invariably provoked the laughter of others--that he had fallen into
the habit of keeping as many of them secret as possible. He had a
preternatural horror of being made a laughing-stock, and consequently,
when he found himself out of sight in a pit, he was desirous to work his
way out of it before he should be missed.
Besides, after his exploits in the cave, this experiment of the Sages
was but ignoble pastime, and it would ill become him, the hero who had
delivered and cured his insane uncle, to come to grief in this slimy hole.
He struggled heroically to gain dry land, but the more he struggled the
deeper he sank in the mire. At last, hearing his comrades chasing some
one, he concluded that he should have to cry out for help, or else be
left to a horrible fate.
But it grieved him to think that he was not missed and searched for.
“Whatever is the matter, among so many there might be _one_ to think of
me,” he muttered, sadly. “Don’t I amount to a button, that they don’t
miss me? Or is something awful going on?”
Then, with great reluctance, he shouted for help.
When the four gathered round the hole, they beheld its tenant with wonder.
“How in this world did you get down there?” Steve asked.
“Fell down,” Will said, laconically. “I knew there was a hole in these
regions, and, botheration! I found it, and tumbled overboard into it! But
say, what was all that row about?”
“So you’ve missed all the fun!” Charles said, pityingly.
Then the boys told him all that had happened.
“But why didn’t you yell for us to help you at first?” Steve asked.
“Why didn’t you miss me?” Will retorted, sourly.
The boys could not be blamed for this. Probably not more than ten minutes
had elapsed from Bob’s first cry of terror till Will’s cry for help; and
they had been very much excited and distressed all that time.
“This is no way to get Will out!” Charles said, angrily. “Stop talking,
Steve, and bring George’s rope here.”
“George’s rope!” said Will. “That will be the very thing! Get it, Steve;
you’re used to hauling donkeys out of pits, you know, so show us your
skill.”
The boys laughed for a full minute, and Steve said, as he darted away for
the rope, “Will, that’s blunder number ten thousand seven hundred and one
for you.”
The rope was found, but it was wet from end to end. However, it proved
more useful than when the boys attempted to rescue Herriman with it, and
Will, with considerable detriment to his clothes, was pulled out of the
hole--his paddles, too.
Although coated with disagreeable slime up to his watch pocket--which, by
the way, contained fish-hooks instead of a watch--he took it coolly, as
became a redoubtable hero.
In order to turn the conversation from himself, he said, hurriedly, “Now,
go into details about Herriman, and then I must pack off home.”
Foolish boy, he need not have been alarmed; he was an object of pity
rather than of laughter.
“We told you about Herriman,” growled Steve. “I wish I could have got
my claw’s on that boy; I would have made him strain his voice and his
muscles!”
“You had better go home this minute, Will,” Charles said, kindly. “As
for Herriman, Steve, I guess he has strained his voice and his muscles
and his joints enough already. Well, Will, I’ll go home with you, and
tell all about Herriman as we journey along. Stephen, I suppose you will
stay here to go on with the necromancy business, which was so meanly
interrupted. Be sure to bring home Will’s paddles and everything else.”
“Yes, the necromancer must be routed,” Steve replied. “I’ll see to
everything; good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Charles and Will, as they plodded off.
“I say, Will,” Charles said, with a grin, as soon as they were out of
hearing, “I say, Will, by to-morrow I guess I’ll be the only one to see
any fun in this business; for Jim ran howling away, Bob got the worst of
it, you robbed the hole of much mud, Steve’s dog was insulted several
times, and before Steve gets through with the Sage and Marmaduke, all
three will be sick of it.”
Thus let them go.
The sport seemed to have lost much of its zest after all these
interruptions and departures; but George and Stephen mended the bow as
well as they could, and then the former, with due solemnity, shot an
arrow through the tree lately occupied by Herriman.
If the complicated plot of this and the preceding chapter has not proved
too great a strain on the reader’s memory, he will probably remember that
the next thing to be done was to dig.
Marmaduke came up with the paddles, and tried to make a spade of one of
them; but it rebounded and jarred his hand till it ached.
“Stop!” screamed the Sage. “You’ll spoil the charm! The sods must be
raised with something sharp, of course. _Boys_,” solemnly, “_they must be
raised with a knife that has slain something!_”
“Slain!” Marmaduke repeated, aghast.
“Yes; and I’ve brought along a knife that once killed a deer and a lion.”
