "the rascal who has so boldly annoyed us, regardless of consequences," replied cumberford, frowning upon the mexican. "he escaped us last night, but we have him now, sure enough, and i intend to see he is handed over to the authorities of his country, whose laws he has defied." "what did he do?" the officer inquired, gazing at ganza curiously. "permit me to explain that i robbed a bank--a bank engaged in robbing others under government sanction," said ganza. "to rob is a small thing, señors; but it is a crime to be discovered robbing. that was my fault. others in my native land, who are more successful embezzlers than i, are to-day respected, rich and happy." "was that your only crime?" "so far as is known, señor. otherwise i am very good man and quite respectable." "he is a tyrant and a bully, and whips his men if they disobey him," declared steve. "pah! they are curs. the whip is less than they deserve," retorted ganza. "but permit me to remind you of my present discomfort, señors. i will gladly exchange this bog for a mexican prison." they managed to drag him out, none too gently, and the seamen scraped the oily slime from his legs and body so that he could stand erect. then they turned to examine the condition of the aëroplane. chapter xxix orissa decides only by taking the aircraft entirely apart, decided steve, might he hope to remove it to the bay, for it could not be flown from the hummock where it was wedged between the rocks. but they could not wait to do that now. the girls were very near one of those feminine crises so familiar to mrs. tupper, and their friends realized the nervous strain they had endured and made haste to lead them back to the yacht. the seamen looked after ramon ganza, who was so physically exhausted by his late experience that he made no endeavor to escape. it was a tedious climb, by no means devoid of danger, but so anxious were orissa and sybil to escape from the dread valley that they energetically persevered until the last rock hill was passed and they descended the slope to the inlet. there lay the _salvador_; keeled over, indeed, but safe and sound. just without the bay floated the _mermaid_, and one of her boats was run upon the beach and another clung to the _salvador's_ side. a hearty cheer greeted the return of the rescue party when orissa and sybil were observed approaching with them, and captain swanson himself came forward to offer his congratulations. on their way, steve had briefly related the events of the night attack and told how the defenders, fortified within the cabin and below decks, had been quite safe from ganza until the arrival of the torpedo boat relieved the situation. then the mexicans fled and made frantic attempts to escape, hiding themselves in the wilderness of rocks that littered the island. when captain swanson learned of the capture of ramon ganza and the rescue of the young ladies he decided to attempt no pursuit of the scattered mexicans but to apply himself promptly to the task of floating the yacht, which he succeeded in doing before night. the _salvador_ was in no way injured and as soon as she had anchored outside the bay was again in commission and fully able to care for herself. madeline invited the officers of the _mermaid_ to dine aboard her yacht and monsieur risette prepared a repast that surprised even his employer, so elaborate and delicious it proved. as they conversed together afterward, commenting upon the exciting experiences of the yacht and her company and the daring flights of the kane hydro-aircraft, madeline said to captain swanson: "what shall we do with ramon ganza?" "where is he, miss dentry?" "locked up in our cage. but i don't want him aboard. won't you take him to magdalena and turn him over to the mexican police?" "i am not sure i have authority to arrest the man," replied the captain gravely. "i will send a wireless to the fleet to-night and endeavor to get the admiral and receive his instructions concerning ganza." he wrote out a message at once and dispatched it to his ship by one of his men, that the wireless operator aboard might repeat it a number of times in the attempt to reach the ship for which it was intended. a wireless message travels farther by night and is more distinct. madeline now urged captain swanson to carry chica and pietro to magdalena, which would enable them to reach their homes quickly and he agreed to do this. miss dentry supplied the two with sufficient money for their needs and the red-beard and the child said their good-byes and were rowed to the _mermaid_. the yacht party, now reunited and safe from further molestation, thoroughly enjoyed the evening and expressed their gratitude again and again for the prompt assistance rendered them by their fellow countrymen. madeline had already written a nice letter to the admiral, which she entrusted to captain swanson. as orissa and sybil, as well as many others of the party, had passed a trying and sleepless night, the officers thoughtfully retired early, returning to their quarters on the _mermaid_. breakfast was in progress on the _salvador_ next morning when a note was brought from the captain of the torpedo boat. "i was fortunate in reaching the admiral," it said, "and i beg to enclose you a copy of the message i have received from him in reply. i further regret to state that i am ordered to rejoin the fleet without delay and must therefore bid you all adieu." the wireless read: "president madero proclaimed a general amnesty to mexican refugees some three months ago. on the list of pardons appears the name of ramon ganza." madeline drew a long breath. "i'm sorry for that," she said. "ramon ganza has escaped the penalty of breaking his country's laws and we are powerless to punish him ourselves--even though he struck poor mason with a knife." "how is mason getting along?" asked orissa. "very nicely," stated mr. cumberford. "it was a deep cut, but reached no vital organs and the man will soon be as good as new." "that does not alter the fact that ganza is a wicked desperado," said sybil. "it's a shame to allow him to escape," exclaimed mr. tupper, indignantly. "can't we arrest him for disturbing the peace, and trying to capture our yacht, and attempting to murder one of the crew?" "no," replied mr. cumberford. "this island doesn't belong to the united states. i believe it is mexican territory. but if we can prove damages we might be able to recover from the mexican government--and then, again, we might not." "i'll never put in a claim, for my part," said madeline, laughing. "but what are we to do with ramon ganza--and those three rascals imprisoned with him, whom chesty captured and brought to us?" "let chesty get rid of them; they're his prisoners," suggested sybil. "the chief bandit is your own prisoner--and orissa's," declared chesty. "what do you intend to do with him, miss cumberford?" sybil laughed. "it's a problem," she confessed. "can you solve it, miss dentry?" "i fear not," answered madeline, indeed puzzled. "our prisoners are likely to prove white elephants on our hands. to carry them to america would involve us in endless difficulties, and--i have other plans, wherein their presence is better dispensed with." "then," said chesty, after due reflection, "let us leave them all behind us, on the island. not this island, where they would be prisoners and perhaps starve, because i have sunk their gasoline launch and they cannot get away, but on ramon ganza's own island. then the fellow may decide his future as he deems best and we may wash our hands of the whole disagreeable affair." "i hope you won't inform him that he is pardoned," said mr. tupper, earnestly. "why not?" asked madeline. "let us return good for evil. perhaps, when ramon ganza is no longer a refugee and can face the world a free man, he will redeem his past and become honest." "i doubt it," declared mr. cumberford; "but i think you are right to give him the chance." it was so decided. there remained on owl island but one of ganza's rowboats which would be available for use by the men hidden among the rocks, but at the larger island was a small sailboat in which, during calm weather, the chief might go for his men and transport them to their former quarters. next morning a party accompanied steve into the valley once more, where the aircraft was taken apart and brought with considerable labor to the bay, from whence it was conveyed to the yacht and compactly stored away below decks. "there's no use putting it together until we get back home," said the inventor; and his partner, mr. cumberford, agreed with him. this task had consumed the entire day, during which orissa and sybil had kept to their state-rooms, trying to quiet their nerves and get some much-needed sleep. madeline, in the meantime, had ordered a store of provisions placed on the beach for the use of the band of mexicans until they were rescued by their leader, as she did not wish them to suffer for lack of food, however mischievous and lawless they might be. the following day captain krell hoisted anchor and headed for the larger island, and it was good to all to feel the water slipping along underneath the _salvador's_ thin keel again. ramon ganza accepted his liberty with the same stoical indifference that characterized all his actions. he strutted a bit when chesty told him of his pardon, but declared he would continue to inhabit the island where he was virtually a king. "with no fear of a prison to haunt me," he said, "i can make the island a paradise. many mexicans will settle there and become my subjects." "you'll have to cut out the flogging, then," suggested chesty. "it will gratify me to do so. before, i have the obligation to flog the disobedient ones because i dared not send them away; but now, if they prove obstinate, i may send them back to mexico." he took off his hat with an elaborate bow as the _salvador's_ boat left him standing with his three men on the little dock below his residence; but francisco and the other two scowled fiercely at mr. todd, whom they reproached for deceiving them about madero's reward, although they had elected to remain with their old master rather than be taken to america. "it's a good thing for civilization that those villains are sequestrated on a far-away, unknown island," remarked chesty, when he had regained the yacht's deck. "i suppose anyone can reform, if he tries hard, but i'll bet a hat that francisco and his comrades never make the attempt." "we are well rid of them, in any event," asserted mr. cumberford. orissa and sybil appeared at dinner, both considerably improved in spirits after their long rest. "when do we sail for san diego?" sybil asked madeline. "captain krell is ready. i am waiting for orissa and you to decide," was the reply. orissa looked up in surprise. "what have we to decide?" she inquired. "merely which way we shall proceed. my yacht hasn't had a fair trial yet and i had in mind a trip to honolulu before we went in chase of two runaway girls. we still have on board enough coal and supplies for such a trip and i have resolved to invite you all to make it in my company--in which case we will head directly for hawaii from here." orissa was thoughtful for a time and looked inquiringly at steve, who smiled in return. "i think such a trip would do us all good," he suggested. "the flying girl has no important engagements, at present," added mr. todd, the press agent. "if she had, i think she deserves a little recreation after her late trying experiences," said mr. cumberford. "why, orissa, it has all been decided in advance," exclaimed sybil. "they're merely asking our consent out of politeness." orissa turned to madeline and pressed her hand gratefully. "you've really been our guardian angel, miss dentry," she said. "we can never repay your great kindness and generosity, nor properly thank you for what you have done for us." "why should you?" asked madeline. "think what a splendid time i've had during this adventure, all due to the flying girl and her chum--and to a defect in the famous kane aircraft. but if you sincerely wish to please me, come with me on the trip to honolulu." "of course i will," orissa responded. "i've always longed for an ocean voyage, and in such company, and on the dear old _salvador_, the trip will be delightful." the others of the kane-cumberford party, who were every one eager to go, rapturously applauded this decision. the end. * * * * * =_exhilarating books for girls of today_= the flying girl series _by_ edith van dyne _author of "aunt jane's nieces" series_ capital up-to-the-minute stories for girls and young people, in which the author is at her very best. thrilling and full of adventure, but of that wholesome type parents are glad to put in the hands of their daughters. two titles: the flying girl orissa kane, self-reliant and full of sparkling good nature, under-study for her brother, prospective inventor and aviator whose experiments put the kane family into great difficulties, in the crisis proves resourceful and plucky, and saves the day in a most thrilling manner. [illustration] the flying girl and her chum this story takes orissa and her friend sybil through further adventures that test these two clever girls to the limit. a remarkably well told story. _ mo. bound in extra cloth with design stamping on cover and fancy jacket. printed on high grade paper. illustrated in black and white._ _price cents each. postage cents._ publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago * * * * * =_books for older children by l. frank baum_= the daring twins series _by_ l. frank baum in writing "the daring twins series" mr. baum yielded to the hundreds of requests that have been made of him by youngsters, both boys and girls, who in their early childhood read and loved his famous "oz" books, to write a story for young folk of the ages between twelve and eighteen. [illustration] =a story of the real life of real boys and girls in a real family under real conditions= _two titles:_ =the daring twins= = phoebe daring= while preparing these books mr. baum lived with his characters. they have every element of the drama of life as it begins within the lives of children. the two stories are a mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous; the foibles and fancies of childhood, interspersed with humor and pathos. _price cents net each_ publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago * * * * * annabel _by_ susanne metcalf a girls' book with a clever, quick-moving plot is unusual. annabel is that kind. the heroine is a lovable girl, but one with plenty of snap--her red hair testifies to that. her friend, will carden, too, is a boy of unusual qualities, as is apparent in everything he does. he and annabel make an excellent team. [illustration] the two, the best of chums, retrieve the fortunes of the carden family in a way that makes some exciting situations. the secret of the mysterious mr. jordan is surprised by annabel, while will, in a trip to england with an unexpected climax, finds the real fortune of the cardens. annabel is a book whose make-up is in keeping with the high quality of the story. _beautiful cover and jacket in colors, mo._ _illustrated by joseph pierre nuyttens. price cents_ publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago * * * * * =popular memory books for girls= =my golden school days= _by_ janet madison a very attractive memory book for girls, in which they can keep a record of happy school days. there are places and departments for every item of interest--classmates, colors, yell, photographs, autographs, dances, etc. appropriate decorations and headings for each department, with verses and poems. in special box. two bindings. _half cloth, cents. swiss velvet ooze, $ . _ * * * * * my sorority _designed by_ louise perrett a complete and cleverly designed memory book for girls who are members of the well-known "greek letter" societies in high school or college. a record book with appropriately decorated headings for name, colors, secret motto, pin, grip, initiation, spreads, banquets, etc. in three styles. _cloth, $ . . swiss velvet ooze, $ . _ _de luxe, flexible morocco, $ . _ publishers the reilly & britton co. chicago transcriber's note: italics are indicated by _underscores_. bolds are indicated by =equal signs=. small capitals have been rendered in full capitals. a number of minor spelling errors have been corrected without note. this ebook was produced by bryan sherman and david widger paul clifford, volume . by edward bulwer-lytton chapter xii. up rouse ye then, my merry, merry men! --joanna baillie. when the moon rose that night, there was one spot upon which she palely broke, about ten miles distant from warlock, which the forewarned traveller would not have been eager to pass, but which might not have afforded a bad study to such artists as have caught from the savage painter of the apennines a love for the wild and the adventurous. dark trees, scattered far and wide over a broken but verdant sward, made the background; the moon shimmered through the boughs as she came slowly forth from her pavilion of cloud, and poured a broader beam on two figures just advanced beyond the trees. more plainly brought into light by her rays than his companion, here a horseman, clad in a short cloak that barely covered the crupper of his steed, was looking to the priming of a large pistol which he had just taken from his holster. a slouched hat and a mask of black crape conspired with the action to throw a natural suspicion on the intentions of the rider. his horse, a beautiful dark gray, stood quite motionless, with arched neck, and its short ears quickly moving to and fro, demonstrative of that sagacious and anticipative attention which characterizes the noblest of all tamed animals; you would not have perceived the impatience of the steed, but for the white foam that gathered round the bit, and for an occasional and unfrequent toss of the head. behind this horseman, and partially thrown into the dark shadow of the trees, another man, similarly clad, was busied in tightening the girths of a horse, of great strength and size. as he did so, he hummed, with no unmusical murmur, the air of a popular drinking-song. "'sdeath, ned!" said his comrade, who had for some time been plunged in a silent revery,--"'sdeath! why can you not stifle your love for the fine arts at a moment like this? that hum of thine grows louder every moment; at last i expect it will burst out into a full roar. recollect we are not at gentleman george's now!" "the more's the pity, augustus," answered ned. "soho, little john; woaho, sir! a nice long night like this is made on purpose for drinking. will you, sir? keep still then!" "man never is, but always to be blest," said the moralizing tomlinson; "you see you sigh for other scenes even when you have a fine night and the chance of a god-send before you." "ay, the night is fine enough," said ned, who was rather a grumbler, as, having finished his groom-like operation, he now slowly mounted. "d--- it, oliver! [the moon] looks out as broadly as if he were going to blab. for my part, i love a dark night, with a star here and there winking at us, as much as to say, 'i see you, my boys, but i won't say a word about it,' and a small, pattering, drizzling, mizzling rain, that prevents little john's hoofs being heard, and covers one's retreat, as it were. besides, when one is a little wet, it is always necessary to drink the more, to keep the cold from one's stomach when one gets home." "or in other words," said augustus, who loved a maxim from his very heart, "light wet cherishes heavy wet!" "good!" said ned, yawning. "hang it, i wish the captain would come. do you know what o'clock it is? not far short of eleven, i suppose?" "about that! hist, is that a carriage? no, it is only a sudden rise in the wind." "very self-sufficient in mr. wind to allow himself to be raised without our help!" said ned; "by the way, we are of course to go back to the red cave?" "so captain lovett says. tell me, ned, what do you think of the new tenant lovett has put into the cave?" "oh, i have strange doubts there," answered ned, shaking the hairy honours of his head. "i don't half like it; consider the cave is our stronghold, and ought only to be known--" "to men of tried virtue," interrupted tomlinson. "i agree with you; i must try and get lovett to discard his singular protege, as the french say." "'gad, augustus, how came you by so much learning? you know all the poets by heart, to say nothing of latin and french." "oh, hang it, i was brought up, like the captain, to a literary way of life." "that's what makes you so thick with him, i suppose. he writes (and sings too) a tolerable song, and is certainly a deuced clever fellow. what a rise in the world he has made! do you recollect what a poor sort of way he was in when you introduced him at gentleman george's? and now he's the captain crank of the gang." "the gang! the company, you mean. gang, indeed! one would think you were speaking of a knot of pickpockets. yes, lovett is a clever fellow; and, thanks to me, a very decent philosopher!" it is impossible to convey to our reader the grave air of importance with which tomlinson made his concluding laudation. "yes," said he, after a pause, "he has a bold, plain way of viewing things, and, like voltaire, he becomes a philosopher by being a man of sense! hist! see my horse's ears! some one is coming, though i don't hear him! keep watch!" the robbers grew silent; the sound of distant hoofs was indistinctly heard, and, as it came nearer, there was a crash of boughs, as if a hedge had been ridden through. presently the moon gleamed picturesquely on the figure of a horseman, approaching through the copse in the rear of the robbers. now he was half seen among the sinuosities of his forest path; now in full sight, now altogether hid; then his horse neighed impatiently; now he again came in sight, and in a moment more he had joined the pair! the new-corner was of a tall and sinewy frame, and in the first bloom of manhood. a frock of dark green, edged with a narrow silver lace, and buttoned from the throat to the middle, gave due effect to an upright mien, a broad chest, and a slender but rounded waist, that stood in no need of the compression of the tailor. a short riding-cloak, clasped across the throat with a silver buckle, hung picturesquely over one shoulder, while his lower limbs were cased in military boots, which, though they rose above the knee, were evidently neither heavy nor embarrassing to the vigorous sinews of the horseman. the caparisons of the steed--the bit, the bridle, the saddle, the holster--were according to the most approved fashion of the day; and the steed itself was in the highest condition, and of remarkable beauty. the horseman's air was erect and bold; a small but coal-black mustachio heightened the resolute expression of his short, curved lip; and from beneath the large hat which overhung his brow his long locks escaped, and waved darkly in the keen night air. altogether, horseman and horse exhibited a gallant and even a chivalrous appearance, which the hour and the scene heightened to a dramatic and romantic effect. "ha! lovett." "how are you, my merry men?" were the salutations exchanged. "what news?" said ned. "brave news! look to it. my lord and his carriage will be by in ten minutes at most." "have you got anything more out of the parson i frightened so gloriously?" asked augustus. "no; more of that hereafter. now for our new prey." "are you sure our noble friend will be so soon at hand?" said tomlinson, patting his steed, that now pawed in excited hilarity. "sure! i saw him change horses; i was in the stable-yard at the time. he got out for half an hour, to eat, i fancy. be sure that i played him a trick in the mean while." "what for?" asked ned. "self and servant." "the post-boys?" "ay, i forgot them. never mind, you, must frighten them." "forwards!" cried ned; and his horse sprang from his armed heel. "one moment," said lovett; "i must put on my mask. soho, robin, soho! now for it,--forwards!" as the trees rapidly disappeared behind them, the riders entered, at a hand gallop, on a broad tract of waste land interspersed with dikes and occasionally fences of hurdles, over which their horses bounded like quadrupeds well accustomed to such exploits. certainly at that moment, what with the fresh air, the fitful moonlight now breaking broadly out, now lost in a rolling cloud, the exciting exercise, and that racy and dancing stir of the blood, which all action, whether evil or noble in its nature, raises in our veins; what with all this, we cannot but allow the fascination of that lawless life,-- a fascination so great that one of the most noted gentlemen highwaymen of the day, one too who had received an excellent education and mixed in no inferior society, is reported to have said, when the rope was about his neck, and the good ordinary was exhorting him to repent of his ill- spent life, "ill-spent, you dog! 'gad!" (smacking his lips) "it was delicious!" "fie! fie! mr. -------, raise your thoughts to heaven!" "but a canter across the common--oh!" muttered the criminal; and his soul cantered off to eternity. so briskly leaped the heart of the leader of the three that, as they now came in view of the main road, and the distant wheel of a carriage whirred on the ear, he threw up his right hand with a joyous gesture, and burst into a boyish exclamation of hilarity and delight. "whist, captain!" said ned, checking his own spirits with a mock air of gravity, "let us conduct ourselves like gentlemen; it is only your low fellows who get into such confoundedly high spirits; men of the world like us should do everything as if their hearts were broken." "melancholy ever cronies with sublimity, and courage is sublime," said augustus, with the pomp of a maxim-maker. [a maxim which would have pleased madame de stael, who thought that philosophy consisted in fine sentiments. in the "life of lord byron," just published by mr. moore, the distinguished biographer makes a similar assertion to that of the sage augustus: "when did ever a sublime thought spring up in the soul that melancholy was not to be found, however latent, in its neighbourhood?" now, with due deference to mr. moore, this is a very sickly piece of nonsense, that has not even an atom of truth to stand on. "god said, let there be light, and there was light!"--we should like to know where lies the melancholy of that sublime sentence. "truth," says plato, "is the body of god, and light is his shadow." in the name of common-sense, in what possible corner in the vicinity of that lofty image lurks the jaundiced face of this eternal _bete noir_ of mr. moore's? again, in that sublimest passage in the sublimest of the latin poets (lucretius), which bursts forth in honour of epicurus, is there anything that speaks to us of sadness? on the contrary, in the three passages we have referred to, especially in the, two first quoted, there is something splendidly luminous and cheering. joy is often a great source of the sublime; the suddenness of its ventings would alone suffice to make it so. what can be more sublime than the triumphant psalms of david, intoxicated as they are with an almost delirium of transport? even in the gloomiest passages of the poets, where we recognize sublimity, we do not often find melancholy. we are stricken by terror, appalled by awe, but seldom softened into sadness. in fact, melancholy rather belongs to another class of feelings than those excited by a sublime passage or those which engender its composition. on one hand, in the loftiest flights of homer, milton, and shakspeare, we will challenge a critic to discover this "green sickness" which mr. moore would convert into the magnificence of the plague. on the other hand, where is the evidence that melancholy made the habitual temperaments of those divine men? of homer we know nothing; of shakspeare and milton, we have reason to believe the ordinary temperament was constitutionally cheerful. the latter boasts of it. a thousand instances, in contradiction to an assertion it were not worth while to contradict, were it not so generally popular, so highly sanctioned, and so eminently pernicious to everything that is manly and noble in literature, rush to our memory. but we think we have already quoted enough to disprove the sentence, which the illustrious biographer has himself disproved in more than twenty passages, which, if he is pleased to forget, we thank heaven posterity never will. now we are on the subject of this life, so excellent in many respects, we cannot but observe that we think the whole scope of its philosophy utterly unworthy of the accomplished mind of the writer; the philosophy consists of an unpardonable distorting of general truths, to suit the peculiarities of an individual, noble indeed, but proverbially morbid and eccentric. a striking instance of this occurs in the laboured assertion that poets make but sorry domestic characters. what! because lord byron is said to have been a bad husband, was (to go no further back for examples)--was walter scott a bad husband, or was campbell, or is mr. moore himself? why, in the name of justice, should it be insinuated that milton was a bad husband, when, as far as any one can judge of the matter, it was mrs. milton who was the bad wife? and why, oh! why should we be told by mr. moore,--a man who, to judge by captain rock and the epicurean, wants neither learning nor diligence,--why are we to be told, with peculiar emphasis, that lord bacon never married, when lord bacon not only married, but his marriage was so advantageous as to be an absolute epoch in his career? really, really, one begins to believe that there is not such a thing as a fact in the world!] "now for the hedge!" cried lovett, unheeding his comrades; and his horse sprang into the road. the three men now were drawn up quite still and motionless by the side of the hedge. the broad road lay before them, curving out of sight on either side; the ground was hardening under an early tendency to frost, and the clear ring of approaching hoofs sounded on the ear of the robbers, ominous, haply, of the chinks of "more attractive metal" about, if hope told no flattering tale, to be their own. presently the long-expected vehicle made its appearance at the turn of the road, and it rolled rapidly on behind four fleet post-horses. "you, ned, with your large steed, stop the horses; you, augustus, bully the post-boys; leave me to do the rest," said the captain. "as agreed," returned ned, laconically. "now, look at me!" and the horse of the vain highwayman sprang from its shelter. so instantaneous were the operations of these experienced tacticians, that lovett's orders were almost executed in a briefer time than it had cost him to give them. the carriage being stopped, and the post-boys white and trembling, with two pistols (levelled by augustus and pepper) cocked at their heads, lovett, dismounting, threw open the door of the carriage, and in a very civil tone and with a very bland address accosted the inmate. "do not be alarmed, my lord, you are perfectly safe; we only require your watch and purse." "really," answered a voice still softer than that of the robber, while a marked and somewhat french countenance, crowned with a fur cap, peered forth at the arrester,--"really, sir, your request is so modest that i were worse than cruel to refuse you. my purse is not very full, and you may as well have it as one of my rascally duns; but my watch i have a love for, and--" "i understand you, my lord," interrupted the highwayman. "what do you value your watch at?" "humph! to you it may be worth some twenty guineas." "allow me to see it!" "your curiosity is extremely gratifying," returned the nobleman, as with great reluctance he drew forth a gold repeater, set, as was sometimes the fashion of that day, in precious stones. the highwayman looked slightly at the bauble. "your lordship," said he, with great gravity, "was too modest in your calculation; your taste reflects greater credit on you. allow me to assure you that your watch is worth fifty guinea's to us, at the least. to show you that i think so most sincerely, i will either keep it, and we will say no more on the matter; or i will return it to you upon your word of honour that you will give me a check for fifty guineas payable, by your real bankers, to 'bearer for self.' take your choice; it is quite immaterial to me!" "upon my honour, sir," said the traveller, with some surprise struggling to his features, "your coolness and self-possession are quite admirable. i see you know the world." "your lordship flatters me!" returned lovett, bowing. "how do you decide?" "why, is it possible to write drafts without ink, pen, or paper?" lovett drew back, and while he was searching in his pockets for writing implements, which he always carried about him, the traveller seized the opportunity, and suddenly snatching a pistol from the pocket of the carriage, levelled it full at the head of the robber. the traveller was an excellent and practised shot,--he was almost within arm's length of his intended victim,--his pistols were the envy of all his irish friends. he pulled the trigger,--the powder flashed in the pan; and the highwayman, not even changing countenance, drew forth a small ink-bottle, and placing a steel pen in it, handed it to the nobleman, saying, with incomparable _sanq froid_: "would you like, my lord, to try the other pistol? if so, oblige me by a quick aim, as you must see the necessity of despatch. if not, here is the back of a letter, on which you can write the draft." the traveller was not a man apt to become embarrassed in anything save his circumstances; but he certainly felt a little discomposed and confused as he took the paper, and uttering some broken words, wrote the check. the highwayman glanced over it, saw it was written according to form, and then with a bow of cool respect, returned the watch, and shut the door of the carriage. meanwhile the servant had been shivering in front, boxed up in that solitary convenience termed, not euphoniously, a dickey. him the robber now briefly accosted. "what have you got about you belonging to your master?" "only his pills, your honour! which i forgot to put in the--" "pills!--throw them down to me!" the valet tremblingly extricated from his side-pocket a little box, which he threw down and lovett caught in his hand. he opened the box, counted the pills,--"one, two, four, twelve,--aha!" he reopened the carriage door. "are these your pills, my lord?" the wondering peer, who had begun to resettle himself in the corner of his carriage, answered that they were. "my lord, i see you are in a high state of fever; you were a little delirious just now when you snapped a pistol in your friend's face. permit me to recommend you a prescription,--swallow off all these pills!" "my god!" cried the traveller, startled into earnestness; "what do you mean?--twelve of those pills would kill a man!" "hear him!" said the robber, appealing to his comrades, who roared with laughter. "what, my lord, would you rebel against your doctor? fie, fie! be persuaded." and with a soothing gesture he stretched the pill-box towards the recoiling nose of the traveller. but though a man who could as well as any one make the best of a bad condition, the traveller was especially careful of his health; and so obstinate was he where that was concerned, that he would rather have submitted to the effectual operation of a bullet than incurred the chance operation of an extra pill. he therefore, with great indignation, as the box was still extended towards him, snatched it from the hand of the robber, and flinging it across the road, said with dignity,-- "do your worst, rascals! but if you leave me alive, you shall repent the outrage you have offered to one of his majesty's household!" then, as if becoming sensible of the ridicule of affecting too much in his present situation, he added in an altered tone: "and now, for heaven's sake, shut the door; and if you must kill somebody, there's my servant on the box,-- he's paid for it." this speech made the robbers laugh more than ever; and lovett, who liked a joke even better than a purse, immediately closed the carriage door, saying,-- "adieu, my lord; and let me give you a piece of advice: whenever you get out at a country inn, and stay half an hour while your horses are changing, take your pistols with you, or you may chance to have the charge drawn." with this admonition the robber withdrew; and seeing that the valet held out to him a long green purse, he said, gently shaking his head,-- "rogues should not prey on each other, my good fellow. you rob your master; so do we. let each keep what he has got." long ned and tomlinson then backing their horses, the carriage was freed; and away started the post-boys at a pace which seemed to show less regard for life than the robbers themselves had evinced. meanwhile the captain remounted his steed, and the three confederates, bounding in gallant style over the hedge through which they had previously gained the road, galloped off in the same direction they had come; the moon ever and anon bringing into light their flying figures, and the sound of many a joyous peal of laughter ringing through the distance along the frosty air. chapter xiii what is here?-- gold? thus much of this will make black white, foul fair. timon of athens. came there a certain lord, neat, trimly drest, fresh as a bridegroom. henry the fourth. i do not know the man i should avoid so soon as that spare cassius! he reads much. he is a great observer; and he looks quite through the deeds of men. often he smiles; but smiles in such a sort, as if he mocked himself or scorned his spirit, that could be moved to smile at anything. julius caesar. the next day, late at noon, as lucy was sitting with her father, not as usual engaged either in work or in reading, but seemingly quite idle, with her pretty foot upon the squire's gouty stool, and eyes fixed on the carpet, while her hands (never were hands so soft and so small as lucy's, though they may have been eclipsed in whiteness) were lightly clasped together and reposed listlessly on her knees,--the surgeon of the village abruptly entered with a face full of news and horror. old squire brandon was one of those persons who always hear news, whatever it may be, later than any of their neighbours; and it was not till all the gossips of the neighbourhood had picked the bone of the matter quite bare, that he was now informed, through the medium of mr. pillum, that lord mauleverer had on the preceding night been stopped by three highwaymen in his road to his country-seat, and robbed to a considerable amount. the fame of the worthy dr. slopperton's maladventure having long ere this been spread far and wide, the whole neighbourhood was naturally thrown into great consternation. magistrates were sent to, large dogs borrowed, blunderbusses cleaned, and a subscription made throughout the parish for the raising of a patrol. there seemed little doubt but that the offenders in either case were members of the same horde; and mr. pillum, in his own mind, was perfectly convinced that they meant to encroach upon his trade, and destroy all the surrounding householders who were worth the trouble. the next week passed in the most diligent endeavours, on the part of the neighbouring magistrates and yeomanry, to detect and seize the robbers; but their labours were utterly fruitless; and one justice of peace, who had been particularly active, was himself entirely "cleaned out" by an old gentleman who, under the name of mr. bagshot,--rather an ominous cognomen,--offered to conduct the unsuspicious magistrate to the very spot where the miscreants might be seized. no sooner, however, had he drawn the poor justice away from his comrades into a lonely part of the road than he stripped him to his shirt. he did not even leave his worship his flannel drawers, though the weather was as bitter as the dog- days of . "it is not my way," said the hoary ruffian, when the justice petitioned at least for the latter article of attire,--"'t is not my way. i be 's slow about my work, but i does it thoroughly; so off with your rags, old un." this was, however, the only additional instance of aggression in the vicinity of warlock manor-house; and by degrees, as the autumn declined, and no further enormities were perpetrated, people began to look out for a new topic of conversation. this was afforded them by a piece of unexpected good fortune to lucy brandon: mrs. warner--an old lady to whom she was slightly related, and with whom she had been residing during her brief and only visit to london--died suddenly, and in her will declared lucy to be her sole heiress. the property, which was in the funds, and which amounted to l , , was to be enjoyed by miss brandon immediately on her attaining her twenty-first year; meanwhile the executors to the will were to pay to the young heiress the annual sum of l . the joy which this news created in warlock manor-house may easily be conceived. the squire projected improvements here, and repairs there; and lucy, poor girl, who had no idea of money for herself, beyond the purchase of a new pony, or a gown from london, seconded with affectionate pleasure all her father's suggestions, and delighted herself with the reflection that those fine plans, which were to make the brandons greater than the brandons ever were before, were to be realized by her own, own money! it was at this identical time that the surrounding gentry made a simultaneous and grand discovery,--namely, of the astonishing merits and great good-sense of mr. joseph brandon. it was a pity, they observed, that he was of so reserved and shy a turn,--it was not becoming in a gentleman of so ancient a family; but why should they not endeavour to draw him from his retirement into those more public scenes which he was doubtless well calculated to adorn? accordingly, as soon as the first month of mourning had expired, several coaches, chariots, chaises, and horses which had never been seen at warlock manor-house before, arrived there one after the other in the most friendly manner imaginable. their owners admired everything,--the house was such a fine relic of old times!--for their parts they liked an oak staircase!--and those nice old windows!--and what a beautiful peacock!-- and, heaven save the mark! that magnificent chestnut-tree was worth a forest! mr. brandon was requested to make one of the county hunt, not that he any longer hunted himself, but that his name would give such consequence to the thing! miss lucy must come to pass a week with her dear friends the honourable misses sansterre! augustus, their brother, had such a sweet lady's horse! in short, the customary change which takes place in people's characters after the acquisition of a fortune took place in the characters of mr. and miss brandon; and when people become suddenly amiable, it is no wonder that they should suddenly gain a vast accession of friends. but lucy, though she had seen so little of the world, was not quite blind; and the squire, though rather obtuse, was not quite a fool. if they were not rude to their new visitors, they were by no means overpowered with gratitude at their condescension. mr. brandon declined subscribing to the hunt, and miss lucy laughed in the face of the honourable augustus sansterre. among their new guests, however, was one who to great knowledge of the world joined an extreme and even brilliant polish of manners, which at least prevented deceit from being disagreeable, if not wholly from being unseen this was the new lieutenant of the county, lord mauleverer. though possessed of an immense property in that district, lord mauleverer had hitherto resided but little on his estates. he was one of those gay lords who are now somewhat uncommon in this country after mature manhood is attained, who live an easy and rakish life, rather among their parasites than their equals, and who yet, by aid of an agreeable manner, natural talents, and a certain graceful and light cultivation of mind (not the less pleasant for its being universally coloured with worldliness, and an amusing rather than offensive regard for self), never lose their legitimate station in society; who are oracles in dress, equipages, cookery, and beauty, and, having no character of their own, are able to fix by a single word a character upon any one else. thus, while mauleverer rather lived the dissolute life of a young nobleman, who prefers the company of agreeable demireps to that of wearisome duchesses, than maintained the decorous state befitting a mature age, and an immense interest in the country, he was quite as popular at court, where he held a situation in the household, as he was in the green-room, where he enchanted every actress on the right side of forty. a word from him in the legitimate quarters of power went further than an harangue from another; and even the prudes--at least, all those who had daughters-- confessed that his lordship was a very interesting character. like brandon, his familiar friend, he had risen in the world (from the irish baron to the english earl) without having ever changed his politics, which were ultra-tory; and we need not observe that he was deemed, like brandon, a model of public integrity. he was possessed of two places under government, six votes in the house of commons, and eight livings in the church; and we must add, in justice to his loyal and religious principles, that there was not in the three kingdoms a firmer friend to the existing establishments. whenever a nobleman does not marry, people try to take away his character. lord mauleverer had never married. the whigs had been very bitter on the subject; they even alluded to it in the house of commons,-- that chaste assembly, where the never-failing subject of reproach against mr. pitt was the not being of an amorous temperament; but they had not hitherto prevailed against the stout earl's celibacy. it is true that if he was devoid of a wife, he had secured to himself plenty of substitutes; his profession was that of a man of gallantry; and though he avoided the daughters, it was only to make love to the mothers. but his lordship had now attained a certain age, and it was at last circulated among his friends that he intended to look out for a lady mauleverer. "spare your caresses," said his toady-in-chief to a certain duchess, who had three portionless daughters; "mauleverer has sworn that he will not choose among your order. you know his high politics, and you will not wonder at his declaring himself averse in matrimony as in morals to a community of goods." the announcement of the earl's matrimonial design and the circulation of this anecdote set all the clergymen's daughters in england on a blaze of expectation; and when mauleverer came to shire, upon obtaining the honour of the lieutenancy, to visit his estates and court the friendship of his neighbours, there was not an old-young lady of forty, who worked in broad-stitch and had never been to london above a week at a time, who did not deem herself exactly the sort of person sure to fascinate his lordship. it was late in the afternoon when the travelling-chariot of this distinguished person, preceded by two outriders, in the earl's undress livery of dark green, stopped at the hall door of warlock house. the squire was at home, actually and metaphorically; for he never dreamed of denying himself to any one, gentle or simple. the door of the carriage being opened, there descended a small slight man, richly dressed (for lace and silk vestments were not then quite discarded, though gradually growing less the mode), and of an air prepossessing and distinguished rather than dignified. his years--for his countenance, though handsome, was deeply marked, and evinced the tokens of dissipation--seemed more numerous than they really were; and though not actually past middle age, lord mauleverer might fairly have received the unpleasing epithet of elderly. however, his step was firm, his gait upright, and his figure was considerably more youthful than his physiognomy. the first compliments of the day having passed, and lord mauleverer having expressed his concern that his long and frequent absence from the county had hitherto prevented his making the acquaintance of mr. brandon, the brother of one of his oldest and most esteemed friends, conversation became on both sides rather an effort. mr. brandon first introduced the subject of the weather, and the turnips; inquired whether his lordship was not very fond (for his part he used to be, but lately the rheumatism had disabled him; he hoped his lordship was not subject to that complaint) of shooting! catching only the last words,--for, besides the awful complexity of the squire's sentences, mauleverer was slightly affected by the aristocratic complaint of deafness,--the earl answered, with a smile,-- "the complaint of shooting! very good indeed, mr. brandon; it is seldom that i have heard so witty a phrase. no, i am not in the least troubled with that epidemic. it is a disorder very prevalent in this county." "my lord!" said the squire, rather puzzled; and then, observing that mauleverer did not continue, he thought it expedient to start another subject. "i was exceedingly grieved to hear that your lordship, in travelling to mauleverer park (that is a very ugly road across the waste land; the roads in this country are in general pretty good,--for my own part, when i was a magistrate i was very strict in that respect), was robbed. you have not yet, i believe, detected (for my part, though i do not profess to be much of a politician, i do think that in affairs of robbery there is a great deal of remissness in the ministers) the villains!" "our friend is disaffected!" thought the lord-lieutenant, imagining that the last opprobrious term was applied to the respectable personages specified in the parenthesis. bowing with a polished smile to the squire, mauleverer replied aloud, that he was extremely sorry that their conduct (meaning the ministers) did not meet with mr. brandon's approbation. "well," thought the squire, "that is playing the courtier with a vengeance!--meet with my approbation!" said he, warmly; "how could your lordship think me (for though i am none of your saints, i am, i hope, a good christian; an excellent one, judging from your words, your lordship must be!) so partial to crime!" "i partial to crime!" returned mauleverer, thinking he had stumbled unawares on some outrageous democrat, yet smiling as softly as usual; "you judge me harshly, mr. brandon! you must do me more justice, and you can only do that by knowing me better." whatever unlucky answer the squire might otherwise have made was cut off by the entrance of lucy; and the earl, secretly delighted at the interruption, rose to render her his homage, and to remind her of the introduction he had formerly been so happy as to obtain to her through the friendship of mr. william brandon,--a "friendship," said the gallant nobleman, "to which i have often before been indebted, but which was never more agreeably exerted on my behalf." upon this lucy, who though she had been so painfully bashful during her meeting with mr. clifford, felt no overpowering diffidence in the presence of so much greater a person, replied laughingly, and the earl rejoined by a second compliment. conversation was now no longer an effort; and mauleverer, the most consummate of epicures, whom even royalty trembled to ask without preparation, on being invited by the unconscious squire to partake of the family dinner, eagerly accepted the invitation. it was long since the knightly walls of warlock had been honoured by the presence of a guest so courtly. the good squire heaped his plate with a profusion of boiled beef; and while the poor earl was contemplating in dismay the alps upon alps which he was expected to devour, the gray-headed butler, anxious to serve him with alacrity, whipped away the overloaded plate, and presently returned it, yet more astoundingly surcharged with an additional world of a composition of stony colour and sudorific aspect, which, after examining in mute attention for some moments, and carefully removing as well as he was able to the extreme edge of his plate, the earl discovered to be suet pudding. "you eat nothing, my lord," cried the squire; "let me give you--this is more underdone;" holding between blade and fork in middle air abhorrent fragment of scarlet, shaking its gory locks,--"another slice." swift at the word dropped upon mauleverer's plate the harpy finger and ruthless thumb of the gray-headed butler. "not a morsel more," cried the earl, struggling with the murderous domestic. "my dear sir, excuse me; i assure you i have never ate such a dinner before,--never!" "nay, now!" quoth the squire, expostulating, "you really (and this air is so keen that your lordship should indulge your appetite, if you follow the physician's advice) eat nothing!" again mauleverer was at fault. "the physicians are right, mr. brandon," said he, "very right, and i am forced to live abstemiously; indeed i do not know whether, if i were to exceed at your hospitable table, and attack all that you would bestow upon me, i should ever recover it. you would have to seek a new lieutenant for your charming county, and on the tomb of the last mauleverer the hypocritical and unrelated heir would inscribe, 'died of the visitation of beef, john, earl, etc.'" plain as the meaning of this speech might have seemed to others, the squire only laughed at the effeminate appetite of the speaker, and inclined to think him an excellent fellow for jesting so good-humouredly on his own physical infirmity. but lucy had the tact of her sex, and, taking pity on the earl's calamitous situation, though she certainly never guessed at its extent, entered with so much grace and ease into the conversation which he sought to establish between them, that mauleverer's gentleman, who had hitherto been pushed aside by the zeal of the gray- headed butler, found an opportunity, when the squire was laughing and the butler staring, to steal away the overburdened plate unsuspected and unseen. in spite, however, of these evils of board and lodgement, mauleverer was exceedingly well pleased with his visit; nor did he terminate it till the shades of night had begun to close, and the distance from his own residence conspired with experience to remind him that it was possible for a highwayman's audacity to attack the equipage even of lord mauleverer. he then reluctantly re-entered his carriage, and, bidding the postilions drive as fast as possible, wrapped himself in his _roquelaire_, and divided his thoughts between lucy brandon and the _homard au gratin_ with which he proposed to console him self immediately on his return home. however, fate, which mocks our most cherished hopes, ordained that on arriving at mauleverer park the owner should be suddenly afflicted with a loss of appetite, a coldness in the limbs, a pain in the chest, and various other ungracious symptoms of portending malady. lord mauleverer went straight to bed; be remained there for some days, and when he recovered his physicians ordered him to bath. the whig methodists, who hated him, ascribed his illness to providence; and his lordship was firmly of opinion that it should be ascribed to the beef and pudding. however this be, there was an end, for the present, to the hopes of young ladies of forty, and to the intended festivities at mauleverer park. "good heavens!" said the earl, as his carriage wheels turned from his gates, "what a loss to country tradesmen may be occasioned by a piece of underdone beef, especially if it be boiled!" about a fortnight had elapsed since mauleverer's meteoric visit to warlock house, when the squire received from his brother the following epistle:-- my dear joseph,--you know my numerous avocations, and, amid the press of business which surrounds me, will, i am sure, forgive me for being a very negligent and remiss correspondent. nevertheless, i assure you, no one can more sincerely sympathize in that good fortune which has befallen my charming niece, and of which your last letter informed me, than i do. pray give my best love to her, and tell her how complacently i look forward to the brilliant sensation she will create, when her beauty is enthroned upon that rank which, i am quite sure, it will one day or other command. you are not aware, perhaps, my dear joseph, that i have for some time been in a very weak and declining state of health. the old nervous complaint in my face has of late attacked me grievously, and the anguish is sometimes so great that i am scarcely able to bear it. i believe the great demand which my profession makes upon a frame of body never strong, and now beginning prematurely to feel the infirmities of time, is the real cause of my maladies. at last, however, i must absolutely punish my pocket, and indulge my inclinations by a short respite from toil. the doctors--sworn friends, you know, to the lawyers, since they make common cause against mankind--have peremptorily ordered me to lie by, and to try a short course of air, exercise, social amusements, and the waters of bath. fortunately this is vacation time, arid i can afford to lose a few weeks of emolument, in order, perhaps, to secure many years of life. i purpose, then, early next week, repairing to that melancholy reservoir of the gay, where persons dance out of life and are fiddled across the styx. in a word, i shall make one of the adventurers after health who seek the goddess at king bladud's pump- room. will you and dear lucy join me there? i ask it of your friendship, and i am quite sure that neither of you will shrink aghast at the proposal of solacing your invalid relation. at the same time that i am recovering health, my pretty niece will be avenging pluto, by consigning to his dominions many a better and younger hero in my stead. and it will be a double pleasure to me to see all the hearts, etc.--i break off, for what can i say on that subject which the little coquette does not anticipate? it is high time that lucy should see the world; and though there are many--at bath, above all places, to whom the heiress will be an object of interested attentions, yet there are also many in that crowded city by no means undeserving her notice. what say you, dear joseph? but i know already: you will not refuse to keep company with me in my little holiday; and lucy's eyes are already sparkling at the idea of new bonnets, milsom street, a thousand adorers, and the pump-room. ever, dear joseph, yours affectionately, william brandon. p. s. i find that my friend lord mauleverer is at bath; i own that is an additional reason to take me thither; by a letter from him, received the other day, i see that he has paid you a visit, and he now raves about his host and the heiress. ah, miss lucy, miss lucy! are you going to conquer him whom all london has, for years more than i care to tell (yet not many, for mauleverer is still young), assailed in vain? answer me! this letter created a considerable excitement in warlock house. the old squire was extremely fond of his brother, and grieved to the heart to find that he spoke so discouragingly of his health. nor did the squire for a moment hesitate at accepting the proposal to join his distinguished relative at bath. lucy also--who had for her uncle, possibly from his profuse yet not indelicate flattery, a very great regard and interest, though she had seen but little of him--urged the squire to lose no time in arranging matters for their departure, so as to precede the barrister, and prepare everything for his arrival. the father and daughter being thus agreed, there was little occasion for delay; an answer to the invalid's letter was sent by return of post, and on the fourth day from their receipt of the said epistle, the good old squire, his daughter, a country girl by way of abigail, the gray-headed butler, and two or three live pets, of the size and habits most convenient for travelling, were on their way to a city which at that time was gayer at least, if somewhat less splendid, than the metropolis. on the second day of their arrival at bath, brandon (as in future, to avoid confusion, we shall call the younger brother, giving to the elder his patriarchal title of squire) joined them. he was a man seemingly rather fond of parade, though at heart he disrelished and despised it. he came to their lodging, which had not been selected in the very best part of the town, in a carriage and six, but attended only by one favourite servant. they found him in better looks and better spirits than they had anticipated. few persons, when he liked it, could be more agreeable than william brandon; but at times there mixed with his conversation a bitter sarcasm, probably a habit acquired in his profession, or an occasional tinge of morose and haughty sadness, possibly the consequence of his ill- health. yet his disorder, which was somewhat approaching to that painful affliction the _tic douloureux_, though of fits more rare in occurrence than those of that complaint ordinarily are, never seemed even for an instant to operate upon his mood, whatever that might be. that disease worked unseen; not a muscle of his face appeared to quiver; the smile never vanished from his mouth, the blandness of his voice never grew faint as with pain, and, in the midst of intense torture, his resolute and stern mind conquered every external indication; nor could the most observant stranger have noted the moment when the fit attacked or released him. there was something inscrutable about the man. you felt that you took his character upon trust, and not on your own knowledge. the acquaintance of years would have left you equally dark as to his vices or his virtues. he varied often, yet in each variation he was equally undiscoverable. was he performing a series of parts, or was it the ordinary changes of a man's true temperament that you beheld in him? commonly smooth, quiet, attentive, flattering in social intercourse, he was known in the senate and courts of law for a cold asperity, and a caustic venom,--scarcely rivalled even in those arenas of contention. it seemed as if the bitterer feelings he checked in private life, he delighted to indulge in public. yet even there he gave not way to momentary petulance or gushing passion; all seemed with him systematic sarcasm or habitual sternness. he outraged no form of ceremonial or of society. he stung, without appearing conscious of the sting; and his antagonist writhed not more beneath the torture of his satire than the crushing contempt of his self-command. cool, ready, armed and defended on all points, sound in knowledge, unfailing in observation, equally consummate in sophistry when needed by himself, and instantaneous in detecting sophistry in another; scorning no art, however painful; begrudging no labour, however weighty; minute in detail, yet not the less comprehending the whole subject in a grasp,--such was the legal and public character william brandon had established, and such was the fame he joined to the unsullied purity of his moral reputation. but to his friends he seemed only the agreeable, clever, lively, and, if we may use the phrase innocently, the worldly man,--never affecting a superior sanctity, or an over-anxiety to forms, except upon great occasions; and rendering his austerity of manners the more admired, because he made it seem so unaccompanied by hypocrisy. "well," said brandon, as he sat after dinner alone with his relations, and had seen the eyes of his brother close in diurnal slumber, "tell me, miss lucy, what you think of lord mauleverer; do you find him agreeable?" "very; too much so, indeed!" "too much so! that is an uncommon fault, lucy, unless you mean to insinuate that you find him too agreeable for your peace of mind." "oh, no! there is little fear of that. all that i meant to express was that he seems to make it the sole business of his life to be agreeable, and that one imagines he had gained that end by the loss of certain qualities which one would have liked better." "umph! and what are they?" "truth, sincerity, independence, and honesty of mind." "my dear lucy, it has been the professional study of my life to discover a man's character, especially so far as truth is concerned, in as short a time as possible; but you excel me in intuition, if you can tell whether there be sincerity in a courtier's character at the first interview you have with him." "nevertheless, i am sure of my opinion," said lucy, laughing; "and i will tell you one instance i observed among a hundred. lord mauleverer is rather deaf, and he imagined, in conversation, that my father said one thing--it was upon a very trifling subject, the speech of some member of parliament [the lawyer smiled],--when in reality he meant to say another. lord mauleverer, in the warmest manner in the world, chimed in with him, appeared thoroughly of his opinion, applauded his sentiments, and wished the whole country of his mind. suddenly my father spoke; lord mauleverer bent down his ear, and found that the sentiments he had so lauded were exactly those my father the least favoured. no sooner did he make this discovery than he wheeled round again,--dexterously and gracefully, i allow; condemned all that he had before extolled, and extolled all that he had before abused!" "and is that all, lucy?" said brandon, with a keener sneer on his lip than the occasion warranted. "why, that is what every one does; only some more gravely than others. mauleverer in society, i at the bar, the minister in parliament, friend to friend, lover to mistress, mistress to lover,--half of us are employed in saying white is black, and the other half in swearing that black is white. there is only one difference, my pretty niece, between the clever man and the fool: the fool says what is false while the colours stare in his face and give him the lie; but the clever man takes as it were a brush and literally turns the black into white and the white into black before he makes the assertion, which is then true. the fool changes, and is a liar; the clever man makes the colours change, and is a genius. but this is not for your young years yet, lucy." "but i can't see the necessity of seeming to agree with people," said lucy, simply; "surely they would be just as well pleased if you differed from them civilly and with respect?" "no, lucy," said brandon, still sneering; "to be liked, it is not necessary to be anything but compliant. lie, cheat, make every word a snare, and every act a forgery; but never contradict. agree with people, and they make a couch for you in their hearts. you know the story of dante and the buffoon. both were entertained at the court of the vain pedant, who called himself prince scaliger,--the former poorly, the latter sumptuously. 'how comes it,' said the buffoon to the poet, 'that i am so rich and you so poor?' 'i shall be as rich as you,' was the stinging and true reply, 'whenever i can find a patron as like myself as prince scaliger is like you!'" "yet my birds," said lucy, caressing the goldfinch, which nestled to her bosom, "are not like me, and i love them. nay, i often think i could love those better who differ from me the most. i feel it so in books,-- when, for instance, i read a novel or a play; and you, uncle, i like almost in proportion to my perceiving in myself nothing in common with you." "yes," said brandon, "you have in common with me a love for old stories of sir hugo and sir rupert, and all the other 'sirs' of our mouldered and bygone race. so you shall sing me the ballad about sir john de brandon, and the dragon he slew in the holy land. we will adjourn to the drawing- room, not to disturb your father." lucy agreed, took her uncle's arm, repaired to the drawing-room, and seating herself at the harpsichord, sang to an inspiriting yet somewhat rude air the family ballad her uncle had demanded. it would have been amusing to note in the rigid face of the hardened and habitual man of peace and parchments a certain enthusiasm which ever and anon crossed his cheek, as the verses of the ballad rested on some allusion to the knightly house of brandon and its old renown. it was an early prejudice, breaking out despite of himself,--a flash of character, stricken from the hard fossil in which it was imbedded. one would have supposed that the silliest of all prides (for the pride of money, though meaner, is less senseless), family pride, was the last weakness which at that time the callous and astute lawyer would have confessed, even to himself. "lucy," said brandon, as the song ceased, and he gazed on his beautiful niece with a certain pride in his aspect, "i long to witness your first appearance in the world. this lodging, my dear, is not fit--but pardon me! what i was about to say is this: your father and yourself are here at my invitation, and in my house you must dwell; you are my guests, not mine host and hostess. i have therefore already directed my servant to secure me a house and provide the necessary establishment; and i make no doubt, as he is a quick fellow, that within three days all will be ready. you must then be the magnet of my abode, lucy; and meanwhile you must explain this to my brother, and--for you know his jealous hospitality-- obtain his acquiescence." "but--" began lucy. "but me no buts," said brandon, quickly, but with an affectionate tone of wilfulness; "and now, as i feel very much fatigued with my journey, you must allow me to seek my own room." "i will conduct you to it myself," said lucy, for she was anxious to show her father's brother the care and forethought which she had lavished on her arrangements for his comfort. brandon followed her into an apartment which his eye knew at a glance had been subjected to that female superintendence which makes such uses from what men reject as insignificant; and he thanked her with more than his usual amenity, for the grace which had presided over, and the kindness which had dictated her preparations. as soon as he was left alone, he wheeled his armchair near the clear, bright fire, and resting his face upon his hand, in the attitude of a man who prepares himself as it were for the indulgence of meditation, he muttered,-- "yes! these women are, first, what nature makes them, and that is good; next, what use make them, and that is evil! now, could i persuade myself that we ought to be nice as to the use we put these poor puppets to, i should shrink from enforcing the destiny which i have marked for this girl. but that is a pitiful consideration, and he is but a silly player who loses his money for the sake of preserving his counters. so the young lady must go as another score to the fortunes of william brandon. after all, who suffers? not she. she will have wealth, rank, honour. i shall suffer, to yield so pretty and pure a gem to the coronet of-- faugh! how i despise that dog; but how i could hate, crush, mangle him, could i believe that he despised me! could he do so? umph! no, i have resolved myself that is impossible. well, let me hope that matrimonial point will be settled; and now let me consider what next step i shall take for myself,--myself, ay, only myself! with me perishes the last male of brandon; but the light shall not go out under a bushel." as he said this, the soliloquist sunk into a more absorbed and silent revery, from which he was disturbed by the entrance of his servant. brandon, who was never a dreamer save when alone, broke at once from his reflections. "you have obeyed my orders, barlow?" said he. "yes, sir," answered the domestic. "i have taken the best house yet unoccupied; and when mrs. roberts [brandon's housekeeper] arrives from london, everything will, i trust, be exactly to your wishes." "good! and you gave my note to lord mauleverer?" "with my own hands, sir; his lordship will await you at home all to-morrow." "very well! and now, barlow, see that your room is within call [bells, though known, were not common at that day], and give out that i am gone to bed, and must not be disturbed. what's the hour?" "just on the stroke of ten, sir." "place on that table my letter-case and the inkstand. look in, to help me to undress, at half-past one; i shall go to bed at that hour. and-- stay--be sure, barlow, that my brother believes me retired for the night. he does not know my habits, and will vex himself if he thinks i sit up so late in my present state of health." drawing the table with its writing appurtenances near to his master, the servant left brandon once more to his thoughts or his occupations. chapter xiv. servant. get away, i say, wid dat nasty bell. punch. do you call this a bell? (patting it.) it is an organ. servant. i say it is a bell,--a nasty bell! punch. i say it is an organ (striking him with it). what do you say it is now? servant. an organ, mr. punch! the tragical comedy of punch and judy. the next morning, before lucy and her father had left their apartments, brandon, who was a remarkably early riser, had disturbed the luxurious mauleverer in his first slumber. although the courtier possessed a villa some miles from bath, he preferred a lodging in the town, both as being warmer than a rarely inhabited country-house, and as being to an indolent man more immediately convenient for the gayeties and the waters of the medicinal city. as soon as the earl had rubbed his eyes, stretched himself, and prepared himself for the untimeous colloquy, brandon poured forth his excuses for the hour he had chosen for a visit. "mention it not, my dear brandon," said the good-natured nobleman, with a sigh; "i am glad at any hour to see you, and i am very sure that what you have to communicate is always worth listening to." "it was only upon public business, though of rather a more important description than usual, that i ventured to disturb you," answered brandon, seating himself on a chair by the bedside. "this morning, an hour ago, i received by private express a letter from london, stating that a new arrangement will positively be made in the cabinet,--nay, naming the very promotions and changes. i confess that as my name occurred, as also your own, in these nominations, i was anxious to have the benefit of your necessarily accurate knowledge on the subject, as well as of your advice." "really, brandon," said mauleverer, with a half-peevish smile, "any other hour in the day would have done for 'the business of the nation,' as the newspapers call that troublesome farce we go through; and i had imagined you would not have broken my nightly slumbers except for something of real importance,--the discovery of a new beauty or the invention of a new dish." "neither the one nor the other could you have expected from me, my dear lord," rejoined brandon. "you know the dry trifles in which a lawyer's life wastes itself away; and beauties and dishes have no attraction for us, except the former be damsels deserted, and the latter patents invaded. but my news, after all, is worth hearing, unless you have heard it before." "not i! but i suppose i shall hear it in the course of the day. pray heaven i be not sent for to attend some plague of a council. begin!" "in the first place lord duberly resolves to resign, unless this negotiation for peace be made a cabinet question." "pshaw! let him resign. i have opposed the peace so long that it is out of the question. of course, lord wansted will not think of it, and he may count on my boroughs. a peace!--shameful, disgraceful, dastardly proposition!" "but, my dear lord, my letter says that this unexpected firmness on the part of lord daberly has produced so great a sensation that, seeing the impossibility of forming a durable cabinet without him, the king has consented to the negotiation, and duberly stays in!" "the devil!--what next?" "raffden and sternhold go out in favour of baldwin and charlton, and in the hope that you will lend your aid to--" "i!" said lord mauleverer, very angrily,--"i lend my aid to baldwin, the jacobin, and charlton, the son of a brewer!" "very true!" continued brandon. "but in the hope that you might be persuaded to regard the new arrangements with an indulgent eye, you are talked of instead of the duke of for the vacant garter and the office of chamberlain." "you don't mean it!" cried mauleverer, starting from his bed. "a few other (but, i hear, chiefly legal) promotions are to be made. among the rest, my learned brother, the democrat sarsden, is to have a silk gown; cromwell is to be attorney-general; and, between ourselves, they have offered me a judgeship." "but the garter!" said mauleverer, scarcely hearing the rest of the lawyer's news,--"the whole object, aim, and ambition of my life. how truly kind in the king! after all," continued the earl, laughing, and throwing himself back, "opinions are variable, truth is not uniform. the times change, not we; and we must have peace instead of war!" "your maxims are indisputable, and the conclusion you come to is excellent," said brandon. "why, you and i, my dear fellow," said the earl, "who know men, and who have lived all our lives in the world, must laugh behind the scenes at the cant we wrap in tinsel, and send out to stalk across the stage. we know that our coriolanus of tory integrity is a corporal kept by a prostitute, and the brutus of whig liberty is a lacquey turned out of place for stealing the spoons; but we must not tell this to the world. so, brandon, you must write me a speech for the next session, and be sure it has plenty of general maxims, and concludes with 'my bleeding country!'" the lawyer smiled. "you consent then to the expulsion of sternhold and raffden? for, after all, that is the question. our british vessel, as the d---d metaphor-mongers call the state, carries the public good safe in the hold like brandy; and it is only when fear, storm, or the devil makes the rogues quarrel among themselves and break up the casks, that one gets above a thimbleful at a time. we should go on fighting with the rest of the world forever, if the ministers had not taken to fight among themselves." "as for sternhold," said the earl, "'t is a vulgar dog, and voted for economical reform. besides, i don't know him; he may go to the devil, for aught i care; but raffden must be dealt handsomely with, or, despite the garter, i will fall back among the whigs, who, after all, give tolerable dinners." "but why, my lord, must raffden be treated better than his brother recusant?" "because he sent me, in the handsomest manner possible, a pipe of that wonderful madeira, which you know i consider the chief grace of my cellars, and he gave up a canal navigation bill, which would have enriched his whole county, when he knew that it would injure my property. no, brandon, curse public cant! we know what that is. but we are gentlemen, and our private friends must not be thrown overboard,--unless, at least, we do it in the civilest manner we can." "fear not," said the lawyer; "you have only to say the word, and the cabinet can cook up an embassy to owhyhee, and send raffden there with a stipend of five thousand a year." "ah! that's well thought of; or we might give him a grant of a hundred thousand acres in one of the colonies, or let him buy crown land at a discount of eighty per cent. so that's settled." "and now, my dear friend," said brandon, "i will tell you frankly why i come so early; i am required to give a hasty answer to the proposal i have received, namely, of the judgeship. your opinion?" "a judgeship! you a judge? what! forsake your brilliant career for so petty a dignity? you jest!" "not at all. listen. you know how bitterly i have opposed this peace, and what hot enemies i have made among the new friends of the administration. on the one hand, these enemies insist on sacrificing me; and on the other, if i were to stay in the lower house and speak for what i have before opposed, i should forfeit the support of a great portion of my own party. hated by one body, and mistrusted by the other, a seat in the house of commons ceases to be an object. it is proposed that i should retire on the dignity of a judge, with the positive and pledged though secret promise of the first vacancy among the chiefs. the place of chief-justice or chief-baron is indeed the only fair remuneration for my surrender of the gains of my profession, and the abandonment of my parliamentary and legal career; the title, which will of course be attached to it, might go (at least, by an exertion of interest) to the eldest son of my niece,--in case she married a commoner,--or," added he, after a pause, "her second son in case she married a peer." "ha, true!" said mauleverer, quickly, and as if struck by some sudden thought; "and your charming niece, brandon, would be worthy of any honour, either to her children or herself. you do not know how struck i was with her. there is something so graceful in her simplicity; and in her manner of smoothing down the little rugosities of warlock house there was so genuine and so easy a dignity that i declare i almost thought myself young again, and capable of the self-cheat of believing myself in love. but, oh! brandon, imagine me at your brother's board,--me, for whom ortolans are too substantial, and who feel, when i tread, the slightest inequality in the carpets of tournay,--imagine me, dear brandon, in a black wainscot room, hung round with your ancestors in brown wigs with posies in their button-hole; an immense fire on one side, and a thorough draught on the other; a huge circle of beef before me, smoking like vesuvius, and twice as large; a plateful (the plate was pewter,--is there not a metal so called?) of this mingled flame and lava sent under my very nostril, and upon pain of ill-breeding to be despatched down my proper mouth; an old gentleman in fustian breeches and worsted stockings, by way of a butler, filling me a can of ale, and your worthy brother asking me if i would not prefer port; a lean footman in livery,--such a livery, ye gods!--scarlet, blue, yellow, and green, a rainbow ill made!--on the opposite side of the table, looking at the 'lord' with eyes and mouth equally open, and large enough to swallow me; and your excellent brother himself at the head of the table glowing through the mists of the beef, like the rising sun in a signpost; and then, brandon, turning from this image, behold beside me the fair, delicate, aristocratic, yet simple loveliness of your niece, and--but you look angry; i have offended you?" it was high time for mauleverer to ask that question, for during the whole of the earl's recital the dark face of his companion had literally burned with rage; and here we may observe how generally selfishness, which makes the man of the world, prevents its possessor, by a sort of paradox, from being consummately so. for mauleverer, occupied by the pleasure he felt at his own wit, and never having that magic sympathy with others which creates the incessantly keen observer, had not for a moment thought that he was offending to the quick the hidden pride of the lawyer. nay, so little did he suspect brandon's real weaknesses that he thought him a philosopher who would have laughed alike at principles and people, however near to him might be the latter, and however important the former. mastering by a single effort, which restored his cheek to its usual steady hue, the outward signs of his displeasure, brandon rejoined,-- "offend me! by no means, my dear lord. i do not wonder at your painful situation in an old country-gentleman's house, which has not for centuries offered scenes fit for the presence of so distinguished a guest,--never, i may say, since the time when sir charles de brandon entertained elizabeth at warlock, and your ancestor (you know my old musty studies on those points of obscure antiquity), john mauleverer, who was a noted goldsmith of london, supplied the plate for the occasion." "fairly retorted," said mauleverer, smiling; for though the earl had a great contempt for low birth set on high places in other men, he was utterly void of pride in his own family,--"fairly retorted! but i never meant anything else but a laugh at your brother's housekeeping,--a joke surely permitted to a man whose own fastidiousness on these matters is so standing a jest. but, by heavens, brandon! to turn from these subjects, your niece is the prettiest girl i have seen for twenty years; and if she would forget my being the descendant of john mauleverer, the noted goldsmith of london, she may be lady mauleverer as soon as she pleases." "nay, now, let us be serious, and talk of the judgeship," said brandon, affecting to treat the proposal as a joke. "by the soul of sir charles de brandon, i am serious!" cried the earl; "and as a proof of it, i hope you will let me pay my respects to your niece to-day,--not with my offer in my hand yet, for it must be a love match on both sides." and the earl, glancing towards an opposite glass, which reflected his attenuated but comely features beneath his velvet nightcap trimmed with mechlin, laughed half-triumphantly as he spoke. a sneer just passed the lips of brandon, and as instantly vanished, while mauleverer continued,-- "and as for the judgeship, dear brandon, i advise you to accept it, though you know best; and i do think no man will stand a fairer chance of the chief-justiceship,--or, though it be somewhat unusual for 'common' lawyers, why not the woolsack itself? as you say, the second son of your niece might inherit the dignity of a peerage!" "well, i will consider of it favourably," said brandon; and soon afterwards he left the nobleman to renew his broken repose. "i can't laugh at that man," said mauleverer to himself, as he turned round in his bed, "though he has much that i should laugh at in another; and, faith, there is one little matter i might well scorn him for, if i were not a philosopher. 't is a pretty girl, his niece, and with proper instructions might do one credit; besides, she has l , ready money; and, faith, i have not a shilling for my own pleasure, though i have--or alas! had--fifty thousand a year for that of my establishment! in all probability she will be the lawyer's heiress, and he must have made at least as much again as her portion; nor is he, poor devil, a very good life. moreover, if he rise to the peerage? and the second son--well! well! it will not be such a bad match for the goldsmith's descendant either!" with that thought, lord mauleverer fell asleep. he rose about noon, dressed himself with unusual pains, and was just going forth on a visit to miss brandon, when he suddenly remembered that her uncle had not mentioned her address or his own. he referred to the lawyer's note of the preceding evening; no direction was inscribed on it; and mauleverer was forced, with much chagrin, to forego for that day the pleasure he had promised himself. in truth, the wary lawyer, who, as we have said, despised show and outward appearances as much as any man, was yet sensible of their effect even in the eyes of a lover; and moreover, lord mauleverer was one whose habits of life were calculated to arouse a certain degree of vigilance on points of household pomp even in the most unobservant. brandon therefore resolved that lucy should not be visited by her admirer till the removal to their new abode was effected; nor was it till the third day from that on which mauleverer had held with brandon the interview we have recorded, that the earl received a note from brandon, seemingly turning only on political matters, but inscribed with the address and direction in full form. mauleverer answered it in person. he found lucy at home, and more beautiful than ever; and from that day his mind was made up, as the mammas say, and his visits became constant. chapter xv. there is a festival where knights and dames, and aught that wealth or lofty lineage claims, appear. 't is he,--how came he thence? what doth he here? lara. there are two charming situations in life for a woman,--one, the first freshness of heiressship and beauty; the other, youthful widowhood, with a large jointure. it was at least lucy's fortune to enjoy the first. no sooner was she fairly launched into the gay world than she became the object of universal idolatry. crowds followed her wherever she moved nothing was talked of or dreamed of, toasted or betted on, but lucy brandon; even her simplicity, and utter ignorance of the arts of fine life, enhanced the eclat of her reputation. somehow or other, young people of the gentler sex are rarely ill-bred, even in their eccentricities; and there is often a great deal of grace in inexperience. her uncle, who accompanied her everywhere, himself no slight magnet of attraction, viewed her success with a complacent triumph which he suffered no one but her father or herself to detect. to the smooth coolness of his manner, nothing would have seemed more foreign than pride at the notice gained by a beauty, or exultation at any favour won from the caprices of fashion. as for the good old squire, one would have imagined him far more the invalid than his brother. he was scarcely ever seen; for though he went everywhere, he was one of those persons who sink into a corner the moment they enter a room. whoever discovered him in his retreat, held out their hands, and exclaimed, "god bless me! you here! we have not seen you for this age!" now and then, if in a very dark niche of the room a card-table had been placed, the worthy gentleman toiled through an obscure rubber; but more frequently he sat with his hands clasped and his mouth open, counting the number of candles in the room, or calculating "when that stupid music would be over." lord mauleverer, though a polished and courteous man, whose great object was necessarily to ingratiate himself with the father of his intended bride, had a horror of being bored, which surpassed all other feelings in his mind. he could not therefore persuade himself to submit to the melancholy duty of listening to the squire's "linked speeches long drawn out." he always glided by the honest man's station, seemingly in an exceeding hurry, with a "ah, my dear sir, how do you do? how delighted i am to see you! and your incomparable daughter? oh, there she is! pardon me, dear sir,--you see my attraction." lucy, indeed, who never forgot any one (except herself occasionally), sought her father's retreat as often as she was able; but her engagements were so incessant that she no sooner lost one partner than she was claimed and carried off by another. however, the squire bore his solitude with tolerable cheerfulness, and always declared that "he was very well amused; although balls and concerts were necessarily a little dull to one who came from a fine old place like warlock manor-house, and it was not the same thing that pleased young ladies (for, to them, that fiddling and giggling till two o'clock in the morning might be a very pretty way of killing time) and their papas!" what considerably added to lucy's celebrity was the marked notice and admiration of a man so high in rank and ton as lord mauleverer. that personage, who still retained much of a youthful mind and temper, and who was in his nature more careless than haughty, preserved little or no state in his intercourse with the social revellers at bath. he cared not whither he went, so that he was in the train of the young beauty; and the most fastidious nobleman of the english court was seen in every second and third rate set of a great watering-place,--the attendant, the flirt, and often the ridicule of the daughter of an obscure and almost insignificant country squire. despite the honour of so distinguished a lover, and despite all the novelties of her situation, the pretty head of lucy brandon was as yet, however, perfectly unturned; and as for her heart, the only impression that it had ever received was made by that wandering guest of the village rector, whom she had never again seen, but who yet clung to her imagination, invested not only with all the graces which in right of a singularly handsome person he possessed, but with those to which he never could advance a claim,--more dangerous to her peace, for the very circumstance of their origin in her fancy, not his merits. they had now been some little time at bath, and brandon's brief respite was pretty nearly expired, when a public ball of uncommon and manifold attraction was announced. it was to be graced not only by the presence of all the surrounding families, but also by that of royalty itself; it being an acknowledged fact that people dance much better and eat much more supper when any relation to a king is present. "i must stay for this ball, lucy," said brandon, who, after spending the day with lord mauleverer, returned home in a mood more than usually cheerful,--"i must stay for this one ball, lucy, and witness your complete triumph, even though it will be necessary to leave you the very next morning." "so soon!" cried lucy. "so soon!" echoed the uncle, with a smile. "how good you are to speak thus to an old valetudinarian, whose company must have fatigued you to death! nay, no pretty denials! but the great object of my visit to this place is accomplished: i have seen you, i have witnessed your debut in the great world, with, i may say, more than a father's exultation, and i go back to my dry pursuits with the satisfaction of thinking our old and withered genealogical tree has put forth one blossom worthy of its freshest day." "uncle!" said lucy, reprovingly, and holding up her taper finger with an arch smile, mingling with a blush, in which the woman's vanity spoke, unknown to herself. "and why that look, lucy?" said brandon. "because--because--well, no matter! you have been bred to that trade in which, as you say yourself, men tell untruths for others till they lose all truth for themselves. but let us talk of you, not me; are you really well enough to leave us?" simple and even cool as the words of lucy's question, when written, appear, in her mouth they took so tender, so anxious a tone, that brandon, who had no friend nor wife nor child, nor any one in his household in whom interest in his health or welfare was a thing of course, and who was consequently wholly unaccustomed to the accent of kindness, felt himself of a sudden touched and stricken. "why, indeed, lucy," said he, in a less artificial voice than that in which he usually spoke, "i should like still to profit by your cares, and forget my infirmities and pains in your society; but i cannot: the tide of events, like that of nature, waits not our pleasure!" "but we may take our own time for setting sail!" said lucy. "ay, this comes of talking in metaphor," rejoined brandon, smiling; "they who begin it always get the worst of it. in plain words, dear lucy, i can give no more time to my own ailments. a lawyer cannot play truant in term-time without--" "losing a few guineas!" said lucy, interrupting him. "worse than that,--his practice and his name." "better those than health and peace of mind." "out on you, no!" said brandon, quickly, and almost fiercely. "we waste all the greenness and pith of our life in striving to gain a distinguished slavery; and when it is gained, we must not think that an humble independence would have been better. if we ever admit that thought, what fools, what lavish fools, we have been! no!" continued brandon, after a momentary pause, and in a tone milder and gayer, though not less characteristic of the man's stubbornness of will, "after losing all youth's enjoyments and manhood's leisure, in order that in age the mind, the all-conquering mind, should break its way at last into the applauding opinions of men, i should be an effeminate idler indeed, did i suffer, so long as its jarring parts hold together, or so long as i have the power to command its members, this weak body to frustrate the labour of its better and nobler portion, and command that which it is ordained to serve." lucy knew not while she listened, half in fear, half in admiration, to her singular relation, that at the very moment he thus spoke, his disease was preying upon him in one of its most relentless moods, without the power of wringing from him a single outward token of his torture. but she wanted nothing to increase her pity and affection for a man who in consequence, perhaps, of his ordinary surface of worldly and cold properties of temperament never failed to leave an indelible impression on all who had ever seen that temperament broken through by deeper though often by more evil feelings. "shall you go to lady--------'s rout?" asked brandon, easily sliding back into common topics. "lord mauleverer requested me to ask you." "that depends on you and my father." "if on me, i answer yes," said brandon. "i like hearing mauleverer, especially among persons who do not understand him. there is a refined and subtle sarcasm running through the commonplaces of his conversation, which cuts the good fools, like the invisible sword in the fable, that lopped off heads without occasioning the owners any other sensation than a pleasing and self-complacent titillation. how immeasurably superior he is in manner and address to all we meet here! does it not strike you?" "yes--no--i can't say that it does exactly," rejoined lucy. "is that confusion tender?" thought brandon. "in a word," continued lucy, "lord mauleverer is one whom i think pleasing without fascination, and amusing without brilliancy. he is evidently accomplished in mind and graceful in manner, and withal the most uninteresting person i ever met." "women have not often thought so," said brandon. "i cannot believe that they can think otherwise." a certain expression, partaking of scorn, played over brandon's hard features. it was a noticeable trait in him, that while he was most anxious to impress lucy with a favourable opinion of lord mauleverer, he was never quite able to mask a certain satisfaction at any jest at the earl's expense, or any opinion derogatory to his general character for pleasing the opposite sex; and this satisfaction was no sooner conceived than it was immediately combated by the vexation he felt that lucy did not seem to share his own desire that she should become the wife of the courtier. there appeared as if in that respect there was a contest in his mind between interest on one hand and private dislike or contempt on the other. "you judge women wrongly!" said brandon. "ladies never know each other; of all persons, mauleverer is best calculated to win them, and experience has proved my assertion. the proudest lot i know for a woman would be the thorough conquest of lord mauleverer; but it is impossible. he may be gallant, but he will never be subdued. he defies the whole female world, and with justice and impunity. enough of him. sing to me, dear lucy." the time for the ball approached; and lucy, who was a charming girl and had nothing of the angel about her, was sufficiently fond of gayety, dancing, music, and admiration to feel her heart beat high at the expectation of the event. at last the day itself came. brandon dined alone with mauleverer, having made the arrangement that he, with the earl, was to join his brother and niece at the ball. mauleverer, who hated state, except on great occasions, when no man displayed it with a better grace, never suffered his servants to wait at dinner when he was alone or with one of his peculiar friends. the attendants remained without, and were summoned at will by a bell laid beside the host. the conversation was unrestrained. "i am perfectly certain, brandon," said mauleverer, "that if you were to live tolerably well, you would soon get the better of your nervous complaints. it is all poverty of blood, believe me. some more of the fins, eh?