When Tom Brixton had descended the river some eight or ten miles he
deemed himself pretty safe from his pursuers, at least for the time
being, as his rate of progress with the current far exceeded the pace at
which men could travel on foot; and besides, there was the strong
probability that, on reaching the spot where the canoe had been entered
and the bag of gold left on the bank, the pursuers would be partially
satisfied as well as baffled, and would return home.
On reaching a waterfall, therefore, where the navigable part of the
river ended and its broken course through Bevan's Gully began, he landed
without any show of haste, drew the canoe up on the bank, where he left
it concealed among bushes, and began quietly to descend by a narrow
footpath with which he had been long familiar.
Up to that point the unhappy youth had entertained no definite idea as
to why he was hurrying towards the hut of Paul Bevan, or what he meant
to say for himself on reaching it. But towards noon, as he drew near to
it, the thought of Betty in her innocence and purity oppressed him. She
rose before his mind's eye like a reproving angel.
How could he ever face her with the dark stain of a mean theft upon his
soul? How could he find courage to confess his guilt to her? or,
supposing that he did not confess it, how could he forge the tissue of
lies that would be necessary to account for his sudden appearance, and
in such guise--bloodstained, wounded, haggard, and worn out with fatigue
and hunger? Such thoughts now drove him to the verge of despair. Even
if Betty were to refrain from putting awkward questions, there was no
chance whatever of Paul Bevan being so considerate. Was he then to
attempt to deceive them, or was he to reveal all? He shrank from
answering the question, for he believed that Bevan was an honest man,
and feared that he would have nothing further to do with him when he
learned that he had become a common thief. A thief! How the idea
burned into his heart, now that the influence of strong drink no longer
warped his judgment!
"Has it _really_ come to this?" he muttered, gloomily. Then, as he came
suddenly in sight of Bevan's hut, he exclaimed more cheerfully, "Come,
I'll make a clean breast of it."
Paul Bevan had pitched his hut on the top of a steep rocky mound, the
front of which almost overhung a precipice that descended into a deep
gully, where the tormented river fell into a black and gurgling pool.
Behind the hut flowed a streamlet, which being divided by the mound into
a fork, ran on either side of it in two deep channels, so that the hut
could only be reached by a plank bridge thrown across the lower or
western fork. The forked streamlet tumbled over the precipice and
descended into the dark pool below in the form of two tiny silver
threads. At least it would have done so if its two threads had not been
dissipated in misty spray long before reaching the bottom of the cliff.
Thus it will be seen that the gold-digger occupied an almost impregnable
fortress, though why he had perched himself in such a position no one
could guess, and he declined to tell. It was therefore set down, like
all his other doings, to eccentricity.
Of course there was so far a pretext for his caution in the fact that
there were scoundrels in those regions, who sometimes banded together
and attacked people who were supposed to have gold-dust about them in
large quantities, but as such assaults were not common, and as every one
was equally liable to them, there seemed no sufficient ground for
Bevan's excessive care in the selection of his fortress.
On reaching it, Tom found its owner cutting up some firewood near his
plank-bridge.
"Hallo, Brixton!" he cried, looking up in some surprise as the young man
advanced; "you seem to have bin in the wars. What have 'e been fightin'
wi', lad?"
"With a bear, Paul Bevan," replied Tom, sitting down on a log, with a
long-drawn sigh.
"You're used up, lad, an' want rest; mayhap you want grub also. Anyhow
you look awful bad. No wounds, I hope, or bones broken, eh?"
"No, nothing but a broken heart," replied Tom with a faint attempt to
smile.
"Why, that's a queer bit o' you for a b'ar to break. If you had said it
was a girl that broke it, now, I could have--"
"Where is Betty?" interrupted the youth, quickly, with an anxious
expression.
"In the hut, lookin' arter the grub. You'll come in an' have some, of
course. But I'm coorious to hear about that b'ar. Was it far from here
you met him?"
