GAME AND GAME.
Remembering his guilt and natural cowardice, we may well suppose that
Jim McCabe was not a little frightened when he felt a hand laid rather
heavily upon his shoulder. But, when he sprung round to face his fancied
challenger, and saw only the face of Nick Robbins, which had become
entirely expressionless within the last few seconds, he drew a deep
breath of relief, and felt his fears fading.
“What do you mean, sir, by striking me in this unwarrantable manner?” he
demanded, angrily.
“Strikin’ ye!” drawled Robbins, taking a step backward and regarding the
man with a show of astonishment in his actions, if not in his face. “Durn
it, man, I didn’t strike ye, as I knows of. I only laid my paw on yer
shoulder to ’tract yer ’tention.”
“Attract my attention, indeed!” snarled McCabe. “You chose a very mild
way to do it. You will oblige me, sir, by acting a little less familiarly
toward me in future.”
“Will I, though?”
“Silence, fool! I meant exactly what I said, and I further do when I tell
you that another impudent word will be uttered at your peril. I am in no
enviable mood, just now, and am not to be trifled with. Go your way, and
leave me to go mine.”
For a full minute the gaze of the hunter never left the eyes of the
speaker, after the latter had finished his exclamations. But at the end
of that time a smile, that might have been of contempt, curled his lip,
and he broke the silence:
“See hyur, stranger,” he said, in a low, impressive voice, “does yer know
who an’ what I am?”
“I only know that you are called Nick Robbins,” replied McCabe, somewhat
taken aback by the hunter’s words and manner.
“Wal, it’s lucky fur ye ’ut ye don’t know me better ’n that, cause ef ye
did, an’ should speak to me in that style, I’d knock yer from hyur to
Christmas, ye blamed blow-fly! What d’ye take me fur, anyhow? Let me tell
yer ’tain’t goin’ to pay yer to make an enemy o’ me. Why, younker, don’t
ye know ’ut I can upset that little scheme o’ your’n in a jiffy—”
“What scheme?” gasped McCabe, in considerable alarm.
“What scheme! Ha! ha! ha! Yer knows well enough what scheme, ye blasted
scape-gallows! Hain’t yer jest been talkin’ to Simon Girty ’bout a gang
o’ white people as are campin’ on that island down yander? and didn’t ye
tell him ye wanted every mother’s son of ’em slaughtered, ’ceptin’ one
purty female, an’ she wur to be captur’d fur yer wife?”
“Good God! how did you learn this?”
“How d’ye s’pose?” asked the hunter, with a leer.
“It’s all a base lie!” vociferated the ruffian. “You don’t know what you
are talking about!”
“Easy, my friend,” said the hunter, coolly. “I ain’t used to bein’ called
a liar by anybody, an’ I can’t stand it. I’m a right docile chap long
as nobody crosses my path, but when once’t I git my dander riz, I can’t
git it down ag’in till I’ve bent some pusson’s ear. Now, ye won’t make
anything by denyin’ this ’ut I’ve ’cused ye of, for this reason: I heerd
every word o’ yer conversation with Simon Girty. Jest reflect a minute,
an’ ye’ll agree that I’d make a better friend than enemy, knowin’ what
I do, so ye’ll do well to curb that tongue o’ your’n ’fore ye ruffle my
feathers.”
“There is something behind your words I don’t understand,” said McCabe,
after searching in vain for the “something” in the never changing
countenance of the hunter.
“Is, hey? Ef that’s the case I’ll jest give yer understandin’ a lift. As
I said afore, I heerd every word that passed ’twixt you an’ Girty, an’
in course I must ’a’ been clus’ by to hear. You say ye don’t know me,
’ceptin’ my name are Robbins?”
“I said so.”
“Do anybody else suspicion more?”
“I have never heard of any such suspicion.”
“Good. Now, younker, look at me clus’. Do I look as though I mought be
disguised?”
“_Disguised!_”
“Yas.”
“Why, sir, it never occurred to me that you were.”
“Jest what I thort. I’ve pulled the wool over more’n one feller’s eyes.
An’ onkimmon ’cute chap, who b’ars the handle o’ Kirby Kidd, thinks I’m
his truest friend, an’ has the utmost confidence both in my faithfulness
an’ my skill as an Injun-fighter. Fur all that, I _am_ disguised, whether
I look like it or no.”
Jim McCabe was so astonished that he could not reply, and, observing
this, the hunter continued:
“Maybe ye’d like to know what I am, since I ain’t what I seem? I’ll tell
yer. Besides bein’ Nick Robbins, I am the companion, the confed’rate, the
right bower o’ _Simon Girty_!”
