OFF TO THE CAVE.
On the evening of the third day after the departure of Mr. Lane from the
Howard's, Owen was busy at the hand-mill cutting oats for the stock,
when Uncle Pius came hobbling into the barn shaking his head in a most
mysterious way.
"I know'd it, I know'd it," he muttered, in a low tone, while with
solemn steps he paced up and down the barn floor.
"What did you know?" asked Owen, as he made the mill-wheel twirl and
buzz, pretending not to be in the least interested in what the old negro
had said.
"Can't tell you. Massar said I musn't tell." And Uncle Pius continued
his measured steps to and fro, with his head resting upon his breast and
his hands clutching his heavy cane behind his back. Owen continued his
work. He knew that the best way to get a secret from Uncle Pius was to
appear entirely indifferent in regard to it. The old negro walked from
one end of the barn to the other several times, then he came to a halt
directly in front of Owen.
"I know'd it," he repeated. "I know'd it all 'long. I know'd dar wasn't
no corn in dat crib."
The buzz of the mill-wheel was the only answer he received. Uncle Pius
turned and started off; but he had not gone ten feet before he retraced
his steps.
"I know'd dar wasn't no corn in dat crib. I know'd dar wasn't. I know'd
dar wasn't. I'se said so all 'long!" And Uncle Pius brought his massive
cane down upon the barn floor.
Still the wheel twirled on; and still Owen was silent.
"Den dat ole Bowen! I know'd he's a rascal. I know'd it all 'long,"
continued the old negro, becoming more and more excited at every word he
uttered.
It was with difficulty that Owen remained silent now. From a few words
that his father had dropped at table, he had concluded that Mr. Lane's
visit was in some way connected with Louis Bowen. Mr. Lane was sheriff
now--had he come to arrest the old villain? But the corn-crib; why did
Uncle Pius mention it? The boy's curiosity was soon satisfied; for Uncle
Pius had come to tell his story.
The old negro went back to the night of the previous autumn when Bowen's
corn-crib had burned. He reminded Owen of the fact that he, Uncle Pius,
had stated, and rightly so, that there was no corn in the crib; for old
Bowen had hauled it all away to a cave near the river, where, together
with two robbers whom Mr. Lane had arrested, he had been making whisky
for three years. The two robbers were now in jail, and the sheriff had
gone down the river to find the cave and arrest Louis Bowen. But worst
of all, as Mr. Lane had promised to return on the second day to get help
if he had not succeeded by that time in making the arrest, and had not
yet appeared, Mr. Howard was afraid that the sheriff had been killed by
the villain.
Owen's heart beat faster and faster as he listened to Uncle Pius; faster
and faster, too, in his excitement he made the wheel spin around.
Thought after thought rushed through his mind. Mr. Lane was now in Louis
Bowen's power--perhaps wounded--perhaps dead. Was there no way to bring
him help? Could not Owen tell his father that he knew of the cave and
persuade him to start at once to rescue Mr. Lane?
But why not go alone? Better still, get Martin Cooper to accompany him.
They could reach the cave early in the night and bring assistance to a
friend who needed their help. They could frustrate the design of a
villain who had sought their lives.
Uncle Pius continued to rehearse his story, changing and distorting
facts at each successive repetition. Owen scarcely hearing what the old
man said; his mind was too busily engaged in working out a plan of
action. As soon as he had made his decision he released his grasp upon
the handle of the mill, seized a large willow basket, quickly
distributed the oats in the troughs for the horses, leaped from the barn
door and ran toward the house. It was lucky for him that he met no one,
for his face was flushed with excitement. He took his coat and the
pistol which he had won at the shooting-match; passing through the
kitchen he thrust a few crusts of bread into his pocket, then dashed off
again toward the barn. On his way he met Uncle Pius, who made an
ineffectual effort to stop Owen and give him a more detailed account of
old Bowen and the cave.
Five minutes later when the old negro saw the boy riding at a breakneck
speed across the field toward Martin Cooper's, he shook his head
ominously and muttered, "Dat chile am goin' to do somethin' awful. I
jes' knows he is!" He had enkindled a fire, but could not quench the
flame.