"Ay, just a short way this side o' Pine Tree Diggings."
"Pine Tree Diggin's!" repeated Paul in surprise. "Why, then, didn't you
go back to Pine Tree Diggin's to wash yourself an' rest, instead o'
comin' all the way here?"
"Because--because, Paul Bevan," said Tom with sudden earnestness, as he
gazed on the other's face, "because I'm a thief!"
"You might be worse," replied Bevan, while a peculiarly significant
smile played for a moment on his rugged features.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Tom, in amazement.
"Why, you might have bin a murderer, you know," replied Bevan, with a
nod.
The youth was so utterly disgusted with this cool, indifferent way of
regarding the matter, that he almost regretted having spoken. He had
been condemning himself so severely during the latter part of his
journey, and the meanness of his conduct as well as its wickedness had
been growing so dark in colour, that Bevan's unexpected levity took him
aback, and for a few seconds he could not speak.
"Listen," he said at last, seizing his friend by the arm and looking
earnestly into his eyes. "Listen, and I will tell you all about it."
The man became grave as Tom went on with his narrative.
"Yes, it's a bad business," he said, at its conclusion, "an uncommon bad
business. Got a very ugly look about it."
"You are right, Paul," said Tom, bowing his head, while a flush of shame
covered his face. "No one, I think, can be more fully convinced of the
meanness--the sin--of my conduct than I am now--"
"Oh! as to that," returned Bevan, with another of his peculiar smiles,
"I didn't exactly mean _that_. You were tempted, you know, pretty bad.
Besides, Bully Gashford is a big rascal, an' richly deserves what he
got. No, it wasn't that I meant--but it's a bad look-out for you, lad,
if they nab you. I knows the temper o' them Pine Tree men, an' they're
in such a wax just now that they'll string you up, as sure as fate, if
they catch you."
Again Tom was silent, for the lightness with which Bevan regarded his
act of theft only had the effect of making him condemn himself the more.
"But I say, Brixton," resumed Bevan, with an altered expression, "not a
word of all this to Betty. You haven't much chance with her as it is,
although I do my best to back you up; but if she came to know of this
affair, you'd not have the ghost of a chance at all--for you know the
gal is religious, more's the pity, though I will say it, she's a good
obedient gal, in spite of her religion, an' a 'fectionate darter to me.
But she'd never marry a thief, you know. You couldn't well expect her
to."
The dislike with which Tom Brixton regarded his companion deepened into
loathing as he spoke, and he felt it difficult to curb his desire to
fell the man to the ground, but the thought that he was Betty's father
soon swallowed up all other thoughts and feelings. He resolved in his
own mind that, come of it what might, he would certainly tell all the
facts to the girl, and then formally give her up, for he agreed with
Bevan at least on one point, namely, that he could not expect a good
religious girl to marry a thief!
"But you forget, Paul," he said, after a few moments' thought, "that
Betty is sure to hear about this affair the first time you have a
visitor from Pine Tree Diggings."
"That's true, lad, I did forget that. But you know you can stoutly deny
that it was you who did it. Say there was some mistake, and git up some
cock-an'-a-bull story to confuse her. Anyhow, say nothing about it just
now."
Tom was still meditating what he should say in reply to this, when Betty
herself appeared, calling her father to dinner.
"Now, mind, not a word about the robbery," he whispered as he rose, "and
we'll make as much as we can of the b'ar."
"Yes, not a word about it," thought Tom, "till Betty and I are alone,
and then--a clean breast and good-bye to her, for ever!"
During dinner the girl manifested more than usual sympathy with Tom
Brixton. She saw that he was almost worn out with fatigue, and listened
with intense interest to her father's embellished narrative of the
encounter with the "b'ar," which narrative Tom was forced to interrupt
and correct several times, in the course of its delivery. But this
sympathy did not throw her off her guard. Remembering past visits, she
took special care that Tom should have no opportunity of being alone
with her.
