_rescued_ from his sufferings by wild beasts that devour him.”
“It is sheer nonsense to talk of becoming lost here,” Will declared
dogmatically, “because this forest is not extensive enough for any
sensible man to remain lost in it for any great length of time. I
see daylight to the north, now; though where we are is more, I must
acknowledge, than I can tell.”
“My compass persists that that light comes from the west,” Stephen soon
said; “but of course, Will, you are too sensible a man to get lost or
make such a mistake, therefore my compass has become demoralized.”
Will took out his compass, looked at it very hard, and then pocketed it
with a sigh.
The hunters moved towards the light, and soon found themselves in a
clearing of some extent. A strong log-hut stood in the centre of this
clearing, and divers emblems of civilization and occupation were strewed
around it. What seemed most strange, to even the most inattentive of the
hunters, was certain implements which are seldom seen in the midst of a
forest. These were such implements as are used in the construction of
railroads.
“Hello!” yelled Steve, glancing at all these implements, “hello! we
have stumbled on a new railroad, have we? Well, we ought to be able to
find our way out now pretty easily; for railroads don’t spring up in
wildernesses.”
“Yes, we are just within the woods; outside we shall find the railroad
and civilization,” Will returned. “Well, I don’t see much romance in
getting lost for an hour or so.”
“Hello, what is this?” Steve cried suddenly. “Here is a neat little tube,
something like a cartridge. Now, _is_ it a cartridge?”
“Be careful, Steve,” Will cautioned. “There is no knowing what dangerous
things may be lying about here. I remember, when I was a pretty little
boy, my father told me horrible stories about gun-cotton. He made it out
to be a frightful explosive, in order to deter me from meddling with
things strange to me. Now, perhaps--”
But at this point the prudent one was interrupted by a shout of laughter
from Charles. “Will,” he said, “what do you mean by ‘a pretty little boy?’
Do you mean, when you were a handsome, though diminutive, urchin, or
simply, when you were rather small?”
George now drew on his knowledge, and prepared to enlighten them.
“Gun-cotton, boys,” he said, “is a composition which con--”
Doubtless George would have given a very lucid explanation of the nature
and virtues of gun-cotton; but at this point, Steve, who still held the
little “tube,” said impatiently, “Now, what do I care about gun-cotton?
There is no cotton here, and as for a gun--go to grass! This tube can be
made to fit the blunt end of my pencil, very neatly; and what is more, it
shall be put there.”
“Why, Steve, I didn’t give you credit for being so sensible,” Henry
observed. “I didn’t believe you were studious enough to carry a pencil.”
“Oh,” Charles ingeniously replied, “Steve doesn’t carry a pencil for
studious purposes; I doubt whether he ever takes notes; but whenever
he finds a clean and smooth surface,--such as a new shingle or a solid
fence built of newly planed boards,--he draws his name, or a mythological
figure, or the Phantom Ship, on it, with dazzling flourishes.”
“Draws his name, eh?” asked Henry.
“Exactly.”
“Well,” sighed Steve, “it is one of the few things I can do well.”
With that he took out his penknife.
He was not the only one that had found one of the little tubes. For
some minutes Jim had been silently filling his coat pocket with them,
intending to take them home. It is not easy for us to guess his object in
doing this, but perhaps the poor fellow, despairing of shooting anything,
wished to bear away some trophy, or souvenir, of this hunt.
George, seeing all this, and that his proffered explanation was
contemptuously rejected, resolved to make an “analysis;” but, acting on
the spur of the moment, he went about it in a very puerile way. He set
one of the mysterious little tubes on a flat stone, then seized a smaller
stone, and prepared to grind his particular tube to powder.
Truly, here was Genius laboring under difficulties! Here was a scientific
philosopher endeavoring to solve the appalling mystery by utterly
annihilating a tube! But his hand was so unsteady with the awfulness of
the revelations he was about to make that (fortunately for him) his first
blow overshot the mark, and he paused before aiming a second.
Meanwhile Mr. Lawrence, Charles, and Will, expostulated in vain. Henry,
not dreaming of danger, looked on with great curiosity, and was almost
tempted to examine some of the mysterious little tubes for himself.
All this happened simultaneously? Certainly. Just as George struck his
fruitless blow, Steve began to carve out the ornament for his pencil.
Reader, do not look upon this scene as savoring of levity. _This_
incident is true in every particular, a party of would-be hunters having
experimented with little cartridge-like tubes just as our heroes did
here. The story as told by them is the same in substance with this,
though, of course, we have touched it up a little here and there.