--no! oh, hang your abstemiousness; it is d----d unfriendly to eat so little! talking of fins and friends, heaven defend me from ever again forming an intimacy with a pedantic epicure, especially if he puns!" "why, what has a pedant to do with fins?" "i will tell you,--ah, this madeira--i suggested to lord dareville, who affects the gourmand, what a capital thing a dish all fins (turbot's fins) might be made. 'capital!' said he, in a rapture; 'dine on it with me to-morrow.' 'volontiers!' said i. the next day, after indulging in a pleasing revery all the morning as to the manner in which dareville's cook, who is not without genius, would accomplish the grand idea, i betook myself punctually to my engagement. would you believe it? when the cover was removed, the sacrilegious dog of an amphitryon had put into the dish cicero's 'de finibus.' 'there is a work all fins!' said he. "atrocious jest!" exclaimed brandon, solemnly. "was it not? whenever the gastronomists set up a religious inquisition, i trust they will roast every impious rascal who treats the divine mystery with levity. pun upon cooking, indeed! _a propos_ of dareville, he is to come into the administration." "you astonish me!" said brandon. "i never heard that; i don't know him. he has very little power; has he any talent?" "yes, a very great one,--acquired, though." "what is it?" "a pretty wife!" "my lord!" exclaimed brandon, abruptly, and half rising from his seat. mauleverer looked up hastily, and on seeing the expression of his companion's face coloured deeply; there was a silence for some moments. "tell me," said brandon, indifferently, helping himself to vegetables, for he seldom touched meat; and a more amusing contrast can scarcely be conceived than that between the earnest epicurism of mauleverer and the careless contempt of the sublime art manifested by his guest,--"tell me, you who necessarily know everything, whether the government really is settled,--whether you are to have the garter, and i (mark the difference!) the judgeship." "why so, i imagine, it will be arranged; namely, if you will consent to hang up the rogues instead of living by the fools!" "one may unite both!" returned brandon. "but i believe, in general, it is vice versa; for we live by the rogues, and it is only the fools we are able to hang up. you ask me if i will take the judgeship. i would not-- no, i would rather cut my hand off," and the lawyer spoke with great bitterness, "forsake my present career, despite all the obstacles that now encumber it, did i think that this miserable body would suffer me for two years longer to pursue it." "you shock me!" said mauleverer, a little affected, but nevertheless applying the cayenne to his cucumber with his usual unerring nicety of tact,--"you shock me; but you are considerably better than you were." "it is not," continued brandon, who was rather speaking to himself than to his friend,--"it is not that i am unable to conquer the pain and to master the recreant nerves; but i feel myself growing weaker and weaker beneath the continual exertion of my remaining powers, and i shall die before i have gained half my objects, if i do not leave the labours which are literally tearing me to pieces." "but," said lord mauleverer, who was the idlest of men, "the judgeship is not an easy sinecure." "no; but there is less demand on the mind in that station than in my present one;" and brandon paused before he continued. "candidly, mauleverer, you do not think they will deceive me,--you do not think they mean to leave me to this political death without writing 'resurgam' over the hatchment?" "they dare not!" said mauleverer, quaffing his fourth glass of madeira. "well, i have decided on my change of life," said the lawyer, with a slight sigh. "so have i on my change of opinion," chimed in the earl. "i will tell you what opinions seem to me like." "what?" said brandon, abstractedly. "trees!" answered mauleverer, quaintly. "if they can be made serviceable by standing, don't part with a stick; but when they are of that growth that sells well, or whenever they shut out a fine prospect, cut them down, and pack them off by all manner of means!--and now for the second course." "i wonder," said the earl, when our political worthies were again alone, "whether there ever existed a minister who cared three straws for the people; many care for their party, but as for the country--" "it is all fiddlestick!" added the lawyer, with more significance than grace. "right; it is all fiddlestick, as you tersely express it. king, constitution, and church, forever! which, being interpreted, means, first, king or crown influence, judgeships, and garters; secondly, constitution, or fees to the lawyer, places to the statesman, laws for the rich, and game laws for the poor; thirdly, church, or livings for our younger sons, and starvings for their curates!" "ha, ha!" said brandon, laughing sardonically; "we know human nature!" "and how it may be gulled!" quoth the courtier. "here's a health to your niece; and may it not be long before you hail her as your friend's bride!" "bride, et cetera," said brandon, with a sneer meant only for his own satisfaction. "but mark me, my dear lord, do not be too sure of her. she is a singular girl, and of more independence than the generality of women. she will not think of your rank and station in estimating you; she will think only of their owner; and pardon me if i suggest to you, who know the sex so well, one plan that it may not be unadvisable for you to pursue. don't let her fancy you entirely hers; rouse her jealousy, pique her pride, let her think you unconquerable, and unless she is unlike all women, she will want to conquer you." the earl smiled. "i must take my chance!" said he, with a confident tone. "the hoary coxcomb!" muttered brandon, between his teeth; "now will his folly spoil all." "and that reminds me," continued mauleverer, "that time wanes, and dinner is not over; let us not hurry, but let us be silent, to enjoy the more. these truffles in champagne,--do taste them; they would raise the dead." the lawyer smiled, and accepted the kindness, though he left the delicacy untouched; and mauleverer, whose soul was in his plate, saw not the heartless rejection. meanwhile the youthful beauty had already entered the theatre of pleasure, and was now seated with the squire at the upper end of the half-filled ball-room. a gay lady of the fashion at that time, and of that half and half rank to which belonged the aristocracy of bath,--one of those curious persons we meet with in the admirable novels of miss burney, as appertaining to the order of fine ladies,--made the trio with our heiress and her father, and pointed out to them by name the various characters that entered the apartments. she was still in the full tide of scandal, when an unusual sensation was visible in the environs of the door; three strangers of marked mien, gay dress, and an air which, though differing in each, was in all alike remarkable for a sort of "dashing" assurance, made their _entree_. one was of uncommon height, and possessed of an exceedingly fine head of hair; another was of a more quiet and unpretending aspect, but nevertheless he wore upon his face a supercilious yet not ill- humoured expression; the third was many years younger than his companions, strikingly handsome in face and figure, altogether of a better taste in dress, and possessing a manner that, though it had equal ease, was not equally noticeable for impudence and swagger. "who can those be?" said lucy's female friend, in a wondering tone. "i never saw them before,--they must be great people,--they have all the airs of persons of quality! dear, how odd that i should not know them!" while the good lady, who, like all good ladies of that stamp, thought people of quality had airs, was thus lamenting her ignorance of the new-comers, a general whisper of a similar import was already circulating round the room, "who are they?" and the universal answer was, "can't tell,--never saw them before!" our strangers seemed by no means displeased with the evident and immediate impression they had made. they stood in the most conspicuous part of the room, enjoying among themselves a low conversation, frequently broken by fits of laughter,--tokens, we need not add, of their supereminently good breeding. the handsome figure of the youngest stranger, and the simple and seemingly unconscious grace of his attitudes were not, however, unworthy of the admiration he excited; and even his laughter, rude as it really was, displayed so dazzling a set of teeth, and was accompanied by such brilliant eyes, that before he had been ten minutes in the room there was scarcely a young lady under thirty-nine not disposed to fall in love with him. apparently heedless of the various remarks which reached their ears, our strangers, after they had from their station sufficiently surveyed the beauties of the ball, strolled arm-in-arm through the rooms. having sauntered through the ball and card rooms, they passed the door that led to the entrance passage, and gazed, with other loiterers, upon the new-comers ascending the stairs. here the two younger strangers renewed their whispered conversation, while the eldest, who was also the tallest one, carelessly leaning against the wall, employed himself for a few moments in thrusting his fingers through his hair. in finishing this occupation, the peculiar state of his rules forced itself upon the observation of our gentleman, who, after gazing for some moments on an envious rent in the right ruffle, muttered some indistinct words, like "the cock of that confounded pistol," and then tucked up the mutilated ornament with a peculiarly nimble motion of the fingers of his left hand; the next moment, diverted by a new care, the stranger applied his digital members to the arranging and caressing of a remarkably splendid brooch, set in the bosom of a shirt the rude texture of which formed a singular contrast with the magnificence of the embellishment and the fineness of the one ruffle suffered by our modern hyperion to make its appearance beneath his cinnamon-coloured coatsleeve. these little personal arrangements completed, and a dazzling snuff-box released from the confinement of a side-pocket, tapped thrice, and lightened of two pinches of its titillating luxury, the stranger now, with the guardian eye of friendship, directed a searching glance to the dress of his friends. there all appeared meet for his strictest scrutiny, save, indeed, that the supercilious-looking stranger having just drawn forth his gloves, the lining of his coat-pocket which was rather soiled into the bargain--had not returned to its internal station; the tall stranger, seeing this little inelegance, kindly thrust three fingers with a sudden and light dive into his friend's pocket, and effectually repulsed the forwardness of the intrusive lining. the supercilious stranger no sooner felt the touch than he started back, and whispered to his officious companion,-- "what! among friends, ned! fie now; curb the nature of thee for one night at least." before he of the flowing locks had time to answer, the master of the ceremonies, who had for the last three minutes been eying the strangers through his glass, stepped forward with a sliding bow; and the handsome gentleman, taking upon himself the superiority and precedence over his comrades, was the first to return the courtesy. he did this with so good a grace and so pleasing an expression of countenance that the censor of bows was charmed at once, and with a second and more profound salutation announced himself and his office. "you would like to dance probably, gentlemen?" he asked, glancing at each, but directing his words to the one who had prepossessed him. "you are very good," said the comely stranger; "and, for my part, i shall be extremely indebted to you for the exercise of your powers in my behalf. allow me to return with you to the ball-room, and i can there point out to you the objects of my especial admiration." the master of the ceremonies bowed as before, and he and his new acquaintance strolled into the ball-room, followed by the two comrades of the latter. "have you been long in bath, sir?" inquired the monarch of the rooms. "no, indeed! we only arrived this evening." "from london?" "no; we made a little tour across the country." "ah! very pleasant, this fine weather." "yes; especially in the evenings." "oho! romantic!" thought the man of balls, as he rejoined aloud, "why, the nights are agreeable, and the moon is particularly favourable to us." "not always!" quoth the stranger. "true, true, the night before last was dark; but, in general, surely the moon has been very bright." the stranger was about to answer, but checked himself, and simply bowed his head as in assent. "i wonder who they are!" thought the master of the ceremonies. "pray, sir," said he, in a low tone, "is that gentle man, that tall gentleman, any way related to lord ----------? i cannot but think i see a family likeness." "not in the least related to his lordship," answered the stranger; "but he is of a family that have made a noise in the world; though he, as well as my other friend, is merely a commoner!" laying a stress on the last word. "nothing, sir, can be more respectable than a commoner of family," returned the polite mr. -------, with a bow. "i agree with you, sir," answered the stranger, with another. "but, heavens!"--and the stranger started; for at that moment his eye caught for the first time, at the far end of the room, the youthful and brilliant countenance of lucy brandon,--"do i see rightly, or is that miss brandon?" "it is indeed that lovely young lady," said mr. -------. "i congratulate you on knowing one so admired. i suppose that you, being blessed with her acquaintance, do not need the formality of my introduction?" "umph!" said the stranger, rather shortly and uncourteously. "no! perhaps you had better present me!" "by what name shall i have that honour, sir?" discreetly inquired the nomenclator. "clifford!" answered the stranger; "captain clifford!" upon this the prim master of the ceremonies, threading his path through the now fast- filling room, approached towards lucy to obey mr. clifford's request. meanwhile that gentleman, before he followed the steps of the tutelary spirit of the place, paused and said to his friends, in a tone careless yet not without command, "hark ye, gentlemen; oblige me by being as civil and silent as ye are able; and don't thrust yourselves upon me, as you are accustomed to do, whenever you see no opportunity of indulging me with that honour with the least show of propriety!" so saying, and waiting no reply, mr. clifford hastened after the master of the ceremonies. "our friend grows mighty imperious!" said long ned, whom our readers have already recognized in the tall stranger. "'t is the way with your rising geniuses," answered the moralizing augustus tomlinson. "suppose we go to the cardroom and get up a rubber!" "well thought of," said ned, yawning,--a thing he was very apt to do in society; "and i wish nothing worse to those who try our rubbers than that they may be well cleaned by them." upon this witticism the colossus of roads, glancing towards the glass, strutted off, arm-in-arm with his companion, to the card-room. during this short conversation the re-introduction of mr. clifford (the stranger of the rectory and deliverer of dr. slopperton) to lucy brandon had been effected, and the hand of the heiress was already engaged, according to the custom of that time, for the two ensuing dances. it was about twenty minutes after the above presentation had taken place that lord mauleverer and william brandon entered the rooms; and the buzz created by the appearance of the noted peer and the distinguished lawyer had scarcely subsided, before the royal personage expected to grace the "festive scene" (as the newspapers say of a great room with plenty of miserable-looking people in it) arrived. the most attractive persons in europe may be found among the royal family of england, and the great personage then at bath, in consequence of certain political intrigues, wished, at that time especially, to make himself as popular as possible. having gone the round of the old ladies, and assured them, as the "court journal" assures the old ladies at this day, that they were "morning stars" and "swan-like wonders," the prince espied brandon, and immediately beckoned to him with a familiar gesture. the smooth but saturnine lawyer approached the royal presence with the manner that peculiarly distinguished him, and which blended in no ungraceful mixture a species of stiffness that passed with the crowd for native independence, with a supple insinuation that was usually deemed the token of latent benevolence of heart. there was something, indeed, in brandon's address that always pleased the great; and they liked him the better because, though he stood on no idle political points, mere differences in the view taken of a hairbreadth,--such as a corn-law or a catholic bill, alteration in the church or a reform in parliament,--yet he invariably talked so like a man of honour (except when with mauleverer) that his urbanity seemed attachment to individuals, and his concessions to power sacrifices of private opinion for the sake of obliging his friends. "i am very glad indeed," said the royal personage, "to see mr. brandon looking so much better. never was the crown in greater want of his services; and if rumour speak true, they will soon be required in another department of his profession." brandon bowed, and answered,-- "so please your royal highness, they will always be at the command of a king from whore i have experienced such kindness, in any capacity for which his majesty may deem them fitting." "it is true, then!" said his royal highness, significantly. "i congratulate you! the quiet dignity of the bench must seem to you a great change after a career so busy and restless." "i fear i shall feel it so at first, your royal highness," answered brandon, "for i like even the toil of my profession; and at this moment, when i am in full practice, it more than ever--but" (checking himself at once) "his majesty's wishes, and my satisfaction in complying with them, are more than sufficient to remove any momentary regret i might otherwise have felt in quitting those toils which have now become to me a second nature." "it is possible," rejoined the prince, "that his majesty took into consideration the delicate state of health which, in common with the whole public, i grieve to see the papers have attributed to one of the most distinguished ornaments of the bar." "so please your royal highness," answered brandon, coolly, and with a smile which the most piercing eye could not have believed the mask to the agony then gnawing at his nerves, "it is the interest of my rivals to exaggerate the little ailments of a weak constitution. i thank providence that i am now entirely recovered; and at no time of my life have i been less unable to discharge--so far as my native and mental, incapacities will allow--the duties of any occupation, however arduous. nay, as the brute grows accustomed to the mill, so have i grown wedded to business; and even the brief relaxation i have now allowed myself seems to me rather irksome than pleasurable." "i rejoice to hear you speak thus," answered his royal highness, warmly; "and i trust for many years, and," added he, in a lower tone, "in the highest chamber of the senate, that we may profit by your talents. the times are those in which many occasions occur that oblige all true friends of the constitution to quit minor employment for that great constitutional one that concerns us all, the highest and the meanest; and" (the royal voice sank still lower) "i feel justified in assuring you that the office of chief-justice alone is not considered by his majesty as a sufficient reward for your generous sacrifice of present ambition to the difficulties of government." brandon's proud heart swelled, and that moment the veriest pains of hell would scarcely have been felt. while the aspiring schemer was thus agreeably engaged, mauleverer, sliding through the crowd with that grace which charmed every one, old and young, and addressing to all he knew some lively or affectionate remark, made his way to the dancers, among whom he had just caught a glimpse of lucy. "i wonder," he thought, "whom she is dancing with. i hope it is that ridiculous fellow, mossop, who tells a good story against himself; or that handsome ass, belmont, who looks at his own legs, instead of seeming to have eyes for no one but his partner. ah! if tarquin had but known women as well as i do, he would have had no reason to be rough with lucretia. 't is a thousand pities that experience comes, in women as in the world, just when it begins to be no longer of use to us!" as he made these moral reflections, mauleverer gained the dancers, and beheld lucy listening, with downcast eyes and cheeks that evidently blushed, to a young man whom mauleverer acknowledged at once to be one of the best-looking fellows he had ever seen. the stranger's countenance, despite an extreme darkness of complexion, was, to be sure, from the great regularity of the features, rather effeminate; but, on the other hand, his figure, though slender and graceful, betrayed to an experienced eye an extraordinary proportion of sinew and muscle; and even the dash of effeminacy in the countenance was accompanied by so manly and frank an air, and was so perfectly free from all coxcombry or self-conceit, that it did not in the least decrease the prepossessing effect of his appearance. an angry and bitter pang shot across that portion of mauleverer's frame which the earl thought fit, for want of another name, to call his heart. "how cursedly pleased she looks!" muttered he. "by heaven! that stolen glance under the left eyelid, dropped as suddenly as it is raised; and he--ha! how firmly he holds that little hand! i think i see him paddle with it; and then the dog's earnest, intent look,--and she all blushes, though she dare not look up to meet his gaze, feeling it by intuition. oh, the demure, modest, shamefaced hypocrite! how silent she is! she can prate enough to me! i would give my promised garter if she would but talk to him. talk, talk, laugh, prattle, only simper, in god's name, and i shall be happy. but that bashful, blushing silence,-- it is insupportable. thank heaven, the dance is over! thank heaven, again! i have not felt such pains since the last nightmare i had after dining with her father!" with a face all smiles, but with a mien in which more dignity than he ordinarily assumed was worn, mauleverer now moved towards lucy, who was leaning on her partner's arm. the earl, who had ample tact where his consummate selfishness did not warp it, knew well how to act the lover, without running ridiculously into the folly of seeming to play the hoary dangler. he sought rather to be lively than sentimental; and beneath the wit to conceal the suitor. having paid, then, with a careless gallantry his first compliments, he entered into so animated a conversation, interspersed with so many naive yet palpably just observations on the characters present, that perhaps he had never appeared to more brilliant advantage. at length, as the music was about to recommence, mauleverer, with a careless glance at lucy's partner, said, "will miss brandon now allow me the agreeable duty of conducting her to her father?" "i believe," answered lucy, and her voice suddenly became timid, "that, according to the laws of the rooms, i am engaged to this gentleman for another dance." clifford, in an assured and easy tone, replied in assent. as he spoke. mauleverer honoured him with a more accurate survey than he had hitherto bestowed on him; and whether or not there was any expression of contempt or superciliousness in the survey, it was sufficient to call up the indignant blood to clifford's cheek. returning the look with interest, he said to lucy, "i believe, miss brandon, that the dance is about to begin;" and lucy, obeying the hint, left the aristocratic mauleverer to his own meditations. at that moment the master of the ceremonies came bowing by, half afraid to address so great a person as mauleverer, but willing to show his respect by the profoundness of his salutation. "aha! my dear mr. -------!" said the earl, holding out both his hands to the lycurgus of the rooms; "how are you? pray can you inform me who that young man is, now dancing with miss brandon?" "it is--let me see-oh! it is a captain clifford, my lord! a very fine young man, my lord! has your lordship never met him?" "never! who is he? one under your more especial patronage?" said the earl, smiling. "nay, indeed!" answered the master of the ceremonies, with a simper of gratification; "i scarcely know who he is yet; the captain only made his appearance here to-night for the first time. he came with two other gentlemen,--ah! there they are!" and he pointed the earl's scrutinizing attention to the elegant forms of mr. augustus tomlinson and mr. ned pepper, just emerging from the card-rooms. the swagger of the latter gentleman was so peculiarly important that mauleverer, angry as he was, could scarcely help laughing. the master of the ceremonies noted the earl's countenance, and remarked that "that fine-looking man seemed disposed to give himself airs." "judging from the gentleman's appearance," said the earl, dryly (ned's face, to say truth, did betoken his affection for the bottle), "i should imagine that he was much more accustomed to give himself thorough draughts!" "ah!" renewed the arbiter elegantiarum, who had not heard mauleverer's observation, which was uttered in a very low voice,--"ah! they seem real dashers!" "dashers!" repeated mauleverer; "true, haberdashers!" long ned now, having in the way of his profession acquitted himself tolerably well at the card-table, thought he had purchased the right to parade himself through the rooms, and show the ladies what stuff a pepper could be made of. leaning with his left hand on tomlinson's arm, and employing the right in fanning himself furiously with his huge chapeau bras, the lengthy adventurer stalked slowly along, now setting out one leg jauntily, now the other, and ogling "the ladies" with a kind of irish look,--namely, a look between a wink and a stare. released from the presence of clifford, who kept a certain check on his companions, the apparition of ned became glaringly conspicuous; and wherever he passed, a universal whisper succeeded. "who can he be?" said the widow matemore. "'t is a droll creature; but what a head of hair!" "for my part," answered the spinster sneerall, "i think he is a linen- draper in disguise; for i heard him talk to his companion of 'tape.'" "well, well," thought mauleverer, "it would be but kind to seek out brandon, and hint to him in what company his niece seems to have fallen!" and so thinking, he glided to the corner where, with a gray-headed old politician, the astute lawyer was conning the affairs of europe. in the interim the second dance had ended, and clifford was conducting lucy to her seat, each charmed with the other, when he found himself abruptly tapped on the back, and turning round in alarm,--for such taps were not unfamiliar to him,--he saw the cool countenance of long ned, with one finger sagaciously laid beside the nose. "how now?" said clifford, between his ground teeth; "did i not tell thee to put that huge bulk of thine as far from me as possible?" "humph!" granted ned; "if these are my thanks, i may as well keep my kindness to myself; but know you, my kid, that lawyer brandon is here, peering through the crowd at this very moment, in order to catch a glimpse of that woman's face of thine." "ha!" answered clifford, in a very quick tone; "begone, then! i will meet you without the rooms immediately." clifford now turned to his partner, and bowing very low, in reality to hide his face from those sharp eyes which had once seen it in the court of justice burnflat, said: "i trust, madam, i shall have the honour to meet you again. is it, if i may be allowed to ask, with your celebrated uncle that you are staying, or--" "with my father," answered lucy, concluding the sentence clifford had left unfinished; "but my uncle has been with us, though i fear he leaves us to-morrow." clifford's eyes sparkled; he made no answer, but bowing again, receded into the crowd and disappeared. several times that night did the brightest eyes in somersetshire rove anxiously round the rooms in search of our hero; but he was seen no more. it was on the stairs that clifford encountered his comrades; taking an arm of each, he gained the door without any adventure worth noting, save that, being kept back by the crowd for a few moments, the moralizing augustus tomlinson, who honoured the moderate whigs by enrolling himself among their number, took up, _pour passer le temps_, a tall gold-headed cane, and weighing it across his finger with a musing air, said, "alas! among our supporters we often meet heads as heavy, but of what a different metal!" the crowd now permitting, augustus was walking away with his companions, and, in that absence of mind characteristic of philosophers, unconsciously bearing with him the gold-headed object of his reflection, when a stately footman, stepping up to him, said, "sir, my cane!" "cane, fellow!" said tomlinson. "ah, i am so absent! here is thy cane. only think of my carrying off the man's cane, ned! ha, ha!" "absent indeed!" grunted a knowing chairman, watching the receding figures of the three gentlemen; "body o' me! but it was the cane that was about to be absent!" [illustration: "i'm hit! good night!"] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ grace harlowe's overland riders in the high sierras _by_ jessie graham flower, a. m. _illustrated_ the saalfield publishing company akron, ohio new york made in u. s. a. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ copyright mcmxxiii _by_ the saalfield publishing company ------------------------------------------------------------------------ contents chapter i--old friends get together overlanders plan for their summer's vacation in the saddle. emma dean "dotes on mysteries." hippy wingate gets a hard blow. stacy amazes his new friends by his dramatic entrance. shots and yells startle the overland riders. chapter ii--an interrupted sleep the traveling salesman entertains his fellow passengers with tales of wrecks and hold-ups. chunky makes the passengers laugh. emma dean has an attack of "nerves." sheriff ford is suspicious. the "red limited" comes to a jolting stop. "robbers!" screams a woman. chapter iii--the hold-up of the red limited an ominous silence settles over the transcontinental express. the sheriff calls for volunteers to drive off the train bandits. overland girls offer their services. the treasure car cut off. stacy, in his pajamas, joins the defenders. chapter iv--in a lively skirmish "dynamite!" exclaims sheriff ford. defenders give battle. stacy brown shoots and talks. hippy goes on a desperate mission. bandit guards are outwitted. lieutenant wingate caught in a tight place. "i know you!" yells the overland rider. chapter v--on the trail of the missing sheriff ford starts a search for lieutenant wingate. a clue at last. "captured by the bandits!" exclaims tom gray. chunky helps himself to a plum pudding. "suffering cats! you're it!" chapter vi--chunky meets the bandits the fat boy stampedes the outlaws' horses. "oh, wow! i've lost my biscuit." a pony that knew the way. "i suppose i emptied twelve saddles," boasts stacy. shots arouse the sheriff's camp. "lie low, everybody!" chapter vii--bandits catch a tartar lieutenant wingate, unconscious, is carried away on a pony's back. a cruel blow. a pin-prick saves the day. the escape of the overland captive. "cease firing! it's hippy!" the traveling salesman in a new rôle. chapter viii--headed for the high country woo smith joins the overland outfit. stacy declares that his pony can climb a tree. "i want food!" is the fat boy's plaint. the overlanders are introduced to a "kyack." packs are "thrown" and the journey to the sierras is begun. chapter ix--their slumbers disturbed "all aboard for the high sierras!" the chinaman proves to be a rare find. "you leave it to smith," advises hippy. stories of rattlesnakes in campers' blankets set the overland girls' nerves on edge. woo savvies "transmigration." chapter x--"boots and saddles" the overland camp in an uproar. "snakes! oh, wow!" howls the fat boy. "me savvy somebody pull queue," wails woo smith. the dark mystery is finally solved. stacy brown proves to be an unwilling "wrangler." chapter xi--ponies get a bad fright hippy uses a pea-shooter with disastrous results. the fat boy awakens in a wild rose bush. suspicion becomes a certainty. overlanders make a perilous descent. "the ponies are stampeding!" shouts lieutenant wingate. chapter xii--amid the giant sequoias "look! oh, look," cries emma dean. lieutenant wingate shoots a cinnamon bear. "uncle hippy never misses what he hits." stopped by a rattler. tom gray lost in the great forest. watched over by trees centuries old. chapter xiii--the camp at the "lazy j" a surprise in the high sierras. overland riders entertained at a mountain ranch. stacy tries to shoe a horse. the white mare gets into action. warned against the high country. "keep away from the 'crazy lake' section," advises the foreman. chapter xiv--woo's eyes are keen the chinaman sights a "buck in lelet." hippy misses a "sure shot." "why don't you use a pea-shooter?" jeers stacy. a rifle that had been tampered with. "i--i just wanted to get even with you." a shot that reached the mark. chapter xv--following the aerial trail the overland riders enjoy a venison dinner. elfreda briggs is reminded of coney island. crossing a perilous mountain ridge. emma dean is afraid and doesn't care who knows it. the white mare meets with sudden disaster. chapter xvi--going to bed in the clouds kitty gives her masters a perilous job. stacy offers to get a derrick. a scene to be remembered. getting up in the world. tom gray makes up the overlanders' beds with a pick. stacy objects to being buried so soon after supper. chapter xvii--in the land of pink snows woo loses a "piecee kettle" over the brink. the campfire disappears in the clouds. camping in the valley of the blue lupines. a trail that was difficult to find. elfreda becomes suddenly light-headed. chapter xviii--at the "top of the world" the mystery of the "pink snows" is finally solved by tom. a snowball battle above the clouds. on the peak of the high sierras. the overland riders go to sleep in a snowbank. "girls, this is an ideal summer resort." chapter xix--bowling in nature's alley hippy wingate gives his companions a delightful surprise. the overlanders withdraw their threat to throw him off the mountain. a mysterious lake is discovered. emma dean scores a hit. bullets stop the highest bowling game on record. chapter xx--lead and mystery in the air overland riders suddenly find themselves under fire. stacy "creeps" to safety. "get up and walk, you tenderfoot!" the aerial lake lives up to its reputation. woo smith savvies trouble. "discovered!" exclaims hippy. chapter xxi--the face in the waters the guide informs the overlanders that a woman has been spying on the camp. stacy feels like a snowbird. prowlers leave a trail. lieutenant wingate meets with an unpleasant surprise. the pool of the mountain trout and what grace harlowe saw there. chapter xxii--the mystery of aerial lake grace harlowe flees from a hideous face. the overland girls are eager to solve the mountain mystery. stacy brown discovers an "ark" and goes out for a sail. the fat boy mysteriously missing. woo consults the skies. the lost boy returns with an appetite. chapter xxiii--the lair of the bad men chunky laughs at his companions' distress. lieutenant wingate invites his nephew out for a "paddle." stacy makes an important discovery. plunder found in the bandits' cave. the log that was chained down. bullets drive the overlanders from their quest. chapter xxiv--making a last stand the overland riders are fired on by the mountain ruffians. imprisoned by dynamite in the robbers' cave. a battle that came to a sudden end. sheriff ford to the rescue. mother jones' career is ended. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ grace harlowe's overland riders in the high sierras chapter i old friends get together "who is this stacy brown that you girls are speaking of?" questioned emma dean as the overland girls sat down to dinner in grace harlowe's hospitable haven home. "he is my hippy's nephew," nora wingate informed her. "you will like 'chunky,' as he is known to his friends, and i promise you that he will keep this outfit from getting lonely," added nora laughingly. "he was one of the members of the pony rider boys' outfit," volunteered grace. "you know we have heard of them several times on our journeyings. they used to go out in search of adventure every summer, so stacy is a seasoned campaigner. we shall need him where we are going, too." "by the way, where are we going, grace?" spoke up elfreda briggs. "i believe our destination is to be in the nature of a surprise--a mystery, as it were." "i just dote on mysteries," bubbled emma. "of course i could have learned all about it had i not been too conscientious." "that is characteristic of your sex," replied hippy wingate soberly. "may i ask you how you could have found out?" "i thank you for the compliment, and regret exceedingly that i cannot return the compliment in kind. how could i have found out? why, by the transmigration of thought." "the what?" cried elfreda laughingly. "is this some new freak, emma dean?" "it may be new with me, but the principle is as old as the ages. i belong to the society for the promotion of thought transmigration. our great and most worthy master lives in benares, india, where numbers of the faithful journey for instruction and inspiration once every two years." "do you mean to say that you belong to that fool outfit?" wondered hippy. "i am happy to say that i do. i joined last winter, and, novice that i am, i have realized some remarkable results," replied emma. "nora, we ought to take her to a specialist before we start on our journey. it won't do to have a crazy person with us. she might get us into no end of trouble," suggested hippy. "humph! i'd much prefer to be crazy than to have a bungalow head," retorted emma scornfully. "a bungalow head?" exclaimed the girls. "yes. a bungalow has no upper story, you know." "ouch!" cried hippy wingate, clapping both hands to his head. "now that our sage of india has spoken, suppose grace and tom enlighten us as to where we are going this summer. in view of the fact that this is my treat--that i have offered to pay the expenses of the overland riders on this journey--it might not be inappropriate for me to inquire where we are going. elfreda's question in that direction is as yet unanswered." tom gray nodded to his wife. "i had intended to wait until stacy brown arrived, but as he is not a member of our little organization, there is no reason why our business matters should be discussed with him," said grace. "dear friends, we are going to the high sierras, the great snow-clad peaks of the far west. adventure, hardship and health are awaiting us there. it will be a long journey before we reach the beginning of our real objective, but i believe you folks will agree with me that the preliminary journey is well worth while." "you say that hippy is paying the bills?" interjected emma. "he has so said. however, tom will not have it that way, so we have agreed that tom and hippy shall share equally in the expense of the journey. both feel quite rich now since they cleaned up on their big lumber deal in the north woods," replied grace. elfreda said that such an arrangement would not please her at all, declaring that she would pay her own expenses. "you have nothing to say about it," laughed tom. "the subject is closed. so far as our having stacy brown as our guest, is concerned, you all agreed to that when grace wrote to you about his wish to join us on our summer outing. are you still of the same mind?" "yes," answered the girls in chorus. "what about a guide? is that arranged for?" asked miss briggs. "not yet," answered grace. "we thought we would leave that until we reached our destination. oh, girls, i have some of the loveliest trips in mind for several seasons ahead, but i'm not going to tell you a word about them now. in the meantime, anyone that has a suggestion to offer will please offer it." "i have no suggestions to offer, but i should like to ask further light on this new dope that emma dean has sprung on us. what is it, and how does it work?" asked hippy. "if you won't make fun of me i'll tell you," replied emma. "the transmigration of thought is 'tuning-in' one's mind to receive messages from the mind of another person, just as a wireless operator 'tunes-in' his instrument to catch the message being sent by another operator far away. in other words, persons so attuned to each other may converse, read each other's thoughts and hold communion, even though separated by thousands of miles of sea or land or both." "marvelous!" breathed hippy. "for instance, please tune-in your mind and tell me what i am thinking about. let's see you do that, if you can," he declared triumphantly. "our minds never could be in perfect accord, theophilus wingate. we are as far apart as the poles, but our range being so short, i can easily tell you what you are thinking about. not being a deep thinker, you are as transparent as a piece of clear crystal." "emma, don't you say that about my hippy," protested nora indignantly. "my hippy has a mind as big as his heart, and--" "you are thinking," interjected emma gravely, "what a shallow little butterfly i am, but what you do not know is that that thought is merely the reflection of your own mentality. you are, in other words, seeing yourself as others see you, hippy wingate." a peal of laughter from the overland girls greeted emma's retort. hippy flushed, then joined in the laughter. "this is so sudden," he murmured. "i'll tell you what you do. wait until stacy arrives, then you just practice your transmigration stuff on him. stacy will make a wonderful subject for you. he is so temperamental, so spiritual, that i am positive you and he will get wonderful results." hippy winked at nora as he said it. none of the others had ever seen stacy brown, so they had not the least idea what was in store for them from the comedian of the pony rider boys' outfit. stacy was an old campaigner, however, and hippy knew that he would prove a valuable member of their party on the ride into the high sierras. stacy knew the open, and with his companions had experienced many exciting adventures in the wilder parts of the country. the overland riders, too, had had their full share of thrilling adventure, first as members of the overton college unit in france during the great war, where hippy wingate had won honors as a fighting air pilot, and tom gray at the front as a captain of engineers. however, they had a new phase of excitement to experience in "chunky" brown, and the first of those experiences was near at hand. a shot suddenly broke the summer stillness of haven home, a shot that brought the overland riders to their feet. "_bang, bang, bang!_" "merciful heaven! are we attacked?" cried elfreda briggs. "whoop! yeo-o-o-o-o-w!" three more shots were fired, followed by a succession of startling whoops and yells. "what does it mean? i'm afraid!" cried emma. the overlanders ran out of the dining room to the veranda, but no one was in sight. "chunky has arrived. don't be afraid, girls," laughed hippy wingate. "he is on the other side of the house. there he comes!" a short, fat young fellow, riding a gray bronco and perched high on his saddle, at this juncture dashed around the end of the house, firing two shots into the air as he passed the amazed group. just as he swept past, his sombrero fell off, but chunky did not stop. in a minute or two he was back, and, making a graceful dip from the saddle, reached down for the hat. as he did so, the pony swerved and stacy brown landed on the grass of haven home, flopped over on his back, and after a few dazed seconds got up and shook himself. stacy made a low bow to the spectators gathered on the veranda. "oh, my dear, my dear! are you hurt?" begged nora, running to him. "hurt? of course not. i always fall off before dinner. it puts a keen edge on my appetite. hulloa, folks! glad to meet ye. hey, bismarck! come here," he ordered. his dusty gray pony trotted to him and nosed stacy's cheek affectionately. "got anything loose around the house? i'm half starved," urged chunky. "uncle hip, introduce me to these beautiful young ladies. i've heard of you folks, and so has bismarck. you'll find him right friendly, especially the front end of him, but i shouldn't advise you to get too close to the tail end. he is very light there. let him browse in the yard while i feed the inner man." "indeed not," objected grace. "i am not going to have my flowers trampled down after all my hard work on them this spring. tom, please lead stacy's pony around to the stables. i will put something on the table for you at once, stacy. come right in. we were just finishing dinner when you arrived so violently. oh! pardon me. you haven't yet been introduced to the girls." "thanks!" bowed stacy. "thanks for the invitation, but come to think of it don't introduce me until after dinner. i never like to meet strangers on an empty stomach." "this is miss elfreda briggs, a rising young lawyeress, and here is the life of our overland party, miss emma dean. we address each other by our first names, so you may call her emma. come now, stacy." "you're a funny fellow, aren't you?" said emma, surveying the newcomer curiously as they walked towards the house. "then we are a pair of 'em, eh?" chuckled the fat boy. "i am not a boy, thank my lucky stars and all the saints," objected emma. "i'll have you understand that, sir." "let the dove of peace rest over your touchy spirit, emma," laughed grace chidingly. "it isn't a dove. it's a crow," corrected chunky. "a thousand pardons, emma dear. i--" "i'm not your dear," answered emma with considerable heat. "yes, you are, but you don't know it. to realize it you will have to emerge from the unconscious state in which you now so sweetly repose," teased stacy, amid the laughter of the others. "i should prefer to be unconscious all the time," flung back emma. "ah! the food does smell good. food always has a strange effect on me, and really, i haven't smelled any in almost a thousand years--not since breakfast this morning. by the way, where do we go and when do we start?" "to the sierras," answered tom gray. "how are you, chunky?" he added, extending a hand. "starved. how's yourself?" "i think after we go back to the dining room and after i have my dessert that i shall feel fit as a fiddle," replied tom. "to answer the rest of your question, we expect to start tomorrow forenoon. the ponies will be shipped in a car that is now on the siding at oakdale." "girls, what do you think of my nephew?" cried hippy jovially, as they again seated themselves at the table. "so far as i am concerned, i think that he is another of those bungalow fellows just like yourself, hippy," answered emma. "mr. brown, may i ask if you ever have had any experience with mental transmigration?" she asked, turning to chunky. chunky, his mouth full of food, surveyed her solemnly. "uh-huh!" he replied thickly. "i met one of those animals once in the rocky mountains. you see it was this way. we had been riding far into the night to find a suitable camping place, when we were suddenly halted by a savage growl just ahead of us. i went on ahead, with my trusty rifle ready, to slay the beast whatever it might be. suddenly i saw him. he was the most terrible looking object that i've ever come up with in all my mountain experience. i threw up my rifle and shot the beast dead in his tracks." "wonderful!" breathed emma. "but what has that to do with mental transmigration?" "i'm coming to that. it is wonderful--i mean it was. will you believe it, that terrible beast came to life. yes, sir, he rose right up and made for us. my pony bolted, and i fell off--just as i ordinarily do before meal time. my feet at the moment chanced to be out of the stirrups and i fell off. well, i might have been killed--i surely would have been killed, but i wasn't, just because of that stunt that you mentioned. i transmigrated myself out of that vicinity with a speed that left that terrible object so far behind that he just lay down and died again," finished stacy brown solemnly, amid shouts of laughter, in which all but emma dean joined. stacy gave her a quick sidelong glance, and hippy wingate, observing the look, knew that war had been declared between stacy brown and emma dean. chapter ii an interrupted sleep "right at this point," said the traveling salesman impressively, "a train left the track and plunged into that ravine down there." "any loss of life?" questioned tom gray. "a great many. i was in that wreck myself. i was shaken up a bit, that's all. you see i know how to take care of myself. we commercial travelers have to or we should soon be out of business. nearly the whole train went into that ravine, and the car in which i was riding stood on end. i clung to the air-brake cord and thus was miraculously saved." "humph!" muttered stacy, hunching his fat shoulders forward. "you don't look to be light enough to perch on an air-brake cord." the overland girls glanced amusedly at chunky and the traveling salesman. the entire party was enjoying the late afternoon mountain air from the rear platform of the observation car on the transcontinental train known as the red limited. just inside the door sat other passengers, who had been enjoying the frequent passages-at-arms between stacy brown and emma dean. the train had been rumbling over bridges and lurching through narrow cuts, affording the passengers brief views of a swiftly moving scenic panorama of interest and attractiveness. "as i was saying, the rope, in all probability, saved my life, as i was the only person in the car that came out alive," continued the traveling salesman. "i'm in ladies' fine shoes, you know." stacy and emma regarded the speaker's large feet, glanced at each other and grinned. "i'll bet you couldn't transmigrate them," whispered the fat boy. emma elevated her nose, but made no reply to the trivial remark. "i mean that i am selling ladies' fine shoes, young man," added the salesman, he having observed the fat boy's grin. "my card." he passed business cards to those nearest to him, and from them the overlanders learned that he was william sylvester holmes, traveling for a denver shoe firm. "my trade call me 'bill,'" he explained. "hello, bill!" muttered hippy, nudging nora. "may i ask what car you were in?" questioned a tall, bronzed passenger in a mild, apologetic voice. "the same as this one." "hm-m-m! that's odd. i do not recall having seen you. however, i was in the other end of the car, which perhaps accounts for it," said the stranger in a more humble voice. william sylvester flushed. instead of being overcome, however, he shifted his conversation to another train wreck that he said had occurred a few miles further on at a place called summit. the faces of the overland riders expanded into discreet smiles at the mild way in which the tall man had rebuked the loquacious traveler. grace and elfreda, in particular, found themselves much interested in this big man. grace asked a fellow passenger who the man was, and learned that he was bill ford, for some years sheriff of sonora county. ford had been observing the traveling salesman through mild blue eyes in which there appeared an expression of more than casual interest. "it was that summit wreck that nearly did me up," resumed holmes. "we went over an embankment there. being in a berth in a sleeping car i was unable to grab hold of anything. the car played football with me, but i came off with nothing more serious than a broken arm. oh, i have had my experiences! were you in that wreck, too?" he asked, turning quickly to the sheriff. "never heard of it," answered ford carelessly. "all that saved us was the fact that the cars were made of steel. we'll pass summit within the hour, and i'll show you where we went off the rails that time." "tell us about something that happened when the train didn't leave the rails," urged stacy. "with pleasure. i remember, some two years ago--it was this very train, i do believe--when a party of bandits held up a train on this line. that occurred between summit and gardner. they uncoupled the express car and, after compelling the engineer to haul it up the track a short distance, dynamited the car and robbed it of the treasure it was carrying." "they've been cutting up that same kind of caper quite lately," nodded the sheriff. "di--id they rob the passengers?" stammered emma dean. "in some of the cars, yes. in my car they did not. i held them off with my revolver. i----" "that was very careless of you. why, sir, you might have shot yourself," cried stacy. mr. holmes gave the fat boy a withering glance and resumed his story. "after my display of courage the other passengers got brave, and with their assistance i drove the bandits off. however, i should not advise it. for the average person, the safe course is to sit still and take his medicine. gentlemen, never offer resistance when a gang of bandits orders you to put up your hands, but put them up as fast as you can and let them stay put," he added, fixing his gaze on tom gray who smiled and nodded. "yes, sir," agreed chunky. "that's the way i always do." "were you ever held up?" questioned the salesman. "many times. i put up my hands too, but there was a gun in both of 'em," answered stacy amid much laughter. at this juncture a passenger asked the storyteller to tell them more about the hold-up, which he did without urging. "the train in question was carrying a treasure, just as this one no doubt is. the bandits had obtained information of this fact from a confederate. they were right on the job when the train came along. after stopping the train they placed men at the car door to take up a collection from the passengers. all submitted tamely, as they should have done, except in the car where i was, and--we are approaching summit now. from that point we go down grade for twenty miles or so, then we begin to climb again. we stop at summit." "isn't it terrible, all that banditry. i'm afraid," shivered emma when a little later the party had gone to the dining car for supper. "for one who can transmigrate as well as you can, there should be no fear," suggested hippy. "just transmigrate the bandits to some other train." "i think we should transmigrate ourselves in the event of such a thing occurring," vouchsafed elfreda briggs. sheriff ford came into the dining car shortly after the train had left summit, and nodded at the party in a friendly fashion. "what has become of our story-telling friend, sir?" asked grace. "i saw him go into the smoking car ahead as the train was leaving summit. he sent two telegrams before leaving. this shoe business requires a lot of telegraphing, it appears," added the sheriff dryly. "how do you know it was about shoe business?" demanded stacy. "because i happened to see the last telegram." tom gray eyed the sheriff inquiringly, but the mild blue eyes of mr. ford conveyed nothing to him. after a pleasant evening, during which they saw no more of the traveling salesman, the overland party retired to their berths for sleep. forward, near the express car, rode the overlanders' ponies in as much comfort as is possible to provide for animals en route. at every stop during the day one of the men of the party had run forward to look over the car of "stock," as the riders called their saddle animals. now, however, all were too soundly asleep to think of ponies, and above the rumble of the train might be heard the rasping snores of stacy brown and hippy wingate. it was shortly after one o'clock in the morning when many of the sleepers were awakened by a sudden disconcerting jolt caused by an abrupt application of the air brakes. the train slowly settled down to a slow crawl, the hiss of the air from the brakes being plainly audible to those who had been awakened. the train stopped. nothing of an alarming nature seemed to have occurred, so the nervous passengers again settled down into their blankets, for the night air was chill and penetrating. others lay awake, but there was nothing to hear except the snores which continued without interruption. a few moments of this and then a subdued murmur of voices was heard just ahead of the overlanders' car. a brief period of silence followed the murmur, then a man's voice, agitated and full of alarm, was raised so high that almost every person in the car was awake on the instant. "what is it?" cried a woman's voice from behind berth curtains. "we're held up! the train is held up!" cried the man. "robbers! robbers!" screamed the woman who had asked the question; and a chorus of frightened voices took up the refrain. chapter iii the hold-up of the red limited "take it easy! don't lose your heads. we are safe for the moment," urged a voice that sounded like sheriff ford's. whoever it was, his words brought a measure of quiet to the excited passengers who were shivering in the aisle in scant attire. the passengers then sought their berths again and began dressing, for there would be no more sleep for them that night. outside of the car there was not the slightest indication that anything out of the ordinary was occurring. an ominous stillness enshrouded the scene. some one, more curious than the rest, stepped to the front platform of the sleeping car and, opening the vestibule door, looked out. the overlanders learned later that it was mr. ford. a rifle shot roared out, whereupon the sheriff prudently stepped back and closed the door. several smothered screams were heard, and then silence once more settled over the car. up to the present time not a word had been heard from the overland riders. the curtains of their berths hung motionless, and stacy brown's snores were louder than ever. perhaps they were all asleep, but how that could be possible in the circumstances it would be difficult to understand. the voice of sheriff ford once more focused the attention of the passengers on him. "men," he said, addressing the passengers from one end of the car, "this train is being held up, but it does not look as if the passengers will be disturbed. if they are not, it means that the bandits are after the express car, in which, as i happen to know, there is a large amount of gold for shipment to the pacific coast for export. i am an officer of the law. the fact that i am not in my own county is sufficient excuse for my sitting down and letting the bandits have their own way, but i'm not that kind of a critter. i'm going out to take a hand in this affair, and i ask all the men in this car, who have weapons, to join me. provided we get help from the other cars of the train, we can, perhaps, drive the robbers off. how many of you men are with me?" two passengers stepped out from their berths. the curtains of the berths occupied by lieutenant theophilus wingate and captain tom gray were thrust aside, the curtain hooks rattling on the rods overhead, and they were revealed clad in shirts, trousers and boots, each with a revolver strapped on, sitting quietly on the edge of his berth. "isn't there another _man_ in this car?" questioned ford sarcastically. at this juncture grace harlowe, elfreda briggs, nora wingate and emma dean stepped out into the aisle, each wearing a revolver at her side, and emma very pale and shaking in the chill air. "we are not men, but we are ready to do whatever you wish, mr. ford," announced grace. ford smiled and nodded. "i thought so," he said. "this appears to be about all we can depend upon. as for you young women, my hat is off to you, but this is no job for women. it's a man's job. what you can do, however, is to mount guard over this car and protect the other women. can you all shoot?" grace said they could. "very well. guard the vestibules, but in no circumstances open the vestibule door. the other passengers will please remain in their berths to avoid the possibility of being shot, and you young women will be careful that you do not shoot the train crew. challenge first, then shoot, if you are not positive as to who any person is. have you men ammunition?" "yes," answered hippy. "lead us to it. we haven't had any action in so long that we are going stale." "we will go out by the rear door," announced the sheriff. "please do not use your weapons until you are ordered to do so. the most we can hope to accomplish is to drive the bandits off--make them think they are attacked by a posse. there isn't much chance of our being able to capture the gang or any of them, much as i should like to do so. yet i'm going to try to get hold of at least one. all ready!" "be careful, hippy darling," begged nora as the little party moved towards the rear of the car. "you watch my smoke," chuckled hippy. "good luck," smiled grace, waving a kiss to tom as he turned to nod in return for her parting words. ford stepped out into the rear vestibule and peered through the window into the darkness. "i'll go first," he said. "you follow when i give the signal. not a word from any of you. wait!" lifting the trap-door in the vestibule floor, the sheriff let himself down on the steps, then cautiously stood up on the outside, revolver in hand for use in case of trouble. "come out!" he commanded in a low voice. "there appears to be no one here. there goes the express car!" he added as a slight jolt of the train was heard. "they've cut out that car and are going to pull it up the track a piece and force it open. we'll have to hurry." ford started on a run, the others falling in behind him. up to this time no one had given stacy brown a thought, but as the party was leaving the sleeper something awakened him. then stacy heard someone say, "robbers!" the fat boy tumbled out into the aisle in his pajamas. "wha--what is it?" he demanded sleepily. "the train is held up," answered grace. "oh! wow!" "yes, and tom, hippy and mr. ford, with two other passengers, have just gone out by the rear door to see what they can do to help us out," announced miss briggs. "you are a fine brave fellow to sleep through all this uproar." "they have gone to capture the bandit outfit and get their heads shot off for their pains," jeered the voice of a male passenger from the forward end of the car. "you're a brave man, aren't you?" chided emma, directing her remark at stacy. the fat boy blinked sleepily, then all of a sudden he woke up to a fuller realization of the situation. emma's remark had passed unnoticed, but the taunt of the cowardly passenger had sent the blood pounding to stacy's temples. the boy snatched his revolver from his grip and buckled on the holster, starting for the rear door at a run. "we can't all be heroes," he flung back at the passenger who had jeered at the overlanders. "some of us are born cowards with a stripe of yellow a yard wide through us. go to sleep, children! i'll bag the lot of 'em and fetch 'em back for you to look at." stacy fell through the opening in the platform, the trap-door still being open. in the fall, he bumped all the way from the platform to the ground, where he fetched up heavily in a sitting posture. "hey, you fellows! where are you? wait for me, i'm on the way," he bellowed. "i've got the medicine with me. sing out where you are." the fat boy started to run along the side of the train. he could not see his companions, but he was positive that they could not be far in advance of him. "w-a-i-t!" he shouted. "who's that?" demanded ford sharply. "it sounds like brown of our party," laughed hippy. "for goodness sake, go back and stop his noise or we'll have the robbers down on us," urged ford. "run for it!" hippy started back at a brisk trot, on the alert for the presence of bandit sentries. he nearly collided with stacy, and, knowing that the fat boy was impulsive, hippy feared that stacy might take him for a train robber and shoot, so he dropped down the instant he discovered his companion. "stop that noise! do you want to get hurt?" demanded hippy sternly. "'course i don't. i want to hurt a robber. where are they?" "you will find out soon enough if you don't keep quiet." "that's what i'm making a noise about. i want to call 'em out; then you'll see what stacy brown and his little gun can do." "you are not to use your revolver until mr. ford gives you permission to do so. he is in command of our party. the bandits are supposed to be somewhere ahead of us. come along, but don't you dare make a sound. where have you been all the time?" "sleeping. isn't that what folks buy sleeping car tickets for?" "hurry," urged hippy, who ran on, followed by stacy, stumbling and grunting, making enough noise to be heard several car-lengths away. the two came up with the others of their party at the front end of the forward car, where ford had halted. "where are they?" demanded stacy. "i'm ready to capture the whole bunch. all i want now is to be shown. i'm a wild-cat for trouble when i get stirred up." "silence, young man! i'll do all the talking necessary. you will get your wish for action soon enough, and i reckon you'll get some of the brag taken out of you, too," retorted ford sarcastically. "not if i see 'em first," gave back stacy belligerently. "what is the order, mr. ford?" questioned tom gray. "we will go off to one side. it won't do to follow the railroad tracks. to do so would surely draw the fire of the bandits. there are several on guard not far from us," he added in a whisper, having been observing closely as he talked. "i think i now know the lay of the land. be careful, all of you. if you will look sharp you will see that the bandits have the treasure car near the mouth of the ravine that leads up into the mountains." "they've taken our stock car too," groaned stacy. "that's so. the ponies are gone, ford," whispered lieutenant wingate. "i reckon they count on making a get-away on your horses," answered the sheriff. "we'll be able to block that game, i hope. come!" after having walked some distance parallel with the tracks, the sheriff's party slowed down at a signal from their leader. lanterns were seen moving about beside the tracks a short distance ahead of the sheriff. the safety valve of the engine was blowing off steam, the blow-off growing to a deafening roar that died down only when the engine pulled away from the express, baggage and stock cars. the locomotive came to a stop a short distance from the three cars, then the sound of a heavy object beating against the side door of one of the cars, was heard. "they're trying to smash in the door of the express car," whispered ford. a volley of shots was fired at the car door by the bandits and was promptly answered by shots from within the car. the men in the express car appeared to be vigorously resisting the attack. they were firing at the band outside with such good effect that the robbers soon ceased their attempts to beat in the door with the section of a telegraph pole that they were using for the purpose. a period of silence followed while the bandits were holding a hurried consultation; then followed a movement among them. "let me shoot! they're getting away, i tell you," urged stacy excitedly. "not yet, young man. those fellows are up to more mischief, and i think i know what it is," answered ford in a tense voice. "men, we must get in and get in at once or we shall be too late. it is time to move. listen to me, then obey promptly." chapter iv in a lively skirmish "we will crawl across the tracks between the engine and the cars," whispered the sheriff. "once on the other side we must get to the rear of the bandits, and as soon as we find cover there we shall begin to shoot. i hope we may be in time. when we reach the other side of the rails i wish you men to spread out, but i want to know where every man of our party is." ford started at a run, the others following, fully as eager as the sheriff to get into action. they had barely reached the rails when there occurred a sudden, blinding flash, followed by a heavy report. "dynamite!" exclaimed ford. "i expected that." "our poor ponies," groaned tom gray. "if they get near my bismarck he'll kick the everlasting daylights out of them," growled stacy brown. "can't we do something?" urged hippy. "yes. we're going to do something and do it right quick," answered ford grimly. "fellows, remember that the bandits have rifles, while we have only our revolvers. you look out for those rifles, is my best advice to you." they reached the other side of the railroad tracks without loss of time and without attracting attention to themselves, and it was soon evident to the sheriff's party that the dynamite had not accomplished its purpose. the explosive had not been well placed, and the express car had been little damaged, though a hole had been dug out beside the tracks from the force of it. "when i give the word, shoot, but shoot over their heads," commanded ford incisively. "spread out and get down on your stomachs when you have taken your positions. get going!" the men of the party crept along, skulking through the bushes that grew on the mountain side along the railroad right of way. one by one the members of the party dropped down and lay awaiting the word of command. every now and then a shot would be fired from the interior of the express car, answered in each instance by a volley from the bandits. the preparations of sheriff ford up to this time had been made swiftly. the signal agreed upon for beginning the attack on the train bandits was two quick shots from ford's revolver. the thin line of assailants waited in tense silence for the beginning of hostilities. the members of the little party were steady, although their pulses beat high, for no one deluded himself into the belief that this affair was going to be wholly one-sided. two sharp reports from ford's revolver, even though eagerly looked for, came so unexpectedly that every member of the party was startled, but their panic lasted for only a few seconds. six heavy revolvers answered the signal. three bullets sped harmlessly over the heads of the men who were trying to rob the express car. three other bullets from the weapons of ford, tom and hippy, by arrangement at the last moment before the party spread out, had been fired low enough to reach the legs of the bandits. of course there could be no fine shooting on account of the darkness, but the sheriff and the two men with him did very well indeed, if the yells of rage that came from the bandits could be depended upon as indication of hits. "down!" warned ford when the revolvers had been emptied. every man in the party well knew what was coming. the expected was not long in arriving. a volley of heavy rifle shots ripped over the heads of the sleeping-car party. ford's party quickly reloaded as they lay; then began firing as rapidly as they could pull the triggers of their weapons, aiming whenever they saw anything to aim at. during all this firing the orders of the sheriff were implicitly followed. tom gray and lieutenant wingate were as steady as rock, for they had been through skirmishes before. stacy was a little excited, but more from eagerness to be up and at the bandits than from fear. the bandits were getting desperate. on account of the interruption there had been no opportunity to explode another charge of dynamite under the express car, and they were now too fully engaged to proceed with that work. the desperadoes knew very well from the sound that the attackers were using small arms instead of rifles, thus leaving the advantage with the bandits so far as weapons were concerned. the robbers now began creeping stealthily up the slope, firing at every flash from a revolver, but ford's party was keeping so low that there was no great danger of any one being hit except as they changed positions and ran for fresh cover, which they always did following a volley from the bandits' rifles. the sheriff's party was giving ground slowly, constantly changing positions under his orders, the officer himself now and then running along the line, giving quick low-spoken orders, without regard to his own safety. the bandits had been drawn away from the tracks for some distance when ford dropped down beside hippy wingate, who was firing from behind a small boulder. "what is it, sheriff?" questioned hippy. "i have a plan," answered ford. "good! what is it?" "our revolvers won't hold them back much longer. should they rush us someone is certain to get hit. in any event we shall then have to run for it. i don't like to do that." "not yet," answered hippy with emphasis. "i think we may be able to save your horses and the express car if you are willing to take a long chance." "i have taken so many already that chances no longer are a novelty. what is it you wish me to do?" demanded hippy. "go to the engineer and tell him to back up. tell him to hit those three cars as hard as he dares--hit them as fast as he can without throwing them from the rails or injuring the horses. having done that, let him back down the grade as quietly as possible so those fellows won't notice him. when he hits the express car he is to keep on backing until he reaches the train, which he is to push back a full half mile, and then stop and wait for us to finish our job. when we have done that we will fire a signal--three shots at intervals. i reckon the moon will soon be up so we can see what we are doing. tell the engineer, too, that we will fire the same signal if we approach him, but, should he see anybody coming up who does not give that signal, he is to start up his engine and reverse for all he's worth. get me?" "i get you, buddy." "i would go myself, but i am needed here. when the time comes we shall have to make a sharp get-away ourselves, but if we save the train that will be enough. do you think you can reach the locomotive?" "surest thing you know, old top," answered hippy laughingly. "be careful! you will find that the engine is guarded, but i don't believe there will be more than two men guarding it, and perhaps this firing may have drawn them away, though i hardly think so." "leave it to me." "should you miss us on your return, make for the train as fast as you can. you're the right sort, lieutenant. pick your own trail and the best o' luck." lieutenant wingate was off a few seconds later, running cautiously, now and then flattening himself on the ground to avoid the occasional volley. hippy had no fear of the bullets that whistled over him, though he had a sufficiently intimate acquaintance with such missiles to hold them in high respect. that was why he dropped to the ground when firing was resumed. in a few moments he was out of range of the firing. he then straightened up and ran with all speed, parallel with the tracks, but keeping several rods to one side. as he neared the locomotive hippy proceeded with more caution. the night was now sufficiently light to enable him to see the figures of two men sitting on the bank beside the tracks on the right side of the engine. there was no special need for vigilance on their part now, for ahead of the locomotive a telegraph pole had been felled across the tracks, while to its rear were the cars and the bandits. all this made the guards somewhat careless so that they failed to see a figure dart across the tracks a few rods back of the locomotive tender. lieutenant wingate crept along under the overhang of the tender, on the side opposite from the two guards. he did not know but there might be men on that side also, but soon discovered that there were not. he had crawled to the running board, by which entrance is gained to the locomotive cab, before he was discovered by the fireman. "sh-h-h-h!" warned hippy just in time to check an exclamation that was on the lips of the fireman. "lean over. i have a message for you--for the engineer. don't make a quick move, but just settle down. you might fire up the boiler a little. with the glare from the fire in their eyes those two fellows won't see quite so clearly." the fireman, after a whispered word to the engineer, opened the fire door and threw in fresh coal, then crouched down with his ear close to the overland rider, whereupon hippy briefly explained sheriff ford's plan, at the same time acquainting the fireman with the situation to the rear. another whispered conversation across the boiler between engineer and fireman followed, with hippy wingate clinging on the step of the locomotive in tense expectancy. a sudden hiss of steam from the cylinders on both sides of the engine startled him, and the big drive wheels began slipping on the rails. "hey there! what are ye up to?" yelled a guard, making a leap for the running board. the fireman responded by hieing a chunk of coal, which caught the bandit in the stomach, laying the fellow flat in the ditch beside the tracks. the remaining guard fired point-blank without effect at the engineer's window, but the driver's head was below the level of the cab window at that instant. the wheels gained a foothold, the engine began backing rapidly while the guard continued to shoot at the reversing hulk of steel. "good for you, buddies!" cried hippy enthusiastically. the engineer did not slow down as he approached the scene of the hold-up, knowing that there were no persons in the way. hippy had dropped off before the engine gained much headway, and rolled over into the ditch and soon heard the tender hit the express car. the bandits had heard the engine rumbling down the grade, but they were too busy shooting at sheriff ford's party to be able to spare the time to interfere. in the meantime a new note had been added to the battle. the train crew, now taking courage, had gone to the assistance of the sheriff, armed with revolvers, shot guns, iron bars and whatever else they could lay their hands on. grace harlowe and her friends, in the meantime, however, remained on guard, and not even the trainmen could have got into her sleeping car without giving an account of themselves to the overland girls. the firing now grew fast and furious. hippy heard it, listened attentively and realized that his little party was being assisted. "i must get back and take a hand," he muttered, making a wide detour with the intention of coming in to the rear of sheriff ford and his men. to do this he ran up the ravine from the railroad, near where the attack had been made. lieutenant wingate had not proceeded far before he heard what sounded like hoof-beats. at first he feared that the ponies of his outfit had been taken; then he realized that this could not be the case. the ravine in which he found himself was now fairly well lighted by the rising moon, and discovery was certain, the banks on either side being so steep that the overlander knew that he could not look for escape that way. not caring to be caught in a trap, hippy turned and began to retreat down the ravine, then halted abruptly, as he discovered a horseman coming up the ravine at a gallop. a man was running just ahead of the rider, the latter calling orders to the runner. at this juncture, lieutenant wingate unlimbered his revolver and waited. the two men saw him, and the runner pointed to him, then dashed right past hippy, shielding his face with a hand. as he passed, the runner fired a shot at hippy. "i know you!" yelled the overlander, sending a bullet into the ground behind the runner. "i know your game, you scoundrel!" hippy, for the moment, apparently had forgotten the man on horseback, who was now to the rear of him, for lieutenant wingate, upon discovering the identity of the man on foot, was so amazed that all other thoughts took flight. all at once the overland rider remembered. he wheeled like a flash and fired at the figure that was now towering over him. a blow, crushing in its force, came down on the head of the overland rider, felling him to the ground. the butt of a rifle in the hands of the horseman was the instrument that caused hippy's undoing. in the meantime, while hippy was carrying ford's message to the engineer of the red limited, the hot reception they were getting led the bandits to give up the fight and scatter. it was one of the fleeing train-robbers who had struck lieutenant wingate down. chapter v on the trail of the missing "have the train draw up here and wait for us," sheriff ford directed, as the trainmen were about to return to their train after the bandits had finally been driven off. "those ruffians have had enough, and won't come back. some of them are wounded, too." "aren't you coming with us?" asked a trainman. "no. i'm going to look for lieutenant wingate. he may be on the train, but, if he is not, have the engineer give us three whistles." "hippy wouldn't go back without us," declared tom gray with emphasis. "go back to your train, men, while we look for our friend," urged sheriff ford. the train crew lost no time in following ford's advice, being eager to get away from that locality. stacy brown was sent back with them to put on his clothes. stacy was shivering in his pajamas, but the fat boy had done his duty as steadily as any of his companions, and fully proven his courage, thus winning the admiration of sheriff ford and tom gray. the two other volunteer passengers, one a salesman for a chicago grocery house, the other a colorado ranchman, announced their intention of remaining with the sheriff to assist him in his search. shortly after the departure of the trainmen, three long blasts of the locomotive whistle told the party that lieutenant wingate had not returned to the train. "that settles it, men. it is up to us to get to work," declared the sheriff. ford divided his forces and sent parties in various directions to search for the missing hippy wingate, hoping, and partly believing, that the lieutenant had probably met up with the bandits on their retreat into the mountains after abandoning their attack on the train, and secreted himself somewhere in the vicinity of the attempted hold-up. the overlanders were now in the sierras, and the country all about them was wild and uninhabited. after surveying his surroundings with critical eyes, ford took to the ravine up which hippy had gone in attempting to get back to his companions, and soon found the place where the bandits had staked down their horses. two warning whistles, the engineer's regular signal that the train was about to start ahead, caused the sheriff to run down the ravine to the railroad, at the same time firing three shots to recall his companions. "get aboard in a hurry!" shouted the conductor, leaning from the engine cab as the train came back to the scene of the attempted robbery. "wait! has lieutenant wingate returned?" demanded ford. "no!" shouted stacy brown from the platform of the smoking car. "didn't you find him?" "are you positive, stacy?" called tom gray, running up at this juncture. "he is not on the train, tom," answered grace harlowe from a vestibule doorway. "the engineer said he dropped off just as the engine began backing down. tom, you must search for hippy. nora is nearly wild from worry over him." "we are going to find him, little woman," answered captain gray. "are you folks going to get aboard?" demanded the conductor insistently. "no. we're not going to leave that man here by a long shot," retorted ford. "all right. stay if you want to. we're going ahead," snapped the conductor. "stop!" ordered the sheriff. "you hold this train until i give you leave to move it. i am an officer of the law, and in command here for the present. captain gray, what do you wish to do?" "find the lieutenant, sheriff." "then, would it not be a good idea to unload your ponies?" asked ford. "we may have to be here until tomorrow, and perhaps make a long journey into the interior, which we cannot well do on foot." "yes. we will unload enough animals to carry your party," answered tom. "pull your train up to the mouth of the ravine and stop," commanded ford, clambering aboard the locomotive. "get aboard there, boys." the train promptly pulled ahead while the sheriff had his final argument with the conductor in the locomotive cab. the argument was brief, but heated, the sheriff laying down the law to the angry conductor, who, by the time his train had reached the mouth of the ravine, was wholly subdued. the overland riders stepped off the train to watch the unloading of the ponies and to get instructions from tom and mr. ford. "we are about twenty-five miles from gardner," said the sheriff, addressing grace. "you people, i believe, intend to detrain there. have someone unload your stock and then wait until we return. you will find a very fair little hotel at gardner." "we will wait," answered grace composedly. ford called upon the train crew to assist in unloading the ponies. unloading boards were obtained from the baggage car with which a rather substantial gangway was constructed, and down it the light-footed ponies--five of them--were led without the least difficulty. rifles and light equipment for the party were unloaded, the rest of the overlanders' property and two ponies being left on the train. while the unloading was in progress tom gray went to the dining car and purchased provisions, consisting of canned goods, pork and beans and a side of bacon. stacy brown, who had gone back to the sleeping car for something he wanted from his suitcase, dropped in while tom was bartering, and helped his companion carry back their purchases. by the time they reached the head of the train all was in readiness for the departure. ford waved the lantern that he had borrowed from the conductor. "go ahead," he called to the conductor. "mrs. gray, don't forget to report to gardner what has become of us. if we are not back in two days have them send a posse for us." "i understand," answered grace harlowe. "i say, you! you might have emma do a little transmigrating for us while we're away. i reckon we'll be needing it," called back stacy. as the train pulled out, the passengers, including the girls of the overland party, were gathered on the platforms cheering. the searching party now consisted, besides sheriff ford, of tom gray, stacy brown and the two passengers who had been with them from the first, making five in all. "now, sir, what is your plan?" demanded tom after they had saddled and made ready to start. "i think we will follow up the ravine for a little way," answered the sheriff. "your man went this way. i know because the fireman saw him take to the ravine. one of you lead my horse; i'm going ahead on foot with the lantern." "if you have no objection, i will go with you," offered tom. ford nodded, and the two started away, the others, on the ponies, keeping well to the rear. the two men in advance finally reached the point in the ravine where lieutenant wingate had been struck down. with lantern held close to the ground, the sheriff went over it on hands and knees, examining every foot of the ground. "stand where you are until i come back," he directed, addressing tom gray. "do you recognize this?" he asked, holding up a hat, upon his return a few moments later. "it is the lieutenant's hat," answered tom promptly, and stacy brown agreed with him. "what's the use of a hat without a head to wear it?" demanded stacy. "this!" replied ford. "i have proved one thing. our man came this way, but beyond this point the only trace of him is the hat. unless i am much mistaken, he left here on the back of a horse, and he went that way." the sheriff pointed up the ravine. "it is fair to assume that he did not go voluntarily. the only inference possible, then, is that he has been taken." "captured by the bandits!" exclaimed tom. ford nodded. "for what reason?" "candidly, i don't know, captain. we have got to find out, and it is advisable for us to go in search of the answer to that question as fast as we can. we will mount and move on." "i suppose i am the one who will have to furnish the brains for this party and find the missing man," declared stacy pompously, but no one laughed at his sally. a minute later they were mounted and on their way up the ravine, the sheriff still carrying the lantern, which he held low, keeping his gaze constantly on the trail, which still was fairly plain and easy for an experienced man to follow. stacy dropped behind a little way and produced a plum pudding can from his pocket. opening the can, he calmly proceeded to eat the pudding. "what's that you're eating?" demanded one of the two passengers. "pudding. a plum one." "where did you get it?" "oh, back there in the diner," answered stacy carelessly. "you stole a pudding, eh?" laughed the questioner. "oh, my; no, sir. how could you think such a thing? don't you know i wouldn't do anything like that?" "oh! you paid for it," nodded the passenger. "i did not. captain gray did. you see it was this way. the captain paid for six cans of baked beans, but they gave him only five cans. the colored gentleman in the diner cheated us out of one can, and probably pocketed the difference, so i sort of helped myself to a pudding to even things up." "humph! you are a young man of unusual ability. you should have been a lawyer." "i know it," admitted chunky. an exclamation from ford interrupted the conversation. the sheriff had picked up a handkerchief which tom thought belonged to hippy wingate. they believed that the lieutenant had dropped it purposely, knowing full well that pursuit would follow promptly when his friends discovered that he was missing. "we are on the trail all right," cried the sheriff. "look sharp and don't make much noise about it, either." daybreak found the outfit still in the saddle. now that they could see, ford threw away the lantern, and, after watering their ponies at a mountain spring, they pressed on with all speed. the men ate a cold breakfast in the saddle, there being no time to waste in halting to cook breakfast. further, the smoke from a camp-fire would be a danger signal to the men for whom they were searching. about nine o'clock in the morning the sheriff and tom found a split-trail. the two trails led up a steep incline to a small plateau. there they discovered the remains of a camp-fire. ford dismounted and ran his fingers through the ashes. "there has been a fire here within a few hours," he announced. "and the trail has gone to pieces," added stacy brown who had got down from his pony and begun nosing about. "the bandits have taken different directions from here, haven't they?" questioned the sheriff, glancing up. "yes. i'll tell you what let's do. let's shut our eyes and let the ponies decide which trail to take," suggested chunky gravely. "my bismarck can follow the trail of a squirrel." "this is not a squirrel trail," answered ford briefly. "there are five of us men here. four will take separate trails while one remains here. let each man follow his trail for, say, three hours, then, whether or not he has discovered anything, he will return to this point. we can then decide upon further action." "i have an idea that the bandits discovered that they were being followed," suggested one of the two passengers. "otherwise, why should they split up and take different trails?" "yes. i agree with you," nodded the sheriff. mr. ford decided that one of the passenger volunteers should remain behind, then assigned the other passenger and tom, stacy and himself to follow the bandits' trails, ford selecting what seemed to be the most promising trail for himself. full understanding of what each one was to do was had, then the four rode away, leaving their guard where he could see, yet remain hidden. the four trails led on for five miles without a break. stacy, full of importance because of the duty assigned to him, was watching his trail closely, and, had he been less observant, he might have missed the point where the trail again split. discovering this, he halted and sat regarding the two trails with solemn eyes. "sharp trick," he nodded. "it doesn't fool stacy brown, though." he decided that the left-hand trail swung over towards the one that tom gray was riding, perhaps joining it a short distance from the junction where stacy was at that moment. having come to this conclusion, the fat boy had a bright idea. he would take a short cut across country. he knew that this was a risky thing to do, but he had several mountain peaks for landmarks and did not believe that he could go astray, so he started full of confidence, leaving both trails behind him. an hour-and-a-half passed. stacy still had thirty minutes to ride before it would be time for him to turn back towards the starting point, as he learned by consulting his watch, and he decided to make the most of those thirty minutes. "there! didn't i tell you?" he cried as he rode out into an open space and instantly discovered the hoof-prints of several horses on the soft ground. "i was positive that i couldn't be wrong. my time is up, but i have found the spot where the rascals got together. now i'll just turn about and follow it home. this is the trail we must follow to find uncle hip. yes, i'll go back and report." stacy brown's intentions were good, and, well satisfied with what he had accomplished, he rode along humming softly to himself, now and then confiding his opinions to his pony. the little animal wiggled its ears as if it understood. "hulloa! there goes the sun. seven o'clock! who would have thought it? according to my watch i've been back at the forks for a quarter of an hour. i wonder if i really have?" stacy regarded his surroundings narrowly. "no. i never saw any of you mountain-peak fellows before. i must have made a mistake in my reckonings, but i've got a biscuit in my pocket, and we'll be able to go quite a distance on one biscuit, especially on this kind of a biscuit. some biscuits go a great deal farther than others. this is one of the farther kind," finished chunky, performing a series of contortions as he tried to break off a piece of biscuit with his teeth. the pony was laboring up a steep incline, the stirrup straps creaking in rhythm with the animal's quick, short steps, stacy's body, from the belt up, bobbing upwards and backwards with monotonous regularity. the reins lay over the saddle pommel, thus giving the pony's head full play and enabling it to snatch a mouthful of greens here and there. suddenly the little animal threw its head up and snorted. stacy brown ceased munching and sat staring wide-eyed. "suffering cats! you're it, stacy brown!" he gasped. jerking his rifle from the saddle-boot he fired three quick shots over the head of his pony. chapter vi chunky meets the bandits the pony had nosed its way around the base of a high rock, fetching up on a meadow, when stacy made the discovery that startled him. what he saw was a group of men sitting about a cook-fire, hurriedly eating a meal while their ponies grazed on the mountain grass some distance from the fire. the boy knew instantly that he had stumbled upon the bandits. he realized, too, in those brief seconds, that he must be a long way from the place where he was to meet his companions. the desperadoes saw the intruder about the time that chunky saw them. used to emergencies and quick action, the men sprang for their rifles, which were standing against a boulder near at hand. chunky also saw that lieutenant wingate was not with them. had the boy thought twice he would have held his fire, but, as it turned out, his shots served a good purpose. it startled the bandits, causing momentary confusion, which gave stacy an opportunity to head in an opposite direction, which he was not slow in doing. "ye-o-o-o-ow!" howled the fat boy in a shrill, piercing voice. the shots and the yells startled the bandits' ponies as it had their owners. the horses threw up their heads, snorted and galloped into the mountain meadow, fully twenty rods from the camp, while the boy threw himself on the neck of his pony, fully expecting a shot or a volley from them, and dashed around the base of a high rock at a perilous pace. he had no more than reached the protection of the rock than the _pock, pock_ of rifle bullets, as they hit the rock to his rear, reached his ears. "oh, wow!" howled chunky. "i lost my biscuit." in ordinary circumstances he would have gone back to look for the biscuit, but just now stacy was in somewhat of a hurry. fortunately for the boy, it took the bandits fully twenty minutes to round up their horses, by which time the fat boy was far in the lead, riding like mad. he had lost all sense of direction, but perhaps the pony had not. the little animal had taken affairs into its own control and was laying out its own trail. the bandits, instead of following, rode with all speed farther into the mountains, but chunky continued on at his same perilous pace, even though darkness had now overtaken him. "whoa, bismarck!" commanded chunky finally, reining in his pony. "do you know where you're going, or don't you?" the pony rattled the bit between its teeth, tossed its head up and down, and uttered a loud whinny. "you said 'yes,' didn't you? all right, if you know where you are, go along. you surely can't know any less about it than i do." rider and mount resumed their journey at a somewhat slower pace, and rode on until stacy was brought to a sudden stop by a sharp, gruff word of command. "halt!" ordered a voice just ahead of him. the pony gave a startled jump that nearly unhorsed its rider. "oh, wow!" howled chunky, and on the impulse of the moment he fired two quick shots at the sound. "stop it! it's tom gray. haven't you any more sense than to blaze away before you know at what you are shooting?" "oh, fiddlesticks! had you been through what i have you would shoot at the drop of the hat. are you lost, too?" "lost? i am not lost. don't you know where you are?" "no. i might be in the suburbs of chillicothe for all i know." "the camp is only a few rods away," tom gray informed him. "you don't say?" wondered chunky. "we heard you coming, and thought it might be mr. ford. how did you happen to come in over that trail?" "ask bismarck. he knows all about it. i don't. got any news about uncle hip?" "no. of course you saw nothing of either him or the bandits." "i not only found the robbers, but i had a battle with them," answered stacy. "what's that? don't trifle, brown. this is a serious matter," rebuked tom. "i'm telling you the truth. it was this way. i was riding along, peaceful like, when, all of a sudden, biff, boom, bang! it seemed to me that fifty or a hundred men burst from the bushes." "so many as that?" laughed tom. "well, something like that. i may be a dozen or so out of the way, but you see i didn't stop to count them. i raised my trusty rifle and--well, to make a long story short, i fired right into that howling bunch of bandits. i suppose i emptied as many as twelve saddles." "wait a moment," urged one of the travelers who had joined them. "how many times did you reload?" "not at all. i didn't have time." "captain gray, he emptied twelve saddles, so he must have shot two men with each bullet, as his magazine holds only six cartridges. i call that some shooting." "is that so? then i must have done as you say. wonderful, wasn't it?" at this juncture, sheriff ford rode into camp and was quickly told of what stacy had discovered. mr. ford, after a few quick questions, realized that the boy really had stumbled on the right trail and discovered the bandits. "you did well, young man," he complimented. "i thought i had struck a lead, but the trail pinched out. can you take us to the place where you came on those ruffians?" "no, but the pony can, or you can follow my trail. i reckon i left a pretty plain one. i know uncle hip better than you do, and if he has been able to get away from the fellows who captured him i'll guarantee that he will find us. he would know we wouldn't go away and leave him. for that reason i suggest that we build a fire to attract uncle hip's attention, should he be in this vicinity." one of the men protested, saying it would be dangerous, but the sheriff agreed with stacy. "we will have a fire and will post guards to protect ourselves," he said. "we shall not be bothered by the bandits to-night; i am positive of that. they know that the alarm has been given and that, in all probability, a posse is already on their trail. if nothing develops during the night--if we get no news from lieutenant wingate--we will start for gardner in the morning and organize a big searching party to comb the mountains for him." after all phases of the situation had been discussed, the sheriff's plan was agreed to, and a fire was built up. it had been blazing for some time when, in a lull in the conversation, stacy was reminded that he had not finished telling about his meeting with the bandits. "yes. you left off with shooting two men with each bullet," laughed tom gray. "in the excitement of meeting up with the villains," resumed stacy, without an instant's hesitation, "i wheeled the pony--spun him about on his hind feet like a top, set him down on all fours and dashed away. we didn't gallop, we simply dashed. you know it wasn't that i was afraid. anyone who knows me knows that nothing can scare me. i--" "_bang, bang, bang!