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// 20160426112955castlemon
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.dt Our Fellows, or, Skirmishes With the Swamp Dragoons, by Harry Castlemon
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Transcriber’s Note:
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.ca Capture of Luke Redman
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.sp 4
.h1
OUR FELLOWS; | OR, | Skirmishes with the Swamp Dragoons
.nf c
BY
HARRY CASTLEMON,
AUTHOR OF “GUNBOAT SERIES,” “ROCKY MOUNTAIN
SERIES,” “BOY TRAPPER SERIES.” ETC.
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.sp 8
.nf c
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO,\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ TORONTO.
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.pb
.sp 4
.hr 50%
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Copyright, 1872
BY,
J. W. DAUGHADAY & CO.
Copyright, 1886,
BY
JAMES ELVERSON.
Copyright, 1887,
BY
PORTER & COATES.
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.sp 4
.h2
CONTENTS.
.hr 10%
.ta r:8 l:50 r:10
CHAPTER| | PAGE
I. |—WHO OUR FELLOWS ARE, | #9#
II.|—AN UNINVITED GUEST, | #17#
III.|—MARK’S ADVENTURE, | #29#
IV.|—A FRIEND IN NEED, | #44#
V. |—WE TALK THE MATTER OVER, | #54#
VI.|—MARK MAKES A DISCOVERY, | #74#
VII.|—OUR CHRISTMAS TURKEYS, | #81#
VIII.|—A RIDE AFTER THE INDIANS, | #106#
IX.|—CAUGHT AT LAST, | #123#
X.|—I STAND PICKET, | #146#
XI.|—THE TABLES TURNED, | #168#
XII.|—TOM IS ASTONISHED, | #180#
XIII.|—TOM TELLS HIS STORY, | #204#
XIV.|—TOM’S PLAN, | #217#
XV.|—DANGEROUS WORK, | #231#
XVI.|—OUR STRATAGEM, | #241#
XVII.|—TAKING THE BACK TRACK, | #249#
XVIII.|—AN UNEXPECTED DELIVERANCE, | #265#
XIX.|—“MARK TWO TIMES,” | #278#
XX.|—CONCLUSION, | #293#
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OUR FELLOWS
OR,
Skirmishes with, the Swamp Dragoons.
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.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER I. | WHO OUR FELLOWS ARE.
.sp 2
My name is Joseph Coleman, and at the
time my story begins I was sixteen
years of age. Mark was my twin brother;
and he looked and acted so much like me, or
else I looked and acted so much like him, that
only our very intimate friends could tell us
apart. We always dressed alike, and that, no
doubt, had something to do with the remarkable
resemblance we bore to each other.
Many were the mistakes that were made in
regard to our identity—some of them laughable,
.bn 007.png
.pn +1
others proving exactly the reverse, especially
when I was called upon to stand punishment
for his misdeeds. On one occasion Mark
got into a difficulty with a half-breed. About
a week afterward, while I was riding along the
road, I met this same half-breed with a big
switch in his hand, and all that saved me from
a severe whipping was the speed of my horse.
Then there was our old enemy, Tom Mason,
who had been badly worsted in an attempt to
whip Mark, and ever since that time he had
been robbing my traps, shooting at my dog
and killing my doves, thinking all the while
that he was revenging himself upon Mark,
when he was in reality punishing me.
At the time of which I write we lived in
Warren County, ten miles below Vicksburg,
where our father owned an extensive plantation.
He cultivated one thousand acres of
cotton and six hundred acres of corn. He
owned one hundred and fifty working mules
and horses, twice as many young cattle, which
ran loose in the swamp, and about twenty-five
hundred hogs. It required from sixty to
seventy-five cows to supply the plantation
.bn 008.png
.pn +1
with milk and butter, and almost as many
dogs to protect the stock from the wild beasts.
Just think of that! Think what music this
pack must have made when in pursuit of a
bear or deer, and imagine, if you can, the
delightful concerts to which we listened on
bright moonlight nights!
Perhaps you will wonder if we needed all
these dogs. We should have been sorry to
part with them, for they were as necessary to
our existence as our horses, cows or mules.
Warren County at that time was almost a
wilderness. Wolves, foxes and minks were
numerous, and our henroosts would have been
cleared in a single night, if the dogs had not
been there to protect them. Wild-cats were
abundant, and panthers were so often met
with, that traveling after dark was seldom
undertaken for pleasure. Bears, however,
were the principal pests. They were, to quote
from the settlers, “as plenty as blackberries,”
and employed their leisure time during the
night in roaming about the plantations, picking
up every luckless hog and calf that happened
to fall in their way.
.bn 009.png
.pn +1
I must not forget to say that our fellows had
nothing to do with all these plantation dogs.
The most of them belonged to father, a few to
the overseer, and the rest to the servants.
Our pack numbered only five dogs. Mark
was the happy possessor of Rock and Dash,
two splendid deer-hounds, which, for size,
speed, endurance and courage, were unequaled
in all that country except by Sandy’s Sharp
and Music. These four hounds were animals
worth having. They could run all day, and
when they once started on a trail, they never
left it until the game, whatever it was, had
been killed, or they were called away.
I laid claim to Zip. He was what we boys
called a “bench-legged catch-dog”—that is,
his fore legs stood wide apart and curved outward,
like those of a bulldog, and he was used
for catching and holding game.
He was yellow all over except his head,
which was as black as jet. His nose and ears
were as sharp as those of a wolf, and he was
bobtailed.
Zip was unlike any other dog I ever saw.
There were a good many queer things about
.bn 010.png
.pn +1
him, and he had at least one peculiarity that
every body noticed. He never wagged his tail
sideways, as other dogs do, but up and down,
and he never wagged it at all except when following
a warm trail.
There were five of us boys—Duke Hampton,
his cousin, Herbert Dickson, Sandy, Mark and
myself. We were near neighbors—that is, we
lived about a mile and a half apart—and we
were together almost all the time. We always
spoke of one another as “our fellows,” and we
had finally come to be known by that name all
over the country. Sandy merits a short description.
His name was Gabriel Lucien Todd—an odd
name, perhaps, but it suited him, for he was an
odd boy. No one ever thought the race of
giants extinct after seeing him. When he was
thirteen years old he was as tall and heavy as
his father, and much stronger. Indeed Sandy
often boasted that he could pull as many bales
of cotton on a wagon as any yoke of oxen in
Warren County.
That, of course, was saying a great deal too
much; but his strength was really something
.bn 011.png
.pn +1
wonderful. He could outlift any two of our
fellows, without puffing out his cheeks, but we
could all take his measure on the ground as
fast as he could get up.
There were other noticeable things about
Sandy, such as his utter disregard for all the
proprieties of language, his bright-red hair,
and his extreme good nature, which I seldom
saw ruffled. The first was by no means the
result of ignorance, for Sandy, besides being a
capital scholar in other respects, was looked
upon by our fellows as a walking repository of
grammatical knowledge.
He wrote splendid letters—and that is an accomplishment
that every boy, or man either,
does not possess—and he would correctly analyze
and parse any sentence you could give him,
no matter how complex; but when it came to
talking he was all afloat. He twisted his sentences
into all sorts of awkward shapes, and
sometimes used words that had but little connection
with the idea he wished to communicate.
It was not the result of carelessness
either, for he made some desperate attempts
to “talk proper,” as he expressed it, especially
.bn 012.png
.pn +1
in the presence of strangers; but the
harder he tried the more he blundered.
After saying this much, it is scarcely necessary
to add that Sandy was as slow as an elephant
in all his movements, and that he never
got surprised at any thing that happened.
Mark’s room and mine was regarded as the
headquarters of our fellows. On one side two
windows looked out upon a wide porch, and on
the other was a fire-place, backed up by an
immense brick chimney.
An unpainted board over the fireplace formed
the mantel, on which were a collection of books,
a couple of lamps, an ornamental clock, and a
few articles of curiosity, such as alligators’
teeth, bears’ claws, stone arrow-heads and
hatchets.
Two pairs of deer’s antlers were fastened to
the wall over the head of the bed, and on them
hung our guns, game-bags, shot-pouches, riding-whips,
gloves and hunting-horns. These
last were of great use to us. They were simply
cows’ horns scraped thin and supplied with
carved mouth-pieces. They were used principally
for calling the hounds during a bear or
.bn 013.png
.pn +1
deer-hunt (it may astonish you to learn that
every dog knew the sound of his master’s horn
and would obey no other), and with them we
could talk to a friend on a calm day a mile distant.
I have lately learned that when boys in a
city want a companion, they will station themselves
in front of his gate and whistle. We did
not go to all that trouble. If Mark and I had
any thing exciting on hand, and wanted our
fellows to join in, one of us would go out on
the porch and blow three long blasts on his
horn.
We were always sure of an answer, and in
a few minutes here would come Sandy Todd
from one direction, and Duke and Herbert
from the other. We had written out a regular
code of signals, and each of us kept a copy at
hand for reference, so that there could be no
mistake.
We could tell our friends that we wanted
them to go hunting, fishing or blackberrying
with us; we could ask them to come over and
pay us a visit; and we could tell them when to
expect us. We had signals of distress, too,
.bn 014.png
.pn +1
and we were all bound to give heed to them
when we heard them.
I ought to say that this idea did not originate
with us; we learned it from the settlers,
who also had a code of signals which had been
in use as long as I could remember.
If a planter some evening took it into his
head that he would like to go bear-hunting on
the following day he would go out with his
horn and blow five long blasts and three
short ones; and, like us when we called our
fellows, he was certain of a reply.
The neighbor who heard him first would respond,
then another and another would follow,
until all the men in the settlement for two or
three miles around, had agreed to go bear-hunting,
and that, too, without having seen one another.
Perhaps, now that you have heard so much
about our fellows, you would like to have them
personally presented. Step into headquarters,
and I will introduce you. After that, if you
think you would enjoy a four-mile gallop before
supper, we will find you a good horse to ride.
We are going down the bayou to visit an Indian
.bn 015.png
.pn +1
camp: and if you have never seen one,
now is your chance.
The boy who sits in that big arm-chair, thrumming
on his guitar and tickling the dog’s ears
with the toe of his boot, is my brother Mark.
If you don’t find him in some mischief every
time you meet him, you mustn’t think it is his
fault.
Do you see that broad-shouldered, long-legged,
awkward-looking fellow sitting on the
floor at the opposite side of the fire-place, with
a hammer in his hand and a pan of hickory
nuts by his side? That is Sandy Todd, the
strongest boy and the best shot in our party.
That curly-headed, blue-eyed fellow, who
smiles so good-naturedly every time he speaks,
and who sits at the table devouring the hickory-nuts
as fast as Sandy cracks them, is Herbert
Dickson. He is blessed with a good deal
of flesh, is Herbert, and sometimes answers to
the name of “Chub”; at others, “Ducklegs.”
I have known plenty of boys at school to be
badly deceived in that same Herbert Dickson.
As clumsy as he looks, he can run faster and
.bn 016.png
.pn +1
jump higher and further than any other fellow
of his age in the settlement. There is nothing
in the world that Herbert more enjoys than the
astonishment and chagrin of some lithe young
fellow who may have challenged him, “just for
the fun of the thing,” to run a race; for I
don’t remember that I ever saw him beaten.
On the table at Herbert’s elbow is a chessboard
with men scattered over it. I am sitting
at one end of it, and the tall, dark, dignified-looking
youth, in blue jeans roundabout
and heavy horseman’s boots, who is sitting
opposite me, is Duke Hampton, than whom a
better fellow never lived. He is an acknowledged
leader. He settles all our disputes, when
we have any—which, by the way, does not often
happen—and is the projector and manager
of most of our plans for amusement. He is
handsome and polite, and, of course, a great
favorite with the girls. He is a boy of high
moral principle, strictly truthful, and honorable
even in the smallest matters, and these qualities
render him a favorite with the men. He is
the most daring and graceful rider among our
fellows, and, next to Mark, the best wrestler.
.bn 017.png
.pn +1
He is a good chess-player, too; but by some
unaccountable fortune I have driven him into
a tight corner.
I do not suppose there is any necessity that
I should again introduce myself. If it will
help to place me in your good books, however,
I will tell you that I own the swiftest horse
and the best dog in the settlement. Black
Bess has never been beaten in a fair race, and
Zip has yet to find his equal as a fighter and
bear dog. I am not so modest but that I can
tell you, also, that I am the champion hunter
among our fellows. I killed a bear alone and
unaided, and his skin now hangs on that nail
at the foot of the bed; but my companions,
one and all, are determined to equal me in this
respect, and consequently I do not expect to
hold the honors much longer. But here comes
our little negro, Bob, to announce that the
horses are waiting, and we must off for the
camp if we intend to be back in time for
supper.
.bn 018.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER II. | AN UNINVITED GUEST.
.sp 2
We found our horses at the door, saddled
and bridled, and held by two negro boys,
who, judging by the tugging, pulling and
scolding which they kept up, found it something
of a task to restrain the fiery steeds,
which were impatient to be off. As I have
told you about our dogs, I will say a word
about these horses. One of them has considerable
to do with my story.
The most prominent animal in the group was
Herbert’s horse, a magnificent iron-gray, large
and good-natured like his master, very fleet,
and able to carry his heavy rider like a bird
over any fence in the country. He went by the
name of Romeo.
The handsomest horse belonged to Duke
Hampton. He was a chestnut-sorrel, with
white mane and tail, and four white feet. He
.bn 019.png
.pn +1
was a good one to go, and was as well trained
as any horse I ever saw in a circus.
He would lie down or stand on his hind feet
at the command of his master, and pick up his
gloves or riding-whip for him. His name was
Moro.
The homeliest horse was called Beauty. He
was a Mexican pony, and belonged to Mark.
He was a famous traveler—he would go on a
gallop all day, and be as fresh and eager at
night as when he started out in the morning;
but he was so handy with his heels, and had
such an easy way of slipping out from under
a fellow when he tried to mount him, that,
with the exception of his master, who thought
him the very best horse in the world, there
was not a boy among us who would have accepted
him as a gift. But bad as Beauty’s disposition
was, it was much better than that of
Sandy’s mare, which answered to the name of
Gretchen.
She was named after Rip Van Winkle’s
wife. She was a large, raw-boned, cream-colored
animal, and had an ugly habit of laying
back her ears and opening her mouth, when
.bn 020.png
.pn +1
any one approached her, that would have made
a stranger think twice before attempting to
mount her.
The fleetest, as well as the gentlest horse,
was my little Black Bess. She was a Christmas
present from an uncle who lived in Kentucky;
and I thought so much of her that I would have
given up every thing I possessed, rather than
part with her.
I said that Bess was the swiftest horse in the
group. She had demonstrated the fact in
many a race, but somehow I never could induce
the others to acknowledge it. Sandy
stubbornly refused to give up beaten, and so
did Herbert; and even Mark, with his miserable
little pony, made big pretensions.
We never went anywhere without a race;
and on this particular morning Herbert, who
was the first to swing himself into the saddle,
leaped his horse over the bars, and tore down
the road as if all the wolves in Warren County
were close at his heels.
I was the last one out of the yard, but I
passed every one of our fellows before I had
gone half a mile, and when I reached the outskirts
.bn 021.png
.pn +1
of the Indian camp, they were a long
way behind.
The camp, as I saw it that afternoon, did not
look much like the illustrations of Indian villages
which you have seen in your geographies.
Instead of the clean skin-lodges, and the neatly-dressed,
imposing savages which you will find
in pictures, I saw before me a score of wretched
brush shanties, which could afford their inmates
but poor protection in stormy weather,
and a hundred or more half-starved men and
women, some of whom were jumping around in
the mud and yelling as if they were greatly
excited about something.
There were plenty of these people in Warren
County at the time of which I write. They
were Choctaws—the remnant of a once powerful
tribe, who gained a precarious living by
hunting, fishing, stealing and cotton-picking.
This band had been encamped on our plantation
during the last two weeks. The women
had been employed by father to pick cotton,
and their lords and masters were now having
a glorious time over the money they had
earned.
.bn 022.png
.pn +1
The warriors—lazy dogs, who thought it a
disgrace to perform any manual labor—had
remained in their wigwams, passing the days
very pleasantly with their pipes, while their
wives were at work in the cotton-field; but
now that the crop had been gathered and the
money paid, they had thrown away their pipes
and picked up their bottles. In plainer language,
we rode into the camp just in time to
witness the beginning of a drunken Indian
jubilee.
The men were dancing, shouting, fighting,
wrestling, going half-hammond (a Northern
boy would have called it a “hop, skip and a
jump”), and trying to run races; while the
women stood around in little groups, chattering
like so many blackbirds, and watching all
that was going on with apparently a great deal
of interest.
I do not suppose that the Indian boys drank
any thing stronger than the muddy water that
flowed in the bayou, on the banks of which
the camp was located; but, at any rate, they
seemed to be animated by the same spirit that
possessed their fathers, for we saw them engage
.bn 023.png
.pn +1
in no end of fights, foot-races and wrestling
matches.
Presently a smart, lively young savage, the
son of the principal chief of the band, who had
easily thrown every one of his companions
whom he could induce to wrestle with him,
stepped up to us, and fastening his eyes upon
Mark, asked him if he would like to come out
and try his strength. Now, if Mark had been
in good health, the challenge would have been
promptly accepted; and if I am any judge of
boys, that young Indian would have found
himself flat on the ground before he could have
winked twice; but he was just recovering from
an attack of his old enemy, the chills and fever,
and for that reason was obliged, much to his
regret, to turn a deaf ear to the Indian’s
entreaties.
“Oh, yes, you come,” said the young
wrestler, after Mark had told him, perhaps for
the twentieth time, that he was out of condition;
“I show you what Indian boy can do. I
put you down as quick as lightning. Eh! You
come?”
As he spoke he stepped back and spread out
.bn 024.png
.pn +1
his sinewy arms, as if waiting for Mark to
jump into them.
“Go off about your business, Jim,” said
Duke. “Haven’t you sense enough to see that
the boy has had the ague? If he was well, he
would throw you or any other young Indian
in the camp. Go away now, I tell you, or I’ll
take hold of you; and if I do, I will put you
down a little quicker than lightning.”
“Isn’t he a splendid-looking fellow?” said
Mark, gazing admiringly at the young savage’s
supple form, which, cold as the day was, was
stripped to the waist. “Look at the muscles
on his arms! I believe I’ll try him just one
round.”
“Don’t do it, Mark,” I interposed.
“Well, if you say so, Joe, I won’t; but I
should really like to take a little of that conceit
out of him. I’ll soon be up to my regular
wrestling weight,” he added, addressing himself
to the Indian, “and then I will see what
you are made of.”
“Ugh!” grunted Jim. “I wait for you.”
We spent an hour walking about the camp,
and then returned to the house. The jubilee was
.bn 025.png
.pn +1
kept up all night, and we went to sleep with
those wild Indian whoops ringing in our ears.
To me there was something almost unearthly in
the sound, and I thought I could imagine
how our early settlers felt when they were
aroused from their sleep at dead of night by
just such yells uttered by hostile red men.
The next day our fellows accompanied some
of the settlers on a deer-hunt—all except Mark,
who, being too weak to ride all day on horse-back,
remained at home with his hounds for
company; and, for want of something better
to do, assisted the plantation blacksmith at his
work by blowing the bellows for him.
The Indians were quiet all the morning, no
doubt making up for the sleep they had lost
the night before, but about eleven o’clock
they began their dancing and shouting again.
After that, Mark did not perform his part of
the work very well, for his attention was fully
occupied by the sounds that came from the
camp.
Finally the horn was blown for dinner, and
Mark started toward the house. Just as he was
passing through the gate that led into the garden,
.bn 026.png
.pn +1
he was startled by a loud yell, which was
followed by a great commotion in the kitchen,
and the next moment out came mother and
half a dozen young lady visitors.
A very fat negro woman brought up the rear,
carrying in her hand a platter of roast beef,
which she was too badly frightened to put
down, and the screams that saluted Mark’s
ears were almost as loud and unearthly as those
which came from the Indian camp. He did
not like the look of things, but, being a resolute
fellow, he determined to find out what was
going on in the house. He had two friends
upon whom he could rely in any emergency,
and, with a word to them, he was off like a
shot.
“Oh, don’t go in there!” cried mother,
when she saw him running toward the kitchen,
followed by his hounds. “He will kill you!
He’s got a big knife!”
Mark, who was too highly excited to hear
any thing short of a terrific peal of thunder,
kept on, and when he reached the door discovered
the cause of the disturbance in the
person of a tall, dignified-looking Indian,
.bn 027.png
.pn +1
who was acting in a very undignified manner.
As Mark afterward learned, the savage had
walked into the parlor, where all the ladies
were sitting; thence into the kitchen, where
active preparations for dinner were going on,
attracting the attention of the cook by flourishing
a knife, and uttering an appalling yell;
after which he made known the object of his
visit by exclaiming:
“Ugh! Me big Injun, an’ me hungry.”
The yell and the sight of the knife occasioned
a hurried stampede among the women,
and the savage, being left alone, proceeded to
help himself to what he liked best.
The table was loaded with good things, but
there was not so very much left upon it by the
time this uninvited guest had got all he wanted.
He filled his mouth, and his arms, too,
and when Mark discovered him he was walking
through the sitting-room toward the porch,
demolishing a custard-pie as he went.
Mark was impulsive, and, without stopping
to consider what might be the consequences of
the act, he started in hot pursuit of the Indian,
.bn 028.png
.pn +1
resolved to punish him for what he had done,
and to teach him better than to take such liberties
with what did not belong to him.
He came up with the robber just as he was
about to descend the steps that led down from
the porch. The latter, wholly intent upon his
meal, never thought of looking for an enemy
in the rear, until Mark dashed against him
like a battering-ram—an action which caused
the Indian to flourish his heels in the air, and
fall headlong to the ground, scattering the
bread, meat, pies and cakes, with which his
arms were loaded, about in all directions.
Mark followed him down the steps, not to
attack him, of course, but to keep off the
hounds, which would have torn the savage in
pieces if they had not been restrained.
“Don’t let those dogs hurt him,” said
mother, who had mustered up courage enough
to come back to the house.
“No, ma’am,” replied Mark. “Now, old
fellow,” he added, as the robber rose slowly
to his feet, “you had better take yourself
off. Your room suits us better than your
company.”
.bn 029.png
.pn +1
But the savage had no intention of taking
himself off. He glared fiercely around him for
a moment, and finding that he was opposed by
nothing more formidable than a few frightened
women, a boy of sixteen and a couple of dogs,
he caught up his knife, and gave a war-whoop.
.bn 030.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER III. | MARK’S ADVENTURE.
.sp 2
Mark was badly frightened, but he did
not show it.
“Look here, old gentleman,” said he, with
a pretty show of courage, “you had better not
try to hurt any body with that knife. Put
it away, and go back to camp where you belong.”
The savage paid no more attention to his
words than if he had not spoken at all. He
wanted to be revenged upon something for the
fall he had received, and not daring to molest
either the ladies or Mark, he charged furiously
upon the hounds, which nimbly eluded all his
attacks, and easily kept out of reach of the
knife.
“Do you see what he is doing, mother?”
shouted Mark, astonished and enraged at the
Indian’s attempts to injure his favorites. “Say
.bn 031.png
.pn +1
the word, and I’ll make the dogs stretch him
as if he were a ’coon.”
“No! no!” answered mother, hastily.
“Don’t make him angry, and perhaps he will
go away after a while.”
“He is as angry as he can be already,” replied
Mark.
The boy curbed his indignation as well as he
was able, and watched the savage as he followed
up the hounds, which barked at him, but kept
out of his way. They ran under the house,
but the robber crawled after them and drove
them out. They were too well trained to take
hold of him without the word from their
master; but they grew angrier every minute,
and finally, as if they feared that their rage
might get the better of them if they remained
longer in sight of their enemy, they sullenly
retreated up the steps that led to the porch.
“Hold on, there!” shouted Mark, as the
Indian, yelling furiously, prepared to follow
the dogs into the house. “Keep away from
there, I tell you.”
But the noble warrior did not stop. Striking
right and left with his knife, he sprang up
.bn 032.png
.pn +1
the steps into the midst of the women; and
Mark, believing that it was his intention to
attack them, yelled quite as loudly as the
Indian.
“Hi! hi! Pull him down, fellows!” he
shouted.
The hounds understood that yell; they had
been waiting for it. As quick as thought one
of them turned and sprang at his throat; the
other seized him by the shoulder from behind,
and the savage was thrown flat on his back—stretched
as if he had been a “’coon.”
It was astonishing how quickly all the fight
was shaken out of that ferocious Choctaw.
He made one or two wild cuts at his assailants,
then the knife dropped from his grasp and
he lay like a log upon the porch. He
was so still, and the blood flowed so freely
from the numerous wounds he had received,
that Mark became frightened and spoke to the
hounds, which released their enemy very reluctantly.
He never would have robbed any more
dinner-tables if they had been allowed to have
their own way with him.
“Ugh!” roared the Indian, when he found
.bn 033.png
.pn +1
himself free from the teeth of the hounds.
“Wh-o-o-p!”
He was not seriously injured; he had been
“playing ’possum.” He raised himself to a
sitting position and gazed about for a moment
with a bewildered air, and then jumped to his
feet, bounded down the steps and drew a beeline
for camp at a rate of speed that made
Mark open his eyes.
He did not stop to look for gates, or to let
down bars. Whatever may have been that
Indian’s claims to courage, he could certainly
boast of being a swift runner and a most
remarkable jumper.
“Oh, you awful boy! What have you
done?” chorused all the visitors, as Mark
entered the house.
“I’ve saved somebody from being hurt—that’s
what I’ve done,” was the cool reply.
“I am the only man about the house, and of
course it was my duty to protect you.”
“But don’t you know that an Indian never
forgives an injury? He will have revenge for
that. He will come back here with his friends
and kill and scalp us all.”
.bn 034.png
.pn +1
“Well, he had better bring a good many
friends if he intends to try that,” said Mark,
shaking his head in a very threatening manner.
“I’ll take Rock and Dash and whip his whole
tribe. How long before dinner will be ready,
mother?”
For an answer to this question he was
referred to the cook. Now, Aunt Martha was
an old and favorite servant, who had somehow
got it into her head that she had a
perfect right to grumble at any one, from her
master down to the smallest pickaninny on the
plantation. Having recovered from her fright,
she was scolding at an alarming rate over the
loss of her fine dinner, and for want of some
better object upon which to vent her spite she
opened upon Mark the moment he entered the
kitchen.
Being unable to obtain any satisfactory replies
to his questions, he walked off whistling to
drown the clatter of the cook’s tongue, and as
he went down the steps he heard her say to
herself:
“Dat ar is a monstrous bad boy. He’s
boun’ to be de def of all us white folks.”
.bn 035.png
.pn +1
At the end of an hour Mark was again summoned
to dinner, which this time passed off
without interruption. Aunt Martha had recovered
her good nature, and sought to restore
herself to favor by stepping down from her
high position as head cook, and condescending
to wait upon “young mass’r,” whose plate
she kept bountifully supplied.
When Mark returned to the shop after eating
his dinner, he noticed that an unusual
silence reigned in the Indian camp. Not a
yell, or a song, or even the bark of a dog came
from the woods, which were so still that Mark
almost believed them to be deserted.
As he could not help feeling somewhat
uneasy over what had been said in regard to
the savage coming back with re-enforcements,
he kept his eye turned in the direction of the
camp, and presently discovered a gray streak
moving through the cotton-field.
As it approached he saw that it was an
Indian; and when he reached the fence Mark
recognized the young wrestler, who appeared
to be intensely excited about something. He
breathed hard after his rapid run, his eyes had
.bn 036.png
.pn +1
a wild look in them, and he was in so great a
hurry to communicate the object of his visit
that he began shouting to Mark as soon as he
came within speaking distance.
He might as well have kept silent, however,
for he talked principally in his native tongue,
and Mark could not understand that. Reaching
the fence, he cleared it at a bound, and
running up to Mark, who stood looking at him
in astonishment, exclaimed:
“Mil-la-la, you white boy! mil-la-la you,
quick!”
And as he spoke he seized Mark by the arm,
and tried to pull him toward the house.
“Now, see here,” said the latter, pulling off
his jacket; “do you want to wrestle? If you
do, you’re just the fellow I am looking for.”
“No, no! no, no!” cried the young savage,
jumping back, and vehemently shaking his
head. “Mil-la-la, you!”
“Talk English, why don’t you?” said Mark
impatiently. “I can’t understand that jargon.
What do you want me to do? If you haven’t
come over here to wrestle, you had better keep
your hands to yourself.”
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
“Well, I mean you run,” urged Jim. “You
run away, quick. See! Indian coming to
kill!”
He pointed toward the cotton-field, and the
sight that met Mark’s gaze made the cold chills
creep all over him. A party of half a dozen
braves were approaching the shop in single file
at a rapid trot. They were all stripped to the
waist, daubed with paint, wore feathers in their
hair, carried knives and hatchets in their hands,
and altogether their appearance was enough to
frighten any boy who had never seen Indians
in war costume before. The foremost warrior
was the one who had been pulled down by the
dogs. When he discovered Mark, he placed
his hand to his mouth and gave the war-whoop.
“Jeemes’ River!” was Mark’s mental ejaculation
(that was what he always said when he
was astonished or alarmed). “Don’t I wish I
was somewhere?”
“See, you white boy!” exclaimed Jim, who
was so excited and terrified that he could
scarcely stand still. “You run, or Indian
kill.”
“Keep your hands off,” said Mark, as the
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
young wrestler once more tried to push him
toward the house. “This is my father’s plantation.
I’ve more right here than they have. I
haven’t done any thing to be ashamed of, and
I shan’t run a step.”
The savages had by this time reached the
fence that inclosed the cotton-field, and there
they stopped to listen to a speech from their
leader, who emphasized his remarks by flourishing
his knife and hatchet above his head and
yelling furiously.
“Look here, Jim!” said Mark suddenly.
“Go and tell those fellows that if they know
when they are well off they won’t come over
that fence.”
“Oh, no! You run!” entreated Jim, who
seemed to be greatly distressed on Mark’s
account. “Indian kill, sure!”
“I shan’t budge an inch. Now, that’s flat.
Jim, I shan’t tell you more than a dozen times
that if you don’t want to wrestle you had better
keep your hands away from me. Go and
tell those painted gentlemen that I say they
have come close enough.”
The young wrestler, seeing that Mark was
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
firmly resolved to stand his ground, darted off
like a flask, and, perching himself upon the
fence, began a speech. He threw his arms
wildly about his head, twisted himself into all
sorts of shapes, and shouted at the top of his
voice.
Mark could not understand a word he said,
but the Indians could, and they seemed very
much interested. They listened respectfully,
no doubt, because the speaker was the son of
their chief, only interrupting him now and
then with a long-drawn “O-o m-i!” which was
probably intended for applause.
If Jim was trying to induce the warriors to
return peaceably to camp, he did not succeed
in his object. The leader looked toward Mark,
who stood in the door of the shop, keeping his
eye on the savages, and stooping down occasionally
to caress his hounds, and becoming
enraged at his coolness, again raised the war-whoop,
whereupon Jim brought his speech to
a sudden close, and, jumping down from the
fence, hurried up to Mark, and begged him to
run for his life.
“I shan’t stir a peg,” was the angry response.
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
“Go back and say to those men that I am tired
of waiting. Tell them that if they come inside
this lot I’ll make my hounds eat them up.”
Jim ran back to the fence, and for the second
time occupied the attention of the warriors
with a speech. They listened attentively for
awhile, as before, but his eloquence seemed to
make but very little impression upon them, for
the leader again raised the war-whoop, and
placed his hands upon the fence, as if about
to spring over.
“Come on!” shouted Mark, who was every
moment growing more angry and impatient.
“Come inside this lot if you dare! Hands off,
Jim!” he added, pushing back the young
Indian, who once more tried to pull him toward
the house. “I am just in the right humor for
a wrestle now, and when I get through with
your friends there I will show you what a white
boy can do. Jeemes’ River! why don’t you
come on?”
But the Indians, if they had any intention of
crossing the fence at all, were not ready to do
it just then. They listened to another long
speech from their leader, and then, to Mark’s
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
great amazement, started back through the
cotton-field toward the camp. When they disappeared
in the woods, Mark drew a long
breath of relief, and turned to Jim, who stood
looking at him with every expression of wonder
and curiosity. The young wrestler was hardly
prepared to believe that any one, especially a
boy sixteen years old, could see the famous
Choctaw braves in war-paint without being
very badly frightened.
“You no afraid?” he inquired.
“Afraid!” repeated Mark. “Scarcely.
What’s the use of being afraid until you
see something to be afraid of? I feel grateful
to you, Jim, for the interest you seem
to take in my welfare, and I assure you
that I shall always remember it. But you
know you challenged me to wrestle with
you last night. Come on now; I am ready
for you.”
But Jim was not ready for Mark. The latter
had given evidence that he was blessed with a
goodly share of courage; and the Indian,
believing, no doubt, that he possessed strength
and activity in the same proportion, thought
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
it best to keep out of his reach. He retreated
toward the fence, crying out, “No, no; no, no,
white boy!” at the same time waving Mark
back with his open hands.
“Well, then, if you don’t want to wrestle,
perhaps you will be good enough to carry a
message from me to your friends,” said Mark.
“Tell them that if they will take my advice
they will leave this plantation with as little
delay as possible. I shall ride through those
woods with my hounds about sundown, and—pay
strict attention to what I say now, Jim—if
I catch a redskin in that camp, I’ll—I’ll—”
Mark finished the sentence by drawing his
head down between his shoulders, opening his
eyes to their widest extent, spreading out his
fingers like the claws of some wild animal, and
assuming a most ferocious expression of countenance,
which made Jim retreat a step or two
as if afraid that Mark was about to jump at
him.
I am not certain that Mark could have told
exactly what he meant by this pantomime, and
neither am I prepared to say how Jim interpreted
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
it; but I do know that he started for
the camp with all possible speed, while Mark,
highly excited, went back to the house to relate
his adventure to mother.
That evening, about an hour before sunset,
we returned from our deer hunt, and were not
a little surprised to find the camp deserted.
Not an Indian was to be seen. The warriors,
squaws, pappooses, dogs and all had left for
parts unknown. Father laughed when mother
told him what had happened during our
absence; but I could see by the expression in
his eye that one Indian, at least, did a very
wise thing when he took Mark’s advice and left
the plantation.
I have since learned enough about these
people to know that Mark showed himself a
hero on that day. If he had taken to his heels
the Indians would have pursued him, and there
was no knowing what they might have done in
their blind rage. His bold front cooled their
ardor, and perhaps saved somebody’s life.
Although the savages had left the plantation,
we were not yet done with them. A few nights
afterward our cotton gin was set on fire, and
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
the moccasin tracks in the mud showed who
did it. We had a lively time hunting up the
incendiaries, and I came in for some adventures,
the like of which I had never known before.
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IV. | A FRIEND IN NEED.
.sp 2
Our fellows all ate supper at our house
that night, and a happier party than
that which sat at our table was never seen anywhere.
Mark was the hero of the evening, and after
he had entertained us with a glowing description
of his adventure with the Indians, we
related to him the exciting and amusing incidents
that had happened during our deer hunt.
