“I’ve learned something,” said Wilson, as soon as he had satisfied himself that Pierre and his father had really left the clearing; “and that is that a Creole can’t see after twelve o’clock. I can’t account for his blindness in any other way. Now, the next thing is to find Chase. He’s somewhere in that house, and I will get him out if I have to burn it over his head.” Talking thus to himself, Wilson scrambled over the corn to the door, and there encountered an obstacle. The door was fastened on the outside with a hasp and a wooden pin, and the openings between the logs were so narrow that he could not get his arm through to take the pin out. After several ineffectual attempts to reach the fastenings, he threw himself flat on his back and sent both his heavy boots against the door with all his strength; but finding that it resisted his efforts, and that he was[209] wasting his breath to no purpose, he jumped up and turned his attention to the roof. The rafters, which were saplings three inches in diameter, were placed about two feet apart and covered with narrow oak boards, laid on like shingles, and held in position by small nails. A few determined kicks scattered the boards right and left; and when he had made an opening sufficiently large to admit his shoulders, he thrust his head out and looked about him. He could see nobody (that, however, was no evidence that there was no one in sight), and believing that his movements were unobserved, he clambered out of the opening, slid down the roof to the eaves, and dropped to the ground. A few hasty steps brought him to the porch, and a few more to the wide hall which ran through the building. He did not waste time in trying the door, for he knew that Coulte had locked it and put the key in his pocket, but ran at once to a ladder which led to a loft over one of the rooms. Ascending to the top with the agility of a squirrel, he threw off one of the loose boards which formed the floor of the loft, and looked down into the room below. When his eyes rested on the articles that had been piled on the trap-door, he knew where to look for his friend.
[210]
“I say!” he cried, in a suppressed, hot, excited tone of voice.
“Say it yourself,” was the answer which came faintly to his ears. “I knew you would never desert me, old fellow. I am glad to see you.”
Chase had not yet seen his friend, but he did see him a few minutes afterward, for Wilson no sooner heard his voice coming from the cellar than he dropped into the room as lightly as a cat, and began throwing Coulte’s furniture about in the most reckless manner. He broke a leg off the table, smashed a chair or two, upset the bureau, scattering its contents over the floor, and having cleared the trap-door, he slammed it back against the wall, and went down the rickety stairs in two jumps.
“Speak up, Chase,” said he. “It’s as dark as a stack of black cats down here.”
“This way,” replied the prisoner. “Take it easy, and don’t knock your brains out against the beams overhead. We’ve plenty of time, for Coulte and Pierre won’t be back for two hours. They’ve gone down to the bayou to launch the pirogue, and get it ready to take me to Lost Island to-night.”
“Eh!” exclaimed Wilson, in great amazement.[211] “Were they going to carry you to sea in a dugout?”
“Certainly. It was their intention to run me off to the island and leave me there until they could have time to pack up and move to some other country. That isn’t the most surprising thing I have to tell you, either. What did you come here for?”
It was no wonder that Chase expressed a little curiosity on this point, for Wilson’s actions did not indicate that he had come there for any purpose in particular. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down through the darkness in the direction from which Chase’s voice came, but he did not make any move to release him. He was thinking of the proposed voyage in the pirogue, and wondering if the old Frenchman and his son were really reckless enough to attempt it. The question propounded by his friend brought him to his senses, however, and in a few seconds more the prisoner was standing erect, and Wilson was shaking his hand as though he had not met him for years.
“We’ll not stay here another instant,” said Chase, hurriedly. “This is the second time that my liberty has been restored to me to-day, and now[212] I intend to make use of it. Do you know anything about my horse?”
“I left him in the canebrakes with mine, not a quarter of a mile from here. We’ll be in the saddle, and on our way home in less than fifteen minutes. Is there anything to eat in this house?”
“Plenty of it. Coulte always keeps his larder well supplied.”
“I wonder if he would raise any objections to our eating a loaf or two of his bread, and drinking three or four pans of milk? I’m hungry. I haven’t tasted a mouthful since we ate lunch yesterday.”
“Neither have I. We don’t care whether he objects or not. He got us into this scrape, and he certainly ought to feed us.”
The boys had by this time reached the top of the cellar-stairs, and after slamming down the door as if they meant to burst it off its hinges, they made a movement toward the cupboard. The sight that met their eyes as they opened the door was a most welcome one to them. There was bread, meat and milk in abundance, and in a remarkably short space of time the hungry boys had completely cleared some of the shelves. They kept both hands employed—one in crowding the food into their[213] mouths, and the other in transferring it from the cupboard to the pockets of their shooting-jackets, listening the while with all their ears, and trembling with anxiety lest Coulte or Pierre should steal a march on them and return before they knew it. After they had laid in a bountiful supply of bread and meat, and made way with a pan of milk, they were ready to leave the house; but just then Wilson suddenly ceased the working of his jaws, turned his head on one side for a moment, and held up his finger warningly. Chase looked his surprise; he could not say a word, for his mouth was too full.