_" "oh, wow!" howled the fat boy, diving head first into a clump of bushes where he crouched wide-eyed, the chill creepers chasing up and down his spinal column. the others of the party sprang up and snatched their rifles, ford kicking the blazing wood of the camp-fire aside, and tom gray dousing it with a pail of water. "lie low, everybody, till i find out what this means!" commanded the sheriff sharply. "are--are we attacked? have the scoundrels come back?" chattered chunky. "be quiet!" mr. ford crept out into the darkness, the others waiting in tense expectancy listening for a rifle volley. tom thought the shots they had heard were signals, but no one else believed such to be the case. the flash of a revolver, a sharp report close at hand, was followed by a shout from stacy brown and two shots from his own weapon at a shadowy moving figure skulking behind a clump of bushes. chapter vii bandits catch a tartar the blow on the head had left lieutenant wingate unconscious. without loss of a minute he was thrown over the back of the horse, in front of the rider, like a sack of meal on its way home from the mill, then the horse started away at a trot. after a few moments of violent jolting, consciousness began to return to hippy and he groped for something to take hold of to relieve the strain of his trying position. his fingers finally gripped the boot of his captor. quick as a flash, the bandit brought down the butt of his revolver on the captive's head, whereupon hippy went to sleep again, the blood trickling from nose and mouth. other riders, in the meantime, had caught up with and passed the rider who was carrying him away. from what was said it was apparent that hippy's captor was the leader of the party, for the others deferred to his commands, and, riding on ahead, soon disappeared. the trail grew more and more rugged. on the right a solid granite wall rose sheer for several hundred feet, while on the left, the side over which hippy's head was hanging, the ground dropped away sharply for fully three hundred feet. lieutenant wingate again began to recover consciousness. it seemed to him as if all the blood in his body were concentrated in his aching head and neck. he did not realize at the moment how the arms and hands were smarting from being dragged through bushes and against the rough edges of rocks, but he did discover that two large lumps had been raised on his head, one well down towards the base of the brain. had the second blow been an inch farther down, it probably would have killed him. his head becoming clearer, hippy began to consider his situation--to think what he could do to extricate himself from his uncomfortable and perilous position. his train of thought was suddenly interrupted by an exclamation from the bandit and a sharp pressure of a spur against the pony's side. hippy could feel the rider's leg contract as the spur was driven home. the pony reared and threatened to buck, but, evidently changing its mind, started away at a jolting trot. the interruption had served one good purpose: it had given hippy an opportunity to get one hand up to his shirt, where the hand fumbled for a few perilous seconds, then dropped cautiously to its former position. that hand now held a pin. miserable as he was, hippy smiled grimly and pricked the pony's side with the pin. the bandit roared as the animal jumped, and again applied the spur, followed instantly by a jab of hippy's new weapon, the pin. a lively few seconds ensued, and the pony bucked so effectively that its rider had all he could do to stick to the saddle, and at the same time manage his captive and the reins. hippy jabbed the pin in again and again, though every buck of the animal nearly broke the overlander in two. a few seconds of this treatment and the end came suddenly. with a final humping of its back in a buck that lifted all four feet from the ground, the pony went up into the air with arching back and with head held stiffly close to its forefeet. the bandit threw all the strength of one hand into an effort to jerk that stubborn head back where it belonged, while the other hand grabbed desperately for the body of the captive, which was slowly slipping away. the bandit, as a result, came a cropper over the pony's head. hippy wriggled and slipped off, shooting head first down the sharp incline of smooth rocks that fell away from the left side of the trail. the pony galloped away a few rods; then, halting, gazed about him uneasily. the bandit, after a few dazed seconds, got up and started for his mount, then halting suddenly began searching for his captive. hippy wingate was nowhere in sight, though his captor found where his body had crushed down the bushes as it slipped from the trail. the bandit finally gave it up, and, catching his pony, quickly rode away. "no use. he's done for," growled the man before leaving the scene. "he's gone clear to the bottom, mashed flat as a flapjack." the hoof-beats of the pony had no sooner died away than hippy wingate's head was cautiously raised from behind the roots of a tree that clung to the side of the mountain, gripped into a deep crevice for anchorage. "i'm not a flapjack just yet, old top," he muttered. "i may be if i am not careful how i move about. i suppose i ought to hang on here till daylight, but those fellows may come back. they can't afford to let me get away. i know too much." [illustration: "no use. he's done for!"] hippy began crawling cautiously toward the trail, and finally gaining it, sat down to think over what he had better do next. he felt for his revolver and was relieved to find that it had not been taken from him, and thus fortified, he decided that the prudent course would be to find a hiding place and wait there for daylight, so he started away, taking the back track, which he followed until it had so widened that he was unable to keep to the trail. he then branched off to the right, holding as straight a course as possible. the trickle of water caught his ear, and, a moment later, hippy was flat on his stomach, drinking long, deep draughts from a tiny mountain stream. he then bathed his face and head and his smarting, swollen arms. he knew that he ought to be moving, but what direction to take was the question. being a good woodsman, he knew that to wander aimlessly about in the night surely would result in losing himself completely. after searching about for some time, lieutenant wingate found a high rock suited to his purpose. he climbed up and sat down. "the scoundrels will have to move quickly if they get me this time," he muttered. "they'll--" hippy's head drooped, and he sank slowly to the rock fast asleep. when he again opened his eyes the sun was shining down into them, and his cheeks felt as if they were on fire. "morning! who would think it?" he exclaimed. without wasting time, he made his way back to the stream where he drank and bathed. now came the question as to the course he should follow. "it is probable that some of my outfit will remain by the railroad where the hold-up occurred," he reflected. "that's where i am going." after a final look at the sun, hippy started back briskly. he did not follow the trail, believing that he could find a more direct course, and that such a course eventually would lead him to the railroad a short distance to the west of where he had been the previous evening. it was nearly noon when hippy first began to realize that he was hungry. he had not thought of breakfast, nor would it have done him any good had he thought of it. an hour later he found a berry bush and ate all the fruit it held. that helped a little and he again plodded on. about four o'clock that afternoon he reached the railroad, and, not long after that, he was trotting around the bend to the scene of the hold-up. the place was deserted. hippy fired a signal from his revolver and listened. there was no reply. a rabbit hopped across the tracks. he fired twice at it, missing each time. "there goes my supper!" he exclaimed ruefully. "next time i sight game i'll throw a stone at it. i reckon i can throw stones better than i can shoot. i should have thought my friends would wait for me." hippy did discover where the overland ponies had been unloaded, then he understood that his companions had gone in search of him. this knowledge heartened him up a great deal, and he immediately set himself to work to discover which way the party had gone. what he was looking for was the trail of his own pony, whose shoeprints he believed he would be able to identify instantly. hippy picked up the trail in a remarkably short time. "here i go. i've got to travel some if i am to catch them before dark," he cried, starting away. darkness found lieutenant wingate wandering aimlessly near the place where the trail forked and where his companions were now discussing their further plans for the morrow. he concluded that he would have to spend another night in the open and alone, and had just ensconced himself on the highest ledge he could find when he caught sight of the light from sheriff ford's camp-fire. hippy gazed at it for some moments, then raised his revolver and fired three shots. the camp-fire was suddenly blotted out. "there! i've shot out the fire," he grumbled. "just the same, i don't believe it is the bandit camp, and i'm going down." moving with extreme caution, hippy crept down the mountain-side until he believed that he was near the place where he had seen the fire. "i reckon there's nothing doing, boys," ford was saying. "light the fire, but keep a sharp lookout." hippy got up. stacy's keen eyes discovered him and the fat boy fired. "hi, there! cut the firing! it's hippy," called lieutenant wingate, ducking. "oh, wow!" howled chunky. a shout went up from the searching party when hippy called out his warning, and he was fairly dragged into camp where sheriff ford hurriedly started a cook-fire and put over coffee as a starter. while this was being done, lieutenant wingate briefly related the story of his capture and escape. "you say you know the man who was on foot when you were taken?" asked tom gray. "yes, i know him." "give me one guess and see if i can name him," spoke up sheriff ford, straightening up, frying-pan in hand. "it's yours. who is he?" laughed lieutenant wingate. "our story-telling friend of the red limited, william sylvester holmes," replied ford confidently. "you win," chuckled hippy. "how did you guess it?" "i was suspicious of him all the time. at summit my suspicions were, in a way, confirmed. he sent telegrams from there that, i now believe, informed the gang about the treasure car." "was there really a treasure car on the train, ford?" asked tom. "you might call it that. there was nearly three million dollars in gold on that car. pretty good haul, eh? i reckon the authorities of this county will be glad to hear what you have to tell them. i will go to gardner with you and we'll have a confab with the sheriff there, if you will spare the time." "sure we will," spoke up stacy. "we riders have to keep busy, you know." "it strikes me that you have been rather busy since i first met you," returned the sheriff. "what are your wishes, to go through to-night or wait until morning and get an early start?" he asked the two passengers. "i'll flag a train for myself down by the bend and you men can ride through. you can't miss the way. there is a good trail all the way from here to gardner, and you should be there by early afternoon." the two passengers said that, if the sheriff would flag the train for them, they would prefer to go by train too, as they were in haste to reach their destination on the coast, important business awaiting them there. "all right. i'll flag the next train after we get to the rails and put you two men aboard. i can then ride through with these three overland men. i'd prefer a hoss to a pullman any time." the party made themselves as comfortable as they could, sleeping on the ground, and before daylight next morning mr. ford had breakfast ready. hippy was stiff and his hat hurt his head, but he made light of his discomfiture and was ready for the start which was made before sunup. ford made good his word to stop the next train, which proved to be a local, and there was not so much grumbling by the train crew as there would have been had the train been a limited one. the horseback ride that day was a hard one, but all were used to the saddle, and sheriff ford, himself a "rough-rider," was interested in the riding of the three overlanders. by this time he had grown to understand stacy brown better, and his laughter at the boy's sallies was loud and appreciative. late in the afternoon the delayed party rode into gardner where a warm welcome awaited them from the overland girls, who had already arranged for a posse to go out to look for the missing ones. the authorities were keenly interested in the information that sheriff ford and the three overland men had to offer, and declared their intention of starting out in an effort to round up the gang. that evening there was a genuine reunion of the overlanders at which their further plans were discussed. it was left to hippy to find a guide, while stacy was to select the pack animals, and the girls the food and other equipment for the journey. the results of their quests were destined to furnish much amusement on the following day. chapter viii headed for the high country "i have found a guide," announced hippy next morning, walking into the post office where he found all the other members of his party writing postal cards to friends in the east. "that's good. where is he?" asked tom gray. "if you will look up you will see him." the overlanders looked. just to the rear of hippy wingate stood a grinning chinaman, both hands hidden in the ends of his flowing sleeves. the oriental was bowing and scraping, his queue animatedly bobbing up and down. stacy uttered a loud "ha, ha!" "permit me to introduce to you the honorable woo smith whom i have selected, subject to your approval, to accompany us on our journey to the high sierras," announced hippy wingate. "but surely, hippy, this man cannot be a guide," protested elfreda briggs. "we need a guide!" "perhaps he isn't, but you can't find anything else with a magnifying glass in this burg. should you folks think best not to accept him, we'll go it alone. i've done the best i can. remember, too, that i'm a sick man, that i've been mauled and keelhauled by a bunch of bandits and--" "do you speak english?" interrupted grace harlowe. "les. me speak english velly fine." "you say his name is woo smith?" questioned emma. "the honorable woo smith," hippy informed her. "what has he done in the way of mountain work?" persisted grace. "i am informed that he has made frequent journeys to the mountains with prospecting parties and hunters as cook, guide and general handy man. at one time he was out with a government survey party." "as cook or guide?" interjected nora wingate. "the former, i believe." "this outfit needs a good cook," suggested chunky. "woo, do you know horses?" asked tom gray. "les." "that reminds me, chunky, what have you done about the pack animals?" demanded lieutenant wingate. "got three dandies. i have learned that we must travel light. they say that the trails are very rough in the high country, and further, that we must depend upon the country for our food, generally speaking. i don't know what uncle hip and i are going to do if it comes to short rations. of course, as a last resort we can eat the pack-horses. they eat horses in france, so why shouldn't we do the same, if we're hungry enough." "that reminds me. one of the men out with us on our search for hippy declared that our ponies would not be suitable for this journey, and that it requires animals accustomed to the peculiarities of the sierras," averred tom gray. "oh, pooh!" grunted the fat boy. "my pony could climb a tree." "how much money do you wish, woo?" questioned tom. "five dollah a week." "what do you say, good people?" asked grace. "i don't care what you do," exclaimed hippy. "i want food and i want someone who knows how to cook it fit for human consumption, that's all." "i second the motion," agreed stacy. "we can't all live on soul-transmigration stuff. i'd get mental indigestion on that food in thirty seconds by the watch." "we had a chinaman on our journey across the great american desert, and he was an excellent man," declared elfreda briggs. "i move that we take this one." the others agreed with her, and grace, turning to woo, told him that he was engaged. "what has been done about the general equipment?" asked tom. grace said that experienced men had advised against the overlanders burdening themselves with tents or any heavy equipment. "we have slept in the open many times before, so i think we shall be able to get along very nicely," she added. stacy brown protested vigorously. he declared that he would not sleep out of doors where bugs and other undesirable things could get at him, but, after discussing the matter further, every one agreed that the tents would prove an unnecessary encumbrance. they went over their list critically, eliminating several articles that they thought they could do without. "i have an idea!" exclaimed stacy. "keep it," urged emma. "they seem to be reasonably scarce with you." "at least i don't transmigrate them," retorted chunky. "as i was about to remark when interrupted, i have an idea that this outfit will have to browse with the horses if it wishes food." "it would be a great flesh-reducer," murmured emma, giving chunky a sidelong glance. elfreda suggested that they have a look at the pack-horses selected by stacy, so they all walked over to the corral, and expressed themselves as well satisfied with stacy's selections. one white, mischievous little animal, with a circle of delicate pink about each eye, they named kitty. the name seemed to fit her. the other two animals they, decided to name later on after learning their peculiarities. "i've ordered pack saddles for them," announced hippy, "and a pair of kyacks for each horse." "what is a kyack? something good to eat?" questioned stacy. "a kyack is an alforgas," emma dean informed him. "i am amazed at your ignorance." "i agree with you, emma. for once i do," nodded hippy. "for your information, stacy, a kyack is a packing outfit. these are made either of heavy canvas or of rawhide, shaped square and dried over boxes. after drying, the boxes are removed, leaving the stiff rawhide or canvas, like small trunks, open at the top. they are in reality sacks--" "me savvy klyack," chuckled the chinaman, rubbing his palms together gleefully. "mr. smith knows," nodded hippy. "the explanation is not satisfactory. once more i rise to ask if this kyack thing is some sort of dried beef that we are expected to eat when real food is scarce?" insisted chunky. "you and i, lad, would have to be pretty hungry to eat a kyack," laughed hippy. "the loops of the kyack are slung on each side of the horse. they are used to pack belongings over the mountains. i have also ordered sawbuck trees for the pack-saddles, together with pack-cinch, and pack-rope for each animal. i also took the liberty of buying blankets from which to make saddle-pads. it will be cheaper than trying to get along with horses with sore backs, i think. then there are hobbles for the horses, a couple of cow bells--" "are we going to take cows along with us?" wondered chunky, opening his eyes a little wider. "not quite. only a calf or two," murmured emma dean. "the bells are for the horses, so that they may be easily found in the morning," spoke up tom gray. "i thought you had been out before." "i have, but never with such an outfit as this, especially the transmigration end of it," retorted stacy, giving emma a quick look to see if his shot had gone home. "i see," he added. "but every time i hear the bells a-ringing, i shall think of home and a pitcherful of warm milk." "perfectly proper food for the species to which i so recently referred," observed emma airily. "however, from all accounts, you will have nothing more nourishing than snow-water from the tall peaks of the sierras." "br-r-r-r!" shivered stacy. at hippy's direction, the honorable woo smith led the pack-horses over to the general store, and there, with stacy to assist him, hippy began packing their equipment, throwing a diamond hitch about each pack. the girls, observing the work, discovered that stacy brown was quite as familiar with "throwing packs" as was his uncle hippy. "mister brown is not quite the fool he would have us believe," declared elfreda briggs. "it is my opinion that he believes in putting his worst foot forward, keeping the other one hidden behind it." a group of mountaineers were standing near, observing the operations with interest. one stepped up and examined the much-worn saddle on hippy wingate's pony. "son," said he, "do ye reckon on climbin' mountains with that thing?" "why not?" demanded hippy. "i reckon it might be all right for the rockies, but yer saddle'll be on the critter's tail afore ye git half way to the top of the big sierras." hippy stroked his chin reflectively. "you mean i ought to have a double-cinch on the riding saddles? is that it?" "i reckon." "thanks, buddy. i'll fix it. i should have thought of that, but i am not at all familiar with the lay of the land up here." "ye will be, pardner, after ye've fell off it a few thousand times. the landscape in these here parts be rather sudden in spots," drawled the mountaineer. a yell from the honorable woo smith interrupted the dialogue. kitty, the mischievous pack-horse, had playfully seized the queue of woo smith between her teeth and was jerking her head up and down, and, with each jerk, the chinaman was jolted backwards, howling lustily, chattering in volleys in his native tongue. the street, near the village store, filled with cowboys and citizens as if by magic. they set up yells, shouts and cat-cries that smothered the chatter of the new guide. grace, being nearest to the mischievous animal, sprang forward and gave the white pack-horse a smart slap with the flat of her hand on kitty's plump stomach. the mare instantly dropped the howling chinaman, and, whirling on grace with wide open mouth, looked as if she were about to devour the overland rider. the girl never flinched. "aren't you ashamed of yourself, kitty?" she chided. "if ever i see you do a thing like that again i'll surely have you punished. do you understand?" the mare's mouth closed slowly, her upper lip quivered, she nibbled gingerly at grace harlowe's sleeve, and looked as meek as was possible for a mischievous pony to look. the cowboys grunted disgustedly. they were disgruntled that grace had spoiled their fun, disappointed that the white mare had not taken a large slice, either out of the chinaman or grace harlowe herself. "grace, do you know, you have given us a most remarkable demonstration of the transmigration of thought," declared emma. "it was your thought, transmitted to the mentality of the white mare, that caused her to desist, to beg of you to forgive and--" "yeo-o-o-o-ow!" howled chunky. "young man, your rudeness is inexcusable," rebuked emma. "that's what the white mare wanted to say to grace," retorted stacy. while all this was taking place, tom and elfreda were talking with the mountaineers, getting all the information they could about trails and conditions in the mountains. the result of the information gleaned was that the overland riders decided that they would take the "cold stream trail" for the high country, a section seldom visited, but which woo smith declared he knew all about. the spectators were inclined to make sport of the explorers, and especially of the idea that women could ride the sierras. even the postmaster sought to dissuade them from making the attempt. "it's a bad country," he confided to tom. "with that bunch of gals on your hands, you'll starve to death, sure's you're a foot high." "there is plenty of game there, is there not?" questioned tom. "yes, for them that knows how to shoot." "then i reckon we will not starve. what other objection is there?" "the jones boys. you watch out right smart for them." "who are they?" demanded elfreda, who had been an interested listener to the conversation between tom and the postmaster. the postmaster glanced about him apprehensively before replying, then, leaning towards tom, spoke in a half-whisper. "outlaws!" he said. "i reckon you've heard of them. it is suspected that they're the fellows that held up the red limited the other night. i reckon you know something about that affair." the postmaster squinted knowingly at tom, who nodded. "so, that's it, eh?" "yes. better look out for them. they have their hang-out somewhere in the mountains, but nobody has ever been able to trail them to it, and i don't reckon no one ever will--and come back to tell about it. a squad of pinkerton detectives went into the mountains looking for those fellows, but not one of that bunch of detectives has ever been heard from since." "it sounds shivery, doesn't it?" spoke up elfreda. "however, we have no especial reason to fear the bandits because there could be no object in their interfering with us. we do not carry money with us--not enough to make it worth their while to try to rob us--nor are we looking for trouble." "no object!" exploded the postmaster. "lady, those fellows would kill you for two bits and a piece of string." in his own mind, tom gray was not so positive that the bandits had no reason for interfering with them. on the contrary, if the jones boys knew that it was the overland riders who had assisted in driving them from the scene of the attempted train robbery, the overlanders might confidently look for some stirring times in the high sierras. chapter ix their slumbers disturbed "all aboard for the high sierras!" called stacy brown, swinging to his saddle a few minutes later. the others, one by one, mounted and sat awaiting the order to start. woo smith had gone on ahead. scorning the use of a pony to ride, he had trotted on, shooing the pack-horses along, the departure of the overlanders having been deferred until about an hour after he had left them. woo said that he would make camp at a good place and have supper ready upon their arrival. the overlanders finally started away, waving their hands to the curious natives, and soon reached the trail that led towards the high country. the trail was an old one, but so seldom used that it could hardly be dignified by the name of trail. woo plainly was familiar with it, for he had reached it by the most direct course, marking the beginning of it by breaking over branches of bushes, a trick that he had learned from white men with whom he had explored the mountains at some previous time. very good time was made that day, and when about eighteen miles from gardner they saw the smoke of woo's camp-fire. half an hour later they reached it and found that the guide had selected an ideal camping place. there was water and good feed for the horses. woo already had turned out the pack-horses, which were grazing out of sight of the camp, and the cowbells on two of them could be heard tinkling in the distance. "i reckon i drew a prize," declared hippy pompously, referring to woo. "time will tell," answered emma dean. "i agree with you," answered elfreda briggs. "one shouldn't jump at conclusions, as grace harlowe says." saddles were quickly removed, and, before doing anything else, the men of the party washed the backs of the ponies to prevent the animals becoming saddle-sore. by the time they had finished and turned out the ponies to browse, the guide had supper ready for them. the air was hot and motionless, for they were not yet high enough in the mountains to catch the cool breezes from the snow-clad tops, and all felt the heat. the chinaman had prepared a supper that won golden words of praise from the girls of the overland party, and stacy and hippy ate until it seemed as if they must pop open. the flapjacks fairly melted in the mouths of the riders and the coffee they pronounced to be delicious. "won't it be fine not to have to do any cooking on this trip?" smiled emma. "yes. i feel as if a great load had been lifted from my shoulders," agreed stacy. "i did most of the cooking for our pony rider outfit. ordinarily i would rather cook than do most anything that i know of." "i am sincerely glad that you are not cooking for this party," declared emma dean with emphasis. "you are congratulating yourselves too early," interjected nora wingate. "we are all going to do work just as we always have done." grace and elfreda agreed with her. "you don't mean that we've got to get up in the dewy morning and rustle grub for the outfit, do you?" demanded chunky. "yes, of course," answered grace. "that is the fun of camping," said miss briggs. "we should soon forget all we knew had we servants to do the work for us. he is an industrious fellow, though, i must say," added elfreda, glancing at woo, who was busily at work washing dishes and singing "hi-lee, hi-lo!" "he is a song-bird, too," observed stacy. "woo, you must be saving of the provisions," called grace. "remember we must make our supplies go a long way, for we shall not get any more for some time." "don't wolly till to-mollow. hi-lee, hi-lo; hi-lee, hi-lo!" sang the guide. "what's that he says?" demanded tom gray. "he says, 'don't worry until to-morrow,'" interpreted emma. "ha, ha!" laughed chunky, and the overland riders joined in the laughter. "you savvy plenty to-mollow. me savvy glub to-mollow," added woo, chuckling to himself. "he speaks hog latin quite fluently, doesn't he?" observed stacy solemnly. "you leave it to smith. i found smith, you know," reminded hippy wingate pridefully. "hi-lee, hi-lo!" sang the chinaman, continuing with his work, while the overlanders, having finished their supper, gathered about the campfire, and forgot the heat of the california night in its cheerful glow. it seemed good to them to be out in the open once more, to be where they were obliged to depend almost wholly on their own resourcefulness for their food and lodging, if not for their lives, for they were going into perilous places, places fraught with dangers. woo, having completed his work, and having hung his frying-pans and other equipment to nails driven in a tree, sat down on his haunches by the fire, and, after composing himself, lost his long yellow fingers in the mysterious depths of his wide-flowing sleeves. "me savvy plenty fine night," he observed, gazing blissfully up into the sky. "you savvy plenty fine night, too?" he asked, looking soulfully at miss briggs. "i savvy the same as you do, woo," replied elfreda soberly. "it is going to be a fine night for sleep, but i think the air will be cooler later on." woo nodded wisely, and stacy glanced up with quickened interest. "are we going to sleep on the ground?" he asked. "yes," answered tom gray. "you ought to be used to that." "are there snakes up here?" questioned the fat boy apprehensively. "me savvy plenty snake," the guide informed them. "what kind?" wondered emma. "lattlers." "he means rattlers," interpreted grace harlowe. "oh, wow!" muttered the fat boy. "i think i'll climb a tree." "you will take pot luck on the ground with the rest of us," answered tom rather severely. "me savvy lattler in blanket once," declared the guide. "lattler sleep plenty in blanket. go away in molning. lattler no hurt chinaman," explained woo. signs of uneasiness were observable among the girls of the overland party, and in stacy brown as well. tom declared that woo was "drawing the long bow," and said that he never had heard anything of the sort about the sierra trails. "i have," announced hippy. "there are snakes all about here, but we are not going to lose any sleep over it. besides, stacy is getting the wiggles." "yes. for goodness sake, drop the subject. you folks give me the willyjiggs," shivered emma dean. "i'm not getting the wiggles," protested stacy. "i reckon i'm not afraid of anything that walks." "we were not speaking of that kind," reminded nora. "we were speaking of reptiles." "how long do you figure that it will take us to get into the high country?" asked grace by way of changing the subject. "me savvy eight days," answered woo. "you savvy mebby pony him no climb?" "yes, they can, too," objected stacy indignantly. "our ponies can go where a bird can. don't you forget that." "me savvy plenty snake, too," added woo. "for goodness sake, stop that snake conversation," cried emma. "i shall surely dream about snakes if you go on that way." smith grinned happily, then proceeded, with the utmost composure, to relate experiences with big rattlers in the sierras. he told of waking up in the morning and finding one coiled in his blanket, under his arm, or, perhaps, nestled close to his neck for warmth from the chill night air of the higher altitudes, until stacy was on the verge of a panic, and emma dean was shivering. "mr. smith," she said, after regarding him inquiringly for some moments. "have you ever had any experience with transmigration of thought?" she asked. "tlans--tlans--" "transmigration," assisted hippy. "tlansmiglation! les. me savvy. me savvy one time big hunter shoot one in mountains. woo savvy bad medicine and run away," chuckled the chinaman. "i reckon that will be about all for you this evening, emma," observed hippy wingate, amid peals of laughter from the overland girls. tom got out the bedding, consisting of a blanket apiece, and a tarpaulin for a cover, while woo busied himself with cutting browse which he placed on the ground and laid blankets on it. it was not a particularly soft bed at that. while they were preparing their beds, stacy poked about with a stick, covering a radius of several rods. "what in the world are you doing?" demanded nora wingate. "he is beating up the landscape to drive out the serpents," answered emma. "you are a tenderfoot, aren't you?" "i don't like the fleas to get next to my skin," explained the fat boy lamely. "they tell me that these california fleas are awful." "were i as tough as you, i do not believe i should worry about a little thing like that," retorted emma. stacy made no reply, but poked the fire savagely, then piled on more wood, occupying all the time he could before preparing for bed, and the others had turned in long before he was ready. "stop that fussing and come to bed!" ordered hippy. "yes, for goodness sake, do," added miss briggs. "woo smith, aren't you ready to turn in?" "les. me savvy glub first." "you might fetch uncle hip and myself a bite to eat while you are on the food question," suggested stacy. "no food until breakfast," admonished grace. after idling about and grumbling for fifteen minutes more, stacy finally crawled in under the tarpaulin, uttering dismal groans and complaints about the hardness of his bed. all were lying with feet towards the fire. the smoke and the blaze drove away insects, and the warmth was pleasant, even though the night was sultry, and it was not long after that when the overlanders dropped off to sleep. woo, chuckling to himself and muttering, crept cautiously to the men's side of the fire, surveyed the layout, then crawled in under the tarpaulin beside stacy brown. a few moments later, hippy, who lay next to stacy, was aroused by the fat boy's mutterings. stacy was dreaming about snakes. hippy knew because he heard his fat nephew say, "snakes!" "i'll teach that boy a lesson and make him dream of something worth while," decided hippy. rising on one elbow, lieutenant wingate glanced over the row of heads just visible above the top of the tarpaulin. he could barely make out their features in the faint light, but when his gaze finally came to rest on the face of the sleeping chinaman, hippy wingate was suddenly possessed of a brilliant idea. woo lay flat on his back, both hands snugly tucked into the wide-flowing sleeves. "i have it," chuckled hippy. reaching over chunky very cautiously, he lifted the long black queue of the guide, held it for a moment, then softly dropped it across the face of the sleeping, snoring stacy. chunky muttered and stirred restlessly. hippy waited, then began slowly drawing the queue over stacy's face. the fat boy awakened suddenly, but he did not move at once, for he was fairly paralyzed with terror. something cold and soft was wriggling over his face. uttering a mighty yell, stacy grabbed that wriggling queue, at the same time giving it a tug. it was now woo smith's turn to yell, and yell he did, as he struggled and fought to free himself. stacy, hurling the thing from him, leaped to his feet, howling lustily. he stepped on woo and went over backwards, landing on hippy's stomach, struggling and fighting, and finally finishing up by fastening his fingers in tom gray's hair. the camp was instantly in an uproar, and none was more loud in his protestations than hippy wingate himself. chapter x "boots and saddles" "stop that noise!" shouted tom gray. emma uttered a frightened cry and springing up, started to run. "come back! we are all right," commanded miss briggs. "oh, what is it? hippy, my darlin', are you all right?" wailed nora. "snakes! snakes! oh, wow!" howled stacy brown. all hands had turned out in a hurry, and woo smith was dancing about chattering and fondling his head at the base of his queue. "snakes! where?" cried emma. "it crawled right over my face," declared stacy. "i grabbed it and hurled it from me, and think i must have flung it against a tree and killed it. uncle hip, go see if you can find it." "you poor fish!" chortled hippy wingate. "you--you must be a good thrower, for there isn't a tree near where you slept," declared emma. "that's so, there isn't," admitted chunky. "well, anyhow, it must have been a stone that i threw the snake against." "what you did do, young man, was to fall on me with your full weight," rebuked hippy. "oh, why did i ever ask you to come with us?" "that's what i have been wondering," agreed emma. "please, please quiet down, good people," begged grace laughingly. "suppose we find out what actually did occur. does anyone know?" "yes. i know. a great big snake crawled over me," averred stacy. "with all due respect to you, stacy brown, i don't believe it," differed elfreda. "he ate too much and had the nightmare," suggested miss dean. "it wasn't a mare. i tell you it was a snake," insisted stacy. "i guess i know what i am talking about, and don't you try to make me believe anything different. i won't! i know what i believe, and i believe what i know, and that's the end of it." "well, sir, what is the matter with you?" demanded tom, facing the excited chinaman. "mr. smith has the willyjiggs, too," answered emma. woo chattered and caressed his head. "me savvy somebody pull queue. me savvy head almost come off. ouch!" "just a moment. just a moment," begged grace. "you say someone pulled your queue?" "les." "this demands further investigation," spoke up hippy. "the question now before this tribunal is, who pulled the chinaman's queue. emma dean, did you pull honorable smith's queue?" "i did not," retorted, emma indignantly. "all right, all right; don't get all heated up about it. i take it that none of the other ladies tried to scalp our guide. how about you, stacy?" stacy declared that he didn't know anything about it, and cared less, and tom gray said the idea that he had done such a thing was preposterous. "we will leave it to smith," announced hippy. "woo, did mr. brown try to pull your halter off?" "les, les. me savvy him pull queue. him neally pull head off. woof!" "i begin to understand. ladies and gentlemen, the mystery is solved. the honorable woo smith's queue got on stacy's face and stacy thought it was a snake. you see how easy it is to be carried away by one's imagination. stacy, if you raise further disturbance in this outfit i shall require you to roost by yourself. i, for one, at least, need my rest." "if woo will get out i'll keep quiet," answered stacy. "don't wolly till to-mollow," advised the oriental, pawing about like an animal, in search of a suitable place on which to lie down and sleep. no further disturbance occurred that night, though stacy refused to turn in until he had seen woo lie down at some distance from him, and at daybreak the overlanders were aroused by the "hi-lee, hi-lo!" of the guide, who was out gathering wood for the breakfast fire. "come, folks. wash and get busy," urged hippy. "who is the wrangler this morning?" "it is stacy's turn, i believe," replied tom gray. "i don't want to wrangle. i'm too sleepy and too cold," protested the boy. "that makes no difference. there is to be no shirking in this outfit," answered uncle hippy. the wrangler is the man who goes out in the morning to round up the horses. following the custom in the mountains, the overlanders had turned out all but two of the ponies, permitting the stock to graze where it pleased through the night. the pack animals had been hobbled. it now became stacy brown's duty to find the animals, and drive the herd into camp. "i don't hear the cow bells. the animals must have gotten away quite a distance," suggested emma mischievously. stacy took all the time he could in getting ready, and, as a result, by the time he was ready to start, breakfast was nearly ready to be served. "don't i eat first?" he questioned anxiously. "certainly not. wranglers always go out for the horses before breakfast," reminded emma. chunky threw himself into the saddle and galloped away at a reckless pace, but his was a long chase, for the ponies had wandered some distance from camp. they were lying down in a glade and did not move or make a sound when the boy rode past them. stacy had followed their trail out, but, suddenly discovering that he had lost it, he turned about and went back to pick it up. this time he discovered the animals. "so! there you are, eh?" he jeered, regarding the horses resentfully. "thought you would play me a smart trick, did you? i'll be even with you for that." after much floundering about, the white pack pony, kitty, finally got up grunting and groaning dismally, then stacy began removing the hobbles from their legs. kitty gave him the most trouble, the white mare insisting on grabbing chunky by the trousers every time he stooped to unfasten the hobbles. this continued until stacy finally lost his patience, and, getting a switch, he gave kitty a good sharp touching-up. finally, having completed his task, he turned their heads towards camp and mounted his own saddle pony. "shoo! go on, you lazy louts! think i am going to eat cold grub, just out of consideration for you?" it was shortly after that that the overlanders in camp heard the tinkle of the bells on two of the pack animals, and when stacy rode into camp the party was half way through breakfast. slipping from his saddle, stacy started at a run for breakfast, flinging a set of hobbles at the cook as he passed. "stacy! you are becoming a very violent young man," smiled grace. "becoming?" spoke up emma dean. "it is my opinion that he always has been. no one could acquire his manners in so short a time." "association sometimes plays strange freaks with one," retorted stacy. "say, uncle hip. that white mare is a terror. she actually hid so that i should not see her; then, when i finally found her, she tried to eat me up. the brown one is the laziest thing i ever saw. we ought to call her the idler, she's so lazy." "good!" cried elfreda. "idler she shall be, with the permission of our captain, grace harlowe." "how about the other one?" asked stacy. "the black?" questioned tom. "yes. he is always stumbling and getting into difficulties," said chunky. "we will name him calamity," said grace. "that is what i was going to name the chinaman," grumbled the fat boy. "the wrangler always attends to the packing, you know," reminded elfreda after they had finished breakfast. "this wrangler doesn't," answered chunky. "of course, in view of the fact that this is our first morning out, and that you are still a little green--" teased miss briggs. "his natural color," interjected emma. "i will help you," finished hippy. "by the way, you need not throw the diamond hitch around the packs this morning. kitty has a soft pack, and the square hitch will answer very well, provided you make it good and tight." "oh, i'll make it tight, all right. i'll lash it so tightly that the old horse won't be able to breathe. i owe her a grudge, anyway," declared stacy. "did you folks know that i learned a new hitch at gardner?" "impossible!" exclaimed emma. "it is called 'the lone packer,'" continued stacy, unheeding the interruption. "it is even harder to learn to tie than is the diamond hitch. for a load of small articles it is supposed to be the best in use. the particular feature about it is that it pulls the pack away from the animal's sides and prevents chafing." "here, here! that isn't the way to throw a square hitch," objected hippy, hurrying over to stacy who was laboring with the white mare's pack, kitty standing with all four feet braced, groaning dismally. "what have you done to her?" "i? nothing. she thinks she's smart." hippy regarded the pack animal keenly, then, stepping up, he placed his hat on top of her pack. the mare flinched and groaned. it was a test that hippy had seen practiced on lazy horses in france during the war. "so that's it, eh?" he chuckled. "she is soldiering, but never mind. we will take all that out of her." "that is what i told kitty this morning. i promised her that she should get all that was coming to her. stand up, you lazy-bones!" commanded stacy sharply, at the same time giving the mare a slap on the stomach. kitty instantly retaliated by taking a chunk out of the boy's sleeve, and a wee bit of skin with it. stacy howled and jerked away. his face flushed, and he raised a hand to strike back. "don't do that!" rebuked grace. "never, never strike a horse on the head! it is a sure way to spoil an animal. and never punish a horse when you are in anger. should an animal need punishing, punish him humanely, but trim him so thoroughly that you never may be called upon to repeat the performance." "but, she bit me," protested stacy. "forget it!" laughed grace. "i should say that the poor beast is already sufficiently punished after biting stacy brown," observed emma meekly. "be firm, but gentle," continued grace. "kitty is in just the right mood to be spoiled by rough treatment." stacy was not over-gentle. he jerked the white mare about, shook his fist in her face and announced in a loud tone what he would do to her did she ever again try to make a meal out of his arm. in the meantime hippy, with an interested group of overland girls observing, was putting the final touches to the packing, making the lead-ropes fast, using a knot that he had learned, by which, in case of trouble, one can reach from his saddle and jerk the pack free by a single pull on a loose end of a rope. all was now ready for the start. woo smith, with a final look backward, started ahead singing blithely. hippy whistled "boots and saddles." the overland ponies knew the signal, but of course the pack-horses did not, though they soon would learn that it was the command to get under way. when a short distance from camp, the pack animals straggled off and sought their own trails near the one that was followed by the riders, hippy now and then shouting to woo to keep them up, for the idler was lagging behind, though she had started out in the lead of the pack-horses. woo smith's "hi-lee, hi-lo!" sung in the oriental's shrill, knife-edge voice kept time for the plodding ponies, that were now climbing up a steep grade. the overland party were well started on their way to the high places of this wild, rugged country, where genuine adventure awaited them. chapter xi ponies get a bad fright up and up traveled the overland party, the ponies here and there being obliged to zigzag back and forth, picking their way like mountain goats. the members of the party were keenly interested in watching the pack-horses to see how they acted under these trying circumstances, and, to their satisfaction, found that the animals were thoroughly familiar with their work. the saddle horses of the overlanders, they had seen in action before, and knew what they could do. now and then the white mare would poise with all four feet bunched as if she were about to make a leap into space, then slowly one foot would reach out for a footing. having found it, the other fore foot would follow, then the hind feet, kitty all the time groaning dismally and wheezing like a leaky valve on a locomotive. ordinarily, horses on a trail make an effort to keep within sight of each other, but in this instance idler, the brown mare, did not appear to care whether she were within or out of sight of her companions. hippy, when they made the noon luncheon camp, searched his kit for an article that he had brought along, thinking it might prove useful. he did not let the others see what it was, but secreted it on his person. this article was a pea-shooter, and he had the peas to use in it, too. when the party moved on after luncheon, hippy dropped behind to better observe the pack-horses. idler loafed, as usual. hippy tried the pea-shooter on her, and the brown mare jumped at a critical point. all four feet went out from under her, and she landed on her back, greatly to the detriment of her pack, and, had it not been that the pack was very strong, the outfit she carried would have been ruined. "oh, the clumsy beast!" groaned grace harlowe. "what ails the silly creature?" cried emma. "she has thrown a fit," stacy informed her. hippy, whose scheme had exceeded his expectations, sprang from his saddle and ran to the fallen horse, which, by this time, had rolled over on her side. one foot further and idler would have slipped down along the rocks a hundred feet or more. "stacy! sit on her head! fetch me a rope, someone," urged lieutenant wingate. passing the rope about the animal, they threw it around a tree above the trail, then began removing the pack, which tom had loosened by pulling on the pack-rope. relieved of the weight on her back, idler, aided by a pull on the rope, struggled to her feet, and, after no little effort, she was gotten back on the narrow trail. about a hundred feet above them, perched on a pinnacle of rock, sat the honorable woo smith, hands lost in his flowing sleeves. "hi-lee, hi-lo! hi-lee, hi-lo!" sang the guide. stacy shied a pebble at him. "will you stop that 'hi-lee' business?" he demanded. "it is lucky for you that you are above instead of below me, or i'd roll a rock down on you." "let the cook alone!" ordered tom gray. "i don't understand what caused that beast to lose her footing so suddenly." hippy wingate, however, understood only too well, but he did not think best to enlighten his companions, who might have found unpleasant remarks to make. a full hour was lost in getting the brown mare and her pack in condition to proceed, then the journey was resumed. later in the day, lieutenant wingate found occasion to use his pea-shooter again. the first effort in that direction had proved so successful that he could not resist the second shining opportunity that presented itself. this time stacy was the victim. stacy was asleep in his saddle at the time, his pony moping along with head close to the ground, when hippy sent a pea straight at the tender flank of the animal. the pony woke up suddenly, and then another pea hit it. the fat boy's mount bucked beautifully, and chunky took a long flight, landing head-first in a wild rose bush, howling and struggling, not rightly knowing what had occurred. "here, here! what's going on?" shouted tom, turning in his saddle. "stacy has come a cropper. oh, please do it again, stacy. it was beautiful," urged emma enthusiastically. "i--i fell off," wailed the boy, raising a very red face above the top of the rose bush. "i--i transmigrated, didn't i, emma?" stacy grinned sheepishly. "i'll trim the beast for that." "you will not," laughed hippy. "the pony was not to blame in the least." as a matter of fact, the pony appeared to be even more amazed at the mishap than were the overlanders themselves. the excitement ended, and the party once more under way, chunky began to ponder over what had occurred, and the more he pondered the more convinced did he become that someone had played a trick on him. he eyed each member of the party narrowly, finally regarding uncle hip with suspicion. "i wonder if he did it?" muttered the boy. the trail was growing more difficult and perilous with the moments, and the riders were making not more than a mile-and-a-half an hour, and at one point it curved so sharply that the riders in the lead, in this instance tom and stacy, were directly above lieutenant wingate, traveling in the opposite direction. "hulloa! what's uncle hip up to now?" wondered stacy, casting suspicious glances at him. chunky saw something glisten in the hands of uncle hip; then he saw him place the glistening object to his lips and blow. miss kitty snorted and jumped, after which she quickened her pace. "so, that's the game, is it?" grinned stacy brown. "i reckon i know now what made me come a cropper into the rose bush. uncle hip used a pea-shooter on my pony. wait till i get an opportunity! i'll make a show of him for that." tom had halted at the summit, and, shading his eyes, gazed off over the scene before him. "what do you call that hole down there?" questioned elfreda. "that? that is a box canyon," replied hippy. "are we going down there?" wondered nora. "yes." "we're going to do a giant leap for life to the bottom of the box in a few moments," stacy brown informed her. tom removed his sombrero and mopped his forehead. "i see nothing that looks like a trail," he declared. "woo, are you positive that there is a safe way to get down?" woo bobbed his head vigorously. "him plenty good way. you no savvy tlail?" tom shook his head. "me savvy tlail. you come. me show." "never mind, woo. we are going to find that trail for ourselves. this isn't the first time we have been in the mountains. you watch us," answered lieutenant wingate. hippy crawled down the mountainside for some distance, working along, first to the right, then to the left. he observed, at the same time, that the wall on the opposite side of the canyon had a more gradual slope. climbing the other side would be easier than the one they were now going down. there was no trace of a trail on the overlanders' side, but hippy found a way to get down. "well?" questioned grace, upon his return. "we can make it." "of course we can make it. we shall have to jump, though," said stacy. "suppose you jump first, then, if the jumping is good, perhaps we may follow," suggested emma. "jump? why, you wouldn't dare jump off from a silver dollar," declared chunky. "produce one and see whether i dare or not," offered emma. "i--i don't think i have one," stammered stacy amid laughter. "all ready," announced lieutenant wingate, mounting and starting down the sharp incline. the others watched him for a few moments, then followed, the pack animals taking their places without being urged, not at all disturbed over the perilous descent. hippy was now taking a zig-zag course, which was the only safe way, unless one preferred to adopt stacy's suggestion and jump. to look at the mountain, traveling down its steep side would seem to the novice an impossibility. however, ponies familiar with mountain climbing are sure-footed and unafraid, and do some remarkable climbing, frequently going where a tenderfoot would hesitate to crawl on hands and knees. here and there were small trees, with an occasional growth of bushes, which afforded more or less protection from a bad fall, but on other parts of the trail the rocks sloped away for hundreds of feet, lying smooth and glaring in the bright afternoon sunlight. the overland riders took the descent without any display of nervousness, but kitty, the pack-horse, groaned and grunted all the way down. one would imagine that she was suffering agonies, but it was simply habit with her, and she got no sympathy, though now and then she did feel the sting of a pebble that one or another of the party hurled at her. lieutenant wingate was making much more rapid progress than his companions, he being eager to reach the bottom before the light failed them, for it would not do at all to be caught on the side of the mountain after dark. a shout from below told them that he had reached the valley. it was answered by another shout from above, then a "hi-lee, hi-lo!" in the high-pitched voice of the guide. a stone came bumping down not far from woo. "stacy, did you throw that stone?" shouted hippy. "i did." "stop it! you might hit someone." "i want to hit someone. i want to wing that song-bird, and i'll do it yet," threatened chunky. the safe arrival of the rest of the overland party at the bottom of the pit put a stop to further gaiety at the expense of the guide. they found themselves in a valley about a quarter of a mile in width and of unknown length. the place was a meadow in the heart of the mountains, carpeted with the brown california grass that did not appeal to the appetites of the horses, and as soon as the animals were turned out they made haste to climb the opposite slope in search of the succulent greens that they seemed to know they should find up there. in the meantime, preparations for making camp and getting supper were going on systematically down in the canyon. it was an ideal place for camping, sheltered from storm, and from sunshine during the early and late hours of the day. a clear, cold brook rippled merrily on their side of the canyon, its waters leaping from the black rocks or lying in sombre bank-shadowed pools; and, despite the apparent dryness of the landscape, gorgeous bush-flowers bloomed, filling the air with their perfume, the valley farther down being a riot of varied colors where the stream had left its banks and spread out over the lower land. "oh, girls, isn't this fairyland?" breathed elfreda briggs. "wonderful!" agreed grace. "all but the fairies," answered stacy. "we have a gnome," suggested emma, glancing at chunky. "fairies don't stuff themselves. they live on atmosphere." "this fairy doesn't live on atmosphere," retorted stacy. "he takes his belt off, if necessary, too." "i would suggest that you take it off now and get to work. we have plenty of it to do," reminded tom gray. all hands turned to, to help the cook, for they were hungry, and it was natural that they should be, for climbing mountains in the high country is hard, grilling work. supper was a busy rather than a lively affair, but after supper the overlanders found their tongues and were soon engaged in good-natured raillery, but they were quite ready to turn in when tom gray whistled "taps." this time there was no hesitancy on the part of anyone to sleeping on the ground, and they dropped off to sleep with the tinkling of the bells of the pack-horses in their ears, the rich perfumes of flowers in their nostrils, their senses lulled pleasantly by the song of the locusts and strange insects that none remembered ever to have heard of before. the camp was awake shortly after daybreak. once more stacy brown had to be urged forth to wrangle the horses. he protested loudly when elfreda pointed to the opposite slope, which chunky must climb, for the animals were nowhere in sight. "i suppose i might as well go out. i always get the fag-end of the stick," grumbled stacy. "never mind, chunky. i'll fetch the horses," offered tom. "no, no. i just wanted to say something," returned stacy, hastily stirring himself into activity and jumping on the bare back of his pony. no sooner was he on than he was off again, for the pony had never been ridden without a saddle, and promptly bucked when his owner mounted. stacy landed flat on his back in the campfire, sending up a shower of sparks and smoke, and it was only the quick action of nora wingate that saved him from being burned. as it was, his clothing was smoking when he was dragged out. hippy and tom put stacy's fire out by grabbing the boy up and throwing him in the creek, where stacy rolled over whooping and howling his disapproval of the entire proceeding. "you should have known better than to try to ride that pony without a saddle," rebuked hippy. stacy turned angrily on his now meek-eyed pony. "you donkey! oh, you doddering idiot!" he raged, shaking a fist at the animal. "you'll pay for that! you'll rue the day and the minute that you bucked me off your back. where is my saddle?" "never mind. i will get the ponies," grinned hippy. "you aren't fit." "i am. i'm always fit. i'll get 'em myself." "be sure to bring back the donkey," teased emma. stacy cinched on his saddle before starting, and this time the little animal offered no protest, but galloped away as docile as could be desired. after he had left them, the overlanders had a good laugh at his expense, then began packing in preparation for the day's journey. the overlanders finally began to wonder what had become of stacy, for he had been absent much longer than seemed necessary, then, all at once they heard a yell on the opposite side of the canyon. "there he is! he is in trouble again," cried tom, starting for his own pony. "see him come! he will break his neck," worried nora. tom halted at his pony's side, for he had discovered something else. right on the heels of stacy's mount came the saddle-ponies and the pack-horses. the latter, being hobbled, were hopping like kangaroos, making long leaps, covering a great deal of ground in each leap and turning their heads to glance back with almost every jump. "what can be the matter?" wondered grace, anxiously watching the descent of the fat boy. every second she expected to see him come a cropper and fall the remaining distance down the mountainside, but chunky did nothing of the sort. he stuck tightly to his saddle, now and then casting apprehensive glances back at the horses that were tearing along in his wake. lieutenant wingate, suddenly surmising what the trouble was about, ran for his rifle. "wha--at is it?" stammered emma dean. "they are stampeding. something is chasing them. i think i know what it is," answered hippy, darting across the canyon, clearing rocks and other obstructions in a series of lively leaps, the others of his party standing gaping, wondering, some of them a little fearful, especially for the safety of the panic-stricken chunky. chapter xii amid the giant sequoias stacy swept past, flinging back some unintelligible words, the ponies still tearing along after him. the overland riders shouted with laughter at the funny antics of the hobbled pack-horses. kitty had forgotten to groan, and idler was imbued with a new spirit of activity. for the moment the outfit had forgotten all about lieutenant wingate. when finally they thought to look for him he was nowhere in sight. "hippy! oh, hippy!" hailed tom gray. no answer came back from hippy, who was stalking the mysterious something that had stampeded the ponies. "what is it?" cried the overlanders in one voice, as stacy rode back to them wide-eyed. "i don't know. it was something big and awful. i couldn't see all of it, but it looked to me like an elephant. maybe it was a bengal tiger, but i didn't wait to see. if i had waited, the ponies would have run right over me. when i saw them coming i threw on the high-speed lever and lit out for home. i transmigrated. where is my rifle? i am going back after that beast, whatever it may be and--" "there goes hippy across that open space," cried grace, pointing. "yes, and he is after something," added tom. "look! oh, look!" cried emma. all eyes were turned in the direction indicated by grace. they saw a dark object moving across the open space towards hippy, then saw the lieutenant raise his rifle and fire. still the object came on. "it's a bear! hippy's missed!" groaned tom. "i'll wager my hat that uncle hippy didn't miss," answered stacy. "he never misses--when he hits." hippy raised his rifle and fired again. "that was a hit!" cried grace. stacy galloped his pony up the other side of the mountain. "came near making a meal of you, didn't he, uncle hip?" called stacy as he came up with lieutenant wingate. hippy shook his head. "i tried to shoot him between the eyes, but he dodged as i pulled the trigger. next time i couldn't do any fine aiming because the bear was too close. do you see what he is--a big cinnamon bear? i am going to have that skin. go back and tell them to wait until i finish this job, and that we are going to have bear steak for supper to-night." stacy galloped back with the message, then tom rode out to assist in the skinning and to select such meat as he wished to carry with them. the bearskin proved to be very heavy, but hippy insisted on taking it along, first, however, treating the skin so that it would keep until they reached a place where the curing and tanning might be continued. woo, upon observing the bear skin and the steaks taken from the animal, lapsed into song, which stacy pretended not to hear. it irritated chunky to listen to that "hi-lee, hi-lo!" and put him into a fighting humor. an hour after their delayed start they topped the rise on the opposite side of the canyon and paused to gaze over the peaks and rugged mountain-tops that lay before them in a vast panorama. over yonder in the clouds hung the snow-capped peaks of the high sierras, now and then taking on a purple shade from some tinted cloud. "it doesn't seem possible that we shall be able to make those mountains with our ponies, does it?" wondered elfreda. "are we going there?" demanded stacy. "i believe so." "hm-m-m-m!" "are you getting cold feet already?" teased emma. "not yet, but i expect to when i get in those chilly looking snow-caps off yonder," answered stacy quickly. "this life is just one ridge after another." they had mounted ridges, and crossed broad and narrow valleys for some time without incident and the steady creak of saddle straps and girths was becoming monotonous, when suddenly grace's pony jumped clear of the ground with all four feet and began to back. grace harlowe, instantly understanding, called "look out!" and whirled her pony about. "what is the trouble, grace?" called tom, who was riding farther to the rear. "a snake! i heard it, but do not know where it is." "stay back. i will find him and dispatch him," shouted hippy, hurrying forward. "send him a message for me while you are about it. tell him emma dean wishes him to transmigrate," chortled stacy. just then lieutenant wingate discovered the snake, and raising his rifle he aimed it over the head of his pony for a few seconds, then pulled the trigger. "did you get him?" shouted nora. "of course he did. my uncle hip never misses anything," declared stacy. "no. not even food," added emma. "you may all get off. i am going to skin the reptile. he is a fine specimen," announced lieutenant wingate. "i propose to make a hat band of him. it isn't everyone who can wear a rattler around his sombrero, you know." "i'll say that was a fine shot," declared stacy. "yes, but not better than almost any other person could make," differed emma dean. "velly fine. me savvy fine shot," interjected the chinaman. "emma, in a way, is right," spoke up grace. "it does not take any sort of marksmanship at all to shoot the head from a rattler. even a person who never has fired a gun in his life should be able to shoot one." hippy laughed. "you don't believe it. suppose you let emma try it when next we meet a snake. point your rifle at a rattler and he will line his head up with the muzzle. move the muzzle from side to side and he will follow it, always keeping his head in line with it. then, all you have to do is pull the trigger. why, i believe i could shoot and hit one with my eyes shut. i think i should like to make the experiment next time we see a rattler," said grace. "never mind; never mind! we will take your word for it," protested stacy brown. "we do not need a public demonstration." "it surely would be interesting," agreed elfreda. "oh, all right. just let me know when the show is coming off and i'll have business on the other side of the mountain," declared the fat boy. during this temporary halt the pack-horses had plodded on alone. they made a detour of the spot where the snake was being skinned, seeming instinctively to know where they were expected to go, and soon after they started off, woo smith followed with his "hi-lee, hi-lo!" about midday they topped a range of hills, and before them saw revealed a vast forest that stretched over more miles of mountain country than they cared to try to estimate. at first they had no idea of the bigness of the trees; it was merely a great forest. lieutenant wingate, who had been gazing inquiringly at the scene, fanning himself with his sombrero, turned to his companions. "good people, you are now gazing on some of the big trees of california of which you no doubt have heard or read much. before you lies the world-famous sequoia forest. let us push on. when you are among the trees you will get a better idea of their great height." "you should have been a guide on a sightseeing bus," averred emma, as the overlanders rode on. the party reached the edge of the great forest some two hours later, where, in the cool shadows, they halted for a rest. "i am told," resumed hippy pompously, "that this forest comprises more than five thousand specimens of trees." "and you will also observe," announced emma dean, standing up in her stirrups and waving her sombrero, "that many of them are from ten to twenty feet in diameter. at the great height to which they grow, the least leaning either way would cause the trees to break off. you will observe, also, the perfect symmetry of the trees. they are perfect works of art," finished emma, resuming her seat on the saddle. "hooray!" shouted stacy brown. "emma has transmigrated again." emma's companions looked at her in amazement, then burst out laughing. "where in the world did you learn all that, darlin'?" questioned nora wingate admiringly. "i heard the postmaster at gardner telling hippy about it," answered emma meekly, amid shouts of laughter at lieutenant wingate's expense. the scene was so impressive that the laughter of the overland riders soon died away, for the great silence of this wonderful forest had taken strong hold on them. whereas all other forests in which they had traveled, were continually nodding and murmuring, the giant sequoias stood in absolute calm. tom gray explained this silence by saying that, owing to their great height, the trunks were solid, the branches rigid and the movement very slight. even though there might be some slight murmurings, the tops were so far above the ground that the human ear could not catch the faint rustling up there. as the party moved on through the silent forest aisles, the bigness of the trees grew upon them. "you savvy big tlees?" asked woo smith finally, after a long period of silence on his part. the overlanders nodded. "do you know where there is a spring or a creek?" asked tom. "me savvy spling," nodded woo. "lead us to it. is it far from here?" the guide answered with a shake of his head. an hour later, no water being yet in sight, grace called a halt. "woo, i do not believe you savvy any spring at all," she said. "i think we should camp right where we are. it will soon be dark, and if we keep on going we shall undoubtedly be worse off than if we remain where we are. smith, have you lost the trail?" she demanded. woo did not reply at once, but gazed up at the tops of the trees, muttering to himself. "you're lost! that's what's the matter," grinned stacy. "woo no lost. tlail him lost. me savvy tlail lost," chuckled the chinaman. "i thought so," agreed hippy gravely. "there being no objection, i second grace's motion that we camp here." "while you are making camp i will go out and prospect for water," offered tom, wheeling his pony about and riding off into the forest. tom, being a forester by profession, an experienced woodsman, they felt no concern over his departure, but, as the hours following his departure wore on and tom gray did not return, the overlanders began to worry. at nine o'clock they began firing signals at intervals, and woo smith built up a blazing fire, but there was no response to either signal. grace harlowe was the least worried of the party. "we will have supper," she said. "tom will be all right. should he be lost it will not be the first time." "yes, but what if he doesn't find himself?" questioned emma tremulously. "in that event he will make camp and sleep in the forest, so you folks make your beds and turn in for a good night's sleep, just as i am going to do," urged grace. "hi-lee, hi-lo!" chanted woo. "stop that noise, will you!" commanded chunky. "i am not in the mood for song this evening, and i might do you bodily harm," he added, starting to prepare his bed. this he did by smoothing the ground with an axe swung adz-wise between his legs, then filling in the open space with dry pine needles. the overlanders observed his work in interested silence. "you do know how to do something, don't you?" approved emma. "someone in the outfit has to have a head with him," retorted chunky. "it makes me sleepy to look at it. if i weren't sleepy i would make beds in the same way for you girls. let uncle hip do it, i can't keep awake long enough. good night!" stacy lay down, and the others quickly cradled under their blankets and went to sleep, watched over by the huge sequoias that had stood sentinel on that very spot for hundreds of years. then, all at once, it was morning. the songs of birds filled the air, and a squirrel, whisking its tail nervously, chattered on a giant tree trunk, then darted up out of sight. chapter xiii the camp at the "lazy j" stacy sat up and rubbed his eyes. "what did you wake me up for?" he demanded. "hulloa, tom!" "i awakened you by transmigration of thought," answered emma. "oh, girls, girls, wake up! tom is here," she cried. the camp was instantly aroused. tom was discovered sitting calmly by a little fire that he had built, waiting for the sleepers to awaken. tom had done exactly what grace said he would. when he lost his bearings in the darkness, he lay down to wait for daylight. when daylight came he found no difficulty in picking up his trail and returning to camp. "did you find water?" demanded hippy. "not a drop. for that reason, we must take a quick breakfast and hurry on. i think we shall find water beyond the next low range, and it is necessary that we do so before the sun gets high and hot. we can stand it for some time longer, but the horses cannot." the start was made soon after that, tom and hippy packing their belongings while woo and the girls were getting breakfast. the trail they followed took them up a gradual slope for several miles and then pitched giddily into a deep canyon, a canyon that covered all of fifty acres, from which the hills rose in great swells into the far distance. the climb down the side of the mountain was tiresome and difficult, but they forgot their discomfort when finally they came upon a stream of cold, sparkling water that came down from the snow-capped tips of the high sierras. "oh, look!" cried emma. "cows! now we can have some milk." "cows!" groaned stacy. "those aren't cows, they are cattle." there were loud exclamations of wonder when the overlanders saw a lot of cattle, in charge of several herders, grazing less than a mile away. after permitting the horses to drink all that was good for them, and after the overlanders themselves had drunk and filled their water bottles, they galloped on towards the herd. from the herders they learned that the cattle belonged to the "lazy j" ranch. the animals were on their summer grazing grounds, having come up into the hills for the summer months. the herders informed the overlanders that the ranch-house was about five miles due east of there, and that the boss would be glad to see them. "my horse has a loose shoe. is there a blacksmith outfit over there?" asked hippy. "sure," answered a herder. "you'll have to do your own smithing, though." "i reckon i can do that all right," answered lieutenant wingate. "we can make camp there and have a rest before we undertake the next hard climb." after waving good-byes to the herders, the overland riders resumed their journey, arriving at the "lazy j" ranch about mid-afternoon. they were warmly welcomed by mr. giddings, the foreman, who showed his amazement that a party of young women should have made the rough ride into the mountains. "help yourselves to anything in sight. it's all yours," he offered. "glad to have you take pot luck with me in my shack. there isn't much, but what there is you are welcome to." "no. you sit down with us and have a snack," urged grace. mr. giddings did so, and after a late luncheon he conducted hippy to the blacksmith shop, where lieutenant wingate removed the loose shoe from his pony and straightening it on the anvil proceeded to nail it back in place, observed interestedly by the overlanders and several cowboys who were resting up at the ranch-house. even the cowboys' cook came out, frying-pan in hand, to see how the tenderfoot would go about it to shoe a horse. the cowboys looked on with solemn visages, expressive of neither approval nor disapproval. their interest quickened, however, when stacy brown announced that he was going to remove a loose shoe from the off hind foot of the white mare, kitty, and set it properly in place. kitty was led in, and chunky made his preparations with sundry flourishes to show the spectators that he knew what he was about. kitty was not unobservant, and every move of the overland boy was narrowly watched by her. "i should advise you to watch her ears," urged grace. "it isn't her ears, it's those hind feet that i am interested in," replied stacy. "ears can't hurt a fellow--feet can," he said. "whoa, you brute!" added stacy, running a hand down one of the pony's hind legs, then lifting the foot from the ground. what followed was almost too swift for the human eye. barely had the foot been lifted than kitty kicked the boy clear out of the shop. in his flight, chunky was catapulted against the cook, and both went down in a heap. the faces of the cow-punchers relaxed. they howled, fired their revolvers into the air and went fairly wild with joy, while grace and elfreda disentangled stacy and the cowboys' cook and stood them on their feet. [illustration: "are you hurt?"] "are you hurt?" begged grace solicitously. "of course i am. i'm killed, but the white mare is going to get worse than i did," threatened the fat boy. "cool off. don't punish her now," advised elfreda. "i don't want to cool off. i want to shoe that beast." stacy strode belligerently to the now meek little animal. "i ought to break your miserable neck, but i haven't time to do it to-day. besides, the weather is too warm. if i did, this outfit would make me dig a hole and bury you. i always get the worst of it when trying to do a good turn for others. now you stand still or i'll surely forget myself." this time kitty made no objection to having her loose shoe removed, but once off stacy did not know how to put it on again, and tom gray had to finish the job to the great enjoyment of the cowboys. the job finally finished, stacy and hippy perspiring from their efforts, the overlanders went out to watch the range men come in, uttering wild whoops as they discovered that there were women in camp. throwing themselves from their saddles, the range men soused their heads in the creek that flowed near the ranch-house, and were ready for the evening meal. after supper, all hands lounged out to the green in front of the bunkhouse, smoked their pipes and told thrilling stories of adventure in the sierras--told them for the benefit of the tenderfeet who were their guests. the overland girls chatted with the rough but big-hearted cow punchers, who, that night, declared that they never had come up with such a likely bunch of young women. when mr. giddings learned from tom gray that the party was bound for the high sierras, he shook his head dubiously. "no place for white folk, especially women," he warned. "why not?" questioned tom. "trouble! it's the devil's country up there." "we are used to roughing it under all sorts of conditions," replied tom. "we learned how to do that during the great war. all these young women were in the service, at or near the front in france; mr. wingate was an aviator, and i was a captain of engineers, so you see we aren't afraid of trouble." "that's all right. i take off my hat to you, especially to the young ladies. this country is another breed of cats, however, and they tell strange stories about men going up there and never being found afterwards, or, as is sometimes the case, found dead in the crazy lake section. aerial lake, they call it." "where is this mysterious lake?" asked miss briggs. "i don't rightly know. i don't know anything about it. i reckon i don't want to know. neither would you if you had been up here long and had heard as much about it as i have. did you ever hear of the jones gang?" "i reckon we have. we had a little mix-up with them. at least, we understand that was the outfit," hippy informed them. "yes, and we drove them off and gave them a good walloping," added stacy. "let's hear the yarn," called a cowboy. hippy related the story of the hold-up and of the skirmish that followed, resulting in the driving off of the train robbers. the cowboys listened attentively, their expressions showing an increasing respect for the "tenderfeet" who had dropped in on them for a friendly call. "why should this band of outlaws have reason to interfere with us?" asked tom. "why