was a great deal better. He missed Will very much, but he did not suffer
a relapse. He put his remaining pistol carefully away, vowing to load it
himself, if he should be tempted to use it again. As for the one which
Will discharged, it was lost the night of the expedition to the cave.
_Chapter XXIII._
THE SAGE’S EXPERIMENT.
It is summer again. The six are enjoying themselves as usual, but are
playing no tricks worthy of mention. Considering all things, it is
surprising that they have kept out of mischief so long.
But the Sage was revolving a certain matter in his mind. He had been
reading about Capt. Kidd the pirate, and the treasures he is said to have
buried. He did not believe there were any such treasures,--at least, he
thought he did not,--and to show how erroneous all those old traditions
are, he resolved to make what he called an experiment.
“Look here, boys,” he said to his school-fellows, “wouldn’t it be capital
to look for gold some day; some of Capt. Kidd’s gold, you know!”
“No, George, I guess we don’t know much about it; so go ahead and tell
us,” Stephen replied.
“You’ve heard the stories about his buried treasures, of course. Well,
let us follow the directions, and look for a stray treasure some night.”
“What directions?” Stephen asked. That day he seemed to be in a humor to
persecute somebody.
“Why, the directions given in fortune-telling books for finding buried
treasures,” George said good-humoredly. “I have a good necromancer’s
book, and I have studied this thing all out. So, suppose we go to work
and try it, just to prove how nonsensical all such stories are, and what
a humbug necromancy is. Boys, it would be sport.”
“The very thing!” Charles exclaimed. “Now, tell us all about it.”
“Well, I’m glad some one can understand my meaning,” the Sage said
smilingly. “We must go along the banks of some river at night, when the
moon rises just as the sun sets. When the moon throws the person’s
shadow four feet up into an evergreen, any evergreen tree, stop and say
over some enchantment. Then shoot an arrow straight up into the air, and
it will strike the water--at least it ought to strike it. Shoot another,
and it ought to fall at your feet. Shoot one more, and it will light
on the ground exactly over your treasure. But you must dig for it with
paddles.”
“Paddles!” cried the boys.
“Yes, dig two feet with paddles, or the treasure will escape. Then you
may take spades, or anything you choose, to dig with; and six feet down
you’ll find it.”
“How wonderful!” Marmaduke exclaimed languidly.
“How foolish, you mean,” wise Will observed. “Really, George, I used to
think you had more common sense. Who cares about paddles, and arrow’s,
and necromancers, and moons, and shadow’s, and rivers, and--and--now,
George, you know such tomfoolery isn’t worth listening to.”
“Of course I don’t believe it,” George replied earnestly; “I only want to
expose it.”
Charles and Stephen had been whispering together and exchanging winks
while the others were speaking, and the former now said, with feigned
seriousness: “Certainly you don’t, George. It’s a likely story that
a boy like you believes in a bald-headed, goggle-eyed, broken-nosed
necromancer, that never washes his hands, nor blows his broken nose, nor
combs his whiskers, nor cuts his toenails. No, George, you read too much
science to believe in such a dilapidated ruin as a necromancer must be;
but, as you say, it would be roaring fun to follow his directions. How
right and praiseworthy to expose the superstitions of the wicked old
necromancer! Boys, let us go, by all means!”
George looked at the speaker rather suspiciously; but seeing how grave
and earnest he appeared, never guessed that he was laughing inwardly.
He replied warmly, “You’re a true friend, Charley. You understand my
motives, and see what little faith I put in the old necromancer. Now,
boys, you must give in that we could get a great deal of amusement out
of this. Honestly, couldn’t we?”
“It’ll be the best fun we’ve had yet!” Steve declared. “But doesn’t he
give any more directions, George?”
“Oh, yes. There is a page of what you’re to do and say, and if we should
conclude to make the experiment I’ll learn it, for you mustn’t take the
book along with you.”
“Of course not,” Charles said promptly. “Well, you’ll go, won’t you,
Will?”
“Wouldn’t miss going for anything!” Will replied with decision.
Without stopping to wonder at the sudden change in Will’s and Steve’s
opinions, the sage continued, “According to the almanac, this is the very
night for us to go, because the moon rises as the sun sets.”
“Exactly;” commented Stephen. “And the river is our river, of course. As
for the evergreen, I know where there is a fine tall one near the river.