Having thus kept the reader in suspense long enough, it is now in order
to return to Stephen. He had barely begun to “dig out the stuff,” as he
phrased it, when a loud report startled the eight hunters. Steve’s tube
had exploded with more violence than any fire-cracker he ever handled.
Appalled, his penknife fell unheeded, and he gazed at the others with a
silly, bewildered, and horrified expression of countenance, that at any
other time would have provoked a roar of laughter.
George’s second blow was never struck, but springing to his feet, he
fixed his eyes on Will with a look of extreme horror.
Will’s actions, in fact, attracted the attention of all. As soon as the
tube exploded he sprang high into the air, and then fell to bounding
about like a harlequin or a piece of black rubber, shouting frantically:
“Oh, my head’s off! my head’s off! my head’s off!”
His head was certainly not off, though blood was streaming down his
cheeks.
“Oh, Will,” groaned Steve in agony, “what is the matter? Oh, Will, speak!
Have I killed you?”
“My head’s off! My head’s off!” was Will’s only answer.
“Nonsense! your head is all right!” Uncle Dick said sharply.
But now Will struck another note, groaned “Oh, my knee!” and fell down in
a swoon. Foolish fellow, he had danced till his knee slipped out of joint.
(N.B.--O youth, let this be a warning against dancing.)
Mr. Lawrence and George anxiously bent over him; and, for the first time,
Charles and Stephen looked at each other.
“Your face!” shrieked Steve.
“Your fingers!” gasped Charles.
Then poor Steve perceived that his thumb and first and second fingers
were shattered. It was a sickening sight, and he now felt a severe pain
in them.
From his fingers Stephen again looked at Charles. Several small pieces of
the metal had pierced the flesh around the eyes, making painful, but very
slight, wounds.
At that instant Jim set up his peculiar cry of terror. Poor wretch, his
terror and his mode of expressing it still clung to him; but it was a
hundred times more ridiculous in the man than in the boy. The explosion
(if it may be called so) and Will’s amusing performance, cut short by his
sad accident, had kept him quiet up to this time, but now he broke out
into loud and plaintive cries. This time, however, he was not a prey to
“the chills.”
“Oh, boys,” he wailed, “I have some of them--a lot of them--in my pocket!
Oh, boys, they will explode there! They will explode and tear us all to
pieces!” And here his voice increased in volume, and rose higher and
higher, faster than even the scale of C. “Help me, some one, for _I_
can’t get ’em out!--Oh! I explode!”
“Console yourself, Jim,” Henry laughed; “I’ll help you to disgorge them.”
“Have you any about you?” Jim quavered.
“No,” said Henry; and with that he took the explosive little tubes out of
Timor’s pocket.
“Boys, Mr. Lawrence, I know now what these horrible, cartridge-like
tubes are,” George here observed. “They are _dynamite_--a new explosive,
very useful to fire other explosives, I believe. I have read about them
lately, but I never saw one before, and don’t know much about their
properties, except that--”
“George,” Steve interrupted, “if you had told us all this ten minutes
ago, you would have spared us much annoyance and suffering. Excuse me,
George, but this has roiled my emotions more than anything that ever
happened. Yes, you have knowledge of sundry curious and useful facts, I
admit; but that knowledge is not turned to account till the mischief is
done. Some day, when you see me all torn to pieces, you will discover
that what I took for a pretty music-box was an infernal machine; and then
you will chuckle over your profundity, but I shall not hear you.”
“Well, they had no business to leave dynamites scattered about so
loosely,” Charles said, his eyes tingling just enough to make him surly.
“Had we any business to meddle with them?” George growled.
“Oh,” sighed Will, now revived, “I’m afraid I made an egregious fool of
myself; and I was probably the least hurt of all. Some pieces entered my
ears, cheek, and neck;--an ordinary hurt for a little boy;--but through
my foolishness I have disjointed my knee!”
Marmaduke now joined them. He had taken the affair most unconcernedly,
and strolled off to make a reconnaissance.
“Boys,” he began, “we are within four or five rods of a railroad, surely
enough; and we have been meddling with the company’s dynamite. But if
we had observed the notice on the other side of the little log-hut, or
store-house, we should certainly have been more careful; for there, on
the door, is written, in red-chalky letters, ‘Powder Magazine.’”
