THE MEETING IN THE WOOD.
The afternoon waned, and the sun went down behind the gold and crimson
clouds that blended their brilliant hues in the western sky.
Night came on apace, and still the two men remained on the spot where
the canoes of the Indians were concealed. Jim McCabe, however, began to
grow restless, and it was plain that he wished to say something to his
companion, which fear of the result prevented him from doing. He coughed
and “ahem’d,” ran his trembling fingers through his hair, cast frequent
glances through the darkening woods, in the direction of the ravine, and
then amused himself by thrusting his hands into his pockets and pacing
up and down with quick, nervous tread. Though fully understanding these
demonstrations of uneasiness, and scarcely able to repress a smile in
consequence thereof, yet Nick Robbins seemed to be entirely ignorant
of the change that had taken place in his would-be friend. At last the
troubled man appeared to have made up his mind. He stepped right in front
of the hunter, and blurted out:
“I say, Robbins, shall we stay here until the Indians come, and join them
in their attack on the whites?”
“Why not?” coolly asked the hunter. “Wa’n’t that the agreement ’twixt you
an’ Girty? Didn’t yer say as ye’d be hyur when they come to embark, ready
to take part in the fightin’?”
“Not exactly. I told him I should be here if I was nowhere else, but, to
be frank, it was my intention to be somewhere else.”
“What! ye ain’t afeard, be yer?”
“Oh, no! not in the least,” was the quick rejoinder. “It isn’t fear that
urges me to keep out of the fight, but stronger and better reasons. You
see, I’m deeply, madly in love, and can not run the risk of losing the
bewitching beauty I have taken so much pains to secure. Suppose I should
go into the fight and get killed; where would be the reward for my labor?
and what would become of the girl? Besides all this, if the Indians
should, by any chance, be defeated, and I captured, I should be strung up
to the nearest tree for the part I had taken in the conflict. Don’t you
see?”
Nick Robbins seemed to meditate. After a while he asked:
“Wal, what d’ye perpose to do?”
“Before answering that question,” said McCabe, “I should like to know
whether you are going to take part in the massacre or not?”
“It have been my intention to do so all along, but ef _you_ don’t _I_
don’t, that’s sartin.”
“Very good. I will suggest, then, that we move down the bank of the river
about half a mile, or whatever the distance may be, and take our stand
just opposite the island.”
“What then?”
“Just this: we can lie there in concealment and watch, or, rather, listen
to, the battle on the water, and when it is all over, we can join our
white friend and his dusky crew, and make them believe it was simply
impossible for us to be present at the massacre.”
“Why d’ye want to go so fur down the river as to be opposite the island?”
“Only that we may be near the scene of the conflict, where we shall be
able to note its progress and termination.”
Nick Robbins knit his brows, and seemed to meditate again. Then, with a
slight show of perplexity, he said:
“Tell yer what, kumrid, my brain are kinder muddled this evenin’, an’
I kin skeercely decide how to act. Yer perpose to take no part in the
tussle, an’ I make no doubt yer reasons fur slidin’ out of it are good,
but, on second thort, I don’t know whether I ort to shirk my duty or not.
With you I reckon it’s all right, but what cause have I fur not ’tendin’
to my duty?”
“Pooh! it isn’t going to hurt you to tell a lie, if you find it necessary
to offer an excuse for your absence.”
“Nevertheleast, I ain’t in the habit o’ doin’ that. I don’t want to make
’em think I’m a coward, ’cause thar ain’t nothin’ ’ut I’m afeard of.
Tell ye what I’ll do. You kin go on down the river, an’ leave me hyur
to think awhile. Ef I decides to stay with yer, I’ll foller er in a few
minutes, but ef I don’t, I’ll wait hyur fur the Injuns, an’ go with them.
How will that suit yer?”
“That suits me very well,” replied McCabe. “But I sincerely hope you will
decide to follow me.”
The delighted villain, glad to get away from the place where the savages
were to embark on their errand of death, turned on his heel and quickly
took his departure, making the river-bank his guide as he hurried away to
the point designated.
Nick Robbins watched his receding form until it was lost to view in the
purple twilight, and then, finding himself once more alone, he sat down
on a log and buried his face in his hands to think.