Duke, Herbert and Sandy started for home
shortly after dark, and Mark and I went up to
headquarters and prepared to pass the evening
with our books. We intended to go back to
school in the spring, and as we were too ambitious
to fall behind our classes, we made it a
point to devote a portion of each day to good
hard study. I picked up my philosophy;
while Mark settled into a comfortable position
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
in his easy-chair, thrust his slippered feet out
toward the fire, and soon became deeply interested
in a problem in quadratic equations.
The hours flew rapidly by, and it was nine
o’clock almost before we knew it. By that
time Mark had found a problem that brought
him to a standstill, and resorting to his usual
method of stimulating his ideas, he picked up
his guitar and cleared his throat preparatory
to treating me to his favorite song, “The
Hunter’s Chorus,” which I had heard so often
that I was heartily tired of it.
Just then the hounds in the yard set up a
loud baying. We heard the bars rattle, and
then came the clatter of horses’ hoofs and loud
voices at the door. Heavy steps sounded in
the hall and ascended the stairs. A moment
afterward the door opened and Sandy Todd
came in, his clothes all splashed with mud, and
his usually red face pale with excitement or
anger, we could not tell which.
“What’s up?” we asked, in concert.
“I reckon I might as well tell you to onct,”
answered Sandy, “’cause you never could
guess it. Jerry Lamar is in jail.”
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
“In jail!” we echoed. “What for?”
“He is charged with stealin’ eight thousand
dollars from General Mason,” was the reply.
I must stop here long enough to tell you
something about Jerry Lamar, because he had
considerable to do with the adventures that
befell us during the winter. He lived about
six miles from our house, on the banks of
Black Bayou. His parents were poor, and
Jerry and his father were lumbermen. They
cut logs in the swamp, made them into rafts,
and when the freshets came, floated them out
to the river and down to New Orleans, where
they sold them.
The timber they cut was all on our plantation,
and father had so much confidence in their
honesty that he never measured the rafts when
they came out, but accepted the money Mr.
Lamar offered him without asking any questions.
Jerry was one of the best boys I ever knew.
Honest, good-natured and accommodating, he
was beloved by every body (except old General
Mason, who cared for no one but himself and
his graceless nephew), and he would have been
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
one of our fellows if he could have found time
to accompany us on our expeditions; but he
was too poor to own a horse or gun, and was
obliged to work steadily from one year’s end
to another. He was ambitious and tried hard
to better his condition, but somehow he always
had bad luck.
General Mason (I do not know why people
called him “General,” unless it was because
he had plenty of money, for he never held a
military commission in his life) was continually
getting himself or somebody else into
trouble.
He had long shown a disposition to persecute
Mr. Lamar, because the latter refused to buy
his timber in the swamps at double its value,
and Mark and I had no hesitation in affirming
that he had brought this charge against Jerry
to be revenged on his father.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” said I.
“Any one who knows Jerry Lamar would
never suspect him of such a thing,” chimed in
Mark.
“I am sorry to say, fellers, that thar’s no
mistake about it—that is, as fur as his bein’ in
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
jail is consarned, ’cause my father seed him
when he was goin’ in. He’s down stairs now,
pap is, talkin’ to your folks about goin’ Jerry’s
bail.”
“Is there nothing we can do for him?” I
asked.
“We can at least go down and see him, and
assure him of our sympathy,” said Mark.
“That’s jest what I thought,” replied Sandy.
“I will ride over arter Duke and Herbert, and
by the time I get back you can be ready.”
Sandy lumbered off down stairs, and Mark
and I pulled on our boots and hurried after
him. We stopped in the sitting-room for a
few minutes to hear what Mr. Todd had to say
about it, and when we saw father preparing to
accompany him to town, we ran out to the
barn to saddle our horses.
In about a quarter of an hour Sandy came
back with Duke and Herbert, and we all set
out for Burton (that was the name of the village
in which the jail was situated), galloping along
the road at break-neck speed, and spattering
the mud in every direction.
When he had gone about a mile and a half,
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
we suddenly discovered a horseman in the
road in advance of us, whose actions we thought
indicated a desire to avoid us, for he turned off
the road into the bushes.
“That fellow, whoever he is, has been doing
something mean,” said Duke, jumping his
horse across the ditch beside the road and riding
toward the place where the stranger was
concealed. “An honest man wouldn’t sneak
off into the woods and hide that way. Hallo,
there! Come out and show yourself!”
“Is that you, boys?” asked a trembling
voice in the bushes.
“Oh, it’s that Tom Mason!” said Mark,
contemptuously. “What trick are you up
to now? You have been about some under-handed
business, or you wouldn’t be afraid of
us.”
“I haven’t been up to any trick; I haven’t,
honor bright,” declared Tom, with more earnestness
than we thought the occasion demanded.
“I didn’t know who it was coming down the
road at that reckless pace. Where are you
going in such a hurry?”
“To town, to see Jerry,” replied Duke.
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
“You are! I wouldn’t go near him if I
were you. He’s a thief!”
As Tom said this he came out into the road,
and we saw that his face was deathly pale,
and that he was trembling all over, as if he had
been seized with an attack of the ague.
If we had known what Tom had passed
through during the last few hours, perhaps we
should not have been so surprised at the sight.
Had we been in his situation, it is probable
that we would have been frightened, too.
Tom Mason was the nephew and ward of the
richest man in that part of Mississippi, and the
most unpopular boy in the settlement. He was
so overbearing, and so dishonest and untruthful,
that no one who had the least respect for
himself could associate with him.
He cordially hated our fellows, because we
would not invite him to accompany us on our
hunting and fishing excursions, and never
allowed an opportunity to do us an injury to
pass unimproved. I shall have more to say
about him presently.
“You fellows act as though you thought
yourselves something grand,” continued Tom,
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
“and I supposed you were above associating
with a thief.”
“Now, I’ll tell you what’s the truth,” said
Sandy, shutting one eye and wrinkling up his
nose, as he always did when he was very much
in earnest, “Jerry ain’t no more of a thief than
I be.”
“He is in jail, isn’t he?” demanded Tom.
“That is enough to disgrace him forever.
Those who visit him and sympathize with him
are no better than he is.”
“Thar ain’t no disgrace whar thar ain’t no
guilt,” replied Sandy, half inclined to get
angry. “An’ another thing, what’s the use
of a fellow’s havin’ friends if they go back on
him the minute he gets into trouble? Jerry
will find that we’ll stick to him now same as we
did afore. Now I’ll tell you what’s the truth,
Tom Mason: He don’t know no more about
them thar eight thousand dollars than you do.”
“Nor half as much,” said Mark, decidedly.
“Fellows,” he added, as we left Tom and went
clattering down the road again, “if the general
has really lost any money, that boy knows
where it is.”
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
We reached the village in a few minutes,
and without any delay were conducted to the
cell in which Jerry was confined.
I shall never forget the thrill of horror that
ran through me as the heavy iron door clanged
behind us, or the despairing, woe-begone
expression on the face of the prisoner. A few
hours had made a great change in that jolly,
wide-awake boy. He sat on his narrow bed
with his face hidden in his hands, and when he
looked up, I saw that his eyes were red and
swollen with weeping.
“I little thought I should ever come to this,”
said Jerry, in a husky voice; “and I never
expected to see you here, either.”
“When a fellow is in trouble he wants
friends, doesn’t he?” asked Duke. “Have
you had any examination yet?”
“I have been before the squire, if that is
what you mean, and have been sent here in
default of bail—sixteen thousand dollars.
The squire might as well have said a million.”
“No, I reckon not,” said Sandy. “Mr.
Coleman an’ Mr. Dickson an’ my father can
raise sixteen thousand dollars, I think, but it
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
might bother ’em some to find a million. Now,
I’ll tell you what’s the truth, Jeremiah Lamar,
did you steal them thar eight thousand from
General Mason?”
“No, I never saw the money.”
“How in the world did you manage to get
into this miserable scrape?” asked Duke.
Jerry wiped his eyes and settled back on his
elbow, while we disposed of ourselves in various
attitudes about the cell and waited for him
to begin the story.
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER V. | WE TALK THE MATTER OVER.
.sp 2
As Jerry’s utterance was often interrupted
by sobs, it took him a long time to tell
us how this unpleasant state of affairs had
been brought about.
During the progress of his story we learned
that General Mason, according to the evidence
he had given before the squire, had that morning
returned from New Orleans, where he had
been to draw some money to make the first
payment on a plantation he had recently purchased.
The boat on which he was a passenger stopped
at the mouth of the bayou to take on a supply
of wood; and the general, learning that Mr.
Lamar was about to come down with another
raft, suddenly took it into his head that it
would be a good plan to go up and examine it.
He had lost a good deal of valuable timber of
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
late, he said, and he believed that Jerry and
his father had stolen it. He would look at the
raft, and if there were any of his logs in it he
would know them, for they were all marked.
So he jumped into a skiff and pulled up the
bayou, taking with him a valise containing
eight thousand dollars in gold.
He found Mr. Lamar engaged in making up
the raft, a portion of which was moored to the
bank in front of his house. The general got
out of his skiff, and after examining that part
of the raft, walked up the bayou to the place
where Mr. Lamar was at work.
The latter, knowing why he had come there,
good-naturedly took his pike-staff and turned
the logs over in the water, so that the general
could see all sides of them.
But none of them bore his mark; and without
even apologizing to the lumberman for the
trouble he had given him, the general returned
to the skiff. He got out the oars and was
about to shove off from the bank, when he discovered
that the valise containing the eight
thousand dollars, which he had carelessly left
in the boat, was gone.
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
Jerry was busy chopping wood in front of
the house, and without an instant’s hesitation
the general sprang ashore, seized him by the
collar, and walking him into the skiff, started
off to take him before the magistrate.
“You can’t imagine how astonished I was,”
said Jerry. "When the general first came
there I was not at home; I was up the bayou
after a load of wood. You know that when
the water comes up it makes an island of the
hill on which our house stands, and we are
obliged to bring all our firewood from the
mainland in a canoe. I noticed the skiff when
I came back, but I did not know who had
brought it there until I saw General Mason up
the bank with father, looking at the logs.
When he came down I wished him good-morning;
but he did not speak or even look at me,
and I went on with my work. The next
thing I knew I was lying flat on the bottom
of the skiff, and he was shoving off into the
stream.
"‘You see I am prepared for any tricks,’
said he, flourishing a revolver before my face.
‘You have stolen eight thousand dollars out of
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
this boat. Now will you tell me where it is,
or go to jail?"
"If the Mississippi had suddenly overflowed
its banks and come pouring into the bayou,
carrying every thing before it, I could not have
been more astounded and alarmed. How could
I tell him where his money was when I had
never seen it?
“I said every thing I could to convince him
that I was innocent of the crime with which
he charged me; but it was of no use. I might
as well have kept silent. In obedience to his
orders I picked up the oars and pulled down
the bayou; and here I am.”
“Well,” said I, when Jerry paused, “I
don’t see that you are in such a terrible scrape.
How is General Mason going to prove that you
stole his money?”
“Humph!” exclaimed Duke, "you had
better ask ‘How is Jerry going to prove that
he didn’t steal it?’ I have read somewhere,"
he continued, "that a trial at law is a lie
direct. One says ‘You did,’ and the other
says ‘I didn’t.’ In this case General Mason
affirms that Jerry stole his money, and Jerry
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
declares that he never saw it. We know that
the general is mistaken, but how are we going
to convince him of that fact while he has the
evidence all on his side?"
“I know how,” exclaimed Herbert, excitedly.
“We’ll find the real culprit, that’s the way
we’ll do it; and I can put my hands on him in
less than half an hour. That Tom Mason is
the very fellow.”
“Where is your proof?” inquired the practical
Duke.
“Who knows that the money was stolen at
all?” asked Mark. “Perhaps it fell overboard.”
“Well, suppose it did. That doesn’t help
the matter any, for how are we going to show
that it fell overboard?”
“Oh, I am ruined, boys!” groaned Jerry,
who had listened attentively to what Duke had
to say. “I can’t prove that I did not steal the
money, for there was no one near me. Mother
was in the house, and I was alone with the skiff
for at least ten minutes. My word will go for
nothing against that of a man like General
Mason. But, fellows, if that money was stolen
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
at all, it was taken before I got back with my
load of wood.”
“Did you see any one prowling around your
house?” asked Duke. “Perhaps some of the
Swamp Dragoons were up there hunting.”
“If they were, I did not see them. I was
alone.”
Duke had shown us just how the matter
stood, and our friend’s prospects began to look
very dark indeed. No one could blame General
Mason, for the evidence was strong against
Jerry. We knew he was innocent, but we
could not prove it, and he would spend the
best years of his life in prison, and the real
culprit would never be discovered.
While we were thinking the matter over, and
wondering what we could do to assist Jerry,
we heard a heavy tramping in the hall, and
presently Mr. Todd, Mr. Dickson and father
came in, accompanied by the constable and
jailer. They had found bail for Jerry, and he
was once more at liberty to go where he pleased
until the following month, when his case would
come up for trial before the Circuit Court. He
did not seem very much elated over his liberation,
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
for he shrank from encountering the
curious eyes which he knew would be turned
upon him when he reached the street. But we
did not give him time to think about that.
Herbert and I caught him by the arms, Sandy
put his hat on his head (he was so completely
wrapped up in his troubles that he seemed to
have forgotten that he had a hat to wear, or a
pair of feet to stand upon), and we hurried him
out of the jail and across the road to the place
where we had left our horses.
We sprang into our saddles, I took Jerry up
behind me, and in a few minutes carried him
out of sight of the village. In accordance with
his request, I put him down at the head of the
lane that led to the swamp, and there we all
separated and set out for home.
It was late when Mark and I awoke the next
morning. After breakfast, I shouldered an
ax, and, mounting my horse, started for the
woods, where I had agreed to meet the rest of
our fellows and spend an hour or two with them
in building turkey-traps, while Mark, who said
he didn’t feel like tramping around in the mud
all day, remained at home.
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
No one could have told from the way the
day began, that it was destined to wind up with
an adventure, and that Mark’s “laziness,” as
I called it, was to bring about a series of events
that ultimately proved to be of the greatest
benefit to Jerry Lamar; but yet it was so.
Before Mark went to bed again he got into a
scrape that well nigh cost him his life, and enabled
him to prove Jerry’s innocence to every
body’s satisfaction. In order that you may
understand how it came about, I must follow
his movements.
After I left, Mark studied awhile, read a
little, and thrummed on his guitar a good deal.
He passed an hour in this way, and at the end
of that time was aroused from a reverie into
which he had fallen by a sound which never
failed to throw him into a state of intense excitement—the
“honk, honk!” uttered by a
flock of wild geese as they flew over the house.
Mark was all life and activity in an instant.
Dropping his guitar as if it had been a coal of
fire, he caught up his gun, which he always
kept loaded and ready for such an emergency,
and, in less time than it takes to tell it, was
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
standing bareheaded in the yard, gazing up
into the air, which was fairly darkened by
wild geese.
Bang! bang! spoke the double-barrel, in
quick, decided tones, and down came two of
the flock, one stone dead and the other with a
broken wing.
After securing his game, Mark stood watching
the birds, which flew slowly onward, gradually
settling down as they neared the swamp,
and finally disappearing behind the bushes
that lined the banks of the bayou.
“They have taken to the water,” said Mark,
gleefully, “and if I don’t bag a dozen of them
before I am an hour older, it will be because I
have forgotten how to shoot on the wing.”
Mark ran up to headquarters, and presently
reappeared in his big boots and shooting-jacket,
his powder-flask and shot-bag slung over his
shoulder, and his trusty double-barrel under
his arm.
He ran into the kitchen to ask Aunt Martha
to put up a lunch for him, and in half an hour
more he had embarked in the canoe which we
kept moored in the bayou, and was paddling
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
for dear life toward the place where he had
seen the geese alight in the water.
If you have never seen a freshet I can not
convey to you even a slight idea of the appearance
the swamp presented to Mark’s gaze that
morning.
In summer it was perfectly dry, and the
bayou which ran through it was not more
than ten feet wide, and so shallow that the
little trading boats, which are said to be able
to run after a heavy dew, could not possibly
ascend it.
Now the swamp was covered to the depth of
fifteen feet, and the bayou was booming along
at the rate of ten miles an hour, carrying with
it huge trees and logs, which were whirled
about in every direction, threatening instant
destruction to any thing that came within their
reach.
Of course navigation was dangerous in the
extreme; but Mark never thought of that.
His mind was wholly occupied with the wild
geese.
The canoe, propelled by the current and the
rapid strokes of the paddle, quickly reached
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
the bend in which the geese had alighted, and
as Mark rounded the point above it, he saw the
flock before him, and within easy range.
I need not stop to relate to you the incidents
of the hunt, which continued nearly all day;
for, although interesting in themselves, they
have no bearing upon the adventure which followed.
It will be enough to say that the geese
took wing as often as Mark approached them;
that they always left two, and sometimes four
and five, of their number dead or wounded behind
them; that at last they became alarmed
at the havoc made in their ranks, and rising
high in the air, flew over the tops of the trees,
toward the river; and that when they
disappeared, Mark, with some difficulty,
landed on a little island in the bayou to
rest after his long-continued exertions, and to
eat the lunch which Aunt Martha had put up
for him.
As soon as his excitement had somewhat
abated, he proceeded to make an examination
of his spoils, and found that he had been successful
beyond his most sanguine expectations—thirty-two
fine, fat geese bearing evidence to
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
the skill with which he had handled his double-barrel.
He also became conscious of another fact
after he had looked about him, and that was
that he had not the least idea how far he was
from home, or in what part of the swamp he
had brought up. He could not discover a single
familiar landmark. With the exception of
the island on which he was standing, and which
was not more than twenty feet square, there
was not a spot of dry land within the range of
his vision—nothing but a wilderness of giant
trees, standing half submerged in the dark,
muddy water, which rushed by the island with
the speed of a mill-sluice.
To add to the unpleasantness of his situation,
the leafless branches above his head were tossing
about in violent commotion, and the surface
of the water was whirled into eddies by a
fierce wind, which increased in fury every
moment, betokening the approach of a tempest.
Some boys would have been frightened, but
Mark was not. He ate his lunch with great
deliberation, glancing up at the clouds occasionally,
thinking over the incidents of the
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
day, and trying to determine upon some plan
of action.
There were two ways for him to return
home. One was to pull back up the bayou in
the direction from which he had come, and the
other to float down the stream until he reached
the river.
There was one insurmountable obstacle in
the way of carrying out the first plan, and that
was, that alone and unaided he could not possibly
propel his canoe against the current.
To the second plan there was also an objection—quite
a formidable one, too—which, in
order that you may understand what followed,
I must explain at some length.
I have told you that the bayou emptied into
the Mississippi River. About a mile above its
mouth was a succession of falls, perhaps fifteen
feet high, and at this point the bayou, which
ran between two rocky bluffs, made a very
abrupt bend. The foot of the bluff on the
lower side had been worn away by the constant
action of the water, causing the top to
hang threateningly over the bed of the stream.
Against this bluff, and along the whole
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
length of it, was piled a dense mass of logs
and trees, thus forming a sort of cavern, open
at both ends.
This cave went by the name of “Dead Man’s
Elbow,” from the fact that more than one lumberman
had lost his life there.
When the water was low it could be easily
explored, and many a hot summer’s day had
our fellows spent there fishing and shooting
alligators; but during a freshet it was a dangerous
place.
The space between the bluffs was so narrow
that only a small portion of the water could
pass over the falls, and the most of it found
its way into this cavern, through which it
rushed and roared with the speed of a small
Niagara; and any thing that came within its
reach was hurried along with almost incredible
fury, and dashed upon the logs and rocks
below.
This was the obstacle that Mark would be
obliged to pass on his way to the river. Of
course there was a possibility that he would
accomplish the descent in safety, for he was a
skillful boatman, and he knew that more than
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
one canoe and dozens of heavy rafts had passed
over the falls when the water was at its highest;
but if any accident befell him—if he once
allowed himself to be brought within the influence
of the powerful current that set toward
the cavern—if his paddle broke or he became
exhausted, it would be “all day” with him.
Mark thought of these things while he was
munching his sandwiches, and when the last
one had been disposed of he stepped into his
canoe and began to make preparations for his
perilous voyage.
His first move was to pack the geese carefully
away under the thwarts, so that they would
not be thrown overboard in case of any sudden
lurching of his little vessel, and the second to
fasten a strap to his shotgun and sling it over
his shoulder.
Mark was greatly attached to that little
double-barrel, and he was determined that if
he passed Dead Man’s Elbow in safety, the gun
should go through safely, also.
Perhaps his hands trembled a little while he
was making these preparations, perhaps too, he
wished that some other boy had been standing
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
in his boots just then; but there was no alternative
between attempting the passage of the
falls and camping all night in the swamp
without a fire, and of the two evils he thought
he had chosen the least.
All things being ready, Mark cast off the
painter, and with one sweep of the paddle
turned the canoe about and sent it flying down
the bayou. He went at almost railroad speed,
but kept his craft completely under control,
and when at last he came suddenly around a
sharp bend and found himself between two
high bluffs, with Dead Man’s Elbow in plain
sight, he had screwed his courage up to the
sticking point, and was ready to face the
danger.
He placed his hat more firmly on his head,
tightened his grasp on his paddle, and fastening
his eyes on the falls before him, was nerving
himself for the plunge, when his attention was
suddenly attracted by loud shouts, which sounded
from the cliffs above. He looked up, and
the sight that met his gaze filled him with
amazement and consternation.
Near the middle of the bayou, and but a
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
short distance above the falls, was a dead tree
which must have possessed enormous roots, for
it had stood there ever since I could remember,
holding its upright position in defiance of the
logs and rafts that had been dashed against
it.
It was not the tree itself that fixed Mark’s
gaze and excited his surprise, but something
that was crouching among its branches. It was
not a bear or panther, but a man, dressed in a
tattered brown jeans suit, who seemed to be
very badly frightened, for that portion of his
face which was visible over his bushy, uncombed
whiskers was as pale as death.
Stranded on the very brink of the falls was
the skiff in which the man had doubtless descended
the bayou. It was lying on its side,
half filled with water, and all that kept it from
going over the falls was the log against which
it had lodged.
On the cliff above the falls stood the persons
whose shouts had attracted Mark’s attention.
There were half a dozen of them—boys about
his own age—and they were the redoubtable
Swamp Dragoons who have already been mentioned
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
in this story, and who are destined from
this time forth to play a prominent part in it.
One of them held a long rope in his hand,
with which he had been trying to rescue the
man in the tree. They were all in a high state
of excitement and alarm, which seemed to be
greatly increased by Mark’s sudden appearance
among them.
As soon as he came in sight, one of the
Dragoons, who, like a good many others in the
settlement, had not yet learned to tell Mark
and me apart, called out:
“Now, then, what do you want here, Joe
Coleman? Jest turn right around and go
back up the bayou. You’ve got no sort of
business here.”
“Yes,” shouted the man in the tree, shaking
his fist at Mark, “go back whar you come
from. What are you spyin’ about here fur?”
At first Mark did not know what to make of
this greeting. Why should the man in the
tree accuse him of acting as a spy upon his
movements, and what reason had the Dragoons
for ordering him away when he had as much
right there as they had? There could be but
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
one answer to these questions, and that was
that there was something in the vicinity which
they did not want him to see.
“Do you hear what I say!” shouted the
man in the tree. “Get away—go back whar
you come from. We don’t want you about
here.”
“Get away yourself,” replied Mark. “Haven’t
you sense enough to know that I couldn’t
go back if I wanted to? There isn’t a man
living who can paddle a canoe against this current.”
These words had scarcely left Mark’s lips
before he became aware that he had got himself
into trouble. While his attention was
drawn to the man in the tree, his canoe had
escaped from his control, and was now shooting
with the speed of an arrow toward the
cavern. It was not more than twenty feet distant,
and if he once entered it no power on
earth could save him.
When he saw and fully realized his danger,
his face grew deathly pale, and for an instant
the light paddle in his hand felt as heavy as
lead. But it was only for an instant. His
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
power of action returned almost as quickly as
it had deserted him, and, jumping to his feet,
he fought hard for his life.
For a few seconds it seemed as if his puny
arm could combat successfully with the roaring,
foaming waters which leaped so wildly
around him; but just at the moment when the
canoe appeared to be perfectly motionless, and
it seemed as if a feather’s weight might turn it
either way—toward the falls, where it would
be comparatively safe, or toward the cavern
where its destruction was certain—there was a
loud snap, and Mark found himself standing
with a broken paddle in his hand, and saw the
bow of the canoe swinging rapidly toward the
waves which filled the mouth of Dead Man’s
Elbow.
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VI. | MARK MAKES A DISCOVERY.
.sp 2
If there was any thing for which Mark was
noted, besides his skill as a wrestler, it
was the coolness and deliberation with which
he acted in times of danger.
In this, he was a good deal like Sandy, who
could scarcely be induced to move one step
faster than his ordinary gait even under the
most exciting circumstances.
Mark often grew pale in trying situations,
and sometimes seemed utterly powerless to lift
hand or foot, but when the decisive moment
came, and action could be no longer delayed,
he moved with a promptness and celerity that
was astonishing.
On this occasion it did not seem that there
was the smallest chance of escape. The Swamp
Dragoons and the man in the tree thought so,
and looked down at him with blanched cheeks.
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
Mark thought so, and stood erect in his boat,
gazing in a stupid, benumbed sort of way into
the dark opening where more than one strong
man had given up his life, and toward which
he was being hurried with lightning speed.
But all this time he knew what he was about,
and, when the canoe was on the very point of
taking the fatal plunge, he sprang into the air
with the agility of a squirrel.
The instant he touched the water he gave
one swift stroke and reached a place of refuge—a
huge sawyer, one end of which was imbedded
in the mud at the bottom of the bayou,
and the other projecting two or three feet
above the surface of the water.
Clinging with a death-grip to this friendly
support, he turned to look at his canoe; but
it had already disappeared, and was being
smashed into kindling-wood as the mad waters
hurried it through the cavern.
“Whew!” gasped Mark, drawing himself
out of the water and seating himself on the
sawyer; “did any body ever hear of a closer
shave than that?”
“Well, you done come safe off, didn’t you?”
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
growled the man in the tree, and Mark judged
by the tones of his voice that he would have
been much better pleased if he had gone into
the cavern with the canoe. “The next time
you come so nigh to goin’ out o’ the world,
you’ll go; you kin bet on that.”
Mark did not reply. He sat on the log,
panting loudly, and looking first at the place
where his canoe had disappeared, then at the
angry waters about him, and finally he fastened
his gaze upon the man in the tree, who seemed
to be in no amiable frame of mind.
He was no stranger to the persons into whose
company he had been thus unexpectedly
thrown.
About ten miles from our settlement, in an
almost inaccessible part of the swamp, lived a
colony of people who gained a livelihood in
some mysterious manner, that had more than
once excited the suspicions of the planters.
The head man among them was Luke Redman,
and he it was who was now crouching in
the branches of the tree, glaring down at Mark
like some wild animal which had been brought
to bay by the hounds.
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
The boys on the cliff were the younger members
of the colony of which I have spoken,
who seemed in a fair way to follow in the footsteps
of their fathers, for a harder set of fellows
could not be found anywhere.
They boasted a sort of military organization,
and their officers were a captain and a lieutenant.
The captain was Barney Redman, the oldest
son of the man in the tree, and his distinguishing
badge was a squirrel’s tail, which he wore
in front of his hat for a plume.
His brother Luke, the lieutenant, sported a
coonskin cap and a couple of turkey feathers.
The Dragoons were gathered in a group on
the edge of the cliff, holding a whispered consultation,
and now and then looking down at
Mark, as if he were the subject of their conversation.
“What’s the matter with you, Barney?”
said Mark, at length, addressing himself to
the captain of the Dragoons; “you seem to be
mad about something.”
“What business have you got here? That’s
what I want to know,” replied Barney, angrily.
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
“The best thing you can do is to leave here
sudden.”
“I am well satisfied of that. It is pretty
cold, and I am not at all comfortable sitting
here in my wet clothes. If you will tell me
how to reach dry land, I shall be greatly
obliged to you. But, I say, Barney!”
“Well, what do you want?”
“What’s been going on here?”
“Who said any thing had been goin’ on?”
demanded Luke Redman, in a tone of voice
which indicated considerable alarm.
And as he spoke, he cast a sidelong glance
over his shoulder toward his skiff, which was
stranded on the edge of the falls.
There was something so stealthy in the action
that Mark’s suspicions were aroused in an
instant. He followed the man’s glance, and
one look was enough to clear up every thing
which, but a moment before, had appeared so
mysterious.
“Thar hain’t been nothin’ goin’ on here that
I knows on,” repeated Mr. Redman. “I come
down the bayou, same as you did, an’ got
ketched in the current an’ upsot; an’ if it
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
hadn’t been for this yere tree, I’d ’a gone over
the falls, I reckon.”
“What’s that hanging to the row-lock of
your skiff?” asked Mark, suddenly.
“Whar? I don’t see nothin’.”
“Don’t you? Well, I do. It is a valise,
and has General Mason’s name on it. I can
see it as plainly as I can see you. There
hasn’t been any thing going on here, eh? I
know better. There are eight thousand dollars
in gold in that valise, Luke Redman, and
you were making off with it. That’s what’s
been going on.”
Mark had hit the nail squarely on the head.
Luke Redman certainly had General Mason’s
valise in his skiff, and he had come down the
bayou, intending to escape to the river with
his booty, and cross into Louisiana; and it is
probable that he would have succeeded in
carrying out his plans, had it not been for the
accident that compelled him to take refuge in
the tree.
When the skiff was overturned, one of the
handles of the valise had, by the merest accident,
caught in the row-lock, and that was all
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
that saved it from going to the bottom of the
bayou.
There it hung, in plain sight, bobbing up
and down in the water, as the skiff rose and
fell with the waves.
A dead silence succeeded Mark’s bold announcement
of the discovery he had made.
The Dragoons brought their consultation to
a sudden close, and looked at Luke Redman,
whose face turned pale with alarm, and then
almost purple with rage.
“I call this a lucky hunt, after all,” said
Mark, who, knowing that he was out of reach
of his enemies, was disposed to be impudent.
“When I get back to the settlement, my first
hard work shall be to clear Jerry Lamar, and
put the authorities on your track.”
“But you hain’t got back to the settlement
yet,” shouted Luke Redman, “an’, what’s
more, you shan’t go. You’ll never see your
home ag’in, mind that.”
“Why not?” inquired Mark, who knew
very well what the man meant by this threat.
“Who’s going to hinder me?”
“I am. Don’t you think it would be a
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
mighty smart thing for me to let you go back
to your folks, an’ tell ’em what you’ve done
seed here to-night? I hain’t quite so green as
that. Halloo, there! Stop him, Barney.
Jump on your hoss an’ foller him up, an’
ketch him. If he gets away, we are done fur.”
The sudden change in Luke Redman’s tone
was brought about by an action on Mark’s part
that astonished every body who witnessed it.
While the man was speaking he had risen to
his feet, and, balancing himself on the sawyer,
took a survey of the situation, and calculated
his chances for carrying out a desperate resolve
he had formed.
As I have told you, there were two currents
in the bayou at this particular point—one setting
toward the falls and the other toward the
cavern. The sawyer was situated near the
edge of the latter current, and Mark was sure
that a good jump and a few swift strokes would
carry him beyond its influence into the comparatively
smooth current that ran toward the
falls.
He determined to try it, and he did; and to
his infinite delight, and the intense amazement
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
of Luke Redman, he reached the smooth current
in safety, and struck out for the skiff,
intending to catch the valise as he went by and
take it away with him.
But the current was much too strong for
him. It carried him far out of reach of the
skiff, and whirled him over the falls as if he
had been a feather. He heard loud ejaculations
of rage and alarm behind him, and
caught just one glimpse of the Dragoons, who
were mounting their horses to pursue him, and
then he was swept rapidly around the bend,
and they were left out of sight.
How long Mark remained in the water, and
how far his enemies pursued him, he did not
know. He kept in the bayou until he passed
the bluffs and reached a spot where the water
once more spread out over the swamp, and
there he turned and made the best of his way
toward the chain of hills which ran along the
bank of the river.
He had ridden over the ground on horseback
more than once, but he had never swum over it
before, and the distance seemed to have lengthened
out wonderfully; but it was safely accomplished
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
at last, and when he crawled out upon
the dry ground and turned his face homeward,
he told himself that he had done something to
be proud of: He had swum over the falls—and
that was a feat that no one in the settlement
had ever attempted before—and although
he had lost his canoe and every one of the wild
geese for which he had worked so hard, he had
saved his double-barrel, and made a discovery
that was worth a great deal to Jerry Lamar.
And his exploits were not yet ended. He
was twenty miles from home, and for five long
hours he trudged along the road in his wet
clothes, facing a blinding storm and splashing
through mud more than ankle deep.
I never saw a worse-looking boy than he was
when he burst in upon us about ten o’clock,
and I do not suppose he ever saw a more astonished
family than we were, while we sat listening
to the story of his adventures.
In spite of his remonstrances, he was put to
bed immediately; while father and I donned
our rubber coats and boots, and rode out into
the storm to arouse the settlement.
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VII. | OUR CHRISTMAS TURKEYS.
.sp 2
In less than two hours after Mark reached
home, three large canoes loaded with settlers
swept down the bayou and landed at the
bluffs above Dead Man’s Elbow.
The place was found to be deserted. There
were plenty of footprints in the mud on the
top of the cliff, and that was all that remained
to tell of the thrilling incidents that had happened
there but a short time before.
The skiff and the valise had disappeared, and
the tree in which Luke Redman had taken
refuge was empty. How he managed to escape
from his perilous situation—whether he imitated
Mark’s example, and swam over the
falls, or the Swamp Dragoons succeeded in
pulling him up the bluff—we had no means of
judging. He was gone, and the next thing
was to find him.
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
During the next few days the settlement
was in great commotion. In company with the
planters, our fellows explored the county from
one end to the other, but without finding the
slightest trace of Luke Redman and the
Swamp Dragoons. They had disappeared as
completely as though they had never existed
at all.
At the end of a week, however, the excitement
began to abate, and our attention was
called to other matters. Christmas was near
at hand, and that was a great day with us.
From the time we were old enough to be
trusted with horses and guns, we had made
it a point to spend the day hunting in the
woods, winding up our sports about four
o’clock in the afternoon by eating a wild
turkey which had been roasted over our camp-fire.
We had begun as early as the first of the
month to make preparations for this all-important
occasion, but our chances for securing the
necessary game grew less promising as the day
drew near. Wild turkeys were not only exceedingly
scarce that year, but the few we saw
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
during our rambles were so shy that it was next
to an impossibility to shoot one; and as we
were resolved that we would not miss our accustomed
dinner, we were obliged to resort to
something that every true sportsman holds in
supreme contempt—namely, traps.
We built several among the beech ridges in
the swamp, but scarcely had we completed
them before we became aware that somebody
was interfering with our arrangements. He
visited the traps as regularly as we visited them
ourselves, and took all the game out of them.