Martin was at supper, but on hearing Owen's familiar call, he went out
to the stile-block in front of the yard-gate. The two boys exchanged a
few words, and Martin caught his friend's enthusiasm at once. They were
not boys who acted without the knowledge and consent of their parents;
but on this occasion they were borne away by a sudden impulse and
excitement. They consulted no one; they asked no one's permission. In
less time than it takes to describe their movements, they had galloped
off and disappeared in the gloom of the forest.
The cave! how often had the boys spoken of it, and thought of it, and
dreamed of it during the past months! How the secret to which they had
pledged themselves burned within their breasts! How they had longed to
wander once more through its weird and mazy passages, its dim-lit
vaults!
The cave! To enter it in the full light of day, and with the assurance
that all was safe within--even this would have been an adventure for the
boys--one that past recollections would have clothed with romance. But
to penetrate it at night, to stand face to face before a villain whom
ill-fortune had made desperate, to rescue Mr. Lane and make old Bowen a
prisoner--all this caused the boys' blood to tingle in their veins. Yet
it was not the excitement that comes of fear! True, they had quailed
before the danger on that October night when Stayford had threatened
them with death; but now that friendship called them, with beating
hearts and firm resolve they pressed on without a falter.
The cave! Nearer and nearer the boys came to it. At first they spurred
their horses and raced along the narrow path by the river bank, but when
darkness had enveloped the forest their progress was slow. With
difficulty the horses kept the winding road. Dark it was; yet light
enough to see the dog-wood, as its long, white branches swayed to and
fro in the evening breeze, and appeared like ghosts moving among the
shadows of the thick Spring foliage. A hawk darted from a neighboring
evergreen, screaming as it flew.
The cave! The boys were close to it now. They dismounted, and
noiselessly threaded their way among the underbrush, and up the uneven
hillside. There were the two giant rocks which stood as sentries near
the entrance.
The cave! All was silent without; no sound was heard from within.
Slowly! slowly! noiselessly! The heavy stone door was reached.
* * * * *
When Louis Bowen felt the powerful grip of the sheriff, he made no
effort to resist, but permitted himself to be bound hand and foot.
Simpson, too, yielded without a struggle, and before they had time to
realize what had happened, the two men were helpless prisoners.
The sheriff seized a heavy axe and began to destroy the still. The
copper caldron was cut and battered beyond the possibility of repairs;
the long pipes, usually called a worm, were twisted and broken; the iron
of the furnace was shattered into fragments.
Old Bowen groaned and cursed alternately as he saw the work of years
melt away before his eyes. Then he began to execrate the authors of his
misfortune. The two boys, whom he had wished to kill had, no doubt,
divulged the secret of the cave--why had he spared them? Why had he
spared a Howard? The Howards had stood between him and his fortune for
years; their upright, honest lives were a constant reproach to him; they
had sheltered his runaway slave; Zachary Howard had spurned him,
threatened to chastise him; Owen had saved the war message. If he could
but take revenge! If he but had them in his power for a single hour! But
even revenge was denied him, and he could but curse his enemies and
bemoan his fate.
While the miserable wretch indulged in these fierce, but useless
thoughts, Owen and Martin, the objects of his hatred, appeared in the
dim, ruddy light at the door. With a frenzied cry of rage that rang
through the rocky arches of the cave, and startled the sheriff, plying
his work of destruction, Bowen snapped the rope that bound his hands,
and jumped to his feet; but before he could disentangle himself and rush
at the boys, Mr. Lane had seized him and laid him helpless on the floor.
"What brought you here?" the sheriff asked the boys, as he knelt with
one knee upon the breast of his prisoner.
"We came to help you, Mr. Lane, for we feared you were in trouble,"
replied Owen.
"How did you find the way?"
"Find the way!" gasped old Bowen. "They were here--last fall--and
promised--on their oath--to tell no one. If I had only killed them, I
should not be a ruined man to-day," continued he, in half smothered
tones.
"And we kept our word, Mr. Bowen," said Owen, in a faltering voice.
"Believe them, Mr. Bowen; they told no one," said the sheriff.
"Then--then----" stammered the captive, "Jerry and Stayford--have--have
proved traitors! The whole--whole world is against me!"
