THE CABIN OF AMOS SHRUNK
Beyond this passing of the _John B. Glover_, the day proved uneventful,
although all further desire for sleep deserted me. It was late
afternoon before Rene finally emerged from the cabin to learn the news,
and I spent most of the time on watch, seated at the edge of the bluff,
my eyes searching the surface of the river. While Kirby's presence up
stream, unquestionably increased our peril of capture, this did not
cause me as much anxious thought as did the strange disappearance of
Free Pete, and the two women. What had become of them during the
night? Surely they could never have out-stripped us, with only a pair
of oars by which to combat the current, and yet we had obtained no
glimpse of them anywhere along that stretch of river.
The knowledge that the steamer which had passed us was heavily laden
with troops was most encouraging. In itself alone this was abundant
proof of the safe delivery of my dispatches, and I was thus relieved to
realize that this duty had been performed. My later disappearance was
excusable, now that I was convinced the papers intrusted to me had
reached the right hands. There might be wonder, and, later, the
necessity of explanation, yet no one would suffer from my absence, and
I was within the limits of my furlough--the reinforcements for Forts
Armstrong and Crawford were already on their way. So, altogether, I
faced the task of eluding Kirby with a lighter heart, and renewed
confidence. Alone, as I believed him to be, and in that new country on
the very verge of civilization, he was hardly an antagonist I needed
greatly to fear. Indeed, as man to man, I rather welcomed an encounter.
There is little to record, either of the day or the night. The latter
shut down dark, but rainless, although the sky was heavily overcast by
clouds. Satisfied that the river was clear as far as eye could reach
in every direction, we managed to pole the heavy boat out of its berth
in the creek while the twilight yet lingered, the western sky still
remaining purple from the lingering sunset as we emerged into the
broader stream. The following hours passed largely in silence, each of
us, no doubt, busied with our own thoughts. Sam made no endeavor to
speed his engine, keeping most of the way close to the deeper shadow of
the shore, and the machinery ran smoothly, its noise indistinguishable
at any distance. Twice we touched bottom, but to no damage other than
a slight delay and the labor of poling off into deeper water, while
occasionally overhanging limbs of trees, unnoticed in the gloom, struck
our faces. By what uncanny skill the negro was able to navigate, how
he found his way in safety along that ragged bank, remains a mystery.
To my eyes all about us was black, impenetrable, not even the water
reflecting a gleam of light; indeed, so dense was the surrounding gloom
that in the deeper shadows I could not even distinguish the figure of
the girl seated beside me in the cockpit. Yet there was scarcely a
break in the steady chug of the engine, or the gentle swish of water
alongside.
The clouds broke slightly after midnight, occasionally yielding a
glimpse of a star, but the uninhabited shore remained desolate and
silent. Day had not broken when we came to the mouth of the Illinois,
and turned our bow cautiously up that stream, becoming immediately
aware that we had entered new waters. The negro, ignorant of what was
before us, soon beached the boat onto a sand bar, and we decided it
would be better for us to remain there until dawn. This was not long
in coming, the graying sky of the east slowly lighting up the scene,
and bringing into view, little by little, our immediate surroundings.
These were lonely and dismal enough, yet revealed nothing to create
alarm. A desolate flat of sand extended from either shore back to a
high ridge of clay, which was thickly wooded. Slightly higher up the
river this ridge approached more closely the bank of the stream, with
trees actually overhanging the water, and a rather thick growth of
underbrush hiding the ground. The river was muddy, flowing with a
swift current, and we could distinguish its course only so far as the
first bend, a comparatively short distance away. Nowhere appeared the
slightest evidence of life, either on water or land; all was forlorn
and dead, a vista of utter desolation. Sam was standing up, his whole
attention concentrated on the view up stream.
"Do steamers ever go up this river?" I asked, surprised at the volume
of water.
He glanced around at me, as though startled at my voice.
"Yas, sah; putty near eny sorter boat kin. Ah nebber tried it, fer
Massa Donaldson hed no bus'ness ober in dis kintry, but Ah's heerd 'em
talk down ter Saint Louee. Trouble is, sah, we's got started in de
wrong place--dar's plenty watah t'other side dis yere bar."
"Who told you the best way to find Shrunk?"
His eyes widened and searched my face, evidently still somewhat
suspicious of any white man.
"A nigger down Saint Louee way, sah. Dey done cotched him, an' brought
him back afore he even got ter Beardstown."
"And you believe you can guide us there?"
"Ah sure can, if whut dat nigger sed wus correct, sah. Ah done
questioned him mighty par'ticlar, an' Ah 'members ebery sign whut he
giv' me." He grinned broadly. "Ah sorter suspicion'd Ah mought need
dat informa'ion."