"Now, you must be off to rest," said Paul Bevan, the moment his visitor
laid down his knife and fork, "for, let me tell you, I may want your
help before night. I've got an enemy, Tom, an enemy who has sworn to be
the death o' me, and who _will_ be the death o' me, I feel sure o' that
in the long-run. However, I'll keep him off as long as I can. He'd
have been under the sod long afore now, lad--if--if it hadn't bin for my
Betty. She's a queer girl is Betty, and she's made a queer man of her
old father."
"But who is this enemy, and when--what--? explain yourself."
"Well, I've no time to explain either `when' or `what' just now, and you
have no time to waste. Only I have had a hint from a friend, early this
morning, that my enemy has discovered my whereabouts, and is following
me up. But I'm ready for him, and right glad to have your stout arm to
help--though you couldn't fight a babby just now. Lie down, I say, an'
I'll call you when you're wanted."
Ceasing to press the matter, Tom entered a small room, in one corner of
which a narrow bed, or bunk, was fixed. Flinging himself on this, he
was fast asleep in less than two minutes. "Kind nature's sweet
restorer" held him so fast, that for three hours he lay precisely as he
fell, without the slightest motion, save the slow and regular heaving of
his broad chest.
At the end of that time he was rudely shaken by a strong hand. The
guilty are always easily startled. Springing from his couch he had
seized Bevan by the throat before he was quite awake.
"Hist! man, not quite so fast" gasped his host shaking him off. "Come,
they've turned up sooner than I expected."
"What--who?" said Brixton, looking round.
"My enemy, of coorse, an' a gang of redskins to help him. They expect
to catch us asleep, but they'll find out their mistake soon enough.
That lad there brought me the news, and, you see, he an' Betty are
getting things ready."
Tom glanced through the slightly opened doorway, as he tightened his
belt, and saw Betty and a boy of about fourteen years of age standing at
a table, busily engaged loading several old-fashioned horse-pistols with
buckshot.
"Who's the boy?" asked Tom.
"They call him Tolly. I saved the little chap once from a grizzly b'ar,
an' he's a grateful feller, you see--has run a long way to give me
warnin' in time. Come, here's a shot-gun for you, charged wi' slugs.
I'm not allowed to use ball, you must know, 'cause Betty thinks that
balls kill an' slugs only wound! I humour the little gal, you see, for
she's a good darter to me. We've both on us bin lookin' forward to this
day, for we knowed it must come sooner or later, an' I made her a
promise that, when it did come, I'd only defend the hut wi' slugs. But
slugs ain't bad shots at a close range, when aimed low."
The man gave a sly chuckle and a huge wink as he said this, and entered
the large room of the hut.
Betty was very pale and silent. She did not even look up from the
pistol she was loading when Tom entered. The boy Tolly, however, looked
at his tall, strong figure with evident satisfaction.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, ramming down a charge of slugs with great energy;
"we'll be able to make a good fight without your services, Betty. Won't
we, old man?"
The pertly-put question was addressed to Paul Bevan, between whom and
the boy there was evidently strong affection.
"Yes, Tolly," replied Bevan, with a pleasant nod, "three men are quite
enough for the defence of this here castle."
"But, I say, old man," continued the boy, shaking a powder-horn before
his face, "the powder's all done. Where'll I git more?"
A look of anxiety flitted across Bevan's face.
"It's in the magazine. I got a fresh keg last week, an' thought it
safest to put it there till required--an' haven't I gone an' forgot to
fetch it in!"
"Well, that don't need to trouble you," returned the boy, "just show me
the magazine, an' I'll go an' fetch it in!"
"The magazine's over the bridge," said Bevan. "I dug it there for
safety. Come, Tom, the keg's too heavy for the boy. I must fetch it
myself, and you must guard the bridge while I do it."
He went out quickly as he spoke, followed by Tom and Tolly.
