CONCLUSION.
While Don was listening to the story of the robbery as related by David
and Hopkins, he stood in such a position that he could look through the
open door of the cabin and command a view of the interior. There was no
one in there except Dan Evans, who, instead of coming out to hear the
story, as almost any boy would have done, kept his seat by the
fireplace. The light shone full upon him, and Don could see that he was
ill at ease. He cast furtive glances toward the excited group in front
of the door, twisted nervously about on his chair, and acted altogether
as if he felt very miserable. Don was surprised at first, and finally he
became suspicious.
“That fellow knows more about this afternoon’s work than any of us,”
said he to himself. “He doesn’t act that way without some good reason. I
believe it will pay to ask him a few questions.”
The sequel proved that our hero had struck a warm trail the very first
time trying. When Dan found himself shut up in the cabin, and Don Gordon
standing between him and the door and cutting off his only way of
escape, he became terribly alarmed, and confessed his guilt without
waiting to be questioned. Scarcely realizing what he was doing, he broke
out into loud protestations of innocence, and seizing his rifle, which
stood in the corner behind him, declared that he would shoot the
intruder if the latter laid a hand upon him. The threat was by no means
an idle one. Dan fully intended to carry it out, but fortunately for him
and all concerned, he had to deal with one who always kept a level head
upon his shoulders. Before Dan had fairly ceased speaking, Don sprang
clear across the cabin with one cat-like bound, seized the threatening
rifle with one hand, laid hold of Dan’s collar with the other, and,
bringing all his strength and skill into play, threw him to the floor
with the greatest violence. In the struggle the rifle was discharged,
but the bullet passed harmlessly through the roof. A few seconds later
some heavy body came against the door, which was broken from its hinges,
and Don’s companions came hurrying in, expecting to find him wounded or
dead. They did not see how it could be otherwise, for there was not a
better rifle-shot in the settlement than Dan Evans. Don quickly set
their fears at rest by assuring them that he was “all right,” and at his
request the boys went out again, leaving him alone with his captive.
“Now, Dan, what do you know about this miserable business?” said Don, as
soon as his friends had left the cabin. “Believe me when I tell you that
it will be better for you if you tell the truth. Dave is backed up by
the whole United States government, and the fellows who waylaid him are
bound to be captured. They cannot possibly escape.”
“I’m a hoss in the cane an’ hard to curry,” replied Dan; by which he
meant that he was one who could not be easily conquered. In order to
prove the truth of his assertion, he began struggling desperately; but
Don seized him by both wrists, and crossing his arms upon his breast
held him as if he had been screwed up in a vise.
“Answer my questions and then you can get up,” said Don, calmly.
“Refuse, and I will take you before my father, who will put you in the
calaboose as an accomplice in this robbery.”
“Don,” said Bert, thrusting his head in at the door, “Mrs. Evans says
that Dan has been at home all the afternoon; so, of course, he could
have had no hand in stealing the mail.”
“No, I didn’t, Mr. Don. I sw’ar I didn’t,” exclaimed Dan, who, finding
that resistance was useless, began to shed tears copiously. “I didn’t
tech that thar mail-bag.”
“I haven’t said that you did,” answered Don. “But you know who did touch
it, and I want you to tell me all about it. Now be quick: who’s got it?”
“I reckon it must be Barlow,” whined Dan.
“Who’s Barlow?”
“He’s one of the fellers who was in your shootin’-box when you come thar
this mornin’. He lives in that thar flat-boat that’s tied up to the
river bank.”
“I thought so from the first,” said Don to himself. “I knew those
vagabonds would raise some kind of a row before they left.” Then aloud,
he added: “How do you know that they were in the shooting-box when I
went there this morning?”
“Kase I was thar—me an’ Lester Brigham.”
“Lester Brigham!” repeated Don.
“Yes. Me an’ him goes huntin’ a’most every day.”
Don was profoundly astonished. He told himself that Lester must be
getting very low down in the world if he were willing to make a daily
companion of so worthless a fellow as Dan Evans.
“Well, this thing was all cut and dried, wasn’t it?” said he. “You
planned the robbery, and Barlow and his two friends did the work. Was
that the way of it?”
“I didn’t plan nothin’,” protested Dan. “Don’t hold me so tight, Mr.
Don, an’ I’ll tell ye what’s the gospel truth. Lester, he told me that
Dave was bringin’ in right smart of money for his pap every month, an’ I
told Barlow of it, an’ Barlow he said he’d like to have some of it so’t
he could live like rich folks do. That’s all I done, Mr. Don, sure’s yer
born—honor bright, an’ hope to die if it aint.”