"All right, then; it is certainly light enough now--let's push off."
We had taken the sand lightly, and were able to pole the boat into deep
water with no great difficulty. I remained crouched at the bow, ready
for any emergency, while the engine resumed its chugging, and Sam
guided us out toward the swifter current of the stream. The broader
river behind us remained veiled in mist, but the gray light was
sufficient for our purpose, enabling us to proceed slowly until our
craft had rounded the protruding headland, out of sight from below.
Here the main channel cut across to the left bank, and we forced into
the deeper shadows of the overhanging woods.
"'Tain't so awful fur from yere, sah," Sam called to me.
"What, the place where we are to land?"
"Yas, sah. It's de mouth ob a little crick, whut yer nebber see till
yer right plum at it. Bettah keep yer eyes open 'long dat shore, sah."
The girl, alertly bent forward, was first among us to detect the
concealed opening, which was almost completely screened by the
over-arching trees, her voice ringing excitedly, as she pointed it out.
Sam was quick to respond, and, almost before I had definitely
established the spot, the bow of the boat swerved and we shot in
through the leafy screen, the low-hung branches sweeping against our
faces and scraping along the sides. It was an eery spot, into which
the faint daylight scarcely penetrated, but, nevertheless, revealed
itself a secure and convenient harbor. While the stream was not more
than twelve feet in width and the water almost motionless, the banks
were high and precipitous and the depth amply sufficient. The dim
light, only occasionally finding entrance through the trees, barely
enabled us to see for a short distance ahead. It looked a veritable
cave, and, indeed, all I remember noting in my first hasty glance
through the shadows, was the outline of a small boat, moored to a
fallen tree. Sam must have perceived this at the same instant, for he
ran our craft alongside the half-submerged log and stopped his engine.
I scrambled over, found precarious footing on the wet bank, and made
fast.
"So this is the place?" I questioned incredulously, staring about at
the dark, silent forest; which still remained in the deep night shade.
"Why, there's nothing here."
"No, sah; dar certenly don't 'pear fer ter be much," and the negro
crept out of the cockpit and joined me, "'ceptin' dat boat. Dar ain't
no boat 'round yere, les' folks hes bin a ridin' in it, Ah reckon. Dis
sure am de spot, all right--an' dar's got ter be a trail 'round yere
sumwhar."
Rene remained motionless, her eyes searching the shadows, as though
half frightened at finding herself in such dismal surroundings. The
girl's face appeared white and drawn in that twilight. Sam advanced
cautiously from off the log to the shore, and began to anxiously scan
the ground, beating back and forth through the underbrush. After
watching him a moment my gaze settled on the strange boat, and I crept
along the log curious to examine it more closely. It had the
appearance of being newly built, the paint unscratched, and exhibiting
few marks of usage. A single pair of oars lay crossed in the bottom
and beside these was an old coat and some ordinary fishing tackle--but
nothing to arouse any interest. Without doubt it belonged to Amos
Shrunk, and had been left here after the return from some excursion
either up or down the river. I was still staring at these things, and
speculating about them, when the negro called out from a distance that
he had found the path. Rene answered his hail, standing up in the
boat, and I hastened back to help her ashore.
We had scarcely exchanged words during the entire night, but now she
accepted my proffered hand gladly, and with a smile, springing lightly
from the deck to the insecure footing of the log.
"I do not intend that you shall leave me behind," she said, glancing
about with a shudder. "This is such a horrid place."
"The way before us looks scarcely better," I answered, vainly
endeavoring to locate Sam. "Friend Shrunk evidently is not eager for
callers. Where is that fellow?"
"Somewhere over in that thicket, I think. At least his voice sounded
from there. You discovered nothing in the boat?"
"Only a rag and some fishing tackle. Come; we'll have to plunge in
somewhere."
She followed closely as I pushed a passage through the obstructing
underbrush, finally locating Sam at the edge of a small opening, where
the light was sufficiently strong to enable us to distinguish marks of
a little-used trail leading along the bottom of a shallow gully
bisecting the sidehill. The way was obstructed by roots and rotten
tree trunks, and so densely shaded as to be in places almost
imperceptible, but Sam managed to find its windings, while we held
close enough behind to keep him safely in sight. Once we came into
view of the river, but the larger part of the way lay along a hollow,
heavily overshadowed by trees, where we could see only a few feet in
any direction.
At the crossing of a small stream we noticed the imprint of several
feet in the soft mud of the shore. One plainly enough was small and
narrow, beyond all question that of a woman, but the others were all
men's, one being clad in moccasins. Beyond this point the path trended
downward, winding along the face of the hill and much more easily
followed. Sam, still ahead, started to clamber across the trunk of a
fallen tree, but came to a sudden halt, staring downward at something
concealed from our view on, the other side.