“Marmaduke, it seems to me that your style is not so pure as of yore,”
Steve grinned, in spite of his pain. “The animals in this forest have
corrupted it. ‘Red-chalky-letters,’ forsooth!”
“I found, also,” Marmaduke continued, passing by Stephen’s taunt, “that
the shortest route to a surgeon’s is due east, through the forest. We can
easily reach him by following our compasses.”
“Did you inquire of some one outside?” George asked.
“Yes, George, I had a talk with a man there. Now, Steve and Will must
have their hurts dressed as soon as may be; so let us start. Will will
have to be carried, of course.”
Steve shuddered. The name _surgeon_ had an unpleasant sound; it grated
his ears. Then he perceived that Marmaduke had been caring for his
comfort, and his conscience was stung with remorse. Acting on the impulse
of his better nature, he strode up to Marmaduke, grasped his hand, and
murmured: “Old fellow, you must forgive me, and not mind anything I say;
for I don’t mean it, I assure you. It is too bad for me to be continually
jeering at you in particular, Marmaduke, and from to-day I will try not
to do it again.”
Notwithstanding Steve’s protestation that he did not mean what he said,
Marmaduke saw he was in earnest now, and replied: “Say no more about it,
Steve, for each of us has his little peculiarities. Now, sit down here,
beside me and I’ll bind up your hurt for you.”
Then the two sat down together, and Marmaduke took off the handkerchief
which Stephen had hastily and clumsily wound round his thumb and fingers.
Abused Marmaduke had many gentle ways, and now he tore the handkerchief
into strips, and as neatly and carefully as a woman could have done it,
bound up each hurt separate, Steve awkwardly trying to help him.
This incident of binding up his hurts so kindly touched Stephen’s
heart, and from that day the two have been firm friends. Stephen is now
Marmaduke’s sworn defender; and if any person brings up the latter’s
romantic notions with a view to make him appear ridiculous, Stephen will
say something so sarcastic that the aggressor will wince and immediately
speak of something else.
Meanwhile the others were taking care of Charles and Will.
_Chapter XLIII._
THINGS BEGIN TO GET INTERESTING.
Reader, do not turn faint with disgust at these heart-rending details,
nor imagine that the writer is a half-reclaimed desparado all the way
from “bleeding Kansas;” for this is just as it happened to those hunters
in the flesh. But if he ever attempts to narrate a true story again, he
will tone it down as well as touch it up.
“Let us be thankful that it is no worse,” Mr. Lawrence said. “We have had
a narrow escape; for if Steve’s tube hadn’t exploded immediately, George
would certainly have struck his, and then we might all have been hurled
into eternity.”
“Do you think Steve will lose his thumb and fingers?” George asked,
faintly.
“Oh, I hope not!” Uncle Dick said, fervently. Then dolefully: “I am
afraid I shall have a heavy account to settle when I see your parents
again.”
Then the sound hunters framed a rude litter, and laid Will on it gently.
George and Henry were to take turns with Mr. Lawrence and Marmaduke in
carrying him. And then the little procession passed solemnly through
the woods, with but little of that sprightliness which had hitherto
characterized the party.
“I think this hunt will last me for a lifetime,” Will groaned.
“I am afraid you will feel the effects of your hurt all the rest of your
life,” Uncle Dick sorrowfully rejoined.
“There is _one_ consolation,” said Steve, who was walking with his well
arm linked in Marmaduke’s. “Next time we see a ‘dynamite’ we shall know
what it is, and probably I shall not care to make a plaything of one
again.”
After a weary march due east, they came to a small cleared space, in
which stood a miserable hut. A faint line of smoke was curling out of the
roof, but no person was in sight.
“Now, this isn’t another powder magazine,” said Steve; “therefore it must
be a ‘wayside hut.’ My wounds have made me thirsty, of course, and we can
probably get a drink here, whether any one is in or not, so I am going
in.”
The others, also, felt thirsty; and Charles was advancing to knock at the
door, when Steve softly called him back.
“Now, Charley,” he said, “I haven’t read romances for nothing, and if
there’s villainy any where in this forest, it’s here. Of course you’ve
all read that villains have what is called a ‘peculiar knock?’”
“Yes,” whispered four out of the seven.
“Well, I’m going to give a ‘peculiar knock’ on that door, with my sound
hand, and you must mark the effect it has. You needn’t grasp your
weapons; but just keep your eyes and ears open. Then will you do whatever
I ask?”
“We will,” they said, smiling at Steve’s whim.
Then the man who had not read romances for nothing stole softly to the
door, and knocked in a peculiar manner.
