FRANK'S SUSPICION.
"It's all right."
Kate uttered the words, and the boys began to recover from their alarm,
as she did not hesitate in the least.
"Who is it?" asked Frank.
"Dummy."
"Who is Dummy?"
"A cousin o' mine. He'll do anything fer me. I put him thar ter watch
out while I war in hyar."
They went forward. Of a sudden, Kate struck a match, holding it so the
light shone on her face, and the figure at the mouth of the cave was
seen to wave its hand and vanish.
"Ther coast is clear," assured the girl. "But it's gittin' right nigh
mornin', an' we-uns must hustle away from hyar afore it is light. We
won't lose any time."
The boys were well satisfied to get away as quickly as possible.
They passed out of the dark cavern into the cool, sweet air of a spring
morning, for the gray of dawn was beginning to dispel the darkness, and
the birds were twittering from the thickets.
The phantom of a moon was in the sky, hanging low down and half-inverted
as if spilling a spectral glamour over the ghostly mists which lay deep
in Lost Creek Valley.
The sweet breath of flowers and of the woods was in the morning air, and
from some cabin afar on the side of a distant mountain a wakeful
watchdog barked till the crags reverberated with his clamoring.
"Thar's somethin' stirrin' at 'Bize Wiley's, ur his dorg wouldn't be
kickin' up all that racket," observed Kate Kenyon. "He lives by ther
road that comes over from Bildow's Crossroads. Folks comin' inter ther
maountings from down below travel that way."
The boys looked around for the mute who had been guarding the mouth of
the cave, but they saw nothing of him. He had slipped away into the
bushes which grew thick all around the opening.
"Come on," said the girl, after seeming strangely interested in the
barking of the dog. "We'll git ter ther old mill as soon as we kin.
Foller me, an' be ready ter scrouch ther instant anything is seen."
Now that they could see her, she led them forward at a swift pace, which
astonished them both. She did not run, but she seemed to skim over the
ground, and she took advantage of every bit of cover till they entered
some deep, lowland pines.
Through this strip of woods she swiftly led them, and they came near to
Lost Creek, where it flowed down in the dismal valley.
There they found the ruins of an old mill, the moss-covered water-wheel
forever silent, the roof sagging and falling in, the windows broken out
by mischievous boys, the whole presenting a most melancholy and deserted
appearance.
The road that had led to the mill from the main highway was overgrown
with weeds. Later it would be filled with thistles and burdocks. Wild
sassafras grew along the roadside.
"That's whar you-uns must hide ter-day," said Kate, motioning toward the
mill.
"Why should we hide?" exclaimed Frank. "We are not criminals, nor are we
revenue spies. I do not fancy the idea of hiding like a hunted dog."
"It's better ter be a live dorg than a dead lion. Ef you-uns'll take my
advice, you'll come inter ther mill thar, an' ye'll keep thar all day,
an' keep mighty quiet. I know ye're nervy, but thar ain't no good in
bein' foolish. It'll be known that you-uns have escaped, an' then Wade
Miller will scour ther country. Ef he come on yer----"
"Give us our arms, and we'll be ready to meet Mr. Miller."
"But yer wouldn't meet him alone; thar'd be others with him, an' you-uns
wouldn't have no sorter show."
Kate finally succeeded in convincing the boys that she spoke the truth,
and they agreed to remain quietly in the old mill.
She led them into the mill, which was dank and dismal. The imperfect
light failed to show all the pitfalls that lurked for their feet, but
she warned them, and they escaped injury.
The miller had lived in the mill, and the girl took them to the part of
the old building that had served as a home.
"Har," she said, opening a closet door, "I've brung food fer you-uns, so
yer won't starve, an' I knowed ye'd be hongry."
"You are more than thoughtful, Miss Kenyon."
"Yer seem ter have fergot what we agreed ter call each other, Frank."
She spoke the words in a tone of reproach.
"Kate!"
Barney turned away, winking uselessly at nothing at all, and kept his
back toward them for some moments.
But Frank Merriwell had no thought of making love to this strange girl
of the mountains. She had promised to be his friend; she had proved
herself his friend, and as no more than a friend did he propose to
accept her.
That he had awakened something stronger than a friendly feeling in Kate
Kenyon's breast seemed evident, and the girl was so artless that she
could not conceal her true feelings toward him.
They stood there, talking in a low tone, while the morning light stole
in at one broken window and grew stronger and stronger within that room.
Frank was studying Kate's speech and voice. As he did so a new thought
came to him--a thought that was at first a mere suspicion, which he
scarcely noted at all. This suspicion grew, and he found himself asking:
"Kate, are you sure your brother is still wearing a convict's suit?"
She started, and looked at him closely.
"Sure o' it?" she repeated. "No, fer he may be dead."
"You do not know that he is dead--you have not heard of his death?"
"No."
"Is he bold and daring?"
Her eyes flashed, and a look of pride swept across her face.
