THE CORPSE OF AN HONEST MAN.
The next morning dawned bright and fair, and the sun was ushered to the
world by the merry carol of thousands of feathered songsters. Brightly
it dawned upon the settlement on the hill; benignly on the merry,
sparkling river; pleasantly over the valley; but never did it fall upon
a busier little world than on Dead-Man’s Forest.
Busier?--scarcely. On the edge of the swamp lake were a dozen or more
men, peering over at the silent island; angry looks they gave; in the
island were the same (almost) number of men, equally reckless and bold,
but far more wary and wicked. The dug-out in which Katie had escaped
still lay where she had left it; and much Cato (who had rejoined the
pursuers) marveled. He knew that something was wrong, else it would
have been moored to the island, out of sight; and his eyes, familiar
with the island, noted something was wrong there, too.
Usually a faint, blue wreath of smoke curled up from it, but now there
was none. It was the hour for the matin meal, too.
Could they have left the island entirely--have disorganized and
deserted the old rendezvous? That would account for the presence of
the canoe on this side. If so, then his reward was gone, and his easy,
vagabond life also, for he should have to hunt, fish and work for the
settlers.
This idea was so distasteful to him that he grinned in vexation, and he
resolved to “blow the hull t’ing” should it cost him his neck, for he
knew the men would be enraged at his part in the abduction. And he had
nearly done so when the words of a former speech of Downing’s came to
his obtuse memory, “Think twice before you shoot once, and then don’t
go off at half-cock.”
Cato the Creeper was a prodigy at pursuing a trail, but he was no
thinker, and quite too apt to follow every impulse. So, you see, this
little bit of memory was something wonderful. He profited by it.
Noticing a fish-hawk warily wheeling above the slimy black pond, he
stepped out prominently upon the log where the trail ended, and gave a
shrill cry, an exact imitation of that of the hawk. The bird did not
notice it; such birds never do, and Cato, far wiser than _sage_ men of
nature, knew it.
But in a few moments another cry, an answer, came from the enchanted,
dark-bordered island, low, long, and mournful. Then Cato knew they were
still there, that his party was under sharp inspection at that moment,
and that something was wrong.
It was well he kept his sable face immovable, for Sol, watching him,
heard the answer and saw no corresponding fish-hawk, except that above
the lake. However, he might be perched upon some tree on the island.
But the sagacious old veteran kept his peace, his counsel, and his
eye--on the negro.
“Ef I ain’t fooled, that thar island air what is called Shadder Swamp
Island, aint it, Cato?” asked a young man.
“Dat’s de island,” tersely answered Cato.
“What’s this ’ere boat, Cato?” inquired the chief, eying him keenly.
“Dat, Mars’r Jacobs? dat am what am called de dug-out.”
“Wal, yer fool, don’t yer s’pose I know what a dug-out air? I’ve made
more of ’em than yer black skin is years old. But I want ter know what
it’s doin’ hyar, and who it belongs ter?”
“Mars’r Jacobs, dis niggah’s de igneramus on de subjec’,” he replied,
idly tossing bits of sticks into the black water.
“How in thunder, then, did ye know the sign, the signal for them
fellers over there?” indicating the island with his thumb.
“Wha--wha--golly, Mars’r Jacobs! am dey ober dare?” stuttered the
negro, in perfect astonishment.
“You bet they air! and you giv ’em a signal,” declared Sol, sternly.
The negro never lost his self-possession.
“Signal! golly, Mars’r Jacobs, I’se de fr’end ob de gang.”
“What gang? d’ye call them a gang? dum me ef it ain’t sootable.”
Walter here interposed. “For God’s sake, let us be going! where is the
trail? have you lost it? Oh, heaven! this delay!”
“Yes, yes; we’ll all go on,” repeated the afflicted and stupefied
parent, lighting up a moment. “We’ll all keep on.”
Old Sol glanced at them pityingly, then looked at the trail; they had
reached its termination.
“Come, my boy, cheer up. We’ll hev her soon, you bet! we _will_ go
on. Hyar’s the eend of the trail, right hyar on this log. Thar’s a
canoe--it must go somewhar. We’ll jump in, as many as kin. Air ye all
ready, boys?”
“All ready! lead on!”
“All right; jump in, Cato, you’re the pilot.”
But Cato drew back, and leaped from the log, and stood there with an
alarmed and perplexed face, looking now to the island, then back to
Sol.
“Come; none of yer foolin’! jump in!”