His sole object in lingering behind was to be alone for a while with his
thoughts. Of course he had no intention of joining the savages in their
attack on his friends, though he had made such a pretense to the poor
dupe McCabe. Having carried out his plan successfully so far, he wished
to bring the latter part of it to perfect maturity before proceeding
further, in order to prevent such a thing as running into an unlooked-for
difficulty, which he had done once already. To do this he desired a few
minutes of solitude, that he might think it all over undisturbed, and it
was for this reason alone that he sent McCabe on ahead.
For a long time he sat there on the log, lost in study, and when at last
he rose to his feet, the mellow twilight had deepened into the blacker
shades.
Surprised to find that he had tarried there so long, the hunter snatched
up his gun and hastened away in the direction McCabe had taken. He was
pleased with the latter’s proposition to keep out of the fight, as it
prevented the suspicion that might have been excited by such a one being
offered by himself. They could station themselves on the shore directly
opposite the island, and, with their ears, note the commencement, end and
result of the contemplated contest. Thus he reflected as he walked along
the river-bank through the gathering darkness of night, and a strange
smile twitched the beard that covered his mouth, as he muttered:
“Result, indeed! Ha! ha! ha! It will be a far different result from that
which _he_ expects, for Kirby Kidd and Wapawah would not have been caught
napping even if I had failed to put them on their guard. Kidd declared
that, if the rest of the party would follow strictly the directions of
himself and Wapawah, they could defeat the assailants without the loss of
a man, and I believe he spoke the truth.”
Nick Robbins now ended his soliloquy, and brought his mind down to the
present. He walked on some distance further, with long, rapid strides,
and at length became aware that he had reached the point he was aiming
for. Off to his right he could see the shadowy outlines of the island.
He came to a dead halt. Where was Jim McCabe? He looked around him, but
saw only the frowning tree-trunks on one side, and the glistening water
on the other. It was quite dark now, and the only luminaries visible were
the myriads of twinkling stars that bespangled the blue canopy above. He
was about to move on, when his footsteps were arrested by a loud, angry
voice, exclaiming:
“So you have been following me, have you?—you accursed brat! And you now
hint that you will proclaim me a murderer to the world rather than see me
accomplish my purpose.”
The speaker was undoubtedly Jim McCabe!
“Faith, Jamie, I haven’t been follerin’ iv yeez, at all, at all,” said
another voice, in rich Irish brogue. With astonishment the hunter
recognized this one as that of the boy, Mike Terry! He stood perfectly
quiet, and listened.
“What, rascal! Will you say you have not been following me? Tell me,
then, how came you here?”
“Begorra, how should I know ye were in this part iv the counthry? An’ av
I did know why should I be afther follerin’ iv yeez? It’s goin’ crazy ye
are, to be sure, an’ Mike Terry won’t have any thing more to do wid the
likes iv yeez. Tell ye why I’m here? Av course I will. I’m this fur on me
way to that fort—phat ye call it?—where the Moreland family is movin’ to.”
“And why are you going there?”
“I’m goin’ there to live, yer honor.”
“To live! Why don’t you stay where you have so long been living?”
“Fur this raison. Whiniver I walk out I can’t help seein’ the place where
Doctor Trafford’s house stood, an’ it makes me fale as if I was his
murderer, sure. Nayther can I go outside iv the stockade unliss something
l’ades me straight to the grave av Masther Russell. I’m goin’ away now,
so I’ll niver be throubled be these sights ag’in. Musha! musha! the
payple used to say Mike Terry was a first-class b’y, but he’s a rascal
an’ a spalpeen now, an’ yerself it was that made me that, an’ it’s me own
cousin ye are, too.”
“Fool! will you cease your whining? Suppose you have done a rascally
act by telling a lie in my defense; I have paid you well for it, and am
willing to pay you more. You won’t have my money? Well, that is your
fault, not mine. The fact that I killed Doctor Trafford, and caused the
death of his nephew, need not trouble you, as the only thing you did
was to swear that Russell was the murderer. Now that I have confided in
you so far as to tell you that I am striving to get Isabel Moreland in
my power, you say something to the effect that you will go over to the
encampment of the whites, and disclose my whole secret.”
