A JOKE THAT WAS NO JOKE.
We have already described the other tests to which Don put his disguise
during the forenoon, and we know that every one who saw him believed
him to be old Jordan’s ghost. Godfrey, especially, was greatly alarmed,
and Don had the satisfaction of seeing him run, which was a sight worth
going miles to behold. The magical manner in which he appeared and
vanished, was very bewildering to all who witnessed it; but it would
have been no mystery at all, had they been aware that the window that
led into old Jordan’s room was unfastened. As they could see nothing of
Don after he went behind the corn-crib, they naturally concluded that
he had vanished into thin air. In no other way could they account for
his disappearance.
Don had wasted a good deal of time in these experiments, and now the
ringing of the dinner-bell admonished him that he must pull off his
disguise, and hurry back to the house. Another thing that warned him
to make haste, was the knowledge that he had thrown the negroes into a
state of great excitement and alarm. He was afraid they might tell his
parents what they had seen, and that would bring about an investigation.
“It would never do to be caught in the act,” thought Don, as he hastily
pulled off old Jordan’s clothes and bundled them into the chest. “I
don’t know what father would say to me. But didn’t Godfrey run, though?
I declare it seems selfish for me to enjoy all this fun by myself. I
wish I had some good fellow to help me laugh!”
Don stopped for a few minutes to indulge in a very hearty but silent
fit of merriment, and then having put on his clothes, and wiped the
black off his hands and face with a damp cloth which he had taken the
precaution to bring with him, he glanced about the room to make sure
that he had left everything just as he had found it, and went out,
locking the door behind him. He reached the house and made his way
to his room without being seen, and having performed a hasty toilet,
went down to the dining-room in time to learn that the measures he had
taken to frighten Godfrey Evans, had succeeded almost too well. One
of the servant girls was standing at the door showing a good deal of
the whites of her eyes, and looking altogether as if she were highly
excited about something.
“It’s all nonsense, Jane,” Don heard his mother say.
“No odds, missus,” replied the girl. “Sam say he can’t hitch up dem
hosses no mo’. He wouldn’t go nigh dat barn, he say, fur no money in
dis broad world. He done seed it, suah.”
Don, well knowing what it was that the girl referred to, and hardly
able to control himself, so great was his desire to laugh, glanced
about the table to see what the family thought about it. They were all
there, and their faces expressed the greatest astonishment. Even the
general elevated his eye-brows, and turned about in his chair to look
at the girl. Don sat down in his place and tried to look as surprised
as the rest did; and then recollecting that he had yet seen or heard
nothing to be surprised at, he asked:
“What’s the matter?”
“Why, mother just sent out word to Sam to hitch up the horses,” said
Bert, “and he sent back word that he couldn’t think of it.”
“Why not?” inquired Don.
“O, because he’s got it into his head that there’s something out
there--something that looks like old Jordan.”
“Never mind, Jane. I will look into the matter after dinner,” said the
general.
The girl disappeared, and the family being left alone, devoted
themselves to the viands before them and to discussing the strange
incidents that were reported to have happened at the barn during the
forenoon. Don found that, for a wonder, the story of his exploits
had been told without the exaggeration common in such cases, but, to
keep up appearances, he was obliged to feign ignorance, and inquire
particularly into things. Bert and his mother declared that it was all
moonshine--that the hostler had not seen anything; but the general
was pretty well convinced that something had happened, and that an
investigation would not be out of place. It was a wonder that no one
suspected Don, and perhaps the reason was because he looked so innocent.
The investigation came off immediately after dinner, but nothing new
was brought to light. The hostler told his story in a straightforward
manner and produced his witnesses to prove what he said; and so
positive were they all that they had seen Jordan’s haunt about the barn
but a few hours before, that the general began to think that perhaps
the old fellow had returned after his long absence, but, for some
reason which he could not explain, was keeping himself as close as
possible. The general tried to laugh the matter off at first, but soon
found that it was much too serious for that; and his face assumed an
expression of trouble and anxiety when he found that the field hands,
one and all, had sent him word by the hostler that when night came,
they would call on him for the money that was due them.
