OUR CHRISTMAS TURKEYS.
In less than two hours after Mark reached home, three large canoes
loaded with settlers swept down the bayou and landed at the bluffs above
Dead Man’s Elbow.
The place was found to be deserted. There were plenty of footprints in
the mud on the top of the cliff, and that was all that remained to tell
of the thrilling incidents that had happened there but a short time
before.
The skiff and the valise had disappeared, and the tree in which Luke
Redman had taken refuge was empty. How he managed to escape from his
perilous situation—whether he imitated Mark’s example, and swam over the
falls, or the Swamp Dragoons succeeded in pulling him up the bluff—we
had no means of judging. He was gone, and the next thing was to find
him.
During the next few days the settlement was in great commotion. In
company with the planters, our fellows explored the county from one end
to the other, but without finding the slightest trace of Luke Redman and
the Swamp Dragoons. They had disappeared as completely as though they
had never existed at all.
At the end of a week, however, the excitement began to abate, and our
attention was called to other matters. Christmas was near at hand, and
that was a great day with us. From the time we were old enough to be
trusted with horses and guns, we had made it a point to spend the day
hunting in the woods, winding up our sports about four o’clock in the
afternoon by eating a wild turkey which had been roasted over our
camp-fire.
We had begun as early as the first of the month to make preparations for
this all-important occasion, but our chances for securing the necessary
game grew less promising as the day drew near. Wild turkeys were not
only exceedingly scarce that year, but the few we saw during our rambles
were so shy that it was next to an impossibility to shoot one; and as we
were resolved that we would not miss our accustomed dinner, we were
obliged to resort to something that every true sportsman holds in
supreme contempt—namely, traps.
We built several among the beech ridges in the swamp, but scarcely had
we completed them before we became aware that somebody was interfering
with our arrangements. He visited the traps as regularly as we visited
them ourselves, and took all the game out of them.
We knew as well as though we had seen him in the act that Tom Mason was
the culprit, but for a long time our efforts to fasten the guilt upon
him were unsuccessful. We came up with the gentleman at last, however,
and took a little satisfaction out of him for the disappointment and
vexation he had occasioned us, although before the day was over he paid
me for it in a way I did not like.
On the morning of the day before Christmas, Mark burst into
headquarters, where I was sitting in company with the rest of our
fellows, his clothes all covered with mud that had been splashed over
them by his horse’s feet, and his face red with anger. He had started
out at daylight to visit the traps, and his looks showed plainly that he
had met with no better success than usual.
“It is no use, fellows,” said he, pitching his hat spitefully into one
corner, “we might as well give it up. I don’t see what such boys as Tom
Mason are made for, anyhow.”
“Oh, no! we can’t give up the dinner,” said Duke, quickly. “If we don’t
succeed in capturing a turkey, we will shoot a wild goose. We can find
plenty of them, you know.”
“Well,” replied Mark, “if you want to hunt wild geese on a raft, you can
do it. I’ll stay at home.”
“On a raft!” repeated Duke. “Where’s the canoe?”
“You tell; or, if you want to be certain about it, go and ask Tom Mason.
He knows. It is gone, and I had to build a raft to go over to the island
where we made our last trap.”
We were all very much provoked when we heard this. It was irritating
enough to have our sports interrupted and our plans broken in upon by
such a fellow as Tom Mason, but we did not mind that so much as the loss
of our canoe. The Spitfire—that was the name we had given her—was a
swift, handy little craft, and as it was the first one our fellows ever
built, and we had owned it for years, we thought a great deal of it.
Even easy-going Sandy, who seldom spoke harshly of any body, declared
that it was high time we were taking that Tom Mason in hand.
“I don’t think we can be expected to stand this thing any longer,”
continued Mark. “I know that there are as many as fifty turkeys that
roost on that island at night, and that some of them must get in that
trap every morning. I propose that we camp out on the bank of the bayou
to-night and watch the island.”
“That’s a good idea,” said I. “I will go down at once, and send a couple
of darkeys into the swamp to build a shanty for us.”
While I was hunting up the negroes, and giving them some instructions in
regard to the location of the shanty, the manner in which it was to be
built, and the quantity of provisions we should need during the two days
we expected to remain in the swamp, I heard a great rumpus in the house,
such as might have been occasioned by a squad of cavalry driving rapidly
through the hall. I knew, however, that the noise was made by the heavy
boots worn by our fellows, who were rushing pell-mell down the stairs.
Wondering what was in the wind now, I ran around the house, and saw a
group of excited boys gathered in the lane.
Conspicuous among them was Tom Mason, who sat on his horse, flourishing
his riding-whip in the air and talking at the top of his voice.