“You didn’t say anything to Barlow about going halvers with you?”
“Nary word, Mr. Don. Nary blessed word.”
Don didn’t believe this, for Dan was almost too earnest in his denial.
But he had obtained a clue, and that was what he wanted.
“Dan,” said he, throwing all the emphasis he could into his words, “you
had better take my advice and stay right here at home and mind your own
business until this thing is settled. You will get yourself into trouble
if you don’t. Now do as you please.”
So saying he helped Dan to his feet and joined his friends in front of
the cabin. He spoke encouragingly to Mrs. Evans who was sobbing
violently, assured David that there was no reason why he should be so
down-hearted, and started for his sail-boat, followed by his companions.
Of course the latter were full of questions. They had heard all that
passed in the cabin, and knew that Dan Evans and Lester Brigham were in
a measure responsible for the robbery; but what had put it into Don’s
head to accuse Dan? That was something they could not understand.
“Dan gave himself away by his actions,” said Don, in explanation.
“That’s the whole secret of the matter. But I don’t know what is to
become of those two boys. Lester can’t get much lower by land, and as
for Dan—he’ll end his days in the penitentiary if he keeps on. He meant
to shoot me to-night; I could see it in his eye. Now we’ll go home and
tell father all about it.”
Propelled by four oars the sail-boat moved swiftly through the water,
and at the end of twenty minutes she was made fast to the jetty, and the
boys were on their way to the house. When they reached the back porch
they found three horses hitched there, and General Gordon in
conversation with the constable and Godfrey Evans. The latter was
stamping about in a great rage, flourishing his arms over his head, and
acting like one demented.
“Why, what brings you boys here?” asked the general.
“We have news for you,” replied Don, who then went on to give a
circumstantial account of the incidents that had just transpired at
Godfrey’s cabin. Godfrey could hardly believe his ears. When he learned
that Dan was one of the indirect causes of the robbery, he jumped up,
knocked his heels together and uttered a yell that could have been heard
a mile away.
“Gen’ral,” said he, picking up his rifle which he had laid upon the
porch, “I’ll go hum an’ take the cowhide an’ I’ll larrup that thar
boy——”
“Calm yourself, Godfrey,” interrupted the general. “You will only make
matters worse if you do that. What do you advise, Mr. Ross?” he added,
turning to the constable.
“Is there any way to get Don’s sail-boat out of the lake into the
river?” asked the officer.
“Of course there is,” answered Don. “We can row her up the pass and drag
her over the levee. She’s heavy, but we have the force here to do it.”
“Then my advice is, that we find and search that house-boat at once,”
said the constable. “Mr. Don, you would make a first-rate detective.”
The general went into the house to make out a search-warrant, and the
boys hurried back to the jetty to put the sail-boat in readiness for her
trip down the river. As the mast had been stepped that morning, the
bowsprit put in, the sails bent on and the running rigging rove, all
they had to do was to loosen the canvas and select those who were to
pull the oars.
“There’s a splendid breeze on,” said Don, who had never been able to
make up his mind which he liked best—sailing, horse-back riding, or
shooting. “It blows right down the river, too. We can’t sail out because
the pass is so narrow; but when we get out into the Mississippi, will go
flying. Now, then, why doesn’t father come?”
The general was making out a warrant empowering the constable to search
the house-boat when they found it, and then he lingered to unsaddle the
horses which he had brought out for his own use and Godfrey’s. When
these duties had been performed, he and Godfrey and the constable came
down to the jetty and took their seats in the sail-boat, which was
promptly pushed off and headed up the pass. Half an hour sufficed for
the oarsmen to bring her to the levee, over which she was hauled without
the least trouble. Then came another short stretch through which she was
propelled by the oars; and as soon as she was fairly out of the pass and
began to feel the force of the wind and the current, the oars were drawn
in, Don seated himself at the helm, Bert, with Fred and Joe Packard’s
assistance, hoisted the sails, the sheets were let out and the pursuit
was begun.
“Keep as close in to shore as you can, Don,” said Bert. “It’s pretty
dark, and we may pass her before we know it.”
“You don’t expect to see that house-boat where you found her this
morning, do you?” said Don. “It’s eleven o’clock, isn’t it? Well, she is
twenty miles down the river by this time. Keep a bright look-out for
lights, everybody. We don’t want to let some steamboat run us down
before we know it.”
Although he knew he was wasting time in doing it, Don kept the boat as
close to the bank as he could with safety, but nothing was to be seen of
the piratical craft of which they were in search. When Bert announced
that they had passed the place where she had been moored in the morning,
Don drew in the sheets a little, and held the boat’s head diagonally
across the river in order to strike the stronger current of the channel.
