Black Mayo did not spare his good horse, but the train whistled long
before he reached Redville, and a desperate spurt of speed only brought
him to the station as the train was pulling out. He flung himself off
Rosinante and ran down the platform--just too late to clutch the rear
railing of the last coach.
There was no one in sight; the station agent did not meet this early
train, and the telegraph office would not be open for another hour.
Mr. Osborne stood a moment, looking after the departing train. Then,
frowning, he got on Rosinante and rode slowly homeward. Half a mile
from the station he met Jake Andrews, coming on merely because he had
started, and much surprised at seeing the fugitive whom he had long ago
given up hopes of overtaking.
“Andrews,” Mr. Osborne said crisply, “come with me to Smith’s place. We
must make certain----”
“Come with you!” Andrews recovered himself enough to sneer. “You’ll
come with me, under arrest.”
“Nonsense, man!” Black Mayo threw open his coat and displayed a badge
that made Andrews stare. “Don’t make yourself a bigger laughingstock
than you’re bound to be when people find out you let yourself be that
scoundrel’s tool.”
“Wh-what do you mean, Mr. Mayo?” stammered Andrews.
“Come and find out,” commanded Mr. Osborne.
Down the road they met a party of horsemen; Mr. Tavis, Mr. Blair--oh!
the whole Village, astonished at Black Mayo’s arrest, was following
after, hoping to have the mystery explained.
But for the moment Black Mayo made no explanation.
“Come!” he said, hurrying on to the old Tolliver place.
Albert Smith came out to meet them. His eyelids were red, and he looked
lonesome and miserable, but he met Mr. Osborne’s eyes bravely and
frankly answered his questions. His uncle had gone away very early that
morning.
“Exit Karl Schmidt, alias Charles Smith, German propagandist, bridge
destroyer, et cetera!” said Black Mayo, looking around at his
companions.
There was a chorus of surprised exclamations.
“Where has he gone?” thundered Andrews, turning to Albert.
“I do not know, I do not want to know. I have nothing to tell you about
my uncle,” the boy answered in a low, firm voice.
“You’d better--”
“Stop that!” Black Mayo checked Andrews’ blustering, and put a
protecting hand on Albert’s shoulder. “But what are you to do, my boy?”
Albert’s lip quivered. “My uncle said I might go to our cousin in New
York. But I do not want that. I like it here. I like to study and
war-garden and help liberty. I want to be American.”
“Well, you can make plans later,” Mr. Osborne said kindly. “Now get
your horse and come home with me and let’s have our breakfast.”
Albert went to the stable, watched suspiciously by Jake Andrews, who
began a mumbling which Black Mayo interrupted. “Oh, I forgot! Mr.
Andrews has a warrant to serve against me. Shall we----”
Andrews, turning fiery red, jerked out his warrant and tore it in two.
“And I let that man make a fool of me!”
“Yes,” Black Mayo agreed tranquilly.
“But if you knew all this--you had authority, being a Secret Service
man--why didn’t you arrest him?” demanded Andrews.
“Because there were things we wanted to find out, details of a plot,
proof against its leaders. I don’t mind telling now--you’re an officer
of the law and these others are friends--the tall, fair man who came to
Larkland was Thomas Milner. You’ve heard of him?”
“Not the big Secret Service chap?” exclaimed Andrews.
“Yes. I was in Washington, to make a report to him, when Smith sent you
fellows to Larkland to nose about.”
“If Mrs. Osborne had told me----” Andrews began to mumble.
“She didn’t know; and she wouldn’t have told you if she had known.”
“But why did Smith set us on you?”
“Oh! partly revenge for a beating I gave him last year and a fracas
we had later, and partly, no doubt, to shield himself from suspicion
by turning it on me and my guest. If he had suspected who that guest
was----” Black Mayo chuckled.
“But what was Smith doing?” asked Mr. Blair.
“This little out-of-the-way corner was a good place for him to
lie quiet between jobs. He didn’t do much right here except some
mischief-making among foolish negroes and silly whites.” Jake Andrews
reddened, but Mr. Osborne did not look at him. “Instead of being a
chewing-gum salesman, as he pretended, Smith had a nice little business
of directing bomb throwers. He got plans of all the railroad bridges in
this section, with a view to their destruction, so as to hinder troop
movements. The high bridge was such a tempting mark that he wanted a
whack at it himself, preferably with a troop train on it. I found out
that just in time.
“Now, Andrews, you’d better go to Redville; the telegraph office will
be open. Mr. Jones comes down on that 8.45 train, and he must wire up
and down the road, and see that Smith is arrested.”
“I’ll do whatever you say, Mr. Osborne,” Andrews said humbly.