We knew as well as though we had seen him
in the act that Tom Mason was the culprit, but
for a long time our efforts to fasten the guilt
upon him were unsuccessful. We came up
with the gentleman at last, however, and took
a little satisfaction out of him for the disappointment
and vexation he had occasioned us,
although before the day was over he paid me for
it in a way I did not like.
On the morning of the day before Christmas,
Mark burst into headquarters, where I was sitting
in company with the rest of our fellows,
his clothes all covered with mud that had been
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
splashed over them by his horse’s feet, and his
face red with anger. He had started out at
daylight to visit the traps, and his looks showed
plainly that he had met with no better success
than usual.
“It is no use, fellows,” said he, pitching his
hat spitefully into one corner, “we might as
well give it up. I don’t see what such boys as
Tom Mason are made for, anyhow.”
“Oh, no! we can’t give up the dinner,” said
Duke, quickly. “If we don’t succeed in capturing
a turkey, we will shoot a wild goose.
We can find plenty of them, you know.”
“Well,” replied Mark, “if you want to hunt
wild geese on a raft, you can do it. I’ll stay
at home.”
“On a raft!” repeated Duke. “Where’s the
canoe?”
“You tell; or, if you want to be certain
about it, go and ask Tom Mason. He knows.
It is gone, and I had to build a raft to go over
to the island where we made our last trap.”
We were all very much provoked when we
heard this. It was irritating enough to have
our sports interrupted and our plans broken
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
in upon by such a fellow as Tom Mason, but
we did not mind that so much as the loss of
our canoe. The Spitfire—that was the name
we had given her—was a swift, handy little
craft, and as it was the first one our fellows
ever built, and we had owned it for years, we
thought a great deal of it. Even easy-going
Sandy, who seldom spoke harshly of any body,
declared that it was high time we were taking
that Tom Mason in hand.
“I don’t think we can be expected to stand
this thing any longer,” continued Mark. “I
know that there are as many as fifty turkeys
that roost on that island at night, and that
some of them must get in that trap every
morning. I propose that we camp out on the
bank of the bayou to-night and watch the
island.”
“That’s a good idea,” said I. “I will go
down at once, and send a couple of darkeys
into the swamp to build a shanty for us.”
While I was hunting up the negroes, and
giving them some instructions in regard to the
location of the shanty, the manner in which it
was to be built, and the quantity of provisions
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
we should need during the two days we expected
to remain in the swamp, I heard a great
rumpus in the house, such as might have been
occasioned by a squad of cavalry driving rapidly
through the hall. I knew, however, that
the noise was made by the heavy boots worn
by our fellows, who were rushing pell-mell
down the stairs.
Wondering what was in the wind now, I ran
around the house, and saw a group of excited
boys gathered in the lane.
Conspicuous among them was Tom Mason,
who sat on his horse, flourishing his riding-whip
in the air and talking at the top of his
voice.
Mark held his nag by the bridle, and was
trying his best to induce Tom to dismount,
threatening to pull him from his saddle if he
did not immediately comply.
Believing that there was a fight in prospect,
and that Tom would be severely punished, I
jumped over the bars and joined the group,
intending to do all I could to prevent a difficulty.
“I don’t know any thing about your old
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
boat, Mark Coleman,” said Tom, as I came up;
“and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I
think you have good cheek to come to me for
favors after treating me as you have done.
But I will tell you one thing—you had better
look out for me now. I’ll sink that canoe if I
can find it, and I’ll pull down every turkey
trap you set in these woods.”
“Well, now, if you will come out of that
saddle for about two minutes, I will convince
you that you had better steer clear of us and
every thing belonging to us,” said Mark.
“If you know when you are well off, you
will stay where you are,” I exclaimed. “Let
go his horse, Mark. Now, friend Mason,” I
added, as Mark released his hold of the bridle
and fell back, “the way is open, and you had
better clear yourself.”
Tom rode a short distance up the lane, and
then stopped and looked back.
“Where did you get that boat you were
talking about?” he demanded.
“We made it,” replied Duke.
“That’s a likely story. I’d as soon think
you stole it. As I told you once before, those
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
who sympathize with thieves are no better
than they are. You won’t go hunting or fishing
with me; but you will ride six miles
through the mud to visit the beggar Jerry
Lamar when he is in jail.”
“Yes,” replied Herbert, “we are particular
in regard to the company we keep. We’re
rather shy of boys who steal and tell falsehoods.”
“I know what you mean by that,” said
Tom, angrily, “and I’ll pay you for it, too.
I am going to make things exceedingly lively
for all of you this winter, if you only knew it.
I’ll settle up all the little accounts between us
in a way you don’t think of; mind that!”
As Tom gave utterance to this warning, he
put spurs to his horse and galloped away,
while our fellows returned to headquarters.
We spent an hour or two in talking over the
events of the morning, and about eleven o’clock
mounted our horses and started for the swamp.
We passed the time until three in the afternoon
in riding about among the hills, visiting
our traps, and you can imagine what our feelings
were when we found that Tom Mason had
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
already begun to carry out the threats he had
made that morning.
Two of our traps had been robbed since
Mark visited them at daylight, and as many
more completely demolished.
How did we know that any of them had
been robbed? By the feathers that were scattered
about over the ground.
We found, too, that the thief had come into
the woods by way of the bayou, for we
tracked him to the bank, and found the place
where he had landed from his canoe.
When we had visited all our traps in that
part of the woods, we turned our horses’ heads
toward the camp; and if you are one with the
soul to appreciate such things, you will know
how we enjoyed the pleasant sight that greeted
our eyes as we entered a little valley among
the hills, and found a commodious pole shanty
and a roaring fire waiting for us.
We dismounted, and, while we stood warming
our benumbed hands over the cheerful
blaze, looked around on the preparations that
had been made for our comfort.
The negroes must have thought it was our
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
intention to remain in the woods all the rest
of our lives, judging by the care they had
taken in fitting up the camp.
The shanty was tight, and would have kept
us dry if it had rained buckets. It was built
with its back to the wind and the front open
to the fire; and looking inside, we saw five
beds neatly made up on the floor, which was
thickly covered with leaves.
On one side of the shanty was a supply of
wood for the fire, and on the other was the
wagon, beside which stood a span of mules,
contentedly munching their corn.
Sam, one of the negroes, was exploring a
huge mess-chest in the wagon, and bringing to
light the good things mother had put up for
us, now and then turning his head to look at
the brace of wild ducks and the half a dozen
squirrels that were broiling on the coals.
I shall never forget that camp. It served us
as our “headquarters in the field” for many a
year, and one memorable night was the scene
of one of the most exciting adventures that
ever befell our fellows.
“Not a single turkey have we seen yet,”
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
said Mark, as we drew up around the fire.
“Have you boys been on the island to look at
that trap?”
“Yes, sah,” replied Sam, “an’ it’s done
tore down. But I built it up ag’in, an’ throwed
corn all around it. I reckon we’ll get some
turkeys outen dar afo’ night, ’kase Cuff is hid
in the bushes watchin’ de island, an’ if dat dar
Mason boy comes pokin’ round ag’in, he’ll get
cotched.”
We felt better then, and told one another
that that Mason boy’s tricks were at an end,
for that day at least. We talked the matter
over while we were waiting for our dinner, and
decided upon a plan of operations.
The island on which our trap was built was
a noted place for turkeys. If there were any
in the woods, they were always to be found
there, and the secret lay in the fact that the
island produced an immense quantity of beechnuts,
of which turkeys are very fond.
We had made our camp about half a mile
from the bayou, and our object in doing so was
that the turkeys might not be frightened away
by the smoke from our fire.
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
The plan we decided upon was that, as soon
as we had eaten our dinner, two of our fellows
should conceal themselves in the bushes on the
bank of the bayou, and hold themselves in
readiness to alarm the camp if they saw Tom
Mason prowling about, or heard any thing suspicious
going on on the island.
We did not carry this plan into execution,
however, for just as the ducks and squirrels
were done to a turn and Sam had finished laying
the table, Cuff came dashing into camp,
breathless and excited, and announced that a
large flock of turkeys had just flown from the
mainland over to the island.
That was enough for us. We did not think
any more about dinner just then, but seized
our guns and started post-haste toward the
bayou.
Herbert Dickson was the first to reach the
bank, but no sooner had he emerged from
the bushes than he drew back again, and
motioned for us to approach with more caution.
“Fellows,” he whispered, as we gathered
about him, “we are not the only ones who are
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
watching the island. Tom Mason is over
there.”
Following in Herbert’s wake, we crept carefully
toward the bank and looked toward the
island. Our evil genius was not in sight, but
his canoe was, and it was almost filled with
turkeys—the proceeds of his morning’s raid
upon our traps.
“We’ve got him cornered at last,” said
Duke; “and if we move quickly and quietly,
we can catch him in the act of stealing our
game. I suggest that we teach him manners
by ducking him in the bayou.”
“And let us keep on ducking him until he
tells us what he has done with our boat,” said
Mark. “I know he has stolen it.”
The raft Mark had made that morning was
lying alongside of the bank, and it was but
the work of a moment to jump on board and
shove out into the stream.
Just as we moved from the shore, we heard
a loud flapping of wings in the bushes on the
island, and a moment afterward a flock of turkeys
arose above the trees, and sailed off into
the woods.
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
“There!” exclaimed Herbert. “Tom has
frightened them away before they had time to
get into the trap.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said I. “There are
more turkeys in that boat than we can eat at
one Christmas dinner.”
Duke, who was managing the raft, used his
paddle with all his strength; but, before we
were half-way across the bayou, the robber
came in sight, carrying a turkey slung over
each shoulder. He stopped when he discovered
us, and his face turned red with shame
and then pale with alarm.
“Now, I’ll jest tell you what’s the matter,
Tom Mason,” exclaimed Sandy. “We ain’t
a-goin’ to put up with this yere kind of business
no longer. We’ll wash some of that ar
meanness outen you by dumping you in the
bayou.”
Tom stood for a moment as if he had been
rooted to the ground, and then, dropping the
turkeys, ran toward his boat.
Duke, comprehending his design, exerted
himself to the utmost to defeat it; but our
clumsy raft moved very slowly through the
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
water, and when we arrived within twenty feet
of the bank, Tom reached his boat and shoved
off. He could manage a canoe as well as any
Indian, and he would certainly have succeeded
in effecting his escape, had it not been for
Sandy Todd. He saw that there was but one
way to prevent the robber from making off
with his booty, and he had the nerve to adopt
that way. He hastily threw off his powder-flask
and shot-pouch, and before we knew
what he was going to do, he was in the water
striking out for Tom’s boat.
For a moment he puffed and blew like a porpoise
(you can imagine how cold the water is
in December, even in a warm climate like
ours), but he kept on, and, after a few swift
strokes, was near enough to Tom to seize the
stern of his canoe.
“Let go!” shouted Tom, flourishing his
paddle in the air. “Let go, I say, or I’ll rap
you over the head!”
“Hold fast to him, Sandy!” I yelled.
“Those turkeys are ours, and we’re bound to
have them.”
“If he attempts to strike you, capsize the
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
canoe and spill him out,” exclaimed Herbert.
“I’d like to see him do it,” said Tom, savagely.
“Once more, and for the last time,
Sandy Todd, I tell you that if you don’t take
your hands off my boat, I’ll—”
He did not finish the sentence. While he
was speaking, he raised his paddle to strike
Sandy, and our fellow, acting upon Herbert’s
suggestion, placed his hands upon the side of
the canoe, and overturned it in an instant,
emptying Tom and the turkeys into the cold
waters of the bayou.
“Boo-hoo!” sputtered the robber, as he
arose to the surface, his face blue with the
cold, and his teeth chattering. “I’ll—fix—you
for that—Sandy Todd!”
“We are not done with you yet,” exclaimed
Mark. “You shan’t touch dry land again
until you tell us what you have done with
our boat.”
These words seemed to bring Tom to his
senses again. He struck out manfully—I
never saw a boy who could swim like that
Tom Mason—and in spite of all Duke’s efforts
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
to cut him off, he reached the island, and
scrambling up the bank, disappeared in the
bushes.
Then we were sure that he was caught. He
could not escape to the mainland without
swimming the bayou, and we did not think
he would be likely to attempt that after the
experience he had already had with cold water.
Sandy crawled out upon the raft as we moved
past him, and the instant our clumsy vessel
touched the shore, we all jumped off and
dashed through the bushes in hot pursuit of the
robber; but we did not come within sight of
him until we reached the foot of the island,
and then, to our surprise, we discovered him
in a canoe and about half-way across the bayou.
He was paddling for dear life; but when he saw
us standing on the bank, he stopped to say a
parting word to us.
“You said that you are not done with me,
didn’t you?” he asked. “You will find, before
the winter is over, that I am not done with you.
I have a plan in my head that will astonish you
when you find out what it is. Keep your eyes
open, and good-by till I see you again.”
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
“Say, Tom,” I shouted, “you told us this
morning that you didn’t know any thing about
our boat. You are in it now.”
“I know it,” he replied, coolly. “She was
hidden in the bushes not ten feet from where
you are now standing.”
“Well, we want her, and we’re bound to
have her.”
“If you get her before I am done with her,
just let me know it, will you?”
Tom dropped his paddle into the water and
pulled leisurely toward the shore, while we ran
back to the head of the island, intending to
jump into his boat and pursue him. But he
knew better than to try a fair race with us down
the bayou.
Knowing that he could not escape with the
canoe while we possessed the means to follow
him, he held straight for the nearest shore, and
when he reached it, jumped out and took to
the woods.
We found our canoe where he had left it,
and when we took it in tow and paddled back
to the head of the island, we told one another
that Tom Mason should never get his hands
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
upon it again. We would put it into the
wagon and take it home with us.
“This fellow has done a big business in
stealing this morning,” exclaimed Mark, who
had been counting the turkeys we found in
Tom’s canoe. “How many do you suppose
there are? Twenty-three; enough to furnish
a Christmas dinner for half the planters in the
settlement. We’ve done enough for one day,
and I move that we break up camp and spend
the rest of the afternoon in distributing some of
these turkeys among our friends. We can’t use
them all.”
We landed opposite the island, and knowing
that we had a cunning enemy to deal with, left
Duke and Herbert to watch our game, while
the rest of us went to the camp to harness the
mules.
I don’t know why it was, but the moment we
arrived within sight of the shanty, a suspicion
flashed through my mind that something had
been going on there during our absence. My
first thought was of my mare. She was gone.
There was the sapling to which she had
been tied, with a piece of the halter still
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
fastened to it, but the mare was nowhere to be
seen.
“Where is she, Joe?” asked Mark.
“That is just what I should like to find out,”
I replied. “I never knew Bess to break loose
before.”
“An’ she didn’t break loose this time,” said
Sandy, confidently. “That thar halter has
been cut with a knife.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if this was a part of the
plan Tom Mason told us about,” said Mark.
“After he landed from his canoe, he slipped
around here and stole the horse.”
Something told me that this was the true explanation
of the matter; but I would not allow
myself to believe it until I had questioned the
negroes who just then came running up.
The answers they gave to my hurried inquiries
destroyed my last hope. They had not
seen the mare, and were greatly astonished to
learn that she had disappeared.
Being very much interested in the result of
our chase after Tom Mason, they had followed
us to the bayou, leaving the camp to take care
of itself. Our evil genius, or any other prowler,
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
could have walked off with all we had, for there
was nobody to prevent it.
I need not stop to tell you all that was said
and done when we at last made up our minds
that Black Bess had been stolen. It will be
enough to say that Sandy rode back to the
bayou after Duke and Herbert, and that they
all set out in pursuit of Tom Mason, leaving
me to superintend the operation of breaking up
the camp.
I placed our canoe and the turkeys in the
wagon, and, after tying Tom’s boat to a tree on
the bank, so that he could find it again when
he wanted it (I tell you it cost me a struggle to
do that; I had half a mind to turn it adrift,
and let it float out to the river and down to the
Gulf of Mexico), I rode home with the negroes
utterly disconsolate.
If you ever lost any thing you prized as
highly as I prized Black Bess, you will know
just how I felt.
Our fellows came in at dark, but without any
thing encouraging to say to me, and father and
I rode over to see General Mason, Tom’s
uncle.
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
We found the young rascal in the library,
poring over a book, and looking none the worse
for his cold bath in the creek.
He seemed greatly amazed when father told
him that the object of our visit was to ascertain
what he had done with the horse he had
stolen, and so earnestly protested his innocence
that I was almost willing to believe he was not
the guilty one after all.
We had a few minutes’ conversation with
the general, during which he promised to do
all in his power to assist us in recovering the
lost horse, and then returned home no wiser
than we left.
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER VIII. | A RIDE AFTER THE INDIANS.
.sp 2
When father and I reached home we found
our fellows there, and also Mr. Todd
and Mr. Dickson, who had come over to spend
the evening.
The events of the afternoon had already
been thoroughly discussed, but the matter was
taken up again when we arrived, and after that
the mare’s mysterious disappearance was the
chief subject of conversation.
One thing that not a little surprised us, was
the coolness, not to say indifference, with which
father and his two gentleman friends spoke of
the loss I had sustained.
Our fellows went in strong for raising a hue
and cry, and making the swamp too hot to
hold the thief; but the men shook their heads
and said they thought that wouldn’t do. They
had tried that in the case of Luke Redman,
and what had it amounted to?
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
The best thing we could do would be to keep
our eyes open and our mouths closed, and perhaps
in a few days something would turn up
in our favor.
At ten o’clock the two gentlemen took
their leave, and our fellows went up to bed.
“Now, I’ll jest tell you what’s the matter
with me,” said Sandy, when he had settled
himself snugly between the sheets. "My
name hain’t Micawber, and that’s the reason I
don’t believe in waitin’ fur things to ‘turn up.’
I’ll tell you what we’ll do, fellers. If the men
won’t help us, we’ll help ourselves. We’ll let
our dinner go this once, take to the woods at
daybreak, and spend Christmas in lookin’ fur
that thar hoss, eh?"
Sandy could not have made a proposition
that would have suited me better, or the rest of
the fellows either, judging by the readiness
with which they agreed to it.
The matter was settled without much debate,
and then we arranged our pillows, and prepared
to go to sleep. We did sleep, but not
long. There was more excitement in store for us.
About two o’clock our cotton-gin was set on fire.
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
I need not stop to tell you how frightened I
was when my brother dragged me out of bed
and shouted in my ear that the plantation was
burning up; how I looked out of the window
as I pulled on my clothes, and saw the gin
wrapped in flames; how our fellows rushed
out of the house, and, after bustling about for
a while in a state of intense excitement, getting
in every body’s way, and accomplishing nothing,
stood quietly by my father’s side, and saw
twelve thousand dollars’ worth of cotton consumed;
how we wondered and made wild guesses
as to who the incendiary could be; and finally
went back to bed, and lay for a long time talking
the matter over. You can imagine all that,
and will know just how we felt.
Excited as I was, I fell asleep again, but was
awakened about daylight by the sound of
horses’ hoofs in the yard. I ran to the window,
and saw several mounted men waiting before
the door. They were all booted and spurred,
and some carried guns slung over their shoulders,
while others had revolvers strapped about
their waists.
A negro stood by, holding a splendid coal-black
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
horse which belonged to father, and presently
he came out of the house, armed like the
others, sprang into the saddle, and the whole
cavalcade started down the road at a rapid
gallop.
I caught my sleeping companions by the
shoulders, and, after a good deal of shaking
and pulling, succeeded in getting them out of
bed and to the window, just in time to catch
one glimpse of the horsemen before they disappeared
down a lane that led to the woods.
“Now I’ll jest tell you what’s the matter,”
exclaimed Sandy. “What’s up, do you
reckon?”
“They’ve gone out to look for the men who
set fire to that cotton-gin,” replied Duke, fairly
jumping into his trowsers. “That’s what’s up,
and here we are in bed and sound asleep, like
so many wooden boys.”
“Hurrah!” yelled Mark. “Here’s fun!
I’d give something to know what else is going
to happen this winter.”
As he said this, he jerked on his boots,
thrust one arm into his coat, and started down
stairs to talk to mother, and find out what it
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
was that had taken father and his companions
off in so great a hurry, while the rest of us
brought out the guns, and began loading them
with hands that trembled violently. We could
not have been more impatient to get the weapons
ready for use if a band of hostile Indians
had at that very moment been approaching the
house.
“I am going to put twelve buckshot in my
gun,” said Herbert, “and if I meet the fellow
who set fire to that gin, won’t I—won’t I wake
him, eh?”
“How will you know him if you do meet
him?” asked Duke, spilling a charge of powder
on the floor in his haste.
“Why, he will look guilty, won’t he?
Well, what’s the matter?”
This last question was addressed to
Mark, who just then came up stairs in two
jumps.
“Mother says there are moccasin-tracks all
around that gin,” said he, so excited that he
could scarcely speak plainly, “and that shows
that it was set on fire by the Indians. It was
done by some of those worthless half-breeds—probably
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
by the same one with whom I had
that fuss the other day.”
All our fellows thought that Mark’s idea of
the matter was the correct one.
This half-breed—Pete, he called himself—and
a half dozen others, who were as bad as
he was, had held a grudge against father for
more than a year, and we had been expecting
something of this kind. More than that, our
gin was not the only one that had been burned
during the last six months.
The guilty parties, whoever they were, had
always escaped detection, but as Pete and his
crowd had had some trouble with nearly every
one in the settlement, the planters had suddenly
taken it into their heads that they were the
ones who had been doing all the mischief, and
were resolved that they should no longer go
unpunished.
“Mother says that before noon there will be
a hundred men in the cane-brakes,” panted
Mark. “Hurry up, fellows, or we shall miss
all the sport. We don’t want any breakfast,
do we?”
“No!” we all shouted.
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
“I couldn’t eat a mouthful if I should try,”
said Herbert, seizing his gloves and riding-whip.
“Say, boys, wouldn’t it be a glorious
thing for us if we could capture the incendiaries
all by ourselves without any help from the
planters?”
Oh, wouldn’t that be an exploit worth boasting
of? Only let us have the opportunity, and
see how quick we would attempt it!
We thought we knew right where to go to
find the Indians. Most likely they were
encamped on Deer Lake, about fifteen miles
from the plantation.
We would go down there, dash into their
camp like a squad of cavalry on the charge,
and if we found that rascally Pete there, four
of us would cover him with our guns; Sandy,
being the largest and strongest in the party,
would dismount and tie his hands behind his
back; and we would bring him home with us,
whether he was willing to come or not.
It would all be done before the Indians knew
what was going on, and if they pursued us, or
attempted to rescue Pete, we would keep them
straight by pointing our guns at them.
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
Wasn’t that a glorious plan? and wouldn’t
father and all the rest of the planters be
astonished when they saw us and our captive?
We talked the matter over while we were
dressing, and as soon as we were ready for the
start, slung our guns over our shoulders, and
dashed down the stairs like a lot of wild boys.
In the kitchen we met mother.
Now, according to my way of thinking, my
mother was a model woman. She understood
the nature of boys perfectly. She gave Mark
and me all the privileges we deserved, and
could not have sympathized with us more fully,
or taken a deeper interest in our sports and
pastimes, if she had been a boy herself.
She knew that we could not possibly stop to
eat any breakfast while there was any thing exciting
in prospect, and when we entered the
kitchen, she handed us each a sandwich and a
glass of milk.
“Now, boys,” said she, “don’t run any
risks.”
“No, ma’am,” we replied.
“Don’t try to accomplish any thing by yourselves,”
she continued—and when she said that
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
we looked at one another and frowned fiercely.
“What could five boys like you do with a lot of
savage half-breeds? Find the men as soon as
possible, and remain with them; and if
you don’t succeed in finding them, come
home.”
Now, how do you suppose mother knew that
we had made up our minds to hunt those Indians
on our own hook? We hadn’t lisped a
word of it to her; but then she knew all about
boys, and perhaps she saw it in our faces.
We were greatly disappointed, but we promised
obedience and hurried to the door. We
found our negro waiting for us (the hostler had
brought out mother’s horse for me to ride),
and in less time than it takes to tell it we were
in our saddles and galloping furiously down
the road, devouring our sandwiches as we
went.
I do not believe those five horses ever traveled
so rapidly before. They went along at a rattling
pace, tossing their heads and snorting as if
they enjoyed the rapid motion as much as we
did, while we strained our eyes down the road
in front of us, and looked into all the lanes we
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
passed, in the hope of discovering father and
his party.
But the fleet horses on which they were
mounted had carried them a long distance
ahead of us, and finally, after a ride of an hour
and a half, we drew rein on the shore of Deer
Lake, covered with mud from head to foot,
and much disappointed.
The Indians were not there, and neither was
father. We ran our eyes all around the lake, and
the only living things we could see were flocks
of ducks and geese swimming about near the
opposite shore.
We rode along the beach a short distance
and then Duke led us down a bridle-path that
ran back toward the plantation.
About two o’clock in the afternoon, having
visited all the places at which we thought we
should be likely to find father and his party,
we stopped on the banks of a bayou to allow
our horses a few minutes’ rest, and to decide
what we should do next.
“Now, I’ll jest tell you what’s the matter
with me,” said Sandy, suddenly. “It’s
hard work ridin’ or talkin’ on an empty
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
stomach, an’ I suggest that we have a bite to
eat.”
“That’s the idea,” said Herbert, “and I
wonder we did not think of it before. If we
were at the lake now, it wouldn’t take us long
to bag ducks enough for a good dinner.”
“Oh, squirrels will do just as well,” replied
Duke. “There are plenty of them about here,
and, Joe, if you and Sandy will go out and
shoot some, the rest of us will build a fire and
get every thing ready. If you fellows are as
hungry as I am, we shall want about ten. I
can dispose of two, I know.”
So could I, and more, for that matter. I was
as hungry as a wolf, and if there was any thing
I enjoyed in my boyhood’s days, it was a dinner
in the woods as Mark used to serve it up.
He could not cook at all in a house over a
stove; but take him out in the cane-brakes,
and give him a good fire, a forked stick and a
wild duck or some squirrels, and in a few minutes
he would have ready a dinner that would
tempt an epicure.
To get up a “hotel dinner,” as he called it,
he needed a few crackers or biscuit, and a little
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
pepper and salt for seasoning. An ear of
green corn, fresh pulled from the field, and
roasted in the shuck under his supervision, and
served up on a piece of beech bark, answered
all the purposes of a dessert, and tasted much
better than any pie or pudding I ever ate at a
table.
On this occasion, however, he had neither
crackers, pepper nor salt, and it was too late in
the season for roasting-ears; but, as Duke had
said, the squirrels were plenty, and I grew
hungrier than ever when I thought what a feast
Mark would have ready for us in about half an
hour.
It having been decided that we should stop
there and eat our dinner, we all dismounted,
and after relieving our horses of the saddles
and tying the animals to the trees near the
place where we intended to make our camp,
Sandy and I shouldered our guns and set out
in different directions to hunt up the squirrels.
I walked down the bank of the bayou, and,
before I had gone a hundred yards from the
camp, brought a squirrel out of the top of a
hickory.
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
Shortly afterward, I heard the report of
Sandy’s gun, and as he never missed his mark,
I knew we had two of the ten squirrels we
wanted.
A little further on another was added to my
bunch, and while I was hurrying forward to
secure it, an incident happened that brought
the hunt to a speedy termination.
The squirrel had fallen at the foot of a huge
oak, but, being only wounded, started to climb
the tree. I ran around after him, and just then
something stirred the bushes close in front of
me.
Before I could stop to see what it was, a pair
of strong arms were thrown around me, my feet
were tripped up, and in an instant more I was
lying flat on my back, with a heavy weight on
top of me holding me down.
As soon as I had in some measure recovered
myself, I looked up into the dark, scowling
face that was bending over me, and recognized
Pete, the half-breed.
Things were not working exactly as our fellows
had anticipated. While we were looking
for Pete, he had all the while been looking for
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
us; and he had found one of us, too, before
we knew that he was about.
Almost involuntarily my hand moved toward
the hunting-horn that hung at my side. One
short, quick blast on that, had I been permitted
to give it, would have put things right again in
a hurry. Our fellows would have appeared as
quickly as their horses could have brought
them, and one glance at the double-barrels
pointed straight at his head, would, I am confident,
have driven away the fierce scowl and
brought an altogether different expression to
Pete’s copper-colored face. But Pete knew
something about hunting-horns, and was too
wise to allow me time to make any signals.
With a quick movement he tore the horn
from my grasp, and in a second more he had
removed the belt which contained my hunting-knife
and secured possession of my gun.
I struggled fruitlessly in his strong grasp,
and, as soon as I could find my tongue, exclaimed:
“You have already done more mischief than
you will care to stand punishment for; and if
you know when you are well off, you will
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
release me at once. What do you mean, anyhow?”
“You put dogs on Injun the other day,”
replied Pete, in his broken English, which I
could not imitate on paper if I should try.
“I pay you for that now!”
These words afforded me a perfectly satisfactory
explanation of the situation. I was to
be punished for something Mark had done;
for, as you know, it was he and not I who put
the hounds on the Indian.
I knew it would be of no use for me to deny
the charge, for Pete had been acquainted with
me for more than a year, and if he had not
learned in that time to tell Mark and me apart,
it was not at all likely that he would place any
dependence on my word.
There was but one thing I could do, and that
was to submit to whatever was in store for me,
trusting to my friends to get me out of this
disagreeable scrape. My only hope was that
they would become alarmed at my absence,
and rescue me in time to save me from the
vengeance which I knew Pete intended to
wreak upon me.
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
Having disarmed me, Pete seized me by the
collar, pulled me to my feet, and then I found
that he was not alone. Another villainous looking
half-breed, whose name was Jake,
glided up at this moment, and, without saying
a word, seized me by one arm, while Pete took
hold of the other, and between them I was
dragged rather than led to the bayou, where I
found a canoe partly drawn out upon the bank.
In obedience to Pete’s command, I was about
to step into the boat, when suddenly the blast
of a hunting-horn—Duke’s horn, I could have
told it among a thousand—echoed through the
swamp, followed shortly afterward by the roar
of a gun.
“Ugh!” grunted Pete and his companion,
in concert.
They stopped on the bank, and stood perfectly
motionless with surprise, while I clambered
into the canoe, and looked up the bayou
in the direction from which the report sounded,
to discover what was going on; but there was
a bend just above me, and I could see nothing.
A moment’s silence followed the roar of the
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
gun, and then came the clatter of a horse’s
hoofs, a splashing in the water, a violent commotion
among the cane on the opposite bank of
the bayou, and presently, to my utter amazement,
I saw—what do you suppose? It was
something that caused me to forget the Indians
and every thing else about me, and to make me
determine to escape, or die in the attempt.
Without an instant’s hesitation, I clasped
my hands above my head, and dived out of
sight in the bayou.
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER IX. | CAUGHT AT LAST.
.sp 2
After Sandy and I left the camp, our
fellows busied themselves in various
ways—Duke kindling a fire, Herbert gathering
a supply of wood, and Mark whittling out some
spits on which to cook the squirrels. When
this had been done, they seated themselves on
the ground about the fire, and passed the time
in discussing the exciting events that had happened
during the last two weeks.
While they were thus engaged they heard
some one coming down the bank of the bayou.
The bushes were so thick that they could not
see who it was, but they could tell by the sound
of his horse’s hoofs that he was approaching
the camp, and that he was in something of a
hurry.
The question “Who is it?” which our fellows
all asked at once, did not remain long unanswered.
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
The sound of the hoofs grew louder
and louder, and presently a horseman emerged
from the bushes, and came toward them at a
rapid gallop.
He was gazing earnestly toward the opposite
bank of the bayou, and the first intimation he
had of the presence of our fellows was the
chorus of ejaculations they uttered the instant
their eyes rested on him. Then he pulled up
his horse with a jerk, and gazed at them with
a countenance indicative of intense surprise
and alarm.
One glance showed our fellows three things—that
the man was Luke Redman, that he was
mounted on Black Bess, and that he carried
General Mason’s valise strapped on behind his
saddle.
The meeting was so unexpected to both
parties, that for a moment no one moved or
spoke. The robber sat on his horse—my horse,
rather—gazing at our fellows in stupid bewilderment,
and our fellows looked at him as if
they could not quite make up their minds
whether their eyes were deceiving them or
not.
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
Duke was the first to recover the use of his
tongue.
“Well,” said he, “this is the luckiest thing
that has happened to us for many a day. We
are glad to see you, Luke Redman. We’ll
trouble you to dismount, and give up that
horse and valise.”
These words seemed to bring the robber to
his senses. He raised a short, heavy gun,
which he carried across the horn of his saddle,
and cocking both barrels, growled out:
“I’ll trouble you to mind your own business.
If ary one on you moves a hand or foot until
I am acrost this yere bayou, I’ll send a charge
of buckshot among you.”
This warning was uttered in a very savage
tone of voice, and there was a wicked gleam in
the robber’s eyes which was enough to convince
our fellows that he meant all he said.
Duke slowly lowered the horn, which he had
been on the point of raising to his lips; and
Herbert’s hand, which was stretched out toward
his gun, that stood leaning against a tree close
by, fell to his side.
Luke Redman saw the sudden pallor that
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
overspread their faces, and believing that he
had thoroughly frightened them, turned his
horse, and rode down the bank of the bayou.
But the sequel proved that he did not know
much about boys, especially such boys as those
who were confronting him at that moment.
They had traveled through every nook and
corner of the country, searching for this very
man, and now that he was fairly before them,
should they permit him to escape, and carry
off General Mason’s money, and Black Bess,
besides? It was not to be thought of.
“Hold on!” shouted Mark, excitedly.
“That horse shan’t carry you a step further.
Your game is up now, Luke Redman!”
The robber, who had never once removed his
eyes from the boys, seeing that Mark was
reaching for his gun, quickly raised his own
weapon; but by the time it touched his shoulder
there was not one of our fellows in sight.
They had dodged behind the trees, like so
many squirrels, and each one was blowing his
horn with all the power of his lungs, sending
up signals of distress that awoke the echoes far
and near.
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
“Stop that noise, or I’ll shoot some on you!”
roared Luke.
“Blow away, boys,” said Mark. “Perhaps
some of the settlers are close by.”
This was just what Luke Redman was afraid
of. He knew that the cane-brakes were full of
men, for he had been dodging them all day.
The blasts of the hunting-horns would call up
every one of them who might happen to be
within hearing, and thus his chances for escape
would be greatly diminished.
Seeing that he was in a dangerous neighborhood,
and knowing that if he remained there he
would certainly get himself into trouble, he
dashed his spurs into his horse, which sprang
into the bayou and made the best of her way
toward the opposite bank.
In his rage, he discharged one barrel of his
gun, sending the buckshot in a perfect shower
about the trees behind which our fellows were
concealed; but, instead of frightening them, it
seemed to add strength to their lungs, for the
signals of distress arose louder and faster than
ever.
The moment Luke emerged from the water,
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
he put his horse into a gallop, and went flying
through the swamp.
I caught sight of him as he came out of the
cane-brake, and if I had had my gun in my
hands, I believe I should have lifted him out of
that saddle with as little hesitation as I ever
brought down a squirrel.
To see my little Black Bess bounding along
with that man on her back—going, too, with a
free step, and arching her glossy neck and
tossing her head as if she enjoyed the rapid
motion—I tell you, the sight made me well-nigh
desperate.