“I am really afraid I have made a mess of it,” thought Don, when he
heard this. “I had no idea that I was going to scare everybody so
badly, and I wish now I hadn’t done it. No matter, it will soon be over
now. I’ll frighten Godfrey to-night, if he comes after that barrel, and
then I’ll never play old Jordan again!”
The general looked grave and seemed greatly perplexed, and so did Mrs.
Gordon; while the boys, Don among the rest, declared that there must
be some explanation for the strange things that had happened in the
barn that morning, and spent the rest of the day in trying to clear
away the mystery. They looked in every place, except the one in which
they would have been the most likely to find some clue to aid them in
their search, and hunted for everything except the right one. They all
believed now--all except Don, of course--that old Jordan had come back,
and they looked everywhere for him, except in his room. They knew he
could not have gone in there if he had been so disposed, for the door
was locked.
Night came at last, and so did all the negroes employed on the
plantation, who asked for their money. The general, knowing that it
would be of no use to argue with them, declined to pay them off until
the year for which they were hired was ended; but he promised that, if
they saw the apparition again and would show it to him, he would settle
with them at once and let them all go. Don breathed easier after that.
He was afraid that his propensity for mischief was about to occasion
his father great inconvenience, and he was glad that the trouble could
be averted without a confession on his part. He told himself that his
father would never see the apparition. He would take precious good care
to avoid that.
Don did not put on old Jordan’s clothes that night, because Godfrey did
not come to the potato-patch as he had agreed. Clarence waited and
watched for him until nine o’clock, and as soon as he could slip away
from his relatives the next morning, he went down to Godfrey’s cabin
to see what had kept him at home. Don followed him at a distance, and
saw that his cousin held a long and earnest conversation with Godfrey,
and that he seemed to be very much elated about something when he
came back. By putting these two things together, Don arrived at the
conclusion that Godfrey would be on hand that night, and so he was. Don
happened to be on the watch when he went into the summer-house; and
knowing that Godfrey would not come so far unless he intended to go
the rest of the way, he ran back to the house to get ready for him. It
was certainly provoking, when he was in so great a hurry, to find the
kitchen occupied by two servants, who would surely see him if he took
the key to Jordan’s room down from its nail, and who, besides, would be
certain to speak about it. They must be got out of the room somehow,
and there was no time to waste.
“Jane,” said Don, suddenly, “did you hear mother calling you?”
“No, sar,” replied the girl, jumping up.
“I didn’t either,” was Don’s mental comment, as she hurried
away. “Ben,” he added, turning to the old negro who sat in the
chimney-corner, “what did old preacher Hudson want of you just a few
minutes ago?”
“Sar?” exclaimed Ben. “I didn’t see no preacher Hudson to-day, sar!”
“Why, wasn’t he out at the gate just now calling for you?”
“Mebbe so, sar,” replied Ben, rising and picking up his hat, “but I
didn’t see him. Mebbe he’s dar now.”
“I don’t think he is,” said Don, to himself, “but it will not hurt you
to go out and see; and in the meantime----”
Don put the key into his pocket as soon as Ben was out of sight, and
lost no time in making his way to the barn. At the door he met the
hostler.
“Time to lock up now, Mr. Don,” said the latter, “but I’se a little
jubus ’bout dat barn, sar. Yes, sar, I’se a little jubus!”
“Well, then, go back to your quarters and I will lock the doors,”
replied Don.
The hostler, glad to be relieved of so disagreeable a duty, turned and
went off, and Don, after closing all the doors, and locking all except
one, hurried into old Jordan’s room. It was the work of but a few
minutes to put on the negro’s clothes and black his face and hands;
and this being done, he seized a shovel, and stealing out of the barn,
climbed the fence and ran across the potato-patch. About thirty yards
from the fence he stopped, and crouching down close to the ground,
waited to see what was going to happen. Presently he heard cautious
footsteps, and a few seconds later two heads appeared above the top
rail of the fence.
