Scarcely had Cross and his companion in guilt retired from their dark
conclave to carry out their dreadful purpose, when a young man arose
stealthily from off a rude mattress upon which he had been lying,
listened a moment, then hastily threw on a coat which had served him for
a pillow, and with light steps proceeded towards the door; his further
progress was now arrested, for the key had been removed, and the lock
was bolted. Somewhat alarmed at this hindrance, he cast his eye
anxiously along the front windows, and proceeded to undo the fastenings
on the inside, when a thought occurred to him, that if he escaped
through that opening, it would be noticed on the return of the owner of
the store, which, from what he had overheard, would be in a few moments.
He therefore replaced the bolt, and hastily retreated to a building
connected with the store and running back from it. Here, too, by some
unaccountable purpose, he was again frustrated; the door was fastened
and the key withdrawn; and, to his consternation, he heard footsteps and
voices. Cross, and the gang of wretches he had awaked from their lair,
which was in one of the out-houses connected with his establishment,
were about to enter the store--he to give his instructions to them, to
inspire them with the hellish draught; and they to go hence on their
errand of mischief. To remain where he was, and be discovered, his life
would not be worth a mention; that he well knew. Above his head was a
trap-door, opening into the loft which ran over the store. The covering
was removed, he sprang upon a barrel, the nearest article to where he
stood; making a desperate effort, his hands grasped the sides of the
hole--he heard the key rattling in the lock, exerted himself with an
energy the fear of death alone could have inspired, and drew at
arms-length the whole weight of his body through the aperture. The door
opened, and Cross entered with three of the creatures around whom he had
wound the coils of iniquity, until they had become the slaves of his
will.
'Now, boys, sit down here. Dick, there's the measure--draw away, and
help yourselves.'
Nothing was said in reply; the running liquor alone sounded through the
still room, and then the smack of the lips as each in turn gulped down
the liquid fire.
'I wouldn't have called you, boys, to-night, but I have a job on hand
that must be done now or never.'
'We're ready,' said two of the persons addressed, who were now seated on
a bench near the counter.
'You are all ready, I hope,' said Cross, who stood up before them, and
eyed the individual who was the youngest of the three, and had not
united in the assent. 'No skulking now, Jo.'
'No, no, I'm ready for any thing--that is, I s'pose you don't want no
bloody work?'
'You are always afraid of blood, Jo. I've never set you at any such
work, have I?'
'No, not exactly--but we have come pretty near it sometimes, you know.'
'"Pretty near it"--never hurt any body.'
'Well, let's have the story,' said the eldest of the gang; 'if there is
any thing to do to-night, it's time to be about it.'
'You are the fellow, Dick;'--and Cross laid his hand familiarly on the
ruffian, and gave him one or two hearty slaps on the back, in
manifestation of his warm approval, and as a stimulant to the
performance of his reasonable request.
The demand of Mr. Cross upon their services was made in a low tone, and
listened to by them with the deepest attention, each head drooping, and
with eyes in a gazing attitude fixed upon the floor.
His directions were given with great clearness; the horses they were to
ride, the part of the premises they were to fire, which of them was to
enter the house and seize the trunk, and who the individual that should
bear it with, the utmost speed to the dark rendezvous, where he, Cross,
would be in waiting to receive it.
'And if it goes well, you shall be made men--you hear _that_?'
'Yes.' But they had heard the same before, and were yet the drudges of
his will. His power over them they knew--his frown they feared; and his
command must be obeyed.
Every word that passed came up with painful distinctness to the ears of
the young man who lay above them, almost breathless in his dread lest
some sound, even the beat of his heart against the planks, should be
heard, and his presence discovered. He knew well the desperate character
of the men, and that he must move with wary steps.
Every thing is at length arranged, and he hears them again fortifying
their spirits by a deep draught. The door is opened, and one by one they
steal out, but apparently with little zest for the work before them.
Cross waited a moment on the threshold, until they disappeared amid the
dark pines, and then, muttering curses on the men who were about to
blacken their souls with a heinous crime for his sake, he stepped back
into the store, poured out some gin from his bottle, took a long drink,
threw himself into one of the chairs, and, leaning back against the
counter, amused himself with swinging his heel against one of the rungs.
Bill Brown--for it was he who had been the providential listener to this
vile scheme, had learned more in one short lesson than through his whole
life before. Light, as though from heaven, flashed upon him; the
dreadful character of his employer was revealed in all its blackness.
Fear, likewise, had taken hold upon him; a groan, a movement, even too
loud a breath, might place him in an instant on the verge of eternity.
And then, too, the dreadful fate which hung over that family. Bill had
been a recreant to the path of duty; his mother's counsels he had set
light by, and too often had he ridiculed the interest which she felt in
those friends of her early days, and had done his best to persuade
Hettie against making her home there: but now he would give half his
life for the power of flying to them. How he longed to grapple with the
hateful wretch, and then spread the alarm ere their mansion was wrapped
in flames, and perhaps some of the family victims to their fury. But he
knew that Cross was armed, and a powerful man.