Then the sail-boat began to show the speed of which she was capable; and
then, too, the general enjoined silence upon all her occupants.
“The night is comparatively quiet,” said he, “and the rattling of an
oar, or a word spoken in a loud tone of voice, can be heard a long
distance. We have one advantage over the crew of that flat-boat: we can
get out of the way of a steamboat and they can’t; so they will have to
carry lights for their protection.”
Under Don’s skillful management the little boat flew swiftly along,
keeping in the channel when her course was clear, and making all haste
to get out of it as often as the vigilant look-out announced that there
were lights ahead. Two hours passed, and nothing had been seen of the
flat-boat.
“I reckon we’ve missed her,” said the constable. “She has tied up to the
bank somewhere, and we have run by her in the dark.”
“If that is the case, there is only one thing we can do,” said Don.
“We’ll keep on down the river until day-light, and then we’ll come about
and beat back again, making a close examination of each shore. She can’t
escape us, unless she hauls into one of these little bayous and gets out
of sight among the bushes.”
“And if her crew know the river and are at all sharp, that is just what
they will do,” said the constable.
Just then a deep-toned whistle sounded in the bend below them, and
instantly the conversation ceased and everybody was on the alert, and
listening with all his ears to catch the reply. It came at length, but
it was not a whistle; it was a prolonged blast from a tin horn. There
was a commotion among the boys, and their excitement arose to fever
heat.
“There she is,” said Bert, confidently.
“Don’t be too hasty in jumping at conclusions,” said his father, in a
quiet tone.
“There’s a flat-boat in the bend below us, and I am sure of it,”
answered Bert.
“So am I; but still it may not be the one we want to find. There is more
than one flat-boat on this river, you know.”
Don brought his boat close to the wind, and went scudding across the
river to get out of the steamer’s way. He held well over toward the
eastern shore, and when he stood off on the other tack the steamer had
passed, and Bert announced, in a low tone, that there were lights
straight ahead. They were close to the water, and the sail-boat’s crew
had but one opinion concerning them. They belonged to a flat-boat, but
whether or not it was the one of which they were in pursuit, was a
question that only time could solve.
“Lay us aboard of her without any ceremony,” said the general. “Bert,
stand by with the boat-hook. We must move quickly, and give them no
chance to throw the mail overboard, if they have got it.”
Don kept the bow of his little craft pointed toward the flat-boat, and
so silently did she move through the water that the man who stood at the
steering-oar, keeping a sharp look-out in front of him, but never
thinking to look behind, was entirely unconscious of her approach.
Presently Bert reached for the boat-hook, at the same time giving a nod
that everybody understood. A few minutes more would decide whether they
were on the right track or not. Bert stood up in his place; Don, at a
sign from his father, paid out the main-sheet rapidly, thus bringing his
craft broadside to the house-boat, and just then the man at the
steering-oar awoke from his reverie and turned quickly about.
“Keep away, there!” he shouted, in great alarm. “Keep away, or you’ll
sink us.”
Don did not want to sink the house-boat, but he wanted to come alongside
of her, and he did it a moment later in a very creditable manner. The
instant the two boats touched, General Gordon and his party sprang over
the side and ran into the cabin, some going in at the back door and the
others at the front, leaving Don and Bert to act as grappling-irons, and
to keep the boats from drifting apart. The man at the steering-oar was
captured by Egan, who stood guard over him with his double-barrel, and
Barlow and his companion, who were busy in the cabin, were covered by
the constable’s revolver and Godfrey Evans’s rifle before they had time
to think of their weapons.
“This looks like business,” said the officer, handing his six-shooter to
Fred Packard, and drawing three pairs of handcuffs from his pocket.
The others thought so too. David’s mail-bag lay upon the table—he would
never carry it again, for it had been ruined by being cut open with a
knife—and its contents were scattered about over the floor and in the
bunks. The most of the letters had been torn open, and the robbers had
reaped a very fair reward for their trouble, having secured about forty
dollars in greenbacks, and a check for three hundred dollars, drawn by a
country merchant in favor of his creditors in Memphis. The general took
charge of the bills and the check, while the constable lost no time in
putting the irons on Barlow and his confederate.
“Where’s the other?” said he. “There ought to be three of them.”
“Here he is,” said Egan, who marched his prisoner into the cabin and
turned him over to the officer, at the same time making a sergeant’s
salute, as he would if he had been at the academy.
