THE TRAPPERS TRAPPED.
When the leader of the party by whom Winn had been made prisoner (as
related in the last chapter but one) peered cautiously in at the open
window of the log-hut to make certain that it was occupied, he was
disappointed to discover but one man, where he had confidently expected
to find several.
This leader, who had told Winn that his name was Riley, was a Sheriff,
though such a new one that this was his first important undertaking
since assuming office. Consequently he was most anxious for its
success, and also somewhat nervous from anxiety. He had laid his plans
well, the hut was completely surrounded, and he was elated at the
thought of the prize so surely within his grasp, as well as of the
glory that would be his for effecting this important capture. He
expected to find several men in the hut, and counted upon their being
desperate characters who would make a stout resistance before yielding
themselves prisoners. The Sheriff had therefore prepared his followers
for a fight, and made all his arrangements with this in prospect. Now,
to discover but one man, and he peacefully sleeping, caused these
warlike preparations to appear ridiculous, and called for a decided
modification of Mr. Riley's plans.
Having satisfied himself by a careful survey that the man had no
companions, and that the hut contained no rifles nor other fire-arms,
the Sheriff retired noiselessly from the window and rejoined his
followers. He explained the situation in a whisper, and then proposed
that as they could not fight a single unarmed man, they should paralyze
him with terror. As the Sheriff expressed it, they would "scare him
stiff" by a general discharge of guns, a yell, and a rush for the door.
These were to follow a signal that he would give from his post at the
open window, through which he would cover the sleeping man with his
revolver.
The new programme being understood, the Sheriff returned to his
station, pointed his pistol at Billy Brackett's head, and was about to
order him to throw up his hands and surrender, when he made a slight
movement that aroused Bim. This faithful sentinel sprang up with a
loud bark. In the dim light Sheriff Riley had not noticed the dog, and
he was so much upset by this unexpected challenge that his finger
closed on the hair-trigger of his revolver. Fortunately his aim was so
wild that no harm was done by the shot that followed. It was all the
signal that the Sheriff's followers needed, and they immediately
carried out their part of the programme to the letter.
When the tumult subsided, the situation was as already described.
Billy Brackett sat on the floor, grasping Bim's collar, and awaiting
further developments as calmly as though he were merely a disinterested
spectator of this unique performance. The dog, with teeth displayed to
an alarming extent, stood ready to fly at the invaders whenever he
should be released. In front of this group, and a few paces from it,
stood half a dozen men, all of whom held guns that were pointed at the
young engineer. The form of the Sheriff, with pistol still levelled at
his prisoner, appeared at the open window.
"Do you surrender?" he demanded.
"Certainly," replied Billy Brackett, cheerfully; "if you desire it.
I'm always ready to accommodate, especially when it's no trouble to do
so."
"Throw up your hands, then," commanded the Sheriff.
"To do that," argued the prisoner, without moving, "I shall be obliged
to let go my hold of this bull-dog. The moment I do so our friends
with the empty guns will be apt to fancy that about a yard of
particularly hot and well-greased lightning has been forged for their
especial benefit. Still, if you insist--"
"Oh, hang your dog!" exclaimed Mr. Riley. "You must hold on to him, of
course, until we can find a rope to tie him with. Where are your pals?"
"This is the only one I have at present," answered Billy Brackett,
indicating him by a glance; "but I am in search of another, and have
reason to believe that he is on this island at this very minute.
Haven't seen anything of him, have you? He is a young fellow, about
sixteen, named Caspar, son of Major Caspar, of Caspar's Mill, up the
river a bit. He left home yesterday on a raft, and I was to join him
hereabouts."
"What sort of a raft?" asked the Sheriff.
"Big timber raft. Two sweeps at each end, and three shanties on it,
two of them filled with wheat."