"Folks allus 'lowed Rufe Kenyon wa'n't afeard o' ary two-legged critter
livin', an' they war right."
"Perhaps he has escaped."
She clutched his arm, beginning to pant, as she asked:
"What makes you say that? I knowed he'd try it some day, but--but, have
you heard anything? Do you know that he has tried it?"
The suspicion leaped to a conviction in the twinkling of an eye. If Rufe
Kenyon was not at liberty, then he must be right in what he thought.
"I do not know that your brother has tried to escape. I do not know
anything about him. I did think that he might be Muriel, the
moonshiner."
Kate laughed.
"You-uns war plumb mistooken thar," she said, positively. "Rufe is not
Muriel."
"Then," cried Frank, "you are Muriel yourself!"
Kate Kenyon seemed astounded.
"Have you-uns gone plumb dafty?" asked the girl, in a dazed way. "Me
Muriel! Wal, that beats all!"
"But you are--I am sure of it," said Frank, swiftly.
The girl laughed.
"Well, that beats me! Of course I'm not Muriel; but he's ther best
friend I've got in these maountings."
Frank was far from satisfied, but he was too courteous to insist after
this denial. Kate laughed the idea to scorn, saying over and over that
the boy must be "dafty," but still his mind was unchanged.
To be sure, there were some things not easily explained, one being how
Muriel concealed her luxurious red hair, for Muriel's hair appeared to
be coal-black.
Another thing was that Wade Miller must know Muriel and Kate were one
and the same, and yet he preserved her secret and allowed her to snatch
his victims from his maws.
Barney Mulloy had been more than astounded by Frank's words; the Irish
youth was struck dumb. When he could collect himself, he softly
muttered:
"Well, av all th' oideas thot takes th' cake!"
Having seen them safely within the mill and shown them the food brought
there, Kate said:
"Har is two revolvers fer you-uns. Don't use 'em unless yer have ter,
but shoot ter kill ef you're forced."
"Begorra! Oi'm ready fer th' spalpanes!" cried Barney, as he grasped one
of the weapons. "Let thim come on!"
"I feel better myself," declared Frank. "Next time Wade Miller and his
gang will not catch us napping."
"Roight, me b'y; we'll be sound awake, Frankie."
Kate bade them good-by, assuring them that she would return with the
coming of another night, and making them promise to await her, and then
she flitted away, slipped out of the mill, soon vanishing amid the
pines.
"It's dead lucky we are ter be living, Frankie," observed Barney.
"I quite agree with you," laughed Merriwell. "This night has been a
black and tempestuous one, but we have lived through it, and I do not
believe we'll find ourselves in such peril again while we are in the
Tennessee mountains."
They were hungry, and they ate heartily of the plain food that had been
provided for them.
When breakfast was over, Barney said:
"Frankie, it's off yer trolley ye git sometoimes."
"What do you mean by that, Barney? Is it a new sell?"
"Nivver a bit. Oi wur thinkin' av pwhat yez said about Kate Kenyon being
Mooriel, th' moonshoiner."
"I was not off my trolley so very much then."
"G'wan, me b'y! Ye wur crazy as a bidbug."
"You think so, but I have made a study of Muriel and of Kate Kenyon. I
am still inclined to believe the moonshiner is the girl in disguise."
"An' Oi say ye're crazy. No girrul could iver do pwhat thot felly does,
an' no band av min loike th' moonshoiners would iver allow a girrul
loike Kate Kenyon ter boss thim."
"They do not know Muriel is a girl. That is, I am sure the most of them
do not know it--do not dream it."
"Thot shows their common sinse, fer Oi don't belave it mesilf."
"I may be wrong, but I shall not give it up yet."
"Whoy, think pwhat a divvil thot Muriel is! An' th' color av his hair is
black, whoile the girrul's is red."
"I have thought of those things, and I have wondered how she concealed
that mass of red hair; still I am satisfied she does it."
"Well, it's no use to talk to you at all, at all."
However, they did discuss it for some time.
Finally they fell to exploring the old mill, and they wandered from one
part to another till they finally came to the place where they had
entered over a sagging plank. They were standing there, just within the
deeper shadow of the mill, when a man came panting and reeling from the
woods, his hat off, his shirt torn open at the throat, great drops of
perspiration standing on his face, a wild, hunted look in his eyes, and
dashed to the end of the plank that led over the water into the old
mill.
Frank clutched Barney, and the boys fell back a step, watching the man,
who was looking back over his shoulder and listening, the perfect
picture of a hunted thing.
"They're close arter me--ther dogs!" came in a hoarse pant from the
man's lips. "But I turned on 'em--I doubled--an' I hope I fooled 'em.
It's my last chance, fer I'm dead played, and I'm so nigh starved that
it's all I kin do ter drag one foot arter t'other."
He listened again, and then, as if overcome by a sudden fear of being
seen there, he suddenly rushed across the plank and plunged into the
mill.
He ran fairly upon Frank Merriwell.
In the twinkling of an eye man and boy were clasped in a close embrace,
struggling desperately.