“There they are,” thought Don, his heart beating rapidly with
excitement. “Now I’ll see if either of them has courage enough to come
over the fence after they find out I am here.”
As these thoughts passed through Don’s mind he arose to his feet, and
driving his shovel into the ground began throwing out the dirt so
rapidly, that in a very short space of time he had dug a hole as large
as a moderate workman would have been able to dig in ten minutes. He
worked till the perspiration started out all over him, but kept his
eyes fastened on the two heads, which could be seen plainly above the
fence. He knew that the owners of the heads heard the sound of the
shovel, and that they were listening to it and talking about it. They
stood there at the fence so long that Don began to think they were too
badly frightened to come any nearer.
“I am afraid I haven’t managed this thing quite right,” thought Don.
“I ought to have let them come into the field first, and then showed
myself to them while they were at work. Godfrey will never come within
reach of me again while I have these clothes on.”
Very likely Godfrey never would, if he had been left to himself;
but Don had somebody else to contend with, and that was his cousin
Clarence, upon whom he had thus far scarcely bestowed a thought.
Clarence had more courage then Godfrey. He had almost too much, Don
afterward thought, when he found himself tied up in the potato-hole.
The two stood at the fence and talked and listened for a few minutes,
and then to Don’s great surprise, and somewhat to his alarm, they
jumped over into the field and came toward him, Clarence leading the
way.
Don had half a mind to throw down his shovel and take to his heels; but
suppose he had done so, and the swift-footed Godfrey, emboldened by his
flight, had followed and caught him! What then? It would have turned
the joke upon himself, and besides Clarence would have found that his
cousin was acquainted with his secret, and that was something Don did
not want him to know.
“I am between two fires,” thought Don, almost ready to laugh in spite
of his fear of detection, “and for once in my life I have overreached
myself. I am sure to be found out, no matter whether I run away or stay
here, and then what will Clarence think of himself? Could he ever face
father again, after entering into a conspiracy to rob him of eighty
thousand dollars? I’d like to spare his feelings if I can. Perhaps if I
keep on digging, and act as though I didn’t see or hear them, they will
become frightened and go away.”
This was Don’s only hope now, but it did not last long, for it was
hardly formed in his mind before Clarence marched up and seized him
by the arm. Don was highly amused by the conversation the two engaged
in when they came close to him; and when Clarence lighted a match and
surveyed him by the light it threw out, he would have spoken, had his
cousin made the least sign of recognition. But Clarence could see no
resemblance between those black features and Don’s handsome face; and
besides Godfrey was so positive that they had captured old Jordan
himself, that he never had a suspicion of the truth.
Don played the part of ghost as long as he could, and spoke only when
he found that he must, or feel the weight of Godfrey’s shovel in his
ribs. As he could see no way out of the difficulty in which he was
placed, he trusted entirely to luck, hoping that Clarence would let him
go without compelling him to tell who he was. He heard all that passed
between the two, and was not a little amazed to learn that he was to be
confined in the potato-hole, and left without anything to eat or drink,
until he was ready to tell where the barrel was hidden. He pondered the
matter deeply while he was being led across the field and down the road
toward Godfrey’s cabin, but did not reveal himself, because he still
clung to the hope that something might turn up in his favor. He uttered
a feeble protest against the treatment he was receiving, just as he
believed old Jordan would have done, had he been in the same situation,
but of course it did no good. While Godfrey was gone for the rope
and he was alone with Clarence, he was several times on the point of
speaking out, but could not without doing the very thing he most wished
to avoid. While he was thinking about it, Godfrey came back, and
almost before he knew it, he was confined in the cellar, and Clarence
and Godfrey were out of hearing.
“Here I am,” thought Don, “and if I don’t get out and reach home very
shortly after Clarence does there will be a hubbub indeed. I wish I
hadn’t done it. What a desperate fellow that Clarence Gordon is! If he
doesn’t turn over a new leaf pretty soon, he will come to some bad end
as sure as he is a living boy. What will he have to say for himself
when he finds out what he has done? O, I must get away!”