He paused a moment to note the effect of these words upon his hearer, and
then went on:
“I see ye’re kinder amazed to hear this, but I’ll prove it to yer in the
fraction of a second. I find it handy to pertend friendship to’arst the
whites, though in reality I’m leagued with the Injuns, an’ am workin’ fur
’em the hull time. This mornin’ I wur over thar in the ravine with Girty
and the red-skins, when we see’d ye comin’ that way. Girty said how’t
ye’s a friend o’ his’n, but I recognized ye as a man from the settlement
whar I’ve been lodgin’ lately, an’ bein’ sorter afeard ye’d expose me
to the whites ef ye sot yer peepers on me, I perlitely hid my carcass
behind a big stun’. I heerd all ye said, an’ found out ye wur ’bout as
big a rascal as myself. Ha! ha! ha! When ye went away I come out from
the stun’, an’ told Simon I wur goin’ to foller ye, an’ have a chat with
ye ’bout this little affair. He told me I’d better not, that ye mought
take it into yer head to expose me to the whites, but I argued that I
had ye too much in my power to admit o’ yer doin’ sech a thing. So I
follered ye, and hyur I am. D’ye know what I’m hyur fur? I’ll tell ye. Ye
calc’late on j’inin’ the whites as thar friend, an’ inducin’ ’em by some
trick to remain an hour or so arter dark. Now, I knows they ain’t got
a very high opinion o’ you, an’ it’s all but likely they’d ketch ye in
yer own trap. On t’other hand, ef _I_ should go to the island I’d stand
a better chance o’ success. They all know me, an’ have faith in every
thing I say, an’ even Mr. Moreland hisself labors under the belief ut he
an’ I are fast friends.”
Jim McCabe fell to thinking at this, and the result of his thinking was a
firm belief in all the hunter had said.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, grasping Robbins’ hand, “for the rude
manner in which I spoke to you a moment since. I regret that I was so
hasty, and assure you I should not have acted so, had I even suspected
that you had followed me for my own good.”
“Wal, we won’t speak o’ that now,” said Robbins, good-humoredly. “Ef I
hadn’t understood why ye acted that a-way, I should ’a’ knocked ye cl’ar
up through the crown o’ yer hat; but I understood parfectly how it wur.
Let it pass; it ’mounts to nothin’. Reckon ye’re willin’ to have me take
this fur a sign o’ friendship?”
“Certainly, sir; certainly! I am most happy to find a man, of my own
color, who partakes of my sentiments with regard to the great injustice
offered to the race who first held possession of this land. I should
never have suspected that you were such, however, had you not told me.
Your disguise is complete, and you are supposed to be a harmless old
rover, when in truth you are the deadly enemy of the very ones who have
so much faith in your harmlessness.”
“That ’are’s ’bout the long an’ short of it, younker. The Injuns call me
a sly old fox, an’ I s’pose the name are a good ’un.”
“You could have no better,” said McCabe, who had already been thrown into
a very good humor by this man.
“Wal,” said the hunter, quietly, “I hope we understand each other,
anyhow. Shill I perform the part o’ throwin’ the whites off thar guard,
or would ye ruther do it yerself?”
He put this question in a careless sort of a way, and, as he spoke,
glanced lazily down the river at the island, which lay at least half a
mile below the spot where they stood.
“To be sure I am willing that you should perform the duty imposed upon
me,” answered McCabe, who was only too glad to have the responsibility
taken from his own shoulders. “I believe you are more capable of doing it
than I, since you better understand the art of deceiving. You give ample
proof of that every day.”
“Ef I’m to do that part o’ the job,” said the hunter, “I jest stays hyur
with you till arter noon, an’ then I takes the trip to the island an’
back.”
“Very well. I shall be glad to have you remain here with me, as I detest
solitude. But, my friend, since you belong to that band of Indians,
perhaps you know where to find their canoes? Girty said they were
concealed somewhere in this vicinity—can you tell me where?”
“Oh, sartinly,” was the prompt reply. “I know egzactly whar the boats are
hid. They’re skeercely a dozen feet from hyur.”
As he spoke he took two or three long strides down the sloping bank, to a
little cove that extended a few yards inland. Here he stooped and parted
the bushes, revealing to the eyes of Jim McCabe five Indian canoes, with
their paddles lying in them. Truth is, while conversing with McCabe, Nick
Robbins had seen the prow of one of these protruding from the bushes, and
the discovery, unimportant in itself, went to prove more clearly to his
new acquaintance that he really was connected with the Indians.