Without a moment’s hesitation, a voice within said, “Well done!”
Steve faced the others and winked furiously, while he reasoned rapidly
to this effect: “Evidently, here is a nest of knaves. The fellow on the
inside thinks his mate is in danger, and knocks to know whether it is
safe for him to enter.”
Then the voice within asked uneasily, “Jim?”
“Will,” said Marmaduke, leaning over the litter, “we are certainly on the
track of the man who stole your deer!”
“Oh, I had forgotten all about the deer,” Will groaned.
Steve started, but collected himself in a moment, and whispered to Jim,
“Come along Jim; this fellow wants to see you. Now be as bold as a lion;
blow your nose like a trumpet; and observe: ‘By the great dog-star, it’s
Jim; lemme in.’”
Jim managed to do this; but he basely muttered that he wasn’t brought up
for a circus clown.
“Then come in; the door isn’t locked;” the voice within said harshly, but
unhesitatingly.
Stephen flung open the door and strode proudly into the hut, closely
followed by the others. One scantily furnished room, in a corner of which
a man lay on a bed, was disclosed. This man’s look of alarm at this
sudden entrance filled Steve with exultation.
“What does all this mean? What do you want?” the occupant of the bed
demanded.
“A glass of water,” said Steve.
“Well, you can get a dish here, and there is a spring outside,” with an
air of great relief.
“Is this the man?” Steve asked of Marmaduke.
Marmaduke sadly shook his head.
“I am very low with the small-pox,” said the unknown, “and those of you
who have not had it, nor have not been exposed to it, had better hurry
out into the open air.”
This was said quietly--apparently sincerely.
The hunters were struck with horror. It seemed as though a chain of
misfortunes, that would eventually lead them to destruction, was slowly
closing around them. Small-pox! Exposed to that loathsome disease! They
grew sick with fear!
“Was it for this we went hunting?” Charles groaned.
For a few moments the hunters lost all presence of mind; they neglected
to rush out of doors; they forgot that the sick man seemed wrapped in
suspicion; they forgot that they had gained admittance by stratagem;
Steve forgot that he was playing the hero.
A cry of horror from Jim roused them from their torpor.
“What a fool I am!” cried Henry, “I had the small-pox when I was a little
boy; and now, to prove or disprove this fellow’s statement, I will run
the risk of taking it again. The rest of you may leave the room or not,
just as fear, or curiosity, or thirst, or anything else, moves you. I
believe, however, that there is not the least danger of infection.”
“No, no; come out!” Mr. Lawrence entreated, not wishing to be responsible
for any more calamities. “Come out, Henry, and leave the man alone.”
“Believe me, Mr. Lawrence, I run no risk,” Henry declared. “I shall----”
“Ha!” shrieked the sick man. “Lawrence? Did you say Law--”
He stopped abruptly. But it was too late; he had betrayed himself.
“Yes, my man; I said Lawrence;” Henry said, excitedly. “Come, now,
explain yourself. Say no more about _small-pox_--we are not to be
deceived by any such pretence.”
The sick man looked Uncle Dick full in the face; groaned; shuddered;
covered his face with the bed clothes; and then, villain-like, fell to
muttering.
After these actions, Jim himself was not afraid.
“Mr. Lawrence, Will, all of you,” Henry said hoarsely, “I think your
mystery is about to be unriddled at last. This man can evidently furnish
the missing link in your history. He is either the secret enemy or an
accomplice of his.” Uncle Dick trembled. After all these years was the
mystery to be solved at last?
Stephen’s hurt and Will’s knee were forgotten in the eagerness to hear
what this man had to say. All were familiar with Uncle Dick’s story, as
far as he knew it himself, and consequently all were eager to have the
mysterious part explained. The entire eight assembled round the bedside.
After much inane muttering the sick man uncovered his head, and asked
faintly, “Are you Richard Lawrence?”
“I am.”
“Were you insane at one time, and do you remember Hiram Monk?”
“Yes, I was insane, but I know nothing of what happened then.”
“Well, I will confess all to you. Mr. Lawrence, I have suffered in all
these three years--suffered from the agony of remorse.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Dick, with a rising inflection.
“I will keep my secret no longer. But who are all these young men?”
glancing at the hunters.
“They are friends, who may hear your story,” Uncle Dick said.
“To begin with, I am indeed sick, but I have not the small pox. That was’
a mere ruse to get rid of disagreeable callers.”
