WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?
As soon as Worrell found himself on the outside of the cavern, he walked
rapidly for a hundred yards or so, taking a direction at right angles to
that which he followed when conducting the fugitives to the retreat. His
gait became almost a run until he reached an elevation, when he paused,
as if to make a survey of a portion of the country spread out below him.
"The sun is almost overhead," he muttered, as he looked up to the sky
with an impatient expression, "and I am all of an hour behind time, but
this is one of them things that can't be fixed just as you want it, and
I don't see why it should make any difference."
He was gazing at the section which lay spread out at his feet, and was
between him and the Susquehanna. His eyes first roved in a quick,
restless way over the broad stretch of woods and clearings, as if
seeking for some object upon which to rest. At the end of a few minutes,
his gaze became fixed upon a place where stood a small house in the
middle of a clearing. It evidently belonged to one of the settlers in
the Wyoming valley, who had been smitten with the panic which drove so
many from their homes, and had fled without taking any of his stock with
him, or destroying his property to prevent it falling into the hands of
the enemy.
The manner of Worrell showed that he awaited some person or signal in
connection with this house, but he was disappointed. The tomb itself
could not have been more deserted and desolate, and he gazed until sure
there was nothing on or about it which was intended for his eye.
"That's the way it always is," he muttered. "I have got everything fixed
just as I promised, and now they turn up missing at the very time they
ought to be on hand. I suppose I've got to hunt 'em up, and that may
take me till dark, by which time that Mohawk will put in his oar."
He spent a few more minutes searching for something which did not
appear. Then he advanced to a small tree that grew on the edge of the
open space where he had halted, and drawing a large red handkerchief
from his pocket, bent down a small sapling and tied the silk to it. As
the little tree flew back to its upright position, there was enough
breeze to make the signal rise and float in the wind. The man stood off
a few paces, and watched it.
"I can't improve on that," he said to himself. "If they will only look
this way, they can't help seeing it, and it will tell the story; but the
trouble is, there is no knowing when they will take the trouble to look
this way. Faugh! why didn't they leave the whole thing to me? It would
have been ended by this time, and there would have been no after-clap,
but this waiting and bother is what will upset the whole arrangement
unless they come up to time better than they are likely to do."
Impatient as he was, he was obliged to content himself, while he kept an
unremitting watch on the house and its surroundings, occasionally giving
vent to his feelings by a series of expletives. In fact, Worrell, who
now showed himself to himself, as it may be said, was altogether a less
prepossessing character than the one who had so kindly conducted the
fugitives to the hiding-place in the woods, and bidden them sleep while
he watched over their slumbers. Suddenly he started. He had discerned
something for which he was waiting. Moving to the edge of the open
space, he gazed with the keenness of one whose life depended upon making
no mistake as to what he saw. The house which engaged so much of his
attention was a quarter of a mile distant. The wonder was how he
distinguished anything so far off with enough certainty to determine its
character; but he had done so.
"Better late than never," he muttered; "though it looked awhile ago as
if it was to be never. Yes," he added, a moment after, "they are there,
and it won't take them long to find out that I am here."
So it proved; for, in a few minutes there was an answering signal waving
from an upper window of the house in the form of a handkerchief of a
white color, swung by the hand of a man instead of the wind, as in the
former case.
"I don't know as there's any use of my waiting any longer," he growled,
"for I don't s'pose they'll come to me, and I may as well go to them,
for there is no telling where that infernal Mohawk is. I wouldn't meet
him for all the Colonel Butlers that ever breathed. He is the devil
himself, and I prefer to keep out of his path."
Impressed with the value of time, the man gripped the sapling and swung
it violently, so as to make the red handkerchief wave in the breeze.
Then he started down the mountain, taking a direction which led him
straight toward the house in which he had shown so much interest from
the first. All the way was down-hill, and Worrell walked like one
accustomed to the woods, making such good time that at the end of ten
minutes he was with the parties whom he was anxious to see and meet. Who
were they?
Six Indians, under the charge of Captain Bagley, who has already been
introduced to our readers.
A glance at the painted warriors showed they were Iroquois, who were
following so vigilantly the fugitives that had managed to elude them
thus far. Bagley emerged from the house and shook hands with Worrell,
the two at once entering into a hurried conversation, while the Indians,
in accordance with their nature, stood apart, saying nothing to each
other, but satisfied to wait till the time should come for them to act
in obedience to the orders of their leader. Something was wrong, for
Bagley and Worrell continued talking a long time, each earnest and
abounding with gesture. As might be supposed, it was Lena-Wingo, the
Mohawk, that had caused the trouble. Several of the warriors had seen
him in another direction, and an encounter of some kind had taken place
between the celebrated scout and the Iroquois, with the result that
Colonel Butler had now two less men than before.
Captain Bagley was of the opinion that the half dozen with him were
insufficient to enter the cave and secure the fugitives sleeping there.
He wanted about as many more before making the attempt. Worrell insisted
there should be no delay. The three were in sound slumber, and all they
had to do was to enter the cavern, take possession of their arms, and
then the trio themselves. Captain Bagley's objection to this was that
because of the time that had elapsed, they would not be found asleep
when his men arrived there.
Furthermore, from what his informant told him, he was confident the
Mohawk would reach the cavern ahead of them, in which event it would be
vain to attack them with only six Indians and two white men, even though
these eight were among the bravest soldiers that had entered the
Wyoming valley. It was folly, in his opinion, to try such a task without
a force that would insure success from the first. Worrell, however, was
as vehement for an immediate advance, insisting that all that was needed
was promptness. A liberal reward had been promised him, and would
assuredly be his if his plan was carried to a successful completion. At
last, his importunity prevailed when he promised to be the first one to
enter the cavern, and the start was made.