Sol saw his perplexity and smelt a rat. The negro was in a quandary. If
he went across with the men, the robbers, as a matter of course, would
think he had turned traitor, and he would be shot dead before they had
made half the passage. The prospect of being slaughtered by a sudden
and unseen bullet was too glaring for him to face--he would rebel.
On the other hand, he knew Sol suspected him of treachery, and would
enforce his command. If he refused to enter the canoe and fled, he
would be brought to a sudden drop by the lightning hand and murderous
aim of the ex-Indian-fighter. What could he do? he was in a bad dilemma.
The men looked at him, some in surprise, others in wonder, and the
rest, the majority, surlily. He felt that the eyes of both bands were
upon him, and that both would kill him in a second if treacherous. He
was betwixt two very slippery and bad stools, one of which would be
sure to slip. He knew his danger and perceived his only chance--to
parley.
“Now, Mars’r Jacobs, an’ de rest ob de berry kind and good
mars’rs--don’t fo’ce de pore niggah wha’ nebber done ye harm, ter sich
a ter’ble t’ing. Mars’rs, I’se a brack man--I’se one ob de berry best
an’ de berry true ob yer fr’ends. I’se de fr’end ob de mars’rs.”
“What is all this tomfoolery?” hastily asked Walter, turning to go on.
“Come; do as he tells you, immediately!”
“Oh, Mars’r Waltah, don’t force de pore niggah. Mars’r Waltah--dar’s
death ober dar--fo’ God, dar am. Obeah, Mars’r Waltah--dar’s hisn’s
place. I’se done b’en ober dar onc’t, mars’r, only onc’t. But dis chile
nebber go ag’in. Fur de place am ha’nted, mars’r, by de mos’ ter’ble
gosses, an’ ef dis chile done fo’ced ter go, he nebber come back a
niggah, sure. Now, don’t, mars’rs--kind an’ berry good mars’rs!”
“Ghosts?” exclaimed several of the most superstitious. Cato saw his
chance and doubled the dose. Sinking his voice to a shrill whisper he
drew near the log, and glancing fearfully over at the island, muttered:
“Dis am de Forest ob de Dead Man--de man dat runs in de woods ob
nights. Mars’rs, I’se done see’d him--I’se done heerd his’n voice. An’
he libs ober yender, an’ he don’ like fur no one ter pester him. He
berry mad, mars’rs, w’en he am pestered, an’ he don’ want no one ter
set dare foot on de island. He hates de brack man an’ he done swear
he’d kill um. Oh, for de lub ob ebery t’ing, mars’rs, don’ send de pore
niggah ober dare.”
Several looked at Sol, half-believing the negro’s assertions. That
nettled the old veteran, and he thundered out:
“Air ye sech durned fools ter b’lieve his trash? I tell ye thar’s game
over thar--_thar’s_ whar we’ll find suthin’. Didn’t ye hear the voice,
yesterday evening? Ef yer b’lieve in sperrits, what more can ye want?
It told us ter come hyar, and we air goin’ over to that island with the
nigger, ef it teks a leg from each man. Now, you mule, get in the canoe
afore I make you!”
The negro trembled like an aspen and rolled out some unintelligible
phrases, but Sol seized him and thrust him into the dug-out, then
sprung in after him. There was room for four more, and these places he
gave to Eben, Walter, Dunbar, and a tough, bold, squarely-built young
fellow, Hettie’s brother--Jack Dunbar.
Ordering them to place their weapons in readiness he shoved off with
the paddle.
“Now, yer fellows,” addressing the men on shore, “ef we’re fired on,
jest blaze away at the inimy’s smoke, and watch out for a chance at
knockin’ some one over. I b’lieve thar’s robbers over thar. Now keep
well peeled!”
He submerged the paddle and began to force his way through the weeds,
the water-lilies, and the _debris_ of dismantled, water-soaked limbs
and boughs, old and ugly snags, and rotten slime. It was a difficult
job. There was a channel, or rather path, but it was known and
noticeable only to the robbers and Cato. The latter was glad Sol did
not enter it, for he desired to be as long as was possible in making
the passage. But chattering with fear, and expecting every second to
feel the pang of a robber bullet in his vitals, he sat in the stern,
alternately groaning and blaspheming, while Sol paddled on, the others
kept in readiness for an attack, and the men on shore were covering the
island with their shining gun-barrels.