We must start just at the right time to have the shadow according to the
rule when we arrive at the evergreen. Now, boys, I’ll scare up a good bow
and half a dozen arrows; and Charley, I’m sure, can bring a long-handled
spade; and Will can supply us with an oar or two. If the book says
anything else is needed, George, you must see to it, for you, of course,
will be our leader.”
George gracefully acknowledged this tribute to his merit.
Jim now spoke for the first time. “But what has all this to do with
Captain Kidd?” he asked.
Ever since Will’s experience in the cave he had been filled with lofty
ideas, and now, in his wisdom, he thought this the first weighty remark
that had been made.
George replied thus: “We don’t know of any other man that would be
foolish enough to bury treasures, Jim, so let us suppose that we are
looking for one of Kidd’s.--All in sport, of course.”
Will looked at the Sage with pity that was not akin to love, and
observed, “Now, George, I haven’t been reading the history of Captain
Kidd, as you have, but I know well enough that he never buried any money
in these parts _because it stands to reason he was never here_! Perhaps
he buried some along the sea-coast, but certainly none in this far-off
wilderness--as it was then.”
This argument was irrefutable; the Sage was mute. With all his reading,
all his knowledge, was he to be insulted thus?
In fact, he looked so woe-begone that Charles came to his relief, saying,
“Never mind Mr. Kidd, boys; let us follow the necromancers orders
blindly.”
All agreed to do this, and soon afterwards they separated.
All unknown to them, they had had a listener. The conversation had taken
place in the school-grounds, and a great over-grown boy had seen them,
and drawn near enough to hear every word. As a wood-pile was between
him and the heroes, he escaped notice. This “great, hulking lubber,” as
Charles called him, was the boy who had been bitten by Stephen’s dog
several months before, and who, as was intimated, thirsted for revenge.
Ever since that time he had dogged the six, in the vain hope of detecting
them in some evil scheme.
He was a cowardly, treacherous boy, this Bob Herriman, or he would not
have played the eaves-dropper on this occasion. He now resolved to
precede the boys, hide himself in the evergreen, and do his best to
torment them.
Most horrible revenge, truly!
“I’ll get there ahead of ’em,” he muttered, “and climb the tree Stepping
Hen (the opprobrious nickname by which, in his anger, he privately knew
Stephen) spoke of! I think I know the very tree. I’ll yell, perhaps, or
scare ’em awful in some way, and if they do any harm to anything, I’ll
tell on ’em! Oh! what fun!”
Then this embryo villain strutted away, with a mischievous look--a look
that boded ill to the Sage’s experiment. He was an _immoral_ boy, while
Will and his companions were only _boyish_, and full of animal spirits.
The boys longed for night to come, as they imagined they could easily
confute the vile and slovenly old necromancer’s errors, and find food for
laughter. Some time before sunset they turned out in force, and mustered
just below the falls. Everything that could possibly be made useful was
on hand. George, poor boy, had freighted himself with a coil of heavy
rope, but he bore up bravely, and strode onward without a groan.
When they were fairly started, Charles suddenly in-inquired of him: “What
in the world have you brought that rope along for, George?”
“To draw the treasure home with,” was the somewhat startling answer,
coolly given.
“The treasure!” Charles cried. “Why, I thought you ‘put no faith’ in
that! and besides, you can’t draw gold and silver with a rope!”
“Don’t be foolish,” the Sage replied. “I believe in no treasure at all;
but you must _pretend_ to believe in it, or else you will never get it.
As for taking it home with a rope, the book says it will be in a huge
chest, bound with iron bands. Therefore, I bring this rope along to make
the spirits believe I believe in their beliefs.”
Having made this logical explanation, the Sage panted for breath, but
drew himself up proudly, and looked defiantly on his tormentor, crushing
him beneath his eloquence and his aspect.
Charles finally uttered an “Oh!” of relief, and then the procession moved
on.
As the sun sank lower and lower, the boys hastened more and more. Will
had calculated the time very accurately, and said it was foolish to
hurry; but his school-fellows were aware of his failing, and for fear he
had made a mistake, they were too impatient to proceed leisurely.
Notwithstanding the ridicule which the boys cast upon George for his
strict observance of all the “directions,” they did not wish to omit any
of them in making the experiment. Accordingly, all were anxious to arrive
at the evergreen just in time to have the moon throw a shadow on it four
feet high.
And by some strange chance they did.
As soon as the tree came in sight, Steve exclaimed, “There it is, boys!
The very same, identical, self-same tree!”
“Its very close to the water,” George growled, as he made a vain effort
to ease his aching shoulders.