"Boys," said Mr. Lane, "let us finish this here work as soon as we can.
Pile them there barrels together to burn, and put shavings under that
there wood; we'll set fire to 'em and leave this here place for good."
The boys began their work without answering a word. Scattered here and
there were a number of large barrels in which the mash was prepared;
these were rolled together in a heap. Along one side of the cave, and
extending its entire length, was a pile of many cords of wood. Most of
it was well seasoned poplar, with its thin, ragged bark hanging down on
all sides. While Martin set fire to the barrels, Owen applied a brand to
the dry bark. It burned like tissue paper; it hissed and sparkled, and
sent up puffs of unsteady smoke which wrought strange shadows on the
sides of the cave, and made the myriads of water-drops overhead tremble
and glitter.
Soon the pile of wood began to burn, and as the fire grew brighter and
brighter, it leaped to the top of the damp stone arches, tossed and
flared and scattered showers of whirling sparks. The men and boys were
dazzled by the sudden and brilliant flame. Huge columns of pitchy smoke
rose up from the glowing mass. The heat became intense; so intense that
Mr. Lane cut the ropes which bound the prisoners and led them to the
outer section of the cave; but he kept close to them, pistol in hand.
Two passages which led farther beneath the ground offered a natural flue
through which the flame roared with the fury of a whirlwind. Stored away
on heavy beams within these deep recesses of the cave were hundreds of
barrels of whisky, the output of three years. The barrels caught fire;
the heavy beams caught fire; the whisky poured out in streams and fed
the raging element. Smoke and flame found their way through a thousand
crevices and rifts until the whole hillside appeared to be ablaze. The
glare through the rock door which stood ajar lit up the surrounding
trees; while far below the glimmering river seemed a stream of blood.
The men and boys stood without, shading their faces from the heat and
light, viewing the terrible and destructive scene. Old Bowen the while
peered through the open door into one corner of the cave where a few
pieces of wood lay half buried in the damp earth. The flames could not
reach this wood, but the surrounding heat was gradually drying it. It
began to smoke, then suddenly burst into a flame. At the same instant
Louis Bowen shrieked: "Powder! powder!" he cried, as he sought in vain
to free himself from Mr. Lane's grasp. "A barrel of it! The fire is over
it! Run, run!"
He had scarcely uttered the last word when the whole hill seemed shaken
to its foundation. A part of the stony vault fell with a crash, leaving
a spacious chasm through which the pent-up flames burst with a mighty
roar and leaped to the very top of the surrounding trees. A fragment of
stone struck old Bowen and laid him lifeless at the feet of the sheriff.
In the confusion which followed, Simpson darted into the woods and
disappeared.
Mr. Lane and the boys fled from the spot to escape the suffocating smoke
and flames. To their horror they saw the two giant rocks which had stood
as guardian genii at the entrance of the cave start from their
foundations and threaten to overwhelm them. For untold ages rain and
frost and decay had done their work, and gradually removed the soil from
beneath these stony masses, till it needed but the single shock of the
explosion to set them in motion. At first they trembled with quick
vibrations, then swung to and fro with the regularity of a pendulum,
then rasped and jarred, and ground the stones beneath them into atoms,
crushed the smaller trees which barred their progress, then on, on they
dashed, gathering strength and terror as they went. Lane and the boys
sprang aside just as they thundered by. Down, down they crashed; down,
down, while the largest oaks and hickories bent as reeds before them,
and were shivered into splinters--down, down, while the hills trembled
beneath their massive weight and echoed with wild reverberations. At the
water's edge they parted. One embedded itself in the mud and sand close
to the shore; the other reached the middle of the river and disappeared
beneath the water.
In the meanwhile the hill was shaken by another mighty throe--the entire
roof of that section of the cave where the fire was raging collapsed and
fell. The flame leaped out and lit up the trees and bluffs and river
with a ruddy glow, and then was smothered and extinguished as if by
magic. The sight was grand, but lasted only for a moment. A few gleams
of light from the crevices in the hillside--a slight rumbling noise of
the waves against the giant rocks--then all around was left in silence
and in darkness.