It was a bright moonlight night, and the forks of the little stream
glittered like two lines of silver, at the bottom of their rugged bed on
either side of the hut. The plank-bridge had been drawn up on the bank.
With the aid of his two allies Bevan quickly thrust it over the gulf,
and, without a moment's hesitation, sprang across. While Tom stood at
the inner end, ready with a double-barrelled gun to cover his friend's
retreat if necessary, he saw Bevan lift a trap-door not thirty yards
distant and disappear. A few seconds, and he re-appeared with a keg on
his shoulder.
All remained perfectly quiet in the dark woods around. The babbling
rivulet alone broke the silence of the night. Bevan seemed to glide
over the ground, he trod so softly.
"There's another," he whispered, placing the keg at Tom's feet, and
springing back towards the magazine. Again he disappeared, and, as
before, re-issued from the hole with the second keg on his shoulder.
Suddenly a phantom seemed to glide from the bushes, and fell him to the
earth. He dropped without even a cry, and so swift was the act that his
friends had not time to move a finger to prevent it. Tom, however,
discharged both barrels of his gun at the spot where the phantom seemed
to disappear, and Tolly Trevor discharged a horse pistol in the same
direction. Instantly a rattling volley was fired from the woods, and
balls whistled all round the defenders of the hut.
Most men in the circumstances would have sought shelter, but Tom
Brixton's spirit was of that utterly reckless character that refuses to
count the cost before action. Betty's father lay helpless on the ground
in the power of his enemies! That was enough for Tom. He leaped across
the bridge, seized the fallen man, threw him on his shoulder, and had
almost regained the bridge, when three painted Indians uttered a hideous
war-whoop and sprang after him.
Fortunately, having just emptied their guns, they could not prevent the
fugitive from crossing the bridge, but they reached it before there was
time to draw in the plank, and were about to follow, when Tolly Trevor
planted himself in front of them with a double-barrelled horse-pistol in
each band.
"We don't want _you_ here, you--red-faced--baboons!" he cried, pausing
between each of the last three words to discharge a shot and emphasising
the last word with one of the pistols, which he hurled with such
precision that it took full effect on the bridge of the nearest red
man's nose. All three fell, but rose again with a united screech and
fled back to the bushes.
A few moments more and the bridge was drawn back, and Paul Bevan was
borne into the hut, amid a scattering fire from the assailants, which,
however, did no damage.
To the surprise and consternation of Tolly, who entered first, Betty was
found sitting on a chair with blood trickling from her left arm. A ball
entering through the window had grazed her, and she sank down, partly
from the shock, coupled with alarm. She recovered, however, on seeing
her father carried in, sprang up, and ran to him.
"Only stunned, Betty," said Tom; "will be all right soon, but we must
rouse him, for the scoundrels will be upon us in a minute. What--what's
this--wounded?"
"Only a scratch. Don't mind me. Father! dear father--rouse up! They
will be here--oh! rouse up, dear father!"
But Betty shook him in vain.
"Out o' the way, _I_ know how to stir him up," said Tolly, coming
forward with a pail of water and sending the contents violently into his
friend's face--thus drenching him from head to foot.
The result was that Paul Bevan sneezed, and, sitting up, looked
astonished.
"Ha! I thought that 'ud fetch you," said the boy, with a grin. "Come,
you'd better look alive if you don't want to lose yer scalp."
"Ho! ho!" exclaimed Bevan, rising with a sudden look of intelligence and
staggering to the door, "here, give me the old sword, Betty, and the
blunderbuss. Now then."
He went out at the door, and Tom Brixton was following, when the girl
stopped him.
"Oh! Mr Brixton," she said, "do not _kill_ any one, if you can help
it."
"I won't if I can help it. But listen, Betty," said the youth,
hurriedly seizing the girl's hand. "I have tried hard to speak with you
alone to-day, to tell you that I am _guilty_, and to say good-bye _for
ever_."