At last, after tedious and exasperating labor, they left the thick
impediments behind, and bowled away in comparatively open water,
half-way across. Still no shot from the silent willows, still no
defiance shouted, still all was quiet.
They skirted around the fringe of willows until they found the regular
landing-place of the robbers. Seeing it, Sol whistled.
“By Judas!” he declared, using his strongest oath, “hyar’s a reg’lar,
beaten trail leading up from the water. Now I _know_ thar’s been ----
ter pay in these ’ere woods. Ef this air don’t say thar’s a band of
rascals hyar, I’m a skunk. Look out, boys, look out, and mind yer eye!”
The dug-out, propelled by a few vigorous strokes, shot up to the
landing, while Sol abandoned his paddle and took up his gun. The negro,
he saw, was wild with nervous fear. His lips were of a dull, gray,
leaden hue, and worked convulsively; his cheeks were sucked in; his
ears went back and forth like those of a mule--at any other time a most
ludicrous spectacle; while his eyes rolled and dilated, eagerly peering
at the willows; Cato the Creeper was very alarmed and excited.
The boat touched the bank, and the occupants, with splendid nerve and
coolness, kept their seats, with presented weapons, while the negro
beat the air with his hands like a helpless idiot. But still the
willows nodded and waved in the gentle breeze, still the men on shore
covered them, and still there was no noise, no motion.
Sol rose and stepped ashore, then sinking on his knees beckoned the
others to follow. They did so, and soon were all ashore, in a group,
with the frightened negro in their midst, behind their bodies for
protection.
Several minutes passed in silence, then as all was still, Sol ordered
Cato to go back for more men. The negro, somewhat cooler, and thinking
to escape when he reached the other shore, gladly availed himself of
the opportunity, and getting into the canoe, paddled lustily away.
He took the channel this time and was near the shore, congratulating
himself upon his lucky escape, when the voice of Sol came to his ears
like a knell:
“Bring Cato back with you, boys--don’t let him run off!”
So the negro was forced to sit in the boat while its human cargo was
being loaded, though seized again with terror.
The boat was filled, and Cato was about to paddle slowly away when a
voice rung out, where they knew not, only it was quite near.
“You had better go back!”
Away in the woods went the echoes, resounding from tree to tree. “Go
back!”
Cato dropped his paddle with a yell; the others sprung to their feet,
nearly upsetting the dug-out, and looked around. The other two parties
heard the voice and were gazing round in surprise. But Cato’s fear
was strong and violent, and he trembled; for the voice was the same
magnetic, terrible voice he had heard at the Tree.
“Did ye hear that?” asked Jeffries, in a whisper. “Say, did ye?”
It was the same he heard the evening by Hans Winkler’s cabin. It had
followed him wherever he had gone, at intervals ringing out its wild
cry. What was it?
Cato landed the party, then went back for the few remaining. Then all
assembled on the shore, on the border of the robber stronghold.
“Now, boys,” said Sol, “jest hyar’s the place whar them robbers air,
I’ll bet money. P’rhaps they’re watchin’ us right now. Wal, boys, I
reckon leetle Katie’s hyar, an’ we’d better skulk along toward the
middle of the island.”
They crept stealthily on from willow to willow, Sol keeping the
reluctant black before him. Suddenly one of the party drew back, with
an exclamation, and pointed toward a distant object. Peeping through
the saplings, they saw an open space cleared and stumpy. Almost in the
center were two large cabins, one of a light color, the other dark. A
man with a pale face was leaning in the doorway of the first building,
apparently in a brown study, with a pipe in his mouth, evidently
unlighted.
They watched the quiet scene before them for some little time; then Sol
whispered:
“Thar’s the robber den; thar _is_ a band of robbers, sartain.”
“Ay, but where are they?” asked Walter. “Only one man is visible.”
“Off on a devilish trip, no doubt; it’s durn quiet thar--just like the
grave, an’ thet chap stands thar like a statoo. What in thunder makes
all so quiet?”
“Pop,” whispered Eben, “p’r’aps thar’s a scheme a-workin’. Mebbe thar’s
a dozen men tucked away in this here fringe of willows, awaitin’ fur us
ter rush out; then they’ll jest mor’n pepper us.”
“Mebbe. Take two or three along with yer, and beat the bushes. Mind yer
eye, now.”