“Divil a bit did I say that, Jamie. I only s’id the poor craythers ought
to be warned iv their danger, an’ I’ll say it ag’in av I want to. It
ain’t me as’ll warn ’em, though, fur I have no boat, at all, an’ divil
a sthroke can I swim. L’ave ’em alone. They’re not doin’ any harrum to
anybody.”
“Bah! you talk nonsense, Mike. I shall not leave them alone, so long as
my suit is rejected by the fair daughter of Mr. Moreland. Look you, boy!
it is just possible that those red-skins will be defeated to-night, and
if they should be, I will of course, go back home. In that case, I will
live in constant fear that you will betray me. To make sure that you will
not do this, I want you now to take a solemn oath that you will never
breathe a word of my secret to mortal ears!”
“Oh, don’t ax me to do that?”
“Ask, indeed! I _command_ you to do it! Down on your knees, and swear
that you will forever hold your tongue on this subject.”
“No, no, no! I can’t swear that, at all, at all. Maybe I’ll have to tell
some time, to save me own life.”
“Swear!”
“No—oh, no!”
“Idiot! do you refuse?”
“Yis, Jamie, I’ll have to refuse.”
“Then, by the gods, you shall _die_! Do you hear? _you shall die!_
Look at this knife! It shall cut your infernal heart out, unless you
immediately swear secrecy—”
“Oh, don’t—don’t! In the name iv the Howly Vargin, ye wouldn’t be afther
murtherin’ iv me? Don’t, dear cousin; pl’ase don’t!”
“Then you will swear?”
“Never! Cut me heart out, av ye will, but don’t ax me to take sich an
oath as that. Kill me, cousin, an’ do it quick! I’m a wicked b’y an’
desarve to be kilt, but I shall niver listen to yer blarney ag’in, though
it should save me life a hundred times!”
Thus far, Nick Robbins had listened to the conversation without moving
from his tracks, but now, fearing the monster would carry out his dire
threat, he thought the time for action had come. Beginning to hum a
popular air, and dropping his gun to a trail, he walked boldly forward
through the thick underbrush, creating as much noise as possible in the
act. A few steps took him to a small opening in the woods, where Jim
McCabe and the Irish boy, Mike Terry, were standing.
“Hello! what have we hyur?” exclaimed the hunter, stopping short and
staring, with well-feigned surprise, at the lad.
McCabe was evidently somewhat flurried by the appearance of Robbins, but
he managed to answer:
“Why, upon my word, you startled me, old fellow. Where did you come from
so suddenly? You have been so long a while in making up your mind to
follow me, that I had almost despaired of seeing you again very soon.
That boy? Oh, he’s my cousin, Mike Terry. Come Mike; look up. Don’t you
believe, I found him lying here asleep.”
“Did, hey? What’s he hyur fur?”
“He’s been searching for me, I presume. He is always wandering about and
getting lost.”
“’Pears to me this is a bad place fur a chap o’ his heft to be strollin’
’round alone,” said the hunter, gazing as closely and curiously at the
boy as if he had never seen him before.
“My sentiments, precisely,” laughed McCabe, “and for that reason I think
we had better keep him under our protection, now he’s here.”
“Ye’ll do no sich a thing,” spoke up Mike, firmly. “It isn’t the likes
iv yeez that’ll kape me here two minutes longer, unless ye ties me feet.
I won’t stay here so close to the poor craythers that’s goin’ to be kilt
intirely be the lots iv red niggers in yer employ.”
The lad was sidling away as he spoke, and looked as if he were about to
take to his heels. Observing this, Nick Robbins stepped quickly forward
and seized him by the arm.
“Hold on younker,” he said. “It’s the opinion o’ this coon ’ut ye’ll be a
deal safer by stayin’ with us.”
Then, stooping down, he whispered in the lad’s ear:
“Keep mum. I am not the friend of that man, nor the enemy of those on the
island! Stay with me and you are safe!”
The young Hibernian shot a glance of mingled amazement and gratitude at
the speaker, but said nothing in reply. The hunter turned carelessly
away, and began to converse with McCabe, while Mike Terry, watching them
with a strange expression in his blue eyes, quietly seated himself on a
stone, as if he had never had a thought of running away from the two men!