"No," replied Mr. Riley, in a relieved tone; for on hearing the
well-known name of Caspar his men had exchanged meaning looks and
smiles, which indicated their belief that the Sheriff might be getting
into hot-water. "I did arrest a young rascal of about that age half an
hour ago," he continued, "just as he was leaving this island on a raft;
but it was only a small affair, built of two or three logs, and not at
all such a raft as you describe. I've got the boy out here now, and I
believe him to be one of your pals, in spite of your cheeky talk. Yon
don't want to give me any more of it, either," he concluded, in a
fierce tone, assumed to reassert the dignity of his office. "So just
cork up, and come along quietly, or you may find yourself in trouble."
"All right," replied Billy Brackett, calmly; "but first, perhaps you'll
be kind enough to tell me who you are, why you are taking such an
interest in me, and where you want me to go."
"I am the Sheriff of Dubuque County, Iowa," was the answer. "I have a
warrant for your arrest as a member of the most dangerous gang of
counterfeiters that has ever operated in this section of country, and I
want you to go with me to the county jail, which will be only a
stopping-place on your journey to State-prison."
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sheriff, and obliged for
your courtesy," said Billy Brackett, politely. "Now if you will do me
the favor to read the names mentioned in your warrant, I shall have
nothing further to request."
"William Gresham, _alias_ Gilder, _et al._," replied Mr. Riley.
"Good. But suppose I can prove to you that I am not the person you
take me to be, and that my name is neither Gresham nor Gilder, _et
al._, but that I am a civil engineer, William Brackett by name,
brother-in-law of Major Caspar, whom I am certain you must know, and
that you are making a rather sizable mistake in connection with this
business. Supposing, also, I state that I am just now engaged on an
important mission which will not admit of delay, and that in case you
insist on taking me to jail, I can and will make you suffer, even to
the extent of losing your office."
By this time Billy Brackett was standing up, while Bim, reluctantly
obeying his stern command, lay motionless at his feet. The men of the
Sheriff's posse had ceased to level their guns at the young engineer,
and even Mr. Riley was so impressed with this bold attitude and
declaration of innocence that he consented to come inside the hut and
examine the papers offered for his inspection. He was about to declare
his satisfaction with them, and admit that perhaps he had made a
mistake, when the man whom he had left to guard Winn rushed up with the
announcement that his prisoner had escaped.
At this the Sheriff's face clouded angrily. "We'll find him if he is
still on the island!" he exclaimed. "If he has left it we'll follow
him; and, at any rate, Mr. Brackett, I must now insist upon your coming
to Dubuque, where you will be granted every opportunity for proving
what you please. In the mean time, you and I will await here the
result of the search for the escaped prisoner that my men will at once
proceed to make."
To this Billy Brackett returned no answer, but stood silently
considering how he should avoid the vexatious delay that now appeared
inevitable. While he was thus cudgelling his brains, one of the
searching party returned to report that the skiff in which they had
come up the river was missing.
The Sheriff became furious. "I don't believe it!" he cried. "Here,
you! Stop and guard this prisoner, while I go and take charge of the
search myself."
As Mr. Riley departed, the new guard entered the hut, leaned his rifle
against the wall, and took a seat near the door.
Then Billy Brackett stooped and whispered to his ever-faithful comrade,
"Watch him, Bim!" and the dog answered with a low growl that spoke
volumes. Turning to the guard the young engineer said, "My friend, if
you make the slightest motion or shout for help, that bull-dog will fly
at your throat. I am going to leave you alone with him for a minute,
and as you value your life, I beg of you to keep perfectly quiet until
you hear from me." With this the prisoner leaped lightly from the
window and disappeared.
[Illustration: "'Watch him, Bim!'"]
For two minutes the guard sat as motionless as though carved from
stone, his fascinated gaze fixed on the gleaming teeth and bloodshot
eyes of the bull-dog that stood rigidly before him. Then a shrill
whistle rang out on the still air, and at its sound the dog, dashing
past him, disappeared like a flash. In another minute Billy Brackett's
lusty strokes were sending his own skiff dancing out towards the middle
of the main channel, while Bim, thumping with his tail in appreciation
of his master's praises, occupied the stern seat as calmly as though
with him such events as those just recorded were of every-day
occurrence.