AT THE BOTTOM OF THE RIVER.
Matt Coyle would have been utterly confounded if he had known, or even
suspected, how completely his family had been broken up by the events
of the last few days. He labored under the delusion that Jake and Sam
had run away simply to escape the punishment they so richly deserved;
but they had only made a bad matter worse, Matt told himself, for they
would be obliged to return sooner or later, and then they might rest
assured the promised whipping would be administered with added
severity. But Jake and Sam had gone away with the intention of staying
away. They were afraid of their brute of a father, and the cold chills
crept all over them whenever they thought of the New London jail. They
could not see the justice of being beaten or locked up for something
they did not do, and the only recourse they had was to go to those
whom they had been taught to regard as their enemies—the guides and
the officers of the law. With the exception of his wife, the
squatter’s family had all turned against him. Her he found dozing over
a fire on the bank of a cove. Without saying a word Matt walked up and
showed her the valises.
“What’s them, an’ where’s the boys?” she drowsily asked.
“Now listen at the fule!” shouted Matt. “Ain’t you got a pair of eyes?
Them’s the six thousand dollars that’s been a-botherin’ of us so long,
an’ the boys have run off to get outen the lickin’ I promised ’em. But
they’ll come back when they get good an’ hungry, an’ then I’ll have my
satisfaction on ’em. You’ve got a little bacon an’ a few taters left,
I reckon, ain’t you? Well, dish ’em up, an’ I’ll tell you where I’ve
been an’ what a-doin’ since I seen you last.”
The dinner his wife was able to place before him did not by any means
satisfy the cravings of Matt’s hunger, and when it had been disposed
of there was not a morsel of any thing eatable left in the camp; and,
worse than that, Jake was missing, and there was nobody to steal
another supply. Matt talked as he ate, and by the time he was ready
for his pipe he had given his wife a pretty full history of his
movements during the last two days.
“This ain’t a safe country no longer after me tyin’ Joe Wayring fast
to a tree an’ promisin’ to lick him if he didn’t tell me where the
money was,” said the squatter in conclusion. “He never had the money,
Joe didn’t; Sam knew where it was all the while an’ never told me. But
Joe won’t be nonetheless mad at me, an’ I reckon I’d best be lookin’
for new quarters for a while. I’m goin’ to take the money an’ skip
out. I do wish in my soul I had a boat. I’d run a’most any risk to get
one.”
“Where would you go?”
“I’ll tell you,” replied Matt confidentially. “I’ve been studyin’ it
over as I come along, an’ have made up my decision that I’d be safer
if I was onto their trail ’stead of havin’ them on mine; so I’ll put
as straight for Sherwin’s Pond as I can go an’ stay there till the
thing has kinder blowed over.”
“An’ what’ll I do?” inquired the old woman.
“You? Oh, you ain’t done nothin’ that the law can tech you for, an’
you had better hang around Rube’s an’ get your grub of him. You can
pay him for it by slickin’ up his house an’ washin’ dishes for him,
you know.”
“What’s the reason I can’t have some of the six thousand to pay him
with?”
“Now listen at you!” vociferated Matt. “Don’t you know that if you
should offer him money he would know in a minute that you had seen the
six thousand an’ have you took up for it? I tell you, ole woman,”
added the squatter, who was resolved to hold fast to every dollar of
his ill-gotten gains as long as he could, “my way is the best; an’ if
you ain’t willin’ to it, you can jest look out for yourself. Now I’m
off. I’ll be back directly the thing has kinder died down, like I told
you, an’ then we’ll put out for some place where we can spend our
money an’ live like folks. Jakey an’ Sam’ll be back in a day or two,
to-night, mebbe, an’ they’ll look out for you.”
The old woman did not say anything more, for she knew that it would be
useless. She lazily smoked her pipe while Matt fastened the valises
together and slung them over his shoulder as he would a knapsack, said
“so-long” in a drawling, indifferent tone, and saw him disappear in
the bushes.