do they bother other folks?" answered mr. giddings. "for what they can get out of it, of course," he said, answering his own question. "they will not get much if they hold us up," grace harlowe informed their hosts. "no. i reckon that would not likely put you in peril, for the reason that they are after bigger game, like that treasure on the red limited. there's another thing, though, that might make it equally bad for you people." "what is that, mr. giddings?" asked elfreda. "the railroad has had pinkerton detectives after that gang for a long time, on account of an express robbery, which makes the gang rather touchy about strangers being in the mountains." "where does this jones crowd make its headquarters?" questioned hippy. "that's just the point. nobody seems to know, but they are supposed to hang out to the eastward of this place. we have never seen any of them since i have been on this range, which is going on five years." "then we do not have to bother our heads about them at all," announced tom. "we are not going in that direction." "you're going to the peak, aren't you?" asked giddings. "yes," replied grace. "hm-m-m-m-m! i'll bet i know what you folks are after. you're after golden trout. you're not the first parties to come up here looking for those shiny fellows." "eh? what's that?" questioned hippy, instantly on the alert. "where are they? i'm the boy that is looking for gold," spoke up stacy. "maybe there ain't any such thing," laughed giddings. "but they do tell a story about a prospector coming across a stream up farewell gap way, where the golden trout were as thick as pollywogs in a mud puddle." tom said he had never heard of them. giddings replied that he reckoned no one else ever had in reality. "they do say," resumed the foreman, "that when the fisherman discovered those fellows basking in the sun at the bottom of the stream, he sure thought he had struck it rich. he believed that he had found sure-enough gold nuggets, but when he went to gather them, the nuggets just up and dusted." "that's the way nuggets usually do," answered stacy wisely. "i hope we find them," said hippy. "i have a rod and a book of flies with me." "it's enough to give a fellow heart disease, anyway," continued giddings. "so, between the joneses, the lake and the movable nuggets, you folks have plenty of entertainment ahead of you." "there is generally excitement and some trouble where we hang up our hats," laughed nora wingate, "but we manage somehow to get along all right." "i wish you luck, pardner," nodded mr. giddings. "i'll have a bunk-house cleaned out for you folks to-night, so you can sleep indoors," he offered. thanking him, but declaring that they preferred to sleep in the open, just as they had been doing for several seasons, the overlanders made camp out of doors just beyond the corral. the night was hot and the flies very thick. the night's rest was not at all satisfying for this reason, and for the added one that the cowpunchers' ponies in the corral were restless. hippy said it indicated that a storm was coming, but stacy differed with him. he averred that the ponies were restless for the same reason that he was--because the flies bit them--and the overlanders laughingly agreed that there might be something in the fat boy's reasoning after all. next morning they were out with the earliest of the punchers. after breakfast, packs were made up and lashed with firm hitches thrown about them. then bidding good-bye to their hosts and shaking hands all around, the overland riders set out for their long journey over the mountains--a journey that would occupy some weeks and be filled with exciting as well as enjoyable experiences. chapter xiv woo's eyes are keen the air was becoming chilly, the overland riders now being at an altitude of nearly eight thousand feet, and still upward bound. a week had elapsed since they left the "lazy j" ranch, and during all that time they had sighted no game except some grouse that they had shot at but failed to bring down. provisions were at a low ebb and all knew that they were nearly face to face with a serious situation. hippy wingate was pondering deeply when they pulled up for luncheon one noon. he was wondering what he was going to give his party for supper, for hippy was the official game-hunter of the overland party, and they had come to rely on his resourcefulness to provide food for them. stacy brown was even more deeply interested in this matter than was "uncle hip," but for a somewhat different reason. "what do we eat to-day?" he asked in a tone that he tried to make sound light-hearted. some one laughed. "oh, it's not because i'm hungry," hastily explained chunky. "i just wanted to know so as not to have to open all the packs unless we are going to have a spread." "ours is more likely to be a snack than a spread," suggested grace laughingly. "what is it going to be, hippy?" questioned nora. "raisins and hard tack, my dear." "you don't mean it?" gasped the fat boy. "i reckon that will be about it if i don't see some game to shoot at," replied hippy a little soberly. "raisins and hard tack for a man with an appetite like mine," groaned stacy. "you might as well feed a bricklayer on angel food and expect him to smack his lips and pat his stomach with heavenly satisfaction. this is too much, and too much is enough." "if you folks will camp here i will go out and see if i cannot scare up some game," suggested hippy. "i do not believe you will find anything worth while at this altitude," said tom gray. "it is a condition that i have feared we should meet. i--" "you no savvy game?" interjected the chinaman. "no, smith," replied hippy. "we savvy plenty appetite, but we no savvy anything with which to satisfy it. if i could sight a deer--" "me savvy deer. me show buck in lelet," cried woo, gesticulating excitedly. "what kind of heathen talk is that?" wondered emma. "'buck in lelet!'" mocked stacy. hippy was eyeing the guide inquiringly, knowing very well that woo had something in mind. "buck in lelet," repeated the chinaman, indicating the horns on a deer's head, with his hands. "i understand," nodded tom gray. "what he is trying to say is, 'buck in velvet.'" "ha, ha! the further they go the worse they are. first it was emma dean whose wheels went wrong; now it is my uncle hip and captain gray," jeered stacy. "is it the altitude that has gone to _your_ head?" "no, it has not," retorted lieutenant wingate. "woo has more sense than all of us together. at this season of the year the bucks 'carry their antlers in velvet.'" "oh, pooh! that is a fine fairy tale to feed hungry people with. folks back east might swallow it, but not up here among the high and lofty peaks of the sierras. tell me something that i can swallow," laughed stacy. "stacy, if you will hold your horses i will try to explain," rebuked tom. "at this season of the year the antlers of the bucks are very tender, and that condition is called 'carrying the antlers in velvet.' in those circumstances the bucks frequent the high rocky peaks that their tender horns may not be torn off in contact with tough bushes and trees. later on you will find the bucks on the lower ranges. then, as the antlers become hard, almost as hard as iron, the bucks take to the dense thickets." stacy brown mopped his forehead. "emma, why don't you transmigrate a little? send a little thought wave out and see if you can't get in touch with a nice fat buck all dressed up in velvet," he suggested. emma dean elevated her nose, but made no reply. she was at that moment more interested in the guide, who was running his yellow fingers about his wrists inside the wide sleeves, and chuckling to himself at a rapid-fire rate. "me savvy! hi-lee, hi-lo; hi--" "what were you going to say?" urged hippy. "you savvy buck in lelet?" lieutenant wingate shook his head. "me savvy buck." "you do? where?" the guide pointed his long, bony finger towards the rocks on the other side of a narrow pass in the mountains. the mountain there was covered with brownish grass and some spindling saplings. lieutenant wingate looked until his eyes ached, then turned to smith. "woo, you must be mistaken," he said. the guide took the stick that he used to beat up the trail ahead on his march each day, laid it across a rock, and, after sighting it, beckoned to lieutenant wingate to look over it. "you savvy?" he questioned eagerly. "no, i don't, woo." "mebby you savvy to-mollow," replied the chinaman disgustedly. the overland riders snickered, and even hippy grinned appreciatively. "i reckon you are not far from right, woo. i--" hippy paused abruptly. out of that mass of brown something began to grow into his vision, to stand out until everything else appeared to have disappeared. "you savvy nicee piecee buck?" chuckled the guide. hippy reached a cautious hand behind him. "my rifle. quick!" he whispered. "woo is right. there lays a fine big fellow behind that bush over yonder. i don't know whether he sees us or not. it is a dead sure shot, too. don't make a sound," urged lieutenant wingate as his rifle was cautiously laid in his outstretched hand. placing it across the rock where woo had laid the stick for him to sight over, hippy took careful aim a little below the base of the antlers of the buck. his automatic rifle belched forth a deafening roar that went rolling and echoing from peak to peak. at the same instant, what appeared to be a dull brown and white ball leaped into the air and went bounding away in tremendous leaps. hippy's rifle went to his shoulder and he fired again, but the shot only served to hasten the speed of the fine large buck that woo smith had discovered. hippy had missed a "sure shot" as well as a long shot. "uncle hip never misses what he shoots at," quoted emma a little maliciously. "why don't you use your pea-shooter?" scoffed stacy. "dead shot hip made a mess of it that time." "he did," admitted hippy, "and stacy brown missed a fine fat meal. laugh at me all you like, folks. i deserve it, but i don't understand how i could miss that shot." "don't wolly till to-mollow," advised the guide wisely. "may i look at your rifle?" asked grace. lieutenant wingate handed it to her and grace gave it a critical inspection, then held it out to hippy. "look it over carefully. i think you will discover why you missed," she suggested. hippy intuitively glanced at the sights, and shot a quick look of inquiry at chunky, but chunky's face was woodeny in its lack of expression. without another word, lieutenant wingate set up a mark, placed his rifle on the rock, marking its exact position, and, taking careful aim, fired. the bullet shot under by more than a foot, whereas it should have shot over the mark, the rifle being originally sighted for a much longer distance. several cartridges were expended in resighting the weapon and adjusting the open sight, which he found had been changed from its former position. "there, now! show me another deer. i don't believe i shall miss the next one." "you savvy sight no good," chuckled the chinaman. lieutenant wingate nodded. "stacy, come here. i would hold converse with thee," he ordered. stacy complied, but with evident reluctance, and, obeying a gesture from hippy, seated himself on a slab of granite beside his uncle hip. "why did you fool with the sights on my rifle?" demanded lieutenant wingate sharply. "i--i--i--" "don't quibble. whenever you put on a wooden face i know that you have been up to monkey-shines. why did you do it?" "i--i--i just wanted to get even with you, uncle hip," stammered the fat boy. "for what?" "you--you pinked my pony with a peashooter and made me come a cropper in a rose bush. don't you deny it. you know you did," added chunky, adopting his most savage tone. hippy wingate chuckled. "that is it, eh?" "yes." "when did you change them--change the open sights?" "i did it when you were after water last night." "shake, pard!" cried hippy, extending an impulsive hand. "we are quits now, aren't we?" "yes, we are dear friends. we're more than that--we love each other most to death," declared stacy fervently. "oh, fiddlesticks!" exclaimed emma dean. "you make me weary." "but, stacy, the next time you wish to get even with a fellow, please do not tamper with his weapons, especially in a country like this," warned lieutenant wingate. "it is a dangerous thing to do. suppose i had met up with a cinnamon bear at close range, for instance--what do you think would have happened?" "i reckon there would have been a sprinting match between you and the cinnamon," observed stacy in a tone that brought a shout of laughter from the overland girls. "you are partly right," agreed hippy laughingly, "but don't do anything like that again, will you?" stacy promised that he would not, but the probabilities are that he forgot the promise within five minutes after he had made it, for at that instant woo smith uttered a sudden exclamation that drew the instant attention of the overland riders. "me savvy buck! me savvy buck in lelet," chuckled the chinaman excitedly. hippy was on his feet in an instant. "where, where?" "you savvy him white lock?" "yes, i see the white rock. sure enough; there he is!" when the automatic roared a moment later, a brown ball was seen to leap into the air, but, instead of bounding away, it straightened out and took a long, curving leap, crashed into the dwarfed bushes, then whipped over on its back. "i got him!" shouted lieutenant wingate triumphantly. "great shot!" cried elfreda briggs enthusiastically. "hi-lee, hi-lo; hi-lee, hi-lo!" sang the guide, hopping about delightedly, his queue wriggling in the air with serpent-like movements. this time no one appeared to be irritated by woo's singing, for lieutenant wingate's shot meant food in plenty for the overland riders. chapter xv following the aerial trail shouting and laughing, the entire party raced down the hill and up the other side to view the result of lieutenant wingate's shot. they found the buck lying dead where it had fallen, with a bullet hole through its head. "can my uncle hip shoot? well, i reckon he can," declared stacy pompously. "cleverness runs in our family," boasted stacy. "that quality must have exhausted itself before you joined the family," retorted emma. stacy admitted that he had lost some of it after becoming a member of the overland riders, which, he said, was undoubtedly due to association with inferior intellects, to which emma had no reply to make, other than characteristically elevating her nose and turning her back on the fat boy. "come, come," urged hippy. "stacy, you and tom will have to help me dress this beast if you want meat. it is certain that we shall not starve today." the job of dressing the buck was accomplished clumsily, the overland girls being interested spectators and offering frequent suggestions on the subject, of which they knew nothing. that night the riders enjoyed a great spread. following it, such of the meat as they wished to carry with them they spitted on sharp sticks in the smoke of the camp-fire. this was the beginning of the curing process required to put the meat in condition to keep, so that they might carry it along, for the party did not dare trust to the chance of finding other game farther on, fearing that they again might be caught foodless. one experience of the kind was enough. lieutenant wingate and his companions had learned a lesson in observation from the guide, and hippy began to understand that a hunter, when after game, must put out of his mind every object in the landscape except the particular thing for which he is looking. he tried out that idea that same day by looking for various objects, one at a time, and was amazed at the result. under this method, objects that he had not before observed at all now stood out with great prominence. hippy then recalled what an old hunter, then sniping germans, had told him in france: "let your eyes sweep quickly over the landscape but pay no attention to the more prominent objects, and you will be amazed at the quickness with which you will discover that for which you are looking." the method worked out just as hippy's informant had said it would, and hippy determined never again to be caught napping. however, his respect for the guide had increased considerably, and especially for the keenness of woo smith's eyes. with all the venison they could carry packed in their kits, the party set out early on the following morning and soon found themselves on the brink of another box-canyon, which they reached without mishap, then made their way up the side of another mountain, and on over a series of rugged elevations that would tax the sure-footedness of a mountain goat. "this up and down progress reminds me of a wild ride that i once had on a scenic railway at coney island," declared elfreda briggs as they finally halted for a rest. elfreda's face was red from exertion and excitement, and her hair had become the plaything of the mountain breezes. "don't wolly till to-mollow," chuckled stacy. "stacy, you're right," nodded tom gray. "but it is now time we were moving. see that ridge to the right of us?" "surely we do not have to cross that, do we?" begged emma. "yes. we shall have to ride its entire length in order to reach the high mountain peak that you see still farther on. either we must start now or wait until tomorrow," averred tom. "it never will do to be caught on the top of that ridge in the darkness," agreed hippy. the ridge referred to lay slightly higher than their present position, but there was plainly a safe trail leading to it. orders to move were given by hippy. the overland riders were quickly in their saddles, and the party slowly mounted the ridge, but halted as they came to the top of it. for once the girls experienced a case of "nerves." "we never shall be able to ride over this awful trail," cried elfreda briggs. "oh, let's go back," begged emma. "impossible!" answered hippy. "this is the trail that we shall have to follow to reach the high peak of the sierras." "if the horses behave and no one loses her head we ought to be able to cross safely," averred grace. "my head is swimming already," moaned nora. "why don't you turn it over and let it float for a few minutes?" suggested chunky. after directing woo to proceed on ahead, the journey was resumed, and the ponies stepped out over the knife-edge top of the ridge. this ridge, not more than a dozen feet wide along the top, formed a natural bridge connecting two mountain ranges. here and there the sides of the ridge fell away sheer for hundreds of feet, and at others, smooth granite rocks sloped away to the canyon below. ahead of the riders, woo smith was picking his way unconcernedly, singing blithely. the girls of the party sought to look equally unconcerned, but not with very much success, for each one was feeling the effect of the great height and their peril on the narrow path. emma dean finally slipped from her saddle, and passing the bridle-rein over one arm, proceeded to pick her way on foot. "cold feet, eh?" scoffed stacy. "no. i'm scared, that's all," replied emma. "i don't care who knows it, either." grace glanced at the faces of her companions, and then, at the rapidly narrowing trail. "while i believe that we shall be in less peril on our ponies than on foot, i suggest that we all walk," she said, dismounting. "with your feet on the ground you will be less nervous." grace's companions lost no time in following her example, but they dismounted cautiously. it was a relief to feel the solid ground under their feet. a laugh further relieved the strain when hippy wingate finally dismounted. the girls teased him unmercifully, though all knew that a man who had fought the germans in the clouds was not likely to be disturbed by great heights. a few moments later stacy dismounted, but tom remained on his pony and appeared to be enjoying the novel experience of riding along this unusual aerial trail. miss kitty, the lazy pack-horse, as usual, brought up the rear of the line and was dragging farther and farther behind. her actions were observed with keen interest by the overlanders, there being no certainty as to what the white pack mare might or might not do. she proved the wisdom of their lack of confidence in her when, weaving from side to side to avoid stepping over projecting rocks or boulders, she stepped off the trail with one hind foot. "quick, hippy!" cried nora excitedly. "she will fall over!" lieutenant wingate sprang forward and gave the mare a quick slap on her flank. the mare jumped, then down she fell on her side with hindquarters hanging partly over the brink, and there she lay groaning dismally, the picture of misery and fear. the faces of the overland girls paled, for each knew that the slightest struggle on the part of the white mare would send her sliding to the bottom of the canyon fully a thousand feet below. chapter xvi going to bed in the clouds "oh, hippy, you have done it this time!" cried nora. "keep quiet! don't frighten her!" cried grace, snatching the lariat from her saddle and handing it to hippy. "slip the loop over one of her hind legs, but for goodness sake do not make any sudden moves." "wait! i'll get a derrick," shouted stacy. "keep quiet!" commanded tom sternly, at the same time taking a rope from the pommel of his own saddle and hurrying to lieutenant wingate's assistance. while grace, was patting the head of the fallen animal, trying to soothe her, tom slipped the rope over her neck, hippy having dropped the loop over one hind foot. "oh, tom, you surely will choke kitty to death if you pull on the neck rope," warned grace. "serve her right if i did," growled tom. "she is a perpetual nuisance. what next, lieutenant?" "we must haul her up, that's all. keep your rope taut, but don't put too much strength on it," directed hippy, as he began to pull on the rope about the white mare's hind leg. he failed to budge her. "it is the pack," said elfreda. "don't you see that kitty's pack is pressing right against the rocks?" "that's right," agreed tom gray. "we must unload the beast before we can do a thing with her. confound her!" "now, tom," admonished grace harlowe. "stacy! get that pack off and be careful about it too," ordered lieutenant wingate. stacy could not manage the pack alone, so grace and elfreda assisted him in removing it. this undertaking, perilous as it was, was accomplished after more than two hours had been lost through kitty's clumsiness. it was then discovered that the white mare had gone lame, but hippy found that she had suffered nothing more serious than a bruised hip. "we must be on our way," he urged. "as it is, we shall not get across this ridge before dark," declared elfreda, glancing at the lowering sun. "oh, don't say that," begged nora. "we must." tom gray shook his head. "to make haste would be dangerous," he warned. as soon as the white mare was again in proper shape the party started ahead, determined to get as far on their way as possible before night, but darkness was settling over the canyons on either side of them when lieutenant wingate finally called a halt. "we must make camp while we can see to do so," he directed. "what, here?" cried emma. "it is the best we have," answered lieutenant wingate in a doubtful tone. the trail had been steadily narrowing as they proceeded, and ahead of them it appeared to be almost impassable, at least for horses. it was decided to stake the ponies down in single file, which the three men finally succeeded in doing to their satisfaction. it was not an ideal tethering place, but most of the animals were used to sleeping in ticklish places, and, in fact, if necessary could sleep standing up. packs were removed and stored in safe places, but woo, who had been sent out to locate a spring, returned with the information that he could find none. this, however, did not disturb the overlanders, for their bottles held sufficient water for supper and breakfast, provided they were economical in its use, so a small cook-fire was built, and in a few moments the kettle was singing merrily and the odors of coffee and venison were in the air, to the accompaniment of woo smith's "hi-lee, hi-lo." it was an unusual supper for the overland riders, sitting there with their food served on an army blanket laid on the ground, with empty space and sombre canyons on either side of them now filled with inky blackness. while they were eating, woo gathered stems of bushes and piled them ready for making a larger fire to light up the camp after supper. "i should like to know where we are going to sleep," reminded nora as they finished the meal. tom said he would make up their beds very shortly, whereat the overlanders laughed, but with not much mirth in their voices. "if you don't make haste you won't be able to find beds to make up," averred emma. "don't you see the fog rolling in? we shall soon be enveloped in it." "fog!" hippy laughed heartily. "why, child, that isn't fog--it is clouds. we are above them, but i think they will rise and take us in. when it gets a little darker here, you will see a sight that will interest you." hippy's prediction was fulfilled. the moon rose full at about nine o'clock that evening, and exclamations of wonder were uttered by the girls of the party, as its beams lighted up the slowly moving clouds that now had risen almost level with the top of the ridge itself. here and there sharp peaks thrust themselves through the cloud seas, which were dark and menacing to the eyes of the observers. "how beautiful," murmured elfreda briggs. "it is indeed," breathed grace. "the scene reminds me of the one that we looked down upon when we were riding the old apache trail, except that this is infinitely more beautiful. hippy, does not this remind you of france, when you were flying above the clouds?" "in a way, yes. many is the time that i have gone to sleep on a cloud for a few seconds. tom, what is our altitude here?" he asked, turning to his companion. "according to my aneroid, about eight thousand feet." "we are surely getting up in the world," chuckled emma. "don't congratulate yourself too soon, miss dean. we may be going the other way before morning," reminded stacy brown. "what about starting a conflagration, captain gray?" "woo, stir up the campfire and let's have some light and warmth," directed tom. "oh, it is too bad to destroy this wonderful view. if you build a fire we shan't be able to see the full cloud effect," protested grace. "you will," answered hippy. "we soon shall be enveloped in clouds, and we are going to feel the cold, too." there was a biting chill in the air already and, to the amazement of the campers, mosquitoes were numerous and very active. tom, after a survey of their surroundings, said he would make up the beds, and called to woo to bring the pick-axe. "make up the beds with a pick?" exclaimed emma. "yes. by the way, where do we sleep tonight?" asked miss briggs in a slightly worried tone. "i will show you," replied tom, beginning to dig a trench in the thin layer of soil that covered the ridge. "if you can transmigrate a real bed, i wish you would make it two so that i may have one," called stacy. tom made no reply, but, after digging the trench, he had the guide and hippy place stones on either side of it as an added protection against rolling out of bed. "stacy, get in here and see if this hole fits your ample proportions," directed tom. stacy hesitated. "i don't like to be buried so soon after supper," he complained. "is this some new game that you are trying to play on me?" "yes. it is a game to keep you from falling out of bed and making a mess of yourself," replied tom tersely. chapter xvii in the land of pink snows "i--i think i should prefer to sleep downstairs," stammered stacy. "if that is the way you feel, you have only to roll over and you will be downstairs for keeps," promised lieutenant wingate. "all right, i'll sleep in the hole in the ground, but don't you dare throw dirt on me," warned stacy, crawling into the trench and cautiously disposing of himself to see if his bed fitted. "this isn't even half a bed, tom. how am i going to turn over?" "don't," laughed grace. "yes, please do," urged emma. "wow!" muttered chunky sitting up and peering over the edge of his bed at the cloud-sea rolling slowly along just below the camp. "wouldn't it be a terrible catastrophe if i were to be transmigrated out of bed?" "that depends upon the point of view," suggested emma. the overlanders were startled at this juncture by a shout from the chinaman, accompanied by a series of bangs. "somebody knocked over the kitchen table!" cried chunky. "me savvy piecee kettle go 'way," wailed woo, who, in emptying out some dishes, had let them fall over the side of the ridge so that the utensils were then on their way to the bottom of the canyon, a thousand feet below. "he has lost the kettle," groaned nora. "at this rate we shall soon be without anything." "except our appetites," finished chunky. "what a tragedy," observed emma. "don't wolly till to-mollow," advised the guide. "hi-lee, hi-lo!" nothing could disturb the equanimity of woo smith for very long, and he immediately resumed his duties. the loss of a few utensils was not a thing to be greatly disturbed about--at least he so reasoned the matter out. it was late in the evening when the overlanders finally got into their trenches and dropped off to sleep, but their sleep was brief. first, stacy had a nightmare and set up such a howling that all hands awakened in alarm. the next disturbance came when a sudden mountain wind-storm sprang up. the overlanders were aroused just in time to see their campfire lifted into the air and hurled out over the clouds in which the embers and sparks quickly disappeared. "oh, this is terrible! we shall surely be blown off the ridge," cried emma. "lie down in your trenches and let the blooming storm blow itself out!" shouted hippy. "no wind-storm up here can harm you so long as you keep down." the girls of the party rather reluctantly lay down again, and found that, in that position, the wind barely touched them, and, from that time on, peace reigned in the overland camp until morning. the morning, however, brought with it fresh troubles. every member of the party awakened shivering. stacy declared that his feet were frozen, which emma asserted was a chronic condition with him. the overlanders dragged themselves from the trenches, shoulders hunched forward, hands thrust into their pockets, their faces blue and pinched. the limit of their endurance was reached, however, when the familiar voice of woo smith assailed their ears. "hi-lee, hi-lo! don't wolly till to-mollow," sang the guide. "smith!" shouted tom gray. "he--he thi--thi--thinks he's a bird," chattered stacy. "i hope he tries to fly." "smith, please cut out the singing and prepare hot coffee as quickly as possible," directed tom. "me savvy coffee. me savvy nicee piecee day. you savvy nicee day?" bubbled the guide. "oh, let him have his way, tom," urged grace laughingly. "we should be glad that we have such a cheerful guide." "cheerful idiot!" muttered tom. "yes, woo. we savvy," called grace, smiling over at the grinning face of the chinaman. "please make haste with the breakfast, though. girls, get up and look out over the wonderful scene before you, and i will guarantee that you will instantly forget your troubles." with shaded eyes, they looked and did, for the moment, forget their chilled condition. the peaks were now in the full glare of the morning sun, while down in the canyons day had not yet fully dawned, and the dim shadows there were gray with the morning mist. another day of hard riding was before them, but before starting out tom and hippy announced that they would try to find a trail up the mountain that loomed in the sky some distance beyond. upon reaching the end of the ridge that formed a natural bridge connecting two mountain ranges, tom and hippy came upon a sharp descent that led down into a broad, open valley, beyond which lay the mountain they were to climb. "this looks promising," nodded tom, as they jogged down into the valley. "it is more than that; it is wonderful," cried hippy as the two men found themselves in a field knee-deep with blue lupines that grew there in profusion. the odor of the flowers was almost overpowering. to the right and the left of the two explorers were bunches of tuft-grass, here and there groves of slender lodge-poles, and spindling pines and junipers. tom and hippy paused in admiring silence. it was more beautiful than anything that they had thought possible in this rugged country. while they were hunting for a possible trail that would lead them up the mountain, tom gray declared that nature had used this sweetly scented field for a dumping ground, after having completed the building of the mountain itself. "yes, and she protected her work mighty well when she erected that snow-capped peak," answered hippy. "i know that there _must_ be a way out of this place to reach that mountain," he added, getting up from a fall, very red of face, his jaw set stubbornly. despite their persistent efforts to find a trail out of the valley of the lupines, it was noon before they did discover a possible way out for their party. after marking it by tying a handkerchief to the bent-over top of a spindling pine, they started back to join their companions. the overland party had some time since saddled and bridled their ponies and were ready to move when tom and hippy returned to them, and all were on their way soon after the arrival of the two men. "you are going to see something that will gladden your heart, brown eyes," declared hippy as they started on. it was late in the afternoon when they finally rode into the valley below. the blue lupines, the grass, the pines and the junipers there presented a scene that brought cries of delighted amazement from the overland girls. "oh, look at the pink ice cream!" cried emma, pointing to the towering mountain which they were to try to climb. "why, tom, we didn't notice that coloring on the snow up there this morning," exclaimed lieutenant wingate. "it must be a cloud reflection." tom gray nodded and said that the pink shade probably would soon disappear. "we must camp in the midst of these flowers," cried grace harlowe. "it is finer than any place we have yet seen in these mountains." "i agree with you," answered elfreda. "it gives me fresh courage to go on. why, grace, i feel as if i could vault a six-foot fence." "suppose you try to jump over the white mare," suggested grace, laughingly. "this high altitude has gone to my head, too." "no, thank you. i think that it might be best for a person of my years to keep her feet on the ground," laughed elfreda. "but the effect, as well as the view here, is wonderful. i do not believe there is anything like it anywhere else in the world." camp was promptly made amid the flowers. soon thereafter the clouds on the horizon rolled down behind the mountains as the sun sank out of sight, but as long as light remained on the mountain tops, the wonderful pink tint clung to the everlasting snows on the pinnacles, and the mosquitoes increased in numbers and ferociousness. "the higher we go the worse they get," complained stacy brown. "isn't it queer how that pink tint hangs on?" "say, girls," bubbled emma dean, "what if it should prove to be ice cream in reality?" "in that event i know someone who never would go home," laughed nora. "two someones," reflected stacy, with a far-away, longing look in his eyes. chapter xviii at the "top of the world" the morning dawned with the sky a molten green and gold. the mountain peak and the high ridges were a beautiful pink, and below them lay the green and blue of the meadow like a velvet carpet. "wonderful!" breathed the girls in chorus. "could anything be more beautiful?" murmured grace. "this is worth all the hardships we have endured," declared elfreda. the overlanders continued to admire the scene until breakfast was ready. immediately after the meal the journey was resumed, each one eager to reach the pink snows above that held so great a fascination for all. they came to the snow line late in the day. the ponies were left in charge of woo smith to remain until the party returned from the high peak of the sierras, which was now their immediate objective. now that they were close to it, they discovered that the snow really was pink. no one seemed able to explain this mystery until tom announced it as his opinion that the pink shade was due to a tiny bright red flower whose petals were found imbedded in the snow. stacy scooped up a handful of snow and tasted it, and then made a wry face. "it tastes like turpentine," he declared. the overland riders danced and capered about in the snow like school children, and tried to snowball each other, but found the snow so crumbly that it could not be rolled into balls. this they overcame by wetting handfuls of snow from their canteens, and then, ere they even thought of making camp, they had a merry snowballing battle thousands of feet above sea level. they battled until their breaths gave out in the rarefied air--threw snowballs at each other until almost exhausted. "never mind. don't wolly till to-mollow," comforted stacy brown. with the coming of night a chill settled over the mountain, beside which the previous nights were almost sultry, and a damp, gray cloud hid the lower reaches of the peaks like a great gray blanket. the overlanders were glad that they were above rather than below that cloud, and they hugged their cook fire, though it was far from being a roaring one, for they did not have fuel to waste. tom gray, who, before the evening was far advanced, went out to examine the strange twisted little trees that grew here and there, discovered that they were full of pitch. he said nothing to his companions, but, moving back a little distance from the camp, he tested one with a match. the trunk of the twisted tree flared instantly. he put out the blaze with snow and returned to camp. "how would you folks like a real camp-fire?" he asked. "there ain't no such thing," mocked emma. grace gazed at her husband inquiringly, knowing quite well that tom had some plan for a fire in mind. "the easiest thing in the world, my dear friends," chuckled tom. "all that is needed to make a regular conflagration is the know-how." tom struck a match against the trunk of a small scrubby tree against which he was standing, and held the match close to the trunk until he felt the heat, then sprang away from it. the tree blazed up gloriously. "i did it with my magic wand!" he cried, waving his arms dramatically. exclamations of wonder greeted the achievement, and the overlanders gathered about the blaze, holding out their hands to catch some of the warmth. "me savvy nicee piecee fire," observed chunky solemnly. "however did you do it, tom?" wondered nora. "the tree is filled with pitch," answered tom gray. "when we get ready to turn in we will light another one. i don't suppose we shall get any warmth from it, but we can hear it crackle, which will be some comfort." that night the overlanders made their beds under an overhanging rock where there was no snow, and were lulled to sleep by another of tom gray's burning trees. they awakened in the morning again stiff with cold, but half an hour after sunrise they had fully recovered their spirits and were making preparations for the long hard hike ahead of them. each of the men carried a pack on his back, leaving the girls to carry such provisions as they thought would be needed. even the rifles had been left behind with woo, the mountain climbers carrying no arms but their revolvers. ropes, an axe and a shovel were included in the equipment and they finally set out for what elfreda briggs characterized as "the top of the world." the peak of the great mountain was reached late in the afternoon, with all hands well tired out. they found the summit of the peak strewn with huge granite slabs, from some of which the snow had been blown away in spots, forming little scooped-out cups in the pink mantle. "well, now that we have enjoyed this punk view, suppose we get down to some place where we can make camp and sleep," suggested stacy. "this is where we are to sleep to-night," answered tom. "what! here?" gasped stacy. "yes. did we not come up here for that purpose?" stacy shivered, and glanced down over the glittering snow field, then shivered some more, but made no further comment. "this will be the first time that i ever slept in a snow bank, and i trust it may be the last," observed emma resignedly. "last night we found a nice dry spot for our beds, but up here--br-r-r-r!" "you will be as comfortable as though you were in your own bed at home," promised grace. "i wish to goodness i had your imagination," grumbled chunky. "it must be beautiful to be able to dream things the way you do." no fuel for a fire had been brought along on this last leg of the climb above timber line, so supper was a cold meal. everyone felt so miserable after supper that the overlanders with one accord began preparing to roll up in their blankets for the night. hippy had already dug trenches in the snow for the party to sleep in, so they might be out of the wind. the girls talked chatteringly of everything they could think of, to assist them in forgetting their misery, then crawled into their trenches and tightly rolled themselves up in their blankets. "this is the first time i ever went to bed with my boots on," complained elfreda. "should i live until morning i surely shall have something to brag about." "why, girls, this is an ideal summer resort," laughingly chided grace. the response was a chorus of dismal groans. for a few moments after that the overlanders lay gazing up at the bright stars, then a gradual warmth overspread their shivering bodies, and one by one they dropped off to sleep, now nearly thirteen thousand feet above sea level. chapter xix bowling in nature's alley contrary to expectations the overland riders slept soundly all through the night, but the moment they crawled from under their blankets in the morning, they began to shiver. "come on! take a run with me," urged tom. "please go away and let me die," moaned emma. "we must have exercise to start our blood circulating," reminded hippy. "i don't want exercise. i want something to warm me up on the inside," protested stacy. grace and elfreda, holding hands, were already dancing about in grotesque fashion, taking long draughts of air into their lungs, the color rising to their faces as the circulation of their blood responded to their lively movements. "never mind, folks," comforted hippy. "if you will all take a lively sprint, then a snow-wash, i will give you something that will please you and fix you up in great shape." "i shall be past all human help long before that," answered emma. "why don't you transmigrate yourself to a warmer clime for an hour or so?" suggested stacy. tom gray nodded to hippy, whereupon lieutenant wingate took from his pack a tiny alcohol stove, which he filled from a small bottle and lighted. over the stove he placed a coffee pot full of white snow dug from underneath the crust where it was not tainted with what stacy had been pleased to characterize as a "turpentine taste." as the snow melted in the coffee pot, more snow was added until there was sufficient for their use. the overlanders, quickly discovering that something unusual was going on, ran to the coffee-maker. "wha--at's this?" demanded elfreda. "an alcohol stove--a hot cup of coffee for each in a few moments," chuckled lieutenant wingate. "hippy wingate, did you have that last night?" demanded emma. "yes." "and you let us suffer with cold and eat a coffeeless supper?" rebuked nora wingate. "you lived through it. why kick, now that you are about to have a warm drink?" "we ought to throw you off the mountain," declared grace. "don't do it till he gets the coffee ready," urged stacy. "the reason that i did not use the alcohol kit last night was that i had only enough alcohol to burn the stove for one meal," explained hippy. "i knew that you would be in more urgent need of coffee in the morning than you were last night." "i withdraw my suggestion that we throw you over," laughed grace. "are you ready?" called lieutenant wingate. "the coffee is." "are we ready? just watch us," cried emma dean. each had an individual cup, and hippy passed lumps of sugar to them from his own kit. they had no milk, but there was no complaint, for the overlanders were glad enough to get the coffee black. this, with some biscuit and cold venison, comprised the meal, but they declared unanimously that they had never had a more appetizing breakfast. "i have decided," announced stacy finally, "not to be a party to the plan to throw uncle hip overboard--at least not to-day. good-morning, sun! welcome to our happy home," he added, bowing to the rising sun. tom called attention to two birds circling over them, which he said were jays looking for crumbs, whereupon the girls broke up pieces of hard tack and sprinkled them over the ground a few yards from the camp. the jays swooped down on the crumbs, chattering and scolding. grace then suggested that, having reached the "top of the world," they resume their journey and explore the lower ridges, taking the whole day for their return to camp. the first quarter of a mile down was a slide rather than a walk, but the overlanders made merry over their frequent mishaps, finally reaching a long granite slope on the south side of the mountain where there was little snow. there, the sun's rays blazed down all day long, and there many sparkling streams had their origin. about them the ground was strewn with boulders from the size of a man's head up to great spheres of flint-like stone, many as round and glistening as though they had been turned and polished by man. "oh, look at the beautiful lake!" cried nora enthusiastically, pointing to a body of water in the valley far below them. "what is it?" "it doesn't appear on my map. i don't know what it is," answered tom. "perhaps it is the aerial lake that we have been warned against," suggested grace. "i was thinking of that myself," nodded tom. "there are trees growing in the lake, but what are those glistening objects farther out?" "rocks," replied grace, after focusing her binoculars on the shining marks. "i wonder if i can hit one of them," said stacy, picking up a round stone which he sent rolling down the smooth granite slope. the stone shot over a broad, shelving rock, leaped far out into the air, then, after what seemed an interminable time, splashed into the lake. the overlanders saw a tiny spurt of water as the stone struck the surface of the lake. "folks, i've got an idea. greatest thing you ever heard of, too," cried hippy. "throw it over the cliff," suggested emma. "the very best possible use to which you can put your ideas." "that is exactly what i am going to do, my dear emma. just watch my smoke." the overland riders were puzzled to know what hippy had in mind. first, he cut several tough lodge poles, then selecting a boulder half as high as himself, hippy easily pried it from its resting place with a pole and started it down the slope. the boulder soon began to roll, gaining momentum with the seconds, striking fire as now and then it came into contact with sharp projections of rock. the boulder finally hit the shelving slabs of granite at the edge of the cliff with a mighty crash and leaped out into the air. the party watched its projectile-like flight with fascinated gaze. then came the splash into the lake. the overlanders did not hear the splash but they saw the water spurt up into the air like a miniature geyser, and fall in a silver shower over a wide area. "hurrah!" shouted stacy, tossing his hat into the air. tom gray was excited, and so were his companions. stacy brown was already prying at a boulder with a pole, while hippy had run to another one and was digging an opening into which to insert his lever, using a flat stone for a fulcrum. many of the boulders lay resting on the slope and thus were easily thrown out of balance. "wait!" cried elfreda. "we will have a game of bowling." "yes, and the highest one that was ever played," exclaimed grace. "and i'll be rip van winkle. show me a soft place to lie down and sleep," cried stacy. "where are the ninepins?" demanded emma. "one cannot bowl without having something to bowl at." "use the trees down yonder in the lake," suggested hippy. "the one who makes the first score will be free of camp duties for the next twenty-four hours." "i won't play," declared chunky. "i know you want to work some sharp game on me." "and the one who makes no score at all must do the work for all those who do make scores," added elfreda laughingly. the fat boy sat down stubbornly. "go on with your game," he said. "what's the matter? don't you want to play, honey?" asked nora. "no. i'm going to be the umpire," answered stacy. "as you please," laughed hippy. "you will have to do the chores anyway. folks, i am going to try to hit the third tree to the left of that group of rocks near the middle of the lake. now watch me." hippy started a rock, which he had selected with great care. it boomed over the ledge, observed in breathless silence by the spectators, then hurtled far out over the lake, finally smashing into the blue waters, throwing spray high in the air. "a miss!" shouted the overlanders. "he missed it by half a mile," jeered the umpire. "why don't you change your sights? you are shooting over the mark." [illustration: "it's a hit!"] tom took the next try. he balanced his rock, after having pried it loose, and made it ready for the fall, and sent it crashing along on its way. as nearly as the eye could measure, tom's boulder fell some twenty rods to the right of the tree aimed at. tom then made ready a boulder for grace. she failed to hit the lake, and derisive howls greeted her effort. elfreda and nora did a little better than that. both hit the lake, but nowhere near the mark they had aimed at. stacy got up slowly and yawned. "you folks make me tired. you ought to go to night school and learn how to roll stones. why, even our little transmigrating emma could beat you sharps at throwing stones. emma, will you roll if i fix a boulder for you?" questioned stacy. "yes, if you promise not to play tricks on me." stacy winked at emma and nodded sideways to the others, as indicating that the trick was to be played on them, then snatching up his pole he ran to a boulder that he had some time since selected for his own. after prying the rock into proper position, squinting and sighting and surveying the rock from all sides, he nodded to emma and offered the pole to her. "take it easy. if you can't move the rock i'll lend you a hand," whispered stacy. "ladies and gentlemen, you are now about to witness one of emma dean's most notable transmigration feats. keep your eyes on the performer and you will see that she has nothing up her sleeve--nor under her hat," announced hippy wingate. "tip it over!" commanded stacy, throwing his weight on the pole with emma. "watch the two twin-trees down there, but look sharply or you won't see them when they disappear from the face of the earth," he warned, strolling back towards his companions. emma's boulder, not being quite round, moved very slowly at first, and once it threatened to stop altogether and go no further, but finally, gaining new impetus, it started savagely on its way to the ledge, where it did a clumsy hop into the air, then dived for the lake. "it is going to hit the lake!" cried grace. "what did you think we were trying to hit?" demanded stacy. "if it is a hit--if little emma makes a killing, i did it. if she misses, she did it." "it's a hit!" yelled lieutenant wingate. "you don't say?" wondered stacy, turning quickly, the most amazed member of the overland party. cheers greeted the achievement as two trees standing side by side in the lake disappeared as if by magic. stacy threw out his chest and paraded back and forth with folded arms, an expression of dignified superiority on his face. "i don't have to work for a whole week," observed stacy. "oh, yes you do," answered elfreda. "you know you weren't in the game--you are only the umpire. further, emma won the roll, and will have a vacation until to-morrow afternoon." "there goes my hippy's roll!" cried nora, and for the moment attention was centered on lieutenant wingate's rolling boulder. it made a clean hit, knocking down a tree close to the water. "the racket must be terrific down there," said grace. "hippy, you surely raised a disturbance with that last shot." tom tried once more and sent a boulder into the lake. the overlanders plainly heard the impact, and could see a shower of broken rock being distributed over the surface of the lake. suddenly a new sound smote the ears of the overland riders, a familiar sound that they had heard many times in france and on their journeys in their own land. "what's that?" demanded stacy. "that?" answered hippy. "why, that is a butterfly lullaby. you surely ought to know that sound by this time." "_woo, woo, woo!_" was the sound that smote their ears again. "down, all of you! we're under fire!" shouted tom gray. chapter xx lead and mystery in the air "are--are we attacked?" wailed emma dean. "bullets are coming from somewhere, that is certain," answered hippy, raising his head from the ground on which he, as well as his companions, had thrown themselves at the first shot. following the last two shots, the reports of rifles were distinctly heard by each member of the party, and each pair of eyes was straining to locate the source of the shooting. "oh, it must be a mistake," cried emma. "that doesn't help us any," replied tom gray. "but i do wish we had our rifles." "don't wolly till to-mollow," advised stacy. hippy raised himself to a sitting position and waved his handkerchief. "_woo, woo, woo!--bang!_" hippy threw himself over backwards, his feet kicking up into the air, his attitude being so funny that the overlanders laughed heartily. their laughter, however, quickly subsided, when they recalled that the last shot had passed very close to them. tom gray had been listening to the whistle of the bullets and to the reports that followed, and the result of his listening and looking was the conclusion that the shooters were getting the range, and that, undoubtedly, smokeless powder was being used. "i don't care whether they see me or not," exclaimed hippy, getting to his feet, but no sooner had he done so than a bullet whistled so close to him that, as he declared later, he felt the hot breath of it on his cheek. "did you see that?" he cried, throwing himself on the ground. "no. i didn't see it. i may have sharp eyes, but they aren't sharp enough to see a bullet on the wing," retorted stacy. "what i cannot understand is, why they are shooting at us," wondered elfreda. "perhaps they think we have been throwing stones at them," suggested emma. "rolling stones gather no moss," interjected stacy. "possibly, however, our rolling stones came near gathering in some parties down in the valley, and they are retaliating by shooting at us." "girls! let's get out of here," cried grace, springing up. "i am weary of hiding." "get down!" shouted several voices. grace gave no heed to the command, nor to the bullet that sang over her head, but when one barely grazed her cheek, she decided that she was quite ready to join her companions on the ground again. "are we going to lie here all day and let those ruffians shoot at us?" demanded emma. "the only other alternative is to crawl away," answered tom. "crawl where?" questioned grace. "to that ridge to the right of us." "i'm blest if i do!" retorted hippy, getting up and walking deliberately towards the rocks indicated by tom gray. the others, with the exception of stacy brown, not to be outdone in courage by lieutenant wingate, got up and followed him, not hurriedly, but walking slowly, keeping some distance between them, and in this way finally reaching the ridge and safety. several shots were fired at them on the way, but all went wide of the mark. "where is stacy? quick! maybe he has been hit," urged nora almost hysterically. grace sprang back and peered around the corner of the rocks. "oh, girls! look at him, will you?" she cried. leaning as far out from the rocks as they dared, the overlanders discovered the missing chunky. he was flat on the ground on his stomach, wriggling along in a fair imitation of a serpent. "get up and walk, you tenderfoot!" laughed hippy. "what are you afraid of?" "nothing. i just happened to think how, when i was a baby, i used to creep to the pantry to pick up crumbs, so i thought i'd see if i had forgotten how," answered stacy. "you are a fine hero, aren't you?" observed emma sarcastically, when stacy, having finally reached the protection of the rocks, got up and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "no. all the heroes are dead. i don't want to be a hero. what's the news from the front?" "impossible!" muttered tom, laughing in spite of himself. tom had been pondering, wondering, trying to account satisfactorily to himself for this attempt on their lives. "what do you make of it?" asked elfreda, nodding at him. "it may have been accidental," he replied. grace shook her head. "no, they were shooting at us," declared hippy. "i have been wondering, thinking about what mr. giddings told us at the 'lazy j' ranch," said miss briggs. "you remember what he said about the mysterious aerial lake, don't you?" "it is my opinion that we have been bombarding that very same lake," declared grace. "that, however, does not explain the shots." "perhaps not," returned elfreda, "but it does go a long way towards proving that there is something in what the foreman of the 'lazy j' told us. i, for one, am in favor of giving that lake a wide berth." "no, no," protested hippy and grace. "let's find out what the mystery is," added grace. "i'll stay back and watch the horses while you are gone," offered stacy. "back to camp for us, now. to-morrow we shall decide what is best to be done," advised tom. having reached the safe side of the mountain, the party took a direct course for their camp, which was located close to what they had named "bear mountain," because its top strongly resembled an ambling bear. they found pretty rough going until they reached a point about a mile from the camp, and there tom suggested that they move more cautiously, and not blunder into camp, not knowing what they might find there. they had approached within sight of their camp when hippy halted and beckoned his companions to him. "what is it?" questioned tom. for answer, hippy pointed to a jutting rock which they knew lay just back of the camp itself. there, outlined on the rock, was a figure. it did not require very keen eyes to recognize the figure, even at that distance. "woo! thank goodness," exclaimed miss briggs. "i'll give him a yell," volunteered stacy. "no, no!" protested grace. there was that in the attitude of the chinaman that appealed to grace's bump of caution. "wait until he sees us," she counseled. "trust woo to shout, unless there be good reason why he should not." the party moved on cautiously, thus far well screened by foliage, but the instant they appeared in the open, the guide saw them and began excitedly waving his arms. "do you see?" nodded grace. "he does seem to be excited about something," agreed tom. "if there is likely to be trouble, perhaps i had better fall back as sort of reserve," suggested stacy. "in case of trouble it is a wise plan to have reserves, you know." no one paid the slightest attention to stacy's suggestion, nor did they increase their pace, not wishing to show that they shared the excitement of the guide, though there was a suspicion in their minds as to the cause of that excitement. as they drew nearer, woo smith clambered down from his perch and trotted out to meet them. his face expressed neither pleasure nor alarm. "good-afternoon, mr. smith," greeted emma with dignity. "are the ponies all safe?" smiled grace. "him velly good." "then what are you stewing about?" blurted out stacy brown. "anything wrong, smith?" asked tom gray anxiously. "les. bang, bang!" "you mean bing, bing, don't you?" cut in stacy. "me savvy bang, bang!" returned the guide. "oh, let it go at that," urged hippy. "it doesn't make much difference either way, whether it is 'bang, bang' or 'bing, bing'!" "me savvy boom, boom, too," added woo. "no, no. you mean bang, bang!" insisted chunky. "for goodness sake, give the poor fellow a chance," begged elfreda laughingly. "you will get him so befuddled that he will not know what he means. woo, what _is_ the trouble? have you seen strangers about?" the guide's queue bobbed vigorously, as he pointed to a ridge on the other side of the canyon. "me savvy man there. me savvy boom, boom! bang, bang!" grace's face lighted up. "we understand, woo. you heard guns and you saw a man over there," she nodded. "did the man see you?" the chinaman shook his head. "do you think he discovered the camp?" asked tom gray. woo shook his head again. "he heard the boom of our bowling game and the shots following. that seems quite clear, but there appears to be no reason why we should be excited about it," said lieutenant wingate. grace said she did not agree with him. "what the guide says, indicates to me that the stranger was not only seeking to wing us, but that he was looking for our camp. was that all you saw, woo?" "no. me savvy woman." "what's that?" demanded hippy sharply. the overlanders' interest was aroused anew. "me savvy woman. woman come close and peek. woman see camp, then go 'way. br-r-r! big piecee woman make ugly face!" "discovered!" exclaimed hippy wingate dramatically. chapter xxi the face in the waters "a woman!" breathed miss briggs. "you must be mistaken," differed nora. "what did she look like?" questioned grace. "me savvy no good," answered woo with an emphasis that drew a laugh from the overland riders. "how strange," murmured emma. "what could a woman be doing in this awful country?" "perhaps she lives here," suggested elfreda. "i should not be surprised at anything in the high sierras." "show me where she was when you saw her," requested tom gray. woo led him to a huge boulder, about a hundred yards from the camp. "me savvy piecee woman peek ovel locks," said the guide. "a woman peeked over the rocks there. is that it?" asked elfreda, the entire party having followed woo out to the scene of his discovery. "les." "what did she do then?" persisted tom. "him go 'way plenty quick." grace and hippy hurried forward and began examining the ground, but found no trace, no footprints, nothing that would indicate that a person had been there. "woo, it is my opinion that you went to sleep and had nightmare," declared hippy laughingly. "no one has been here. see! she would have left footprints at least." "piecee woman go 'way," insisted woo. "don't wolly till to-mollow," imitated stacy brown. "woo, got anything loose about the house? i've been living on pink snow for so long that i feel like a snowbird in distress. food is what my system demands." "a bird, did you say?" questioned emma. "i agree with you that you are something of a bird, but not of the snowbird species." grace was the only one of the party who believed that their guide really had seen a human being spying on the camp. the others, after some discussion, dismissed the matter from mind, and devoted their attention to the supper which woo had prepared and served. a much more comfortable night was spent in this lower altitude, and, with the rising of the sun, the overlanders prepared to resume their journey. the party was still at a considerable elevation above the lake, which had sunk out of sight as if it had never existed, due to the fact that huge granite shelves intervened between them and the mysterious water. they judged that the lake must lie at an elevation of close to eight thousand feet above sea level. "i smell something," exclaimed hippy as they were dismounting for luncheon and a rest that day. "so do i," agreed stacy brown. "someone is baking bread and using salt yeast. lead me to it, quick!" "what you smell is a dead campfire," tom gray informed the fat boy. "unless i am greatly mistaken, the fire has not been out long, either. come on, folks, help me to find it. it may give us some information that we need." by proceeding against the gentle breeze that was blowing they were enabled, after considerable searching about, to locate the dead campfire. "here it is!" cried tom, scraping aside a cover of leaves and grass that had been spread over the ashes to hide the tell-tale evidence. "see! the embers have been kicked aside and water poured over them. it is the water poured on the fire that produces the strong odor that we smell." "how long ago was that done, do you think?" asked hippy. "several hours ago, i should say." hippy made a circuit of the camp site that they had come upon, and returning, announced that he had made a further discovery--the spot at which horses had been turned loose. "there appears to have been four of them, though i cannot be positive about that," he said. "i merely saw the footprints of four animals as they started on their way northward." "but suppose they are looking for us?" exclaimed miss briggs. "if they are headed north they are headed towards the place where we were fired upon, are they not?" "oh, don't worry," laughed hippy. "they have a nice, long, rough journey ahead of them. we seem to have missed each other very cleverly. however, they may be nothing more than an exploring party, and we have been so stirred up over what we have heard of the high country that every little thing takes on an importance that doesn't belong to it." "i wish i could make a long speech like that and get away with it," observed stacy admiringly. "young man, you say altogether too much as it is," retorted tom gray. "i think that perhaps it might be well for us to take an inventory of our surroundings, as well as of what lies immediately ahead of us, before we start out," he added. hippy volunteered to do a little scouting, and grace said she would accompany him, as anything of that sort appealed to her, so they set out together, but soon separated and took different courses. grace first of all sought a high point from which she obtained a very good view of the surrounding country, but saw nothing of a disturbing nature. a deer stood outlined on a shelf of rock a few hundred feet above and to the south of her; a bear ambled across an open space, zigzagging his way down. bears do not like to go straight down a hill or mountain-side. the fact that their front legs are shorter than the hind legs makes going straight down a steep incline difficult, so, unless pursued, they ordinarily follow the switchback principle, zigzagging along until they reach the bottom. the overland girl watched the ambling beast with interest until it finally disappeared. she had no doubt that it was descending to the valley in search of food, lured there, perhaps, by the scent of an abandoned camp. except for these two animals, she was unable to discover any sign of life, nor was there a wisp of smoke within her vision that might indicate the presence of human beings. while grace was making a general observation of the landscape, lieutenant wingate was endeavoring to follow the trail of the unknown horsemen to determine, as definitely as possible, the direction that they had taken. their trail, which he followed for nearly a mile, still continued towards the peak, and it was his belief that that was their destination, or at least some other near-by point where they might hope to meet up with the overland party. hippy pondered over this, and found himself wondering what the motive of the horsemen might be. still pondering, he began retracing his steps to meet grace at a point decided upon before they started away on separate trails. lieutenant wingate was cautiously making his way through a thick growth of bushes, watching his step and listening for the familiar whirring warning of a rattler, when a sudden interruption occurred, an interruption that caused hippy to throw himself on the ground, and lie still. the interruption was a bullet, a bullet that clipped his hat, nipping a piece out of the brim, and giving the overlander a scare. at first he thought the shot might have been fired by one of his own party, and was about to call out a warning, but changed his mind and began wriggling away from the scene. he had, by this time, forgotten all about the snake peril, his one burning desire being to get as far away from that locality as possible in the shortest possible time. hippy found it slow going, because he twisted and turned so much, following as crooked a trail as he could lay out for himself, for the purpose of confusing the author of that shot, should the fellow decide to follow him. suddenly hippy thought of grace. she, too, might be in peril. his first inclination was to get up and run to their rendezvous, but upon second thought he came to the conclusion that it would be wiser to make an effort to discover the one who had shot at him. with this in view, lieutenant wingate began making a detour with the intention of coming up behind the shooter, hippy having a good general idea of the position occupied by the man at the time the shot was fired. all his efforts came to naught. he had spent nearly an hour in stalking his man before he realized that he was wasting time. while he was engaged in his quest grace had sat listening. she had heard the shot, and reasoned that it had been fired from somewhere in hippy's direction. there being no answering shot, however, she forced herself to believe that her companion had shot at a snake, and decided to proceed on to the place where they were to meet before returning to camp. grace took a different route to reach the spot, and this route took her near a swiftly moving stream of water that flowed down into the lake. the stream was wide where she came upon it, and to find a suitable fording place the overland girl continued on further up-stream. her way led her under an overhang of granite rocks several feet higher than her head. beneath her was a pool, deeper than the stream below, and in the pool she saw fish darting. the pool seemed to be fairly alive with them. grace's mind instantly turned to what the foreman of the "lazy j" ranch had said about the golden trout in the high sierras. "oh, wouldn't it be wonderful if i had discovered a pool of those live nuggets!" she cried, throwing herself down and gazing into the pool, on which the sunlight shone, mirroring her own face and the rocks behind her on its surface. "they aren't golden trout at all; they are mountain trout, and oh, what beauties! i must tell hippy and have him get a mess for us. i reckon that golden trout story is a myth. however, golden or speckled beauties, it is all the same to the overlanders. a mess of fish is what they need. i--" the overland girl paused suddenly. the smile on the face she saw in the water faded and a catch interrupted her breath. "wha--at is it?" she gasped. in the water, beside her own, another face was reflected. it was the face of a woman. at first, grace believed that some trick of nature was showing her a double of her own face, distorted and unrecognizable, but she instantly realized that this could not be possible. the face that she was looking down into on the surface of the pool was as hideous a countenance as she had ever gazed upon, scarred, distorted and crowned by a head of matted hair that bristled at its top and hung in tangled skeins over the ears. the face was all that she could see. for an instant the eyes of the girl and the woman above her seemed to meet on the face of the waters. grace whirled and sprang up, revolver in hand, for there was menace in the eyes that she had been looking into. quick as the overland girl was, grace harlowe found herself gazing up at a barren shelf of rock, unoccupied, silent as a tomb, with not a sign of life to be seen, either there or anywhere about her. it was inexplicable. a feeling of something akin to terror took possession of grace harlowe, then all at once, panic seized her, and, uttering a little cry, she fled on fleet foot back down the stream, unheeding where it might lead her, hoping and thinking only of getting away from that which had given her such a fright. chapter xxii the mystery of aerial lake grace ran on until suddenly halted by a shout from hippy wingate. "whither away, my pretty maid?" cried hippy. "oh! you gave me a start," answered grace breathlessly. "i've had such a fright, hippy. i have seen the most awful face that i ever looked upon." "in the words of the guide, 'don't wolly till to-mollow.' what did it look like? tell me about it." grace told him what had occurred and described as best she could the face that she had seen mirrored in the pool. "that sounds like the woman woo saw watching the camp," he nodded. "i think we ought to go back to camp and tell the folks what you have discovered." "you mean it sounds like woo's description of her," answered grace laughingly. "you know what i mean. come on!" the overlanders listened breathlessly to grace harlowe's story of her experience, but no one had an explanation to offer. they asked her if she had gone up to the rock to see if anyone were hiding there, but grace said she had not done so because she was too frightened. "i've never lost my head before, but i surely did this time," she added, smiling in an embarrassed sort of way. "i found a pool full of mountain trout--no, not golden trout--and i would suggest that one of you men go out and see if you can't catch a mess. trout would be relished by all, including even myself, scared as i am." "trout! me for them," cried hippy. "you come along, tom, and perhaps, between us, we may be able to find the beautiful creature that gave grace the first real scare of her life. i'm glad you have found something that frightens you," chuckled hippy. "me for the fish now." tom accompanied lieutenant wingate, leaving stacy with the girls, and with instructions to stay in camp. the two men returned two hours later with a mess of trout sufficient to last the party several days. stacy was asked to assist in cleaning them, then the fish were broiled, and a delicious trout meal was enjoyed. not since they started had they sat down to such dainty food. the overland riders were on the trail early next morning. this trail eventually led them up the side of a mountain, over places where they were obliged to hitch ropes to the ponies to assist them over particularly troublesome spots, yet it was all great fun. as the party went on, game become more plentiful. quail scuttled away at their approach, with heads ducked low, and here and there a flash of brown and white told of a frightened deer fleeing to safety. no one ventured a shot. the party had sufficient provisions for present needs, and further, it was understood that, unless absolutely necessary, there was to be no shooting. tom, however, killed a rattler that lay coiled on a shelf of granite buzzing away like an alarm clock, but that was the only exciting incident of the morning's ride. by noon they had worked their way up to an apparently impassable ridge. tom went on ahead, soon returning with the welcome information that there appeared to be a break in the ridge about a mile to the south of them, and that he thought they could get through it. the overlanders made camp late that afternoon, and on the following morning, now thoroughly rested, they followed rough and rugged trails, surmounting difficulties almost as great as the worst they had met above timber line. their reward came later in the morning when they discovered that they had unerringly followed the right course. "there's the lake!" shouted nora. before them, framed in a rim of black forest and rock, lay a lake of the deepest emerald green they had ever gazed upon. about the shore, and extending down to the water, white pebbles formed a mat for the picture. "it is our aerial lake," declared grace. "it is the same lake that we saw several days ago and that we bombarded with rocks." from somewhere in that vicinity the shots that had disturbed them undoubtedly had been fired. it was quite a large body of water, just how large they could not see, on account of a sharp bend in the lake, and intervening mountains. "aren't we going down to make camp now?" asked elfreda briggs. "yes, for i'm just dying to know what the secret, the great dark secret, of aerial lake really is," bubbled emma. "from all accounts it's a homely woman," laughed nora. "oh, there are others," reminded stacy. "that was not a nice thing to say, stacy," rebuked grace, laughing in spite of her efforts to be stern. "it was decidedly ungracious." "so are the kind i mean," retorted stacy. "hark!" a rifle shot echoed through the canyons, but, though ears were strained to catch the sound, no second shot was heard. "i wonder at whom they are shooting this time?" muttered tom. "we are again reminded that we are not the only persons in the high sierras, so let us be cautious." "watch your step, ladies and gentlemen," warned stacy as the party started on. the overlanders chose a camp site back among the trees a few rods from the shore of the lake. this site was not only well screened from observation, but afforded an excellent view of the lake as far as the bend. camp was quickly made, after which stacy and hippy shouldered their rifles and started out to get acquainted with their surroundings, as the party intended to remain at the lake for several days. the two had gone but a short distance from camp ere the overlanders heard chunky utter a shout. "i've found an ark," he cried, pointing triumphantly to a dugout canoe that lay on the shore. the dugout had been hewn from a solid log and bore indications of recent use. stacy searched for a paddle but could not find one. while the overlanders, who had hurried out to him, were discussing stacy's find, hippy was nosing about on the beach, closely observing the ground. he found boot tracks there, but they did not appear to have been recently made, so he decided that some days had elapsed since anyone had been on that particular spot. stacy promptly forgot that he was out reconnoitering, and, cutting down a small tree with his hatchet, he proceeded to fashion a crude paddle from it. he then announced that he was going paddling. tom said no, but stacy said yes, whereupon hippy read his nephew a sharp lecture on "respect to one's elders." to all this, stacy made no reply, as he considered that he would gain nothing were he to protest too strenuously. "that's all," finished hippy. "thanks, uncle hip. but if anything should happen to me, you'll be sorry that you were so cruel." "oh, take your old dugout and go on," exclaimed hippy. "if you drown, don't blame me. if it were not that you are a good swimmer i shouldn't trust you in that cranky craft." "that is very kind of your uncle hippy," reminded grace. "i hope you appreciate it." stacy failed to answer. still tinkering with the paddle, he watched his companions out of the corner of one eye, as they walked slowly back towards their camp. lieutenant wingate, rifle in the crook of one arm, continued on. an hour and a half later, as hippy was returning, he saw his nephew paddling slowly down the lake. hippy waved his hat and "hoo-hooed," to which stacy paid no attention whatever. "better keep in close. the wind is coming up," called lieutenant wingate. stacy brown was still silent, and hippy, chuckling to himself, went on to camp, where he told his companions of things he had discovered on his jaunt, none of which were of importance, except that he had found further evidence of the presence of human beings and horses. at luncheon time, stacy was still absent, but his absence excited no comment, because the boy was very fond of the water and probably in his enjoyment of it he had forgotten all about the passage of time. but when it came four o'clock in the afternoon and still no stacy, someone suggested that they go out and look for him. hippy was the one who went. he soon came running back, waving his hat to attract the attention of his companions. "something has happened to stacy!" he shouted. "what is it--what has become of him?" called tom gray. "stacy's dugout is floating bottomside up on the lake, but he is nowhere in sight," answered lieutenant wingate. the overlanders started at a run for the lake. "there it is! i see it," cried emma. "oh, hippy, can't you do something?" begged nora. "what is that floating out there?" "it's a log," answered hippy. despite the fact that the whitecaps were rolling up the lake, this log remained in one position all the time, but no one of the overland party observed that fact. "i can swim out to the canoe. who knows but that stacy may be under it?" offered grace. "no, no," protested the overlanders in one voice. "grace, the water is icy cold. to swim out in that water would be the death of you. if anyone does it, either hippy or myself will," announced tom. "is that a hat i see floating there?" "it's stacy's hat," cried elfreda. "oh, this is too bad. cannot something be done?" "there he goes! he will be drowned. somebody stop him!" begged emma as lieutenant wingate plunged into the lake and began beating his way towards the overturned canoe. hippy had not even paused to remove any part of his clothing. "come back!" shouted grace shrilly. "come back!" urged tom. "even if he is there you can't help him now." "don't worry. i am all right," came back lieutenant wingate's voice, sounding far away. "me savvy plenty cold watel," piped woo smith, but no one gave heed to his words, and it is doubtful if any of the overlanders even heard him. "i don't believe stacy is drowned at all," declared emma. "you will laugh at me, but i have a thought message that he isn't." "this is no time for nonsense, my dear," rebuked elfreda. "it isn't nonsense, it's transmigration," protested emma. about this time they observed that hippy was close to the dugout, and all eyes were fixed anxiously on him. they saw him grasp the turned-over boat, then dive under it. hippy was out of sight but a few moments when his head was seen bobbing up on the opposite side of the dugout. the overlanders shouted to him, but the wind was against them and hippy did not even know that they were calling. "someone run to camp and fetch a bath towel," urged grace. "never mind, i'll go," she added, starting away at a run for the camp. grace was back ere lieutenant wingate reached the shore. tom was there to meet him, and assisted hippy, dripping, and blue of face and lips, to his feet. "here, tom. take the towel and give hippy a brisk rub-down." "how--where?" gasped tom. "anywhere. go out in the bushes, do it anywhere, but for goodness sake don't delay. what did you find?" "nothing--not a single thing to indicate anything," answered lieutenant wingate dully. "please hurry! don't you see that hippy has a chill, tom?" tom gray hustled his companion out of sight, then stripped him and gave him a brisk rubdown, so brisk in fact that hippy finally begged him to stop. "i shan't have any skin left if you go one rub further," he complained. "here is hippy's other suit," called nora. "how is he?" "skinned alive," answered hippy with a groan. tom ran out and snatched up the suit, which he immediately assisted hippy to put on. "are you still chilly?" questioned captain gray after his companion had gotten fully into dry clothes. "i should say not, after what you have done to me. i don't care anything about my own condition. what i am half crazy about is stacy. i don't, for the life of me, understand how a fellow who can swim as well as he, _could_ drown. tom, help me out. what do you think i had better do?" "do? i think you have done enough--all that can be done. my advice is that we get back to camp. the girls have a good fire going, and my suggestion is that you sit by the fire and dry out your shoes while we decide what we should do next." "i don't suppose there _is_ need for hurry. if he is drowned he's drowned, and that's all there is about it, and if he isn't, he isn't. yes, we will go back." when tom and hippy emerged from nature's dressing room, tom carrying his chum's wet clothing, they found the overland girls awaiting them a short distance away. nora embraced hippy and wept on his shoulder, and, as a matter of fact, the other three girls of the party had difficulty in keeping their own tears back. "oh, this is terrible!" moaned nora. emma pulled herself together. "i have a mental message that stacy is all right, and that he will be back to-night," comforted miss dean. "false hopes, i am afraid," answered tom. "woo, how deep is that lake?" woo consulted the skies. "no savvy. mebby fish can tell." no more was said. it was a sober overland party that slowly retraced its steps to the camp, but, as they stepped in among the trees and came in sight of the little camp, the overlanders halted abruptly and gazed astounded. on a blanket that he had spread out sat stacy brown, his clothing wrinkled and dirty. before him stood two cans of beans, open, and a plate of trout, while both cheeks protruded unnaturally as stacy gazed soulfully at his companions. chapter xxiii the lair of the bad men "hulloa, folks!" greeted stacy thickly. "stacy!" cried nora, running to him and throwing impulsive arms about the neck of her nephew. lieutenant wingate drew nora away and stood gazing down sternly at the munching chunky. no one said a word, except woo smith, who hummed his "hi-lee, hi-lo!" "where have you been?" finally demanded hippy sternly. "i--i've been up there," pointing to the side of the mountain, at the same time getting to his feet. "sit down! now out with it. the whole story, sir!" "i was mad with you. i--i--i thought it would be fun to fool you all. there wasn't anybody in sight, so i tipped over and--" "accidentally?" interrupted hippy. "no. on purpose. then i shoved the canoe out and threw my hat into the water, climbed up the side of the mountain and watched you all hunting for me," chuckled stacy. "you all had been so hard on me that i didn't care if i never came back." "i don't understand how you could stand it to stay away at meal time," wondered emma. "oh, that was all right. i had some biscuit, then i found some dried venison in a cache in a cave up there. somebody had been there. it was fine food, i tell you, but all the time i kept my eyes on the camp. i didn't think you would go away and leave me, but i wasn't taking chances. it was lots of fun watching you folks searching for stacy brown's body, and i laughed when i saw uncle hip swimming out to look under the canoe. say, you can swim some, can't you?" hippy bristled. stacy's last words were the crowning ones. lieutenant wingate nodded to tom. "come, stacy. we wish you to go down by the lake with us. fetch your paddle," directed hippy. "wha--at are you going to do?" stammered the boy. "we three are going paddling, my beloved nephew," answered lieutenant wingate. "don't be too hard on him," whispered grace as the three were about to depart, stacy going reluctantly, but not daring to offer further objections. "give me that paddle," ordered hippy when they had reached a point well out of sight of the camp. "stacy brown, you have done about the most unforgivable thing that a boy could do. you led us to believe that you had been drowned; you have caused us much mental anguish, and it is no more than right that we 'transmigrate' a little of it to you. lie down on your stomach!" "i don't want to. wha--at are you going to do?" "i am going to paddle you, young man. tom, how many do you think would be about right?" "i should say that a paddle, one paddle, for each member of the overland party would be about right," suggested tom gray. "there are six of us." a moment more and hippy wingate was delivering the punishment, not too hard, but just enough so as to make his plump nephew writhe. "six! there!" announced hippy. "you forgot to give him one for woo smith," suggested tom. "you're right." hippy remedied the oversight at once. "get up! you made me swim in the cold lake, so i think i will give you a dose of the same medicine. i'm going to throw you in the lake." "oh, wow!" howled chunky. "no, no," protested tom gray. "don't do that, hippy. he might catch cold and be sick on our hands," grinned tom. "i'll be even with you for this, uncle hip," threatened stacy. "he hasn't had enough yet, tom. help me throw him in." "yes, i have. i've had enough. i'll never play such a trick on you again. it was a low-down trick to play. next time i'll do it in some other way, but if you let me alone i'll let you alone." "don't make threats," warned lieutenant wingate. "i can tell you something you want to know, too. i know something that you don't know," answered stacy. "first you had better come back to camp and apologize to the girls," suggested tom. stacy went along, rather timidly at first; then, as the thought of what he had discovered occurred to him, he swelled out his chest and began to boast. "suppose you tell us what it is that you have discovered," suggested grace after tom had repeated to the girls what stacy said. "yes. i'll tell you. when i was trying to get where you folks wouldn't see me, i dodged behind some bushes and discovered that i was right in front of an opening in the rocks. at first i thought it was a bear den. then i stumbled against a big bear trap that closed with a crash, but it didn't frighten me at all. you see i am not a bear." emma said there might be a difference of opinion on that subject. "i lighted a match and found a lantern, just like the train conductors use. i looked about and found myself in a cave. i found a lot of stuff there, including some boxes of crackers and venison, that was cached to keep it away from the bears if they got past the trap." the overlanders were keenly interested. elfreda asked what else he had found in the cave. "mostly things to eat and to eat with. i didn't bother about much of anything else. i reckon maybe it was the bad men's cave that i discovered. when it comes to making discoveries i don't suppose there is a human being who can equal myself. the only thing that i can't lay claim to having discovered is emma dean." "that is because your ideals and your instincts lack elevation," retorted emma. tom and hippy glanced at each other and nodded. both were of the same mind with reference to stacy's discovery. perhaps there lay the real secret of the aerial lake. "let us go over and investigate," suggested tom. "i'm with you," agreed hippy. "stacy, you will please lead the way to this bandit retreat, or whatever it may be, but if you fool us again, it's the lake for yours." all hands started for the cave, with stacy brown in the lead, full of importance. it was quite a rough climb to the scene of stacy's discovery, and the boy took the worst course he could find to reach it, which the others of the party suspected ere they had gone far on their way. "look out for bear traps!" warned chunky. "you know i haven't looked about much on the inside. there! look at that, will you?" he demanded, parting the bushes and revealing a small dark opening in the rocks. "you aren't going into that hole, are you?" cried emma. "i went in, didn't i?" returned stacy. "i didn't have a crowd of women with me, though." hippy entered first, using his pocket lamp to light the way, followed by stacy and tom, then the others filed in, leaving woo smith on the outside to see that they were not surprised by the former occupants of the place. once inside, the overlanders found that the roof of the cave was high enough to permit them to stand erect, but beyond them the darkness was so deep that they could not see the end of the hole in the mountain. "br-r-r! i'm afraid," cried emma. "that's because you aren't a man," answered stacy. "hulloa! there's some stuff that i didn't see." "pullman car blankets!" exclaimed tom gray. "this looks as if we had made a real discovery." "you mean i have," corrected stacy. "yes. it is plunder. no mistake about that," agreed lieutenant wingate. "stacy, did you look around farther back in the cave?" "no. i didn't have time." "i think you were afraid of the dark," teased elfreda. "stacy is afraid of nothing at all, you know, elfreda," reminded grace laughingly, whereupon stacy's chest swelled perceptibly. "i am not," he made reply. a systematic search of all parts of the cave failed to reveal anything of great value, but they decided that it might be wise to remove some of the blankets as proof of what they had found. "i know something else, too," spoke up stacy brown. "well?" demanded hippy, eyeing stacy suspiciously. "the log is chained down." "what log?" questioned grace quickly. "that log out in the lake," stacy informed them. "it's funny that you folks haven't noticed that it has been in the same position ever since we got here. there's something queer about that log, too. i observed it the first time i walked along the shore, but it didn't make much of an impression on me at the moment, and--" "i doubt if it would have done so if it had fallen on you," interposed emma. "thank you. one would hardly notice the log at all unless the lake were quite rough, which would enable you to see the full length of the log when it was in a trough. i examined the log when i was out in the canoe, and there's something else about it that is queer." the overlanders with one accord started for the shore to look at the log. "it's chained down," shouted stacy. "i believe the boy is right," exclaimed elfreda briggs. "where's that dugout?" called hippy. "i reckon it has gone around the bend," answered emma. "no. the wind is in the wrong direction," answered tom. "i see it! there it is, at the upper end. it has drifted sideways to the beach." "i am going to have a look at that log," cried hippy, starting at a run for the dugout. tom and his companions followed. "stacy, get the paddle," directed tom. the fat boy obeyed without protest, which was rather unusual for him. "me savvy plenty piecee fun," chattered woo as they ran. "if i am a prophet, you will be savvying something besides fun before we have done with this affair," observed elfreda briggs soberly. "this is only the beginning." stacy arrived with the paddle about the time that hippy and tom reached the dugout. the two men turned the boat over and shoved it out. "you girls remain on shore," ordered hippy. "the boat will not hold more and give us room to work. stacy, you sit still. don't you dare rock the boat." the lake was still rough and hippy found it hard work to handle the dugout, but after throwing off his coat and shifting his passengers to better balance the dugout, he made better headway, finally reaching the bobbing log. "stacy is right. the log is anchored," exclaimed tom. "what can that mean?" "we are going to find out right smart, captain," answered hippy. "do you see? the thing is anchored with a chain about its middle, and from rings, bolted to the ends, ropes lead down into the lake. that must mean that something is at the other end of the ropes. tom, you ballast the other end of the dugout while stacy and i pull on the rope at this end. we will try not to upset you. for myself, i have had one ducking to-day and that is quite sufficient. stacy has one coming to him. all right, chunky, heave away." they hauled on the rope with all the strength they dared exert, for to pull with too strong a hand meant a ducking in the cold waters of the lake. something came slowly to the surface. "oh, fudge! it's an anchor--it is a piece of iron," grumbled stacy. "yes, but it isn't an anchor," answered hippy excitedly. "boys, you have pulled up an iron box. can you get it aboard?" cried tom. on the box, in yellow letters, was the name of a well-known express company. the box was securely locked, and apparently the lock had not been tampered with. "we've made a find!" cried stacy. "loot of some sort," agreed tom. "that is a money chest, probably of the same sort that the red limited was carrying when the bandits attacked our train between summit and gardner. there is undoubtedly another one like it at my end of the log, but the question is what are we going to do with our find." "what are we going to do with it? why, we're going to open it, of course," declared stacy. "if there is loot in it, findin's is keepin's so far as stacy brown is concerned." tom was of the opinion that they had no right to open the chest, but suggested that they take it and whatever else they might find, to a safe place and bury it, and then get word to the authorities. "i believe you have the right thought," nodded hippy, after a moment's reflection. "there can be no doubt that this is stolen property, not the least doubt in the world. therefore we are not taking another man's property--we are trying to save stolen property. come, stacy, let's give it another haul, then try to lift it aboard." "if i don't get any of the plunder, i don't haul," objected chunky stubbornly. "pull! if you don't i'll throw you overboard," threatened hippy savagely. "i'll drop it if you do. i'll--" a bullet snipped the water not a dozen yards from the dugout, followed by the report of a rifle. "you're under fire! look out!" shouted the voice of grace harlowe, shrill and piercing. "let 'em shoot!" retorted hippy. "tom, are you game to go through with it?" "yes." "_bang, bang, bang!