At this Steve looked complacent, and Henry looked triumphant; the one
pleased with his stratagem, the other pleased with his sagacity.
At that very instant quick steps were heard outside, and then a “peculiar
knock” was given on the door, which, prudently or imprudently, Steve had
shut.
“It is a man who lives with me,” Hiram Monk said to the hunters. “We
shall be interrupted for a few minutes, but then I will go on.” Then
aloud: “You may as well come in, Jim.”
If this was intended as a warning to flee, it was not heeded, for the
door opened, and a man whom Will and Marmaduke recognized as the rogue
who on the previous day had feigned a mortal wound in order to steal
their deer, strode into the hut.
On seeing the hut full of armed men, he sank down hopelessly, delivered a
few choice ecphoneses, and then exclaimed: “Caught at last! Well, I might
’a’ known it would come sooner or later. They have set the law on my
track, and all these fellows will help ’em. Law behind, and what on earth
in front!--I say, fellows, who are you?”
“Hunters,” Henry said laconicly.
Then the new-comer recognized Will and Marmaduke, and ejaculated, “Oh, I
see; yesterday my ring was ruined, and now I’m ruined!”
The officer of the law, whose nonchalance had provoked the hunters in the
forenoon, was indeed behind, and soon he, also, entered the hut, which
was now filled.
“Just like a romance,” Steve muttered. “All the characters, good and bad,
most unaccountably meet, and then a general smash up takes place, after
which the good march off in one direction, to felicity, and the bad in
another, to infelicity--unless they shoot themselves. Now, I hope Hiram
and Jim won’t shoot themselves!”
“Jim Horniss,” said the officer, “I am empowered to arrest you.”
“I surrender,” the captured one said sullenly. “You ought to have
arrested me before. I’d give back the deer, if I could; but I sold it
last night, and that’s the last of it.”
“That will do,” the officer said severely.
Up to this time the writer has studiously masked his ignorance by
invariably speaking of this man as an officer of the law. It seems fated,
however, that his ignorance should sooner or later be manifested; and now
he declares that he is so utterly ignorant of Law, in all its forms, that
he does not know what that man was--he knows only that he was an officer
of the law. But for the benefit of those who are still more ignorant, it
may be stated that he is almost positive the man was neither a juryman,
nor a conveyancer, nor a plaintiff.
The hunters now held a short conversation, and it was decided that Mr.
Lawrence and Henry should stay to hear what Hiram Monk had to say for
himself, but that the others should go on with Will and Steve to the
surgeon’s.
The officer of the law thought it might be necessary for him to stay in
his official capacity, and so he took a seat and listened, while he fixed
his eyes on Jim Horniss.
And the confession he heard was worth listening to.
The hut was soon cleared of all save the five; and the six first
introduced to the reader were again together, and on their way to the
surgeon’s.
“Well,” said Will, “it seems I have lost my deer; but I have the
comforting thought of knowing that the rascal will receive the punishment
he deserves.”
“How strange it all is,” said Marmaduke, “that your uncle should stumble
on the solution of his mystery when he least expected it; and that you
could not find the thief when you looked for him, but as soon as you
quit, we made straight for his house.”
“No,” Steve corrected good-humoredly, “that isn’t it; but as soon as I
took to playing the part of a hero of romance, ‘events came on us with
the rush of a whirlwind.’”
_Chapter XLIV._
IS THE MYSTERY SOLVED?
Leaving the wounded and the unwounded hunters to pursue their way through
the forest, we shall return to the hut and over-hear Hiram Monk’s
long-delayed confession.
As soon as the door was shut on the six hunters, he began. His face was
turned towards Mr. Lawrence, but his eyes were fixed on his pillow, which
was hidden by the coverlet; and his punctuation was so precise, his style
so eloquent and sublime, and his story so methodical, complicated, and
tragical, that once or twice a horrible suspicion that he was reading the
entire confession out of a novel concealed in the bed, flashed across Mr.
Lawrence’s mind.
If this dreadful thought should occur to the reader, he can mentally
insert the confession in double quotation marks.
We are too humane to inflict the whole confession on the long-suffering
reader; this abridged version of it will be quite sufficient, as it
contains the main points.
“Seventeen years ago, I was an official in K. Hospital. My
duties were to keep the record of the hospital; but still I
passed considerable time with the maniacs, as my influence with
those unhappy creatures was very great. I am a man of some
education and ability, I may say, without ostentation; and till
I met you, Mr. Lawrence, I was honesty itself.