“It’s from two to five feet from the water,” Steve replied. “That’s
plenty of room to go between it and the shore, and plenty of room to
measure the fine shadow there will be.”
“Then we must draw cuts to see whether it’s the right evergreen, as the
book says.”
This was done, and they found that this was the tree intended.
Again they marched on, and presently stood before the mystic tree.
The Sage halted, and threw down the coil of rope with a sigh of relief.
“The coast is clear, boys,” he said, joyously. “There is no one here
swimming, or out boating, or shooting squirrels, or----”
“Or fishing for water-snakes and crunching peppermint candy,” Steve put
in, as a finale.
For a moment George looked vexed; but this was Stephen’s way, and he knew
no insult was intended.
If the boys had known that this very evergreen, under which they stood,
harbored an enemy, they would have acted differently. Bob Herriman had
ensconced himself in this tree, and even while Steve spoke, he was trying
to rub the gum off his hands and clothes, and glaring wickedly down at
the heroic six and the equally heroic dog, Carlo.
“Well, boys,” George observed, “I must go on alone, with Steve close
behind to measure my shadow. If we all go crowding along together,
somebody will get shoved into the river.”
The wisdom of this was so apparent that the rest waited patiently while
the other two went on.
George walked cautiously along the bank of the river, and when the rising
moon threw a faint shadow of his figure on the bark of the evergreen, he
halted. Stephen, however, stepped up so briskly and boldly, and so near
the brink, that shovelfuls of loose earth rattled down into the water.
When he reached George he whipped a homemade folding ruler out of his
pocket, and applied it to the shadow.
“Just four feet!” he cried, excitedly.
George looked on complacently, and the boys in waiting, hearing Steve’s
remark, uttered a shout of surprise and delight.
“Stop! stop!” George cried, angrily: “I cannot allow such a noise!”
A dead silence ensued. The four moved on till they had passed the tree,
and then George and Stephen joined them.
“That tree is very thick up among the branches,” Jim observed.
“Never mind that,” Charles said. “Now, George, it’s time to go to work.
Are you sure you know the verses?”
“_What_ verses?” the Sage asked, indignantly.
“Why, the necromancer’s, of course.”
“You call it ‘verses,’ do you? Well, Charley, a boy generally does. But
you should say ‘poetry.’ Now, this is genuine poetry--an ode, an--an----.
Well, the book says it’s an Apostrophe, or Address to----”
“Fiddle-sticks! George, do you know it?”
The Sage made no answer, but, facing the river and the moon, he drew
himself up proudly, and merely observing that he must have silence,
cleared his throat for action.
The rest were all behind him, and so escaped notice. Then each one
took out his handkerchief and dammed up that organ which is the seat
of laughter. By this means they succeeded in choking back all their
merriment, and behaved so well that poor George was highly gratified.
It must have been a comical sight to Bob Herriman in his tree. At all
events, he gazed at the different actors with open mouth and ears, while
the Sage delivered the following:
ADDRESS TO THE BENIGN SPIRITS OF RIVERS AND STREAMS.
O, all ye spirits, sprites, and elves, come, listen unto me,
A humble mortal who would seek light on some points from ye.
To _me_ ’tis known, bright roving sprites, that countless treasures rust
In caves, in seas, in shady dells,--or even in the dust.
To _you_ ’tis known, O spirits bright, where millions may be found;
Where gold and silver, precious stones, and gems of earth abound.
Why should ye not disclose the place where some of these lie hid?
In awful depths, in gloomy wastes, or flowery bowers amid?
From those who put their trust in you, O spirits, elves, and sprites,
Why will ye always flee away, not giving them their rights?
Tell me, I pray you, airy sprites, and fairies good and kind,
Where I, through your great influence, may some lost treasure find.
Tell me, O all ye sprightly elves and fairies that I see,
And I will your most faithful friend and servant ever be.
I long for wealth, for ease and peace, for honour, fame, and might;
O spirits, hasten--hasten----
George hesitated, stammered, stopped! The necromancers rhymes were too
much for his already overstocked brain. He made one more desperate
effort, but Charles, with his habitual promptness, cut him short,
shouting:
“----hasten us out of this sad plight!”
At this, the others tore out their handkerchiefs and laughed derisively.
George wheeled round quickly, and just in time to see five handkerchiefs
shoved into as many pockets. He did not know what they had been doing
with their handkerchiefs, but he was angry, and he said, snappishly:
“Look here, if you boys can’t behave any better than that, you had better
stay at home! I didn’t come here to amuse gigglers, and I won’t do it.
