THE TINKER DISTURBS THE INMATES OF THE CAVE.
It was after midnight when Tom the Tinker reached the cave.
"Have you heard the news?" he inquired of Stayford, who seemed to be the
only occupant of the dingy abode.
"News! What news?" growled Stayford. "We hear nothing in this hole.
Jerry and myself spend our whole time working for you. I am tired of it,
Tom, and it's got to stop. That's the news I've for you!"
"Don't be hard on me, Stayford," said the Tinker in almost piteous
tones. "I've lost a hundred and fifty dollars to-day. My! my! a hundred
and fifty dollars!"
"And is this the news you wished to give me?" demanded Stayford.
"No; it was this. Our troops have whipped the English at New Orleans.
The war is over, and there will be no more tax on whisky."
"And then all of our work will be for nothing?"
"It seems so, Stayford; it seems so. But where is Jerry? I've business
news to communicate to both of you."
"He just went to bed. Since you were not here to help him, he had to
work hard for fully fifteen hours to keep the mash from souring."
Stayford now spoke in the most friendly way. At the approach of danger
he forgot that he was angry.
"Let him sleep!" said the Tinker, as he and Stayford seated themselves
on a pile of wood at the end of the cave. "We can settle the affair; he
will agree to it, I know he will. First, let me tell you about the
hundred and fifty dollars. I wanted to take revenge on those men at
Washington for putting me in prison and robbing me when I was in the
whisky business in Pennsylvania twenty years ago. Every man, from the
President down to the lowest officer, had a hand in the work. They
ruined me when I was a rich man; for years and years I've been waiting
to square up accounts with them. I had a chance to-day, but it failed. I
was going to change Jackson's letter, and put the English down as the
winners. This would have frightened the authorities at Washington, and
they wouldn't find out their mistake for a month. It is probable that
the whisky tax would have been doubled."
"And why did you not get the general's message about the battle?"
interrupted Stayford.
"Ah! Stayford, it is all your fault! If you had killed that young Howard
last fall when I had him in this cave we should be rich men to-day. He
carried the message from his father's house to old Sims' farm. I offered
a man fifty dollars--fifty dollars; just think of it!--if he secured it.
The man's horse gave out. I hired another--young Howard shot it. Then
young Howard's horse fell and could go no farther. He left it, waded
across an ice-cold river and saved the letter. There's the whole story
for you--money gone, whisky gone--all gone, because we spared the life
of a Howard!"
Tom was angry--very angry. He rose from his seat and paced the floor of
the cave, muttering his broken sentences. Stayford grew angry, too, for
it seemed that Tom was shifting the whole failure on him, since he had
saved Martin and Owen the night they entered the cave. However, he
overlooked the slight, as he wished to learn whether Tom had heard
anything definite about the battle. The Americans had gained a decided
victory! This was all the Tinker knew about it.
"And the war is over?" said Stayford.
"Yes, and the hundreds of barrels of whisky which we have been storing
away in this cave are a dead loss if we cannot sell them in six months.
I sold thirty barrels to-day at twenty cents below tax."
"What's that?"
"Thirty barrels to-day, before I left Bardstown. We get ten cents extra
on each gallon; it isn't much, but it's better than keeping the whisky
until you can't give it away."
"When and how is it to be delivered?"
"Six barrels to-morrow. We'll pay Simpson well and get him off before
sunrise."
Stayford was astounded at the Tinker's boldness. For three years they
had worked at their trade only at night, and had guarded their movements
with the utmost secrecy. And now to go to the other extreme and deliver
whisky in open daylight seemed little short of insanity.
When Jerry heard of the scheme the wary old trapper shook his head and
remarked: "That's usin' new kinds of dead-falls to ketch foxes. I reckon
Stayford and me can stan' it if you can, Tom. If we're caught in our own
traps we can stay hare in the den and fight a whole pack of hounds."
Simpson, a workman, who had lately joined the other three men in the
cave, agreed to deliver the whisky, and was to receive extra payment for
each load. A little before sunrise he had the team ready. An old oaken
beam which served the double purpose of door and a means of loading was
lowered--the barrels were let down into the wagon and carefully covered
with straw. Everything had been so arranged that neither the horses, the
wagon, nor the whisky could be identified, even if taken by the town
authorities.
It was about ten o'clock when he reached the town. Passing along one of
the principal streets, toward an old stable, where the barrels were to
be delivered, Simpson was congratulating himself on his success, when he
chanced to turn and see a little boy sitting on the wagon-bed.
"Get down, there!" he stammered.
Whereat the urchin dropped off into the mud, making wry faces at the
driver and yelling: "Corn juice! Corn juice!"
"Shut up! you rascal!" cried Simpson, rising from his seat and feigning
to pursue him with his blacksnake whip. The boy made good his retreat,
leaving Simpson to proceed without further molestation. After unloading
the barrels, he remained in town for an hour to give his horses a rest
and then started for home.
