IN WHICH THE MYSTERY IS VERY NEARLY EXPLAINED
Just at this critical instant, when almost certain death threatened
Barnabas, a fortunate thing happened. The bow of the Tory's canoe struck
a half-submerged rock, and the sudden jar spoiled his aim, so that the
bullet passed a foot above his intended victim.
In the twinkling of an eye the long craft swung around, lodged fore and
aft across a narrow passage of the falls, and turned bottom up. Out went
Glass, head-first into the foaming waves on the lower side.
There was no time for his pursuers to sheer off, and scarcely an instant
later the second canoe crashed into the obstruction and swung broadside
against it, though luckily without capsizing. But the shock pitched
Barnabas out of the bow, and with a vain attempt to grab the canoe in
front he glided off the slippery bottom, and was borne down the stretch
of boiling rapids. The lads caught a brief glimpse of him as he bumped
into Glass, who had lodged on a spur of rock twenty feet away. Then both
were washed off by the furious current, locked together in a desperate
struggle, and the gloom hid them from view.
"Barnabas will be drowned!" cried Nathan. "And we can't do anything to
save him! We're stuck tight!"
"We've got to get loose!" exclaimed Godfrey, and with his paddle he
struck the forward boat a terrific blow. To his delight it grated free
at the stern end and whirled around, and that quickly the two canoes
were bounding side by side amid the perilous falls, swinging this way
and that, leaping high over crested waves, and rebounding from the cruel
rap of hidden ledges.
Any attempt at steering was out of the question in so mad a current, but
the lads hardly thought of the danger. Before they could realize it,
their canoe had dashed safely down the roaring, raging slope, and was
cleaving the choppy little waves that marked the even flow of the river
beyond the rapids.
With anxious hearts, and with a fear that they dared not put into words,
Nathan and Godfrey paddled swiftly along on the current, eagerly
watching ahead and out toward mid-channel, and over to the near-by
wooded shore. The moon was under clouds again, and the surface of the
river was misty. Frequently they shouted the name of the missing man,
but only the sullen voice of the rapids answered.
When they had gone nearly a mile, some lingering hope persuaded them to
turn back. So they pushed up along the shore from eddy to eddy, scanning
every patch of sand and gravel, every clump of bushes, and constantly
calling Barnabas by name. Hope was utterly dead when they drew near the
falls, and now Nathan grounded the canoe in a little cove. Tears were
rolling down his cheeks, and he was not ashamed of them. "We've got to
face the worst," he said, hoarsely. "Barnabas is drowned. He and Glass
perished together."
"Yes, there's no doubt of it," assented Godfrey. "I'm awfully sorry for
you."
"If we could only find the body," said Nathan.
"But we can't," Godfrey replied. "The water seems to be deep around
here, and they both must have gone to the bottom. They may not come to
the top for a day or two."
Nathan groaned. "This is terrible," he exclaimed. "I can hardly believe
it. To think that Barnabas is dead--that we will never see him again!
You don't know how brave and noble he was--"
"Yes, I learned that much during the last few days," interrupted
Godfrey. "Believe me, Nathan, I am as sorry as you are. To know such a
man as Barnabas Otter makes me feel sometimes that your cause will
triumph."
Nathan silently clasped the other's hand and for some minutes the two
lads sat without speaking, gazing over the misty waters and listening
to the sad music of the falls. Then both heard a distant and muffled
clatter of hoofs.
"Horsemen!" exclaimed Nathan, "and they are coming up the river road. I
must see them."
"But there may be danger," remonstrated Godfrey.
"No, not in this neighborhood. It is too close to the fort and to
Harris's Ferry. Come on, Godfrey!"
They sprang out of the canoe and clambered up the wooded bank, reaching
the road just as two wagons came along, escorted by six mounted men.
Nathan halted the party, and after briefly explaining that he and his
companion were fugitives from Wyoming, he told what had happened that
night at Fort Hunter. The victims of the tragedy were known by name to
the men, and they expressed genuine sorrow for the death of Barnabas, as
well as heartfelt relief at the termination of Simon Glass's infamous
career.