It drove all thoughts of the Indians out of my
mind, and almost before I knew it, I was swimming
rapidly toward the opposite bank of the
bayou.
This was something my captors had not calculated
upon, and they were greatly amazed.
I was half way across the stream before they
had realized what I had done.
“Hey, you!” shouted Pete, as soon as he
could speak. “Stop! You no stop and come
back, Indian shoot!”
It was in Pete’s power to carry out this threat
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
if he had felt so inclined, for he held his own
rifle and my shot-gun under his arm; but I had
no fear that he would attempt it.
I kept straight ahead, and Pete and his companion,
seeing that I could not be frightened
into surrendering myself into their hands, hastily
launched the canoe and started in pursuit.
I was quite at home in the water, and prided
myself on being a fast swimmer; but of course
I stood no chance with a canoe propelled by
two athletic Indians.
A few swift strokes with the paddles brought
them close upon me; but I was on the alert,
and just as Pete bent down to seize me by the
collar, I sank out of sight.
When I arose to the surface again, I was
twenty yards further down the stream. As I
shook the water from my face and looked
around for my enemies, I was surprised to see
them paddling with all possible haste toward
the bank they had just left; and the moment
they reached it, they jumped out of the canoe
and dived into the bushes like a couple of
frightened deer.
I was not long in finding out what had caused
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
them to abandon their pursuit of me so suddenly,
for scarcely had they disappeared when
Duke, Herbert and Mark galloped up.
When they discovered me crawling out upon
the bank, they drew rein and broke out into a
loud chorus of questions and exclamations—one
demanding what I was doing in the water,
another asking if that wasn’t Pete who had just
jumped into the bushes on the opposite shore,
and the third shouting out something that I
knew very well already, namely, that Luke Redman
had just gone by, mounted on my horse.
I did not attempt to answer their questions,
for I could not forget that Black Bess was
very fleet, and that while we were wasting
time in talking, she was fast increasing the
distance between us, and lessening our chances
for capturing her and her rascally rider.
“I can’t stop to explain now, fellows,” said
I. “Come back, and stand by me until I get
my horse, and then we’ll start in pursuit of that
robber!”
The reason I asked our fellows to “stand
by” me was because I knew that Pete and his
companion were not a great way off, and I was
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
afraid that if I went back to camp alone, they
would pounce down upon me and make a prisoner
of me again.
I could see by the expression on my friends’
faces that they did not exactly understand
why I stood in need of protection; but they
were too considerate to waste any more time in
asking questions.
I led the way up the bank at a rapid run,
and in a few minutes we arrived opposite to
the camp.
Duke was on the point of riding across the
bayou to bring my horse, when Sandy Todd
came in sight, carrying four squirrels in his
hand, and moving along with a slow and deliberate
step that was exceedingly aggravating
to us just then.
His stolid face bore not the least sign of
excitement or surprise, although the first words
he uttered showed that he had heard the signals
of distress, and that he had returned to
camp in answer to them.
“Now,” said he, “I’d like to know what
you fellows were blowin’ them horns fur?”
“Sandy,” exclaimed Duke, “if you have
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
any get up at all about you, show it now.
Don’t ask any questions, but bring those
horses over here at once.”
Sandy stopped, laid his squirrels carefully
at the root of a tree, and pulling off his hat,
ran his fingers through his fiery locks. He
looked all about the camp, then across the
bayou at us, surveying us from head to foot
as though he had never seen us before, and
when his gaze rested on me, he drawled
out:
“Joe, ain’t this a mighty cold day to go in
a-swimmin’?”
“Sandy,” shouted Duke—and he could not
help throwing a little impatience into his tones—“Luke
Redman has just gone by here,
mounted on Black Bess, and carrying General
Mason’s valise tied fast to his saddle. We
want to follow him up and catch him. Now
will you bring those horses over here?”
Sandy did not exhibit the least astonishment
at hearing this piece of news. He dropped the
butt of his gun to the ground, and leaning on
the muzzle of the weapon, said:
“Now I’ll just tell you what’s the matter.
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
Whar’s he bin hid all the time that we’ve been
lookin’ fur him?”
“How do you suppose we know? Bring those
horses over here.”
Sandy slung his gun over his shoulder, moved
slowly toward the tree to which his horse was
tied, and with his usual deliberation, prepared
to mount. He placed his foot in the stirrup,
but immediately took it out again.
“Fellows,” he shouted, “whar do you
reckon Redman got thar mar’? You know—”
“Yes, I know,” interrupted Duke. “We
thought Tom Mason stole her, but it seems he
didn’t. If we don’t see her again, it will be
your fault.”
Our fellow began to stir about in earnest now,
and I thought it was high time, for my teeth
were chattering, and I was so cold I could
scarcely speak.
When you remember that it was midwinter,
that I was as wet as a drowned rat, and that a
fierce north wind was blowing, you will readily
perceive that my situation was far from being
a pleasant one.
I would have been glad of the privilege of
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
standing before a roaring fire for a few minutes,
and would thankfully have accepted a
suit of dry clothes; but if I went home I would
lose the opportunity of taking part in the pursuit
of Luke Redman, and that was something
I could not think of.
When we had all become so impatient that
it did not seem possible we could wait an
instant longer, Sandy came across the bayou
with the horses, and in a few seconds more we
were all in the saddle and flying through the
swamp on Luke Redman’s trail.
Sandy saw by our looks that the delay of
which he was the cause had tried our patience
severely, and he hastened to apologize for it.
“Fellers,” said he, “I may be slow a-talkin’
an’ a-walkin’, but I am not slow a-ridin’.”
And so we found it. He took the lead at
once, and conducted the pursuit with a degree
of energy that was surprising. For five miles
his horse never broke a gallop; and when at
last he drew rein on the bluffs above Dead
Man’s Elbow, we were willing to vote him the
most reckless rider we had ever followed.
Perhaps you will wonder what plan Sandy
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
adopted in conducting the pursuit, and how he
knew whether or not he was following Luke
Redman’s trail. I can explain it in a few
words.
I have told you that about a week previous
to this time the swamp was covered with water
to the depth of fifteen feet, but it was not so
now. The flood was gradually subsiding, and
patches of dry land were making their appearance
all over the swamp.
The ridges were high and dry, and by following
them, one could enjoy a pleasant ride,
avoiding the water altogether. It was dangerous,
however, to attempt to pass from one
ridge to another, for the lowland, or “bottom,”
as we called it, was covered with a bed of mud,
in which a horse would sink almost out of
sight.
Luke Redman, in his flight, had followed
one of these ridges, and we knew that he must
follow it to the end, simply because he could not
leave it. We knew, too, that the ridge led
directly to Dead Man’s Elbow, and that when
the robber arrived at that point he would be
obliged to abandon Black Bess, for the bluffs
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
were steep, and there was no possible way of
getting her across the bayou.
Another thing we knew was that the ridge
ended very abruptly about a hundred yards
from the opposite bank, and beyond that the
swamp, with its impassable bed of mud,
extended for miles and miles; so that, even if
the fugitive succeeded in crossing the stream,
he could not escape us.
The only question was, how we should capture
him when we found him. He was armed,
and we knew he would not surrender without
a fight.
“Here we are,” cried Sandy, reining in his
horse on the very brink of the cliff, “an’ now
comes the hardest part of the hul business.
The fust thing is to hunt up that
mar’. She’s hid somewhar in these yere
bushes.”
We were not long in finding Black Bess, for
even as Sandy spoke, a familiar neigh, which
came from a thicket close by, led us to her
place of concealment.
I tell you I was glad to see her, and if one
might judge by the way she pranced about and
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
rubbed her head against my shoulder, she was
glad to see me, too.
She was just as handsome as ever, only her
glossy breast was flecked with foam, showing
that she had been driven long and rapidly,
and her usually sleek coat looked as though it
had not seen a brush or curry-comb for a fortnight.
While I was congratulating myself on my
good fortune, the rest of our fellows were
looking for General Mason’s valise; but that,
of course, had disappeared.
“We must have pushed him pretty hard,”
said Duke, “for he did not have time to unbuckle
the straps with which the valise was
fastened to the saddle, but cut them with his
knife. He isn’t far off. Spread out now, and
let us see if we can find any signs of his having
crossed the bayou.”
As we were all expert hunters, and good at
following a trail, it did not take us many minutes
to find out what had become of Luke Redman.
After a short search, we discovered the
prints of his feet in the soft earth, and followed
them from the thicket in which he had
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
left the horse to the edge of the bluff, where
they ceased.
When we saw that, we were pretty certain
that we knew where to find Luke Redman. He
was hidden under the cliff.
My companions unslung their guns with a
common impulse—how I wished for the double-barrel
that Pete had carried away with him!—and
waited for somebody to suggest a plan of
operations.
“He is under our very feet, and almost
within reach of us,” said Herbert. “Don’t
you see that those bushes are bent down and
look as though they had been tramped upon?
He did that when he lowered himself over the
side of the cliff.”
“Yes, we’ve treed him easy enough,” said
Mark; “but how are we going to secure him?
Luke Redman isn’t the man to allow himself
to be captured and sent to state prison if he
can help it, and perhaps he is standing below
there, ready to put a charge of buckshot into
the first one who shows his head over the bluff.
I am afraid to try it.”
If Mark was afraid, it was plain that Sandy
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
was not, for he threw himself flat upon the
ground, and, at the imminent risk of losing his
balance and falling into the bayou, thrust his
head over the brink of the cliff and looked
under it. He held this position a moment, and
then called out:
“Now, I’ll just tell you what’s the matter
with you; you’re ketched!”
“No, I hain’t,” said a gruff voice, in reply.
“Better keep close up thar, or I’ll plug some
on you.”
“Ho! ho!” laughed Sandy. “You can’t
skeer us none. You’re in a pretty situation to
plug any body, hain’t you now? Fellers, if
you want to see something, just look down
here!”
We did look, and, although we expected to
see something exciting, we were little prepared
for the sight that was presented to our gaze.
We saw at a glance that we had nothing to
fear from our enemy.
A thicket of bushes grew on the side of the
bluff directly in front of the mouth of Dead
Man’s Elbow, and there, hanging at arms’
length from this frail support, his feet almost
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
touching the water, and his dark features convulsed
with terror, was Luke Redman.
The valise hung under one of his arms, supported
by a strap which passed over his opposite
shoulder; but his gun was nowhere to be
seen. He had evidently made some desperate
attempts to climb up the steep bluff, for we
could see the prints of his knees and feet in the
soft earth.
When we had made these observations, we
drew back on the cliff to hold a consultation.
“Hasn’t he got himself into a pretty scrape?”
asked Duke, gleefully. “I understand what
has happened as well as if I had been here on
the bank and witnessed it.”
So did the rest of us, for the robber’s situation
was a sufficient explanation of the accident
that had befallen him. It had been his
intention to lower himself over the side of the
bluff, and find concealment on the top of the
drift-wood which formed one side of the cavern;
but his feet had slipped, or his hold had
given way, and he had fallen down the steep
bank almost into the water.
In order to save himself, he dropped his gun,
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
which of course fell into the bayou, and now
he was unarmed. His situation was dangerous
in the extreme, and it was no wonder that he
was frightened.
He could not climb up the bluff without
assistance, for it was as slippery as ice; and if
he released his hold on the bushes, he would
fall into the water, and be whirled into the
cavern before he could have time to think
twice. Dead Man’s Elbow seemed to be an
unlucky place for Luke Redman.
“Now, fellows,” continued Duke, in a hurried
whisper, “I’ll tell you what we will do.
We’ll take our halters off our bridles, make
them into a rope, and when Mr. Redman gets
tired of hanging to those bushes, we’ll pass one
end of it down to him, and pull him up the
bluff.”
“But perhaps he won’t take hold of the
rope,” said I. “Then what?”
“Then he can fall into the water and welcome.
But there’s no danger of that. Bad as
he is, he isn’t tired of life.”
“What shall we do with him when we get
him up here?”
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
“We’ll jump on him, and tie him hand and
foot—that’s what we’ll do with him. I guess
we five fellows are a match for him.”
Duke’s plan was the best that could have
been adopted under the circumstances, and we
agreed to it without a word of comment.
In a few moments we had removed our halters
from our bridles, and tied them together,
thus forming a rope about thirty feet in length.
When this had been done, we once more
stretched ourselves out on the ground, and
looked over the cliff to watch the movements
of the robber.
He was struggling desperately to gain a foothold
on the bluff; but the soft earth always gave
way beneath him, and when at last he became
exhausted with his efforts, he hung down at
arms’ length to recover his breath, glaring up
into our faces with an expression as savage as
that of a caged hyena.
We saw with no little excitement and horror
that a few more attempts of this kind would
seal his fate, for the bushes had been loosened
by his frantic struggles, and their roots were
slowly but surely giving way.
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
“Now I’ll jest tell you what’s the matter
with you,” shouted Sandy. “The fust thing
you know, you won’t know nothing. If you
want any help, sing out.”
Luke Redman looked up at the bushes, then
down at the angry waves which were dashing
wildly against the base of the cliff, and being
fully convinced that there was no other way of
escape for him, said, in a hoarse whisper:
“Lend a hand here!”
“All right! Here you are!” said Duke.
And in a moment more, one end of the rope was
dangling over the cliff, and our fellows were
holding fast to the other, ready to hoist away
when Duke gave the word. “In order to
guard against accident, you had better pass the
rope under your arms,” continued the latter.
“Take it easy. There’s time enough, and the
more you thrash about, the more you exhaust
yourself.”
Luke Redman thought it best to act upon
Duke’s suggestion; but he had grown so weak
and was so nearly overcome with terror, that it
was with the greatest difficulty that he could
make the rope fast under his arms.
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
He accomplished it at last, however, and then
Duke told us to haul away, adding, in an excited
whisper:
“Be ready to grab him the instant his head
appears above the cliff. Don’t flinch now, but
be careful to keep out of the way of his
fists, for they are as heavy as sledge-hammers.”
Luke, being utterly unable to help himself,
hung like a lump of lead at the end of the rope,
and it was any thing but an easy operation to
raise him to the top of the cliff. He came up
slowly, inch by inch, and at last his head appeared
in sight, then his shoulders, and finally
the valise, which Mark instantly pounced upon,
while Sandy seized the rascal by the collar and
pulled him upon the bluff.
“Now stand out o’ the way, or I’ll kick
some on you into the bayou,” shouted Luke
Redman, whose terror vanished the moment
he found himself on solid ground. “I’ve got
a pistol in my pocket.”
“An’ that’s all the good it’ll do you,” replied
Sandy, catching the robber’s hands and
pinning them to the ground. “We are a few
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
too many for you. Show what you’re made of,
fellers!”
Tired and weak as Luke Redman was, he had
plenty of determination left in him. He struggled
furiously, and scratched and bit like some
wild animal; but he did not kick any of us
into the bayou, and neither did he draw his
pistol, simply because we did not give him an
opportunity. We jumped upon him in a body,
and while two of us confined his legs, which he
kept flying about like the shafts of a windmill,
the others pulled his arms behind his back and
tied them fast. It was all over in five minutes,
and the robber lay panting and foaming on the
ground, while we stood with our hands in our
pockets, looking at him.
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER X. | I STAND PICKET.
.sp 2
I do not believe that any five boys in the
world ever felt more astonished or elated
over a stroke of good fortune than we did at the
unexpected success that had attended our chase
after Luke Redman.
The men in the settlement had spent a week
in searching for this same robber and trying to
recover General Mason’s money, and their
efforts had amounted to nothing; but we had
accomplished the work, and we had not been
more than three hours in doing it, either.
The eight thousand dollars were safe, the
thief was bound and helpless before us, and
Black Bess was once more in my undisputed
possession. I thought we had good reason to
rejoice.
“I say, Mr. Redman!” exclaimed Herbert,
who was the first to recover his breath, “you
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
wouldn’t mind telling us how you managed to
steal this money, and to get away with it
without being discovered, would you?”
“I didn’t steal it!” growled Luke, in reply.
“Mebbe you won’t b’lieve it,” he added, seeing
that we smiled derisively, “but I can
prove it.”
“Well, you stole Black Bess, didn’t you?”
“If I did, you’ve got her ag’in, an’ had
oughter be satisfied.”
“Perhaps you know who set fire to our cotton-gin?”
I observed.
“P’raps I do, an’ p’raps I don’t. But I’ll
tell you one thing: You had better turn me
loose, or it’ll be wuss for you!”
“Tell us another thing while you are about
it,” said Mark. “How did you get out of
that tree the other day? Did you jump into
the water and swim over the falls, as I did?”
“I reckon that’s my own business, ain’t it?”
It was plain that Luke was not in a communicative
mood. Some rogues, when they find
themselves brought up with a round turn,
become penitent, and are willing to relate all
the circumstances attending the commission of
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
their crime, but our prisoner did not belong to
that class. He was sullen and morose, and
had no doubt made up his mind that he would
say nothing that could be used as evidence
against him.
We were a great deal disappointed at this;
for there were one or two incidents connected
with the loss of the money and the disappearance
of Black Bess that we should like to have
had explained, but as Mr. Redman was not in
the humor to gratify our curiosity, we were
obliged to leave the unraveling of the mysteries
to time and future events.
At this moment it seemed to strike the
robber that he had been a prisoner long
enough, and, having in some measure recovered
from his fatigue, he began to test the
strength of the straps with which he was confined.
He was a powerful man, and his struggles to
free himself were furious and determined
indeed. He rolled about on the ground,
gnashing his teeth with rage, his face reddening
with his exertions, and the muscles on his
arms standing out like cords of steel.
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
He threatened to take a most terrible vengeance
on us when he succeeded in liberating
himself; and as we stood watching his contortions,
we trembled with the fear that some of
the straps would slip or prove too weak to
hold him. But, although we had done our
work in great haste, we had done it well, and
Luke was finally obliged to submit to his fate.
“Now, I’ll just tell you what’s the matter!”
exclaimed Sandy, who had stood with his hat
off and his sleeves pushed up, ready to pounce
upon the prisoner the instant he saw the least
probability of his freeing himself from his
bonds; “give it up, don’t you? Them straps
are purty strong, I reckon—hain’t they?
You’re fast, an’ thar’s no use of wastin’ time
in fussin’ about it.”
“What are you goin’ to do with me?”
asked Luke Redman, in savage tones.
“We’re going to take you to the settlement,
and put you where you’ll never have
another chance to steal money and horses,” I
answered.
“I’ll bet you somethin’ big that you don’t
take me to the settlement. I’ve got friends
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
clost by who won’t let harm come to me. If
you expect to see daylight ag’in, you had
better turn me loose. I’ll pay the hul lot on
you fur this, mind that.”
We began to prick up our ears when we
heard this, and to see the necessity of taking
our prisoner to a place of safety with as little
delay as possible. We did not really believe
that he had companions in the neighborhood
who would attempt to rescue him, but we did
not like to run any risks.
The Swamp Dragoons were always prowling
about in the woods, and turning up most unexpectedly,
and how did we know but that some
of them had witnessed all that had taken place
at Dead Man’s Elbow? If that was the case,
they would never permit Luke to be taken to
the settlement if they could help it; and as
they were a desperate lot of fellows, we did not
care to come in contact with them.
I had another reason for wishing to start for
home immediately. The cold, which had been
intense in the morning, was increasing in
severity, and some portions of my wet clothing
were frozen stiff; and now that the excitement
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
attending the chase and capture of the robber
had somewhat abated, I found that I was
chilled through, and so benumbed that I could
scarcely stand.
More than that, the storm which had been
threatening us for the last three days had set
in, and the rain and sleet began to rattle
through the leafless branches above our heads.
It promised to be a dismal night, and we were
twenty miles from home.
These same thoughts, or others very nearly
akin to them, must have been passing through
the minds of the rest of our fellows, for they
looked anxiously at one another and at the
lowering sky, and Herbert said:
“We’ve wasted too much time already. The
sooner we start for home the better. Friend
Redman, we are not playing with you, and if
you want to save yourself some rough handling,
you will be careful what you do. Let’s
untie his feet, fellows, and put him on Joe’s
extra horse.”
Our prisoner evidently thought it best to
heed Herbert’s advice, for when the horse
which I had ridden during the pursuit was
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
brought up, and we lifted him from the ground,
and placed him on the animal’s back, he did
not offer the least resistance. He uttered terrible
threats, however, but we paid no more
attention to them than we did to the whistling
of the wind.
As soon as we had gone through all his pockets,
in search of the pistol with which he had
threatened us (by the way, he didn’t have any
thing about him more dangerous than a pocket-knife),
we sprang into our saddles and set out
for home; Duke heading the cavalcade, Mark
following at his heels, leading the horse on
which our captive was mounted, Herbert coming
next with the valise, and Sandy and I
bringing up the rear, keeping a close watch
over Luke Redman, and holding ourselves in
readiness to resist his first attempt at escape.
In this way we passed the five miles that lay
between Dead Man’s Elbow and the bayou on
the banks of which we had stopped to eat our
dinner.
As we rode through the camp, Sandy dismounted
long enough to secure possession of
the squirrels he had shot a few hours before,
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
and which still lay at the root of the tree where
he had left them.
“Mebbe we won’t see home to-night,” said
he, “so I’ll take these along; ’cause I know
by experience that it is monstrous lonesome
campin’ in the woods without nothing to eat.”
Luke Redman started when he heard this
remark, and an expression of great satisfaction
settled on his scowling face. I noticed, too,
that after we left the bayou he began to cast
stealthy glances around him, as if he were
looking for some one; and once I saw his gaze
fastened earnestly upon a cluster of bushes
which grew on a neighboring ridge, running
parallel with the one we were following.
I scrutinized the thicket closely, and would
have been willing to declare that I saw a coonskin
cap, under which were a pair of eyes
regarding us intently. But the cap vanished
at the very moment I caught sight of it, and
believing that I had been mistaken, I said
nothing about it to my companions.
In less than half an hour after we left our
old camp, night began to settle down upon us,
and before we had accomplished another mile,
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
it was so dark that we could scarcely distinguish
one another’s features.
The storm had all the while been increasing
in fury, and now the rain and sleet came down
in torrents, and it was not many minutes before
we were all drenched to the skin. The
cold and darkness grew more intense, and, to
add to the unpleasantness of our situation,
we reached the end of the ridge at last,
and from that point our way lay across a bottom
ten miles wide, which was covered with
mud and ice, thickets of cane and blackberry
briers, and studded with cypress knees, which
rendered our progress slow and laborious.
“Duke,” said Sandy, at length—and I could
tell by the tones of his voice that he was shaking
with the cold—“strike up a whistle. It is
so dark we can’t see to foller you.”
“I am too nearly frozen to whistle,” replied
Duke. “It is all I can do to talk. That isn’t
the worst of it, either. I am afraid we are
lost.”
Now, getting lost was something that did not
trouble us in the least, for a surer guide than
Duke Hampton was not to be found in the
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
country. His “bump of locality” was largely
developed, and any place he had once visited
he could find again on the darkest of nights.
He sometimes laughingly said that he possessed
owl’s eyes, and I have thought it was
so, for it made not the slightest difference, as
far as his traveling was concerned, whether it
was high noon or midnight.
He once more urged his unwilling horse forward,
and for two long, dreary hours we
stumbled about in the darkness, the rain and
sleet beating furiously in our faces, and every
bone in our bodies aching with the cold.
During all this time no one spoke except
Luke Redman, who abused and threatened us
steadily for an hour, scarcely stopping to take
breath; then, suddenly changing his tone, he
entreated us to untie his hands, and, finding
that we paid no attention to him, he solemnly
declared that he was freezing to death, and
relapsed into silence.
I began to think I was freezing also, and
when I could no longer endure the cold, I
proposed to our fellows to abandon the idea
of riding to the settlement that night, and
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
strike for our camp on Black Bayou—the one
our negroes had built on the day we went into
the woods to watch our turkey-trap.
There we would find warm, dry quarters,
and materials with which to kindle a fire; and
as Sandy had been thoughtful enough to
bring the squirrels he had shot, we need not
go supperless to bed.
This plan was hailed with delight by the
others, and Duke at once turned his horse, and
started off in a direction exactly at right
angles with the one he had been pursuing.
If we had known all that was to happen to
us before we saw the sun rise again, our camp
on Black Bayou would have been the very last
place in the world we should have thought of
visiting.
How Duke knew what course to follow, was
a mystery to all of us. I do not suppose he
could have explained it himself, for the night
was so dark that he could not see five feet in
advance of him, and consequently he could not
have had the assistance of any familiar landmarks.
He seemed to know the direction by instinct,
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
and we, never doubting his ability to lead us
to the place of refuge we had selected, followed
him blindly.
I shall never forget that ride. How far it
was to the bayou, and how many hours we
traveled before reaching it, I do not know.
All I remember is that, when I became so cold
that I could scarcely sit in my saddle, and with
the greatest difficulty resisted the inclination
to dismount from my horse and give myself up
to the drowsiness that almost overpowered me,
Duke suddenly drew rein, and in a cheery voice
announced: “Here we are at last, fellows.”
I aroused myself with an effort, and looked
about me; but all I could see was a dense
black wall of trees, which surrounded us on all
sides. I was as completely lost now as I had
been at any time during the night, and so was
Herbert, if one might judge by the question
he asked:
“What place do you call this?” said he.
“Why, this is our old camp,” replied Duke,
“and right glad am I to see it; for I do not
believe I could ride a hundred yards further
to save my life.”
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
“You must have owl’s eyes indeed, if you
can see any signs of a shanty here,” observed
Mark.
“Well, I can’t exactly see any thing, but I
know it is the camp. Jump off, fellows, and
let’s get to work.”
It was all very well for Duke to tell us to
jump off, but, as far as I was concerned, that
was quite out of the question. I do not know
whether I rolled out of my saddle or fell out;
but I got out somehow, and did what I could
to assist the others in gathering a supply of
wood for the fire.
The exercise was beneficial in more ways
than one. It stirred up our sluggish blood,
banished all the gloomy thoughts that had so
long depressed us, and when at last the fire
was well under way, and the flames were leaping
high in the air, and lighting up the interior
of our comfortable quarters, we began to feel
more like ourselves.
We forgot that we were cold, wet, hungry,
and almost ready to drop with fatigue, and
thought only of the glorious success we had
achieved, and of the sensation we should create
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
when we took our prisoner and General Mason’s
money into the settlement, on the following
morning.
“I know this is comfortable, fellows,” said
Duke, as we crowded about the cheerful blaze,
“but let’s do our work first, and get warm
afterward. Joe, suppose you and Sandy rub
down the horses, and hitch them in some
sheltered place where they will be protected
from the storm. They have served us faithfully
to-day, and it would be cruel to neglect
them. While you are doing that, Herbert and
I will get in some wood, and Mark can clean
and cook the squirrels.”
We did not raise any objections to this
arrangement, but hurried off at once to
attend to the duties our leader had assigned
us.
In half an hour more, the horses had been
rubbed dry, and their legs relieved of the mud
and ice that adhered to them; a supply of
wood sufficient to keep the fire burning all
night was piled in one corner of the shanty,
and we lay stretched out on the leaves, enveloped
in a cloud of steam which arose from our
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
wet clothing, watching with hungry eyes the
movements of our cook.
We were all in the best of spirits now, even
including Luke Redman, who seemed for the
moment to forget that his hands were bound
behind his back, and that he stood a splendid
chance of passing a portion of his life within
the walls of a penitentiary.
“Now, then,” exclaimed Mark, “supper’s
ready. I can’t say that it will go very far
toward satisfying our appetites,” he continued,
glancing at the six pieces of beech bark on
which he had placed each one’s share of the
squirrels; “but it’s better than nothing.
Who is going to feed our friend here?”
“Untie my hands, and I’ll feed myself,” the
prisoner replied. “I won’t trouble none on
you.”
“Now, I’ll tell you what’s the matter,” said
Sandy; “’tain’t the least trouble in the world.
If we should untie your hands, you might jump
up an’ run out in the rain, an’ get wet ag’in;
an’ that would be redikilis. I’ll tend to him,
fellers.”
Sandy seated himself beside the prisoner,
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
and our cook, having passed around the pieces
of bark, we fell to work in earnest.
In a very few minutes the last bone had been
picked clean, and we sat looking wistfully at
our empty “plates,” as if half expecting to see
them filled up again in some mysterious manner;
but as nothing of the kind happened, we
threw them into the fire, and once more stretching
ourselves out on the leaves, listened in a
dreamy sort of way to the rain and sleet pattering
on the roof.
“Don’t go to sleep yet, boys,” said Duke,
seeing that some of us began to blink and nod
at the fire, as if recognizing in it an old acquaintance.
“I have something to say to you.”
As he said this, he crawled into the furthest
corner of the shanty, and we followed and
gathered about him.
I believed that what he was about to say had
some reference to Luke Redman, and the latter
must have thought so, too, for he watched
us with a great deal of interest.
“I reckon I know what you’re goin’ to talk
about,” said he, with a laugh, “an’ I tell you
now, as I told you afore, that you’ll never take
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
me to the settlement. I’ll bet a hoss that
things’ll be changed here afore long.”
“What do you think of that, fellows?”
asked Duke, in a low whisper.
“I think he wants to hear himself talk, and
that we have no cause for alarm,” said I.
“That’s my opinion,” observed Herbert.
“If he is depending on the Swamp Dragoons
to rescue him, he’ll be disappointed, for they
never could follow our trail through the woods
on a night like this.”
“An’ s’pose they did? I don’t reckon they’d
make much,” declared Sandy. “Thar’s six
of them, an’ only five of us, but we’re the best
men.”
“Well, shall we go on to the settlement, or
stay here?” asked Duke.
“Oh, stay here, by all means,” we answered,
with one accord; adding, with a shiver, as we
looked out into the darkness, and thought of
that dreary ride through the swamp, that
under no ordinary circumstances could we be
induced to get into our saddles again that
night.
There was no necessity for it. We were as
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
comfortable in our camp as we would have
been at headquarters, and as safe, too; for, as
far as an attack from the Swamp Dragoons was
concerned, that was all in Luke Redman’s eye.
Barney and his followers were not courageous
enough to attempt such a thing; but, in order
to make “assurance doubly sure,” it might be
well to put out pickets.
“That’s a good idea,” said Duke, glancing
at his watch, the hands of which pointed to
midnight. “If there are no objections, I’ll
stand guard first, and at the end of an hour I’ll
call—whom?”
“Call me,” said I.
“All right. It shall be the duty of the
pickets to keep the fire burning, to watch the
prisoner closely, and to see that he does not
find means to effect his escape, and to make the
round of the camp at least three times during
the hour. It is a wet job,” said Duke, looking
out at the rain and sleet, which were coming
down as fiercely as ever; “but we shall all
feel safer for it. It wouldn’t look well for us
to go back to the settlement without our
prisoner, after working so hard to secure him.”
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
“Wal,” said Luke Redman, seeing that the
consultation was ended, “what are you goin’
to do?”
“We think some of staying here until morning.
Any objections?”
“Nary one. I’m monstrous glad on’t, ’cause
my boys will be along this way directly. If
some on you gets your heads broke, you
mustn’t blame me fur it. I told you to turn me
loose, an’ you wouldn’t do it.”
We made no reply to Luke Redman’s threats,
but showed him by our looks that we were not
at all concerned. We examined his bonds,
to satisfy ourselves that they were secure, and
then crawled back to our places by the fire—all
except Duke, who pulled his collar up around
his ears, turned down the brim of his hat, and
walked out into the storm.
A few minutes afterward, I heard him talking
to his horse, and that was the last I remembered
until a hand was laid on my shoulder
and a voice whispered in my ear that it was
one o’ clock and time for me to go on guard.
I raised myself on my elbow, and, looking
about me, saw that the aspect of things had
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
changed considerably during the hour I had
been asleep.
The rain and sleet had turned to snow, the
trees and bushes were loaded with it, and the
air was filled with the rapidly-falling flakes.
If you have ever had any experience in this
line, you know there is no fun in turning out of
a warm bed to stand picket in a snow-storm.
“Is every thing all right?” I asked, glancing
toward the prisoner, who was as wide
awake as he had been an hour ago.
“Yes, so far, all’s well. But there’s one
thing I don’t exactly like, and that is the way
Luke Redman conducts himself. He has been
seen sitting up ever since I have been on guard
listening with all the ears he’s got, and acting
as though he was expecting some one. Keep
your eyes open, Joe, and give the signals of
distress the instant you see the least sign of
danger.”
As Duke stretched himself out on the leaves
I picked up his hunting-horn and walked out
of the shanty. I threw an armful of wood on
the fire and turned to look at the prisoner.
“Oh, I am safe enough yet,” said he, as I
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
examined the straps with which his arms were
confined, “but I won’t be so long. Thar’s
somethin’ goin’ to happen, if you only
knowed it.”
“Let it happen,” I replied. “If the Swamp
Dragoons show their faces about here, they’ll
get the best dressing down they ever heard of.”
I walked off without waiting to hear what
Luke Redman had to say in reply, and started
to make the circuit of the camp, keeping a
good lookout on all sides and stopping now
and then to listen.
I neither saw nor heard any thing suspicious;
and after stumbling about among the bushes
for ten minutes, I reached the spot from which
I had started on my round.
Taking up a position a short distance from
the fire, where I could distinctly see every move
made by our prisoner, I leaned against the
trunk of a giant oak, which effectually protected
me from the storm, and went off into a
reverie, from which I was suddenly aroused by
a sound that alarmed me not a little.
It was the angry growl of a dog, which ended
very abruptly, and with a hoarse, gurgling
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
sound, as if the animal’s throat had been
grasped by a strong hand. I turned quickly,
and looking in the direction from which the
sound came, saw a head disappear behind a
log, not more than twenty feet distant.
I was sure I could not be mistaken; and in
order to satisfy myself on that point, I sprang
to the log and looked over it. One glance was
enough. I gave the signals of distress with all
the power of my lungs, and then faced about
and ran toward the camp at the top of my
speed.
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XI. | THE TABLES TURNED.
.sp 2
What had I seen behind that log that
frightened me so badly?
It was Barney Redman, the leader of the
Swamp Dragoons. He had thrown himself flat
on his back to escape observation, and was
holding in the leash a gaunt, fierce-looking
hound, which sprang forward and growled
savagely at me as I approached his master’s
hiding-place.
Now, although the captain of the Dragoons
had the reputation of being a young desperado,
I was not afraid of him or his dog either, and
under almost any other circumstances I would
have been the last one to run from him; but
on this occasion, discretion was the better part
of valor.
His presence there was enough to convince
me that there was trouble ahead; and I knew
.bn 170.png
.pn +1
that the sooner my companions were aroused
and the camp put in a state of defense, the better
it would be for us.
I can not begin to tell you how astonished I
was to see him there. No one except an Indian
could have followed our trail through the
swamp that night; not even a bloodhound, for
a good portion of our way lay over a bottom
covered with water to the depth of a foot, and
every one knows that scent will not lie on the
water.
I could not understand it at all, and neither
was I allowed time to think the matter over,
for Barney, finding that he was discovered,
raised a yell, and followed after me with all
the speed he could command.
“Stop thar, Mark Coleman,” he shouted.
“We owe you a good lickin’, and we’ve follered
you too fur to let you get away now. Stop
thar, I say, or I’ll let this yere dog at you, an’
he’s a varmint.”