“Here comes Albert. Well, folks, let’s go home. A fine morning for an
early ride.”
It was, indeed, a glorious day, early November in Southside Virginia.
The sunshine lighted up the bright gold of hickory and the pale gold
of down-fluttering locust leaves and the tawny purple of black haw and
the rich or flaming reds of oaks and Virginia creeper, all the more
splendid against the steadfast green of pines.
“Our woods look like an army with banners,” said Black Mayo. “Banners
of victory! It’s at hand,” he said confidently.
Ever since Château-Thierry, the Allies had been on the offensive. The
_mittel-Europa_ dream of Germany faded as Bulgaria and Turkey and
Austria-Hungary fell. Only Germany was left now. And all the world, and
none better than the kaiser and Von Hindenburg and Ludendorff, knew
that she soon must yield. “Retreat! retreat! retreat!” was the one
order. Never again, “Forward!”
The victory news came two days later. David had ridden to Redville for
the daily _Dispatch_, and he came galloping up The Street, waving a
paper that had a big black headline:
“ARMISTICE SIGNED!”
The President had gone before Congress and given it the great tidings.
“My fellow countrymen: The armistice was signed this morning.
Everything for which America fought has been accomplished. The war thus
comes to an end.”
For over four years Europe had been a battlefield for the nations of
the world. The conflict was less between nations than between two
principles: The right of kings to govern through armies, and the right
of people to govern themselves by law and justice. When the fate of the
world seemed in doubt, America turned the scale for right and justice.
A day or two after the great armistice news, Black Mayo went with the
Village young folks to the Old Sterling Mine; they were all curious to
see the scene of Anne and Dick’s perilous adventure.
“I wish Albert had come with us,” said David.
“He preferred to stay at home,” said Mr. Osborne. “Naturally he feels
badly about his uncle’s arrest; the fellow’ll probably have a long term
in a federal prison.”
“What’ll become of Albert?” asked Anne.
“Oh, he’ll get on all right. He’s a good little American,” replied Mr.
Osborne. He did not say that he and his wife were planning to adopt the
little fellow who had endeared himself to them both.
“Our boys will be coming back soon,” rejoiced David.
“Those who are left of them,” Anne said soberly.
Alas! there was a gold star for Mrs. Hight’s son William, and Jeff
Spencer was still missing. But the other Village boys would have
honorable discharges, and Fayett Mallett was bringing back a _Croix de
Guerre_.
“If only I had been older----” David began enviously.
“Well,” Mr. Osborne said, “I wanted to go, too, but if I had and we had
lost our bridge and perhaps a trainload of soldiers or supplies----
Ah, David, we stay-at-homes can look our soldier boys in the face and
say, ‘We, too, did our part.’ Those brave fellows over there would have
been helpless if we here hadn’t been brave enough to do our duty.”
Anne had been walking quietly along beside Mr. Osborne. Now she said in
an undertone, “Cousin Mayo, I----” Then she stopped.
“Well, Anne?”
“Cousin Mayo, I--I----” Then she blurted out, “I was to blame about
their thinking--about your arrest.”
“You to blame? Of course not!”
“The stranger I saw at Larkland that morning--I thought--I said it was
Kuno Kleist. And Jake Andrews heard me.”
“It was Mr. Milner. As I did not present you to him, you ought not to
have mentioned him or guessed his name. The lips of an honorable guest
are sealed to the secrets of a house.” Mr. Osborne spoke gravely; The
Village had its standard of good breeding not to be lowered for its
young people; they must rise to it.
“Yes, Cousin Mayo,” said Anne. “I’m awful sorry. I was so excited,
thinking it was Kuno Kleist.”
“I thought so, too,” said Patsy.
“You will never see Kuno, my dears,” Mr. Osborne said sadly. “He is
dead.”
“Dead!”
“Murdered. His sister wrote to me from Switzerland. He came home
once on a furlough, and she asked him if the tales were true about
brutalities to conquered people. He said: ‘I hope those things will not
be required of me; I am a human being before I am a German.’
“A month later came the news that he had been shot for refusing to obey
orders. She learned the details later from a comrade. An old Frenchman
had fired on a drunken German soldier who insulted his daughter,
and Kuno was one of a squad ordered to shoot a dozen citizens in
retaliation--men and women and children drawn by lot. Kuno refused. He
was put in front of the firing squad and was shot by his own comrades.”
“I am so sorry,” Anne said softly.
“I am so glad,” Black Mayo said, with a tender smile. “Death was his
only gate to freedom from the wicked tyranny of Prussia.”
“Old Prussia’s beat at last, thanks be!” said Patsy. “What will the
Allies do to the Germans, Cousin Mayo?”