“For the first time in my life I feel like I was a free man,”
soliloquized the squatter, as he lumbered away through the woods. “I
ain’t a-goin’ to be bothered any more wonderin’ where Jakey is to get
a new pair of shoes ag’in snow comes, or how I’m to wiggle an’ twist
to find Sam a new coat, or ask myself whether or not the old woman’s
got bacon an’ taters enough for breakfast. Rube’ll take care of her,
’cause he’ll suspicion right away that I’ve got the money an’ that
I’ll be sure to come back to her some day. I’ll take care of myself;
an’ as for the boys—I won’t think two times about them ongrateful
scamps. They tried their best to cheat me outen my shar’ of this
money, an’ now I’ll see how much they’ll get.”
The squatter continued to talk to himself in this style during the
three hours he consumed in reaching the “old perch hole” at the mouth
of the creek, which must be crossed in some way before Matt could
fairly begin his journey to Sherwin’s Pond. What he was going to do or
how he was going to live after he got there, seeing that there were no
farmers in the immediate neighborhood upon whom he could forage, Matt
had not yet decided; but when he found his progress stopped by the
creek he told himself that he might as well rest a bit and smoke a
pipe or two while he thought about it. He hunted up a log and seated
himself upon it, but almost instantly jumped to his feet and dived
into the bushes. It was at that very moment that our party came into
the creek. By “our party” I mean Joe Wayring, Arthur Hastings, and Roy
Sheldon in the skiff, and Mr. Swan, whose canoe was towing behind. As
I have before stated, I occupied my usual place on the skiff’s stern
locker, where I could see every thing that went on and hear all that
was said. On this occasion I saw more than any one else did. I had a
fair view of the valises on Matt’s back as they were disappearing in
the thicket, but I can’t imagine how they escaped the observation of
the sharp-eyed guide who sat facing the direction in which the boats
were moving. I afterward learned that Matt heard Mr. Swan’s voice when
he cautioned the boys to speak in a low tone, and be careful how they
allowed their oars to rattle in the rowlocks, and I know that when he
cast off from the skiff and led the way up the creak the squatter
stole silently through the woods and kept pace with him.
“That was a close shave, wasn’t it?” chuckled Matt, peeping through
the leaves to mark the position of the boats in the creek and then
dodging back again. “A little more an’ they’d have ketched me,
wouldn’t they? Now, what did they come in here for, an’ where be they
goin’, do you reckon? I’d most be willin’ to say that I’d give a
hundred dollars of this money if I had one of them boats of their’n.
Then I could go all the way to the pond without walkin’ a step. I’ll
jest toddle along with ’em an’ see what they’re up to; an’ if they
leave them boats alone for a minute they won’t find ’em ag’in in a
hurry.”
The boats moved so slowly and the creek was so crooked that the
squatter had no difficulty in keeping up with us. Indeed, he often
gained half a mile or more by running across the points while we went
around them. I have already told you what Mr. Swan and the boys did
when they reached the mouth of the little stream that led from the
creek to the cove. They found the camp deserted, as I have recorded,
the old woman having set out for Rube’s house very shortly after Matt
left her alone; and when they came back to the creek, intending to go
into camp there, they found their boats gone.
I thought all along that Matt was following us up the creek, for if I
had not caught two distinct views of his evil face peering through the
bushes I had certainly seen something that looked very much like it.
All doubts on this point were dispelled from my mind before Joe
Wayring and his companions had been gone five minutes. While they were
moving through the evergreens to surround the camp, as the guide had
directed, Matt Coyle came out and showed himself. The celerity with
which that vagabond worked surprised me. He had made up his mind what
he would do, and he did it without the loss of a second. He made the
painter of Mr. Swan’s canoe fast to a ringbolt in the stern of the
skiff and shoved it away from the bank. Then he pushed off the skiff,
stepped in as soon as it was fairly afloat, and headed it down the
stream, using one of the oars as a paddle. Presently the current took
us in its grasp and hurried us along at such a rate that we were
around the first point before I fairly comprehended the situation.
This was the second time, to my knowledge, that the cunning squatter
had executed a very neat flank movement upon Mr. Swan and his party.