_" three bullets hit the water close at hand, sending up little spurts of white spray. another bullet went through the top of stacy brown's hat. "wow!" howled chunky. "you can get shot if you want to, but i don't." "buck up!" urged lieutenant wingate. "we'll have the thing aboard in a moment." another bullet sang past them, clipping a sliver from the side of the dugout. the sliver hit stacy on his bare arm and drew blood. "i'm hit! good-night!" yelled stacy, suddenly letting go of the rope and diving head first into the lake. as stacy let go of the rope and took his dive, the iron chest splashed and went to the bottom, causing the canoe to turn turtle. lieutenant wingate and captain gray were hurled into the icy waters of the aerial lake head first, with bullets spattering in the water all about them. chapter xxiv making a last stand "you poor fish!" roared hippy as he came up sputtering. stacy was making for the shore at full speed, creating considerable disturbance in the water as he progressed. tom gray and hippy, concluding that safety first was the motto for them, were hitting up a rapid gait. the bullets, however, did not cease falling about them. all at once reports of other rifles, apparently fired close at hand, reached the ears of the swimmers. "the girls are shooting!" cried tom. the overland girls had run to camp for their rifles, and with them were trying to search out the hidden mountain marksmen, trusting to drive the mountaineers off, or at least to check their fire until their three companions could reach shore. hippy and tom were swimming for the shore in the direction of the mountain cave. observing this, the overland girls ran forward to meet them. "hurry! oh, hurry!" shouted nora in great distress. "they can't reach us with their bullets now," answered hippy. "we are protected by the overhang of the mountain on their side." "hippy is right. they have stopped shooting," announced grace. at this juncture stacy brown floundered ashore and ran dripping towards the cave. "here, here! where are you going?" called elfreda. "into my bomb-proof shelter; that's where i'm going," flung back stacy. "you had better hide," reminded elfreda. "where's that boy?" cried hippy as he, too, floundered ashore. "never mind stacy now. we have other and more important matters on hand," answered grace. "hurry, tom. i have sent woo up among the rocks to act as lookout while we consider what to do next." "this is a fine mess. here i am drenched to the skin, shivering like a man with the ague, and a band of scoundrels trying to shoot me up. hospitable country, i must say," complained tom gray. "it might be worse. you and hippy had better go into the cave and change your clothes," suggested grace. "change to what?" "that's so. it might be imprudent for any of us to go to camp for fresh clothing." "come, girls, let's gather wood and build a fire," urged miss briggs. "we can build a small fire in the cave and let our men dry out in there and we will stand guard on the outside." "good! that is real headwork," agreed tom. "give me a handful of sticks and i'll start a fire if you will provide the matches. mine are soaked." hippy had already started in search of stacy brown, but stacy was not in sight. he had fled to the farther end of the cave, whence he was gazing apprehensively towards the opening. "you may come out," offered hippy. "i'm too wet to have my interview with you now. when i get dried out i'll have a friendly conversation with you. come out!" stacy sidled out, watching uncle hip narrowly. tom came in at this juncture, with an armful of twigs that the girls had gathered, and started a small fire. "i don't want to be smoked out," complained stacy. "there is worse than that coming to you, young man," reminded tom. "at present, however, we have other things to attend to. strip and dry out." "i don't want to dry out. i want to be soaked," retorted stacy. "don't worry. you're going to be," warned lieutenant wingate. "if it hadn't been for me you folks never would have discovered anything," stacy declared, turning a reproachful gaze on his two companions. "and if it hadn't been for you, i should not have been dumped into a lake of ice water twice in one day," returned hippy. "tom, what is your idea of this shooting?" "we have interfered with someone's business, that's plain," replied tom. "when we hauled up that box of plunder, or whatever it may be, they let go at us with their rifles. nor is that the worst of it--we are in for more trouble, and i should not be at all surprised to see it break at any moment, i--" "tom!" cried grace harlowe with a rising inflection in her voice. "yes?" "woo is running towards the cave, waving his arms. i think he has discovered something." hippy nodded at tom and began drawing on his wet clothing. "may the girls go inside now?" called grace. "no! keep out! we will be ready in a moment," answered hippy. a shot, followed by a howl from woo smith, caused the two men to redouble their efforts. hippy finished dressing first and ran out, rifle in hand, just as the guide came running up. "me savvy tlouble. plenty men come 'long." "how many?" interjected tom. "sees." "six, eh? we ought to be able to handle them," answered hippy. "there probably are more than six. what shall we do?" questioned grace. "all hands get inside the cave. from there we can watch the lake, and at the same time be fairly well protected," directed hippy. acting upon a hail from tom that he was ready, the overlanders hastened into the cave, where woo was questioned in detail as to what he had observed. having obtained all the information that the guide had to give, hippy and tom crept out, and lay secreted in the bushes in front of the cave to guard against surprises. they had been there but a short time when lieutenant wingate discovered a man on the rocks about a hundred yards to the right of them. at almost the same instant tom gray nudged his companion. "two men are over in our camp," he whispered. "don't shoot. time enough for that. they don't know where we are. they--" hippy paused abruptly. "they don't, eh?" jeered tom gray as a bullet flattened itself on the rocks just above the opening into the cave. "keep down in there!" "i think they are merely trying to smoke us out," answered hippy calmly. a scattering volley of bullets was fired at the cave opening as he spoke, but there was no response from the besieged overland riders. elfreda called softly to know if the two men needed assistance, but both said all the assistance they needed just then was to be let alone. "there go the ponies!" exclaimed tom gray. when hippy looked he saw three men leading the overland saddle ponies into a defile in the mountains. hippy threw up his rifle, but lowered it instantly. "it won't do any good to shoot. then again i might hit a pony. what i want to do is to get a man. sh-h-h-h!" the man that hippy had seen, but who had disappeared immediately afterward, he now discovered lying on a slab of rock up high enough to give him a fairly good view of the entrance to the cave. "i see him. don't move. he is looking this way," whispered lieutenant wingate. after a few moments of cautious observation, the man on the rock crawled back and disappeared. the day was rapidly drawing to a close and the two overland men began to feel considerable concern. there was little hope in their minds that they were going to get out of their present situation that night. tom and hippy discussed the situation, and considered the idea of creeping away in the night, but finally concluded that their greatest safety lay in keeping out of sight and awaiting developments. "it is their move first," declared tom. "and when they do start something we shall be on the job, though i am a little concerned about our ammunition. we have none to waste. it seems to me that there ought to be some in that cave, if the scoundrels are half as prudent as we think they are." hippy called softly to nora, asking her to have a thorough search of the cave made to see if ammunition might not be found. half an hour later nora reported that they could find none. "then we shall have to get along with what we have," decided tom gray. "with what we have we ought to be able to give a pretty fair account of ourselves." night fell, with the lake and the mountainsides bathed in a flood of moonlight, for the moon was full and well up. the fire in the cave had long since been put out so that the besiegers might not smell the smoke, and, shortly after dark, the girls passed out a luncheon, taken from the stores of food that stacy brown had discovered on his first visit to the cave. tom and hippy were munching this eagerly, when tom uttered a suppressed exclamation. "look yonder!" he whispered. "it's the dugout!" breathed hippy. the dugout, with three men in it, was being rapidly paddled out into the lake, which was now quiet, a gleaming sheet of silver in the bright moonlight. the paddlers went straight to the log and began hauling up on the rope at one end. "they are after the chests. what would you advise, tom?" asked hippy eagerly. "we are going to shoot, that's what," answered tom gray, leveling his rifle. "i don't want to hit anyone, but i do want to give them a scare." taking careful aim at the canoe, he fired--and missed. tom shot again, and this time his bullet reached its mark--the dugout. hippy wingate tried a shot and scored a hit the first time. the men in the dugout showed indications of panic. "let 'em have it hard," urged tom, whereupon both men began shooting, but the shooting was not confined to their own rifles. from somewhere on the mountain-side other rifles spoke, and bullets spattered against the rocks that stood out white in the moonlight, hard by the cave. "they've located us!" cried tom gray. "stacy, come out here, but creep out," he ordered. the fat boy came wriggling out, rifle in hand. "see if you can find the fellows who are shooting at us; then stir them up," directed tom. a few moments later, chunky's rifle spoke. in the meantime tom and hippy had been shooting at the boat, taking their time, aiming with deliberation, until finally the fire became too hot for the men in the dugout, and they paddled rapidly shoreward to the other side of the lake. soon after their arrival there they began to shoot at the cave-mouth. hippy and tom then turned their rifles in that direction, but with what result they were unable to determine. stacy shot slowly and steadily, without apparent nervousness, and the two men began to feel respect for the irrepressible chunky. after a time the fire on both sides died down and silence settled over the scene. finally, grace suggested that she and elfreda relieve the men of their watch, which, after reflection, was agreed to. after a vigil of some hours grace called for tom and pointed towards the lake, that was shining in the moonlight. "is not something moving out there?" she questioned. "yes. it is those scoundrels after the chests again. call hippy!" after watching the shadowy shape of the dugout for some moments the two overland men again opened fire, and once more the dugout was hurriedly paddled ashore. no further disturbance occurred that night. the girls went to sleep, but lieutenant wingate and captain gray remained on duty from that time on. all of the following day was spent in the cave, not a shot being fired on either side. the overlanders were of the opinion that their adversaries were keeping out of sight for the purpose of luring the party out into the open, so they remained where they were. another night came on, and at about ten o'clock the overland riders were treated to a deluge of rifle bullets, which was not returned, as the ammunition supply was now too low. "grace, have you taken an inventory of the food?" asked tom, after the firing had died down. "yes. we have enough for present needs, but have you considered that we may be held here until either we starve or are shot? i, for one, am in favor of making our escape. take my word for it, our besiegers will play some trick that will prove our undoing," declared grace with strong conviction in her tone. "we will stick it out another day," answered lieutenant wingate. "and walk all the way back to gardner," finished elfreda briggs. "i am of the opinion that--" "hark!" warned nora, holding up a hand for silence. a faint tapping sound was heard by all. it seemed to be somewhere over their heads, but no one was able to interpret the sound, and after a time it ceased. "something is doing. get your rifles ready," ordered tom. the words had no sooner left his lips than a heavy detonating explosion sent a shower of rock and dirt down over their heads. none of the pieces was large enough to injure the overlanders, but the dust set them coughing and choking so that instinctively all crowded towards the cave entrance for air, and further, because of fear that the rocks above might cave in on them. "that was dynamite!" exclaimed tom gray. "either they are trying to bury us here or to drive us out." "and i am going out," declared lieutenant wingate. "tom, you stay here, but for goodness sake make the folks keep down. the first head i see i am going to shoot at. give me some cartridges, each of you." five minutes later lieutenant wingate was crawling out on his stomach as silently as an indian. once more he heard that familiar tapping on the rocks above the cave. "the fiends!" he muttered. "i've got to get up to their level or go above them." he decided to proceed to the left of the cave, then ascend and approach the rocks above it. this he succeeded in doing. about the time he came within sight of the rocks over the cave the ground was shaken by another explosion. in the bright moonlight, he saw three men running towards the scene. hippy threw up his rifle and fired. one of the three men plunged forward and rolled over the edge of the rocks, landing, as lieutenant wingate thought, near the entrance to the cave. the other two men instantly disappeared. "one!" growled the overland rider, hurriedly removing himself from that particular locality. reaching a point where he could look across the cave entrance, hippy made a startling discovery. the second charge of dynamite had been fired close to the edge of the rocks overhanging the cave entrance, so that the falling rocks had blocked it entirely. lieutenant wingate now crawled to the entrance, not knowing what instant he might be the target for a bullet, and, placing his lips close to a crevice, called softly. his hail was answered from within. to his great relief, he learned that none of his companions had been injured, but that they dared not try to remove the wreckage from the inside fearing they might bring down a mass of rocks. hippy advised them to remain quiet until later when he would try to work his way in. "just now, i must keep a sharp lookout," he added. not another shot did he get at their adversaries, however, but just after daylight a rattling fire sprang up. listening attentively, hippy concluded that two parties were engaged in the shooting--at it "hammer and tongs," as he expressed it. a few minutes later he saw two men running for the lake--saw them leap into the dugout and paddle excitedly towards the anchored log. he waited until they began to haul in on the rope at one end of the log, and then opened fire. one bullet bowled a man over. the other man grabbed the paddle and struck out for the shore with all speed. he had nearly reached it when a burst of fire from among the trees near where the overland camp was located knocked the man over. he fell over backwards in the dugout, which slowly drifted ashore. a group of horsemen at this juncture rode out into the open, and an instant later a bullet whistled past hippy's head. "gee whiz!" exclaimed lieutenant wingate. "i reckon the whole community has it in for me. i've got to have a look at those people." with that hippy worked his way cautiously through the bushes until he got an unobstructed view of the newcomers. the overland rider gazed, and as he did so his under jaw sagged. "ye-o-o-o-w!" yelled hippy, leaping to his feet. a rifle bullet answered him, but he was down ere it reached him. once more he sprang up and fired three quick shots straight up into the air, then went down again. this time there was an interval, then the welcome answer--three signal shots--was fired. hippy got up and waved his hat. he had recognized one member of that party. that member was sheriff ford. "overland!" shouted lieutenant wingate upon getting to his feet. sheriff ford did not recognize him at once, but the party of horsemen rode towards him with rifles at ready, hippy standing out in the open with hands held up. sheriff ford then uttered a shout as he recognized the overland rider. it was a happy meeting--for hippy wingate. it took but a moment for explanations. a posse, with two sheriffs, including ford, and five husky citizens of gardner, had come out in search of the bandits who had tried to rob the red limited, and who were supposed to have held up and robbed another treasure train a week earlier. on their way to release the overland party, hippy confided to sheriff ford the discovery of the iron chests secured to the log in the lake. "i suppose there is a reward for the recovery of the plunder, but if there is, you take it. we don't want it," said hippy. sheriff ford protested, but hippy said the overland riders could not consider accepting a reward under any circumstances. ford said that in such event, the reward would be shared by the members of the posse, and that, in fact, the reward offered by the express company was the principal motive for the posse coming out to try to accomplish what the pinkertons had thus far failed to do. the overlanders were, after considerable hard work, released from their imprisonment in the cave, and it was then that ford told them of the fight with the bandits, who, he said, were all members of the jones boys' gang. of ten bandits, the posse had killed or wounded four. they found two who had been wounded before the arrival of the posse, one of whom, hippy believed, was the fellow he had shot on the shelf of rock, and took four prisoners, including mother jones, the mother of the leaders of the gang. four bandits had succeeded in escaping. "mother jones!" exclaimed the overlanders. as it later developed, it was mother jones whose face had so frightened woo, and which grace harlowe had seen reflected in the pool. mother jones had done the shooting at the overlanders, following the overland party's discovery of the chests in the lake. it was mother jones who had fired at them when they were bombarding the lake with boulders. no time was lost in getting the chests from the bottom of the lake, and none was more interested in the contents than were the original discoverers, the overland riders. the chests were found to contain something more than half a million dollars in gold and banknotes, but two other chests stolen from the same shipment never were found, though the lake was dragged from end to end. it was believed that the contents of the missing chests had been divided among the bandits and secreted somewhere in the mountains, but not a man of the jones gang would admit this to be the fact. the overland ponies were found secreted in a mountain defile, and that night there was a jollification in camp, a real feast of venison and trout, songs and story-telling, even woo smith indulging in his familiar song, to which no one now objected. stacy brown overlooked no opportunity to call attention to the fact that he was the one who had discovered the treasure chests, discovered the log to which they were anchored, and said he supposed that the railroad or the express company owed him a hundred thousand dollars. "how much do you want? come now," urged sheriff ford. "want?" exclaimed stacy. "i don't want anything from you, but i want these unfortunate overland riders to appreciate what i have done for them, and i want them to apologize to me for the abuse they heaped on me while i was seeking to transmigrate trouble from their doors." sheriff ford laughed heartily at stacy's remarks. "for he's a jolly good fellow," began nora wingate, in which the overland riders joined whole-heartedly, even emma dean, for the moment, forgetting her feud with stacy brown to the extent of keeping time with her lips, woo smith independently chattering his "hi-lee, hi-lo!" shouts of laughter winding up the tribute to the fat boy's hold on their affections. the overland riders decided to accompany the sheriffs and their party to gardner. being well satisfied with their vacation they were now ready to go home. the prisoners and the treasure were taken along to gardner, which was reached several days later. then the riders entrained for home after the most interesting journey they had ever taken. on their way east they elected the irrepressible chunky to full membership in the overland riders, and he promised to accompany them on their next season's ride. the story of that ride will be found in a following volume entitled, "grace harlowe's overland riders in the yellowstone national park." the mysterious loss of the riders' ponies, the raid of the grizzlies, the puzzling robbery at the springs hotel, a night of terror on electric mountain, the hold-up of the cumberland coach, and the solving of the yellowstone mystery, are among the many experiences that befell grace harlowe's riders on their never-to-be-forgotten journey through the great national park. the end the king of the mountains by edmund about. translated from the french by mrs. c. a. kingsbury. chicago and new york: rand, mcnally & company. mdcccxcvii. copyright, , by rand, mcnally & co. the king of the mountains. i. hermann schultz. on the d of july, about six o'clock in the morning, i was watering my flowers. a young man entered the garden. he was blonde, beardless; he wore a german cap and sported gold spectacles. a long, loose woolen coat, or paletot, drooped in a melancholy way around his form, like a sail around a mast in a calm. he wore no gloves; his tan leather shoes had such large soles, that the foot was surrounded by a narrow flange. in the breast-pocket of his paletot, a huge porcelain pipe bulged half-way out. i did not stop to ask myself whether this young man was a student in the german universities; i put down my watering-pot, and saluted him with: "guten morgen!" "monsieur," he said to me in french, but with a deplorable accent, "my name is hermann schultz; i have come to pass some months in greece, and i have carried your book with me everywhere." this praise penetrated my heart with sweet joy; the stranger's voice seemed more melodious than mozart's music, and i directed toward his gold glasses a swift look of gratitude. you would scarcely believe, dear reader, how much we love those who have taken the trouble to decipher our jargon. as for me, if i have ever sighed to be rich, it is in order to assure an income to all those who have read my works. i took him by the hand, this excellent young man. i seated him beside me on the garden-bench. he told me that he was a botanist, that he had a commission from the "jardin des plantes" in hamburg. in order to complete his herbarium he was studying the country, the animals, and the people. his naive descriptions, his terse but just decisions, recalled to me, a little, the simple old herodotus. he expressed himself awkwardly, but with a candor which inspired confidence; he emphasized his words with the tone of a man entirely convinced. he questioned me, if not of every one in athens, at least of all the principal personages in my book. in the course of the conversation, he made some statements on general subjects, which seemed to me far more reasonable than any which i had advanced. at the end of an hour we had become good friends. i do not know which of us first spoke of brigandage. people who travel in italy talk of paintings; those who visit england talk of manufactures; each country has its specialty. "my dear sir," i asked of my guest, "have you met any brigands? is it true, as is reported, that there are still bandits in greece?" "it is only too true," he gravely replied. "i was for fifteen days in the hands of the terrible hadgi-stavros, nicknamed the king of the mountains. i speak then from experience. if you have leisure, and a long story will not weary you, i am ready to give you the details of my adventure. you may make of it what you please; a romance, a novel, or perhaps an additional chapter in the little book in which you have written so many curious facts." "you are very good," i replied, "and i am at your disposal. let us go to my study. it is cooler there than in the garden and yet we can enjoy the odor of the sweet-peas and mignonette." he followed me, humming to himself in greek, a popular song: "a robber with black eyes descends to the plains; his gun is heard at each step; he says to the vultures: 'do not leave me, i will serve to you the pasha of athens.'" he seated himself on a divan, with his legs crossed under him like the arabian story-tellers, took off his loose paletot, lighted his pipe and began his tale. i seated myself at my desk and took stenographic notes as he dictated. i have always been without much distrust, especially with those who have complimented me. sometimes the amiable stranger told me such surprising things that i asked myself many times if he was not mocking me. but his manner was so simple, his blue eyes so limpid, that my suspicions faded away on the instant. he talked steadily, until half after noon. he stopped two or three times only long enough to relight his pipe. he smoked with regular puffs like the smoke stack of a steam-engine. each time i raised my eyes, i beheld him, calm, smiling, in the midst of a thick cloud of smoke, like jupiter in the th act of amphitryon. we were interrupted by a servant with the announcement that breakfast was served. hermann seated himself opposite me, and my trifling suspicions vanished before his appetite. i said to myself that a good digestion rarely accompanies a bad conscience. the young german was too good an eater to be an untruthful narrator, and his voracity restored my faith in his veracity. struck with this idea, i confessed, while offering him some strawberries, that i had, for an instant, doubted him. he replied with an angelic smile. i passed the entire day with my new friend, and i found that the time did not drag. at five o'clock, he knocked the ashes from his pipe, put on his outer coat, and shaking my hand, said: "adieu." i replied: "au revoir." "no," he said, shaking his head; "i leave to-night at seven o'clock, and i dare not hope ever to see you again." "leave your address. i have not yet renounced the pleasure of traveling, and i may, sometime, pass through hamburg." "unfortunately, i do not know where i shall pitch my tent. germany is large; i may not remain a citizen of hamburg." "but if i publish your story, at least i ought to send you a copy." "do not take that trouble. as soon as the book is published, it will appear in leipzig and i will read it. adieu!" after his departure, i re-read attentively what i had written. i found some remarkable details, but nothing which contradicts what i had seen and heard during my stay in greece. at the moment of finishing the manuscript, a scruple restrained me: what if some errors had crept into hermann's statements? in my quality of editor was i not responsible? to publish the story of "the king of the mountains," was it not to expose myself to editorial comments and criticisms? in my perplexity, i thought of making a copy of the original. i sent the first to m. pseftis. i begged him to point out, candidly, all the errors, and i promised to print his reply at the end of the volume. i re-read the copy which i had retained. i changed no word in it. if i made myself the corrector of the young german's statements, i would become his collaborator. so i discreetly withdrew. it is hermann who speaks to you. ii. photini. you divine, from the appearance of my clothes, that i have not ten thousand francs with me. my father is an inn-keeper whom the railroads have ruined. in prosperous times he eats bread, in bad years potatoes. add to this, that there are six children, all with good appetites. the day on which i received my commission from the jardin des plantes, there was a festival given in the family. my departure would not only increase the portion of each of my brothers, but i was to have two hundred and fifty francs per month and the expenses for my journey. it was a fortune. from that moment they ceased to call me doctor. they dubbed me beef-merchant, so that i should appear rich! my brothers prophesied that i would be elected professor by the university, on my return from athens. my father hoped that i would return married. in his position of inn-keeper, he had assisted in some very romantic adventures. he cited, at least three times a week, the marriage of the princess ypsoff and lieutenant reynauld. the princess occupied the finest apartments, with her two maids and her courier, and she gave twenty florins a day. the french lieutenant was in no. , way up under the eaves, and he paid a florin and a half, food included; however, after a month's sojourn at the hotel, he departed in a carriage with the russian lady. my poor father, with the partiality of a father, thought that i was handsomer and more elegant than lieutenant reynauld; he did not doubt but that, sooner or later, i would meet a princess who would enrich us all. if i did not find her at a table d'hote, i would see her in a railway carriage. if the powers which control the railroads were not propitious, there was still left the steamships. the evening of my departure, we drank a bottle of old rhine wine, and by chance the last was poured into my glass. the good man wept with joy: it was a sure sign, and nothing could prevent me from marrying within a year. i respected his superstitions, and i refrained from saying that princesses rarely travel third class. as for lodgings, my humble luggage would not permit me to choose any but modest inns, and royal families do not, usually, lodge in them. the fact is, that i landed in greece without an adventure of any kind. the army occupying the city made everything very dear in athens. the hotel d'angleterre, the hotel orient, the hotel des etrangers were inaccessible. the chancellor of the prussian legation, to whom i had brought a letter of introduction, was kind enough to assist me in finding a lodging. he took me to a pastry-cook's, at the corner of the rue d'hèrmes and the place du palais. i found there, board and lodging for a hundred francs a month. christodule was an old palikar, decorated with the iron cross, in memory of the war of independence. he was a lieutenant in the phalanx, he wore the national costume, the red bonnet with blue tassel, the silver-colored vest, the white skirt, and the fancy leggins, when he sold ices and cakes. his wife, maroula, was enormous, like all greek women who have passed fifty. her husband had purchased her during the war, when women sold for high prices. she was born in the isle of hydra, but she dressed in the athenian fashion: upper garment or jacket of black velvet, skirt of a bright color, a silk handkerchief tied over her head. neither christodule nor his wife knew a word of german; but their son dimitri, who was a servant hired by the day, and who dressed like a frenchman, understood and spoke a little of each patois of europe. upon the whole, i had really no need of an interpreter. without having received the gift of tongues, i am a fairly good linguist, and i murder greek as readily as english, italian or french. my hosts were worthy people; they gave me a little white-washed room, with a table of white wood, two straw-bottomed chairs, a good but thin mattress, and some cotton quilts. a wooden bed is a superfluity which the greeks easily deny themselves, and we lived a la grecque. i breakfasted on a cup of arrow-root; i dined on a plate of meat with many olives, and dry fish; i supped on vegetables, honey and cakes. preserves were not rare in the house, and occasionally i evoked memories of home by dining on a leg of lamb and preserves. it is useless to tell you that i had my pipe, and that the tobacco in athens is better than yours. that which contributed to my feeling perfectly at home in christodule's house, was a light wine of santorin, which he bought, i know not where. i am not a judge of wines, and the education of my palate has, unfortunately, been neglected, but i believe, however, that this wine is worthy of a place on a king's table: it is of a fine topaz color, sparkling as the smile of a child. i see it now, in its large bulging carafe, on the shining linen cloth. it lighted the table and we were able to sup without any other illumination. i never drank much of it, because it was heady; and yet, at the end of a meal, i have recited some of anacreon's verses and i have discovered remains of beauty in the moon-shaped face of the gross maroula. i ate with christodule and his family. there were four regular boarders and one table boarder. the first floor was divided into four rooms, the best of which was occupied by a french archaeologist, m. hippolyte mérinay. if all frenchmen resemble this one, you would be a sorry lot. he was very small; his age, as far as one could tell, anywhere between eighteen and forty-five, very red-haired, very mild, very loquacious, and never loosening his moist and warm hands, when he had once fastened them on a person, until he had exhausted himself talking. his two dominant passions were archaeology and philanthropy: he was a member of many literary societies and of many benevolent associations. although he was an advocate of charity, and his parents had left him a fine income, i do not remember ever to have seen him give a sou to a beggar. as for his knowledge of archaeology, i believe that it was of more account than his love for humanity. he had received a prize from some provincial college, for a treatise on the value of paper in the time of orpheus. encouraged by these first successes, he had come to greece to gather material for a more important work: it was nothing less than to determine the quantity of oil consumed in demosthenes' lamp while he wrote the second philippic. my two other neighbors were not so wise, and ancient things disturbed them not at all. giacomo fondi was a poor maltese employed at, i know not what consulate; he earned a hundred and fifty francs a month sealing letters. i imagine that any other employment would have pleased him better. nature, who has peopled the island of malta in order that the orient should never lack porters, had given to poor fondi the shoulders, arms and hands of a milo of crotona: he was born to handle a club, and not to melt sealing-wax with which to seal letters. he used, however, two or three sticks every day: man is not the master of his destiny! the islander out of his sphere, was in his element only at meal-time; he helped maroula to place the table, and you will understand, without being told, that he always carried it at arms-length. he ate like the hero of the iliad, and i shall never forget the cracking of his huge jaws, the dilation of his nostrils, the flash of his eyes, the whiteness of his thirty-two teeth, formidable mill-stones of which he was the mill. i ought to confess that i remember little of his conversation; one easily found the limit of his intelligence, but one never found the bounds of his appetite. christodule had never made anything during the four years he had boarded him, although the maltese had paid ten francs a month extra. the insatiable islander ate every day, after dinner, an enormous plateful of nuts, which he cracked between his first finger and thumb. christodule, old soldier, but practical man, followed this exercise with a mixture of admiration and fear; he trembled for his dessert, yet he was proud to see, at his table, so huge a nut-cracker. the face of giacomo fondi would not have been out of place in one of the jumping-jack boxes, which so amuse children. it was whiter than a negro's; but it was a question of shade only. his thick locks descended to his eyebrows like a cap. in strange contrast, this caliban had a very small foot, a slender ankle, a fine-shaped leg and as perfect as one finds in a statue; but these were details which one scarcely noticed. for whoever had seen him eat, his person began at the edge of the table; the rest of the body counted for nothing. i can speak only from memory of william lobster. he was a cherub of twenty years, blonde, rosy and chubby, but a cherub of the united states of america. the firm of lobster and sons, new york, had sent him to the orient to study the subject of exportation. he worked during the day in the house of philips brothers; in the evening, he read emerson; in the early morning or at sunrise he went to socrates' school to practice pistol-shooting. the most interesting person in our little colony was without doubt, john harris, the maternal uncle of the little lobster. the first time that i dined with this strange man, i was greatly taken with the american. he was born at vandalia, illinois. breathing the invigorating air of the new world from his birth, his every movement was joyous. i do not know whether the harris family was rich or poor; whether the son went to college, or whether he educated himself. what was certain was, that at twenty-eight he relied on himself alone; was astonished at nothing; believed nothing impossible; never flinched; was amenable to reason; hoped for the best; attempted everything; triumphed in everything! if he fell, he immediately jumped up; if he stammered, he began all over again; he gave himself no rest; never lost courage, and went right ahead. he was well-educated, had been teacher, lawyer, journalist, miner, farmer, clerk. he had read everything, seen everything, tried everything, and had traveled over more than half of the globe. when i made his acquaintance he was commanding a dispatch-boat, carrying sixty men and four cannons. he wrote of the orient in the boston review; he transacted business with an indigo house in calcutta, and yet he found time to come, four or five times a week, to dine with his nephew, lobster, and with us. a single instance, of a thousand, will serve to show his character. early in the fifties he was in business in philadelphia. his nephew, who was then seventeen, made him a visit. he found him near washington square, standing with his hands in his pockets, before a burning building. william touched him on the shoulder; he turned. "ah: good-morning, bill, thou hast arrived inopportunely, my boy. there is a fire which ruins me; i have forty thousand dollars in that house; we will not save a match." "what will you do?" asked the astonished boy. "what will i do? it is eleven o'clock, i am hungry, i have a little money in my pocket; i am going to take you to breakfast." harris was one of the most slender and most elegant men i have ever seen. he had a manly air, a fine forehead, a clear and proud eye. americans are never deformed nor mean-looking, and do you know why? because they are not bound in the swaddling-clothes of a narrow civilization. their minds and their bodies develop at will; their schoolroom is the open air; their master, exercise; their nurse, liberty. i never cared especially for m. mérinay; i looked at giacomo fondi with the indifferent curiosity with which one gazes at foreign animals; the little lobster inspired me with luke-warm interest; but i conceived a warm affection for harris. his frank face, his simple manners, his sternness which was not without sweetness, his hasty yet chivalrous temper, the oddities of his humor, the enthusiasm of his sentiments, appealed to me more strongly as i was neither enthusiastic nor hasty. we admire in others what we lack ourselves. giacomo wore white clothes because he was black; i adore americans because i am a german. as for the greeks, i knew little of them even after four months' sojourn in their country. nothing is easier than living in athens without coming in contact with the natives. i did not go to a café; i did not read the pandore, nor the minerve; nor any other paper of the country; i did not go to the theater, because i have a sensitive ear and a false note hurts me more cruelly than a blow; i lived with my hosts, my herbarium, and with john harris. i could have presented myself at the palace, thanks to my diplomatic pass-port and my official title. i had sent my card to the master and mistress of ceremonies, and i could count upon an invitation to the first court ball. i kept in reserve for this occasion, a beautiful red coat, embroidered with silver, which my aunt rosenthaler had given to me the night before my departure. it was her husband's uniform; he was an assistant in a scientific institute, and prepared the specimens. my good aunt, a woman of great sense, knew that a uniform was well received in all countries, above all if it was red. my elder brother had remarked that i was larger than my uncle, as the sleeves were too short; but papa quickly replied, that only the silver embroidery would catch the eye, and that princesses would not examine the uniform closely. unfortunately, the court was not dancing that season. the winter pleasures were the flowering of almond, peach, and lemon trees. there was a vague report of a ball to be given the th of may; it made a stir in the city, as a few semi-official journals took it up; but there was nothing positively known about it. my studies kept pace with my pleasures, slowly. i knew, by heart, the botanical gardens of athens; they were neither very beautiful nor very full; it was a subject soon mastered. the royal gardens offered far more to study: an intelligent frenchman had collected for it all the riches of the vegetable kingdom, from the palms of the west indies to the saxifrage of the north. i passed whole days there studying m. barraud's collections. the garden is public only at certain hours; but i spoke greek to the guards, and for love of the greek, they permitted me to enter. m. barraud did not seem to weary of my company; he took me everywhere for the pleasure of discussing botany and speaking french. in his absence, i hunted up the head gardener and questioned him in german: it is well to be polyglot. i searched for plants every day in the surrounding country, but never as far from the city as i should like to have gone; there were many brigands around athens. i am not a coward, the following story will prove it to you, but i love my life. it is a present which i received from my parents; i wish to preserve it as long as possible, in remembrance of my father and mother. in the month of april, , it was dangerous to go far from the city: it was even imprudent to live outside. i did not venture upon the slopes of lycabettus without thinking of poor mme. daraud who was robbed in broad daylight. the hills of daphne recalled to me the capture of two french officers. upon the road to piraeus, i thought, involuntarily, of the band of brigands who traveled in six carriages as if on a pleasure tour, and who shot at passers by from the coach doors. the road to pentelicus recalled the stopping of the duchess de plaisance, or the recent story of harris and lobster's adventure. they were returning from an excursion, on two persian horses belonging to harris, when they fell into an ambuscade. two brigands, weapons in hand, stopped them in the middle of a bridge. they glanced all around and saw at their feet, in a ravine, a dozen rascals, armed to the teeth, who were guarding fifty or sixty prisoners. all who had passed that way since sunrise had been despoiled, then bound, so that no one could escape to give the alarm. harris and his nephew were unarmed. harris said to the young man in english: "give up your money; it will not pay to be killed for twenty dollars." the brigands took the money, without letting go the bridles; they then showed the americans the ravine and signed to them to descend. harris now lost patience; it was repugnant to him to be bound; he was not the kind of wood of which one makes fagots. he looked at the little lobster, and at the same instant, two fist blows like two chain-shots, struck the heads of the two brigands. william's adversary fell over on his back, at the same time, discharging his pistol; harris' brigand, struck more forcibly, toppled over the cliff and fell among his comrades. harris and lobster were by this time quite a distance away, jamming the spurs into their horses. the band rose as one man and discharged their weapons. the horses were killed, the young men disengaged themselves, took to their heels, and when they reached the city, warned the police, who started in pursuit of the brigands the second morning after. our excellent christodule learned with grief of the death of the two horses; but he found not a word of blame for the killers. "what would you have?" he asked with charming simplicity, "it is their business." all greeks are, more or less, of our host's opinion. it is not that the brigands spare their countrymen and reserve their harshness for strangers, but a greek, robbed by his brother, says to himself with a certain resignation, that the money is all in the family. the populace sees itself plundered by the brigands, as a woman of the people who is beaten by her husband, admires him because he strikes hard. native moralists complained of the excesses committed in the country, as a father deplores his son's pranks. he groans loudly, but secretly admires him; he would be ashamed if he was like his neighbor's son who never had to be spoken to. it was a fact, that at the time of my arrival, the hero of athens was the scourge of attica. in the salons and in the cafés, in the barber-shops where the common people congregated, at the pharmacies where the bourgeoise were to be found, in the muddy streets of the bazars, in the dusty square of belle-gréce, at the theater, at the sunday concerts, and upon the road to patissia, one heard only of the great hadgi-stavros; one swore only by hadgi-stavros; hadgi-stavros the invincible, hadgi-stavros the terror of the police, hadgi-stavros, "the king of the mountains!" they almost composed (god pardon me) a litany on hadgi-stavros. one sunday, a little while after his adventure, john harris dined with us; i started christodule upon the subject of hadgi-stavros. our host had often visited him, years before, during the war of independence, when brigandage was less discussed than now. he emptied his glass of sautorin, stroked his gray mustache, and began a long recital, interspersed with many sighs. he informed us that stavros was the son of a bishop or priest of the greek church, in the island of tino. he was born god knew in what year; greeks of early times knew not their ages, because registries of the civil state are an invention of the decadence. his father, who destined him for the church, taught him to read. when about twenty years of age, he made a pilgrimage to jerusalem, and added to his name the title, hadgi; which means, pilgrim. hadgi-stavros, returning to his own country, was taken prisoner by a pirate. the conqueror found him amenable to reason and made a sailor of him. thus he began to make war on turkish ships, and, generally, on those which had not mounted guns. at the end of several years, he tired of working for others, and determined to push out for himself. he possessed neither boat, nor money to buy one; necessity compelled him to practice piracy on land. the rising of the greeks against turkey permitted him to fish in troubled waters. he never could tell exactly whether he was a brigand or an insurgent; whether he commanded a band of thieves or insurrectionists. his hatred of the turks did not blind him to the degree that he could pass a greek village without seeing it and sacking it. all money was good to him, whether it came from friend or foe, from a simple theft or a glorious pillage. such wise impartiality rapidly increased his fortune. the shepherds hastened to place themselves under his banner, when they learned that good pay might be expected; his reputation brought him an army. the leaders of the insurrection knew of his exploits, but not of his thrift: in those times, one saw only the bright side of everything. lord byron dedicated an ode to him; poets and orators in paris compared him to epaminondas, and even to poor aristides. some sent him embroidered clothes from the faubourg saint-germain; others sent subsidies. he received money from france, from england and from russia; i will not swear that he never received any from turkey: he was a true palikar! at the end of the war, he was besieged, with other chiefs, in the acropolis at athens. he slept in the propyleum, between margaritis and lygandas, and each had his treasure hid in the blanket which covered him. one summer night, the roof fell so cleverly that it killed every one but hadgi-stavros, who was smoking his pipe in the open air. he secured his companions' money and every one thought that he well deserved it. but a misfortune which he had not foreseen checked his successful career: peace was declared. hadgi-stavros retired to the country with his spoils, and became a spectator of strange occurrences. the powers which had freed greece attempted to found a kingdom. some offensive words came buzzing around the hairy ears of the old robber; he heard rumors of government--of armies--of public order. he laughed when told that his possessions were included in one sub-prefecture. but when an employée from the treasury presented himself to collect the yearly taxes, he became serious. he threw the man out of the door, not without having relieved him of all he had brought with him. justice sought to punish him; he took to the mountains. it was as well, for he was tired of his house. he felt, to a certain extent, that he owned a roof, but on condition that he slept above it. his former companions-in-arms had scattered all over the kingdom. the state had given them lands; they cultivated them reluctantly and ate sparingly of the bitter bread of labor. when they learned that their chief was at variance with the law, they sold their farms and hastened to join him. as for the brigand, he rented his lands: he had the qualifications of an administrator. peace and idleness had made him ill and unhappy. the mountain air restored his cheerfulness and health, so that in he thought of marriage. he was, assuredly, past fifty, but men of his temper have nothing to do with old age; death, even, looks at them twice before it attacks them. he married an heiress with a magnificent dowry, from one of the best families in laconia, and thus became allied to the highest personages of the kingdom. his wife followed him everywhere. after giving birth to a daughter, she took a fever and died. he brought up the child himself, with all the care and tenderness of a mother. when the brigands saw him dancing the babe on his knees, they exclaimed with admiration. paternal love gave a new impetus to his mind. in order to amass a royal dowry for his daughter, he studied the money question, about which he had previously held very primitive views. instead of hoarding up his treasures in strong boxes, he put them out at interest. he learned all the ins and outs of speculation; he followed closely the stock-market at home and abroad. it is asserted that, struck with the advantages of the french joint-stock company, he even thought of placing brigandage on the market. he made many journeys to europe, in the company of a greek from marseilles who served as interpreter. during his stay in england, he assisted at an election in, i know not what rotten borough of yorkshire; this beautiful spectacle inspired him with profound reflections on constitutional government and its profits. he returned to greece determined to exploit his theories and gain an income for himself. he burned a goodly number of villages in the service of the opposition; he destroyed a few others in the interests of the conservative party. when it was considered desirable to overthrow a ministry, it was only necessary to apply to him; he proved, conclusively, that the police were very corrupt and that safety could only be obtained by changing the cabinet. but in revenge, he gave some rude lessons to the enemies of order in punishing them in whatever way they had sinned. his political talents made him so well known, that all parties held him in high esteem. his counsels, his election methods, were nearly always followed so well that, contrary to the principle of the government representative, who wished one deputy to express the wishes of many men; he was represented, he alone, by about thirty deputies. an intelligent minister, the celebrated rhalettis, suggested that a man who meddles so officiously in government affairs, might possibly, sometime, derange the machine. he undertook to bind his hands with golden cord. he made an arrangement to meet him at carvati; between hymettus and pentelicus, in the country-house of a foreign consul. hadgi-stavros came, without escort and without arms. the minister and the brigand, who were old acquaintances, breakfasted together like two old friends. at the end of the meal, rhalettis offered to him full amnesty for himself and his followers, a brevet of general of division, title of senator, and ten thousand hectares of forests. the palikar hesitated some time, and at last said: "i should, perhaps, have accepted at twenty, but to-day, i am too old. i do not wish, at my age, to change my manner of living. dusty athens does not please me, i should go to sleep in the senate-chamber, and if you should give me soldiers to command, i might discharge my pistols into their uniforms from force of habit. return then, to your own affairs, and leave me to attend to mine." rhalettis would not own that he was beaten. he tried to enlighten the brigand as to the infamy of his life. hadgi-stavros laughed and said with amiability: "my friend, the day when we shall write down our sins, which will have the longest list?" "you think, then, that you will cheat destiny; you will die, some day or other, a violent death." "gracious lord;" (allah kerin;) he replied in turkish. "neither you nor i have read the stars. but i have at least one advantage: my enemies wear a uniform and i recognize them afar off. you cannot say as much for yours. adieu, brother." six months afterward, the minister was assassinated by political enemies; the brigand still lived. our host did not relate to us all the exploits of his hero: the day was not long enough. he contented himself by relating the most remarkable ones. i do not believe that in any other country the rivals of hadgi-stavros had ever done anything more artistic than the capture of the niebuhr. it was a steamer of the german-lloyd which the palikar had robbed on land, at eleven o'clock in the morning. the niebuhr came from constantinople; it unloaded its cargo and passengers at calamaki, east of the isthmus of corinth. four vans and two omnibusses took the passengers and merchandise to the other side of the isthmus, to the little port of loutraki, where another ship awaited them. it waited a long time. hadgi-stavros, in broad daylight, in plain view of all the world, in a flat and open country, relieved them of their merchandise, their luggage, their money and the ammunition of the soldiers who escorted the company. "that day's work brought two hundred and fifty thousand francs;" said christodule to us in a tone of envy. "much was said of hadgi-stavros' cruelties. his friend christodule proved to us that he did not do wrong for pleasure. he was a sober man, who never became intoxicated, not even of blood. if it happened that he warmed, a little too much, a rich peasant's feet, it was that he might learn where the miser hid his écus. in general, he treated with kindness the prisoners for whom he hoped to receive a ransom. in the summer of ' , he descended one evening, with his band, to m. voidi's house; he was a rich merchant from the isle of euboea. he found the family assembled, also an old judge of the tribunal of chalcis was present, taking a hand at cards with the master of the house. hadgi-stavros offered to play the magistrate for his liberty; he lost, and accepted with good grace. he carried off m. voidi, his daughter and son; he left the wife that she might busy herself procuring the ransom. the day of the attack, the merchant had the gout, the daughter was ill of a fever, and the son was pale and puffy. they returned two months afterward, cured by exercise, the open air, and good entertainment. the whole family recovered health for a sum of fifty thousand francs: was it paying too high a price?" "i confess," added christodule, "that our friend was without pity for poor payers. when a ransom was not paid on the appointed day, he promptly killed his prisoners; it was his way of protesting notes. however great may be my admiration for him, however warm the friendship between our two families, i have never pardoned him the murder of mistra's two little daughters. they were twins of fourteen, pretty as two marble statues, both betrothed to two young men of the leondari family. they resembled each other so exactly, that one thought one saw double and began to rub one's eyes. one morning, they went to sell cocoons; they carried between them a large basket, and they skimmed lightly over the road like two doves attached to the same car. hadgi-stavros took them to the mountain and wrote a letter to their mother, that he would return them for ten thousand francs, payable the end of the month. the mother was a well-to-do-widow, owner of fine mulberry groves, but poor in ready money, as we all are. she mortgaged her property, which is never easy to do, even at twenty per cent interest. it took her six weeks to gather up the sum required. when at last, she had the money, she loaded it on her mule and departed on foot for the brigand's camp. but on entering the large valley of the taygète at the point where one finds seven fountains under a plane-tree, the mule absolutely refused to stir. then the mother saw at the border of the path, her little girls. their throats had been cut and their pretty heads were almost dissevered. she took the two poor creatures, put them, herself, upon the mule's back and carried them back to mistra. she never wept; she became deranged, and died. i know that hadgi-stavros regretted what he had done; he believed that the widow was richer than she pretended, and that she did not wish to pay. he killed the two girls as an example. it is certain that, from that time, his outstanding debts were promptly paid and that no one dared to make him wait." "vile beast!" cried giacomo, bringing his fist down with a force which made the house tremble as from an earthquake. "if ever he falls under my hand, i will serve him with a ransom of ten thousand blows of the fist, which will enable him to withdraw himself from public life." "i," said the little lobster with his quiet smile, "i will only ask to meet him at fifty paces from my revolver. and you, uncle john?" harris whistled between his teeth a little american air, sharp as a stiletto point. "can i believe my ears?" added the good m. mérinay in his flute-like voice. "is it possible that such horrors are committed in a country like ours? i am convinced that the society for the moralization of malefactors has not yet been organized in this kingdom; but while waiting for that, have you not police?" "certainly," replied christodule, "fifty officers, sergeants, and policemen, of whom are mounted. it is the finest band of men in the kingdom after that belonging to hadgi-stavros." "what astonishes me," i said in my turn, "is, that the old rascal's daughter allows him to do such things." "she does not live with him." "well and good: where is she?" "at a boarding-school." "in athens?" "you ask too much; i have known nothing of her for some time. whoever marries her will receive a fine dowry with her." "yes," said harris. "one can say as well that calcraft's daughter is a good match." "who is calcraft?" "the headsman of london." at these words, dimitri, christodule's son, reddened to the roots of his hair. "pardon, monsieur," he said to john harris, "there is a great difference between a headsman and a brigand. the business of a headsman is infamous; the profession of a brigand is honored. the government is obliged to guard the headsman of athens in the fort palamede or he would be assassinated; while no one wishes evil to hadgi-stavros, and the most respectable people in the kingdom would be proud to shake hands with him." harris opened his mouth to reply, when the shop bell rung. it was the servant who had entered with a young girl of fifteen or sixteen, dressed like the latest fashion-plate in the journal des modes. dimitri said, as he rose from his chair: "it is photini!" "messieurs," said the pastry-cook, "talk of something else, if you please. histories of brigands are not for young girls to hear." christodule presented photini to us as the daughter of one of his companions-in-arms, colonel jean, commanding at nauplie. she called herself then, photini; daughter of jean, according to the custom of the country, where there were, properly speaking, no family names. the young maid was ugly, as were nine-tenths of the athenian girls. she had pretty teeth and beautiful hair, but that was all. her thick-set body did not look well in a parisian corset. her feet, which were large, thick, and ill-shaped, were made for wearing turkish slippers, and not to be compressed into the shoes of the fashionable boot-maker, meyer. she was as dull-looking as if an imprudent nurse had committed the fault of sitting down on her face, when an infant. fashion is not becoming to all women; it made the poor photini almost ridiculous. her flounced dress, extended over a huge crinoline, accentuated the clumsiness of her body and the awkwardness of her movements. jewels from the palais royal with which she was decked seemed like exclamation points, destined to point out the imperfections of her body. you would have said that she was a stout and coarse servant-girl, masquerading in her mistress' clothes. we were not astonished to see the daughter of a simple colonel so extravagantly and gorgeously arrayed, come to pass sunday at a pastry-cook's. we knew enough of the country to fully realize that dress was the incurable evil of greek society. country girls pierced silver pieces, strung them together and wore them upon the head on gala days. they carried their dowries on their heads. the city girls spent their money in the shops and carried their dowries on their backs. photini was in a boarding-school at hétairie. it is, as you know, a school established on the model of the legion of honor, but regulated by rules broader and more tolerant. usually, only daughters of soldiers were taught there, sometimes, also, brigands' heiresses. colonel jean's daughter knew a little french and a little english; but her timidity did not permit of her shining in conversation. i learned later, that her family counted upon us to perfect her in these foreign tongues. her father, having learned that christodule boarded honorable and educated europeans, had begged the pastry-cook to allow her to pass her sundays with his family, and he would see that he was recompensed. this bargain pleased christodule, and above all, his son, dimitri. the young man, working in a servant's place, devoured her with his eyes, while the heiress never perceived it. we had made arrangements to go, all together, to a concert. it is a fine spectacle when the athenians give themselves up to sunday pleasures. the entire population, in gala dress, turns out into the dusty fields, to hear waltzes and quadrilles played by a regiment band. the poor go on foot, the rich in carriages, the fashionable men on horseback. the court would not have stayed away for an empire. after the last quadrille, each returned to his home, clothes covered with dust, but with happy hearts, and said: "we have been very well amused." it was certain that photini counted on showing herself at the concert, and her admirer, dimitri, was not ashamed to appear with her; for he wore a new redingote which he had just bought at the belle-jardiniére. unfortunately, it rained so steadily, that it kept us at home. to kill time, maroula offered to let us play for bonbons; it is a favorite amusement among the middle classes. she took a glass jar from the shop, and gave to each one a handful of native bonbons, cloves, anise seed, pepper, and chicory. then, the cards were dealt, and the first who collected nine of the same color, received three sugar plums from each of his adversaries. the maltese, giacomo, showed by his eagerness, that the winning was not a matter of indifference to him. chance favored him; he made a fortune, and we saw him gulp down six or eight handfuls of bonbons which he had won from the rest of us. i took little interest in the game, and concentrated my attention upon the curious phenomenon taking place on my left. while the glances which the young athenian, dimitri, cast upon photini, were met with perfect indifference, harris, who did not even look at her, seemed to produce a wonderful impression upon her, even to almost magnetize her. he held his cards with a nonchalant air, yawning, from time to time, with american freedom, or whistling yankee doodle, without respect for the company. i believe that christodule's story had made a great impression on him, and that his thoughts were roving over the mountains in pursuit of hadgi-stavros. in any case, whatever his thoughts were, they were not of love. perhaps the young girl was not thinking of it either, for greek women nearly always have in their hearts a substratum of indifference. she looked at my friend john, as a lark looks at a mirror. she did not know him; she knew nothing of him, neither his name, his country, nor his fortune. she had not heard him speak, and even if she had heard him, she certainly was not competent to judge of his ability. she saw that he was very handsome, and that was enough. formerly, greeks adored beauty; it was the only one of their duties which had never had any atheists. the greeks of to-day, despite the decadence, know how to distinguish an apollo from a baboon. one finds in m. fauriel's collection, a little song which may be translated thus: "young man, do you wish to know; young girls, would you like to learn, how love enters into our hearts? it enters by the eyes; from the eyes it descends to the heart, and in the heart it takes root!" decidedly, photini knew the song; for she opened her eyes wide, so that love could enter without trouble. the rain did not cease to fall, nor dimitri to ogle the young girl, nor the young girl to gaze, wide-eyed, at harris, nor giacomo to eat bonbons, nor m. mérinay to relate to the little lobster, who did not listen, a chapter from ancient history. at eight o'clock, maroula laid the cloth for supper. photini had dimitri on her left, i sat at her right. she talked but little and ate nothing. at dessert, when the servant spoke of taking her home, she made a great effort and said to me in a low tone: "is m. harris married?" i took a wicked pleasure in embarrassing her a little, so i replied: "yes, mademoiselle; he married the widow of the doges of venice." "is it possible; how old is she?" "she is as old as the world, and as everlasting." "do not mock me; i am a poor, foolish girl, and i do not understand your european pleasantries." "in other words, mademoiselle, he is wedded to the sea; it is he who commands the american boat, 'the fancy,' stationed here." she thanked me with such a flash of radiant joy passing over her face, that her ugliness was eclipsed, and i thought she looked absolutely pretty. iii. mary-ann. the studies of my youth have developed in me one passion, to the exclusion of all others; the desire to know; or if you like the term better, call it curiosity. from the day when i embarked for athens, my only pleasure was to learn; my only grief, ignorance. i loved science ardently, and no one, as yet, had disputed her claim in my heart. i must confess that i had little tenderness and that poetry and hermann schultz rarely entered the same door. i went about the world, as in a vast museum, magnifying glass in hand. i observed the pleasures and sufferings of others as emotions worthy of study, but unworthy of envy or pity. i was no more jealous of a happy household, than of two palm trees with branches interlaced by the wind; i had just as much compassion for a heart torn by love, as i had for a geranium ruined by the frost. when one has practiced vivisection, one is no longer sensitive to the quivering of the flesh. i would have been a good spectator at a combat of gladiators. photini's love for harris would have aroused pity in any heart but a naturalist's. the poor creature "loved at random," to quote a beautiful saying of henry iv; and it was evident that she loved hopelessly. she was too timid to display her affection, and john was too indifferent to divine it. even if he had noticed anything, what hope was there that he would feel any interest in an ugly greek girl? photini passed four days with us; the four sundays of april. she looked at harris from morning to night, with loving but despairing eyes; but she never found the courage to open her mouth in his presence. harris whistled tranquilly, dimitri growled like a young bull-dog, and i smilingly looked on at this strange malady, from which my constitution had preserved me. in the meantime, my father had written me that his affairs were not going well; that travelers were scarce; that food was dear; that our neighbors were about to emigrate; and that, if i had found a russian princess, i had better marry her without delay. i replied that i had not, as yet, found one, unless it was the daughter of a poor greek colonel; that she was seriously in love, not with me, but with another; that i could by paying her a little attention become her confidant, but that i should never become her husband. moreover, my health was good and my herbarium magnificent. my researches, hitherto restricted to the suburbs of athens, would now become more extended. safety was assured, the brigands had been beaten by the soldiers, and all the journals announced the dispersion of hadgi-stavros' band. a month or two later, i should be able to set out for germany, and find a place which would pay enough to support the whole family. we had read on sunday the th of april, in the siècle of athens, of the complete defeat of "the king of the mountains." the official reports stated that he had twenty men wounded, his camp burned, his band dispersed, and that the troops had pursued him as far as the marshes near marathon. these reports, very agreeable to all strangers, did not appear to give much pleasure to the greeks, and especially to our host and hostess. christodule, for a lieutenant of troops, showed lack of enthusiasm, and colonel jean's daughter wept when the story of the brigand's defeat was read. harris, who had brought in the paper, could not conceal his joy. as for me, i could roam about the country now, and i was enchanted. on the morning of the th, i set out with my box and my walking stick. dimitri had awakened me at four o'clock. he was going to take orders from an english family, who had been staying for some days at the hotel des etrangers. i walked down the rue d'hèrmes to the square, belle-gréce, and passed through the rue d'eole. passing before the place des canons, i saluted the small artillery of the kingdom, who slept under a shed, dreaming of the taking of constantinople; and with four strides i was in the rue de patissia. the honey-flowers, which bordered either side, had begun to open their odorous blossoms. the sky, of a deep blue, whitened imperceptibly between hymettus and pentelicus. before me, on the horizon, the summit of parnassus rose like broken turrets; there was the end of my journey. i descended a path which traversed the grounds of the countess janthe théotoki, occupied by the french legation; i passed through the gardens belonging to prince michael soutzo, and the school of plato, which a president of the areopagus had put up in a lottery some years before, and i entered the olive groves. the morning thrushes and their cousins-germain, the black-birds, flew from tree to tree, and sang joyously above my head. at the end of the wood, i traversed the immense green fields where attic horses, short and squat, like those in the frieze at the parthenon, consoled themselves for the dry fodder and the heating food of winter. flocks of turtle-doves flew away at my approach, and the tufted larks mounted vertically in the sky like rockets. once in a while, an indolent tortoise crawled across the path, dragging his house. i turned him over on his back and left him to attend to his own affairs. after two hours' walking, i entered a barren waste. cultivation ceased; one saw upon the arid soil tufts of sickly grass, the star of bethlehem, or daffodils. the sun lifted itself above the horizon, and i distinctly saw the fir-trees which grew on the side of parnassus. the path which i had taken was not a sure guide, but i directed my steps to a group of scattered houses on the mountain side, and which was called the village of castia. i leaped the céphise eleusinien to the great scandal of the little tortoises who leaped like frogs into the water. a hundred steps further on, the path was lost in a deep and wide ravine, worn by the storms of two or three thousand winters. i supposed, reasonably enough, that the ravine ought to be the right road. i had noticed, in my former excursions, that the greeks did not trouble themselves with making roads where streams were liable to change them. in this country, where man does not oppose the works of nature, torrents are royal roads; brooks, are department routes; rivulets, are parish-roads. tempests are the road-constructors, and rain is the surveyor of wide and narrow paths. i entered the ravine and walked between two river banks, which hid the plain from me. but the path had so many turns, that i should not have known in which direction i was walking, if i had not kept my back to parnassus. the wisest course would have been to climb one bank or the other and ascertain my bearings; but the sides were perpendicular, i was weary, i was hungry; and i found the shade refreshing. i seated myself upon a bowlder of marble, i took from my box a piece of bread, some cold lamb, and a gourd of wine. i said to myself: "if i am on the right road, some one will pass and i can find out where i am." in fact, just as i had finished lunching, and was about to stretch myself out for the rest which follows the meal of travelers or serpents, i thought i heard a horse's step. i laid my ear to the ground and heard two or three horses coming up the ravine. i buckled my box on my back, and made ready to follow them, in case they were going towards parnassus. five minutes afterward, i saw coming toward me, two ladies mounted upon livery-horses, and equipped like englishwomen on a journey. behind them was a pedestrian, whom i had no trouble in recognizing; it was dimitri. you who know the world a little, you have noticed that a traveler starts out without much care for his personal appearance; but if he is about to meet ladies, though they be as old as the dove of the ark, he loses, at once, his indifference and looks at his dusty and travel-stained garments with a troubled eye. before even being able to distinguish the faces of the two riders, behind their blue veils, i had looked myself over, and i was sufficiently satisfied. i wore these garments which i have on, and which are even now presentable, although that was two years ago. i have never changed the fashion of my hair; a cap, although as fine and handsome a one as this, would not have protected a traveler from the sun. i wore, instead, a large gray felt hat, which the dust could not hurt. i took it off politely as the ladies passed me. my salutation did not appear to trouble them much. i held out my hand to dimitri, and he told me in a few words, all that i wished to know. "am i upon the road to parnassus?" "yes, we are going there." "i can go with you, then?" "why not?" "who are these ladies?" "english! milord is resting at the hotel." "what kind of people are they?" "peugh! london bankers. the old lady is mrs. simons, of the firm of barley and co.; milord is her brother; the young lady is her daughter." "pretty?" "according to taste; i like photini's looks better." "are you going as far as the fortress?" "yes. i am engaged for a week, at ten francs a day and board. i organize and arrange their trips. i began with this one because i knew that i should meet you. but what is the matter with them now?" the elder woman, annoyed because i was detaining her servant, had put her horse to a trot, in a passage where no one had ever dared to trot before. the other animal, filled with emulation, began to take the same gait, and if we had talked a few minutes longer, we would have been distanced. dimitri hastened to rejoin the ladies, and i heard mrs. simons say to him, in english: "do not go away from us. i am english, and i wish to be well served. i do not pay you to chat with your friends. who is this greek with whom you are talking?" "he is a german, madame." "ah!--what is he doing?" "he is searching for plants." "he is an apothecary, then?" "no, madame! he is a scholar." "ah!--does he know english?" "yes, madame, very well." "ah!