CAGED!
“That wur a lucky escape fur you, old hoss,” said Nick Robbins, as the
three lurkers came out of their concealment. “Simon Girty have got it
into his head ’ut ye’re false, an’ ef he’d ketched ye hyur it ’ud went
kinder hard with ye, I take it.”
“Curse it!” hissed McCabe; “every thing is going wrong, just at the time
that I thought success certain!”
“Wal, I wouldn’t take it to heart in that style,” laughed Robbins,
patting him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, an’ be yerself ag’in. It’s true
the red-skins have been nicely licked by the pale-faces, an’ the hull
gang scattered to the four winds, but it don’t foller ’ut the jig’s up.”
“Don’t it?” snarled McCabe. “I should like to know what remains to be
done, but to go home? I presume you will follow Girty now, and leave me
to pursue my way alone.”
“Thar’s jest whar ye’re wrong,” said the hunter. “I won’t leave yer till
mornin’, nohow, an’ I tells ye once fur all, the jig ain’t up! True, as I
said afore, the reds have been licked and run away—true, Girty jest now
come to shore, an’ made off like the devil wur arter him—true, we’re left
hyur alone to fight our own battles, but, fur all that, I repeat, _the
jig ain’t up_!
“Do explain yourself,” said McCabe, seeing something in the hunter’s mind
worth drawing out.
Taking McCabe aside, out of Mike’s hearing, Nick Robbins proceeded to
unfold his scheme. It was to go over to the island, and, in the capacity
of friends who came to render assistance, to so arrange affairs as to
get Isabel separated from the men and thus secure her by abduction. Nick
“played his hand” so skillfully as to awaken McCabe’s enthusiasm, under
the influence of which he revealed his entire proceedings to secure his
prize, confessing to the firing of Trafford’s house and laughing at his
subsequent conduct and performances. Nick laughed with him, encouraging
his confidence, and then revealed to the astonished scoundrel the fact
that he, Nick, in his capacity of spy, had seen the whole proceeding, but
he added:
“Now, my boy, we understand one another fully; so let us work the thing
to the end. I’m with yer and the gal, an’ ef we don’t play a mighty poor
hand we’ll win her yet and make the settlements howl, we will. So let’s
be off at once, in Girty’s canoe, which he has left so convenient for us.”
“As you say: I’m in with you,” and soon the canoe, with the three
adventurers, was out in the stream, heading for the island, openly, so
that the Moreland party might see and recognize them as friends. Landing
on the upper end, they cautiously explored the locality but found no
trace of the party. Then Nick led the way further from the shore, into
the dense undergrowth. A glade was found where the darkness was less
dark, and then Nick, placing his fingers to his mouth, gave vent to a
soft, tremulous whistle, as if he were signaling to some one.
This surprised Jim McCabe not a little. With a vague suspicion flashing
over his mind, he was about to demand an explanation, but, before he
could utter a word, he staggered backward with a gasp of dismay! There
was a rushing sound in the underbrush near by, mingled with the tramp of
many feet. Then there was a clamor of voices, and the next instant dark
forms began to pour out of the woods on both sides, and gathered around
him. Harsh voices cursed him. Rough, bearded faces were thrust close to
his; words of dire meaning were hissed in his ears; eyes that spoke of
vengeance gleamed upon him; and then a dozen strong hands seized him, and
bore him to the earth!
There was a brief struggle; and when it was over, Jim McCabe lay helpless
upon the ground, bound hand and foot!
Lying there on his back, the now thoroughly terrified villain looked up
to see who his captors were. The first ones he noticed were old Kirby
Kidd, and his Indian friend, Wapawah. Then, running his eyes further
round the circle, he observed the twelve stalwart, well-armed men who
had been sent with the emigrants as an escort, and was surprised to see
that their number was not in the least diminished by the attack of the
savages. Among them stood Nick Robbins, looking as cool and unconcerned
as ever, with Mike Terry by his side. Apart from the crowd he saw Mr.
Moreland and his amiable wife, together with their daughter, Isabel, and
near them stood a never-to-be-forgotten individual in a swallow-tailed
blue and high-crowned hat. It was the Yankee clock-vender, Jonathan
Boggs, “all the way from Maine.”
Jim McCabe groaned aloud, and his heart sunk within him as he read his
fate in the pitiless faces above him. He knew he was now known in his
true character to all of these men, and that he was their _prisoner_!
Nick Robbins stepped out of the crowd, and, looking calmly down on the
prostrate man, said:
“Wal, old hoss, how d’ye like yer new position? Them stuns make ruther
a hard bed, don’t they? Kinder guess ye didn’t think ye had sech a
big audience when ye wur tellin’ me that nice little story o’ your’n.
Yander’s the gal ye’ve been tryin’ to captur’. Why don’t ye jump up and
run off with her? Ha! ha! ha! Reckon ye recollects how I come over hyur
this arternoon to throw this party off thar guard, so’t Simon Girty an’
his reds could extarminate ’em? Wal, I not only put the fellers _on_ thar
guard, but also told ’em to hide tharselves when they should see you an’
me comin’, so’t they could all hear yer secret as I pumped it out o’ yer.”
“Yas,” said Kirby Kidd, “an’ mould me into buckshot ef that wa’n’t a fine
trick o’ your’n, whar ye burnt Doc. Trafford in his bed to git rid of his
nephew.”
“I’ll swan tew man, mister, you look oncomfortable,” exclaimed Jonathan
Boggs, coming forward. “Why, I’m slightly acquainted with you ain’t I?”
he added, after a close look at the man. “Dew tell! Now it’s too bad I
can’t help you, but I’m bound tew own up that you got yourself into the
diffikilty. As Tabitha Simpson used tew say, ‘there’s many a slip ’twixt
the cup and the lip.’”
There was a general laugh at this, and more than one of the men followed
it up with a rude _jeu d’esprit_ at the prisoner’s expense.
McCabe foamed with rage, and tugged at the cords that bound him until
they cut into his flesh, swearing furiously the while, and calling down
fearful maledictions on the heads of all present. He cursed himself, too,
for trusting so blindly in the man who had led him into this trap, and
vowed he would haunt Robbins if he were put to death!
“Men,” said the mild voice of Mr. Moreland, “let us not taunt our
prisoner, but remember the many dark sins with which his soul is
burdened, and pity him.”
“Yer principles is good, I make no doubt,” replied Kirby Kidd; “but dog
my cats ef I kin feel much pity fur the skunk.”
But no one thought of disregarding the word of Mr. Moreland, and so Jim
McCabe was left to the companionship of his own thoughts, which, we may
well believe, were not of the pleasantest character imaginable.
A consultation was now held by the entire party. Kirby Kidd and Nick
Robbins exercised their influence to its utmost, and urged Mr. Moreland
to take the back track and return to his former home, instead of
continuing his journey down the river. Mr. Moreland had been thinking
of this step for some hours, but when he thought of his daughter’s
misconduct he hesitated. His wife, who had been growing more and more
sick at thought of leaving their home and friends forever, put in a
timely word while he wavered, whispering that there were better and more
convenient ways by which their child might be guided into the path of
right. He saw the soundness of the arguments employed, and soon yielded,
quietly expressing his determination to go back home and remain there in
future.
So, without more ado, the boats were drawn out of their hiding-place
under the drooping willows, and, after laying Jim McCabe in the bottom of
one of them, the party embarked for home. The paddles were dipped, and
the little fleet started off up the river, Kirby Kidd and Wapawah taking
the lead in their canoe, while Nick Robbins and Mike Terry brought up the
rear in theirs.