“I heard a step in the hall,” whispered Wilson, as soon as he could speak.
“It can’t be possible,” said Chase, in the same cautious whisper. “Coulte hasn’t had time to get half way to the bayou yet.”
“I don’t care, he’s out there; or somebody is, for I know I heard a stealthy foot-fall.”
The boys held their breath and listened, but the sound that had attracted Wilson’s attention was not repeated. That, however, was not enough to convince him that he had been mistaken, and after looking about the room for a moment, and up at[214] the opening through which he had come down from the loft, he dropped the bread and meat with which his hands were filled, and made a sign to Chase. The latter, comprehending his friend’s design, took his stand under the opening, with his face to the partition, and in a moment more Wilson was perched upon his shoulders, looking over into the hall. As his head appeared above the opening, he was certain that he saw some one spring around a corner of the building out of sight. He kept his eyes fastened on the spot where the figure had disappeared, and after the lapse of two or three minutes saw the top of a boy’s hat thrust slowly and cautiously into view. Wilson quickly ducked his own head, but not in time to escape discovery.
“It’s he, as sure as the world!” exclaimed a familiar voice.
Wilson, finding that he had been recognised, looked over into the hall again, and boldly faced the unwelcome visitor. “Ah! my young friend,” said he, “is that you?”
“That’s what’s the matter,” replied the boy. “You’re just the fellow we are looking for—the identical fellow.”
“You’re sure of it, are you? Well, now that[215] you have found me, what are you going to do about it?”
“We haven’t quite made up our minds yet. We’ll tell you in a few minutes.”
“How are our friends, the smugglers, this fine morning; and how does Walter Gaylord feel since Coulte’s boys made a prisoner of him? I say! That little plan of yours didn’t work as smoothly as it might, did it?”
These words seemed to enrage the boy, who began looking about for some missile to throw at Wilson. The latter looked fiercely at him for a moment, during which time two more boys came around the corner of the building and entered the hall, and then swung himself off Chase’s shoulders and dropped to the floor. “What’s to be done now?” he whispered. “There are Bayard Bell and his cousins.”
The last time we saw Bayard, he and Seth and Will were diving into the bushes to conceal themselves from Featherweight, who was approaching them at a rapid gallop. They had barely time to hide behind a log in the thicket before he came up. They saw him open his eyes in astonishment when he discovered the schooner, and watched him closely[216] while he hitched his horse, stepped into the yawl, and pushed off to visit her. Every one of them regarded his appearance there at that particular time as a most unfortunate occurrence, and they would have been glad to prevent him from going on board the vessel, had it not been for the fear of raising a disturbance with him and thus attracting the attention of Mr. Bell.
“Everything is going wrong,” said Bayard, angrily. “We ought to be off now hunting for Wilson, but here’s another spy that demands our attention. Why did he come here where he isn’t wanted?”
“He’ll certainly be discovered,” remarked Seth.
“And if he isn’t, we’ll catch him when he comes ashore,” said Bayard. “He will learn some things he ought not to know, and it will never do to let him go back to his friends. I’ll just creep up through the bushes and catch his horse.”
This was easier said than done. The pony was a vicious little fellow, and did not care to have any one except his master approach him. When he discovered Bayard advancing upon him through the thicket he laid back his ears as if to warn him that he had come near enough; and when the boy arose[217] to his feet and extended his hand to seize him by the bridle, the pony faced about, kicked at him with both heels, broke his halter, and scampered away to carry consternation among the members of the Sportsman’s Club, who were already growing weary at the non-appearance of their jolly little Secretary. Bayard returned to his companions, grumbling over his failure, and seating himself beside them in the bushes, waited to see what was going to happen on board the schooner. Nor was he obliged to wait long, for before the next quarter of an hour had passed away the events we have already described had taken place; Coulte and Pierre had gone ashore with Chase; and Mr. Bell had also left the vessel and started for home. Nothing more was seen of Featherweight, and Will declared that that was evidence enough that he had been discovered and retained as a prisoner.
“I think so too,” said Bayard, with a long sigh of relief. “He is out of the way, but there is one left, and that is Wilson. He must be secured at all hazards, and that too before he reaches the village.”
“But what shall we do with him when we get him?” asked Seth. “We’ve no place to keep him.”
[218]
“Let’s catch him first, and talk about that afterward,” replied Bayard. “I am more than ever interested in the welfare of this band, now that I know that my father is connected with it. That gets ahead of me completely, for I never dreamed of such a thing.”
Bayard and his cousins, being eager to begin the pursuit, did not linger to talk this matter over, but made the best of their way toward the ravine where they had left their horses. After they had mounted, the question arose: which way should they go to find Wilson? Considerable time was consumed in debating this point, but it was finally decided that the only thing they could do was to ride along the road toward the village. If Wilson had not already gone there, they would certainly intercept him by following thi............