The captain of the Dragoons had got things
mixed again. You will remember that when
Mark first made his appearance at Dead Man’s
Elbow, and discovered Luke Redman in the
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
tree and General Mason’s valise hanging to the
rowlock of the skiff, Barney, who was standing
on the bluff, had called him Joe Coleman, and
threatened to have a settlement with him at
some future day, if he did not immediately go
back up the bayou, where he came from.
Since then he had found out that he had
made a mistake in the boy, and that it was
Mark, and not Joe, who had put the authorities
on his father’s track.
When he saw me looking over the log
at him, he supposed that I was my brother,
and the very one he wanted to be revenged
upon.
“Stop thar, I tell you,” repeated Barney.
“We’re goin’ to squar’ accounts with you now
fur findin’ out about that money.”
As I could not see the use of allowing myself
to be punished for what Mark had done, if I
could help it, I did not stop. I ran faster than
ever, and fear lending me wings, I made my
way through the bushes at a rate of speed that
the fleet-footed Herbert Dickson himself would
not have been ashamed of; but before I had
taken a dozen steps, a figure, which seemed to
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
rise out of the ground, suddenly appeared before
me, and clasped me in its arms.
“Ugh!” exclaimed a familiar voice, “you
wouldn’t wrestle the other day; you wrestle
now.”
Here was another fellow who took me for
my brother. It was Jim, the young savage
whom we heard boasting so loudly on the day
we visited the Indian camp.
How he happened to be there with the
Swamp Dragoons I did not stop to inquire, for
he had caught me with a fair back-hold, and
was trying to throw me down.
“I am not the boy you challenged to a trial
of strength the other day,” said I; “but if
you are determined to have a wrestle, and
nothing but a wrestle will satisfy you, I think
I can accommodate you.”
And I did; for in less time than it takes to
tell it, that young Indian’s heels flew up and
his head came in violent contact with the
ground.
Having disposed of Jim, I raised my horn to
my lips, and, after repeating the signals of
distress, was about to take to my heels again,
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
when Barney and his dog came up, both fierce
for a fight.
I did not wait for them to begin, but took
the initiative myself by lifting my heavy boot
and hitting Barney’s four-footed friend a kick
under the chin that fairly lifted him from the
ground.
It was plain that he had got all he wanted,
for he ran yelping into the bushes, and Barney
and I were left to finish the battle alone.
The leader of the Dragoons paused for a
moment when he witnessed the discomfiture
of his ally, and then came on more fiercely
than ever.
“Oh, ain’t I goin’ to give it to you now?”
he shouted, and I knew by the way the words
came out that he was almost beside himself
with fury. “A fellow who hits my dog, hits
me.”
About this time I became aware that there
was a great uproar in the camp. I heard a
crashing in the bushes, which was followed,
first by Indian yells, hoarse shouts of triumph
and the baying of hounds; then by a rapid
shuffling of feet and the sound of fierce blows,
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
all of which, told me that there was a desperate
battle going on.
This continued for a moment, and then—you
can imagine how the cold chills crept over me
when I heard it—the report of a gun, fired
twice in quick succession, rang through the
swamp, accompanied by something that
sounded very much like the voice of a human
being in distress.
What was it? Had any of our fellows been
shot by the attacking party, or had they, in
their desire to prevent the rescue of Luke Redman
and to save the eight thousand dollars, so
far forgot their prudence as to fire upon the
Swamp Dragoons?
As this thought passed through my mind, I
turned my eyes for one instant toward the
camp, and to my amazement and alarm, discovered
that the Swamp Dragoons were not
alone. I saw a mass of struggling men and
boys swaying to and fro in front of the camp,
and conspicuous among them were Pete and
his half-breed companions.
I was not so much astonished at this, however,
as I was to see Tom Mason flitting about
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
here and there, swinging a riding-whip, and
apparently one of the most fierce and determined
of the attacking party.
I saw, too, that our fellows were getting the
worst of the fight; but, although they were
greatly outnumbered, and were being pummeled
unmercifully by the heavy whips with
which their assailants were armed, they were
doing their best to retain possession of the
prisoner and of General Mason’s money. Mark
held the valise in his hand, Sandy was carrying
Luke Redman in his arms as if he had been an
infant, and both were making the best of their
way toward their horses, while Duke and Herbert
were trying to cover their retreat.
I saw and heard all this during the single
instant of time that I kept my head turned
toward the camp. I was not allowed opportunity
to make any further observations, for
Barney had clutched me by the throat, and
was making desperate efforts to put me on the
ground.
He speedily became aware, however, that he
had got his hands full, and began shouting
loudly for help.
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
“Jake! Jim!” he yelled, “lend a hand!
Here he is!”
Jim, who was seated on the ground rubbing
his aching head, had already received convincing
proof that I was there, and a moment afterward
Jake must have been pretty well aware of
the fact also; for, as he came rushing up in response
to the calls of his brother, I met him
with a back-hander over the eye that must have
made him see stars.
But I could not long hold out against three
antagonists, each of whom was nearly, if not
quite, as strong and active as myself.
Jake quickly recovered from the effects of
the back-hander; Jim managed to get upon his
legs at last, and, being attacked on all sides, I
was thrown to the ground, and held there by
two of my assailants while the other pulled
some pieces of rope from his pocket and proceeded
to confine my hands and feet.
If you have never been in such a situation,
you can have no idea how it makes one feel to
find himself wrapped up in strong cords, and
to know that he is wholly in the power of his
enemies, who can take vengeance on him at
.bn 177.png
.pn +1
their leisure, and without the least fear of suffering
in return.
So long as he is able to resist, be it ever so
feebly, he can keep up some show of courage;
but when he finds himself powerless to move
even a finger, then it is that his nerve is tested.
This was my first experience in this line, and
my feeling, as I looked into the scowling faces
of my captors after I had been jerked to my
feet, were any thing but pleasant, I assure you.
I did not let them see how badly I was frightened,
but looked them squarely in the eye, and
nerved myself for the punishment which I expected
would be inflicted upon me without an
instant’s delay.
In this, however, I was most agreeably disappointed.
Barney was either in no hurry to
consummate his vengeance, or else he did not
have time to do it then; for, as soon as he had
helped me to my feet, he ran toward the camp,
followed by his companions.
All these events, which I have been so long
in describing, happened in a short space of
time. From the discovery of Barney behind
the log until the end of the fight between our
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
fellows and the Swamp Dragoons and their
allies, probably not more than five minutes had
elapsed.
During that time our triumph had been
turned into utter defeat, and our hard day’s
work completely undone. We had been overpowered
and whipped out.
My companions had escaped by throwing
themselves upon their horses, and our enemies,
after following them a short distance, returned
to the camp, and were now gathered about the
fire, talking loudly and laughing uproariously.
Remembering the reports of the gun and the
cries of distress I had heard, I ran my eye over
the group to see if any of them were wounded;
but my fears on this score were set at rest when
I discovered the bodies of a couple of blood-hounds
lying in front of the cabin.
These animals, as I afterward learned, had
attacked our fellows with the utmost ferocity,
and had been promptly shot by Duke Hampton.
Almost the first man my eyes rested on was
Luke Redman, no longer bound and helpless,
but standing erect among his companions,
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
carrying General Mason’s valise in one hand
and holding Black Bess with the other.
He was looking down at the hounds, and I
knew by the fierce frown on his face that somebody
would have to suffer for their death.
Would he vent all his spite upon me, now that
my companions were out of his reach?
I am older now than I was that night, and
during the course of a long and eventful life
have had more than my share of excitement
and adventure; but I do not believe that I was
ever more nearly overcome with fear than I
was while I stood there looking at the crowd
of men and boys who were gathered about our
camp-fire.
I had good cause for alarm. In the first
place, I was mistaken for my brother, and I
knew that nearly every person before me held
a grudge against him for something he had
done. Tom Mason would want revenge for the
thrashing Mark had given him a long time ago;
Pete, the head man among the half-breeds, had
been pulled down and thoroughly shaken by
the dogs, and that was something he did not
intend to overlook, as I knew by the experience
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
I had already had with him that day.
Barney and the rest of the Swamp Dragoons
imagined that our fellows had heaped a great
many indignities upon them, and they would
certainly settle their accounts now; Jim would
probably have something to say concerning the
hard fall I had given him a few minutes before,
and lastly, there was Luke Redman! I
expected to suffer severely at his hands.
Barney, who was highly elated at the result
of the encounter that had made me his prisoner,
lost no time in hunting up his companions
and revealing to them his good fortune.
They all yelled exultantly when their chief
directed their attention to me, and after a short
consultation with him and Tom Mason, they
came forward in a body. Barney and Tom led
the way, each of them carrying a riding whip
in his hand.
I saw by the expression on their faces that
something was going to happen.
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XII. | TOM IS ASTONISHED.
.sp 2
When the Swamp Dragoons reached the
place where I was standing, they gathered
about me, and looked inquiringly at Tom
Mason, as if waiting for him to say something.
The latter advanced with a grin on his countenance,
peered sharply into my face, and then
looked at me from head to foot, as if taking
my exact measure.
When he had completed his examination, he
stepped back, and striking his boots with his
riding-whip, said:
“Do you remember what I told you the last
time I saw you, Mark Coleman? I said I was
going to make things exceedingly lively for
you this winter, didn’t I? Well, I think I
have done it. You can thank me for every
thing that has happened to you.”
“It’s him, then, is it?” exclaimed Barney.
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
“Them fellers look as near alike as two peas,
an’ I was a’most afeared we had gobbled up
the wrong chap.”
“And so you have,” I replied. “I am not
Mark Coleman, and Tom Mason knows it very
well. My name is Joe.”
“No, I reckon not,” returned Barney, with
a most provoking laugh. “Tommy has knowed
you fur years an’ years, an’ so have we; an’
you can’t pull the wool over our eyes in no
sich way as that ar’!”
“You don’t know me any better than I know
myself, do you? If Mark had been in my
place, you never would have captured him.”
“Wouldn’t? Why not?”
“Because he would have been too smart for
you. He would have whipped you and Jake
and Jim so badly that your mothers wouldn’t
know you.”
“Wal, now, we’d ’a kept the skeeters off’n
him while he was a-doin’ it,” said Jake, who
was angry in an instant at the imputation I
had cast upon his prowess. “But you can
jest hush up that sass, ’cause we ain’t a-goin’
to stand it from you.”
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
“No, we hain’t,” chimed in Barney. “We’re
a-goin’ to pay you fur it now, an’ while we are
about it, we’ll settle with you fur all the other
mean things you have done.”
“How are you going to do it?”
“Every one of us is goin’ to give you ten
good licks with this yere,” replied Barney,
flourishing his riding-whip in the air. “Untie
his hands an’ pull off his jacket!”
Seventy blows with a rawhide! Wasn’t that
a pleasing prospect? How would you have
felt if you had been in my place? Would you
have taken the whipping quietly?
I was fully determined that I would not. I
knew that I had never done any of the Swamp
Dragoons an injury, and even if I had, they
had no right to deal out such punishment as
this to me.
“That’s the idee!” said Barney, as Jake
and one of his confederates pulled off my coat
after untying my hands. “Now loosen up on
his feet. That b’iled shirt o’ yourn’ll have
marks on it afore we are done with you, won’t
it, Tommy?”
“That’s just what’s the matter!” replied
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
Tom, hitting his boots another cut with his
whip. “You don’t associate with boys who
steal and tell falsehoods, do you? Ten good
blows with this rawhide will pay you for saying
that!”
Why the Swamp Dragoons were so stupid
as to untie my feet, when there was no necessity
for it, I do not know; but they did, and
it gave me an opportunity to fight for my
liberty.
I improved it on the instant. Jake must
have been astonished at the weight of the blow
that was planted squarely in his face, and so
was I; for it drove him against Tom Mason
with such force that the latter was knocked
fairly off his feet.
This opened a way through the ranks of my
enemies, and, before they could lift a finger, to
detain me, I had leaped over the prostrate
forms, and was running through the bushes at
the top of my speed.
I was quite as much astonished at what I
had done as the Swamp Dragoons must have
been.
I made the attempt at escape, not because I
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
thought it would be successful, but for the
reason that I wished to postpone the moment
of my punishment as long as possible.
I had fully expected to be knocked down or
tripped up immediately; but, having accomplished
this much, I began to hope that, aided
by the darkness, I might elude my enemies
altogether.
This hope, however, was short-lived. There
were Indians and bloodhounds behind me, and
in less than a minute both were on my trail.
As soon as the Swamp Dragoons found their
tongues, they uttered loud yells of surprise and
alarm, and called upon the men about the fire
for assistance.
“What’s the matter over thar?” demanded
the gruff voice of Luke
“Mark Coleman!” gasped the leader of the
Dragoons. “We ketched him, but he has got
away. Thar he is, runnin’ through the cane
like a skeered turkey!”
“Turn your dogs loose on him!” shouted
Luke. “Come, Injuns, do something fur us!”
There was no need that Luke Redman should
call upon Pete and his companions for help.
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
The former, at least, had reasons for wishing
to prevent my escape, and as soon as he found
out what was going on, he set up a whoop and
started in pursuit.
I did not waste time in looking back at him,
but my ears told me that he was coming, and
that he was gaining on me at every step.
I heard the fierce yelps the hounds gave
when they found my trail, and knew they
would overtake me if the Indians did not.
They might even tear me in pieces before their
masters could come up to rescue me; but fearing
the rawhide more than the teeth of the
dogs, I kept straight ahead, doing some of the
best running I ever did in my life, until a heavy
hand was laid upon my collar, and I was jerked
backward and thrown upon the ground.
“Ugh!” grunted Pete. “White boy good
runner—very good runner; but no match for
Injun. S’pose I put dogs on him!”
The Swamp Dragoons and the bloodhounds
came up at this moment, and I feared that
between them both I should be severely dealt
with.
The dogs seemed determined to bite me, Jake
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
and Tom were bent on taking revenge on me
for knocking them down, while Pete, although
he at first made some show of protecting me,
was more than half inclined to allow them to
act their pleasure.
There is no telling what might have happened
had it not been for Luke Redman, whose
stern voice sent the hounds cowering into the
bushes, and arrested the hands that were uplifted
to strike me.
“Get out, you whelps!” he roared. “Quit
your foolin’, boys. We’ve no time to waste in
settlin’ with him now. Fetch up the hosses,
an’ let’s start fur hum.”
In obedience to these commands, my captors
ceased their hostile demonstrations, and began
preparations for instant departure. Barney
and Jake busied themselves in tying my hands;
the rest of the Dragoons brought up the horses
belonging to the attacking party, which were
hidden in the swamp a short distance from the
camp, while Pete and the rest of the half-breeds
ransacked the shanty, and took possession
of the guns, saddles and hunting-horns
which our fellows had left behind them.
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
When every thing was ready for the start,
Luke Redman, mounting Black Bess, rode at
the head of the cavalcade, and I followed at
his heels, in precisely the same situation in
which the robber had been placed a few hours
before—mounted on mother’s horse, with my
hands bound behind my back.
“I told you somethin’ was a-goin’ to happen,
an’ you laughed at me,” chuckled Luke
Redman. “Now you’ll see how much fun
thar is in ridin’ through a thick woods with
your hands tied hard an’ fast.”
I had not gone a hundred yards from the
camp before I found that there was no fun at
all in it. The briers and cane were thick, and,
as I could not raise my hands to protect my
face, I received more than one blow and scratch
that brought the tears to my eyes. But I
made no complaint. Luke Redman had
endured it during a journey of fifteen miles,
and I thought I could endure it also.
That was my second dreary ride that night,
and it was one I never wanted to take again.
What my captors were going to do with me,
and in what direction they were traveling, I
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
had no way of finding out, for they would not
answer my questions. All I could tell was
that Luke Redman took especial pains to
avoid the clear ground, seeming to prefer the
muddy and almost impassable bottom to the
high and dry ridges; and that when day
dawned, and it became light enough for me to
distinguish objects about me, I found myself
in a part of the swamp I had never visited
before.
“Thar!” exclaimed Luke, reining in his
horse on the banks of a deep bayou, and glancing
back at the labyrinth of trees and bushes
from which we had just emerged, “I’d like to
see the man who can foller our trail. Now,
Barney, you an’ Pete come here a minute.”
The persons addressed followed the robber a
short distance up the bayou, and held a long
consultation with him. When it was ended,
Tom Mason, Luke Redman and the Swamp
Dragoons dismounted, I was dragged out of
my saddle, and the horses we had ridden were
taken in charge by Pete and his half-breed
companions, who crossed the bayou and disappeared
in the woods on the opposite bank.
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
Barney and his followers, in the meantime,
were hunting about among the bushes which
grew along the edge of the stream, and presently
a large canoe was brought to light.
My face must have betrayed the interest
with which I watched these proceedings, for
Luke Redman said:
“I’m an old fox, an’ I think I have managed
this thing jest about right. I know the men
in the settlement will be arter us—I shouldn’t
wonder if they was on our trail this very minute—an’
they may succeed in follerin’ us arter
all the trouble I’ve tuk to throw ’em off the
scent. When they reach this yere bayou,
they’ll see that the hosses have crossed to the
other side, an’ they’ll think, in course, that
we are still on their backs; but we won’t be,
’cause we’re goin’ down stream in this yere
dug-out. They’ll foller the trail of the hosses,
but they won’t make nothin’ by it, ’cause
Pete’s an Injun, an’ knows how to fool ’em.”
“Well,” said I, “since you have seen fit to
explain your movements to me, perhaps you
won’t mind telling me why you are keeping
me a prisoner.”
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
Luke Redman rubbed his chin, and looked
down at the ground in a brown study.
“I reckon I might as well tell you now as
any other time,” said he, after a moment’s reflection.
“I want to use you; that’s the
reason I am keepin’ you here. I want to use
Tommy, too, an’ that’s the reason I’m keepin’
him.”
This was the first intimation I had had of
the fact that Tom Mason was held as a prisoner,
and the sudden start that young gentleman
gave, and the expression of surprise and
alarm that settled on his face, told me as
plainly as words that it was news to him also.
He looked earnestly at Luke Redman, then at
Barney and his companions, and said in a
faltering voice:
“I came here of my own free will, and you
surely do not mean to say that I can not go
home again when I feel so disposed?”
“Yes, I do mean to say that very thing,”
replied Luke, coolly. “You’re a prisoner,
same as this other feller.”
Tom staggered back as if some one had
aimed a blow at him, his face grew deathly
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
pale, and he looked the very picture of terror.
In spite of all the trouble he had brought upon
me, I pitied him from the bottom of my heart.
For several minutes no one spoke. Tom
stood staring at Luke Redman in a sort of
stupid bewilderment, as if he found it impossible
to grasp the full import of the words he
had just heard, and the man leaned on the
muzzle of Sandy Todd’s shot-gun, which he
had appropriated for his own use, and stared
at him in return.
“You don’t quite see through it, do you?”
said the latter, at length.
“No, I don’t,” Tom almost gasped. “I
can’t understand what object you have in view
in keeping me here, for I shall never reveal any
of your secrets.”
“Oh, I ain’t at all afraid of that,” laughed
Luke Redman, “’cause, if you should tell any
of my secrets, I might tell some o’ yourn, which
would be bad for you. Listen, an’ I’ll tell you
all about it. The money in that carpet-sack
belongs to your uncle. He don’t need it,
’cause he’s got more than he knows what to do
with; but I do need it, an’, what’s more, I’m
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
bound to have it. You don’t see that young
Injun Jim anywhar, do you? Wal, jest afore
we left the camp whar my boys rescooed me,
he went to the settlement with a note which
Barney writ to your uncle. That note told him
that if he don’t quit makin’ so much fuss about
the loss of his money, an’ give me a chance to
get across the river with it, he’ll never see you
ag’in. I know he thinks a heap on you, an’
sooner than lose you, he’ll call in the settlers,
an’ give up huntin’ fur me. Ain’t that one
way to slip outen the hands of the law?”
“It will never work,” said I, indignantly.
“My father is one of the settlers, and he’ll not
allow you to escape, even if General Mason
does desire it.”
“Hold on a bit!” interrupted Luke Redman.
“I ain’t done talkin’ yet. Your father
will be one of the very fust to give up lookin’
fur me, ’cause I sent him a note, too, sayin’
that if he wanted to see you ag’in, he had best
go home an’ mind his own business fur one
week. If he does that, I’ll send you back to
him safe an’ sound. If he don’t, I’ll sink you
so deep in the bayou that none of your
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
fellers will ever find you ag’in. Do you
know now why I’m so sot on keepin’ you a
prisoner?”
I certainly did, for Luke Redman’s scheme
was perfectly clear to me. He knew he could
not show himself outside the swamp as long as
the authorities and settlers were on the watch,
and he had detained Tom and me, hoping
through us to work on the fears of our friends
and relatives.
If they would let him alone for one week—or,
to put it in plain English, if they would
draw in the patrols who were guarding the
river, and allow him to cross into Louisiana
with the eight thousand dollars—he would
return Tom and me to our homes, right side up
with care; but if they persisted in searching
for him, he would put us where no one would
ever see us again.
I had never heard of so desperate a scheme
before, and to say that I was amazed would
but feebly express my feelings.
While I was thinking it over, and wondering
if it would succeed, Tom recovered from his
bewilderment, and showed that he could be
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
plucky and determined, as well as mean and
cunning.
“Well, this gets ahead of me completely,”
said he, in great disgust. “This is the second
trick you have played on me, Luke Redman,
and I want you to understand that I won’t put
up with it—that’s all about it. If you expect
to keep me here, you are deceived for once in
your life, if you have never been before.
Whenever I get ready to go home, I shall go;
and all the boys and bloodhounds and Indians
in your whole gang can’t prevent me.”
“Can’t! Wal, I’ll mighty soon show you.
If you’re going to get your back up an’ act
onreasonable, we’ll have to tie you, too. Barney,
take that shootin’-iron away from him.”
The dark scowl on Tom’s face and the determined
manner in which he spoke satisfied me
that he was very much in earnest, and I
thought it might prove a dangerous piece of
business for Luke Redman or any of his boys
to lay violent hands on him; but to my surprise
he gave up his gun without the least
show of resistance, and permitted the Dragoons
to tie his hands behind his back.
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
He shook his head threateningly, and kept
up a rapid talking during the whole proceeding;
and I knew that if ever the opportunity
was offered, Luke Redman would suffer for his
treachery.
“Thar,” said the robber, “that job’s done,
and now we will start on ag’in. But you must
be blindfolded first, ’cause we’re goin’ to take
you to a place that no man, ’cept them
b’longin’ to our crowd, ever looked at.”
As he said this, he took from his pocket a
dirty red handkerchief, and tied it over my
eyes so tightly that not a ray of light could
reach them.
After a few seconds’ delay, during which he
was doubtless performing the same operation
for Tom, I was lifted from my feet and laid
away in the boat, as if I had been a sack of
corn, and in a minute or two more I heard the
measured dip of paddles and felt the gentle
motion of the little vessel as it sped rapidly
down the bayou. During the journey, which
occupied the better part of the forenoon, no one
spoke, and Tom and I were left to the companionship
of our own thoughts.
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
That those of my fellow-prisoner were not of
the most agreeable nature was evident from the
continuous muttering he kept up and the uneasy
manner in which he rolled about on the
bottom of the canoe.
My own reflections were far from pleasant,
for, aside from the pain occasioned by the
cramped position I was compelled to occupy,
my mind was kept in a state of anxiety and
suspense that was little short of positive torture.
I tried to think as little as possible about
myself, and kept my brain busy with other
matters.
What had induced Tom Mason to become
connected with this band of outlaws? How did
it come that Pete and his half-breed companions
were associated with them? Where was Luke
Redman taking me? and would he really drown
me in the bayou if he were not left in quiet
possession of the eight thousand dollars?
Such questions as these, I say, occupied my
mind during the journey down the bayou; but
I could not find a satisfactory answer to a single
one of them.
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
About noon my reflections were interrupted
by the sudden stopping of the canoe, and a
movement among my captors which told me
that our voyage was ended.
I was lifted out and placed upon the bank,
my feet were unbound, and, supported by Luke
Redman on one side and Barney on the other,
I was led along what appeared to be a bridle-path
running through the woods.
In about ten minutes we reached a house; a
door was pushed open, and I was conducted
across a floor and up a flight of creaking stairs,
at the top of which my captors stopped long
enough to unlock a second door, which led into
a room that I soon found was to serve as my
prison.
“Here you are!” said Luke Redman, pulling
out his knife and cutting the ropes with
which my hands were confined; “an’ here
you’ll stay till I get ready to leave the country.
Don’t go to raisin’ any fuss, now; ’cause
if you do, I’ll send my boys up here with their
rawhides.”
The door closed as the outlaw’s voice ceased,
and a key grated harshly in the lock. I listened
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
a moment to the retreating footsteps, and
then tore the handkerchief from my eyes.
I might as well have kept them covered, however,
for they were not of the slightest use in
the intense darkness which filled my prison.
I could not see my hand before me; and not
daring to move about the apartments for fear of
running against something, I seated myself on
the floor, to think over my situation and wonder
what was going to happen next.
Just then I heard a slight grating noise, close
at my elbow, such as might have been made by
pushing a heavy board across the floor.
This continued for a few seconds, and then
little rays of light began to stream into the
room from an opening which suddenly appeared
in the wall.
I was now enabled to make an examination
of my prison. I swept one hasty glance around
it, and saw that it was about ten feet square,
that there was not a single article of furniture
in it, and that the walls, floor and ceiling were
formed of heavy oak planks.
When I had noted these things, I looked
toward the opening again, and found that it
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
had increased in size sufficiently to admit the
head and shoulders of Tom Mason, who gazed
all about the room, then rubbed his eyes and
looked again.
I was not glad to see him, and wondered
what he might want there. If he intended to
revenge himself on me for knocking him down,
he would have a lively time of it, for I was not
bound now.
“Joe,” said he, in a scarcely audible whisper.
“Why do you call me that?” I asked.
“Didn’t you tell Barney that my name was
Mark?”
“I did; but I knew better all the time.”
“Well, that is as much as I care to hear
from you. Don’t you dare come in here.”
“I know you despise me, Joe, and I don’t
wonder at it; but if you will trust me this
once, you will never be sorry for it. I am going
to leave these fellows this very afternoon;
and if you will go with me, and stick to me, we
can take my uncle’s money with us, and Black
Bess, too.”
I began to listen more attentively when I
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
heard this. As Tom had got me into this
scrape, I saw no reason why he should not get
me out of it, if he could. The only question
in my mind was whether or not I could place
any dependence on him.
He must have been able to read my thoughts,
for he hastened to say:
“I don’t blame you for doubting me, Joe,
but as sure as I am a prisoner here, like yourself,
I have no intention of trying to deceive
you. I am going to get you out of the hands
of these outlaws, whether you are willing or
not. If you won’t go with me, I will go alone;
and when I find the settlers, I will guide them
straight to this place.”
“How can you do it?” I asked. “You
came here blindfolded, didn’t you?”
“Yes; but it was like locking the stable-door
after the horse is stolen, I have been here
many a time, and I know this house like a
book.”
“But these people are your friends, are they
not? Why do you turn against them?”
“Do you ask me that after what you heard
to-day? Luke Redman went back on me completely,
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
and I should be something more or less
than human if I didn’t want to get even with
him for that. I’d like to see him keep me here
an hour longer than I want to stay. Who do
you suppose stole my uncle’s money?” asked
Tom, suddenly.
“Mr. Redman, of course.”
“Well, he didn’t. I stole it.”
“Tom Mason!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t talk so loud, or you’ll bring Barney
up here. It is a fact, I am sorry to say, and the
reason I took it was because I wanted to get
Jerry Lamar into trouble. In the first place, I
intended to keep you and all your friends in
hot water, if I could. I found plenty of ways
in which to bother you, such as stealing your
boat, robbing your traps and shooting at your
dogs, but I did not know what to do to
Jerry, for he never went hunting and owned
nothing worth stealing. I happened to be
up the bayou, duck-shooting, on the morning
on which uncle visited Mr. Lamar’s
house. I saw the valise in the skiff, and
knowing what it contained, I thought it would
be a good plan to take it out and hide it. I
.bn 203.png
.pn +1
did so. I paddled across the bayou, took
the money, and paddled back again, without
being seen, either by my uncle or Mr.
Lamar. Jerry was suspected of the theft, as
I knew he would be, and would have been
sent to prison, if it had not been for your
brother Mark.”
Tom paused, and I sat looking at him
without speaking. Bad as I knew him to
be, I had never dreamed that he could
descend low enough to perpetrate an act like
this.
His confession revealed a depth of depravity
that Luke Redman himself would have been
ashamed of; and when I thought how narrowly
Jerry had escaped being the victim of
his cowardly vindictiveness, I had half a mind
to pull him through the window into my
prison, and give him the worst drubbing he
ever had in his life.
I believe I should have done something to
him, had I not at that moment heard a step on
the stairs.
“Somebody’s coming,” whispered Tom. “I
have more to tell you, if you have the patience
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
to listen to it, and will see you again directly.”
As he said this, he drew back from the window
and pushed the board to its place, leaving
me in total darkness.
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIII. | TOM TELLS HIS STORY.
.sp 2
When Tom had disappeared, I settled
back on my elbow, and listened to the
approaching footsteps, which slowly mounted
the creaking stairs and stopped at my door.
A key turned in the lock, the light of a lantern
streamed into the room, and Barney and Jake
Redman entered, one carrying a plate filled
with corn-bread and bacon, and the other holding
a bundle of blankets under his arm.
“Wal, my young feller,” said Barney, with
an awkward attempt to appear good-natured
and patronizing, “how do you feel about this
time? Tired, hungry an’ sleepy, I reckon.
We’ve brought you a bite of somethin’, an’ a
blanket to lay down on. You’d best do some
good eatin’ an’ sleepin’ while you are about it,
’cause we’ve got a long ways to ride to-night.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
“That’s somethin’ fur you to find out.
You’ll know soon enough.”
With this assurance, the Dragoons deposited
the lantern, blankets and plate on the floor, and
went out, locking the door after them.
In a few minutes the sound of voices coming
from the adjoining room told me that they had
gone in to pay Tom a visit.
I had been very sleepy previous to my interview
with my fellow-prisoner, but that had
worn off now, although I was as hungry as
ever. I did ample justice to the bountiful dinner
with which Barney had provided me, and
when he came in after the lantern, I had emptied
the plate, and lay stretched out on the
blankets, which I had spread upon the floor.
The leader of the Dragoons showed a disposition
to linger and enter into conversation—a
proceeding to which I was strongly opposed.
I was impatient to be rid of his presence, in
order that I might see Tom Mason again, and,
as I gave only short, crusty answers to his
questions, and pretended to be very sleepy, Barney
finally gave it up in disgust, and took his
leave.
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
The sound of his footsteps had scarcely died
away on the stairs, when the board which concealed
the opening in the wall was cautiously
pushed aside, and Tom once more appeared,
his jaws working rapidly, and his hands filled
with corn-bread and bacon.
I looked at him closely, and could easily see
that something had made a great change in
him. The impudent, defiant expression his
face usually wore had disappeared, and he
looked melancholy and down-hearted, as
though he had lost the last friend he had in the
world.
He did not wait for me to speak, but began
the conversation himself.
“When Barney came up I was relating how
I obtained possession of the money, wasn’t I?”
said he. "I told you that I crossed the bayou
with it without being seen by either my uncle
or Mr. Lamar. I was seen by somebody else,
however, and by the very one, of all others, I
had the most reason to fear; for as I sat looking
at the valise, after I had pushed my canoe
out of sight among the bushes, and wondering
what I should do with it now that I had got it,
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
I happened to raise my eyes, and, to my utter
amazement, discovered a skiff not more than
ten feet from me. In the skiff was Luke Redman,
who stood leaning on his gun, and looking
at me with an exultant smile on his face.
"I was certain that he had been watching
me, that he had seen me take the money, and
the very first words he uttered confirmed the
suspicion.
"‘Wal, my young chap, I’ve ketched you,’
said he—‘ketched you in the very act, too.
This will be a nice story for me to tell in the
settlement, won’t it?’
"When I heard this last remark, I for the
first time began to realize what I had done.
It flashed upon me in an instant that my plan
for ruining Jerry Lamar was likely to ruin me,
also.
"In order to satisfy a senseless grudge
against a boy who never did me the least harm
in his life, I had broken the law, and rendered
myself liable to the severest punishment.
"I did not speak—I could not, so great was
my bewilderment and alarm—neither did Luke
Redman. He sat down on one of the thwarts,
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
and looked earnestly into the water, while I
stared blankly at him, wondering what was to
be the end of the matter.
"At length a bright idea struck the man.
He brought his clinched hand heavily down
upon his knee, and looking up, said, with a
chuckle:
"‘Yes, sir; I’ve ketched you in the very
act of stealin’ your uncle’s money. Do you
know what they do with fellers who commit
robbery?’
"‘I have committed no robbery,’ I replied.
‘I am going to take the money back. I only
wanted to scare him.’
"‘That story won’t go down—not by no
means,’ said Luke Redman, with another
laugh. ‘It’s a mighty nice way you have got
of doin’ business, hain’t it, now? You steal a
carpet-sack full of yellow-boys, an’ when you
are ketched at it, say you are goin’ to take it
back, an’ that you only wanted to scare your
uncle! Who’s fool enough to b’lieve such a
tale as that ar’? Thar’s only one way you can
get out of this scrape, an’ that is—Halloo!
what’s a-goin’ on over thar?’
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
“I heard loud voices at this moment, and
looking through the bushes toward the opposite
bank of the bayou, found that my plan for
being revenged on Jerry was beginning to work
much sooner than I had anticipated. I saw
my uncle take him by the collar and walk him
into the skiff, heard Jerry beg to know what
he had done, and saw the despairing expression
his face wore as he picked up the oars in
obedience to my uncle’s command, and pulled
down the bayou.”
“That’s the time you ought to have bestirred
yourself,” said I, worked up to the
highest pitch of indignation by Tom’s recital.
“Why didn’t you have the moral courage to
undo the wrong you had done? Could you sit
there and see an innocent boy punished? Why
did you not pull out into the bayou and tell
your uncle that you had the valise?”
“Oh, yes! It is all very well for those who
have never been guilty of any serious offense
to prate about moral courage,” sneered Tom.
“There isn’t a boy in the world who knows
my uncle who would dare face him after doing
a deed like that. Would you? I’ll bet you
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
wouldn’t. He would have turned me out of
house and home. I don’t know that I should
be in any worse situation than I am now,”
added Tom, reflectively, "for of course I can’t
go back to the settlement after what I have
done.
"As I was saying, I sat there in my canoe,
and saw Jerry and my uncle go down the
bayou toward the village. When they had
passed out of sight, Luke Redman said:
"‘It’s too late to give the money back now,
even if you meant to do it—which I know you
didn’t—an’ the best thing for you will be to
turn it over to me.’
"‘Turn it over to you!’ I echoed, amazed
at the proposition.
"‘Sartin. I’ll take care on it for you.
That’s the only way you can get out of this
trouble.’
"‘Well, I’ll see you in Guinea first,’ I replied.
‘I can take care of it myself.’