But Don’s resolutions amounted to nothing, and neither did the efforts
he made to free himself from his bonds. Godfrey had done his work
well, and Don could move neither hand nor foot. He tried to pull the
stanchion down, but it was as solid as it was the first day it was put
up there, and Don could not even shake it. He was fast, and there he
must stay until some one came to release him. His feelings, as he began
to realize this fact, were none of the pleasantest, but still they
were much more agreeable than his cousin’s were the next morning, when
he first learned from Godfrey Evans who it was that he had assisted
to capture and imprison the night before; and to him we will now turn
before we tell how Don got out, and what happened to him afterward.
We left Clarence leaning against the corn-crib, almost overwhelmed with
the startling disclosures his companion in trouble had just made to him.
“I can see through some of it now jest as easy as fallin’ off a log,”
moaned Godfrey, rocking himself back and forth as he sat on the ground,
“an’ I blame myself fur not seein’ through it sooner. That thar Don is
a great feller fur tricks, an’ here he’s gone an’ dressed hisself up
like ole Jordan so’s to fool me an’ the rest.”
“If that is the case,” said Clarence, who at last succeeded in finding
his tongue, “he must have known about the barrel; and how did he find
that out?”
“I didn’t say I could see through it all, did I?” demanded Godfrey.
“That’s the part I can’t understand, no more’n I can understand how you
fust come to know about the bar’l.”
“How do you know it was Don?” asked Clarence, who could not realize the
situation in which he was placed. “You haven’t been near the cellar
this morning, have you?”
“No, I hain’t; but I know it’s Mr. Don all the same,” replied Godfrey.
“Did ye never hear him whistle? Wal, I have. He can whistle so’t ye can
hear him a mile; an’ the fust thing I heerd this mornin’, when I opened
my eyes, was him a whistlin’ like he was a callin’ his dogs. I went to
the door an’ listened, kase somethin’ kinder told me that mebbe things
wasn’t jest right like they’d oughter be, an’ if them whistles didn’t
come from that tater-hole, I ain’t a settin’ here.”
“Couldn’t old Jordan whistle?” asked Clarence, who still clung to the
hope that Godfrey was mistaken.
“Not like that, an’ nuther could anybody else. I tell you he’s thar,
Mr. Clarence, an’ now what’s goin’ to become of me an’ you?”
“De pony ready, sar,” said the hostler, showing himself at the end of
the crib at this moment.
“Whar ye goin’?” asked Godfrey, as Clarence moved away. “Don’t leave me
now. I’m in a power of trouble an’ trib’lation!”
“Am I any better off, I’d like to know?” demanded the boy angrily. “You
think of no one but yourself. Here am I, fifteen hundred miles from
home, and with scarcely twenty dollars that I can call my own.”
“That’s more’n I’ve got,” whined Godfrey.
“I shouldn’t care a snap if we had only found the barrel,” continued
Clarence. “With my pockets full of money I could go anywhere; but as it
is, how am I going to get home? That’s what troubles me. Of course I
can’t stay here!”
“No more can I,” said Godfrey.
“Yes, you can. No one will ever say a word to you about it; but I can’t
face any of my uncle’s family after what I have done. Of course Don
will blow the whole thing the minute he gets out. He can’t avoid it,
unless he tells a lie, and that’s something he says he never did in his
life. I wish to goodness I could say as much!”
Clarence had, beyond a doubt, placed himself in a very unpleasant
situation, and the longer he talked and thought about it, the more
vividly did the fact seem to impress itself upon his mind. One thing
was certain: he could not stay under his uncle’s roof any longer, and
he thought it would be policy to get as far as possible out of the way
before the general returned. He ran around the corner of the crib to
the place where the pony was standing, and paying no heed to Godfrey’s
earnest entreaties that he would stay just long enough to tell him what
he ought to do under the circumstances, Clarence sprang into the saddle
and galloped out of the yard. Almost involuntarily he turned down the
road toward Godfrey’s cabin. He had a vague idea that something might
yet be done to avert the calamity he so much dreaded. If Don would
promise to say nothing about what had happened the night before, and
make up some plausible story to tell his father, he (Clarence) would
release him, and read him a lecture on the subject of practical joking.