"Guilty! what do you mean?" she exclaimed in bewildered surprise.
"No time to explain. I may be shot, you know, or taken prisoner, though
the latter's not likely. In any case remember that I confess myself
_guilty_! God bless you, dear, _dear_ girl."
Without waiting for a reply, he ran to a hollow on the top of the mound
where his friend and Tolly were already ensconced, and whence they could
see every part of the clearing around the little fortress.
"I see the reptiles," whispered Bevan, as Tom joined them. "They are
mustering for an attack on the south side. Just what I wish," he added,
with a suppressed chuckle, "for I've got a pretty little arrangement of
cod-hooks and man-traps in that direction."
As he spoke several dark figures were seen gliding among the trees. A
moment later, and these made a quick silent rush over the clearing to
gain the slight shelter of the shrubs that fringed the streamlet.
"Just so," remarked Bevan, in an undertone, when a crash of branches
told that one of his traps had taken effect; "an' from the row I should
guess that two have gone into the hole at the same time. Ha! that's a
fish hooked!" he added, as a short sharp yell of pain, mingled with
surprise, suddenly increased the noise.
"An' there goes another!" whispered Tolly, scarcely able to contain
himself with delight at such an effective yet comparatively bloodless
way of embarrassing their foes.
"And another," added Bevan; "but look out now; they'll retreat
presently. Give 'em a dose o' slug as they go back, but take 'em low,
lads--about the feet and ankles. It's only a fancy of my dear little
gal, but I like to humour her fancies."
Bevan was right. Finding that they were not only surrounded by hidden
pit-falls, but caught by painfully sharp little instruments, and
entangled among cordage, the Indians used their scalping-knives to free
themselves, and rushed back again towards the wood, but before gaining
its shelter they received the slug-dose above referred to, and instantly
filled the air with shrieks of rage, rather than of pain. At that
moment a volley was fired from the other side of the fortress, and
several balls passed close over the defenders' heads.
"Surrounded and outnumbered!" exclaimed Bevan, with something like a
groan.
As he spoke another, but more distant, volley was heard, accompanied by
shouts of anger and confusion among the men who were assaulting the
fortress.
"The attackers are attacked," exclaimed Bevan, in surprise; "I wonder
who by."
He looked round for a reply, but only saw the crouching figure of Tolly
beside him.
"Where's Brixton?" he asked.
"Bolted into the hut," answered the boy.
"Betty," exclaimed Tom, springing into the little parlour or hall, where
he found the poor girl on her knees, "you are safe now. I heard the
voice of Gashford, and the Indians are flying. But I too must fly. I
am guilty, as I have said, but my crime is not worthy of death, yet
death is the award, and, God knows, I am not fit to die. Once more--
farewell!"
He spoke rapidly, and was turning to go without even venturing to look
at the girl, when she said--
"Whatever your crime may be, remember that there is a Saviour from sin.
Stay! You cannot leap the creek, and, even if you did, you would be
caught, for I hear voices near us. Come with me."
She spoke in a tone of decision that compelled obedience. Lifting a
trap-door in the floor she bade her lover descend. He did so, and found
himself in a cellar half full of lumber and with several casks ranged
round the walls. The girl followed, removed one of the casks, and
disclosed a hole behind it.
"It is small," she said, quickly, "but you will be able to force
yourself through. Inside it enlarges at once to a low tunnel, along
which you will creep for a hundred yards, when you will reach open air
in a dark, rocky dell, close to the edge of the precipice above the
river. Descend to its bed, and, when free, use your freedom to escape
from death--but much more, to escape from sin. Go quickly!"
Tom Brixton would fain have delayed to seize and kiss his preserver's
hand, but the sound of voices overhead warned him to make haste.
Without a word he dropped on hands and knees and thrust himself through
the aperture. Betty replaced the cask, returned to the upper room, and
closed the trap-door just a few minutes before her father ushered
Gashford and his party into the hut.