JACK’S PLANS.
THE EXPRESSION Julian saw on the face of his old enemy alarmed him
greatly. His countenance was distorted with fury, and the boy saw
enough in it to satisfy him that Jack intended to take ample revenge on
him for what he had done. With a cry of terror he turned and took to
his heels; but Bowles was already within reach of him, and before our
hero had made many steps, he fastened upon his collar with one hand,
and with the other twisted his rifle out of his grasp.
“Let’s see ye slip outen yer coat an’ get away from me this time,” said
Jack, with savage exultation. “I’ve got a long account to settle with
ye, my lad. I’ll larn ye to go about the country stealin’ money an’
killin’ honest folks’ huntin’ dogs. We’d best tie him, hadn’t we, Mr.
Mortimer, fur fear that he gets one of them ar crazy spells onto him?”
“Certainly,” said that gentleman, who, having by this time reached the
top of the bluff, stepped forward to assist in securing the prisoner.
“An’ sarch him, too,” added Jack. “He may have some dangerous we’pons
about him. Don’t go to makin’ a fuss now.”
“I have no such intention,” replied Julian, who, knowing that he
was powerless, submitted to his captors, who bound his arms firmly
behind his back. “But I can tell you one thing, Jack—you and Richard
Mortimer. You are not going to take me down the river and put me into
an asylum.”
Mr. Mortimer was profoundly astonished at these words. He looked
sharply at the prisoner for a moment and exclaimed: “Has Sanders been
here?”
“Sanders?” repeated Julian.
“Yes; a short, thick-set man, dressed in black, and wearing an
abundance of jewelry.”
“I have no acquaintance with any such person.”
“But you do not say that you have not seen him. You have talked with
him—I am certain of it—or you would not know that my name is Richard.
Sanders knows why I am here, and I know why he is here and who sent
him. We are both playing the same game, and we shall see who will win.
He shall never take passage on that flatboat.”
As soon as Julian had been securely bound, Jack set himself to work to
overhaul his pockets, searching—not for concealed weapons, but for the
money belonging to the prisoner. A very short investigation, however,
served to satisfy him that the coveted treasure was not hidden about
Julian’s person, and with an expression of almost ungovernable fury on
his face he left him and began to search the camp. He picked up the
prisoner’s blankets, shook them thoroughly, threw aside the leaves
which the boy had scraped together to serve as a mattress, and looked
into every hollow stump and under every log on the bluff; but nothing
in the shape of a box or pocket-book could he find.
“Whar is it?” he roared, unable to contain himself longer.
“Where’s what?” asked Julian.
“The money, ye rascal—the $145.”
“I haven’t got as much as that.”
“Wal, you’ve got _some_. Whar is it, I axes ye?”
“It is concealed where you will never think of looking for it, and
there it shall stay.”
“I’ll bet a hoss that it don’t stay thar,” shouted Jack, stamping the
ground and shaking his fists in his rage. “Mark my words. Afore I’m
done with ye, ye’ll come to this bluff an’ give me that money with yer
own hands.”
“And mark _my_ words,” replied Julian calmly. “I shall do nothing of
the kind. I’ll die first. It is mine—you’ve no right to it, and you
shan’t have it.”
“Never mind the money now, Bowles,” exclaimed Mr. Mortimer, who was
becoming impatient at the delay. “You will have plenty of time to hunt
for it after your return from New Orleans. We must begin our journey at
once.”
Jack, reluctant to abandon the search, took another turn about the
camp, and after venting some of his spite by pulling down Julian’s
brush cabin and kicking over the squirrels that were broiling before
the fire, picked up the blankets and the rifle, and seizing the boy
roughly by the arm hurried him down the bluff. After placing him behind
Mr. Mortimer on his horse he disappeared in the woods and presently
returned, mounted on his own nag, and led the way toward the clearing.
He did not follow the road, as Julian hoped he would, but to avoid
meeting any of the settlers, held straight through the woods. He was
moody and sullen during the whole of the ride, and the deep scowl on
his forehead showed that he was thinking intently.
“The minute Julian drops overboard from the flatboat, that minute I
shall have $200 put into my hands,” soliloquized Mr. Bowles. “That’s a
monstrous heap of money fur a poor man like me, but I’d like to have
them $145, too. Now how am I goin’ to get it? That’s what I’d like to
know. I’ll never find it unless Julian tells me whar it is, an’ if he’s
at the bottom of the river he _can’t_ tell me. Hain’t thar no way fur
me to push him overboard without drownin’ him?”