"‘No, you can’t, an’ you shan’t, nuther!’
exclaimed Luke Redman, with as much authority
as though the money had been his own
private property. ‘I’ve ketched you in a
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
scrape that’ll send you to State’s prison fur
the best years of your life, an’ if you want me
to keep my mouth shet, you mustn’t put on
no flourishes, ’cause I won’t stand it! I’ll
take the money, an’ when things have quieted
down a little, me an’ my family’ll emigrate.
We’ll go to Texas, an’ stay thar. We’ll say
nothing to nobody about this yer business, an’
no one need know that you had a hand in it.
If you won’t agree to that, I’ll go straight to
the settlement, an’ tell your uncle that he has
got the wrong buck by the horn, an’ that you
are the guilty chap, an’ not Jerry. What do
you say to that, my lad?’
"I did not say any thing; for I was so utterly
confounded that I could not speak.
Luke Redman must have taken my silence for
consent; for he lifted the valise out of my
canoe, and, after stowing it away in the stern
of his skiff, pulled off through the swamp,
and I never made an effort to detain him. I
must have sat there for hours, gazing fixedly
at the spot where I had last seen his boat
among the trees, hoping and half believing
that the events of the afternoon were a terrible
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
dream, from which I would awake to find myself
as I was before—an honest boy, if not a
good one.
"It was only by a strong effort that I aroused
myself. I returned by a circuitous route to
the place where I had left my horse, and
throwing myself into the saddle, rode about
until nearly midnight, starting at every sound,
and almost certain that every tree I passed concealed
some one who would spring out and
arrest me.
“When I first discovered you and your
friends coming down the road, on your way
to the village to visit Jerry, I nearly fell off
my horse with fright. I knew it looked suspicious
for me to sneak off into the bushes,
but I could not help it—I could not face
you.”
“You showed your guilt as plainly as daylight,”
I observed. “There was not one among
our fellows who was not willing to declare that
you knew more about that money than any one
else.”
“I can not begin to tell you what a miserable
night I passed,” continued Tom. "My uncle
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
repeatedly declared in my hearing that he
knew Jerry to be the guilty one, but that did
not allay my fears in the least. The real facts
of the case might leak out somewhere before
morning—there were a thousand ways in which
they might become known—and then what
would he think of me? Above all, what would
he do?
"I never once closed my eyes in sleep, and
early the next morning I set out for the swamp,
to visit my evil genius. He and his boys were
the only friends I had now, and, somehow, I
felt easier in their company than any where else.
I believed that I must keep close to them, to prevent
them from telling some one of my secrets.
"I was glad to learn that Luke Redman
intended to start for Louisiana immediately,
and was sorry he had not gone hours before.
I was angry, too, when I found that he was
going alone, and urged him to take his whole
family and clear out, bag and baggage, and
never return; but he said it would look suspicious
if they all went together, and I was
obliged to submit to the arrangements he had
made.
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
"It was Luke Redman’s intention to go down
the bayou to the river in his skiff, and the
Swamp Dragoons and I were so anxious to see
him off that we accompanied him on horseback.
"He would have succeeded in making his
escape, had it not been for that accident at
Dead Man’s Elbow. Although he had two
oars, and was a good boatman, he allowed himself
to be brought within the influence of the
current that ran toward the cavern. His skiff
was overturned, and the only thing that saved
him from destruction was the tree that stood
on the edge of the falls.
"When your brother came down, I concealed
myself in the bushes, and kept out of his sight.
I saw all that happened there that afternoon,
and when Mark swam over the falls, I jumped
on my horse with the others, and did my best
to overtake him; but he gave us the slip
somehow, and we went back and worked for
six long hours to get Luke Redman out of that
tree, and to obtain possession of the valise.
"We accomplished both undertakings at
last, and fearing that the settlement had been
aroused, and that the river would be closely
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
guarded, we came back to this place; and
while the settlers were searching all over the
country for Luke Redman, he was concealed in
this very house, I visiting him regularly, and
keeping him posted in all that was going on.
"Two days ago, Barney took a skiff down
the bayou to the river, and hid it where his
father could find it; and yesterday Luke Redman
made another attempt to leave the state.
This time he rode your horse, trusting to her
speed to bring him out of any scrape he might
get into.
"He had a lively time dodging the men in
the cane-brakes, and finally you fellows discovered
and captured him.
"Barney and I saw you while you were taking
him through the swamp, and we hurried
home, got the rest of the fellows, and Pete and
his crowd, and rescued him.
“You see, I knew it would prove a serious
thing for me if he were taken to the settlement.
He would be brought before the squire, and, of
course, during his examination he would tell
how he came by the money, which would be a
bad thing for me.”
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
“But, Tom,” said I, “didn’t you know all
the while that the part you have taken in this
miserable business would become known sooner
or later?”
“Yes, I did; I couldn’t help knowing it, but
I wanted to keep it hidden as long as I could.
I stuck to Luke Redman, and helped him by
every means in my power, until he told me
that I was a prisoner, and at that moment he
made an enemy of me. He must look out for
his own bacon now. I know what his plans
are, and I’ll ruin them if I can, no matter what
happens to myself. I’ll teach him a thing or
two before I am done with him.”
Tom shook his head threateningly as he said
this, and brought his fist down into the palm
of his hand with a report like that of a pistol.
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIV. | TOM’S PLAN.
.sp 2
“There are one or two other things I
should like to have you explain, Tom,”
said I, after a little pause. “Who stole Black
Bess?”
“That is another act which you can lay to
my charge,” replied my fellow prisoner. “I
knew by the way you fellows looked and acted
that day that it would be well for me to keep
as far as possible out of your reach, so after I
landed from the canoe, fearing that you might
jump on your horses and follow me, I slipped
around to your camp and stole the mare. I
brought her to this house and left her here,
and Luke Redman has been riding her ever
since. He says she is the swiftest thing in the
shape of a horse he ever saw, and he is going
to take her to Texas with him.”
“He shan’t do it,” said I. “I’ll follow him
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
wherever he goes, and take her away from him.
She is my own private property, and I’ll not
give her up to any body. Do you know who
burned our cotton gin?”
“Yes, Pete is the man. He did it to be
revenged on your brother for setting his dogs
on him. By the way, don’t let him put his
hands on you if you can help it. He thinks
you are Mark, and if he gets half a chance,
he’ll thrash you within an inch of your life.
Among us all we have kept the settlement in
an uproar for the last few weeks, haven’t we?
Barney and I have been at the bottom of almost
every thing that has happened, and I am sorry
enough for it now. If any one had told me
two months ago that I should ever come to
this, I would not have believed him. I have
made an outlaw of myself. I can’t call any
living person my friend—not even my uncle,
for he will never forgive me for what I have
done. If I could live over the last year of my
life, I’ll bet you I would have a very different
record to show. My first care would be to keep
out of bad company. That is what has brought
me where I am.”
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
For along time after this neither of us spoke.
Tom looked down at the floor, and I looked at
him. He was thinking over his past life, and
I was wondering what the future had in store
for him. I had at first been utterly amazed
when I found how low he had fallen, but I was
not so now. Knowing the life he had led for
a long time past, it was unreasonable to expect
any thing else. One can not handle coals without
getting his hands black, and the longer the
coals are handled the blacker the hands become.
When Tom first began to associate with the
Swamp Dragoons, one year ago, he would have
been greatly alarmed at the bare thought that
he would ever become so depraved as to commit
a robbery. This state of things had not
been brought about in a moment—it was the
work of months. One mean act led to a second
a little worse, another and another followed,
and now he was an outcast from home, and
utterly friendless, for even Luke Redman and
the Swamp Dragoons had deserted him. He
was learning by experience that the way of the
transgressor is always hard, and I did not
wonder that the future looked dark to him.
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
“You can’t imagine how heartily I always
despised Duke Hampton,” said Tom, suddenly.
“I hated the very sight of him, and now I
would give all I ever hope to possess if I could
be in his place. Every one thinks so much of
him. There is not a man, woman or child in
the settlement who does not put the most
implicit faith in his word, or one who would
believe any thing mean of him.”
“And Duke deserves every particle of the
confidence that is placed in him,” said I.
“I know it. He never tries to build himself
up by pulling others down, and he is much too
honorable and manly to say any thing behind
your back that he wouldn’t care to say to your
face. If you should tell him a secret, he
wouldn’t lisp it to the best friend he has in the
world. And he is honest, too. Whenever you
find a boy like that, you find one that every
body likes—except, perhaps, some fool like
me whom no one on earth cares for. Now then,
I am going to get away from here. I’ll first
make amends for my misdeeds, as far as lies in
my power, and then I’ll go off where no one
knows me and begin again. If there is any
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
good in me, it must come out. I’ll make a
man of myself yet, and, in order to do it, I’ll
follow Duke Hampton’s example as nearly as
I can.”
"‘A wrong confessed is half redressed,’ you
know," said I. “Why don’t you go home and
tell your uncle just what you have told me?
I would, if I were in your place.”
“Don’t ask me to do that, Joe,” said Tom,
decidedly. “I may come back here one of
these days, but I can’t think of staying now.
Could I look any body in the face after what I
have done? Could you? But let’s talk about
something else. Our enemies must be asleep
by this time, and if we are going to get away
from here, we must be about it.”
“Why, we are not going to make an attempt
to escape in broad daylight, are we?”
“Certainly we are; and the sooner we get to
work, the better it will be for us. Luke Redman
intends to start for the river as soon as it
grows dark, and, what is more, he is going to
take us with him. If we once begin that journey,
we’ll have no chance to get away, for he will tie
us hard and fast. It’s now or never. Come
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
in here, Joe, and let us take a look at
things.”
In accordance with this request, I crawled
through the opening into Tom’s prison, and
found that, in size and appearance, it was like
my own, with this simple difference: There
was a window on one side of it, and I was surprised
to see that it was not secured with either
bars or a shutter.
“I don’t call this much of a jail,” said I.
“What is there to hinder you from climbing
out of that window whenever you choose? I
can’t imagine why Luke Redman confined you
here.”
“He didn’t intend to confine me,” replied
Tom. “He only wanted to punish me for
talking back to him. When Barney came up
with my dinner, he told me that the reason his
father had put me in this apartment was, that
I might keep a watch over you. If you began
rummaging about, and discovered the opening
between the two rooms, I was to grab you and
alarm the house. You see, Luke Redman knew
that you and I were not on the best of terms,
and thought I would do all in my power to
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
prevent your escape. He imagines, too, that I
will stay just where he has a mind to put me,
and obey any orders he sees fit to issue; but I
will show him that he has reckoned without
his host.”
As Tom ceased speaking, I thrust my head
out of the window to take a survey of the situation.
I found that the house stood in the center of
a dense cane-brake, and that it was built close
against the side of a perpendicular bluff.
There was something peculiar in its construction
that attracted my attention at once. It
was an ordinary log cabin, containing probably
not more than one room below, but the roof,
instead of rising to a peak, sloped back from
the front of the building, the after end of the
rafters resting against the side of the cliff.
I noticed, too, that, although the rafters
extended as high as the top of our prison, they
did not cover it; consequently, the rooms
could not have been in the house, but in the
bluff. I wondered at this, and looked toward
Tom for an explanation.
“It was a freak of Luke Redman’s,” said
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
he. “It is no uncommon thing for him to be
obliged to conceal himself for a month or two;
and in order that he might have a safe harboring-place,
he built this house, which is situated
on an island in a part of the swamp that no
one ever visits, not even hunters. Not satisfied
with this, he dug a hole in the hill, and
walled it up with planks to keep it from caving
in. It is an excellent place of concealment,
for even if any of his enemies should
find the house, they might ransack it from top
to bottom without discovering these two
rooms.”
“But they could see this window,” I suggested.
“Not from the ground,” replied Tom.
“This grape-vine covers it completely. We
can see out, but no one can see in.”
I looked out again to complete the examination
I had begun, and to calculate our chances
for escape. The first things I noticed were
several horses, my own and mother’s among
the number, hitched to trees a short distance
from the house. They were all saddled, and
the bridles were slipped over their heads, showing
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
that although Luke Redman and his followers
fancied themselves perfectly secure in
their hidden fortress, they had not neglected
to make preparations for a hasty flight. A
little further on, Pete and his companions, who
had brought the horses to the island by some
roundabout way, lay stretched out on their
blankets around a smoldering camp-fire,
sleeping soundly after their hard ride of the
previous night. A pack of bloodhounds, probably
eighteen or twenty of them in all, lay
curled up in the sun directly in front of the
open door of the cabin, from which there issued
a chorus of terrific snores, telling me that the
robber and his young confederates were also
slumbering heavily.
I took in all these things at a glance, and
my hopes fell to zero. If it were dark, we
might possibly succeed in making our escape;
but how could we lower ourselves from that
window in broad daylight, walk past the
hounds, and go into the house among those
sleeping desperadoes—for that we would certainly
be obliged to do if we expected to take
the money with us—and, lastly, secure possession
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
of our horses and make off with them,
without arousing somebody?
“Tom,” said I, “your plan won’t work at
all. It is positively foolhardy. I believe I
would rather stay here than run the risk of
being torn in pieces by those hounds.”
“I haven’t yet told you what my plan is,”
replied Tom. “Those dogs will not trouble
you. They all know me, and I can go where
I please about the house, and they will not
even look at me.”
“But they would follow your trail if they
were put on it,” said I.
“Of course they would, and eat me up when
they caught me. That’s their nature. But I
do not intend to give them the chance. I don’t
ask you to run any risks. We will lower ourselves
out of the window by the grape-vine, and
you can stand at the foot of the bluff while I
do the work. I’ll go into the cabin and pass
out the money to you, and also a couple of
guns; for I’ll tell you what’s a fact, Joe,”
added Tom, with emphasis, “if I once get that
valise in my hands, I’ll never surrender it. I’ll
send it back to my uncle, where it
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
When we have secured the gold and weapons,
we will start for our horses. We need not stop
to put the bridles on them, you know; we can
ride them without. Once fairly in the saddle,
we can laugh at any thing in the shape of
horseflesh they can bring against us.”
“And at the hounds, too,” said I.
Tom’s enthusiasm must have been contagious,
for almost before I knew it, I found myself
entering heartily into the spirit of his plans.
They were desperate, I knew, and the chances
for carrying them out were small indeed; but
even that had a charm for me. If we failed,
we could not be in a much worse situation
than we were now; and if we succeeded, Black
Bess and the eight thousand dollars were the
prizes we would carry away with us.
“If the dogs follow us, we can shoot them,
you know,” I added.
“Certainly we can; and what’s more, we
will. Will you stick to me and never flinch?”
“You may depend upon it.”
Tom seemed satisfied with this assurance,
for without saying another word he crawled
into the window, grasped the grape-vine, and
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
quickly disappeared from my view. While he
was lowering himself to the ground, I kept a
good lookout, dividing my attention between
the hounds and the Indians at the camp-fire,
and listening for any unusual sounds in the
cabin; but Tom accomplished the descent
without disturbing any one, and I crept out of
the window and followed him.
In a few seconds I was standing by his side
at the foot of the bluff, and he was pulling
off his boots, preparatory to entering the
house.
“I stand in more fear of the Indians than
any thing else,” he whispered, with a hasty
glance toward the camp-fire. “Their ears are
sharper than a hound’s, and, asleep or awake,
they always keep them open. Have an eye on
them, and if you see one of them move, give
one short, quick whistle.”
I was really amazed at the calmness with
which Tom spoke, and the coolness and deliberation
with which he acted. If I had been
going into that cabin among Luke Redman
and his boys, I should have felt a good deal of
excitement and uneasiness; and, what is more,
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
I should have shown it; but my companion
did not.
With the exception of a reckless glitter in
his eye, and a resolute scowl on his forehead,
he was to all appearances the everyday Tom
Mason. What a pity it was, I thought, that
he had not devoted himself to his books, and
spent less time in studying up plans for mischief.
Such an undaunted spirit, such a determination
to overcome obstacles, if exhibited in
the line of study, or in any other laudable
direction, would have raised him to a high
place among his fellows.
While I was moralizing, Tom nodded his
head at me as if bidding me good-by, and with
a step that would not have awakened a cricket,
moved toward the house. One of the hounds
must have scented him—he certainly did not
hear him—for he raised his head, gazed at Tom
a moment with a pair of sleepy-looking eyes,
and was about to lie down again when he discovered
me.
His brute’s instinct must have told him that
there was something wrong, for he straightened
up and uttered an angry growl, which aroused
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
all the other dogs at once. I thought it was
all over with us, and that our discovery was
inevitable; but Tom was equal to the emergency.
“Keep still, you rascals!” he exclaimed, in
a savage whisper. “Be off with you! Clear
out!”
The hounds had seen Tom so often that they
had probably learned to look upon him as
one of their masters, for when he stooped suddenly
as if to pick up something with which
to enforce his commands, they all scrambled
to their feet and slunk away into the cane-brake.
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XV. | DANGEROUS WORK.
.sp 2
Having disposed of the dogs, Tom
stepped cautiously into the house, and I
moved up as near the door as I dared, to take
the guns as he passed them out, not forgetting
meanwhile to keep my eye on the Indians, as
he had directed.
Once I ventured to look in at the door, and
when I saw the sight the inside of the cabin
presented, I wondered that Tom’s heart did not
fail him. There were no beds in the room, and
the forms of Luke Redman and his boys were
scattered over the floor in such positions that
Tom was obliged to step over one or two of
them in order to reach the guns, which I saw
were stacked in the furthest corner of the cabin,
with the powder-flasks and shot-pouches belonging
to them hanging from their muzzles.
Luke, looking like a giant among pigmies, lay
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
stretched out on his blanket in the middle of
the floor, one powerful arm thrown over his
head, and the other passed through the handles
of the valise, which he had hugged close to his
side.
This was a most discouraging sight. I thought
the money might as well have been locked up
in some iron safe.
Tom, who had not failed to make the best use
of his eyes, quickly discovered that he had something
of a task before him, but I could see that
he was not disheartened by it. The frown on his
face deepened, and a determined expression
settled about his mouth. He placed his hand
on one of the guns, and then turned to look
at Luke, as if thinking up some plan to secure
the valise, when a powder-flask, loosened from
its fastening, fell with a loud noise on the floor.
“What’s that ar?” growled Barney, raising
himself on his elbow so suddenly that I was
almost ready to believe that he had been merely
feigning sleep on purpose to be ready to catch
Tom.
He rubbed his eyes as he gazed stupidly
about the room, and I, knowing that I could
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
not stir without attracting his attention, remained
perfectly motionless. Tom dropped on
the instant, and, with a quickness that was astonishing,
stretched himself at full length on
the floor. If Barney saw him at all, he probably
thought he was one of his companions.
The leader of the Dragoons was too sleepy to
spend much time or energy in investigating the
cause of the disturbance. He yawned once or
twice, and, reaching out his hand, took a gourd
from a nail over his head, dipped it into a
bucket of water that stood close by, and while
he was drinking, I could have vowed that his
eyes were fastened squarely on my face.
I stood just outside the door, in plain sight,
and how it happened that he did not discover
me, I can not tell; but it was very evident
that he did not, for when he had satisfied his
thirst, he returned the gourd to its nail, rolled
over on his blanket, and, with one arm under
his head for a pillow, speedily went off into
the land of dreams again.
For full five minutes my companion in the
corner remained so motionless that he scarcely
seemed to breathe. At the end of that time a
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
faint snore coming from Barney’s direction
mingled with the others, and that must have
satisfied Tom that the danger was passed, for
in a second he was on his feet again.
He at once turned his attention to the guns,
and to my surprise, instead of selecting two
of the weapons, he began to load himself
down with them. When he had collected
all he could carry, he stepped cautiously
over the prostrate forms and came out of the
cabin.
“Joe,” he whispered excitedly, as I accompanied
him toward the grape-vine at the foot of
the bluff, “I have just thought of something
grand. Those fellows may wake up and pursue
us before we can reach a place of safety;
and wouldn’t it be a good plan to take all their
guns away from them?”
“It would, indeed,” I replied; “but you
will have to make two or three trips to bring
them.”
“Oh, I can carry them all at one more load,
and then I’ll go back for that money.”
“Tom, you had better give that up,” said I.
“You will only put yourself in danger for
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
nothing, for you can’t get that valise without
waking Luke Redman.”
“Can’t I? Well, I’ll show you that I can.
I know just how to do it. Now, Joe, while I
am gone you had better pick out two guns—be
sure and get the best—and hide the others
under this grape-vine. They’ll never think of
looking for them there.”
Tom went into the house again, and I
hastened to carry out his suggestions. As
the Indians had left their guns in the cabin
with the others, I found my own double-barrel
among those Tom had brought out, and also
Sandy’s, of both of which I took possession.
After slinging the powder-flasks and shot-pouches
which belonged to them over my
shoulder, I dropped the ramrods into the
weapons, and found that they contained more
than five fingers of a load. They were heavily
charged with buckshot, which would be just
the thing for knocking over those fierce bloodhounds,
if they were put on our trail.
I then proceeded to conceal the other guns
among the leaves and bushes about the root of
the grape-vine; and while thus engaged, it
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
struck me that it would be a good plan to put
it out of the power of our enemies to use the
weapons, even if they found them. This I conceived
to be a bright idea, and I carried it out
by emptying the contents of the shot-bags and
powder-flasks upon the ground, those I carried
over my shoulder of course excepted.
By the time this had been done, Tom appeared
with another armful of guns.
“Those fellows are the soundest sleepers I
ever saw,” he whispered. “I’d like to be introduced
to the man or boy who could fool
about my bed that way without arousing me,
even if I had been in the saddle all night.
Now, put those shooting-irons out of sight
somewhere, and watch me get that valise.
Keep the guns you have selected in your
hands, and also my boots, so that we can be
ready to start for the horses the instant I come
out.”
Tom moved off again, and I remained behind
to hide the guns he had last brought out. This
done I glanced toward the camp-fire, to make
sure that the Indians were still asleep, and
then crept to the door of the cabin and looked
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
in. Tom was kneeling on the floor beside
Luke Redman, and when I caught sight of
him, he was in the act of drawing from his
pocket a huge clasp-knife, which he opened
with his teeth. He made two quick passes
with the keen blade, and the handles of the
valise fell apart.
That much was done, and now came the
most difficult part of the whole operation.
Tom had no doubt thought over all the details
of his plan; for after shutting up the knife
and putting it into his pocket, he seized the
valise with both hands, and slowly and cautiously
raised it from the floor. The sinewy
arm that clasped it slipped easily over its glossy
leathern surface, and presently rested at full
length on the blanket, while Tom lifted his
prize above his head in triumph.
Our luck, which had thus far been all that we
could have desired, now began to change. The
robber suddenly stirred in his sleep, and probably
from the force of habit, threw out his arm
as if to embrace some object. He expected,
no doubt, to feel the weight of the valise, but
his arm passed through the empty air and fell
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
upon the floor again. This aroused him at
once. Opening his eyes and discovering Tom
kneeling at his side, he comprehended the situation
in an instant.
“Hallo, here!” he shouted, in his stentorian
voice; “drop that ar’ carpet-sack.”
As quick as thought, Tom started to his
feet, and made an effort to leap over the robber;
but it so happened that the latter arose to
a sitting posture at the same moment, and this
brought his head and Tom’s feet in violent contact.
The result was that one fell heavily back
upon his blanket, while the other flew headlong
through the air and out at the door as if he had
been thrown from a catapult. It was plain
that Luke Redman had the worst of it, for he
lay motionless where he had fallen, while Tom,
who had clung manfully to the valise, was on
his feet again almost as soon as he touched the
ground.
“Now, Joe, we’ve got work before us,” said
he, hurriedly. “We can’t get our horses, and
consequently we must trust to our heels.”
While Tom was putting on his boots—I
never saw a boy get into a pair in less time
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
than he did on that occasion—I looked toward
the camp-fire and saw that he was right when
he said that we must abandon the idea of escaping
by the aid of our horses. The Indians
had been awakened by Luke Redman’s voice,
and were hurrying toward us. In order to
reach our nags, we would be obliged to pass
directly through their ranks, and that was
something we were not foolish enough to
attempt.
“Give me one of the guns, Joe, and keep
close behind me,” said Tom, who seemed to
know just what ought to be done. “Watch
the dogs, and don’t let them come too close.”
The Swamp Dragoons, who had been aroused
by this time, were not long in finding out what
was going on. Some of them hurried to the
corner where they had left their guns, while
Barney thrust his head out of the door and
shouted for his hounds.
“Hi! hi!” he yelled. “Take ’em, you
rascals! Here, Nero! here, Growler!”
Tom and I were not standing idle all this
while. The instant he was fairly into his
boots we commenced our flight; but although
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
we made the very best use of our legs, we did
not reach the cane in time to escape discovery
by the hounds. They were quick to
respond to the calls of their master. A hoarse
yelp sounded behind us, and looking over my
shoulder, I saw the dogs advancing in a body,
Growler and Nero leading the way.
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVI. | OUR STRATAGEM.
.sp 2
I have always thought that, next to a
hunting-horn, there is no music in the
world equal to that of a pack of staunch
hounds in full cry, nor a prettier sight to be
seen than they present while flying over the
ground, almost with the rapidity of thought.
How the deep-toned bays echo and re-echo
through the woods, until it seems as if the
bushes were fairly alive with the excited animal!
How easily they bound along, and
how your heart swells within you, as you sit
on your good horse, with your trusty double-barrel
in your hands, waiting for the game to
break cover!
This is grand and inspiring under certain
circumstances; but if you are the hunted
instead of the hunter, and those hounds are on
your track, and you have nothing but a couple
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
of loads of buckshot and your own lightness
of foot to depend upon, the case is very different.
There is not so much music in their baying
then, by any means, and you do not see
any thing about them to admire.
I trembled with alarm as I gazed back at the
savage brutes. Their long bounds were rapidly
lessening the distance between us, and I
saw that it was high time I was doing something.
Raising my gun to my shoulder, I fired
with both barrels in quick succession, and
when the smoke cleared away, I saw that there
were four hounds less in that pack.
Growler and Nero, the ones at which I had
aimed, were lying on the ground, stone dead,
and two others were badly wounded.
Luke Redman and his boys yelled with rage
when they witnessed the effect of my shots,
and shouted after us threats that made my
blood run cold.
“Never mind them!” exclaimed Tom,
snatching the empty gun and handing me the
other. “Keep it up. Show them that we are
in earnest.”
The hounds were thrown into great confusion
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
by the havoc the buckshot made in their
ranks, and I knew that they would not again
take up their trail until urged on by their
masters.
I leveled my gun a second time, but now
the muzzle was turned toward Pete and his
companions, who were rushing recklessly forward,
expecting, no doubt, to capture us very
easily. They stopped when they found themselves
confronted by the double-barrel, and
Pete began shouting some orders in his native
tongue to his followers, who turned and ran
back to their horses.
We did not wait to see what they were going
to do, for, having by this time reached the
cane-brake, we dashed into it, and quickly left
our enemies out of sight.
Have you ever seen a cane-brake? If you
have not, I am afraid I can give you but a poor
idea of one. Imagine, if you can, a tract of
country covered with ordinary fishing-rods,
such as you city boys buy in the variety ,
at a shilling apiece, standing as closely together
as the hair on a dog’s back, and growing to the
height of twelve and fourteen feet.
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
If you can imagine this, you will know
pretty nearly how a cane-brake looks; but you
can not understand what an excellent hiding-place
it is. One might walk by within two
feet without discovering you; and more than
that, he could not follow the trail you made in
going in, for, as fast as you pass the cane, it
closes up behind you.
The one in which we had taken refuge, did
not cover more than a dozen acres; and yet,
had it not been for the hounds, Luke Redman
and his whole gang might have searched for
us during the rest of the week, and they would
never have found us.
“Now, Joe,” whispered Tom, as he began to
load the gun I had fired at the hounds, “I have
another foolhardy plan to propose. We’ll
watch our chance to get back to the house, and
climb up the grape-vine to our prison again.
What do you think of it?”
“I think I won’t do it,” I replied, completely
astounded at the proposition. “We
might as well have stayed there in the first
place.”
“Oh, no!” replied my companion. “We
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
are much better off now than we were before,
because we’ve got the money, and a couple of
guns with which to defend ourselves if we are
crowded to the wall.”
“Well, I am safe out of there now, and I’ll
never go back if I can help it. That’s the most
stupid plan I ever heard of.”
“I can convince you in less than a minute
that it will be the very best thing we can do,”
said Tom, confidently. “We are not going to
stay here in the cane, to be hunted down like
a couple of wolves that have been robbing a
sheep-pen; and if we attempt to leave the
island, we shall give the dogs a fair chance at
us. The woods on the other side of the bayou
are open, and there’s no cane to hide in.
Listen! Those fellows have just found out
that their guns are gone.”
If that was the case, they must have been
very angry over the discovery, for such an
uproar I never heard before. Luke Redman
was shouting out some orders, to which no one
seemed to pay the least attention; the Indians
were talking loudly with one another; the
uninjured hounds kept up a furious barking,
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
and the wounded ones joined in the chorus
with continuous yelps and growls.
Although we could not see our enemies, our
ears told us just what was going on.
“Silence!” roared Luke Redman, at length.
“If you don’t hush up that noise—the hull on
you—I’ll knock some o’ you down. Barney,
kick half a dozen of them dogs. Jump into
your saddles, an’ ride fur the bayou as fast as
your horses can carry you. If they have
crossed to the mainland, it’s all right; we’ll
ketch ’em easy. If they haven’t, they are still
in this cane-brake, an’ it won’t take us long to
hunt ’em out. If Tommy thinks he is goin’ to
slip off with that ar’ carpet-sack, he’ll be the
wust-fooled boy you ever seed.”
Before Luke had ceased speaking, the sound
of horses’ hoofs came to our ears, telling us
that some of his followers were starting out to
obey his commands.
The whole gang rode rapidly down the path
by which Tom and I had been conducted to
the house, and which ran through the cane not
more than twenty feet from our hiding-place.
In a few minutes more they were galloping
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
up and down the bayou, searching for our
trail.
“We had better be moving now,” said Tom,
shouldering his gun, and picking up the valise.
“They’ll soon find out that we have not
crossed the bayou, and then they’ll be back.
The house is the safest place for us.”
Since Tom first proposed this plan I had been
thinking it over, and was now ready to agree
to it.
As things stood there was but one way to
leave the island, and that was to cross to the
opposite side, and swim the bayou. We
might thus succeed in getting the start of our
enemies by half a mile or more; but what
would that amount to while they were on
horse-back and we on foot? As Tom had said,
the woods on the main land were open; there
was no cane to hide in, and the dogs could
see us a long distance. There were still a dozen
or more of these savage brutes in the pack, and
although we might dispose of half of them by
a volley from our double-barrels, the others
would be upon us before we could load again.
If we returned to our prison, we could barricade
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
the doors, and bid defiance to Luke Redman
and his gang. Our friends would certainly
reach the island before dark—we had no fears
but that they could follow our trail, in spite of
the robber’s efforts to throw them off the scent,
and we could hold our enemies at bay until
they arrived.
I thought that a much better plan than running
a race through the woods with a pack of
hounds, and when Tom started for the house,
I followed him.
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVII. | TAKING THE BACK TRACK.
.sp 2
We reached the edge of the cane-brake in
a few minutes, and there we stopped
to reconnoiter.
There was not a man, dog, or even a horse in
sight; and having satisfied ourselves on this
point, we sprang out of our concealment, and
ran toward the cabin.
Tom led the way up the grape-vine, carrying
the valise in his teeth. I followed close behind
him, with both guns slung over my shoulder,
and presently we found ourselves safe in our
prison again.
“I call this a masterly piece of strategy,”
panted Tom, drawing his coat-sleeve across his
forehead. “It will take them a long time to
find out where we are, and delay will serve us as
well as any thing else. All we want is to keep
out of their clutches until the settlers arrive.”
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
The first business in hand was to fasten the
doors, which was easily done. There happened
to be several short pieces of plank in
Tom’s prison, and from these we selected two
which answered our purpose admirably. By
putting one end under the locks and bracing
the other end against the floor, we secured both
doors so effectually that, as long as the locks
remained in their places, no power that could
be applied on the outside could force them
open.
There was but one way in which our enemies
could effect an entrance, and that was by cutting
down the doors; but we did not think
they would be reckless enough to attempt that
in the face of our double-barrels.
After we had fastened the doors, Tom sat
down on the floor to rest after his exertions,
and I stood at the window, awaiting the return
of Luke Redman and his friends.
The sound of voices, which came faintly to
my ears, told me that they were still searching
for our trail along the bank of the bayou, and
during the next ten minutes they passed all
around the island.
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
By that time they must have been satisfied
that we were still in the cane-brake, for they
came back to the house in a body, the dogs
leading the way.
Luke Redman, whose face was white with
rage and excitement, rode directly to the door
of the cabin and dismounted to put the hounds
on our trail.
“Hunt ’em up!” he shouted, running his
hand along the ground and waving it in the
direction of our supposed hiding-place. “Hunt
’em up! Be off with you!”
The dogs were willing enough to follow our
trail, now that they were encouraged by the
voice and presence of their masters. They
quickly took up the scent, and ran yelping
toward the cane-brake, with the horsemen close
at their heels.
For a few moments their music grew fainter
and fainter, and then began to increase in
volume. Presently they reappeared, still followed
by the horsemen, and ran straight to
the foot of the grape-vine.
I began to tremble now, but Tom was as cool
as a cucumber.
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
“Wal, I never did see sich fools of dogs in
all my born days,” exclaimed Barney, as the
hounds looked up at the window, and began
barking furiously. “They’ve follered the back
track.”
“That’s jest what they’ve done,” said Luke
Redman, in great disgust. “If I had my gun
in my hands, I would shoot the last blessed
one on ’em. Any body with half sense could
tell that them boys wouldn’t come back here
an’ go up into them rooms arter they were
onct safe out of ’em. Call ’em away, an’ put
’em on the trail ag’in.”
This was easier said than done. The hounds
understood their business much better than
Barney, and they positively refused to yield
obedience to his commands.
They knew they had treed their game, and,
if they were capable of thinking at all, were
doubtless wondering why their master did not
make an effort to secure it. Even Luke Redman’s
voice had no effect upon them; and,
becoming highly enraged at last, he threw himself
from his horse, and falling upon them with
his rawhide, sent them yelping right and left.
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
“Thar, dog-gone you!” he shouted, “cl’ar
yourselves! I’ll never trust none on you ag’in.
Barney,” he added, suddenly, a bright idea
striking him, “s’pose you an’ Jake run up
stairs an’ look into them rooms. ’Twont do no
harm, although I know the boys hain’t thar.”
Barney and his brother disappeared in the
house, and presently we heard them coming
up the stairs. They went to the door of my
prison first, and were plainly very much surprised
when it refused to open for them. They
turned the key several times, to make sure
that they had unlocked it, and pushed with
all their might, but with no better success
than before. Then they tried the other door,
but found it equally well secured.
They kept up a chorus of questions and
ejaculations all the while, and Tom and I stood
leaning on our guns, smiling complacently at
one another, and wondering how the matter
would end.
The two Dragoons must have become suspicious
at last, for they sunk their voices to a
whisper, and after holding a short consultation,
Barney cried out, in an excited tone:
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
“Pap! I say, pap! Dog-gone my buttons,
here they be!”