----" the three "ahs!" were said in three different tones which i noticed as i would three notes of music. they indicated by very noticeable shades the progress which i had made in her esteem. she, however, addressed no word to me, and i followed them a few feet distant. dimitri dared not speak to me; he walked ahead like a prisoner of war. all that he could do was to cast two or three looks in my direction, which seemed to say: "but these english are impertinent!" miss simons did not turn her head, and i was unable to decide in what her ugliness differed from photini's. all that i could judge was, that the young english girl was large and marvelously well-formed. her shoulders were broad, her waist was round, and supple as a reed. the little that one could see of her neck, made one think of the swans in the zoological gardens. her mother turned her head to speak to her, and i hastened forward, in hope of hearing her voice. did i not tell you that i was extremely curious? i came up with them just in time to hear the following conversation: "mary-ann!" "mamma!" "i am hungry." "are you?" "i am." "mamma, i am warm." "are you?" "i am." you believe that this truly english dialogue made me smile? not at all, monsieur; i was under a spell. mary-ann's voice had worked a charm; the truth is that as i listened, i experienced a delicious agony, and found my heart beating almost to suffocation. in all my life, i had never heard anything so young, so fresh, so silvery as that voice. the sound of a golden shower falling on my father's roof would have, truly, sounded less sweet to me. i thought to myself: "what a misfortune that the sweetest songsters among birds are necessarily the ugliest." and i feared to see her face, and yet i was consumed with eager desire to look upon it, such a strong empire has curiosity over me. dimitri had calculated upon reaching the inn at calyvia at breakfast time. it was a house made of planks, loosely put together; but one could always find there a goat-skin bottle of resin wine; a bottle of rhaki; that is to say, of anise-seed cordial; some brown bread; eggs; and a regiment of venerable hens transformed by death into pullets, by virtue of metempsychosis. unfortunately, the inn was deserted and the door closed. at this news, mrs. simons had a bitter quarrel with dimitri, and as she turned around, i saw a face as sharp as the blade of a sheffield knife, with two rows of teeth like a palisade. "i am english," she said, "and i expect to eat when i am hungry." "madame," dimitri piteously replied, "you can breakfast, in half-an-hour, in the village of castia." i had breakfasted, and i was free to abandon myself to melancholy reflections upon mrs. simons' ugliness, and i murmured under my breath an aphorism in fraugman's latin grammar: "qualis mater, talis filia!" from the inn to the village, the road was particularly detestable. it was a narrow path, between a perpendicular rock and a precipice, which made even the chamois dizzy. mrs. simons, before starting out on this dangerous path, where the horses could scarcely find foot-hold, asked if there was no other way. "i am english," she said, "and i was not made to roll down precipices." dimitri began to praise the path; he assured her that there were others a hundred times worse in the kingdom. "at least," said the good lady, "take hold of the bridle. but who will lead my daughter? go and lead my daughter's horse. still, i must not break my own neck. can you not lead both horses? this path is, truly, horrible. i believe that it is good enough for the greeks, but it was not made for the english. is it not so?" she added, turning graciously to me. i was introduced. regularly or not, the presentation was made. it happened under the auspices of a personage well-known in the romances of the middle ages, whom the poets of the xivth century called, danger. i bowed with all the elegance of which i was master, and replied in english: "madame, the path is not as bad as it appears at first sight. your horses are sure-footed; i know them, as i have ridden them. you may have two guides, if you will permit me to lead mademoiselle, while dimitri leads you." as quickly done as said; without waiting for an answer, i boldly advanced and took the bridle of mary-ann's horse, and as her blue veil blew back, i saw the most adorable face which has ever enchanted the sight of a german naturalist. an eccentric poet, aurelian scholl, pretends that every man has in his heart a mass of eggs, in each one of which is a love. all that is needed to give life is a glance from a woman's eye. i am too much of a scholar to be ignorant of the fact that this hypothesis does not rest on sure foundations, and that it is in formal contradiction to all the revealed facts of anatomy. i ought to state, however, that miss simons' first glance caused a very acute agitation in the region of my heart i experienced a sensation entirely unusual, and which bore no trace of sadness, and it seemed to me that something gave way in the osseous formation of my breast, below the bone called, sternum. at the same instant, the blood surged through my veins, and the arteries in my temples beat with such force that i could count the pulsations. what eyes she had! i hope, for your peace of mind, that you will never meet a pair like them. they were not of unusual size, and they did not draw attention from the rest of her face. they were neither blue nor black, but of a color especially their own. it was a warm and velvety brown, which one sees only in siberian garnets, and in certain garden flowers. i could show you a certain scabieuse, and a variety of holly-hock, nearly black, which resembles the marvelous shade of her eyes. if you have ever visited a forge at midnight, you have, doubtless, remarked the strange color which gleams from a red-hot steel plate, as it changes to a reddish brown; that too, was like her eyes. as for the charm in them, any comparison is useless. charm is a gift with which few individuals are endowed. mary-ann's eyes possessed something naive and spiritual; a frank vivacity; sparkling with youth and health, and sometimes a touching languor. one read in them as in a book the knowledge of a woman and the innocence of a child; but it would have blinded one to have read the book for a long time. her glance burned like fire, as truly as i call myself, hermann. it would have ripened the peaches on your garden wall. words fail when i think that that poor simpleton, dimitri, found her less beautiful than photini. in truth, love is a malady which singularly stupefies its victims; i, who had never lost the use of my reason, and who judged everything with the wise indifference of a naturalist, i confess to you, that the world never held as incomparable a woman as mary-ann. i would like to show you her picture as it is graven in the depths of my memory. you would see what long eye-lashes she had, how the eyebrows traced a beautiful arch above her eyes, how small her mouth was, how white her teeth, how rosy and transparent her little ear. i studied her beauty in the minutest details, because i possess an analytical mind and have formed habits of observation. one thing struck me especially, it was the fineness and transparency of her skin; it was more delicate than the velvety covering which envelops beautiful fruits. the color of her cheeks seemed made of that impalpable dust which adorns the wings of the butterflies. if i had not been a doctor of natural sciences, i would have feared that the contact of her veil would brush off some of the luster of her beauty. i do not know whether you like pale women, or not, and i do not wish to hurt your feelings, if by chance, you have a taste for that kind of deathly looking women who have been the rage, during certain periods; but in my quality of savant, i can admire nothing without health, that joy of life. if i had become a doctor, i would have been a safe man to allow in any family, because it is certain that i should never have fallen in love with any of my patients. the sight of a pretty face, healthy and vivacious, gives me nearly as much pleasure as finding a vigorous beautiful bush, whose flowers open widely in the sunshine, and whose leaves have never been touched by butterfly or cockchafer. so that the first time that i saw mary-ann's face, i experienced a strong temptation to take her hand and say to her: "mademoiselle, how happy you must be to have such good health." i have forgotten to tell you that the lines of her face were not regular, and that her profile was not that of a statue. phidias would, perhaps, have refused to make a bust of her; but your pradier would have begged on his knees for sittings. i must confess, at the risk of destroying your illusions, that she had a dimple in her left cheek, but none in the right; this is contrary to all laws of symmetry. know, moreover, that her nose was neither straight nor aquiline, but purely retroussé, as french noses are. but that this rendered her less pretty, i will deny, even upon the scaffold. she was as beautiful as greek statues are; but was entirely different. beauty cannot be judged by one invariable type, although plato affirms it. it varies according to times, according to peoples, and according to culture. the venus de milo was considered, two thousand years ago, the most beautiful woman of the archipelago. i do not believe that, in , she would have been considered the prettiest woman in paris. take her to a dressmaker's in the place vendome, or to a milliner's in the rue de la paix, and in these places she would be less of a success than some other women whose features were not so classical, and whose nose was not so straight. one could admire a woman geometrically beautiful, in the days when she was only an object of art destined to please the eyes, without appealing to the mind; a bird of paradise at whose plumage one looks, without thinking of asking it to sing. a beautiful athenian was as well-proportioned, as white, and as cold, as the column of a temple. m. mérinay has shown to me, in a book, that the ionic column is only a woman, disguised. the portico of the temple of erechtée, at the acropolis at athens, rests upon four athenian women of the century of pericles. the women of to-day are little, winged beings, active, busy, and above all, thoughtful; created, not to hold temples on their heads, but to awaken genius, to engage in work, to animate with courage, and to light the world with the flashes of their wit. what we love in them, and what makes their beauty, is not regularity of features; it is the lively and mobile expression of sentiments, more delicate than ours; it is the radiation of thought around that fragile envelope, which does not suffice to contain it; it is the quick play of a speaking physiognomy. i am not a sculptor, but if i knew how to use the chisel and one gave me a commission to make a statue of our epoch, i swear to you that she would have a dimple in her left cheek, and a retroussé nose. i led mary-ann's horse to the village of castia. what she said to me on the way, and what i replied, left no more impression on my mind, than the flight of a swallow leaves on the air. her voice was so sweet to listen to, that i probably did not listen to what she said. it was as if i were at the opera, where the music does not often permit one to hear the words. all the circumstances of that first interview made an ineffaceable impression on my mind. i have only to close my eyes to believe that i am still there. the april sun shone softly on my head. above the path, and below, the resinous trees disseminated their aromatic odors through the air. the pines, the thugas, and the turpentine trees gave forth a harsh and acrid incense as mary-ann passed. she inhaled, with evident happiness, nature's odorous largess. her dear little nose breathed in the fragrance; her eyes, those beautiful eyes, roved from object to object with sparkling joy. seeing her so pretty, so lively, so happy, you would have said that a dryad had escaped from its wood. i can see now, the horse she rode; it was psari, a white horse from zimmerman's. her habit was black; mrs. simons', which showed distinctly against the sky, was bottle-green, sufficiently eccentric to testify to her independence of taste. she also wore a black hat, of that absurd and ungraceful shape worn by men of all countries; her daughter wore the gray felt adopted by the heroines of the fronde. both wore chamois gloves. mary-ann's hand was not small, but admirably formed. i have never worn gloves, i do not like them. and you? the village of castia was as deserted as the inn at calyvia. dimitri could not understand why. we dismounted in front of the church, beside a fountain. each went from house to house knocking at the doors; not a soul. no one at the priest's, no one at the magistrate's. the authorities of the village had moved away with the residents. each house consisted of four walls and a roof, with two openings, one of which served as door, the other as window. poor dimitri forced in two or three doors, and opened five or six shutters, to assure himself that the inmates were not asleep. these incursions resulted in setting free an unfortunate cat, forgotten by its master, and which departed like a flash in the direction of the wood. soon, mrs. simons lost patience. "i am english," she said to dimitri, "and one does not mock me with impunity. i shall complain to the legation. what! i hire you for a trip to the mountains, and you make me travel over precipices! i order you to bring food, and you expose me to starvation! we were to breakfast at the inn! the inn is abandoned: i had the goodness to follow you, fasting, to this frightful village; and all the inhabitants have fled. all this is unnatural. i have traveled in switzerland: switzerland is a country of mountains; however, nothing was lacking there! and i had trout to eat, do you hear?" mary-ann tried to calm her mother, but the good woman could not and would not listen. dimitri explained to her as fully as she would permit him, that the inhabitants of the village were nearly all charcoal-burners, and that their business very often took them into the mountains. in any case, the time was not lost: it was not later than eight o'clock, and they were sure to find within ten minutes' walk an inhabited house where breakfast would be all prepared. "what house?" demanded mrs. simons. "the farm at the convent. the monks from pentelicus have broad lands above castia. they raise bees there. the good old man who carries on the farm always has wine, bread, honey and fowls; he will give us our breakfast." "he may have gone away like everyone else." "if he is away, it will not be far. the time for the swarming is near, and he would not wish to lose his bees." "go and see: as for me, i have gone far enough since morning. i vow to you that i will not remount until after i have eaten." "madame, you need not remount," said dimitri, patient as are all guides. "we can hitch our horses to the fountain, and we shall quickly reach the place on foot." mary-ann influenced her mother to consent. she was dying to see the good old man, and his apiary. dimitri hitched the horses to the watering trough, weighting each bridle with a huge stone. mrs. simons and her daughter looped up their habits and we started up a precipitous path, fit only for the goats of castia. the green lizards which were warming themselves in the sun, discreetly retired at our approach, but each drew a piercing cry from mrs. simons, who had a horror of reptiles. after a quarter of an hour of these vocalizations, she had, at last, the joy of seeing an open house and a human face. it was the farmhouse and the old man. the house was a small one made of red bricks, topped with five cupolas, almost like a mosque to the village. at a distance, it possessed a certain elegance. comely without and coarse within, it was a sample of the orient. one saw, in the shelter of a hill covered with thyme, a hundred straw bee-hives, placed in a line like the tents in a camp. the king of this empire, the good old man, was a small, young man of twenty-five, round and merry. all greek monks are honored with the title of "good old man," age having nothing to do with it. he was dressed like a peasant, except his bonnet, which was black instead of red; it was by this sign that dimitri recognized him. the little man, seeing us running toward him, raised his arms to heaven, and appeared utterly amazed. "here is an original," mrs. simons exclaimed; "what astonishes him so much? one would say that he had never seen any english people before." dimitri, who had run on ahead, kissed the monk's hand, and said to him with a curious mixture of respect and familiarity: "thy blessing, father! wring the necks of two chickens, we will pay thee well." "unhappy man: why do you come here?" "to breakfast." "didst thou not see that the inn was deserted?" "i saw it so well, that i found no one at home." "and that the village was deserted?" "if i had met anyone, i should not have climbed up to thy house." "thou art then in accord with them?" "them? with whom?" "the brigands." "are there brigands on parnassus?" "since day before yesterday." "where are they?" "everywhere!" dimitri turned quickly toward us and said: "we have not a moment to lose. the brigands are in the mountains. let us run for our horses. have courage, mesdames; and step out lively, if you please." "this is too hard," cried mrs. simons. "without having breakfasted!" "madame, your breakfast would cost you dear! let us hasten, for the love of god!" "is this a conspiracy? you have sworn to make me die of hunger! behold the brigands! as if there were brigands! i do not believe in brigands! all the papers state that they are disbanded! moreover, i am english, and if anyone touched a hair of my head----!" mary-ann was less confident. she leaned on my arm and asked me if i thought that we were in danger of death. "of death? no. of being robbed? yes." "of what importance is that? they are welcome to take all that i carry, if only they will give me my breakfast." i learned later that the poor woman was subject to a rare malady which the vulgar call canine appetite, and our learned men know as _boulime_. when hunger assailed her, she would have given her fortune for a plate of lentils. dimitri and mary-ann each seized a hand and dragged her to the path we had just ascended. the little monk followed her, gesticulating. i was strongly tempted to push forward; but a quick and imperative tone stopped us suddenly. "halt! i say!" i raised my eyes. two mastic bushes and arbutus-trees were on the right and left of the path. from each bush the muzzles of three or four guns protruded. a voice cried in greek: "seat yourselves on the ground!" this operation was exceedingly easy for me, as my knees weakened under me. but i consoled myself with the thought that ajax, agamemnon, and the hot-headed achilles, if they found themselves in a like position, would not have refused the seat offered them. the guns were lowered toward us. i expected to see them pushed out so far that their muzzles would touch each other over our heads. it was not that i was afraid; but i had never before realized the extraordinary length of greek guns. the whole arsenal marched out into the path, showing the owner of each. the only difference which exists between devils and brigands, is that devils are less black than one expects, and brigands more squalid than one supposes. the eight scoundrels who surrounded us were so foul, that i would have preferred to give them my money with pinchers. one could imagine that their bonnets might once have been red; but lye itself could never have found the original shade of their coats. all the rocks of the kingdom had contributed to the color of their percale skirts, and their vests bore a specimen of the different soils upon which they had reposed. their hands, their faces, and even their mustaches were of a reddish gray like the dirt which they had on their clothes. every animal colors itself like the house or land it inhabits: the foxes of greenland are like the snow; lions, the color of the desert; partridges, like the ground; the greek brigands, the color of the paths. the chief of the little band who had taken us prisoners, was not distinguished by outward sign. possibly his face, his hands, his clothes, were richer in dirt than those of his comrades. he bent over us from his great height, and examined us so closely, that i almost felt the touch of his gray mustache. you would have thought him a tiger who smelled his prey before devouring it. when his curiosity was satisfied, he said to dimitri: "empty thy pockets!" dimitri did not make him repeat it the second time. he threw down, at his feet, a knife, a bag of tobacco, and three mexican piastres, which made a sum of sixteen francs. "is that all?" demanded the brigand. "yes, brother." "thou art the servant?" "yes, brother." "take one piastre. thou must not return to the city without money." dimitri began to haggle. "thou mightest leave me two. i have two horses below; they are hired from the stable; i will have to pay for the day." "thou canst explain to zimmerman that we have taken thy money." "and if he insists on being paid even then?" "tell him that he is only too happy in seeing his horses again." "he knows very well that you would not take the horses. what would you do with them in the mountains?" "enough! tell me who is this tall, thin man behind thee?" i answered for myself: "an honest german whose spoils will not enrich you." "thou speakest greek; well. empty thy pockets!" i placed on the ground twenty francs, my tobacco, my pipe and my handkerchief. "what is that?" "a handkerchief." "what for?" "to wipe my nose." "why didst thou tell me that thou wert poor? only lords wipe their noses with handkerchiefs. take off the box which thou carriest on thy back. that is well! now open it." my box contained some plants, a book, a knife, a small packet of arsenic, an almost empty gourd of wine, and the remains of my breakfast which brought a gleam of covetousness to mrs. simons' eyes. i had the impudence to offer them to her before my property changed hands. she snatched them greedily and began to devour the bread and meat. to my great astonishment, this gluttonous act disgusted the thieves, who murmured among themselves the word _heretic_! the monk made a half-dozen signs of the cross, according to the rite of the greek church. "thou probably hast a watch," said the brigand to me, "put it with the other things." i took off my silver watch, an heirloom, which weighed about four ounces. the rascals passed it from hand to hand and found it very beautiful. i hoped that admiration, which softens men's feelings, would dispose them to restore to me something of my belongings, and i begged the chief to give me my tin box. he rudely told me to keep silent. "at least," i persisted, "give back my two écus so that i can return to the city." he replied with a sardonic grin: "thou wilt have no use for them." mrs. simons' turn had come. before putting her hand into her pocket, she addressed our captors in the tongue of her fathers. english is one of the rare languages which one can speak with one's mouth full. "reflect well upon what you are doing," she said in a menacing tone. "i am an englishwoman, and english subjects are sacred in every country in the world. what you take from me will serve you little, and cost you dear. england will avenge me, and you will be hung, at the very least. now, if you wish my money, you have only to speak; but it will burn your fingers; it is english money!" "what does she say?" asked the leader of the brigands. dimitri answered: "she says she is english." "so much the better; all the english are rich. tell her to shell out!" the poor woman emptied her pocket; her purse contained a dozen sovereigns. as her watch was not in sight, and as they did not search us, she kept that. the kindness of these thieves left her her handkerchief. mary-ann threw down her watch and a string of charms against the evil eye. she took off, with mutinous grace, a shagreen-leather bag, which she wore slung on her shoulder. the bandit opened it with all the importance of a custom-house officer. he took out an english dressing-case, a bottle of english smelling-salts, a box of english menthol pastilles and a hundred and several odd francs of english money. "now," said the enraged beauty, "you can let us go; we have nothing more for you." one of the men indicated to her by a menacing gesture, that the interview was not yet over. the leader of the band knelt down before their spoils, called the monk, counted the money in his presence and gave to him a sum of forty-five francs. mrs. simons nudged me. "do you see?" she whispered; "the monk and dimitri have betrayed us into their hands; the bandits have divided with them!" "no, madame," i replied, "dimitri has received only a fraction of what was taken from him. it is customary everywhere. on the borders of the rhine, when a traveler is ruined at roulette, the banker gives him enough to return home." "but the monk?" "he has only received the tithe of the spoils, according to custom from time immemorial. do not reproach him, but rather be grateful to him in his wish to save us, when his convent would have benefited by our capture." this conversation was interrupted by dimitri's departure. they had told him that he was free. "wait for me," i said to him, "we will return together." he sadly shook his head and answered in english, so that the ladies could understand: "you are prisoners for a time, and you will not see athens again until you have paid a ransom. i am going to inform milord. have the ladies any message to send to him?" "tell him," cried mrs. simons, "that he must hurry to the ambassador, that he must go to piraeus to find the admiral, that he must complain at the foreign office, and he must surely write to lord palmerston! that we must be rescued from here by force of arms, if necessary, or by political authority; but that i will not hear of paying one penny for my liberty." "and i," i said with less anger, "i pray thee to tell my friends in whose hands thou hast left me. if it is necessary to have a few hundred drachmas to ransom a poor devil of a naturalist, they will furnish them without doubt. the lords of the road will not put a very high price on me. i wish whilst thou art still here, that thou wouldst ask them the price." "useless, my dear m. hermann, they do not fix the ransom." "who, then?" "their chief, hadgi-stavros." iv. hadgi-stavros. dimitri descended to athens; the monk went back to his bees; our new masters pushed us into the path which led to the camp of their king. mrs. simons rebelled and refused to stir a step. the brigands threatened to carry her in their arms; she declared that she would not let them carry her. but her daughter talked her into a more tractable frame of mind, telling that she would find the table spread and that she would be invited to breakfast by hadgi-stavros. mary-ann was more surprised than frightened. the followers who had come to arrest us, had acted with a certain courtesy; they had not searched us, and they had kept their hands from their prisoners. instead of turning our pockets wrong side out, they had asked us to put down our money and valuables ourselves; they made no remark about the ladies' ear-rings and they did not even ask them to take off their gloves. we were far, it seemed, from those highwaymen in spain and italy who cut off a finger to get a ring and who tear out an ear-ring to possess themselves of a diamond or pearl. all these misfortunes were reduced to the payment of a ransom; yet was it not probable that we might be delivered without it? how could one imagine that hadgi-stavros would be able to hold us with impunity, at five leagues from the capital, from the court, from the greek army, from her britannic majesty's battalion, at an english station. thus reasoned mary-ann. as for me--i, involuntarily, thought of those two little daughters whom mistra went to seek, and i was sad. i feared that mrs. simons, in her obstinate patriotism, only exposed her daughter to some great danger, and i promised myself that i would enlighten her as to her position. we walked in a narrow path, single file, separated from each other by our disagreeable companions. the journey seemed to me to be interminable, and i asked more than ten times, if we would not soon be there. the road was frightful; in the crevices of the bare rock an oak sapling struggled for life, or a thorny bush scratched our legs. the victorious bandits manifested no joy, and their triumphal march resembled a funeral parade. they silently smoked cigarettes as large as one's finger. they did not speak; one, only, now and then hummed a sort of tune. those people are as lugubrious as a ruin. about eleven o'clock, a fierce barking announced the neighborhood of the camp. ten or a dozen enormous dogs rushed out and hurled themselves upon us, showing all their teeth. our captors drove them back with stones, and after a quarter of an hour of hostilities, peace was declared. these inhospitable monsters were the advance sentinels of the king of the mountains. they scent the soldiers as a contrabandist's dog scents a custom-house officer. but that is not all, and their zeal is so great, that they, occasionally, devoured an inoffensive shepherd, a lost traveler, or even one of hadgi-stavros' band. the king kept them, as the old sultans kept their janissaries, with the perpetual fear of falling a victim to them. the king's camp was a plateau of seven or eight hundred metres in extent. i searched everywhere for our captors' tents. the brigands were not sybarites, and they slept under the sky on the th of april. i saw neither heaps of spoils nor a display of treasures, nothing which one would hope to find at the headquarters of a band of brigands. hadgi-stavros took upon himself the sale of the plunder; each man received his pay in silver and used it according to his fancy. some put their money into commerce, others invested in mortgages on houses in athens, while others bought land in their villages; no one squandered the proceeds of theft. our arrival interrupted the morning meal of twenty-five or thirty men, who hastened to meet us, bread and cheese in hand. the chief furnished his band with food: the men received, every day, a ration of bread, oil, wine, cheese, caviare, piment (wine mixed with honey and spices), bitter olives, and meat when their religion permitted. gourmands who wish for mallows and other green food, can pick these dainties on the mountains. brigands, as some other classes of people, rarely light a fire for their repasts; they eat their food cold, and their vegetables uncooked. i noticed that everyone was religiously observing the law of abstinence. we were on the eve of the celebration of the ascension, and these good people, of whom the most innocent had at least the life of one man on his conscience, would not touch a mouthful of meat. holding up two englishwomen, at the point of a musket, seemed an insignificant sin; mrs. simons had very greatly sinned in eating the cold meat, the wednesday before ascension. the men who had escorted us, satisfied the curiosity of their comrades. they were overwhelmed with questions and they answered them all. they put down in a pile, the booty they had secured, and my silver watch scored yet another success, which added to my pride. mary-ann's little gold watch was less noticed. in that first interview, public attention fell upon my watch, and it reflected a little on me. in the eyes of these simple men, the owner of such an imposing piece of silver could be no less than a lord. the bandits' curiosity was annoying, but not insolent. they did not treat us harshly. they knew that we were in their hands and that we would be exchanged, sooner or later, for a certain number of gold pieces; but they did not think that they ought to avail themselves of that circumstance to maltreat us, or show a lack of respect. good sense, that imperishable spirit of the greeks, told them that we represented a different race, and one, to a certain degree, superior. victorious barbarians render a secret homage to a conquered civilized people. many of these men saw for the first time, the european dress. these walked around us, as the inhabitants of the new world around columbus' spaniards. they furtively felt my coat, to see of what material it was made. they would have been happy to have examined the articles of my clothing, one by one. perhaps, even, they would have liked to break me in two or three pieces, in order to study the inner mechanism of a lord, but i am sure that they would have done it with profuse excuses, and not without asking pardon for the liberty. mrs. simons soon lost patience; she did not like to be examined so closely by these cheese-eaters, who offered her no breakfast. no one likes to be made a spectacle of. the role of "living curiosity" very much displeased the good woman, although she had filled it advantageously in all countries of the globe. as for mary-ann, she was overcome with fatigue. a ride of six hours, hunger, emotion, surprise, had worn out this delicate creature. imagine this young girl, brought up delicately, accustomed to walk on carpets, or upon the velvety turf of parks. her shoes were already nearly off her feet, worn out by the roughness of the path, and the bushes had torn her dress. only the evening before she had taken tea in the parlors of the english legation, while looking over the beautiful albums belonging to mr. wyse. she now found herself transported into a frightful country, in the midst of a crowd of savages, and she had not the consolation of saying: "it is a dream!" because she was neither in bed, nor even seated, but standing, in great despair, on her two weary little feet. a band now surrounded us, which rendered our position intolerable. it was not a band of thieves; it was worse. the greeks carry upon their persons a whole menagerie of little animals, agile, capricious, not seizable, who cling to them night and day, give them occupation even when asleep, and by their jumps and their stings, accelerate the action of the mind, and the circulation of the blood. the fleas of the brigands, of which i can show some specimens in my entomological collection, are very much larger, stronger and more agile than their city cousins; the open country air possesses virtue so powerful! i soon perceived that they were not content with their lot, and that they found more to their taste, the fine skin of a young german than the tough hide of their masters. an emigrating army settled upon me. i felt, at first, an uneasy sensation around the ankles: it was the declaration of war. two minutes later, an advance guard threw itself upon the calf of my right leg; it reached my knee. i was out-flanked, and all resistance became useless. if i had been alone, i might have been more successful in the combat. i dared neither complain nor defend myself; i heroically hid my sorrows and did not raise my eyes. at last, at the end of my patience, and determined to escape, by flight, from the pests, i demanded to be taken before the king. this recalled our guides to their duty. they asked the whereabouts of hadgi-stavros. the reply was that he was at work in his offices. "at last," said mrs. simons, "i can seat myself in an easy chair." she took my arm, offered hers to her daughter, and walked, with a deliberate step, in the direction in which the crowd conducted us. the offices were not far from the camp, and we reached them in five minutes. the offices of the king resembled other offices, as the bandits' camp was like to other camps. there were neither tables, chairs nor furniture of any sort. hadgi-stavros was seated, tailor-fashion, upon a square of carpet, under the shade of a fir tree. four secretaries and two servants sat around him. a young boy of sixteen or eighteen, was incessantly occupied in filling, lighting and cleaning his master's chibouk. he wore at his belt a tobacco bag, embroidered with gold and fine pearls, and a pair of silver tongs, used for taking out coals. another servant passed his days preparing cups of coffee, glasses of water and syrup, destined for the royal mouth. the secretaries, seated on the bare rock, wrote with cut reeds, upon their knees. each of them had a long copper box containing reeds, a knife and an inkstand. some tin cylinders, like those in which soldiers keep their papers, served as a place of safety for their archives. the paper was not poor, for the reason that each sheet bore in capitals the word "bath." the king was an old man, marvelously well-preserved, straight, thin, supple as a steel spring, clean and shining as a new sword. his long, white mustaches hung over the chin, like two marble stalactites. the rest of his face was scrupulously shaved, the cranium bare as far as the occiput, where a great mass of white hair flowed down from under his bonnet. the expression of his face was calm and reflective. a pair of small, clear blue eyes, and a square-cut chin denoted an inflexible will. his face was long, and the many long wrinkles added to its length. every fold in his forehead seemed to break in the middle and diverge toward the meeting of his eyebrows; two wide and deep furrows descended to the corners of the lips, as if the weight of the mustaches dragged down the muscles of the face. i have seen a great number of septuagenarians, i have even dissected one who would have attained a hundred, if the diligence from osnabruck had not passed over his body; but i never remembered having seen an old man fresher and more robust than hadgi-stavros. he wore the dress of tino and all the islands of the archipelago. his red bonnet formed a large fold around his forehead. he wore a black vest, heavily embroidered with black silk, immense blue trousers which must have taken twenty metres of cotton stuff, and large boots of russia leather, solid yet supple. the only richness about his costume, was a belt decked with gold and precious stones, worth two or three thousand francs. thrust in it, was a purse of embroidered cashmere, a damascus blade in a silver sheath, a long pistol, mounted with gold and rubies, and a ramrod, similarly decorated. immovable in the midst of his secretaries, the king moved only his lips and his fingers; his lips to dictate his letters, his fingers to tell off the beads of his rosary. it was one of those beautiful milk-white amber rosaries which serve, not only to mark the number of prayers, but to amuse the solemn idleness of the turks. he raised his head at our approach, divined, by a glance, what had brought us to him, and said, with a gravity, not at all ironical; "you are very welcome! be seated." "monsieur," cried mrs. simons, "i am english, and----" he interrupted the discourse: "all in good time," he said; "i am occupied." he spoke in greek and mrs. simons understood only english, but the king's face was so expressive, that the good woman easily comprehended what he meant without the aid of an interpreter. we sat down on the ground. fifteen or twenty brigands crouched around us, and the king, who had no secrets to hide, dictated family letters as well as those pertaining to business. the leader of the band which had arrested us, went to him and whispered in his ear. he haughtily answered: "what of that? i am doing nothing wrong, and the whole world is welcome to hear me. go, seat thyself; thou, spiro, write: it is to my daughter." after he had vigorously blown his nose, he dictated in a grave, yet sweet voice: "my dear child: "the preceptress of the school writes to me that thy health is much improved and that the severe cold with which thou wast troubled, has left thee with the cold winter weather. but she is not pleased with thy lack of application, and complains that thou hast done nothing with thy studies during the month of april. mme. mavros writes that thou hast become distrait, and that thou sittest with thy elbow on thy book, thy eyes looking at nothing, as if thou wert thinking of something else. i know that it is unnecessary to tell thee to work assiduously. follow the example of my life. if i had taken it easy, as many do, i should never have reached the position which i occupy in society. i wish to have thee worthy of me, that is why i make great sacrifices for thy education. thou knowest that i have never refused thee the masters nor the books for which thou hast asked; but my money must profit by it. the set of 'walter scott,' has arrived at piraeus, also the 'robinson,' and all the other english books thou hast said that thou didst wish to read; have our friends in the rue d'hèrmes get them from the custom-house for thee. thou wilt receive, at the same time, the bracelet which thou desirest, and that steel machine for puffing out thy skirts. if the piano from vienna is not as good as thou toldest me, and it seems necessary that thou shouldst have another, thou shalt have it. i shall do one or two villages, after the sales of the harvest, and the devil will be against me, if i cannot find enough money for a pretty piano. i think, as thou dost, that thou must learn music. use thy sundays in the way i have told thee, and profit by the kindness of our friends. thou must learn to speak french, english, and above all, german. because, thou art not to live forever in this ridiculous country, and i would rather see thee dead than married to a greek. daughter of a king, thou shouldst, by right, marry a prince. i do not mean, a prince of smugglers, like all our fanariot families, who pride themselves on their descent from oriental emperors, and whom i would not have for servants; but a prince, reigning and crowned. one can find some very good ones in germany, and my fortune will enable me to choose one of them. if these germans come to reign in this country, i do not see why thou canst not reign there, in thy turn. make haste, then, to learn the language, and tell me in thy next letter of the progress thou hast made. my child, i embrace thee tenderly, and i send thee, with thy quarter's allowance, my paternal blessing." mrs. simons leaned toward me and whispered: "is he dictating our sentence to his brigands?" i replied: "no, madame; he is writing to his daughter." "concerning our capture?" "concerning a piano, a crinoline, and walter scott." "that takes a long time. will he invite us to breakfast?" "there comes a servant with refreshments." the king's coffee-bearer came to us, bringing three cups of coffee, a box of rahat-loukoum, and a pot of preserves. mrs. simons and her daughter rejected the beverage with disgust, because it was made like turkish coffee, and was like thickened milk. i emptied my cup like a veritable gourmand of the orient. the pot of sweets was a rose sorbet, and received only a small share of our attention, as we were forced to eat it with one spoon. delicate eaters are unfortunate when in this country of primitive simplicity. but the rahat-loukoum, cut in pieces, pleased the palates of the ladies, without shocking too much, their ordinary tastes. they took in their beautiful fingers that perfumed jellied paste, and emptied the box, while the king dictated the following letter: "messrs. barley and company, " cavendish square, "london. "i see by your honored letter of the th of april and the current account which accompanies it, that i have, at the present time, , livres sterling, to my credit. please place these funds, half in english three per cents, half in shares of the company, before the coupons are cut. sell my shares of the royal britannic bank; it is an institution in which i have no longer any confidence. take for me, in exchange, all in bank of london. if you can get , livres for my house in the strand (it was valued at that in ), you may buy for me, in the vieille-montagne, an equal amount. send to the firm, rhalli brothers, guineas; it is my subscription for the hellenic school at liverpool. i have seriously pondered the proposition which you have done me the honor to submit to me, and, after many reflections, i have decided to persist in my line of conduct and transact business strictly on a cash basis. purchases in future are of a speculative character, which ought to prevent any good father of a family from dealing in them. i am assured that you would not expose my capital to danger, and would use it with a prudence which has always characterized your house; but even where the benefit of which you write, seems sure, i experience, i must confess it, a certain repugnance to leaving to my heirs a fortune augmented by gambling. accept, etc., "hadgi-stavros, "proprietor." "is it about us?" mary-ann whispered. "not yet, mademoiselle, his majesty is investing in stocks." "in stocks! here? i thought that was only done at home." "is monsieur, your father, associated with a banking establishment?" "yes; with the firm of barley & co." "are there two bankers of the same name in london?" "not that i am aware of." "have you ever heard that the firm transacted business with the orient?" "certainly, all over the world." "and do you live in cavendish square?" "no, the offices are there. our house is in piccadilly." "thank you, mademoiselle. allow me to listen to the next. this old man's correspondence is very interesting." the king dictated, without stopping, a long report of the shares of his band. this curious document was addressed to m. georges micrommati, officer of ordinance, at the palaces, that he might read it in the general assembly to those interested. "account rendered of the operations of the national company by the king of the mountains. receipts and expenditures, - . camp of the king, april , ' . sirs: the agent whom you have honored with your confidence, to-day, for the fourteenth time, submits for your approval the report of the year's transactions. since the day when the constitutional act of our society was signed in the office of master tsappas, royal notary of athens, never has our enterprise encountered more obstacles, never has the progress of our labors been embarrassed by more serious difficulties. it is in the presence of a strange occupation, under the eyes of two armies, if not hostile, at least ill-disposed, that the regular practice of an eminently national institution must be carried on. piraeus is occupied by the military; the turkish frontier is watched with a zealousness without precedent in history, and this restricts our activity to a very narrow circle, and confines our zeal to impassable limits. within these narrow boundaries, our resources are still more reduced by the general penury, the scarcity of money, and the small crops. the olive trees have not yielded as they promised; the cereal harvests have been small, and the vines are not yet rid of the oïdium. in these circumstances it has been difficult to profit by the tolerance of the authorities and the kindness of a friendly government. our enterprise is so identified with the interests of the country, that it can flourish only in the general prosperity, and so repulse the counterstrokes of all public calamities; for from those who have nothing, one can take nothing, or little of anything. the strangers traveling in this country, whose curiosity is so useful to the kingdom and to us, have become rare. english tourists, who, formerly, composed an important branch of our revenue, are totally lacking. two young americans, stopped upon the road to pentelicus, lost us their ransom. the french and english papers had inspired them with a spirit of defiance, and they escaped from our hands, at a time when their capture would have been most useful. and now, gentlemen, this is our record, a report of our society which has resisted the fatal crisis better than agriculture, industries and commerce. your funds, confided to my keeping, have been made profitable, not as much so as i could wish, but better than any one could hope for. i will say no more; i leave the figures to speak for themselves. arithmetic is more eloquent than demosthenes. the society capital, limited at first to the modest sum of , francs, has increased to , by three successive issuings of bonds of francs. our gross receipts, from may , , to april , , are , francs. expenses as follows: tithes paid to churches and monasteries , interest on capital of the legal tax of per cent per , ------- , report. pay and board for men at francs per capita , material, arms, etc. , repairing the road to thebes, which had become impassable and where there were no travelers to hold up , expense of watching the highways , rent for office subsidizing some journalists , rewards to various employes of the judicial and administrative orders , ------- total , if this sum is deducted from the gross receipts, there are left, net , according to the statutes, the above is apportioned as follows: reserve funds in the bank of athens , share belonging to agent , share-holders' part , francs, c. per share. add to the francs, c., francs interest and francs in reserve funds, and you will have a total of francs, c. per share. your money is then drawing nearly per cent. such are the results, gentlemen, of the last campaign. judge what the future will be, when our country and our operations shall be free from the foreign power which presses so heavily." the king dictated this without consulting any notes, without hesitating about a figure and without stopping to choose words. i would never have believed that an old man of his age could have possessed so remarkable a memory. he appended his seal to the three letters; it was his way of signing. he read easily, but he had never found time to learn to write. charlemagne and alfred the great were, it is said, in the same predicament. while the under-secretaries of state were transcribing the letters for the day in order to place them in the archives, he gave audience to subaltern officers who had returned with their detachments, from the day's duty. each man seated himself in front of him, saluted him by laying his right hand on his heart and making his report in a few words. i swear to you that saint-louis, under his oak, inspired no greater reverence among the people of vincennes. the first who presented himself was a small man, with a bad face; a fine sample for the court of assizes. it was an islander from corfu, persecuted as an incendiary: he had been well brought up, and his talents had advanced him. but his chief and his soldiers held him in no great esteem. he was suspected of keeping for his own profit a part of the spoils. now the king was unreasonable on the subject of probity. when he found a man in fault, he ignominiously thrust him out and ironically said to him: "go and make a magistrate of thyself!" hadgi-stavros asked the man from corfu: "what hast thou done?" "i have just come, with my fifteen men, from the ravine of cirondelles, upon the road to thebes. i met a detachment of soldiers; twenty-five men." "where are their guns?" "i left them. they were percussion muskets, which would not serve us on account of lack of caps." "good! then?" "it was market-day; i stopped the passers-by." "how many?" "one hundred and forty-two persons." "and thou hast brought----?" "about a thousand francs," naming the sum. "seven francs per head! it is small!" "it is good. they were peasants." "they had not, then, sold their goods?" "some had sold, others bought." the man opened a heavy sack which he carried under his arm; he spread out the contents before the secretaries, who began to count the amount. the receipts were from thirty to forty mexican piastres, some handfuls of austrian zwanzigs and an enormous quantity of copper coins. some crumpled papers were among the money. they were bank notes of ten francs each. "thou hast no jewels?" asked the king. "no!" "were there no women, then?" "i found nothing worth bringing away." "what is that on thy finger?" "a ring." "gold?" "or copper; i do not know which." "where didst thou get it?" "i bought it two months ago." "if thou hadst bought it, thou wouldst know whether it was gold or copper. give it to me." the man took it off with bad grace. the ring was immediately locked up in a small coffer full of jewels. "i pardon thee!" said the king, "because of thy bad education. the people of thy country disgrace theft by mixing knavery with it. if i had only ionians in my band, i would be obliged to place turnstiles in the roads as they do at the exposition in london, so that i might count the visitors and the money. the next!" he, who came forward now, was a tall young man, well-proportioned, and with a most pleasing face. his round eyes beamed forth rectitude and good-nature. his lips, half-opened with a pleasant smile, showed a magnificent set of teeth; i was greatly taken with him, and i said to myself that if he had been led astray by evil associations, he must surely return, some day, to the right path. my face must have pleased him, for he saluted me very politely, before seating himself in front of the king. hadgi-stavros said to him: "what hast thou done, vasile?" "i reached pigadia, yesterday evening, with my six men; it is the village of the senator zimbellis." "well!" "zimbellis was absent, as usual; but his relatives, his farmers, and his tenants were all at home, and in bed." "well!" "i entered an inn; i awakened the landlord; i bought twenty-five bundles of straw, and for payment i killed him." "well!" "we carried the straw to the houses, and spread it around; the houses are of wood or osier, and we set fire to seven places at once. the matches were good; the wind from the north; everything went." "well!" "we retired quietly to the wells. the whole village awakened and rushed out, shouting. the men came running with their leather buckets to get water. we drowned four whom we did not know; the others escaped." "well!" "we returned to the village. there was no one, only an infant forgotten by his parents, and who cried like a little raven fallen from its nest. i threw him into a burning house, and he cried no more." "well!" "then we took fire-brands, and placed them around the olive trees. the thing was well-executed. we then started for the camp; we supped and slept about half-way here, and we arrived at nine o'clock, in prime condition without even a burn." "good! the senator zimbellis will not discourse against us again! the next!" vasile withdrew, saluting me as he passed, as politely as the first time; but i did not return his bow. he was soon replaced by the great devil who had taken us. by a singular caprice of chance, the first author of the drama in which i was called to play a part, was named sophocles. at the moment when he began his report, i felt the blood congeal in my veins. i supplicated mrs. simons not to risk an imprudent word. she replied, that she was english, and that she knew how to behave herself. the king asked us to be silent, and allow the man to speak. he first spread out the booty which he had taken from us; then he drew from his belt forty austrian ducats, which made a sum of four hundred and seventy francs, at the rate of francs- c. "the ducats," he said, "came from the village of castia; the rest was taken from these nobles. thou didst tell me to scour the boundaries, i began with the village." "thou hast not done well," replied the king. "the people of castia are our neighbors, they must not be molested. how can we live in safety, if we have enemies at our door? moreover, they were brave people who have given us aid when occasion demanded." "oh! i took nothing from the charcoal burners. they disappeared into the woods, without giving me time to speak to them. but the padre had the gout; i found him at home." "what didst thou say to him?" "i asked him for his money; he insisted that he had none. i shut him up in a sack with his cat; and i do not know what the cat did, but he began to cry out that his treasure was behind the house, under a huge stone." "thou wert wrong. the padre will incite all the village against us." "oh! no! in leaving him, i forgot to open the sack, and the cat ought to have fixed him by this time." "all in good time:----but listen to me well, all of you: i do not wish anyone to trouble our neighbors. thou mayst retire." our examination now began. hadgi-stavros, instead of having us come to him, gravely rose, came and seated himself on the ground in front of us. this mark of deference to us seemed a favorable augury. mrs. simons prepared to question him herself. as for me, perceiving too well what she was capable of saying, and knowing the intemperance of her tongue, i offered my services to the king, as interpreter. he thanked me coldly, and called the corfuan, who knew english. "madame," the king said to mrs. simons, "you seem to be in great anger. have you any complaints to make of the men who brought you here?" "it is a horror!" she cried. "your rascals have arrested, dragged me through the dirt, despoiled me, worn me out, and starved me." "will you accept my excuses? i am forced to employ men without education. believe me, my dear madame, it is not by my orders they have acted thus. you are english?" "an englishwoman from london." "i have been to london; i know and esteem the english. i know that they have good appetites, and you noticed that i was moved to offer you refreshments. i know that ladies of your country do not like to run over rocks, and i regret that you were not allowed to walk your own gait. i know that people of your nation carry, while traveling, only such things as are necessary, and i have not yet pardoned sophocles for having robbed you, above all, if you are a person of distinction." "i belong to the best society of london!" "deign to take back your money. you are rich?" "assuredly." "this traveling-case is yours, is it not?" "it is my daughter's." "take, also, all that belongs to your daughter. you are very rich?" "very rich." "do these things belong to monsieur, your son?" "monsieur is not my son; he is a german. since i am english how could i have a german son?" "that is true. have you twenty thousand francs income?" "more." "a carpet for these ladies! are you rich enough to have thirty thousand francs income?" "we have more than that." "sophocles is a villain whom i shall chastise. logothète, tell them to prepare dinner for these ladies. may it be possible, madame, that you are a millionaire?" "i am that." "and i--i am annoyed at the way in which you have been treated. you have, without doubt, fine friends in athens?" "i know the english minister." "oh! madame! you also know some merchants, some bankers?" "my brother, who is at athens, knows many bankers in the city." "i am delighted. sophocles, come here. ask pardon of these ladies." sophocles muttered some words between his teeth, i know not what excuses. the king replied: "these ladies are englishwomen of distinction; they are worth a million or more; they have been received by the english ambassador; their brother, who is in athens, knows all the bankers in the city." "that is right!" cried mrs. simons. the king continued: "thou shouldst have treated these ladies with all the regard due their fortune." "good!" mrs. simons cried. "have conducted them here carefully." "for what purpose?" murmured mary-ann. "and abstained from touching their baggage. when one has the honor of meeting, in the mountains, two persons of the rank of these ladies, one should salute them with respect, one should bring them to the camp with deference, one should guard them circumspectly, and one should offer them politely every necessary thing in life, until their brother or their ambassador sends us a ransom of a hundred thousand francs." poor mrs. simons! dear mary-ann! neither expected this termination. as for me, i was not surprised. i knew with what a crafty knave we had to do. i took up the word, and i said to him fiercely: "thou canst keep what thy men have taken from me, because it is all that thou wilt get from me. i am poor, my father has nothing, my brothers often eat dry bread. i know neither bankers nor ambassadors, and if thou keepest me with the hope of a ransom, thou wilt reap no reward. i swear it to thee!" a murmur of incredulity was heard, but the king appeared to believe me. "if that is true," he said to me, "i will not keep you. i will send you back to the city. madame will give you a letter for monsieur, her brother, and you may even leave to-day. if, however, you need to remain a day or two in the mountains, i will offer my hospitality to you; because i suppose that you have not come as far as this, with this large box, in order to look over the country." this little speech gave me a profound feeling of relief. i looked around with satisfaction. the king, his secretaries, and his soldiers seemed less terrible; the surrounding rocks more picturesque, since i viewed them with the eye of a guest and not as a prisoner. the desire i had experienced to see athens suddenly subsided, and i decided to pass two or three days in the mountains. i felt that my counsels would not be useless to mary-ann's mother. the good woman was in a state of excitement which might urge her to do something rash. if, perchance, she determined to refuse to pay the ransom! before england could come to her aid, she would have ample time to draw dire calamity upon her charming head. i must not leave her until i had an opportunity to relate the history of mistra's little daughters. shall i say more? you know my passion for botany. the flora of parnassus is very enticing at the end of april. one can find in the mountains five or six plants as rare as they are celebrated. one especially: boryana variabilis, discovered and named by m. bory de saint-vincent. should i leave such a lacuna and present my herbarium to the museum of hamburg, without the boryana variabilis? i replied to the king: "i accept thy hospitality, but on one condition." "what is it?" "that thou wilt return my box." "oh well! so be it: and the condition?" "that is it." "will you tell me of what use it is to you?" "to hold the plants which i pick." "and why do you search for plants? to sell them?" "nonsense! i am not a merchant, i am a savant." he held out his hand to me and said with visible joy: "i am charmed. science is a beautiful thing. our ancestors were wise men. our grandchildren will be, perhaps. as for us, time is lacking. savants are much esteemed in your country?" "greatly." "one gives them rank?" "sometimes." "one pays them well?" "enough!" "one attaches a little ribbon to their coat?" "occasionally!" "is it true that cities dispute as to which they belong?" "it is true in germany!" "and one looks upon their death as a public calamity?" "assuredly!" "what you tell me gives me great pleasure. then you have no complaints to make of your fellow-citizens?" "very much to the contrary. it is through their liberality that i was enabled to come to greece." "you travel at their expense?" "yes." "you are well-educated?" "i am a doctor." "it is the highest grade in science?" "no." "and how many doctors are there in the city in which you live?" "i do not know exactly, but not as many doctors in hamburg, as generals in athens." "oh! oh! i would not deprive your country of a man so rare. you shall return to hamburg, monsieur, doctor; what would they say down below if they knew that you were a prisoner up here in the mountains?" "they would say that it was a misfortune." "good! rather than lose such a man as you, the city of hamburg would sacrifice fifteen thousand francs. take back your box, haste away, search, gather plants, and follow your studies. why not put that silver watch back in your pocket? it is yours, and i respect savants too much to rob them. but your country is rich enough to pay for her glory. happy young man! you recognize, to-day, how much the title of doctor adds to your personal value. i would not have demanded a centime of ransom, if you had been as ignorant as i am." the king listened neither to my objections, nor to mrs. simons' expostulations. he closed the interview, and pointed out to us the dining hall. mrs. simons descended to the place, all the while protesting that although she would eat her breakfast, yet she would never pay the bill. mary-ann seemed more depressed; but such is the mobility of youth, that she cried out with joy when she saw the place where our meal was spread. it was a little corner of green, sheltered by gray rocks. beautiful grass formed the carpet; some clumps of privet and laurels served as hangings and hid the rocky walls. a beautiful blue arch was above our heads; birds flew back and forth in the azure vault. in a corner of our dining-hall, a limpid stream, clear as crystal, silently swept along in its course, spreading over its banks, and falling in a silvery sheet down the side of the mountain. from this side, the view illimitably extended to the sides of the pentelicus, the great white pile which overhangs athens; across the sad-colored olive groves; the dusty plain; the gray sides of hymettus, rounded like an old man's spine; and that beautiful saronic gulf, so blue that one might say that a strip had fallen from the sky. assuredly, mrs. simons had not a mind turned to admiration, and yet, she confessed that the price for such a beautiful sight would be very high in london or paris. the table was laid with heroic simplicity. brown bread, baked in a field oven, smoked upon the sod and gave out a most appetizing odor. the clotted milk quivered in a huge wooden bowl. the large olives and green piments, were laid on roughly cut pieces of wood. a shaggy goat-skin bottle spread out its large sides next to a red copper cup, roughly chiseled. an ewe's-milk cheese reposed upon the cloth which had pressed it, and which still bore its imprint. five or six appetizing lettuces promised us a delicious salad, but there were no condiments with which to dress them. the king had placed his traveling plate at our disposal, consisting of spoons cut out with a knife, and we had, as a surfeit of luxury, our five fingers, for forks. they had not been tolerant enough to serve us with meat, but the yellow tobacco of almyros promised me an admirable digester. one of the king's officers served us. it was the hideous corfuan, the man of the gold ring, who knew english. he cut the bread with his poniard and distributed it freely, praying us not to lack for anything. mrs. simons, without losing one stroke of her teeth, said to him in a haughty tone: "monsieur, does your master seriously believe that we shall pay a ransom of a hundred thousand francs?" "he is sure of it!" "it is because he does not know the english nation." "he knows it well, madame, and i also. at corfu, i have associated with many distinguished englishmen! judges!" "i wish you joy of it! but tell this stavros to arm himself with patience, because he will wait a long time for the hundred thousand francs, which he has promised himself." "he told me to tell you that he would wait for them until the th of may, at noon, precisely." "and if we have not paid it the th of may, at noon?" "he will regret that he will be obliged to cut off your head, as well as mademoiselle's." mary-ann dropped the bread which she was carrying to her mouth. "give me a little wine," she said. the bandit handed to her a cup full; but scarcely had it touched her lips, before she cried out with fear. the poor child imagined that the wine was poisoned. i reassured her by emptying the cup at one draught. "fear nothing," i said to her; "it is the resin." "what resin?" "wine would not keep in these goat-skins if a certain amount of resin was not added, to prevent it from spoiling. the mixture is not very agreeable, but you may drink it without fear." despite my example, mary-ann and her mother made the bandit bring water. the man ran to the brook and was back in an instant. "you understand, mesdames," he smilingly said, "that the king would not be foolish enough to poison such valuable people as you are." he added, turning to me: "you, m. le docteur, i have orders to tell you that you have thirty days to pursue your studies and pay the sum. i will furnish you all with writing materials." "thanks," mrs. simons said. "we will think of it in eight days, if we are not delivered before." "and by whom, madame?" "by england." "is it far?" "or by the police." "for your sake, i hope you may have that luck. in the meantime, i will do anything in my power for you." "i wish first for a bed-chamber." "we have near here a grotto, which is called les etables. you would not like it; the sheep were kept there during the winter, and the odor still remains. i will get two tents from the shepherds below and you can camp here--until the arrival--of the gendarmes!" "i wish for a waiting-maid." "nothing is easier. our men will go down to the plain, and stop the first peasant-woman who passes,--if, however, the gendarmerie will permit!" "i must have clothes, dresses, linen, toilet appurtenances, soap, a mirror, combs, scents, a tapestry frame, a----" "a good many things, madame, and in order to get them all, we would be forced to go to athens. but one will do the best. count on me and count not too much on your soldiers." "may god pity us!" mary-ann said. a vigorous echo replied: "kyrie eleison!" (lord, have mercy upon us.) it was the good old man who came to visit us, and who sang while traveling about in order to keep in practice. he saluted us cordially, placed upon the grass a vessel full of honey, and seated himself near us. "take and eat," he said. "my bees offer you a dessert." i shook hands with him; mrs. simons and mary-ann turned away in disgust. they obstinately refused to see him in any other light than as an accomplice of the brigands. the poor, good man knew no malice. he knew only how to chant his prayers, to care for his bees, to sell his goods, to collect the revenues of the convent, and to live at peace with the whole world. his intelligence was limited; his science, nothing; his conduct as innocent as that of a well-regulated machine. i do not believe that he was able to clearly distinguish good from bad, and to see any difference between a thief and an honest man. his wisdom consisted in making four meals a day, and of never getting more than half-seas over. he was, moreover, one of the best monks of his order. i did full justice to the present he had brought us. this half-wild honey resembled the kind which we eat in france, as the flesh of a roe resembles lamb's meat. one would have said that the bees had distilled in an invisible alembic all the perfumes of the mountains. i forgot, in eating my bread spread with the honey, that i had only a month in which to find fifteen thousand francs, or die. the monk, in his turn, asked permission to refresh himself a little, and without waiting for a reply, took the cup and turned out a bumper. he drank, successively, to each of us. five or six brigands, drawn by curiosity, glided into the nook. he spoke to each by name, and drank to each, in a spirit of justice. it was not long before i cursed his presence. an hour after his arrival, half the band was seated in a circle around our viands. in the absence of the king, who was taking a siesta in his office, the brigands came, one by one, to cultivate our acquaintance. one offered his services, another brought us something, still a third introduced himself without pretext and without embarrassment, as a man who felt himself at home. the more familiar besought me to relate our history; the more timid held back at first but insensibly drew nearer. some, having satisfied themselves with looking at us, threw themselves down, without courtesy for the ladies' presence, and immediately began to snore. and the fleas, always flying about, and the presence of their original master rendering them so bold that i surprised two or three of them on the back of my hand. impossible to dispute their right to a grazing ground, i was no more a man, but a common pasture. at this moment, i would have given three of the most beautiful plants in my herbarium for a quarter of an hour of solitude. mrs. simons and her daughter were too discreet to impart to me their views, but they proved, by some involuntary starts, that we were of a community of ideas. i even surprised a look between them which seemed to say: "the gendarmes will deliver us from the thieves, but who can deliver us from these fleas." this mute complaint awoke in my heart a chivalrous sentiment. i resolutely rose and said: "go away, all of you; the king has sent us here to live quietly until the arrival of our ransoms. the rent is so high that we have a right to remain alone. are you not ashamed to crowd around a table, like parasitical dogs? you have no business here. we have no use for you; we do not want you here. do you believe that we can escape? how? by the cascade? or past the king's cabinet? leave us then in peace. corfuan, drive them away, and i will help you, if you wish." i added action to the word. i shoved along the loiterers, i awakened the sleepers, i shook the monk, i forced the corfuan to aid me, and soon the troop of brigands, a troop armed with poniards and pistols, gave up to us the place, with lamb-like meekness, although kicking, taking short steps, resisting with the shoulders and twisting the head, in the fashion of school-boys who have to be pushed into the schoolroom, when recreation is over. at last we were alone with the corfuan. i said to mistress simons: "madame, this is our house. will you be kind enough to separate the apartment into two divisions? i must have a little corner for my tent. behind those trees, i shall not be badly off, and all the rest is yours, if that pleases you. you will have the brook at hand." my offers were accepted with sufficiently bad grace. these ladies would have liked to keep all and let me go to sleep with the thieves. it is true that british conventions might have gained something by this separation, but i would have lost sight of mary-ann. and, moreover, i had decided to sleep far from the fleas. the corfuan approved of my proposition, which rendered his watch less difficult. he had orders to guard us night and day. it was necessary that he should sleep near my tent, but i exacted the condition of a distance of six english feet between us. the treaty concluded, i established myself in a corner to give chase to my domestic game. but i had scarcely begun, before the curious bandits appeared under pretext of bringing our tents. mrs. simons fairly screamed when she saw that her house was composed of a simple strip of heavy felt, pleated in the middle, fastened to the earth at the two ends, and opened to the wind on two sides. the corfuan swore that we should be lodged like princes, save in case of rain or a strong wind. the entire band began to drive in stakes, to fix our beds and to bring bed-covers. each bed was composed of a rug with a covering made of goat-skin. at six o'clock, the king came to assure himself, with his own eyes, that we lacked nothing. mrs. simons, more incensed than ever, replied that she lacked everything. i formally asked for the exclusion of all useless visitors. the king established severe regulations, such as we had never followed. discipline is a french word hard to translate in greek. the king and his subjects retired at seven o'clock, and we were to be served then with supper. four torches of resinous wood lighted the table. their red and smoky light strangely colored miss simons' pale face. her eyes seemed to flash, become dim, and rekindle again, like a revolving beacon-light. her voice, weakened by fatigue, took on, at intervals, a discordant tone. in listening to her, my mind seemed to wander in a supernatural world, and i remembered some very fantastic tales which i had once read. a nightingale sang, and i believed i saw its silvery song pouring from mary-ann's lips. the day had been a hard one for all, and even i, who had given substantial proof of my appetite, soon recognized the fact that i was famished only for sleep. i said good-night to the ladies and retired to my tent. in an instant, i forgot nightingale, danger, ransom, stings; i closed my eyes and i slept. a fearful discharge of musketry awoke me with a start. i jumped up so quickly that i struck my head against the poles of my tent. at the same moment, i heard two feminine voices crying: "we are saved! the gendarmes!" i saw two or three indistinct forms rush by in the night. in my joy, in my trouble, i embraced the first shadow which passed my tent--it was the corfuan. "halt!" he cried, "where are you running, if you please?" "dog of a thief!" i replied, "i am going to see if the gendarmes will soon finish shooting your comrades." mrs. simons and her daughter, guided by my voice, came up to us. the man said to us: "the gendarmes will not travel to-day. it is the ascension and the st of may, a double fête-day. the noise which you have heard is the signal for rejoicing. it is after midnight, almost morning; our companions go to drink wine, eat meat, dance the romaique and burn powder. if you wish to see this beautiful sight, it will give me pleasure to take you to it. i can guard you more agreeably around the roast than at the fountain here." "you lie!" cried mrs. simons, "it is the gendarmes!" "let us go and see," added mary-ann. i followed them. the tumult was so great that one could not have slept if one had wished. our guide led us through the king's cabinet, and we climbed to the bandit camp which was all ablaze with light. whole pine trees, placed at intervals, were used as torches. five or six groups, seated around a huge fire, watched the lambs roasting on spits. in the midst of the crowd, a line of dancers wound slowly around in serpentine fashion, to the measures of most frightful music. occasional volleys of musketry were heard. once, it came quite near us and i felt the whizzing of a ball, close to my ear. i begged the ladies to hasten forward, hoping that, near the king, we would be farther from danger. the king, seated on his everlasting carpet, presided with due solemnity over the diversions of his people. around him were goat-skin bottles; the sheep were cut up and each man took a leg or shoulder and carried it about in his hands. the orchestra was composed of a rude tambourine, and a shrill flageolet. the dancers had taken off their shoes, in order to be more agile. they flounced and jumped all over the spot and came near cracking their bones, sometimes. from time to time, they left the dance, drank a cup of wine, ate a piece of meat, discharged a gun, and then returned to the dance. all these men, except the king, drank, ate, hurled themselves about and jumped; i saw not one of them even smile. hadgi-stavros courteously excused himself for having awakened us. "it is not i who am to blame, it is the custom. if the first of may passed without a discharge of musketry, these worthy people would not believe that spring had come. i have here only simple people, brought up in the country and attached to ancient customs. i have done the best for their education that i could do, but i shall die before they become civilized. men cannot be made over in a day like silver forks and spoons. even i, such as you see me, have found pleasure in these gross sports; i have eaten and drunk and danced like the others. i have never known european civilization; why should i take the trouble to travel so late in life? i would give much to be young and only fifty, again. i have ideas of reform which will never be executed; i see myself, like alexander, without an heir worthy of me. i dream of a new organization of brigandage, without disorder, without turbulence, and without noise. but i have no one to second me. i ought to have the exact census of all the inhabitants of the kingdom, with an approximate statement of their wealth, personal and real. as for the strangers who land on our shores, an agent established at each port would learn and send to me their names, their itinerary, and, as nearly as possible, their fortune. in this way, i would know what each one could give me; and i would not make the mistake of asking too little or too much. i would establish on each road a post, with proper clerks, well brought-up and well educated; because, for what good, to frighten clients with disgusting behavior or a surly mien? i have seen, in france and in england, thieves, elegant to excess; and did they not certainly succeed better because of it? "i would demand of all my subordinates, exquisite manners, above all, from those whose business it was to accost people. i would have for prisoners of distinction like you, comfortable quarters in the open air, with fine gardens. and do not think that they would cost the occupants more dearly; to the contrary! if all those who traveled in this country were, necessarily, to fall into my hands, i could tax the passers-by for a very insignificant sum. so that each nation and each traveler would give me only a fourth per cent on their principals, i would gain upon the quantity. then brigandage would only be a tax on the circulation; a just tax, because it would be proportional; a normal tax, because it had always been collected since ancient times. we could simplify it, if necessary, by yearly subscriptions. in consideration of a sum, once paid, one could obtain safe conduct for the natives, and an indorsed pass-port for travelers. you say that according to the terms of the constitution no tax could be imposed without the vote of the chambers. ah! monsieur, if i only had time! i would buy the whole senate; i would nominate a chamber of deputies, friendly to me! a law would be passed, in a trice! one could create, if necessary, a ministry of the highway. that might cost me two or three millions, at first; but in four years i could square myself--, and i could keep the roads in order, into the bargain!" he sighed heavily, then he said: "you see with what freedom i have spoken to you. it is an old habit, of which i can never break myself. i have lived, always, in the open air and in the sunlight. our profession would be shameful if exercised clandestinely. i hide nothing about myself, but i fear no one. when you read in the papers, that search is being made for me, say without hesitation that it is a parliamentary fiction; it is always known where i am. i fear neither ministers, the army, nor the tribunals. the ministers know that by a gesture i can change a cabinet. the army is on my side; it furnishes me with recruits, when i need them. i receive from it, soldiers; i return, officers. as for messieurs, the judges, they know my opinion of them. i do not esteem them, but i pity them. poor, and badly recompensed, one cannot expect them to be honest. i have fed some, and clothed others; i have hung very few in my life; i am, then, the benefactor of the magistracy." he pointed out to me with a magnificent gesture, the sky, the sea, the country: "all that," said he, "is mine! every breathing thing in the kingdom submits to me through fear, friendship or admiration. i have made many weep, and there is not one mother who would wish to have a son like hadgi-stavros. a day will come, when doctors, like you, will write my history, and when the isles of the archipelago will dispute the honor of my birthplace. my portrait will hang on the walls of the houses, to keep company with the sacred images in the niches. at that time, my daughter's grandchildren will be reigning princes, who will speak with pride of their ancestor, the king of the mountains!" perhaps you will laugh at my german simplicity; but this strange discourse moved me profoundly. i admired, in spite of myself, this grandeur in crime. i had not, until then, ever met a majestic rascal. this devil of a man, who might cut off my head at the end of a month, almost inspired me with respect. his grand face, as if carved from marble, serene in the midst of the orgies, seemed to me like an inflexible mask of destiny. i could not restrain myself from saying: "yes, you are, truly, a king!" he smilingly answered: "in truth, then, i have flatterers even among my enemies. do not defend yourself; i can read faces, and you have looked at me since morning, as if you would like to hang me." "since you have asked me to be frank, i confess that i have been angry. you have asked me a most unreasonable ransom. that you can take a hundred thousand francs from these ladies, who have them, is a very natural thing, and what might be expected of you; but that you should exact fifteen thousand from me, who has nothing, it is outrageous." "nothing, however, is more simple. all strangers who come here are rich, because traveling costs. you pretend that you are not traveling at your own expenses; i would like to believe you. but those who have sent you here give you at least three or four thousand francs yearly. if they go to this expense, they have their reasons, because one does nothing for nothing. you represent, in their eyes, a capital of sixty to eighty thousand francs. then, in ransoming you for fifteen thousand, they gain by it." "but the establishment which pays me has no capital; it has only revenues. the appropriation for the jardin des plantes is voted every year by the senate; its resources are limited; one has never known a parallel case; i know not how to explain it to you--you could not comprehend--" "and when i did comprehend it," he replied in a haughty tone, "do you believe that i would take back what i have said? my words are laws; if i wish to have them respected, i must not violate them myself. "i have a right to be unjust; i have not the right to be weak. my injustices injure others; a weakness would ruin me. if i was known to be exorable, my prisoners would endeavor to find prayers to win me, instead of endeavoring to find money to pay me. i am not one of your european brigands who are a medley of sternness and generosity, of speculation and imprudence, of cruelty without cause, and comparison without excuse, in order to end, foolishly, on the scaffold. i have said, before witnesses, that i must have fifteen thousand francs for your head. arrange it to suit yourself; but, in some way or other, i must be paid. listen: in , i condemned two little girls who were the age of my dear photini. they held out their arms to me, weeping, and their cries made my fatherly heart bleed. vasile, who killed them, tried many times; his hand trembled. and yet i was inflexible, because the ransom was not paid. do you think, after that, that i would show you grace? what purpose would it have served me to kill them, the poor things! if one learned that i sent you away for nothing?" i dropped my head without a word in reply. i had a thousand reasons; but i knew not how to oppose them to the pitiless logic of this old executioner. he aroused me from my reflections with a friendly tap on the shoulder. "have courage," he said to me. "i have seen death nearer to me than you are, and i carried myself like an oak. during the war of independence, ibrahim ordered me to be shot by seven egyptians. six balls failed of their duty; the seventh struck me on the forehead and glanced off. when the turks came to pick up my body, i had disappeared in the smoke. you have, perhaps, a longer time to live than you think you have. write to your friends in hamburg. you have received an education; a doctor ought to have friends worth more than fifteen thousand francs. i really wish so. i do not hate you! you have never harmed me! your death would cause me no pleasure, and it would please me to believe that you will find the means for paying the money. while waiting, go and remain with the ladies. my people may drink a drop too much, and they look upon the english with eyes that say nothing good. these poor devils are condemned to an austere life, and they are not seventy years old, as i am. in ordinary times, i can keep them obedient by fatigue; but to-day, it is different; in an hour, i cannot answer for them." in truth, a menacing circle had already formed itself around mary-ann, who looked at these strange figures with innocent curiosity. the brigands, crouched before her, talked in loud tones, and praised her beauty in terms that it was well she did not comprehend. the corfuan, who was making up for lost time, held out to her a cup of wine, which she proudly repulsed. five or six drinkers, more inflamed than the rest, began to fight among themselves, as if to warm themselves up and toughen themselves for later and harder exploits. i made a sign to mrs. simons; the ladies both rose. but the moment i offered my arm to mary-ann, vasile, red with wine, advanced with a staggering gait, and made as if to take hold of her. at this sight, i was furious. i jumped at the miserable cur and i made of my ten fingers a cravat for him. he clapped his hands to his belt, and gropingly felt for the handle of the knife; but before he could find it, i saw him torn from my hands and thrown ten feet away, by the powerful hand of the old king. a murmur arose from the crowd. hadgi-stavros raised his head and in a tone which dominated the noise, cried: "silence! show that you are greeks and not albanians!" he added in a low tone: "make haste! the corfuan shall not leave me; m. german, tell the ladies that i will sleep at the door of their tent." he went with us, preceded by his pipe-bearer, who never left him, day or night. two or three men, inflamed with wine, made as if to follow us; he repulsed them rudely. we were not a hundred feet from the crowd, when a ball whizzed by us. the old palikar did not deign to turn his head. he looked at me and smiled, and said in a low tone: "one must be indulgent; it is the day of the ascension." reaching the path, i profited by the stupidity of the corfuan, who was tumbling along, to ask mrs. simons for a private interview. "i have," i said to her, "an important secret to confide to you! permit me to come to your tent, when our spy sleeps the sleep of noah." i knew not whether this biblical comparison seemed irreverent; but she dryly replied that she knew enough not to have any secrets with me. i insisted; she was firm. i told her i had found a means of freeing ourselves without impoverishing us. she threw me a glance of defiance, consulted her daughter, and at last, acquiesced. hadgi-stavros made easy our interview, by keeping the corfuan near him. he had his carpet spread at the top of the natural staircase which led to our camp, placed his arms near at hand, made the pipe-bearer lie down upon his right and the corfuan on his left. i kept prudently within my tent until three distinct snores assured me that our guardians were asleep. the tumult had almost subsided. two or three shots occasionally disturbed the silence of the night. our neighbor, the nightingale, poured forth his song. i carefully crept along in the shadow of the trees, until i reached mrs. simons' tent. mother and daughter were waiting for me, outside, on the damp grass. english custom forbade my entrance to the sleeping-room. "speak, monsieur," said mrs. simons, "but be quick about it. you know that we need rest." i replied with assurance: "mesdames, what i have to say to you is well worth an hour of sleep. would you like to be free in three days?" "but, monsieur, we shall be to-morrow, or england will not be england. dimitri ought to have apprised my brother by o'clock; my brother would see our minister at dinner-time; orders ought to have been given at once; the soldiers are already on the way, and we shall be free in the morning, in time for breakfast." "let us not deceive ourselves! time passes. i do not count upon the gendarmes! our captors speak too lightly of them, to fear them. i have always heard, that in this country, hunter and game, gendarme and brigand, are in collusion with each other. i suppose, strictly speaking, that some men may be sent to our aid; hadgi-stavros will see them coming and will drag us, by lonely paths, to another and more remote retreat. he knows the country, thoroughly; all the rocks are his accomplices, every bush his ally, the ravines his "fence" (receiver of stolen goods). parnassus is leagued with him against us; he is the king of the mountains!" "bravo, monsieur! hadgi-stavros is god, and you are his prophet! he would be touched to hear with what admiration you speak of him! i have already divined that you are one of his friends, seeing how he put his hand on your shoulder, as if he was speaking to you in confidence. is it not he who has suggested the plan of escape which you have come to propose?" "yes, madame, it is he; or rather, his correspondence. i found, this morning, while he was dictating to his secretaries, the infallible means of freeing us gratis. will you write to monsieur, your brother, to send a sum of , francs, , for you and , for me, by some safe person, say, dimitri?" "by your friend, dimitri, to your friend, the king of the mountains? many thanks, my dear monsieur. it is for this price that we are to be freed for nothing?" "yes, madame. dimitri is not my friend and hadgi-stavros would not scruple to cut off my head. but i will continue; in exchange for the money, you shall insist that the king sign a receipt." "and a fine receipt it would be." "with this paper, you would get back your , francs, without losing a centime, and you will see how." "good evening, monsieur. do not waste time to say any more. since we landed in this miserable country we have been robbed by everybody. the customs-officers robbed us; the man who drove us to athens robbed us; our inn-keeper has robbed us; our servant, hired by the day, who is not your friend, has thrown us into the hands of these thieves; we met a respectable monk, who shared the spoils with the brigands; all the men who were drinking up there are knaves; those who sleep before our tent, to protect us, are of the same class; you are the only honest man whom we have met in greece, and your counsels are the best in the world! but good-evening, monsieur! good-evening!" "in the name of heaven, madame!