“George, this is going a little too far; what business have you to tote
around a hunter’s weapon?” Stephen inquired. “Why, if _you_ had fallen
into the river with that horrible knife hitched fast to you, you would
have been ruined.”
“Don’t be jealous, Steve,” George said, sarcastically. “You know there
isn’t a boy in the State that owns such a knife as this; you know it has
a romantic history; you know my grandfather willed it to _me_; you know
it once saved Seth Warner’s life; you know an old Turk once----”
“Yes,” interrupted Steve, “I know; I’ve heard you talk about that knife
ever since I first knew you. But if you don’t look out, it will come to
grief like all your other wonderful knives--you’ll lose it.--Well, never
mind, George; I was only surprised to think you could bring along that
keepsake--no, relic--to dig up sods! So,” mildly, “go on, George.”
George “went on,” and soon the sods were raised, and a circle of earth
exposed. Then the paddles were used very laboriously, first by one and
then by another. It was hard work, but at last a hole was scooped out,
and Steve, in despair, took up the spade and dug with ease.
“How do you suppose Herriman came to be in that tree?” George asked.
“That’s a mystery,” Steve replied. “Likely he was prowling around, and
saw us coming, and scrambled into the tree to hide himself. Well, I never
hankered to make a squirrel of myself in an evergreen.”
“Let me dig,” George now said.
Stephen handed over the spade to him, and after a vigorous attack with
it, with a thud that startled the three, he struck something very hard.
Visions of gold and precious stones flashed through their mind; George
trembled with excitement; Marmaduke was in ecstacy; Steve was bewildered.
George stopped for a moment, panting and eager; then he turned to digging
again--so furiously that the sweat streamed from every part of his body.
Not a word was spoken.
Dirt enough was soon removed to discover--what?
An iron-bound box!
Again the Sage paused. Although Steve was as much excited as the others,
he thought this a fitting time to observe: “Well, George, we have exposed
the necromancer’s fable, and it is getting late; so let us pack up and go
home.”
“Go home?” echoed George. “Go home--without seeing what we have found?”
“Certainly. It can’t be a treasure, you know; _because it isn’t six feet
down in the ground_!”
George was thunder-struck. But he soon rallied, and made answer: “Well,
so many queer things have happened, perhaps the spirits got demoralized,
and raised the box.”
“No they didn’t,” Steve retorted; “spirits never get demoralized. And
besides, I’m ashamed of you, George, for staying here any longer. You
know you don’t believe a single word of it,” with cutting irony. “So, let
us do what the copy-book tells us, and make the most of time while we are
young. Let us hurry home.”
Whilst this talk was going on, Marmaduke--much to the secret satisfaction
of both boys--was busy, trying, by using the spade and paddles as levers,
to get the iron-bound box out of the hole. Not finding it so heavy as he
expected, he succeeded without much effort.
Now that it was out of the ground, George, Stephen, and Marmaduke,
pounced on it, pried off the lid, and found--what?
A heap of mouldy old boots, a cracked cow-bell, a worn-out vest, several
broken articles, a few door-knobs, a defaced copy of the Constitution,
rusty nails, the works of a clock, the rudder of a toy ship, a heavy
flat-iron, the head of a medieval image, rubbish, all sorts of things.
Steve, foolish boy, laughed till he was obliged to sit down. As for the
other two, they were, to use a polite expression, “deeply chagrined.”
As soon as Steve recovered himself he said, “This is some of Crazy Tom’s
work! Of course you two have heard of him; he used to live in these
parts, and spent all his time gathering up all kinds of trash, and the
boys say he buried it sometimes. Now I know that story is true. Oh! what
a treasure we have found! Our fortune is made!”
George and Marmaduke were familiar with the legends respecting Crazy Tom,
and they were mute.
“Oh dear,” groaned Steve, “we must get this box back into the hole, and
shovel in the dirt, before we can go home.”
This proves that there was something good in Stephen, after all. A great
many boys would have gone away, leaving everything in confusion.
“There might be something valuable in it,” Marmaduke suggested.
“Yes, of course,” Steve replied. “But I don’t know who’d want to rummage
among all these disgusting old things.”
George and Marmaduke thought of the bones in the woods, and with one
breath, both said, “No!”
“To be sure,” Steve continued, peering into the box, “if we could find
some fellow that hadn’t any respect for himself, we might hire him to
handle its contents, and separate the good from the bad. Now, I’ve a good
mind to take out this----Roanwer!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Matter!” roared Steve, starting back. “My gracious! That box is
inhabited with some awful looking grubs!”