"Caught!" cried the fugitive, desperately. "Trapped!"
He tried to hurl Frank to the floor, and he would have succeeded had he
been in his normal condition, for he was a man of great natural
strength; but he was exhausted by flight and hunger, and, in his
weakened condition, the man found his supple antagonist too much for
him.
A gasp came from the stranger's lips as he felt the boy give him a
wrestler's trip and fling him heavily to the floor.
The man was stunned for a moment. When he opened his eyes, Frank and
Barney were bending over him.
"Wal, I done my best," he said, huskily; "but you-uns trapped me at
last. I dunno how yer knew I war comin' har, but ye war on hand ter meet
me."
"You have made a mistake," said Frank, in a reassuring tone. "We are not
your enemies at all."
"What's that?"
"We are not your enemies; you are not trapped."
The man seemed unable to believe what he heard.
"Why, who be you-uns?" he asked, in a bewildered way.
"Fugitives, like yourself," assured Frank, with a smile.
He looked them over, and shook his head.
"Not like me," he said. "Look at me! I'm wore ter ther bone--I'm a
wreck! Oh, it's a cursed life I've led sence they dragged me away from
har! Night an' day hev I watched for a chance ter break away, and' I war
quick ter grasp it when it came. They shot at me, an' one o' their
bullets cut my shoulder har. It war a close call, but I got away. Then
they follered, an' they put houn's arter me. Twenty times hev they been
right on me, an' twenty times hev I got erway. But it kep' wearin' me
weaker an' thinner. My last hope war ter find friends ter hide me an'
fight fer me, an' I came har--back home! I tried ter git inter 'Bije
Wileys' this mornin', but his dorg didn't know me, I war so changed, an'
ther hunters war close arter me, so I hed ter run fer it."
"Begorra!" exclaimed Barney; "we hearrud th' dog barruckin'."
"So we did," agreed Frank, remembering how the creature had been
clamoring on the mountainside at daybreak.
"I kem har," continued the man, weakly. "I turned on ther devils, but
when I run in har an' you-uns tackled me, I judged I had struck a trap."
"It was no trap, Rufe Kenyon," said Frank, quietly.
The hunted man started up and slunk away.
"You know me!" he gasped.
"We do."
"An' still ye say you-uns are not my enemies."
"We are not."
"Then how do you know me? I never saw yer afore."
"No; but we have heard of you."
"How?"
"From your sister Kate."
"She tol' yer?"
"She did."
"Then she must trust you-uns."
"She saved us from certain death last night, and she brought us here to
hide till she can help us get out of this part of the country."
Rufe Kenyon looked puzzled.
"I judge you-uns is givin' it ter me straight," he said, slowly; "but I
don't jes' understan'. What did she save yer from?"
"Moonshiners."
The man seemed filled with sudden suspicion.
"What had moonshiners agin' you-uns? Be you revernues?"
"No. Do we look like revenue spies?"
"Yer look too young."
"Well, we are not spies; but we were unfortunate enough to incur the
enmity of Wade Miller, and he has sworn to end our lives."
"Wade Miller!" cried Rufe, showing his teeth in an ugly manner. "An' I
s'pose he's hangin' 'roun' Kate, same as he uster?"
"He is giving her more or less trouble."
"Wal, he won't give her much trouble arter I git at him. He is a snake!
Look har! I'm goin' ter tell you-uns somethin'. Miller allus pretended
ter be my friend, but it war that critter as put ther revernues onter me
an' got me arrested! He done it because I tol' him Kate war too good fer
him. I know it, an' one thing why I wanted ter git free war ter come har
an' fix ther critter so he won't ever bother Kate no more. I hev swore
ter fix him, an' I'll do it ef I live ter meet him face ter face!"
He had grown wildly excited, and he sat up, with his back against a
post, his eyes gleaming redly, and a white foam flecking his lips. At
that moment he reminded the boys of a mad dog.
Woe to Wade Miller when they met!
When Kenyon was calmer, Frank told the story of the adventures which had
befallen the boys since entering Lost Creek Valley. The fugitive
listened quietly, watching them closely with his sunken eyes, and,
having heard all, said:
"I judge you-uns tells ther truth. Ef I kin keep hid till Kate gits
har--till I see her--I'll fix things so you won't be bothered much. Wade
Miller's day in Lost Creek Valley is over."
The boys took him up to the living room of the old mill, where they
furnished him with the coarse food that remained from their breakfast.
He ate like a famished thing, washing the dry bread down with great
swallows of water. When he had finished and his hunger was satisfied, he
was quite like another man.
"Thar!" he cried; "now I am reddy fer anything! But I do need sleep."
"Take it," advised Frank. "We will watch."
"And you'll tell me ef thar's danger?"
"You may depend on it."
"You-uns will watch close?"
"Never fear about that."
So the hunted wretch was induced to lie down and sleep. He slept soundly
for some hours, and, when he opened his eyes, his sister had her arms
about his neck.