Mark held his nag by the bridle, and was trying his best to induce Tom
to dismount, threatening to pull him from his saddle if he did not
immediately comply.
Believing that there was a fight in prospect, and that Tom would be
severely punished, I jumped over the bars and joined the group,
intending to do all I could to prevent a difficulty.
“I don’t know any thing about your old boat, Mark Coleman,” said Tom, as
I came up; “and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I think you have
good cheek to come to me for favors after treating me as you have done.
But I will tell you one thing—you had better look out for me now. I’ll
sink that canoe if I can find it, and I’ll pull down every turkey trap
you set in these woods.”
“Well, now, if you will come out of that saddle for about two minutes, I
will convince you that you had better steer clear of us and every thing
belonging to us,” said Mark.
“If you know when you are well off, you will stay where you are,” I
exclaimed. “Let go his horse, Mark. Now, friend Mason,” I added, as Mark
released his hold of the bridle and fell back, “the way is open, and you
had better clear yourself.”
Tom rode a short distance up the lane, and then stopped and looked back.
“Where did you get that boat you were talking about?” he demanded.
“We made it,” replied Duke.
“That’s a likely story. I’d as soon think you stole it. As I told you
once before, those who sympathize with thieves are no better than they
are. You won’t go hunting or fishing with me; but you will ride six
miles through the mud to visit the beggar Jerry Lamar when he is in
jail.”
“Yes,” replied Herbert, “we are particular in regard to the company we
keep. We’re rather shy of boys who steal and tell falsehoods.”
“I know what you mean by that,” said Tom, angrily, “and I’ll pay you for
it, too. I am going to make things exceedingly lively for all of you
this winter, if you only knew it. I’ll settle up all the little accounts
between us in a way you don’t think of; mind that!”
As Tom gave utterance to this warning, he put spurs to his horse and
galloped away, while our fellows returned to headquarters.
We spent an hour or two in talking over the events of the morning, and
about eleven o’clock mounted our horses and started for the swamp.
We passed the time until three in the afternoon in riding about among
the hills, visiting our traps, and you can imagine what our feelings
were when we found that Tom Mason had already begun to carry out the
threats he had made that morning.
Two of our traps had been robbed since Mark visited them at daylight,
and as many more completely demolished.
How did we know that any of them had been robbed? By the feathers that
were scattered about over the ground.
We found, too, that the thief had come into the woods by way of the
bayou, for we tracked him to the bank, and found the place where he had
landed from his canoe.
When we had visited all our traps in that part of the woods, we turned
our horses’ heads toward the camp; and if you are one with the soul to
appreciate such things, you will know how we enjoyed the pleasant sight
that greeted our eyes as we entered a little valley among the hills, and
found a commodious pole shanty and a roaring fire waiting for us.
We dismounted, and, while we stood warming our benumbed hands over the
cheerful blaze, looked around on the preparations that had been made for
our comfort.
The negroes must have thought it was our intention to remain in the
woods all the rest of our lives, judging by the care they had taken in
fitting up the camp.
The shanty was tight, and would have kept us dry if it had rained
buckets. It was built with its back to the wind and the front open to
the fire; and looking inside, we saw five beds neatly made up on the
floor, which was thickly covered with leaves.
On one side of the shanty was a supply of wood for the fire, and on the
other was the wagon, beside which stood a span of mules, contentedly
munching their corn.
Sam, one of the negroes, was exploring a huge mess-chest in the wagon,
and bringing to light the good things mother had put up for us, now and
then turning his head to look at the brace of wild ducks and the half a
dozen squirrels that were broiling on the coals.
I shall never forget that camp. It served us as our “headquarters in the
field” for many a year, and one memorable night was the scene of one of
the most exciting adventures that ever befell our fellows.
“Not a single turkey have we seen yet,” said Mark, as we drew up around
the fire. “Have you boys been on the island to look at that trap?”
“Yes, sah,” replied Sam, “an’ it’s done tore down. But I built it up
ag’in, an’ throwed corn all around it. I reckon we’ll get some turkeys
outen dar afo’ night, ’kase Cuff is hid in the bushes watchin’ de
island, an’ if dat dar Mason boy comes pokin’ round ag’in, he’ll get
cotched.”
We felt better then, and told one another that that Mason boy’s tricks
were at an end, for that day at least. We talked the matter over while
we were waiting for our dinner, and decided upon a plan of operations.
The island on which our trap was built was a noted place for turkeys. If
there were any in the woods, they were always to be found there, and the
secret lay in the fact that the island produced an immense quantity of
beechnuts, of which turkeys are very fond.