Without further parley the lid was laid on, the box shoved into the hole,
and the dirt shoveled in.
“Steve,” said George suddenly, “I believe you knew about this. Why were
you all at once so eager to go, and why did you pick out this tree, and
guess the box was Crazy Tom’s so quick?”
“Now, George, don’t be foolish. I came for the fun of it, that’s all.
Now, didn’t you shoot all the arrows, and didn’t I do all I could to help
you? Didn’t I work hard digging? Why did I know about where Crazy Tom
buried his treasures? Why, George, are you losing your wits? Come, now,
be sensible; and think it’s a great joke.”
George looked full in Stephen’s honest face, relented, and said
desperately, “Well, I suppose it is very funny; but I’ve made an awful
fool of myself.”
Everything except the big rope was taken home. It was enough for the Sage
to carry it when in excellent spirits, unruffled temper, and fired with
“enthusiasm.” Now, his spirits were broken,--for the time only,--his
temper was soured, he himself was sore and weary, and the rope was
“forgotten.”
The three wended their way homeward in a different frame of mind. Steve
was so light of heart that he chuckled to himself and his dog, and
swung his arms furiously. Marmaduke was uneasy about his lessons for
the next day; George was glum and miserable, full of bitterness against
necromancers, sprites, and Crazy Toms.
“I’ll never meddle with nonsense again,” he muttered, as he jogged on.
“And as for Captain Kidd----”
From that day, he had another name--the Necromancer. It was not much
used, however.
_Chapter XXV._
THE BITTEN BOY TAKES REVENGE.
After that, George renounced all literature that treated of the magical
arts, but his reading was as varied and extensive as ever. He carefully
avoided the subject of necromancy, but when his companions referred to
it, he put up with their jokes and cruel remarks about “iron-bound”
“treasure-chests” with the calm indifference of a true philosopher.
Charles was mistaken in saying that he would be the only one to see any
amusement in the affair after it was all over, for Stephen never tired of
calling up George’s look of misery when the box was opened.
“Oh, if you and Will had only waited!” he often sighed to Charles.
Stephen almost forgot the insults heaped on himself and his dog during
the earlier part of the evening, and as Bob Herriman prudently kept out
of his sight for a few days, he almost forgave that wretch his wickedness.
One day he asked George if he might see the book of necromancy.
At first the Sage was inclined to be vexed at such a question; but
finally, pointing upwards, he said, with a peculiar smile: “Well, Steve,
I guess the _smoke_ of it is up there. And now, don’t say any more about
it, please.”
“George, that night we passed through an _experience_ instead of an
_experiment_;” Stephen replied solemnly, looking wondrous wise. “I
promise not to bother you about it any more.”
Stephen kept his word religiously.
As for Will, strangely enough he took no cold, but was minus one suit of
clothes.
Bob Herriman kept out of the boys sight for a few days. He had several
very good reasons for doing so. In the first place, he was sore and stiff
from many bruises; secondly, his cowardly nature dreaded meeting with the
boys for whom he had lain in ambush, and whom he had exasperated beyond
endurance; and thirdly, he wished to avoid Steve’s dog, which he now
feared.
On account of this, the boy kept quiet near home, although his parents
probably thought him at school. In these “holidays” he worked out a plan
for revenge.
Revenge for what?
The only answer that can be given is that the boy was so vindictive in
his nature that he wished to do the boys and the dog some injury--simply
because he had fallen out of the evergreen; been humiliated, stunned, and
hurt; had an unpleasant struggle in the water; and generally “got the
worst of it,” as Charley put it.
At last he hit on a plan that pleased him greatly.
Suppose that, in order to lend variety, animation, and dignity to these
pages, we forbear giving the details of his plot, and keep the reader in
a state of mild suspense and wonder? Such a course would smooth our task,
and not seriously disturb the readers peace of mind.
Although a raft has not been referred to specially as one of the
attractions of the river, yet, for all that, an ill-made and
disproportioned, but substantial and floatable one was moored a mile
above the falls. Many hours had been spent by the boys in building and
repairing this raft, and many times they had sailed proudly up and down
the river on it. It was a source of great amusement to them all.