Eben selected three sturdy friends, and they crept and skulked the
entire circuit of the island, one party going to the right, the other
to the left. They met on the opposite side, having seen nothing. Then
they hurried back to the leader. He heard their story, cocked his gun,
and said:
“Now thar’s got ter be a charge, and we’ll take ’em by surprise. When I
shout and run, follow like wild-cats, but hold your loads. Now!”
He took a quick, true aim at the man, fired, and sprung out into the
clearing, followed by the rest. Up the narrow path they dashed, ready
to meet and vanquish their foe. To their surprise the sentinel did not
fall nor move, neither did he raise his head, but still leaned in the
door with his head down.
They rushed toward the cabin and were nearly there when their eyes
beheld a sight which caused them to stop in their tracks, astonished.
They saw the cabins were empty; they knew no living robber was on the
island; but what startled them more was that the mysterious man was
already dead.
Dead! Stiff and cold, with a gashed throat, numberless knife-wounds in
his body, with his clothing cut and torn--with a bullet-hole in his
forehead, there stood Griffith the scout, propped against the door.
He had not died without a struggle, they could see, as there were
indications of extreme violence. Griffith was dead!
They searched the cabins through and through, but beyond some very
scanty, poor furniture they were entirely empty. They were as far from
Katie as ever, and Walter was frantic.
Suddenly, as they stood there in the bright morning sunlight, they
heard a voice, seemingly far away in the forest, utter four words. The
tone was singularly fierce and commanding, and they all recognized it
as the Voice.
“Go back! go back!”
Immediately it was followed by a piercing scream from the pond near the
ferry. This was followed by another, wilder and shriller, and in the
unmistakable tones of the negro. With one accord they rushed down to
the landing.
There they saw Cato paddling for dear life toward them from the center
of the lake. His manner was that of one in extreme terror, and with
rolling eyes and open mouth he worked with might and main. He was
flying from some pursuer, no doubt, as he frequently glanced back
nervously. It did not take him long to reach the bank, and as the bow
of the craft touched the land, he sprung out and stood regarding the
other shore, all on fire.
“What is it, Cato? What’s the matter?” and many others were the
questions put to him. He did not at once answer, but, clasping his
hands, stood trembling. At length he spoke:
“Oh, mars’rs, sech a ter’ble sight! Oh, ob all de sights dis niggah
eber see’d, dat was de wust. Oh, mars’rs, dar’s tr’uble comin’, tr’uble
comin’! Dead-Man’s Forest am alibe with sperrits.”
“Come! out with it!” commanded Sol. “Ef thar’s any thing wrong we ought
ter know it. It mout be of use ter us.”
“Oh, sar, dare was de biggest man--de daddy ob de world, shore. He had
a big bunch on his back--”
“The hunchback!” interrupted Walter.
“Did yer see him, Walt?”
“Yes. But let him go on.”
“And de bunch on his back, an’ de fire a-comin’ out’n his head, and
de smoke a-comin’ from his hands, an’ de big white eyes, an’ de white
clo’se--oh, mars’r, dis niggah’s in de ground all cobered up.”
“Did he speak?” asked Jeffries, eagerly.
“Oh, sar, dat he did. He stretch an arm out with de smoke a-comin’ from
it, an’ he sed, ‘Go back! go back!’ an’ dis niggah done went.”
“The same!” said Jeffries. They turned to him.
“What! did you see it too?” He related the events of the night before
the abduction, when he heard the voice in the willows.
Then Walter told of his vain attempt to capture him. They all had heard
him, and two had seen him. Curiosity and wonder grew to a great hight,
and the fact that Cato had been trying to escape when the apparition
appeared to him, was forgotten. Sol brought his gun down with a ring.
“Now, boys,” he said, “thar’s suthin’ up. Ever sence we’ve b’en arter
the gal that voice has b’en after us all. Hyar’s the robber den with
a dead man in it. Katie’s nowhar ter be found, nyther the feller we
think tuk her off. This yar den has b’en abandoned right lately, and
_I_ think thar’s robbers and Katie nigh. Now, what have we got toward
findin’ her? Nothin’. But, we’ve got ter find her, and she hain’t hyar
on this island. So she must be off it. Wal, le’s go back an’ find her.
Come on.”
“We’ll tear up Dead-Man’s Forest, but we find her,” shouted the men as
they crowded into the boat.
Ten minutes later the island was bare. Bare? no. For in a few moments
a man stood in the door of the cabin. Another one appeared; another
yet; and in five minutes Captain Downing’s villainous band laughed and
talked in front of the cabin. Where had they been concealed?