The tramp of horses is heard; his heart sinks within him; furiously they
pass the place, and far, far away, the sounds come back fainter and
fainter upon the stillness of the night.
How long he thus remained he could not tell, for minutes are hours when
the heart is in such an exciting suspense. At length he hears the snap
of a watch-case. Cross rises from his seat, opens the door, fastens it
from without, and is off. Bill waited not to hear his retiring
footsteps; he springs to the floor, hastens to a window, of which he had
not thought in his first attempt; it opened on one side of the building,
and was seldom used. The sash creaked as he forced it through the mouldy
casement, and, quickly letting himself down, carefully closed the
shutters, and then looking round as though the avenger of blood might be
watching for him, crossed the road, and entered a thick covert of pines.
He turned and looked at the long dark building where he had wasted so
much of his past life--
'If I once get beyond your reach, good-by to you for ever.'
Distracting were the thoughts which rioted within the mind of this
youth. He was sure that the villains were full an hour in advance of
him, and the work of destruction no doubt begun ere this. To pursue
them, would be fruitless as preventing the catastrophe; to go in the
opposite direction and seek his mother's home, would be to fill her soul
with unavailable terrors. No house was near, but the one from which he
had just escaped--no human being within some miles, to whom he should
dare communicate what he knew. It was full nine miles to Mr.
Rutherford's. His utmost haste would only enable him, in all
probability, to witness the smouldering ruins of their mansion, and, oh,
dreadful thought! the ashes of his own sister perhaps. He could think no
further; the spirit of vengeance stirred strong within--he groped about
for something that might serve him for a weapon, and laid hold of a
strong chesnut club; brandishing it in his hand and testing its strength
by a blow upon the ground--
'If I can do nothing more, I will make one of them feel the weight of an
avenging arm.'
He is resolved to urge on his way towards the scene of mischief. He
remembers, too, that in the instructions which Cross had given, one of
them on the fleetest horse, was to seize the trunk and hasten off. He
might meet him alone, and possibly rescue the prize, if nothing more.
Never had the road seemed so interminable, and his utmost speed was to
his burning spirit but a snail's pace. Still he presses on--a long hill
is before him; when he reaches its summit he will be near the edge of
the barrens. He heeds not the ascent--his whole frame is nerved with an
energy he never has felt before--it is his first essay in the path of
duty. As he reaches the top a faint streak of light seems to tinge the
distant cloud--his heart beats with deep emotion--an instant more, and a
flush of light suffuses the whole heavens. He could scream in the
intensity of his feelings. He thinks he hears a sound--he pauses to
listen--it is--it is--the fiendish plot is accomplished, and the
villains are returning with the spoil. The tramp of one horse, however,
can only be heard as yet; the rider doubtless bears the fatal treasure.
The resolution of a whole life fires his breast and nerves him with a
fixed determination to grapple with the wretch--the horseman is
galloping up the hill--his jaded beast lags as he nears the top. Bill
crouches behind some bushes near the travelled path--his eye is on the
horseman--it has caught sight of the burden borne in front of him. With
a single bound he grasps the rein at the horse's head, and levelling a
desperate blow, brings rider and trunk to the ground. The horse,
affrighted, tears down the road, and makes directly for his home. Bill
stoops to secure the trunk, not knowing or caring whether his victim is
dead or not, when his antagonist, who is only stunned by the blow,
springs upon him! They know each other well, and have often tried each
other's strength in sport; they are nearly matched--both young, and
possessed of great muscular power. Bill is now nerved with the energy of
right, and the other with the strength of despair, maddened, too, with a
desire for revenge. The violence with which they grapple brings both to
the earth--it is a death-struggle--each endeavoring to get his opponent
under, and each by turns gaining the advantage, until at length Bill
lies apparently at the mercy of his adversary, whose hand is fast
clenched to his throat, while he exerts his utmost strength to strangle
him. Bill feels that his hour has come, for the death-grip which binds
his throat is palsying his strength. One arm, however, is free--he
clutches in his despair for something that might serve him for a
weapon--his club lay within his grasp--hope springs to his heart--he
brings down the weapon with a desperate effort, and it fell on the head
of his opponent. Bill felt the tight clench relax, and putting forth
his last powers, renews the blow. It has done the work. With scarce
strength enough to throw off the body of the now helpless man, he
attempts to rise, but in his effort to do this, the blood gushed in a
torrent from his lungs. He believes that he has killed the wretched
being beside him, and that he himself is parting with life. His reason
is bright as ever--he takes up the trunk, and creeping as he best can,
leaves the road, hoping to reach a hut which he knows is near by,
deliver his charge, and then die, if so it must be. But his strength is
less than he supposes--he can drag his trembling body but a short
distance. Gradually his powers depart--a strange and dreamy sleep comes
over him, and soon all earthly sounds and sense of earthly care are
gone; and there he lies, still clenching the object for which he
struggled so desperately.
Scarcely had this scene transpired when the companions of the wretched
being who lay stretched upon the highway came hurrying along; their
horse started from the track. Casting their eyes at the object that had
caused it, they both sprang to the earth, examined a moment to ascertain
who and what it was, and then looking at each other, simultaneously
uttered a horrid oath. But there was no time to loiter; the body must
not be there to tell a tale.