Some ten days after the adventure last narrated, Bob Herriman built a
little “house,” which, seen from one end looked like a hen-coop, from the
other like a dog kennel, while a stupid person behind might take it for a
clumsy woodbox, another equally stupid person in front might take it for
a modern home-made bee-hive. One end was three feet wide, the other three
feet six inches. By laying a brick underneath it, its roof was level,
with the spirit-level. By placing it on a perfectly smooth floor, without
the brick underneath it, it rocked gently--just sufficiently, in fact, to
lull a person to sleep. Briefly, Robert was not intended for a carpenter,
and this “house”--which was almost worth its weight in nails--to be still
further disproportioned, was much wider than it was long. Its width has
already been given; its length was two feet and two, three, four and five
inches. Its height was in exact proportion to its width and length. The
door of a disused cupboard was brought into use, and once more did duty
as a door.
Boys, exercise your ingenuity, and draw a correct picture of that
“house.” It may help you to understand Bob’s plot.
Into this building its architect put several things which he thought
would be needed to carry out his schemes successfully.
Every Saturday afternoon Stephen and his dog went swimming in the river.
The other boys generally, but not always, swam with him. This was
well-known to Herriman, and he took his measures accordingly.
The next Saturday Bob set out immediately after dinner, getting a boon
companion of his to take his contrivance in a light waggon to the falls.
This boy, whose thoughts never soared above the driving of his nag, asked
no questions, and scarcely noticed the “house” or its contents. At the
falls Bob set it down carefully, and then the two went their several
ways--the youth with the waggon turning back and going to market, the
plotter getting his building laboriously up the hill by the falls. The
few people near stared at him in wonder, but said nothing.
When this wicked boy got his contrivance a few rods above the falls he
stopped, took out of it and stowed away upon his person whatever water
might damage, and then took an enormously long and very strong cord,
which had hitherto been inside, and tied one end fast to a staple in what
was supposed to be the roof of the “house.”
Having done this, he shoved the unwieldy thing into the river, and eyed
it wistfully.
“No, it isn’t coming to pieces,” he exclaimed, joyfully, as he saw that
his work bore the strain of floating in the water.
Then he grasped the rope--which will be described presently--and towed
his invention--it _was_ an invention--rapidly up the river.
Arrived at the raft, he fastened this thing (we don’t know what else to
call it) firmly on it. Then was shown the beauty and usefulness of the
staple spoken of. Bob ran a strong cord through it and through some of
the many staples and rings which were planted in the raft.
You perceive, gentle reader, that this boy was much better at scheming
than at building.
Then he loosened the rope from the--let us call it _cage_--from the cage,
and tied it fast to a ring in one end of the raft. This rope, or cord,
was new and strong, and was actually one thousand feet in length! Bob
did not believe in doing things by halves--but he had another object in
view when he procured the long rope. Excepting a few yards at the end
made fast to the raft, it was as yet coiled up neatly. About the middle a
heavy iron ring, or sinker, was attached.
Bob arranged everything to his satisfaction, and had just set the raft
afloat and made it stationery with an anchor, in the form of a sharp
stick, when he espied Stephen and Carlo coming for their customary bath.
He himself was screened by friendly shrubs and trees, but Stephen was in
plain sight.
All that he had to do was to remain quiet and keep the raft to its
anchor, and Stephen, he felt assured, would not see him.
In this belief the crafty plotter was right. Stephen hurriedly undressed
a few rods below him, and plunged headlong into the river, Carlo beside
him. Carlo, however, seemed uneasy, as though he suspected the presence
of an enemy.
Bob examined the raft to see that it was securely anchored, and then
stepped lightly ashore, an old muzzle and some pieces of rope in his
hands. Unobserved, he stole along behind the shrubs, trees, and ridges,
till he gained a hollow which completely hid him from Stephen, and then
he stopped. Probably no boy in the neighborhood knew the lay of the land
better than Mr. Bob.
Suddenly, he uttered a cry like a squirrel’s, which produced the effect
he thought it would.
Both Stephen and his dog, not far away, heard it. Steve immediately
stopped swimming, and said, “Sic it, Carlo! Sic it! Fetch him out!”
Bob chuckled, again uttered the cry, and was rewarded by hearing Carlo
flying towards him. “Now, to keep out of the dog’s sight till he gets
into this hollow,” he muttered, suiting the action to the word. “If Steve
should come, too,”--and he grew pale at the thought,--“I’ll get the worst
of it! But Steve won’t come.”