“I told you jest how it would be,” said the steersman, glaring savagely
at Barlow as he felt the cold handcuffs clasped about his wrists. “Why
didn’t you hide, as I wanted you to do, instead of trying to run?”
“You would have showed a little more sense if you had done that,” said
the constable, “but on the whole, we are very well satisfied. Now keep
still, all of you,” he added, shaking his finger at the women, who,
having checked their loud lamentations, now showed a disposition to
become abusive. “Godfrey, keep your eye on these men until they are safe
under lock and key.”
Godfrey was just the one for this business. There was only one thing
that would have suited him better, and that was an order to punch the
prisoners’ heads. For the first time his eyes were opened to the fact
that David was a great help to the family, and that the loss of his
position as mail-carrier would be a serious blow to all of them.
“If me an’ Dan would only wake up an’ _stay_ woke up, we’d get along
well enough,” he said to himself, as he leaned on his long rifle and
looked thoughtfully at the floor. “Dave’s doin’ his shar’, an’ me an’
that lazy, good-for-nothin’ Dan has got to do our’n from this day on;
an’ that’s just all thar is about it. Dan never would a thought of
puttin’ anybody up to robbin’ Dave if he had been to work, an’ I’ll see
that he has plenty to do in futur’, I bet ye.”
While General Gordon and the constable were gathering up the mail and
putting it into the bag, they had much to talk about. They had secured
the robbers, and the next thing was to get them back to Rochdale. They
had about decided that they would tie the house-boat to the bank and
take the prisoners up the river in the sail-boat, when Curtis came in to
say that there were lights below them; whereupon the general picked up
Barlow’s horn and went out to answer the steamer’s signals. This having
been done, he waited for her to come abreast of the flat-boat. She
proved to be a large stem-wheeler with a tow of empty coal barges.
“Steamer, ahoy!” shouted the general.
“Hallo!” responded a man who was standing on the hurricane-deck near the
bell.
“What steamer is that?”
“The ‘B No. 2’ of Pittsburg.”
“Is that you, Captain Pratt?”
“Yes; but that can’t be you, Gordon.”
The general replied that it _was_ he; and upon receiving this reply the
captain raised his hand, the pilot rang the stopping-bell, and the
steamer’s wheel hung motionless in the water.
“Why, Gordon, what in the world are you doing here at this hour in the
morning?” demanded the captain.
“Can’t stop to explain now,” answered the general.“ Will you give us a
lift as far as Rochdale?”
“Of course I will. Can you bring that tub of yours alongside?”
They could and they did. The sails were hauled down instantly, the oars
were manned and the flat-boat was hauled over and made fast to the stern
of the steamer’s tow. Then the general went on board the steamer to
explain matters to Captain Pratt, while the boys lingered to look after
the safety of the sail-boat. Having tied her to one of the barges so
that she would ride easily, they followed the general on board the “B,”
and seated themselves on the quarter-deck to talk over the exciting
events of the night. Every one of them gave Don Gordon great credit for
what he had done. If he had not been sharp enough to see guilt in Dan
Evans’s face and actions, there was no knowing when the robbers would
have been captured.
“Young gemmen,” said the negro steward, “won’t you step into de cabin
an’ hab a bite of lunch? You mus’ be hungry after your long, cold ride.”
The boys were hungry and cold, too, although they did not know it until
that moment. They did ample justice to the steward’s lunch, and also to
his breakfast which was served at seven o’clock. At eight they passed
Rochdale, and half an hour later they cast loose from the tow and began
the work of pulling their clumsy prize and its occupants to the landing.
The “hue and cry” which the constable had raised the night before had
brought the loafers and the neighboring planters out in full force, and
there was a large crowd to welcome them as they went ashore with their
prisoners. As there was no place in Rochdale in which the robbers could
be confined, the preliminary examination was held at once, the women
being tried as accessories. They all pleaded guilty—(as there were ten
witnesses present who could testify that the stolen mail was found in
their possession, and David Evans easily identified them by their
clothing, they could not do otherwise)—and half an hour later they were
on their way to the county-seat, where they were to be kept in jail
until their trial came off. When they and their guards were out of
sight, General Gordon and his party, which included David Evans and his
father, got into the sail-boat and started for the lake.
“I didn’t see Lester and Dan anywhere,” said Bert, when the sail-boat
had been made fast to the jetty, and David and Godfrey had started for
home. “I wonder if they have taken to the woods.”
“I should think they would want to go there or somewhere else,” replied
Don. “But if Judge Packard thinks their presence necessary when the
trial comes off, he can easily find means to make them show themselves.