No; I’ll stop right here; I won’t go on with the experiment.”
Charles knew’ that this was only an idle threat, but he said, hastily:
“Now, George, you’re too old and too sensible to be vexed because we
laugh at what is comical. To-morrow you’ll laugh yourself. And besides,
what did we come here for? To rout the necromancer, or to be routed
ourselves?”
“Of course; we came here to enjoy ourselves and have some fun,” chimed in
Stephen.
“Yes, but you might behave yourselves,” the Sage growled. “Now, where was
I? Oh, pshaw! it’s all a muddle! Only two or three more lines, and it
would have been finished. Well,” brightening up, “perhaps the charm isn’t
spoilt; and, Steve, hand me your bow and arrows.”
The boy still felt aggrieved, and he now fired furiously towards the sky.
The arrow rushed into the air, and came down a moment later, striking the
water fairly.
The archer’s face beamed with smiles; he spoke. “Boys, that is as it
should be; and when we get warmed up in this game, it will be sport.”
“It will certainly be _warm work_ if we dig down six feet in this dirt,”
Will growled.
The boys changed their positions before George shot the next arrow, and,
as luck would have it, Will took his stand near a horrible, miry hole
which had been scooped out by the river in a great overflow that very
spring. He threw his paddles down carelessly, and fixed his eyes on the
experimentalist.
That worthy now fitted another arrow to the bowstring, and after taking
deliberate aim at a star overhead, he gravely “fired.”
Every head was bent to observe the arrow’s flight, and each one was
prepared to spring aside if it should come down too close to him. Each
one except Bob Herriman. He, poor wretch, had placed himself in so
cramped a position that he could not see it fly.
Having made this clear to the reader, surely he will guess what happened.
The arrow descended fairly in the evergreen, struck a branch, glanced,
and Mr. Bob received a stinging blow on the back of the head. He
wriggled and nearly fell out of the tree. His mouth flew open, and a
half-suppressed ejaculation escaped him.
The arrow then struck the ground in such a manner that it ran along it,
and finally ceased its wanderings within a few feet of George.
“How strangely everything is fulfilled!” he said, with evident
satisfaction.
The boys grinned--even Marmaduke was amused at the Sage’s behaviour.
“I believe that tree is inhabited,” Stephen remarked. “I’m sure there was
a great rumpus in it when the arrow’ struck it, and I thought I heard a
groan.”
“Go to grass, Stunner!” said Charles. “You don’t know a groan from a
wasp’s nest.”
“I guess you’re about right, Charley;” Will added. “I guess George’s
arrow smashed an ancient and worn out bird’s nest.”
Let it be understood that none of these boys were aware of Bob Herriman’s
presence. They accompanied the Sage only to see to what extremes he would
go, and to while away the time. But probably they had hopes that some
unforeseen incident would happen to cause merriment.
Again George fired deliberately into the air, and again the arrow was
narrowly watched. This time it came down so perilously near Stephen’s dog
that Stephen was grievously offended.
But as this was the last arrow to be shot upward, and as all wished the
proceedings to be continued, he was soon pacified.
George looked complacently at the arrow, and at last seemed ready to make
use of the paddles and spade. With some pompousness he traced a circle
round his arrow, and looked so important that the boys could hardly
suppress their laughter. But it seemed to them, boys though they were,
that practical George was out of his sphere.
“Now, William,” he said, “bring me those paddles of yours.”
Will smiled to hear himself addressed by his full name, and turned to
pick them up.
Steve, still thinking about his dog’s narrow escape from injury, snarled:
“Don’t _William_ him, or he’ll make you _wilt_.”
“Stop!” the Sage shouted to Will, even as Steve spoke. “I forgot. It is
necessary that an arrow should yet be shot.”
“As your grammar would say,” supplemented wicked Stephen.
The Sage took no notice of these jeering words, but continued: “Yes, I
must shoot an arrow through the very middle of the evergreen.”
Bob Herriman, who could hear every word, now had reason to be alarmed. Up
to this time he had looked on calmly, intending to keep still till the
boys should be very much engrossed, and then terrify them all in some
mysterious way--how, he had not yet determined. Now, however, he lost
sight of everything except his own safety, and not stopping to collect
himself, he gave vent to the most ear-piercing, heart-appalling howl,
shriek, and roar, combined in one, that the boys had ever heard.