Our faces lengthened out very suddenly
when we heard this.
Things began to get exciting now. Barney’s
announcement must have occasioned great surprise
among the outlaw crew below.
The loud conversation they had kept up
ceased instantly, and after a moment’s pause,
Luke Redman said:
“I reckon you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree,
Barney.”
“Not if I know myself, I hain’t,” answered
the leader of the Swamp Dragoons. “Something’s
the matter with these yere doors,
’cause they won’t open.”
Luke Redman, greatly astonished at this
piece of news, rushed into the house and came
up the stairs half a dozen steps at a time. He
seized the key, turned it in the lock, and threw
all his ponderous weight against the door, but
it did not give an inch. The other was equally
obstinate; and after a few ineffectual attempts
to force an entrance, the robber stooped down
and looked through the key-hole. He did not
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
see any thing, however, for Tom and I were
wise enough to keep out of sight.
“Thar ain’t nobody in thar,” said he, “but
I reckon I know how the matter stands. They
fastened the door afore they left. Barney,
you go down an’ climb up that grape-vine, an’
look in an’ see if they didn’t.”
“Wal, now, jest hold your breath till I go,
will you?” replied Barney. “When you see
me foolin’ with them two fellers, you’ll see a
weasel asleep. They’ve got guns. I hain’t
a-goin’ to stir a step.”
“You’re a coward!” exclaimed his father,
angrily. “If the grape-vine would b’ar my
weight, I would go myself; but it won’t.
Jake, are you a coward, too?”
“No, I hain’t,” replied that worthy. “I’ll
go, ’cause I know they ain’t thar.”
Luke Redman and his boys descended the
stairs, and, looking out of the window again,
we saw Jake pull off his coat and begin the
ascent of the grape-vine.
“What is to be done now?” I asked, with
some uneasiness. “It won’t be safe to allow
him to come up here.”
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
“Oh, yes, let him come on,” replied Tom.
“We’ll go into the other room, and if he comes
in there, we’ll see that he don’t get out again
in a hurry. You know we are working for
time now, and it makes little difference what
we do.”
Tom, as usual, carried his point. We
watched Jake until he had ascended almost
within reach of us, and then retreating into
my prison, crouched one on each side of the
opening, and waited for him to make his
appearance.
We heard the grape-vine rustling against
the side of the cliff, and presently Jake’s head
and shoulders darkened the window.
He panted loudly with the violence of his
exertions, and after a little delay, during
which he was doubtless looking all about the
room, he sang out: “Wal, consarn it all!”
“What’s to do?” asked Luke Redman from
below.
“Why, they’ve got a plank fast agin’ the
door, an’ that’s why we couldn’t open it,”
answered Jake. “But thar ain’t nobody
here.”
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
“Go through into the other room,” said his
father.
This command was followed by a long pause
on Jake’s part, during which he was probably
trying to make up his mind whether or not it
would be quite safe for him to push his investigations
any further, and then we heard him
climb slowly down from the window and walk
across the creaking floor. He stopped every
few feet, and was so long in coming that we began
to believe he had concluded to turn back;
but presently he placed his hands against the
partition and thrust his head slowly and cautiously,
inch by inch, into the opening.
It was much darker in this room than in the
other, and for a moment his eyes were of but
little use to him; but they gradually became
accustomed to the gloom, and Jake, whose face
was turned away from me and toward Tom,
began to think he saw something.
“What’s this yere?” he muttered, thrusting
out his hand to examine the object which
had attracted his attention, and which was
nothing more nor less than Tom Mason’s head.
“Looks like somebody!”
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
He was not long in finding out that it was
somebody; for Tom seized his wrists in a
vise-like grasp, and at the same instant I caught
him by the collar.
“Human natur’!” yelled Jake, terrified
almost beyond measure by the suddenness of
our assault. “Help! help! Here they be,
pap! Turn loose, consarn it all!”
Did you ever try to hold an eel? I have, and
know that it is an exceedingly difficult thing
to do, but not more difficult than to hold Jake
Redman. Whether he was stronger than both
of us, or fear lent him additional power of
muscle, I do not know, but, at any rate, in less
time than it takes to tell it, he slipped out of
Tom’s hold, tore away from me, leaving a portion
of his collar in my grasp, and with two
jumps reached the window.
We dived through the openings, one after
the other, and followed him with all possible
speed, but he was much too nimble for us.
He threw himself from the window, and must
have dropped to the ground, for when we looked
out he was standing among his companions,
holding both hands to his head, which he had
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
bumped pretty severely during his descent, and
looking up at the window as if he could not
quite understand what had happened. His
pale face showed that he had sustained something
of a fright.
“What’s the matter of you?” demanded
Luke Redman, as soon as he had recovered
from his astonishment. “Seed a ghost?”
“No; but I’ve seed them fellers. They’re
up thar, as sure as you’re a foot high.”
“I don’t b’lieve it,” cried Barney.
“No odds to me whether you do or not,”
replied Jake. “I know it’s so, ’cause I seed
’em and felt ’em grab me. Pap, if you’ll take
an ax an’ chop down one of them doors, you’ll
find ’em an’ your money, too.”
Luke Redman thought this a suggestion
worth acting upon. He disappeared in the
house, followed by the boys, who could scarcely
find words with which to express their amazement.
They understood now why their hounds
had followed the back track, and wondered at
the stupidity we had exhibited in returning to
our prison after once escaping from it.
This much we gathered from their conversation,
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
every word of which we heard distinctly.
Do you believe you can tell by the way a man
walks whether or not he is angry? I have
thought I could; and any one who had heard
Luke Redman coming up those stairs would
have known that he was almost boiling over
with fury.
He came thundering along as though he were
shod with iron. Arriving at our door, he
pounded upon it with some heavy implement—the
ax, probably—and called out:
“Hay, Tommy, and you, Mark, open this
door to onct. Hear me, don’t you?”
Of course we heard him—we could have distinctly
heard every word he uttered if we had
been standing on the other side of the island—but
it was no part of our plan to reply to him.
Our object was to delay his operations by every
means in our power.
“You needn’t try to pull the wool over my
eyes by keepin’ so still,” he continued, in a
very savage tone, “’cause I know you are thar,
an’ I jest ain’t a-goin’ to stand no foolin’.
This is the last time I shall speak to you. If
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
you don’t open this door, I’ll cut it down,
snake you both out by the neck, an’ give you
the wust whoppin’ you ever heern tell on.
Hear me, don’t you?”
Still no response.
Tom stood with his hands clasped over the
muzzle of his gun and his eyes fixed upon the
plank which secured the door, while I was
watching the hinges, and waiting to see them
driven from their fastenings by blows from
the ax.
For fully a minute the robber crew stood
listening for an answer. At the end of that
time Luke Redman’s patience was all exhausted,
and, without more ado, he lifted the ax,
and the door began to shake and bend under
the heavy blows that were showered upon it.
It was time to speak now, and Tom was wide
awake.
“Hold on out there!” he shouted.
“Ah ha!” exclaimed Luke, “you’ve found
your tongue at last, have you? You heern
what I said, I reckon. What do you think
about it?”
“I don’t think any thing,” replied Tom,
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
coolly, “but I know something. If you strike
that door again with that ax, I’ll send a
charge of buckshot among you. What do you
think of that?”
These words were spoken in a most determined
tone, and we knew by the sudden silence
which followed them that they had not been
without their effect upon the outlaw and his
gang.
Tom held himself in readiness to carry out
his threat, and I am sure he would have done
it, had it been necessary; but fortunately it
was not. Luke Redman stood as much in fear
of buckshot as we did of his hounds. He said
a few words in a whisper to his boys, and then
walked slowly down the stairs and out of the
house, where he stood foaming with rage, and
swinging his ax about in a way that made all
his companions keep at a respectful distance.
Tom thrust his gun out of the window, and
pushed the branches of the grape-vine aside, so
that Luke could see him.
“I wish I had my shootin’-iron in my
hands,” said Luke Redman, glaring up at us
with a most fiendish expression of countenance.
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
“I’d put a load into you as soon as
I’d look at you.”
“Oh, you’re joking!” replied Tom.
“Come down from thar!” shouted the man,
shaking his ax at us, “If I get my hands on
you, I’ll—I’ll—”
He finished the sentence with an oath.
“If angry, count fifty before you speak; if
very angry, count a hundred,” said my companion,
in a tone of voice that must have
aggravated Luke to the very last degree.
“That’s good advice, and I suggest that you
act upon it; but whatever you do, skip those
hard words. Don’t swear. Take breath, and
begin again. Didn’t I tell you that I would
be even with you for the little tricks you have
played upon me? You see I have the money,”
he added, holding the valise up to the view of
the outlaw crew. “It has been in your possession
for the last time. I am going to send
it back to my uncle.”
“I’ll bet a hoss you don’t!” retorted Luke,
his face brightening as if he had discovered a
way out of the difficulty. “I’ll give you jest
one more chance. If you will give up the
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
money, you can go off about your business, an’
nobody shan’t trouble you; if you won’t do
that, I’ll fetch you down from thar in a way
you don’t think of. Let’s hear from you.”
“Now, friend Redman, do you see any thing
so very green in our eyes?” asked Tom, in
reply. “You surely do not imagine that we
will put ourselves in your clutches again, do
you? We are a trifle too sharp for that. If
it’s all the same to you, we’ll stay here.”
“Wal, you shan’t stay thar, nuther,”
roared Luke. “Do you know how I’ll get
you outen thar? I’ll burn you out, that’s
what I’ll do. It won’t be no trouble in the
world to set fire to this cabin. The wind blows
your way, an’ it’ll soon get so hot up thar that
you’ll be glad to come out. What do you say
now?”
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XVIII. | AN UNEXPECTED DELIVERANCE.
.sp 2
“Yes, sir,” said Luke Redman, who
seemed to grow more and more elated
the longer he thought of his new idea, “that’s
the way I’ll bring you down from thar. Now,
will you give up the money? I promise that
you can go whar you please, an’ nobody shan’t
bother you.”
“What’s the promise of a man like you
worth?” I inquired. “I wouldn’t trust you
as far as I could throw a church-house.”
“Take your time, an’ think it over,” said
Luke; “but b’ar one thing in mind while you
are about it, an’ that is, that I mean all I
say.”
There was no doubt about that. Luke Redman
was a desperate character, and money
would tempt him to any deed of atrocity.
We stepped back from the window and
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
looked at one another in blank amazement. I
knew my face was pale, for the blood went
rushing back upon my heart, and set it to beating
like a trip-hammer. Tom was as white as
a sheet, and that added to my terror. He had
shown himself to be possessed of a remarkable
degree of courage, and I knew that when he
became frightened, there was good reason for
it.
We were in a terrible predicament. If we
remained in our prison, we would certainly lose
our lives, and if we surrendered ourselves into
the hands of our enemies, we would fare but
little better, for they were almost beside themselves
with fury, and we could expect nothing
but the severest treatment. Seventy blows
with a rawhide would be a light punishment,
compared with the vengeance they would
wreak upon us.
“Well, Tom,” said I, “this is the end of
your plan.”
“It looks like it,” he answered, “and of us
too. We have our choice between burning up
and allowing ourselves to be pounded to death.
This is infinitely worse than running a race
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
with the hounds. Which horn of the dilemma
shall we take, Joe?”
“Let’s stay where we are, and trust to luck,”
I replied, desperately. “Something may turn
up in our favor. The logs in the house may
prove too green to burn, or the settlers may
arrive before the fire gets fairly started.”
“That’s a fact. We’ll risk it, anyhow.”
“Hear me up thar, don’t you?” shouted
Luke Redman, who had grown tired of waiting
for an answer to his question. “What are you
goin’ to do about it?”
“Bring on your kindling-wood,” was Tom’s
reply. “We’ll stay here.”
“Wal!” shouted Luke, who seemed utterly
confounded at the decision we had made. “Do
you want to stay thar an’ be burned up?”
“Go and find the shavings, Barney,” shouted
Tom. “Hunt up the matches, Jake. Set the
old thing a-going, and let’s have a bonfire.
Hurrah for the Fourth of July! You’ll find
us the pluckiest cubs you ever tried to smoke
out.”
“I’ll see how much pluck you have got,” retorted
Luke, “an’ if I don’t make you sick of
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
your bargain afore you are many minutes
older, I’m a Dutchman! I’ll bet you’ll be
glad enough to come out o’ thar.”
Luke had no doubt imagined that we could
be easily frightened into compliance with his
wishes, and, as a sailor would say, he was
“taken all aback” by our answer.
It was some time before he recovered himself;
but rage got the better of his astonishment
at last, and, without saying a word, he
beckoned to his boys, and went into the house.
They were gone about ten minutes, and
when they came out again, they carried their
blankets and a few other articles of value under
their arms, and the expression on their faces
told us what they had done.
“The kindlin’ wood is found, an’ so be the
matches,” said Luke Redman, with a fiendish
grin. “The bonfire will be goin’ directly,
’cause them logs is dry, an’ will burn like
tinder. Better come out o’ thar.”
Tom and I looked down at the cabin, and
saw a thin wreath of smoke come curling out.
It increased in volume every moment, and was
finally followed by a sheet of flame. Then we
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
heard a great roaring and crackling below us,
and the planks in the door began to feel hot to
the touch. The house was really on fire.
“You see that I am not foolin’ with you, I
reckon,” said Luke. “You may know that I
am bound to have that money, if I am willing
to burn my house to get it. Do you guess
you’ll have pluck enough to stand it?”
“Do you guess you have pluck enough to
stand before the buckshot in these guns?”
asked Tom. “We have seen enough of you,
and you had better dig out. We’ll give you
just a minute to clear the ground, and if there’s
one of you in sight at the end of that time,
he’ll get hurt. Hear me, don’t you?”
Tom cocked his gun as he said this, and
rested the weapon on the window-sill, the muzzle
pointed down at Luke Redman’s breast.
That worthy stepped out of range very
quickly, and gazed after his boys, who, taking
Tom at his word, whistled to the dogs, and
made the best of their way into the cane.
“You had better go, too, Luke,” said my
companion. “Time’s almost up.”
He turned the muzzle toward the outlaw
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
again, and the latter, beginning to see very
plainly he was in a dangerous neighborhood,
followed after the boys, and quickly disappeared
from our view.
“I had an object in sending them away,”
exclaimed Tom. “Don’t you see that the
smoke from the fire is settling toward the
ground? When it gets thick enough to conceal
our movements, we’ll drop down from this
window, and take to our heels. I know it is a
desperate plan, but we are not going to stay
here and be roasted.”
During all this time the fire had been gathering
rapid headway, and now great sheets of
flame began to shoot toward the sky, and dense
volumes of smoke rolled past the window. It
gradually filled our prison, too, and before
many minutes passed, we could see the flames
shining through the cracks in the door.
And this was not the worst of it. Luke
Redman and his boys must have suspected the
plan we had determined upon, for as soon as
the smoke concealed the window, they came
out of their hiding-places, and the sound of
their voices told us that they had stationed
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
themselves at the foot of the cliff, to cut off
our escape.
Our situation was becoming really alarming.
The smoke filled our prison until we could
scarcely breathe; the air was hot and almost
stifling; the perspiration rolled down our
faces in streams; and thin tongues of flame
began to appear under the door.
It required the exercise of all the courage I
possessed to stand there inactive, but my companion
had shown so much generalship that I
knew it was best to be governed by his movements.
At last even he could endure it no longer,
for when the roof of the cabin fell in with a
crash, and the sparks arose in thick clouds,
and the door of our prison, which had been
smoking for the last five minutes, suddenly
burst into a mass of flame, Tom began to bestir
himself.
“Our last hope is gone,” said he. “Here it
is almost dark, and the settlers have not yet
arrived. We can’t stay here any longer,” he
added, as a portion of the door fell down,
giving us a view of the roaring mass of flames
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
below. “Climb out of the window, Joe, and
the instant you touch the ground, run for your
life. We can do no good now by sticking
together, and each one must look out for himself.”
At this moment a noise at the opposite end
of the room attracted my attention—a grating
noise, as if a board was being pushed along
the wall. We both heard it, and our first
thought was that Luke Redman was attempting
a flank movement on us through some
entrance to our prison, the existence of which
we had never suspected. We knew that there
was some one near us, but the smoke was so
thick we could not see who it was.
“Keep perfectly quiet,” said Tom, in a suppressed
whisper. “There’s a chance for us
yet. The minute he gets in here, we’ll make a
rush for that secret passage-way.”
“Merciful heavens!” exclaimed a familiar
voice, in low and cautious tones, as if fearful
of being overheard, “he is not here.”
I stood like a boy petrified. It was certainly
my brother who spoke; but it seemed so impossible
that he should be there, and that he
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
should enter our place of retreat in that unexpected
manner, that for a moment I was unwilling
to believe the evidence of my ears.
“We’re too late,” said the voice. “What
in the world is to be done now?”
“Mark!” I cried, so overjoyed that I could
scarcely speak plainly.
There was no response in words; but I heard
a step on the floor, and some one came bounding
through the smoke and clasped me in an
affectionate embrace.
It was really my brother Mark; and in order
that you may understand by what means he
effected an entrance into our prison, and how
he happened to arrive just in time to be of service
to us, I must interrupt the thread of my
story for a few minutes.
I have told you that after the battle at the
camp on Black Bayou our fellows frustrated
the attempts of Luke Redman and his gang to
capture them, by throwing themselves on their
horses. They had suffered severely at the
hands of the attacking party, for they had
been resolved to prevent the rescue of the outlaw,
and to save the eight thousand dollars, if
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
within the bounds of possibility. As long as
they saw the least chance for success, they did
not think of retreat. They stood their ground
bravely, fighting with reckless determination,
and it was only when they saw that the Swamp
Dragoons were assisted by Pete and his followers,
that they lost heart and saved themselves
by flight.
Sandy and Mark had been most unmercifully
pummeled by the heavy switches with
which every one of the attacking party was
armed, especially the former. He held fast to
Luke until the last moment, and even succeeded
in placing him upon a horse, but was
obliged to abandon him at last in order to save
himself.
That they were not all captured was probably
owing to the fact that my brother carried
his double-barrel in his hands. The sight of
the weapon restrained the ardor of the robber
crew, who, after they had rescued Luke Redman,
allowed Mark and his companions to mount
their horses and ride off without making any
very determined effort to seize them.
When our fellows had placed a safe distance
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
between themselves and the enemy, the foremost
ones waited for those behind to come up,
and then they found for the first time that I
was missing. That occasioned them but little
uneasiness, however; for, knowing that I had
been standing guard at the time the attack was
made, they supposed that I had been allowed
an opportunity to escape, and that I had improved
it. I would certainly turn up all right
before morning, and there was no need that
they should stop to look for me.
Their first hard work must be to alarm the
settlers, and the sooner this was done the more
certainty there was of capturing Luke and recovering
the eight thousand dollars.
They kept their horses in a rapid gallop, and
the five miles that lay between them and the
settlement were quickly accomplished. When
they reached the end of the lane that led from
the swamp, Sandy turned toward his own home,
Duke and Herbert kept on to theirs, and Mark,
leaping his horse over the bars, dismounted at
the porch and rushed into the house to arouse
father.
During the next hour and a half the country
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
for two or three miles around was in great
commotion. Mounted messengers galloped in
all directions, stopping at every house to alarm
the inmates, hunting horns sounded, guns were
fired, all the hounds in the settlement kept up
continuous baying, and now and then squads
of armed men dashed along the road and
turned down the lane that led to the swamp.
Mark, who had thrown himself upon the
kitchen floor in front of a blazing fire, snored
through it all, and about daylight awoke to
find that father had gone off with the rest of
the settlers, without thinking to awaken him.
“Now, this is a nice way to treat a fellow,
isn’t it?” growled Mark, greatly disappointed.
“They will find and capture those villains,
and I’ll never have a hand in it at all. I think
some one might have called me.”
“Here is a warm breakfast waiting for you,
and you will find a fresh horse, saddled and
bridled, standing at the door,” said mother.
“There are three inches of snow on the ground,
and you will have no difficulty in following the
settlers’ trail.”
Mark, somewhat mollified by this, walked
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
out on the porch to take a look at the horse
that had been provided for him.
As he came out the door, he discovered some
one standing near the bars; but the instant he
caught sight of him, he sprang behind a thicket
of bushes as if anxious to escape observation.
Mark’s suspicions were aroused in an instant.
He jumped off the porch, and running around
the bushes, found himself standing face to face
with Jim, the young wrestler.
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XIX. | “MARK TWO TIMES.”
.sp 2
“Hello, Jim,” exclaimed Mark, “you
are just the chap I have been looking
for! Now I will show you what a white boy
can do in the way of giving a rascally Indian a
good beating.”
Expecting to meet with a most stubborn
resistance, Mark’s attack was furious and
determined, indeed; but to his great surprise,
the young savage raised his arms above his
head, and suffered himself to be thrown to the
ground without even a show of opposition.
“No hurt! no hurt, white boy!” he
exclaimed, excitedly. “Me no Jim—me Mark;
me Mark Two Times.”
Mark, who grew more and more astonished,
and who was above striking an unresisting foe,
released his hold on the Indian’s throat, and
the latter began a long speech, talking very
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
rapidly and sometimes in his eagerness forgetting
the little English he knew, and jabbering
away in his native tongue.
But Mark understood the most of what he
said, and after listening to him a short time,
he helped him to his feet, brushed off the mud
that adhered to his hunting shirt, and drawing
the Indian’s arm through his own, led him
toward the house, talking to him all the while
in the most friendly manner.
What had brought about this sudden change
in Mark’s feelings toward the young savage? I
will explain it in my own way, without inflicting
Jim’s broken English upon you.
I do not know that the custom exists among
other Indians, but the Choctaws had a habit of
naming themselves. If they met a white man
whom they greatly liked, they adopted his
name, discarding the one by which they had
formerly been known. This was a sure sign of
friendship, and the man thus honored could
trust his namesake to any extent.
Jim admired the courage Mark exhibited on
the day he stood his ground against Pete and
his friends, and out of compliment to him, he
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
had dropped his own name and assumed the
title of “Mark the Second,” or, as he expressed
it, “Mark Two Times.”
Of course, Mark was highly flattered by this
show of respect, but believing, with a good
many others in the settlement, that there was
nothing good in an Indian, he did not know
how much dependence to place upon his new
ally.
“You’re a grand rascal, Jim,” he began.
“Me no Jim; me Mark Two Times,” insisted
the wrestler.
“Well then, Mark Two Times, I am afraid
you are a slippery customer. If you are really
a friend to our fellows, as you profess to be,
how does it come that you assisted Luke Redman
and his band during the fight at the camp?
Explain that, if you can.”
The Indian could and did. He accounted
for that act of seeming unfriendliness by saying
that he had joined the attacking party for
no other purpose than to learn their plans, and
that as long as he remained in their company
he was obliged to act with them, in order to
avoid exciting their suspicions. While the
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
Swamp Dragoons and their allies were taking
up their positions preparatory to making the
assault, he had watched and waited in vain for
an opportunity to slip away from them, and
warn us of our danger.
He then went on to say that after the fight
Luke Redman had given him two letters—one
to be left on General Mason’s doorstep, and
the other on our own. He had delivered the
first, but he had given it into the general’s own
hands, and told him just where to go to find
the robbers.
After that, he had come to our house and
waited for an opportunity to speak to Mark;
and the reason he had dodged behind the
bushes was because his courage failed him at
the last moment, and he feared that he might
meet with a warmer reception than he had bargained
for.
He wound up his story by telling Mark that
I was a prisoner, and that if he would trust to
his guidance, he would lead him by a short
route to my place of confinement.
“Of course I will go with you,” said Mark,
highly excited over this last piece of news;
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
“but bear one thing in mind, and that is, if
you attempt to come any of your Indian tricks
over me, it will be worse for you.”
While Mark was conversing with the young
savage, mother had twice appeared at the door
and called him to breakfast—a summons that
he could not now think of answering.
In the first place, he did not want to waste
an instant of time, and another thing, he was
afraid mother might ask him if Jim had brought
any news concerning me; and as he did not
care to alarm her by revealing the real facts of
the case, he thought it best to keep out of her
sight.
He crept carefully to the porch, unhitched
his horse, and succeeded in leading the animal
out of the yard without attracting the attention
of any one in the house.
The young Indian was already in the saddle,
and as soon as Mark came out, he led the way
at a rapid gallop toward the swamp.
They passed the camp which had been the
scene of the conflict, crossed the bayou at the
ford about a mile above Dead Man’s Elbow,
and at three o’clock in the afternoon drew rein
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
within sight of the cane-brake in which Luke
Redman’s hiding-place was situated, without
having once been out of the saddle, or even
stopping to rest.
During all this time Mark had kept a bright
lookout for the settlers, but had not seen one
of them.
“Now, white boy,” said the Indian, after
carefully reconnoitering the ground before him,
“no time for foolin’. Do just like me.”
Mark followed his guide’s instructions to the
very letter. He dismounted when the Indian
did, and after hitching his horse, followed close
at his heels as he wormed his way through the
cane, stepping exactly in his tracks, and imitating
as nearly as possible his cautious, stealthy
movements.
Presently they came to a halt on the bank of
the bayou. The Indian looked up and down
the stream several times, carefully scrutinizing
every thicket within the range of his vision,
to make sure that there was no one in sight,
and then stepped into the water and struck
out for the island, still closely followed by
Mark, who held his gun and powder-flask above
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
his head with one hand and swam with the
other. When they reached the bank they
plunged into the cane again, and in a few minutes
more were crouching in a thicket of bushes
at the foot of the bluff against which Luke
Redman’s house was built.
“Now, white boy,” said Jim, “you stay
here, and me go and look.”
The Indian glided out of sight as he spoke,
and for the next half-hour Mark sat there in
the bushes with his back against a tree and his
double-barrel resting across his knees, awaiting
his return.
As he had never been on the island before,
he knew nothing of Luke Redman’s stronghold;
but he did know that the outlaw and
his gang were not a great way off, for he could
hear the sound of their voices.
The angry tones which reached his ears told
him that a heated discussion was going on—it
was about this time that Luke Redman announced
his determination to burn us out if we
did not give up the money—and Mark listened
intently, hoping to obtain some clew that would
guide him in his search for me.
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
Where was I? What sort of a situation was
I in? and what could he do to help me? were
the questions he was constantly asking himself,
and which were answered in a way he had
not dreamed of.
At length there was a lull in the conversation,
which continued about fifteen minutes,
and then Mark saw dense volumes of smoke
rising above the cane. At the same moment
he heard voices and a crashing in the bushes
close by, and, looking in the direction from
which the sound proceeded, he discovered
Barney and his brother Jake coming up the
bank of the bayou. They seemed to be very
much interested in the conversation they were
carrying on, and little dreaming that there was
an enemy so near them, they walked straight
to the foot of the bluff, and stopped in front of
a cluster of bushes not more than ten feet from
Mark’s hiding-place.
“Here we are,” said Barney, pushing aside
the bushes and disclosing to view a dark opening
which seemed to lead up into the cliff.
“Now you stay here an’ watch, an’ if they
come out, holler.”
.bn 287.png
.pn +1
“What trick do you reckon them fellers is
up to, anyhow?” asked Jake. “They ain’t
a-goin’ to stay in them rooms and be burned
up, be they?”
“In course not. They’ll be glad to come
outen that winder when the fire gets too hot
fur ’em, an’ then we’ll grab ’em.”
“Mebbe they know the way out by this
hole,” said Jake, doubtfully. “I reckon you’d
best stay, too, Barney.”
“One’s enough to watch here,” replied the
leader of the Swamp Dragoons. “The rest of
us will have to stand by that winder, ’cause
they’ve got guns, you know. You needn’t be
afeard, for they won’t come nigh you.”
Barney walked off, leaving his brother to
watch the opening, while Mark crouched lower
in his concealment, and thought over the conversation
to which he had just listened.
He had heard enough to suggest to him a
plan of action. He knew that I was in a house,
that there was some one with me, that Luke
Redman was going to drive us out by fire, and
that there were two ways of escape for us—one
by the window, which was guarded by all the
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
robber gang, and the other by this secret passage-way,
over which Jake alone stood sentry.
Mark inferred, from what Barney said, that
I and my companion were ignorant of the existence
of this last avenue of escape; but he
knew of it, and couldn’t he put his knowledge
to some use? Could he not secure Jake, or
knock him over, and go into the passage-way
and release us?
The idea was no sooner conceived than he
proceeded to put it into practice. He arose
slowly and cautiously to his feet, hoping to
creep upon Jake unobserved; but a twig which
snapped under his feet betrayed him.
The sentry turned on the instant, only to
find himself covered by Mark’s double-barrel,
which was aimed straight at his heart.
“Consarn it all, don’t!” cried Jake, turning
as pale as death, and trembling in every
limb. “Turn that we’pon t’other way, can’t
you?”
“Silence!” commanded Mark. “If you
speak above your breath again, you are a gone
Dragoon.”
Just at this moment, when Mark was about
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
to lay down his gun to secure his prisoner,
help arrived.
A lithe, active figure, clad in buckskin,
glided through the cane as easily and noiselessly
as a serpent, and before the sentry knew
that there was an enemy in his rear, the strong
arms of “Mark Two Times” were clasped
about him, and he was thrown to the ground.
It was an operation of no difficulty to bind
him, for Jake, fearing the double-barrel, submitted
without a word of remonstrance.
As soon as the prisoner was secured, the
young Indian turned to Mark in great excitement.
He had heard strange things and seen
strange sights while he was skulking about the
house.
He had seen Tom and me looking out of our
prison and heard Luke Redman tell us that if
we did not come down he would burn the
house. He had seen him carry his threat into
execution, and he knew that unless something
turned up in our favor very speedily, our
chances for life were small indeed.
It took him a long time to tell this, for, as
was always the case with him when he became
.bn 290.png
.pn +1
excited, he forgot his English and rattled away
in Indian.
“I understand what you mean,” interrupted
Mark. “I know that my brother is in great
danger, and I think, too, that I know where to
look for him. Jake, how long is this passage-way,
and where does it lead to?”
“Now hold your grip till I tell you, won’t
you?” growled Jake.
“You will tell me now—this very instant,”
said Mark.
“Don’t!” exclaimed the frightened Dragoon,
seeing that the double-barrel was once more
pointed his way. “It’s about twenty yards
long, an’ leads to the rooms whar them fellers
is. Turn that shootin’-iron t’other way, can’t
you?”
Mark did not stop to ask any more questions,
because he believed he had heard all that it
was necessary for him to know; and, besides,
the light that now began to shine through the
cane warned him that the fire was gaining
headway, and that there was no time to be lost.
At a sign from him, the young Indian seized
Jake by the shoulders while Mark raised his
.bn 291.png
.pn +1
feet, and between them he was carried into the
passage-way, where he was laid upon the floor,
and left with the assurance that his safety
depended upon his observing the strictest
silence.
The passage-way was about three feet wide,
and quite high enough to allow Mark and his
companion to stand upright.
Luke Redman had doubtless built it in order
that he might have a way of escape in case his
hiding-place was discovered and surrounded by
the settlers.
It was as dark as midnight, but perfectly
straight, and as there were no others branching
off from it, there was no danger that Mark
would lose his way.
He hurried along with all possible speed,
keeping his hands stretched out before him,
and presently they came in contact with some
obstruction, which blocked up the whole end
of the passage-way.
Mark ran his fingers over it, and found that
it was a wide oak plank, with a strap nailed to
it. This he seized with both hands, and, after
pulling it about in various ways, succeeded in
.bn 292.png
.pn +1
forcing back the plank, disclosing to view the
interior of our prison.
He was astonished and alarmed at the reception
he met with. A thick cloud of smoke,
through which the flames were shining brightly,
rushed into his face, almost suffocating him
and driving him back from the door.
He thought the room was on fire, and when
he heard my voice, he bounded through the
smoke, expecting to find me badly burned and
almost smothered.
“Can you walk, Joe?” he asked, speaking
with the greatest difficulty. “If you can, follow
me. You here, Tom Mason?”
Mark’s clinched hand was drawn back, and
in a moment more Tom would have measured
his length on the floor, had I not interposed.
“No violence,” said I. “Tom has stuck
to me like a brother, and you owe him thanks
instead of blows.”
I knew by the expression on Mark’s face that
he could not understand the matter at all. He
did not stop to ask questions, however, but
led us at once to the entrance to the passage-way.
.bn 293.png
.pn +1
When we reached it, it was my turn to be
astonished, for there stood the young wrestler.
He did not draw back as we approached, and
neither did my brother seize him, as I expected
he would.
On the contrary, the Indian extended his
hand, and Mark took it to assist him in leaping
through the opening. When we were all in
the passage-way, and I had closed the door to
shut out the smoke, we stopped to hold a consultation.
In order that Mark might understand how
Tom happened to be my companion, I hurriedly
recounted the various exciting incidents that
had taken place during the afternoon, and
Mark told us of his meeting with the Indian,
and the manner in which he had secured the
sentry.
We concluded that our best plan was to trust
ourselves entirely to the guidance of the young
wrestler; and this being communicated to him
in a whisper, he conducted us toward the entrance
to the passage-way. When we came
within sight of it, we stopped, not a little
amazed at the scene presented to our view.
.bn 294.png
.pn +1
.sp 4
.h2
CHAPTER XX. | CONCLUSION.
.sp 2
THE prisoner, whom Mark had left securely
bound, was standing in front of the
mouth of the passage-way, trying to peer
through the darkness that obscured it, and
over his shoulder we could see the faces of the
rest of the Dragoons, and also the scowling
visages of Luke Redman and Pete, the half-breed.
The robber was angrier than ever, and
was swearing loudly.
“It’s lucky I thought to send Barney around
here, ain’t it?” we heard him say. “Them
boys would have been out an’ gone in five
minutes more. They’re smarter than the hull
lot on us put together. What’s to be
done?”
“Let’s hide in these yere bushes an’ ketch
’em when they come out,” suggested Barney.
“Jake, s’pose you go in thar an’ lay down
.bn 295.png
.pn +1
ag’in like you was tied, so they won’t know
thar’s any thing wrong.”
“Wal, now, s’pose you go yourself,” retorted
Jake. “You’re mighty willin’ to send
other fellows into danger, hain’t you? None
on us ain’t a-goin’ in thar to face the buckshot
in them guns. Send the dogs in, pap; that’s
the way to bring ’em out.”
Luke Redman was prompt to act upon this
suggestion. He set up a shout, and in a few
seconds the hounds appeared and crowded into
the mouth of the passage-way; while Mark,
Tom and I stationed ourselves side by side
and cocked both barrels of our guns in readiness
to give them a warm reception.
But we soon found that we had nothing to
fear from them. They made the passage echo
with their baying, and acted fiercely enough to
tear a regiment of men in pieces, but not one
of them could be induced to advance a single
step beyond the opening.
Luke scolded, urged and threatened in
vain. Becoming highly enraged at last, he
jumped among them, and kicking right and
left with his heavy boots, cleared the mouth of
.bn 296.png
.pn +1
the passage as quickly as a volley from our
double-barrels would have done.
Having disposed of the dogs, Luke stormed
about at a great rate, shaking his fists in the
air and stamping the ground with fury.