Godfrey won’t sleep soundly until he gets his hand on Dan’s collar. That
boy will have to work hard now to make amends for what he has done.”
The boys spent an hour or two in the house, giving Mrs. Gordon and her
daughters a graphic account of their night’s experience, and then set
out for the shooting-box, where a cordial welcome and a hot dinner
awaited them. Old Cuff had passed the night in a fever of suspense; but,
like the faithful fellow he was, he stuck to his post, and held himself
in readiness to defend the cabin with the aid of the hounds and a big
club. If Barlow and his friends had tried to burn it, as one of them had
threatened to do, they would have got themselves into business.
The incidents we have just described were by no means the only
interesting or exciting ones that happened while Egan, Curtis and
Hopkins remained at the shooting-box. The boys shot water-fowl until
they were tired of the sport, and frequently entertained their friends,
both male and female, who came over to see how they were getting on.
They drove the ridges for deer, hunted wild turkeys and ate many a
dinner of quails that Hopkins shot for them over Don Gordon’s pointers.
It was a fortunate thing for David Evans that Hopkins got lost the first
time he went quail hunting, for the story he told and the results that
came of it, effectually silenced those who had hoped to prove that David
stole the mail himself.
The days flew on, and in a short time—it seemed a very short time to all
of them—Don’s guests began to talk of going home. They all dreaded the
separation, for they had become very much attached to one another. “But
it won’t be for any great length of time, fellows,” said Curtis. “The
members of our happy family will all come together again on the
fifteenth of January—all except Fred and Joe, and I really wish they
were coming too—and the next time we go hunting it will be in the wilds
of Maine. I can’t promise that we shall have a chase after mail-robbers,
but I may be able to show you a moose, and you Southerners will have a
chance to try your hands at something that will be entirely new to you—I
mean fly-fishing. We shall have just enough of that to let you see what
a five or six-pound trout can do when he makes up his mind to fight. I
assure you that I shall try by every means in my power to make your
sojourn with me as pleasant as you have made my visit here.”
The parting time came at last, and the Gray Eagle took Don’s guests up
the river. The four boys they left behind them were very lonely after
that. Don’s first care was to strip the shooting-box and lock it. He did
not want to go there any more, for there were too many things in it that
reminded him of his absent friends. The antlers which had been given up
to Egan for the exclusive use of his “blunderbuss,” the clock-bracket
and wall-pocket that Curtis had fashioned with his knife, the camp-chair
which had given away with a great crash and let Hopkins down upon the
floor—all these spoke eloquently of the days that were gone, and Don
could hardly endure the sight of them. Of course this feeling of
loneliness wore away after a while, and the brothers enjoyed themselves
during the holidays as they always did; but when the time came for them
to return to Bridgeport, they were ready and waiting.
Their second year at the academy proved to be an eventful one. Some
things happened which, like the night attack of the Mount Pleasant
Indians, were not down on the programme; and what they were, and how Don
and Bert behaved themselves at school, what they saw and what they did
for amusement when they went home with Curtis at the close of the term,
shall be told in “THE ROD AND GUN CLUB.”
THE END.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
Hyphenation of compound words can be variable. Where it occurs on a line
break, the most commonly used form is assumed.
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here, with their resolutions. The references are to the page
and line in the original text.
21.10 [“]they became as shiftless Added.
30.9 we have got o[n/u]rselves into trouble Replaced.
already.
51.2 We’ll duck them first.[’/”] Replaced.
53.13 had better keep their distance.[”] Added.
73.19 [“]You had better read the rules and Added.
regulations
81.24 of the teachers.[’/”] Replaced.
118.9 “Is that so?[”] Then he’d better hurry Removed.
150.11 we can lay our plans accordingly,[”] said Added.
Fisher
171.2 “Not a word[?/!]” Replaced.
209.9 demanded Egan, in reply[.] Added.
218.22 [c/C]orporal Mack Replaced.
224.19 be careful how you talk to him[.]” Added.
227.18 “See how they stare at ever[y]body. Added.
241.21 abo[n/u]t in company with their parents, Replaced.
248.25 ringing report of a musket, [fol-]followed Removed.
276.6 and see where they go.[’/”] Replaced.
277.21 very well posted in natural history.[”]. Removed.
281.12 “Hasn’t he returned?” exclaimed Egan. [“]Then Added.
he’s lost.
299.19 and nodded to him.[”] Removed.
335.1 “Nary word, Mr. Don. [“]Nary blessed word.” Removed.
End of Project Gutenberg's Don Gordon's Shooting-Box, by Harry Castlemon