Matt must have thought of it, for I heard him say,
“That’s two times I’ve got the better of you when you reckoned you had
me cornered, ain’t it? Whoop-pee! Luck’s comin’ my way ag’in, sure
enough. Now I’m all right. I’ll take Jake’s old canvas canoe, if I can
make out to put him together, ’cause he’s light to handle an’ won’t
bother me none if I have to take to the bresh. The other boats I’ll
hide so’t nobody won’t never find ’em ag’in. But first I’ll hunt me a
good quiet place an’ have a tuck-out. There’s grub an’ coffee an’
sugar an’ sich in the lockers of this skiff, an’ I’m hungry for some
of it.”
The country about was full of little waterways, and Matt, being
perfectly familiar with every one of them, had no trouble in finding
the “quiet place” he sought. He paddled over to the farther side of
the creek, kept along close to the bank for a mile or so, and then
pushed the skiff into the bushes. The overhanging branches shut out
every ray of light, and it was so dark that I could not see what sort
of a place we had got into even when we stopped; but I heard the
squatter moving around on the bank, and saw by the aid of a match
which he struck on his coat-sleeve that he was lighting a fire. When
the dry leaves and sticks he had gathered in the dark blazed up, I
could see nothing but a solid mass of hemlock boughs above, and other
masses, equally impervious to light, on all sides of me. It was a
better hiding-place than the cove, and the squatter went on building a
roaring fire, knowing full well that the blaze could not be seen from
the other side of the creek where the discomfited guide and his
puzzled young allies were standing, wondering what had become of their
boats.
Having gathered wood enough to keep the fire going as long as he had
use for it, Matt drew the bow of the skiff high upon the bank and
proceeded to overhaul the lockers. With a contemptuous grunt he caught
up Fly-rod, who was lying on the locker beside me, and tossed him into
the bushes. A second later he sent Arthur’s rod and Roy’s to keep him
company. The cartridges, which were intended for the boys’
double-barrel shot-guns, and which he could not use in his old
muzzle-loader, Matt incontinently dumped overboard; also the lemons,
three gun cases, and as many portfolios filled with writing materials;
but the pocket hunting knives and one double-bladed camp ax he laid
aside for his own use. At last he came to the articles he was looking
for—half a side of bacon, a whole johnny-cake, two canisters
containing tea and coffee, another filled with sugar, and about half a
peck of potatoes. He felt in every corner of the lockers in the hope
of finding a supply of smoking tobacco; but that was something that
never found a place in Joe Wayring’s outfit.
Having provided himself with an excellent supper, Matt went ashore to
cook it. First he opened the valises and placed them where he could
feast his eyes upon their contents, and then he cut off several slices
of bacon which he proceeded to broil with the aid of a forked stick.
For a platter he used a piece of bark; and every time he put a slice
of the meat upon it he would grab a handful of coins from one of the
valises and allow them to run slowly through his fingers, laughing the
while and shaking his head as if he were thinking about something that
afforded him the greatest gratification. He spent an hour over the
meal, then replenished the fire and laid down for a nap, covering
himself with Roy Sheldon’s warm blankets. When he awoke he cooked and
ate another hearty supper, shook himself together, and declared that
he felt better and in just the right humor to begin his lonely journey
to Sherwin’s Pond.
His first task was to put me together; and to my surprise and disgust
he accomplished it with very little trouble. Then, in order to make
sure that he had not overlooked any thing that he could use, he gave
the skiff a second examination, and took possession of all Mr. Swan’s
provisions. Every other article belonging to the rightful owners of
the boats he dropped overboard or flung into the bushes.
“Mebbe they’ll find ’em ag’in some day an’ mebbe they won’t,” muttered
the squatter, as he extinguished the fire preparatory to shoving off
in the canvas canoe. “But if they do it will be long after I am safe
outen their reach. They’ll never think of lookin’ for me so nigh Mount
Airy as Sherwin’s Pond is, an’ there I’ll hide as snug as a bug in a
rug till my grub’s gone, an’ then—why, then I’ll have to steal more,
that’s all.”