Boys, imagine a deep-chested lad of sixteen mechanically drawing in a
full breath, and then suffering it to escape in one long cry of mortal
terror.
_Chapter XXIV._
THE SAGE UNEARTHS A TREASURE.
The effect on the boys was startling.
In the confusion of the moment, George probably took it for one of his
“sprites;” and he dropped Steve’s bow, stepped on it, and broke it.
Marmaduke felt that there must be something ghostly and necromantic in
such a cry, coming, in the hush of evening, from a shapely evergreen that
rose beside a rolling, moonlit river.
Jim was seized with a painful attack of his chills, and ran bellowing
homewards.
Stephen, impetuous and heedless as ever, picked up a stone and threw it
furiously into the tree.
The reader of fiction does not need to be told that “all this happened in
an instant.”
Where the stone struck Mr. Herriman is not known; but with a crash he
fell headlong to the ground, rolled over twice,--roaring, meantime, with
rage, pain, and terror,--and before the thunderstruck boys could recover
from their stupefaction, he had disappeared in the water.
Then Stephen, with great presence of mind, exclaimed: “Boys, I told you
that tree was inhabited!”
“Save him! Save him! Whoever he is, save him!” Charles cried. “Get
George’s rope, and throw it out to him!”
He and Stephen made a rush for it, and stumbled over each other, but
finally managed to get all but a few inches of it into the water. There
their rescuing ceased.
Mr. Herriman, whose feet touched bottom, floundered and sputtered about
in the water like a madman. He could easily have made his way to the
shore, but apparently he had lost his wits. Every other second he gave
utterance to some pithy interjection. Doubtless he would have yelled
continually; but every time he opened his mouth a small cupful of water
and animalcules poured down his throat, and well-nigh choked him.
A panic seized upon the boys, and although chattering and gesticulating
like monkeys, they were powerless to help him. And so Bob struggled in
the river, in some danger of being drowned.
But a deliverer was at hand. Carlo awoke to what was going on, and, more
sensible than the boys, plunged into the river, and an instant later was
beside demoralized Bob. He caught first his coat, then his pants, then
his coat again, Bob insanely striking him off each time.
The truth is, it galled the boy to be rescued by Tip’s successor.
The noble dog persevered in his efforts, however, and Bob, eventually
seeing the folly of resisting, suffered himself to be towed to the bank.
Then the brave boys exerted themselves, and succeeded in hauling
bewildered Robert Herriman on shore.
His first act betrayed his cowardly nature.
“Get out, you brute!” he said, and struck the gallant dog which had just
saved him, and which stood by, wagging his tail to express his delight.
Then, with a jeering laugh at the dog’s low growl, he darted away from
the now enraged boys.
He ran a few’ steps, then halting, he picked up a stone, and heaved it
among the experimentalists.
“Take _that_ for throwing stones at me!” he said derisively, as he took
to his heels again. “Look out for your dog, Stepping Hen, and good-bye
till I see you again,” he shouted as he ran.
This was more than human nature could bear. With fury in their eyes, and
uttering a warwhoop that electrified the flying wretch, they all broke
into a run and gave chase, determined to wreak dire vengeance on him.
Bob yelled fearfully,--well he might,--and redoubled his speed.
The pursuers were gaining on him, when a wild cry, a beseeching, almost
despairing, appeal for help, reached their ears.
They stopped and stared vacantly at each other. The look each one put on
seemed plainly to inquire, “What next?”
“It’s Will,” Charles said. “Where on earth is he?”
“Follow the sound,” the Sage said, philosophical as ever.
The pursuit was instantly given over, for all the boys bore Will too much
love to neglect him. One and all, the four ran back to the scene of their
late exploits, and Herriman escaped.
“Who saw Will last?” George asked anxiously.
“The last I saw of him,” said Steve, “was when you told him to bring the
paddles.”
In fact, poor Will was so startled at Bob’s appalling cry that he had
tumbled backwards into the pit. He and his paddles. In the confusion that
ensued he was not missed, but was left to his own resources while the
others were engaged in “rescuing” and dealing with Rob.
Unhappy boy, he found himself in narrow quarters. The hole was large at
the top, but small at the bottom, and he was unable to climb out of it.
Soon he found himself sinking into the horrible, sickening mire, which
gave way beneath him.
He heard the shouts of his companions, and struggled manfully to save
himself--and his paddles.
Why didn’t he cry out for help immediately? That is very easily explained.