“Say to them, as Julius Cæsar said to the Germans two thousand years
ago: ‘Go back whence you came, repair the damage you have done, and
give hostages to keep the peace for the future!’”
“Peace!” said Anne. “Your doves are birds of peace now, Cousin Mayo.”
“And again they find a deluged world.”
“Oh, sound gladder, Cousin Mayo!” cried Dick. “We’ve won the war;
and--thanks to Albert and me helping this year--we walloped the girls
in garden work and took the silver cup. Oh, it’s a fine old world!” He
danced a jig on the roadside.
His cousin smiled in sympathy. “I don’t want to be a wet blanket, young
uns,” he said. “We did splendid work in war. When I look ahead, I see
such stupendous peace tasks that--well, it makes me solemn. Oh, well!
we’ll grope and stumble a little, but we are on an upward path, with
old ideals and new vision ahead of us--and thank God for the leader
with vision.”
This talk brought them to the top of the long hill that led to Mine
Creek.
“There’s Unc’ Isham’s cabin, still as a graveyard,” remarked Dick. “I
wonder where he and Aunt Lily Belle are?”
“They ran away because they’re scared of being punished,” said Steve.
“They’d better be scared; mean things!” exclaimed Patsy.
“Oh! Unc’ Isham didn’t want to hurt me,” said Anne. “He was just afraid
to tell where I was. It was mighty comforting to hear the way he
talked.”
“I say it was!” Dick agreed emphatically. “The old nig was in a tight
place, with Cæsar threatening to kill him.”
“And there’s Solomon Gabe’s house,” said David.
The door was open; but the house was a mere shell from which its
occupant had gone forever. When his son was captured, the half-crazed
old negro had rushed back to his poor little home and, overcome by
haste and terror, he had fallen dead on the threshold. There the
officers of the law had found him.
“It was Solomon Gabe--poor old misguided wretch!--who set fire to Broad
Acres,” said Mr. Osborne.
“What! Did he burn Broad Acres?” exclaimed Patsy.
“Oh, Cousin Mayo! How do you know?” asked Alice.
“Dick heard Emma say that night that ‘the old devil was burning little
Miss Anne.’ At first I couldn’t get anything out of her; she insisted
it was Satan she meant. But, now that Solomon Gabe is dead, she
confesses that he told her the night before not to let Mary Jane sleep
at Broad Acres; ‘the torch of the Lord was lit for that house.’ She
kept her daughter at home; and then she was afraid to tell, partly for
fear of being blamed herself and still more from fear of Solomon Gabe.
I’m pretty sure he put the glass in the flour at Larkland. He was at
the mill that day, I remember.”
“Do you reckon any of the other darkies knew about it?” asked Anne.
“They probably knew a little and suspected more; like Emma they were
afraid to tell.”
“Louviny talked mighty queer one day when Patsy and I were there,” said
Anne.
“Smith had made all sorts of promises and threats to her and Lincum,”
said Mr. Osborne. “When Kit destroyed the war gardens, he was merely
acting in the spirit of what he heard at home. Scalawag told us about
that; didn’t he, Billy boy?”
“Yes, sirree!” said Sweet William, waggling his head proudly. “Hasn’t
anybody helped war gardens more than me and Scalawag.”
“Look here, Anne! Here’s where I found your footprints, turning from
the road up to the path,” said Dick.
“I saw somebody through the bushes; I thought it was you, and I
followed, down that ladder; and then that man--I didn’t know who he
was--pushed me in the pit and pulled out the ladder. Oh, Dick! here’s
where I thought they had us, on the way out. I stepped on a twig, and
it snapped--like a pistol shot it sounded.” Anne shuddered at the
memory.
“What--who’s that?” Dick exclaimed, looking earnestly into the woods at
the left.
“Nothing; nobody,” David said carelessly. “Well, here’s your mine hole,
with the ladder in it still.”
They all went into the mine and examined it with a great deal of
interest, especially the hole in which Anne and Dick had hidden. Black
Mayo lingered there after the others were ready to go.
“This place looks as if it had been intentionally and carefully
concealed,” he said; “the hole was covered with poles and then a layer
of dirt over it. I wonder why? Suppose we investigate a little. We have
plenty of time.”
“Mother says she never expects us back till night when we go off with
you,” laughed Patsy.
“Righto!” said Mr. Osborne. “Dickon, haven’t you some mining tools
hereabouts, a spade and pick and shovel?”
“Yes, sir.” Dick grinned.
“Well, we’ll get ready to use them. I’ll show you mining methods used
by the old Phœnicians and by the Mexicans to-day. Let’s pile these
poles and logs against the face of the rock.”