That much being arranged, he could, perhaps, content himself on the
plantation for two weeks longer, during which time he could write to
his mother, who would be sure to send him money to take him home, if
he asked for it. As soon as it arrived he would bid good-by to all
his relatives in Mississippi; and when he was once safely on board a
steamer bound up the river, he did not care how soon Don told about
passing the night in the potato-hole. The longer Clarence thought of
this, the more feasible did the plan seem. It all rested with Don, and
he was a good-hearted fellow, who, for the sake of keeping his cousin
out of trouble, ought to be willing to tell a lie. Clarence thought it
would do do harm to ask him, at any rate; and with this object in view
he put the pony into a gallop, and went down the lane at a more rapid
rate than he had ever before travelled on horseback.
Arriving at the turn in the road, where he had remained to keep guard
over the prisoner while Godfrey was gone after the rope, Clarence
dismounted, tied the pony to a swinging branch, climbed the fence
and made his way through the brier-patch toward the potato-hole. He
listened repeatedly, but could not hear Don’s whistle, and he hoped
that it was because his cousin was tired and had stopped to rest;
but something told him that it was because he had been liberated.
This proved to be the truth of the matter, as Clarence found when he
reached the cellar. The door stood wide open, and looking in he saw the
plough-line with which his cousin had been bound, lying in pieces at
the foot of the stanchion.
“It’s all over with me,” thought Clarence, hurrying away from the
cellar with as much haste as he would have exhibited had he seen
some frightful object there. “Very likely he is at home by this time
telling all he knows. I wish I was at home too. I don’t see why I ever
consented to come here.”
Clarence suddenly stopped and listened intently. A few weeks ago he
would not have noticed the sound that attracted his attention, but he
noticed it now, faint as it was, and he was glad to hear it, too. It
was the sound of a steam whistle, and it came from the river below him.
He recognised it at once, for he had heard it often during his journey
down the river. “That’s the Emma Deane,” thought he. “She has been
to New Orleans, and is now on her way up the river. Can I reach the
landing in time to catch her, I wonder? I will, if Don’s pony has the
wind to stand the gallop.”
Clarence ran through the brier-patch, scratching his hands and face and
tearing his clothes at almost every step, but nothing could stop his
progress. Reaching the fence where he had left the pony, he quickly
untied him, and jumping on his back, went tearing up the road with all
the speed the spirited little animal could be induced to put forth.
He did not look up when he passed his uncle’s house, but kept his hat
down over his eyes, urged on the pony, and finally disappeared around
the bend, and entered a thick piece of woods that bounded that side of
General Gordon’s plantation. As he dashed along wholly engrossed with
his gloomy thoughts, and intent on reaching the landing before the
steamer, there was a violent rustling among the bushes, the pony jumped
quickly to one side, and his rider, being taken off his guard, was
thrown flat in the middle of the dusty lane. Clarence scrambled to his
feet and made a blind dash to recover the bridle which had been pulled
from his grasp, but the pony was too quick for him. He wheeled on the
instant, flourished his heels in the air and started for home.
Clarence was not injured in the least by the fall, but he was pretty
well shaken, and so nearly blinded by the dust that it was a minute or
two before he could collect his scattered senses, and clear his eyes
so that he could take note of what was going on around him. The first
thing he saw was the pony’s white tail disappearing around the turn in
the road, and the next was Godfrey Evans, who arose from a thicket of
bushes, and hurrying up laid hold of the boy’s collar.
“I’m pretty badly shaken up, but I don’t need any help,” said Clarence,
who was already on his feet. “Hallo! what’s the matter with you?”
Clarence had by this time cleared the dust from his eyes so that he
could take a good look at his companion. There was an expression on his
face that he had never seen there before, and he did not know what to
make of it.
“Why don’t you let go my collar?” demanded Clarence.
“Kase I want them twenty dollars ye’ve got in yer pocket--that’s why,”
replied Godfrey, savagely.
Clarence was too amazed to speak.