“We had oughter been on our way to the
river long ago,” said he. “The hull settlement
will be gallopin’ through these woods in less’n
an hour, an’ if we’re here then, we’re booked
for the lock-up, sure. But I ain’t a-goin’ to
stir one step till I get that money. Call the
dogs ag’in, Barney, an’ I’ll go in with ’em. I
reckon they’ll foller me. What’s that ar’?”
As Luke Redman asked this question, the
savage scowl vanished and his face grew white
with terror. For a moment he and his companions
stood as if they had been rooted to the
ground, casting frightened glances through the
cane on all sides of them, and then with a
common impulse they scattered right and left,
and were out of sight in a twinkling.
We were not long in finding out what had
caused their alarm, for just then the clear,
ringing blast of a hunting-horn echoed through
the woods, followed by a chorus of the same
.bn 297.png
.pn +1
kind of music, which, coming from all directions,
told us that the island was surrounded.
Hounds yelped, men shouted, the tramping of
horses’ hoofs came faintly to our ears, and
then five dogs, my own faithful Zip among
the number, dashed past the mouth of the passage-way,
closely followed by Sandy, Duke
and Herbert.
“Hurrah!” we all shouted at once.
“We’re safe now. The settlers have come at
last.”
Mark and the young Indian sprang down the
passage, and I was about to follow them when
Tom laid his hand on my arm.
“Joe,” said he, “I will give this valise and
gun into your care, and will thank you to see
that they are restored to their owners. I know
you will do this much for me, for it is the last
favor I shall ask of you.”
I took the articles in question as Tom handed
them to me, and when I raised my eyes to look
at him, he was gone. He had jumped past me,
dashed out of the passage, and disappeared
into the bushes before I could say a word to
him.
.bn 298.png
.pn +1
I was not long in following him. Holding
the guns over my shoulder with one hand, and
grasping the valise with the other, I ran out
into the cane just in time to place myself in
the way of some swiftly moving body, which
struck me with such force that I was whirled
through the air as if I had been thrown from
the cow-catcher of a locomotive. The guns
flew out of my hand, but involuntarily I tightened
my grasp on the valise.
“Aha!” exclaimed a gruff voice; “things
is comin’ out all right, arter all. The money
is mine an’ so is the mar’.”
Almost as soon as I touched the ground,
I raised myself on my elbow, and when I
had taken a single glance at the horse
standing before me, I comprehended the situation.
It was Black Bess, and the man who was dismounting
from her was Luke Redman.
He had by some means succeeded in securing
the horse and eluding the settlers, and was
riding at full speed through the cane, when I
had run directly in his path and been knocked
down—a circumstance which the outlaw regarded
.bn 299.png
.pn +1
as favorable to himself, although it
turned out exactly the reverse.
He probably imagined that I was badly
injured by the hard fall I had received, and he
must have been astonished at the determined
resistance he met with when he rushed up to
me and attempted to take the valise out of my
hand.
I have no idea how long the struggle continued,
for my brain was in a great whirl, and
I took no note of time. All I knew was that I
must hold fast to that money.
I was dragged about through the cane, beaten
on the head by Luke Redman’s hard fist, and
when at last he tore the valise from my grasp,
I threw my arms about his legs and pitched
him headlong on the ground.
Just as this happened, I heard a furious
crashing in the cane, several dark objects
bounded over me and commenced a desperate
battle with my antagonist, cries of pain and
ejaculations of surprise rang in my ears, and
then all was blank to me. Some of the settlers,
with their dogs, had arrived just in time.
It was dark when my consciousness returned.
.bn 300.png
.pn +1
At first I did not know where I was or what
was the matter with me, but gradually the
remembrance of the scenes through which I
had passed during the afternoon came back to
me, and I started up in alarm, expecting to
find myself once more a prisoner in the hands
of the robber band.
A single look, however, was enough to satisfy
me that I was among friends, and that I
had nothing to fear. I was lying on a blanket
in front of a blazing fire, and father and our
fellows were stretched out on the ground
beside me.
Camp-fires were shining in every direction
among the trees, and around them reposed the
stalwart forms of the settlers, all sleeping
soundly after the fatigues of the day. A
short distance off lay General Mason, with his
valise under his head for a pillow, and a little
further on stood Black Bess.
Under a tree, on the opposite side of the
fire, lay every one of those who had belonged
to the party which made the attack on our
camp—Tom Mason excepted—securely bound,
and watched over by two armed sentinels.
.bn 301.png
.pn +1
There was no one stirring in the camp, and
the silence was broken only by the crackling
of the fires, the sighing of the wind through
the leafless branches above our heads, and the
low murmur of the conversation kept up by
the guards.
The feeling of comfort and safety I experienced
was refreshing, indeed, after my day of
excitement. I lay for a long time thinking
over my adventures, and looking through the
trees toward the spot whereon had stood the
robber’s stronghold, now reduced to a glowing
bed of coals, and at last sank into a deep
slumber.
The next morning I awoke to find that all
our fellows were looked upon as heroes, and
that the lion’s share of the honors had been
accorded to me. All the planters wanted to
hear my story, and during the ride homeward
I had a crowd of eager listeners about me all
the time.
Our prisoners were lodged in jail at three
o’clock that afternoon, and at the next term
of the court they were dealt with according to
their deserts. Luke Redman’s plea, that he
.bn 302.png
.pn +1
did not steal the money from General Mason,
did not avail him. He had twice been caught
with it in his possession, and that was enough
for the jury who tried him; for he was sentenced
to state’s prison for a long term of
years, and the Swamp Dragoons, one and all,
were sent to the Reform School.
There was evidence enough to convict Pete
of setting fire to our cotton gin, and so
Luke Redman had company when he went to
prison. The rest of the half-breeds were ordered
out of the country, and I think they
went, for I never saw them afterward.
Taken altogether, it was a grand thinning
out of rascals, and if no one else was glad of
it, our fellows were.
“Mark Two Times” lost nothing by the services
he rendered us. Father gave him a
splendid horse; I sent to New Orleans, and
bought him a silver-mounted rifle; Mark presented
him with a gaudily-ornamented suit of
buckskin; Duke gave him a couple of hounds;
and, in fact, there was scarcely a person in the
neighborhood who did not remember him in
some way.
.bn 303.png
.pn +1
And what became of Tom Mason? I gave
the valise into the general’s hands, accompanied
by a hint that Tom had gone off to seek
his fortune, and that it would be a long time
before any of us would see him again; and I
never saw a man so delighted and angry as he
was—delighted to have his money back, and
angry to learn that Tom had repaid his kindness
by running away.
“The gold is all here,” said he, as he ran
his hand over the shining pieces, “but I see
that some of them are wet. I don’t suppose
you fellows had opportunity to steal any of
them. And so Tom has run away? Dear
me! but won’t he be sorry? If he comes to
my house, I’ll shut the door in his face. I
won’t have such an ingrate about.”
Every one supposed that General Mason
was very angry at his nephew, as, indeed, he
was, but in a week or two it became known
that he had sent his overseer up and down
the river to learn something of Tom’s whereabouts;
but he came back and reported that
he had followed him as far as Memphis, and
there all traces of him had been lost. I tell
.bn 304.png
.pn +1
you, I began to have some respect for Tom
after that. He had only fifty dollars in his
pocket that I knew anything about, and a
boy that would start off with that amount
of money and face the world had a good
deal in him.
For a year nothing was heard of Tom Mason,
and those who had business with the
general noticed that he had got over a good
deal of his “crankiness,” and that it was difficult
to make him mad. Before that he used
to fly off the handle without any cause whatever.
Jerry Lamar was astonished at the
general’s conduct, and well he might be. He
and his father wanted to get off the place, for
they did not want to live near a man who
would accuse one of them of stealing five
thousand dollars, but the general wouldn’t hear
to it. He bought all their logs at good prices,
and Jerry was in a fair way of making a man
of himself. He began to pay more attention
to General Mason, and often told us that he
wished he had Tom where he could talk to
him. He was certain that everything would
be forgiven if Tom would only come back.
.bn 305.png
.pn +1
Another year passed without bringing any
word from the runaway, and it finally got
noised abroad in the settlement that he was
dead. The old gentleman heard it, and he
bent over a little at the shoulders and walked
with a cane. It was plain that he loved Tom,
and that nobody else could take his place. Six
months more passed—Tom had now been gone
two years and a half—when one morning I
saw General Mason coming down the road
faster than I had ever seen him ride before.
He held an open letter in his hand, and beckoned
me out to the bars. I had seldom seen a
man so excited. He was laughing and crying,
all at once, so that I could hardly understand
him.
“That miserable Tom is alive and kicking,”
said he. “Here’s a letter from him that tells
me everything he has been through—six pages
of it. You must answer it, for I . Write
to him that if I had him here with a rawhide
in my hand, I would make him shed tears to
pay for all the agony he caused me, I bet you.
Tell him, too, that everything has been forgotten
and forgiven, and that if he will come
.bn 306.png
.pn +1
back I will receive him with open arms. I’ll
teach the young scamp to run away from me!”
I wrote to Tom that night, away in some
little town in Texas, and in due time he came
home. I tell you, it would have bothered anybody
in that settlement to take the rawhide to
him. He was immense; the climate of Texas
seemed to have agreed with him. He had
been—but it is a long story, and there isn’
place for it in this book. Besides, I must
bid you good-bye as a story-teller, for I am
through writing about Tom. I will turn my
history of him over to a cowboy who was with
him on the Plains and who knows all about
him. He promises me that he will soon begin
the narrative of his wanderings in a book
to be called “Elam Storm the Wolfer; or,
The Lost Nugget.”
.sp 2
.ce
THE END.
.bn 307.png
.pn +1
.dv class='box'
.nf c
Studies in Human and Divine Inter-Relationship
BY
Rufus M. Jones, A.M., Litt. D.
Professor of Philosophy in Haverford College, Pa.
.nf-
This is a fresh interpretation of the deepest
problems of life. It discusses the most
interesting phases of recent psychological investigation
into spiritual subjects.
“Professor Jones offers here a series of studies
on the nature and meaning of Personality.
He is at home in modern psychology and tells
it effectively for his purpose in freedom from
technicalities.”—The Outlook.
“The author has written the twelve chapters
of this book dealing with such subjects as The
Meaning of Personality, The Realization of
Persons, The Sub-Conscious Life, The Inner
Light, etc., etc., with an aim to show through
Psychology, as Drummond showed through
Biology, that life can be unified from top to
bottom.”—Christian Work and the Evangelist.
“The author bears a unique equipment for
the task, having studied Philosophy at Harvard
under Royce and Palmer, and acquired the art
of presenting it to untrained thinkers in his
capacity of Professor of Philosophy at Haverford
College.”—British Friend.
.nf c
12mo. 272 pages. Extra Vellum Cloth,
Gilt Top, Uncut Edges. Price $1.25
Net (Postage 10 Cents).
.nf-
.nf c
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
.nf-
.dv-
.bn 308.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ni
.dv class='box1'
.nf c
BOOKS BY
JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE,
.nf-
.dv-
.dv class='box1'
JACK BALLINGTON, FORESTER
.ta l:60 r:10 w=90%
A novel, published 1911. Illustrated\
by George Gibbs | Net $1.20
.ta-
.sp 1
UNCLE WASH: HIS STORIES
.ta l:60 r:10 w=90%
Character stories, published 1910. \
Illustrated by Lucas and Sykes | $1.50
.ta-
THE OLD COTTON GIN
.ta l:60 r:10 w=90%
A poem, published 1910. Illustrated \
by Charles H. Sykes | Net $1.00
.ta-
.sp 1
THE BISHOP OF COTTONTOWN
.ta l:60 r:10 w=90%
A story of the Southern cotton mills,\
published 1906. Illustrated by The\
Kinneys | $1.50
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.sp 1
OLE MISTIS
.ta l:60 r:10 w=90%
and other Songs and Stories from\
Tennessee, published 1902. Illustrated| $1.25
.ta-
.sp 1
A SUMMER HYMNAL
.ta l:60 r:10 w=90%
A Tennessee Romance, published 1901.\
Illustrated| $1.25
.ta-
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
.ta l:30 r:30
PUBLISHERS | PHILADELPHIA
.ta-
.dv-
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.pi
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EVERY CHILD’S LIBRARY
.hr 100%
.nf c
Books “That Every Child Can
Read” for Four Reasons:
.nf-
.in 2
.ti -2
1\ \ Because the subjects have all proved their lasting popularity.
.ti -2
2\ \ Because of the simple language in which they are written.
.ti -2
3\ \ Because they have been carefully edited, and anything
that might prove objectionable for children’s reading
has been eliminated.
.ti -2
4\ \ Because of their accuracy of statement.
.in
This Series of Books comprises subjects that appeal to
all young people. Besides the historical subjects that are
necessary to the education of children, it also contains
standard books written in language that children can read
and understand.
Carefully Edited. Each work is carefully edited by
Rev. Jesse Lyman Hurlbut, D.D., to make sure that the
style is simple and suitable for Young Readers, and to eliminate
anything which might be objectionable. Dr. Hurlbut’s
large and varied experience in the instruction of young
people, and in the preparation of literature in language that
is easily understood, makes this series of books a welcome
addition to libraries, reading circles, schools and home.
Issued in uniform style of binding.
.ce
Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated.\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ Price, 75 cents
.hr 20%
.ce
LIST OF TITLES
.nf l
DICKENS’ STORIES ABOUT CHILDREN. Every Child can read
LIVES OF OUR PRESIDENTS. Every Child can read
LEATHER STOCKING TALES. Every Child can read
PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. Every Child can read
STORIES ABOUT CHILDREN OF ALL NATIONS. Every Child can read
STORIES OF GREAT AMERICANS. Every Child can read
STORIES OF OUR NAVAL HEROES. Every Child can read
STORY OF JESUS, THE. Every Child can read
STORY OF OUR COUNTRY, THE. Every Child can read
.nf-
.nf c
(Others in preparation)
CATALOGUE MAILED ON APPLICATION
.nf-
.hr 20%
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers
WINSTON BUILDING | PHILADELPHIA
.ta-
.bn 310.png
.pn +1
.pb
.nf c
====WINSTON’S====
POPULAR FICTION
.nf-
Comprising twenty-four books published at $1.25 and
$1.50 per volume, and until recently sold only in the original
editions. Now offered for the first time in popular
priced editions. All are bound in extra cloth with appropriate
cover designs, and standard 12mo. in size.
.ta l:20 r:50
24 Titles | Price per volume, 75 cents
.ta-
.ta h:2 l:56 rb:10
BABCOCK (WILLIAM HENRY)—Kent Fort Manor. A romance in\
the nineteenth century on the Isle of Kent near Baltimore, where\
in the earlier days Puritans, Jesuits, Indians and Sea Rovers came\
and went. 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
BARTON (GEORGE)—Adventures of the World’s Greatest Detectives.\
The most famous cases of the great Sleuths of England,\
America, France, Russia, realistically told, with biographical sketches\
of each detective. Fully illustrated. 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
BLANKMAN (EDGAR G.)—Deacon Babbitt. A story of Northern\
New York State, pronounced by some critics superior to "David\
Harum." 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
CLARK (CHARLES HEBER)—(Max Adeler)—The Quakeress. A\
charming story which has had great success in the original edition,\
and listed among the six best selling novels. 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
|—Captain Bluitt, A Tale of Old Turley. Humorous fiction in\
this well-known author’s happiest style. 12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
|—Out of the Hurly Burly, or Life in an Odd Corner. A\
delightfully entertaining piece of humor, with numerous illustrations,\
including the original work by A. B. Frost, and other illustrations.\
12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
|—In Happy Hollow. The amusing story of how A. J. Pelican\
boomed the little town of Happy Hollow, 12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
EDWARDS (LOUISE BETTS)—The Tu Tze’s Tower. One of the\
best novels of Chinese and Tibetan Life. 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
GERARD (DOROTHEA)—Sawdust, A Polish Romance. The scene\
of this readable tale the Carpathian Timberlands in Poland. The\
author is a favorite English writer. 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
GIBBS (GEORGE)—In Search of Mademoiselle. The struggle between\
the Spanish and French Colonists in Florida furnish an interesting\
historical background for this stirring story. 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
GOLDSMITH (MILTON)—A Victim of Conscience. A mental\
struggle between Judaism and Christianity of a Jew who thinks he\
is guilty of a crime, makes a dramatic plot. 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
ILIOWIZI (HENRY)—The Archierey of Samara. A semi-historic\
romance of Russian Life. 12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
.bn 311.png
.pn +1
ILIOWIZI (HENRY) | |
|—In the Pale. Stories and Legends of Jews in Russia. Containing\
“Czar Nicholas I and Sir Moses Montefiore,” "The Czar in\
Rothschild’s Castle," and “The Legend of the Ten Lost Tribes,” and\
other tales. 12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
MOORE (JOHN TROTWOOD)—The Bishop of Cottontown. One\
of the best selling novels published in recent years and now for the\
first time sold at a popular price. An absorbing story of Southern\
life in a Cotton Mill town, intense with passion, pathos and humor.\
12mo. Cloth | | 75 cents
|—A Summer Hymnal. A Tennessee romance. One of the\
prettiest love stories ever written. 12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
|—Ole Mistis, and other Songs and Stories from Tennessee.\
12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
NORRIS (W. E.)—An Embarrasing Orphan. The orphaned daughter\
of a wealthy African mine owner, causes her staid English\
Guardian no end of anxiety. 12mo. Cloth || 75 cents
PEMBERTON (MAX)—The Show Girl. A new novel, by the author\
of many popular stories, describing the adventures of a young art\
student in Paris and elsewhere. It is thought to be the most entertaining\
book written by this author. 12mo. Cloth, Illustrated || 75 cents
PENDLETON (LOUIS)—A Forest Drama. A Tale of the Canadian\
wilds of unusual strength. 12mo. Cloth || 75 cents
PETERSON (HENRY)—Dulcibel. A Tale of Old Salem in the Witchcraft\
days, with a charming love story; historically an informing\
book. 12mo. Cloth || 75 cents
|—Pemberton, or One Hundred Years Ago. Washington,\
Andre, Arnold and other prominent figures of the Revolution take\
part in the story, which is probably the best historical romance\
of Philadelphia. 12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
STODDARD (ELIZABETH)—(Mrs. Richard Henry Stoddard).| |
|—Two Men. "Jason began life in Crest with ten dollars, two\
suits of cloths, several shirts, two books, a pin cushion and the\
temperance lecture." 12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
|—Temple House. A powerful story of life in a little seaport town—romantic\
and often impassioned. 12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
|—The Morgesons. This was the first of Mrs. Stoddard’s Novels,\
and Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote to the author:—"As genuine and\
life-like as anything that pen and ink can do." \ \ 12mo. Cloth | 75 cents
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers
.ta l:35 r:35
WINSTON BUILDING | PHILADELPHIA
.ta-
.bn 312.png
.pn +1
.pb
.ta rm:30 lm:30 w=60%
HURLBUT’S STORY OF
THE BIBLE ∴ | FROM GENESIS
TO REVELATION
BY REV. JESSE LYMAN HURLBUT, D.D.
.ta-
.hr 100%
.hr 100%
.ce
A BOOK FOR OLD AND YOUNG
Told in language that interests both Old and Young.
“Supersedes all other books of the kind.” Recommended
by all Denominations for its freshness and
accuracy; for its freedom from doctrinal discussion; for its
simplicity of language; for its numerous and appropriate
illustrations; as the best work on the subject. The greatest
aid to Parents, Teachers and all who wish the Bible
Story in a simplified form. 168 separate stories, each
complete in itself, yet forming a continuous narrative of
the Bible. 762 pages, nearly 300 half-tone illustrations,
8 in colors. Octavo.
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THE FLEXIBLE MOROCCO STYLE
“HURLBUT’S STORY OF THE BIBLE” can be obtained
in FLEXIBLE MOROCCO BINDING with red under gold
edges. This new binding will give the work a wider use,
for in this convenient form the objection to carrying the
ordinary bound book is entirely overcome. This convenient
style also contains “HURLBUT’S BIBLE LESSONS
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS,” a system of questions and
answers, based on the stories in the book, by which the
Old Testament story can be taught in a year, and the
New Testament story can be taught in a year. This edition
also contains 17 Maps printed in colors, covering the geography
of the Old Testament and of the New Testament.
These additional features are not included in the
Cloth bound book, but are only to be obtained in the new
Flexible Morocco style.
.ta h:30 r:30
Cloth, extra | Price, $1.50
FLEXIBLE MOROCCO STYLE. Bound in FRENCH SEAL,\
round corners, red under gold edges, extra grained lining,\
specially sewed to produce absolute flexibility and\
great durability. Each book packed in neat and substantial\
box |
Price | $3.75
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers
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NEW EDITION OF ALGER’S GREATEST SET OF BOOKS
.nf c
—THE—
Famous Ragged Dick Series
NEW TYPE-SET PLATES MADE IN 1910
.nf-
In response to a demand for a popular-priced edition
of this series of books—the most famous set ever written
by Horatio Alger, Jr.—this edition has been prepared.
Each volume is set in large, new type, printed on an
excellent quality of paper, and bound in uniform style,
having an entirely new and appropriate cover design,
with heavy gold stamp.
As is well known, the books in this series are copyrighted,
and consequently none of them will be found in
any other publisher’s list.
.ta l:30 l:30 w=90%
RAGGED DICK SERIES.\ \ \ By Horatio Alger, Jr. 6 vols.
RAGGED DICK | ROUGH AND READY
FAME AND FORTUNE | BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY
MARK, THE MATCH BOY | RUFUS AND ROSE
Each set is packed in a handsome box
12 mo.\ \ \ \ \ \ \ Cloth
Sold only in sets\ \ \ \ \ \ Price per set, $3.60.\ \ \ \ \ \ Postpaid
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.hr 100%
.nf c
RECOMMENDED BY REAR ADMIRAL MELVILLE, WHO
COMMANDED THREE EXPEDITIONS TO THE ARCTIC REGIONS
.nf-
.nf c
—THE—
New Popular Science Series
BY PROF. EDWIN J. HOUSTON
.nf-
THE NORTH POLE SERIES. By Prof. Edwin J.
Houston. This is an entirely new series, which opens a
new field in Juvenile Literature. Dr. Houston has spent
a lifetime in teaching boys the principles of physical and
scientific phenomena and knows how to talk and write
for them in a way that is most attractive. In the reading
of these stories the most accurate scientific information
will be absorbed.
.nf b
THE SEARCH FOR THE NORTH POLE
THE DISCOVERY OF THE NORTH POLE
CAST AWAY AT THE NORTH POLE
.nf-
.nf c
Handsomely bound. The volumes, 12mo. in size, are bound in
Extra English Cloth, and are attractively stamped in colors and
full gold titles. Sold separately or in sets, boxed.
.nf-
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Price | $1.00 per volume. | Postpaid
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers
.ta l:35 r:35
WINSTON BUILDING | PHILADELPHIA
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.nf c
MISCELLANEOUS
JUVENILE BOOKS
.nf-
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BANGS (JOHN KENDRICK)—Andiron Tales. The story of a Little\
Boy’s Dream—his wonderful adventures in the Clouds—written in\
Mr. Bangs’ happiest vein, and handsomely illustrated with colored\
drawings by Dwiggins. Octavo. Cloth | | $1.25
—Molly and the Unwiseman. A Humorous Story for Children.\
12mo. Cloth | | $1.25
BUTTERWORTH (HEZEKIAH)—A Heroine of the Wilderness.\
A Girl’s Book telling the romance of the mother of Lincoln. 12mo.\
Cloth | | $1.00
DIMMICK (RUTH CROSBY)—The Bogie Man. The story in verse\
of a little boy who met the Bogie Man, and had many surprising\
adventures with him; and found him not such a bad fellow after\
all. 34 Drawings. 72 pages. Octavo. Boards with colored\
cover | | $0.65
FILLEBROWN (R. H. M.)—Rhymes of Happy Childhood. A handsome\
holiday book of homely verses beautifully illustrated with\
color plates, and drawings in black and red. Colored inlay, gilt\
top. New Edition 1911. Flat 8vo. Cloth | | $2.00
HOFFMAN (DR. HENRY)—Slovenly Peter. Original Edition. This\
celebrated work has amused children probably more than any other\
juvenile book. It contains the quaint hand colored pictures, and is\
printed on extra quality of paper and durably bound. Quarto.\
Cloth | | $1.00
HUGHES (THOMAS)—Tom Brown’s School-days at Rugby. New\
edition with 22 illustrations. 12mo. Cloth | | $1.00
LAMB (CHARLES AND MARY)—Tales from Shakespeare. Edited\
with an introduction by The Rev. Alfred Ainger, M.A. New\
Edition with 20 illustrations. 12mo. Cloth | | $1.00
MOTHER’S PRIMER. Printed from large clear type, contains alphabet\
and edifying and entertaining stories for children. 12mo.\
Paper covers | | Per dozen $0.50
TANNENFORST (URSULA)—Heroines of a School-Room. A\
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interesting girls. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth | | $1.25
| —The Thistles of Mount Cedar. A story of a Girls’ Fraternity.\
A well-told story for Girls. Illustrated. 12mo. Cloth | $1.25
TAYLOR (JANE)—Original Poems for Infant Minds. 16mo.\
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WOOD (REV. J. G.)—Popular Natural History. The most popular\
book on Birds, Beasts and Reptiles ever written. Fully illustrated.\
8vo. Cloth | | $1.00
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers
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WINSTON BUILDING | PHILADELPHIA
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NOTABLE NOVELS and
GIFT BOOKS OF VERSE
BY JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE
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JACK BALLINGTON, FORESTER
The story concerns the fortunes of Jack Ballington,
who, on account of his apparent lack of fighting qualities,
seems to be in danger of losing his material heritage and
the girl he loves, but in the stirring crisis he measures up
to the traditions of his forefathers.
.in 5
.ll 67
“Will captivate by its humor, set all the heart strings to
vibrating by its pathos, flood one’s being in the great surge of
patriotism ... a story that vastly enriches American fiction.”—Albany
Times-Union.
.in
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12mo. \ \ \ \ Cloth. \ \ \ \ \ \ 341 pages
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Price | $1.20 Net.\ \ \ \ Postage 13 cents
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THE BISHOP OF COTTONTOWN
A STORY OF THE TENNESSEE VALLEY
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Love, pathos and real humor run through the book
in delightful measure. Over all is shed the light of the
“Old Bishop,” endearing himself to every reader by his
gentleness, his strength and his uncynical knowledge of
the world which he finds so good to live in. 31 editions
have already been sold.
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12mo. \ \ \ \ Cloth. \ \ \ \ 606 pages
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Price | $1.50 Postpaid
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UNCLE WASH: HIS STORIES
A book of stories centering about the character of
“Uncle Wash,” which even in the brief time since its publication
has achieved a large and notable success among
all classes of readers. Many editions have already been
sold.
.in 4
.nf l
“One of the few great books.”—Rochester Union and Advertiser.
“A mine of humor and pathos.”—Omaha World-Herald.
.nf-
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12mo. \ \ \ \ Cloth. \ \ \ \ 329 pages
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Price | $1.50 Postpaid
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A SUMMER HYMNAL
A ROMANCE OF TENNESSEE
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The story of Edward Ballington and his love affairs
with two delightful girls in charming contrast, forms the
plot of this captivating love story. On the threads of
.bn 316.png
.pn +1
this narrative is woven the story of a blind man who
meets the catastrophe of sudden darkness in a spirit of
bravery, sweetness and resignation which commands the
love and respect of every reader.
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12mo.\ \ \ \ \ Cloth.\ \ \ \ \ 332 pages
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Price | $1.25 Postpaid
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SONGS AND STORIES FROM TENNESSEE
In truth Mr. Moore, in this collection of songs and
stories of Dixie Land, has created a work that will live
long in the traditions of the South and longer in the
hearts of his readers. One has only to read “Ole Mistis,”
the first story in this collection, to feel the power of Mr.
Moore’s genius. It is at once the finest story of a horse
race ever written, a powerful love story and most touchingly
pathetic narrative of the faith and devotion of a
little slave.
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12mo.\ \ \ \ \ Cloth.\ \ \ \ \ 358 pages
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Price | $1.25 Postpaid
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THE OLD COTTON GIN
The “Old Cotton Gin” breathes the passionate
patriotism of the South, her dearest sentiments, her pathos
and regrets, her splendid progress and her triumphant
future. This poem is a popular favorite throughout the
South, and has been adopted officially in some states.
The author is one of her truest sons. All the pages of
the book are decorated with original drawings, including
seven exceedingly fine full-page illustrations.
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Bound in imported Silk Cloth. \ \ \ \ \ Size 6½ × 9½ inches
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Price\ \ \ \ \ \ $1.00 Net.\ \ \ \ \ \ Postage 10 cents
.sp 4
.nf c
ALL OF THE ABOVE BOOKS ARE HANDSOMELY
ILLUSTRATED BY WELL-KNOWN ARTISTS
.nf-
.hr 20%
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers
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WINSTON BUILDING | PHILADELPHIA
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GREAT PICTURES
—————AS—————
MORAL TEACHERS
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.hr 100%
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By HENRY E. JACKSON
.dv class='box'
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A Recognition of the Value of Pictures in Teaching
The author has selected twenty of the world’s
great pictures and sculptures and interpreted the
meaning which the artist intended to convey.
People are awakening more and more to the
value of works of art in teaching. They are regaining
a truer perspective and saner judgment in regard
to them. That pictures are of great value in
teaching certain forms of knowledge is not now
questioned; on the contrary, it is approved and
practiced. In view of this, the need arises for
careful selection and education of the popular taste.
The present work is intended to meet this need.
The author has chosen his subjects with great care
and adopted as his interpretation the consensus of
opinion among great critics.
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The subject is treated in a manner to interest not
only students of religious history and movements,
but those viewing it from a purely artistic standpoint.
The work contains twenty fine half-tone
engravings made from authorized photographs of
the original paintings and sculptures.
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Price\ \ \ \ \ ·\ \ \ \ \ ·\ \ \ \ \ ·\ \ \ \ \ ·\ \ \ \ \ ·\ \ \ \ $1.50
.nf c
The John C. Winston Co., Publishers
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
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.bn 318.png
.pn +1
.pb
.nf c
BOOKS BY MAX ADELER
(Charles Heber Clark)
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.hr 15%
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The Quakeress: A Tale
"In his ‘Quakeress,’ Mr. Clark has achieved instant—and
in all probability lasting—success as a
writer of dignified fiction."—The St. Louis Star.
“He has made of pretty Abby Woolford’s heart-history
a prose epic of Quakerdom.”—The North
American, Philadelphia.
.nf c
Illustrations in color by George Gibbs.
Cloth. Popular Edition. 400 pages. $0.75.
.nf-
.sp 1
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IN HAPPY HOLLOW
One of the stories which established Max
Adeler’s reputation as a humorist.
Cloth, extra, with 58 illustrations. $1.25.
.sp 1
.nf c
OUT OF THE HURLY-BURLY;
OR, LIFE IN AN ODD CORNER
Cloth, extra, 12mo. $1.25.
.nf-
.sp 1
.nf c
CAPTAIN BLUITT; A TALE OF OLD TURLEY
Cloth, extra, 12mo. $1.50.
More than 1,000,000 copies of Max Adeler’s Books
Have Been Sold.
.nf-
.nf c
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers
PHILADELPHIA
.nf-
.bn 319.png
.pn +1
.pb
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THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY’S POPULAR JUVENILES
.hr 100%
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HORATIO ALGER, JR.
.hr 10%
The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr.,
show the greatness of his popularity among the boys,
and prove that he is one of their most favored writers.
I am told that more than half a million copies altogether
have been sold, and that all the large circulating libraries
in the country have several complete sets, of which only
two or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time.
If this is true, what thousands and thousands of boys have
read and are reading Mr. Alger’s books! His peculiar style
of stories, often imitated but never equaled, have taken a
hold upon the young people, and, despite their similarity,
are eagerly read as soon as they appear.
Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that
undying book, “Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York.”
It was his first book for young people, and its success was
so great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind
of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then,
and Mr. Alger’s treatment of it at once caught the fancy of
the boys. “Ragged Dick” first appeared in 1868, and ever
since then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated
that about 200,000 copies of the series have been
sold.—“Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls.”
.hr 10%
A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy
with them. He should be able to enter into their plans,
hopes, and aspirations. He should learn to look upon life
as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A boy’s
heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.—From
“Writing Stories for Boys,” by Horatio Alger, Jr.
.bn 320.png
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RAGGED DICK SERIES
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
6 vol | By HORATIO ALGER, | $6.00
.ta-
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Ragged Dick. | Rough and Ready.
Fame and Fortune. | Ben, the Luggage Boy.
Mark, the Match Boy. | Rufus and Rose.
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TATTERED TOM SERIES—First Series
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
4 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $4.00
.ta-
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Tattered Tom | Phil, the Fiddler
Paul, the Peddler | Slow and Sure
.ta-
.sp 1
.ce
TATTERED TOM SERIES—Second Series
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
4 vols. | | $4.00
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Julius | Sam’s Chance
The Young Outlaw | The Telegraph Boy
.ta-
.sp 1
.ce
CAMPAIGN SERIES
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
3 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $3.00
.ta-
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Frank’s Campaign |Charlie Codman’s Cruise
Paul Prescott’s Charge
.ta-
.sp 1
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LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES—First Series
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
4 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $4.00
.ta-
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Luck and Pluck | Strong and Steady
Sink or Swim | Strive and Succeed
.ta-
.sp 1
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LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES—Second Series
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
4 vol | | $4.00
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Try and Trust | Risen from the Ranks
Bound to Rise | Herbert Carter’s Legacy
.ta-
.sp 1
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BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
4 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $4.00
.ta-
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Brave and Bold | Shifting for Himself
Jack’s Ward | Wait and Hope
.ta-
.sp 1
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NEW WORLD SERIES
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
3 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $3.00
.ta-
.ta l:40 l:30 w=80%
Digging for Gold | Facing the World
In a New World
.ta-
.bn 321.png
.pn +1
.sp 1
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VICTORY SERIES
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
3 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $3.00
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Only an Irish Boy | Adrift in the City
Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary
.ta-
.sp 1
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FRANK AND FEARLESS SERIES
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
3 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $3.00
.ta-
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Frank Hunter’s Peril | Frank and Fearless
The Young Salesman
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.sp 1
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GOOD FORTUNE LIBRARY
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
3 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $3.00
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Walter Sherwood’s Probation | A Boy’s Fortune
The Young Bank Messenger
.ta-
.sp 1
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HOW TO RISE LIBRARY
.ta c:10 c:50 r:8
3 vols. | By HORATIO ALGER, JR. | $3.00
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Jed, the Poorhouse Boy | Rupert’s Ambition
Lester’s Luck
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.sp 8
.hr 15%
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SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE
.hr 15%
.ta l:35 r:35
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers
WINSTON BUILDING | PHILADELPHIA
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.pb
.dv class='tnotes'
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Transcriber’s Note
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
.ta l:8 l:46 l:12 w=90%
| the gruff voice of Luke [,/.] | Replaced.
| I’ll send it back to my uncle, where it belongs[.] | Added.
| such as you city boys buy in the variety stor[i]es, | Removed.
| You must answer it, for I won[’]t. | Inserted.
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