'He's dead, Dick; so let's throw him across the horse and be off.'
'He's dead enough, Jo; but where is the trunk? we can't go without that.
We had better not meet the old man, if that is gone.'
Uttering all kinds of imprecations on their own souls for having had
anything to do with the business, and wishing old Cross all manner of
evil, as they groped about in vain for the prolific cause of all this
mischief, in utter desperation they caught hold of the body: a groan
caused them to drop it instantly--
'Ned, are you alive? Can you tell us where the trunk is?' There was no
reply; but the body was warm, and of course life was in it. How to
proceed they knew not; and their guilty consciences urged them to do
something with speed. In their dilemma, they sent forth again on the
still night-air curses too profane for human ears; the light, too, of
that foul deed they had committed was growing brighter and brighter; far
over the murky sky it spread, and its blood-red glare came down upon
them, exposing to their strained eyes the first tokens of the avenger's
rod.
At length, in their desperation, they determined to place the wounded
and dying man astride the horse, between them. It was no easy matter to
accomplish this, and more than one groan escaped the sufferer; but the
strait they were in was urgent; they could not be deterred by trifles.
Not far from the dwelling of Mr. Cross, about half a mile in a direct
line, a great change was visible in the size of the timber and the
aspect of the woods: the fine tall trees, with no undergrowth, and
scarcely a bush to obstruct the passage through them in any direction,
were suddenly exchanged for a thick and tangled mass of scrub pines,
intermixed with alder and black birch. The road leading through it, or
rather into it, showed clearly its unfrequented condition; the whole
tract being left, after the first fine growth of timber had been taken
off, to bring forth what it best could, none then living expecting to
reap much benefit from it. The soil was sandy, with scarcely any stones
to be seen, except occasionally a small boulder, which, as it lay
disconnected with any of its species, impressed the mind with the idea
that it was out of its place, and was there by accident.
One spot, however, on this lone region, presented a singular contrast to
all the rest; a few rods from the only road which passed into it, was an
open, clear place, almost a perfect circle in its form, and about a
hundred feet in diameter, upon which was neither shrub nor tree; the
whole area being a flat granite rock, without seam or crack; it was not,
indeed, a perfect level, but the protuberances upon its surface were
scarcely noticeable, except as you walked across it.
To this spot had Cross directed his emissaries, after they should have
accomplished his purpose. It was lonely and desolate, and well chosen
for such a rendezvous.
What were his feelings, as he paced up and down that rock, lighted by
the lurid glare reflected from the cloud above him, it would not be very
profitable for us to know; nor shall I attempt to uncover the hideous
secrets of such a heart. But there he walked and watched for two long
hours--long indeed they seemed to him--and as he paused ever and anon to
listen for approaching steps, would curse their tardiness, and then
resume his lone, heavy tramp.
At length he heard the sound of voices, and the slow tread of a single
horse. In his haste to anticipate the accomplishment of his vile wish,
he left the rock and hurried to the road; one of them had dismounted,
and was about to pass from the road to the trysting-place, the other
maintained his place upon the horse, holding the helpless body of his
companion.
Their tale was soon told, for there was not much to say; mystery lay
upon every thing concerning the wounded man, or the trunk which had been
committed to him.
Cross listened awhile to their story, his rage gathering fire, until,
bursting through all bounds, it broke forth like a volcano. He caught
the one who was standing near him, by the throat, and drawing a pistol
from his breast--
'You lie, you villain! you know you lie! Tell me this moment where you
have put that trunk, or I will blow your perjured soul from your
body--tell me, quick.'
Overcome with fatigue from the great exertion of the night, and with a
consciousness of the atrocity of their crime, the young man exclaimed,
in broken accents, weeping as he spoke,
'You may blow my soul out, if you please, Mr. Cross; but as there is a
God above, I cannot tell you where it is.'
Throwing the young man away from him with a force that brought him to
the earth, he dashed the pistol down with maniac rage, tore his hair,
foamed at the mouth, and fairly howled in the violence of his anger. For
a while the witnesses looked on in apparent apathy, seeming to care but
little how much he vented his spite upon himself. At length the one who
still retained his seat upon the horse, very coolly asked,
'What shall we do with Ned? If he was dead we might bury him; but seeing
there is life in him, it wouldn't be quite so well, may be; he may yet
come to, so as to tell who hurt him, and may be some other things had
better be seen to, for the night is wearing away, and--'
Cross, enraged as he was, felt that there was reason in this, and,
moreover, that it was of the greatest consequence to him that the
wounded man should be taken care of, and placed beyond the reach of
meddlers.
'You are right. Take him down to the back part of the east swamp--you
know who lives there. Tell Meg I sent him; that no one must know he is
there; she must do what she can to bring life in him, and as soon as he
can speak, to let me know.'
He stooped and picked up his pistol, uncocked the trigger, replaced it
in his bosom, and walked on his way, muttering curses, and pondering on
the best manner to avert the danger of discovery which these untoward
events threatened.