We had made our camp about half a mile from the bayou, and our object in
doing so was that the turkeys might not be frightened away by the smoke
from our fire.
The plan we decided upon was that, as soon as we had eaten our dinner,
two of our fellows should conceal themselves in the bushes on the bank
of the bayou, and hold themselves in readiness to alarm the camp if they
saw Tom Mason prowling about, or heard any thing suspicious going on on
the island.
We did not carry this plan into execution, however, for just as the
ducks and squirrels were done to a turn and Sam had finished laying the
table, Cuff came dashing into camp, breathless and excited, and
announced that a large flock of turkeys had just flown from the mainland
over to the island.
That was enough for us. We did not think any more about dinner just
then, but seized our guns and started post-haste toward the bayou.
Herbert Dickson was the first to reach the bank, but no sooner had he
emerged from the bushes than he drew back again, and motioned for us to
approach with more caution.
“Fellows,” he whispered, as we gathered about him, “we are not the only
ones who are watching the island. Tom Mason is over there.”
Following in Herbert’s wake, we crept carefully toward the bank and
looked toward the island. Our evil genius was not in sight, but his
canoe was, and it was almost filled with turkeys—the proceeds of his
morning’s raid upon our traps.
“We’ve got him cornered at last,” said Duke; “and if we move quickly and
quietly, we can catch him in the act of stealing our game. I suggest
that we teach him manners by ducking him in the bayou.”
“And let us keep on ducking him until he tells us what he has done with
our boat,” said Mark. “I know he has stolen it.”
The raft Mark had made that morning was lying alongside of the bank, and
it was but the work of a moment to jump on board and shove out into the
stream.
Just as we moved from the shore, we heard a loud flapping of wings in
the bushes on the island, and a moment afterward a flock of turkeys
arose above the trees, and sailed off into the woods.
“There!” exclaimed Herbert. “Tom has frightened them away before they
had time to get into the trap.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said I. “There are more turkeys in that boat than
we can eat at one Christmas dinner.”
Duke, who was managing the raft, used his paddle with all his strength;
but, before we were half-way across the bayou, the robber came in sight,
carrying a turkey slung over each shoulder. He stopped when he
discovered us, and his face turned red with shame and then pale with
alarm.
“Now, I’ll jest tell you what’s the matter, Tom Mason,” exclaimed Sandy.
“We ain’t a-goin’ to put up with this yere kind of business no longer.
We’ll wash some of that ar meanness outen you by dumping you in the
bayou.”
Tom stood for a moment as if he had been rooted to the ground, and then,
dropping the turkeys, ran toward his boat.
Duke, comprehending his design, exerted himself to the utmost to defeat
it; but our clumsy raft moved very slowly through the water, and when we
arrived within twenty feet of the bank, Tom reached his boat and shoved
off. He could manage a canoe as well as any Indian, and he would
certainly have succeeded in effecting his escape, had it not been for
Sandy Todd. He saw that there was but one way to prevent the robber from
making off with his booty, and he had the nerve to adopt that way. He
hastily threw off his powder-flask and shot-pouch, and before we knew
what he was going to do, he was in the water striking out for Tom’s
boat.
For a moment he puffed and blew like a porpoise (you can imagine how
cold the water is in December, even in a warm climate like ours), but he
kept on, and, after a few swift strokes, was near enough to Tom to seize
the stern of his canoe.
“Let go!” shouted Tom, flourishing his paddle in the air. “Let go, I
say, or I’ll rap you over the head!”
“Hold fast to him, Sandy!” I yelled. “Those turkeys are ours, and we’re
bound to have them.”
“If he attempts to strike you, capsize the canoe and spill him out,”
exclaimed Herbert.
“I’d like to see him do it,” said Tom, savagely. “Once more, and for the
last time, Sandy Todd, I tell you that if you don’t take your hands off
my boat, I’ll—”
He did not finish the sentence. While he was speaking, he raised his
paddle to strike Sandy, and our fellow, acting upon Herbert’s
suggestion, placed his hands upon the side of the canoe, and overturned
it in an instant, emptying Tom and the turkeys into the cold waters of
the bayou.
“Boo-hoo!” sputtered the robber, as he arose to the surface, his face
blue with the cold, and his teeth chattering. “I’ll—fix—you for
that—Sandy Todd!”
“We are not done with you yet,” exclaimed Mark. “You shan’t touch dry
land again until you tell us what you have done with our boat.”
These words seemed to bring Tom to his senses again. He struck out
manfully—I never saw a boy who could swim like that Tom Mason—and in
spite of all Duke’s efforts to cut him off, he reached the island, and
scrambling up the bank, disappeared in the bushes.