“Thar they be,” he said; “all safe an’ ready for use.”
“So I see. Of course you will take one of them on your mission to the
island?”
“In course! I’ll have to or swim.”
The two men now seated themselves beneath the wide-spreading branches of
a tree, at a point where they had a good view of the island, there to
await the time for action. To hear their conversation, one would judge
their acquaintance was rapidly ripening into friendship, as they went so
far as to almost make confidants of each other, and chatted as familiarly
as if they had been on intimate terms for a number of years. In fact,
Jim McCabe believed he had found a trustworthy friend in the old hunter,
and reposed more and more confidence in him every moment, and, to all
appearance, Nick Robbins was similarly worked upon.
The hours dragged slowly by, and at last the sun passed the zenith,
ushering in a sultry afternoon.
Nick Robbins waited no longer, but stepped into one of the Indian canoes
and sent it skimming down the river toward the island. McCabe watched him
with eager eyes as he paddled away, and felt a thrill of exultation as
he thought how nicely things were working in his favor! Surely, fortune
was smiling upon him.
The hunter was absent a full hour. The wretch on shore had lost his
patience, and was beginning to entertain a suspicion that all was not
right, when he saw Robbins put out from the head of the island and come
rowing slowly back.
“Well?” he asked, as soon as the boat touched the shore. “How did you
succeed?”
“Succeed?” exclaimed Robbins, in a tone of joyful triumph, as he stepped
out of the light craft and shoved it under the bushes with the rest.
“Succeed, did yer say? By thunder! the game’s _our’n_! We’ve got ’em in
our clutches already, an’ we’ve only to wait till the comin’ o’ night
to pick thar feathers. We couldn’t hope fur better success. The durned
cusses are goin’ to stay thar ’bout two hours arter dark, an’ I warrant
they won’t be on thar guard, ’cause I’ve made ’em b’lieve thar ain’t no
Injuns ’thin fifty mile of ’em. Kirby Kidd an’ Wapawah wur both thar, an’
they was sucked in as easy as t’others. Yes, kumrid, they’re our game,
sure ’s shootin’!”
“Good!” cried McCabe, slapping his thigh. “You’re a trump, my friend, and
if, through your exertions, I come in possession of the proud beauty,
Isabel Moreland, I shall ever feel indebted to you. But I will go at once
and tell Girty how well we have succeeded so far. You remember he told me
to report? I presume you will remain here, and keep watch until I return?”
But Nick Robbins made no reply to this. He had become suddenly very
silent and very grave, and he even seemed to be struck with alarm!
McCabe, however, failed to observe this, and flinging his rifle across
his shoulder he started away, whistling gleefully.
“Stop!” called out the hunter, hesitatingly. “Had—hadn’t I better go, an’
let you stay hyur?”
“No,” replied McCabe, cheerfully. “I wish to speak to Girty about
something else, and may as well go myself.”
And so saying, he resumed his whistling and walked on.
“By heaven!” exclaimed the hunter, when he was left alone, and he dropped
the butt of his gun upon the ground in a half despairing sort of a way.
“Can it be that I am going to fail, after all? He has gone to report to
Simon Girty what we have done, and of course my name will be mentioned,
and I will be exposed. What shall I do? There is no room to hope that he
will not speak to Girty of me. Why did I not think of this before? Alas!
I fear my project is nipped in the bud, and, if so, my life is in danger.
The villain may come back at the head of a dozen Indians, to make mince
meat of me, for my deception, and yet I must wait for him at all hazards.”
The hunter was evidently sorely troubled. He threw himself upon the
ground to await the return of McCabe, and was so nervous and restless he
could not lie still. He trembled in a state of feverish impatience, and
every minute seemed an hour to him.
At last McCabe came trudging back. He was entirely alone, and whistling
as gleefully as when he had gone away. Nick Robbins rose to meet him
eagerly, feeling the first spark of hope he had felt since the fellow’s
departure. He gazed keenly at the whistling profligate as he came up, but
saw nothing that told him his artifice had been discovered.
“Well, what news?” he asked, with as much calmness as was just then at
his command.
“News?” said McCabe, in some surprise, “news? Why, really, sir, what sort
of news have you been expecting?”
“I mean—what did Girty have to say?”
“Oh, Girty was not there,” answered the fellow, stretching himself on
the grass. “He and one of his braves had started in chase of a deer just
before I reached the ravine, and so I was obliged to leave my report to
be delivered by the Indians.”
A fierce thrill of delight pervaded the whole being of Robbins at this
intelligence, and he was compelled to turn his head away to conceal his
joyful emotion!