In this conclusion Bob was quite right; for Stephen preferred a good
bath to a doubtful chase after a squirrel. Besides, he could not hunt
the squirrel without dressing himself; and before that could be done,
Carlo would probably have caught it, or else have given up the pursuit.
Therefore, Stephen wisely determined to enjoy his bath, and let his dog
hunt alone.
Crafty Bob had considered all these points, and felt quite easy in his
ambush. He was wise in his day and generation.
“Sic it!” Stephen cried again; and Carlo, with his nose bent to the
ground, ran hither and thither, trying to get scent of the “squirrel.”
Bob gave another encouraging squeak, and the dog plunged through the
shrubbery into the hollow.
He feared the dog, and knew the risks he was running; but revenge spurred
him on, and he remained collected and resolute, while Carlo, quite
surprised, was taken at a disadvantage.
They grapple with each other, almost human dog and almost brutal boy,
have a severe struggle, and fight desperately; but in the end, Bob slips
his muzzle over Carlo’s nose, fastens it, and then binds his feet with
the cords and straps.
Bob is master of the situation.
Swiftly he dragged the helpless animal by the way he had come, till he
arrived at the raft. It was the work of but a minute to haul it on board,
tear up the “anchor,” and shove off. When fairly afloat, the door of the
cage was opened, and Carlo ignominiously thrust in.
Thus the reader perceives that this mysterious cage was to do duty as a
prison. Had not its manufacturer been perusing some of the “literature”
of the present day when he contrived his plot? Only, he varied the
stereotyped form by abducting an heroic dog instead of an heroic fool.
Stephen gave up his whole attention to the delightful and thoroughly
boyish pastime of swimming. In all probability he thought no more of his
dog, believing him to be in full pursuit of the “squirrel.” But Bob had
no sooner got under way than Stephen spied him.
Contrary to all the laws which regulate the actions of the heroes of
romance, he engaged in conversation with the depraved youth. A hero in
a book would have looked the other way in dignified silence when such a
wretch came in sight, but not so Steve.
“Hollo!” he called out. “Why, Bob, I haven’t seen you since the night you
yelled so bravely, and fell overboard into this very river. Have you got
the plasters off your bruises yet? You ought to be as tender as pounded
beef-steak after all your tumbles that night.
“But I say,” in a quarrelsome tone, “what are you doing with our raft?
That raft isn’t common property; it belongs to us.”
“Who is ‘us’?” asked Bob, mockingly.
Now that he was on the raft, all his impudence returned. He knew that he
could work his way into deep water before Stephen could reach him; for,
unlike most rafts built by boys, this one was managed with ease, and
propelled with something like swiftness.
“Who is ‘us’?” Steve echoed in amazement. “You know well enough that
that raft belongs to us four--Will, and me, and Charley, and George, and
Marmaduke, and myself--”
Bob could not deny the justness of Steve’s claim on the raft, so he
waived the question, and cut him short, saying derisively, “Steve, I
reckon you’d better stop, if you can’t count straighter’n that.”
“Well, you have no right to use it,” Steve replied. “What are you doing
here anyway? Are you spying on me again?”
“Where is your dog? I thought he always followed you,” Bob observed,
oaring briskly away.
“Carlo? So he does. He went after a squirrel a minute ago. ’Pon my word,”
as if the thought had just struck him, “it’s very strange that I don’t
hear him bark! Now, what’s the matter! Carlo, Carlo, Carlo, Carlo.”
Bob had now floated the raft down stream into deep water, and with a
burst of idiotic laughter, he swung it half-way around. Up to this time,
that side of the cage which looked like a dog-kennel had been toward
Stephen; but the side which looked like a hen-coop was now, in turn,
presented to him.
The raft had drifted down so far that it was nearly opposite to Stephen;
and now, for the first time, he beheld his beloved dog, bound and
helpless, in the clutches of an enemy.
An agonized cry of astonishment and horror broke from his lips.
Bob’s revenge had begun, and like all approved villains, he was destined
to have a short, but brilliant, career.
“Why don’t you swim out and save your dog, Stepping Hen?” he asked
mockingly, well knowing that he could soon out-strip an ordinary swimmer.
“Oh, just wait till I catch you, you abominable sneak!” yelled Steve.
“I ought to have taught you a lesson before! Oh dear! O-o-h! Carlo!
C-a-r-l-o!”
But Carlo could only whine piteously.
“Stay where you are,” Bob yelled back, “and when I get across the river
you’ll ‘see sport,’ as you said on the island, at the picnic.”