Then we were sure that he was caught. He could not escape to the
mainland without swimming the bayou, and we did not think he would be
likely to attempt that after the experience he had already had with cold
water.
Sandy crawled out upon the raft as we moved past him, and the instant
our clumsy vessel touched the shore, we all jumped off and dashed
through the bushes in hot pursuit of the robber; but we did not come
within sight of him until we reached the foot of the island, and then,
to our surprise, we discovered him in a canoe and about half-way across
the bayou. He was paddling for dear life; but when he saw us standing on
the bank, he stopped to say a parting word to us.
“You said that you are not done with me, didn’t you?” he asked. “You
will find, before the winter is over, that _I_ am not done with _you_. I
have a plan in my head that will astonish you when you find out what it
is. Keep your eyes open, and good-by till I see you again.”
“Say, Tom,” I shouted, “you told us this morning that you didn’t know
any thing about our boat. You are in it now.”
“I know it,” he replied, coolly. “She was hidden in the bushes not ten
feet from where you are now standing.”
“Well, we want her, and we’re bound to have her.”
“If you get her before I am done with her, just let me know it, will
you?”
Tom dropped his paddle into the water and pulled leisurely toward the
shore, while we ran back to the head of the island, intending to jump
into his boat and pursue him. But he knew better than to try a fair race
with us down the bayou.
Knowing that he could not escape with the canoe while we possessed the
means to follow him, he held straight for the nearest shore, and when he
reached it, jumped out and took to the woods.
We found our canoe where he had left it, and when we took it in tow and
paddled back to the head of the island, we told one another that Tom
Mason should never get his hands upon it again. We would put it into the
wagon and take it home with us.
“This fellow has done a big business in stealing this morning,”
exclaimed Mark, who had been counting the turkeys we found in Tom’s
canoe. “How many do you suppose there are? Twenty-three; enough to
furnish a Christmas dinner for half the planters in the settlement.
We’ve done enough for one day, and I move that we break up camp and
spend the rest of the afternoon in distributing some of these turkeys
among our friends. We can’t use them all.”
We landed opposite the island, and knowing that we had a cunning enemy
to deal with, left Duke and Herbert to watch our game, while the rest of
us went to the camp to harness the mules.
I don’t know why it was, but the moment we arrived within sight of the
shanty, a suspicion flashed through my mind that something had been
going on there during our absence. My first thought was of my mare. She
was gone. There was the sapling to which she had been tied, with a piece
of the halter still fastened to it, but the mare was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is she, Joe?” asked Mark.
“That is just what I should like to find out,” I replied. “I never knew
Bess to break loose before.”
“An’ she didn’t break loose this time,” said Sandy, confidently. “That
thar halter has been cut with a knife.”
“I shouldn’t wonder if this was a part of the plan Tom Mason told us
about,” said Mark. “After he landed from his canoe, he slipped around
here and stole the horse.”
Something told me that this was the true explanation of the matter; but
I would not allow myself to believe it until I had questioned the
negroes who just then came running up. The answers they gave to my
hurried inquiries destroyed my last hope. They had not seen the mare,
and were greatly astonished to learn that she had disappeared.
Being very much interested in the result of our chase after Tom Mason,
they had followed us to the bayou, leaving the camp to take care of
itself. Our evil genius, or any other prowler, could have walked off
with all we had, for there was nobody to prevent it.
I need not stop to tell you all that was said and done when we at last
made up our minds that Black Bess had been stolen. It will be enough to
say that Sandy rode back to the bayou after Duke and Herbert, and that
they all set out in pursuit of Tom Mason, leaving me to superintend the
operation of breaking up the camp.
I placed our canoe and the turkeys in the wagon, and, after tying Tom’s
boat to a tree on the bank, so that he could find it again when he
wanted it (I tell you it cost me a struggle to do that; I had half a
mind to turn it adrift, and let it float out to the river and down to
the Gulf of Mexico), I rode home with the negroes utterly disconsolate.
If you ever lost any thing you prized as highly as I prized Black Bess,
you will know just how I felt.
Our fellows came in at dark, but without any thing encouraging to say to
me, and father and I rode over to see General Mason, Tom’s uncle.
We found the young rascal in the library, poring over a book, and
looking none the worse for his cold bath in the creek.
He seemed greatly amazed when father told him that the object of our
visit was to ascertain what he had done with the horse he had stolen,
and so earnestly protested his innocence that I was almost willing to
believe he was not the guilty one after all.
We had a few minutes’ conversation with the general, during which he
promised to do all in his power to assist us in recovering the lost
horse, and then returned home no wiser than we left.