In a few minutes Matt had pushed the canvas canoe through the bushes
into the creek, and was plying the double paddle with sturdy strokes.
He could travel in the dark as well as by the light of the sun, and he
did not go a furlong out of his course during the whole of the
journey. Neither did he have a pleasant time of it. From the hour we
started to the time we arrived within sight of Sherwin’s Pond the rain
fell in torrents. This was a point in Matt’s favor, for it was not
likely that sportsmen or tourists would venture abroad in such weather
unless necessity compelled them; but the unusually high water that
came with the rain was to his disadvantage. Indian River ran like a
mill-sluice, and the current, strong at all times, became so turbulent
and powerful, and its surface was so thickly covered with driftwood
and trees that had been floated out of the lowlands, that canoe
voyaging was not only difficult but dangerous as well. On one occasion
I barely escaped being stove all to pieces. This frightened the
squatter so that he gave up traveling by night, and took to the water
only when he could see where he was going and what obstacles he had to
encounter. More than that, he converted the stolen blankets into bags,
put the cargo as well as the valises into them, and lashed them fast
so that they would not spill out in case I were overturned by any of
the floating _débris_. But that was a bad thing for Matt to do, as I
shall presently show you.
The sight that met my gaze when we came where we could see Sherwin’s
Pond was one I never shall forget. That little body of water had a way
of getting ugly upon the slightest provocation, but I never saw it in
so angry a mood as it was on this particular day. It was filled with
currents which were running in every direction; at least that was what
I thought after I had watched the erratic movements of the logs and
stumps that were swimming on its surface. Its numerous inlets had
filled the pond more rapidly than its single outlet could relieve it;
consequently the pond looked higher than the river, and going into it
was like going up hill. Joe Wayring, fearless and skillful canoeist
that he was, would have thought twice before attempting to go any
farther; but Matt had grown reckless, having journeyed nearly a
hundred miles without a ducking, and all he did was to hug the bank a
little closer and put more strength into his strokes with the double
paddle. He got along well enough until he came to the place where the
mouth of the river widened into the pond, and then came the very
disaster I had been looking for. Before Matt could tell what his name
was, the current seized me and whirled me out into the middle of the
stream as if I had been a feather, sending me there, too, just in time
to receive the full force of a terrific blow from the roots of a heavy
tree which came rushing along with the torrent. Nothing that was ever
made of water-proof canvas could remain afloat after a collision like
that. I rolled over and began filling on the instant; and while the
eddies were whirling me about, and the gnarled and ragged roots of the
tree were enlarging the hole that had been torn in my side, and I was
sinking deeper and deeper into the water, I heard Matt Coyle utter one
feeble, despairing cry for help, saw him make a frantic grasp at the
slippery trunk of the tree as it swept by, and then I settled quietly
down to the bottom of the river, taking the blanket-bags and their
contents with me. This, thought I, is the end of every thing with me.
I had expected and hoped to go to pieces in the service, but not in
the service of such a fellow as Matt Coyle, who had undoubtedly made
way with himself as well as me, while trying to do a most foolhardy
thing. There was not one chance in a thousand that I would ever be
found, or that the Irvington bank would ever learn what had become of
its money. When Joe Wayring and his friends went home they might pass
directly over me, and I would have no power to attract their
attention. I knew Joe would miss me sometimes, but I wasn’t so
conceited as to think that he could not get another canoe that would
more than fill my place. I thought of these things, and then I asked
myself what had become of Matt Coyle. If he were a strong swimmer he
might succeed in making a landing after the current had carried him a
mile or so down the river, provided he could keep out of the way of
the driftwood. One thing I was sure of. He would never find me or the
money, either. Neither would any body else. If the squatter got ashore
I did not see how he was going to live, for the rifle on which he
depended principally to supply his larder during the winter was tied
fast to my ribs. If he succeeded in evading the officers of the law,
he would have to go to work. I didn’t see any other way for him to do.
While I was lying peacefully in my bed at the bottom of the river,
wondering how long it would be before the never-ceasing friction of
the current would annihilate me utterly, some events that have a
slight bearing upon my story were happening in the world above.