He had gone about a mile, when he was startled by the sound of voices
and the clatter of hoofs. Was he pursued? Yes; three men were after him,
well armed and mounted. The long blacksnake lashed the horses, they ran
as they had never run before; the heavy wain rattled over the rough
road, bounding over bowlders, falling into ruts, throwing streams of
muddy water from all four wheels. The wagon-bed was loosened and rolled
off. Simpson took refuge on the front axle, and used the whip still more
freely. The horsemen gained on him, however, yelling as they advanced.
Following the next impulse of self-preservation, he leaped from the
wagon, clambered up the steep hillside, and, running through the woods
for half a mile, concealed himself in a hollow tree.
The men who were pursuing him--or rather who had frightened him, for
they were not in pursuit,--overtook the team and tied it at the side of
the road, thinking that the owner would return and get it on discovering
his mistake. They had been in town for the night's celebration, and on
their return were just sober enough to realize that the teamster was
trying to escape from them. This induced them to follow him, and the
faster he ran the more they enjoyed the joke. That same afternoon some
pilfering travelers passing along the road and seeing the wagon without
an owner, boldly loaded it with their own luggage and drove on.
Simpson remained in the hollow tree until night, and then made his way
toward the cave. When within two hundred yards of it he saw the dark
outline of some one standing in the narrow footpath directly in front of
him. At once he darted off into the thick underbrush.
"Simpson! Simpson! Is that you, Simpson?" called out a voice.
It was the Tinker. Simpson retraced his steps.
"The wagon!" demanded Tom.
"Captured!"
"The team!"
"Gone!"
"The whisky!"
"Gone, too!"
"Speak out, Simpson! tell me! what has happened?"
"All gone! But wait until I get something to eat; besides, you may be
arrested if you remain here!"
"Do they know?--Did you tell them?--Do they know my name?" inquired Tom,
walking rapidly toward the cave.
"I can't tell you everything at once!" growled Simpson.
"My! my! my! I am ruined! I see it now! I was a fool! My! my! my!"
"What's the matter, old feller?" asked Jerry, as the Tinker entered,
followed by the workman, who secured the rock door behind him.
"My! my! my! My money, my money!" continued Tom, throwing himself on a
pile of straw and weeping like a child.
When Simpson had satisfied his appetite, he narrated his day's
experience.
"Ha! ha! ha!" ejaculated Tom, when he heard that the whisky was safely
delivered.
"My! my! my!" he groaned, upon being told that the team was lost.
"What horses did you take?" he anxiously inquired.
"Those you told me to take--Blind and Ruble."
"Nobody knows them; nobody knows them! And what wagon?"
"The one from under the shed."
"Nobody will think it belongs to me!" Tom pronounced these words with
evident satisfaction. "But," he continued, after a short interval, "they
cost money! Wagons cost money! Horses cost money! Blind horses cost
money! Working day and night----"
"Stop your whimperin', Tom," interrupted Jerry. "It's gone--let it go.
We won't be caught in no more traps--won't give the dogs no more fresh
trails, and I reckon it'll be all correct in the end."
"It is well enough to say let it go," replied Tom. "You and Stayford
lost nothing. You've got nothing to lose. I found you starving dogs when
I came here, and----"
"You've kept us starving dogs!" cried Stayford, with a burst of mingled
wrath and defiance, at the same time clenching his fist and starting
toward the cringing wretch. "Yes, you have kept us starving dogs! We did
the work--you got the money. I would like to see you robbed of every
cent, put in jail, and then--then hanged!"
"Hare! hare!" interposed Jerry, who had frequently to separate the two,
"it's a sorry thing to have the dogs 'round the den; but when the foxes
fight inside, it's a darn sight worse."
When peace had been restored, Tom and Simpson left the cave, while Joe
and Jerry lay down to take their short repose.
Weeks passed by, and no further signs of discovery were brought to
light. The two men within the cave did not leave their safe retreat. Tom
did not make his nightly visits. The whisky still and treadmill were
idle. One morning Jerry rose from a heavy slumber, and after a short
deliberation shook his sleeping companion and said:
"I reckon I have it. If the dogs is on the trail, thare'll be some
letters sent to old Squire Grundy down below. The stage passes in a few
days. We'll cut her off and take the mail. How's that? Ha!"
"Good enough," replied Stayford. "But while we are waiting I am going
out to see how the world looks."
"You had better stay hare until you are sure thar's no danger--no dogs
on the trail."
"I can't wait any longer, Jerry. This place is worse than a jail. I am
going to find out what has happened."
"Kinder strange way of doin'," said Jerry. "I've heard of many a fox
hunt, but never heard of foxes lookin' for dogs."
"I'll never be cornered, you can depend on that. I'll try it alone
to-day, and if I cannot learn whether we are suspected, then we'll
capture the mail."