"Good Lord o' mercy!" he exclaimed, excitedly.
"What's dat?"
I was close beside him by this time and saw the thing also--the body of
a man lying on the ground. The light was so dim only the bare outlines
of the recumbent figure were visible, and, following the first shock of
discovery, my earliest thought was to spare the girl.
"Wait where you are, Rene!" I exclaimed, waving her back. "There is a
man lying here beyond the log. Come, Sam; we will see what he looks
like."
He was slow in following, hanging back as I approached closer to the
motionless form, and I could hear the muttering of his lips.
Unquestionably the man was dead; of this I was assured before I even
knelt beside him. He lay prone on his face in a litter of dead leaves,
and almost the first thing I noticed was the death wound back of his
ear, where a large caliber bullet had pierced the brain. His exposed
hands proved him a negro, and it was with a feeling of unusual
repugnance that I touched his body, turning it over sufficiently to see
the face. The countenance of a negro in death seldom appears natural,
and under that faint light, no revealed feature struck me, at first, as
familiar. Then, all at once, I knew him, unable to wholly repress a
cry of startled surprise, as I stared down into the upturned face--the
dead man, evidently murdered, shot treacherously from behind, was Free
Pete. I sprang to my feet, gazing about blindly into the dim woods, my
mind for the instant dazed by the importance of this discovery. What
could it mean? How could it have happened? By what means had he
reached this spot in advance of us, and at whose hand had he fallen?
He could have been there only for one purpose, surely--in an attempt to
guide Eloise Beaucaire and the quadroon Delia. Then what had become of
the women? Where were they now?
I stumbled backward to the support of the log, unable to answer any one
of these questions, remembering only in that moment that I must tell
Rene the truth. Her eyes already were upon me, exhibiting her fright
and perplexity, her knowledge that I had viewed something of horror.
She could keep silent no longer.
"Tell me--please," she begged. "Is the man dead? Who is he, do you
know?"
"Yes," I replied desperately. "He is dead, and I recognize his face.
He is the negro Pete, and has been killed, shot from behind. I cannot
understand how it has happened."
"Pete," she echoed, grasping at the log to keep erect, her eyes on that
dimly revealed figure in the leaves. "Free Pete, Carlton's Pete?
How--how could he have got here? Then--then the others must have been
with him. What has become of them?"
"It is all mystery; the only way to solve it is for us to go on. It
can do no one any good to stand here, staring at this dead body. When
we reach the cabin we may learn what has occurred. Go on ahead, Sam,
and we will follow--don't be afraid, boy; it is not the dead who hurt
us."
She clung tightly to me, shrinking past the motionless figure. She was
not sobbing; her eyes were dry, yet every movement, each glance,
exhibited her depth of horror. I drew her closer, thoughtless of what
she was, my heart yearning to speak words of comfort, yet realizing
there was nothing left me to say. I could almost feel the full
intensity of her struggle for self-control, the effort she was making
to conquer a desire to give way. She must have known this, for once
she spoke.
"Do not mind me," she said, pausing before the utterance of each word
to steady her voice. "I--I am not going to break down. It--it is the
suddenness--the shock. I--I shall be strong again, in a minute."
"You must be," I whispered, "for their lives may depend on us."
It was a short path before us and became more clearly defined as we
advanced. A sharp turn brought us into full view of the cabin, which
stood in a small opening, built against the sidehill, and so overhung
with trees as to be invisible, except from the direction of our
approach. We could see only the side wall, which contained one open
window, and was a one-room affair, low and flat-roofed, built of logs.
Its outward appearance was peaceful enough, and the swift beat of my
pulse quieted as I took rapid survey of the surroundings.
"Sam," I commanded, "you are to remain here with Rene, while I learn
the truth yonder. Yes," to her quick protest, "that will be the better
way--there is no danger and I shall not be gone but for a moment."
I seated her on a low stump and left them there together, Sam's eyes
rolling about in a frightened effort to perceive every covert in the
woods, but the girl satisfied to watch me intently as I moved
cautiously forward. A dozen steps brought me within view of the front
of the cabin. The door had been smashed in and hung dangling from one
hinge. Another step, now with a pistol gripped in my hand, enabled me
to obtain a glimpse within. Across the puncheon threshold, his feet
even protruding without, lay a man's body; beyond him, half concealed
by the shadows of the interior, appeared the outlines of another, with
face upturned to the roof, plainly distinguishable because of a
snow-white beard.