Upon this question Jack pondered long and deeply, and by the time he
and his companions reached the clearing he must have found an answer to
it, and a satifactory one, too, for he brightened up and became lively
and talkative.
The first person Julian saw when he reached the clearing was the
stranger in broadcloth, who was pacing up and down the bank. He did
not look up when the boy and his captors rode past him, but pulled the
handkerchief a little closer about his face, and sinking his chin lower
into the collar of his coat, kept his eyes fastened upon the ground.
“If you are all ready to start, Jack,” said Mr. Mortimer, as they drew
rein in front of the door of the cabin, where Mrs. Bowles and her sons
were waiting to receive them, “we will go on board the flatboat at
once.”
“Wal, I hain’t quite ready,” returned Jack. “I shall be away from home
a long time if we go to New Orleans, an’ Jake and Tom’ll have to look
out fur things while I am gone. I want to tell ’em what to do.”
“Your wife can do that as well as you can,” replied Mr. Mortimer
impatiently.
“An’ more’n that,” continued Jack, holding open his coat to let his
guest see that it was in a very dilapidated condition, “I’ve got to
have some clothes, if I’m goin’ to a country whar white folks live. I
don’t want to make ye ashamed of me.”
“You have nothing to fear on that score. Your clothes will do well
enough.”
“But I say they won’t. I was born and raised a gentleman, _I_ was, and
I guess I know what sort of riggin’ a gentleman had oughter wear when
he goes a visitin’.”
“I don’t want to wait another minute. Don’t you know that we are in
danger as long as we remain here? Suppose some of the settlers should
find out what is going on?”
“Oh, now, how be they goin’ to find it out? We hain’t a goin’ to tell
on ourselves, be we?”
“But the captain wants to start immediately,” persisted Mr. Mortimer.
“I can’t help that. I shan’t be ready for an hour or two—p’raps more;
’cause I’ve got to go to The Corners arter some good clothes.”
“Then you may stay there, if you choose. I can get along without your
assistance.”
“No ye can’t, an’ ye shan’t, nuther,” retorted Jack.
“I shall go without you,” continued Mr. Mortimer, decidedly. “Then what
will become of the $200 I promised you?”
Jack approached his guest and placed his lips close to his ear.
“If ye go without me I’ll have the officers of the law on yer track in
less’n an hour,” said he, fiercely. “Then what will become of _ye_? I
can say, ye know, that ye offered me money to shove the boy overboard,
an’ p’raps ye’ll have to tell some things ye’d rather the world
wouldn’t know. Ye’ve got money, an’ ye can keep the boat here as long
as ye please.” Then aloud he added: “Ye an’ Julian can step into the
house, an’ sit down an’ talk to the ole woman, an’ me an’ the boys will
go to the stable an’ feed the hosses. I’ll be back as soon as I get my
business done.”
Mr. Mortimer, finding that he was at the mercy of his confederate,
was obliged to await his pleasure. He conducted his prisoner into the
cabin, while Jack led the horses toward the stable, followed by Jake
and Tom.
The boys assisted their father in removing the saddles and feeding the
animals, and when this had been done, Jack conducted them into one of
the cribs, and after closing and fastening the door, seated himself
upon the corn and proceeded to make his sons acquainted with certain
plans he had determined upon.
He did not know that some one besides Jake and Tom was listening to
every word he said, but such was the fact. It was Sanders, who having
overheard enough of Jack’s conversation with Mr. Mortimer to excite
his curiosity, and seeing Bowles and his sons enter the crib and shut
themselves in, made a circuit through the woods, and came up within
hearing of their voices in time to learn as much of their scheme as he
cared to know.
“I reckon Mr. Mortimer will get tired of waitin’ fur me,” said Jack,
“‘cause he hain’t no ways likely to see me agin afore dark. I’ve got
work fur ye to do, youngsters, an’ if ye do it as I tell ye to, there’s
money to be made by it. Listen, now, with all the ears you’ve got.