"We're bound for Shamokin fort with supplies sent by the
commissary-general of Pennsylvania," stated the leader of the party. "I
suppose you lads will go along back with us to Hunter's? Just hop into
the wagons yonder."
Before either could reply one of the men in the rear dismounted and came
forward. With an exclamation of surprise he clapped Nathan on the
shoulder.
"Corporal Dubbs!" cried the lad. "How did you get here?"
"Why, you know I was on the sick-list the morning the Wyoming troops
left camp," the corporal explained, "and when I got a little better the
general sent me to the Board of War with dispatches. Then I learned that
my brother was lying up at McKee's fort with a bullet wound he got at
Wyoming, and I'm on my way there now to see him."
"And was there any news of my father when you left camp?" Nathan asked
impatiently.
"That's what I want to tell you," replied the corporal, drawing the lad
aside. "Your father is lying at the house of a loyal farmer named
Welfare. His place is near the head of the Shrewsbury River, and not far
from Monmouth. Welfare himself brought word to the camp the day I left.
He said the captain was badly hurt, and wouldn't be able to be moved for
a month."
Nathan was speechless with joy for a moment. "Then my father is really
alive?" he cried. "I was sure of it. And do you think he is still at the
farmhouse?"
"I'm pretty certain he is," replied the corporal. "I don't know how he
came there, or anything about his injuries, but you may count on it, he
is in good hands."
"I'm going straight to him," declared Nathan. "I'll travel day and
night."
Corporal Dubbs nodded approvingly. "That's the best thing you can do,"
he said. "The sight of you, lad, will be better than medicine for the
captain. There's a stage from Harris's Ferry to Philadelphia in the
morning. You can catch it if you hurry. Don't forget the place, and be
sure you ask for Jonas Welfare. And be careful when you get in the
neighborhood of the Shrewsbury, for the enemy are making raids over that
way from New York."
"I'll remember," assented Nathan. "I must go now. We have a canoe below,
and I mean to catch that stage. Will you tell Sergeant Murdock at Fort
Hunter that Barnabas is dead and ask him to find the body and--and--bury
it--"
The lad's voice broke, and for a moment he could not speak.
"In Barnabas's left boot," he added, "is a packet of papers that he was
taking care of for me. They belong to my father. Will you ask the
sergeant to keep them until they are sent for?"
Corporal Dubbs readily promised, and with a hearty clasp of the lad's
hand he mounted and rode after the now moving wagon-train.
Nathan and Godfrey hurried back to the canoe and were soon paddling
swiftly down the river. The roar of the falls faded behind them, and
when a curve hid the fatal spot from view, Nathan turned with
tear-dimmed eyes for a last look.
"You forgot about Noah Waxpenny," said Godfrey, when the lads had
paddled some distance in silence.
"So I did!" exclaimed Nathan. "I hope Sergeant Murdock won't catch him,
and if he does I don't believe he will dare to hang him. As for that
mystery--why, I'll get my father to explain it."
"Then you are going straight to see him?"
"Straight," declared Nathan. "You heard what Corporal Dubbs told me. I'm
going to travel as fast as I can. And what will you do, Godfrey, I don't
want to part--"
"Nor do I," Godfrey said hastily. "At least not yet. If I thought I
could safely accompany you--"
"You can," interrupted Nathan. "I'm sure of that. And I want my father
to meet you."
Godfrey smiled sadly. "I'll go with you," he replied, "and then I'll
watch for a chance to take boat from the Shrewsbury to New York. I
intend to report to Major Langdon, come what may."
"I suppose that's the best thing you can do," assented Nathan, "but I
was hoping you might have changed your mind about--"
A look on Godfrey's face made him stop thus abruptly, and for half an
hour nothing was said. Then the day began to dawn, and about the time it
was fully light the stockade and houses of Harris's Ferry hove in sight
around a bend of the river.