The old timbers were piled as Black Mayo directed. Then he put leaves
and twigs under the dry wood.
“It’s your party, Dick,” he said, when all was ready. “You may stick
a match to the kindling, and then we’ll flee to the open. We couldn’t
stand the smoke. Besides we’ve work to do out there.”
As the bonfire flared and roared, they went scrambling up the ladder.
“Now,” said Black Mayo, “we’ll go to Peter Jim’s cabin and borrow all
his buckets and tubs. We must fill them with water and have it ready.”
“Ready for what?” inquired Dick.
“I’ll show you presently,” said Black Mayo.
The wondering young folks carried out his instructions, and then sat
around the old mine from which smoke poured as from a chimney.
All at once Dick again said sharply, “What’s that?” He looked down the
wooded, rocky slope to the left. “I knew I saw somebody!” he exclaimed,
and ran down the hill.
There was a rustle and stir in a clump of chinquapin bushes. The
foliage parted and a black face peered out, a man’s frightened,
pathetic old face. Suddenly a pair of bony black arms were thrust out
wildly from behind, clutched the woolly head, and dragged it back.
There was a violent struggle, and screeches and sobs and loud, excited
talking.
“Oh, Dick, Dick! Come back!” Patsy screamed in terror.
For Dick had vanished in the thicket, the scene of that strange
commotion. Mr. Osborne and David and Steve ran to find him and to see
what was the matter.
Just then Dick reappeared, followed by an old negro man with a woman
tugging at his coat tails. It was Isham and Lily Belle.
“Come on away!” she was wailing. “Uh, what you let ’em see you for? My
old man, my old man! Dey got to kill me, too, when dey kill you.”
“Hush that racket. You’re all right,” said Dick.
Isham went to Anne and put up appealing hands. “I didn’t mean you no
harm, Miss Anne,” he sobbed. “I wouldn’t ’a’ teched a hair o’ yore
head.”
“I know you wouldn’t, Unc’ Isham,” said Anne. “Oh, don’t cry! Do stop
crying! Oh! we’re so glad to see you. We’ve wondered where you were.”
“We runned away,” said Lily Belle. “We--we started to runned
away--an’--an’----”
“Den we crope back,” said Isham. “We done lived here all our lives,
an’ we couldn’t go traipsin’ ’round strange neighborhoods. We ruther
you-all would kill us here at home.”
“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” Anne assured them. “We know you didn’t
mean any harm. Oh, Uncle Isham! Dick and I were hiding in a hole in the
mine, and we heard you telling Cæsar he mustn’t hurt me. We are all
your friends, and you’re just as safe as we are.”
Lily Belle forgot her fears. “I told you so, old man,” she cried; “I
told you to come on out them bushes. Ain’t nobody gwine to hurt us. Our
white folks is gwine to take keer of us. Um, um! Come on home, old man;
an’ ain’t we glad to git back!”
By this time the smoke came in lessening swirls from the mine hole. Mr.
Osborne and the boys carried the tub into the mine and set it at the
edge of the hole, and filled it with water.
“Now for a smotheration!” he said.
He poured bucketful after bucketful of water on the hot rock. It filled
the air with choking, blinding steam; and through its hissing came time
after time, like pistol shots, the popping of the rock.
As soon as the steam cleared away a little, Black Mayo and the boys set
to work with pick and hammer. In a few minutes a large piece of the
split rock was broken off. The gray-green mass was full of glittering
specks and streaks.
“Well, my boy, you found it!” said Mr. Osborne, turning to Dick.
“Found it?” echoed the boys and girls who were crowding around.
“Found the lost vein of silver. It was true, then, that tale about the
rascally mine manager. Evidently he concealed this place, hoping to get
possession of the mine and work it. But he died without being able to
carry out his plan. And now the mine comes back to its rightful owners.”
“Its rightful owners!” stammered Dick. He had not thought of any right
except the right of discovery. “Rightful owner!” he repeated in dismay,
remembering that this land had been bought by Mr. Smith.
“Yes; to your father and me, among other heirs,” said his cousin. “Our
grandfather never lost faith in the mine, and when he sold the land he
reserved the mineral rights. Your tumbling into this hole was a lucky
accident. But for that, the secret of the old mine’s treasure might
have remained hidden another half century, and you and I might have
died without knowing it.”
“We surely might.” Dick’s eyes grew grave, then he turned with a
shining face to his young cousin. “Ah, Anne! that’s a real treasure
hole. Silver isn’t the”--he went closer to her and dropped his
voice--“the dearest thing it’s kept hidden and safe. But for it--oh!
what would have become of you that awful night?”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.