In the fust place, in order that ye may understand the hul matter, I
must tell ye that this Mr. Mortimer is the same feller who brought
Julian here years ago. He’s some kin to him—his pap, mebbe, fur all
I know—but he don’t want to own him, ’cause the boy somehow stands
atween him an’ a fortin’. He wants to put him whar he’ll never see
him agin, an’ so me an’ him have give out that he is crazy, an’ that
we’re goin’ to take him to Orleans an’ put him in a ’sylum. In course,
he hain’t no more outen his head than I be, but that’s no business of
mine. Mr. Mortimer’s goin’ to start down the river with him to-night,
an’ I’m goin’ along to take care of him.”
Jack did not see fit to tell his boys that Mr. Mortimer had offered
him money to push Julian overboard, and that he had promised to do it.
That was a dangerous secret, and one that he did not care to trust to
anybody’s keeping.
“I shall get $200 fur makin’ the trip,” continued Jack. “Now, I want
to earn them thar two hundred, but I don’t want Julian to be tuk to
New Orleans an’ shut up thar, ’cause if he is, we’ll lose jest $145 by
it—the hundred he stole from ye last night, Jake, an’ the forty-five
he made this mornin’ outen his mink skins. He’s hid the money, an’ I
want to get a chance to make him tell whar it is; an’ this is the way
I’m goin’ to work it. As soon as it comes dark, ye, Jake an’ Tom, must
get into the dug-out an’ drop down the river in it, as easy as ye can,
tie it to the starn of the flatboat, an’ then lay down on the bottom
an’ keep still thar. Be sure an’ make it fast with a short rope, so as
to keep outen the way of the sweeps. When ye’ve done that I will go
up to the house, an’ me an’ Mr. Mortimer an’ Julian will go on board
the flatboat, an’ she’ll put out into the river, draggin’ the dug-out
arter her. When Mr. Mortimer an’ most of the crew have gone to bed,
I’ll untie Julian an’ take him up fur a turn about the deck. I’ll give
him all the chance he wants to get away, an’ he will be sartin to use
it. He said that we shouldn’t never take him down the river; an’ bein’
perfectly at home in the water, he won’t mind jumpin’ overboard and
swimmin’ ashore. As soon as I see him in the water I’ll whistle, an’
ye must cut loose from the flatboat an’ pick him up. Be as easy as ye
can about it, an’ when ye onct get hold of him hang on, no matter
what happens; tie him hard an’ fast, an’ bring him hum an’ put him in
the smoke-house till I come. I’ll be along some time to-morrer, ’cause
when Mr. Mortimer finds out that Julian is overboard he’ll think he’s
drownded, an’ he’ll pay me off an’ discharge me. Arter I get hold of
Julian, it won’t take me long to make him tell whar he’s hid them
hundred an’ forty-five dollars. When I get that an’ the two hundred
I’ll be rich.”
“But, pap, how much be me an’ Tom goin’ to git fur doin’ the job?”
asked Jake.
“Ye’ll git enough to satisfy ye,” was the reply. “Jake shall have
Julian’s rifle fur his share. It’s a good one, an’ didn’t cost a cent
less’n $25. Tom shall have his blankets, which he can sell at The
Corners if he don’t want to keep ’em, an’ the clothes Julian’s got on.
Tom thinks a heap of good clothes, an’ that shows that he’s goin’ to be
a gentleman when he’s growed up. An’ more’n that, if I find Julian here
when I come hum, I’ll give each of ye $10; but if he _hain’t_ here,
ye shan’t have nothin’ but the dog-gondest wallopin’ ye ever heern
tell on, an’ ye’ll get that as sartin as ye’re a foot high. It’ll be
wusser’n all the rest I ever give ye biled down into one. Now, be ye
sure that ye know jest what ye’ve got to do?”
Jake and Tom were not quite certain that they did, and so their father
repeated his instructions, and kept on repeating them until the boys
thoroughly understood them.
Every part of the work they were expected to perform, as well as the
treatment Julian was to receive prior to Jack’s return, was discussed,
and the latter being satisfied at last that there was no danger of
failure, announced that it was his intention to pass the rest of the
afternoon in sleep. He instructed Jake to return to the house and
announce that his father had just set out for The Corners on horseback,
and then concealed himself among the corn at the farther end of the
crib, while his boys, after making sure that there was no one in sight,
opened the door and went out. No sooner had they entered the cabin
than Sanders left his position behind the crib, made another circuit
through the woods back to the bank of the river, and once more began
walking up and down, now and then shaking his head and chuckling to
himself as if he were thinking about something that afforded him great
satisfaction.