--i will not attempt to justify myself, think what you will of me. only permit me to tell you how you can get back your money." "and how do you think i can get it back, if all the soldiers of the kingdom cannot free us? hadgi-stavros is, then, no longer king of the mountains? he knows no more hidden paths? the ravines, the bushes, the rocks, are no longer his accomplices? good-evening, monsieur; i can testify to your zeal; i will tell the brigands that you have executed their commission; but once for all, monsieur, good-evening!" the good woman gave me a push by the shoulders, crying "good-evening" in so shrill a tone, that i trembled lest she should awaken our guardians, and i sorrowfully went to my tent. what a day! i went over, one by one, all the incidents which had occurred since the hour i left in pursuit of the boryana variabilis. the meeting with the englishwomen, mary-ann's beautiful eyes, the attack of the brigands, the dogs, the fleas, hadgi-stavros, fifteen thousand francs to pay, my life at that price, the orgies of the ascension, the balls whizzing about my ears, the drunken face of vasile, and to crown all, mrs. simons' injustice. and then to be taken for a thief! sleep, which consoled the others, did not come to my aid. all the events which had happened had over-excited me and i could not sleep. day broke upon my miserable meditations. i followed the course of the sun as it rose in the heavens. some confused noises followed, little by little, the silence of the night. i had not courage to look at my watch, or to turn my head to see what was passing around me. i was overcome with fatigue and discouragement. i believe if anyone had attempted to roll me down the hill, that i would not have put out my hands to stop myself. in this prostration of my faculties, i had a vision, which partook, at the same time, of a dream and an hallucination, because i was neither awake nor asleep, and my eyes were neither closed nor open. it seemed that i had been buried alive, that my felt tent was a catafalque, adorned with flowers, and that some one chanted prayers for the dead. fears seized me; i tried to cry out; the words stuck in my throat, or the sound of them was drowned in the chants. i heard, distinctly, verses and responses, and i recognized that funeral services were being celebrated over me, in greek. i made a violent effort to move my right arm; it was like lead. i extended my left; it yielded easily, striking against the tent and causing something like a bouquet to fall. i rubbed my eyes, i rose on my elbow, i examined the flowers, fallen from above, and i recognized in the superb specimen, the boryana variabilis. it was certainly the flower! i touched the lobated leaves, its gamosepalous calyx, its corolla composed of five oblique petals, united at the base by a staminal filament, its ten stamens, its ovary with its five loculaments; i held in my hand the queen of malvaceae! but by what chance had i found it at the bottom of my tomb? and how send it so far to the jardin des plantes at hamburg? at this moment, a lively pain drew my attention to my right arm. one would have said that it was the prey of a swarm of invisible little animals. i rubbed it with my left hand, and little by little, it became normal. i had lain with it under my head for many hours, and it had become numb. i lived then, since pain is one of the privileges of life. but, then, what did that funeral chant, which rang obstinately in my ears, mean? i raised myself. our apartment was in the same state as on the evening before. mrs. simons and her daughter were sleeping profoundly. a huge bunch of flowers like mine hung from the upper part of their tent. it occurred to me that i had heard that the greeks had a custom of decorating their dwellings on the night before the first of may. these bouquets and the boryana variabilis came, then, from the munificence of the king. the funeral chant haunted me, i could still hear it. i climbed the staircase which led to the king's cabinet, and saw a more curious spectacle than any that had astonished me the evening before. an altar was set up and dressed, under the pine. the monk, clothed in magnificent pontificals, was celebrating, with imposing dignity, the divine office. our drinkers of the night before, some standing, others kneeling in the dust, all religiously uncovered, were metamorphosed into little saints. one fervently kissed an image painted on wood, another made the sign of the cross, the most fervent bowed themselves to the ground and wiped the dust with their hair. the king's young pipe-bearer circulated through the crowd, with a plate, saying: "give alms! he who giveth to the church lendeth to the lord!" and the centimes showered upon the plate, and the ring of the coins as they fell upon the copper dish made an accompaniment to the voice of the priest and the prayers of the suppliants. when i entered the assembly of the faithful, each one saluted me with a discreet cordiality, which recalled the primitive church. hadgi-stavros, near the altar, made place for me at his side. he held a large book in his hand, and judge of my surprise, when i heard him recite the lessons in a loud voice. a brigand, officiating! he had received, in his youth, two of the lower orders; he was reader. one degree more, he would have been exorcist, and invested with the power of chasing out devils! assuredly, i am not one of those travelers who are astonished at everything, and i practice, energetically enough, the nil admirari; but i was wonder-struck and amazed before this strange spectacle. looking on at the genuflections, listening to the prayers, one would have supposed these actors guilty, only, of a little idolatry. their faith seemed active and their conviction profound, but i who had seen them at work and who knew how little christ-like they were in action, i could not help saying to myself: "who is being fooled?" the office lasted until some minutes after noon. an hour afterward, the altar had disappeared, the men had begun to drink again, and the good old man (the monk) led them. the king took me one side and asked me if i had written. i promised to do so at once, and he gave me reeds, ink and paper. i wrote to john harris, to christodule, and to my father. i supplicated christodule to intercede for me with his old comrade, and i told him it was impossible for me to furnish fifteen thousand francs. i recommended myself to the courage and imagination of john harris, who was not a man to leave a friend in trouble. "if any one can save me," i wrote to him, "it is you. i do not know how you can do it, but i hope in you with all my soul; you are such a hot-headed fellow! i do not count on your finding fifteen thousand francs ransom; it would be necessary to borrow them of m. mérinay, who lends nothing. you are, moreover, too american to consent to such a bargain. do as you please; set fire to the kingdom; i approve of everything in advance; but lose no time. i believe that my head is weak, and that my reason will be gone before the end of the month." as for my unfortunate father, i kept from him the facts. to what good to bring death to his soul, by telling him to what dangers i was exposed? i wrote to him, as always, the first of the month: that i was well, and i hoped my letter would find the family well. i added that i was sojourning in the mountains, that i had discovered the boryana variabilis and a young englishwoman more beautiful and richer than the princess ypsoff, of romantic memory. i had not yet been able to inspire her with love, for the lack of favorable circumstances; but i would find, perhaps, some occasion when i could render her some great service or show myself to her in my uncle rosenthaler's uniform. but i added with a feeling of unconquerable sadness: "who knows but that i may die a bachelor? then, it would fall to frantz or jean-nicholas to make a fortune for the family. my health is better than ever, and my strength is not yet weakened; but greece is a traitor which makes short work of the most vigorous men. if i am condemned to never see germany again and to die here, some unexpected death, at the end of my travels and my work, my last regret would be for my family, and my last thought of them." the king came up just as i was wiping away a tear, and i believe that this mark of weakness made him lose some of his esteem for me. "come, young man, have courage! the time is not yet come to weep over yourself. what the devil! one would say that you had been assisting at your own interment. the english lady has written a letter of eight pages, and she has not dropped a tear. go and keep her company for a little while. she needs entertainment. ah! if you were a man of my temper! i swear to you that at your age and in your position, i would not remain long a prisoner. my ransom would be paid in two days, and i know full well who would furnish the funds. you are not married?" "no." "oh, well! you do not understand? return to your camping place and make yourself agreeable. i have furnished you a fine opportunity to get a fortune. if you do not profit by it, you will be foolish, and if you do not put me on the list of your benefactors, you will be an ingrate." i found mary-ann and her mother seated near the cascade. while waiting for their waiting-maid, which had been promised them, they were themselves endeavoring to mend their torn habits. the bandits had furnished them with thread, or rather with twine, and some needles suitable for sewing sails. from time to time they stopped their work to look with melancholy gaze upon the houses in athens. it was hard to see the city so near, and not to be able to go there except at a cost of a hundred thousand francs. i asked them how they had slept. the curtness of their reply, proved to me that they had been discussing our interview. at this moment, i noticed mary-ann's hair; she was bare-headed, and after washing it at the brook, she had left it to dry in the sun. i would never have believed that any woman could possess such a profusion of soft, glossy chestnut hair. it fell in masses over her shoulders and down her back. but it did not hang in limp strings like the locks of other women who have just washed them. it fell in perfect waves, like the surface of a little lake rippled by the wind. i had never loved anyone and i ought not to have begun by falling in love with a girl who took me for a thief. but i confess that i wished, at the price of my life, to save those beautiful tresses from the clutches of hadgi-stavros. i conceived, while sitting there, a plan of escape, difficult but not impossible. our apartment (so-called) had two exits, one upon the king's cabinet, or office; the other, over the precipice. to escape by the king's cabinet was absurd! it would be necessary to traverse the camp and pass the second line of defense, guarded by the dogs. there remained the precipice. in looking over into the abyss i saw that the rock, almost perpendicular, offered enough sinuous depression, with tufts of grass, with little saplings, and available shrubs of all kinds to permit one to descend without breaking one's neck. what would render flight dangerous on this side, was the cascade. the brook, which flowed through the place, formed, on the side of the mountain, a horribly glistening sheet. it would, moreover, be difficult to keep one's courage, while descending the side of the mountain safely, with a torrent of water pouring over one's head. but were there no means of turning the course of the stream? perhaps. in examining more closely the place where we had slept, i saw that, without any doubt, the water had once traversed that spot. our camping place was, then, only the dry bed of a torrent. i raised a corner of the carpet which was spread under our feet, and i discovered a thick sediment, left by the water. it was possible, that some day or other, an earthquake, so frequent in those mountains, had broken down an embankment; or a vein of rock, softer than the others, had given passage to the current, and the mass of waters had been thrown from its bed. a strip ten feet long and three wide, led to the side of the mountain. in order to close this sluice, open for many years, and imprison the waters in their first reservoir, only two hours work was needed. an hour more would be enough to drain off the water, and the night wind would soon dry the rocks. our escape, the way thus prepared, would not take more than twenty-five minutes. once at the foot of the mountain, we would have athens before us, and the stars would serve as guides; the paths were detestable, but we would run no risk of meeting a brigand. when the king would come in the morning to make us a visit, to inquire how we had passed the night, he would see that we had passed it, running; and, as one can acquire knowledge at any age, he would learn, to his sorrow, that one cannot count on one's self, and that a cascade was a bad guard for prisoners. this project seemed to me so marvelous, that i, at once, imparted it to the ladies. they listened, at first, as prudent conspirators listen to an irritating agent. the younger woman, however, measured, without a tremor, the depth of the ravine. "one could do it," she said. "not alone, but with the help of a strong arm. are you strong, monsieur?" i replied, without knowing why: "i shall be, if you will have confidence in me." these words, to which i attached no particular meaning, seemed, without doubt, somewhat foolish, for she blushed and turned away her head. "monsieur," she replied, "it may be that we have judged you wrongly; misfortune embitters one. i would willingly believe that you are a worthy young man." she might have been able to find something more agreeable to say; but she gave me this half compliment in a voice so sweet and a look so sincere, that i was moved to the depths of my soul. so true is it, that if the air is pretty, the words of a song do not matter. she held out to me her beautiful hand, and i had already put my own out to take it, when she suddenly withdrew it, and said: "where will you get the material for a dike?" "under our feet! the turf!" "the water will wash it away." "not under two hours. after us, the deluge!" "good!" this time she gave me her hand and i was about to carry it to my lips, but she quickly withdrew it again. "we are guarded night and day, have you thought of that?" i had not even thought of it, but i was too well on my way to recoil before any obstacle. i replied with a resolution which astonished me: "the corfuan? i will see to him. i will tie him to a tree." "he will cry out." "i will kill him." "and the arms to do it with?" "i will steal them." to steal! to kill! it seemed natural, since i had almost kissed her hand. judge then, monsieur, of what i might be capable, if ever i fell in love! mrs. simons listened with a certain kindness, and i believe, approved of my plan by look and gesture. "my dear monsieur," she said to me, "your second plan is better than your first, yes, infinitely better; i would never consent to pay a ransom, even with the certainty of receiving it again, immediately. tell me again then, if you please, what you intend to do?" "i will tell you the whole plan, madame. i will procure a poniard to-day. to-night, our brigands will go to sleep early, and they will sleep soundly. i will rise at ten o'clock, i will bind our guard, i will gag him, and if necessary, i will kill him. it would not be murder, it would be an execution; he merits twenty deaths instead of one. at ten and a half, i will take up fifty square feet of turf, you can carry it to the edge of the brook, and i will construct the dam; total, one hour and a half. it will take till midnight. we will labor together to hasten the work, while the wind will dry off our path. one o'clock will come; i will take mademoiselle on my left arm, we will glide carefully to that crevasse, we will hold ourselves up by those bushes, we will reach the wild fig-tree, we will stop to rest at that green oak, we will creep along to that prominence near those red rocks, we will get down to the ravine, and we shall be free." "good! and i?" that "i" fell upon my enthusiasm like a douche of water. one is not wise in all things, and i had forgotten all about saving mrs. simons. returning to help her down was not to be thought of. the ascent would be impossible without a ladder. the good woman noticed my confusion. she said to me with more pity than spite: "my poor man, you see that romantic projects always fail at some point. permit me to hold to my first idea of waiting for the gendarmerie. i am english, and i have a confirmed habit of placing my confidence in the law. i know, moreover, the soldiers of athens; i have seen them parade in the palace square. they are handsome fellows and quite soldiers, for greeks. they have long mustaches and percussion-guns. it is they, pardon me, who will liberate us." the corfuan's appearance prevented my reply. he brought a maid for the ladies. she was an albanian, quite handsome, in spite of her snub nose. two brigands, who were returning to the mountains, had forcibly taken her, as she was walking between her mother and her betrothed, all dressed in their sunday clothes. she screamed with such agonizing cries that it would have pierced a heart of marble, but they consoled her by telling her that they would not only release her in fifteen days, but that they would also pay her. she accepted her lot bravely and almost rejoiced at the misfortune which would increase her dowry. happy country, where the wounds of the heart are cured with five franc pieces. this philosophical servant was not of very great use to mrs. simons; of all the different avenues of work open to her sex, she knew only farming. as for me, she made life unbearable by the habit she had of nibbling at a clove of garlic, as a dainty bit, and through coquetry, as the ladies of hamburg amuse themselves devouring bonbons. the day passed without incident. the next day seemed to all of us interminably long. the corfuan left us not an instant alone. mary-ann and her mother searched the horizon for the soldiers, but saw nothing. i, who am accustomed to active life, fretted at the inactivity. i could have had the range of mountains to add to my herbarium, under guard; but a certain feeling, i knew not what, held me near the ladies. during the night, i slept little; my plan of escape obstinately haunted me. i had noticed the place where the corfuan laid his dagger before going to sleep; but i would have considered it treachery to have saved myself without mary-ann. saturday morning, between five and six o'clock, an unusual noise drew me towards the king's cabinet. my toilet was quickly made; i went to bed fully dressed. hadgi-stavros, standing in the midst of his band, was presiding at a noisy council. all the brigands were upon the war path, armed to the teeth. ten or a dozen coffers which i had not seen before had been piled on some wagon-frames. i divined that they contained the baggage and that our captors were preparing to leave camp. the corfuan, vasile, and sophocles were contesting something at the top of their voices, and all talking together. one could hear from a distance the barking of the outside guards. a courier, in tatters, ran toward the king, crying: "the gendarmes!" v. the gendarmes. the king appeared to be little troubled. his eyebrows were, however, drawn a little nearer together than was usual, and the wrinkles on his forehead formed an acute angle between his eyes. he asked the courier: "where are they?" "near castia." "how many companies?" "one." "whose?" "i do not know." "wait!" a second messenger was seen running toward the king. hadgi-stavros cried out to him: "is it pericles' company?" "i do not know; i did not see their number." a shot was heard at a distance. "listen!" commanded the king, taking out his watch. the men were silent. four shots followed, a minute apart. the last one was followed by a thundering detonation which resembled platoon-firing. the king, with a smile, put his watch back in his pocket. "it is all right! return the baggage to the storeroom, and serve me with wine of aegina; it is pericles' company." he saw me just as he finished the sentence. he called to me, in a jeering tone: "come, monsieur german, you are not _de trop_. it is well to rise early; one sees curious things. your thirst has awakened you! will you drink a glass of wine of aegina with our brave gendarmes?" five minutes later three enormous goat-skin bottles were brought from some secret hiding place. a sentinel approached the king. "good news! they are pericles' men!" a few of the bandits were in advance of the troops. the corfuan, a fine talker, skipped along by the captain's side, his tongue running. a drum was heard; then a blue flag was seen, and sixty men, fully armed, marched in double file to the king's cabinet. i recognized m. pericles, because i had admired him on the promenade at athens. he was a young officer of thirty-five, dark, a coxcomb, admired by the ladies, the best waltzer at court, and wearing his epaulets with grace. he put up his sword, ran to the king of the mountains, who kissed him on the mouth, saying, "good morning, godfather!" "good morning, little one," the king replied, caressing his cheek with his hand. "thou art well?" "yes. and thou?" "as thou seest. and thy family?" "my uncle, the bishop, has a fever." "bring him here, i will cure him. the prefect of police is better?" "a little; he sends his kind regards; the minister also." "what is new?" "a ball at the palace on the th. it is decided; the 'siècle' publishes it!" "thou dancest, then, all the time? and what about the bourse?" "there is a general fall in stocks." "good! hast thou letters for me?" "yes; here they are. photini's was not ready. she will send it by the post." "a glass of wine: ... thy health, little one!" "god bless thee, godfather! who is this frank who is listening to us?" "nothing! a german of no consequence. thou hast not news for us?" "the paymaster-general sends , francs to argos. they will pass by the sciromian rocks to-morrow night." "i will be there. will a large band be necessary?" "yes! the coffer is guarded by two companies." "good or bad?" "detestable! men who are dead shots." "i will take all my band. in my absence thou wilt guard our prisoners?" "with pleasure. apropos, i have the most rigid orders. thy english prisoners have written to their ambassador. they have called the entire army to their aid." "and it is i who furnished them the paper!" "it is necessary, in consequence, that i write my report. i will recount a bloody battle." "we will write it out together." "yes. this time, godfather, i must be the victor." "no!" "yes! i wish to be decorated." "thou shalt be, some other time. what an insatiable! it is only a year since i made thee captain." "but understand, dear godfather, that it is for thy interest to be conquered. when the world shall learn that thy band is dispersed, confidence will be restored, travelers will again pour into the country and thou wilt make thy fortune." "yes, but if i am conquered the bourse will send up stocks, and i am speculating on a fall." "that is another affair! at least, let me kill a dozen men!" "so be it! that will harm no one. on my side i must kill ten." "how! one will see on our return that our company is full." "not so! thou shalt leave them here; i need recruits." "in that case, i recommend to thee little spiro, my adjutant. he is a graduate of the military school, he has been well instructed and is intelligent. the poor boy gets only francs a month, and his parents are not very well satisfied. if he remains in the army he will not become a sub-lieutenant under five or six years; the staffs are complete. but let him make himself remarked in thy troop; they will offer to bribe him, and he would have his nomination in six months." "good for the little spiro! does he speak french?" "passably." "i will keep him, perhaps. if he does well for me, i will include him in the enterprise; he might be a stockholder. thou wilt receive our account rendered for the year. i give per cent." "bravo! my eight shares will bring me more than my captain's pay. ah! godfather, what career is mine?" "what dost thou risk? thou couldst be a brigand, but for thy mother's notions. she has always pretended that thou hast lacked a vocation. to thy health! and to yours, m. german! i present to you my godson, captain pericles, a charming young man who knows many languages, and who will replace me during my absence. my dear pericles, i present to thee monsieur, who is a doctor and is valued at fifteen thousand francs. canst thou believe that this tall doctor, all doctor as he is, has not yet found out how to pay his ransom through our english captives. the world has degenerated, little one: it was better in my day." thereupon, he nimbly rose and hastened to give some orders for departure. was it the pleasure of entering on a campaign, or the joy of seeing his godson? he seemed rejuvenated; he was twenty years younger, he laughed, he jested, he shook off his royal dignity. i would never have supposed that the only event capable of cheering a brigand would be the arrival of the gendarmerie. sophocles, vasile, the corfuan and the other chiefs carried the king's orders through the camp. every one was soon ready to depart, owing to the morning's activity. the young adjutant, spiro, and the nine men chosen from among the gendarmes exchanged their uniforms for the picturesque dress of the bandits. this was a veritable lightning-change; the minister of war, if he had been there, would have almost been unable to have told how it was done. the newly-made brigands seemed to feel no regret for their former employment. the only ones who murmured were those who remained under the old flag. two or three veterans loudly complained that the selection had not been well made, and that no account had been taken of seniority. a few old soldiers vaunted their exploits and laid claim to having served the required time in brigandage. the captain soothed them as best he could, and promised them that their turn should come. hadgi-stavros, before departing, gave all his keys to his representative. he showed him the grotto where the wine was kept, in the cave in which was the flour, the cheese packed in a crevice, and the trunk of a tree in which was kept the coffee. he instructed him in every precaution which was to be taken to prevent our escape and to keep possession of so splendid a sum. the handsome pericles smilingly replied: "what dost thou fear? i am a stockholder." at seven o'clock in the morning the king put himself at the head of his band, and the men marched forth in single file. they marched toward the north, keeping their backs to the sciromian rocks. they made a long detour, by a path which was easy, to the bottom of the ravine which was below our camping place. the bandits sang at the top of their voices while wading through the brook formed by the waters of the cascade as they fell into the ravine. the war-song was a story of hadgi-stavros' youth, consisting of four verses: "the clephte aux yeux noirs descend dans les plaines; sonfusil doré----" "you ought to know it; the little athenian lads sing nothing else on the way to catechism." mrs. simons, who slept near her daughter, and who was always dreaming of the gendarmes, jumped up and ran to the window, that is to say, the cascade. she was cruelly disappointed in seeing enemies, when she expected to find saviors. she recognized the king, the corfuan, and several others. what was the most astonishing thing to her was the formidable appearance and numbers of this morning expedition. she counted sixty men following hadgi-stavros. "sixty," she thought; "there only remains twenty, then, to guard us?" the idea of escape, which she had scorned the night before, now presented itself to her with some favor. in the midst of these reflections she saw the rear-guard appear, and which she had not counted. sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty men! then there was no one left in the camp! "we are free! mary-ann," she cried. the men still filed past. the band itself consisted of eighty men; ninety marched by; a dozen dogs came behind, but she took no trouble to count them. mary-ann arose at her mother's call and came quickly from the tent. "free!" cried mrs. simons. "they have all left, what did i say? all! even a larger number has gone than was here. let us hasten away, my daughter!" she hurried to the top of the staircase and saw the king's camp occupied by the soldiers. the greek flag floated triumphantly at the summit of the pine tree. hadgi-stavros' place was occupied by m. pericles. mrs. simons threw herself into his arms in such a transport that he had hard work to free himself from her embrace. "angel of god!" she said to him, "the brigands have gone." the captain replied in english: "yes, madame." "you have put them to flight?" "it is true, madame, that but for us they would still be here." "excellent young man! the battle must have been terrible!" "not so! a battle without tears. i had only to say a word." "and we are free?" "assuredly!" "we may return to athens?" "when it pleases you." "oh, well! let us depart at once." "impossible, for the moment." "what would we do here?" "our duty to our conquerors; we will guard the battle ground." "mary-ann, give thy hand to monsieur." the young english girl obeyed. "monsieur," said mrs. simons, "it is god who sends you here. we had lost all hope. our only protector was a young german of the middle class, a savant who gathers herbs and who wished to save us by the most preposterous means. at last, you have come! i was sure that we would be delivered by the gendarmerie. is it not so, mary-ann?" "yes, mamma." "know, monsieur, that these bandits are the vilest of men. they began by taking everything from us." "all?" asked the captain. "all, except my watch, which i took the precaution to hide." "you did well, madame. and they kept all that they took from you?" "no, they returned three hundred francs, a silver traveling case and my daughter's watch." "these things are still in your possession?" "certainly." "they did not take from you your rings and your ear-rings?" "no, monsieur le capitaine." "will you be good enough to give them to me?" "give you what?" "your rings, your ear-rings, the silver traveling case, two watches and the sum of three hundred francs." mrs. simons cried out: "what! monsieur, you would take from us the articles the bandits returned to us?" the captain replied with dignity: "madame, i must do my duty." "your duty is to despoil us?" "my duty is to collect all the articles for necessary conviction in the trial of hadgi-stavros." "he will then be tried?" "since we have taken him." "it seems to me that our jewels and our money would serve nothing, and that you have sufficient testimony to hang him. first of all, he captured two englishwomen; what more is necessary?" "it is necessary, madame, that the forms of justice be observed." "but, dear sir, among the articles which you demand there are some which i prize highly." "the more reason, madame, to confide them to my care." "but if i had no watch i should never----" "madame, it will always give me pleasure to tell you the hour." mary-ann observed in her turn that it was disagreeable to her to be obliged to give up her ear-rings. "mademoiselle," the gallant captain replied, "you are beautiful enough not to need jewels. you can do better without gems than your gems can do without you." "you are very good, monsieur, but my silver dressing case or necessaire is an indispensable article. what one calls a necessaire is a thing with which one cannot dispense." "you are a thousand times right, mademoiselle. so i beg of you not to insist upon that point. do not add to the regret with which i have already legally despoiled two so distinguished persons. alas! mademoiselle, we military men, we are the slaves of orders, instruments of the law, men of duty. deign to accept my arm, i will do myself the honor of conducting you to your tent. there, we will proceed to the inventory, if you will be good enough to permit it." i lost not one word of this conversation, and i kept silent to the end; but when i saw this rascal of an officer offer his arm to mary-ann in order to politely plunder her, i became enraged, and i marched up to him to tell him what i thought of him. he must have read in my eyes the exordium of my discourse, because he threw a menacing look at me, left the ladies at the staircase of their chamber, placed a sentinel there, and returned to me, saying: "between us two!" he drew me, without adding a word, to the rear of the king's cabinet. there, he seated himself before me, looked me straight in the eyes, and said: "monsieur, you understand english?" i confessed my knowledge. he added: "you know greek, also?" "yes, monsieur." "then, you are too learned. do you understand my godfather, who amuses himself recounting our affairs before you? that is of no importance to him; he has nothing to hide; he is king, he is responsible to no one but himself. as for me, what the devil! put yourself in my place. my position is delicate, and i have many affairs to manage. i am not rich; i have only my pay, the esteem of my chiefs, and the friendship of the brigands. a traveler's indiscretion might cost me my promotions." "and you count on the fact that i will keep your infamies secret?" "when i count on anything, monsieur, my confidence is rarely misplaced. i do not know that you will leave these mountains alive, and yet your ransom may never be paid. if my godfather would cut off your head, i should be satisfied you would not talk. if, on the contrary, you should return to athens, i counsel you, as a friend, to keep silent about what you have seen. imitate the discretion of the late madame la duchesse de plaisance, who was taken captive by bibichi and who died ten years later without having related to any one the details of her captivity. do you know a proverb which runs: "the tongue cuts off the head?" meditate seriously upon it, and do not put yourself in a place to exactly verify it." "the menace----" "i do not menace you, monsieur, i am a man too well brought up to resort to threats, i warn you! if you should gossip, it is not i who would avenge myself. all the men in my company adore their captain. they are even more warmly interested in my interests than i am myself; they would be pitiless, to my great regret, to any indiscreet person who had caused me any trouble." "what do you fear, if you have so many accomplices?" "i fear nothing from the greeks, and, in ordinary times, i should insist less strongly on my orders. we have, among our chiefs, some fanatics who think that we ought to treat bandits like turks; but i have also found some who are on the right side, in case it came to an internecine struggle. the misfortune is that the diplomats would interfere, and the presence of a stranger would, without doubt, injure my cause. if any misfortune happens to me through you, do you see, monsieur, to what you would be exposed? one cannot take four steps in the kingdom without meeting a gendarme. the road from athens to piraeus is under the vigilance of these quarrelsome persons, and accidents frequently occur." "it is well, monsieur; i will reflect upon it." "and will keep the secret?" "you have nothing to ask of me and i have nothing to promise. you have advised me of the danger of being indiscreet. i accept the advice and i will refrain from speaking of it." "when you return to germany, you may tell whatever you please. speak, write, publish; it is of no importance. the works published against us do no harm to any one, unless, perhaps, to their authors. you are free to relate the adventure. if you paint, faithfully, what you have seen the good people of europe will accuse you of traducing an illustrious and oppressed people. our friends, and we have many among men of sixty, will tax you with levity, caprice, and even of ingratitude. they will recall that you have been the guest of hadgi-stavros and mine; they will reproach you with having broken the holy laws of hospitality. but the most pleasing thing of the whole will be, that no one will believe you. the public will place no confidence in seeming lies. try to persuade the cockneys of paris, of london, of berlin, that you have seen a captain of the standing army, embraced by a chief of banditti. a company of choice troops acting as guards to hadgi-stavros' prisoners, in order to give him the opportunity of capturing the army coffers! the highest state functionaries founding a stock company for the purpose of plundering travelers! as well tell them that the mice of attica have formed an alliance with the cats, and that our sheep take their food from the wolves' mouths! do you know what protects us against the displeasure of europe? it is the improbability of our civilization. happily for the kingdom, everything which will be written against us will be too unnatural to be believed. i can cite to you a little book, which is not in praise of us, although it is accurate from beginning to end. it has been read, somewhat, everywhere; in paris they found it curious, but i know of only one city where it seemed true! athens! i do not prevent you from adding a second volume, but wait until away; if not, there possibly might be a drop of blood on the last page." "but," i answered, "if i should commit an indiscretion before my departure, how could you know that i was to blame?" "you, alone, are in my secret. the englishwomen are persuaded that i have delivered them from hadgi-stavros. i charge myself with keeping up the delusion until the king's return. it will be for only two days, three at the most. we are forty kilometres from the scironian rocks; our friend will reach there in the night. they will make the attack to-morrow evening, and conquerors or conquered, they will be here monday morning. we can prove to the prisoners that the brigands surprised us. while my godfather is absent, i will protect you against yourself by keeping you away from these ladies. i will borrow your tent. you ought to see, monsieur, that i have a more delicate skin than this worthy hadgi-stavros, and that i ought not to expose my complexion to the changes of temperature! what would be said, on the th, at the court ball if i presented myself brown as a peasant? i must, moreover, give those poor captives the benefit of my society; it is my duty as their liberator. as for you, you will sleep here in the midst of my soldiers. permit me to give an order, which concerns you. ianni! brigadier ianni! i confide monsieur to thy care! place around him four guards, who will watch him night and day, accompany him everywhere, fully armed. thou wilt relieve them every two hours. forward!" he saluted me with ironical politeness, and humming a tune, descended mrs. simons' staircase. the sentinel shouldered arms. from that instant there began for me a purgatory of which the human mind can have little conception. everyone knows or guesses what a prison would be; but try to imagine a living and moving prison, the four walls of which come and go, recede and approach, turn and return, rubbing hands, scratching, blowing noses, shaking, floundering about, and obstinately fixing eight great black eyes upon the prisoner. i tried to walk; my prison of eight feet regulated the step to mine. i went toward the front of the camp; the two men who preceded me stopped short, i bumped into them. this incident explained to me an inscription which i had often seen, without understanding it, in the neighborhood of camps: "limit of garrison" i turned around; my four walls turned like the scenes in a theater where a change of view is required. at last, tired of this way of promenading, i sat down. my prison seated itself around me; i resembled an intoxicated man who sees his house turn. i closed my eyes; the measured step of the sentinels wearied my brain. at least, i thought if these four soldiers would but speak to me! i spoke to them in greek; it was a seductive agent which had never failed me with sentinels. it was clear loss of time. the walls had, possibly, ears, but the use of the voice was denied them; no one spoke under arms; i attempted bribery. i drew from my pocket the money which hadgi-stavros had returned and which the captain had forgotten to take from me. i distributed it to the four cardinal points of my lodge. the somber and frowning walls changed to a smiling front, and my prison was illumined as with a ray of sunlight. but five minutes later the brigadier relieved the guards; it was just two hours that i had been a prisoner! the day seemed long! the night, eternal! the captain had already taken possession of my tent and my bed, and the rock which served me for a resting place was not as soft as feather. a fine penetrating rain cruelly convinced me that a roof was a fine invention; and that thatches rendered a true service to society. if at times, in spite of my unpleasant surroundings, i dropped off to sleep, i was almost always awakened by the brigadier ianni, who ordered a change of guards. finally, what shall i say? at night and in dreams i saw mary-ann and her respectable mother in the hands of their liberator. ah! monsieur, how i began to render justice to the good old king of the mountains! how i retracted all the maledictions which i had hurled against him! how i regretted his kind and paternal government! how i sighed for his return! how warmly did i breathe his name in my prayers! "my god!" i cried with fervor, "give the victory to thy servant, hadgi-stavros! make every soldier in the kingdom fall beneath his hand! bring to his hands the coffer, and even to the last écus of that infernal army! and let the bandits return, that we may be delivered from the hands of the soldiers!" as i finished this prayer, a well-sustained fire was heard in the midst of the camp. this occurred many times during the day and following night. it was only a trick of m. pericles. in order the better to deceive mrs. simons and to persuade her that he was defending her against an army of bandits, he had ordered that volleys should be fired from time to time. this pretty conceit came near costing him dear. when the brigands arrived in camp, at dawn, on monday morning, they believed that a fight was going on with a true enemy, and they began to fire some balls, which, unfortunately, touched no one. i had never seen a defeated army when i assisted at the return of the king of the mountains. the sight had, for me, all the novelty of a first experience. heaven had listened unfavorably to my prayers. the greek soldiers had defended themselves with so much ardor that the engagement was prolonged till night. formed in a square around the two mules which carried the treasure, they had, at first, returned a regular fire upon hadgi-stavros' sharp-shooters. the old palikar, despairing of killing one by one, a hundred and twenty men who would not give an inch, attacked them with bare blades. his men assured us that he had performed marvels, and the blood with which he was covered testified to it. but the bayonet had had the last word; in other words, had won the day. the troops had killed forty brigands, of which one was a dog. a regulation bullet had arrested the advancement of young spiro, that young officer with so brilliant a future. i saw march in sixty men, overcome with fatigue, dusty, bloody, bruised, and wounded. sophocles had been shot in the shoulder; the men were carrying him. the corfuan and a few others had been left on the road, some with the shepherds, some in a village, and others on the bare rocks beside the path. the band was sad and discouraged. sophocles howled with grief. i heard some murmurs against the king's imprudence, who had exposed the lives of his men for a miserable sum, instead of peaceably plundering rich and careless travelers. the strongest, the freshest, the most content, the gayest of the lot was the king. his face expressed the proud satisfaction of a duty accomplished. he recognized me at once in the midst of my four men, and cordially held out his hand to me. "dear prisoner," he said, "you see a badly treated king. those dogs of soldiers would not give up the treasure. it was their money; my trip to the scironian rocks brought me nothing, and i have lost forty men, without counting some wounded who cannot live. but no matter! i am well beaten. there were too many of those rascals for us, and they had bayonets. without which----. come! this day has rejuvenated me. i have proved to myself that i still have blood in my veins!" and he hummed the first verse of his favorite song: "un clephte aux yeux, noirs----" he added: "by jupiter (as lord byron said), i would not for twenty thousand francs have remained quietly at home since saturday. that can still be put into my history. it can be said that, at more than sixty years of age, i fought with bare sabre in the midst of bayonets; that i killed three or four soldiers with my own hand, and that i marched ten leagues in the mountains in order to return in time to take my cup of coffee. cafedgi, my child, do thy duty! i have done mine. but where the devil is pericles?" the charming captain was still resting in his tent. ianni hurried away to bring him forth, half asleep, his mustache uncurled, his head carefully tied up in a handkerchief. i know of nothing which will so thoroughly awaken a man as a glass of cold water or bad news. when m. pericles learned that the little spiro and two other soldiers had been left behind, it was truly another defeat. he pulled off his handkerchief, and but for the respect he had for his person he would have torn his hair. "this will do for me," he cried. "how explain their presence among you? and in bandit dress, too! they will be recognized! the others are masters of the battle ground. shall i say that they deserted in order to join you? that you made them prisoners? the question will be asked why i said nothing about it. i have waited for thy coming to make my final report. i wrote last evening that i had thee almost surrounded on parnassus, and that all our men were admirable. holy virgin! i shall not dare to show myself sunday at patissia! what will be said the th at the court ball? the whole diplomatic corps will talk me over. they will convene the council. will i yet be invited?" "to the council?" asked the bandit. "no; to the court ball!" "dancer! go!" "my god! my god! who knows what will be done? if the only trouble was about these englishwomen, i would not worry myself. i would confess everything to the minister of war. these english! that was enough! but to lend my soldiers to attack the army box! to send spiro into the engagement! they will point the finger at me; i shall never dance again!" who was it who rubbed his hands in glee during this monologue? it was the son of my father, surrounded by his four soldiers! hadgi-stavros, quietly seated, enjoyed his coffee in little sips. he said to his godson: "thou seemest much troubled! remain with us. i assure thee a minimum of ten thousand francs a year, and i will enroll thy men. we will take our revenge together." the offer was alluring. two days before it would have received much approval. and even now it caused a faint smile among the soldiers, none from the captain. the soldiers said nothing; they looked at their old comrades; they eyed sophocles' wound; they thought of the deaths of the night before, and they turned wistful faces toward athens, as if they could inhale the, to them, sweet odor of the barracks. as for m. pericles, he replied with visible embarrassment: "i thank thee, but i would need to reflect. my habits are those of a city; i am delicate in health; the winters are rigorous in the mountains; i have already taken cold. my absence would be noticed at all assemblies; i would be searched for everywhere; fine marriages are often proposed to me. moreover, the trouble is not so great as we believe it. who knows whether the three unfortunates will be recognized? will news of the event arrive before we do? i will go at once to the ministry; i will find out how matters stand. no one will come to contradict me, since the two companies have kept on their march to argos.... decidedly, i must be there; i must face the music. care for the wounded.... adieu!" he made a sign to his drummer. hadgi-stavros rose, came and placed himself in front of me with his godson, whom he dominated by a head, and said to me: "monsieur, behold a greek of to-day! i! i am a greek of former days! and the papers pretend that we have progressed!" at the roll of the drum the walls of my prison fell away like the ramparts of jericho! two minutes afterward i was before mary-ann's tent. mother and daughter hastily arose. mrs. simons perceived me first, and cried out to me: "oh, well! are we to start?" "alas! madame, we are not there." "where are we then? the captain gave us word for this morning." "how did you find the captain?" "gallant, elegant, charming! a little too much the slave of discipline; it was his only fault." "coxcomb and scamp, coward and bully, liar and thief; those are his true names, and i will prove it to you." "come, monsieur; what have the soldiers done to you?" "what have they done to me, madame? deign to come with me only to the top of the staircase." mrs. simons arrived there just in time to see the soldiers defile past, the drummer at the head, the bandits again installed in their places, the captain and the king mouth to mouth, giving the last good-bye kiss. the surprise was a little too much. i had not been sufficiently considerate of the good woman, and i was punished for it, because she fainted dead away and nearly broke my arms as i caught her. i carried her to the brook; mary-ann rubbed and slapped her hands; i threw a handful of water in her face. but i believe that it was fury which revived her. "miserable wretch!" she cried. "he has plundered you, is it not true? stole your watches, your money?" "i do not regret my jewels; he may keep them! but i would give ten thousand francs to get back the handshakes i have given him. i am english, and i do not clasp hands with every one!" this regret of mrs. simons drew from me a heavy sigh. she let fall upon me all the weight of her anger. "it is your fault," she said. "could you not have warned me? it was only necessary to tell me that the brigands were saints in comparison!" "but, madame, i advised you that you must put no faith in the soldiers." "you told me so; but you said it softly, slowly, coldly. could i believe you? could i divine that this man was only stavros' jailer? that he remained here to give the bandits time to get back? that he frightened us with imaginary dangers? that he claimed to have been besieged in order to have us admire him? that he simulated the night attacks to make it appear that he was defending us? i see all now, but tell us if you have nothing to say?" "my god! madame, i told all i knew; i did what i could!" "but, german, who are you? in your place an englishman would have sacrificed his life for us, and i would have given him my daughter's hand!" wild poppies are very scarlet, but i was more than that when i heard mrs. simons' speech. i was so troubled that i dared not raise my eyes, nor respond; neither did i ask the good woman what she meant by her words. because, in a word, why should a person as harsh as she had shown herself to be, use such language before her daughter and before me? by what door had this idea of marriage entered her mind? was mrs. simons truly a woman to award her daughter, as an honest recompense, to the first liberator? there were no signs of it. was it not rather a cruel irony addressed to my most secret thoughts? when i examined myself i ascertained, with legitimate pride, the innocent warmth of all my sentiments. i render this justice to myself, that the fire of passion had not raised a degree the temperature of my heart. at each instant of the day, in order to test myself, i occupied myself with thinking of mary-ann. i built castles in spain, of which she was the mistress. i planned romances, of which she was the heroine and i the hero. i thought of the most absurd things. i imagined events as improbable as the history of the princess ypsoff and lieutenant reynauld. i even went so far as to see the pretty english girl seated at my right on the back seat of a post-chaise, with her beautiful arm around my long neck. all these flattering suppositions, which should have agitated deeply a soul less philosophical than mine, did not disturb my serenity. i did not experience the alternatives of fear and hope which are the symptoms of love. never, no, never, have i felt those great convulsions of the heart which are recorded in romances. then i did not love mary-ann. i was a man without reproach. i could walk with uplifted head. but mrs. simons, who had not read my thoughts, was perfectly capable of deceiving herself as to the nature of my devotion. who knows whether she did not suspect me of being in love with her daughter; whether she had not misinterpreted my trouble and my timidity; whether she had not let slip the word marriage, in order to force me to betray myself. my pride revolted against so unjust a suspicion, and i replied in a firm tone, without looking her in the face: "madame, if i was sufficiently fortunate to rescue you from here, i swear to you that it would not be in order to marry your daughter." "and why, then?" she asked, in a tone of pique. "is it because my daughter is not good enough for one to marry? i find you agreeable, truly! is she not pretty enough, or of a good enough family? have i brought her up improperly? is she not a good match? to marry miss simons, my dear sir! it is a beautiful dream! and most difficult to be gratified!" "alas! madame," i replied, "you have seriously misunderstood me. i confess that mademoiselle is perfect, and, if her presence did not make me timid, i would tell you what passionate admiration she inspired in me the first day. it is precisely for that reason that i have not the impertinence to think that any chance could raise me to her level!" i hoped that my humility would touch this dreadful mother. but her anger was not in the least appeased. "why?" she cried. "why are you not worthy of my daughter? answer me, then!" "but, madame, i have neither fortune nor position." "a fine affair! no position! you would have one, monsieur, if you married my daughter. to be my son-in-law, is not that a position? you have no fortune! have we ever asked money of you? have we not enough for ourselves, for you, and for many others? moreover, the man who would rescue us from here, would he not receive a present of a hundred thousand francs? it is a small sum, i confess, but it is something. will you say that a hundred thousand francs is a miserable sum? then, why are you not worthy to marry my daughter?" "madame, i am not----" "come! what is it you are not? you are not english?" "oh! by no means!" "eh! well! you cannot believe that we are foolish enough to make a crime of your birth? eh! monsieur, i know very well that it is not permitted to all the world to be english! the entire earth cannot be english--at least, not for many years. but one may be an honest man and a learned man without having really been born in england." "as for integrity, madame, it is a virtue which we transmit from father to son. as for intelligence, i have just enough to be a doctor. but, unfortunately, i have no illusions in regard to my physical defects, and----" "you wish to say that you are ugly? no, monsieur, you are not ugly. you have an intelligent face. mary-ann, is not monsieur's face intelligent?" "yes, mamma!" mary-ann replied. if she blushed as she answered her mother saw it better than i, for my eyes were fixed obstinately on the ground. "monsieur," added mrs. simons, "were you ten times uglier, you would not then be as ugly as my late husband. and, more than that, i beg you to believe that i was as pretty as my daughter the day i gave him my hand. what have you to say to that?" "nothing, madame, except that you confuse me, and that it will not be my fault if you are not on the road to athens to-morrow." "what do you count on doing? this time try to find a means less ridiculous than that the other day!" "i hope to satisfy you if you will listen to me to the end." "yes, monsieur." "without interrupting me?" "i will not interrupt you. have i ever interrupted you?" "yes!" "no!" "yes!" "when?" "always! madame, hadgi-stavros has all his funds invested in the firm of barley & company." "with our firm?" "no. cavendish square, london. last wednesday he dictated, in our presence, a business letter to mr. barley." "and you never told me before?" "you would never give me the opportunity." "but this is monstrous! your conduct is inexplicable! we could have been at liberty six days ago! i will go straight to him; i will tell him our relations----" "and he will demand of you two or three hundred thousand francs! believe me, madame, the best way is to say nothing to him. pay your ransom; make him give you a receipt, and in fifteen days send to him a statement, with the following note: 'item, , francs paid, personally, by mrs. simons, our partner, as per receipt!' in this way you will get back your money, without the aid of the soldiers. is it clear?" i raised my eyes and saw the pretty smile which broke over mary-ann's face as she saw through the plot. mrs. simons angrily shrugged her shoulders, and seemed moved only by ill-humor. "truly," she said to me, "you are a wonderful man! you proposed to us an acrobatic escape when we had such simple means at our command! and you have known it since wednesday morning! i will never pardon you for not having told me the first day." "but, madame, will you not remember that i begged you to write to monsieur, your brother, to send you a hundred and fifteen thousand francs?" "why a hundred and fifteen?" "i mean to say a hundred thousand." "no! a hundred and fifteen. that is right! are you sure that this stavros will not keep us here when he has received the money?" "i will answer for it. the bandits are the only greeks who never break their word. do you not understand that if it happened once that they kept prisoners after having received the ransom, no one would ever pay one again?" "that is true! but what a queer german you are, not to have spoken sooner." "you always cut me short." "you ought to have spoken even then!" "but, madame----" "silence! lead me to this detestable stavros." the king was breakfasting on roast turtles, seated with his unwounded officers under his tree of justice. he had made his toilet; he had washed the blood from his hands and changed his clothes. he was discussing, with his men, the most expeditious means of filling the vacancies made by death in his ranks. vasile, who was from javina, offered to find thirty men in epinus, where the watchfulness of the turkish authorities had put more than a thousand bandits in retreat. a laconian wished that they might get for ready money the little band belonging to spartiate pavlos, who had improved the province of mague, in the neighborhood of calamato. the king, always imbued with english ideas, thought of forced recruiting, and of pressing into service the attic shepherds. this plan seemed to him to possess superior advantages, as it would require no outlay of funds and he would obtain the herds into the bargain. interrupted in the midst of his deliberations, hadgi-stavros gave his prisoners a cool reception. he did not offer even a glass of water to mrs. simons, and she had not yet breakfasted; she fully realized the omission of this courtesy. i took upon myself the part of speaker, and, in the corfuan's absence, the king was forced to accept my services as intermediary. i said to him that after the disaster of the evening before he would be glad to learn mrs. simons' decision; that she would pay, with the briefest delay possible, her ransom and mine; that the funds would be turned over the next day, either to a banker in athens, or to some other place which he would designate, in exchange for his receipt. "i am much pleased," he said, "that these ladies have renounced the idea of calling the greek army to their aid. tell them that, for the second time, anything necessary for writing will be furnished them; but that they must not abuse my confidence! that they must not draw the soldiers here! at the sight of the very first soldier who appears on the mountain, i will cut off their heads. i swear it by the virgin of the megaspilion, who was carved by saint luke's own hand." "do not doubt! i give my word for these ladies and myself. where do you wish to have the sum left?" "at the national bank of greece. it is the only one which has not yet gone into bankruptcy." "have you a safe man to carry the letter?" "i have the good old man! i will send to the convent for him. what time is it? nine o'clock in the morning. the reverend gentleman has not yet drunk enough to become tipsy." "the monk will do. when mrs. simons' brother has turned over the sum and taken your receipt, the monk will bring you the news." "what receipt? why a receipt? i have never given any. when you are at liberty you will readily see that you have paid me what you owe me." "i think that a man like you ought to transact business according to european methods. in a good administration----" "i transact business in my own way, and i am too old to change my methods!" "as you please! i ask it in the interest of mrs. simons. she is guardian of her minor daughter, and she must render account of her whole fortune." "but that will arrange itself! i care for my interests as she does for hers. when she pays for her daughter is it a great misfortune? i have never regretted what i have disbursed for photini. here is the paper, the ink and the reeds. be good enough to watch the composition of the letter. it concerns your head, too!" i rose, abashed, and followed the ladies, who saw my confusion without knowing the cause. but a sudden inspiration made me suddenly retrace my steps. i said to the king: "decidedly, you were right to refuse the receipt, and i was wrong in asking for it. you are wiser than i; youth is imprudent." "what do you say?" "you are right, i tell you. it is necessary to wait. who knows if you will not experience a second defeat more terrible than the first. you are not as strong as at twenty years of age; you may fall a captive to the soldiers." "i?" "they will try you as a common malefactor; the magistrates will no longer fear you. in such circumstances a receipt for a hundred and fifteen thousand francs would be overwhelming proof. give no weapons of justice to be turned against you. perhaps mrs. simons or her heirs would join in a criminal suit to recover what had been taken from them. never sign a receipt!" he replied in thundering tones: "i will sign it! and two rather than one! i will sign all; as many as need signing. i will sign them always for anyone! ah! the soldiers imagine that they will manage me easily, because once, chance, and their larger force gave them the advantage! i fall, living, into their hands, i, whose arm is proof against fatigue, and whose head is proof against bullets! i seat myself on a bench, before a judge, like a peasant who has stolen cabbages! young man, you do not yet know hadgi-stavros! it would be easier to pluck up parnassus and place it upon the summit of taygète, than to tear me from my mountains, and place me on a court bench! write for me, in greek, madame simons' name! good! yours also!" "it is not necessary, and----" "write! you know my name, and i am sure that you will not forget it. i wish to have yours, to hold as a souvenir." i wrote my name as best i could in the harmonious language of plato. the king's lieutenants applauded his firmness without understanding that it would cost him a hundred and fifteen thousand francs. i hurried with a light heart and much pleased with myself to mrs. simons' tent. i told her that her money had had a narrow escape, and she deigned to smile on learning that i had pretended to be deceived in order to rob our robbers. a half hour afterward she submitted for my approval the following letter: "my dear brother:--the gendarmes whom you sent to our rescue were treacherous, and fled ignominiously. i advise you to see that they are hung. they will need a gallows a hundred feet high for their captain pericles. i shall complain of him, especially, in the dispatch which i intend to send to lord palmerston, and i shall consecrate to him a portion of the letter which i shall write to the editor of the "times," as soon as you have set us free. it is useless to hope anything from the local authorities. all the natives are leagued against us, and the day after our departure the greeks will gather in some corner of the kingdom to divide what they have taken from us. fortunately, they will have little. i have learned from a young german, whom i took at first for a spy, and who is a very honest man, that this stavros, called hadgi-stavros, has funds placed with our firm. i beg you to verify the fact, and if it is true, let nothing prevent you from paying the ransom which is demanded. turn over to the bank of greece , francs ( sterling) for a regular receipt, sealed with this stavros' seal. the amount will be charged to his account. our health is good, although life in the mountains may not be comfortable. it is monstrous that two english women, citizens of the greatest kingdom in the world, should be compelled to eat their roast without mustard and without pickles and to drink pure water like any fish. "hoping that you will not delay in arranging for our return to our accustomed habits, i am, my dear brother, very sincerely yours, "rebecca simons." i carried, to the king, the good woman's letter. he took it with defiance, and examined it so sharply that i trembled lest he should understand it. i was, however, very sure that he knew no english. but this devil of a man, inspired me with superstitious terror, and i believed him capable of performing miracles. he seemed satisfied only when he reached the figures livres sterling. he saw, at once, that he was not to be troubled with the gendarmes. the letter was placed, with other papers, in a tin cylinder. they brought forward the good old man, who had drunk just enough wine to limber up his legs, and the king gave the box to him, with very explicit instructions. he departed, and my heart kept pace with him to the end of his journey. horace did not follow with a more tender look the ship which bore virgil away. as soon as the king saw the affair in train to be completed, he became very genial. he ordered for us a veritable feast; he distributed double rations of wine to his men; he went himself to look after the wounded, and with his own hands extracted the ball from sophocles' shoulder. orders were given the bandits to treat us with the respect due our money. the breakfast which i ate, without spectators, with the ladies was one of the happiest repasts i ever remember. all my evils were then ended; i should be free after two days of this sweet captivity. perhaps even, on leaving hadgi-stavros, an adorable slavery!... i felt that i was a poet like gessner. i ate as heartily as mrs. simons, and i assuredly drank with more appetite. i gulped down the white wine of aegina, as formerly the wine of santorin. i drank to mary-ann's health, to her mother's, to my good parents' and to that of princess ypsoff. mrs. simons wished to hear the history of that noble stranger, and by my faith, i did not keep it secret. good examples are never too well known. mary-ann gave charming attention to my recital. she thought that the princess had done well, and that a woman ought to take her happiness wherever she found it. proverbs are the wisdom of nations, and sometimes their success. i was cast upon the wind of prosperity, and i felt myself borne toward, i know not what terrestrial paradise. oh, mary-ann! the sailors who traverse the ocean have never had for guides two stars like your eyes! i was seated before her. passing the wing of a fowl to her, i leaned so near her that i saw my image reflected in her eyes. i found i looked well, monsieur, for the first time in my life! the frame set off the picture so well. a strange thought seized me. i felt that i had surprised, in this incident, a decree of destiny. it seemed to me that the beautiful mary-ann carried in the depths of her heart the image which i had discovered in her eyes. all this was not love, i know it well, i wish neither to accuse myself, nor to appropriate to myself a sentiment which i have never felt; but it was a firm friendship, and which would suffice, i thought, for a man about to enter the wedded state. no turbulent emotion stirred my heart, but i felt it melting slowly like a piece of wax in the warmth of a genial sun. under the influence of this reasonable ecstasy, i related to mary-ann and her mother the history of my life. i described to them the paternal mansion, the great kitchen where we all ate together; the copper sauce-pans hanging on the wall according to size; the strings of hams and sausages which hung in the inside of the chimney; our modest, and often hard life: the future of each of my brothers; henri ought to succeed papa; frederic was learning the tailor's trade; frantz and jean-nicholas had had positions since they were eighteen; the one as corporal, the other, as quarter-master sergeant. i told them of studies, my examinations, the little successes which i had enjoyed at the university, the beautiful future of professor to which i could lay claim, with three thousand francs income, at least. i do not know to what point my recital interested them, but i took great pleasure in it, and i stopped to drink from time to time. mrs. simons did not speak to me again about our discussion on marriage, and i was very happy. it is better not to say a word, than to talk in the air when we know ourselves so little. the day passed for me, like an hour; i mean as an hour of pleasure. the next day seemed long to mrs. simons; as for me, i would have liked to stop the sun in its course. i instructed mary-ann in the first principles of botany. ah! monsieur, the world does not know all the tender and delicate sentiments one can express in a lesson in botany. at last, on wednesday morning, the monk appeared on the horizon. he was a worthy man, taken altogether, this little monk! he had risen before dawn in order to bring us liberty in his pocket. he brought to the king a letter from the president of the bank, and to mrs. simons a letter from her brother. hadgi-stavros said to mrs. simons: "you are free, madame, and you may take mademoiselle, your daughter, away. i hope that you will not take away from our rocks too unpleasant memories. we have offered you all that we have; if the bed and the table have not been worthy of you, it is the fault of circumstances. i had this morning an angry fit, which i pray you to forget; one must pardon a conquered general. if i dared to offer a little present to mademoiselle, i would beg her to accept an antique ring which could be made to fit her finger. it does not come from any plunder we have taken; i bought it of a merchant of nauplie. mademoiselle will show this jewel in england, in relating her visit to the king of the mountains." i faithfully translated this little speech, and i slipped the king's ring on mary-ann's finger, myself. "and i," i asked of hadgi-stavros, "shall i carry away nothing by which to remember you?" "you, dear sir? but you remain! your ransom is not paid!" i turned toward mrs. simons, who held out to me the following letter: "dear sister: verification made, i have given the . liv. sterl. for the receipt. i have not advanced the other , because the receipt was not in your name, and it would be impossible to recover it. i am, while waiting your dear presence, always yours, "edward sharper." i had overdone my instructions to hadgi-stavros; to be quite business-like, he believed that he ought to send two receipts! mrs. simons said to me in a low tone: "you seem to be in great trouble! what good will it do to make such faces? show that you are a man, and leave that grievance for a whipped cur. the best part is done, since we are saved, my daughter and i, without its costing us anything. as for you, i am not uneasy about you; you know how to save yourself. your first plan, which was not feasible for two ladies, will be an admirable one for you alone. come, what day may we expect a visit from you?" i thanked her cordially. she offered such a fine opportunity for me to show off my personal qualities and to raise myself in mary-ann's esteem. "yes, madame, count on me! i will leave here a man of spirit, and much better if i run a little danger. i am glad that my ransom has not been paid, and i thank monsieur, your brother, for what he has done for me. you will see if a german does not know how to extricate himself from difficulties. yes, i will soon bring you my own messages!" "once out of here, do not fail to present yourself at our hotel." "oh! madame!" "and now beg this stavros to give us an escort of five or six brigands." "in god's name why?" "to protect us from the gendarmes!" vi. the escape. in the midst of our adieux, there came to us a powerful odor of garlic which made me ill. it was the waiting-maid who had come to the ladies, to call upon their generosity. this creature had been more annoying than useful, and since the first two days, the ladies had dispensed with her services. mrs. simons regretted, however, not being able to do anything for her, and asked me to inform the king how she had been robbed of her money. hadgi-stavros seemed neither surprised nor scandalized. he simply shrugged his shoulders, and muttered: "that pericles!--bad education--the city--the court--i ought to attend to that." he added out loud: "beg the ladies to not trouble themselves about anything. it is i who provided the servant and it is i who will pay her. tell them, that if they need a little money to return to the city, my purse is at their disposal. i will have them escorted to the foot of the mountain, although they will run no kind of danger. the soldiers are less to be feared than one thinks. they will find breakfast, horses and a guide in the village of castia: everything is provided and everything paid. do you think that they will give me the pleasure of shaking hands with me, in token of reconciliation?" mrs. simons was very reluctant, but her daughter resolutely held out her hand to the old palikar. she said to him in english, with roguish pleasantry: "it is much honor that you do us, very interesting, sir, because at this moment we are the clephtes, and you are the victim!" the king replied with much confidence: "thank you, mademoiselle; you are too good!" mary-ann's pretty hand was colored like a piece of rosy satin which had been in a shop-window for three months. believe, however, that i did not have to beg to kiss it. i then touched my lips to mrs. simons' skinny hand. "courage! monsieur," cried the old lady as she was going away. mary-ann said nothing; but she threw me a glance capable of rousing an army. such looks are worth a proclamation! when the last man of the escort had disappeared, hadgi-stavros took me to one side and said to me: "eh, well! we have then made some mistake!" "alas! yes, we were not clever." "this ransom is not paid. will it be? i believe so. these english women seem to be friendly to you." "be not uneasy: within three days i shall be far from parnassus." "all right, so much the better. i have great need of money, as you know. our bad luck on monday will tax our income heavily. we must make up our personal and material losses." "you can complain with good grace. you have obtained a hundred thousand francs at one stroke!" "no, ninety! the monk has already taken his tithe. of that sum, which seems enormous to you, there will be only twenty thousand for me. our expenses are considerable; there are heavy charges. what would be done if the company of stock-holders should decide to build a hotel des invalides, as has been talked of? there are always pensions to be paid to the widows and orphans of the band. fever and bullets yearly relieve us of thirty men, and you can see where that places us. our expenses would scarcely be met; i should have to pay money out of my own pocket, my dear sir!" "have you never happened to lose more than once?" "once, only. i had received fifty thousand francs on account, of the society. one of my secretaries, whom i afterward hung, fled to thessaly with the sum. i had to make up the deficit: i was responsible. my share amounted to seven thousand francs; i lost, then, forty-three thousand. but the knave who stole from me paid dearly. i punished him according to the persian mode. before hanging him, his teeth were pulled, one after the other, and they were driven, with a mallet, into his cranium--for a good example, you understand. i am not wicked, but i suffer no one to put me in the wrong." it rejoiced my heart that the old palikar, who was not wicked, should lose the eighty thousand francs of mrs. simons' ransom, and that he would receive the news when my cranium and my teeth were not in his camp. he put his arm through mine, and said familiarly: "how are you going to kill the time till your departure? these ladies are gone and the house will seem large. do you wish to look at the athenian papers? the monk brought some to me. i rarely read them. i know exactly the price the articles are worth, since i pay for them. here you will find the gazette officielle, l'esperance, pallicare, caricature. each one ought to speak of us. poor readers! i leave you. if you find anything curious, tell me about it." l'esperance, printed in french, and intended to fool europe, devoted a long article to denying the latest news of brigandage. it cleverly joked the simple travelers who saw a thief in every ragged peasant, an armed band in every cloud of dust, and who asked pardon of the first thorn-bush on which their clothes were caught. this truth-telling sheet vaunted the security of the roads, celebrated the disinterestedness of the natives, exalted the quiet and seclusion which one was sure of finding on all the mountains in the kingdom. the pallicare, printed under the supervision of some of hadgi-stavros' friends, contained an eloquent biography of its hero. it recounted that this theseus of modern times, the only man in our century who had never been vanquished, had made a sortie in the direction of the scironian rock. betrayed by the weakness of his companions, he had withdrawn with small loss. but seized with profound distaste for a degenerate profession, he had renounced, henceforth, the practice of brigandage, and had left greece; he had exiled himself in europe, where his fortune, gloriously acquired, would enable him to live like a prince. "and now," added the pallicare, "go, come, travel across the plain and in the mountain! bankers and merchants, greeks, strangers, travelers, you have nothing to fear; the king of the mountains wished, like charles v., to abdicate at the height of his glory and power." the gazette officielle read as follows: "sunday, d instant, at o'clock in the evening, the military chest containing , francs, which a large company was guarding on its way to argos, was attacked by the band of hadgi-stavros, known as the king of the mountains! the brigands, to the number of three or four hundred, fell upon the soldiers with incredible ferocity. but the first two companies of the second battalion of the th line, under the command of the brave nicolaidis, opposed them with a heroic resistance. the savage attacking party were repulsed at the point of the bayonet and left the field covered with the dead. report has it that hadgi-stavros was seriously wounded. our loss was insignificant. "the same day, and the same hour, her majesty's troops were victors in another skirmish, about ten leagues distant. it was at the summit of parnassus, four furlongs from castia, that the d company of the st battalion of gendarmes defeated hadgi-stavros' band. there, according to the report of the brave captain pericles, the king of the mountains was wounded. unfortunately, this success was dearly bought. the brigands, protected by the rocks and shrubs, had killed or seriously wounded ten of the soldiers. a young officer, m. spiro, graduate of the erelpides school, died a heroic death on the field of battle. in the presence of such great misfortunes, it is no mean consolation that there, as everywhere, the law reigns." the journal la caricature contained a badly printed lithograph, in which i recognized, however, captain pericles and the king of the mountains. the godson and godfather were holding each other in close embrace. below this cartoon, the artist had written the following sentence: "this is how they fought!" "it seems," i said to myself, "that i am not alone in their confidence, and that pericles' secret is an open secret." i folded up the papers, and while waiting the king's return, i meditated upon the position in which mrs. simons had left me. surely, it was fine to owe my freedom to no one but myself, and much braver to leave a prison by a feat of courage, than by a schoolboy's trick. i could, in a day or two, become a hero of romance, and the object of admiration of all the young girls in europe. no doubt mary-ann would adore me when she saw me safe and sound after so perilous an escape. i might make a misstep in that slippery path. what if i broke a leg or arm! would mary-ann look with favor on a lame and crippled man? i must, moreover, expect to be guarded night and day. my plan, ingenious as it was, could be executed only after the death of my guard. to kill a man is no small affair, even for a doctor. it is nothing in words, especially when one speaks to the woman whom one loves. but, since mary-ann's departure, i was no longer deranged. it seemed less easy to procure a weapon and to use it. a poniard thrust is a surgical operation which ought to make an honest man's flesh creep. what do you say, monsieur? i think that my future mother-in-law had treated her hoped-for son-in-law very contemptuously. it would not have cost her much to have sent me , francs ransom, taking them, later, out of mary-ann's dowry. fifteen thousand francs would have been of little value to me the day of my marriage. it seemed of much account in the condition in which i found myself, on the eve of murdering a man, and descending some hundreds of meters by a ladder without any rungs. i cursed mrs. simons as heartily as the generality of sons-in-law curse their mothers-in-law in all civilized lands. as i had maledictions to spare, i directed some of them against my friend john harris, who had abandoned me to my lot. i said to myself, that if we could have exchanged places, that i would never have left him eight days without news. i excused lobster, who was very young; and giacomo, who was not very intelligent, and also m. mérinay, whose downright selfishness i fully understood. one easily pardons treason in such egotists, because one never counts on them. but harris, who had risked his life to save an old negress in boston! was i not of as much account as a negress? i believed, in truth, without any aristocratic prejudices, that i was worth two or three times as much. hadgi-stavros came to change the course of my thoughts by offering a means of escape more simple and less dangerous. it was only necessary to have legs, and, thank god! i was not lacking in that particular. the king surprised me just as i was yawning fearfully. "do you feel dull?" he asked. "it is the reading. i never can open a book without fear of dislocating my jaws. i am pleased to see that doctors cannot endure it any better than i. but why not employ the time you remain to better advantage? you came here to gather the mountain plants; your box has received nothing these eight days. would you like to search for some, under guard of two men? i am too good a fellow for you to refuse this little favor. each must pursue his course in this lower world. you collect plants; i, money. you can say to those who sent you here: 'here are plants gathered in hadgi-stavros' kingdom!' if you find one which is beautiful and strange, and of which one has never heard in your country, you must give it my name, and call it the queen of the mountains!" "but truly," i thought, "if i was a league from here, with two brigands, would it not be possible to out-strip them? there was no doubt but that danger would give me double strength. he who runs best is he who has the most to gain! why is the hare the swiftest of all animals? because he is the most terrified!" i accepted the king's offer, and, on the spot, he placed two guards over me. he gave them no minute instructions. he simply said: "here is milord, worth , francs; if you lose him, you will have to bring him back or pay the sum." my attendants did not look like invalids; they had neither wounds, bruises, nor injury of any sort; their muscles were like steel, and it was not to be expected that they would be retarded by any constraint of their foot-gear, because they wore large moccasins, which left their heels bare. passing them in review, i noticed, not without regret, two pistols as long as children's guns. i, however, did not lose courage. by reason of keeping bad company, the whizzing of bullets had become familiar to me. i slung my box over my shoulder and started. "much pleasure to you!" cried the king. "adieu! sire!" "not so, if you please; au revoir!" i drew my companions in the direction of athens; it was so much gained from the enemy. they made no resistance, and allowed me to go where i wished. these bandits, much better brought up than pericles' four guards, allowed me plenty of room. i did not feel, at each step, the point of their elbows in my ribs. they picked on the path green stuff for the evening meal. as for me, i appeared very eager in my work; i pulled up, on the right hand and on the left, tufts of grass of no account; i pretended to choose a sprig from the mass, and i placed it very carefully in the bottom of my box, taking care not to overload myself; it was enough of a burden that i carried. i had once known, at a horse race, of a jockey who was beaten because he carried a burden weighing five kilogrammes. my gaze seemed fixed upon the ground, but you can well believe that the interest was feigned. under such circumstances one is not a botanist, one is a prisoner. pellison would never have amused himself with spiders if he had had a file with which to saw his bars. i may have, perhaps, seen that day unknown plants which would have made a naturalist's fortune; but i troubled myself no more about them than as if they had been common wall-flowers. i am sure that i passed near a fine specimen of the boryana variabilis! it would have weighed a half-pound with its roots. i did not even honor it with a look. i saw only two things: athens in the distance, and the two brigands on either side. i secretly watched the rascals' eyes, in the hope that something would distract their attention; but, whether they were right at hand or ten feet away, whether they were occupied in picking their salads or following the flight of the vultures, they kept an incessant watch on my movements. an idea came to me to give them serious occupation. we were in a narrow path, which evidently led towards athens. i saw at my left a beautiful bunch of broom which grew on the top of a rock. i pretended to be eager to secure it as a treasure. i made five or six attempts to scale the precipitous bowlder on which it blossomed. i seemed so determined to reach it that one of my guards offered himself as a short ladder. this was not exactly what i had counted on. i felt obliged to accept his services, but, in climbing upon his shoulders, i hurt him so cruelly with my hob-nailed shoes, that he groaned with agony and let me drop to the ground. his comrade, who was interested in the process of the enterprise, said to him: "wait! i will mount instead of milord, i have no nails in my shoes." no sooner said than done; he sprang up, seized it by the stalk, shook it, pulled it, tore it up by the root and cried out. i was already running away, without looking behind. their stupefaction gave me a good ten seconds' advantage. but they lost no time in accusing each other, for i soon heard them following me. i redoubled my efforts; the path was a good one, even, smooth, made for me. we descended a steep declivity. i ran desperately, my arms pressed to my sides, without noticing the stones which rolled under my heels, or looking to see where i put my feet. i fairly flew over the path; rocks and bushes on either side seemed to be running in the opposite direction; i was light-footed, i was supple, my body weighed little; i had wings. but the four foot-falls wearied my ears. suddenly, they ceased; i heard nothing more. had they become weary of following me? a little cloud of dust rose ten steps ahead of me. a little further on, a white spot suddenly appeared on a gray rock. i heard two detonations at the same instant. the brigands had discharged their pistols! i was not hit, and i still sped on. the pursuit began again; i heard the breathless voices calling to me: "stop! stop!" i did not stop. i lost the path, but i still ran on, not knowing where i was going. a ditch as wide as a river presented itself; but i was flying too fast to measure distances. i jumped, i was saved!--my suspenders broke!--i was lost! you laugh! i would like to see you run without suspenders, holding in both hands the band of your trousers! five minutes afterward, i was again a captive. the men hand-cuffed me, fettered my legs, and drove me with switches to hadgi-stavros' camp. the king treated me as a bankrupt who had carried away , francs. "monsieur," he said to me, "i had a better opinion of you. i thought i knew honest men! your face deceived me. i would never have believed that you were capable of doing wrong, above all, after the way in which i have treated you. do not be astonished if i, henceforth, use severe measures; you have forced me to do so. you will remain in your chamber until further orders. one of my officers will remain with you under your tent. this is only a precaution. in case of a repetition of the offense, it is punishment which will be given you. vasile, it is to thee i commit monsieur." vasile saluted me with his usual courtesy. "ah! wretch!" i thought, "it is thou who throwest infants into the fire! it is thou who wouldst have embraced mary-ann; it is thou who wouldst have stabbed me on ascension day. oh, well! i prefer to settle with thee rather than with another!" i will not relate to you the details of the three days i passed in my tent with vasile. the scamp gave me a dose of disgust which i do not wish to share with anyone. he did not wish me any ill; he even had a certain sympathy for me. i believe that if i had been his own prisoner, that he would have released me without ransom. my face had pleased him at first sight. i recalled to him a younger brother who had been condemned to death and hanged. but these friendly overtures wearied me a hundred times more than bad treatment. he did not wait until sunrise to say "good-morning" to me; at night-fall, he never missed a long list of successes which he wished me. he aroused me, in my deepest sleep, to ascertain if i was well covered. at table, he gave me good service; at dessert he begged of me to listen to some stories which he wished to relate. and always that hand was before me ready to shake mine. i fiercely opposed his advances. it seemed to me unnecessary to include a roaster of infants in my list of friends, and i had no desire to press the hand of a man whom i had condemned to death. my conscience permitted me to kill him; was it not a case of legitimate defense? but i did have scruples about killing him treacherously, and i ought, at least, to put him on his guard by hostile and menacing attitude. while repulsing his advances, his kindness, and repelling his polite attentions, i carefully watched for a chance to escape; but his friendship, more vigilant than hate, did not lose sight of me for an instant. when i hung over the cascade in order to impress upon my mind the unequal places in the bank, vasile would draw me from my contemplation with maternal solicitude: "take care!" he would say to me, pulling me back by the feet! "if thou shouldst fall by some unhappy chance, i should reproach myself all my life." when, at night, i stealthily tried to rise, he jumped from his bed, asking if i needed anything. never was there a more watchful rascal. he turned around me like a squirrel in a cage. what, above everything, made me despair, was the confidence he had in me. i expressed, one day, a desire to examine his arms. he placed his dagger in my hand. it was russian blade, of inlaid steel, from the famous sword factory of toula. i drew it from its sheath, i tried the point with my finger, i turned it toward his breast, choosing the place between the fourth and fifth ribs. "do not press on it, thou mightest kill me!" truly, by pressing on it a little, i could have given him his just desserts, but something stayed my hand. it is to be regretted that honest men recoil from killing assassins, when the latter feel no compunctions about killing honest people. i put the weapon back into its case. vasile held out his pistol to me, but i refused it, and i told him that my curiosity was satisfied. he cocked it, he made me look at the priming, he placed it on his head, and said to me: "see! thou art no longer guarded!" no longer guarded! eh! parbleu! that was exactly what i wished. but the occasion was too good a one, and the traitor paralyzed me. if i had killed him at such a moment, i would not have felt equal to enduring his last look. much better to give the blow in the night. unfortunately, instead of hiding his arms, he placed them ostensibly between his bed and mine. at last, i conceived a plan for escaping, without awakening him or killing him. the idea flashed across my mind, sunday, the th day of may, at o'clock. i had noticed, on ascension day, that vasile loved to drink, and that it took but little wine to intoxicate him. i invited him to dine with me. this exhibition of friendship mounted to his brain; the wine of aegina did the rest! hadgi-stavros, who had not honored me with a visit since i had lost his esteem, still acted as a generous host. my table was better served than his own. i could have drunk a goat-skin of wine or a cask of rhaki. vasile, admitted to his share of these luxuries, began the repast with touching humility. he kept three feet from the table, like a peasant invited to his master's house. little by little, the wine lessened the distance. at eight o'clock, my guardian explained his character to me. at nine, stutteringly related to me the adventures of his youth, and a series of exploits which would have made a criminal examining magistrate's hair stand on end. at ten, he became philanthropic; this heart of tempered steel was dissolving in the rhaki, like cleopatra's pearl in the vinegar. he swore to me that he became a bandit because of his love for humanity; that he would make his fortune in ten years, would found a hospital with his savings, and then retire to a monastery on mount athos. he promised that he would not forget me in his prayers. i took advantage of his good intentions in order to make him drink an enormous cup of rhaki. i might have offered him boiling pitch; he was too much my friend to refuse me. soon, he lost his voice; his head swung from the right to the left, from the left to the right, with the regularity of a pendulum; he held out his hand to me; it alighted on the remains of the roast, this he shook cordially, fell over on his back, and slept the sleep of the egyptian sphinx, which the french cannons have never awakened. i had not an instant to lose; the minutes were golden. i took his pistol, which i threw to the bottom of the ravine. i seized his dagger, and was going to throw that down also, when the thought came to me that it would be useful in cutting up the turf. my watch showed eleven o'clock. i extinguished the two torches of resinous wood which had lighted our table; the light might attract the king's attention. it was a beautiful night. no moon at all, but the sky was studded with stars; it was just the kind of night for my purpose. the turf, cut in long strips, came up like cloth. i had a sufficient quantity at the end of an hour. as i carried them to the spring, i stumbled against vasile. he raised himself, heavily, and through habit, asked me if i needed anything. i let fall my burden and seated myself near the drunken man, and begged him to drink one more cup to my health. "yes!" he mumbled, "i am thirsty." i filled for him the copper cup for the last time. he drank half of it; spilled the remainder over his face and neck, attempted to get up, fell over on his face, with his arms extended, and moved no more. i ran to my dike, and novice as i was, the brook was solidly dammed up in forty-five minutes; it was a quarter of one o'clock. to the noise of the cascade succeeded a profound silence. fear seized me. i reflected that the king probably slept lightly, like most old people, and that the unusual silence would probably awake him. in the tumult of thoughts which filled my mind, i remembered a scene in the barbier de seville, where bartholo was awakened when he ceased to hear a piano. i glided under the trees to the staircase, and looked toward the king's cabinet. he was sleeping peacefully beside his pipe-bearer. i crept stealthily along within twenty feet of his tree, i listened; all were asleep. i went back to my dam, passing through a puddle of icy water, which was already up to my ankles, flung myself down and looked over the abyss. the side of the mountain had gradually become polished. there were, here and there, cavities in which water had formed in pools. i had taken accurate note; these places were where i could put my feet. i returned to my tent, took my box which was suspended over my bed, and slung it over my shoulders. in passing the place where we had dined, i picked up a part of a loaf, and a piece of meat which the water had not yet wet. i put these provisions in my box for my breakfast next morning. the dam still held well, the wind ought to have dried my path; it was nearly two o'clock. i wished, in case of an encounter with any one, to take vasile's dagger, but it was under the water and i could lose no time searching for it. i took off my shoes, i tied them together, and hung them on the strap of my box. at last, after thinking of everything, throwing a last look at my earthworks, giving a thought to my family at home, and sending a kiss in the direction of athens and mary-ann, i threw one leg over the edge, i seized with both hands a tree which hung over the abyss, and i started out, trusting to god to help me. it was rough work, harder than i had supposed when looking down. the rock, not entirely dry, gave me a feeling of clammy cold, like the contact of a serpent. i had not calculated distances accurately, and the points of support were farther apart than i had hoped. twice i took a wrong course in moving to the left. i had to return, a work of incredible difficulty. hope abandoned me often, but not my will. my foot slipped; i mistook a shadow for a projection, and i fell fifteen or twenty feet, clinging with my hands and body to the side of the mountain, without finding a place to stop myself. a root of a fig-tree caught me by the cuff of my coat-sleeve, you can see the marks here. a little further on, a bird, hidden in a little hole, on the mountain side, flew out between my legs so suddenly, and frightened me so, that i almost fell head first. i advanced with feet and hands, especially with my hands. my arms seemed broken, and i heard the tendons creak like the cords of a harp. my nails were so cruelly torn that they ceased to pain me. perhaps, if i had been able to measure the distance still before me, i would have felt renewed strength; but when i turned my head, i became so dizzy that i abandoned the attempt. to sustain my courage, i talked to myself; i spoke out loud between my clenched teeth. i said: "one more step for my father! yet another for mary-ann! still one more for the confusion of the brigands and the rage of hadgi-stavros!" my feet at last rested on a broad ledge. it seemed to me that the soil had changed color. i bent my knees, i seated myself, i turned my head. i was only ten feet from the brook. i had reached the red rocks. the smooth stone, full of hollows, in which the water still stood, allowed me to take breath and rest a little. i drew out my watch; it was only half past two. i would have believed that my journey had taken three nights. i examined my arms and legs, to ascertain if i still possessed them all; in this kind of an expedition one never knows what will happen. i had had good luck; i had suffered some contusions and the skin was rubbed off in two or three places. the worst sufferer was my paletot. i looked up, not to thank heaven, but to assure myself that nothing had moved in my camping place. i heard only the drops of water filtering through my dam. all was well; i was reassured; i knew where to find athens; adieu to the king of the mountains! i was about to leap to the bottom of the ravine, when a whitish form jumped up before me, and i heard the most furious barking which had ever awakened morning echoes. alas! monsieur, the enemies of man roamed at all hours around the camp, and one of them had scented me. i cannot describe the fury and hate which possessed me at meeting him; one does not detest to this degree an irrational being. i would have much preferred to find myself face to face with a wolf, with a tiger, or a white bear, noble beasts, who would have eaten me without saying anything, but who would not have denounced me. ferocious beasts hunt for themselves; but to think of this horrible dog who was about to devour me, with a great uproar, in order to serve hadgi-stavros! i overwhelmed him with insults; i hurled the most odious names at him; do the best i could yet he spoke louder than i. i changed my tune, i tried the effect of kind words, i spoke to him sweetly in greek, in the tongue of his fathers; he gave but one response to all my advances, and the response awoke the mountain echoes. a thought struck me! i was silent; he ceased barking. i stretched myself out among the pools of water; he crouched at the foot of the rock with low growls. i pretended to sleep; he slept. i glided, inch by inch, toward the brook; he was up with a bound, and i had only time to regain my platform. my hat remained in the hands of the enemy, or rather, in the teeth of the enemy. an instant afterward, it was no more than a pulp, a chewed up mass, a rag of a hat! poor hat! i pitied it! i put myself in its place. if i could have escaped, less a few mouthfuls, i would not have considered the matter a great while, i would have made allowances for the dog's share. but these monsters are not satisfied with killing people, they eat them! i was convinced that he was hungry; that if i could find enough to surfeit him, he might possibly bite me, but he would not devour me. i had some provisions, i would sacrifice them; my only regret was that i did not have a hundred times more. i threw a piece of bread to him; he swallowed it in one mouthful; imagine a pebble which falls into a well. as i looked piteously at the small portion which still remained, i saw, in the bottom of the box, a white package, which gave me a new idea. it was a small amount of arsenic, used in my zoological preparations. i used it in stuffing birds, but no law prevented me from putting a few grains into the body of a dog. my speaker, with sharpened appetite, demanded more: "wait," i said to him, "i am going to give thee a morsel of my own making!" the package contained about grammes of a pretty powder, white and shining. i turned five or six into a small pool of water, and i put the remainder in my pocket. i carefully diluted a portion for the animal; i waited until the acid was well dissolved; i dipped into the solution a piece of bread, which soaked it all up, like a sponge. the dog sprang upon it with a good appetite and swallowed it at once. why was not i provided with a little strychnine, or some other good poison more fearful than arsenic? it was after three o'clock, and the results of my experiment were not instantaneous. about half after three, the dog began to howl with all his strength. i had not gained much; barking and howling, cries of fury, or of agony, were all to the same purpose--that is--the awakening of hadgi-stavros. soon the animal fell into frightful convulsions; he foamed at the mouth; he was seized with nausea, he made violent effort to throw off the poison. it was a sweet sight to me, and i enjoyed it; the death of the enemy was my only way of escape, and death was vanquishing him. i hoped that, conquered by the poison, he would permit me to leave; but he raged against me, he opened his foam-flecked and bloody jaws, as if to reproach me with my presents, and to tell me that he would not die without vengeance. i threw my handkerchief to him; he tore it as savagely as my hat. the sky began to lighten. i became convinced that i had committed a useless murder. an hour later, the brigands would be upon me. i looked up to that horrid place which i had left without expecting to return to it, and to which the dog's endurance was forcing me. a volume of water suddenly poured over the rock and threw me, face down. the icy water, filled with huge pieces of turf, stones, fragments of rock rolled over me. the dam had broken, and the whole body of water poured over my head. a trembling seized me! i became chilled, my blood congealed! i looked toward the dog; he was still at the foot of my rock, struggling with death, with the current, with anything, jaws open and eyes turned towards me. this must end. i took off my box, clutched it by the straps, and pounded that hideous head with such fury that the enemy left me the field of battle. the torrent seized him, rolled him over two or three times, and carried him, i know not where. i jumped into the water; it was up to my waist; i clung to the rocks; i went with the current; i was over the bank; i shook myself, i cried: "hurrah for mary-ann!" four brigands rose out of the earth! they caught me by the collar, saying: "here thou art, assassin! come! we will take thee back! the king will be happy! vasile will be avenged!" it appeared, that without knowing it, i had drowned my friend, vasile. at that time, monsieur, i had never killed a man; vasile was my first. i have fought others since, to defend myself and to save my life; but vasile is the only one who has caused me any remorse, although his end was, probably, the result of a very innocent imprudence. you know that it is only the first step! no murderer, discovered by the police, surrounded with soldiers and led to the scene of his crime, hung his head more humbly than i. i dared not raise my eyes to the good people who had arrested me; i did not feel equal to encountering the eyes of these reprobates; i trembled; i presented a guilty appearance; i knew that i must appear before my judge, and be placed before my victim. how could i confront the king's frown, after what i had done? how could i see, without dying of shame, the inanimate body of the unfortunate vasile? my knees shook; i would have fallen but for the kicks i received from those following me. i crossed the deserted camp, the king's cabinet, occupied by some of the wounded, and i descended, or, rather, i fell to the bottom of the staircase to my chamber. the waters had receded, leaving traces of mud everywhere. a small pool of water still remained where i had raised the dam. the bandits, the king, and the monk, stood in a circle, about a dark and muddy object, the sight of which made my hair stand on end: it was vasile! heaven preserve you, monsieur, from the sight of a corpse of your own making! the water and the mud, rushing over him, had deposited on him a hideous layer. have you ever seen a great fly which had been caught, three or four days before, in a large spider-web? the artisan of the web, not being able to rid himself of his visitor, had enveloped him in a tangle of gray threads, and changed him to an unformed and unrecognizable mass. such was vasile a few hours after he had dined with me. i found him ten feet from the path where i had bidden him farewell. i do not know whether the brigands had laid him there, or whether he had thrown himself there, in his convulsions of agony; i am inclined to believe, however, that death had come to him gently. full of wine as i had left him, he must have succumbed, without a struggle, to some cerebral congestion. a menacing murmur, which was a bad augury, greeted my arrival. hadgi-stavros, with pale and contracted brow, walked up to me, seized me by the left wrist, and dragged me so violently that he dislocated my arm. he threw me into the middle of the circle with such force, that i almost fell on my victim; i instantly recoiled. "look!" he cried in thundering tones, "look at what you have done! rejoice in your work; gaze upon your crime! wretch! but where would you have stopped? who would have said, the day i received you here, that i had opened my door to an assassin?" i stammered some excuses; i tried to show the judge that i was guilty only of imprudence. i warmly accused myself of having intoxicated my guardian in order to escape his watchfulness, and to flee without hindrance from my prison; but i defended myself from the crime of assassinating him. was it my fault if the rise of waters drowned him an hour after my departure? the proof that i had wished him no evil, was that i had not stabbed him when he was dead drunk, and that i had his weapons at hand. they could wash the body and see that he was not wounded. "at least," the king replied, "confess that your act was very selfish and very culpable! when your life was not threatened, when you were held here for only a small sum, you fled through avarice; you thought only of saving a few écus, and you did not trouble yourself about this poor unfortunate whom you left to die! you never thought of me! that you were going to deprive me of a valuable officer! and what moment did you choose to betray us? the day on which all kinds of troubles assailed us; when i had sustained a defeat; when i had lost my best soldiers; when sophocles was wounded; when the corfuan was dying; when the little spiro, upon whom i relied, was killed; when all my men were weary and discouraged; it was then you had the heart to relieve me of vasile! have you, then, no humane sentiments? would it not have been a hundred times better to have paid your ransom honestly, as became a good prisoner, than to have it said you sacrificed a life for , francs?" "eh! zounds! you have killed people, and for less!" he replied with dignity: "that is my business; it is not yours. i am a brigand, and you are a doctor. i am greek, and you are german." to that, i had nothing to reply. i felt convinced from the trembling of every fiber of my heart, that i had neither been born nor brought up to the profession of killing men. the king, angry at my silence, raised his voice, and said: "do you know, miserable young man, who was the excellent man of whose death you are guilty? he was a descendant of those heroic brigands of souli who fought fierce battles for their religion, and against ali de tebelen, pasha of janina. for four generations, all of his ancestors have either been hung or decapitated; not one has died in his bed. only six years ago, his own brother perished in epirus, having been condemned to death; he had killed a mohammedan. devotion and courage are hereditary in that family. never did vasile forget his religious duties. he gave to the churches; he gave to the poor. at easter, he always lighted a larger taper than any one else. he would have killed himself rather than violate the law of abstinence, or eat meat on a fast-day. he economized in order to retire to a convent on mount athos. did you know it?" i humbly confessed that i did know it. "do you know that he was the most steadfast of all my band? i do not wish to detract from the personal merit of those who are listening to me, but vasile possessed a blind devotion, a fearless obedience, a true zeal under all circumstances. no labor was too great for his courage; no occupation too repugnant for his fidelity. he would have killed every one in the kingdom if i had ordered him to do so. he would have torn out his best friend's eye, if i had given him a sign with my little finger. and you have killed him! poor vasile! when i shall have a village to burn, a miser to torture, a woman to cut in pieces, an infant to burn alive, who will replace thee?" all the brigands, electrified by this funeral oration, cried in one voice. "we! we!" some held out their arms to the king, others unsheathed their daggers; the most zealous leveled their pistols at me. hadgi-stavros checked their enthusiasm: he stepped in front of me to shield me, and went on with his discourse in these words: "be consoled, vasile, thou shalt not rest without vengeance. if i listened only to my grief, i would offer to thy manes thy murderer's head; but it is worth , francs, and that thought restrains me. thou, thyself, if thou couldst speak, as formerly in our councils, thou wouldst beg me to spare him; thou wouldst refuse so costly a vengeance. it is not proper, in the circumstances in which thy death has left us, to do foolish things, and to throw money away." he stopped a moment; i drew a deep breath. "but," the king went on, "i will know how to reconcile interest with justice. i will chastise the guilty one without risking the capital. his punishment shall be the most beautiful ornament of funeral obsequies; and, from above, from the homes of the palikars, to which thy spirit has gone, thou shalt contemplate, with joy, an expiatory punishment, which shall not cost us a sou!" this peroration aroused the audience. i was the only one not charmed. i puzzled my brain trying to imagine what the king had in store for me, and i felt so little assured, that my teeth chattered. surely, i ought to esteem myself happy to save my life, and the preservation of my head seemed no mean advantage; but i knew the inventive imagination of these greeks of the highway. hadgi-stavros, without putting me to death, could inflict such chastisement as would make me hate life. the old rascal refused to inform me as to what punishment he had in store for me. he pitied my agony so little, that he compelled me to assist in the funeral ceremonies of his lieutenant. the body was stripped of its garments, carried to the brook, and bathed. vasile's features were changed but little; his mouth, half-open, still bore the silly smile of the drunkard; his open eyes preserved a stupid look. his limbs had not lost their suppleness; the rigor mortis does not come, for a long time, to those who die by accident. the king's coffee-bearer and pipe-bearer proceeded to dress the dead. the king bore the expenses as heir. vasile had no relatives, and all his property reverted to the king. they clothed the body in a fine shirt, a shirt of beautiful percale, and a vest embroidered with silver. they covered his wet locks with a bonnet which was nearly new. they put leggins of red silk on the legs which would never run again. slippers of russia leather were slipped on his feet. in all his life, poor vasile had never been so clean nor so gorgeous. they touched his lips with carmine; they whitened and rouged his face as if he was a young actor about to step on the stage. during the whole operation, the bandit orchestra executed a lugubrious air, which you must have heard in the streets of athens. i congratulate myself that i did not die in greece, because the music is abominable, and i never could have consoled myself, if i had been buried to that air. four brigands began to dig a grave in the middle of the chamber, upon the place where mrs. simons' tent stood, and on the spot where mary-ann had slept. two others ran to the store-house to find wax-tapers, which they distributed. i was given one with all the others. the monk intoned the service for the dead. hadgi-stavros made the responses in firm tones which went to the depths of my soul. there was a light breeze, and the wax from my taper fell upon my hand in a burning shower; but that, alas! was a small thing in comparison with what awaited me. i would have willingly endured that trouble, if the ceremony could never have been finished. it was finished at last. when the last oration had been delivered, the king solemnly approached the bier on which the body lay, and kissed vasile's lips. the bandits, one by one, followed his example. i shivered at the thought that my turn was coming. i tried to hide behind two who had already performed their duty, but they saw me and said: "it is your turn! start then! you certainly owe him that!" was this, at last, the expiation which awaited me? a just man would have been satisfied, at least. i swear to you, monsieur, that it is no child's play to kiss the lips of a corpse, above all, when one can reproach one's self with being the instrument of his death. i walked toward the bier, i looked at the face whose eyes seemed to laugh at my embarrassment. i bent my head, i slightly touched the lips. a humorous brigand applied his hand to the nape of my neck. my mouth struck the cold lips! i felt the icy teeth, and seized with horror, i raised my head, carrying away with me i know not what terror of death, which seizes me at this moment! women are very fortunate, they have the resource of fainting! they then lowered the body into the earth, they threw in a handful of flowers, a loaf of bread, an apple, and a little wine. this latter was the thing of which he had the least need. the grave was quickly filled, more quickly than i wished. a brigand observed that they must get two sticks for a cross. hadgi-stavros replied: "be quiet! we will put up milord's sticks." i leave it to you to think whether my heart beat tumultuously. what sticks? what was there in common between sticks and me? the king made a sign to his pipe-bearer, who ran to the office and came back with two long laurel poles. hadgi-stavros took the funeral bier and laid it upon the grave. he pressed it down hard into the freshly turned earth, and he raised it up at one end, while the other lay in the soil, and he smilingly said to me: "it is for you that i am working! take off your shoes, if you please!" he must have read in my eyes a question full of agony and terror, for he replied to the demand which i dared not address to him: "i am not wicked, and i have always detested useless severity. that is why i wish to inflict on you a chastisement which will be of use to us, inasmuch as it will dispense with any future watchfulness over you. you have had for several days a craze to escape. i hope, that when you have received twenty blows of the stick upon the soles of your feet, you will no longer need to be watched, and your love for traveling will cease for some time. i know what the punishment is; the turks treated me to a dose of it in my youth, and i know, by experience, that one does not die of it. one suffers much from it; you will cry out, i warn you of it. vasile will hear from the depths of his tomb, and he will be pleased with us." at this announcement, my first thought was to use my legs while i still had the freedom to do so. but you must believe that my will was very weak, for it was impossible to put one foot before the other. hadgi-stavros raised me from the ground as lightly as we pick up an insect in our path. i felt myself bound down and unshod, before a thought, leaving my brain, had time to act upon any of my members. i knew neither upon what they supported my feet, nor how they kept them from falling at the first stroke of the stick. i saw the two sticks lifted in the air, the one to the right, the other to the left; i closed my eyes and waited. i certainly did not wait the tenth part of a second, and yet, so short a time was sufficient to send a tender thought to my father, a kiss to mary-ann, and more than a hundred imprecations to be divided between mrs. simons and john harris. i did not become unconscious for an instant; it is a weakness which i never possessed, i have told you so. there was, also, nothing to lose. the first blow was so terrific that i believed that those which followed could amount to little. it took me in the middle of the soles, under that small, elastic arch, just in front of the heel, which supports the body. it was not the foot that hurt me most that time; but i believed that the bones of my poor legs were breaking in pieces. the second blow struck lower, just under the heels; it gave me a shock, profound, violent, which made my whole vertebral column quiver, and filled my brain with a frightful tumult that almost split my cranium. the third was given directly on the toes and produced an acute and stinging sensation, which shot all over my body and made me believe, for an instant, that the stick had hit me on the end of the nose. it was at this moment that the blood flowed for the first time. the blows succeeded each other in the same order and in the same places, at equal intervals. i had enough courage to keep silent during the first two; i cried out at the third; i howled at the fourth; i groaned at the fifth, and those which followed. at the tenth, the flesh itself could suffer no more; i was silent. but the prostration of my physical force diminished, in no wise, the clearness of my perceptions. i could not have raised my eyelids, and yet the lightest sounds reached my ears. i lost no word of what was said around me. it was an observation which i shall remember later, if i practice medicine. doctors do not hesitate to condemn a sick man, four feet from his bed, without thinking that perhaps the poor devil can hear them. i heard a young brigand say to the king: "he is dead. what good to weary two men without profit to any one?" hadgi-stavros replied: "fear nothing. i received sixty, one after another, and two days afterward i danced the romanique." "how didst thou do that?" "i used the pomade of the italian renegade, ludgi-bey--where were we? how many blows?" "seventeen." "three more, my children; and lay on the last ones hard." the stick had done its work well. the last blows fell upon a bloody but insentient mass of flesh. pain had nearly paralyzed me! they raised me from the stretcher; they unbound the cords; they swathed my feet with compresses dipped in fresh water, and, as i had the thirst of the wounded, they gave me a large cup of wine. anger returned with my strength. i do not know whether you have ever been bastinadoed, but i know nothing more humiliating than physical chastisement. in order to become the sovereign of the whole world, i would not, for an instant, be the slave of a vile stick. born in the nineteenth century, understanding the use of steam and electricity, possessing a good share of the secrets of nature, knowing thoroughly all that science has invented for the well-being and security of man, knowing also how to cure fevers, how to prevent taking small-pox, and then, not to be able to defend one's self against a blow from a stick. it is a little too much, surely! if i had been a soldier and had submitted to corporal punishment, i should certainly have killed my chiefs! when i felt myself seated on the slimy ground, my feet paralyzed with pain, my hand useless; when i saw around me the men who had beaten me, the ones who had struck me and those who had seen me punished; anger, shame, a feeling of outraged dignity, of justice violated, of intelligence brutalized, swept through my enfeebled body in a wave of hate, of revolt, and of vengeance. i forgot everything, prudence, interest, discretion, the future, and i gave free vent to the thoughts which stifled me; a torrent of abuse poured from my lips, while an overflow of bile mounted to my eyes. surely, i am no orator, and my solitary studies have given me no exercise in the use of words, but indignation, which has made some poets, lent me, for a quarter of an hour, the savage eloquence of those prisoners who rendered up their souls with insults and who breathed their last sighs in the face of the roman conquerors. everything which can outrage a man in his pride, in his affections, and in his dearest sentiments i said to the king of the mountains. i put him in the rank with unclean animals, and i denied him even the name of man. i insulted him through his mother, his wife, his daughter, and all of his posterity. i would like to repeat to you, verbatim, all that i made him listen to, but words are wanting to-day, as i am not angry. i invented terms which are not found in the dictionary, but which were understood, however, for the audience of outcasts howled under my words like a pack of hounds under the lash of whippers-in. but although i kept watch of the old palikar, eagerly scanning the muscles of his face, and searching for the slightest trace of a frown, i could discern not the slightest sign of emotion. hadgi-stavros' face was like that of a marble statue. he replied to all insults with a contemptuous silence. his attitude exasperated me to madness. i was certainly insane for a moment. a red cloud like blood passed before my eyes. i rose suddenly on my wounded feet. i saw a pistol thrust in the waist-band of one of the brigands, i pulled it out, i aimed it at the king, i drew the trigger, and fell back murmuring, "i am avenged!" it was the king himself who raised me. i looked at him with an astonishment as great as if i had seen him walking out of hell. he seemed not at all moved, and smiled as tranquilly as an immortal. and moreover, monsieur, i had not missed him. my ball had touched his forehead, a little above the left eyebrow; a trace of blood testified to it. possibly the pistol was badly loaded, or the powder poor, or it may be, that the ball had glanced across the bone, but whatever it was, my bullet had made only an abrasion. the invulnerable monster seated me carefully on the ground, leaned toward me, pulled my ear and said: "why do you attempt the impossible, young man? i warned you that i had a head that was bullet-proof, and you know that i never lie. were you not told that ibrahim had seven egyptians shoot at me and that he was unsuccessful? i hope that you do not pretend to be more powerful than seven egyptians? but do you know that you have a nimble hand for a northern man? peste! if my mother, of whom you spoke lightly a few moments ago, had not endowed me with strength, i would now be a dead man. another, in my place, would have died without having time to say, 'thank you!' as for me, such things rejuvenate me. it recalls my best days. at your age, i exposed my life four times a day, and i only digested the better for it. come, i will pardon you your hasty action. but as all my subjects are not proof against bullets, and that you may commit no new imprudence, i shall apply to your hands the same treatment as your feet received. nothing prevents us from punishing you immediately; i will wait, however, until to-morrow, in the interests of your health. you see the stick is a blunt weapon which kills no one; you have yourself proved that one bastinadoed man is worth two. to-morrow's ceremony will occupy you. prisoners do not know how to pass the time. it was idleness which gave you bad counsels. rest easy, moreover; as soon as your ransom arrives, i will cure your wounds. i still have some of ludgi-bey's balm. there will be no signs of them at the end of two days, and you can dance at the ball at the palace, without telling your partners that they are leaning on the arm of a cavalier who has been beaten." i am not a greek, and the insults wounded me as grievously as the blows. i shook my fist in the old rascal's face, and cried out with all my strength: "no, wretch! my ransom will never be paid! no! i have not asked anyone for the money! thou wilt get from me only my head, which will serve thee nothing. take it quickly if it seems good to thee. it will do me a favor and thyself also. thou wilt spare me two weeks of torture, and the disgust of looking at thee, which is the most of all. thou wilt save my board for fifteen days. do not miss it, it is the only benefit that thou wilt reap from me!" he smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and replied: "ta! ta! ta! ta! thus it is with young people! extremists in everything! they throw the helve after the hatchet. if i listened to you, i would regret it before eight hours had passed, and so would you. the englishwomen will pay, i am sure of it. i know women yet, although i have lived in retirement for a long time. what would be said if i killed you to-day, and your ransom arrived to-morrow? the story would go out that i had broken my word, and my prisoners would allow themselves to be killed like sheep, without asking a centime of their parents. it would spoil the trade." "ah! thou believest that the englishwomen will pay thee, my clever fellow? yes, they will pay thee as thou meritest!" "you are very good." "their ransom will cost thee , francs, dost thou hear? eighty thousand francs out of thy pocket!" "do not say such things. one would think that the blows of the stick had turned your brain." "i tell thee the truth. dost thou recall the name of thy prisoners?" "no, but i have it in writing." "i will jog thy memory. the lady called herself mrs. simons." "well!" "partner of the firm of barley in london." "my banker?" "precisely." "how doest thou know my banker's name?" "because thou didst dictate before me." "what matter, after all? they cannot escape; they are not greeks, they are english; the courts--i will make complaint!" "and thou wouldst lose. they have a receipt!" "that is so. but by what mischance did i give them a receipt?" "because i advised thee to do it, poor man!" "wretch! dog wrongly baptized! heretic of hell! thou hast ruined me! thou hast betrayed me! thou hast robbed me! eighty thousand francs! i am responsible! if they were the bankers of the company, i would lose only my share. but they hold only my capital; i shall lose it all. art thou very sure that she is a partner of the firm of barley?" "as i am sure of dying to-day." "no! thou shalt not die till to-morrow. thou hast not suffered enough. we will make thee pay for those , francs. what punishment can we invent? eighty thousand francs! eighty thousand deaths would be little. what have i done to this traitor who has robbed me! peuh! child's play, a pleasantry! he has not howled two hours! i must invent something better. but may be there are two firms of the same name?" "cavendish square, no. ." "yes, it is the same. fool! why didst thou not warn me instead of betraying me? i would have asked double the sum. they would have paid it; they have the means. i would not have given the receipt; i will never give another. no! no! it is the last time! received a hundred thousand francs of mrs. simons! what a foolish sentence! was it really i who dictated that? but i reflect now; i did not sign it. yes, but my seal is equal to a signature! there are twenty letters in my name. why didst thou demand this receipt? what do you expect from those ladies? fifteen thousand francs for thy ransom? selfishness, everywhere! thou shouldst have confided in me; i would have let thee go without the ransom; i would even have paid thee. if thou art poor, as thou sayest thou art, thou shouldst know how good money is. thou thinkest only of a sum of , francs? dost thou know what a heap that would make in a room? how many pieces of gold? how much money one could make in business with , francs? it is a calamity! thou hast robbed me of a fortune! thou hast robbed my daughter, the only being i love in the world. it is for her that i work. but, if thou knowest my affairs, thou knowest that i scour the mountains for a whole year to gain , francs. thou hast plundered me of two years' income; it is as if i had slept for two years!" i had then found the tender chord. the old palikar was touched to the heart. i knew that there was a heavy score against me, and i expected no mercy, and moreover, i experienced an intense joy in seeing that impassable mask torn asunder and that stony face wrung with emotion. i rejoiced to see in his wrinkled face, the convulsive movements of passion, as the ship-wrecked boat lost in a raging sea, admires, afar off, the wave which is to engulf it. i was like the thinking reed, which the brutal universe crushes into a shapeless mass, and which consoles itself in dying with the lofty thought of its superiority. i said to myself, with pride: "i shall die by torture, but i am the master of my master, and the executioner of my execution!" vii. john harris. the king contemplated his vengeance, as a man who has fasted three days contemplates a bountiful repast. he examined, one by one, all the dishes, i mean to say all the tortures; he licked his dry lips, but he knew not where to commence nor what to choose. one would have said that excess of hunger spoiled his appetite. he struck his head with his fist, as if he could force out some ideas, but they came so rapidly that it was not easy to seize one in its passage. "speak!" he cried to his subjects. "advise me! what good are you, if you are not able to give me advice? shall i await the coming of the corfuan, or until vasile shall speak from the depths of his tomb? find for me, beasts that you are, some torture for the loss of , francs." the young pipe-bearer said to his master: "an idea strikes me. thou hast one officer dead, another absent, and a third wounded. put up their places for competition. promise us that those who shall tell of the best way to avenge thee, shall succeed sophocles, the corfuan, and vasile." hadgi-stavros smiled complacently at this stratagem. he stroked the young boy's chin and said to him: "thou art ambitious, my little man! all in good time! ambition is the result of courage. agreed, for a competition! it is a modern idea, a european idea, that pleases me. to reward thee, thou shalt give thy advice, first; and if thou findest something very good, vasile shall have no other heir but thee." "i would," said the child, "pull out some of my lord's teeth, put a bit in his mouth, and make him run, bridled, till he dropped from fatigue." "his feet are too sore; he would fall down at the first step. and you others? tambouris, moustakas, coltzida, milotia, speak, i am listening." "i," said coltzida, "i would break boiling hot eggs under his arm-pits. i tried it on a woman of magara, and i had much fun." "i," said tambouris, "i would put him on the ground with a rock weighing five hundred pounds on his chest. it thrusts out one's tongue and makes one spit blood; it is fine!" "i," said milotia, "i would put vinegar in his nostrils, and drive thorns under every nail. one sneezes violently and one does not know what to do with one's hands." moustakas was one of the cooks of the band. he proposed to cook me in front of a small fire. the king's face expanded. the monk assisted at the conference, and let them talk without giving his advice. he, however, took pity on me, according to the measure of his sensibility, and helped me as far as his intelligence permitted. "moustakas," he said, "is too wicked. one can torture milord finely without burning him alive. if you will give him salt meat without allowing him to drink he will live a long time, he will suffer a great deal, and the king will satisfy his vengeance without interfering with god's vengeance. it is my disinterested advice which i give you; i shall make nothing by it; but i wish everyone to be pleased, since the monastery has received its tithe." "halt, there!" interrupted the coffee-bearer. "good old man, i have an idea which is better than thine. i condemn milord to die of hunger. the others will do any evil to him which pleases them; i will not hinder them. but i would place a sentinel before his mouth, and i would take care that he had neither a drop of water nor a crumb of bread. weakness would redouble his hunger; his wounds would increase his thirst, and the tortures of the others would finally finish him to my profit. what dost thou say, sire? is it not well reasoned and will it not give me vasile's place?" "go to the devil, all of you!" cried the king. "you would reason less calmly if the wretch had plundered you of , francs! carry him away to the camp and take your pleasure out of him. but unhappy the one who kills him by any imprudence! this man must die only by my hand. i intend that he shall reimburse me, in pleasure, for all that he has taken from me in money. he shall shed his blood drop by drop, as a bad debtor who pays sou by sou." you would not believe, monsieur, with what struggles the most wretched man will cling to life. truly, i longed to die; and the happiest thing which could happen to me would be to end it all with one blow. something, however, rejoiced me at hadgi-stavros' threat. i blessed the extension of my time. hope sprang up in my heart. if a charitable friend had offered to blow out my brains i would have looked twice at him. four brigands took me by the shoulders and legs and carried me, a shrieking mass, to the king's cabinet. my voice awakened sophocles on his pallet. he called his companions and made them tell him the news, and asked to look at me closely. it was the caprice of a sick person. they threw me down by his side. "milord," he said to me, "we are both very weak, but the odds are that i shall get well sooner than you do. it appears that they are already talking of my successor. how unjust men are! my place is up for competition. oh, well! i wish to compete and to put myself in the race. you will bear witness in my favor and your groans will testify that sophocles is not yet dead. you shall be bound, and i take upon myself the pleasure of tormenting you with one hand, as spiritedly as the strongest of the band." in order to please the unfortunate fellow they bound me. he turned over towards me and began to pull out hairs, one by one, with the patience and the regularity of a professional hair remover. when i saw what this new punishment was to be, i believed that the wounded man, touched by my misery, and sympathizing with me because of his own sufferings, wished to shield me from his comrades, and give me an hour's respite. the extraction of one hair is not so painful, by a good deal, as the prick of a pin. the first twenty came out, one after the other, without any discomfiture. but soon i changed my tune. the scalp, irritated by a multitude of imperceptible lesions, became inflamed. a dull itching began on my head; it became a little livelier; and at last it was intolerable. i would like to have raised my hands to my head; i understood with what intuition the wretch had had me bound. impatience but aggravated the trouble; all the blood in my body rushed to my head. every time sophocles approached his hand to my scalp, a woful shivering seized my whole body. a thousand inexplicable stingings tormented my arms and legs. the nervous system, irritated at every point, enveloped me in a network more exasperating than dejanire's tunic. i rolled over on the ground, i groaned, i cried for mercy, i regretted the bastinado. the executioner had pity on me only when he had completely exhausted himself. when he felt his eyes become dim, his head heavy, and his arm weary, he made a last effort, plunged his hand into my hair, seized a fist full, and fell over on his pallet, drawing from me a despairing cry. "come with me," said moustakas. "thou shalt decide, in a corner by the fire, if i can compete with sophocles, and whether i merit a lieutenancy." he raised me like a feather and carried me to the camp, in front of a heap of resinous wood and piled up brushwood. he took off the bonds, he stripped me of my clothes, leaving me only my trousers. "thou shalt be my under-cook," he said. "we will make the fire and we will prepare the king's dinner, together." he lighted the stack of wood and laid me out on my back, about two feet from the mountain of flames. the wood crackled, the red cinders fell like hail around me. the heat became unbearable. i hitched along with my hands a little distance, but he came with a frying-pan in his hand, and pushed me back with his foot to the place where he had first laid me. "look well, and profit by my lessons. here are the heart, liver, and kidneys from three sheep; there is enough to feed twenty men. the king will choose the most delicate morsels; he will distribute the remainder to his men. thou wilt have none of it for the present, and if thou tastest my cooking, it will be with the eyes only." i soon heard the bubbling in the sauce pan, and it reminded me that i had been fasting since the evening before. my hunger added one more torment. moustakas held the pan under my eyes and made me look at the appetizing color of the meat. he thrust it under my nose and i smelled the steam of the food. suddenly he perceived that he had forgotten the seasoning, and he hurried away to find the salt and pepper, leaving the sauce pan to my care. the first idea which came to me was to steal a piece of the meat, but the brigands were only ten feet away; they would stop me at once. "if i only had my package of arsenic," i thought. what could i have done with it? i had not put it back in my box. i thrust my hands into my pockets. i drew out a soiled paper and a handful of that beneficent powder, which would save me, perhaps, or at least avenge me. moustakas returned at the instant when i was holding my open hand above the sauce pan. he seized me by the arm, looked me straight in the eye, and said in a menacing tone: "i know what thou hast done." i dropped my arm discouraged. the cook added: "yes, thou hast thrown something over the king's dinner." "what?" "a spell. but no matter. believe me, my poor milord, hadgi-stavros is a greater sorcerer than thou art. i am going to serve his dinner. i will have my part of it, but thou shalt not taste it." "great good may it do thee!" he left me before the fire, placing me in the care of a dozen brigands who were crunching black bread and bitter olives. these spartans kept me company for an hour or two. they attended to my fire with the watchfulness of sick nurses. if, at times, i attempted to drag myself a little further away from my torture they cried out: "take care, thou wilt freeze!" and they pushed me toward the flames with heavy blows of the burning brushwood. my back was covered with red spots, my skin was raised in blisters, my eye-lashes had succumbed to the heat of the fire, my hair exhaled an odor of burning horn, and yet i rubbed my hands in glee at the thought of the king eating my cooking and that something startling would happen upon parnassus before night. very soon hadgi-stavros' men re-appeared in the camp, stomachs filled, eyes shining, faces smiling. "go on!" i thought, "your joy and your health will soon fall like a mask, and you will curse each mouthful of the feast which i seasoned for you!" the celebrated poisoner, locuste, must have passed some very pleasant moments during her life. when one has reason to hate men, it is pleasure enough to see a vigorous being who goes, who comes, who laughs, who sings, while carrying in his intestines a seed of death which will spring up and devour him. it is a little like the same joy a good doctor experiences at the sight of a dying man whom he is able to bring back to life. locuste used medicine inversely, as i did. my malevolent reflections were interrupted by a singular tumult. the dogs barked in chorus, and a messenger, out of breath, appeared on the plateau with the whole pack at his heels. it was dimitri, the son of christodule. some stones thrown by the bandits freed him from his escort. he shouted at the top of his lungs: "the king! i must speak to the king!" when he was about twenty steps from us, i called to him in a doleful tone. he was terrified at the state in which he found me, and he cried out: "the fools! poor girl!" "my good dimitri!" i said to him, "where dost thou come from? will my ransom be paid?" "the ransom is well at stake, but fear nothing, i bring good news. good for you, bad for me, for him, for her, for everybody! i must see hadgi-stavros. there is not a moment to lose. until i come back, suffer no one to do you any harm; she would die for it! you hear, you wretches; do not touch milord. for your life. the king would cut you in pieces. conduct me to the king!" the world is such that a man who speaks as a master is almost sure of being obeyed. there was so much authority in the voice of this servant, and his passion expressed itself in a tone so imperious that my guards, astonished and stupefied, forgot to keep me near the fire. i crept some distance away, and deliciously reposed upon the cold rock, until hadgi-stavros' arrival. he appeared not less agitated than dimitri. he took me in his arms like a sick child, and carried me, without stopping, to that fatal chamber where vasile was buried. he laid me on his own carpet with maternal solicitude; he stepped back and looked at me with a curious mixture of hate and pity. he said to dimitri: "my child, this is the first time that i have left such a crime unpunished. he killed vasile, that was nothing. he would have assassinated me, i pardoned him. but he robbed me, the scamp! eighty thousand francs less in photini's dowry! i sought for a punishment equal to his crime. oh, rest easy! i should have found it. unhappy that i am! why did i not restrain my anger? i have treated him harshly. and she will bear the penalty. if she receives two blows of the stick upon her little feet i shall never see her again. men do not die of it, but a woman, a child of fifteen!" he cleared the place of all the men who were crowding around us. he gently unwound the bloody bandages which enveloped my wounds. he sent his pipe-bearer for the balm of ludgi-bey. he seated himself on the damp grass in front of me, he took my feet in his hands and looked at the wounds. an almost incredible thing to tell! there were tears in his eyes! "poor child!" he said, "you have suffered cruelly. pardon me. i am an old brute, a wolf of the mountain, a palikar. i was trained in ferocity from twenty years of age. but you see that my heart is good, since i regret what i have done. i am more unhappy than you, because your eyes are dry and i weep. i shall set you at liberty without a moment's delay, or rather, no, you cannot go away thus. i will cure you first. the balm is a sovereign remedy. i will care for you as for a son. health shall return quickly. you must be able to walk to-morrow. she must not remain a day longer in your friend's hands. in the name of heaven tell no one of our quarrel to-day! you know that i do not hate you! i have said so often. i sympathized with you and i gave you my confidence. i told you my most sacred secrets. do you not remember that we were friends until vasile's death? an instant's anger must not make you forget twelve days of good treatment. you would not wish to break a father's heart. you are an honest young man; your friend ought to be good like you." "but who, then?" "who? that cursed harris! that devilish american! that execrable pirate! that kidnapper of children! that assassin of young girls! that wretch whom i wish i held with you so that i could crush you in my hands, grind you together, and scatter your dust to the winds of my mountains! you are all the same, europeans, a race of traitors, who dare not attack men, and who have courage to fight only against children. read what he has written me and tell me if there are tortures cruel enough to chastise a crime like his!" he savagely hurled a crumpled letter at me. i instantly recognized the writing, and i read: "sunday, may , on board the fancy, bay of salamis. "hadgi-stavros: "photini is on board under guard of four american cannons. i shall hold her as hostage as long as hermann schultz is prisoner. as thou treatest my friend, so shall i treat thy daughter. she shall pay hair for hair, tooth for tooth, head for head. reply to me without delay, otherwise i shall come to see thee! "john harris." on reading this letter i could not restrain my joy. "the good harris!" i shouted, "i who accused him! but explain, dimitri, why he has not rescued me sooner?" "he has been away, mr. hermann; he was chasing pirates. he returned yesterday morning, unfortunately for us. why did he not remain away!" "excellent harris! he has not lost a single day. but where did he kidnap the daughter of this old scamp?" "at our house, m. hermann. you know her, photini. you have dined more than once with her." the daughter of the king of the mountains was then that boarding-school miss with the flat nose, who sighed for john harris. i concluded from this that the abduction had been accomplished without violence. the pipe-bearer now came up with a package of linen and a bottle filled with yellow pomade. the king dressed my feet with practiced touch, and i experienced within an hour a certain relief. hadgi-stavros was, at this moment, a fine subject for the study of psychology. he had as much brutality in his eyes as delicacy in his touch. he unwound the bandages from my instep so gently that i scarcely felt it; but his glance said: "if i could only strangle thee!" he took out the pins as adroitly as a woman; but with what pleasure would he have thrust his cangiar into me. when he had adjusted the bandages, he stretched out his clenched fists and savagely roared: "i am no longer a king, since i must refrain from gratifying my anger! i, who have always commanded, i obey a threat! he, who has made millions of men tremble, is afraid! they will boast of it, without doubt; they will tell the whole world of it; oh! for the means to silence those european gossips! they will publish it in their papers, perhaps even in their novels. why did i marry? ought such a man to have children? i was born to fight soldiers and not to rear up little girls! thunder is not for children; cannons are not for children. if they were, they would no longer fear the thunder-bolts and cannon-balls. this john harris may well laugh at me! what if i should declare war against him? what if i should capture his ship by force? i have attacked many, when i was a pirate, and twenty such cannons did not trouble me. but my daughter was not on board. dear little one! you know her then, monsieur hermann? why did you not tell me that you boarded with christodule? i would have asked no ransom; i would have released you instantly, for love of photini. truly, i wish that she knew your language. she will be a princess in germany, some day or other. is it not true that she will make a beautiful princess? i think so! since you know her you will forbid your friend to do her any harm. could you have the heart to see a tear fall from those dear eyes? she has never harmed you, the poor innocent! if anyone ought to expiate your sufferings, it is i. tell m. john harris that you bruised your feet on the paths; you may then do me any harm you choose." dimitri stopped this torrent of words. "it is very unfortunate that m. hermann is wounded. photini is not safe in the midst of those heretics, and i know m. harris: he is capable of anything!" the king scowled. suspicions of a lover entered the father's heart. "be off, then," he said to me; "i will carry you if necessary to the foot of the mountain; you can find, in some village, a horse, a carriage, a litter; i will furnish everything needed. but let him know, that from to-day, you are free, and swear to me, on the head of your mother, that you will tell no one of the injury which has been done you?" i scarcely knew how i could endure the fatigues of the journey; but anything seemed preferable to the company of my tormentors. i feared that a new obstacle might arise before i was free. i said to the king: "let us start! i swear to you by all i hold most sacred, that they shall not touch a hair of your daughter's head!" he raised me in his arms, threw me over his shoulder, and mounted the staircase to his cabinet. the entire band rushed out in front of him and barred our passage. moustakas, livid as a man attacked with cholera, said to him: "where art thou going? the german has thrown a spell over the food. we are suffering all the pains of hell. we are frightfully ill, through his fault, and we wish to see him die." my hopes were dashed to the ground. dimitri's arrival; john harris' providential interference; hadgi-stavros' change of front; the humiliation of that superb head to the feet of his prisoner; so many events, crowded into a quarter of an hour, had turned my head; i had already forgotten the past, and i had rashly begun to count on the future. at the sight of moustakas, i remembered the poison. i felt that any moment might precipitate a fearful event. i clung to the king of the mountains, i wound my arms around his neck, i begged him to carry me away without delay. "it will redound to thy glory," i said to him. "prove to these savages that thou art king! do not reply! words are useless. let us pass over their bodies. thou knowest thyself what interest thou hast in saving me. thy daughter loves john harris; i am sure of it, she confessed it to me!" "wait!" he replied. "let us pass first! we can talk later." he laid me carefully down on the ground, and rushed, with clenched fists, into the midst of the bandits. "you are fools!" he shouted. "the first one who touches milord will answer to me. what spell do you say he has cast? i ate with you; am i ill? let me pass! he is an honest man; he is my friend!" suddenly, he changed countenance; his legs gave way under the weight of his body. he seated himself near me, leaned toward me and said with more grief than anger: "imprudent! why did you not tell me that you had poisoned us?" i seized the king's hand; it was cold. his features were convulsed; his marble-like face became a frightful color. at this sight, my strength suddenly failed me, and i felt that i was dying. i had nothing more to hope for in the world; had i not condemned myself, in killing the only man who had any interest in saving me? my head fell on my breast, and i sat, helpless, by the side of the livid and shivering old man. moustakas and some of the others had, already, stretched out their hands to seize me and compel me to share their sufferings. hadgi-stavros had no strength to defend me. occasionally, a terrible hiccough shook the king, as the wood-cutter's ax shakes an oak a hundred years old. the bandits were persuaded that he was dying, and that the invincible old man was about, at last, to be conquered by death. all the ties which bound them to their chief, bonds of interest, of fear, of hope, and of gratitude, broke like the threads of a spider's web. the greeks are the most restive people in the world. their inordinate and intemperate vanity was sometimes subdued, but like a steel ready to rebound. they knew how, in case of need, to lean upon the strongest, or how to modestly follow the lead of the ablest, but not how to pardon the master who had protected and enriched them. for thirty centuries or more, this nation has been composed of a people, egotistical and jealous, which only necessity has held together, which inclination separates, and which no human power could unite entirely. hadgi-stavros learned to his cost that one does not command, with impunity, sixty greeks. his authority did not survive an instant longer than his moral force or his physical vigor. without mentioning the wounded men who shook their fists in our faces, while reproaching us for their sufferings, the able-bodied grouped themselves in front of their legitimate king, around a huge, brutal peasant, named coltzida. he was the most garrulous and most shameless of the band, an impudent blockhead without talent and without courage; one of those who hide during action, and who carry the flag after a victory; but in like situations, fortune favors impudent braggarts. coltzida, proud of his lungs, heaped insults, by the score, on hadgi-stavros, as a grave-digger heaps the earth on the grave of a dead man. "thou seest," he said, "a wise man, an invincible general, an all-powerful king, and invulnerable mortal! thou hast not deserved thy glory, and we have been far-sighted in trusting ourselves to thee! what have we gained in thy company? how hast thou served us? thou hast given us fifty-four miserable francs a month, a beggarly pittance. thou hast fed us on black bread and mouldy cheese which you would not touch, while thou hast accumulated a fortune and sent ships loaded with gold to foreign bankers. what benefit have we received from our victories and for all the blood which we have shed in the mountains? nothing! thou hast kept all for thyself, spoils, personal effects, prisoners' ransoms! it is true that thou hast left us the bayonet thrusts: it is the only profit of which thou hast not taken thy share. during the two years i have been with thee, i have received four wounds in the back, and thou hast not a scar to show! if, at least, thou hadst known how to lead us! if thou hadst chosen good opportunities, when there was little to risk and much to gain! thou hast beaten us; thou hast been our executioner; thou hast sent us into the wolves' jaws! thou hast then hastened to be done with us and to retire us on a pension! thou wert longing so much to see us all buried near vasile that thou deliveredst us to this cursed lord, who has thrown a spell over our bravest soldiers! but do not hope to cheat us from our vengeance. i know why thou wishest to have him go away; he has paid his ransom. but what dost thou wish to do with this money? wilt thou carry it away to a foreign country? thou art sick, opportunely, my poor hadgi-stavros. milord has not spared thee, thou art dying also, and it is well! my friends, we are our own masters. we will no longer obey anyone, we will do whatever pleases us, we will eat the best, we will drink all of the wine of aegina, we will burn an entire forest to cook whole herds, we will pillage the kingdom! we will take athens and we will camp in the palace gardens! you have only to allow yourselves to be led; i know the best methods! let us begin by throwing the old man, with his much loved lord, into the ravine; i will then tell you what is necessary to do!" coltzida's eloquence came near costing us our lives, because his audience applauded. hadgi-stavros' old comrades, ten or a dozen devoted palikars, who might have come to his aid, had eaten dessert at his table: they were also writhing in agony. but a popular orator cannot elevate himself above his fellows without creating jealousies. when it became clear that coltzida proposed to become chief of the band, tambouris and some other ambitious ones faced about and ranged themselves on our side. to a man they liked better the man who knew how to lead them than this insolent braggart, whose incapacity repelled them. they urged that the king had not long to live, and that he would appoint his successor from among the faithful who remained around him. it was no ordinary affair. the odds were that the capitalists would more readily ratify hadgi-stavros' choice, than endorse a revolutionary election. eight or ten voices were raised in our defense. ours, because our interests were one. i clung to the king of the mountains, and he had one arm around my neck. tambouris and his fellows put their heads together; a plan of defense was formed; three men profited by the uproar to run, with dimitri, to the arsenal, to get arms and cartridges, and to lay along the path a train of powder. they came back and discreetly mixed with the crowd. they formed into two parties; insults were hurled from one to the other. our champions, with their backs to mary-ann's chamber, guarded the staircase, they made a rampart of their bodies for us, and kept the enemy in the king's cabinet. in the scrimmage, a pistol-shot rung out. a ribbon of fire ran over the ground and the rock flew up with a fearful noise. coltzida and his followers, surprised by the detonation, ran to the arsenal. tambouris lost not an instant; he raised hadgi-stavros, descended the staircase in two bounds, laid him in a safe place, returned, picked me up, carried, and laid me at the king's feet. our friends intrenched themselves in the chamber, cut trees, barricaded the staircase, and organized a defense before coltzida could return. then, we counted our forces. our army was composed of the king, his two servants, tambouris with eight brigands, dimitri, and myself; in all fourteen men, of whom three were disabled. the coffee-bearer had been poisoned also, and he began to show the first rigors of illness. but we had two guns apiece, and a great supply of cartridges, while the enemy had no arms nor ammunition except what they carried on their persons. they possessed the advantage of numbers and point of vantage. we did not know exactly how many able-bodied men they had, but we must expect to meet twenty-five or thirty assailants. i need not describe to you the place of siege: you know it. believe, however, that the aspect of the place had changed a great deal since the day when i breakfasted there for the first time, under guard of the corfuan, with mrs. simons and mary-ann. the roots of our beautiful trees were exposed, and the nightingale was far away. what is more important for you to know, is, that we were protected on the right and left by rocks, inaccessible even to the enemy. they could attack us from the king's cabinet, and they could watch us from the bottom of the ravine. on the one hand, their balls flew over us; on the other, ours flew over the sentinels, but at such long range that it was wasting our ammunition. if coltzida and his companions had possessed the least idea of war, they could have done for us. they could have raised the barricade, entered by force, driven us into a corner, or thrown us over into the ravine. but the imbecile, who had two men to our one, thought to husband his ammunition, and place, as sharp-shooters, twenty stupid men who did not know how to discharge a gun. our men were not much more skillful. better commanded, however, and wiser, they managed to smash five heads before night fell. the combatants knew each other by name. they called to each other after the fashion of homer's heroes. one attempted to convert the other by aiming at his cheek; the other replied by a ball and by argument. the combat was only an armed discussion when, from time to time, the muskets spoke. as for me, stretched out in a corner, sheltered from the balls, i tried to undo my fatal work, and to recall the poor king of the mountains to life. he suffered cruelly; he complained of great thirst, and a sharp pain in the upper part of the abdomen. his icy hands and feet were violently convulsed. the pulse was irregular, the respiration labored. his stomach seemed to struggle against an internal execution, without being able to expel it. his mind had lost nothing of its vigor and its quickness; his bright and keen eye searched the horizon in the direction of the bay of salamis, and photini's floating prison. he grasped my hand and said: "cure me, my dear child! you are a doctor, you ought to cure me. i will not reproach you with what you have done; you were right; you had reason to kill me, because i swore that without your friend harris i would not have allowed you to escape me. is there nothing to quench the fire which consumes me? i care nothing for life; i have lived long enough; but if i die, they will kill you, and my poor photini will be sacrificed. i suffer! feel my hands; it seems to me that they are already dead. do you believe that this american will have the heart to carry out his threats? what was it you told me a little while ago? photini loves him! poor little one! i have brought her up to become the wife of a king. i would rather see her dead, than--no, i would rather, after all, that she should love this young man; perhaps he may take pity on her. what are you to him? a friend; nothing more; you are not even a compatriot. one may have as many friends as one wishes; one cannot find two women like photini; i would strangle all my friends if i found it to my advantage; i would never kill a woman who loved me. if only he knew how rich she is! americans are practical, at least, so it is said. but the poor, little innocent knows nothing about her fortune. i ought to have told her. but how can i let him know that she will have a dowry of four millions? we are coltzida's prisoners. cure me then, and by all the saints in paradise i will crush the reptile!" i am not a physician, and all i know about toxicology is in its elementary treatment; i remembered, however, that arsenical poisoning was cured only by a method similar to "doctor sangrado." i used means to make the old man eject the contents of his stomach, and i soon began to hope that the poison was almost expelled. reaction followed; his skin became burning hot, the pulse quickened, his face flushed, his eyes were blood-shot. i asked him if any one of his men knew enough to bleed him. he tied a bandage tightly around his arm, and coolly opened a vein himself, to the noise of the fusilade and while the bullets dashed around him. he let out a sufficient amount of blood, and asked me in a sweet and tranquil tone, what else there was to do. i ordered him to drink, to drink more, to keep on drinking, until the last particle of arsenic had been disposed of. the goat-skin of white wine which had killed vasile was still in the chamber. this wine, mixed with water, brought back life to the king. he obeyed me like a child. i believe that the first time i held out the cup to him, his poor, old suffering highness seized my hand to kiss it. toward ten o'clock he became much better, but his pipe-bearer was dead. the poor devil could neither rid himself of the poison, nor revive. they threw him into the ravine, at the top of the cascade. all our defenders were in good condition, without a wound, but famished as wolves in december. as for me, i had been without food for twenty-four hours, and i was very hungry. the enemy, in order to defy us, passed the night eating and drinking above our heads. they threw to us some mutton bones and some empty goat-skin bottles. our men replied with some shots, guessing at the position of our foes. we could plainly hear the cries of joy and the groans of the dying. coltzida was drunk; the wounded and the sick howled in unison; moustakas did not shout for a long time. the tumult kept me awake the entire night near the old king. ah! monsieur, how long the nights seem to him who is not sure of the next day! tuesday morning broke gray and wet. the sky looked threatening at sunrise, and a disagreeable rain fell alike on friend and foe. but if we were wide awake enough to protect our arms and ammunition, general coltzida's army had not taken the same precaution. the first engagement redounded entirely to our honor. the enemy was badly hidden, and fired their pistols with shaking hands. the game seemed so good a one, that i took a gun like the others. what happened i will write to you about at some future time, if i ever become a doctor. i have already confessed to murders enough for a man whose business it is not. hadgi-stavros followed my example; but his hands refused to act; his extremities were swollen and painful, and i announced to him, with my usual frankness, that this incapacity might last as long as he did. about nine o'clock the enemy, who seemed to be very attentive in responding to us, suddenly turned their backs. i heard heavy firing which was not directed to us, and i concluded that master coltzida had allowed himself to be surprised in the rear. who was the unknown ally who was serving us so good a turn? was it prudent to effect a junction and to demolish our barricade? i asked nothing else, but the king believed that it was a troop of the line, and tambouris gnawed his moustache. all our doubts were soon removed. a voice which was not unknown to me, cried: "all right!" three young men, armed to the teeth, sprang forward like tigers, broke down the barricade and fell in our midst. harris and lobster held in each hand a six-shooter. giacomo brandished a musket, the butt-end in the air, like a club: it was thus that he knew how to use fire-arms. a thunder-bolt falling into the chamber would have produced less magical effect than the appearance of these men, who shot right and left, and who seemed to carry death in their hands. my three fellow-boarders, excited by the noise, elated with victory, perceived neither hadgi-stavros nor me. they only turned around in order to kill a man, and god knows! they did their work well. our poor champions, astonished, affrighted, were overcome without having had time to defend themselves or to be recognized. i, who would have saved their lives, shouted from my corner; but my voice was drowned in the whistling of bullets, and the shouts of the conquerors. dimitri, crouching between the king and me, vainly joined his voice to mine. harris, lobster, and giacomo fired, ran here and there, knocked down, counting the blows, each in his own tongue. "one!" said lobster. "two!" responded harris. "tre! quatro! cinque!" growled giacomo. the fifth was tambouris. his head split under the blow like a fresh nut struck by a stone. the brains were scattered about, and the body sunk into the water like a bundle of clothes which a washerwoman throws in the edge of a brook. my friends were a fine sight in their horrible work. they killed with ferocity, they delighted in the justice they meted out. while running toward the camp, the wind had blown away their hats; their locks were disheveled; their glistening eyes shone so murderously, that it was difficult to decide whether death was dealt by their looks or by their hands. one could have said that destruction was incarnate in this panting trio. when they had removed all obstacles from their path and they saw no enemies but the three or four wounded men stretched on the ground, they stopped to breathe. harris' first thought was for me. giacomo had only one care: he wished to ascertain whether, among the number, he had broken hadgi-stavros' head. harris shouted: "hermann, where are you?" "here!" i replied: and the three fighters ran at my call. the king of the mountains, feeble as he was, put one hand on my shoulder, raised himself from the rock, looked fixedly at these men who had killed such a number to reach him, and said in a firm tone: "i am hadgi-stavros!" you know that my friends had waited for a long time for occasion to chastise the old palikar. they had promised themselves to celebrate his death as a festival. they would avenge mistra's little daughters; a thousand other victims; me, and themselves. but, however, i had no need to restrain them. there was such remains of greatness in this hero in ruins, that their anger fell from them and gave way to astonishment. they were all three young men, and at the age when one no longer takes arms against a disarmed enemy. i related to them, in a few words, how the king had defended me against his whole band, almost dead as he was, and on the same day on which i had poisoned him. i explained to them about the battle they had interrupted, the barricades they had broken down, and that strange contest in which they had interfered and killed our defenders. "so much the worse for them!" said john harris. "we wear, like justice, a bandage over our eyes. if the rogues performed a good deed before they died, it will be counted in their favor up above; i do not object to it." "as for the men of whom we have deprived you, do not worry about them," said lobster. "with two revolvers in our hands and two more in our pockets, we have each been worth twenty-four men. we have killed these; the others have only to come back. is it not so, giacomo?" "as for me, i could knock down an army of bulls!" said the maltese; "i am in the humor for it. and to think that one is reduced to sealing letters with two such fists as these!" the enemy, however, recovered from their astonishment, had again begun the siege. three or four brigands had poked their noses over our ramparts and saw the carnage. coltzida knew not what to think of the three scourges who had struck blindly, right and left, among friends and foes; but he decided that either sword or poison must have freed the king of the mountains. he prudently ordered the men to demolish our defense. we were out of sight, sheltered by the wall, about ten steps from the staircase. the noise of the falling barricade warned my friends to reload their revolvers. the king allowed them to do so. he said to john harris: "where is photini?" "on my ship." "you have not harmed her?" "do you think that i have taken lessons from you in torturing young girls?" "you are right, i am a miserable old dog; pardon me! promise me to forgive her!" "what the devil do you want me to do with her? now that i have found hermann, i will send her back to you whenever you wish." "without ransom?" "you old beast!" "you shall see whether i am an old beast!" he passed his left arm around dimitri's neck, he extended his shriveled and trembling hand toward the hilt of his sword, painfully drew the blade from the scabbard, and marched toward the staircase where coltzida and his men stood hesitating. they recoiled at sight of him, as if the earth had opened to allow the passage of the ruler of the infernal regions. there were fifteen or twenty, all armed; not one dared to defend himself, to make excuses, nor even to attempt to escape. they trembled in all their limbs, at sight of the terrible face of the resuscitated king. hadgi-stavros marched straight to coltzida, who, paler and more horrified than the others, attempted to hide behind his companions. the king threw his arm backwards by an effort impossible to describe, and with one blow severed his head from his body. instantly, a trembling seized him. his sword fell on the dead man and he did not deign to pick it up. "let us go on," he said, "i carry an empty scabbard. the blade is no longer of use, neither am i; i am done for!" his old companions approached to ask pardon. some of them begged him not to abandon them; they knew not what to do without him. he did not honor them with a word of response. he implored us to accompany him to castia to find horses, and to salamis to search for photini. the brigands allowed us to depart without hindrance. after a few steps, my friends noticed that i could scarcely step; giacomo helped me along; harris asked if i was wounded. the king gave me a beseeching look, poor man! i told my friends that i had attempted a perilous escape, and that my feet had been badly wounded. we carefully picked our way down the mountain paths. the groans of the wounded, and the voices of the bandits who were discussing matters, followed us for quite a distance. as we approached the village, the weather changed, and the path began to dry under our feet. the first ray of sunlight which burst forth seemed to me very beautiful. hadgi-stavros paid little attention to the outside world; he communed within himself. it is something to break off a habit of fifty years standing. on the outskirts of castia, we met the monk who was carrying a swarm of bees in a sack. he greeted us courteously, and excused himself for not having visited us since the evening before. the musket shots had intimidated him. the king saluted him and passed on. my friends' horses were waiting, with their guide, near the fountain. i asked them how they happened to have four horses. they said that m. mérinay made one of the party, but that he had alighted to inspect a curious stone, and that he had not yet re-appeared. giacomo fondi lifted me to the saddle at arm's length; he could not resist the temptation. the king, assisted by dimitri, painfully climbed into his. harris and his nephew vaulted into theirs; giacomo, dimitri, and the guide preceded us on foot. the path widening, i rode up beside harris, and he related to me how the king's daughter had fallen into his hands: "imagine;" he said to me. "i had just arrived from my cruise, much pleased with myself, and very proud of having run down a half-dozen pirates. i anchored off piraeus, sunday, at six o'clock; i landed; and as i had been eight days tête-à-tête with my head officer, i promised myself a little pleasure in conversation. i stopped a fiacre, i hired it for the evening. i arrived at christodule's house in the midst of a general hubbub; i would never have believed that so much trouble could be found in a pastry-cook's house. every one was there for supper. christodule, maroula, dimitri, giacomo, william, m. mérinay and the little sunday girl, more tricked out than ever. william related to me your story. it is useless to tell you that i made a great uproar. i was furious with myself for not having been in the city. my nephew assured me that he had done all he could. he had scoured the city for fifteen thousand francs, but his parents had opened only a limited credit for him; briefly, he had not found the amount. in despair, he addressed himself to m. mérinay: but the sweet mérinay pretended that all his money was lent to his intimate friends, far from here, very far;--farther than the end of the world! "'eh! zounds!' i said to lobster, 'it is in lead-money that one must pay the old scoundrel. for what good is it to be as dextrous as nimrod, if one's talent is good only to break socrates' prison? we must organize a hunt for the old palikars! once, i refused a journey to central africa: i have since regretted it. it is double pleasure to shoot an animal which defends itself. provide plenty of powder and balls, and to-morrow morning we will set out on a campaign.' william took the bait, giacomo brought his fist down in a crashing blow on the table; you know what giacomo's fist-blows are. he swore that he would accompany us, provided he could find a single-barreled gun. but the most enraged of all was m. mérinay. he wished to bathe his hands in the blood of those wretches. we accepted his services, but i offered to buy the game which he would bring back. he swelled out his little voice in the most comical fashion, and showing his fists to mademoiselle, said that hadgi-stavros would have business to settle with him. "i laughed gleefully like those who are always gay the night before a battle. lobster became very merry at the thought of showing the bandits the progress he had made. giacomo could not contain himself for joy; the corners of his mouth went around dangerously near his ears; he cracked nuts with the face of a nut-cracker of nuremburg. m. mérinay had a halo around his head. he was no longer a man, but a pyrotechnic display. "except us, the guests resembled alder trees. the pastry-cook's huge wife made signs of the cross; dimitri raised his eyes to heaven, christodule advised us to think twice before we provoked the king of the mountains. but the girl with the flat nose, the one to whom you gave the name of crinolina invariabilis, was plunged in grief which was quite amusing. she fetched great sighs like a wood-splitter; she did this only to keep herself in countenance, and i could have put in my left eye all the supper which she put into her mouth." "she is a good girl, harris." "good girl as much as you wish, but i find that your indulgence for her passes all bounds. i have never been able to pardon her for her dresses which thrust themselves obstinately under the legs of my chair, the odor of patchouli which she spreads around me, and the lackadaisical glances which she passes around the table. one would say, upon my word, that she is not capable of looking at a carafe without casting sheep's eyes at it. but if you love her, such as she is, there is nothing to be said. she left at nine o'clock for her boarding-school; i wished her bon voyage. ten minutes afterward i shook hands with our friends, we made a rendezvous for the next day, i went out, i wakened my coachman and guess whom i found in my carriage? crinolina invariabilis with the pastry-cook's servant. "she placed her finger on her lips. i entered without saying a word, and we started. 'monsieur harris,' she said in very good english, by my faith, 'swear to me to renounce your plans against the king of the mountains.' "i began to laugh, and she began to weep. she declared that i would be killed; i replied that it was i who would kill the others; she objected to having hadgi-stavros killed; i wished to know why; at last, at the end of her eloquence, she cried out, as if in the fifth act of a play: 'he is my father!' upon that i began to seriously reflect; once in a way does not count. i thought that it might be possible to recover a lost friend without risking two or three others, and i said to the young palikar: "'your father loves you?' "'more than his life.' "'he never refuses you anything?' "'nothing that is necessary.' "'and if you should write to him that you wanted m. hermann schultz would he send him to you with the message-bearer?' "'no.' "'you are absolutely sure of it?' "'absolutely.' "'then, mademoiselle, i have but one thing to do. set a thief to catch a thief. i will carry you on board the fancy, and i will hold you as a hostage until hermann is returned.' "'i was about to propose it to you,' she said. 'at that price papa will send back your friend.'" here i interrupted john harris' story. "oh, well! you do not admire the poor, young girl who loves you enough to give herself into your hands?" "a fine affair!" he replied. "she wished to save that honest man, her father, and she well knew that once war was declared we would not let him escape. i promised to treat her with all the respect a gallant man ought to treat a woman. she wept until we reached piraeus. i consoled her as best i could. she murmured: 'i am a lost girl!' i demonstrated to her by 'a' plus 'b' that she would find herself again. i made her get out of the carriage. i helped her and the servant into my boat, which now awaits us below. i wrote to the old brigand an explicit letter, and i sent an old woman with a little message to dimitri. "since that time the beautiful weeper enjoys undisputed possession of my apartments. orders were given that she was to be treated like the daughter of a king. i waited until monday evening for her father's response; then my patience failed me; i returned to my first plan; i took my pistols; i notified my friends, and you know the rest. now it is your turn; you ought to have a whole volume to recount." "i must first speak to the king." i approached him and said to him in a low tone: "i do not know why i told you that photini was in love with john harris. fear must have turned my head. i have been talking with him, and i swear to you, on the head of my father, that she is as indifferent to him as if he had never spoken to her." the old man thanked me with a motion of the hand, and i went back to john harris, and related my adventures with mary-ann. "bravo!" he exclaimed. "i find that the romance is not complete on account of the absence of a little love. a sufficient amount will do no harm." "excuse me," i answered. "there is no love in it at all! a firm friendship on one side, a little gratitude on the other. but nothing more is necessary, i think, to make a reasonably suitable marriage." "marry, my friend, and permit me to be a witness to your happiness." "you have well earned it, john harris." "when shall you see her again? i would give much to be present at the interview." "i would like to surprise her and meet her by chance." "that is a good idea! after to-morrow, at the court ball! you are invited. i am, too. your note lies on your table, at christodule's house. until then, my boy, you must remain on board my ship in order to recuperate a little. your hair is scorched and your feet are wounded; we will have time to remedy all that." it was six o'clock in the evening when the boat belonging to harris put off to the fancy. they carried the king on deck; he could not walk. photini, weeping, threw herself into his arms. it was happiness to see that those whom she loved had survived the battle, but she found her father grown twenty years older. possibly, also, she suffered from harris' indifference. he delivered her to her father in a characteristic american fashion, saying: "we are quits! you have returned my friend to me; i have restored mademoiselle to you. an even exchange is no robbery! short accounts make long friends! and now, most venerable old man, under what beneficent region of the earth will you search for the one who is to hang you?" "pardon me," he replied, with a certain hauteur. "i have bidden adieu to brigandage forever. what would i do in the mountains? all of my men are dead, wounded or scattered. i could form another band; but these hands which have been so powerful, refuse to act. younger men must take my place; but i defy them to equal my fortune and my renown. what shall i do with what few years are left to me? i know not yet; but you may be sure that my last days will not be idle ones. i have to establish my daughter to dictate my memoirs. possibly, even, if the shocks of this week have not wearied my brain too severely, i will consecrate to the service of the state my talents and my experience. may god give me health and strength! before six months have passed i shall be president of the ministry!" viii. the court ball. thursday, may , at six o'clock in the evening, john harris, in full uniform, took me to christodule's house. the pastry-cook and his wife gave me a warm reception, not without many sighs on account of the king of the mountains. as for me, i embraced them heartily. i was happy in being alive, and i saw only friends on all sides. my feet were cured; my hair trimmed, my stomach full. dimitri assured me that mrs. simons, her daughter, and her brother were invited to the court ball, and that the laundress had taken a dress to the hotel des etrangers. i enjoyed, in advance, mary-ann's surprise and joy. christodule offered me a glass of santorin wine. in this glorious beverage i thought to drink to liberty, riches, happiness. i mounted the staircase to my room, but before retiring i knocked at m. mérinay's door. he received me in the midst of a medley of books and papers. "dear sir, you see a man overwhelmed with work," he said. "i found, above the village of castia, an antique inscription, which deprived me of the pleasure of fighting for you, and which for six days has puzzled me. it is absolutely unknown, i assure you of that. no one has seen it; i have the honor of discovering it; i intend to give it my name. the stone is a small monument of shelly limestone, centimetres in height by , and set, by chance, on the edge of the path. the characters are of the finest period of art and cut to perfection. here is the inscription as i copied it in my note-book: "s. t. x. x. i. i. "m. d. c. c. c. l. i. "if i can translate it my fortune is made. i shall be made member of the academy of inscriptions and belles-lettres of pont-audemer! but the task is a long and difficult one. antiquity guards its secrets with jealous care. i greatly fear that i have come across a monument relative to the eleusinian mysteries. in that case there may perhaps be two interpretations to discover; the one the vulgar or demontique; the other the sacred or hieratique. you must give me your advice." i replied: "my advice is that of an ignorant man. i think that you have discovered a mile-stone such as one often sees on long roads, and that the inscription which has given you so much trouble can, without doubt, be translated thus: "stade, , . good evening, my dear m. mérinay; i am going to write to my father and then put on my red uniform." my letter to my parent was an ode, a hymn, a chant of happiness. the exuberant joy which filled my heart overflowed upon the paper. i invited the family to my wedding, not forgetting good aunt rosenthaler. i implored my father to sell his inn at once; i ordered that frantz and jean nicolas should leave the service; i advised my other brothers to change their business. i took everything upon myself; i assumed the responsibility of the future of the whole family. without losing a moment i sealed the letter and sent it by special messenger to piraeus, to catch the german-lloyd steamer, which sailed friday morning at o'clock. "in this way," i said to myself, "they will rejoice in my happiness almost as soon as i shall." at a quarter to nine sharp i entered the palace with john harris. neither lobster, m. mérinay nor giacomo were invited. my three-cornered hat was a little rusty, but by candlelight this little defect was not noticeable. my sword was seven or eight centimetres too short; but what of that? courage is not measured by the length of a sword, and i had without vanity the right to pass for a hero. the red coat was tight-fitting; it pinched me under the arms, and the trimming on the cuffs was quite a distance from my hands; but the embroidery showed to advantage, as papa had prophesied. the ballroom, decorated with taste and brilliantly lighted, was divided into two sections. on one side behind the throne for the king and queen were the fauteuils reserved for the ladies; on the other were chairs for the ugly sex. with one glance i swept the space occupied by the ladies. mary-ann had not yet arrived. at nine o'clock i saw enter the king and queen, followed by the grand mistress, the marshal of the palace, the aides-de-camp, the ladies of honor, and the orderly officers, among whom i recognized m. george-micrommatis. the king was magnificently dressed in palikar uniform, and the queen was resplendent with exquisite elegancies which could come only from paris. the gorgeousness of the toilets and the glitter of the national costumes made me almost forget mary-ann. i fixed my eyes on the door and waited. the members of the diplomatic corps and the most distinguished guests were ranged in a circle around the king and queen, who conversed pleasantly with those near them for a half hour or so. i was on the outside row with john harris. an officer, standing in front of us, stepped back suddenly with his whole weight upon my foot and the pain drew from me an exclamation. he turned his head and i recognized captain pericles, freshly decorated with the ordre du sauveur. he made excuses and asked for news. i could not refrain from informing him that my health did not concern him. harris, who knew my history entirely, politely said to the captain: "is it not m. pericles to whom i have the honor of speaking?" "himself!" "i am charmed! will you be good enough to accompany me, for a moment, into the card-room? it is still empty and we will be alone." "at your orders, monsieur." m. pericles, pale as a soldier who is leaving a hospital, smilingly followed us. arrived, he faced john harris and said to him: "monsieur, i await your pleasure." in reply harris tore off his cross with its new ribbon, and put it in his pocket, saying: "there, monsieur, that is all i have to say to you!" "monsieur!" cried the captain, stepping back. "no noise, monsieur, i pray you. if you care for this toy you can send two of your friends for it to mr. john harris, commander of the fancy." "monsieur," pericles replied, "i do not know by what right you take from me a cross which is worth fifteen francs, and which i shall be obliged to replace at my own expense." "do not let that trouble you, monsieur; here is an english sovereign, with the head of the queen of england on it; fifteen francs for the cross, ten for the ribbon. if there is anything left, i beg of you to drink to my health." "monsieur," said the officer, pocketing the piece, "i have only to thank you." he saluted without another word, but his eyes promised nothing pleasant. "my dear hermann," harris said to me, "it will be prudent for you to leave this country as soon as possible with your future bride. this gendarme has the air of a polished brigand. as for me, i shall remain here eight days in order to give him time to demand satisfaction. after that i shall obey the orders which i have received to go to the sea of japan." "i am sorry that your ardor has carried you so far. i do not wish to leave greece without a specimen or two of the boryana variabilis. i have an incomplete one without the roots in my tin box which i forgot when we left the camp." "leave a sketch of your plant with lobster or giacomo. they will make a pilgrimage into the mountains for your sake. but for god's sake! make haste to get to a place of safety!" in the meantime my happiness had not arrived at the ball, and i tired my eyes staring at all the dancers. toward midnight i lost all hope. i left the dancing hall and planted myself near a whist table, where four experienced players were displaying great skill. i had become interested in watching the game, when a silvery laugh made my heart bound. mary-ann was behind me. i could not see her, i dared not turn toward her, but i felt her presence, and my joy was overwhelming. what was the cause of her mirth i never knew. perhaps some ridiculous uniform; one meets such in every country at official balls. i remembered that there was a mirror in front of me. i raised my eyes and i saw her, without being seen, between her mother and her uncle; more beautiful, more radiant than on the day when she appeared to me for the first time. three strands of pearls were around her neck and lay partly on her divine shoulders. her eyes shone in the candlelight, her teeth glistened as she laughed, the light played in her hair. her toilet was such as all young girls wear; she did not wear, like mrs. simons, a bird of paradise on her head; but she was not the less beautiful; her skirt was looped up with bouquets of natural flowers. she had flowers on her corsage, and in her hair, and what flowers, monsieur? i give you a thousand guesses. i thought that i should die of joy when i recognized upon her the--boryana variabilis. everything came to me from heaven at the same moment! is there anything sweeter than to find a coveted flower, for which one thought to search, in the hair of one whom one loves? i was the happiest of men and of naturalists. excess of happiness made me cast to the winds all the proprieties. i turned quickly toward her, and holding out my hands, i cried: "mary-ann! it is i!" will you believe it, monsieur, she recoiled as if terrified, instead of falling into my arms. mrs. simons raised her head, so haughtily that it seemed to me as if her bird of paradise would fly away with it to the ceiling. the old gentleman took me by the hand, led me aside, examined me as if i was a curious beast, and said to me: "monsieur, have you been presented to these ladies?" "there is no question about that, my worthy mr. sharper! my dear uncle! i am hermann. hermann schultz! their companion in captivity! their savior! ah! i have had some wonderful experiences since their departure! i will relate them to you at your house." "yes, yes," he replied. "but the english custom, monsieur, exacts, absolutely, that one be presented to ladies before one relates stories to them." "but since they know me, my good and excellent mr. sharper. we have dined more than ten times together. i have rendered them a service worth a hundred thousand francs! you know it well; at the camp of the king of the mountains." "yes; yes; but you have not been presented." "but do you not know that i have exposed myself to a thousand deaths for my dear mary-ann?" "very well! but you have not been presented." "present me, then, yourself." "yes, yes; but you must first be presented to me." "wait!" i ran like a crazy man across the ballroom; i jostled several couples who were waltzing; my sword got entangled between my legs, i slipped on the waxed floor, and fell my full length. it was john harris who helped me up. "for whom are you searching?" "they are here, i have seen them. i shall marry mary-ann; but i must be presented first. it is the english custom. help me! where are they? have you not seen a large woman, with a bird of paradise head-dress?" "yes, she left the ball with a pretty girl." "left the ball! but, my friend, she is mary-ann's mother!" "be calm! we will find them again. i will have you presented by the american minister." "that is the very thing! i will show you my uncle, edward sharper. i left him here. where in the devil has he hidden? he ought not to be far away!" uncle edward had disappeared. i dragged poor harris to the place des palais, before the hotel des etrangers. mrs. simons' apartments were lighted. at the end of a few moments the lights were extinguished. everyone had gone to bed. "let us do the same," harris suggested. "sleep will calm you. to-morrow between one and two, i will arrange your affairs." i passed a night much worse than those of my captivity. harris slept with me, or rather, he did not sleep. we heard the carriages coming from the ball, descend rue d'hèrmes with their freight of uniforms and toilets. about five o'clock, weariness closed my eyes. three hours afterwards, dimitri entered my room and said: "great news! your englishwomen have gone!" "where?" "to trieste." "wretch! art thou sure of it?" "it was i who accompanied them to the ship." "my poor friend," harris exclaimed, seizing my hands. "gratitude may be assumed, but love does not come at will." "alas!" sighed dimitri. this sentiment had an echo in his heart. since that day, monsieur, i have lived like the beasts; drank, ate, breathed. i sent my collection to hamburg without one specimen of the boryana variabilis. my friends accompanied me to the french steamer the day after the ball. they thought it wise to make the journey during the night, for fear of encountering m. pericles' soldiers. we arrived without accident at piraeus; but when a short distance from the shore, a half-dozen invisible muskets sent their bullets singing about our ears. it was the pretty captain sending his adieux. i scoured the mountains of malta, of sicily, and of italy, and my herbarium was much richer than i. my father, who had had the good sense to keep his inn, wrote to me, at messina, that my efforts were appreciated. perhaps i might find a place on arriving; but i determined to count on nothing. harris was en route for japan. in one or two years i hoped to have news of him. the little lobster had written me from rome that he was still exercising with the pistol. giacomo continued to seal letters all day and crack nuts at night. m. mérinay found a new interpretation from the inscription on the monument, one more clever than mine. his great work upon demosthenes ought to be printed some day or other. the king of the mountains made peace with the authorities. he built a fine mansion on the road to pentelicus, with a guard-house for lodging twenty-five devoted palikars. in the meantime, he has rented a small hotel in the modern city, at the edge of the open sewer. he receives many people, and actively engages in public affairs, in order to be elected to the ministry. dimitri goes there occasionally, to supper, but sighs in the kitchen. i have never heard of mrs. simons, of mr. sharper, nor of mary-ann. if this silence continues, i shall soon think of them no more. sometimes, even in the middle of the night, i dream that i am before her and that my tall, thin figure is reflected in her eyes. then i awake, i weep hot tears and i furiously bite my pillow. what i regret, believe me, is not the woman, it is the fortune and the position which escaped me. it is a good thing for me that i have not yielded up my heart, and each day i give thanks for my natural coldness. what i might complain of, my dear monsieur, is, if unfortunately, i had fallen in love! ix. letter from athens. the day that i was about to send m. hermann schultz's story to the publishers, i received from the correspondent to whom i had sent the ms., the following letter: sir: the history of the king of the mountains is the invention of an enemy of truth and the gendarmerie. no persons mentioned have set foot in greece. the police have never vised any passports bearing the name of mrs. simons. the commandant at piraeus has never heard of the fancy nor of mr. john harris. the phillips brothers do not remember of ever having employed mr. william lobster. no diplomatic agent has known any maltese of the name of giacomo fondi. the national bank of greece has nothing with which to reproach itself, and it has never had on deposit, any funds made by brigandage. if it had received them, it would have considered it a duty to have confiscated them for its profit. i hold, for your inspection, the list of our officers of the gendarmerie. you will find no trace of m. pericles. i know only two men of that name; one is a tavern-keeper in athens; the other sells spices in tripolitza. as for the famous hadgi-stavros, whose name i have heard to-day, for the first time, he is a fabulous being whom one must relegate to mythology. i confess, in all sincerity, that there have been sometimes brigands in the country. the principal ones were destroyed by hercules or theseus, who may be considered as the real founders of greek gendarmerie. those who escaped the hands of these two heroes, have fallen under the blows of our invincible army. the author of the romance has displayed as much ignorance as dishonesty, in attempting to prove that brigandage exists to-day. i would give a great deal to have this romance published, may be in france, or in england, with the name and portrait of m. schultz. the world would know by what gross artifices he has attempted to make every civilized nation suspicious of us. as for you, monsieur, who have always given us justice, accept the assurance of the kindest sentiments, with which i have the honor of being, your very grateful servant, patriotis pseftis. "author of a volume of dithyrambics upon the regeneration of greece; editor of the journal l'esperance; member of the archaeological society of athens; corresponding member of the academy of the ionian isles; stockholder in the national company of the spartan pavlos." the author has the last word. athenian, my fine friend, the truest histories are not those which have happened!